#anyway golden color only fae creatures can see?

[thworldisavampire]

worldbuilding is so hard sometimes because if you're like me you might want to make your elves have a similar reaction to iron that humans have to capsaicin because of their fae lineage because it's fun right? but then you have to come to the conclusion that wait a minute, if iron is like, a tiny bit poisonous to them obviously it's not gonna be in their blood, and since there's no iron in their blood, it can't be red.

so then you end up spending like, two hours shuffling through worldbuilding sites and random wikis trying to find out what blood would look like If it didn't have iron in it and then you're like, well it could have a base of cobalt and be like golden, or it could be like icefish whos blood have no metal at all and just be white. but then it's like. god, red is just a good color for blood you know? and then everytime i write about my gosh dang elves i have to remember that their blood is fucking gold and idk man everything is hard sometimes

[idkfitememate]

Deer Bones and Golden Crowns Pt.1

♡︎ « Next Part ⋙

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! “Normal” Reader x Vil (& others!!)

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 5k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Descriptive Gore, yandere-esk reader, bodily gore

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note :(My sincerest apologies(/s), but this is a male reader! He/Him pronouns!! Anyone can read of course, but if I find any comments of a fetishized nature, your comment will be deleted and you will be promptly blocked! Thank you!!~)

Wendigo’s are spirits that claim body over the dead and force the risen corpse to eat the flesh of their brethren, turning others into flesh eating creatures such as themselves.

Changlings were many things, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were placed in the cradles of human children who were snatched away in the night by fairies. They had the innate ability to change their forms and appearances to become something they weren’t, to convince others they were that new form.

Now… what if these two creatures were to mate? A creature of infinite flesh and identities and one of never endearing hunger for flesh and a spirit of famine?

You would get the second in command of the young Schoenheit. Vil’s right hand man and assistant since birth.

(y/n).

He was of average height, average build, average hair color, average eye color, average everything.

Nothing about him stood out amongst the gorgeous crowd of those whom he would work with.

Though, he had an innate eye for beauty and details, even in the most of drab places. He had the ability to turn any old lump of coal into diamond. He could spot anyone and turn them into a star.

That’s why his parents worked out a deal with Vil’s.

(y/n) works with Vil to keep appearances and popularity stay shining, and Vil’s family will continue to house and tend to (y/n)’s.

Fair, yes?

Well it was, for some time anyway. Before Vil was whisked off in that Ebony Carriage guided by those horses of bone, off to Night Raven College, leaving (y/n) behind.

Leaving his friend behind.

At least, (y/n) would like to say they were friends, but he knew better. He was nothing more than another tool in Vil’s arsenal to keep him in the spotlight, but honestly? (y/n) couldn’t complain.

After years of being a glorified servant of the other, he grew an attachment to the blond/purple haired man. Seeing him everyday was apart of the fae boy’s daily routine and him being missing from it was already messing with him.

Even though Vil had only been taken shipped off around a day ago. But that wasn’t the biggest issue.

The biggest issue would have to be the fact that an Ebony Carriage had come for him a few nights before, and in a fit of rage he destroyed it.

Though he did more than just throw stones or bricks, he intended to send a message. YOU intended to send a message.

A message asking why the fuck they would dare try to separate you from your *kostbar schimmernder stern.

You broke the coffin in, shattering the glass surrounding it. You did torch the wood of the carriage, and completely destroyed the small mirror that rested on the top of that forsaken coffin.

You sent it on its way as a warning.

Only to come and regret that decision as you watched from the tree line as the carriage that now held the sleeping body of your friend rid off under the moonlight.

After his leaving, you barely left your room, only carrying out your job with… lesser clients via email or a messenger. Though if not in your room, you’d be in the forest, most likely with your parents.

Speaking of, all your life you kept your family heritage a secret. Whenever someone wanted to meet your parents - such as Vil’s parents - they’d speak through a servant or you. Not to say that they looked inhuman, in fact, they were like you in human forms. Both shockingly average.

But rather because neither, no matter how much practice they had, they could never get over their… urges.

Your mother was a very, very old wendigo, older than most fae really. You could hear her cries beyond the gates of the house, the signs of a successful hunt. Never was she not bloody, her hair drenched in the red, sticky substance and her teeth stained crimson. She carried the scent of death with her everywhere, and sometimes you could see her “fixing” her body, otherwise known as sewing her skin back together. She had made an effort to never allow you to see her “true” form, but that was for naught as very early on in your life you had seen her stalking back to the house, two dead bucks trapped in her maw as her bones and joints creaked with every movement.

Her bloodshot eyes meeting yours. Blood dripping off her skull and large, sharp antlers onto your dolls.

You personally could say the dolls looked better dressed in red.

And your father, ever the trickster he was. With a glance of the untrained eye, and he would seem entirely human. Though, by living with him you could both see and feel, deeply that something was wrong. How his joints would twitch and jut in odd ways, how his expressions were always just slightly off the mark. How he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. How he never slept or even breathed. If you pressed into his skin enough, you could feel a wooden texture beneath the flesh, and his eyes were dull, as if carved from stone.

His teeth twitched as though alive, and his throat would make the oddest noises, such as bark rubbing together or leaves rustling against each other. Sometimes you could find him staring into the forest, his eyes completely blacked out, his body changing and shifting. His arms too long and his legs too short. His hair both shaggy and sleek while long and short. Haunting noises scraping themselves from his throat.

And sometimes you could hear something respond.

After Vil left, you’d go hunting with your mom, seeing the love she put into every kill for you, as you began to eat with her. She forbade you from eating meals with her due to her diet, but seeing how upset you were, she made an exception.

The feeling of raw deer flesh on your tongue as you gnawed on bones to help clean your teeth, feeling blood run down your chin as you shoved your face into the neck of a fresh kill, your mother kneeled over in her true form, chuffing and licking at your back with love. The grime of dried blood and small hairs beneath your nails as you clawed deeper and deeper into the corpse.

You found a beauty in it.

The beauty of life and death; the circle of life, you supposed.

You’d do the same with your dad, him helping you with your magic output. Finding out that you had inherited your mothers instincts with your fathers innate ability to change. Not your signature spell, but a powerful magic nonetheless.

You spent your days inside or with your family as grief at the loss of your friend consumed you.

You regretted not going when you had the chance. You wanted and needed to find a way inside that damned school.

As you cuddled into the warmth of the pile your family had formed on a pile of blankets and pillows under a window that allowed sunlight to stream onto you, you began to form a plan.

Didn’t that designer work there? What was his name…

Divus Crewel?

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍮🍯🍧୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

It hadn’t been hard really, to get in contact with the fashionista, but after a couple emails you finally got one back.

The school year had started by now, so designing for him was more of a pastime right now rather than a job. But that didn’t stop others from making requests. And no matter how punctual he was with his years of experience, there would always be something or someone to throw him off. Having someone to manage a schedule and otherwise would be a large help, and with your rather impressive portfolio, you knew he’d be bound to say yes.

And yes he did say.

You were scheduled to move to NRC in a few days, packing your belongings in a large suitcase. You heard the door open to your room but didn’t move from your packing instead letting your mother walk to you. You closed the suitcase in time the stopthe blood splatter from the large dead bear she dropped to touch your clothes. Finally looking up at her, she had a small smile on her patchwork face.

“Eat.”

That was all she said but you understood. Usually - with you anyway - the hunts were small with deer or bucks, the occasional fox, wolf or small bunny for a snack. But a bear, that was something worth celebrating. Not to say your mother couldn’t catch something larger, but it was the largest thing she caught for you.

It was a parting gift.

You knew that hunting would become a scarce activity and that’d you’d once more need to get acquainted with regular foods, so this was a very welcome gift, as after this it’d be nothing but cooked meats for you, unfortunately.

Your hands easily gripped the flesh through It’s fur, tearing a large chunk off its neck. You ran a hand through the thick coat before tugging, and with a swift pull, nearly all fur came off the chunk.

You brought the bare skin to your mouth, sinking razor sharp teeth into it. You could tell it was fresh, from the mass amounts of blood that spilled down your chin. The disgusting sounds of flesh being chewed could be heard throughout the home as your father walked in, in his hands a box.

You placed your bite down and rubbed your hands on your pants, turning to him. He stepped over, not minding the blood now on his shoes, and crouched dow, placing the box in your lap.

He ran and hand through your hair as you took in the box.

It was white with a large red bow, small black accents patterned across the top.

Gently untying the bow and lifting the top, a butchers set and a makeup set lay before you, in the center a small gemstone mixed with purple and red sat before you. Picking it up you realized what it was.

When practicing your magic, your parents would offer up an old wand or pen, as was customary. You had yet to do anything with your own life, in the sense that you had yet to fly the nest.

And here you were, making your first decision for yourself. One that would lead you away from here.

From them.

A magic gem.

You could feel the power dripping from inside it, pushing into your being and forcibly flowing through your veins. Looking at the knife and makeup brush sets you noted the small indents in parts of their bases. You gently placed the gem in the sharpener - it was the most normal looking compared to the others, looking like a metal wand - and waved it a bit, small sparkles emanating from its tip.

You stared at the duel sets, then gently set the sharpener down, before leaping up and hugging your father. Your mother quickly got up as well, wrapping her much longer arms around you and your father, none of you minding the blood staining your clothes.

Tomorrow was a new day.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍭🍡୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

“Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

You stood before Divus Crewel, sciences teacher of Night Raven College and fashion designer. Together in the hall of mirrors, he motioned you forward and began to walk to another mirror, to what you only could assume were the teachers housing.

Dragging behind you were multiple bags, considering the contract you both came up with required you to be on campus the whole time you were employed during the school year, if only to keep you close. The black and white man apparently much more preferred face to face meetings over calls and e-mails.

Divus looked back at you. You had at least five large suitcases and a slew of smaller bags, but were carrying them with ease. By now you had both stepped through the mirror towards his current home and were simply walking the trail to the building, but you were keeping up with his brisk pace with no problem.

He’d be a fool to say he hadn’t heard of you. Just like all the models he worked with, your name was all over the high world of acolytes. You had clients in every circle, and not one of them was dissatisfied. One of the youngest in the business, at only eighteen, Divus would’ve expected you to be a bit ‘shaky on your legs’ so to speak, but you held yourself up high, no signs of stopping or of any fatigue.

Such an interesting boy you are…

“I meant to ask before, but what made you so eager to ask for this role?” Crewl was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew Vil had just recently came to NRC, leaving you without your biggest star. So to reach out to Crewl just a few weeks later, he had a feeling he knew why you were here. But he wanted to see if you’d admit it.

“I had recently seen your work. And after… ‘loosing’ Vil, a lot of my work time has dropped. I needed to be busy again, after my few weeks of down time. I hope you understand, fashion is a bit out of my expertise, but I figured it’d be a fun new experience.”

Crewl opened the door to the rather large mansion-like building, guiding you down hall after hall, you immediately making note of every twist and turn as the salt and pepper haired man showed you to what you assumed would be your room for the rest of the school year.

“I see… well, these will be your living quarters till the end of our current contract. I will leave you to get situated for tonight and will show you around the school tomorrow. This weekend will be spent showing you around the rest of this building and fully ironing out your role and duties under me, understood?” You nodded.

“Good pup. Have a good night.” You stared at the back of his head as he walked out of the room and closed the door. You immediately looked around the room taking it in.

It was large, much larger than your own back home. High walls with near ceiling to floor length windows surrounded you, the walls painted in grays and black with hints of purples and golds.

A tribute to the Headmaster of this place, you assumed.

Your new Alaskan king sized canopy bed sat in a corner with sheets that matched to walls, the only other furniture being a desk with a chair, a nightstand, and a dresser. You sighed, knowing your pockets were about to be drained in order to personalize the room.

You walked over to a door, opening it to find the largest walk-in closet - next to Vil’s - you’d ever seen. The damn thing even had a couple levels.

Then you checked the bathroom, which had a glass shower with far too many buttons levers, a quite large and wide clawfoot bathtub, a large vanity with two sinks - why would you ever need two??? - and a towel closet that, again, was much to large for its intended purpose.

Though curiously, in the back of the towel closet, was a magic imbued safe. Quickly figuring out that it responded to a spell of the users choice, you choose a spell of Wendigo nature and unlocked it, walking back to the main room and taking out both sets of “wands” your father gave you. You removed the sharpener from the box and took the others back into the bathroom, quickly pushing them into the safe and locking it back up.

Now, it was time for a room makeover… or the best you could right now, anyway.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍪🍦🍯୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

The last of your clothes are placed into the closet and sighed. All unpacked, all that was left was actually giving the room a makeover, you were just stuck between actually putting in some elbow grease and doing it yourself, or just magicing - is that a word? - the room and being done with it.

As you pondered, you glanced out the window, noting the moon was starting to rise, sky dark and shining with stars. At that same moment, your stomach growled. You huffed and walked over to the window, staring out at the back of the building, noticing in a forest behind it. In fact, you now recalled that a forest surrounded the damn thing.

How… convenient.

You grabbed your wand and threw on a pair of boots and an over coat that was already painted a deep crimson, as well as a small satchel, and stalked out the door, humming quietly to yourself.

You snuck through halls, hypersensitive to any boards that seemed a little too loose for your liking. You leapt over railing and fell to the first floor, opening the front door silently and closing it behind you. Your nail grew into a point, and you entered it to the lock, locking the door back into place. Then, you took off into the night, rushing through trees.

You dropped to all fours and ran faster, taking in the night air.

You heard your limbs snap as your form changed, long and jagged antlers protruding from your head as the skin melted off your face. Your limbs lengthened and your legs became unguligrade, bones cracking and rebuilding themselves. Your awkward run became a strong gallop, your body thinning until your ribs pushed through your skin and spine protruding from your back.

You sniffed the air, taking in the scents of different animals that desperately ran from you already, your presence already disrupting the peace of the forest simply by being there.

… a little doe was nearby.

Your head snapped in her direction. Skin that was still rotting off you flying off from the sheer force of your head. You leaned low, head nearly touching the floor of the forest, stalking towards her direction.

Your breathing was shallow, antlers lightly scraping the branches above you. Slowly, the doe came into view, lightly munching away on grass and flowers in the moonlight. Tan fur flowed in the wind, ears twitching and nose sniffing.

She was beautiful.

When you came into the clearing, her head perked up immediately, looking at you. You huffed and stayed low, tail wagging behind you in wait. She stared for a moment longer before quietly diving back down into her meal. If you had lips, you would’ve smiled.

You continued to crawl forward, the doe no longer caring about your being there, caring only for the flowers she feasted on. You finally came to a point where she was only a few feet away, her scent searing into your nose, making your already shallow breathing harder.

You stalled, letting the wind brush through your fur, before you strike. And the moment came.

You leapt from the ground, jaw crunching around her neck before she could make a noise. Blood licked your nostrils, splattering across your form as the sickening snap of her neck resounded through the forest.

Without hesitation you marred her pure flesh with your tainted teeth. You tore through her skin to the meat, biting down on her shoulder. You shredded the muscle, chewing till bone then working your way down till nothing but the guts remained, to which you began to shift back.

Your body was still covered in the sticky blood. You made sure all your clothes shifted with you, counting the layers in your head. With a nod you whipped out your wand and whispered a spell, the remaining guts and bone bunching themselves together. With the small satchel in hand, you scooped up the remains and began the trek back to the house, moon hanging in the sky, the only witness to your brutality.

You went the way you came once entering the establishment, steps light and airy. You made it to your room in record time, waltzing into the bathroom and hiding your cloak and boots in the back, near the safe. You removed the pouch from a pocket and set on the sink as you washed up, a quick shower rising you of your sin. You and the pouch made your way into the bedroom and the pouch made its way into a small drawer in your nightstand, a chilling spell placed over it as you snuggled up in the side sheet, satin pajamas hugging your figure.

It was only a few hours you slept, rising when the suns rays had just barely touched the surface of the world. You rose with no hesitation, wide awake almost immediately. You rushed to the bathroom and began your morning ritual, having picked up some tips from Vil as the years went by. Face creams and masks, makeup of all types. You’d gotten so good that you knew you could rush with no restraint.

You had more than enough time before school started, hell, you knew you were most likely one of the only people awake. But it was for a purpose.

You needed to be on the good side of the teachers above all.

You may have only been employed with Crewl, but throughout your day, you mostly only be speaking and seeing the teachers. Rushing to your drawer - without changing. There was no need right now - you took out what was left of the doe. You slipped on some fuzzy slippers and rushed down the halls, again, missing all creaky floorboards and sniffing the air, following the smell of herbs and coffee in the mansion.

You made it to the kitchen without trouble, opening the pouch and feeling around in the pouch, removing the intestines.

Sausage was on the menu this morning. You hoped no one was a vegan.

It was easy to begin cooking. Vil loved your cooking. No one could do it right like you, he constantly said. Once more, you were fast and effective, starting the coffee maker. You also started some eggs and hash browns, biscuits and chopping fruit.

You multitasked, buttering the biscuits and flipping eggs, making both sunny side up - a personal favorite for you - and scrambled. As you took the hash browns out, you heard shuffling behind you, as well as the meowing of a cat.

… Can cats eat sausage?

You turned around and met the gaze of an older man with greying hair and a black cat around his shoulders.

Mozus Trein… and his cat, Lucius.

“I assume you are Crewl’s new assistant?” Short sweet and strait to the point. You simply nodded, taking the fresh made sausage out the pan and letting it cool off to the side. With a step, you took the cup you placed from under the coffee machine, turning back to him.

“Do you like anything in your coffee? Or do you prefer it black? Or, would you prefer anything else?” Lucius jumped off from the older man’s shoulders onto the island counter, him taking a seat and crossing his legs. You noted he was fully dressed for the day, despite it barely being six am.

“Milk and two sugars, thank you.” He hummed. The glanced away before turning back. “And would you mind grabbing the paper? We get it delivered, should be at the door by now.” You nodded and took off, not looking back.

Now that it was light out, you took your time to examine the halls a bit more thoroughly. Paintings lined the walls, each of different landscapes that painted the world of Twisted Wonderland.

The most prominent being - of course - the seven lands in which The Great Seven all hail from.

The Queendom of Roses, Sunset Savana, the Coral Sea, the Scalding Sands, Briar Valley, and others.

Each portrait was lifelike. Each snowflake glinting back at you and each thorn looking as though you’d cut yourself if you poked at it. You could see each individual grain of sand and scale on a fish. It was impressive.

Finally making it to the front once more, you were met with a man who was getting ready to head out. He had dreads and was wearing something akin to a suit, though a waiter’s apron was tired to his waist. You had come from behind, so hearing you he turned, and you also saw he had white paint streaked across his skin.

“Now, who may you be?” He asked, you staring becoming blatant. Your eyes didn’t move from analyzing him, grunting. After another moment of silence and the man seemingly starting to sweat, you hummed, moving to the front door and throwing it open. You quietly picked up the newspaper and turned back to him.

“Crewl’s new assistant, (Y/n).” Was all you said, though you kept staring. After another moment of silence, he seemed to note that you were waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Well then uh… names Sam. I run Mr. S’s Mystery Shop. Pop by if you’re in the need for anything..?” He drew off as he watched you walk away, back in the direction of the kitchen.

“What a weird kid…”

Your steps once more echoed in the halls as you re-entered the kitchen, seeing that Mozus had helped himself and served himself up a plate. Before you could announce yourself, however, a large hand clapped itself on your back, making you stumble forward.

Without a word, you fell face first onto the floor, newspaper still in hand.

Still, quiet silence followed.

“Uh… you okay, kid?” Your grunted, still lying on the floor. A hand, the same one you guessed, grabbed you by the scruff of your sleep shirt and yanked you upward, you still like a kitten. When you were dropped back onto your feet, you turned and found the PE teacher, Ashton Vargas.

You nodded at him before he could speak and wondered over to Mozus, who was watching the whole interaction with little care. You gently placed the newspaper in front of him and he thanked you with a nod, Lucius meowing at you.

You then faced Ashton, holding a hand out. He grasped it and squeezed - though you’re sure it was unintentional - and shook it with vigor.

“Sorry ‘bout that! Ashton Vargas, PE teacher here at Night Raven. You?” You nodded in kind.

“(Y/n), Crewl’s new assistant. Pleasure.” Your face remained blank through the interaction, gaze breaking for a moment only to look at the breakfast you’d prepared, then looking back at the rather built man.

“I’ve prepared a breakfast if you-“ “I’m good, thank you.” Your eyebrow raised in question and the man laughed, making Mozus groan.

“I already ate about… twelve-dozen eggs this morning during my pre-school work out!” Your eye twitched at the thought. Due to your biology, you could ingest raw egg no problem, but to eat twenty-four strait raw eggs just sounds… you couldn’t do it. So instead, you simply nodded and walked over to the food, grabbing a bit of everything before looking back at the two.

“Where is Mr. Crewl’s room?” Ashton blinked before nodding towards the door.

“Just down the hall, he’s closest to the kitchen actually. Shocked he ain’t out here yet honestly.” You nodded and made your way out of the kitchen, walking steadily down the hall, balancing the plate on one hand.

Walking down the hall, you kept an eye out for the correct door. You didn’t want to open a closet or anything. But suddenly, someone crashed into you. Crewel fell from the impact, your form still standing strong with the plate of food unmoving.

“Where were you?!? I’ve been searching for ten minutes now!! Come come, time is waisting and I still have to put you in uniform.” You tilted your head as Crewel stood back up, walked behind you and began to push you to what you could only assume was his room.

“Uniform?” You questioned. Crewel sighed, but smirked as well. “Yes uniform. A little something a threw into our contract at the very end. You don’t mind, do you?” You grunted. Should’ve seen something akin to this coming, you supposed, but you couldn’t loose this. You hadn’t even seen Vil yet.

“Fine.” “Good, now, come along.” And off you both went, to gain your new uniform.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍩🍮🍨୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

The uniform wasn’t too bad. A fluffy tailcoat - with coat tails, not real ones - that went to the backs of your knees, a vest that was the reverse of his in terms of color, black dress pants and black dress shoes. You looked nice, in your own opinion at least.

As you looked yourself over in the mirror, Crewel sat at his desk, munching away on the breakfast you made.

