#this is right before snowmelt too

[rainyheartscrown]

my birthday's coming up in a week so I made more litters to celebrate!

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Russetfrond scarfed down his morning meal and went over his responsibilities in his head. Sparrowpaw and the others were due for an assessment in their hunting and survival skills that he needed to design with Goldenstar and Yarrowshade. Patrols were mostly in order except for Mystique. He still didn’t like putting her into his schedule but Goldenstar had been clear that she needed daily exercise. At least she had agreed not to send the kittypet on any kind of Border Patrol, at his request.

It took him a while to balance out the patrols to accommodate her, shuffling duties around here and there, but eventually he had a solid plan. He stood, stretched, and sighed. Deciding to get the most unpleasant task out of the way first, he turned towards the elders’ den where a sleepy Ospreymask was sitting watch. If he hurried and took Mystique out now, they would hopefully get back before the dawn patrol returned. 

He stepped up to the den and flicked his ear in Ospreymask’s direction, saying, “I’ll take over.” 

“Thanks,” she yawned and slinked off towards the warriors’ den. 

Mystique stirred inside the den. Curled up in the back corner, she lifted her head and pursed her lips. She seemed to have been awake for some time although she still seemed tired and hollow eyed. Her thick fur was starting to tangle as her winter shed came out poorly. He wondered absently if she even knew how to properly groom herself or if she let her twolegs do everything for her. 

“Hey,” she said, “What’s up?” 

“We’re going out,” he said. “I want to get your exercise out of the way before it gets too late.”

“Oh, alright,” she stood, ears brushing the top of the den, and slipped up beside him with a soft jingle. He stepped out of the way and let her arch her back and stretch her legs.

“I figured we’d go to the river and you could swim for a bit or something.”

“Wait, really?” she brightened. 

“Yes,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just as long as you agree to come back when I say we’re done.”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded. 

“Good.” He set off out of camp, confident that she would follow. The morning was still young. The sun had just started to banish the chill of night from the air and birds were singing to each other from the distant trees. He and Mystique walked in silence for a while, simply basking in the beauty of morning. 

Mystique eventually ruined it by speaking. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh?” He raised his brows skeptically. Hopefully it wasn’t another rendition of her ‘why does everyone hate me’ act. He’d heard from Branchbark all about her little incident during the Gathering and he wasn’t happy about it. 

“Yeah, um,” Mystique said, looking at the ground, “I’ve been thinking - About my brother and everything - and… I want to try and help you guys.”

“Pardon?” he nearly laughed. 

“I want to help,” she said, a little bolder. “Scorch is right, I’ve been way too passive. I may not fully understand what’s going on yet, but clearly you cats have a lot to lose and I want to help you. I was thinking maybe I could teach some combat drills or something? Y’know, help you hold your own.” 

This time Russetfrond really did laugh. “Yeah, right! We don’t need fighting tips from a kittypet.” The idea was completely absurd! Insulting, even!

Mystique frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m better than most cats back in the city!”

“That’s not saying much,” he shook his head at the comedy of the situation. 

“I’m almost as good as Razor!” she insisted. “I bet I’m better than you! Hell, I know I am.” His shoulders tightened in offense. 

“Is that so?” he growled, puffing up his fur a bit. 

“Yeah,” she smirked and leaned down a bit to be more evenly on his level. “Try me and see.” 

“Fine,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll see if your offer is worth anything.” They had stopped in the dip between two hills where pooling snowmelt had caused the grass to grow in thick and towering. It swayed above their heads gently, blocking out the rest of the world and nearly obscuring them from each other in its density. 

Russetfrond took a defensive stance. Mystique wiggled down into a crouch, tail tip twitching with eagerness. Russetfrond could already tell that she wasn’t taking this seriously - her smile was too bright, her gaze too scattered. This would be over quickly.

She moved in, tested his guard with a few swipes, and he danced easily to the side. He swiped at her ears with claws sheathed. Mystique ducked under the blow with surprising grace for her size and slipped into the opening he had given her. Her paws wrapped around his torso and her weight carried him off his feet and into the grass. 

They rolled for a beat, Russetfrond hissing and Mystique purring, and landed with him on his back looking up at her. He kicked out with his hind legs and she took the blow without a flinch, then whacked him sharply on the head causing his vision to swim. She snapped at one of his paws as he tried to swat her, twisted so the other swipe struck the back of her head, and rolled onto her side to avoid another strike of his hind paws. 

He rolled with her, onto his paws, and swatted her face twice, confident that, had this been a real fight, she would have been struggling to see through the blood. Mystiquer let out a mrrp of enjoyment and lunged. Her forepaws hooked around his neck and pulled his face into her chest before he knew what was happening. He struggled in the suffocating volume of her fur, unable to stop her as she rolled and flipped him over her body onto his side. Her hindpaws slammed into him, rabbit kicking over and over into his side. He hissed furiously and tucked his head to slam it up into her chin. She reeled, let him go, and he tumbled away. If this were real, he would be bleeding profusely from his flank, but for now he was simply panting heavily, struggling for breath. 

“That was-” he didn’t get to finish. Somehow she was on her paws again and barreling into him. His surprise let her take him to the ground again and she quickly pressed his face into the dirt with one paw. Tail bristling, he tried to rise but suddenly her teeth were in his scruff, causing his legs to seize instinctively. His cheeks flushed hotly at the predicament. 

“Alright!” he hissed quickly, “You win!” He needed her to let him go. 

“Told you I was better than you.” He could feel the shape of her grin against his fur. He forced his body to move and tried to wiggle out from under her but she shifted to put a hindpaw on his haunches, pressing him flat into the ground. His stomach fluttered, only serving to make him even more embarrassed. 

“You proved your point,” he growled, “let me up.” They were both breathing hard, her fur brushing his back every time she inhaled. 

“Say please,” she ordered smugly between breaths. 

“No,” he growled, his skin buzzing uncomfortably with some kind of energy. He felt dizzy. 

“Aww, come on,” she said, her teeth thankfully letting go of his scruff. He summoned his strength and rolled onto his back, paws ready to swipe at her if she tried anything else, but she just smiled at him and tilted her head, one paw raised as if they were playing a game. He found it hard to swallow. 

“You put up a pretty good fight,” she panted, flopping down next to him. 

“You too,” Russetfrond admitted begrudgingly, letting his arms go slack. The grass swayed above and around them, a world of lush green with a small glimpse of cloudless, blue sky. It muted the birdsong and the sound of the wind, leaving them alone with only their slowing breaths to listen to. 

“I won!” she purred, “I’d say I was more than pretty good.” He didn’t want to say it but he was inclined to agree. Neither of them spoke again until they had mostly regained control of their breathing. Russetfrond still felt dizzy though, dizzy and warm and hungry for something he couldn’t explain. 

“Wanna go again?” she whispered, like it was a secret. He knew he needed to say no. He knew that he was standing on the precipice of something very big and very exciting and very dangerous and that if he didn’t leave now he wouldn’t be able to fight the hold it had on him. 

“Alright,” he breathed, the edge of a smile daring to pull at his lips. He swallowed hard again. Mystique grinned wider than he’d ever seen, looking like she was hungry too. 

“Hell yeah,” she said. “Maybe you can try and pin me this time.” Russetfrond thought he would like that very much. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” he said, getting back to his paws. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she chuckled, swishing her silky tail around herself as she huddled into an eager crouch. 

“Good,” said Russetfrond. He jumped.

[ofdemonsandangels]

A Masterlist of My Favorite GriffGuts fics Part 2

Well hello again! We're coming up on two years since my last GriffGuts fic rec masterlist and so many amazing fics have come out since then! I'm really happy that the original list got so much love, I really can't wait to share more of my favorites with you all, both new or looked over from before <3

One-Shots

White Hawk Down by bishounenjump

Summary:

Sometimes Guts forgets that Griffith is just a man. A man with a body.

My comments:

A missing scene from canon that we all wish could have happened

Snowmelt by bthump

Summary:

Once again, Griffith acts impulsively when it comes to Guts. AU where Griffith doesn't find out that Guts left the Hawks until after he's gone.

My comments:

The way I was waiting for two whole years for another bthump fic after Refraction lmao. This fic is one of those fics that you pull up to cope with after you remember what happened in canon.

What would happen if the duel in the snow never happened but Griffith still chased after Guts to bring him back? Find out in 10.2k words of peak writing. In bthump we trust (￣^￣)ゞ

Late Night Reverie by bishounenjump

Summary:

"He won’t hesitate to admit that he loves being king. No blustering nobleman can take that from him.

And yet, on nights like this, when he can drink in the broad expanse of his commander — his dark brow and gentle gaze and absurdly strong physique — he knows that some dreams do occasionally obscure others."

My comments:

A very heartwarming glimpse into a future that Guts and Griffith could've had. I feel all warm inside whenever I reread this fic

we're not in love, we share no stories by Alyss_Baskerville

Summary:

Though the gash on Guts’ shoulder heals, his eyes now skip right past Griffith.

My comments:

Whereas the previous fic rec was a sweet look into a future that never was, this fic is a painful one. Holy hell did I feel like someone had carved my heart out of my chest when I had finished the final line. It reminds me a lot of the film, Atonement, so if you've seen the film, you can take a lot more away from this fic.

In the Absence of Light by Ghidorahs_Child

Summary:

Schierke aches for him, for the happiness he was denied, for the love he has lost.

My comments:

Guts and Schierke share their own Corridor of Dreams moments and it's just as bittersweet as you think it is

A Dreamless Sleep by Queenbananya

Summary:

“I’ve killed children for you,” Guts said, lying next to Griffith on a patch of grass. He peered up at the stars and remembered the kid’s face, the hand that reached out to him helplessly as the last trace of life faded from his eyes.

Or, Guts seeks comfort from Griffith, months after he's killed Adonis.

My comments:

Griffith comforting Guts as he deals with the trauma of killing Adonis is something we all desperately wanted at some point

That Dawn in the Snow by Nefastum

Summary:

He wondered now if Griffith even remembered there were others around him, or if he had completely shut them out. Casca and Judeau were staring in uncertainty, and not far back up the road it was easy to see Rickert, Corkus, and Pippin in earshot of most of their conversation. Griffith didn’t falter, though. It was like all he could see was Guts, and perhaps they’d have to find an excuse for his vulnerability later for the others. Guts could sympathize, though. The feeling was mutual.

My comments:

You can never go wrong with a duel in the snow au, and this fic is no different. The characterization of Griffith here is really great too and probably one of my favorite takes of him for this scene in particular

This Fleeting Dream by Queenbananya

Summary:

"To me... they are not friends. A friend is someone that is my equal."

Perhaps it was the way his thoughts had strayed in that direction, or simply how attuned he was to the movements of his soldiers. His eyes could always find him. Guts stood there, listening. And in his eyes, there was heartbreak.

Or, Griffith catches Guts listening in his famous fountain conversation with Charlotte and follows after him. Essentially, an exploration of his character and feelings for Guts.

My comments:

A very interesting take on a "Griffith clearing everything up with Guts after he finds out he overheard his dream speech at the fountain" au. Equal parts fluff and equal parts angst

Forever Facade by TheriOlis

Summary:

Slan has come to see what manner of flower grows atop the bones buried beneath Griffith's garden.

My comments:

The GriffGuts in this fic is mild but as the resident Slan thirster, I need you all to read this because it's really fucking good. NeoGriff being egged on by Slan for nearly 2k words? Yes, YEs, YES

Recoil and Grace by aloveleyburn

Summary:

Their fingers wind together in the darkness. Outside there is that ever-present chirping of birds and insects – the music of those dark hours, calming as cool water. Outside some car alarm goes off in the empty streets, and on the bedside table, clock reads 2:47am.

