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achaotichuman · 7 months ago

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Kidnapped by the Faery Queen

TAMLIN WEEK IS HERE AND I AM HAPPY

This is for Day 1- Prompt: Human Tamlin.

For this one, I decided on writing an AU where Tamlin and Feyre's roles are reversed, Tamlin is the human mortal and Feyre is the High Lady.

This fic is mostly Tamlin making dumb decisions and feylin fluff at the end as well as banter between Tamlin & Lucien & Feyre! It focuses mostly on Tamlin's first impressions of the SC and the gang. It doesn't follow the canon events of what led Feyre to Tamlin because idk I wanted to write this instead.

You can read on Ao3, or below the cut!

There was something thundering in his chest, urging him faster and faster and faster. Rocketing through the woods. Passing by trees bending at the trunk like they might keel over. An archway created overhead that dappled the silvery light of the moon. Splashes across the snow like pearls of light. It was clear above, not a cloud to remove the paleness of the mood from the world.

It was dark and cold, and never-ending snow, but he had to run. He had to feel the crunch of grass blades hidden underneath blankets of undisturbed white. He had to feel his muscles ache and burn with warmth as the chill of the air caused his face to flush. Heart racing, an owl cried overhead, its song breaking through the silence of the air. Cutting through like a sewing needle piercing intricate strings of fabric.

He only looked up momentarily to see the flutter of soft wings darting from a tree branch through the air, before the animal was long gone from sight. He quickened his pace. Until he must have been a blur in between the tree trunks. Running with shadows, in the darkest parts of the woods. Deeper and deeper to the heart, he must have looked to be a part of the forest itself. Some indiscernible creature running as if for its life. A spooked deer, a bird flying low to the ground. A lost spirit running through the inbetween of the realms.

Something inhuman and ghastly. Something that children would see from the corner of their eyes and quickly grab their mother’s skirts whilst pointing in between the trees. Only to find the shadow they had seen was long gone.

Eventually he was forced to stop. Legs burning so much the fire seemed to consume his muscles. It was a miracle he was still standing as he hunched over and panted, hands on his knees, heart thundering behind his ribs. Breath fogging in the chilled air. Strands of his golden blond hair fell around his face. Quickly he brushed them behind his hood once more. The rough wool of his gloves harsh on his sensitive, flushed face.

Taking a slow step forward, Tamlin looked through the treelines. Adjusting his thick coat before pulling the bow strapped around him off his back, and drawing an arrow. Instincts telling him he was a fool, an idiot for coming so far out at this time. But he had to get away. The wind that pummelled against the frail glass of his shared bedroom window called to him. Singing his name like a prayer falling from a devout believer. He was helpless but to strap on his weapons, excitedly gathering his gear. Only sparing a second thought to quickly shut the window, lest he wake his older brothers who laid soundly asleep.

But now as he looked around at the dark woods, he realised how stupid he was to come out here tonight. In the cold, where he had nothing but the footprints he made to track his way back home. Even that could quickly be eliminated by more snowfall.

There was a sudden noise from behind him, the sound of a crunch, like a foot on a stick.

Tamlin whipped around, drawing his arrow. Heart racing and preparing to duck for cover.

“Oh.” He whispered into the soft night.

A stag stared at him curiously. It’s beady black eyes shining in the pale light. The majestic antlers gracing its head stuck out in so many twining directions. It had one foot lifted above a broken twig. So still and watching.

Tamlin kept the arrow drawn. Never wavering and never lowering. His body stiller than a slingshot pulled back, ready to be fired. Like his muscles were elastic and stretched to the limit.

Then the stag…

Just turned its head, moving its feet finally, crushing the snow below it as it leisurely strolled back into the woods. Into the darkness and out of sight.

Tamlin’s eyes rolled as he lowered his bow, huffing. Puffs of white clouded in front of his face and he stomped the snow, digging into it until he saw blades of icy green, black in the little light. He must be truly going insane.

Lost to the sensations of cold nighttime, he left the cottage in favour of running blindly into a dangerous woods, where wolves lurked about in the dark hours of morning. He was stupid beyond comprehension. His mother must have dropped him as a child, because there was in no way that a normal person thought the wind called for them.

Unless..

Tamlin snapped up his bow again as a growl vibrated through the woods. Travelling through the air like claws reaching out. It echoed, as another growl joined it, followed by a third and a fourth.

They emerged from the darkness. With fur a dark grey that glimmered in the silvery light. Teether bared and eyes stoking flames. Four powerful wolves circled him slowly.

Tamlin was frozen in place. Muscles locked up as his body went into fight or flight mode. In a moment of utter terror, mind replaced entirely with fear. He ran.

It was a terrible decision, as then the wolves pounced.

Tamlin tried to duck down, screaming. Hoping someone equally as stupid as him had come out here during the night, hopefully with an axe or a mace. A large claw descended on him, and Tamlin screamed again as it slashed his abdomen. Blood poured from his stomach. Soaking his clothes. The four were on him, a pile of raw flesh for the taking. There was nothing he could do as he felt teeth sink into his arm, preparing to pierce flesh.

Then a roar more powerful than any of the snarling wolves shattered the night sky.

The large furred heads of the wolves jutted up, ears falling back, completely flat. The roar echoed again, similar to a snarled warning. They began to whimper and whine.

Then it appeared, and Tamlin felt all the blood drain from his face, nearly fainting on the spot.

Its fur completely white, with black spots covering its hide. Eyes yellow and gleaming. A jaw full of bone white teeth. Scraping black claws across the snow as it prowled forward. Snarling once more.

The wolves barked and whined, and fled. Leaving Tamlin a heap of bloodied human meat. He almost wished the wolves had finished him off, so he wouldn't be faced with the hulking beast walking slowly to him. Its pace taunting, knowing he had no way to get away from it. If he ran, it would catch him. There was no possible route that allowed his mortal legs to outrun this powerful creature.

Soon it was looming above him. Tamlin’s neck ached as he stretched his head up to keep eye contact with the creature. It cocked its head in an almost human manner, as if pondering something.

Only one thought ran through his head, and it just made the situation all the more terrifying.

This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae. This is a Fae.

It was undeniable. The creature was not mortal. It moved too gracefully. Was too pristine. Too big to be any kind of naturally occurring animal. This was a monster from the depths of the Faery lands. And it had crossed the border into these woods.

Horror coursed through his body as Tamlin thought that the calling from the wind was the Faery creature, he truly ran right into a trap.

“Please.” He begged weakly. Blood was rushing too quickly from his wounds. Splattering crimson across the pure white snow. A pattern of scarlet red. Something wet and horrible dripped down his face and Tamlin realised he was crying as he was faced with the terrible creature above him.

But it simply watched, making his fear grow, cold pressed into his body, as the wolves had torn his clothes and revealed skin to the freezing cold. For a moment Tamlin wondered if the monster would let him die first before feasting on his flesh. Faery cruelty. Maybe he would die from pure fear before the bleeding out could take him.

Black swirled in and out of his vision. Until his blinking was coming slower and longer. The beast just watched. Tamlin felt coldness spread up his back, neck and head. He had fallen back into the snow, his eyes could see nothing but darkness, silver and yellow eyes. Before they finally closed, tears dripping hot from the corner of his eyes.

I never said goodbye to anyone, he thought as darkness embraced him.

When he woke up, pain was spidering through his abdomen and arm. Lingering in his body and refusing to release him. He groaned loudly and shifted, trying to feel anything other than the horrid burning sensations in his skin. As he did, there was a flurry of whispering around him. He jolted almost immediately. Especially as he realised he was not in cold snow, but laying amongst the softest sheets he had ever felt.

Opening his blurry eyes he tried to take in his surroundings. First he saw a ceiling above him. Pure white, a large golden chandelier hanging in the centre, not lit as sunlight poured in through the large glass pane windows. Casting long shadows through the room. Tamlin tried to sit up, but his body would not part from the stinging pain that consumed him.

“He is awake, alert the High Lady.” A voice like silk whispered harshly from someone in the room.

“What?” He croaked out, voice rough from disuse, he grabbed the sheets in his hands, balling them in his fists. He was squirming as he tried to sit up.

“Hush child, you are safe.” That same silk voice murmured, now closer.

Tamlin managed to crane his neck to the side and there he saw the source of the voice.

He screamed.

Jumping up from the bed, the adrenaline briefing ridding him of the burning pain. He sat up quickly and scrambled away from the right side of the bed. As he stared and stared at the creature looking back at him with a sudden, shocked expression.

Tamlin fell off the side of the bed, onto a soft fluffy mat. He looked around quickly, hearing quick footsteps towards him. He tried to scramble under the bed, just to get away, but she was there again before he could hide.

“You…” His voice left him as he stared, and wondered if his sudden outburst would anger the undoubtedly Faery creature standing before him.

He swallowed hard, tears wetting his eyes, but he blinked them away the best he could. Trying to reach for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Instead, however, of being offended, the woman- or whatever she was- simply put a hand on her hip. Tilting her head to the side, causing wiry brown hair to fall down the side of her shoulder. Her bark-skinned shoulder.

Her skin looked rough to touch. Textured with some knots like in a trunk. As if carved from wood. Though her eyes were filled with life. She raised an eyebrow, causing the texture of her skin to shift as she did.

“I will not hurt you, human.” She said, gently but firmly. Like a mother coaxing a child to come to her.

Tamlin swallowed again, then managed to stammer out, “Why should I believe you, Faery?”

He spat the word with venom. Faeries were creatures that hunted, killed and tortured innocent humans for stupid crimes that could not be considered as such. Like walking into Faery rings, or accidentally getting involved with Faery deals.

She sighed heavily, chest rising and falling. Holding out a hand, she said, “Call me Alis, child.”

“Alis?” He repeated. Then cursed himself, he shouldn’t so much as speak to the creature before him. Yet he continued to stare at her.

She nodded, hand still held out, as if offering it. Tamlin bared his teeth and huddled further away, curling in on himself.

Her head shook and her length of hair shook with it. Turning away from the human man. She went for the door. Opening it up, Tamlin heard the sounds of shouting, crashing and swearing. He flinched hard and ducked further away from the door. Alis sighed lightly, then looked back over at him, “Someone will come soon to prepare you.”

“Prepare me-” Tamlin tried to ask, but before he could, she closed the door. As it clicked shut, Tamlin stared at the bronze handle. Then at the dark oak door itself, before looking around the room.

It was beautiful, that was for certain. All dark, polished wood, bronze and gold. The sheets of the bed were silk, emerald green and the curtains were sheer. The window closed.

Finally, on shaking legs, Tamlin stood, grunting as he grabbed the nearby nightstand for support as the burning pain returned in full. Though dulling as the seconds were by. When he touched his stomach where the slash had been, and found not only was he wearing a different set of clothes, but there was a bandage with some kind of salve over his skin.

Tamlin pulled at the new shirt. It was sleep wear, just a white shirt and soft green pants. He felt his entire body go completely red as he realized someone had undressed and redressed him.

What the fuck was this place? He wrapped his arms around himself, human instincts begging to run and find a place to hide.

Some kind of Faery world. Some kind of place he would no doubt be tortured or hunted for sport. As the stories all liked to go.

Slowly Tamlin sat down on the soft coverlet. Not quite sure where to go from here. What to do. Alis, if she had even given him her real name, said someone would come prepare him.

Prepare him for what?

Tamlin’s first thought was he was going to be turned into some kind of stew. His next thought was he would be dragged out for entertainment. Forced to dance on hot coals until he died or something like that. His toes curled and his body shook as terror seized him once more.

In a wave of energy and the need to get away, Tamlin stumbled for the large and, more importantly, unlocked, window. His bruised fingertips grappled with the frame for a moment before he managed to pull them open.