“This is pretty good...” He mumbled as he watched you twirl in the mirror, taking in every part of your new outfit. He hummed, placing his fork down and grabbing his teacher pointer and standing.

“Come on, let’s not waste anymore time. I’ll give you a quick rundown of some things I’ll need you to do at the school, but as I said, we will fully go over your duties during the weekend. Understood?” You nodded and walked out with him, patting your body and sighing when you felt your ‘wand’ in your picket.

And off you both went. Walking the trail towards the gate that would lead to NRC.

To your new life for the next couple of months, maybe even years.

Something inside you, your heart perhaps, beat rapidly at the thought of seeing Vil again, even if just for a class period. You were… excited?

Yes, excited.

It was time to begin. To get your Vil back.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Nah I gotta split this motherfucker up because what in the hell-

I’m so fucking tied but I wanna continue this but it’s already so fucking long- eh I’ll finish it later have this-

Love you guys <3

[spicycreativity]

Fantasy au moceit fluff, for the ask thing. <3<3

Thank you for the request! And sorry it took so long to fill 😅

I went with a Mushishi fusion. The simplest explanation of Mushishi is that mushi are creatures somewhat analogous to fae/faeries and tend to cause chaos when they interact with humans. So it's Japanese fantasy, but it's still fantasy!

I could go on a whole rant about how Mushishi is such a great reflection of Japanese cultural Shintoism and how Janus as a character rejects that and Patton embraces it, which is a fun juxtaposition because Janus is the mushi-shi in this story, but I won't 😇

Anyway! It's a little under 2k, CW for very mild body/eye horror (Patton temporarily gets afflicted with frog traits that affect his skin and eyes)

The steep mountain path was neither well-worn nor clearly-marked, the ground a uniform carpet of deep green pine needles dotted here and there with pinecones. Still, it was a path Janus could tread with his remaining eye closed. A few wooden signs still stood, though they were mostly grown over with moss. Janus let them be. Very few visitors came to this tiny mountain village, at least by this particular path. He was more interested in the chorus of frog croaks that grew ever louder the closer he got to the village. He thought, though it was hard to be certain, wispy and ephemeral as they were, that the mushi were increasing in density, too. This place had always been a hotbed for mushi, even without Janus' presence to draw them near. It was unusual, he reflected, to hear this many frogs this high in the mountains. The croaks were now a maddening constant, enough to make him wish that he only had one working ear, instead of one eye.

He guarded that wish carefully, in case any mushi with the power to make it come true were nearby. 

He made it into the village unscathed, pausing when he realized that the croaking had stopped. For the most part. He looked around, rubbing his face against the sharp, familiar bite of the mountain wind, cooled further still by the nearby presence of a lake. Now, only one plaintive croak reached his ears. He tried not to let his heart sink, tried not to jump to conclusions, though he set off for the house where his sweetheart waited for him with an uncharacteristic urgency in his movements. 

The life of a mushi-shi did not foster close relationships, and Janus had long since closed off his heart to new connections. Growing close was a one-way journey to becoming hurt, as he could never stay anywhere for long. Yet somehow, on a trip to a lonely mountain village, Patton had slipped through his defenses. They couldn’t be together, not the way they wanted, but they had promised themselves to each other. It was an easy thing for Janus to promise not to love another. The challenge had been in entrusting Patton with his heart. But he had gotten there in the end. In the absence of a proper wedding ceremony, they had simply taken a scrap of the other’s clothing as a token. 

Janus didn’t bother to knock on the door when he arrived. Patton’s door was always unlocked, unbarricaded. To Janus’ dismay, the croaking did not stop upon his arrival inside, and several mushi danced in the corners where the walls met the ceiling. “Patton, love?”

“Don’t come closer!” Patton’s voice was high, tight with panic. “Just wait a second,” he added in a pleading tone. “I’m glad you’re back, but--”

“Having trouble with mushi?” Janus guessed. The singular frog croaks had stopped when Patton spoke. “Please, do keep worrying about how I’m going to react.” he tugged on the scrap of cloth tied to the straps of his woven backpack. It was old and tattered now, no longer smelled like Patton or bore the pattern it had before.

“It’s just…” Croak.

Janus considered. Whatever mushi had latched onto Patton, it was probably affecting his appearance, hence the hesitancy. “Come on, love, let me see. I’ll have you cured in no time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Besides, it’s not like I’m a paragon of good looks, either. Maybe we’ll match for a bit.” This was only partially true in Janus’ mind. His own looks were inoffensive, but strangers tended to shy away from him, frightened by the piercing gold and slitted pupil of his remaining eye.

It was silent for a moment. Then came the shuffle-scrape of bare feet on wooden floors. Patton appeared at the end of the hall with his head angled downward. Even still, Janus could see the patches of mottled brown skin on his hands and cheeks. Frog skin. “We do match a little,” Patton said, forcing humor into his voice. He came closer and lifted his head to reveal that one of his eyes was now golden, with a horizontal pupil.

“Oh,” said Janus, careful not to tease. “That’s not so bad.” He cupped Patton’s face, gently running his thumb over a slightly damp patch of frog skin. “You’re still beautiful, love.”

“But you can cure it?” Patton asked.

“Of course.” Janus smiled a little. He hoped it was reassuring. “You’ve been poisoned by a kaeru mushi.”

“Poisoned?” Patton yelped, and a little nervous croak escaped his throat.

Janus patted his cheek. “If only you knew a deeply intelligent, highly skilled mush-shi who could take care of that for you.”

“If only,” Patton repeated, widening his eyes at Janus. The effect was somewhat dampened by his frog eye, but only somewhat. It was still enough to send a wave of fondness through Janus’ chest.

"Come on," Janus said, taking Patton by the hand. He led Patton to the kitchen and set his backpack on the ground with a light thump. The tight weave was strong, but it was beginning to get creaky with age, and Janus made a mental note to see about getting a replacement. "You can take it as a tea, although the flavor is more savory, like a soup." He opened up his backpack and began to dig through it. The paper-wrapped vials rustled and clicked beneath his fingers, and a few specimens brought back memories of his recent trip. "Here we go." He held up the vial and showed it to Patton. "It does take a while to brew. I hope you don't mind being stuck like that for a bit."

Patton extended a hand to help Janus up and pulled him into an embrace, mindful of the glass in Janus' hand. "I already feel better now that you're here."

"You know me," Janus said, nuzzling Patton's forehead. "I live to serve."

It was meant to be sarcasm, though Patton refused to take it as such. "You're so selfless," he said into Janus' chest.

"Patton, love, you are the first and only person to ever accuse me of that." It was true. Janus' bedside manner was objectively abhorrent, his patience for stupidity and stubbornness nonexistent. Most villages regarded him as a necessary evil, rather than a presence to be celebrated. He pulled away before Patton could get it into his head that Janus needed comforting. "Let's get going on the antidote, shall we?"

Patton nodded. "There's a patch of snow out back," he said. "I've been fishing, trying to make the most of it."

"Fish soup?" Janus asked, putting the pieces together.

Patton nodded. "You'll have some, won't you?" He made a point of looking Janus up and down, and even the golden frog eye did not diminish his look of somewhat paternal concern. "You work too hard."

"Again, Patton," Janus said, turning to examine the cooking pot, "you are the only person who's ever said that about me."

"I think I would know," Patton said definitively, taking Janus by the hand to lead him outside.

They held each other while they waited for the cure to steep properly, Janus wrapping his arms around Patton and holding him close. He rested his chin on Patton's shoulder and watched the mushi dance around them. He found it hard to regard them as anything other than vermin, little nuisances who made his life worse. The world was cruel and arbitrary and mushi were no more than a reflection of that, but he couldn't help but resent the situation at hand. Patton didn't deserve this.

As though reading his thoughts, Patton nuzzled Janus' cheek. "Are they here now?"

"The mushi?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yes." Janus pointed even though he knew Patton couldn't see them.

"Describe them to me?" A principle difference between the two of them: Patton treasured every living thing. He never resented the bears that sometimes stole his fish, he never resented the deer when they ate the flowers he'd worked so hard to cultivate. He cherished them. He cherished mushi, too. Even now, when the poison coursing through his body was turning him into one (though Janus had decided not to tell Patton that, thinking that there was no sense worrying him when the cure was at hand).

"They're moving around a lot," Janus said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Though he harbored no love for mushi, he loved Patton dearly. "There's one that looks like a little octopus." Patton was not very well traveled, though he had gone to the ocean once. "And a few that look like worms. They're all glowing."

"They sound so pretty," Patton said, covering Janus' hands with his own.

"I'll bring you back some candles next time I go out," Janus promised, the idea occurring to him in one lightning strike. "And some lanterns made of colored paper. You can string them up outside."

"Oh!" Patton spun around to pull Janus into a proper hug, and Janus was careful not to stare at the frog skin now slowly-advancing down his neck. "That would be lovely."

"Lanterns are better than mushi, anyway," Janus said, his resolve finally cracking a little, "because they're actually useful."

Patton only smiled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Janus' face. 

It was around evening when Janus deemed the cure properly steeped. Patton made him sit down so they could eat together, smiling all the while, and Janus found any protest he might have melting away in the face of Patton's innocent kindness. It wasn't like the cure could hurt him, after all.

It took effect when they were washing the dishes with water Patton had carried in from a nearby stream. He stopped what he was doing and touched his face, already turning to Janus for confirmation.

Janus nodded, privately satisfied to see both of Patton's eyes back to their rich, deep brown. "Back to normal."

"Thank you, love." Abandoning the dishes, Patton pulled Janus in for a hug. His hands were wet, but Janus couldn't couldn't bring himself to mind the icy droplets that crawled down his neck.

Janus, who was incurably given to teasing, finally let himself off the leash. "Oh, don't thank me; it was for my own benefit. People would laugh if they found out I was in love with a frog-man."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Patton said. He had known Janus far too long, long enough that Janus no longer had to beat back the urge to flee like a startled animal in the face of such intimate knowing.

"You're right," he said, and he meant it.

[crescairis]

I was wondering if you had another source that otherlinkers were explicitly excluded from the original definition of otherkind in 1990? The source on AnOtherWiki leads to a 2001 FAQ that doesn't mention anything like that. Also, otherlinkers aren't the same thing as KFF.

(just as a warning, this is going to be a LONG post, but i'd rather not put it under the cut for archival reasons, in the case that for some reason this blog disappears)

firstly, i'd like to apologize for phrasing things as if KFFs and otherlinkers were the same thing; a better phrased way to say things would be for me to say that i think many KFFs would be otherlinkers, were they to acknowledge that their experiences don't fit the definition of otherkin.

something else i'd also like to note that i've been thinking about (while it isn't exactly related to this question) is that perhaps people are misinterpreting the terms "voluntary" and "involuntary".

i feel that many people think "voluntary" simply means the initial decision to willingly take on an identity, which is, in part, true! however, voluntary identities are very likely to become involuntary, simply because it becomes too emotionally/mentally difficult to separate oneself from the identity that they've chosen.

being drawn to something, or someone, enough to take it on as an identity can often be a sign of something deeper! i would see this as a form of awakening in and of itself—like cracking open a geode, or perhaps like putting on training wheels before you experience the real thing.

but back to your first question: the way i initially phrased that post was also rushed, as we were trying very hard to write it during a single lunch break at work.

the term otherlinker is a very recent invention (coined in 2018 on the alt-h discord server, while copinglink was coined in 2015 by who-is-page), as being otherkin has always largely been considered a serious, personal experience. only recently have people NEEDED to specify that it's involuntary, so the only sources i can give you are ones that cite otherkinity as being intended as a serious identity, as well as those that state that otherkinity is not as shallow as a game or roleplay.

also important to note is that many of these pages were made and existed before fictionkin were a largely documented (let alone accepted) presence, thus they are scarcely mentioned, (and typically with skepticism or even scorn,) save for on their own, smaller pages. for our own personal comfort, we will not be listing sources that discredit fictionkinity completely.

firstly, here's a full timeline of otherkin history by orion scribner, to show the scope we're looking at

Otherkin Lexicon by Orion Scribner: "Otherkin are real, non-fictional people who identify as other than human. Otherkin identify as creatures from myth and legend, usually elves, faeries, and dragons. This is a sincere identity, not role-play. Many otherkin identify as other than human for spiritual reasons; that is, they classify their identity as otherkin as a personal spiritual belief. Being otherkin is a very individualistic thing: each otherkin reaches his own explanation for how and why he is an otherkin. Some of their common spiritual explanations include that they are other than human in spirit, or they were other than human in past incarnations.187 Although spiritual belief is often involved, “otherkin” isn’t a religion. As such, each person who identifies as otherkin practices whatever religion he individually wants. It has always been the case that most of the otherkin community practices Neo-Pagan religions, and so that religious perspective shapes the common views and ideas in the otherkin community. Some otherkin don’t use spiritual explanations. Some otherkin believe that they are physically other than human, or that their ancestors were."

A Field Guide to Otherkin by Lupa: "The definition for Otherkin I will be using for this book is: a person who believes that, through either a nonphysical or (much more rarely) physical means, s/he is not entirely human. This means that anyone who relates internally to a nonhuman species either through soul, mind, body, or energetic resonance, or who believes s/he hosts such a being in hir body/mind, is in my own definition of Otherkin. Some people do have more stringent standards. However, for the purposes of this book, I am including a wider range of people.

"This is not a roleplaying game. When a person says s/he is a dragon, or a wolf, or an elf, s/he is not referring to a character that s/he only becomes during a gaming session. That which is Other is a constant part of the person; s/he is the Other at all times. Grey, a wolf therian,says it marvelously: “Perhaps I should say that if a being is a color, or a sound, I am two items merged to form a different color/sound. The two are within each other. Sometimes plain to see, sometimes deeply mixed.”"

A Simple Introduction to Otherkin and Therianthropes by Orion Scribner: "Some real people think of themselves as kinds of creatures from mythology. These people call themselves “otherkin.” An otherkin has the belief that he is a creature from mythology, such as an elf. He says that elf is his true self. It is his identity. This is real to him. It isn’t a pretend person that he plays in a game."

The Otherkin Resource Center: "1 : one who identifies with various mythological archetype as vehicles of spiritual evolution and self-expression, similar to Native totemism only with a stronger level of self-identification.

"2 : someone who believes in reincarnation, and that not all of their reincarnations were as a human."

What are Otherkin? by Tirl Windtree: "By far the most common explanation from those who fit the definition (even if they don't claim this specific label) is that whilst their physical forms may be human, their essence, soul or equivalent term is not.

"Of those, the majority make their claim based on reincarnation - what they have been in a previous incarnation so strongly affects their current incarnation that they still identify with it. Obviously this requires a belief in reincarnation, and in the transmigration of souls. Both are reasonably common in a number of religions and spiritual beliefs across the world."

"The most frequent accusation is that all otherkin are lost in fantasy, they've played one too many D&D games and gone over the edge. Personal study seems to indicate this is actually one of the least frequent explanations. Most roleplayers know they are roleplaying, even if they are also otherkin, and roleplaying can be a very useful tool in self exploration."

The Lostkin Project by Gazer: "Otherkin are the supernatural among us. They are the elves, dragons, nymphs, and trolls that used to live more openly amoung humankind. Some are from other dimensions and other places. You may occasionally see them refered to as Otherkind. Otherkin is the more generally accepted term."

Otherkin Coalition by Kreyas: "What is Otherkin?

In a nutshell, Otherkin are a coalition of people who share in common the belief that some internal part of them is somehow incongruent with the rest of the human race. Beyond that, beliefs vary too widely to classify them into any one group.

Some of the most common beliefs are that the soul is somehow different from human. This may go in hand with a belief in reincarnation and “imprinting” (in which a past life as another species leaves an imprint on the soul which is then carried over into the next life), or the individual may believe that this is his/her first life and they are simply different.

Above all, Otherkin is a spiritual belief.

"Are Otherkin really a bunch of delusional, socially maladaptive kids like I read on that website?

NO. As with any group, not everyone fits the stereotype. Any community is going to have its bad apples which stand out in people’s minds better than the typical members. In my experience, Otherkin are usually levelheaded and able to question their beliefs and function in human society.

"Is it a Roleplaying thing?

NO. While some Otherkin may participate in roleplaying, strictly speaking the beliefs are separate from the roleplay - even if they are roleplaying as their identified “kintype”."

Otherkin FAQ v 4.0.1 by Arhuaine, Miaren Crowsdaughrer, Thistile Kachunk, Golden Syrpent, Knight of Ghosts and Shadows, Jarin Dreamsinger and The Crisses: "The Otherkin are those people who believe themselves to be spiritually and/or physically other than human. While mythological species (elves, satyrs, fairies, dragons, and so on) are widely accepted as being included under the term "Otherkin", many people in the community prefer to include aliens, vampires, furries, extraterrestrial humans, and other nonhuman races. A mythological or literary equivalent is not necessary to be included under "Otherkin"; there are types of otherkin that have not shown up in known legends or fiction (star-dragons, Elenari, etc.)."

What are Otherkin, Anyway? by Adnarel: "Otherkin is a term that is generally used to describe people who, In some way or another, physical bodies aside, do not feel that they are “human” in the conventional sense of the word. We (they) feel as though their spirits are not human, nor have they ever been, despite our physical bodies and outward appearance. Some otherkin have testified that they feel that this is their first time on this plane of existence, a.k.a. Earth. Others feel that they have been here numerous times to teach and to heal people. Maybe once they were here in their “true forms”. Otherkin use the term “true form” to describe what they feel to be the shape and nature of their true selves."

What Are Otherkin? by Arhuaine:

"Put simply, someone who is Otherkin feels that they have a soul (or souls) other than human. Usually this encompasses what are commonly regarded as mythical beings such as elves, dragons, fae, satyrs and so on. A broader view of otherkin might also include therianthropes (were-creatures) and those with animal souls (such people are sometimes known affectionately as "furries"), and also perhaps people who consider their souls are alien (often called star-born). The lines between Otherkin and Furries or Star-born are often blurred.

"Most Otherkin feel for most of their lives as though they don't belong. Human society seems alien and unfamiliar in many ways. They may feel isolated and unhappy, yet unable to explain these feelings at first. Then, perhaps they may begin to remember a life other than their own. Sometimes it is not easy to understand such memories, and sometimes the awakening to Otherkin-ness is a difficult and frightening process, especially if they are going through it alone. It is something not easy to share with others, for fear that they may consider you crazy.

"Being Otherkin is not something to crave, nor is it glamorous. It is a difficult and lonely path to tread, and sometimes it seems to bring only sorrow. Memories of loved ones long lost, a home that can no longer be reached, cause great pain. And yet, the life of the Otherkin is not all sadness. It is a life filled with wonder and magic, and a way of looking at the world that humans can never understand. Because magic is so much a part of an Otherkin's outlook, they may be drawn to Paganism or other New-age philosophies."

Are You 'Kin? by Gazer: "To really find out if you are otherkin takes searching. No, not on the internet, inside. You have to reach inside yourself and really look at yourself. This ,for the most part, is an inner journey. You have the answers, not me or anyone else. If you are otherkin then it is a PART of you, but you may be the only person able to find it.

The best others can do to help you is to provide pointers. Show you ways to search inside yourself, tell you how they found something inside themselves. We can hold a mirror up to you, but you won't see anything unless YOU do the looking, and what we see from our side of the mirror may not be the truth."

Otherkin Phenomena: "Otherkin are people who believe themselves to be something other than a human being on a spiritual, psychological, energetic and some even on a biological level, and choose to identify with that non-human fragment of themselves to the point where they count it as a permanent and ingrained part of their personal mythology and/or identity."

and there's plenty more! i'm just tired

i hope this helped answer your question, and perhaps gives others some insight as well!

[inyourwildestdreamslove]

Forgotten

No one can remember the last time the Fae were seen in Middle Earth. They were once revered as the most powerful of the races with mystical powers, unlike any in the world has seen. Sauron knew the only way for his plans to succeed was to get rid of them, so he rid the world of them. However, one day you fall into the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Coincidence or fate? No one knows...

As the last of the Fae you are unsure what to do... All you really want is a bath...

... And the attention of a certain golden-haired Prince... What's a girl to do?

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Chapter 1: Of Falls and Fairy Circles

The market is bustling as you dance your way through the stalls full of art and jewelry. Saturday at the market is easily your favorite day of week especially after you just got paid. Suddenly, a stone on one of the nearby tables catches your eye. It seems to almost have a light shining from it taking your breath away. It is clear with a bright blue light that just seems to shine among all the moonstones and labradorites. You hesitantly pick it up from the stall knowing that it is way out of budget and yet the price tag says $60. You blink in confusion at the piece before your hand secures, almost greedily, around the pendant as you call the owner over.

“I’ll take this one,” you say, pulling out your wallet.

“Sure! What length chain would you like?” she asks briskly, busy with the plethora of customers surrounding you both.

You gaze at the pendant thoughtfully, the shard looking glamorously delicate and intricate, “thirty-six.”

She nods and quickly takes payment, but you stop her from wrapping it up, “I’ll just wear it out, thanks.” She hands it over with a friendly enough smile before she is pulled away by another buyer.

You spend the rest of the afternoon meandering around the stalls of the market. Artisans are selling their crafts and you admire each of them happily. When you are finished you buy a meal from a local food truck and sit happily at one of the picnic tables scattered about the outside of the market. Once finished you throw back the last of your drink before you dispose of the trash and make your way back towards your apartment.

The evening air is brisk and warm with a breeze as the sunset paints the sky various colors of pinks and oranges. It’s only when you feel the telltale drop of rain that you become slightly concerned. You quicken your pace, annoyed you hadn’t driven to the market even though it wasn’t far from your home. As the rain picks up you begin to rush down the street as the once peaceful evening is ravaged by black clouds and lightning. Your apartment is almost in sight as you rush across the bridge, the only thing between you and home.

With a jolt of lightning and a crack of thunder, the bolt catches a nearby streetlamp. You scream as you are thrown back and away. Suddenly water is all around you, a vortex of wind and rain. The only time you seem able to see is when the sky is illuminated by the ominous bolts of lightning.

You scream for help, disoriented, and confused about what is happening, how did you get into the water?

Now it is time to choose…

The light and airy voice startle you. You have no idea how you could hear it over the raging storm. Suddenly all is quiet, almost deafeningly so after the roar of the storm raging around you.

