#Ash is rarely in the fae world

[ducksido]

A Timeless Love (Baur's Valentine)

(Baur Zigvolt x Fae!Reader — A Love That Lasts Centuries)

The story of you and Baur Zigvolt was one of patience, strength, and unwavering devotion. You had fought side by side in the Great War, bound by duty, loyalty, and a silent understanding that went deeper than words. Time passed, and amidst the ashes of battle, something gentle blossomed between you—an ancient courtship, one that followed the traditions of the fae.

Baur had been steadfast, ever the noble knight, adhering to every custom with unwavering precision. He had crafted you a sword with his own hands, symbolizing his willingness to fight for your honor. He had left gifts at your doorstep, tokens of his admiration, each one more intricate than the last. He had sung for you under the moonlight, his voice deep and unwavering, carrying his devotion across the winds.

And when the time came, he knelt before you, solemn and reverent, asking for your hand in the old fae tongue—his pledge unbreakable, as everlasting as the stars.

You had accepted without hesitation.

Together, you built a life, one filled with warmth and unspoken understanding. You had a child—a bright and strong-willed fae who inherited both your battle prowess and Baur’s unwavering honor. And when your child, in a twist of fate, fell in love with a human and bore a half-fae son, you and Baur didn't know how to react.

Sebek.

He was loud and proud, filled with boundless determination, a living testament to the lineage you and Baur had nurtured. He had his grandfather’s discipline, his grandmother’s sharp instincts, and a heart that burned with devotion.

Through generations, your love endured. And now, as the world changed around you, Baur had decided to embrace something new—Valentine’s Day.

Baur was not one for frivolous modern holidays. He scoffed at meaningless celebrations, at fleeting sentiments that lacked true devotion. But when he learned that this “Valentine’s Day” was meant to honor love—true, eternal love—he made a rare exception.

So, with great effort, he prepared a proper fae courtship for you once more.

It began with a challenge.

“Y/n,” Baur called, his voice as strong as it had been centuries ago. “Come. If you still desire me as your mate, then face me in battle.”

You smirked, the old fae traditions stirring something deep within you. “You would challenge me, husband?”

Baur stepped forward, his expression unwavering. “As I did once before. If you can best me, my heart remains yours.”

You laughed, drawing your blade. “Then prepare yourself, my knight.”

The duel was fierce, filled with sparks of magic and the clash of steel. Baur, ever the formidable warrior, held his ground, but he had never once defeated you. And tonight was no different. With one swift movement, you disarmed him, pressing your blade to his throat.

Baur exhaled, eyes shining with pride. “Still as mighty as ever, my love.”

You lowered your sword, smiling. “And you, still as stubborn.”

As was tradition, the victor was to make a request. And so, you reached for his hand and whispered, “Take me on this ‘Valentine’s date’ of yours, my dear husband.”

Baur huffed, but his grip on your hand was firm, reverent. “Then come, my love.”

A Fae’s Valentine

Baur lured you to a quiet, moonlit glade—a place untouched by time, where the stars shone brighter and the air carried the whispers of ancient magic. A feast had been prepared, the finest delicacies of fae cuisine laid before you. Petals drifted through the air, carried by an unseen force, as if the very spirits of nature celebrated alongside you.

You sat together beneath the silver glow of the moon, hands intertwined, the weight of centuries resting between you like a soft embrace.

Baul watched you, his gaze steady and full of quiet adoration. “This ‘Valentine’s Day’… it is but a fleeting human tradition. But if it means celebrating you, then I shall honor it every year, for all eternity.”

Your heart swelled, a love as old as time pulsing through your veins. “Ever the knight,” you murmured, brushing your fingers along his cheek. “My steadfast Baur.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. “My eternal love.”

And beneath the endless sky, as the stars bore witness to a love that defied time itself, you sealed the night with a kiss.

!!BONUS SCENE!!

Sebek Zigvolt was not one to falter. He was strong, disciplined, and carried himself with the pride of fae heritage. Yet, as he stood before his grandparents, shoulders squared and fists clenched at his sides, there was an unmistakable stiffness to him—an uncertainty he was not accustomed to.

Baur and Y/N, his ever-wise grandparents, sat before him in the grand sitting hall of their home. Their presence was commanding, not just because of their age and status, but because of the sheer strength they still carried, both in battle and in spirit. Even now, his grandmother’s sharp eyes held a knowing gleam, and his grandfather’s expression remained stern, yet patient.

Sebek took a deep breath, his voice unwavering despite the heat rising to his ears. “Grandfather! Grandmother! I have come to seek your wisdom!”

Y/N exchanged an amused glance with Baur. It was not often that their grandson, so proud and headstrong, would ask for guidance.

Baur crossed his arms. “Hmph. Speak, boy.”

Sebek’s jaw tightened for a moment before he exhaled sharply. “I… I wish to court someone.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

Y/N smiled, a knowing glint in their eyes. “Oh? And who is this lucky individual?”

“That is not important right now!” Sebek blurted out, ears burning. “What matters is that I do this properly!”

Baur let out a deep chuckle, his fangs barely visible as he smirked. “So, you finally understand the importance of tradition.”

Sebek straightened. “Of course! I would not approach something as serious as courtship with anything less than the utmost respect!”

Y/N tapped their chin thoughtfully. “Fae courtship is not as simple as humans make it seem, you know. There are steps—time-honored traditions that must be followed.”

Sebek nodded firmly. “And I intend to follow them exactly.”

Baur exhaled through his nose, scrutinizing his grandson. “Then listen well, boy.”

Baur stood, pacing slowly, his arms behind his back as he spoke.

“The first step is The Challenge.” His sharp golden eyes locked onto Sebek’s. “A true fae does not offer their heart so easily. You must test their worth, just as they must test yours. A duel, a feat of strength, a battle of wits—something that proves neither of you are weak.”

Sebek nodded, determination burning in his eyes. “Understood! Strength must be proven!”

Y/N laughed softly. “Yes, but courtship is not only about strength, Sebek. It is also about The Offering.”

Sebek tilted his head. “The Offering?”

Y/N smiled. “A fae does not give their heart freely. If you are truly devoted, you must present your intended with a gift—something made with your own hands, something that holds meaning. It is a sign of sincerity.”

Sebek frowned slightly, deep in thought. “Hmph. I will have to craft something worthy of them.”

Baur smirked. “Good. And then comes The Pursuit.”

Sebek’s ears twitched. “The Pursuit?”

Baur nodded. “Once you have proven your strength and offered your devotion, you must chase them—both physically and symbolically. You must show your unwavering determination, that you will never falter in your feelings for them.”

Sebek squared his shoulders. “Of course! It would be disgraceful to give up halfway!”

Y/N chuckled. “And lastly, Sebek, there is The Oath.”

Sebek blinked. “The Oath?”

Y/N’s gaze softened. “If they accept your courtship, you must make a vow—one you can never break. A promise that binds your love, one only spoken when you are certain.”

Sebek absorbed every word, standing taller, his resolve solidifying. “I see… Then I must take this courtship seriously from the very beginning.”

Baur grinned. “Hah! As expected of my grandson.”

Y/N’s voice was gentle. “Remember, Sebek, fae courtship is not about mere attraction—it is about proving your heart’s strength, your dedication, your honor. If you truly wish to court this person, then do so with all that you are.”

Sebek placed a fist over his heart and bowed deeply. “I will not fail! I will ensure that my courtship is flawless!”

Y/N smiled, watching him go. As soon as Sebek had disappeared from sight, Baur let out a chuckle.

“Hah. He’s just like you were,” Baur mused, glancing at Y/N.

Y/N smirked. “Oh? Are you saying you remember how you used to chase after me?”

Baur huffed. “Hmph. Of course. And I’d do it again, if I had to.”

Y/N chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Luckily for you, you already won my heart.”

Baur smirked, pulling them close. “And I shall keep it, for all eternity.”

Meanwhile, Sebek stood outside, taking a deep breath before muttering to himself:

“Now… what in the Great Seven should I craft?”

[secret-third-thing]

For Day 7 - AU of @officialfeysandweek

Rated T | Feysand | Read on AO3 (or under the cut) Warnings: Major character death, starvation, angst

Even at the end of this world, Rhysand is there.

Special thanks to @popjunkie42, @tunaababee, @chunkypossum, and @acourtofladydeath for beta-ing waaaaay back in Feb/March.

Feyre would die soon. The thought had finally crossed her mind a month ago as she caught sight of herself in the chilly bathwater. The water rippled with her movement, but she could still make out the sharp angles of her face, the dark circles under her eyes. 

Tucked away in a remote, run-down cabin in the woods, Feyre was hungry and alone. Her family had been here not so long ago. They all had left their manor in the nearby town before the soldiers marched through to meet the oncoming fae warriors. Her sisters had gathered as much food as possible while Feyre led her limping father to the abandoned shack. For many days after, whenever Feyre searched the woods for rabbits to eat, she could see plumes of smoke rising over the village like grim, swirling ghosts unable to rest.

Today, she had woken up tangled in her warm nest of blankets and pelts. Her hands had been tucked beneath her chin, shoulders to her ears. The fireplace had long since gone cold, a blanket of ash where the last of the wood had been. She’d need some kindling to start the fire again for breakfast. 

She stretched and rubbed the sore muscles of her shoulders. These days, Feyre was always sore, always having some nagging ache that reminded her that she was slowly fading away. Her stomach growled. 

Feyre was lucky only to have herself to feed. Six weeks ago, she sent her sisters and father on the last caravan to the continent. With only three spots left in the wagon, her father had insisted she go in his stead. But Feyre was stubborn and had stayed, choosing to wait until the bitter cold or the invading fae had claimed her. 

Feyre rummaged through the kitchen area, finding procuring jars and wrappings crammed into the cabinets. She discovered the last of her jerky, far less than she remembered having, and some bones for a broth. This wasn’t enough. She searched the cabinets one more time, sorting through each jar carefully in case she missed something. She rubbed her temple, remembering some dried rabbit, but maybe she had eaten it. These days, her memory seemed to be fading along with her. 

Sunlight peeked in from under the window curtains, and Feyre pulled it back, munching on the remaining jerky. It was clear out, a rare sunny day. It wasn’t warm enough to melt the snow, but it would keep her warmer when she ventured out today. If the woods were still too dense, she could try her luck in the village. Perhaps the looters hadn’t managed to strip it bare yet.

After starting the fire once more and heating snow in the iron pot her family had left behind, Feyre took a bite of her jerky and ran her fingers along the edge of the table where she had painted foxgloves many weeks ago. The oil colors had been a gift from her sisters. Elain had brought it with them when they had escaped to the woods and had hidden it in her dresser drawer to give it to Feyre for her birthday. But when she learned that Feyre was not coming with them, Elain brought it out for her then. 

Feyre had cried that final night together as she painted the dresser they had shared when they first moved in. Nesta, her oldest sister, had complained that the single bedroom now stunk of paint, but Feyre had caught her tracing the swirling flames on her drawer more than once before she left.

But now, Feyre was alone, and to stave off hunger, she had painted every inch of the cabin. She had started with the rickety oak dining table and then moved to the stones of the fireplace, then the cabinets, the wall. She would paint until her eyes were heavy and then start over again the next day. Time began to blur, and Feyre would wake up covered in warm blankets that she didn’t remember crawling into with paintings she only barely remembered painting- a field in spring, a vast blue ocean, a rainbow city, the night sky, and the twinkling stars. Feyre attributed the gaps in her memory to the lack of food. She rationed what little she had every day. It was never enough, and her stomach would protest by nightfall. But she painted. The eyes of her family. A fox in a flower bed. Giant sweeping wings stretching from one wall to the next.

Now, only the black and white paints remained. As she waited for the water to boil, Feyre continued her final piece: a portrait of herself in grayscale—what she remembered of herself, at least. Even without a mirror, she could tell how frail she had become, the bones of her wrists and hands now prominent. She imagined she looked wild, like she had crawled out of the woods a feral creature and holed herself away for the winter.

Feyre picked up the brush and swept it across the wall before her. Her knees ached as she knelt. Hair was easy; she could see it in her mind’s eye. But her freckles? The speckles in her eyes? She couldn’t remember those details. When she closed her eyes, she could envision her reflection in her late mother’s floor-length mirror. But whatever she painted would be an approximation. Maybe one day, when someone found her body, rotting and withered away, they would realize that she was the girl in the portrait. Her memory would live on in someone’s mind even if she never had known them. The thought brought her comfort. 

