#she's specifically half human half faery

[pumaskulls]

Today's theme for reference updates was apparently "punkass teenagers"

[therobotmonster]

The Fae Thought He Had Her, but She's Had Lots of Practice

Actual Title: "On Foreign Soil."

The fae was having a grand old time with his latest toy. Mortals were easily befuddled with the magic of contract-and-courtesy. He'd taken pretty much all he could from the family: several names, the mother's attention, the son's concept of friendship... Even the life of the father.

He'd taken that one taking just the right moment of his time, the one where he moved just out of the oncoming car's path. That also took out the youngest daughter and making a new neverwas to lurk in the pockets of lost time around the home.

The tricks made him strong. The sense of betrayal and regret humans had when they realized how screwed they truly were was like honey: rich, sweet, and immune to spoilage. If anything, in the last sixty-some-odd years he'd been home the humans had gotten more petulant and even easier to trick.

It was a veritable buffet.

So when the eldest daughter returned home from college, he expected her to be easy pickings. The young were always foolish and prideful, and very often rude. They gave him so many opportunities.

So when she threw open the door, and stared at him with cold green eyes, he immediately laughed in delight. His face took on a distinctively 'David Bowiesq' aspect, a trick he found worked well the last time he'd been to the mortal lands.

"Oh, hello. May I have your name, lass?" He cooed in a cocky-yet-soothing voice.

"My name is Alex, and no." She said.

He raised a brow. She was canny, or at least half-canny. She knew enough to object to him taking it. Still, she had answered, and by the laws of the fae, the latter objection did not override the former offer.

So why wasn't he Alex now?

It was odd, but sometimes mortals were a little resistant to magic. He worried for a moment she was a skeptic, but she couldn't be. Her response meant she knew, or at least suspected, what he was. Moreover, he didn't feel the painful chill and sluggishness empiressence caused, nor the crushing weight of the explicable upon his bird-hollow bones.

No, she was just lucky, or was carrying an iron horseshoe, nothing he couldn't handle in his, or someone else's sleep.

"And what the fuck are you calling yourself, asshole?"

He blinked.

The impudence hit him like a slap. She'd just given him the opening to do anything he wanted, but the raw temerity of the insult, it's artless crudeness, it's utter lack of respect stunned him too much to enjoy it. His rage and petulance rushed into the hole left by his shock, and he sputtered.

"You rude little beast, you have no idea what you've brought upon yourself!"

He raised one pale hand, the flesh fading from it to leave nothing but blackened bone, and he pointed the index finger at her in a silent gesture. He let fly his curse. Not just any curse, but his, the one he had made for just such an occasion.

Alex stared at him. Arms crossed. Her hair was the color of the fae's own rage.

"What's the matter, cat got your brain?"

The fae's confidence wavered and the flesh returned to his hand.

"Where are the spiders?" He said. "There... there ought to be spiders! There should be spiders!"

She rolled her eyes.

"You broke the laws of courtesy and decorum! I can do as I please as a wronged noble! You should be spiders!"

"Whose laws?" It was Alex's turn to smile.

"Why, the only ones that matter, the laws of Faerie, as laid down by Oberon and Tita-"

"And Titsforbrains, yeah. I was five once and I can read. I know your dumb politics. Slight problem. Where are you now?"

"The mortal realm?"

"More specifically?"

"The Earth. The United States."

"Exactly." Alex smiled. "And while you might come the land of the platonic ideal of inbred nepobabies, in the United States of America, no law says I can't call a fuckface a fuckface. Fuckface."

The fae tried a different curse, yet Alex was not being twisted into any sort of goat, ironic or otherwise. "But, that doesn't matter! We're a higher form of being, our laws override yours."

"No they don't." Alex said with a confidence reserved for honey badgers and humans of age three. "Now undo all your bullshit and get out of my house."

"Nuh-uh!" The Fae's cocky smirk returned. With a flourish, he pulled out a deed. "It's my house, I got it off your mother, fair-and-square. She traded it for the heart your little brother so foolishly traded me. So you should get out of MY house."

