#fae romance story

[makayla-is-writing]

Male Forest Fae x Female Reader

Summary: A forest fae stumbles upon you cleaning his shrine. You are a local who stopped to admire the shrine when exploring the forest, before deciding to clean up the forgotten structure. He reveals himself to you, thankful for your respect. He asks that you visit again, and you promise so, despite knowing you’ll never return. However, you feel obligated to come back, bringing gifts and curiosity. The longer time goes on, the more frequent and elongated your visits become. You soon become trapped in his affections, forgetting the life you once led.

Pt.1 here

Pt.2 here

Pt.3 here

Pt.4 here

Pt.5 here

[dark-moonlust]

Unmasking Desire

Commission October 2024 for anon!! This has so much sass, enemies-to-lovers vibes and smut!

Pairing: male Fae (Eli Thorn) x fem Vampire (Mara Sinclair)

Summary: a female vampire named Mara and a male fae named Eli are professors at the same university. They have been rivals since they met but they’ve been assigned to work on something together by the head of their department. Despite their attempts to get out of it, they agree to meet up to get the project done. Emotions are unleashed, their desire unmasked.

Warnings: 18+, oral (fem+male) foreplay, p in v sex, overstimulation, in public but magic keeps it private and no one finds them, many orgasms (fem), size kink, dirty talk, big fae🍆, lots of 💦.

Copyright @ 2024 by Kate Hart This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent. This is a commissioned short story and will be posted on the author’s sites for others to enjoy.

Late evening found Mara sitting in the back corner of the library, her legs crossed, drumming her dark-red nails against the leather arm of the velvet sofa. It was a quiet Saturday, no one was around. The library was open for her convenience. Moonlight filtered through the tall, narrow windows, sending faint shadows across the room. Silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face but her lips were twisted, a frown on her features.

She didn’t like waiting—especially when it was for him.

Professor Eli Thorn.

He was the last damn male in existence she would have chosen to cooperate with.

The project.

It was the worst duty she'd ever been given. Runes and magical artifacts from the Lost Ages. The words of the chief department still rang out in her mind. He had handed in this assignment at them with a single directive: "You two are some of our best minds and I'll expect you to work together, whatever your personal differences. Your research will provide remarkable intel for our university.”

Of all the damn people she had to cooperate with him.

Of course, Mara had tried to wriggle her way out of the assignment no matter how great. But the head of their department had been firm. Mara was busy enough already and working with Professor Thorn was going to be a pain in the butt. He grated on her nerves. He was a silver-tongued devil who thrived in finding ways to pry into her carefully guarded life, somehow invading every hour of her day with his maddening charisma.

Mara had watched him glide through lectures with ease, the students and fellow professors eating out of his hand, captivated by his calm, dark voice. Yet for some strange reason, Professor Eli Thorn decided to focus all of that energy on her. No matter what assignment she chose, no matter how tough her research, he always managed to find a way into her orbit, arranging things so he could poke her logic.

The sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened as the door finally opened, the subject of her thoughts entering with that cocky, unconcerned strut that made her bite her lips and shift uncomfortably in her seat. Damn it… there it went again, that unnecessary attraction she felt every time she saw the irritating fae.

Tall and well-built, he strolled in the room, looking damn fine in a dark, brown vest over a crisp, white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, lean forearms tattooed with runes—signs of the ancient fae magic he possessed. His hands were also inked and full of veins, his fingers long and deft. He wore a single accessory: a silver ring set with a black opal, a powerful heirloom from his ancestors.

His face was sharply defined, clean shaven and as if crafted by an artist with an aristocratic jawline, slightly pointy ears, high cheekbones, a smirking mouth and chocolate dark skin. Eyes the color of deep green settled on her with a knowing glance. His lashes were long, his hair as black as midnight, falling to just below his jaw. Mara had noticed— completely randomly— that he often brushed it back when lost in thought or just in casual charm.

Why had that unimportant detail entered her mind again?

Clearing her throat, she returned his gaze boldly. “You are late, Professor Thorn.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he sat down irritatingly beside her on the sofa. “Missed me, Mara?”

“You keep calling me by my name when I’ve never given you leave to do so.”

“I know that deep down you just love it.”

Her jaw tightened. “I prefer it when people keep the professional boundaries.”

He didn’t reply and gazed at her silently, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe, taking in her cold, almost regal stance. He lingered just a touch too long over her figure, noticed the way she tightened her thighs and he cursed himself for it. She was a creature of precision and discipline, yet at the same time, a living temptation, a dangerous mystery.

Yes, Eli thought silently, the vampiress was a vision, sitting there in a demure dark red dress that hid most of her smooth porcelain-pale skin. Yet, somehow, it managed to make her appear even more luscious, driving him mad with longing. She was tall, with generous curves and magnificent silver hair that fell in thick curls down her shoulders, reaching past her waist. Her hair was truly captivating, framing her face like a halo, emphasizing her striking blood-red eyes and lips— full bow-shaped lips, hiding her fanged teeth.

Eli had never met anyone like her. She was all prim, razor-edged disapproval and looked at him as if he were beneath her as if she'd rather drive a stake through his heart than spend another moment with him. But she also tugged at something deeper inside him, something darker within. There was a fire beneath that graceful pride of hers and he could sense it shimmering, scent her desire.

And the more he sensed that heat, the more he wanted to expose it—to shatter her walls, lay her bare, breathless and powerless, beneath, above him, in every position possible, every part of her entangled with him.

Bloody hell… he doubted he could complete the assignment after all. His defenses were crumbling. His patience snapping.

Eli swallowed back his innate craving and forced himself to focus.

"So," he said, breaking the tense silence between them. "How do you propose we divide the work, then?”

“I suggest we work separately and discuss only when necessary. I prefer my partners silent and obedient.”

Eli lounged back in his seat, his legs outstretching, arms nonchalantly folded across his chest. "Silent and obedient? Oh, Mara…" he drawled, allowing her name to slide off his lips. "It’s such a shame. I was never any good at obeying."

“Which, frankly, makes me question why I'm stuck with you.”

“Oh, poor you. But go ahead, sweetheart. Try pretending you don't want me here.”

“Enough with the useless talk. This project takes dedication and competence, I don’t want it to take forever, can we begin please?”

He grinned and stretched out with a leisurely look, obviously taking his time. "You know, judging by the fire in your eyes, it as if you wish you could make me disappear into thin air."

Eli saw her smile. Her lips curved, just a little, cute fangs peeking —and damn it, she was lovely.

“Was that a smile?” He leaned forward, his scent taunting her senses. “Pretty. Do it again.”

“Do you really think you're going to get to me with this nonsense?” she murmured, turning open her notebook in an attempt to avoid him.

He laughed. “How you wound me.”

She slammed her notebook shut and sighed. "If only.”

Another low husky laugh while he brushed his hair back and Mara couldn’t help but follow that motion. Warmth pooled in her belly and she flung herself up, quickly widening the gap between them. She hated him and his commanding, alluring energy that prickled her flesh.

No, she thought. Professor Eli Thorn was distracting and irritating. Nothing more.

Mara approached the tall bookcases but before she could grab a book, he was there, his chest pressing against her. Her notebook dropped to the floor and she clutched the bookshelf as she felt every line of his muscular chest against her back, his orangy musky scent surrounding her. He tantalized her senses, made her body tinkle in heat, liquid warmth trickling from her pussy. And yet she didn’t pull away.

“What are you— we are supposed to be looking over texts—ancient runes—”

“Hmmm,” he interrupted huskily. “It’s a project that will take a lot of work and cooperation.”

“Your games, Professor Thorne are pointless.”

“Tell me, Mara—do I get under your skin as much as you get under mine?” he drawled, his warm breath tricking her ear. He was at the end of his tether. Fuck patience. Fuck everything.

“I repeat, your games are pointless.”

“Liar.”

In a swift motion, he turned her over, his hard chest squeezing against her breasts and pressing her back against the shelves. Strong arms encircled her as she gasped and placed her palms into his chest, splaying her fingers wide to feel his muscles contract. Damn, he felt so good, so hard and unyielding, his scent wrapping around her.

“Yes, you are a liar,” he repeated, his voice husky, “you keep biting your lips, rubbing your thighs together.” He leaned down, his smirking lips inches from her own. “I can scent you, my naughty little vampiress. Your pussy must be soaked. Must be feeling so sore and needy down there, hm?”

“Is it amusing, Professor Thorne?” Mara’s voice was smooth but there was tension in her crimson eyes. “Treating me like this?”

“Amusing? Oh, absolutely.” His hands reached out, fingers burying in her silky hair. “I mean, how often do I get to see the perfect Mara Sinclair looking like she’s about to snap?“

"Release me. You're insufferable."