My comments:

There are so many words that I could use to describe this fic, but I think I'll just settle on 'quintessential'. I can't remember the last time I was so enthralled by a fic, so glued to my screen and absorbing every single word in front of me. The way that Ariel blends the two storylines into one in such a flawless manner reminds me of a weaver stitching together two scenes in a tapestry. Each thread is connected in a way that matters.

If there's one fic you walk away with from this list, I hope that this is the fic.

Property by starry_dynamo

Summary:

“I’ve wanted you since the moment we met, and if the reason you never returned my advances was that you felt tainted by that scum from your past, I will carve him from your memory. You are not his. You belong to me, and I want your body to never forget.”

Griffith learns why Guts has a problem with intimacy. Guts learns he has another purpose.

My comments:

BDSM to cope with trauma. That's it. It's nice and sweet and hot at the same time.

Geleotto fu il Libro by Ghidorahs_child

Summary:

"I have nightmares of you leaving me."

My comments:

GriffGuts gets ready for bed together! Featuring book talk, insecurities, and lots of domestic fluff

Steel Groove by Maplekites

Summary:

The Hawks enjoy celebrating anything they can.

My comments:

GriffGuts, my dancing queens

Completed Multi-Chapter Fics

When Night Comes Down by alovelyburn

Summary:

"If you stand far enough outside the tapestry, you can see the many threads and paths unwalked. The points of change can be so tiny they go unnoticed at the time... though the ripples travel for centuries and more, into eternity. Yet, in the end, all paths lead to one path. There may be deviations, yes, yet still we dance that same dance, with the steps assigned to us by fate. It is inevitable. One must die to resurrect. One must fall to rise."

My comments:

This fic is my Roman Empire. If Apostle!Guts is your thing, this fic is the perfect fic for you.

Ongoing Multi-Chapter Fics

our castle was always made of sand by meereens

Summary:

His life was easy to understand. Mother liked to tell him stories, wrapped up in their canopy bed with warmth crackling in her words. He was born from a real-life fairytale, everyone knew it, from a dashing knight’s love for a simple princess.

Queen Charlotte and King Griffith's young son uncovers something he was not meant to know.

My comments:

This is THEE GriffGuts kid fic (and the only one to my knowledge too haha). It's the perfect "Griffith gets guy and the throne" au and really explores what GriffGuts would look like from a child's perspective, specifically Griffith's son's perspective. I know that kid fics can be annoying with the way some people write kids but trust me, William Leopold Guts Charles Wyndham is the cutest little guy ever and I would lay down my life for him.

Fic Series

Sehnsucht by SeaDragons (SimpleNefelibata)

My comments:

GriffGuts: Hurt no Comfort the Series

[nandysparadox]

A Wish Your Heart Makes - Ch.1 ♡

In dreams, you will lose your heartaches

Prev - Chapter One - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Rated T - CW: past parental death, magical compulsion, fantasy discrimination, emotional abuse & neglect, manipulative and controlling behavior - WC: 7012

@bitterpoison's art for this chapter - here!

-

Despite it all, if there was one thing Patton could never resent about Fairyland, it was the landscapes.

Snowmelt still clung to the wild grass, dewdrops glittering like tiny little gems in the garden where the sunlight hit them. Patton smiled at the sight. If anything, it distracted him from his struggle to clean up one stubborn spot of dirt on the porch, stuck to the damp wood no matter how he swept. Patton huffed. He guessed it did come with the snow thawing, and he couldn’t complain about that, even if it made the task a little harder. At least it meant that, finally, spring had come.

Well, it won’t get any cleaner than that. He put his broom away with a sigh, coming to rest over the railing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be noticed.

The breeze still carried a touch of winter in it, but the sun, as bright as ever, warmed his skin. He fixed the handkerchief over his head and grinned, unable to hide his giddiness as he watched over the yard. Oh, how he’d looked forward to this.

The morning of the second day of spring — very specific, he knew, but dear to him anyway. The quiet freedom and the lovely weather, together, made for the most peaceful hours of the year. Patton would make the most of this little moment while it lasted. He had stayed cooped up in the manor for way too long — but if seeing this came at the end of it, he guessed he could deal with it.

The seasons changed in Fairyland as they might’ve anywhere else, but a little bit of magic went a long way. Some things came gradually, of course, like the thawing of snow and the adorable little critters that had just begun to leave their burrows, but others came more as a burst of colors in the equinox. You wouldn’t miss it even if you didn’t have the date marked. Flowers already sprouted in between the tiles and bricks in the walls, and they bloomed high in the yard, too, wildflowers bridging the way from the garden to the trees.

Everything just… glowed. And for a moment Patton could imagine running off, losing himself in colorful fields and just living.

He tapped his fingers against the banister of the railing, smoothing out the wood-carved details with his touch, and closed his eyes. For a moment he let himself walk into that fantasy, of wind in his hair and grass under his feet. And then he reeled himself back in, stepping away from the porch with a small smile. Patton knocked at the door first, then entered.

…Lively would never really be a word he’d use to describe the manor, but it did look better already. With spring sunshine streaming through the windows, even the patterned furniture didn’t look so stuffy. Patton made to step into the common room, but before he could, a small carpet unrolled itself in front of him. Sheepishly, he toed the dirt off his shoes on it and then lightly patted the doorway as acknowledgment.

It would do no good to track muck into the house, he was the one who’d have to clean it all over again after!

Now properly inside, Patton’s eyes flitted over the room. Maybe he should… check, yes, if everything was in order. His gaze fell to the floor, not a speck of dust showed in the dark wooden boards. Check. All vases were upright and watered. Check. And the shelves and books were as neat as ever… there was nothing he really needed to do, was there? He fidgeted with the edge of his apron for a moment, then gingerly pulled out a chair from the dining table and sat, to calm his nerves.

C’mon Patton, he chastised himself, there’s no need to be so nervous, you spent an entire winter making sure of that!

That was right, being completely and utterly stuck inside the house during a whole season gave you quite a lot of free time, and most of it — when not spent crafting or reading the few books he had — Patton used to leave every inch of the manor as pristine and proper as he could. More so her arrival would go smoothly — he’d hate to start spring off on the wrong foot! Besides, it did help distract him, especially from that dreadful freezing weather, no mind the snowstorms.

Patton shifted in his seat. Maybe he shouldn’t speak so ill of winter. It was cold, yes, but he was lucky enough to have a good fireplace, and the snow never crept inside the house, even in the heaviest storms! His clothes were far too thin for him to leave the manor, but he could see, from the window, the snowflakes and how delicately they framed the hills in white.

…Patton was alone in the manor, during the winter. And, for a month or two, he felt like he could breathe again. The floorboards could creak under his feet and he wouldn’t worry a bit, and he could hog the heavy blankets, put honey on his milk, sing a wordless little tune without any criticism. He could even visit the garden on warmer nights, and just sit there, moonlight on his hair.

But, when he spoke, his words would echo back at him from empty halls. And when he lay down to sleep in his cot, he wondered if that was all there would be for him. No one came to pull him out of the darkness with demanding hands, and he should be grateful for that, but the warmth behind them left a want in his heart that Patton could not understand.

He had been born in the wintertime, and a small part of him sometimes worried about what that could mean. But that was only the way of the fae getting to his head, Patton supposed, a thing like that wouldn’t matter to a human. His mom had always declared it a wonderful season, as she bundled him up in coats. Maybe she had been right, but for the past 7 years, it had been nothing but maddeningly, achingly lonely for him.

He wished she were there to argue for it.

Rustling from the doorway tore Patton away from his thoughts; a creak of the door’s hinges broke through the manor’s still silence. A delighted croon soon followed and his fingers curled tighter around the chair’s armrest. He quickly stood, straightening the folds in his apron.

The Faerie walked in with her chin held high. Small sprouts bloomed behind her steps as she strolled into the room. Her dress flowed with her movements — green fabric folded and pinned in place by brooches and belts, a style of gown Patton had only seen on her, older than he could pinpoint. She looked over the manor with a bored expression; in her gaze was the sense that she’d seen many, many things before, and you wouldn’t impress her.

But then her eyes fell on Patton and widened with a spark. The Faerie pulled back her cloak to reveal her long, golden hair, while a grin split across her face, as sharp as her features. He held back a flinch.

“Oh, there you are, dear,” she cooed, swiftly moving to cup Patton’s chin and lightly squeeze his cheeks with her fingers. She turned his head this way and that, then dropped her hand, instead taking his arm and leading him into a spin. He nearly tripped. “You have grown, have you not? You were tinier before, I’m sure.”

Patton hadn’t grown an inch since he was 16. A chuckle fell from his lips, strained, as she pulled him closer. The Faerie didn’t say anything else as she stared at him, eyes gleaming with interest as if he were a shiny new thing. She dragged a finger over the shell of his ear, perfectly rounded, unlike hers. Patton almost shuddered.

She always acted like this after she overwintered, like the little human in her house was the most novel thing she’d ever seen. No use fighting it, really; he’d lose her interest in a month or two. She trailed her hand back to his face and her thumb skimmed over his cheekbone. Patton’s eyes fell shut as he pressed closer to the warmth of her palm.

Finally, she let go. Stepping back from him, her gaze flitted through every corner of the room. He swallowed, wringing his hands.

“You have done an adequate job tending to the manor,” The Faerie nodded, “Though, I notice the fireplace has yet to be cleaned…”

In a second, panic swelled in his chest. “I’m sorry, miss, I-”

She shushed him, smiling as if she enjoyed seeing him fumble. Patton clicked his mouth shut.

“It is quite alright, dear, you’ll get to it soon enough, won’t you?”

He cast his eyes down as he nodded, silent. A hand tapped his shoulder.

“But first, won’t you fetch me a cup of tea? The Spring Equinox Festival has left me just completely exhausted.”

You’ve slept for an entire season, Patton thought, a little spitefully, but squeaked out a meek “Yes, miss,” and made his way to the kitchen. He made her tea — a floral blend, as usual — and wondered, when had it become second nature to just slot back into this routine.

He carefully balanced the tea tray as he shuffled back into the common room. The Faerie waited for Patton in her armchair. Hands folded over her lap, she sat perfectly poised, her feet crossed at the ankles. After he poured her a cup, she took it from him with little acknowledgment.

She sipped from it slowly. Patton stood off to the side. He hadn’t been dismissed yet. Minutes dragged and he began to tap his foot.

After finishing her tea, The Faerie swirled her teacup around, eyes trained on the dried flowers left at the bottom. “I foresee a change coming soon to the kingdom, don’t you?”

Patton held back a sigh. “I don’t know of these things, miss.”

“Of course you don't, dear,” she chuckled, shaking her head in that way of hers that never failed to make him feel so terribly small. “Oh, but I do so hope I'm right. The gentry have become so… incompetent.”

Taking the teacup from her, Patton hummed and set the tray aside on the accent table. He prepared himself for the incoming rant.

“Of course, I don’t know what I expected of the princelet’s little celebration. I’ve tried to play their games and acquiesce to their formalities, and where has it gotten me? Nowhere: dreadfully forgotten as always. I cannot believe the control those fools have over the kingdom, they know nothing of the strength of the courts and nothing of power.”

“You could always try to reason with them come next revel,” Patton suggested, keeping his voice light. He didn’t know what he thought he’d get out of it. Most of their “conversations” were firmly one-sided.

The Faerie laughed, not even deeming him with an answer, as if his suggestion had been nothing short of ridiculous. Patton’s ears burned and he looked away. He really shouldn’t let that get to him, and yet.

