𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓
if you haven't yet, go read this post to learn about seasons before reading this one!
During winter, fairies enter a state often called wintering. They don’t sleep all the way through winter like some animals, but their lives still change quite dramatically. Their bodies slow down, their need for sleep deepens, and their schedules shift with the season. The long waking hours of the warmer months flip, so that fairies now sleep for most of the day, and stay awake for only the shorter stretch of sunlight—usually around eight or nine hours, which they usually spend eating, tending to their homes, and spending time with others.
Wintering also makes everyone softer. Fairies become sleepier, more cuddly, and overall more inclined to pile together in warm nests and linger over meals. Tempers usually cool, movement slows, and even the most restless flyers often find themselves content to stay tucked inside while frost gathers outside. It is a season of conserving heat, conserving energy, and leaning hard into comfort.
Work doesn’t stop entirely, but most of it becomes gentler, slower, and focused on keeping everyone fed, warm, and cared for until the thaw. Because of this, winter in Lunaeria is a deeply communal season. Fairies spend far more time together than they do in warmer months, gathering in shared hearth spaces, communal halls, nest clusters, and lantern-lit kitchens to chat, tell stories, sing, mend, snack, gossip, nap, and generally exist in one another’s company.
Nests are one of the most beloved parts of wintering, and fairies put an absurd amount of care into them. Before the cold truly sets in, families, couples, friends, and sometimes whole little house-clusters begin the yearly ritual of building, repairing, or refreshing their winter nests. This is practical, of course—good nesting can mean the difference between comfort and a truly miserable month—but it is also social, sentimental, and often quietly intimate. Nest-building is considered one of winter’s first bonding rituals: part household preparation, part craft project, part excuse to spend an entire afternoon surrounded by soft things with people you love.
A nest usually begins with some sort of sturdy outer shelter. Depending on where a fairy lives, this might be a walnut shell, a seed pod, an abandoned bird nest carefully reinforced against the cold, a hollow tucked into a tree root, an old teacup, a dried flower bulb, or some other naturally enclosed structure that can hold warmth well and keep out damp air. Builders often come to help reinforce the outer shell with moss insulation, bark lining, woven grass, wax-sealed seams, or layered petal-cloth to block drafts. Many fairies decorate their nests too. Little bead strings, polished acorn buttons, family charms, woven ribbons, soft glowing mushrooms in safe wall-niches, favorite feathers, or bits of lovely scavenged trinkets often find their way into the structure.
an empty seed pod like this could make a great nest shell!
Inside, however, is where things become serious. Winter nests are lined with every soft, insulating material a fairy can reasonably get their hands on: moth silk, thistledown, dandelion fluff, shed bunny fur, cottony seed fiber, brushed mouse fur, shed bird down, soft moss, woven petal blankets, and whatever else is warm, breathable, and nice to sink into while half asleep. Some nests are packed so full of softness that stepping into one feels like disappearing into a cloud. Others are tidier and more carefully layered, with distinct sleeping hollows, blanket folds, and little pockets for storing snacks, fire stones, or a favorite charm. Either way, they are built for warmth above all else.
common nesting materials (thistledown, mothsilk, down feathers, shed bunny fur, petals)
a good example of what a winter nest could look like, just picture it being bed sized, with a lot of tiny pillows and blankets, and actually inside a house!
Couples very often share nests in winter, as do families with young children, siblings, or close-knit household groups. This is partly practical—shared body heat matters when you are tiny and the frost is creeping down the bark outside—but it is also simply considered normal and comforting. Winter isn’t really the season for pretending you don’t want company. It’s the season for curling in close, tangling under blankets, and waking up in a nest that smells like silk, feathers, herbs, and the people you belong with. Some fairies who live alone still choose to winter communally, joining friends or relatives for the season rather than nesting by themselves. Others build smaller private nests but spend most of their waking hours piled in shared community spaces anyway. Truly solitary wintering is possible, but not especially common unless someone prefers it very strongly.
Life during winter slows, softens, and folds inward. The village doesn’t go silent, but it does become quieter in a particular cozy way. Instead of the busy scatter of warm-season life—couriers darting, builders climbing, foragers ranging far, beetle carts rumbling along the roots—winter brings gentler rhythms. Paths are walked more slowly. Lanterns glow longer. Hearths stay lit with firestones. Voices stay lower. And the air almost always smells of warm grain, steeped herbs, wax, wool, and snow.
Most fairies spend their waking winter hours close to home or in communal indoor spaces, especially while the sun is up. These spaces become the heart of the season: warm, crowded, softly lit places full of half-finished projects, steaming cups, shared meals, song, gossip, mending, storytelling, and people dozing against each other without much ceremony. It is very common to see someone nodding off halfway through a conversation, wake just enough to eat something sweet, and then promptly curl back into the nearest warm body or blanket pile.
