#Glade born tree

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader. Feat their children. A missing wife and a frantic family looking for her. Thanks!! :))

Missing

pairing: benedict bridgerton x f! wife reader

As the tranquil day at Aubrey Hall drew to an end, the golden rays of the setting sun cast an ethereal glow upon the Bridgerton estate. Benedict had planned a serene day alongside his beloved wife, Y/N, and their three dear children, basking in the contentment of family and the delicate exchange of glances that bespoke a love unbreakable.

However, as the evening shadows lengthened, a strange unease settled over Benedict’s heart. Y/N had ventured into the meadows with their eldest daughter, intent on gathering wildflowers to grace the drawing room. Benedict had remained behind with their two sons, the image of his wife and daughter laughing amongst the flowers lingering in his mind. Yet, as time wore on, his heart grew troubled, each passing moment deepening his sense of dread.

He called her name as he paced through the fields, his sons clinging to his sides with fretful expressions. Each shout of “Y/N!” grew louder, more desperate, reverberating through the quiet countryside, unanswered and met only with the whisper of the evening breeze. By the time he returned to the house, his face was a portrait of worry, his hands trembling as he tried to mask his alarm.

Word of Y/N’s mysterious absence spread swiftly among the Bridgertons. Anthony, ever the steady and pragmatic elder brother, seized command, rallying the family into search parties. Lanterns were lit, their warm glow piercing the encroaching darkness as the family fanned out, each one calling Y/N’s name into the cool night air, a chorus of worry and love.

Yet Benedict himself could scarcely manage coherence. His steps were hurried and unsteady, his breaths shallow, as if the very fear of her loss had stolen his ability to think clearly. Dark, haunting thoughts flitted through his mind visions of what might befall her, each more terrifying than the last. What if she lay injured, beyond his reach? What if… he dared not finish the thought, for even the idea of a world devoid of her presence threatened to unravel him.

As he roamed the forest edge, his heart aching with worry, a soft whimper caught his ear. Turning swiftly, he found their eldest daughter, her small frame trembling as she clung to a tree, her cheeks stained with frightened tears.

“Papa,” she whimpered, her voice a mere whisper in the stillness, “I lost Mama. I tried to find her, but… but I couldn’t.”

In an instant, Benedict dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her brow. “Hush now, my darling,” he murmured, voice low and tender. “You did all you could. You are most brave, and I am here. We shall find her together.”

Hand in hand with his daughter, Benedict continued his search, his steps purposeful despite the persistent tremor in his heart. He would not could not give up, for the very thought was unthinkable. She was his heart, his soul, the very essence of his life.

Finally, as they entered a quiet glade shrouded in moonlight, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure, seated upon a fallen log, her ankle twisted, yet her countenance as serene as ever.

“Y/N!” he cried, voice choked with relief as he closed the distance between them. He fell to his knees beside her, enveloping her in his arms with a tenderness born of desperation. “My dearest, are you quite well? What befell you?”

“Oh, Benedict,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she clung to him. “I am unharmed save for a foolish misstep. I twisted my ankle, and could not find my way back. I am so terribly sorry to have caused you worry.”

“Never say such a thing,” he murmured, his voice thick as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You are safe, and that is all that matters. I cannot bear the thought of life without you. The very notion would undo me.”

A quiet sob escaped her, and she buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to him as if he were her anchor. He held her close, his hand weaving into her hair, murmuring assurances as his heart began to calm, each beat syncing to the warmth of her embrace.

Gently, Benedict lifted her into his arms, ignoring her weak protests that she could manage to walk. “Tonight, I shall carry you,” he insisted, a rare softness in his voice. “I cannot bring myself to let you out of my sight.”

When they returned to the estate, the family erupted with joy and relief, their children bounding forward, their laughter mingling with tears as they embraced their mother. Benedict settled her upon the sofa in the drawing room, wrapping her in a blanket as she rested her head against his shoulder, their children snuggling in close as though they, too, needed the comfort of her presence.

“Mama, tell us a story,” their eldest daughter whispered, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering glow of the fireplace.

Y/N smiled gently, settling a storybook upon her lap as their children nestled close, and she began to read, her voice soft and soothing, carrying the words with a warmth that wrapped around them all.

Benedict watched her, captivated by her grace, the way she animated each tale, the gentle glint in her eyes as she held their children’s undivided attention. Without thinking, he reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

She paused, glancing at him with a playful sparkle. “Mr. Bridgerton, might you be so kind as to cease your staring?”

He chuckled, his cheeks tinged with a blush. “Forgive me, Mrs. Bridgerton. But it is quite impossible to look away from a sight so enchanting.”

Their children groaned, accustomed to their parents’ displays of affection, yet Benedict could see the small, contented smile tugging at Y/N’s lips.

Once the story concluded, the children trotted off to bed, each one pausing to press a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before retiring. Benedict took her hand, guiding her to their bedchamber with a gentle care, lifting her in his arms as they ascended the stairs despite her gentle protests.

“Must you always be so stubborn?” she teased, though she leaned into him, her fingers tracing the familiar curve of his shoulder as he carried her.

“My dear,” he replied, his tone soft yet unwavering, “you must know by now that my resolve is unyielding when it concerns your well-being.”

In their room, he settled her upon the bed, carefully propping her ankle as he tucked a blanket around her. Lying beside her, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as they lay in contented silence.

At length, Y/N broke the stillness, her fingers tracing circles over his chest. “Benedict, I feared you might think me careless.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her brow. “Perish the thought, my love. I am simply grateful to have you here, safe and within my arms. I could not fathom a world devoid of your presence.”

She gazed up at him, her eyes soft with love. “And I, Benedict, could never be complete without you. You are my heart, my constant.”

He took her hand, lifting it to his lips as he murmured, “Then let us remain as one, my beloved. Come what may, I vow to cherish you for all my days.”

With her hand still in his, Y/N drifted to sleep, her breath soft and even against his shoulder. Benedict watched her, his heart swelling with gratitude for the love that bound them, a love so steadfast that no force could sever it.

As he held her close, he whispered his vow once more, knowing that his heart had found its home, and that no darkness could ever diminish the light they shared.

[nemo-in-wonderland]

🍃 ASRA SILVERBOUGH | CIRCLE OF DREAMS DRUID | HALF-DROW ELF🍂

Name: Asra Silverbough

Nickname: Rara, Spiderling, little Owlbear (by her father)

Title: The Sentinel of the Sylvan Glade

Alias: None

Age: 199 Years Old (She was born in 1294 DR-Year of the Deep Moon )

Birthplace: High Forest, in Dark Maiden's Leap, the shrine consacrated to Eilistraee. Her mother prayed for the Goddess’ protection while birthing the Asra, and it was granted. Hometown: Emerald Grove, Sword Coast, Western Heartlands

Current Residence: After spending most of her life in the Emerald Grove with her father, she returned to the High Forest, her father's family's home, and joined the Druids of Tall Trees

Alignment: Neutral Good

Race: Elf (Drow/Wood Elf)

Class: Ranger/Druid - Circle of Dreams

Profession/job: During her formative years spent at the Emerald Grove, she was an Druid Initiate under her father's guidance, working with him in trying to preserve the Balance of Nature. However, she founds that curing ailments and working with medical herbs was not her vocation, and she would rather spend her days up in the trees, flying branch to branch while scouting the areas around the Grove. Eventually, she picked up the role of Sentinel for the Grove, and lead a small squad of Rangers to protect the Grove and its inhabitants. Visual particular traits: Due to having inherited her mother's and father's height, Asra is considered extremely tall for an elf, especially one of Drow descent. Her own physical constitution also favours her father's, making Asra stands out among her peers. Scent: White Moss and Oak Resin. Occasionally, especially when wearing her shawl, she is surrounded by an intense scent of Oud that can lingers for hours. She has no idea how that is possible, but she suspects the shawl the scent is magically weaved within the fabric of the shawl, considering its arcane properties.

Colours/symbols associated with: The Colours of the Forest during Autumn; The Owl that flies silently in the night; the Stag that protect the Forest and all that lives within it. Languages: Common, Elven, Wild Elvish, Druidic, Undercommon Accent?: Asra’s Elvish has a distinct “High Forest” tune to it (irl it would be similar to Scottish), and it would carry over even when she speaks the Common Language. Tropes they embody: “Action Girl”, “Amazonian Beauty”, “Badass Adorable”, “Be Careful What You Wish For”, “Big Sister Instinct”, “Determinator”, “Daddy’s Girl”, “Death Glare”, “Determinator”, “Fish out of Water”, “Hot-Blooded”,“Former Teen Rebel”, “Friends To All Living Things”, “Hidden Depths”,“Long-Range Fighter", “Made Of Iron”, “My God What Have I Done?”,”Parental Abandonment”, “Savvy Guy, Energetic Girl”, “Statuesque Stunner” “Strong Family Resemblance”, “Stronger Than They Look”,” It Runs In The Family”, “Tranquil Fury”, “Odd Friendship”, “Weakness Turns Her On”,

Personality: Determinate, Curious, Kind, Boisterous, Funny, Overprotective, Resilient, Resourceful, Intuitive, Brave, Loyal, Honest, Empathetic, Determined, Confident, Strong-Willed, Protective, Compassionate, Caring, Independent, Fearless, Vengenful, Short-Tempered, Impulsive, Rebellious, Hot-Headed, Proud, Stubborn, Overconfident.

Detailed Backstory: Asra was the biological daughter of Halsin Silverbough. The story surrounding her birth was complicated, and much like the relationship between her parents, it was shrouded in a silence that Halsin was rarely -if at all - willing to break. This constant secrecy amplified the emptiness left by her mother, and it would become, later in life, a void for Asra to fill with the knowledge as to why she was left behind. However, despite this, she had a childhood of relative happiness and carefree ease, surrounded as she was by the love and affection that the rest of the Silverbough Clan was willing to provide to the their youngest. Her early years were spent listening to the Elders’ stories and her father’s own teaching on Druidic knowledge, which continued well into her teen years. But while she enjoyed listening, Asra was an active elf with an even more active mind, and she enjoyed experiencing life way more than just learning from books or midnight stories.

So, whenever she could, she would sneak away from Grandma Silverbough to stay with her father and take care of the ailing animals under his care or, when that was not possible, she would climb high up the trees of the High Forest and spend time observing the owls that slept up in the higher branches. For reason she could never explain, she enjoyed being as close to the sky as possible, something that would later influence into choosing the Owl as animal to shape-shift into. Oftentimes, she would go so far up in the branches that her father Halsin could not retrieve her and it would fall on Quirora Evenfall, the Head Sentinel of the Rangers of High Forest to retrieve her and bring her back safe and sound in her father’s arms.

Quirora was fond of Asra and her persistency, and she actually liked the child’s spunky personality and her stubbornness in wanting to learn as much as she could; so, when, as a teen, she would start following her and rangers during their round of surveillance around the High Forest borders, she would allow Asra to follow by, on the condition that she was to be as silent as a flying owl - a task that would prove a challenge for Asra, considering her curious personality and her never-ending need to question everything, but a challenge she would tackle with patience and effort.

The rangers took some convincing in having an untrained half-drow following them around, but would eventually change their mind and actually find entertainment in dusting off ancient elven knowledge to pass down to the young girl, such as scouting, how to visualize potential dangers, following trails, how to trap a fey being and stop them from teleporting etc. Quirora and her squad were also the reason why Asra became set on learning how to use bow and arrows and would later become her weapons of choice.

Thriving under the care and devotion that her father, Quirora and the Rangers put into her upbringing, Asra would prove to be a brilliant young elf, with keen eyes that noticed everything and a boisterous and commanding personality- she would often take the lead while playing with other elves, and if an injustice were to occur, she was not afraid to brawl even with older kids to defend her friends.

But even as a teenager first and then as a young adult, Asra was restless, as in body so in spirit and with constant thoughts of her missing mother always in the back of her mind, something she often vented about with Quirora, when her father would not open up to her. Quirora would actually take Asra’s troubles to heart, because she could see how much this was weighting on her young soul, and being a follower of Sehanine Moonbow, the Elven Goddess of Dream, she spoke with Halsin about this and the possibility of at least ease Asra’s inquietude through dreamscaping.

Halsin was aware of the turmoil in his daughter’s heart, just as he was aware of how dangerous would it be for them both if Asra was ever to get close to the truth, and that weighted on his shoulders: on one side, he wanted for Asra to find closure; on the other, he didn’t want her to see put in harm’s way.

Eventually, he would agree with Quirora to initiate her to the ways of Sehanine.

So, it was finally under Quirora’s guidance that Asra discovered the ability of dreaming granted by Elven Goddess to her followers and how, through dreaming, there was the possibility of unveiling and discovering much that was hidden to the conscious eyes.

Asra put all her efforts into learning how to sleep and dreamscape, following the path of the Circle of the Dreams as a Druid, and started travelling through worlds guided by the pulsing necklace around her neck - one of the two mementos left behind by her mother- finally excited at the prospect of finding some answers to all the questions that were crowding her mind day and night.

What she didn’t realize when she decided to follow the path of the Circle of Dreams and therefore accepting, she made herself vulnerable to the Feywild influence and its inhabitants, for better or worse, and that inexperience in looking and manipulating others’ dreams had a great cost. Infact, while she actually managed to met her dearest friends through her dreams - Hiraeth of the Seelie Court - she also inadvertently caught the attention of another powerful being while roaming through his dreams, a being that would become both a fear and another obsession of hers: The Stag King

Most Treasured Possession: Asra is not one to keep material belonging in high regards; however, she has three items that are immensely dear to her: the magical shawl her father had used for her ever since she was a baby, a shawl that seemed to protect her against the sun and provide her with warmth whenever she needs, and that never seemed to tear and wear, despite being over 200 years old; a shards of never melting ice that she keeps tied around her neck, and that seems to emit a strange feeble pulsing sound; and lastly, a dagger in cold iron that Hiraeth gave her to protect herself against the Stag King, if the need were ever to rise.

Sexual and/or romantic situation: Much like her father, Asra is polyamorous, following her heart as nature’s intended. However, after the events of Elturel and the arrival of the tieflings refugees at the Emerald Grove, Boisterous Asra found a kindred soul in Rolan, whom she cares about dearly, despite the constant bickering and his ego being bigger than anything she had ever experienced. However, ever since she started exploring the Dreamscape, in hope to find her mother there, she had been haunted by the Stag King, who seemed to have a keen interest in her. If that interest is reciprocated by Asra, even she is not entirely sure.