But when he looked over the edge, his eyes widened when he saw how far up he was from the ground. Far below him, gardens roamed the grounds. Large and spread out. Dappled with colours of all sorts and looking like chaos incarnate. Spread out like twisting, festering vines, roots and branches. With patches of sweet-smelling flowers hidden in between.

Tamlin tossed a look back over at the room. And decided a death by falling would be better than whatever the Faeries had in store for him. So with gritted teeth and while silently cursing his own stupidity. Tamlin leaped over the edge, grabbed onto a nearby ivy plant clinging to the wall and swung away from the window sill.

He swallowed a shout, and quickly found footing in the green netting like plant. Hands burning as he gripped the ivy. He began a quick descent. Even as the branches gave way under his hands, he moved as fast as he could so as to get away before anyone noticed his disappearance.

A cut, a cussing fit, and three new bruises later. The ivy gave out underneath him and Tamlin thumped to the ground with another hissed curse. Luckily he hadn’t been more than three feet off the ground.

Groaning quietly as he picked himself off the floor. Tamlin dusted his shirt from the dirt and wiped as much of the mud smeared on his cheek off as possible. Finally he got to his wobbling legs and looked around.

The gardens looked more like a labyrinth than gardens. Winding around and around, with walls of bushes and large trees bent over like they couldn’t handle standing straight. Moss collected on rocks and stone made pathways through the maze of sweet smelling lands.

It was Springtime.

But they had just been in winter. Spring wasn’t for yet another month.

Another Faery trick. Some kind of magic he wanted no part of. Tamlin snarled at the lily of the valley near him, as if they were directly responsible for him being in Faery territory.

A trick of some sort, to lead him to a trap. Tamlin squeezed his hands into fists and began to walk silently through the gardens. Treading carefully and making absolutely sure he would not break so much as a twig underfoot. His heart thumped behind his rips, rocketing through his body, pulsing in time with each step.

Soon, he turned a corner and was met with a sight more lovely than he had ever seen before.

A courtyard of some kind. Flowing fountains, and trimmed hedges lined the grounds. He saw the extent of the… mansion he had been taken to. Carved from marble and stone. Detailed carefully and so much larger than any house he had ever seen. Tamlin baulked at the sheer size of the place he was in. Everything seemed so much bigger than him, reducing him to the comparable size of an ant.

He nearly stumbled back, but was pulled back into where he was and the danger he was in. Tamlin’s mouth pulled into a snarl and he quickly ducked away from the open area, hiding in between bushes and trees and winding through the rest of the gardens. Trying to find some way out of here.

He found that the grounds were so large and trying to find his way out of them was like being trapped in a maze. As it was he wound up in some kind of small woods. Large tall oaks loomed above him, but he could still smell the pollen behind him, and didn’t know whether he had left the grounds or these woods were still part of the mansion.

Tamlin ignored the knots twisting tighter and tighter in his stomach as he marched forward in the general direction of South, (or what he hoped was South). He ignored the chill that spread over his skin, making his mind beg to turn back. He kept going further and further and further, until it was looking dark above, maybe that was the thick brush getting thicker and thicker as he went.

It was nerves he told himself, not real, just flight or fight making him jumpy.

But as he went further, he could have sworn something like a finger brushed his shoulder. Tamlin leapt away with a shout. Brushing off his clothes like he was trying tog et rid of a bug. His body kept washing over and over with fear so intense it paralysed him. Shaking, stumbling back he scanned the world but saw nothing at all.

Nothing, it was nothing, just nerves or a bug that had fallen on him. It had to be, there was nothing else out here.

Still he picked up the pace, going faster and faster and faster until he broke out into a sprint, heading further and further into the dark forest. Running for his life, trying to reach the border, to get back to his family, to his world. Not this place. Anywhere but this terrifying place.

Then more chills fell down his spine, rolling through his like waves lapping at a sandy shore. Tamlin stumbled but kept running, not turning back, not looking back for a single second.

Something like a hand reached out, brushing his hair and shoulder, wrapping around his neck. A scream curled in his throat and he grabbed a branch as he ran, tearing it away and keeping it like a sword at his side. Still whatever was behind him started to whisper. Cruel cold words he didn’t understand but knew anyway, threats, promises of eating him alive.

A roar, a roar that he remembered from the night, however long ago it was, he had been kidnapped.

It rattled the ground, Tamlin fell to the floor, scraping his knees and elbows, but not caring as the land shuddered. The trees around him seemed to bend to the sound. Whatever had shattered the sky once more had power here and it rippled through the world.

All at once the whispering ceased, and a shriek of terror and pain ripped through the world. Tamlin hid under a large root and curled in on himself, hiding away, not daring to even breath loud.

In a second it was over, and silence filled the air once more. But only for a single second, before a low growl tore the ground and footsteps followed, getting closer, and closer, and closer.

He didn’t have many options. None at all really.

Tamlin clung to the stick he had grabbed, and as a huff of warm air from around the shelter of the root breathed over him. A rush of adrenaline fueled his body.

Tamlin leapt up from underneath the root, with barely a second to spare he pulled the stick and launched it at the creature with all the might in his body.

It hit the beast’s jaw with a thud, followed by a roar of pain from the creature as it stumbled back, reeling from the hit.

Tamlin took no time in pondering how he had just signed his death warrant. Instead he took off through the woods. Rocketing through at lightning speeds, desperately forcing his way through the brush. The beast shouted a battle cry once more as it raced after him. He could hear it pounding behind him on all fours.

He was prey in a trap, little more than game to be hunted.

Tamlin ran faster and faster and faster-

He smacked into a very hard, very solid form and fell back on the ground.

Reeling with dizziness. Tamlin forced his way up, thinking he had hit a tree.

The idea he smacked into a tree was quickly shattered as a sly voice crooned from above him, “Well isn’t this interesting? We were looking for you, little fawn, and here you are running right back to us.”

Tamlin forced his eyes up and his eyes went wide. A tall man grinned wickedly down at him, dark skin gleaming in the sunlight above, red hair spilling down his back and shoulders like waves of scarlet. His face was half covered by a gilded fox-shaped mask. Underneath a scar over his right eye was plain to see, inside the eye socket instead of a normal eyeball, was instead a golden contraption that mimicked his other eye.

It seemed the tree he had hit was the man’s chest. Tamlin felt himself go very red, then white as he saw the long pointed ears sticking out from in amongst the locks of crimson.

He scrambled back, but the fox masked man just raised an eyebrow, “Don’t run away again, little fawn, it won’t go well for you.”

Tamlin snarled as he got to his feet and pulled up his stick with him, holding it like a sword, “Get the fuck away from me.”

Little fawn, they were matched in height, granted Tamlin hadn’t eaten a full meal in who knew how long so they weren’t quite matched in build. But Tamlin had never been a man to look down upon.

Except this creature wasn’t man. Rather Faery creature.

Tamlin tried not to let his fear show.

However, the Faery seemed less inclined to toy with him, instead turning his eyes to something behind Tamlin, “Feyre! I found your wayward doe, ran right to me.”

Tamlin went completely still as heavy footsteps thundered behind him. The beast, he had forgotten about the beast.

Tamlin bared a glance over his shoulder and there it stood. As terrifying and horrible as when he had seen it scare away those wolves from tearing him to shreds. It was so, so much bigger than him. With those glinting yellow eyes that glared down at them.

Tamlin felt like passing out. But held his ground as he tried to step away, to get away.

But he hit the Faery behind him again, and quickly reeled away. The fox-masked man cackled, and Tamlin kept looking in between the beast and the Faery.

Caught between a rock and hard place, with no escape.

Shit.

In a split second, as Tamlin considered just making a break and running for it. There was a sudden glow of gold, a brightness that had Tamlin shielding his eyes, it was gone in a moment, and suddenly he heard quieter steps coming toward him.

“Yes, yes, an applause for you Lucien.” A snarky voice quipped.

“I do try,” The fox-masked man, Lucien, said.

Tamlin, however, did not look at Lucien, supposedly, behind him as his eyes went astronomically wide as he saw who now replaced the form of the beast.

In the glow, fur had turned to skin and horns had disappeared. Paws were now hands and yellow eyes had turned to blue ones.

A woman stepped out towards him. In a green tunic with a quiver of arrows on her back, as well as a bow. Her boots thudded against the ground, and her braid of brown hair slung over her shoulder. Her eyes were cold as she walked towards him. Face half hidden, like Lucien, by a mask. This mask however, was gilded gold and shaped like the face of the beast. Her eyes kept glancing at the stick in his hand, a drop of blood welled on her jaw, the small scratch quickly beginning to heal itself.

It seemed Lucien caught quickly on to why the stick was in Tamlin’s hand and why the female Faery had a slight scratch on her jaw a sudden cackle was torn from him, “Oh, the human got you in the jaw, Feyre? Isn’t that something Alis will be dying to hear of.”

“Quiet Lucien,” Feyre, the beast, said, narrowing her eyes in a predatory way.

“But it’s so much fun to speak.” Lucien said.

Feyre ignored him as her eyes went back to Tamlin, “You escaped your rooms, how?”

Tamlin snarled, and lifted the stick again like he might try to strike her and run. His mother had driven it into him to never hit girls, but his brothers had driven it into him to give back what people gave him.

And in this moment, he thought killing a Faery in order to escape a kidnapping sounded pretty even for what they had given him.

“Feisty eh?” Lucien crooned.

Feyre let out a slow release of breath through her nose, then her eyes turned back to Lucien, “Take him back to Rosehall, have the servants prepare him for supper.”

So they were going to turn him into stew.

“Now, little fawn, no need to go so pale, no one will be eating you.” Lucien said as he prowled around to face Tamlin, practically reading the thoughts going through his head. Lucien then looked him up and down slowly before adding, “Not in that regard at least.”

“Don’t be crass.” Feyre chided, waving her hand, “I’ve had enough of hide and go seek, take him back and lock the windows this time.”

“Wait-” Tamlin started, but Lucien just rolled his eyes at Feyre and grabbed his arm. Tamlin tried to reef it away, but all of a sudden he was swept into darkness.

It felt like he was falling through flames, through dark flames that wouldn't burn him. It only happened for a few seconds before his knees hit wood and he looked around to find himself back in the room he had woken up in. Lucien was standing above him as Tamlin tried to catch his breath after having it stolen from his lungs.

“Get him dressed… and somewhat clean.” Lucien ordered someone in the room.

“Yes my lord,” A male voice responded. Tamlin looked up to see a sweet-faced boy with blue skin and fluttering wings. He had long black hair and black eyes. Despite the terrifying Faery features, he seemed gentle and kind.

“Good, have him ready in fifteen minutes, sundown approaches.” Lucien started to head for the door.

“Stop!” Tamlin shouted, causing the red-head to look back over his shoulder.

“Where am I?” Tamlin asked, needing to know, to have some idea.

Lucien gave a small smirk, “Why you’re in Prythian, little fawn, welcome to the Spring Court.”

Without another word, he opened the door and closed it behind him.

Tamlin looked up at the Faery servant, who smiled gently.

Tamlin met the gesture with a growl.

In hindsight, he made the poor man’s life so much harder than it needed to be. But either he expected it, or was used to it, as whenever Tamlin refused to cooperate, it was met with indifference and repetition of whatever order he had been given. Whether that be to take off his shirt, sit still for his hair to be brushed, or to even get into the sweet-smelling bathwater.

He felt a little like an obstinate toddler, but for the Gods sakes, they had kidnapped him. Who in their right mind thought he, of all the people in the world, would go along with this easily?

The blue Faery only said they had all night whenever Tamlin sat on the floor and glared at the wall. Tamlin reminded him with a snappy tone that they only had fifteen minutes, his words were met with silence, which only served to anger him further.

Somehow, through patience and a lot of counting to ten, the blue Faery had him clean and sitting at a vanity, glaring at him through the mirror as his nimble finger braided his unruly blond hair into a long braid.

