#True fae

[zal-cryptid]

Did you come up with more Changling the lost AU concepts for Misfits in Toyland

I have!

"Krampus" and "Santa Claus" are largely the same. They are a pair of True Fae (Gentry) with an interest in humanity. He Who Gives and He Who Takes. He Who Rewards and He Who Punishes. They are shadowbound to each other and share titles such as 'Hold Nickar', 'Joulupukki', and 'Toymaker'. They have multiple titles and forms. They are immortal, mighty, and remorseless inhabitants of the Icy Vastness region of Arcadia (Faerie).

The biggest difference is that Krampus makes fetches of his victims - fae-constructed replicas/duplicates of human beings left behind to take an abductee’s place.

[navsartyplace]

Nom nom she's here to make a hound or even a falcon out of you :) The true fae are so silly like that!

[erisacolyte]

Redrawing a Changeling: the Lost pic from 2010! The original: https://www.deviantart.com/joephilliactheblack/art/Directional-Court-165285377

Like what I do and want to support me? Why not become a Patron: patreon.com/joephilliactheblack Or buy me a coffee: ko-fi.com/A2581GB3

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[thefaethatstoleyourname]

Unamused Gentry

2 Weeks and 1 day for this. Throw me.

[dymdrimluga]

A fae and her servants

[maybelacrimosa]

She loves music, she loves to dance, she especially loves to dance in her garden. Her garden must always be a place full of song, a place full of trees with golden branches and flowers with diamond petals, where courtiers dance and frolic and the revelry never stops. She collects talent, leaving junk in its place, all for the sake of keeping her garden beautiful and melodic. She is a princess, she is master of this place, she grants wishes but never for free. Once upon a time she was one of many but she could not stand sharing the spotlight for long...so now she is one and she is many. She is the princess with many faces and you should never make the mistake of inviting her near.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC More Shit Fae!Danny Has Said While Living With Waynes

Dick, opening his arms wide and going for a hug: hey, Danny!

Danny, looking him in the eyes without blinking: did you know that centuries ago fae really liked to crawl inside human bodies and use them as nests? I heard human insides are really warm and squishy.

Dick, sweating, frozen in place: ...no?..

Danny, smiling and cheerfully jumping to hug Dick: I didn't either!

Jason, because he is feeling adventurous today: I have a question. Where do Fae come from?

Danny: Ah, so B hadn't had the Talk with you yet, what a shame. So when a woman and a man love each other very much-

Damian: Enough of your foolish jokes, I do not wish to hear the sex talk from you. To answer your question, Todd, Fae come from the dreams.

Jason, deadpan: ...really?

Danny, very awkwardly: Um. Dami. Brother to my soul. I'm so sorry.

Damian: What?

Danny: I told you we come from dreams only because you were four. That's not actually how it works. We just fuck.

Duke, narrowing his eyes at Danny suspiciously: So, for the past week and a half, I've been having this recurring dream about you eating my brain with a fork like spaghetti. I was wondering, is it, like, a you thing or a me thing?

Danny, very offended: Duke! Not every weird thing that happens in this house is my fault! That is very rude of you!

Cass, after Duke had apologized profusely and left: You.

Danny, rolling his eyes: Yeah, okay, I did do that. In my defense, his fear tastes like the perfect greasy cheeseburger, and I have to get my fair share of junk food somehow.

Cass: >:(

Danny: Okay, I'll stop. Eventually.

Bruce, in his nth attempt at gaining information from Danny: How do you know if someone is a Fae or not?

Danny: Throw a fish at them.

Bruce: ????

Danny, not even looking up from his phone: Fish are scared of the Fae. So if you throw a fish at someone and the fish gets scared, they are Fae.

Gotham Rogues a week later: We have no idea why Batman keeps throwing guppies at us, but we collectively suspect his new child is to blame.

Danny: Oh, I'm forbidden to enjoy caraoke nights.

Steph, who suggested he join: What? Why? Is it some kind of punishment for the pizza incident?

Tim: No, it's because if he starts singing, we all lose our grip on reality.

Damian: And our dignity.

Danny: They mean they start dancing whether they want it or not, and I have videos to prove it. Wanna see Jason twerking? Or I have one with Tim and Bruce waltzing through the manor.

