#reen replies

[legendaryskyscale]

Is Hass some kind of frog? What's up with his eyes? O_O

askjldf that question made me think of Hass being some kind of secret hylek😂

Nah Hass's eyes happened by accident while I was trying to create a kobold character on leap year.

But also

Behold! A frog!

#reen replies #ask #anon ask #Has Seen Things #c: hass

[elderdragonreen]

Saladbowld had kids?? :o

Back when Saladbowld was alive (and a man named Hendrick), he had a lovely wifey and three sons!

Well, one of his sons turned out to be trans, so really he had two sons and a daughter, and that's Jho.

Saladbowld's also the great-great-great grandfather to one of my co-Commanders, Rensai.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #Ro's content #Ro's characters #ask #anon ask #Saladbowld #Jhosung #Rensai #c:saladbowld #c:jhosung #c:rensai #reen replies

[creativebrainrot]

Am curious about Maelgwyn! Here some froot and veggies! 🍅🥕🥑🥔 [@legendaryskyscale]

tyyy for the ask reen!! i love talking about my favorite blorbo i never talk about!!! asdftsatghgsj

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

(In-Universe) Very misunderstood. Maelgwyn is a very grey morals kinda guy. He turned his reputation as "The Desert Beast, a legendary bounty hunter" into a separate persona a long time ago because.... those stories? Certainly.. not entirely, accurate. Maelgwyn's also not exactly an open person, so those misconceptions live on.

🥕 [CARROT] How tough is your OC against certain situations? How weak are they against others?

Maelgwyn specializes in closeup hand-to-hand combat. His gauntlets are specially made for ripping and tearing. That way, if he ever gets disarmed he's not defenseless.

He's good with his bow but it's decidedly not his most deadly fighting style. Being kept at range, especially with magic, and he's at quite the disadvantage.

🥑 [AVOCADO] What will they never back down about, even if it makes them seem bad?

He would do anything to keep the one he's in love with safe. anything. His life / choices haven't lead him to act on this but Gwyn is very capable of ruthless devotion to a single person. (trahearne would prefer He Did Not Do That though)

🥔 [POTATO] What do they have that others see as a flaw, but they don't care about?

Maelgwyn is very stubborn. He just Does Not Like Certain Things or conversational subjects and he will just say "we're done here" and walk away. He's not very inclined to answer acquaintances or strangers with more than one word answers. maybe two if you're lucky! He's more talkative and more inclined to atleast try for people he does know and people he loves.

[ASK GAME]

(@legendaryskyscale)

#thewordboxresponse #SORRYY FOR THE SLOW REPLY ACK #I HAD TO THINK SO HARD ABOUT THIS #and then got alil distracted BUT better late than never1!!!1 #tyy for the ask reen <3 #maelgwyn #oc: maelgwyn (he/any)

[mimisempai]

I love the angel you chose to be

Summary

Crowley overhears a conversation between Aziraphale and Muriel, and realizes that words spoken millennia ago can linger in the mind for a long time, even if the person who spoke them has forgotten them. It's time for him to help his angel forget them.

Notes

We all love Aziraphale Curly and messy blond hair…

Day 2 : Playing with hair

On Ao3

Rating G -  1452 words

Crowley entered the bookstore, coffee and hot chocolate in hand holding a couple of Eccles cakes wrapped by Nina under his arm, but he saw no one. 

He was about to call out when he heard voices that sounded like they were coming from the back of the bookshop. 

He was on his way there when he heard Muriel's voice as they asked, "Aziraphale, I heard Maggie and Nina talking about something, and I was wondering, is it deliberate that the front of the bookshop is the same shade as Crowley's hair?"

Crowley paused, now curious to hear the angel's answer.

Aziraphale coughed and Crowley would have given anything to see his expression at that moment, but he couldn't without revealing his presence and he was eager to hear the angel's answer.

"Well, at first it was just a coincidence, I thought the old-fashioned red and gold gave the place a distinguished look, and then it's true that over time I also liked the idea that looking at it reminded me of his hair."

Muriel said in a slightly teasing voice, "I've seen you with your hand in Crowley's hair often enough to know that you like his hair, you know."

Crowley stifled a small gasp, thinking that Aziraphale probably had the same blush on his cheeks as he did. That nosy little bee!

"Well... you see this hair, it's kind of special, you know. It's not really red, it's an infinite shade of red. In the evening, his red hair takes on the softest sheen, and in the starlight, the red becomes intense, like the reddest of Burgundy wines, but my favorite shade is in the morning, when the rising sun reflects off it and gives it an incandescent glow."

Okay, no doubt Crowley's cheeks were now as scarlet as his hair.

"I see, I see," Muriel replied, "but how would you describe your own hair?"

Aziraphale immediately replied, "Light blonde. There's nothing special about it."

Muriel asked in a genuinely curious tone, "Do you think Crowley has the same fascination with your hair as you do with his?"

Crowley didn't like the angel's dismissive chuckle at all before replying, "Not at all. You know, I think Crowley even finds my curls funny."

"Oh, how do you know?"

Aziraphale replied, "I have known for thousands of years. Right after we saved Job's children."

Aziraphale turned to the demon and said, "I'm ready to go. 

Crawley looked at him in surprise and asked, "Go where?"

"To Hell."

The demon immediately replied, "I'm not taking you to Hell, Angel."

"Why not?"

"Well, I don't think you'd like it." 

Aziraphale protested, "But you have to. I'm like you now. A demon." 

Crawley began to smile and said in a distinctly mocking tone, "Sorry. You think you're a demon? With your curly little... and your neat white..."

The angel finished his story, "You see, Muriel, I don't think he sees anything fascinating in my curly little... I don't know what he would have called it, but given his sneering expression, it wouldn't have been very flattering."

He heard the angel clap his hands as he continued, "Come on Muriel, let's finish putting away these new books and then we've earned a little break. I think Crowley even went to get us some snacks."

Despite the angel's attempt to sound enthusiastic, Crowley knew him well enough to detect the small nuance of despondency beneath the cheerful tone.

He hadn't meant any harm at the time, of course, but knowing Aziraphale as he did now, knowing the damage Heaven had done to his self-esteem, those words had naturally left a mark on Aziraphale.

His dear angel, always so insecure when it came to himself.

The demon tiptoed back, careful not to be noticed, and silently left the shop before reentering, this time with a bang.

"Aziraphale! Muriel! I'm home! It's break time for those who pretend to work."

The two angels appeared from behind the shelves, and Crowley chuckled as they both snapped at him, offended by his earlier statement.

As he handed out drinks and cakes, Aziraphale stepped up to the window, just under a ray of sunlight that illuminated him, forming a halo around his head.

Crowley smiled softly.

His hair funny?

Nonsense. 

Crowley was going to show him.

********

A little later in the evening, they were both sitting on the sofa, one against the other. Aziraphale was reading aloud and Crowley commented from time to time.

Suddenly, Aziraphale stopped reading and asked him softly, "Crowley, my dear, won't you lie down and put your head in my lap?"

Crowley smiled softly, secretly glad to have the opportunity he had been looking for, then shook his head, "No, Angel, tonight I'd like to change."

Aziaphale turned his head to him and asked, confused, "Change what?" 

Crowley took the book from his hands and placed it beside him, then patted his own lap and said softly, "Tonight, you're the one who's going to lie down and put your head on my lap."

He put his arm around the shoulders of Aziraphale, who still looked a little confused, and pulled him close to lie down.

The angel relented, but Crowley could tell by the look on his face that he didn't quite understand. He could understand, after all, it was the first time they'd reversed positions like this.

When he was sure the Angel was settled, he bent down and planted a light kiss on his temple before whispering in his ear, "Angel, I overheard your conversation with Muriel about my hair and especially yours. I can't let you continue to think that I find your hair ridiculous or funny or whatever silly idea my clumsy words might have put into your head."

The demon straightened, placed his hands on the angel's hair, and stroked it gently.

"When I spoke of your hair that day, it was because it had nothing in common with the hair of someone you'd think belonged in hell. Granted, you wouldn't fit in. But there's nothing ridiculous about those blond curls, Angel."

He buried his fingers a little deeper in the light curls and continued, "If you only knew how many times I've imagined running my hands through this hair. Long before I had the right, like now. I was dying to know if it was as soft as it looked."

The demon buried his fingers a little deeper into the angel's hair, smiling with satisfaction as he felt the angel lean his head into his fingers.

He continued, "You know, your hair is so you. Comfortable, soft, a little messy, but still well cared for. I love it, Angel. And never once have I found it ridiculous. Never once have I found anything about you ridiculous."