Breakfast came and went, and Feyre’s stomach still complained, so once the sun had finally climbed the sky, she donned her too-big boots and woolen cloak. At least she would be warm. Grabbing her bow and the few arrows she had crafted a week ago, Feyre set out to see what she could find. If she could survive the winter, she’d be fine. But it was still early in the season, and she was already out of food.

Warm to the bone, Feyre stepped into the cold. Her breath clouded in the frigid air, and the winter nipped at her face. She rubbed her skin with her mittens, pulled the scarf her sister Elain had made over her nose, and headed to the village.

Even under the crisp snow, the evidence of the war was still present. As she approached, the trees turned dark, burnt by fire. The air still held a heavy tang of magic that tasted bitter against her tongue. Homes had crumbled in the attack, and the closer she got to the center of town, the more damage she saw. Broken arrows and weapons, damaged armor, bones. Would the homes of the wealthier families still be standing?

Feyre crossed through the center of town on high alert. The smell of fresh corpses tickled her nose as her eyes swept over the blood-streaked ground. There had been a recent skirmish here. She stuck to the walls, running between ruined buildings and hiding in the dark alleyways. Her heart was loud in her ears, and she feared that one of the immortal soldiers would hear her. There were fae fighting on both sides, some wanting to continue the enslavement of humans and others fighting for their rights. She hadn’t learned to tell the difference and didn’t want to take her chances.

When Feyre arrived back at the cabin, the sour feeling of defeat settled heavy in her stomach. She kicked off her soaked boots and hung her coat on a nail she had hammered into the wall. There was no way around the matter. She could try again tomorrow and the day after, but eventually, she’d become too weak to go out, and then all she’d do was tend the fire until her body gave out. This would be the first of her final days. Shame burned in her. A part of her had hoped that something would have changed. 

She wiped the tears in her eyes away and changed into dry clothes. Her portrait watched her. That woman was her and yet not her. Portrait-Feyre smiled brightly, joyous and content. She was well-fed and spent her days painting and laughing with her family. She had found a place to belong. Real-Feyre longed to trade places with her other self, but magic wouldn’t save her now. She started the fire once more and tucked herself under the blankets for a nap. With no more paint, there was nothing to do but wait.

Time passed, and Feyre found nothing when she went to hunt. She grew weaker and more tired until the most she could do was burn what she had left to stay warm. And then she’d fall back into the abyss of sleep. 

Upon waking, Feyre didn’t immediately notice the man standing in the cabin's living area. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stilled when she saw him. He was tall, with warm brown skin and hair as dark as night. He stood before the portrait, clad in unfamiliar black leathers. Feyre pushed herself up, looking for her knife, and the man turned around and met her gaze with sparkling violet eyes.

He was beautiful. More handsome than any man she had seen before. Her breath hitched as they took each other in. She wondered when he had come inside, how she hadn’t heard the door unlatch, or the hinges squeak as it swung open. And then she realized he wasn’t human. Not with that silence or those eyes.

“You’re fae,” she said, blood running cold. He smiled.

“I am.” His voice was silk against her senses.

He was taller and stronger. He could overpower her easily, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She sought out her hunting knife. It was still on the table. She was determined to get at least one good slice in before he ripped her head from her body.

“Are you here to kill me?” Feyre asked. The man - the fae, didn’t answer and turned back to the portrait she had painted. The joyous thing she had created from the remaining paints.

“This is new,” he said, stroking her portrait’s cheek. Feyre swore she could feel the ghost of a touch on her face. She placed a hand on her cheek, and nothing was there.

“Yes,” she said. Feyre let out a sigh. Maybe he wasn’t here to kill her after all. Or perhaps he liked to toy with his victims. He turned back to her.

“My name is Rhysand,” he said. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Feyre almost believed him. But his posture was too casual, and he was covered in warring leathers. He had no weapons that she could see on him, though she wasn’t so naive to think he wasn’t armed. Fae were armed by nature of being immortal, cruel beings. And there was one in her home.

Rhysand pulled out one of the two chairs at the table and sat on it, laying his hands on the surface near her knife. Feyre watched him with curiosity. His movements were too graceful, too eerie, but she took the opportunity to climb out from under the blankets and approach him.

“Why are you here?” she asked. She took the chair opposite him and tried not to flush under his intense stare. His name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Had her sisters mentioned him before?

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “For some time now. Your family is gone.”

“They left for the continent months ago.” she offered. “It was my choice to stay.”  She swallowed hard as Rhysand considered her. She should have been more concerned, but it felt like someone had put a blanket over her brain, muffling her urge to grab the dagger lying in front of her. His silence was uncomfortable. 

“I’m going to die soon,” she said, not sure why she felt the need to tell him. She stared at her hands. Her fingers were thinner than she remembered. “There’s nothing left to eat. Nothing in the forest or…” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to say that. Maybe he would spare her? Or he would end her now, so the hunger didn’t wear her down until she perished, emaciated in the cold. That would be a kinder fate.

“Do you want to die?” he asked as though he could read her thoughts. Feyre looked back at the man, but he was now standing beside her, looking down into her eyes. She flinched, but he smelled of citrus and the sea, and it made her feel like she was somewhere else - somewhere less cold and less terrifying.

“No,” she breathed. She stood up to touch his cheek, and his eyes closed for a moment. Something in her chest stirred, not uncomfortable, just different. “I want to live,” she said. He took her hand in his own and held it there. His skin was warm against hers. 

“The fae army will be here any moment now. They will slaughter everything in their way. Including you, Feyre,” he whispered. She trembled at his words, but he kept her hand there. “I can save you,” he said even more softly.

“How,” Feyre dared ask, fearing the answer would be her end. He said nothing. Feyre propped herself, ignoring the ache of her joints. It was far too late for her, and they both knew it. 

“I wish I could take you to where I live. You’d be safer.”

“And where is that?” Feyre asked. 

And then in her mind she saw a town, colorful and bright, with so many fae everywhere laughing, smiling. No one looked starved or sad or on the verge of death. She saw a giant river of vibrant blue, tall townhouses, art, then a view from above as though she was soaring above the rainbow city.

“Wait,” Feyre said, and she turned to the rainbow town she had painted on the wall weeks ago. It was the same as what she had just seen now. The same painted townhouses with pointed brown roofs and matching windows. “Have I seen this before?”

“Yes.” Rhysand’s voice was pained, shoulders sagging at the admission. 

“I…” Feyre paused, her head aching. “Do I know you?”

“Yes. I’ve been here, day after day, keeping the worst of the fighting from you.”

“But why?” Feyre wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, bile rising in her throat. The gaps in her memories, the vibrant dreams she had turned into paints. Was this all from him?

“You found me when you were hunting one day. You brought me back and healed me,” he said, grasping her shoulder. Feyre pulled away from him. 

“But you couldn’t be bothered to take me away from here?” she said, voice smaller than she had ever known. 

“You wouldn’t let me, darling,” he said. His voice was so gentle it was painful for her. “Kicked me out of the cabin for it. You said I was too weak, and you were right.” 

“Why can’t I remember it?” she spit out. “Did you erase my memories? Why did you take them?” Rhysand’s face had gone pale, and he reached out but hesitated to come closer.

“If the fae found you and knew you had aided me, they would have tortured you.”

“Wouldn’t they torture me anyway? Aren’t they on their way here right now?”

“Yes,” Rhysand said. “And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I came to warn you. To offer another option.” Rhysand didn’t offer an explanation. He didn’t need to. Feyre looked him over, the man - the fae - before her. It didn’t matter if she trusted him or not. He was her only option.

“Fine, but I want you to tell me everything,” she said. And somehow, she knew Rhysand could not deny her.

Feyre brought him before the fire, and he sat there, telling her the story of his home, of his friends and family. He dove into her mind and showed her the Courts, the endless seasons, the brilliance of the dawn and the day, and finally, how the stars twinkled and fell across the sky once a year, souls traveling to the next life.

“Will I become a star too?” she asked him after he had finished. She had laid down in his lap. It felt like the right thing to do.

“Yes, Feyre,” he whispered.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll see this world one last time before I’m gone.” 

“I suppose so.” Rhysand ran a hand through her hair. It was gentle, like a lover’s caress. She wondered, as sleep drew near if this had happened before. If Rhysand had held her just like this. And finally, the gaps in her memory filled themselves in: Her dragging him into the cabin and nursing him back to health. The paintings on the walls. The shared meals. Fingers laced together. Rhysand’s smile. The laughter. The joy. That Feyre had existed.

“I’m glad,” Feyre said once she remembered. “That I wasn’t alone. That I’m not alone now.”

“Me too,” Rhysand whispered. The fire crackled, warming them to the bone.

Feyre closed her eyes and let herself drift to sleep in his arms, darkness overtaking her senses. She dreamed of him once more - the two of them in that beautiful town, surrounded by friends and laughing. They danced under the falling stars. 

She felt something touch her mind, as soft and tender as a kiss. She welcomed the feeling, and then the world ended.

--

🔖 Tag List: @climbthemountain2020, @chunkypossum, @acourtofladydeath, @pippsmcgee, @queercontrarian, @cauldronblssd , @andrigyn , @afandomangel , @berryzxx , @rosesncarnations @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @books-books-books4ever , @tsunami-of-tears , @whisperingmidnights

This is not my usual fare, haha! Feel free to suggest what to tackle in my next sad fic < 3k.

[velidewrites]

Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Rating: Explicit

Notes: Happy Holidays @rainbowdolphinrealm! I absolutely loved being your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you over the past few weeks! My little elf has told me there may be some Azris angst in the background, and a surprise Azris treat is also sleighing your way soon 👀

Read on AO3 or continue for Chapter 1 below!

*Please note that for reasons beyond my control (insanity) I have given this fic way too much lore. Here is a map I've drawn!

Chapter 1: The Visitor

Elain had never thought she would be dreading the spring. It was the season her gardens bloomed, the season that melted the lakes around the manor to reflect the fluffy clouds dotting the sky above. The flowers she’d planted over the harvest would sprout to life, their sleepy buds erupting into colours Elain would dream of all winter. Two years ago, her father had gifted her the most extraordinary tulips for her birthday, the intricate paintings over the pack of seeds promising shades of violet she’d never seen in New Prythian. He’d brought them right from the fields of the Montesere province far on the Continent with a vow to bring her along on his travels next year—so that she could see their beauty for herself.

Her mother died the spring after.

Father had gone anyway, but Elain—Elain stayed. She had lost all desire to travel, anyway, especially when the circumstances of the death had hardly been expected. The Continent had assured them the Fae rebellion was not a threat to be taken seriously, and that the Governor had everything under control. Out of the eight human clans looking after their world, Lord Nolan had perhaps been the only one Elain would put her trust in. If he claimed the scattered remains of the faeries of old were entirely harmless, then it must have been the truth.

Until a small group of them had broken into the Merchant’s manor and killed his wife in her sleep, with magic so corrupted and vile that not even a speck of blood had left a stain on her sheets. One moment, she was deep in a peaceful slumber, and the next, she was simply…gone.

Everything had happened very quickly after that. Orders had come in from wherever Father had sailed off to, and the manor had been fortified with ash-dipped iron from Vallahan—made by the Forge himself—and spells Father had acquired from his trades with the North. All entirely legal and ratified by the Governor—according to Father, at least. Elain knew better than to ever question the Merchant.

The manor, though fortified to the teeth, had not been enough to keep Elain or either of her sisters safe. The very last order came in with the Merchant himself, a rare smile on their father’s deep-creased face as he announced it to his daughters. Elain had never seen Nesta so horrified as her older sister had been in that moment—pale as the moon, whiter than the sheets their mother had died in. For Nesta Archeron, the eldest daughter of the feared Merchant of New Prythian, was to marry.

Somewhere along his usual search for old faerie artifacts, abandoned over the centuries after the Great War, Father had found his way into an alliance that would secure his territory’s position on the island. With Nesta’s marriage, there would be no Fae slipping past his borders, no other clan opposing him—no human ruler to ever deny him whatever faerie secrets they’d been holding in their keep. It was an alliance that rattled the seas all the way to the Governor’s seat in Rask—perhaps even crooked the crown on his greying head an inch.