Steph, as everyone else bemoans their fate: With great pleasure.

| <- prev | next ? |

@violet-foxe

[ghouljams]

Nasty Dog

(cw: Fae!Soap x f!reader, pre-negotiated consent but not from you, groping, public sex, exhibitionism, dub-con oral(f!receiving), dub-con fingering, fae contracts)

The look you give your boss is nothing short of absolute malice.

Price does nothing but smile, before tossing the dress onto the bar and nodding at it more pointedly.

"Change." He orders.

"I'm not wearing that." You insist.

"Should've seen what he picked out first, be glad I talked 'im down." Price tells you; it doesn't make you feel any better. You still stare down the fabric on the bar and wonder if you could even consider that a dress or something closer to a long shirt.

An incentive, Price had called it, a reward for a job well done. You understand the concept, you just don't know why this has to involve you.

"He's gonna try to fuck me over the bar," You try appealing to reason. Price is a reasonable man, mostly, surely he wouldn't want his bartender unable to pour drinks.

"I'll keep hold of 'is leash." Price assures you. Somehow it isn't comforting. Not that you find anything about the man particularly comforting. He's a decent boss but no more trustworthy than any other fae you've dealt with. Still, if he says he'll keep Soap on a tight leash then that's what he'll do.

"Fine," You relent, "but if I even see his dick I'm quitting."

The threat holds no weight, you have a contract with these assholes, and you know better than to break it. Price still raises a brow, likely thinking the same thing. You grab the skimpy dress with a grumble and go to one of the back rooms to change.

Stupid sex club. Stupid faeries. Stupid job that you stupid need to pay your stupid fucking bills.

-

It's late into the night before Soap even shows up. You're so busy mixing drinks, pouring pints, and trying to tug down the back of your skirt, that you don't even notice him slip behind the bar.

You do notice him when you turn to grab the Aperol, and your eyes immediately flick to the tent in the front of his pants. You scowl when you meet his eye.

"Keep it in your pants," You tell him, doing your best to avoid touching him as you reach around him to grab the bottle.

He doesn't give you the same courtesy, reaching down to lift your skirt as you lean.

You yelp at the sudden exposure and immediately attempt to cover yourself again. Soap's hand is firm where he's got your skirt held, and though you tug at the edges your ass remains out. Soap clicks his tongue.

"Didnae give ya the panties like Ah asked."

You give up on tugging your skirt down in favor of twisting to push at him. You shove his hands, his chest, anything you can make contact with.

"Let go," You demand, feeling something awful warm when he drops to his knees.

"Don't mind me, bonnie." Soap hums, his hands dropping your skirt to grip your thighs. Your hands follow his and you bend to try to slide his hands off of you, only to feel his teeth against the swell of your ass. You stiffen, shooting back to your full height in an instant. You glance at Price across the room, and he holds his hand up with a smile.

Bastard. You can almost hear him telling you to get back to work.

You try to move to grab a new bottle, and Soap keeps you tightly in place. The only thing you can reach is the beer taps. You shoot a quick glare Price's way.

"Pints only for a minute," You tell the patrons seated on the other side of the bar, before you turn your attention back to Soap, "because that's all you're getting, one minute."

Soap doesn't respond except to shuffle closer between your legs and make himself comfortable. You grab a glass and tug the tap's handle to pour a pint for the man that slides up to the bar. Your eyes dart over him, assessing, and you switch to a cider over the lager you'd grabbed. You'd love to give him something with raspberry, maybe muddled with gin, light but stiff, but you're stuck.

Soap's tongue drags over the sleek silk of your panties, and you nearly drop the glass in shock. It takes all your self control to finish the pour, set it on the bar, and keep your face straight. His thumbs rub over your panties, spreading your clothed folds before he licks his tongue over you again. You shudder and push at his hands again, his grip feels like iron, his fingers digging into your thighs to a near painful degree.

The man on the other side of the bar gives you a strange look before retreating to some dark corner.

Another long lick followed by a deep groan, before he's peppering kisses over your ass and dragging your panties down to your knees. There's a measure of care to the press of his lips that you choose to ignore and then forget entirely when he bites your ass hard. You yelp and snap a hand over your mouth to keep from disturbing any of the men on the other side of the bar.