Mara struggled but didn’t use the full force of her strength. She could have him off of her in a few lethal movements, but she didn’t want to. She liked him exactly where he was. And he obviously liked it, too. He didn’t budge and chuckled low and deeply which both frustrated and left her breathless.

"And you enjoy every second of it, don't you? Go ahead, confess it. You pretend to hate me but you want me,” he drawled, pressing the head of his erection against her belly. “Gods, you drive me mad. I’ve wanted you ever since I looked at you.”

“If you think I’ll be drawn by your juvenile attempts at flirting, think again.“

“Oh, but you’re calling this flirting. And you know what? I believe there is a part of you that appreciates how I make you feel something other than perfect, something real."

Mara opened her mouth to reply only to have her breath shallowed by his mouth. His lips brushed against hers, tasted her before coaxing the seam apart and plunging inside. He growled at her taste, pinning her hands on either side of her head, his body pressing down on hers, his cock hard and pulsing. Nearly melting against him, Mara gave him her mouth, freely, opening at his invasion, their breaths and moans mingling. 

Eli broke apart the kiss for a second, marveling at her kiss-swollen lips. “All you have to do is let go for once.”

“So that you can break me?" Mara replied, half-dazed by the kiss.

His grin grew nasty, his green eyes flaring with something predatory. "Never. I’ll let you break me apart, sweetheart, do whatever you want with me.”

And then he was kissing her again, this time devouring her lips and letting his tongue taste her mouth. Mara felt her knees go weak and tried to pry her hands free. After a few tugs, he set her free and she hungrily roamed her hands over his body, touching his broad back, feeling up the muscles of his chest and shoulders. 

“Damn, Mara,” he groaned and gave a sharp thrust against her clothed belly. “It fucking hurts— hurts to be so hard for you.”

“Eli…” she whispered as she let her barriers fall, the carefully formed shields she had created collapsing under his touch.

“Finally, you called me by my name.”

His gaze met hers and she felt herself falling into the passionate green of his eyes, the desire simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to swallow them both. The line between desire and restraint snapped— it no longer mattered.

She was done hiding her emotions for him.

Done playing.

This one’s a bit longer than usual, so if you’re up for the full read, it’s available for free over on Patreοn. It’s open to everyone—come by and enjoy!

[faeriesandfolklore]

Changelings and Faerie Revels

You have always felt strange. So when the forest calls, you listen.

Faerie revels are always warned against. Mortals are not to slip away when they hear the music, are not to dance to the endless sonata playing in the forest. Do not drink from the glittering cups, they say. Do not dance until your feet ache, twirling and twirling until you can think of nothing else. 

But you have always been a curious child. Far too curious for your own good, running through the grain fields and bringing back strange things- skulls with three eyes and swords speckled with stardust. Your parents did not know what to make of you, this strange thing. Almost other, with the way your eyes gleamed in the night. 

And once you came of age, it was so hard to find a spouse for you. Everyone in the village knew of the strange child, one who must’ve been a changeling. They turned their sons and daughters away, locked the doors whenever your parents came around to offer marriage. Distraught and out of options, the humble farmers you called your family handed you a cloak and a sack, pointing you toward the wood.

And that is how you ended up here, before the prince of the woods. Tall and willowy, his skin the color of bark. Eyes that shine as ripe as fresh fruit, lips so pink they look like the spilling of a heart. He takes your chin into his slender hands, turning your face this way and that. “A pretty one,” he says. “One of my father’s court. Sent to the human realm to be reared.”

That explains it, then. Just another noble child, exchanged for a mortal one. They knew you’d return to them eventually. 

And then the revel begins. The loveliest creatures you have ever seen twirl and twirl beneath the starlight, their hair free and flowing. They wear gowns of river water, waistcoats of moss, their faces studded with rubies and diamonds. Your hands are taken and you spin, spin, spin, your bare feet sinking into the spongy soil of the clearing. Music comes from every corner of the wood, soft as twinkling bells. Brownies and pixies strum at harps and play flutes, bird spirits perched at the edge of the trees, watching with luminous eyes. 

You end up dancing with the prince, his hands on your waist as he spins you. He presses a cup to your lips, filled with a golden liquid that makes your head spin. It is like a dream. It is like your home. And when you wake the next morning in the arms of the prince, in the belly of the castle, you know that this is what you were destined for. Not some mortal life- but the extravagance and loveliness of being here. 

[a2zillustrations]

When your mom can make friends with a literal dragon you end up with a lot of extended found family

[dashofmonsters]

Bonds of Blood & Delight- Prologue

Male Fae x F!Reader

"A bard? They'll let anyone in here these days," the gate guard scoffs as he tosses your order badge back at you.

The badge nearly slips out of your hand but you manage to grasp it and refasten it to your cloak. You hate when people call you a bard, even if they're not exactly wrong. You're a mage of the Order of Delight. Yes, a lot of entertainers have come from it but there are serious mages who take their skills beyond just illusions and spell crafted songs.

"I've taken the aptitude test like everyone else and sent in my qualifying spells. I've been accepted because I meet the standards," you frown at the guard as he checks your name.

"Whatever makes you feel better. You'll take a left once the gate opens and go towards the west tower where all the first years go," He sniffles and opens the gate.

You collect yourself and walk forward, trying not to feel too ruffled by the bard comment any longer. You've made it this far on your own with your own brand of spells. You're the first mage in your order to invent new spells in over two hundred years as well as the first to get accepted into the High Tower of magic research and development.

Here you'll be able to make a difference, here you'll be able to learn real magic and create more spells for your order. That, and hopefully learn more about the alchemists that reside here.

You grind your teeth just thinking about them. Alchemy has earned high regards in the world of magical research as of late due to the metal refining and greedy nobles. But it's demanding and requires a lot of blood. Not just normal blood, but blood with mana. There are many black market back alley alchemists who've take to kidnapping anyone with magic in their blood. You're late twin brother perished at the hands of a noble's alchemist and you'd have been next if it wasn't for his newly hired mage. Hendrick was a mage of the Order of Delight hired to entertain but his real job was a search and rescue. Unfortunately, you were the only one left to rescue out of the dozens of orphans that were kidnapped, drained and killed.

If Hendrick hadn't saved you when he did, you'd have followed your brother into an early grave. You recall how he took you in, practically adopted you and taught you everything he knew and then some. He was loud and boisterous with a stage presence that put many seasoned performers to shame. Nobody would ever guess that he was actually a mercenary.

It's funny to think that the least suspecting mage order has the most mercenaries and assassins than any other. Or maybe it makes perfect sense, no one would suspect the killing blow to come from the pretty man playing the flute.

The Order of Delight's underground sect known as The Dirge. It's small with only thirty members and you've been tasked with infiltrating the High Tower. You've spent the last five years crafting new spells that would allow me to qualify to study here, I created a persona that would be unassuming yet stereotypical. No one will know why you're here, least of all those fucking alchemists.

Feeling a bit more resolved you set your nerves aside. This mission is incredibly important in bringing down the alchemy rings and kidnappings once and for all and you'd be lying if you said that you weren't nerve wracked.

Biting your cheek you continue on to the West Tower and up the long winding staircase. The air is heavy with magic and a strange scent of salt water and incense. A guard stops you once you reach the halfway point and asks for your name and order badge. He doesn't give you any grief about what order you're from, in fact he seems to not really care about anything at all.

You decide to start making note of the guards first then since they seem pretty relaxed.

He points to a door to his left where all first years are sorted one by one in an interview given by the head of the West Tower. You've heard very little about this mage save for the fact that they tend to favor those from their own base order. A Daybreaker mage, probably the most logical and pragmatic of anyone here.

You enter the waiting room and see several young mages sitting around a fire rune. You instantly recognize one of them, a childhood friend of yours before you and your brother were kidnapped.

"By the light of the moon!" He stands up and holds out his arms as he rushes to you.

"Luan, it's good to see you," you hug him as he picks you up off the ground.

He swings you back and forth before setting you down, "I know you said in your last letter that you were coming to the capital soon but I never imagined that you meant you'd be coming here."

"And what about you? When were you going to tell me that you got accepted to High Tower?" you playfully shove him.

"It was meant to be a surprise for when you got here," He grins.

You laugh and shake your head, "I can't believe we'll both be studying here."

Luan nods and his sweet smile slowly fades, "Yes, well and then there's that."

You raise a brow and before you can ask him what he's talking about an elderly mage calls for him for his interview.

"That'd be me, we'll talk about it later," Luan smiles and waves you goodbye.

Though it was brief, seeing Luan has eased your nerves a great deal. You two became mages around the same time. You were both rescued by Hendrick however Luan had a knack for shadow and dark magic so he joined the newly reformed Order of Night. The both of you kept in close contact when you were separated and always sent each other gifts for birthdays and holidays.

