#OR SCRY-- ...Wait no that's not right

[making-your-fave-in-fr]

i wanna see how youd do mannequin_mark from regretevator ^w^

I made Mannequin_Mark from Regretevator (Roblox) in Flight Rising!

M Guardian (Dark Shadow eyes) Tan/Ripple | Tan/Current | Silver/Okapi

Gold Aviator Outfit, Leather Arm Wraps, Dusty Pauper Gloves

[chicoryblue]

i had such a strong gut feeling for a while now that we were gonna get a new modern, the release of new apparel and genes had been way too sporadic and it just felt like they were building up to something big

[mekha-draws]

wait fuck, i think there's something here guys

Steel/Smoke/Thistle btw

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

part 2 ➡

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 21

You can read previous chapter here.

Summary: Azriel takes Y/n out of the house, and the two share a few personal moments as he  reveals parts of his past. The next day, Nesta, Y/n, Cassian and Azriel venture into the Bog of Oorid.

WC: 3.5K.

As both sisters walked into the River House, they were greeted by surprised looks from Amren, Feyre, and even Rhys. None of them dared say anything, at least not directly.

Nesta offered Feyre a nod of greeting before taking a seat next to the map.

“Are you sure about this?” Y/n asked, standing a step behind her sister. 

Nesta only nodded, but Y/n sensed there was more to it. She wasn’t doing this just for Elain. There was something different about her this morning. Distraught, but not because of the scrying.

As Nesta took the stones and bones and closed her eyes to focus, silence fell over the room. All eyes locked on her. 

After some time, Nesta’s grip tightened, her knuckles white, and her eyes darted rapidly behind her lids. Rhys tried entering her mind again, but to no avail. This time, she’d put all her shields up. 

Things were getting out of control.

“Get her out. Something is wrong. Get her out now!” Y/n demanded, her voice sharp and filled with panic, but Rhys couldn’t.

“Nesta! Nesta! Please open your eyes!” Y/n dropped to her knees in front of her sister, cupping her cheek with trembling fingers. “Nesta, come back to me,” she whispered desperately. 

Then Cassian echoed her words, whispering something softly into Nesta’s ear. Finally, her eyes snapped open, but she didn’t release the stones and bones. Her gaze was distant, hollow, different, and her skin was cold to the touch. Y/n slowly stood, unease prickling at her spine, as she drew her hand from Nesta’s cheek.

“Nesta?” she said cautiously, searching her sister’s vacant eyes.

Nesta didn’t seem to hear her. Slowly, she turned to face Cassian instead. 

Somehow, he managed to reach her, to ground her, bringing her back with a kiss. Y/n cringed at the sight, but said nothing as Nesta’s fingers finally loosened, the stones and bones clattering onto a place marked on the map: the Bog of Oorid.

Everyone began discussing what that place was and what the next move should be, but Y/n couldn’t hear any of it. Her attention was solely on her sister.

“I thought I lost you for a second,” she whispered hoarsely, leaning in closer.

“It won’t be that easy,” Nesta replied with a weak attempt at a smirk.

The plan was made– Nesta, Cassian, and Azriel would leave the next morning after breakfast to retrieve the first of the Trove: the Mask.

“I’m going with you,” Y/n said firmly. It wasn’t a request but a demand.

“Y/n, it’s too-” Feyre began, but was promptly cut off.

“I’m. Going. With. You,” Y/n repeated, her tone brooking argument as her eyes stayed on Nesta.

“If these two are on good terms again, then Mother help whatever’s in Oorid,” Amren whispered to Feyre, a smirk curling on her lips.

—

Azriel waited until Nesta and Cassian had retired to their rooms before standing and approaching Y/n, who was sipping her evening tea. 

“Ready?” he asked, voice low as he leaned against the doorframe.

“For what?” She blinked at him, completely forgetting about his promise.

“To go out,” he reminded.

“Right... I didn't think you’d actually follow through.”

“You wound me,” he said, placing his hands over his chest and feigning a look of mock pain.

Y/n scoffed, setting her tea down with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Feyre was right.”

“About what?” he asked, straightening with mild suspicion.

“The three of you. You’re Illyrian babies indeed,” she teased.

He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again, clearly not having a comeback.

She chuckled under her breath. “Lead the way, Shadowsinger.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asked, gently placing a hand on her waist as his shadows danced around her, ready to take off.

“Hewn city,” she deadpanned.

His eyes darkened instantly, and she caught the shift.

“I’m kidding,” she added with a soft laugh. “I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it.”

“I have a place in mind. Would you prefer flying or winnowing?”

She blinked, surprised. “That’s the first time you’ve asked me that.”

“That’s because we’re usually in a hurry, and winnowing is faster.”

“You did fly me here all the way once, though,” she reminded, her gaze drifting upward as if searching for the memory hidden in the clouds above. Her voice softened unconsciously, the edges of a smile pulling at her lips. That day–the first time they were this close. The day he made something inside her shift.

Azriel glanced at her, noting the way her expression changed. “That day, you wanted to explore the city. I thought you’d enjoy the view from above.”

“I did,” she murmured, her tone almost wistful.

—

They arrived at what looked like a stable nestled against a wide open pasture. The horses roamed freely, untethered and unconfined.

“You brought me to a stable?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“It’s not just a stable,” Azriel replied, walking ahead slowly. “I used to come here before I… before I learned to fly.”

Her eyes darted around the surroundings. “We’re in Illyria?” she asked, frowning slightly at the familiar terrain. 

He nodded, eyes fixed on the horses.

“I thought you hated it here.”

“I do,” he admitted quietly. “But this is one of the few places that I don’t hate.”

“You don’t talk much about it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he said, almost too quickly.

She let it go. “I get it. Can I ask you something?”

He nodded again, this time meeting her eyes. His expression was unreadable, but softer than usual.

“How did you come to accept what you are?”

“You mean as-”

“As an Illyrian,” she clarified. “You hate your people, your heritage. So how did you come to terms with it?”

A crease formed between his brows. “Who says I have?”

“You… you seem like you have,” she said gently. “The way you dress. The weapons. The power you harness. The way you fight. It’s all Illyrian.”

He looked down for a moment, shadows flickering quietly at his back.“I suppose a part of me has… but I still struggle sometimes with accepting who I am.”

She nodded slowly. “I see.”

After a long pause, he asked carefully, his gaze searching hers. “You’re asking because you still haven’t come to terms with what you are yet, aren’t you?”

She exhaled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, as if shielding herself from the weight of the question. “Yes. I thought if anyone had insight, it’d be you.”

“You don’t have to fully accept it. Just don’t let it define who you are. Being Fae or Illyrian isn’t something you choose, you’re either born or forced to become one... That might be what we are, but it’s not who we are. That, Troublemaker, is something we choose ourselves.”

She nodded slowly. “So who are you? Spymaster? Shadowsinger? Warrior? Or just… you?”

“All of it,” he answered with a small shrug. “Just like you are more than one thing now.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement. “And who might that be?”

“Hmm, let me think.” He rubbed his jaw, playing along. “First and foremost, you are a troublemaker,” he said with a teasing grin.

Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms again as her lips twitched. “That’s not entirely true, but proceed.”

“You’re a stormbringer.”

“You’re getting creative with finding nicknames for me.”

“They do suit you. And lastly…” He paused, almost hesitant. “I’m still working on this one. Might not be the final version yet, but… Ice Princess.”

Y/n burst out laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Ice princess? Really? Do I even want to know how you got to that nickname?”

“I told you I’m still working on it.” He gave a small shrug. “But since you asked, it fits. Ice, because you have ice powers, obviously. But also because…”

“Because what?” she asked, eyes narrowing playfully again.

“You can be as cold as ice sometimes,” he said, deadpan. “Figuratively and literally.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smile. “I’ll take that.”

“You’re not mad?” His brows lifted slightly, clearly surprised by her relaxed attitude.

“Why would I be? I am cold and that’s just a fact.”

“But you aren’t always,” he added softly, his voice a little more serious now.

“I’m not?”

“No. Take you now, for example.”

She looked away, pretending to focus on something in the distance. She had let her guard down again, she barely noticed it or rather ignored it. Whenever he was around, her walls weakened. She relaxed. Let go of the facade. She enjoyed herself around him. But she shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“I…I do give people a break from time to time,” she muttered. “But that doesn’t mean this is who I am. Don’t let this get to your head.”

He noticed the slight shift in her tone, how defensive she’d gotten. He wanted to point it out, but something in him told him not to. He feared he might ruin this, whatever this was between them now.

“You didn’t ask about the second part,” he prompted after a beat.

“I don’t think I want to know.”

“Come on, ask me,” he coaxed, the corners of his mouth lifting again.

She groaned softly, giving him a sideway glance. “Fine. How did you come up with it?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, straightening with an overly satisfied grin. “Just don't get defensive.”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this…” she muttered under her breath. 

“You act like a spoiled princess sometimes.”

“Me? Spoiled?” she gasped, placing a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense.

“Yes. Hear me out.” His expression turned mock-serious. “But not just that. Something about the way you carry yourself. The way you talk and act. How you never seem to fear anything. How you wouldn’t bow to anyone, no matter how much stronger or more dangerous they are.”

She raised her chin, eyes gleaming with defiance. “Those sound more like the characteristics of a queen, actually.” 

He chuckled under his breath. “True.”

“But since I don’t want that responsibility of ruling over a kingdom, princess will have to do.”

Azriel laughed, the sound rare and warm as he shook his head.

“You still haven’t told me why you chose this place or why you came here in the first place.”

He sighed, glancing up at the sky. “Flying meant freedom,” he began, voice quieter now. “I was the only boy my age who couldn't fly. Even after I left my father’s estate, I still felt trapped, confined and one day I stumbled across this place. I saw how the horses would run and run, how they reigned free. I wanted more than anything to feel that kind of freedom. And so every time I felt trapped, caged, I’d come here. It became a source of comfort but also motivation, that one day, I, too, would achieve that freedom.”

She looked around at the open fields, the quiet peace of the valley washing over her, then back at him. “And now?”

“I still come here for both,” he admitted with a faint nod. “Even though I can fly now, and I’m technically free, I still feel trapped sometimes. Life isn’t always what we expect it to be. This place remained a source of comfort to me. I hoped it could bring you a little bit of both.”

A small smile softened her features. “You always seem to know what I need. Last time I was feeling low, you brought me to a mountain. And now this.”

“I always try to help a friend in need,” he said, looking at her more than the landscape now.

She smirked. “You should be careful. I now know a lot of your hiding places.”

Azriel snorted. “Don’t worry. I still have many more,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

After a beat of silence, she glanced sideways at him. “You said you came here before to motivate yourself, to help you with the flying and freeing yourself... Are you giving me ideas to plot my escape plan?”

“You can try,” he said with a crooked grin. “But there’s nowhere in this world you could go where I wouldn’t find you.”

She stepped closer, her expression sharpening with mock suspicion. “Are you threatening me, Shadowsinger?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Just stating the facts,” he replied, eyes glinting with that familiar quiet confidence.

She almost forgot he was a spymaster for a second. “Ah, yes. You’re sneaky little shadows. They’re just as insufferable as you are. Maybe that’s why you’re able to command them,” she said with a casual shrug.

“Have you been thinking about me and my shadows a lot lately?” he teased, taking a step toward her.

She matched him, stepping closer enough to feel his breath. Rising to her toes, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “If anything, it’s to try and find a way to eliminate you. Both… or all of you.” She gave him a mischievous grin.