Her laughter was cut off abruptly, and her gaze narrowed on the table. She leaned down to look under it and, before she could see it or catch it, a little mouse scurried past the leg of the table. Patton’s eyes widened, and almost on instinct, he snatched the poor creature off the floor and dropped it into his pouch.

The Faerie lifted her head, staring at him. “There was a pest here.”

Patton gulped, shoulders tensing. He smiled the best he could. “I must’ve missed it, miss.”

The little mouse squirmed in his pouch, no doubt unhappy with its situation — but in all honesty, Patton had just saved it. The Faerie kept the household under her strict control, and you had better believe that extended to the critters that occasionally found their way in. She hated them. Patton petted his pouch gently, as that’d comfort it.

The Faerie kept him pinned by eye contact for a few more seconds, then her lips curled in a smile as soft as it was unnerving. 

“Won’t you come here, dear?” she said, words dipped in honey.

Patton shuffled towards the edge of the seat. She waved him closer, then took the strap of his apron with her fingers. She ran her thumb over the worn-down cloth.

“Your clothes are all run ragged,” she said, “I’ve brought you some fabric. Yellow, your favorite, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t.

“You’ll have to mend them, of course,” she cooed, reaching out to cup his cheek. “But that won’t be a problem, will it? You’re no master, but you are remarkably talented for a little human. You’ve picked up sewing faster than most saplings would.”

Her hand trailed down to his neck, nails skimming over the skin there. Patton nearly shivered. “In fact, I’ve found some of your thread and half-finished pieces. You’ve been doing embroidery, no?” She leaned closer, close enough to whisper into his ear. There was a chilling calmness in her voice that raised the hair on Patton’s arms. “I’ve never taught you that.”

“M-miss, I-”

She chuckled and it echoed hollow around them. “It’s quite alright, I imagine you must’ve picked it up from a book in my study, isn’t that so?”

Patton nodded, thankful for the out, but confused as to why she’d give him that. Her long nails pressed more firmly against the nape of his neck. “Why, you’d never hide something of the sort from me, would you? Otherwise—”

Her eyes narrowed. The mouse squirmed again in the pouch. Patton felt it against his hip. His throat was dry. He didn’t need the reminder, that he was just as trapped as it was.

“—I’d be very cross indeed, Patton.”

His chest ached as soon his name slipped from her lips, like a string tied taut around his heart had just been pulled. He curled his arms around himself with a near whine, chancing a glance at her.

The Faerie gave him a smile, one that might’ve been perfectly pleasant on anyone else. She moved her hand to his hair, running her fingers through the messy locks until she reached the back of his head, where it had been bluntly clipped by dull scissors.

“You’ve cut your hair again,” she murmured, disappointed. “Why don’t you grow it out?”

Patton let out a shaky breath before answering. “It gets in the way, miss—”

“You should let it grow,” she twisted a strand around, continuing. “It is truly novel that time alone could dictate your appearance. It is incredibly remarkable, incredibly human, that change comes after you, wanted or not.”

She then patted the top of Patton’s head, and he nearly followed the touch. The ache in his chest faded, the strings loose but not untied. The Faerie stood from her armchair.

“No matter, I will leave you to your work. The garden needs tending to, it is my season after all. I shall see you later, dear.”

Patton watched as she left, then sighed. He picked up his broom, set aside against the wall. No time to dawdle, he guessed. His fingers tightened around the wooden handle.

The winter hadn’t quite left him after all.

—♡—

Moonlight fell around him and spilled from the open window, bright enough to lighten the room if only a little, and to reflect off the newly-dusted furniture. Patton swiftly untied the knot at the back of his apron, before slipping it off and hanging it over the rickety chair near the fireplace.

He hadn’t had much to do today — well, less than he usually did, at least. He undid his kerchief as well, using it to dab the sweat off his forehead. It didn’t mean he wasn’t tired, though.

From the corner of his eye, a blur of movement passed through the bookshelf followed by loud tip-tapping over wood. Patton dropped his handkerchief over his apron and approached the shelf, leaning over it to inspect. He reached for a book and pushed it aside, blinking when that revealed the little intruder. A tiny mouse, the one from earlier! With the same brown spots and beady black eyes. It cowered away from him, skittering backward, and Patton felt a pang of guilt at that.

“Aw, I’m sorry I grabbed you like that earlier, little guy,” Patton whispered. “But you have to be more careful, you’d be in for a world of trouble if she saw you out and about.”

The mouse’s nose twitched and it slowly walked away from its hiding spot. It butted its head against Patton’s hand and Patton giggled at how cute it was.

But, suddenly, the little critter backed away and ran through the shelf, leaping from it and landing on the chair, making it creak loudly. Patton’s eyes widened and before he could reach for the mouse, it took his handkerchief by its teeth and scurried away.

“Hey!” Patton said, following behind it. He scampered after it through the common room, until it took a sharp turn around the corner. The little mouse squeaked as it stopped just under the stairwell as if it was waiting for Patton.

“You—!” he said, out of breath, as he reached the stairway. He put a hand on his hip. “You gave me quite the run, little guy, please don’t do that again—”

His gaze fell on the spot where the mouse stood. Its paws planted over a small door, almost hidden by the shadows. …A door Patton knew quite well.

“Oh,” he said, straightening up, “You… wanted to bring me here?”

The mouse wiggled its head in an almost nod. Patton bent down, holding his head as he slipped into the space under the stairs. He glanced at the door. It was late, but not so late yet, and normally, he’d wait until it was well into the night, when he was sure he’d be alone. He bit his lip. He really should go to sleep, rest the little he could, but… the day weighed heavy on him, and right then, nothing seemed better than getting to float away in his own little corner for a bit.

“Alright,” Patton sighed as he kneeled down, watching as the mouse jumped up excitedly and chirped. The corner of his lips turned up at the sight. He reached for the small handle, turning the knob, and with only a click, the door opened for him effortlessly. Though he was fairly sure it must’ve been locked before, pins in place and everything, it always opened for him anyway — as it did when he first found it. Murmuring a quick “thank you”, he peered inside.

It was quite dark in the crawlspace — you could barely see a thing, so Patton pulled a little flask out of his pouch. He shook it, once, twice, until the crystal inside it hit the glass hard and began to glow, bathing their surroundings in a soft, bluish light.

With that, the little mouse jumped into the burrow, swerving around the fabric and thread Patton kept there. Most of them he'd worked on himself, stitching them into garments or embroidering them with delicate patterns of silver. Patton watched, amused, as it sniffed at the trinkets and traded goods he'd collected over the years — jewels and coins, glasses and flasks of all shapes and sizes, drops of sunlight glowing in tiny jars, little silver boxes that glinted off the blue light. He even had a few charms lying around that, although he didn’t know how to use them, would be quite valuable to a faerie!

Finally, the critter announced with a squeak that it had found what it looked for. It circled a little wooden chest, before trying to climb it the best it could. Patton giggled.

“You're such a curious little thing, hm?” he said, reaching for the chest. He smoothed his thumb over the lid, tracing a well-worn path over the wood. He smiled and opened the latch.

Inside gleamed a patchwork collection of familiar knickknacks, from unique inventions to beautiful, ornate jewelry– whatever could have fit in a box at the time. His eyes flitted towards the mirror fixed right under the box’s lid and he caught his reflection. His bent wire-framed glasses slipped over the bridge of his nose and cinders from the fireplace smudged over his cheeks.

His hand hovered over the box, fingers curling back into his palm. Ashes — he’d found — stuck to you insistently, in hair, clothes, and skin, so he supposed he couldn't be too precious over it. Still, he hated to dirty something that mattered so much to him. The last things he could remember the human world by. All he had.

He hadn’t known all of them before, though by now, he’d committed them to memory with his touch alone. Those came as one last gift to him, gemstone-trimmed bracelets and necklaces that would’ve fit better around his mom’s neck. But others, oh, he’d never forget them. The tight hugs his dad would give him returning from a weeks-long trip and the way his hands would cup Patton’s little ones and slip a new ingenious gadget into them. How he’d gather Patton into his arms and teach him how to use them, how they worked.

The memory won over Patton’s hesitations and he sifted through the box, pulling out a pocket watch and a compass. So delicately made, even the tiniest details engraved in metal. He wrapped the pocket watch’s chain around his fingers, feeling the weight of it in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. It could be useful, even if it didn’t track the time quite right. He was in Fairyland after all — nothing ever worked quite right.

Patton sighed at the thought and tucked the compass back into its place, over the velveteen fabric that lined the box. He looked at it for a moment longer, then closed the lid. Quite a collection, indeed. He wondered, did his dad know they would bring him such comfort? He packed them for him, before Patton was whisked away. Maybe that was how his dad wished for him to remember his home.

He knew his father had been the one to strike the deal. Maybe far before Patton was born. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let that paint over his memories in grief. Maybe it was naive of him, but that was something he learned to accept he wouldn’t ever understand, and he’d never get the chance to. But he did remember. The tender words that wrapped blankets around his heart on fearful nights, how warm his father’s hands were as he tucked Patton into bed and kissed his forehead, the lessons and games in the garden. That was enough for him.

Slipping his fingers under a loose tile, Patton knocked it away and revealed the tiny teal box stashed right under it. From it, he drew out a silver ring, one he kept as safely hidden as he could. It had no jewels or fancy engravings, but to him, it was the most special ring he’d ever had. He slipped it onto his finger, and another memory followed as the metal slid over his skin. Patton closed his hands over each other, bringing them close to his chest.

He'd been so worried as father packed for another trip, fearful that if he let him go, he would be gone too. His dad had simply kneeled in front of him, a kind smile on his face.

“It’s been difficult for all of us, I know, but I promise I will be right by you, my little bird, just as your mother,” he’d said, as he slipped the ring onto Patton’s hand. It had been much too large, at that time, but he grew into it. “Please, just remember — have courage and be kind, and you’ll get through any challenge.”

Patton couldn’t forget it, it was all that had kept him going — past the darkness and the cold. He’d come to, every morning, and he’d remind himself that if only he could be a little brave and kind, things would turn out okay in the end. Then he’d draw the blinds open to let the first streaks of sunlight fill the attic and he’d face the day with a smile. So, yes, he’d hoard all the good memories, keep them cradled close to his chest where they warmed his heart like red embers in a fireplace. He knew what his father had done. It didn’t matter, not to him.

Something bumped against Patton’s thigh. Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced over to find the little mouse staring up at him, the blue ribbon from the box wrapped around its paws. Patton softened.

“You really are trying to cheer me up…” he chuckled faintly, as he took the ribbon, the fabric a smooth satin over his palm. “That was my mom’s, you know?”

A warm feeling bloomed inside him just at the sight of it. He let the ribbon flow down his fingers. Silver thread embroidered vines and flowers down its length, tiny little robins in branches nested in the hems. It had taken a long time to make, but his mom never seemed to mind. Every stitch, every torn piece of string, brought with it a story, told from her armchair as she so diligently worked on it. Patton would always listen, curled up right next to her.

Tales of magic and fantasy, of valiant princes and dragons. Fairies. He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Oh, he’d loved those the most when he was little, to run barefoot through his garden, wishing he’d walk into a new world where the sun shined different. His mom would come with him, hold his hand and her voice alone could make him believe in it.

It was real, of course. Patton knew that now. He sighed, curling his hand over the ribbon. How ironic, he was stranded in a world mapped out of his dreams, living among mysterious, ethereal creatures, and yet he felt as puny as a tiny mouse. He glanced at his little friend — it seemed focused, playing with a strip of fabric on the ground. He took it and wrapped it around its neck, like a little scarf. The mouse didn’t seem bothered; it nuzzled right against his palm.

“I really ought to name you,” Patton whispered. “… Bernard? No, I don’t like that…”

“Hmm…” He leaned onto his elbow, thinking. “How about… Jackson? Jaq for short?”

