#The Wall and the Waning of Magic: 1/2

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

The Wall and the Waning of Magic: 1/2

(this was originally a Twitter thread; re-posting here for ease of reading)

The Wall is an edifice created, best guesses conclude, some 8000 years prior to the events of A Game of Thrones; it was constructed by some combination of the First Men, led by Bran the Builder, those they called ‘Children of the Forest’, more rightly known as those who sing the song of earth (hereafter ‘singers’) and giants. It is patrolled by the Night’s watch, who protect the realms of men from what lies beyond; notably the Others, although this mission has been forgotten until very recently, with the so-called ‘Wildlings’ (Free Folk) taking the place of the great foe.

It is commonly accepted that the Wall is a net good, both in-universe and without, and that any distaste we may have about the necessity of the Night’s Watch pales in comparison to the horror that will occur when the Wall comes down.

I propose differently; I propose that the Wall is sickening and weakening the world, and it coming down will be one of the greatest moments of the tale – and moreover that the Wall was potentially always intended by its makers to be thrown down.

Magic Lingers

ASOIAF takes place in a world where magic is waning, to the point that learned men will insist magic is gone from the world entirely – and many of them consider this a good thing. The disappearing of magic is largely attributed to the death of the last dragons, and the revival of magic following Daenery’s miraculous rebirth of dragonkind seems to be proof of that.

However, the truth is more complex; we learn from several sources that magic is not entirely gone from the world, even prior to the dragons’ cradle-pyre. It is simply gone from the west of the world following the Doom of Valyria – further east, we are told, magic still exists and its practitioners endure, and even thrive in places such as Asshai.

More intriguingly is this from Maester Luwin, that supposes magic was fading even before the Doom, describing Valyria (a magical empire lasting thousands of years) as merely an ‘ember’. It cannot therefore solely be the death of dragons that caused magic to fade in the West.

The Sad Fate of the Singers

Westeros was once home to a large number of magical beings; unicorns, mammoths, direwolves, ‘great lions’ and, of course, the giants and the singers. All of these are now believed to be extinct, as per Maester Luwin above. Those who venture or live beyond the Wall know that this is not the case; these beings cling on, albeit in scant numbers.

We know that the singers fought and lost a terrible long war with the First Men, and that they retreated to the deepest forests upon the Pact that saw the end of the war. We know also that they were still present in the South in some numbers when the Andals arrived.

However, common wisdom says the singers have been extinct for thousands of years; we know they still linger beyond the Wall...but why? The North remained a bastion of the Old Gods, yet even the northmen believe them gone. Why did they not remain in the deep forests of the North? Why did their numbers continue to decline even after the wars? Why go beyond the Wall, closer to the Others?

The Evil of the Wall Magical and Mundane

The Wall is made of ice. This is an obvious statement to make, but its curious to consider what it means in the context of this world, where cold is the enemy and ice represents death, darkness and crucially – the Others.

If we take as given that Bran the Builder built the Wall, why was it made of ice, when his other claimed works are all of stone? The magic of the singers likewise is in earth and tree and water. So why is the Wall made of ice, the very symbol and strength of the enemy the Wall was built, allegedly, to keep out?

The Wall has its own collection of spooky, disturbing myths that have grown up around it, many of them centring around the Nightfort, formerly the seat of the Night’s Watch. The one that concerns us here is that of the Night’s King, allegedly the 13th commander of the Watch who took to wife a woman commonly been believed to be one of the Others – and from the description of her, that’s highly likely.

However, observe that the Night’s King brings that woman back beyond the Wall to his fortress – it does not keep her out, any more than it keeps out the two wights that awaken in Castle Black in AGOT.

But the Wall was created to keep the Others out, no? Coldhands indeed asserts that he, almost certainly some kind of dead man, cannot pass beyond the Wall due to the spells it is imbued with, presumably those created by the singers; but there is a gate.

The Black Gate, situated beneath the Nightfort, is itself a source of much theorising; it is magical, made of weirwood, and a sad construction that sheds a tear as Bran passes beneath it. The use of weirwood – and the face especially – suggest that this is the work of the singers, who made a door that only the Night’s Watch could open.

It seems unlike that the singers, aiding in the building of an anti-Others defence, would create a door that an Other could pass through; Bloodraven’s cave seems thus warded, so far successfully. But why is the Gate blind? Why is it described as resembling a corpse? This could be a function of the sheer age of the Gate, but I believe it to be more significant than that.

Of Silverwing

Queen Alysanne Targaryen made a visit to the Wall and visited the Nightfort in particular. The castle gave the Queen such bad vibes that she arranged it to be abandoned – immediately – paying for the replacement herself.

That’s quite a reaction, and one that should be contrasted with Stannis, who plans to make the place his seat (and note that Sam considers the possibility that the Black Gate is not permanent – which is very intriguing).

More interesting than Alysanne’s reaction to the Nightfort is her dragon Silverwing’s reaction explicitly to the Wall itself. She is disturbed by the winds from it – and I reject the notion that this was solely the cold, as the cold at Winterfell makes Vermax ‘ill tempered’, not disobedient and disturbed.

It is suggested that the Wall is anathema to creatures of fire – and yet Melisandre is seemingly stronger at the Wall than she is Asshai!

It is also suggested that Silverwing feared not the Wall but what lay beyond – but the Others had not yet begun to stir, so what was she sensing? I posit that the Wall was drinking in the magic that Silverwing generated, effectively draining her.

Also pertinent is the fact that Jon Snow loses all sense of Ghost when the Wall is between them. An unbreakable powerful bond that endures over great distances is rendered inert due to the Wall. This could be a matter of inexperience on Jon’s part, but it is worth bearing in mind.

Waning of Magic

Taking everything together, I propose that the Wall is draining the magic from the world. The magical peoples and creatures of Westeros exist only beyond the Wall, having died out everywhere else, notably the singers who have disappeared even from presumably safe strongholds.

Dragons, whose mere existence makes magic stronger (and possibly what is actually empowering Melisandre), mislike and possibly even fear the Wall, to the degree that Alysanne was deeply disturbed for long after. It needs must be noted also that the dragons of the Targaryens did not reach the size and strength of their forebears in Valyria, dwindling ever more with the years. Perhaps this was due to the Dragonpit, to the betrayal of the house’s women, tied so completely to its dragons. Perhaps it was something more insidious.

Where magic does exist still, it exists in the further East; in Qarth, Asshai and so forth. These places also had a lack of dragons post-Doom, also endured the Long Night, so it cannot be solely these factors. But they are much further away from the Wall; their magic is weakened but endures.

To touch also on the seasons as an aside, WOIAF offers some further credence to the Wall-as-problem. The seasons used to be normal, we are told, only in the most ancient tales. Tales presumably predating the Wall.

If the issue of seasons were solely one of balance between Ice and Fire, when why were there no world-ending catastrophes when Fire was ascendant? The Doom impacted only Valyria, after all.

We must return to the symbolism; where Ice is death, silence, darkness and inhumanity and Fire is life, song, light and passion.

TBC

[premamelody]

UTYSD MEGAPOST 💜💜💜🌼💛🌼💜💜💜

(tag for every post)

Undertale Yellow: Surviving Death is an AU in which after reaching the end of many Neutral Route runs, Clover gains a weird sort of sixth sense from repetition. This time when they escape to Flowey's subconscious, instead of proceeding and being seen by Flowey, Clover begins to hide through the many corpses, eventually ending onto a completely new area of the deep part of Flowey's mind.

They encounter strong embodiments of emotions, memories and thought processes, three of which through a representation of guilt join Clover on their journey.

Broken and barely holding together their appearance, Clover has to regain their courage to face Flowey again at 5 points of Flowey's own motivation guarded by a reason for such high concentration of determination.

(Google Doc)

THE GANG 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

CLOVER the main focus. After so many runs, they begin to settle in for Clover. While they don't exactly remember what happened, they have a sort of wary premonition of what happened and have an unexplainable urge to avoid certain actions. Matter of fact the AU is kicked off by Clover feeling wary to move forwards down the subconscious corridor and taking chances in the corpse wall. In their current state they are melancholy and never happy. They are constantly full of dread and hurt and have found it hard to feel remotely comfortable around the teammates they gain, but it's better to have some company than none.

DESRIEL is the figment of regret yet hope. They've been broken down over the years but still remain somewhat in tact, waning by each reset. He is a part of the subconscious that Flowey doesn't like to acknowledge which is convenient and the only way Clover was able to get out of being detected. He is often brash and outwardly rude, refusing to soften up or show any sort of "weakness". Deeply he knows he's screwd up big time and understands he's terrible and has come to do anything to try to at least stop himself, helping Clover on their journey. They're a good magic user, specializing in fire.

MEROYAH represents guilt, mostly survivors guilt. They resemble Chara intentionally, the outfit of mourning represent the never leaving stain of their death being "partially his fault". If he would've just fought back as Chara wanted, they wouldn't be dead. Yet despite it all, he "survived". His own existence angers them, tying themselves to a home resembling the old Dreemur House as an endless reminder, picking out golden flowers from their garden. They at first fight against Clover, though succumb to their own guilt and decides to join as a new assertive way to make things right. They're very adept at plant magic.

SNUG revolves around unimportance, chance. They're as others would see them, a mindless animal lab project nothing more for a test. Something to be not treated as a being, but purely off nature alone. They appear deep in the mind, one formed like a laboratory as an accidentally release, rampaging beast who after a while of chasing everyone, is confronted directly and weakened enough to fall back. They join the group saving them from Foxtrots (see Mind Beings) as the latest and last team member.

LOCATIONS

Each area in the subconscious appears different based on an amalgamation of thought processes and memories all accumulating in "zones". Each major zone hosts a Pillar of Determination, the goal of which to find all 5.

Zone 1 (Wasteland, Desert, Hollow Rundown, Sorrow Monolith, Passageway, The Tornado)

Zone 2 (Boardwalk, TBN Town, Deepthoughts)

Zone 3 (TBN Forest, Home)

Zone 4

Zone 5

Zone 6 (???)

MIND BEINGS

Enemy Brigade

Hordacaton

R.O.O.T.S

Foxtrot

5 Guardians

Chamila

Fallabloom

Sisters

Faux

Clamity

Chimothra

MECHANICS

Fighting - Using all the Determination they have, Clover shapes their own battle system in order to be able to fight back similar to the original but with an added surprise first attack if possible.

Resting - When brain eep everything dark so party rests so they aren't spotted traveling

Running Out of Time - Each encounter creates commotion and noise, making it not too difficult to grab Flowey's attention. For every encounter there's is a timer that when it runs out, Clover will be apprehended regardless of what they're doing.

MISC

(color coded if only one of the 4 main characters are present, otherwise remains a neutral color)

Old Gang Concept

Desriel + Meroyah Doodle

Motive Curiosity Concepts

Clover & Team Relations

Dust Graveyard Idea

divide by zero

desriel & clover

Party Modern

cool doodl

deadpan

your facade is breaking, honey

meroyah & snug talkpost bc i dont like the word yap anymore

meroyah & chamila doodle

ghost sheriff + desriel expression concepts

zone 1 + momopter (chimothra) concept

more desriel expression concepts

meroyah expression concepts

neo meta flowey concept

meroyah terrible self image

meroyah hates desriel this is real

travel concept

Playlist for NO reason 💥💥💥💥

help

Winddown BETA

Sprite glitch :[

??? BETA

sprite glitch fixed yayyyy

clover sprites

clover + desriel

gang minus snug bc snug is hard to sprite

STAND YOUR GROUND BETA

Boss 1 WIP

Winddown Rot

[miloscat]

[Review] Dark Souls III (PS4)

It's Dark Souls… again!

I decided to roll right on from DS2 into the final instalment, finally completing my Souls journey (minus some epilogue chapters, stay tuned). Playing them back to back shows just how big the next-gen jump really is, the technical improvements and lessons learned from Bloodborne going towards making this a much more polished game. It also reinforces how much rehashing is going on here, for better or worse.

Following up on the story of DS1, the world has been through many cycles of the cosmic power of fire being linked to renew the status quo in defiance of curses and darkness. But the power of fire is finally waning. Will this cycle be the last? DS3 feels like an anniversary game, with callbacks to DS2 and even Demon's Souls, but even more so it feels like Dark Souls 1 2, with particular areas and many of the more memorable NPCs being direct lifts. It's an… interesting choice considering DS1 was only five years old at the time (and Demon's Souls only seven), and it means this game doesn't have as much of its own identity as it could have.

A few locations stand out as particularly cool, like Irithyll's snowy city streets, or Archdragon Peak (sort of a prototype for Elden Ring's Farum Azula), but many are rather dim, grey, and castle-y, and don't stick in my mind as much as DS2's locations. The DLC does add some stunning new areas in Ariendel's icy valley, or the Dreg Heap's extrapolation on the twisted mess of architecture as seen in the background of the base game's climax. These new zones were a step up for me, and I enjoyed the higher level of challenge there as well.

I didn't find the base game overly difficult, which honestly was nice. (I even beat the final boss on my first try!) It did take a long time to give you decent amounts of weapon upgrade materials, which meant I just stuck with the Irithyll straight sword for the vast majority, enjoying its speed, range, and quick frost procs. This is given very early, as is the grass crest shield, and I didn't feel much motivation to experiment with other loadouts sadly. This goes for the armour too; while there's some Fashion Souls fun to be had, a lot of good stuff comes late or at a steep cost and the early Exile set had negation both high and broad.

My biggest struggle was attempting to do NPC quests, which after DS2's lighter touch return to the metaseries' heights of obscure progression. It's absurdly easy to do the wrong thing accidentally and lock yourself out of ongoing interactions with certain characters, acquiring cool items, and even finding a secret third ending. I played much of the game with wiki pages open beside me, checking that I was hitting the right flags, and I still missed stuff! Not to mention illusory walls and invisible walkways, which I generally loathe.

Besides that, progressing the main game is pretty smooth. Your goal is defeating three (and then a fourth) Lords of Cinder, who are selfishly hoarding their portions of the primal magic fire. It feels a lot like DS2's game world, with intricate areas leading off to others in a chain, rather than DS1's more interconnected world.

Combat is deliberate as ever, with cues taken from Bloodborne in making enemies more reactive to hits. It does show off at times with large enemies, big groups, transformations, and phase changes. As in many other ways, the game feels like a step towards Elden Ring thanks to stamina refilling faster, but speaking from a post-ER context, it's missing as many quality of life features as it has added to the formula.

Dark Souls 3 is a quite good game, certainly. There's some great boss fights, solid gameplay that benefits from the advancements made in other titles in the metaseries, and a general high level of polish. But at the same time it's overly reliant on callbacks and rehashes, and it now sits under the shadow of Elden Ring, which takes many of the refinements here even further (although DS3 doesn't have the crutch of an underwhelming open world). For me personally, DS2 was a more charming and adventurous game, with endearing rough edges and memorable characters and locations, which makes it my favourite of the trilogy! I need a fresh perspective to be really sure though…

[sssammich]

day 19: hazy

for supercorptober 2023

read on ao3 instead

crepe AU: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 day 19: hazy, day 22: art, day 24: enchanted, day 30: magic

author's note: this is kinda sad with no real resolution at the end. so if you don't wanna read it, then that's fine! feel free to skip. thanks!

---

“Kara, who am I?” 

“You’re Lena. You are my life’s greatest love.” 

“Don’t forget, okay?” 

“How could I ever?” 

—

Kara, depleted of all her energy, watches as the vengeful alien points a specialized extraterrestrial gun directly at her. She places her hands up in surrender, but he is not so merciful, his final act before his inevitable death is simple: take Supergirl down at any cost, to isolate and ruin her the way her people had done to his. 

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

The gun blast hits Kara dead center in the solar plexus, penetrating through the dwindling defense of her supersuit, propelling her back several yards until her back collides with the wall. She is caught under the rubble, her body buzzing like it’s been infiltrated by white noise under her skin. 

She hears a muffled voice yelling after her, pushing through the debris until she finds Lena hunched over her. 

Her consciousness starts to wane and within one long blink of an eye, the vengeful alien’s mission is complete. 

—

When Kara first opens her eyes, her gaze immediately lands on the source of her deepest comfort standing by her bedside: dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight. 

She blinks a few times to clear the remaining haziness in her mind and she is awash with relief, her nerves settling. 

“Hi,” she offers, her voice croaking. Lena turns to her, relief all over her face as she stations herself by Kara’s side. Alex rushes to her other side, quick to give her the once over and check for her vitals. “What happened?” 

“You don’t remember?” Lena asks, her voice tinged with worry. 

“I just remember this nasty alien shooting me and it blasted me against the wall.” 

“Well, that’s about the long and short of it, actually,” Alex offers. “You’ve been out of it for about 36 hours.” 

“Didn’t think a gunshot would render me powerless,” she comments, grimacing as she pushes herself upright. She does not see the way Lena and Alex glance at one another. 

“It didn’t.” 

Brows furrowed, she asks, “What do you mean?” 

“We’re not….we’re not sure what the gun did to you. All of your injuries and your blown powers can be traced back to everything before he shot you.” 

Their worry gives her pause, but she is not the paragon of hope for nothing, so she bravely wears a reassuring smile, and grabs hold of their hands. “I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll figure out in due time. For now, though, mind if I go home?”

Her wish is easily granted and she makes her way back to her apartment, Lena by her side. Kara senses the tension and worries all over Lena’s face. 

“Are you worried?” 

Lena’s gaze softens. “I think you know by now I’m always going to be worried.” 

She slumps against the bar stool and beckons for the other woman. “Tell me. Please?”

There’s hesitance in Lena’s posture, but Kara only flashes her a reassuring, albeit tired, smile.

“I just…it doesn’t make any sense. You were affected by the blast, but the shot itself did not affect anything, at least none that we can trace or track or check for. But…we can wait until tomorrow to start solving that particular problem. How about for now, you get settled in bed?” 

She doesn’t protest and follows silently as Lena ushers her to bed. Lena tucks her in before sitting on the edge of the bed, their joined hands resting on Kara’s stomach. 

“Whatever it is, I know you’ll figure it out. You protected me before, I know you’ll protect me again. You always do.” 

Lena smiles and clutches at Kara’s hands. “Always.”  

—

The return to normal is expected, and goes without any special notice. She attends to her duties and her obligations, savors every minute with her loved ones. Her days inch forward the same as they had always done. And the case with the vengeful alien laid to rest a few weeks after the attack, though without any real conclusion or closure. 

Yet despite moving forward, the tension in her shoulders never quite disappears, not when Alex and Lena continue to share worried glances from across the room when they think she’s not looking. Or when they huddle together in a corner in hushed tones when they think she’s out of earshot. 

“Maybe it was just an anomaly,” she offers one late night at the Tower. “I just don’t want the two of you to carry all these stresses when nothing has happened.” The ‘so far’ hangs unspoken. 

Alex and Lena share one last glance before they nod and accept that perhaps they have given this incident more power than it truly wielded. Satisfied with their promise to let the issue go, Kara gave them both hugs. She wished her sister a good night just as she left with Lena to spend the night back home, the two of them under the security and comfort of rest in bed. 

They break their promise: speaking in codes, meeting in secret as they pursued the niggling thought in the back of both of their heads that there was something more. They don’t get very far, every theory hitting a dead end.

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

—

Exactly 42 days, 13 hours, 56 minutes, and 27 seconds after Kara was shot that they enter the point of no return. 

—

It starts with her nightmares, the images playing in high definition—vivid and real and altogether harrowing. She wakes up from them drenched in sweat, limbs tangled in the covers. She’s gasping for breath, like desperately breaking through the surface after having been underwater for a minute too long. 

Lena is there, always, with a mixture of fear and worry and helplessness. Kara eventually comes down from the adrenaline rush, and she is filled with equal measures of guilt and regret when their eyes meet under the blue shadows of the moon that filter in the bedroom. 

“You’re Lena,” she gasps out, a means of reassuring herself, even as she reaches forward to tether them together. She shuts her eyes tightly and lets herself be comforted by Lena’s arms that circle around to her back and rubbing it soothingly despite the dampness of her shirt. Or the way Lena presses comforting kisses on her hairline. 