He'll probably be the only one here who won't laugh at the fact that you're from the Order of Delight.

You roll your eyes and take his place in the circle around the fire rune. The other mages there eye you with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"So...," one of them speaks up, a girl with a badge from the Order of Despair. "A bard? How the hell did you get accepted?"

Here we go, you sigh.

"I have a knack for illusion magic and spell song craft like most bards but I got tired of the old spells that didn't have much practical or everyday use so I invented new ones. The elders here heard about what I was doing and had me test in," you explain.

To be honest it's a half truth, the Order of Delight has a hidden book of spells that The Dirge has full access to. All the spells in it are unregistered so no one would be able to track them back to another mage. You were told to use three or four from the book for your qualifying spells but instead of taking credit you took inspiration. You invented thirty new spells but only sent in seven. Thirty would be too suspicious.

"Sounds like you should have tried for the Daybreak order, practicality is their specialty," another mage chimes in.

"I would have but my family wouldn't let me," you shrug. An easy excuse, most mage families like to stick to the same order.

"Ugh I get that," the girl from the Order of Despair groans. "My folks were the same way, I have light magic and know a few healing spells but no, I had to honor tradition learn mind speak and dream bending. Gods I hate traditionalist. My names Ruya by the way."

You introduce yourself and tell her your fabricated backstory, one that's a bit more cheerful and normal.

A couple other mages open up to you, both from the Order of Bones, Tarek and Ilta... Twins. They both wore the standard skull tattoos on their faces though it looked more menacing on Tarek. They both wanted to join the Order of Delight since they're strong in illusion magic but of course their clan refused them. You knew there was an issue with traditionalist but you had no idea that it was that bad.

"Tarek Falswith," the elderly mage calls to one of your new acquaintances.

He stands tall and stretches, his short black hair shining in the light of the fire rune making his skull tattoo all the more wicked. He glances down at you and smiles, "See ya later bard."

His sister laughs as he walks away, "Just ignore him, he's a stupid flirt. Got himself in trouble time and time again back at our Order."

"Noted," you laugh. "Not looking for love here anyways."

"Not the best place to find it honestly," Ruya adds.

"Our older sister is a third year here and oh the stories she could tell you," Ilta begins. You and Ruya listen to the tales of the twins' sister Asra and her encounters with the opposite sex.

And as she spins her tales, one by one the young male mages are called off to interview until there's only the three of you. Ruya gets called while Ilta is recounting the time her sister wore a deer skull for a month even while she slept and ate to freak out a few of her admirers.

"She sounds crazy," you laugh.

"Oh yes, most say she should have gone into the Order of Twilight with how chaotic she is. But alas-"

"Tradition," both of you say then laugh.

"Ilta Falswith," the elderly mage calls.

Ilta mimics her brother, adding in a wink and the both of you giggle.

"See ya later bard," Ilta mocks her brother again but her voice sounds just like his.

You can't help but to be amazed and amused all at once and laugh as she walks away.

And then it's just you, or so you though.

"Good evening Thaneswell," an elderly voice rumbles your last name.

From the center of the fire run circle a figure slowly appears. An elderly man seated on a simple wooden stool. He's wearing a worn greyish blue cloak with a silver badge from the Order of Daybreak. His eyes are a milky white and his boney fingers tap gently on his lap.

Realizing who he is, you quickly stand up and bow your head.

"None of that now, none of that," He waves a hand and the fire rune dissipates. Ever so slowly he stands up, circling his hand in the air until a staff appears and falls into his hand.

"There is no need to bow amongst kin," he smiles.

You thought it was odd that you and one of the highest mages of the Order of Daybreak shared the same last name, it had to be a coincidence right?

"I did my own digging, my late brother was your maternal grandfather. He was a mage of the same order you belong to, and the same sect as well," He straightens as he starts circling you.

Your nerves reignite and you feel your gut sink.

"The family Thaneswell is not traditional and has members across every order there is. You of course wouldn't know this as your mother passed before you and your late brother were of age. This was," He waves his hand to another door that slowly opens on its own.

"Then my acceptance?" you ask.

"By your own skill, I'm not apart of the qualifying department. I put young mages where they need to be. Skilled and bright mages come here all the time to break from tradition and free themselves from bonds of a family or order. You met three such mages today did you not?" He asks as he lights up the room with a flick of his wrist.

The small room is filled with light crystals and fairy bobbles that produce a soft warm glow. Nic knacks of all sorts both mundane and magical line the shelves and a fat horned cat stretches across the large oak desk.

"Have a seat wherever you can find one," he chuckles as he lowers himself into a puffy armchair.

You turn and look for a chair but you only see mounds of books, small side tables and a taxidermy deer. Small side table it is.

Grabbing a table you pull it up close to the side of the desk as the front is occupied by an old dire wolf laying on a large pillow.

"Now then, let's get down to business. First off within close quarters you may call me uncle, I'd prefer it since we're family. You are after all the only closest living relative I have now," He sighs.

"Wait but you said our family has members in every order," you recall.

"Yes and because of that most of us have become estranged. My brother and his kept close but as the years went by, they were picked off one by one. I only learned of your existence after Hendrick rescued you. I'm so sorry about your brother... had I known... Why your mother never said anything..." he pauses and you see the grief on his face.

"She kept us close to the forest border, in one of the dump villages," you tell him.

His wrinkled face crumples and cringes, "By the gods why would she do that?"

"Hendrick said that the likelihood of us getting kidnapped at a dump village would be slim since the sick and dying are rarely ever kidnapped," you shrug.

"I'm so sorry, there must be more to this... I just know it but at least you're as well as well as can be," He sighs. "Now then, you're a member of The Dirge sect. Very few high mages know of it and I'm only privy of your mission as I'm the one who hired a mage to carry it out. It must have been Hendrick who threw your name in for it."

You blink once, twice and your mouth gapes wide open, "You're the one who- Wait a moment, you know why I'm here then and-"

"The alchemist rings are more corrupt than you can imagine. Both registered and unregistered, back alley and black market. If things continue on as is our nation will have the largest human trafficking outbreak in history. The Western Empire is already calling on our king to put an end to it since citizens of the empire have gone missing in the past few years. They've been putting more and more pressure on his majesty by raising taxes on goods and banning travel between our countries," he taps the desk before slamming his hand down.

"And the laws he made banning unregistered alchemy have been nothing more than a joke, I know. The Dirge has brought down at least fifty rings in the last few years but there seems to be no end to them. What in gods name are they after?" you lean forward, hoping your uncle will have some sort of answer.

"The same foolish thing the registered alchemists are after, immortality. Or at the very least, the next best thing. Long and youthful life, like that of a fae," he waves his hand and a book flings off the shelf and flies right to you.

"The War of Iron and Blood, a history book?" you start to pry the book open but it flings itself to a page near the very end.

"The book leaves out the most important part until the end. A fae specializing in Blood magic was caught and arrested. He is immune to iron and is able to heal himself if he wishes. Since those days long long ago, he has been held here, has been studied, has been bled for research with no real end in sight. I can only imagine what little hope he has if any," the high mage looks up towards the door.

A soft knock rasps the old wooden door, "Mage Thaneswell, it's Dargan, you called for me?"

"Yes yes, come in," your uncle flicks his finger and the door opens.

A tall and lanky mage shuffles in and slowly removes his hood. His skull tattoo looks rather odd on his face with how sunken in his eyes are and how gaunt he is.

"As you'll need to be focusing on your upcoming graduation I've decided to pass off your job to this first year. As you know all fourth years are to hand off their jobs to the new students. I've already given her a history lesson, the rest is up to you Dargan. Oh and once you're done, you'll be allowed a three week respite to recover," the high mage looks to you and nods towards the other mage.

Dargan bows a few times to your uncle and thanks him over and over before he grasps your shoulders, "Of course, yes, I'll get them up to speed and have them trained before then end of the day! Leave everything to me Mage Thaneswell."

"Yes and oh, once you're done could you give my niece a tour of the grounds? I'd do it myself but these old bones don't move like they used to," he smiles.

The Bone mage looks at you and then at the high mage, "Niece? Oh uh yes, yes of course."

Your uncle smiles and waves you off, "I'll be calling you back for a visit soon but please come and see me of your own accord when you can."

Dargan shuffles you out of the office and the door closes behind the both of you. His wide eyes look down at you as he continues to rush you out of the waiting room and down the tower stairs.

"What a horrible thing to do," he shakes his head. "To his own flesh and blood."

"Wait what are you talking about?" you ask.

Dargan stops and grabs your wrist, "This way, not here."

He pulls you aside and leads you down a path that takes you to the North Tower. It hikes up the wall and into a breezeway. The Bone mage looks around and when he's sure no one is in sight he has the two of you sit on the stone cold floor.