Suddenly, the mouse squeaked loudly, jumping up in delight. Patton blinked, then grinned. “Jaq it is!”

Jaq nuzzled against him again and Patton giggled in response. What a strange little mouse! Despite it all, every now and then Patton came across these sort of ordinary little things that were still magical to him. He had to; he couldn’t let himself become afraid of wonder. Because, as it was, he still dreamed as he did many years ago, dreamed of adventure and something more. More than the strings that tied him there. Patton couldn’t keep himself idle in the face of that. So, each and every day, he’d seek out these little things and find the magic for himself — make it if he had to. He’d work and he’d hope, wish with all his heart that things would end up alright, and they would.

Patton wound the ribbon into a little pile and tucked it back in the box, along with the ring. Gently, he lowered it into the floor, covering it with the tile. He put his things back into place, before taking a yellow-patched bag from the back of the crawlspace. He smiled as Jaq skipped out of the burrow, and then he closed the small door, hearing it lock into place with no key.

He’d find his way out, no matter how long it took him.

—♡—

The manor was always at its quietest deep into the night, when his steps would echo down the stairway and there'd be no one there to hear them.

If he timed it right, it made for the perfect opportunity to sneak out, if only for a few hours.

Patton tugged at the piece of thread he’d tied to the lock, then tucked it carefully beside the window frame. It looked near invisible, were you not searching for it, but a little pull at it could let him back in easily. He let the window slide shut, and slinked his way to the ground, feet falling into the grass with only a soft thud. With one hand, he pulled his cloak over his head and then made his way over to the edges of the garden, where they kept the fences and the flowers — not before sneaking one last cautious glance at the manor.

Never hurt to check, Patton thought, though he’d heard The Faerie leave while he feigned sleep.

Ducking under the fence, he slipped into the shadows where the hedges blended with the forest and disappeared into the treeline. Patton pulled the yellow-patched bag closer to his chest, keeping it safe as he swerved through bushes and vines. The trees only grew higher and higher above him the further he got into the woods, hiding him from the stars. Leaves, silver and blue, glittered and danced with the wind from up in the branches like a replacement. He huffed out a laugh when one of them fell right on top of his head, and shook it off.

Almost as if it was second nature, he followed the worn stone paths under his feet, rocks that crumbled with time and weary use, and made his way through the forest. He took a sharp turn near a mushroom-ridden log, then two more turns left, one after the other. If he strained his ears, he could already hear the stream of water that lapped at the river bank.

A sudden, cracking noise made Patton freeze. He stepped back instinctively, only to find it had been just a stick he’d stepped on.

As far as he knew. Patton bit his lip. The night shrouded the way — he could see little more than the light and the dark. Just about anything could be hiding under the forest floor and he’d have no clue… He huddled further into his cloak as he carried on. Small sparks of magic glowed around him, brighter as he neared the heart of the woods, but it still wasn’t quite enough to dissuade his worries. He could always shake on a flask-light to be sure… but the risk of being caught wouldn’t be worth it.

A stray blade of tall grass dragged across his ankle, scraping at his skin in the same way it did the time he had run, and the wind still swept over him with a promise of freedom. Following it once only left him tied in tighter strings. The thought of it made him shiver. Yes, he’d rather try his luck with the dark.

Patton shook his head, taking a turn behind an oak tree and skipping into a new trail, this one made by his own feet. He really needed to get his nerves in order. Winter was over, and he hadn’t been outdoors in so long — he should be happy! He’d taken this path before, it wasn’t dangerous, he couldn’t let silly little worries like that bring his mood down. He nodded, to reassure himself, if anything, and kept on going, ducking under branches until he could peek out the treeline and find the night sky again. Patton allowed himself a small smile. Especially when sights like these awaited him.

Moonlight bounced around the glade, rippling through the water and making the lake’s surface shimmer like stardust. He wandered into the clearing, watching with awe as even the bugs glowed! Fireflies, like shifting constellations, flew circles all over the pond and the trees. He sat down by a rock to wait, taking it all in. The trek here wasn’t all pleasant, no, but it was worth it. Patton pulled his bag into his lap, fidgeting with the strap. And if the time was right, he should arrive soon.

A rustling of leaves drew his gaze towards the trees, from where a dark-cloaked figure stepped out. Now, speak of the devil… Patton stood up quickly to wave the man over. A large-brimmed hat covered his face in shadow, but emerald-green scales shimmered where a sliver of light hit them — from the left side of his temple to the bottom of his jaw. The faerie’s golden serpent’s eye narrowed at Patton, something like amusement, and he sauntered over towards him, fingers clicking against his shepherd’s crook.

“Dee!” Patton called out, grinning wide as he approached.

“My, my, what an enthusiastic greeting,” he drawled, a smirk on his lips. “Why, it’s almost as if you haven’t seen me all season.”

“I haven’t.” Patton chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Now, are you quite sure?” he said, slithering a circle around Patton with the shepherd’s crook. He waved his hand around with a smile, not a drop coy. “See, I was under the impression humans grew as they aged, yet you remain as small as ever. I must be mistaken, surely, how could that much time have passed?”

Patton snorted, crossing his arms. The other knew very well how humans worked, Dee just couldn’t lose an opportunity to tease him. Patton didn’t know how a faerie could say things like that without getting tongue-tied — although the man did have a reputation for twisting words like braided thread, enough to earn him an alias out of it.

“Deceit!”

Dee chuckled in response, raising a single hand in surrender.

“Very well, very well,” he said, leaning over his cane to peer at Patton, with that narrowed-eye look he thought was so mysterious. Patton stifled a laugh, staring back up at him. He was far past being tricked by that impression of aloofness. Anyone who knew Dee well enough knew he was about as soft as cotton candy, no matter how much he’d resent you saying it.

A beat later, Deceit smirked, bringing a hand to his own cheek in a mock-wiping gesture. “You’ve done your moniker justice today, Cinders.”

Patton blinked. Sheepishly, he tried to rub the ashes off his face, with little luck.

“Ah, she had me clean the fireplace again.”

Deceit paused, at that. His smug expression fell into that pinched look he’d always gotten whenever Patton mentioned The Faerie. Patton couldn’t quite place it, even now. Deceit tapped his staff against the ground.

“I see,” he said, softer. He sighed, averting his eyes. “I assume you’ve brought something for me, today?”

He let Dee change the topic and nodded, throwing the yellow patched bag over his shoulder and reaching inside.

“These pieces were inspired by something a little more personal, this time, I hope you don’t mind,” he said casually, handing Deceit a square piece of yellow fabric.

The other took it, inspecting it carefully. He smoothed his thumb over the embroidered thread, shaped into a small bird cradled into the coils of a serpent. Held, not squeezed.

“A snake,” he commented, a smile pulling at his lips. “What a cruel muse.”

Patton smiled back, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t say cruel.”

“Well, I see your craftsmanship improves by the day,” Deceit said, as he folded the patch of cloth and slipped it into his jacket. “You’ve had time to practice, haven’t you?”

“Far too much,” he shook his head, laughing. “I don’t think I’ll ever see a needle the same way again.”

“And your… collection?”

“It’s not ready,” Patton fiddled with the stitching on his sleeve. “Yet,” he added.

Deceit tilted his head. “Wishing for good things this spring?”

“Always.”

“The wild folk at the market will be clamoring over your work,” he gestured to his suit pocket. “If you’ve kept up this quality.”

“I sure hope so!” Patton said, pulling up his bag to show Deceit his newest pieces, the ones he hadn’t made for him. “If all goes well, I’ll be able to get some good trades today.”

Deceit sifted through them, as if analyzing each and every stitch. “Beautiful,” the faerie murmured. “I have no doubt you will. With your skill, you could land an apprenticeship with the best weavers of the courts, if you wished to.”

Silence trailed behind his words, hanging over them both for one heavy moment. Patton looked to the ground. He couldn’t afford to imagine how it would be after this was over. Not until it was over.

“I know,” he finally said, and smiled, strained, as he reached underneath his cloak to unclasp his necklace. “But it’s not something I can have.”

Deceit looked at him, worried and full of sympathy, before he accepted the small citrine pendant into his palm. He knew it too, just as well as Patton did. He closed his hand over the jewel and pressed it to his chest, every bit as resigned.

Then, his eyes began to simmer with a yellow glow, both of them, and spells — words and phrases Patton could not recognize — poured from his lips. When he splayed his hand open again, wisps of lights whirled around the crystal and settled on its surface.

“Dí aimshni,” Dee said, and his words tied their deal as a ribbon around them both. He handed the necklace back to Patton, who felt as the magic sunk into his skin.

“It is done,” he repeated — this phrase, he knew. Deceit nodded, circling around him to walk away, but not before settling a hand on Patton’s shoulder. He leaned in close.

“The glamour should last you until the full moon reaches the sky again,” he whispered. “Change is coming, please be safe, mhi-naistdh.”

When Patton turned back around, Deceit was gone — as the breeze that settled over the clearing. The magic under that name lingered over him as it always did when Dee used it, warm and comforting as a quilted blanket, though he had yet to figure out what it meant.

He padded over to the lake, kneeling down to peek into the water as he fixed the necklace around his throat. Strings of yellow light seeped out of the pendant as it touched his skin, coiling around him. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them back up, the pond greeted him with a shifted reflection. Starry-silver freckles dotted his cheeks where once was soot, gold thread mixed into his messy strands of caramel hair, and when Patton touched the tips of his ears they were pointed, faerie-like. He smiled, pulling down the hood of his cloak as he stood, and sauntered out of the glade.

The forest shone much brighter with each step closer to the market, with the glow of enchantments and the fae who’d gathered for trading and conversation. After this first meeting, the woods were always much easier to navigate, he didn’t have to walk all that far to reach it. It was a small but significant affair, faeries of all kinds huddled over stalls and makeshift tables, sitting on wood stumps as their chatter echoed around the trees. The wild fae — who didn’t live by the gentry’s rules or bothered with the stifling air of revels. The ones who lived as free as the water that coursed through the creek.

Patton greeted a few familiar faces as he walked to his usual spot — and easily, he fell into chit-chat. He knew, of course, that the folk could be as dangerous as a waterfall, but like this, with the glamour, he felt… less nervous. He couldn’t rely on just favor, whether good or bad. And he never looked for trouble, still, but knowing they saw him as one of them when they talked to him, well, it sure made interacting with them much less nerve-wracking!

Patton readied his booth — improvised from a wooden cart and panels he hefted into place, but it served him well. He attended to the customers who’d ordered repairs and stitch jobs first and then began to splay out his pieces on the counter. Fae came and went by his little shop, throughout an hour or two, sometimes just to trade, sometimes staying for a conversation. Then, the market hit a lull in activity, but Patton didn’t mind a bit of a quiet moment.

He leaned onto his elbows and stared up at the sky from under his booth — by this hour, it was a tapestry of silver against black. Though the stars seemed… blurrier than usual. Patton slipped off his glasses and wrinkled his nose when he saw the lenses, smudged all over and foggy. He really ought to clean them more often. Setting the glasses by the counter, he turned to the back of his stall to search for a cloth.

Among his materials, he found an unused patch of fabric inside his sewing pouch that’d work fine for the job. Though, as he took it, he caught a glimpse of the box he hid under the booth — where he kept the trinkets he’d bartered for. Patton blinked. It was already much fuller now than it had been when he first arrived. Coins, jewels, and finery nearly reached the lid!

He kneeled down to touch it, rummaging through its contents, and he smiled. All of it, all of his collection, it had a purpose. Something he’d worked towards for years. He would convince The Faerie to trade his name back. It sounded foolish, he knew, it'd be a hard bargain to drive, and stars above maybe it'd take long, but until then, he’d gather all he could until she had no choice but to accept his offer.