He grabbed his chin and turned his head up to look him in the eye before continuing, "It's like your waistcoat, your bow tie, your bookshop, how shall I put it...they have that mix of neat and messy. Your waistcoat is hanging by a thread, but you cherish it more than anything, and it fits you perfectly. Your bow tie, always well done, but often a little crooked.

Your place, let's not talk about the mess it is, but I wouldn't have it any other way because it is you. This is how you have chosen to be. Since the day you gave up your sword out of compassion. That's the angel I love. Not the perfect angel, immaculate, well-groomed, not a wrinkle out of place. Because all this proves to me that you're no longer attached to heaven, but to this world. Because you've chosen it. All this is Aziraphale. Right down to the messy light curls, and I wouldn't have it any other way." 

He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips first to the angel's forehead, then to his lips in a tender and lingering kiss.

Then, as he straightened up, he whispered in his ear, "But still, your waistcoat..."

Aziraphale exclaimed, "Hey, don't you dare, I've had it since..."

He stopped because Crowley had just begun to laugh.

Assuming an air of dignity, he tugged at the flaps of his vest and smoothed them over his waist, saying, "It's a fine vest. I don't see anything wrong with it."

Crowley gently ran a hand through his hair and replied, "Yeah, there's absolutely nothing wrong with this vest. It's perfect in my eyes. As is the Angel who wears it."

He pressed his lips to the angel's again and gave him another kiss that went on and on.

In the eyes of heaven and hell, neither of them was perfect, but that didn't matter because they were perfect for each other.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

#good omens #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #GOS2Spoilers #flufftober #flufftober 2023

[kocherry]

Blume-ing Relationship

Cyno x GN!Reader

Cyno is really becoming my favorite character so far in the Windblume Festival so I wrote this ♡ Also this is Gender-Neutral Reader insert :>

Tags: Fluff, First Meeting, Pre-Established Relationship, Mutual Crush on First Meet, Horrible Puns

< 1.5k words >

The Windblume Festival is a season of giving gifts to your loved ones. May it be platonical, familial, or romantic anyone could receive gifts. You always have something to give for platonical and familial gifts. As for romantic... well you don't really hope to receive or give anyone this year.

Despite that you always held that tradition in giving to your Alchemy colleagues that you consider as your friends now. Speaking of them... Sucrose and Albedo are the ones you haven't given their gifts.

Luckily you spot them both but they camping outside the walls of Mondstadt near Cider Lake. They were all in a circle surrounding a campfire with a lot of travelers. It was bad timing anyway, you could see how they were all interacting like they knew each other for a long time.

As much as you wanted to give your presents, the festival won't end today. So you turn your back and as you were about to head to the city, you step on a branch snapping it in half.

"I noticed you were spying on us, who are you?"

The sudden appearance of a tan skin and medium length grey hair gentleman surprised you. His red-orange eyes pierce through your own as if he's looking at you like some sort of predator ready to pounce on his prey. He wore almost nothing but his jackal ears hood. He is on guard to every movement especially to the small boxes on your hands.

"Wait Cyno, that person is our friend." Sucrose panicked since Cyno's whole demeanor changed.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here? Did you need something?" Albedo asked as he is surprised to have seen you this late in the city.

You didn't face Sucrose and Albedo because you were too busy admiring the features of the man in front of you. He stood a little taller and he is lean. His red orange eyes went from being stern to soft as he realizes his mistake.

"Forgive me I shouldn't have assumed that you were an enemy spying on us." Cyno scratch the back of his hood as he apologizes for his brash actions.

"I-It's okay! Really... I would have done the same and uhm are you from the Akademiya?" You ask because the silver haired man is oddly familiar especially in TCG, many from sumeru used a card of his image. So you wonder if he is the General Mahamatra that they would talk about.

"No. I am Cyno the Adventurer."

Cyno's deadpan tone made you snort, you could tell that he didn't want to be addressed by his official work title.

"Ignore him, he's just on vacation mode. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit (Y/N)?" A gentlemen dressed in dark reen clothes with fox ears greeted you as his eyes narrowing at his companion in annoyance.

"Oh I came to give this to Albedo and Sucrose, I was about to leave when they seem busy but Cyno suddenly appeared." You held out two boxes for the two alchemist who recited their gratitude towards you.

Tighnari, the fox eared man, elbowed Cyno to at least be courteous and invite you to eat.

"Again, I apologize for..." Cyno handed you out a small bowl of what they were eating. "...Soup-rising you like that."

A collective groan could be heard from that pun. Although it made you laugh, which surprises Cyno himself and his companions.

"I don't mind because you're a DandeCyno."

You gave him a thumbs up replying him with a pun that you also thought about. Then Cyno seems to be surprised at the joke you just made. Maybe he didn't get it... "You know like a Dandelion plus Cyno's name. Him suddenly appearing like a wind in front of me!" You explained to make sure everyone got the idea of your pun.

Cyno places a hand over his mouth and lets out a hearty chuckle. There is a small dark blush on his cheeks as he turns to you with a smile. "I'm quite glad to have met someone who shares my sense of humor." He extends his hand and you happily shake it.

"To think someone actually laughed at my flower puns, I think our friendship will definitely blume during the festival." He lets out another pun in his deadpan tone which made it funnier to hear.

"I cecilia hope it would." You reply with a pun as well while winking at him.

"Oh no there's two of them..." Tighnari groans as he puts a hand on his temple.

The others well... they just look like they want to be swallowed by the ground. Only Albedo seems amused and crossed his arms raising an eyebrow towards the two of you.

"Are you going home after giving us these?" Albedo asks while holding out his gift. "Perhaps Cyno could accompany you back since it is quite dangerous to go out at night even if it's festive season." In all honesty the Chief Alchemist is amused by all of these and he wants to see where this would go.

Cyno just nodded at Albedo's suggestion, not even hesitating to oppose. Mainly because he seems to have a feeling that you two would get along. "I don't mind escorting you home (Y/N), besides I think I owe you this much for scaring you earlier." His hood covered the top half of his face as he remembers how intensely intimidating he is earlier.

You met the General Mahamatra and not the Adventurer Cyno. So he does want you to see him in a different way.

"Sure! Plus I want to get to know you more Cyno, you seem really fun to be around." In all honesty, you could handle yourself especially with a vision hanging on your belt.

But you don't mind walking in the night with a handsome fella who shares your love for humor.

Tighnari folded his arms and lets out an amused sigh, "I can't believe you set them up Albedo now we both have to endure their bad puns."

Albedo lets out a soft chuckle, "I think they're pretty funny." Most of them disagreed.

So back to the two of you who were walking towards Springvale.

Cyno notices a familiar box in your bagpack. His eyes brighten up at this and his lips quirk up a smile. "Do you play TCG?" He asks while pointing at your card deck that was seen through a small opening of your bag.

"I definitely do! My colleagues often play it during our free time. Do you want to play sometime?" You ask excitedly but then got embarassed since you don't want to ruin his plans especially when he's from Sumeru. "If you're... up to it I don't really want to intrude your vacation in Mondstadt."

"Aside from accompanying my friends here, the other reason is to commission the talented Calx to design my cardback." Cyno does share the excitement of playing TCG with you. "Having to play TCG with a newly found friend is surely enjoyable this season."

You sigh in relief upon hearing that, it looks like the feeling is mutual. "I can hardly wait for our duel Adventurer Cyno." You elbow him at the side gently then notice that you were already in Springvale. "Oh this is my house, thanks for the walk back."

"You're welcome, as much as I wanted to make a pun... I'll just give this."

In his hand there is an unfamiliar flower, not native from Mondstadt. You saw in books once, a Kalpata Lotus, being placed onto your head. Cyno smiles at you softly and takes a step back, "I figured you might like this particular flower back from my home." He definitely will have to say sorry to Tighnari later for stealing this flower.

When he puts the flower in your hair, his face is incredibly close to yours. You remain quite on the outside while your inner voice is already losing its shit. Despite being flustered, you have to give Cyno a gift back.

After all, equivalent of exchange is a rule in alchemy.

"Wait I think it's unfair that I didn't give you anything." You grabbed his hand before he could take a step back.

"You don't really have to—"

You take a step forward tiptoeing to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "See you tomorrow Cyno." You smile brightly and the blush on your cheeks spread throughout your face.

Cyno stare at you dumbfoundedly as you shut the door close. He place a hand on the spot where you kissed him. The beating of his heart began to thump louder as the smile you gave him is imbued into his mind.

A smile crept up his lips as he turns around wondering how to not make a fool of himself tomorrow.

On the other side of the closed door, you were sitting on the floor placing a hand over your chest. You couldn't believe you already kissed Cyno on the cheek when you just met him. Then again... he seems to he smiling when you did that.