Nesta, after all, had been promised to none other than Tomas Mandray. To the son of the Harvester.

Every human territory had a role to play in the new world order—after the Great War, order seemed to be exactly what the humans needed. Their freedom, won by bloodshed and sacrifice, broke them free as slaves of the Fae. Elain still dreamed of the horrid images her governess’s books taught her—of humans in chains, gleaming with white-hot magic, burning spells into their skin that made any chance of escape nearly impossible. Had it not been for the courage of the six ruling queens, all hope would have been lost. Five hundred years later, it would have been Elain in those chains, her sisters, her Father, even the all-powerful Governor. Even the Harvester.

His territory—the dark, somber island of Hybern—was one Elain would never so much as think of travelling to. Pretending the work the Harvester did there did not exist made everyone’s lives a lot easier. While the Merchant dealt with old Fae artifacts and traded them across borders, the Harvester’s work involved a lot more of getting one’s hands dirty. Enchanted faerie objects, after all, were not the only things believed to have valuable properties. High Fae hearts, for example, promised a long life, untainted by illness.

And the Harvester…well, the Harvester delivered them. Amongst many others.

The marriage had taken place shortly after the summer, and neither Elain nor her father had been invited to witness the nuptials. She had simply watched the ship sail off West as she lost yet another sister.

She would not think about that right now—not when spring had finally arrived again. Soon, her tulips would bloom again, flecks of pinks and violets shining softly under the young, shy rays of sunlight. Elain would not be there to witness it—right after Nesta’s marriage, Father had left for the Continent again, and this time, Elain expected the order.

She was to be married next.

My dearest Elain,

It is with a full heart that I bring you the joyous news of our latest triumph. I have successfully docked in Saetre, and the Governor has received me warmly—as expected. As I’m sure you have already guessed, he was most pleased with the offerings I have bestowed him. You’ve seen them yourself—the old Illyrian dagger seems to be his favourite as of right now, though I have not yet even shown him the rest of the treasure I have acquired from the Wildlands. I can already imagine his eyes light up as I hand him the pair of wings your sister had sent in from Hybern. I shall convince him to display it right above his throne, I think—a testament to Nesta’s success.

Our deliberations commenced shortly after dinner—a roast turkey and the most exquisite stew, if you’re interested. I have already sent a footman along with a separate letter containing the recipe—so that you may have the maid try it out in the weeks before my return. Winters in Rask are quite unforgivable, and I must admit a hearty meal like this was exactly what I needed. Rask rears its own livestock, you know—an impressive one, too, if I do say so myself. To not be dependent on Braemar for your dinner plans—imagine that! I am growing quite tired of the Huntsman raising his prices every harvest. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I digress. Rask has consumed my attention entirely, as I’m sure you can tell. I am confident you would enjoy it here, too. Winters are rough, yes—but I remember how much you’ve always wanted to visit the provinces in the West. Just imagine your beloved tulip fields, illuminated by golden sunlight—imagine being able to see them at your whim. What a life that would be, would it not?

My sweet Elain, I am writing to tell you that it could be. You know how dear our family has always been to me—but you, my beautiful daughter, have always been closest to my ageing heart. It is precisely why I had devoted all my efforts, all my resources, into this agreement. Elain, it is one for the pages of history. A union like no other.

You see, the Governor—Lord Nolan, our very ruler himself—was so impressed with your dowry, and concerned with the fate of our family in the past year—that he had offered his son, nay, his heir, as a candidate worthy of your hand. Your hand in marriage, Elain.

Indeed, the past year has brought our family hardship unlike ever before. I do mourn your mother still, and the loss of our young Feyre continues to be a fresh wound in my heart. It is only fair we honour them, would you not agree? Your sister, your brave, headstrong sister, has already taken that first step—and look how happy she is with the Harvester’s son. She holds power like no other human in our family ever had—right now, she is perhaps the most powerful woman in Prythian. Perhaps even more than the Siren herself. Elain, with your beauty, your grace, your heart—you could outshine them both.

I am sure you were too young to remember meeting Greysen Nolan—you were only five, after all, and he only twelve—but he has grown into a fine young man, and as heir to the Governor, he is the most eligible bachelor our world has to offer. A fine marriage like this would give us the protection we need—New Prythian would never have to deal with faerie filth again. Our people would be safe, Elain—and all because of you. My beautiful Princess.

I do hope this news brings some comfort to your healing heart. Lord Nolan has bestowed his son with a title prior to your official engagement. The Visitor, as your fiancé is now called, has taken on the role of supervising all clans and their work—of ensuring their role in our world guarantees our continued survival amid the growing rebellions in Old Prythian and Vallahan. Elain, as wife to the Visitor, your dream will finally come true—you shall accompany him on all his travels, see the world as you’ve always wished! It brings me joy to know I have assured you that fate.

I am to remain in Rask until the snow melts. The Visitor and I shall set sail for home with the coming of spring, and we shall host a celebration in your honour. An engagement ball envied in the eyes of any other young lady in Prythian, New and Old!

I am told Greysen (is it too soon to address him as such, do you think? He is to be my son-in-law) enjoys roses the most. Perhaps you could show some thought and consideration and embroider a pattern on your ball gown? I trust that this letter gives you enough time in advance. You’ve always been so skilled at crafts and other projects of creative character.

Be safe, my sweet Elain. Better times are coming—and sooner than you think!

With love,

The Merchant

Elain discarded the letter on her nightstand, thinking she might puke if she so much as tried glancing upon it again. From the neat, elegant cursive to the tone of the very words, the message reeked of her Father—of the Merchant . There were so many things wrong with its contents that the anger she’d been stifling in the pit of her stomach for the past few weeks had bubbled all over again, threatening to burn its way up her throat. Elain had never been any good at art—that was Feyre, the Merchant’s other daughter the Fae had only taken a few months ago. Taken and never returned. She was likely dead, her body discarded somewhere in the Wildlands. And Father didn’t even care.

He didn’t care that it was him Elain had always wanted to travel with, not Greysen Nolan, not anyone else. He’d promised to bring her along, at least once. Now, it was too late. He would lose his final daughter—for the safety of New Prythian. Naturally.

A new wave of guilt crashed into her with a sudden force, killing the fire inside her with little effort. She didn’t want the marriage, that much was true—but, her father’s personal agenda or not, the Fae rebellion was as real as the Visitor, no doubt already sailing her way. The Fae, though very few in number thanks to the work of the human clans, still posed a very real threat—her mother and sister were the prime example of how dangerous those creatures were. Five hundred years ago, they’d nearly won the War—had nearly rid the world of all humans and enslaved whoever remained. Until the humans turned their own magic against them—and took their freedom back. They have continued to preserve it ever since.

The clans of Old Prythian had always been successful in dwindling the numbers of whoever remained—the Fae, in all their mighty immortality, could hold out for centuries, using their magic to roam the lands in secret. Three hundred years ago, most of them had been pushed far north to the Wildlands, old faerie territories Elain had read about in her studies. There was little information on the former Solar Courts and their rulers—other than that the most powerful of them had a history of cruelty that could make the Harvester himself flinch in horror. Some part of her was glad the territory had been reduced to rubble—that, at the very least, the humans’ ancient killers could no longer rely on their fortresses to lock them all up.

She had seen the Huntsman’s reports on recent rebel activity in Braemar, though. The faeries may have been few, yes, but those foolish enough to crawl out of the Wildlands caused problems that would usually send shivers down Elain’s spine. The Huntsman’s own daughter, stationed in the North under the Guardian’s protection, had been slaughtered no more than six years ago when their outpost was attacked. Father had told her stories of fresh, crimson blood, gleaming on the thick, white coat of snow.

For what had to have been the hundredth time in the past few weeks, Elain debated that perhaps, an alliance with the Governor’s son would not be such a terrible thing. She may not have known him—let alone harboured any affection for him—but their marriage would strengthen the clans. If she married Greysen, perhaps no one else’s daughters would be slaughtered, no one else’s mothers killed in their sleep or sisters hunted in the forests surrounding their own homes. Elain could protect them—in whatever way she could.

Either way, she had no choice.

***

The forest rippled with the sound of teeth tearing into flesh. Over the centuries, they had grown longer— sharper , which was just as well. He needed as much protection as he could get these days, especially with weapons so difficult to come by. The camp was already growing unsettled, and he could feel the tension weighing on the air whenever he returned. The past few winters had been difficult enough.

The coming of spring was a welcome change. Spring meant they could hunt—the new year brought on as many animals as it had opportunities. The prey in his arms, grasped by the claws he’d sunk deep into its skin, just so happened to be both.

And what an opportunity it was. They’d been wishing for it for decades—centuries, even, or perhaps even more. Like many others, he found himself losing count of the passing years. They all seemed the same—eat, sleep, move, hide. Kill had only recently started to disrupt his routine. Yet another change he welcomed.

He spat out the blood, nose wrinkling with distaste as if on instinct, and watched as the liquid settled into the mossy earth. The body fell to the ground a moment after, leaving a heavy thud in its wake, heavy enough that he could have sworn it echoed between the trees. He would get an earful for not being careful later. The thought made his eyes roll as he wiped his nails clean on his crumpled shirt.

He pulled it over his arms, then, letting the fabric float away with the gentle spring breeze, and took a deep, steadying breath. The small, golden rays of sunlight peering through the budding leaves warmed his bare chest, and he tilted his head up to the sky, soaking up the sensation until the quiet gurgle at his feet inevitably commanded the return of his attention.

He sighed, kicking away the arm resting on his boot. The body rolled to the side, baring the unpleasant face to his sight yet again. For what must have been the fourth time in the past two minutes, he felt himself grimace. Something so ugly should not have been this finely dressed.

This, however, was a problem he could easily take care of. Holding his breath to avoid the stench of his prey’s spilling guts, he kneeled to free it from the immaculate, navy-blue jacket, dark, charcoal trousers and boots before its blood managed to stain them. The formerly pristine shirt was unfortunately already lost to him, though he supposed his own would do just fine.

For a split second, he wondered if the body should be buried. It would take little effort on his part, and he knew it had been travelling with a party before trailing off the carriage path to piss. It would be best to not leave any evidence behind, lest any of the man’s companions decided to follow their master and look for relief in the forest as well.

He sighed again, a sound he feared was starting to become a signature of his lately. With a flick of his hand, the dirt rustled quietly, and the ground parted, swallowing the body entirely.

Good. This was good. He only wished he’d taken a good look at the man’s face before letting the worms dig into the body he’d so benevolently left open for them. He needed the memory unscathed for the spell, and right now, he could not for the life of him remember the colour of his prey’s eyes. Oh, well.

He got dressed quickly, finding the fabric a little too tight in the shoulders. Come to think of it, the trousers also seemed to be a tight fit, his thighs unusually restrained by the silken threads. He would have to walk more slowly, he supposed. Ripping his seams open in front of dozens of humans was hardly the surprise he’d spent the past two months carefully devising.

Rising to his full height, he closed his eyes then as though for concentration. The tingling on his skin was hardly pleasant, but he endured it all the same until the memory in his mind finally faded away. There was no stream nearby to look over his reflection, but he knew the glamour had worked, anyway. It always did.

To those who knew the man he’d just murdered, he would appear as Greysen Nolan—the newly titled Visitor, hell, the Governor’s own firstborn son. He couldn’t help but smirk.

It seemed that Daddy was in for one hell of a disappointment.

***

Elain could not breathe in her gown.

“Just a few more minutes, Princess,” the seamstress repeated, the sound muffled through the needle she’d clenched between her teeth.

The nickname did little to ease her nerves. The Princess was hardly her official title, but her father insisted the staff—that everyone in New Prythian called his one remaining daughter as such. She used to adore it as a little girl, though upon further reflection, she had no doubt she’d earned a few spoiled brat ’s in those years. Still, the name seemed to have stuck, and, as she always did, Elain felt her cheeks flush furiously in response.

“I’m not a princess, Lavinia,” she reminded the seamstress, trying her best not to make her tone sound too pointed.

The woman scoffed. “You might as well be, Lady Archeron. The Visitor is a titled man, and if that wasn’t enough, he is the Governor’s heir.” She adjusted the ribbons adorning Elain’s sleeve. “Our royalty may be long gone, but everyone knows the throne resides at Rask.”

