#adjusting to a world were her first faery friend

[princess-of-the-corner]

"In what sense? Of timeline? I mean each Season is going to be roughly a year?"

Sorry for not being specific.

I meant summary of what changed in each season in comparison to Canon

Okay hm so off the top of my head without going too far into my notes:

Actually side thing is I just realized that most of the Major Changes have to do with the various villains. The Trix being salvageable to the Good Side(after a bit), Darkar getting downgraded to normal, Valtor has been changed completely tbh. The Wizards of the Black Circle have been almost completely yeeted. Tritanus is more of a civil war situation than an outright coup.

Interesting tbh.

Season 1:

Same basic plot of Bloom learning about Magic and going to Alfea, learning about her actual heritage, the Trix being fucks. Some things go sideways, some plots are diverted.

Changes include

A good chunk of adjusting the whole 'Ancestral Witches' thing and the Fall of Domino because having that happen ages ago but also less than 20 years ago is ?????. Short version: A group called 'Ancestral' that wanted to take over everything invaded Domino for the Dragon Flame. Yadda yadda Daphne yeets Bloom to Earth, gets Spirited in the process, most of the population is killed, most members of Ancestral were either killed or arrested but a few escaped. This is treated as a semi-recent tragedy that most Adult characters remember

Faeries and Witches are the same thing, just using Light vs. Dark Magic. Not different species. Not good vs evil. (Light is not always 'good', Dark is not always 'evil'). The neutral word for them is Magixae. While people from all worlds(other than Earth for reasons unknown) can use base Magic, only Magixae have major powers and can transform like they do. And they only make up a small percentage of the population.

Stella actually has plans to study as both a Faerie and a Witch because stuff with Solaria and the duality and all that. She's starting with Faerie though.

Alfea/Cloud Tower/Red Fountain are colleges, not high school

Bloom actually has friends back in Gardenia, though they're all going off to college, but they appear when she goes home for breaks

Bloom is 100% aware she was adopted and they do kind of assume from the get-go that her bio parents might be from one of the other Magical Realms and she just ended up on Earth

Winx is very 'Sci-Fi disguised as Fantasy' so I'm leaning hard into the fact that they're all aliens and have non-human features and biology which will get explored!

Sky and Brandon still switch places, though it's less 'prince and the pauper' and more a legitimate thing of there's been assassination attempts on the royal family. Diaspro and the arranged marriage also still exist, but Sky is 100% adamant that he's not going to marry her no matter what their parents say.

The Riven/Darcy plot is a legit thing with like. No hypnotisim just genuinely liking each other even if Darcy did start it up just for info. Temporary breakup when the Trix go full evil but....

Kinda dragging the Trix into more 'somewhat understandable, villains with genuine goals not just' to be evil, salvageable and will be dragged to the Good Side eventually' kinda plots. Longer posts on that, but Darcy is the first to jump ship because she's like 'Look I am an ambitious, power-hungry bitch, but I draw the line at full on murder/massacres'. (Speaking of, don't. Don't question the logic re: befriending the person who tried to destroy the world last week. I'm doing some Friendship is Magic shit wtih this we only think about fucked up implications when we want to.)

Diaspro also gets some character development when she tries to take Sky out of the major battle and he decides to stay

Bloom's adoptive parents and friends from back home get dragged into this and are actually helpful in the battle.

Season 2:

Mostly the same plot re: Pixies, Darkar, adding Aisha, so on and so forth. Lot of changes to what Darkar is and the whole shadow phoenix/shadow flame thing with a touch of change to Dark Bloom.

Changes off the top of my head:

Diaspro and Darcy are now added to the main cast as well. Diaspro enrolled herself into Alfea because she wants to find something to do other than being Sky's trophy wife(he's still not into her). Darcy is serving community service. Both of them get dragged into the main plot because the adventure is underground and their powersets are great for this.

Darkar has been downgraded to 'just some guy'(which like. Having a supposed Deity be defeated in only one season and never come back? Kinda lame!). Previous member of that 'Ancestral' group that attacked Domino. Wants the Dragon Flame for the original 'let's take shit over reasons.

His plan involves the Dark Bloom thing. He learned from seeing the Trix fail that taking the Dragon Flame by force won't work, so he decides that using magic brainwashing stuff to have Bloom turn against her friends would work. So we get him posing as Avalon to get access to her.

The "Dark Bloom" thing isn't a 'Dark Faerie', but Bloom channeling the dark/negative emotions into her Magic and going Witch(remember: same species, just depends on where they draw their Magic from)

What is the 'Shadow Phoenix' thing? The opposite energy to the Dragon Flame? It's the Dragon Flame itself. Some yin and yang shit. It is everything. Creation and Destruction, Life and Death, all of it.

Oh also Riven can go Faerie and we get some of his trauma lmao.

Season 3

Final year of Alfea, earning Enchantix, etc. Some of the plots are the same. But there are many a change!

So, firstly, I switched up things for gaining new forms. Charmix was just kind of a 'natural level up progression', but Enchantix takes the new 'you have to overcome something personal'. Mostly because I think it's fucked that Enchantix is supposed to be the normal endgoal(with other forms being optional) but you have to die to get it??? Also there's too much bullshit regarding 'must save someone from your world' because hello??? How do you decide that what counts as 'their world? What do you do with Bloom other than Mary Sue her way out of it?

So everyone gets a plot relating to overcoming something, but we're also going on trips around the Realms and visiting their Homeworlds.

This is probably the most plot-heavy season as everyone has their own arcs going so I won't go into it all here.

But also know that as we're trraveling to all the worlds, we get a LOT of worldbuilding

[chyertsar]

♔. synopsis: koschei is the youngest of the seelie queen’s three sons: two of which she bore through her late husband, and the youngest being the son of her royal guard. after her death, koschei’s father took him away from the faerie realm to protect him from the deadly plot of his older half-brother, casimir. the runaway prince was ultimately left to the charge of a witch woman named jadwiga, who raised him as her apprentice and stable hand. in his reckless youth, koschei revealed his whereabouts to the faefolk by the improper use of his magic. tricked and abducted by a pooka who'd served casimir, he was flung into a prison realm where he battled for his life for nine infernal years. now having finally escaped, koschei seeks to take revenge on his brother and unseat him as the new seelie king . . . affiliated with rainfile

♔. not set to any particular canon, but will be drawing from a mix of inspirations: slavic and irish folklore, dante’s inferno, naomi novik's uprooted, as well as koschei’s original fairytale ( specifically, his ties to baba yaga and her horses ). i’m happy to comply and/or adjust this to other canons though !

♔. he can possibly be encountered: 1 ) in his youth – as a witch’s apprentice and stable hand – in a village outside the faerie realm that i can easily integrate with any fantasy setting 2 ) traveling through a chthonic realm(s) after being wrongfully cast out from his world; 3 ) as the returned seelie prince, now in possession of the sun stone and gathering allies to dethrone his brother

♔. once he becomes the new seelie king by forcing casimir's retreat, he's either still hunting the traitor down or ( if he’s managed to find and kill him already ) fully settled into his position. . . although proving to be not much of an improvement. 

♔. something he encountered in the prison realm is trying to seek retribution for his escape and/or use koschei as a vessel which is driving him to venture further into the dark arts to mitigate the threat. consequently, a seelie king’s unnatural use of magic is having adverse effects on the realm and those surrounding it (e.g., fluctuating temperatures, overgrowths, root rots). many are starting to question what is really afoot or whether he should remain king

it is said by those who ought to understand such things, that the good people, or the fairies, are some of the angels who were turned out of heaven, and who landed on their feet in this world, while the rest of their companions, who had more sin to sink them, went down farther to a worse place. . . . t. crofton crocker the priest's supper

shortly after the birth of the seelie queen's third son, a solar eclipse brought with it the end of a reign. the seelie queen was struck with an incurable illness and decided to leave the matter of succession up to the morrigan by taking her crown jewel ( the sun stone ) and casting it out into the realm. on the eve of her death, she declared that whoever ventured to find the stone would be the recognized monarch of the seelie folk.

her two eldest sons, casimir & oisín, searched every corner of the realm for the stone, but they had no luck. the eldest, aggrieved by his mother's ploy to refuse what he felt was rightfully his, conspired with an unseelie fae to get rid of his brothers, allowing him to take the throne by proxy. oisín was the first to mysteriously disappear, but before any harm could come to the infant prince, his father fled with him back to the eastern lands where his people, the víly, had migrated from. there he called on a favor from an old friend, the bear guardian of an untamable wood.

she could not house the prince. after giving up her bearskin to marry a mortal man, lord lenkov, she knew of only one person who could rival the faerie's magic and thus better protect the child: jadwiga, the local witch woman. she was a capricious crone who the villagers avoided where they could, but they also greatly depended upon her. she was the best healer that could be found within a day's journey, so the people turned a blind eye to her impious nature and allowed her to make a discreet living out of curing their ailments ( and personal vendettas ) via a mix of herbalism and zagоvory ( incantations and sorcery ). but to the priests and boyars who traveled near ( and lived to tell the tale of it ) she was known as one of the finest horse breeders in the kingdom.

jadwiga was convinced to take in the faerie child, if only for the convenience of having an extra hand to help tend to her fields and mounts. she named him koschei, her servant, though she endeared herself to him in time. jadwiga also never lied about his being an orphan brought to her door, nor had it been possible to hide from him that he was one of the fae ( a vilak, is what she called him, even when the boy questioned why he had four wings and not two ) she glamoured his faerie form until he was old enough to learn the art himself. koschei proved to be an eager pupil, and not even the crone could deny his gift for sorcery. at the age of 10, she took him on as an apprentice; her one condition was that he was not to wield magic outside the confines of her hut. jadwiga made it clear that his survival depended upon heeding this, but his coming of age was rife with mischief and recalcitrance.

at barely 17, koschei was forced to reckon with his foolishness when jadwiga had no choice but to leave the hut on important business. she was gone for three days, and in that span koschei tended to the villagers who came to her hut during the day, and wrangled her wandering horses back to the stables at night. on the third day, he broke the witch woman's rule for one final time. on the third night, a stallion had strayed farther than the others. he found it in the middle of the main road to the lenkovs’ village, but something was off. the beast, its mane mangled and flank covered in mud, refused to move forward, apparently too spooked. 

unable to assuage its fear, koschei did as he was taught: he used a handkerchief to blind the horse and mounted it to spur it forward. sure enough the horse began to trot – and then galloped at breakneck speeds. try as he may, koschei could not reign in the beast nor unmount his back. its laugh was a wicked sound which made clear that this was no horse. it was the pooka who'd come to deliver on the final piece of his bargain with casimir. koschei was dragged through the bramble of the wood until the pooka finally came to an abrupt stop and launched koschei into a boghole–  an ancient portal that swallowed him, like his brother before him, into a prison realm where no soul could hope to escape.

the search was deemed futile. jadwida could sense that koschei was no longer in this plane. still, lord lenkov's son, mishka, who had grown up with koschei and considered him his best companion, scoured the woods for him until even he lost hope. for nine years koschei had been assumed dead. then, on a cold night, he showed up again at jadwiga’s doorstep: covered in mud and blood, smelling of brimstone and decay, but he was alive and tied loosely around his neck was the sun stone. refusing to speak on what he endured or how he had managed to come back from that underworld, he instead demanded to know the truth about how he came to be jadwiga’s charge. she gave him the whole of it, but he only cared to know who was responsible for his banishment into the hellmouth. 

there was no reasoning with him then. koschei set out for the faerie realm, posing as a vílak refugee to infiltrate his treacherous brother’s summer guard. he didn’t trust that revealing his true identity and possession of the sun stone would be enough to stave off another one of his brother’s ploys and earn his seat. it was his mother's mistake to underestimate casimir's influence with both the seelie and unseelie folk, and it was not one koschei intended to repeat. now he hides in plain sight, biding his time forming secret alliances with whomever he can ( the other víly especially ) bent on gathering the forces he needs to stage a successful coup.

♔. the víly ( pl.) [ sing. fem. víla , mas. + neu. vílak ] in this verse are not subject to a particular gender and is generally known in the faerie realm as a subclass of "lesser" fae. they originally lived among mortals, serving as guardians of the forests or sworn to protect chosen heroes, who they refer to as their vílenik. eventually, christianization ( or some similar cultural shift ) turned the mortals against them, and they were driven to seek refuge in the faerie realm, where they were accepted into the military class. the víly are similar to the valkyrie in appearance and function, but also have other distinguishing features dependent on the element of nature they embody. they can be found in both the seelie & unseelie courts.

♔. koschei's faerie form is a mix of his parents: his father was a vílak with a universal pair of bird-feathered wings, but was distinguished as one from the woodland víly by his horns made of tree bark. his mother as the seelie queen of summer had four fairy wings of gold, which leaves koschei's true form to appear as four white feathered wings, horns made of tree bark, golden hair and lots of summertime whimsy

♔. his wings were badly burned in the time he spent within the hellmouth, rendering him flightless, but he'll still glamour them and all other markers of his struggle so as to appear unmarred. it's not that others aren't aware of his inability to fly, but that he's conscious of appearances being deemed important in the seelie court, and he'd rather not incite further discourse of his being unfit to rule

♔. koschei mayyy or may not be deathless post-hellmouth -- that's not a theory anyone has managed to test yet, so most muses can assume he isn't :3 also we're heavy on the yarilo and icarus-vs-lucifer vibes here; this (zombie) fae boy is looking no older than his late 20s.

[greywoodrpg]

𝕖𝕚𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕨𝕪 𝕛𝕚𝕒𝕟𝕘

appears as though she was born thirty-seven years ago but is actually sixty, she is a faerie who lives in mystic grove as a caretaker of the butterfly house & botanical gardens at lachelle historic house museum, and is in no fantasy. she looks an awful lot like gemma chan.

“Have courage, dear heart, for there is nothing to be afraid of and never has been.”

tw: dysfunctional family, arranged marriage

She was born in peace times, when prosperity was high, and decades of bloodshed were seemingly over. The Monarch Kingdom celebrated for years over the birth of Eilonwy, first pure child of the king and queen of the Spring Lands, eyes as black as night and wings dappled with the fiery orange that told everyone what dynasty she came from. From that moment on, she was raised with poise and decorum, sent to inherit what hundreds before her had built as rightful queen. It seemed nothing would hinder her further ascent to greatness but, there was one thing Eilonwy hadn't banked on - another child born. Her certainly wasn't planned, taking many by surprise but, now their was a male heir, something her father had always wanted. Eilonwy was so quickly sidelined when he came along she barely had time to adjust, the young crown princess suddenly just a princess. Everything that had been promised to her was taken away the older she grew, and instead given to her brother.

Resentment grew in her, darkening her heart, causing her to reject him and often take off on her own. Eilonwy became somewhat ignored by the parents and people who had once adored her, and found her happiness in other places, travelling the fae realms and finding friends in the folk and creatures that lived there.

A long life slowly passed her by until the rot came. Pollution, many claimed, leaking in from the human realm where natural life was nearly all but destroyed. It ate at flowers and trees, drove fae and their kin to madness as it corrupted their wings and caused them to fall of. The Spring Lands were not the first to witness this yet, were the first kingdom to really feel it's affects on such a large scale - when her family realised that it wasn't going away and simply spreading, they questioned what they could do to save themselves.

Eilonwy was the key. A neighbouring kingdom, far enough to allow the butterfly fae to live and escape the destruction the pollution was causing. There was a catch, of course, for the place where they were to move was an old enemy, and the raven king wasn't so keen to have past enemies amongst his people. The peace offering made was Eilonwy's hand in marriage, to be his wife. It wasn't what she wanted but, the woman knew duty came first, always had. Thus, the two strangers were wed.

Her husband was not unkind, didn't seem that way, probably just as scared as she felt. It was him that suggested a honeymoon period in the human realm, a place Eilonwy had always been to afraid to go alone to. The pair spent it in a tranquil forest with a nearby pool, a blissful first night of marriage.

And when she awoke the next morning, she was alone, and unable to return to the fae realm. What Eilonwy didn't know was that fae blood feuds were not so easily solved by marriage, and that the grudge was still heavily bared. Now alone, Eilonwy had to fend for herself in the human world, and eventually found Greywood on her travels somewhere safe, holing up in the public gardens for many years.

“what power did she attain when settling in greywood?”

Eilonwy had always been blessed with a gifted voice, however since entering the world of humans it seems to allow her to talk to all creatures of the land.

penned by... mina

[sekhisadventures]

Shining Unity

The grass crunched under Nelen’s feet as he walked across the threshold of the portal, feeling a tingling all over his body as he crossed through.

They had discussed it back at Valdrakken and decided that they would not go through altogether. While they could detect Dissonantia coming, all of them in one place could be more dangerous than separate. The Witch of the Blackwald may well throw everything she had at them in the hopes of wiping them out, and they weren’t entirely certain of what she was capable of.

So they would do it in groups, and the first group included Nelen, Shalandrae, Aziguni, Nitika, and Sekhi.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Its… I’ve never smelled air this clean before, even out in the wilds.” he murmured, adjusting his glasses as he looked around. “Sure as fel wasn’t this nice last time we were here…”

Shalandrae shrugged, “The last time was to help stop Xavius from turning all of Azeroth into a void-corrupted nightmare world Nelen. That wasn’t the dream at it’s best.” she pointed out.

The magus nodded, “True…” he replied as Aziguni chuckled.

“Well I for one am very eager to help the Dreamweavers. Fyrakk and his minions come first but imagine what kind of animals must live in this realm!” she nodded.

Nitika grinned at her, the massive tauren walking ahead as her longer stride carried her onwards. “We’ve encountered some. The faerie dragons and moonkin are both native to the dream and migrated to Azeroth, though the ones here would probably be different.” she nodded, “How about you Sekhi?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder, then pausing with a concerned frown. “Sekhi?”

The shamaness stood just at the edge of the portal, her eyes wide as her ears flicked back and forth so fast they were practically a blur, her jaw hanging open slightly.

“Er… Sekhi?” she asked again as the others paused, looking back and seeing the vulpera standing stock still.

“… is… is she alright?” asked Aziguni, cocking her head in worry at the vulpera.

Shalandrae, however, grinned at her. “I think I know… Quite the song this place has, isn’t it?” she asked.

Slowly, Sekhi’s tail fluffed out, then her eyes went crossed before she slid down onto her side, her tongue popping out with a faint ‘blep’ sound. A moment later she giggled weakly, as if slightly drunk.

Nitika sighed, “Right… should have seen that coming.” she shook her head, scooping the vulpera up into her arm. “She should be fine once she gets used to it. At least this one doesn’t hurt her.” she rolled her eyes, though she was grateful for that. She and Sekhi had become close friends during their time working together, and she didn’t want a repeat of what had happened to her in the Maw or in Zalarek Cavern when Fyrakk attacked Loamm.

She was concerned about that. Fyrakk was the reason they were all there after all… but Sekhi had insisted. She had been working on finding some way to withstand those sorts of things. Sekhi’s connection to the elements was powerful, manifesting as an ever-present music that only the shaman herself could hear (unless she did a certain ritual anyways, but so far it had only worked for Nitika,) but that power was a double-edged sword. She couldn’t turn it off, and not all songs were good. The last encounter she had with Fyrakk, freshly starcursed from the font of shadowflame, had struck her with a seizure that had put the shaman’s life at risk.

Still, they would need her help. The elements, specifically Fire, were their foes here and a shaman of Sekhi’s caliber would be a major boon to their efforts against the Primalists and the returned Druids of the Flame.

At that thought, Shalandrae’s expression darkened. She remembered seeing Hyjal burn, more damage than even the Legion had managed to do to the Night Elves’ sacred mountain, and now they encroached not just the Emerald Dream but on their new home? She gripped the haft of Journey’s End, her stave, tightly, and whispered under her breath, “Never again…”

Aziguni glanced at her but said nothing as she walked alongside the night elf, her two companions Eocundo and Muaaqi flanking them, the pantera sniffing the air curiously as the talbuk gazed around at the greenery with an expression like it had walked into a particularly choice buffet. She didn’t have to ask what Shalandrae meant, the druidess had been very vocal the day they had their planning session and Laurelgosa broke the news that the Scalecommanders had confirmed, thanks to help from Shandris and Meithra, that Fyrakk had the means to invade the Dream.

That was a few weeks ago…

Amirdrassil, The Emerald Dream

‘The Flora and Fauna of the Dream are remarkable!’ wrote Aziguni in her journal, next to a sketch of a Dreamsaber. ‘In some cases, it is even the same being. The dreamsabers, the bristlebears, a mixture of both plant and animal in a way that has the best qualities of both. Such things could never exist outside such a realm… or at least not in such a benign way.’

She smiled, closing her journal and putting it back on her belt before reaching over and stroking over the strong, muscular neck of her talbuk Muaaqi. Most of their crew was out doing exploratory missions or fighting back the Primalists and the Druids of the Flame. So far it was a stalemate. Fyrakk’s forces were heavily entrenched, but their goal was shielded from their entry. Thus the main goal right now was to harry his forces, keep them from gaining access to their true purpose in the dream, and wait for an opportunity to strike back.

To that effect they had gathered an odd grouping of allies. The druids of the Cenarion Circle and the Aspects and their Dragonflights were the obvious ones of course… but it seems such conflicts made for odd bedfellows.

She glanced over towards a nearby hill where Merithra and her allies were having a meeting, noting a tall statuesque woman. Literally statuesque, as if carved from living ice. The visage form of their former foe, Vyranoth. While Fyrakk’s goals involved the subjugation of Azeroth, Vyranoth stayed true to the Primalists movement’s ideals of liberation from the Titans. Though one would wonder just how true those were given the actions of Iridikron. Still, the Frozen-Hearted believed in those ideals as deeply as anything and would resist Fyrakk’s efforts. What she would do should he be defeated would be anyone’s guess.

As she glanced over she heard a faint clattering sound, then a deep grumble. “Eh, we’ve teamed up with sketchier… but what a bloody addition to our crew. Right lass?”

She glanced over to see the decayed form of Edwood Vargas, the warlock looking in Vyranoth’s direction with narrowed eyes.

She shrugged. A few months back she would have been much more concerned about working with a warlock, but after being reunited with her long-lost brother… well… she couldn’t exactly judge him and not feel like a hypocrite. “Perhaps, Darkcaster Vargas.” she replied.

The warlock shrugged back, then looked up as they heard the sound of bare feet on the forest floor.

Shalandrae was walking towards them, the druidess looking oddly better than she had when she’d arrived. True the Emerald Dream was under siege, but this was about as in her element as she could get, and her time in the dream had done wonders for her. The druid’s antlers seemed to glow with energy, her body seeming even healthier than it had on Azeroth. “Well, that’s one more cell of traitors that won’t be helping that mad dragon.” she smirked, nodding to Aziguni, then giving a bit more of a curt nod to Edwood as her smile faded.

The forsaken just nodded back. He’d come to expect it from the kal’dorei and was just happy that Shalandrae didn’t try to kill him like she almost did when they’d first met in Ardenweald. “Aye, wish I could help out more there but… well… elemental fire against felfire. Too bloody dangerous. I’m stuck brewing potions with th’ rest of th’ alchemists.”

Shalandrae snorted. A herbalist and potion maker herself, she had always seen the Grand Apothecary Society’s members as suspect at best. She had however managed to inspect some of Edwood’s brews back in Valdrakken before and at least found them safe to consume… unless they were intended to be used against enemies anyways. “Just be careful you don’t drop any bits of yourself in them…” she mumbled.

Ed frowned at her, “Oi, that happens less often then ye think.” he retorted.

Aziguni stood up and shook her head, “Come on now you two. Enough of this.” she sighed, “We have a common foe to worry about. If Fyrakk succeeds we’ll lose far more than just Amirdrassil.” she nodded, giving a warning look to both of them.

The two shrugged, Edwood muttering something as Shalandrae rolled her good eye and glanced away, then paused. “Huh?” she murmured. “Aziguni… down there…” she said, pointing towards the pool in the forest floor beneath Amirdrassil.

It was a small pond, with a tiny land path that had either through intent or some aspect of the dream grown into the same shape as the Sigil of Ardenweald, and standing near the center looking up at them was a familiar, if imposing person.

Aziguni’s reaction was immediate. “Malgum!” she said, relief flooding her voice. Even distracted as she was by the Emerald Dream’s wonders the fate of her brother had never left her mind. They hadn’t seen him since Dissonantia’s last attack.

The man’ari man gazed up at them, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was going to say something but hesitated at the last moment… then he turned and walked off towards the southern coast of the small island that Amirdrassil stood upon.

“Where is he going?” asked Aziguni, the draenei woman looking around and whistling sharply. A moment later there was a sudden rustle nearby as her pantera leapt out of the bushes and jogged over towards her. “Malgum! WAIT!” she called, her hooves clattering as she ran off after her brother.

