#null the fae

[emberchii]

hey look, oc bios!

[anarkhebringer]

I finally saw the cutscene of Karlach visiting her parents' graves with Null and I've had tadpoles about it all this time

[pupsmailbox]

GOTH ID PACK

NAMES︰ abby. ace. addam. alister. amelia. amoret. ange. angel. angelo. anubis. arch. archette. ash. aslan. aspen. astor. astoria. astrophel. atticus. axelle. azazel. azrael. bael. bat. batsy. bella. bellatrix. blade. blair. blanchette. brahms. branwen. cain. callan. calliope. cannibelle. caskeite. casketta. caskette. caspian. celeste. celestia. chaos. charlotte. cherry. chira. chiraelle. chiro. chiroptairre. chiroptelle. chiropteranne. choir. christian. cofette. coffin. coffine. constantine. corbin. corpse. crimson. crow. crowley. damian. damien. demonesse. divina. dorian. draven. edgar. elatha. elijah. elix. elwin, elwin. elwood. ember. emmaline. etienne. evan. evangeline. eve. faith. forest. forrest. frill. frille. frilleine. frilliette. frilly. genesis. ghost. gothita. gothitelle. gothitess. gothitesse. grey. gwen. gypsy. hades. hawthorne. hecate. hemlock. imortalle. imortella. iris. israel. jakob. jet. jett. johnas. josiah. judas. kain. kane. kedi. keir. lacey. laciene. laciette. lazarus. leo. lilith. lilithe. lolita. lucid. lucien. lucifer. lucius. luscious. lynx. maeve. malice. mana. martyr. max. melancholy. merle. micah. michael. misery. mordred. morris. mors. morte. mortis. mourge. mourgette. myrette. nightshade. noah. noctre. nocturne. noir. obsidian. oleander. omen. onyx. orion. orpheus. ozul. ozzy. prince. prophet. raven. ravenie. raveniette. rook. rowan. ruby. saber. saint. salem. samael. samuel. scarlet. secrette. seraph. serenity. shilo. shiloh. silas. silver. silvester. skelly. skulliene. skulliette. skully. sorrow. sylvester. syn. thorn. thorne. tobias. tommy. trix. umbriel. valkyrie. valo. vervain. vesper. victoria. ville. violetta. vito. vlad. woundie. zeon. zephyrine.

PRONOUNS︰ abby/abby. ae/aer. ash/ash. bat/bat. bleed/bleed. blood/blood. book/book. bug/bug. burn/burn. chain/chain. chap/chapel. chill/chill. claw/claw. cloud/cloud. cob/cobweb. cof/coffin. coffin/coffin. corps/corpse. creep/creep. cri/cross. cro/cros. cross/cross. cross/crosse. da/dark. dae/dae. dae/daem. dark/dark. decay/decay. dee/dark. des/despair. devout/devout. div/divine. dust/dust. echo/echo. edge/edgy. en/envie. fae/fang. fang/fang. fe/fear. fie/fiend. fog/fog. fri/frill. frill/frill. ghost/ghost. ghoul/ghoul. gore/gore. goth/goth. goth/gothic. gra/grave. grave/grave. ha/haunt. halo/halo. hie/hiem. ho/holy. holy/holy. horn/horn. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ink/ink. lace/lace. lae/lace. lost/lost. mist/mist. moon/moon. net/fishnet. ni/night. night/night. null/null. par/parasol. parasol/parasol. pray/pray. pray/prayer. proph/prophet. ro/rose. rose/rose. rot/rot. rust/rust. sac/sacrifice. saint/saint. scar/scar. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. si/sinister. sin/sin. sku/skull. skull/skull. snake/snake. spider/spider. spike/spike. sto/storm. stud/stud. thou/thorn. thron/thorn. thxy/thxm. vae/vaer. ve/ver. velvet/velvet. vo/void. whis/whisper. whisper/whisper. witch/witch. wood/wood. x/x. xae/xaer. × . ♠️ . ♣️ . ⚰️ . ⛓️ . 🌑 . 💀 . 🕯 . 🕷 . 🕸 . 🖤 . 🥀 . 🦇 .

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

hai prev anon who would outlash on the nrc cast here :3 The fallout and inevitable re-bonding (due to forced circumstances ahem ahem) would be so awkward i'd just end up going non-verbal or extremely passive-aggressive ngl...

Ngl imagining the script get flipped on them and they're now in Yuus world.

Bonus if Yuus world isn't normal earth. Maybe its a more military world. An apocalypse. An RPG world. A dangerous in the wild/survival of the fittest sorta world.

They have to suddenly learn a new language and culture very quickly. They don't have any ID or support systems for them. They have no family. No familiarity. The food isn't the same. No background/fundamental knowledge of the world. Their currency is null. Their future is shaky. They have to figure out a place to live. And they don't have any autonomy for themselves cause they don't exist.

All the luxuries they took for granted gone. They're getting sick so easily because germs are different. Their attitudes don't work in this world. Even with their magic people won't take them seriously or they get in huge trouble for using it. Hell, people would probably be anti-magic and not trust them in most cases and now they have to deal with discrimination and bullying Yuu faced. If yuus world doesn't have beastmen or merfolk or fae imagine how people would look at them or treat them

Maybe they're in school in that world too and another layer of social pressure is on them.

Riddle snapping at Yuu comforting them and going "You don't get it! I am being treated like an idiot and have been talked down to since my time here. I was a straight A student and now I'm lucky to pull a C! This is unacceptable and humiliating! Everytime I try to learn something new I'm told it's basic knowledge and 'where have you been?' I don't speak correctly with my accent! I don't get the jokes or references and have been outcasted by everyone! And now I have to worry about food today! How do you know how I feel?!"

"... That was everyday of my life in Twsited Wonderland..."

And it dawns on Riddle of all the times that he probably made Yuu feel like this and the full extent of how they felt. He's at least lucky because he has a guide.

Malleus mentioning he feels powerless here and Yuus like "yeah?"

Azul feels like its middle school all over again and is hating it here and now he doesn't even known if he can make a business either. It must be different here and how can he buy any building?!?!

Ruggie at least had an identity in his world but now he doesn't even have that— how will he get a part time job!?

Floyd's antics seldom work now. He gets in huge trouble.

Deuce is crying cause he misses his mom, and she must be so worried cause he ALWAYS calls her and when he tries to call her on Yuu's phone, it just says the number doesn't exist.

Cater doesn't even have a phone or if he does it's null and even when he gets one he doesn't get the meme culture.

Idia realizing he has to go out and do things because he doesn't even have the tools to build stuff/automate stuff and he's going to have to make some money. He can't be a shut in and it's so unaccommodating for someone like him. What if Yuu was like him and their situation didn't let them be?