He chuckled low in his throat. He knew she didn’t mean a word of it, and so did his shadows. They coiled lazily around her back and shoulders, amused by her boldness.

“They like you,” Azriel noted, gesturing slightly with his chin toward the swirling shadows.

“Or maybe it’s just part of your evil plan to make me think that so I don’t pursue the matter.” She gave him a look, eyes narrowing with playful doubt as a sly grin curled her lips.

“Evil?” he echoed with a scoff, one brow rising, amusement tinging his voice. “You’re the one with the violent plan.”

“I thought you enjoyed violence,” she pointed out with a tilt of her head.

“I don’t mind it” he admitted. “But I’d rather not see you anywhere near it. So let’s skip the elimination part and keep things interesting in other ways.”

"You’re worried about me?"she asked, arching a brow as she stepped  even closer.

His expression turned serious, though the ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips "I’d be a fool not to be.”

She laughed under her breath, the sound surprisingly warm. "Well then, I guess I’ll have to find another way to keep you on your toes.”

“Just keep it non-violent,” he teased, despite the faint thread of seriousness woven into his tone.

She nodded, a genuine smile breaking through her teasing demeanor. "For you, I think I can do that.” Then, with a playful glint in her eye, she added. "But don't think this means you're off the hook.”

Azriel’s shadows seemed to ripple with silent laughter, and he shook his head, bemused. "I wouldn't dream of it.”

She bumped his shoulder affectionately before stepping back. "Good. Now let’s get back before someone notices you took me out. I’d hate to see anyone else shed your blood.”

He chuckled, his wings twitching slightly. “Now who’s worried about whom?”

“If anything, it’s because you said no violence," she replied, her eyes serious and sharp despite her playful tone. "If your brothers try to give you a hard time for this, I'll fight them myself. If anyone is going to spill your blood, it would only be me.”

His expression softened, touched by her words even if they were wrapped in threat. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

She smiled, the tension easing. "Agreed. But just so you know, I'm serious.”

He nodded, gaze holding hers steadily. "I know. And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

—-

“So, how does it feel to finally carry a sword?” Cassian mocked as they all prepared to head to Oorid. They were fully equipped, armor, weapons, layers of protection. No one knew exactly what they’d be facing.

“Bite me, General,” Y/n muttered, shooting him a sharp glare as she tightened the strap of her leather vambrace.

“I don’t think that’s professional,” he replied, smirking. “Especially now.”

She turned to Azriel, who was sheathing the last blade at his thigh, and pointed toward Cassian. “Can I stab him?”

“You can try,” Cassian challenged, clearly amused.

“Not yet,” Azriel replied dryly. “We still need him. If there’s a monster we can’t fight, you could offer it Cass.”

She grinned. “Good idea.”

“You wound me, brother,” Cassian gasped, dramatically placing a hand on his heart. “Is that what happens to you when you’re in the company of a beautiful female? You’re just going to sacrifice me? After all these years? After everything we’ve been through together?” 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t done it already,” Y/n quipped.

“You’re a wicked witch, Y/n,” Cassian muttered.

“But I am the prettiest,” she replied sweetly, placing her hands under her chin and batting her lashes.

Nesta, fastening the buckles of her leather chest plate, finally cut in. “How can you two be this relaxed when we’re literally about to enter a place no man dares to set foot in?”

Y/n glanced at Cassian, then back at her sister. “I don’t think the General is relaxed. I think he’s distracting himself before he secretly shits himself,” Y/n teased.

“What about you?” Cassian questioned.

“What’s the worst that can happen? They’re gonna kill us?” Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, adjustingher belt. “We’ve been in so many life-threatening situations, I lost count. After the King and the Cauldron, I can face anything. Besides-” she motioned to herself and Nesta. “We have powers. If anything, the monsters should be afraid of us. And we’ve got the two most powerful Illyrian warriors by our side. I think we got this.” She said it all so casually, so calmly, as if this were just another errand.

“I’d like to have your mindset in a battle,” Cassian murmured under his breath, only half-joking.

When they reached the Bog of Oorid, an oppressive stillness greeted them. There was no sign of life, no wind, no rustling leaves. Not even a single sound from the creatures that should’ve inhabited the area. The air was thick, damp, and mist clung to the ground like a living thing. It was unlike anything Y/n or Nesta had ever seen. 

A strange sensation curled in Y/n’s gut, not fear, something worse. It pulled at her like a thread tugging loose from a tightly-woven fabric. She didn’t feel the same uneasiness the others did. If anything, she felt drawn to this place.

“Not one insect. Not one bird” Azriel murmured, scanning the surroundings with sharp eyes.

“Good, I hate insects,” Y/n said dryly, folding her arms. Azriel glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

They continued on, each step deliberate and cautious. No one spoke as they seemed too focused on the road ahead of them. The fog muffled even the sound of their movements, swallowing it whole.

“The silence is nice,” Y/n added lightly, a hint of mischief in her tone. She cast a glance at Azriel, trying to lift the tension. This time, he halted mid-step and turned toward her, studying her with that unreadable face, but didn’t say a word.

“What dwells here?” Nesta asked.

“Things that hunt in the water and feast on flesh,” Azriel replied flatly.

“No one’s seen A Kelpie in a damn long time,” Cassian added grimly.

“What’s a Kelpie? Nesta questioned.

“They’re ancient monsters,” Cassian explained. “They lured people into the water and drowned them. Then feasted on them.”

“Easy. Don’t go in the water,” Y/n shrugged casually..

“You’re seriously telling me this place doesn’t give you the chills?” Cassian looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

She shook her head. “Nope. I’ve seen worse.” To her, nothing would ever be worse than the King of Hybern- who, to this day, still  haunted her dreams.

“What else is there?” Nesta pressed.

“Witches. Not the human kind,” Cassian said, glancing at the fog as if expecting something to appear.

“They don’t sound so bad,” Y/n replied, unfazed.

“They drink young blood to fill the coldness magic left in them,” Cassian added.

Y/n hummed. “Hmm-”

“Don’t get any ideas,” Cassian warned, narrowing her eyes at her.

“What? I didn't say anything.” She widened her eyes in mock innocence.

“You were thinking of finding a way to talk to one,” Cassian accused..

“We could capture one,” Y/n suggested casually, inspecting her nails. “And the Shadowsinger could torture her for any information we need.” 

Azriel turned his head slowly, brow lifting ever so slightly.

“We don’t need information from a witch,” Cassian said flatly. “And you seem too comfortable with torture.”

“I might need some information,” Y/n quipped, flashing them with a devious smile.

Cassian scoffed. “I’m starting to think you really want to become a witch.” 

Azriel didn’t say anything, but a glint of worry sparked in his eyes. His shadows stirred slightly, reacting to the quiet note of unease behind his gaze.

“Would that be such a bad idea?” she asked genuinely, tilting her head.

“Yes. Especially if it’s you,” Cassian replied without hesitation.

“Why?” Her brows drew together, genuinely curious.

“You’d kill us all. And with your temper? I don’t think even the humans would be safe from you.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes, glaring. “If I ever become a witch, congratulations you just became the first on my list of people I want to kill.”

Cassian raised his hands in surrender, grinning. “Which is exactly why I’d rather kill every witch than see you turn into one.”

Tags: @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03 @elaselat @minnieoo @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jojodojo02 @questionmymentality @romantasyreader28 @cassie-at-college-blog @dabiloverphoenix @hippop345 @fan-of-many-bands @freefalls06-blog @yesiamthatwierd @ms-dont-care @wxveysun @ashjade19

[fluidity-stupidity]

Random Witch Tips

Just a few things I've learned from being in a practice for over five, going on six, years now:

Sigils are a lot more powerful than everyone really knows, they're a beginner friendly spell waiting to be had.

Scroll Spells: Putting a sigil on a piece of coloured construction paper tie it up with a (preferably) different colored string, seal the string in wax, is the easiest spell to ever do. (Kind of inspired by Naruto)

Speaking of Naruto: I have little Pop Funko key chains that I've picked up at travel household guardians. I also have one of MCU Loki that the Norse Deity Loki has taken an offense to (ping me or send me an ask for a storytime)

Divination can be used and done everywhere, the little sayings on Stevia packets, having your phones wallpaper change different colors are base it off of the colors, music (shufflemancy), are all just little ways to use divination.

Making altars not just for divine individuals. I have an altar set up for the zodiac sign of Scorpio (my stellium is set in Scorpio and Sagittarius) and an altar set up just for self-care. (Please remember the differences between altars and shrines.

Baking ingredients are an underrated spell jar ingredients, sometimes you just don't really feel like kitchen magic and/or in a tough bind for time, energy and just want something a bit more big and powerful than a scroll spell.

Scrying mirrors were always a bit of a hassle for me, it hurt my eyes and I had to get the angle just right, having to sit in one position for too long was a wreck on my unmedicated ADHD self. I learned how to do open-eye scrying by relying on my snow vision, having 3D glasses was able to help me out as well.

Speaking of the 3D glasses: any common every day object can be used in your practice. Using that limited edition Sprite Cranberry would be a good spell ingredient or even as an offering for a deity/divine individual.

Divine individuals will ask you to put things like jewelry or keys on their altar so that they know whenever you go out on a drive or out with friends. Especially if you don't go out very often. They just like hanging out with us sometimes, they're not just here for fun and games however, you have to put in the work and have the motivation to get better for them to get more comfortable with you.

Divine individuals have a life outside of witchcraft, their own society and workload outside of our physical plane. Please keep this in mind. They are not always here with us. Lucifer has paperwork, Poseidon has a kingdom to rule over, An Morrigan has children to take care of, make certain to respect these.

[litnerdwrites]

Suddenly, the reasoning behind Nesta's sudden institutionalisation, and forced training, after waiting over a year to help her, makes perfect sense. No, it's not because Feyre sobbed into her eggs one morning or because they care about helping her.

It's because of the trove.

rainkatzanddogs on tiktok, put together a timeline for the SJM universe, and for each events, references which chapter (including bonus content) they take place in. I'll be referencing that in this post.

Feyre learned about Nesta's 500 gold marks spending spree one day before the start of ACOSF, right before Rhysand explains his plan. The one that Cassian believed he'd made a while back, given how detailed it was. The next day is when the intervention happens, and after that, Rhysand asks Cassian to look into the Human queens.

If he's asking Cassian to look into it at this point, then we can assume that he has reasonable evidence to suggest that they're doing something shady. By this point, according to the timeline, Baron has already made a deal with them, Eris' soldiers are under the Crowns control, and have been for a month. Meaning Briallyn has had the crown for longer than a month.

16 days after the start of ACOSF, they have the meeting where they use Elain to manipulate Nesta into searching for the trove.

I think it's reasonable to assume that the IC had some idea about the trove, and if not that specifically, than that magical items were being used by a death god and a cauldron made queen to control people. It would be naive to think they were completely ignorant of what was going on. Even by the time that first meeting takes place, they clearly have a decent level of knowledge on the trove, how to find it, and who's currently looking for it.

It isn't unreasonable to think that Rhys had some idea that they'd need Nesta to scry for them or to help them later on. So, he devised a plan where she trains, and works in the library so she'd be ready to help them when they need it.

She'd be prepped for missions due to her training.

She'd have ample time to research and study while in the library, even if she only shelves books, she'd know where to find the ones she needed to research whatever they asked of her,

And since her life would be in their hands, they could make her do anything without her arguing that she's a free citizen, because at this point, she isn't.

