#Cloud Channel Lettering

[signdepotdc]

Cloud Channel Lettering: A Modern Dimension to Visual Branding

In the world of branding and visual communication, innovation knows no bounds. One of the most captivating and contemporary approaches to signage and branding is Cloud Channel Lettering. This technique has rapidly gained prominence due to its ability to blend modern aesthetics with classic craftsmanship. In this blog post, we will delve into the captivating world of Cloud Channel Lettering, exploring its significance, benefits, design possibilities, and why it's a must-consider choice for businesses aiming to stand out in today's competitive landscape.

Understanding Cloud Channel Lettering

Channel lettering has been a staple in outdoor signage for decades. It involves creating dimensional letters and logos using various materials. Cloud Channel Lettering takes this concept to a new level by adding LED illumination within the lettering structures. This results in a visually striking 3D effect that appears to be suspended in mid-air. The illumination emits from within the letters, creating a "halo" effect that gives the illusion of a cloud-like glow.

The Significance of Cloud Channel Lettering

In a world where capturing attention is a prized asset, Cloud Channel Lettering offers a unique solution for businesses and organizations. Here's why it's significant:

Visual Impact: The 3D depth and vibrant illumination of Cloud Channel Lettering naturally draw the eye, even from a distance, ensuring that the brand message is noticed and remembered.

Brand Identity: Customization is at the heart of Cloud Channel Lettering. Businesses can select their preferred fonts, sizes, and colors, allowing the signage to seamlessly integrate with the brand's identity and message.

Nighttime Visibility: The illuminated aspect of Cloud Channel Lettering ensures visibility even during the night. This 24/7 visibility enhances brand exposure and accessibility.

Modern Aesthetics: Cloud Channel Lettering embodies a modern and sophisticated aesthetic that appeals to contemporary sensibilities, making it an ideal choice for businesses aiming to convey innovation and progress.

Benefits of Cloud Channel Lettering

Versatility: Cloud Channel Lettering can be applied both indoors and outdoors, making it adaptable to various environments and purposes, from storefronts to event displays.

Energy Efficiency: LED lighting, the backbone of Cloud Channel Lettering's illumination, is energy-efficient, reducing operational costs for businesses in the long run.

Longevity: Well-constructed Cloud Channel Letters are built to last, with durable materials that can withstand different weather conditions.

Customizability: From choosing letter shapes to illumination colors, businesses have ample room for customization, ensuring their signage aligns perfectly with their brand guidelines.

Design Possibilities and Creativity

Cloud Channel Lettering is a canvas of creativity for designers and businesses alike. The technique encourages out-of-the-box thinking, leading to captivating design possibilities:

Gradient Illumination: By using LEDs with adjustable colors, it's possible to achieve gradient illumination within the letters, adding depth and complexity to the signage.

Double-sided Letters: Cloud Channel Letters are often constructed as double-sided, which means the signage is visible from multiple angles, maximizing brand exposure.

Combination with Other Elements: Incorporating other design elements, such as logos, symbols, or even complementary signage, can amplify the impact of Cloud Channel Lettering.

Integrating Cloud Channel Lettering in Branding Strategies

Incorporating Cloud Channel Lettering into a brand's visual strategy requires thoughtful planning:

Consistency: The design, colors, and message conveyed through Cloud Channel Lettering should align seamlessly with the brand's existing visual identity across all platforms.

Location and Placement: Choosing the right location for Cloud Channel Lettering is crucial. It should be strategically placed for maximum visibility and impact.

Collaboration with Experts: Collaborating with professionals who specialize in Cloud Channel Lettering ensures a polished and well-executed result that meets the brand's objectives.

Conclusion

In the ever-evolving landscape of visual communication, Cloud Channel Lettering emerges as a dynamic and captivating choice for businesses seeking to elevate their branding game. Its ability to merge modern aesthetics with traditional craftsmanship, coupled with its versatility and customization options, makes it a powerful tool for leaving a lasting impression. As brands continue to compete for attention in a crowded market, Cloud Channel Lettering offers a breath of fresh air, a luminous dimension that sets them apart in both the day and night.

In embracing this innovative technique, businesses embrace not only an eye-catching form of signage but also a symbol of their commitment to creativity, innovation, and visual excellence. So, whether it's illuminating a storefront on a bustling city street or adding a touch of enchantment to an event, Cloud Channel Lettering stands tall as a testament to the remarkable possibilities of modern branding.

[sheeezu]

.Shift by channeling.

Go to your DRs by channeling, again, step to step guide.

This can be used as a separate method, or you could use this when you need a final push.

This isn't the spiritual type of channeling, nor do you need to use AI or something, nor do you get possessed.

Step 1:

Before attempting to shift, choose a person from your DR. It could be your S/O, you can choose to channel multiple people, if you have a friend group or something, but i recommend picking someone whom you have a close connection with in your DR.

Have a voice claim ready, take some times to look at the person's pictures, remember their physical attributes, focus on their personality.

(You can listen to songs which remind you of your relationship with that person)

Step 2:

Lay down, when you're prepared to shift. You're going to start off saying affirmations like it's a normal shifting method.

If you can visualize, i recommend you think of visual affirmations which relate to your DR.

Its a method to affirm, where you go around your DR, whether it's your DR house, room, or a memorable or nostalgic place in your DR, and see your normal shifting affs, carved, written around, for example, your affs formed by clouds, carved into pillars and tables, written on your clothes, finding papers or letter which say your affirmations (so Affirmations ∝ Your DR)

You should try to be hype fixated, so if you are fidgeting, can't stay still, you're too engrossed in what's going on inside your mind to notice your body itching or twitching.

Do this until your symptoms intensifies or reach a peak, everyone feels differently, for some it's more physical (seeing light flashes, tingles, floating) for some it's mental (having a gut feeling, feeling euphoric) so don't get discouraged.

You aren't doing anything wrong.

Step 3:

This is where we come across our special person. While you're seeing your affs, make yourself meet them. Now, if you're confused and going to say this isn't channeling, then just stop. You're creating this reality and undoubtedly every moment you're experiencing, so when you're in a deeply concentrated phase, the only thing that could possibly stop you from having a very real and authentic meeting with your SP is your own self-doubt (anyways, if you're having self doubt then say an aff or two to combat them)

Your SP is standing right in front of you, let yourself loose at this point. No need to force anything scripted, but if you want then you can.

Have a conversation with your SP, whether it's initiated by you or your SP.

Maybe even invite them to drink tea, sit outside, take them to a secret spot.

Now you're having a conversation with them, starting off with your conscious thoughts doing the talking from your part, whatever your SP says is your subconsciousness speaking, or you're directly channeling them (both of which are the same thing, i hate being repetitive, you're creating reality if you believe you're being channeled by your SP, then that's what's happening)

Start off with a normal conversation, like how'd you talk to someone, someone you love and know very well.

Right now, you're going to say a very specific affirmation:

"(your SP's name) is just about to ask me what i was doing in my OR/void reality."

Then let the conversation take a natural turn. That question will eventually be asked, your loved one is just very curious about why you were away from them.

Now, what you will answer back will be the way how to shift.

"Oh, must be a fever dream, i had never had a dream so real, i was touching everything, each and everything felt legit." (best for permashifters, don't be afraid of using this if you intend to come back)

"I guess it was out of responsibility, but don't worry, i'm here now."

"I don't know myself, all i know i didn't like being there."

"I was curious, that's all; you know i like exploring new things, and come on, it was a whole new universe, but now i want to rest at home."

Whatever your SP says in response, whether they're asking you to come join them, or how they're glad you're back, just nod back.

Step 4:

Go to sleep in your DR, if you recall, you're in your home. Go towards your bed, crash down, close your eyes.

From this point onwards, you're going to embody your DR self and fall asleep acting normal, completely abandon the fact that you were shifting, or that you have shifted to your DR, act like a person (your DR self) living in any other world (your DR)

I described this in details in the third phase of my pinned post, you're supposed to do all that.

You'll wake up in your DR.

Why is this method supposed to work?

Connection to your DR environment ✔

Logically explains your involvement with your previous reality, why you were there for so long ✔

Reminds your consciousness that you've successfully shifted ✔

Connection to your loved ones in your DR ✔

Most importantly, connection to your DR self ✔

...

That's the method, you can also shift in between the method as well. There really isn't any reason for you to wake back in your CR, listen to some subliminals to remove intrusive thoughts, then you're good.

You could also make it so your SP had more control over your shift, like they brought you back, you can modify the method according to your wishes.

It's a short and sweet method, believe in your abilities and you'll be out of here faster than lightning.

...

This method is heavily focused on visualizing, if you have aphantasia then your DR SP can just speak to you, when you eventually cross over to your DR self's state of mind (if they can visualize) you'll get the ability to visualize like them, or get flashes of images.

...

Also thanks for everyone who gave me compliments in my inbox I have no clue how to receive them, but I am very grateful (:

[dreamersofcolor]

welcome to the dreamer's lounge! 💌

this is a self ship blog dedicated to uplifting & supporting people of color in the community! i'm your mod, @taibobo!

things we offer here:

an open ask box for advice, discussing topics related to navigating self shipping as a person of color, gushing about your f/os, and showing support to other POC in the community!

promoting POC self shippers through reblogging their posts and supporting their commissions and mutual aid

imagine requests & submissions tailored specifically towards self shippers of color!

events and raffles that include prizes like free art, letters from your f/o, fanfiction, moodboards/stimboards, + more!

this account is villain / problematic f/o friendly (within reason) and non-sharing friendly (as long as you're respectful and kind towards doubles), but i do ask that any self shippers who condone or engage in adult/minor shipping, RPF, or shipping between related parties please do not interact!

additional rules below:

ask box rules:

though i aim to be a listening ear for those who don't feel they have one in the community, particularly sensitive subjects (SA/CSA, self harm, suicide, incest, police brutality) are prohibited to be discussed in detail, as well as excessive venting about personal issues not related to the self ship community

i try to be understanding of most people's f/o sources (lord knows mine are not free from discourse), i do ask that anyone who self ships from DSMP or any similar minecraft SMP channels and/or from the game clinical trial do not gush about those characters in the inbox! i also won't be reblogging posts with these characters. this is just a personal boundary, i hope you understand :)

non-detailed discussions of 18+ / nsft topics are ok, as long as you let me know at the beginning of the message via a content warning so i can always tag it properly!

just a reminder that i am doing this as a service to uplift people, so hate towards me or any other person is not tolerated!

also, i am just one guy, so please be patient! i have a full-time job, work freelance, and have several other projects on the side, among other things... i'm a busy little guy, so this is just a little thing i wanted to do for fun!

imagine / prompt rules:

i will not be writing any 18+ / nsft imagines or similar posts, nor will i be posting anything containing explicit content! this rule may change or have some kind of exception in the future (maybe some kind of 'after dark' events?), but for now-- SFW imagines only!

no imagines discussing the previously mentioned sensitive subjects in detail. things like "your f/o comforting you during a depressive episode" is fine, but something like "your f/o saving you from an attempted SA" or "your f/o stopping you from an attempt" is not.

promotion rules

i won't be reblogging from any accounts that break my dni or any posts that break any of the rules i've discussed earlier. i'll try my best to support everyone i can outside of that, so if you need any assistance, please feel free to shoot me a message with your post and as long as the rules are followed, i'll reblog / add it to the queue!

tags

#from the clouds: mod post / text post

#user / anon tag: self explanatory, for organization

#mailbox: any ask box submission

#gush: for talking about your f/os and how much you love them!

#advice column: for advice

#discussions: for talking about frustrating parts/struggles of being a POC in self shipping spaces

#adult dreaming: for nsft / 18+ / sensitive topic asks

#our favorite dreamers: for promoting art and self ship posts in the community

#wish on a star: for promoting mutual aid

#rec: for resources

#userboxes

#ask games

#reblog games

#templates

#polls

#present from the lounge: requests / event prizes

#dream a little dream: imagines/prompts written by me

#shared dream: imagines/prompts written by others

#slumber party: raffles / events

(divider credit)

[caitlinclarksbiceps]

The Alchemy

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 : Mom! Caitlin x Mom! Reader

𝗪𝗖 : 0.6k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 : None

a/n : This story is pretty short, so I'm thinking of creating a longer one for Kate. Feel free to send me any suggestions you might have! (This is based on this request)

The atmosphere is electric as the clock ticks down in the 4th quarter of the nail-biting basketball showdown between the Valkyries and the Mystics. The game has been a rollercoaster of emotions, with the score practically neck-and-neck, and each second feels like an eternity. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, their cheers and gasps filling the air as everyone desperately hopes for their team to pull off a win before the buzzer sounds.

In the thick of the action, we find Kate, a fierce player with determination etched on her face, deftly dribbling the ball like it's an extension of her hand. She can feel the pressure mounting, and her mind is racing as she weighs her options. Should she take the risky shot from beyond the arc? A three-pointer could either be the glory moment they need or a gamble that could lead to disaster if the opposing team swoops in and steals the ball away. The tension is visible, and Kate’s thoughts are jumbled with adrenaline and strategy.

Just then, from the sidelines, a tiny, cheerful voice cuts through the chaos. It’s Kate’s little daughter, decked out in an adorable mini version of her mom's jersey, bouncing with excitement. She’s clutching a glittery banner that she made all by herself—it's a jumbled masterpiece of colorful sparkles and bright letters spelling out “Go Mama Kate!” The sheer enthusiasm radiating from the toddler is infectious, and despite the intense atmosphere of the game, her small voice—though tiny—pierces through the noise like a captivating melody. “You can do it, mama!” she squeals, her eyes wide with admiration as she lifts the banner high above her head, showing off all the love and effort she poured into making it.

In that fleeting moment, Kate looks over and locks eyes with her daughter. A wave of warmth washes over her as the innocence and pure encouragement from that little cheerleader gives her the boost she needs. It’s as if time momentarily stands still while her heart swells with pride and motivation. The uncertainty that clouded her mind disappeared, replaced with a surge of confidence fueled by her daughter's unwavering support.

Taking a deep breath, Kate channels that newfound courage, focuses, and releases the ball. The moment feels epic, and everything around her fades away as she watches the ball soar through the air, glistening under the gym lights. The crowd holds its collective breath—will it go in? And just like magic, the ball swishes through the net, and the place erupts in cheers! Kate’s heart races as she realizes she not only took the shot but made it count. The smile on her daughter’s face is priceless as she celebrates, both in a world of her own and as part of this thrilling victory.

And without wasting a single second, she sprinted straight toward her little family. You and your daughter stood there, completely engulfed in the joy of the victory, celebrating together.

Kate scooped up your daughter and brought her into an exuberant embrace, showering both of you with enthusiastic kisses, laughter erupting like confetti around you. “You did it, mama!” your daughter squealed, her eyes sparkling with boundless pride as she wrapped her tiny arms around Kate’s neck, squeezing with all the strength her little body could muster. It was a heart-melting hug, the kind that makes you forget about everything else.

In that beautiful moment, Kate was bubbling with joy, feeling a warmth in her heart that no trophy could match. She looked at the two of you—her most cherished moments captured in the smiles and laughter that filled the air. There was a sense of pure contentment radiating from her; she wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Just being there with you and your daughter, immersed in love and celebration, felt like the ultimate victory. Honestly, in that blissful chaos, she realized that having you both by her side was truly all she could ever wish for.

[fishnapple]

How to love yourself better? A request letter from yourself. (Channelled message)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (Read this post : personal reading)

1. White

Dear myself,

If I could light a fire right now, I could, just to see if that fire can compete with my light, our light. And yet I got a feeling that fire will burn brighter than us, just because it had someone to start it. But ours didn't. We stowed our fire away, our light, for fear of burning the eyes of the world? Or for fear of being engulfed in the sea of darkness outside?

Have you ever seen a solar eclipse? People gathered to watch it, a brief moment of the sun being eaten. A brief moment. Imagine how the world would be if that brief moment turned into a very long moment, an eternal one? Panic, fear, despair. We have prolonged our solar eclipse for far too long, let the Sun has its shine. Does it sound arrogant when I talk of us as the Sun? No, you should get used to it. To be the light, the be seen. Even when the Sun seems like a solitary existence on the sky, it's not, so are we.

I wanted to tell you many beautiful words, give you praises and a pat on the head. Sounds embarrassing, right? We should learn to do that more often. And then practice it with other people too, we all need it sometimes, a lot of times.

Do you know what will happen when we turn the anger on ourselves? Somehow, it will ricochet inside us and finally shoot out at other people. It's painful, for us and for them. Let's hold it in our hands, watch it breathe and stroke it gently, find where does it hurt and tend to it, then poof- it's gone. You catch anger not by throwing it around and putting it in a cage but let it heal and fly away on its own.