"Tell me truly, is High Mage Thaneswell really your uncle?" he asks.

"Great uncle but I fear we're missing the point here so-"

"You're from The Dirge then?" Dargan asks.

Your eyes widen and you grit your teeth but nod.

Dargan lifts his sleeve and reveals a scythe, "The Order of Bones has a similar sect."

"Reapers, I've heard of them," you nod.

"Mage Thaneswell has been hiring from all mercenary sects to take care of the alchemist rings. Myself and four others have been slowly cleaning up the High Tower these last few years, it hasn't been easy." Dargan stars and lays his head against the wall. "I suppose I should begin with what will be expected of you."

The Bone mage details your upcoming job and schedule, the grim nature of it all unsettling you the more he speaks. You're to become the jailor to the captured blood fae. You are to feed him, check his vitals, and collect his blood. You are not to speak to him, not to listen to him if he utters a single word, and you are not allowed to let him bleed unless collecting his blood.

Fear coils in your belly as Dargan tells you all the horrid things the fae could do if he was allowed to bleed out. Slice you up with his blood, set his cell on fire, undo the runes cast upon his chains or turn his blood into weapons and massacre the entire Tower. High Mage Thaneswell doesn't want that, he just wants him to take down the alchemists.

"Your uncle believes if we can find a way to free him that he'll be in our debt and will by the laws of the fae carry out the bounty against the alchemists," Dargan sighs. "Quite the pipe dream huh?"

"Very much so, but fae are keener on magic and can track down different users way better than mage hounds. Plus, he'll have a personal vendetta against them so he might be all for it," you agree and lay your head back as well.

"Still kinda fucked up that he's making his niece take on this job though," Dargan puffs. "But he must have his reasons."

"It's probably because I'll work closely with the Tower's alchemist ring. The more eyes on them the better," you note.

"True, but I rarely spoke with them and even if I showed any interest they kept me mostly in the dark. Get the blood, hand over the blood, and leave. That was the preferred sequence of things," he shrugs.

"Well, fuck..." you groan as you sag against the wall.

Dargan laughs and fishes something out of his pocket, "Here, it's a pass to the Tower. You'll need this to get in, get to the third level and to the cell."

You take the pass and grimace as the blood red runes carved into the small black iron tablet. You could feel the magic resonating off of it, feel it draining a tiny bit of your life essence. You quickly wrap it in your cloak.

"Disgusting, isn't it? They say the pass doubles to strengthen the runes on the Blood Fae's cell. I've tried my best not to over handle it but sometime the alchemists will examine the pass and if there's not enough life in it, they'll make you hold it all day. This job is super fucked up," Dargan snarls and slowly stands then offers his hand.

"Thanks for the heads up I guess," you allow him to help you up then stretch. "Anything else that I should be worried about?"

Dargan shrugs, "Not really, well that's a lie. I'd worry about you dorm placement. Mage Thaneswell pulled some strings and had me bunking with other mercs but I'm not sure how many he's hired this time around."

You nod knowing that it costs a lot to keep up this kind mission. You don't know if he's being funded by the King or if this is his own personal project but hiring you alone costs over three thousand gold.

"I'll introduce you to the alchemists and show you where the cell is real quick before I show you the grounds. Since it's hardly midday we have some time before your sorting," he beckons you to follow and leads you back out of the breezeway.

He takes you back down the wall path and towards the Central Tower, a massive and ancient mage tower built over a thousand years ago before the great culling of the Order of Night.

You feel the magic rolling off in droves with every step you take. The different auras confusing your senses and causing your gut to roil. Dargan places a supporting hand on your shoulder and holds up a hand before chanting a spell that shields the both of you from the onslaught of magic.

"Overwhelming isn't it? Someone here will cast a longer lasting shield on you once you start working. Try not to throw up on the stairs if you feel the shield fading, not only will they make you clean it up but they'll have you manually clean to toilets too," Dargan cringes.

"Sounds like you've been through a lot of hell here," you grimace.

"Hell would be nice in comparison. There's no graces here, no mercy nor kindness to be found. The Central Tower is where mages are truly tested, young and old. Are you certain you can handle this?" Dargan takes a step back and looks at you.

There's real concern on his face, something you feel like you haven't seen in ages. His dull dark red eyes search your face for hesitance and close once he realizes that there's none.

"I have my own reasons for being here, personal and sad as they are," you shrug. "But things can't continue on like they have been."

He nods his head and continues up the stairs, "Fair enough, well then, welcome to the Central Tower." Dargan flourishes his hand and bows. Turning on his heals he points to a bulky guard leaning against the wall, "And this good fellow is Max."

Dargan exchanges introductions between the two of you and has you show the pass. Max opens the barred door to the tower where you're ushered up a series of staircases till you reach the third floor. You're introduced to another guard, Gildred, who you show your pass to. Before you're able to say farewell, Dargan leads you into the third floor lab and quickly shuts the door.

You try and catch your breath but the Bone mage drags you along and takes you down a hall that leads you to a circular room. Several mages clad in maroon cloak turn and glare at you.

"Dargan... has it really been four years?" One of them asks.

"Yes high mage Cragsith. This is my replacement, young mage Thaneswell," he introduces you.

"A Thaneswell? And of.... The Order of Delight? How... Amusing," High mage Cragsith chuckles. "Very well, I assume she's been educated?"

"Yes high mage, of course," Dargan bows his head.

"Good, then you may leave. Estan will show her to the cell, you should hurry and take your respite. I know exams will be starting next month," He waves Dargan off with a limp hand.

Dargan bows and exits with haste, leaving you alone with the High Tower's alchemists.

"You've caught us at an excellent time, we're needing a fresh batch of blood. Estan will take you down and show you the ropes," Cragsith beckons to a hunched figure.

"Follow me," Estan orders and shuffles towards the middle of the room. He places his hand on the central supporting pillar and a door appears shortly after. It opens to reveal a lift that will take you down to the Tower's prison.

Estan tells you that all vials are kept in a desk outside the fae's cell and on a normal day that you'll receive a slip with how many you are to fill.

"He's basically docile at this point. Hasn't been an incident in over two hundred years. It's an easy job, just taxing as I'm sure Dargan has mentioned," Estan says in an oddly comforting way.

Once you're down under the tower and exit the lift, Estan leads you to the fae's cell. He pulls out nine vials from a drawer in the desk and checks them for cleanliness, "Don't want anything but his blood in these."

After his inspection he has you place the pass in a slot on the wall next to the cell. You fell just the faintest bit of your life force slip as the locks turn and door opens ever so slightly.

There's a dank smell that wafts in your nose and the sudden charge in the air has every hair standing on edge.

Estan hands you eight of the vials to hold as he escorts you in. You fear that you might find a horrid and fiendish fae as Dargan lead you to believe but instead all you see is a sad one, bound in chains and leathers with living runes.

What was probably once lovely long flowing black hair is now matted and tangled in several areas. His eyes and mouth are covered with greyish leather that have ancient magic imbued in them. His skin is sickly pale and nails are curled from neglect.

The fear and nerves you felt entering this place disappear and are quickly replaced with pity and then something else. A deep need to free him settles into you and it's one that's beyond your mission or any ethical reason. You feel sicked and in pain at seeing him like this.

"It's just a quick prick right here, same spot every time," Estan interrupts your thoughts as he points to a tattoo of a circle on the fae's arm. As he goes to poke it you quickly ask if you can.

"I learn better by doing is all, that and I want to do well with this job," you say with full fake determination.

Estan chuckles and hands his vial and needle over to you, "I get it, I was the same when I was a student here. Not going to lie, but you're the first Cragsith has really acknowledged this fast, well aside from myself. Maybe he sees some promise in you."

Or maybe he's warry of me being a Thaneswell, you think.

Not wanting to drop your facade, you go and draw the fae's blood.

Bile quickly threatens your throat but you do well in holding back the vomit.

This feels so wrong that it's hard to stomach, is this a curse that the fae has in place? Why didn't Dargan tell you? Maybe you'll ask your uncle later... But first, to fill the other eight vials.

It takes all your strength and will power not to throw up while extracting the fae's blood but you somehow manage. After Estan takes you back up to the third floor and sings praises about your enthusiasm do you ask to be shown to the bathroom.

Once your stomach is empty you resolve to find and beat Dargan black and blue for leaving out the part about wanting to blow chunks when extracting blood.

You stomp your way out of the central tower and down the path to the east but quickly stop in your tracks when a notice echoes through the grounds.

"All first years to the North Tower for dorm sorting. I repeat all first years to the North Tower for dorm sorting," the voice rang.

And before you could take another step you found yourself being lifted for a moment, cold dark air rushing around you, and then you were set back down amongst a crowd right outside the North Tower.