They used the guise of it being healing as a way to pitch the idea to Feyre and Elain, even though neither of them seemed to have an issue manipulating her into doing what they wanted, since they likely discussed the using Elain to convince her to scry, because Elain didn't seem to surprised when they didn't ask her to do it later, nor did she seem bothered when Nesta ended up doing it anyway. Hell, she literally came in to say she'd do it, got under Nesta's skin, and left without listening and/or contributing to the conversation anymore than that.

Cassian seemed hell bent on making her into a warrior from the moment they met, despite her wishes, and since he so blatantly doesn't care for her or her autonomy at all, he's obviously in, so he can get what he wants. A mate that's a warrior and his emotional punching bag to take out his insecurities on, but also has her own insecurities and traumas, so she'd never go against him and he could continue to flirt with Mor and (let's be real) Rhys without worrying about said mate having the strength to stand up to him.

It was never about helping Nesta, it was all a rouse to make her into a tool that was useful to them, with little risk. If she dies, she's no longer a problem for them, or anything to fear. If she lives, she's either contained forever, or heals into the perfect tool for them to use whenever they want. It's a win-win for Rhys and Cassian.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

wizard princess weiss is captured! she must be saved before the barbaric savages ruin her! Especially that brute sent to guard her, hes just a beast, lying in wait!!! ignore how he braids her hair, ignore how he went barechested into a blizzard and dragged a caribou in each arm and especially ignore his fumbling attempts at singing!!!! she may not be chained but she knows a trick when she sees one! Queen willow Scrys on her daughter to see shes just fine. if anything, she wishes she could switch places.

Weiss: *Getting dragged out of a wrecked wagon* Let go of me you Brute! You Know not of what I can do! Once my rapier is within my hands you will be kneeling To me!

Jaune: *Carrying her over his shoulder* Pourquoi dit-elle des bêtises? (Why does she speak Nonsense?)

Saphron: Elle vient d'un pays non civilisé. (she is from an Uncivilized land.)

~~~~~

Weiss: Das stinkt! Warum musst du es drinnen schlachten?!? (That reeks! Why must you butcher it inside?!?)

Jaune: *Carving a caribou with practiced ease and gentleness* I Thank you for your sacrifice, and beg forgiveness in following Nature's design. My your rest be long and comforting.

~~~~~

Weiss: *Eating Caribou stew* Jaune?

Jaune: ?

Weiss: Il croit ... à la ... gentillesse?

Jaune: ... Non "Il croit à la gentillesse." Dites "c'est bon". (Not "It believes kindness." Say "It is Good"

Weiss: *Giving a thumbs up* Dites C'est Bon?

Jaune: C'est Bon.

Weiss: C'est Bon.

Jaune: *nodding*

Weiss: ... *Praying he understands* Danke.