Shalandrae chased after her, the elven woman falling forward as her arms elongated and her hands and feet hardened into hooves, soon becoming a massive stag as she ran alongside Aziguni and her animal companions into the boughs.

Edwood, however, was looking at Malgum. “Huh… somethin’ smells fishy, ‘n I know fishy…” he grumbled, glancing at Guzzle as the imp sat on his shoulder. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small device. A pocketwatch on a chain.

He opened it, then looked at where the clock face would be, then back at the two, then grimaced. “Ah feck!” he snarled, running after them, but the two had a good lead on him! He considered calling the others… but they could be scattered all over the area by now and even in the middle of fighting their enemies, he’d have to just hope he could catch up somehow!

Some distance later

Malgum slowly came to a stop, the tall man’ari warrior standing with his gaze at the water ahead of him. He stood along the southern coast. Well away from Amirdrassil in an area that, for now, both the Primalists and Azeroth’s defenders were ignoring completely. Nobody cared about it, which meant nobody was around at all.

He knew why he was there, he wanted to say something, he wanted to yell at the top of his lungs… but every time he tried his throat tightened and the skin around his neck burned. He would just have to hope that his sister and her friends could survive what was about to happen.

Theys comin’. Turn ‘n face ‘em.

He grimaced, hearing the voice echoing in his mind as he turned around, his teeth gritted tightly.

Aziguni clattered to a stop as Shalandrae changed back into her elven form, the draenei stepping forward. “Malgum, what is going on? Why did you leave when I called out to you?” she asked, her eyes showing concern for her brother.

“Aziguni…” he croaked out, “Sister… I…” he gasped, then fell silent, his jaw moving but no words coming out.

None o’ that! Time fer yez ta live up ta yer name ‘Massacre’ Malgum. KILL ‘ER!

He gritted his teeth, his arms twitching for a moment… then he roared and grabbed his weapons, pulling them free of his belt and raising them, then charging!

Aziguni froze, her eyes going wide, but Shalandrae didn’t! In a blur she was a mass of stone and moss, a huge rock-like bear charging to meet the demonic warrior head on!

She shrugged off his initial attack, then roared at him, glaring at the man’ari. “STAY BACK AZIGUNI!” she snarled.

Aziguni shook her head, then drew her bow and shook her head, “Shalandrae! Wait! Malgum why are you doing this?!” she asked.

Malgum hesitated, gritting his teeth, then he shuddered. “I… am man’ari! I was… made to kill draenei… b-bitches like you!” he spat, “Now come here so I can tear you to pieces girl!”

Shalandrae roared in fury, but even as she felt hurt from his words Aziguni heard the strange tone in his voice. “Shalandrae… something is wrong!” she shouted, nocking an arrow. Even if she had to attack she could aim to disable or disarm rather than kill him.

Shalandrae ignored her, her mind going back to that horrible day in her youth when her friend-turned-satyr had murdered another friend in cold blood infront of her. The druid snarled, clawing at the ground, then stormed forward, throwing her weight towards the berserker!

The two slammed into each other, the druid’s stone-like hide managing to stop his axes from penetrating, but only just as the man’ari brought them down with bone-crushing force. Had she not been in her bear form the blow would have easily been fatal… but she stood against it.

She roared, slamming her paw into his side and sending him stumbling away. Malgum gasped, and part of him wanted her to kill him so he wouldn’t have to risk harming his sister… but he had to survive! He had to tell them what he’d learned! He roared back, then charged forward towards the druid.

Aziguni’s eyes were wide, her bow drawn but the arrow tip trembling. Shalandrae and her brother clashed again and every time she was about to let fly she held back. She could hit Shalandrae by accident of course, but she had to know why her brother had turned on her like this! It made no sense!

She drew back, the bowstring creaking, as she took aim at his leg… and…

“OI! BELAY THAT LASS!” came a gravelly voice!

She flinced, and her fingers went loose, the arrow flying free only to be blasted to ashes by a gout of flames!

The sudden bright burst of fire caught both Shalandrae and Malgum by surprise as Edwood stumbled into view, the warlock’s hand outstretched as embers still danced around his fingers. “Right, enough of this!” he snapped, then held up the pocketwatch… but instead of a clock face it showed two words flashing in bright red: ‘DEMON DETECTED!’

“I KNOW YER HERE! STOP HIDIN’ ‘N SHOW YERSELF YE COWARDLY HAG!” he demanded.

At this Malgum suddenly stiffened, gripping his head and gasping in agony as he screwed up his eyes… then slowly his face twisted into a wicked grin as he opened his eyes, which now glowed a deep bloody red. “Well, so much fer that bit…” he sneered, his voice now carrying a very thick Gilnean accent.

Aziguni gasped in horror as she stepped back, Shalandrae’s eyes widening as she moved herself between Malgum and Aziguni.

“Dissonantia!” snarled the druid, “How… what have you done?!” she demanded.

Malgum smirked, “Why I found meself a fun new toy…” she cackled through the man’ari’s mouth, grinning at Aziguni. “Turns out yer brother was a bigshot back in th’ Burnin’ Legion’s infantry. Massacre Malgum they called ‘im, ‘n now ‘e’s gonna massacre th’ whole bleedin’ lot o’ yez!”

Shalandrae growled, preparing to charge, but Aziguni held her shoulder. “Shalandrae! Please! That’s still my brother! She is controlling him!” she insisted.

Edwood snarled, reading his own spells. “Aye lassie! Th’ witch ensorcelled him! I can feel th’ spell on Malgum! He ain’t tryin’ ta attack us!” the warlock insisted.

Shalandrae growled, “We don’t have a choice! If she makes him use the felfury then he’ll blast apart the entire coast!” she insisted.

At this however, Ed grinned. “Oh? Then why ain’t he used it?” he asked.

Malgum, or rather Dissonantia, scowled as Shalandrae and Aziguni paused, then glanced at each other. That was an excellent question. If he had used it then the fight would have ended almost immediately. Why hadn’t he?!

“I know how that works lass! Found out ‘bout it when we were fightin’ th’ Legion on Outland!” he smirked, “Felfury burns everything. Including magic! He’d break her control th’ second he lit up!”

Malgum shrugged his shoulders as Dissonantia smirked, “… eh, yez got me there. Can’t flick th’ kill switch or else ‘e’d come straight fer me. But can yez really kill Azignui’s brother like yez took down Merihim?” she asked, grinning at Shalandrae.

Edwood scowled as Shalandrae glared at her, Aziguni hesitating as she glanced between them.

“Oh? They didn’t tell yez? This ain’t th’ first time I tried this trick… but last time they had ta deal wiv’ th’ result in a… terminal way…” chuckled the witch through Malgum’s body, “Oi wasn’t there fer it, but it didn’t take a bleedin’ genius ta figure out why I never saw hide nor hair o’ Belgrith after that… ‘n why Merihim was suddenly missin’. Yez killed ‘im stone dead!” she grinned, “’n that’s th’ only choice yez is gonna get ‘ere! Kill Malgum or he’ll kill all o’ yez!” she taunted, raising his weapons... “Assumin’ me boys don’t get yez first.”

The three of them suddenly looked up as a roar went up nearby, then the huge form of Az’arad surged towards them as a cackling announced the arrival of Xel’kek, Quzgup riding atop the Observer demon and channeling a blast of felfire already. A chuckle hinted that Cenoon was near… but none of them could see the Incubus… which was not a good thing. Finally from the boughs of a nearby tree there was a whoop, and with a crash and a burst of felfire Gremori landed next to Malgum, the felsworn standing and grinning towards the three heroes. “Got ya this time!”

The three stumbled back as the demons stalked forward, even if they ran in different directions they were outnumbered! Whats more they knew Dissonantia could easily summon more monsters. They needed the others… but there was no time!

Shalandrae growled, shifting back into her elven form. “Ed… you're a warlock, can you slow them down somehow?” she hissed.

“Lass. I got felfire, that’s ‘bout it.” he muttered back, holding his shovel infront of him like a shield.

She winced, then glanced at Aziguni as the draenei held her bow ready, another arrow nocked… but there were too many targets! The second she let fly whoever she didn’t hit would strike! Eocundo and Muaaqi were growling at their foes, the panthera’s tail swishing angrily as the talbuk stomped it’s hooves... but one swipe of Az’arad’s axe would spell their doom as easily as anything.

Shalandrae gripped her stave, her good eye wide. She needed her friends, she needed the rest of her allies… they were outnumbered!

Then, the druid paused, feeling over the wrappings, then glancing down at the stave.

Journey’s End, gifted to her the Winter’s Veil before they had journeyed to the Dragon Isles. Hand crafted by Nelen with parts from all their friends (save Zhan-min, though the ale he made for that celebration had left her out like a light until late the next day.) It contained a part of each of them. Nelen shaped the wood, Dareley made the antlers of the stylized stag’s head, Sam had created the wrappings, and Jaie had cut and shaped the gemstones for its eyes.

But the wood itself… it was from her. It was the tree she had planted in Darkshore, her sign of renewal. Her sign that she wished to move on from the loss of Teldrassil and see the future for her people unfold.

Behind her was Amirdrassil and should Fyrakk be defeated it would be their new home. A new world tree, a new beginning for the kal’dorei.

“I can feel it... my tree...” she whispered, as she felt the staff pulsing under her hands, like a living being. Then she looked up and heard nature’s call.

“Dissonantia… you failed again.” she smirked as Ed and Aziguni glanced to her. Infront of them the demons of Unlimited Sin hesitated. They had been savoring the terror of their enemies, but Shalandrae’s sudden change gave them pause. “Maybe if you’d done this somewhere else… but here? You attack a druid while she stands in the Emerald Dream?” she chuckled, stepping forwards as the grass under her feet seemed to glow with each footstep.

“Wot? What are yez playin’ at Shalandrae…” snarled the witch through Malgum’s body.

The druid gripped her staff in both hands, then thrust downwards and drove the base into the ground as energy began to swirl around her form. “At our roots… all are one… and my roots run deep.” she intoned, then her hair swirled in an unseen breeze, and her one good eye glowed a brilliant emerald green.

Darkshore

A sudden wind rose across the coastline, catching the branches of a tall oak tree.

It stood proud among the slowly regrowing forest, surrounded by smaller saplings. Thirteen smaller trees infact, precisely. Some were healthier than others, some were taller, but all were connected to the oak, grown from acorns it had shed.

Nearby, all the animals of the forest paused. The squirrels froze in the act of climbing a tree. A bird singing on a branch fell silent, and a saberfang lounging in the sun raised its head and licked it’s chops.

All of them were staring at the tree as it’s boughs seemed to glow with sunlight, and through the tree’s roots the power it shared with the forests of Darkshore and Ashenvale flowed back through to the Dream through the branch that Shalandrae held in her hands.

The Emerald Dream

Shalandrae released the stave as roots erupted from it’s base, then wrapped around her legs as Aziguni and Edwood fell back, the two staring as the druid rose off the forest floor, bark forming around her body as she raised her arms towards the sky.

“BUGGER! KILL ‘ER! NOW NOW NOW NOW!” roared Dissonantia as the demons surged forwards.

Shalandrae’s head snapped down and she flexed her fingers, now covered in wooden bark as acorns rained down from them. Each one that landed quickly sprouted and within seconds a dozen treants had appeared!

The demons slammed into the onrushing tree-men. Az’arad cleaving one in half as Gremori blasted felfire into three others, but they had done what Shalandrae had needed. They had bought her time to finish.

Standing in the glade now was a massive ancient, rooted to the ground but easily thirty feet tall. It’s head was a huge crown of leaves hanging down over wooden arms ending in branch-like-hands. Her antlers glowed with the power of the Dream, her one eye shining like the sun in the height of summer. She flexed her fingers, a loud creaking like branches in a gale accompanying it… and across the dream a call went out.

A swirl of emerald light filled the area, a series of portals opening. Through each of them came the various members of Avalon and Savage United, having heard Shalandrae’s voice moments before the portal had opened at their own location.

Nelen roared, already in his worgen form, as he began to channel arcane power into his claws as Grimo took aim with his rifle and fired off a salvo of bullets at Az’arad’s bulk, the goblin eager to get some payback for Dissonantia’s minions wrecking his office!

Dareley, Nitika, and all the others were ready for a fight as well… but as Sekhi came through she looked up at Shalandrae, her ears twitching as she heard the druid’s song. It sang of unity, of victory, and of finding a way to live after years of pain. The shamaness smiled at her, then turned to the demons and whistled sharply as lighting sparked between her fingers. Be happy for her friend later, deal with the demons now!

“Everyone!” called Shalandrae, “Malgum is being controlled by Dissonantia! Bring him down…” there was a wooden creak as she turned her head to look towards Aziguni, “But don’t kill him unless you have to.” she added, “As for the rest…” she smirked, “You know what to do.”

A call of agreement went up as Dissonantia swore through Malgum’s mouth, then let the warrior’s consciousness back in control. She could guide his actions by force, but direct control meant he could fight as good as she did… and she wasn’t a warrior. She had to let him do the fighting directly, even if she was making him attack someone specific.

Jaie rushed forward and slammed her fist home into Gremori’s middle, then landed five more blows and flipped backwards, bringing her foot against the felsworn’s chin.

Gremori coughed, then grinned, “HAH! I barely felt that!” she smirked, “Not so tough without that lightning stuff are ya?” she laughed, her body swelling as she transformed into her demonic form.

Jaie frowned, then she felt a tingling as Shalandrae pointed to her and flexed her finger. She looked down as wooden gauntlets appeared over her hands, spikes growing along the knuckles. She flexed her fingers, but despite the gloves being made of hardened tree bark it felt as if they weren't even there. She smirked, then rushed forward and slammed her fist home as Gremori finished transforming, the demonic elf letting out a gasp of pain as she heard bones crunching from the impact.

Shalandrae grinned, then pointed to Nitika and gestured. The taureness gasped as she felt a sudden surge of warmth all over, as if the sun had just gotten brighter… then she saw Gremori holding her bleeding nose as she glared at Jaie, the felfire she had instead of eyes suddenly flaring outwards!

A brilliant shield of pure sunlight formed over the monk’s body, the flames blasting into it, but splashing away harmlessly against the solar barrier… then suddenly the shield exploded outwards, sending the felsworn flying backwards with burns all over her front!

Nitika stared at her hand. An’she’s shield had never done THAT before… She glanced up at Shalandrae, her eyebrow raising. She’d never had An’she AND Mun’sha’s help before at the same time. (Well… Elune, but that was just what the elves called her.)

In the shadows nearby, Dissonantia swore angrily as she tried to puppet Malgum, watching as Az’arad brought down his axe on Galdia only for it to glance off a hauberk of petrified wood that had grown over her in an eyeblink. Nelen blasted away at Xel’kek and Cenoon, his arcane magic augmented with pure astral energy to the point where the observer could only dodge. She almost considered letting Malgum just use the damn felfury and setting him loose, but she knew full well he’d come straight for her the second she did. All she had to do was keep him from doing it and hope that they’d hesitate when it came to the man’ari himself.

Then, through Malgum’s eyes, she saw Sekhi pull out her flute and play a rapid series of notes. Above them thunder rolled and a blast of lightning arced down, slamming into Malgum’s body! Aziguni cried out, but while everyone was distracted Edwood had managed to get close to her and told her where to aim.

He’d seen this kind of trickery before, having fought against the forces at the Black Temple on Outland. There was only one way that he knew of that Dissonantia could control someone like this, demonic or not. She could compel them to obey, like she had Iridikron, but direct possession? That took something specific!

The lightning hit home, blasting apart the buckles on Malgum’s chest armor, and it crashed to the ground as Edwood shouted out. “SOMEONE GET TH’ MAN’ARI ON TH’ STERN!”

A moment later and a few confused shouts and Edwood cursed and said, “AIM FOR HIS BLOODY BACK!”

Jaie was the fastest there. She slammed her fist around into Gremori’s jaw, sending the fel-elf to the ground, then raced forwards. Dissonantia snarled and commanded Malgum to attack her, but the pandaren proved to be the more agile one! She ducked under Malgum’s axe, rolled behind him, and saw it on his back. A green sigil tattooed onto his very skin, the design making her eyes hurt just looking at it.

She knew what she had to do. The pandaren drew her spear, channeled her chi through the weapon, and shouted out, “SORRY!” before she slashed forward, striking him from his right shoulder to his left hip!

Dissonantia growled, then sent her will towards Malgum once more.

I said kill th’ bloody bear ya idiot! I wanna see ‘er head on th’ ground NOW!

Malgum hissed through his teeth. That strike had hurt! ... but it had done something else too. He felt it again, the man’ari grinning.

No. I have a better idea.

Dissonantia paused, then her eyes widened as she felt what he was doing. “Oh bugger.” she whispered.

Malgum threw his head back and roared, his veins glowing green through his skin as the air around him erupted into felfire. Jaie backpedaled as fast as she could, only just avoiding getting caught in the blast.

“HERE NOW IS THE FELFURY!” he screamed, and once more the madness descended on him as the markings controlling him incinerated in an instant!

“EVERYONE RETREAT!” shouted Edwood, “THAT FREED ‘IM BUT HE’LL KILL ANYONE WHO GETS CLOSE!”

The members of Avalon and Savage United needed no more instruction than that, the group rushing back as fast as they could as Malgum’s head snapped around, his teeth bared and his chest heaving as he sought out his target… then he growled and surged forwards towards a patch of shadows under a tree that seemed a bit too dark, especially given how the felfire was lighting up the entire area!

The shadows were burned away as Dissonantia was suddenly revealed, the warlock’s eyes widening as she saw the man’ari bearing down on her. She slashed the air and sent a salvo of bilescourge towards him, but they didn’t even get close! They were reduced to ashes the second they drew near, the acid boiling into nothingness before it ever touched him!

Dissonantia snarled and flexed her claws, then with a woosh of felfire she and her allies vanished, but as she did the others heard, “ ‘e’s yer problem now.”

This time she didn’t retreat to her portal. The Emerald Dream was another plane of reality. She had set up her fallback point on Azeroth and had managed to warp back to it directly.

That meant his target was not in the Dream anymore, but Malgum was still caught in the felfury. He couldn’t stop now! The madness was upon him, he needed a target! HE HAD TO KILL! TO RIP AND TEAR AND REND AND MASSACRE!

He clutched at his head, gritting his teeth, but once invoked the felfury couldn’t be ended early! Kill his target or burn out and collapse, those were his only options! He glared around him, then saw the others and roared, charging towards the members of Avalon and Savage United, so blinded by the felfury that he couldn't even recognize them!

“SHIT!” cursed Grimo, raising his rifle and taking aim.

“Matey run! Th’ bullets’ll never reach him!” shouted Edwood as Mola’raum stumbled back. The death knight could summon undead, but they’d just be kindling.

Then a voice went up, “HANG ON YA’LL! I GOT THIS!”

There was a swirl of elemental energy as the air suddenly smelled of rich freshly brewed beer, and from the crowd came Zhan-min, the Shamanbrewer transforming into the massive alemental once again! He caught Malgum’s axes bare-handed and while the air steamed on impact, his body was infused with the pure elements of water and spirit! Malgum’s felfury couldn’t burn him!

At least, not immediately…

The air began to stink of boiled hops as Zhan-min glanced at his hands. “Ah. Hum… well how ‘bout THIS!” he shouted, slamming one fist into Malgum’s middle to send him stumbling back. As soon as he did the transformed pandaren thrust his hands out and a cannon-like stream of beer erupted forwards into the berserker! “Hey Sekhi! How about a lil’ drinkin’ music?” he called.

Sekhi was staring at Zhan-min. She’d been unconscious last time from Fyrakk’s shadowflame corrupted assault on Loamm, so she’d only heard about it. Now she knew how Leza had felt… but at his words she grinned, wagging her tail. “Yeah!” she nodded, pulling a small drum out of her bag and sitting down on the forest floor, then beating out a rhythm to invoke the element of water as the ale cannon doubled in size!

As they did Shalandrae, still in her massive treant form, gestured towards the two of them and the air swirled around them as the scent of hops, spices, and barley became stronger. In her current state the druid’s connection to nature had increased tenfold, and she was supplying fresh ingredients to power Zhan-min’s spell!

Working together, the three of them forced the fel-maddened manari back until, at last, the felfire sputtered and died as he collapsed onto the forest floor. Soaked through with ale, but free of the Witch’s control.

With a swirl of ale Zhan-min returned to his pandaren form, shaking himself. “Whooooooo boy! That’s always a rush…” he chuckled, “Anyone hurt?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

The others shook their head, but there was a sudden clatter of hooves as Aziguni shoved her way past him. “MALGUM!” she cried out, rushing to her brother’s side.

The manari looked up, looking as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, and mumbled, ���I need a bath… and then sleep… but afterwards, I have news you all must hear…” he whispered hoarsely.

Shalandrae frowned, and in a swirl of leaves the giant treant disappeared as she returned to her elven form. She took her stave from the ground, the wooden tool seeming totally unchanged by what had happened, and walked towards him. “What news is that?” she asked, still unsure if she trusted the man’ari.

Malgum grinned tiredly at her, “Heh… I do not blame you for being suspicious… but while I was Dissonantia’s captive I met the most interesting man…”

The Twisting Nether, Dissonantia’s Lair, some weeks ago.

“You there, your name is Malgum, is it not?” said a deep masculine voice.

Malgum tensed, looking around as he growled around the gag filling his mouth.

“Do not try to speak, we do not want this overheard.” the voice said again. “Pay attention boy, you are not hearing me with your ears.”

Malgum blinked slowly, then he realized the voice was right… it wasn’t a voice so much as a sudden intrusive thought in his mind.

Malgum hesitated, then thought ‘Who are you?’

‘I was, once, the master of this place. You may recognize the name ‘Aartox.’’ it replied, ‘I am dead now, though I am kept animated by the Witch for her amusement… but I wish to see her suffer for what she has done to me, and I do not care how. Listen carefully boy. Should you escape back to her enemies, this is how you can lead them straight back to her…’

Next Story

Previous Story

[flowerflamestars]

Destined and Dreamt

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE  PART FOUR  PART FIVE  PART SIX  PART SEVEN

Nesta Archeron wasn’t sleeping.   Wrapped in a quilted silk robe, she paced the length of her bedroom, once, twice, before giving into the urge to throw back the curtains from her windows. It was the darkest part of the night. Thick clouds had long shrouded the stars, the only light the reflection back from the fire burning in the grate across the room.

But still, it felt a little easier to breathe.

Her life had felt like cage for a long, long time. Like any other creature of clipped wings, when Nesta slept, she dreamt of the sky.

There were so many places she hadn’t seen and longed for: the impossible high mountain gardens in the Sky kingdom, the sharp gold eyed fairies of Hesperia;, that Blooming Country, under their lavender sky. The horrible beauty over the Wall, wilder and more dangerous than the fae of the continent she worked with. Fifteen thousand year old trade routes that crossed between the sacred spaces of the Great Desert, books written by the hands of gods in the Weeping City.

The mountain peaks in her dreams, so vast their summits turned the very wind to song.

Tonight, however, it was the nightmares that kept her awake.

Some were nearly as old as she was: Feyre devoured by magic, Elain with cold metallic eyes, Nesta alone- Nesta a monster, without her sisters.

Newer, were what was haunting her now: humans turning on them. Elain in chains, Nesta made ready for a pyre, the horror Lucien would unleash trying to get to Elain before the sheer number of mortals brought him down.

It should have been a comfort- if everything went to hell, they were going to burn too.

But hell was coming for them in worse, different ways. It wouldn’t be their neighbors condemning them- if Feyre got her wish, took that gamble on all their lives, it might be the Queens to whom their tiny human world was personal property who ordered all their deaths for consorting with faeries.

Or Hybern, bringing their brutality to bleed all of Prythian dry.

In the very back of her mind, Nesta heard again, soft and fathoms deep, the voice that had responded to Elain’s charm. We’re called Illyrians, born hearing the song of the wind.

Behind her eyes, the mountains sang the icy air to shape. Not words, but feelings that bubbled up beneath her breastbone and completed a longing so desperate tears ached in Nesta’s throat.

She had nightmares, and then nightmares.

Nesta had bargained and cheated, lied and bought her freedom. She might not have been able to save her baby sister- a failure she could never, ever take back- but Nesta would be damned if she failed their vassals too. Failed Elain or Lucien, besides.

The cold wind in her mind was a wilder thing than the chill of this snowy night, she could almost feel it if she tried. Ice and power and freedom, the air twisting around her like an embrace.

There had to be a way to keep them safe.

Beauty would not distract her. It was the oldest human story, wasn’t it? The innocent maiden and the wicked faery. The lost kingdom and it’s chosen heir, a quest, a sacrifice.  Destiny. The trick at the end- the pure of heart is worthy, but faeries always lie.

This wasn’t a tale and Nesta couldn’t freefall through the very sky into the arms of her true love.