The Windblume Festival is a season of giving gifts to your loved ones. May it be platonical, familial, or romantic anyone could receive gifts. You always have something to give for platonical and familial gifts. As for romantic... you hope Cyno would be the one to happily accept it someday.

#cyno #cyno x reader #cyno x gn reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #anyways i just love cyno so much i want to eat him up #love at first puns lmaoooo

[averwonders]

" Once there was a flood in the forest. A frog was resting on the river bank. A scorpion stuck in the floods requested the Frog, "Please help me cross the river!" Thee frog asked, "What if you sting me?" The Scorpion replied, "Silly, if I sting you then we will both drown. Why would I kill myself? The Frog believed the Scorpion and let him hop on his back. They began to cross the river but as soon as they reached the middle of the river, the Scorpion stung the frog. The Frog asked, "Why did you do that?" The Scorpion said, "I am a Scorpion, stinging is what I do. It is in my nature." Some men are scorpions, dear. They never change, Badru. "

-Darlings, dir Jasmeet K. Reen (2022)

#ahhh this scene #darlings #2022 #jasmeet k reen #alia bhatt #shefali shah #the frog and the scorpion #metaphor #domestic abuse #toxic relationship #abusive relationship #movies #Bollywood #indian cinema #social issues #social commentaries #films #feminism #cinema #women rights #respect #movies screenshots #screen stills #vijay verma #cycle of abuse #social

[deathsmallcaps]

@boopboopboopbadoop if you’d like to see the rest of them :)

June 2022’s 38th Win A Commission story is Wildwood Dancing, by Juliet Marillier! I’ve adored this story since I was nine, ever since I ‘accidentally’ wandered into the teen section at the library lol. If you’d like to see the first chapter, see the rest of my art, and my notes, please

Wildwood Dancing will take you to another time and indeed another world. For proper pronunciation of names and for details about select Romanian terms, please read this first section. (End of original note by the author)

It is not the full version, as I’ve only included terms that appear in this chapter. Also, to those using screen readers, it is unlikely your readers will pronounce everything as it should be - sorry. There is also a character who speaks without quotation marks or words like ‘said, replied, shouted,’ etc etc. Visually, I’ve made his speech different, but I’m unsure of how to audibly apply this difference without changing the text. If you have any ideas or think it would ultimately be better to post a screen reader friendly option, please let me know.

Also, should I start doing image IDs for my illustrations within the stories? I rarely change a scene described in the story, and I often go into artistic choices within the notes. Is that too inaccessible? Thanks for any feedback! (End of note by me, the following is the pronunciation dictionary for the Romanian terms.)

Braşov A merchant town in central Transylvania. Pronounced Brah-shove

Ciorbǎ Traditional Romanian broth. Pronounced chor-buh

Constanta A trading port on the Black Sea coast. Pronounced Kahn-stahn-tsah

Piscul Dracului Devil’s Peak. Pronounced Pis-kul Drah -koo-looy

Tara Romǎneascǎ A region south of Transylvania, also known as Wallachia. Pronounced Tsah-rah Roh-muh-neeyes-kuh

Taul Ielelor Lake of the Iele. Iele are female spirits who lure folk to their doom. Pronounced Tah-ool YeHeh-lor

Tuicǎ Plum brandy. Pronounce tswee-kuh

Vǎrful cu Negurǎ Storm Heights. Pronounced Vur-fool koo Neh-goo-ruh

Voivode The head of a Transylvanian territory; princeling. Pronounced voh-yeah-vode

Anatolie Ah-nah-toh-yeeah

Bogdana Bohg-dah-nah

Cezar Cheh-zahr

Costi, Costin Koh-tee, Kohs-teen

Dräguta Druh-goo-tsah

Florica Flo-ree-kah

Gogu Goh-goo

Grigori Gree-gohrree

Ileana Eel-leh-ah-nah

Iulia Yoolee-ah

Jena, Jenica Jeh-nah, Jeh-nee-kah (J pronounced like g in mirage)

Marin Mah-reen

Nicolae Nee-koh-lie-eh (lie & sky rhyme)

Paula PowHah

Petru Peh-troo

Salem bin Afazi Sah-lem bin Ah-fah-zee

Sandu Sahn-doo

Stela Stel-ah

Tati, Tatiana Tah-tee, Tah-tee-ahrnah

Teodor The-oh-dor

I’ve heard it said that girls can’t keep secrets. That’s wrong: we’d proved it. We’d kept ours for years and years, ever since we came to live at Piscul Dracului and stumbled on the way into the Other Kingdom. Nobody knew about it—not Father, not our housekeeper, Florica, or her husband, Petru, not Uncle Nicolae or Aunt Bogdana or their son, Cezar. We found the portal when Tati was seven and I was six, and we’d been going out and coming in nearly every month since then: nine whole years of Full Moons. We had plenty of ways to cover our absences, including a bolt on our bedchamber door and the excuse that my sister Paula sometimes walked in her sleep.

I suppose the secret was not completely ours; Gogu knew. But even if frogs could talk, Gogu would never have told. Ever since I’d found him long ago, crouched all by himself in the forest, dazed and hurt, I had known I could trust him more than anyone else in the world.

It was the day of Full Moon. In the bedchamber our gowns and shoes were laid out ready; combs, bags, and hair ornaments were set beside them. Nothing would be touched now, until the household was safely in bed. Fortunately, it was rare for Florica to come up to our room, because it was at the top of a flight of stairs, and stairs made her knees hurt. I did wonder how much Florica knew or guessed. She must have noticed how quiet we always were on the night of Full Moon, and how exhausted we were when we stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. But if she knew, Florica didn’t say a thing.

During the day we kept up our normal activities, trying not to arouse suspicion. Paula helped Florica cook fish ciorbă, while Iulia went out to lend a hand to Petru, who was storing away sacks of grain to last us over the winter. Iulia did not enjoy the hard work of the farm, but at least, she said, it made the time go more quickly. Tati was teaching Stela to read: I had seen the two of them ensconced in a warm corner of the kitchen, making letters in a tray of wet sand.

I sat in the workroom with Father, reconciling a set of orders with a record of payments. I was good with figures and helped him regularly with such tasks. The merchant business in which he was a partner with his cousin, whom we called Uncle Nicolae, kept the two of them much occupied. Gogu sat on the desk, keeping himself to himself, though once or twice I caught his silent voice—the one only I could hear.

You’re upset, Jena.

“Mmm,” I murmured, not wanting to get into a real conversation with him while both Father and his secretary, Gabriel, were in the room. My family didn’t truly believe that I sometimes knew what Gogu was thinking. Even my sisters, who had long ago accepted that this was no ordinary frog, thought that I was deluding myself—putting my own words into the frog’s mouth, perhaps. I knew that was wrong. I’d had Gogu since I was a small girl, and the things he told me definitely didn’t come from my own head.

Don’t be sad. Tonight is Full Moon.

“I can’t help it, Gogu. I’m worried. Now hush, or Father will hear me.”

Father was trying to write a letter. He kept coughing, and in between bouts he struggled to catch his breath. Tomorrow he would be leaving on a journey to the port of Constanţa, in the milder climate of the Black Sea coast. His doctor had told him, sternly, that if he tried to get through another winter at Piscul Dracului in his present ill health, he would be dead before the first buds opened on the oaks. We five sisters would be looking after the place on our own, right through the winter. Of course, Uncle Nicolae would help with the business, and Florica and Petru with the house and farm. It was not so much the extra responsibility that troubled me. Father was away often enough on business and we had coped before, though not for so long. What chilled me was the thought that when we said goodbye in the morning, it might be forever.

At supper we were all quiet. I was thinking about what Father had confided to Tati and me earlier. Up till then, none of us had mentioned the possibility that Father might die of this illness, for to say that aloud would be to put the unthinkable into words. But Father had wanted his eldest daughters to be prepared for whatever might happen. Should he die before any of us girls married and bore a son, he’d explained, both Piscul Dracului and Father’s share of the business would go to Uncle Nicolae, as the closest male relative. We were not to worry. If the worst should occur, Uncle Nicolae would see we were provided for.

Uncle Nicolae’s family home was called Vǎrful cu Negurǎ: Storm Heights. His house was quite grand, set on a hillside and surrounded by birch and pine forest. He ran a prosperous farm and a timber business, as well as the trading ventures that had made him wealthy. When we were little, we had lived in the merchant town of Braşov, and Vǎrful cu Negurǎ had been a place we visited as a special treat. It was hard to say what I had loved best about it: the dark forest, the forbidden lake, or the excitement of playing with our big cousins, who were both boys.

