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wisteriainslumber · 1 year

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“Wait, this is supposed to be relaxing?”

alternatively: TWST cast discover ways in which animal crossing: nh should not be played

once upon a time my playstyle was the entirety of ace’s section and then i thought “what if it was Worse” and this post was born

warnings: swearing, the aggravating process of getting villagers to move out, tom nook slander

Riddle

claims he doesn’t choose favourites but everyone & their mother knows he’s particularly fond of Merengue

would participate in the stalk market because he wakes up at 6AM like a maniac

also because he refuses to time travel

has a very neat island. he uses whatever time he can to improve on his island layout and is a very good form of stress relief for him

finally, a good coping method

gifts his villagers fruit most of the time, but will occasionally give them furniture and stuffed animals

taken back by Pietro’s appearance in his campsite but now he is appointed the court jester

will tell no one that he adores the music in Pietro’s house

gets gold roses the quickest out of his classmates, but now he’s struggling with a major flower infestation

pls it won’t stop raining and he’s getting buried in petals

he really plays this game just to garden. this is not animal crossing this is Gardener Riddle Simulator now

when he gets visitors, he demands they greet every villager in town as well. its the polite thing to do, after all

blathers is a fine lad but there’s one thing about him that really irks riddle

why is he complaining about doing his job?

he owns a museum, he asks for donations, and lets his personal bias get the better of him if given a bug (he says, yk, like a hypocrite)

bugs are part of the island and fit the criteria of things blathers asks for. there is even an entire wing of the museum dedicated to insects.

even if he has a distaste for bugs, the least the owl can do is his job. no one likes a biased educator

riddle wears a pretty little shirt customed designed with stars by sebek

cute, it’s really cute. except those stars are pentagrams, and both the wearer and designer still think they are a neat star pattern

this was a relaxing game until riddle found out about the island rating system

he will settle for no less than a 6, yes, six star rating

the bulletin board isn’t used for announcements it’s used for impromptu laws he declared

such laws include no vandalizing the board (only applies to ace), no slander towards one another (watch ur tone, Blanche), no tampering with the able sisters displays (he sees you, azul), and what looks like a wanted ad for Redd

yeah, it seems that azul & riddle have a common goal

sending literal long ass letters to his villagers if he catches them being mean to each other.

after being enraged by the character limit because he wasnt finISHED, he settled for reporting them to isabelle

the peace era lasted a week

Trey

he loves the squirrel villagers so much, namely Mint. i’ll give you two guesses as to why

besides Mint he has a unique fascination for Blaire because she’s got the attitude of his classmates 😭😭

has the most variety of villager personality types on his island. the most normal villagers he’s had on there have peaked at 2 at one time. he likes the variety

or maybe he likes to convince himself hes the most normal one there who knows

gifts his villagers sunglasses when it’s sunny but then they kinda look like douches especially his jock villagers

keeps Flora on his island specifically so riddle can come visit her and chat in her home

it’s like an unbirthday party, but without any of the work #hallelujah

unsurprisingly his bathroom is the most furnished room in his home. other than that, he loves to decorate the outside of his house with flowers and has a constant rotation of wreaths on his door

big fan of Mable and Sable, they’re so sweet, reminds him of his go-to hedgehogs in croquet

accidental dealer of furniture in heartslabyul

heartslabyul student C wanted a nice moon rug and asked trey if he knew how to get one, and trey went the extra mile to find & give it to him himself

the story spread and now all his students come ask him for stuff

he did not ask for this job </3

stocks up on mystery floorings and wallpapers whenever Saharah comes to visit

perhaps it is in his heartslabyul soul to make everything in his house whack

10000% laughs at the dad jokes in this game

let out a hearty ass chuckle at "i caught a snapper! its pretty dapper!"

no one but trey thinks they’re funny. clever maybe, but not funny

every time he sees C.J he points him out to cater and asks him about his hidden beaver relative

they talk the EXACT SAME. and trey thinks hes so funny for this (okay acc hes so right for this one)

everyone’s least favourite villager has to have some fans and that fan is trey. he has major “i can fix them” energy therefore he would love the most unpopular villagers

and by love i mean he is the only one that disapproves when lilia and leona form a temporary alliance to chase Barold around the island to hit him with nets

Cater

you know damn well he went for the customizable phone case first

that horrific ugly phone case is so persistent in its survival that it transcends beyond the physical realm to do so

doodling on everyone’s bulletin boards so they get messages from their favourite senior <3

keeps one or two peppy villagers, but ultimately enjoys the chill of normal and lazy villagers the most

theyre just so kind.. and supportive :((

wants to collect all of the heart themed characters because they are pink and cute and full of love (is he convincing others or himself?)

ironically he doesnt end up collecting any of those villagers and his favourite villager is Cousteau because he has a funny mustache

let his favourite villager leave when they ask. he takes this so personally. thinks they didn’t wanna be there </3

Cousteau immediately went to rooks island too like. bruh okay then a fake french for a fake french >:(

cater now has a new favourite villager and it is Nate. they are besties, they are 4lyfers, he gets the best flowers around his house and the rarest of fruit

passes off the furniture he doesnt want to deuce and tells them they're gifts😭😭

obsessively putting smiley faces everywhere in his home to resemble his own room (???)

has matching mama bears with trey but instead of putting it inside it guards his house from the outside

having an identity crisis after the C.J comparison

he is not beating the C.J allegations but he loves to catch fish for him so they can take photos together

has a legitimate fear of Lloid because of the hollow eyes that crazy thing has. its like he can see into your soul

because cater wants Lloid out of his island pronto he doesn’t wait for donations from his villagers he just pays up front

go away ASAP s’il vous plait🙏🙏

if you thought his dialogue consisted of 60% kaomoji before, its upped to the ninteys now

he's found a way to perform the reactions IRL and hasnt stopped since

in fact this is caters and kalims main form of communication

has a vacation area on the beach specifically designed with jamil in mind

not that jamil never visits, but his visits have increased to just chillax and take photos

jamil is noticeably kinder to cater, and ruggie is seething in the back (gotta respect ur elders or smth idk)

has a million different fruit trees everywhere for the sake of fruit jokes

this is fruity island now, leave your zebra merch at the airport

unfortunately he gets unsatisfied with his island or villagers and wipes the file once every few months to start anew again

and because he’s indecisive, his name and island name will be the exact same too.

rip to his classmates that have to scroll through 5 cater copies to find his current file. this is not how they imagined Split Card was supposed to be used for

Ace

uses the type in your own answer function for evil

makes his villagers call him weird names and makes them say inappropriate things

vendetta against the smug villagers. they sound like his bossy brother and grim

Wart Jr. happens to be his favourite villager. he’s never explained why

but grim & deuce say that he and ace both share the same smug ass look

ace does not agree with this statement

unspoken agreement from the dorm to not let ace into their world but he finds a way to break in and vandalizes their notice boards for the trouble

gave Hamlet a hamster cage and laughed when he displayed it

why cant he be nice😔

karma does come back around though, and it came in the form of Francine moving onto aces island

ace has never felt so much rage in a seemingly relaxing game

he doesnt even have a good reason for disliking her either she’s just too vibrantly blue for his liking

now all of the first years terrorize him with homemade good morning gifs of Francine that they edit themselves

high effort to cause ace as much inconvenience as possible, of course

his friends hate him because he blows up their console with “Ace Trappola is Online!” from all his time travelling

he’s trying to get this bitchass villager to move out why the hell is the STUPID bubble on everyone else but Francine!!?!?!?

100000% ready to reset his island just to purge his console of that damn bunny

hes so lucky that riddle does not do island inspections because his console would be forcibly taken away

at least isabelle is nice about it, but riddle would flame him

way too lazy to make his own custom designs so he steals them and subjects all his villagers to them

despite all of the chaos he sows, he’s one of the best terraformers and genuinely helps grim with his island. still bullies him the whole time tho💀

he reaches extremely high friendships with his villagers

yeah hes been working hard on the DL why is that so surprising >:(

Deuce

he loves Celia

he imagines this is what those indentured princesses in the fairy tales look like before their big transformation

plus Celia looks and is so friendly. she reminds him of his neighbours back home

making a gift out of anything he finds in the nook store.

wraps all his gifts too! has a bunch of wrapping to choose from to match his villagers. his villagers deserve the most!

gets giddy every time he receives a letter from Mom. gets angy that he cannot send letters or gifts back to her

at first he didnt really vibe with Cherry's punk look but shes got a soft place in deuces heart now. appearances can be deceiving and he respects that (some say he has a RBF). Celia has competition

sebek had told deuce that he and Cherry look alike and deuce pestered sebek for a while asking how to look less like a bad boy :((

even in game ace & deuce have matching everything. ace has Hamlet and deuce has Hamphrey to match

they both complain endlessly about their matching stuff but always refuse when their villagers request to move out

still keep up appearances though, they start wars trying to nab a villager the other wanted first

keeps being bitten by wasps because he doesnt know you can catch them with nets

whenever riddle visits he runs around and picks up weeds for him without scolding him

takes his job as the island representative very seriously. you will not catch him slacking in making sure his island is a well decorated habitat

hasn’t gotten the hang of custom designs but trades the holiday DIYs to floyd in exchange for a few sidewalk/clothing designs

treats any request by his villagers as his god given duty

he was placed on this island to look after everyone and he is going to do his job WELL.

takes every and any opportunity he can to go on leonas island to admire the architecture and try to recreate it himself

has many heart ponds on his island after he unlocked terraforming

once he had a sleepover with the first years and they switched consoles for the night

deuce was extremely nice and helped catch a few bugs and increase friendship with villagers for sebek. wholesome stuff

but of course the terror that is ace trappola was fighting for everyone else’s console to vandalize- i mean, terraform their island

safe to say no one’s island was safe from a pp pond. thanks ace >:(

deuce did get his revenge though, he teamed up with epel just to make a trash moat around aces house

even though ace is aware that deuce put up a bulletin post on his board calling him stinky, it has not been deleted lmao

Leona

gets rid of all the lion villagers, there can only be one member of the kingscholar family on this terf

he keeps a lot of the peppy villagers on his island

if asked, he will say they are annoying and won’t gtfo but it’s because its too silent and peaceful without the annoyance

hes too used to being interrupted all the time by a tiny cub jumping on him that he doesnt know how to function without it anymore wbk

not that he would kick out as many male villagers as possible but these jock villagers are getting on his nerves. like not even jack is that muscle obsessed

plus, big macho muscle men is such an outdated thing, grow up, Dom.

leaves gulliver alone. his business is his business

for someone so cranky, he beefs with the cranky villagers the most. says theyre so entitled and annoying LMAO

only one he doesnt beef with is isabelle. yeah, she gives him shitty ratings on his island but she’s so sweet, and she’s stuck with ruggies #1 enemy so she deserves the special treatment, you hear?

leona is the first out of his classmates to get his friendship high enough to receive a villager’s photo. no one knows how, but yea, leona and Stella are like besties now. they’re 4lyfers. BFFLS <33

what can he say, that island is his pride

makes a little library in his house, it sucks that there aren’t any readable books in this game so he studies the lore instead

he gets to one-up idia on the animal crossing expertise if nothing else🎉

places down mats and pet beds anywhere in case his lazy villagers need a lil nap (it’s not how it works but gotta appreciate the thought)

ruggie and idia have this weird cahoots going on where they leave pitfall traps everywhere for him.

rivalry with malleus ended, new rivalry with these two gremlins

leona has beat the 'lazy' (is it really?) allegations hes making custom design after custom design just to spite his classmates

his interest solely lies in giving his juniors the True High School Experience

posts loving reminders on his classmates’ notice boards. such as a very “clean up ur island” on kalim’s and a very kind “the onceler called, he wants his island back” on azul’s

actually they’re not reminders at all, they’re just disguised insults

he also very kindly leaves fruit that epel doesn’t have on his island. he says it was his starter fruit (it was not) so he doesn’t need it

in fact for some reason his island has become a playground for the first years

despite his complaints about bothering him, he always ends up opening up his island for them, even if hes still complaining during it

do not comment on it if you’d like to keep your eyeballs

Ruggie

runs a not-very-lowkey nook miles ticket business

take that azul, he’s the one drowning in riches now

made mad tickets by being an animal slave trader

azul felt it was morally wrong because they were so cute but ruggie does not give a flying eff

you all think azul's the person who treats people like pawns? absolutely the hell not

my guy ruggie & jamil are the kings of human (in this case, animal) meat shields & theres no time to debate morals in this economy

only one hes not keen on slaving away is Tutu. she simply looks too sweet for ruggie to subject that treatment onto

tries really hard to draw a lil picture of his classmates’ favourite villagers onto the notice boards, because he’s nice like that

plus it doesnt hurt to have a few brownie points with everyone :)

extends extra effort to get into jades good graces because 1. no one wants to be in his bad graces and 2. he is so high maintenance >:(

ruggie is probably being hella scammed bc jade has been eating up his iron stash with nothing to show for until a few months later

living his fun little fishing dad life

bro’s a pro fisher, he’s beating the fishing tourney with flying colours. knows every fishing trick in the book & helps sebek catch all the fish he keeps scaring away

doesn’t matter who hates tom nook the most, because ruggie hates him more

his villagers are going to unionize. we rally under comrade ruggie

doesnt listen to a damn thing the raccoon tells him after the tutorial and only pays for his house if he runs out of storage

he writes letters to his villagers and has a daily graffiti notice board post to remind everyone that their island motto is “down with tom nook”

vive la revolutione

because history is important or whatever blathers said, ruggie decided to honour her majesty the queen of hearts with his island flag

it depicts tom nook under a guillotine

riddle is slightly horrified

that One Time trey visited, he left with a new anti tom nook shirt bc ruggie insisted trey show off his hard work

unlike all of his other classmates, lilia is delighted to see so much passion and joins in on the revolution not knowing a single thing

one peruse into ruggies island and malleus is now convinced that tom nook is some sort of evil mastermind keeping the player and his villagers captive

Jack

increasingly disturbed by a villager named Ace who moved in

he gifted the villager a basketball out of kindness

but seeing how different the villager was from the ace he knew (cough cough, hardworking), jack would prefer if he moved out

also a time travel anti. his friends are all time travelling but he will refuse to be tempted

stretches with his villagers every morning. it’s good to get the oxygen flowing for a good, energizing start to the day

all of his buildings have either hedges or flowers around them. hes very committed to the aesthetic of Mother Nature

joining riddle in the Gardener Simulator squad. his sole goal is making his entire island a pretty little garden

sometimes he does wish he could have Leif on his island permanently. he likes the friendly lil sloth creechure

not much preference in who moves into his island but he does have a penchant for the sisterly and jock villagers

they’re friendly and always keeping each other in check. it’s a mutually beneficial relationship

plus they have way more integrity than the rest of his friends lmao bye

personally vibes with Sterling for that diligent knight energy. jack has plenty of role models to choose from and this time he happened to want to learn from silver

even though his entire island is the most jock-oriented place, his favourite villager is Bangle. she gets along with almost all of his villagers and is always in a good mood.

he thinks she has a good personality to lead the island pack

one of the few that tries to even give tom nook an ounce of respect. he wont join in on the hate but he wont necessarily defend the raccoon either

bless his big heart

the savanaclaw students adore jacks island and his complete butterfly exhibit

every friday after dinner, the savanaclaw students all huddle and play animal crossing together i will die on this hill

they love to camp out in jacks island and by the savanaclaw lounge, you’ll see a string of photoshoots in jack’s butterfly exhibit

who initiated this? why, leona of course! he’s giving jack the recognition he deserves & it gets the dorm bonding

(it also gets ppl to visit jack’s island more, which means ppl visit leonas island less😏)

puts up a daily motivational quote on the boards

got highly offended when sebek once compared him to a jock villager. it wasnt bc he hated the villager, it was bc sebek meant it as an insult >:(

Azul

his favourite villager is Marina

she’s super nice and has never hurt a fly. he complies to all of her whims. how can you say no to her??

finally, someone can understand idias penchant for cute things

in tears after knowing the octopi are sought after by the masses he’s so proud

was less proud when jade joked the octopi were endangered bc they were getting eaten like can you not >:((

cannot participate in the stalk market he time travels so much

sure, the weeds will increase but it’s a small price to pay for efficiency

pays his debts as fast as possible. not because he’s a good noodle, but because he won’t risk interest (even though there is no interest)

has an ongoing (one-sided) rivalry with redd and gathers all of the real artworks he can get

the paintings are a good deal he supposes but redd truly needs a better atmosphere if he wishes to continue selling

his boat doesnt even look approachable, & ambiance is a big factor when getting your clients to be comfortable. azul could totally lend out a few tips. all for the generous price of free!

he changed his mind after he misclicked and bought a fake painting, so he decided to pawn it off saying it was real. as a famous princess once said, some things never change

he’s long completed his art collection, but if you’re in need of a certain artwork, you can have it for the right price <3

pissed as hell over the snooty villagers. you think you’re better than him huh???