Jaune: *Taking a guess as to what she said* Je Vous en Prie.

~~~~~

Willow: *Scrying on Weiss* ... Hmm.

Willow: *Draws a rune on a stone and hold it to her ear* Hello, Tai? You may delay you trip as you see fit. No, no, It's exactly what she needs right now.

Willow: Also, if I know prismeya, which I do, you would need to fight Her. Do you want to face off against her again?

Willow: That's what I thought. Take your time.

[infiniteeight8]

Can we have another part of that Stephen regularly scrying/watching Tony series? I need to know what happens next 😋

Thank you for requesting this so that I can finish that mini-series off. 😂 The rest of the mini-series is here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4818925

We all knew this one was going to go long, right? Right.

Behind the cut for smut.

-

Stephen lay on his back, head and shoulders propped up on a couple of pillows, legs spread wide, his feet flat against the bed. He worked a dildo in and out of his hole slowly, carefully avoiding his prostate while he waited. His cock was already aching, his skin shining with sweat. Tony, damn him, was late.

Finally, finally, he sensed Tony entering the Sanctum. The wait as Tony cautiously moved through the building, looking for Stephen, was agonizing. As he approached the hall leading to Stephen’s bedroom, Stephen spread his legs wider, closed his eyes, and picked up the pace. Fuck, it felt good, but hopefully soon he’d have something better.

When Tony was close enough, Stephen shouted, “Tony!”

With his eyes clamped shut, Stephen couldn’t see Tony not-quite-burst into his bedroom, but every other sense was trained on the man. Tony’s rushed entry carried him almost to the foot of Stephen’s bed, where he was greeted with the sight of Stephen vigorously fucking himself with a long, thick dildo.

Stephen moaned, only half to underscore the moment, never slowing in his motions, as if he was too involved to realize he wasn’t alone anymore. Tony remained silent, perhaps frozen in shock.

And then he continued to be silent, watching.

The realization sent a rush of heat through Stephen. Fuck, he wanted the real thing. “Tony,” he moaned again, and if there was a hint of pleading to it this time, who could blame him?

“Stephen.”

Stephen froze, eyes snapping open. Tony was watching him, eyes dark, his cock straining at his pants. When he saw Stephen looking, he stripped off his shirt. Stephen let out a shuddering breath. “If you don’t actually want this,” Tony said, opening his pants, “then you better say so.”

Stephen barely got out, “I want it,” before Tony was climbing onto the bed and crawling between Stephen’s legs and pulling the dildo out of him. Stephen moaned loudly as it left him, hands fisting in the sheets. Tony slid into him without a pause, tearing a cry of desperate pleasure from Stephen. God, he’d been on the edge too long, he wasn’t going to last.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” Tony said, hips snapping a hard thrust into Stephen. The jolt of pleasure rocketed through him; he couldn’t speak, could only spread himself for Tony to use. “So eager,” Tony groaned, and then he was gripping Stephen’s legs for leverage and fucking him hard, his cock driving into Stephen like a jack hammer. It was perfect, fuck, it was exactly what Stephen had been craving, the rough strokes making his heart pound and his body clench. 

Tony shifted, changing his angle slightly, and then again, and then he nailed Stephen’s prostate. Stephen cried out and came helplessly. He’d wanted to go longer, damn it, but he’d been waiting too long and the ecstasy of Tony fucking him was too much. His cock throbbed, spilling come over his belly.

But if Stephen thought they were done, he was very much mistaken. Tony hadn’t been on the edge for ages. He didn’t slow down for a moment.

“Oh, God,” Stephen sobbed, overstimulation sending sparks skittering over his nerves. He keened loudly as Tony fucked him. His cock felt huge, Stephen’s aching hole magnifying every sensation. 

“Take it,” Tony panted darkly, his hips pounding into the curve of Stephen’s ass. “You wanted this, now take it.”

Stephen couldn’t get hard again, it was too soon, but there were shocks of pleasure ricocheting through him anyway, and when Tony shouted and buried himself one last time, come flooding Stephen, it was almost like he’d climaxed again anyway. 

When Tony flopped down next to him, Stephen rolled over to sprawl half on top of him, ignoring, for the moment, the stickiness of come and lube slicking his thighs and Tony’s groin. “May I hope,” he muttered into Tony’s throat, “that this is not just a one time thing?”

Tony laughed, slinging an arm around Stephen and patting him on the ass. “Definitely not.”

Stephen smiled into Tony’s throat.

All according to plan.

[silverflameataraxia]

Nesta Reawakening Dusk Court

(This is an incredibly long post, but these are my reasons for why it will be Nesta who awakens the Dusk Court.)

Starborn

Nesta had the Starborn logo (the eight-pointed star) tattooed on her back. Her magic chose the design, just like Bryce's magic marked her with the Starborn scar after she drew the star out of her chest. Starborn hail from the Dusk Court.

Starborn, like Bryce, have starlight, and I think the end of ACOSF might have foreshadowed that for Nesta.

A home. The House of Wind, Velaris, this court...they were her home. The thought kindled a kernel of light in her chest that had not extinguished, even in the days after the Rite.

Her mate. Her love. Her friend. The light within her chest brightened to a radiant sun.

The light was coming from her chest - had been pulled from inside it. Like it had dwelled inside her all along. Bryce's eyes were closed, her face serene.

The ground slid out from under Hunt as the light between her hands, the star she'd drawn from her shattered heart, flared as bright as the sun.

Right into the eyes of the asp shifter. He screamed, clawing at his face. Blazing bright as the sun, Bryce moved.

Dusk Court

Nesta found the chamber in The Prison with the Harp and the eight-pointed star when no one else knew it existed. Bryce's star found the tunnel in the Hewn City that no one knew existed and also led her to the chamber in the Prison.

Nesta awakened the Harp while scrying, and since the Harp is on Dusk Court land, she could awaken that too.

Nesta reawakening the Dusk Court was forshadowed in ACOSF.

The very land seemed abandoned. Like something great had once existed here and then vanished. Like the land still waited for it to return.

Nesta and Bryce were both able to get through to the chamber where the eight-pointed star was, but not Cassian or Az. Az could only enter when Nesta opened the wards for him.

Nesta noted feeling drawn to the chamber with the eight-pointed star.

She had the creeping feeling she'd been brought here.

Not by the Cauldron or the Mother or the Harp. By something vaster. Something that stretched into the stars carved all around them.

It's cool, light hands guided her wrists as she picked up the Harp.

When Nesta left the chamber with the eight-pointed star, she felt beckoned to return.

The words tumbled out as Nesta waded back through the ward-heavy cavern, feeling that center spot, the star at its heart, like a physical presence at her back. Those vast, light hands seemed to pull at her, trying to make her return, but she ignored them, explaining to Cassian what she'd heard from the Harp, and what she'd seen in the vision with Briallyn.

Obviously, Nesta wouldn't have turned back in ACOSF because Bryce needed that information in HOFAS, but if Nesta had turned back around and returned to the chamber, everything that happened with Bryce would have probably happened with Nesta: finding out the truth about Queen Theia, finding out there's a fourth item of the Dread Trove, gaining Silene's power, being able to reawaken the Dusk Court, and finding the Asteri buried beneath.

Bryce mentioned that Silene left everything in the chamber for a Starborn to find.

Bryce gazed at the eight-pointed star, the very heart of this chamber, of this map of the cosmos. "Someone put your Harp there for a reason."

"It was left for someone like me."

"Helena left this here...Just as Silene left everything in the caves of her home world. For someone to find. Someone who could bear the Starsword, and whose starlight would lead them down here. Someone who might also have learned the truth...and known where to look."

The Harp was buried beneath the Prison for a future Starborn (Nesta) to find. Someone who could wield Gwydion, which now, thanks to Bryce, was gifted to Nesta. Someone whose starlight would lead them there: we don't know if Nesta has or will have starlight, but she still said she felt beckoned to the chamber by forces that stretched into the stars all around them, so there's a good chance Nesta was led there because she's Starborn. Because she's meant to reawaken the Dusk Court.

The Bone Carver and Lanthys have both heard about Nesta (and it's implied that the other Prison inmates have as well). I don't think this is because her power is Death, but because they are the only beings who live in the former Dusk Court. And I think they heard about her because the land recognized her as soon as she came out of the Cauldron, as the one who would reawaken the land. Rather than her power being rare amongst the High Fae, is it possible that it could be very old magic that is tied to the Dusk Court?

"Whose fire burns silver in your gaze?"

"You know whose fire," she stalled.

But it struck true, somehow. Lanthys's skin drained of color. "It is not possible." He looked to the Harp beside a stirring Cassian, and his eyes widened again. "We heard about you down here. You are the one the sea and the wind and the earth whispered of." He shuddered. "Nesta." He grinned, showing teeth slightly too long. "You took from the Cauldron itself."

Nesta has been referred to as the Queen of Queens. Bryce was also a queen in Migard (until she ended the monarchy). Could both be descended from Queen Theia? It's no coincidence that both have or had the sign of the Starborn; control items of the Dread Trove, which Theia stole from the Asteri; and both wielded/currently wield Gwydion, the sword of the Starborn, and they are the only two females besides Theia to ever wield it. There's a reason both were brought to the chamber with the eight-pointed star in the Prison, which is on Dusk Court land, which is the land of the Starborn people. And both wield the Horn or the Harp, which were last used by Helena and Silene. Queen Theia said that she and her heirs were the only ones worthy of tending the Dusk Court.

Nesta has already started cleaning up the Prison. One swipe from Ataraxia binded Lanthys into physical form. Beheading him with it killed him, an unkillable being, contemporary to the Asteri. Truth-Teller was used by Silene to throw monsters into the Prison, but it can't kill them. Az even said that Truth-Teller can't kill the unkillable. And considering Az has had that dagger for centuries, and he has put monsters in the Prison, I would think he would know if it could kill them. And it can't. Only Ataraxia (and maybe Gwydion) can. Nesta also beheaded Vesperus, the last remaining Asteri in Prythian, while Bryce defeated the other Asteri on Midgard, and Theia and Fionn defeated the Asteri back in the day. Once again, could it be that both Nesta and Bryce are from Theia and Fionn's bloodline?

All she needs to do now is use Ataraxia, and maybe even the Harp, to finish clearing out the rest of the Prison. There's no point in giving this plot to another character when she's already started doing it, and the Prison inmates already fear her and Ataraxia.

Screaming began throughout the mountain. Petrified, pleading screaming, fists pounding. Not on the rock or the doors that held them, but on the opposite walls of their cells. As if they were begging the Prison to spare them from her and that sword.

Lanthys had fallen. And the occupants of the Prison had felt it.

Prison/Ramiel

Like Bryce, who felt the land of the Dusk Court, Nesta has also felt the Pass of Enalius like it was alive.

No - not someone, though she could have sworn she felt warmth and breath. She'd hit the archway of stone. They'd fallen all the way back down to the Pass of Enalius, dangerously close to the males who pursued them.

If both the Prison and Ramiel are barren, sister peaks, then could Nesta maybe reawaken both?

The Mother

Nesta has a connection with the Mother, and Az said this about her in HOFAS:

"All life came and comes from it," Azriel said with something like reverence. "The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed."

Since Nesta has a connection with the Mother, there's a good chance that Nesta will be the one to bring life back into the earth, mainly the Dusk Court, but maybe even Ramiel and some other barren lands.

Queen Theia's Scion

Everything seems to point toward Nesta being a descendant of Queen Theia, thus making her Starborn, thus making her the heir to the Dusk Court.

To leave this account for one whose blood will summon it, child of my child, heir of my heir. To you - I leave my story, your story. To you, in this very stone, I leave the inheritance and the burden that my own mother passed to me.

This place, this Prison and the court it had once been, was Bryce's inheritance. Hers to command, as Silene had commanded it.

And in that moment, the mountain - the island - spoke to her.

Alone. It was so alone - it had been waiting all this time. Cold and adrift in this thrashing gray sea. If she could reach out, if she could open her heart to it...it might sing again. Awaken. There was a beating, vibrant heart locked away, far beneath them. If she freed it, the land would rise from its slumber, and such wonders would spring again from its earth -

Like called to like. As if her star knew this magic existed and drawn her toward it, as if they were sister powers -

And, once again, Nesta felt beckoned to return to this chamber in the Prison, so if she had, or next book if she returns with Gwydion then everything seems to point toward her reawakening the Dusk Court.

Dusk Court was an Asteri palace before Theia had claimed it. Considering Nesta killed the last Asteri on Prythian, who was imprisoned on the Dusk Court land, it would make sense for to reawaken and claim the land after she further rids it of evil.