Elain hummed. “There is a reason we are no longer ruled by six queens. To anoint a new monarchy would be to dishonour their sacrifice.”

The seamstress scrambled quickly, “Of course, Lady Archeron. I only meant—the Governor holds a lot of power in the realm.”

Elain sighed and looked into the mirror. “I suppose that much is true.”

“You don’t seem very excited,” Lavinia remarked, meeting Elain’s gaze in her reflection. “Surely the Visitor is an excellent match?”

“Certainly,” Elain nodded. But excellent was not someone Elain was looking for. She wasn’t looking for anyone, truthfully, and yet here she stood, watching Lavinia touch up her gown for the final time before her engagement ball was to commence. “This is good, I think. You’ve done a wonderful job—as always.”

The seamstress offered her a smile. “Try to be happy, Princess.”

“Of course,” Elain lied.

It was clear enough that Lavinia had left her alone, quietly excusing herself out of the room. Elain could hear her mutter instructions to the guards at her door—she was to be escorted downstairs, whenever she was ready. Apparently, guests had already begun pouring in, and the Visitor was to make his grand entrance shortly.

Elain hadn’t even seen Father yet. Wherever he was, he clearly would make his appearance once the public had gathered in full.

It was to be expected, but Elain felt her heart sink nonetheless. She could use a few words of encouragement right now. Usually, it had been Feyre offering them without Elain even having to ask. But Feyre was gone. Had been gone for a while.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Exhaling shakily, Elain looked into her own eyes in the mirror, ignoring the tear welling up in one corner, her expression stern.

“You’re doing this for them ,” she told herself. “For Feyre, and for Mother, and for Nesta, so that no one else has to suffer like they had.”

Her reflection nodded, the pearls in her ears sparkling with the movement. She breathed out again, one last time, and braced herself for the three quiet knocks on her door.

“It’s time, Princess,” the order sounded shortly after. Elain, of course, obeyed.

The gown was a pain to walk in. It was beautiful, to be sure—she hadn’t lied when she’d complimented Lavinia’s work—though that hardly made it a comfortable garment to wear. Elain appreciated the way the corset hugged her curves, or the way it perked up her breasts, but she also appreciated being able to take a breath without immediately choking on it. She had never squeezed into a dress so impossibly tight. The flowers—roses—crafted by the ruffles of tulle rested attached at her hips, the ribbons of her sleeves caressing them as Elain made her way down the hall. The gown spilled down her body in petals of ivory and a dusty pink, making Elain herself look like a blossoming rose, floating with every step.

She almost enjoyed the thought until she remembered Father’s letter once again—until she remembered Greysen Nolan’s favourite flowers were, in fact, roses, and the gown’s very design served to appeal to his tastes instead of her own.

Had it not been for the guard’s heavy boots sounding behind her, Elain would have entertained the idea of turning back. Would Father drag her downstairs himself? Would he lock her up in Greysen’s carriage and ship her off without second thought? Elain had never once thought her own engagement ceremony would ever feel like an execution. And yet, here she was, followed closely by the Merchant’s personal guard, dressed up like a doll for a man she didn’t even know.

The somber thought accompanied her down the marble steps spiralling down to the ballroom, consuming her so thoroughly she could hardly feel the countless stares watching her every more. Father must have invited more people than she’d thought—dignitaries from all over the island, perhaps even the Continent itself.

Perhaps her seamstress was right—perhaps Rask was the closest they could get to royalty, and Elain truly could not have found a more advantageous match. She also could not have married at all.

But then she met her father’s gaze, and the guilt hit her with a familiarity that nearly swayed her off the stairs.

His eyes—brown, exactly the shade of her own—were shining with pride so unabashed she could not help but smile in his direction. She was doing all of this for him, too was she not? For her family—so that they may never see misfortune again. Nesta had been strong enough to proceed with her own match. Why should Elain be any different? She could do this—otherwise, watching that pride dim from her father’s gaze might just be the thing that killed her.

Slowly, she made her way up the dais to meet his extended hand. Behind them, two high chairs she supposed had been made to resemble thrones sat waiting for the Lord and Lady to be. Elain’s heart quickened in the constraints of her corset.

“This is real, Elain,” Father murmured over her shoulder, as though he could hear how loudly her heart thumped in her chest. If he did, he’d grossly misinterpreted the reason behind it. “This is truly happening.”

Elain swallowed something thick in her throat, and forced another smile as she turned to face him at last. “I know, Father.”

The white of his teeth nearly outmatched the chandeliers above. “You look absolutely spectacular,” he complimented, his smile wider as he noted the tulle roses. “Are you ready to meet your husband?”

She supposed there was no turning back now.

Father nodded to the guards. “Invite the Visitor in.”

Every single head in the ballroom turned as two, white-gloved hands turned the golden, ornate knobs and swung the doors open.

Elain held her breath—then counted to three. Four. Five.

On seven, he entered.

She’d spotted his jacket first—a deep navy-blue adorned with fine, silken thread. Fitted, charcoal trousers and boots, echoing quietly off the marble floor as the Visitor finally stepped into the light.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His long hair was like molten fire, a stark contrast against the depth of his jacket. Shades of red, auburn and orange, falling down his back in waves as the firelight danced on his golden brown skin—almost like greeting an old friend. There was something raw about his beauty—he was hardly one of the perfect, polished aristocrats she’d danced with at other balls. No, there was a cruelty about him—as if he’d been crafted by the same flame that gleamed playfully atop the chandeliers warming her skin, melting every guard she’d ensured to build up, every reason she could think of that made him the worst fate the world had in store for her.

Elain could have sworn that fire sizzled in his russet eyes as he reached the dais—as he stopped before her and bowed at the waist.

When he looked up again, their gazes locked and held. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lady Archeron,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deep. “My name is Greysen Nolan.”

[achaotichuman]

hi! headcannons for jesminda?

Hello! Absolutely!

Jesminda taught Lucien how to catch fish with his hands. She often had to hunt food for herself, and Lucien had rarely done any hunting other than recreational when he was younger. So, she taught him everything he had to do. Lucien used to hate the feeling of the fish in his hands, but quickly learned how to get past it. Especially when Jesminda flicked water at him and smiled so brightly when he finally caught one. Jesminda was friends with Eris. As general Eris knew all the small villages and met Jesminda on a patrol one day. They struck it off immediately because of Jesminda's bold and fearless personality. She asked why the prince was out by himself in these parts of the woods, and quickly they made conversation. Eris was fascinated by Jesminda, and whilst he didn't approve (for fear of the consequences) he understood why Lucien fell for her. Jesminda is bisexual, she had a girlfriend before she got with Lucien who had been a lesser Faery from the Winter Court. She left Jesminda because when she accidently stayed in Autumn for far too long, the new climate and no access to the cold snow caused her temperature to rise until it nearly killed her. Jesminda raced her back to the border, but she was so distraught she disappeared into Winter and never returned. Jesminda is a wild card, and incredibly strong. She does a lot of the heavy lifting since all her siblings are very young and her father is often away. She knows how to sword fight and often pinned Lucien to the ground during duels. Jesminda wanted to travel the world, she wanted to see across all the continents and wanted to see humans. She sympathized with them and hated how they were treated by High Fae as it is very similar to how High Fae treat Lesser Faeries. Jesminda advocated for change in Autumn. She was extremely active in communities that helped to relieve the suffering of the poorer parts of Autum and tried to help start a revolution against Beron. Which was ultimately a part in why she was executed by Beron instead of simply exiled. Jesminda had no fear and no filter. She said what she thought, and never let anyone get away with injustice. Though she was also kind and warm, often caring for others in the community if sick or injured. Often, she roped Lucien into helping her babysit for the kids next door since they didn't have a dad and Lucien was the next best option. Jesminda proposed to Lucien. Lucien was planning on it, but started stumbling at the last second, nearly backing out. So Jesminda reached out, took a ring off of his finger and proposed instead. Lucien was blushing and laughing but said yes. That was the same night Jesminda was killed. Jesminda taught Lucien about the world. She knew so many facts about different cultures and the lands around them. Extremely intelligent, when it was common that Lesser Fae received less education than High Fae. She was very spiritual and taught Lucien a lot about respecting their lands and the importance of community. Jesminda did not want to be buried in the earth. Rather she wanted she be scattered in the air, so her soul could be free to wander the world in the afterlife. Since Lucien was forced out, Eris honoured her request in his place. And left a marker of her name in the trunk of a willow tree where he had scattered her ashes. It only reads, Jesminda was here.

I hope you enjoyed these anon!

[the-scribe-and-her-scribbles]

I tried to choose one part that I wanted you to talk about but they're all so good I couldn't choose 😭 So instead, here's a ⭐ to talk about the part you've been dying to talk about

Warning! This gets steamy towards the end!!!

----------

I think I really want to talk about feral!Gilbert.

I have a lot of thought on how I wanted to write the Fae/unseen folk. I wanted the fae-folk to have something off about them. Just that when a human were to look at them for long enough you could catch a glimpse of something else, or maybe a lack of something, like how the closer you look the less you actually see.

I wanted it to be very clear that Gilbert is not human. He’s a fae, a creature, a monster. Not some fairy prince.

In the unseen seen world, Gilbert’s body and soul are at home, so to speak, so he has an easy time holding in his true form, especially when he’s around you.

In fact most civilized fae are able to hold back the feral creatures the the wild magic makes them, even if for some it’s harder then others.

He loves you. And he loves you in a way that is gentle for his kind, with soft touches and vigilant eyes that keep you safe in their view. These are the tame parts of him, the places he keep separate from what the wild magic makes him, the parts he’s kept alive only for you. He loves you, and he doesn't want to upset you, so the charming, almost normal side of him is still of use to him.

But he's still fae, he's still a monster, and this means he loves you in all the dark and sharp ways too.

He would never hurt you, his soul wouldn’t let him, but his soul also drives him towards you like a wounded animal on bloody paws. His limbs bloody and aching, pain at the back of his mind as he throws himself, drags himself closer to you.

He’s a fae and you're his soulmate, his other half, so your his.

(Why couldn’t he keep you? He’d keep you safe, oh so safe. And well fed and well fucked. You’d love it if you were his. He would bring you any clothing or jewelry you could think of, he’d build you a library where you could sit and read forever, he’s even go get you that half-fae, Basil, that you met in Arbourly, to bring you novels from that human world you love so much. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for you if it meant he could keep you, so let him, let him, l̴̰̮͎͈͠e̴̩̰̥̋̍̐̏t̴̝̱̒̿ ̷͕̚ḫ̴̱̤̗́i̷̩͛̍̈́͝m̵̮̓.)

If Maus does manage to get back to her human world, Gilbert isn't staying behind. Just because you're back home, doesn't mean your free of him.

Unlike in the Unseen world, Gilbert has a much harder time blending in. He rarely ever had to visit before you, and the mortal air messes with him. When his magic seeps out, its far more noticeable. His pale form seems to flicker in and out when not looking directly at him. You can almost see something else in his place, darker and smokey, whipping away at the edges like ash.

And Gilbert acts different too... more intense. He's almost aways there, following you. Either from far back behind you, (you think he like pretending to stalk you) or right at your side, holding your arm in his and helping you to where you need to go.

He's lingering, appearing in your room and around corners, unable to keep his hands to himself. He's rubbing his hands up the sides of your arm and whispering soft things to you. Other times, he's grabbing at you (you can swear you feel claws when he does.) He's still kind, just protective? possessive? Nipping at your cheeks and neck. If you aren't wearing gloves, he's even kissing and nipping your wrists. Muttering about how 'they(???) keep coming loose', how he'll have to give you more.

So he gives you things. Kisses and affections, small trinkets and foods, because he's a fae, and they gain little tethers with the humans they give favours too. He doesn't do it to lord over you or control you, just to protect you, keep tied to you, strengthen the ties that he already has from your deal you made all that time ago, and to protect your soul-tie.

It makes that dark thing inside him purr (you swear you've felt it one or twice). All those golden string, the single red one of your fates intertwined.

Make no mistake Reader, Gilbert has no intention of letting you go anywhere without him. You're his. He knows this, and you know this. But he's also yours. And he tells you this often.