“You know I was forced here too.” The blue Faery said. At that Tamlin blinked suddenly.

“What?”

“I come from another land, another Court. The Court of Summer. I was forced to leave when my village was struck. The bandits that plundered my father’s house killed every living person, but missed me as I escaped through the window with my sister.”

“Oh.” Tamlin said, not really knowing how to react.

“Mm,” he hummed, “We had not a mark on us. We didn’t know where we were going. Our village was the closest to Spring, we accidently crossed over here, into the Spring Court and had no choice but to go further in, hunger pushed us, and my sister died on the walk through the woods.”

“I…” Tamlin suddenly felt incredibly guilty for the way he had been acting, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I carried her all the way through Spring, until eventually the High Lady found me whilst she was patrolling with sentries. Her majesty, bless her reign, took me in and gave me a job in her household. My sister had a proper burial and I have lived here ever since.”

Tamlin fiddled with his fingers. Watching the Faery behind him as his fingers began to weave daises through the braid, “That must have been… scary.”

“It was, I didn’t like being here at first, even though I was just met with kindness. I snapped at a lot of people and worked as alone as I could. But after long enough I grew to love my new position. And I am thankful to the Lady for rescuing me.”

“That’s… that’s good.”

He smiled into the mirror, “Did you have any family?”

Did, as if they were dead, gone, as if he would never see them again.

He supposed he wouldn’t. Not now that he is here.

Not that the family he did have were much of a family.

“Sort of.” Tamlin mumbled, “My two older brothers and my father.”

He nodded, “I see.”

The Faery looked at him as if he expected Tamlin to continue, when Tamlin just stared back blankly he looked back down at the braid he was making. Tamlin cast his eyes down to his rough fingers, scarred from times he had nicked the skin with arrows.

“There.” He eventually said, “All ready.”

Tamlin looked at his reflection, and barely recognised it.

His skin was clean and gleaming with hydration from the obscene amount of creams and oils the Faery had forcibly rubbed into his body. His hair was for once, untangled and smooth, braided nicely with some curls peeking out. His hair was curly from his mother’s side, whilst he had his father’s pale complexion. He inherited the impossible curls from his mother.

The clothes he wore weren’t stained or torn, rather pressed. A white shirt and green waistcoat with golden detailing. Brown trousers, with shiny dark brown, leather shoes. All of it worth more than his brothers would say he was worth. Though his brothers liked to say if they sold him for two marks, someone would bargain for lower.

“It's time to go.” The blue Faery said, waving him up from the vanity. This time, Tamlin stood with no complaints, which the Faery seemed to be pleased with.

“What’s your name?” Tamlin found himself asking. Mentally slapping himself.

“Tain.” He replied, “Yours?”

“Tamlin.” Tamlin murmured.

“A pleasure to serve you, Tamlin.” Tain said, bowing his head.

“A pleasure to meet you, Tain.” Tamlin replied, awkwardly bowing his head, not quite sure what to do.

Tain quickly took him to leave the room. Opening the creaking door Tamlin saw the glorious extent of the interior of the manor.

It was all gilded and polished and glowing. Large windows with sunlight flooding the halls. Paintings filled the walls. And the white and black chequered tiles in the hallways were covered by handmade, intricate rugs.

It was all so expensive looking Tamlin found himself open-mouth gawking at it. More than once Tain had to snap at him to close his mouth and move quicker.

Tamlin obeyed, still reeling a little from Tain’s story.

It was in no time at all that they were going down a flight of stairs and walking to a room down a hallway, which had the large door wide open, and the sound of two voices arguing flowing from it.

“You didn’t think to lock the window!” A woman shouted.

“I didn’t think a human could scale down four stories!” A man shot back.

“I told you to take precautions-” The woman started to reply before she cut herself off.

Tamlin and Tain rounded the corner into the room, and Tamlin found himself staring at the two who had caught him earlier.

Feyre, the beast who had kidnapped him and scared him two ways to death, was sitting at the head of the table. Wearing a gold and green tunic with trousers similar to his own, only more tailored. Her hair, instead of in a braid, was flowing down in waves over her back, with a ring of gold around her head. She leaned her cheek against her head as she looked from Tamlin to Lucien. Her fingers tapping her mask.

Lucienn was standing behind the seat on Feyre’s right. His eye clicked as he looked over Tamlin. Wearing a blue, fitted tunic and black pants. Rings covering his fingers, and his hair braided back. He regarded Tamlin with a grin, “Tain you work magic once again.”

“Thank you my lord.” Tain bowed low at the waist.

“Thank you Tain, you may retire.” Feyre said.

“Thank you, my High Lady.” Tain said, still bowing. After a second, he stood straight and left the room.

High Lady. Tamlin whipped his eyes back to Feyre, who regarded him with a look of boredom.

So this was the High Lady, the mistress of this house.

Of this… Court.

Lucien slunk down into his seat, not seeming to need confirmation from his Lady. He crossed one leg over the other, and tapped his finger against the arm of his chair, he looked over at Feyre and half-discreetly cleared his throat.

Feyre shot him a withering glare before looking back at Tamlin, leaning back in her chair and she looked him up and down, “You didn’t manage to escape again.”

Lucien cleared his throat again, louder this time. Tamlin scrutinised him with big green eyes. Feyre glared at him.

The High Lady, or whatever she was, turned back to him, “What was your name?”

Lucien’s eye roll was made audible by the clicking of his eye. Feyre’s eye twitched rapidly.

“Why should I tell you that?” Tamlin spat with venom on his tongue.

“Because if you don’t this is going to be a lot harder for you.” Feyre snarled at him.

“My Lady.” Lucien murmured in warning.

Feyre let out something between a sigh and a hiss, “My name is Feyre, his is Lucien.” She said as she jutted a fork towards Lucien.

“I gathered.” Tamlin said deadpan.

“You know our names, so I must know yours.” Feyre said, “So?”

Tamlin wondered if that was some kind of Faery bargain exchange, he considered not answering but the look of growing frustration on Feyre’s face told him to just say it, there wasn’t much he would be able to hide for long if he was to be some sort of slave here.

“Tamlin.” He said, “My name is Tamlin.”

“Like the ballad?” Lucien asked, “The Ballad of Tam Lin?”

“Exactly like the Ballad of Tam Lin.” Tamlin watched Lucien from the corner of his eye.

“Something your mother liked then.” Feyre murmured as she watched Tamlin.

Tamlin furrowed his brow, “What?”

Feyre shrugged, “I am assuming your father didn’t come up with the name, so your mother did, meaning she liked the Ballad of Tam Lin.”

Tamlin swallowed, “It was her favourite.”

Feyre hummed in acknowledgment, and from the corner of his eye Tamlin saw Lucien give something like an encouraging nod.

The High Lady sighed quietly and jutted her head to the seat at her left, as she dug her fork and knife into the plate of steaming food before her, “Sit.”

Tamlin remained standing, after a minute passed, Feyre looked up at him through her eyebrows, “Sit.” She commanded again.

Tamlin crossed his arms and met her scowl with obstinance.

Unlike Tain, Feyre did not care for his antics, nor cared for patience.

Something that felt like invisible hands grabbed him, even when he screamed and thrashed, they didn’t relent, pulling him to sit in that seat, then tying him to the chair with invisible ropes. He struggled and pulled and kicked but Feyre just went back to eating. Only Lucien made a slow head turn to Feyre with a look of barely concealed anger. She just shrugged the red-heads expression off.

“Let me go!” Tamlin shouted.

“Eat.” She ordered.

“I refuse.” He said.

“Then starve.” She hissed, “Either way you are not moving.”

“I believe what the High Lady means.” Lucien cut in, “Is that you have to eat eventually, so please would you eat what has been prepared.”

“That isn’t exactly what I meant.” Feyre mumbled through a mouthful of thick steak.

Even through his stubbornness, Tamlin felt his stomach growling with hunger, he hadn’t eaten anything other than stale crackers and some boiled potatoes in two months. And what he ate before that was little more than tomato soups and salted meat.

Magic took the plate before him, lifting it with invisible hands and filling it with the meat, vegetables, breads and fruits from the feast before him, before setting it down before him.

Tamlin stared at the dinner, and his mind went back to what could be happening back in the cottage.

Remembering the inventory of their kitchen, there were a few boxes of crackers left and some jars of preserved vegetables he had managed to convince his brothers not to eat until the dead of winter, when they would undoubtedly get snowed in and be unable to hunt for any meat.

Those jars would be gone in a matter of days without Tamlin to mediate his hungry brothers from taking them. Neither had ever cared for long-term survival, not since they fell into poverty.

“Eat.” The High lady ordered again.

Tamlin scowled, but when he tugged his right hand, it was released. He took up a fork and began to stab at a roasted carrot.

“Does the carrot owe you money, Tamlin?” Lucien asked with a laugh in his voice.

Tamlin shot him a frightful glare and the laughing from his eyes fell away into annoyance, he looked at Feyre and mumbled, “God really did make two of em.”

“Shut your two-faced mouth, Lucien.” Feyre said as she too stabbed at her vegetables.

Tamlin breathed something of a laugh, at which both of their heads shot up to stare at him.

The almost laugh was strangled in a second as he growled low again and shoved the mutilated carrot in his mouth.

Feyre snarled something softly at Lucien and he just grinned at Tamlin, taking a fork and elegantly piercing a potato.

“So, Tamlin, you wandered to our side, where were you before that?” The fox like Faery asked with a sly look in his eyes. Tamlin didn’t trust it for a second.

“Why would I tell you that?” He nearly spat.

Lucien shrugged, “Making conversation.”

“Enough, Lucien.” Feyre said, “We don’t need to listen to your quibbling while we’re eating.”

“Says the great chatterbox High lady.” Lucien said with an eyeroll. Feyre answered with narrowed eyes and a claw appearing on the edge of her finger. Lucien quietened down but not without mumbling something about ‘dramatics.’

A few minutes past in a tense silence. One that had Tamlin’s muscles coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second.

Finally all the tension seemed to snap in him and he asked, “Why am I here?”

Both Faeries went still, too still, in a way that Tamlin couldn’t see a flicker of movement, not even in their breathing. It unnerved him and suddenly he wished he hadn’t asked.

Feyre glanced at Lucien before she ultimately said, “You listened to the singing winds and came to us, but that you are bound to our world.”

The answer made little sense to him. Tamlin found his eyes narrowing even further, “You tricked me.”

Feyre scoffed, “Tricked? The singing winds send out a song every seven years, it isn’t our fault that your kind doesn’t want against our magic playing.”

***

Sitting at the edge of a brook, Tamlin picked up a smooth, round stone. Briefly running his thumb over the surface. Barely a rough spot on its steel grey top. Casting green eyes over the gentle stream of crystal clear water running in between rocks and over slopes, heading downhill into the forest. He aggressively tossed the rock into the water, watching it splash. Droplets splattered across the sleeve of his white shirt.

Footsteps echoed behind him, making him jolt slightly, he cast his eyes over his shoulder and saw the form heading for him.

Her hair was in it’s usual braid, hanging behind her hair. Pretty face carved with lines of exhaustion, her stormy eyes were softer than usual, having a kinder tint to them. Her hands were folded neatly behind her. Wearing brown hunting pants and a green tunic with a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Her belt was filled with hunting knives, all carved to the handle resembled the bud of a rose.

Tamlin turned back around, another stupid decision, to turn his back on a Faery creature. But he had so far been here a month and they hadn’t killed him yet.

Feyre sat down beside him. Spreading one leg out and bending the other up.

“So.” She started, her voice a gentle hum, though there was an air of awkwardness as she tried to come up with what to say, “how has your day been so far?”

Tamlin threw her a suspicious look, narrowing his eyes as he hesitantly responded, “Fine.”

She nodded, meeting his glare with an almost glare of her own before she seemed to catch herself and turned back to the bubbling brook.