A few others look around in confusion but for the most part people just shrug it off as typical tower magic.

"Hey, over here," you here a familiar voice.

You turn and see Ruya with Ilta, Tarek, and Luan. Quite the odd ball group but you're about to make it weirder, being a bard and all.

"I heard you got to go to central tower, how was it?" Tarek asks.

"And who'd you hear that from?" you raise a brow at him and he grins.

"From a senior of my sect, Dargan," he smiles and shows his reaper mark.

Before you can ask, Ruya, Ilta, and even Luan all flash their arms with the subsect marks on them. They all tell you how they each ran into their seniors here and took on jobs close to or in the central tower. The twins have jobs in the library near the central tower, Ruya brings meals up for the alchemists, and Luan is set to clean the equipment for the central tower.

"Dargan said there's a high chance that we'll get bunked with other subsect members as the Dorm Matron works directly with high mage Thaneswell," Tarek smiles and looks at Luan, "No weird shadowy shit."

"Then I hope you'll keep your knives and bones on your side of the dorm," Luan smiles.

Ilta smacks her brother's arm and Ruya rolls her eyes.

You can feel this group's dynamic setting in place already.

"All first years, dorm mothers will be coming around with dorm assignments. These assignments are final and we expect no complaints. Once you have you receive your dorm and room token you will be teleported there. Potions for teleportation sickness are on the stands outside the rooms if needed," another announcement rings.

Your group looks around for dorm mothers, all middle aged or elderly mages wearing light blue cloaks with yellow ribbons. You've heard many stories about the dorm mothers here and how even the highest mages offer their respects to them. They're truly a force to be reckoned with.

"Here you are... Thaneswell's bunch," A dorm mother approaches your group and looks everyone up and down before turning to Tarek and Luan. "The two of you will go to Mother Margo's dorm, you'll be bunking in room eleven. Here are your tokens."

The two of them reach out their hands with slight hesitation but once they touch the tokens, they vanish.

"I have to say, that's gotta be the second fastest I've seen my brother disappear," Ilta smiles.

"What was the fastest then?" Ruya asks.

"When he found out he broke up with the head Reaper's daughter," Ilta laughs.

"You three," the dorm mother glares at us and then at Ilta, "I expect you to be prompt, never out past curfew, and not a meal skipped. I am your dorm mother, Mother Beatrice. You'll each have your own rooms, connecting. Seven, eight, and nine."

You look at the girls but before either can say anything, Ruya reaches out for her token and vanishes. Ilta smiles at you and shrugs before taking hers. Taking a deep breath in you reach for room token nine and feel yourself being flung around.

Left and right, right then right again. You feel as if you're passing through sheets like a child running through laundry on a sunny day. Warm and cold air take turns at slapping your body before you suddenly snap to a stop and your body slams right into a door with a hard thud.

"Ow," you moan as you peel yourself off the door. Your face stings where it met the hard wood.

You look around and see Ruya doubled over holding an empty potion bottle with Ilta rubbing her back.

"Going to be alright over there?" you ask.

Ruya nods but stays down.

"She was slung into her stand and it knocked the wind out of her," Ilta winces.

"This is why I hate teleportation, too volatile and under studied. Now I know why the fae rarely use it themselves," you cringe at the thought of being teleported again anytime soon.

After the three of you check yourselves over for any wounds and sickness you part to your own rooms.

Your room is cozy and well furnished. A few wooden boxes lay on your bed with a few notes. The first note is a greeting from the towers and what to expect in the coming days. The second is from Mother Beatrice with a list of rules and a meal schedule. The third is from the central tower... A letter just for you.

"Good evening young Thaneswell,

We welcome you to the central tower and have high hopes for you. Estan spoke highly of you and your eagerness, a most welcomed delight, as Dargan was most melancholic. Estan will continue to escort you to the cell for the next ten days as he trains you. We look forward to having a mage with your enthusiasm."

You feel your stomach churn as you finish reading the letter. You quickly crumple it up and toss it in the waste bin.

Something about being on their good side this quickly unsettles you but you'll do your best to turn it around and use it to your advantage. You can't let this continue, too many innocent lives are at stake and you're not sure how much longer your great uncle can keep funding missions like this.

With that resolve you go through the boxes next, supplies and a uniform. Papers, books, ink, and pens. A first year's dark brown cloak and knee high boots with metal plates on the toes and knees. There's a map with local shops and a post office where mages who come to study can send letters and receive parcels.

Next you notice a small wooden box with a stamp from the West tower. You open the lid and see a small mirror, a pouch, a dagger, and a note. You quickly unfold the note and it has instructions on how to use the mirror.

"Use the dagger to prick your finger and sign this rune with your blood. I will be alerted that you wish to speak with me. Only use this in your room or in dire emergencies."

You have a gut feeling that he wants you to try it out know so you prick your finger and write out the rune on the mirror. Within seconds it lights up and an image of your uncle shoots up from it.

"I'm glad my gift has found you. Though I wish we could chat longer I have the head Matron of the dorms coming up to see me. I'll keep this short, get the fae to speak. Get him to talk, get him to listen, and get him on our side," your uncle orders.

You nod but feel sick as you do, "Understood, but I must ask, is there a curse on him?"

The high mage's brows knit in confusion, "Why do you ask?"

"I...I took his blood and I felt sick and there was this wrongness. Like I couldn't stand that I was hurting him, it was odd," you mention.

Your uncle's eyes widen but he says nothing for a few moments too long, "No, no curse. Keep me updated on these, odd feelings. I must go now."

The image of your uncle vanishes and instead of getting an answer to your question, you feel like you've gained a long list of inquiries that will be left in the box.

"What have I gotten myself into," you groan as you flick your wrist and move your things off the bed so you can fling yourself onto it.

At least I'm not alone, you think as you curl up and slowly pass out.

[fae-papercuts]

Still A Monster

Medusa looked up from her book, peering over the narrow glasses balanced on her nose. It was quite an impressive sight, really, given how her nose is a strangely shaped nub with uneven nostrils, barely poking out from her grey-green face. She raised one eyebrow, though as they are always assymmetrical, it took you a moment to recognise the expression as one of curiosity.

Peering at her reflection in your hand mirror, you stepped cautiously backwards towards her. You had passed several 'statues' of people dotted throughout the garden outside, but the inside of her surprisingly well-decorated cave wasn't quite as busy with the petrified remains of erstwhile warriors. There was one cowering in the far corner, another trying to hide their eyes off the size. One was tucked by the door, its stony expression one of frozen rage. Every one of them, inside and outside, were warriors. Some ancient and moss-covered, wielding swords and shields. Some distinctly cleaner ones holding rifles and dressed in modern combat gear.

You cleared your throat politely, and the monstrous woman picked up a bookmark, slipped it into place, and closed the book calmly. After placing it gently on a small table beside her, she laced her fingers together in her lap, and looked expectantly at your reflection from her casually reclined posture upon the couch.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her voice was rough and gravelly, with an unusual accent that you could only assume is Ancient Greek. It's actually the accent of the people of old Ithaca, to be specific - but it made little difference to you. The snakes that act as her hair moved lazily, roused from their previously slumberous state by your interruption. But there was no terrible hissing or sudden predatory response. Just the languid curling of slender, scaly bodies.

Licking your dry lips nervously, you tilted the small mirror slightly to get a better angle on her, noticing that below the neck her body was remarkably human. A little plump, and adorned with a simple creamy robe - not an ancient Grecian toga, but a dressing gown of thin, shimmery cloth. You couldn't yet tell exactly what the fabric was, but it was draped over her body quite casually. Her legs were covered in dark hair that looks like it would be soft to the touch, and you made a mental note that this shouldn't really be any surprise. After all, why would she shave them?

You took a deep breath, and a moment to gather your courage. The Gorgon's unevenly scaled face remained calm and patient.

"I'm not sure if you will want to help me," you forced yourself to say, hand trembling slightly. Despite her calm demeanor, you knew this woman could still kill you with a glance. "But I thought it was worth coming to ask you anyway." You paused, scanning her expression for any signs of annoyance. After a moment, the monster raised an open hand, gesturing for you to continue.

At that gesture, words spilled out of you. As though you were hoping if you said it all at once then it would be too quick for her to get offended by any one part of it.

"Right, so, I heard the myths and the stories about you, Medusa the monster, and there are so many - all about being cursed, about being beheaded by Perseus, how you turn people to stone - some of the stories have you alone, some with two sisters, in some you're ugly and in others you're terrifyingly beautiful - there's two different sets of parents, and some said you were in Libya but here you are instead - but also there's this stuff about how you protected women, and that the curse might not have been a curse, and it's all just so confusing and messy and none of it feels quite right, so I just wanted to ask you -" finally you took a breath, a tiny pause before your question. "What happened?"