Truth-Teller

Bryce needed both Gwydion and Truth-Teller to reawaken Avallen, which she did by fitting them into an eight-pointed star. Nesta now has Gwydion, but if Truth-Teller is needed to reawaken the Dusk Court, then Nesta can wield it, as Bryce can, because it will answer to her.

Theia extended her hands toward the water, the offered blades. And on phantom wings, sword and dagger soared for her. Summoned to her hands.

My mother returned that day with only Pelias and my father's blades. As she had helped Make them, they answered to the call in her blood. To her very power.

Bryce summoned both Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and both flew to her hand. They chose her over Az because she's Starborn. Good chance Nesta could summon Truth-Teller too, not permanently but just to reawaken the Dusk Court, if it is needed.

Rebirth

Nesta's entire story arc revolves around the concept of rebirth. Something old becoming something new. Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie are Valkyries reborn, not entirely Valkyrie, nor entirely Illyrian, but rather something new. Nesta Made the first magic weapons in 15,000 years. She named her magic sword Ataraxia, a name in the Old Language, which hasn't been spoken in 15,000 years. Nesta found the Dread Trove, which has been missing for 15,000 years. She helped to defeat the Asteri, who had enslaved Midgard for 15,000 years. Nesta now wields Gwydion, the last Made sword, which hasn't been in Prythian for 15,000 years. All signs seem to point toward Nesta being Starborn, which Bryce describes as a gift of the ancient Fae - reborn again. Following this story arc, it would make sense for Nesta to reawaken the Dusk Court, which hasn't been a court and has instead been this barren, desolate island for 15,000 years.

Even when Bryce and Nesta talked about the relief of the Dusk Court, it parallelled Nesta's healing in ACOSF, about her learning to live with the darkness, and to focus only on the good.

Bryce examined the relief. Took in the dancing, the stars, the idyllic islands in the background. And she said softly, "It means that there was once joy in this world."

Bryce kept her eyes on the dancers, the stars, the lush lands. Ignored the darkness beneath. Focused on the good - always the good. "Isn't that all that matters?"

[extremely-judgemental]

This is the last time I talk about Elain (hopefully!). I honestly don’t understand where you’re getting the idea that she is sweet. Elain is polite, like ‘my neighbour is nice to me’ sort of way. That doesn’t warrant how everyone puts her on a pedestal.

Her actions are mostly glossed over as self-preservation, but that doesn’t seem right to describe her behaviour either. At least, not in a sympathetic way. I'm sure there’s going to be an overload of trauma to justify this, because how can SJM’s heroines have mere mediocre problems when they can be abused or have lost a loved one?

I digress. Ever since Nesta’s grooming came to light, the same is assumed about Elain—that she’s groomed to be ‘nice’. That’s not entirely true. Their mother and grandmother focus on Nesta because getting the eldest married well will bring more prospects for the other two. In their mother’s words, Elain needn’t worry because she is a born beauty, and so she is not trained in courtliness or politics. And, Feyre has enough liberty to lock herself in their father’s office. As a middle child, Elain chooses the ‘nice’ mask because it’s what gets her attention in a family full of stubborn heads—her mother, her grandmother, her sisters.

During their poverty years, even if she could do chores, it’s hard to believe Nesta let her given how much she coddles Elain. And, Feyre treats her like a fragile doll. Elain essentially enjoys the best of both worlds like her father without contributing much to the family. She benefits heavily from her sisters’ animosity against each other—she’s the kind one while the other is the bitch. She’s also quick to secure a marriage alliance right after they regain their wealth. This isn’t to say it wasn’t out of love, but the plot is set in somewhat medieval times, where the order in which the sisters marry is crucial—Elain already wed before the eldest leaves a mark on Nesta’s reputation, making it difficult for her to find suitors.

Elain goes her entire life without being blamed or hated by her family, or even the IC. To have gone through all those struggles, having done literally nothing, and still cherished by everyone? Kindness doesn’t buy you that kind of a pass. It’s not her fault that everyone puts her first, but it’s the result of the image she actively cultivates to achieve her means.

This is why the paintbrushes don’t hold much value either. She doesn’t make Feyre’s life easier or take away some of the burdens, but gives her presents and everything is okay between them? This comes off like love-bombing to me—making Feyre feel special so that Elain isn’t the villain. Which worked, as Nesta is the one called ungrateful. When you’re struggling and someone offers you a bit of joy and relief, it is impactful, and Elain’s gesture could have been that if she had contributed to the family. But now, it comes off as manipulation.

And here’s my issue with her betrayal in Silver Flames. No one gives two fucks about what she thinks is best for Nesta. The IC won’t sit around and wait till she’s convinced. If she decides to lock herself in her room and cry again, only Feyre might care a little. Until then, she’s never included in any major decisions and she’s too perceptive to not notice this. She doesn’t even have to side with Nesta, but to pack her things to send her away?

She even goes on to throw in a ‘you don’t have to be miserable’ when Nesta is being imprisoned with a man. Imagine Elain trapped with Lucien to get her out of her funk. Feyre violated Lucien’s mind when he asked for a few minutes alone with her. They were chaperoned by the entire family for one simple tea. Clearly, Elain is not so stupid as to not know what she’s implying. She lets Nesta suffer not out of self-preservation but because she, like Feyre, believes Nesta is hopeless.

Later, she manipulates Nesta into scrying and insults her in front of everyone who hates her. She blames her ‘invisibility’—she crafted for herself—on others. It isn’t about her owning her life, because she could have done the scrying right away without that conversation with Nesta. And it’s not about protecting herself from the IC. Her outburst felt more like her resentment, that she couldn’t handle losing her shield.

There are many who want Elain to stand up to the IC, but the thing is, she has no reason to. When none of her actions are held against her, what would she fight for? The IC’s behaviour is borderline psychotic with Nesta to prove she wouldn’t be welcomed into the family unless she becomes reputable enough to be Feyre’s sister and Cassian’s mate. In Elain’s case, she is already forgiven and accepted.

Though it still falls under the broad term, her self-preservation carries heavy undertones of selfishness and manipulation. It is not even a survival response triggered under pressure. Most of her life, Elain never has to make big choices. She always gets what she wants without lifting a finger. No responsibility at home, more attention from family, the only one to receive her father’s love, her engagement to Graysen, going to Graysen for help, being left alone during the battles, having her own gardens in Velaris, learning to cook, leading a simple life, to be away from Lucien, pursuing Azriel. When exactly is she ever denied in the first place to preserve her happiness?

Also, Elain is definitely not a helpless doe. She is an opportunist. Her ‘kindness’ is a mask to escape scrutiny from others when she neglects her responsibilities. It serves her too since ‘Elain is Elain’.

And that’s fine because these flaws add layers to her character and there’s room for growth. But when the narrative ignores them and paints her as an angel because it supports the glorified hero, that is wrong. We see it happen with Feyre, Rhysand, and the Inner Circle. Elain is underdeveloped, yet she shows prominent traits at major plot points and still is considered ‘sweet’. At this rate, she’s just going to be another bland cutout who can never do anything wrong and is universally loved (like Feyre).

On the other hand, all this masking, the cunning, and the pettiness are great agents for her obvious future bonding with Rhysand who is quite similar. But her true nature has to be acknowledged first, which is clearly not happening in the narrative or the fandom.

There are obvious issues to be resolved in Elain’s character—shedding these traits and loving others without exploitation—but the focus will be on what SJM deems worthy for her plot. Elain went from being content to staying in the background, tending to her gardens, and creating beauty to wanting to step out of her sisters’ shadows. Though she never gave that vibe, it will be shoved down our throats because these leads need to be badasses. At this point, she has more chances of turning into another Feyre with her ‘coming out of the shell’ journey because that’s the only way women can grow in this series. I don’t like Elain the way I don’t like Feyre, Rhysand, or Cassian. She is, and will likely never be, held accountable for anything she does. Nesta has self-awareness, her flaws are portrayed as such, and she makes amends for her mistakes because that allows Feyre to be right again. But what reason does Elain have to be better when she hasn’t done anything wrong until now?

[randomimaginesideas]

Let me rage part 2

Summary; Finally reunited Valtor and (Y/n) can get back to conquer the magic dimension. (Y/N) gets to meet the Trix and shows why she is Valtor’s right hand. Deciding to infiltrate Alfea she meets the Winx, and becomes an important player in this battle. 

This work is also published on AO3 under my username Acourtoffanficsandfeelings, if you prefer to read it there.

Continuation of Together again, and second part of let me rage.

A/N; First, I am incredibly sorry for the delay. I was having an intense writer's block for a certain part in this chapter and didn’t really know how to continue.

It seems that to this day Valtor is still a beloved character, and this fic still gets kudos, and comments. And that motivates me to write. So even if it has taken a while I hope I’ve managed to write a chapter you’re all very happy to read, as I did my best to make it as long as possible to make it up to you guys. While writing this chapter I concluded that this part of the series will be 3 chapters instead of the original two, as I felt it would have the story flow more. 

Also because I hope this way to fetch out the character of the reader more, to give her some emotions, and struggles, while still remaining an badass amazing villain lover. And to show you some more moments between Valtor and (Y/N).

So I want to thank everybody again for sticking around,and reading this after my long absence, and if you just found the fic and this was already out when you found my fic, I hope you also enjoy everything that I’ve written so far.

Monday morning. Idle chatter could be heard filling the classroom as some of the Alfea students were waiting for their new teacher to make an appearance. A teacher who was ten minutes late. When the wooden doors started to creak, and announced the arrival of somebody the chatter slowly faded out, and silence filled the room.  “Sorry class, I know I’m late, but as I’m sure some of you would agree with me, this school can be quite a maze.” The students, including the famous Winx, watched as the new teacher made her way towards the desk, and placed her bag on it before turning around to face her students. “Hello class, I’m Professor Whiteshade, and I am your new teacher specialized in Enchantix.”

While she was introducing herself (Y/N) could feel the eyes of the students observing her. They took in the white floor length dress that she wore, with the black belt across her waist. She could feel their eyes looking at her blond hair that was so pale it almost looked white when the lights hit it in a certain spot. It had been pulled into an intricate bun to keep the hair out of her face. (Y/N) didn't like the look she had currently on, but there have been worse faces she had turned into.

One of the students raised her hand, gaining (Y/N)’s attention who smiled at her. “Yes,-” She glanced down at one of the papers on her desk, pretending not to have seen Bloom before. Valtor had shown her some of the winx in his scrying orb and explained the most important facts she needed to know: like the fact that Bloom was the fairy of the dragon flame. “Bloom, is it?” The red head nodded, before asking her question. “Not to be rude professor, but why are we now suddenly getting this extra class in our curriculum?” 

“Not rude at all, and an understandable question at that. I understand you’re not looking forward to more homework, so I will try to keep it at a minimum. As you all are well aware there is a new threat trying to conquer the magic dimension.” (Y/N) voice got serious as she looked across the room, seeing multiple defeated faces of the fairies who’s home had been affected by Valtor. A good person would have felt bad when she looked at those faces, but (Y/N) knew that sometimes things had to be destroyed for a new world to rise again. A world in which she and Valtor ruled the magic dimension.

“Headmistress Feragonda has asked me to come to Alfea, and teach and guide you students as you learn more about Enchantix in these troubling times. From the information I’ve gotten, two of you have already received your Enchantix.” (Y/N)’s eyes found those of Aisha and Stella, whom she gave a reassuring smile. “You should be proud of yourselves for earning your Enchantix, despite how grave the situation was in which you’ve gotten them.” (Y/N) focused on the class again. Aisha’s and Stella’s expression grew dark as (Y/N) could see the memories of those moments come back to the girls.

“Enchantix isn’t easily gained, it requires great sacrifice. I know of fairies who’ve nearly died in their efforts to earn their Enchantix. And sometimes you need to sacrifice your own happiness and choose to do what’s right because not everything that makes you happy is right.”