And since I'm unfortunately playing Tokyo debunker again imagine them in Darkwick academy?? Filled with monsters and dangers and the Captians of each dorm are unhinged. So many students out to get them, having to go on dangerous missions and seeing corpses, blood and gore. I mean Taiga literally threatens a gun on you and is serious about pulling it multiple times. There's a medical malpractice dorm. There's a casino, a bar, a fight club, an anomalous diner, an entire dorm dedicated to delinquents (not Savanah chuds) that's also a garage. There's anomalies on campus that they'll have to learn to deal with. Them thinking they're the shit and tough being faced with people that are actually about that life, cause a student that has sold their soul to a demon truly has nothing left to lose when you get in a fight with them. Plus other previous issues mentioned.

And what if Yuu is cursed like the MC and they find out yuu only has a year to live and never told them.

Savanaclaw students say survival of the fittest and sure they're fitting in, but they're faced with the fact that they aren't the fittest. The strong rule the weak is what they all believed until the strong actually rule the weak in this uni, and they no longer like that philosophy as much. Theyre forced to recognize what a cowardly and a foolish way of thinking it was because now they have to work together.

It's a huge drain on mental health at least for a while

Now imagine they go to Yuus world and learn that they're a dead man walking or doomed from the narrative cause they're going to get executed for something they didn't do and now it looks like they tried to evade their trial. Or watch everyone they love get so pissed at them for disappearing cause there was something important happening before they disappeared.

Idk just thoughts

[alittlesongbirdchirps]

FAE BLOOD DICK GRAYSON IDEA

Just an Idea but imagine that Dick deep in his heritage unknown to him descend from faes that's the reason he can do what most humans cant like his super weird flip, why he seems to almost fly so gracefully.

And why after him most people who take the mantle of robin, either suffer or die.

Because he has enough fae blood in him he unknowingly curses the robin mantle, because robin wasn't supposed to be anyone else and Bruce took it from him. So of course he subconsciously cursed it, not wanting anyone to use his name, robins is no one else's.

The curse is different for each robin depending on how Dick viewed each of them.

With Jason, who Dick viewed as someone who took his spot, someone who dared where his colors came along.

The unknown curse that started in retaliation to Jason was worse with him and the reason why his career as robin was so unlucky and led to his demise.

Joker didn't kill Jason because he was Jason but because he was robin.

Tim the next robin, also suffers a lot on his journey as robin and nearly dies and this is due to Dick's relationship, he's trying to do better and be a better brother but he still doesn't like that not only is Tim wearing his colors but also replaced Jason.

When Steph came to be robin she wasn't robin long enough for the curse to affect her and most of the shit that happened mainly happened afterward with no correlation.

Damien the robin that Dick chooses doesn't suffer because he's robin, he suffers because he's Damien Al-Ghoul, or because he is the blood son of the bat. He doesn't suffer because he's robin and because Dick picked him the curse is basically null.

Who eventually figures it out, None other than Jason, he's always been smart maybe not as smart as Tim but he's pretty good at spotting patterns especially when it comes to anything Robin-related.

I mean it didn't take a genius to realize a lot of bad shit happens to those who have taken the mantle after Dick besides Damien's the only one who hasn't suffered because he's robin.

So a little bit of digging It doesn't take too long for Jason to finally figure out the robin mantle was cursed but he didn't expect Dick to have cursed it.

So he goes to confront the golden child Bruce's favorite but is frustratedingly stopped by Tim who figured it out way before Jason ever had.

So he lets Tim speak, and Tim tells him Dick doesn't know, and he isn't sure what will happen if Dick ever found out.

He asks Jason to imagine what if Dick ever found out his brothers suffered greatly because of him, imagine what Dick would do to himself.

And Jason feels conflicted that he can't forgive what happened even if it's unintentional but he doesn't want Dick to suffer, so he agrees to keep what he's found a secret for now or until the curse of the robin mantle either begins to affect Damien or whoever takes it after him.

(You can totally use this as an idea for any writings.)

[strangelittlestories]

Due to a recent encounter, I have been thinking about boundaries and friendships and dating.

And, because I’m me, I’m thinking about this through the lens of stories.

It makes me want, more than usual (which is already a lot), to be like a fae.

I want the rules to be written in books and taught to children in rhymes. I want the knowledge to be a warning.

I want all the tricks and traps to be spoken aloud. I want all the spikes to be worn on the outside.

I want to know that if you consume more than I offer, that there will be consequences

I want you to remember to *ask* if what you take is freely given. I want you to *need* to ask.

I want you to wear cold iron in a bottle round your neck and when you break it I know all treaties we’ve made are null and void.

I would like you to be able to hang a horseshoe on the door and know that you are safe.

I want to know that if the time comes that I must leave all I have to do is find my selkie skin, regrow my tail and swim away.

[twst-drabbles]

Baul 2

Summary: You hand Baul a fruit for him to peel and it leads to an unusual heart-to-heart that made you realize you may have messed up.

(More time travel shenanigans! Because I cannot resist. I like the thought of Baul giving an accidental hint and Janitor immediately mentally going "oh shit!" This is what the Janitor gets for being a fae magnet.)

You were given a strange fruit by Lilia for you to munch on. You didn't really know how to go about eating it, honestly. It looked like nothing you've ever seen, so instead of fumbling and potentially having Lilia snark at you, you left and sat down on a nearby log.

Before you know it, Baul exited the main camp and walked towards you. You both caught eyes and you just nodded to him in greeting. He gave one back before speeding up to sit right next to you.

Wordlessly, you handed him the fruit and Baul took it without question.

"You need something, Baul?" Rare was it of him to come to you. Whenever he wants to enjoy the silence, he'd usually do that by himself.

Baul took out a knife and began to peel the fruit. He took his time in replying.

"It won't be long now, will it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "…that's ominous. Mind being more clear?"

Baul sighed as he tossed the long peel into the leaves besides him. "I've heard Lilia and her Highness speaking of returning you home. To a place, far… far from here."

…yeah, you'll finally be able to go back to your time. There was no chance of being able to recreate the spell from scratch, but there was enough unique residual magical energy to manipulate and activate. All they need is to simply, let it flow into its most natural path.

"Very far. And I don't think I'll be able to visit anytime soon."

"Hmm, of course," Baul mumbled, eyes narrowing, "not when you have many friends and loved ones waiting for your return. And certainly not with this possibility of war rising high over our heads."

"Staying would do me more damage than good," your time travel isn't a secret but it's certainly hard to believe. Whether or not they believe you, you don't know, but at least Baul understands that where you're going, it's very far.

"…I once thought you a danger," Baul started, now evenly slicing the fruit, "then an intruder, then an annoyance, and then…"

You leaned forward. "And then?"

He looked up to the night sky. "And then… you became someone I can think of as a peer. Someone I can call a… friend, I suppose. And someone…"

"Hmm?"

Baul grabbed a slice of the fruit and handed it to you as he gave a most gentle smile, "And someone who I can make a promise with. A promise to cherish anything and everything they have ever given me. So that I may never forget what joys people such as you can bring."

…oh.

…oh no.

His eyes glowed with a tender light under the full moon, his body was leaning towards you as though wanting to get closer. And his smile. It was a rare sight and it was one you were hoping you were wrong about.