"Contracts signed under duress are non-enforceable." She said in a bored, dismissive tone.

The Fae started to object, but the contract was already crumbling into dried daffodil petals in his hand. He tried to pretend this wasn't terrifying. Inexplicable happenings were supposed to be caused by him, not happen to him. "Are you a wizard?"

"Don't be stupid. I just know my rights." She said. "I'm betting you didn't disclose the full terms of the contracts either?"

The Fae shook his head, more from fear than as a response to the question. Of course he hadn't. If the mortals didn't do their due diligence and couldn't read Linear-B, that wasn't his fau-

The thirty years he stole from the youngest boy ripped themselves out of his body. A half dozen other deals began popping at the seams.

"How are you doing this?" He gasped.

"I'm not doing it. You are. You're idiot who runs on rules and laws who decided to come scam innocent people for your own profit and amusement."

"But it always worked before-" The Fae ran his mind through all his previous romps. Every single human had whined and begged about how unfair things were. Why was this one different?

He ran through those memories again. They were among his favorites so it was easy for him to see every detail. An old man trying to argue Fae law with him. A shepherd girl trying to use her own word games to trap him. A hippie saying almost the exact same words about non-enforceable contracts.

Almost.

He ran through the memories again and again. Always impressed or terrified or blinded by greed, the mortals always argued on his terms, always went back to his wording of the deal or contract, always appealed to the laws of his people and his own noble position.

None of them had ever argued jurisdiction. Once one of them had, it applied, not just now, not just to these toys, but retroactively, and, from how it felt, with interest.

"Oh." Was all the Fae could say.

"Yes. 'Oh.'" Alex smiled like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. "Children can't sign contracts, either, you know."

Everything the Fae had done to the boy snapped back at once. It felt like every seventh tendon in his body had been snipped simultaneously with tiny scissors.

"Nor can someone sign away the right to kill them to someone else, or sell themselves or others into slavery."

Alex's father reappeared in the living room, looking dazed. In his lap was Alex's youngest sister, now remembered by all present as a person that existed. The return of the father's moment was a minor loss, but there was one less neverwas in the Castle of Paradox, and the Baron would blame him for its unmaking.

"Also, names aren't transferable between people, nor are they the whole and sum of a person's identity in this country. The closest thing we have to that is a social security number. And if you steal one of those, well, identity theft is a crime here."

Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Baxter, Julie and Sam's lights all turned on at once, though they were still groggy and half-asleep and would be for hours to come.

A fortune in names, first, middle, last, with nicknames and pet-names and all between, all vanished from the Fae's purse. He could feel its lightness in his pocket.

The Fae turned on his heels. "I fear I must take my leave, so sorry for the inconvenience!"

He was halfway to the door. The impact on the back of his skull knocked him forward off his feet, sending him slamming into the polished wood floor. The projectile that laid him out bounced and landed by his head.

He'd been right about her having an iron horseshoe.

"You don't get to walk away." She said. He felt her steel-toed boot, soles made of entirely synthetic rubber and cleats of cold steel, press against the base of his spine. His hollow, bird-bone spine. "You don't get to fuck with people, say 'my bad' when you get caught, and run."

"Y-your law!" He gasped. He felt his bones cracking. He wanted to turn into something else but he couldn't focus. She was pressing down harder now, because she was half-kneeling. Her hand picked up the fallen horseshoe. "You have to let me go, or arrest me, turn me over to your police, right? You can't just murder me!"

"What are you?"

"I- I'm a Faerie of Arcadia, a sub-Prince of the House of-"

"So not a human. And not an animal." She kept him pinned.

"No!" He growled. Blood the color of an oil slick on the highway began to fill his mouth. The pain made him forget his fear for a moment, and he bared his true face, something between a bug, a wax store mannequin, and a pug-dog. "We-we're a higher form of life! Far beyond anything this miserable pile of dung you call a planet has to offer! You will pay for this impertinence the moment you break the law that holds me!"

"You're a lot of things. A bully, a pest, a liar. But you're not human. And you're not an animal. In fact, as far as the laws of this land are concerned, you aren't real."