You must choose between life…

And death…

“What does that mean?!” you yell into nothing, to no one.

Living means accepting your destiny… yourself…

“And what does dying mean?!” you ask in panic.

Failure…

Now choose…

The voice echoing in your head is silent, leaving you with your thoughts. You are beyond confused about everything, but what are you supposed to do? You don’t want to die!

“I want to choose life!”

Your choice has been made then? Just know you will never be able to return here…

“What do you mean?”

You have chosen destiny…

You scream as you are abruptly thrown back into the storm and tossed about like a ragdoll in the washing machine. When just as abruptly as it all started… it stops.

Opening your eyes you gaze around you at the lush forest before looking down on the bed of flowers you’ve landed in encircled by mushrooms. The earth is soft and damp beneath you, the moss and foliage having softened your fall. The sky's the deep blue of the evening, you notice the way that the colors of twilight are just beginning to paint the sky. Sitting up you vaguely wonder how you got here, but you can remember nothing. Panic takes over as you search the area around you for anything or anyone. You find nothing. The only thing that floats across your mind is a singular name: Cwen.

You sit up and feel your body scream as you do, with a groan you hold your aching head. Glancing down at your clothes you notice the dress you are wearing, it’s long and a deep black. It’s now stained and ripped in multiple places. You stumble to your feet and after a moment you finally gain your footing as you brace yourself against a tree. You lean your pounding forehead against the rough bark and gasp as whispers tickle your ears. You pull away and look around, but hear nothing and see no one. You tense as your instincts begin to truly kick in. You have no idea who you are or where you are and you’re scared.

There is a crack from behind you causing you to whip around in enough time to see the ugliest creature you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s like a cross between a wolf and a hyena, with a scream you stumble back and away from it. The creature begins to stalk towards you, haunches raised in a low snarl, and with each step, you feel your fear grow. You are backed up against the tree and as you press against it you hear the whispers again. You can’t understand them, but honestly, you have more important things to worry about.

As the creature leaps towards you you scream and hold your arms up, if not to shield yourself, to at least not watch it take a bite out of your face. It never comes though, in its stead is a low whine and groan.

Hesitantly, you lower your arms and open your eyes to see the creature suspended in midair impaled on a branch from the very tree you are leaning against. The branch had gone down the creature’s throat, spearing it and killing it instantly. You’re too terrified to scream as you turn away from the horrid sight and lose your dinner all onto the ground. When you have gained enough wits about you, you run.

You don’t look where you are going as you make a mad dash through the forest, not that it would matter anyway. The only thing on your mind is sheer terror as you just run. Before you know it night has fallen and you can only slump against a fallen log as you try to catch your breath. Now too exhausted to do anything other than sit and think you regard the quickly darkening forest around you and another kind of fear sets in. You curl yourself up into a ball and ponder your options. You could either try to find a place to stay for the night or some civilization and pray that no one will try to murder you, or you could stay where you are and hope that nothing finds you and tries to murder you. Either way, you really hope you don’t get murdered tonight.

With a resigned sigh, realizing that you are very far from where you once were and if anyone is looking for you it would have been best to stay there. However, you know you have a better chance of potentially being able to find light in the dark and hope that you could be led to a road or a city. Anything.

Your memories are slowly coming back, although nothing concrete yet. You remember concepts but you can’t recall a single person, even though you know you know people. No family. No friends. You don’t remember your home and you can’t recall a singular memory of your life.

You have no idea how long you’ve been walking when you see it in the distance, a fire! You quickly make your way through the forest and you stumble across a campsite. The fire is still roaring in the pit, there are what look to be crudely made sleeping bags and various other packs and supplies scattered about as if the owners will be back any moment now. The smell of food is coming from a pot over the fire and you approach it to see stew bubbling. You glance around and call out a few times wondering if anyone is around and if they would answer. When no one approaches or answers you feel a bit like Goldielocks as you take a wooden bowl and scoop some of the stew into it. You have no idea when you last ate, but after running through the forest for hours being scared out of your mind, food sounds delightful and surely no one would mind if you ate some. After all, there looks to be plenty…

You plop yourself down on a log near the fire to keep the chill of the cool night air at bay. The dress you are wearing is not meant to keep you warm on such a cold night. Why are you wearing something so unsuitable for the weather anyway? You wonder this as you eat the stew the happiest that you’ve been since this madness started.

Glancing into the darkness you can make out yells in the distance. Happy that there are people around, you get up off of the log before you take off into the bushes. You aren’t thinking as you see the light of a campfire in the distance and you rush towards it. ‘People!’ you think in relief. However, the minute you step into the clearing you realize you’ve made a grave mistake.

“Oh? Wat do we ‘ave ‘ere?” questions a giant thing that just so happens to be much uglier and smellier than the creature from before, all with gray skin and a large gut.

“Looks like a ‘uman wooman…” says one with a high nasally voice.

“It’s been soo l-ong since we’ve ‘ad wooman! Soo much more fatty than man!” Delights a third.

Wait… did this… thing just call you fat?

“Did you just-?” you start in indignation when one of them takes a step forward with the intent of scooping you up. You jump out of the way and hear a roar of male voices. Glance at the spit and then at a pen in the corner you notice a bunch of men being held hostage by the things before you.  

“Why yoo lit-tle!” exclaims the one that missed.

“Oi! Leave the lass alone!” Yells a gruff voice, he is joined by a chorus of gruff masculine voices.

“No shame!!”

“Pick on someone your own size!”

The deep gruff voices of the men around you at least prove to you that they are decent people. However, you don’t have time to ponder too much about it as you jump and tumble about the camp, all while attempting to keep your dress down. Vaguely you hope none of the men saw your bike shorts. Ok so it really wouldn’t matter, but it kills the illusion.

“Got ya now!” yells one as you are cornered back against the trunk of a tree. You throw your arms up and suddenly there is silence.

“Oi! No fair!” yells the nasally one.

You slowly open your eyes and lower your arms only to see the things blinking at you through thick branches of the tree you're against. The branches now protecting you are woven together creating a barrier between you and your would-be captors.

“Enough of this!” yells the one who seems to be the ring leader as he stomps forward and pushes another out of the way. He takes hold of the branches and begins to attempt to pry them apart. You can hear the men in the background yelling again about them leaving you alone after a brief stunned silence. You feel your fear beginning to creep up on you again as the branches begin to give way to the strength of the beast before you. The popping and cracking of splintering wood assault your ears. Your breathing quickens and the only thing you can think of is how you wished they would just leave you alone!

“Hey! Stop!” yells one of them.

“Let go!” yells another.

“Oi wat’s-” the thing is cut off as vines snake up its body and wrap itself around the creatures. You watch in confused horror as the things all struggle with the vines still wrapping itself dutifully around them. No matter how much they struggle they are no match for the creeping vines entangling then.

You see a flash of something in the distance before you hear the words, “By the dawn!” and a deafening crack rings in the air. You watch as the morning sun hits the creatures and moments later they are stone wrapped in vines. You blink in confusion as the man makes his way into the clearing. He checks on the men first, cutting the ties on one of the bags they are in before he makes his way over to you.

“My dear… are you alright?” You look up through the broken branches into the kind eyes of the man now kneeling in the brush before you. Perhaps it was the events you just witnessed or the stress of the night, or perhaps it was just that grandfatherly kindness that he regards you with, but at that moment you just shake your head and begin to sob.

“Oh, come now child…” he says kindly, as he carefully helps you from the branches and pulls you further into the clearing, “there, there… you’ll be alright…”

“Is she hurt?” asks a male voice from behind the old man before you.

“Aye! Get the lass something decent to wear! She must be freezing!”

“Is she a witch?” questions another with fear in his voice.

Startled out of your emotional breakdown by the men now standing all around you you stumble back.

“Hold steady, lass!” says one who reaches out and catches you just before you hit the ground. In that moment, you may as well be in an old Hollywood movie. You are suddenly gazing up into a pair of golden brown eyes as the sun paints a halo of warm light around his blonde hair. You blink up at him in confusion before he rights you and you, much to your surprise, gaze down at him. Wait… down?

You look about at the men surrounding you and you are taller than all of them, except for the old man who towers above you. Not that you are not exactly tall, to begin with, but this is unexpected.

Before you can say or do anything a heavy piece of fabric that smells distinctly like man and earth is draped around your shoulders. Another short man with a bright smile and deep blue eyes is on your other side helping to steady you, “You alright there?”

“Umm… thank you… I don’t know…” you say with uncertainty.

“Are you hurt then?” questions another in concern shoving the blue-eyed man away.

“The lass is hurt!” shouts another with an odd-shaped hat.

“Make way! Make way!” yells yet another, and at this point, you are wondering how many there are.

A man with a trumpet to his ear is thrust through the crowd towards you. He grumbles to himself about the rough treatment before he straightens himself up and regards you professionally.

“You hurt, lass?” He asks gruffly.

“Umm… maybe?” You answer in confusion.

“Maybe?” he asks in the same gruff tone as before.

“Well everything kind of hurts, but it's more of an ache from… everything…” you gesture unhelpfully around you just hoping he would get the idea.

“Aye… Sounds like ye just need some rest is all. Right as rain soon!” He nods as if that solves all of life’s problems before he makes his way back through the group to complete whatever it was he was doing before he was shoved so unceremoniously through the crowd.

“You’re not hurt then?” Asks the dark-haired blue-eyed man from before giving you what could only be described as puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t think so…” you murmur softly as you lean back against the claw-like branches that had acted as your shield.

“So what exactly did you… uh… do back there?” Questions the man with the funny hat indicating the branches behind you.

“Umm well… I don’t know…”

“Are ye a witch?” Questions one with hair that vaguely resembles a star.

“I don’t think so…”

“You don’t think so? Ye either are! Or you’re not!” He exclaims.

“Aye, now lad! Just calm down!” Says the one with the weird hat.

While the two argue about whether you are or are not a witch, the golden-haired man from before approaches you quietly.

“Are you alright milady?” He asks with a kind smile.

You sigh softly, “I think so…” you’re flustered from your lack of memory.

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t think you were a witch? Are you unsure?” He asks kindly.

“I don’t… remember anything… so I don’t know what I am… I don’t remember ever doing anything like that, and you would think I would if I did… right?” You say uncertainty and fear clouding your voice.

“If I didn’t know any better…” begins the old man, “I would say that’s Fae magic.” His eyes twinkle as he catches yours. As if he is a grandfather with a secret stash of treats and he’s about to tell you where he hides the candy after dinner.

“Impossible!” Yells a deep voice from behind everyone. This one is majestic with graying hair and a beard shorter than many of the others. He’s also taller than most of them, even if you still have about 2 to 3 inches on him.

“The Fae haven’t been seen in Middle Earth for ages, you know that better than anyone Gandalf!” He continues.

“Yes, but that,” he says indicating the claw-like branches you are leaning against and the vines wrapping around the now stone things, “is distinctly Fae magic. And as the only one here who has seen Fae magic, I think I would know what it looks like!”

He ends on a very decisive note and his eyes are daring anyone to oppose him.

The majestic one narrows his eyes as he regards you, “you can’t remember anything? Nothing at all?”

“About myself? Not really…”

“What about your name?” Questions the dark-haired one from before. He seems younger than most of the men surrounding you, perhaps it’s his lack of beard? Or perhaps it’s their very imposing beards that make them seem older than they are? Honestly, you’re just confused.

“Umm the only name I remember is Cwen, I don’t even know if it’s mine.”

“Ye don’t know?” Asks the one with the odd hat.

“It doesn’t… feel right,” you explain and he seems to understand if the nod of his head is any indication. The flaps on this hat bounce up and down with the motion.

“We should take her to Rivendell,” the old man now known as Gandalf says.

“We aren’t going anywhere near those damn elves…” growls the majestic one.

“Elrond would know what to do, perhaps even help her with her… abilities…” argues Gandalf.

“What or who is a ‘Rivendell?’” you ask the golden-haired one that is still lingering next to you quietly.

“It’s not a what or a who, it’s a where,” he says with a wink.

You give him a small smile in thanks before you hear a voice, “Umm excuse me… Miss?”

You look down to see an even smaller man! If that’s even possible at this point...

“Oh… um… yes?”

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service! Would you like some water?” he asks, suddenly handing you a waterskin.

You smile down at him before plucking the waterskin from his hands, “Yes, thank you!”

“Milady, we should probably get you into more suitable clothing,” says a new man with gray hair done in an intricate braid. He seems slightly more proper than some of the others and you just nod absentmindedly glancing down at your ruined and pretty much useless dress.

“Aye!” grunts a balding one, who looks more so like he would kill you than talk to you, “Why are you ye dressed so… impractical.” You can tell he wanted to say something else, the kindly man next to him elbowed him just as he was about to.

“Honestly… I wondered the same thing…” you say as you regard the sandals you are wearing as you examine one foot then the other and the dress. “I don’t think this was on the agenda for the day honestly.”

Meanwhile, you ignore the two men arguing about elves in the background before you realize there are elves…

“There are elves here?” you question softly as you gaze at the men now making their way back towards the once-abandoned camp. You step over logs and hold your dress up enough to keep from getting it snagged on the underbrush of the forest. The golden haired one offering you a hand every once in a while to steady you. You grimace at the way your ankles and feet itch though.

“Of course there is, lass!” exclaims the one with the odd hat, “Surely you’ve heard of Elves!.”

“Are they tiny?” you ask suddenly, slightly concerned that everyone in this land is just very short.

“Tiny?” he questions before he bursts into laughter at the idea, “Not exactly, lass. They are about the same size as the race of men, perhaps a little taller on some occasions.”

“Men? You aren’t ‘men’ then?” you ask innocently.

“What?! You thought we were Men?!” Laughs the dark-haired one.

“Well if you aren’t Men… what are you?” you ask in confusion.

“Why Dwarves, of course!” exclaims a loud man with red hair, “The best craftsmen and warriors of Middle Earth! You’d have thought she’s never seen a Dwarf before!”

“Umm… but I haven’t…” you say hesitantly.

“Haven’t what?” questions the odd hat one.

“Seen any Dwarves… or Elves for that matter… I don’t think we have either where I come from...” you ponder out loud, trailing off slightly in thought.

The Dwarves are silent around you as they take in this new information.

“She’s a witch I say!” exclaims the one with odd hair once again.

“Oh hush Nori!” exclaims the one with the elaborate braid.

“You really aren’t from around here, are ye lass?” questions the one with the odd hat.

“No… I’m really not… and I’m not quite sure how I got here either…” you say with tears beginning to prick your eyes. You push them away because now is no time to cry.

“Aye… Don’t you worry lass! We’ll make sure you find your way to safety,” the one with the odd hat winks at you before he gets up to go talk to Gandalf.

“Aye, you shouldn’t worry,” says the Golden-haired man, um... Dwarf, “He’s right, we won’t let any harm come to you alright?”

You give him a small smile and a nod, “Thank you.”

“Come on. Bit of breakfast will do you some good,” he says as he helps you to your feet, “Oh! I’m Fili, by the way and that over there is my brother, Kili.”

“Fili and Kili?” you ask softly so you can remember their names.

“Aye, that over there is my uncle Thorin talking with Gandalf the Gray. That’s Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur,” he says, indicating the man you were talking to earlier as well as a Dwarf with dark hair and a very rotund Dwarf. “And Ori, Nori, and Dori,” he indicates the trio, one being the one who keeps insisting you are a witch and the other is busy gathering up clothing, probably for you and employing the help of another Dwarf that seems quite timid. “That’s Balin and Dwalin, they are two of uncle’s closest friends and advisors. “That’s Oin and Gloin,” he points to the doctor from earlier with the horn to his ear and the redhead from before. “And of course, Bilbo has already introduced himself.”

“Oh dear…” you say suddenly gazing about at everyone, “How many of you are there?”

“Oh, about 14, why?” questions Kili from your other side now. You have a feeling one brother is never too far from the other.

“That’s… a lot of names…” you say as you regard all the Dwarfs before you in slight confusion and resignation.

“You’ll learn them soon enough,” Fili says, patting your arm in sympathy. Probably understanding that to an outsider there are probably a lot of them.

You simply hum your agreement, even if you don’t necessarily believe it.

“My dear,” Gandalf says suddenly, “Perhaps you could join us for a moment?”

You glance up from the fire and nod before making your way towards Gandalf and Thorn? No… That’s not right…

“This is Thorin Oakenshield, and this is his company,” Gandalf says, indicating the Dwarf before you. Ah… Yes! Thorin…

“Nice to meet you,” you say politely as you regard both men, “And I am Gandalf the Gray. I was wondering if you could tell us what you are doing in the forest alone?”

“I don’t remember… I just woke up there yesterday evening.”

“Woke up where, my dear?”

“In the forest,” you say vaguely, gesturing the way you came.

“There didn’t happen to be… mushrooms… where you landed?” he asked hesitantly.

“Umm… actually yes… there were mushrooms. Why? Is that important?” you ask hungry for answers.

“It is something, it is yet to be seen if it is important yet though,” he says cryptically.

“Okay…” you say in confusion, “Well what now?”

“What do you mean?” He asks with a furrowed brow.

“Is there a town I can perhaps find help in close to here? I don’t know what to do really…”

“We should go to Rivendell!” exclaims Gandalf, “Elrond will know what is best.”

“And I’ve already said we are not going to Rivendell!” exclaims the Dwarf passionately.

You take a step back slightly startled by his outburst.

“We will find a suitable place for the lady, but we are not wasting time by going out of our way to those blasted Elves!” he then proceeds to swear in another language. How do you know it was a swear? Swearing is a universal language even if one doesn’t understand it.

“Uncle!” exclaims the dark-haired Dwarf from before, something with a ‘ly’ at the end, “Such language in front of a lady!”

Thorin just scowls and ignores the mischievous twinkle in his nephew’s eyes. You have a feeling he’s used to the young Dwarf’s antics.

“Kili! You and your brother make sure the lady is comfortable. I believe that Dori was getting her more suitable clothing?” he asks before eyeing your dress skeptically. You stand a little straighter at his scrutiny suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

“Yes, Uncle.”

He sends you a wink before he motions for you to follow him. The man with the intricate braids is holding out some clothes for you, “I know it isn’t much, but this should get you through until we can get more suitable clothing at the next town.”

“Oh! Thank you!” You exclaim before looking around for a tent.

“Come on now!” he says marching towards the woods, “I’ll make sure no one bothers you while you change.”  

After you have changed you find yourself standing about while the Dwarfs tidy up their campsite and start on their way. You don’t really know what to do so you just watch and try to stay out of their way.

“Feel better then?” you jump at the voice behind you and turn to see one of the brothers behind you.

“Umm… yes… I do,” you say with a quiet nod and a timid smile. He beams back at you before he hands you a cloak to drape around your shoulders.

“It’s been rainy lately, you may need this.”

“Thank you,” you say, avoiding his eyes shyly as you stumble to fasten the cloak around your frame.

“Here, Milady,” he says, before he steps towards you and helps you to do the clasp.

You look down at the mismatched attire, a tunic that is far too broad in the shoulders and far too long, but also too short at the same time and a pair of pants that has far too much room in the leg and crotch area. The boots that were given to you are laced too tightly in order to stay on your feet and you wonder if the circulation will be cut off. You heave a sigh as Thorin yells that it’s time to move out. You fall in line with the others and instantly you can feel the boots rubbing your heels. This is going to be a long day…

You’re quiet most of the day despite the attempts of several of the Dwarfs to get you to open up. This seemed to dampen the spirit of the one with the funny hat, named… Bofur? You tried to recall the ones who had spoken to you most. The younger ones also seemed concerned with your absent minded answers to their questions.

“You must be in deep thought about something Lass…” you glance over at Bofur and regard him thoughtfully.

“Just trying to understand what happened is all… I’ve never done anything like that back there and I’ve never seen anything like those creatures… What even were they?”

“Trolls o’course!”

“So you don’t have Trolls where you come from either?” pipes up Kili from behind you, jogging to walk alongside you.

“No, I don’t think we had anything of the sort. At least not in real life.”

“What do you mean ‘real life?’” questions Fili glancing over his shoulder.

“Well they were in stories, but we didn’t have them in real life.”

“If ye had them in stories, how do you know they aren’t real?” questions Bofur wiggling his eyebrows.

And for the first time all day you laughed, “I once knew someone who said the same thing about dragons.”

“So there are dragons!?” questions Kili in horror.

“No, we don’t have those either,” you say matter of factly.

“But how do you know?” Questions Bofur once again with that mysterious twinkle in his eyes.

“Well aren’t they quite large? I think we would know by now! Do you have dragons here?”

“Aye, we’re on our way to reclaim our home from one,” Says Kili in excitement.

“Kili!” yells a voice from up ahead you recognize as the leader, “That is quite enough! If all it takes is a pretty face to send your head from your shoulders, I will send you back to your mother this instance.”

“Sorry uncle…” he says quietly thoroughly chastised.

You frown at the harsh way he spoke to him, but you suppose this is a secret quest? Who knows? But you could tell that Thorin didn’t seem to trust you along with a handful of the Dwarfs around you.

With the light hearted conversations effectively cut off you settle back into silence as you take in the scenery. It’s quite beautiful with lush foliage and tall trees. Bushes seem to be flowering and vaguely you wonder if these are the flowers of spring or summer.

“Why did your friend think there were dragons even if you don’t?” whispers Kili from your side.

You glance at him and notice the way that Fili and Bofur glance over at you as well, clearly interested in the question.

“Because they show up in legend and lore from all over the world, in cultures and times when they had no contact.”

“So you do have other races!” exclaims Kili in excitement, clearly pleased with his way of gaining knowledge.

“Yes, but not like here…” you say calmly, “We’re all human, there aren’t Elves or Dwarves.”

“Sounds odd,” Says Kili decidedly.

“No more odd than discovering Dwarves and Trolls when you previously thought there were none.”

“Aye, that must have been a right shock there!” Bofur interrupts.

“You have no idea… Although that wasn’t my first run in with this world…”

“Oh?” Questions Fili from his place in front of you, easily he falls back and takes the place by your side much to the displeasure of his brother, “What was?”

“Something I had never seen before… It was this large wolf-like thing…”

“Wolf-like thing?!” he asks in alarm, “A warg?”