She’d find those mountains someday, climb them until Nesta touched the clouds herself. Cross the dangerous, fathomless enchantment of an ocean to follow the path of her families old compacts in blood. Her mothers homeland, the faery smith who’d bound gold on steel for the first Archeron Lord, maybe even Lucien’s lost and savage Autumn.

She would live, and she would see it all.

Nesta just had to find a safe route through a war first, and nothing- no one- was going to stop her. 

— Lucien was a liar. It was possible it was in his blood- learned over the cradle, crooned by his mother the deceptions that would keep him safe.   He’d let himself believe the lie he could survive Beron intact in youthful fury. Shed his colors and lied through centuries of brittle, false Spring Court charm. He would lie now- lie and burn and bleed if it meant he could protect the Acheron sisters from what was coming.   Sleep had never arrived.

When Elain finally gave into the overwhelming exhaustion of magic and conflict a few hours before dawn, he’s stayed still. Felt the soft sigh against his shoulder as her eyes tipped shut, halfway through the litany of what he knew of the Day Court, the exchange for a cheekily retold explanation of the ties between the Archerons and the north’s fell High Lord.   “We’re not his subjects,” Elain had all but growled, face pressed to his arm. That several hours into that tangled space between them, curled together on her floor, she’d cajoled him out of his coat and most of the asinine human layers Lucien wore these days, was not something Lucien would let himself dwell on.   How infinitely pale she was in comparison, the smooth curve of a freckled cheek pillowed on his bicep.   “The original oath ensures it,” Elain went on, “Prythian’s courts don’t allow humans to belong to them in legal truth, but for us it’s a protection. Not under Rhysand’s rule, but we can enter the protected city- carry things from it on our ships to countries who don’t know it exists.”   Adamant to his gold, but that wasn’t right either- aspen, ash to his birch bark maple, the trees that cut paths through Autumns heart.   “Velaris,” Lucien crooned back at her glee, the syllables smoke in his throat.   “The City of Starlight,” Elain’s laugh had no sound, the amusement a twist in her voice as it swept over his bare skin.   In an urge he’d been turning over and ignoring for the better part of an hour, Lucien risked reaching out to brush the curls from her face where they’d fallen into bright, half-lidded eyes.   “Wherever a High Lord is,” Lucien found himself saying, as the silence stretched a beat too long, as he looked into those dark, dark eyes, “is their court. Rhysand has more power than any of them- wherever he is, Night lives.”   His hand was still in her hair when sleep took Elain.   The trust of it- asleep against him, like Lucien wasn’t High Fae, magical and monstrous as they came- froze him in place.   It was a longer while than he’d ever admit before he carried Elain the scant step to her bed, left her wrapped in warm down- the temptation to stay so huge- and insane- that Lucien started walking and hadn’t stopped until he was here; deep in the snowy woods.   Dawn was only now cresting through the clouds, the light silvered pink and slow to reach him.   It was too damned much.   His mother- not just alive, or miraculously unhurt as he only hoped and dreamt of- but apparently seizing her own fate with a surety Lucien hadn’t known existed in his entire lifetime. His mother’s freedom.  They’d both be safe, at least as much as was possible, from Beron and Lucien’s brother’s wrath. For the first time in his life.  How had she broken a bond of blood? Stolen a High Lords crown?And why, after untold centuries of it’s wildness trapped in Beron’s hands, would it accept being wielded by one human girl? And what- he was truly afraid of the answer- what waited in the Day Court for them?   Lucien had only one guess, and it made it hard to breathe.   While he was already damned and ceding oxygen, Lucien let himself think of Elain. A Court’s crown should have had an effect- magic, in it’s truest, oldest aspect, shone on the skin of mortals- but Elain remained herself.   An utterly human, utterly feminine beauty. Bottomless clever eyes and a vicious, brilliant mind only countered by that kind unforgetting heart- everything in the world Lucien wished to hold.   It wasn’t fair, but he blamed Feyre.   He’d had it locked away. Bound in so much red ribbon behind his ribs to call enchantment down- and then Feyre in her pointed frustration had spent an entire day making asides about how ridiculous it was, how unnecessary it was, for Lucien to marry her sister.   While he’d been braced for the condemnation, for Nesta to brush away Feyre’s fears in that cool way of hers, that wasn’t his first impulse. Like a madness- like the High fae that he was- Lucien wanted to get in a fight.   This was where he belonged. In pace with Nesta, forever at Elain’s side.   He wanted to tear apart anyone who’d try to take that away. His home, his family, his-   Love was not a word Lucien allowed himself to think. It hadn’t lived in his vocabulary for enough centuries it had been easy to bury. Passing fondness of course existed, friendship- though his last lover had in fact been killed by Feyre’s hand, in these very snowy woods.   Andras hadn’t even been allowed to die wearing his own face.   There was nothing Lucien wouldn’t do to keep the eldest Archeron sisters alive.   He’d forgiven Feyre- been as close to her as he had anyone in decades, a friend- but Feyre had protectors too powerful and numerous to name now.   Before the sunlight reached the forest shadows Lucien’s body had melted through the snowdrift, burned so hot he was settled in summer warm soil instead of mud. A few red plumes of leaves had tried to unfurled out of their time on the oak behind him, scattered down at his displeasure between racing thoughts.   He’d never burned Elain. Lucien wasn’t actually sure it was physically possible for him- and that thought, at least, was a balm.   Lucien needed to bury it all.   Needed the lying diplomats face he’d perfected, the utter and complete act he, Elain, and Nesta pulled off in concert- Lucien needed the lie. Not to escape what he was feeling- it wasn’t possible, and he didn’t want to lose all the insane hope and fear he carried- but to face this day as the clever fox he’d been and find a path through.

  If Rhysand planned on endangering them, he had another thing coming, Nightmare Lord or no. — Elain woke up alone.   It shouldn’t have been a surprise- much less an imposition that filled her with the sort of blinding frustration a less keen observer associated only with her elder sister- Elain was the maiden daughter of Lord.   Not just a Lord, so far as the gentry were concerned, but Flatha, scion of a distant crown across the ocean, given their noble lands in totality from the personal property of the Council of Queens, their dangerous wayward relations contained within their own tiny kingdoms. Six centuries ago, Elain would have been gormflaith;  a princess named for the blue of her blood, just for being born Archeron.   For her purity.   The reality was, of course, that her father was an absent, worthless wastrel at best and Elain very clearly remembered falling asleep in Lucien’s arms.   Brown skin warm on her face, the air around them sparking- with Lucien’s laugh it ignited, a hundred little shining flecks to mix with the deep sound.   In the darkest part of the night, it had seemed like a whole other world. Effortless magic everywhere, that she looked on with such enormous fondness it was impossible to hide, a wreath of flower and bone- where exactly in the Autumn Court had the bone of a dragon come from?- tucked in her hair and humming with a power that lit along Elain’s muscles like adrenaline, easy as breathing.   Tumbling into Lucien’s embrace to bask in the predator-intent, faery savage way he watched her face.   His hand in her hair. Gentle, so impossibly gentle as curls rasped over knife callouses, the gesture completely separate from the wickedness in his molten eyes.   Waking up alone, under no less than three layers.   Elain bit the inside of her cheek and rolled over, kicking off suffocating blankets two and three as she went. The one left tucked around her with the precision of rolled pastry was rabbit fur- warm, soft, and usually housed across the room on a divan near exclusively used by Nesta.   The perfect repose of a noble heiress- but most women of Elain’s outsize standing were not hiding a house full of dangerous faeries. Did not turn every bit of glittering charm and very real companionship on their fake- but not quite- fiancé to get them out of their eminently fashionable great coat, all the way down to a silken tunic that left perfect, near obscenely sculpted arms bare, only for fire to paint the air with happiness. The average daughter of Flatha weren't able to summon the crown of Court of Prythian out of thin air, or possess a High Fae sister, and a triplicate strand of pearls that lived on her wrist to hide a scar whose sensitivity felt like- felt like-   Elain rolled back over and groaned.   There were a thousand things to do. Nesta needed to know that Sorcha had passed them off impossible power, offered refuge that could reshape their plans. Lucien needed to sign off their shipping manifests, go to port and glamour smuggled faerie cargo.   Their farms needed the roads cleared, the staff accounted for in the blizzard, extra supplies taken to the orphanage to begin the winter holiday celebrations. A ball to finish planning, ash wood to burn and hide, Feyre’s arrival to stage so that she could move freely at home.   Elain was busy. But instead of moving she was staring out the diamond paned window that showed her pink sky and blinding white snow; thinking about Lucien’s hands. She wanted to hold those hands and let their matching rings clank together. Let him feel the pulse in her wrist and see how pleasure arced over her skin from that silvered mark.   She wanted Lucien at her side for everything. — Back in fighting form, at least on the surface, Lucien was more intrigued than alarmed when halfway back home he ran into Feyre, coming out of the woods.   It was that old friendship- Feyre the huntress, Feyre the human unafraid of magic tempered spring green groves, Feyre newly changed and desperate to be outside- that kept him from the immediate warning sign.   She was alone, for one thing.   Smiled that cocky, antagonistic smile he hadn’t seen since she was a human. “Vanserra,” She called, and Lucien heard cauldron damned Rhysand in the syllables.   It was not like when Nesta called him by his surname.   Because being pricks to each other was the friendly foundation for them, Lucien squashed his shoulder into hers in reply, the snow liberally sprinkled in her hair sliding over his still bare arms. “Where’s your crown, little Fey? Thought Night Court fashion had rubbed off on you.”   With a half smiling snarl, Feyre used both hands to send him careening, before hiding them away in the deep pockets of a gigantic leather coat he could smell Illyrian blood on. Hair in a simple braid, she was leagues closer to the woman he’d known.   “Rhys is dramatic,” She said, unbearably fondly.   Rhysand was setting her up as an equal, and the ruler of the most populous court in Prythian, but Lucien was not going to be the person to tell her that.   “Dramatic,” Lucien repeated with a grimace, melting the snow in his path. He didn’t miss that Feyre watched impossibly fast motion- ice to slush to water, soaking deep into the soil at his behest- with rapt attention. “What are you doing out here?”   He was going to make a joke about her hunting pheasant with unfair fey advantage, perhaps extol the virtues of the terrifying, wonderful woman Nesta had employed as a cook and really grind in the fact of his life here, when Feyre blinked. 

And then again.   High Fae tells were dangerous, subtle things. Control was a mark of age, and power, with the rush of instincts that ran thick in their blood with adulthood. High Lords were volatile, courtiers deadly.   Feyre, for all her obvious immortal grace and power, still feigned like the nineteen year old mortal she was in many ways.   And lied like one.   “Practicing,” Feyre recited, face normal and eyelashes fluttering. Untruth changed the entire tone of her voice. For someone who looked so damn much like Nesta, sounded so much like Elain, the lack of ease felt bizarre. “Rhys is training me, but I can’t control all the courts power yet.”   The woods led to both the main road out to the farms and the local village, in the other direction, apple orchards and the shattered Spring Court border. Lucien decided to play along.   “No more accidental fires?” He teased.   Feyre laughed, almost genuine. “Autumn is easy,” She insisted, which told Lucien enough to know that whatever drop of Beron she possessed, its depths had not been reached. “Darkness is obvious, but I’m still finding out what came from who.”   Before he could reply, Feyre twisted, fluid as a Dawn Court assassin, to pose before Lucien. “Spar with me?”   He’d fought her as a human. Fought Tamlin for the chance for her to learn to master her new body, retrain in old skills. Even if Feyre had been fighting with Illyrian’s every day for the last year, Lucien had three centuries and an impossibly savage upbringing on his side- there was no danger.   But still, his pulse said look closer.   “You should know,” Lucien teased, mirroring her wide stance, “I did already fight the ceremonial duel with Nesta for Elain’s hand.”   Feyre stopped mid motion darting forward lightening fast to laugh. “Nesta held a sword?”   Something utterly indignant, blood red and fey, twisted in Lucien’s chest. He caught the hand that had been about to slap into him and sent Feyre flying back, her knees hitting the snow bank his melted path had created. “Hand to hand? No weapons or magic?”   Feyre grinned, shoulders aligning. “Just one round, fight me for real.”   Lucien didn’t immediately realize what a mistake it was. — Elain’s first sign something was off was Nesta’s pale face, crashing through her bedroom door.   It was early enough- the house empty enough- that much like much like Elain pulling Lucien into her bedroom the night before, Nesta looked like herself. Ink already visible on both hands, her wine colored dress without the sleeves laced on, carrying both books and letters balanced under one arm, the Archeron seal clutched golden in the other- this was the real Nesta.   Who tossed herself down on a chaise, catlike, to glare at Elain.   Not at Elain- not really, no true malice could live between the eldest Archerons- at the world. “Feyre didn’t sleep in her room last night.”   The fur blanket tucked around Elain’s shoulders slid to the floor as she turned, taking the comforting smell of Lucien’s hair with it. “Did she stay with Rhysand?”   She’d thought, not yet. Feyre might speak to him like a lover, invade the High Lords space in that half casual way Elain assumed faeries would take very seriously, but they didn’t seem there yet. There was a restraint, hunger in those ancient purple eyes.   Starvation.   Nesta sighed, began to shuffle the books she’d set down into a perfectly straight pile. “No, she took one of the guest rooms. It wasn’t even made up.” It wasn’t even- Feyre had come home, crossed the continent back to the land of their childhoods, and pointedly slept in a room without fresh linen? Or candles, or water brought in?   Elain joined Nesta on the chaise, silk magic warm beneath her.   Feyre’s rooms were exactly where they had been when they were children. The eastern wing, where she could see the sunrise over the gardens from her bedroom. Before the house had been plundered straight to the ground to pay debt- the very beams and rooftiles sold- the room next to it had been a tiny childrens library, just for her.

They’d rebuild it three times the size with more windows than walls. Elain had spent an obscene amount on fine glass, Nesta filled it with supplies from four countries- a studio, for their sister who’d always wanted to make beautiful things.   Elain swallowed the hurt, shared a look with Nesta that said all that needed to be said.   With it went the thoughts she kept thinking seeing Feyre’s face, both utterly young and preternaturally frozen, beautiful. Mortal freckles but no smile lines left. That same unrestrained laugh, but their mother’s blue eyes looked at Rhysand for answers. She was back, she was alive, she was- “Why do you think she came home?”   Nesta handed her the largest envelope.   It contained not one letter, or map, but more than a half dozen missives on blue paper, written by equally many hands. Elain dumped them on the cushions between them and began to read.   Humans in business with faeries had unique tactics to stay ahead. For one thing, compacts bound to bloodline meant most of the immortals didn’t care to know their business partners, after all, by their standard, they’d be dead soon.   But mortals stuck together. Many of their ancestors had been the same once, royal blooded and wild with nothing to loose. Explorers, who’d gone looking for whole new lands to gift their children, bereft of a crowns direct privilege.   Their descendants learned care in the cradle, and the power of passing knowledge.   Blue paper for the secret city’s Court, incendiary powder ink for High Fae information, moon silk ribbons, for Sangravah, the weaving capital of the world.   Elain compared the words, reiterating the same thing again and again, before meeting Nesta’s blazing eyes. “The Night Court has been invaded?”   Of course it had come from a dozen people; merchants made money in conflict. Human worlds changed, when those conflicts were fae. The danger was near suicidal for mortals in magical wars- but those rare survivors ended up rich beyond promise.   “No one knows who it was.” Nesta said lowly, frustrated, “They infilitrated the civilian population, took something, and burnt half the city to the ground once it was found.”   A valuable something, if they needed that much chaos to dissuade pursuit. What did Sangravah have? The best rugs and tapestries in the world. The only port where Dawn Court silk could be bought. Libraries and temples, pink light and poetry.   “Isn’t Sangravah a stone city?”   Nesta’s pale bitten lips said yes without the words. Elain swore.   For something to do with her hands she tipped the book pile closer and read down the spines: Alchemic Fire: A Compendium, Mother’s Moon: The Priestess Orders, and White Stone, Silver Blood, The Complete History of Northern Conquest. That Nesta hadn’t slept wasn’t a question Elain needed to ask, anymore than she knew that she’d find colored coded annotations if she started reading along. Completely illegal tomes, of course, Nesta’s favourite import.   She tried not to picture centuries old stone made molten, leveled to the ground. The heat, the chaos- the magic it would take for that kind of destruction.   “Hybern?” Elain asked, her own doubt clear.   The shake of Nesta’s head knocked loose her hasty updo, wooden pins catching in the freed waves of her dark hair. Recognizing the sheen and sharp points, Elain tried and failed to sympathize with the storm Rhysand had coming.   Nesta was walking around with ash wood in her hair.   “Hybern,” Nesta repeated with equal dubiousness, “Or Night Court rebels, or another Court or the Queen’s Council. Rhysand has more enemies than the thrice damned Plague Lord.” A High Lord who had specialized in bloodline curses- a single faery who’d brought the continent to it’s knees, a thousand years before. Elain wondered if they were of any relation. The male Feyre called Rhys and laughed with seemed to have an equal notoriety with his own people.   And possibly worse power running in his veins.   “Prythian,” Elain began carefully, “Might be even less stable than we know.”   Whispering despite the warding, echoed adrenaline making her awake, awake, awake, Elain managed in a steady voice to tell Nesta about Sorcha. Crowns and the Autumn Lords crimes, asylum waiting in the most foreign of places. — Feyre cheated immediately.   Lucien, who’d once had nightmares about that exact look of mischief on a human face, like a Suriel waiting in the dark, knew it was coming.   So when the youngest Archeron sister rolled out of the snowbank he’d neatly tossed her into with a laugh, Lucien was able to smartly dodge the ice that came railing toward him. Not sharp, but a barrage like giant hail that cracked against tree trunks, sent snow flying.   Feyre had never actually seen how fast Lucien could move.   And he wasn’t trying terribly hard now. If she’d been training with Illyrians all along, she’d be used to superior ungodly strength, but not the speed of High Fae. Even if she hadn’t been given the opportunity, Lucien thought Feyre would have sought it- Nesta’s infuriated face that those were Illyrians, childhood legends made real was evidence enough.   Rather than reengage, half a kind thought to the looming oak behind Feyre had the tree shaking every bit of wet snow off its drooping branches.   The weight of the snow knocked her back down with a groan. “You talk to trees now?”   Lucien straightened from the trunk he’d been leaning against and tried not to sound full of the vague insult he felt, “I always talked to trees.”   Feyre didn’t bother to get back up, shaking the slush from the hugely oversized shoulders of her coat. Narrow eyed, she tilted her head in question. It was still bizarre to see Feyre so- the mix of her human mannerisms and the instincts of a faery body muddled, indistinct. It was even more confusing now that he knew her sisters. When Nesta had the same posture, with her utterly similar and painfully different face, it was all fae- aggression, focus, the shape of a hunt.   Feyre looked baffled. And angry? “How’d you learn that from Spring?”   He waited a beat too long for the quicksilver teasing smile, for the punchline. It was long enough for the temperature to drop several degrees, for her brow to furrow completely. Lucien swore. “You’re joking.”   Incised, Feyre tossed an impressively articulate fireball at him, straight autumnal gold. “Of course I’m not joking. Spring controls plants.” Spring controlled plants. Gods and immortal honey.   “What,” Lucien growled, pausing to dodge Feyre’s barrage of fire, “In the Crones darkest mercies is Rhysand teaching you?”   It was an obvious mistake to snarl Rhysand’s name like that in her hearing. Like he hated the bastard- which in some ways he did. The High Lord, even if it had been Feyre’s idea as Lucien feared, had brought death and danger to the Archeron’s doorstep.   Was, after a sole year of what was clearly painfully basic training, touting her as the greatest magical force in Prythian.   Feyre’s eyes visibly flashed and Lucien braced himself.   But what he was met with was a wall of fire. Not warding, not bloodmagic, not sunfire, but only Autumn’s burning grace.   He could have parted it like a curtain. Eaten it up with hotter flames, pulled back until it belonged to him. It was exactly the sort of magical pageantry Beron insisted upon- no one raised in the Forest House wanted to be the weaker end of that pull.   Disallowed, Lucien’s thoughts still managed to flicker to the crown that fit his head. Day’s gold and Autumn bone, a missing piece, a-   Lucien stepped into the fire.   He could tell she was angry just from its depth, roil. Like stepping into the titanic baths of a Winter chalet, like the Summer court sea; Lucien had forgotten how good it felt. Living heat coiled up his arms, caressed his face.   Swore he could taste just a hint of bonfire on the back of his tongue. The ritual kind that burned and burned under a full moon, hawthorne and rowan, violets and rose. It was, he thought, painfully near the scent of Elain’s rage, protection that littered the air like embers.   Lucien was only aware he’d closed his eyes when it all went away. The world was blinding white, and Feyre was talking so fast her words bled together.   -“why the hell would you do that,” She was saying, “Do you think I actually want to hurt you? Shit, shit shit.” Lucien tried not to smirk, but the action was ruined by his recoil when Feyre grabbed his bare arm with both hands. Not that it stopped her- she kept swearing right up to the moment she actually managed to trace up his arm, staring at his unblemished skin with giant eyes.   Friendly, afraid, and awed; but still Feyre’s touch crawled over his skin with wrongness.   It had a name, a very specific reason, but Lucien wasn’t about to use the word, even in the privacy of his own mind.   Finally he snarled, discomfiture actually real enough for Feyre to drop his arm in sheepish apology. Clearly, some fae things she had learned.   “I don’t understand,” She said, “What just happened? Are you okay?”   It had been easy, Under the Mountain, to forget the savior of Prythian was a teenage girl. “Of course I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me, Feyre.”   Forcefully, Lucien made himself remember that he’d once wanted to be her teacher. Trapped under Tamlin’s rule, less than a shadow of himself, he’d wanted to make sure the world leveling power in her veins didn’t destroy her. Now, he wondered what in Cauldron’s name Feyre had been doing for the last year.   And wished, wished, he’d thought to take a real shirt with him leaving Elain’s rooms.   Feyre was still staring at him in that half hollowed out way that spoke of something like human shock. Lucien made himself smile through the grimace. 

“Fey, you know who I am now? My history?”   Feyre nodded, pulse visible in her throat. “Heir to the Autumn Court.”   He didn’t let himself blink, but it was a near thing. The North still called him heir? How that must burn in Beron’s gut, infuriate Eris.   It wasn’t the right time to explain his banishment, the price on his head. Much less grin over it. “Could you drown Rhysand in darkness?”   Caught between the human impossibility of Lucien’s utter lack of injury and what she had been taught was a fearsome faery weapon, it was a long moment in the frozen morning before Feyre smiled again.   “He’d like to see me try,” She drawled, giving much more information that Lucien really wanted but- “You’re flame retardant? “   Lucien laughed, but the warning bells hadn’t stopped. There was no one in their history who’d ever had the power Feyre did. Some things were universal to High Fae; instinct and strength, winnowing and healing, longevity and vengeance. But even a faery child born whose parents had mixed two court bloodlines, or grandparents, or great grandparents- it could happen for generations down, still the result would be the same. A favoring of one, maybe two Court’s vital skills.   There were theories about how it worked. That the solar courts had more malleable, airy skill, but the elementals blood was more physically shaping.   Lucien himself was not a good example.   He’d taken the name Vanserra the second he could for a reason- he’d favored completely Sorcha’s skills from the cradle. There had always been talk along with it- Lucien who burned a little too bright, whose very name was light like his mothers.   Remarks about his deeper skin, the shape of his mouth, and the height he grew into- so unlike his siblings.   The last Vanserra heir. It was the savagery that saved him long enough to grow; had the Lady of Autumn’s whole family not been slaughtered? The male heirs had disappeared centuries before, the loss of all the rest to Hybern was a tragedy that bore the mark of Beron’s fingerprints.   Of course Lucien would be unloved- hated. So different than Beron, than his brothers- yet still the most powerful son of all. A walking reminder of crimes and bloodshed, it made a very Autumn sort of sense.   Lucien was a very Autumn-blessed faery.   But that didn’t mean he didn’t receive a basic education on other courts before his banishment. He was not fire retardant- like calls to like. Too much an Autumn blaze to ever feel anything but it’s embrace; but sunfire would burn him. A ward twinged with Summer’s roaring heat could wound.   He wasn’t the child of every Court like her- but he knew the difference.   Lucien kept right on smiling, despite the peaked horror. How could she be ready for war?   “Not inflammable,” He drawled right back, laid on an eye-roll whose familiarity brightened her smile, “Just Autumn born.”   Liquid fast, Feyre reached out to tug on a long red tied braid in his hair, “I would have never guessed.”   Could she smell Elain on the ribbon?   Not letting the thought show, Lucien swatted at her playfully. He loved her- not like he loved Nesta, but affection all the same. Her youth scared him. “So fires so easy,” He asked, “Are you getting all the elements now?”   Feyre started walking again, meandering toward the house as she talked. Fire and water, darkness and wind. Was it actually possible a drop of each court wasn’t enough to obtain their more esoteric skills?   Or had she simply not learnt to access them?   “-the hardened wind shielding is dead useful, not sure if it’s Day or Summer. The same with the light show, but I don’t know what it does”-   “Light show?” Lucien interrupted.   Feyre raised her eyebrows. “Sometimes when fire won’t come I get light instead, this kind of glow?”   Summer Court light was weapon, she’d have known if she conjured it accidentally. But if it went along with flame-   Lucien summoned a ball of flame. He didn’t need to hold it over his hand like a showman, but it would be better for his point. “Is all your fire red?”   Feyre only made a face in response.   He started slow, relying on the old adage that instinct would catch up once possibilities were realized. Red to orange, orange to gold, gold to peach and pink. Pink to the burning, seething white he carried around in his chest, the natural color of Lucien’s flames.   Delight and determination shaped Feyre’s face, before she mimicked it perfectly.   The white of the snowing, pristine world before had nothing, nothing, on the gleam and glow. It was identical. But, but- Lucien realized, flames gutting out, it wasn’t fire.   Pure magic, the rise of the sun that fed the world. Feyre couldn’t tell what the light did, because she hadn’t let it loose on darkness. It was cleansing, hungry as his own flames. Daylight.   Enchantment had always been Lucien’s specialty.   Now that he let himself think it, the prospect that he’d never questioned was insane. His mother was a creature of blood and the Bone Forest- her spells were binding, clever. Had he ever seen her break one?   Had her flames ever eaten magic, destruction tempering in a whole new shape?   The fire of High Fae is not always, simply, fire.