What Kara doesn’t see is the tremor in Lena’s lips that she tightens against her forehead nor the dawning fear in those eyes of what she and Alex had feared from the beginning.

—

The changes are gradual, almost imperceptible until she’s already in the middle of something that she realizes something is amiss. 

Like ordering takeout from three places despite agreeing to only order from one. 

Lena’s confusion is apparent when she enters the apartment and slowly drops her purse on the counter amidst the bags of takeout. Kara scratches the back of her neck as she does her best to explain what she cannot explain. 

“Pizza, postickers, and sushi?” Lena asks, amusement laced in her voice even as she looks at Kara incredulously. “Are you really that hungry?” 

No, she wants to say. This wasn’t her plan, she wants to say. She doesn’t know what made her do it, she wants to say. 

“I saw a bunch of videos while at work and got carried away,” she offers with a shrug. Lena studies her for a moment before sighing and helping spread out the containers all over the coffee table and ottoman that they pull closer. 

Kara’s not even that hungry, but she pushes herself to eat everything so that Lena doesn’t question her even as her mind reels. 

—

On and on the days progress and Kara is beginning to buckle under the strain of making sense of her world and failing. 

“Jess, how much longer is Lena gonna be? You think I can sneak into her office and wait?” she asks one late afternoon, carrying a bag of donuts for the two of them. 

Jess only stares at her in mild confusion before slowly looking at her monitor. 

“Is this some kind of trick?” 

Kara’s brows furrow and she stares dumbfounded. “Wh-what? Why would you think that?” 

“Because Ms. Luthor is in Metropolis for another two days.” 

They stare at one another, the assistant’s face quickly transforming from confusion to concern, slowly reaching for the phone, no doubt on her way to call Lena. Kara reaches forward and places her hand on the phone. 

“Gosh, I just—I must have been losing track of time and missing her so much. I’ll call her on the way home and see how she’s doing. Here, have the donuts and share it with your partner.” 

Jess stares at the bag that gets dropped right by her keyboard. 

What Kara wants to do but will not do in front of Jess is check her phone with the text message she knows is there from Lena telling her that she���s been craving a strawberry frosted donut and that she’d love to have one miraculously appear after her meeting with the board today. 

“Can you do me a favor and not tell Lena about this?” she pleads. “She worries enough about me as it is and I want her trip to go without a hitch. I just, you know, really miss her.” 

It’s another few beats of growing awkward silence until Jess nods. 

“Thanks, Jess. I owe you.” 

She doesn’t quite break into using her powers, but she hightails it out of the office, practically slamming her hand against the elevator buttons, hoping that it swallows her whole. She doesn’t dare look past the doors as they close knowing that Jess is watching her every move. 

When she opens her phone in the comfort of the empty elevator, she is filled with abject horror when she finds no textual evidence of Lena’s craving for a donut anywhere in their messages. 

—

The moment it comes to a head for them all is when Alex and Lena find Kara sitting by the window of her apartment in front of an easel and a table with paint supplies. 

“Hi guys,” she greets them over her shoulder before returning her attention to the image of what she’d drawn, putting the palette down, the brush gripped in her hands. 

“That’s beautiful, Kara,” Lena says, placing a soft kiss on her cheek and resting her chin on Kara’s shoulder. “What is it?” 

“Thanks.” She stares at the canvas in front of her; hues of red skies and purple mountains, a vista of a distant yet familiar landscape. “It’s…”

Kara’s silence stretches, her mind searching for words to come to mind, yet none appearing. 

“Krypton.” It’s Alex who supplies the response when Kara’s silence has stretched entirely too long. “Kara, that’s Krypton.” 

“Right.” She frowns, her eyes searching the canvas for answers, but not finding any. “This is Krypton. I am from Krypton. I am Kryptonian.” 

Her heart sinks when she moves to look at Lena and Alex’s eyes, her eyes brimming with tears. 

“I think I’m in trouble.” 

—

She explains the last few weeks, the way her mind has been playing tricks on her, fabricating memories about dates and appointments, swaths of her memories blank for a time. 

She confirms their suspicions and they explain all the secret work they’ve been testing. 

The rest of the Superfriends are briefed about her situation and they all get to work as a team, coming together to pool their wits and resources on finding a solution that will reverse this problem and get Kara back to them. 

Kara maintains her unwavering hope, if not for herself, then for Lena who touches her softly, reverently, cautiously. 

“I won’t break,” she whispers to Lena, afraid to break the quiet that has blanketed over them in bed. 

“But I might.” 

She pulls Lena closer to her, their noses touching slightly. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll always protect you.” 

Lena is crying now, and Kara’s heart splinters and cracks. 

“I love you,” she says, kissing away each tear that escapes. “Please stay strong for me, Lena."

Lena’s face is tear-streaked and heartbreaking, but she’s kissing Kara and holding onto her, the two understanding what’s at stake, the gravity of their situation weighing on them. 

—

When Kara opens her eyes, she sees the most beautiful woman in front of her. 

Dark hair framing pale skin, sculpted brows arching beautifully, and light green eyes the color of moss in sunlight. Her face is light and pale save for the pink hues of her cheeks and the tip of her nose, like she’s been crying. 

How unkind, she thinks to herself, to have such a beautiful woman cry. 

She flashes the woman a smile. “Hi.” 

“Hello.” 

“Who are you?” 

The woman flinches slightly, and Kara thinks she’s done something wrong. But the woman’s smile is soft, is sad. “I’m Lena.” 

She likes that name, it’s familiar to her. She warms to it instantly. 

“Hi, Lena. I’m…I’m Kara. Yes, right. Kara. Kara Zor-El.” 

She offers her hand and Lena glances down at it for a second before gingerly placing her own. 

It’s the same hand that has held her and touched her and loved her for years. So to offer it now as if for the first time is a cut through Lena’s heart and soul. 

But, of course, Kara didn’t know that. 

—

Alex sidles up next to Lena as they watch Kara talk with Kelly from across the Tower. Close, yet far. A chasm now between them and Kara. 

She is determined above all else to get Kara back, but it doesn’t soften the blow or lessen the ache of having Kara stand in front of them in this state: like a stranger, like an alien. 

“We won’t stop, okay? We’ll get her back. Just hang in there.” 

She nods, restraining her tears as she watches Kara’s every move. As unreachable from this distance as she would be if she was in Kelly’s place. 

Kara seems to sense her, and she turns to meet Lena’s eyes. Her smile is bright and lively and beautiful and darling and it’s still directed at her. Lena knows Kara is still there, and she’ll do anything to have Kara back and fight their way back together again. 

—

“Lena, who am I?” 

“You’re Kara. You are my life’s greatest love.”

“Don’t let me forget, okay?” 

“How could I ever?”

[sweetmidnights]

The Archer-- Chapter 1: 'tis the damn season

Pairing: Kai Bartley/OC; Kai Bartley/Amelia Shepherd; Kai Bartley/Amelia Shepherd/OC

Summary: Mara "Mouse" Montgomery has been best friends with Kai Bartley since she transferred into their second-grade classroom. Over the years, they became an inseparable duo, attached at the hip, where one went, the other would always follow. But, as the two went to separate colleges and grad schools, their friendship waned, along with any feelings that may or may not have developed along the way.

3 years ago, Mouse accepted a position as a professor at the University of Minnesota, Rochester, and that familiar stirring in her belly has returned with a vengeance.

Kai has been working on a top-secret project for 2 years, causing their stress levels to skyrocket with no feasible way to bring them down. Mouse wants nothing more than to help Kai in any way that she can, her feelings for them be damned. But after one interrupted attempt at friends with benefits, they run into two problems: 1) that Mouse Montgomery's feelings for Kai are much deeper than she could have imagined and 2) that Amelia Shepherd has just gracefully and captivatingly waltzed into Kai's life, taking any hope at something more between the two best friends with her.

What will happen when Mouse falls sick in a way that only Amelia can fix?

Warnings: 18+.

AO3

Next Chapter (coming soon)

Drinks, Chinese takeout, re-runs of Drake’s Anatomy, and Kai Bartley sprawled on the couch– these were the makings of a typical Sunday afternoon at Mouse Montgomery’s downtown apartment. In fact, these were the makings of her favorite Sundays. They were both so busy, Kai practically living in their lab and Mouse always buried under a neverending stack of papers to grade, but on Sunday afternoons, the world seemed to stand still as they put their labor down and spent time refinding their humanity. Here, there were no neurodegenerative diseases, no lecture halls, and no expectations. It was just Mouse and her best friend, against the world. 

Above their heads, fairy lights entwined in plastic ivy twinkled where the walls met the ceiling in the small living room, bathing the two in a glow of warm light as they laughed at the TV. Adorning the walls were photos of her favorite people, her favorite places, and her favorite things. Shelves were stacked with books and knickknacks, the floor covered in cat toys and colorful rugs. The large bay windows were lined with plants in various stages of life, though most of them were closer to death– a fact that Kai never let her live down. If only the magic of a Sunday afternoon was enough to bring her succulents back to life, too. 

These Sundays in Mouse’s small apartment weren’t much, but they were comforting, and they were hers. 

Sitting with her feet tucked up under her, Mouse watched from the other end of the couch as Kai got lost in the television show, noticing how their pale blue-green eyes were luminescent even in the low light. It was hard not to see how the beauty radiated off of the neuroscientist, the perfect blend of handsome and gentle, of alluring and shy. 

“Do you remember when we had to dissect that frog in Ms. Sable’s biology class?” Kai asked, poking a set of ceramic chopsticks into their box of lo mein. 

“Why,” Mouse responded, shaking herself from her thoughts, “Why must you torture me?” 

Kai laughed and sat up straight, putting on a posh British accent and holding a pinky out from their grip on their noodles, shimmying their shoulders to get into character.

“Mara Montgomery-Tyler, what in heaven’s name have you done here?” 

Mouse glared at Kai before twisting her face into a wicked smile. 

“At least mine still looked like a frog and not like it was mauled by a tiger,” Mouse said, knowing this would get a rise out of Kai before doing her own impression of the elderly teacher. “I can see why they all call you Cat, this certainly looks more like it was performed with claws than the instruments I gave you. Perhaps it does, indeed, suit you better to be called as such.”

“God, she really had a stick up her ass about my name, didn’t she?” Kai said with a snort, sticking one leg out to reclaim their monopoly of the couch cushions. 

“I never understood why,” Mouse replied, stabbing a piece of broccoli with her chopsticks after it had fallen into her bowl for the third time. “It’s not like it was an abnormal nickname, Catherine Edwards went by Cat, too.” 

“I think it was less about the name and moreso the entire ensemble– not only did I dress like a lumberjack, but I also blatantly refused to respond to anything resembling my deadname. That, and she caught me making out with Sienna Nichols behind the Tilt-a-Whirl the week before we started school.”

Mouse choked a laugh, barely managing to swallow her food before a deep belly laugh rang from her chest. 

“It was Ms. Sable who caught you necking Sienna the summer after 8th grade? Oh my god, you never told me it was her! That’s hilarious.”

Tears started to catch behind Mouse’s eyes as she laughed, her face flushing bright red as it always did when she laughed too hard. Her mother always said that she could never keep a secret, her blush always gave her away. Try as she might, however, Mouse could never control the rosy tint that ebbed and flowed throughout the day and she resigned herself to wearing her heart on her cheeks.

Kai couldn’t help but laugh, too– Mouse’s giggles were infectious and always seemed to break open her stoic friend from their oh-so-serious demeanor. From the day that little Mara Montgomery-Tyler had joined Kai’s second grade class in the middle of the year, she had never failed to make the quiet, shy, kid come out of their shell, to let go of the tightly bound walls that held them in place, hid them from view. And, from that day on, Mara Montgomery-Tyler became a constant fixture at Kai Bartley’s side, Kai always chasing that comfort and glee, and the two of them becoming their own version of cat and mouse. 

As their laughter died down, Mouse burrowed her chilled feet underneath Kai’s calf and turned back to her dinner. Kai continued to sit with their free leg pulled to their chest, their cheek resting on it as they smiled at Mouse with closed lips as she still fought with her food. Giving up with a huff, Mouse sat her chicken and broccoli on the coffee table in front of her and scanned for something with easier access. 

“Do you want another egg roll?” Mouse asked while grabbing and holding out the waxpaper bag to Kai that held the last one. 

“Nah, I’m good,” Kai replied, sitting up a little straighter but still just poking at their lo mein, occassionally bringing the smallest piece of noodle to their lips. 

Mouse furrowed her brow and frowned as she looked into Kai’s takeaway container– it was still almost entirely full. It was unlike Kai to pick at their food. Usually, on Sundays, they would nearly inhale everything in front of them as if they were starving. Even on a normal day, they still could eat circles around Mouse. They were all arms, legs, and a bottomless stomach. 

“Is everything alright?” Mouse asked, putting the food back down and placing a hand on Kai’s ankle, letting her fingers graze the skin beneath their gray sweatpants. 

“Yeah,” Kai started, not looking up at Mouse as they answered. “Things at the lab are just getting more intense and I can’t get it off my mind.” 

Mouse nodded and let her fingers draw little patterns on the skin below, knowing that comforting touch was always grounding for the neuroscientist. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Kai thought for a moment before raising their face to look at Mouse, scanning her features seemingly for an answer that they would not find. 

“I… don’t think I’m allowed to tell you much more than I already have about the project. It’s so classified,” Kai said. “But we have some big hitters coming to tour the lab tomorrow and hopefully take David’s bait to put their names and expertise on the study.” 

It wasn’t uncommon for Kai’s work to be a bit of a mystery to Mouse, her own Ph.D. certainly wasn’t in anything close to neuroscience, but Kai had never worked on a project so strictly classified that they didn’t feel comfortable sharing at least a little bit of what was going on. Kai liked to pace next to the couch sometimes and spitball out loud about neurochemicals and experiment procedures but for the last 2 years of this study, their work had become something they wouldn’t dare speak aloud in front of anyone else, even Mouse who they knew would keep their secrets. The helplessness that Mouse felt at not being able to help her best friend was eating away at her, especially now that Kai’s stress was so high that they were barely eating and barely sleeping. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mouse asked aloud, unafraid of intruding on what Kai had almost certainly internalized and compartmentalized far, far away in their brain. That had always been her secret weapon, she was the only person that was brave enough to poke around inside Kai’s mind and try to pull the tangle of messy thoughts out of the otherwise cool, calm, and collected researcher. 

Kai started to rub at their left wrist with their long fingers, rolling the hand around in what seemed to be an attempt to release some tension. 

“I dunno, Mouse,” Kai said, grimacing and looking at her apologetically. 

Reading Kai’s body language, Mouse immediately grabbed the socked foot in front of her and changed her seating so that it was resting in her lap. She used her thumbs to start smoothing the muscles of Kai’s feet, smiling to herself when she heard the sigh of relief slip from Kai’s lips. 

“This okay?” Mouse asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Absolutely,” Kai responded, sinking deep into the couch and putting their other foot closer to Mouse. 

The movement made Mouse smile to herself and shake her head at their actions, laughing lightly at the jokingly-pleading look on Kai’s face.

“You’re lucky I love you, I won’t touch just anyone’s feet,” Mouse said as she worked on loosening the tension. 

“Yeah, I know I am,” Kai replied, their expression soft and warm and unquestionably genuine. 

The feeling that shot straight to Mouse’s belly with those words was not an unfamiliar one, tingly and tight and aching to be felt again. Through all of their years of friendship, she had harbored a tiny, miniscule crush that seemed too inconsequential to ever act on, to ever risk their friendship over. It had gotten stronger and weaker with time and space, but ever since moving back to Minnesota 3 years ago to teach gender, women’s, and sexuality studies at the University of Minnesota, that feeling that Mouse had, had grown little by little. Though it still was still small, inconsequential, negligible, it was happening more and more often. The gleam of Kai’s smile set off flurries of butterflies in Mouse’s stomach, their casual touches were electrifying, everything about Kai had become more enticing, more alluring, more enchanting. 

But that didn’t matter. 

Mouse recentered her thoughts on the task at hand but before she could get far, she was interrupted. 

“Where’d you go?” Kai asked, wiggling their feet a little and shifting onto their elbows to get a better look at her.

“Hmm?” Mouse only hummed in response.

“Just now, you spent probably five minutes in la la land, eyes glazed over and everything. Got something on your mind?” 

“Oh, nothing really.” 

“It didn’t look like nothing,” Kai replied, a mischievous grin spreading on their face. 

“More drinks?” Mouse asked as she finished rubbing Kai’s other foot and promptly stood up, needing to get some distance before Kai could notice the heat rising in her cheeks. She immediately poured herself a drink, letting the alcohol warm her throat and soothe her nerves. 

Bringing the bottle back to living room, she offered it to Kai, who had sat up and pulled their legs back to sit in front of them, resting their forearms on their knees, hands hanging limply in the air, watching the screen ahead. While grabbing the bottle, Kai looked up at Mouse and she could have sworn she saw something flash in their eyes, wishful thinking she supposed. On the screen ahead, the protagonist intern fell into bed with the dreamy attending and a sinful noise escaped the speakers of the television.

“God, what I would give for that to be me,” Kai said as they poured themself a drink into a mug with flowers on it. 

“Definitely would help you relieve of some that stress,” Mouse replied, laughing a little bit, the liquor loosening her up just enough. 

“It’s not like I will get some any time soon with how many hours I’m spending in the lab. Sundays are the only day I get off and by the time it comes around, I’m too exhausted to even think about going out and trying to pick someone up at the bar. And don’t even get me started on dating apps. They’re useless!” 

Kai kicked back on the couch, putting their hands being their head as they rested their head on the top of the couch, jaw dropping open with an “Ugh.” 

“I know exactly what you mean. And it’s not like we can do anything about it,” Mouse lamented, knowing all too well the tragedy of the online dating scene as an established professional. 

“That may not be a half-bad idea,” Kai said, turning their head to face Mouse, looking at her with an eyebrow crooked, almost as if to ask a question.

Mouse cocked her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?”

“We used to practice kissing together when we were kids, Mouse. What if we did that now, just… more?” 

Mouse searched Kai’s face for a hint of facetiousness, any clue that they might just be joking around. But as she flicked from one eye to another, down to their lips and back, what she saw was genuine emotion. 

“What are you suggesting? We become fuck buddies?” Mouse asked, incredulous but hopeful. Maybe this could be just what she needs to put those tingly feelings to rest, to settle the curiosity of what it would feel like to be underneath Kai. 

“Well, I suppose it would be more like friends with benefits, don’t you think? I would say we’re a bit closer than just fuck buddies. We don’t have to, though, it was just a suggestion,” Kai responded, though their expression was a little unreadable. 

Mouse weighed her options. This could be her one chance to finally have all the answers. Besides, Kai was right, they used to practice kissing as kids and everything worked out fine, how could this be any different? But then again, this was Kai they were talking about here, Kai who could get any woman they pleased with just one flash of that smile. Mouse didn’t want to just be a last resort.

“Are you sure you want to do this with me?” she asked, insecurities arising, picking at her fingernails.

Kai moved closer on the couch and grabbed Mouse’s nervous hands and held them in their own, rubbing their thumb along her knuckles. 

“You’re beautiful, Mara, and I can’t say this is the first time it’s crossed my mind.” 

Mouse’s heart started to beat faster, hearing her real name fall from Kai’s lips sent a liquid heat pooling in her stomach, the butterflies from early erupting into a full vibration in her chest.  Kai brought their hand up to cup Mouse’s cheek, using their thumb to pull gently on her lip. Blue eyes met hazel, flicking back and forth and Mouse knew that she could never say no to something like this. She pulled her hand up to cover Kai’s, looking up at them with big, round eyes, silently begging them to make the first move.

Kai leaned in close, within centimeters of Mouse’s face, their warm breath hitting her lips.

“Tell me you want this,” they husked, dropping their gaze to look at her lips. 

“I want this,” Mouse replied, dropping her jaw, mingling her breath with theirs.

Kai immediately brought their lips to hers, pressing softly at first, hesitantly as if to test the waters. When they were about to pull back, Mosue sighed into the kiss and threaded her fingers into Kai’s thick hair. The air between them was electric, charged and hotter than either of them could have expected. Mouse’s small noise was enough to spur Kai on, deepening the kiss and letting their hands wander from her face to her torso, gripping her sides tightly.