Gently, he closed the box and pushed it further under the counter. At least he hoped she would.

And if things worked out as Patton hoped, that’d be sooner rather than later.

-

Song of the chapter: Echo Of My Shadow by AURORA

AN: janus is referred to as 'deceit' in this fic for fae reasons. no, you have not traveled back in time to 2019 😆

[learnyouabiology]

Fun fact: Wood Frogs Survive Icy Winters via Frog-sicle status

The wood frog, Rana sylvatica, is scientifically referred to as “iconic” (source: Costanzo 2019). 

The reason they are iconic is because they are famously able to freeze into a literal block of ice in the winter, remain frozen all season long, and then thaw out in the spring without any of the expected dying of cold! Incredible!

(you can recognise a wood frog by they lil mask by its eyes! Naturalists call it a raccoon mask, and honestly, 10/10 excellent raccoon disguise, completely indistinguishable)

I’ve known about this for years, because I spent a not-insignificant part of my childhood OBSESSED with frogs, but even 8-year-old me didn’t know that these frogs live north of the arctic circle. 

That’s right! They live in Alaska! Where winter lasts more than seven months.

Wood frogs are actually the only amphibian in North America to live this far north. (there are a few species in Eurasia but THIS ISN’T ABOUT THEM 😉 source: x). 

(I’m not saying Ohio wood frog are wimpy, but I AM calling them “““““delicate”””””. Image from Costanza 2019)

As winter approaches, wood frogs create little furrows in the forest floor, just big enough for them to wedge themselves into, and cover themselves with fallen leaves and other forest detritus (Costanza 2019). They then settle into their little shelter and begin to go through what I assume is a traumatizing experience.

(she loves a good furrow)

The furrow provides a small amount of insulation from the outside air, but even inside their shelter, it can get pretty cold. 

In fact, wood frogs can survive temperatures as low as -16°C (3°F for the people who use the other system). 

Generally, if you are a water-based organism, being exposed to temperatures so far below the freezing point is... bad. And if the water inside of a water-based organism freezes? That is Extra Bad.

Luckily, wood frogs have a foolproof way to stay safe: they are absolutely FULL of sugar and urine. 

(I would have said “piss and vinegar” but the vinegar part is technically untrue 😔)

Specifically, the frog increases the concentration of urea in their body tissues before winter sets in. Urea, which is what urine is made of in humans, is commonly used by amphibians to protect themselves from losing too much water to the environment (Costanza 2019). However, wood frogs take it to the Extreme. 

Additionally, as the frog begins to freeze, the liver begins to break down the glycogen stores that had been built up in advance, releasing high concentrations of glucose (aka sugar) into the bloodstream of the frog, (Costanza 2019).

By changing the properties of the internal fluid, the urea and glucose protect the frog’s cells from being damaged by ice, protecting various internal structures and even helping to regulate their metabolism (Costanza 2019). 

(there’s also some stuff with nitric oxide and membrane adaptation but it’s A Lot and if you’re interested I recommend Constanza 2019. see bottom of post for references!)

(frog: *is flat and frozen*)

While frozen, the frog doesn’t need to eat, or even to breathe, because their metabolism is comes to a near-standstill. Their heart stops beating, and they can survive having up to 70% of it’s body fluids completely frozen (Costanza 2019).

There’s still a little bit of metabolic activity happening, just to keep the frog alive, but this allows the frog to live for months while frozen (nearly) solid until the spring melt comes! 

The frog will generally stay in its little burrow for a few hours as it thaws, presumably processing the trauma of what just happened (also making a few physiological changes to survive the transition from ice cube to frog, I guess), before heading outside to immediately reproduce with the snowmelt.

(a photo of bliss)

This has been fun fact friday!

Hey y’all! As winter turns to spring, I wanted to do a little series of how animals survive cold, snowy winters when they are unable to migrate. Today was a frozen frog, and next I’ll talk about how turtles survive under the ice all winter long!

Stay tuned!

References under the read more

Smithsonian channel (2015) Frogsicles: Frozen but still alive. https://youtu.be/pLPeehsXAr4

Costanzo, J. P. (2019). Overwintering adaptations and extreme freeze tolerance in a subarctic population of the wood frog, Rana sylvatica. Journal of Comparative Physiology B, 189(1), 1-15. doi: 10.1007/s00360-018-1189-7

Kuzmin, S.L & Tessier, D.F. (2013) Amphibians and reptiles. In: Arctic Biodiversity Assessment 2013  http://www.arcticbiodiversity.is/index.php/the-report/chapters/amphibians-and-reptiles

Layne Jr, J. R., & First, M. C. (1991). Resumption of physiological functions in the wood frog (Rana sylvatica) after freezing. American Journal of Physiology-Regulatory, Integrative and Comparative Physiology, 261(1), R134-R137.

[squirrelwrangler]

✨ for Nargothrond?

Thanks to the Tol-in-Gaurhoth series, I have quite a bit more than I normally would. General highlights of the founding:

The dwarves of B&N knew that the cave systems of Nargothrond was ancestrally home to petty-dwarves, but they didn't care or inform the elves that there was still some descendants of exiled traitors and dissidents living in the lower regions, downplaying or removing evidence as they expanded the cave systems and planned the construction (for political purposes the outrage over the slaying of petty-dwarves was useful to establish their rights, but the dwarves of Belegost and Norgrod were perfectly happy to have the petty-dwarves driven out once more and removed as additional rivals). Fierce in-fighting between B/N factions for the glory and economic opportunities of this Menegroth 2.0 - much dwarven glory, reputations, and political wealth as well as physical wealth flowed from the alliance with Menegroth's construction and upkeep, and this was the opportunity for those that missed out on the bidding wars to win.

Nargtohrond was of mostly light stone- limestone primarily- and the river flowed through the lowest level. Water and groundwater management was more important here, so the city had fountains and drainage systems and flooding was the biggest worry. Conversely, Gondolin had a river but it also extensively used cisterns to gather rain and snowmelt to augment the river.

Thankfully none of the Tol-in-Gaurhoth ten were heavily involved in the plumbing. But that Orodreth has to replace too many key positions, not to mention weed out corrupted appoints during C&C's coup, was the start of a slow and gradual systems collapse. The head steward, Edrahil. Heledir the captain of the guards. Their seconds and thirds would would have been the logical promotions - Arodreth, Tacholdir, and Ethirdor and Bân. Influential lords/important families in Aglar and Gadwar. Consael's connections among the followers of C&C meant that his death and the death of his sister's husband was a strong rallying cry to repudiate Curufin and Celegorm and cleave those elves to Orodreth instead. Probably the elf that died in Tol-in-Gaurhoth that caused the least among of rippling ramifications at the time was Fân/Fanawë, because he was only a (talented) foot soldier/ranger whose best friend was the higher-ranking Bân (who had as girlfriend the handmaiden of Melian and was the protege of Angell and Heledir). That changes during the War of Wrath, of course, when his distant maternal Vanyar cousins care, not to mention Dondwen herself.

Then Gwindor's charge wipes out a sizeable chunk of the allies and martial replacements Orodreth had fostered to replace Heledir and others - lords like Galuven in particular hurt. And Faron's ties to the Falathrim.

Back to the city itself: Levels upon levels with gently ramping floors, the stonework intricate and delicate with floral motifs. Thin colonnades, latticework.

In layout and small touches, one would closely figure out that Nargothrond's inspiration was Menegroth and the neighborhoods of Valmar, not Tirion.

The main stables were at the low far end near where the river reemerged.

Ereglas, second son of Eredhon, was the Sindarin lord who lived in the Narog region before Morgoth's invasion, basically the Duke of that region, and unlike his older brother has successfully escaped to Menegroth. He consents to Finrod reclaiming that region and building strongholds there and sends his daughter to help. Eregiel trained with the dwarves (when they visited Menegroth, and only in stone masonry. She's not a second Eöl, not nearly that talented or trusted to visit the dwarven cities, but was trusted as interpreter) and acts as liaison. She and Orodreth work closely together, hit it off, betrothed, married, she's now the lady of Tol Sirion and mother to Finduilas. Wasn't as intentional a political move as Meril's to regain her birthright as duchess of Hithlim.

[mustardpacketpoetry]

The lady in the lake

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

The reflection of your face in the creek that’ll dry in two weeks time is the most honest.

Sweat off the chin, soaking into the fabric on your wrist when you push it up over your face

Whatever sits above the sink in your house

Whatever you look in to see you looking at you looking at it

Looking at you

It’s looking through you

It’s this clear cold piercing thing and it’s stuck there and it isn’t—

It’s not quite right.

It’s too right.

Look down

The water’s running from a waterfall upstream

It’s just deep enough here to where

There you are.

There’s rocks and a riverbed underneath you

You, superimposed over stones smoothed by snowmelt

Your face, framed by the long reeds of grass

A leaf floats from just above your head down diagonal

Spinning around your chin

This is you, looking back at you

The clang of a carabiner chain on a metal water bottle

Hungry gulping and a strangled noise when you swallow

Like your mouth hadn’t tasted something so sweet.

You follow you from where the water pools downstream

To another waterfall.

And here you bubble and churn and overflow

Before being poured out into a lake

A vast expanse that can hold you in it and the trees too.

That will show you the stars above you at night and the sun in the sky.

It will show you everything.

It will show you you seeing everything.

Even when your head turns away towards the trees because you caught their citrus scent

Pine fresh dirt chlorofyl rain.

The you in the lake is still there;

She holds you, cradling your face with gentle ripples as she coos and fawns

She murmurs the breeze through the trees

Jealous of your eyes for searching but knowing your heart and understanding

And there she is.

There you are.

There you both are.

You know her because she’s home.

[eopederson2]

Shrinking Lake Albert, Oregon

Upper photo: 19 October 2022; Lower photo: 18 October 2002

"Every year, tens of thousands of birds flock to Lake Abert as they journey from parts of the Great Basin toward the Pacific flyway, a migration route that extends from Alaska and Canada, through California, to Mexico and South America. The shallow, salty lake in southern Oregon has long functioned like an all-you-can-eat buffet for many of these winged travelers. But the food source has become threatened in recent years.

Under normal circumstances, the lake’s water is too salty for fish. Instead, it supports large quantities of alkali flies and tiny crustaceans called brine shrimp (below), which have long provided a feast for several species of migrating birds. But the past few decades have been anything but normal for Lake Abert. The lake mostly dried up in 2014, 2015, 2021, and 2022 due to water withdrawals and dry weather, which caused the salinity of the lake’s remaining water to spike—becoming, at times, too high even for brine shrimp and flies.In order to improve understanding of why Abert is drying up, a team of researchers led by University of Maryland and NASA research scientist Dorothy Hall analyzed two decades of environmental data collected by the Terra satellite. They found that between 2001 and 2021, fewer days of snow cover and higher surface temperatures led to greater evaporation over Lake Abert. The research was recently published in Earth and Space Science.

“Lake Abert is largely fed by snowmelt emanating from the mountains to the west of the lake,” Hall said. “What we’re seeing in Lake Abert is worrying, and it is consistent with what you'd expect from this region because of climate warming.”

“We haven’t seen Lake Abert so low since the Dust Bowl,” added Ron Larson, a retired biologist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and one of the study’s coauthors. “There has been little or no inflow from the Chewaucan River, at the south end of the lake for the past two years.”

Researchers use a gauge on the eastern shore of the lake to track water levels and calculate the level and volume of the lake, but water levels fell below the lowest level of the gauge in 2019. To fill the gap in recent years, some researchers have relied on Landsatobservations of the lake’s areal extent to provide estimates of the remaining water volume.