or, that’s what he wishes he feels. he just feels bullied in his own domain

money DOES grow on trees so therefore azul’s island is decorated in bell trees

he got excited when a tree dropped a coin.

got less excited when he picked up the coin and it got put in his wallet

he thought there were different coins and he could have a digital coin collection too :(

builds something akin to a mostro lounge 2.0, not really for monetary purposes, it’s just a nice outdoor plaza for his villagers to hang out in :)

mad respect for his villagers who go to the lounge during winter season. it is very cold :(

but they look so adorable in their sweaters and hats and scarves🥺 jade, floyd, perhaps its time to invest in a miniature clothing line

a completionist! he will try to earn every achievement, and complete his critterpedia!

he heard riddle wanted to complete the critterpedia so azul did it first to impress him, but all riddle told azul is that he needed to spend less time on the game osijfgnrfg big L

Jade

starting hissy fights with floyd over the villager he wanted moving into floyd’s island

refuses to let floyd on his island for weeks because he’s So Hurt. just look at how upset he is :'(

had Raymond during his hype and refuses to let him go to this day. he’s gotten attached

hes got some cool ass preppy vest and their eyes match!!

often mentions that he wants to invite Tia on his island in hopes someone gets the hint

(so far no one has yet, but jade is a master at playing the long game)

has a concerning amount of sharks on display: both in tanks and as plaques

he misses the hunt <3

kept refusing to give back wisp’s body in hopes something would happen but ur basically forced to give it back ugh

how boring. he hoped there wouldve been consequences or something

actually he hoped that wisp would lose his shit

his house isn’t really for living in, it’s for storage. his home is the outdoors and hes placing down the furnishing to prove it

many forget that jade is also just living his best life, just a little guy. hes so jealous of his villagers. he too wants to only water flowers, fish for hours, and visit his nice neighbours in their pretty little homes

almost always wearing some kind of wide-brimmed hat to really sell the image that his home is the outdoors

cater is constantly handing jade some more trendy clothes because he thinks jade’s fashion is atrocious, but jade. never. wears. them.

hell, next year he might just use his island as a way to recruit people into the mountain-lovers club

makes ugly ass custom designs and genuinely think it looks good (anyone remember that one time jade dressed himself?)

forget leona, maybe it’s jade that has the uncle fashion. socks with sandals and all

aside from his own kin, no one has seen him physically hold a console in his hands, yet, his hours in this game would give idia a run for his money

theres some skeletons in the basement yeah

no seriously, he has skeletons in the basement. it looks like a jail. theres custom design blood on the floor

all that iron he's been pilfering from ruggie goes into steel bars👍👍

but he’ll say its for educational purposes

between you and me though, thats the corpse of Chadder. he hates rats- wait what do you mean wrong game??

Floyd

loves Zucker because “he looks edible”

because of course he’d say that

terrorizing one octopus wasn’t enough he needed to terrorize two

obsessively resets his island until he gets peaches

fighting with jade over his console to drop iron for him

his house looks fine and normal in every room besides the basement.

there’s seven skeletons chilling in there with bubblegum k on 24/7 loop

its a skeleton rave because they deserve to have fun too goddamnit

out of the twins, floyd has the neater house. hes quite committed to the aesthetics of his virtual space

his happy home academy scores have reached the peak and hasn’t moved from there at all

it’s also vil certified! he really liked floyd’s home and told him he could land a career in interior design

says he’s gonna custom design the octavinelle uniform for azul and yassified it up so its a crop top & shorts now :D

dont forget them knee high boots

had fun designing but it was less of a “mini matching octavinelle uniform for us awww” and more of a “what would azul hate to wear”

(azul absolutely fuckin hates it to shreds so yay!! mission accomplished!)

even though azul reluctantly wears it, floyd had legitimately made the real uniform for him should azul choose to change clothes

his home storage is filled with 80% clothes bc of course his shoe collection carries over to the virtual space

horrible person he loves to scare wisp but will never hunt the ghost bits to give back to him

once he got his hands on the ocarina it was over for his multiplayer invites

his most used tool frfr. depending on the day he’ll play a pop song he memorized or a cacophony of sounds

kalim is the only one who thinks its a good idea to extend floyd an invite to the pop music club

like ace, also uses the type in your own answer function for evil. except he forgets what he writes all the time and it jumps back in his face

villagers be asking him a month later if his favourite hobby was “de-boning Blathers” and then saying they “should try it out themselves”

probably owns Saharah’s entire collection of mystery everything, and just like lilia he will run around and bury them on other peoples islands like some kinda hamster

another one that just pawns off stuff to his juniors, but instead of calling them gifts he straight up says he doesnt want it before handing them off

at least he’s honest LMAO

Kalim

his entire head is a radio that is constantly playing bubblegum k on loop

leaves stuff all over the place then forgets about it

when a villager gifts him something he will make sure to put it on or find a place for it to display right away

look at the cool leaf umbrella Pashmina gave him!!

personally vibes with the peppy villagers the most since they’re so upbeat. he tries his best to talk to Wendy every day

spends most of his bells on random furniture to place everywhere. his home storage has always been empty because he wants to display everything

he especially puts in extra work for the seasonal furniture but he’s constantly out of materials

runs circles around his villagers in greeting

takes advantage of the many reactions at his disposal. makes happy gestures at his villagers in greeting

he leaves fruit and picnic baskets all over the island in case his villagers wants to hold an impromptu party or have a lil snack

vending machines are a MUST

food is his love language!

gifts too but you can only give one a day :(

gets super sad when his villagers dont want to repeatedly talk to him

puts nice lil messages into his friends notice boards and draws a lil stick figure of himself to accompany them

kalim mentioned one day that he would wear an entire line of clothes vil designed and vil puts a few of them on kalim’s island

kalim most enjoys it when his villagers wear vil’s designs because he can match with them! thanks vil :DD

hes always wearing a wetsuit underneath in case he wants to go for a dive

adores the little seal, he goes swimming often just to bump into him to give him scallops

sticks around after he hands over the scallops just to see the seal hold it

encourages his classmates to take lots of photos with him

only his fossil and art exhibits are full

(the art exhibit not really because he doesn’t know how to spot the counterfeit artworks)

he doesn’t want to take the sea creatures away from their home

this does not apply to the insects though. call him blathers’ comrade because he is a valiant knight in chasing away the bugs on jamil’s island

in exchange, jamil farms materials for kalim (why is he always short on softwood???)

Jamil

floyd breaks into his island to hit all of his villagers with nets

emphasizes with blathers because of the mutual hate for bugs

not appreciating ace making crappy renditions of jamil as blathers on the notice boards

steers clear of flick. that has got to be the freakiest thing hes ever met and hes had several conversations with rook hunt

he can take all the bugs tho, if jamil was brave enough to catch any

the lazy villagers are absolutely adorable and wholesome but jamil is sobbing on the inside. listen its nice that you want to share your fruit with your friends but u can do better than insects

if those six-legged devils are invading your space, sooner or later, you’ll be contracting the entire alphabet of hepatitis

drives all the smug villagers out of his island. he doesn’t want this negative energy in his safe haven

he keeps a few peppy villagers. he thought he would tire of them quickly, but sometimes u need a lil happy-go-lucky energy as a pick-me-up

lets kalim pillage all of the coconuts on his island for his coconut tree forest

silver’s favourite villager resides on jamils island and he asks all the time if he can come over to say hi to them

silver keeps telling him that Plucky reminds him of his dad because he also gives silver daily self-defence tips and sleeps hella late

and u know what the more jamil hears of silvers father the more confused he gets. its hard to condense so many unrelated characteristics into a single personality, but apparently silver’s dad has it all

spends an ungodly amount of time in the able sisters and nooks cranny because the characters follow him around like little ducks and he likes the sound of their liddol footsteps

also very much appreciates all the authority he has on this island its the small semblance of control his virgo ass can get

he can legit tell a villager to move their house somewhere and they’ll agree with a smile

always treats his villagers with respect

has a strange obsession with fire. he places campfires and torches all over the place

will not rest until his island looks exactly the way he wants, down to the last detail

hella annoyed during island recruiting because he cannot pick his villagers, and everyone’s uniqueness is clashing with the aesthetic jamil was going for, now he has to change it

his favourite villagers are the normal personality ones, and if he could control the villagers that move in, he would have an island to Poppy and Bertha’s liking

another one of the cries when he receives letters from mom squad. shes just really sweet.

Vil

when Whitney moved on his island he got reminded of jack then took it back after getting to know her personality. ik it looks like a bad thing but its not, she grew on him very quick

not very fussy about his villagers, no matter how strange their designs are

ik ur probably thinking “but some of them are so ugly”, yeah but vil lives with twink he-man tailing him every day

nah im joking its bc he talks to his villagers often and they’re so nice and vil Gets Attached Easily

besides, they love all the clothing and furniture vil gives them. vil can’t even get epel to appreciate his own looks, this is a certified W for vil

sometimes its the inside that matters most <3

while vil kind of still has a bit of celeb status in-game, it’s not over-the-top, so it feels extremely refreshing to be regarded as Just Vil

plus the close-knitted community in the island reminds vil of home. its nice

wishes his villagers were nicer to each other but there isn’t a scold option in the game >:( might report them to isabelle

makes it a mission to get rid of a cranky villager after seeing them be mean to Gala. Whitney is the only ‘mean’ one allowed here

dreaded inviting leona to his island for one reason and one reason only: he put his own designs into able sisters

please, Gala is wearing leopard print, this is a crime

made his own custom designs to fill leonas island with them. the third years stay beefing for eternity

(according to trey, leona camps on vils island waiting to snatch Gala up)

besides the weaponry potential he has, vil spends most of his talents on making really nice designs

rook loves to wax poetry on the artistry of vil’s mind & then he ends up creating more. it’s a continuous cycle of art appreciation <33

speaking of rook, he had gifted vil an amiibo card of Étoile telling him ‘a star for a star’

vil does a very bad job hiding his favour towards her

but he does let rook take any lion, tiger, or gorilla villagers off his island (sigh)

found the most enjoyment after one of leonas favourite villagers left and came to vils island, saying that they finally realized they deserved better💀

but cater so graciously opened his mouth to dub Cheri as “leonas leftovers” and yeah, you can probably imagine how that turned out

Rook

the hunting instinct has Awoken

mans has every fish & bug & sea creature in the critterpedia

he did lots of island hopping to do so

need a tarantula? he’s got cages of them. they’re so fuzzy and fast and their eyes are so cute!

jamil has sworn off ever visiting rooks island. evidence of his hunting instinct are inescapable

unfortunately for jamil, rook is loud and proud about the fruits of his labour. invites everyone to come take a look at his island and museum

azul comes in frequently to take pictures in the aquarium

jade would be bonding with rook more over the hunt but, they started a bet over who gets the highest score in the fishing tourney so, no bonding today

(there was no competition to begin with since ruggie swept up the entire tourney anyways)

never fails to send each and every one of his villagers a personalized letter telling them how much he adores them

‘you look radiant when you’re asleep’ holds merit because some of his villagers do nap under the trees, but it’s a still a pretty unusual comment to receive

nevertheless, his villagers are very receptive to him and tend to send him many letters back

gets max friendship with so many villagers so quickly and for why?? he just wants their portrait to display in his house

theres a room full of portraits and really it looks more like a hitlist than a documentation of his journey of friendship

do not ask him to choose a favourite villager, for he finds beauty in them all. it is simply too cruel to ask him to pick just one

unleashes the voices in his head onto the bulletin boards

they are mostly love musings and occasional tiny drawings

some of the times they are helpful hunting tips!

idia claims that there was no need to inform his villagers about how to preserve the hide of a jaguar but you never know when his villagers need to defend themselves against The Unknown (no he will not elaborate)

camps on everyone’s island to take the villagers that are moving out

yes, it is a shame that they must leave monsieur magicam's island, but he too understands the calling of adventure. please, come join his island for a rest until the next island awaits :))

hosts bigger goodbye parties than kalim. rook would be a terrible island representative if he did not give a heartwarming farewell to his now former villager, oui?

their time spent together was enriching, but who is rook to stop them from pursuing another destination on their journey? people often forget that there is beauty in endings

Epel

also obsessively reset his island until he got a certain fruit

once he got his pears he traded them with jack for his apples

almost exclusively keeps his island in winter as it reminds him of harveston aww

not appreciating the comparisons to Apple

extremely not appreciating sebek putting her into an enclosure because he doesnt like the interior of her home

considering sebek partook in the comparisons to Apple, epel is now banishing any crocodile villagers to the furthest corner of his island. they can live in isolation😡

it really doesnt last long, he got attached to Gayle. like father like son fr

even funnier his favourite villager is Judy but he will tell everyone that its Boots

he also has the most fruit trees on his island out of everyone. ace raids epels island all the time to steal fruit and sell it off (mostly with permission, but theres always that one time without)

happily gave azul some tips on tree placement & how to display as much as possible bc this is his Expertise

cue the next week azul was constantly asking epel if he needed any furniture and epel finally named something he wanted

low and behold he got it in the mail and azul stopped pestering him

huh. his seniors are really nice, arent they? :D

vil made a regal little flag design for epels island that epel swore he would never use but it’s always there when vil visits

he absolutely keeps the tune rook composed though. it sounds like boss music #weballin

highkey adores the able sisters (especially sable) they’re so kind they remind him of his town’s elders

his villagers constantly compliment him and give him clothes🥺

unlike with vil he will happily wear whatever cute shit his villagers give him, even if he prefers the cool stuff

like you said vil, charm & cuteness is a weapon and its one his villagers exploit heavily. he’s jotting down notes the next time he wants vils lessons to end sooner😏

diligent with his landscape you will never see a single weed anywhere

his tree stumps are intentional and his tree placement is all arranged nicely

takes up gardening too and is the second to get the gold roses, but it didn’t fit with his island, so he passed them off them to malleus instead

kindly takes off the flowers colonizing riddle’s island to put them in his

can we get a round of applause? for epel has every species of flower on his island !!

Idia

finally, a place where he is The Boss and people will respect him for it

ortho recommended this game to him so they can play together

(it was mostly to comfort him after his favourite ship didn’t become canon)

cried the first time his villagers gave him a compliment :((

When Audie tells him “I managed to make some awesome friends, like you, Idia!”, he understands now why ortho told him to download this game

sniffling through this game it’s so wholesome

ofc he knows the lore about Audie its why shes his favourite

idia decides to keep his island full of peppy villagers to suit the vibe, match the aesthetic, etc

the only exception to the personality rule is if theres a cat villager, then they’re forgiven for any and all crimes

(this is a trick question, for they can do no wrong)

memorizes his villagers’ preferred gifts bc they get nothing else but the best!

actually all of his custom designs are cosplays. his villagers wear his designs. hes leaked water over this game more than hes ever in his life

isabelles soft, cheerful energy is really what gets idia through his day. shes the perfect amounts of outgoing without being too overwhelming

many people often believe that vil is catty but idia is literally right There

hes a bitch and everyone knows it. its just super forgettable because theres so many other aspects of idias personality that overshadows his mean bitch energy

idia will specifically go to azuls domain just to insult his trees and the placement of his furniture

he approves of the yassified octavinelle outfit tho its very tasteful

judges people who don’t know super obscure details like why do you have to be a casual AND normal about the game pick a struggle >:(

makes little mods and tweaks to the game. he coded in that his villagers can lie down on the mats, hammocks, and on the beach

four updates in though, a bug occurred and his villagers roll around on the ground like how they do in beds

it was way too funny so idia kept it that way and didnt patch up the bug

if anyone passes by him in the halls they might hear him singing acnh tunes

absolutely evil. doxxing people (its ruggie) for trying to auction off Bob & kicking his feet and wiggling his toes while talking to Audie the next second

he finds out that ace really wants to get rid of Francine so yeah, idias making derogatory drawings of Francine on ace’s notice boards and sending him anti-Francine memes

nothing brings two people closer together more than mutual hatred they said

Ortho

he’s inviting all of the robot villagers and they are having a blast

is very supportive of Ketchup’s dreams to be a popstar! he regularly puts microphone stands near her house and gives her lots of sparkly clothing

hes a fan of all the duck villagers, really. their little beaks and happy faces :)

his favourite villager is Doc. no particular reason but ortho has always wanted a grandparent

plus Doc talks about comics and superheros and ortho will not miss an opportunity to nerd out (even though Doc’s opinions are very on the safe side. ortho thirsts for controversy)

once ortho visited riddle’s island and asked for Kid Cat if he moved out

riddle gave him a generous donation of flowers to send Kid Cat off with😭😭

if idias skipping his 8 hours of sleep, ortho will make him do the stretches with the villagers (hes the reason why they're all out of sync)

technically ortho joins in but he doesnt exactly need any stretching

hacked the star fragment trees into his world. low risk, high reward!!