You stopped, breath held, waiting maybe for anger, or for her to simply leap from the couch and murder you on the spot. Your blood pulsed in your ears as adrenaline made the mirror shake in your hand. But there was no fury to come.

Medusa tilted her head to the side, thoughtfully. You winced a little, unsure what may come next. She twisted slowly in her seat, feet sliding off the couch and onto the floor. Leaning forward and placing her elbows on her knees, she peered at your reflection with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You are scared of me," she said, quietly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. So you didn't reply, curious to learn what would follow.

"Yet you hunted me out, sought my home, passed the stone corpses on my doorstep, with only the protection of a hand mirror, simply to ask me what happened?" she continued, frowning with what you had to hope was confusion.

You couldn't think of how to answer, really. It sounded so stupid when she said it like that, but you couldn't put into words what drove you to come all this way. You nodded, dumbly. It's only when she took a breath, opening her mouth to speak again that something popped into your head. You blurted out, "Curiosity killed the cat."

Your face was hot all of a sudden, and you realised you must be blushing, embarrassed at the whole thing. Thoughts of just leaving sped through your mind, but perhaps you should apologise first, so at least she might not follow you outside. But then, what if she didn't want you to tell anyone else where to find her -

"And satisfaction brought it back," Medusa replied. You blinked, then stared back at her reflection, which suddenly seemed to be smiling kindly?

"What?" you said, your mouth moving faster than your anxiety for once. Yes, she definitely was smiling as she answered your confusion. It was a pretty smile, you thought in that moment. Striking how the simple joy was shamelessly displayed on her face, with no coyness or attempt to hide that gentle happiness.

"That's how that saying finishes," she replied. "Though of course, it originated from 'care killed the cat' - with care here meaning much the same as 'worry'. You folks are always making a mess of your own proverbs. It's like you want to forget the parts that matter." The Gorgon lifted a hand to her face and pulled off her reading glasses, leaning back to place them atop her book.

It was only when she leaned forward again to fix you with that surreal expression, that you noticed when she moved she had to adjust tawny brown wings that sprouted from her back, to avoid crushing the feathers. You cursed that you hadn't thought to bring a bigger mirror so you could see better - but then you would have had to spend even more money on luggage on all those flights you took, and it had already been expensive enough.

"Go on, what others do you know," the serpent-haired woman said, her lopsided grin broadening. It was only then that you realised you had expected fangs or shark-like teeth to line her mouth. But her excited grin was slightly buck-toothed, with quite naturally askew. It was probably the most singularly human part of her face, her teeth.

You swallowed uncertainly, still fighting that dry mouth, in spite of how friendly the monster seemed to be. "Jack of all trades, master of none," you replied, with the first thing that sprung to mind.

"Is better than master of one," she continued without hesitation. "Though it's hotly debated whether that's really the original, or if it's just a more accurate reflection of the positive intent. Either way, it rather undercuts the negative implications of the modernised version."

"Money is the root of all evil," you said, frowning slightly as you tried to think. She chuckled, an almost musical sound that you definitely didn't expect. With that kindly laugh, the smile, and her relaxed posture, you couldn't help but start feeling a little more at ease.

"It's 'Love of money is the root of all evil.' Someone really didn't want to take responsibility for their bullshit with that one," Medusa replied, rolling her eyes.

You couldn't help but exhale a snort of amusement. You had stopped shaking so much, the adrenaline starting to subside, but it was still difficult to think of another aphorism. "The devil is in the details," you said, almost jumping as you excitedly pronounced it. Anyone would think you were hoping to stump her.

"That one was originally 'God is in the details,' but I guess it was too hopeful for some folks," your host said through a sarcastic smirk.

The next one came to you more easily. "A rolling stone gathers no moss," you said, somewhat pleased with yourself.

She raised a finger, and her expression seemed pleased with you too. "Technically still accurate, but only recently did you forget that a rock with no moss on it is a desolate, lifeless thing. The original meaning was closer to an old Roman saying - 'A plant often moved cannot thrive,'" Medusa said, definitely enjoying herself. "Next!"

The next one popped into your head instantly. "Don't judge a book by its cover."

Her smile saddened then, and she nodded to herself as her gaze drifted into the middle distance. "That one I cannot argue with. It just seems too hard for anyone to really live by."

You bit your lip, slightly regretting your success in the impromptu game of words. You struggled for something to say, but you couldn't take your eyes off the somewhat mournful reflection of a mythical woman who was not at all how you expected her to be.

"You're not a monster," you said quietly. It's not much, but you needed to say it. It's tremulous, your voice still holding the remnants of your fear. Then you spoke it again, more confidently this time, as though reassuring both yourself and the mythical creature behind you.

She frowned slightly, focusing on your reflection once more with a suddenly intense stare. "Yes I am," she replied, her tone hard and cold. "I turn people to stone with a look. I have snakes for hair, scaly skin, and bloody great big wings." She stretched one of them out behind her as though to prove a point. "Not exactly your average citizen."

You squeezed your lips together, frustrated at her objection. "You know what I mean. I thought you would get angry just at being disturbed, but we're just talking," you argued, gesticulating with annoyance. "You're not some foul, malevolent beast who's out to murder and destroy."

She stared coldly at you, every vestige of her smile gone. "I've murdered people," she said, her voice low. "You saw some of them on your way in. I probably left quite a few behind in Libya, too." Her severe expression cracked, and she smiled darkly. "You know how it is when you move house, something always gets left behind."

That looks sent a shiver down your spine. It was getting easier to make out her expressions, but the truth of her words made you suddenly doubt your own assertion. "Self defense, surely?" you asked, uncertainly. You wanted to be right, partly so you wouldn't be in danger. Partly because you couldn't accept that this smiling, laughing woman was a monster. Underneath the mishapen face and coiling serpents, she seemed so very normal. How could she be a monster?

The monster shook her head, the smile not entirely fading, as though she knew it was a serious topic, but she couldn't quite stay serious. "Not always. Some of them were just cunts who had it coming."

You couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it. That sentence coming from the mouth of the ancient figure older than civilisations, a legend whose story had lasted generation after generation. Her smile softened from amusement to something almost affectionate, still gazing at your reflection as she chuckled along. Your laughter faded and you stared into her reflected eyes. Eyes that were a deep brown, shining out from her curiously coloured skin. They weren't slitted or glowing, just pretty, wide brown eyes. Maybe there were flecks of yellow and amber in them, but you couldn't quite tell from so far away.

It was so awkward talking like this - out of reach and through a little mirror. You dropped your hand, lowering the mirror, but didn't turn around. You may have wandered into Medusa's lair out of curiosity, but you were certainly not enthusiastic about the idea of becoming a permanent decoration.

"What happens if I turn around?" you asked her, trying not to sound too serious. Trying to make it just a casual, conversational question.

"Either I close my eyes or you become a delightful new statue," she said plainly, as though it were the least remarkable thing in the world. Just a casual conversation.

You paused for a long moment. That was not exactly an answer that made you feel good about turning around, but your head twitched a little, as though the urge to see her in the flesh was tugging at your muscles. "Which will it be?" you asked her, your hand gripping the mirror tightly by your side, as you stared out of the entrance, your eyes drawn between dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. You very purposefully avoided the eyes of the lone, eternally enraged stone figure by the doorway.

Medusa didn't reply immediately. Your breathing seemed so loud in the silence. "I haven't decided yet," she finally said, very quietly. It wasn't said like a threat. There was just simple indecision in her voice.

She took a sharp little breath, then sighed, a little exasperated. "Trusting people is so hard. We always want to, don't we? But the world is full of monsters, and not all of them have hair that can bite. Even the most sceptical, cynical fuckers want someone to talk to, but it's scary letting someone in. You sit there thinking, 'Why do they want to know about me? Are they going to judge me? What if I do this wrong?' And I remember all that happening even before I had to figure out if they had been sent to kill me because my eyes are literal weapons."

She sighed again, deeper. A resigned sound. Then there was a soft sussuration of clothing shifting. If you had known more about fabric, you would have been able to tell that her gown was indeed silk in that moment. Egyptian silk, taken from a foolish soldier long ago.

You chewed your bottom lip nervously, your muscles tightening, as though preparing to run. You didn't know what to expect, what she was doing, and that fear rose up again. You were about to raise the mirror again to look behind you, when her gravelly voice drifted tentatively over your shoulder. "Turn around."

Something in the tone makes you do it. It's not hypnotic or compelling, nothing like that. She has cast no spell on you. But it sounded like she didn't expect you to do it. Like an invitation that expects to be refused. It sounded like she was waiting for you to run. Like she could see your fear still there, despite your claim that she was no monster. Like she could see that you didn't entirely believe it yourself.

