#i don’t think elven genetics need to make sense

[bookwyrminspiration]

Do you think that Sophie is the only Moonlark? As much as I want to believe that Sophie is special, I do not think that she is. The genetic experimentation that the Black Swan conducted on her was extensive, enough so they were able to alter her face so she does not look like her parents and give her abilities that that do not normally exist in elves. For them to achieve that degree of skill, I think there was a lot of trial and error involved. Mr. Forkle and his twin experimented on themselves, but what if they had to create a child to see exactly how their genetic alterations would work? After all that work, toil and trouble, there certainly had to be a way to make sure that their efforts were not wasted if the child died. This child would be coveted for their abilities and pursued their entire life, so there would be a chance they would meet a grim fate. The Black Swan anticipated something like this, so they created multiple embryos that were similar in power to Sophie in the case of an event where she died so their plan could continue on without any issues. This is a really crazy theory, but this is how I imagined it. I think there are other Moonlarks that are still in their embryonic stage that can be used to replace Sophie if she chooses to stop using her abilities or if she dies. I don’t think all of the embryos are related, but they all have abilities that are more than a normal Elven child.

Interesting question! My answer is that within the story itself, I do think Sophie's special. Departed from the story, then it makes more sense for her to be one of many, as you said.

I am nowhere near an expert on genetics and embryos and all that went into making Sophie, but from what I do know if they'd created a single embryo that would've been super risky. Everything riding on that one? Not a good plan--at least if we're thinking of this like humans. Elves reproduction is shown to have a marked difference (painless, no miscarriages, etc.), so it's possible that in Sophie's creation one embryo was enough when it got down to it.

However, you make a very strong point about trial and error. It seems far-fetched to think they'd make no mistakes in a single, first attempt. Realistically, there were probably failures, and Sophie was just one of several attempts. More could be made after her.

That's looking at it from an outside perspective that sees the Black Swan as a completely rational, independent entity. Looking at it from within the story, Sophie's unique. The Black Swan doesn't need to be separate and do what makes most sense disconnected from her existence, they need to explain her existence. They are her background for where she comes from, so they only need to account for Sophie. Which they do! They give a reason for her creation and the reason she is the way she is and fulfill that purpose.

So in that context, Sophie's the only moonlark. Her existence shows the experiment worked, and that's what matters. No need for the story to focus on anything outside of her. And because the story follows Sophie, if there are other embryos we won't see or hear of them.

That's how I understand it all, at least! Also, question for you: where does it say that Sophie doesn't look like her parents? You've mentioned it in another ask as well, but I can't remember that part. Sophie does look like Oralie (blonde hair, fair coloring, etc.), which is why that detail confuses me. However if there's mention of that in Stellarlune please don't include that or let me know because I'm trying to avoid spoilers! Thanks :)

[elamarth-calmagol]

Some suggestions for elf skin color

I think a lot about the logic of elven skin color.  Elves were born before the sun existed, so it makes sense that they’d be pale, since sunlight is literally the only thing that leads to different skin tones.  But we don’t want all our elves to be pale, do we?  It’s boring and racist.  And the sun eventually rose, so do we have a lot of sunburned elves?  The problem is, there aren’t enough generations, especially generations after the sun, to evolve different skin tones.

There actually aren’t enough generations of Men to do that, either: Men have been around for roughly 7,000 years by the War of the Ring, whereas in the real world, homo sapiens have been around for an estimated 200,000 years.  That’s easily excused by saying that Men awoke in several places (similar to a theory that used to be believed by scientists, though I think it was falling out of favor by Tolkien’s day) and Eru created them to have the right skin color for the place they live.  It’s a bit more complicated when everyone awoke in the same place like elves.  They did wake up in different groups, though, at least according to the one story about Cuivienen we have.  (I’ve mentioned in the past that I think that’s a myth, but it probably has some basis in truth.)

Anyway, here are a few ideas I have for elvish skin color (and other racial characteristics).

1. The easiest one: forget science and just choose whatever colors you want for your characters.

2. Different races within the elves have different appearances.  Keep in mind that the Avari are made up of both proto-Noldor and proto-Teleri, so they’d be mixed.

3. The different groups of elves who first woke at Cuivienen each were a different race.  So the Vanyar (consisting of one group) were mostly all alike, whereas the Noldor and Teleri had two groups each, so they each have two different races mixed up within them.  This and #2 suggest their society would probably be racist in a similar way to ours.

4. Everyone is dark skinned because that was the first human skin color and they haven’t had enough generations to evolve anything else.

5. Everyone is light skinned because they were developed for a world without light.

6. The elves at Cuivenen had random skin colors, because there was no evolution to demand one or another.  So there are all sorts of what we’d consider mixed-race elves, and skin color doesn’t have any sort of cultural significance to it.

7. The rising of the sun triggered skin color genes within elves to express themselves, and within a couple of years, everyone had changed to darker skin tones, even though they’d previously all looked alike.  The implications would be interesting.  Would they not care because there’s no pattern to it?  Or would they prefer people who had lighter skin because they looked more like everyone used to look?

8. The genes were only triggered in the generation born after the sun rose.  If you have really pale skin, everyone knows you’re old.  That could either be good (old people are respected) or bad (you’re not adapted to the sun and burn all the time).

9. Their skin changes significantly due to sun exposure, especially considering how long they live.  It’s not like us getting tans or freckles: they can go from very light skin to brown skin if they’re out in the sun.  (I think there’s canonical evidence for elves having changes to their skin if they’re exposed to sunlight, because Tolkien specifically mentions Galadriel and Arwen having white arms.  This was commonly used to show that a lady was high class, because she didn’t have to work in the sun and could choose to use a parasol or something when she did go out.  So presumably he’s signaling that they’re nobility by saying that, which means they must tan or something?  Anyway, if the changes are big, this would matter more.)

10. Evolution happens with the cells in their body rather than on a species level, so if cells with more melanin survive better, the elf turns dark skinned over hundreds or thousands of years, whereas if they’re not getting enough vitamin D, they turn lighter again.

11. This only affects where the light touches, so they have really, really noticeable farmer’s tans.

12. Their skin is determined by how much sun exposure they get in their first few years.  People living in the woods (e.g. Maeglin, who is canonically pale) have lighter skin than people living on the coast.

13. Their genetics are triggered by how much sun their parents got just before they were born.

14. Lamarckian evolution is true for elves, so if a parent tans, their child gets that skin tone rather than the parent’s original skin tone.  A lot of elves are born freckled or sunburn red.

15. Elvish evolution goes at warp speed compared to ours, with noticeable evolutionary differences between a parent and a child.  This could relate to non-racial traits, too.

16. Laurelin’s light counts as sunlight, so the Noldor exiles have much darker skin than the Sindar they come across.

17. Laurelin’s light does not count as sunlight, and in fact, elves interact with sunlight in a very different way than Men because of their history with the Trees.  They don’t need sunlight for vitamin D (likely true, otherwise all pre-sun elves were vitamin deficient), and they also don’t get burned by it, so skin tone doesn’t matter and is either completely random or somewhere in the middle.

18. Since they have to create babies with a conscious use of their fea, elves have designer babies, where they get to influence things like height and what color their skin and hair is.  A child’s appearance is based on their parents’ aesthetic choices.  I don’t even know where to start with the cultural implications of this one.

19. Elves can change their skin color over time to whatever works best for them, because they have conscious control over their bodies.

20. The differences in elves’ skin is imperceptible to mortal eyes, and they don’t understand why we think they all look alike when OBVIOUSLY he has stripes and she has patches and so on.

21. If you really want to go off canon, you can have some wild things, like elves’ skin matching the colors of the things around them, so wood-elves have green skin and Noldor have gold or gemstone-colored skin and the Falathrim have stormy gray skin.

22. Or elves just have green or gold or gray skin, nobody’s stopping you.

23. Or they’re like octopuses or chameleons, changing skin color to blend in or communicate.

24. Elves don’t have skin, they have exoskeletons.  Or environmental suits that cover their skin 100% of the time.  Or something else sci-fi.  (There are plenty of possible explanations here for their glowing eyes, too.)

25. I don’t know, you fill this one in.

[silveny-dreams]

Sil’s Unlocked Experience That No One Asked For

So. This got long. Oops. I’m chalking it up to Sil’s Poor Planning When She Types As She Reads.

(Yeah, this is gonna be purely spoilers. Spoilers only. Spoilers galore. Literal quotes from the book included. You have been warned, thoroughly. If you click the read more and have the audacity to get mad at me for spoiling Unlocked for you, I will merely laugh.)

Anyways. Here is a post ten times longer than you needed it to be. I had ~Thoughts~.

FIRST THINGS FIRST, YALL.

SIR. ELWIN. HESLEGE. THE MAN FINALLY HAS A SURNAME

I would lay down my life for Elwin Heslege and here are some reasons why:

“Grow strong, new little Wanderling. You hold some very precious DNA” the only Sophie’s third father I truly care about, tbh

“In the category of Proof That Things Keep Getting Weirder Around Here” Sir Elwin Heslege how does it feel to know you invented comedy also would you please accept my hand in marriage

In an official health record for Sophie, he notes “I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON!!” verbatim, in all caps, two exclamation points and everything.....Sir. Valid. I have been there, my dude.

The man would lay down his own life for Sophie Foster and I cannot give him any higher praise than that

Anyways beyond my love for Sir Elwin Heslege (!!!! Still pumped about the surname reveal!!)

Maruca! Chebota! She’s got a surname too!! Finally!!!

Totally forgot that Biana being a third child would have been scandalous if she hadn’t been a Vacker—must be nice being practically elven royalty lol

“A Crush, A Kiss, and Crushing Heartache” lmao rest in pieces Dexter Alvin

I Will Not Forgive Keefe For Redacting His Middle Name From His Registry Records And That Is A Promise (Keefe Cassius Sencen seems more and more likely every day)

Keefe Sencen has literally forty pages of detention records and I’m not surprised but also I definitely laughed

The chaotic descent into madness witnessed in Dame Alina’s principal comments on Keefe’s detention record as time continued on....chef’s kiss

Tam Dai Song and Linh Hai Song....make it make sense, Shannon

Was an entire section speculating on wyl*nh really necessary in Linh’s registry record, Shannon 🙃 was it 🙃

Wylie! Zoran! Endal!

(My phone autocorrected Endal to “end all” and I was like “haha............hang on a second I need to get Shannon on the phONE—”)

Tiergan!! Alenefar!!!

GRADY AND EDALINE SUGGESTED AS WYLIES GUARDIANS I WILL CRY ABOUT THIS FOREVER CAN YOU IMAGINE? I AM ALREADY THINKING OF THE HEADCANON

“Prentice’s close friend (Sir Tiergan Alenefar)” bruh.......bruh.

Stina Destry Heks (also. the way I giggled when “Stina” autocorrected to “stone” at first)

“In a more recent investigation, one report did suggest that the real reason Timkin was able to return to Foxfire...was because he [REDACTED]. And if that’s true, then perhaps [REDACTED]” DO NOT PLAY THESE GAMES WITH ME, SHANNON.

Marella Adene Redek of Fluttermont is registered for the match despite being a pyrokinetic and while given her flirtiness I’m not surprised can you hear me screaming about it anyways

“Anyone directly related to any of the registered pyrokinetics was labeled as a bad match to halt the spread of their genetics, and the ability detecting session at Foxfire now specifically forbids any exercises that might make a prodigy detect heat”—I love love love this as a plot point because it is so unbearably shitty and unfair and I love seeing how cleverly Shannon has built a world that elves think is perfect but it clearly isn’t and I cannot wait to see Sophie demolish and dismantle the entire matchmaking system to get justice for her friend anyways I digress I will get off my soapbox now

Words do not describe the frustration I felt at reading “Brant [LAST NAME REDACTED FOR SECURITY]”. I will eat your doorknobs, Shannon. Do not test me on this

“While the crowd’s initial reaction [to Marella’s reveal as a pyrokinetic at the Celestial Festival] was shock (the collective gasp was loud enough to make many ears ring)” MARELLA SWEETIE YOU ARE A QUEEN TURNING HEADS WE LOVE THIS FOR YOU

I would lay down my life for sparkly blue-green stuffed kelpie Sir Splashyhugs, the first reported emotional support stuffed animal

(Team Give The Whole Squad Stuffed Animals Keeps Winning And Winning, I Tell You)

GRADY. HOWELL. RUEWEN. I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND

👀 Edaline Ruewen? You had an assignment given to you by the Council? Care to spill, sis?? Hello???

YALL. I have THEORIES. The Ruewens barely needed any convincing to take Sophie? There was a “brief pause, an exchanged look” between Alden and Grady before Grady agreed? BRUH. You cannot convince me Alden didn’t say something to him telepathically. And my current working theory absolutely has something to do with Jolie.

EDALINE! KELIA! RUEWEN!

“Former caretaker of Brant [REDACTED]” !!! Brant!!! Where are your parents!!!! Why is your name redacted!!!!! I will get my answers or die trying!!!!!!

“SHE’D BEEN ASSIGNED TO ONE OF THE COUNCIL’S MOST FRAUGHT SITUATIONS” E X C U S E ME SHANNON SAY MORE RIGHT NOW

“THE COUNCIL SUSPECTS THAT SOON [REDACTED]” SHANNON IF I DONT GET MY ANSWERS I WILL BE THROWING ROTTEN FRUIT AT YOUR H O U S E

EXCUSE ME??? ALDEN DEDRICK VACKER?????

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

Do I even need to explain to you what his middle name sounds like

Do I even need to explain the theories racing through my mind right now

I’m going to lose my mind. Shannon. You’ve killed me. This is it. My death. I’m going to go insane

You’re telling me this man married his 201st match recommendation and was engaged to Alina, his 104th recommendation.....did we know he was engaged or am I insane and just forgot

Della Adara Vacker. Queen.

Literally how did Alden and Della get together I need answers

“The Council opted to take her up on it [her request to be appointed emissary], having her look into [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]” bruh.........Shannon how u gonna tie up all ur loose ends if u keep ADDING INFO

“Della did inform the Council that [REDACTED]” Shannon is literally just toying with me now. She is doing this on purpose.

GISELA MINETTE SENCEN WHY IS THAT NAME SO PRETTY BITCH I WILL TEAR YOU APART also I hate that her middle name and my middle name sound so similar someone shoot me

Shannon is going to have to sit there in her wrongness on some of her pronunciations of things and be wrong and get used to it. VES-purr-ah. I ask you.

Do we know what a Chief Mentalist is already or am I sensing more complications Shannon will get to explain later under duress

My dearest s c r e a m e d when she saw the art of Bullhorn. She screamed “YESSSSS” aloud. It startled me into nearly dropping the book.

Wow we love that Laura’s way of interpreting that humans are “less stunning” than elves was to draw Sophie’s human family as chubby. Like. I get that literally in canon they are not skinny models, but. Come on. Bruh. Seriously. I’m tired.

Laura Hollingsworth has no fucking clue what Forkle looks like and she can get used to being wrong about it

My dearest said verbatim “she can only draw one face” and honestly? Correct

That being said....I saw her renderings of Linh and Livvy and Oralie and was reminded that I am, in fact, super not straight

ANYway

We love Shannon for reminding the fandom that the elven world is flawed on purpose! You’re doing amazing, sweetie!

Anyone else wondering whether Blur (who is widely theorized to be Jensi’s brother) is also Councillor Darek or am I reaching

....I’m reaching, it’s because he’s a phaser and I’ve gone so long without any aNSWERS, SHANNON

Swirled? White silver and gold?? Leaping crystals??? Hello????

How long before Keefe Sencen (or the Neverseen, take your pick) steals one of those, place your bets now

Shannon Messenger Drop Your Starkflower Stew Recipe Challenge

.....why does the art of custard bursts look like mini Victoria sandwich cakes what is this utter nonsense

Keefe Sencen’s affinity for butterblasts is valid and correct and I stand by it and also I want some

I amend my earlier statement. Shannon Messenger Drop A Comprehensive KOTLC Cookbook With All The Recipes For All The Elven Foods Challenge Because I Just Ate A Whole Meal And All Those Food Descriptions STILL Made Me Hungry

Biana doing a fashion section? Tam and Linh on Exilium? Flori on gnomish vegetation? Delightful.

Fitzroy Avery Vacker on sports is my new favorite I’m not taking any questions. Fitzroy Avery Vacker, popular but awkward jock.

The twiggler illustration is even better than I imagined, god bless Dex Dizznee

The STUFFED. ANIMAL. SQUAD. ILL CRY I SWEAR ILL DO IT DO YOU SEE THOSE CUTE LIL ILLUSTRATIONS

I will probably never again see the words “the unmapped stars” and not immediately go “Ah. Nattie” in my brain so that’s where we are on username permanence

On that same note I’ve been doing a double-take every time I see the name Silveny so we love that for me

Sophie’s 👏 codenames 👏 for 👏 her 👏 friends 👏

DIMPLES 😭 SPLASH 😭 DONT TOUCH ME

“Sometimes I wonder if the real reason the Black Swan won’t tell me what they’re planning is because they don’t actually have a PLAN” girl. You and me both. (“but at the same time...I kinda think it might be better” I....nah)

Me, reading Sophie’s description of Gethen, getting to the part about a crescent-shaped scar from a dog bite: good boy, Lodie

I can and will be making lushberry juice before all of this is over. We will conveniently forget whether I decide that it will be adult lushberry juice or not

Not to be dramatic but Keefe Sencen is so fucking sappy and also REALLY bad at deflecting the trauma with humor even though he tries so damn hard and I’m sorry I know it isn’t cool to like Keefe Sencen anymore but I have never once claimed to be cool and I do I like Keefe Sencen a lot so there

this novella is seriously only a third of the book. Just. I’m both glad for Shannon because that means she definitely got more sleep and hopefully felt less stress about plotting this year

But also. A third of the book

Anyway

NOT GONNA LIE—I HAVE BEEN WONDERING IF GISELA WOULD WORK WITH WHAT KEEFE ALREADY HAD. I THINK I AM CORRECT, FELLAS

Give Keefe Sencen His Voice Back In A Dramatic Little Mermaid-Style Fashion 2K20

I almost put 2K21 but I am impatient and refuse to wait that long

Well. Guess he won’t be in a coma for the next year.