~~~

“Are you sure this is the only way?” (Y/n) asked as she looked at the beaten and locked up form of professor Whiteshade, who was currently lying unconscious on the floor. “You know that there is nobody I trust more with this than you.” (Y/N) felt Valtor place his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her. The two of them were standing in front of Whiteshade’s cell, which was located one floor above Griffins, where Valtor had told her his plan regarding Alfea. “We need to have an inside source, and find the hall of enchantment. They will notice if I or the Trix slip by but they won’t notice you.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, knowing he was right, but not really agreeing with the plan.

“I’ve only just returned to you, and you wish to have me leave again.” She muttered, feeling rejected. Valtor quickly turned her around, guiding her by her shoulders. One of his hands grabbed her chin gently between two fingers, and tilted her head up. “That is a cruel thing to say, for you know that is not my intention. I’ve missed you with all my heart, and I dislike this plan as much as you do, but there is nobody I trust more with this than you. And the sooner this is over with, the sooner you can return to me.” Valtor said as he looked into her eyes, and pressed a brief kiss on (Y/N)’s lips. 

A sigh left her lips afterwards as she enjoyed the closeness between them for a moment, knowing that she would have to part from it again so soon, and then she relented. “Alright, I’ll do it.” Valtor smiled at her as he slowly released her from his hold. (Y/N) turned to look at the real professor Whiteshade again, as she whispered a spell, closing her eyes. As soon as the spell had crossed her lips the shadows around them in the room seemed to twist and turn as they started to glide across her body. Through the glimpses of shadow Valtor could see her clothing change from the black dress she wore to a red sundress. Her (Y/H/C) turned into the lightest of blondes. And when the shadows moved away, and (Y/N) opened her eyes, even her eye color had changed. 

She looked almost identical to the professor Whiteshade in the cell, only the trained eye would spot the differences. A mole that wasn’t there where it usually was, a scar that wasn’t there, perhaps a bit more weight on the arms or legs.  (Y/N) had always been able to manipulate the shadows, to make things seem different from what actually, but only small things like books, trinkets or furniture. But during her years with Valtor he had taught her to think bigger, to practice her spells, and now she was almost able to place the spell on almost anything. For everything in the shadows is not what it seems.

~~~

It had been two weeks since (Y/N) had arrived at Alfea and she was annoyed. She knew she was doing important work for Valtor, passing along information from the room of enhancement to Valtor, but those types of things took time. It turned out that Alfea had finally invested in a librarian who took her work seriously. Although it wasn’t difficult for (Y/N) to charm Barbatea, and learn all about the library. But it also meant that Barbatea  knew every nook and cranny, and would know it if things disappeared. So (Y/N) was forced to make copies of some of the lesser important spells, and tried to find substitutes for the more important books and scrolls. (Y/N) was particularly proud of the erotic romance novel she had managed to look like an ancient spell book. Now she just hoped that nobody would open the book. 

After spending seventeen years as a statue, her powers were still on the weaker side. Each week she felt her power grow, and Valtor had helped her by sharing his power. But from the moment she had woken up she had used her magic continuously. Pretending to be Griffin when anybody would try to contact her to keep up the appearance that Cloud Tower was still standing. Or that one time they had intercepted a call from Feragonda to King Radius to ask how things were regarding the fountain, and King Radius had replied that; everything was quiet but they would keep an eye out for anything strange and notify her when they did. And now, (Y/N) had to continue to keep up the appearance as professor Whiteshade, and keep the illusions of the books going even if she wasn’t anywhere near them.

And on top of all that she had to actually teach the students something about Enchantix. The first couple of days (Y/N) had mostly placed the focus on introductions in the class, and to Enchanctix, telling what she knew of Enchantix, but she was running out of information. So one day she had made a parkour course for her Enchantix students, before letting them race the others. To make the students see how much stronger they would become if they earned Enchantix, and why it came with such a heavy price.

But the thing that kept (Y/N) going was the fact that she knew Valtor was growing stronger every time she sent him something through the shadows. And Valtor also seemed to know when to say something to her, even when he couldn’t speak with her.

~~~

It was dark in the library, most of the Alfea students were in bed, as were most of its teachers. Barbatea had just wished (Y/N) goodnight, after (Y/N) had promised the librarian she would lock up behind her, but just wanted to research one more thing before her class tomorrow. (Y/N) had turned off the lights, preferring the light from the moon shining through the windows. (Y/N) always waited half an hour after everybody had left to make sure that Barbatea wouldn’t just reappear. 

When the half hour had passed (Y/N) slowly rose from the chair she had been vacating, and she closed the book she had been reading. From her bag, which was filled with her students' homework to keep up appearances, she grabbed a gardening book that she had taken from the greenhouse earlier today. After placing it on the table right next to the one she had been reading previously, she placed her hands on top of the books, one on each. (Y/N) closed her eyes, and tried to focus. “Mirror image.” She whispered as she felt her magic move beneath her hands. The headache that had been slowly growing bigger these past week, grew stronger with the new spell she casted. 

When (Y/N) opened her eyes she let out a sigh of frustration. It almost looked like the spell had only taken half effect. The title of the spellbook had been transferred to the gardening book, but the flowery cover could still be seen underneath.

(Y/N) lifted her head to look at the ceiling as she took another deep breath, trying to soothe the headache, and focus on the shadows she was already controlling. Her image of professor Whiteshade, and covers of around fifteen books she was trying to keep up, while focusing on creating a new one. If she focused, she could feel the shadow connecting the books together, although weak as it was, it was there. (Y/N) tried to imagine Valtor standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, placing a kiss on her lips as she had her head tilted backwards. And his words he had whispered to her long ago that fateful day; that she was strong, that she was capable of anything, as long as she remained by his side. 

“I miss you.” (Y/N) confessed to the quiet library, with only the moonlight and the shadows as her company. It had been two weeks of no contact with either Valtor or the Trix. And after only a week with Valtor,before she had gone to Alfea, after being stuck in stone for seventeen years felt like a short time to be together again. But (Y/N) also knew that they would have all the time in the world together once Valtor and her conquer the magic dimension. 

Thinking with their end goal in mind (Y/N) returned her attention back to her task at hand. “Mirror image.” She said again, and this time when she opened her eyes, she had two identical books. Or at least when you didn’t look too closely. Perhaps a tear wasn’t in the place it always was, and maybe the letter R was a different font but didn’t look out of place at first glance. 

(Y/N) stood up and placed the duplicate copy back in the place it belonged, before grabbing the original and walking to a shadowed corner of the library, a place where the moonlight didn’t reach. (Y/N) squatted down and waved her hand, the shadows twisting underneath into a calm whirlpool of shadows. She imagined Cloud Tower, more specially Valtor’s desk, next to the scrying orb as she pushed the book into the shadows, and dropped it. 

(Y/N) stood back up again, and went to turn around when she heard a small thunk, and something hitting her ankle. The shadows had gone quiet again, no longer moving as their mistress had no longer any use of them. But that wasn’t what caught (Y/N)’s attention, for she had expected them to be quiet. No, on the ground near her ankle she saw a small circle with something sticking out of it. 