@breath-of-sindragosa

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Jealous

Pairing | Eric Northman x reader

Summary | bringing your partner to the bar seemed like a good idea in order to have a nice and relaxing night. However, he appears to become jealous as you speak to the owner of Merlottes.

Warnings | smut, jealousy, swearing, exhibition kink, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), squirting, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

A hunger derived in the vampire’s chest, a blossoming swarm of contained rage that made the sheriff clench his fangs and watch with piercing eyes. The laughter that resonated from your chest made him scowl, all because he was the one that was not causing it.

Instead, it was the dog that ran around this human grill, the shifter that more often than not, tried to distance himself from trouble. He was the owner of Merlottes. Sam Merlotte was his name, he had a head full of ashy brown hair, that had ropes of grey pleated through it. He was a nice man, warm and welcoming, the complete opposite of Eric in some sense.

The Viking vampire was known, and to your knowledge to be notorious. He never allowed anything to stand in his way, and if it dared to, he would literally, rip its head off if it had one. And despite that deadly feature that he exhibited, you still claimed to have loved him. The two of you were great together, you seemingly brought out the best in him, apart from right now.

Eric grunted to no one directly as he watched you swish your head side to side, shaking it as you laughed at something the bartender said. All that you were supposed to be doing were ordering drinks, not flirting with another one of the men that had previously been head over heels for Sookie.

With one last glance at the shifter, you turned back, sitting on the opposite side of the booth that Eric had been holding. You brushed your hair over your shoulder, it was obvious that you were relaxed in this environment. It was filled with your friends and neighbours, acquaintances and strangers. But it still, despite the limitless customers, induced you with serenity.

“The drinks will be here in a couple.” Despite informing him, it appeared that he could care less about the time until the order reached the surface of the table.

“Will that animal be serving them?” In reply, you laughed, dismissing the seriousness within his tone. That was, until you maintained eye contact with the tall blonde, noticing the feral presence decreasing the size of his pupil.

“Are you speaking about Sam?” You asked uncertainty, the owner having been the only one that you had conversed with in the bar, excluding Eric, so far. “Oh my god, you are.” Your speculation had been correct, and you couldn’t help but feel a pulse of annoyance within you.

If Eric actually ever listened to you, then he would know that your friends meant the world and more to you, and that included the shapeshifter. “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.” He put it simply, and you could only scoff at his defence. It was hardly a reason for him to appear and treat you so uptight and rudely.

“What, with care? Because news flash, maybe you haven’t noticed everything that I have done for you Eric, but many times my actions have proven that you are it for me. And if you can’t see that, you may as well be human!” To support your active words, you stood, the palms of your hands planted upon the surface of the booth.

Sookie quirked a brow as her head filled with your thoughts, however she had no time to adjust to them or check how you were doing, as you stormed out of the grill, leaving Eric with a frown and a sombre glaze in his untameable eyes.

But she couldn’t help herself from taking your place looking down at the table, judgementally prying Eric with a disgruntled frown. “Did you seriously question y/n’s love with you?!” Her accent came out strong, digging into the tense atmosphere that you had strongly abandoned.

Eric rolled his eyes at her intrusion, finding it to be a familiar, yet frustrating feeling of her always bursting his bubble. “It has nothing to do with you, why don’t you talk some sense into your vampiric boyfriend instead?” He jutted back at her, standing, and brushing off any possible lint from his blazer jacket.

Reaching into his inside pocket, he grabbed a small amount of cash, placing it upon the table, and walking past the half faerie, brushing against her as he went towards the door, leaving. Eric had no worries, he could sense that even whilst he was inside, that you were there, leant up against the wall, awaiting for him to follow after you. It was inevitable that he evens would.

Your arms were crossed, and you were facing the parking lot rather than the entrance. The stature that you upheld made it rather clear that you were angry with his behaviour; and not to mention that it was also in public.

The vampire knew that you loved him, despite Sookie’s feeble accusations. Fighting was not something that the pair of you were estranged to, however it made you furious to know that he would accuse you of being interested in somebody else.

It was certain that if Pam was here she would scold her maker for his uptight, and jealous outburst. But it wasn’t as though she would have been able to prevent it anyways, considering that she was all the way across town in Fangtasia attending to the business ongoing there.

“I do know that you love me.” His voice rang out in the cold of the night, frolicking to your ears and biting your lobes as you still refused to face the tall and unfavourable vampire.

“Right now, that is debatable.” Was your retort, feeling the cold air brush against your face as you felt it pinch your nose. “To not only insult my friend, but embarrass me in front of a bar full of people, that was not how tonight was supposed to go at all!”

Your body jolted as you suddenly felt his body press against the back of your own, his large and explorative hand dragging up the skin of your exposed thigh, that was free of coverage in the casual black dress that you had opted to wear for the occasion.

“I am sorry my lovely dear, you know how I tend to be, especially when I hear other men make you evoke that wonderful and all consuming laugh that gets my dead heart to beat every time.” A hitch of a sigh caught in your throat as you tried to remain unaffected by Eric’s flattery, but it was rather impossible, more so as his hands brushed against the lace of your panties.

On reflex, you snapped his hands away from that part of you, you were in the middle of the parking lot for Christ sakes! Though that did not, nor did it ever seem to phase him, if you were to guess, you had noticed some hints leading to him having an exhibition kink. And it was not as though you had never called him out on it, though, most of the time, you happened to give into his public desires.

It was often portrayed within the context and realm of his workplace; Fangtasia. Within the club, there was a frequent case of rendezvous that the club permitted to take place inside its various walls that were filled with vampires and their lustful humans. The exchanges that took place were anything but loving, they were filled by hunger, and the curiosity that simple people, that thought themselves to be edgy and desirable to the immortal eye, all making the rooms reek of pretentious assholes taking advantage of one another.

“We are not doing that here Eric.” You scolded his efforts, despite your craving for them to take place, and ravish you no matter the surrounding that were into the background anyways. With great resilience, you swatted his north travelling hands away, making them stoic from the adequate dismissal.But Eric Northman was never one to admit defeat, he had a plaguing tendency to get what he wanted, and he was always had a route of persuasion to get it.

“Aren’t we?” He asked wispily unto your drifting head, as though he were corrupting the stubbornness that was attempting to remain untainted in the rafters that floated so correspondingly through your weightless veins. “Then why are we sneaking to the back of the grill?” His words had a frown fired upon your face as you tried to register the truth behind his words, but in time before you could ask the mysterious vampire what he had meant by his words, he had sped you away to the said part that was already close by.

“Mature move.” You muttered, and the consequences of your off handed comment had earned you the vulnerable position of being pressed right up and against the back door, that was only usable to the staff. If you tilted your head just right, you could hear the clattering of plates being stacked, and the distant voices o Arlene and Terry as they partook in a private discussion that was supposed to be inaudible to anyone else’s ears.

Beaing that close to people that you knew, and in such a compromising situation where they could easily catch you, had you clenching your thighs together, clearly frustrated by the scenario of your predicament. Clearly. And with Eric standing smugly inside of you, once trailing his fingers on the high top of your thigh, his skin tasting your flesh that was beneath the dress, did not help the matters of your hormonal state.

“I said I was sorry.” Eric reminded you, stroking your thighs with his age old touch, and at the notion, your legs quivered, responding affective to his seducing touch. “Perhaps I have to prove it, would you like that y/n?” An audible whimper fell from your stiff mouth, evicting an amused and gloating smirk out of your boyfriend. He knew what he had done, he had moulded you into a desperate mess.

“I’d rather you apologise to Sam, and whoever else you happened to insult in your time in there.” Was your response, though he tutted at it, seeing through its mask, understanding what you wanted was for him to do more than just caress your thighs, and nothing more. “Eric.” A moan slipped from your mouth, as he fondled your breasts through the bleak fabric.

At first, you thought that he was going to pull the material down to expose your womanly globes, but instead, he tore straight down the middle of the dress, leaving it hanging from you by nothing more than a thread. His action enraged you only slightly, but before you could open your mouth to tell him off for destroying your clothing, he snapped the elastic of your underwear, leaving the personal garment to drop in a discarded manner at your heeled feet.

“You are indeed a sight for sore eyes. Do you know how jealous I would be if one of those fools came out here, and saw you so exposed? There’d be no words to describe how much I would want to compel them to forget, and you thought I was angry inside. That would be nothing more than an understatement my dear.” His hands cast themselves down to grope at your ass cheeks, pulling a surprised squeal out of your mouth.

This time, you did not try and stop his feeling of your body, instead, you rather encouraged it. Wrapping your hand in his smooth blonde locks, you began to push down, which was difficult considering how high his head was, leaving your arms half up in the air as you tried to make him descend. “Do something Eric, or I will.”

“Here?” He asked with a prominent smirk, feeling your hostile glare and intoxicating pout bore harshly into him. Rolling his eyes, he sighed, giving up on his verbal teasing as he sank to his knees, looking up at you from beside your legs. He pressed a sweet kiss against your navel, trailing down, until he was nipping at the curve of your mound, his hands resting on the back of your thighs, to pull you closer as he ran his tongue along the hood of your clit, making you bang your head back against the door.

The sound made you eyes go wide, as you worried that someone on the inside must have heard, though the thought quickly subsided as Eric began to eat you alive, stuffing his tongue in your entrance, leaving you to be nothing more than a mewling victim that was in distress from the pleasure that he gave you. His nose rubbed against your clit, as he hummed delightedly against you, the vibrations causing your body to quiver.

“Stop.” You panted, though he continued, staring up at you with those light eyes, that held much darkness of his past. “Need you inside of my Ric. Please, need you to fuck me good and hard, just fuck me.” There were tears frustratedly slipping from the corners of your eyes, as you were upheld of relief as Eric moved away, undoing his bottoms, and taking his long cock out, sweeping it against your slit.

“I’ll fuck you darling; let everyone know that your mine.” His free hand held the corner of your chin, plummeting his tongue into your mouth, to have one moment of calm, before he penetrated you, leaving you in a mess that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head and deliriously spinning from the euphoria that you felt. Eric performed at a fast and unrelentingly pace, slamming you hard enough into the door for everyone to hear.

It was certain that people within Merlottes could hear the sounds that were ravaged from your lips, though you were too absorbed in your own pleasure to care at all. Eric fucked into you hard, and you appeared unfazed as someone tried to open the door from the other side, the wood splintering against your back as your boyfriend‘s strength kept it shut, pushing your floundering body back against it.

And then you felt it, the absentminded swirl in your stomach, coaxing you closer and closer to release. Eric filled you first, and then he reached down, rubbing your clit, causing a clear stream to spray out from around his cock, leaving you utterly exhausted. You were half asleep now, and so, Eric picked you up, and sped away, leaving your torn clothes upon the floor, so that anyone that found them would know that it was the pair of you that had been using the outside wall as a mattress for your engagements.

[mortalfaerie]

STRANDED IN TIME (M. F.) 1/?

matthew fairchild x lost herondale! reader

y/n herondale seems to get her just deserts when snooping in cirenworth's attic sends her back over 100 years.

You, Y/N Rook - no, Herondale - were having a no-good, very-bad, mind-numbingly-frustrating couple of months.

Dramatic? Maybe. But what else do you call it when your dad gets killed by demons in front of you, your newly orphaned little brother and you get told your nephilim, which you've been raised all your life to scorn, your new friend gets impaled by the reanimated corpse of her ancestor, and then gets turned into a perpetual ghost by your brother and his unrequited crush via necromancy which is, by the way, VERY VERY MAGICALLY ILLEGAL.

Oh, by the way, let's throw in that you can now see ghosts just to spice things up.

Now, you were slowly adjusting to life with your little brother and two victorian not-shadowhunters (but not not shadowhunters, either. It's confusing.) in their equally victorian manor in England. It felt a little like running away when your brother, Kit, told you that he wanted to take up Tessa and Jem on their offer, but hey, running is a Rook speciality.

Tessa and Jem were as hospitable as could be, but you still had a hard time seeing where you were as permanent. Jem directed you and Kit through training every morning, and seeing that you secretly enjoyed reading, Tessa made a habit of slipping a new book under your bedroom door every monday morning. She had a lovely (and very valuable) collection in Cirenworth's library, and amidst her and Kit playing "Read that book/Saw that movie," you had been picking up the slack for your brother and reading the books in question.

This week's book was The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Perhaps, it was this book that had led you to go poking around in the attic of the manor, in search of some mystical object. There wasn’t much of note so far, save boxes of clothes from decades past, some photos, and a whole lot of dust. You were planning on going back downstairs when a specific box in the corner caught your eye.

It was a steam trunk, the kind that might have been used in past centuries for travel, but something about it drew you over, reaching for the bag identification against on its side.

“Thomas Lightwood, Cirenworth Hall, Devonshire.” The tag read - odd, in that the manor was a Carstairs family holding and had been for over two hundred years, and this trunk certainly didn’t look like it predated it. Unable to fight the curiosity, you tried the lock, finding it had rusted and came off with a snap. Inside, clothes, photographs, and relics of a nephilim life were neatly arranged inside, clearly by someone who cared for their preservation. Fumbling through, your hand made contact with a metallic object at the bottom of the trunk, and you drew it out to find a crystal that sent a shiver down your spine.

You had seen a crystal like this before. It was a memory crystal.

Normally, only a magic user would have been able to activate it, but both you and Kit had been able to activate the Blackthorn one, for reasons you didn't quite understand - something about having royal faerie blood - and so you tentatively turned it over in your hand. You jumped as the room grew dark and the crystal began to glow, projecting its memory on the wall. The crystal must have been damaged, since it skipped and faltered, it's nature distorted. Flashes of scenes jostled for attention - a ball, probably in the early 1900s, and a man with rich carmel skin and blond hair - a laboratory, and a pervasive feeling of panic - demons, heinously large. You struggled to make sense of it all as the crystal grew hot in your hands, like a computer overheating and burning. You abruptly dropped it in reaction, but as it hit the ground, the room went black.

Waking up, your head ached like you'd been concussed, and the sunlight made you begin to wonder if you'd fallen asleep in the gardens and had a strange dream. As you opened your eyes, you groaned with the sting the light caused. You tried to roll over, by found you were abruptly nauseous. Your body convulsed as you vomited your breakfast onto the grass beside you, then collapsing again.

From behind you came a high voice that struck a memory. "Oh, lord. Who are you?"

You squinted at the translucent girl hovering near you. "Jessamine?" you rasped, wondering why she was here.

"Yes, I am she. But who are you, and why are you... sick in my gardens?" she replied, circling you in the air.

"I- please, get help." you moaned, as another wave of nausea hit.

"Oh! Ack!" she cried, and fizzled out.

You desperately wished for Jessamine to swallow her sensibilities and get whoever was near, as you began to shake violently on the ground, abruptly cold and dizzy. A door opened nearby, and two sets of footsteps came rapidly to your crumpled form.

"By the angel..." A man muttered, and you heard Jessamine chime in, "I told you, she knows who I am, but I haven't the faintest clue who she is."

"Nevermind that now, Jessie," he said, by your side now. "She's marked, though I have no idea who she is either."

Another voice joined them, one that caused you to open your eyes and squint at the two looking down at you with worry. "Let's get her into the infirmary. We can call for Charlotte latter and determine her identity, but she looks grievously ill."

You coughed and whined, but managed a shaky question. "Tessa? Tessa, what's happening?"

Clearly, she wasn't expecting this question, and she exchanged a bewildered glance with the man she was with. You noticed for the first time that she wasn't dressed as she normally was - rather, she was wearing a long dress of cotton lawn with her hair twisted up.

"I'll carry her." The man said, and reached for you. Tessa nodded and helped to move you to a sitting position. You whined in pain, and she touched her hand to your forehead in a very motherly gesture.

"Will, she's burning up." was all you heard before the world went black again.

[feliix]

Fortuitous Chapter I ✦ (18+)

✦ Pairing: Witch!Jungkook x Reader x Jimin 

✦ Word count: 3.3k ✦ Rating: M 

✦ Genre: angst, fluff, smut, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

✦ Summary: You have gone your entire life believing that Park Jimin was your soulmate, but when you meet the shopkeeper of your local potion store your world turns upside down.

✦ Warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, unrequited love, explicit smut

✦  A/N: thank you to my favorite person ever @hobiance​​ for helping me plan this monster ilysm and thank you to my lovely beta @ally-127​ for helping me out! the beautiful banner is made by the wonderful @kimtaehyunq​ 

taglist: @krystle1990​

The many tales of soulmates dated back as long as anyone could remember. It was one of your favorite stories that your mother read to you when you were young. The story was about a princess, locked in a tower her entire life, but on her 18th birthday, she was allowed to leave for the first time.

On the princess’s first trip to the city she met a man, one who she fell in love with. When she locked eyes with this man, the village people saw their eyes turn pink. The princess and the man’s hearts became full, illustrated with hearts surrounding the characters in the storybook, showing you this was true love.

You had always thought back to this story when you thought of true love. A heart becoming full at first sight as your eyes became stunned with the sight of your lover. It was a romantic concept for sure, and you hoped that it was everything you had thought it was your whole life.

In a world of all things magical, you were not. You had grown up with faerie friends, demon enemies, and in a family of angels. 

Unfortunately, you were the only one in your family without any supernatural gift.

Being a human wasn’t that bad. It just wasn’t anything interesting either. Living a life surrounded by supernatural beings was a lot of work.

Well, mostly surrounded.

Meaning everyone in your life except for your very own fiance was supernatural.

You had known Park Jimin for your entire life. His family was full of angels too, and your parents all grew up together. It was certain that the two of you were destined to be friends. You’d known him for so long that you don’t even remember the first time you met, because the two of you were just that long. For very obvious reasons, this complicated things.

When one first meets eyes with their soulmate, their irises glow pink and their heart becomes whole. You had heard that it was the most outrageous feeling in the world, but you never did know if you experienced it yourself.

Although you had no remembrance of experiencing this feeling, you’ve gone your entire life with the belief that Jimin is your soulmate.

If you couldn't remember the first time your eyes met Jimin’s, how would you know if they had glowed pink like soulmates are supposed to?  Your parents had always told you it was Jimin, and his parents told him the same. But if that was true, why didn’t you see the world with rose-colored glasses like the princess? Why didn’t you feel like your heart was complete?

That was the question you had been trying to figure out the past few years of your life – ever since you started dating Jimin. Jimin was a good fiance. He was kind, smart, and he had always been good to you. He respected you, your career, and allowed you to be as independent as you wanted to be.

Things with Jimin were…comfortable? He was a good friend to you, even before you started dating. The two of you had always got on very well. None the less – the sex was amazing. It was lust-filled and just as dirty as you liked it to be, but it just seemed like there was something missing in the intimacy department. Like a spark or something beyond just lust that drove you absolutely mad – it wasn’t complete. You weren’t exactly sure how this love thing worked, and maybe you were overthinking it – but it just wasn’t as eccentric as you expected it to be.

“Everything okay?”

His voice snaps you back to the present – sitting over your bowl of cereal, now fairly mushy. You must have dozed off for a while.

“I’m good,” you confirm, dropping your spoon into the bowl. It isn’t appetizing anymore and there is no point in sitting here if you never planned on eating anyway. Breakfast for dinner was never really your thing. “I think I’m gonna head to bed.”

Something was missing between you and Jimin. You weren’t sure what was missing but there was something that wasn’t there. Weren’t you supposed to feel undoubtedly in love? After all these years there was a piece of your heart that was missing. The way your parents talked about soulmates, the way your friends felt while being away from their significant other, the things that the fairy tales told you. Something was missing but what was it?

As you prepare yourself for bed your mind races with these thoughts, thinking of ways to feel this spark you had always longed for. The way Jimin looked at you, you knew he felt it – you can’t help but think that maybe it's you.

Was this what it’s supposed to feel like? If it was then soulmates are not all they’re cracked up to be. Maybe it's because you can't remember the first time that you locked eyes, or you don’t remember falling in love – if you even had fallen in love in the first place.

The downwards spiral of your thoughts was never-ending, and Jimin could sense something was wrong. He knew better than to ask you, though. It was in your nature to keep your thoughts to yourself, it wasn’t your style to let him worry about your internal sufferings.

Anyway, you knew Jimin was your soulmate. Your parents told you so, and Jimin was confident in it too. He loves you, he tells you so each and every day. Maybe you just needed to let down your walls and let him in. Maybe it was your own thoughts that were containing you from allowing yourself to fall in love.

You watch him as he gets into bed beside you, wearing nothing but his pajama bottoms as he slides beneath the covers. Glasses adorn his face, a book placed in his hand as he flips on his bedside lamp. He’s focused on the pages in front of him, reading over each line (intently) and allowing the book to consume his thoughts. He’s handsome, perfect in almost every way. Why wasn’t he enough?

“Jimin”

“Yes?”

“Touch me”

His eyes grow wide as you stare at him with a waiting expression, he’s caught off guard – but he doesn’t turn you down.

He takes your cheek in his hand, soothing the skin with his thumb as he tilts your head to the side. Goosebumps litter your skin as his lips meet your neck, sucking lightly and making your senses grow wild.

A breathy moan leaves your lips as his kisses trail down your neck, satisfied with the feeling and letting lust overtake your emotions. That's what this was, lust. You lusted after Jimin. If sex could be enough to make you fall deeply in love with him, you already would be.

Delicate fingers trace along the hem of your t-shirt as sloppy kisses are placed on your collarbones, your fingers carding through his hair and gripping it at the roots.

Your clothing is lost in the crossfire, landing sporadically around the room as Jimin ravishes your body, no surface left untouched by his plush lips as he worships your every angle.

The cool air washes over your naked body, shivers run through your body as his hands meet you once again. And then he’s pushing your knees to the sides, your legs separating as he dives in between them.  And just like that, Jimin’s lips are moving south and his tongue is diving into your soaking depths. Involuntarily your hips buck towards him, unable to control your own actions from the pleasure his mouth is bringing you. Jimin’s thumb soon meets your clit, circling the bundle of nerves gently as his tongue presses flat along your slit.

You let out an airy gasp as his fingers move down to your entrance, circling the hole before dipping just one inside. Unable to resist, your hips jump up towards him as your mouth releases a loud moan. A hand flies up to cover your mouth, shocked at your own body’s response to his touch.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he smirks as his finger pushes into you slowly. Your walls swallow his finger deliciously, adjusting to the new sensation well. Soon enough he’s adding in another finger, causing you to tense up at the added pressure, taking a moment to adjust to the greater size. The feeling of mild discomfort quickly subsides as his lips reassure every movement; soft kisses pressed to the inside of your thigh as his fingers explore your depths.

Your hips jut forward as his fingers begin to separate, stretching your walls as his fingers move in scissor-like motions inside of you. He does his best to comfort you as his other hand gently rubs under your navel, his fingers quickening in pace and spreading further apart to prepare you for the size of his cock.

Your stomach churns with anticipation as his fingers reach new depths inside of you. All the pain is gone, morphing sweetly into pleasure as Jimin meets your desires.

“Jimin,” you breathe out, a moan-like sound following his name. It was a way to get his attention, not a cry of pleasure. He narrows his eyes in response, his eyes still locked on your expression as he waits for you to continue, “please.”

You don’t have to say anymore before Jimin is rocking himself back onto his heels, not before leaving one last kiss to your clit. His fingers reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, ripping them off with his underwear in one fell swoop.