Would that have been better, I wonder

Also

Not me sighing in resignation that there still seem to be more questions than answers

Gettin tired of this lil song and dance, Shannon

However

Please god in heaven Shannon give me more Grady and Keefe moments in the future because that was The Shit, Yo

Also. The amount of Keefex I got in this book. The Lord said “maybe I can’t give her answers but I’ll make sure her heart isn’t just sad”

Please Let Me Be Able To Trust Glimmer Thanks Very Much Shannon

Well it’s 1:37 AM here so I’m gonna go to bed and then instantly regret this post in the morning ✌️

[alia-turin]

After me pooling you guys yesterday it was determined that now I need to post that Caranthir fic I have been writing for weeks now and I’m very much unsure about. By popular demand here it comes. It will  be multichapter, it is actually mostly finished but it does need some polishing and final touches, I would try to post at least one chapter per week if not more. Not sure how many chapters will be overall, but I do promise some more Aen Elle action later. Thank you for reading. The fic is kind of a follow up on this story HERE but you don’t have to read it, things will make sense either way.

Fic Title: Somewhere in Time (Chapter 1) Fandom: The Witcher (Aen Elle) Pairing: Caranthir/F/OC Warning: Canon typical violence for this chapter AO3 Link

She could hear noises around that she was not familiar with. The forest had always been silent beside the songs of birds and the occasional animal passing by. Wind or rain, but not that. Footsteps, many of them.

Aine looked through the window, she could see shadows in the distance and hear muffled voices. It wasn’t too stranger for a hunter to find himself that deep in the woods, but it was not usual. Based on the number of voices and steps, that was not just one hunter. Then there was another sound she had not heard in the forest - horses running and dogs howling. She felt fear running through her body, she was alone and that had never scared her, although she had wondered what she would do if someone was to come and try and harm her. For five years that has not been something that never happened, nor she had reason to think it might actually happen. She ran to the door to make sure it was locked and that was when the screams started. Those were not animal screams, those were elven or human voices wrapped in fear. She stepped back from there as if being away would stop the horrible picture that was growing in her head and disappear, but that did not change, it just became louder and more violent.

She made another step backwards when something hit the door. It sounded as if a tree trunk was thrown against it. Another hit and she jumped, as it happened, on the third hit the door fell open. Her breath stuck in her throat when she saw what came through the door. What she assumed was a man was dressed in armor taller and larger than any elf or human she had seen.

“You are a pretty one.” he said as he walked toward her, she could not see his face as he was wearing a helmet but Aine could swear she could hear a chuckle even if whatever rational part of her brain was working told her that was not possible. She tried to run away, right through her table, but as soon as she turned her back on him he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her toward himself. She screamed, she tried to reach for his grip, but her nails painfully dug in his armor. He dragged her out of the house as if she was nothing, his grip pulling cruelly on her hair, her legs trying to keep her somewhat standing, but that failed. She was just a rag doll, she could feel her clothes tearing as they rubbed against dirt and stone, her skin started burning.

Caranthir dismounted his horse in the midst of the chaos. Humans were screaming around him, dogs howling and the smell of blood filled his head like a long needed drug. Part of him felt pity for the forest being disturbed by the sounds of violence, but it was going to be over soon. When they captured the escaped humans he could just open a portal to Tir na Lia and they will be done with that pitiful task. He looked around as their men were already lining the humans next to a small wooden house. Strange, he had not been that far in the woods recently, but a house here? It looked more like an old hunting lodge, a very small one, maybe that is why it was abandoned. It wasn’t too far from the nearest town, but it wasn’t close either. As he was musing over the place he saw Imlerith march from the entrance, dragging someone after himself. A woman, she couldn’t keep her balance, her legs and feet were just trying to keep up with the mountain of a man that was pulling her. At first Caranthir ignored it, that was not something that caught his attention anymore, Imlerith can do whatever. He was about to walk away, he didn’t need to see that, although he was going to hear about it no matter if he wanted or not. That woman better preyed for quick death as he was sure Imlerith won’t show an ounce of mercy. Then something caught his attention. Caranthir turned very slowly and just now noticed what Imlerith was dragging. The first thing he saw was the bundle of red hair in the man’s fist, a spark of green eyes with delicate features.

It couldn’t be. Memories rolled in his mind like an avalanche.

He rushed toward Imlerith, he was in fact running, but he realized that only after he reached the other man.

“Stop.” he placed a hand on Imlerith’s shoulder. He was sitting on top of her already, her body looked so small and fragile compared to him. “Stop!” he repeated louder and Imlerith did stop, he couldn’t see his face because of the helmet but he could imagine the annoyance. Foolish of Caranthir to stay between a beast and his prey.

“Want to join?” Imlerith tilted his head, the woman tried to push him off herself, silly girl, even Caranthir wasn’t sure if he would be able to move the other man if he was in her place.

Caranthir didn’t say a thing, he was struggling with his own confusion, she was nothing to him, just some girl that for a second brough painful memories to his mind, but he knew it wasn’t her, so why did he even bother what happened?

“We don’t have time for that.” Was the first thing that came to Caranthri’s mind. They had time for...everything they were not running on a schedule, that could take them days if they wanted to no one was going to tell them a thing.

“You want her for yourself.” Imlerith started laughing. He pushed himself up and stepped away. “Go on then.”

The girl saw her chance and tried to run, but Caranthir used his staff to trip her, she fell face down, and he pressed his foot on her lower back so she couldn’t escape. Imlerith walked away laughing as if he just witnessed a hilarious joke. It was a joke just not a very funny one.

“Please…” the woman pleaded as he moved his foot off and knelt next to her. He grabbed her face, his armoured hand gripping her jaw hard and forcing her to look at him.

He observed her carefully, hair was the same blood red color, but that was about where the similarities ended. Two very different women, not much in common between them, his mind was playing tricks on him, she was dead while the girl in his hand was very much alive. It wasn’t her obviously, but why was he so bothered? She was pretty, very pretty. Half human half elf, frame was smaller and shorter, more human, but even frozen with fear it had the Aen Elle grace. Her face was also just a mix of both races, still beautiful despite the tears and then there were the eyes. Once upon a time he had tried to figure out how exactly Avallac’h had made him. He read about so many genetic oddities, including the mismatching eye colors, a rarity, certainly just nature doing its thing in her case, unlike all the malformations on his body. Then he sensed something he had missed before. He tilted his head to the side and smiled. “You can use magic.” it wasn’t a question.. Her tears had stopped, but she still looked at him like a doe that was about to be devoured by wolves. “You should have defended yourself.”

She continued to look at him with these scared eyes and for a second time today he had to fight with his own mind. Part of him wanted to end her here, she was half human, humans should not be allowed anywhere near magic, they were too weak. But she was also Aen Elle. Even more importantly something in his chest was feeling so tight that it almost hurt physically. That was stupid. She was dead, that was just some random girl Imlerith dragged out of nowhere.

“Caranthir!” it was Imlerith shouting somewhere behind him, but he ignored him. He had to decide what to do. She wasn’t one of the humans they were hunting; he knew that, but he could not leave her here either. Half human, half elf with magic, that she probably didn’t know how to control, otherwise Imlerith would have had a very bad day. No, it was irresponsible to leave her here. Too dangerous.

“You will be coming with me.” as soon as he said that she tried to pull away from his grip but he was holding her jaw firm if she yanked any harder she was more likely to break it than run away from him. Caranthir released his grip for a second, but then moved his hand to her throat, her neck so small in his hold, he could probably break it with little effort. He got up, pulling her with himself, she choked, fighting for breath even if he did not think he was holding her too hard. She tried to say something but the words just didn’t come.

He started opening portals to Tir na Lia, as he watched her lose consciousness.

When she woke up she was lying on a cold stone. She wanted to believe everything that had happened was just a nightmare, but her surroundings hinted to the opposite. Aine lifted herself up slowly, her legs and back were burning from the way the stone and earth had scratched them. Standing all the way seemed like a difficult task but she did it. She was in a room, certainly not one she had ever seen before. There was a bed, table with a couple of chairs, a chest of drawers and a window to the far end. The space was almost as large as the log cabin where she lived. Floors and walls were solid stone and all the furniture was dark old wood. She walked slowly to the window, that should help her figure out where she was. Even that little walk, no more than 3 feet, was painful. Her knees have been badly bruised and every attempt to bend them was just jolts of pain and discomfort. Slowly she made her way and all she could do was stare. Tir na Lia, that was where she was, she knew the city, but she has never seen it from that point, that high up...she must be in the castle. Fear ran down her spine, why was she alive and why was she here…

That was when the door opened and Aine turned not sure she wanted to face whatever might come from there. A man walked in, taller than her, but that wasn’t really a surprise, being only half elf almost everyone was taller than her, even some humans. The elf started walking toward her and she pressed her back against the wall wishing she had more space to avoid him. It took him just a couple of steps to get to her and he grabbed her throat, painful from this morning, using his fingers to turn her head left and right as if observing a horse he was about to buy. She was terrified. Her heart was beating hundreds of kilometers per hour and she could barely breath and the reason was not his hand on her neck. His touch was almost gentle if anything in this situation could be gentle. Even from the weird angle her head was turned she could see his face. Pale hair and cold eyes, tattoos were crawling on his neck and disappearing under the furs of his cloak. Terrible scars were covering half of his face which despite the strands of hair over them she could see.

Caranthir looked at the marks his gauntlet had left around her throat, the skin already turning blue and purple. That was uncalled for, he could have been more careful. On the other hand why did he even bother about some half bred mutt? He should have broken her neck in the woods and ended it there. Instead he had taken her in Tir na Lia, for what? Because she reminded him of someone he had lost so many years ago that he could barely recall her face? But he did not need to remember the face, he remembered the feeling. Mostly the hate he felt when he lost her, the need to destroy and hurt, but when he saw this half-breed’s face something else made him stop. A feeling he had buried so deep in himself that he did not even know it existed anymore. A need he had convinced himself over so many years to be childish and unnecessary. He was imagining things, he was overthinking it.

“Please...let me go…” her voice came through broken, he couldn’t determine if it was the fear or the fact he had hurt her too bad this morning.

“Cannot let half human mage just roam around Tir na Lia.” his answer was not that much directed at her, he had no interest in her plea, it was mostly a thought he vocalized. That was too dangerous. But if that was dangerous, why was he unable to just kill her? All he had to do is snap her neck as he was holding her, push her through the window next to them, or any manner of magic that he could think about. No, not unable, he was more than able. Unwilling. His mind was conflicted for unknown reasons and all he could do was stare at her. The long red hair, complete mess from Imlerith dragging her in the woods, her face dirty but still beautiful and the mismatching eyes - green and brown. Somehow she also looked equally Aen Elle and human. When he tried to point to a future that was more human to convince himself that she is nothing but a cockroach that needs to be killed, he would find something that made her look as elven as he was.

“I’m not a mage…” there were no tears in her eyes but her voice sounded more like a cry than anything else.

Caranthir did not comment on that, he knew what he was feeling, magic is one of the things he knew better than anyone. She was either lying to him or she was not aware she had powers. But she had....she was not as old as he was, definitely much younger but an adult nonetheless. She should have felt something or done something that would make her experience the power she had no matter how weak it might be.

“Ever moved an object that you couldn’t reach but it somehow ended up in your hand?” she shook her head at the question. “Ever destroyed something just with thought in a fit of anger?” again shaking for no. “Ever had a dream that became true?” Again no.

He wasn’t wrong. That started bothering him and he could feel an obsession growing in him. He had to figure that out. He removed his hand from her throat and ran a finger through her cheek, wet with tears. She was beautiful. Not like her, it was a different sort of beauty, less...polished. Caranthir was hurting and felt excited at the same time, it had been years since something could provoke so many strong emotions in him.

“I will ask someone to bring you food and new clothes.” he stepped back just to see her frame visibly sink in relief. He knew he had that effect on people but somehow he felt a bit disappointed. He could have done worse, much worse.

[hurricanerin]

I’ll Never Tell Ch. 2: Hate Myself

Pairing: Loki/OFC

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, non-con, power imbalance, violence, breeding, forced orgasms.

Chapter summary: That time we signed and sealed.

<<Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 >>

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*Because Petra doesn’t understand Jotun, I don’t provide translations aside from skapning, which means “creature.”  (I’ll tell you a secret though, I culturally appropriated an entire language from my fellow Norsk.  Google Translate will lend a helping hand if you’re that curious.)

Before dawn, Petra awoke to a nudge to the ribs.

“Rise,” grunted a female voice.

Eyes opening slowly, blurred with sleep, she scrubbed her face with her hand and hissed when a foot connected with her middle a second time.

"I’m getting up,” she growled.

The Jötunn woman at her side huffed and went back to work, stirring a pot over the fire.  The smell of simple oatmeal made Petra’s mouth water, and she scrambled to get up.  Still dressed in her clothes from the day before, she straightened her outer layer and smoothed her hair.

“May I have some of that?

The woman muttered something in her own language and spooned a serving into a metal bowl that she shoved at Petra.  The Jötunn threw a spoon at the dark elf, who caught it gratefully and dug in with vigor.

“The King wants to see you,” grunted the giant.

At his mention, Petra’s mouth ran dry, making it difficult to swallow the bite of oats she’d taken.

“Where is he?”

“You’ll find him in his tent,” said the woman, her words heavily accented.

In his tent. She sighed.  Close proximity to such an intense man ideally wasn’t the first stop of her day, but it wasn’t like she had any say in that.

Silently Petra finished her breakfast, staring straight ahead at the tent wall as she chewed thoughtfully.  She hadn’t been dragged into the middle of the wilderness in her sleep or kicked out quite yet.  Maybe he had taken pity on her.

When she finished, she held the bowl out to her host.

"Thank you for letting me stay here.  I hope to repay your kindness,” she offered.

The woman huffed and took the bowl, stashing it in a tub of steaming water sitting over the fire.

Petra wandered through dawn-lit camp, relying on memory to get to Loki’s tent.  She passed groups of Frost Giants rallying together with spears, bows, and arrows, seemingly readying for a hunt.  Their brows raised equally in curiosity and furrowed in disdain as she passed.  Stares followed her all the way to the entrance of the king’s tent.  She peaked inside, knowing there was a chance that going in would only hasten her removal from their camp.

Loki sat at a dining table, sipping from a cup in his hand.  He glanced up as she entered and motioned at the empty seat next to him.

Sitting was good.  Sitting seemed like it could lead to something more permanent.

“I’ve thought of a solution to your problems,” he said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Petra strode to the chair and sat with her hands in her lap.

“Anything.  What needs to happen?”

Loki steepled his fingers against his lips, his mouth quirked into a small, but devious, smile.

“As I mentioned yesterday, we only have three children, a number incongruent with our adult population.”  He gauged her response, quietly watching her.  When it became clear he wanted confirmation that she understood, she nodded.

He continued, “We… haven’t been able to reproduce properly for quite some time now.  It seems something in us has changed biologically, preventing healthy pregnancies.”

Petra watched his solemn face, nibbling her lip.

“We think it has to do with the temperature of the fetus.  Infants have been born warmer and warmer, and it’s possible they’re no longer able to withstand the natural cold of their mother’s womb.”

Listening attentively, she folded her legs beneath her and perched on the chair.   Loki fiddled with the cup between his hands, lifting it to his mouth for another drink.  Metal clanked on wood when he put it down, staring at her warily.

“This might… Here.”

He produced a second cup and poured, then pushed it at her.  Impatient to hear the conditions, she ignored the drink, fidgeting anxiously in her seat.  His eyes mirrored the irritation he felt and he pointed at the cup.

“Drink,” he commanded.

Her icy blue gaze narrowed, not moving from Loki’s face as she picked up the cup and took a draw.  Almost immediately she sputtered and coughed. It’s alcohol content was impossibly high.

“What is this?” she choked, her eyes watering as the liquid burned down her throat.

“Good Jötunn ale.  You may thank me in a minute.  Drink.”

Eying the drink dubiously, she took another tiny sip, wincing at the taste.

“Why am I going to thank you?”

His face was a mixture of emotions.  His eyes were serious.  Grim, even. But his lips were twisted into a small smile that bordered on contemptuous.

“Because my proposition is… unconventional.  For an outsider, at least.”

She leaned in, growing frustrated that he was drawing it out.

Licking his lip, Loki’s mouth opened to speak again, “I want to breed you.”

Brows practically raised to her hairline, Petra let out a sharp laugh, only to interrupt herself by stammering in surprise when his face remained severe.  Loki continued, nonchalantly standing and closing the distance between them, invading her space as he boredly gripped her chin.  After holding her jaw for a moment, he jerked his hand, forcing her to angle her face back and forth as he inspected her.

“You’re seemingly healthy.  Somewhat intelligent.  My people are going to die out if this bout of infertility continues.  Jötunn and elf may be compatible genetically; there’s lore of hybrids.”  He pursed his lips.  “It’s pointless for me to approach other realms with this request.  No one wants to mate with a monster.  You, on the other hand...,” the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, “You have very little choice.”   Releasing her chin, he crossed his arms.  “Breed with us and you can stay.  Refuse and you’ll be gone before nightfall.”

Skin prickling with goosebumps, Petra swallowed hard.  Last night she’d pledged anything to stay, and this definitely fell under the scope of anything. It just wasn’t what she had expected.  Loki had given the impression that she was revolting, not someone he would consider solid breeding stock.