“You like hunting right?” She asked, seeming to find something to talk about.

At that he cast her a strange look, “Where did you get that idea?”

She shrugged as she leaned back on the palms of her hands, stretching out both legs, “You had a bow and quiver full of very sharp arrows that day I found you in the woods. You seemed to know how to handle them. Therefore you must hunt.”

He answered the Faery with a shrug of his own, drawing some kind of stick figure in the ground, “I hunt out of necessity.”

She blinked at that, tilting her head in a near animalistic manner. It caused Tamlin’s heart to start thumping against his ribcage, like an animal remembering they were prey in a dog’s kennel.

“Interesting.” She murmured. A ray of sun peeked through the folds of the leaves above and shone across Feyre’s face. Her freckles seemed to glow in the gold in the air. She lifted her chin up ever so slightly, as if basking in the added warmth on her.

Tamlin looked away again as his heart kept beating faster and faster.

***

“You’re kidding.” Tamlin hid his own laugh behind his palm.

Feyre flopped back into the grass behind her, crushing wildflowers. They framed the back of her glowing, locks of burnt honey hair. She grinned up at him with sparkling eyes, “Nope. I scared that fox so much he grabbed the chandelier.”

“I didn’t think he’d be so easily spooked.” Not at all, though it was a very fun idea to think of Lucien being scared shitless by Feyre appearing out of a closet so suddenly. Tamlin stared down at the Faery woman below him. She held his eyes as her hand lifted off the soft grass. Brushing a golden strand behind his ear.

“How are you faring here?” She asked in a quieter voice.

As the months had gone on, Tamlin had found himself getting more and more used to this new world. Coming to a deeper understanding that he wasn’t going home and quickly learning to not mourn that fact. It was nice that he didn’t have to share a bed with his horrible brothers any longer, but the fact that he could not know for certain if his family was fine did eat away at him a little.

“I am concerned for my family, but I am learning how to live here.” Tamlin revealed, a sliver closer into him. He had been letting her get closer and closer. Feyre hadn’t at first seemed someone to care about what went on in his head, but as the days went on, he found himself more and more drawn into her.

Feyre gave a small smile, “If it's of any condolences. I did have quite the sum of money sent to them.”

Tamlin’s eyes suddenly snapped down to Feyre once more, “What?”

“After I figured out about your family, and where they were located, I sent them money, a nice house and a carriage. They are well-cared for.”

“How…” How did she find them?

Feyre just winked, “Call it magic.”

“You are…” Tamlin let out a breathless laugh as he lightly smacked her arm. She laughed hard, as she forced herself to sit up. To look over the rolling hills, grazing the edge of the horizon. The sun setting in the distance allowed for oranges, reds, purples and pinks to pain the sky with a thousand different brush strokes. Tamlin watched it all with a cocked head, before he turned to Feyre. What he saw made him blink as he watched her.

Her eyes were set on the horizon and on the myriad of colours. The sheer amount of diversity in the sky seemed to make her light up. She folded her arms around her knees as she stared off into the distance. Seemingly oblivious to anything or anyone outside of it.

“I would paint this.” Feyre sighed.

“You paint?” Tamlin asked, another strange thing he had learned about the Faery. He tucked it away in the deep corner of his mind.

“Yeah.” Feyre hummed. Before she quickly straightened out and her face went blank.

“I used to,” She clarified, “then… then a blight came over Prythian and I just haven't had the time for such things anymore.”

“Why don’t you paint now?’ Tamlin asked.

“Excuse me?” Feyre reacted before Tamlin even realized he had blurted the words out. His stupid tongue revealing his own stupid thoughts. Only to be born with a filter.

‘I said.” Tamlin started to repeat, “Why don’t you paint right now?”

She blinked again at him, those big eyes boring into him as she studied his frame.

“Maybe,” A small smile graced her lips, “You think I should?”

“Yes,” Tamlin answered, “I absolutely think you should.”

‘I want you too,’ He was trying to say. ‘I want you too.’

“Okay,” she said, “Okay then.”

With a wave of her hand suddenly a sketchbook appeared as well as a tray of paints and water and brushes. She glanced over at Tamlin's curious eyes as she picked up a brush.

She smiled gently, more gentle than any smile he had seen from her yet, she grabbed a nearby brush and with another flick of her wrist another sketchbook appeared in her hand. Feyre handed it over to him, causing Tamlin to furrow his brows.

What's this for? He asked.

“For you,” she said with an eye roll to which Tamlin shook his head.

“I don't paint.”

You can try,” Was all she answered with.

Who was he to argue with that?

So he did.

He did paint and he was awful at it, in fact it was a monstrosity that they both laughed at until their stomach hurt. Tamlin let the sketchbook in his hands slip onto the grassy floor, not wanting to look at the horror of pink and blue he had created any longer. He glanced over Feyre's shoulder. Where she was hunched over herself, painting with quick, precise strokes that mesmerized him.

And the work she made, the painting itself... Dear God.

The brush strokes were never ending, and the color blended into the page creating a timeless, seamless picture. Near a replica of the ever-fading sunset before them. Tamlin stared at the picture, the rolling hills and dark trees on the horizon. The buttery sun fading away and giving off a gradient of colors that eventually etched the night sky and the twinkling stars started to spot like the freckles on Feyre's face.

Tamlin awe must have shown on his face for Feyre blushed hard and coughed, “It's not that good but I-”

“Feyre look at my painting then at yours and tell me yours isn’t good again.” He told her, never taking his eyes off the sketch in her hands.

Feyre laughed hard at that, and Tamlin decided something right there and then.

Maybe being kidnapped by a Faery Queen wasn’t all that bad.

@tamlinweek

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #lucien vanserra #feyre archeron #feylin #acotar headcanons #acotar au #tamlin week 2024 #tamlin week #tamlin week day 1

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passionpluto · 3 days ago

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need something to do now that the plot's on pause? check out my pullip baelia project!

pullips are a type of collector's doll popular in japan, similar to blythes! this is a photo of a stock (i.e. non-custom) doll i'm using as a reference pic for how i want her makeup to look! this version of baelia will have a similar smoky-eyed look with more grey details on the face and maybe even a dark red gothic lip to make the whole thing pop!

i've just started work on the face and will show it off when it's a little closer to being done, but here are what the wig and eyechips will look like!

(wigs like this tend to get frizzy in storage, but for baelia, that isn't too much of an issue. for a grey faerie, messy is best!)

(getting the color just right on the eyechips was a pain, i ended up having to extract the hex code for baelia's eye color and commission them that way. i'm surprised the artist got it so close based off just a hex code!)

i will be doing the face-up and hopefully the dress in-house (i say hopefully because i have yet to sew anything bigger than a dice bag, but baelia's dress doesn't look too hard to duplicate and any mistakes will add to the charm anyway). my mom, who's way craftier than me, has offered to do the wings and antennae, and i'm forever grateful for all her support!

finally, here are examples of other dolls i've made, in the order i made them!

(p.s. i specifically chose to make baelia's doll during the plot hiatus because i was in the process of making luz when the last toh episode came out and gave her a new design that i loved, but was too late in the doll-making process to change. if you know, you know.)

#neopets #neotag #dolls #this way if baelia gets a cool alt form i can just make a new one of that when it comes out and have both forms #my post

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year ago

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Just Fine and Dandelions

Summary: Like other magical creatures, witches are very territorial.

(Part 1/3)

Many things in this world are beyond human comprehension.

Vampires were tall, gangly things with too much pallor to their skin and wicked sharp teeth. The undead were visibly crumbling into ash, and gave off a horrible smell that warned you of their existence well before they were in striking distance. Sprites were tiny, glowing beings that, like an angler fish, would lead the unwary to an untimely death.

But these aren’t what people fear the most. Because, though the chances of surviving an encounter with such a creature were slim, at least you would know what was going to happen the moment you saw it.

No, the things people fear most are the things that look like them. The faerie are perfect facsimiles of humans, unless you peer too closely at their teeth or count how many fingers they have. Nixie will lure you into the water with them with beautiful songs and even more beautiful bodies, and you won’t realize that they’re not normal until they grab you with their ungodly strength and pull you under.

There was no warning. No chance to run. For why would you run from what you think was just another person?

And then there were witches.

Perhaps witches disturbed humans the most.

Because faerie and nixie usually stick to themselves. They’re willing to leave humans be, as long as they themselves are left alone. If you don't stumble into a faerie's circle, or come close to a nixie's lake, you could go your entire life without seeing one.

Witches, however, will join human society, and humans will never be any the wiser – or rather, not until the witch got bored.

In which case, their problem really isn't the fact that there is a witch in their village, and more the fact that there is a magical being set on razing everything they've ever known and loved to the ground.

Until then, though, witches are perfectly willing to be just yet another human. They're model citizens, really.

After all, gathering all those ingredients for their potions and spells was difficult. Who wants to spend all of their time gardening and hunting when you can simply go into town with a couple of coins and buy most of what you need? Witches need to perform magic to survive, and if they’re spending all of their time doing other things they start to…

Well.

They rot, for lack of a better word.

So, witches hide among humans. Tolerate humans. They’re willing to have symbiotic – or, at the very least, parasitic – relationships with them.

But, like other magical creatures, they are also very territorial.

Which is why, when Marinette looked up from her sewing and her gaze landed upon a ‘man’ with dark skin, her smile strained.

She could feel the magic radiating off of him. The humans wouldn’t notice, she knew. Her entire shop was practically overflowing with magic after all of her years living there, to the point where the floorboards glimmered with glittering gold that she could never quite get out, but the humans’ eyes glazed over it like it wasn’t there at all. So, no, they wouldn’t notice the way that the air around the man seemed to brighten just slightly. As if he was so happy that the world itself had lightened to give that perfect, sunny feeling right back to him.

Not that he actually looked all that happy. His hands curled into fists where they hung out of his traveler’s cloak.

To be fair, she wasn’t all that happy herself.

She fought the urge to reach up and check that her earrings were still in place. That they hadn't popped out of their own accord and rolled right over to him. It was a stupid thought, perhaps, but one that poked at her regardless. If she lost her earrings, she would be ruined. Which was exactly why she couldn't risk drawing any attention to them whatsoever.

She discreetly tied off her most recent sewing project underneath the table before slowly pushing herself to her feet.

She cast a glance around her store. She was the town seamstress. She was good at sewing, could make lace so intricate you would think a spider had woven it. People liked her work, and she liked having something to busy her hands with in the long hours before nightfall. It was mutually beneficial.

And, unfortunately, business was booming.

Which meant that there were several people around to watch as the man glared her down for seemingly no reason.

She set her jaw, forcing her expression to remain as cheerful as she could make it. “Oh, you must be new in town!” She glanced him up and down, and couldn’t quite hide the way her lips tried to curl in disgust. “Come into the back with me, I’ll get your sizes and everything so I can start on something for you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “When did I say I wanted to commission new clothes from you?”

“Oh, I just assumed. Because…” She made a vague motion to him and his current clothes, and then tipped her head to the side with a smile that was more passive-aggressive than true. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you? Is there any other reason you’d come to a fabrics shop?”

His annoyance faded just slightly, replaced by the barest traces of amusement.

She jutted her chin out, silently daring him to say something that would get them both thrown out of town. After all, the only way someone can sense magic is if they themselves are magic as well, and humans don’t care about honoring the wishes of even the most well-intentioned whistleblowers.

He held her gaze for just a few moments longer before sighing and giving a small shrug of his shoulders. He brought a hand up to steady the backpack slung there, beneath his cloak, making him look like he had a posture that even Quasimodo from Notre Dame would pity.

Quietly, she led him into a backroom. Her tape measures lay there, yes, but that wasn’t at all what she was aiming for.