You wanted to prove her wrong. You wanted so hard to be right, to believe it. Something inside you deeply needed her to not be a monster, and you didn't realise it until that very moment. So you turned on the spot, staring at the floor for a moment before inhaling deeply, and looking up into her face.

Mirrored sunglasses hid her eyes. Big, 1980s style aviator shades that reflected your own face back at you. You stepped forward, towards your own reflection. She smiled with relief, and you could see as you got closer that her smile wasn't just pleasant and human - it really was quite beautiful. It's not even, and it's far from perfect. It's not some spectacular, pearly-white, Hollywood grin. But it's beautiful in its honesty. The honesty of appreciation, of surprise, of finding someone willing to take a risk and trust her in spite of everything.

You stood in front of her, easily within her reach, and bent down a little. You peered at the sunglasses, trying to see through to her eyes, wondering with a strange detachment if you were about to turn into stone. She turned her head aside as you squinted at her. "Careful, I'm still a monster," she said with a somewhat hollow chuckle.

"Yeah," you said softly, as you sat on the couch next to her. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to follow you, as her hair twisted on her head. The sight was so surreal, so unsettling. A collection of little beady eyes peering back at you. You would wonder for such a long time about whether she could see with those eyes, instead of the ones that were made for murder. "I guess you are still a monster."

You looked back at the serpents, a little chill darting up your neck. Then your gaze fell on the reflection of yourself in her sunglasses, as she turned back to face you. "But I think you're still not a monster, too," you added, smiling as reassuringly as you could.

You began to talk more, then. She answered some of your questions - like how long it had been since Libya, and where she was from originally. You didn't dare ask the questions about what made her that way. Not yet, at least. But she slowly began to tell you the tale as she relaxed into your company, and you let her.

The conversation continued for so long, the sun eventually set outside the cave. Long beams of the fading sunlight moved across the floor by your feet until you curled your toes under you on the sofa. Gradually your host lit candles to see by - beeswax candles she told you she makes herself. You couldn't go back out into the darkness, so the monster invited you to stay the night. You agreed. And if I could, I would have screamed for you not to.

That one night became two. Three days becames a week. The weeks merged into months, and every day brought you and she closer together. It's hard to remember how many days it had been when you began to share her bed, but it was quite soon after she had you go into the nearest town to pick up mirrored swimming goggles.

"I just want my peripheral vision back," she told you, as you both laughed at the sight of her struggling to pull the strap over the mess of uncooperative serpents atop her head - with her back turned toward you, of course.

Without the gap in her sunglasses, I could no longer catch sight of the look in her eyes as she gazed at you cleaning up the messes she insisted didn't need any cleaning. There was no mistaking that look.

Nor was it possible to misinterpret how she carefully turned away every night before taking off her eye protection. Or how she started waking without opening her eyes, groping for the shield that keeps you safe before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead to wake you - even though you were usually already awake. You watch her sleep, sometimes, trying to imagine what her eyes really look like, but always turning away if she begins to rouse from her slumber.

She has grown to love you. And it is clear you love her too. This monster abandoned by the world, living quietly in a cave surrounded by reminders of what horror she can inflict.

This monster I had watched petrify so many travellers who came seeking the power of her eyes, or a hoard of riches that she didn't have. People craving rewards, or to be celebrated as heroes. All of us, every single one, were fools. I see that too, now. I wish it had not taken me the better part of two centuries. I wish I had not spent so long fixated on my rage and the injustice of my fate.

One day you brush the moss from my face. The softness of your touch is remarkable, and I feel honoured that you would be so gentle with me. I can see why the monster cares for you so deeply.

"Who was he?" you ask her, peering curiously into my eyes, as though seeking the answer in the features of my stony face.

Medusa glances over at me, and there is a coldness in her tone as she replies. "I don't know. They didn't usually give their names." Standing, she places one of her books on the table. She has so many - her thirst for stories and knowledge was one of the first things you came to adore. She glides over to stand beside you. "I thought him a monster, then. I'm sure he thought himself a hero."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little. I have watched her for so long, I imagine I can tell how she feels as well as you can. You who she tells her secrets and her jokes to. The regret and the sorrow sings out in her voice, though we hear only the smallest inflection.

"Really, he was just a man. A man who made a choice I wish he hadn't."

If I could, I would cry. My frozen chest aches with feeling, desperate for release. But I can't. I can feel the blade in my hand, my other arm up too high in a futile attempt to hide my eyes. But I will never move again.

It's not fair. I told myself that every day for years. When you first arrived, when you first brought her joy, I told myself the same thing. Every smile a bitter barb in the eternity of my suffering.

And it is not fair. It's not fair that I'm trapped here, imprisoned forever because I made one damn fool decision. Just like it isn't fair that she can't leave, because of people like me.

Perhaps I'm still a fool, because I think you got the rawest deal of all. Stuck here just because you love her. Because how could you leave now? How could you leave someone who has had to be alone for so long, without it breaking your heart?

"Why do you keep them?" you ask her, turning away from me. You look quizzically into the mirror image of your own eyes. "I know thinking about them makes you sad. Why leave them here to remind you all the time?"

The monster turns away from you, and stares at me. I see my own grey face, contorted with rage and fear, reflected back at me. I wish to all the gods that I could change that expression. I wish I could gift her a smile, a little sign of the forgiveness I am trying so hard to excavate from my rocky interior.

Her voice is small when she whispers her reply, almost too quiet for me to hear.

"I don't want them to be alone."

[c-rose2081]

Lillian Valevane

Lillian is an OC from a personal story that will NEVER get shared, cause it’s just a little 🥵 and I don’t post that kind of thing 😅 but I do love her character and I wanted to draw her.

It’s your typical ‘gets rescued by a fae lord and becomes royalty’ nonsense, but 🌶️🌶️🌶️. It’s a guilty pleasure that’s just for me lol, but I thought I’d share the art anyway.

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 44 (final chapter AHHH!!!!) of The Nascent Diplomat:

‘How often do you think of him, when you’re here?’ the Raven Prince said, staring up at the branches of a particularly tall fir. ‘Oxcillian.’ ‘Oh,’ Gwyn said. ‘Well. Often.’ ‘Today?’ ‘Yes.’ The Raven Prince scratched at his head where one of the longest feathers sprouted. He’d likely lose it soon and grow another and complain at how much his head hurt because of it. ‘Is there any way I can change this for you?’ the Raven Prince said. ‘I… There’s no need to-’ ‘That’s not what I’m asking you,’ the Raven Prince said, gaze sharp. ‘Then no, I don’t think so. He’s dead, and my mind is still like this. And I don’t want my mind and my thoughts and my memories altered.’ ‘Then I shall make a home for us beyond this Court,’ the Raven Prince said.

[bombitart]

Jude and Prince Cardan from “Cruel Prince” by @blackholly 🔥❤️.

[pixiemoonmagic]

Inspired by fairies and dryads, a romance made in fantasy. 💖🏰✨

(9/19/2023)

[byleahgracie]

Please help/vote! Which Webnovel Premise should I write and serialize first?

So, I have two (New Adult) story ideas, and I can't seem to choose which one I'd like to focus on first 😆🤔 (I'm very eager to do both, but I need to manage my time effectively and that means not taking on too much on top of my webtoon lol). I most likely would be writing as serialized webnovels

STORY IDEA 1: (Loosely Based on a previous webnovel I started for a Tapas competition and then decided to scrap bc I wanted to rework the story and characters). "When two best friends go backpacking together, they get kidnapped into, and subsequently separated in, the Fae Realm. One young woman finds a rescuer in a wealthy and powerful female fae, while the other finds an unlikely friend in a socially scorned fae with a dark history." A tale of fae politics, romance, and history.

What makes me excited about this story: Involves a sapphic couple as the main romance, and I've done/doing a TON of worldbuilding to try to make this fae realm different than your usual ballad, while keeping all the tricky fae mischief you're used to ;)

STORY IDEA 2: "Four friends residing in an island empire must contend with their newfound magic powers, as magic leaks into their world for the first time in centuries, threatening not only their safety, but the world as they know it." Involves romance, set in a historical-inspired setting, quite a few queer leads, and a bunch of dumbasses that have to figure out how to save the world lol

What makes me excited about this story: I've literally had this story idea for over a decade, but always felt nervous writing it bc it's so "grand" of an idea. I've drawn the four main characters before (see here and here)

Anyway, I've been struggling with which story I should focus on first, and thought I'd let y'all tell me which story idea intrigues you the most??