uses those trees to recreate the stargazer tree and designed his own starsending gear to go along with it☺️

shared the design with jack and invited him onto his island for a photoshoot

jack is amazed by the trees and says he cant wait until he can grow star fragment trees and ortho just smiles through it all

jack would be so disappointed to learn ortho got them in less than legal means

maybe he'll hack them onto his island in secret

also puts his own little mods in. he makes some custom design furniture and FINALLY PUTS THE FROG CHAIR IN

even adds some characters he wants and brings back the ruthless dialogue from the past AC games

personally makes an entire set of furniture that references his favourite movies (extra care is given to ones vil has starred in)

ortho’s playstyle is a lot less wholesome than idias because he likes a challenge

he made an entire DLC called animal crossing: survival island because he heard silver talking about it (probably works like minecraft hard mode)

put pride flag custom designs in the shop to wait for his villagers to come out :)

after they “come out”, ortho makes a little backstory on it and gets idia to guess their stories. he’s got lore in this island now !!

fluent in the entire soundtrack. he makes the noises, hes downloaded the bgm

ortho wants an irl isabelle and he’s preparing a 70-slide powerpoint presentation to convince idia to get him a dog

kinda overkill since all ortho needs is to give him the puppy dog eyes

Malleus

for the sake of this hc lets say he at least knows the controls

confuses this game for pokemon and tries to “catch” his villagers with the net

gets confused when they get mad at him

hes very very amused by how normal his villagers treat him

these tiny little animals are cowering in fear by the thought of ghosts even though they are technically walking over bones of the dead

they gas him up so much for the tiniest things he does and if it were anyone else but these fluffy animals he would think it was belittlement

it feels like he’s important, not for his titles nor his accomplishments, but just because his animal friends love him

he can see why silver loves to talk to the birds now

when he’s on someone’s island he can lurk and be afk until he’s kicked off

has statues everywhere. he doesn’t really know how to pick them up after theyre put down so don’t mind the random statues by the airport

tries to put down as least furniture as possible bc of one too many incidents of him picking up the sidewalk instead of his fruit

anyone near him during this can add many ancient curses to their forbidden vocabulary👀👀

when his villagers threw a birthday party for him...

rumours say the valley of thorns was sunny for the first time that day!!

his favourite villager is Coco and he cherishes her with his life

he also has a certain favour towards crocodile villagers as well, namely Drago bc he shares the name of one of his tamagotchis

doesnt do much in this game but talk to his villagers

loves the night walks in the game because he can bump into two things Celeste, or Wisp

hes so intrigued by Celeste shes fr just chilling and living her best life looking at the stars. it reminds him of lilia

given lilia is way more devious so maybe not😔

Wisp is a lot less brave than any ghost hes met and malleus thinks hes adorable. he feels very guilty for frightening him all the time however

it felt so dehumanizing trying to catch a dragonfly he was pouting for weeks

highkey cannot drop the game because he left for a while and when he came back his villagers were wailing about how he left them alone for months

hes never leaving them alone again he doesnt want them to feel abandoned

Lilia

his name in the game is not lilia, oh no

his name is dad. he is now the proud father of 10 more children

11 counting isabelle

debates are still on the table of whether or not tom nook is a legitimate dignified son of lilias

he even has a time out corner for his naughty villagers

its just him barricading that villagers house

he did barricade resident services for a good 15 minutes before receiving an amiibo card from silver and he wanted to use it

favours the lazy villagers because they are a certain brand of adorable and they try to make friends with everyone

technically loves all his villagers but he always points out Kevin because he ‘looks very friendly’

had a big ass laugh after deuce compared Kevin’s smile to treys

when he’s on someones island he treats it like hide and seek. he will never be found

getting access to the custom design was fun for lillia, but not for anyone else

sometimes he throws down some eldritch horror, sometimes his outfits look like a glowstick exploded

his island is in permanent halloween mode

buries random shit on other peoples islands. they dig it up thinking it’s a fossil and instead get mystery wallpaper, random stacks of clay, and random diys

call it an everyday egg hunt if you will

he has three rooms dedicated to kitchenware and is trying to (more like going to) find a way to cook smth nice for his villagers. its the least he could do as thanks

if not then he’ll just buy fruit baskets and hand them out to his villagers. he’s such an asian dad

doesnt bat in eye when his villagers knock up on his door and barge into his house

he's welcoming them with open arms. why of course Pudge you can sit on the ground and read ur book for as long as you want ^^

he'll be doing his own thing too #parallelplay or something idk

(on a side note, Pudge’s face is probably how every visitor on lilia’s island feels)

Silver

thought there were going to be more survival elements to the game since it starts with himself & a group of animals on some remote island

as soon as the plane was hovering over the island, silver was ticking off potential water, food, & shelter sources

threw him for a loop when he found out how peaceful this game was. it’s pleasant :)

doesn’t stop him from valiantly chasing off the wasps and scorpions and fleas away from his villagers

don’t worry Lolly, you’re under silver’s protection now. nothing will hurt you :)

even though the threats in this game are minimal, silver keeps lights & campfires all over just for safety reasons

if his villagers end up lost, all they need to do is follow the light! and if they want some alone time, the fire can keep them safe & warm <3

he thinks Flick is adorable. has a shy little personality and likes to make art and bug friends (?)

constantly supports Flick by giving him bugs for commissions. everyone deserves the chance to follow their dreams :)

peacefully picking seashells on the beach while sebek is scaring away all of the fish

really fond of the zodiac furniture. he wants to collect them all

he makes around 100 wishes every time. just lays his console down and presses A

thinks celeste is very sweet. sad that she doesnt visit often

certified photographer. he takes a lot of pictures with his villagers because he’s just. so happy they like his island, they like each other, it’s such a wholesome atmosphere

cater and silver have a shared magicam account dedicated to their pics it’s very cute and the followers mostly consist of savanaclaw and diasomnia members

loves seeing his villagers interact with each other. their conversations are so cute, they visit each others homes!! bros gonna sink into his mattress and flood it with tears

do not underestimate him, even if it is most likely made up, silver will become fluent in the Language of the Coded Animals

he will not curse but the animal noises are the closest he’ll get if he ever chooses to

all of his villagers get a royalty treatment. silver's residents are the most spoiled residents ever

fills his notice boards with drawings of his villagers saying nice things, like reminding him to drink water, or to hug his friends

at the same time he also puts in survival tips just like how lilia raised him. its a very contrasting mix of messages

Sebek

even online he is Too Much

sprints everywhere and wonders why all the bugs and fish flee

hes got places to be and no amount of time to waste

his home interior is a lot like diasomnia but bro do not let him get ahold of the custom designs

im sure hes a really good artist but anyone who's tried operating the custom designs knows that it zaps any artistic skill you've ever learned

traditional art? fucking amazing. acnh art? now ur kid with a purple crayon

stick figures. drawing the diasomnifam does not work. theres 4 stick figures. one has horns, one has bat wings, ones surrounded by animals, and one is Just Green.

his priorities shifted to practicing custom design until he mastered it

does not take commissions. if he ever bestows a custom design onto someone, its a sign of sebek’s approval/respect of them

hes very committed to the aesthetic. hes terraforming his island every single week based on his current mood (bros going thru it)

competes with silver for every kind of grading they get (happy home academy, island rating, etc)

this is what motivates him to come back and play

dont be mistaken either this is not one-sided. mutual rivalry is the best way to keep the other improving !!

hoards all of the holiday materials to make the diys that he doesnt have or collect

personally having the maddest beef with the snowboys bc one accidental nudge of a snowball resulted in them insulting sebek’s snowmen-building competence

sebek obviously does better the next time, but then the snowboys are just so egotistic for no reason. all they did was sit there and get built, they could never measure up to his master malleus, or lilia

by the third run-in with the snowboys, he just opts to crush or drown the snowballs. the winter DIYs weren’t worth the effort

the fued w/ one Ace Trappola has not ended since the day he got the console because they wanted the same villager and started fighting over Agnes’ amiibo card

amiibo cards can be used multiple times and clearly they both do not know this

probably the only one out of the cast to actually use the 'ask blathers' feature

the owl is a very dutiful and knowledgeable curator. sebek believes he can learn much from him

only thing to complain about is how often blathers is asleep during the day. if blathers were a retainer he most certainly would not make the cut.

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gotstabbedbyapen · 21 days

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Hyacinthus Iceberg Meme EXPLAIN (P3)

Part 1 ✿ Part 2 ✿ Part 3 ✿ Part 4 ✿ Part 5

It's time for me to answer your questions about this Hyacinthus iceberg meme. There is a lot to tackle, so I'll divide it into 5 parts for the sake of my sanity.

Quick disclaimer: I am NOT an expert in Greek mythology, just a fan of Hyacinthus who wants to learn about him and anyone related to him. Most of the things I'm about to discuss are just theories and speculations of a passerby on the Internet, so do not take them as valid facts!

Daphne is Hyacinthus' sister

There is only one poet who wrote about Daphne being Hyacinthus' sister. Well, it's not explicitly stated but he claimed Daphne was a daughter of King Amyclas and lived in Laconia, so it's not hard to piece it all together.

"This is how the story of Daphne, the daughter of Amyklas (Amyclas), is related. [...] But she got together a large pack of hounds and used to hunt either in Lakonia (Laconia) or sometimes going into the further mountains of the Peloponnese." - Parthenius, "Love Romances"

I have a joke headcanon that Apollo loves Hyacinthus because he looks like Daphne (Hya's sister) and Hyacinthus loves Apollo because he looks like Thamyris (Apollo's grandson).

Some K-drama angsty level of romance, eh?

The accurate hyacinth flower???

This has been a debate for quite a while now. Is the flower born from Hyacinthus' death the modern hyacinth or a different flower?

Even though most of us settle for the widely-known purple hyacinth (the flowers above), many argue that the flower can also be a larkspur, an iris, or a martagon lily.

I admit I prefer Hyacinthus' flower being the purple hyacinth or at least a similar ancestor. It's because Athena used to give Odysseus a curly hairstyle like the hyacinths, and that description is similar to the modern flower.

[...] Athena poured beauty on [Odysseus]— her abundance made him taller and more robust to look at. Then, on his head, she transformed his hair, so it flowed in curls like fresh hyacinths in bloom. - Homer, "The Odyssey"

Here is a detail that got me pondering.

In the "Abduction of Persephone" myth, when Persephone is returned to Demeter, she tells her mother about the abduction and we have this:

"[...] we were playing and gathering sweet flowers in our hands, soft crocuses mingled with irises and hyacinths, and rose-blooms and lilies, marvelous to see, and the narcissus which the wide earth caused to grow yellow as a crocus." - Homeric Hymn 2 to Demeter

So Persephone is collecting flowers when she is taken, and one of those flowers is the hyacinth. It's unexpected to think Apollo and Hyacinthus got together before the seasons were a thing.

Zephyrus wears hyacinths on his flower wreath

There is one account I can find that talks about this detail.

"You can see [Zephyrus], I think, with his winged temples and his delicate form; and he wears a crown of all kinds of flowers, and will soon weave the hyacinth in among them." - Philostratus the Elder, "Imagines"

It might be a simple thing, but it had me thinking. Does Zephyrus wear hyacinths in his flower crown as a reminder of his former lover (like Apollo wears laurels from Daphne's tree)? Is it out of the guilt he has later or a sadistic triumph?

We'll never know.

Chloris creates the hyacinth flowers

For those who don't know, Chloris is the goddess of flowers and the wife of Zephyrus.

We all agree that Apollo created the hyacinth flower in the memories of Hyacinthus, but Ovid claimed Chloris (or Flora, her Roman counterpart) to be the creator.

"I (Flora) first made a flower from Therapnean blood [Hyacinthus the larkspur flower], and its petal still inscribes the lament. You too, narcissus, have a name in tended gardens, unhappy in your undivided self. Why mention Crocus, Attis, or Cinyras' son, from whose wounds I made a tribute soar?" - Ovid, "Fasti"

I don't like this version not because it's a Roman source, but because having Flora/Chloris creating the flower will reduce the heart-wrenching of Apollo and Hyacinthus' myth. Apollo lost his beloved to the hands of death, so having him make the flower as a tribute to their love and to always remember him will have a bigger impact.

Apollo is Hyacinthus' uncle/granduncle/great-grandfather

Look, almost all Greek mythology couples are related in some way. Apollo and Hyacinthus are no exception.

If we have Amyclas and Diomede as Hyacinthus' parents, Apollo will be Hyacinthus' granduncle on his father's side and great-grandfather on his mother's side.

Lacedaemon (Hyacinthus' grandfather) is a son of Zeus and Taygete.

"[Eurotas] left the kingdom to Lacedaemon, whose mother was Taygete, after whom the mountain was named, while according to report his father was none other than Zeus." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

Lapithes is a son of Apollo and the father of Diomede.

"Lapithes, the son of Apollon and Stilbe, the daughter of Peneus." - Diodorus Siculus, "Library of History"

"Amyclas and Lapithes' daughter Diomede had Cynortas and Hyacinthus." - Pseudo-Apollodorus, "Bibliotheca"

If we have Clio as Hyacinthus' mother, Apollo will be his half-uncle because the Muses are the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the Titan goddess of memory.

I guess the only way to remove incest from Apollo and Hyacinthus is to have Clio as his mother but use the version where the Muses sprang into life from four fivers made by Pegasus.

Hyacinthus is the relative/ancestor of other heroes (Perseus, Heracles, Helen, etc.)

I used to make a family tree for ten generations of the mythical Spartan family (and an additional one for Perseus and Danae).

And since Perseus is the great-grandfather of Heracles, this means Hyacinthus is an ancestor of Heracles as well.

Here are some sources to back me up:

"[...] Lelex, an aboriginal was the first king in this land, after whom his subjects were named Leleges. Lelex had a son Myles, and a younger one Polycaon. [...] On the death of Myles his son Eurotas succeeded to the throne.." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"On the death of Amyclas, the empire came to Argalus, the eldest of his sons, and afterward, when Argalus died, to Cynortas. Cynortas had a son Oebalus." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"[Oebalus] took a wife from Argos, Gorgophone the daughter of Perseus, and begat a son Tyndareus, with whom Hippocoon disputed about the kingship, claiming the throne on the ground of being the eldest. With the end of Icarius and his partisans, he had surpassed Tyndareus in power, and forced him to retire in fear." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

"To Acrisius and Eurydice, Lacedaemon's daughter, was born a daughter Danae [...] When Acrisius later learned that she had given birth to Perseus, not believing that Zeus seduced her, he cast his daughter out to sea with her son on an ark." - Pseudo-Apollodorus, "Bibliotheca"

Apollo and Hyacinthus in the Trojan War???

Oh boy. This is the part many of you are screaming for me to explain.

I'll have to disappoint you because there aren't many texts about Apollo/Hyacinthus in the Epic Cycle (at least, I can't find all of them yet). But if we bust our brains, we can draw out some shower thoughts.

Was Hyacinthus alive by the time of the Trojan War, and did he participate?

The timeline is shaky and depends on which source you're looking at. Euripides' play "Helen" mentions the Hyacinthia festival, meaning our prince was born, died, and immortalized before the Trojan War.

"They will be gathered in a dance, at long last, or in games, or in all night feasts, in honor of Hyacinth, whom Phoebus Apollo killed during a discus throwing contest." - Euripides, "Helen"

On the other hand, Lucian's "Dialogues of the Dead" said that Hyacinthus was still in the Underworld after the Trojan War.

"Menippos: Where are all the beauties, Hermes? Show me around, I am a newcomer. Hermes : I am busy, Menippos. But look over there, to your right, and you will see Hyacinthus, Narcissus, Nireus, Achilles, Tyro, Helene, Leda - all the beauties of old." - Lucian, "Dialogues of the Dead"

From Lucian's work, either Hyacinthus will be resurrected much later after the war or never at all.

If we go by the version that Hyacinthus was deified before the war, I'm sure he will side with his homeland. Hyacinthus is a favorite hero-god of Sparta and great-granduncle to Helen, so there is no reason he won't participate in the war.

That leads us to the next point:

2) Can you imagine the angst potential for Hyapollo???

National pride is a big thing for Spartans. You know how Spartans mock other city-states and uphold their people. Hyacinthus must feel utterly betrayed when Apollo is revealed to be siding with the people who stole from his homeland. He loves the god, but he loves his homeland more.

However, unlike the previous point where there are sources to draw from, we got zero records of how Apollo and Hyacinthus interacted during the war. So it has to be up to our imagination.

When Apollo sent a plague on the Greeks, did he purposefully spare the Spartans because of Hyacinthus? Did Hyacinthus tell his men to not kill the children, lovers, or favored mortals of Apollo?

Did they avoid each other when the Olympian civil conflict broke out? Did they even talk to each other at all?

And most importantly, how would they heal after the Trojan War?

3) Do the Spartans celebrate the Hyacinthia in Troy?

Now, this one is funny. The Spartans worshipped Apollo and Hyacinthus together, yet Apollo is now the enemy of Sparta.

In history, Spartans did form truces and leave the battlefields to attend the Hyacinthia festival.