But there was no doubt at all what Father had loved. Next door to Vǎrful cu Negurǎ was Piscul Dracului, Devil’s Peak. Father had first seen the empty, crumbling castle, set on a high spur of rock, when he was only a boy. Our father was an unusual kind of person, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Piscul Dracului he wanted to live there. There’d been nobody to inherit the ruin and the tract of wildwood that went with it; perhaps the many strange tales attached to the place had frightened people away. The owner had died long ago. Florica and Petru had been custodians of the place for years, looking after the empty chambers and eking out a living from the small farm, for they were hardworking, thrifty folk.

Father had waited a long time to achieve his dream. He had worked hard, married, and fathered daughters, bought and sold, scrimped and saved. When he’d set enough silver aside from his merchant ventures, trading in silk carpets and bear skins, spices and fine porcelain, he’d quietly paid a large sum to an influential voivode, gone into partnership with Uncle Nicolae, and moved our family into Piscul Dracului.

I think Mother would have preferred to stay in Braşov, for she feared the tales folk told about the old castle. It looked as if it had grown up out of the forest, with an assortment of bits and pieces sprouting from every corner: tiny turrets, long covered walkways, squat round towers, arches, and flagpoles. The eccentric nobleman who had built it had probably been someone just like Father. People seldom ventured into the forest around Piscul Dracului. There was a lake deep within the wildwood, a place unofficially known as the Deadwash, though its real name was prettier: Tǎul Ielelor, Lake of the Nymphs. Every family had a dark story about the Deadwash. We got ours soon after we moved into the castle. When I was five years old, my cousin Costi—Uncle Nicolae’s eldest son—drowned in Tǎul Ielelor. I was there when it happened. The things folk said about the lake were true.

Before Father became so ill, Tati and I had scarcely given a thought to such weighty matters as what might happen to Piscul Dracului, with no son to inherit our father’s property. My elder sister was a dreamer, and I had a different kind of future in mind for myself: one in which I would work alongside my father, traveling and trading and seeing the world. Marriage and children were secondary in my scheme of things. Now—with Father’s cough ringing in our ears, and his white face regarding us across the supper table—they had become a frightening reality. I remembered Aunt Bogdana saying that sixteen was the ideal age for a young woman to wed. Tati was already in her seventeenth year; I was only one year younger.

Father went off to bed as soon as the meal was over; he’d hardly touched his food. The others disappeared to our bedchamber, but I waited for Florica to bank up the fire in the big stove and for Petru to bolt the front door, and for the two of them to retire to their sleeping quarters. Then it was safe, and I ran up the stairs to our chamber, my worries set aside for now, my heart beating fast with an anticipation that was part joy, part fear. At last it was time.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey.

With five girls, even the biggest bedchamber can get crowded. As Tati fastened the hooks on my gown, I watched Iulia twirling in front of the mirror. She was thirteen now, and developing the kind of curvaceous figure our mother had had. Her gown was of cobalt silk and she had swept her dark curls up into a circlet of ribbon butterflies. We had become clever, over the years, in our use of the leftovers from Father’s shipments. He was good at what he did, but buying Piscul Dracului had eaten up a lot of his funds and, even in partnership with his wealthy cousin, he was still making up for lost ground. I saw the books every day—he had been unable to conceal from me that finances remained very tight. We sisters had to improvise. We made one new dancing gown anytime a cargo contained a little more of a certain fabric than the buyer had requested. I wore Tati’s hand-me-downs; Paula wore mine. Iulia, with her fuller figure, did rather better, because she could not fit into either Tati’s clothes or mine. All the same, she complained; she would have liked a whole wardrobe of finery. Tati was clever with her needle, and adjusted old things of Mother’s to fit her. Mother was gone. We had lost her when our youngest sister was born. Stela was only five—easy to dress.

Paula had finished lighting the lamps. Now she crouched to bank up the fire in our little stove and ensure its door was safely shut. One year Iulia’s junior, Paula was our scholar. While I was good at figures, she shone in all branches of learning. Our village priest, Father Sandu, came up to Piscul Dracului once a month to provide Paula with private tutoring—I shared in the mathematical part of these lessons—and went home with a bottle of Petru’s finest ţuicǎ in his coat pocket. Most folk believed education of that kind was wasted on girls. But Father had never cared what people thought. Follow your heart was one of his favorite sayings.

“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.

“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.

“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”

“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.

I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.

Tati darted across to make sure our door was bolted. Then, by the shifting light of the lanterns, we moved to the most shadowy corner of the chamber: the place where we had once sat playing games by candlelight and made the most astonishing discovery of our lives.

We dragged out the heavy oak chest from against the wall and set our lanterns on it so their light was cast into the little alcove where the chest had been, an indentation that wasn’t even big enough to store a folded blanket in.

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for a dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At the moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been chance or a gift, we had never been sure.

It made no difference that we had done this over and over. The sense of thrilling strangeness had never gone away. Every Full Moon, our bodies tingled with the magic of it. The lamp shone on the blank wall. One by one, we stretched out our hands, and the lantern light threw the silhouettes onto the stones. One by one, we spoke our names in a breathless whisper:

“Tatiana.”

“Jenica.”

“Iulia.”

“Paula.”

“Stela.”

Between the shadows of our outstretched fingers, a five-pointed star appeared. The portal opened. Instead of a shallow alcove, there was a little archway and a flight of stone steps snaking down, down into the depths of the castle. It was dark, shadow-dark.… The first time it ever happened, back when there were only four of us, we had clutched one another’s hands tightly and crept down, trembling with excitement and terror. For the others the fear had dissipated over the years; I could see no trace of misgiving in any of them now, only shining eyes and eager faces.

I was different. The magic drew me despite myself; I passed through the portal because it seemed to me I must. There were eldritch forces all around, and the only thing sure was that the powers of the wildwood were unpredictable. It was curious: from the first I had felt that without me, my sisters would not be safe in the Other Kingdom.

Lanterns in hand, we made our way down the winding stairway, holding up our long skirts as our shadows danced beside us on the ancient stone walls. It was so deep, it was like going to the bottom of a well. Gogu rode on my shoulder down the twists and turns of the stair, until we came to the long, arched passage at the bottom.

“Hurry up!” urged Iulia, who was at the front of the line.

Our slippers whispered on the stone floor as we glided along under the carved extravagance of the roof. Here, there were enough gargoyles and dragons and strange beasts to decorate the grandest building in all Transylvania. They clung to the corners and crept around the pillars and dripped from the arches, watching us with bright, unwavering eyes. Subterranean mosses crawled over their heads and shoulders, softening their angular forms with little capes of green and gray and brown. The first time we saw this Gallery of Beasts, Tati had whispered, “They’re not real, are they?” and I had whispered back, “Just nod your head to them, and keep on walking.” I had sensed, even then, that respect and courtesy could go a long way to keeping a person safe in a place such as this.

As we passed now, I felt something jump onto my shoulder—the one not occupied by Gogu—and cling there, its needle claws pricking my skin through the soft fabric of the green gown. It was doing its best to look like a frog, rolling up its long tail and bulging its eyes, while casting surreptitious glances at Gogu.

The frog tensed. Interloper.

The little creature poked out a forked tongue, hissing.

“Lights out!” ordered Iulia, and we each covered our lanterns in turn. As our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, a pale expanse came into view ahead of us: the mist-wreathed waters of a broad lake, illuminated by the moon. Through the vaporous cloud we could see the bobbing torches of those who were waiting to escort us on the last part of our journey.

“Ooo-oo!” Iulia called in a falling cadence. “Ooo-oo!”

The little boats came, one by one, out of the tendrils of mist—high-prowed and graceful, each shaped in the form of a creature: swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander. In each stood a figure, propelling the craft by means of a slender pole: push and lift, push and lift. The response to Iulia’s call came in five voices, each different, each as uncanny as the others. Our guides were what they were; the only human creatures in this midnight realm were ourselves.

The boats pulled in to the shore. The boatmen stepped out to help us board. The next part, my frog didn’t like. He began to quiver in fright, a rapid trembling that went right through his body. I was used to this; he did it every time. I held him against my breast and, as I climbed into the boat, I murmured, “It’s all right, Gogu, I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.”

Tǎul Ielelor: the Deadwash. This was the place where Costi had drowned. Our mother had warned us about it, over and over: we should never go there, for to do so was to risk harm at the hands of the vengeful fairy folk who had robbed us of our cousin. And yet, since the very first time the portal had opened for us, the realm that lay beyond had shown us warmth and kindness, open arms, and welcoming smiles. I was still cautious; I did not have it in me to trust unconditionally. All the same, it was impossible to believe that the person who had drowned our cousin was one of those greeting us on our nocturnal journeys.

The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm.

Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to Tǎul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends. The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.