Alex lifted her boot to kick him onto his back, then pinned him again.

"Th-then you can't kill me!" He laughs. "You can't kill something that's not real! You've trapped yourself! You'll have to let me go!"

"You haven't been to our 'pile of dung' in some time have you?" Alex asked. She nodded to a strange white book-shaped object that sat unopened, upright, next to the television, next to a pair of white and black crescent-moon shaped objects studded with small white and black buttons.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

--

Six hours later, a notification popped up on Alex's dorm room computer.

[whereserpentswalk]

Having fae blood is weird. Being any time of human effected by extra planer beings is weird, but with the fae you have a very specifically odd place in society. You don't even have the privilege of having it been an accident strangers can feel sorry about, you reached out to the faeries, let them play with your body and make it something more than human, it feels better this way, like you were always meant to have become this. You've heard yourself referred to as a changling a lot, but you're not sure you like that term for people touched by the fae, mabye you don't want there to be a term at all.

You're not treated exactly like other people who've been effected by other types of entities, it's not like you've been touched by eldritch magic, or by demonic or divine forces, or made undead, where you're likely to be dehumanized as a monster. People think of you as being cute in a gross way, mabye tragic, like you were a misguided soul who should have been stopped from becoming this way, and now you have to be taken care of. It's hard for people to accept that you should even be allowed to live a normal life. Every time you look up how to deal with aspects of being fae blooded you always see articles for parents dealing with their fae touched children, like they forgot those children will grow up.

People underestimate you in weird ways. People are suprised to learn that you live on your own, that you have an actual job, that you date. People are so willing to help you or to do things for you even when you explicitly tell them not to. The way people talk to every freind your with like they're your handler. Anyone who has power over you will debate weather to let you do things, or do things on your own, it's gotten to the point where your boss and half your professors act like you're a child whose behavior has to be corrected, they don't treat anyone else that way. You've had to explain to people so many times that you're fine handling your weakness to cold iron on your own.

You know that your body and your behavior is a big part of it. You like how you look, but there are so many traits that make people think of you like something small and cute, the flowers that grow in your hair, your big golden eyes, your pointed ears and little goblinoid fangs, the simple fact that your short and slender and androgynous, it all makes people think of you as less of an adult. Not to mention all those little fae quirks that make your behavior so much less human, that make people want to correct you like a misbehaving child. Sometimes you wish you had become creepier, wish you looked like the type of fae creature people need to be afraid of... You would have hated the body you have if it wasn't so euphoric to inhabit it.

Dealing with other demihumans sucks. A lot of them are nice, but it's hard to get some to understand how you're uniquely effected as a fae touched. Like, you understand that there's just some things that you don't go through, like you know someone whose been effected by demons, whose form is something that most people find incredibly scary, the type of creature that some people want to kill. And how can you explain to him that what you go through is just as much of a problem. You were told by an undead once that you were taking away attention from "real" demihumans, just for existing, just for wanting rights.

You've half given up on dating at this point. Your last boyfriend was a fellow demihuman, but he was eldirch touched, twice your hight and with a massive complex mouth filled with sharp teeth, he kept being called a pervert or a predator for dating you, he had to stop just because of that type of judgment. He was a year older than you. A fully human girlfriend you had before him kept treating you like she was your mother. Most people you meet on dating apps think of you as a kink, like a cute submissive little creature they want to dominate, they're so surprised when you don't have the type of fetish that they think is inherent to your being, when you don't think being called slurs is hot. And than there's the fact that people think you shouldn't be allowed to date, if certain laws had passed in your state you wouldn't legally be allowed to consent to sex. You can barely understand how you'd exist with something like that.

You're entire existing is on shaky legal grounds. It's only because of the state that you live in that you can live on your own, in others you would not be granted such privilege. Even still, wizards, the ones that are supposed to help people like you, have so much power over you. If the mage your supposed to visit for potions, someone you're technically paying to see, decides you aren't fit to live alone you lose that right, if they think you need a spell cast on you or a potion given to to "help" with your fae traits there's little you can do to resist. And if they decide you're enough of a harm to yourself, or to someone else (but in your case it's always yourself) they could send you somewhere very dark, somewhere you would only leave if they took mercy on you.

