#fae arc

[ask-hws-norge]

Happiness... Freedom... Peace of mind

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 47

Hear me out. Amity Park gets shifted in universes slightly- maybe it’s from Pariah, maybe it was a wish, maybe they did so on purpose to escape something- and they end up in the DC-verse. The thing is, thanks to the media blackout and the shields, no one in the new universe notices. The Amityville Paekers know about outside, can go on the internet and leave whenever they want, but they’ve all become more than a little liminal. More than a little off. Movements too graceful, eyes too sharp, ears too pointed and teeth more akin to predatory fangs. Skin with a soft glow, hair moving as though underwater or being tussled by the wind- bodies seemingly unaging after a certain point. They’re so ecto-contaminated that they’re unsure they can even be counted as human anymore, and it wasn’t like the city wasn’t already practically self sufficient. Add in a portal or two through the Infinite Realms to get supplies to start a few fields or some fish farms and well, they’re pretty good. Sure it’s resulted in them using a mixture of modern and older money and having several extinct plants and animals running around but that’s fine. There’s magic in this world! Actual magic, that they can learn! And use? Oh this makes rebuilding after a sparring incident go so much faster! 

This results in the hero who stumbles across this place to believe they’ve stumbled across some sort of city of fae or elves. 

[skelecentral]

Wasn’t gonna post this because it’s only semi-UT related, but. I really wanted to lmaooo— here’s my faeu self insert (post-turned-fae!)

Faeu is by @/antlered-prince

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🥄 Force-feeding for Ryan or Danny please

CW: Not-exactly-human whumpee, iron burns, mouth whump, intimate/creepy whumper, dehumanization

Every bite burns.

His palms press into the uneven old floor, fingers scraping along the stained, ancient tile. He has to lower himself down, lapping up the broth with his tongue, holding back a whimper as it tingles, burns, throbs. His gums ache, his teeth hurt, as he forces himself to chew a bit of beef, swallowing only with effort.

Ryan closes his eyes against the sting of tears.

"Good," Abraham says, voice low and husky. "Again."

He swallows, tasting iron and copper. The corners of his mouth are torn and bleeding, his lips roughly chapped. As the liquid coats his mouth, the skin pulls apart, reopening tender spots that had only just begun to heal. Blood mixes with the seasoning.

Tastebuds slough away as the iron Abraham has mixed into the stew moves over his tongue, leaving tender, unready tissue to burn ever deeper.

He has to take another bite.

Ryan forces himself to lean down, trying to focus on the burn of the muscles in his arms as they stretch to hold his weight, and laps up a little cooked carrot.

His mouth flashes in terrible pain.

He coughs, fighting the urge to spit it out, feeling the weight of Abraham's eyes on him. Ryan and Danny kneel side by side on the floor, and Ryan doesn't dare look at his brother.

Not because of what Abraham might do.

But because he's not sure if he looks into Danny's eyes, that there will be anything there in the blue eyes that look back. Sometimes, Danny just... isn't there, anymore.

Ryan isn't convinced he will always come back.

Ryan breathes, saltwater dripping into the stew. The iron in it burns all the way down his throat. A bright, hot ache grows in his chest and even down to his stomach.

There's only a few bites left.

He can't do this.

"Please," He whispers. "Please, I can't."

"Of course you can," Abraham coos, syrupy-sweet, leaning over to run his fingers through Ryan's tangled hair, scratching along his scalp. It sends goosebumps up and down Ryan's arms, and he fights the urge to jerk backwards.

Never pull away from Abraham's touch.

"You said you were hungry," Abraham continues, falsely sympathetic, petting Ryan like a frightened dog. White hair falls against his cheek as he looks down. "Didn't you? So finish your food, Faerie Boy. Neither of you gets up until it's gone."

"Nnn-" He catches himself.

Never say no.

Ryan groans instead of answering, staring down at what's left in the bowl. It's not that much-

It's too much.

It's so, so much.

It's going to hurt so much.

"Y-yes, Abraham," He whispers, because always answer Abraham, never hesitate when he speaks to you. The rules burn nearly as badly as the iron. The rules... and the fact that he knows every single one, now.

It's just a few more bites.

He can't do this-

He has to do this.

The iron collar around his throat burns on the outside, and every single bite burns all the way down within.

Abraham makes him lick up the blood that drips from his tongue, too.