“I wouldn’t know what a warg is…” you say, baffled by the term, “But perhaps?”

“How did ye live?! I doubt you woudda’ been able to outrun it!”  exclaims Bofur from your other side.

“A witch!” exclaims a voice from ahead of you.

You frown and roll your eyes at the Dwarf a few paces up, “It impaled itself on a branch.”

“Really? How?” questions Kili in wonder from the other side of Fili.

“I don’t really know… I didn’t see it happen… I was too scared to look…” you say hesitantly not wanting to relive the evening's events.

“That sounds terrible,” Fili says patting your shoulder, “You must have been terrified.”

Something about the soothing way that Fili speaks makes you feel better, “I was…” you say looking away from him.

You spend the remainder of the morning answering questions from the Dwarfs and eventually, many others begin to join in. This is mostly how the morning goes, with you satisfying the curiosity of the younger Dwarves and the Hobbit when he finally gets the courage to linger in the back of the company with you. It did effectively distract you from the pain of your now blistered feet and the fatigue that came with walking all day when you weren’t used to it.

The sun is high in the sky, filtering through the leaves of the forest when a commotion in the brush alerts you to something coming your way… and quickly...

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Things are about to get wild soon... So drop a comment to tell me what you think!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rise: Killan

The universe of Killan’s story belongs to @wildfaewhump​. If you haven’t read their Iesin and Talvos or Pathverse stories, go! Go read! Read them or face my wrath. I have so much wrath to share.

CW: Referenced past torture, scarring, referenced dehumanization and briefly referenced pet whump, but this is not a piece about any of those things

Killan stopped, just at the edge of the rock along the riverbank, taking in a deep breath. The air was thin here, where the trees became scraggly pines that clung to rocky soil, hints of snowfall still littering the earth even this late in spring. 

Leather boots covered his feet, he’d made them himself. It had taken forever to make the kill, tan the leather, cut it around his foot, sew it together. But he’d done it. Coated against the water, they kept his feet warm, but he wouldn’t have needed them, anyway.

He just never lost the habit of wanting to feign humanity, no matter how clear it was that he wasn’t human at all.

Not anymore.

Not a man.

Before, he couldn’t have stood here like this in just a shirt and pants without freezing. His fingertips should be blue, but when he looked down they were the same as always. Pale skin, roughened and scarred, but still skin - feeling only a faint chill. The dark talons on his right hand didn’t feel cold at all.

Killan lowered his eyes to look at them, clicking them together a little. The place where they’d been attached to the knuckles of his hands still held faint scarring where they’d been stitched on even as his bones blended, accepting with each addition parts that had been someone else’s body a little more easily.

Killan was so many people now, most of them fae. He was the only human left in his body but he could have told anyone who asked - cut his skin now and the blood ran pale, a pearlescent shimmer in what had once been a flat dark red when oxygen met wound. 

Break a bone and find it hollowed inside, lighter weight easier for his wings to carry. 

Make an incision along the wicked scar down his side and you’d find he lost a kidney and some ribs but gained other organs that weren’t there before. Killan would tell you - the wings were one life he stole, it took two for the eyes because the first set didn’t take, my hand was one along with some air sacs, the other air sacs and the lungs were another…

He was so many fae who should be alive, but instead there was only Killan Josta left to wear their parts, a child’s nightmare hiding under the bed, in the dark woods, a set of glowing eyes in the dark.

Not fae, either. 

Watch Killan Josta open his eyes and see the pale color was replaced by a saturated, overwhelming blue, a black slit-pupil, eyes that would never sit in true comfort in his skin. They weren’t meant to be there. He still bled instead of crying.

Monster.

Hurt the creature and make it cry out in pain and hear two voices, two sets of vocal chords operating simultaneously, a shrieking fae scream alongside the lower human voice. Calon Nie had loved to hear both screams at once. So had the humans who had chained him down for entertainment.

Everyone was a monster, when given power over something new.

Everyone but... everyone but the ones who had saved him.

Buachaill del. Pretty boy.

Calon Nie’s pretty human, left alone to wander and stumble and plead, to make the mistake of asking for help. Captured, bought and sold, beaten and bled and sold and bought again, until there hadn’t been anything in Killan’s life but survival. 

Until there had been no Killan left, that name held and hidden deep within himself. There had been only the creature, the monster, the pet the piece of fascinating conversation start the thing.

Not man or fae or boy or anything but organs and skin and wings to be bruised, broken, bloodied. Not even a favored animal.

Just a thing that knew how to keep living.

Raise your chin at the four-count whistle, hold up your hands at the three. Let them touch your talons, your wings, run their grubby fingers through the feathers you can never get clean. Feel the lash against the skin you were never meant to have for your own when you disobey. Fingers prodding and pressing at your scars. Chirp and trill for the men, the women, the children who call you the unnatural offspring of degeneracy when you were never that.

And it wouldn’t matter if you were, no one could deserve this. No one could earn this.

But this is life, this is all you’ll ever be, guard what’s left of you as deeply as you can and give them the mindless animal doing tricks for their coins, their hands, the promise that if you’re good it won’t last forever.

Feel the press of the muzzle keeping your jaw locked while you weep and beg to be seen as human again. See them lock up your voice and laugh when you try to speak and you can beg all you want, it won’t happen, they’ll never see you as a boy again.

It will never happen, and then one day… 

One day, stop begging.

Slide away, into your own mind. Live for the moments where you’re fed for being good, the soft velvet of a horse nosing a carrot right out of your hand, the warmth of their breath curling up in winter stables with them. Curl up on straw and hold the chain around your neck and learn to stop crying.

Until he gives the five-count whistle.

Then you cry on cue.

Live for nothing but the hope that this day will end, because it has to, and then begin the next day living for the end of that one, too. Pray for the night because you are never alone until then.

Pray that it will one day end, and know that you are not praying for salvation, only darkness.

Until someone looks you in the eyes and takes a risk and you end up saved anyway.

Next to him, the river rushed by, swollen with a winter’s melt. The roar of water was deafening, and he couldn’t even imagine how loud it would be at the bottom of the waterfall, hundreds of feet below. 

Somewhere further up there were fae courts hidden, deep inside the mountains. They didn’t want him either, but at least he wouldn’t be sold there. He wasn’t a curiosity to the fae, but an abomination, a warning, something to be feared. Something to be sent away as quickly as possible, but for all Calon Nie’s cruelty, it was only one fae that had held him captive and carved into his skin.

It had been a dozen of his fellow humans-

No. Not human anymore.

It had been a dozen or more humans who had bound his hands, forced muzzles on until he bled, sliced his skin to show the change in blood and marvel over his reddish tears, buried their hands in his feathers until he could not help but scream at the violation.

They loved to hear him scream.

Fae rejected him - but humans overwhelmed him.

Not fae either.

Killan looked down at his hands - fingers and talons, a madman’s puppet tossed aside, a piece of decoration in a human’s receiving hall, a pet kept hidden away until they tired of cutting him, a dirty slave for sale in the streets, keep him as a pet or the same way you keep a painting on the wall.

I promise you, messire, you’ve never seen anything like this! Show the man your hands, creature.

Even now, just remembering the whistle, Killan’s fingers twitched with unconscious need to obey.

The sun was rising, the sky a brilliant scattering of pink thrown up against the gathering clouds and a growing golden light finding its slow way along the world he could see below. The forest ran to the curve of the earth, and he could, with sharp fae eyes, see the smoke of chimneys in a village that would have taken him a day to climb down the mountain and walk to, but with wings…

Killan slowly flexed his wings out as wide as they would go, closing his eyes as his back straightened instinctively to balance the weight. The chill air ruffled along his reddish-brown feathers, a playful hint of breeze.

You know how to do this, the breeze whispered to him. You knew the moment he gave them to you. 

He wasn’t meant to have them, but he did. They were blended into his back in a mass of scarring and changed bones, shoulder blades shifted out. On fae, the transition was seamless. On Killan, every inch of his skin told the story of screaming agony.

But the fae who had owned them was dead, along with every other one sacrificed to Calon Nie’s game. If they were anyone’s wings now, they were Killan’s. 

I don’t have to be ashamed of what he did to me. I didn’t ask to be a monster.

The water burst from the confines of the earth next to him, tumbled and rolled into the air before it fell and fell and fell and crashed back down to earth below. Killan sighed softly, watching breath puff out before his face, and then turned away from the dawn.

He walked, step by silent step, back along the riverbank, watching the water running the other way, chasing the flight back down to ground. He stopped next to a thin pine tree, reaching out to touch the needles, crushing them between his fingers to release the scent, closing his eyes and breathing it in.

I didn’t ask to be this. It’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault I have new parts.

It’s not my fault I can fly.

Against his back, the breeze slipped around him again, dancing air that ran along the edges of feathers, beckoning. Beneath that, a faint shimmer of mystery. While fae and humans both looked away, Killan could call and have starsong reply, if only faintly, to his cries for help.

The mysteries recognized him as a mystery himself, not a monster. Not understood but not entirely turned away. 

And he wasn’t alone, either. There were others out there who had been broken and bent to someone else’s will, who could see beyond the way he had been stitched together and know there was still a whole person inside.

Eitilt.

The breeze called again, and Killan stopped to look over his shoulder at the dawn. Farther than the sun’s light could reach, stars still shone, visible in the blue as brightly as they’d been in the black the night before.

Fly.

Killan took off running, back towards the cliffside, racing with his wings curved against his back and his feet pounding on rock. The roar of the river alongside felt like it ran with him right to the edge, where instead of stopping Killan flung himself out into space, the spray of water beside him.

Wings curved, he fell.

The air flew past his ears as he plummeted towards the earth, mysteries a song that wound around hollowed bones and filled the places inside him with air. The bottom of the waterfall came closer and closer, a frothing white spray where the water was wearing the earth down beneath dirt, beneath stone, to bedrock underneath it all.

Instinct told him things that human experience never could, and he let his body - bent and broken and twisted and remade, rebuilt, created by a fae who named himself Killan’s god - tell him when to stop.

Down and down and down and-

Now.

His wings snapped out, catching the breeze and slowing his descent, sending him forward instead of down and he trilled, beating wings heavily to head back up again. His back ached a little but he caught a current that helped carry him up, air that rested under his feathers like hands slipping around a small child to lift them up onto a mother’s hip to be carried.

The sky was not his mother, but she would be here to lift him where his own mam could not.

He burst upwards, spinning, breathing thin air as though he’d always been able to do so, human and fae lungs filtering every ounce of oxygen he needed in tandem. The sun warmed his face, and he closed his eyes against its touch. Sun on his face, stars at his back, Killan let the currents carry him a little further.

And then he dove again. 

Fly.

He dropped like a stone, rushing downwards, spinning in the air before he snapped his wings out again and cut a hard left. Around him the air itself celebrated with him everything his broken body could still do, all the things he’d been given alongside what he had lost.

Sharp talons could tear apart a rabbit and defend him from attackers just as easily.

Rise.

Fae eyes saw far, farther than even the keenest human sight, and kept him safe. He could see in the dark, he could see them coming before they could see him. 

Rise.

Hollowed bones let him fly, kept him lighter, along with the places added to him to hold air, to bring him higher and higher, to help him-

Rise.

Fae blood carried oxygen more easily, let him climb higher into the air, the currents under his feathers like a friend lifting him up. As high as he could go, not quite so high as a full-blooded fae but he felt the air thinning and thinning and the stars were ever closer, their song welcoming him even if the fae did not.

Ardu th’uas. Rise above.

He slowed, spinning in the air, letting starshine and sun wash all his ruined skin clean.

Leanh na realtai. Child of stars, you, too.

His heart stilled, here where the air was thinnest, with the question he never voiced. Even ruined, I am?

And every time, the certainty returns.

Even ruined, you are.

Iron and earth may be blind, but the stars see you.

Killan dropped again.

He spun with his wings pressed tightly, speeding to earth so fast the air was a scream and he couldn't find the breath to laugh. The forest below him, the sky above him, the sun and stars. 

Killan Josta, as he was, should not exist. 

He did, though, and in this moment with his wings snapping out to slow his descent, catching an air current that pulled him back around towards the mountains, he feels them.

Something like friends.

They were calling him back to the waterfall and the cliff and the camp in the woods where they will be waiting for him, the ones who saw beneath his skin to the boy still hiding under a monster, the man half-buried by cruelty but still trying to break free of its legacy. 

They were waiting, with breakfast probably already ladled out for him. 

First, though…

First Killan Josta, who had a name again, wanted to fly. One more time he climbed the currents, found the pockets of air to push him higher and higher and higher, until there was a half-breath of pause as high as his broken, remade body could go.

He let that pause draw out, listening to the stars whisper in human ears.

Sing, Killan Josta.

He trilled, a cry as much of gratitude as it was of joy, and wrapped his wings around himself to plummet to earth again. 

Rise.

Killan fell, and fell and fell, and then just when he could fall no further without breaking on the earth, his feathers caught the air and he flew.

-----

Tagging Killan’s crew:  @astrobly​​​​ @burtlederp​​​​ ​, @finder-of-rings​​​​ ​, @slaintetowhump​​​ ​, @quirkykayleetam​​​ ​, @whumpallday​​​ , @whumppsychology​​​, @doveotions​​​, @broken-horn​​, @moose-teeth​​, @whumpfigure​​, @spiffythespook​​, @oceanthesarcasamfox​​,  @whump-only​(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

[hag-rambling-on]

Demigods and kinda Deities of the Magic Realms feats the Legendarium

... also knows as a hag who harcore redesigns the season that most excited and disappointed her as her favorite.

Golden Kingdom

It is a place specially created by Ethereals for their favorites. Also called Relix. The best way to define it is to think of Avalon, the Eden or the Olympus. Lots of places, although where their doors lead - it hardly matters who opens them - is only decided by their inhabitants or Ethereals.

Actually the ones who live in the Golden Kingdom are the first of their kind, the ancestors of one or more races, commonly called the Council of Elders.

Among them we can mention Carabossa and Clariel who where the first wizard and fae (and also the firsts elf and human respectively, also first male and female but gesh do NOT ship them, Clariel x Nubia if you must) and therefore part of the Ancestors mentioned in the Legendarium. The other members are Kristjana the first mermaid, Oros the first archicentaur, Puck the second pixie (the flying creature one... second because in fact the first is still Ninfea, Puck was the second pixie born and who agreed to go to the Golden Kingdom and is the Pixie of Change and is bonded to Arcadia)... Ninfea is the Pixie of Carabossa you can not change my mind.

Also, Carabossa trained the Three Ancestral Witches when they finally born and they were three sweet little girls ... so it's not like showing his face, ever. He tried so hard to make everyone forget his name.

The Legendarium

Here the Legendarium is a written chronicle of the beginnings of the Realm that was enchanted in a mixture of given life / turned into a space-time loop - portal. And all this happened at the same time that was write by a wizard called Acheron, in a far distant past.

It even contains stories from the Elders long before they were considered such.

When this happened and some of its still young protagonists became aware of the groundhog days and the repeated catastrophes and the villains trying again and again to repeat their plans, correcting their mistakes, and almost succeeding.

They fought Acheron and locked him in his own book, ending the stories with the correct, happy endings that should and had been. They sealed said book with magic and turned their magic into their weapons in such a way that only said weapons now keys would be able to free Acheron while, althought it was not their intention if someone else read it Acheron could only at most communicate if the reader were a magical user.

So, it's not an alternate dimension but a kind of groundhog day summoner, and  temporary space-portal and which in effect allows you to bring the monsters of that time to this time. A very dangerous weapon indeed.

Since nothing lasts forever, that group of fairies and witches who taught magic to the Realms broke up but before that they sealed part of themselves in their weapons so that if the book were reopened their successors had some guidance and it would be possible to close it as soon as possible.

-This also means that Selina was able to temporarily use a key or manipulate someone whom one of the keys accepted to open the book, in effect.-

Among these first fairies and witches we include Clariel Arcadia and Clarabossa Acrypta, the first fairy and wizard of the Realms. YES.

Clariel Arcadia (Fairy of Auroras)

Carabossa Acrypta (Wizard of Thorns)

Selemisa of Solaria (Witch of the Moon)

Akkos Sivson (Fae of Crystals)

Salvador Glitz (Wizard of Illusions)

Chen Hua (Fae/Fairy of Transfiguration)

Nubia of Romulea (Fairy of Metals)

Ethereals

Ah, those responsible for creation and for the universe to exist. They have their own place outside of all physical laws.

But most of them kinda of get bored, you know? One always has one foot (or nose) on the Dream Plane -which is like theirs, anyway-, the other damns/blesses his favored ones with what humans would call "Dragon's Flame". Other gives totally random blessings.

Ethereal of Life and Energy, at times the Ethereal of Good (also known as Great Dragon). They are like a child in front of television who sometimes reaches out to push their favorite character at “better” (at their eyes) places. They don't really interact that much, but they are the most colorful and has left the best "legacy".

In the Elemental Circle is Fire (and its possible derivations). And I affectionately call them The Child -not miniYoda, other The Child- or Young Hearted if you must.

Ethereal of Death and Void, at times the Ethereal of Evil (also known as Shadow Phoenix). No, it’s not Darkar, Darkar is a Morix  -read the fairy transformations- Fae with bad luck although he stopped seeing it like that long ago.

In the Elemental Circle is Air (and its possible derivations). And I affectionately call them Trickster.

Ethereal of Time and Space, at times the Ethereal of Neutrality. Co-creator of the Water Stars and the proof that the Council of Elders are HardennedAndProudlyStubbornSelfMadePeopleTM. It was the only interaction it -the Ethereal- had with the universe in a loooong time since they go very at their own pace. Oh, but they HATES the Legendarium. If you want to communicate with them, prod them with the Cursed Book. They devised the Golden Kingdom and brought Arcadia and Carabossa into it just to have someone guard the damn book. And both mortals dare saying them “no”, leave it to new generations they have the instruments to do it -beware angry ethereal, angry ethereal-

In the Elemental Circle is Water (and its possible derivations). And I affectionately call them Angry IssuesTM.

Ethereal of Magic, Ethereal of Dreams, at times also knows as the Ethereal of Miracles, Freedom and Possibilities (most people think they are 2 Ethereals actually, therefore the title). They usually spends part of their time in the Realm of Dreams, so it could be said that they are the one that interacts the most with intelligent races, although said races don't know that.

In the Elemental Circle is “Earth” (Actually, Earth and its derivatives, and Fauna and Flora). And I affectionately call them Softy!!! (with the happy and warm exclamations included).

Fortunately for all of us, if they enter our plane, they must asume physical body and limit theirselves as a must to what they can do when interact with the world. It is a pact that all Ethereals made not to destroy their creation every f**king second.

[dee-the-red-witch]

All righty, we’re under time pressures this year, so we’re just gonna have to combine two yearly promo lists into one. Namely, the best Stocking Stuffers for under forty bucks from Tormented Artifacts, only this time around we’re also going to feature just how effective they are, should you also have to use them to defend yourself from that Eldritch Red-Suited Horror. So, with no further ado, let’s begin with: 

The Archer Mask: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/archer.html

Lightweight, easy to slip on with a quick ribbon tie, perfect for any superheroic cosplayer on your gifting list, and available in four colors. May work well for disguising yourself and beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen to try and stave the Claus-ian Cosmic Horror with more gingerbread men instead of your own flesh. Rating: 1 grinch out of five only because it has no real offensive or defensive value, and Santa may well see through it anyways if he has his Naughty Or Nice vision on. 

The Old Number 7 Wristcuff: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/oldnumber7.html

Leather wristcuffs are stylish, work well for any gender, lend an outfit that “Indiana Jones gone casual“ look, and best of all, make a way better gift for your dad than another tie that you can’t quite remember if you’ve bought before as a gift or not.With a single thickness of good oiltan, they’ll also help your wrist posture as you brandish the fireplace poker as a defensive weapon to keep those elfin helpers at bay. Rating: Three Little Drummer Boys out of five.

Scavenger Wraps: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/scavengerwrap.html

Finally something fully protective. Not to mention, something original and unique for that Star Wars fan who’s already bought themselves all the official merch, half the fandom merch, and wants to fight JJ Abrams for being an utter coward. That’s right- Rey’s wrist wrap from the first two movies, available in light-side brown or sith black. And with multiple layers of hide wrapped and friction-locked around your wrist, you’ve actually got something on you now to defend yourself from those nasty reindeer bites. Rating: Four Calling Birds out of five.

Bootwings: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/bootwings.html

Yes, we put batwings on a Christmas guide. Between Tim Burton and all of us goths keeping the Creeping Dark Horror in style year-round, how could we not? Some goth is going to be utterly DELIGHTED if you pop these in their stocking this year. Plus, the guaranteed +1 to speed that they impart when laced in will help ensure your loved one can flee the house for safety while you hold Santa off. Rating: Three Pumpkin Kings out of one.

Claw Rings: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/clawrings.html

Pointy Fancy Fun for the whole family for only fifteen bucks, and flourishing a fistful of fell fingerlings at frightfully fun fiendish living snowmen may make them pause. I mean, they’re made from snow- they may not be able to tell that those aren’t really sharp, right? Rating: One Silent Night out of five.

Munin Mala (Wrist version): http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/muninnmala.html

Sometimes, all you can do is meditate on thought and memory, commune with the allfather, and hold still waiting for long enough for Santa to have his back turned before you stretch this between your thumbs as an improvised garrote. Heavy beads of real lava, and incredibly tough waxed-line cording means you won’t have to worry about this breaking and just need to keep a good grip going until the Red-Suited Nightmare passes out from lack of oxygen. Rating: Three sleighbells out of five.

Blank Handwraps: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/blankwraps.html

Chaos Handwraps: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/chaoswraps.html

Exorcism Handwraps: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/exorcismwraps.html

Give the gift of looking like an utter BADASS this year. And at the same time, be assured that you’re wearing our very best in backhanding, sigil-laying, grip-improving, palm protecting occult streetwear. Old Nick won’t know what him until you’re standing over his stunned and prone form cackling while you lay down the enchantments to send him back north. Rating: FIVE GOLDEN RINGS (worn on the back of the hand, of course).