"You can go anywhere, Maus," he whispers, hot breath (unnaturally so) fanning on the space behind your ear. You whine out at him and Gilbert can't stop himself from pressing you further into one of the bookshelves behind you counter of your father's store. Your skirt is hiked up around your waist, his hips pressed to your center with your knees help up by his arms. "But I'll follow you. I'm yours, hum? Say it, say I'm yours, say you love me, Schatz." He kisses you again and when you pulls away, you nod your head. You're whole body is as if its been set aflame. The lovely strings tied to your soul tug and pull in the most delicious way.

"Your mine, Gilbert. I love you," and as the words leave your mouth, his eyes burn brightly with devotion. "Thank you, Maus."

You smile into the next kiss.

-----

This was not edited. Forgive me for errors!!!

I am heavily inspired by @ghouljams portrayal of the Fae (especially soul ties. I think its such a great way to describe fae deals!!!) I wish I had their works to read when I was starting my Fae au years ago, because I agree with them so much. If you like Call of Duty, and like Fae AU's , you’ll love their stuff!

Tags???: @jtownraindancer @redrosesociety1 @xxruinaxx

[skyclan-funny-name-squad]

Expansion on that human fae au idea

• Fae take on traits of something that they connect to, like an object or element; before then they are changelings which are kind of like the nymphs (in an insect sense), a bit opalescent skin wise (very shiny) with basically useless wings that can either become fully functioning later in life or fall off if seen as “unnecessary” in adulthood. Because Rusty spends his youth in the very human clans, he becomes very humanoid, almost to a point where he nearly blends in, outside of the red of his hair which is unnaturally bright, and his eyes which are an unsettlingly pretty forest green.

• Changelings change overtime, but are no longer considered changelings when their wings either fall off or change. If they lose their wings beforehand, you can tell when the marks of where they used to be vanish, or, they grow new ones.

• fae reside in the otherworld, and they can come in and out through gateways like fairy circles or other peculiar natural formations. The clans will rarely fully obstruct these gateways out of fear of their wrath (taking people away), but they do try to stay away from them.

• Humans and fae in stories come from the same kind of place — the difference is their bodies, fae bodies change to reflect the soul, while human bodies are difficult to change and greatly fragile. To the clans, stories have twisted fae into distorted humans — trading their mortal flesh for an undying form with the other, but in exchange they lose their “freedom”, aka, the ability to freely walk the earth. Whom they traded this freedom with is among plenty of heated discussions as the clans don’t fully understand anything on the fae side of the supernatural — though they’d be akin to Gods in their eyes. Fae alternatively believe humans left their fae bodies long ago to wander the earth.

• Because humans and fae are intrinsically connected, StarClan spirits are a lot more like fae than one would think. Due to the lack of a body, aspects of their souls will change the physical appearance of the deceased in the afterlife, and leaders and medicine cats while living also undergo alterations as the power of the human spirit alters them physically. The dead can also bless objects occasionally.

• Examples of the above; Bluestar’s hair turns blue literally, and even as she ages no white hairs grow from her head — when she dies, her hair turns white as her spirit leaves her body. Cinderpelt after becoming a full medicine cat is gifted with a blessed cane made from the bark of a willow tree, the cane in times of danger turns into a spear (This is medieval esc in my head, think dnd), she also gains this lingering scent of ashes on her and an odd immunity to fire, as it dances on her skin, but does not harm her. The gifts/blessings vary in power ofc.

• Fae generally can have multiple forms naturally, but for whatever reason when raised/live long enough among human folk they lose this ability somewhat, only able to change small aspects of themselves (ex; Firestars hair can turn into actual flames in moments of high emotion)

• Fae aging is a bit weird. Fae ages coincide with humans, with the exception of “growing old”, similarly to crocodiles they don’t experience how we age and don’t necessarily slow down or weaken with time. Fae actually just get stronger the older they become. That doesn’t mean fae won’t take on the forms of elderly humans, mostly just that it’s mainly an aesthetic preference.

• Fae can’t (easily) die in the other world, but they can 100% be killed on earth. They’re especially weak to certain metals.

• The clans have their unique opinions on how to deal with fae. WindClan is actually somewhat friendly with the fae, which gives them a bad reputation amongst the clans. ThunderClan is extremely superstitious when it comes to them — heavily avoiding any landmarks they suspect as fairy gates and occasionally trying to ward them off. RiverClan is curious, but similarly to ThunderClan very wary of them, often avoiding them completely if they can help it. ShadowClan is the only clan that still currently created weapons to slay fae, which is seen as extremely dangerous if not begging to be killed. Old SkyClan openly obstructed fairy gates — while new skyclan ofc has fae warriors in their midst.

• Fae still definitely take children from the clans and switch them with their own a la changeling mythos. The clan law of not harming children extends to changelings, though, so physically they’re often fine, though often socially ostracized. The excuse of kits with disabilities being changelings is often used by cats to excuse social ostracism even if the disability is gained after birth, two examples of this being Crookedstar and Deadfoot. Sometimes the changeling accusation comes towards anyone that strays from clan norms, including adults.

• people who run off with fae don’t become become fae, but fae do easily except humans as their own and humans in the otherworld do change ever so slightly to become a teensy bit more magical.

• Half fae are often more destructive than normal fae due to a lack of control over their abilities when young. While changelings aren’t that powerful when compared to normal fae, and depending on the age can be considered helpless — changelings have a little bit more control over their own bodies as magic is inherently apart of them. Half fae do not naturally carry said disposition to their magic and often don’t even realize they are using magic. Half changelings are extremely accident prone and often seen as a greater danger due to their unpredictability. Half changelings cannot control what traits they take on or how “human” they remain.

It's still absolutely incredible to me how far my concept of "lmao kittypet fae" have taken off, you all are putting so much thought into this its genuinely so cool to see!

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

OC LOREDROP PRETTY PLEASE??

okayyy!!! i haveeeee soooooo many OCs, i'm going to talk about the ones from the fairy realm part in my story!!

right, so one of my deuteragonists from the previous part of the story, Hana Kaetsu, in the fantasy arc, accidentally gets sent to the fairy realm by reading a letter from a mysterious group mistakenly delivered to her, that was actually meant for her classmate Sybil Villin who's secretly a witch (she's pretty open about her interest in making potions and researching the supernatural and all that but ofc everyone just thinks she's interested in it cause. people don't generally believe in that anymore). anywayyyyy cause of Hana's little misadventure there, she because one of four people in her class who are now able to see ghosts and other supernatural creatures due to now having a connection with the supernatural. the other three are Sybil, ofc, cause she's a witch, her friend Naoki Himura because he managed to free and summon the ghost of their murdered classmate Ashley Atwell, and Ash herself cause. ghost

butttt before being able to return to the human world after Sybil, Naoki and Ash figured out what was going on when she suddenly disappeared (only they noticed that Hana had gone missing due to her disappearance being of supernatural causes, and them being the only ones around who have that experience- for everyone else, it's as if Hana never existed but they remember her again as if nothing happened after she returns), Hana met Sybil's "coven" (which is a gathering of witches, but they're not all witches, half of them are fae), the coven being the one who tried to address that letter to Sybil, wanting her back as she'd suddenly lost contact with them for a few years. where Hana ends up after being transported there is a village in the fairy realm called "Glacialisville" and the forests surrounding it, a slightly cold area that gets very snowy winters and not very warm summers, only about 25 degrees Celsius max. also quite windy and prone to storms

the coven consists of:

Lady Esmerelda- a forty-six year old witch who is basically the leader, currently the lady of the mansion they are based in, "Glacies Manor" though she doesn't own it, just looking after it until Rowan feels prepared enough to take on the responsibility. adoptive mother of Rowan and Dahlia

Rowan Leblanc- a nineteen year old witch. his bio mother was executed for being caught practicing witchcraft- her and her ancestors were the true owners of Glacies Manor and are a long line of very powerful witches (though are known for having slightly unstable magic compared to others), including a particularly infamous one...

Dahlia Leblanc- a seventeen year old vampire who was banished from the vampire realm, in which she was princess of one of the royal families. disowned due to not being considered a "real" vampire as she was born with an incredibly rare and tricky condition that made her highly allergic to blood

Marceline- a seventeen year old witch, old friends with Sybil and the one who set out to find her again. Marcy is incredibly skilled with a sword and plans to enrol into the uni below

Belle, Olivier and Ciel Krieger- twenty year old fairy triplets who attend an university that specifies in training future members of the fairy army with sword fighting, archery etc

Nixie- a seventeen year old unique type of fairy that can shape shift- however he can only turn into creatures that humans consider fictional, such as a unicorn, pegasus, phoenix, dragon, mermaid

Ghost- twelve years old, a type of fairy known as changeling who was switched into an awful family in the human world. Lady Esme found her and immediately saved and took her in after seeing how she was treated due to being fae. cannot speak due to having a damaged throat from that "family" trying to kill her by stabbing, prefers to mainly communicate through drawings and miming. is able to communicate with these jelly-like floating creatures around the forest who she often holds tea parties with

Lillie- a twelve year old witch who looks up to the older witches in the coven (Lady Esme, Marcy and especially Rowan due to him being very older brotherly) who is incredibly excited about becoming able to use controlled magic at thirteen (spoiler- doesn't happen, she's murdered four days before her thirteenth birthday)

need two more characters to make a whole "thirteen" for the coven feel, haven't thought of them yet

other major characters!! Dahlia and Marcy's college classmates, all also seventeen (well. probably not cause birthdays and all that but i haven't figured it out yet. they attend Glacialisville College of Arts, where they have compulsory English (mixed Lang and Lit), Maths and History + three or occassionally four creative subjects:

Vie von Vogelblut- a vampire who suffered similar trauma to Dahlia, being thrown out of the vampire realm due to disownment. he lives with his equally disowned aunt and her daughter, Rouge, who while technically his cousin, is more like his older sister. Rouge is four years older than him, twenty-one, and also goes to that army uni thing that the Krieger triplets go to. Vie is somewhat childhood friends with Dahlia, he's basically her second brother, she's his second sister. he takes Hair and Makeup, German, Creative Writing and Theatre

Raphael- a fairy who was immediately adopted into the group by the extroverted Dahlia and ends up being very good friends with Vie. Raffi takes Drawing and Painting, Photography and Arabic

Clarissa- a fiery fairy who's besties with Dahlia, frenemies with Vie. idk what she takes yet

Alexandrite- a witch who's particularly gifted with elemental magic. takes Drawing and Painting, Sculpture and Photography

Nora- a fairy who's rather wary of flying due to being visually impaired and there being less to feel in the air. she has a Golden Retriever called Leo as a service animal and she takes Violin, Creative Writing and Song Writing

Natalie and Amaryllis- a pair of fairy sisters who've been through some crap (father lured to death by a demon). they both get along well with Vie. apart from her sister and Vie, Amy's only friends with Dahlia and Alexandrite due to severe social anxiety and Nat's much more outgoing and on very good terms with most in college. Amy and Nora also wanted to be friends due to having similar fashion sense, however, there was a communication barrier due to Nora's visual impairment and Amy being selectively mute (so Nora wouldn't be able to read what Amy writes but at the same time, Amy's unable to speak to her) but!! they both decide to learn Morse code (Amy taps her messages onto Nora's hand) so they eventually get to get along. idk all the subjects the sisters take yet, but Nat does Photography as one of them and Amy takes Hair and Beauty (same class as Vie)

oh yeah i forgot about Dion- Clarissa's cousin, just kind of a bitch really

there's more but aaaaaaa i think. i've gone insane enough

[not-poignant]

Hello Pia

Hope you don't mind answering but how does the pide piper of Hameln treat his humans? I've read the ice plague trilogy but I can't remember specifics.

Does he see them as pets or prisoners? Is he cruel to them?

I think i remember Gwyn saying something like the piper doesn't allow them to have a language so does that mean he uses magic to take away their ability to speak or learn/develop a communication system?

Would any of them ever be able to escape him or would any fae that knows about them want to rescue them the way some humans want to rescue animals in factory farms or laboratories?

And how did the piper choose which of his humans to feed Augus and Ash? Was it a random choice or did he pick a certain pair? And was magic used to make them more compliant? Are the piper's humans even capable of putting up resistance, or have they simply been too brainwashed?