His cock springs outward as his clothing is removed, his tip red, dripping and begging to be touched. Swiftly, his hands return back to their place on his cock, looking so pretty and delicate wrapped around his fully hardened member.

Hunger fills his eyes as he moves to you, his body positioning over yours ever so slowly. This is what you had been waiting for. To feel something, anything – even if it was lust.

Your body tenses as the tip of his cock presses against your entrance, readying yourself for his size. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the sound of blood pumping thumps against your eardrums.

Jimin pushes into you slowly, your velvet walls wrapping around his hardened member. A muffled grunt leaves his lips as he basks in the feeling of your cunt swallowing him (nicely). “Feels so good baby girl,” he moans as he begins to pull backward slowly, “so fucking tight.”

You keen for his praise, shifting your hips slightly for extra friction. He hums in satisfaction at your movements, grinding slowly as he sinks into you. Pleasure is written all over your face; jaw hanging loose as your eyes roll back. It was like an itch waiting to be scratched, and Jimin was fulfilling your every need.

“So good for me,” He whispers, the sensation of his smooth voice igniting a fire through your body as he thrusts his cock outwards, leaving you feeling empty and begging for more.

Whining in response, your hands meet his back, fingernails dragging down his spine in retaliation. Jimin’s face contorts as your nails pierce his skin, leaving lines of red scratches on his supple skin.

Again, Jimin pushes past your entrance – this time with greater force. You shudder as he plunges into you, his tip finding your g-spot instantly. A sharp cry leaves your mouth as your head is thrown back in pleasure, a smirk growing wide as he plays your cat and mouse game.

Your velvety walls welcome him again and again. The stretch from his length and his rhythmic motions sending your senses into overdrive. If the repeated tap of his cock against your g-spot wasn’t enough, Jimin’s fingers now roam your body, looking for another area to awaken your senses. One digit finds its way to his mouth, popping it past his lips to coat it in saliva. You watch him intently as his finger leaves his mouth, your eyes dark and focused on him as he drags the digit down your body. He finds your nipple, rolling the perky bud between his fingers before his mouth takes their place.

His tongue washes over your sensitive bud greedily, soothing over the surface with his hot breath. The ministrations of his tongue continue while his cock glides in and out of you so effortlessly – almost like you were made just for him. And as far as you knew, you were.

Words of praise leave his lips in the form of mumbles, only amplifying the sense of your arousal as the vibrations from his voice (wash over) your nipple. You can’t stop yourself from grinding down onto him, your growing desire now too strong – you needed more.

“So good for me,” he groans as his thrusts begin to deepen – recognizing your needy movements against him. That much-desired knot in your stomach was growing and growing, begging to be tugged and snapped, leading you to your sweet release.

Sweat gathers on Jimin’s brow as he bucks his hips harder into yours, the pace of his thrusts quickening as his elbows flatten on each side of your head. Your hand brushes back his hair to read his face. His eyes are closed and his face is scrunched, he’s focused on his movements as beads of sweat drip down the sides of his face.

Before you had any time to catch a break he was moving upwards, his back straightening as his hands grip tightly around your waist. His hips drive into yours as he chases his high – bringing you closer to your own in the process. Extending your neck, a high pitched moan screeches from your throat. The force of his tip against a sensitive spot inside you pushes you over the edge, your impending release finally in reach.

The band in your stomach snaps as you chase your high, screaming Jimin’s name as your back arches off the mattress and into his body. Stars cloud your vision as your orgasm takes over all your senses – body numb yet sensitive under his touch all at once.

With the sporadic throbbing of your pussy pulses around Jimin’s cock, he can’t hold on much longer. With just a few more thrusts he was coming undone inside you. The white, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, making you feel so unbelievably full. You had never felt closer to Jimin as you had in the moment his body collapsed on top of yours, holding you close as you came down from your highs. And with as close as you felt now, in the back of your mind you knew the feeling could never last.

It was becoming nearly impossible to accept your fate as Jimin's soulmate. For 2 weeks you tried to find it inside yourself to come around, to accept that the universe was trying to tell you something, that he was put in your life for a reason.

You’d made it a point to be intimate with him every night, hoping some kind of spark would ignite and you’d feel that connection you’ve been longing for. To no avail, your feelings remain the same. 

After hundreds of google searches about “how to fall in love with someone” you were about to give up. Well, that was until you stumbled upon an ad for ‘Botanica Magica’ – a store specializing in all things witchy. The ad said the store had over a thousand kinds of potions, something for every occasion. Want to get back at an enemy? They had something from that. Want to break free of your inner demons? For sure, there was something there for that.

To no avail, they have what you were looking for too. A love potion.

Once Jimin had finally left your place and headed to work you decided to check out the shop for yourself. There was no harm in trying to find a solution to your ongoing issue. As weird as it felt, the clarity given to you with your past spell felt uplifting, and there was some sense in finding it again.

Botanica Magica was a little hole in the wall downtown, adorned with green vines over white wood covering the small building. It was cute, not what you expected a potion shop to look like. Maybe you were expecting it to look a little rougher around the edges – something dark and haunting perhaps.

Today was rainy yet again. It's like you should have taken this as a sign like something strange was going to happen. Was the universe punishing you for trying to meddle in your own love life?

The shop smelled of rosemary and sage, the strong fragrance filling your nostrils as soon as the oak door swung open. Bells chime on the impact of the door, alerting the shopkeeper that a customer has arrived.

The shop looks very sweet. One wall lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, another with shelves full of candles and crystals. And then there was what you were looking for. A small display filled with small vials of liquid lined up on a round wooden table. The bottles glowed with all different colors, the bright blues and pinks immediately catching your eye as you approached the display.

“Love potion,” You read aloud, whispering the words to yourself as your eyes glaze over the description. You bring the bottle closer to your eye, looking at the formula up close, inspecting every drop of fluid.

The directions were clear, you take half of the potion while your partner takes the other. It seemed simple enough on your end,  of course – but how would you get Jimin to take it? A cocktail maybe?

“Can I help you, miss?” A man’s voice echos from across the room. His footsteps approach your figure as you keep your back to him, still concentrated on all of the different options in front of you.

“No, I think I’m doing al-”

That was when you saw it. The feeling you had been yearning for your entire life. Heart skipping a beat at the sight in front of you, your hand flew up to meet your mouth, covering the gasp that slipped past your lips.

His iris’ glow pink, a vision you thought you would never see, or experience for yourself. You could feel your own changing as well; as if rose-colored glasses were placed over your eyes and the world became brighter. The breath in your chest was lost, and if you hadn’t had the nice gentleman in front of you, you might have fallen face-first onto the floor. Luckily, he was there to catch you before you fell, his tattooed hands placed on each of your hips for support.

“H-hi,” is all you can muster out, standing up straight and regaining your balance as the man’s hands pull away from your body.

He was a muscular man, dressed in all black and chunky boots to accompany his clothing. He wasn’t the beefy muscular type though, he’s more of a lean-muscular, average height, and has tattoos garnishing each finger on one hand. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbow, exposing more dark tattoos on his arm. His hair was long and dark, a little bit curly at the ends, and parted down the center, complimenting his facial features well.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

“Miss, if I’m not mistaken, I believe your eyes turned pink at the sight of me,” He speaks, breaking you out of the haze that overtook your being. Shaking your head to snap you out of it, you blink your eyes hard, surveying the room to make sure this was real life.

You understood what they meant when they said your heart became ‘full.’ If you didn’t know better you’d expect it to have already beaten out of your chest with the rate that it was thumping. Making eye contact with the man again, your mouth opens slowly, “I-I think yours did too.”

‘Fortuitous’ is copyright 2020 @parksfilter, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

[lynettethemadscientist]

MysMe Fantasy AU

SPOILER WARNING: these character backstories include lots of canon details.

Centaur!V

A majestic and proud race, the centaurs characterize themselves as first and foremost, practical. Their prudence is their strength. However, although Jihyun Kim’s father is a centaur, his mother was a dryad.

The dryads, unlike centaurs, are more emotionally-driven and free-spirited. V’s father chose V’s mother because of her artistic prowess and high reputation. Unfortunately, the process of birthing a centaur child from a dryad womb severely injured V’s mother and ensured that she could never pursue her artistry again. Because of this, V’s father abandoned her and took her child, believing her to be useless.

Eventually, V’s mother found a way to reconnect with her son. V then found himself torn between two worlds. His father raised him to deny his dryad heritage and live a pragmatic, business-minded life. But his mother understood his soul’s desire to express itself through art.

Sadly, before V could fully come to realize who he was and how to reconcile his two conflicting natures, his mother perished in a fire, saving his life in the process.

V distanced himself from his father and pursued his art, but he felt empty and without purpose.

When he met Rika, he thought at last he had found what he was looking for.

Naga!Rika

The serpentine race is resented among most other races, as they are a natural predator for most of them. While most naga children are insulated from the negative effects of societal rejection due to strong familial bonds, Rika had no such advantage. Her adoptive parents hated and abused her. And she was resented and mistreated by all who met her.

As she grew older, she learned to use her hypnotic gaze and seductive charm to conceal her predatory aura and become an almost magnetic presence to those around her.

But the damage had already been done. Her mask enabled her to make friends, but it could not scrub away the festering darkness that would warp her mind.

Furthermore, she couldn’t help but realize that no one truly loved her, they only loved how she presented herself.

When she met V, she thought at last she had found what she was looking for.

Drider!Luciel

Like nagas, the drider race is also commonly hated due to their predatory disposition. Saeyoung Choi, along with his twin brother Saeran, were the result of a politician impregnating a drider. Not wanting anyone to know about his scandalous tryst, he intended to murder his children, but their mother kept them from his reach. She gouged money from their father in exchange for her silence. And she harshly abused her children.

Unlike his brother, Saeyoung was permitted by their alcoholic mother to go outside on errands. He started attending a local church. Not long after, a centaur and a naga approached the drider child, warning him of a strange man that appeared to be spying on him.

Luciel was slow to trust the couple but he was grateful for their warning as he knew the strange man must have been sent by his father. V and Rika ensured that no one followed the child home. Additionally, Rika noticed Luciel’s malnourishment and began sending food home with him, which he would promptly give to his twin brother.

Eventually, Luciel would come to tell V and Rika about his and his brother’s predicament.

In an attempt to remove him and his brother from their parents’ grasp, V instructed Luciel to study coding. He had connections to an espionage agency that would be able to hide Luciel’s identity and make use of his arachnid attributes. Unfortunately, entering the agency meant that Luciel would have to sever all personal connections.

At first, Luciel refused, not wanting to be separated from his twin. He only agreed after V promised him that he would rescue his brother and assured him that it was the only way to keep the two of them safe from their father.

Luciel would spend the next several years working only to survive and to keep his brother safe, completely unaware that V had failed to keep his promise.

Drider!Saeran

Because Saeran was never allowed to leave his home, he was faced with constant verbal and physical abuse from his mother. As a result, his exoskeleton was unnaturally frail and he felt useless and weak compared to his brother.

When his mother was particularly vindictive, she would tear off one of his legs and he would have to wait months until his next molt to get it back.

Saeran felt hopeless and miserable. The only thing keeping him going was his brother and the promise he made that someday they would escape that house together.

When Saeyoung didn’t come home one day, Saeran fell into despair and their mother punished him severely, beating and starving him nearly to death.

Saeran endured two more months in that house, believing his brother was dead and soon he would be too, before V and Rika finally arrived. They were appalled at the sight of him. He had only 5 legs left. He could hardly stand and his throat was so dry he could barely speak.

Eventually, the couple managed to wrest the child away from his mother and take him to live with them.

Unbeknownst to V, Rika began to prey on Saeran’s frailty and insecurity. She wanted to use Saeran to build a haven for those like them. She believed that the outcasts and the abused were unable to survive in normal society. And she wished to encourage those who followed her to embrace their predatory natures, to let their fear and anger become a vengeful passion. She wished to give them purpose and happiness. And she would do so by force if necessary.

Vampire!Jumin

The vampires are a legacy race, usually heading large business empires that have existed for centuries. When a vampire chooses to retire from his position, it is passed down to his chosen heir. This heir may or may not be related by blood, but they are always related by bite. The most traditional of the vampire patriarchs establish an heir by taking a human wife and producing children. The wife is turned after the desired amount of offspring are born. Those who choose not to take a human wife instead choose a human apprentice. When the apprentice or child has proven himself to be a worthy heir, they are turned by their sire.

Jumin Han has already been turned, but his mother never was. In fact, his father divorced her and over the course of even a few decades has chosen many other human women to be his mate. None of them lasted very long.

Though Jumin did maintain a good relationship with his father, he resolved to never be a victim of fickle emotions like him. He isolates his heart against others, preferring to stifle his emotions and focus on his work.

His only respite from his emotional repression is his beloved cat, which was a gift from V, his childhood friend, and Rika.

Faery!Jaehee

Not much is known about the faery race. They remain an ominous presence to beings bound to the physical realm. The nature of these ethereal beings seems to range from ambivalent to malicious.

Jaehee Kang was a changeling. Her parents resented the replacement of their human daughter but raised Jaehee as a human anyways.

Jaehee grew up determined to establish herself as a proper member of society, despite her fae lineage. She excelled in her studies and was always a very distinguished hard-worker.

Jumin Han took note of her diligence, but his primary reason for choosing her as his secretary was that she wasn’t human and thus would not fall under the lecherous eye of his father.

When she was in high school she relaxed by hiking. Being in the mountains felt far more natural to her than being around other people. But after she entered college, she took a chance on watching a local production of a musical play. She quickly became entranced by the actor Zen. He was surpassingly beautiful and graceful. And the tenor of his voice as he sang touched her soul in a way that she had yet to experience. He was nothing less than enchanting to her. His performances felt like a glimpse of her true home.

Werewolf!Zen

Similar to vampires, werewolves characterize themselves by their family legacies. However, werewolves are more frequently tradesman, often priding themselves on their physical prowess or craftsmanship.

There are usually 4-6 pups in each litter, and each pup is expected to learn the trade of their mother or father from an early age. By the time they reach age 14, they are productive member of the family business.

Hyun Ryu was born in a litter of only two, so a lot was expected of him and his brother. Hyun’s brother adjusted easily into his role, but Hyun did not.

Hyun was an exceptionally beautiful child. His mother, fearing that he would pursue a career in entertainment, verbally abused him. She often called him ugly and chided him for his appearance.

Hyun found himself entirely disinterested in his family’s trade, and instead preferred to hone his singing skills or practice acting. When his parents demanded that he abandon these pursuits, he ran away from home.

Zen was barely able to make ends meet at first, taking on multiple small roles and at times resorting to the use of his wolf-form to intimidate people for money. But eventually his talents became more recognized and he was able to land larger roles.

Rika dearly loved Zen’s performances and hoped to further his career by establishing connections for him through the RFA. Zen was wary of her at first, but after V saved Zen from a nearly fatal motorcycle accident, Zen decided to join. Thankfully, there was no lasting damage from the crash due to Zen’s lycanthropy.

Merman!Yoosung

The merpeople have a particularly individualistic culture, usually encouraging their young ones to pursue whatever futures they desire and expecting them to be independent at a relatively early age. They do have their own schools, but their fry often attend schools on the surface, as it opens more career opportunities and proficiency on two legs is considered a desirable skill for merpeople to learn.

Yoosung Kim started his schooling on the surface later than most. He didn’t even touch dry land until high school. He had a lot of trouble adjusting and felt rather unsteady and aimless until he met his adoptive cousin Rika. She guided him in the ways of the land and taught him the importance of building relationships with others.

Upon hearing of Rika’s suicide, Yoosung fell into despair and disbelief. Yoosung relied on Rika a lot and the news of her death was extremely devastating for him. She was his mentor, his motivation, and his only real friend. And she was gone. Eventually Yoosung would fall into depression, unable to even attend his college classes even though he had been a star student in high school.

[hlcreators]

AUTHOR REC: haztobegood / @haztobegood

Don’t forget show some love by leaving kudos and comments!

to be so... (228)

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Tuesday (1.2k)

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Harry nodded. “Yeah, but if the Church doesn’t accept me, how am I supposed to worship God?”

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Written for Prompt #127: The misgiving that the Catholic Church might turn out to be right about everything after all.

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Or

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[midnight-raven]

Star Wars Rebels Disney Au: In the Eyes of the Beholder

A weird combination of Beauty and the Beast and The Hunchback of Notre Dame and other non-Disney stuff.

I don’t know, just hear me out!!!

Kanan Jarrus is a powerful mage with a curse; if anyone were to look into his eyes, they would instantly die.

The memories of his childhood were long gone, as Kanan doesn’t remember his past or the person who cursed him. To keep his curse under control, Kanan wears a mask over his eyes every day. And his Master makes sure he never takes it off.

For as long as he could remember, Kanan lived with sanctuary in a cathedral, raised by his Master, a non-magical Judge who saved Kanan when he was a child, wandering the world lost and alone. His master spends every day keeping Kanan and other mythical creatures safe.

One night, Kanan receives an unexpected visitor, a young faerie woman named Hera, who had claimed sanctuary in the cathedral to escape the Guards.

It was upon their unexpected meeting that Kanan learned the truth behind his master. Instead of helping mythical creatures like he said, The Grand Inquisitor led the hunts for them. Capturing and imprisoning them wrongfully.

Upon learning of the man's situation, Hera insisted that Kanan left the cathedral and seek refuge with her family, other magical beings that fight against the wrongful acts of the Inquisitor.

At first, Kanan is afraid of harming Hera or anyone else with his curse but he reluctantly agrees. And for the first time in forever, he leaves the Cathedral.

In a secret Court of Miracles, Kanan meets Hera’s family. Zeb, a man who can shape-shift into a beast. Sabine, a young girl that can control lights and small sparks of fire. Ezra, a young mage with unlimited abilities. All of them eagerly accept Kanan into the family.

As Kanan gets adjusted to his new life and friends, he still wonders: What did his former master want with him? Why keep him in the Cathedral rather than imprison him?

As the fight for magical creatures freedom continues, the answers to Kanan's past and his curse may come to light, and nothing will ever be the same again.

[the-siren-and-the-sailor]

A story written by me and my little brother!

THIS TOOK MONTHS! INTERACTIONS, ESPECIALLY REBLOGS, ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED!

“Now, hold it at an angle… there, that is perfect. You are a natural, Mal gein,” the woman helped her son adjust his hands, so that his dagger was properly positioned on the sharpening stone. She had a sword in her own hand, and used it to further demonstrate the way it was done.

He slowly turned the tiny blade from side to side, his eyes fully trained on it in childish wonder. Sparks flew off the wheel haphazardly and Spear giggled at the flashy sight. His mother, however, looked after him worriedly. She was not surprised when his finger slipped and nicked the blade, quickly snatching a bandage as he began to cry.

She gently shushed him, taking his hand and wrapping it in the cloth. He started apologizing through tears, but she once again quieted him.

“It’s alright, mal kendov, there is no shame in pain. That is why the gods gave us loved ones. To unify us and to lift one another up. Never forget this.”

~*~

Iýa looked the sleeping Daphne over from atop her starry perch with pity. “Struck by lightning at sea, I’m afraid. You were right to bring her here, Leonora. Let me see what I can do…” With this, she held Daphne and ran a glowing hand over her scales. The blistering burn slowly began to melt away, and Daphne’s eyes fluttered open.

Upon recognizing her surroundings, she squirmed in her mother’s arms and began to cry. She didn’t know why she was crying, exactly. Perhaps it was the way her sister had told on her mistake, or the way her mother looked at her regardless.

Either way, Iýa held her through every moment of it, crooning a lullaby in her ear and assuring her she was safe and loved. And whether Daphne believed it or not, it was the truth.

~*~

Trouble had begun to brew in the east, and the envy of the first man blew the growing storm westward. He stole a star from the Fair Folk’s skies, a great blasphemy against them and their Goddess of the sparkling Night.

While Asem was powerful to an egregious degree, the Fae still felt it necessary to push back against the man’s arrogance. This led them to go to their Goddess and make a wish.

But while the crown of Asem began to fracture his family and kingdom, the Fae’s wish had already been set in motion. Stories began to fly of monsters in the woods beyond the Faerie trading ports. Sailors would return, describing massive men as tall as trees, covered with midnight fur.

Those that knew waited with baited breath. Asem’s sin had brought him to justice all on its own, and yet the beasts made to destroy him already existed. The Fae only hoped to now hide these frightful children they had created…

~*~

Daphne sneakily slipped behind a pillar of sandstone, warily watching her back. Out of the corner of her eye, a pale pink fin darted out of view. Caught.

She would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the pressing need to not be detected. But did that poor pallid mergirl think she was being secretive in her attempts to win the match? The princess certainly hoped not, for the girl’s sake. In any case, she tapped her hand against the wall, and an icy open clip appeared around it.

With this, she allowed herself to let slip a quiet giggle and darted away behind another pillar. She coiled herself around it and promptly turned herself into pure water, so that she was effectively invisible.

Just as she had hoped, the pinky girl swam around the pillar, and was disappointed to find the princess wasn’t there. Daphne flicked her wrist, causing the clasp to snap around the girl’s tail, trapping her and making her yelp.

Revealing herself, Daphne resumed her tail, cackled like a witch, a shot ahead to claim the final prize. She snatched the flag, waving it excitedly to show off to her fellow competitors. They swam out from their hiding places, arms crossed and brows furrowed, and threw joking insults her way.

“How do you keep doing it, you wench, you?” One of them, Marina, snipped lightheartedly.

“I guess I’m just better than the lot of you,” Daphne quipped smugly.

With this, they giggled, laughed and talked, as they made their way back to their dwelling place in a cave nearby. When there, Marina and the pink tailed girl pulled Daphne into a private room to talk.

“What’s this about, ladies?” she said with slight apprehension.

“Well, we’ve been thinking. And, we figure you have the most experience with the outside world…”

“We didn’t want to send someone with anything less. And since these ‘Children of the Night’ are so out of control, even now, we thought you ought to-”

“Please, Daphne. You have friends, don’t you? The scholar you lived with in the human’s city, or what about that half-blood you got along with so well?’

Daphne held up a hand. “No, no. Cain and his family are more their targets than anyone else. And goodness knows where Ion is- frankly I don’t think they’d be able to help, anyway. And Leonora, well…”

A tense pause. They were isolated and their friends were scattered, and they knew it. What could they do? They needed the other civilizations to keep theirs afloat; they couldn’t just barricade themselves in.

“I have one last idea. Voyagers of all peoples have been the lead storytellers and information providers through this. People are bound to go to the Fae to find out what’s going on. If I wait there, I can intercept someone, get them on our side.”

And so the plan was set. Daphne gathered her things, set Marina in charge of the people, and set off for the forest shores.

~*~

After two decades of dedicating his life to a Spectrum Kendov (or Warrior), Spear had reached the point of the highest physical strength and endurance as well as elemental power of the Northern Dragon standards. A Spectrum Kendov was the highest honor a Dovah could accomplish, by defeating two God-like beings… Perun, lord of earth and all Hell fire, and Scorpio, whose stars reigned with war and bloodshed of all the other Zodiac beings.

Spear walked into the Champions Arena, the crowd roared with anticipation and excitement, for the supposed Spectrum Kendov, meant to protect them from all great evil had finally come to claim his title. His helm, shaped to match his demon horns, had already been placed upon his head, and his eyes, glistening with power and will, looked at his opponents, with no urge to kill, but to have mercy when they were beaten to the ground.

"Well, isn't this a sight to see!" Perun's deep booming voice shouted, "Another one ready to die just to claim a glorified and honorful title he just can't have!" Perun had always been the one to provoke those who had high egos, yet Spear remained unmoved with his words.

"Ain't that the truth, this little man is nothing but a few twigs tied with some leaves," A lighter, cockier voice came from Scorpio, whom was the one to provoke others who share his personality, "Sure he has a bit of a size… but he ain't average height, that's for sure!" Perun and Scorpio boomed with laughter.

"Gaah! What the fu-?" Scorpio never finished his exclamation before he was thrown into the arena wall after being punctured with a double axe bladed spear, Spear's personal weapon. The fight had begun, and Scorpio had already yielded to Spear, he was in so much shock he forgot how to fight, while Perun sprung into action with his flaming axe bladed chain, grinding the ground around Spear. As Perun made a final smash to where Spear was, a thunderbolt the size of five struck upon him, leaving Spear's weapon in his back.

Spear retrieved his weapon from Perun's back, and showed mercy on him and Scorpio, for they were only trying to find the true Spectrum Kendov. The tribe went wild and shouted, "Spear is our Guardian! All praise whoever's watching us that we have our Guardian!"

Perun spoke to Spear after he was helped up by him, "We stood no chance- your small appearance is really deceiving to your skill in battle and power. Scorpio and I made an agreement that we would be the Spectrum's protectors, because while you may be strong, you are not immortal."