Favourite place in Faerûn: Her most favourite place is most certainly the High Forest, where she spent her entire childhood, surrounded by her father’s family. Ever since only her and Halsin were all that remained of their family, she makes a point to try, at least once a year, to travel to Grandfather Tree and give them her respects. She missed them a lot, but she bears it for her father’s sake. Other than that, she enjoys being in the woodlands, surrounded by trees, but she never disdain spending time with Hiraeth in the Dreamscape, the only place where they can actually meet and catch up with what they have been doing. What makes them happiest: Sitting by the campfire at night and listening to her father’s old stories about High Forest and the time their family lived there. She particularly loves to listen to her father’s childhood stories, and about all the time he got himself in trouble for not listening to their elders (something she would jokingly use against him when he admonishes her for not listening to his advices). The few times that her father would open up about her mother and give her some crumbs of information about her were also moments of rare happiness she held dear within her heart. What makes them angriest: Discrimination of any kind. Seeing how she would be a victim of it due to her Drow heritage, she was absolutely furious in the way the Emerald Grove Druids were acting with the Tieflings Refugees from Elturiel, to the point that it came to a physical fight between herself and Kagha. She had to restrain herself when she suggested to kill Arabella for stealing the Idol of Silvanus, but she never came closer to breaking someone’s face like she did in that moment. When her father Halsin banished her from the Grove, she felt a triumphant spite she hadn’t felt in years. What makes them laugh: Who, rather than what. But the one that makes her laugh the most is Azriel and her flamboyant way of always narrating her adventures and her sentimental woes. Asra cannot help but laughing at all the hilarious - and embarassing - situations her parents and siblings put her through.

Biggest secret: Despite her father strongly advising not to look for her mother, due to how dangerous that would be for both of them, Asra has been secretly trying to look for her ever since she decided to partake in the teachings of the Circles of Dreams. One night, while scouring the Dreamscape during a particularly deep meditation, she bumped into something she never bumped before, and felt something against her soul, like the soft brushing of a pristine heron’s feather, but before she could investigate it any further, she got spooked by an apparition of hellfire and the strong smell of brimstones. It made her wake up scared out of her wits, to the point that Halsin as well had to intervene to calm her down and help her anchor her thoughts. What she saw would keep her away from the Dreamscape for sometimes, and this caused for Stag King to become irritated and prompted him to seek her out in the Material Plane - adding to Asra's troubles. However, stubborn as she was and despite the scare, the fact that she found finally *something* prompted Asra to strengthened her resolve to find her mother. Obsession: Asra is not entirely different from either her parents, and when she sets her mind on something, she will see it through, no matter what. Two thoughts are ever present in her mind, never leaving her alone: finding out why the Stag King seems so keen on wanting her attention, and finding her mother. Asra loves her father Halsin dearly, but she knows that his reluctancy in talking about her mother and the strange letter that she left when she abandoned them hide way more than what it’s written in between those words.

*rubs hands together*

SO.

I AM FINALLY DONE WITH ASRA'S PROFILE, AND OMG I SUPER INTRIGUED BY IT ALL TBH. I have kinda reconnected something from what I wrote a few months back, because I actually managed to make it work as I wanted, timeline-wise (and Jacob's existence was kinda the reason I was able to retcon and have Asra's story evolve this way).👀👀👀

I am starting to interwoven all my OCs' stories, in one way or the other, and dearest Asra here is fascinating me with how connected she is to the others👀👀👀.

Well, I hope you will like this and the infographics I did for her!!

Now I am working on Hiraeth's one, and hopefully they will be ready soon!

--Nemo

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template by @arcandoria; abridged profile template by @lairofsentinel)

[eywa-eveng]

ɪɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 6.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – major character death, war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – Still a non-linear storyline, so this entire part is set in the past. This part is also a lot shorter than usual!

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪ

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Jake never does wake up. It’s like tossing a crystal off a cliff and watching it shatter on the rocks below, watching hundreds of glitter shards scatter to the wind and knowing there’s no way to gather them all. Once a cut is made there’s no removing the presence of the blade. There will always be a scar. Healed and faded but never completely hidden from view. There was always the knowledge that Jake lived with a false body, that he was a Sky Demon wearing the face of the People. But knowing is different from seeing. Knowing that his body is empty, not asleep, a cup spilled and hollow without anything to fill it. Someone was kind enough to help Neytiri find a place to settle his body. 

If not for his chest rising and falling, it would be easy to imagine his stillness as death. But his skin is still warm, his heartbeat still thrumming through his veins. He’s pliable as water, running between your fingers as you lift his arm, bending it this way and that as if to find some new flaw in his stolen physique. His veins march in rivers beneath his blue skin, patterned with the same dark markings of any true born Na’vi. His likeness is remarkable save for the things the human scientists could never perfect. As a child, Grace had explained that their hands and feet with those extra appendages were like a syaksyuk’s split arms, to remove one would be to unbalance the creature needlessly. Like removing a Na’vi’s tail. A body used to having five fingers would need to relearn to use only four, she told you. Jake’s hand is heavy in yours as you turn it over between your own. Warm and hardened from months of training. When he’d come to the clan on that fateful night, led by Neytiri and a sign from the Great Mother he’d been smooth. Soft and thin as a child, but in time he’d learned and grown into a man worthy of the Omatikaya clan. His palms are calloused and muscles defined, pulling taut beneath his skin like the string of a bow as you rediscover the shape of his body. 

It’s so strange how closely you’ve become acquainted with the form of an uniltìrantokx. All your life you’ve been taught to fear the demons from the sky, the monsters that descended upon your peaceful home and ravaged it like a sickness with no cure, a plague upon all that they touched. The very ground beneath your feet bears scars of the Sky People. Poisons leaked from their dwellings and swathes of land lost to the metal creatures that know only to seek and destroy. Tears burn anew in your eyes as you think of the yellow behemoths chewing through the glade of Spirit Trees with no regards to their sacred value. All of those that had gone before you, yet lived on within Eywa, lost in an instant like a scent washed clean by the rain. 

Somewhere, Tsu’tey is rallying the clan to strike back against the terror these demons have wrought. The tenuous bond that was made with the intentions of peace has been slowly fraying, day by day, and now it’s been severed completely. A knife that cut clean and quick through the years of fragile peace. Retribution is in order. What they’ve done is not a slight that can be taken in silence. A weeping gash has been torn through the clan and the suffering must be returned in kind. First blood has been drawn. 

With the iknimaya celebration having passed not even a day ago, it all seems to have happened with such perfect timing. As if the Sky People knew of the warriors that would be joining the ranks of the adults within the clan. A few days earlier and some might not have been considered to defend the People. Children are precious and only a few are ever chosen to join a fight before their time. Your eyes fall to Jake. His face looks just the same as it has for the past few hours as the sun creeps higher in the sky. Grace is laid a few paces away. Both quiet as death. A bolt of doubt strikes through your chest like an arrow dipped in acid. A burning that spreads through your chest like a web, poisoning every corner of your mind with ideas of those you’ve allowed into your home betraying the People’s trust. Grace who you once called sa’nok. Jake who you had bound your life to, albeit with great hesitance. He was your mate now, for better or worse. And it seemed that with each passing moment, a storm was drawing ever nearer. 

A shadow thundering over the horizon as you remain at your post, watching over the demons as Tsu’tey had instructed. He didn’t trust Neytiri with the task and he needed every one of his students present for the war council. His trust weighs heavily on your shoulders, misplaced and absolute. It hadn’t been only Neytiri that betrayed him, hadn’t been only Jakesully that mated with his promised woman. But now was not the time for such confessions. Another severed bond would only serve to further weaken the clan from within. So you shut the guilt tight within yourself, burying it deep within your heart to be dealt with when the time comes. For now, all that plagues your mind is worries of the war to come. You’d been far closer to the might of these Sky People than most. Thoughts of blood and bullets crowd your mind, hand curling tighter around Jake’s for comfort. 

Seeking out your mate with an instinctual fervor even as the bond slips in and out of focus like blinking water from your eyes. It’s shimmery and elusive. A single thread where there should be an unbreakable rope tied between your hearts. The bond wavers, made worse as you try to reach for a person that isn’t there. Jake is only a body at this moment. An empty vessel waiting to be inhabited. Your nails dig desperately into his skin as fear chokes you, clutching tight to his hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He lays still as panic overtakes you. The feeling threatens to drown you. Tears burn in your eyes and drip across his skin as your feelings roar forth all at once. It is as safe a place as any to allow yourself to be lost in your anguish. Though there are three bodies in the alcove hidden within Hometree, only one is real. Somehow, even in company, you’re completely alone. 

The feeling burns through your, in your eyes and beneath your skin. Simmering like nectar on a hot stone, bubbling and turning acrid as you sob through another wave of grief. It’s like stones being stacked on your chest, the weight growing and growing, threatening to crack through your ribs and crush your heart beneath the weight. It had started as a few pebbles. Small slights and forgettable offenses committed by the Sky People in your childhood. But in the time since, they’ve only grown more audacious, more greedy. Taking and taking until there’s nothing left to give. The loss of Utraya Mokri is nearly enough to crush your spirit to ash yet you’ve remained standing. Though there’s no certainty for how much longer you can bear it. One more devastation and you’ll surely crumble beneath the weight. You squeeze Jake’s hand again as a sob silently wracks your shoulder, muffled and choked as you try to contain your sadness. This time there’s a slight twitch to his fingers as if he’s finally noticed the weight of your hand in his. Grace comes to first, rolling to her knees and then scrambling to her feet. 

There’s a frantic look about her eyes as she tries to gain her bearings before her gaze settles on you kneeling beside Jake. He wakes with the same erraticism, jumping to his feet so quickly it knocks you to the wayside. It’s so strange that in a single moment the comfort he offered has dried up. Seeing him return to his false body reminded you that he was nothing more than an illusion, that his soul could never truly be bound to yours, or anyone else’s. In the silence there was the comfort of familiarity but seeing him awake, kneeling before you as the tears dry on your cheeks. Jake suddenly looks like a stranger. 

“I was sent here to–” The words echo in your mind even as his thumbs brush away the last of your tears. He presses a kiss to your lips, his forehead resting against yours, and all you can muster is a feeling of betrayal. Who was this man that was speaking to you so gently? 

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” he’s telling you as if you’d been in fear for his safety. Perhaps Neytiri had been afraid. Her voice was scratched with panic as she went to Grace’s side; her eyes flashed with rage after Tsu’tey dared to set his blade against Jake’s neck. Yet all you could muster was fear for yourself, for your home. Fear of what kind of people you’d let into your heart. Once, you’d thought Tsu’tey’s persistent hatred to be exhausting. Anger for the sake of it when all you wanted to do was forget. But now you see it for what it is. A desperate bid for self preservation. There was no forgetting the scars carved through your life by the hands of the Sky People. No masking the hatred that burned deep in your heart for what they’ve done. Hostility is an instinct taught to you from birth, and you chose to ignore it to please the whims of your heart. Neytiri had learned kindness and so too had you. And that gentility has been taken for granted. 

It makes you cry harder. Jake soothes you with a sort of hastened affection as Grace paces the small hollow. Her tail curls anxiously, ears pulled tight against her head as she clenches and releases her fists. 

“Baby, look at me.” You want to tell him that you’re not a baby. That your tears are well-founded, but you can’t find the words as his thumbs brush over your cheeks. “We have to talk to Mo’at and Eytukan. Now, right now.” 

“It can’t wait,” Grace insists as Jake urges you to your feet. By the time the three of you reach the heart of Hometree, your tears have dried, though you aren’t certain of how long it will last. 

Neytiri is the first to notice the three of you, coming to Jake’s side with a swiftness that takes his hand from yours before anyone could take note of it. If Grace had words for how she felt hearing Jake speak so intimately with you she kept them to herself, far more interested in the more pressing matter of an audience with your tsahìk and olo’eyktan. Neytiri calls to her parents, pulling Jake behind her, and they part from their war plans with a guarded curiosity. Mo’at raises her hands to silence the buzzing crowd so Jake might speak and be heard. Nearly the entire clan is gathered. Young and old, man and woman are gathered to hear what the dreamwalker has to say. He draws in a deep breath as if to gather his strength before he speaks. 

“A great evil is upon us. The Sky People are coming to destroy Hometree.” He says in carefully enunciated Na’vi. Quieter, to Neytiri, he says, “Tell them they’re going to be here soon.” And she does. His words move through the clan like a ripple over still waters, raising a hum of fear and aggression. 

“You have to leave, or you’re gonna die.” His words are final. As though he’s already seen what will come of this. And perhaps he has. How easily they’d turned the Trees of Voices to ruin. Though Hometree was far bigger, it seemed something these demons from the sky were capable of. With their rumbling metal beasts and their sparking guns. A chill rushes over you as cold as rainfall. More bullets. More death. It was all these Sky People were good for. 

“Are you certain of this?” Mo’at demands. Moments ago her most pressing concern was seeking vengeance for the destruction of a sacred place. Now the tsahìk has to contend with the thought of her clan’s ancestral home being annihilated. Your eyes sweep over the open space within the roots of Kelutral. There is the fire pit still smoldering with the breakfast cookfire. The totem of toruk’s skeleton that has been passed down through generations of the Omatikaya as a precious show of strength and resilience. The mother loom that even now has hands weaving upon it. Your very life has been kept safe within the cradle of Hometree and these demons seek to destroy it. 

A pit opens in your stomach. Hollow and gnawing as your fingers dance over the shape of your songcord. It’s an act of comfort, touching each bead and knowing each memory by shape alone. The bead for Sylwanin’s death, the flat river stone to match the color of your ikran, the jagged bit of crystal for your iknimaya. The litany of beads and knots to commemorate the chorus that ties every Na’vi life together. Soon there’d be more to add. For your mating. For a battle with the Sky People. The loose end of your cord is frayed between anxious fingers as you pull at the threads, waiting for a shred of reassurance. None comes. 

“They sent me here, to learn your ways, so one day I could bring this message and you would believe me.” Jake says. 

I was sent here to–kill. Destroy. Lie. A word that had no meaning before these demons descended upon your home. It was your mistake for thinking Jake could be any different. Though he wears his anguish plainly, as if your pain is shared when he meets your eyes. His gaze is heavy, pleading, and you step back as if to lessen the weight. This isn’t your burden to bear. All that he’s done, he did for himself. Neytiri isn’t so hesitant in her disbelief. She pushes forward. Reaching towards him as though her hands might reshape the words he’s said. 

“What are you saying Jake?” Her voice is unsteady as rushing water. “You knew this would happen?”

He hesitates for a moment before he speaks. “Yes.”

“Look, at first it was just orders, then everything changed. I fell in love,” he tries to smile. “I fell in love with the forest, with the Omatikaya people,” he reaches to hold her and it’s like a spark that lights a fire. Neytiri pushes his hands aside, her face crumbling beneath the weight of his words. 

“With you.” He says as though it will fix anything. 