Her own childhood had been bleak.  She was only a half-bred elf; her mother had scandalously lain with a Midgardian man and Petra had been conceived.  She grew up a pariah with a deep sense of emotion incompatible with the wicked lifestyle of Dökkálfar.  Being half human flooded her with more sentiment than her elven counterparts, and though she had agonized to blend in, the Dökkálfar sensed something was wrong with her.  Suspicion arose and when her mother was pressed on the identity of her father, her true heritage had been revealed and her mother murdered.

As a result, having children wasn’t something she’d considered.  She enjoyed them, but hadn’t wanted her own to suffer the same fate she had.  On Svartalfheim, at least.    

Deep in her thoughts, Petra startled when Loki said her name.

“Petra.”

Lost for words, she glanced up at him, brows furrowed in thought.

“I’m leaving in a moment, we’re hunting this morning.  You will remain in my tent and think things over.  I’ll give you until tonight to make a decision.”

When she didn’t speak, he turned and strode to a chest near the end of his bed.  Opening it, he retrieved a pair of worn, fingerless leather gloves and slipped them over his hands.  He also drew out a long dagger and a bow and arrow set before turning his gaze on Petra.

“Now, can you read?” he asked as he sheathed the knife.

Still stunned, she nodded.  He smirked, as if pleased that his little elf was literate.

“There are a few books on the shelf.  Otherwise you’ll have to entertain yourself.”  He sat his hip on the table, his knee touching hers.  “Don’t leave my tent.”

The crisp direction of his voice cleared her mind.

“Why not?”

Loki’s eyes narrowed.  He wasn’t accustomed to questioning.

“Because I can’t guarantee that those who remain in camp won’t cause you harm.   Everyone is curious to see the mysterious elf brought in last night, and some curiosities are more macabre or licentious than others.”

Eyes wide, she shuddered.  “I’ll stay here.”

“Good.”

With one last critical glance at the girl, he selected from a batch of spears leaning against the tent wall and stalked out into the cold.

“I guess that’s goodbye,” she muttered.

When he returned Loki found Petra asleep, curled on his bed.  He watched the slumbering girl for a moment, more curious than he’d like to admit.   She was interesting, yes, but also rather lovely.  For an elf, at least.  Jötunn standards of beauty were very different, her slender build alone made her look weak, which was very unattractive.  But, beneath the mountain of clothes she was buried in, he had a feeling her body would be at least somewhat desirable.  Her face certainly was.  He could easily picture his cock between her deep blue-black lips or her features distorted in pleasure as he pistoned into her.

She’d unbound her long hair and it lay in a tangled mess around her face.  Her white brows were stark against her dark blue-gray skin, which looked softer up close than he would’ve thought.  Almost like human flesh.   Delicate.  Another weakness.

She was rather odd for a Dökkálfr, he supposed, which was an undesired variable for a strange situation.  He really should send her on her way as she’d only be a nuisance, but the idea came to him last night and so he’d propositioned her.

Lazily dragging his dagger from the sheath, he flipped it, catching the handle.  His booted feet clunked against the ground as he took two steps forward, vigilant but intrigued by the sleeping girl.  Just because she hadn’t acted like a true Dökkálfr the night prior didn’t mean she wasn’t toying with him.

The layers of clothing packed on her lower body were thick enough that she only felt a dull pressure when he prodded her leg with the knife.

“Wake up, skapning.”

Her eyes fluttered open as she realized where she was and scrambled to sit up.  Pushing her silver her hair from her face, she sleepily examined the Jötunn king, fresh from the hunt.

Feathers woven into his hair complemented the golden beads that were present yesterday, and the red smeared on his cheek almost matched his eyes.  She was fairly certain it was blood.  Pulling her knees to her chest, she studied him for a moment, then blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Hunting looks like it was successful.”

Loki made a noise of affirmation, peeling off his bloodied gloves and tossing them into the trunk at the foot of the bed.  He abandoned his bow and arrows as well, then rested his hip against the table and ran a finger along his blade.

The corner of his mouth quirked and he shot Petra a glance out of the corner of his eye.  Then, he slowly flattened his hand, palm up.  His fingers contracted and a small crystalline ball materialized, growing in size as he fostered it, forming a hunk of ice.  Casually he began rubbing it in circular strokes along the length of the dagger.

They sat in almost silence, the only noise the repetitive wet slide of ice on metal as he sharpened the knife.  Her eyes flicked around the room, looking for a conversation piece or way to put off answering his earlier request, but she could think of nothing and he was waiting for her to speak.  With a deep breath, she let her lids fall closed.

“I’ll do it.”

His downcast eyes raised.

“You’ll do what?”

Petra stammered, the carmine of her blush contrasting heavily against her dark skin.

“I’ll… Let you do what we talked about earlier.”

He motioned for her to continue, raising his brows as if confused.  She pulled at the hem of her sleeve, avoiding his maroon eyes.

“I-I’ll let you breed me,” she mumbled.

Loki’s face relaxed and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Good.”

Petra waited for him to elaborate, to give her some kind of directive or information about her new assignment.  Instead, he ignored her and continued sharpening.  She squirmed and slipped off the bed, nervously twining her hands behind her back.

“So… How will it work?”

With a smirk, Loki looked up from his knife.

“You unfamiliar with mating practices?”

The elf’s cheeks and the tips of her pointed ears warmed to dark crimson and she glared.  “I understand the logistics.  I meant how will this progress?  When will I do… it?  And with whom?”

Turning the dagger, he began working on the other side.

“With me,” he said nonchalantly.  He almost seemed disinterested.  “And we start tonight.”

Flustered, Petra struggled for words.  She didn’t expect it to begin so soon.  And with him?  The thought of mating with a Jötunn male was foreign enough, but to do so with their unsettling king who could barely look at her?   Mildly terrifying.

“Y-you?  I thought… Wouldn’t one of the others be better?”  One that she didn’t offend with her mere presence?  She flushed deeper as her mind raced, searching for additional reasons they were an unsuitable pair.  “Wouldn’t it be best to mate with a smaller Jotunn?  For a smaller child?”

Loki considered her size for a moment.  Compared to the giants, she was miniscule, but typical for a Dökkálfr.  He tilted his head, inspecting her hips.  They were wide enough to carry a large child, he supposed.  His child.  He’d rely on nature not to kill mother with baby.  

“No.  I’ll breed you myself.”  When she opened her mouth to argue, he gestured at the tent opening, “Or you can go.”

Petra stubbornly clammed up, her arms crossed in refusal to leave.  Loki put down the knife and ball of ice.  Her breath hitched as he took a step towards her, slowly backing her against the tent wall.  His chilly indigo finger nudged her chin up, forcing her to meet his cold gaze.

“You Dökkálfar are conniving.  Sneaky.  I don’t trust you not to manipulate my men.  Norns know the damage you could do.  Tricking them, turning them against each other, against me with your mere existence as a fertile female.”

Petra hissed in surprise, jerking her chin from his grasp and fighting the urge to gnash her teeth.  She was two heads shorter than he was, frozen and laughably weak in comparison, yet he had the audacity to accuse her of taking advantage of his people.

“I would never do something like that!”

“It doesn’t matter.  I’ll breed you or no one will.”

Scowling, she let the back of her head hit the side of the tent and gazed upwards.  She couldn’t force herself to make eye contact while talking about such an intimate topic, not when he was making such accusations yet still wanted sex.

“Fine.  I’ll do it with you.  Or let you do it to me.  However it’s supposed to work.”

Loki fought to keep warmth from the small smile that appeared on his lips.  As lustful a being and eager to fuck his skapning as he was, he did truly care for the survival of his people and believed he had a chance with the peculiar girl.

“Good.  We’ll begin tonight.”

He reached behind him, presenting a long dress, a pair of thick woolen socks, some crude leather slippers and a cloak from the table.  “Put these on.  They’re warmer than your rags.”

Petra scowled, picking at her holey trousers.  They had been nice when she initially left, but the elements of Jötunheim had torn them apart.  She gratefully took them and shuffled to the far corner of the tent.

“Don’t look,” she snapped over her shoulder as she peeled off her inadequate coat to change.

Loki looked.  She was thinner than he expected, again challenging his idea of beauty, but the swell of a breast was the swell of a breast and hers were large enough.  His eyes wandered down her back to her rear.  Though she could use a few extra meals, her hips were just right for digging his fingers into.  Suddenly the image of his thick blue cock sliding into darker pussy made him hard.  Would her lips be pink?  Or blue-gray?  He was interested in investigating, but at a later time.

She finished changing and folded her old clothes, clutching them to her chest when she turned around.  She was only half surprised to see him staring at her.  She was getting the hang of this tricky Jötunn king.

“You’re very rude,” she said, lifting her chin.

Loki grinned, the first true smile she’d seen from him.

“You have no idea.”

That night, after a dinner delivered by Loki, Petra found herself squirming under the gaze of the giant.  He was blatantly staring at her from the tent entrance, peeling plates of armor and straps of leather from his body and depositing them on the ground.  Her stomach fluttered as he neared her, shirtless, clothed only in a pair of leather trousers.  His red eyes glittered in the low light, fixed intently on her.

The Jötnar didn’t seduce.  It was an unnecessary ritual of exorbitance meant for more refined beings, but he found himself drawn to touching her.   In more ways than just those that resulted in procreation.

He lifted a lock of hair from her shoulder, running his calloused fingers over it and it fell through them.  She shivered, eyes wide as she looked up at him.

“It’s time.  Undress,” he grunted as he unfastened the rest of his armor.

Mouth too dry to swallow properly, she obeyed.  The comforting weight of her cloak disappeared as she shrugged it from her shoulders, letting it fall in a pile at her feet.  She peeled off the clothes he’d given her, which had been warmer than the ones she arrived in, letting them drop to the floor as he had.

When she stopped at her undergarments, appearing shy and small, Loki had to purse his lips to keep his mouth from curling in disgust.

“Have you not done this before?”

“I have,” she snapped, glaring as she reached behind to unfasten the band around her chest.

His shoulders dropped in relief and he let out a breath.  He was not interested in a simpering virgin’s first time.

When her last pieces of her security were gone, he took a moment to admire her body, starting with the tinge of scarlet kissing her ears.  Growing hard, he admired her breasts, there was enough to squeeze and fill his hands.  The width of her hips was slightly greater than he’d expected, which would bode well for both mother and child.  He palmed himself through his pants, his eyes amused as she shivered from cold.  She was such a fragile thing.    

“On the bed,” he pointed.

Arm clutched over her breasts, Petra approached his bed with a shaky breath.  Everything inside her screamed to run, that she didn’t have to do this.  Didn’t have to trade her body.  Maybe she could survive on her own.  But in her gut, she knew this was her only chance at living.   Jötunheim was simply too savage a realm for her to endure alone. Without looking at him she turned and sat on the edge of the mattress.

Loki rolled his eyes.  Non-Jötnar were never proficient at mating positions and she was no exception.

“On your hands and knees.”

The bed dipped under her weight as she crawled on top of it, positioning herself on all fours.  She chanced a glance behind her only to flush as she caught him with his ridged cock in his hand.  If she’d thought him intimidating before, now he was as menacing as his realm.  His girth was just shy of requiring his entire hand to grasp it, and she sincerely doubted she could take his entire length, let alone the added texture.

He gave her a pleased grin.  “Mating with giants has its perks.”

Petra pursed her lips and faced forward, finding a spot on the wall to stare at.

His feet scuffed against the floor as he closed the distance between them. She was far from ready, but didn’t expect a comfortable experience to begin with.  The Jötnar were beasts, he’d be on and off in less than a minute, surely.

When she felt a hot puff against her rear, she twisted to look back at him.  The king was on his knees, staring at her exposed cunt.

“You’re practically steaming, skapning.”

Her lips worked to form some kind of smart retort, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth.  With a deep blush, she turned back around.

A hand roved over her hip, dragging down her arse cheek to the back of her thigh.  It was joined by the other on the opposite side, and he gently pulled her open with a groan.  For some reason, perhaps because she was his exotic little creature, the lilac of her pussy lips made his mouth water.  He longed to suck them into his mouth, an impulse he’d never had with a Jötunn woman.  He shook himself.  Breeding was a very practical activity, one he enjoyed but never relished in, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Licking a cool finger, he eased it inside her.   Immediately her walls clamped down, making him groan at her tightness.   She contorted again, looking back at him with wide eyes.  He ignored her in favor of working his finger in and out of her hot cunt.

Stunned and confused, Petra faced forward once again, too self-conscious to watch him manually defile her.  She let out a gasp when he crooked his finger, her body too stiff to turn this time.  A burning sensation began in her pelvis, the heat warming her from the inside out.  As he continued she panted, pressure beginning to build and she found herself arching back in search of more.  With a smirk she couldn’t see, Loki obliged, using the gathering wetness to thrust his finger harder.  When his rhythm increased, her attempt to hold back a groan resulted in a choked grunt.

Only because Loki couldn’t see her face, Petra allowed herself the freedom to make expressions.  Or, perhaps it happened without her conscious permission.  She wasn’t sure.  Her mouth hung open, brows furrowed in pained pleasure as his fingers rubbed a spot inside her that made her see white.  As he casually stroked, the heat in her pelvis grew unbearable and her inner muscles began to flutter in anticipation.  She teetered on the edge of the precipice, so close to release she could barely stand it.  She’d never come at the hands or cock of another, only from touching herself.  She was quickly learning the allure of another’s touch and she wanted more.

Then he stopped.  The burn remained, but the intensity began to soften.

Dumbfounded, she twisted, teeth bared as she stared at him pleadingly.

“I-Please!”

Loki wiped his fingers on the inside of her thigh and ignored her cry.

"Why did you stop?” she demanded breathlessly.

"Stimulation aids in lubrication, making sex more comfortable.  Additionally, the contractions of your eventual orgasm will pull my seed further into your womb.  It is to my advantage that you come.”

That didn’t come close to explaining why he’d just intentionally denied her pleasure, but Petra was too single-minded to care.  All she wanted was to feel that winding pressure again.  She grunted in confusion and caught the sound of Loki sighing.

“But, until my come is inside you, your orgasm holds no worth,” he explained.  “I’m merely preparing you.”

Had she control over her breathing, Petra would’ve huffed.  Instead, she panted for air, her arms shaking.

After a beat of silence, the tips of his black nails slowly scratched down the backs of her thighs.   As he released a pleased rumble, the frightened girl fought the urge to clench her legs together.  When they threatened to close, barring his entrance, he stopped.

“Do you want to survive the night?”

The only answer she offered was short, shallow breaths.  He slapped her rear, making her jerk and coaxing a whine from between her lips.

“Answer me.  I don’t have time for games.”

“Yes!  Please, yes, let me stay,” she mumbled.

“Then keep yourself spread.  I won’t repeat the command.”

She uttered a soft sob of frustration and hung her head, burying her fingers in the bedclothes as she resituated herself with her legs wide open.

“Good girl.”

Though the praise sounded clinical, the words stoked that fire in her belly.  Positive reinforcement wasn’t something Petra took lightly.  It was something she had ached for at home, but rarely received, even as a child.  It simply wasn’t part of Dökkálfar culture.

Loki’s fingers pet her entrance, idly smoothing moisture over her opening as he continued admiring his prize.  He hummed and she heard the rustle of clothing, indicating he’d stood.   More noise followed, and she jerked when he pressed his bare hips against her rear, his cock prodding her.

He was tall enough that had she merely bent over the side of the bed, he’d have to get on his knees himself.  She had a feeling he would be reluctant to do so.  Instead, the added height of the raised bed lined her rear up with his pelvis.  Wary of his size and strength, she braced herself for his entrance.  A hiss sounded as he began to press into her, making her aware of each and every raised detail on his cock.  He stretched her almost beyond capacity and it stung, causing her to wince away.

Another crack sounded as he spanked her twice.

“Do you know what we do with Jötunn females resistant to mating?”

“No,” she breathed.

“We tether them.  Do you want to be tied down?  To have your baby sired while you’re at my mercy?”

Afraid to use her voice should it quiver, she shook her head.

“Good skapning,” he crooned, sliding his hand over her rear to press on her lower back. The pressure he applied encouraged her to arch, and in fear of being bound, she held still.

With a groan, he seated himself while she bit her lip to keep from whimpering.  He felt as big as he looked and she swore she’d split open at any moment.  To her surprise, he allowed her time to adjust.

He gathered her hair in one hand, running his fingers through the silky strands before wrapping it in his fist.   Holding her hair taut, he began with small thrusts, smirking as a high-pitched groan slipped from between her lips.  She could feel every inch of the ridged designs on his cock rub against her swollen walls, causing her eyes to roll back.  That cursed, beloved warmth returned to her belly and she felt her walls squeeze his length involuntarily, coaxing a groan of his own.  Petra began to relax as his thrusts grew faster.

The first time he nearly pulled out of her, then slammed back in, she collapsed onto her forearms, which forced her back into an arc and opened her slit to him even further.  He grunted in pleasure and his thrusts quickly wound the coil in her pelvis.  With a shocked cry she came, shuddering as he fucked her through her orgasm.  Panting, she let her head drop, her ribs expanding quickly with each desperate intake of air.

“Did you just come?”

“I-Yes?”

“Do not waste a vital part of the mating process like that.  What if you couldn’t come after I finish?  You’ll save your orgasm for after mine.”

She sputtered, trying to turn but he held her hair tightly.

“It’s not like I tried to!”

“Good, then you should be able to put forth the effort to contain yourself.”

With that, he began rutting into her without warning and she buried her face in the sheets as that cursed pressure began rebuilding.  Afraid of his wrath, she wriggled, trying to find a position where his ridged cock didn’t feel as good pummeling her, but couldn’t find one and the heat was building.  Light exploded behind her eyes and she nearly lost her balance as her cunt contracted, squeezing his cock so hard it almost hurt.  Loki’s grip on her hips was all that kept her stable.

There was a beat of silence.

“If you come again before I do, I’ll stop and you’ll sleep outside.”