You were hoping that… that this wouldn't happen. That this tenderness wouldn't exist.

This is not coming from a place of arrogance. You're not assuming that you're such a catch that Baul would be willing to wait for you for four hundred plus years, rendering the existence of Sebek null and void.

It's his words, his promise to hold his memories of you close, so that he may never forget what humans are capable of. To hold close the things you have given him.

He made a promise to you.

You had already grabbed the slice Baul handed to you. He fell silent as he let go but didn't retract his hand. His eyes focused on your finger tips while you remain frozen in time.

When he made to reach closer, inching just a bit, you retracted and stuffed the slice in your mouth.

"Aren't promises too heavy for that?" You leaned back on the log, facing forward just so your internal storm doesn't show on your face, "You don't have to do that with my gifts. They're not some precious treasures you know? They're just things I make, do, and give. It's okay if you lose or replace them."

But you can't confront him in his face about it. You have to be careful, lest he shuts himself away, because you genuinely don't want to hurt him like that. Baul is… so similar to Sebek in how fiercely protective they are about matters of the heart. And the fact he was willing to let even a little hint of it slip past and not backtrack immediately told you the intensity of these feelings, and the acceptance of them.

It's dangerous. Too dangerous. You don't want anything to happen to Sebek. So you have to guide Baul away from you without burning this bridge.

"…human life is fleeting," Baul started, a soft timber, "when the time comes, and you must leave, then I will only have this to remember you by. Perhaps I will meet another human. Perhaps I will receive new gifts. But I cannot replace yours. I want to treasure them. Otherwise I'll-"

"If you forget, that's fine," you waved at Baul, casual as can be, "it's a nice sentiment, really, but you and I aren't immune to time. If you forget, even if you cherish everything as closely as you could, it's fine. All you can do is move on, Baul."

"But-" Baul leaned forward and the distress in his face had you quietly sighing.

"It's fine," you didn't want to but you had to keep him from talking, from keeping that promise, "as a friend, I just want you to find happiness. And if the memory of me brings you pain, then it's fine to forget me altogether. Just move forward, okay?"

"A human that doesn't mind being forgotten, huh?" Baul looked at you, as though trying to find something to comfort him, then gazed towards the ground, hands held together. "You… really have mastered the art of confusing me."

You didn't move to comfort him, but you sat on that log nonetheless. "I know. It can't be helped, so I can't really apologize for that."

"I'll get angry if you do," Baul's bard was very weak at best, spat out with tired laughter.

"I know, I know." You shrugged with a laugh yourself.

[chernabogs]

` I wish I never met you.. ` but with general lilia and a human reader... 👀

this took a turn lmao

Mead & Ignicolists

Inc: General Lilia, human reader (GN), Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, platoon of soldiers, 1 barmaid. Warnings: War, mentions of death, mentions of political strife, possible graphic description of conflict (village burning), alcohol mention WC: 4.7k (help) Summary: Repeated meetings in conflict can sometimes lead to interesting terms, and debts must always be paid.

Hate does not appear immediately. It’s a slow brewing concoction, crafted from a myriad of ingredients that bubble and broil in one’s guts like a black ichor until it’s all that your body becomes knowledgeable of. Lilia did not hate the humans when they initially arrived. In fact, he’d say he never knew hate in his life at that point. Their arrival was heralded more as a vague notation in the bottom of the meeting agenda—a ship spotted on the shores, with a crew of people clearly not of the fae race.

He doubts anyone batted an eye at the comment. He knows he certainly didn’t, nor did Meleanor, whose mind was too preoccupied with important matters pertaining to the swell in her stomach beneath her dress. Perhaps out of everyone present, it was Levan who paid the most heed, as it was Levan who asked the valuable question of— 

“What is it they seek?” 

A question glossed over until the intel unit could gather more information. Lilia remembers not missing the concern etched in Levan’s body language, nor the way he leaned close to murmur in Meleanor’s ear. Her brow had arched slightly, her lips turning to a frown, but then her gaze had gone back to the court at hand and the matter was dropped until further notice. 

It’s two weeks later—a mere sigh for a fae—that Lilia and Levan are both called to a private meeting. It’s not Meleanor who has summoned them, but rather Maleficia, with her ungiving gaze that held a weight so great that Lilia still finds himself unable to meet it nearly 200 years later. 

“Resources.” She explains, her black nails tapping an indiscernible rhythm on the desk she sits at. “They seek resources. Which resources we remain unsure of, but they have been lurking about the mountains and the valleys to our east. They even have a camp.” 

“They were not authorized to harvest,” Levan murmurs, his golden eyes wide in surprise. “Is it not protocol to gain permission from the royal authority before digging into foreign land? I do believe that to be a standard for human culture… or perhaps what I read is outdated…” 

“It is a standard, for both humans and fae. You would not see us digging into diurnal lands without permission, hm? Lest we wish to have a multitude of curses from their court upon us.” Maleficia’s voice drips with some wry contempt as she slides a paper forward. “I have spoken with Princess Meleanor. We will send scouts to the nearest camp—Lilia, you will be the authority for that.” 

Of course, he would be. Levan is being put on house arrest—palace arrest? —as Meleanor’s pregnancy progresses. He’s as valuable as she when it comes to the life of the egg they had sired. Lilia takes the paper and skims over it, memorizing each pattern and coordinate, before rolling it up and pocketing it with a bow. 

“With pleasure.” 

—

He doesn’t go alone, nor does he go with a small unit. Lilia prides himself as a man who, when he commits, truly commits to what he’s tasked. He travels to the nearest human encampment—on the very fringes of the dark woods—with a platoon. He had tried to persuade the royal family to allow an entire company, but Meleanor had rendered that idea null with a single lightning bolt to the floor. 

A rather dramatic reaction in his opinion. 

The ride is silent, mainly because Baul wasn’t assigned to attend, which means it’s also a terribly boring journey as well. Lilia’s gaze continues to dart from tree to tree as they move. His breath rattles against the mask that sits snug on his face, making him far more intimidating than his appearance may give. Intimidation is the tactic here. Levan wanted this done democratically—but Lilia is aiming for results. He can feel his body nearly itching for some kind of confrontation as he hears the hisses and snarls of the platoon that accompanies him. 

They don’t need to wait long. Within a few hundred yards from the campsite, they’re swiftly confronted by a unit of humans adorned in armor that glistens under the sparse light. It’s silver, and gaudy, and could get them killed within minutes in these woods with the way they look like tiny beacons in the night. He can feel his lips curl under the mask. 

“Halt!” One voice command. He looks at them—looks at you—impassively. He cannot discern your gender, as you wear a helmet that partially covers your face, and your armor looks the same as everyone else that emerges around you. “State your name.” 

Another rapture of snarls emerges from behind Lilia, which he silences swiftly with a single raised hand. He then takes a step back with one foot and sweeps into a mocking bow. “General Vanrouge, of the Thorn Court. We are curious of our unexpected visitors, and so we arrive with a request for answers to our inquiries.” 