“I trusted you,” she says quietly. Jake’s eyes cut between the two of you. You stare back, tears welling in your eyes. The love you felt for Jake was not the same as Neytiri’s. She was in love with him. Consumed by the desperate fervor that made her betray all the plans that were made for her. She was willing to throw her life away for him. To deny her calling as tsakarem and never assume the mantle of tsahìk. She made a sacrifice with her very soul. As had you in some accidental, tangled moment of lust. Your spirits were now bound until death and it had only taken mere hours for Jake to so utterly betray that bond. The tips of your ears burned hot with shame. It simmered within you like a poison, searing through your veins until all you felt was an encompassing numbness. Like a salve being spread over a burn, the pain fizzled and faded until your heart felt cold as stone in your chest. This is what kindness has gotten you. Perhaps if you’d been hardened by your pain like Tsu’tey, this moment might’ve glanced off your skin like rain hissing to steam over fire. 

Jake and Neytiri exchange the same words. Over and over. With you. I trusted you. One is present, constant. Jake loves Neytiri even now. Yet the same can’t be said for her, for you. Whatever love you might’ve had for the uniltìrantokx was lost the moment he voiced his betrayal. 

“Trust me now, please.” He’s begging now. Quietly, he says your name as if you’ll have words to heal what has been hurt. His pleas fall upon deaf ears. Neytiri speaks for both of you as she rages at him. Screaming and hissing, pushing him away and stripping him of the one thing he’d been fighting for. 

“You will never be one of the People!” 

“Neytiri, please–” He steps towards her, arms outstretched as if to hold her, but you take the moment from him. Neytiri falls heavily into your arms and still Jake moves closer, begging desperately. 

“No!” You hiss as Neytiri buries her head in your neck, tears wetting your skin. No. He doesn’t get to speak to her. He doesn’t get to look at her. Not her. Not you. “No.” 

Neytiri’s quiet sobs ring in your ear as Mo’at wraps her arms around the two of you. A soft, comforting whisper of “ma ite,” reaches you over the sound of Neytiri’s whimpers as the tsahìk takes pity on her daughter. Both of you were led astray by the lies of an outsider. Mo’at’s hand brushes over your hair as Eytukan calls for Jake and Grace to be bound. 

“You have to leave!” Grace insists. “They’re coming!” It doesn’t matter. This is your home and none of you are leaving it without a fight. Tsu’tey deals with the traitors, binding Jake’s hands and leading them to the seldom-used platform erected just outside of Hometree. It’s a simple structure decorated with bones. A place of quiet death. It’s meant for the worst offenses committed within the clan. That which cannot be atoned for so easily. It’s a place meant for the People, to offer dignity even in death. Sky People do not deserve such treatment. It proves the clan’s respect even in the face of such great betrayal. You stand by as Tsu’tey’s warriors bind the traitors, heart conflicted as you watch your mate and teacher be prepared for death. Part of you wonders if it would only mean death for these bodies. You know that somewhere far away, their human bodies are safe from reach. But to kill them in this way would sever the bond they’ve formed with the Omatikaya. It is greatly deserved but there is a fragmented piece of you that mourns the loss of the people you thought you knew. 

“Watch them.” Tsu’tey grunts before heading back towards Hometree. It is a show of trust that he would leave you with his students to mind the captives. There isn’t a thought in his mind that you might think to free them the moment his back is turned. There’s a fierce loyalty within you and it will not be bent or broken by Jake’s pleading. He says your name so gently that you almost imagine that he could truly love you the way he says. But a man that loves you would never do this to you. To your people. To your home. Still, he speaks as a mate would. Calling to you to help him. 

“Baby, please, you have to listen to me,” he begs. “They’re gonna burn this place to the ground. You have to go now.” 

“Be silent. I will hear no more from you.” He doesn’t heed your words. Jake has always been talkative, filling the air with the sound of his voice, but now more than ever you wish for him to be quiet. There’s no amount of simpering and sorrow that would get you to abandon your home without a fight. This was the place that had seen your birth. Countless lives had bloomed and withered, returned to Eywa, within the comfort of Kelutral. To leave now would be to forsake your ancestors who had lived and fought for the life you lead now. Their memory is worth defending no matter what is to come. 

The humans are not silent in their approach. The thundering buzz of their flying ships echoes through the air, seeming to come from all sides. For a moment the sky is a clear blue, then shapes dark as storm clouds are closing in from above. It feels like a storm has gathered as the whirring ships bring heavy winds. Leaves stir through the air, slicing against your skin as you hold tight to your bow. Something shoots from the ships, small and shining in the sunlight. Each one arcs overhead and lands between the roots of Hometree, bursting in clouds of gray-green smoke. They’ve made the first move, though blood may not have been drawn. Eytukan gives the order to shoot, but every arrow seems insufficient. They glance off the largest ship like stones skipping over water. It feels futile even as you deplete your arrows following the olo’eyktan’s orders. Your arrows fly and fall in quick succession, arms burning with the effort it takes to draw your bow so quickly. It’s all meaningless as the demon ship fires again, flames burning bright as the sun overhead as weapons you had no name for hurtled towards Hometree. 

Larger than any bullet you’d ever seen, they landed with an earth-shattering certainty. The flames took to Kelutral with the swiftness of the wind, plumes of smoke billowed from between the large roots as fire roared through the place you’d been raised. Inside you knew the totems you’d been taught beneath, the looms you’d learned to weave upon, the memories of your childhood were being reduced to ash as simply as wood in a cooking pit. More than that, clan members that had chosen not to fight were still inside, and higher within the tree must be Tsu’tey and his warriors because you’d yet to see any banshees take towards the sky. Your home, your people were burning. Another arrow shoots from your bow and as you reach for another your eyes catch on Jake and Grace still bound amid the chaos. Jake shouts as though he’s been wounded, eyes round with fear as he watches Hometree burn. Then his eyes catch on yours, still staring at him with your arrow half string. There’s a reason for your hesitance that you can’t place but Eytukan is calling for a retreat and you don’t have a moment to wonder over the stall in your actions. 

The air is choked with a haze of smoke and rain of leaves, screams piercing through the buzzing of the Sky Demons’ flying machines as the clan flees to the forest. One moment, you’re alone in the chaos and the next Neytiri is crashing into you, shoving you forward. Running only takes you so far before the earth is rippling underfoot, buckling your knees before knocking you to the ground. Then everything goes still. There’s a moment to gather your bearings and you rouse to your knees, pulling Neytiri close to your side. She clings to you so tightly that her nails bite into your skin and you let her. The pain wards off the numbness that’s begun to consume you. It feels as though you’ve walked into a stream. Shallow at first, then deeper and deeper until the water has swallowed you completely. Everything is cold and muffled as your eyes stare up at the canopy. As a child, it seemed as wide as the sky, Hometree unshakable as a mountain. Yet the mountain is beginning to crumble. There’s a groaning noise like stripping bark to make a bow and then Kelutral pitches forward. Falling. 

Darkness grows as the massive tree topples towards you, too quickly to outpace. There’s only mere moments for you to evade the falling limbs. Shards of bark rain like arrows, pricking at your skin as you sprint towards the closest piece of light you can find, a place where the shadow of Hometree doesn’t touch. Around you there are the screams of those that weren’t quick enough. Loud for a moment and then silent forever. When the ground goes still, you shakily find your feet. The air is full of dirt and ash, and the anguished sound of mourning. For the fall of your home, for the death of your people. Broken branches scatter across the ground and you’re struck with a sense of disbelief. Hadn’t this place been filled with happiness only hours before? The night had been spent in celebration. So quickly the music and laughter had gone silent. A sound shatters through the sound of blood rushing in your ears and it isn’t until Neytiri pulls you into her embrace that you realize you’re screaming. It’s something past tears. Anguished wrath bubbles in your throat, loud and steady until your voice begins to give out in shuddering waves that chip off into silence. 

Neytiri’s sorrow is quieter. Her breaths come quickly in your ear, gasping as if she can’t quite believe the sight set before her. It seems so impossible. Hometree has stood for generations as the ancestral home of the Omatikaya and now it was simply and irrevocably gone. 

“Ma sempul,” she says at last, “ma sa’nok. They’ll know what to do.” Because something must be done. She speaks with empty regard. There is truly no way to know if they’ll know what to do but what more can you think to do than look to your olo’eyktan and tsahìk for guidance? There is nothing else left. It’s all burning. Neytiri stumbles away, bow in hand, in search of her parents. She’s slow at first but you watch her walk past the bodies strewn across the ground and pick up her pace. Voice calling out for her father. You go in the opposite direction in the search of the tsahìk. Many will be seeking Mo’at’s guidance and you can only hope the Great Mother has preserved her life as you sidestep those that were lost in the fall. Bodies streaked with blood and ash. Hands still clutching their bows and most precious belongings. 

It’s easier to recognize yourself slipping away this time. How many? How many more of the People will die at the hands of these demons? So many lives lost without reason. Simply because they had the strength to do it. Even an animal did not hunt with this much impunity. There was always cause, balance. As the Great Mother intended. 

Only moments ago, you’d been running. Leaping over fallen branches and ducking beneath curling ferns, but as you fall deeper into your mind, your gait begins to slow to a stumble. It feels as though you’re trudging through mud as you stagger through the rain of ash. No longer certain of what you’d been running from or towards. Small fires flare around you like the flames of a cooking pit. Warmth licks at your legs as you pass in your confusion. There’d been something you were looking for but you can’t seem to place it. It feels as though you’re chasing a memory. Walking towards some unreachable destination. Still you walk on, weaving a sinuous path through the ruins of your home. There’s something warm on your face like the kiss of sunlight but when you touch it your hand comes away slicked in red. Your legs fall still, no longer chasing that unknown place. 

It’s suddenly all around you. The school and yet Hometree. The blood is yours and Sylwanin’s. A garbled scream tears from your throat, low and graveled as she walks towards you. Her voice sounds wrong. Her hands feel wrong as they grab your shoulders. She hadn’t gotten close enough to hold you though you remember her bloody drying sticky between your outstretched fingers. It’s all wrong, made worse when the voice solidifies in your head, brings you back to yourself. 

It’s Jake. He’s grasping at your shoulders, brushing the blood from your cheek. He seems uncertain of himself, though you can hear the attempt at comfort in his voice. It does little to soothe you. Something in your heart aches at the way your bond seems to strain and fray with each passing moment. But never breaking. Tsaheylu is made with the intention of eternity. Jake will be your mate until death no matter the regret that comes. He says your name with just the right cadence for you to regain some semblance of strength and you shove him away. 

“Don’t touch me!” You hiss. He jerks away from your rage. “Traitor! Get away from here. Never come back.” And he does. There’s a great hesitance in his retreat but he leaves you, eyes shimmering with longing. It’s too late for such affections and if your heart weren’t already crushed by his betrayal and the carnage that followed, you might’ve felt your soul tearing in two as you watched your mate turn his back on you. It would be alright, you had another. 

Neytiri finds you later, after the long journey to the Tree of Souls. In times of great strife such as this, there was nowhere else to seek refuge but at the place where Eywa’s presence was felt the strongest. It was almost like a heartbeat thrumming beneath your feet as you bathed in the purple light of the clan’s most sacred place. Anyone that knew how to heal was busy with the injured and Neytiri had only just found a moment to join you in the alcove you claimed for yourself. The mossy stone was no replacement for the comfort of Hometree but it was all that any of you would have for some time. Already the elders of the clan have begun to weave. Kelku are simple enough to make but they take time to weave the outer walls and craft the wooden frame. Other things could not be so easily replaced. You thought of the mother loom and the totem of toruk. How long had his bones and his legend been passed down through the Omatikaya and now there was nothing to show that such a great leader had ever existed within the clan. There’d be only songs and memories now. 

“I am sorry, yawne,” Neytiri says to break the silence. “I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve never opened my heart to that man.” 

She still can’t seem to bring herself to insult him. Demon, Tsu’tey had called him. A traitor is what he is. And yet Neytiri can’t bring herself to call him anything more than a man. Her hand wrings the braid of her tswin as if trying to scrub away his touch. She looks as you must have last night. Awkward and unsure, but mated all the same. Jake tied tsaheylu without knowing its true meaning. While knowing his original intention for joining the clan. No matter how his plans had changed, he was still a betrayer. Had Neytiri not been his teacher–if he’d been given someone more abrasive as his guide–his orders would’ve likely been heeded without question. It was only because he couldn’t help but fall in love that he tried to abandon his mission. A liar and a coward. A man that no longer deserved his place among the People. It’s your hope that the memories of Jake would turn to ash in your mind, like forgotten wisps lost to the wind. He was no mate of yours. 

Neytiri sags against you, her face buried in the length of your throat. Her nose is a cold spot against the warmth of your skin, warm breath washing across your skin. So much had changed so quickly. Only last night you’d been unmated and willing to let your love for Neytiri wither and die. Months ago Jake had been a stranger encroaching on your clan’s hunting grounds and now he’d betrayed the trust Mo’at instilled, that you’d so naively taken to heart. With time, perhaps you could’ve loved him as a mate. There were moments when you might’ve been content to live beside him despite it all, if Neytiri was mated to Tsu’tey as had been expected since her sister’s death. So many plans had been unmade by his presence. And some came to fruition quicker than expected. Tsu’tey has ascended to his position as olo’eyktan years before his time. Neytiri had found her father when she went searching for him. Found him dying in the rubble of your ruined home, shot through with a fragment of Hometree like an arrow. As she clung, weeping, to you, she shared his last words, “protect the People.” They were all that was left. The clan was a people not a place, though Hometree had become such a symbol of safety and togetherness. A home shared between hundreds. Now it was gone. 

Sounds of mourning rang through the stone cliffs surrounding the Tree of Souls. Voices lamented the melody of lost songcords, of those that couldn’t be found in the flame and ash. Young and old had been lost. Mothers lost children, brothers lost sisters. And without the Tree of Voices, songs were all that was left to remember them by. Not even their cords to ponder between their fingers as they’re been left with the bodies that wore them. Everyone that wasn’t breathing still was left behind. A burden that would not be worth the effort to carry so far. Grace had been one such person spared from abandonment. She’d collapsed at the crest of a hill, body falling still and silent in that death-like way Jake’s always did when he slept. Her soul had been torn from her body once more. You expect that Jake suffered the same fate wherever he was in the rain of ash. He was one that was left behind. No one would sing the few meager beats of his fledgling songcord. 

In your ear Neytiri hums soft as birdsong. It’s a familiar melody that you’ve heard throughout your life. Mo’at sang it as she worked and Neytiri when she was distraught. It was her father’s song. One that spoke of strength and duty. While Tsu’tey has spent his life training to take his place, Eytukan has cast a long shadow for him to live up to. Though he is trying. He stands on the raised stone beneath the swaying branches of the Tree of Souls, lingering beside Mo’at as she addresses a group of people. From a distance you can’t hear their words, can hardly see their faces, but they seem comforted by the words of their tsahìk. 