The moment the door clicked closed, the sigil carved into the door and the wall were joined. A human might see the swirling designs and colorful shapes on her walls as a design choice. But, when she reached into her pocket for a couple of stray flowers and then pressed a hand to the design, channeling enough magic to make the soundproofing rune glimmer her signature deep red color, it became unmistakable. This was the house of a witch.

Not that the man was surprised.

His hand jerked towards the flower vase not that far away, but she knew the intricacies of her house's layout, and he stumbled over a rune. It was harmless, something that stuck his foot to the floor, but it was enough to trip him up regardless. He hissed a curse as his chin slammed against the ground.

She only paid him enough mind to purposefully step on one of his legs on the way to the vase. Her fingers looped around the stems delicately. Water dripped over the floor, but she didn't seem to care.

She almost looked pleasant like that, holding a small bouquet to her chest, smiling with so much ease it almost bled into him. It would look domestic, pretty, sweet…

If he didn't know that living things were extremely powerful channeling tools, and that she could use them to drain the life right out of him with a few simple words.

"Scared of a couple of flowers?" she teased.

She made no moves to stop him while he dispelled the rune binding him to the ground, nor when he pushed himself to his feet. She had the upper hand and she knew it.

Not that he cared to back down. He sneered at her. “Not really. But I can't say that I’m all too fond of the idea of fighting both of you at once.”

She laughed, but there was no real humor there. “Then don’t force me to fight you.”

He tipped his head to the side, seemingly considering it, before humming and stepping around her. Brown eyes scanned the place as he walked around her tiny little abode but, really, he was watching her. Trying to gauge her reactions.

“So,” he said in a light tone. “Where is your Item? Is it a book? Or a sewing needle? That sounds like something you’d do, you seem to like sewing quite a lot, if you chose that to be your job.”

He grabbed a nearby set of knitting needles suddenly, but she didn’t do much more than raise an eyebrow at him.

And then she snorted and started forward.

“You want to play that game, huh? I mean, if you want to find my Item, then surely I’m allowed to have a little looksie for yours as well, right?” Her grin turned sharp. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor with every step she took in his direction, getting louder and louder, faster and faster as she advanced on him. “It’s got to be on you, right? I mean, you wouldn’t leave it out for the werewolves to find, and you aren’t set up in any of the houses in town yet, so it’s got to be in your bag somewhere… I’m sure that, if I just up and grabbed it I’d have it, and I don’t think you’d want me to own you, now, would you?”

She stepped into his personal space, leaning in and smiling in a way that could only ever be described as creepy.

“Don’t start fights you can’t win,” she warned. And, for just a second, she didn't look like an innocent little seamstress. Blue eyes swirled with something Wild, as if nature itself was contained within her tiny frame. Held at bay, but only just.

He grinned and brought a hand up to tap her on the nose.

She opened her mouth to curse (either at him, or to simply curse him), but her voice quickly died in her throat.

A tiny flower poked itself out of his palm, the roots curling around his finger.

She jerked back.

“I don’t.”

(Next part)

#dukenette #dukinette #maribat #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #duke thomas #signal #for those who have noticed im on a fantasy kick #i always am #i just stopped caring about stats #so now im doing what i want

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alchemized-strifespecibi · 2 years ago

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weapons for a mage of void who uses needlekind?

( starter weapon was a pair of sharpened knitting needles, if it helps. )

they have special intrests in bioluminescent life ( mainly glowworms and fungi ), herpetology, taxidermy and irish folklore, focused on faeries and changelings.

a few items around their room include snake skeletons, colonies of Mycena chlorophos, iron horseshoes, a sewing machine, a taxidermied fox and a book of irish folklore.

hope i did it right! <3

Indeed you did! Now, let's see...

Needlekind && Sewing Machine: Fastest Needle In The West

Losing perhaps a bit of aerodinamicity due to the added bulk is more than made up for by the ability to send your sharpened needle into a flurry of stinging pokes against your enemy at the press of a pedal! Always remember to charge it or connect it to a powersource though.

... && Iron Horseshoe: Lucky Sweater-Maker

A thick forked needle, apparently capable of redirecting luck based on how it's pointed. Perfect for skewering, casting double spells, tuning instruments a-la diapason, water dowsing, enjoying some bourgignon, and bludgeoning (it's heavy iron!).

... && Irish Folklore Bestiary: Herald of the Hidden

Carefully decorated with overlapping intricate drawings of all sorts of creatures, this paper-sharp needle might be able to conjure the obscure beings inked upon it into reality through the knowledge of a Mage of Void, pulling them from the shadows in which they live.

... || Taxidermied Fox*: Man-Knitted Mimicry of Nature

A fox-shaped needle. The sharp teeth of the animal are now composing the tip of the weapon, in a way that looks… A little cursed.

... || Mycena Chlorophos: Woods' Wand

A sturdy mushroom, large sticky cap flattened against the stem and ending in a sharp point. In the dark it glows uranium green.

... || Snake Skeleton: Slithering Sting

What species of snake resembles so much a knitting needle, with bones so tightly attached to one another and a snout this sharp?

*the result will be similar with different kinds of taxidermied animals, exchanging the sharp end of the needle for fangs/horns/claws and the material for bone and fur/leather/scales.

#alchemization #strife specibus #needlekind #mage of void #taxidermy

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imaginarie-fun · 4 months ago

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Full name: Duchess Zelda Noborihoshi Corvus

Pronouns: She/her

English honorifics: Lady

Nicknames: Zeze, Diosa

Age: 31

Gender: Female

Sexual orientation: Panromantic

Birthday: September 24th

Birthplace: Milan, Italy

Place of residence: Also Milan, Italy, in her family’s manor

Occupation: Fashion designer

Religion: Sabaism

World Ethnic Groups: Italian-Japanese

Species: Human-Magickal. Specifically Shadow Faery

Eye color: Violet

Hair color: Dark indigo to violet

Hair style: Closely cropped with shoulder length sidetails

Hands: Trimmed nails and callused

Height: 5’5 feet

Weight: 134 pounds

Skin tone: Pale, burns easily

Skin type: Smooth and freckled

Physical build: Lean and athletic

Allergies: Iron

Blood type: O+

Dress style: Faery (from vintage illustrations)

Jewelry: Earrings, signet ring, bracelet

Piercings: Two lobe on both ears

Scars: Knife and bullet scars all over her body

Tattoos: An indigo and violet Ryu Ashing around her neck

Supernatural abilities: Darkness manipulation and generation (in the form of faery dust), hexing, jinxing, cursing, flight, teleportation (jumping), illusion manipulation, plant manipulation

Preferred weapons: Magick, her faery dagger

Fighting style: Aikido

Dominant hand: Left

Hobbies: Ballet, reading, calligraphy, sewing, and embroidery

Phobias: Thalassophobia

Family crest: a five pointed star crowning the head of a raven holding a bell

Important characteristic: Zelda’s purple to indigo wings with pale blue star-spots resemble a lunar moth, has long elven ears and small fluffy moth antennae hidden in her thick hair, and bleeds gold-silver blood and when she’s using a lot of her power, her skin darkens as black as a black hole (this is her pure magick or 'true' form)

Reference images:

#lusters and shadows

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writinginmywritersdungeon · 4 months ago

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to the lonely sea and the sky

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess in a lovely castle. One day, the princess was attending a ball, when she met the most handsome man she had ever seen. The princess tried incessantly to gain the man’s affection, but he would never look her way. After the night ended and the princess went home, she lay down in her garden and began to weep. Her tears fell into the little pond in her garden, and from it sprang a fish with scales of silver and eyes like starlight.

The fish spoke to the princess, “Darling, why are you crying?”

The princess, distraught, replied, “I have found a man worthy to be my prince, but alas! He does not want me, and yet I yearn for him like I never have before.”

The fish, saddened and empathetic to her plea, offered her a way to get the man to love her, but not without a warning, and a price, “twice I will offer my help for free, but on the third time you must give away the finest things you own to me and my realm.” Still the princess could not be deterred, so the fish told her what to do. “Find the shedded antler of a silver buck,” the fish said, “and crush it into the finest powder. Powder it onto your face, and you will be so beautiful he will never be able to look away from your radiance.”

The princess was desperate for a way to have her prince, and so she did as the fish told. And yet, at the next ball, the handsome man did not look her way for a single moment. Heartbroken, she returned to the pond that night, and told the fish of her failure.

“Perhaps it is not meant to be,” said the fish, “Perhaps you will find happiness with someone or something else.” But the princess would not have it. She cried and she begged and she pleaded with the fish to help her once more.

The fish thought for a moment, before giving the princess new instructions. “Tell your seamstress to sew you slippers from unicorn fur and dragon leather, and your dancing will bring faeries to tears. He would never be able to resist a dance with you then.”

The princess listened, and ordered the castle seamstress to sew her the slippers. It took months, but finally they were complete. The princess wore them to every ball, for they would never tatter, and danced until any normal person’s feet would bleed, and yet the man refused her dance every time.

The princess was at her last hope, and so she went to the fish one last time, “Please!” she cried, “I do not know what I shall do with myself if I cannot have him!”

The fish was concerned for the princess, comforting her, “If he refuses you a final time, you can run away to my realm, where you will want for nothing and live all of your days in bliss with someone who cares for you, and always has.” Still, the fish told the princess one final way to have the object of her desires, “Take one of my scales, and sew it into the hem of your finest dress, covered in diamonds and jewels. Your voice will be divine, so soft and beautiful that it will enchant anyone who hears it.”

The princess, knowing she would now have to pay her price, took the scale of the fish and wore her finest dress, and her enchanted slippers, and her powdered buck’s horn, and still her love would not look her way. At midnight, under a full moon, the princess went back to the fish’s pond.

“What have you come to offer me?” the fish asked, and the princess kneeled and brought out her items.

“I bring the powdered antler of a silver buck that will make anyone who wears it beautiful, I bring enchanted slippers that will never wear, and I bring my finest gown, with diamonds and pearls and jewels, and a scale from the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.”

The fish then rose out of the pond, for the fish was not a fish at all, but a faerie, a stunning woman with skin as dark as the lake, and hair as silver as the moon, and eyes that glittered like starlight. “If you take my hand, you will be welcomed in my realm as my queen, where you will want for nothing and live all of your days in bliss with someone who cares for you most.”

The princess hesitated, then took the woman’s hand

—

In a faraway land, a beautiful queen lives, with skin that glitters like the powdered antler of a silver buck, with shining slippers that never wear, with a gown of silver and diamonds and jewels, and a necklace with the scale of a faerie fish hanging around her neck. The queen enters, sitting on her throne. Her wife sits beside her, and they rule as one.

Fin.

#writing #writer #original writing #short story #original short story #cross posted on ao3 #was originally an english assignment

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saint-vier · 4 years ago

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#amanda learns mandolin #mandolin #thomas the rhymer #cottagecore #dark academia #goblincore #new jersey #sewing #faerie #faun #satyr #wood nymph #fantasy makeup #fantasy

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flutterbydaisy · 5 years ago

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@flutterbydaisy Ragdoll Dress : etsy shop re-opening soon - watch this page :

www.flutterbydaisy.etsy.com 🦋🌸

www.whatnatanyadid.blogspot.com 🐾

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amywrites256 · 2 years ago

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Character Profile: Andrea Morales

The Basics

Name: Andrea Isadora Morales

Appearance: Long Raven Black Hair, Dark Brown Eyes, Pale Ruddy Skin, Short (5’1), Thin Frame, High Cheekbones

Age: Eighteen Years Old

Role In The Story: Supporting Lead/Main Character

Enneagram: Type Nine (The Peacemaker)

Parents: Henry And Isadora Morales

Siblings: Henry Morales Jr. (Deceased) And Lila Morales

Hobbies: Gardening, Needlework, Designing And Making Dresses, Singing, Baking, And Braiding Hair

Overall Personality: Kind, Nurturing, Awkward, Calm, People Pleaser, Quiet, Nervous

Character Backstory

Andrea was born to a poor seamstress and a carpenter who lived in the city of Orlaith. Although her family wasn’t wealthy, her loving parents cared for Andrea and her brother, Henry with all they had. Her mother, Isadora would teach Andrea how to sew and embroider beautiful patterns, and the two would water plants in their rose garden. Her father would carve wooden sculptures of mermaids, faeries, and goddesses for her and her brother, as well as read them stories before bed.