He thanks the stars that Levan forced the human language down his throat in the form of too many tomes to count. You observe him—or so he thinks, as he cannot see your eyes—before looking back to the others. “Inform the captain that a representative of the Thorn Court has arrived. With company.” 

There’s already tension brewing. He can taste it on his tongue, and it takes the form of a wavering grin beneath his mask. He shouldn’t want a fight, but he has enough pent up energy to do so, and he could tell that the presence of these humans has stirred up stress within the court now, including with Meleanor. 

In her condition, she doesn’t need the stress, and that puts him on edge as well. 

Your head turns back to look at him, and his masked face tilts up to look at you. No words are exchanged—the conversation between unseen gazes says it all. 

—

The Thorn Court doesn’t progress in communications past the sparse camp that Lilia visits, which he learns is nothing more than a scouting camp designated to establish perimeters—basically, a group of low, low ranking soldiers wandering about. They send a unit to the main camp, and that unit vanishes off the face of the earth. 

So, they send another, and another, each unit resulting in the same outcome of nothing but vague wondering and whispered words regarding their whereabouts. The assumption is that they’ve been killed en-route. With a forest full of dire beasts and humans, Lilia wagers that to be quite accurate. 

He doesn’t run into you again until those tensions have mounted higher, and this time, he’s alone. It was more by fluke than anything else—he had simply wandered too far into the dark woods, his mind fraught with concerns regarding the barrage of meetings he had earlier. Another village burned; another valley stripped bare of resources. The depletion was already beginning to impact the Valleys financial standing—by a fair amount, considering how close to tears the royal accountant looked giving his updates. 

When he spots you, you have yet to see him. You’re without your blinding armor and standing at the edge of a lake, a rag in hand and a furrow in your brow. You remain blissfully unaware of the monstrous fae that’s laid claim to that lake, as well as the way that very creature is watching you now from the reeds just a few feet ahead. 

Lilia see’s It. He’s quite familiar with It, as the same bastard had tried to drown Levan when they were younger. His lips curl into a grin again. He has half the mind to let It pull you under. That would be one less human to concern himself with, after all. Until, like some horrible divine intervention on your behalf, he hears Levan’s voice whispering in his mind. 

Democratically.

He tries to ignore it, but he can so perfectly picture his friend's disappointed face in his head, to the point that he feels a cold chill up his spine like the man is watching this from afar. Knowing Levan, this isn’t too outlandish of a fear. 

“Niftehn,” he hisses, his native tongue slipping through as he steps forward from the shadows and—rather than announcing his presence—fires a rock into the nearby reeds. There’s a gaudy screeching sound as the fae—a cross between a scaled beast, a horse, and a man—launches forward in a bid to grab you before Lilia’s next move. 

It’s fast, but Lilia is much faster. He has his sword tip against the beast's forehead in seconds, halting It in Its tracks as It tenses, snarling and drooling in hunger and rage. It’s starving and for a moment Lilia feels sympathy. Thanks to the humans, they’re all starving as of late. 

“Zyln-imna.” He coos, a shit-eating grin on his lips as he and the creature square off. It gives him one last filthy look before sinking back down into the mud and reeds, until only bubbles indicate Its presence to begin with. He lowers his sword with a sigh and turns back to address you—

Only to find you well and gone. 

He stands for a moment, up to his calves in mud, and then scowls as he shoves his sword into the sheath on his back. How ungrateful of you to not even thank him for such charitable heroics. 

—

After that encounter, you cross paths several more times, to the point that he’s beginning to wonder if you’ve placed a tracking spell on his body. He even checks his supplies just in case—a childish action. The two of you don’t converse much between the multitude of squabbles that seem to break out as your scouting unit runs into his platoons. He doesn’t kill any of your men—but he certainly guarantees that you’ll all be carrying the message to your superiors, and you return the favour as well. 

This back and forth continues for months as the summer season weens into winter's embrace. The first snowfall is cutthroat, as it often is in Briar Valley. The platoon he guides cannot move until the unexpected squall dies away by mornings light, and so he makes the tactical decision to have everyone bank in a nearby village in the meantime. 

Unfortunately, as fates would have it, you seem to be doing the same with your unit as well. 

It takes a lot of dancing around for him to make sure his men don’t know about your men in the village. He doesn’t want a battle—he wants a drink, which is how he finds himself slinking into the town tavern with his hood up and his face tilting down. As a fae, he should be quite welcome here—but he knows that some villages have declared neutrality, and others in favour of human occupancy. This village he can’t get a read of quite yet. 

He does manage to get a drink without much hassle, and he’s settling down in a booth in a dark corner when the sound of another pint slamming on the table snaps his attention up. He hopes it’s one of his men—instead, he sees your scowling face looking back. 

“What a sunny greeting.” Lilia mumbles wryly as he narrows his eyes. You sit down across from him and proceed to make yourself quite at home. Months of repeated interactions appear to have made you quite bold. “I could kill you right now.”

“You don’t have your sword.” You counter as you take a swig of your drink. It seems like this isn’t your first one, with the way your sharp tongue is in full effect. “Are you going to strangle me across the table instead?”

“I should. It might teach you manners for once.”

Despite the threats, he has no intention of doing anything like that right now. Instead, he takes a swig of his own drink, watching you from over the rim with interest. He vaguely recalls a quote about ‘feasting with the enemy’ that he likely read during some tutelage session many years back. How ironic that he would be living it tonight. 

“You age yourself with comments like that.” You set your mug down on the table and observe him back. Despite the pouring drinks, your eyes remain sharp and alert—eyes he’s become quite familiar with as of late. “People here will catch on that you’re not human.”

He chuckles, giving a flash of white fangs against the dark. “Oh? You think my people will be so quick to rally against me? There must be a reason your unit is dressed in plain clothes, with your weapons and armor well-concealed from curious eyes.” A click of his tongue, and he leans close. “At least the lamb is aware of its place amongst the starving dogs.”

He leans back again as a beat of silence follows. You seem unaffected by his words as you take another drink. “Quaint. Is that your default line for those you meet on tavern nights?” 

For a second his mind doesn’t process your words. Then it clicks, and his brow furrows deeply in annoyance. “Disgusting. Your implications are souring my drink.” 

“Implications? I implied nothing of sorts.” You touch a hand to your chest and grin a little. “You were the one who put those implications in place.” 

He feels red hot irritation for a moment before he stifles it by downing the rest of his drink. Fae mead is meant to be savoured—but with your presence, he has a feeling he’ll finish the barrel by the end of the night. He waves a hand for a refill before his expression softens slightly into one of mild annoyance instead. 

“Why is your unit passing through here, anyway? You have already scouted these hills—months ago, in fact. I do recall our encounter then.” 

“Quite unforgettable,” you grumble back, grimacing as you do. You’re probably remembering the clash between you both, and perhaps you’re remembering the spirited banter that also occurred. Lilia wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you have the honour of being the only enemy he’s tried to have a conversation with mid-conflict. “We’ve been sent to scout again. I haven’t the faintest idea why, by the way.”