Petra’s panting stuttered and she managed a nod.  As if she could control what her body was doing.

Loki resumed thrusting, growling and running his hands up along the length of her spine to her upper back.  Long, wickedly strong fingers dug into her skin as he yanked her shoulders back, forcing her to arch painfully.  She cried out as his black nail bit into her flesh, overwhelmed by the mixture of pleasure and pain.

She put every available neuron towards preventing another orgasm.  She thought about home as the coil in her belly tightened, about blood and torture and scathing hate.  He hissed as her walls began to flutter and she cried out, this time actively trying to crawl away from him to prevent her orgasm.

His fingers dug into her sides, anchoring her in place as he lost his rhythm, his hips jerking as he grunted deep in his throat.   His erratic pumping forced another orgasm from Petra and she let out a shriek of frustration, terrified that she’d die alone outside tonight.   They both remained in place, panting heavily as their hearts slowed.

“You’re fortunate I came, skapning, or you’d be sleeping with the wolves.”

Petra managed to exhale on a whimper, her pussy still throbbing.  She tried to crawl out from under him, but he held her tight.

“I’ll stay inside of you until we fall asleep,” he stated, his breath tickling her ear.

She released a yelp of surprise when he wrapped an arm around her middle, lifting her as he crawled forward on the bed.  Mindful of her inferior Dökkálfar blood, he pulled a fur from the floor and wrapped it around the both of them.

Her cunt pulsed as she tried to get comfortable, unintentionally squeezing him.

“Keep that up and there will no longer be a use for this load to impregnate you.  I will provide many more, and easily can tonight.”

She stilled almost immediately.  Delirious from her orgasms and the stress of the day, her lids fluttered shut before she had time to process that she was falling asleep with the Jötnar king’s cock inside her.

thanks to @writeyourmindaway​ for the divider 💖 

[worstfruit]

HIGH ELVES! (Working racial title)

While showering I was thinking more about the relation a single ‘high elf’ might have with both her people and others outside her race, based off the brainstorming I was doing earlier. Let’s say she’s not apart of any apparent political office, maybe she’s upper class but not a noble necessarily, and let’s say for this kind of elf she is actually young and more of a commoner, at least compared to the vast majority of her race. She operates as a very casually drone, someone who is the life blood of the empire but not an integral organ or even a component of it. Her day to day life appears normal enough to an outsider. She shops at a market for food, reads tomes in her free time to hone her magic or whatever intellectual pursuit she likely partakes in. Maybe she even works, and since she’s low ranking maybe she’s a jewel crafters apprentice who imbues gemstones with enchantments or whatever. While she is doing all of this however, her mind is an echo chamber for the greater ongoings of her people. She can hear and feel and even sense the sensory input of elves very close to her (her immeatide family unit, high ranking elves, and elves who are within a reasonable proximity). If one dies she is immediately aware and alert. But if one is mad or sad, she is only vaguely aware and it doesn’t affect her mood. She’s used to this and it’s a normal part of her mental process, since birth. It’s like having a little pain in your foot, a stabbing sensation for a second that goes away. It happens enough, randomly to random parts of your body that you know you’re fine and even if sometimes it may worry you, you logically know you won’t die. Sometimes it might be annoying, just as are other strong emotions other elves might feel (anger or love or lust. Whatever!) she goes about her day, logging important data such as what she’s learned or whatever to the greater biological whole. These things slowly accumulate, sort of like the idea behind genetic trauma. It happens enough and frequently that it remains apart of the giant swirling unconsciousness that is elfkind and while another elf may not know the EXACT things our elf has read, in honing her jewel crafting and enchantment skills, she is nonetheless adding a microscopic ammount of data to this vast genetic library. Perhaps, going off the idea that elves are a bridge between pink and green skins, this is a remnant of certain plant abilities to somehow share data with one another through root systems or chemical signals.

The elf is an individual but is accurately aware of so much collective input and experience that it’s running in the background like a minimized program in a computer. If something is urgent it comes up. She may not be completely conscious of this, but all of her decision making is being bounced around like electrical signals between a neuron— she is a thought about to become an action, with the eyes and ears and nerve endings sending the brain information faster that the speed of sound, perhaps transcending linear time flow: even as a single elf, the collective race is helping decide if her every action is beneficial to elfkind. Will she eat this stew? Yes, she needs energy to continue her work and research and life to eventually reproduce for the good of the elves! Will she flirt with this human? No, he is lesser and will foul the gene pool and steal away a valuable mate from other elves.

But what if she really really wants to have a one night stand with this human? I would warrant it’s unlikely due to elven demeanor and racism (which does come from...well, somewhat of a logical place but is also just a sense of superiors due to their lifespans wnd magic abilities, etc) but if she is some sort of exception then yes— she can override this instantaneous process and fuck some random guy. This displeases the hive mind however and I think that without even realizing why, many elves (especially those who don’t know her) may feel agitated at her and alienate her (this would also scale depending on her transgression. One night stand? Whatever. But becoming impregnated by a human? OUTCAST). And of course there’s the good ole grapevine, no telepathic hive mind necessary.

I’ll elaborate on elven culture more later but I do think I will go this route and try to further explain WHY they have this ability and just how it makes them interact with other races. I don’t want them to be total supremacists and I do think half human half high elves will exist in this world!

[novantinuum]

Together in Wanting

Read on AO3, comments and kudos there appreciated

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: T

Words: 2700~

Pairings: Fiddauthor

Story Summary: Ford overanalyzes every aspect of his strengthening crush on his roommate, and Fiddleford finally makes a move. (Content warning for some brief internalized homophobia.)

Very much inspired by an early RP with @the-ill-doctor, and my personal envisioning of how Ford and Fiddleford initially got together in our RP stuff. No context of that is needed to enjoy this, though. :D 

It only took the better part of a semester for thoughts of Fiddleford to become hopelessly and inseparably entangled within his mind. Like a single, minuscule spot of ink spilled on thick parchment— the property of capillarity pulling it through each and every layer, pigment spreading so deep one might never hope to separate the two again— whatever bewitching influence the man had unknowingly cast on him had grown and grown and created...

He shifted restlessly under his sheets, stealing away what were likely the last possible shreds of warmth his ratty bedding had to offer.  

Well...

It certainly created something new, Ford thought, anxiety buzzing deep through his bones. Something that wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him, not here. And yet, ignoring every hesitant voice that echoed at his peripherals instructing— no, demanding— that he come to his senses least trouble find him, something beautiful. Truth be told, he’d never experienced anything like this before, this... level of inexplicable attachment to another person. It was as intoxicating as it was infuriating. Here he stood, bottom of the pecking order— a college freshman, and one who didn’t have a lick of spare time to dedicate to paltry, fanciful matters such as these— and he just had to choose to be sweet on his own one-and-a-half-year older roommate!

Well, not that he had any choice in the matter. If it were up to choice, he’d probably have jumped ship that fated day he noticed all his thought patterns inevitably looping back around to that warm hearted, gregarious, confidence-for-miles southern genius. With every nervous flutter he felt within, it was almost maddening. Almost, if not for the payoff he received whenever he responded to his puns with an even dorkier one (Hey Fidds, what kind of ghosts haunt the chemistry lab? Methylated spirits) and his roommate’s laugh rang out loud and free.

Dear god, he loved the sound of his laugh. The breathy twang of his voice as he sang along with his banjo, as off key as it was. Hah, and to think he once scorned all of Fiddleford’s southern quirks...! What changed his mind? What became different in the four months they’d coexisted together, since that first day when Ford foolishly almost wrote him off as a brainless southern hick?

Oh, he remembered that day so vividly he could nearly recount the exact emotions that filtered through his being at every turn. When he first met Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, he hated him. He was utterly furious, because he was so low strung about everything, and so folksy, and taking up space in what was supposed to be his single dorm, his sanctuary from the rest of the world, but thanks to a housing mishap became sanctuary to two. He fell right into the insidious trap of judging him by mere appearance, right into blatant hypocrisy. The guilt he still felt for that was palpable, pressing down upon him like lead. Hopefully one day he’d find the right moment to apologize.

Still, it was all too unimaginable.

How could he possibly have known then what he knew now? That he’d fudge his first set of final exams and receive a few A minuses because he, Stanford F. Pines, couldn’t stop thinking about a man? Or that he’d be friends with him to begin with, after bemoaning over him ceaselessly to Ma that first week on the phone? What if he explored this the way he would with one of his experiments, conducted an unbiased scientific query focused on the origin of human romantic interactions within the temporal lobe of the brain? Could he ever pinpoint the moment, the precise variable, that sent that first ripple of nervous energy through his chest? Was it the day Fidds commented on a sketch of his DD&MD character and called them ruggedly handsome, not knowing that Ford based this elven sorcerer on himself? (Or did he know??) Maybe it was the first time he casually rest a hand on his shoulder— an action likely as natural as anything to someone from the tactile South, but entirely foreign to him. Or perhaps it was when they found a common interest in tinkering and stayed up until three am building an alarm clock Rube Goldberg would be proud of out of a busted toaster, some notebook spirals they salvaged from the trash, and an oven mitt?

How many hypotheses could he forge?

He shivered in the bitter January chill, his blankets no longer appropriate protection from the elements. He tilt his neck to catch a glimpse of his roommate, eyes squeezed closed and breathing evenly in the bed across the small dorm. The distance between them was only a few feet at most, but it might as well have been impenetrable. Ford sighed wearily, laying limp on his back, as if the weight of a loss he hadn’t yet experienced had already settled upon him.

Who was he kidding? All these thoughts he’d let enrapture his mind, these idle fantasies of what could be? Foolish. Shameful, that deep, terrified part of him whispered. For a number of reasons.

Reason one, his subconscious monotonously supplied once again. Reason one is that you’re not here at this dead-end school to entangle yourself in the lives of others. You’re here to prove your worth to your family and to academia, however you can. Reason two. He’s your roommate for the rest of the year. If you make a move, and you botch this up, life will become painfully difficult.

Reason three.

Reason three was most of his worries, and why he still hesitated to make any sort of advances. He already knew Fiddleford was... well, queer, as many of the man’s friends oft referred to themselves. But Ford? He wasn’t sure if... he never... How would he even...

True, he never felt any strong inclination towards the so-called ‘fairer sex’ as a kid. Even whatever throwaway crush he had on Cathy Crenshaw in the second grade seemed more manufactured than real, since every facet of society he’d encountered aimed to press upon him the concept of man and woman, groom and wife. But if he’d never experienced anything... romantically... inclined in the first place, then how on earth can he know for sure if that’s what this is? In the end, however, he supposed it wouldn’t be changing much about the way people saw him either way. He was already a poor, Jewish Jersey kid from a mixed family with a rare genetic mutation, why the hell not add ‘gay’ to the mix?

The minutes ticked on into endless oblivion, the only noticeable sound except for the low wind whistling at their window and the drunk laughter of those rowdy frat boys a few doors down. He nestled even further under his blankets, settling so they pulled all the way up to his chin.

He desperately wished he were braver. Truth be told, even if he could amass the courage, he didn’t know if Fiddleford would be interested. Again, his roommate was one and a half years older. They were both adults, sure, but was that still too weird? Would it be a deal breaker? At the very least, he counted himself forever lucky to have him as a friend and confidant, no matter what happened (or didn’t happen) between them. No matter what doubts assailed his thoughts, he would cherish each second he could get with him: Those few stolen moments on campus where Fidds would find him after class and they’d circle around the quad talking about DD&MD or the Apollo missions or that new academic journal on string theory Ford recently found for what felt like hours. Unique instances like last Friday, when they grabbed a bite to eat off campus together at Fidds’ impromptu request. Lazy evenings spent in the dorm not doing anything in particular, just progressing on coursework or personal projects, but always in each other’s welcomed company. Every bit of winter break, when Fiddleford kindly invited him to stay with his family in Tennessee so he didn’t have to hole up in the frigid dorms or return home.

He couldn’t help the hopeless, stupid smile that teased at his lips, his cheeks almost hurting from how wide it ran. See, and this was precisely why his feelings for Fiddleford couldn’t be downplayed as mere friendship or camaraderie! He never got this way thinking about his other DD&MD mates. Still, it was late, he was cold... letting his mind replay the same broken record all night long wouldn’t do him any favors. He yawned, and curled up to conserve as much body heat as possible.

“You still up?” a voice whispered softly from across the dorm.

He froze into a panic. All this time, Fiddleford wasn’t asleep?? Shit, shit, he didn’t notice him staring dazedly at his side of the room the whole time, did he?

“Yeah,” he replied on automatic, instantly regretting not pretending to be deep in slumber.

Fidds turned in his bed so they faced each other, head propped up on his pillow. “It sure is cold, huh.”

“It, ah... It sure is."

“An’ my blanket ain’t helping.”

“Uh, I- I could check if I have an extra?”

He didn’t. But oh, for Fiddleford, he wished he did.

“Y’know... with all that ice outside,” he drawled, “maybe we oughta work together to conserve heat. Mind if I... bunk with you, for the night?”

Never in his life had he been more grateful that he had the freedom to hide his blushing face under the covers. Jesus, Stanford, don’t go falling to pieces just yet.

“Bunk wi- with me?”

“Sure! I reckon that way, we can combine all our bedding and hopefully not freeze ta’ icicles in the middle of night.”

The unexpected proposal left his mind flooded with nothing but formless static, wholly undecided in its path. He... why would... What if they...

“Of course, only if you’re comfortable,” Fiddleford added quickly, and he knew he’d have to give a coherent response soon least he risk coming off as rude.

“I am!” he blurted out. “I mean, I- I’m not opposed. To the idea of it, to us, uh... yes.”

Nailed it.

His roommate grinned. “Be right over, then!”

He watched with a tumultuous mixture of dumbfounded shock (that such a proposition had ever occurred) and eager anticipation (that he would ever want to share a bed in the first place) as the man eagerly bundled up blankets in his arms and traversed across the room to him. While Fidds was taking care of that, he pulled back the corner of his comforter in preparation, as well as scooting himself clear to the wall. Gotta allow him as much space as possible, just in case his reasons for bed sharing weren’t the same as Ford’s reasons for his hands shaking like a leaf in sheer nervousness. Thank goodness he could excuse that away as the bite of the cold.

Fiddleford threw his blankets over the twin sized mattress, and true to form there was an instant increase in warmth. To think he’d nearly forgotten what such comfort felt like! After tucking the blankets in against the far wall— cute, real cute— he climbed in beside him. His long legs brushed against his, meeting with the hem of his sweatpants.

“Here, I can—“ he murmured, shifting his feet to allow him more room. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” he said, settling in with a soft smile and resting his head on the pillow, nose mere inches from his. “Thanks,” he added, a flash of genuine appreciation in his eyes.

(Misty blue, he noted. Reminded him of the surf.)

Side by side, they lay together in pregnant silence for an unknown duration. Their overlapping heartbeats were the only identifiable sound other than the clock’s ticking, and the never ceasing whistling of the wind. Seems the frat boys, at least, had since gone to sleep.

“Ford...”

“Hmm?”

“You do know I like ya’, right?”

And with that, a jolt of electricity shot through his entire nervous system. His tongue went slack, and Fiddleford spoke again.

“Like, like like you?”

Oh sweet Moses, it was as if his stomach had turned itself inside out- but not in an unpleasant, sick in bed with carbonated water and soda crackers sort of way, not at all. No, rather the odd sensation was light and fluttery. His face felt curiously warm, a welcome change from the frigid conditions he’d suffered in all night up until now. Breathlessly, he tried to splutter out a response.

“Y-you... you mean to say that you—?”

“Was wonderin’ when you’d finally notice? No offense, but your head’s kinda been up in the clouds.”

“I—“

He closed his eyes, steeling his nerves.

“I- really like you, too,” he finally admitted, that fluttery sensation acting up again at declaring it out loud for the first time.

“Oh, we all know,” he said fondly.

His eyes shot open.

“We?"

“What, d’ya think the rest of the crew couldn’t notice? Ford Pines, ‘m sorry ta say you really ain’t as subtle as you think you are, pining away over here.” Fiddleford paused to reach across to his face, and brushed a stray bit of his brown hair behind his ear. He peered thoughtfully into his eyes. “You ain’t subtle, and neither am I, frankly. It’s why I decided to be the first to speak up ‘bout it, ‘cause lord knows it probably wouldn’t‘ve been you.”

“I’d say I resent that, but you’re probably right,” he said with a warm chuckle, already feeling a great deal more confident about the scenario than he did only moments ago.

That wonderful man simply had something about him, something about the upbeat, genuine way he talked, that could put even the most nervous of souls at ease. He couldn’t explain it, not fully, but whenever he was around him he felt inspired to do things he’d never before considered. To take risks, to experience new and better things, to say ‘fuck it’ and sign up for that cryptography elective he desperately wanted to take even though it didn’t apply to his major... To always make the best effort he could to take care of himself, to live striving with purpose regardless of when that purpose feels impossibly distant on the horizon, to laugh daily even when laughter is the last thing he feels he’s humanly capable of...

To fall in love...

“How long has it been,” he asked, suddenly curious, “since you knew?”

“Since I knew...? Knew what? That I liked men? That you had a crush? That- that I also had one?”

“Any of it, really?”

“Hmmm,” Fiddleford thought out loud, tapping his slender finger to his chin. “Well, I figured out I was queer back when I was a kid. Had a crush on this young mailman we used to get ‘round our parts, see. And I knew you had the hots for me ever since I overheard ya’ muttering all sorts of cute things in your sleep.”

A nervous “Heh, heh” was all he could manage in response. He leaned his head ever so slightly closer to him.  

“But me? Well, I s’pose it was... Apollo 12. Back in November. We were watching the launch downstairs, in the lounge, and you... you were just so passionate about it. ‘Bout the whole world ‘round us. All my days an’ I’ve never known anyone so in love with discovery, with askin’ why. Spending time with you’s been one of the best things in my life,” he admitted, blushing slightly.