“Is this okay?” Kai asked, breathlessly, while moving their kisses to Mouse’s jaw and down her neck.

“God, yes,” Mouse replied, sucking a breath between her teeth, a quiet moan vibrating in her chest.

“Kai is just fine,” the neuroscientist quipped with a smirk before dragging their teeth down the side of her neck, sucking gently right below her earlobe. 

Mouse tightened her grip on Kai’s hair, pulling them back to look at her.

“Funny,” she said as Kai gave her a wicked grin before diving back in, peppering kisses along her neck, the collar of her t-shirt, and back up to nip on her other earlobe. 

“Your skin tastes so good, fuck,” Kai whispered against her ear, voice deep and gentle. Mouse shivered as the sound hit her ears, pleasure shooting straight to her core. 

With a gentle push and a guiding hand, Kai laid Mouse down on the couch, her dark curls splaying on the decorative pillow beneath her head. She looked up at Kai and really took them in. Their chest was heaving, pupils blown and lips already turning a handsome shade of pink as they started to swell. Light brown hair stood up at the roots, causing little bumps in their thick locks where Mouse’s fingers had gripped them tightly. 

Long fingers danced up Mouse’s torso, grazing over her shirt and against her cheek before once again pulling at her bottom lip. With a flash decision, Mouse sucked Kai’s forefinger into her mouth, sucking briefly before letting it go with a pop. 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Kai said before immediately dropping to their forearms, smashing their lips against Mouse’s, kissing her deeply. Dropping their hips, they pressed their gray sweatpants against Mouse’s pelvis, grinding on her as her fingernails started to scratch up and down Kai’s back under their t-shirt. It was hot, it was intoxicating, addicting, and Mouse wanted more, more, more. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” Kai asked, panting lightly while still rolling their hips against Mouse gently. 

But before Mouse could answer, Kai’s cellphone started to ring from across the room in their bag, making the tall neuroscientist drop their head in frustration. 

“I’m sorry, it’s David and he won’t stop calling until I answer,” they said apologetically, pressing a chaste kiss to Mouse’s lips before climbing off of the sofa and digging for their phone. 

Mouse sat up and straightened her hair, her clothes. She could feel the flush on her cheeks, the tingling of her kiss-swollen lips, the dripping wetness pooling at her core. 

“I am so sorry, Mouse, but I have to go. There is a problem at the lab with the equipment and we need to get everything back up and running before Dr… before our guests show up at 9 am,” Kai said as they started to pack their things and wrap themself back up in the outerwear needed to face the chilly autumn air. 

“No, it’s okay Kai, it’s totally okay,” Mouse responded, starting to tidy up the coffee table, doing anything to get her mind off of the flood of feelings that were rushing through her mind, through her body. 

“I will text you tomorrow?” Kai asked, more as a goodbye than a promise to talk to her soon.

“Absolutely. You’re gonna crush it tomorrow and everything will work out exactly as it’s supposed to,” Mouse returned with a smile. 

Kai’s face softened in a quiet thanks, nodding their head as they walked to let themself out the apartment door. 

“It always does,” the neuroscientist replied, their standard response to the comforting, reassuring words that Mouse had shared with them time and time again.

As the door shut behind Kai and all that was left was the ghost of their touch on Mouse’s lips, she fell to the couch and cradled her head in her hands. If there was any doubt before that her feelings for Kai were more than just incidental, after getting to taste their lips, feel their touch, experience the raw chemistry that they shared, she had absolute certainty– Mouse Montgomery was in love with her best friend, and always had been. 

[paperanddice]

Arbeyach is one of the lesser lords of Hell, a leader among devils but not on par with the 9 true Lords. His power is waning further, disinterest and an unyielding mind causing him to lose favor with the Archdevils, and it's only a matter of time before his star fades completely. Until that time however, his spawn still support him by the thousand, crafting massive hives in his realm and preparing for whatever cause he decides to follow.

They look roughly humanoid, even having a mostly decorative human skin that covers their body, but it tears and stretches as the spawn moves, revealing the insectile exoskeleton and other traits below it. Dripping mandibles, eyes with compound irises, barbed stingers protruding from between its fingers, and unusually jointed limbs all show its true nature, and they make no effort to actually disguise themselves. Upon encountering humanoid foes of Arbeyach, the spawn strike without hesitation or mercy, seeking to destroy as their father (?) commands.

Inspired by the Tome of Beasts 1. This post came out a week ago on my Patreon. If you want to get access to all my monster conversions early, as well as access to my premade adventures and other material I’m working on, consider backing me there!

Pathfinder 2e

Spawn of Arbeyach Creature 5 Uncommon, Medium, Devil, Fiend, Unholy Perception +10; greater darkvision Languages Common, Infernal, scent communication 60 feet, telepathy 100 feet Skills Athletics +13, Crafting +9, Diplomacy +10 (+14 vs, arthropods), Stealth +11 Str +4, Dex +2, Con +2, Int +0, Wis +1, Cha +1 Hive Mind As long as a spawn of Arbeyach is able to telepathically communicate with another spawn, each shares a hive mind connection. Each spawn gains a +2 circumstance bonus to Perception checks and to Will saves that don't affect all members of the hive mind. No member of the hive mind is off-guard unless all members are. Scent Communication (olfactory) The spawn of Arbeyach can communicate through pheromones with other spawn and arthropod swarms (insects, spider, scorpions, and similar invertebrate animals) within range. Arthropod swarms have a starting attitude of friendly to the spawn, and it can use Diplomacy to Make an Impression and Request things from the swarms. These actions lose the auditory trait and gain the olfactory trait when used this way. AC 21; Fort +11, Ref +11, Will +10; +1 status to all saves vs. magic HP 75; Immunities fire; Resistances physical 5 (except silver), poison 5; Weaknesses holy 5 Speed 35 feet, climb 20 feet Melee mandibles +13 (magical, unholy), Damage 2d8+8 piercing plus Arbeyach Venom Melee claw +13 (agile, magical, unholy), Damage 2d6+6 slashing Divine Innate Spells DC 19 ; 5th translocate; 4th translocate (at will); 3rd vomit swarm; Divine Rituals DC 19; demonic pact Arbeyach Venom (poison) The sickened condition from Arbeyach Venom can't be reduced while the affliction remains. Saving Throw DC 19 Fortitude; Maximum Duration 6 rounds; Stage 1 sickened 1 (1 round); Stage 2 1d6 poison damage and sickened 2 (1 round); Stage 3 1d6 poison damage and sickened 3 (1 round)

13th Age

Spawn of Arbeyach 3rd level leader [devil] Initiative: +6 Claws and Mandibles +8 vs. AC (2 attacks) – 5 damage. Natural Even Hit: The target is also dazed (easy save ends, 6+). Devil’s Due (Swarm): When you choose to add the escalation die to an attack against the spawn of Arbeyach, one nearby arthropod can move as a free action. Hive Mind: As long as there’s at least one other spawn of Arbeyach nearby, the spawn gains a +2 bonus to MD and all saves. Scent Command: As a quick action, the spawn of Arbeyach can give an order to a nearby arthropod. The target either can move as a free action, or gains a +1 bonus to attack rolls during its next turn. Wall Climber. AC 19 PD 15 MD 15 HP 40

[womencorner]

10 Ways to Treat Uterine Fibroids

When it comes to uterine fibroids, the journey from silent growth to symptomatic burdens varies greatly among individuals. From lifestyle modifications to advanced medical procedures, there's a spectrum of options available to manage and even eradicate these benign yet bothersome growths. Let’s delve into these methods, exploring their nuances, benefits, and limitations.

Understanding Uterine Fibroids: What Are They?

Fibroids, scientifically known as leiomyomas, are noncancerous growths that develop on or within the uterine walls. Surprisingly common, they affect between 20% and 80% of women by the age of 50. Despite their prevalence, their exact cause remains shrouded in mystery.

"Fibroids are overgrowths of smooth muscle cells in the uterus," explains Dr. Janice Newsome of Emory University Hospital. While most fibroids are asymptomatic and demand no intervention, others can provoke symptoms such as:

Heavy menstrual bleeding

Crippling cramps and pelvic pain

Back pain or discomfort

Potential complications with fertility

The impact of fibroids depends on their size, location, and number, leaving some individuals unscathed while profoundly affecting others.

1. Watchful Waiting: A Passive Approach

For those whose fibroids are neither causing distress nor showing signs of aggressive growth, "watchful waiting" could be a viable strategy. Dr. Mitchell S. Kramer emphasizes that if the fibroids aren’t dramatically enlarged or symptomatic, observation may suffice—particularly for those nearing menopause.

As estrogen levels wane with age, fibroids often shrink naturally. However, this approach requires vigilance; regular check-ins with a healthcare provider are essential to monitor for changes.

2. Lifestyle and Diet: Small Steps, Big Impact?

While the origins of fibroids remain enigmatic, some lifestyle factors may play a role in mitigating their impact. Maintaining a balanced diet rich in fruits and leafy greens, coupled with regular exercise, can potentially reduce risks.

"Fat cells produce estrogen," Dr. Newsome notes. By managing body fat levels, individuals might experience a reduction in symptoms. Yet, it’s important to remember: no magic diet will make fibroids disappear.

3. GnRH Agonists: Hitting the Hormonal Pause Button

Gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH) agonists, like leuprolide (Lupron), work by suppressing hormone production, effectively shrinking fibroids. This treatment can alleviate:

Heavy bleeding

Pelvic pressure

Frequent urination

However, these medications come with a catch: menopausal-like side effects, including hot flashes and bone thinning. To mitigate this, healthcare providers may prescribe "add-back" therapy—a delicate balance of hormones to counteract side effects while maintaining efficacy.

4. Hormonal and Non-Hormonal Medications

Hormonal contraceptives can regulate periods and reduce heavy bleeding but won’t shrink fibroids. Conversely, medications like danazol, a synthetic testosterone, may reduce fibroid size but risk side effects like weight gain and acne.

For those seeking non-hormonal options, tranexamic acid offers a way to lighten heavy bleeding during menstruation, while NSAIDs like ibuprofen can provide pain relief.

5. MRI-Guided Focused Ultrasound

Imagine pinpointing fibroids with the precision of an MRI and targeting them with high-frequency ultrasound waves. This non-invasive procedure zaps fibroids, reducing their size over time.

According to Dr. Kramer, most patients are able to return home on the same day. Safe and effective, this option is particularly appealing to those who wish to preserve fertility.

6. Uterine Artery Embolization: Cutting the Blood Supply

This innovative procedure involves injecting particles into the arteries supplying the fibroids, effectively starving them of blood. Over time, the fibroids shrink and die.

While effective for controlling heavy bleeding, embolization isn’t typically recommended for those planning pregnancies. Research is ongoing to evaluate its safety for future fertility.

7. Ablation Techniques: Heat Meets Precision

Endometrial ablation destroys the uterine lining, addressing heavy bleeding in fibroid cases closer to the uterine cavity. While this outpatient procedure is minimally invasive, it isn’t suitable for everyone—especially those hoping to conceive.

Radiofrequency ablation (RFA) employs heat to shrink fibroids directly. Guided by ultrasound, this procedure offers a minimally invasive alternative with promising outcomes, though pregnancy post-RFA remains rare and generally discouraged.

8. Myomectomy: Fibroid Removal Without Uterine Sacrifice

For individuals prioritizing fertility, myomectomy stands as a surgical beacon of hope. By excising fibroids, while preserving the uterus, this procedure supports future pregnancies.

Techniques range from laparoscopic and robotic surgeries to traditional abdominal approaches, offering flexibility based on the fibroids’ size and location.

9. Hysterectomy: A Definitive Solution

Reserved for severe cases or those nearing menopause, hysterectomy involves removing the uterus entirely. While this procedure permanently resolves fibroid symptoms, it also ends the possibility of pregnancy.

"Healthcare providers may opt to preserve the ovaries or cervix depending on the patient’s needs," notes Dr. Newsome. However, as a major surgery, it carries inherent risks such as infection and blood clots.

10. Emerging Frontiers: The Future of Fibroid Treatment

Innovations like morcellation—a method to fragment fibroids for easier removal—face scrutiny due to cancer-spread risks. Yet, the field continues to evolve, offering hope for safer, more effective treatments.

A Final Word

Treatment for uterine fibroids is as multifaceted as the individuals it aims to support. From "watching and waiting" to advanced surgical options, the best approach depends on symptoms, life stage, and personal goals. Consult your healthcare provider to determine the path that aligns with your needs, and remember: no matter where you are in your journey, options abound.

[winterfrozelifeoutoffall]

LIGHTS ARE ON BUT NOBODY’S HOME

Alternate Exhibition text for Layo's gradshow, Jun 2024

1 In a dimly lit gallery, Layo sits. The set is mostly unfurnished, except for Layo's chair and several artworks. At stage right are two large frames leaning against the wall. Draped over one is a blank canvas, and the other has canvas wrapped around its stretcher bars. To stage left are two easels wrapped with translucent wax paper, either hung up or leaning against a wall. Both are collaged with cardboard and A4 printer paper, some scrawled with names. The room feels unfinished and incomplete, but not rushed or hurried.

2 A single spotlight turns on, swallowing the outskirts of the set in contrasting darkness, and revealing an anaemic expression on Layo’s face. Layo comes to and looks around at his exhibition; his mind wanders through memory lane as he stands up and paces through the installation, remembering and then forgetting things he wanted to say, reciting old words that have long outlived their context, only a glimmer of their previous lustre maintained through the phenomena of their utterance. Running lines, but the script is all wrong. Silence becomes him.

3 The magic of theatre, when done right, is the suspension of disbelief. The set, the stage and the actor reveal their artifice openly and foster a trusting rapport with the audience. This rapport makes possible the ‘play’, the enchantment that allows fiction to question reality without challenging the audience’s grasp on it. The disarming ambience of theatre is the dreamlike state Layo achieves through an ineffable spatial sensibility. Layo assembles quasi-ironic sculptures and canvases that gesture at being artworks without truly achieving that status. The set he builds is vacant of content but enriched with intent; ‘vacant’ in the sense that the works don’t seem to speak beyond their materiality, ‘enriched’ in the sense that they converge to transcend their materiality and establish a mood. Unlike a new-materialist, who uses the unadorned form to bolster the subjectivity of the object they are presenting, Layo diminishes the identity of his objects. The forms of his pieces are somewhat perfunctory - more about generating an ambience than revealing something inherent to their material, like repeating a name over and over until it just becomes a sound, more for the purpose of ritual than for trivial deconstruction.

4 The draft serves as his final form. His assemblages are quick and rough. He crudely obscures surfaces that have nothing on them to reveal. waxing and waning, stuck between deflection and reflection. Nothing is finished, everything is complete. He hangs a canvas up on the wall, but nothing becomes of it. He sets his stage for a play but there are no actors in it. A sobering thought emerges through the rubble, only to disintegrate in the barren mind of its bearer. Something borrowed. Something stolen. Something opportune. A blackened shroud, a hand me down gown of rags and silks, a costume fit for one who sits and cries. And when the dance is over, when the curtains are finally called, she’ll turn once more to Sunday's clown and cry behind the door.

[yandere-toons]

Yandere Cersei Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Ramsay Bolton (Platonic Scenario - "A Fool's Mistake 3: Taking the Black")

Warnings: Abuse of Power, Reality Warping, Violence, Blood, Death, Mentions of Torture, Emotional/Psychological Manipulation, Toxic Mindsets.

Word Count: 7,825.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (You are here).

The silhouettes of free folk dashed between trees and rocks in the silverish light of the full moon. They were clothed in the skins of woodland animals, and they wielded with much dexterity a combination of bows, axes and spears crafted from the forest.

Droves of the free folk had begun to scale the Wall at yesterday's sunset and, from midnight to daybreak, had reached the point where falling meant certain death. Despite enough time passing for the sun to peek over the mountaintop, the space that surrounded the free folk remained dark as night.

The sky was black but held no stars as if drapes had been thrown over the earth. The top of the Wall, a summit that appeared taller than the clouds, was covered in impenetrable darkness. Glimmers of sunlight skirted the darkness, and the scarce light traced the shape of a bubble around the free folk who dared to rise.

The ground was no longer visible to those who looked down in the hope of descending the Wall and testing the climb another day. The ice wall in front of them and the makeshift tools used to hook it was all that met their eyes beyond the shadows.

Whispers seeped into the ears of the free folk, whispers that resembled the faint voices of the people climbing with them. The voices asked for the location of the other free folk, asked after their health and encouraged them to resume the climb.

Once the first ragged antler and stake impaled the ice at the top of the Wall, the free folk realised that their vision had been dulling. In the final moments of heaving oneself onto the Wall, each member of the expedition noted themselves to be the only living thing there.

The sight that greeted them flashed back and forth between the bodies of their fellow free folk and an empty stretch of ice. The shadows warped their eye and seemed to drill into their heads before the darkness took them to the ground far below.

When no birds sang and the air became colder than the depths of a northern pond, you watched for creatures with blue eyes and ghostly skin.

Except for the occasional lash of shadows at the base of snowy trees, the woods lay motionless and free of dark magic on this hour. The current flowing from the distant Bay of Seals was tumultuous and churned as if locked in a storm, but it carried nothing more than the rare howl and rush of icy breath.

* * *

With his wrists bound to the back of a chair and his ankles tied to the wood legs, the sole mercenary to survive the recent battle at the Dreadfort sat in his own sweat. A mob of Bolton soldiers encircled him with their swords raised and their eyes locked on whichever part of him they were most inclined to cut.

The large door to the dining hall creaked open in an outward swing of metal and bending joints. Ramsay Bolton stormed into the room, his fingers playing with a gore-drenched knife.

After a moment of examining the mercenary, the immediate wrath flaring on his face waned and evolved into morbid curiosity. “I remember you.” Ramsay tilted his head and scanned the man's visible wounds and foul odour to confirm his suspicion.

It was then that the mercenary's stomach dropped to bottomless depths, and he began to whisper prayers for the mercy of the Mother.

Unlike the frantic turns and agitated stomps of earlier, Ramsay's next movements were slower and dominated by quiet steps that struck a greater panic in the heart of the mercenary each time.

“You took a long look at them.”

From his pocket came the glint of a knife, prompting the mercenary to squirm against the ropes and expel a whimper. Ramsay twirled the weapon in his right hand and conveyed a taste of future pain with unrepentant eye contact.

“Just before you tried to kill them.”

Before the tip of the steel could blind the mercenary, the harsh voice of Roose Bolton echoed in the dining hall and overpowered any wails spilling out of the mercenary.

“Ramsay!”

The sound was little more than a growl, and Ramsay paused with his knife hovering just in front of the mercenary's eyeball.

The violent shake gripping his arm did not cease, spreading to his lips and upper body as he stared into the mercenary's terror with bubbling insanity that flailed against the bridle he was compelled to put on it. Ramsay vented slivers of his untapped rage through the tremulous breaths whipping past his bared teeth.

While the soldiers beside him kept a tight hold on their swords, Roose did not allow his voice to waver: “We need this one alive.”

The blade was so close that the mercenary's eyelashes brushed it every time he blinked. It quivered with the threat of twitching too far and impaling his skull before he could release a full scream, but Ramsay seemed to find enough delight in his father's command that he turned his head away.

“Oh, he'll live.”

Just as the knife reeled back and then plunged forward, a booming announcement sounded from Roose. “We're going on a diplomatic mission to White Harbor.”

Ramsay listened to his father with a distracted mind plagued by runaway thoughts and bits of emotion he could not manage, his eyes flitting between Roose and the nearest objects while his fingers twitched with ideas of what pain to inflict on the captured mercenary.

“When will you return?”

Roose looked upon his struggle with amusement and indifference. “You should know. You're coming with me.”

As if Roose had revoked his legitimacy as the heir, Ramsay raised his head and widened his eyes. The tension clenching his shoulders and jaw shifted to confused glances, and his lips moved to search for the appropriate response that changed with each surge of dissatisfaction and the sense of a goal stepping out of his reach.

“My place is here. I have rallied the men.”

Roose began to approach the main entrance to the fortress and did not slow his stride. “Your place is where I say it is.”