[makayla-is-writing]

Male Forest Fae x Female Reader (Pt.1)

Find all parts here

You hadn’t planned on stopping so soon, though knowing it was only a matter of time before something caught your interest, you weren’t surprised. It had been your goal to travel outside of your hometown, wandering the nearby forest for interesting trinkets and wondrous discoveries as you bided your time before leaving what you called home. Standing before you, was a large, unkempt shrine. Cobwebs and weeds decorated the limestone, beautifully chiseled in order to create a cohesive structure. The length of such an old shrine must have been twice your height, but now stood at waist level as the limestone eroded over time. Instead of passing by the shrine, you took the time to remove any stray leaves and brush off any spider webs that stuck to the sides. Uncovering a beautiful shade of white, you decide to take a break and admire your hard work. As you take a step backwards, you feel someone sigh against your neck. Yelping, you turn to look at someone so beautiful, you felt he was a figment of your imagination. However, knowing that the short breath against your skin felt too warm to be unreal, you observe the bystander with suspicion. 

“It is rather beautiful under all those twigs, isn’t it?” He turns toward you with a look of admiration in his eyes. He gives a short laugh, before disappearing into the forest. As you turn every which way in hopes of uncovering the intruder, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, and a smile pressed into your shoulder.

“Thank you for paying respect to my shrine.”

[gigimarvels]

Like father, like son

a cute date night between times as well did you know there's a Timeskip in my story where you get to meet Thyme and Topaz's son Thistle?

Sadly he's afflicted with the same curse as his father (falling for a cute fairy girl with nowhere to go, running from some big bad guy) for Thistle's case its Moissanite, a fairy clone of the god sol (white diamond) with no wings hope to update more with these characters as i go along!~

[artmadebysana]

The Golden Thread - Nasha

Masterlist

"Your heart seems elsewhere, child." Her grandmother's voice, sharp as her gaze, cut through her reverie.

"Is it so visible?" Nasha asked, a half-smile fleeting across her lips.

"Only to eyes that have seen many summers come and go," her grandmother replied, her look softening.

Nasha wandered past the garden, hands reaching out to caress the petals of wildflowers. She plucked them gently, gathering a bouquet, each color representing wishes for the future.

Under an oak, girls from the village gathered, their laughter as bright as the ribbons they wove into each other's braids. They spoke of suitors and promises, of weddings that would soon take place.

"Come join us, Nasha!" one called, a bloom of excitement in her cheeks.

Nasha paused, her fingers closing around the stems in her hand. The pull of expectation tugged at her, yet she remained rooted to the spot.

"Perhaps another time," she called back, her voice steady.

She watched for a moment longer before she turned away.

MASTERLIST

[a2zillustrations]

Pov: U and ur vampire love interest accidentally attend a fae orgy party

[puppy-wife]

Beltane: A Lottie LaBlanc (SMUT!!) Story, Part One

Cast List: 

Lottie LaBlanc - she/ae/aer - faegender lesbian - demi-human wild sorcerer-wizard

The Goddess - she/they/it - a cat-like humanoid eldritch being - Kat’s oc

Oragrace Olivaunt - they/she - slimegirl swordswoman

Daisy Riverbed - she/her - minotaur farmer

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lottie LaBlanc was an ace wizard. Her innate connection to magic through her mother made her a powerful spellcaster; her ability to spellcraft on the fly made her a dangerous one. She was content to spend as much of her time as she could in her tower, studying the artifact. Being able to afford research material, however, meant she frequently had to leave her tower in order to take on different jobs for different patrons. Usually this meant dealing with some kind of supernatural pest that had decided to take up residence in someone’s guest house, and was refusing to respond to the eviction notices. 

Sometimes, though, they meant actual, real quests where she got to go to amazing places and see amazing things. One time she visited an Otherworld that was exactly like regular Earth, except Dragons ruled the world, and all the people were kobolds. You haven’t seen strange until you’ve seen a two and a half foot tall skinny crocodile furiously scrolling on a Blackberry. Lottie has seen some strange. 

The bustling place before her was not so strange. It looked like a mostly average Romantic styled Otherworld, with a grand castle standing in the distance. There were decorations across the grounds with a festival fully underway. Lottie had been expecting this, since she wasn’t an idiot and knew what day it was: Beltane. A celebratory holy-day that focused on and empowered sex magic. That’s not exactly why she was here, though; she was simply using the festival as a distraction. 

The Goddess of this particular Otherworld was unlike any goddess that Lottie knew about. It not only ruled this wild forest full of beasts, it also led a sex cult within the castle’s walls. That was the rumor, at least. Details about this “cult” were few, partially because most who entered this cult did not leave it. Lottie wasn’t sure if that was because there was not actually a cult, or because it was an incredibly deadly cult. She hoped it was the former. 

Today’s job was simple: get into the grounds; gain access to the greenhouse; steal the target. The target for this quest was a plant, a radish. According to the Patron for this quest, it's a strain of radish that's been extinct for 300 years, and has magical properties that, according to the writings of a mad wizard, can unlock a wizard’s hidden potential. Whatever that means. Lottie thinks it's a load of shit, but the pay for the job makes it worth it. Hopefully. 

The Goddess was well known to be a collector. She collected monsters, magic in various forms, and young women. The young women were always maids, and Lottie couldn’t help but think that the Goddess had good taste in collections. A collector this powerful would be able to collect some very rare assets, and her Patron was convinced that inside of the Goddess’s greenhouse was one of these such radishes. Lottie had made sure to add a Good Will clause to her normal contract, so that just in case their Patron was wrong, she still got paid. 

Lottie pulled out a mirror, and checked her face paint. For ease of moving through the crowded festival, Lottie had devised a cleverly hidden Look-Away charm that blended in with festival appropriate face paint. To almost anyone who tried to look directly at Lottie, the charm gently nudged their attention elsewhere. To anyone who was either unaffected or determined enough to look at Lottie’s face, she looked like there were green painted vines on either side of her face, with a couple of small pink flowers dotting her cheeks. She adjusted her septum piercing, then stood up and stretched her back. She felt that old familiar pang in her knee, and rubbed either side of it, and applied a quick support charm to the joint. This might go sideways, and she couldn’t rely on her cane if she needed to run. Her hair was pulled up into two messy buns on either side of her head, and her dyed platinum ear-tails curled down just past her jaw. She licked her teeth in anticipation. The slightly longer canines were magically sharpened, and she enjoyed the almost metallic taste it gave her incisors. 

As she stepped out of the shadows of the trees towards the entrance to the festival, the soft sunlight revealed the rest of Lottie’s features. She was somewhat fair skinned, with a speckling of freckles across her arms and face. She wore a flowy flowery shawl over a black cotton and silver silk crop top, with spider web patterns across the shoulders. Her bottoms were a black mid-thigh skirt with a belt of pearls around her middle. Her thick gothic boots crunched over the path towards a handful of open air tents where it looked like magical items, mounts, vehicles, and something that looked like a solid cloud were being checked in and left outside the festival. 

After being lightly patted down, it was determined that Lottie was not hiding any magical items in aer clothes, and was allowed entry into the festival. On her way through the gates, she noticed a sign with a pretty obvious enchantment on it ensuring any who saw it could read it. It looked to be mostly just rules for the festival, some parameters for behavior, and in slightly larger letters at the bottom:

BY ENTERING THIS FESTIVAL, YOU ARE CONSENTING TO THE SEXUAL ACTS COMMITTED WITHIN

Lottie felt her pulse quicken and her bulge twitch at reading that last part. She had a mission, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t stop and fuck a few roses. Metaphorically. Probably. There was also smaller text explaining that there was a massive enchantment over the whole festival to ensure that members who would consent to spontaneously fucking each other are drawn to each other and encouraged to do so. Lottie also noted the magical prophylactics and health protections woven into the enchantment. Safety is important, nice! 

She entered the festival grounds, and could see her first target up ahead: the entrance to the Castle’s Courtyard. Ae would need to gain entrance to the inner courtyard, that was where the Greenhouse was located. She was in no rush, so started in that direction, but tried to enjoy the festival along the way. This area seemed to be focused on small shops. There were some art shops, artisan stalls selling handmade sex toys, erotic foods enchanted to make you horny, porn stars doing meet and greets, and even some bands playing sets on small stages. She mostly drifted past these, but did stop for a glass of Fresh Squeezed Lemon Elemental Testicles. When mixed properly, it imbued the drinker with a seemingly never ending well of endurance, and lasted for about eight hours. Useful. 

As ae drifted closer to the castle, the shops and stands became less frequent, and more frequent became soft spaces, some public and some a bit more private. Here, a tree with thick foliage so that it umbrella’d over the area and cast a deep shadow on luscious beds of moss. There, a carpeted tent, with cushions and beds strewn about. Another still, a large mushroom supported a raised platform with what looked to be a hookah set up in the middle. Everywhere Lottie looked, littered amongst the scenery, were lovers of so many countless shapes, sizes, and species. There were couples, threesomes, larger groups, and even some singles. It was a veritable smorgasbord of sexual fantasy and perversion, and Lottie had hungry eyes.