You've been dressing in a stereotypically fae manner more, and using more accommodations. You don't know why but it makes you feel good. You went to a protest the other day, dressed in traditional faerie robes, you got to actually use your magic to fend off a group of counterprotesters, mesmerizing them with illusions, and sending the crows and hornets to your aid. They looked afraid of you and it made you euphoric, you've been seen as a victim for so long, it feels so euphoric to be a monster for once...

[dailyadventureprompts]

Hi there! I'm a huge fan of your work, and I was wondering if you could help flesh out a vilain idea I had? I have a basic setup, but no idea how to make him a rounder character.

The gist of it is a fey king whose queen died, so, driven mad with grief and incredibly deep in denial, he reaches out into the Material Plane and kidnaps women who resemble his queen, forcibly altering their minds and bodies through fell magic to transform them into reincarnations of his queen. He keeps failing as the magic instead transforms them into horribly broken and mutated horrors, driving him to more desperate measures.

Other than that, I have no idea how to develop him further or devise an end to his evil :(( so any tips on villain development would be greatly appreciated :))

Adventure: A Covetous Love

Friend, you don't need to make your villain a rounder character, you just need to refocus your narrative onto the genuinely horrific scenario you've created where a series of women have their identities torn away piece by piece. How does it feel to go through it? What must it be like for their friends and family to watch as the woman they knew is replaced by some cruel parody in line with a stranger’s lusts?  Refocusing the story on the current victim likewise gives the story human stakes, and allows the party a good entrypoint into this ongoing tragedy with the chance of possibly preventing it from repeating. 

Before we get into the story itself, here’s a few more ideas I’m going to suggest: 

Rather than kidnapping outright, the fey lord visits his victims in disguise courting them as if he were a wealthy, charming suitor. He offers jewelry and trinkets and other fine things, all infused with the essence of his beloved, and as each of them is accepted the victim becomes a little bit more and more like his queen. A silver comb that turns her hair into HER hair, a cup of wine that fills her dreams with memories of their pramanades through faerie together, makeup that not only wipes out any flaws but transforms the face into a mask of bloodless porcelain perfection. 

Likewise, the transformation process specifically fails because the fey’s expectations are too much. If he were willing to settle for someone who only reminded him of his bride, or gods help him strike out on some new course, he could theoretically be happy… but because he keeps trying to make his victims MORE he ends up with an idea that collapses in on itself, something too perfect to live or even maintain a coherent form. 

To really drive home the tragedy of the horror, I’m going to suggest that the current victim is a woman trapped in either a political marriage or one that’s long gone cold. The fey will exploit her genuine desire for romance and affection, as well as her longing to escape the cage of her life, making the offer of becoming someone else (even if it means dying in the process) all the more tempting. This makes it so that the hinge point of the adventure isn’t just a “rescue the princess” matter of getting her away from the fey, but confronting her as a person and trying to persuade her that there’s some other path to freedom than letting herself be eaten by some otherworldly waifu. 

This setup also gives the party a great secondary antagonist to clash against: the jealous mortal husband, someone who technically WANTS the same thing as the party and has the resources at his back, but will actively drive the victim into the fey’s arms every time he gets involved. He wants to save the victim, but doesn’t care about her happiness, in fact he may be intent on punishing her for her infidelity. He’s there to show why the victim wants to leave. 

Adventure Hooks: 

The party first encounter Lady Melanie Kerridell while out in the wilderness when a stag she’s hunting blunders into their path/camp, on horseback, weapon in hand and her fine clothes streaked with mud. She’ll berate them if they let the beast escape or steal the kill for themselves, but half way through will stagger and lose track of where she is. Just about then a group of her friends and servants will crash through the foliage in a desperate state, as Melanie was out with them having a country luncheon when she spotted the stag, grabbed a weapon from the guards, and took off after it.  This is not the first time this has happened, Lady Kerridell is about half way transformed into the Green-Eyed-Queen and she’s letting herself slip more and more. A concerned friend will invite the party back with them to the estate, and then politely broach the topic about how they might “look in” on Melanie and what might be causing her to act this way. 