The natural-color image at the top of the page (right) was captured by the Operational Land Imager (OLI) on Landsat 8 on October 18, 2022. A Landsat 7 image (left) shows the same area in October 2002, when water levels were at nearly the highest levels they have been during the past two decades.

Most of the water still present in the lake in October 2022 likely seeped down from a cluster of springs at the base of the cliffs that make up Abert Rim, a long fault scarp just east of the lake. As the volume of water stored in the lake declined, the water became saltier and more hospitable to blooms of certain types of salt-loving archaea, bacteria-like microbes that turn the water red. The photograph below, taken by Larson, shows red water in the parched lake on October 10, 2014.

Before the water dropped below the gauge, measurements indicated that the water level had dropped by roughly 15 feet (5 meters). What little water remains is roughly 1 to 2 feet (0.3 to 0.6 meters) deep. Water samples collected by Larson show that starting in 2020, the salinity of the water rose above 250 grams per liter (above 25 percent)—more than 10 times higher than salinities in the early 2000s. Brine shrimp and alkali flies in Lake Abert prefer salinities of 30 to 80 grams per liter and struggle to survive once salinity surpasses 200 grams per liter, according to Larson.

Without enough food in the lake, some species of birds are staying away. Ecological datacollected by volunteers for the East Cascades Audubon Society indicate that the number of birds visiting dropped by more than tenfold, from more than 250,000 per year a decade ago to 11,000 in 2021—the lowest number recorded in decades.

Among the birds seeing the biggest drop-offs are phalaropes. More than 100,000 Wilson’s phalaropes have come to the lake during past years, where they were known for a unique type of foraging that involved spinning on open water to stir up brine shrimp.

Since 2020, very few phalaropes have been seen at Lake Abert. Eared grebes, another species that requires relatively deep water to forage, have completely stopped coming as well. American avocets and willets, birds that can forage effectively in very shallow water, have shown more resilience and continue to arrive in some numbers. The photograph above shows a group of American avocets foraging in lake mudflats on November 13, 2020, when they were numerous.

Environmental data indicates that temperatures have risen, and less snow is falling in this part of Oregon, likely due to climate change. But water diversions are the key reason that the lake is drying up, according to research conducted by Johnnie Moore, an emeritus geoscience professor at the University of Montana. “Without water withdrawals, the lake would have maintained annual mean salinities mostly within the optimal range of brine shrimp and alkali fly growth,” said Moore.

Recent data from NASA’s OpenET project indicates that irrigated crops near the lake likely consume a large portion of the incoming water from the Chewaucan basin, according to a December 2022 analysis conducted by the Oregon Lakes Association. “We know the pressures on this lake are probably only going to get more intense in the coming years and decades,” said Moore. “The key thing is that we develop better management tools to ensure that this ecosystem continues to exist.”

NASA Earth Observatory images by Lauren Dauphin, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. All photographs by Ron Larson. Story by Adam Voiland.

n.b. The original article includes several photos not reproduced here. The original article is linked above. Here is one of my photos of the shallow, saline lake taken in 2020, and here is a second one.

[ofglories]

“ reminds me of you ” + ridervere and althur!

|| What reminds my muse of yours ; from ages ago-

Oh, how to answer such a thing.

The dragon hummed softly, brushing his hand through the Rider's hair to marvel at the softness. And the simple sensation of once again being able to actually physically touch the one person who was his most beloved.

"...Moonlight, ephemeral and fleeting silver. Always silent but beautiful, shining in the darkest of nights no matter how small the amount." Slowly Arthur reached out, pulling Bedivere close in a tight embrace with ease. "Green stones the same shade of moss on the mountain streams. Soothing to behold for their rarity. And storm clouds promising a deluge after weeks of dry heat in summer. Though none of these truly compare to your beauty, fy lleuad."

Nothing could truly compare, after all.

A small huff before the fallen King continued, nuzzling against his beloved's neck. "Petrichor and bluebells, with the smell of the evergreens of the mountains mixed in. Salt air no matter how far we may be from the sea. ...Blood, such as what's spilled on a field of mud and slaughter. The scent of grief." If his next inhale was somewhat wet sounding, then that was between Arthur and Bedivere only.

Right, the next parts.

"...I touch silk threads and they bring only thoughts of you to my mind, for your hair is far softer and finer. The way it felt when the sun broke through my magicked night for the first time in too many years for me to recall, that blinding warmth. Your hands are like that."

Arthur sighed softly, squeezing Bedivere's middle tightly to hear his heart beat clearly. "The sweet sound of birdsong in spring, the babbling of the brooks as they flowed full of snowmelt. The roaring echo of stones falling far in the mountains, and the howl of wolves. Your voice is in all of these, and they are in your voice. So powerful and lovely, soothing me to sleep and commanding my attention."

Head raised now, he pushed Rider down onto the sofa so he could straddle his waist. Eyes of pale, draconic gold met eyes like the finest green jewels for a moment, before Arthur smiled ever so slightly and pressed a long kiss to the other man's lips. One that was topped with a small nip, just sharp enough to draw a small sound from his love.

Just this last sense left to compare, so best to make the most of it.

"The sweetest of fruits, stewed with honey and wine and spices. Mead and ale, swirling together. And..." Humming, Arthur regarded Bedivere for a moment before stealing another kiss. "Mm. My favorite cakes, that you would surprise me with on my birthday."

[showerscreensadelaide-blog]

Glass Repair: Why It's Better To Fix It Sooner Rather Than Later?

The last thing that you want is for your home to be in disrepair. It's important to keep an eye on your house and fix any problems before they get out of hand. This especially applies to window glass repair Adelaide, which can become expensive if not handled quickly enough. Here are some reasons why you should get your window repairs done sooner rather than later:

Save on Repairs

When you need to repair your windows, it's best to do it sooner rather than later. The longer you wait, the more expensive repairs can become.

The reason for this is that fixing a small crack or chip is much cheaper than replacing an entire window.

For example, if your window has developed a small crack in its frame and you want to get it fixed right away so that it doesn't grow bigger and cause other problems with your home's structure or insulation value.

You could hire someone who specializes in repairing windows (called "lass repair") who would come out and fix just this one area of damage using special tools designed specifically for this purpose; Or alternatively--if money isn't really an issue--you could simply buy a new one altogether!

Save on Replacement Costs

Replacement costs are higher than Local glass repair service Adelaide. If you repair your window, it will likely last longer and be more energy efficient than if you replace it. In fact, many people find that their windows have been replaced unnecessarily because the cost of replacement was cheaper than repairing them in the first place.

When deciding whether or not to repair or replace your windows, keep in mind that replacement costs can be more than the value of your window itself! If this happens to be true for you too (and chances are good), then repairing might be worth considering instead of buying new ones altogether.

A Broken Window Can Be Dangerous

Broken glass can be dangerous. It's not just the risk of cuts and scrapes that you need to worry about, but also the possibility of serious injury. If you have children or pets in your home, broken windows are even more dangerous because they may cause an accident.

Broken glass can cause property damage. When a window shatters in your home or business, it can leave behind thousands of tiny pieces that are difficult to clean up on your own--and costly if you hire someone else do do it for you! Broken windows also make it easier for rainwater or snowmelt to get inside your building which could lead to mold growth and other problems with moisture buildup over time (not only does this cost money but also makes people sick).

Broken glass increases fire risks since flames tend travel faster across smooth surfaces like windows rather than rough ones like brick walls; therefore if there's already an open flame nearby then this could ignite said flames much quicker than usual which would result in more damage being done overall since there won't be any time spent trying put them out before they spread further away from their original location

Conclusion

So, if you have noticed any cracks or scratches in your glass, get it repaired as soon as possible with the right glass repair Adelaide experts. This will not only make sure that the damage does not get worse but also save you money in the long run by preventing further damage from occurring.

Source:-https://qglassglazing.blogspot.com/2023/04/glass-repair-why-its-better-to-fix-it.html

[drflood]

Flooding? Get relief from our team of experts quickly!

There’s a lot of water going on in the world, and we want to help as much as possible. That’s why we offer our team of experts immediate relief when it comes to floods. We’re here to help—and we quickly! Our team is swift and efficient, so you can rest assured that you won’t have to wait long for our help.

What is Flooding.

Flooding is a natural phenomenon that can happen when water flows in excessive amounts. Most floods are caused by rains, but they can also occur from thunderstorms or snowmelt. Flooding can cause damage to homes, businesses, and infrastructure.

What are the Causes of Flooding.

There are many reasons why flooding may occur, including: heavy rains; low-lying areas that are exposed to water; rapid changes in river levels; and Erratic weather patterns. Some of the most common causes of flooding include:

- Heavy rains can create rivers that overflow their banks and inundate neighborhoods

- Low-lying areas that are exposed to water can be affected by floods if there is insufficient rainfall elsewhere

- Rapid changes in river levels can cause rivers to overflow their banks and inundate neighborhoods

- Erratic weather patterns can lead to flash flooding, which is when waters flow quickly from one place to another

How to Get Relief from Flooding.

If you live in a flooded area, the best thing to do is to call a flood control center. There, you will be able to get information on how to get relief from the flooding. Some of the most common ways to get help are through text messages or phone calls, as well as online chats.

Send a Letter to Your Family and Friends.

Many people try to send letters directly to their family and friends, but this can be difficult because often times everyone has different Ideas about what should be sent. In some cases, it may make more sense to instead post a message on social media or email, letting your loved ones know that everything is going according to plan and they should not worry too much about your safety.

Make a Donation to a Flooding Relief Organization.

Another option is to donate money towards an organization that focuses on helping people affected by floods. Many organizations offer financial assistance in order for people affected by floods and other natural disasters to rebuild their lives quickly and efficiently. donation websites like Givealittle or Crowdrise allow you to donate money in various denominations and colors, so you can find the right organization for your needs!

Check the Status of Your home.

If it’s been raining for awhile and your home is still standing, it may be safe enough for you notto check its status yet- however, if there is any sign of water seeping inside or if there are any potential risks associated with flooding (e.g., broken windows or doors), then you should call out for help immediately!

Tips for Surviving a Flooding.

As floodwaters recede, it’s important to stay safe and silent. When living in a flooded area, be sure to:

Stay aware of your surroundings and take precautions against possible flooding.

Clean up any debris before returning home.

Store food and water in a safe placeFollow the evacuation instructions

Conclusion

If you are living in a flooded area, it is important to stay safe and clean up any debris before returning to your home. You can also follow the evacuation instructions. In the event of a flooding emergency, you can call a flood hotline or send a letter to your family and friends. If you need help getting relief, make sure to call one of the organizations mentioned in the section below. Additionally, be sure to check the status of your home and take appropriate precautions when returning home.

[akinosakiya]

6 Common Mistakes to Avoid When Cleaning Your Windows

Introduction

Cleaning your windows is one of the easiest and quickest things you can do to improve the look of your home. But if you don't know what you're doing, cleaning windows can be a messy and frustrating experience. Here are six common mistakes to avoid when cleaning your windows:

The first rule of cleaning windows is to avoid streaks!

To do this, you must use a squeegee in the correct direction and with the right pressure. You can't just wipe your window with any old rag or towel; you have to use a squeegee. A good way to tell if your window is clean is by looking at your reflection; if it's not clear enough, then go back and try again! If you've got water on your window, it means there are still smudges on it that need more attention—so keep going until everything looks great. Also, make sure that wherever you start with the squeegee goes in an upward motion (in other words don't start from the bottom-left and move up).

Not using the right cleaner

When cleaning your windows, you'll want to avoid using a scrubbing pad or abrasive cleaner. This can scratch the surface of the window, causing it to lose its shine and become dull.