“You should be with them.” You nudge Neytiri gently, trying to coax her from her spot hidden beneath the veil of your braids. Her eyes are bright in the waning light of the sun, eclipse settling with a sense of melancholy. 

“I can’t,” she mumbles. “Mother said that I chose this path, that I might never become tsahìk now that I’ve tarnished myself. My life will be wasted.” All it had taken was a moment of weakness and she was tainted forever. The bond of tsaheylu will not wilt or waver even in death. Such things dig deep, sprouting roots upon your very soul. Jake, in his ignorance, had no way to truly know what he was doing, but Neytiri did. You did, and yet you tied your kuru even still. Hidden in the recesses of your heart like a single flower blooming in the darkness of a cave was your love for Neytiri. Sequestered in a place where it might never see the light of day. And yet in a moment of selfishness you had tossed aside the years of teachings that told you it was best to stifle some desires in service of the greater good. 

Neytiri as tsakarem could be mated to no one but the future olo’eyktan. This was known. A belief that had been passed down since the time of the First Songs. It’s hard to imagine that there had been no other tsakarem who desired someone she could never have, yet she’d done her duty to the clan and mated with her arranged partner. There was honor in doing what was expected of you yet Neytiri had lived so much of her life without expectation. She wasn’t meant to be tsahìk, she was meant to be yours. Surely the Great Mother would not fault her for faltering on the path her sister was meant to walk. After all, it was Sylwanin that was meant to be tsahìk. If she had lived, none of this would have happened. Or perhaps her survival would’ve only prolonged the inevitable. 

The Sky People came for your clan in the end. Destroyed your home and slaughtered your people. It just as easily could’ve been Sylwanin that died in the fall of Hometree. Another name added to those you must mourn. There were no words of comfort you could offer. Nothing to promise that everything would be better with time. Before, you might’ve been able to say that the future would be brighter. But now when you think of tomorrow, all you imagine is ash and smoke. 

[rottingfern]

strap the wing to me (death trap clad happily) || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: fae!Noah x gender neutral reader (yes the smut is gn too)

Summary: He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. overly flowery written pretty much entirely in prose. smutty smut smut. oral sex. just a tiny whiff of dubious consent by way of fae trickery

A/N: I drank a lot of wine and listened to Hozier on repeat the other night and then saw a very mind-meltingly beautiful pic of Noah on the dash and had a really weird dream and this is the result. Enjoy the ramblings xoxo Fern

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from Sunlight by Hozier; banner made by @throughwoodsanddirt; dividers by @saradika

“You lost?” he asks, and that is what ruins you. You’ve heard the old stories of wicked fae-men and how to avoid them - beware strange beings in the wood, don’t stray from the path - but in all the stories, none author had bothered to mention they’d peek around a tree with wide, irresistibly innocent curiosity and ask you, You lost?

There’s a flash of a glint in his eye, a bare twitch in his lip predating what might’ve been a smirk, but you can’t help but smile at the childlike confidence in his voice, and then he smiles back and –

That too is your ruin. There perhaps hasn’t been a sweeter smile - not in your years, not in the years of all of time, you reckon - to grace a human being, and it steals your breath sure as he’d picked it from your pocket. He takes it as an offering, slinking around the trunk with the air of something much smaller, more slight than he; gravity must be a friend, lover, even, with the grace she offers to his motion.

His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as you take his tattooed hand - an imperious command, or perhaps a childish invitation - granting you the proof of satisfaction you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for, a breath of relief expelling from its locked chamber you’d ignored until now. 

You stare, because how can you not? He is beautiful, yes, but his visage flickers from soft to vulpine with a flicker of shadow and moonlight, something inhuman, dangerous, alien turning well-bred beauty, like the kind some are just born with, masculinity encapsulated by that rare softness. 

He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. Within a breath, he moves from shy, soft smiles to something aloof, something dangerously mischievous, something terrifying when the moon shines just so and you’re reminded of that glint in his eye. You only need blink for that chipped granite of his cheekbone and hardened brow to give way to that downy smile once more, like it had never gone.

You walk over roots, vines and ivies and he is barefoot, feet uncalloused and unscarred.

The trek back to the path is as treacherous as he warned, for which he never lets your hand go - vines threatening to trip you up with each step, roots growing where there were none minutes ago. He regales you with faerie-tales - his childhood, he calls it - and you follow his younger self through burrows and glades and loss and loss and loss and to the rivers and all the girls (and boys) that live in them, the monsters that he’d fought and the girls (and boys) he’d had there after, and to the mountains and still you follow and –

And he pauses, and you’re overcome with the bodily realization that you’re exhausted. You’re not sure how long you’ve walked, but your legs burn. Your feet are torn, shoes and socks evidently long gone somewhere along the way. Your head swims, and he barely turns before you collapse into him. 

You don’t register the hawthorn he’s pressed you up against, solid as stone, until the bark digs through your shirt to chip and stab at your skin, oozing wet warmth down your back that’s conflated blood and sap in your mind. A tsk from his mouth - the sound forms so prettily on his perfectly formed Cupid’s bow - produces a golden fruit in his hand, taken from a bush or his pocket, or somewhere else entirely. You’re too dizzy to follow the movement of his hand. It’s so splendidly shiny, citrine flesh pulled so taught it aches for just the single prick to burst the saccharine juice within. 

Before he even presses it to your lips, the scent makes your molars ache to grind it to a pulp. He teases it, hovering it before your mouth, reveling in your fight against the strong thigh he presses to your core to reach it. 

His fingers brush your lips when he finally acquiesces, and he blushes with a bashful smile like it’d been a mistake, and between his smile and the alchemically intoxicating scent of the fruit, you forget all about the warnings of eating Fae offerings and - 

It bursts like an eyeball with just the barest graze of your teeth, blessed wet rushing to coat your throat liquid as the taste has done to you; it is the sweetest, sharpest flavor you’ve tasted, salty too - though perhaps that’s the tears streaming down your face. Your core throbs a drumbeat. You’re nothing more than meat and nerves and blood in a sac of skin, pulsing as the seeds and pulp slither down your throat. 

Your head dips - involuntarily - to suck the sap from each digit. You want to wrap your legs around him, to grind shamelessly until you too are nothing but sap. 

When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily. 

He draws you down to the bed of moss with kisses and gentle strokes, soft and spongy and earthen and cool and moist beneath your naked skin. His great coat envelops you both, secreting beneath it the dance of his nails (not nails, but claws, unpainted black and whispering a deadly promise) along the planes of your burning, overstuffed skin. He swallows down your whimpers and gasps, curiosity painting his face lent by innocence to understanding his touch is the cause; too light a touch, you think, you need more. 

The callus of his fingers speaks of handiwork as they brush you, painting you red hot and wanting. He watches his brushes as they stroke lower with open fascination, like you’re the one alien and not he. 

You arch into him, begging for your flesh to be flayed from bone, for him to sink those razors he calls teeth down to the marrow. There they are at your chest, dangerously grazing the delicate pebble of your nipple, plump damp lips suckling it as though it is the fruit itself. There is his hand at your thigh, hot palm pressing your leg up his waist, clever, spindly fingers teasing the apex, wandering but never finding home. 

He laughs when you reach for him, for the heat beneath his trousers weighing heavy in the cradle of your hips. “Later,” he tells you, swallowing down your indignant whine before it can burst forth. Now, you want to beg, but then his hand reaches the destination you desire most, shackling you to the singular sensation in short, strong strokes, and you think, okay, later.

Your skin burns, stretched taught and oversensitive as he probes you, knuckles bulbs as they puncture the precipice, only the cool damp of the moss beneath you granting reprieve. You paw at it helplessly, unmoored, gripping up great chunks of it in Sisyphean effort to ground yourself against the fullness.  

He chuckles. “Never said you couldn’t touch,” he mutters against your belly, words muffled by your skin as the vibrations run straight through your core. Something ragged wrenches from you as you dive your hands in his hair, pulling at soft and silky and ink-dark even in the twilight canopy of the wood; a slippery purchase at best as he journeys downward, leaving lush, slick trails in the wake of his mouth that nearly steam against the cool of the breeze. 

He laughs, exultant, and curls those clever fingers inside you hard, bifurcating within you, plying and playing, and teasing and then, then, finally, his head dives between your legs. A hot breath first, a nudge of that pointed nose, then his wicked tongue, licking and lapping and curling, and then those sweet lips wrapping and sucking around you, tongue pressing until you’re reduced to faint breath, until you can only cling with the white static tuned to the red-earthen-hot tune of want. 

You come, spread apart like a dam on the moss. He leeches to you, stroking and sucking and curling and pressing until there’s nothing left in you but shallow heaves and twitching limbs. 

The smirk spreading his mouth when you finally settle in the cradle of his arms is so absurdly silly, so endearing and human, so real, you can’t help but laugh, curling drunkenly into it, each breath a stabbing pain you receive gladly. He gathers you, watching as you laugh, seeming pleased with himself as a cat with cream. 

Together, when you’re once again able, you gather what can be salvaged of your clothes. It’s not much, so he cloaks you in his coat, the unstarched fabric simultaneously stiff and soft against your bare skin, sliding silkily with each step. He guides you along by his lithe arm, veins dancing up the tattooed lengths like sinew upon bark, hand now sticky from being buried within you. 

The fallen leaves ease your way, damp earth gathering between your toes, sluicing off the pain with the cool of it. 

He leads you where? There is no door, no hawthorn trees nor spiderwebs, no shimmering air to pass through yet for a moment you are distracted, and then you are in the woods no longer. The walls are earthen, ancient vines thick as elk climbing like supporting pillars, illimitably, impossibly, reaching for nothing but night sky. The stars, though far above, seem sharper, tangible, and close as you might reach should you choose as you stare into the boundless void between; a darkness luring so sweetly you’d tumble into it for a single unsteady step. 

For the first time since he found you, you do not struggle to look away from him. Walls give way to great earthen colonnades, thousand-story balustrades housing hanging gardens of lady slippers and cowslips and columbines glimmering in the light of torches tall as men. Above it all is still the fathomless, terrifying sky, and everywhere there are people, throngs of faerie folk in every direction as far as you can see. Most pay you no mind but those that do, do so with blessedly parlous curiosity, curling lips clueing teeth that’d bite. 

The sheer number of colors and shapes and bodies has your memory grow fading, evanescent. Some have hooves or scales or feathers, beaks or antlers, and others - just a face the wrong side of sharp, limbs lengthened just past that boundary of eldritch. A few stand out: a man, long-haired and goateed who’d pass human were he not nearly twice the size of a regular man, with sclera deep as bitter licorice; another, flat-faced with the lightest eyes you’d ever seen, veins and sinew and muscle coiling and rippling beneath transparent skin; a creature you struggle to wrap your mind around, a great wolf’s maw forced where the young man’s mouth would be, slitted pupils twitching as he watches you pass, hackles raised. 

Your skin erupts in gooseflesh, and Noah bends his head to nip at it. 

There are three girls standing with heads bowed together, faces painted in warm knavery, identical in all but where they split the embodiment of moon, sun, and void. One’s hands look capable of melting your skin off, and another’s claws drip an ichor you’d let run poison deep below your sluicing skin as you’re blinded by the radiant glow of the third. 

You imagine them spreading you apart, tasting you, tasting them. You’re acutely aware of the heady sourness of your arousal, a scent so human amid bark and earth and animal scent, among burning floral oils.

They are beautiful. They are all beautiful, and you’re struck with a pang of precipitous, desperate hunger. You want all of them. Blisteringly. 

“All of them?” he chuckles, nuzzling the side of your face, insectile fingers gripping your jaw firm with practiced precision. “Greedy.”

Your veins already are hot, pulsing iron, overstimulated and frazzled, but now they spill crimson across your cheekbones, hairline tightening at the tone of his accusation. But he only coos, bringing you in with tangling arms round your waist. 

“Spare me,” he sighs against your temple. “Greed is good. You’ll have it all and more later. But first, let us sate that hunger.” Yes, let us, you think. You never could refuse his command. You hope he will feed you more of those delightful fruits.

[mykuup]

Of bone and bloom - Cryptid!Eddie Munson AU Part 6

Moodboard + summary + Serie Masterlist

My masterlist

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Summary : Eddie and you are lost. Both of you questioning the gods to chose what's best for each other. But the most important question is, what happens now?

wc : 1,08k

Warnings : monster romance // fluff // smut // MDNI // unprotected piv (wrap it irl guys) // mention of injuries // mention of blood // size gap // no mention of y/n // porn with plot // afab reader (but no description)

A/n : My dumb ass posted part 5 twice so here we are, chapter 6 like it should have been. I am so so so sorry for screwing this up 😭 Thank you @maedesculpaeusoubi for letting me know! You're my savior 💜 Please can I have more love for @saphirmoraitie for her incredible work???

Taglist : @jasminelafleur @maedesculpaeusoubi @sassidykassidy

Something about us

“I’m here,” you whispered again, the words a vow, a promise you would not break. “And I’m not afraid.”

For a moment, Eddie didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe you were real or that this moment was happening. Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His embrace was careful, almost hesitant, as if he feared he might break you. But you held him tightly, your arms encircling his massive frame, your fingers threading through the fur at the nape of his neck.

You stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, the forest a silent witness to the bond that had formed between you. It was a love born of darkness, a connection that defied all reason, yet it was yours, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the trees, Eddie finally pulled back, his eyes searching yours with a mix of awe and uncertainty. “What happens now?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You gave a small, determined smile. One that belied the storm brewing in your heart. “We survive,” you said simply. “Together.”

Eddie nodded, the weight of your words settling over him. You had both known loneliness and fear, but now, you had each other. And whatever dangers lay ahead, whatever battles you would have to face, you would do so side by side.

You rose to your feet, offering your hand to the creature before you. He gently took it, his long, clawed fingers interlacing with yours. He winced in pain as he stood, his body still sore after escaping the hunters. You wanted to lead him to the nearest river to clean his wounds, but Eddie insisted on taking you to his home instead. 

After a few minutes of walking deeper into the forest, you reached a little waterfall hidden from sight. Eddie stepped under the water first. He stayed there and nodded to encourage you. As you walked on the wet stones, his massive form shielded you from getting drenched.

He followed your steps as you tiptoed into a small cave, where a dim light glowed at the end. As you finally reached the outside, you stopped in your tracks to look around. There were fewer trees, allowing sunlight to filter through the leaves. Everything was green, and the glade was a stark contrast to the dark forest you had left.

In front of you stood the largest oak tree you'd ever seen. Creepers and vines hung from its branches and the trunk had a wide opening that revealed the outline of various knick-knacks and belongings inside. Eddie led you closer before lying down on what you guessed was a bed made of leaves. He gasped in pain, letting his heavy antlers and head fall back onto the soft moss.