“Same,” Ford agreed, grinning wildly, his cheeks the same shade of red. “So then, if we both...? What now?”

“For now, we sleep,” he said with a short laugh. “If we stay up any later, not even Cafe Cubano could wake us up in time for lecture, I’m sure."

“Ah, but you doubt the power of my ma’s famous Cafe Cubano.”

He snickered, and then— leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Ford.”

The man rolled over then, a respectful offer of privacy within their already intimate arrangement. Ford beamed, still entirely giddy and awed in light of everything that had happened, dusting his fingers over the skin his lips graced.

“Goodnight...” he wished, his restless form finally finding a sense of deep, encompassing peace.

For tonight, at least, his slumber would be sound and dreamless.

[firjii]

A5, C1, F1, G4, J5, L3, N2, R4, U4, Y2, and Z4! Any OC you like, mix and match, up to you.

A fine list. I had to think about these overnight.

~For Bae Lavellan~

A5. what is their most impressive talent?

She actually excels at many things, but her most uniqueskill is that she can speak backwards. She’ll do it when she’s bored, she’ll doit when she’s upset, she’ll do it to unsettle someone she dislikes. She cansustain it for quite awhile if she’s feeling talkative. Leliana thought that itwas a secret code or cipher at first. When pressed, Bae didn’t have a goodanswer for why or how she’d learned to do it. It’s especially surprising whenyou consider that she’s not fluently multilingual – she was a hopeless studentwhen it came to elven, so she mostly gets by in Common.

J5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

Interesting question. Her skills aren’t necessarily what shetakes pleasure in – they’re just things that she happens to be good at. Sheenjoys problem solving and looking for things that other people miss (it’s anuncontrollable reflex anyway), so she enjoys climbing, especially if the goalis a quiet and private spot with a good view. When she was still living withher clan, it was one of the only ways that she could really clear her head. Shecan be a bit clumsy with other kinds of movement and doesn’t have big muscles,but she’s very flexible and climbing just…makes sense somehow. She could alwaysreach heights that others didn’t dare to go to or couldn’t see a way to get to,although she rarely did it for competition’s sake and not everyone realize howgood at it she was.

~For Gelya Tabris:~

G4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

She always wanted more muscle. Life in the alienage meant alot of crime, and not just involving humans. There were few depths thatpickpockets and muggers wouldn’t stoop to. As befits a rogue, Gelya always hadfair reflexes, but no matter how much she tried to build muscle mass, she couldnever make real progress (partly because she was never exactly well-fed andpartly because she was born very prematurely and was never going to have alarge frame anyway). A man of even middling strength could have easilyoverpowered her, though luckily many elves pitied her instead and sometimesshunned her a little or even regarded her as mentally ill (which isn’tcompletely incorrect, though most of her psychological issues are directly dueto alienage life, not genetic predisposition).

She is, however, a very fast learner, and she knows it. Shecan improve greatly after making just one mistake, and once she’s learned howto do something, she never forgets it. She’s not especially skilled inanything, but it’s always been obvious – even to her – that her chances ofsurvival are ultimately better than many others’ because she understands how toadapt and adjust (even if it kills her a little inside sometimes). It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to get her through the day.

~For Mervyn Lavellan~ [y’all haven’t seen him yet since he’strapped in the PS3, but he was my first Inquisitor and first DA build]

F1. what do they do for fun?

Though he didn’t grow up playing it, he ADORES chess and anyother games that even vaguely resemble it. He’s not always the absolute bestplayer, but his strategizing skills are a perfect foundation for learning it.He frequently hounds his advisors for a chance to hone his skills and learn newmoves. He can be quite cynical about non-elves sometimes, but he greatly admiresthe other races’ board games and sees the value in applying the skills neededfor them to real life and vice versa.

~For Radi Lavellan~

C1. how do they sit in a chair?

At a formal dinner table? Tidily and carefully. Her sitting posturein front of others is so polished that you’d think she’d grown up in Orlesianhigh society.

But in an armchair by a roaring hearth? All bets are off.She usually just ragdolls and passes out because she’s very prone to worrying andlong days and basically never gets enough sleep.

L3. are there any foods they hate?

Bread pudding, rosemary, and most pickled foods. She’s alsonot crazy about most liquor unless it’s cider, beer, or wine.

N2. what have they never done that they want to do?

While she’s socially confident and isn’t particularlyinhibited, she was never in a relationship pre-Inquisition. Growing up, she sawteenaged friends and family gradually marry off or at least get involved inmatchmaking, but she never even spent private time for a picnic with someone,never mind a kiss or something more. Cullen is her first everything.

It’s not that she didn’t want anyone prior to that (she’s not ace or aro), butshe saw enough families get separated by war, feuds, etc. that she couldn’tquite commit to the idea herself. She also always focused on protecting othersin the clan, so tbh she was honestly too busy keeping track of the clan’ssafety most of the time to really step back from worrying long enough to thinkabout it.

R4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

I think she regrets that she doesn’t regret breaking rules. She’s usually done so for thegreater good and she only defies authority when its logic no longer serves agood purpose, but it’s happened often enough over the years that she waspainted as a cocky youngster early on. Some in the clan praised this and otherscalled her a traitor for it.

Now and then, she has a quiet moment of reflectionand wonders if things would have been better if she’d let others share some ofthe load. She’s not assertive by default and didn’t quite choose to be theguardian type – it sort of just happened in some moments when others didn’thave the same willpower. By the time she’d realized what she’d become, it wastoo late to change course…especially considering there was nothing actually wrongwith who she was.

U4. have they ever been doubted?

Considering she’s fairly atheist for an elf? You betcha.Plenty of people in her clan always resented her input/advice/opinions onimportant matters. Even the Keeper only let her be Second – Radi doesn’t try tostep on others’ toes and she doesn’t openly try to tell other people how tothink, but her lack of firm belief in the gods definitely meant that she waslooked down on, held back, and not always taken seriously.

Y2. what inspired you to create them?

It’s like this: my last DA OC was pretty nondescript on theoutside but basically scarred beyond recognition on the inside. I thought I’dtry the opposite with Radi: someone with a lot of literal scars but a bit lessof the “acute psychological trauma” side of things (not that there isn’t any,but it’s not the outright paralyzing sort like Bae has). She’s alsoneurotypical, so the scores of things that bother/confuse/upset Bae don’tnecessarily stand out to Radi.

I also have a bit of a hangup about making my OC’s look “tooperfect.” Granted, none of mine have horrible deformities and I’m thrilledevery time someone calls one of them cute, but mine don’t have fancy hair, alot of makeup, large eyes, flawless skin, etc. I’m not complaining becausethat’s 10000% deliberate. I spend much moretime making them look the way they do, not less.

While I definitely wouldn’t call Radi ugly, she does have some verydistinctive features which may or may not be attractive according tostereotypical beauty standards (a very angular jaw, noticeable cheek hollowsthat point to her scarily underweight tendencies rather than nice bonestructure, a cleft and sort of puffy chin, recessed eye sockets and puffy eyes that make her look a lot more squinty/suspicious than she actually is, etc.).

Furthermore, although she’s cis female, I wanted her to bean example of a woman who doesn’t necessarily get positively recognized for heroutward appearances since her features aren’t widely praised (or even widely acknowledged) for women. In fact, a fewpeople have already misgendered her. That actually makes me happy because it shows that Idid my job right.

And, of course, I loved the idea of having a character whohas very visible, very striking scars but actually isn’t that bothered by themcosmetically because they’re proof of just how tough someone can be – even ascrawny mage.

Z4. what’s their dream pet?

She’ll take every opportunity she gets to have a new pet, regardless of species, but she’s fascinated by turtles and tortoises. She’s goodaround most domesticated animals but appreciates the ones that have a quietsteadiness.

[friskarm]

on elves, templars, mages and magic

I have a theory – probably not all that uncommon of a theory, but personally, I think that only those with elven blood are able to use magic. I’m gonna lead off with the statement I know high school genetics and that’s about it, so please take anything biological with a pinch of salt.

This thought came about when thinking about the west of Thedas, the Voshai culture, which briefly traded with a port town across the Anderfels called Laysh, up until the early Black Age. In an unfortunate parallel to opium, the Voshai were mentioned as obsessively interested in obtaining lyrium. Now – the only reason I could think of that this would be the case is that the Voshai were unable to mine lyrium themselves – and therefore in order to enhance their abilities, they found lyrium. However, of note is that whilst dwarves appeared alongside humans on the Voshai trader ships, no elves were ever spotted. This could simply mean the elves weren’t seafarers, but it also very well could mean that no elves existed in the Voshaian lands. The appearance of the dwarves could be attributed to a lost thaig that caved in, and thus the dwarves were forced to come to the surface.

Regardless, it made the most sense to me that magic was a very rare thing in the Voshai culture, potentially – there’s no more reason that magic even existed there before trading with Laysh than it didn’t. Which got me thinking – a land without elves but with magic would seem very strange indeed, considering how elves are stated to have a closer relationship with magic than other races.

And so this theory came to mind – that perhaps other races actually do not have a connection to magic, and it is only through elven blood in their bloodlines that mages and magical ability can come to be. We already know that magic is genetic – two mages are likely to have a mage child. Now, why would that be?

It’s been stated several times that elves have this connection to magic, and that the ancient elves used magic before the Veil was torn by Solas. Solas even implies in dialogue with Sera that despite the fact that an elf is not a mage, they still may potentially have magic within them, and he only ever mentions this fact for elves. Arguably, this is because Solas could not gives fewer shits about anyone who isn’t an elf, but still.

Now, consider ancient Tevinter – supposedly the ancient Tevinter Emperium conquered the elves and enslaved them. We know it didn’t quite happen like that, but the thing is is that as far as I know, there’s no mention of humans having magic before their encounter with the elves. It is entirely possible that being able to have children with magic if interbreeding with elves was a huge motivation for the elves being enslaved.

This is further emphasized by a rather nasty detail about the modern-day Tevinter Imperium – warning for sexual abuse, skip the next paragraph entirely if you’d rather not read it.

Tevinter magisters are encouraged to engage in sexual relations with their (elven) slaves. Would it not make sense if this were the case such that a child could “accidentally” be produced with more elven blood and therefore a stronger potential for magic?

Not to mention, think about templars. What I used to think was a huge plothole is the emphasis on needing lyrium to be a templar in DA:I, considering the Alistair never even took lyrium, yet is still able to use Templar abilities without too much trouble. However, we know Alistair is at the very least half elf-blooded by his mother, Fiona. Templar abilities are, more or less, spells cast by “mages” who aren’t truly mages. Their abilities are enhanced by lyrium – though we know by now this a lie the Chantry sold to the Templars to keep them under Chantry control. So if we go by my theory, considering that Alistair can use Templar abilities without lyrium, this is because he’s elf-blooded. Which makes sense, honestly – mages are the only ones stated to be able to take (processed) lyrium safely, but they don’t need to take it in order to use their spells – only if they need to cast a lot of spells, or some great spell, like sending someone into the fade. Alistair is able to tap into his elven blood and use his innate connection to magic for his Templar abilities. Other Templars such as Cullen, who may not have such a strong line of elven blood in them, must need to take lyrium in order to access their abilities. Mages have a stronger line of elven blood; therefore they can digest, for lack of a better word, lyrium much better than Templars can. Templars can bear it for a time, but eventually it runs them down, because lyrium is inherently a toxic thing, unless you’re a mage, or have the traits that make you a mage (elven genetics).

It's not all that unlikely that a lot of humans would have interbred with elves, especially early in Tevinter dominance over Thedas – if, as I presumed, the Tevinter mages had as many elven blooded children as possible, then it’s entirely possible that their descendants (the people of Thedas) also have elven blood – in a lot of cases, just not enough to produce a mage child. However, consider Isolde and Arl Eamon and their mage son Connor – what if each of their bloodlines had just enough elven blood in them to manifest in Connor as magical power? What about Feynriel, the half-elf mage from DA2? Neither of his parents were mages, but his mother is an elf, so it’s not that unlikely that his father didn’t have elven lineage that contributed to his becoming a mage.

Now, this is not to say that all elves are mages. Some are clearly not, but the existence of the Arcane Warrior only serves to prove that elves inherently have some greater connection to the Fade and to magic. There are plenty of elves all over the place who aren’t mages, so perhaps the connection to magic varies from elf to elf. We really have very little information on what pre-Veil elvhenan was like, so it’s really hard to draw conclusions here.

But what about the Qunari? They have mages too, and they don’t interbreed races!

See, I’ve been thinking about that too, and it did throw me for a loop initially, but then I thought more about when the Qun actually came into play. I can’t find a reference for the earliest mention of Saarebas, but it’s entirely possible that, much like in DA2, elves living in alienages sought out the Qun for a supposedly better life. The concept of not interbreeding races must have come from somewhere, and a fair enough explanation is that elves interbred with Qunari, introducing a magical bloodline into the Qun, which, when the Qunari realised they did not have the means to educate or control their mages properly, lead to them culling the idea entirely. Alternatively, elves could have come into contact with the Qunari even earlier – history supposedly states that the Qunari arrived in Par Vollen in 6:30 Storm, but there’s no reason they couldn’t have been around earlier, and interacted with elves from any time period before that. Supposedly, a group of kossith landed in the Korcari Wilds before the First Blight. There’s very limited information about the Qunari, and about the elves in Thedas History – there’s no reason that they couldn’t have interacted.

That’s all I could think of for now - at some point when I have the time, I’d like to make a proper post with screenshots from the game, and quotes from the World of Thedas and other sources, but that’s for another time.

[fandomflail]

title: Recognition (6/8)

rating: M

summary: Soulmate trope AU. Set in a world where humans and elves coexist.

a/n: *screams at Tumblr* I queued this for Friday 10 pm but the queue at my post! Sorry for the delay, you guys. 

Past Chapters: (1)  (2)  (3)  (4)  (5) or AO3

RECOGNITION CHAPTER 6

Killian Aearinön had lived a life of strife, despite being Noble born. Of course, his older and wiser brother, William Beriothien, would often comment that said strife was a result of his own actions and self-recrimination. Liam, as Killian called him, wasn’t wrong.

“What was the instruction?” his brother asked, brow furrowed with worry.

Liam worried too much. Between his bride, Elsa Arendelle, and Liam’s own tendency for anxiety and worry, it was a wonder the two functioned at all. Unlike the humans, who suffered more from physical maladies than psychological ones, elves were far, far more susceptible to injuries of the brain.

If they weren’t dying of childbirth, Killian mused, they were running Nightlock into their blood for a quick death.

“Killian!”

Giving his brother his focus, Killian said, “For her own safety, I delivered the instruction as The Sukrasa said. Remain human to those who know her as human, reveal her as an elf to society, with the story that she was simply living in secret. No mention of halves.”

Liam strode closer, blue-grey eyes delivering a piercing gaze. “And she can be trusted?”

Killian felt his temper rise. “Of course she can!”

“You don’t actually know her, brother. A consummation does not a soulmate make,” he said, pacing the length of the mahogany table that stood as the centerpiece.

“I know enough to know she can be trusted. As can the other three.”

“You have no idea what sort of danger you’ll unleash if word gets out, I mean it, Killian. This is serious. For once, please take this seriously.”

“I know that! I’m not a youngling, Liam. Stop treating me like one.”

“Perhaps if you —“ his brother cut himself off, swallowing whatever insulting thing he had been about to say, and said instead, “I am glad you’re back to high society. Things have changed, and they have not. You’ve lived with humans for a total of what? 150 years now? You’ve adopted some of their…mannerisms, and not in a flattering way.”

“Yes, like when people annoy them, they tell them to bugger off.”

“Now that’s just rude.”

Killian flipped him an obscene human hand motion.

“You’ve been tight-lipped about this Emma. If she’s a lost child, her parents are sure to be looking for her.”

He nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. “I checked; there was no missing report of an elven girl matching her age or appearance.”

“Hmm. Come to think of it, that makes sense. If she’s a hybrid, they’d have wanted it kept hush. Plus, she’s Nysnian; it’s not like those elves have ever trusted us.”

“I don’t know if she even wants to find them. This whole thing has been overwhelming for her; she’s been using the ignore-it-until-it-goes-away strategy. With her heritage, with me.”

Killian was unsuccessful in keeping the bitterness out of his voice. He dropped his gaze to the little decorative windmill on the table, spinning its blades to distract himself.

“Well, she’s still coming later, isn’t she? That’s a start.”

“Only to the Embassy. I don’t want her meeting the serpent. Who knows what she’d say to her. Wait does she even know that I Recognized…”

“Stop calling her that. Of course she does. It’s just within the family, you’re safe.”

“That’s a relief, though who knows who she’s hissssssssed to.”

“Oh shut up. Just so you know, I’ll be there.”

“What???”

“Oh yes, you really think I’d miss meeting your soulmate? My little brother’s Recognized half?” Liam’s smirk was unbearable, his posture so casual he could only be faking it.

“You’re the worst elf in the history of elves, I hope you know.”

“Stop being dramatic. I invited Belle, to make Emma and her son feel comfortable. Belle is the human equivalent of a library, and she is Head of the B.E.A.S.T. I can truly think of no one else as perfect to fill in the blanks about our culture.”

“This was supposed to be a quiet tea,” Killian huffed.

Liam shook his head, no doubt judging Killian as a child, despite the fact that their age gap was a mere 10 years. A single petal difference in a forest bloom, but to hear Liam tell it, one would think Killian was an infant human, and Liam a wise old sage. It was maddening.

“Do you think this could work?” Liam asked after pouring himself a cup of fresh honey tea.

His perpetually concerned face was soft, curly blonde hair kept in place by the ice-inspired circlet he often wore to honor Elsa. Maddening though he may be, Liam was the best brother an elf could ask for. The look on his face mirrored the look he had when Killian had fallen out of a tree, breaking his bones in three places; as if this whole endeavor was the same sort of dangerous recklessness he’d exhibited as a youngling.