After picking it up, (Y/N) made her way towards the window. In the moonlight she saw she was holding onto a ring with a small note attached to it. Before (Y/N) studied the ring she opened up the note. It was a small letter, one that would sometimes have been tied to the foot of a bird. The only message on it was; As promised. Two days.

(Y/N) turned her attention towards the ring. It was a ring that was on the wider side. The first thing that caught her attention was how blue it was. When she looked closer she recognized the blue to be some type of coral, from andros more specifically. The whole inside of the ring was made of polished blue coral, the sides inlaid with gold to give it a more delicate effect. A smile came on (Y/N)’s face as she brought the ring to her chest and held it there for a moment. 

Seventeen years ago Valtor had promised her all the jewelry her heart desired when they were rulers of the magic dimension. (Y/N) had mentioned how her sister had gotten a ring from Andros, which had used coral instead of diamonds, and how she had always wanted a ring like that. And how some corals from Andros were worth more than some of the most expensive diamonds. So that was why her sister only had one small part of her ring infused with the coral. In response Valtor had promised she would have the most beautiful ring of Andros one day, even prettier than her sisters. 

(Y/N) remembered how Aisha hadn’t been in class today as there was another attack on Andros. Seemed like Valtor had remembered his promise. With a smile (Y/N) placed the ring around her, or rather professor Whiteshade’s, finger. She tore up the paper and threw it in the trash, making sure nobody would be able to read it, and even then it couldn’t be traced back to her. With renewed strength (Y/N) made her way out of the library, and towards her bedroom.

~~~

That had been two days ago. It was now Saturday, and everybody, teachers and students, were free to do as they pleased today. But (Y/N) had been on edge the whole day, just waiting for something to happen. She kept herself busy by making sure all her shadows were still where she needed them to be, and keeping her head ache to a minimum. But she did all that from the solitude of her bedroom. (Y/N) was in the habit of keeping her curtains almost closed, not a fan of the burning daylight. 

Her attention was pulled when the small streak of light that came from the crack in between the curtains turned dark. Opening her curtains she could see storm clouds gathering above Alfea as it started to rain. If (Y/N) hadn’t suspected something was amiss, the fact that the magic barrier was going up was a definite sign.

Relief and excitement coursed through (Y/N)’s body. Relief that her stay in Alfea would finally be over, and excitement to know the future that will be waiting for them. (Y/N) stepped out of her room and ran into professor Palladium and professor Wizgiz who had also been residing in their chambers. The tree of them ran up towards one of the rooftops, knowing that Faragonda had gone there to activate the barrier. “Miss Faragonda!” Professor Palladium called out to her, gaining her attention.

“Brace yourself. The lighting is bewitched, and clearly the work of Valtor.” Faragonda warned them as she turned to look back in the sky. Up in the storm clouds the mark of Valtor had appeared, whenever the lighting struck it grew brighter. Faragonda turned her attention back to the professors at her side. “Keep your eyes open, be prepared,-” “Look, he’s using the witches from Cloud Tower.” Professor Wizgiz said, pointing towards the storm cloud. Professor Wizgiz was right. From the storm clouds, they’re hands outstretched came the lighting that had previously been in the clouds. The lighting struck the magical barrier, and with Valtor controlling them the magic of the witches was a lot stronger than they’d normally had, making the barrier fall apart.

Faragonda turned back around to face her colleagues. “Alright, get the girls. They’ll need our help, and we’ll need theirs.” Faragonda said with confidence before she was hit with lighting from behind. Luckily with everything going on it just seemed like professor Whiteshade stepped away from the blast to protect herself, and certainly not because she didn’t feel the need to catch the headmistress. (Y/N) had to give credit where credit was due, and Faragonda quickly got back up again. “Alright, you two,-” Faragonda looked in the direction of the professor's Palladium and Wizgiz. “Gather all the fairies and prepare for battle.” The two professors ran off as the barrier fully broke, and tiny glittering pieces fell down the sky. 

Then Faragonda looked professor Whiteshade in the eyes. “Go to the library and don’t let any of the information get into the wrong hands.” (Y/N) turned to walk towards the library when she heard Faragonda call out her lover’s name, which made her stop in her tracks. Faragonda was way too focused on Valtor who came down from the sky to notice that she had stopped.

Valtor landed with two feet on the ground, arms folded together in front of his chest. “We meet again, Faragonda, it has been a while.” Valtor smiled as he tilted his head slightly sideways, almost as if he pitied the woman standing in front of him. “You’ve grown old.” He added chuckling. For the briefest of moments (Y/N) saw his eyes go over Faragonda’s shoulder in her direction, before returning towards the furious headmistress.

“You’ve bewitched the girls from Cloud Tower.” She accused before throwing a spell at him in her anger. Valtor managed to easily catch the spell with his hand, before throwing it back in Faragonda’s direction, which managed to hit her in the chest. Faragonda flew backwards towards the edge of the roof, hitting the brick wall. She landed close to (Y/N), who was now calmly inspecting the spectacle. Now that Faragonda could see that professor Whiteshade had remained standing, (Y/N) could see the clogs in her head turning. “I’ve always been known to be rather persuasive.” Valtor said, walking closer towards them as (Y/N) slowly started to make his way towards him. “No, no!” Faragonda muttered, almost shocked, as realization slowly started to dawn on her.  “Or should I say, we are very persuasive.” 

“I suppose we are.” (Y/N) chuckled, as she let herself drop the image of professor Whiteshade for a moment. With each blink of Faragonda’s eyes a different person was standing next to Valtor. One moment in her place stood the professor, then Griffin, and then King Radius , and with the next blink shadows circled around the woman standing next to Valtor, revealing the woman lying behind the shadows, beneath all the false faces she created. A smile on her lips that Faragonda knew all too well from many years ago, then the professor was back in place but the smile still remained. “Well, as fun as this little reunion is, I was under strict orders to make sure the information in the library would not fall under the wrong hands.” (Y/N) told Valtor, who matched the smile on her face. 

“Well then, you better get going. Faragonda and I have a lot of catching up to do anyway.” 

[kristisbookland]

ACOSF

Ch 19

"Because of the shit with Elain?"

Azriel stilled. "What happened to Elain?"

Cassian waved a hand. "A fight with Nesta. Don't bring it up," he warned when Azriel's eyes darkened.

...

Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. "You all right?" His brother nodded. "Fine." But shadows still swarmed him.

Ch21

Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain's face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preapering to strike.

Ch22

"She's volatile right now. The last time she did a scrying, it ended badly. The Cauldron looked at her. And then took Elain."

...

Azriel stiffened. "I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all."

...

Cassian looked over at Az. "You think you'll ever be ready for one?" Ever be ready to confess to Mor what's in you heart?"

"I don't know," Azriel said.

"Do you want a child?"

"It doesn't matter what I want." Distant words-ones that prevented Cassian from prying further. He was still happy to be Mor's buffer with Azriel, but there'd been a change lately. In both of them. Mor no longer sat beside Cassian, draped herself over him, and Azriel...those longing glances toward her had become few and far between. As if he'd given up.

Ch29

Amren said, " We do not have the time to wait for Nesta to decide. I say we approach Elain tomorrow. Better to have both of them working on it."

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to."

....

Amren drained her wine and said to Cassian, "Nesta has a week. One more week to find the Trove with her own methods. Then we seek out other routes." She threw a nod toward Azriel. "Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to. Don't underestimate her."

Ch 31

Nesta said, "The Trove. And what happened the last time I scried."

Feyre said, "We won't allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times."

"Eyes can be blinded," Nesta said.

"Not the ones under my command," Azriel said with soft menace. Nesta met his stare, knowing, he was the only one aside from Feyre who could truly understand her hesitation. He'd gone with Feyre into the heart of Hybern's camp to save Elain - he know the risk. "We won't make the same mistake twice."

Ch 44

"She made ballroms into battlefields and plotted like any general. Like you two," she said, nodding to Cassian, and then, a bit more shyly, to Azriel.

Azriel offered her a small smile that Elain quickly looked away from.

Ch 58

Nesta shook her head slowly, not understanding. Elain just linked her arm throught Nesta's and led her toward the family room, where Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he'd heard Elain's sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

"I was just checking on dessert," Elain explained as they approached the doorway and Azriel. Nesta met shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and thought it was utterly neutral, something charged went throught it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into room.

...

Azriel lingered near the door, quiet enough that when Feyre and Mor began talking about some of her paintings, Nesta went over to him.

"Why don't you sit?" She leaned against the doorway beside the shadowsinger.

"My shadows don't like the flames so much." A pretty lie. She'd seen Azriel before the fire plenty. But she looked at who sat close to it and know the answer.

"Why did you come if it torments you so much?"

"Because Rhys wants me here. It'd hurt him if I didn't come."

"Well I think holidays are stupid."

"I don't."

She arched a brow. He explained, "They pull people together. And bring them joy. They are a time to pause and reflect and gather, and those are never bad things." Shadows darkened his eyes, full of enough pain that she couldn't stop herself from touching his shoulder. Letting him see that she understood why he stood in the doorway, why he wouldn't go near the fire.

His secret to tell, never hers.

Ch 59

(After Soltice/Bonus Ch.)

Three days passed with no word from Cassian. He'd been replaced on training by a stone-faced Azriel, who was more aloof than usual and wouldn't even give her a smile.

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Think Nothing, Feel Nothing Ch. 3

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte/unnamed f!rook

Rating: G for now but will get bumped to M for later chapters

Warning: Hurt and very little comfort for a while. Eventual happy ending. Lucanis is absolutely feral in the first days Rook is gone.

Read below the cut or on AO3!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Masterlist

Hollow. Empty. Broken. Spite’s words cut like dull knives against Lucanis. Rook is. Gone. And you do. Nothing!

Sit and wait. Wait and weep. The demon circled the Crow sitting silently on the library lounge, snarling and growling like a feral dog. Lucanis sat hunched with his elbows resting atop his knees, his fingers loosely laced together as he stared at his boots. He could hear Spite, as he always could, but the words hurled at him meant nothing. Lucanis was too lost in his own self wallowing that even the never ending tirade of a demon wouldn’t reach him. Insults fell on deaf ears, which only angered Spite more with the lack of reaction.

Three days had passed since Rook simply vanished from their lives and Lucanis was no closer to finding her than he was to fulfilling the second half of his contract. Lucanis wasn’t a mage and he barely understood his situation with Spite, so understanding the intricacies that now kept Rook from him was beyond his understanding. He could offer no counsel to Emmrich and Bellara, who were doing a bulk of the research into her disappearance, and his usual kitchen duties had been hastily discarded and ignored. Why bother feeding himself to stay strong when he couldn’t protect Rook the first time? A grumbling stomach was hardly a fitting punishment for losing the one person he cared about, but it was a start.

He had sharpened his blades and mended his leathers, cleaned his boots, and even refilled his poison vials in the anticipation for a fight, but there was no fight to be had. Without knowing where Rook was or how to get her back, he and his weapons were not needed. Emmrich’s scrying had turned up no leads and the lack of news from their allies only told him that Rook was truly lost to him. Lucanis had mourned the loss of loved ones before, namely his parents, but this was a different type of sorrow. Something larger than he couldn’t understand and it was incessantly hungry. The pain gnawed his bones like a beast on a kill, sharp and unrelenting. The adrenaline he felt when he first regained consciousness had long since faded and had been replaced with something heavy and cold that sat deep in his chest and squeezed his heart with an iron grasp.

Useless! Spite screeched as he ducked under Lucanis’s drooped hands to meet his eye, fury blazing in the purple glow that belonged to the demon.

“That’s quite enough, Spite.” Emmrich scolded from across the library, his voice unusually firm and sharp. The necromancer glared in the general direction of the spirit over the rim of his glasses, which were perched precariously on the tip of his nose, and closed the book in his hand with a firm snap.

In a few short strides, Emmrich closed the distance between the bookcase he’d been standing by and the circular table seated in the middle of the room and placed his book down amidst the mess. The table top was covered in open books and scattered pages relating to anything and everything Emmrich thought might help the team find Rook. Lucanis glanced up for the first time in a while as Emmrich sat his spectacles beside the book and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. His eyes closed as he let out a long exhale, exhaustion settling clearly on his face.

Mage works. You sit. Pathetic. Spite whispered against the shell of Lucanis’s ear, just out of earshot of Emmrich.

“You should rest, Emmrich.” Lucanis’s voice was hoarse with both fatigue and sorrow.

“Oh, I’m all right, Lucanis,” Emmrich said with a half smile as he reopened his eyes, “I actually believe I’m on the cusp something.” Spite and Lucanis both perked at Emmrich’s words.

You find. Rook? Lucanis was almost hopeful and Spite now hovered beside Emmrich’s legs.

“No, not quite,” Lucanis once again deflated, “but I am working with a theory on where she may have gone and how to-” The creaking of the library doors interrupted the conversation, pulling all eyes to the entrance. 

Bellara slipped through the opening quietly, a tray of steaming tea, and coffee for Lucanis, in hand. She padded across the floor quickly as Emmrich cleared off a spot on the table for the tray. Taash was close behind her, holding another platter of roughly cut meats, cheeses, and crackers; which had quickly become the go-to dinner option in recent days. Lucanis had not stepped foot in the kitchen since returning from Tearstone Island and Bellara was often busy assisting Emmrich in theorizing with the professor late into the night about their current situation. With no one properly cooking, scraps and thrown together meals were what everyone survived on.

“We found food.” Taash said while setting down their tray beside Bellara’s, snatching a few pieces of meat and cheese before sitting in their usual chair.

“Oh how delightful,” Emmrich said as he began to pour himself a cup of tea, “thank you both.”

“I know it’s not quite how you make it, Lucanis, but I thought you might like a cup. I know tea isn’t really your drink.” Bellara said with a half smile as she handed him the singular cup of fresh coffee. 

“Thank you, Bellara.” He said quietly as he took the cup from her grasp, staring into the inky, black liquid. The scent of the brew was familiar, but the usual comfort associated with it was absent.

To be polite, Lucanis took a small sip of the drink before simply holding the cup in his hands. The coffee tasted just fine, much to his surprise, but he had no desire to finish the cup. Truthfully, he had refrained from the drink since the team returned from the battle against Ghilan’nain. With Rook gone, he didn’t want to stay awake. He preferred to spend his time in a dreamless sleep with nothing but a black void to wade through. Blank nothingness was better than a world without Rook.

“Have you heard anything from the Mourn Watch, Professor?” Bellara asked softly as she took a seat beside Lucanis on the couch, “Or any of the spirits?” He voice was calm, but her fingers tapped rapidly against her teacup.

“I’m afraid not, Bellara.” Emmrich sighed as he sat in his usual high backed chair, a cup of tea in hand. “Although I’ve sent word of Rook’s disappearance to Myrna and Vorgoth and they’ve promised to alert me immediately if they find anything.” 

“Taash?” Bellara’s voice was small and feigned hopefulness, as if she already knew the answer to her next question before the words had left her lips, “What about the Lords? Have they found anything?”

“No.” Taash said flatly, tearing into a piece of cured meat with the flat of their teeth, “Isabella hasn’t seen her since the last time we had drinks at The Hilt. She’s got some of the others looking on the beaches and in the ruins.”

“I haven’t heard from the Veil Jumpers either. I was hoping that they might have seen something because of all the weird magic, but Strife says it’s nothing new.”

Silence fell over the room as the group waited for Lucanis to report in with news from the Crows, but he had none. In truth, Lucanis hadn’t yet told the other Talons of Rook’s vanishing. They would have so many questions, all of which he lacked answers to, and he didn’t have it in him to retell the story of his failure to protect Rook. He didn’t want to listen to Viago’s ire as he began to rant about missing information and losing allies. He couldn’t stomach the pity and the hand to his shoulder he knew he would get from Teia. If he had to look at the smug look that would grace Illario’s face he couldn’t promise himself that he wouldn’t brutally murder his cousin on the floor of the Cantori Diamond. But most importantly, he knew he wouldn’t be able to face Caterina, who had warned him against becoming too close to Rook. There would be no sympathy from her, only an intense look of satisfaction.

Before Lucanis could answer, heavy footsteps and a familiar series of squawks ascended the staircase leading from the eluvian room. Davrin rounded the top of the stairs, pausing just briefly at seeing the library full. Continuing his stride, he made his way to the empty spot beside Rook’s chair, a single piece of parchment clutched tightly in his fist. He raised the parchment into the air before finally speaking.

“I just spoke with Antoine and Evka,” he said with a huff as he tried to steady his breath, “they have news from the Wardens in Minrathous.” Assan circled at Davrin’s feet and Lucanis wasn’t entirely sure if the griffon was excited or anxious.

“They have word on Rook?” Lucanis asked, the words spilling from his mouth almost frantically, “They’ve seen her?”

“No,” Davrin said, almost reluctantly, “Minrathous is under attack. Blight is taking over and the gates to the city have been sealed. Rumor has it that the Archon’s palace has been overrun by Venatori. Some of the Wardens we helped in Dock Town managed to send notice to those remaining in Lavendel before everything was shut down.”