Ramsay stopped walking, but Roose ignored the vicious stare drilling into the back of his head. “Father,” murmured Ramsay, and his next words were spoken through gritted teeth.

“I need to find them.”

Roose took a final, definitive step forward and turned, the bottom of his cloak gliding across the floor. “There will be a time for that. Right now, what you need to do is mount a horse and ride with me to White Harbor.”

* * *

The chambers of Tyrion Lannister stank of wine on most nights, but the scent was especially potent on this night. An empty flagon sat at the foot of a luxurious chair, which Tyrion used to rest his legs while he put his mouth to the work of downing every glass he could fill.

With his knuckles pressed underneath his chin, Tyrion observed the half-full goblet with a curious glint in his eye. He laid his hand over the top of it and waited in silence for many a second.

When he retracted his hand and peeked into the cup, a foolish part of him hoped that it would be full again. A layer of wine at the bottom was all that greeted him. Tyrion hurled the goblet at the wall, and a thick wave of blackberry wine exploded onto the stone.

The glass clattered to the floor and rolled into the leg of a chair, streaks of reddish-purple cascading down the rock and draining into the crevices. Droplets continued to seep from the rim of the cup as trails of the dark liquor mixed with the red of a Lannister banner and fell behind a dresser.

As the door slammed behind him, Tyrion stamped past the duo of guards protecting his chambers and snapped his fingers.

“With me.”

The guards lifted their shields from the floor and hurried to follow.

Tyrion marched down the corridor with a palace guard on his left and his right. Flanked by the men, he rounded a corner and leaned forward to place his hands upon an ornate set of double doors.

He pushed open the door to Cersei's chambers and found her sitting at the table beside the balcony, a glass in her hand and red wine on her lips. The rattles of the guards' swords and armour must have been loud in the silent halls, for she was facing the entrance without a lick of surprise.

She lowered the glass and eyed him as if he were an insect that had crawled into her bedroom from a hole in the wall. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tyrion widened his eyes and removed his hands from the door, allowing it to shut at his back. “I was concerned,” he lied, feigning fear in an exaggerated, deliberately obvious manner. “Just the other day, a man had his throat slit for sleeping.”

Cersei kept her voice low as though others were in danger of listening. “I believe that to be the work of our mutual friend.” She placed distinct acrimony on the word “friend,” her lip curling.

As her gaze drifted off to the cityscape outside her balcony, Tyrion wondered if the bitterness came from her belief that the word was untrue or the implication that the two of them could ever share a companion. “Don't tell that to the king. He was quite upset at having his prized day interrupted.”

The hand that held onto the wine glass began to shake, and Cersei refrained from looking at her brother. “Joffrey won't see me.” A heaviness existed in her words, a quiet misery that she was attempting to drown in wine.

Tyrion kept his frown level. “Oh, yes. Not since you promised the sorcerer would find their own way back to him, a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.” He tilted his head upon saying the second bit.

Cersei shut her eyes and clenched her teeth slightly, refusing to let the posh smile on her lips fall. She opened her eyes and glanced in his direction when the soft thuds of footsteps came near the table.

A chair squealed as it was pulled from under the table, and Tyrion plopped on it with his hands resting close to Cersei's. “If I say it, I would be branded an enemy of the crown and lose my head within the hour. Perhaps Jaime?”

She turned farther away and fixed her eye on the open doors to the balcony. “Joffrey's working him like a dog.”

A slight sigh rolled out of him, and Tyrion closed his eyes for a pensive instant before opening them with a degree of sympathy. “If Jaime could be here with you, he would be.” He unfurled his arms, turned his palms to the ceiling, and gestured to the bedroom.

Lifting the glass, Cersei took another sip.

“I'm not so sure.”

* * *

The courtyard of the Red Keep smelt of pollen as a medley of berry bushes and wildflowers bloomed in the light of day. The leafy grass was green as the coat of arms from House Tyrell of Highgarden, and it swayed in a cool breeze that was welcomed by the lords and ladies dilly-dallying in the sun.

From the generous lengths of the surrounding corridors, Varys and Petyr Baelish strolled into the small garden. Each one moved in tandem with the other just enough to keep up the illusion of leisure and signify that the interaction would not end until one of them deviated from the path.

“The Boltons are a minute settlement thousands of miles away in the North with one fiefdom no larger than my biggest brothel,” said Petyr.

A slight nod of the head came from Varys. “Yes, but some of my little birds have flown north for the summer.”

“And what songs do they sing?” asked Petyr, his lips casting the shadow of a smile as he walked past a servant girl consorting with a visiting lord.

Varys spotted similar goings-on in a corner of the garden ahead, and he cast his gaze in the direction of the man beside him. “They sing that the Bolton's youngest is unbalanced yet terribly ambitious. Certainly one to watch.”

Petyr slowed to a stop and turned on the heels of his boots. He blinked slowly and released a modest sigh, his eyes flickering to his surroundings while his voice quieted. “He's one man with neither the stomach nor the mind for the South.”

Varys looked askance, tilted his head, and raised his shoulders a bit as if considering Petyr's words. “One man nearly toppled the realm not so long ago,” he replied.

The subtlest chuckle — no more than an audible exhale — slipped out of Petyr. His neck bent towards the ground slightly, and his attention remained on the cobblestone patterns flowing beneath him for a contemplative instant.

“Indeed,” he conceded. “I have to go.”

Varys bowed his head.

“Ah, very well.”

He lifted his eyes to catch sight of Petyr slinking to the edge of the garden. “Perhaps we can speak again soon, Lord Baelish.”

As the shadow cast by the arch of the Red Keep fell over him, Petyr turned and offered a glib smile. “Perhaps we can, Lord Varys.”

* * *

Every man atop the Wall was struck by an unearthly coldness that night.

No matter how thick the coats around their shoulders were, the wind sliced their face and nipped any exposed skin with its frosty claws. The cold dove into their bones and seemed to chill them from the inside out.

Despite being rekindled every other minute, the light of the torches was dimmer here. The fog of the night was murkier than the bottom of a bog. The fires were short-lived, swept away into simmering embers by sudden and isolated gusts.

The same light that would have illuminated your body was extinguished by the wind. The brother in charge of relighting it swore under his breath. When he peered at you in wonderment of your apparent resistance to the frigid weather, a shiver ran through him as if he had been stuck with a frost-tipped spear.

It killed the words on his tongue.

The dark around you seemed deeper and more foreboding than any cave, unaffected by light even as the moon beamed down upon it. The brother saw the outline of you hidden in the darkness, and it was all he needed to see to decide that the remainder of his watch was someone else's responsibility for the night.

In the ensuing calm, your head surveyed one end of the forest below to the other.

No figures had crept out of the woods yet.

The clanks and grinds of the lift rising to the top of the Wall sounded from behind, and Samwell Tarly stepped off it into the snow. The soft, pearly white material was crushed under his heavy boots. After a brief pause, his footsteps approached you and stopped at your side.

Your head slowly turned, which allowed you to catch Sam peeking in your direction. He glanced downwards and released a bashful chuckle upon being caught, but a look of childish excitement soon washed over his full face.

“Jon says you're a wizard!”

The snow crunched as Sam shuffled his feet, his gaze darting from his shoes to you. “I've never seen a real wizard before!” He shifted again and failed to restrain the huge grin breaking out across his lips. “Only read about them in books,” he added, somewhat lowering his voice.

Sam leaned forward and looked up and down at your iron mask and dark robes. “Do you all dress like that?” He outstretched his arms to push his cloak back and looked at his own black coat and armour. “Maybe we're more alike than I thought!”

What escaped him next was a quick, “Ha!”

He turned his head back to you and kept his mouth open slightly as if expecting you to agree, but your continued silence prompted his smile to falter.

As his eyes searched the snowy darkness that lay in front of him, Sam shook his head. “My father detests wizards. Thinks magic's for nellies who don't want to fight.” There was a layer of distaste and pain to his words as though repeating his father's opinion had poisoned his tongue and caused a bad memory to churn within his mind.

“Not me,” he blurted, his head bouncing towards you before moving back again. Sam leaned over and patted his chest with both hands once. “Big fan.”

As Sam marvelled at his proximity to a real magic user, the lift descended into the bowels of Castle Black and then rose to the top of the Wall after a few minutes of rasping. The dark-haired Jon Snow emerged from the fiery light of the lift with a torch in hand.

“Sam,” was all he said, and Sam fell silent.

Jon nodded at him with a tiny smile when Sam turned and offered a happy, “Hello, Jon!” Sam stepped back to allow Jon room to walk forward and stand diagonal to him.

Although he was addressing more than one person, Jon kept his eyes focused on your mask. “If it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with Brother Black alone.”

Sam lost his smile for a moment, but it returned with a shrug of his shoulders and another shift of his feet. “Of course! Of course!” He distanced himself from where he had been standing and motioned for you to go with Jon. “I'll just be here.”

Jon bid him farewell before marching farther down the Wall, the light of the torch undulating in the icy wind.

As the orange glow started to vanish from sight, Sam looked away and faced the edge of the Wall. “I ought to be checking on Gilly.” Fond memories of the woman softened his voice and provided some warmth against the cold.

“Sweet Gilly.”

No one answered but the howl of the wind.

Sam inhaled through his nose and allowed the silence to live for a couple of seconds before he sighed. “Boy, it's cold up here.”

The journey ended after roughly ten minutes of walking, and Jon turned to give you a cursory scan. In his eyes were suspicion, curiosity and more than a token of discomfort. His breath was visible in the cold, flowing upward as he turned to overlook the cliff.

“The other brothers don't feel safe around you. They need to know they can trust the man standing next to them.” A flash of uncertainty overtook him in a sweep of cold wind, and Jon turned his head to look at you as if for the first time.

“You are a man, right?”

There was a carefulness to his words as though you might shed your veil of humanity and lunge at him before he took another breath, his legs shifting with a rattle of his heavy armour and his hand confirming its place on the pommel of his sword.

A gust of air wafted from the lower slit in your mask and floated into the night sky.

Holding the silence as the grey cloud dispersed into the darkness looming above the castle, Jon chose not to pursue such thoughts and gave a single nod.

“Right.”

* * *

The flaps of wings preceded the caws of a raven, and the bird landed its coat of snow-dappled feathers on the stone frame of the window. It raised its left leg as if it were limp and turned its black eyes to Jon, revealing a scroll tied to its lean body.

Jon approached the raven as it continued to caw and move its head in sudden, jerky motions.

“I haven't sent for any wandering crows,” mumbled Alliser Thorne, who waved at Jon to receive the letter when he paused at his comment.

The bird twitched and hopped whilst the scroll was taken from its leg, and once the gloved hand released it, the raven flew into the white skies with a string of caws.

As Jon brushed his thumb across the reddish-pink seal, the emblem of an upside-down flayed man sent a wave of apprehension over his body. The impulsive part of him said to toss the letter into the fire and never wonder about its contents, but the impatient gaze of Alliser demanded that he push his misgivings aside.

“Well?” came the older man's disgruntled voice.

“It's the sigil of House Bolton, ser.”

Jon glanced between the Lord Commander and the scroll, struggling to void all of his concerns but stepping forward with dutiful haste.

Alliser nodded his head and quirked his eyebrows as if coaching a child. “I can see that. Would you care to read it?”

Inspecting the seal one last time, Jon broke it with a snap and unfolded the parchment. “Dear the men of the Night's Watch, it has come to my attention that you recently brought a sorcerer into your ranks.”

His volume tapered after every few words as if seeking to lessen the blow of an expected threat, but as the inky texture of the crooked and misplaced lines stretched and fell before his eyes, he realised it was a continuous promise of danger.

“Their allegiance belongs to House Bolton. If you do not return them to me, I shall flay you living and make you watch as I tear your brother's still-beating heart from his chest and feed it to my hounds.”

Jon lost much of his interest in reading the message and looked askance at Alliser for the sake of averting his eyes from the letter. When the Lord Commander returned his gaze with stunned silence and a minor shift in his position, Jon proceeded to the end.

“Two fortnights it will take for me to march on your pathetic excuse for a castle, so two fortnights you shall have to act.”

Despite the reluctance plaguing his hold on the scroll as if touching it would transmit a disease, Jon took only a second to recuperate and finished with a weary drop in his tone.

“Signed Ramsay Bolton, Acting Lord of the Dreadfort.”

He tucked the parchment and lowered his arms to his side, casting a pensive look over the glow of the fire before turning his eyes to the Lord Commander.

“Inane ramblings from a madman,” spat Alliser with a sharp turn of his head. The man tugged a quill out of the inkpot on his desk and slammed a piece of blank paper onto its surface.

Jon watched the quivers of his hand and the words they wrote becoming clearer as the ink dried, but the scratches of the quill marking the parchment were overshadowed by a quick step forward. “Ser, the Boltons are a ruthless people. We shouldn't take anything they say to be idle threats.”

The Lord Commander refused to look away from his writing or slow the motions of his hand. “Roose Bolton is a few steps short of a wildling in lord's clothing. As for his son, I've never met him.”

He finished the letter with a flourish.

“And I'd like to keep it that way.”

The thud of a seal echoed in the room before it was replaced by the creak of a chair sliding across the floor, and Jon clutched the letter that was pushed into his hand.

“Give this to Maester Aemon. Tell him to send it immediately. When it's done, have a brother ride to Mole's Town.”

As Alliser marched out the door to his chambers, Jon followed and overheard his yells to the congregation of Night's Watchmen standing below. “Increase the patrols! I want a fresh man at those gates for every hour!”

The group lifted their swords and scattered throughout the courtyard, while Jon hastened his walk to the library. Orders were shouted into the wind, and the collective rattle of armour and thump of boots faded into the background.

Jon entered the library a bit louder than he intended. The door slammed behind him when a strong wind pulled it forward, causing both he and Maester Aemon to jump.

A mumble slipped out of Maester Aemon as he ran his fingers across the Braille in the book of dragons he had been delighting in reading. The table at which he was seated was strewn with a variety of books. It stood in the centre of the room, and it was bordered by tall bookcases full of centuries of knowledge.

Stepping forward, Jon extended the scroll and approached the table. “Maester Aemon, I have an urgent scroll from the Lord Commander.”

Maester Aemon took the sealed scroll from him, running his fingertips along the seal and parchment. “Oh,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He turned back to the books in front of him and heaved himself from the rickety chair.

As soon as he had started to drag himself forward, a chill washed down his spine as if dunked in ice water. He slowly turned his head and fixed his blind eyes on the farthest corner of the library.

There existed a deep shadow, swirling and spreading like tar. It seemed to emanate from the wall itself, and Maester Aemon took notice of whispers filling the back of his mind. They spoke in ancient tongues with otherworldly inflections that echoed in every part of the library.

His chapped lips struggled to find his brittle voice. “Who are you?”

Jon stilled and followed his gaze, but he saw nothing more than ordinary darkness. “Maester Aemon?”

A few mumbles crept out of Maester Aemon, each one disjointed and confused. He turned his head back and forth between the stone floor, the nearest bookshelf and Jon. His eyes were lost and searching for something unknown to Jon.

“Oh, never mind,” he said softly, for the whispers had ceased.

Tucked away behind a wood column, on the corner of a table set against the wall, was a rectangular coop. Tufts of hay and wheat laid on the bottom and provided the footing for the assortment of ravens scuttling inside.

Maester Aemon shambled to the coop and peeled open its small door. With both hands, he lifted a raven from the enclosure. The bird went limp in his hold, its head facing downward and its legs sticking out.

He equipped the raven with a leather cylinder on its left leg into which he inserted the scroll. Once the latch on the cylinder was pinched shut, Maester Aemon retreated to allow for the raven to take flight with a flutter of wings.

Jon watched as it glided through the short window at the base of the ceiling, and he wondered why a raven was necessary if a brother was riding to the town. His first thought was the scroll contained additional information that the brother was not privy to learn.

The answer came when he caught sight of the raven flying southeast instead of towards Mole's Town.

Before he could question the destination, Samwell Tarly burst into the library. Sam doubled over and placed a hand over his palpitating heart, breathing as a runner would after a race. “Jon!” he panted, “We're needed at the King's Tower!”

Two pairs of footsteps rushed to the walkway outside the library.

Jon collided with the guardrail and grasped the top of it, leaning forward to get a closer look at the discord unfolding in the courtyard.

Night's Watchmen streamed into the corridors overlooking the main entrance, a group of five rangers rode astride on horses, and the brassy call of a horn sounded over the din of brothers hauling weapons and scaling sentry towers.

As the rangers poured into the stables, Jon looked farther and noticed a circle of brothers marching in tandem with you to the opening doors.

* * *

The chairs of Merman's Court were cushioned with the finest silk. They complemented the long table stretching from the foyer to the throne, which lay decorated with a nautical tablecloth and various plates of pork pies, roasted eels and fried lampreys.

The food, warmed still by the steam of the fires, smelt of spice and gravy. The dead and cooked fish swam in the sauce and drank mouthfuls in a vile parody of life, a life that the oceanic paintings lining the walls and ceiling illustrated in vivid colour.

The guards who watched over the feast resembled the type of warriors one expected to see in a submarine kingdom, for the weapons clutched in their hands were tridents.

Lord Manderly sat in a velvet chair similar to his throne, which he had joked about bringing to the table more than once. The Boltons were seated opposite him, and sitting beside them were Lord Cerwyn and his son Cley.

While Roose met the eyes of each lord, Ramsay turned his gaze downwards and divvied his attention between the various items of food covering his plate. Roose glanced in his direction when Ramsay's hand found its way to the knife.

“Forgive my son's lethargy. He is weary from our travels.”

Lord Manderly drew his eyebrows to his receding hairline and stretched his lips in a royal imitation of surprise. “Is he an old man?” Lord Cerwyn joined his chuckles with bountiful enthusiasm, neither lord acknowledging how Ramsay slowly lifted his head.

Malice radiated from the young Bolton like foul breath from a dog's jaws, but, sensing the gaze of his father, he mustered a polite smile.

Roose waited for the laughter to fade into a pregnant silence before he seized control of the discussion. “Our merchants are reporting that they've been turned away from the gates of White Harbor, some at swordpoint.”

Lord Manderly tore a chunk of bread from the strudel and ate it at a comfortable speed, peering across the feast rather than at Roose. “Aye, you'll have to find somewhere else to dump your subpar goods.”

A screech resounded in the dining hall as Ramsay yanked the blade of his knife a short distance across the wood, and he looked at Lord Manderly without raising his head.

“Watch your tongue.”

Lord Manderly stopped chewing and faced the young Bolton's desire to maim him with a combination of surprise and umbrage.

At the stern look of Roose, Ramsay lowered his gaze and resumed carving a furrow into the table.

Lord Cerwyn shared an unsettled glance with his son, turning his eye to Roose when Roose looked away from Ramsay and spoke with far more elegance. “The Boltons have traded with the other Northern houses for years, and I haven't had complaints from House Cerwyn or House Umber.”

The weathered face of Lord Manderly acquired a sombre quality. “Ah, Umber. I heard what happened to Gareth's fifth-born. A right tragedy, that.”

A stillness came over Ramsay, his hand pausing and his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at the plate.

There was no visible change in Roose's demeanour, but he offered no words of sympathy.

Lord Cerwyn picked his tankard off the table and turned to Lord Manderly.

“One less Umber. That's a start.”

The two men descended into a hearty roar of joy and bumped their cups together, while the Boltons watched in quiet amusement.

When the lords joked and drank without a care for the original discussion, Roose spoke with enough strength to regain their attention but not appear demanding. “As Warden of the North, our trade is essential to Northern commerce.”

Lord Cerwyn, who had been gulping alcohol like a direwolf gorging itself on meat, lowered his cup to the table. With an eye roll, he muttered, “Oh, great. More Bolton furs and flayed skin. Just what this city needs.”

The hiss of a blade rang in the ears of every lord when Ramsay jumped from his seat and slammed the knife through Lord Cerwyn's finger. The bone was just barely visible, peeking out of the skin's edge as blood gushed from the exposed tendon in spurts.

A howl of agony bellowed from Lord Cerwyn, and he clutched his injured hand while reeling in his chair. His legs began to kick the stone floor, distress growing louder and more wild with each surge of pain that lashed his mind and dragged shrieks from him as if his finger were aflame.