You should also avoid using ammonia-based cleaners on your glass surfaces; this type of chemical is too harsh and will damage your windows over time.

If possible, try using a spray bottle instead of a cloth when you clean yourindows; this will prevent streaks from forming as you wipe down each pane of glass.

Make sure that it's cloudy outside before starting work on any outdoor windows—it's important for rainwater or snowmelt to be able to run off without leaving watermarks behind on the glass itself!

Using the wrong type of cloth

The type of cloth you use to clean your windows is extremely important. The wrong type of cloth can leave streaks and lint on your glass, which may require you to start over. To ensure the best possible results, choose a microfiber cloth. Microfiber is designed specifically for cleaning windows because it has tiny fibers that lift dirt from the glass without leaving any residue behind. You can also use a lint-free cloth, but these tend to be less effective at removing dirt than microfibers are.

Another option is to use an absorbent rag for your window cleaning project instead of traditional paper towels or rags; these will absorb water from the glass as you wipe it down so that no residue remains when you're done cleaning! A soft cotton rag will also work well (just make sure not too much pressure on fragile surfaces).

Using too much cleaner

When you clean your windows, it's essential to use the right amount of cleaner. Using too much will leave streaks and spots on the glass and can even damage the window itself, particularly if you're using a harder spray or brush.

To avoid this problem:

Use only enough solutions to make sure that all of the dirt comes off without leaving any behind. If there are still some marks left after wiping with a cloth, try soaking up more of the solution with another cloth before scrubbing again.

Don't wait for one area to dry before moving on to another; this makes it hard for you to tell if any streaks have formed or not until later in the process when they're more noticeable.

Not cleaning in the right direction

When cleaning your windows, it is important to remember that the least clean area of your window will appear as the first section. Therefore, don’t start at the bottom and go up; instead, start at the top and work down. If you begin on a dirty spot and then move on to a clean area, this will result in streaks being left behind.

The same goes for cleaning horizontally: always clean in small sections from left to right or vice versa. This way you won’t miss any spots!

Finally, remember to clean each corner of each pane thoroughly so no dirt or grime is left behind._

Not cleaning outside your windows

The first mistake is not cleaning outside your windows. You can't see what is on the outside of your windows, so you need to clean the whole thing.

To clean the outer surface of your window, use paper towels or lint-free cloths wet with a solution of warm water and mild detergent dissolved in a bucket. Use these same materials for cleaning inside windows as well (and don't forget to clean between panes).

Conclusion

That wraps up our list of the most common mistakes people make when cleaning their windows. We hope that by avoiding these pitfalls you’ll be able to save time, money, and effort on an activity that should be easy and enjoyable! Know more about cleaning ways from learnmethods webssite.

[breelandwalker]

Secular Celebrations - Spring Equinox

Next on the calendar is the Vernal Equinox, which marks the beginning of spring and the start of the growing season. In the northern hemisphere, this usually happens right around March 20th to March 22nd, depending on the year, while in the Southern Hemisphere, this occurs around September 20th - 23rd.

This is the time to start shaking off the winter and those cold weather blues. And as someone who is firmly on that Seasonal Affective Disorder train, believe me when I tell you that this is IMPORTANT. So when you think about what you’re going to do for the spring equinox, make sure you include self-care and a continuation of that cleaning kick you hopefully started back around Imbolc. Actually, every holiday observance should include a little bit of both of these things. Not just because they’re important, but because holidays are easy to remember, and even if you don’t always have time to fit these things into your schedule, it might be more feasible to work them into your holiday observances.

If the weather allows it, try cracking a window, even for a few minutes, and get some light and fresh air into your home. Even if it’s still chilly outside, sometimes it helps alleviate that dry, stuffy feeling we all get from being stuck inside with the heat on for months at a time. Open up those shades, let some sun in, turn on a sun lamp or one of those little antidepressant desk lights if you have one. Like the musical says, “Let the sunshine in.”

Or, if you can, get outside for a little while. Hopefully there will be a nice clear day that allows this. Look for signs of spring in your neighborhood - birds, flowers, buds on the trees, maybe some snowmelt if you live in a place that still has snow in late winter. If you have children, this might be a fun spring bingo type activity. The birds will be coming back, so scatter some seeds for them while you’re out and about. And speaking of snowmelt, melted snow and icicles can be used as a base for moonwater. Just make sure you select...er...CLEAN material to work with, and strain the meltwater through some paper towels before you store it for magical use.

You can also note the progress of seasonal changes in your journal or your planner, if you have one. This doesn’t always have a magical application, but it’s important to mental health to be able to track the passage of time through changes in your environment. If you have trouble with Seasonal Affective Disorder, or if you just hate winter, noting when the weather starts warming and the sun comes out and the early bulbs start to come up can be very encouraging.

Getting back to the subject of children’s activities, this is a great time for spring-related crafts, fingerpainting (you are NEVER too old for fingerpainting), and a discussion about why the seasons change and what it means in your household as far as traditions go. Your kids may be seeing their peers going on Easter egg hunts and getting baskets of candy, so if you’d like to do something similar but secular, maybe have a “signs of spring” scavenger hunt. If you want to decorate some eggs, go right ahead! Make some special witchy equinox eggs, why not.

If you want to make a special meal to celebrate the change in seasons, I suggest a breakfast. It’s the beginning of the yearly planting cycle, so why not mark it with the first meal of the day? Appropriate foods include bread, eggs, cheese, cured meats, preserves, sprouts, sweets, and pastries. So bust out that french toast casserole recipe, the good jams, and your best quiche lorraine and go to town!

Once you’ve recovered from the food coma, get cracking on that spring cleaning you started back on Imbolc. There’s always more to do! If you’ve finished decluttering one area, start on another. If you’ve finished one project, pick another one. Keep yourself motivated and moving as much as you can. If you’ve been meaning to start a new self care routine or exercise program, go for it. The world is waking up and coming back to life after a long winter’s nap; you can do the same.

Freshen up your household wards and protections while you’re tidying. This can be as simple as “cleaning with intent,” whereby you banish negativity or bad luck or sickness along with the dirt and grime, or as complex as a full casting to patch whatever needs patching, or anything in between. Get rid of any lingering stale energy from the winter. You’ll know best what needs to be done. It never hurts to have a freshly-cleansed home.

If you’re planning to plant a garden, the Vernal Equinox is a great time to start. Whether you’re buying seeds, filling starter trays, or just sketching out what you want to plant when the ground thaws, get a jump start on your green witchery. Housewares stores should begin stocking seeds around this time, or you can order free catalogs from places like Burpee, Seed Savers, or a local biodiversity co-op to help you plan.

Of course, not all of us have green thumbs. If you’d like a garden but can’t seem to keep your sprouts going, try putting together a succulent patch. These hardy little plants are easy to care for and harder to kill than the mutant offspring of a rabid zombie and the T-1000. (I can personally speak to this - I have two sprouts of aloe that are actively growing in trays that have no dirt or water in them. It’s a little bit freaky.)

For those who are more inclined to crafty activities, you can create a fairy garden with a couple of flowerpots, some moss or lichen, and whimsical miniature decorations like fairy gardens.

You can also bring fresh flowers into your home. Give yourself a bouquet or a potted plant for a splash of color and scent. Swap that wintry pine bunting for early blooms like forsythia, dogwood, pussy willow, and cherry blossoms. Some traditions call for a bonfire in March or April, on which the old bunting will be burned, but obviously, please only do this if you’re using actual pine boughs, not plastic and silk.

And silk flowers ARE valid seasonal decorations for the witchy home, by the by. If you don’t have access to fresh foliage or can’t keep houseplants for whatever reason, go with silk ones. They can stay up for months on your walls or on your altar with just a little dusting, and provide ambience and magical symbolism with comparatively little effort. Plus, you can save them from year to year to be reused. I have a set of seasonal garlands that I hang over my altar that is entirely composed of silk flowers and leaves, and they provide a really nice aesthetic without too much worry about dead flowers or crumbling leaves catching on fire from the candles.

We experienced the promise of spring on Imbolc, and now we see that promise fulfilled at the vernal equinox. Sketch out your goals for the upcoming season. Think about the positive changes you wish to make and how you intend to grow. Meditate on the importance of keeping promises, both to yourself and to others, and on making only those promises you know you can keep.

And remember - you’ll reap what you sow later in the year, so sow ever so carefully.

-from Hex Positive, Ep. 011 - Secular Celebrations (Nov 01, 2020)

Other Posts In This Series:

Imbolc

Spring Equinox

Beltane

Midsummer

Lughnasadh

Autumn Equinox

Samhain

Yule

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

The Hex Positive podcast is a proud member of the Nerd and Tie Podcast Network.😊

[morrigan-sims]

Okay, so Miranda ( @simgerale​ ) posted the AWESOME map she made of Volais and Eden, and that reminded me that I made one for the continent where RTQ takes place!  And then @huhney-butter​ told me to post it, so....  If you want some really rambling Lore, feel free to look under the cut!!

(btw, I did NOT make this myself.  I used Inkarnate to draw it and add the “stamps” and stuff.) (yes, I know Oraine is super-duper blank, I just don’t know much about their geography.)

- Okay, so starting in the west, we have Oryn.  Basically the whole country is surrounded by mountains, except for two places along the border with Anvia, and also the southern edge.   - Those little islands down there are called the Southern Isles, and they are loosely part of Oryn?? It’s kind of complicated.  But they are where Victor Pelle was banished/exiled to after he tried (and failed) to overthrown his older brother, Pierre, the current king. :) - Most of Oryn is covered in trees, except for the moutains where it’s too cold and/or rocky for trees to grow. Oryn also has the coldest climate of the three kingdoms.

- The city with the red star is the capital, Westcliff.  That’s where the castle is, as well as being the largest and wealthiest city in Oryn. - The yellow star is the location of Ironkeep, the northern fortress that serves to protect the mines, and serve as a collection point for the materials extracted from the mines. - This is very important since the vast majority of Oryn’s income comes from exports of their natural resources, as well as metalworking including swords and armor, as well as (rarely) some jewelry.

- In the middle is Anvia, which is where RTQ takes place, and is Fallon’s home. - Anvia has very good climate and soil for farming and grazing animals, so they are mostly self-sufficient in terms of food.  However, that doesn’t leave much room for money-making, so they make more of their money via selling artisan goods such as furniture, textiles, etc.   - However, Anvia is still the least wealthy kingdom on the continent. - The river that runs through Anvia is the center of most of her activity, with most towns and villages being relatively close to the river or one of its tributaries (not pictured). - The river actually starts in the mountains of Oryn as runoff and snowmelt, before making its way down into Anvia.

- The red star is Carisfell, the capital.  It’s home to Anvia’s largest and most central market, as well as many of the most skilled craftspeople. - In an unusual move for royals, the Royal Palace is actually situated a couple of miles outside of Carisfell.  This is not a very defensible position, but the people of Anvia have never been particularly worried about attacks on the capital, since the major target in any war (including the past one with Oryn) would be the farms, which provide both food and income for the whole country. - The yellow marker is where I imagine Duncan’s estate to be, since I headcanon that his little province is one of the very few that borders Oryn without mountains in the way.... 

- To the far East we have the final kingdom, which isn’t really a kingdom.  That is the Orainian Empire.   - I’m gonna be honest, and say that I don’t know much about their geography or anything, but there are some important points! - The city to the south is Villecourt, the capital.  It is the largest port on the continent, and a hub for trade.  It is also (luckily) closer to Oryn’s only sea access. - Oraine makes all of their money via trading.  They have expert shipbuilders and strategic merchants, who know just how much to overcharge someone.  (Capitalism, am I right?) - Since Anvia and Oryn aren’t exactly on speaking terms, Orain serves as a go-between, shipping goods that each country needs (food and textiles to Oryn and timber, weapons and jewelry to Anvia.), for a price. - In addition to an individual merchant’s fees, anyone who has their cargo transported on an Orainian vessel must also pay a steep tax set by the Empress.