Your quick explanation silences his next comment. He bites his tongue and leans back. There’s a passage nearby that leads through the forbidden mountains—it’s only mildly less treacherous than crossing the mountains directly. He already knows this is what Heinrich seeks in sending your unit here. “How drab.” 

“Drab?” You wave a hand for a refill as well before fixing him with a glare. “My apologies that I don’t have exciting news of espionage and murder plots to keep you amused.” 

“Oh, I dare say you’re doing wonderfully right now without the murder to boot.” He pauses as the barmaid sets down two new drinks before departing. He tugs the hood a bit lower before taking a drink. “If you’re merely scouting out the passage within the mountain, then that’s hardly worth a full-scale confrontation between us, no?” 

Your gaze snaps up to him quickly when he relays your units plan, only for you to see the cheeky little grin he wears. Then your expression falls flat again, and you sigh. “Why do I even try?” 

“Because you like trying to play soldier. It’s quaint. I tried hard to do the same when I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed too.” He hums. Silence falls between you both once more as drinks are poured and emptied. There really is no need for conversation, and yet by the fifth pint, he finds himself growing restless once more. 

“Why are you still sitting here?” He finally grumbles as he sets the half-empty pint down. “I’m starting to believe you’re plotting something.” 

“Can I not have a drink with an acquaintance?” You counter, not budging from your position across from him. He narrows his eyes again. 

“Acquaintances? Is that what we are?” Another sharp grin. “And how do I get the term ‘companion’, then? Is it a promotion by dual, or do I just need to drop you on your ass a few more times?” 

Your leg shoots out to kick him underneath the booth, making him hiss in pain as his hand comes down to rub his knee. “Brat. I should have you dragged out for that.” 

“Delarynn surith.” The words that leave you are pronounced so poorly, it takes him a minute to process what it is you said. He doesn’t even recognize it as his own native tongue until you repeat it again. 

Delarynn… lord. Surith… 

Lord. 

Lord bitch. 

Lilia can’t help the cackle that escapes him, loud enough to draw a few gazes their way as he slouches over in the booth. Perhaps its the fae mead, or perhaps it’s the scowl on your face when you said those words with such confidence, but the whole situation is coming across as the funniest shit he’s heard in a while. 

“Who taught you that pronunciation?” He gasps between laughs as he wipes his eyes. “I’ve heard infant fae speak better!” 

“Oh, shut it. At least I’m integrating with the culture here!” You counter, scowling still as you take a drink. Then your expression starts to crack a bit as well, and soon your shoulders are shaking with chuckles. “God, I did butcher that…”

“Delarynn is not del-rye-win. It’s deh-lahr-rin. Surith, though, you did quite well. I suppose it’s a word many who come to the Valley learn quickly.” He muses as he chuckles a few more times before falling silent. The barmaid brings over another pint. “I should teach you some more before you piss off every villager you meet.” 

“That would be nice.” You murmur as you take a drink. It doesn’t occur to either of you until a few seconds later that such an occasion would, in all reality, likely never happen. When will you two meet amicably after tonight? Perhaps there’s a thin chance, but you’re more likely to encounter it in dreams than anywhere else. 

This seems to dawn on you slowly as you set your pint down. He watches your face, watches the thoughts flit by, before you sigh. “... I wish I never met you; you know.” 

His eyebrow arches at the comment. “The feeling is mutual. Never meeting you would mean none of what we are living would have ever happened.” 

No war, no death, no conflict day in and out. He would still be working at the palace by Meleanor and Levan’s sides, poking fun at courtiers and assisting in the arduous process of nursery planning. He wouldn’t be leading platoons, spending cold winter nights alone in taverns, and feeling an ever present sense of doom about what was to come. 

A curious expression crosses your face. It’s a mix of both contemplation and conflict. You seem to be fighting yourself for a moment before you finally clear your throat and lean forward. “The lake. When you stopped that thing from attacking me. I never thanked you for that,” you begin. 

“No. You scurried off into the bushes like a scared little lamb.” Lilia shoots back with a smirk. “Are you thanking me now? You can always do so by covering my tab.” 

“No. A tab wouldn’t be enough.” You lean close then, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin. It smells sweet, like the mead you’ve both been drinking tonight, and he tenses at the proximity. A part of him wants to grab your neck and slam you on the table for having the audacity to come so close. Another part, which confuses him the most, wants to grab you there and do something entirely different. “A life for a life.”

“What?” His voice sharpens as your words quickly sober him. You hush him and glance over your shoulder. 

“Ten kilometres east. Tomorrow. There’s a unit moving into the village there. It’s a supply stocking mission.” You then lean back and take a swig of your mead, like nothing ever happened at all. He stares at you blankly as you rise from your seat and push the empty pint aside. “Do stay warm, General.” 

Before you can move away, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist in a vice grip. You look down at him in shock and frustration, and he returns that expression tenfold. “Why tell me this?” 

“Because I owe you. I don’t want to be in debt to a fae.” You hiss back, looking towards the rest of the patrons in concern. He remains unwavering in his approach. 

“Really? You could have just paid the tab, not inform me of crucial information. Why tell me this?” 

“Because I owe you,” you double down, and he hisses at those words. 

“Do not lie to me.” 

You twist back, leaning close to his face once more. There’s that sweet scent again—although this time he can’t be sure if it’s from the mead or not. “Because I am tired of death, and I have been reconsidering where I stand.” 

There’s a pause. Lilia isn’t a gambling man, but in times of conflict, sometimes a gamble is all that one can do. He squeezes your wrist once. “The birch tree, just beyond the village line. Seven sharp. If you are reconsidering, then reconsider fast.”

Then he releases you and turns away with a wave. You watch him for just a moment before you finally slip back into the crowd of patrons that now fill the tavern. He feels that sense of doom in his gut once more as he nurses his drink just a bit closer.

A gamble.

He hopes this doesn’t flip on him. 

—

The snow lets up in the morning and it is with this revelation that he changes the course their platoon is moving. Rather than return directly to Black Scale Palace, they would divert ten kilometres east—to avoid drafts, he explains. The platoon moves steadily towards the town line, and it’s at the birch tree that he spots a familiar figure ahead. His stomach turns as the platoon begins to whisper and hiss.

They know you. 

“At ease.” Lilia orders them sharply as he approaches you—alone. You observe him with a blank look. You have no weapons, but he searches you anyway. 

“I don’t know if I consider you wise or foolish,” he mumbles as his hands pat you down. You could be a valuable asset for the information you know—and that’s how he’ll pitch it to his unit. “Forgive me for the next moments.” 

You hiss as he yanks your arms behind your back and binds them tight. “... I think both foolish and wise are correct.” 

He says nothing further beyond the explanation of your surrender as the platoon sets off once more, with you now trailing by his side. He considers that he should have blessed you last night—it may have done well to ease the tensions from the others in the group. Perhaps this is something he can do when the two of you are alone next.