Spear spoke in a gentle yet stern voice, "Indeed, and I would rather have someone by my side fighting with me, than having more power and relying on that to fight."

Perun and Scorpio took Spear to the North Tower, the one place where all you see is South. "The Wind of the Northern Winter lies here, if it finds you worthy of its own power, then you are the Spectrum Kendov, and you know what responsibility comes with that title…" Perun spoke grimly and sorrowfully as he finished his speech.

Spear responded, "I know all too well of the prophecy, but I'd rather know than not if… he… is to come in my lifetime…" The Wind of the Northern Winter flowed through his veins as he entered the tower, no cold came upon him, yet he felt he could never feel too hot. He had been chosen to be the Spectrum Kendov, the Decimator of Alduin as legend goes- but that time had not come, for another challenge for Spear and the Northern Dragons arose down South…

~*~

Nightmares plagued the residents of the trees, no doubt the Interlopers used these horrid dreams to communicate. Below the leaves, the devils hung Fae bodies in shackles, pulling and picking at them until they bled. Those above pleaded to their gods that they and their children would not be next.

The Interlopers held a ravenous, morbid curiosity. It drove them out of the forests, beyond the lands of the Fae. They tormented the remnants of the first city, the servants of the iron god and the blood necromancers of the east. Their cruel hands found their ways into the lives of the Imitites, the Ortothans, and the Dovahs who had ventured South from their home.

Even the sirens below the freezing southern waves and ice were not immune to this. They poked their heads up to find massive beasts afoot in the snow. The ice cracked under their weight, leaving them vulnerable under the sickly yellow eyes of their attackers. They sent ships to the flesh shepherds and wonder makers on land, and even some to their Fae ancestors still in the woods, but none returned.

They looked to their princess, the demigod of the moon, sea, storms, and dreams, to provide them with weapons and armour, food and shelter. She didn’t know what to do- how could she possibly slip past these monsters? They were everywhere! Not trusting the gods of the Fae she was created by, she turned to another. Going to the sea serpent of lost memories, she prayed.

The Northern Dragons reacted differently however. In their attempts to sail across lands and create new colonies, they had run into what seemed to be giant creatures of great physical strength. Those that were exploring had either been missing for a great time, or had come back with their boats and sails barely holding together, while one man handling the boat itself.

The Dovahs had decided that Spear, the Spectrum Kendov, should be the one to seek out what they heard were called Interlopers, and hunt every single one of them down. While they planned his exploration, they had caught wind of creatures called the Fae, who were being hunted by these Interlopers. With all of this information, they had compiled a plan to not only bring the Fae as an ally, but to begin not a war, but a hunt against the Interlopers. So Spear untied his sail, pushed against the boat onto the water, and sailed to what the Dovahs called the Midlands, the land between Northern and Southern lands.

~*~

Sailing across waters long, Spear found himself beached at the Midlands; scanning his surroundings he finds that a forest grows thick ahead. Grabbing his weapon off of his back, he is ready for any battle to come, as he senses danger within the dense woods. He jumps off the boat's prow and lands with grace, while only sand from where he stood moved. He sneakily and quickly veered into the woods, and found that it was vast and compacted with large, kapok trees. Spear took note as he is only used to his native Blackwood trees.

A sound appeared suddenly, Spear silently leapt to the back of the closest tree, and peered upon what looked to be what he was hunting. An interloper, magnificent in size and mass, making an absurd amount of noise through each footstep, looking like a bear on two legs, as it was covered in fur. Spear slowly and expertly aimed his weapons towards the Interlopers head, and threw. After a clash of weight caving down onto a tree, the body of the interloper crumbled into a pile of jade rocks, it was dead. Spear walked over to his weapon, sensing no other large beings around, and picked up his weapon.

Suddenly, a sharp pain dug itself into his shoulder, and he turned to be met with the end of an arrow, made of, was it ice? "Gaah! Shite! What the heck!?" Spear jumped behind a tree with an arrow in his right shoulder. "Alright, who has the bloody galls to face me in combat? I warn you, I am a Dovah!" Spear left the arrow in his arm so as to not cause more bleeding, and switched to his left hand to weild.

"Come on out Interloper! I may have mercy on you if you do!" A feminine voice shouted from beyond Spear’s field of vision.

"The hell do you mean Interloper? Is that pile of rocks not what a dead one looks like?!" Spear shouts, aggravated that he was accused of being something he wasn't.

"Wait...who are you, if not one of them?" The woman’s voice spoke once more, and Spear sensed confusion and fear in her voice. She must’ve shot him thinking she was being hunted by him.

"I'm coming out slowly, I would appreciate it if you would not shoot me again!" Spear tentatively stepped around the tree to see the figure's ice-sculpted weapon out, but not ready to fire. "I am Spear, Guardian of the Northern Dragons….who the Hell are you?"

"Princess Daphne le’Iýa, Faerie demigod of the ocean," Daphne realizes the wounds and puts away her bow while stepping towards Spear. Spear was obviously hesitant and held out his weapons towards her. "Look, I thought you were one of the monsters, and had I known you were not, I certainly wouldn't have shot you. I can fix that wound better than you can. Please, it's the least I could do."

Spear recognized her honesty, while still noticing fear in her voice. He let her come close enough to slit his throat, but she pulled the arrow out of his arm, and immediately started singing in a language the Spear only knows through ancient Faerie scrolls, and his arm healed, leaving only a scar to remember.

"You are skilled in your magic, I'm glad to have met you, even if I met your arrow first,” Spear spoke honestly and jokingly, as he knew that forgiving this supposed Daphne would be the best way to start a bond.

"I am truly sorry about that. Is there anything else I can do?" Daphne didn’t seem to want anyone else after her, and tried her best to apologize to Spear.

"Do not worry, you only shot in defense without fully knowing who you were shooting at, I can understand this," Spear patted her shoulder to assure her. "Maybe we can both benefit from this event of meeting each other… you could find safety and rest back in my homeland, and then you can share what you know about these Interlopers, this way we both are happy with what we get."

"Have you forgotten about my actions so soon? I shot you!" Daphne was dumbfounded by Spear's quick dismissal of what had happened to him. Although he shook his head at her.

"You need not worry of your actions, for they were acted upon through fear and reaction, you were only trying to keep yourself safe. I can help you with that." Daphne tried to oppose and tell him that he should not be so dismissive about the event, but Spear assured her through a side hug, which caught Daphne off guard enough for Spear to walk past her and towards his boat.

“Wait,” Daphne called. Spear turned back to look back. “The last time I crossed the ocean with someone, things ended up, well… not so good.”

“You’ll be quite safe with my people,” Spear said. Daphne shifted a bit, eying him with wary hope. He was exactly what she set out looking for, after all. “And besides. If you find yourself uncomfortable, you can always use your arrows again,” he said with a playful wink.

With this, Daphne giggled slightly and followed behind. Exiting the thick forest, the two climbed onto the boat. Spear set sail to Scandinavia, the land of the Northern Dragons. To which the two made the journey, to the next step in either great failure, or triumphant victory…

~*~

The pair tentatively made their way across the ocean, skirting past the Interlopers ships to find themselves on the icy northern shores. The princess scurried to and fro, fascinated by her new environment and its people. How different they were than the people of the places she had previously resided in…!

They were Children of the Sun, but unlike those in the First City, these people were pale, blonde, and above all, kind. They welcomed the man- Spear- back with open arms, and were more than curious to meet the woman he had brought along with him. They peppered her with questions and gifts and sights to see, until eventually she was taken to a large building made from an upside-down wooden ship, which they called the Companion’s Lodge, a place to plan a hunt of glory and honor.

Suffice to say, she should’ve known that the man she crossed the ocean with would be the leader. She also met his guards, the most different of men but an excellent team nonetheless. Here, the four pulled out books, maps, stories and paintings, pouring over them in hopes that a hint would be found. A sign that the plans they would go on to make were possible.

After much studying and deliberation, they had had enough. What better way to understand these monsters than through personal experience? Better to dive right into cold waters than to waste your time slowly wading. It was a siege they wanted, and it was a siege they would have.

~*~

The battle was ferocious, haunting... yet it yielded knowledge to Spear and Daphne. As Spear took two dozen Dovahs with him, all with different elemental abilities, Daphne trained in her skills with water. During this time she was informed of something from Spear she never expected.

"It is tradition when one makes an ally of another, they would train each other of the other's weapon, so that the bond goes beyond words of trust, it is also trust of possessions." Spear spoke to Daphne in hopes to have created at least a friend with her. "I believe we are trusting of each other, so… what do you say?"

"Uhm…" Daphne was caught a bit off guard. Her bow being one of few things she kept to remind her of the home she came from. "I'm not sure… I mean, I trust you completely… but I don't want to give my bow to anyone really…" She obviously didn't want to hurt him in any way, so she tried her best to tell him in the kindest way.

"Well, maybe we can teach each other of how to use one another's weapons, that way if we do switch weapons, it won't be devastating in battle," Spear was trusting towards Daphne, mainly because he felt a strong connection between them. Even so, Daphne felt guarded towards him, yet she agreed to training each other, as she remembered, ‘iron sharpens iron.’

While Spear was able to pick up her bow and use it with tremendous strength and agility, Daphne had immediate trouble with how to begin using Spear's complicated weapon. Until Spear suggested using it as a spear, not an axe, Daphne then swiftly grew more attuned to the weapon.

While this was happening, the Interlopers stronghold was being populated with readily growling beasts, yielding to tear apart anything that came. Just before the battle began, Daphne and Spear switched weapons, and having learned each other's weapons, they charged in the front line, and made mountains with the piling jade rocks from many fallen and crushed Interlopers.

With their great roar of excitement, the Dovahs roared with them, right into the line of Interlopers. As they crashed through their thick bodies with their hugs weapons, they became berserk and started wailing on them, showing no mercy. They had trained to fight like Hell itself, and they were as demons in this battle, blood soared not spilled, limbs flew not fell, and the morale of the Dovahs only increased. However, even with their great first triumphant starting charge, they started to wear down in numbers, just by virtue of the continuous streaming numbers of Interlopers.

As Daphne was using her water abilities in ways she never imagined using on the frontline, Spear used archery and close combat expertly to the point where he never missed his shots and never came close to getting hit. Even though the two sibling-like fighters were doing well, the Dovahs were still overwhelmed by the increasing numbers.

Many had used fire, metal, nature, and all of them were decimated, while those using lightning were barely holding on as well as wind… however, Daphne noticed something. She peers in close distance to two Dovahs using water abilities, making the Interlopers drown, what was curious however, was that when they were under the water, they couldn't move, therefore they couldn't breath and they died.

Daphne quickly refocused to the battle at hand, and Spear cries out, "Too many have fallen, fall back! Water Dovahs, drown those who follow us!" It seemed as though Spear was also paying attention to his surroundings. As the remaining group of soldiers returned to their outpost, the last two water Dovahs made a wall of water of which the Interlopers could not pass lest they drown and crumble into jade.

Daphne and Spear look at each other in agreement. The battle may have been lost for that day… but knowledge of weakness in their enemies may prove to be the element to winning the war, or as the Northern Dragons call it, the hunt…

~*~

The Companion's Lodge was bathed in a tense argument. They started the siege with the advantage of surprise, but it had quickly descended into mindless violence and death.

“How could this have happened? I thought we had them!” Scorpio shouted in frustration.

“We made sure to bring our best! All different kinds of elemental wielders were there with us, and nearly all of them were slaughtered! What more could we possibly have done?” Perun huffed. Although calmer than the others, his voice still wavered with stress.

“At least we learned their weakness,” Spear started to speak before being cut off.

“Oh, fantastic. Just in time for your people to be killed,” Daphne said icily.

“Our people,” Spear tried an uncertain smile.

Daphne paused and sighed, relieving a tad bit of the tension. “Yes, our people.” She looked around the room, which had largely quieted down. “I’m so sorry. If I had known it would turn out this way…”

“But you couldn’t have. This isn’t any of our faults,” Perun said in a soothing, almost fatherly tone. A somber silence fell over them, each lost in thought, or perhaps simply in grief.

“Daphne could tell us more about why this is happening,” Scorpio spoke quietly.

“I already told you all I know about the Interlo…” she trailed off. That didn’t seem to be the point. “Alright.”

“Well, the Fae goddess- my mother, Iýa. She created me and my… sister, Leonora. But she was made princess and I wasn’t, so I ran away. I didn’t realize why I needed to stay until the Fae had Iýa create the Interlopers we now face.”

A, “But why?” from Perun.

A, “Shush!” from Spear.

Daphne giggled before turning serious again. “The first man- Asem- stole from my people. He took a star and used it for a crown. I was already gone when all this happened, but I’m told the Faeries wished for justice. In return, Iýa gave them the Interlopers. Not that it mattered. Asem’s greed had already torn his family apart. His wives left him, his sons quarreled until they drove each other apart, and his people all left or died in the chaos.”

“And how is it you know so much about him?” Scorpio spoke with a hint of accusation.

She drew in a breath to argue, but Perun spoke as before her, more calmly. “He’s right. Even we didn’t know this, and we live much closer to the first city than you did at the time.”

Daphne huffed and turned away. Spear put a hand on her shoulder, making her tense and then ease up.

“I was there.” Silence. Spear’s hand pulled away. “I know how that must sound. Most people would have you believe I immediately joined the sirens under the ice, but…” She took a deep breath. “There was this boy. I went with him to his city- the first city- and his family. They were nice, but not kind. And I was there to witness this be their downfall. Not that it matters now- and it’s probably for the best, anyway.”

Spear put his arm around Daphne’s shoulder to comfort her, and it worked. She steeled herself again to go on. “Now, as for the Interlopers- in the city was a sorcerer- his name was Noah. I know it sounds like a long shot, but I know him, and I know he could help. I think our next step is to find him.”

~*~

Daphne had hidden herself away under her covers, with a small, glowing gem of ice. Curled up and warm, she sang a lullaby and fiddled with the ginger scarf in her hands. Her sister’s. If only they could’ve just gotten along, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If she had just sought to understand her mother’s wishes for her, or if she had met Asem just a little sooner to convince him not to do what he did...

You’ll never be able to hate yourself enough to rewrite history, that boy’s gentle voice whispered to her. Silently, she nodded. Her heart ached with longing. How she wished she could hold him again. She’d fall to her knees and beg if it meant she could giggle with her sister again, or squirm and cry in her mother’s arms. If this could all go back to normal. But, drawing in a shaky breath, she reminded herself not to dwell on what could have been. She had a new family now, one that truly loved her, and she had to protect them.

Spear meanwhile, took a knife from his shield, which had many, but this one was different. This first knife he had crafted with his mother, the one of few things that actually cut him. He held it in his hands in admiration, as if he had never seen it before. Spear then held the knife to his chest as if trying to hug it, and thought about his mother.

He began singing an old song told by many of the Dovahs, called, My Mother Told Me. He sang it perfectly in three different keys. He then replaced his knife back into his shield, and stood up. He was ready for battle, for exhaustion, even for death… because he was once a boy who cut himself with his own knife… and now is the Spectrum Kendov… he feared not the death of himself, but the death of his newfound sister, therefore he swore that he would protect her, even at the cost of his life...

~*~

"Water is their weakness!" Perun shouted, "Why the Hell can't we just use your powers in every battle and destroy these cursed Interlopers?!" Perun was insistent on being a warlord, making sure everyone had a chance of fighting and getting stronger. Though he didn't realize the bigger picture.

"Every time I used my powers for an extended amount of time, I got tired, that is why we can't continuously use these powers every battle, because it would weaken us to the point where we can't even fight!" Spear spoke angrily at Perun, though he knew Perun's powers worked differently because he was a mythological God, he hated his lack of empathy when others got tired from using them. "Even if we didn't get tired, why should we fight and lose more of our men, when we can wipe them out completely in one big swipe?!"

"What are you talking about…?" Perun's curiosity perked up as he heard this. Daphne opened up a scroll of prophecy, and with her knowledge explained to both Perun and Scorpio more about Noah, a human from the seas, able to control great waves from below ground.

With this knowledge they created a plan, Spear would use his powers that combined into weather to create a huge rainstorm, Daphne would use her powers to raise the waves of the oceans, lakes, and rivers, and finally Noah would use his power to break the ground and gush water from the Earth. Their powers combined should be enough to cover all but the highest parts of the Earth. They trusted that the Interlopers would fall in and sink, while others would either get to the high ground, use boats, or swim in the sea if they were sea creatures. The missing component was Noah himself.

"Where is this Noah?" Scorpio asked urgently, he wanted to rid the Northern Dragons of any threats as soon as possible. Daphne then pulled out a map of the Midlands and pointed out where he could be.

"Right in the middle of an Interloper camp?" Spear grunted this, as he did not want anything to go wrong in getting Noah. Daphne nods, her expression was a mix of anger and disappointment, she had the same feelings as Spear. Perun started to notice the bond between Spear and Daphne, and while the two were talking more, Perun pulled Scorpio aside.

"I remember that Noah was taken captive with the Daevite Methuselah, though I don't know what their intentions were," Daphne spoke to Spear, she was annoyed by the fact they had to fight more Interlopers to get one person.

"I have Dovahs around the area, mainly for scouting. They came back long before all of this and told me that there is a camp, and it's only guarded by about 40 beasts, which I would think are Interlopers. It will only be tedious, that's all," Spear spoke to Daphne, trying to lift her spirits at least a little. It worked, and Daphne thanked him for being the one to look at a mug half full. Spear meanwhile thanked Daphne for looking at every possible bad ending, things to avoid.

As Scorpio and Perun come back unnoticed, they begin to pack for the adventure ahead. They thought it would be a walk in the small forest, so they only brought Spear, Daphne, Perun, and Scorpio. A mistake they made to bring so little to a battle they thought would be easy. For there may be small numbers, but the camp is one of the oldest camps the Interlopers made, and since they do not age with time… trouble is amongst those who venture into these parts of the Midlands…

~*~

The travelers numbering four ventured forth into the seemingly haunted woods. As they were traveling Perun started sensing many things in the woods, small animals mostly. He looked everywhere at all times, making sure they were safe. It seemed the right thing to do considering they were going into unknown territory for everyone.

The trees themselves were massive birch trees, usually thought of as peaceful, harmless. However twisted magic had affected these trees over the decades, and created monster-like limbs and branches. Even with these weird formations, no twigs or branches had fallen to be broken, as if nobody had ever ventured into this area.

They managed to find the camp of the Interlopers, and snuck in. All of them were on high alert, especially Perun, as they crouched and sneakily ran in multiple directions.

Daphne left the group and followed the sweet scent of water, a stark contrast against the putrid stank of things rotting in the dark. The brook led her to a horrid sound, red lights serving as a waypoint. It was awful; the closer she got, the more she clung to the bed of the stream for comfort. But alas, her head emerged at the rumbling thud of Interloper footsteps. She immediately gagged.

There, in the middle of a crowd of singing devils, was Iýa, but it was not really her. This was a massive, sickly tree, the size of a large town. It was twisted and warped, with a thousand wriggling bodies strung up in it’s branches. The aberration was screaming and crying an demonic bellow, all the while the Interlopers hummed as though in joy.

What was this thing? This couldn’t be Iýa, it wasn’t possible! Iýa was a glowing mother, a sleeper in the stars, a granter of wishes. She cared for the downtrodden and oppressed, and all those who could not defend themselves. She couldn’t become this, this...

Meanwhile, Spear, Scorpio, and Perun had convened in the main camp. It seemed that only the prisoner's area was inhabited, there they found the supposed Noah. As they started to unchain him, he started grunting. They quickly shushed him and told him they were there to help, he calmed down enough to be unchained, however, they did not quiet him in time.

Suddenly, a loud sound of seemingly screeching giggling and groaning of war had been shouted, despite Perun's attempts to look everywhere, he managed to miss the entire garrison of the Interloper camp. Spear and Daphne, now returned, immediately stood back to back as if they could take on the whole world, while Perun and Scorpio started smashing their weapons onto the Interlopers. Scorpios scythe had pierced many during the battle, while Perun's axe on a chain whirled around and clashed the heads of many. Spear and Daphne, using each other's weapons as always, were always either defending each other or helping the other attack an Interloper, they were synchronized.

The fight continued on like this until Daphne was thrown to a tree, leaving Spear vulnerable to the last remaining Interloper. Spear looked about him as the Interloper charged his weapon at him….although no injury befell him, rather on Scorpio. Spear threw his weapon and the last Interloper was thrown into a tree and broke into jade. Spear slides to Scorpio's side in time for him to speak to Spear for a short time…..

After his dialogue, his body turns bright and, as if he were being sucked into the sky, his body lifted up swiftly, leaving only his necklace for Spear to bear… Scorpio was dead. Spear shouted out in rage and a thunderstorm started to appear, then it stopped. Daphne hugged Spear tightly, and while Spear was caught off guard by this, he embraced her, being thankful that he was still with her at least. Perun had then brought who was seemingly Noah out of hiding, from behind thick berry bushes, and into sight.

After their journey back, and the heartache of Scorpio's death, they explain the whole plan of how to destroy the Interlopers. Noah was quite panicked at first, but after calming down and hearing Perun, Spear, and Daphne, as well as considering they saved him, he agreed to being a part of the plan. So together, they trained, and got ready for The Great Flood of Cleansing Sin. Factions around the world had been sent a message entitling everyone to either get to high ground, build ships to sail on, or dive deep underwater so as to not be destroyed by the coming flood. Who knew what more sacrifices have to be made to create peace, was it even worth it all? The story continued, and the next step was the extinction of a race…

~*~

Spear, Daphne, Noah, and Perun travelled back to the forest of their greatest travesty, and had one last moment of remorse, sorrow, heartache. The rest of the Dovahs were building their ships to sail on the waters to come, and they decided to go to the location after the prophesied flood.

Daphne didn't know Scorpio for long, but she still enjoyed his comedic comments and his radiation of happiness, and she knew everything would be at least a good amount more depressing. Spear knew Scorpio for not much longer than Daphne, but like Daphne, he enjoyed Scorpio's company, as well as their many interesting conversations… including the one where he told Spear he was getting married.

Spear and Perun had to hug his fiancé for over an hour just to comfort her. Perun was Scorpio's brother, they were not blood related, but brothers nonetheless, therefore Perun, for the first time in his entire life, cried a tear from his eye. All Dovahs remorsed of his death, but only those who truly knew and had a relationship with Scorpio needed time, time to be sad. Then anger rose from the sadness, and all of them started preparing for the creation of the flood.

As Spear and Perun walked away, Daphne tailed behind them and slipped into the nearby creek. She did not have the will to enjoy the feeling of her tail returning; the situation at hand was much too grim. Her mother was now an abomination, her heart torn out for those created to be betrayed. And a man who had so quickly become a brother to her was dead. Daphne never had any brothers, why now that she did would one be taken away so carelessly?

Daphne heaved a sigh and began to sob. At first it seemed that the Interlopers were tools, created to do the Fae's dirty work and then be ignored forever. But they weren’t; they were children. Made for violence and cast aside like waste. And festering in the dark for so long, was it any surprise they didn’t know any better? Was it their fault?

She now knew what needed to be done, but hadn’t they already lost enough? A good friend and a mother gone were too much, how could she bring herself to wipe out an entire race, even despite their actions?

She once again thought of Asem’s family, of Cain, and felt an overwhelming pang of guilt. Oh, all the things she could’ve, should’ve, didn’t do to stop this! Clutching at the clockwork bracelet he had given to her, she did the only thing she could think to do; pray. Not to what was left of Iýa, not to any leviathans or sea serpents, but to a simple god with a simple purpose. She only hoped her words could be heard, that things could still be fixed. But the quiet sound of a thousand voices whispered to her, that she already knew what to do.

Touching a hand to the grass, she began to sing. It was her sister’s song, a flowery poem of spring, rebirth and justice. But this was not justice for her, Daphne thought as the flowers around her began to bloom in unison. This isn’t for the Faeries, their queen, or even Leo (though Daphne did hope she was safe). This was not for Asem or the Children of the Sun, or even the countless cultures that had been picked, pulled, and torn at by the devils.

No, the flood may be necessary to wipe out the horror of their acts, but the flowers now blooming across the face of the planet would serve as the Interlopers grave. And she would ensure this day would be remembered.

~*~

The flowers had wilted as the sun set the evening after their blooming. In the night that followed, light rain began to drizzle. This quickly turned to torrents and lightning that could rival that of even the god’s creation. Flash floods cascaded down mountains, turning creeks into rivers and rivers into great lakes. Forests became cold swaps and Interloper camps were reduced to sticks and blankets.

Those devils that were not fastened in place by the waters took the prisoners by their chains to the summits of peaks. Yet still most of the monsters slipped and fell, leaving the humans, Faeries, and Daevas still in their chains to find higher grounds, both together and on their own.