[ludinusdaleth]

im honestly very happy ira is one of if not the most beloved npc of campaign 3. and while i know most of his surface level appeal is the sheer unhinged faeishness of him, i think it fundamentally comes down to ira, despite his most un-human everything, being the most Man in his struggles as a fae can get.

as early as his intro he was set apart by past established fae, by working on technology, wearing a tattered suit. he was kicked out of the courts and the vanguard after they asked him to create their war weapons. he is a veteran of a mortal war, and got no accolades. he has spent 3 decades living in caves, taking the shittiest jobs imagineable just to get by, even torturing folk for his shit bosses again (the treshi job) because cash is cash. he knows folk will Just Die if they cant keep up and accepts it bluntly. his voice creaks with age & experience in the dust. it is easy to pin his pettiness & need for vengeance solely on the intensity of a fae til you see that he approaches even those goals with the rusty, tired caution of a man who was a spy, who understands the gravity of war, whose bosses have screwed him over so badly they made he, the nightmare king, scared.

he is a victim of the greed of the rich, easily isolated and made a scapegoat as a sole evil by them. he has lived a life with absolutely no lavish design. even artagan, whom i love with all my heart and find deep relateability in, is so disconnected with mortality at first, in large part because he was a literal fae lord. when vox machina adjusted the leylines to let artagan into exandria, ira was locked out of his home at the same time. ira has lived in the grime of the worst the fae courts and humanity has to offer, wanting to make a mark but always being a pawn hurt by a grand design. and so, while he clearly & obviously knows the difference between mortal & fae, he also knows there's really no defined line between who can hurt you worse... and how it shapes you. does your callousness begin with your fae nature, with everyone deeming you a monstrosity, or with your experience at the bottom rung? it all ends the same, regardless. i think it is fascinating to see the classism & even capitalism choking exandria and its sister realms, and ira is so fascinating because he is the primary example we have of that happening to a fae, and we get to see how that has gruffly shaped someone who could have been as utterly unphased & whimsical as a flower in the breeze.

[ruckis-vandalizes]

"I'll show them. I'll show them ALL! I've had everything stripped from me, given back and then taken away from me yet again. I've been denied my peace for too long. I don't care who's to blame anymore, if I cannot trust that things will go my way then I'll cut out the middle man. I'LL HOLD THEM ALL ACCOUNTABLE!!!"

Some interesting things happened in our campaign and hooo boy, Gera's not taking it too well... good thing he didn't overreact /sar /ref

[novankenn]

Things Best left ... ALONE

"It is a new initiative, started just this year. No longer is Beacon going to be setting up four-person teams. Instead pairs of partners will be randomly matched for missions and team exercises. The hope is to train more rounded and flexible huntsmen and huntresses." - Ozpin

Pyrrha Nikos, four-time Mistralian Tournament Champion, and media darling was the odd one out. She had enrolled in Beacon in the hope to escape the hero worship and preferential treatment she was constantly receiving. However her fame followed her, and because of an odd number of applicants... she was without a partner.

(Images generated by perchance ai text-to-image)

Feeling isolated, and alone she sought refuge in labyrinth of shelves that made up the Beacon library. It was there deep in the stacks, she discovered... something... something that would change her life.

Though only time would tell if it would be for the better or worse.

--== Chapters ==--

ONE - TWO - THREE - FOUR - FIVE - SIX - SEVEN - EIGHT - NINE - TEN - ELEVEN - TWELVE - THIRTEEN - FOURTEEN - FIFTEEN -

[clickerflight]

Clove: Part 17 - The Pit

Good news! I have finished my danny phantom fanfic so I can move Clove to the more active position in my writing rotation. So, this story will progress much faster (think one or two pieces of clove writing per week)

Masterlist

Part 16

Content: Fae whumpers, vampire whumpee, collared and bound, manhandling, lacerations around the mouth

........................................................

Ephraim sat against the cold pillar, arms wrapped around knees and his head down, toes curled into the strange grass. He shivered as the fog twisted around him, dampening his clothing and hair, leaving him to grow cold. He hadn’t thought about much of anything for the past few hours. What was there to think about? How he failed, again? Goldenrod gone into the mists of the fae wilds just like Benny? Ephraim’s own impending death? 

Goldenrod had been so scared. Ephraim tried to keep his eyes wide open, staring at his tattered pants, because if he closed his eyes the only clear thought he would have would be the image of Goldenrod’s wide, fearful eyes.

Ephraim felt as though the fog had entered in through his ears and left him quiet and damp and miserable inside there too. 

He hugged his knees closer, shifting his head for the hundredth time trying to get the collar to stop from cutting into his jaw. He had checked the collar earlier. No openings, no seam lines, nothing. Same with the chain. He was well and truly trapped. 

A sudden wind picked up through the fog, chilling Ephraim so thoroughly he couldn’t help but gasp and it took him a moment to look up, shivering. 

The fog was blowing back and away from him, showing him more of the cold, dreary landscape. There were no trees or buildings, just rolling blue hills as far as he was able to see. 

Well, there was something else. Three figures striding towards him. 

He should stand up, meet his death face to face, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand and expose himself to even more of that cold, cruel wind. 

The three fae approached, chatting with one another and laughing. The leader looked to be the shortest, gossamer wings glimmering as though there were sunlight shining down on them. He was beautiful in the way that vampires were supposed to be, but didn’t quite manage, ethereal and uncanny. 