Sorry for the slew of questions but my brain just has so many and I'd really appreciate if you told me. No pressure tho. Thanks for take the time

Hi hi anon,

So a lot of this is covered in The Ice Plague and is really only in like one or two chapters, so is pretty easy to find comparatively (vs. other lore that is sprinkled all over across many books). The chapter titled 'The Ratcatcher of Hameln' is a good place to start. Though it's discussed a little before and after as well.

But the Ratcatcher of Hameln doesn't treat his humans well. It's established in The Ice Plague that they are basically entertaining livestock to him, not even really pets. They don't wear clothes and they no longer have speech likely because he forbade it at first (they were after all only children, and many completely forgot their life in the human realm by the time they were adults), and then they just further lost it over time because no one was talking to them to teach them.

The humans with the Ratcatcher aren't the original humans anymore from the folklore, they're several generations deep. They have no memory of living in any other way except as cattle in a garden. Ash and Augus could have picked whoever they wanted, none mattered in any particular way to the Ratcatcher, except as evidence of his continued vengeance against the human town he got vengeance on. I'm sure some have attempted resistance, but humans are easy to kill and torture, and he's an immortal being who is one of the most magically powerful fae in that universe. I think he'd find it cute. He did literally destroy a town by stealing all of the town's children to make a point, after all (like, in the actual folklore).

(Also, I don't see any fae as wanting to rescue them, tbh. For a start, the Ratcatcher himself is Seelie and not eating them, they're not overcrowded, and no other fae would consider that a 'cruel existence' particularly because they think the most cruel existence is the one humans inflict on themselves - all Fae (with only a few exceptions) have a very poor view on humans, humanity, and the idea of humans having control over their own lives. The Ratcatcher calls them animals and that's how many Fae see them, except they have a higher opinion of other animals. The Ratcatcher's humans are free range, fed, not fed on except in extremely rare circumstances - like it literally being the end of the world - can breed however they choose and have access to shelter. Gwyn, Augus, Ash, Mosk, Eran etc. never think to even consider this as a thought exercise.)

[kainicowrites]

Forging Sparks pt. 1

The fae I knelt beside was covered in ash and soot with burns down their left arm and hand. They were wheezing slightly, eyes closed against the sun overhead. Clearly having given up on fleeing. There was nothing I could do for them except drag them behind a building, hopefully out of harm’s way. 

Everywhere I looked, a blazing inferno. Walking down the streets, I was greeted with screams as another fire sparked in front of a group of individuals trying to escape. A quick glance of my surroundings told me the eyes that were the same color as mine weren’t looking. Nor were any of her followers. I absorbed the fire into myself, creating an opening for those fleeing. There was no use attempting to convince my mother to stop what she was doing, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t minimize the damage. 

I peered around a small shack, a bone-chilling view unfolding in front of me. My mother, fiery red hair matching the flames shooting out of her hands, surrounded by orcs, mutants, and half breeds. All the outcasts in one place. All following one woman. My mother. 

Individuals in blue and grey uniforms fought my mother and her followers. Mother was out numbered and nearly surrounded, but her flames continued to burn. Fear rattled inside me at the thought of her noticing that I was not assisting in the fight. Electricity coursed through me, tingling at my fingertips. That fear ignited when a ball of fire flew directly at me, narrowly missing my head. 

The harsh, booming voice that raised me echoed against the buildings, “Why aren’t you fighting!”

I forced myself not to shrink back, but my voice came out meek, “I never wanted to kill innocents.”

Even though she had her eyes trained on me, she was still dodging and fighting those around her, “Do they look innocent? They would kill everyone here if given the chance!”

A figure dressed in black and grey, probably a higher ranked individual, fighting Mother with an unseen power, shouted, “That is not true! We are only here to stop your destruction!”

I absorbed more of the scene unfolding in front of me, some uniformed individuals helped those injured or trying to run. Others with water or air magic were trying to put out Mother’s fires. 

“Don’t let them trick you, foolish child! I raised you to fight for the cause! Now, fight!”

Lightning sparked and zapped from my hands, as red as my eyes. I could tell I was about to lose control, but I bit it down, dampening my magic. I locked eyes with my mother, silently pleading. 

She shook her head and spared a glance around the village, noting how dwindled her followers had become. “All forces retreat! To me!” She spun around spewing fire, creating a ring between her followers and the others, me included. Before those with water magic could begin to put out the fires, Atri, Mother’s second in command, split the ground behind the flames, creating a rift ten feet across. When the flames were finally squashed, Mother and her followers were long gone, most likely transported through a portal of Eleet’s creation. My mother had amassed a crew of powerful magic wielder’s and Eleet’s power was the most rare. Teleportation through rifts in the planes of this world. 

I closed my eyes and unleashed my magic, screaming to the sky and falling to my knees, knowing I’d been left behind. When I opened them, I expected to find a group of unconscious individuals, electrocuted, but instead I found that my lightning had been contained by a wall of hard magic. 

I wiped away the single tear that had escaped and met eyes of two different colors. One so grey it could be black, the other a rust orange. “That is some power you’ve got there. I nearly could not contain it all.”

Voice hoarse from screaming, “Who are you?”

“I am Hawx. We are here to help.” They gestured around at a group carrying an injured fae on a stretcher. 

I spoke through gritted teeth, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“I agree with you there. Though actions are a tell of who someone really is and these individuals only want to help. I only want to help.” They paused, looking me in the eye once more, “What do you want to do, young one?”

“I-I…I don’t know.” I knew my mother was cruel, but I never thought she would leave me behind. 

The fae warrior spoke again, “Come with us. We can help you master your powers.”

I stared at my hands and ground my teeth, unsure what to do. I certainly did not desire another mentor, but they seemed nice enough and they could provide the shelter I needed. Lost and without another option, “Fine, but I don’t need training.”

“Everyone needs training, but we will see how you settle in first.”

[wickedsrest-rp]

Undead (Overview)

“Undead” refers to beings who have experienced death yet still walk the earth in corporeal form. Previously human, they now typically subsist off the lifeforce of the living in some manner. The undead are physically similar to cadavers, and will generally be cold to the touch (as they take on ambient temperature), do not have a physiological need to breathe, and have minimal to no blood flow. As the undead have already died, they can now be considered “immortal,” in the sense that they no longer age in the expected way and will not reach death as a natural conclusion. 

TURNING: 

Excepting some rare types of vampires, one is not born destined to rise again after death. The undead are created, either through specific types of contact with undead species, or due to the circumstances surrounding their death. Many may not even be expecting their turning, and “waking up” after death is said to be incredibly disorienting and even traumatic, especially in the cases of burial. There tends to be a steep learning curve in gaining control for the new undead, and this curve can last years, with some always struggling to control themselves. 

CLANS: 

Undead species often band together in organizations called clans. Clans may be a mix of species, though specific types of undead have also been known to have their own exclusive clans. It’s not uncommon for the oldest, more powerful individuals to be in charge, though some are run more democratically. Clans often have their own eccentric “flavor,” being that the undead live so long; both the past and idealized plans for the future become entwined. There’s a clan of undead knights, vampires who ride giant bats, and, of course, those who want to release thousands of spawn into the world.

To learn about some of the clans in and around the Wicked’s Rest area, VIEW OUR CLANS POST.

ABILITIES: 

Those who feed off flesh and blood often possess superhuman strength, reflexes, and healing. 

Undead that feed on more abstract things might have other abilities to help them feed (such as mares astral projecting). 

Few physiological needs – cannot be asphyxiated, do not sleep (though may enter trance-like state), do not need to eat human food. 

Tend to have some immunity to magic, zombies having the most. 

Not affected by poisons and pheromones, except for some specific toxins known to work on the undead. Because they have “no life to give,” they cannot be fed on by undead or most fae in a way that provides sustenance. 

WEAKNESSES: 

Must be killed in specific manners. Injury to a vital organ won’t do it. Beheading works on all undead, and fire tends to work. Religious iconography, and stakes through the heart work on various types. 

Despite an immunity to most magic, the undead are still vulnerable to fire magic as they would be normal fire. 

Very common for the undead to become increasingly emotionally hardened throughout the years, with a lot of older ones thinking nothing more of their prey than “food.”

When the undead are killed, they do not leave behind typical remains – for example, vampires leave only ashes and zombies turn to a liquid substance.

The undead are hunted by slayers, who can sense their presence while the undead are unable to do the same.

PLAYABLE UNDEAD SPECIES:

Fury

Mare

Vampire

Zombie

Other Options

[courtfallen]

𝔣𝔢𝔶𝔫 ❝ 𝔯𝔬𝔬k ❞ k𝔬𝔳𝔞𝔠𝔰 // intro.

‘ françois arnaud, cismale, he/him, 34 / 340 , high fae + lightsinger ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems FEYN “ROOK” KOVACS has been teleported to the dusk court, the LEADER OF MERC GUILD (“THE TORCHLIGHT REBELLION”)/TAVERN OWNER (“THE BROKEN CROWN”) from GAEA is said to be ENTERPRISING and is said to describe themselves with LOOSE TESSERAE JINGLING IN A STOLEN, LEATHER PURSE, THE BURN OF REBELLION IN A POOR MAN’S EYES, THE STENCH OF THE UNWASHED WORKING CLASS AND ALE, VISIONS OF A WORLD LEVELED TO ASH & REBORN ANEW and with all of this in mind their RECALCITRANT nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

general details.

ꜰᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ: feyn xaiden kovacs ( formerly dyerling ) ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ(ꜱ): "rook" — among those in his merc guild ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢ: feyn (masc) meaning “sanctuary for the lost” / xaiden (masc): a little fire / kovacs: blacksmith / master forge ᴀɢᴇ: 34 / 340 ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙɪʀᴛʜ: feb 12 (aquarius sun, libra moon, aries rising) ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙɪʀᴛʜ: autumn court, prythian ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴇꜱ: high fae / lightsinger + can take the form of a red-tailed hawk (father is a spring court fae) ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: cismale ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ: he/him ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: bisexual ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: demiromantic ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴜꜱ: unattached. ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:  leader of a revolutionary merc guild called ❝ the torchlight rebellion ❞ — known for bleeding the ruling classes of their resources and smuggling fae to freedom / owner of ❝ the broken crown ❞ tavern in gaea, a front for the rebellion ᴇᴅᴜᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: trained as a blacksmith in his youth, excellent with dual-wielding, prefers shortswords, received tutoring befitting a higher-ranking court family, master chess-player ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴄᴄᴇɴᴛ: neutral, deep tone with a rasp when tired/overwhelmed

physical appearance, etc.

ꜰᴀᴄᴇᴄʟᴀɪᴍ: françois arnaud ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ: thick, dark waves, often worn loose or slicked back in a ponytail. ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ: deep oceanic blue-green ᴇʏᴇꜱɪɢʜᴛ: fae-perfect ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ: 6'2" ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ: 190lbs ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ: rogue-build with more strength due to his size ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏꜱ: torchlight rebellion sigil on his forearm, rarely shown ᴄʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇ: stylish fitted leathers usually, worn but well-kept linen tunics ꜱɪɢɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ: campfire and spice, thyme

personality.

ᴘᴏꜱɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛꜱ: enterprising, amiable, generous, soft-hearted, convicted, quiet but firm leader, fair-minded, hard-working ɴᴇɢᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴛʀᴀɪᴛꜱ: recalcitrant, prejudiced against wealthy/ruling classes, a temper when he senses injustice/when protecting what he cares for, dogged, sometimes narrow-minded & married to his causes ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ: a good ale, good company, those who share his world-view, honest debate, games of skill and strategy, hunting, foraging, hiking, brewing ale, cooking, swordwork, collects blades ᴅɪꜱʟɪᴋᴇꜱ: haughty individuals & those with exorbitant wealth & power, seeing people suffer for basic needs, injustice, self-absorbed individuals, cruelty ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ: suppression, the royal family taking control of prythian, losing those he cares for, feeling censored or silenced ᴍᴏʀᴀʟ ᴀʟɪɢɴᴍᴇɴᴛ: chaotic good ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ: air / light ʙᴇᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ: enjoys a good ale, aged whiskey, citrus juices ꜰᴏᴏᴅ: a good stew, meat & potatoes, shortbread cookies

head canons and/or backstory. ( tw: violence mention, injury )

— born to the dyerling family, a well-known and influential house in the autumn court, you receive everything a young, second-born high fae male is presumed to want: education, finery, privilege, influence, the means to travel, lounge. and somehow, that was not enough for you.