I'm sure that sometimes you will find yourself drowning in life, in other people's water. Losing yourself could be your worst nightmare. But you will never lose me. It's odd how we're surrounded by people but feel like we are alone in our struggle. Where did all the people go? Are they also drowning like us? In a different sea? I hope that all the seas are connected to each other so we can all find others to swim with us.

Till the next sun rise, yourself.

2. Pink

Oh, how I want to just throw away everything and run barefoot on the sand. To lie face up, watching the clouds passing by for hours. To paint the wall bright pink and yellow (this combination might hurt your eyes if you stare too long, though). But we're not a kid anymore, or so people have told us, much like how we've told ourselves, convinced ourselves to behave.

It's fascinating to watch the process of our resistance to what is taught to us. Why do we resist it so much? It feels like being gravely offended. We have our principles, and now we have to listen to others telling us what is right? What is wrong? Let me tell you, in a small whisper, it's actually nice to listen. Just listening, not obeying. It will feel like swallowing a rock. Maybe we could learn from the chickens a little, metaphorically. They swallow small rocks to aid in healthy digestion. So let's swallow some of the hard lessons.

You always like to think in concrete fashion. You try to touch your thoughts with your own hands and knead them, mould them into whatever you want. And when you're dropped into a relationship with someone, you find yourself lost that ability. It's all a jumble mess. You find your hands reaching out, grasping for something. How about the other person? Are you afraid that you will lose yourself if you hold on to them? It's fine, you won't. It's just an outdated belief that you've held on for far too long.

As we were talking about swallowing, you may want to watch what you're swallowing into your stomach, literally. Watch what you eat! Don't make yourself, ourselves suffer by bringing unhealthy things into our body. We may want to live long, you know.

Hey, if you find a dance class is too embarrassing, how about we turn off the light and dance with each other in the middle of the night. Nobody will know, but we will feel good (I'm not trying to be a flirt with myself here)

Your best friend, love.

3. Red

Make me a cup of tea, please.

Let's have a chat, just us, lying around lazily, sipping our favourite tea, imagining some weird scenarios to entertain us, playing some puzzle.

I don't have much to tell you because we talk to each other every day and I know you always try to be better for us. I love you and I'm proud of you. Let's be vain and give ourselves applause every day. Make it a pinky promise.

A reminder when you're feeling sluggish and slow, we are going to exactly where we need to be. You are guided and protected.

Keep on shining and be the little kid that runs around in the rain.

I love it when you're running wild, letting yourself, me, free, splashing colours everywhere. I just want to grab other people's hands and drag them to the dance. I love it when you're laughing, loudly, even better when you jolted others around you, oh, their surprised look, priceless.

Just be sure to take care of your body. Don't over tasking them. Work hard, play hard, but rest hard also.

Have you been thinking about going on a trip somewhere? No? Then, allow me to make a gentle request. Let me put the idea in your head. Go on, go to wherever you're thinking, there might be a surprise waiting for us, *hint: it will make our heart flutter*.

Let's make it a ritual to go on a trip every year. Let's give our mind and spirit a makeover. Dust off any tangled mess we have and prepare a space for new things to come into. I'm so excited.

It's got me thinking lately, there's this small blinking light in the back of our mind, sometimes I can see it, sometimes I can't. I want to find out what it is. It's like a signal, trying to reach us, can you feel it? Sometimes, there's this odd feeling swelling inside that you can't put your hand on and naming it. I think if we can sit still, quiet, in the dark, we could see it better. It's guiding us. To where? I got a feeling that it's somewhere deep, somewhere with a treasure, waiting for us. If we can uncover it, it will be the greatest gift that the universe has ever given us. So let's go and find it.

Love, myself.

4. Green

I have some news for you. Brace yourself for changes. They're coming, very fast, very soon. Sit yourself tight. I don't want to give spoilers, but I guess we will receive some sudden confessions or offers. What you will do with those confessions is completely your choice. You don't have to feel guilty if you don't return their feelings, my dear.

I think the way the universe is sending us this kind of surprise is telling us to reconsider our 'single' thinking mode. We have stood alone, strong and independent for so long, I think it actually makes us a little too comfortable in being alone that the thought of getting into a connection with someone can be daunting. Will we lose our freedom? What if we are dependent on them? This time, the universe is saying: 'you and your worries will not make a good journey together, break up with those worries, here, I will throw in some opportunities for you to practice '.

If you don't want romantic connection at the moment, fine, different types of connections will come. No matter what, the universe is determined to get us involved with other people. It's for our own good. I have to admit that it's hard. It's not easy to change our way of thinking and believing. So surprises will be needed.

When opportunities come, the gate is opened, we just need to receive them. Walking through the gate will feel like walking out of a confinement into the wild, lively world outside. We will be propelled into a new path that we hadn't even considered in the past. Beware of what you said in the past about how you don't want to do something, you can't imagine yourself doing something. Well, guess what, we are going to do just that, joke on us.

So, in the meantime, even if you're resisting, it's fine. Just take care of yourself, of us. Obsessive worrying can sadden our body.

Something is going away, giving space to a new energy coming in. This new energy will be softer, more loving. The harshness of the past will go away soon. Trust me.

Love, Your companion.

[rottenpumpkin13]

How do A/G/S and Zack react upon getting arrested and being put in a holding cell for a day?

I'm counting out Cloud because he's the one, arresting them.

Angeal: The most well-behaved inmate in the entire precinct. Sits on the bench with his hands neatly folded in his lap like he's attending a PTA meeting. Cloud tells him he's under arrest and Angeal nods. He accepts it. Takes full moral responsibility. Asks if there's a broom he can use to sweep the cell while he’s there. Starts mentoring the other inmates 40 minutes in.

Inmate: I beat somebody up and now I'm here. Angeal: Hey man, I get that. Sometimes you're just pushed. Maybe there's this guy who's constantly quoting things you didn't ask for, leaving glitter in your laundry, reorganizing your kitchen alphabetically and by mood, and one day he throws your last protein bar into the garbage because it "clashed with the energy of the room" and suddenly you'RE STANDING OVER HIM WITH A SHOVEL, BUT YOU DON'T SWING THE SHOVEL BECAUSE HONOR EVEN THOUGH GENESIS REALLY DESERVES IT. *The inmate is alarmed and scoots away from Angeal* Angeal: Let's talk about channeling that energy into yoga!

Genesis: Offended. Personally. Existentially. Arrested? Him? A SOLDIER First? Cloud slaps on the cuffs and Genesis acts like he's being insulted. In the cell he refuses to sit. Builds a blanket fort out of the paper towels in protest. Tries to quote constitutional law he absolutely made up on the spot. Tries to incite a riot.

Genesis: Unhand me. You're crinkling the fabric. This is imported leather. Cloud: You set off fireworks in Sector 5. Genesis: I tested them! With flair. And children applauded. Cloud: The children were screaming.

Sephiroth: Absolutely does not understand the situation. Not in a "he's confused" way, but in a "clearly I'm being inconvenienced" way. Cloud slaps the cuffs on and Sephiroth just stares at him like Cloud has three heads. He cannot be getting arrested. This just doesn't compute. He just sits there, perfectly still, radiating murderous intent. Not because he's planning anything, he just naturally exudes that aura. The other inmates keep scooting further away until they're all crammed in the opposite corner. When Cloud comes to check on them, Sephiroth is still in the exact same position, having not moved a muscle in 6 hours.

Cloud: Sir, are you okay? Sephiroth: I'm composing my strongly-worded letter to HR in my head. Cloud: About being arrested? Sephiroth: About the fact that the cell's bench is 2.3 centimeters off-level. It's unacceptable.

Zack: Walks in willingly, helps Cloud cuff him, thanks him too like "Thanks man, I needed the break anyway. Think they'll let me keep my snacks?" Cloud questions why he brought snacks to his arrest. Zack explains it's to share with other people. Immediately befriends every other inmate, learns their names, backstories, favorite songs, blood types. Somehow organizes a push-up contest and group karaoke within the first 45 minutes. When Cloud comes to release him, nobody wants Zack to leave. One inmate hugs him. Another tries to hand him a hand-knitted beanie. Zack cries.

Zack: I'll never forget you guys. Stay strong. Don't forget leg day. Inmate, sobbing: YOU'RE THE HEART OF THIS CELLBLOCK, FAIR.

[im-not-a-ghost]

💌Someone wants to reach out!

Trigger warning : this reading mentions the passing of beings and other sensitive subjects. It is way heavier than I intended and I want to make sure that you know what you get yourself into. If you are underage, refrain from reading this post. If you know that you are sensitive to such subjects, refrain from reading as well, as a security measure.

As this is going to be a very detailed reading, I only put two options to choose from. To help you identify if you picked the right group, I will use some letters to try to get keywords as confirmation signs. In this reading, we are first going to try to identify who is trying to reach out to you. Then, we will find out what they wish to say to you. At the end of your reading, you will get a short advice from your guides. For this PAC I will be using letters, the White Numen tarot and the Threads of fate oracle, as well as some self made tissue box messages.

Group 1

Note from reader : As I was doing the last adjustments of your reading, I looked up at the sky through my window and looked at the clouds. That might be something the person we're talking about used to do a lot. In the shape of the clouds I saw many N and a few A. Those might be significant initials.

Letters : M F T I U A S N E M R S C V U Keywords : Mass, rain, Insta, star, rats, Cain, museum, amuse, Muse, cinema, mics, revue (French for magazine), fame, Reita, Sumire, saint, Cirus, Marcus, Mars, trains, Venus, arts, man, versus, Mantis, fumer (French for smoking), fast, cars, music, rants, Francis, frantic, France, matsuri (Japanese for festival), mister fun, musc, sister, fan, Ventura, Messi, faint, vain, veins, Traum (German for dream), stairs, Uranus, Saturn, Vermin, races, fire, Aries, Uranium, Taurus

Who is trying to reach out?

Creative soul | Unusual talent | Singer | Heterochromia | Earth angel | 5th house personal creativity I SERVE | 2 of pentacles, 7 of cups, page of swords, The Void, The Weaver, The Revolutionary

Okay I know this is going to sound crazy but I picked up on Moonbin. I can't explain why as I didn't know him very well. But I thought of him as soon as I wrote that channeled message you are gonna read in the next section. Aside from that, I can definitely tell that whoever is trying to reach out to you has passed on. This person was full of life and ideas, there were many things they wanted to say and do but they didn't get the chance to give life to all their dreams. They were young. Very young. This person wanted to fight the darkness and be a ray of hope in a world of doom. They had great ambitions and though they were battling their own demons, they truly believed in good and wanted to be good. They believed that they could weave their destiny as they wanted and that they could change the world if they tried real hard. They wanted to leave a positive impact around them. Heal the world. I'm also picking up on Michael Jackson energy. Maybe you or this person was a Michael Jackson fan. They may have been misunderstood by people around them when they were living. Maybe they were made fun of as a child because of their peculiar personality and talents. Maybe this person saw or did things that people didn't believe in or were afraid of. They were the first in their family to be like that. Maybe they were the first to be queer or the first that had a special talent that was deemed out of the ordinary. Could have been an artistic talent but also something related to the unseen. Maybe they could sense ghosts or they had downloads about specific events. They could have been the first to break from the family patterns and traditions. Like maybe in this person's family people were carpenters or automobile constructors from father to son and they chose to be an artist instead. I'm drawn to the snake on the Weaver card. Maybe snakes were important to this person. Like it is a symbol that represents them or this could be their chinese zodiac sign. Years of the snake are 1905, 1917, 1929, 1941, 1953, 1965, 1977, 1989, 2001 or 2013 and the next one will be 2025. But more than zodiac, I feel like they related to snakes in the sense that these animals are often feared and viewed as negative when they are neither good nor bad. They hold the potential for both and will only be "bad" if you threaten them. The reason I got drawn to the snake is because I know of an artist that passed on whose clothing brand logo was a snake. If any of you are familiar with The GazettE, I'm talking about Reita and his brand SNAKEDLOWS. Especially the one with the Ouroboros that was used in 2022. If you don't resonate with any of these artists, this could have been a family member, whether you knew them during their lifetime or not.

What they want to say to you :

"Dear love, I cannot stress enough how much I love you. You lit up my life in so many ways. I can never thank you enough for the support and love you have given me over the years. I owe so much to you. I was able to live a good life because of you. Please allow me to return the favor by being your n° 1 fan from now on <3 Fighting!"

Complementary info - The wildling, take risk, the pillar, connect to heart, The Void, 7 of pentacles, 7 of swords, page of cups rx, 3 of wands rx, King of pentacles

They are trapped in a state of limbo and they want to connect with you to be free. But they also want to help you set yourself free from patterns and obligations that you don't resonate with anymore. You are lying to yourself about the state you are in. You keep working and working without taking into account how you feel. Your life has become more of a routine and less of an adventure. You closed your heart to favor your mind. It's like you no longer marvel at life and try to run from your truth. They want to connect with you because they don't want you to do the same mistakes as them and ignore the signs that you are not okay. They want to help you ground yourself into an environment and a state of being that is healthy. Behind the Void hides Get curious. Behind the king of pentacles hides the knight of cups. They want you to be curious about love again. To open your heart again. To fight for your happiness because they don't want you to know the same fate as them. It's like they're saying "there are things I wish I knew sooner because if I'd known them maybe I wouldn't have had as hard of a time as I did". "If I'd known, I'd have told people how I felt. Maybe I would have been saved from my own sorrow. I don't want you to drown in your feelings like I did". There's a theme of mental health issues, suicidal tendencies and/or abuse from close circle like family members, friends. It's like this person in their life time chose to prioritize their job and the well being of others to the detriment of their own health and emotional security. They withheld information, pretended that they were fine when they were not. They hid behind their success and their career and most likely worked themselves until it was too much for them to handle.

Advice from your guides - 3 of swords, the world, The Pillar, Ask Body

Don't isolate yourself and remain in your anger or sadness. Speak up to somebody, reach out, open your heart to the world. There are other people who share your pain and doubts, who will be able to relate to what you go through and help you on your journey. Strengthen your body but also pay attention to the signs it is sending you. If you feel unusual pain, pay attention to it. Your third eye is opening. You are becoming more sensitive to spirit and other's emotions. So make sure you build strong enough walls to protect yourself from spiritual attacks. Ask your guides for help if you feel like you can't rely on anyone. Spend time in contemplation and prayer. The spirit of the cheetah is here to remind you that it's important to save your energy and only spend it for what matters. You need to find your center back instead of dispersing your energy in many projects at a time. "It is not unusual for the Cheetah Spirit Animal to come as a guide and support for people who have intense feelings. If you are empathetic, Cheetah reminds you it’s okay and healthy to cry. It releases all the excess input bumping around in your aura while cleansing and decreasing stress. Pause for a moment. Cry and then give yourself something wonderful afterward." You are asked to slow down and take time to let your emotions be expressed instead of repressing them. [Source : what is my spiritanimal]

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Group 2

Letters : D R A A E T U E E O O Q A U E Keywords : tour, route, area, Qatar, road, dare, tear, deer, dear, rate, root, tora (Japanese for tiger), rat, door, eau (French for water)

Who is trying to reach out?

Cancer I FEEL July 20 to August 10 | Model | Heterochromia | Healer | Musician | Dorky/quirky | 7th house Awareness of others I CONNECT | 10 th house Outerworld I ACHIEVE | 8 of pentacles, 6 of cups, King of swords, Self love, The Void, The Seeker rx

I get two possibilities for this group. Some of you could have a passed on ancestor / parent trying to contact you. For others, this person is living but you are not in contact with them at the moment. In both cases, I get this feeling of communication being blocked. It's as if you refuse to be in contact with them or you delay the moments when you are in contact with them. No matter the situation, you are taking refuge in your work as a way to avoid them. This person could be a soulmate and/or someone from your childhood. I get the feeling of a dynamic between someone that is quite old and someone that is quite young. Like a clash of generations. This is just one example between many but think of a parent and their child or a mentor and their protégé. This person could have had a higher status than yours. Aside from the careers mentioned by the tissue box messages I also sense law enforcement, military, politics. Positions of authority in general. It's like you've created a bubble around you and you stay in that bubble. No matter how hard this person is trying to reach out, their attempts are cut short by the distance between you. It's like you voluntarily keep them at bay. I feel a lot of sadness and worry coming from them. It feels like they're afraid that they can't help you. They can sense that something is troubling you and they wish to help you in any way they can but you refuse their help. They feel lonely and left out. It saddens them to see that you don't seem to trust them as much as you used to. They understand and recognize your need for space and independance, your passion and goals, your personal legend. But they also wish that you would let them be a part of it, let them in into your world and give them the opportunity to contribute to it even just a little. More than anything they want to reconnect with you and go back to lighter and innocent moments, where you share memories and try to build a future together. This doesn't have to be a romantic thing. Actually I feel more of a parental vibe than a romantic one. But of course it's going to vary depending on people so for some it could be a romantic partner that is/was very protective of you and kind of acted as a parental figure.