You sat beside him, inspecting his wound. The bandage you'd made from your torn dress the night before was soaked in dark, almost black, blood. You carefully unwrapped the fabric, your mind racing to find a new solution.

A large, spidery hand rested on yours, and you looked up to meet Eddie’s gaze. He gently brushed your skin with his claw, a soft growl escaping his lips.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice low and reassuring.

“I—Please, let me help you,” you said, panic creeping into your voice. You wanted so badly to heal him, to make up for what happened last night in those woods.

“You‘ve already helped me, Wildflower. And I still don’t know why.” You gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile as a single tear fell from your eye, guilt consuming you.

“I said I would protect you, and look at you! I—It’s all my fault…” You looked away, ashamed that you couldn’t keep such a simple promise.

His other hand touched your face, gently guiding you to look at him as he shook his head ‘no’. It wasn’t your fault, and he would never think otherwise. He pulled you closer, positioning you to straddle his waist. His dark eyes locked with yours, and his thumb slowly caressed your cheek before hesitating at your lips as if he was discovering something new. You were on his lap, unafraid of what he was. You leaned into his touch and kissed the tip of his thumb as it grazed your lips again.

Eddie felt something stir deep within him, a sensation awakening in his belly. He shifted slightly beneath you, trying to adjust himself. A muffled growl escaped his throat.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, concerned about his wounds and his sudden movements. His large, spidery hands rested on your hips, his eyes locking on yours.

“What did you do to me, Wildflower?” Your eyes widened in fear at first. But his tender touch showed you he wasn’t in pain or angry. No, there was something else—something gentle and soft. You smiled, your hand wandering over the skull that adorned his face, tracing the outline of his antlers. He sighed in what sounded like pleasure, tilting his head back. You hummed softly, watching him as his muscles relaxed under his heavy coat of fur.

“Why the nickname?” you asked in a whisper, genuinely curious why he was addressing you with a word that wasn’t your name. He looked at you, and one of his hands gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your skin for a bit longer than necessary. You leaned into his touch, your fingers lacing with his to keep his hand on your cheek.

“You remind me of them—strong and beautiful,” he simply answered. Heat rose to your cheeks, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You weren’t used to compliments and no man had ever spoken to you like this before. No man had ever touched you the way this creature did. It was something new for both of you, and you were ready to explore it, if he was, too. 

It was as if Eddie could read your thoughts. He sat up, moving closer to you, his breath mingling with yours, his mask brushing your lips. You could feel his hesitation, unsure of how to handle the emotion swirling inside him. You were just as hesitant, a part of your mind questioning your sanity. Reflecting on the situation, you were a human tangled with a dark and mystical creature of the woods. Both of you were lost, uncertain whether to cross the thin line into forbidden territory.

[talonabraxas]

Io Pan! Io Pan! Pan, Great God of Nature Talon Abraxas

In Greek mythology, the great god Pan ruled over the domain of the wild. His name originates from the old Arcadian word for rustic, but in later ancient Greek society, his name came to be associated with the Athenian word “παν” meaning “all.” He was born with hooves, shaggy legs, a furry tail, and horns – in a manner of ways, he was part goat.

Pan was raised by nymphs, spirits of nature, whose life force are attached to things such as trees, rivers, and plants. Pan was welcomed into the divine pantheon by all the gods. Just as the gods were delighted to welcome Pan, so were they delighted by nature itself — the gods often had sacred living spaces found in rural places all around Greece. Mount Olympus itself, the collective home of the gods, is the highest mountain in Greece, a place where nature thrives.

Arcadia, “the land of many springs” was the most rural place in ancient Greece; it was the god Pan’s home – and the most popular place for worship of the god. Here Pan took part in leading the nymphs in dances, or was found chasing them, and reveling in the beauty of the wild. He is often depicted wandering through valleys, mountains, and glades. In Greek mythology, his essence as the God of the wild, imbued his surroundings with life and vitality. Nature was at its most bountiful when Pan was present.

The great god Pan also enjoyed music and so was often found playing melodious tunes on his reed pipes. Nonnus captures the rural life of Pan: “Melodious Pan sat beside herds of goats or sheepcoates playing his tune on the assembled reeds…” (Dionysiaca 45. 174 ff)

[fieldofdaisiies]

Like Him?

ship: Eris x Reader type: angst warning(s): overall gloomy, talks about rejection, childhood trauma, abusive households word count: 2,5k words request: "I have a Eris request too. Sorry for my explanation, English isn't my first language. The reader is in a arrange marriage with Eris. And he strats to open himself telling something about his past and things like that"

-all rights reserved -

A gentle breeze caresses your skin as you step out of the Forest House and the earthy scent of fallen leaves and damp soil fills your nostrils. Your curl your arms around yourself, securing the cardigan as you step onto the pathway adorned with the beautiful colours of autumn. 

You never wanted to move here, never wanted to call this place your home, but your father and the former High Lord of this Court arranged a marriage for you, the daughter of an important lord of the Autumn Court. You had to wed his oldest son, Eris, only a few weeks after your first encounter. Soon Eris will rule over the court, you at his side, as he promised to make you High Lady of the Autumn Court, despite your reservations and nervousness. You still remember what he said to you when he put the ring on your finger, “You may didn’t choose me, you didn’t want this, you will probably never love me like a husband, and you were forced into this just like I was, so the least I can do for you is make you High Lady and make this whole situation a little less awful.” He leaned in back then, at your wedding, and kissed your cheek. Not your lips, not wanting to invade your personal space. 

Golden sunlight filters through the trees, casting a warm glow upon the in leaves covered ground as you enter the small forest, heading for the glade nearby. You know Eris will most likely be there, probably with his hounds, as this is the place he normally goes to when he wants to be alone. And you know, when he wants to be alone, you probably should leave him alone. But not today. Today it feels different. I feels like you should talk to him, like he needs someone. You feel it in your chest. There is something like a tug on your ribs that pulls you to him. It is odd and you can’t really describe the feeling so you just decide to follow it. His your husband after all and you get along, so you think it might be good to take another step forward. To actually talk about personal things and not only politic related ones. Leaves, in all colours of autumn - crimson, orange and yellow- cover the ground beneath your feet as you move and a soft rustling accompanies every step you take. You marvel at the beauty that surrounds you and once again remind yourself of how lucky you are that you were born in this court. Of course, Beron as a High Lord if awful, Cauldron forbid if he knew you said so, but the beauty of the court is not comparable to any other. And not all people are bad. The Lady of the Autumn Court is lovely and you like her a lot. And so is Eris. You do like your husband who is distant to you, yes, but never not kind or honest, or respectful. The air is filled with all sorts of lovely of scents—the earthy smell of damp soil and the scent of decaying leaves. Nostalgia fills your mind and brain when you remember playing outside with your family when you were a child. It is so long ago, the memories are no longer that clear, but still you will always remember and keep them in your heart. As you continue to walk, further into the forest, the breeze calms a little as the thick trees and branches don’t let so much of it through. The narrow path leads you deeper into the forest, and you feel a sense of serenity inside of you. You have always felt at ease in nature and nothing has changed that. The days after your marriage you have mostly spent outside, often with Eris’ dogs or with his mother walking around and talking a little. Eris, who will soon, take over as High Lord as Beron’s state gets worse and worse, is busy most of the time, always bent over his desk for hours and even into the night. At the forest house you have often felt quite trapped, like you are in a cage. This arranged marriage, despite Eris’ kindness and respect, has always felt like it as well. You did not choose it yourself and you are stuck, your choice was taken from you. But when you are outside, and the beauty of the Autumn Court envelops you, these thoughts vanish for a little while. Your heart fills with appreciation of these lovely moments outside and then freedom they provide you. You allow yourself to pause for a little and draw in a deep inhale, the fragrance of the damp, early afternoon air filling your nose. You exhale and lift your gaze, spotting the glade as well as the small wooden bench with the heir of the Autumn Court on it in the distance. Your heart makes a little skip when your eyes land on his tall figure, his broad shoulders and involuntarily the corners of your mouth twitch up a little. 

Your legs feel lighter and you walk faster, soon closing the distance between him and you. “Thought I would find you here.” You surround the bench on which jerks backwards a little, but smiles when he meets your gaze. “My wife,” he says in a calm voice, tinged with kindness. He reaches his broad hand forward for you to grab so he can guide you the last steps to the bench. You take it, and relish how warm his palm feels against yours. You sit down next to him, only a little distance between the two of you, and you look up at him. “Are you alright?” you ask with sympathy in your voice. He looks straightforward and then licks over his lips and turns to you. “Honest answer?” The High Lord of Autumn raises his brow a little bit and you bow your head, still smiling a little. “Always!” you say and add, “I am your wife. You can always be honest with me.”

Your husband releases a shuddering breath and wipes his hands down his thighs. “I am afraid that I will become like him. That one day I will treat my subjects just like my father does. That one day I don’t have any respect anymore, that I will become just as cruel as he is, that I will hurt people, that I will hurt you. That I will force myself upon you so you can give me heirs.” His expression is bitter and pained, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he blinks his eyes rapidly. Almost as quickly as he rattled through his words. You can only reach over and take one of his hand into both of yours. “Don’t ever say something like that again. You are nothing like your father and will never be.” You squeeze his hand, staring at him until he finally lifts his gaze to yours. They are nothing but swirling pits of agony, pain and hate. “You don’t know that.” He shakes his head vehemently, his teeth clenched. And so you remove one hand from his, and bring it up to his face. You brush your thumb over his cheek, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble against your skin. “I do know it. I know you are nothing like him. You are kind, and honest. You respect me and I know you would never hurt me. You have never hurt me, and I am sure that you will never do so.” He leans into your touch, reveling in the feel of a person touching him without fear or reservation. “How do you know?” he breathes, voice tinged with a bit of pain. He wants to believe you, he really does, but it is so damn difficult if seemingly everyone hates him and hardly anyone trusts him. “I just do. You have never given me a reason to not trust you. You have never made me feel disrespected. You have never made me feel anxious.” You smile, still brushing over his cheek, your other hand still tightly holding his in his lap. “How long have these thoughts been there?”

“Since always,” he answers in a silent tone. “And I think they will never go away. I think these thoughts will haunt me for my whole life, just like the memories.” You lean in a little, your lips pouted, but not once breaking eye contact. “Memories?” “Honest answer?”

“Of course. I told you before, always honest answer. With me you can always be honest.” This time he squeezes your hand and turns his head just a little so he can kiss your palm. It is just a gentle and quick brush of his lips but it makes tingles erupt all over your body. “But it is quite…gloomy and awful…”

“If you want to share you can share it. If you don’t want to share it, I won’t pressure you. It is up to you, your choice.” You brush your thumb over his cheek one more time before removing your hand and placing it on his thigh, right above his knee. You watch how his throat works on a swallow, and his eyes close for a moment, long lashes drawing shadows to his cheeks. 

“My father used to hit me, used a whip on me, locked me into the closet when he got mad. He forced me to be outside during thunderstorms and he—“ Eris’ throat constricts and he cuts himself off. His lashes dampen a little and you hold his hand tighter. “Gods,” you breath and shake your head, wanting to do everything possible so you can take the pain away from him.

“I am just scared that I will also lose my temper, that if we ever have children, I will become like him. What if I will mirror his experience because it is the only parental education I know?” He swallows thickly and folds his other hand over the one you have placed on his thigh.

“I can assure you, you won’t become like that. I know you will do it differently, especially since you experienced the worst. I know you won’t let anything happen to your children, our children.” His mouth forms a little sad smile at the mention of your children and he finally lifts his gaze to you again. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathes and leans in a little, his gaze never leaving yours. A cool breeze once again dances over your skins and blows your hair into your face. Eris slowly lifts his hand, brushing the few loose strands of hair over your shoulder and then the last few behind your ear. “And I am very lucky to have you as my wife. You are stunning both on the in and outside. Kind and honest, loyal and the most beautiful female I have ever seen in my life.” 

His statement draws tears to your own eyes and you lean in further, leaning your forehead against his. “You do deserve me. We deserve each other and…” You pause, swallow and close your eyes. “And I am lucky to have you as my husband. That it is you and no other. You are kind, respectful, honest, and open-hearted. And of course, very easy on the eyes.” A small grin appears on your face and you heard the male in front of you chuckle, his warm breath tingling your skin. 

“And I want you to know that you can always talk to me. You can always talk to me about those memories, about these thoughts. I am here for you.” “But you don’t have to. You don’t have to deal with my burdens as well. You have already been forced into this marriage without choosing me. You—“ You place your lips on his, kissing him softly and only quickly. “I did not choose it, that is correct. But I am alright with it. I am lucky that I am with you, that we have each other. And I know I don’t have to offer you this, but I want to. Not because I am your wife, but because I like you. I like you a lot and I know you would do the same for me.” This time it is Eris who kisses you, a little longer and the kiss is deeper, almost a little explorative. His sighs when your lips part, inhaling deeply and his eyes open slowly. So do yours. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages.” A little giggle parts your lips, your cheeks flushed. “Me too.” You bite down on your lower lip and lean in, your head resting on his shoulder, arms wrapping around his neck. Eris relaxes, cradles you in his strong arms, pulling you flush to his chest. “I can’t wait for us to become High Lord and Lady of this court. I know that with you at my side I can do things better. I will be different than he is. I know that you can help me with that, that you will help me. I know you will be a great High Lady.” You hum, stroking the hair at the back of his neck gently. You want to tell him that you know that he could also do this all without you, that he is not a bad person, but you don’t want to interrupt the peaceful silence that has fallen over you, only some birds and the wind rustling the trees audible around you. 

He caresses you back with his hand, his head resting against yours as you both listen to the sounds of nature around you. “I don’t know how a person can love another person but at the same time hate them so much.” He pauses and inhales deeply, his chest heaving against you. “He always used to say how proud he was of me and that I can do great things. That I will be great High Lord, but then he treated me like I was…I don’t even know like what. All the punishment he used on me was always for education, he used to say.” 

“I can’t even tell you how sorry I am, how much I want to take this pain away from you. And how much I want to walk into the Forest House right now and pierce a dagger through his heart.” Fury blazes through your veins and you lean back, looking up at your husband. He lowers his head, resting his chin on your forehead and releases a breathy chuckle. “I had no idea my wife is so violent. And as much as I appreciate this and love you for it, I can’t let you do it.”

Love. The word reverberates through you and makes your heart skip one or the other happy beat. “He won’t live much longer, we just have to endure and soon it will be over.” He leans back a little and kisses your forehead. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tags: @sunshinebingo@tarataraaaa@brekkershadowsinger@azriels-mate123@mandziaaa@cosmic-whispers@mali22@elsie-bells@imma-too-many-fandoms@kuraikei@ginnyweasley06 @bubnix @powerfulpantera @moonlightazriel @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ Tíu ⸸

The Creature behind her eyes squirmed, the familiar rake hissing deep within the darkest parts of her mind as it often was. A voice and murmurs she had learned to block out over time until there was reason not to.