The party receive a letter from Lady Kerridell, begging for their help ridding her manor of a haunting, of a monster that has been wandering her home at night wearing her face. When they seek her out however they find her beautiful and cruel and with no idea whatsoever who sent them the letter, despite it bearing her seal.

Lord Edrick Kerridell catches the party snooping around and offers to pay them if they can track down the young dandy he’s seen his wife sneaking off into the gardens to neck with. He wants to know just who the man is before he decides what to do with him, just incase these pricy gifts are from the vault of some other great family. When the party do find the dandy,  he’ll lead them on a merry chase through the town, dragging them all into the feywild if they manage to corner him. 

The local jeweler needs some help investigating a robbery, a few pieces were stolen, but the prize of the take was a staggeringly beautiful necklace of gold and jade, which he was in the middle of repairing. Strangeness surrounds the case: the dandy who delivered the necklace made no secret that it was for a married woman and as the jeweler worked on it he couldn’t shake the feeling of some kind of presence skirting around the edge of his workshop.  When the party find the thief they’ll find her in a bit of a state, having put on the necklace and been influenced by the fey-bride’s mind, she now finds herself driven to heist the home of Lady Berridale. Ostensibly this is for more riches, but the shard of the green eyed queen seeks to complete herself, which will likely result in one of the two womens’ deaths. 

Art

[mollywog]

Characters and Berries in The Hunger Games

Gale -> Blackberries

He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. “And may the odds —” He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.

In folklore blackberries are associated with bad omens. They can also symbolize haste and remorse. There’s a 1966 poem Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney about growing up and loss of innocence.

Madge -> Strawberries

When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor’s house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford our price. The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door.

Strawberries often symbolize purity, passion (fuel for Gadge and Kadge shippers), and healing (Madge delivers the Morphling after Gale’s whipping).

Rue -> Unfamiliar Berries

I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers. “You sure this is safe?”

“Oh, yes, we have them back home. I’ve been eating them for days,” she says, popping a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it’s as good as our blackberries. Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.

These berries are never identified, so bear with me here…

We know Peeta mistakes nightlock (also not identified) for Rue’s berries, but that nightlock is toxic and Rue’s are edible. We also know Nightlock berries are dark (the dark berries glisten in the sun) and Rue’s berries are round (I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers), so two potential options are Elderberry or Blackcurrant.

In pagan traditions Elderberries are associated with Faerie realms - (fitting for the magical wisp of a girl who wore wings to her interview.) They heal; and are associated with breaking curses (Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us.)

Despite health benefits, in the middle ages Elderberries began to be associated with grief and sorrow.

Blackcurrants are often associated with protection (Here it’s safe, here it’s warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm)

They are also associated with gathering courage, specifically before going on a solitary journey.

Blackberries (bad omens) are referenced in the description of the taste of Rue’s berries.

Regardless of the berry, they also reinforce Katniss’s decision to take Rue on as an ally (Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.)

Peeta - Nightlock

My father’s voice comes back to me. “Not these, Katniss. Never these. They’re nightlock. You’ll be dead before they reach your stomach.”

Nightlock is likely based on two real ones: Nightshade and Hemlock.

Unsurprisingly, toxic Hemlock often has negative associations, however it is also associated with Socrates. Socrates was convicted of impiety, but refused to renounce his beliefs; Hemlock was his chosen method of death which could be viewed as either rebellious and/or a noble sacrifice. “Scholars surmise that Socrates conceived of his death as a freedom of his soul from the unreasonableness of humanity and the confines of his body.”

Nightshade has been suggested as the poison used in Romeo and Juliet (fitting for the star-crossed-lovers) and Macbeth (poisoning that lead to a civil war)

Thank you to @wistfulweaverwoman for assistance researching! Other interesting [x][x][x]

[throneofsmut]

Bound In Flames - Part 4

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister-Reader || WC: 1.8k || Warnings: Brief mentions of violence

Summary: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

****

Every step toward the line of trees was too swift, too light, too soon carrying you closer to a fate you had tried to avoid. A fate you promised to avoid at all costs unless you had no other choice and now Feyre was involved. You didn't dare look back at the cottage. To look back at the family that had become the closest thing you had to one.