The Last Coffin Nail: http://www.tormentedartifacts.com/coffinnail.html

That perfect iron accent for any outfit regardless of the time of year, and a perfect defensive and offensive weapon against the Sainted Menace, as most fae creatures are known to be iron-allergic, even the lightest touch my bring on a quick anaphylaxis and the salvation of your loved ones. Rating: Seven Lords A’ Leapin’ out of five.

...aaand that sums it up for this year’s guide. Join us next time for when we promote the higher-end defensive items, like our wonderful Eldritch Lash, Industrial Belt, or even the Twisted Root Mask. And until then, remember. Keeping the home fires well-lit is the best way to keep someone from coming down that chimney.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (Part 4)

N/A: This all AU begins thanks to a cute comic of a postwoman sending letters to mermaids. So...we´ll get some action here. Also, I think Kitty and Krampus will have more time to bond and for Kitty to feel comfortable with him...like in Model verse. Well, here we go.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @djinmer4 @bamfoftheundead @muninandhugin

Getting the hangs up of any new job is something one takes time-yes, time is a bit relative, some bosses expect you to follow the flow of the company since yesterday and show no compassion, except, platitudes towards new workers- and even in a society where magical creatures, mutants, and humans can co-exist in peace. The only truth that is irrevocable is how society still works in a capitalist mindset. And the magic community is no different. Kitty arrives for her new day working for Krampus. The succubus secretary now is bestowing a more sporty look- too similar to that famous feminine soccer player everyone seems crazy about it- and has no regard for Kitty.

"Still room 23," she says without care or looking into Kitty´s eyes. Kitty can label her as rude. "Go, I´ve things to do" and Kitty will be glad to go but if she can confront a Krampus, well, she can confront a rude secretary.

"Look, I get you may not like humans. But I´m working here now...can you try to be less bitchy with me?"

"No, darling...I´m bitchy. And I´m even more bitchy because my last date turns out in failure. The man wanted to date the real one" she points at her looks "instead of me...and the rules prevented me to do anything against him"

"And...are you hungry?"

"No, just salty. And don´t worry, if I was hungry. Santa and Krampus wouldn´t let me in...I have my fill don´t worry. But my ego on the other hand..." and well, that´s enough of personal information.

"Well, even so. Don´t snap at me. I´ve nothing to do with your problems...got it?" she said looking at the succubus´s eyes firm and the creature shurgs off now doing her nails.

Well, at least, she´s not planning to eat me.

And with that Kitty uses her key and is now in room 23. All the while she wonders if she is respected here- "Am I a pet human or I really work here?"- and Krampus is there. In his desk folding some papers and now his golden eyes meet with her brown one. "I can feel your questions...Kitty, ask away then" and she has no time to fear- truth to be told, she fears but is too brash to let the fear sink in- and without further ado. She makes her questions.

"How do you know a person truly deserves to be punished? Yes, you show me...there´re bad children out there" Kitty amends before she was forced to see those crimes again. Sometimes, children can be needlessly cruel and Kitty doesn´t want to face that.

Krampus snaps his finger and a mini-version of himself bamf into the desk. Kitty would find the creature cute if it wasn´t by the fact this creature works for Krampus. The little creature is gazing at Kitty-titling his head and speaking Bamf as its only word for communication- and is waving his tail.

"They do the job for me. They´re my eyes. So to speak. They´re called Bamfs" he looks amused either at the said bamf or to the fact Kitty is caressing the said bamf´s head. -gingerly touches. His fur is like velvet and Kitty has to wonder if anything if Krampus´s fur is really soft as the bamf- and she speaks again. "Ok. They spy for you. But...still, errors can happen"

"Not in my profession. Not on my job. You see, I have more eyes than you can imagine. Wind spirits, faes, and sometimes even Gods keep me update on who is naughty and who isn´t. Also, sometimes, a person is naughty but I can´t interfere"

"Why?" and Kurt/Krampus come closer and has a sort of malicious glee in his eyes. "Me and Santa are your bosses. But we have our bosses as well...and sometimes, mortals are punished by them...and trust me, they´re way worse than me" and Kitty won´t back down.

"Ok, what´s the point of your torture? I mean, you´d not seem a sadistic type" Krampus is somewhat amused by this line. "if you were, you would have tortured me a long time ago. So, you aren´t torturing people just because..."

"True, I´d torture people and give the chance of them to change. Remember Katzchen" he drawled out. "I´m responsible for revenge. I seek out those who committed terrible deeds. I´m not after innocents"

"And how many people have changed after, uhm, everything?"

"20% of them. Some can change. Some humans have the chance to turn the new page and be a better version of themselves...while others...will rather die than admit faults"

"What if you try to take someone who is close to me?"

"I wouldn´t" and Kitty thinks is because some contract or law established. "All your friends have a pure soul and are sinless. I have no reason to go after any of your friends, family, and even some people you see daily. They all are good souls Kitty...just like you" he concludes. Those words sink in.

"I´ll not kill for you" not a question. A fact. Krampus is not bothered by that.

"You´re not here to help torture others nor to kill. So, of course, I wouldn´t ever ask this to you. Anything else?"

"Why Galaticus indicated me?"

"Ok, that I can´t answer. Look, he never did that in the past. If he indicated you...he has his reasons. I can feel you´re afraid. I´m a bit afraid too...again, Galaticus never indicated anyone..." the man swallows hard and now the bamf is cuddling with him. "this is new to me too"

Oh...I never thought about this angle.

"So, since we´re working together...let´s get along. This is new to us, but, we´re here now" Kitty concludes and maybe her curiosity is satiated for now.

(Not really. She has no idea what Krampus is. And she is not sure if she can just ask this to him- wouldn´t that be rude?- she vouches to do some research more deep research about her boss)

"Do you have more questions?"

"For now? No" and Krampus seems more amused- too extrovert. Not what some movies portray him to be- "I have a mission for you. Say, do you know about the Little mermaid?" and before Kitty can answer. "Not the Disney version"

"Yes, a very depressing story" Kitty interjected. "Why?"

"Well, I have something I need you to deliver to the sea witch" and with a snap of his fingers a purple box materialized in his desk. "I need you to return this to the witch. She made me a favor a couple of years ago...and I´m now paying" and Kitty looks between the box and her boss.

"Krampus, I can´t breathe underwater"

"I know...do you know Neverland?"Krampus asked grinning. And Kitty is quick to quips.

"Isn´t that place where Peter Pan lives? The man is facing some big sues and did some serious crimes" and she eyes Krampus who only shurgs in response. "Not every crime is dealt with me, Kitty, and yes...he did those crimes, but, anyway...the Sea Witch likes to hang out in the lakes of Neverland with all her entourage of mermaids." and if Kitty thought this would be an aquatic adventure. She´s wrong.

"And how is the Sea Witch? I mean, how she looks like?...I´m guessing she´s not like Disney"

"Correct and don´t mention that version to her. She hates it. Her name is Ursula, by the way, but, even if you didn´t know her name...she has two different colors in her eyes. One is green and the other is blue. That´s the signal of a Sea Witch" and adds just to make his point come across. "And is really, really rare. She´s not happy that Disney made her a villain or made her ugly...her words, not mine. She´s one of the prettiest mermaids in the court and has magic"

"Will she sue Disney?"

"She has magic but she´s not that powerful"

"Ok, not going ask what´s inside"

"Well..."

"I SAID I´LL NOT ASK WHAT´S INSIDE"

And using her key she´s gone. Krampus almost pouts. He was looking forward to sharing this story with someone.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Neverland is just like Kitty imagined. And the mermaids are just like Kitty imagined to be. Pretty ladies -unashamed of everything else. Tits out. No shame- and as Krampus mentioned, it was easy to located Ursula- what Kitty has to deal is to talk with pretty ladies and deliver the box. No big deal. She can do it.

I can do it. I can do it.

Stepping on the rocks in the pond where the mermaids are Kitty speaks. "I´m working for Krampus...he has a delivery to you" and shows the box and Ursula grins wide and the mermaids- who may or may not have thought in prank Kitty. Now, change their sentiments to be more friendly- and Ursula hugs the box as if her life depends on it.

Kitty does not wish to know what is inside.

"Thank you. I was waiting for this for a long time. Please, let me reward you" and the mermaids took her cue and are making a necklace to Kitty- a token of their gratitude. If Ursula is happy. They´re happy too- and once-promising is just a necklace and not a curse ("dear, cursed necklace are out fashion years ago")- Kitty accepts the necklace (seashells and aquatic flowers she never heard before) and manages to talk with the mermaids.

"Now that Peter is arrested. We rule Neverland...and those pirates hate that"

"And the animals?"

"Ah, the unicorns don´t care...as long we don´t bother them"

And now the box is delivered and Kitty has a good relationship with the mermaids("come to visit us, Kitty, we can talk more") Kitty uses the key to return.

________________________________________________________________________________________

Happy hour with the boss was never something Kitty was counting, but, alas her boss wanted to take her out to celebrate ("the mermaids don´t like messengers so easily") and offers to take her to a nice coffee shop- once she made clear she doesn´t like go to clubs- and Kitty is wondering if Krampus works in the law of the fae.

"Uhm, Krampus..."

"Kurt, my name is Kurt...and we´re outside the working place. You can call me Kurt...well, you can call me Kurt anytime you want. Call me Krampus is just as if I call you human"

Oh, he has a point.

"Ok, Kurt"

"Say, Kitty, I have some question for you" and Kitty decides to buy her coffee and cupcake before he could do it. Even if he´s not a fae...she doesn´t like men to pay for her stuff.

"Ok"

"Are you married?"

"Not sure how this has to do with anything...but, my first boyfriend propose to me. I rejected him. I´m not interested in marrying"

"Kitty, what you wanted to do with your life?"

"Live well"

"Do you fear me?"

"A little...but I think is all because how new this is to me"

And Krampus smiles.

"Think we can be friends?"

"Maybe? I´m too introvert, you seem to extrovert but hey, some of my friends are extroverts..."

[creampuffqueen]

chase the sky into the ocean

Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to the newest episode of ‘what cream is doing instead of sleeping’!

Anyway, I am here now with some little short stories about my Gen 2 characters from ToG and ACOTAR. This little one features a teenage Lyria and Folas.

The title lyrics are from the song Something Wild by Lindsey Sterling and Andrew McMahon, and the chapter lyrics are from the song Kids Again by Artist vs Poet.