During the day while their parents were working, she and Henry, would build forts out of blankets and pretend to be knights, fighting dragons, and reenacting the folktales their parents would read to them, while their grandmother would bake them cookies, with the little sugar they could afford. Unfortunately, when she was eight both she and her brother fell sick after contracting scarlet fever. While they were both ill, their grandmother would sing lullabies to them, and tell them the folktales about the war of the great titans, and how the goddess Fira, won her father, Evren’s approval by creating fire. Andrea recovered from the lung virus, but her older brother, Henry, was not so lucky, and he died of the fever at age ten.

As if things couldn’t worse, Andrea’s grandmother died a few months later, contracting the illness while caring for the sick children. After the death of both her mother and her firstborn, Isadora goes into a depressive episode where she wouldn't able to go to bed, work, or feed Andrea. Andrea tries to get her mother to eat and get out of bed, but after multiple failed attempts she takes it upon herself to get a job working at a textile mill at age nine to make her family extra money since her mother’s business went under after her grandmother’s passing. Andrea would come back home exhausted and cry herself to sleep every night, still dealing with the grief of losing her brother and grandmother.

Eventually, her mother starts working as a seamstress again, and Andrea stops working at the factory and begins helping her mother sew dresses. Andrea develops a passion for designing dresses and spends hours embroidering patterns of roses and lilacs. At age thirteen, Isadora gives her daughter her pendant as a birthday gift, the golden necklace and ruby are one of the only valuable things she owns. Andrea cherishes it and wears it constantly, holding it to her chest and thinking about her grandmother at night. A year later, when Andrea is fourteen, tragedy strikes her family once again when her father dies due to an infection after cutting his hand at work, and not cleaning out the wound properly.

After her father’s death, her mother struggled to provide enough food for her, with her job as a seamstress not generating enough income to provide for both of them. After weeks of starving, and eating nothing but stale bread and tea, Isadora begins to fall behind in her taxes and falls into dept. One night, in the pouring rain, guards appear at their house demanding that Isadora pay up. When she can’t give them the money they need, they drag Andrea out of the house, still in her nightgowns, taking her to Javier’s manor to work as an indentured servant to make up for her mother’s loans. Andrea is sobbing when she arrives in the manor, but a kind kitchen maid comforts her and helps her adjust.

In the first few weeks at the manor, Andrea gets scolded constantly for messing things up, she is brutally whipped for spilling hot tea on one of Javier’s consorts, and Emilio and Tobias, make it a game to make her life miserable, tripping her while she's holding trays of boiling hot water, causing her to suffer second-degree burns. After she consistently messes up as a kitchen maid, the housekeeper decides she is not suited for kitchen work. So instead, she spends most of her days doing laundry, cleaning all the rooms, mopping the floors, and more. Eventually, she would adjust to her life as an indentured servant, but Emilio would still harass her constantly.

But during the little free time that she would have, Andrea would go into the garden to pick flowers and braid them into her hair and would hum while she worked, trying to find the good things in life in order to cope with her grief and trauma. Catherine, the kitchen maid that comforted her when she first arrived, would go on to become a pseudo mother figure to her, mending her wounds, braiding her hair and singing to sleep. The two would gossip to each other about the regular drama that would ensue amongst the nobles, and when Catherine was done cooking, she would give Andrea some of her leftovers.

After working at the manor for three years with another six years remaining in her indenture, Andrea noticed that Catherine would get light-headed, and dizzy, and as she began to get more sick, Andrea would take care of her the same way she did for her. Unfortunately, Catherine eventually passed away due to heart failure, with her body being buried in the rose garden behind the manor, where the two used to talk late into midnight about what they would do once they were free. Andrea makes sure to put flowers on Catherine's grave every single night, after hours of working.

Taglist: @josephinegerardywriter @writemeforgotten @wannabeauthorzofija @hysteriwah @themonsterandthebutterfly @ellierenae @moonlitinks @dragon-with-a-pen @akindofmagictoo @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @ryns-ramblings

#my writing #writing #original character #character development #character backstory #writing wip #character intro #am writing #of tears and ashes

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years ago

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Since it’s the day of Halloween (as the time I am writing this) what Lotura (vld) headcanons do you have when it comes to them celebrating Halloween?

Hi, anon! Thanks for the note, and Happy Belated Halloween! I love this ask! Hmm, maybe Lotor and the paladins head to Earth after Allura gains powers at Oriande. They discover that they will arrive at the Galaxy Garrison on October 31:

Pidge is the first person to recognize that they’re returning on a holiday. Lance and Hunk join in on the excitement, which prompts a culturally curious Lotor to ask about this “Halloween.”

Lotor is deeply fascinated by the holiday’s origins in Samhain and in the belief that the barriers between worlds lose strength.

Coran recalls that Altea had a similar happenstance in the phoeb of Wilum, during which he once spoke to the ghost of his Pop Pop Wimbleton and briefly reunited with his old pet, Fluffy Stardancer Wimbleton Smythe.

Allura and Lotor take the holiday very seriously and decide they should dress up in accordance with Earth tradition to avoid any issues with interdimensional beings or ghosts. Pidge and Hunk assist in developing costumes for them.

Given the lack of time and ease of translation, the paladins help Allura and Lotor dress up as elves. Both of them are confused as to why this is a fitting costume until Allura remembers that Earth doesn’t have people with pointed ears and magic except for in their myths and legends.

Someone is getting a costume made in part out of drapes, and Coran is happy to help sew costumes in accordance with the paladins’ understanding of medieval dress.

Pidge thinks Lotor could pass as a dark elf/drow from D&D.

Allura gets a set of fake fangs and giggles, flitting about because she thinks she looks so tough with fangs, but really she just looks baby.

Lotura and the paladins have a Halloween movie marathon while they get ready, and Lotor discovers that romance is still his preferred entertainment genre. He does find murder mysteries interesting, though, and attempts to guess whodunit before the movie ends.

Allura is still too delighted by her costume and fake fangs to pay attention to a movie.

Upon landing on Earth, no one initially suspects Lotor and Allura are actually aliens. Lotor and Allura are perceived as having dressed up as the Faerie King and Queen, and they are both very delighted by this game of pretending to be humans pretending to be inhumans.

Both Lotor and Allura love the candlelight and bonfires associated with Halloween, and they walk together across the town festival hosted by the Galaxy Garrison, simply enjoying the ambiance.

Lotor enjoys pumpkin carving more than Allura does because carving gives him a chance to produce life-like renderings. Meanwhile, Allura isn’t impressed with how squishy and wet pumpkins are on the inside. She squeals if she has to touch the inside of a pumpkin to help carve one, but she finds the perfect little purple candle to place in Lotor's carved pumpkin.

The Lotura pumpkin is a carving of Lotor's cat, Kova. Lotor places it very proudly on the ledge along with the other pumpkin carvings from the paladins and cadets.

Lotor’s favorite Halloween treat is caramel popcorn because of the yummy, sugary/salty crunch. Meanwhile, Allura discovers a deep enjoyment for chocolate and mint candies.

While the younger paladins go trick or treating with other cadets at Galaxy Garrison, Lotor and Allura people-watch and roam about. They still end up with bags of candy from Garrison Officers for having “such great costumes" and winning the pumpkin carving competition, and they trade and barter with each other for their favorite candies quite seriously.

Lotor buys a commemorative spoopy sculpture made by a mysterious artist named AJ LoCascio.

Lotor and Allura both coo over sparkly Halloween lights but accidentally knock over and then eviscerate a prop skeleton for scaring them.

Lotor dares to lightly tease Allura over their costumes as the Faerie King and Queen, and Allura blushes over the implications. With enough warm cider in her, she might tease him right back.

It is cold on Halloween, and Allura snuggles closer to Lotor for warmth. Lotor shares his cloak with her.

Lotor and Allura have difficulty removing their costumes for the evening because they enjoy the pretend life they have through their costumes. That for once, they have no major responsibility to attend to besides pretending to be humans in disguise.

Both of them end up with delightful Halloween pajamas with which to commemorate the holiday.

#Voltron #VLD #Lotura #Lotor #Allura #Coran #the paladins #Happy Halloween!#Sorry this is a day late!!#But ahhh this was a fun ask thank you for submitting it!!#I hope you had a great holiday weekend!#is this post a list of HCs or secretly a story outline hmmmm

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wraith-of-christmas-future · 3 years ago

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The Wraith and her Backstory

Just a quick reminder. How I play the Wraith is very similar to Christine. It holds the inspiration a little more highly than what the canon aspects of her being would carry.

We didn’t get much backstory on the Wraith : other than someone had died in the backseat before Charlie got a hold of her. My headcanon is the entity that died, was an elderly woman who’s entire existence dabbled in dark witchcraft. A woman who’s family that can be traced back into the Salem witch trials. [ Which would mean the very mentioning of Salem Massachusetts, Witch Trial museum could be labeled an easter egg to my own headcanons. ;) ] ( Edited : My first take on this headcanon explained it a bit better, if I recall. However, the elderly woman wasn’t the one who owned the Wraith. Though she did, however , own the company in which the man who did own the Wraith, served. The one who committed suicide with his two little ones. So all in all, there had been three deaths in the Wraith. The only one mentioned would depend on the verse. For one death was conveniently swept under the rug. So only one incident would be known to the resell value. At least that is what I had in my notes originally. It also conjoins the fact that Charlie had literally killed himself, his daughter(s) and wife. For history repeats itself with the car. Except, Charlie was special and didn’t quite stay dead as her first victims had. So their connection grew by the graces of Christmasland, the knife , and the permanent imprint of Charlie’s soul upon her steel , valves and cranks. Just to clear that up. ) It is within her craft during life, that in death she can hold such a high mold to Charlie and his psyche, merging as one. His influential shadow. To the point where she can influence his thought, but he can also move the car through her at his will. It’s a very parasitic relationship between them. But like the old crones from faery tales past, she has a deep keening toward children. Children she could never have. Which is why Charlie’s savior complex was so appealing.

Though keep in mind, it is not a lover influenced attachment to Charlie like Christine had with Arnie. Instead, she is more like an elderly grandmother who wants grandchildren from a son or grandson she chose to adopt and beguile him into taking her home to see his family. Sensing the deeper connection this man could provide for her, due to the car in itself becoming his knife. Where her seed began to sew in his mind during the trip home, so too did the tendrils extend to ensnare her driver. It’s her subtle influences that can divide what is actually her and not just Charlie showing off his power.

So yes, she influences him. Though he can also influence her. Which is why her being Charlie’s shadow , a parasite attached to his psyche -- is far more suiting. ( Something that can still accommodate his catch phrase “ I am the car and the car is me. “ Because her spirit is so deeply routed to his own now.There is subtext there as well as truth. ) However , even parasites can become loving caretakers. Or at least appear to be. Hence it has become a loving nickname that some of us from the fandom have dubbed her : Nana Wraith.

#Canon/Headcanons ;#❡ Character ● Studies #; headcanons #❡ ѕᴏᴜƖ ʙᴏηɗɪηɢ ● Tʜᴇ Wʀᴀɪᴛʜ #NOS4A2 #NOS4A2 Role Play

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windupnamazu · 3 years ago

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master's mend

ffxivwrite2021 #11: preaching to the choir

⮞ lunya and «balefire»—zaya, reese, hanami, rjoli. 664 words. ⮞ the 7th astral era ⮞ after exploring a dungeon, the gang gets a bit of respite.

preaching to the choir: to try to persuade people who already agree with you.