"Now the Lakedaimonians (Lacedaemonians), as the festival of Hyakinthos was approaching, made a truce of forty days with the men of Eira [in Messenia]. They themselves returned home to keep the feast." - Pausanias, "Description of Greece"

But this isn't the case in the Trojan War. No sources say the Spartans desert the battlefield in Troy to go home for the festival (makes sense because they have to travel across the sea, and their queen is still trapped in Troy)

So the question is: how do they celebrate them in Troy instead? Do they even celebrate the Hyacinthia when one of the honored gods is siding against them?

Food for thought...

TO BE CONTINUED

#hyacinthus #greek gods #greek deities #greek mythology #iceberg meme explain #long post #my ramblings #my theories #analysis #sorry for the long wait guys #uni classes are unifying to beat my ass these months

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songofthesibyl · 6 days

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Last Flowers

A Tamlin POV set during the events of ACOFAS.

It hit him, the weight of it, as soon as he returned. As if he had never been freed from his curse. As if, upon returning to the Spring Court, his heart had calcified. As if it had been happening this whole time. As if he had never been cursed at all. Perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe the whole thing had been another one of his delusions. He had dreamed the last few hundred years. He had laid down in the dirt, and closed his eyes, and the earth had taken him.

And there had been stars under his eyelids, pricking through, willing him to open them. To life, to the new. He was held safely within, only the stars could come through. And when he finally opened his eyes, it was night, and he expected it to last forever. But he would never be in a place that was so stagnant, so stifling, again. He woke up, and he was high above, he breathed in the fresh mountain air, the sun was rising over the peaks. The world minuscule below him. Glittering like the stars, thousands of tiny fae lights. And stars raining from above, that he could catch in his hand. They were everywhere, surrounding him, he had gone into the pool, he was swimming amongst stars, forever. Not drowning—he swam, he flowed, he rose above, he walked out. It was a river, flowing, of many colors, to the sunset, to the sea. A rainbow. A promise that what lay beyond the waves was not Hybern, but only more flowing, more freedom.

He walked, and the night bloomed. There were people in the streets, High Fae and Lesser, and no lesser at all. All mingling, happy. Safely within. He could hear the laughter and sweet words whispered. And the anticipation, walking up stairs, everyone dressed elegantly, shades of blue, and purple, and grey, and glittering jewels. All dressed in their best for her. There was a moment of confusion in the crowd, and panic, that he was alone—but a hand reached out, and he saw the wings, and smiled, and was reassured, and was one of them.

And he took the hand, and joined the others, already waiting in their seats in the front row. And there was a great hush, and she appeared before them in a halo of light, sitting down at her harp, and singing. His mother. He looked around. Everyone was transfixed. And her song was joyous. A joy reflected in the crowd. They cheered, and clapped, and wept for being moved. And she was bashful, and humble, and beckoned with her hand for him to join her on stage. And he looked up to her, in awe, and wonder. But rose from his seat, and reached out.

In the morning, the lilacs began to brown, and shrink from him. The leaves paper-thin, and crumbling. The scent was gone. He heard no birds chirping in the trees.

The light had come to him then, wreathed in night. Obscured. He had not recognized it. But for the red hair, and the scar, and the eye of gold. The sun in his eye. And he had pushed him away, and hissed, and bit. Over and over and over. Until the sun bled, pouring down his chin.

And the petals of the sweet alyssum had fallen to the earth. It had been heavy on him, the petals weighing him down until his eyelids drooped, and finally closed.

And there was laughter again, and vases of sunflowers, and a zinnia tied to his buttonhole. Papers spread out on a table, and the table was round, and they were all there, Bron, and Hart, and Andras, and the sentries, one by one sitting at the table. And he stood, waiting for Lucien to sit first, and then sitting himself. And there was no head of the table, no bigger or smaller chairs. And he looked around. Alis was there too, and the villagers, it was all of them, his entire Court, and they laughed, and drank, and shared poems. It went on and on, ever-expanding, never-fading.

And then the irises had wilted. And the wisteria. The sweet pea. Snapdragon and foxglove and hyacinth. All drooping, heavy. The peonies had fallen to the ground. And no summer flowers replacing them. No moonflowers, or lilies. No sunflowers or aster.

No Autumn.

It was a changing of his Court, finally a movement, an evolution. But no fruits on the vines, or the boughs. Everything was retreating. Fading from him.

Insubstantial as a dream. Where the moonflowers opened, and tuberose, and jasmine, their scents overwhelming, until they closed at the break of day, and the morning glory replaced them. And there were colors, a rainbow of them, streaming across the sky, filling the halls of his manor, that was empty now. Blank as a primed canvas. And the every-color attached itself in abstract forms swiped across, filled in as blocks, free of form, only feeling, emotion. It was a sort of freedom that burst through the floors, splitting the black marble, the jagged gold lines bleeding, the windows and the doors opening out, and the colors running back. And the stagnancy was gone, a refreshing breeze swept through, and everything smelled of paint.

And he woke, and everything was shut in again, and it stank of must and mildew and dust and rot. And an energy was in him, the rebellious agitation of Spring, and he tore through the manor, shattering windows, and slashing doors, his fiddle in splinters against the walls, the canvases all torn. Except hers. But the smell, and the rot, remained. The stagnancy of standing water, and the smell of bacteria building.

The blight spread quickly after that. He went outside, and there was no more drooping, no more yellow-and-browning. Soon, only the rose garden was left. Roses always lasted so late in the year, in the Courts that weren’t fixed. They held on here, too, as if hoping he would last. Clinging to the last bit of life in him. Willing him to come back. But then, finally, relenting. There was nothing to nourish them. He could nourish nothing with his hands, awkward as they were, clumsy as paws. He could not caress, or coax, and encourage the blossom, the bulb, the briar. Petals fell, leaves curled at his touch. Recoiling from it, instinctively. It all fell away.

And he realized, finally, that he wanted it to. He no longer lamented, or resisted it. Let it come finally, the blight.

Let it come for him.

After Rhysand left, he gathered the rest. Somehow, he did not tear through them. Lucien’s favorite handkerchief, pressed flowers. Letters from his mother, scented of cinnamon. Jackets, and shirts—when Lucien had sought him out after the meeting of humans and fae, he had said he had had no other clothes. He had had nowhere else to go.

His eye had burned, the fire in it coming through, flickering, and rising, and fading again. He had been in so much pain.

And he had hurt him. He could still feel the impact of his fists on his face, and Lucien egging him on, pushing him to go further. To just do it already. And he did, and there was blood running down his chin. He had put his hand to his face, and saw the blood on it, and had looked at him, wide-eyed.

And he had told him to leave.

Get out, he had said. Please. Get out.

And he had. But then he kept coming back, and trying, like the roses lingering that bloom well into the Autumn, and even into Winter. And so he had plucked them out, torn them from their roots. Rhysand had helped him to see—

Everything you touch you destroy.

And he let go, and the blossoms scattered on the wind, blowing south.

And then it was all gone. The yellow roses, and the white, and red. The eglantine, pink with a gold eye. The green turned to brown, and then black. The thorns curled round, and covered him, and sank into his flesh. And dragged him down. He would never escape.

It had all been a dream. And he had woken up, and seen what he truly was. So had everyone else. They had fled from him. He had only dreamed that they hadn’t. He had just seen it, that was it—the blood, and the brain matter leaking out of their ears. His mother’s severed head. Rhysand staring at him, full of fury, yet doing nothing. Knowing it was better this way.

There was still smoke in his eyes, and the scent of burnt flesh. He had torn through the manor, and raged, and raged, and he was so tired now. He walked, shedding each layer like petals falling—his bandolier, his boots, his tunic. Everything, until there were only antlers, and fangs, and claws. Fur, and paws tearing up the earth. And he sank down, and curled himself up, and went to sleep a monstrous beast.

@tamlinweek 2024 Day Six: Dreams

#tamlin week 2024 #tamlin #acotar #tamlin week

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ervona · 9 months

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Day 2: Beloved / Ritual for @tes-summer-fest

Each night on the twentieth of First Seed, the keepers of Azura’s shrine were on their feet even earlier than usual. High up on Mount Anthor the cool springtide wind danced and sang with nary a cloud passing by to obscure the Lady’s crown. Though many hardships had tried and tested them throughout the years, the Mad Star would not claim this night, nor the next.

Most folk from the city celebrated the dawn of the twenty-first in their homes or temple, but chosen priesthood and a few lay people would make the ascent, where in the darkness their distant forms bearing lanterns and magelights dotted the slope like torchbugs. The altar at the foot of the statue greeted them long since prepared and gleaming to impress the Queen of the Night Sky.

Flowers newly bloomed spun into wreaths, the dust of wayward spirits, iridescent shells and pearls, the phases of the moons carved into silver all caught the eye, but in that splendor what held most worth was aught offered from a worshipper’s own heart. In each hand a silvered mirror was held, so as not to gaze at their Prince’s fulsome brilliance directly.

Afore the first sign of dawn, the wind ceased for a moment as a breath held in anticipation. Where the golden spark first arose from the sea, a ring of light followed, encircling all they could and couldn’t see. They began the incantation. More so than usual, the acolytes were skittish, following their seniors to the point of inflection foreign to Winterhold-born youth.

With seafoam and petals and scent of roses did Azura come to them, senses captured, the presence overflowing from every facet of their surroundings. The words she spoke to each soul gathered here were obscured from others, her love a sanctum where all they wished to know of their destiny lay hidden.

How would one convey such joy for those not privy to it? Her most devoted were guarded and prone to jealousy. A mirror shattered, and an acolyte’s tears poured hot into the snow. And then it was over, and the harmony of voices turned to scattered birdsong.

The holiday that had grown around Azura’s summoning day was also one for loved ones to celebrate, feast and toast to all the gateways already crossed and those that awaited them. As soon as it was acceptable, the gathering scattered like leaves on the wind, and cleaning up in preparation for the eventide was left in the capable hands of Diviner Ienith, who had no family.

Her lot in life was not as sorrowful as one may think, since she was beloved by the Lady of Twilight, and each night that she would stroll the mountain restless with naught but a pallid light in hand, she would hear the same voice that had time ago brought the false gods to heel, but gentle as a breeze. She spoke in the word of Azura, and all willing to listen would receive it too.

Of the scant people still gathered, one caught her eye whom she’d known as Lay Priest Varen afore he left to pass his storied knowledge of Mysticism to students of magic. At times when her faith had been tested she’d considered that path as well, but learned to cherish her simple life. As one of few older than her, he was oddly spry enough to climb the mountain, though the many amulets hung about his person shimmering with enchantment must have helped.

“Aranea! Such a delight to see you,” he spoke with inordinate familiarity, and heeded not the ways that she gave off disinterest. “Even more so to tell you that an associate of mine has located Azura’s Star. For certain this time!”

That’s what you’ve said a few too many times before, was the thought on her mind, but she pushed it aside and tilted her head in feigned interest. “For certain? And where was it located?”

“Ah, that is yet uncertain. But in the case that I set out to find it, I extend the invitation to you. Azura must want you to recover her artifact, and with your vision-”

“Lady Azura wants for me to stay at this very shrine, and that is most certain.” She reached for the first thing she could grasp, and spun around to descend without looking back once, down and around until she reached the cairn from where the Prince was only partially seen.

Head spinning, she slumped down to the frozen stairs and dangled the crushed wreath in her hand like a pendulum. For all it was worth, it was true. Azura had shown her destiny, and the premonitions, cryptic as they could be, had never deceived her. Those who had no such guidance in their lives could never truly understand the responsibility she bore with pride, and only sought to use it.

She craned her neck towards the wall far more ancient than their statue but hewn from the same stone by those who had come before, and froze to a halt. A mighty, winged shadow descended upon it, but was gone in a moment. No, beyond her mind’s eye someone was there, heavy robes and likewise steps making no sound. She blinked a few times and stood up very carefully.

They seemed to be a Dunmer as well, perhaps someone from town who had wandered and was now lost, or simply interested in ancient Nordic structures. She knew she was out of practice in addressing ordinary folk, that was part of what Azura demanded from her.

Before she knew it, she threw her wreath and turned back the way she came from, at some point breaking into a sprint that left her out of breath by the time she returned to the now fully deserted shrine.

It was midday at the very least, and her preparations for dusk should have been underway much sooner. She scolded herself in her mind, but wasted no time. All would be ready for the crimson gate by the time it would even slip the minds of her juniors that they were needed for the ceremony too. But she could never fault them for enjoying their Hogithum dinner, for she would do no different in their place. Fortunately, she was bestowed with her own purpose.

The sky would take on each color of bruise soon enough, and having had her meal of scrib jerky she could only sit in silence with the offerings, wringing her hands with faint scratches left on them until it was time to conduct the ritual, perhaps on her own. There was no sorrow in that, for it made her holy bond even more special.

“Kena Aranea!”

She turned to the sound of her name and the voice that could only belong to one, well, two people running towards her up the slope at a speed most unwise, just waiting to trip on the stairs yet balancing quite well with some sort of cake in hand. Both of them, at that.

“You have returned in time! Azura commends you, and so do I.”

The acolytes giggled at that, looking back and forth at where they could set down the food. “My ama wanted you to have this, well, I was going to bring you a slice-”

“And my folks told me to bring something too! They all remember you from back when-”

“Ama then said to just bring the whole cake!” At a closer look, it was a comberry cake by way of snowberries, and a mushroom quiche.

“My warmest thanks to you and your families. I will just put these in the inner shrine, and you best be prepared. Think of what you would like to ask our Prince.”

She tried not to linger inside, to simply do what she came here for. While barely hungry, she was happy enough to weep, so she let her tears flow. That not only her acolytes but those she had known once thought about her on this day, that they would think to bring her…

But they are just here for an education, they will leave for greener pastures as they always do, soon enough you will be left alone, shoveling snow for all time, a voice in her head spoke.

“I am never alone, as long as Lady Azura is with me,” she replied, hand to her heart.

The silence that ensued was finally broken by the howling wind.

#tesfest23 #skyrim #tes #the elder scrolls #aranea ienith #assorted ocs and npcs but you're here for her #scrawling tag

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the-faetes-and-stars-aligned · 30 days

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Poem X

Rings of smoke; rippling water — Twisting vines of emerald ivy; twirled ropes of rose tourmaline alyssum — Blankets of sun; carpets of snow — Waning gibbous moon, half alive; silver stars shimmer, silent in the sky.

Amber skies; a sun of champagne — Silk grandidierite, telescopic seas glittered sapphire in your eyes — Inked skies; a tapestry of stars — Winter’s night of melanite; icy eves thawed by the warmth of our new love.

Feathered mist; silken rose petals — The tangled ropes of blushed spinel alyssum wove us our wreathed crowns of love. Fire’s pearl ash; stars aglow with us — Glacial, time froze still, blessing us, alone, a stolen moment of heaven.

Stars of moonstone; the moon of quartz — The candlelight in the cabin flickered, dancing, as the time ticked away, Talking hours on the window’s ledge… Jade ivy bound the rusted hands of time as saphh’rine mist veiled its cruel face.

The cherished hours we spent together, the wished-for moments stolen away; Every second remembered in love, barely less than I’ve been in with you.

#MY WORK DONT STEAL IT IT TOOK ME LIKE EIGHT HOURS 😭😭😭😭#ACTUALLY MORE #WAY MORE #MORE LIKE THIRTEEN #anyways <3 #faewrites #writing #poetry #poem #its like NOTHING near the plan so i gotta redo it but also it was kinda good so im keeping it as a separate poem #and just deleting it from the major work

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rougerosei0 · 1 year

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The roses of Heliogabalus

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, 1888, United kingdom, Victorian era, oil painting, 213.9x132.1 cm

Roman Emperor Egalabus (Heliogabalus, 204-222 AD) invited guest to have a drink and orgy at his palace. After drinking and some sexual intercourse he attempts to smother his audience by having the petals let down from the ceiling, the weight of the flowers would make it that the intoxicated hosts couldn't get up, thus suffocating.

Heliogabalus ruled 218-222 AD, he wasn't that favorite of an emperor to the point where his family assassinated him. He wasn't beloved for his love to alcohol, sex and drugs.

Initially the flowers were supposed to be violets and other flowers, Alma-Tadema changed it to roses. Violets were associated with modesty and faithfulness, he changed it to roses because roses were associated with lust, therefore enhancing the meaning of the painting.

Heliogabalus is the one on the platform in silk robe and tiara, watching his guests drown in the petals. Behind him in the background is a woman playing on double pipes and wearing leopard cover and ivy-wreath around her head. She's a meanad which is the follower of the god Dionysus, they were also called "mad women" due to their ecstasy, intoxication and liveliness. Her being follower of Dionysus supports the fact that behind her is a bronz statue based on Ludovisi Dionysus.

Choosing Dionysus for this painting was perfect as Dionysus is the god of wine, fertility, festivity, insanity and more, it underlines the message of the painting.

The painting was warmly welcomed, the interpretation was that the guests were smothered by their own lust, this clean and modest representation is characteristic for the Victorian era.

Fun fact Alma-Tadema made sure to depict each of the petals as realistically as possible, from the years of 1887-1888 he would order fresh roses as reference, he rushed the painting before the flowers died. Alma often ordered flowers from all over Europe, sometimes even Africa for a drawing reference. He was known for his perfectionism. He would order the flowers to UK from France every week for the time period of 4 months. The painting was commissioned by Sir John Arid for £4,000 ($150,000 in 2020).