Read on Ao3 Here! (Idk why you’d want to, it’s just one chapter lol)

~~~~

just like we were kids-

But still we laugh, we cry, we fall, we get high

Just like we were kids, just like we were kids

And when I, I'm feeling small you get me through it all

Just like we were kids, just like we were kids again

“Folas. Psst. Folas.”

Folas Lochan, fifteen years old, heir to the city of Perranth, shot straight up in his bed, dark hair a mess.

The boy glanced around frantically for a moment, before his ears picked up on the soft giggles from the foot of his bed.

Princess Lyria Galathynius stood before him, in all of her golden glory. She was wearing a simple tunic and leggings, and her hair was unadorned, instead braided simply down her back.

“Lyria,” He hissed, “What in the gods’ name are you doing in my room? It’s- it’s not even light outside yet.” Because the only light that illuminated the suite was candlelight, fires summoned by the princess herself.

“It’s nearly dawn, for your information. Hurry up and get dressed; I have a surprise for you.” Her smirk was big and slightly devious, yet Folas trusted her completely. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Lyria politely turned around while he rooted around for some clothes, idily flicking her braid back and forth while she waited. Folas tugged on a tunic and pants of his own, and had hardly finished buckling his belt when Lyria turned back and grabbed his arm.

“Where are we going?” He asked cautiously. Lyria creaked the door open slightly, looked back and forth, then dragged him out of his room and into a small alcove down the hall.

“Don’t worry about that.” She murmured. “Right now, mind getting out of here unnoticed. If we’re careful, the guards won’t even know we’re gone.”

He muttered, “Curiouser and curiouser,” before she roughly grabbed him again and dashed down the hall, her trained Fae feet making almost no noise. 

They made it to the end of the hall with no incident, and kept going. In all his fifteen years frequenting the Orynth palace, he’d never known so many places to hide. He’d be wonderful at hide-and-seek, when his brothers inevitably wanted to play it.

Lyria managed to sneak them through the entire palace without being discovered, making Folas wonder how long she’d been planning this. 

They made their way out back, and were finally able to walk freely. There were guards outside, yes, but significantly less than inside the castle itself. So few, that the pair was able to walk side by side again.

Lyria led him to the stables, where it was pitch black inside. The princess lit a small flame in the palm of her hand, the fire illuminating her smile.

“I promise it’s not going to burn. I won’t risk the poor horses like that.” She walked confidently down the rows of stalls, the flickering flame in her hand the only indication of where she was.

She stopped in front of one stall, where, from Folas’s limited perspective, a lovely brown mare stood.

Lyria glanced around for a moment, before she found a torch in a socket in the wall. She flicked her hand, and fire roared to life on it. The princess used the light to see as she opened the stall and let the horse out.

Folas watched on in silence as Lyria saddled the mare, like she’d done it a million times before. She was mesmerizing, the way she moved to confidently, so sure of herself. She could have been doing everything wrong and yet Folas would have been convinced she knew exactly what she was doing.

“This is Whiskey. She’s my favorite. You can choose any horse in here, they’re all docile.” Lyria stroked the mare’s nose as she talked, then lifted her hand and pointed to a stall a few over.

“But if I were you, I’d choose Miah. He’s gentle, he won’t throw you off.”

Folas heeded her advice, choosing a light gray stallion. He saddled him up, slightly less confidently than Lyria had, then led the horse over.

“Care to explain why we’re taking off in the middle of the night on horseback, Princess?” He queried. Lyria rolled her eyes.

“Calm yourself. You’ll find out in due course. Just know, I think you’ll love it.”

They led the horses outside and mounted them. Sure enough, the stallion was as gentle as could be. Lyria stroked Whiskey’s dark mane, then shot him a devilish grin, and took off at a gallop. Folas wasted no time in following.

The darkness of the sky was fading slowly, the sky lightening from a deep purple-blue to a pale periwinkle. The horses’ hooves thundered, even on the ground that was still wet with dew.

The Oakwald forest rose up to meet them, gnarled trees, centuries old, blocking out the light all around them. He would have been lost if it wasn’t for Lyria, and the way she seemed to be a living flame. Embers trailed after her, and fire seemed to dance in her golden hair.

The horses appeared to know the route well, and had no problem following a worn deer-trail. They leaped over fallen logs with ease and dodged young saplings that sprouted in the way, and didn’t once slow to nibble at the tantalizing green grass.

The rising sun pierced through the branches of the forest, and Lyria beamed at the light. Her smile was contagious, and even in his confusion, Folas’s lips twitched in the beginning of a grin.

After a few more minutes of silence, Lyria suddenly pulled her mount to a stop. Miah stopped behind her, dipping his gray head to some leaves on the sides of the path.

“We’re going off trail.” Lyria declared. Before Folas could say anything, the princess had spurred Whiskey forward, into the thick underbrush. There was a small, hardly noticeable path, as if a deer or another creature had only recently been through.

Folas’s horse followed with no complaint, walking through the forest at a leisurely pace. Fresh sun spilled down between the branches, illuminating the once-dark woods. 

“I know where we’re going.” Lyria chattered. “And you’re going to love it.”

“I’m sure I will.” He assured her. The princess looked over her shoulder and beamed at him, flushed cheeks crinkling. 

The scents of the forest seemed to awake with the sun, the pungent odor of the woods and animals and flowers combining in a dizzying swirl as Folas breathed in. Ahead of him, Lyria took a deep breath, and smiled broadly.

The small, hardly worn path soon led to what Folas knew was their destination: a large clearing full of flowers. The floral scent was nearly overwhelming, but Lyria seemed to take it all in her stride.

Both horses made their way into the grove, and the princess dismounted easily. Folas gave Miah’s mane a stroke before slipping off himself. Lyria glanced back at him, then gently took Whiskey’s reins and led her into the clearing.

Folas did the same, and kept following the princess. They arrived upon a small pond, not very wide in diameter, but deep enough he couldn’t see the bottom. The water was fairly clear, and the sun reflected off it in a shimmering array of colors.

The horses moved to drink from the pond, and Lyria took Folas’s elbow. She led them to the edge of the clearing, and she sat and leaned against a tree. Folas did the same, taking in the lovely landscape as he did so.

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered. It felt almost taboo to speak, to disturb the serenity of the place. So he whispered instead. 

“I’m not able to go here often.” Lyria murmured. Like she felt the same way about the loud noises. “I’m so busy, you know. Sam and I discovered the place when we were younger, and we got lost while exploring the forest. Our father found us, but we decided we didn’t want anyone to know about this place. Except, Sam doesn’t come here often, either. So I wanted a person to share it with.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, like she was afraid that he’d say something bad. But… he wouldn’t. Lyria never seemed like anything but confident in herself, and was odd seeing her so vulnerable.

“Thank you.” He said. “I mean it. Thank you for sharing this with me.” The sun rose further overhead, though it was still early morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d woken up in his bed at dawn, though it couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours.

Lyria’s smile returned, and she stood, dragging him up as she did so. She strode towards the pond, to where the horses had stopped drinking and were now grazing at the plants on its banks.

“I’m swimming.” Lyria declared. Folas cocked his head curiously, and she smirked. The princess shucked off her shirt, and he nearly choked. Folas turned around, feeling heat rise in his face. Lyria giggled behind him.

“You can turn around now.” He did so, and the princess, only in her undergarments, took a running leap, and landed with a massive splash in the pond.

Folas sputtered as freezing cold water washed over him. When he opened his eyes again, Lyria was bobbing in the pond, her golden hair sodden. 

He playfully growled, “I’ll get you for that.” Then he ripped off his own clothes and jumped into the water. Lyria squealed, swimming away with large strokes.

The water was frigid, despite the fact it was early summer in Terrasen. The cold sucked all the air out his lungs, but he was determined. He paddled after the princess, making sure the water splashed her as he did so. 

Lyria laughed and swam away, green eyes sparkling. Folas reached out for her, managing to grab one of her ankles and pull her towards him. The princess shrieked playfully and tried to get away, but he held tight and dragged her over. 

When she was close enough, he let go for a split second, declared, “Hold your breath!” and shoved her under the water.

Lyria came up again a few seconds later, gasping in fake horror. “You bastard!” She shouted, pushing down his shoulders so he went under, too.

Folas swam to the surface, and shook his dark hair out like a wet dog, earning more squeals from the princess. She splashed him back, and soon the pair were in an all-out water battle.

They swam after each other and pushed them under for a few seconds, being careful enough that no one was injured. They splashed and splattered water on each other, and at one point they had a competition to see who could hold their breath the longest. Lyria won, though Folas insisted she cheated. (He had no proof, of course).

When they finally flopped down onto the banks, breathing hard yet unable to contain their smiles, the sun was well up.

“We should head back.” Folas suggested. Lyria groaned, but pulled herself up and went to fetch her clothes. The horses, startled by the splashing, had moved their grazing to the edge of the clearing. 

Folas stood up as well, and was headed to his discarded pants, when a flash of white caught his attention.

His breath caught in his throat. No- it couldn’t be. “Lyria.” He hissed.

The princess turned around, opening her mouth to speak, but her words seemed to freeze in her mouth.

A pure white stag stood right outside the clearing, its snowy fur nearly obscured by the thick trees. However, it was still completely visible to the two teenagers. As was the lick of flame that burned between its antlers.

Lyria came to her senses first, going into a deep curtsy, despite the fact she was only in her soaking wet undergarments. Folas quickly followed suit, bowing deeply. 

He took a small glance up at the stag. It seemed to dip its head back at him, a twinkling in its dark eyes. It held his gaze for a moment, before turning away and bounding off.

“I’ve never seen one before.” Lyria said softly, after the stag was no longer visible. Folas nodded absently, finishing his task of getting dressed again.

He turned back to the princess, who was dressed as well, and was heading for the horses. He followed her, as he always did, though his mind was elsewhere.

The stag- it had seemed to bow back to him. Yet it did nothing to Lyria, who was a proper princess and heir to the throne of Terrasen. He wondered if he’d imagined it.

The princess in question tutted impatiently at him, snapping him out of his stupor. He smiled at her, at her green eyes and golden hair that stuck to her back. 

“Let’s go home.”

[epicfangirl01]

Dead WIP Files: The Fallen

TW: Character death, mild gore, ego shipping 

King Chase looked up from his throne, looking at the tapestries on the walls. Depictions of past kings hung down, their eyes boring into him. He could feel their anger, disappointment, and shame. Finally, his eyes landed on the tapestry of his brother. King Jack. So kind. So fair. He was more of a king than Chase would ever be. Tears fell from his eyes as he saw his brother’s smile. Chase covered his face and sobbed. *He should be here. He would know what to do…*

“Your Highness!”

Chase wiped his eyes and regained his composure as Jackie, captain of the royal guard, ran into the throne room. His face fell slightly as he looked at the king. *Dammit. He saw…* Jackie cleared his throat and spoke. 

“The Dark King. He’s here, and his army is swarming the city. They’re going to storm the castle, and they have King Jack with them,” he reported urgently. 

Chase’s eyes widened and he looked back up at his brother’s tapestry. *We have to save him.* He took a deep breath as he mustered his strength before turning to Jackie. 

“Assemble the troops. Defend the city and send a team to rescue Jack. *Do not* let them into the castle.”

Jackie nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.” The captain turned and rushed out of the room. 

“Your Highness,” Chase chuckled softly. Of course it was ‘Your Highness’. He wasn’t Jack. He was the prince, and that’s all he would ever be. 

An hour later, Chase looked down the hill at his forces, watching as the Dark King and Blood Witch grew closer. He was clad in shining silver armor with a deep blue breastplate that was accented with vines of golden ivy. A golden crown of sapphires and emeralds sat on Chase’s head, the band covered in carefully sculpted leaves and vines. 

Chase took a deep breath and his face filled with determination. His brother was coming home. He was sure of it. Chase turned to a general, looking over the formation of the two armies and making adjustments. “Send archers to the woods behind the castle to perch in the bushes and trees. Disperse after finding coverage.” The general nodded and left to command her troops. 

Minute by minute, the Dark Forces gained land, coming closer to the castle.Chase cursed under his breath, rubbing his face with a gloved hand. He barely heard the drawing of a sword over him. 

Chase rolled out of the way as an assassin leapt down, lowering their sword where he stood only a moment ago. The king unsheathed his sword and turned, facing his foe. His blade swiped, connecting with the assassin’s leg, lodging into their calf. They grunted and swung their sword toward Chase’s neck. He quickly ducked and grabbed their wrist. With a swift twist, the assassin was disarmed. Chase slashed and their head fell away from their neck, hitting the ground with a thud. *Just like you taught me, huh, Jack?* 

“Your Highness!” 

Jackie ran over to Chase, bringing two royal guardsmen with him. “You have to get inside. We need to evacuate the castle. The enemy’s forces are too strong. We have to get you out of here. *Now.*” 

Suddenly, a loud boom filled the air, and Chases turned to see an army of demons, witches, and creatures break through the doors to the castle keep. Enemies flooded into the yard, attacking Solas soldiers. Jackie grabbed Chase’s arm and started pulling him away. The group ran through the castle, making their way to the throne room. 

Crashes and bangs rang out through the halls, filling their ears. Finally, they reached the throne room and Jackie pushed the door open. The soldiers quickly barricaded the door behind them before turning to the king. “Your Highness, you have to get out of here. They will take you to a safe house in the woods. From there, we can regroup. Take the tunnel underneath the throne. My soldiers will guide you. We need to get you out before the Dark King and Witch find you.” Before Chase could reply, the soldiers rushed past him, making their way over to the throne. Jackie hurried over to the window, scanning the castle grounds below. Hordes of demons, fae, and Ghlórian soldiers swarmed the stone walls, slaughtering the Solasian army. 

A loud thud drew the group’s attention back to the ornate wooden doors. Fear crossed Jackie’s face for a moment before turning to determination. Jackie grabbed Chase’s arm again as another thud rang out, guiding him to the revealed passageway. 

Chase’s mind was racing, images flashing in his mind. Clashing swords. Bleeding corpses. A screaming Jack. Chase’s blood ran cold, and he pulled his arm away. *I cannot leave him. He needs me.* 

“Go. Evacuate the castle and save everyone you can,” he commanded.

Jackie gazed at him incredulously. “Sir, I am not leaving. I swore on my life that I would protect the royal family until my dying breath.”  An even louder bang came from the door. Chase's face hardened, and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword. 

“I am tired of running. My brother needs me, as does my kingdom. Leave me. Protect the civilians. That's an order.” 

Jackie looked at him for a moment before giving a small nod. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

He turned away from the King and ran over to the secret passage, jumping in after the soldiers. He hesitated for a moment and glanced at Chase. “May the gods be with you,” he said before disappearing, the throne pushed back into place. The wooden doors thudded once more, and Chase turned to face them, drawing out his sword. He got into a defensive position, waiting.

….

….

….

Silence filled the room as Chase stared at the doors. His heart was pounding out of his chest, dreading whatever was to come. Suddenly, the doors burst open, booming as a rush of green magic broke through the barred entrance.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This fic was planned to be an instalment of @cutewarmachine 's Twisted Disney Community AU, where every version of the tale is cannon, because it is changed as it's retold like old folktales. This fic is probably the one that I'm most proud of, tied with Remembrance. I had a lot planned, as you can see, and of course I stopped right at the climax.  What was supposed to happen next was that Anti and Marvin, The Dark King and Queen, were supposed to walk in dramatically like they owned the place. And they do. They walk arm in arm and stare down the "false king", Chase. Of course, they would be slaying the whole place, especially Marvin because he's a fierce and sassy queen that can make your cells combust with a passing glance. And Anti absolutely adores Marvin and is still the twisted sick bastard that everyone loves to the power of 10. Anyway, they would give him one chance to stand down and be their little pet before bringing in their biggest weapon. Chase, blinded by his love and devotion to his brother and kingdom, refuses and immediately regrets his decision. Jack would then walk in with his royal armor corrupted and adorning the Ghlórian colors and crest, along with a crown of black thorns. He was cursed, brainwashed, and trained by Anti to serve him and swear his undying loyalty to the Dark King and Blood Witch. Wielding the sword Chase gave him for his coronation, he's commanded to kill Chase. Chase is torn and continues to defend himself, pleading for Jack to listen. Since Jack taught Chase, he knew every skill and mastered it years before. Chase fights on with all he has before he gets stabbed in the stomach. He collapses and falls limp, the last thing he saw was Anti and Marvin taking the thrown with Jack at their feet, staring with cold dead eyes. As you can see, I was super passionate about this story, and I wish I could have finished it. Who knows. Maybe some day. A couple notes I wanted to add were for the kingdom names and an explanation of Jackie saying "Your highness". Jack's kingdom, the kingdom of Solas, is Gaelic for "light". Anti and Marvin's kingdom, the kingdom of Ghlóir, is also Gaelic and means "glory". I wanted to show the contrast of the two kingdoms drastically, so I found words in Gaelic and I thought that it was a nice touch to the story. Finally, I wanted to explain a little about why Jackie kept calling Chase "your highness". Technically Chase was made king at this time, in Jack's absence. Jackie was close to the two brothers, but Jack was definitely the most diplomatic and outgoing. Jack was the heir to the throne, and Chase didn't mind, since he was just happy with his brother. When Jack was captured, the kingdom never gave up hope of finding their list king. Chase was king, but everyone always thought of him as he was in charge until Jack returned. Jackie was friends to them both, and he never wanted to upset Chase. He didn't even realize that he was calling Chase a prince. Chase was always the more whimsical and laid back brother, so he was always seen as the little brother. At the end of the story, Chase had taken so much responsibility while keeping a clear head that he truly proved himself to be a king. Jackie still didn't realize that that was the first time he called Chase a king, but he was very proud of him in that moment. Unfortunately, it came too late and the kingdom fell to dark hands. I love this story so much. In fact, as inspiration, I listened to "Ready, Aim, Fire" by Imagine Dragons when I was trying to brainstorm or get in the zone. And that's it! That's my first Dead WIP File. I hope you guys like it, and if you want to finish my fic off, I'm completely open to new changes or interpretations. Just please give me credit for my portion of the fic/inspiration as well as give credit to @cutewarmachine for his amazing idea. Rems if you're reading this, I hope you liked it and I hope I made you proud. I look up to you so much. Thank you for being one of my writing idols. Thanks for reading, guys! 💖💖💖 -Mya

[leggeteconme]

The Court of the Fae

My mother believed in faeries.

She could see their wings in moments of blinding sunlight where the air seemed to shimmer with a thousand colors, feel their touch in a breath of wind across her pale skin, hear their laughter in the tinkling of gypsy bells on Market Street. My father said the bells were the instruments of devils. He despised the gypsies, and believed in nothing that wasn’t mentioned in his Bible.

I believed in faeries.

The faeries loved my mother.

She left acorn caps carefully arranged across the kitchen every night, filled to their brims with sweet clover honey. The caps were always empty in the mornings -- empty, washed, polished, and stacked neatly in a corner. Sometimes there were small trinkets left behind in thanks: a silver thimble, spools of silken thread, once an ivory comb inlaid with mother-of-pearl. My mother kept them all in a velvet-lined box locked with a tiny brass key she kept under the false bottom of one of her vanity drawers. The drawer also held a well-read Bible, a wedding gift from my father. She sat with it for hours every night until he fell asleep, until she was free to slip away to the kitchen to set out the acorn caps.

On the days my father was away on business, she spent the mornings in her lush gardens, gathering brightly-colored berries I was warned never to eat and velvet-petaled roses with razor-sharp thorns. She placed them all in a picnic basket with an old medicine bottle filled with rainwater and delicate honeycakes cut into circles the size of my fingertips, dancing off into the forest with bare feet and unbound hair and staying there until just before dusk, when my father returned. I followed her once and found her in a vast clearing dappled with sunlight and filled with wildflowers, sitting under an ancient and gnarled oak tree, singing sweetly as dozens of tiny winged creatures fluttered around her, sipping at rainwater from rose petals, feasting on berries and honeycakes, braiding her long dark hair and twining it with violets and buttercups finer than the purple silks and golden chains of any empress.

I followed her often after that day, enchanted by her otherworldly escape. Day after day she stole away to the clearing; week after week her beautiful face glowed with the intoxication of the world of the fae; month after month that glow vanished at the first sight of my father and she flew to the solace of the woods.

Her entourage grew each time she returned, the clearing filled with a rainbow of wings from delicate beings as captivated by my mother as she was by them. They came from the forests and hills, from the rivers and oceans, from the skies and from the mountains to see her, to hear her voice, to bring her gifts in exchange for her baskets of offerings, until one warm summer afternoon the Elf-king himself was drawn to our forest. I saw him from across the clearing in robes woven of sunlight, a crown of flowers perched upon his fair brow. He gazed upon my mother in a way my father never had, standing there and watching her for hours before he faded back into the shadows. He returned twice more before emerging from the trees and gliding softly towards her. The buzz of the clearing quieted, my mother’s winged companions dropping into low bows as he passed. My mother’s eyes followed him as he approached her, and she stood slowly, languidly, as though she floated in water. When he reached her, she began to dip into an obeisance of her own, but the Elf-king stopped her with a long, deep bow. He spoke a few words as he straightened, his voice rich and warm and carried away by the wind before I could understand what he’d said. My mother understood, and flushed as he offered her his hand. They danced to a melody that pierced my soul and made the forest sing, swirling around the clearing with a captivating elegance. My mother looked like a queen, a glimmering star matched only by the man with his hand at her waist. She did not return home until morning.

My father found her box of treasures that night. He struck her when she returned and locked her in her room, ordering the servants not to allow her to leave the house. She was desperate that he would soon abandon the endeavor, but my father had a will of pure iron and, determined to save her soul from “these devilish hallucinations” -- as he called her encounters with the fae --, kept her confined to her room. It wasn’t long before she fell ill. There was no cough, but with her wasted form and face bright from fever the doctors called it consumption anyway. My father insisted it was a disease of hell and brought in priests to cure her soul of its wickedness. I alone knew the truth: that she was mad from the loss of her only joy.

My father was away when she died. I knelt at her side as the last breath left her body, saltwater tears wetting the hand I clutched to my cheek. When I heard the footsteps in the hall I flew to my feet in a rage, wanting nothing more than to destroy my father for having done this to her, but it was not my father who stood in the doorway.

The Elf-king paid me no mind as he entered the room. He walked slowly to the foot of my mother’s bed and gazed upon her face with the emotion I finally registered as love. He bowed low before her, golden tears streaming down his otherwise serene face, and offered her a long-fingered hand.

“She’s gone,” I tried to say, but the words caught in my throat. He knew, he must have known, but he stood there still, his hand as pale and cold and lifeless as hers. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from them, despite somehow having fallen to the floor, weeping until my vision was blurred so that I could hardly tell if what I saw was real.

The Elf-king opened his mouth and began to sing, the haunting melody from that summer day so long ago pouring from his lips in a pleading, devastating waterfall. He begged her to return to him, to leave with him, to reside with him forever in his court beneath the hills. He spun fever dreams with his voice, bent swirling sunlight to his will with his heartbreak. The room danced dizzyingly with golden mirages as he sang; my head ached and still I could not look away. The scene crescendoed until I felt sure my head would split open and suddenly, impossibly, my mother’s emerald eyes fluttered open.

She rose from her bed, floating across the floor like a Wisp, and took his hand, sinking effortlessly into his embrace. He murmured her name as he held her close, and with a final swirl of golden light they were gone.

I awoke to my father’s rage. My mother’s furniture lay in overturned heaps, her faerie trinkets scattered and broken on the ground. My father seized my shoulders and shook me, demanding to know where she was. He beat me when I told him, cursing the demonic apparitions that had fled my mother for me.

I did not attend my mother’s funeral. I laid out acorn caps filled with honey and hummed the Elf-king’s melody as tiny, winged fae crept tentatively in through the windows. That was the last time I was permitted to leave my room, the last time anyone left out offerings of honey. Now the milk is spoiled, the horses lame; now I have fallen as ill as my mother. The servants pray for sanctuary from the demons she and I have unleashed upon them, praying even for death that their children might no longer be stolen away in the night, their wives and husbands crippled and sickened. No more do I see the delicate creatures I once know fluttering at my windows; no more are the goblins and other, darker fae merely legends from my mother’s books. They emerged slowly at first, one after another, until a horde of them had infested the house. They circle my father like vultures, slipping into the shadows whenever he turns. I can see the Elf-king waiting in the corner now, sharpening his blade, watching the man who killed his queen. I know it will not be long now before he takes his revenge. I wonder if my father will scream when he is carried away beneath the hills. I wonder if he will beg for mercy. I wonder if he knows that the Court of the Fae is more ruthless than any human king.

I laugh as I feel my eyes begin to close for the last time, the madness that took my mother finally taking me. Not long now, I think as the Elf-king glides from the shadows and darkness overtakes my vision. Not long at all.

[shewhowantsmouseears]

weblena fairy-tale Au drabble

so I wanted to give this a shot, and I attempted to make it a short fluffy thing but my brain said NO, LONG, ANGST, brain i just want cute dokidokis NO I WANT DRAMA goddammit brain can we try to do both NO PROMISES

anyway here you are

Sometimes it was amusing to just watch Webby work her magic – or attempt her magic. At times, it felt a little mean, but Lena would never call herself a nice person. So she stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised as she saw Webby making all sorts of ridiculous poses with her wand before dramatically pointing it at one of Lena's old clothes. The wand would make a few sputtering noises, like a fish gasping for air, before letting out a few pink sparks, and that was all. Webby would grunt in frustration, and then the process would start all over again.

Lena glanced at what Webby was trying to enchant. Given Lena's horrid living conditions under her aunt, her clothes were limited. If it fit, it stayed, no matter how ugly, ragged or dirty it got. The dress laying on a wooden chair had reached the point of no return, and nowadays was being used as a rag to clean the windows. There was no love lost there, so her attentions easily turned back to the young fairy who waved her arms like a flapping hummingbird. Webby's determination could be incredibly annoying or rather endearing, depending on her goal at the moment. Lena could tell that Webby would be at this all day, so she mercifully cleared her throat as Webby tried to stand on her head.