All the while, Daphne and Spear were deep, deep, down, their magic sustaining and growing on itself on their life forces. Low in the halls of Daphne’s first home, in the strip of land connecting the massive continents, they dreamt.

Hers started out pleasant. She was in a field, picking flowers as fast as her sister’s magic grew them. They took turns braiding the blossoms into each other’s hair, until the ground began to shake and the earth was overturned. They were then older, ceaselessly arguing as their mother futilely tried to calm them. Both sisters stormed off, swearing to never speak again.

The doors slammed shut, and there she sat beside the scholar, quietly watching him write. She reached behind him for a pen to mimic his strange symbols with. But as soon as her eyes turned, she was face to face with the starry iron crown of Asem. Across her eyes played scenes of the brutality and deadly force of the Interlopers- their prisoners crying, her mother’s corpse screaming- and the storms and floods created to wash them away.

And then she saw things she didn’t recognize. Simple flashes, almost ideas. Some were light. Her friends, older and stronger. A wedding, two boys that looked half like her. Spear, in command of legions, and Leonora, princess of the Fae. But some were dark. A corrupt king and his four knights, sent to destroy, going back to their kingdom in cursed shambles. The cadaver of her sister, willingly having given her life to end the terrorous reign of the Fae’s ruiners, and the great profanities she created.

And then her mind went blank. Only the rains remained.

While this happened, Spear and Perun quickly started getting ready while Noah and Daphne had already started using their powers. Perun was there to guard them, but just in case anyone slipped by, Spear created spheres of protection to serve as a shield against any attack, and he surrounded Noah, Daphne and himself. While Spear started to control his power, he saw Perun burst into a flaming creature, with black wings that seemed to be infected with white colors. Then, Spear lost himself to his thoughts, his powers activated, and he could only see darkness.

Then, a flash of light, and he could see everything. He saw the bodies of the many fallen Dovahs that died during the hunt against the Interlopers. In the middle of the body littered ground, he saw Scorpio, his heart pierced, and his body lay soulless. Then, his eyes filled with life, and he got up. Spear stood back in shock and terror at this sight, he didn't realize this was only in his spiritual mind. Scorpio plucked the halberd from his chest, and tossed it to the ground, and then gave Spear a brotherly hug.

As Spear was in question, Scorpio calmed him, saying that it was not his soul that died, and that there is hope for him to live. Spear begged him to tell him how, he said he only knew that the coming Alduin must be defeated, before he could return. Spear was still in question, but Scorpio assured him that he would be a guide of what to do, and where to go throughout his life from now on. Scorpio then touched his necklace, which Spear bared on his chest, and Spear filled with increased power. The Blessing of the Zodiacs, only given to those worthy enough to fight by the side of a Star.

As Spear started calming down, his heart filled somewhat with anger, as he still remembered the deaths of the many Dovahs, and Scorpio. Then his heart filled somewhat with love, as his brotherly relationship with Daphne reigned in his heart, he knew he had to defend her. He didn't even think about his family, his friends, or even anyone else he was supposed to save, and he even forgot about the deaths. All he thought of was Daphne, and even the thought of her being injured haunted him… so he protected her.

In the physical realm, Noah was breaking water from the ground, and Daphne was moving water from all bodies of water, just as planned. Interlopers expectantly charged towards them, but then a fiery creature came crashing down, and looked at them. Horns grew a meter long each, body of a demon, with huge hawk-like wings colored charcoal and streaks of pure white, a tail meters long reached around the creature, and at the end, was an axe, all the while the creature was violently flaming, and was hold a huge Greatsword in one hand, and a Battleaxe on a thick chain in the other. It was Perun, in his true Rising Demonic form, filled with rage. Still in the stage of horror, the Interlopers were then crashed into by Perun, while he wailed his axe around and flurried his sword at them, they felt fear. Even in their terrified state, they fought hard against Perun, though they knew they couldn't take him down, they just needed to get past him. Due to Perun's arrogance in attacking them, many Interlopers ran past him and towards the flooding trio.

Though they got close to them they stopped in horror, as they looked at one of the three. Spear was glowing lightning bright, and a hurricane the size of the entire world started. Even Perun looked in confusion, he knew Spear could never use that much power in any given situation, but he did, because of the blessing given by Scorpio's spirit, and Spear's heart filled with the brotherly protection for Daphne. He created the hurricane that not only flailed the opposing Interlopers away, but immediately started filling the earth with the water.

Clans and Kingdoms around the world were taking refuge to hide from the flood. Samurai of the Isles took to the mountains with the Ninjas of Darkness. The Woodlands Weres took refuge in mountains as well, far from the Isles. The Southern Dragons used magic to protect them from the waters, and the Northern Dragons used ships, as they were voyaging Vikings, and loved the challenge of the storm. And the creature of the water took refuge in underwater caves.

The Interlopers were swiftly wiped out, as they couldn't swim or build boats fast enough, they crumbled into jade as they were suffocated by the rising waters. An entire race was wiped out, all except a few remaining Interlopers that managed to get high enough, but they were eventually taken prisoner or driven underground.

Then, when all the destruction was done, Spear and Daphne woke up exhausted in all ways, using that much power greatly diminished their strength. Perun ran to them in a hurry, and tried offering to help them up, but they both refused and just wanted to lay down for a bit. When they somewhat rested they slowly got up, and Spear and Daphne hugged tightly, and then they looked for Noah. When they found him, his body was resting peacefully, a burnt-out husk as he took his final breath using a great amount of power to help them stop the Interlopers.

~*~

And so the floods receded, and life seemed to simply go on. The sparse handful of Interlopers leftover were dragged into hiding, and their prisoners found their way free of their chains and back to their homes.

Daphne's blue eyes looked upon Spear's hazel, and smiled wearily. Then, they hugged tightly. Though they had made it in the end, many had sacrificed their life to help them get this far. Their mission was done, and Noah, Scorpio, and the Interlopers went with it.

They returned to the Dovah home land, where celebrations had burst forth like lightning. For the first time in a long time, they allowed themselves to simply rest and enjoy themselves. They ate, drank, and were merry for seven days and seven nights, but no time limit could contain their joy.

Until the bitter taste had set in. So much was lost, and yet they partied. But they reminded themselves that festivity was not meant to diminish the sacrifices made to allow it. They honored those that had fallen by reveling in the peace and freedom they had brought.

Perhaps the world would never be entirely fixed, but they had learned by now that it didn’t matter. Spear had never forgotten his mother’s words, and chose now to share them with his newfound sister. That is why the gods gave us loved ones. To unify us and to lift one another up.

“So what now?” Daphne asked him at one time. “The world will never be the same. It’s like, their entire existence has just been… swallowed whole.”

“Yes, I suppose that was the point. But we’ve done a great thing, you know.” She smiled at him and nodded. “And now we… carry on?”

She sighed.

“...And now we carry on.”

~*~

And so Spear returns to Scandinavia, and continues to be the Spectrum Kendov, Guardian of the Northern dragons. Not only that, but as he bears the necklace of his fallen brother, Scorpio, he feels his night sky presence, watching over him, as if he was right next to Spear. Perun becomes the general of the entire Northern Dragon Dovahs, and sets up a way of communication for Daphne and Spear, making it so that they can continue being siblings. After all of this Spear trains, what he trains for is only in prophecy. At first he didn't believe it, but as soon as he found a scroll prophesying Noah and the flood, Spear began his training to fight Alduin…

Daphne found herself aimlessly wandering when the Flood had finally left. She met the madman Ion again, and helped them raise their religion. And after a while, her path crossed that of the scholarboy from the first city again. They were married in a temple of the Iron God, and when that church no longer accepted them, they fled to build a family and a city of their own. Every now and again, the princess, now queen, would ride the waves north to see her Dovah brothers, just as they went south to meet her, as well.

The Interlopers fell into legend, the ghost stories that would frighten children at night. All had forgotten them but the Faeries and the Dovahs. They mourned for the losses caused across the world, and for all that they had allowed themselves to do and believe. So when the Apollyons came to conquer the Faeries, they accepted their fate in hopes that justice could be served properly this time.

And Iýa? She tore out her own heart to make the prison the Interlopers requested, where Asem rots to the present day. Her body, similarly, decays in a cavern just below it, as do the few remaining Interlopers and the Apollyon knight who failed to seize her. The Wormwood trees had long since pulled it into an underground cavern, wiping its memory from all those above. All that was left was a scar. Although Dovahs were disconnected from this magic, therefore they could remember all.

Perhaps there is a lesson to be learned here. About the envy of Adam, about the failures of the Fae, or maybe about the levity blindly doled out by Iýa herself. Or maybe it's about the teamwork of those who opposed the Interlopers, the love that bound them together, and the relentless courage they wielded. We may never know.

And so, the book closes and another story is shelved.

~*~

Well, dear reader, if you've read this far, I couldn't possibly thank you enough!

And many, many thanks to my little brother, Spear (@jack-spear-eye), for helping me on this!! Scorpio, Perun, and Kendov (Warrior) Spear (his self-insert), and the Dovahs are all his creations; Daphne is mine. We created the plot together, and the worldbuilding in general belongs to djkaktus (based on SCP-6666, 4840, and 4812).

Lil' man, I swear, he was the best partner on this! Every time I hit a roadblock, he had a new idea that got the gears turning again. It was a big commitment, too, I mean, just look at all that text! But we pulled it off, and I'm glad we did!

Fearless and creative optimist you are, I couldn't have done it without you, Spear.

So without further ado, here's the man to talk about it a little, too!

I did this not for my own gain, but to show others a message of unity, as well as to entertain. Normally I would say something in dovahzul (Dragon tongue/language) But pretty much I just want to say thank you all very much for giving me the chance to be a part of this community, and I want to personally thank Andy (@the-siren-and-the-sailor) for giving me the chance to do all of this, and giving me something to look forward to :•)

And last but not least, the TL;DR!

[rockislandadultreads]

Transport Yourself into Fearie Land: book recs

The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe

No one knows where the Tufa came from, or how they ended up in the Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee, yet when the first Europeans arrived, they were already there. Dark-haired, enigmatic, and suspicious of outsiders, the Tufa live quiet lives in the hills and valleys of Cloud County. While their origins may be lost to history, there are clues in their music, hints of their true nature buried in the songs they have passed down for generations. Private Bronwyn Hyatt returns from Iraq wounded in body and in spirit, only to face the very things that drove her away in the first place: her family, her obligations to the Tufa, and her dangerous ex-boyfriend. But more trouble lurks in the mountains and hollows of her childhood home. Cryptic omens warn of impending tragedy, and a restless "haint" lurks nearby, waiting to reveal Bronwyn's darkest secrets. Worst of all, Bronwyn has lost touch with the music that was once a vital part of her identity. With death stalking her family, Bronwyn will need to summon the strength to take her place among the true Tufa and once again fly on the night winds…

The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue

Inspired by the W.B. Yeats poem that tempts a child from home to the waters and the wild, The Stolen Child is a modern fairy tale narrated by the child Henry Day and his double. On a summer night, Henry Day runs away from home and hides in a hollow tree. There he is taken by the changelings—an unaging tribe of wild children who live in darkness and in secret. They spirit him away, name him Aniday, and make him one of their own. Stuck forever as a child, Aniday grows in spirit, struggling to remember the life and family he left behind. He also seeks to understand and fit in this shadow land, as modern life encroaches upon both myth and nature. In his place, the changelings leave a double, a boy who steals Henry’s life in the world. This new Henry Day must adjust to a modern culture while hiding his true identity from the Day family. But he can’t hide his extraordinary talent for the piano (a skill the true Henry never displayed), and his dazzling performances prompt his father to suspect that the son he has raised is an imposter. As he ages the new Henry Day becomes haunted by vague but persistent memories of life in another time and place, of a German piano teacher and his prodigy. Of a time when he, too, had been a stolen child. Both Henry and Aniday obsessively search for who they once were before they changed places in the world. The Stolen Child is a classic tale of leaving childhood and the search for identity. With just the right mix of fantasy and realism, Keith Donohue has created a bedtime story for adults and a literary fable of remarkable depth and strange delights.

The Last Days of Magic by Mark Tompkins

What became of magic in the world? Who needed to do away with it, and for what reasons? Drawing on myth, legend, fairy tales, and Biblical mysteries, The Last Days of Magic brilliantly imagines answers to these questions, sweeping us back to a world where humans and magical beings co-exist as they had for centuries. Aisling, a goddess in human form, was born to rule both domains and—with her twin, Anya—unite the Celts with the powerful faeries of the Middle Kingdom. But within medieval Ireland interests are divided, and far from its shores greater forces are mustering. Both England and Rome have a stake in driving magic from the Emerald Isle. Jordan, the Vatican commander tasked with vanquishing the remnants of otherworldly creatures from a disenchanted Europe, has built a career on such plots. But increasingly he finds himself torn between duty and his desire to understand the magic that has been forbidden. As kings prepare, exorcists gather, and divisions widen between the warring clans of Ireland, Aisling and Jordan must come to terms with powers given and withheld, while a world that can still foster magic hangs in the balance. Loyalties are tested, betrayals sown, and the coming war will have repercussions that ripple centuries later, in today’s world—and in particular for a young graduate student named Sara Hill. The Last Days of Magic introduces us to unforgettable characters who grapple with quests for power, human frailty, and the longing for knowledge that has been made taboo. Mark Tompkins has crafted a remarkable tale—a feat of world-building that poses astonishing and resonant answers to epic questions.

Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce

It is Christmas afternoon and Peter Martin gets an unexpected phone call from his parents, asking him to come round. It pulls him away from his wife and children and into a bewildering mystery. He arrives at his parents house and discovers that they have a visitor. His sister Tara. Not so unusual you might think, this is Christmas after all, a time when families get together. But twenty years ago Tara took a walk into the woods and never came back and as the years have gone by with no word from her the family have, unspoken, assumed that she was dead. Now she's back, tired, dirty, disheveled, but happy and full of stories about twenty years spent traveling the world, an epic odyssey taken on a whim. But her stories don't quite hang together and once she has cleaned herself up and got some sleep it becomes apparent that the intervening years have been very kind to Tara. She really does look no different from the young woman who walked out the door twenty years ago. Peter's parents are just delighted to have their little girl back, but Peter and his best friend Richie, Tara's one time boyfriend, are not so sure. Tara seems happy enough but there is something about her. A haunted, otherworldly quality. Some would say it's as if she's off with the fairies. And as the months go by Peter begins to suspect that the woods around their homes are not finished with Tara and his family...

[punksarahreese]

Trees | Bloodletting

Nosdecember day 10 | @neworleansspecial

Occult!au; April and Sarah go on a walk and meet two individuals Sarah was not expecting

***

"April," Sarah’s voice carried a little whine as she skipped a little to catch up with the Faerie, "Where are we going?"

"An adventure," that’s all April had been telling her since she showed up at the cottage that morning. Sarah had tried to protest, citing the fact that she had a painting to finish, but she couldn’t argue for very long. April looked so excited, for whatever reason, and Sarah didn’t have the heart to tell her no. It didn’t help that an invisible hand had quickly found the small of her back, gently nudging her towards the door until Sarah took the hint.

Life was weird with a ghost roommate who always tried to mother her. Not that she would complain too much because Natalie was quite literally her lifesaver. Still, she did tend to get pushy when she thought Sarah was spending a little too much time inside. She didn’t want her to wallow in her depression, which she understood, but the fact that the ghost couldn’t leave the general riverbank area or stay corporeal all the time meant she couldn’t drag Sarah outside too often.

That’s where April came in. The Faerie had immediately taken Sarah under her wing and made it a goal to keep her safe. It was in her blood to heal people, after all, so of course she was going to do her best to make sure Sarah was happy. Even if she couldn’t mend her trauma, her and Natalie could do their best to help the human make some happier memories.

"I really need to-" Sarah stopped when she saw what was in front of them. She had never been this far into the forest, she couldn’t have, because this was a whole new feat she had never come across. Nestled near the hillside was a large old house, exterior looking a little worse for wear but the grounds blooming with a rather impressive garden. Ivy and grapevines snaked up the brickwork, evidence of nature passively trying to take back its land.

"Woah."

"Impressed?" April grinned, "Not mine, but I help keep the garden and its spirits happy."

"It’s gorgeous," Sarah told her sincerely, admiring a monarch butterfly as it fluttered past her to land on a nearby lilac tree. The whole yard was full of lilacs, clearly not from the area originally; whoever lived there must really love the sweet flowers.

"April?"

A soft, accented voice tore their attention from the flora in front of them. April turned, braids bouncing against her shoulder as she searched for the owner of the voice. A tiny, musical giggle was heard at their confusion. That was something Sarah missed; the ability to find humour in tiny things.

"Up!"

April’s gaze drifted in the direction she was told, quickly landing on a small figure perched in a nearby oak tree. The sun obstructed Sarah’s vision but she figured her companion could see just fine. She must have been able to, because her smile was almost audible in her reply.

"Tia," she relaxed when she realized who the person was, "What are you doing up there?"

"Watching. You appear to have a shadow, you know."

"Who? Sarah?"

A sound of disagreement and the rustle of leaves preceded her words, "Nuh-uh. Not the human, she’s fine."

The human. So whoever was up there must be some type of other creature, Sarah noted. She wasn’t even fazed at that point, having completely adjusted to the amount of supernatural activity within the forest. It was quite the shock in the beginning but Sarah wasn’t one to judge; besides, she was a guest in their territory anyway.

"Tia, are you going to tell me?"

"You know who he is," the answer was dismissive, "May I come meet her?"

"What would your mother say?" April’s tone was teasing, making the girl in the tree scoff. She was obviously a child, though very well spoken and somehow sounding authoritative. The way April spoke with her was familiar, but she didn’t think this girl was a Seelie child, since April had introduced her to most of the court who wanted to meet her ages ago.

"Mama doesn’t mind. Besides, you’re here."

April rolled her eyes, "I’m pretty sure that’s the one thing she would mind, given the history. That being said, it’s your funeral."

"Hm," the leaves rustled loudly again and there was a flash of wind in front of them, "Never had one of those, sounds like an experience."

Somehow whoever Sarah had been expecting to be the owner of the voice was not this child. She looked no older than ten, with long blonde ringlets spilling over her shoulders and a smug look on her face. She held herself with a confidence that was rare for someone so young and that alone told Sarah she was probably older than she appeared. It was the eyes that shocked Sarah the most though, blood red hue glinting in the sunlight.

"My name is Estia," the child gave a small half-bow in greeting, "You’re pretty."

Sarah was taken aback but forced a smile in reply, she seemed sweet even if her eyes were unnerving. She glanced at April in silent question but then turned back to the girl, "Sarah. Um... thank you."

"She knows?" The question was directed at the faerie, who had zoned out slightly as she was gazing past them both. Sarah was also a bit distracted, still absorbing this new person’s presence but also fixated on Estia’s previous words.

A shadow? Who was he? How did April know him?

"About you? No. Before you ask, yes she knows about the Fair folk. Ghosts and werewolves too."

"Covering all the bases but me and mama? Rude."

April scoffed, "Please, I just haven’t had time to ask your mother about it. I know how she feels about outsiders and, unlike some people, I can’t get away with being disrespectful."

"This one is pretty, mama will like her," Estia nodded surely at Sarah, "Any guesses on what I am?"

Sarah was a little confused, wondering who this child’s mother was for April to appear vaguely scared of her. Besides, Estia’s last comment stuck in her head. Something told her it was in her best interest for this woman to like her, whoever she was.

"Uh," she studied the girl’s features for a second but her first guess was ringing in her mind, "Vampire?"

"Oh she’s smart," the child grinned and showed off her tiny but razor sharp fangs, "I like you, Sarah."

"Oh, um... good?"

April clearly found the human’s confusion amusing and she gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Before anyone could continue the conversation, the creaking of a heavy door made them all turn to the big house.

"Estia, what are you doing?"

Sarah couldn’t help but stare when she saw the owner of the stern yet beautiful voice. She had a similar accent to the child’s, her low tone somehow soothing despite the vaguely hostile look in her eyes. Which were, just as Sarah expected, as red as fresh blood. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a half twist, some loose curls tumbling over her bare shoulders. That was where Sarah got shamefully distracted, her gaze lingering on the pale, scarred skin of the woman’s collarbones. Really it was at the fault of her dress, a rather dramatic red number that fell off her shoulders deliberately. Whoever this woman was, she was undoubtedly a vampire like Estia; one of status, if Sarah had to guess.

"Mama!" Estia was across the yard and at the front door in seconds. Her own gown was casual in comparison to her mother’s, a flowing royal blue fabric that had a high neckline, which was clearly to hide the bite marks on the child’s jugular.

"April brought a new friend," she explained proudly and Sarah realized she immediately sounded much more like the child she appeared to be. However old the young vampire was, she reverted to a more vulnerable state around her mum. It made Sarah’s heart ache a bit, especially upon watching as the woman smoothed down her daughter’s curls and helped her untangle a leaf from her sleeve. She missed her mother, that familiar comfort was something she didn’t appreciate until it was gone.

"Did she?"

"Ava," April met the vampire’s sharp gaze with her own cat-like stare, "She’s not a threat. She lives with Nat and she means no harm in our forest."

"Oh, your little ghost got a roommate?" The woman, Ava, chuckled as if the thought amused her. She seemed a bit rude but first impressions weren’t everything, so Sarah tried to be optimistic. She did still flinch a little when those bright eyes fell on her again, though.

In a split second she was in front of Sarah, moving with the inhuman speed that her daughter also possessed. Estia had remained on the front step, watching stoically as her mother gave the human a once over. Sarah tried to pretend that she wasn’t holding her breath, which was hard because she knew her companions had excellent hearing.

"Ava Bekker," she was a bit surprised when a hand was held out to her, followed by a laugh at Sarah’s hesitation, “I won’t bite you.”

“Oh, um…” Sarah took her hand and tried not to flinch again at how cold her touch was, “Sarah Reese. Nice to meet you.”

The way Ava observed her, with an unreadable expression and a tiny smirk made Sarah a bit concerned. She wasn’t uncomfortable per se, she knew April wouldn’t put her in any danger, but the whole situation was odd. The vampire’s original hostility had slowly melted away and she no longer stared at Sarah as if she was a threat to her or her daughter.

“She’s cute,” Ava mused to the Faerie beside them, “Where’d you find this one?”

“I told you, she lives with Natalie. Got thrown into our world unexpectedly but we’ve grown quite fond of her.”

“Oh,” the blonde shot Sarah a look of playful pity, “You poor thing, stuck with two of the most chatty creatures in this forest.”

“Hey,” Sarah was surprised when April had no qualms with playfully shoving the vampire’s shoulder, “She likes us.”

“I do,” Sarah promised softly, a bit distracted as she once again caught herself staring at the mass amount of scarring along Ava’s porcelain skin. Her neck and upper chest had the worst of it, bite marks and what looked like jagged knife wounds healed into white marks. The biggest scar was a big gash right across where her carotid would be, which must have been fatal by the looks of it. Her wrists were covered by the sheer material of her sleeves but Sarah caught a glimpse of quite a few more marks lining both sides of her forearm. Whatever she had experienced must have happened before her death, since as far as Sarah knew vampires couldn’t scar. Nevertheless, whatever Ava had gone through it looked like a lot.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when an ice cold hand found her face, fingers curling under her chin to lift her gaze. Sarah was too scared to shy away but the touch, while gentle, burned like dry ice. The other woman didn’t look angry, only amusement sparkling in her eyes as she hummed.

“Curious one, aren’t you?”

“I- sorry.”

Ava chuckled, her thumb trailing gently along Sarah’s jawline before she let go of her face, “You’re fine.”

“Mama,” Estia’s voice once again brought everyone’s attention away from the current encounter, “Wolves are on their way.”

Ava sighed, “Child has better hearing than even me. The pups are bringing us some food, so we mustn’t stay out any longer. Besides, someone is supposed to be practicing.”

“Ma!” the child whined, “I am literally dead, I have all the time in the world to learn whatever language you want.”

“Yes, but Latin is just as dead and still waits for no one. Off you go.”

Estia huffed and looked at Sarah, “Can you visit another time? I wanna know what human life is like now!”

Sarah looked at the other vampire for an answer, since she didn’t want to intrude or anything. Ava smiled at her with surprising warmth, her fangs showing proudly, “If Sarah wishes to pay us a visit then she is welcome. Might give her some peace and quiet away from all the faerie antics.”

“I heard that.”

“Well, it was also directed at your shadow,” Ava replied to April, “Who needs to work on his sneaking skills.”

Following her gaze, Sarah spotted a black cat watching them angrily from a tree. The same black cat who sat on her windowsill every night, watching and never moving until dawn. She had been unnerved but had assumed it was a stray at first. She even left a bowl of Autumn’s food out for the cat, but had only been met by hostile green eyes and a hiss. Judging by Ava’s words, he was not actually a cat. Which was even more unsettling; April and Natalie would have some explaining to do.