What they want to say to you :

"My child, you need not to cry. Our fate isn't one to worry about. I cry for all of you who are here on Earth, who do not know the taste of true love. I cry for my brothers and sisters who still have to fight the same battles, though I've fought them before. I wish I could heal the world. I wish I could heal you too. <3"

Complementary info - Underworld, Seeker rx, Paradox, The Revolutionary, knight of pentacles, 3 of pentacles, knight of pentacles, Judgement

They wish that instead of giving a lot of attention to others you would allow yourself to receive help and attention from them. That you would stop keeping them at bay and let them show you a new perspective, a different way of doing things. That you would let them pave the way a little more for you and shed light onto other paths, other skills, other people that could be helpful. They want to find a common ground with you and create something stable, fruitful. They want to team up with you in order to restore balance in your life. If some of you are facing legal matters or have been wronged, they want to help you get retribution. They wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself and stop fighting your battles alone. It's like they're saying "it doesn't have to be just you against the whole world, you don't even have to fight if you don't want to ; if you truly want it, let me stand by your side". For a lot of you this concerns your career or your studies. They wish that you would share your load with them. They wish that you would come to them for advice instead of trying to save them the worry because they're going to worry anyway so they might as well worry with you. They wish that you wouldn't be so harsh on them and judge them so harshly. You underestimate this person's ability to understand you. They wish to say "I've been there to and I know how you feel". They want to let you know that you are not alone, they fully support you in your decisions and choices. They're ready to fight for and with you. All they need is your command. They're saying "tell me what you need and I'll be getting it for you, tell me your fears and I'll send them away". Just one word from you and they will serve justice. There's also a theme about prayer, similarily to group 1. I heard "God is mighty and if you ask you shall receive". I know religion is a touchy subject so I don't want to force beliefs on anyone but if that is something you resonate with then they encourage you to keep going and turn to God for help.

Advice from your guides - Death, Versatility rx, page of cups, 4 of swords

They want you to take rest and do things that you enjoy. You may want to get your health checked. Put an end to connections and habits that are detrimental to you.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Do you want to read 670 words of Harry being a complete and utter sap? You do?? Well look no further, because that is exactly what I have written for @ginnystrophyhusband microfics, using the June prompt of Band.

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

He loves watching her dance. 

Hell, he just loves watching her full stop. 

She fizzes with life and energy, her smile wide and her eyes bright as she twirls in the centre of the floor. He leans back in his chair, tucked away at a table to one side of the marquee, making no attempt not to stare. He’s sure he must look like one of those ridiculous Muggle cartoon characters with literal heart eyes, but he doesn’t care.

Her smartly-suited partner reels her back in, taking her in his arms. Even from his vantage point on the opposite side of the dancefloor, Harry can see the way that she gazes up at him adoringly, before settling contentedly against his chest. She looks so happy. That’s all Harry wants these days—for her to be happy.

A moment later, the band changes tempo and the spell is broken. Ginny takes half a pace back and rises on her tiptoes to say something into her partner’s ear. He smiles indulgently and nods, kisses her on the cheek and releases her. Then she’s striding across the floor, straight to where Harry’s sitting. Her long white dress billows around her as she walks, caressing her with every step and shrouding her feet. She could be floating across the floor on a cloud of satin. Given the beaming smile on her face, maybe she is. 

Merlin, but she looks so beautiful. 

According to Hermione, every bride does, but he’s sure none of them has ever looked quite as radiant as her. She’s practically glowing, in the soft light of the enchanted candles that hover overhead.

Now she’s a bit closer, he can read other emotions too. There’s determination in the set of her chin and mischief swirling in those molten chocolate eyes. He knows what she wants, and his heart plummets. 

As soon as she’s within earshot, she confirms his worst fears. “You didn’t think you were going to get away with not dancing with me, did you?” 

“I already danced with you,” he points out. 

“That doesn’t count,” she dismisses him.

“How does it not count?” he protests. “Literally everyone was watching.”

“Exactly! That was our First Dance,” she explains, and he can hear the capital letters. “That dance is for everyone else. This is just for us.”

“You sure your dad won’t take you for another spin?” he asks, nodding to where Arthur is now chatting to Bill, glass of champagne in hand. “He’s a much better dancer than me.”

“Harry James Potter—are you telling me you don’t want to dance with your wife?” she pouts, but her eyes are still sparkling, giving her away.

He pulls a face, because he is no sort of dancer, something of which they are both painfully aware. “I’m more concerned about seriously injuring her to be honest.”

She laughs. It’s his favourite sound in the world. “Percy’s girlfriend’s a Healer, so I’m sure it will be fine.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, red like fire, like the sunset, like the blood he’d spill for her in a heartbeat. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I know.” And he does. She’s stronger and braver than anyone he knows. He adores her.

“Come on, Potter—channel that inner Gryffindor and dance with me?” she asks, offering her hand. 

He agrees. Of course he agrees. He doesn’t think he could ever refuse her anything, his beautiful wife of—he checks his watch—six hours. Best six hours of his life, he reckons. 

The ring on his left hand feels heavy and alien as she leads him to the centre of the floor, but also right, like it belongs there. He tugs her back against him and gathers her into his arms, and that feels right as well. Like she belongs there.

Everything else seems to fade away; the band, the music, the guests. Everything but her and the feeling of her, the feeling of them.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. He doesn’t think he ever will.

[xuexing-lumi]

☆꧁🌙 Love Life & Soulmates꧂☆

🪐 WHO’S SECRETLY CRUSHING ON THE BTS MEMBERS?

╰─ aesthetic tarot pick • softcoded by Lumi ✧

“when the spotlight fades, who haunts their heart?”

🌙 You are now reading from the altar of Lumi. This is a channeled reading. The question: who is secretly yearning for each BTS member? (🃏 3-card pull • general energy • romantic undertones • ethereal insight)

✦ the spread

Card i – their energy

Card ii – their secret feelings

Card iii – what they’d say if they could

--X--

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON JIN?

Card I – The Queen of Pentacles

A grounded, nurturing admirer with a heart full of care and warmth. This person is likely mature or maternal in vibe, someone who radiates calm and stability. She might be a chef, artist, or someone who nurtures others professionally or emotionally. Her affection is practical but deep, expressing through little acts of kindness rather than words.

Card II – The Knight of Cups

A hopeless romantic behind the scenes. She’s drawn to Jin’s gentle nature and beauty, cherishing him in quiet ways. She dreams of tender moments but keeps her feelings wrapped in poetic mystery, expressing love through art, letters, or music. She may be hesitant to confess but holds him in her heart like a secret treasure.

Card III – The Empress (Reversed)

Despite her deep love, she battles feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt. She fears she’s “not enough” for someone as radiant as Jin, which keeps her silent. Still, her nurturing spirit shines in private, and she wishes to care for him in all ways, hoping someday he’ll see the softness she carries.

Channeled Whisper: “He deserves a softness the world rarely gives him — and I’m here, quietly offering it from afar.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON YOONGI (SUGA)?

Card I – The Hermit

A soul wrapped in quiet depth and introspection. This admirer might be a writer, poet, or artist — someone who resonates with Yoongi’s solitude and complexity. She understands pain and silence, often retreating inward but burning with unspoken admiration.

Card II – The Star

She sees Yoongi as a beacon of hope and healing, believing deeply in his power to inspire and save. Her feelings are hopeful, spiritual, and filled with reverence. She prays for his happiness and dreams that one day their souls might align.

Card III – Page of Swords (Reversed)

Obsessive curiosity clouds her feelings. She pores over lyrics, interviews, and snippets, searching for hidden meanings and secret messages meant only for her. At times, this fixation causes anxiety and longing, but it’s fueled by pure devotion.

Channeled Whisper: “His silence speaks louder than any poem I’ve ever dared to write.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON HOSEOK (J-HOPE)?

Card I – The Sun

A radiant soul who shines with warmth and joy, this admirer is vibrant and full of life. She might be a dancer, artist, or someone whose presence uplifts others effortlessly. Her energy is bright, and she feels inspired just by knowing Hoseok exists.

Card II – Ace of Wands

A spark ignited deep within her chest — this crush is fresh, fiery, and full of potential. She feels awakened and empowered by his light, as if he’s a muse stirring her creative fire. There’s excitement and possibility in her longing.

Card III – Seven of Pentacles

Patient and hopeful, she’s been nurturing her feelings quietly, waiting for signs, and willing to invest time and energy in a dream that feels distant. She imagines a future where her devotion might one day be noticed and cherished.

Channeled Whisper: “He doesn’t know it, but he taught me how to bloom from the darkest soil.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON NAMJOON (RM)?

Card I – The Hierophant

A seeker of knowledge, tradition, and spiritual truth admires Namjoon’s wisdom. This admirer is scholarly, poetic, or deeply philosophical — someone who respects his mind and soul guidance. They see him as a teacher and a kindred spirit.

Card II – Temperance

Her connection to him feels balanced, harmonious, and fated — like two halves of a cosmic equation reunited. She believes they have met in past lives and that her love is patient, healing, and transformative.

Card III – Nine of Swords

Despite her deep feelings, anxiety and fear of invisibility haunt her. She overthinks every word and gesture, wondering if she’s simply another shadow in his vast world. Still, she holds onto hope, afraid to let go.

Channeled Whisper: “His words saved me — even though he will never know.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON JIMIN?

Card I – The High Priestess

A mysterious, intuitive soul adores Jimin from the shadows. She is likely spiritual, perhaps practicing tarot or moon rituals. Her feelings are deep, secret, and cloaked in magic and longing.

Card II – Page of Cups (Reversed)

She struggles with shyness and insecurity. She has youthful, pure love but lacks the courage to express it openly. Her emotions swirl in silence, hoping Jimin might sense her presence in dreams or quiet moments.

Card III – Two of Pentacles

Torn between hope and fear, she balances her longing with the practicalities of life. She’s afraid of rejection but can’t stop herself from holding onto fantasies of being noticed by him.

Channeled Whisper: “He feels like a poem I wrote too young to understand, yet I keep reading.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON TAEHYUNG (V)?

Card I – Knight of Pentacles

A stylish, consistent admirer watches quietly from a distance. She is reliable, thoughtful, and might express love through small gifts or supportive messages online. Her feelings are steady, even if unspoken.

Card II – The Lovers

A soulful, cosmic connection pulses beneath the surface. She feels destined, believing their energies are intertwined in a profound way, even if their paths haven’t crossed.

Card III – Five of Swords

Jealousy and insecurity lurk in her heart as she sees other fans competing for his attention. She worries she will never be chosen but holds onto silent devotion, promising to love him quietly forever.

Channeled Whisper: “Even if he chooses another, my heart will whisper his name always.”

💌 WHO'S CRUSHING ON JUNGKOOK?

Card I – Strength

A powerful, brave admirer is drawn to Jungkook’s energy. She might be athletic, a healer, or someone who fights her own battles with quiet courage. She admires his resilience and passion.

Card II – Ten of Cups

She envisions a complete, joyful future with him — love, family, and happiness. Her feelings are hopeful and earnest, dreaming of shared warmth and home.

Card III – Four of Cups

Despite her dreams, she feels unseen and sometimes rejected, uncertain if Jungkook could ever notice someone like her. She retreats into daydreams but struggles with doubt.

Channeled Whisper: “I don’t need to be chosen; just knowing I exist in his world is enough.”

✦ do you want a personal reading like this?

🌸 I offer:

Celebrity Tarot Reads (K-Pop, BTS, Actors)

SP Manifestation Guidance

Future Love + Shadow Work Spreads

Moon-Coded Letter from Your Twin Flame

Channeled Audio Readings + PDF Summaries ✧ First reading? Ask for a free pull!

—

📩 DMs Open: @xuexing-lumi Tumblr inbox

🖤 closing words from Lumi

“Hearts don’t need stages to perform. Love will find a way to ache in private. If you're longing for someone faraway — spiritually or physically — let me hold the light with you.” — Lumi, the moon’s bride

—

Have a good bam!

(ignore):

[skyholly]

blood runs thicker than water

Summary:

"She often found herself staring into the painting in the salon. It almost felt like looking into a mirror."

Guinevere's reflection holds more than her own face, and it threatens to reveal Moiraine and Siuan's most preciously kept secret.

moiraine/siuan

rand/ofc

Chapter 1, Book I: Prologue

Ever since she was a young girl, Guinevere often found herself staring into the painting in the salon. It almost felt like looking into a mirror. The same brown hair, if anything a shade darker than her own, the same blue eyes, the same unreadable expression. She was fortunate, her mother always told her, that she had taken after her aunt, for she had always been the more beautiful of the two sisters. But Guinevere had no way of knowing if that was true, since she had seen Moiraine once in her nineteen years of life. To her, the woman in the portrait was no one but a stranger who shared her face. 

The only thing she held of her aunt was a small, sapphire stone that the woman had sent to Cairhien as a gift to her the day she was born. Guinevere had once treasured it; she used to think of it as a symbol of her aunt’s affection, but it lay in a drawer now, forgotten, gathering dust like the memories she held of Moiraine.

Guinevere was twelve years of age when her parents made the decision of sending her to Tár Valon, after years of showing channelling abilities. She had been so nervous about starting her training in the White Tower; about leaving everything familiar—the stone streets of Cairhien, the warmth of her brother’s teasing smile, her mother’s tender embrace, her father’s gentle teachings.

“Do not worry sister,” her older brother, Barthanes, had told her in an attempt to calm her down. He had ruffled her hair in that brotherly way he always did when trying to lighten her mood. “Aunt Moiraine will be there. She will surely take good care of you.” 

Had Guinevere been any older, she would’ve been wise enough to doubt of such words, since her brother often found his judgement clouded by the love he held for a once present, loving aunt that was no more; but little naive Guinevere had grown up hearing his stories about their valiant, funny, immensely powerful aunt, so she hoped that the unacquainted and mysterious figure she’d seen only in paintings that resembled her so much would become her guardian during the years she spent within the Shining Walls. To say she was disappointed would be an understatement.

Moiraine never set foot in the Tower during the years Guinevere spent training, while she clung to the little blue stone that reminded her she once had cared for her. Guinevere knew the Blues spent significant amounts of time outside the Tower, gathering information for their Ajah, strengthening their webs, but she didn’t know of another Aes Sedai who walked the halls so infrequently as her aunt, and she never built up enough courage to ask her superiors about her. 

Maybe she has a very important task. Maybe she is the most important sister of the Blue Ajah. Maybe she’s so far away her letters can’t possibly reach the Tower, maybe, just maybe— it quickly became a habit for the girl to rack her mind with conjectures on why Moiraine kept herself so out of reach all the time. 

It was by chance one day she discovered that the older woman had as a matter of fact visited the Tower every couple of years, but had simply never bothered to look for her, to meet her. That revelation hurt her deeply, shattering what little remained of her faith in Moiraine. She could have cried, screamed, let the sorrow and anger consume her. But instead, Guinevere did what she had learned to do best. She buried the hurt, locked it away deep inside, and taught herself to match her aunt’s indifference. She put any thoughts of Moiraine aside, and focused on her studies at the White Tower. 

It soon became apparent she wasn’t as powerful as she was skillful and efficient, tremendously so, with an almost unmatched Talent for Healing, which allowed her to become a full Aes Sedai in under six years. By the time it came to choosing her Ajah, Moiraine was little more than a distant memory. The excitement of becoming an Aes Sedai had dulled, replaced by the simple desire to return home, where her real family awaited. 

She didn’t even feel upset at her aunt failing to show up when she predictably chose Yellow as the colour of her shawl, she expected it as much, for she had abandoned the idea of meeting her a long time ago. She spoke with the leader of her Ajah, the First Weaver, and due to her young age she was permitted to spend half the year pursuing her studies in Tár Valon and the other half in Cairhien, helping out in the Sanitarium, aiding anyone in need. 

During her first year as an Aes Sedai, Guinevere found a fragile contentment. She enjoyed the challenge of learning, studying the intricate weaves of Healing under the careful guidance of her superiors. But no matter how fulfilling her studies were, the thought of returning to the White Tower always left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Every time she stepped within those Shining Walls, she could feel all the eyes on her—the stares, the whispers. They said she looked like her aunt. Perhaps too much like her aunt. Aes Sedai would glance at her twice, their gazes lingering just a bit too long, as if they couldn’t quite reconcile the sight of a young woman wearing a Yellow shawl with the ghost of a Blue they had once known. Guinevere soon started to believe that resembling her was more of a curse than a blessing, as her mother had wanted her to believe. She didn’t want anything to do with that woman.