#im so normal over this painting #SO normal #dionysus #victorian era #painting #classical art #art history #united kingdom

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drops-of-moonlights · 1 year

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Va-mos! Poder Cosmix Reluciente energía Es el poder (el poder) de Cosmix, sí! Y se alzará Contra la oscuridad Brillara yá Es la Luz Cosmix, sí!

AS OF THIS WRITING IT’S BEEN 1007 DAYS SINCE DISCOVERY KIDS WAS SUPPOSED TO AIR THE LATIN SPANISH DUB OF SEASON 8 AND BELIEVE ME I AM STILL AS FUCKING PISSED AS I WAS ON THE FIRST 500 DAYS. WHERE IS S8 DISCOVERY KIDS WE KNOW IT’S FULLY DUBBED, THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO MAKE LOST MEDIA.

My third world problems aside, Cosmix’s re-redesign! I sadly axed the relation to celestial objects with this version, but I’m more content with making them all more generally space-themed. Everyone has a different star they’re associated with with different amount of points! More design details below because this is a lore post and a half tbh:

The wings this time are based on, of all things, the canon Winx Travelix wings, which appeared on the show in S6, as part of the Zenith shepard check outfits. They have the same vibe as the Cosmix wings except actually individualized, and so they felt perfect for this batch even if I mixed up Flora’s and Aisha’s but details. Stella obviously has the eye aura since it’s tailor made for her everything, but Diaspro has a partial eye aura since her way of forming gemstones involves usage of light magic.

For this new version, everyone is associated with a color of the rainbow, per my own earning of Cosmix (Dorana was delighted they were 7 so she could just go straight to the point lmao), based on the river each of the girls drew from. They also all have the astronomical symbols for their realms on their chest! Earth would go insane trying to think of why the fuck realms within the same planet have different astronomical signs, but it’s one of those things that made sense to the Naerys system to further differentiate their sections of the world from each other.

Scintil has a stylized laurel wreath holding a spark, as it was implemented back when they thought the Dragon Aura was “the Dragon’s Flame”, a divine gift of extra powers and not a benign magical condition. (Bloom was sure she was gonna have Earth’s symbol as she still considers it her primary home, and is a bit conflicted on what it might mean for her to bear Scintil’s mark.)

Linphea and Dolona used to share a symbol as Primaveria, a stylized Rose of the Willow with six petals, but after the civil war and the split they each have a 3-petal flower.

Quarzis’s is pretty straightforward, the Jewel of Dawn (a national treasure and ancient magic artifact) being hold aloft by the hands of the first Queen.

Zenith’s mark, while at first glance looks like circuitry, is actually meant to evoke the Aurora Prismatia, a weather phenomena incredibly important to their culture.

Like with Linphea and Dolona’s, Andros’s mark was originally shared with Mareia (and Salett) as the ancient kingdom of Okeane, the shore between the land and the sea. Nowadays Andros’s symbol is the land and the shore, while Mareia’s the shore and the sea.

Melodeus’s is the Giant Diapason, a gigantic sculpture of antiquity that much like Zenith’s Aurora Prismatia is a big part of Melodean culture.

Finally, Solaria’s the most straightforward - the moons and the sun, perfectly aligned.

#Drops's Art #Winx Club #Winx Redux AU #Cosmix #Winx AU Detailing #because I left a lot of shit in the readmore lol

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catladywriter · 2 months

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Inotan Fanfic: Inosuke’s White Day Mission - Chapter 2

Bigger and Better

Synopsis: It’s the day before White Day and Tanjirou is busy making chocolates for all the girls who gave him chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Inosuke thinks it’s a stupid tradition. Why should Tanjirou have to return their favours? Shouldn’t Tanjirou be making chocolates for him instead? Of course, he’s not jealous or anything. Definitely not.

Alright, maybe he is a little jealous. After all, he has feelings for Tanjirou and wants to be the one receiving his hand-made chocolates. With a little prodding from Zenitsu and some help from Tanjirou’s family, Inosuke sets out to get the perfect gift to prove that he’s the best candidate for Tanjirou’s White Day chocolates.

Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Setting: Highschool AU (They’re 17 in here, a couple of years older than their Kimetsu Academy counterpart)

Wordcount: 8500+ words across 4 chapters

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Status: Complete

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Kie, Tanjirou's mother, was busy attending to a delivery order. Despite that, she flashed Inosuke a warm smile to acknowledge his presence. Nezuko, managing the cashier, greeted him with a friendly wave while munching on a piece of bread. Seated next to her were her younger siblings, Takeo and Hanako, engrossed in their homework.

Inosuke always craved the Kamado bakery's signature chocolate cookies, which he made a beeline for on every visit to the bakery. But today, his eyes spotted the enticing chocolate and sweet sets packaged for White Day, tempting him to take a closer look.

Inosuke's eyes roamed the shelves until they settled on a whimsical round basket. It was decorated with bright yellow sunflowers that stood out amidst the usual red roses and heart-shaped boxes. On closer inspection, it was evident that the sunflowers were made by hand from paper. Each petal and seed head was intricately crafted to resemble freshly picked blooms from a field. The sunflowers were arranged in a circular pattern. Their long green stems coiled and weaved together, forming a natural-looking wreath around the basket's edges. A ribbon wrapped around the basket's midsection, culminating in a large bow adorned with a dainty sunflower charm. As he peered inside, he discovered a treasure trove of chocolates, wrapped in sunflower-patterned paper. The effect was charming and delightful, intending for the recipient to receive a bucket of sunflowers, only to be surprised by the sweet treats hidden within.

To most people, the sunflower basket might have seemed gaudy or childish, but to Inosuke, it was perfect. Roses were sappy, old-fashioned, and had thorns. But sunflowers reminded him of Tanjirou's sunny and bright personality, always there to uplift his mood on gloomy days.

The price tag gave him pause, but with his employee discount, he could make it work. He might have to skip his favorite tempura lunch set for a few days, but it would be worth it to see the look on Tanjirou's face when he received the gift.

Inosuke walked over to the cashier and placed the sunflower basket on the counter in front of Nezuko. She gave him a puzzled look, seemingly surprised that he was considering purchasing it. But Hanako, who had been working on her homework, looked up and squealed in delight, "I decorated it!"

Nezuko patted her little sister's head. "Great job, Hanako! She worked on it all night, and was worried that no one would buy it because it's not the typical rose and heart theme."

Inosuke dug out his wallet. "It's nice. I prefer sunflowers to roses."

"Who's it for?" Hanako's round eyes brimmed with curiosity.

Inosuke's defensiveness kicked in. "None of your business," he said.

But just then, Kie walked up to them after seeing the delivery person out, and asked the same question. Inosuke felt exasperated. He couldn't exactly tell Tanjirou's mother that it was none of her business, could he? But they didn't ask other customers, so why were they being so nosy with him?

"'None of your business,' he said," Takeo smirked.

Kie gave a pleasant laugh. "He's just shy." She smiled at Inosuke with kind eyes. "It must be for a girl you like then."

"I'm not shy! And it's not for a girl! It's for Kentarou! Uh, I mean Tanjirou." Inosuke hastily corrected himself when Kie tilted her head, looking puzzled.

Kie's eyes widened slightly with surprise at the mention of her son's name. "That's really kind of you, but all the gift sets from our White Day shelf are more elaborate and expensive. They're better suited as romantic gifts. If you're looking for something to express gratitude or friendship, you might want to choose something simpler."

Inosuke looked at her with confusion. Why was this so complicated? He just wanted to give the best chocolate he could buy.

"Maybe you can tell me what you're trying to convey, and I'll help you choose something suitable," Kie suggested.

Inosuke felt a lump form in his throat. He had only wanted to buy some chocolates, not have a conversation about his feelings. Besides, his gut feeling told him that this was the perfect present, and he didn't want anything else. Four pairs of eyes stared up at him, making him feel even more uncomfortable. Inosuke wished that Hanako and Takeo would go back to their homework.

Nezuko came to his rescue. "Inosuke and nii-chan do everything together, and nii-chan always shares his lunch with him and treats him to stuff. That must be why Inosuke wants to get him something in return!"

"I see." Kie smiled. "Tanjirou talks about you a lot, Inosuke. He enjoys spending time with you and doing things for you. So, the feeling is mutual. You don’t have to feel like you owe him anything or get him something special."

"Really?" Inosuke's heart swelled with happiness at the thought of Tanjirou having mutual feelings for him.

Kie nodded. "That’s right! So, I'll exchange this sunflower basket for a simpler packet of chocolate cookies. I'm sure Tanjirou will be happy with anything you get for him."

As Kie made to take the basket back, Hanako and Inosuke yelled "No!" in unison.

“Mum! It’s my first sale!” Hanako protested.

“It’s okay, Hanako-chan. Someone else will buy it. Don't make Inosuke spend more than he should."

Inosuke appreciated Kie's kind gesture. He knew Tanjirou liked doing things for people and giving people things, but he never expected others to go out of their way for him. It must be a trait he learned from his mother, who seemed to feel bad that Inosuke wanted to get such an extravagant present for her son.

“I’m getting it!” Inosuke insisted.

“But…” Kie began.

"Tanjirou's making a ton of chocolate in the home ec room now! I need to find something good enough to trade for it all!"

Nezuko and Kie exchanged perplexed looks.

Inosuke took a deep breath and tried to explain. "White Day's about giving back to those who gave to you, right? I want to trade this chocolate for all of Tanjirou's so he won't give any to anyone else but me." He punctuated his explanation with exaggerated hand gestures, hoping they would get his point across if his words could not.

Kie furrowed her brows, although her face remained kind and patient. “Is there a reason he shouldn’t give chocolates to other people? He got a lot of chocolates on Valentine’s Day so it’s only right that he reciprocates. Takeo’s bringing chocolate cookies to his school tomorrow too.”

Inosuke's mind raced as he tried to come up with a response that would make his argument convincing, but he couldn't refute what Kie said. He reluctantly conceded defeat with a huff.

"Whatever, he can give chocolates to anyone. But I need to give him something bigger and better than the other girls' gifts. I need to show him I'm the best. Got it?"

The Kamados looked at Inosuke in anticipation, waiting for him to elaborate. Inosuke groaned internally. Why were they all so clueless? Tanjirou was oblivious to his feelings, and Nezuko was oblivious to Zenitsu’s aggressive pursuit. It probably ran in the family.

Suddenly, Hanako clapped her hands together and squealed. “You like nii-chan!”

Takeo’s mouth formed a comical ‘O’, and Nezuko put her hands to her mouth. “I knew it! I always thought there was something going on between you two,” she exclaimed.

Inosuke's face flushed red with embarrassment. His attempts to choose a gift for Tanjirou had turned into a bigger ordeal than he had anticipated. He had only wanted to emphasize the importance of getting a worthy present. Why did Hanako have to expose him like that?

"N-No, you've got it all wrong!" he stammered.

But Kie's smile broadened as enlightenment dawned on her face. "So you're getting this because you want to confess your feelings for him!"

“Of-of course not! As I said, you’ve got it all wrong! Why would I do a dumb thing like that!” Inosuke sputtered, feeling his face and ears go hot. He didn't want to confess his feelings, he just wanted to prove himself to Tanjirou.

"Liking Tanjirou isn't anything to be embarrassed about," Kie said, stifling a chuckle as she patted his shoulder.

"Our nii-chan is popular, you know," Takeo chimed in, sounding offended.

Inosuke's hands waved frantically as he stumbled over his words. "N-no, that's not what I meant!" he stuttered, flustered at how his response came across as disparaging Tanjirou. "Actually, I- I think Tanjirou's amazing. He's smart, always knows what to do, and he's nice to everyone. Whenever I'm with him, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I just wish he would treat me more special..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to express his feelings.

A smile of comprehension played on Kie's lips. "Then you'll have to let him know. Tanjirou isn't the brightest when it comes to feelings, but as his mother, I can tell that you're special to him."

Inosuke felt a sense of pride swelling within him. Of course, he's special to Tanjirou. He's the strongest, the bravest, the smartest and the most talented. A warm feeling spread from his chest through his body, and he felt increasingly confident. There was no doubt in his mind that Tanjirou would reciprocate his feelings, no matter how oblivious he might be to them at the moment. All he had to do was help Tanjirou discover those feelings. A grin spread across his face, replacing his anxious expression.

Kie beamed. "Let's not hold Inosuke up! Give him the family discount, Nezuko!"

Nezuko grinned and tapped away at the cash machine, her fingers moving deftly over the buttons. A customer needed assistance and Kie excused herself to help.

Takeo and Hanako had their backs turned to him while they bagged his purchase. As Inosuke waited, he noticed they were whispering busily to each other while scribbling something. He was too exhausted to care about what they were up to. Confessing his feelings about Tanjirou had been nerve-wracking and draining. He was relieved to be left alone.

"Good luck!" the three siblings chorused as they handed him his purchase in a paper bag.

"You got this!" Nezuko pumped her fists and gave him a nod of encouragement.

Inosuke muttered his thanks and turned to leave, only to find a small queue of people behind him. He groaned inwardly, wondering how long they had been listening to his halting love confession. A girl in the same high school uniform who had been behind him gave him a sheepish grin. He couldn't wait to get out of there.

At least the family discount turned out to be quite significant, he thought as he gave his purchase a squeeze. He wouldn't have to sacrifice too many tempura lunch sets.

He checked his phone and saw that he had several missed calls and messages from Tanjirou. He had completely forgotten that he had stormed off earlier from the home economics room. Inosuke felt ashamed at the memory as he opened the messages. Tanjirou had sent a few apologies, although it was clear that he didn't seem to know what he was apologizing for. After all, he had done nothing to warrant an apology in the first place. The revelation made Inosuke feel even more guilty.

The latest message, sent 15 minutes ago, was a photo of several pieces of chocolate shaped like wild boars. Accompanying it was the caption, "I made these for you, they’ll melt if you don't come back!" Inosuke couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at Tanjirou's adorable creations. His fingers flew across his phone screen. "Coming through!" he texted, before breaking into a sprint to make up for lost time. He cradled his purchase in his arms as he ran, the paper bag a comforting presence against his chest.

Chapter 3

「 ✦ Please support your creators by reblogging ✦ 」

Author's Notes: I'm so happy to have the Kamado family in my fic, alive and well, and having cute and happy interactions with Inosuke. Poor Inosuke, gift-shopping is stressful enough without having half of his crush's family prying! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Now what are Hanako and Takeo up to? Will their sneaky antics hinder or help his confession? Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my fic, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously! Although I mostly write for myself, your encouragement keeps me motivated to post and share my work.

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bebemoon · 2 years

Note

which flowers and plants (and any other items from nature) would you wear in your hair in every season?

oooh, cute<3

. autumn . dried, dead, withered leaves and other woodland floor detritus- a nice long-vacant spider's web is not to be overlooked. wreathing the face- framing it in the crisp golden corpses of the season. brown roses, if manageable.

. winter . glassy ice-sheathed branches, hewn holly leaves, red and white berry crowns, hair glinting with ice and snow. as a side note: i think it would be cool to make ice in the shape of tiny droplets (like pearls) and then- adhere them into just the tips of hair/tresses of hair. at the very least, the sound of so many ice beads clattering together as you move might sound nice... anway, yeah. more dead and gnarled twigs and blackened, frost-bitten flowers. that kind of thing.

. spring . petals on face, new bloomage gathered by hand to be tucked hither and thither- no wrong answers here, in my opinion. fresh pink flowers, mostly, though. nothing over-bright until summer. iris, jasmine, cherry blossom, hyssop, astilbe, cabbage rose.

. summer . ideally, the below- but if you come by (because maybe you don't have water spirits in your local scummy pond or lake) a massive lotus/water lily for your head, consider just dropping a lil lilypad on top of your hair like a beret. don't be afraid to use nature to keep cool- for wide-brim sun protection. queen protea, hydrangea, coneflower, larkspur, water lily, sun flower, geranium .

#allthestoriescantbelies #i don't even know if i answered this correctly #thank you though- it was fun<3 #ask #seasonal #floral #long post

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 1 year

Text

Begged & Borrowed Time (ix, ao3)

(Chapter nine: Cassian goes below the wall to surprise Nesta with a visit, but it only ends in bloodshed. Literally.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

It had been a week.

Seven full days since Cassian had felt Nesta’s hand slip in with his own, her fingers brushing against his knuckles. Since he’d kissed that hand wreathed in mist— and kissed it twice, like he was starving and a single kiss wasn’t enough, wasn’t anywhere near enough to calm the erratic beating of his heart.

Seven days— and as the sun set over Velaris, turning the sky a beautiful, blushing pink, Cassian made up his mind. With the moon overhead just a pale shadow, barely there in the rose-petal sky, he looked out over the city he’d fought for so long to protect and felt certainty in his bones, thrumming in his blood as he decided— he was going beneath the wall tomorrow.