As Cley started to shiver and seemed on the verge of tears, he stood with a sharp creak of wood on rock and rushed to help his father.

The corners of Ramsay's mouth twitched in a small release of tension, his pupils dilating at the screams and his hand squeezing the utensil. He did not blink once to sever his view of the desperate eyes and paling skin of Lord Cerwyn.

It was not until he turned to his father with a jerk of his head that he allowed his enthusiasm to wither, for Roose was looking at him with the unforgiving coldness of someone who regretted his son's birth.

Smile dropping, Ramsay attempted to win back his favour. “Father—”

Roose interrupted him with a frigid scowl. “Leave.”

Ramsay faced his father's tranquil rage in momentary shock, as though the man had ordered him to leave the realm instead of the room, his fingers tapping the knife before curling about it. He glanced at various spots on the walls and the table without focusing on any.

Hatred of the glare Roose was sending him and his own failure to meet the man's wishes quickened his breaths, and the young Bolton tore the blade out of the wooden surface.

A thin crater became visible on the table next to the disembodied finger, with jagged chips of wood rising to decorate there.

Ramsay took fervent and aggressive strides to the door and shoved it open. Gales of Northern wind swept into the hall like ice water, lifting his cloak as he stormed outside.

The slam of the door behind him cut the chilling breeze like a sword to the head of a great beast, and the return of the torches' warmth redirected the spotlight to the weakening cries of Lord Cerwyn.

“My wedding finger,” groaned Lord Cerwyn, his neck drooping and his eyes fluttering. “He took my wedding finger!”

The limb sitting on the table was adorned with a gold ring that glittered under the candlelight of the chandelier. Only droplets of blood still leaked from his knuckle, dripping onto the plate and tablecloth.

Cley guided him to his feet and positioned himself under his father's left arm, while Lord Cerwyn scrambled to retrieve his finger and cradled it in his other hand.

Lord Manderly tossed his napkin onto the fresh bloodstain infecting his tablecloth and peered at the man with an irritated side-eye. “Pipe down, Medger. It's not like you were using it for much.”

Lord Cerwyn squirmed in his son's grasp, continuing to whimper and holler as he was hurried to the door. Another gust of wind followed their exit, and Roose shifted to a more comfortable position on his chair and clasped his hands together. “So, the trade routes are to be reopened?”

Lord Manderly cocked his head and seemed to repress a scoff. “The chopped-off finger of a twat won't buy our obedience. Do you expect House Manderly to cower in fear?”

Roose presented a look of callous certainty. “I know you're going to lose more than fingers if another Bolton caravan returns empty-handed.”

This sparked a burst of resentment to twist the mouth of Lord Manderly. “You'd threaten a man in his own home? Need I remind you whose wine you're drinking?”

Crumbs from a pork pie tumbled down his fat chin as he took a greedy bite of one, and Roose eyed the meat pie sitting on Lord Manderly's plate. “Need I remind you who hunted the pigs you're eating, Wyman?”

Lord Manderly stopped his chewing. There was a threatening sort of emphasis placed on his first name, like someone dangling a steak over a hungry dog. The remaining chunk of pork pie hovered in front of his mouth, untouched.

A battle of eye contact came and went between the two lords before Lord Manderly dropped the chunk on his plate.

With a subdued sigh, he looked down and pushed his fork away from his dish. “Aye, you're a tough old codger, Roose.” Roose offered a slight smile at this, and Lord Manderly reclined on his chair.

“I'm only doing it 'cause of pressure from the Lannisters.”

The mask of composure slipped from Roose's face for just a moment.

“I see.”

His eyes widened a bit before narrowing in discontent, looking over the feast once more. “It's a shame that the crown feels such a powerful need to meddle in our friendship.”

A laugh bellowed from Lord Manderly as if he had just been informed that the Dothraki had laid down their arms and become a peace-seeking civilisation.

Roose swung his cloak over his shoulder and left his chair with his mind far away in the depths of planning, but he remembered enough pleasantries to nod at the lord.

“Be seeing you.”

When the senior Bolton pushed the door open, the sight of an agitated Ramsay fiddling with the bloody silverware eliminated any satisfaction he had gained from learning a piece of the truth.

The soldiers were all standing at a considerable distance from Ramsay, their eyes darting between him and the snowy land to avoid being noticed.

At the sound of boots crunching snow, Ramsay whirled about with a shudder. “Father, I—”

He was struggling to meet Roose's gaze, but his father walked past him. “Be quiet, Ramsay. Mount your horse.”

Hoofprints littered the snow from where Lord Cerwyn and his son had fled to obtain the services of a maester, their tracks disappearing into the blizzard in the northwestern direction of Castle Cerwyn.

Roose lifted himself onto his steed with minimal difficulty and turned his attention to the frosty water of the White Knife babbling nearby rather than grant his son a second of acknowledgement.

“We're going home.”

Ramsay was slow to heed this command, his eyes drifting across the snow and clenching the knife so that it would have snapped if made of anything weaker than metal.

When he curled his lips in a question of whether to speak and squinted to deflect the rays of sunshine peeking over the rolling hills, the clop of hooves leaving the entrance to New Castle broke his concentration.

Roose had spurred his horse to trot in the opposite direction, and Ramsay clambered onto a horse of his own to follow.

The journey back to the Dreadfort was far longer and more tedious than last. The path meandered over hills and winded round rivers like a serpent slithering in the grass, with the overcast sky looking bleakly at the snow-covered ground below.

When Roose dismounted and allowed his horse to be spirited away to the stables, he said nothing. He did not grant Ramsay the briefest glance or quietest mutter, nor did he wait to see him return safely and dismount his own horse.

Listening to the footsteps tailing him grow louder and more erratic, Roose relented and turned with a dreary, if not vaguely sarcastic, frown. “The fault is mine. I thought you could better control yourself.”

Ramsay stopped to look at his father in an inability to process the discomfort preventing his mind from resting, his breaths slowing to allow for clearer thinking.

“You've embarrassed our house and disgraced our family name.” Roose watched as the last shard of restraint broke within his son, and he gave no chance for an apology or protest to grace his ears. Instead, he walked down the hall until his footsteps had quieted into nothing.

Abandoned to brood, Ramsay was no longer comfortable in his skin and found himself overtaken by a restless and inflamed energy.

The guard who stood at the door to the kitchens nearly yelped when a gloved hand clutched his throat and yanked him downwards. The noise was silenced by the pressure constricting his windpipe, and it took all of his training and discipline not to attack or look away from the wild eyes glaring into his own.

“Gather the men.” The order slipped through Ramsay's clenched teeth as a whisper. “Tell them we march tonight.”

He released the guard, only to shove him a moment after the man failed to sprint out of arm's length. “Go!” Ramsay turned in the direction his father had gone as the rapid thuds of steel boots echoed against the stone floors.

* * *

A rush of cold wind burst into the Lord Commander's chambers as the door swung open. The thud of leather boots on wood marked the entry of a panting Night's Watchman, his forehead slick with a layer of snow and a hand resting on his abdomen.

“News from Mole's Town, ser.”

The focus of Alliser's squinting eyes crumpled with dismay, and the Night's Watchman stepped further into the chamber. “Three armed strangers arrived last night—” he took a breath “—together.”

Alliser let his gaze fall upon the scrolls littering his desk, searching for a reason not to assume the worst. “Were they bearing any sigils?”

Despite his limited understanding of the situation, the brother saw his commander's desperate hope and shook his head as if fearing the implications of his answer.

“No, ser.”

Alliser was unsure of whether to be relieved or troubled by that fact. The possibility that the strangers were merely bandits or deserters with impeccable timing was one he clung to like a monkey to the last branch, but the paranoia creeping up his spine drove him to rise from his seat.

“‘Two fortnights,’ he said. Not forty-eight hours!”

The Night's Watchman looked between Alliser and the door, his feet shifting to the exit and his hand twitching closer to his sword.

A tense silence of unspoken orders and obscenities reigned as Alliser swerved his head back and forth across his desk. “The Boltons have shat on their promise,” he finally declared. “Not that I expected anything less.”

After a moment of deliberation, Alliser waved the brother away. “Ride to the Shadow Tower. Request an audience with Denys Mallister, and tell him we need as many men as he can spare.”

A brisk “yes, ser” flew out the Night's Watchman's mouth. A gust as cold as ice blew his cloak into the air when he opened the door once again, his boots thumping away from the chambers and then descending the stairs.

Another pair of footsteps replaced his and thundered to the door with haste. Alliser jerked his head up in preparation for scolding what he assumed to be the same brother returning in confusion.

The man who greeted him was Jon Snow, and Jon hurried to the desk while looking upon him in a frenzy of bewilderment. “You're having Brother Black escorted from the castle?”

Alliser narrowed his eyes at the name, his lips pressing together and parting into a straight line. “I am.” He gave a swift nod. “They're a fugitive from justice.” The chair squeaked as he rose and collected a scroll lying on the desk, unfolded with a broken red seal.

“Ser,” said Jon, his tone disbelieving. He looked behind himself for a brief moment and then put forward his hand. “Brother Black—”

Alliser spun towards him and yelled, “They're not a brother, Jon! They never trained! They never took the oath.” A moment of silence passed before he began again at a slightly more controlled volume, “They're a runaway scratching at our door.”

Jon took a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and when he pointed a gloved finger at the Wall, Alliser knew his words before Jon uttered them. “They've killed more wildlings in a week than most of these men have in years.”

With a heavy sigh, Alliser shook his head.

“The crown issued a royal decree for their return. Would you have me branded a traitor?” He turned back to the desk with an upward swing of his hand, and his voice lowered to a frustrated mutter. “Now we have Bolton spies skittering about in the dark like rats.”

At this, Jon opened his mouth and glanced round the room. “The Bolton army can't march on Castle Black.” He stretched an arm towards the open window as if the army were marching forth at that very moment. “The lords have no jurisdiction here. It's neutral territory!”

Alliser looked over his shoulder to bob his head at Jon. “Tell that to them when they're peeling the skin off your bones.”

* * *

Far outside the Lord Commander's Tower walked a group of four Night's Watchmen, each of whom exchanged a cautious glance with the man beside him. All carried a sheathed blade on their hip as well as a torch to chase the shadows of tall trees away.

The shadow that dragged across the ground at your feet, however, did not fade, no matter how many sources of light were waved over it.

The forest ahead was devoid of singing birds and howling wolves, and the giant trees partially blocked the golden and pinkish rays of midday. Every man slowed his pace and watched the tree line, some expecting to see a Bolton sigil flying and others fearing that a bear was likely to hurl itself at the nearest man.

From behind a thicket hopped a rabbit. The appearance of the small animal elicited a hushed chuckle from the brother on your right. “That'd make a nice feed,” he whispered, nodding his head and waving his torch at it.

The brother on your left turned to him and talked without a care for his volume. “Don't bet your supper on it.”

Long ears twitching and flattening at the noise, the rabbit scurried away into the bushes.

The man who had spoken first cocked his eye at him, and the brother on your left continued: “I caught me one of them hares down in Dorne. Ate the whole thing before the guards came and said it was some lord's pet.”

The brother put his hands together, then spread them apart to visualise his meal.

He shrugged as if he could still taste the hare and knew it to be worth the punishment, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Now here I am.” This sliver of a smile fell to a frown, and he shook his head.

“It's too bad. I hear Dorne's nice this time of year.”

You peered beyond your shoulder to spy the wooden doors of Castle Black, which were comprised of hefty logs that reached thrice above your line of sight. Somewhere warm, you thought, was an apt place to hide from those who lived in the cold.

[strxnged]

genshin masterlist !

「　spotlight　」

the waning. 15k. tighnari x reader; completed series. problems bigger than your own force you back with your ex.

the roots of ambition. 11k. tighnari & reader; completed series. a found family adventure in the rainforests of sumeru.

a chasmic mistake. 20k. childe x lumine; completed series. tartaglia was the last person she would like to be stuck in the chasm with.

「　by region　」

MONDSTADT : ⋆ sleep tight, dandelion knight. 0.6k. jean. reverse comfort.

⠀you come into her office late at night to apologize.

⋆ good enough. 0.8k. kaeya. songfic, angst.

⠀kaeya had no business being so interested in a criminal.

⋆ you say you see them as the main character. (1/4) seperate voiceline-style headcanons. platonic fluff/interaction.

LIYUE : ⋆ you say you see them as the main character. (2/4) seperate voiceline-style headcanons. platonic fluff/interaction.

INAZUMA :

⋆ enchanted. 0.8k. kazuha. meetcute, songfic.

⠀that night, kazuha kaedehara saved your life.

⋆ lent. 0.7k. kazuha. angst, songfic.

⠀whether he would admit it or not, kazuha was running.

⋆ you say you see them as the main character. (3/4) seperate voiceline-style headcanons. platonic fluff/interaction.

⋆ lightning on the sunniest day. kazuha. 12k.

⠀you are the endo clan’s heir. your life has been spent within the walls your home, preparing for your fixed destiny. but then you meet kazuha, who, despite being similar in carrying an honorable family name, is your opposite in many other ways. he seeks the unknown, and enjoys sleeping under the stars with the night breeze. by the time you realize you’ve fallen for him, he’s about to join a sailing crew and be gone from your life forever. if you can’t change his mind, you’ll have a decision to make. ㅤㅤㅤ↪ wind on the calmest eve. 2k. epilogue. ⋆ on the view of liyue harbour. 500w. kazuha. fluff, scenic.

⠀danger is always on the wind when you and kazuha travel together.

SUMERU :

⋆ magic. 0.9k. alhaitham. christmas morning fluff.

⋆ close. 2k. kaveh. flirty/romantic.

⠀A flustering encounter in a moonlit university lab.

⋆ perrenial. 800w. kaveh. platonic. crack whump?

⋆ walk home. 500w. 4ggravate. platonic.

⠀"do you want us to walk you home?" ⠀you break down into tears unexpectedly when trying to say goodbye to your friends for the night.

⋆ you're so tired. 400w. kaveh. platonic.

⠀but a sunset and an architect give you hope.

⋆ why do you hate him so much? 1k. kaveh. platonic.

⠀this was not what you expected from a coffee date.

⋆ the beautiful implications of his missing hairbrush. 0.4k. kaveh. fluff.

⠀he can't wait for you to come home again.

⋆ you say you see them as the main character. (4/4) seperate voiceline-style headcanons. platonic fluff/interaction.

⋆ following a long day. 0.5k. kaveh, comfort.

⋆ kaveh birthday post. 0.3k.

⠀brainrot about his face.

⋆ chronically ill!reader. 0.4k. kaveh. comfort (headcanons).

⠀he believes you when you say you're in pain.

⋆ poison tree. 0.7k. tighnari. songfic, platonic.

⠀you would never be at home in teyvat.

⋆ will he change his mind about you? 1k. alhaitham. platonic.

⠀you've been meaning to ask him this for awhile.

⋆ he does your hair. 400w. kaveh. platonic, fluff.

⠀how does he do this by himself every morning?

⋆ those who trespass. 2k. cyno. adventure, platonic.

⠀even a lie can cost a life. or save it.

⋆ deliver me. 3k. tighnari. adventure, pining.

⠀who is saving who now?

⋆ second life. 1k. tighnari. whump.

⠀after you confess your feelings to tighnari, his reaction warrants your move across sumeru to start a new life. and yet you are forced, mortifyingly, to see him again.

⋆ something tremendous. 1k. tighnari. platonic.

⠀how quickly strangers can become something more.

FONTAINE

⋆ a radiant feast. 0.7k lyney, etc. platonic.

⠀ lyney asks you for a favour.

SNEZHNAYA

⋆ his type. 400w. tartaglia. fluff.

⋆ childe-ish. 150w. tartaglia. angst.

「　collections　」

⋆ they give you a new necklace. (kaveh, lyney, zhongli)

⠀and they offer to do up the clasp.

⋆ a visit to the library. (kaeya, alhaitham, thoma)

⠀...never goes as expected.

HOME

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Moe Moe Mallekei Kyun~

In which Malleus and Cater go to a maid café, and shenanigans ensue.

... I’ve been wanting to write this for a long time.

***Warning: mild spoilers for Malleus’s PE Uniform personal story!***

Imagine this...

“Lilia-sama.”

Two bodyguards fell into line, saluting simultaneously to their vice dorm leader.

“We just finished combing through the prime gargoyle locations around campus,” Silver reported. “Unfortunately, there was no sight of Malleus-sama to be found. The accounts of the various students we interviewed also corroborate that the Young Master has not recently been spotted in the area.”

“I see. Thank you, Silver.” Lilia sighed, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Hm, this is a bit odd. Wherever could he have wandered off to this time?”

At that moment, a ping! sounded off. Lilia fished his phone out of his pocket and, with one glance at the screen, his expression softened.

“You don’t suppose some dastardly villain has… kidnapped the Young Master and is holding him for ransom, do you?!” Sebek’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull at the thought. “If that is the case… THEN WE HAVE FAILED AS MALLEUS-SAMA’S KNIGHTS!!”

“Now, now--let’s not jump to conclusions. Even if that were true, I’m certain that Malleus would be able to easily fend off assailants on his own. Perhaps he has simply lost his way, or headed off campus to run an errand.”

“... Without warning us in advance?”

“I would have happily accompanied the Young Master wherever he went--EVEN TO THE ENDS OF TWISTED WONDERLAND ITSELF!!”

“Kufufu. Malleus is still young at heart. Let us allow him this moment of independence, just this once. He will find his way home eventually.”

“Welcome home, my masters!!”

Malleus skidded to a stop in the doorway—for beyond it laid unknown territory. The interior sported cream walls, with fairy lights, streamers, and paper flowers strung up. A number of tables and chairs, populated with people, were set against flowing white curtains.

Young ladies flitted about, balancing trays of food and drinks, cameras, and microphones. Each wore the same outfit, consisting of a frilly headdress, an apron, and a black dress with lace trim and ribbons.

And now, one of those uniformed girls extended a hand to him and a warm, welcoming smile.

Malleus frowned and turned to the orange haired young man beside him. “... Diamond. What is this strange establishment you’ve brought me to?”

“Mm? It’s a maid café,” Cater chirped, glancing up from his phone. “You said you’ve never been before, right?”

“Well, yes… However, when you invited me to join you for an outing, I did not expect this to be our destination.”

“It’ll be fine~ We’re already here, so let’s get seated!” Cater insisted cheerily, ushering the fae through the door. 

“Right this way, my masters!” The greeter giggled and led the way, eventually stopping at a vacant table set for two. As the duo slipped into their seats, she handed them menus and moistened towels. “We have a wide selection of special services and delicious dishes for your enjoyment!”

Malleus hesitantly flipped open the (very pink) menu and ran his eyes down the page of available items. Along with the expected offerings of desserts, savory foods, and beverages were odd listings: massage, ear cleaning, karaoke, game, arts and crafts, picture, spoon feeding, live song and dance...

He stared quizzically at Cater, who seemed to be taking everything in stride.

“I’ll take a plate of omurice! How about you, Malleus-kun?”

He stared back at his menu, trying to make rhyme or reason of the unique names. What in the Great Seven was a Pyon ❤ Pyon Sunshine Bar…? Or a Lucky☆Happy☆Cookie? Malleus’s brows furrowed in both concentration and confusion.

“I… I shall have the local specialty, whatever that may be,” the fae prince declared at last.

“Excellent choices! And would you like a bunny, or a kitty?”

“You hand out animals at this eating establishment? Is that not a health code violation?”

“Aaah, Malleus-kun, she doesn’t mean real rabbits and cats. Look--you’ll see when she brings them, okay?” Cater laughed awkwardly. Then, turning to the waitress, he held up his index finger. “One of each, little lady~”

“Of course!” She scribbled down a few words on her heart shaped notepad before prancing off.

“... Diamond. Are you certain this is the fabled maid café of which you spoke of?” Malleus asked, folding his arms. “I find it difficult to believe that every patron here is descended from a high class lineage. Furthermore, the servers are wearing attire entirely unlike that of a traditional household servant.”

Cater blinked once, twice—then chuckled.

“Maid cafés are like normal cafés. Anyone can go to them to play pretend and chill for a while! The difference is that the waitresses are dressed cutely and offer fun services. Singing, dancing, playing games—that kinda thing!”