A blanket of dark clouds choked out the moonlight as they settled on the back porch of Buscarron's Druthers, surrounded by the sound of trickling water, the chirp of crickets, and the not-quite distant bustle of the patrons of the tavern just fulms away. Their main source of light for themselves was an oil lamp, held aloft as the soft swip of a needle swiftly pulling thread joined the midnight chorus.

"You need to take better care of yourself," Lunya grumbled, peering at her work intently in the lamplight. Zaya huffed out a lightning-tingle laugh that shook their entire body, jostling the torn part of their cylcas that she was trying to mend. The only way this could possibly end was with her accidentally jabbing them once or twice, but at least it was the better outcome of their latest foray into Amdapor Keep—if she never got almost crushed to death by wall-shaped voidsent on all four sides ever again, it'd be too soon.

To their credit, Zaya bobbed their head. I do, their sibling said and didn't actually say with one hand holding up the lamp for her. Maybe they meant, Yeah, but I like to punch things and I don't know what the word ranged means, which wasn't a promise of anything except future stitches of both the medical and fashion kind.

"We could say the same for you," Reese reminded her gently from the rocks. The Elezen kept vigil over the dark woods surrounding them, long legs dangling into the creek that ran behind the tavern as her gaze swept over the landscape carefully, pointed ears upright and alert. "For all of us."

There was a scoff as Hanami came around the corner, carrying a set of tankards in one hand and a tray ladened with cheese, sausage, roast beef, and bread in the other. The light of the lantern seemed to linger in between the dawn-white scales of her horns as she left sat cross-legged behind Lunya and Zaya, setting down their dinner by them.

"Wrong," Hanami said. "We do not worry about Rjoli."

"Aw, does that mean you actually worry about the rest of us?" Lunya cooed, cupping her cheeks in her hands and batting her eyelashes at her. In response, Hanami flung a chunk of cheese at the center of her forehead, which Lunya cheerily caught and stuffed into her mouth.

Reese laughed. "You're right, though." Said Hrothgar in question—or Ronso, he called himself, which must have been a regional dialect somewhere. Where, though, they weren't quite sure—was curled up at her side in a huge lump, taking a nap to restore his lost aether from flinging spells at voidsent and keeping the internal organs of the other three tallfolk of their party inside them. Faerie dust sparkled on his shoulders and in his mane, and he seemed content as he snored quietly, tail flicking over the rocks. "He's big and pink. You couldn't lose him in a crowd."

Zaya's nose wrinkled and they set down the lantern to sign.

"Ohhh," Reese said, eyes alight with understanding. "She meant it in the sense that he takes care of himself better than we do ourselves. ...Yeah, we could take a page from Rjoli's book."

"Whh," the Hro-nso whined in his sleep, wrinkling his nose and clutching tighter at the codex he was using as a pillow.

Reese soothingly pat his head. "Not literally."

"There," said Lunya in satisfaction, patting her handiwork with a smile as she finished her sewing. It would be easy to just pull the jagged edges of the tear in Zaya's cyclas into nothingness, but this was a lot more fun—bronze embroidery floss neatly zipped across the gap, dashing into a bolt of lightning by their thigh. "Don't go and undo my hard work by getting banged up again, 'kay?"

"I won't," signed Zaya with a toothy grin, and maybe this time there was a promise of it being for more than the sake of fashion.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #final fantasy xiv #ffxivwrite2021 #tales from the warriors of light #oc: lunya #g: balefire

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anotherdayforchaosfay · 3 years ago

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That moment when the edible starts to kick in and you can feel the metaphorical breeze ahead of the metaphorical brick that's about to hit. Because that's what it's like when the effects start kicking in. You'll be having a regular conversant and suddenly your body starts to feel carbonated. The munchies are hitting like you haven't had anything to eat in days and damn near anything sounds good.

Nothing subtle about edibles. You go from ordinary to a hungry thing made of heavy bubbles in the span of two blinks.

Oh, yeah, I'm feeling gooood. My eyeballs are made of champagne bubbles and my body isn't in pain. Faaaaaannntastic!

But to keep my munchies in check, I cut myself off of the snacks. Heartburn isn't fun. All I had to do was brush my teeth and use my ACT Bubblegum mouthwash. The taste means Do Not Eat and is hardwired into my brain. Tomorrow i'm giving myself the day off from sewing because my back hurts. My sewing chair is a classic folding metal chair with a thin built-in cushion. My parents gave it to me when they replaced my plastic desk with a grown up desk when I was 9/10 years old. That was almost 30 years ago. I need a new chair. My body huuuurrrrrrts because of it. But I can't buy a chair.

Why?

We need to replace all four tires on the car, which will cost around $900. They're bald and need to be replaced next month at the latest.

We need to finish paying off Jasper's vet bill, which is still monstrously high. Both cats are also due for their annual vaccinations. That's another $250.

Next, I need pay my mom back. She helped us when we were folks over November and December. That's another $300.

Before we moved, I check out a few chairs at an office store and found one i like. It's $250. Not cheap, but it's one I can sit in for hours at a time and several days work in a row without being in pain.

Priorities. Don't bring up the edibles. This is $40 for 50 gummies at 12.5 mg THC and 12.5 mg CBD. They treat my pain, insomnia, and anxiety, making it possible for me to sleep. I otherwise go 30-48 hours without sleep, crashing only from exhaustion. That's baaaaaad, not an achievement. The longest I went was 7 days. I don't remember after day 3 and my roommate had to dose me with benadryl then take me to the ER for the inevitable seizures. Seizures triggered by sleep deprivation. I was an in-patient for two nights. I hate sleep deprivation. It fucks me up so much. But sleep aids freak me out. I was on Ambien for a week at my doctor's insistence. Hallucinations every night within minutes of taking it. Got stuck in a mirror and thought I was talking to a faery queen made of sticks and moss. The mirror had footprints and handprints all over it when I woke up. Sleep paralysis twice and saw the apartment burning in green flames. The final dose that officially made me swear off this med was sleep sex. The last thing I remember is my husband glowing in the dark (he wasn't) and nothing else. I roofied myself.

I'm rambling.

Anyway, in this moment I'm feeling great, gonna go to bed in a minute and sleep all night. Wake up feeling well rested and will be taking a day off sewing. Gonna spend it filing taxes, complete my half of postcard swaps on swap-bot.com, fold foundation paper piecing patterns for the frog block I'll make before the weekend is over and possibly pick out fabric for it. This will look sooooo cool.

Okay, off to bed. Please don't reblog this. It's a more personal post and input isn't anything I'm asking for. If you wanna help, go to my profile and click my ko-fi link.

Now I'm going to bed. Goodnight!

#d0 n0t rebl0g #n0 reb@ling #n0t four r3b@geling

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scribble-blog · 4 years ago

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Changeling Fae AU? Changeling Fae AU.

I feel like I start every post with an apology so I won’t do that but I mean to update!! And then I don’t or I can’t write and it all sucks!! But have 3000 words of something brand new instead!!!!

Her parents had been bakers; blessed with a babe after years of believing themselves barren. Sabine had wept to hold her child at last in her arms, and Tom had brought their whole village to celebrate her birth with his wonderful sweets.

Of course, they had named her Marinette. One who rises. They had no intentions of guiding her towards higher connections, the way some thought they might when they glimpsed the child; surely, between her beauty and kind disposition, Tom and Sabine could marry her to some lesser title, and leave their child in comfort for the rest of her life.

But as the child grew older, whispers surrounded her. People wondered about her seemingly small stature, her odd grace paired with her clumsy movements, the way she could inspire and move you with words and then flail and mumble after.

“Fae child,” people started whispering.

“Changeling.”

Tom and Sabine didn’t let it move them. Their daughter was theirs, oddities and eccentricities and all. For her clumsiness, she could sew and mend with more skill than the tailor two streets over. For her size, she was able to learn the trade of the bakery and helped her parents every morning as a good child should.

And if some mornings, Sabine woke to find the kitchen just cleaner, the bread rising just better, the smells just more aromatic, she had no problem setting out a small bowl of milk, tucked behind counters, for whatever creature was slipping in to check on her daughter and helping them on their way out.

After all, Sabine had been small and awkward and graceful and different once too.

It is on the cusp of Marinette’s twelfth birthday that Tom stumbles down in the morning, ready to start the bread for the day, and finds the being sitting there.

In the dark of the morning, lit only by the fire in their hearth, the woman glows. She has the same short stature as his girl, the same bright blue eyes that she had not gotten from either himself or his wife.

“I owe you a boon, Thomas Dupain,” the Faerie says, sitting on his counter and swinging her legs slightly, oddly child-like. “You and your wife, Sabine Cheng. For raising-“ her voices rises and falls melodically for a moment. It almost sounds like Marinette. It almost sounds like the crackle of the fresh baked bread. It almost sounds like the rustle of cloth as his daughter sews. It almost sounds like she has said ladybug.

Such a small thing, to bring luck and joy.

“You have done so well with her,” the faerie says. “And so compassionate, has she become. The kindness displayed by your wife to my lesser subjects also cannot go unrewarded.”

Tom swallows, then bows his head. “You are here to take her, then?”

The creature regards him. “Call me Tikki, Tom Dupain,” she says. She makes the sound again, this time rushing waters and warm sunshine and Marinette and ladybug, “must join me. I cannot tell you what will happen when she does.”

“My boon,” he says, reckless to the face of this powerful being, in the knowledge that it is his child she is here for. “My boon. You must not let today be the last I see of my girl. The last time I hold her. If only for a day, an hour, a minute- you must return her to me.”

Tikki tilts her head, smile dazzling. “A good man, you certainly are. A good parent, without doubt. I can grant you this boon. And as your reward- nothing will replace your Marinette, of course. But a new pair of hands to help in your bakery. Expect her soon.”

Tom nods; there are more rules then sense about dealing with the Fair Folk and he’s certain he’s already broken some. What else can he say without angering her? What else can he do without causing unintentional offense? “Would you like breakfast?” He says instead of heeding his thoughts.

“No,” she laughs, a tinkling glass bell like the chirping of birds. “I shall return for her at high noon.”

Tom nods, throat tight. He starts the bread and he goes through his morning until daylight starts to peek into the windows, and then he sighs and puts the last loaf in the oven, and he goes to wake his daughter and wife.

Marinette stands in the kitchen, hands clasped tightly, staring into the embers of the fire. She wears her best dress, with the pink trim, and she does not have tears in her eyes as she looks at her parents. Anything to say had been said; anything left over was just going to hurt more. She had a small bag, slung over her shoulder, with paltry things her parents hoped might help.

Tikki sat before her, perched on the counter. The flimsy sheer overlay of her clothing was resting in the flour.

“Marinette,” Tikki says to her, but it’s not just her name. It’s something deeper that echoes in her heart. “I’ve come for you.”

“I thought something might eventually,” she laughs nervously.

Tikki extended a hand. Marinette reached for it, hesitating before the contact.

Tikki smiled gently and took her fingers. “This isn’t a bad thing, Marinette. Just a change.”

Marinette tightened her grip. “I’m ready.” She gave her parents one last look, trying to burn their faces into her mind.

“Then come, Marinette, of the Orders of Creation and Luck. Come and claim your birthright as my heir.”

Marinette did not expect this much walking. “Is it... is it far?”

The town was hours behind them. Marinette’s nicest dress was ragged at the hem, snatched with brambles and in one spot, torn by a branch that had wanted blood. She hefted her small pack higher on her shoulders, waiting for the Fae to break the silence.

“It is less about the distance,” Tikki told her, “and more about the time and your intentions. Anyone could walk this road into these woods and continue happily onto whichever small village next offers a meal- but to walk it in the hours before dusk, with the intent to find home, with myself at your side-“

Tikki stopped. The tree ahead of her was worn and old and stooped, but still vibrant in its flowers and leaves. Tikki traced the whorls along the bark, watching them glow with an internal light.