Feyre and you entered the line of trees. Darkness beckoned beyond.

But a white mare was patiently waiting—unbound—beside a tree, her coat like fresh snow in the moonlight. She only lowered her head—as if in respect, of all things—as the beast lumbered up to her.

He motioned with a giant paw for both of you to mount. Still the horse remained calm, even as he passed close enough to gut her in one swipe.

It had been years since either of you had ridden and Feyre had only ridden a pony at that, but you had ridden mares and stallions. Having always gotten along with animals better than people. Knowing the trek would be long, if the beast brought a mare, you motioned to your sister to mount. To which she responded with a look, as if to say—you mount—but you knew she had to be half frozen by now.

Grabbing her arm, pulling her towards the mare, “Don’t argue, Fey. Just get on the horse. I’ll be fine.”

Begrudgingly she climbed into the saddle. Shutting her eyes for a moment as she savored the mare's warmth against her.

The beast let out a low growl, which made Feyre’s eyes snap open, darting between the beast and you sizing each other up. “Get on the horse.” He ordered.

“No.”

“Get. On. Now.”

“I’ll be fine.” You challenged, holding his stare as he continued to size you up, noticing the way his nostrils flared once. Then twice. Narrowing his eyes before turning around and settling into a walk. Without light to guide you, you walked between the beast and the mare. If he changed his mind you’d try to buy Feyre sometime to run. They were nearly the same size. Neither of you were surprised when he headed northward toward faerie territory—though your jaw was clenched so tightly it ached and Feyre was stiff behind you.

Live with him. Feyre could live out the rest of her mortal life on his lands, but you. You were immortal like him. How long would you have to live with him? Perhaps this was merciful—but then, he hadn't specified in what manner, exactly, you would live.

The Treaty forbade faeries from taking humans as slaves, but perhaps that excluded humans who'd murdered faeries.

You'd likely go to whatever rift in the wall he'd used to get here, to find you. And once you went through the invisible wall, once you were in Prythian, there was no way for your family to ever find you. Feyre would be little more than a lamb in a kingdom of wolves. Wolves—wolf. But you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

They just didn’t know it yet.

Murdered a faerie. That was what you'd done.

Your throat went dry. You'd killed a faerie. And now you might’ve sealed your family’s fate. They might suffer the consequences because you went into the woods, trying to keep them from starving.

You'd never seen the forest so still. Whatever was out there had to be tame compared to the beast in front you, despite the horse's ease around him. Hopefully he would keep other faeries away after you entered his realm.

Prythian. The word was a death knell that echoed through you again and again. You wouldn’t have cared if it was just you but Feyre was here.

Lands--he'd said he had lands, but what kind of dwelling? Feyre’s horse was beautiful and its saddle was crafted of rich leather, which meant he had some sort of standing. You'd never heard the specifics of what the lives of other faeries or High Fae were like—never heard much about anything other than their deadly abilities, appetites and secrets you swore to keep.

There were few firsthand accounts of Prythian itself. The mortals who went over the wall—either willingly as tributes from the Children of the Blessed or stolen never came back. Feyre and you learned most of the legends from villagers, though your father had occasionally offered up a milder tale or two on the nights he made an attempt to remember you existed.

As far as you knew, the High Fae still governed the northern parts of your world from your enormous island over the narrow sea separating you from the massive continent, across depthless fjords and frozen wastelands and sandblasted deserts, all the way to the great ocean on the other side. Some faerie territories were empires; some were overseen by kings and queens. Then there were places like Prythian, divided and ruled by seven High Lords—beings of such unyielding power that legend claimed they could level buildings, break apart armies, and butcher you before you could blink. You didn't doubt it.