A placating kiss is planted on the fresh bite, and you twist to catch Soap's eye.

"Okay, that's a minute," You tell him, uncaring whether it is or not, "that's all you get."

"Ah dinnae agree tae that." Soap tells you, "Price says Ah have ya for the night."

Your gaze jerks to Price. Then around the bar. You can't find him. Is he even here? What happened to holding the leash?

You turn back to Soap and it feels like all the air has been punched out of you. He holds your gaze with those awful electric blues, and makes you watch him burry his face back between your legs. You twist back to the bar, your back twinging at how quickly your muscles tighten at the first touch of his tongue against your skin.

You grab another pint glass as one of the patrons on the edge of the bar grabs a stool in front of you. You need a distraction from the boiling anger you feel. So you can just be traded for favors? Given out like a prize for a job well done? What's next? He'll be selling you with the girls in the back rooms?

Heat slicks its way up your spine at the twist of Soap's tongue over your clit. Warmth slides back down to melt between your legs, pooling and tingling to following the steady flow of lapping. Over your cunt, between your folds, Soap's face held firm against you even as his hands slide to spread you apart. Waves of sensation that wear like a steady beat against the rocky beach of your self control.

Your hand shakes on the tap as you pour Guinness for a man that looks like he'd prefer a sour. The stout overflows, leaking down the glass and sliding over your fingers as a new wave of pleasure sinks under your skin. You don't bother drying your hand off, or apologizing, you barely get the pint on the bartop without cracking the glass.

The man gives you a once over as he takes it, and you grip the edge of the bar to try and gather your wits about you. You swallow down a sharp noise as Soap drags his tongue in strange familiar shapes over your clit. Your breathing feels uneven, and your hips push back into his touch without your brain telling them to.

It's all too hot, too wet, too focused, for you to keep a thought in your head. Your hands shake against the bar, fingers flexing open and closed with the overwhelming desire to grab and pull at the head between your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut against the shot of pleasure that zips through you, tightening in your stomach before swirling between your ribs. You bend at the waist, pressing back, aching for more. Those strange familiar tracings are driving you mad.

(Johnny)

Each little flick and roll against your clit making your body shudder and react.

(Johnny)

Your cunt feels hot, electrified with the aching need that drips from it.

(Johnny)

His nose presses against your entrance, grinds teasingly against the wet hole until your breath is shuddering and you're halfway to begging him to fill you.

(Johnny, Johnny)

He pulls back to push his wiggling tongue into your cunt, and you nearly sob in relief. Your head feels like it's stuffed full of cotton, the throbbing pain behind your eyes is starting to recede back into the recesses of your mind. You hadn't even noticed it before it was gone.

Not that you notice its absence, not when your entire being seems to be focused wholly on the way your cunt stretches around Johnny's tongue. The warm wet muscle pokes and prods, wiggling and licking at your soft inner walls when it isn't fucking in and out of you like a promise.

A whimper leaves your lips when his tongue leaves you and drags another rough stripe over your cunt. It feels dangerous, loaded, intent. Some singular goal already accomplished, a deer finally shot allowing the hunter to feed, you almost feel Johnny smile.

You lean over the counter, the cold, wet, wood seeping into the thin fabric of your dress to cling to your skin. Despite the sudden chill your mouth falls open as Johnny sucks at your clit, his tongue rolling over the sensitive bud in crashing waves of pleasure. Your lashes flutter, your eyes roll, and the customer in front of you leans back on his stool. The soft moan that drops from your lips seems to roll like iron across the bar, making every patron pick up their glass in the vein hope of not looking like they're watching you.

Johnny doesn't break from his ministrations, shaking his head as he tries to press closer to you. The stubble along his jaw scratches at your thighs, and you try to swallow down some of the spit that's collecting on your tongue as he swipes broad strokes with his own through your slick folds.

One of the patrons reaches over the bar to touch your cheek, and when you flinch away Johnny growls. He pulls his mouth from your cunt only long enough to warn the man:

"Anyone touches 'er I'll have their heid."

The threat shouldn't send prickles of heat over your skin like it does. Not for the slow way that Johnny puts his mouth on you again, a low growling hum as his lips close around your clit that rocks little jolts of heat through you. His tongue flicks tight short licks against the sensitive bud and each one seems to build a crescendo of want that coils tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.