Guinevere kept on staring deeply into the portrait, all of her bags scattered at her feet, when her mother walked into the room. The girl didn’t even hear the older woman entering the room, entranced as she was. She wasn’t simply staring at it in complete awe, as she used to do before becoming a Novice; she rather looked at it with resentment, and a hint of hidden pain as well. 

“The carriage is ready, darling.” Anvaere announced, stilling at the sight of the girl, who was aimlessly gazing at the painting in the wall. She should’ve gotten rid of that portrait long ago; it was too big a distraction, too big a risk for Guinevere. She should’ve thrown it away the moment the young girl started asking questions she couldn’t answer. Who is she? Why does she look so much like me? Where did she go? But Anvaere hadn’t been able to bring herself to throw it away. Not then, not now. 

Anvaere stepped closer, her voice gentler this time. “Guinevere?”

“I’ll be right there, mother.” Guinevere replied. She gave the portrait one last glance, before tearing her gaze away, and smiled at the woman in front of her, while Johnas picked up her bags and carried them outside. “I will miss you terribly,” she sighed, “even if it’s only for a little while.” Guinevere leaned into Anvaere, her arms covered in pale blue fabric reaching to embrace her. “Tell Barthanes I'll miss him too. Dearly.”

Anvaere pulled her daughter towards her, wrapping her in a warm, tender hug. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Guinevere’s temple, “I’ll miss you too, more than you know.” She held her at arm’s length then, her hands resting gently on Guinevere’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll write regularly, alright?”

Guinevere rolled her eyes in a playful manner, a light laugh slipping from her lips. “Oh, I'll send you so many letters, you’ll be begging me to stop,” she teased, offering her mother a bright smile. “You'll have to hire someone just to read them all.”

Anvaere laughed, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I hope you do. I want to hear about everything—the little things, especially. How your days are, who you meet, what you learn... all of it.” There was a slight quiver in her voice, as if she knew just how much those little things would mean in the quiet of Guinevere’s absence.

Guinevere leaned in, gently pressing her forehead against her mother’s. “You’ll be the first to know, I promise.”

Anvaere nodded, swallowing down a gulp. “That’s my girl,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from Guinevere’s face. “Now go, before I find a reason to keep you here forever.”

Guinevere gave her mother one last squeeze, holding on just long enough to memorise the warmth of her embrace before stepping back. As she climbed into the carriage, she hesitated, turning to look at Anvaere one more time.“I love you,” she said as the door closed, her voice soft.

“And I love you, always,” Anvaere replied, watching the carriage pull away, her hand raised in a gentle wave until it disappeared from view.

Good weather and clear roads made for a swift and quiet travel and Guinevere found herself back in Tár Valon quicker than she would’ve imagined. There she was received by Rowena, her best friend and an Aes Sedai from the Green Ajah, upon her arrival. Rowena was a tall, charming girl with a carefree personality and eyes that exuded both braveness and kindness, and, most importantly, she was her same very young age. Some Aes Sedai found it strange, almost scandalous, that they were so close despite belonging to different Ajahs. However, as the two youngest trainees in the Tower, they had formed a bond strong enough to disregard the institution’s usual principles.

“Winnie!” The red haired girl yelled, as she threw herself towards her, arms wide and welcoming. Guinevere instantly stiffened at her touch, before easing into her embrace. “Hi Lowie,” she smiled back, “it has been far too long since we last saw each other. I’ve missed you.” She whined, rubbing her shoulders. 

“You have no idea what you’ve missed,” Rowena gasped, her voice tinged with dramatic flair as she grabbed one of Guinevere’s bags, hoisting it over her shoulder with ease.

Guinevere held back a small smile as she followed the girl into her abandoned chambers. She didn’t really care much for the Tower’s politics and mostly preferred to focus on her duties and studies, but she knew how much her friend loved to gossip. “Then please , fill me in,” she said with a grin, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her down onto the bed. A cloud of dust rose around them as they landed.

Rowena coughed dramatically, waving her hand through the air. “Burn me, you really need to come here more often.” She then chuckled, as the two of them bursted into silly giggles. 

With Lowie by her side and a thousand tasks a day to get done, Guinevere eased back into her usual routine, and tiresome days blurred into tedious weeks, which stretched into monotonous months. Everything was alright. That was until one drowsy afternoon, when Lowie suddenly burst into her room, her red hair falling wildly around her flushed face, her eyes wide as plates. She stood there for a moment, breathless, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. 

“What is it?” Guinevere asked, her voice laced with wariness. She had been resting, knowing a long shift awaited her in the infirmary come nightfall. But at the sight of the girl, her body tensed. “Rowena?” She further inquired, her voice laced with cautiousness. 

The young girl hesitated for a moment, anxiously fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. “They’re bringing the False Dragon into the city…” she finally replied, in a small voice. 

Guinevere held back a bitter smile. “And?” She asked with dry indifference, about to get mad at her friend for disturbing her with such nonsense. False Dragons came and went, after all. What did it matter?

Lowie slowly walked towards her, and sat alongside her in the bed, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Gwen…” she began, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “Moiraine is here, she’s been called for an audience in the Hall.” 

Guinevere’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of her aunt, but she kept her expression unmoved, lest that show on her face. “I’ve too much to concern myself with to spare any thought for such things, Rowena,” she remarked, shrugging her shoulders, with a masked pinch of resentment in her voice. The Light knew she had more important duties to attend to than some mad man and a woman she’s never met, “besides,” she added coolly, “I’ve a full night of work ahead at the infirmary. I’ve no time for such distractions.”

Rowena regarded her friend in silence, well acquainted with the way Guinevere chose indifference as her preferred shield against pain, and so she knew better than to press the matter. The few times they had held discussions about Moiraine, it had always ended poorly. The young girl let out a discouraged sigh, and stood up from the bed. 

“Then at least allow me to accompany you to the infirmary,” Lowie begged, with a sly smile, taking Guinevere by her hand, hurriedly changing the subject, “perhaps we might catch a glimpse of Logain on our way.” 

Guinevere stared stiffly at her for a moment, before letting her arms fall in resignation. “Fine,” she sighed, reluctantly standing up and slipping into a simple yellow gown and well—worn shoes that had served her many long shifts. “I suppose we can try.” She braided her hair into an effortless half up do; crossing the room, she opened her small jewellery box, her fingers pausing as they brushed against the sapphire stone within. The blue gem, dulled by years of neglect, gleamed faintly beneath the dust. For a moment, her jaw tightened, bitterness rising at the sight of it. She closed the box, with a sharp breath, slipping her yellow ring onto her finger as she turned away. 

“I doubt we’ll so much as catch a glimpse of him,” Guinevere said with a dry smile, “the streets ought to be crammed.” Yet her protests fell on deaf ears, as Rowena seized her hand and led her eagerly from the Tower, into the bustling streets of the city.

Guinevere had been witness to the city in frenzies before, whether it was due to the Daughter—Heir visiting the tower or Queen Morgase royal processions, but never had she seen the city bustling the way it did that day. Every alley was packed with people, city folk and countrymen alike, who had travelled days and nights to at least get a glimpse of the False Dragon. There were merchants and tradesmen everywhere, taking advantage of the situation. Guinevere moved through the chaos with practised ease, but her patience wore thin as traders called out to her from every direction, thrusting trinkets and charms into her path. She gently refused the first two, but by the third, her polite smile had hardened into a tight line.

The two girls started pushing themselves toward the edge of the crowds so Lowie could get a good look at the infamous man. Just as they neared a clearer view, a thunderous roar erupted from the far end of the street, spreading like wildfire through the mass of people, and Guinevere felt Lowie’s grip slip from her hand as the crowd pushed and jostled around them “Winnie, there he is!” Rowena squealed, but her voice got lost in a chorus of screams. 

Guinevere tried tiptoeing over the crowd, desperately searching for her friend’s bright red hair amidst the sea of bodies, but something else entirely caught her attention. As Guinevere searched for Rowena, her gaze caught on two boys precariously perched on the ledge of a second—story window in a building overlooking the main street, smiling and laughing at all the commotion below them. They were both around her age, one with dark curls and the other with fiery ones; there was nothing particularly remarkable about either of them at first glance, but something about the red—haired boy held her attention. He was tall, lean of build, and wore a simple blue shirt, but it was the sword at his hip that caught her eye. That’s uncommon, Guinevere thought. She had heard stories about such swords, whispered tales of skill and honour, but had never seen one in person. If that sword truly belonged to him, then he must have done something extraordinary to earn it. Then again, she thought with a wry smile, perhaps he had simply stolen it. No one with any sense would flaunt a prize like that so openly, not unless they wished to invite trouble. The boy lowered his gaze to scan the streets, his lips curved into a charming, almost teasing, smile. And then, without warning, his eyes locked with hers. For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow, the noise of the crowd fading into the background.

Guinevere felt the air catch in her throat, and time seemed to stand still. Those blue eyes, the curve of his smile, the arch of his nose. She had never laid eyes on this boy before, yet in some inexplicable way, it felt as though she had known him her entire life, impossible as it was, like a memory from a dream she had never dreamt. She couldn’t draw her gaze away from him, hard as she tried, and neither could he; for a fleeting moment, she had the wild thought that he might leap down from the ledge, as if compelled to close the distance that stretched between them. The very thought of it sent a flutter through her stomach, and she felt a strange, unfamiliar pull that made her want to push through the crowd, to reach him. A shiver ran down her spine, and panic flickered in her chest. What am I doing? The question rang in her mind as she turned on her heel, hurriedly pushing her way through the crowd towards the infirmary, her heart racing, while trying not to dwell on how the face of a stranger could somehow be so hauntingly familiar to her.

The place was immersed in chaos, there were a dozen different patients in need of care, and very few yellow sisters to aid them. “Guinevere, there you are,” she was immediately spotted by a fellow sister, named Myria, a quiet, reserved, and to the point kind of woman. “There are two who need your help, they’re in the room at the back, and be discreet about it. Come back as soon as you’re done with them, we’re expecting a particularly busy night. It’s a matter of time before all this celebration turns into trouble.” She sighed, before leaving on a haste with a scolding frown on her face. 

“Discreet?” Guinevere thought, perplexed, though her expression remained neutral. “I will, sister.” She hurried to reply, and walked towards the essentially hidden room across a series of sinuous hallways. The room was ample, large enough to fit three gurneys side by side if needed. Its ceilings were high and illuminated by rays of sunshine peeking through numerous tall windows. Every corner was alive with greenery—an array of plants, each chosen for their unique healing properties; rows of cabinets stretched almost endlessly along its walls, filled with every remedy and tincture a Healer could ever require. That room was by far Guinevere’s favourite in the whole infirmary.

Guinevere opened the door softly, her gaze falling instantly upon the pair inside. One glance was enough to understand why discretion was required. It was obvious to anyone’s eye that the two kids weren’t from Tár Valon, and with just a quick peek at their clothes, their wounds, she could tell they had come across some unusual kind of trouble. 

The girl, whom she guessed was approximately her own age, had nought more than bruises and some cuts around her face. She was slightly taller than her, with warm brown skin, dark hair, and the most luminous eyes, though pallid with worry. Guinevere sensed something within her, but couldn’t understand what exactly. The boy, by contrast, was unusually tall and strongly built, with dark curls framing his face. He lay sprawled on the cot, barely conscious, his back marred by deep, vicious lacerations.

“Hello, my name is Guinevere,” she introduced herself, hastily making her way towards them, “I’ll be healing you both today. Could you tell me what happened?” She asked the girl, as she pointed with her head towards the boy. 

“I’m Egwene,” the girl said, her voice soft yet firm, “and this is Perrin. We had an unfortunate… encounter with some Whitecloaks I’m afraid.” 

“I see.” Guinevere nodded, allowing herself to scan Egwene’s face one more time before turning her attention towards the man named Perrin, who had more urgent wounds to attend to. 

She kneeled beside the cot and delicately ran her fingers along his back, feeling the extent of the mangling and tearing of his skin. It was the work of a blade that had caused such abrasions. Guinevere closed her eyes and calmly filled her lungs with air. She moved her hands in complex motions, pulling on intricate, twisting weaves that soon covered his body and began healing his injuries. The young man started grunting, his whole body shaking, as Healing could be a painful experience at times. 

Sensing his distress, Guinevere gently took his arm, her touch light but firm. Closing her eyes once more, she focused on his heart, slowing its rhythm, calming his body until he drifted into a peaceful, painless slumber. It was a Talent she possessed, a rare gift, to ease the pain of Healing with such precision.

“What did you do?!” Egwene asked, worried about her friend, and yet with a begrudging hint of curiosity in her voice, looking at her hands as if she were trying to decipher which particular movements had pulled on such weaves.

“I merely calmed him down.” Guinevere replied, with a sober expression on her face. Using such Talent took a great deal of focus and serenity, for the consequences of using it hastily could have mortal consequences. “He’ll recover,” she assured, her eyes drifting over his now-healed back. “But he’ll need rest and plenty of food when he wakes. Healing draws on a great deal of strength and energy.”

“Thank you,” Egwene sighed, taking him by the hand, as if checking he was indeed away from harm, “I was so preoccupied.” 

“I can imagine,” Guinevere said, finally drawing her attention towards her. There it was again, something so peculiar about the girl, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Now, let me tend to those bruises,” she said, tenderly brushing her fingers against the bruises on her face. “They’re not as grave, but it’s best they heal quickly.” 

Egwene hesitated, studying Guinevere with cautious eyes before she slowly nodded, blinking back tears. Light burn those Whitecloaks , Guinevere thought. Attacking her sisters was already unforgivable, but torturing townspeople as well?  And to do it all under the banner of righteousness, as though their cruelty were sanctioned by the Light? They are as far from the Light’s path as any could be . 

Guinevere pursed her lips, and pulled on some simpler weaves to heal her. And then it became obvious. The way Egwene’s body eased into the One Power, how easily she embraced her Healing, how fast her bruising disappeared, how painless it seemed for her. Egwene was no regular townswoman. 

“You can channel,” Guinevere suddenly found herself mumbling in dismay under her breath. “Why are you here? Who brought you two here?” She asked, knowing it was incautious of her, and that she was neglecting direct orders, but she didn’t seem able to get a hold of her tongue. 

Egwene shifted uncomfortably in her place, torn between deciding whether to trust her or not. After a moment of hesitation, she finally leaned towards the first option. “We’re looking for Moiraine.” She said with determination, as if talking about an old friend, before regaining awareness of who she was talking to. “T—that is, Moiraine Sedai, of course. Is she here, in the Tower?” 

Had Guinevere felt surprised by the mention of the older Aes Sedai, she didn’t let it show on her face. Of course I was asked to be discreet, they’re Moiraine’s . Despite herself, curiosity began to gnaw at her—a curiosity she hadn’t indulged in years, back when she tried to make sense of her aunt’s mysterious absence. Is this what she’s been doing this whole time? Recruiting girls with the ability to channel? But that wouldn’t explain the boy laying beside her, or the fact that she hadn’t brought any girl in the years Guinevere spent training. “How is it that you know Moiraine?” She inquired, raising an eyebrow, whilst adopting a guarded stance. 

“We travelled all the way here with her,” Egwene was quick to answer, fearing Guinevere didn’t believe their association with the elusive Aes Sedai, “she sought us out. We got separated on the way here, but if Moiraine is here she should be expecting us, and rather keenly I believe. If there’s a way for you to let her know we are here, I’d really appreciate it.” She further explained, anxiously. 

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, turning to face the door. Was that bitterness showing on her face? Jealousy? she wondered. “You’ll both be fine,” she said, coldly looking over her shoulder, “other sisters should come up to check on you regularly. Make sure to eat, you’ll find lots of food in the cabinet to your left.” 

“T—thank you.” Egwene said, but Guinevere was halfway through the door already. 

She spent the rest of her shift getting on with her tasks as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, ignoring the dull pain on her chest, and the feeling of nausea on her stomach.

That night, the nightmare visited her once again in her sleep.

Guinevere rarely dreamt, but whenever she did, it was always the same nightmare, haunting her since she could remember: three children screaming in agony, running away from an ominous looking man whose face she could never make out, and she couldn’t save them. In the dream, they were her own children somehow, calling for her, their mother, but Guinevere could never save them. Never.

She woke up with a scream stuck in her throat, the children’s screeches still ringing in her ears, heart pounding as if it were about to break through her chest, and immediately brought a hand to her forehead, in an almost clinical motion. “No fever,” she thought, “just a nightmare.” Guinevere leaned down towards her pillow once again, closing her eyes and trying to steady her breathing as a chill ran down her spine from her sweat—soaked clothes. “Just a nightmare.”  She repeated, this time aloud, wishing she had Moiraine’s little music box by her side. Guinevere had discovered it as a child while furtively rummaging through her aunt’s room, and soon enough found that its soft, gentle music helped calm her down after one of the nightmares; but she was too afraid to bring it to her to the Tower, taking it out of Cairhien. She couldn’t risk losing it, especially since it didn’t even belong to her.