While Creature had proven a reliable weapon, it was often a game of words to him, especially about how he would lead Vahalia upon a course based on riddles and nearly nefarious natures. One she had come to appreciate for what it was, simply an entity that stirred the pot of thought all the more, the itch of necessity when it came to remaining the course.

“Lady Cress?” The voice sounded from the pearl nestled to her ear.

Within the cabin still in Tural, Vahalia’s hands absent mindedly smoothed over the papers before her, a tidy mess is what she often called it, “I’m here.” Vahalia replied, “The envelope I sent you with, open it.” she lead Miss. Bancroft on the other end of the transmission, “Within is a detailed report of everything that happened here in Tural, you may share that with Miss. Slater when you arrive. Within is also the blueprints for the Keep, be sure to give that to Greyson. You can find him in the market in three days time, I have it setup for you to meet with him on my behalf regarding the construction of the Keep, hand him the blueprints and gil I sent you with, he will have a white orchid pinned to his jacket.”

“Anything else?”

Vahalia paused, her brows knit and her gaze swept over the scrolls splayed out before her, “Yes, actually.” she continued, “Check on the advancement of the water way. Let Greyson know you will need his men in the coming weeks to construct two additional wells near the farms. The harvest is upon us, we’ll need to prepare for shipment and check the stores to ensure there is enough for the colder months. Put kale, radish, broccoli and chard on the list for this coming season’s bounty. I need trade for additional salt for the piers.”

A small hum of affirmation came from the line and Castien spoke again, “And the ruins?”

“A project for another day. I’ll be in Black Water in a few weeks time, perhaps sooner. I’ll see to the Laeves when I arrive, I have yet to fully take in the damage to the old structure.”

“Very well.” the response came.

The line fell quiet and the static in her ear began to blip out as Vahalia removed the linkpearl from her attention and placed it to the table.

Harvests.

Additional grain would have certainly been a boon to the market itself for colder months ahead, which was all the more reason to take the proposal from Hingashi seriously. While Ishgard supped easily upon winter-born vegetables and produce that were well rooted, that wasn’t to say that other places had the luxury. Wheat and rice would become a demand in a short time. It was simply time to meet the need with supply.

Spiced pumpkin filled the air with sweet apples. The festivities were in effect and the four children ran through the glade, the three girls with long dark hair squealing with delight as the older of the four, Willem, chased them with a blindfold over his eyes. Hands splayed as he reached for the voices he had been chasing. The laughter echoed out from the girls, wisps of bright ribbons afloat in long seas of ebon and sable, skirts absorbing the muck of the earth at their hems.

The Equinox was upon them as the greens of the trees gave way to vibrant pops of speckled oranges and reds that aimed to take their place. The air hung cooler these days and a fog settled in the mornings as the clime came to a slow crawl with each passing day.

Music and the chatter of the families beyond were nearly drowned out by the children playing and not too far off sat Odessa and Adelle at the woods edge, sister’s of old Mhachi blood, ever vigilant. Sigils of House Cress and House Blackheart in fabulous brocade respective to the two houses were woven neatly into their robes, their sashes simply homage to the families and their corresponding colors.

Odessa watched her youngest drift from the game, small body worn from the festivities as Vahalia made her way over to the two women and curled up towards her mother where she had rested her head along her warm lap.

“Finished already my dear?” Odessa smiled, hand lowering to comb through the child’s hair.

“I need a break.” the small child huffed out, she looked no older than eight summer’s at most.

The silken voice of Adelle seated next to Odessa chimed out, “Sister, when do you plan on having her meet the Whitlock son?” her voice was low as she looked between Odessa and Vahalia, who was more than happy resting within her mother’s lap, eyes closed and her attention elsewhere beyond simple chatter and the music in the distance.

“That depends on Adrian. I do not like the idea. I would not be faced with such heartbreak had I of had sons. Perhaps that is simply the pain we mother’s of daughters must endure.” she placed a slow stroke along Vahalia’s head before shaking her shoulder and soon ushering the child off towards her sister and cousins once more.

“It’s your turn Valeria!” Willem called out as he removed the blindfold from his face, hair wild, and he handed it towards his cousin, “Fair and square.”

“Awww you cheated!”

“I did not! You’re just slow!”

“It’s okay Valeria, prove him wrong.” Carrera piped up, excited to string the chaos along, “You’ll have to make sure he’s caught first. Revenge!”

The children laughed as Valeria groaned and Vahalia walked up to take the blindfold that was extended out, “I’ll do it.” she invited herself in as the predator, the other three simply prey in this game of catch.

The back of Odessa’s fingers smoothed over her lips, lost in thought as she watched Vahalia place the cloth over her eyes and the game once again began for the children. Once more scurrying and running about in the small glade that was soon to be kissed by the first year’s frost in mere weeks.

“Why not Valeria?” Adelle asked, “She is the oldest.”

“When you have twins, people tend to see them as one in the same when it comes to who is youngest or oldest. Valeria is…meek, timid. I fear she might not make out well in a forced situation.” Odessa peeled her eyes back to her kin.

“Yet you are entirely convinced Vahalia would be a better fit for such a burden?” Adelle loosed a huff, “An odd way of thinking.”

Odessa lifted her hand as she motioned to the children, “Look at her. She is a child who isn’t scared easily nor waves from anything new or difficult. Something within me feels she can handle the labors of expectation. With Valeria?....” she paused briefly before continuing, “ – It would consume her.”

A stern sigh escaped Adelle as she shook her head, “So what you are telling me in such subtle terms is, you have no other choice to bridge the Whitlock and Cress household and so you’ve picked and chose between your two daughters as to which one can carry the burden without crumbling?” Delicate and slender fingers found Odessa’s as Adelle gave her hand a small squeeze, “Sister, you cannot make a choice based off of the lesser of two evils. Tell Adrian you will not do it. Tell him the Whitlock’s must find another means of peace that does not result in you giving away your daughter.”

“I cannot.” Odessa stood firmly, her golden eyes lifting to meet that of her sister, “There is little I can do. There is ruin otherwise as Adrian has placed us in a hole we cannot climb out from unless we have assistance.” There was a stint of silence before Adelle spoke again, “I can speak with Hakurou and his clansmen, I’m sure there is som –” A shriek filled the mist of the glade as the children had stopped playing and Willem ran over to Adelle, frantically trying to slap the ambers of fire that cling to the hem of his tunic. The smell of burnt linen followed him as he approached, Valeria and Carrera in tow as the fun and games seemed to cease. Adelle rose to meet him as she looked at the scorched linen, “What happened?”

“Vahalia cheated! She threw a fire spell at me.” he glared over his shoulder to his cousin who had been tailing behind the trio of kin.

“I did not mean to! I was playing by the rules, it just HAPPENED!” she hollered.

“No harm no foul.” Adelle muttered down to Willem and her knuckles propped his chin gently, “Well find you a new tunic, come.” she ushered to the boy and waved Carrera along, a small pointed gaze was afforded to Odessa as she too rose to meet her girls.

Adelle led her children back towards the festivities with Valeria following in a close gait.

“Fire Vahalia? That’s dangerous for a silly game with your cousins. You should apologize.” Odessa reached for the child as she and Vahalia walked hand in hand several paces back from the others.

“I will not.” Vahalia proclaimed, “I did not mean it.”

“Even if we do not mean to harm someone, sometimes it is in our best interest to apologize all the same, child. Where did you learn to cast such a thing?”

Vahalia held loosely to Odessa’s hand as they made their way along the slick ground, “Your books, modir.” she admitted and she remained stonefaced to the area before them as Odessa walked and with some measure of surprise gazed down to her daughter.

The walk felt long and cold as they meandered to meet with the others, the joyous music of the Equinox hadn’t quite reached Odessa to spark some jubilant sensation within, she simply focused on the possibilities now laying before her as her daughter had demonstrated something quite extraordinary for someone her age.

Perhaps she could bargain with Adrian over this, now that Vahalia had proven some affinity for magikca that ran deep within her Blackheart roots, roots that would need to be carefully nurtured and fed.

One for sorrow,  Two for joy Three for a girl Four for a boy Five for silver Six for gold Seven for a secret never to be told. Eight for a tale that the stars have spun Nine for a gate that can’t be undone Ten for a river of forgotten lore Eleven for a key to the spectral door Twelve for a mirror that reflects the night Thirteen for a beast that lives in spite Fourteen for a realm beyond our reach Fifteen for a speech no tongue can teach Sixteen for a dream trapped in stoneSeventeen for the old gods’ hollow moan Eighteen for the abyss that gazes back Nineteen for the cosmic formless wrack

Twenty for a Magpie’s final verse in a universe where shadows converse the end of the rhyme the start of the dread where naught a single word is said.

Creature's words coiled through her head as he sang the slow rhyme, through the echo of darkness behind her eyes. Her attention was brought to the blackbirds that sat under the balcony’s edge to avoid the rain that had started to fall within Tural.

Without thinking, her mind washed over their forms, counting each from where she sat with her papers. Ten. She had counted ten as once more Creature continued the rhyme though this time opting to hum in through breaks of sickened chuckles.

Ten.

[astralnymphh]

born of flora and fauna 𓇢𓆸 | ellie williams | series guide⛧

𓇢𓆸𓍢ִ໋- knight!ellie x princess!reader AU guide ⛧ (teaser II.)

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

𓍢ִ໋-;this is purely a guide to my upcoming series, detailed with important places and their names, descriptions and reference photos. i'll also include short excerpts of ellie's backstory in this fic plus the readers. vol 0./the prologue is making quick progress so i wanna get y'all excited as long as it doesn't flop (ALSO I FIGURED OUT GRADIENT TEXT FINALLY!! kinda.. im too lazy to fix anything) cw: literally only one mention of mature themes. nothing crazy. the actual series on the other hand.. will be SMUTful

𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; castle maelony

𓍢ִ໋-; mount of the regal family, bejeweled in a facade that masks a strident haunting no king would wish to dig up from the catacombs lining the roots of this limestone beast. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; istenad

𓍢ִ໋-; core of the meadowland, visible from far mountain boundaries of all directions. adorned with dreamy spires and coliseums, to markets and common houses, every mother and their kin covet this kingdom. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; dunwich

𓍢ִ໋-; ellie, a knight bound in hide and chainmail, derived and nurtured in the prairie village of dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time flows.

𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; glade 'ionspire'

𓍢ִ໋-; a front line of trees encircling this unmapped forest, conceals a beautiful loch only few souls venture to. it happens that a determined princess can be caught galivanting about with a weapon, playing her dreamt up persona of a maiden warrior she only dawns in private. 𓆸𓍢ִ໋-; clementine cottage

𓍢ִ໋-; no home is without its glamour of hearth. a picturesque getaway straying from the bustling streets of instenad tempts such who fiend for freedom. nights under the brilliant spangled sky in this cottage have been ones of love, tangled in bed, vowing to your beloved in a hysteria of lust.

(and there she is!! im really excited to get this fully fledged out its gonna be a JUICY series promise even for being centered in medieval times it is quite deviously lustful !!!)

[moonselune]

hello! Congrats on graduation! When you have the time of course, can we have Lae’zel x Faerûn!Gith!Druid!Tav, where Lae’zel realizes she’s in love? Instead of Tav being from a creche, they are actually born and immersed in Faerûn culture than Githyanki (a.k.a., Tav is a tree-hugging, disney-princess acting weed head lol).

Thank you so much !! It was a rough three years icl but I did it!! I loved doing this, I can imagine Lae'zel being so annoyed with herself like goddammit how dare you cause the sun to shine brighter and her blood to rush harder ffs tav

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae’zel x Faerûn!Gith!Druid!Reader

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel had always prided herself on her discipline, her sharp mind honed for battle and her heart steeled against distraction. Emotions were a weakness, a crack in the armor that could be exploited by enemies. But you, a fellow Gith who had been raised in the wilds of Faerûn, defied everything she knew about her people.

You were unlike any Githyanki she had ever encountered. Where Lae'zel was rigid and militant, you were relaxed and free-spirited. A druid, you found solace and strength in the natural world, channeling your power through the earth and the trees. Your connection to the land was almost spiritual, something that mystified and intrigued Lae'zel.

It was during one of your many excursions into the wilderness that Lae'zel began to feel something shift within her. You had taken her to a serene glade, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden rays. Birds chirped harmoniously, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Lae'zel watched as you knelt to the ground, murmuring words in Druidic to a small patch of flowers. They bloomed under your touch, vibrant and alive.

"These woods are beautiful," you said, turning to her with a smile. "They have a certain magic, don't they?"

Lae'zel's response was automatic, her training taking over. "Magic is a tool, to be used for power."

You laughed, a sound that was warm and genuine. "Not all magic is about power, Lae'zel. Sometimes, it's about connection."

For the first time, Lae'zel found herself at a loss for words. She watched as you stood and moved towards her, your steps light and graceful. There was an ease to your movements, a harmony with your surroundings that was completely foreign to her.

"Look," you said softly, pointing to a family of deer grazing nearby. "They're not afraid of us."

Lae'zel's gaze followed your hand, and she observed the deer with curiosity. "They should be cautious. The world is dangerous."

You shook your head, your expression gentle. "Not everything is a threat, Lae'zel. Sometimes, we need to let go of our fears and just... be."

Your words lingered in her mind, a stark contrast to everything she had been taught. As the days turned into weeks, Lae'zel found herself seeking your company more and more. You showed her the beauty of the world, taught her the names of plants and animals, and shared stories of your life in Faerûn.

It was during one quiet evening, as you sat together by the campfire, that Lae'zel truly understood the depth of her feelings. You were humming a soft tune, a melody that seemed to weave through the night air. Lae'zel watched you, your face illuminated by the flickering flames, and felt a warmth spread through her chest.

"Y/N," she said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

You looked at her with a bright smile, your eyes reflecting the firelight. "Yes, Lae'zel?"

She struggled to find the right words, her disciplined mind grappling with emotions she had long suppressed. "I... I find myself drawn to you. In a way that is unfamiliar."

You smiled, reaching out to take her hand. "I've felt the same, Lae'zel. You're not just a warrior to me. You're so much more."

Lae'zel's heart pounded in her chest as she looked at your joined hands. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel the connection you had spoken of, the bond that went beyond training and duty.

"You are unlike any Gith I have known, you are weak, conscientious and if a squirrel threatened you, you would bow to it." she told you her voice softening. "And yet, I find myself... grateful for it."

Your smile widened and you laughed, Lae'zel could have listened to your laugh all night. You leaned closer, your lips brushing against her cheek. "I'm glad, Lae'zel. Because I love you, just as you are."