The one walking on his right had an extra pair of arms, several fox tails waving around behind her, while the third looked like a bird of prey, his arms and wings the same limb and his face shaping into a beak which clacked gently as he spoke.

Ephraim could hear them speaking with one another, laughing softly, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying, their voices warbling and unclear to him.  

Ephriam twitched when they looked directly at him, their gazes becoming something sharp and hungry. 

“Oh, sweetheart!” the shortest called in a singsong voice, finally making sense to him. “Did you get lost?”

Ephraim shook his head a little. 

“Foolish, then,” the bird of prey said. “To come here so boldly.”

“No,” Ephraim said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “There was a man I was following. He has my…. My son.”

“Son? Not fledgling?” the shortest asked, wings flickering. “Stealing children now, are we, experiment?”

He reached out a hand and Ephraim heard the chain come out of the stone. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the chain moved too quickly, jerking him forward to land sprawled at the feet of the three fae, the chain held in the shortest’s hand. The three of them laughed as he caught his breath, his chest aching with the impact. 

“It’s funny every time,” the bird fae said, his beak clacking sharply, causing Ephraim to flinch as he started to get up.

The four armed fae put a foot on his back, keeping him from rising as his control over his breathing left him, tearing at the grass as adrenaline spiking in his tired, cold system. 

“Tough luck about your son,” she said, crouching and grabbing his wrists. He yelled as she repositioned his arms behind his back, the chain forming solidly around them to hold them there. “We don’t allow freaks of nature to wander around our wilds, though,” she whispered. 

She lifted Ephraim, putting him solidly on his feet before pushing him forward. 

“Please, wait!” Ephraim said desperately as the three fae closed around him, dragging and pushing him forward. “Please! I have to save him! Jack’s going to-”

The four armed fae grabbed him by the hair, wrenching his head back as though he were a doll with no resisting force. 

He cried out in pain, arched awkwardly as he tried to reach with hands bound behind his back to push her off. 

“Shut it, vampire,” she hissed before releasing him, watching him stumble before grabbing him by the back of his tattered shirt to control him better. 

The fog vanished before the three fae as they walked, and the low, rolling hills suddenly fell away. 

There was a pit in the fog. It stretched on and on, blocks of reddish granite dotting the edge in intervals until it all disappeared into the mist. 

And in the pit…..

There had been stories that things did not decay in the fae wilds. Not unless acted upon by an outside source. There were hundreds of bodies in the pit, all with gaping wounds in their chests, mouth open and bloody, fangs ripped out, all of them as fresh and pristine as the day they died, horror frozen on their dead faces. 

A horrified sob ripped out of Ephraim as he searched the faces, looking for Benjamin’s. Is this what happened to his fledgling? 

Before he could find anything, the four armed fae threw him down, back against the stone before grabbing him with all four hands to make sure he was laying flat on it. 

“Give me the stake, Jokel,” she said to the bird fae, who reached into his bag to do so as Ephraim writhed, the chains digging into his wrists and back. 

“Hold on,” the shortest fae said, sounding offended. “I want his fangs.”

The four armed fae huffed as the fae with gossamer wings stepped forward, his robes sweeping over the grass like a hiss of death. 

He grabbed Ephraim’s jaw, despite Ephraim’s vain attempts to avoid his hand. His fingers were sharp, and cut shallow lines in Ephraim’s jaw and lips as he pried the vampire’s mouth open. 

Ephraim stopped struggling as the sharp claws forced their way into his mouth, heavy on his tongue and gums. He closed his eyes tight, whimpering as he waited for the fae to take his fangs, mentally preparing himself for the sharp and terrible pain that was sure to come, but a silence fell, heavy and long. 

He cracked an eye open to find all three of the fae staring at him. 

The gossamer fae ran a thumb over his broken fang. “You’ve bitten something you shouldn’t have. What did you fight, vampire?”

The gossamer fae removed his fingers from Ephraim’s mouth and Ephraim licked his bloody lips quickly and nervously. “Fae,” he croaked. He was dead anyways. And if they did decide to torture him, perhaps that would provide him with an opportunity of escape. ”About half a century ago, I think.”

The fae all shared a look before sharp eyes turned to him again. “Where.”

“Quiet Brook,” Ephraim replied in a shaky tone. 

That got a reaction. The four armed fae released him immediately like he’d burned her, and the bird and gossamer fae looked faintly disappointed. 

“Right,” the gossamer fae sighed. “You’d better not be lying. The queen will want to meet you.”

“Queen? I don’t have time for that! I have to-”

Jokel grabbed him by the chain, close to the collar, and forced him up. “You have an audience with the queen. You will do as we say, and you might even live.”