“I believe so. I chose to live as a human for Milah. I loved her. I always will. But Emma, Emma is different. This is different.”

“Killian…I’m sorry to suggest this but… do you suppose this thing with Emma is simply a matter of chemistry, rather than a matter of heart?”

There was an almost visceral need to defend his feelings, an anger so swift he could’ve wrung his hands around his brother’s neck. He fought the impulse, forcing himself to truly consider his brother’s question. After all, he had, in those early hours, had the same questions.

It felt like a betrayal to confess his heart, especially about the first few hours following his introduction with soulmate, but this was Liam. Who could he truly trust, if not him?

“I hated it, at first. She ran, twice that day. She made it clear that her actions were the effect of the Recognition, and not for any real desire to know me. She didn’t seem as affected as I did. I thought…I thought maybe I hallucinated it.”

“You checked with The Sukrasa,” Liam reminded him.

“I know. But a half-elf? That’s a myth and propaganda people like Her Highness, Snake Queen Consort, tell to fear-monger elves about the Bad Things That Happen When We Mix With Humans.”

“Killian,” Liam warned, tone infused with a world of warning. He ignored the rebuke about their step-mother.

“You know that’s what she thinks, even if she isn’t forthright about it. Anyway, it was highly possible that they had mixed her blood and Henry’s. Full or half elf, I thought I was going crazy, except it’s impossible to ignore that feeling.”

“What was it like?”

“I told you, remember, when you said we should just put the Trace on her and be done with it.”

“Actually, what you told me was, and I quote, I’m dying Liam, I’m dying. Hardly descriptive.”

Killian rolled his eyes, moving to swipe his brother’s mug for a sip.

“It’s a burning sensation, like the skin under your skin is on fire. You can’t scratch it. Your throat feels like you’ve been screaming for years, but no amount of water quenches it.”

Liam watched him with wide eyes. For the first time, Killian felt like he was being taken seriously. Figured.

“There’s a ringing in your ears, like you’ve stood next to a gong after it’s gone off. And the worst thing is… well, you can relieve yourself as much as you want, but it hurts. The humans have a term for it, though I’m not sure why they use the color blue to describe it. Nor do I think they understand what exactly, it means for one to have ‘Blue Balls’”.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well.”

“So you can be happy with her? And her human child?”

“It would be too easy to fall in love with Emma Swan, Liam. Just wait till you meet her.”

“Sure, can’t wait.”

Killian ignored the slight sarcasm. His brother was a damn worrier.

* * *

Emma eyed the silver pears, Asiménia, a delicacy of the Nobles. While she usually, genuinely, enjoyed elvish food, this was awful. She did her best to school her expression, but she knew she was kidding no one.

Henry, through sheer teenage obstinacy, was scarfing down his food as though he liked the taste. No doubt, she thought wryly, because Gracie seemed to be genuinely enjoying it.

Across from her, Killian’s ears twitched in effort to choke down his laughter.

“So Emma,” Prince Liam said, lips tilted upwards in a smug smile, “how do you like the food?”

“It’s…” she said, grappling for the right word and coming up short, “interesting. Different from the ones served during the ball.”

“Oh yes,” Prince Liam said, while Killian glared at his brother, “this is a family delicacy. We’ve never had a Nysnian elf who has ever taken to it.”

“Oh, oh my, are you Nysnian, Emma?” Belle pipped up excitedly from her seat next to Henry.

Henry and Belle seemed to get on like a house on fire, going through hundreds of years of world history in the span of the few hours they had talked.

“Yes?” she replied, unsure why this was an issue. Her gaze landed on Killian, suddenly feeling like maybe this was a thing about herself she should know.

“Oh. I see it now, you have that dent in your chin and everything,” Belle said, craning her head to study Emma.

She squirmed under everyone’s attention, bringing another spoonful of Asiménia to her mouth, only to instantly regret it.

Elsa, the quiet blonde next to Liam, laughed. She had barely spoken to any of them, so Emma was a little surprised to find such open emotion from the elf.

“Truth be told, Asiménia is truly an acquired taste, don’t feel bad, Emma,” Elsa said.

“And it apparently tastes like this berry in Nysno, Marjaga, which is poisonous. Maybe that’s just your genetics that makes you dislike it,” Belle said, the petite human a seemingly endless sprout of knowledge.

“Belle,” Gracie cut in, seated primly across Henry and in-between Killian and her father, “will you tutor me in history?”

Jefferson’s head snapped up to his daughter, who was ignoring him in favor of staring down Belle.

Belle lit up like a Yule lantern, eyes rounding wide as Henry interjected “Me too!” and then remembering his manners, added on softly, ��Please.”

“Of course. Oh, it would be such an honor. I would love the opportunity to hear you recite poetry as you did earlier. And sing. You have such a gift for it.”

“Thank you,” Gracie said with a smile, preening under the praise.

* * *

It was decided that they would stay for dinner, so the party adjourned to the study to continue their discussions.

Killian looked to be completely taken by Gracie.

His eyes kept darting to Emma, and she wondered if he was musing the same thing as her. Had it taken? She was in no ways prepared to be a mother, not like this, but watching Killian interact with the blonde haired, green-eyed elf child made picturing a future too easy.

She wasn’t even sure if she wanted it. Having to deal with a situation like that would drive her into a panic. But until then, she figured she could allow herself to indulge in a little daydream.

Killian was seated on the lush carpet on the floor resting lightly by her knees, while Emma sat on the couch. She was tempted to run her fingers through his hair, but managed to stay the impulse. Next to him, Belle, Henry and Gracie made up the rest of the circle on the floor, while the other adults had left for something or other.

Despite her initial anxiety, and Prince Liam’s somewhat cool response to her, the day had been nice. In fact, seated where she was, Emma was feeling particularly content.

While Belle and Killian took turns to regale the children with tales of history and famous adventurous elves and humans, Emma found herself only half-listening.

The content wasn’t boring. On the contrary, she was learning a great deal about elves, but her full stomach and calm proximity to Killian made her rather sleepy.  They had her full attention, however, when Henry asked why elves who were hundreds of years old looked like humans of 30 years.

“We develop slowly, lad,” Killian said, gesturing with his hand for Belle to interject with the prolix answer they all knew she had.

“You see, elvish biochemistry is very different from ours. Hormones are created slowly, the mechanisms more complex, the telomeres longer, much longer than ours.”

It was clear she was losing Henry, who hadn’t quite reached that chapter in school, but Belle continued, “They age pretty fast as younglings, which is why Gracie and you seem to be growing up at the same rate, but once she hits about 30, everything slows down. It’s also why parent-child relationships don’t have the same dynamic as human ones.”

“Aye,” Killian said, rubbing his jaw, “that’s true. You see, you could technically have a child at 30, but because both you and your child have an average lifespan of 800 years, you’re pretty much peers. But say, you have a child when you’re 350, and well, that’s a more similar human parent-child dynamic.”

“What if you Recognize when one person is 300 and the other is 30?” Henry asked.

Emma felt her face flame. Adopted though he may be, he was just as blunt and sly as she was.

Both Belle and Killian flushed, clearly under no pretense as to why the question was asked. `

“I’ll leave this one to you,” Belle said, looking at Killian, while Gracie giggled.

“Uh… um… well. Recognition is different. It’s two souls meeting as one. You will learn from each other of course, but as long as you respect each other, like any other healthy relationship, there should be no problem.”

“Good answer,” Henry praised, making Killian blush red.

“Henry!” Emma hissed.

Suddenly, she was struck with a thought of what he’d just said.

“Oh my god,” Emma gasped, as the realization hit her.

All of them turned as one to look at her.

“What is it, Emma?”

Heart beating rapidly in horror, she asked, “How long do elves have periods for? Because I’m not going to lie, I was looking forward to menopause. Now you’re saying I have to go through this torture for hundreds of years?”

“Oh ewww, mum, come on!”

“It’s part of life, Henry, I told you that,” she told her son distractedly as her gaze remained on Killian.

“Yeah, but that’s for when I’m like older. I don’t need to know that now.”

“Don’t even talk to me about you getting old,” she warned. Henry shut his mouth abruptly, no doubt remembering her breakdown about her outliving him still fresh in his mind from the week before.

Killian looked flustered, so it was Gracie who answered.

“We’ve evolved not to need that, actually.”

“ELVES DON’T HAVE PERIODS?!” Emma shrieked indignantly.

“I mean, we do,” Gracie corrected, brow furrowing, “it’s just, it’s not the same. You bleed once every 3 to 5 years, until you hit about 250. Then the body sets itself into what is called Henig Amatúlië. It’s basic epigenetics. And Recognition can trigger it later on. Like an on and off switch.”

“What she said,” Killian mumbled.

With an eyebrow arched, Gracie asked, “How do you not know this, Your Highness?”

“Just Killian, lass. And I do. I mean, not in as much detail as you do, of course.”

“Okay, can we change the topic now, please?” Henry begged.

Emma met Gracie’s gaze, the young elf rolling her eyes as if to say, men, no matter the species, all the same. Belle laughed, clearly entertained, as she diverted the conversation into some random fact.

* * *

Emma excused herself to freshen up a little while before dinner, only to be followed by Killian just as she reached the day room for guests.

“You’ve made it hard for me to get you alone,” he said, closing the door with a soft click.

“I was doing no such thing.”

“You’re simultaneously an enigma and an open book, my love,” he said.

Killian had a habit of dropping saccharine endearments into their conversations, and she didn’t know how seriously to take him. While it was hard to stop the warmth that stirred in her belly every time he used one on her, she told herself that perhaps, it was simply how he spoke, and did it to everyone. So she ignored it.

“How so?” she challenged.

“Our messages have gotten a little brazen, wouldn’t you say? Yet here you stand before me, skittish as a doe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re only brave to admit to your desire when you have a distance.”

“Wow, that’s reaching, don’t you think?”

“Hardly, Swan,” he scoffed, “I think it’s right on the mark. You’re scared of me, scared I’ll let you down.”

“Just what the hell have you been speaking about with my son?”

“I didn’t have to ask Henry any of this to know it, Emma. Give me some credit. I didn’t pry.”

“You think you know me so well then? What about you?”

“What about me?”

She paused, considering him. Somewhere during their conversation, they had moved closer. It was like a disease, a constant pull towards him whenever they occupied the same space. She wanted, when he was nearby.

And while he seemed to read her easily, she couldn’t quite figure him out. That in itself, was scary. He was unpredictable, an unknown entity that already had too much hold on her heart. An elf who understood her and had ingrained himself in her family. He was too much.

“I’d say you’re scared too. I just don’t know what about.”

He shrugged, slowly bringing his hands to grasp hers.

“Well, if we’re going to be scared anyway, doesn’t make sense to do it alone, yes?”

“Killian…”

“Why are you making this so hard, Emma?”

She bit her lip, eyes roving across his face as she considered how truthful to be. He was beautiful, that was easy to see, but throughout the weeks, he had proven to be everything she had ever looked for in a man. Elf. Man. Same thing.

Sure, there were inklings of a temper and jealousy that she could see there, and perhaps he was more reserved and secretive than she was, but he had shown himself to be kind, considerate, funny and above all, had taken a genuine interest in her life and Henry’s.

He had gotten lunch delivered to her when she had complained about having to work over her break hour due to Ashley’s mess up; had tutored Henry on math via hologram the day before an exam; made her smile by sharing articles and pictures of cute animals with silly captions throughout the day; in short, he had stuck around, with no pressure for more, as promised.

He kept promises. She hoped that was true. She wanted to believe that.

“How would this even work?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re an elf prince. You live in a royal place in Irska.”

“Actually,” he cut in, “I live in Alamané. In a penthouse overlooking the river. I write music and paint, and I sometimes sell those paintings.”

“Your brother hates me.”

“What? No. Liam is wary of you, but he is wary of everything.”

“No, pretty sure he doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“Emma,” Killian said, looking at her in concern, “I’m not sure what the idiot did to give such an impression, but I promise you that is not it. Liam’s issues are with my choices, not you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have launched an inquiry about your parents.”

She pulled her hands away from his.

“He did what?!”

Killian looked like he deeply regretted revealing that. Emma glared at him.

“The Sukrasa are… they are the guardians of the elves. Everyone has a file. Since that first night, they’ve been building yours. Liam looked at it. I didn’t. Told him he was overstepping.”

“Fucking right that’s overstepping,” she growled, crossing her arms.

“Yes, well, he’s got a different idea on what constitutes as help. Liam is big on family. It’s why he tolerates the mad witch.”

“The mad witch?”

“Father’s consort, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed sardonically.

“Liam may know a fact or two, but he doesn’t know the stories. Besides, I have a feeling you’ll get on with Elsa.”

“She seems rather frosty.”

“She’s the nicest. Too nice for my idiot brother, honestly. She just takes a little time to warm up.”

“Did they Recognize too?” she asked, uncrossing her arms.

“No. They chose each other.”

“What happens if they Recognize with someone else?”

“They still have the choice to keep choosing each other. Besides, elves aren’t nearly as prudish as humans. We’re a polyamorous species, which makes sense when you think about how long we live.”

“I don’t share,” Emma said, the words rushing out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Good,” he said, taking the passion behind her words as an invitation to step into her space, “because neither do I.”

Emma gulped, suddenly feeling short of breath. Killian kissed her forehead, lips lingering between her brows as he breathed her in.

“Are we doing this, then?” he whispered, arms coming around her to caress her sides.

“I…I just… I’ve got to do something first.”

He sighed, pulling back. “Fine, but don’t tell me you’re not avoiding this, us, me.”

He looked as if he was fighting his frustration, biting his lip and shifting his foot.

It shouldn’t have been, but was, terribly endearing. Running on instinct, Emma leaned in, going for a kiss.

Killian’s reaction was instantaneous; his lips parted, deepening the kiss, derailing the chaste peck she had been aiming for. She indulged in it for a moment, breathing him in, before pulling back.

“Be patient, Killian.”

“Sure, what’s another 300 years?” he muttered. His cheeks were a ruddy red.

“Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Liam’s enquiry…did…”

“No. Not yet. If there is, I’ll let you know.”

She placed another quick, tender kiss on his cheek and then turned and walked to the water-closet, shutting the door firmly behind her.

She heard a faint murmuring, not being able to catch his words, as she washed her face and took in her own flushed complexion.

You’ve played yourself, Swan.

* * *

In hindsight, staying for dinner had been them, overstaying their welcome. They’d barely finished the hors d’oeuvres when the Sukrasa announced Her Highness, Queen Consort Coraline was to be joining them.

The easy flow of the room vanished instantaneously, as Liam, Elsa and Killian sat up straight as if a tree branch had been inserted down their spines. Jefferson, who generally stayed away from elvish politics, looked discomforted by the prospect of the queen joining the table.

Gracie and Henry, clearly neither oblivious nor stupid, picked up on the change of demeanor of the adults and quietened down. Emma could think of no good reason why the queen would join them for a simple occasion of tea and dinner.

Beside her, Killian gripped her wrist. Emma had given up resisting him while she was in his presence, the need to connect and touch too strong to ignore for the sake of pride. They’d been discreetly hand-holding under the table for a while now, though neither had said a word about it.

The doors opened, and everyone stood. Killian dropped his hands from hers abruptly, as an elf in a blood red ballgown with dark hair in an up-do practically glided into the room.

Aside from the fact that she was over-dressed for the occasion, there was a sense of superiority about her that set Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Really, Killian, I must find out from the help that you’re hosting a dinner with someone who could potentially be joining the family?”

Her voice was clear and sharp, and despite the concern in her tone, Emma could tell it was more a reprimand than a desire to be included. She didn’t care about his response as her eyes zeroed in on Emma, who despite wearing an elvish-style dress, felt like she had been judged and came up lacking.

“Well, she’s pretty, at least. Small mercies. What is your name?” the queen demanded.

“Emma,” she answered, matching the no-nonsense tone.

The queen made a tsk. “I hear you’ve lived as a human your whole life, what a pity. But that’s no excuse for lack of propriety, my dear. I suppose we’ll have to see to your lessons about elvish court.”

She heard Liam cough, and saw Killian’s ears flush red.

“I think you’re putting the cart before the horse, Your Highness,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “We’re here to honor Gracie, after all.”

“Yes, there’s really no need to be inundating the Lady Swan, is there, Queen-Consort?”

Clearly irritated by the title, her eyes flashed to Killian. She moved to the head of the table, sitting down and beckoning them to do the same.

“I told you, son,” she replied, tone saccharine sweet, “no need for such titles when you could call me mother.”

“Not a damn chance, thanks, Your Highness,” Killian answered with a smile.

God, this was exhausting. Killian, with teeth still bared at his step-mother, turned to Gracie.

“Gracie love, I present to you Her Highness, Queen Consort Cora. You should tell her all about your assignment about human-elf integration, I’m sure she would love to hear it. You and Henry make a great research team.”

Emma wondered who she ought to kill first - the Queen, if she made a disparaging remark about her son, or Killian, for bringing attention to him. It was sure to be a fun dinner.

* * *

It wasn’t a fun dinner.

As soon as it was polite, Jefferson excused himself and Gracie, with a look to Emma. Needing no impetus, she also excused herself, receiving no resistance from Henry, who had been asked twice what sort of history they studied in human schools.

The queen seemed to adore Gracie, constantly comparing her knowledge to that of Henry, making sure to note the differences in standards. Emma was two seconds away from throwing a fork through her eyes, but Gracie seemed to diffuse tension with the kind of grace befitting her name.

“Of course, it’s late. I would like a word alone with Miss Swan” the queen said, eyes glinting.

“Your Highness,” Liam interjected smoothly, “I’m afraid Miss Swan isn’t quite privy to all the protocols of court. Perhaps when we’ve—“

“I’m well aware, William. Now, my request stands. Please leave us.”