With a surprised “oof!”, Webby rolled over onto her back, glancing up at who interrupted her concentration. “Oh. Hi Lena! You're home early.”

“The old hag said I was getting in her way.” Lena shrugged one shoulder dismissively. “So, you plan on telling me what you're doing, or do I get to play the guessing game? Reminder, I'm not fond of that game.”

“It was going to be a surprise... if I got it right.” Webby finally sat up, before getting on her feet and brushing herself down. “As you know, I managed to convince Lord Scrooge McDuck to throw a birthday ball for the boys!”

“'Convince' is an interesting choice of words,” Lena mused, recalling how Webby had spent five straight days attaching herself to Scrooge's leg with “please please please” uttered after every breath. That was the most she knew about what happened, anyway – she chose to spend limited time in the nearby kingdom, as her reputation wasn't exactly stellar. She had no idea how Webby had, completely accidentally, charmed Scrooge over with an adventure involving mythical creatures and a kazoo. Then again, if she had been told, she wouldn't have been terribly surprised. Webby had an odd way of worming into people's hearts. Lena was convinced Webby could get anyone to adore her – anyone save Magica, but then, Magica was only capable of loving herself.

“Everybody's going to come,” Webby continued, “and that includes you. This will be your big moment, your grand introduction into high society! I've got it all figured it out. We wait until the majority of the kingdom has arrived, the party's in full swing, the music's about to start.” By this point Webby had begun to pantomime the ball's events, which led her to miss Lena's eyerolling. Lena had no interest in princes, balls, dances, or any of that hoity-toity garbage. What a waste of time and money. “Just then, you arrive, and in the world's most beautiful dress! Everybody stares in awe at this mysterious, alluring goddess! Who could she be?”

“A-huh.” Lena  felt heat rising in her cheeks. She had no idea why Webby tended to use such... unusual vocabulary when it came to describing Lena, but it wasn't always unwelcome. “Let me guess. One of the princes sees me, falls for me, we dance some romantic waltz, night ends, I leave, he pines, blah blah blah, happily ever after.”

Webby paused, glancing over at her pet project. “I'm getting the feeling you're not exactly excited about this.”

“What was your first clue?”

“Aw, c'mon, balls are fun! … So I've heard.”

“Pass.” Lena walked into the room, figuring she might as well get a head-start on her chores as long as she was here. Maybe she could rearrange the spell-books and try to find one Magica wouldn't miss.

“But think of all the friends you could make!” Webby tagged along after her.

“Pass.”

“It'll be a night away from Magica!”

“Pass.”

“... There's free food?”

Lena hesitated, her hand on one green tome wedged between two red ones. She glanced at Webby, she of hopeful desires and sparkles in her eyes. “... If they have those little hot dogs, I might go.”

“YAY YOU'RE GOING!” Webby cheered out loud, bouncing around the room for a moment before retreating back to the chair and dress. “You're going to have the night of your life! Everyone's going to love you! They won't be able to take your eyes off you!” She then pointed the wand at the dress and... nothing. Her entire body deflated. “... Soon as I can master this spell.”

“What is this spell, anyway?” Lena resumed pushing the books back and forth. “I've seen you change your look a dozen times, why's this one so hard for you?”

“Different materials, I think.” Webby tugged down on her skirt. “Fae don't typically give a hoot about what they wear, beyond their favorite colors. We're supposed to have a 'we look good in anything' attitude. Besides, this is totally different. It's you! You deserve to have a really lovely dress! One that wows everyone!”

“You're thinking about this too hard.” Lena pulled out an especially thin tome to lightly tap Webby on the head. “Look, putting a nice dress on a donkey doesn't change the fact that it's still a donkey.”

Webby looked aghast, a hand to her chest. “You are not a donkey!”

“Pack-mule?” Lena smirked, mostly kidding, but Webby still wore a look of abject horror. Lena flipped the book back into its proper place on the shelf. Nearby, a vanity mirror hung in place, and Lena avoided her reflection. “Fact is, I'm not charming anyone. So just relax, and put me in... whatever. Never really cared about what I wore.” Granted, this was mostly because she had no say in the matter. Magica would never spend good coin on fancying up what was essentially her slave. “Here, how about this?” She placed the chair aside, and gestured to herself. “Maybe you'll have better luck on something I'm actually wearing.”

Webby bit down, unsure. The idea did have merit, and there was one famous Fairy Godmother who had done exactly that. On the other hand, that same Godmother was widely ridiculed for giving her charge glass slippers, of all things. “I... guess I could try? If it's okay with you.”

“I'm standing right here. It's okay with me.”

Webby looked down at her hand, rolling it in her fingers. Well, nothing was going to get done if she wasn't confident about it. This was for Lena, who deserved the best things in life, and thus, the best attempts. Perhaps she was looking at the spell all wrong. Now that she Lena in front of her, she could try to visualize something beyond a vague pretty dress.  She inhaled deeply, and took a step back, willing up the magic in her veins, closing her eyes, focusing on one singular thought.

I want everyone to see you... the way I see you.

There was no silly arm movements this time – just one simple wave of her wand, which let out a colorful stream of rich blues like ocean water, and it suddenly swirled around Lena, who made a startled noise in her throat – to be fair, she hadn't thought this would work. She merely wanted Webby to give up and move on to her next insane plan, so her feelings wouldn't be hurt too much. So much for that plan.

Lena shut her eyes as well, not wanting to admit she was a little scared. Webby would never intentionally harm her, but Lena had seen the worst that magic could do, under Magica's hand. But there was no pain here, because this wasn't a punishment. She felt a cooling breeze, a soft embrace, serenity throughout her skin and feathers. Her clothes were changing, she could feel it, but it wasn't just that. She felt changes on her fingers through her hair and on her face, and she had to swallow an urge to scream. But it was as over as quickly as it had started, and she allowed herself to sigh in relief. She was still whole, in one piece.

Webby was the first one to open her eyes, and when she did, she never wanted to close them again. Her arms dropped to her sides, and she found herself making an undignified “Uh.”

Lena couldn't help but burst into laughter, opening her eyes next. “That bad, huh? I told you, Webby...” But she trailed off, now able to see Webby's reaction. It wasn't embarrassment, humiliation, or even disgust. Her eyes were wide, her jaw hanging open, and her cheeks were flushed so red that for half a second Lena wondered if she injured herself somehow. Webby was struggling, and failing, to make a coherent sentence. Her pupils danced around, trying to accurately record everything about Lena. “I. It. You.” It was adorable, but also worrying.

“What?” Lena asked, and got no answer. She huffed, and reluctantly went to the mirror, as clearly that was the only thing that was going to help her right now. “What's the big deal?”

Wait... who was this stranger that entered the house? After several long seconds, Lena understood that the stranger was her.

The torn patches of brown cloth were gone. Here was a ballroom dress of night-sky blue, with stars and constellations around every curve. As she raised her hand to touch her cheek, she could see that a strip of cloth from each sleeve extended to her middle fingers, a golden ring around the first knuckle. Her lips were gently coated in the colors of the cosmos, her hair having grown long enough to spiral down her shoulder, with different shades of galaxies and stardust. As she felt her skin, she knew this was real,  and every small moment revealed another universe of night, all encompassing and all welcoming.

“Is this... me?” It was a stupid question, but Lena wasn't feeling particularly brilliant at the moment. How was this possible? All her life she'd been told, and thus was convinced, she was an ugly little girl, a worthless cretin, a waste of space and skin. The world was full of lovely creatures and she simply wasn't one of them. Yet here she stood, and she could not deny that she looked beautiful, even as it felt weird to even think it.

It's just magic, the cynical side of her tried to speak up. It's not the real you. And it was tempting to believe this. But she spotted Webby in the mirror too – still sporting that stunned stupid expression – and knew that Webby wouldn't have tried to change Lena into something else entirely. She merely... brought out what was possible in people. A nice dress, a bit of make-up, but in the end it was still her. It was still her face, and her body, and it always had the potential to be anything Lena wished it could. She felt her eyes grew wet, and immediately tried to put a stop to it by rubbing her face. “I, um... that's not half bad.” She choked, a messed-up laugh following. “Th-thanks, Webby, I... It looks good. I mean it.”

Webby needed a minute to realize she was being spoken to, and it finally brought her back to reality. “Oh! Oh, yeah, I, um. Hm! Yes. Good. Very good.” It felt like her mouth was falling down the stairs. She glanced down at her wand, in disbelief that she had done it. But, hey! Maybe she was closer to Fairy Godmother status than she thought! The moment Lena stepped into the ballroom, everyone would be on their knees for a proposal. She could see the entire scene now – Lena walking down the long entrance stairs, her hand on the wooden railing, the other lightly picking up her dress to keep from tripping. Heads would turn, and the music would falter before picking up again, but softer and lighter this time. The warm candles would illuminate her eyes, her heels clicking quietly on the floor, and then she would find the one she was meant to be with, and their eyes would lock, and then she... she would take their hand, and... and, uh... they would... do the dancing... thing... and... gosh it was getting hard to think.

Lena was hesitant to move, not wanting to rip the dress, but she didn't want to stay in one place either. Placing her faith in her balance, she walked up to Webby, and gently took her hands. “You're pretty amazing, you know?”

Webby was, again, at a loss for words, which was nuts because she was proud of her extended vocabulary. Her palms felt sweaty, and she wanted to let go of Lena but she also didn't want to let go of Lena. Maybe it was the heels Lena was wearing but Webby was suddenly very aware of the height difference between them – and the fact that her heart was beating so fast she would've thought the next ten kingdoms over could hear it. “I try,” she squeaked, giggling nervously before making another attempt. “But, but yeah! No one will be able to tear themselves away from you at the ball! If the boys don't fall head over heels in love with you after they see you in this, they've got no taste.”

“I suppose so.” Lena couldn't care less what the boys thought, or what anyone else thought for that matter. “If this dress is a combination of you and me together, then I'd say our taste is fantastic.” She held Webby's hands up to her chest and hear Webby make a sound similar to a frog croaking. It felt mean to tease her like this – but, again, Lena didn't consider herself to be nice. “But even with these fancy duds on... I still have no idea what goes on at those parties. How to act, or how to dance... it would be helpful if my fairy godmother came along for the ride.”

“... Really?” Was Webby allowed to tend to such events? She racked her head, trying to think of a time when that was considered inappropriate, but didn't find any answers. “... Okay! Sure! I'll be right beside you! I've never been to one, but I'll do all the research! I'm sure they've got some kind of dancing tutor up in that castle, how hard can it be? I'll be your wingman! Winggirl!”

“You could go as my friend.” Lena suggested.

Webby gasped. “I could go as your friend!” She repeated. What a novel concept! “Oooh, this is going to be great! I'll introduce you to everyone! 'Hey, everyone, this is Lena! She's my best friend'! And then they'll want to know all about you, so I get to tell them, and then they'll want to know about me, and I'll tell them...” Webby continued babbling about all the entertaining possibilities, and Lena allowed her to ramble.

It was always all about Lena, wasn't it? What did Webby get out of this? Sure, she wanted to rise up the ranks and go from being a mere fairy to a Fairy Godmother, but still, this didn't feel like a job. Webby actually cared about Lena's happiness, which was still puzzling to Lena herself. What had she done to deserve it? It didn't seem fair – especially when Lena still didn't want to follow the destiny Webby was so sure was set out for her. She didn't want to marry a guy she barely knew and live like a pompous jerk. This was all just a step in a road to disappointment, and guilt weighed heavily on Lena's heart.

Without warning, Lena pulled Webby into her arms, holding her tight, and Webby shut up instantly. Webby was now sure that Lena must feel Webby's rapidly beating heart and wasn't mentioning it to be polite. She swallowed, and tried to turn her head. “Lena?”

The right thing to do would be to let Webby go and tell her to get out, and never return. The right thing to do would be to tell Webby that no matter what she tried, Lena would make her own footsteps. The right thing to do would be to stop stringing Webby along so she could give someone else the care she was so eager to give. But Lena was not good. She was not nice. She was... she was a wretched, awful person. She was the niece of the wicked Magica De Spell. There was no changing that, no matter how pretty she could become on the outside.

Webby pulled back enough to see Lena's face, and didn't understand the agony forming in Lena's eyes. “What's wrong? What can I do?”

Lena was afraid if she spoke, everything would spill out. She lightly touched Webby's cheek, mentally begging for forgiveness that she knew she didn't deserve.

Webby didn't blink. Ye gods and goddesses, if Prince Charming didn't want to kiss Lena once he got this close, he would have to be out of his mind. Curious how her mind went that way. And – maybe – if Lena didn't know how to – not that Webby did either – would it be so wrong if – you know – maybe-  just maybe – they could practice before – these things were important – practice -

POOF!

A blue fluff of smoke billowed around Lena, and in the space of a second, she was back to rags and dirt. Both girls looked down at the sudden transformation, looked at each other, and then, in a great wave of relief, began laughing hysterically. Lena lost the strength in her legs and wound up on the floor with Webby still in her arms, and they laughed and kicked around until they could no longer breathe. As they struggled to catch their breath, they wound up on their backs, fighting tears, slapping the floor.

“Was that even five minutes?!” Lena managed to break a sentence free before going back into gleeful giggles.

“Oh, shut up!” Webby replied, rolling back and forth, trying to cover her mouth with her hands. “I'm getting better! I just need more practice!”

“That dress wouldn't have even lasted through one song!”

“It would have lasted for a couple of bars!”

“Oh, really? Do, rei, mi, POOF!” And they wound up laughing all over again, grateful to not be thinking about what they were formerly thinking about.

This went on for some time, managing to get their act together only to collapse into more fits soon after. Eventually Lena resumed her chores, with Webby's help, and as always Webby made sure to leave long before Magica returned home so no suspicion could be met. The ball wouldn't be for several weeks, so there was plenty of time for Webby to perfect the spell.

But those weeks would seem awfully long, especially when there were nights neither of them could sleep, wracked with thoughts of things that were supposed to be, and things that they wished could be.

The next time Lena saw starlight, she wept, for reasons known only to herself.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches of LA, Chapter 2: I hope you like exposition and pro wrestling jokes because that’s all we’ve got here

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3] 

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

“And where exactly did you say we’re going?”

“It’s called Nine-Tails Vale! Jinxie – you remember her from New Years? – works there and invited us up for a yokai festival today!”

“A yokai ff – is it too late to get off the train and go home?”

-

Nine-Tails Vale sits in the hills at the base of the mountains of Kurain, far enough away that there’s a chance that they can have as normal a day as anyone at a yokai festival could, but close enough that the hills around the valley still might be faery mounds. Like most days at the WAA, anything goes, and Apollo has to live with it. And maybe he’ll die with it one of these days, sooner rather than later.

Trucy keeps trying again to explain to Apollo the storyline of the local wrestling scene, which she and Jinxie are avid fans of, on their walk over from the train station.

“It’s like a soap opera combined with a fantasy story, but also with grown men hitting each other with chairs,” she says, which is definitely a pitch that would appeal to certain people who aren’t Apollo. “They’ve got their thing that’s kinda like Court, or if there were two Courts who hated each other, and they battle it out in the ring like Daddy says some of the fae do within our legal system. Because the wrestlers are all masked and they’re the proxies for these powerful spirits who possess them whenever they’re wearing the mask. Like selkie skins but if the seal was separate and you were being controlled by it.”

“Uh huh,” Apollo says, surveying the main lane they’ve come up along. The dirt path, lined with a few scattered cobblestones, is overladen with little wheeled carts and pop-up stands selling little charms and trinkets and decorated with leering faces of yokai. Overwhelmed and shoved aside by the merchandise are older buildings bearing signs with both English and Japanese writing and weathered stone statues that have little offerings and candles scattered about their bases. “I wouldn’t feel like being possessed by a seal is very useful. What am I going to do, flop around a lot?”

“There’s always slapping,” Trucy says. “But I’m saying it’s like that. You put on the skin and you turn into it, wear the mask and bam.”

“Uh huh.”

“So when the wrestlers lose, they can have their masks stripped off, which is the ultimate disgrace because they lose both their power and the world and their enemies know their face and name and can claim them.” Trucy stops and leans over a table of paper tags marked all with a paw print and otherwise with a variety of characters and symbols. “And anyway it never got real big until the Amazing Nine-Tails – he’s one of the wrestlers obviously – started being active outside of the ring. And that’s a real no-go to use your powers like that, but he started getting attention, and the Vale started getting attention, and then this yokai craze kinda started up and now there’s lots of tourists from way out of the area watching the matches and visiting!”

“They’d have to be from way out of town,” Apollo says, “because there’s no one I know from the LA area who would hear about a town in the mountains full of monsters and say ‘yeah, I’m going to spend money to go spend time there’.”

“Yet here we are,” Trucy says. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a bracelet of wooden beads. “Oh, here.” She grabs his arm and slips it onto his wrist next to his bracelet, then shaking her own wrist to draw his attention to a matching one she wears. “I forgot to give you this sooner; it’s rowan wood, which is—”

“An anti-fae charm like iron,” Apollo finishes.

Trucy nods. “Yep! And anti-yokai, it overlaps. Anyway, Daddy says it’s very important to not get rowan mixed up with hawthorn wood, which the fae like. He says that’s a very dangerous mistake to make.”

(“Are you speaking from experience?” Apollo asked, and Phoenix cracked a broken smile and told him that’s all he has to speak from.)

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Apollo says.

“I know you’ve got your ring, but it can’t hurt us to be extra cautious out here today.” Trucy pats the necklace she is wearing; a small horseshoe-shaped charm that must be made of iron dangles from it. Horseshoes are a lucky thing, or thought to be, Apollo knows. Clay has one he keeps with him. “I think that’s why Daddy wanted you to come with me. I think he’s worried I would get into trouble alone, since Jinxie’s working and I won’t be with her all day.”

“I thought he sent me with you because he hates me,” Apollo says. Trucy smacks him on the arm.

Uphill to the alderman’s manor, the dirt roads merge with a well-kept cobblestone path to lead them into a beautiful garden, full of paper lanterns and long banquet tables. Trucy sticks her nose into a bush of beautiful golden flowers and is still admiring them when Jinxie, wearing an apron over her dress and carrying a round serving tray, finds them and slaps a warding charm – one of the thin formal slips that Apollo saw for sale down in the yokai extravaganza, like she wears on her own forehead, not a sticky note – on his forehead. Even after she remembers that she’s met him before, they have to make their way through another circular argument about whether or not Apollo is a fae demon. Trucy has apparently given up on convincing Jinxie of the truth, because she says, “He’s a demon but a good one!”

Does he look extra monstrous today, for some reason? Is his hair spikier, his voice louder? What has he done to deserve this?

Jinxie works as a maid at the manor, though she doesn’t live in the Vale but instead in the neighboring Tenma Town, and with her job she can’t spend all afternoon with them. She imparts on them some local lore from the village about the powerful and terrible yokai, Tenma Taro – is it coincidence or significant that its name bears such similarity to Tenma Town? Like Kurain and Khura’in, what does that mean? – imprisoned in the mountain that the manor is built against. Today’s festival, she explains, is a much more robust version, bolstered by tourist dollars, of a ceremony they hold every year, ritually releasing a shade of Tenma Taro and then banishing it.

Though instead of the Nine-Tailed Fox, the village’s guardian yokai – is that an oxymoron? Apollo once would have thought so, but he works in an office that has a guardian ghost fae – doing the banishing, the wrestler the Amazing Nine-Tails, will be.

Which reminds Apollo of Trucy’s one-sided conversation on the way over, and he interrupts Jinxie and Trucy starting to gush over some recent matches to ask, “So all of this you’re talking about, the wrestlers, uh, kind of channeling yokai spirits – that’s all just in the fiction of wrestling not really being real, right?” They both glare at him. “They aren’t actually using magic and summoning demons, right?”

“Apollo,” Trucy scolds, her hands curled into fists on her hips. “You can’t break kayfabe! You should know that!”

He wishes he had the strength to believe that it isn’t real, and that no one could be so stupid to be fucking around that deep into fae magic for the sake of televised entertainment, but he’s also here at a goddamn yokai festival on one of his days off and that’s pretty stupid too.

“I should get back to work,” Jinxie says. “I’ll see you later – ah!”

Making its way through the garden, causing people to spring out of its path, is a tall bird-creature, with gray feathers and three yellow eyes and sharp talons on its hands and feet, which with their yellow skin resemble the legs of some kind of raptor. It resembles the yokai on the scroll Jinxie showed them, the Tenma Taro, but it’s just – someone in a costume? Right? A costume for a festival, and not actually—

It rounds on Jinxie with a hiss. “Better watch out, little girl, or I’ll sssnatch you away!” She raises her platter up over her face and cowers back into one of the banquet tables. Apollo thinks that it probably is just someone in a costume, now that he’s seen it speak; its beak doesn’t move and its tongue lolls forth even in the middle of its speech. It’s too static, or is that wishful thinking?

But no one else is looking at the monster and how it’s cornered Jinxie, no one moving to help her – and Apollo realizes he is moving forward, not sure what he could do if it’s a yokai and knowing he shouldn’t do anything if it’s a performer (like how he and Clay got banned from a local haunted house when they were 13 because Clay reflexively punched one of the actors in the sternum), but still unable to stand by.

“Hey! Don’t stare like that!” someone nearby warns, at a volume that tries to be a whisper but doesn’t really succeed. They must be talking to Apollo and Trucy, because no one else, not even Jinxie, is staring. “If Tenma Taro locks eyes with you, he’ll steal your soul!”

Apollo turns his eyes to the ground instantly, reflexively, because that’s the one thing he knows not to take chances on even though, as he thinks about it, he’s more sure that this monster is a costume and even if it weren’t, he doesn’t think there’s anything powerful enough to just simply take a soul so easily. And if there were, they wouldn’t just casually set it loose. (He hopes.)

“Look!” Trucy whispers, nudging him and pointing toward the manor, where a small figure stands on the roof dark against the blue spring sky. Whatever – whoever – it is leaps down to the lower roof, disappearing from sight, but only a few seconds later springs again, with a long leap far too long to be human. (He thinks first of Lamiroir’s disappearing act and wonders what the trick behind this is.) The man who lands in the midst of them, between Tenma Taro and Jinxie, wears a wrestler’s belt and a golden fox-head mask, with a collar of the same color fur that turns into a cape of many long foxes’ tails. If he was going to guess, Apollo would say that there are nine.

Clearly the Amazing Nine-Tails, and with some silted words about vanquishing evil, he chases Tenma Taro back toward the manor. And Apollo might now be really convinced of the scriptedness of it – and admittedly relieved by that – but the crowds are cheering and Jinxie no longer looks like she’s about to faint from fright. With her platter still clutched across her chest like a shield, she waves goodbye and returns to work, and Trucy drags Apollo off to explore the town.

-

Trucy wants to buy everything. Apollo should have expected that – the amount of Gavineers merchandise that she acquired in the two weeks between their meeting Klavier and the concert was astonishing – and to that end he should have expected that she would run out of money and turn to him. She at least considers herself an organized businesswoman, enough to write up the invoice of what she owes him, and he strikes from it the paper warding charms they buy. He isn’t sure yet if he believes in them, but he’d probably be getting a few for his and Clay’s apartment anyway, and Trucy is talking about how it would be nice to have some kind of protective charm to give to Vera that wouldn’t hurt her like iron, and getting something for their friends seems a worthwhile investment. Trucy’s attempt to wheedle a few dollars out of him for another plush Nine-Tailed Fox keychain is not.

It’s warmer now than it was last April, enough that Apollo tentatively hopes that the fae are done throwing their winter tantrums. If Trucy had to drag him anywhere – and she would consider that a necessity – it’s a good day for it, pleasant to spend time out under the sun and the clear sky. He’s not even convinced that the town is as cursed as he first assumed.

Naturally, that’s where it always goes wrong, letting his guard down, no longer anticipating that the worst is going to claw its way up out of the dirt.

He and Trucy circle back to the manor as a crowd is starting to gather at the front doors; at the center of it, once they manage to push through the people, Trucy helping clear a path by sending Mr Hat off to the side to draw people’s eyes and attention the way a will o’ the wisp does, is Jinxie, simultaneously wild-eyed and looking close to passing out. She stretches out one visibly-trembling hand and grabs Trucy by the wrist, her other arm still hugging the platter close to her chest. It must be iron, it must. “Alderman Kyubi is dead!” she cries. “T-ten – Tenma Taro murdered the alderman!”

She sways on her feet and Trucy takes her by the elbow and helps lower her to sit on the ground, and Apollo does what is starting to become a habit in these sort of situations – which are becoming habitual in themselves – and rushes in, pocketing a charm that Jinxie throws at him as he goes.

The scene is a small room Jinxie called the Fox Chamber, up the entry stairs and down the hall to the right, and there, one thing is certain: the alderman is dead.

-

A classic locked room murder mystery: two men, one dead, the other unconscious, no one else seen when Jinxie discovered the crime. The killer? Obvious, seemingly: the unfortunate unconscious man, whose murder plan clearly ran into a hitch when it came time to get away, and for motive who happens to be the mayor of the neighboring town currently disputing over municipal issues with the dead alderman.

Except the mayor is Jinxie’s father, and if he goes to jail she has no other family, and she’s adamant that Tenma Taro did the killing, and the last locked-room murder case that Apollo defended ended up not being one at all. So, classic setup, maybe, never the obvious solution, and Apollo’s record of stumbling into complex cases while he’s trying to do something law-unrelated with Trucy continues. Is it her? Is it him? Is it them both, together? He can only write so much off as coincidence.

And he wishes he could write off Jinxie’s ramblings as those of a superstitious girl scared witless by the feathers and bloody footprints at the crime scene, and maybe once he could have, maybe this time last year, but he’s seen too much since then. If a monster, a yokai – are they connected to the fae? They must be. Isn’t everything? – murdered the alderman, then the question becomes: how does he prove it? How does he convince the judge and prosecution of it?

He should start with asking Mayor Tenma what happened, first.

Trucy tells him that the mayor can seem scary, but he’s nice, really, promise not to run away, Polly. His nerves would be frayed enough without it, but her warning snaps several more of the barely-connected threads, and like a self-fulfilling prophecy, he’s jumpy and nearly flees the room, sheet of glass between them or no. Mayor Tenma is very good at setting some very bad impressions, loudly, with great force, giving Apollo’s heart time enough to stop several times before the mayor corrects the misconception. It’s a very anxiety-inducing interview, and the facts he gleans from it are worse: Mayor Tenma’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon, and he, asleep from being drugged, remembers nothing, including who was it that hit him on the head. Apollo can’t see the wound or a bandage; the mayor’s entire scalp is covered in Jinxie’s warding charms, as though to make a full hat. Does he believe, or is he humoring his daughter? Apollo doesn’t ask.