Ephraim swallowed hard and nodded against the collar, holding his breath as it crushed his windpipe slightly. The pain didn’t really matter. He could barely feel it through the confusion, relief, and fear. 

“Just our luck,” the gossamer fae sighed as Jokel released Ephraim’s collar and they all watched him stumble to keep upright. “I really wanted a couple more fangs for my collection.”

“How are you coming along with that, Kortop?” the four armed fae asked, walking beside him as Jokel took charge of walking Ephraim forward, much more gently now. 

“Oh, I’m getting close. I want to have it done by the harvest festivals so I can wear them all out and about. It’s going to look incredible when it’s finished, but I think I might have to go vampire hunting if I want it done on time.”

“A trip to the human realm doesn’t sound too bad,” the four armed fae said thoughtfully. “I’d like to come if you do go.”

“Of course! We’ll make a vacation of it. Jokel, are you interested?”

“Not really.”

“Spoil sport.”

Ephraim looked back over his shoulder at the pit, blood dripping down and along his chin in cold, windswept lines. There were so many dead vampires there. So many slain when they could have just been sent back. But how many vampires avoided the pit for much worse fates in the courts?

Ephraim couldn’t stop shivering. He wished so badly to go home, to be in the garden, to hold Goldenrod. He wished it so badly his chest hurt and his eyes burned. He lowered his head, fighting back tears as he was escorted through the cold hills of the fae wilds. 

Part 18

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff @honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer

[menagerie-of-monsters]

Art by Vamorii

Stolen from the mortal world by the fae, the last thing I expect is a crown. Enslaved at a mine and with no hope of escape, my life is a grim exercise in survival until the magic of the Court chooses an unexpected ruler: Me. But becoming queen is more than revels and gowns. It puts me in the crosshairs of every vicious member of the fae nobility—and in the bedroom of a gorgeous, winged fae with the power to rewrite the landscape and slaughter armies. His every emotion thrums through my veins: Pain. Joy. Pleasure. The Court's chosen king is too dangerous for casual touch, a man burdened by strange magic and rejected by his own goddess. The link between us binds us, heart and soul. He courts me with gems and flowers. His eyes follow me and his desire heats my blood. Yet he refuses to take the throne. With the Court on the verge of falling apart, threatened by a vengeful goddess and scheming nobles, he holds back, certain that he'll do more harm than good. But if he truly wants me, he's going to have to claim me as the man I know he can be: my king.

[mollyringle]

ARC reviewers wanted!

Please reblog if you know any avid readers who frequently review books online! Especially if they enjoy novels containing: - fae - witches - angst-free queerness - romance - a cozy noblebright mood even amid magical disaster - '90s cover bands I seek reviewers and general word-of-mouth-spreaders for my novel Ballad for Jasmine Town, which contains all of the above. (As to the romance and queerness, the main couple is a trans man and a bi woman, in case you prefer to know such details.) It can be requested on NetGalley and Edelweiss right now, or I could email you an ARC in PDF or epub format.

Here is the publisher page if you’d like to read more about it. (Though distributed by Simon & Schuster, the book is independent-press-published. The publishing world is complicated.) For those who've read Lava Red Feather Blue: it takes place in the same country and has some overlapping events, but you don't have to read one book to make sense of the other. They are both stand-alones. Thank you in advance, and I hope it finds some happy readers!

[dinky-dinky]

VILLAIN ARC- DINKY, THE BETRAYER

You like to do things up close and personal. As personal as you can get. You are an excellent actor, and you do adore putting on a smile knowing your worst enemy, the one you hate the most, doesn't suspect a thing when they tell you their deepest secrets. Your only motivation is revenge, and revenge you shall get. Perhaps you loved them once, long ago, but any fondness for your target you once felt has long since warped and twisted into perverse obsession, laced with malice and venom and seething hatred. Good or evil does not matter to you. All that matters is they get what they deserve.

"Derri knows what he did, eating my last slice of apple tart. The fool..."

Thanks for the tag @the-white-snake ♥ I know I am late on this but I am tagging anyone looking at this and wanting to share with Dinky their Villain arc! (She waits with bated breath):

https://uquiz.com/quiz/MsPd6L?p=5202700

[mwg-out-of-context]

bonus:

[artblogofanekophile]

More digital painting practice.

This time, I wanted to draw mine and @witchinghour333's DnD characters at their wedding!

Feel free to reblog, but please, don't repost!

[flat-neines]

>be me

>be really into fgo, world of darkness, etc. and start actively looking for fantasy with unique takes on creatures and stuff

>accidentally stumble upon a series called acotar and you look into it

>something seems familiar...

(I'm not trying to inspire discourse but- the parallels in those storylines are there and I can't unsee it)

[asthecrowrambles]

it/its pronouns are so swag ithink i shall adopt them :}

[imflyingfish]

Honestly i dont like sculk spreading/corruption storylines theyre really boring with a few exceptions