It was all too easy to lose track of time in the Other Kingdom—to forget where you were and where you had come from. This might be the familiar forest, the same one in which Petru farmed our smallholding, and Uncle Nicolae harvested pines to sell for timber, and Cousin Cezar went out hunting in autumn. It was the same and not the same. When we crossed the Bright Between, we entered a realm that existed at the same time and place as ours, with the same trees and hillsides and rocks. But it was not open to humankind, except for those lucky few who found a portal and its key. And the folk who lived there lived by their own laws, laws not at all like those of the human world. Any aged man or woman with stories to tell knew that. There were tales about men who’d gone through a portal and spent a night among the forest folk, and when they’d come back again, a hundred years had passed, and their wives and children were dead and buried. There were stories about people who had visited the fairy revels and been driven right out of their minds. When they returned to the human world, all they did was wander around the forest in a daze, until they perished from cold or hunger or thirst. There were still more accounts of folk who had gone into the forest and simply disappeared.

So, although we believed such misfortunes would never befall us—for we were constantly assured by the folk of the Other Kingdom that they loved and welcomed us—we had made a set of rules to keep us safe. If anything went wrong, the others were to come to Tati or me immediately: they were to do as we told them, without question. There was no eating or drinking while we were in the Other Kingdom, except sips from the water bottle one of us always brought from home. There was no leaving the glade where the dancing took place, however tempted we might be to wander off down beguiling pathways into the moonlit forest. We must keep an eye on one another, keep one another safe. And when Tati or I said it was time to go home, everyone must go without argument. Those rules had protected us through nine years of Full Moons. They had become second nature.

The boats swept across the Bright Between. As we passed a certain point, the air filled with a sweet, whispering music. Swarms of small bright creatures that were not quite birds or insects or fairy folk swooped and rose, hovered and dived around us, making a living banner to salute our arrival. Underwater beings swam beside our craft, creatures with large, luminous eyes, long hands, fronded tails, and glowing green-blue skin. Many dwelled in or on Tǎul Ielelor: ragged swimmers resembling weedy plants, their gaze turned always up, up to the surface; the beguiling pale figures of the Iele, from whom the lake got its name, reaching out graceful white arms from bank or islet or overhanging willow. Should an unwary man from our world be passing, they would seek to entice him from his path forever. As we neared the opposite shore, an assortment of tiny folk rowed out from the miniature islands to join us, in a bobbing flotilla of boats made from nutshells and dried leaves and the discarded carapaces of beetles. We reached the far shore, and my escort—who was three feet high and almost as wide, with a scarlet beard down to his boot tops—handed me out. He made a low bow.

“Thank you,” I said as the gargoyle made a flying leap from my shoulder, then scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Delighted to be of service, Mistress Jenica. I’ll expect you to return the favor, mind.”

“You shall have the first dance, of course, Master Anatolie,” I told him.

The dwarf grinned, revealing a set of jeweled studs in his front teeth. “I’ll match you step for step, young lady. You’ll find me a more satisfactory partner than that slippery green friend of yours. He’s shaking like a jelly—wouldn’t know a jig if it jumped up and bit him.”

Gogu stopped shivering instantly. I could feel bunched-up irritation in every part of him.

“You’ve upset him,” I said. “Frogs have feelings, too, you know.”

The dwarf bowed again. “No offense,” he said, his eyes on Gogu. “It should be an interesting night. We’ve got visitors. Night People from the forests of the east.”

A bolt of horror shot through me and I stopped walking. Ahead of us, my sisters and their assorted escorts were disappearing along the broad, leaf-carpeted track that led away under tall trees, following the sweet call of a flute. The branches were festooned with colored lights shaped like birds and beetles and flowers. “Night People?” I echoed, and heard the tremor in my voice. Fragments of dark stories crept into my mind: tales of blood and violence, of evil deeds and terrible retribution.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Anatolie offhand.

“Yes, it is!” I protested. “Florica, who works for us, says they come at night and bite people in their beds. She says the only thing they drink is human blood.” My sisters were too far ahead to be called back.

“This would be the same Florica who said all dwarves were liars and thieves?” Anatolie asked, feet planted apart and hands on hips. His cloak was ankle length and lined with what appeared to be bear skin.

“Well, yes,” I said.

“The same Florica who told you not to go too close to the Deadwash or you’d be scooped up in the magic fishing net of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood?”

“Yes, but … but Night People, everyone says—” I stopped myself. Anatolie was right. If I had never met one, it was unfair to judge on the basis of stories.

“You and your sisters are quite safe here,” the dwarf said as we started walking again. “Hasn’t the forest queen herself allowed you to visit her revels these nine years of Full Moons? Believe me, if her protection did not stretch out over the five of you, you would not be here now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” I said, wondering whether he meant we would have met the same fate as the foolish folk in the stories: dead, mad, or vanished.

“The Night People will not touch you while Ileana is queen of the wildwood,” Anatolie said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was full of doubt. I could not remember hearing a single good thing about the Night People, and I had no wish to meet even one of them. They’d never been to Dancing Glade before; at least, not when we were there. I thought about garlic, and silver crosses, and everything else folk used to keep such dangerous forces at bay. I hadn’t brought a thing to protect myself or my sisters.

When we reached the glade, the festivities were in full swing. A circle of autumn-clad trees sheltered the grassy sward, their branches hung with still more lanterns. These cast a warm light over the brightly clad revelers, whose gowns and masks, robes and jewels filled the open space with a swirling mass of color. Above them, creatures performed aerial dances of their own, some borne on delicate, diaphanous wings, some on leathery, creaking membranes. Some of the guests were tall enough to bump their heads on the lanterns; some were so tiny, one had to take care not to step on them. I saw my gargoyle perched on the branch of a holly bush, waving its paws in time with the music and beaming beatifically.

The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end, under the biggest oak. The instruments were the same as the ones in the village band—flute, drum, goat-pipes, fiddle—and yet they were not quite the same. Each possessed a strangeness that set it apart. What ordinary drum cries out poetry when beaten? What flute plays three tunes at once, each blending perfectly with the others? As for the goat-pipes, they had something of the voice of the creature whose skin had provided their air bag, plaintive and piercing. The fiddle soared like a lark.

The sound of this band was intoxicating to the ears, the kind of felicitous blend a village musician aspires to and may achieve once in a lifetime. It made feet move faster, pulses race, faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.

Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair. It was said he was a kinsman of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood.

Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ţuicǎ. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.

Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians. There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales. They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.

“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.

The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.

The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet. When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.

“All right?” I whispered.

If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,” I suppose so.

I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.

“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”

“Don’t they dance?”

Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,” he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”

Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe. Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.

There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.

“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”

I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her fingernails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.

I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.

Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood. Drǎguţa had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Drǎguţa did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods. If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.

Once, I had questioned whether Drǎguţa really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt—“Don’t say that!” “Shh.”—as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Drǎguţa was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Drǎguţa and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.

The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs. The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful. Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.

Something of my worry must have shown on my face. Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair. It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.

While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ţuicǎ and elderberry wine made the rounds. Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.

There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.

I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.

The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.

Look. Over there, under the oaks.

I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.

Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.

But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.

As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision. We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.

“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”

He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.

I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.

Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world. They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.

“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.

“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.

“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”

“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.

Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.

“One of them,” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. “Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow. They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”

“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”

There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep. Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and … interesting.”

“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”

But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

Wildwood Dancing Explanation

Isn’t this story so full of imagery? Don’t you feel like you, too, are a part of swirling wonder? I was almost literally enchanted when I read this book. All of Juliet Marillier’s books I’ve read so far (she has a marvelous name) contain such splendor, but this was my first, you know? Also, to be honest, I think this one is aimed at a slightly younger audience, because it has less ‘mature’ themes than her adaptations of the Six Swans fairy tale, Sevenwaters. It also has a cool sequel (different tonally but still enjoyable) called Cybele’s Secret, so let me know what you think if you read them!

The book cover, which I love immensely (it’s very pretty and rich in detail) is unfortunately inaccurate in fashion, for both the area and the time period (medieval). Besides the embroidery patterns, and the hijabs on Tati through Paula, my drawings are actually more accurate! I should've drawn at least one with a vest on over their shirt (that style is called an ie), though - we can just say that the girls didn’t wear any so they wouldn’t hinder movement. The aprons (fotǎs) stay on because they look pretty while twirling. Also, the cover makes it seem as though the book takes place in spring or summer, not autumn.