Food during winter is simple, hearty, and usually made from carefully stored supplies. Dried berries, preserved fruits, seed cakes, root stews, honey, thick breads, nut pastes, honey coated petals, mushroom dishes, warm mice milk, herbal broths, and all manner of baked comforts become especially important. Wintering bodies crave warmth and easy energy, so people tend to snack often and without much guilt.
Work still happens, but only the sorts that must. Healers remain busy. Storekeepers remain vigilant. Lantern-Tenders, Wardens, and a few others continue their duties, though often in shorter rotations. Some crafts actually flourish in winter—sewing, weaving, carving, writing, storytelling, brewing, music, and other indoor work all suit the season beautifully. But very little is done in haste. Winter is not a time for overexertion if it can be helped, and anyone trying to launch into some ridiculous, exhausting project in the middle of frost season will usually be met with the collective village response of, “be serious and go lie down.”
There are still a few jobs that require going outdoors, though everyone agrees those people should be admired, pitied, and heavily fussed over the second they come back inside. Some Foragers make short, careful trips to gather ice, harvesting it from safe places and storing it for use during warmer months. Wardens still patrol the borders, especially after snowfall or frost shifts, keeping an eye on tracks, storm signs, and any larger predators driven into strange routes by the cold. Lantern-Tenders may need to check exterior lights and glow-paths. Storekeepers, Herbalists, and a few others may make necessary cold-weather rounds. But winter outdoor work is kept brief whenever possible, and those who return are usually met with immediate concern: blankets thrust at them, hot drinks pressed into their hands, wings checked for frost, fingers rubbed warm, and at least one person saying, “You should have stayed inside,” in the deeply loving tone of someone who knows perfectly well the job still had to be done.
And naturally, village’s animals are fussed over just as much as the people. Mothkeepers, Honeyherds, Mouseherds, and Beetle Handlers all spend extra time winter-proofing nests, hives, burrows, and stalls—packing them with insulating fluff, layering soft bedding, sealing out drafts, and keeping little fire stones charged so their tiny companions stay warm and even through the coldest stretches.
Socially, winter is one of the most intimate times of year. People visit more. They cuddle more. They share food more freely, trade blankets and stories, fall asleep on each other in public without apology, and generally become a little less guarded than usual. It is a season of soft domestic closeness—of mending someone’s shawl while they nap beside you, of passing around warm cups, of brushing snow from each other’s hair at the door, of singing in low voices while children doze in a heap nearby. Couples often grow especially tender during winter, and families become even more physically affectionate than usual. Friendships, too, have a way of deepening in the long warm hours spent indoors together. And even people who are usually independent often become a little more willing to be looked after in winter, or a little more honest about wanting company.
Cold is the most serious dangers fairies face during winter, and the entire practice of wintering exists because of it. Fairy bodies lose heat quickly, and once warmth starts to drain, the signs are often visible. Fingers, toes, and ear-tips fade towards a surprisingly pigmented, pastel blue, wings grow stiff and slow to respond, and frost begins to gather along the edges or veins; especially if someone has been outside too long. If the fairy’s body temp drops enough, snowflakes that should melt on contact, may begin to cling to the wing surface instead. In more advanced cold exposure, the typical hypothermia symptoms start showing up: the body becomes shaky, clumsy, and sleepy; speech slows, thoughts go foggy, and the fairy may stop properly recognizing just how cold they are.
the fingers will start to blue, kinda like this (in the middle pic the fingers would be a light blue, rather than black)
the wings will start to frost over, and snow will start to stick to the surface of the wings
Frostdrop is a wintering-related condition in which a fairy’s body slips too hard into seasonal torpor after prolonged cold, stress, loneliness, lack of food, or poor nesting conditions. A fairy affected by frostdrop becomes dangerously difficult to rouse, too cold to properly regulate their body, and too sluggish or sleepy to eat enough. It is most common among the very young, the elderly, and fairies attempting to winter alone. Frostdrop is treated with steady warmth, careful feeding, close monitoring, and keeping the affected fairy awake enough to eat and drink until their body begins to recover.
idk I figured I'd talk about how fairies survive winter after I talked about the seasons. but yeah, winter will actually end up being really cozy (as long as you aren't stupid lol). bc idk, I'm kinda looking forward to making nests and chilling with my friends together. it sounds sweet, you know?
idk really what else to say rn, except that if you're a moth, you're kinda set for winter bc you essentially go two super warm blankets for wings!!!
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