“I do not understand.” Malleus swept a hand at their surroundings. “The purpose of this establishment is merely for… amusement?”

“Yup! People get tired of the daily grind sometimes, so they go to places like this to see cute stuff and just take a load off.”

“I… I see.” Malleus tucked his thumb and forefinger under his chin. “We do not have anything like your maid cafes in the Valley of Thorns.”

“You don’t? What sort of things do you do back home for fun, then?”

“I was not allowed to venture far from the palace grounds. Most of my time was spent indoors, studying spells or honing my magical abilities.”

Cater inclined his head. “Oooh, right! Because you’re a prince and all, you weren’t able to do much—but hey! Things are different now! You’ve got Cay-kun to show you a good time!”

“Ah, yes. A ‘good time’...” Malleus attempted at a smile, which came out more wary than he had intended.

“Thank you for waiting!” a girlish voice chirped—their waitress had returned, wearing a tray of food in one hand and two headbands in the other. “Here is your omurice and Nyan ✨ Nyan ✨ Kitty-chan Parfait, plus one pair of kitty ears and one pair of bunny ears!”

She handed Cater his dish—a bed of ketchup flavored fried rice, sealed by a wobbling omelet and garnished with a sprig of parsley.

“Mm! Smells delicious. Thanks a bunch~” Cater grinned, winking at his server.

The maid giggled and placed Malleus’s dessert before him, along with the headbands.

“Would you like me to draw or write something special for you on your meal, master?” she asked, gesturing to Cater’s omurice.

“Sure thing! Could you write ‘Mallekei’? Oh, and a couple of hearts would be cute, too!”

“As you wish!”

As the maid set to work, Malleus marveled at the sight of his parfait.

Colorful scoops of ice-cream, granola, and sliced fruits were layered inside of a tall glass cup. A generous crown of whipped cream and a drizzle of strawberry sauce topped it off. Sticking out from the whipped cream were two wafer triangles and dots of chocolate candies, forming a cat-like face.

How adorable.

… But not adorable enough to be spared.

“Thank you for the food.” The fae raised his spoon to demolish the poor parfait kitten—

“Stop, stop, Malleus-kun!!” Cater cried, frantically waving his arms. “N-Not yet!!”

Malleus lowered his spoon with a frown. “Food is meant to be consumed, Diamond. Is there an issue you have with my table etiquette?”

“Well—no, but…” Cater played with a lock of his orange hair and sighed. “There’s certain rituals we need to do first!”

“Rituals? Oh, my apologies. I was not aware. Please proceed with your regularly scheduled… rituals.”

“Ahaha, you’re a quick learner! First thing’s first, let’s put on our headbands!” Cater swept up the cat ears and passed them over. “Here, to match your parfait! I’ll take the rabbit.”

Malleus gingerly nestled the cat ears on his head, copying Cater’s movements. It was a bit tricky maneuvering around his horns, but somehow, he managed.

“Oh!! Those ears suit you so well!” the waitress said, glancing up from decorating the omurice. Carefully placed splotches of ketchup spelled out ‘Mallekei’, hearts and little sparkles littering the space around the boys’ combined names.

“... Do they?” Malleus doubted it.

“They do!!” Cater reassured him with a laugh. “Ne, ne, miss! Can you take our picture so my friend here can have a souvenir to take home with him?” 

“Certainly!” She replaced the bottle of ketchup and hurried off, returning shortly after with a polaroid camera. “Are you ready, my masters?”

“Ready, Malleus-kun?”

“Hmph. Of course. I will have you know that my posing abilities have improved considerably since our last encounter. Do not underestimate me.”

“Oh, that’s great! You’ve been practicing! Then… on the count of three, we nyah, okay?”

“... What is ‘nyah’?” Malleus inquired, his confidence suddenly waning.

“Eh?” A blip of surprise crossed Cater’s face. “Like, y’know… nyah!”

The influencer curled both of his hands into balls and made a pawing motion at his friend. “Now you try!”

“Like this?” Malleus mimicked him. He was more stiff—definitely not as practiced—but the general motion was still recognizable.

“Very good, master!!” the waitress gushed, raising the polaroid up. “On three?”

“1, 2, 3… Nyah!”

A flash went off, sending stars into Malleus’s vision. As he rubbed the daze out of his eyes, Cater’s voice called out to him.

“Are you okay there?”

“I am well. There is no need for your concern,” the fae insisted. “This ritual… it is more confounding that I took it to be.”

“Eeeh? It’s not meant to be hard or anything. Just relax, relax!” Cater paused before adding, “It’s part of the ritual’s requirements! You need to be nice and loose for the last step!”

“What is this last step?”

“We need to cast a magic spell to make your food taste extra tasty!” the waitress declared cheerily.

“Hoh?” A smirk found its way onto Malleus’s face. “That can easily be arranged. Allow me to do the honors.”

He put his hand before his parfait, an eerie green glow emulating from his palm. The sinister light engulfed his dish and Cater’s, sending them floating midair. Radioactive ice-cream and omurice hovered above their heads, causing both Cater and their maid to recoil in shock.

Other customers stared at the spectacle from their own tables. One man’s jaw dropped, the forkful of spaghetti bolognese in his mouth clattering onto the floor.

“You, who provides sustenance to the masses, become that which is delici—“

“H-Hold on a sec, Malleus-kun!!” Cater practically leapt over the table to seize his friend’s glowing hand. “Not that kind of spell!!”

Eyes wide with surprise, Malleus allowed his magic to settle down. The parfait and omurice gently floated back onto their table, and the maid sighed with relief.

“Is there a different spell needed for this occasion? I assure you that I am well-versed in practical magic—you need only speak its name, and I can conjure the proper…”

“No, no! It’s—“ Cater casted a look at their server and nervously chuckled. “Ne, Maid-chan~ Think you can give us a demonstration of the right spell?”

“Yes, master!” the girl, ever professional, flashed a perky grin. “Please watch carefully!!”

The maid set down her polaroid on the table. She then arched her fingers into C-like shapes, thumb extended straight. Pushing her hands together, she formed a heart and aimed it in the direction of the boy’s dishes.

“Moe moe kyuuuuuun!”

“What an odd spell. In all my years, I have never heard of such an enchantment…”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, right?” Cater flicked one of his floppy rabbit ears. “Plus, it should be no problem for the great Malleus-sama to pull off this spell, right?”

“This is child’s play,” Malleus’s laugh was like the earth itself rumbling. His lips quirked into a small smile. “You will join me in performing this sacred ritual, will you not, Diamond?”

“Of course~”

“Very well.”

They made hearts and thrust them upon their meals. And together, they uttered those three magic words.

“Moe moe kyuuuuun!!”

“Welcome back, Malleus,” Lilia greeted. The vice dorm leader nonchalantly hung from the ceiling, his raven and magenta bangs suspended midair. “Did you have fun on your outing?”

“Lilia. You knew?” Malleus slowly shut the door behind him, chasing away the cool air of the night. He spoke softly, knowing that sounds carried in the dusty hallways of Diasomnia and could disturb its residents.

“The wonders of modern technology,” Lilia trilled, expertly landing beside his young master. He brandished his phone in a gloved hand, a text message displayed on the screen.

hey hey lilia-chan! gonna steal malmal-kun for the day~ he’ll be back later, but do me a solid and keep it a secret from s&s til then, ‘kay? thnx!! (✿˶˘ ³˘)~♡

“It looks as though I have been exposed.”

“There is no shame in making new friends. In fact, I’m proud of you for expanding your horizons.” Lilia beamed. “Though what a shame it is that I was not present to grab a few pictures. Hopefully Cater fulfilled that task for me.”

The ancient fae tilted forward in his toes and peered up at his prince. “Soooo? Where did you sneak off to?”

“Fufu. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“My. Is that any way to treat the man that kept Silver and Sebek from hunting you down?” Lilia teased, wagging a finger.

“Such loyalty,” Malleus smirked, hands on his hips, “deserves to be rewarded.”

He produced a polaroid photograph from his breast pocket and presented it with a flourish. The image, forever captured in time, was that of Malleus and Cater—the former with cat ears, the latter with bunny ears—with hands balled to resemble paws. Cater cheekily winked, while Malleus looked slightly bewildered.

The edges of the polaroid were dotted with stickers—smiley faces, flowers, and hearts. Marker had been used to scrawl on whiskers and blushes over both boys’ cheeks.

Overall, cutesy—overwhelming so.

But the Malleus and Cater in the picture were happy.

Their eyes shining like jewels.

Nyah-ing their hearts out.

[sofullofloveicould]

master list of all my 2022 microfics for microfic may!! 

day 1, ignite:

one moment of many:

his eyes are warm and soft, green as jewels and snakeskin and leaves. I am ignited with hope, leaking admissions from loosened lips. 

I love you

it burns me and it hurts me and not even for a second do I want to take it back

day 2, villainous

“How villainous”  Pansy’s head rests on my shoulders, and she turns to press a kiss on my neck. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” 

Harry and Draco haven’t emerged from the closet we locked them in; fifteen minutes now, and neither of them have alohamora’d their way out. 

day 3, heartbeat

After the full moon, Remus presses the sleeping marauders’ pulse points. Peter, James, Sirius-

He presses his fingers to Sirius’ wrist, combs his fingers through his hair, presses the faintest of kisses to his forehead. Their heartbeats are proof; they have not fallen prey to the monster beneath his skin.

day 4, solitude

The walls have eyes and ears now, his mother reminds him the first time the Dark Lord arrives to stay. You must not let him see weakness.

From the brand sitting heavily on his skin, they bore into his soul, ensuring he can never find solitude.

day 5, lost & found

Luna is missing her shoes.

She follows a trail of them; soft blue dress slippers followed by muggle sneakers and combat boots, stopping at the door of a classroom she’s never seen before. She steps inside. 

“You found me.” It’s Ginny; hair mussed and lips bitten. The door swings shut.

day 6, survive

“You don’t understand,” Draco kneels in front of him, crying. “I did what I had to survive.” 

Harry’s eyes are cold as he levels his wand with Draco’s face. “Such a shame that you did all that to die today.” 

There is a flash of green light, then nothing else

day 7, irresistible

“I don’t know why I love you,” Lily laments as she practically drags James back to the common room, covered in soot - evidence of the marauders’ most recent prank.

“How could you not?” James gestures to himself, hair poofed up and singed, eyebrows nearly burnt off. “I’m obviously irresistible.”

day 8, expectations

Marcus Flint didn’t measure up to his parents, this god-awful world’s, or anyone's expectations. He never would.

When he rested his head on Oliver Wood’s shoulder (of all people) and locked their lips together in a kiss, he decided that he should’ve never wanted to meet those expectations anyways.

day 9, ferocity

There is a ferocity in loving him, Gellert thought, tucked away in Albus’ bedroom, hiding from summer’s waning heat, lips locked in a kiss like forever, sweat and love and conquest. A love like ours will last forever.

day 10, black & white

 Justice was never black and white for Draco Malfoy. Or maybe it was - his dark mark a stark black against his pale skin. Maybe justice is green; looking Harry Potter in his eyes and lying, saying; “it’s not him”. Maybe justice's colors won’t matter when he’s dead.

day 11, balance

In Quidditch, there is a constant need for balance; there is no magic that can bring someone back from the dead. Sometimes Ginny flies up-up-up, until there’d be no saving her if she lost her balance and fell. She hasn’t yet, but she knows it’s only a matter of time.

day 12, radiant

She is radiant, Lavender thinks, watching Parvati and Harry dance. She can’t help but smile at Parvati’s bemused expression when Harry steps on her toes. 

She twirls to where Lavender is standing. 

“I hope you’re a better dancer than he was,” Parvati says, extending her hand. 

She takes it.

day 13, symphony

His laugh is a symphony, bright and heavy, flitting behind Draco’s heart.

There is a booming brass in his smile, wide and uncontrolled, and strings instruments in his eyes, soft and searching.

His heart beats wildly, a caged, frenzied animal in his chest, and love roars in his ears.

day 14, inquietude

Your mind is in a state of inquietude, Luna’s father had told her, on the ripe edge of summer when reality can be peeled away like the skin of a peach. My mind is the same, you know, I have never known reprieve, and I fear you may never either.

day 15, fire & ice

They are fire and ice, fall heat on soccer fields, and sweaty locker rooms.

They are Marcus and Oliver, sprained ankles and head wounds, pushing and shoving and lips running over bruises.

They are opposites, enemies, and something dirty and sacred, hidden in dim motel rooms and training camps.

day 16, remember

Do you remember? Gellert had whispered in his ear, wands to each other's throats, in the secret voice he’d used all those decades ago. Do you remember when we were going to change the world? Do you remember when you loved me?

day 17, decadent

Pansy licked her lips -“My god, Hermione, you are absolutely decadent” - before lowering her head again.

day 18, secrets

Draco has one secret from Harry, and it's the ring tucked in his shirt pocket, rubies, and emeralds, waiting to slip on his finger.

day 19, humbug

“Stop being such a humbug,” said Harry as he dangled the mistletoe above Draco’s head, “and kiss me already.”

day 20, sand & sea

The ocean air worms its way through Bill’s cottage’s windows, sand and sea, an existence set ahead for him, a seaside life with room enough for two.

day 21, promise

Promises, wrapped in bridal colors and said under sallow stars; I’ll stay here forever, and nothing can take us apart

day 22, invincible

“Oliver, you know you’re not invincible,” says Percy exasperatedly as he applies gauze to Oliver’s newest head wound, “so why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

day 23, progress

“You’ve been making incredible progress,” Draco’s ministry-required therapist tells him during one of their regular sessions, “I have just one more question for you; What is the nature of your relationship with Harry Potter?”

day 24, serenity

Ginny finds some kind of peace in Luna’s arms, breathing heavily in unison, the dreamy look in Luna’s eyes giving way to sleep. It is absolution, serenity, and early mornings, limbs on limbs, holding to another body as if to prove that they’re there.

day 25, pain & pleasure

Pain: tearing his way through bodies on the quidditch pitch, rain stinging his eyes and bludger-bruises forming on his face.

Pleasure: Oliver’s head between his thighs, their bodies pressed close, kisses that taste like sweat and passion and ecstasy.

day 26, wander

Charlie Weasley was born with wanderlust in his veins, and so he wanders. He finds dragons, looses love, and discovers that maybe he never needed it anyways.

day 27, hopeful

Hands interlaced under the stars, Harry’s lips look too kissable, a luscious pink against his carmel skin. His glasses are askew and his mouth is slightly open, making an ‘o’ at the sky. Draco is hopeful, and there are only a few inches separating their faces, so he closes them.

day 28, epilogue

hold me, you must tell him, kiss me, make me forget her.

he is only an epilouge to our love; only a blip.

it is a shame that we only shared one night; and he will share your bed forevermore.

day 29, saturninity

these are saturnine evenings; 

love lost and lust earned;

the hopeless feeling of loving wrong and falling hard;

thinking of blond hair and grey eyes blown wide;

pressed against the body of a woman you love no longer.

day 30, wax & wane

wax and wane with me, 

build a temple wherein our devotion can lie

and tear it down in secret

love me until there’s nothing left,

except the two of us,

we will change the world.

day 31, why?

i never asked you why

why love me, why hurt me, why leave me

why leave the knife and the pills on the counter

as if doubting my devotion

i will follow you anywhere, my little dragon

mega challenge

wax and wane, black and white, pain and pleasure, fire and ice, lost and found.

our love is villanous, inquiet, saturnine, secrets snagged behind your heartbeat

you are irresistible;  the decadence in your laugh, your hopeful ferocity.

i have a secret; i hated you once but it spoiled into love

ships listed in order of most occurrences

drarry (draco malfoy/harry potter) - 9

flintwood (oliver wood/marcus flint) - 3

grindeldore (albus dumbledore/gellert grindelwald) - 3

pansmione (hermione granger/pansy parkinson) - 2

linny (ginny weasley/luna lovegood) - 2

wolfstar (remus lupin/sirius black) - 1

jily (james potter/lily evans) - 1

parvender (lavender brown/parvati patil) - 1

bleur (bill weasley/fleur delacour) - 1

perciver (oliver wood/percy weasley) - 1

ginsy (ginny weasley/pansy parkinson) - 1

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

     The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories. 

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness.  Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

     “I’ve figured it out!” 

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could. 

“Figured what out?” 

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!” 

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded. 

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.” 

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing. 

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on. 

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked. 

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

     As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening. 

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

     It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!” 

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove. 

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun. 

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn. 

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly.  That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes. 

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact. 

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged. 

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked. 

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?” 

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.” 

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.”  he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.” 

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae. 

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away. 

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.” 

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done. 

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work. 

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.” 

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake. 

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.” 

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt. 

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.” 

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.”  she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west.  It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence. 

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair. 

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

     The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered. 

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.” 

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up. 

“It isn’t important.” He told them. 

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.” 

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?” 

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight. 

“It's just a feeling.  It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck.  “Like something’s watching me, constantly.” 

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose. 

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room. 

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted. 

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest.  After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead. 

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them.  D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled. 

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.” 

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?” 

“You’re not as strong now-” 

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow. 

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if  he hadn’t just been threatened. 

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them. 

“I am certainly more powerful than you.” 

“Oh, that’s not even a question.” 

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his...  I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child. 

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed. 

“Which is why I’m not interested.” 

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly.  The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air. 

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair. 

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.” 

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep. 

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

[walviemort]

hidden blessing (7/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

rated T | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | AO3 | 3.4k

a/n: Sorry for the long gap between chapters! Life and all that. But hopefully there will be less gap between this and the next ones, and hope it was worth the wait!

To Killian’s surprise, part of Emma’s plan of preparation was rest; she was pointedly looking at him when she made the suggestion, and honestly, he’d been too relieved at the idea to say anything against it. Even more shockingly, Regina agreed, and for the first time since they’d set foot in this accursed land, Killian finally felt rested; even the nausea had abated, though he was sure it wouldn’t last long.

What did concern him, however, was the sound of David struggling once they finally set off toward Pan’s camp. Snow teased him, but Killian was worried that his brush with the Lost One’s arrow had been far too close.

And then, of course, Pan moved the camp—in the opposite direction that they’d been moving. As usual, Regina was quick to blame him and call for the use of magic. Which was a terrible idea, and he told her so, but did give him another.

“How are we going to find it?” she sniped.

“By using someone he trusts,” he replied, patience waning.

“Who?” David challenged. “Because I guess he certainly doesn't trust you.”

He’d never gain ground with David, would he? “A fairy who lived here when I was about,” he explained, ignoring the jab. “She might still be on the island. She'd be an inside source, knows all about the camp, can get us in. She might even have some pixie dust left. Perhaps we could fly in.”

In the continuation of their hot-and-cold relationship, David supported the idea—and Emma apparently discovered another person she knew to be fictional was real. If he ended up raising this child in Storybrooke, he’d have to be sure to keep such tales far away from them.

They redirected, but David was flagging. And Killian hated that he knew why.

It took some prodding, but David eventually was convinced to show Killian his injury, lifting his shirt just enough to expose his lower abdomen. The more hormonal part of Killian was slightly jealous of the man’s not only flat, but incredibly well toned stomach, briefly mourning the loss of his own, but it gave way to dread: there was a long, shallow slice along David’s side, and black veins were already spreading from the cut.

And yet, David still tried to argue that “The arrow only nicked me.”

But Killian had seen enough brushes with the vile poison to know what lay ahead. The sight turned his stomach, dredging up painful memories. But the stubborn prince wouldn’t heed his advice to tell his family.

“Pixie dust,” David insisted was the answer. “You believe in this Tinker Bell's power? In her pixie dust?”

“Indeed, I do.” Tink had never given him reason not to. (Though, to be fair, most of their interactions were a bit more physical than verbal, and with the way the slightest thing had him aroused right now, he didn’t dare wander down that path of memory.)

“Then let's get her and that dust.”

It was hard to argue with that.

Her treehouse was still in the same spot; given his familiarity, he headed up first, only to find it empty. (Although still far too familiar; memories of one particular night spent in that hammock definitely stirred some things he hadn’t wanted stirred. Bloody hormones.)