No one had ever told you why humans chose to linger in your territory, when so little space had been granted and yet they remained in such close proximity to Prythian. Fools—whatever humans had stayed here after the War must have been suicidal fools to live so close. Even with the centuries-old Treaty between the mortal and faerie realms, there were rifts in the warded wall separating your lands, holes big enough for those lethal creatures to slip into your territory to amuse themselves with tormenting humans.

That was the side of Prythian that the Children of the Blessed never deigned to acknowledge—perhaps a side of Prythian you’d soon witness. Your stomach turned. Live with him, you reminded myself, again and again.

Live, not die.

Though you supposed you could also live in a dungeon. He would likely lock you up and forget that you were there, forget that humans—Feyre—needed things like food and water and warmth. You could live with a bit less than she needed.

Prowling ahead of me, the beast's horns spiraled toward the night sky; and tendrils of hot breath curled from his snout. You had to make camp at some point the border of Prythian was days away. Once you all stopped, you stayed awake for the entirety of the night and never let him out of your sight so Feyre could rest. Even though he'd burned her ash arrow, you'd smuggled your remaining ash daggers in your cloak. Maybe tonight would grant you an opportunity to use it.

But it was not your own doom you contemplated as you let yourself tumble into dread and rage and despair. As you rode on—the only sounds snow crunching beneath paws and hooves—you alternated between a wretched smugness at the thought of your family starving and realizing how important Feyre and you both were, and a blinding agony at the thought of your father begging in the streets, his ruined leg giving out on him as he stumbled from person to person. Every time you looked at the beast, you could see your father limping through town, pleading for coppers to keep your sisters alive.

Worse—what Nesta might resort to in order to keep Elain alive. She wouldn't mind your father's death. But she would lie and steal and sell anything for Elain's sake—and her own as well.

Sitting on the mare, with Feyre behind you, you took in the way the beast moved, trying to find any—any—weakness. You could detect none. "What manner of faerie are you?" Feyre asked, the words nearly swallowed up by the snow and trees and star-heavy sky.

He didn't bother to turn around. He didn't bother to say anything at all. Fair enough. You'd killed his friend, after all. Yet, deep down in your heart, you knew what and who he was.

She tried again. "Do you have a name?"

A huff of air that could have been a bitter laugh. "Does it even matter to you, human?"

She didn't answer. He might very well change his mind about sparing us.

But perhaps you would escape before he decided to gut you. Then you'd grab your family and you'd stow away on a ship and sail far, far away. Perhaps you would try to kill him, regardless of the futility, regardless of whether it constituted another unprovoked attack, just for being the one who came to claim both of your lives—your life, when these faeries valued Feyre's so little. The mercenary had survived; maybe Feyre could, too. Maybe.

She opened her mouth to again ask him for his name, but a growl of annoyance rippled out of him. She didn't have a chance to struggle, to fight back, when a charged, metallic tang stung your nose. Exhaustion slammed down upon her and blackness swallowed her whole.

“You used your magic on her?!” You Barked. Securing her arms to you that had been holding on to you. Keeping her atop the mare you were both riding.

The beast whipped around so fast at the sound of your voice. Eyes narrowed, “What—How—“ He said under his breath.

Hopping off of the horse, careful with Feyre's unconscious form still atop it, you stalked up to him, “You didn’t have to use your magic on her!”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Your little tricks don’t work on me.”

He stood before you, assessing, then he huffed a breath. “Get back on the horse.”

“No. I’ll walk the rest of the way.” You asserted, moving to stand in front of the mare, making it obvious that you were going to protect your unconscious sister.

He shook his head, mane moving wildly with the movement before turning around and walking in the direction of the wall again.

****

Feyre awoke with a jolt atop the horse, secured by invisible bonds. The sun was already high. As she snapped her head to the side, looking for you. She visibly relaxed when your eyes locked. But her brows were still furrowed with confusion. And you actually saw the moment she realized he used magic to make her sleep.

Magic—that's what the tang had been, what was keeping her limbs tucked in tight, preventing her from going for her knife you knew she had. You recognized the power deep in your bones, as if it was an old friend.

As if it was family.