Jefferson, Henry and Gracie stood. Emma waved them off.

“Go on, Henry. I’ll be right there.”

“I’m staying,” Killian said, tipping his chair in an insouciant move. Emma ignored him. This power play was a family issue, and she did not want to be anyone’s pawn.

“Am man theled?” Queen Cora said to him in Elvish, leaving Emma clueless as Elsa and Liam rose.

“I am staying,” Killian repeated, clearly having no wish to explain his reasons.

Liam looked like he was about to say something, but Killian flashed him a look, posture screaming for this fight to be his. Liam said nothing, giving the queen a hard look before walking out and slamming the door.

“So hot headed, your brother. Just as you are,” she said, switching back to the common tongue. She shook her head at him disappointedly.

Having had more than she could bear, Emma snapped. “Fine, Your Highness,” she said, the title dripping like ooze, “I’m here. What did you want to say?”

“Very well, straight to business. You’re to remain discreet, Miss Swan. The less anyone sees and knows you, the better. You’re not to talk about your suspected parentage to anyone. And…” she pulled out a bottle from her pocket, “if you happen to find yourself with a…problem in your belly, this tea will solve it.”

Killian had grown progressively more irate as the woman had spoken. At her last words however, he growled, standing so abruptly the chair crashed to the floor.

“How dare you—“ he sputtered, stalking to her.

“Killian,” Emma called out sharply, never taking her eyes of the queen who seemed to be enjoying the bonus of watching her stepson rage, “this is my conversation.”

“As you pointed out, I’m uncultured in your bullshit rules of court. So let me tell you right now, that I don’t give a flying snapdragon about what you think of me. I sat down here and played nice while you barely tolerated my son, and now you’re asking me to abort a child I might have? I see why they call you a serpent, but it seems like a damn insult to the snakes.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, you insolent brat! You have truly no idea who you’re speaking to. No idea how I’m helping you. This is your one and only show of mercy, Miss Swan. Test me again, and you will deeply, deeply, regret it.”

Nostrils flaring, the queen strode away, the anger radiating from her an ancient thing. Perhaps if she had been anyone else, Emma might have been cowed, but she felt nothing but anger.

Just as she reached the door, she turned, eyes finding Killian.

“Ask your brother, he knows why I only meant to help,” she said, and then walked out through the antechamber. The door was shut heavily behind her.

“Amarth faeg! That fucking, no good, lousy viper! Pe-channas!” he snarled, picking a bowl and flinging it across the room. It shattered into dust, the fine glass completely disintegrated from the force.

“I should slit her throat where she sleeps.”

“Okay, whoah, calm down, Killian. I’m pissed too, but calm down with the murder.”

“Slitting her throat would be too merciful for someone like her,” he said darkly.

“What did she mean about ask your brother?” Emma asked, moving to pick up the vial she’d left behind.

Killian was shaking, his face red. He looked two seconds from throwing another bowl.

“Who knows? Probably something said to sow seeds of distrust.”

She held the vial of clear liquid up to her eye, swirling it this way and that. “No, she wasn’t lying. I could tell.”

“What are you doing with that?” he asked her instead, ignoring her remark.

“I don’t know.”

“Throw that away. Perhaps you should throw it there,” he said, indicating to where a dust of white lay to their right, “where it belongs.”

“Does it do what she said?”

His mouth dropped open, the look in his eyes one of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t think I would. But I should have a choice!” She tossed the vial in the air and caught it.

“You do have a choice, but what am I? Does my opinion count for nothing?”

“Not if it’s my life on the line!” She growled at him.

“That’s fair, Emma, look I’ll respect your choice. But at least let us talk about it if it comes to that. And for the love of the universe, not by her methods. Who knows what poison is actually in that.”

Without a word, Emma swung her arm back, releasing the vial against the wall. It shattered, the liquid running down the sides of the wall.

“That felt good,” she said, grinning. “I pictured hitting the back of her head.”

Killian blinked at her, an unreadable look on his face, before he surged, crossing the distance and grabbing her by the waist. He kissed her soundly, pulling greedy kisses from her lips. She responded enthusiastically, channeling all her irritation and emotion into passion.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing deeply.

“You’re a marvel, Emma Swan.”

“And you have some serious anger issues, but it’s also very, very sexy.”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“That’s sweet, Killian, but I can fight my own battles.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing it briefly before pressing his nose to hers. “I don’t doubt it, but you don’t have to do it alone. That’s what I keep telling you.”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

She pulled back far enough to look him in the eye.

“Henry told me an old saying. We’re only as strong as we are united.”

“Smart lad.”

“Yeah. I missed you. I could feel that…emptiness. I thought it was an after-effect of all that Recognition stuff…maybe it is, but I guess… I mean you asked why make this harder than it needs to be, and well, maybe you’re right.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my love. I’d rather not live like that, considering I now know what its like to have you in my arms. My heart no longer needs be empty. I know it won’t be easy, but we don’t have to get involved in any of the snake’s politics, we can just… be. Away from here. Work on this, us, together. Would you like that?”

“I suppose it’s good as any plan.”

He laughed, tweaking her nose. “That’s hardly a plan, but we’ll work on one. Henry is probably getting really impatient outside this door.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised he hasn’t barged in yet. Gracie is really good for his manners.”

Killian kissed her softly, a gentle peck of the lips, before reaching to grasp her fingers with his hand.

“And you’re really good for me. Come.”

please track tag ‘cs ff recognition’ for future updates:

@piratesails @freckelscheeks@pinkbonesforeverblog@alys07@emswan @julesep3026@rouhn@stephat815@strawberryfieldsbricksonwalls @andiirivera@env13@klar425@urufrufruf @shady-swan-jones @teamhook@fleurreads@fictional-redheads @myswan-myhappyending-mylove@scottieswan@haocomeback @onceuponaprincessworld @adeelam@fallensites @deathbycaptainswan @ascolinwishes @ab-normality@kmomof4@natascha-remi-ronin @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @kday426@sambethe @rouhn

Shoutout to @mysecondmountain and @galadriel26 for all the comments and reblogs and for reading past fics and commenting on that too. You guys are rockstars ILU

[mizulekitten]

your version of a superangsty transformation galra Keith version go!

So remember when I said I was gonna write a thing to go with this? I lied, being in pain is not helpful for writing, so yeah… sorry >.

The only way I see a transformation happening is through druidmagic, so already this is not going to be good. I have two prominent scenarios,one where he’s hit with a bunch of druid magic during a mission and that causeshim to transform -interesting how after they got hit in the finale we see allthe other’s lying knocked out but not Keith…- OR he gets caught during amission and the Druids decide to experiment on him.

Either way this is gonna be PAINFUL. Human bodies may bemalleable, but we ain’t that malleable. We aren’t Alteans, who’sgenetic make-up/bodies allow for easy transformation and growth. No, Keith’stransformation is going to be fucking painful. Galra are all generally tallerthan humans, so he’s going to shoot up at least a couple inches in a quick amount oftime. If you thought puberty was bad, that’s spread over several years notseveral ticks. So you got growing pains, but then you have the fact that thatGalra have that ridge on their head. Human’s don’t have that, so now Keith isgrowing (or being forced to grow) a whole new extension of his body. His earstructure is going to vastly change as well, whether he’s now a chinchilla likeSendak, a cat, or just more elven ears that some galra have -you’re preference-All of this is going to be fucking painful man, like puberty’s got nothing onthis. This doesn’t even take into account the internal organs that might be/arechanging, or just other physical quirks we don’t know about. Fuck imaginegrowing a tail. And what exactly are the yellow eyes for, what are they goingto change about his eyesight?

Andhonestly the transformation is probably going to be the easiest part about all ofthis.

Ihave never experienced body dysphoria, so I won’t elaborate on it –if someoneelse would like to go ahead- but imagine the fucking body dysphoria.

Alsoif we’re going with the Druids are experimenting on him, we’ve seen Shiro andsome of the things he’s gone through, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg.Keith’s going to be coming back with a lot of trauma too. If he comes back at all. Like I can only imagine what the druidswould tell him, what they’d do to him.

So youhave all of that going on, but we haven’t even gotten in depth into the potentialpsychological trauma.

Saythis happens before they’ve recovered Shiro, cause as of now we don’t know ifShiro will be coming back in s3. Shiro is/was Keith’s emotional center, theperson he knows the most on this ship, and the only real candidate of someonehe’d open up to. Even then that’s a stretch because Keith didn’t confide in him about maybe being galra in s2. So now youhave Keith isolated even more, because he doesn’t even have the OPTION ofconfiding in people. –I’m going off the assumption that they haven’t all closelybonded yet because going off season 2 they really haven’t-

Nowadd in the pressure of “I want you to lead Voltron” from Shiro. As much as Keithhas taken over in the past with leading when Shiro was out of commission, thatwas all done subconsciously, and most people know that doing something subconsciouslyis way easier than doing it consciously.Not to mention everyone’s going to be messed up because of Shiro’s disappearance,and Keith doesn’t have the interpersonal skills yet to bridge that, so that’sgoing to add even more pressure on him, isolating him mentally even more.

Hell,he’s gonna be one of the people getting messed up the most over Shiro’s disappearance,and now he’s expected to lead, after alsogoing through a painful as fuck transformation into the enemy.

Becauseas much as the Blade has come in being like “Hey, not all galra are fuckingevil and we want to help” that’s still going to take some time to actuallyaccept and process. Hell, as much as Keith was thinking logically in the s2finale, “We need someone with galra dna to get in and get out” he was alsodoing it to prove himself to Allura and the others, as well as himself. But nowhe looks like the enemy? Cut this guya break, he hasn’t bonded with the Blade yet at the end of s2, he’s notcomfortable with the idea of being galra.

Sonow you have: painful transformation, emotional trauma, self-hate, and we haven’teven got into the social ramifications.

AsI said before: I don’t think anyone’s going to actually be like “Oh gods he’sfull galra oh no, enemy, call space 911” –they are space 911- but just… Disclaimer: I am white, I have neverexperienced racism, and I cannot speak on what racism does to people, and ifsomeone wants to elaborate on the full repercussions of that, please, be myguest. That being said, here are two situations that I feel could/would happen.

Firstly,Hunk making jokes. It’s part of Hunk’s coping mechanism, his way of accepting “Okaythis is bizarre AF but it’s a thing now.” While the jokes themselves are comingfrom a good place, I can see Keith potentially internalizing them, seeing themas “he’s right, I am different,” and then just spiraling from there, but healso might not. Idk.

The2nd situation is what’s going to fuck him over mentally: saving aplanet, and having the inhabitants reacting negatively to his presence. Nowthis could also potentially be a bonding moment between him and the Blade ifthe Blade is also present, but that’s probably not going to stop him frominternalizing it.

Again:if anything wants to correct things or actually dig into that whole aspect,please, go a head

So thesocial ramifications aren’t going to come directly from his team, the jokesaside, it’s going to come from the people they save, and internally.

Likethis kid’s gonna have a fucking break down at this rate.

Shitthis isn’t even accounting for the fact that he’s an orphan with some clearabandonment issues. Again: not qualified to talk about it really, but imo thatmentality is only going to serve him isolating himself even more.

Thatbeing said: I am a slut for uh comfort so…

Theonly way I see this not spirally out of control and making Keith hate himself horriblyis if he and the Blade start to bond.And the transformation is a good place to start. “You changed, we can help you,this is alright.” And just going off from there.

Youcan also place this in the future where he and the team are bonded more closelyso that the internalization is lessened because he has people he trusts, it’dstill be there of course, but not as prominent. –My way of getting both hurtand comfort-

[bookwyrminspiration]

Honestly I love the idea of a main character being talentless but (you can have your own opinion ofc I don’t want to come off as rude) I think Stina wouldn’t be a good choice, only because Timkin is talentless. Because that would just make the elves go ha we were right if you marry a talentless person your kid(s) will automatically be talentless too and this is why the matchmaking system and discrimination against talentless is justified!

However, if being talentless is genetic (I got the impression it wasn’t but I very well could be wrong), talentless Stina is a fantastic idea and I am 100% for it. Because Stina is badass and a queen and capable of just about everything she wants to do and an important strong powerful figure and it proves that being talentless does not in anyway make you inferior! And that’s entirely the message we want to send out.

Also, this is kind of off topic, but wouldn’t it be so cool if Sophie was talentless. And becauseof that status she focuses on other skills and used those skills and her very own brain to defeat the neverseen! It would be a giant message saying this girl, this literal child had this characteristic that you think makes people so inferior, and because of that she saved the literal world, something that the entire population couldn’t do! And it would be so powerful and I love that sm <3

Don't worry, you're not coming off as rude! Stina is simply my choice, but other suggestions are just as valid and viable. Part of my reasoning was because she has a repeat ability within the group and it doesn't add anything more unlike say, hydrokinesis or vanishing or telepathy providing a cognate bond.

Another part of my reasoning was that abilities are genetic! On page 521 of Lodestar Mr. Forkle explains "Our abilities stem from our genetics. Whatever you will or won't be has already been decided." That's why Marella couldn't specifically trigger empathy, why Sophie has surprise abilities from her genetics, why Dex thought his best chance was cryokinesis because his mom is a froster, why all the Vacker siblings have their parents' abilities. It's why pyrokinetics are automatically a bad match, to try and keep them from having families and kids and passing on the genes.

I can't find where it's said, but I have a memory of someone saying that Stina only had a 50% chance of getting an ability because her dad is talentless. Whether or not that quote actually exists, Biana does say "assuming she even gets an ability" on page 61 of Everblaze, which isn't as concrete but it does insinuate that it's more probable for someone like her.

You may be getting it confused with when it's explained that although abilities tend to follow genetics, different ones can pop up in various places! I believe that's the explanation we got for Marella, as there's no history of the ability in her family yet she got it. So it's not a definite thing, but genetics definitely play a huge role in it. Which is why I thought Stina would be a good fit, as it's already a higher probability for her!

The issue with marrying talentless isn't "you're kid might be talentless!!" because that's a factual possibility, it's that having a talentless kid is seen as bad. Does that distinction make sense? What needs to be addressed is the perception of talentless people, because we already know talentless genetics can be passed on--it needs to be seen as a neutral thing instead of a tragedy. The uncertain theory to do with births in the elven world is the thing with multiple births/multiple kids. They think, but have not fully confirmed, that the more kids you have the weaker your genetics get and the greater the risk of being talentless. It's mentioned a little on page 216 of Lodestar if you wanna look!

hopefully that clears up a little bit of where I was coming from!! Because me picking Stina is a personal evaluation of all the characters and who would have the kind of impact and message I think would be good, but you are entirely welcome to disagree and think another character would be better. I think a strong argument could be made for Biana as well, for example.

also, you're so right talentless Sophie would be a fascinating concept to explore!! it would certainly be a new perspective for the elvin world, having someone who thinks so differently and can somehow accomplish so much despite everything they've learned to believe about people like her. The creative application of things all the other elves overlook to consistently come out on top where someone else would've faltered, what they think of as a weakness actually being her strength....that's the stuff right there. I love that so much!!

it'd be interesting to see how that affected her friendships and her school life. Because she'd still go to foxfire for the earlier levels until she's confirmed talentless I'm assuming, but maybe her being Sophie Foster would change that and she could be the first talentless to take elite levels. Just throwing out ideas, the point is I love talentless Sophie!!

[feynites]

What do you think of half elves in the DA universe?

This has come up before!

In essence, I think it’s a creative misstep to handle them the way that canon does. If they didn’t want visibly mixed race characters, for whatever reason, then they should have just made the two groups reproductively incompatible. That would have locked elven wardens out of conceiving Kieran with Morrigan, but honestly DA:O does not shy away from a certain degree of unfairness if it suits the world-building - elven, dwarven, and mage wardens also can’t marry Alistair and sit on the throne, either.

Instead, what they did was walk right into an allegorical mess. That happens sometimes, when you’re writing fantasy and you’re paying more attention to your fantastical world-building than you are to the real-life scenarios which this stuff is drawn from. Because going ‘people who are mixed race can only actually belong to one half of their heritage’ is tied in with a ton of terrible real life ideology. It’s a concept that, in and of itself, is bad, regardless of whether it’s being applied to fantastical races or not. Though at least by being fantasy, there is a degree of separation that means it’s, at least, not targeting specific races or racial combinations that actually exist.

Small mercies.

But it’s sort of like the ‘mages are dangerous and therefore the templars aren’t totally wrong’ approach to the narrative. The problem is that in real life, any time someone has gone ‘mixed race people only belong to one half of their heritage’, or ‘these people are just inherently dangerous and need to be locked away from moral and upstanding folk’, they have been among the worst of humanity. That kind of thinking is terrible, and attempts to justify it in fiction will always create really uncomfortable parallels to real life propaganda and instances of terrible violence. It’s not the same as just directly telling a story where real life groups are maligned, but it’s still relying on the same kinds of thought processes that defend real life hatreds.

So basically, I prefer the idea that Thedosian society, being the font of ignorance and hatred that it can be, is entirely wrong about the particulars of elven heritage and genetics. Because that changes things from being ‘the story is built so that this very bad idea is Irrefutable Truth’ into ‘this is just more in-world bullshit’. So what actually happens in Thedas is, if you have rounded ears, people decide you’re human. If you have pointed ears, they decide you’re an elf. They don’t think the two can be mixed because they have a very limited understanding of biology, and are judging solely by appearances. Rounded ears are a genetically dominant trait, so they’re much more likely to occur, and elves are widely hated, so babies born with unexpectedly pointed ears thanks to recessive genes are either disposed of in some tragic way, or else altered or encouraged to disguise their ear tips. Mixed race babies born with rounded ears in alienages have the opportunity to go and assimilate into human society, to try and make a better living. And it’s less common among the Dalish, because they by and large try and avoid contact with humans.

Although human-looking children spotted among the Dalish could also account for stories of the Dalish stealing babies.