As the religion of the family is never discussed, and yet they’re considered outsiders who value education, I headcanon that their Dad is Romanian (hence his outfit in the second picture) but their mom was Turkish Muslim. There was a lot of trade between the two countries, and as such their populations swapped a bunch. However, most of the Muslim minority was found in cities/by the coast, so in order to avoid feeling alone, it makes sense the Mom wanted to stay in their old home. But they didn’t, so the girls embroider their clothes with Turkish patterns and wear hijabs, in honor of their religion and their Mom. Stela is a bit too young, to take that aspect of the religion seriously, so she wears a maramǎ, traditional Romanian headwrap, like Florica instead. It’s supposed to only be worn by married women, but do you think a little girl who is surrounded by head-wrapped women will want to be left out? Heck no! So she has a cute little fabric flower on hers, instead of any patterns. Also, frogs are not haram except when it comes to eating them, so it wouldn’t be too weird for Jena to have a pet frog.

Each girl has a different font for her name, when they chant them to open up the portal. I was just goofing off and trying to find ones that fit their personalities and that were still legible XD. Also, for posterity’s sake, each name used to be on a different line, but it was easier and nicer looking to format them in a line, side to side.

Well, I don’t have much else to say in prelude, so let’s talk about the art!

I totally phoned it in for this title picture too. Frankly by the time the other pictures were done I knew this present was going to come to you late, and as I sat down to start on it, I felt like crying. I was very tired and pulled mostly all-nighters that week. So, I just found a font that was similar to my vision, and excused myself. I considered drawing leaves on it digitally, but it looked bad. And that was that. It’s kind of odd that I do titles last, but they’re supposed to be breathers, shrug.

Alrighty, the second picture: I actually did this second to last, lol. Wowed by my success with the Last Unicorn’s scenery picture, I decided to try something similar with the Piscul Dracului. You see, what I put out on paper isn’t often the image or vibes I imagine, partly because of my artistic limitations and because I don’t have any set characteristics in mind. It’s all very annoying. So yeah, to be honest, the castle came out bigger, less craggy and less on the edge of a mountain than in my original vague vision. But I’m satisfied with my work; it has character, perspective, and a mysterious little fox and small woman off to the side ;). I’m hoping to explore this interest in creating scenes and background in later books - I’ve often struggled with scenery and I’m tired of blank spaces.

The third picture was ridiculous, figuring out their positions, clothing patterns, and how to show their personalities. I’m not sure this is what the author imagined when she said they did a five-pointed star together. But I like the result! I wasn’t sure how to draw the portal however lol. Going from left to right, let me describe the sisters and Gogu.

Iulia - it’s clear that she has new clothes (because of her different body shape) and likes to stand out. She has a fan and different type lacework on her fotǎ, instead of a fringe, and a sardonic sort of excitement on her face.

Gogu - he’s an Agile Frog, a species native to much of Southern Europe. He’s just chilling on Jena’s shoulder. I wish I had a chance to draw him larger but I am also tired of drawing frogs.

Jena - I’d like to say her position, as sort of short and behind everybody, showcases her outer personality. She doesn’t mind tooooo much being in the shadows, watching and supporting others, being quiet and dutiful. And yet, she has a septum piercing. As the book goes on, you’ll find that there’s so much more to her ;). I put a brooch on her hijab because I saw one when I looked up Turkish hijab designs and thought it looked cool. She has the most obviously-a-flower-designs because she has the deepest connection with the forest ;). Find out for yourself, I dare you.

Stela - she’s just happy to be doing fun stuff with her big sisters. I’m sure you would know nothing about that ;). Like I said, Stela is wearing a marumǎ, not a hijab, but is otherwise dressed very similarly to her sisters. I adore the little tassels on her sleeves.

Tati - She ended up a bit tall, whoops. And when I started inking, her nose changed :(. But I love her all the same (it helps that she has such a simple pattern all over her outfit lol). She’s looking over everyone, but she isn’t really watching; you can kind of tell her head is already up in the clouds.

Paula - It feels kind of mean but we don’t ever get a good look at her. Maybe you should check out Cybele’s Secret, where she is the main character. Hint hint. Anywho, she's watching the portal open - Paula loves to study and Know things. You can’t tell me that even as a young girl, Paula wouldn’t have been questioning the phenomena.

The fourth picture was kind of a stinker to ink, but it was fun to draw! I meant to make it look more crowded, and to have a blank space around Jena (I absent-mindedly traced it ugh), but this time I tried to be respectful of my time, lol. I drew the werewolf first, in Adam’s outfit from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, in homage to my original vision for my Beast (look in your sister’s second volume). Then, I drew a big orc lady, because I thought she looked cool (she has a crush on the werewolf but he hasn’t a clue), then the dwarf (she’s what I think Cheery Littlebottom from Discworld would look like), and so on and on. I goofed off and drew the head of Garnet (from Steven Universe) at the bottom center, a couple characters described in the actual story (like Mr. Leafhair), and then the Animorphs in Andalite and bird form on the bottom right (Please check Animorphs out).

I really thought I would enjoy drawing this Jena more, but it was actually a pretty neutral experience. I added her design to this picture first, because it was big and I could reference it. I also decided to give her hooded eyes and the septum piercing while adding details, because I need practice for the first and just thought it was a cool quirk for the second. Gogu is again chilling on her shoulder. I originally meant to have his whole body sit comfortably upon her shoulder, but I wanted to draw him big. Also, while all Muslims are traditionally not supposed to show hair to mahram (non-family members), the average Muslim person would not shame another if person 2 had been dancing or doing a lot of physical activity and some hair came loose. So I did that to show that my girl has been MOVING, and showed some escaped bits of hair on the other sisters in the following picture. Also, it allowed me to show Jena’s beautifully curly hair. (Below is my initial sketch)

The last picture was the most fun, actually. The perspective for the steps was annoying, and I don’t think it’s perfect, but all the same I like how it turned out, especially since my original plan was to draw a straight one. I’m glad I challenged myself and drew a spiral one instead :D. Now, let’s go down the staircase.

Iulia is in the lead - she’s tired and self-important. So, I only show her fotǎ and foot XD.

The little winged creature and its porch - literally a last minute addition. I thought the space looked too empty.

Tati is carrying a sleeping Stela - while I think it would make more sense for Jena to carry Stela most times, I needed Jena to be free, and maybe they take turns. I really like how Tati’s face turned out in this one, also, you know if Stela’s leg was swinging free like that, she would keep accidentally kicking the back of poor Tati’s thigh, lol. I like how the clothes' wrinkles turned out in this picture. I just really hope it’s clear who is who, what with how Stela is entwined with Tati’s right arm.

Next half, Jena and Gogu: I wasn't sure what to do with her right arm but it turned out alright. Gogu is limp and tired from a long night of Being Jostled. I adore Jena’s face - it’s concerned-but-also- -amused. She’s just checking to see if Paula is there, hence the ‘OK?’ hand signal. Don’t come at me about the historical inaccuracy, at least I corrected the fashion XD.

The little gargoyle going up his own stairs; I drew him in the moist detail first. He’s the little guy who hitched a ride on Jena’s other shoulder. I originally wanted to draw him more similar

Lastly, poor Paula. I could totally see her being the last to leave, asking people a kajillion questions and observing each aspect of the night for just one last clue, some little detail that answers her queries. ANd as such, she has to run up the stairs to catch up with her sisters! That’s why shes so dramatically behind Jena and has to hold up a thumb to indicate that she’s alright. Also, that part is historically accurate :p - Roman emperors did it to indicate approval or to say ‘good’ a thousand or so years before this book is set.

Below are links to my takes on the 12 Dancing Princesses and the Frog Princess, which are more or less partial inspirations for the book :).

(The Twelve Dancing Princesses) (The Frog Princess)

#wildwood dancing #juliet marillier #win a commission #wac #the princess and the frog #the frog prince #12 dancing princesses #twelve dancing princesses #the twelve dancing princesses #Transylvania #New Zealand literature #new Zealander literature #apparently those tags didn’t exist before lol #it’s set in Transylvania Romania but written by a New Zealander #Muslim Romanians #Muslim Romanian

[drhwenk]

Dieser Satz ist DA-DA falsch.

5 Replies

Dieser Satz ist da,da wahr.

(K)eine SELBSTsetzung. (Deleuze/Guattari)

Dieser Satz ist,² ist falsch.

Dieser Satz ist,²ist wahr. 

Ellipitisch, nicht nur²³ selbst²³referentiell.

 Nur das  “FALSCH” ist FALSCH””!!!!!! die “INHALTLICHE LÖSIUNG” all ANTNOMIEN

Dieser Satz ist DA-DA falsch.

5 Replies

Dieser Satz ist da,da wahr.

(K)eine SELBSTsetzung. (Deleuze/Guattari)

Dieser Satz ist,² ist falsch.

Dieser Satz ist,²ist wahr. 

Ellipitisch, nicht nur²³ selbst²³referentiell.