The walk through the dark woods to the village you revealed is a silent one filled with a sense of dread on his part. He can feel your unease as well, and it’s beginning to affect the rest of the soldiers. The snow muffles all sound around them, save for their footsteps as they move. They only stop for a moment to recoup before he demands that they push on. 

A supply stocking mission is a common mission the humans embark on, and one that his soldiers have dealt with many times. It’s a simple and petty way to disrupt business for the Silver Owls—so he doesn’t expect much of a hassle. 

Which is why he’s rendered to a halt when the first faint scent of smoke reaches him. The other soldiers soon draw to a pause as well. Fae are blessed with senses far more advanced then humans, and so the confusion on your face is easily written off. 

“General…” one soldier begins slowly, his mask tilting up towards the treeline above. Lilia follows his direction. 

There’s a light in the distance. It’s an orange haze, and as he continues to watch, he sees the first tongues of flames begin licking at the sky. A plume of smoke rises—black, as dark as the clouds swirling above—and then grows. 

That sense of doom Lilia has felt since this began suddenly ignites to a full blown inferno in his abdomen. He rattles off orders to the platoon before his mind has even caught up with his tongue, and within moments the unit is dashing through the forest at a breakneck pace. He grips your arm in a vice-like hold as he drags you along, snarling with every step.

“A supply stocking?” He spits as he yanks you closer to the clearing. The village you had informed him of was a small plot, consisting mostly of fae families that work the surrounding fields for the grain harvests each year. It’s a picturesque place that Lilia visited a few times on royal tours. 

It isn’t picturesque right now. Orange and red clash to create a painting of chaos. Buildings now stand as silhouettes against the great blaze that’s being fed by the grain, and the wooden structures, and the many trees that used to line the village streets. Lilia’s breath hitches as he observes the scene before them. 

“This wasn’t what I was told!” You gasp as you look on as well. He can see the abject horror in your gaze, the genuineness behind the fear in your voice. This wasn’t what you were told. Something went wrong, or something else was planned the entire time. 

Someone lied. 

Someone lied, lied, lied. 

But of course, they did. 

This is a war, isn’t it? His kind against yours, those who want versus those who have. You both should have assumed that others would take note of your encounters over these past few months, of the banter you’ve had and the grins you’ve exchanged mid-conflict. Perhaps someone set you up to be at that tavern, where he would be that night as well. Perhaps someone put all the pieces in place which would lead for you both to share a night, to whisper words, in hopes that you would tell him what was to come. 

He says nothing to you, but the look he gives shows that you are not accountable for this as of right now. He waves a hand for you to be taken somewhere safer than here—after all, it seems you’ve been marked as an aid to his side anyway. He may as well make you one.  

Then the scent hits him. Scorched earth: there’s a lingering aroma of charred something. The crackle of buildings crumbling from the heat and the high pitched whine of glass shattering under pressure. His men rush around him, ripping into the village and shouting for backup, for water, for survivors.

And he stands there. He stands there, drinking it all in, his eyes wide yet unseeing, his pupils dilated with adrenaline. Until a laugh bubbles from his lips. A wry, tiny chuckle, which quickly grows into a hysterical cackle, which somehow evolves to a scream of fury that tears apart his throat as it leaves. It cuts through the smoke and the ash and the snow that he can hardly see now from the burning tears—not from soot, not from soot—that blind his gaze. 

Families. Children. People who have done nothing but simply exist. He can visualize tiny forms charred black, their limbs stiff and curled in a last effort attempt to shield themselves from the heat they’re consumed by. He can see mothers holding children, husbands holding wives, lovers in their last moments.

Hate does not appear immediately. It’s a slow brewing concoction, crafted from a myriad of ingredients that bubble and broil in one’s guts like a black ichor until it’s all that your body becomes knowledgeable of. Lilia did not hate the humans when they initially arrived. In fact, he’d say he never knew hate in his life at that point.

He knows it now as he bears witness to fire, as he smells burning memories, as he hears history crumbling to its foundations.

He knows what it feels like to hate. 

[emberchii]

my main ocs/the ocs who i think about the most/who are generally my favourites

[rosetintedchainsaw]

Fuck- Okay guys listen me and Aculia were on some good fae leaves so automatically all the shit we said is null and void.

And uh I was actually talking about another different guy who happens to secretly live with me in the void. You guys wouldn't know him, he goes to a different house. Yeah.

[bahfreak]

Hey! Sylvie (the silver themed bah request we sent in) absolutely loved your request, could we have another? We don't know much about them so a lot of it'll be up to you!! Their name is Finch (but you can add more suggestions and it's reccommended) and they're about to turn 18 in a few weeks ^-^ They like to tell people they're an adult anyways though if they ask loll. again if you could not add paras that'd be great!! also a picrew would be really appreciated but not forcing :3

here yu go !! thanks for all the info :3

room 101 ,, FINCH . . .

names : finch , sycamore , pine , twig , toby , eli / elizabeth / elijah , carol , meadow , forêt

pronouns : they / them , ce / cer , ae / aer , fae / faer , faun / fauns , fawn / fawns , fern / ferns , fi / fir or fir / firs , clove / cloves or clove / clover , hol / holly , dai / daisy , sing / sings , song / songs , doll / dolls , deer / deers or dear / dears

terms : neutral

genders : nonbinary , faunagender , genderfae

orientation : sapphic - achillean

species : deer faun

cis - ids : freckled , afab , tooth gap , fairy grunge

tris - ids : cane user , comforting

trans - ids : adult , perma - young adult , cervitaur , autistic , partial - did , null - social anxiety , null - tears

roles : doekid , dear

source : N / A

typing quirk : “ i “ is doubled ( example : “ thiis iis an example “ )

[anarkhebringer]

While in the shower I had a shocking realization. Null Number is the second youngest of the party in his Tav AU alongside Lae'zel, who's the actual youngest. Null's only 21. It hit me how much of a baby Null is, especially because he's still a fairy in this AU, just cursed to lose his wings and live as a drow so he has TWO long-lived races staring at him and bawking at how much of a baby he is by their standards.

[the-covens-headmate-inspo]

Could you do a Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes inspo pack pls?

Name: James “Bucky” Barnes

Age: 27 (+cryofreezing)

Gender: Cis male

Xenogenders: Seigengender, Sonorumamplexic, Killgender, surrealgender, tapegender, thorngender, memoriaec, metalligender, typogender, upgender, noctisgender, vapogender, vocigender, pajamagender, paingender, wraithian, xyntahri, xenohoarder, genderpunk, zuhkragender.

Pronouns: he/they.