Thankfully his pants were still loose enough to hide anything he didn’t want shown as the rest of the crew joined him in the treehouse, although their search came up empty.

Well, not entirely—while Emma and Snow were reminiscing on the hovel’s resemblance to some places they’d lived, David uncovered a handkerchief. Of Regina’s.

He should have known Tink would be steps ahead of them; she usually was.

Thankfully, she hadn’t caused Regina any harm—and Emma managed to convince her to join them. He wasn’t really surprised—Emma clearly had that way with lost souls such as themselves—though he had assumed his own rapport with the fairy would be required. 

(He was pleased, however, that Tink was not averse to his flirtations, even if she was no longer the main object of them.)

Their shared history meant she could read him too well, though. On the trek back to their campsite, she sidled up to him. “So who knocked you up?” she bluntly whispered.

How the hell could she tell? Not that it really mattered, he supposed. “First time you’ve seen me in 30 years and that’s your first question?”

“Well, you weren’t the last time I saw you. Oh god—it wasn’t me, was it?”

He chuckled. “No, lass, it was not.” He had a keen memory for these things and he and Tink, despite the numerous positions they explored, never managed the specific one required for conception. “And actually, I was when you last saw me; I just didn’t know it yet.”

The moment of realization was visible on her face. “Oh my goodness. Then let me say congratulations.”

“Thanks, love.”

She then punched him in the shoulder. “You better be damn careful.”

“Bloody hell; that doesn’t exactly help.”

She helped them gather up some coconuts to share before settling in for the night (or whatever part of day it was; his circadian rhythm was definitely off, and his random bouts of fatigue didn’t help). After they’d passed them around, he sat down and was starting to notch a hole in one with his hook when Emma took a seat next to him.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” she asked quietly. “Stomach feeling alright and everything?”

He was speechless for a moment; despite her previous admission, he was surprised she cared. But her green eyes were staring him down, demanding an answer. “Aye; nothing too bad today; thank you for asking.” He broke through to the hollow core of the coconut and handed it to Emma. She took a sip and smiled.

“Damn, that’s good. I didn’t just take yours, did I?” He replied by grabbing another one and holding it aloft. “Good. You need to stay hydrated.”

“I’m aware, doctor.”

She snorted at that and took another sip, but then her smile drifted away as she swallowed. “So, uh, you seemed to know Tink pretty well.”

“Aye, you could say that; we go back quite far.”

“Were you two—is she—?” Emma stammered, then nodded toward his midsection. He had to bite back a laugh.

“Yes and no,” he answered. “We did know each other intimately, but not that intimately.”

She adorably scrunched her face in confusion, then shrugged. “Okay, I was just curious. You still need to explain all that to me, but not tonight.”

“No, not tonight; you better rest up.”

“You too, okay?”

“Aye, captain.”

She rolled her eyes, but stood and headed back toward where her parents sat. The longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt it when she left. This was definitely not the time or place to be warring with those feelings, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He was mature enough to set them aside and focus on the bigger picture—saving Henry and escaping this cursed realm—but bloody hell was it difficult.

The near-constant flutters within began their tiny dance again; he hoped the way his hand rested on his belly was perceived as casual. Feeling that was yet another reminder of his goals here: to make it out alive for the sake of the babe, and let no harm come to them. 

He was allowed to have some fun along the way, though—right?

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

Of course, those moments were few and far between. The next day brought Tink’s uncomfortable reminder that they’d yet to figure out a way out of Neverland, and led them chasing ghosts across the island as he brought them to Bae’s old hideaway.

He had never let the lad know that he was aware of its location. Or that he’d been keeping an eye on him ever since he left the Roger. That was still his greatest regret, and he hoped no one noticed the tears brimming at his eyes as he moved to uncover the entrance to Bae’s cave.

Deflection usually helped; he did find a brief moment to engage Emma, but David stepped in before she could reply. It was hard to tell if it was fatherly protection or pure stubbornness against his own fate that was the motivation. Of course, David didn’t want to hear another lecture about his situation as they opened the cave, but he got one anyway; perhaps this pregnancy was elevating Killian’s already intense protective instincts, but the man’s insistence on hiding his condition was infuriating and heartbreaking.

Honestly, the only thing that kept him back from really tearing into David was Emma calling out for him from the cave. His heart gave a leap at that, one that was clearly distinguishable from the rolling of his stomach that typically accompanied nausea, and he headed in with one last glance at David. He could deal with him later, but he’d not leave a lady waiting.

“What is this place? What are we doing here?” she demanded impatiently, trying to make out anything in the dark of the cave. Ever one for the dramatic reveal, Killian headed straight to a waiting torch on the back wall and quickly made to light it with his flint against his hook. At least, he had hoped it would be quickly, but the ever present humidity made that difficult; and then David was again pushing him aside with some firestarter from his realm. Bloody hell, was that man stubborn. But it had the desired effect, and Emma quickly realized where they were. “Neal,” she said on a breath, studying the chalk drawings that covered nearly every surface. “This is where he lived.” 

“Aye,” he confirmed. “Baelfire spent some time in Neverland as a boy. This was his home.” His eyes were immediately drawn to a reproduction of the port and starboard coordinates that were still etched into the Jolly Roger’s helm, sending a wave of guilt and sadness through him.

The group wasted no time in beginning to search for a clue as to how Bae had left; clearly, it had been in a rush. And if Killian used it as an excuse to hover around Emma...well, that was his business. 

“Anything important?” he asked as she inspected the wall.

“I can't tell yet. I didn't know he liked drawing.” 

“He got it from his mother,” Killian found himself blurting out; it was also easy to see Milah’s influence in Bae’s style, and his hand immediately fluttered to his belly on instinct. Emma gave him a sympathetic half smile, but then turned her attention back to the task at hand—and in the process, discovered the way off...partly. 

It was a rather ingenious device, he had to admit: a star map hidden in a coconut. Practical and creative; he couldn’t help the rush of pride he felt when he explained it to the group.

“Then you can read it,” Regina stated, uncharacteristically hopeful. Which made the next part all the harder. 

“Sadly, no.” Because of course, Bae had made sure to encode the coordinates in a manner that only he could read.

“Which means the only person who can read it is dead,” Emma summarized, clearly upset. She tossed the map aside and hurried out of the cave in a fluster. Her parents tried to follow, but didn’t get far before she told them she needed space.

Kililan only waited a minute before following.

She was only a few yards outside the cave entrance, forearm pressed against a tree as she stared at the ground and, most likely, was trying not to express any undesired emotion.

“You alright, love?” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her. 

She huffed. “No, not really. Just one step forward and three back, every fucking day.”

She continued to rant without any input from him—about the jungle, about Pan, about missing Henry, and her mixed feelings toward Bae. And it became abundantly clear to Killian that she needed a respite (he certainly could use one, too).

He knew just the place, too. “Swan, can I show you something?”

“Is it another way off the island?”

“Afraid not, but I think it’s what you need right now.”

She sighed, mildly defeated (which was still as much as he’d ever seen from her), but nodded.

It was a short walk to their destination—still within earshot of the Charmings if needed—but far enough to give them both some needed room to breathe. He brushed back a swag of foliage (after checking for dreamshade) and gestured for Emma to step through. 

Years ago, he’d discovered the small spring here; one of the few parts of the island not bent on murdering its inhabitants. The water was fresh and cool, and various fruits and edible plants grew around the edge. Back then, he’d made a point to keep access to it open for Bae; he was relieved to see nothing had changed, save for the few vines grown over the entrance. 

“It’s beautiful,” Emma sighed—a heavy thing of both awe and relief. 

“Aye. Only a few places like it on the island.”

“Let me guess: the water is acid or something?”

He chuckled. “Blessedly, no. It’s one of the safest places here, actually. Bae would come here often—for water, and to bathe.”

She sighed. “Yeah, one of those sounds great right about now.”

“Go right ahead,” he said, gesturing to the spring. “I’ll keep a lookout for you.”

She arched an eyebrow and smirked. “How do I know this isn’t just a ploy to get me out of my clothes? Don’t forget: I know what pregnancy hormones are like.”

She wasn’t wrong, and he couldn’t help the rush of thrill when she flirted with him like that, sarcastic as it was—or the slight southern rush of blood. “Well, I had planned to do the same, if you’d offer me the same courtesy once you’re done.”

“Okay. But turn around,” she directed. He couldn’t say no to that.

He also wasn’t about to divulge the places his imagination wandered as he heard the gentle splashes of water as she cleaned herself.

She didn’t take long—he could tell she was used to being efficient when it came to hygiene, like he was—and was fully dressed by the time he turned around, though her wet hair was still dripping. And he was more relieved than he planned on that she was already facing away when it came time to remove his tunic; he was by no means ashamed of the curve of his belly, but showing off something that was apparently unnatural to the woman he fancied was suddenly a mortifying endeavor.

He was quick, too, in washing up, and in getting redressed—at least his tunic; he let his vest hang unbuttoned for a bit. It had also been a minor bit of relief to undo it, and he’d need a moment to subtly loosen the laces in order to make it both more comfortable and better disguise his slight bump.

He’d given Emma the all clear to turn around before he did that, though, lest she get suspicious. Although—she seemed mildly disappointed when she did.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Nothing, just...you didn’t have to hide your bump, if that’s what you were doing,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“Bummed you couldn’t see me shirtless?” he quipped.

That drew a wry, side-eyed grin from her, before she sat down on a stone near the edge of the spring and took a long sip from her freshly filled jug. There was enough space on it next to her for another person to join, but he didn’t want to impose...at least, not until she called out, “Are you gonna join me or not?”

He picked up his vest and coat from where he’d left them in the sand of the small beach and made his way over, then settled next to her. She passed over the canteen; the water was cool and refreshing—and he nearly dropped it when the babe gave a strong kick. “I guess this one likes it too,” he said after he passed it back, and let his hand rest over his belly. It wasn’t often he felt strong movements like that, but each one was reassuring—that his babe was safe from all the dangers of this murderous island.

“Have they been doing that a lot?” Emma asked.

“Here and there; that’s one of the stronger ones I’ve felt.”

“I remember when Henry first did that,” she started. “I dropped my lunch tray, I was so startled. And they wouldn’t give me any more food. But it was...kind of incredible.”

He only understood half those words, but understood the sentiment. “I was still locked up in Tamara’s apartment when I felt the first one.”

“What a coincidence; I was in prison.”

He was growing to hate the number of parallels in their lives.

“Anyways—how’s everything else? Any nausea, cravings, anything?”

It was touching that she was so concerned, but he didn’t dare complain about anything other than the intermittent nausea. As she’d said, she knew about the hormones. “Although, my boots have been annoying tight,” he did add, “and I need to loosen my vest a bit.”

Her eyes had drifted to his midsection, but quickly glanced up. He couldn’t fault her for being curious, so he tugged the edge of his tunic up to reveal his stomach.

“Aww, that’s a cute bump,” she gushed; it was an odd thing to say, he thought, but she clearly meant it as a compliment. “You said sixteen weeks, right?”

“Aye,” he answered, impressed she remembered.

“Yeah, I think that’s where I was with Henry around then. I carried it all in front, apparently.” She quickly grew quiet, and he could tell that wasn’t the sort of thing she shared with too many people. But then her expression grew quizzical. “Can I ask...how, or where, exactly are you carrying?”

“I clearly have a womb,” he said, trying to make light of what was clearly going to be an awkward anatomical conversation.

“Well, yeah, but…you’re a guy. Also clearly,” she responded, eyes glancing at his groin.

“Yes; I have both, then, if that’s what you’re asking, but my womb is...I suppose less functional than yours.”

“So...what, you don’t get periods or something? How does this all work?”

He chuckled at her bluntness and explained—how his womb was something of a secondary characteristic, menstruation only occurred once a year or so, and conception was also only possible at a specific time and when the female partner was on top (a fact that made her blush). “Milah and I...our last joining before she died, it would have been the right circumstances, but given how slim the chances of conception were, it wasn’t something we were concerned with.”

“It only takes once,” she said knowingly.

“That it does,” he agreed.

They settled into an easy silence, and the baby started kicking again, even more once he put his palm over it.

“Do you...want to feel it?” he asked; no one but the doctor had thus far, but he knew women and their partners and friends usually shared those moments. They counted as friends, right?

He was worried she might think he was crossing a line, but she grinned. “Yeah!”

Gently, he took her hand and placed it over the spot just to the side of his navel where the babe was pressing. Hopefully, she didn’t notice his quick intake of breath at the feel of her warm palm on his skin.

If she did, it was quickly forgotten when the little one was kicking at her hand; her eyes lit up. “Hey there, kid,” she said softly. “Look at you, growing big and strong.”

She looked up at him, smiling—and very close to him, a fact she too seemed to suddenly realize, and she quickly moved away. 

They lingered at the pond a while longer, enjoying the respite from the craziness of their journey. 

But Killian couldn’t stop his heart from racing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from Emma’s proximity, or her interest in his babe, or both.

(Emma, she was surprised to find, was facing a similar predicament. She couldn’t linger on it, she knew, but maybe when they were done, she could try to figure out what that meant.)

But for one minute, they were just two friends enjoying a quiet moment.

————————————————–

thanks for reading! tagging  @cocohook38​​​​​​ @wyntereyez​​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​​ @superadam54​​​​​​ @ashley-knightingale​​​​​​ @justsomewhump​​​ @teamhook​ (let me know if you want a tag!)

[ofcloudsandstars]

November Magical Dates and Astrological Transits

Welcome to the deep darkness of the year. November we get plunged into the dark quarter getting us in our hibernation mode and focusing on the realms within. It's a great time of the year for magic in the household (known and tagged sometimes as Cottage Witchcraft: witchcraft encompassing magic indoors, in your bedroom, kitchen witchcraft, bath witchcraft, cleansing and crafting etc.), shadow work and resting. It's also a great time to take up a hobby craft as you can focus your creations and learning on gifts for Yule to come.

This month is nearly nested between two Full Moons but the previous full moon reached opposition on the 31st so technically the moon at the end of November is not a Blue moon. However the moon at the end of November is a Blood Moon meaning it's a Full Moon Eclipse that will cast the moon in a red shadow. The themes of this month will take us through Scorpio's shadowy introspective period helping us to understand where our energy and sense of freedoms may be repressed then optimistic Sagittarius season helping us to focus on our dreams and how we can work towards manifesting them. There are a lot of surprises coming with dynamic Uranus in retrograde influencing a lot of planets which will lead up to the full moon eclipse no doubt bringing a lot of changes and sudden endings that no one can predict. Get ready for your life to be upgraded!

1st - ☾♉ Samhain  🎃 Mercury rx in Libra squares Saturn in Capricorn

We will still be under the influence of the full moon as it's in mid-transit in Taurus. Today Mercury rx in Libra will square Saturn in Capricorn bringing up themes of restriction and our mental barriers. With mercury in retrograde it's a good time to reflect on how these mental barriers can hold us back and why we feel oppressed by them. Especially since Samhain is a good time for shadow work and overcoming mental obstacles, it's a good day for meditation and introspection on how we may harbor negative beliefs that keep us imprisoned. (Especially in regards to our relationships, coworkers and authority). With the full moon conjunct Uranus RX we may have gotten themes of material or superficial things that we value that could either be restricting our freedoms or holding us back. The next day with the Mercury rx square with Saturn we will dive further into our subconscious to focus on our mental blocks and restrictions. Since Samhain is a good day for shedding and letting go this is great energy to reflect on and release for our personal freedoms to emerge. Take a moment today to write down what you'd like to free in yourself. You will see later on it will help ;)

Additionally Blessed Samhain!

Week 2 - 8

2nd - ☾♊ Moon enters Gemini

When the moon is in Gemini it’s a good time for taking in new information, studying magic or writing in your grimoire, using binural beats in magic, meditation or trance or doing air based magic.

3rd - ☾♊ Mercury Direct in Libra

Mercury finally stations direct today! It will still have it's moment of grogginess so still expect delays and some missed communication, but things will finally start moving forward. Take the time to reflect on what you have learned during this retrograde period and how you will apply it to your life moving forward. Though Mercury will be moving forward, it's still a time for rest, hibernation and reflection. Don't feel the need to hit the ground running or be surprised when everything still feels groggy and introspective. This is the dark quarter of the year and time to hibernate.

4th - ☾♋ Moon enters Cancer

When the moon is in Cancer it’s a good time for magic around the home such as cleaning and cleansing, kitchen magic and bath magic. It’s a great time for self-care rituals and water-based magic. The theme of burrowing and hibernation will feel amplified today as the moon is in it's home sign.

5th - ☾♋ Disseminating Moon | Moon in Cancer Trines Sun

The waning gibbous moon is a great time for taking stock of your progress during this lunar cycle and celebrating any little successes you’ve managed to accomplish so far no matter how small. You can reflect on all that you have worked through and learned through retrograde and the insights that the full moon has given you. It’s a lovely vibe for socializing, spreading generosity or just taking the moment to enjoy life. When the moon trines the sun it’s a harmonious time that brings a lot of luck. When you take stock and realize that you may not be where you’d like, then it’s a good time to catch up on work to help you out or do magic to bring opportunities for doors to open for you. Celebrate at home with the moon in Cancer and make your personal space feel special by burning nice scented candles, changing bedsheets and getting really cozy. 

 6th - ☾♋ Mercury in Libra squares Saturn in Capricorn

Time for another Mercury and Saturn square, except Mercury is now direct! This is when I suggested you should write down any themes the last square brought up on Samhain as you may get stronger clarity now on what you need to let go in order to liberate yourself mentally. As all squares operate, it's not a good time for action, yet reflection and meditation. Wherever you feel mentally blocked, reflect on it, write it down, meditate on it and do some divination if you are feeling stuck.

7th - ☾♌  Autumn’s Crossquarter Moon enters Leo

Today is also when the Sun is 15 degrees in Scorpio making it the official Crossquarter of Autumn. This is a period of shedding, cleansing and banishing along with tying up any loose ends before going into hibernation. This is the official end to Samhaintide. 

8th - ☾♌ Last Quarter Moon in Leo

The themes of reflection and introspection carry on with the Last Quarter moon in Leo. The Last Quarter moon is a good time for reflecting on the lunar cycle that past and the lessons we have learned. It's a good day for meditation, mindfulness, gratitude and reviewing the past. The lunar cycle begun on a Libra new moon so you can take the themes of introspection today on what you have learned in regards to what resonates with your heart, the value you put on relationships, your money, material wealth and partnerships and what is truly important/resonates with you vs. what is holding you back. Leo rules the heart so this is a good day to be honest with yourself and seek out what makes you free and what is in your best interests.

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Week 9 - 15

9th - ☾♍ Venus in Libra opposite Mars rx in Aries Moon enters Virgo

You may find some clarity today on the inner work you could have done yesterday with the last quarter moon as Venus in Libra transits opposite Mars rx in Aries. Previous injustices regarding relationships of all kinds could come up now from the past. Repressed anger or desires could emerge that may feel shocking but could be clarifying on the pain experienced or how you could have created barriers to protect yourself yet in turn these same walls became a mental prison. As the moon and season is in decline it's good to reflect on these themes and release what's no longer needed. With the moon entering Virgo you will have a more clear headed approach to your introspection. With the opposition it's a good time to release the built up tension in healthy ways in any physical activity from exercise to dance. This energy could also show you where you may feel lacking in terms of your relationship dynamics or self confidence. It's not a time to act yet but to reflect and observe. Write down any insights in your journal to review later.

10th - ☾♍ Balsamic Moon | Moon Sextiles Sun Mercury enters Scorpio Sun in Scorpio trines Neptune rx in Pisces

Mercury enters Scorpio today! We can re-enter our dark underworlds now with a bit of introspection from what the retrograde has bought. Mercury in Scorpio brings two weeks of deep intense thought, diving to the core of the truths shrouded by darkness and uncovering ours and others shadows. With the moon in it's balsamic phase (waning crescent), it's a time to wrap up loose ends of this lunar cycle and depart from anything no longer serving us. If there are things in our lives such as people or physical materials that no longer align with our values, we should find ways to distant ourselves or banish them. It's also a good time to do some deep house cleaning and throw out anything old that we've been holding on to without realizing (as I type this, there are 3 large plastic water bottles in the corner of my vision I use for watering my plants which I only need 1 of haha). With the Sun trining Neptune rx this can highlight what our dreams are for ourselves or the future. Now is a time to pay attention to our dreams and day dreams to see where deep subconscious desires lie that may be brought out by Mars's retrograde and Mercury now in Scorpio. The Sun and Neptune Rx transit also heightens our sensitivity and empathy towards others. This can help us connect with our sense of spirituality from within.