 Nur das  “FALSCH” ist FALSCH””!!!!!! die “INHALTLICHE LÖSIUNG” all ANTNOMIEN

dSA”nuERR sog dafür, da es sich NICHT  nicht in die  ” LERE MENGE auusrhalb des VERTSANDES “vicous circle”  (Poincare,Russell) IDENTÄNTS”konsruktvismus”logosche PATHLOGIE, tsatsächlö in de  PSYVHISZTE vewenedet,

eins drunter behandelt, HANDELT! 

BOLLE macht das schon mathematsch  symbskch ruch. INNEN ein NICHT, AUSSEN als PROPSOTIIONALE FUNKTION!!!!  ein n “FALSCH” sind “austauschbar”

Eoin PPOPOSITION is NICHT DIREKT ihn ANKÜNDIGUNG  eiemn  PROPSITIONALE FUNKTION – (ach ein Kneipe, GERMANISTIK,  SEMINAR nicht,  das Logik!!! SEMINAR. ORT, ZET LEITE! PRAGMATIC !!)i

SALAMON LÜGE LÜGEN SelbtMORDopferMUTTER 

Galilei WIDRUFwider  bessweres WISSENS! 

(Dr. rer. nat.Harald Wenk)     

Dier Satz ist falsch. 

Dieser Satz ist wahr.

Unvollständig – entweder je ein “ist” oder je ein “da” fehlt – daher “vicous circle” LEER.

(Dr. rer. nat.Harald Wenk)    

Dieser Satz ist NICHT.² -> 0

Dieser Satz ist.² -> 1 

GÜLTIGE, akademsiche und zuGLEICH  profssionelle, Informatik, Elektrotechnik dabei,  BOOLSCHE MATHMATISCHE – ALGEBRAISCH KÖPER – LOGIK;vollständing und zuGLEICH widersruchsfrei. 

Erster GÖDELscher VollständigkeitsSATZ. 

Die Mengrelerhre entscheidet da alte “GEWIOTTEsbeisPRBLEM” dr CHIMÄRE in DEM PROBLEM besdrs de LOGIK; dem UNVERSALIENprblen. reen wir da nicht üne di LEERE MENGEE?? DAwird in derMSATHMTIK : “Sei”, , GEGEBEB:; soft FLSAGGE gezeigt dIE Megne mussnicglee sein kan man übwerprüfen, wie ob der eingecker einegsteckt ist! dShaklb GÖDEL;bei iNDREKTE BEWEISEN wid aj mühsam nachgesien das e ssich um deiLeere Mnege handelt ud dahb dsa GEGENTEIL dei ALLmeneg ist. UM las oe THOLGIE und dami ARTORTPOES undami UNVRSA:IENprbe,mLPODE KRITIKER zu KRTSIREN; muss id ái ddei BEUSEBEN ohn dazughörg THEROREMN gregengen werden, ws GÖDEL in sen UNVOLLSTÄNDUGKESatz mit dem “brewährten” SLERPSIS LÜHGGN im GELPÄCK auc tut. uds dami INDTREL BEIS ALS SOLCBHE angreuft dren GÜLTGKET ja vorausgestzte wird. DIr Indrek beis alledings haben die Antwio dr FORMALÖN IMPLIKATION; ken VOIRAUSGFTZUJUUNB oh xdier FOLVBGDRUNG, asl WEN VORSAUSTZUNG , dwei ie aus sui sleb filgt ud dsa sesFOLÖFG ai ch da gERNTEIUL fda msi do eVORSATZNG falsch sein. DS is auu cbei BOLLE SO:; ES wid asl”Inahllichh” die FOLGEIUNG fds GEGENTEILs b gemacht bei BOOL was den BOLLSCH SCHALTalgeabr – MDGELRHRE PARALLISMUS als vollstäcmnfg ud nwiedspricsfrei gelten lässt in Gödels ers VOlstämngs satz. WEn da RHOZIOM ein MODELL drMANNIFGALHGJT isz is dade SAUFNX ds “APPOSRIOIE” Bwess, eshande sic nICHT u mdeo lERE MENGE. GÖEL wiwo also FOFRMAL ds GEGTEIL golgen w dsdiu die TOPLOGIE mi FOLGERUNG (da wesr anscn nu bs jet ich nach) , aslTEIL gASNZRS BEZIEHUNH als FORMSAL dan anch, da es damn DRML u mdie LEE MRNR aDICH handeln musss. DA kam ma d BEOM;TSOIETUNG d ARITHMRTIK iasnutzen mi ihe GERADCXENdefintio. DU ARITHMERTIK si d fOIRMSK bei GÖDEL: dei di den BOLL ALGEBRA KÖPE IMN dei KOMPLEXEN UND EUKLIDSC EBEN Und EUKLIDUSCB ZAHLENgerd ealstEILköper DOC werd TEIL BVGGANZS FOLÖVGEJU hestellen.

[floor10ghost]

Reen you are so so very sweet! The times we talked were very pleasant and I hope you have a nice day

Anonymously tell me how you feel about me. I can't reply, I just have to read it and post it.

[aminaascericworld]

[legendaryskyscale]

Hello! 5 / 6 / 9 from the Inquest Asks, if you'd like? ~ @mistreaders-requiem

Inquest ask game! Many thanks for the ask, @mistreaders-requiem!💜

---

I will do this response for all three of my rattos: Ardjin, Zyffre (ex-Inquest) and Raennyn

5) How do they feel about the morally questionable goings-on in the Inquest?

Ardjin is fine with morally questionable on-goings, so long as he gets his desired results. Being the Head Director of Bio-genetic Weapons Engineering, and having invested interest in splicing creatures (mainly dragon minions with humanoid subjects) into potential weapons, he can't and won't afford to be sympathetic for his subjects.

Zyffre was kinda on the same track as Ardjin, except Zyffre was not okay with the sudden influx of subjects in the Crucible of Eternity. He particularly couldn't stomach the ruthless and agonizing methods of force-corrupting captives into dragon minions. Overall, Zyffre doesn't have strong negative opinions of the Inquest, but he did take issue to the cruelty inflicted upon the other races for science.

Raennyn was raised as an Inquest test subject and a living weapon. He doesn't question what the Inquest does. Rae started to develop a personality after he was freed from Ardjin's facility thanks to the Thuamanova Reactor incident. However, he doesn't have a strong moral compass and he just goes with the flow.

6) What would they be doing if they had never joined?

I've answered this for both Ardjin and Raennyn, but to summarize: Ardjin would still be an upstanding citizen of Rata Sum and still be in the Arcane Council while working with his sister on the Fractals of the Mists. Rae didn't have a choice in the matter, but if he hadn't been placed in Inquest hands, he would've been into robotics and golemancy, and likely going into battlebot competitions with his creations.

Zyffre would still be studying Elder Dragon energies but with the Priory, and without the influence of the Inquest. And without the trauma of witnessing The Horrors at the Crucible of Eternity. He'd also wouldn't have met Kuda and have a kid with her if he wasn't recruited into the Inquest.

9) Current Inquest agents: Their least favorite aspect of their job. Former agents: Parts they miss.

Ardjin hates doing any sort of paperwork. That is his least favorite aspect of his job. It's a good thing he has a highly competent and trusted secretary to do his paperwork for him.

Zyffre, being ex-Inquest, does miss the available tech and the extensive research on the dragons the Inquest offered for him. He also misses his girlfriend Kuda and his daughter Ruxia. A lot.

Rae's least favorite part of his job is his quarterly deep maintenance. His handlers treated him like expensive property. Pretty much had to open him up to keep his heart and lung augmentations working properly.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #Ro's content #mistreaders-requiem #ask game #oc ask game #Ardjin #c: ardjin #Zyffre #c: zyffre #Raennyn #c: raennyn #reen replies

[elderdragonreen]

Got no projects to do until my tools and materials arrive later this week.

In the meantime, my ask is open! Throw some questions at me! Be it for my OCs or for me, I'm ready to reply!

Or if you can't think of any questions, then tell me some fun facts about the current blorbo on your mind! Like what's their favorite foods, where do they like to vacation, who are they most passionate about, how do they spend the holidays, ect! Go wild! ✨

#reen talks #my ask box is open! #ask me anything! #may reply slowly today tho since i'll be on and off doing irl things

[hulkiron]

Insomnia

Bruce stays up later than usual to finish his work.

It’s sorta hard to focus when you have someone watching and following you like a lost little dog.

Bruce didn’t sign up for this babysitting job but he’s pretty much the only one that gets along with him.

Well, at least Hulk likes him.

Plus, it’s much safer for Reen to be in the tower anyways.

Everyone’s asleep except for them.

“You don’t really sleep, do you?” Bruce asks worriedly.

Reen can’t seem to look him in the eye. “Sometimes.”

“Nightmares?”

No reply.

“Yeah. I get em too. Not a big fan.”