Because it had been seven days since he’d made his way back to Velaris, shielding the memory of Nesta’s touch like a candle flame in a breeze, and every night since, he’d lain in his bed at the House of Wind and let that fire consume him— let it burn and burn and burn until he was nought but ashes, desperate to be set alight again.

And as he stood in the House of Wind dining room, looking down to the sprawling city below him, he felt the heat still building in his chest, what had once been embers now a roaring, raging inferno. His siphons pulsed in answer, as if they, too, could feel it. The draw to her, that insatiable pulling. That insistent, ravenous tug that had him desperate - so achingly, achingly desperate - to kiss her hand again.

To kiss more than her hand.

The fire in his chest blazed, as it had done since the moment he’d left her on that road bathed in fog, and even though he’d hardly been idle the last seven days… Gods, there wasn’t a thing he could do, a place he could go, where she wasn’t dominating his every thought, stealing his every breath even though a wall and thousands of miles lay between them.

So— yes, he was going below the wall tomorrow, and there wasn’t a soul in this city that could stop him.

And even though, ostensibly, he was going to check for a reply to either of the letters they’d sent to the queens… quietly, silently, he hoped and he prayed that when he arrived at the Archeron manor tomorrow, the Mother would take pity on him and align his visit up with one of Nesta’s. Have her visiting her sister at the exact moment he knocked on their door. He prayed he’d find her there, that she’d let him walk her along that distant, isolated little road one more time.

With his mind solidly and pleasantly made up, Cassian let out a soft hum, sliding his hands into his pockets. As the setting sun streamed through the wide windows of the House, Cassian let a trembling optimism take him over, let himself hope, as the golden glow danced over the table set for two.

Only two— because four days after Cassian’s parting from Nesta, an invitation had arrived from the Summer Court, written in gold ink and good faith. An invitation that was to make thieves and liars out of Cassian’s High Lord and Nesta’s sister both. Chasing one half of the Book of Breathings, Rhys had taken Feyre - and, to Cassian’s chagrin, Amren - over the Summer border, and since Azriel was still on the continent chasing the second half… Mor had been left in charge of Velaris, and Cassian left with nothing and nobody to stop him crossing the wall tomorrow.

And right on cue, as if his thoughts had summoned her, Mor’s footsteps sounded in the hallway. As the light died away, Cassian caught the scent of her perfume a heartbeat before she opened the door, heard her soft humming a breath before she turned the handle.

“Hello,” she said brightly, pushing the dining room door open on silent hinges as the table for two became suddenly weighed down with food and wine. As the only two members of the Inner Circle left in Velaris, the House was, apparently, spoiling them— laying out a veritable feast for their dinner every night without fail, and tonight was no exception. Cassian caught sight of a bottle of red wine, stoppered with cork and sealed with thick wax, and raised an eyebrow as he lifted it by the neck.

“Rhys will be furious,” he commented lightly, eyes glinting as he raised the bottle of one of Rhys’ rarer, more expensive vintages. Plucked from the depths of his wine cellar, no doubt— right from one of the shelves lining the back wall, the bottles so rarely touched, so preciously hoarded.

Mor pulled out a chair and lifted her empty glass for Cassian to fill, a smirk cutting across her face as Cassian sank into a chair of his own and reached for the corkscrew.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He felt an answering smile on his own lips as he cut through the wax and worked the cork free, but as it came loose with a pop that echoed in the hush of the House, he looked over at Mor and felt that smile stumble, felt it drop a little as—

When are you going to talk about how you tease Mor to hide whatever it is you feel for her?

Feyre’s words - five days old, now - echoed in his mind, came back to him as he filled Mor’s glass.

When are you going to talk about how you sent that note to Tamlin, Cassian had asked— days ago, before the invitation had arrived from Summer, when he and Feyre had been training and he’d found himself suddenly needing to ask, needing to know, just how much of Feyre’s heart Rhys had monopolised. How much she was willing to leave behind for him.

As though the heart of one Archeron sister might reflect another— as though Feyre’s leaving Tamlin behind might somehow be relevant.

Stupid, really.

He hadn’t thought it through. Had been too lost in Feyre’s damned sister to think it through, and then Feyre had… snapped. Snapped and asked him about Mor, as though she thought she were hitting a nerve, and all he could do was hold up his palms and let the Cursebreaker hit him over and over and over again, until all of her anger, all of her grief and pain, had leeched away, leaving nothing behind but her tears and his bruised palms.

And as Feyre’s fists had connected with his hand, all Cassian had been able to think was— It’s not Mor. And it hasn’t been for a long time.

But— he couldn’t tell Feyre that, could he? What should he have said, as Feyre pummelled her fists into his outstretched hand?

I kissed the back of your sister’s hand the other day Feyre, and I haven’t thought of anything else since. I tease Mor not because she’s the one that I want, but because she’s the opposite, and the moment I met your sister… I think I found whatever it was that I had hoped, once, to find in Mor. What I wanted to find in her when I was seventeen.

As Cassian cut into the chicken that had materialised on his plate, he cast a wry glance across to the table to Mor, to her golden hair and beautiful face. Gods— if Feyre hadn’t managed to land a punch before, she would after that, wouldn’t she? Cassian had only laughed and said it was old news, because how could he explain to her that what she thought she saw when he looked at Mor wasn’t longing or unrequited love— it was Cassian trying desperately to get a handle on how it was Nesta that had taken root inside his mind.

As Mor raised a toast to something Cassian didn’t hear, he thought of Feyre, how she’d punched his palm until his hand turned numb.

She’d needed it, and as Rhys had shrouded her in darkness, Cassian had slipped away to Azriel and watched as his brother tilted Feyre’s face up to the sun, the tracks left by her tears glistening on her cheeks in the morning light. Cassian had turned away, the moment almost too intimate to witness.

Because he’d had a conversation with Rhys, too.

When you get back, we’ll talk, Rhys had said, and when Cassian returned from Velaris that day, still feeling the weight of Nesta’s fingers against his palm, still feeling the warmth of her against his lips, he’d found his brother sitting on the roof-top patio of the town house, cradling a whiskey like it was a lifeline.

Tell me, Cassian had said, and as Rhys sighed beneath a sky scattered with stars… He did.

As Mor spoke animatedly, her face alight with laughter, Cassian felt like he was still on that roof. That he’d never really left— that Rhys was still telling him how Feyre was the light to his darkness, how under the mountain, he’d risked everything to save her, screaming her name as her bones snapped. Cassian had listened in silence then, but when Rhys was done, when Cassian returned to the House of Wind, he knew that if it were Nesta…

He’d have died screaming Nesta’s name the way Rhys almost died screaming Feyre’s, and as the food and the wine diminished now, he found himself utterly unable to carry on pretending— to keep acting as though there were nowhere else he’d rather be, as though there weren’t another soul - another heart - battling for residency within his chest.

So as Mor finished her food and picked up her wine, Cassian placed his own empty glass down on the table and sat back in his chair, letting his wings stretch around the mahogany as he adjusted his shoulders.

As casually as he could manage, he said, “I’m going below the wall tomorrow.”

“What?” Mor asked, her eyebrows drawing together in a frown as she tilted her head. “Why?”

Her golden hair fell over her shoulder as she studied him in silence, as though trying to find the answer to her question on his face. He kept his expression blank, his shoulders even and his posture easy as she roved over him with those searching eyes, and it was a long, long moment before she drew back and settled against the carved back of her own chair, cradling her wine glass in her palm.

Whatever she saw, whatever she gleaned from the look in his eyes, all she said was, “Az is going next week. On his way back from the continent.”

Cassian only shrugged.

“If the human queens have sent a reply, we can’t afford to leave their letter sitting there for a week until Az picks it up,” he pointed out, feeling the solid logic of his argument even as he recognised it for what it was— an excuse.

And despite that logic, Mor frowned still. As though she saw it for what it was, too.

“I doubt it, Cass,” she said warily, dragging a finger idly around the rim of her glass, making it sing. The humming was the only thing that broke the silence between them, and as Cassian shrugged again, irreverent and easy, he plucked up the bottle from the centre of the table and poured himself another glass of Rhys’ rare wine.

“What’s the harm in checking?”

“Rhys has already written to Feyre’s sister,” Mor pointed out, tipping her glass forward as she fixed him with her stare. “Elain isn’t expecting us until next week.”

“So?”

“So you’ll be turning up unannounced to the home of a woman engaged to a fae hunter,” Mor said incredulously. She set her glass down on the table, looking at him with wide, disbelieving eyes as she shook her head. “What if her fiancé is there?”

“You know, there’s this little thing called a glamour—”

Mor cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. “I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Cassian asked, giving her a rakish grin as he plucked up his own wine from the table, swilling the dark red liquid as he did. He lifted it up towards her as though it were a toast, tilting his head as he said, languidly, “Don’t you think I can handle myself below the wall?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think any trip below the wall is dangerous. You know they have ash arrows down there, Cass.”

“They can only hit me if they can see me,” he shrugged. “And they can’t.”

Mor only glared in answer, taking up her wine once again and drinking deeply, crimson staining her lips as she lowered her glass. Cassian sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing. There’s nothing for me to do here— nothing in Windhaven either, not with Rhys in Summer and Azriel on the continent. How can I plan a war when I don’t know what Azriel’s found out? How can I craft contingency plans when I don’t know what Rhys will be bringing back from Summer?” Another shake of his head, and Mor dropped her gaze to her lap as the truth of his words settled. Cassian swallowed as he murmured, “I can go to the mortal lands, just in case the gods have decided to give us a break and send us some luck. If there’s a letter, we’ll have it tomorrow.”

Silence.

A beat of silence echoed, and then Mor dragged her finger round the rim of her glass again, the only sound between them the gentle, musical hum the movement elicited. Cassian fixed her with his most open, honest stare, and when she met his eye… She sighed, but whether it was in acquiescence or apprehension, he couldn’t tell.

He only raised one eyebrow, tilted his head and said, again, with a finality that brooked absolutely no argument, “As soon as day breaks tomorrow, I’m going below the wall.”

***

I’d kill him in a heartbeat.

Nesta listened to the soft rasp of her sewing needle as it passed through fabric— tried and failed to focus on the whisper of the thread pulling taut, the cloak draped over her lap, and the new lining she was stitching to the inside. Tried— but with every tug, every rasp, she felt as though part of her remained on that road from seven days ago, blanketed in a fog so dense she’d almost forgotten the world beyond existed.

She looked down at the panels of the old dress she had cut into strips, the new lining she was binding to her cloak, and though she tried to focus only on her stitches, on the sharp end of her needle, she heard his voice in her mind, saw the soft smile as he knocked his shoulder into hers.

Witch— she remembered the way his wing had extended behind her, spanning her shoulders in a gesture that was almost protective, even as he called her a witch and she called him a brute.

And his kiss—

Nesta felt the phantom touch of that kiss even now, still burning on the back of her hand even though seven full days had come and gone.

She could almost convince herself that, should she look down at her skin, she’d see some imprint left there. Some marker where his lips had brushed her knuckles— because that simple little touch had marked her soul, left an incision on her heart, and it was ludicrous - really, truly ludicrous - that there should be no physical sign of it. No tangible reminder of the way his fingers had touched hers, the way he had kissed the back of her hand, the chasteness of it undercut by the look in his eyes— filled with yearning and longing and want.

Nesta’s hand had been kissed oh, so many times over the years. At balls and society gatherings— where eligible young men would take her hand and kiss her fingers as a gesture of good will, of greeting or farewell. But never - never - had she still been thinking about a single one of those kisses a week later.

Never.

She didn’t know how, but somehow the politest of gestures, the most innocent of touches, had been transformed— there was nothing polite, nothing innocent, about the way Cassian had kissed her hand, and there had been nothing polite or innocent about the way Nesta’s blood had heated the moment his lips brushed her skin, either.

And gods save her, as Nesta sat in the parlour of the Mandray house, sewing an old dress into her even-older cloak, she wanted to let him kiss her again.

Her thread hissed as she pulled it through the wool, her needle shining as it broke through and met the sunlight on the other side. As her needle plunged through the cloak again and again - a steady, numbing monotony - she thought of her old dress and her thin cloak. How the new lining would only keep her a fraction warmer on freezing winter roads, and how there were other ways of keeping warm. Better ways.

Those curious red stones Cassian wore at his shoulders and his hands and his chest and his knees… Nesta thought of how they let off a kernel of heat, like coals right off a fire. She thought, too, of how he’d stopped the wind. Some kind of shield he’d conjured, making him master of the elements on that misty, wooded road from her father’s estate. By his side, the wind didn’t bite her. The cold didn’t touch her. He was warmth and shelter, and as she drew her thread tighter and tighter and tighter… Nesta wished she could cast aside the cloak altogether, and rely only on his heat forever.

A silly little fantasy, really, but as she sat in the silence Nesta let herself be lost in it. Just for a moment— for one fleeting heartbeat, she let herself be carried away.

By the window, Adara hissed.

A sharp sound, pained and bitter, that pulled Nesta from her reverie as she looked up to her mother in law, seated by the window and stitching her husband’s shirts. Blood bloomed on her fingertip, staining the white cotton crimson as she scowled at the needle that had pricked her, and Nesta wondered whether she, too, had been lost in a fantasy.

If she, too, had been thinking of someone other than the man who put a ring on her finger. Thinking of lands far away, rooms so far removed from this parlour that they might as well have belonged to another world entirely.

Setting aside both shirt and needle, Adara reached for a scrap of cotton discarded in the sewing basket, wrapping it around her finger to staunch the bleeding. When Nesta asked if she was alright, she only nodded, and glared once more at the shirt she’d set down.

Nesta wondered why she even bothered.

Why she made shirts and stitched buttons, shedding her own blood to keep the clothes on her husband’s back, when all he gave her in return was bruises. Quietly, viciously, Nesta hoped Adara had left the stitches loose. Hoped the shirt would tear, split at the seams when the bastard was in the woods, out in the cold.

She might have lingered longer on that thought— the idea of her father-in-law and his sons, shivering in the snow when their seams gave way. Might have let it bring her some small degree of comfort, let it curve her lips into an unforgiving smile— but before she could, the door to the parlour was opened, letting in a bitter draught as Nesta’s own husband stomped his way inside, his boots heavy on the wooden floor.

Adara looked up at his entrance, still clasping a roll of cotton around her bleeding finger, but her son didn’t even seem to notice his mother and her small injury by the window. The woman smiled, but Nesta could have sworn it was a smile filled with more grief than love— with a sadness that Nesta suspected came from years and years of watching Tomas grow into a man exactly like his father.

Tomas only came to stand before Nesta, grey light silhouetting his folded arms and the tension in his shoulders. The cut of his clenched jaw and the flat look in his eyes made her want to sigh, the emptiness inside her growing so vast it suddenly threatened to swallow her whole, and the only thing - the only thing - that kept her from drowning, from dipping beneath the surface of that void and letting it consume her, was the way her hand still burned, the ghost of Cassian’s kiss still lingering on her fingers.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Tomas announced bluntly, as if that should mean something— as if he thought he’d figured something out, found something to be vindicated by. His eyes dropped to the cloak in Nesta’s lap, the needle in her hand, as he looked at her and glared.

“Excuse me?”

“Last week,” he pressed, his voice low and drawn out, as though he were speaking to a child— speaking to someone too stupid to understand. “Elain wasn’t at the estate when you visited.”

Nesta wanted to say, And it’s taken you a week to figure that out, has it?

Wanted to roll her eyes and say, in a voice thick with sarcasm, How clever you are, Tomas. What excellent instincts you must have, to catch me in a lie seven days too late.

She only huffed instead.

“If you’re here to accuse me of something, speak plainly.” She plucked up her needle and her cloak again, picking up her stitching exactly where she’d left it when Adara had pricked her finger. “I’m in no mood for riddles.”

His eyes flashed— irritation burning behind the blue she’d once thought pretty in the sunlight. His lip curled too, as if he hadn’t really expected her to speak. As if it was an affront to him, somehow, that she dared to respond when he spat at her.

“Greysen has just been,” Tomas said tightly, dropping his arms only to clench his fists at his sides, as though the grim sense of justice he’d had, that sense of retribution, had evaporated, replaced only by irritation and anger. “He wants to buy firewood in bulk for his father’s manor. I asked him how the wedding planning was going, and he mentioned that he’d spent all day last week with your sister choosing flowers and other pretty little frivolities.”

He practically spat the last bit— the words venomous, sharp on his tongue. As though it were the greatest crime in the world for Elain to want flowers at her wedding.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as her fingers tightened on her needle, the urge to plunge the needle through his neck growing more potent with every sneer that crossed his face.

“So— where were you? Because your sister wasn’t even at your father’s estate when you visited.”

He folded his arms back over his chest, and Nesta set her sewing to the side, placing her needle atop her cloak before she really did put it through his neck. Unbidden, she thought of how Cassian had offered to kill him.

I’d kill him in a heartbeat, he’d said. A promise— a vow, whispered to her in the fog.

Maybe one day she’d take him up on it.