Neopronouns: armou/armour, anit/anti, ban/banned, box/box, bu/bur/burn, bz/bzz, cin/cinna, daze/daze, den/den, dis/dista, dus/dusk, em/emer, eon/eon, exe/exe/exe/exes/txtself, eternity/eternity, fae/faer, fer/fern, fi/figd, fla/flar, fox/fox, ge/gem, gore/gore, hon/honey, in/ferno, iv/iv, juniper/juniper, loud/loud, mo/moth, naut/nautilus, ne/nem/nex, null/null, oe/oen, orbit/orbit, pond/pond, cry/cryo, poppy/poppy, pyre/pyre, ra/rat, roam/roam, strider/strider, super/nova, vo/vol, wasp/wasp, 

Species: Human(/Supersoldier/mutated human)

Sexuality: shameless bi.

Gen. personality: bold, brave, dry humor, dark humor, trauma™, constantly at least sounds serious, assessor, cold, calm, collected, good leader, loyal, super progressive, spiteful, became more suuuuuuper progressive out of spite toward those who though he’d be conservative, overall pretty support, doesn’t know memes- like- beyond a 1 or 2, which he quotes constantly, everyone got to afraid to show him more memes because of it (aka started to openly support and use xenogenders and neopronouns), swears a lot, protective.

Appearance: pale skin, unevenly shaved beard, long brown hair, blue eyes.

Primary role: Protector

Secondary role: Survivalmate

Boundaries: don’t touch his arm without asking, don’t bring up source randomly, don’t talk about marvel ‘ships’ around him (unless it was canon to his source), don’t purposefully get on his nerves, NEVER bring up Hydra.

Moral alignment: Chaotic neutral

Outif/fav. Outfit: Canon outfit.

Source: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Views on canon: It’s loooooves to over exaggerate things like in civil war….- Wait, what do you mean the spider person-thingy was 15???? That’s a child!

Source vs. canon (pls specific if canon compliant): Civil war did divide the two groups but they got back together, no endgame,  definitely didn’t know peter’s identity beyond “young” and had a panic attack when he learned, canon overexaggerated a lot of the fight scenes.

View on source talk: Don’t bring it randomly, ask first.

View on sourcemates: Eh. I guess being able to talk to some of them again would be nice.

View on doubles: … Very uncomfertable.

Voice claim (actors/singers/celebrities): Canon MCU voice

Pfp:

Faceclaim:

[taldigi]

So, with the fae in Fashion Club changed to needing a sun or moon stone to transform people, does this mean akumas in Fashion Club have returned to how they originally worked?

In this world, there are two makes of life. Mortal and Magic.

Mortal Beings are beasts, plants, all things that breathe and hunger and crave.

Some beasts have the fortune to have just a touch of magic. Some more than others. But beasts are still creatures of opportunity.

Humans, on the other hand, are beasts in origin, but are equal parts Mortal and Magic. (Why, What a piece of work is a man!) Capable of such acts of kindness... and of cruelty. Every human feels that magic in different ways, and some consider such a state to be a curse.

Magic Beings are the fae. Emotional, vibrant. The true shape of the fae is that of a spark of light. A laugh on the wind, a sob in the distance, a Whisp. They are beings of emotion and emotion alone- with nothing tangible.

To bond with a human is to become a little bit mortal. It is a desirable state for Faeries. The ability to taste, to dream, to experience time- to feel soft sheets and the ability to feel warm after a cold day. It's not all happiness and sweets, but it's that divine experience that draws Fae to humans- just magical enough to form a symbiotic connection.

The faeries take just a bit from their chosen one- that bit becoming their shapes, their personalities, their preferences. Not all Faeries are born of good folk, and some are capable of cruelty... But most people are good people, and as such, so are Faeries.

So, what are Akuma? A being known as Null is sort of that white space outside the dichotomy of mortal and magic: though it may take the shape of a faerie, it very much is something other. It has developed the ability to create Akuma (which take the form of butterflies) by ripping out the innate magic within a human, rendering them Nullified.. no drive to do anything, no emotions to feel.

Magic attracts magic. The Akuma are drawn to Faeries, and when contact is made, it infects them. Overloading their own magic ability and forcefully transforming their chosen one into a Monster influenced by a mix of the Faerie's influence and the emotional state of the Akuma.

To disperse an Akuma infestation, the emotions must be addressed and resolved, or the monster must be exhausted (read, beaten up). This restores the magic to the Nullified. Akuma, if unable to infest something, will disperse after some time, achieving the same effect.

So, what of the Sun and Moonstones? They are basically elements made of pure magic. They are what the Faewild is made of- their pure energy is what kept Faeries from burning out without a shape to take. or human to bond to. They are a more, distilled form of magic, and so- let the Faeries and their bonded human become one, at least temporarily, to become something greater.

"There is a reason why the fae approach humans." Pollen looked up from her thimble of honey-lemon tea, "They are part beast, part divine. They are fae like us, but nothing like us all at the same time. They are beasts that think, that understand, comprehend.. that dream, imagine, create, destroy... they love, they hate... Why, even if a fae were to bless a beast, they would not be able to utilize our blessings, let alone comprehend them... it is also why we reach out as well. The fae are incapable of things that beasts enjoy. No fae truly needs food or rest- we thrive on the ley lines within the earth itself.. But to be in contact with humans, is to be in contact with passion, and with love- no matter the form it takes." Pollen smiled up at her chosen, then took a sip from her thimble and made a delighted buzz, her wings blurring as they vibrated, "In that, I am pleased, my dear, that your love comes in the form of honey tea and thoughtful cup sizes."

[flightlessribbons]

BRIDGETTE: SCARLET DANCER ERA

ML AU PT.3

When Bridgette was 16, she was given the ladybug miraculous from Sabine. Sabine told her she herself wasn't in the condition to wear it anymore, and that it was safer with Bri. Sabine didn't explicitly tell her daughter to take up the responsibilities of Ladybug, but began to be her mentor and train her when Bridgette expressed an interest to protect the city.

Deciding against keeping it a secret from Marinette, Bridgette confided in her little sister since they shared a room and Mari would get suspicious eventually. Tikki grew fond of both girls and stayed a member of the family- hanging out with the four at meals and other home family activities.

Felix was gifted the Black Cat miraculous from his mother Amelie, and kept it secret from everyone else in his extended family while she trained him.

Felix and Bridgette were partners, going by the names of "Tuxedo" and "Scarlet Dancer". No other miraculous holders joined them in their time, but the two helped out with crimes and helped everyday civilians out in this quiet peace.

Tuxedo was a more serious Chat Noir, and served as the reasonable and pragmatic one. He did have a sense of humor, and was often laughing when around the more joking and carefree Scarlet Dancer. The two had feelings for one another, Ladybug taking a liking to Chat first soon after meeting, and Chat beginning to grow fond of her after a while. They never told each other how they felt during this time.

Around a year and a half in of the current Ladybug and Chat Noir, Emilie's health declined, and she fell into a coma. This spurs Gabriel's reluctant transformation into Hawkmoth.

Hawkmoth sets an akuma in the beginning of the day to wander around itself in search of a vulnerable enough host, so he doesn't really know when an akuma attack will begin. (It's also his way of trying to lessen the guilt of subjecting innocents in this- but the guilt still hits hard).

Using the broken brooch alongside the overwhelming power from Null drains Gabriel very easily, causing him to grow gradually weaker the more he uses the miraculous.