#txt post #r33n oc tag #ncanonbbaner tag

[habibialkaysani]

@funnefatale replied to your post “tag meme”

I'm so glad you like the series!!

I’m so glad you recommended it! I just love how diverse the characters are and the plots. I was reminded why I love romance..

@canarycry-ing

replied to your photoset

“canarynetwork: and I say I’m only playing, but the truth is this: that...”

You can just....DO THIS to us Mlna!!!! You can’t make me have FEELINGS!!!������

haha I’m a bit late replying but!!! this is the kind of reaction I love and that I continue to make gifs for :D glad you liked!

#replies #me.txt #reen tag #happy tag

[tact-and-impulse]

For the ‘longing’ prompt, a historical AU that would suit Trouble, @shepherds-of-haven!

homestead

Her bonnet strings are loose again, and she absentmindedly secures the knot, as the wind blows past. The prairie grasses bend, rippling westward. She wonders whether she can grow vegetables here. The seeds are still in their paper packets, underneath the rest of her clothes in her valise. She hasn’t even unpacked yet.

It’s been three months since she replied to the advertisement for a mail order bride, one month after her departure from New York, and two days now, with her new companion. He’s not Mr. Reen, the bachelor she was arranged to marry, but the deputy sheriff was at the train station when night had fallen and she remained waiting alone. Given the late hour, he had offered to look after her.

“No need for any Mr. Alder nonsense, they call me ‘Trouble’ around these parts.” He said by way of introduction, helping her onto his wagon. “I’ll track down your missing husband-to-be, ma’am.”

So far, it isn’t promising. They’ve traveled to Mr. Reen’s homestead, and the house is empty, save for a few letters indicating his mounting debt from gambling bouts. No sign of where he’s headed to. The situation had caused Trouble to itch for his pipe, and his teeth clench upon it.

“It’s alright, Trouble. You’ve been such a help, and I appreciate your effort.” She says.

“It’s the least I can do. I’ll tan his hide if I ever see him.” He darkly mutters, the tobacco smoke escaping his lips. One gloved hand runs through his golden hair, mussing it further. “I’ll let the marshal know what he’s done, and we’ll investigate.”

“I suppose he’s forfeited his claim on the land?”

“That too.”

Keeping her tone mild, she decides to make her offer. “If so, I don’t mind taking over the acres. I’ve brought my own seeds, and I’m ready to start a new crop as soon as I can.”

“You don’t want to go back East?”

“No, I answered the advertisement, so I could start a new life on the frontier. My family’s farm was sold long ago, after my parents died of cholera.”

“I’m sorry.” Trouble apologizes. “My mother also passed when I was young.”

“My condolences.” She murmurs.

“Ah, it’s fine.” The corner of his mouth does lift in gratitude anyway. “But I’m glad you’re staying. The West is gorgeous, isn’t it? Open air and land, for miles and miles.”

“Yes, it’s the freest I’ve felt in years.” She surveys the area with renewed appreciation. The paperwork needs to be finalized, but God willing, this will be hers. “Do you have a homestead?”

“I’d like to, if I could grow a damn thing! Pardon my language, but I’m not much of a farmer. I like caring for the livestock and I pitch in with the harvesting, it’s just the…” He helplessly gestures.

“The planting and watering.” She smiles.

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, I said you could call me by my name.”

“You’re still a lady, so I’ll treat you properly.” He gives a boyish grin. 

If only he was the one who wrote the advertisement, she thinks. Her gaze drops to his hands. “Are you not interested in marriage?”

Flustered, he chokes on his tobacco. She pulls out her handkerchief, but he waves it away, his face red. “It’s not that I haven’t considered it, but a man who can’t farm the land he owns isn’t the most eligible of husbands.”

“Then, you just need someone who can do it for you. Marriage is about sharing, after all.”

He laughs boisterously, and his eyes are sparkling when he retorts. “Is that all marriage is about?”

Despite the instant warmth in her cheeks, she cheerfully says. “Of course, in every aspect.”

He stares at her, the pipe slackening between his teeth. The intensity of his expression rivals the heat of the noonday sun. His fingers twitch, and she holds her breath in anticipation. Then, the moment ends, as he coughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh...if you ever need a fellow to lend a hand with the livestock or harvesting, you know where to find me.”

She has to bite her tongue to keep from groaning out loud. To be fair, she’s a newcomer, and although there’s no engagement ring to pawn off, her situation is ambiguous. In this unfamiliar place, she can’t help feeling drawn to the one person who’s been kindest to her. “I do. Is there anything else I should know about living on the frontier?”

“There may be snakes. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“My father taught me. I’m a pretty good shot, I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

He’s the deputy sheriff for a reason, and he eagerly agrees to the possibility. “Sure, I have a practice range on the outskirts of town. Use it when you like.”

“I appreciate it, though I’m not sure where it is. Could you show me?”

He agrees, and they stroll to the wagon. Once he snaps the reins, she takes another look at the house. It seems sturdily built and while on the small side, the interior was cozy. It’s quite nice, actually, and it’s a shame there’s no one to live in it. For now.

“Are you upset we didn’t find him?” He abruptly asks.

“Not particularly. I only pray he hasn’t run afoul of any danger.”

“Whatever’s happened to him, Lazu Reen needs to answer for abandoning his homestead and leaving you stranded at the station. I’d feel better knowing he’s in custody, instead of prowling the territory or lying dead in a ditch.” He hesitates. “After that...then, maybe…” There’s that heated look again.

She hopes she’ll see it often.

“I understand. In the meantime, I’ll become accustomed to my new home.” A sudden breeze pushes her bonnet, the knot sliding under her chin, and she notices how Trouble’s eyes widen at the sight of her hair. This time, she doesn’t mind her modesty, and enjoying the fresh air, she imagines what the land will look like in autumn.

#shepherds of haven #i grew up reading the little house books so it was nostalgic trying out this setting

[my-boyfriends-a-cosmere-nerd]

Thoughts on Well of Ascension:

Hey y'all I finally finished Well of Ascension within my busy schedule last week. I have collected all of my thoughts on WoA and theories for the end of the trilogy and beyond:

SPOILERS: for WoA and the Prologue for HoA

Thoughts:

Cett was a fun character. Him being nominated to be King was a cool plot point. Vin and Zane's raid on his men was a very interesting scene and a good show of Vin's state of power and strength

Zane is an... interesting choice of character. I love the occasional edge lord Zane felt like a fan made OC in like the most endearing way

TenSoon being the imposter was very unexpected. He really played the long game there. Could have sworn it would have been Dockson or Demoux.

Vin and Elend's wedding was exactly how I imagined it would have happened if it ever did.

Straff's death was probably the most deserved in the series so far. Just *splits in half*

also Vin took the whole "hate the in-laws' very literally huh

I almost cried at Sazed holding Tindwyl amidst the snow and ash.

Elend's almost death then transformation into a mistborn. I called that Elend would end up being mistborn at some point in the trilogy, however the new metal was not how I thought it would go down.

What a horrible burden Vin must live with releasing Ruin, thinking she was doing the right thing by letting Elend (almost) die

Theories for HoA:

I think Vin and/or Elend is going to die. Their relationship is to strong for this not to end badly

Hopefully they will get a first dance in before that because they still have not and like.. I just would like that as a scene

I hope that the flowers will return. It would be nice to see what Kelsier fought for actually come true.

Spook is going to go blind from him flaring tin all of the time. We have seen what pewter has done to Vin imagine flaring tin for such extended periods of time.

Sazed is going to like snap and just either be a broken man or like become his own deity due to the fact that his main teachings for years were a lie. That's got to mess someone up

I think that Ruin can talk to people whom have metal piercing them like an inquisitor's spike. Zane heard voices ("God") throughout the time we are with him and he ended up having an inquisitors spike in him (which no idea on how that happened but RAFO I hope). Vin has an earing and hears "Reen" in her mind. I have also read the prologue to HoA so I know that Marsh who also has the spikes is at least in part controlled by Ruin.

I think there either 18 or 23 metals in the Alomancy magic system. If 18 there would be 16 regular metals (the 8 original, Aluminum, Duralumin, Atium, Maltium, Gold, Electum, and two others to round out to 16) plus 2 "higher" metals including the "mistborn" metal Elend swallowed and its pair. The only reasoning I have for 23 is that I sat and wrote out the symbols by the chapter numbers across the books to see if anything matched up and most of the symbols are associated to a metal so it would be weird if all of them were not.

I would love to hear how y'all felt while reading WoA when you first read it and to answer questions on other things I thought about/ my theories.

Please no spoilers for the rest of the Cosmere without tags in the replies.

<3

-Hannah

#brandon sanderson #mistborn #cosmere #well of ascension #hero of ages #mistborn era 1