“Elain wasn’t at the estate,” Nesta answered flatly, barely blinking as she met her husband’s eye. “Mrs Laurent told me she was with Greysen when I arrived, but since it was cold and the fog was gathering, she let me inside for a while to wait for her.”

Not a lie.

Not technically.

Mrs Laurent had told Nesta that Elain was out. No matter that Nesta had known already— that Elain had written ahead and asked Nesta to show up at the estate. She’d burned that note the moment she’d read it, and every word she spoke now was true— in the strictest sense, at least.

She refused to think of Cassian, waiting for her on her father’s lawn.

Refused to think of how, when he kissed her hand in farewell, his touch had been almost reverent.

Practically devout as his lips brushed her knuckles.

She refused to think of how his eyes had met hers the second time he lowered his mouth to her hand— wouldn’t think of how he’d looked up at her from beneath thick eyelashes and looked as though he wanted that moment to last forever.

Even now, sitting in the parlour and lying to her husband’s face, Nesta felt her heart stumble, and had to drag her mind away from that moment on the road.

She let it be swallowed by the fog— let it be forgotten as Tomas stared down at her, the look in his eyes so drastically, drastically different from the look that had been in Cassian’s.

But Nesta didn’t look away.

Didn’t balk as her husband scanned her face, searching for something— some evidence of a lie. She only blinked mildly, blandly, and waited for him to realise that it was a wasted effort. That there was nothing he could say that would get her to confess the truth of what had happened seven days ago— what words had been spoken in her father’s sitting room, what glances - what touches - had been exchanged on that road.

Nothing in the world would convince her to give that up— and so she kept her secrets, tucked them in her chest, as though they were precious to her.

Eventually, Tomas huffed.

He sighed so heavily that the sound bounced off the empty stone hearth, and with one last look - one last, dissatisfied twist of his mouth - he turned for the door, not bothering to glance to his mother, to offer her a word of farewell. His steps as heavy and as obnoxiously loud on the floorboards as they had been when he arrived, Nesta’s husband almost stormed from the parlour, only pausing when he reached the door.

His fingers on the handle, Tomas stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“I need a new axe head,” he tossed, as though it were an afterthought. “If you’re going into the village today, pick me up a new one.”

Nesta didn’t deign to respond, and when Tomas left, slamming the door behind him, she looked up— looked across to her mother-in-law.

Adara had turned back to her stitching, but her mouth was turned downwards, almost mournful, and when, briefly, she looked up… Nesta could have sworn there were tears lining her eyes.

***

Elain was alone.

Cassian fought against the disappointment that settled in his gut, ignored the sinking in his heart, as he looked through the ground floor window and found Elain sitting in the morning room, on a satin sofa he couldn’t even begin to guess the value of… alone.

In her hands was an embroidery hoop, a delicate little square of fabric stretched taut between its rings, and he almost stood and marvelled as Elain picked out pretty little patterns with her needle and thread. A handkerchief, Cassian supposed, taking in the lace edges— the most ordinary of things made beautiful by her stitching.

He might have wondered at it, at that innate, human, desire to make even the ordinary beautiful— had he not recognised the patterned carpet and the polished table.

Elain sat alone in the morning room, and as Cassian raised a fist to tap on the glass, he could think only of the last time - the only time - he’d been in that room. When, left alone, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by wealth, Cassian had gotten his first glimpse of the real Nesta. The Attor’s attack had been a blessing in disguise— not only had it proven to Rhys that Feyre was being hunted, it had given Cassian that moment where Nesta let her mask drop, the moment where she had asked him for his name.

And as he looked through the glass, still picturing her standing before that window, back straight and shoulders back… he could have almost convinced himself that she was there. That she was real, not just a mirage conjured by his aching heart.

But Elain was alone, and the disappointment that coursed through him in her absence was visceral, so potent that he could barely feel anything else. He’d let himself believe, on the way down here, that he’d glance through that window and find her taking tea with her sister, and with the sight of Elain alone burning even when he closed his eyes…

Cassian sighed, and let it go.

Dropping his glamour, he tapped gently on the window, inhaling deeply and letting the crisp, cold air steal away some of his dismay.

Elain startled, and Cassian lifted a finger to his lips as she looked towards the windows. Her eyes widened, but she recovered quickly - after all, she is an Archeron, he thought wryly - and then she was moving, setting aside her embroidery and making her way to the sash windows, a vision in pink chiffon as her slippered feet carried her almost silently to where he waited.

Her mouth fell open in surprise as she opened the window, lifting it up and leaning over the sill, brushing the flowers in the box outside as she came close enough to whisper.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, her voice light and lilting even if it was whispered.

Cassian swore he heard a hint of entertainment in her tone, a touch of bemusement, and as she tilted her head, he couldn’t help but find Nesta in the sweep of her jaw. In her cheekbones and the glint in her eye. Elain might have Feyre’s hair, but so much of her was so remarkably Nesta, too, and as he looked at the middle Archeron, Cassian was reminded all over again of the sister he’d really wanted to see today.

The sister he’d flown miles and miles for, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, she’d be here when he turned up.

Cassian only offered Elain a grin, cheeky and lopsided as he said, “I was just passing.”

Elain let out a soft, musical laugh as Cassian looked over her shoulder. When he was satisfied that Mrs Laurent wasn’t about to come bursting through the door, that none of the household staff were about to come and check on the voices drifting from the morning room, he added, “I came to see if there was any reply to our letter yet. I’m sorry for not sending word ahead.”

“There’s been nothing,” Elain said with a shake of her head. Her curled hair fell over her shoulder in a golden-brown curtain, and her eyebrows drew together in a frown as her lip twisted. “Should we have heard something by now? They will have received the first letter at least, surely?”

Her voice was uncertain, almost worried, and Cassian smiled softly as he shook his head.

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “Perhaps not. I only came on the off chance.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “It’s a long way to travel for an off chance.”

Cassian gave her some non-comital sound, something nonchalant and irreverent as that light, breezy smile bloomed on his face. Elain’s eyes turned curious, turned searching as she tilted her head, pressing her lips together as though fighting a smile of her own. He could have sworn there was a spark there, in the eyes the exact same shade as Feyre’s— a spark of recognition as she noted the expression that flickered across his face.

“There was a note that said to expect one of you next week,” Elain said lightly, but that spark still burned in her eyes, and there was something in her gaze, something that said she saw through his excuse as easily as Mor had.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Az,” he said mildly. “He’s going to drop by next week.”

Elain hummed, resting her forearms on the painted windowsill.

Suddenly, Cassian wondered at her— the woman soon to be a fae hunter’s wife, smiling at him over her flower boxes, when her fiancé would have her put an ash bolt through his heart.

Was there something in their blood, he wondered, something that made these Archeron sisters a marvel all their own?

“I should…” he began, pushing away from the window, from the flowers in their neat little box on that painted sill. “I should be going, then.”

Elain gave him a small nod as her lips parted into an easy smile, but as her fingers curled around the window, ready to slide it shut, Cassian couldn’t help it— he couldn’t leave without knowing, and he found himself speaking before he could think, before he could stop himself.

“Will Nesta be visiting today?”

Such an idle question— innocent and casual, but his heart thumped in his chest, battering against his ribs, and in that moment Cassian could have sworn Elain could hear it. Could hear the way it had started to pound the moment he’d spoken Nesta’s name, and the question wasn’t idle at all— it was vital to him, pivotal.

And as Elain looked at him curiously, he wondered whether she’d noticed.

“No,” she said, shaking her head as those eyes drifted to the siphon at his chest, glimmering in the sunlight. “It’s a market day today.”

She shrugged, and Cassian thought she’d leave it there. That she’d close that window and go right back to her embroidery, but after a moment of silence, she added, far too casually, “I imagine she’ll be in the village for most of the day.”

He almost let himself believe that Elain was telling him directly, deliberately where he could find her sister. Like she really hadn’t bought the excuse about the letter.

And whatever she’d seen on his face when he’d spoken Nesta’s name… Whatever it was that had flickered in his eyes, what had set his siphons gleaming…

Elain had noticed it, and as Cassian cleared his throat, thanking her as though he had been asking out of pure curiosity alone, he didn’t miss the way she bit her lip to mask her smile, or how her eyes were glimmering with laughter.

He only cursed lightly under his breath as he wove his glamour anew— and headed right for the market in the village square.

***

The cobbles were uneven beneath his boots as he walked, invisible, through the village Nesta called home.

Through the village Feyre had once called home, too.

The scent of fresh bread hung thick in the air as he passed a bakery, the scent of ale as he passed a tavern. The village was all wooden buildings and thatched roofs, thick glass windows and hobnailed doors, and as Cassian wandered, searching for the main square, he wondered which of these shops were Nesta’s favourites. Which ones she visited regularly, which shopkeepers knew her name.

He passed the blacksmith— and paused, finding himself fixated on the anvil and the hammer. His attention snagged on a sword in the fire, on another on the anvil being beaten into shape by a man wearing a leather apron. There were blacksmiths in Illyria, of course— and it astounded Cassian that the process was the same. That the fire was the same, and the anvil, and the hammer, and the steel at the end. All of it the same and yet…

Cassian had marvelled at Elain stitching flowers on her handkerchief, and as he watched the blacksmith curl the molten steel into a sword’s hilt, he marvelled all over again at mortals and their capacity for creation. Aided by no magic, no immortal strength or endless decades of life in which to perfect their craft… life beneath the wall bred resilience, and Cassian wanted to laugh as he watched the blacksmith’s hammer come down upon the blade, sparks flying as it was beaten into shape.

What had she done to him?

What had she done, to have him watching blacksmiths and noble women embroidering and admiring it? Seeing their similarities as much as their differences?

Cassian shook his head as he moved on from the smithy, wondering where he’d find her as he made his way down a gently sloping hill. Gone was the pretence that he was here for anything but Nesta, that he was wandering these streets searching for anything but her storm-grey eyes, her furious glare, the smile she seemed to save for him alone— that barely-there, hidden smile.

He walked until he found the market square, a wide space filled with wooden tables and carts. There was smoke in the air and the sound of coins exchanging hands, and Cassian could smell spices and leather, salt and fresh fruit. There were tables laden with dyed wools and silks, others holding shining silverware and brass. Wealthy merchants had solid tables displaying their wares, and the poorest…

The poorest laid out their stock on rugs on the ground, and as Cassian walked slowly past a man selling carved wooden fruit bowls, he remembered the tale Feyre had told about her father. Had he laid out his carvings like this too, once? On a sheet in a market square?

Cassian might have taken pity on the man and bought one of those bowls if he weren’t glamoured. Might have dropped a coin into his upturned hat regardless, if he’d been carrying anything but Night Court currency.

But he moved on, past a stall selling ale and fine wine. Past another selling pretty little coloured glass trinkets, wind-catchers that danced in the breeze, with bells and chimes that sang, and it was there, with the light reflecting off of stained glass, a spectrum in his eyes, that at last, Cassian found her.

Across the square, so far away and yet so, so tantalisingly close— Nesta stood at a stall selling candles, a woven basket over her arm, a brown-paper parcel in her hands.

He almost called out to her. Almost shouted her name.

He wanted to see the sun drifting across her face, wanted to see the spectrum of colour from that stall filled with glass reflected in her eyes— a prism caught in blue-grey, a sight so beautiful that just the thought of it had his steps quickening. But as Nesta veered away, empty handed, from that stall selling candles, Cassian couldn’t catch up, not as she headed for one of the bricks-and-mortar shops lining one side of the square.

As she opened the door to the apothecary, setting a small bronze bell ringing in her wake, Cassian cut through the crowds as quickly as he could given the bulk of his wings—but it wasn’t enough, and the door closed after her with Cassian still several feet behind. Left on the pavement outside, looking through panes of warped glass as Nesta was swallowed by the tall shelves inside, he waited.

Impatiently, tapping his foot and folding his arms, he waited until the next patron opened the door to the apothecary, allowing Cassian to tuck his wings in tight and slip in, unnoticed.

And once inside…

Once inside, Cassian stopped dead in the doorway.

The ceiling was a mass of stars.

Wooden slats painted black lined the ceiling, with constellations picked out in shimmering gold paint. Illuminated by gas lamps casting a softly golden glow, Cassian looked up at that ceiling of stars and smiled, because it felt like home, somehow. A little piece of the Night Court, all the way down here, below the wall.

He recognised some of those stars.

Long ago, he had learned to navigate by them, and now… Cassian felt something inside him stutter as he realised that even though the wall and thousands of miles separated them…

He and Nesta still looked up at the same sky. Still saw the same stars.

And as he passed beneath familiar constellations, the boards beneath his feet creaking, he realised that, though they might pray to different gods, when the sun set and the sky darkened… They looked up to the same heavens. Saw the same bursts of light in the sky, despite it all.

And as he passed by copper tubs filled with salts - for aching, for sleep, for pains - it was the most potent balm he’d ever known, soothing something inside him he hadn’t known had been rubbed raw.

Through the labyrinthine shelves and alleys constructed of wood and glass bottles, Cassian searched— and found Nesta, at last, in a nook at the back of the shop, hidden by tall shelves filled with tonic bottles. His senses were drowning in aniseed and honey, almost overwhelmed by the scent of mustard seed and wax polish, but beneath it all… Beneath it, he could smell Nesta. He scented lavender as he heard the beating of her heart, following the sound of it through the forest of shelves— the rhythm so familiar to him now that he would know it anywhere.

His own heart fell in time as he came close enough to press his lips against her ear and whisper, “There you are, princess.”

Nesta almost dropped the bottle of tincture she held in her hands, her fingers turning slack as she inhaled sharply, turning around with wide eyes that had Cassian grinning as his hand darted out, folding her fingers back around the bottle before she could let it fall.

Shock and surprise warred with irritation and indignation as fury danced across her face, and it was the single most intoxicating thing he’d ever seen. Worth the hours spent flying from Velaris, worth the seven days he’d spent agonising over the memory of her.

“Are you insane?” Nesta hissed, hauling him closer and pushing him further into that shadowed little alcove.

His wings brushed the edges of the shelves on either side, and Cassian suppressed a shiver as the membrane scratched against the wood, but it didn’t matter, because Nesta was standing beneath a ceiling filed with stars, her attention entirely, solely, fixed upon him.

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased to see me,” he drawled, letting his grin widen as her scowl deepened.

Tartly, she drew away, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” he countered, tsking as that barely-there smile, that Nesta smile, pulled at the corner of her lips.

“I’m an exquisite liar,” she insisted, and though Cassian was about to agree— about to tell her she was exquisite, he only shrugged instead, and leaned closer, satisfaction burning in his veins as she shivered.

Had she been thinking of nothing but that kiss for the past week, too?

His gaze dropped to her hand, still wrapped around that bottle. Had she been thinking of his lips on her skin the way he had? Given the way she shivered, Cassian dared to think that the answer was yes.

“I don’t believe you,” he added, his voice low. He hummed as Nesta huffed again, and with another glare that could bring even the fiercest to their knees, Nesta slammed the bottle of tonic onto the nearest shelf and picked up the basket she’d placed by her feet.

“What if someone sees you?”

“I’m glamoured,” he shrugged.

Nesta shook her head, but as she looked around and found absolutely nobody in the vicinity, some of the tension leaked out of her. Her breathing steadied, and though her heart continued to pound, Cassian could tell, instinctively, that it wasn’t racing in panic or fear. It was racing because his was racing too, beating out a rhythm in his chest.

For a breath, there was silence. Nothing but a quiet hush as Nesta looked up at him, blinking slowly as irritation melted away, and something went tight between them as her eyes locked with his— a kind of breathless wonder, as though, in that shadowy little alcove crowned with painted stars, neither of them were entirely certain this was real.

Cassian reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek as he breathed, so softly that his words were but the gentlest, quietest touch, “Hello, Nes.”

Nesta let out a breath of a laugh, one that huffed with surprise - delighted surprise, he thought - as she hit him in the shoulder with the flat of her palm. She turned and walked away, heading for the front of the shop and the door with the little bronze bell, but she’d only taken a handful of steps before she turned.

Before she looked over her shoulder and offered him a tentative smile, the words leaving her in a gentle whisper as she said,

“Hello, Cassian.”

***

Outside, Nesta headed down a narrow alleyway, leading to the other side of the village. It was quiet and deserted, nobody but the weather-worn bricks bearing witness as Cassian followed her down that tight, winding path. There was a new lining to her cloak, he noticed, and though her basket looked heavy, there was colour in her cheeks— a light blush that he dared to hope he’d put there.

Still, she carried that brown paper parcel. A curious shape— large and flat and curved at one end, Cassian frowned as he watched her carry it.

“Let me,” he said, extending a hand as his steps fell in with hers. He nodded to the parcel and the basket as Nesta raised an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t think I can handle it myself?” she asked archly.

Cassian rolled his eyes, even as her stubbornness made his blood heat. “I think you’ve been carrying those around all day, and might like a break. They look heavy.”

She shrugged, and for a moment he thought that was the end of it, but then Nesta turned and handed both over without a word. Satisfied, Cassian gave her a winning smile as he turned the brown paper parcel in hand.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it sweetheart?”