11th - ☾♎ Moon enters Libra

When the moon is in Libra it’s a good time for attraction magic (friendship/coworkers/partners - all kinds), glamours and charms, love based magic and harmonizing spells.

12th - ☾♎ Jupiter conjunct Pluto in Capricorn

Today will feel powerful and intense as the expansive Jupiter conjuncts intense Pluto in Capricorn. We will feel focused and driven to succeed and with a mix of intense effort with good luck, we will have teh boost to make a big difference anywhere we focus on energy towards on this day. This is powerful energy to not let go by so mark this day on your calendar. It is important to think about what you want to do during this prosperous phase. Ventures regarding business success, abundance, travel or career can get a boost of positivity during this time if used well. However focus your energy on either spiritual self-development or success for your genuine benefit and not more power or control over others (especially those already in power). Anyone with power already can get a boost during this time so if you challenge them you can face those powers against you. Therefore focus on your success and if it's in a circumstance even where your success lies in another person relinquishing power over you then maybe use this energy to escape from their influence, but don't challenge anyone directly.

This is a great day for action but if you want to do spell work then try barrier-breaking magic where you can break through obstacles to gain what you need.

13th - ☾♏ Moon enters Scorpio

Today is Friday the 13th! It's a magical day celebrating Venus and the divine femme! It's been warped by modern day society to be evil or whatever, but Friday the 13th is a fun time to be spooky, get up to shenanigans, do love attraction magic and fool around. Especially in honor of Venus, Friday the 13th is a fun day to dress up very mystical or witchy just for the sake of it. Today will feel extra spooky and intense with the moon entering Scorpio. When the moon is in Scorpio it's a good time for shadow work, energy based magic, scrying, blood and sex magic.

14th - ☾♏ Mars direct in Aries Sun in Scorpio sextiles Pluto and Jupiter in Capricorn

GOT DAMN Mars is FINALLY Direct. Finally.. woof.. It's over. Though it will still be in it's groggy phase we may already feel motivated and ready to move forward after that lengthy period of introspection and reflecting on our inner motivations and drive. Energy may feel more free-flowing from now on and we may feel more inclined to act. This energy will be amplified by the Sun sextiling both Pluto and Jupiter in Capricorn helping us to work through anything. This will help us succeed in our goals and aspirations and especially in the realms of our work or careers. You will feel the energy to hit the ground running and it's a good time to wrap up projects or strive for what you need during these prosperous transits.

15th - ☾♏ New Moon in Scorpio Venus in Libra squares Pluto in Capricorn Moon enters Sagittarius

A new lunar cycle begins! The moon in Scorpio will bring themes of our liberation again with it being opposite Uranus rx and how we need to connect with ourselves on a soul level to understand where we have been stripped of our power. This theme will be amplified by Venus in a square with Pluto. We may be more aware today of how we can be controlled in our relationships as power and control issues may arise. There can also be emotions tied to not feeling loved or valued come to the surface or worse, be buried deep within but be the motivation behind acting out or seeking control. If you are feeling these negative feelings you should look within to seek out what you need to change in order to make yourself feel more free and more valued and how you can commit yourself to these changes during this new Lunar Cycle. Especially in transformative Scorpio, this New Moon is looking to make a change.

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Week 16 - 22

16th - ☾♐ Venus in Libra squares Jupiter in Capricorn

So Venus and Jupiter squares are not like many other. Squares tend to bring frustration or restrictions that may make us feel blocked and forced to reflect on our obstacles. However Jupiter squares creates another type of obstacle which is excess. Sometimes too much of a good thing can easily lead us astray. With the Venus and Jupiter square we can easily blow a lot of money accidentally on a shopping spree or spend way too much on take out or any other forms of gluttony. You should be especially wary if substances come involved. Moderation is key with this transit and we can easily go overboard if we aren't careful, especially since the moon is transiting Sagittarius. If we do feel inclined we should reflect on the root reasons why we want to over indulge instead of feeding the need. This way less damage is done. If you do want to go out, give yourself a budget so you don't over do it.

17th - ☾♑ Mercury in Scorpio opposite Uranus rx in Taurus Venus in Libra opposite Chiron rx in Aries Moon enters Capricorn

Today may feel hectic but there is opportunity for healing if you pay attention. The two major transits here are Mercury opposite Uranus rx and Venus opposite Chiron rx. With the Mercury and Uranus rx opposition we may be faced with obstacles that may change our plans and scatter our minds. This is not a good day to make plans or agree on deals but just to let our minds wander and not be restricted. This is a day that can bring great insight and epiphanies to how we relate to ourselves as an individual and understand our freedom. It's a better day to reflect and seek to understand ourselves then move forward. Additionally with Venus opposite Chiron rx we may be confronted with painful emotions revolving around our relationships and past trauma or pain. With the two transits together we can be confronted with external obstacles or events that could make us aware of our limitations, freedom, lack of individuality or authenticity and how that pain or boundary could have stemmed from toxic relationships from the past. Though it's potentially a lot of pain to work through, it's a day that can bring insight on how to move forward from it.

18th - ☾♑   Moon in Capricorn

With the moon in Capricorn, it’s a good time for organization, addressing our tasks and responsibilities, ancestor magic, earth and mineral based magic.

19th - ☾♒ Waxing Crescent | Sun Sextiles Moon Sun in Scorpio sextiles Saturn in Capricorn Venus in Libra squares Saturn in Capricorn Moon enters Aquarius

While the moon is still in Capricorn, it will sextile the Sun in Scorpio bringing a boost of positive energy that can help us take on any task. This is a great part of the lunar cycle to look back on the intentions you've set for the new moon and start exploring new ways to incorporate what your intentions were into your life. This could look like you signing up for a new class or experimenting with something new. It's a great time for seeking out new ventures, experimentation and learning. With the moon's energy in Capricorn there would be a boost in the areas of work where you can explore new open positions at work or switching up your schedule and seeing how that suits your work life balance better (especially in regards to the new moon theme and if that allows you to have more freedom.) The Sun will also sextile Saturn in Capricorn giving us a positive boost in our work ethic. We will find tasks much easier to complete today and feel more responsible. It's a great day to get your to-do list checked off and confront whatever long-term "to-do's" that you may have (like renewing that license for example). Venus in Libra will also square Saturn in Capricorn bringing the positive mood down a little as we may feel restricted by some of our relationships or unable to really act upon our values due to barriers or obstacles that block us from being our true selves. The energy today is pretty free-flowing to make changes in your life so if you are feeling that restriction maybe you can look into how you can shift things around like your work schedule or try new things to feel less blocked.

20th - ☾♒ Moon in Aquarius

When the moon is in Aquarius, it’s great to expand on your perspective, explore new material, work with tech magic or electricity and work with celestial magic or astrology. Especially as the moon is still in it's waxing crescent phase it's a great time to explore new things and try new ventures.

21st - ☾♒ Venus enters Scorpio

Venus enters the most passionate and intense sign, Scorpio bringing us into the deep depths of the shadows lingering from our love lives and other relationships that may still cause us to act paranoid, jealous or resentful of some people we live around today. This cycle is a great time for shadow work revolving around our relationship to other people and understanding why some people may trigger a negative response from us. Romance under this transit can be intense, dramatic, thrilling but also if you manage to have a healthy dynamic it can be soul bonding and long lasting. It's a good time for healing the heart and confronting any toxicity that we may be unknowingly harboring for the next month that this transit continues.

22nd - ☾♓ Sun enters Sagittarius First Quarter Moon in Pisces

The most festive season begins!! The Sun enters optimistic and excitable Sagittarius today bringing lights to the impenetrable dark of this somber quarter of the year. Trees will start to be aglow with lights, festive music will haunt us from every radio station and shop, everything we drink will be hot and spiced. You cannot escape the jolliness of Sagittarius season. However this energy may feel more tense than usual with the first day also landing on the First Quarter moon in Pisces. The first quarter moon calls for reflection on strategy and what we've learned this lunar cycle so far by experimenting and trying new things. What tools have we gained? What would we be willing to try or implement to get our goals ahead? Especially in the theme of Pisces we may really be focusing on our dreams and how we can bring our dreams to reality. How do these dreams liberate us? With what we've learned how can we achieve that liberation? As optimistic Sagittarius season overlaps with this lunar cycle, we may feel upbeat about taking this on.

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Week 23 - 29

23rd - ☾♓ Mercury in Scorpio trines Neptune rx in Pisces

Today feels tied in with yesterday's transits as Mercury makes a beneficial trine with Neptune rx which will create a lucky period of time where we can feel mentally aligned and balanced with our creativity, our spirituality and our dreams. We will be in-tune with what we want and be able to express it. If we are feeling repressed in this area, this transit will help us to understand these hidden parts some more. As beneficial as trines are, they are unfortunately so easy-going in their energy that we can easily miss them going by. This is a beneficial day to work towards your dreams so mark it on your calendar (especially as the moon will be conjunct Neptune rx in Pisces as well!) The energies will be aligned.

24th - ☾♈ Waxing Gibbous | Sun Trines Moon Moon enters Aries

Another wonderful trine will happen today with the Sun trining the Moon in Aries. This easy going day will be a great day to work towards your dreams as well, implement whatever strategies you reflected on and planned during the first quarter moon at the start of Sagittarius season and put them into action! Especially as the moon is in Aries we will feel inclined to take action so perhaps this trine will not go as unnoticed as most. This will feel like such a good spirited and lucky day, it's good to use this expansive energy wisely and keep your eyes on the prize. Fire magic would feel powerful today as well as barrier-breaking magic to bust through any obstacles in your way. It's also a good time to raise energy and create spell items especially fire-based tools like spell candles.

25th - ☾♈ Moon in Aries

Today the moon will conjunct both Chiron rx and Mars in Aries still giving us some of that productive boost of energy from yesterday. It's a good day to work though we may feel a window of time where we could feel uneasy or subject to pain with the moon and chiron rx conjunction. It's good to be aware of this to understand where to take it slow and be kind with yourself as you charge forward towards your dreams.

26th - ☾♈ Moon in Aries

When the moon is in Aries it’s great to take on challenges, use fire magic and hexing.

27th - ☾♉ Venus in Scorpio Opposite Uranus rx in Taurus Moon enters Taurus

Once again the themes of our lack of liberation and freedom in regards to our current relationships comes into the spotlight with the opposition today between Venus and Uranus rx. With chaotic Uranus transits it's always a spin-the-wheel adventure and Uranus rx will want us to seek change that can help us feel more free or help us expand our perspective. Even so Uranus loves change for the sake of change just to try something new and learn so our existing relationships, especially any that are restrictive could all go through an upheaval where we could either end up leaving or another person could get involved. It's an exciting time but it's usually not long lasting and it's just to change things up. If you are in a situation where you don't like the dynamic between you and another person, today is the day to shake things up or break it off. Also be mindful of your money today. Uranus is the master of surprises and chaos and even though it's in retrograde it can still bring events that could impact your finances or valuables if you are not careful.

28th - ☾♉ Neptune direct in Pisces Mercury in Scorpio sextile Jupiter in Capricorn

Wow Neptune is finally direct! This sleepy planet has finally ended it's 7 month long nap and is ready to move direct helping us reconnect with our source of creativity and be more aligned with our dreams and spirituality. Another beneficial transit will be Mercury sextiling Jupiter creating a day where luck is on our side in regards to learning new materials, trying new things (especially in the work place), understanding and exploring our minds and deep subconscious and taking on any tasks. However we should avoid biting off more than we can chew as this sextile can give us such optimism and ability to take on so much we can forget that we have natural limits and we may be unable to complete everything before the clock strikes 12.

29th - ☾♊ Moon enters Gemini

The energy carries on from the next day but as the moon enters Gemini it's a great day for reading and exploring interests, communicating ideas, sound and music based magic, air based magic and meditating with binaural beats.

30th - ☾♊ Full Moon in Gemini, Lunar eclipse Mercury in Scorpio sextiles Saturn in Capricorn

Today's full moon feels powerful and intense as it's not only a lunar eclipse, it's a blood moon which means it's a total lunar eclipse casting the moon in earth's shadow giving it a reddish illusion. It's a time of transformation and changes that can leave the past chapters suddenly behind as we get elevated to the next level. With the moon in Gemini opposite the sun in Sagittarius the themes are surrounding the details of the big picture and how they form the steps in the grand staircase that will carry us up towards our dreams. Eclipses are not the best time for manifesting new things as they are best for endings so if you are struggling with obstacles that stand in your way of your dreams or anything that is blocking your staircase it's time to banish them all! Avoid charging anything under this moon (unless if it's something like an athame that serves to cut chords and bring endings). Be aware that the eclipse is about endings to bring in a new chapter in life and unless you want to channel that energy into your tools you should be aware of what you are bringing in.

This will feel like a productive day with Mercury sextiling Saturn making us superbly aware of our tasks but having the ability to take them on. We will feel more responsible today and will feel inclined to work on our plans.

[pinkled5]

Writing Tips: The Art of “Digging” (Part 3)

In part 1 I discussed what “digging” is and why I consider it the single most important skill that separates good writers from great writers.  In part 2 I gave an example of how I failed to do this in an action scene and how I tried to fix it.  In this post I’m going to examine how digging works in a non-action scene, when digging around inside a character’s head.

The ability to get inside a character’s thoughts is what sets novels apart from all other forms of storytelling, and this advantage must not be overlooked.  That being said, care must be taken to avoid the many pitfalls, which I will not discuss here.  What I will do, however, is examine my own poor attempt at digging, and then see how I tried to fix it.

For a little background on this scene, Elsa has just had a confrontation with Kristoff and she lashed out in an unkind way, which she immediately regrets.  Now alone, she considers what she’s done.

In my first iteration of Chapter 8, I didn’t dive into her thoughts properly and I was only able to dig up a single paragraph of “bones.”  Note:

Elsa sat in her throne, hanging her head and trembling. She raised one hand to cover her face and quietly wept into the soft palm of her glove. She couldn't rid her mind of the words she had so thoughtlessly spoken to Kristoff. How could she have been so callous? The image of Anna's face hung like a specter before her mind's eye and she was unable to break free from the piercing accusation of its gaze. She sniffed and exhaled loudly, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her gloved hand. She couldn't spend the day feeling sorry for herself, there was no time for such worthless endeavors. She needed to get busy planning her sister's party, even if it meant she had to do it alone.

Notice how I focused more on the physical manifestations of her thoughts, rather than the thoughts themselves?  This is a common error that us amateur writers make.  Does the reader understand her feelings?  Maybe.  Can the reader feel what she’s feeling?  Probably not.

Here is my attempt to fix this scene by digging deeper into what Elsa is thinking and feeling:

Elsa was no stranger to regret.  It all started the night little five year old Anna snuck into her room, climbed on her bed, and coaxed her into coming to the ballroom to play.  How she regretted ever getting out of that bed.  How many times throughout the thirteen years of her isolation had she wished she could take that moment back, to change her mind and do the responsible, practical thing?  Everything would’ve been different if she’d just stayed in bed.

But she hadn’t stayed in bed.  She got up and followed Anna to the ballroom. She ignored that little voice in her head, the voice of common sense and reason.  Elsa, it said, what would mother say if she saw you out roaming the halls when you’re supposed to be in bed?  That’s not what good little girls do.  Good little girls listen to their mothers!  But she hadn’t listened, and by the time they reached the ballroom, shutting the doors behind them, that voice was all but gone, silenced by neglect.  It didn’t protest when she conjured the snowflakes, it didn’t object when they ice skated around the room, and it didn’t complain as she made taller and taller mounds of snow, trying to keep up with her sister’s wild leaps.  Even if it continued to sound the warning, would she have listened?

She hadn’t listened to her father.  She was eight years old and her magic was getting stronger every day, and as her powers grew so did her father’s concern.  Despite his repeated warnings to the contrary she had used the magic yet again.  His voice boomed in her head as he burst through the ballroom doors, seeing the room encased in ice and Anna lying lifeless in her lap.  “Elsa!  What have you done?  This is getting out of hand!”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory, but it wouldn’t go away.

That’s the funny thing about regret, she thought.  Other emotions seemed to wane with the passage of time, whether it be sorrow, anger, or jealousy.  She remembered how jealous she was of Anna growing up in the castle, her being free to go where she pleased and to spend time with their mother and father without fear of hurting them.  How she wanted to have that life and how it vexed her that she couldn’t!  And yet, when she recalled those memories the hurt and sadness seemed blunted by time, thinking about them no longer conjured those emotions.

Not so with regret. Despite the passage of time, whenever she was reminded of that fateful day in the ballroom her wounds felt fresh. Her entire life seemed like nothing but a long series of regrets. The memory of them played through her mind, stark and bitter moments chiding her for her carelessness.  The moment she shunned her sister at her coronation. The moment she unleashed an unnatural winter.  The moment she struck Anna upon the North Mountain.  And now, the moment she’d lashed out at Kristoff, wounding with her words.

She buried her face in her hands, recalling the look on his face; she’d never seen him make that expression before.  Kristoff wasn’t prone to displays of emotion, choosing instead to hide his feelings behind a wall of stoicism.  Not even the unrelenting drought was able to erode this wall of resistance and the harder things got the more determined he seemed to not allow his fear and anxiety to show.

She understood what that was like, knew what sheer resolve it took to maintain such composure even as the world around them was crumbling.  She thought about his ice business and how the drought devastated it. Elsa knew he must’ve been frustrated, angry and sad at the loss of the one activity he’d pinned his entire existence and identity on, but he didn’t show it.  That’s what struck her the hardest.  The loss of everything he loved hadn’t fazed him, and yet her words had hurt him so much she saw it in his eyes and in the corners of his mouth.  

She felt like crying. She gritted her teeth, pushing hard against the lump in her throat.

Conceal, don’t feel.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to expel the pain before it could overcome her.  It was a skill, one she learned from her father and honed over the many years of her isolation.  The trick was in the breathing, he’d said.  He told her to imagine her pain as a cloud, a thick fog or smoke trapping all the bad feelings inside her, and she needed to breathe to get it out.  

She inhaled through her nose, taking a slow breath and held it, imagining the fog of her pain swirling and collecting around the tightness in her chest.  Then she exhaled, letting it seep out into the air. She did it again, and again, and it seemed to be working as it always had, focusing her thoughts and calming her mind.  She relaxed her breathing and sat back in the throne.  She thought the wave of emotion had passed, that she’d stemmed the feelings which would lead to tears, then she recalled Anna’s accusing glare and the disappointment in her eyes as she said, “How could you?”

It was too much. She put her face in her hands and wept into the palms of her gloves.  She tried to stop but it was no use, and she had no choice but to let it run its course.

“Sometimes you just have to cry.”  It was her mother’s voice, warm and soothing, reminding her, as she had on so many occasions, that she shouldn’t hide all her emotions all the time.  “No one is that strong.  Sometimes you just have to let it out.” But she didn’t want to, not here.

She took another breath and dried her eyes, remembering the two guards stationed outside the throne room.  She didn’t want them to see her like this.  She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

She got up, wiping her face on the backs of her gloves.  This was no time to feel sorry for herself, or wallow in the sadness of her regret.  She’d just have to find a way to make it up to Kristoff.  She didn’t know when or how, but she’d find a way.  In the meantime, she had more important things to do than sit on her throne and cry.

She had an engagement celebration to plan, after all.

I think this is a lot better.  By digging deeper into Elsa’s thoughts and feelings I’m attempting to draw the reader into her plight, I want to do more than just show them that she’s upset by presenting emotional cues, I want them to experience her distress along with her.  Whether I accomplished that or not, I don’t know, but the point remains the same.  The deeper we dig into a character, including their thoughts and experiences, the more the reader will feel a connection to them.

This completes the examination of my own failings and attempts to fix them.  In part 4, I’ll show how a published author and master of the craft shows us what expert digging looks like.