— from the start, you are trouble, a handful for the few servants in your household, a nightmare to your tutor ( who despised your prying, "problematic" questions about the history of the courts, politics, and your fascination with class & oligarchy ). more than that, you are a liability to your eldest brother and two younger sisters — all of whom seem quite happy with all that is given them. they don't question where it came from, why it is theirs by rights, and they climb — the maddening ascension, of the social rung. pushing and shoving to get ahead of the other. while you're competitive yourself, it is not to the extreme that you would belittle and out-play your siblings.

— you favor your mother, demeter dyerling, unlike your siblings with golden skin and pale hair, airy, blue eyes like your father. you've inherited your mother's pale but olive-toned skin, her wild, dark hair. unexplainable, however, your eyes are the color of a raging, storm-swept sea. dark, almost-teal in hue. and they are nothing like hers, nothing like your father's, and nothing like your grandparents. this revelation stirs something in you, perhaps something you've known all along. the emergence of your strange powers and your ability to take the form of a red-tailed hawk — this proves it to you: the dyerling family is not your blood; you are different from them.

— as you come of age, sensing that you are spiraling out and verging on self-destruction ( or perhaps, for fear that you will tarnish the dyerling name ), your mother takes you aside, and tells you the truth. your father is a spring court high fae from a fallen house, and despite the back-breaking work to bring his family back from the cusp of ruin, he has been diminished to the work of a blacksmith, toiling the hours away over a forge, throwing a hammer. his eyes are the color of a storm-swept sea, and he, too, can bend light and take to the air in the form of a kestrel.

– you flee autumn court, and find your father. he knows you the moment you arrive on the front stoop of his forge. his name is kaladin kovacs, the former first son of a fallen house, who long worshipped and adored your mother. you are the product of a love gone-wrong. your mother had planned to leave her husband, the man who posed as your father for so long, but when kaladin could not maintain his house — when the debts owed buried him under ash and shame — your mother left him to his demise. unknowingly, she carried you with her.

— you see the stark difference between the world you came from and the one you're in now. it is harsh, unforgiving, dark, and cold. there are hungry nights, gnarled roots for pillows, and flavorless bone broth with carrots for dinner. young and driven, you promise your father you will bring his forge into prominence. behind his back, you steal from those more fortunate, raising the funds to put him in a proper shop. for decades, the shop eats away at his debts, but in the end, it isn't enough. a visit from the debt collectors is more brutal than the last and despite your efforts to protect him, their harsh beating leaves your father bedridden for weeks. mentally, he's never the same. he's lost, dissociated, broken. for so long, you searched for your father, your origin, your identity, and now, it's all a shade in front of you. your father, a ghost.

— a fire catches in your heart. when you look around, all you can see is us and them. those who wield the power, and those that are trampled beneath the heel of their boot. perhaps it's just acts of senseless chaos at first, but you continue the work you did before — stealing for the benefit of others. you remain anonymous, but work in ways that keep the hungry, the meek and sick, off the radar. soon, others like you catch on, and the movement grows. in the early years, you signal to one another with torchlight, and thusly, your small rebellion, a reflection of the broken classes in every court, is named. a cause forged.

— overtime, the guild grows, as do your efforts. while you maintain a home-base in the spring court with the front of the kovacs forge, you flee with a purpose to gaea, bringing your most trusted crew, your father, and enough money to build a tavern & brewery. your father comes alive there, cooking stews, brewing famous ales, and manning the bar of the broken crown. behind the scenes, your guild works — freeing slaves, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. it's your aim to bring it all down. to rebuild a better system, by the fae, for the fae. your stormy eyes set on the capital, it's a wrench in your plans when all of this chaos sets you off your course.

[lichtundschattens]

‘ aaron taylor-johnson, cis man, he/him, 35 / 350 , illyrian / high fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems ARES CAELUM has been teleported to the dusk court, the SPY MASTER from THE AUTUMN COURT is said to be TACTFUL and is said to describe themselves with DEEP AMBER EYES FLECKED WITH GOLD, TATTOOS THAT DANCE ACROSS SKIN LIKE LIVING MEMORIES OF YOUR ILLYRIAN HERITAGE, DELICATE LINES ETCHING YOUR KNUCKLES SUGGESTING YOUR CAPABILITY OF DESTROYING OR CREATING THINGS, TWIN DAGGERS FASHIONED IN A GLEAMING GOLD COLOR WHILE THE OTHER IS IN A SHADOWY OBSIDIAN HUE SERVING AS A CONSTANT REMINDER OF YOUR TIE WITH YOUR SISTER  and with all of this in mind their RESERVED nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

full name: ares lucius caelum

aliases: revenant (mostly his alias as a spy or mercenary), shadow of light (a referral to his former duo to his sister)

age: 35 / 350

occupation: spy master / mercenary (formerly, but will still take jobs)

alliances: autumn court

species: high fae / illyrian

personality (+): resourceful, observant, dauntless

personality (-): reserved, blunt, cynical

inspirations: apollo (greek mythology), cloud strife (final fantasy 7), the winter soldier / bucky barnes (marvel)

THE STORY SO FAR; tw: cheating/infidelity

The first breath you drew was a declaration, a cosmic whisper that you were destined for greatness. As the firstborn twin, you felt the weight of responsibility settle on your tiny shoulders like a cloak of starlight. Your sister, just moments younger, became your purpose, your charge to protect and guide.

Born to a high fae commander and an Illyrian warrior, your blood sang with the melody of two worlds. Yet your father remained an elusive figure, a ghost who haunted your birthdays with sporadic appearances. His absence became a void you desperately sought to fill, pushing yourself beyond limits, striving for excellence in a futile attempt to get him home.

Those fleeting moments of his presence were treasured like rare gems, hoarded in the depths of your memory. Your mother's silence on his absence spoke volumes, but it wasn't until later that the cruel whispers of other children revealed the truth: you were the product of an affair, tainted and impure in the eyes of the high fae.

Anger became your fuel and determination your compass. You vowed to rise above their scorn. You sought to carve your name into the annals of history with the edge of your blade. Your mother, a pillar of strength, raised you in the Illyrian tradition, instilling pride in your heritage that burned like wildfire in your veins.

Your hands found comfort in the cold kiss of steel, swords and daggers becoming extensions of your will. Your sister, in contrast, found her mark with arrows. You were the sun and moon, different yet bound by the same celestial dance, your love for each other a constant amidst the chaos.

When your mother vanished - a disappearance shrouded in mystery - your world shattered. You remember the rage and grief flowing in your veins, leaving you clinging to your sister. She became your everything, the only family left in a world that wanted to leave you behind.

Necessity drove you to mercenary work, the weight of providing for your sister heavy on your shoulders. Your father's continued absence was a wound that refused to heal, his indifference a bitter pill to swallow. Together, you and your sister forged a reputation, your names whispered with a mix of fear and respect. But even this wasn't enough to keep her. When she expressed her desire to leave, you fought against it. In the end, she slipped through your fingers like smoke. You told yourself she was dead to you, a lie that tasted of ashes on your tongue.

Years passed in a blur of loneliness and ambition. A general's attention became your stepping stone, leading you to the inner circle of the Autumn Court. Spymaster - a title earned through blood, sweat, and cunning. You had finally made a name for yourself, commanded respect from those who once looked down upon you.

But as you stand at the pinnacle of your achievements, a hollow ache echoes in your chest. You've become a legend, yes, but at what cost? You realize now that you are still alone.

TL;DR: pretend twin. bullied. daddy issues. becomes mercenary, mommy dies (spoiler), absent daddy. sister also leaves. lonely emo spy master. that is all. :)

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS ;

calista caelum: half-sister, however, their mother made them believe that they were twins for many years. on the contrary, calista knew they weren't twins, which eventually led to feelings of betrayal upon finding out.

gaeul ashway: mother of his daughter. they have a respectful, unromantic partnership as co-parents. however, with gaeul being his high ruler, their relationship can feel quite complex and awkward.

ulka aster: his sworn nemesis. however, ares deems her a worthy opponent after she nearly killed him many years ago. he holds utmost respect for her and highly regards her.

eirena zarathin: an old friend, and perhaps in another life, a soulmate. fate seems to always bring them together, with both of them having been at the sidelines of their lives throughout the years. their relationship is a complicated one, and one that ares continues to try to work out to this day.

[deimos-kalloway]

deimos is a trans man in his 20s who works at the Magnus Institute. he is also a collective of 13 different headmates. at his job, nobody is aware that he's more than one person; he masks his plurality.

when he was 16, he had an encounter with a leitner, essentially changing the way the collective functions. now, if more than one person is aware at once, while one person controls the body as usual, the others are essentially semi-corporeal spirits, able to roam around within a certain distance of the body. nobody (save for particularly strong eye avatars and the one in control of the body) can see them like this, and though they are able to touch things and physically affect the world, nobody save for the one controlling the body can touch them.

below will be a list of all members of the collective, their roles (if any) and maybe a fun fact about them. while this looks like a lot, many front rarely or never front at all, solely interacting with the others in their own head. also, you don't actually need to know any of this, so it's fine

bolded are those who front often, italics are those who never or very rarely front

Fin, he/him. Host of the system, is most often the one controlling the body. Low empathy, and often struggles to mask it without the help of the others in the collective.

Vigil, he/him. Co-host, most often hanging around outside the body. Has a fascination with Elias, and has a general craving for knowledge. The most recent person to become part of the collective.

Cain, he/it. A self-described protector; tends to take control of the body when they're in pain or otherwise enduring something physically unpleasant, like illness.

Actaeon, it/its. A self-described protector; takes over when they're feeling threatened or at risk (often for wholly irrational reasons) as it is better able to handle the feeling.

Ashes, it/xe. Occasional co-host when Vigil is unavailable; was full-time co-host before his arrival. Easily exasperated.

Doll, any pronouns. A protector as described by the others of the collective; is the best at masking neurodivergencies besides only plurality, so is often asked to take control in high-stakes social situations.

Nyx, she/it. The youngest in terms of maturity, however has been part of the collective the longest.

Solus, they/them. Gets intensely dysphoric for reasons unrelated to gender when they front. In a bizarre relationship with Sky, wherein they loathe one another but are the only ones to understand each other.

Sky, any pronouns. Gets intensely dysphoric for reasons mostly unrelated to gender when fae fronts. In a bizarre relationship with Solus wherein they loathe one another but are the only ones to understand each other.

Swirls, any pronouns. Has a variable age, didn't actually name highself but was named by the others in the collective.

Sanguis, they/he. Fronts very rarely rather than never. Enjoys medical ASMR, and particularly a certain organ harvesting one that the collective found some time ago.

Ant, they/them. More prone to using we/us as first person pronouns than the others, likes bugs and creepy crawlies, and has been responsible for infestations in the collective's innerworld.

Arachne, she/fae. Has the most authority in the collective, though she doesn't often need to step in; is often a mediator for any contentious discussions that may arise.

[northern-lights-book-blog]

Book: A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR)

Author: Sarah J. Maas

Series: ACOTAR, book one

Book Length: 440 Pages

Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing

Overall Rating: 5/5 Stars

Blog Rating: 5/5 Saltire Flags

(THIS BOOK DESERVES BAZILLION STARS & FLAGS)

When nineteen-year-old huntress Feyre Archeron kills a wolf with an ash arrow suspecting it might be a fae due to its enormous size in the mortal forest. This fae wolf was about to eat her deer that she had been salivating for imagining the smell, taste and feast once being cooked. She had been hunting this deernand she desperately needed it to feed her family so they could survive the winter. Furthermore this was a rare find and they were nearly starving to death as it was and barely surviving! Therefore she killed the wolf and skinned both animals and sold their skins on market day in the nearby village.

Not long after market day an enormous terrifying fairy creature barges into her family’s home on the mortal lands demanding vengeance for killing his friend Andras who was another shape shifter! Her invalid father and two sisters were absolutely terrified when this beast demanded who the killer was which she admitted not wanting any of her family harmed for her decision. It was a life for a life, but this terrifying beast gave Feyre an unexpected choice- she could live in the magical world of Prythian for the rest of her life where she could live among the fae whom she was taught to hate always hearing horrific stories her entire life or she be executed in front of her family which would destroy them!