Those nightmares were the reason she eluded sleep so much, often asking Rowena to ease her exhaustion with the One Power, a temporary fix that allowed her to carry on with her duties, though the weariness always returned. 

Guinevere glanced up at the window, wincing slightly at the pale ray of sunshine that peeked through the glass, and decided that if she wouldn’t fall back asleep, she might as well get ready for the day. She put on some simple clothes, combed her hair into a practical bun, and left her room, making her way towards the infirmary. She quietly walked across the corridor that led into the Hall of the Tower, and by the amount of both Aes Sedai and Warders that were anxiously waiting just outside its enormous door she could only assume Logain’s trial was taking place inside. Guinevere came to a halt, weighing whether to stay for the outcome or leave, but the unwavering stare of one of the Warders on her made her lean towards the latter. 

He was a tall, brooding man, holding a guarded stance, with his long hair pulled away from his face, held back by a leather headband. His deep brown eyes and stoic face were fixed on her, which made her feel unnerved. She subtly glanced at his swords, at his clothes, at his almost royal demeanour he so obviously tried to hide, and the pieces began to fall together. There was only one warder in the world who could master such a stance; he who could claim the title of Lord of the Seven Towers, the uncrowned king of Malkier. 

Al’Lan Mandragoran. He was Moiraine’s Warder. Which meant her aunt was most probably in there as well. Of course. Guinevere had almost forgotten her aunt had been called for an audience with the Amyrlin. Guinevere started fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, anxiously picking on her fingernails; the thought of Moiraine being so close, yet still so distant, gnawed at her. 

The doors suddenly bursted open, and a figure dressed in royal blue came rushing out of them. Guinevere didn’t need to look twice to know who it was, she felt it, like a weave of electric, yet gentle power reaching her side. Moiraine . She was torn between turning around and forcing her eyesight steady, finally looking at her, or running as far as she could from her. Then, a second gaze—heavier, laden with meaning—landed upon her, freezing her in place. She flinched instinctively, retreating a step, then another. Panic overtook her. Without a word, she turned and hurried away, her feet carrying her blindly through the crowded streets, absentmindedly bumping against random citizens on her way towards the infirmary. 

Guinevere spent the next two nights avoiding sleep, taking every available shift at the infirmary, day and night. It wasn’t until the third day, exhausted and overwhelmed, that she returned to the Tower. And by then, her aunt had vanished once again.

“She’s been exiled,” Rowena explained to her, theatrically placing a hand over her heart, as Guinevere plummeted into bed, too weary to react. “It was dreadful,” Rowena continued. “I wasn’t inside the Hall, but even in the corridor, we were all forced to turn our backs on her. I doubt she’ll ever be allowed to return.”

“Mmh.” Guinevere hummed, forcing her eyes shut. She couldn’t quite manage to remain indifferent, but she tried. One more month, and you can get home. One month. And you can reunite with your family, your pianoforte, your paintings. One more month. And so she endured the month, struggling to stay calm amidst the rumours: Moiraine travelling with a male channeler; Moiraine being a Darkfriend; and even the suggestion that she might have died at Fal Dara.

Guinevere had already finished packing her bags, and was ready to head towards the carriage waiting for her outside the Tower, when someone knocked at her bedroom door. 

“Yes?” Guinevere answered, her hand on the door. To her surprise, it was the girl she had healed some time ago—the one searching for Moiraine. The girl who can channel. It took her a moment to remember her name. “Egwene?” She asked, with a confused frown on her face. 

“Guinevere Sedai,” Egwene greeted her with a slight bow of the head. Guinevere tilted her head, taking in the plain white dress the girl now wore.

“You’ve become a Novice,” Guinevere observed, a genuine smile tugging at her lips, “that’s good. I was expecting you’d join the Tower, eventually.” 

“Yes, Guinevere Sedai—”

“Please, just call me Gwen,” she interjected gently.

“Alright… Gwen,” Egwene replied shyly, still slightly unsure about losing the formalities, “it’s been almost a month since I’ve signed the books of Novices, actually.” 

“Oh.” Guinevere lowered her gaze to her feet, slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been paying that much attention to the events of the Tower as of late.” 

Egwene offered her a sympathetic smile, while anxiously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. “Yes… anyhow,” the girl added, shifting uncomfortably on her spot, “I was sent here to deliver a message.”

A playful smile tugged at the corner of Guinevere’s lips. “And what message might that be?” She asked, her voice light with amusement, while casually leaning on the door’s frame. 

Egwene cleared her throat, placing her hands over her skirts and then pulling them back, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “The Amyrlin is expecting you,” she finally exhaled, “in her chambers.” 

“I see.” Guinevere replied, her smile pursing into a thin line, masking her surprise, as she wondered what could the Amyrlin possibly want to discuss with her, and suspecting that nothing good could come out of it. Most of the women in the Tower were probably already commenting on it, making assumptions, plotting their schemes away. Egwene nodded reluctantly, and spun to walk away, before Guinevere stopped her. 

“Wait,” she said, delicately touching the girl’s shoulder, turning her around, “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Anything.” The girl replied, eagerly. 

“What happened to your friend... Perrin, was it? And why are you no longer with Moiraine? I’ve heard rumours of trouble in the Borderlands.”

Egwene held her gaze, soft and apprehensive, before lowering her head. “I don’t think I can talk about it.” She mumbled, her voice heavy with reluctance.

A flicker of irritation crossed Guinevere’s face as she clenched her fist behind her back. “My last name is Damodred,” she rushed to confess, “Moiraine is my aunt. I’m only asking out of concern.” Well, that’s not entirely a lie. I am concerned for her. I simply am more concerned about what she’s been up to all this time. “Besides,” she continued, her voice low, “I could not lie, even if I wished to.” 

“I do believe you’re her niece,” Egwene said, studying her face intently. “You look just like her, only younger. But I— I really can’t talk about it,” she continued, nervously glancing around. “Moiraine was very clear about that.”

“Look, Egwene” Guinevere said, approaching the girl, tenderly grabbing the girl’s hands. Had Egwene been more trained in the One Power, she would’ve been able to sense the warmth that suddenly started spreading throughout her body, easing her into Guinevere’s touch, loosening her mind and tongue. Guinevere’s stomach twisted with guilt. Using this Talent—a rare gift that was so easily abused—always left a bitter taste, yet desperation drove her. “Whatever Moiraine has told you, whatever you’ve shared with her—whatever secret she’s requested you keep—it is safe with me. I would never betray her.”

Egwene offered her a weak, hesitant smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It really is a long story,” she replied, her voice softening as she let out a nervous, breathy laugh, her cheeks flushed bright pink, though she remained reluctant to share any information. It seems I’ve underestimated how powerful she is. 

“Then it is fortunate the Amyrlin’s chambers are so far away, isn’t it?” Guinevere said with a soft, calculated smile, as she studied Egwene’s face, noticing a flicker of hesitation cross her eyes. She seized the opportunity and tightened her grip on the girl’s hand, the warm pulse of the One Power flowing ever so subtly through her fingertips. She deepened the flow, careful to keep her expression serene, as if this were a simple, friendly gesture. Egwene finally nodded, surrendering to Guinevere’s Talent, seemingly accepting her faux sincerity. She intertwined their arms, and together, they walked down the long, winding corridors of the White Tower. 

“It began in the Two Rivers,” Egwene explained in hushed tones, as they passed a group of novices practising their weaves. “Moiraine came to our village. She was looking for someone... someone who could be the… the Dragon Reborn,” she said, with a careful, uneasy whisper, “there were five of us who could channel or had some connection to the One Power.” 

“Trollocs and shadowspan were following us.” Egwene’s voice trembled as she spoke. “They attacked our village, and destroyed our home;  Moiraine said we needed to reach Tár Valon, for our protection, and our families’ as well, and… well, we encountered some troubles getting here.”

“When we finally reached Tár Valon, everything changed. Moiraine… she said there was an opportunity to defeat the Dark One.” Egwene’s voice was barely a whisper now, as if afraid the walls themselves might overhear. "And suddenly, we were bound for Fal Dara, to the Eye of the World.”

Guinevere kept an impassive expression on her face, impossible as it felt, as the world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Finally, she was getting some answers, and it all made so much sense. All those years… Moiraine had been looking for the Dragon Reborn. 

But why? Why her of all people? How did she know she ought to look for him? A selfish thought couldn’t help but to sneak into her mind. Why didn’t she ask for me the few times she’d return to the Tower?

“You journeyed through the Blight?” Guinevere asked, astonished. Egwene gave her an eager nod. “And what happened there?”

“I—I don’t know,” the girl replied, her eyes brimming with tears too stubborn to fall. “We were meant to face the Eye of the World together, but… I—I know not. On the morning of our journey, we awoke to find that Moiraine and one of the boys had departed by themselves. Then she returned, all alone, and would not speak of what had happened there.”

“Moiraine was… different, somehow, although I couldn’t tell you exactly what. She ordered Nynaeve and me to come here to become novices, and I don’t know exactly what she told Perrin, but he stayed at Fal Dara. She accompanied us here halfway and then parted ways, and I haven’t heard from her or Lan ever since.” Egwene finished, taking a deep breath to steady herself. 

“I’m truly so sorry about your friend.” Guinevere replied, gently placing her hand over the girl’s back, her voice laced with genuine compassion.  

Egwene had stopped in her tracks, fixing her gaze on her, brushing a tear off her face. “Thank you, Gwen.” She said in a quiet, fragile voice. Guinevere felt terrible. One more thing. One more thing and you let her go. 

As they resumed their walk, Guinevere’s hand stayed on Egwene’s back, her touch light and gentle, yet deliberate. “Tell me,” she began, her tone careful, almost casual. “Do you know why Moiraine sought you out? Why she knew to look for you and the others?”

Egwene had just parted her lips to respond when a clear voice interrupted from ahead. “Guinevere Sedai, the Amyrlin is expecting you.”

Standing before them was a tall, slender woman, almost as tall as a man, her beauty striking and severe. She stood stiffly beside a grand set of double doors, their polished wood gleaming in the light. They had reached the entrance to the Amyrlin’s chambers.

“Of course, Leane Sedai.” Guinevere said, bowing her head, showing the Keeper of the Chronicles the respect she deserved. She swiftly turned towards Egwene, finally letting go of her arm, hoping their superior wouldn't notice the young girl’s body limping in the slightest or the dazed confusion clouding her eyes.

“Thank you, Egwene, for accompanying me here. I’ll be gone for some months now, but I’ll make sure to help in anything I can once I get back. I wish you nothing but luck on your training.” 

The girl offered her a clumsy curtsy, “I need to go, the Mistress of Novices is most probably looking for me,” and continued with her walk, disoriented. It’ll pass. She’ll be back to normal before anyone notices it. It’ll be like it never happened. I had to do it. There are no rules that prevent an Aes Sedai from lying to herself. 

Guinevere turned to face Leane, whose expression was unreadable. “The Amyrlin will see you now,” she announced, her tone carefully neutral.

Guinevere carefully adjusted her dress, and took a steading breath, before stepping into the room. Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat, sat on a cream-coloured sofa, a small table in front of her. Her posture was straight and composed, her hands resting lightly on the armrests, but there was a hint of tension in the set of her shoulders.

“You summoned me, Mother?” Guinevere asked, bowing deeply. She then lifted her gaze, locking eyes with the older woman; her luminous brown eyes, sharp as ever, yet laced with a subtle hint of weakness, and nostalgia. 

“Yes, Guinevere. Please, sit.” She said, gesturing towards the armchair in front of her. 

Guinevere complied, noting the uncharacteristic stiffness in Siuan’s posture. The Amyrlin was not known for her softness, but there was something different today, something personal.

For a moment, they simply watched each other, the silence stretching between them like a stressed string. The older woman stared at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to speak first, to lay her cards on the table; but despite Guinevere’s distaste for credo, she kept her face calm and her body still, knowing the game that was being played. Speak first, reveal your hand. And Guinevere had no intention of doing so.

Finally, Siuan broke the silence, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. “I suppose you’re wondering why I summoned you.”

“I am, Mother,” Guinevere replied, a hint of caution in her voice as she offered a hesitant nod.

“We can lose the honorifics, for today at least,” the woman suggested, crossing one leg over the other, as she reclined into the armchair’s cushions, encouraging the girl to get comfortable as well. But Guinevere was far too anxious for that. She remained still, her back straight and hands rigidly intertwined over her lap. Why am I here?   “I have a favour to ask of you, Guinevere.” 

Guinevere blinked, confusion flickering in her eyes. A favour? From me? The very idea of it unsettled her. What could the Amyrlin Seat, one of the most powerful Aes Sedai in the world, possibly need from her—a young, relatively untested Yellow, far from the complexities of Tower politics? “A—A favour, Mother?” She stammered, the words awkward and uncertain on her lips.

“Siuan,” the older woman corrected, leaning forward slightly, her smile widening—but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Guinevere blinked, still puzzled at the whole situation. “Siuan,” she echoed the older woman, the name feeling oddly intimate on her tongue, “what is it that you need from me?” 

“It’s not so much what I need from you,” the Amyrlin explained in a cryptic tone, her pacing slow, “but what I need from your last name.” She added, letting the words hang in the air. “I understand you’re on your way home.”

Guinevere nodded, her confusion deepening. “I was about to leave the Tower when you called for me.”

“Cairhien, is that right?” The woman asked, if only out of politeness.

“Yes.” 

For a brief moment, Siuan seemed to be debating something, her lips pursing, opening to speak, then closing again, as if she were uncertain about the words she was about to say. “Have you heard from Moiraine in the past month?” She then asked bluntly, her tone much too casual to be natural.

Guinevere felt the temperature of the room drop, her eyes slightly narrowing at the mention of her aunt. “No.” She replied, flatly, as she lowered her gaze towards the rug. 

Siuan’s sharp eyes caught the shift immediately. The sudden hardening of Guinevere’s posture, the slight clench of her jaw—none of it escaped her notice. “You are angry at her.” She observed, with a curious trace of sadness threading through her voice.

Guinevere cleared her throat. “My feelings towards Moiraine Sedai are unbiased.” 

Siuan’s gaze remained steady, her expression unreadable as she took a slow breath. “You shouldn’t resent your aunt for her absence, Guinevere.” 

Guinevere’s eyes hardened, and her reply came sharper than she intended. “And yet you exiled her for it.” She remarked, a challenge hidden in the simplicity of her words. She watched Siuan’s face carefully, searching for any sign of reaction. 

How intriguing.  

She had heard whispers of Siuan’s weakening influence, of the power struggles chipping away at her authority, but she had never thought the Amyrlin Seat could be pressured into something so drastic. Was she forced to exile Moiraine? Guinevere wondered. Perhaps Siuan wasn’t as powerful as Guinevere had assumed; she was, after all, asking such a young girl for help.

Siuan started blinking in rapid motions at the girl’s subtle accusation. She shifted slightly in her seat, her posture losing a touch of its commanding stiffness as she leaned back against the armchair. She knew when she had been led into a corner. She’s so much like her mother , the woman thought, not being able to stop her mouth from turning into a sly grin, stubborn, and modestly yet fiercely witty.  

“I have a task for you,” Siuan said at last, her tone brisk, as if brushing aside the moment of weakness.

“Whatever you need, Mother.” Guinevere replied, with a sober tone.

“If you hear from Moiraine, let me know.” Siuan said briskly, yet Guinevere could feel the urgency behind her words. 

Guinevere’s lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “Shouldn’t Moiraine be the one expecting to hear from you?” she replied, the words slipping out before she could catch them, a habit that occurred more often than she liked. The young girl realised she was crossing a line, she knew as much, but something told her the older woman wouldn’t reprimand her. If anything, she’d found that the Amyrlin seemed to enjoy the audacity. But perhaps she had underestimated Siuan’s temper. 

The older woman drew her smile back, and pursed her lips into a thin line. “That’ll be all, Daughter.” 

Guinevere hastily stood up and bowed her head. “Mother,” she curtsied before turning to leave. As she reached for the doorknob, she heard the Amyrlin’s voice call out to her.

“Oh, and Guinevere?” Siuan added grimly, her voice layered with something close to warning. “Trust no one else. No intermediates.” 

Guinevere paused, her fingers still resting on the door, as a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. “As it please you, Mother.” 

Guinevere sighed with relief as Johnas opened the door, and at last, she was home. She shook the older man’s hand warmly as she stepped inside. “It’s good to have you home, little lady,” he said, his weathered features lighting up with a warm, welcoming smile. 

“It’s good to be home, Johnas.” She smiled, letting her bags on the stone floors. 

A familiar voice echoed through the hall. “Gwen?”