“We still have hours til dusk,” she said. “Come.”

Marinette rubbed her eyes.

Tikki had been just before her. She knew it, had heard the small footsteps and the cheery whistle and then she had turned a bend and Marinette was alone.

“Tikki?” She called out. “Hello, Tikki?”

The woods were green and ethereal around her, the warm light of evening streaming through the foliage and dying everything alive and almost thrumming with energy. She kept walking forward, waiting for the path to turn against and she’d see the Fae ahead, waiting with a raised brow and a small smile. Marinette broke into a run.

“Tikki??!” She called again. The road ahead of her seemed endless, and it changed as her heart beat faster, until everything had focused into the tunnel of branches and roots she sprinted through. “Tikki!!!”

She came to a rough halt, stumbling over a root as the road diverged. She caught herself on the tree, not quite tumbling.

“So you’re a changeling as well?” The voice was cool, and dismissive, and challenging all at once. Marinette tensed, meeting the eyes of the stranger.

“I know you,” she said instead of any of the instant rebuttals she can think of.

And she does. Leaning up against the tree that marks the split path is the Bourgeois daughter; she’d fixed one of her dresses once, and her parents were often entreated to come and work for them. Marinette had never actually spoken to her though.

“One would hope.” The girl flips her hair, and Marinette takes a second to actually take her in. She isn’t wearing a dress like Marinette, or anything remotely expected. Instead she’s dressed in pants and layered shirts, a cloak over her arms and a pack on her shoulders. “I am Chloé Bourgeois, after all.”

“I’m Marinette,” Marinette offers. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Did I ask?”

The girl was getting on Marinette’s nerves. “Did you see anyone else come through this way? I’m looking for-“

“A Fae.” Chloé shrugged. “I know what you’re looking for. It’s part of the whole trial.”

Marinette squared her shoulders. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. I’m trying to find someone.”

Chloé’s expression remained smugly disdainful. “The trial? You have to make your own way into the Other World in order to prove yourself as rightful heir. The Fae that led you here? Their gone. Face it. You’ve been abandoned to die in the woods. At least my Fae told me what was happening before dipping out.”

Her blood felt icy in her veins. “No. They wouldn’t.”

“They’re Fae,” Chloé said coolly. “They lured us out here with promises of being special of whatever and then left us for fun.”

“No.” Marinette closed her eyes, and then turned left. “Tikki said it was about intentions. Well, I don’t intend to die here. Come on.”

She grabbed Chloé’s arm and yanked, pleaded to see the blonde sprawl and lose her composure with a squawk.

“You little peasant, how DARE you! I’ll-“

“You’ll do what, Chloé? Call your Father’s guards?” Marinette laughed. “Come on. I’m not letting either of us die in here.”

Chloé looked around for any other choice and Marinette could see her face fall when none presented themselves. And then she hardened her expression. “I’m certainly not following around a dirty little baker’s daughter. I’m a Bourgois. I’ll find my own way.” She spun and started stomping down the other path.

Marinette eyed the path she’d chosen. It had felt right to turn left. She was sure when she chose it that it was the right way. And Chloé was being rude enough that Marinette would love to consider leaving her.

But she turned to the right. If it was intention, then she would make sure she and Chloé both made it. She had enough intention for anyone and everyone.

“Chloé!” She called, and Chloé actually did stop and wait for her. “I’ll follow you, if you don’t mind.”

“And why would you do that?” Chloé squinted suspiciously even as they started walking. “Well, obviously, because I’m right and everyone should follo-AEEEUgghh,” she squawked as she fell and groaned from the forest floor.

“I figure you’re a decent warning system for problematic roots,” Marinette grinned, holding her hand out.

Chloe grit her teeth and took it.

They walked in silence for a while, Marinette thinking and Chloé seemingly fuming.

“Is that the best dress you could muster for the occasion?” The girl finally spat. “One faerie prances up to your door and you pull out all the stops? I’ve got dresses that would make yours wrinkle with envy.”

“Where did you get those clothes?” Marinette finally voiced what she’d been thinking for a while. “It doesn’t seem like something you’d just have on hand, and they all look pretty ill-fitting-“

Chloé self consciously fixed the collar of her vest. “If you must know,” she sniffed, “my Father thought the Fae was full of shit. So I stole these from the washroom and I figured I’d find out myself.”

“And?” Marinette giggles.

“Yeah, this is pretty shitty still,” Chloé grimaces. “I’m- sorry. Pollen said I had to work on my temper.”

“It’s-“ Marinette stopped. It wasn’t okay, but she didn’t want to alienate the only companion she had. “I can understand, I guess. As long as you’re trying to be better.”

Marinette was getting the feeling now that she should have taken the other path. Not because of Chloé- just- it had felt right. And the longer they walked this one, the wronger it felt.

The trees seemed longer. Sharper.

“So Pollen was the Fae who came to get you?” Marinette asked. “Mine’s name was Tikki.”

“Don’t see how it matters.” Chloé pointed up. “Light’s starting to fade. It’s nearing dusk.”

“Then we need to go,” Marinette said.

Chloé sighed. “I suppose if we must.”

Marinette started walking faster when the light started turning pink. And then when it started losing the vibrant color, she started running, Chloé in her heels. She could almost feel it when the sun set, the last ray burning over the horizon as she stopped.

“That’s it, Dupain-Cheng.” Chloé dusted herself off. “I’ve known it since Pollen took off. We weren’t changelings, we weren’t special- just the next fun human toy to throw out in the woods.”

“You’re wrong,” Marinette spat, whirling around, suddenly furious as she tried desperately to suppress the fear climbing in her throat. “Tikki promised I’d see my father again!”

Chloé gave her a contemptuous look. “More fool you.”

“No!” Marinette stomped up to her. “It’s you, isn’t it! With your bratty attitude and your cynicism. Tikki said it was about intentions and you’ve been doing nothing but try to irritate me since I found you!”

“Oh, since you found me?” Chloé barked out laughter. “You were just as lost as I was! I was better off sitting there than walking even further into the Fae forest!”

“You’d still be sitting there without me!” Marinette shouted. “You’re ready to die just because you’re afraid you aren’t as special as people say you are! Well guess what! You aren’t special!”

“I could be!” Chloé yelled back. “I was going to be a Fae Queen and I was going to rule and then you and Mother and everyone would see it!”

Marinette stopped short of the next ugly thing she was ready to say, watching the tears bead up in Chloé’s eyes. “You don’t need to be special. Pollen didn’t want you because you’re Chloé Bourgeois and your special. Pollen just wanted Chloé Bourgeois.”

Chloé angrily wiped away the moisture. “I’m fucking special, fuck you.”

Marinette looked around again, the dim light starting to cast the shadows grey. And then she saw a tree, weathered like a worn brow upon the forest’s face.

She walked up to it and reached out her hand, watching the way it reacted, lights sparking beneath her fingers, beneath the bark.

“It’s about the intentions,” she murmured. For a moment she looked at Chloé.

“The light isn’t quite gone. You’ve got to try, Chloé.”

Chloé’s lips trembled, as of about to speak, but instead she just nodded, jerking her chin forward. Marinette took the first step, listening to Chloé behind her, concentrating on somewhere she’d never been.

And then there was a corner and she rounded it, and Tikki was there. Marinette rushed forward, throwing herself into the Fae’s arms.

“You made it, Marinette. My Ladybug.” Tikki caressed her cheek. “Welcome home.”

Marinette looked back first. “Where’s Chloé?”

“Subjection’s girl?” Tikki paused. “You’ll have opportunity to see her soon enough, I suppose.”

“Then she made it,” Marinette could feel the tension drain away from her.

“Come,” Tikki said, amused. “And I will show you your world.”

Marinette faced where Tikki gestured and gasped.

They were on some sort of balcony, framed in by the branches of the trees she had just exited. She could see the grounds below rolling out forever, hills and plains and farmlands and forests and small towns. Right below them sprawled a city, and she realized that she was standing on a tower, and looking around her, she saw the scope of the castle.

“This way,” Tikki said, leading her to one side and opening up a vine covered door Marinette hadn’t realized was there until that moment. “The castle is, of course, yours. You must feel free to roam as you wish. Those who work here will serve you as they do me.”

“Huh?” Marinette felt dazed. The hallway progressed into a larger hall, into a larger one, until they stopped at a door.

“Your room, of course,” Tikki said, pushing the doors open. “You should find everything you might need here. In the morning, I shall have you escorted to breakfast, and then you will join me in my study. For now, I will send up food and drink. Rest well, dear one.”

Marinette took a step in and had to resist the urge to faint.

The room was spacious, with small corners carved out for what looked to be a study and a small sitting area. The bed dominated the room, with two doors leading out from either side.

She turned to Tikki, to protest, and found the Fae already gone.

She sat on the bed, finding it plusher than the bed at home, which had lumps, but she knew the lumps and she could sleep around them. She laid down, sinking in and trying not to cry at the sudden overwhelming wave of homesickness and exhaustion. The day had seemed so long, how could she have said goodbye that morning? How could she have been with Chloé, not half an hour ago?

Eventually she wiped away the tears that had sprung up and moved towards the sitting area. She imagined it to be for sharing secrets with the kind of close friends one might invite into your room, but she had never truly had anyone who didn’t whisper about her behind her back other than her parents. The chairs were soft too, in the plush way she was now coming to associate with this life.

The study held more interest. The bookshelf was already full and she let herself browse titles for a moment. The Miraculous and Children of the Miraculous caught her eye, as well as one that seemed untitled, but when she pulled it out she found a hand written journal in a language she didn’t know.

The desk was grand, but the drawers held other treasures. A set of needles, each finer alone than her parents could buy in a year. A small selection of fabrics. She clutched them to her chest and let out a muffled dry sob before composing herself.

The first door led to a bathroom and she gave it a perfunctory look over, sure that it would matter much more to her later. The final was a closet, and -

“Highness?” A small voice asked. Marinette’s eyes opened to see very wide hazel eyes, just in front of her.

She had fainted upon seeing the open closet, filled with clothing she could only ever have dreamed of.

The servant was a small girl, with mousy blonde hair and the widest eyes Marinette had ever seen. She was also carrying a covered platter which Marinette assumes would be her dinner.

“Let me take that,” she offered, hands reaching, but the girl stepped back.

“No, Highness,” the girl said, taken aback. “Simply direct me-“

Marinette blushed. “If you would set it on the desk then?”

The girl did so, and then curtsied. She held her pose, as Marinette watched, long enough that Marinette realized she was waiting for Marinette to dismiss her.

“Oh! Sorry, yes, thank you.”

The girl spun and walked briskly out, and Marinette groaned. That was a bungled first impression if there ever was one. The smell of the food beckoned and she gave the closet one last longing glance before lifting the lid.

Steaming rich stew, with warm bread and butter and honey. A glass of milk. Marinette sat down and ate it without thought, trying to settle her mind.

She went back to the closet when she’d finished. It would make sense to know her own wardrobe.

She proceeded to spend the next two hours attempting to try on dresses. It was rather difficult as several were clearly designed to be put on her by a second pair of hands but she managed.

In the end she found a soft linen shift on the bed and put that on, before crawling into the bed and closing her eyes. Sleep fell upon her immediately.

TAGLIST:

@ash-amg @vixen-uchiha @redscarlet95 @dramatic-squirrel @athena452 @novaloptr @bee-wrecker @constancetruggle @pr-y-sha

#maribat #changeling!marinette au #fanfic #this WILL be maribat im just #...not sure if it will be daminette yet.#might be chlonette tbh mari is giving off big crush energies in my rough drafts #but also im kinda. wanting it to be jasonette.#oh god. oh fuck.chlojasonette.#NO PROMISES #EVERYTHING IS IN THE AIR AND UNDETERMINED!!!!

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