(Not really important, but I gave the Orainian capital the name Villecourt as a little bit of a play off of “Vile Court”, because that’s really what it is. The Gilded Palace at the center of the city as well as the court mansions that surround it are lovely, but the further form the Palace you get, the worse and worse the city gets.  And the Empress doesn’t care about the people outside the innermost ring...)

WOW, sorry, that was a LOT!! But this is only a tiny fraction of my Lore, especially on Anvia and Oryn.  So, if anyone has any questions, please ask.  If you read this far, I love you, and I hope I didn’t bore you, ajdksaj.

[riacte]

Hii here's my little drabble for Treebark Week 2022 Day 1: Winter/Spring :DD

Snowmelt

The Red King ponders on what will happen when spring comes. Angst, 475 words

It’s winter when the Red King rises. It goes like this: a kind ruler realizes he can no longer afford to be kind. So he surrenders himself to the chill and wills it to freeze his heart. He stands there, motionless in the blizzard, frost creeping up his graying skin. His fingers go numb, but still his blue lips part to speak. The wind roars, but to him, the only sound that matters is the anguished scream from his Hand.

It’s cold, it’s cold, so cold. Then warm blood gushes down his neck, and the transformation is complete.

It’s cold, but oh-so-warm. A reverent press of lips to knuckles. Bandaging each other’s wounds. These little actions set their blood on fire, powering them through the enduring darkness of winter.

They talk about spring sometimes; green grass and flowering dogwoods and rebirth and life. It’ll be a happy ending. It’ll be a happy ending that they’ll work hard for.

But in order for spring to arrive, winter has to go.

And so the Red King, forged in the depths of the harsh cold, promising vengeance and protection, with frozen blood caking his face, has to go. Spring is for renewal, spring is for hope. Spring is what the man that came before the Red King wanted. The Red King, with his deep voice and cold eyes, was a defensive response to war and terror. He was born of love, loyalty, and yes, also fear. Fear for all those he loved. In spring, one wouldn’t have to worry for their lives. The Red King is only needed in winter. Labeled as a cruel dictator and a merciless slaughterer, the Red King is scorned by those who never knew him. The once-peaceful Kingdom of Dogwarts tainted by a cold mirror of their old monarch.

Most of all, the Red King can never forgive himself for what he did to his precious Hand. He was just an innocent traveller looking to make business- how did he shape him into a murderer? A liege asking their right hand man to kill him- that’s too cruel, isn’t it?

He still remembers- of course he remembers. The pleading voice from his Hand, his eyes wide and horrified. “I don’t know if I can do it, me lord! It goes against everything I swore!”

And even as the Hand tenderly wipes the blood from the King’s eyes, his vision is still clouded by guilt. The Hand doesn’t deserve him. He deserves a life full of wonder and joy and peace. He deserves Ren, not the Red King. The Red King is merely a means to get everyone there. He’s made from winter, embodies winter, claws of steel and ice— he won’t survive the soft kindness of spring. He just won’t.

And so, he tells himself, when spring comes—

He’ll simply, irreversibly, melt away.

[vrishchikawrites]

If you're still taking prompts, how about WWX becoming a god after he dies in the siege? It's hard to slander someone when you have a proof of their benevolence like this. I always loved the concept. He's strong and good enough to ascend, especially since in his last actions he chose to spare those who wronged him and destroy the seal. And now LZ needs to catch up ;)

(we'll need to hand wave some of the genre constants here. apologies!)

It happens in Qinghe. The Nie Clan hosts a Martial Arts conference and Lan Wangji accompanies Lan Xichen even though he's not inclined to. He has just come out of seclusion and socialization is the last thing on his mind.

But his brother insists and Wangji is hesitant to deny. The Unclean Realm is bustling with activity and Wangji feels the strain of it keenly. There's something off in the air.

It isn't until he meets Nie Mingjue that he realizes just what is off.

The man looks furious instead of stern and commanding. Nie Mingjue has always had a temper but Wangji has never seen him quite this unsettled. His eyes seem blood-shot and his expression is almost cruel. There's an odd, dissonant energy around him that alarms Wangji.

Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue seem to be arguing in some fashion, Wangji was too far away to understand their conversation but Nie Mingjue's voice was loud and enraged.

"Da-ge," Nie Huaisang's worried voice catches his attention and he turns to look in his direction. His expression conveys his anxiety for his brother clearly. Nie Huaisang is studying the scene before him with furrowed brows and uncharacteristically shrewd eyes, "Wangji-xiong, what do you think of this?"

At first, Wangji is hesitant to comment. This isn't his concern and he is certain Xichen will help if help is needed.

But something in Nie Huaisang's tone makes him hesitate. He is obviously seeking comfort.

Wangji studies the scene once again, noting with concern that even his brother is looking disturbed by Nie Mingjue's rage, "He is dangerously unstable. Xiongzhang's Song of Clarity isn't working?"

Nie Huaisang purses his lips and shakes his head, "San-ge plays it regularly but it doesn't seem to help." He waves his fan in agitation, "Nothing seems to help."

Wangji has nothing else to say. He's not good with casual conversations or comforting words. It is usually his brother who knows how to say the right thing at the right time.

"I wish Wei-xiong was here." Wangji stills at the soft whisper, "He would know what to do- no one knows Resentful Energy like he did."

Wangji takes a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on the middle distance. "Mentioning him is forbidden." He has kept Wei Ying's name close to his heart, untainted and loved instead of being tossed around and slandered.

His Wei Ying.

"You don't need to pretend to dislike him," Nie Huaisang says, eyes fixed on his brother, "Unlike everyone else, I knew his true self well enough. Almost as well as you did."

Wangji feels a curl of bitter amusement, "I did not know him."

Nie Huaisang waves his fan and remains silent for a long moment before speaking, "Believe me, Wangji-xiong, you were the only one who knew him."

Wangji has no reply.

--

Unfortunately, the situation does escalate beyond their control. Nie Mingjue has clearly lost control and is on the verge of qi deviation. He swings his sword aimlessly. Neither Wangji's guqin nor Xichen's flute do much to help.

Nie Huaisang is screaming, struggling against Jin Guangyao, trying to reach his increasingly volatile brother.

Nothing is helping. Wangji fears he may be forced to watch his brother's closest friend die.

Later, when questioned, he would say his prayer had been instinctive, coming deep from within him. He would say that he hadn't even thought when he spoke those words. That it hadn't even registered when he opened his mouth and said them out loud.

But in that moment, feeling something very close to panic at the sight of Nie Mingjue teetering close to the edge, he breaths out,

"Wei Ying, help."

The air around them stills the moment the last syllable slips past his lips. Nothing moves, no one speaks, the absence of sound was almost deafening.

Wangji feels the hair on his body stand on end the sound of swishing fabric fills the frozen atmosphere. He turns a little to see a swirl of black robes; rich, intricate, moving over the ground like smoke.

There's a fragrance of freshly dug earth and petrichor in the air, refreshing and earthy, but also strange. He's in the Unclean Realm and it hasn't rained in weeks.

Wangji takes a deep breath as the swish of fabric comes closer and then something as shockingly cold as snowmelt sweeps past him.

He already knows what he's about to see when he looks up.

Everything about him is pitch black. His hair is dark as ebony, falling down to the back of his knees. His robes seem to be made of shadows that suck in light. There are intricate lace and gold patterns on the sleeves. They look like talismans but Wangji cannot tell.

"Wei Ying," He calls softly.

Because Wangji knew it was him even before he saw him.

The air unfreezes and everyone comes to life once again, dazed and bewildered. Wangji hears Nie Huaisang draw in a sharp, shocked breath. He is the first to notice Wei Ying but others follow quickly. There are loud exclamations of surprise and many unsheathe their swords.

Wei Ying doesn't react. He lifts his hand, crooks a pale finger, and a mass of dark energy extracts itself from Nie Mingjue.

It is so quick, so unceremonious, that everyone is stunned.

Wei Ying studies it, condenses it into a small ball, and without pause, crushes it in his fist.

Nie Mingjue stumbles to his feet, clutching onto Baxia and staring at Wei Ying with wide eyes, "Wei Wuxian."

"You were destined to die today," Wei Ying says in a calm, dismissive tone, "The Nie Sect was destined to fade into obscurity." His voice is soft but there are layers to it, like a thousand individuals speaking in perfect harmony.

Nothing about Wei Ying is human. His voice is sonorous, entirely intimidating. His skin is as fair as white jade. His silver eyes are as bright as the moon. He looks regal, with an intricate hair piece holding the sweeping mass of ebony hair in place.

"You..." Xichen begins, looking just as hesitant as Wangji feels. Fortunately, his brother regains his composure quickly and bows, "Wei Wuxian, thank you for saving Nie Mingjue."

"I hold dominion over Justice." Wei Ying declares and Wangji carefully tucks his trembling hands behind his back, "Of course, I will answer the wishes of the most righteous man in Cultivation." He taps his chin with a smirk, an echo of a Wei Ying Wangji knows, loves, misses, "My affections for Lan Zhan play a part too, I suppose."

"Justice?" Nie Huaisang asks, "Because you died for a just cause?"

Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder and Wangji meets that enchanting silver gaze with a racing heart.

"Perhaps," Wei Ying says teasingly, "I may be a deity, but even I am subject to the whims of fate."

He speaks as thought dominion over something like justice is an easy feat, like it doesn't imply immeasurable power.

"You were killed-" Nie Mingjue growls out, "For your unjust actions."

"Da-ge!" Xichen warns, glancing at Wei Ying warily.

"Don't remind me," Wei Ying says pleasantly, "For that call for justice still weighs heavy. You will all have to pay your dues, even you, Lan Zhan."

Wangji nods briefly, "I understand."

"Forgive me," Jin Guangyao interrupts, "Surely, you must understand our concern and puzzlement. Wei-gongzi, forgive me, you were-"

"You're not forgiven." Wei Ying tilts his head to the side, "I wonder, Jin Guangyao, if you think I am so easy to charm and deceive." Jin Guangyao stills, going worryingly pale, "You cannot kill me, slander me, manipulate others against me, or force me into a corner. I am Justice." Silver eyes sweep over all of them.

Wei Ying's eyes linger over Jin Guangyao's shaken expression before flickering over Xichen and Nie Mingjue.

"No one may escape me."

There's a sweeping wave of energy and everything freezes again.

Wangji remains stiff and silent as Wei Ying appears suddenly before him, leaning close enough that their breaths to mingle. Those eyes look even more otherworldly now, sparkling with the light of a thousand stars.

"Hanguang-jun," Wei Ying croons, "Don't keep your Wei Ying waiting for too long, hm?"

Wangji clenches his shaking hands, the proximity making his heart ache, "My Wei Ying?" He asks because he still remembers 'get lost' spoken in a hysterical, frenetic voice.

Wei Ying's expression softens a little, "Death gives clarity, my dear Lan Zhan. And ascension gives insight into fate and destiny. Wei Ying," He says and spins around cheekily, taking a few dancing steps away from him, "Wei Ying is always destined to be by Hanguang-jun's side." He winks, "Better hurry up! But not too soon! After our a-Yuan is old enough to stand on his own."

"Wei Ying - wait-"

The air starts moving again.

Wangji swallows and spins around, walking towards the gates of the Unclean Realm.

"Wangji-?"

"I must go ahead, xoingzhang, pray excuse me." He has no patience for Sect politics and formalities.

Wei Ying is waiting.