“Barthanes?” She asked, already breaking into a run. She hurriedly opened the door to the dining room, and couldn’t help but to squeal in excitement at the sight of her brother. “Oh, it’s been too long,” she smiled, as he embraced her. 

“I’ve missed you too, little sister.” Barthanes agreed, with a laugh. He squeezed her affectionately before stepping back. “Would you care for some tea? Mother is out and I’m afraid I too have some business to attend to, letters and whatnot, but I can manage them while getting on with you.” He said, sitting back down at the breakfast table. “I trust your journey was uneventful?” 

“Uneventful and swift,” Guinevere replied as she slid into the chair across from Barthanes. She watched as he deftly opened a letter, his eyes scanning the contents before setting it aside. “How have things been here?”

“Quiet,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Mother has been busy with her social circles, and the city remains much the same—full of whispers.” He mocked his last words with a playful tone.

Guinevere nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the Tower, to the unfamiliar faces she had healed, and the unusual encounters that had stirred something within her. “And what of the Sun Palace? Any news from the court?”

Barthanes paused, folding his hands over the table. “Rumours, mostly. There’s talk of unrest in the Borderlands, and whispers of the Dragon Reborn, though little has reached our ears beyond mere speculation.” At the mention of such a character, he sent a curious look her way. “Nothing you haven’t most probably heard of already within the Tower’s halls.”

She had indeed, but even so, the mention of the Dragon Reborn sent a shiver down her spine. The face of that boy she’d seen on Tár Valon suddenly popped into her mind, for reasons she couldn’t justify in the slightlest. “Do you believe it?” she asked quietly, meeting her brother’s gaze. “That the Dragon has been reborn?” 

Her brother shifted uneasily on his seat, wetting his lips. “Sister, I have not the time nor the inclination to chase such tales,” Barthanes replied, forcing a stiff smile into his face, as he started handling another envelope. “But what do you believe?” He inquired, with seeming indifference, but she could tell it was only a facade. His tone was too casual, too measured. She could sense his heart rate getting higher and higher. And for the first time in her life, Guinevere felt a faint unease toward her brother. What game is he playing? “What is it being said in the Tower anyway?” He added, shrugging his shoulders. 

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied, rather dryly, uncomfortable with where the conversation had led them, “I care little for idle chatter, as you well know. Besides, even if I did know something, I wouldn’t be allowed to talk to you about it.” Guinevere added, sending a sharp glance his way. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.

“Not even to your dear older brother?” He teased her, sending a charming smile her way, but she remained serious. “Very well,” Barthanes stood up, picking up a stack of letters, “I must take my leave. You’d be surprised, sister, how much labour a wedding demands. It is no small feat.”

Guinevere offered her brother a small, measured smile as he took his leave. Once alone, her thoughts flooded in, unbidden and relentless. That’s the thing about Cairhien: no matter how hard one tries to avoid them, whispers and rumours always find their way through—sowing doubt like a slow potion, even among the closest of friends.

Guinevere woke up early the next morning, shared a quick breakfast with her mother, and ran towards the Sanitarium. She rushed through the Cairhien streets swiftly and with ease, her hometown’s layout burned into her memory. 

She pushed open the heavy, creaking door of the old building, its iron hinges groaning in protest. The scent of aged wood and dust greeted her, and she exchanged a warm greeting with the guard, as she began making her way through the halls, studying the corridors she had missed so dearly. 

And then she saw him—standing there before her, speaking in low tones to an elderly patient.

The boy from Tár Valon. 

Guinevere froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. His hair was as red as she remembered, but cut short almost to his scalp, giving him a sterner appearance. He stood taller than she’d imagined, at least a foot taller than her. And his face… the same face that had both tormented and bewitched her ever since she saw him, months ago.

He suddenly turned on his heels, and their eyes met, widening in surprise at finding each other. The same intense feeling they’d shared back in Tár Valon flooded through their veins, but this time, neither of them ran away. On the contrary, Guinevere found herself moving toward him, and he mirrored her, closing the distance until they stood mere inches apart.

“You’re the girl from Tár Valon,” he gasped, out of breath, his eyes roaming over her as if he were entranced, as if he couldn’t believe she was real and not a vision. 

“I—I suppose I am.” She stuttered, finding herself suddenly overwhelmed by his presence. It was too strange a feeling, meeting someone she’s somehow known all of her life for the first time. 

They remained still for a couple of seconds, staring at each other in disbelief, before he took a gentle step forwards, extending a hand towards her. “I’m Rand.” He introduced himself, his lips curling into a sly smile, his eyes never leaving hers.

She became frozen for a moment, a breath caught in her throat, before she regained her composure. “I’m Guinevere.” She replied, carefully slipping her hand into his. 

He gently closed his palm over hers, and his skin was warm and soft under his touch. “Hello, Guinevere,” Rand said, a handsome grin on his face, and his voice low and his smile tender, as if savouring the sound of her name.

“Hello, Rand,” she replied, a shy smile blossoming upon her lips in response. They remained like that, hands locked into each other, caught in a spell neither could break, until Guinevere stepped a foot back, clearing her throat. 

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?” The young girl inquired, furrowing her brows. She’d never seen him in Cairhien before, she was sure of that. 

Rand’s smile widened, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Fate, perhaps,” he replied, in a whisper. “Yet I am here to work at the Sanitarium. I was sent here on short notice.”

“Oh.” Guinevere laughed softly.

“What are you doing here? If I may ask.” 

“Oh, I’ve lived in Cairhien my whole life.” Guinevere replied, placing a reassuring hand against her chest. 

He gently laughed at that. “I meant in the Sanitarium.” 

“Ah,” she giggled, feeling her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “I work here as well. I mean, I offer my help around here,” she added, lifting her hand slightly, revealing a ring with a small yellow stone, “I heal people. Or at least, I try my best.”

Slight and wary as it was, Guinevere noticed the hint of distrust, and fright, that crossed the boy’s eyes at the sight of her ring. “You don’t like Aes Sedai.” She observed. 

Rand hesitated, and his smile flickered just the slightest as took a step backwards, placing his hands behind his back. “I respect Aes Sedai.” 

“That wasn’t my question.” She smiled, her eyes narrowing playfully.

The boy sighed, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’ve learned to be wary of Aes Sedai,” he admitted.

Guinevere stood straight, and folded her hands over her chest, her smile turned wry, as she nodded in agreement. “A wise caution, perhaps.” 

They spent the following weeks working in the same place, and each day their bond grew ever stronger, blossoming into a genuine and amusing friendship. Guinevere always had a witty retort ready for his light-hearted banter, and he made it a habit to escort her home after their duties concluded. Their journeys often fell short of reaching her doorstep, for their discussions became so engrossing that they sometimes strolled past her house, making extra rounds just to enjoy each other’s company. He spoke of his home, his family, and his friends, yet curiously, he never named them. Guinevere’s mind itched with curiosity, yet she refrained from commenting on his reticence. Instead, she shared her passions for music and painting, her work as a healer, and her duties toward the Tower.

“I find joy in it, for the most part.” Guinevere was explaining one day, as they made their way towards her house. “I love the healing part, at least, I like helping people. It’s all the current principles, and politics I despise— not that I think them inconsequential, it’s simply… beyond my understanding. All this rivalry between the different Ajah, it makes no sense to me. I know they’re due to historical conflicts, but why do we let the past control us that much? I don’t know, I just think the Tower would work better without all the secrecy. To both our sisters and regular townsfolk, of course.”

“Most regular townsfolk despise the lot of you,” Rand remarked, gently taking her hand to steady her as they navigated a worn, weathered set of stairs, “Cairhien works with a different set of rules, too close to Tár Valon to notice it, but the farther you get from the city, the stronger the fear of Aes Sedai becomes.” 

“I find that terrible,” Guinevere explained, aggrieved. “We should be the servants of all. The ones who help the world become a better place, for everyone alike. And yet it seems that as of lately we serve no one but ourselves.” 

Rand nodded again, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Maybe some of you are,” he said softly, “but not all. Not you.”

She smiled at that, a smile that warmed him in a way he didn’t quite understand. “Thank you,” she replied, touched by his sincerity, laying a cautious hand over his shoulder as they reached her house. Guinevere stopped in front of the door, expectantly looking at him. Every day he accompanied her home, and every day, she invited him in, for a cup of tea at the very least. And every time, he refused, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. 

Guinevere deduced he lived in the Foregate, and she knew firsthand how harsh it could get there, as she often liked to wander around it, aiding anyone who accepted her help, and so she often offered Rand a warm bath, a hearty meal, a comfortable bed, if he needed. But he had always refused all of it. This day, however, he appeared particularly shabby, with traces of ash smudged upon his skin and clothes.

“Well,” he said, pursing his lips into a thin smile, grasping her hands before letting them go, “have a good night, Gwen.” 

“Wait!” she exclaimed, grabbing him from his arm before he could turn around. A splash of red started to paint her cheeks a burgundy colour, as she hadn’t planned on being so abrupt. She took a small step back, rising to his height by standing on the first step of her porch stairs, as she gently took him by his forearm, softly caressing his skin, warm under her touch. She could feel his heartbeat rising, almost pouding through his chest, harmonising with her own. “Just… why don’t you come in, for a cup of tea? I could lend you that book we were talking about.” 

He hesitated, lowering his gaze in a guilty fashion, and yet not letting go of her hands. “I—I can’t, Gwen.” 

“Why?” She breathed out, “if it’s my family you’re concerned about— they are most pleasant to be around. And my mother would be delighted to have you over, maybe offer you a better place to stay—”

“There’s someone else, Gwen.” He interrupted her, finally meeting her eyes, as sadness and regret took over his. “There’s this woman—”

“Oh.” The word slipped from her lips, her voice betraying her disappointment. Of course there’s another girl. She motioned to take her hand away, but that only caused to tighten his grip on hers. He took a careful step closer to her, and then another one, until their mouths were but one breath away from one another. 

“It is not at it seems,” he muttered, cursing under his breath, as he tenderly brushed a lock of Guinevere’s hair behind her ear, “burn me, it’s difficult to explain, I—I just owe her so much, I—I can’t just… you…”

“It’s all right, Rand,” Guinevere murmured, gently brushing her fingers against his cheek. The red—haired boy eagerly leaned into her touch, his eyes soft with longing. “I understand.” She reassured him. 

His brows knit together in confusion. “You do?”

“Of course I do. I value our friendship, Rand,” she replied, a strained smile tugging at her lips, dimples appearing despite the tension in her face. “I’d still love for you to visit one afternoon. I could show you our library… and the music room.” 

“I would like that,” he confessed, “very much indeed, but it’ll have to wait,” he added with a grimace, a sad smile taking over his demeanour. “I shall be gone for a couple of days.”

“Gone where?” she asked, her voice tinged with innocent curiosity. But the look on his face—his expression of pain, shame, sadness—made her realise she shouldn’t have asked. “You cannot tell me.” She observed. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with pain. His hands grasped hers tightly, his face so close that their lips brushed, a breath away from a kiss.

“You need not to apologise, Rand,” she whispered, a bittersweet smile hovering just above his lips. “I shall be pleased to have you over when you return.” She gently tapped his hand, and he reluctantly loosened his gentle but firm grip. “I hope you have a safe journey, Rand.”

The boy descended the stairs, his eyes never leaving hers with each step. “Thank you, Gwen,” he murmured, his voice heavy with gloom, before finally turning away.

Guinevere brought her fingers to her lips, still warm from the brush of his breath.

The nightmare returned that night, as it had each night since meeting Rand at the Sanitarium. Guinevere jerked upright in her bed, her whole body had broken into a sweat, and she felt feverish. It’d been a long time since a nightmare had affected her that much. She stumbled towards her desk, her hands trembling as she reached for a little music box with a ballerina inside. She laid on her bed once again, and placed the music box in the nightstand beside her. She closed her eyes, her breathing steading, as the music lulled her back to sleep. 

Next time she woke up, soft beams of sunshine were dancing over her face, warmth spreading through her skin. Guinevere smiles at the thought of a sunny day ahead. That always managed to get her out and about quickly. She jumped out of bed, put on some clothes, hastily broke her fast, and made her bag for the day, a pouch sitting firmly over her hips. 

Just as she was about to leave for the Sanitarium, she heard a knock on the door. She hesitated, knowing her mother would surely scold her for answering herself rather than allowing Johnas to greet the guest, but she was already on her way out. It would only take a moment.

Guinevere opened the door, and was greeted by a pair of weary, yet somehow sparkly, blue eyes. Her whole body went stiff, a gasp got caught up in her throat, heart pounding in her chest. The paintings didn’t do it justice. It truly was like looking into a mirror.

A mirror that reflected a somehow older version of herself, one she wouldn’t have found in the paintings around her house. They shared the same midnight blue eyes, but where Guinevere’s were gleaming and doe—like, hers were sunken and hollow, framed by lines of weariness. They had the same cheeks, but while Guinevere’s were full and rosy, hers were angular and dull, with skin sagging slightly around them.

Guinevere saw the older woman match her own staggered expression for a moment, before composing herself, clearing her throat. The sound managed to bring Guinevere’s scattered thoughts back into focus.

“M—Moiraine,” she stuttered, still in shock, “I—I mean, Moiraine Sedai.” She added, with a slight tilt of her head, stepping aside as to let the older woman in. 

“There’s no need for such formalities, child.” Moiraine replied, hastily getting inside and closing the door behind her. She allowed a quick glimpse at the girl, and then started scanning the room, her eyes as calculating and stern as Guinevere had imagined. 

Guinevere remained still for a moment, before regaining awareness of herself, and the situation. Of course, she realised , she probably has no idea who I am. “I’m sorry, my name is—”

“Guinevere, I know.” The woman said, finally setting her eyes on her. Guinevere looked at her, and was surprised to see her eyes gleaming, as if she were holding back tears. “You’ve grown,” Moiraine remarked, her voice almost a whimper, “last time I saw you, you were as tall as this table.” She added, gesturing towards the furniture on her left. Guinevere tilted her head to meet the woman’s gaze, and noticed a flicker of sadness on them, the exact same one she’d seen on Siuan’s.

Guinevere pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t remember.” She mumbled.

“No,” Moiraine sighed, her lips almost quivering, unwillingly drawing her stare away from her, “I guess you would not.” 

They stood in an uneasy silence, unsure of how to break it, until Johnas strode across the hall. He abruptly stopped, eyes widening in disbelief. “Am I so old that I amm seeing double, or is that really you, Lady Moiraine?”

Moiraine was about to respond, but Guinevere interrupted her. “Johnas, please tell my mother her sister is here. It’s still quite early, I’m afraid she ought to be in the painting room.” 

“Of course, little lady.” The man bowed towards the both of them, and left the room. 

Guinevere looked up towards her aunt, and started to subtly examine her. Moiraine wasn’t the once—in a lifetime hero her brother had made her out to be. She seemed tired, weary, and overly aged for an Aes Sedai. And her power… if she was as powerful as most claimed, Guinevere couldn’t sense it. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t feel anything within her. She lifted her gaze and saw the older woman observing her with shared intensity. Her eyes were gleaming, and a painful grimace had claimed her features.

“Mother will be most surprised to see you here,” Guinevere remarked, breaking the silence and steering her gaze away from the woman, slightly unnerved by the way she was looking at her. “We are all, of course, quite pleasantly surprised—” her words halted abruptly as Moiraine stepped forward, raising a trembling hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Guinevere’s ear.

“Guinevere, I—”

“Little lady, my lady,” Johnas interrupted them, as he stepped into the room, “your sister is waiting for you in the drawing room.” 

Moiraine quickly withdrew her hand as if burned, casting a fleeting, guilt—ridden glance at Guinevere, as though she had nearly done something she might regret later. She cleared her throat and turned away, following the butler into the next room, leaving Guinevere alone in the hallway.

I was wrong. If Moiraine wasn’t as powerful with the One Power, then how could Guinevere explain the electrifying, almost burning feeling that had run through her body the moment she touched her?