“It’s Elgar’nan!” Bellara shouted as she stood from her seat, suddenly overflowing with anxious energy. To avoid a spill, she sat her teacup down and buzzed with energy. 

“That’s not all.” Davrin tossed the parchment he was holding onto the table, “The Wardens in Minrathous wrote that they saw an elf leading a group of rebels against Elgar’nan in the city. Bald and dressed in armor and wielding some pretty powerful magic. Carrying a big, shiny dagger to boot.”

Lucanis bristled at Davrin’s words, his fists flenching until his knuckles were white. Taking a glance around the room, the answer was obvious. Rook had uncovered a handful of murals depicting various pieces of the Dread Wolf’s past and they had even heard those histories unfold from whatever arcane magic was held within the wolf statues. Solas’s image was painted all throughout the murals and Lucanis didn’t need to see him in person to know that he was the one that had been seen in Minrathous. 

“Solas.” Spite and Lucanis issued in unison, Lucanis’s sorrow quickly turning to a deep rage.

“Isn’t he supposed to be trapped in the Fade?” Taash asked while finishing off their meal, using the back of their hand to wipe any crumbs off their lips.

“That’s what I thought.” Davrin grumbled as he took his seat beside Taash. Assan followed, but stopped to sniff and bite at the food on display before being ushered away.

“But how did he get the dagger?” Bellara asked as she once again sat herself on the lounge, “Solas needs it to tear down the veil and Rook would never give it to Solas.” Her voice was low, almost threatening. The implications of Bellara’s words hit Lucanis in the chest, and he shook away the feeling as best as he could before it settled.

“We’ve seen what Solas can do. We’ve seen him lie and charm people into getting what he wants.” Davrin offered, “He killed Mythal, his closest friend, to steal her power. You think he wouldn’t kill Rook to get what he wanted? Especially after she disrupted his ritual?”

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Spite chanted beside Lucanis, the demon hungry for violence.

Lucanis couldn’t deny that he shared Spite’s desire for retribution against Solas. God or not, it was clear to him now that he was the reason behind Rook’s disappearance. The right to kill Zara had been taken from him when her neck was within his reach, but the right to kill Solas for hurting Rook would not be taken from him. In the privacy of his quarters in the pantry, he and Spite would come to an agreement on the matter, but for now he knew that they both had Solas in their crosshairs. His death would not be clean or neat. It would not showcase the work of a master assassin. But it would cruel and bloody and most definitely the work of The Demon of Vyrantium. 

“Or he simply took Rook’s place.” Emmrich’s voice cut through the darkness that had begun to swallow Lucanis’s mind, temporarily breaking away from the desires brewing in his chest. “I’ve been ruminating about the matter for quite some time and I have reason to believe that Solas, through the use of magic and his own talents of manipulation, was able to trade places with Rook. Effectively trapping her within the Fade so he may walk free among the physical world once again.” Eyes were drawn to Emmrich as he stood from his chair, placing his cold cup of tea on the table before him. 

“You mean put he put her in the same box he’s been stuck in? The one for gods?” Taash asked.

“I believe so, yes.” Emmrich replied. 

“That’s vashedan,” they scoffed, “Rook isn’t a god. How do you put a not-god in a cage for gods? It’s messed up if he did.” 

“Regret, I’m afraid.” Emmrich sighed. He began to pace at the head of the table, his hands moving with his speech as if he was teaching one of his necromancy courses at the Necropolis. “Think about it for a moment, all of you, if you will. Regret is all around us. Solas’s murals and statues showcase and highlight the regrets in his life and I believe that this is what kept him in the Fade.” He gestured to the murals and accompanying statues that littered the main hall. 

Solas was angered that Mythal and Elgar’nan fought a war just to seize the title of godhood for themselves. Felt remorse for releasing the Blight by using the blood of titans to create physical form. He even regretted killing the essence of Mythal to take her power for himself. All were powerful moments in time that would cut deep into the conscious of anyone, but Emmrich believed that they weighed so heavily on Solas that it formed his own prison and held the key to finding Rook.

“I believe that his inability to work through his remorse is what kept him locked away behind the Veil after his ritual attempt. And under normal circumstances, he would be left with no ability to influence the world outside the Fade just like how Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain were dormant for so long. However, his only connection to the world outside was Rook.” Emmrich continued pacing, excitement building in his voice as he came to the crux of his discovery, “And, correct me if I’m wrong, but she is the only one of us who can hear him. She is the only one with that mental connection, but what connected them? Hm?” 

“Blood magic.” Lucanis growled. 

He, of all people, should have known right away that Rook was being manipulated by blood magic. The increased itch behind his eyes whenever he stepped foot in her room, Spite bristling when Rook mentioned speaking with Solas, even the icy feel that ran down his back when Solas spoke directly to her in Arlathan. How could he be so blind to something so obvious? It’s something he should have seen ages ago. Perhaps if he had noticed it sooner, Rook would still be here.

“Yes! That’s it! Precisely!” Emmrich quickly stifled the excitement of his discovery, remembering just why it was necessary at all, and smoothed his hands over his waistcoat. 

“Neve said that Rook hit her head during the ritual. She was in the infirmary for a day or so with a wound.” Bellara interjected, to which Lucanis continued.

“If Rook spilled blood at the ritual site, then it’s how Solas was able to connect to her.” He grimaced at the thought of Rook having the god of lies having access to her blood, memories of the Ossuary returning to the front of his mind. “It wasn’t enough for total control, but enough to let him get in her head.”

“Lied to. Rook.” His voice mingled with Spite’s momentarily before quieting down again. 

“Indeed. Shaping her thoughts and actions to suit his needs when she could go to him for counsel. And I believe he has shaped her in a way that couldn’t allow her to let go of her regrets.” Emmrich returned to his seat, thoroughly proud with his discovery.

“What does Rook have to regret? I thought she wanted to do this?” Davrin knitted his brows together as he looked to Emmrich for answers.

“She did,” Bellara said quietly, “…but Neve said that she felt so guilty over what happened to Varric. She hated knowing he was hurt because of her call.”

“And Harding.” Taash added, “Rook watched her die. She was only up there because Rook sent her to distract Ghilan’nain. She must have felt bad about that.” There was no anger in their voice, but everyone could feel their sadness as they mentioned Harding. Lucanis could see how it would be easy for Rook to blame herself. 

“She never forgave herself for the dragon attack in Minrathous.” Lucanis added solemnly, remembering the numerous nights he’d spent awake with Rook in the dining hall when she’d wake up from a nightmare. 

“And so, it is with those regrets that Rook was able to be molded in such a way that was so effective, that when the Fade was torn open when Lucanis killed Ghilan’nain, Solas was able to step forth into our reality and trap Rook in his when she touched the dagger.” Emmrich added softly. 

“Oh, I knew you’d figure it out professor!” Bellara shouted with glee, reaching over to pat Emmrich on the top of his hand.

As much as he hated the idea of Rook being trapped in the Fade by the god of lies, it did give him a glimmer of hope that Rook was alive. For days, the idea that Rook was dead had been gnawing at the back of his mind and he had to make a conscious effort to banish the idea from his thoughts. They had already tempted fate once and lost; he didn’t want to manifest something else into existence. But, the hope was short lived the more he thought about the logistics of living in pure Fade. Rook was mortal, indomitable, but mortal. Just flesh and blood and bone who needed certain things to survive. Food, water, and shelter were all things she required, but he didn’t think a Fade prison would provide. 

Rook had already been stuck in the Fade for several days and Lucanis knew that alone teetered on the edge of how long someone could go without the bare necessities of survival. She needed out and out now. The team, namely Emmrich, had discovered what happened to Rook and perhaps where to find her, but the question of how to pull her back out of the Fade remained unanswered.

“But how do we get her out?” Lucanis asked, a hint of desperation lacing his words.

“We will have no chance of getting into the Fade without that dagger.” Emmrich answered, “It’s the only tool we know of that can pierce the veil.”

“So we go after Solas directly.” Davrin said firmly, “Use the Eluvians to get to Minrathous. The gates to the city may be closed, but we have a direct line into the city at our fingertips. Go in, find Solas, and either take the dagger from him or kill the bastard out right.” Assasn’s head wobbled with excitement with Davrin’s confidence, the griffon ready to set out for battle.

“Preferably both.” Lucanis muttered. 

Admittedly, he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of confronting Solas or taking on Minrathous without Rook, but Emmrich was certain in his theories. They had no alternative means of freeing Rook from Solas’s prison of regret and he knew they needed to get her out as quickly as possible. They needed to confront Solas, but they also needed time to prepare. 

“Then it’s agreed,” Emmrich said has he stood, clasping his hands in front of him, “tomorrow we head to Minrathous. Use this time to rest and prepare yourselves.” Emmrich was speaking to everyone, but the exhaustion on his face was evident. 

“Thank you, Emmrich. For everything.” Lucanis said softly. The necromancer responded with a small, but tired, smile. 

“I’d gladly do it again, Lucanis. Rook it’s important to us all, as is Neve.” Turning to the rest of the group, Emmrich continued, “Now let’s be off. Tomorrow promises to be a most crucial of days. Rest well.” With a series of nods, the team began to disperse to their usual corners of the Lighthouse, preparing to face the two remaining elven gods and find Rook. Lucanis stood from the lounge and promptly made his way towards the pantry, ready to make another deal with his demon.

[888-fr]

WHY I DON'T RETIRE MY SKINS: an essay

Disclaimer that I'm speaking from a point of being established here, because not everybody can afford to run their skin shop like I do. I don't judge less established artists for needing to limit their skins because they can't afford to print a run with only 2 people on it. I'm also not judging anybody who does retire their skins after a set number of prints - whole different matter! I'm giving an opinion piece based on my own personal thoughts about running my own skin shop.

Okay, now that's out of the way. I really dislike the idea of time-limiting my skins. There's just no actual justification for me, as an established skin artist, to limit skins I know will sell... aside from prestige, and putting buying pressure on my customers. So there's a couple of reasons I don't like that:

1) Erodes trust in the artist.

Yes, I could probably make more money if I kept my skins limited so people HAD to pick up my skin on release. Maybe even all 4 colors of the skin, including the one they don't really keep in their hoard. Just in case they want it down the line but it won't be available anymore.

Is this good business practice though? Do I want people to start feeling panicked every time I ping for a release, because they just picked up a new project and really really CAN'T afford to be buying skins right now but there's 5 colorways of my skin available and they'll probably be resold for 2kg as soon as they retire?

Personally, no! I want people excited when I ping, not feeling dread in their hearts and budgets. I want people to be thinking: 'Awesome, a new skin! I can't afford that right now but I know he always keeps a few on the AH at print price even after preorders end. Even if I can't buy a skin just this moment, I'll be sure to keep an eye on his thread for when I have gems again.' Or: "Awesome, a new skin! This one doesn't appeal to my lair aesthetic, so I will just nod and smile. I don't feel the need to buy it in case it gets popular for resale, because it will always be on the AH for print price."

People tell me about unsubscribing from GASP because they get anxiety being pinged for skins they want but can't have. So I want people to stay on my pinglist because there's no pressure on them whatsoever to purchase anything. It'll always be here, okay? In the meantime, just enjoy the art, maybe preview it on a scry or two. I'll be here if you're back in three weeks, or three months.

2) Passive income!

I lied. I probably would've made less money time limiting all my skins than by keeping my skins restocked. A couple of reasons for this:

- My earlier skins sold worse. This isn't psychology, it's just numbers. Some of my most popular stock were made early on in 2021/2022. I didn't have that many sales then, so could you imagine if I had retired them immediately after that? There's 230something copies of SAILOR'S WARNING out in the world right now. If that skin was time limited after preorders died down, I would've sold "only" 50 forever.

- People see my shop stock whenever you ping for a new releases. I get 3-4 sales off auction house whenever I release something new and people check my front page. It's not a lot but it's consistent.

- It's a win-win situation, okay? If a skin is popular, there's no reason to time limit it to drive up sales. If it IS popular, then people are going to see it on other people's dragons, go "damn that's a nice skin," and maybe do an AH search for it. And if there's a cheap print price copy available, they're gonna buy it.

2) Reprints are easy!

It was a lot more annoying to keep track of queue numbers and inventory back when reprints had to go through regular queue for a week. Did I put in 10 copies of SUNHEAVEN already? Wait, are my kitsune aethers back yet? How many of MOLOCH are still listed?

Now I can put in a blueprint and get my reprint instantly. No fuss at all.

3) I don't want to buy into the 'this is a retired skin' hype...

This is just personal preference. It makes me feel a little bad when a public skin I made is popular and people can't afford to have it. I'm not judging anybody who does like it when their skins are rare, special, and sought after.

It's just... I get that part of my brain scratched from my customs. They're gorgeous, they're 5 prints, they're on the AH for 30kg if you really want one. Most importantly they're niche and high coverage enough that even if someone hadn't paid me to draw an exclusive skin specifically for their dragon, they'd never do well as a public skin anyway.

Here are some tips for people looking into keeping their skins unlimited:

- You don't need to do it like I do.

Blueprints are expensive. Even I don't have my entire catalogue stocked, only the ones I noticed always have reprint requests. For example, only SAILOR'S WARNING out of 4 total colors for my impm skins is kept stocked because the others don't sell enough to justify it.

If you can't afford to stock them 10 at a time, have the customer provide the blueprints. Shelving your skins but having them be reprintable with a BP and a fee (350g is good for 850g print prices; remember, 500g of that went to you purchasing blueprints in the public run, so it doesn't make sense to charge customers a whole 850g when they're already providing the blueprint) is a good alternative to permanently retiring your skins. You don't get a ton of people who can afford that, but the option is there for people who want it.

- Notice which skins sell!

If you already have a good amount of skins in catalogue and have trouble figuring out which ones to begin stocking, you can start by checking in with your pinglist. Poll them and see which ones you'd want to rerun.

- Don't have so many recolors.

It's a law of the universe that they more recolors you have, the worse they sell collectively. I usually do 2, no more than 3. If you have to time limit your skins to get 6 recolors to hit print, then it's time to cut those recolors down.

There's reasons for this: it's choice paralysis, people may want 'complete sets' and will skip out if you're making that complete set cost 4kg total, and it just plain doesn't make sense for very similar color schemes to cover 4 different skins. Feel free to print personal recolors or have custom recolors open.

[nico-esoterica]

⭐ More on Megan x Japan ⭐

Japan adopting Megan not only makes sense w/ Astrocartography but it's, imo, what happens when a Leo Moon who was always made to feel unwelcome.. prioritizes going into spaces where they're truly honored and celebrated. Not just where they're 'wanted.' Big difference.

Astrology can be very literal in some charts. Megan's Sun is conjoined to Japan's vertex. In synastry, that represents a 'fate' point. It means that their two energies coming together is inevitable and will be a pivotal period in the lives of each. This is a connection that's so intense and palpable that it can be remembered for decades afterward. Anyone that's searched up this term romantically on Lindaland forums knows what's up.

In reality, strictly astrologically, she's not really as nonchalant as she seems. It's a persona people gravitate towards. She's always been very likable and popular (10H Aqua Sun in a day chart) but those big groups and crowds of people aren't as invested in her emotionally. They don't try to accommodate her or listen at all and that negligence makes her defensive and self protective and that Merc-Asc square and that Merc-Pluto sextile paired with her Moon-Mars conjunction start serving another purpose. Her 4H Leo Moon is a baby girl at heart and she genuinely wants to be cherished and be as silly, sweet, and carefree as she naturally is without the anxiety that someone's going to take advantage of her or ignore her completely. Like, put a stack aside and take that girl to a theme park where she won't have to wait in line, can eat whatever she wants, and ride all the rides and laugh up a storm and watch the fireworks at night.

But mainly--She's always been someone with a BIG imagination who's multifaceted and even though people lover her, what she needs is people to love ALL of her. Like, she's a big ass nerd and people usually don't associate black women's creativity with their intelligence, so that's another thing. So, Japan, with its Venusian planets trining her earth points actually allows for her to feel more seen than she potentially ever has been. There's something about Japan that 'gets' her and the relationship is mutually beneficial. Its Aries Sun/Leo Moon is not only prideful (the nationalism and fascism which can't be ignored ofc) but if the country was a person, they see 'the next big thing' in a sort of scrying-like way before it happens due to their 12H Leo planets being ruled by an 8H Sun. As we see with eternal flames in nature where certain fires can burn for decades, if the conditions are right this foretells seeing cultural shifts which start off as market trends which become hallmarks and staples of different eras. Earth rising people w/ fire planets, especially if there's a luminary and/or the outers involved, have this sort of precognition, imo.

Both Megan and Japan are Earth Risings. Megan's Jupiter-Pluto copresence in her 8th operating in her relocated chart's 1st in Japan forecasts her being a cultural juggernaut. As long as it continues to be respectful, Japan appreciates her in ways those in her home country hate seeing themselves as.

For those interested in moving who'd like to be read like this, I offer Astrocartography services here :)