Lae'zel's breath caught in her throat, the weight of your words settling over her like a warm embrace. She had never imagined feeling this way, never thought she could love or be loved. But with you, everything seemed possible.

"I... I love you too," she whispered, the words foreign but right.

In that moment, as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her into a gentle kiss, Lae'zel felt a peace she had never known. For the first time, she allowed herself to just be, and it was beautiful.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[anittmyer]

Alright! Here is some more angst for Daemags!!!!

(Some context first: Daeron and Maglor were able to have children through magical means due to Daeron being half Maia, their prowess in song as well. They basically sang their kids into creation. What a vibe. They have two daughters and twins boys. Since this AU Maglor doesn't swear the oath, I need hard angst to get him on on track to lonely self exile.)

'When Daeron learns of Beren's death, he is so consumed by guilt and shame that he leaves Doriath in the night, abandoning his family.'

Maglor is woken up by a herald of Thingol, telling him the king demands to speak with him. He checks his twins in their cradles before following the herald to the throneroom of Doriath. Only Thingol and Melian are present, but the queen has a sad and distant look on her face, while Thingol seemed stern and angry.

"Daeron has fled Doriath. His actions killed the man Luthien finds.. love with." The statement is clear, yet with a hint of disgust. Maglor's face turned pale and cold. His husband had abandoned them...

"Luthien won't return to Doriath if her brother's spouse resides. So. Maglor. You are to return to your brother in Himring immediately. "

The King's orders sent a cold spike through Maglor. First his husband abandons him and their children, and now he is being sent away... again... First by his father and now by his father-in-law.

Maglor bows his head trying to hide his tears from King Thingol. He must not cause trouble. He must not cause trouble.

"As you wish my King... maybe I be excused? I must prepare my children for-"

Maglor was cutoff by Thingol standing from his throne abruptly and making his way over to the Noldor elf.

"The children will not be going with you."

The words echoed in the hall. Maglor felt his heart stop and fall. His children... the elflings he'd had since he and his husband sang them into creation. All four of their children were born in a glade of purple moon flowers under Ithil. Their voices would be hoarse, but it was worth the new addition to their family.

His eldest daughter, Winyárissë (Fresh Dawn), so strong and fierce, more ready to hold a sword and bow, her love for her black steed she had raised with Maglor's help. Her black hair and light brown eyes made her out to be a beautiful raven-like nìs. His second daughter, Harmië (Treasure) a seemingly opposite to her older sister, a sweet girl and an artist. A lover of jewlery and dresses, she was a clumsy dancer but loved to dance all the same. Maglor could watch her dance forever... She was silver haired with bright grey eyes, almost as if they contained tree light. And then his twins... his two little boys... not looking like each other at all: Lahtarion (Surpasser), with his dark hair from Maglor and a singular silver streak and beautiful brown eyes from Daeron. And Luhtano (To echant), with his silver hair but two different colored eyes, one a stormy grey and the other a deep rich brown. The twins were still so young... still small enough to sleep in a cradle. And Thingol was demanding him to leave his children? All because Daeron made a stupid and rash decision!?

"B-but sire... they are my children! I-i can't just leave them! They need-"

Meglor was once more cut off by the king. His stone cold face held no sympathy.

"The children will reside in the care of Queen Melian, she will provide for them. You however must leave Doriath." Thingol looked down on the shorter elf. He felt the smallest shred of pitty for him, but his daughter came before his son's foreign bride.

"Please do not make this harder than it has to be. Gather your personal items and leave. A servant has already fetched and prepared your horse. I'm sorry but this is the way it must be."

Thingol said with his head held high. Maglor couldn't believe what was happening... Thingol had this already planned. He should have known the Doriathrim would never accept him.

"Can I at least say goodbye...?" Maglor asked, tears covered his pale cheeks and his hands shook.

. . . . .

ANNNNNDDDD I'll stop it there! I will release the entire short story on my AO3 soon! I will tag it here when I post it!

[seraphilim]

continued from HERE. ( @ardentscul )

— DIMIA WONDERED HOW IT looked : she , with an untouched pitcher of rich wine cradled in her arms , sauntering side-by-side with the black sheep of ladyship . the adair girl’s outlandish free will had been a circulating topic of gossip for some years — particularly from the serpentine tongue of dimia’s own prude of a mother — and yet , the golden locked girl continued to feed the chittering old birds .

shoeless in the gardens , traipsing by the tall hedges of the lavish labyrinth , the spindle ( a fine example of the proper poise & etiquette expected of women of their ranking ) crinkled her nose at ingrid and turned away . “ you will not , “ she argued . “ just because you’re incapable does not mean you can damn the rest of us . if you want to skip through the streets barefoot like a pauper , be my guest . but i’ll rot in the dungeons by decree of that stupid law before joining your majesty . “

dimia , once again in the lead , despite being dragged a large distance by the other , weaved through the garden walls with a false sense of purpose . though confidence was weighted in each step , the maiden had no idea to where it was she was headed . eventually , though , after a matter of minutes , now deep within the hedge maze , she gestured toward a comfortable glade tucked behind a small tree . and , despite her bitter argument , as she nestled into the grass and rested the pitcher atop the ground , she too was removing her shoes and bunching up her skirts .

patting the prickly ground , gesturing for ingrid to join her , dimia’s icy features softened a fraction . “ peace , quiet . . . wine. the perfect mix for a fun little game . nya & i play a good one . “ her pointer circled around the rim of the flagon , eyes fluttering between its dark contents and ingrid’s blue stare . “ we take turns asking questions . you either answer — truthfully — or drink . so humor me : why is it that you rebel ? life has been kinder to you than most ; you could’ve been born a peasant , or plagued by sickness and consumed by the mist. “ momentarily , dimia’s eyes unfocused , her thoughts drawn to her own half-sister . veins of black . eyes that flashed gold . ostracized from spindle house , sequestered to dark solitude . “ instead , you run around in expensive dresses , moaning about the horrors of a well-off life . “

[lordgrimwing]

On the Road to Eregion

Camnir gripped his satchel of coded maps the lore master gave him scarcely half a day ago. He could do this. He was doing this. He was going to lead a party of soldiers under the King’s herald across the old roads and to Eregion. Every elder he bumped into in the libraries impressed upon him the importance of speed and stealth and shared as much wisdom as he could fit in his head and notes. He could do this.

The lives of thousands of elves and the whole of Middle-earth hung in the balance. 

No pressure.

He was going to be sick.

Elrond set them at a brisk jog up the mountain and didn’t let them break to eat until the sun was far past her zenith. Everything was going fine so far, even if he nearly choked on his spit every time Commander Galadriel snapped a question his way. He was going to mess up terribly and lose precious hours getting them back on course—and she’d be judging him the whole way. 

He’d heard stories about the commander of the northern armies. 

The lump of dense bread and dried meat in his stomach churned threateningly.

 “Eat.”

Camnir looked up from where he was sitting on a fallen log.

Vorohil, the strawberry blond soldier, stood over him. “Eat,” he repeated, gesturing a sword-calloused hand at the food he’d abandoned. 

“I can’t,” he murmured and looked down.

With a sigh, Vorohil sat next to him on the decaying log, adjusting one of the swords that hung from his belt, so it didn’t whack the original occupant. He picked up the bread and pressed it into Camnir’s empty palm. “Eat,” he exhorted. “You won’t keep up this pace if you don’t feed your body. And you’re the one person we can’t leave behind.” He snorted at the end and his voice became less somber. He was being encouraging.

Embarrassed by his doubts, Camnir admitted, “I fear I’ll be sick if I try.”

Vorohil clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then you will join the ranks of fine men and women who threw up on the eve of their first battle. A noble fellowship.”

What an easy thing for him to say.

Camnir knew Vorohil. Well, they hadn’t met before today and this was the first time they spoke, but he’d read about him in Lindon’s libraries. This whole venture probably felt no different than a walk along the shore to a warrior of the first age. He fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, survived the Fall of Gondolin and the Sinking of Beleriand. It was a small thing for him to be brave.

But Camnir hadn’t seen any of that. He’d been born in Mithlond in the second age, apprenticed to a dock master’s scribe and recently come to work for the king’s cartographers, and his highest aim was to become a scribe in the royal libraries—and if he was feeling very confident or maybe had more wine than was good for him, then maybe one day he might be a lore master himself. 

He’d never even seen an orc.

“Enough,” Elrond’s voice rose sharply from the other side of the small glade they stopped in. He didn’t look happy about whatever Commander Galadriel had been talking to him about. “Camnir,” he said, turning on his heel and striding over. “Are we still on the right path?”

Camnir swallowed and his mouth was suddenly very dry. Why hadn’t he drunk more water? “Yes,” he managed. “We can keep this course until we’re over this mountain.”

“Good. Let’s go!” He barked at everyone else.

Vorohil heaved a sigh and braced his hands on his knees as he stood. “Put that in a pocket,” he admonished. “You’re going to be hungry.”

///

As the sun sank below the tree line, Camnir was both nauseated and hungry. Which didn’t make much sense. Oh, and his feet were wet. 

The only blessing he could find was that this wasn’t his first time navigating by starlight. 

He jumped at every unexpected sound, half convinced that a slovering orc would lunge out from behind every other tree. It was foolish, but even knowing Rían, Daemor, and Vorohil had started ranging out further to ensure no enemies were near did not reassure him. He hadn’t been this scared since—well, ever. If he survived this, he was never going to leave the safety of Lindon again if he could help it. 

He jogged past a large pillar of stone half hewn from the mountain side. Long forgotten by now dead hands, the white stone still stood out in the night. He’d read several discourses on the pillar and the people who tried to claim it. They were mostly speculative and fascinating. 

“Wait,” Camnir called softly, slowing to a stop just beyond the landmark. 

The soft footfalls of his companions fell silent. Elrond looked at him, expectant.

“The stone marks a change in the path,” he explained in a hush, opening his satchel and fingering through the scrolls. “I need to check the maps.”

“Rest for a few minutes,” Galadriel said with authority. 

Camnir knew there was tension between them, but he was too busy fishing out scrolls to notice the sharp look Elrond threw at Galadriel.

“Yes,” he said. “A brief rest only. We must reach Eregion as quickly as possible.”

Squinting at a map, Camnir twisted around, trying to find a spot with more star light. The lines of the map were faint and obscured within a code. In theory, the design was such that if the maps fell into unfriendly hands, they would be unusable so the secret ways would remain safe. In practice, it made reading them by night extraordinarily challenging. 

“Here,” a voice said from just over his shoulder.

He dropped the map, swore in the same startled breath, and caught the parchment before it hit the ground. Spinning around, he found Vorohil holding out a hand. In his palm sat a smooth, flat gem, similar to a river stone. It emitted a soft glow, enough to gently illuminate the soldier’s features.

Heart pounding somewhere above his head, Camnir accepted the stone and held it trembling against the velum. 

After triple-checking with two other maps, he surrendered the stone. “This way.”

And they started off again.

///

They didn’t rest again until the sun climbed overhead, offering them safety under her light. 

Camnir undid the laces of his soft boots and pulled them off his feet. Mouth pulling down in distaste, he tugged off the wet socks. They were so encrusted that they perfectly held the shape of his feet when he finally got them off. 

He really, really wanted to throw them as far away as possible or burn them on a bone fire. He settled for shoving them down to the very bottom of his light rucksack. 

Fresh socks and sunlight improved his mood remarkably. 

They made it through the night unmolested and unlost. He felt like he could eat a whole harvest feast by himself this morning. Maybe he actually could get them to Eregion. Now, where did he put his food?

“Hey now, let’s not be revealing my embarrassment in mixed company,” Vorohil chuckled, drawing Camnir’s attention to the conversation going on next to him.

“Mixed company?” Rían repeated, brandishing her bow.

“Careful,” Daemor said, removing their hand from the pommel of one of Vorohil’s short swords and shoving him playfully. “She’s slain more orcs with that bow than I can count.”

Vorohil brushed loose strands of his golden hair out of his face. “That isn’t so hard, friend,” he countered. “I meant the scholar.” 

Camnir looked down. “I’m not a scholar, officially.”

Vorohil looked unbothered by the technicalities of academic titles. 

“Anyone who can recite the history of a crumbling aqueduct in the middle of the night is a scholar,” Rían judged.

So, he might have gotten a little passionate about the ruins of a Mannish hamlet they passed through. He’d just needed a distraction from everything going on, and when no one shushed him after the first few sentences he carried on until the broken aqueduct was far behind them.

“I have yet to publish—” he tried to explain, but the conversation had moved on, leaving him to fumble off balance in its wake.

He really was the odd one out. They were warriors forged in combat. He wasn’t much of anything yet. 

Perhaps he wouldn’t have felt so apart if he could talk with Elrond. The herald had studied under the scholars before finding a place at the king’s side. He’d thought that between the moments of panic, he might be able to speak with him about where his interests lay in the libraries. He would benefit from having an acquaintance in the court who saw him as more than someone who could fetch documents. But his hope was for not.

Every time they stopped or slowed, every time he tried to approach Elrond with anything other than course corrections, the way was blocked. Sometimes because Commander Galadriel had ensnared him in hushed, sharp conversations, sometimes because the tension between the pair was so thick he thought he would smother under it if he got near them. Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to get in the middle of it.

So, he sat on the edge of the soldiers’ quips and felt very far from home, indeed. 

Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out maps for distraction. With any luck, they’d be through the barrowdowns, Tyrn Gorthad, tonight and in sight of the road to Eregion by the next evening.

///

Camnir stood on the moss-covered mound where they placed Daemor’s sword in place of the body they couldn’t find. Rían and Vorohil stood with him, the three of them standing in silent vigil. Elrond and Commander Galadriel didn’t stay with them.

A few days running through the forest was not enough time to get to know someone. Cold grief still gripped at him. He didn’t need to know where Daemor was born or what family they claimed. He didn’t need to know the battles they fought in, the victories, the narrow escapes. He didn’t need to know more than that Daemor was a good person, loyal, and they gave their life for their people—and they died because of him.

He’d led the group into the barrowdowns. He hadn’t known or forgot what kind of dangers lurked there. Surely, that information had to be in the libraries somewhere. It couldn’t just be the evil power of Sauron as Galadriel suggested, could it? Either way, Daemor was dead.

He had little stomach for breakfast this morning. No one did.

Rían knelt with one knee on the ground, eyes on the partly buried sword standing upright before her. She crossed her arms as her lips trembled noiselessly. Was she entreating the Valar to greet their lost companion kindly in the Blessed Lands, Camnir wondered. She was a Sinda, like him. How could she have faith that a Vala would care?

Vorohil stood across from them, completing the triangle. He held a dry leaf between his hands, tracing it with his thumbs. He knew Daemor, there was enough talk during breaks to gather that much. They were friends, good friends, for a long time. He set his face in quiet contemplation as he looked upon the small monument. 