“We really must go,” Ava continued, before glancing at Sarah for a moment. She went over to one of her lilac trees, skirt flowing dramatically in the wind her speed created. A deft hand broke off a bunch of flowers at the stem, returning to Sarah in seconds. The human looked at her questioningly, instinctively holding her breath when Ava got closer.

The vampire leaned towards her, cold fingers brushing over her cheek as she tucked the stem of lilacs behind Sarah’s ear. The light purple flowers blended into her curls, filling her senses with their strong scent.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” was murmured in her ear and Sarah had to pretend she wasn’t blushing like mad when the woman pulled back.

“Mama?” Estia was bouncing on her heels, obviously waiting for Ava to follow before she went into the big house. Ava nodded at her, bidding Sarah goodbye and saying the same to April. In moments both vampires had disappeared back into the house, which somehow looked completely uninhabited. That probably had something to do with the fact that its owners were undead, but Sarah tried not to think about that too hard.

“Enchanting isn’t she?” April teased, having noticed Sarah’s panicked and shy reactions to the other woman, “Home time?”

Sarah recovered enough to nod, hand brushing through her hair to feel if the lilacs were still there. She followed April absentmindedly, thoughts still pinned on the gorgeous but intimidating vampire and how her low voice in Sarah’s ear had shamefully made her stomach flutter.

[hushonline]

【Dettlaff/Regis】 the Clouds in Beauclair

Relationships : Dettlaff/regis ; Geralt/Yennefer; Ciri/Avalla’ch

Warning:

#Characters DEATH!!!【Dettlaff and Dutches sisters】

#ALL ABOUT REGIS’s Ring.IN THE Beginning of B&W story,Dettlaf tried to find it thorugh a Bruxae.When regis killed him,Regis was wearing this humanist ring.Both of them put the ring on their ring finger.

#I mainly use a translate app to work on this article[Cuz English is my second language].So it maybe full of mistakes,for my horrible grammer.

Summary: When Ciri's second child was born, she returned to the Corvo Bianco vineyard ,and met Regis by chance.

Wednesday afternoon, 2:00 p.m. , clear sky without rain. Ciri dismounted and took her horse's bridle,asked Baba to tie the horse next to Roach. The servants said that Yennefer had gone out after lunch, in order to collect some special herbs. She glanced at the white building .She saw two Bony Crows sunning themselves on the hot eaves. In front of the door , a gray man waved at her from a short distance, and the green leaves on the sacs swayed in the wind.

"Uncle Regis! "

She pounced cheerfully, gave him a bear hug and chose to ignore his comment that she was "much softer as a mother" . The exile in Nilfgaard had left the vampire with a dusty and weariness smell.Shouting that no one should look down on her fertile flesh, Ciri took him by the arm and dragged him into the room.

Geralt hugged her, too. Then she eagerly announced the name of the newborn child to the others.

"We decided to call him DEADRAT. The name is derived from the ancient elvish word for 'descendant of the Elder blood’ , the same as the fifth ancient king of Alen Elle world, “ she said. “Geralt, if you want to argue with Avalla’ch,just do it,I won't stop you. “

"Witchers can't breed, so I do not have any discourse power in naming aftrer newborns, " said Geralt, "Fortunately, you're an exception. Besides, I won't argue with Avalla’ch,.I'll give him an Aard attack , let him to get the hell out of my vineyard smoothly. "

Toussaint's wind is as warm as ever, It reminded her of her second son's blue elvish eyes.Ciri smiled and laid her hand on Geralt's shoulder.

"I am sure he will make you like Alvalla’ch half-a-Oren more than before. "

"Well, I'm quite sure he'll have a dark hair as a Hedgehog.Look at Emhyr, " he said. He glanced at Regis and shut his mouth at once.

Regis was stranger than whenever he was.The Higher Vampire's face had turned pale from the moment she instituted her child, up to now it finally falling into a trance state. A unseen shadow enveloped him, laid him in anxious , as if he had met a stubborn patient.

"UNCLE? " Asked Ciri doubtfully.

"For a faerie son,that ‘s the most appropriate gift, but not for ...... the vampires . "

Geralt pushed the glass up to him, considered it for a moment. "It's about the pronunciation, isn't it? " His golden pupils flashed, rarely . Regis smiled placidly, and Ciri tasted something bitter though it.

"You're a guest today,Regis, just get drunk and take it for granted, " she heard Geralt say, "It. ". Her keen intuition linked this word to Regis's reason of leaving Toussaint, the evil beast which Geralt described in a few words, with the strange talk which had been going on in the alleys, trying hard to piece them together for a fragmentary image. She is a willing learner ,whom kept eager on learning form Geralt ,including the Higher Vampire principle, four murders and the massacre. But the white-haired witcher seemed unwilling to mention a word about it, he poured the wine down his throat as if he would swallow his lungs. She urges him on, and he skipped straight to his honours ceremony: He would rather told her the death of dutchess sisters than any exploit he did. "Regis sacrificed a lot. " he retorted.He looked like a Griffin in a iron cage, claws flattened, eyes were as old as his whiskers. She pessimistic belief that Regis would die in the wasteland ,the misperception hadn’t been corrected until she met the wandering vampire in Nilfgaard last year.

"I'd love to, " Regis said, pointing to his backpack. "I suppose you won’t mind if I took some reborn potion? "

He took the leather water bag and mixed the liquid into his glass. The acrid smell of the alchemical filled the room at once. The Voice of Gerlott falls to the ground like a broken rake. “R--E--G--I--S--,You, a vampire, add black blood to your potion? SUPERIOR Black Blood? "

Regis remained a Poker Face. "Like human’s peppery wine, a slight tingling can help me stay awake ,and stay away from nightmares at the same time. Forgive me, I do not want to dream any more, my dear old friend. " He tapped his finger on the table, on the ring finger of his right hand, a ring of silver sparkles.

Gerlart responded with the same indifference, as he fingered himself -- Ciri knew he was counting the ingredients, using a pair of hands instead of one. At last, he raised his palm to Regis. "Give it to me. Yen and I will make you a new one,harmless,andfor vampire only. All Right, I think Yen's enough. "

The herbalist pinched the strap of his knapsack and rejected his offer like rejecting a brainless gargoyle. "Come on, you look much worse than last year."

Then he asked Regis why , Regis gave him little more than a runaround. They mentioned a male’s name, most of the time was referred as "he",with the duchess's dead sister .It seemed to be a royal scandal.Ciri listened attentively, arms folded, watching their quarrel as a spectator. At last, when their words faded away, she was able to say a complete sentence .

"Who is Dettlaff? " She asked. For a time, no one answered her, only the clouds flew endlessly in the sky . Her muscles were as stiff as marble, and brain cells whirled beneath them, trying hard to speak as usual instead of open a portal and slip away.

It was almost half a century before two centenarians -- one man, one vampire -- noticed her question. "My savior, " Regis replied.

The atmosphere in the room was not relieved at all, but several times heavier then before. So she raised her glass and began a toast ,trying hard to end the subject.

"To his fortunate,and health. " she said.

The mask smile reappeared on Regis's face. "It seems that you still haven't told Cilia, my friend, " he spoke softly.

Geralt struggled to reply. "I did. And only the part about the beast, because she was hurry to date a elf. "

Ciri looked away--he was telling the truth. Across the wooden table, Regis sipped his wine. "It's my duty to end it. " he whispered.

"Yes. And what's done is done. Let's have a drink, " Geraldt said. "I know you won't slaughter the city in a rage. "

They talked about the Corvo Bianco vineyard. When a bottle of Est Est ran out, Geralt opened the Mandrake wine, and Regis's words began to increase guadually. Ciri tried to find out the key to the mystery, but she filled, as if an invisible membrane separates her from the truth.a deep dark river rippling sliently, she saw the water covered with the trackless haze of Regis's side, his dark red tired eyes.A torrent of flood tore him asunder, leaving him dangling in air,helplessly,desperately.

Unwilling to see this vision of the future,Ciri turned the conversation to the wild hunt, talking loudly about the gates of the downworld, Mist Island, and, of course, Uma (her husband, actually) , ignored that Geralt was rolling his eyes.Before I gave him my love, he had burned all the pictures of Lara, she quickly gestured. When our first child was born, Avalla’ch did nothing but take care of us and paint our portraits.Less than half a month, the charcoal dust had stained our study.That was quite Nilfgaardian, after all they admired black, and perhaps I should have suggested him to paint a golden Sun up on it. She blinked her green eyes ,smiling like a sly silver Fox.

"Damn it,He IS definitely drawing Lara. " Geralt retorted.

Ciri raised her scarred eyebrow. "Lara would never be a witcher. "

Regis seemed better,he was nearly in a good mood, and the haze left him briefly.Alcohol made his face ruddy. "I... knew an amateur painter ,who... used to draw me when I was sick, " he said intermittently. "Well, at that time I couldn't even walk. He was my feet. "

Ciri took his words as a metaphor.

"You still have it, " said Geralt. He pointed to the moth brooch on Regis's chest. Regis adjusted the brooch gently to the right angle, beneath the sunlight, it seemed so alive .

"It was supposed to be mine. "

He said. As he got up to get the wine, he knocked over the cups, and the bright red liquid spilled all over the place like a spring.Ciri felt nothing but irritable. She had totally no idea what had been going wrong.Perhaps it was the Mandrake wine, or the clumsiness of her tongue----as clumsy as Geralt, turn the joyful scene into a mangled black fairy tale.She said to herself, realized the truths of the fairy tales were far more brutal than this awkward meeting.Ciri regretted that she did not have the same talent as Dandelion.

Geralt could not take it any more ,so did Ciri.The owner of the vineyard immediately decided to show Regis his underground laboratory. They walked down the hall, past the Marble steps, walk down to the wine cellar.All the daylights pulverized at their feet.

"I miss Beauclair's cloud more and more each day after I left.Because it always turns into a bat’s shape , " he said, spent a moment on inspecting the display on the shelf. As he took down a bottle of white wine ,he was bending his lips imperceptibly. "I mean, once up on a time Dettlaff got drunk, he thought the cloud was a young Katakan.He turned into smoke ,flew up, and tried to save it. "

Geralt smiled, too.

"Can't imagine his...childishness. After all, I know nothing of your vampire logic. "

Regis was intrigued. "Tell me al about it, " he made a lightly gestured to Geraldt, "I've always wanted to hear about differences between races. "

To her surprise, Gerlott froze immediantely, his lips parted like a fish in boiling water. "The body of Count De La Croix."

"Dett... Syanna murdered him. " Regis changed his tune. “SO,What is the news?”

Geralt's smile faded away , replaced by a puzzled look. "His body was laid in this cellar. In that day I killed a Bruxae.She tried to take the hand away, well, Dettlaff’s hand. Later he told me he is the one who asked her to come . "

"To tell you the truth, I don't know what Dettlaff would do with his drying hand... recycling? Or some Toussaint nobles would pay for it as a collection, a world wonder? " He said, pointing to the open iron door .

Regis's face suddenly became painful.

"For God sake, no. "

"What is it? " Ciri asked.

"He's torturing me, " Regis said. He started to drink again. Ciri looked at him through the light of the torch: As she breathed, her nostrils filled with the old stench from the depths of cellar.

She saw a thin figure on Regis’s body, black hair, wounds dried;his blood floated like a mass of red clouds , wrapped around his naked body.The clouds were more real than he was. It attached to Regis,the elder blood had pointed out his metaphorical vision of the past: this shallow man,his endless suffering.

The iron door at the top of the cellar creaked, Yennefer came in a hurry .

"The Bruxaes are coming for us, Geralt, and my barrier could only keep them out of the vineyard, " she said, crossing her waist. Regis tried to say something, but Geralt stopped him. "Yen and I will take care of everything. Let Ciri send you to Nilfgaard ."

He took the silver sword from the rack ，then he left.

Ciri slammed the door, took Regis by his hand, ran into the bottom of cellar directly. She found an empty corner. When she was managed to gather her natural power ,Regis looked at her with a sense of guilty.

"Oh, Celia, I'm sorry for my gaffe." he said, "As compensation, I'd like to tell you one more secret.You don't have to keep it for me. From this moment , it belongs to you. "

So Ciri stopped. Regis wiped his face , traced the shape of a wardrobe with his index finger. Then his voice became more and more audible.

"I fantasized about a kind of life, which my lover loves me as much as he loves Mandrake wine. When the sun-shadow flew away and the grapes withered, we will stay in a mountain cabin and lit a fire. The stove is filled with the ashes of the old paintings , and we dip the Squirrel's tail in the ashes to paint a new one. We will live happy ever after,that’s how fairy tales end."

His words filled with white-hot spotlight. Ciri opened the portal, a shade of deep-blue covers two of them.

"You... will meet her,in some day." she said, absent-mindedly thinking of her elf ,and the laboratory she had smashed all around for once.Now it had been renovated, a portrait of the female-witcher handing side by side with the bearded Elf, which seemed comical but sweet.

Regis bit his lip as if chewing on the pieces of nightmare. “One day I woke with a heavy rain,it was then he came. Even through The Raindrops , his eyes still overcomed me. He said, 'Rise up, and come away.For the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.’ But Beaclair is sunny all year round, with no rain or firestove,"he said, smiling like a cruel dream. “Soon I realized fantacy always last in vain,and I will woke up ,sooner or later ."

“I should have told it earlier.”

Ciri held him carefully, her head was in a jungle. Regis' ambiguous words puzzled her a lot, and she thought that the secret was too common to named it as a ‘secret’ ,It is far more like Yennefer’s perfume, which she could mix a dozen of it whenever she needed it, place the bitter-sweet rhyme on her raven-colored hair, or Geralt’s arms .

I'm leaving, and before I leave,I have to ask you a question, Regis said. Are you afraid of death? To leave before your lover.

Ciri scratched her hair, and her face showed innocent bewilderment.

"Well, I've been running away from it all the time. After all,elves own an immotal life. " She responded quickly. "But I'll forgive him . What about you? "

Regis shook his head.

"May he treasures you as his blood, Celia. " he crooned. His ring was dull, and there was no trace of tear on his face.

When she returned to the drawing room, Geralt was polishing his silver blade. Ciri open her hand to him. A small music box was rolling slowly on her palm.Yennefer signed in a low voice.

"Regis left it to you? " She asked. Ciri nodded for a approval. Geralt stepped forward, too, stared curiously at this tiny toy.

"I think I've heard this song before, but I can't remember where . " Said Geralt .

"Is he married? "Ciri asked suddenly,"I mean, uncle Regis. "

Geralt insisted that it was impossible for regis to deny if he trurly did. Ciri shrugged , held the toy up for an examination. The Melody of the music box was lying in the Corvo Bainco Vineyard’s floating dust without moldy smell.It’s old but clean, reflected a strange luster in the sunlight .

Where did you get this ring,She asked Regis in silcence, why did you put it on the ring finger. Have you lost your lover?You look so melancholy, as if a traveller mourned day and night,to ran after the mists which is fainter than a dream, a moth with broken wings, a phantom of death, a wandering cloud drifting all alone under Beauclair’s cloudless sky.

fin.

#Mentrake wine: The kind of alcohol drink which geralt and regis drunk upon the grave. I don't know if it is correct.

#the italics in the passage are from《the songs of solomon》

[fadesintothewest]

You See Me

This is my @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift for @gemennair who requested Fingon/Maedhros.  I am so happy to oblige. My OTP!

You See Me

Maedhros, not yet known by that name, survived unimaginable torture, but of all those closest to him, Fingon was the one who could see that dark place and sit with it, for he too was irrevocably changed by the 30 year crossing of the ice: a terror unto itself. Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros was born of that terrible Journey. Though the Noldor were children another Journey, it was the Grinding Ice that would forever mark Fingolfin’s host, rendering them with a difference the Fëanorians would notice upon their meetings. And the Noldor would cling to the culture of the Ice as testament and memory of the price they paid, of those perished, and of what was lost to all of them.

In Endórë they were quicker to find joy though it was measured and deep and revered. The Noldor greeted their new lands with enthusiasm and a gratefulness that allowed their bond to the green fey magic of Endórë grow strong quick, but they were also a melancholy people. Both the joy and melancholy shaped the path of their resilience and bravery and the shape of faerie that came to be wholly of Fingolfin’s host.

For nothing it was said that Fingolfin’s people were steadfast and strong and less they looked down upon their elven neighbors’ than their kin that crossed on boats. Not because they were better than Fëanáro’s host, but for the humility they were forced to encounter being reduced from the mighty Noldor of Tirion to a people of survival, of exodus.

Fingon, some would later say, achieved the unimaginable when he rescued Maedhros from Morgoth’s prison, but for his people, Fingon’s act was no surprise. Heroic, indeed, but for the humility and quietness learned as lesson on the ice. And for those lessons they were brave and fiery for they needed to keep the inner fire stoked.

The same would be said of Maedhros, his inner flame so bright, his courage not trivial, and his mind aware of the world and the darkness in it, in ways that some would claim witchcraft.

But theirs was a story of Faerie and in this world all that is fey diminishes and we are the worse for it, but some nights and some days—perhaps the longest night or a day of remarkable length—one can hear the faintest song of wind and tree and find a moment in time, from long, long, ago.

)()()()(

Maedhros’ spoke to his friend, “I want to see it.” No question in his voice, sure that Fingon would answer.  

Fingon obliged. After all, the healers had all insisted that Maedhros start moving as soon as possible as this would enable quicker healing. Elven bodies took to healing in strange ways, Men would later say. Sadly it was because most men, though not all, never heard the song of a tree.

Maedhros walked to the window in his room with Fingon’s help. Maedhros’ eyes fell upon the tree outside his window. Maedhros gasped at the site of the large evergreen, sending him into a coughing fit.

“Steady,” Fingon soothed, trying to sit him down, but Maedhros waved him away, pointing to the window. “Tree,” he directed. Maedhros also kept the healers advice in mind: to take time with Endórë and find healing in her for she would be his strength.

Fingon steadied Maedhros by the window bringing a chair with him so Maedhros could sit if needed. Once more Maedhros let his eyes fall on the evergreen. “I never thought I’d see one again,” he whispered. He needed Fingon to understand, to let him witness this great being.

“I do understand,” Fingon answered, his voice quiet, just registering over the peculiar silence wedded to freshly fallen snow, remembering the first trees he witnessed when they crossed into Endórë. Maedhros squeezed Fingon’s hand. Fingon offered an ode, moved by Maedhros’ emotion with green things: “A great crown of green, a rustle in the breeze, she stands a queen. Her language at ease, she welcomes you, rejoices in your smile.”

Maedhros was smiling.  Fingon still had poetry in him! But it was more than poetry, it was faerie. All of it! Fingon’s words, the tree, the snow. Closing his eyes, Maedhros heard the tree’s welcome. It was clean and clear, her song like a million voices raised in joy. Through her Maedhros heard Endórë’s heart- beating, singing, giving him strength. He breathed in her greenness and felt a joy. What a strange thing this joy was, but Tree would not have it otherwise. The winterberries joined in, their wailing harmonies reaching skyward until they met the blue of the horizon. The wind whipped up Tree’s dance, her feet stomping on the ground. It was a song for Maedhros, a healing song, reminding him that Endórë too knew pain, but always, she endured, and in her bosom she would hold space for her children, succor them. Tree’s branches shook her needles like a shawl, shimmering, shouting. Joy, such easy joy.

Fingon was gladdened by the song the Tree gifted Maedhros. It was a welcome song, a healing song. And just perhaps Fingon’s words were more than a poem. Indeed they were more like a conjuring, a gentle request for the great tree to find pity upon them.

A child near the Tree was overcome with the need to dance. He bounced gently on his feet, his body bending like a tree in the wind to the beat of Tree’s song. Another child added her feet to the dance. Together they jumped and shuffled about the tree, under the great branches. “A healing,” Fingon whispered, in awe of Endórë’s ability to remind them they were the Eldalië. Maedrhos tapped his finger on the window sill, Endórë’s rhythm contagious. His eyes were locked on the tree.

There was now a throng of children gathered under Tree. They raised their voice in song, finding harmony with the growing things of winter, letting the wind guide their movement. The tree needles rustled, dancing with the children, Endórë’s song reminding Maedhros to find himself anew. From ashes, from death, life comes, the memory of the mother tree roots manifested in song. Maedhros shuddered. Tree’s song gave way to a shimmering whisper, the quiet of nature that was but a reminder of the great songs just beneath the surface, all wedded to one another by a silvery system of roots that coursed with life. Maedhros witnessed the strength of Endórë in her song and he drank it for she gave it freely to her children in need and to those who knew how to listen. And in the dancing there was healing. Tree and root shouted their song, insisting to be heard. Wind whipped up her feet and hopped on the horizon and the white snow sizzled as if on a frying pan, its buzzing energy a dance. Maedhros stood at his window watching the dancing, felt the song deep in his bones, welcomed the weaving together of his being by the harmonies of life. It was piecing him back together, filling in those parts of his fëa that Morgoth had taken from him. From the blade of dormant grass to the worms slumbering in the ground, Maedrhos recognized his own part of this story. In this moment he understood what he must do, for all of them.

To his side, Maedhros heard Fingon laughing. “Go,” Maedhros spoke, urging Fingon to join in the dance under the Tree, selfishly wanting to see Fingon partake in such joy. Instead Fingon started skipping around Maedhros, his boots moving in rhythm to earth’s song. It was a new dance: the pattern of birds, of deer, of grasses swaying in the wind mimicked in the grace of Fingon’s movement. Fingon took Maedhros’ hand, holding it up, dancing reverently before Maedhros. It was an offering. Maedhros was bewildered. His eyes filled with tears that had long ago abandoned him, but were now returned.

Fingon sang, harmonizing with Tree’s song, his eyes locked on those of one he previously believed was gone to him, and yet here was Maedhros, the song of Endórë rendering him beautiful in a way Fingon could not have perceived before. Fingon paused. Maedhros stood still, but managed a smile to let his friend know he was okay. Fingon gently took hold of the bandaged arm, and more miraculously, Maedhros allowed it. Fingon brought his forehead to Maedhros’ own. “I see you,” Fingon breathed. Maedhros stood silently, Fingon’s words a prayer. Fingon stepped back, saying again, “I see you.”

Maedhros stood taller, his eyes wet with tears, choosing this moment to offer his own words, a testimony of sorts: “As only you can. And I see you.”

“As only you can,” Fingon replied, his bright blue eyes shining with the light of the imperishable flame.

They stood facing one another, Tree also witness. And she would later tell her younglings of this moment, of words that carried the weight of magic, of kinship. The memory of that exchange would become a part of Endórë’s own reckoning of all the creatures big and small she held in her bosom.

After a moment, Fingon broke the spell and moved Maedhros to sit. Fingon moved another chair and sat next to Maedhros. The two observed Tree until the sun set and moon rose, Fingon periodically helping Maedhros adjust his position, bringing him tea and food.

The night that greeted them was bright with the moon’s reflection on the snow. Fingon rose from his seat and offered Maedhros his hand. Without a word, Maedhros took it. Fingon helped him change. For once, it seemed to Maedhros, his arms ached less.  

Fingon noticed too. “Your arms are nimbler.”  Fingon helped Maedhros settle into his bed.

A deep comfort settled over Maedhros. Looking up at Fingon who was fussing over him, Maedhros shared, “I know what I must do though it pains me for what it means for you.”

Fingon paused his work of tucking Maedhros in. “You are bound by an oath and father and I are bound to our people. I understand.” Fingolfin would be king, was king.

Maedhros relaxed, his body sinking into the bed. You see me, he shared wordlessly with Fingon.

Fingon’s breath caught in his throat. Moving his face inches from Maedhros so their noses touched, Fingon sighed. He dared not speak aloud. He did not imagine he could stop himself from crying. So saying not a word, Fingon allowed the ice in the blue of his eyes let Maedhros know that Fingon indeed saw him, understood Maedhros, even his deepest, darkest self.

Fingon loved him still. And Maedhros loved him more.

)()()()(

Ages after the story of Maedhros’ survival many would marvel at his recovery, wonder at the ability of the elven body to become stronger, doubt Maedhros’ recovery. Some would name it miraculous, but to be an elf, to know an elf, one would recognize there was nothing miraculous about it. Perhaps something magical, but magic is not a miracle for it is wielded, has its own language, its own ways of being. And though theirs—Fingon and Maedhros—was a sad fate, it is recorded in the annals of faerie, and there it shall remain until such a time the longest night and the longest day meet, upon a hilltop, and those that died there long ago will come forth and the memory of their names will be spoken into the wind. You will hear it then, their names. Thus your burden and your charge, after such a witnessing of names long dead, will be to hear Endórë once more, as the lovers did so many, many ages yore.

Fingon loves him still. And Maedhros loves him more.

Onward, onward, into winter’s quiet and henceforward to summer’s rain, your journey stretches to the world’s end, beyond and onward into faerie wend.