[astrosouldivinity]

🧿🔮 An Outline of Contemporary Psychic Abilities- A-Z

⭐️ Aeromancy: Interpreting the shapes of clouds

⭐️ Afterlife Communication: Connecting with those who are deceased

⭐️ Alomancy: Reading the patterns of salt cast into the air after it falls to the floor

⭐️ Apantomancy: Interpreting meaning in chance meeting with animals

⭐️ Astral Projection: Out-of-body travel; other related terms are lucid dreaming, soul journeying, and remote viewing

⭐️ Aura Reading: Intuitively perceiving the hey is occurring in the auric field

⭐️ Automatic Writing: Writing a message from an outside intelligence through the subconscious mind

⭐️ Bibliomancy: Interpreting a passage chosen at random from a book

⭐️ Catoptromancy: Telling fortunes with the help of a mirror

⭐️ Channeling: Delivering a message from a separate intelligence that enters the practitioner’s body

⭐️ Chirmancy: Palmistry; divination done by interpreting the lines on someone’s hands

⭐️ Clairalience: Ability to smell what’s not present

⭐️ Clairaudience: The ability to psychically hear events

⭐️ Claircognizant: The sense of clear knowing

⭐️ Clairempathy: The ability to sense others’ emotions

⭐️ Clairgustance: The ability to psychically taste what isn’t physically present

⭐️ Clairsentience: Ability to sense others’ feelings or senses

⭐️ Clairtangecy/Clairsensitivity: The ability to read energy through touch or from objects in your presence

⭐️ Clairvoyance: The ability to psychically see nonphysical realties

⭐️ Cleromancy: Casting stones, bones, or dice to perform divination

⭐️ Crystallomancy: Seeing the future in a crystal ball

⭐️ Déjà vu: Sensing that a current event has already occurred

⭐️ Demonomancy: Summoning demons to answer questions

⭐️ Divination: Use of psychic gifts to obtain answers

⭐️ Dowsing (Radiesthesia): Using an instrument to detect water, metals, missing people, and other things in the ground

⭐️ Dream Interpretation: Interpreting the meaning of dreams

⭐️ Empathy: Ability to sense others’ feelings, illnesses, sensations, knowledge, and more

⭐️ Exorcism: Release of negative entities.

⭐️ Feng Shui (Geomancy): Shifting the environment to bring about desired effects

⭐️ Gyromancy: Divination performed by making a circle’s perimeters with letters of the alphabet; ouija boards employ a similar concept

⭐️ Healing: Creating more wholeness within the other; includes faith, healing, the laying on of hands, and more

⭐️ Horoscopy: Interpretation of astrological horoscopes

⭐️ Hydromancy: Divining by observing changes in water

⭐️ Hypnosis: Creation of a trance state in another to evoke answers or healing

⭐️ I Ching: An ancient Chinese system of divination

⭐️ Intuition: A catchall word for managed use of psychic abilities

⭐️ Levitation: Flotation of objects or the body above the ground

⭐️ Libanomancy: Interpreting shapes in smoke

⭐️ Mediumship: Serving as a conduit for otherworldly beings

⭐️ Megagnomy: Use of psychic ability while in a hypnotic state

⭐️ Oculomancy: Divination by observing another’s eyes

⭐️ Past-Life Regression: Use of a meditative state to remember a previous life

⭐️ Precognition: Ability to foretell the future

⭐️ Prophecy: Knowledge of divine will

⭐️ Psychometry: Gaining knowledge through touch of objects

⭐️ Pyrokensis: Sparking fire with the mind

⭐️ Scrying: Using an object to see psychically

⭐️ Tarot Reading: Use of tarot cards or archetypes to prophesize

⭐️ Tasseography: Cup divination; interpreting tea leaves or coffee grains

⭐️ Telekinesis: Ability to move objects without touching them

⭐️ Telepathy: Hearing mind-to-mind information

⭐️ Transfiguration: Superimposition of a face on a medium

⭐️ Voodoo: Practices from the Voodoo religion, such as the use of rituals to ask spirits for advice, protection, or help, and contact with spirits through their possession of a medium

⭐️ Xenoglossy: Speaking in a language that is not one’s own

~ Source ~

-Cyndi Dale (Llewellyn's Complete Book of Chakras: Your Definitive Source of Energy Center Knowledge for Health, Happiness, and Spiritual Evolution)

[oneshlut]

I loved your hcs for Varian so much! 😍 Could you possibly write some fluffy headcanons got him having a crush and how'd he confess? Tysm for bringing me back to the TTS fandom 🙇‍♀️

A/N: OOH YESYES!!! im so glad you enjoyed my var hcs!! honestly one of my fav nerds to write forr, these already sound so fluffy to write! tooth-rotting, even.. oh, and good to have you back in the fandom !

SORRY FOR THE LONG HIATUS!!

Angel (Varian x Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

Summary: General fluffy crushing and confession headcanons for Varian

Extra Info: haha hello dolly reference at the end because im obsessed

In Corona, love at first sight isn't necessarily common. Sure, Rapunzel and Eugene got together in the maximum of a week, but Rapunzel was threatening him at first sight. And when it comes to Varian, you're gonna have to know him for a while until real feelings start to develop. Not just puppy love.

Normally, the two of you would hang out.. maybe two days a week. If you're coming over to his place, you'll probably just spend the day chatting while Varian works on whatever new invention he's workshopping at the moment. Sometimes he'll let you help. Sometimes. Otherwise, at your place the two of you will usually.. uh. Well, leave. There's a forest right outside your house, which leads straight to a breathtaking view of all of Corona. Varian never cared for "pretty views", but.. if you did, he did as well. That same forest has equally great places for cloud watching, but when you didn't feel like being calm all the time, you and Varian would explore the depths of the forest, discovering new things. When he wanted to, Ruddiger would tag along.

The first "sorta" hint of feelings "somewhat" developing was Varian inviting you to hang out more often. Two days a week turned into three. Then four. Maybe five, if your schedule allowed it. Even then, he still couldn't get enough. On days when you wouldn't be able to see each other, hr would send letters to you to check up on you. Still keeping in mind to not come off as clingy.. despite how truly clingy he was. Of course, Varian still viewed you as a friend--a best friend. How oblivious.

Speaking of which, Varian is extremely oblivious to his own emotions. Ruddiger would be the first to know that he was crushing before Varian himself knew. Whenever he mentioned you as a "friend", Ruddiger would subtly roll his eyes. Especially when Varian would talk about you to him. Ruddiger knew better by the look in his eyes when he practically ranted about you, but Varian didn't.

The way he finds out that he has a crush on you is actually a bit cute. It was Rapunzel's and Eugene's anniversary, so they had a celebratory ball with most of the town invited. Varian had asked you to join him so you could meet people like Lance and Cassandra, since you hadn't really properly met them yet. That was a shocker. It wasn't a fancy celebration, almost like a birthday party, but it was enough to send butterflies to your stomach when he invited you.

There was a sort of "climax" in the party, where Eugene and Rapunzel danced together in the middle of the ballroom. Almost like something out of a fairytale. At the time, you and Varian were on opposite sides due to the group of people shuffling back to give the couple room to dance. You were talking to different people at the time, causing you two to be further apart than usual. Further than Varian wanted at this time.

Varian watched the couple dance around the marble-like floor, sighing at the scene. It was cute, and the idea that the two found eachother and stuck together in the end was.. nice. The idea of a soulmate.. it was sweet.

And for "some" reason, Varian found himself thinking about you. You and him on the dancefloor, instead of the couple that his eyes were glued on. Breaking away from the trance that was the rhythmic dancing, he switched his focus to the back of the room, channeling in on the sight of you. Embarrassingly, heat rose to his face. Varian looked away before you got the chance to notice his longing stare.

The thought of his feelings troubled him. Not in the way that he didn't want to like you--more so in the way that he knew that he would mess up even more infront of you now that he had the knowledge of his feelings. Maybe this was just another Cassandra crush. Maybe it'll just pass over time. After all, there is no way you'd even like him back. Is what he thought.

He was absolutely right. Now more than ever, he was extremely clumsy around you. When he saw you, he tripped over his feet. When he caught a glance from you in the middle of an experiment.. the experiment would blow up. Sometimes he would stumble over his words, saying things he didn't mean to say. He was so obvious, it was adorable. You could probably pick up on his feelings before he even confessed. Varian, as oblivious as he is, still thinks he's being super secretive about everything. He's not.

Like with Cassandra, Varian will constantly offer to help you with certain chores or just personal tasks. His love language is probably "Acts of Service", which is partly why he'll do anything and everything for you. Oh--and by the way, he was wrong. This crush did not pass over with time like Cassandra.

After about 2 months, he finally gets the courage to tell you. He knew he would just keep making a fool out of himself in front of you if he didn't. Over letter, he asked you to meet him out in the forest that the two of you always hung out in. Ruddiger had insisted to come along with him, as some sort of "hype-man". Reluctantly, Varian let him follow him out the door.

It wasn't hard for you to find him. It was your normal spot: a clearing in the trees that let the sun shine on the forest floor. When you saw him.. a rose color flushed to your cheeks. The sight was beautiful, Varian sitting on the forest floor, (not noticing you), with the glimmering light from the sun that made him look like an angel. Swallowing down your butterflies, you took a seat next to him in the soft grass.

Only then did Varian notice you, mumbling an awkward 'hello'. After a bit of comfortable silence, sounds of nature surrounding you two, Ruddiger slightly bit Varian's hand: a signal for him to get on with it. The raccoon quickly fled the scene with a 'shoo' hand signal from Varian.

You watched as he took out a flower from his opposite hand, surprised you hadn't noticed it before. He must've had it for a while--you didn't see him pick it up earlier. It was a sunflower, fitting for the area in the forest. You were glad now for the somewhat-blinding sun, it hid your blush fairly well.

If Varian's heart could stop beating, it definitely did now. He was already nervous about the very idea about telling you how he felt, but seeing you in the sunlight.. how breathtaking you looked.. it was almost too much for him to handle. So he decided to keep his confession short and sweet. If he talked for longer than 20 seconds he was sure to pass out.

"I.. I like you. Mo-More than I should.. a-and ifyoudon'tlikemebackthat'sfinejustpleasedon'thateme--and this is for you-!"

After rushing his confession, he quickly gave the sunflower to you before immediately looking away. You couldn't feel more flattered. And.. you felt suddenly bold.

Tapping him on his shoulder, he reluctantly turned to you to see your reaction.

And, with a sudden kiss, Varian was frozen. Not frozen enough to be cold--his face was actually extremely warm.

Realizing what had just happened, he fell to the forest floor on his back, laying down with his hands on his face. He couldn't be more embarrassed. He was supposed to be the confident one, not you. But thinking about it more, he minded it less. At the time, he just felt embarrassed for himself. And the situation. He wasn't dreaming, was he? Cracking open his hands to peek at your grinning, teasing, and.. blushing face, Varian now knew this was reality.

"Maybe give me a warning next time, will you..?"

His voice shook, but still chuckled through the humility.

Ruddiger perked up from behind a tree, chirping in happiness from the success. Varian sat up suddenly, laughing as the raccoon jumped into his lap.

You watched as he pet Ruddiger calmly, before meeting your gaze a moment later.

It only took that very moment to be loved a whole life long.

[maaeveeee]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅, 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 & 𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐄.

Summary: Clint Barton, Matt Murdock and Bucky Barnes do the trending challenge of baking something when one of them is blind, deaf, and mute!

Author’s note: This is unusual, this is weird and kind of cringe. Enjoy!

Credits: I got the idea from a this tiktok posted by @missusmaximoff (go follow them)

The Avengers' kitchen had seen its share of destruction—Thor had previously destroyed the fridge over a protein shake missing from it,

the curtains had previously been set alight when Tony's "self-cooking" robot chef short—circuited—but the extent of destruction that met their eyes this day was different.

Flour had covered all the surfaces like new snow, a melted pat of butter had made a shiny, greasy patch of a puddle on the floor which seemed to glare belligerently, and one solitary egg had given up the ghost, splattering beside the sink with a dismal splat.

The counters were a war zone of overturned ingredients, the sink was filled with sticky measuring cups, and the oven door hung open, as if resigned to its fate.

Three of the toughest heroes stood at the epicenter of this disaster: Clint Barton, Matt Murdock, and Bucky Barnes, both of them wearing a ridiculous—looking apron in opposition to their battle—hardened physiques.

Clint's was a dark gray one with a cartoon pizza wedge and the words "Dough Not Mess With Me" barely legible.

Matt's was a plain black one he'd clearly grabbed from the kitchen, though it had a light covering of flour over it.

Bucky's was a garish, ugly yellow with "Grill Sergeant" in large letters, which would have been funny if he wasn't shooting withering stares at everything in the room.

Tony Stark had forced them all onto this worst—of—decades team—building activity: baking a cake under conditions one couldn't hear, couldn't see, and couldn't speak.

A video in a corner of the room captured every second, because of course Tony wanted to immortalize their misery.

Clint, the one playing the part of the "deaf" one, had his hearing aids out and was yelling loudly enough to rattle the windows.

"WHAT? TWO CUPS FLOUR OR TWO POUNDS?" he yelled, holding a sack of flour as if it were a live hand grenade.

The voice echoed off the metal kitchen equipment, causing a tottering tower of pots to rock eerily.

Before anyone could stop him, the sack burst open, spewing a cloud of flour like a smoke bomb over the countertop.

Clint coughed and covered the face with a hand, not hearing the devastation he'd caused. "I'LL JUST USE IT ALL!" he declared, pouring the rest of the flour from the sack into a mixing bowl with the delicacy of a demolition team, sprinkling more powder onto the countertop to mix with the puddle of butter to form a hazardous slick.

Matt, the "blind" one (which, well, he already was), tilted his head, his heightened sense racing to keep abreast with the chaos.

“Clint, I'm not reading the measurings, but I can scent you using too much flour. Stop it!" he shouted, a knife's edge of frustration in his voice as he waved an arm.

His errant hand knocked a bottle of vanilla extract off the countertop, which hit the tiles and shattered. The sweet, whisky—like scent rose up, mixing with the cloud of the flour to become a head—reeling cloud.

Matt stood there unmoving, his radar picking up the tiny skitter of glass shards across the tiles. "Did I just destroy something?" he asked, holding up a sneeze as the vanilla filled the air.

The "silent" Bucky couldn't scream his increasing frustration, so he channeled it in the form of enraged silence.

His vibranium arm hissed with every brusque movement, the sound a low, ominous hum that cut through kitchen chaos.

He grabbed a blank whiteboard that had been left out for them and scrawled with furious intensity: YOU'RE BOTH IDIOTS.

He stood there, holding it aloft with an eyes—scorching glare, the yellow apron not diminishing the danger in his gaze.

When that didn't get the response he wanted, he grasped a wooden spoon and started banging it off the countertop, the staccato tapping sharp and insistent, as if he was tattooing an SOS in Morse.

The noise made a nearby container of sugar shudder, in danger of becoming the latest casualty on the growing pile of them on the floor.

Clint, not realizing the world yet, completely misread Bucky's pounding. "OH, YOU WANT ME TO MIX IT? ON IT!" he bellowed, grabbing the bowl of flour and stirring with a wooden spoon as if he tried to dig a trench.

His aggressive stirring sent globules of floury paste swirling through the air, which slapped Matt's shoulder with a wet splat.

Matt sprang back, brushing it off and bracing himself as the paste smeared across the black apron. "Clint, I'm sensing the destruction you're causing! You're going to bury us under dough!" he exclaimed, shaking his head and knocking a spatula off the countertop by accident. The spatula landed with a thud.

The recipe called for three eggs, which would have been a snap, only nothing was a snap in this kitchen of horrors.

Matt used sense to find the eggs, extending a firm hand. His radar was befuddled by the cloud of flour and lingering aroma of vanilla, and he grabbed a lemon from a bowl of fruit.

“Got one!" he declared, cracking the lemon into the bowl with a reassuring nod. The citrus juice splattered onto the flour mixture, colorising it an ugly, sickly yellow that looked poisonous rather than cake batter.

Bucky's jaw dropped, and he scribbled the following onto the whiteboard: THAT'S A LEMON, MURDOCK. Three times he underlined it, then pointed to the bowl with a look that screamed, You are serious, are you?

Clint, blissfully unaware of the lemon disaster, decided it was time to "up his game." He grabbed the bowl of lemon goo and stirred even harder, turning the mixture into a glue—like, soggy slush that looked like something from a swamp.

One spoonful splattered off his spoon onto Bucky's chest, spreading down the yellow apron and leaving a streak of lemony goo.

Bucky swiped it with his finger, tasted it, and gagged immediately, spitting into the soapy water in the sink as if he'd been betrayed.

He grabbed the whiteboard and scrawled: THIS TASTES LIKE PAIN. He hurled the board across the room, where it hit the wall and splashed with a sad plop into the soapy water in the sink.

Matt, desperate to fix their precarious disaster, decided that the batter needed more dry ingredients to "balance out" the recipe. His now—perplexed senses led him to a can of cocoa powder instead of flour. "We need something to soak this up!" he declared, pouring out half the can into the bowl with a firm nod.

A chocolate cloud burst, dusting the three of them with a light brown dust that made the kitchen look like the scene of a chocolate factory meltdown.

Matt coughed, brushing the chocolate from his face and licking the cocoa from the edges of his mouth. "That's. not flour. Did I make this a chocolate—lemon cake?" he asked, aghast in confusion halfway across the room.

Chocolate dust and lemon goo now blanketed Bucky, as though he'd passed through a battlefield made of dessert. He grabbed a rolling pin and started thumping it onto the countertop, the sound angry and loud, as though he was calling for attention—or perhaps just releasing tension.