Feyre chose to live among the hated fairies in Prythian for the rest of her life. She would never see her family again, but hopes one day she would discover a way to escape and find her way back to her family in the mortal lands. Furthermore she knew it wouldn't be easy being a human living among the fairies who she was taught to hate her entire life.hated mortals for the rest of her life in Prythian. However, what choice did she have? It was that or being slaughtered right in front of her family which would have been so cruel, damaging and heartless where that kind of memory could seriously mentally damage them forever. It was as if this beast had ulterior motives knowing what Feyre would pick. She feels guilty as now she could no longer fulfill her mothers dying wish, where she had promised to take care of her family. This was the reason she was the one who learned to hunt and being her family's primary caretaker even though she was the youngest sibling. Basically this beast was abducting her to his home to the land of fae the magical fairyland where she would never see her family ever again!.

Feyre soon discovers that her captor is not truly the beast she thought he was, but a handsome fae/fairy shape shifter, but one of the lethal, immortal faeries who once ruled her world. She sees all the people in his castle have these masks but they can’t be removed due to a curse.She can also feel their hatred and is surprised they are told to treat her kindly. Unknown to Feyre but she is the only person who can possibly break this curse. She learns this shape-shifting fairy's name is Tamlin, who looks to be in his early twenties and is actually five hundred years old! He is strikingly handsome with beautiful green eyes and a warrior's body that would make any woman swoon! Even with the jeweled masks she can still see his beauty and eventually starts to see his kindness which is all very confusing to Feyre!

If you know the story of the Beauty and the Beast fairytale you will see many similarities to this story, except this is definitely an adult version and not for children in any way! Can Feyre get past all the fabrications she was told about fairies her entire life or will she make up her mind on her own? Also there is a deadline if this curse is not lifted and broken soon, Tamlin and his people will live in these masks for all eternity! Therefore these are the terms the evil Fairy High Queen of Pythian Amarantha created. All due to her hatred of humans and not accepting Tamlin’s rejection. Feyre is the only person who can break it. Will it be too little too late? Read and find out what Feyre and Tamlin’s fate will be.

This is a rare, riveting, magnificent, unforgettable romantasy novel that just absolutely blew me away! It was absolutely exhilarating and one of the best books I have ever read! Fall in love with the magical world of Prythian. I also love that this Prythian map is very similar to the United Kingdom map which I absolutely love. The author is so creative and definitely thinks outside the box. Maas is a phenomenal storyteller it is no wonder she has captured millions of reader’s hearts all over the world! . A book I will definitely be re-reading again. I can’t recommend this book enough!

A Court of Thorns and Roses

ACOTAR book is 1 440 pages

A Court of Mist and Fury

ACOMAF book 2. 640 page

A court of Wings and Ruin

ACOWAR book 3 721 pages

A Court of Frost and Starlight

ACOFAS book 4 263

A Court of Silver Flames book 5

ACOSF book 5 768 pages

[aalinaaaaaa]

The core principle in my world is the idea of magic being a naturally occurring biological substance in the world. Not all plants, animals and other organisms have it, but for those that do it is embedded into their genetic code, yet is simultaneously fluid and malleable to environmental factors.

Most living things have a tolerance for magic, imparted due to the prevalence of it within the food chain. But of this majority, not all creatures have an affinity and/or ability to use it.

Certain types of trees, such as oak, ash, blackthorn, rowan and hawthorn, for instance, don’t have magic at all. Rowan wood and berries can ward off magic, all four of these varieties are naturally impervious to magic (in other words, unaffected by anti-magic poisons such as iron or arsache [Helindian silverweed]) and ash wood is an anti-magic poison as well.

Same goes for things like bacteria, viruses and a lot of prokaryotes and simple organisms. The general principle is that one needs a functioning nervous system and suitable genetics in order to actually use magic. (Though some man-made objects can bypass this).

For the living things that can store and/or use magic, there is a remarked difference in the way plants manifest it versus animals versus fae.

Some plants can soak up magic through their roots, and they store it usually in their leaves or their fruit. Fruits tend to be more highly concentrated in magic than leaves. Of these fruits, crystal fruit is the most potent, it is mostly magic, water and a certain amount of sugar. For this reason, its juice is used as a magic source, usually for potions, but also as a base to imbue things like food or objects with magical properties. Its juice can enable normal humans to do things like send/receive fire messages, interact with hidden portals, cast spells, etc. The downside is that it makes said humans more vulnerable to magic, especially if imbibed. (Depending on the concentration, magic can linger in the blood for hours. It is naturally mitigated and neutralised by iron in the bloodstream.)

In my world, there exist three humanoid races; mortal humans (no magic at all), Carithaikh (car-ith-eye-k), which are humans with magic (born from one fae parent and one human parent, but most Carithaikh usually have either one fae parent/one witch parent or two witch parents) and then the humanoid faeries.

The faeries split themselves into standard fae and giants (though the demarcation is blurred and inconsistent, Helindian law classes giants as individuals at or above eight feet tall*, Feudrain’s line is above twelve and most other courts and countries generally state about ten to fifteen feet. Morilaste’s definition is twenty!), but magically, they’re the same.

Amongst these people, magic can be used in two broad expressions: innate magic, which is how the body expresses its magic. It can be in the form of elemental magic (water/ice, light, plant and fire are the most common, but shadow, blood, lightning, air, dust/fine particles, rock can manifest too, and they can be learned, though the learning process is hard and sometimes not possible [fire mages have genetic mutations that make their skin more resistant to heat/burning]) or skill-based magic (teleportation, shapeshifting, being able to hear/see/interact with the world in-between the living and the dead, soulweaving.).

On very rare occasions, some people may be capable of divine magic. This often manifests as a one-off event that usually kills the person after using it, or at least has the potential for serious consequences if not used safely. (Divine light, for instance, can cause blindness unless one closes their eyes and puts their hands over them.)

External magic is a conceived system of expressing magic. This involves spells, glamours, potions, anything that involves manipulating magic as a nebulous force rather than an elemental or innate one. This is the primary form of magic for witches and humans, but fae use this form of magic too. Lots of countries and cultures have devised their own systems of magic, which all have their strengths and weaknesses when it comes to how and when these actions are applied.

In Helinda, for example, spells can be conducted either verbally (where the spell is bound between two or more people, though the more people involved, the more tricky and unstable the spell becomes) or through use of a spell circle (advantageous for complex spells, item/people locating, and also for instances where the caster wishes to draw on the natural power of the world rather than their own. The closer one is to the ground, the more effective the spell.).

What is distinct about Helinda’s five-pointed star is that each point of the star represents a corner of Helinda, based on its five general provincial areas; Rostenvait**, Jontille, Astril, Sariole and Yverli. On each corner, an item is to be placed; crow feathers/head, a goat’s head/hoof, mermaid scales, a cat’s tail and nymph antlers/scales/branches. The modern custom is to use a goat’s head and crow feathers, because using a crow’s head is seen as giving power to Morilaste.

An important aspect that has gone subtly unnoticed is that the star is tied to the Allaitri Chalice. When the star was configured, the Chalice was in the central grove, meaning that the power of the star was balanced between the five points. Now that it is missing, the star’s power skews true north, towards the crows. No one knows that it is tied to the Chalice, but people have noticed that the circle is skewed north. Some spells require use of only one part, and experimentation has found that placing only crow parts in the northern tip gives the most potent result, followed by the part representing the province they are in.

Meanwhile, Seldaika’s system is centered around its language. Seldaikan is a spell language, though more accurately described as a language family due to the long list of dialects it has. Its vocabulary and grammatical structures are made for magic, but there is also an emphasis on intention. Its sign language version is also magical in nature, where gestures are tied to written words. This allows for greater cohesion between their deaf and hearing populations.

They carry around wands (known to them as syrchels) as a means of focusing magic and also for tattoo applications. The wands are used to indicate intention (and thus help differentiate normal speech from magical speech), and also as a sign of magical competence (accompanied with the durzjet, the first rune that most Seldaikan teenagers get).

More complex spells are conducted around the four-pointed star, which is for balance and precision rather than it being tied to any one relic or location.

Due to the general versatility of Seldaika’s system, people in other countries have took to using it. Kerras is particularly known for its use of Seldaikan magic (its dialect is classed as part of Seldaika’s language family), while it is also gaining popularity in Helinda.

—

*Naturally, this got subject to law changes. The bar is still eight (despite campaigns for ten), but there are two inner categories; mini-giant, which is 8-10 feet, and actual giant, which is 10 feet and higher. It used to be all but explicitly permissible for giants to be subject to the iron test if they were suspected of being High Councillors on account of their height (a common occurrence for those around 35 feet or taller, of which such individuals were very rare and usually a result of poison/being born to poisoned parents). Now, High Councillor suspicions are no longer a justified guilt verdict, but general identity verifications (such as for school admissions, job interviews, entry to certain buildings/events, etc) are still legal.

**What the region was called before Morilast gained his infamy.

Dropping the Obsidian Sapphires/General taglist here (ask/comment/reblog, etc if you'd like to be added or subtracted): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @seastarblue @gioia-writes-and-others @rae-butter @corinneglass @thelaughingstag @corinneglass @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51

Who up infodumping ab their magic systems to me

[theunfairfolk]

so i was on pinterest and i saw a thing about how to survive the fae and i wanted to know if any of this is accurate

I’m going to dropkick Gardner for making people think they had to write like bad 80s fantasy dialogue.

Ahem.

Ok some of this is good advice some of it is bullshit and some of it is like. Duh. “Don’t promise your firstborn child” is less of a fae thing and more of a good parent thing. overall it’s clickbaity (for lack of a better term) and reductive. 3/10.

1. Eat not what they offer: yes, generally. fae food is usually said to trap humans in the fairy world OR make human food taste like ash forever. or it puts you in their debt.

2. Dont give them your kid. duh.

3. Magic always has a price: incredibly vague but yeah sure. sometimes the price is a piece of grass.

4. a life for a life: no. this is just “all magic has a price” but spooky. killing someone with magic doesn’t mean someone else has to die though. neither does bringing someone back. the Cost is rarely that simple.

5. trusting smiles: stupidly worded. “fae might smile insincerely but it might be sincere” aka the concept of misleading someone which exists in everything.

6. inviting into your home: you’re thinking of vampires. fae don’t need permission to go into your house. many fae are literally known for showing up in your house and whoops its their house now.

7. inviting minds: this is ???? telepaths??? someone’s watching too much true blood

8. names: yeah don’t give them your name this shouldve been rule 1

9. favors: ahhhh i guess, asking for favors can put you in their debt so ask carefully.

10. dancing: yeah kinda, dancing with the fae is dangerous for humans cause we can get tired a lot easier but their magic time bullshit means sometimes it kills us. look up the dancing plague and imagine that but faster.

11. mushroom circles: also duh, should’ve been rule 2

12. drink: this is just “dont eat their food” part two.

13. “don’t fuck with their shit”

14. “don’t fuck with their shit”

15. what in the fuck is the elder race. google says its a YA novel. it sounds like a nazi dogwhistle. it is not fae related.

16. good fucking luck Summoning the fae lmao do you think they respond to that shit??

17. “don’t ask them for stuff” part two

18. ??? weird. they like gold but they tend to have way more than humans bc. y’know. magic.

19. *red alarm* weird thing to say! not an accurate interpretation of the whole fairy stealing children myth!! covet was the wrong word!!!

20. wild to assume you know how every single fae feels about the hard to define concept of love lmao.

21. They skipped 21

22. take nothing but photos leave nothing but footprints. we’re just making tshirts now.

23. same thing you said before. “Dont trust them” takes up a lot less space.

24. “really butter em up” for what purpose tho. if you’re not making deals or shit. just leave em alone.

25. shouldve been rule 3

26. iron hurts them, i wouldnt say its your friend unless you want to hurt them.

27. no they are not more noticeable, they grow in nature. forged iron is way more noticeable than some fuckin plants.

28. “dont think of an elephant teehee” fae aren’t telepaths.

29. THOU WILL NOT GET A LAWYER. FANTASTIC.

30. yeah generally don’t give strangers your blood. did you need a rule for this.

31. this means nothing.