(Also, to disclaim, I am aware that statements have been made to the tune of ‘being an elf is not linked to genetics’. There is, apparently, some lore connected to this, presumably to do with magic. This does not make the overall concept less bad, and it also, from what little info has been provided, doesn’t make any sense. That could change come DA4, but I personally can’t see any way for this whole idea to escape the root problems it has. So I’m mostly hoping that they just ditch it. I love a lot of DA’s world-building, but this and a few other elements are things that I consider bad ideas.)

(Also, also, fandom needs to leave people alone when they decide to disregard this bit of canon. People cherry pick their canon all the time, and for things that are much less inherently offensive than a bit of throw-away racial purity world-building. The point of transformative works is to transform them, after all, and some people like to transform them by taking part of canon they hate and slam-dunking it into the nearest trash bin.)

[crisontumblr]

mehofkirkwall

replied to your post

“mehofkirkwall replied to your post: “celeritassagittae replied to your...”

Well if humans have a monthly cycle and elves run on a bimonthly or even a every four months thing, being more fertile a good couple weeks more than humans are and by the time their insides go 'ok cleaning time' they're back on a fertile streak. idk.

I've tried to ponder elven genetics and biology before and without tossing bioware out the window re: genetics and determining that they’re just genetically predisposed to rapid reproduction and thus why they’ve not been killed out by now, i have to assume that half elves come around because there ARE so many elves and people exist. And if we assume they have many children in general, even if they can’t afford to raise them, it leads to an infant mortality dicussion/early puberty conversation because we also don’t know how many elves have children before they really should because Human Men Are Awful and elves are kept in miserable conditions in the alienages.

So basically you can stop thinking about it but i’m in this rabbit hole thinking about how many elves probably have a skewed menstruation cycle due to stress related to living in poverty and a warden would probably have highly irregular cycles as well

im sorry im on a tear and i need to Not

Mok, you’re talking to someone who tends to write essay-length posts about headcanon or anything purely on accident. XD You’re good.

I saw this last night when I was super tired and all my brain could do was half-grunt out a “yes makes sense” when really what it meant was “shit, dude, you’re right” because guess who forgot how the cycle works? /o\ (In my defense, it’s not from lack of education. I just don’t really think about it too much outside of the bleeding, since I don’t plan on having kids ever.) In a bid to feel less like I was talking out of my ass, I went looking up some videos and found this neat one from TED-ed that actually makes me want to get pregnant even less now, which I didn’t think was possible! This one is also from TED-ed and actually explains how the full cycle works, which is what I was looking for in terms of a personal review.

Neither of these videos actually helps me get anywhere in terms of my headcanon, really, but research is like that sometimes. XD Making the gross bits happen less frequently, as you pointed out, could mean a larger fertility window--which is like the last thing elves really need, considering their circumstances. Said circumstances, however, remind me of a different fic doodle I was planning to write. So there’s that.

I’m just going to try and do my best to let it go for now. Trying to focus on it any harder is going to put my brain in knots.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 15 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Bereavement, canon-typical injury and violence Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Whose Line Is It, Anyway?

"You do not dream."

It took a moment for Rory to realize she was the one this statement was aimed at. She glanced up from her notes, surprised to see Solas standing in the doorway of her little clinic. He wasn't the most at home inside the rustic buildings of Haven, but did make his place in this little corner of the village, where the clean, pungent smells of the clinic and Adan's alchemy workshop overpowered the smoke and odor of concentrated human habitation.

He wasn't talkative with anyone but Kaaras, either, which was why it took a moment for Rory to kick her mind into a response. Well, that, and the fact that he was the Dread Wolf incarnate.

"Excuse me?"

The elven apostate seemed to find her absent reply amusing. "Forgive me," he apologized, the softness of his rueful smile difficult not to smile at in return. "I had thought that, without patients to see, I would not be interrupting your work. I see I was wrong."

Rory let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she blotted her writing. "There is always something that needs to be done," she admitted wearily. "What can I do for you, Solas?"

"You are a mystery, Healer Rory," he said, taking her invitation to come inside, though he didn't sit. "In past days, I have walked the Fade, touching the dreams of those who have pledged themselves to this cause. Yet nowhere have I found you. I must admit to being profoundly puzzled."

"Are you saying I'm somehow not connected to the Fade?" she asked curiously. It had never occurred to her. She'd just assumed that she was a dreamer like everyone else who wasn't a mage. "I do dream, Solas. Sometimes I remember my dreams, sometimes I don't. But it does happen."

"Perhaps it is simply that I cannot see your dreams because you dream of things beyond my comprehension," the elven mage suggested thoughtfully. His guess was probably dangerously close to the truth, but he was fishing for answers she couldn't give him. Thankfully, she realized that, frowning at his suggestion.

"I don't keep regular hours," she pointed out. "You probably just haven't found my dreams yet. It's a little disturbing that you're looking at all, you know. A person's dreams are very personal."

"The Fade is a vast realm, and dreamers, only visitors," Solas told her. "Do you consider seeing a person you know going about their business in waking to be a violation of their privacy? It is the same in the Fade with dreamers."

She bit her lip, uncertain quite what to make of that. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, not really wanting to have this conversation at all. "I'm just not comfortable with the idea that you're purposely looking for me when I'm at my most vulnerable."

"Indeed," he accepted graciously. "Seen in that light, it is, perhaps, disturbing. I mean no harm in my wanderings."

"I never said you did," Rory assured him, glancing to the window. She couldn't help hoping someone might call for her, to get her out of this little chat. There was something very unsettling about knowing that Fen'Harel was hunting for her in the Fade.

"In answer to your question, Healer ... no, I do not believe you lack a connection with the Fade," he said then, still watching her with a steadiness that was unnerving. "You clearly feel deeply all the breadth of emotion humans are capable of. There is no sense of the curse of Tranquility about you."

Probably because I've never been connected to the Fade. It made sense, in a way. Despite her thankfully established backstory in this world, she wasn't from here. She hadn't been born into a world that had a Veil and a Fade; it just wasn't a part of her genetic make-up. She did dream ... well, she had nightmares. She just didn't visit the Fade to do it. It was a relief, in some ways; though she'd never experience the Fade for herself - unless something went badly wrong at Adamant, provided she survived that long - she would never have to worry about falling prey to a demon seeking to possess her. To be honest, she could live without the Fade. There was too much in the waking world to concern her - she didn't really want to live with the worry that demons might infest her in her sleep, too.

"I'm an enigma wrapped in a mystery," she shrugged, trying to dismiss the concern the elf had expressed with trite humor.

"Perhaps," Solas mused softly. "Or perhaps, as you say, I have simply not found you yet. The answer is often the simplest."

"I like simple," Rory answered easily. "Can I help you with something, Solas?"

The hidden god smile his deceptively gentle smile. "I believe you already have," he told her in a calm tone. "I will leave you to your work."

He stepped back out into the windy village. Rory heard him apologize to someone, and a moment later, Evelyn pushed in through the door, shaking the snow from her dark hair. There was a dark mark on her throat, visible only for a moment before she readjusted her scarf, but the sight of it made Rory grin.

"How's Rylen?" she asked innocently, doing her best not to chuckle as Evy turned a charming shade of pink.

"I didn't go to the training ground," the girl said a little defensively, hanging up her cloak. "You wanted me to see how Fabian is coping at the pilgrims' camp."

"So I did," Rory agreed with a warm smile.

In the days since the Breach was stabilized, they had managed to discharge all the wounded from the field hospital and dismantle it. Fabian had shown an aptitude for illness, rather than injury, and had asked permission to join the healers in the camps. With Evy eager to stay and learn more of healing, Rory had seen no reason to deny him his wish, a little envious of the freedom he had to choose. She was apparently vital to the upper echelon of the Inquisition, and had been ordered to remain at the clinic in Haven. But she was keeping as close an eye as she could on conditions in the ever growing camps.

"And?"

"He's running low on mint, comfrey, and feverfew," Evy reported, moving to check their own stocks. "There's been an outbreak of something he called spider lung."

Or bronchitis, if you're form Earth. Rory frowned thoughtfully, the mention of spiders sparking a memory. "I should have spoken to the scouts before they headed to Redcliffe," she sighed, scratching her ribs through her shirt with an absent hand. "There's a boy called Hyndel living at the crossroads outside the village who brews a potion that's perfect to counter breathing difficulties."

"You could send a message," Evy suggested helpfully. "After all, you know his name and where to find him. Maybe he'd sell us the recipe, especially if he remembers you."

"That's ... a very good idea." Rory nodded to her assistant, smiling at the genuine pleasure on the young woman's face. Here's hoping that I can get away with passing off future in-game knowledge as something picked up in my travels. "I'll talk to Leliana, see if I can get a request included with the next raven."

"What if she says no?" Evy asked, washing her hands thoroughly as she looked over at Rory.

"Then the Herald can take the message for me," Rory answered with teasing confidence.

She was fairly sure Kaaras would, too. The last few days had seen his confidence with the various members of the Inquisition rise. The men and women were following the example set by their leaders, and Rory couldn't help being proud of the small council for proving her right in her assessment of them. She didn't need to be disappointed anymore.

For a start, Chancellor Roderick was barred from the war room and from even approaching Kaaras' cabin. Leliana, despite her lingering anger and grief at the loss of Justinia, had made a point of seeking Kaaras' opinion on some of her operations, in full view of the village; Josephine had been overheard asking him about his life and culture, and made sure to sing his praises in every dispatch she sent out. Cullen had been a little less obvious, waiting until Kaaras approached him to lead by example, and for the last two days had graciously accepted defeat in sparring matches that had been witnessed by a good fifty or more soldiers and workers. Cassandra, knowing they would have to trust each other sooner rather than later, had invited Kaaras hunting with her, and had gone out of her way to give him the credit for the druffalo steaks that were very much appreciated by the entire inner camp the next day.

"You didn't answer my question, by the way," Rory commented as she wrote out her request on a small scrap of parchment. She flicked a knowing smile over at Evy. "How is Rylen?"

The noblewoman fidgeted a little in her seat, her hands stilling in the task of taking inventory. "What ... what makes you think I've seen Captain Rylen?" she asked, doing a very creditable job of looking innocent.

Rory chuckled quietly. "The beautiful love bite on your neck would seem to imply you might have spent a little time canoodling while you were out and about," she suggested with a grin.

Evy's hand flew to her throat. "He didn't!"

"Didn't you notice?" Rory's grin grew as Evy shook her head. Rylen, you sneaky sod. Marking your territory without prior consent, tsk, tsk. Not that she seems to mind, but still ...

"I was ... a little distracted," the younger woman admitted reluctantly, brushing her knuckles against her flaming cheeks. "Possibly overwhelmed is a better word."

"But not unwilling, I hope?" Rory asked. She didn't believe for a moment that Rylen would force himself on a woman, but she knew from experience how easy it was to get swept up in something you weren't ready for.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," Evy rushed to assure her. "He's very mindful of my feelings, all the time. Actually," she added with a slight frown, "he keeps asking if I want to stop, and it's getting a little annoying."

"Try not to get annoyed," Rory advised her with a gentle quirk of a smile. "It's very easy to get caught up in the moment and find yourself going further than you're ready to. The fact that he keeps asking is a good thing."

"Is that why you're not sleeping in the commander's tent?" Evy asked, her eyes bright with inquisitive eagerness. "Did you go further than you were ready to?"

Rory felt her mouth drop open. Walked into that one, didn't you, Rory? "I wasn't ... we didn't ..." She drew in a fortifying breath. "The commander and I are not in a relationship."

"That isn't what Rylen says," Evy told her. "Or Varric. Lots of people think you're his woman."

"His woman?" The turn of phrase pricked at her pride. "I'm not property, Evy. I don't belong to anyone but myself." But you didn't argue when he said you were his, a traitorous little voice in her mind piped up. And that was weeks ago.

"No, that isn't what they mean," the sable-haired woman was saying. "Varric says that all the commander needs is a good woman, and you're a good woman. I think it's obvious you should be together."

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" Rory asked, more amused than offended by this apparently rampant speculation on her non-existent love life.

Evy squeaked happily, leaning forward to share her opinion on the subject. "Well, for a start, everyone says you only came to Haven because the commander asked you to," she began, warming to her subject with an enthusiasm that suggested she'd been dying to have this conversation for quite a while. "You make special potions for him yourself and you deliver them personally. Your face lights up when you see him, or when you talk about him. You spent the night in his tent. And you blushed when he took his shirt off to spar the other day, you couldn't keep your eyes off him -"

Rory held up a hand, laughing at this embarrassing litany of her own preoccupation with the commander. "All right, I admit that I find him attractive," she conceded in defeat. "And that I don't seem to be able to hide it. How does that translate into you should be together?"

"You didn't let me finish," Evy pointed out cheerfully. "He watches you. He can hold an entire conversation with someone while watching you from across the village, and he always knows exactly where you are. And he smiles when he sees you - he doesn't smile at anyone else. Oh, and he follows you to the bath-house late at night and stands guard at the door so no one else goes in. You were seen embracing each other. I think it's terribly romantic."

He watches me? Wait ... he guards the door when I'm washing? How did I not know that? Listening to Evy's argument, it did sound romantic, Rory had to admit. The stoic commander and the dedicated healer, finding love in the light of the Breach. Shame it was all a fiction, really.

"Evy, I promise you, nothing has happened between us," she said aloud. "And even if something had, I doubt the commander would appreciate the entire village discussing it. He's a very private man."

"But you do like him," Evy insisted earnestly. "And it's obvious that he likes you."

"It's a nice dream, Evy," Rory told her friend gently. "But it's just a dream. Unlike you and Rylen."

But as Evy blushed and stammered, Rory couldn't help wondering just who she was trying to convince. Herself? She knew Cullen had willingly held her in his arms, intended to kiss her. The fact of the interruption did not negate the purpose with which he had leaned into her, the audible disappointment in his groan when their time was cut short. Nor could she deny that her heart thumped whenever she let her mind linger on him, or the fact that she took every excuse to be in his company, even if it was only for a few minutes. There was no hiding the protective way he spoke to her, or the care in her eyes when she looked at him. On Earth, she would have made the first move long before now, but here ...

Too much had happened to Cullen that was completely out of his control. The fall of the Ferelden Circle, the madness of Knight-Commander Meredith - they'd shaped him, damaged him, and not once had he had the power to change the events unfolding around him. Even now, he was caught up in events beyond his control, reacting to moves made before he even reached the first square on the board. In this, at least, she could give him back some of his autonomy. She could wait; let him set the pace, if she was his choice. It was gloriously frustrating, but she refused to make his mind up for him. If this was what he wanted, if she was what he wanted, then he would have to make it clear, when he was ready to.

Until then, she was just going to have to content herself with teasing Evy and Rylen about their budding romance. What a shame.

[bookwyrminspiration]

I've been thinking about book 9 for some time now, (and will be for a while longer) and have a couple theories for what Shannon is going to throw at us. My favorite one however, is that Gethen is Sophie's biological father. He has blond hair, and is a telepath, he's the Keeper of the Neverseen, which could directly oppose Sophie being a Keeper, and it could help improve Sophie's relationship with Oralie, and maybe Grady after what happened in Unlocked. What do you think?

i think very many things all the time. I think Gethen (which I mistakenly read as Genthen for about six years so if I misspell it later that's why) being Sophie's biological father is the one who sounds most logical in terms of like, genetics. if that makes sense

he's a powerful telepath, just like sophie. and they're both blonde. as blonde hair is recessive it makes the most sense that both her parents would be blonde, so this does lend some credence to the theory.

he also wanted to talk directly to Sophie in Neverseen if I'm remembering correctly, so perhaps he was trying to connect with her and get her to doubt the Black Swan. Becuase if he's her father that means that he worked with them, but turned his back on their order and went wildly in the opposite direction. That kind of switch doesn't happen for no reason, so something would've happened to cause his to loose faith in the order--but I'm assuming it was too late to take back his DNA.

It would also be an interesting parallel between Sophie, who is the telepath of the Black Swan (I know there are others but here role is distinctly different due to her impenetrable mind and ability to heal broken minds), compared to Gethen who is the sole telepath of the Neverseen. He’s clearly very skilled, having mental protections that evaded Mr. Forkle (if I remember correctly), so I think that’s further proof; the Black Swan would want someone with talent and a proficiency in their ability—something about needing a good specimen and other genetic things.

The thing with Oralie I’m not sure about. I don’t know if Sophie would tell anytime who her biological father is (assuming she’s the only one who knows and Gethen didn’t do some sort of dramatic monologue in front of everyone), and that includes Oralie. And personally I don’t know if I’d want her to forgive Oralie just because something bad happened like finding out her father is in the Neverseen, at least not without them talking other things out first. I think I’ve been very vocal about my dislike for how Oralie handled the situation, so I’d want her to come forward and address is and be active in repairing that relationship before they started bonding over anything. But that may just be personal preference shining through and affecting my perspective

Grady I’m not sure, because as far as I can remember their relationship doesn’t need “fixing” yet because she doesn’t know he saw Keefe before he ran away and had a way to contact him. At least she doesn’t know yet. Might change in the next book tho. And since she didn’t tell her parents about Oralie, I doubt she’d tell them about Gethen. But!! They might notice she’s distressed and try to connect with her and help her work through it without knowing the details, the way Edaline said she did for some of Grady’s classified assignments. I think no matter the circumstances they’d make up after a while, they’re just the kind of family who confront each other and work through their issues like that.

Overall tho!! I think Gethen being her father is one of the most plausible theories I’ve heard in a while. It would definitely shake the elven world if that were revealed, and the ability and physical traits line up for the most part. I mean there is the blue eyes thing, but two people with blue eyes can have a kid with brown and also horse.

I like this theory!! And even if it isn’t true I’m going to pretend it is until I’m told otherwise because it just opens so many possibilities for emotional moments and character development!!