She hissed, and Cassian only grinned wider, studying the parcel in his grip. It felt like steel, felt heavy, and he was about to ask when—

“Axe head,” Nesta explained. “Tomas chipped his last one.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “So tell him to get a new one himself.”

It had a solid weight to it, even though it came with no handle, and Cassian rather thought Nesta should have told her husband to piss off and carry a new one home himself if he needed one so badly. She looked like she might share the sentiment, but she shook her head.

“Gives me a chance to get away from the house,” she shrugged, and though her posture remained casual, her words were quiet. As though it were an admission it pained her to make.

Cassian felt his heart break. Felt it ache in the wake of her vulnerability, in the honesty she only ever seemed to deem him worthy of. He scowled down at the axe head and wished he could curse it somehow— wished he were one of the fae from human stories, fearsome and brutal and possessed of a cruel magic.

Maybe he’d turn Nesta’s husband into a toad.

Maybe he’d throw him to the creature that lived at the bottom of the House of Wind.

Feeling the weight of the axe in one hand and the basket in the other, Cassian pushed aside all thoughts of murdering her husband and said, instead, “Let me walk you home.”

He expected her to refuse him outright. To tell him she didn’t need an overgrown pigeon dogging her steps— but Nesta only blinked mildly, and huffed gently as she looked at the axe and the basket in Cassian’s hands.

“Will you take no for an answer?”

He grinned. “No.”

“I didn’t think so,” she answered, rolling her eyes. That smile pulled at her lips again, the one she was trying to desperately hard to hide, and gods save him…

Cassian would go to the end of the world for that gentle, barely-there smile.

But Nesta only nodded to the road ahead and said, “It’s that way.”

And as Cassian took the first step along that dusty, rocky road, he heard her mutter something about being plagued by a a ridiculous bat. He grinned again, turning to face her and finding the sunlight drifting across her face, exactly the way he’d dreamed of in the market square.

“Witch,” he shot back, and this time… This time Nesta gave him a smile to rival his own.

***

The road grew more uneven underfoot, little more than a dirt track winding through the trees and Cassian knew, without needing her to say it, that Nesta was almost home. His hand tightened around the handle of her woven basket, as if reluctant to let go. Reluctant to say goodbye just yet.

In the distance, Cassian could see buildings.

With broken roof tiles and crumbling chimneys, he glimpsed a modest house nestled amongst the trees. It might have been considered nice once, with its small courtyard and two storeys— with its handful of windows and stone paving. Not anymore, but he took it all in nevertheless, noting the details of the place Nesta called home these days.

Or perhaps not— perhaps not the place she called home, given the way she stopped in the centre of the road and turned, holding her hand out for the basket and the brown-wrapped parcel, still several yards from that old, dilapidated house.

“You can go now.”

Cassian shook his head. “I’m glamoured, sweetheart. I’ll cary these right to your front door.”

Nesta’s heart kicked as she shook her head sharply, and this wasn’t how it had raced in the apothecary. This was different, with tension creeping into her shoulders and unease in her eyes, and as Cassian looked ahead, to where there was no gate barring the entrance - only two tall posts where a gate must have once stood - he felt her anxiety climbing as though it were his own. Her eyes darted over the road before them, over the small, squat building set apart from the main house, only a few feet past those gate-less posts.

A stable, given the scent of hay, but it was in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the place, possessed of a faded aura of gentility— a vanished nobility that had, apparently, dried up generations ago.

“Please,” Nesta said, her hands darting out and closing over the handle of her basket. She pulled, hard enough that he let it go, his eyebrows rising in surprise as that single word left her lips, heavy with something like desperation.

He kept hold of the axe.

“Nesta—”

“Just go, Cassian.” She shook her head, her eyes flitting between him, his face and his wings, and the house ahead— the courtyard and the front door. “Before someone sees you.”

“I told you, I’m glamoured.”

“And I can see through it,” Nesta hissed, her hand closing around the axe head he still carried. “How do you know nobody else can?”

“I’ve never met anybody who can see through a glamour,” he countered flatly, pulling the axe back as it yielded an inch into her grip. Quietly, he added, “Only you.”

She shook her head sharply. Her heartbeat kicked again, and suddenly she was yanking the axe from his grip, too quickly for him to adjust his grip, to move his palm away from the sharp edge. There was a tear as the sharp end cut through the brown paper, and as she pulled—

He felt the burn as the skin of his palm split open beneath the steel edge, the sharp kiss of the axe against his skin. He hissed as his blood welled, and suddenly it was spilling over his fingers and between his knuckles, from a cut so deep that were he human, he might well have been bleeding out already. Crimson stained his skin - stained hers - as it coated his hand, the axe, Nesta.

And through the pain, he heard Nesta gasp. Heard her heartbeat stumble and stutter and shake as she watched the blood spill from the wound she’d inflicted, and since he could feel it healing already, he mustered his best smile— his most cocksure, lazy grin.

As he cradled his bleeding palm in his other hand, he gave her a wink that had her huffing in incredulity and said, “If you wanted me to leave princess, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to maim me.”

***

Nesta almost dropped the axe altogether.

“I did ask you,” she bit out, her voice far less steady than she’d have liked.

She watched as the gash on his palm turned a vivid, violent red, and as she lunged forward, almost desperate to reach him, to see for herself that the wound wasn’t fatal, she almost dropped the damned axe that had cut him in the first place. Collecting her senses, she dumped it into the basket— likely squashing the bread she’d bartered twenty minutes for, risking shattering the eggs she’d only bought four of, because she couldn’t afford six.

But it didn’t matter— she didn’t think of it, not as Cassian’s blood welled on his hand, spilling into the hollow by his thumb. Guilt ran through her, and everything Nesta had been terrified of a moment ago - Tomas exiting the house, finding her on the road and, at best, talking ostensibly to herself, or at worst, seeing through Cassian’s glamour - faded, replaced by a sickness that spread like fire through her veins, leaving her unable to care about anything but that wound, unable to think of anything but his blood, his pain— the horror of it, and the way her own blood seemed to keen as each drop of his fell.

So much blood— flowing ruby-red from the slice on his palm, over the heel of his hand and to his wrist. Too much blood— the aching pulse in her own chest driving her almost to madness as she watched him grin, watched him wink at her as though it were nothing.

With fingers that were damn near trembling, Nesta reached for him, uncaring as his blood stained her hands. He let her take his bloodied hand in hers, let her examine the wound she’d dealt him.

Deep— so, so deep.

“I’ll stitch it,” she said quickly, wincing as she took in the ruined flesh of his palm.

“I’ll be fine, Nesta.”

“No, I should—”

“It’s healing already,” Cassian insisted, his far voice far softer, far gentler than it ought to have been. She’d just sliced his hand open with an axe, after all. He only tilted his head and gave her the kind of wicked, mischievous grin she ought to ignore. “Are you worried about me, princess?”

Nesta forced herself to snort as she let go of his hand.

“I’m only worrying about how I’ll bury your body should you drop down dead.” She gave him her sternest glare, but even as she watched, the flow of blood began to slow, and her racing heart slowed with it. He smirked, as if he could hear it. Perhaps he could, and it made her scowl all the more. “It would take me hours to dig your grave, especially with those ridiculous wings of yours.”

Cassian grinned still, like he’d forgotten he was still bleeding. It was slowing, yes— but crimson still seeped between his fingers.

Nesta shook her head sharply and, with one last glance at the wound, she grabbed hold of the arm that remained uninjured and pulled him forwards, her fingers curling in the leather of his sleeve as she pulled him through the empty stone pillars that had once housed a gate. She didn’t look back to see if there was a trail of blood left behind them, she only hauled him to the stable and pulled him inside, leaving the door ajar.

There were salves and bandages in there, set aside on a little wooden rack by the door. A small box filled with tincture and bandages, salves and needles for stitching. Housed with the horse brushes and leather polish, Nesta quickly found the small first aid kit, inhaling deeply to settle her breathing. The scent of hay mixed with the leather and cinnamon scent of him, and as her breath trembled in her throat, Nesta let it settle her. Let the sound of his steady breathing soothe the edge in her that had grown sharp and cutting the moment she’d watched his blood spill.

“Sit,” she said firmly, nodding to a three-legged stool sitting by the door. Briefly, Nesta wondered if it would even take his weight, but even though it creaked as Cassian lowered himself down, it seemed to hold. Nesta let out another breath, gathering a small jar and filling her hands with gauze and linen.

“Really, Nes, it’s—”

“You’re bleeding on my floor,” Nesta interrupted sharply, even though it wasn’t floor— not her stable, not her home.

Dropping to one knee, Nesta held out her hand expectantly. Cassian raised an eyebrow, but nevertheless, with a kind of exaggerated, sarcastic obedience, he placed his bloody hand in hers, palm facing the ceiling.

“It will heal before you know it,” he said as she cleared away the blood with a ball of rolled-up linen.

“It’s still an open wound,” Nesta pointed out archly, taking a fresh piece of linen when the first was stained crimson. “And I’m not having you bleeding all over the place.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have sliced my hand open on a blade, sweetheart.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so irritating,” she shot back, scowling as he laughed.

The sound of his laughter made something insider her feel lighter— the deep, rich sound of it reverberating through her own chest. When his blood was cleared, she reached for the small jar, blinking flatly as she unscrewed the lid.

It was her own concoction— salt and honey, to fight infection, and since he was being so damned infuriating, Nesta didn’t bother to warn him as she spread a thick layer of the salve over the still-bleeding cut. He hissed as the wound stung, but Nesta only raised a brow and gave him a look that said, what? Can’t handle a little antiseptic?

He scowled right back as though he’d heard her.

Nesta laid the salve on thick, and then laid a fresh piece of linen atop. Taking up the gauze, she began to wrap it around his palm, again and again and again, until it was wrapped tight, the bandage crisp and clean.

“Where did you learn this?” Cassian asked as she turned his hand over and tied a knot in the gauze, just beneath his shining red stone.

She shrugged. “My husband is a woodcutter.” Cassian frowned, and shrugged as if to say so?, but the movement jostled his hand, and Nesta scowled at him in silent admonishment. “Sometimes he gets splinters. Sometimes they get infected. That’s why there’s a first aid kit in here.”

Cassian scoffed. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have cared.”

Nesta let out a breath of laugh, ironic as she shook her head. “No,” she agreed, her fingers still lingering on the knot she’d tied, even though there was no need— even though she could have pulled away moments ago. “But it seemed a little counter-productive. To marry Tomas to save my sisters, only to have him die on me a week after the wedding. So a few days after we married, when he got a splinter so deep he almost called for a physician, I made sure there were supplies in here, and in the kitchen of the house too.” She shrugged and added, sardonically and not at all earnestly, “Mama always taught me that it was my duty as a wife to take care of my husband.”

Cassian snorted, then. “Bullshit.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, looking up at him from where she still kneeled by his side— the warrior perched on a stool far too small for him, the tips of his wings brushing the flagged stone of the stable floor as he kept his hand in hers.

Then, after a moment, he added quietly, “Your sister doesn’t seem to share your ideas about a woman’s place in the world.”

“Feyre wasn’t raised by my mother,” Nesta shrugged. “Mama never had the chance to get to her.”

She dropped her eyes to the bandages she’d wound around his hand, to the knot she’d tied off with a little bow— the bow her fingers still tugged at even now, as though she were hesitant to pull away, even though the job was done. When he remained silent, the air between them growing thick and taut, she looked up at him, finding his hazel eyes fixed on her, his beautiful face open in way she’d never expected from a creature from above the wall.

“I was raised all along to know that my worth lies only what I can offer a man,” she continued, her eyes caught up with his, her chest rising as the cadence of his breathing aligned entirely with hers.

He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

“Oh?” Nesta tilted her head. “Then why did I have to marry Tomas to escape starvation in the first place?” She looked down at the bandages on his hand, at the bow she’d tied. “He only wants me for what I can give him.”

Cassian’s eyes darkened when she looked up at him next, and beneath her fingers, that red stone began to pulse.

“He’s a fool,” he said lowly, a touch of bitterness creeping into his tone, one that made her shiver.

Cassian’s bandaged hand twisted beneath her, her fingers brushing the gauze she’d just wrapped around the wound she’d given him. His fingers curled beneath hers as he brushed the pad of his thumb over her wedding band, his eyes drifting closed for a heartbeat as he felt the metal cold beneath his touch. Nesta felt it burn, felt the coolness of the ring stark against the heat of his skin, of his fingers beneath hers and his thumb dragging along the silver.

She should have pulled away.

Should have done so minutes ago, but his touch was something she didn’t want to be without, something she didn’t want to give up— not when she’d given up so much already. She looked into his eyes and knew he was all too aware that he should have pulled away by now, too. But he let his touch linger a little longer, his eyes dropping to where they were connected— such a simple touch, practically chaste in its innocence, and yet…

Nesta knew they should have pulled away by now— though neither of them wanted to.

He swallowed as he raised his gaze from their entwined hands and met her eyes. “I swear to you,” he whispered. “Anything you need, anything you want of me, all you have to do is ask. Name it and its yours.”

“What you could possibly give me?” Nesta asked, but her voice wasn’t as sharp as she’d intended. Wasn’t as cutting as she’d tried to make it— it was wry and bittersweet, as though she knew what she wanted was something she couldn’t take.

“Your husband’s head on a platter,” Cassian suggested with a shrug. “His brother’s, if you want. His father I’d do without you asking, but I’d kill him too.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles the way he’d done that day on the road— like he was a knight in a fairytale, swearing his allegiance.

“Anything you want,” he swore.

And she supposed it was a fairytale— of some kind, at least. The fae warrior, bleeding in her stable, stitched back together by her hand— the kind of romantic, wistful tales she read about in books she bought second-hand from the market.

And there must have been something in it, something in the way his blood had spilled and she’d cleaned it away. Some transformation, some transubstantiation, where suddenly Nesta found herself longing to ask for all of those things she shouldn’t. She wanted to let him make such pretty promises, wanted to let him kiss her hand as though she were the most precious thing in the world. She wanted to let him do it all, let him give her everything, but when she opened her mouth… There were no words.

Nothing she knew how to say, knew how to ask for.

All she had was, “What are you, my knight in shining armour? Plucked from the pages of a book?”

The lips she so desperately wanted to feel against her skin curved, a slight smile blooming on his face as he tilted his head. “If you want me to be,” he shrugged. “Do you like to read?”

Nesta hummed. “It’s the only escape I have, these days.”

His palm - the one she hadn’t sliced open - lifted, came to rest against her cheek. His thumb traced her cheekbone, his touch light and searching and yet searing her right to the bone. She leaned into it, that touch, letting her eyes drift closed.

And then— a shout from outside, bringing that beautiful, trembling moment crashing down, shattering it before she’d had a chance to savour it.

“Nesta.”

Her husband’s voice, calling across the courtyard, barking something about the stable door being left open, and if she was in there, to check the water trough for the single horse housed at the back of the ancient stone building. His voice broke whatever spell had been woven, cracked whatever peace she’d just found in Cassian’s hands, and suddenly Nesta was drawing away, his one hand dropping from her cheek, the other pulling free of her fingers.

His eyes darkened as she let go of his touch, as she lurched to her feet.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

Cassian blinked, and though he remained silent, she could have sworn she saw pain flicker in his eyes— the kind of pain that had been absent even when he’d been bleeding on the road. But Nesta ignored it, refused to linger on how her chest was aching, how a wrongness suddenly settled in her bones, urging her to turn back— to turn to him as though he were the sun, and she’d just fallen out of orbit.

Glancing to the door, Nesta took up her basket - damned axe head and all - and straightened her cloak. But before she left, she allowed herself one last look at him— the powerful warrior still seated on that tiny stool, the man who had been so utterly, utterly at her mercy, looking at her as though he wanted nothing more than to beg her to stay.

And she hoped he didn’t, because if he did—

Gods save her, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to say no.

So as she neared the door, Nesta paused. For just the briefest of moments, she paused. Turned to look at him over her shoulder and said, even though it hurt, “You can’t give me what I want, Cassian.”

She tried not to sound mournful or longing, but it crept into her tone anyway. She tried to ignore how every single nerve in her body was begging her, pleading with her, to turn back, to let him take her away. Far, far away.

Instead, she didn’t wait for an answer before she stole out of that stable altogether, and when she found Tomas standing in the courtyard, as the sight of him made her recoil, she ignored the pulling in her chest— ignored whatever it was that was tugging her back towards that stable, as though she’d left her entire world behind.

And though she heard the stable door open again behind her, the creaking hinges and the scrape of wood on a stone floor, she didn’t look back.

Didn’t turn, not even when she heard the sound of wings, a breath of wind brushing her cheek as she heard the sound of him leaving.

And only when the sound of wings had faded away entirely did Nesta finally glance behind— finding the skies above entirely empty.

Tagging:

@hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian

(Also... the apothecary is based on a real one in Yorkshire, one with a starry ceiling that I actually posted about here! It's also the far right picture in the little mood board at the top too, because why not.)

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time

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