He has barely left the building when he receives a phone call from the last person he expects. “Mr Wright? What’s going on?”

“Trucy tells me you’ve found yourself a case over in Nine-Tails Vale.” No preamble, no small talk: Phoenix, friendly as ever.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Are you still at the Vale right now?”

“No, I was just talking to the client at the detention center. Why?”

Phoenix sighs heavily. “Because I’m at the airport, picking up the new addition to the Agency – Athena Cykes, Trucy’s mentioned her to you before? And I mentioned your case, and that was it, no stopping her, Athena ditched me with her luggage and took the rental car and is heading out to help you right now.”

“She – you what? She what?” Apollo won’t say that he doesn’t feel some small sense of satisfaction at Phoenix having to suffer someone else flaking on him, but what an impression to make on your new boss.

(Almost as good as punching him in the face.)

“So I need a favor, basically: can you go back to Nine-Tails Vale and intercept her?”

“I—” Once again, the way this day is going takes a sharp turn off the road. “Yeah, I can. But I’ve never met her – what’s she look like?”

“Yellow,” Phoenix says.

“What?”

“She’s got long red hair, and the way you’re red, she’s yellow. Hard to miss with how much energy she’s got.” The description is somehow both vague and incredibly specific – he can’t exactly picture Miss Cykes in his head, but he knows he won’t mistake anyone else for her when he finds her.

“Okay. I can do that. I have to go back anyway to check out the crime scene.” Did he say that Athena had a rental car? He can only dream of how convenient that will be once he gets to her.

“Cool, thanks. Good luck with the case – and with the Vale.”

So much for putting himself at ease convincing himself that it was just a man in a costume, and that there’s some sort of easy explanation for the feathers. (Or not an easy explanation, because saying that Tenma Taro passed through is very easy, but a mundane one.) “What does that mean? Mr Wright?” He doesn’t answer right away, giving Apollo’s stomach enough time to flip over itself and then squish his heart up into his throat. “The stuff Trucy was saying about wrestling, with the yokai and the masks and uh, channeling them? Or whatever it is – that’s not – that’s just the story on the show, right? That’s not…?”

“Not actually real? For most of them, it’s not, no; no magic in the mask but television magic and a tall tale to keep the audience.”

“But – most of them. You said for most of them? So for some of them it is real?”

“Yeah.”

Apollo wants to sink down to the sidewalk and cry. Or scream. Definitely scream, right here next to a police building where they can arrest him for disturbing the peace very easily.

“I can say with certainty that if any spirits involved were actually powerful and smart enough to be malicious, they wouldn’t be stooping to playing a part in half-scripted on-camera fights between half-naked men. Maybe it’ll be a nuisance to your case, at worst, but no threat to anyone’s lives or souls.”

Apollo wishes he could believe that wholeheartedly, and that he could say for sure that Phoenix’s definition of nuisance is something close to his own. “If you don’t get the Not Guilty tomorrow, when you head back up to investigate again, I’ll let you borrow the magatama,” Phoenix adds. “Just so you can really keep an eye on everything, if it’s needed.”

He thinks there will be a second day – that if Apollo doesn’t win in one, then he will have kept his head above water well enough to drag it out. He doesn’t expect Apollo to lose in a day. He thinks Apollo could win in a day.

“Thanks, Mr Wright.”

“No problem. Now you’ve gotta find Athena, and I’ve gotta figure out how to lug her suitcase home.”

Athena, Athena – what else has Trucy told him about her? She was studying in Europe – did she grow up there, too? Does she know what Los Angeles is like? Will she think him superstitious or ridiculous for everything he knows to be real? Does she know what she is walking into in Nine-Tails Vale? Did Phoenix warn her?

Apollo starts walking quicker than before. Of course Phoenix wouldn’t warn her – but hell, to be charitable to Phoenix (for once), he might not have had time to say anything to her before she took off.

If, against his own nature and his lived experience, he tries to be optimistic, he hopes for three things. First, that everyone involved in the murder his plainly human and that no monster committed murder. (That seems the most likely: would a monster know to plant the mayor’s fingerprints?) Second, that Athena has enough sense to be cautious about whatever village folklore they’re stumbling into instead of immediately dismissing it. And third, if he’s really dreaming, that Klavier will be the prosecutor on this case, easily able to identify who is and isn’t human and probably willing to share it.

But Apollo knows that’s all a little much to hope.

[elsewhereuniversity]

To Be Favored (Part 3)

The first month went by without incident. The third week of school there was a sale, put on by the Metalworking club (which I had thought to be an odd club to exist, but it all makes sense now). They sold iron rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings and even piercings (not done by the school itself of course). It had seemed like the school had encouraged it, seeing as most, if not all the professors, were offering a bit of extra credit if the students showed proof of purchase, and the jewelry was unrealistically cheap. The club set up tents, and some of the pieces were beautifully crafted. Some were plain, others inlaid with (probably fake) gems, turquoise and diamonds. I went with Vector and I bought a few rings, studded with small pieces of ruby, and a necklace of iron chain that a clear crystal hung from.

When I asked Azriel why she hadn’t bought any, she explained that she much preferred gold over iron, and that it looked better on her anyway.

——

The first student was Taken in my second month of university.

He had been in my Intro to Environmental Engineering class. He hadn’t shown up for a few days, but I assumed he was simply sick. I hadn’t known him that well. The teacher would call his name and subsequently mark him absent, for the first few days. Then, after a week and a half, when it came time to call his name, he would pause for a moment before completely skipping it. At the time, I figured he had run away, or just dropped out. There was no bulletin for him, no announcement of death or speech by the Dean. It was as if he had stopped existing altogether. People had said he was killed, attacked by an animal, that his mother had died and he had to return home, even that he had decided to do porn instead of school (he had been very attractive, but come on).

He had gone by Michael, which I assume was his real name. Knowing what I know now, he was not one of the Smart Ones.

——

I hadn’t believed it at first, as I’m sure many hadn’t. In Them. The Gentry. The Fair Folk. But slowly, I had seen things that faded my disbelief.

For example, I had never been able to study in my room- and so I went somewhere I shouldn’t have. The Library. But, I was cautious- I took the trek in full daylight, arms pressed to my chest as I approached the drowsy building. I hadn’t come near it since my initial meeting with it, three months ago. As I stepped near its pillars I felt myself grow heavy, and I caught the quivering shadow behind the windowpanes of the door once again. I was too scared to go in until a boy walked out of the building, carrying a few books in his arms. He seemed completely unaffected by whatever I thought existed behind that door. He walked away unharmed. I pushed away whatever fears I had and walked towards the door, clinging to the handle for a moment before I swung it open.

I was faced with a completely normal library. Low lighting, maybe, but it smelled and looked familiar. There weren’t many people at the desks yet, but there was a librarian busily tidying books behind the desk. It was all so very mundane. I rolled my eyes at myself, and continued on my path through the stacks.

Time had passed so…oddly, in the library. I had found a desk in a fairly secluded area, and set up with my textbooks. The first hour had been fine, but time after that didn’t seem to flow as it normally did. After an hour and a half I had become so tired it was hard to focus-and I had made sure to drink plenty of caffeine beforehand. But, sleep never came. I flipped page after page, scribbling down notes with half-lidded eyes, until I had gone through 8 chapters of the textbook. My exam had only been over the first 4. Upon noticing this, I pulled my phone from my bag to check the time- surely to go through 8 relatively dense chapters would have taken hours. Time must have slipped by me. But it was dead. It had been on full charge when I had left my room.

I took a deep breath and furrowed my brows before slowly packing my things away. I had realized I had no idea what time it was- no clue as to how much time had passed or how exactly I had gone through 8 chapters. As I passed by the desk, I saw the librarian again, still sorting through books.

“Excuse me,” I had asked. I cleared my voice- my mouth was dry and my throat was drier. I had become suddenly aware of my intense thirst. “Can you tell me what time it is?”

She looked up at me. Her eyes were a shade of green I had never seen before. She was maybe mid-30’s, jet black hair tied in a bun. Her lips were thin, and the outside corners of her ears seemed sharper than normal.

“The time, please.” I repeated, voice croaking.

She sighed visibly and took irritated steps to a computer that sat at the desk. “You students should know the rules of the library by now. Either get an adjusted Iron-Watch from Cat-Eyes or run the risk of opening the door to a world you weren’t in before.” She said the words as she typed furiously on the computer, eyes trained on the screen.

“…Excuse me?” I asked, completely dumbfounded. She stopped her typing for a moment, darting her eyes at me.

“You’re a freshman, aren’t you?” She had asked.

“Uh-yes. I am.”

Her face had softened a little, and for a moment I thought I had seen her eyes flicker to a bright golden color. Then I blinked, and they were back to normal.

“Here. Take this.” She said, pulling out a pamphlet from the desk and holding it out in the air in front of her. I was a few steps away from her, and in my groggy state it took a moment for me to process what she wanted. She shook the paper at me, a non-verbal “hurry up” and I took a few quick steps towards her, taking the rather thick pamphlet. It was dark blue and titled “Library Services at Elsewhere University: A Guide and Compendium.” She went back to typing.

“Don’t read it now, but know that time is never promised here. Quick things though: avoid the seventh floor unless you are willing to risk the consequences. If a book is overdue, you can pay by cash, check, or by having blood drawn at the monthly blood donations. We don’t take credit cards. Keep your iron on you. Don’t write your name in any of the borrowing ledgers you might see. We don’t actually own any ledger books, all of our borrowing records are digital, so if you do, whatever happens is on you. If you hear singing, don’t follow it. If you hear a group of people far away, speaking in whispers in a language that sounds like Swedish, don’t follow it. If you hear a voice whispering your name, follow it if you wish, but no that we do not take liability for items, belongings, limbs, or personalities that are lost as a result. It will be easy to lose track of time in the languages section. The Slavic language section is particularly ruthless.” She was still typing as she spoke, and continued to do so after she finished, for at least five minutes more. I wanted to ask what anything she had said meant, but I was so tired. I just wanted to know the time.

“Is it… is it hard to find the time on that computer?”

“Calculations must be made accordingly.” She said matter-of-factly. After a few more moments and final flourishing click, she smiled softly. “Lucky for you, we’re still in the same day. Can’t say that happens for everyone. The time is 2:37 pm. Have a nice day.” With that, she stood and walked back to her books.  

I thought for a moment. I had left my dorm at 2 pm sharp. How had I gone through eight chapters in 30 minutes? I stood considering it for a few more moments and walked away, slowly.

When I stepped into the sun, my lethargy dissipated. I was ravenous though, as if it truly had been hours since my last meal, instead of only 30 minutes. My stomach growled audibly.

I needed to go home.

——

Vector and I began to talk about the “Fair Folk” on campus that we had been hearing about. They called them other things- Fae, The Gentry, The Court. She was a stern disbeliever, and laughed at it all. I wish I had been as stubborn as her.

——

The first One I met was Jimothy. His gentle nature had been a blessing.

It had been almost dusk, and I was leaving the engineering building from a group project. I took a path I don’t usually take, but one that was still in the full light of the setting sun. It took me past a small courtyard populated by small trees that casted sparse shadows on the ground. Usually, there weren’t many people there, so I didn’t pay it much mind. But this time, there was a crowd of people in one of the corners of the courtyard. I stopped my hurried strides to look at what the commotion was about.

Something dark was in the corner, something large and black. There were students around it, laughing. They seemed happy. Curious, I took a few steps closer, until I was on the outside ring of people.

Once I had seen it clearly, I was much too frozen to scream.

It was a monster, is all I could call it back then. Now I know that while Jimothy may appear terrifying, he’s the farthest thing from a monster. Many humans are more monstrous than he is. But I didn’t know these things at the time.

He was big. And his spine was exactly that- jet black bones set in a sickening curve, held together by who-knows-what. The spine led to a pair of monstrously large things that seemed to be hooves. It’s body looked like it was made of stretched leather, a clear imprint of ribs where it’s chest should have been. It stood on all fours, it’s hooves and two long, thin arms that spindled into even thinner claws. It had a neck that was impossibly curved, and it led to a bald head that was completely devoid of eyes. It did have a mouth though, a yawning gaping maw that housed, from what I could see then, several rows of glistening, white canines. Even with all this, the most curious thing I saw was an abundance of what looked to beads that hung from his neck and around his claw-hands.

I saw a kid at the front hang some beads in front of the creature’s face. How the thing saw it, I didn’t know, but slowly, it raised one of its claws and plucked the beads from the student’s outstretched hands. It seemed to inspect them for a moment before it lifted them above its head and let it drop around neck, along with the others. It then reached inside of its own mouth and plucked away a tooth with the utmost ease, handing it to the kid who had given the beads.

“Thanks Jim!” The student had said, content. I stayed long enough to watch the process happen twice more, disbelief in my eyes, fear written in my throat. Then, with one quick movement, I turned and ran, all the way back to my dorm. I did not stop to breathe, or think, or talk.

I didn’t even stop long enough to see the three crows perched in a tree of the courtyard.

————–

“You saw one of them, didn’t you.” I heard Azriel’s voice say. I had returned to an empty room and pushed myself to my bed, face in the pillow, and hadn’t moved since. She had come into a dark room and hadn’t bothered to turn the lights back on.

I didn’t respond.

“Was it Jimothy? Big black thing, sharp teeth? Loves beads? He’s one of the only ones I can think of that would come out in such broad daylight.”

I lifted my head slightly to look at her. I looked a mess- hair tangled in front of my face, eyes red from the tears I had cried, shaking. “You know about them? They’re real?”

I saw her nod slowly.

“How?”

“I uh, had a brother that went here. He was Involved. More than he should have been. He taught me a lot.”

“In-involved? In what? Like, clubs?”

She smiled slightly, and I her eyes changed colors for a long time. I hadn’t doubted myself that time. I knew what I had seen. I didn’t bring it up though.

“Áurea, we have a lot to talk about.”

——

Halfway into the semester, I knew the Gentry. By then, I had mustered up the courage and traded beads with Jimothy. I had stumbled upon and subsequently avoided Anna Monday. I knew about the creature underneath the condemned building. I carried salt and sweets on my body at all times, and though I hadn’t had a reason to use it, I kept my iron on at all times. I was determined to not become Involved. Azriel and I had grown closer since that night- and I knew there was something off about her. Something not right. Something Else. I felt safe, though.

That would not be so for long.

-Oliver Scales 

[helenaveee]

Against All Odds Pt.1

Against All Odds ~ACOTAR FIC~

--->Link to Part 2<---

Feysand’s heir Estrella goes on an adventure to find out what is pulling her south toward the forbidden  Spring Court.  Andras, Tamlins youngest son has been having dreams of the night sky for weeks. It is only when he decides to venture out of his comfort zone that he realizes there is a larger meaning behind those dreams and that he will do anything to find it.

THE BEGINNING

*Estrella* I had heard the tale a million times. The War of Courts, Hybern and his armies, Vassa and birds made of flames. Ships that bore the names of my family and creatures so feared that even the dark ran from them. Yet, I felt as though it was so far away, so much time had passed and these stories became watered down versions of the truth. My mother never talked about what happened to her under the Mountain. She never included those memories in her re-telling. I’d heard the whispers though. Everyone still remembered her bravery. Everyone still called her The Cursebreaker. My father looks at her with such pride, such adoration that I can only wonder what led to their pairing. It feels like an entire chapter of their lives was swept away, dust under the rug. I cannot explain the feeling.. but something from their past is calling to me. It’s a warm breeze caressing my cheek, a whisper in the wind, the sweet scent of a flower I cannot ever recall smelling. It’s pulling me somewhere foreign and yet familiar. It’s pulling me into Spring.

-Andras-

It was the same dream I’d been having for a while. The North Star glimmering in the night sky amidst a myriad of colors. Hues of periwinkle, deep blues and greens dancing behind it. The moon resting just under the star like a great shining eye, beckoning me forward. I take a step and feel my feet snag on something with thorns. Red roses creep up above my knees and twine their stems around my wrists. The panic sets in almost immediately and I’m overcome with a feeling of dispair. I must follow the North Star, I need to know why it is drawing me forth into the night. More vines come slithering out of the earth, pinning me in place. There is nothing I can do, no amount of struggle or screaming will loosen their grip. The colors in the sky start to fade into grey, the Star fades too. All that is left is me and the moon. For a moment I am still; defeated and weak. I hear it then, a howling of defiance. A wolf in the distance, silhouetted against the moon itself. It cries out into the void louder and louder, building into crescendo that rattles the stars back into the sky. It is only then that the realization hits. I am the wolf. I am shepherd to The North Star and I will howl until it finds it’s way out of the dark and back to me.

                              *Estrella*

They say I take after my father in looks and my mother in temperament. With my inky hair, dark complexion and mischievous smile you’d think us twins. There weren’t a lot of features I inherited from my mother except the smattering of freckles on my cheeks and the ring of blue-grey in my otherwise violet colored eyes. Oh, and the bits of power from every court in Prythian. The gift willingly given to save my mothers life just so happened to be the gift that kept on giving. I couldn’t summon the full extent of their powers but some abilities were quite useful even at a trickle of their strength. At the present moment, I could kiss the feet of High Lord Tarquin for bestowing us with water manipulation.

It was an unseasonably hot night in Velaris and Ritas was filled to the brim with writhing bodies. Music filled the air making my pulse jump and my head swim. Well, I do suppose my head was also swimming thanks to the generous helpings of sweet red wine being offered left and right. Swimming… my head was swimming… Oh, yes, thank the cauldron. I summoned water from my fingertips and filled a goblet to the brim, the liquid dripping down my face as I took it in three large gulps. I was filling my second glass when a chill crept up my neck and nipped my nose. It could only mean one thing. I turned around and was greeted by the loudest squeal I had ever heard followed by a bone crushing hug.

“ ESTRELLAAAA! Thank the mother I am SO happy to see you. Mor and Selene are driving me mad! They won’t stop telling stories of their adventures in Cretea after the wedding and if I have to hear one of those tales again my brain will quite literally melt.”

“It’s lovely to see you too cousin and I am happy to rescue you but could you please do me a favor?”

I pointed at my glass of now warm water and put on a soppy frown. Cohl was heir to The Winter Court and could summon ice in the blink of an eye and so he did, effectively turning my bathwater goblet into a refreshing ice slushy. I could only muster a few snowflakes on a good day.

“Can we please get out of here, I’m staying at the House of Wind and could use some help navigating. Your roads always confuse me. They all look so different.”

I scoffed at his statement, recalling the image of The Winter Court into my mind. One giant snowball, not a variation of color in sight. No wonder he was lost in Velaris, this was practically a maze to him.

“Yes yes, let’s winnow out. Mor and Selene can make their own way back.”

And so we went, arm in arm into the night, giggling all the way home.  

**************************

In the early hours of the morning my eyes fluttered open. Something strange had stirred me awake. It was a sound.. not my name but something else. A howling…but was it? We didn’t have wolves here in the north. That was distinctly a southern region beast. I scrubbed at the sleep in my eyes and stumbled out of bed. My head immediately started to pound as I was not-so-kindly reminded of mine and Cohls detour to another tavern. We had caught up over flaming whiskey, a drink he had never tried and was indeed floored by, literally. After scraping him up off the ground, we half winnowed and half walked back to The House of Wind. A million steps later and here I was, in my mothers old quarters. Sometimes I felt like I couldn’t escape the shadow of my parents. They were everywhere. I stood, legs shaky as a newborn doe and walked to the terrace. The sky was beginning to turn colors; periwinkle, pinks and purples. I took in the sight of my home, the beauty of it and felt an unfamiliar tug at my heart. Then, out of nowhere, a warm breeze. It was both alluring and alarming, the way it wove itself in and out of my fingers, lifted my hair back from my face. It smelled of flowers and grass and earth. No, not flowers. A flower… one I had never smelled in my life. Before I could think on it any further the sensation was gone along with the breeze and smell. I lingered there for a moment longer then crawled back into bed, my head insisting on more sleep. As my eyes closed I had the vaguest feeling that I was not entirely alone. It did not scare me, not one bit.

                                  -Andras-

I woke with my heart slamming against my chest. For the love of the cauldron, was this really happening again? The same dream for a fortnight. Thorns, roses, wolves, stars and the moon. It was going to be the end of me any day now. The sun had not even peeked over the hills yet and I was wide awake. I turned my face into my pillow and let out a groan that could have woken half of Prythian. A moment later and I was rolling out of bed and headed into my bathing quarters. I chanced a look into the great golden vanity mirror, something I did not do often since the dreams started. The darkness under my eyes had gotten worse and my cheekbones had become more prominent. Even my hair was protesting. When had I last ran a comb through it? I could not recall. Anyway, what did it matter.. I wasn’t the son who needed to put on airs for anyone. That was my brother Hensel’s duty as first born heir to The Spring Court. I swiftly turned from my reflection and drew a bath. Once it was filled to the brim with suds, I stepped in, a great sigh of relief escaping my lips. Perhaps this would help me fall back to sleep. I only hoped that scrubbing my skin would in turn scrub away the images that haunted me every night. It didn’t.

Two hours later the manor woke. I could hear the maids preparing the decorations for Calanmai, an ancient ceremony that is held to signify the start of Spring. Another year, another ceremony, all the same. I’d have to be present for the revel even though it bored me half to death. Hensel on the other hand was more than excited to attend Calanmai. Being a High Lords heir had it’s advantages with the female and male fae alike. I was aware of his sneaking off into the stables to exchange “words” with his consorts. I couldn’t help but to laugh and turn my attentions elsewhere.. usually the magnificent spread of food on the tables. This year it would be more of the same.. always the same. Except this year my dreams had kept me awake for many many nights and I was in definite need of some sneaking and reveling.

____________________

“Hensel, Andras, you know what I expect of you in the coming days so please be on your best behavior. We have new guests coming in from villages all over the court and they will be enjoying the festivities with us for the first time. I do hope you will be most courteous and respectful to everyone. Hensel! for the love of the mother TAKE YOUR FEET OFF THE TABLE.”

I peeked under my curtain of dark hair to my brother on the opposite end of the table. His feet were indeed up and least surprising was the berry pressed between two toes, ready to eat. Hensel was the spitting image of our father; golden mane, eyes green as sprouting leaves and a shit eating grin that could rival that of The High Lord himself. Watching them both assert their dominance was like watching two great lions stare each other down. It never ended well. The only time our father wasn’t met with resistance from Hensel was during Calanmai, so to his great relief, my brother took his feet off the table. A lion recognizing that his next big feast depended on someone else.

“Andras darling, have you had a bath yet today? I could have one drawn for you at once if not.” My mother was the fiercest person I’d ever encountered but when it came to me she seemed to have a soft spot.

“I did have one earlier this morning… do I really look that bad?”

“You look like hell frozen over little prince” said Hensel, while tossing the berry I imagined was in between his toes onto my plate.

I threw the berry back, “ You might want to clip those talons from your feet before tonight or you’ll risk impaling one of our new guests.”

Hensel flashed me a less-than-savory gesture and I returned the favor. We grinned like fools for the rest of breakfast while our parents grilled us on proper etiquette for the nights to come.

*Estrella*

“ Amren, where exactly do wolves roam in Prythian? “

Amren slid her eyes up from the handful of jewels she had been polishing. I never called Amren anything but her name, although I suspected she’d be okay with me calling her Aunt if the feeling compelled me. Everyone in The Inner Circle was Aunt or Uncle to me.

“They are native to the southern courts.”

“I know that.. I just mean to ask where exactly..”

Amren cocked an eyebrow and said “ You know where. Your mother and father forbade me to speak of that court with you. Don’t think bringing me handfuls of jewels is going to soften me up child.”

I wrinkled my brows and stuck my tongue out at her. Immediately realizing the grave mistake I turned around and ran for my life. I had barely made it out the door before a ruby encrusted slipper flew past my ear.

**************************

“ Aunt Nesta, can I ask you a question about your life before you were made fae?”

My aunt was sitting in the library of the large treehouse her and my uncle Cassian had moved into together years ago. She sat barefoot, feet curled underneath her, scribbling in a volume of text that had strange markings on the pages. When she closed the book and turned her attention to me, I noticed the authors name… Nesta Archeron. She had become quite the scholar since being turned fae, particularly in ancient magic thanks to Amren having taught her years ago.

“ Yes, you may. No, I cannot tell you anything of your mothers time in the south.”

I sighed, “ That’s okay because this question has to do with when you lived in the mortal realm. Did you ever see any wolves? Hear them howling? I could have sworn I heard one the other night and it woke me from sleep. Have you ever heard of one traveling up this far north?”

My aunts eyes glazed over at the memory that was tugging her mind. She seemed very far away at that moment, lost in a time before now, nearly 20 years ago.

“I had not encountered the wolf until Feyre had brought back the pelt. It was a giant beast and she made good money for the furs. It all happened so suddenly, one moment we were sitting around a fire and next a monster comes bursting through our cottage door. We were all so frightened, the beast was demanding to know what happened to his wolf companion. It took me a few blinks to realize they had been High Fae-“

I must have looked eager for the information because she immediately snapped out of her daze and looked me square in the eyes.

“Wolves are dangerous creatures and you will not seek them out. Had it not been for the wolf in the forest that day we might all live very different lives. I’m happy here with Cassian and our family, but know that I have thought of my mortal life many times in the years and still yearn for it in some ways. Don’t be a fool Estrella.”

I thanked her for sharing that story with me, turned on my heel and winnowed back to the last place I’d heard the howling. My mothers quarters. On the terrace I made a vow that I’d find out what was tugging me south. Deep in my core I knew where the answers were.. I was going somewhere forbidden by my entire family. I was going into Spring... but not before enlisting a little help. {All character edits are done by me for this fan fiction} {All characters,places and events are inspired by the ACOTAR series written by Sarah J Maas. }