Mist drifted across the gorge. In the distance, crows called to each other. The sun hid behind a gray sky.

Vorohil looked up as the black birds winged about above them.

Camnir wished he could say something, but he had no words, and no right to offer comfort.

Eventually Rían stood. She opened her mouth. 

They heard the first deep note at the same time. Camnir felt it in the soles of his feet and in his teeth.

Drums.

In an instant, Vorohil had his swords in hand and Rían had her bow, an arrow notched and ready to draw. They turned toward the drumbeats.

“Go,” Vorohil mouthed to Camnir. 

Camnir turned on his heel and hurried toward Elrond and Galadriel.

[cutiedwaekki]

fairytail

—i'm in love with a fairytail

Changbin centric

summary : when the slightly too greedy fairy lets his greed take over

contain : fairy AU ; rapid weight gain ; magic weight gain ; mention of immobility

A/n : because im still not over from fairy changbin in their fanmeeting 🥹😭

( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆

Once upon a time in the enchanted forest, there lived a little fairy named Changbin.

The fairy was born of a union between a fairy and an ogre who, despite defying the rules of the impossible, loved each other so much that they gave birth to Changbin, a fairy who on the outside seemed quite innocent. But unlike other fairies, Changbin had an insatiable appetite, partly due to his ogre side.

He feasted on all nature's delicious treats: juicy berries, sweet flower nectar and even the most delicate mushrooms. But his guilty pleasure was the magical sweets made by the local elves.

Fortunately for him, he had good genes, although years of gluttony were evident in his plump cheeks and generous hips. But his personality was so energetic and brilliant that he was never mocked, and everyone loved Changbin.

You want to make Changbin happy? Give him some strawberries!

Want to thank him for the favor he did you by guiding the little dwaekki to their lair? Give him rose cookies

Would you like to give him a gift to congratulate him on his wedding with the earth elf Seungmin? A simple layer cake will do.

But that's how it was, everyone knew Changbin as the greedy fairy who refused nothing.

( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆

In the enchanted glade, Changbin was on his way to the village of the water fairies, where he had spent the day with his friend Yeonjun, chatting about the good old days in front of a heap of food, for if there was one thing that united these two fairies, it was their voracious appetites.

But on the way back, Changbin was attracted by a scent, an unfamiliar yet pungent and comforting smell. As he followed it, he came upon a large fruit tree.

He gazed in admiration at this species of beech he'd never heard of before. The apples were so big, looked so juicy and were an impressive golden color.

Changbin stood in front of the majestic fruit tree, his eyes shining with excitement at the sight of the golden apples. Each fruit seemed to radiate an enchanting aura, a temptation he couldn't resist. He reached out and grabbed the first apple, lifting it carefully before bringing it to his lips.

He was right, they were juicy, it was like drinking apple juice in a single bite, it was divine, he felt as if he'd reached ataraxia, nothing else could disturb him at that moment, nothing.

At least... until he noticed that he'd finished eating the apple. There were no seeds, he'd eaten the whole thing, leaving nothing.He hesitated to continue on his way, but he still wanted that taste in his mouth, he wanted to taste his golden apples again and again.

—Minnie always tells me I should eat more fruit, so he won't mind if I eat some more he said to himself as he picked more and ate them with equal pleasure.

After the second, it took a third, then a fourth, and so on in a never-ending cycle.

But as he continued to eat, he began to feel a weight in his stomach. At first it was just a feeling of fullness, but soon it turned into an oppressive heaviness. He ignored his body's warning signals, determined to satisfy his insatiable greed. The apples seemed to multiply, as if the tree itself was responding to his voracious desire.

Changbin couldn't stop. He began to gobble apples at a frenetic pace, his movements becoming more and more desperate as he sought to appease the insatiable hunger that consumed him. With each mouthful, he felt his stomach stretch a little further, his clothes become tighter and tighter around his waist.

But he couldn't stop. He needed more, always more, as if food had become his only reason for being.As he continued to eat, he began to feel a weight in his stomach. At first it was just a feeling of fullness, but soon it turned into an oppressive heaviness. He ignored his body's warning signals, determined to satisfy his insatiable appetite.

Suddenly, he felt a strange numbness invade his body. His limbs felt heavy, his movements clumsy. He tried to stand up, to fly away as he had done in the past, but his body refused to respond. It was as if he were rooted to the ground, trapped in his own bloated body.

Unbeknownst to him, the golden apples were enchanted. As he ate them, Changbin began to feel his body swell. His body become huge, his fairy wings were increasingly covered with fat. But he couldn't stop, too obsessed by the divine taste of magic apples.

But then , Changbin watched in horror as his reflection appeared in a nearby puddle. His round but delicate face had become round and puffy , he could even notice et second lr even a third chin with cheeks almost grotesquely swollen. His belly protruded from his clothes, a flabby mass of flesh that seemed to have taken possession of his body.

—N-no... it can't be he said, frightened, as he touched his belly, which continued to swell until his belt broke and the button on his pants popped off, ricocheting off the river water.He tried to fasten his pants but couldn't, his belly becoming too big. Then he heard a tearing noise. His thighs had also thickened until they were no longer contained in his pants, just like his ass that just grew bigger until he can't carry all of it and just fall down. Hopefully with those big butt he didn't get hurt.

—Well ... that could be worse .. right ? he thought before the buttons of his shirt popped one by one revealing his massive stomach as well as the opening of his chest hanging heavily on his body

Soon, Changbin had grown so big that he could no longer fly. He tried to flap his wings, but his swollen body stubbornly stayed on the ground. He could no longer fly; his wings couldn't support the weight of his body. As Changbin desperately tried to flap his wings, he cried out for help.

( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆

Fortunately, his fairy friends Jisung and Felix, who happened to be picking enchanted berries at the same time, came along, attracted by their friend's cries of distress.

They stopped dead in their tracks as they saw the scene unfolding before them: Changbin, once a buff with a slight pudge, now entangled in his own corpulence, trying in vain to fly away in a body far too big for it.

—Changbin, what did happen to you ?exclaimed Jisung, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Felix approached, his face flushed with concern. You can't fly? But why?

Changbin bowed his head in shame. I don't know... I just can't get off the ground.

Jisung and Felix exchanged a look full of concern. "Can you ... get up and walk ?" Ask again Felix.

Changbin blushed in shame, looking down at his stomach while playing with his navel, it was so deep he could stick his entire middle finger in there. he immediately added No... I don't think so

Is it because of... your weight gain? asked Jisung , hesitant to broach the delicate subject.

Changbin nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. Yes, it's because of that. I got too fat to fly.

Jisung laid a comforting hand on Changbin's shoulder. You should have listened to us, my friend. We warned you about the dangers of eating too much. These apples are the apples of passion, only the dwaekkis can eat them without fear because the enzymes in their body can assimilate the side effects without problems. But a fairy... we're is intolerant to these apples, it just makes us blowing up... Felix nodded.

—But now we have to find a way to help you.

Changbin nodded in shame.

( ^-^)ノ∠※。.:*:・'°☆

For two hours his friends had tried everything to get him to stand up, but he was just too fat.

They even had to call on Seungmin, his fiancé, a very powerful elf who could move the earth like a treadmill, bringing Changbin to him without him having to make a single move.

It was then that Seungmin faced the new body of his fiancé.

Felix had told him he'd become fat, but he hadn't expected it. HE WAS IMMOBILE, he could hardly move!

And his face lit up when he saw Changbin. Instead of showing displeasure or disappointment, he approached Changbin and embraced him tenderly.

—Oh my love, it must have been a long day for you, so I'm going to make you a hibiscus infusion, your favorite! With some cookies of course i know you can't drink your tea without them he said, kissing the oldest's forehead as he helped him to get along to their house, which as they talked grew larger, surely a Seungmin spell to make the house spacious enough for his fiancé's new body.

Changbin looked up, touched by Seungmin's comforting words. Really? You don't think I'm... ridiculous?

—Why should I? I've always loved your round cheeks, but now I've got more of you to love he added, pecking his cheek before pebbling happily back into the house.

They say that greed is a villainous flaw, but it's what makes Seo Changbin, the fairy, his greatest asset.

[talonabraxas]

Io Pan! Io Pan! Pan, Great God of Nature Talon Abraxas

In Greek mythology, the great god Pan ruled over the domain of the wild. His name originates from the old Arcadian word for rustic, but in later ancient Greek society, his name came to be associated with the Athenian word “παν” meaning “all.” He was born with hooves, shaggy legs, a furry tail, and horns – in a manner of ways, he was part goat.

Pan was raised by nymphs, spirits of nature, whose life force are attached to things such as trees, rivers, and plants. Pan was welcomed into the divine pantheon by all the gods. Just as the gods were delighted to welcome Pan, so were they delighted by nature itself — the gods often had sacred living spaces found in rural places all around Greece. Mount Olympus itself, the collective home of the gods, is the highest mountain in Greece, a place where nature thrives.

Arcadia, “the land of many springs” was the most rural place in ancient Greece; it was the god Pan’s home – and the most popular place for worship of the god. Here Pan took part in leading the nymphs in dances, or was found chasing them, and reveling in the beauty of the wild. He is often depicted wandering through valleys, mountains, and glades. In Greek mythology, his essence as the God of the wild, imbued his surroundings with life and vitality. Nature was at its most bountiful when Pan was present.

The great god Pan also enjoyed music and so was often found playing melodious tunes on his reed pipes. Nonnus captures the rural life of Pan: “Melodious Pan sat beside herds of goats or sheepcoates playing his tune on the assembled reeds…” (Dionysiaca 45. 174 ff)

[katiekatdragon27]

I'm so normal about the teensies.

I'm so normal about the teensies that I made a pre-Rayman origin story for the teensies. The teensies built the world lol, idc how inaccurate it is to the lore lol.

It's my interpretation, I get to decide the lore!

(THING TO NOTE: All of their designs are based on already existing teensies, whether it be canon or concept doesn't matter. If you can accurately figure out which teensies inspired who, I will give you a gold star🌟)

General plot synopsis: Polokus made the world. The fairies were also made; however, they were not "sentient" beings yet. All their births were from teeny terraforming of the land but that'll be explained in a later post. Anyways, the teensies were created not only to make sick beats with their noses, but to give the world guides and watchful keepers of order. Once every creature was created, Polokus took his leave, leaving all his "kids" to figure everything out. As one could imagine, that caused a lot of fighting over who's in charge. One teensy in particular knew in his heart he was built to lead. However, due to his short stature and insistence for violence, many did not even lend a passing glance.

When Polokus had a bad dream and a certain first nightmare invades the Glade, death in introduced into the world and no one knows how to deal with it. In a test of leadership and strength. This one teensy beat the odds, uniting every clan of teeny around, recruiting their most powerful fighters, and taking down the nightmare, restoring peace to the Glade.

Despite the win, there were still many rabid creatures running around, so in an attempt to establish order permanently, they "built" the Snoring Tree, the most middle part of the world where every teensy leader (and other creatures if needed) could come to discuss diplomacy and general plans of action (a knights of the round table kind of thing). It is where the Hall of Doors is located along with a direct link to the Livid Dead, which was established just a few years earlier. (After the Snoring Tree was made, that's when the fairies were "born" with Betilla being the first.)

However, his establishment of peace fell on it's face almost immediately due to teensy nature being lowkey selfish lol. The first "generation" of teensies was very good at this "guide and order keeper" job, but as each generation passed, more and more of the teensies' diplomatic mindset was pushed to the wayside in favor of a superiority complex. And when Betilla made Rayman as a protector of the Glade, many teensies lost interest in fighting themselves, leaving them very susceptible to attacks. That's why every creature ever is adamant in sticking these guys in cages. Cuz they're lowkey assholes who can't fight lol.

There are gonna be 10 important people to the plot, but I only got five finished right now. Their bios are below the cut:

_________

Aurthr the Grand Minimus (Fighter):

Aurthr is actually the First King in his prime. He was the first teensy made by Polokus, although he is not the "oldest" (like imagine a creator making ocs of different age ranges but they were all made at the same time). By default, he feels an entitlement to the first throne position in his kingdom, but before he is deemed "king", he has to go though a trial. That trial is ... defeating Jano! Yes, these are gonna be the group of teensies that defeat Jano and create the Livid Dead lol. But in order to do that, he needs to learn to be a leader. Along the way, he also learns that to be a grand leader, he needs to value solutions through diplomacy over violence (something that is lost in later generations *cough cough*).

Orion the Adventurous Ranger:

Orion is Aurthr's childhood best friend who comes from outside the castle walls. Being a Murkin (a clan of teensies that has since disappeared), he is very good at going undetected and just navigating the world outside of civilization in general. Despite his soft-spoken nature and cowardness, he really wants to make a difference for the better in teensy society, and it may just come around by teaching Aurthr to listen first before attacking (along with how to be an amazing Kungfoot player).

And yeah, he has ears. Ears are a recessive gene, but the Murkin were the clan that had that trait the most. (They usually get cropped if they're too big to hide in their hats.)

Sapphie the Beautiful Bard:

Sapphie is a teensy who's primary magic use is of the darker arts (hence her ability to go natural hair). Before being Aurthr's first recruit, she spent most of her days traveling about and doing small thieving jobs. She was a well-know musician, and she performed for money a lot. However, what she loves more than money is adventure. She immediately jumps onboard to Aurthr's crew, leading as healer until a different teensy joins the group later on and giving her the chance to fight. She teaches Aurthr about strength in presentation (and how to play his nose like a musical interment).

Umber the Undead Warlock:

Umber is one of the two mages that Aurthr sought out to help fight Jano. They are the Griskin Chief and trying their best to keep their people safe. This dedication to their people's safety led to a deal with a slumbering spirit, giving up their voice in exchange for power and sanctuary near his den. While constantly struggling to keep their clan quiet, they have been trying to manage the sudden influx in stressed out and scared ghosts showing up and causing a ruckus. Stressed and overwhelmed, it takes more than just some talking to convince them to go with Aurthr. But after helping with some big tasks and beating them in a game of Kungfoot, they decide to assist, and put a stop to whatever is killing everyone from above the bog.

Soria the Stunning Sorceress:

Soria is one of the two mages that Aurthr sought out to help fight Jano. Being part of the Sylkin sorcerers, she was the main protecter of Polokus's resting place high in the mountains. She is incredibly strong for a teensy in terms of magic, making her quite the formidable fighter. However, she would much rather sing and dance, and overall just have fun being alive than perform combat. She decides to help defeat Jano after being bested in music fight with Aurthr and having her eyes open to the destruction occurring down below.

She also has ears. They are long, but since her hat is also long there was no need to crop them.

__________

There are five more characters that will be posted later, but these are the important ones at the beginning of the story. I have a lot of this world thought out with a very solid plotline, so if y'all got any questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. Thank you for your reading all this and have a lovely day ^^