The thumping made a pile of dishes shudder, one sliding over the edge and landing with a smack on the countertop.

Clint, still not hearing anything, considered the thumping an invitation to participate. "WE'RE MAKING NOISE NOW? I'M IN!" he bellowed, grabbing a ladle and a pot and clashing them together as if he was leading a parade for one.

The commotion was so loud, Natasha Romanoff was drawn to the kitchen by it, where she leant against the doorway, arms folded, and watched the chaos.

"What is this, a demolition derby or a bake—off?" Natasha teased, sidestepping a stray glob of chocolate—lemon goop.

Clint, who hadn't heard her, shouted back, “WHAT? ARE WE DONE? IT'S A CATASTROPHE!” He kept banging against the pot, spewing more flour into the air that Natasha brushed a hand across her face.

Matt, removing chocolate sauce from the face, tried to leap to the aid of a strip of dignity. "We're testing, Nat. It's… chocolate—lemon cake—may be a thing!" he hazarded, though the manner in which he said it made plain he didn't believe a word.

Bucky, losing patience, grabbed a fresh whiteboard off the counter and scrawled: GET ME OUT HERE.

He stood holding it with a look of utter desperation, now sporting a yellow apron smeared with chocolate, lemon juice, and flour so that he looked like a human arts and crafts project.

Natasha giggled, pulling a pouch of actual flour from a nearby rack and tossing it in their direction. "You're a mess all over. Don't kill anyone—or the kitchen, okay?" she said with a headshake and leaving them to their destruction, the sound of her laughter ringing down the hallway.

Trying to combine the new flour with the mix, Matt blindly groped, spilling it onto Clint's arm. "My bad!" he said, stepping back as Clint flung the flour off like a dog shaking water from a bath, showering it all over the place.

Clint, now a human statue covered in flour, scooped up a handful of the chocolate—lemon goo and flung it at Matt in retaliation.

Matt ducked, and the goo splattered against the wall and slid down with a slow ooze.

Bucky, seeing an opening, grabbed a whisk and started whipping the mixture with a fury, the splatters spewing out like he was accomplishing a frantic paint job in the kitchen.

One splatter hit the lens of the camera, covering it with goo and adding a gritty, war—zone look to the footage.

When, eventually, the oven timer beeped (which Clint didn't hear because, well, deaf), their "cake" was a misshapen, grubby brown monstrosity that resembled something pulled from a swamp.

The batter had chocolate streaks and lemony juice coursing through it, with clumps of unmixed flour floating like sad islands in a sea of despair.

It had a hint of lemony scent off it, and the burnt scent of the stuck—on cocoa.

Tony strolled in, hands in pockets, and looked at the destruction with a grin. "Well, chaps, you've made… the ultimate biohazard. I'm calling it 'The Avengers' Revenge Cake.' Maybe send it out to repel the next alien invasion," he said, poking the "cake" with a spoon.

It sloshed with a soggy plop, and a bubble burst across the surface, spewing out a cloud of lemony scent which made Tony jump back.

Clint put in his hearing aids, taking in the chaos at last. “Hold up, we were baking something? I thought we were just messing around!" he cried out, wiping at the flour covering his face and leaving streaks across it as though he'd had a battle with a water gun filled with wheat.

Matt groaned, ridding himself of chocolate smudges from his apron and shaking his head. "I'm not baking anymore.” he grumbled, flinging a sticky spoon against the side of the sink with a clang.

Bucky didn't write this time. He just scooped up a handful of the grayish mess and hurled it at Tony.

Tony dodged, laughing as the glob hit the wall and slid down with a slow, sad plop.

The kitchen was a disaster—flour on the ceiling, cocoa on the cabinets, lemon juice on the floor, and a lingering smell of burnt vanilla that would haunt the tower for weeks.

The camera had captured every second, and the internet would never let them live it down.

[changingplumbob]

CW: Low level sim spice - Guide to content warnings

Glenn: That was great and I'd love to just go to sleep like a normal person but I think I want to have a quick shower

Silver: *chuckling* Did I get you too messy already

Glenn pulled Silver up to where he could kiss him comfortably.

Glenn: Not at all but sweat tends to make me break out and I don't want to get all crusty

Silver: Fair point, I suppose I should wash up to then so I don't ruin your sheets

Glenn: Oh, you think you're sleeping in my bed do you? Very bold. You can use the washbasin since you're old and I've got dibs on the shower

Silver: I can't join you in the shower?

Glenn: *laughing* Definitely not now if ever, I have a whole washing routine that I am very loyal to

Glenn turned on the water and climbed right in while Silver washed down in the sink. It was amusing watching Glenn shower. He had several songs he would sing while he did it, and seemed to have parts of his routine that tied to particular verses or choruses. When Silver was clean he went back to the room to pull his underwear on and grab Glenn's discarded clothes. Back in the bathroom he closed his eyes and listened to Glenn's singing voice. It wasn't the best he'd heard but it was every bit as adorable as Glenn was.

Glenn: Can you pass my towel Silver

Silver opened his eyes and looked where Glenn was pointing. Grabbing it he went back and started drying Glenn.

Glenn: Uh, what are you doing

Silver: *smiles* Helping

Glenn: Very nice but try not to make me need another shower

Silver: No funny business, I promise

When Glenn was dry and dressed the pair hoped in bed and Glenn cuddled up close to Silver.

Glenn: I'm going to miss you when you're away

Silver: Yeah. Me to

Glenn: Do you think, maybe one day, you won't have to move around all the time? That you'll be okay being still?

Silver: I hope so

Glenn: Well I can wait. I think you're going to be worth it

Silver thought about the best way to reply but before he thought of a response Glenn was asleep. Part of him didn't want to leave, but while he felt safe with Glenn he still felt like he'd been in Willow Creek too long. A lifetime of being pursued by hunters was hard to shake.

In the morning he was extra quiet while he got his things together. Glenn looked so peaceful sleeping, he didn't want to disturb him. He searched the house for a pen and paper but couldn't find any. Did people not write letters anymore or just spellcasters? Taking one last look at Glenn he left, there was no time like the present to figure out the whole texting thing.

When Glenn woke up he wasn't startled at being alone, he normally woke up in an empty bed after all. But as he dozed the memories of the past few days came back, especially last night. Smiling he sat up and looked around but Silver's pack and sleeping bag were gone. He must have left already. Glenn felt a sadness in his heart again but it was different than the sadness after Grayson. While that had been a desolation this was more of a... lonely feeling. He didn't feel abandoned, or unloved, just by himself.

Propping himself up in bed he looked out the window. Despite the clouds it was peaceful today. He thought back on last night and smiled, trying to commit every moment to memory. In the corner one vial glowed pink from the channeled pleasure. That was good, he'd be able to talk to Henri about the potion today then.

*phone buzzes*

I apologise for leaving without a proper goodbye. You looked so peaceful Babycakes I didn't want to wake you up. I hope you enjoyed last night, I'm hoping we can do it again sometime, winky face. I know you told me how to put in a winky face but I forgot. Have a good day, chat tonight? Dearest wishes, Silver

Glenn lent forward in excitement. How to answer? He quickly ruled out chat language because explaining what lol meant would ruin whatever came before it.

That's okay, it takes time to break a habit right? I'll be right here when you get back. Well probably not in bed but still, you get what I mean. Remember to take pictures of the flowers for me okay?

How to sign off? Something flirty? Something proper? Something sincere? Give up and just send a picture of his pixel parts?

Enjoy your day, I can't wait to talk to you tonight and try to teach you the in and outs of emoji. Cuddles, Glenn

Somewhere far away Silver got the text and thought, what on earth is emoji?

A quick locating spell after breakfast told Glenn Henri was currently in the tower. Grabbing the ingredients he needed he headed off.

Glenn: Good morning Henri! Isn't it a great day

Henri: Yeah it is, I- wait, why are you so chipper? Last time I saw you were wrestling over the idea of harvesting pleasure alone. Did you finally figure it out

Glenn: I did yeah, one vial of pleasure, nice and fresh. By my calculations that means I have all the stuff I need for a potion of plentiful needs

Glenn handed the flask over and Henri studied it closely. Slowly a smile spread across his face and he looked up beaming.

Henri: So you found someone to help you eh? That's great! I'm glad you're leaving that other fellow behind you. You're a nice guy Glenn, you deserve good things

Glenn: What? How do you know I didn't just make it myself

Henri: *chuckling* I'm an artist Glenn. I take just as much care with my potion ingredients as I do when I'm making my pastries. The colour of pleasure differs slightly depending on how many people are involved in making it. I mean they're all shades of pink and red but the trained eye can tell them apart

Glenn: So it tells you I was with someone

Henri: And that they were a werewolf. Don't worry, I won't tell the twins if you don't

Glenn: *sighs* Oh I can only imagine their commentary on the matter

Henri: *chuckles* Best not spoken aloud

Previous ... Next

[cordiallyhqs]

CORDIALLYHQS PRESENTS... A LETTER FROM QUEEN ANNE II

rumor rings through london at twilight and condemns its heart that is mayfair as a ground of ruin. the nobility once regarded as the greatest, the blessed, and the divine have been exposed as no more than feeble and salacious rabbits posing as lions. queen anne is awaken under moonlight to a knock at her bedchamber door, the words of the city's most notorious gossip lying on a silver platter for her to devour and choke. how can she remain a monarch of peace and harmony when those deemed the elite act like animals still learning to behave? their ferity and savage ways ends here.

My most loyal and esteemed subjects,

It has come to my notice that your recent conduct, having led you far from the path of this kingdom, has clouded your judgment, and now, more than ever, you stand in need of my guidance to restore you to the dignity of your rightful duties and obligations. In the light of your actions, I, your Queen, am most disheartened by the manner in which you have comported yourselves—an affront so vile it might even cause the most humble of persons to recoil in disgust.

A mere scribe, in her ignorance, could not possibly fathom the worth that lies within you, nor could she know the jewels that are your true potential. Know this: I see your strength, and I have long recognized the promise within you. When I first extended my invitation to this season, I made a solemn vow—a vow to create an environment where hearts broken by war, sorrow, and loss might find healing, and be restored to a life envied by those less burdened by such trials.

You, my subjects, bear a heavy responsibility. In your hands lies the power to set an example for both your peers and for the people of this kingdom. I implore you, act with the grace and dignity befitting your position, and I shall continue to guide you. I shall personally determine the finest among you, those whose worth shall be reflected in the best of matches, where your titles and your legacies will shine.

Know this, that the titles and honors which you hold, those precious gifts of rank and station, are not to be trifled with. I shall not permit them to be sullied by acts unworthy of their majesty. And further, I extend my favor to those in Mayfair who have proven such grace, trusting that their conduct shall be deserving of such blessings moving forward.

Remember, as swiftly as power and title are bestowed, so too can they be withdrawn.

May you heed this counsel, and may it guide you back to the path of honor.

Your Queen.

・.・𓂃۶ৎ THE QUEEN HAS ANNOUNCED AN OFFICIAL MATCHMAKING FOR THE SEASON! Following the scandalous exposure of Lady Whistledown's latest edition, Her Majesty has decided to be proactive in the season of harmony meant to cultivate a new generation of loyal nobles. She has extended her promise of assisting her jewels in the marriage market with a direct influence over courtships and determining the most plausible matches for her eligible bachelors and debutantes.

PLOT DROP SUMMARY

The queen's solution to the scandal brought on by Lady Whistledown has elicited a round of matchmaking to set the social season back on track. A letter has arrived to each noble house of the subject she has chosen to match make (volunteered by their muns, but canonically chosen by Her Majesty) which will be followed by an audience with the queen to determine the best course of action for a match. The queen has also hand selected members of the working class/commoners to match make that have been on their best behavior, with those working within households having a higher chance of being selected. She has outwardly threatened that the poor behavior of the ton can be means of removing their titles— desperate times call for desperate measures.

GUIDELINES

If you would like to volunteer your character for matchmaking, please submit this in the discord channel accordingly including your character's full name and sexuality to ensure an appropriate match. There will be a brief form for you to fill out.

Volunteers should be submitted by April 16th.

When volunteering commoners, please keep in mind what has been said about them in Lady Whistledown that may affect them being chosen. Working class members within noble households have an advantage with ruling lords/ladies that can vouch for them. It is up to you if your muse was suggested without their consent by their head of household. Please plot this with your household.

None of the matching making is a set ship or endgame, but rather a courtship highly influenced by the queen herself. Most of these pairings will be done to create further drama.

For working class members, they have gained the favor of the queen and will be given the necessary facilitation for the courtship entailing invitation to high society events. They will also be receiving sponsorships from the queen for necessary wardrobe changes and courtship activities but this will be a small account that will does not compare to the budgets the ton put towards preparation for the season.

HEADCANONS FOR THE ROYAL FAMILY & THE INTERVIEW: The interview, unfortunately, will not be played out on the dash with the queen as she is an NPC but you can write reactions or preparations for it. It can be headcanon'd that the queen and a matchmaking "team" will interview the subject and the head of their household. The experience should feel intrusive and exhausting, with pressures from the team to return to questions dodged by your muse. It is more than possible they remain untruthful, especially with their secrets, but this comes with effort. Her Majesty will not speak at most of these interviews and will let her team guide questions necessary to determine the needs, desires, and true impression of the subject. She can easily be described with kind eyes and a startling interest in her gaze despite not saying a word, with a little wry smile that is a rarity given only if she has made an obvious decision before her team.

[emicat1159]

Part 2 of my au story :)

(I don't really know what to say here so yeah, hope it's good and do tell me what you all think :3)

Agata's sixth sense has never failed her yet, a gift passed down through the generations of her family as her mother always told her, Agata had always been in the right place at the right time, to either narrowly avoid disasters, or to witness wonders. It is no wonder then, that on that day, her senses told her to leave the cities. Agata was not to die alongside humanity.

As of today, her time is spent trekking into the remains of a once bustling city, its inhabitants long lost to their fates. Before the events that led up to the capital looking the way it now does, the citizens would've enjoyed a life of relative peace, society making use of electronics, while some could make use of technology through the powers of their spirits. Each person had a force inside of them, a spirit, a soul. That, with some practice could be channeled towards an object in order to manipulate it. The efficiency of this depending on the strength of their soul, and the stronger your soul, the more you could achieve. Those powerful enough could power full buildings with their souls.

Agata never had an issue with using these abilities herself, her bloodline throughout history proving itself to have abilities rarely seen among humanity.

They, of course, kept that to themselves.

She walks through the long abandoned city, buildings collapsed from a lack of maintenance. its inhabitants long gone- believing themselves to be too close to the impact zone of the blasts that littered the country's capital. She assumes, correctly, those people met their ends when they found themselves with no place better to go, succumbing to hunger or dehydration. The other towns and cities fell to a similar fate, perhaps more to the explosive side of things rather than the destructive energies that were released alongside the calamity that brought the major cities to rubble.

Agata looks up. The sky is grey with thick clouds, the sun barred from reaching the ground down beneath them. Silhouettes of dead trees and skyscrapers black against the backdrop behind them. No birds grace the sky with their songs..

'I wonder if I'll ever get to see the sun again..' she thinks to herself solemnly. She walks on.

Remnants of old offices, bakeries, and a library pass her by as the target building comes into view. An old store.

Today Agata is scavenging for supplies; food, medicines, undamaged batteries, bottled water, cables and maybe even clothes.

She enters the building through a collapsed wall towards the back, careful to avoid broken glass and loose tiles as to not fall. Using her powers she switches on her flashlight to illuminate the dark corridor, energy tingling at her fingertips a soft, warm feeling. Old advertisements litter the ground and cling desperately to the walls, blurred letters momentarily lightened up by the flickering glow of her light.

Agata wanders the aisles of this old store, old packages of what she thinks could've been food are littered across the floor.

'Smells rancid, ew..'

Her first stop is the canned food section, their contents can last for years as long as the containers are not damaged, oh how she misses the taste of fresh food- her mother's cooking...

Never mind that now.

Unfortunately, the shelves are empty, she sighs to herself, 'looks like someone already went through this whole place a long while ago'

Standing up from her crouched position, she swipes her long, unkempt light-brown hair out of her face, her blue eyes scanning the almost empty shelves of the store, anything left behind most likely far past edible.

'I don't feel like taking any chances...'

Agata finds the other items on her list relatively quickly after that, a small amount still left behind.

She coughs as her feet kick up dust into the air as she retreats back to where she entered the building from, careful as to not run into any shattered glass while making her way through the front doors. The skies outside were dark, the sun blocked out by thick layers of dust-filled clouds, a light breeze met her face. Its cold.

She walks through the exit. And sees three winged figures.

I ended up changing a lot of what the plot was gonna be, so I tried to explain how her world works 'n stuff.. soooooooooo