Every muscle in your body pulls tight, forces the arch of your back as you push yourself desperately back into his attentions.

You drop your forehead against the bar with a pathetic whine. You feel pathetic, vulnerable in a way you've never experienced. Every patron at the bar seems to have their eyes on you, you can feel them like a brand, and that attempt to touch you... Knowing they're watching you fall apart, watching Johnny do whatever he likes to you because of a deal he made with your boss- You just hope none of them are wondering what they have to do to earn the same reward.

Johnny's head turns to press his lips to the soft skin of your inner thigh, smearing your slick across the skin, and pushes a finger into you. Your lip wobbles at the not-quite-full feeling, at the burning slide of his finger in and out of you. You can feel his eyes on you too, but where your customers' eyes rove hungrily over your body, Johnny's are focused solely on the way your cunt swallows his thick finger.

His lips mover against your thigh, silent murmurings that your ears strain for over the music of the bar. A second digit slides gently in beside the first, his fingers scissoring to watch the stretch and God it just melts through you. You feel the stretch like a slow warmth that spreads through your pelvis and dribbles down your thighs. Out and in, his fingers dive into you and pull back with just the taste of your slick on his knuckles.

It's less overwhelming than his mouth. Enough of a thought coalesces in your brain to make you lift your head off the bar.

And to feel a sharp jolt of fear burst through you at the way the patron across from you tugs at his belt.

No.

No, you can't do this. It's too much. There are too many people and they're going to think you're something more than just the bartender. They're going to try and touch you, or make you touch them.

It dowses over your heated skin like cold water, making you prickle and tense, shaking with something so close and yet so far from pleasure that your body can't seem to decide what to do with it.

You're not sure who you mean to call for help, but a name springs to your lips faster than your tongue can pick it up.

"Jo-" Johnny's hand wraps around your mouth, his body plastered against your back in a second. The rush of fear leaves you in an instant as his lips find the shell of your ear. His fingers never leave you.

The gentle thrust of his fingers into your tight cunt feels almost like a lifeline, a sensation you can hold onto that you can't confuse for anything else.

"Ahm here, hen." He murmurs, his eyes flicking from your face to the patron's hand. "Ahm nae gonna let anyone dae anythin'." More than an assurance, a promise. You sink back into the feeling. "Take it as a compliment," His lips drag over the top of your cheek, up to your temple, "look so pretty that they cannae help touchin' 'emselves."

You half expect him to leave you like this, to go back to where he'd been between your legs, but he doesn't.

Your fingers find his forearm and grip it tight, something to hold onto as his fingers pick up the pace. In and out, in and out, faster and faster, harder and harder, until you can't stop the high moans that Johnny's hand muffles. His lips press everywhere they can, peppering the side of your face and the length of your neck with something that feels almost like affection as your hips rock and your muscles spasm.

Each thrust of his fingers hits right where you want it, pushing at that wet ache that seems to radiate pleasure. You claw at Johnny's arm with both hands as your back arches to a near painful degree, and he releases his hold on your face to grab your throat.

He fixes his mouth against yours in a searing kiss right as you come, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. Wet squelching rings over the music, filling your ears, and his palm with the sound of your pleasure. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you swallow the rush of saliva the feeling brings.

Johnny looks terribly pleased when he pulls away.

Pleased and delightfully fuzzy.

Your brain is still working through all the sex hormones and the red lighting isn't helping your vision.

You think you should be... mad at him.

You do your best to scowl at him.

"I hope you're not expecting anything in return." You insist, though your knees feel weak enough to drop to the ground right there. Johnny hums.

"Already got what I wanted." He informs you.

Your eyes narrow.

Whatever the fuck that means, it probably isn't good for you.

You fend off his groping the rest of the night, and lock up with a strange(familiar and terrifying) weight on your chest.

[faegallardo]

Happy drawtectives day.

[erineas]

Imagine being the only fae that still believes in him 🥺

Forest God Skull belongs to @llamagoddessofficial

Forest God Skull design made by @desktopdinosaur

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can we get some Horror fae headcannons? I'm twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the big boyo to appear while I lose myself in your fae realms

Goodness, do try not to get lost. Though if you do get lost, he's certainly the one for you.