As akuma attacks begin, Bridgette and Felix are in unfamiliar territory that even their mentors are unsure about.

Tikki teaches Bridgette how to purify akumas, and the more enemies they fight, the more Tikki notices similarities in their powers and mannerisms to that of old fae friends that she had known in eras past. Tikki concludes that these strange akumas are not just the work of the butterfly miraculous, but Null as well- and that he's the one fusing akumas with the powers and fae he's absorbed. Purifying the akuma causes the faerie's spirit to pass on.

There is no miraculous ladybug cure, but when a faerie's spirit passes on, its energy undos any physical damages the akuma itself caused to the city.

As the attacks seem to get more dangerous, Sabine pleads with her daughter to stop, but Bridgette refuses- knowing that she needs to save the city and be there for her partner.

This routine goes on for months, until an especially dangerous akuma comes into play. This battle lasts two days until Ladybug was able to purify the akuma- but not without a cost.

Felix's legs were badly hurt in the battle, and Bridgette hoped purifying the akuma would heal his wounds but it didn't. He asks her to take him to a specific alleyway, where Scarlet cries and apologizes and Tuxedo promises her they'll be okay. But he says that she has to go or else she'll see who he is, and convinces her to leave. When she's gone, he calls Amelie to pick him up and tells her what happens when she arrives.

When Bridgette comes home, she gives Tikki the earrings and tells the fae to find a more suitable holder. Tikki objects, but Bri is adamant that she has failed and let her partner get hurt. She refuses to take the earrings back, and only begins to cry again when Tikki has flown out the window with the earrings. Marinette comes home to her crying, and listens to what happened, and sits with Bri through the night.

Tikki, unsure of where to go and reluctant to leave the only family she's known for centuries, hides in the cluttered attic and ponders what to do.

Felix is hospitalized and is told that he is paralyzed in both of his legs from the injury. Realizing he can no longer be Chat Noir, Felix gives the ring to Adrien hours later when he comes to visit and asks him if he'd take on the responsibility- or at the very least return the ring back to Amelie at a later date if Adrien chooses not to. His young cousin talks with him and finally decides to keep the ring, introducing himself to Plagg and letting Felix and the faerie say a proper goodbye before he leaves.

When Gabriel learns of Felix's injury that is too close to Chat Noir's injury, he puts the two together and falls into a bad state. Refusing to send out more akumas because of what he's done to hurt his nephew, Gabriel calls off the deal with Null, telling him to release Nooroo and find another to do his bidding. But Null refuses.

From using the broken miraculous, Null's power, and emotional grief, Gabriel is extremely vulnerable. Using this as an opportunity, Null uses the powers of multiple faeries and takes control of Gabriel's body.

Null visits Felix in the hospital, looking out for the ring but sees nothing. Felix quickly suspects something is wrong with his uncle and calls Amelie when Null leaves.

Amelie, who is with Adrien at this time since he came right to her after his visit to Felix to see Amelie as his mentor, hangs up the call and asks her nephew if Gabriel has been acting differently recently. Adrien tells her about how he's been really tired, but he's always tried to spend time with him when he could like usual so he'd just been chalking it up to work.

Amelie knows there's more they don't know, but until they know exactly what- advises Adrien to be careful. Knowing well how to hide things from her own ex kingpin father growing up, she gives him pointers on how to hide Plagg and the ring well and sneak around. With promises to visit often and do his best, Adrien goes home, leaving Amelie worried for all members of her family.

Previous: SABINE: MINI MENACE ERA

Next: MARINETTE: LADY LUCK ERA

[shadowsandlint]

Long as Amber of Ember Glows; or, the Prythian Prometheus

For Eris Week day 6: Retellings

706 words. Read on Ao3.

Long had the Fire belonged to the Fae.  It was power, and it was knowledge. It was sacred.  The humans did not possess it. They struggled along in darkness, only seeing the shadowed patterns the fire cast all around them, interpreting the motifs as truth. Never knowing the true meaning of light and warmth, those shadows were their only reality.  None treasured the Fire more than the High Lord of Autumn, and he kept its burning embers close to his greedy heart. From up on his dais – fire licking at his fingertips – he scoffed at the lower beings crawling along Earth’s crust, wrinkling his nose at their barbarism.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  Occasionally he shot his flames down onto the humans, letting them devour people and homes alike, laughing scornfully at his cruel jest. Treating their lives and deaths as mere entertainment for his depraved whims, the High Lord played with the humans as if their worth was null.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  The humans, eager to please their overlords, sacrificed their livestock in an attempt to halt the ravaging flames. The High Lord devoured their offerings, but when he again grew impatient and hungry, he burned the Earth anew. Remembering their last reprieve from the flames, the humans gave more of their precious sustenance to appease the Fae, hardly leaving any for themselves. Eternally gluttonous, the High Lord filled his belly with their immolated oxen, goats and sheep.  He urged his subjects to do the same.  But the High Lord’s eldest son, Eris, saw the treatment of the humans, and shame burned willfully in his chest from the strife. The next time his vicious father feasted on their hard earned provisions, he ate so much that he fell into a deep slumber. Eris crawled up the dais to the Autumn despot’s sleeping form and stole the fire from him, before starting his descent to the human lands.  When he reached the Earth, the cunning prince distributed the flame among the humans, enlightening them with knowledge, technology and civilization. As if rousing from a vivid dream, the humans saw the world as it was, and so shaped it in their own image. Pleased with their creative power, Eris returned to his father’s seat quietly, pretending never to have left at all.  But upon waking, the High Lord found that his flames had been taken from him, and he was furious. He turned to the humans and tried to seize his fire back, but it had been split into so many parts that he could never catch them all. Vowing to destroy them for their theft, the High Lord again directed his flames towards the Earth, but Eris – who by now loved the humans as his own kin – stopped his father by admitting his guilt.   Enraged by the treachery, the High Lord punished his son by chaining him to a rock upon the highest mountain in Prythian, where every day eagles would eat his immortal liver, and every night it grew back for another day of torment. It was a never ending cycle.  The pain of the tearing beaks became so unbearable that Eris pressed himself deeper and deeper into the rock until he became indistinguishable from it. Therefore, in the course of thousands of years, his deceit was forgotten – forgotten by the Fae; forgotten by the eagles; forgotten by himself.  Only the lowly humans remembered.  They commemorated Eris by creating an altar to him in the grove of their first academy, holding a festival in his honor where they lit a torch with the Fire he gifted them, then raced it along the streets of their newly built cities. Mirroring the chains in which Eris was trapped, they adorned themselves with wreaths made from the plants they cultivated, never forgetting his sacrifice.  And so, the fire gave life, and it took it away.  Generation upon generations of humans came and passed as the Fae sat sulking upon their thrones, never quite remembering where their unhappiness stemmed from.  But the glowing embers of one crucial sacrifice continued to warm the hearts and hearths of humans, the lone figure on the rock never more than a thought or prayer away. 

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