Quite similar to his non-fae self, really. Quiet, large, wild, bloodthirsty when required but completely unafraid to show his soft side to those he loves.

He does have a bit of a... 'reputation', in both realms. A reputation for being a frightening beast that you do not want to encounter out in the wastes.

Apparently, he did something unspeakable in Summer - banished from that court, he found himself immediately warmly welcomed into Nightmare's fray. He was one of the first of the Winter court.

He and Nightmare aren't exactly "friends", in the way Nightmare and Killer almost seem to be. But there's a certain degree of trust between Horror and Nightmare that just isn't there with anyone else. A level of mutual, unspoken understanding. They rarely talk to one another, but somehow, they seem to know each other very well.

(There seems to be some truth to the Summer rumours, given his absolute visceral hatred of even the word.)

Living in Nightmare's court means Horror has ample food. People are still scared of him, though.

Big fuzzy guy!! His wings are the biggest and softest out of anyone's; cuddling him will be like hiding in the thickest blanket imaginable. If you sit on his lap, you can pull his wings over you and fall asleep snuggled up like that. Rest assured, if you do that, you will never meet a happier skeleton.

Tricking you simply does not cross his mind. He's too slow with words for that kind of nonsense. If he wants to keep you forever, why does he need to steal your name? He'll just bake you the best pie you've ever had, that'll do it.

Or chase you down when you run. That works too.

Not good at telling you he likes you. He can show love just fine - gestures of devotion are part and parcel of who he is. But when it comes to the talking side of romance? An absolute wreck.

Killer helps. "hey, my buddy over there thinks you're cute," [points to the enormous shaking & sweating anxious monster who's unsuccessfully trying to hide behind a candelabra]

He tends to disappear for several days in a row, to go on long treks through the snow. They clear his mind. He probably knows the realm better than anyone alive. He would really like it if you came with, making you the first person to ever be invited along, but he doesn't mind if you don't want to go. He doesn't expect everyone to be interested in multi-day snow hikes.

(You could sit on his shoulders the whole way, though. In case that changes your mind. He'd also show you untouched natural wonders beyond comprehension. And he packs snacks)

His love language is bringing food back for you from his 'trips'. Baked salmon from the ice rivers, steaks of venison from the winter forests, slow-cooked rabbit from the plains, and on rare occasions bear stew from the mountains. If you're vegetarian it'd be good to tell him immediately because this will become a pattern.

He also likes making furs into clothes for you. For someone who struggles with shaking hands, he's surprisingly good with a needle and thread.

You'll never be cold, when he's around. And you'll never sleep alone.

[fictionadventurer]

Of course Catherine Morland falls in love with the charming, kind Henry Tilney who's unlike any man she's ever met and who's the kind of person who she didn't think existed outside of books. But the great thing is that Henry's equally enchanted by the completely ordinary Catherine, because she's something that's totally unfamiliar to his world. They're equally mythical to each other, and in finding each other they upend their ideas of what they thought the world was, and they build a new world together, and that is peak romance.

[anim-ttrpgs]

why exactly is true loves kiss more likely to work if the kisser is female

(This is in reference to the fairy PC rules)

It’s like that because it’s referencing myths and fairytales where the deliverer is usually a woman, and it opens up interesting opportunities to explore what a “woman” is, especially in the context of monsters, same with references to things like “true love” and “true name” in the same ruleset. The end result, however this ends up being interpretted by your group and happening in your adventure, doesn’t say anything about human biology, but it may say something about fairy society, or our society.

Plus, it makes it matter if a character is a woman or not, which is not a factor for anything else in the game, and I like it when things that would just be “fluff” elements of the character in any other rpg come into play and make some sort of small difference - Eureka is all about that honestly. So this is a way to make that matter without like really discouraging female or male characters in particular or it being like a big thing in the game, and especially without doing any “women have -2 Strength” type shit.

[thefaethatstoleyourname]

True Fae time!

Mild nsft

Took me a long time but was super interested in finishing this. (1 week & 2 days of work lol)

[emahriel]

*twirls hair* so, bastian huh...

[ryllen]

maybe i do want us to kiss a little more