Gritting your teeth, you might have demanded answers from him—about him using magic on your sister—might have shouted to where he still lumbered ahead, heedless of you. Bastard. But then chirping birds fitted past you, and a mild breeze kissed your face. You spied a hedge-bordered metal gate ahead.

Your prison or your salvation—you couldn't decide which.

Two days. It took two days from your family's cottage to reach the wall and enter the southernmost border of Prythian.

The gate swung open without a porter or sentry, and the beast continued through. Feyre’s horse followed after him so whether you wanted to or not, you did too.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

[highlordofkrypton]

warmth // an elain x lucien smut one-shot

This was written as a response to @lainalit's request for a specific Elucien scenario 😉

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've never written Elain before, and this fic turned out way more delicate than I expected! Hope you all enjoy it.

SUMMARY: Elain loves her husband, but as the emissary of the Spring Court, Lucien is always busy. She decides to set a time limit; he can work as long as he can resist her.

Read on AO3 or under the cut (tw: explicit content).

The earth feels cool on her long slender fingers; it feels like home. Old memories of their hovel drift into her mind as she pokes little burrows for the water to seep more deeply into the ground, and perhaps if she's lucky, wild little flowers will find a home to grow in.

Her work is purposeful, though humble. On one end of the garden, roses bloom, watching the centuries go by despite their creator's absence. She sings to them, and tells them stories of their son, the current High Lord of this magical, blossoming place.

"Your sprout is doing well," she whispers to the spirit of Tamlin's mother who has lived here for an eternity and a half. "But you already knew that."

The plot right beside the yellow flowers are a little hoard of alpine lotuses. They breathe with scent of crisp night, but their hearts are as bright as spring itself. Elain tends to them too; the flowers—they speak to each other. She may not be privy to their conversations, but they all seem to mirror one another.

Elain picks up her basket and adjusts her sunhat, moving from eternal flower to eternal flower. She knows each of them like old friends, some of whom their magic is familiar and others, a welcomed stranger into her life.

It was her idea to sow this garden; it was her mission to create a place of peace and safety for all those who wanted to protect what matters most to them. Faeries and humans alike would come here and plant their love, either a single grain of everything they have, or grand gestures of adoration. When Tamlin had told her to make herself at home, this was her only request. A place for all to love freely.

The High Lord had not only granted her wish, but he extended his protection over all which bloomed in his soils, no matter their origins.

Her first and last stop is always the bright orange emberflowers at the edge of her garden. When the breeze blows, their petals crackle like a warm fire on a cool summer's eve. Their song welcomes her as she approaches, and they sway at the sight of her smile—happy little children at the sight of their beloved mother.

"Hello, my darlings," she hums.

Their petals are soft, and she remembers only to touch the edges where the colour errs on the shades of fall. She had made the mistake of touching the bright ringlets of blue at their cores, and it had burned her terribly.

It was her mistake for thinking something so soft and comforting would be without its own edges. Lucien had told her their flowers hold the ferocity with which he would protect their love, but Elain knew that she would protect what they have twice as hard.

When every member of the garden has been cared for, Elain retreats to the Lord's manor. She skips past Alis and the gaggle of new handmaidens. She introduces herself briefly, quickly brushing her soiled hands across the white apron over her dress, before excusing herself. The basket of gardening tools is left on the first floor while she searches for her dutiful half, but not before washing her hands clean with lilac water.

Though she knows exactly where he is, Elain still makes a game out of it, wondering if she'll ever catch her husband in one of the many other rooms in the manor. Their room, though full of flowers and beloved paintings, is empty. The library is still a mess—a chaos that can only be attributed to guests enjoying the company of their home—but without its Lord Emissary.

She breezes through the long hallways, past the prim white walls and golden trims of intricate moldings. Her life on the other side of the wall had been years ago, and yet, she still cannot believe the opulence of a High Lord's home.

"Miss Elain, Miss Elain!" A tiny pixie buzzes beside her, crystaline wings fluttering wildly to keep up with Elain's long strides. "I did it! I did it!"

"I told you," Elain reprimands, voice light like a chime. "Elain is just fine." She holds her hands out to cup the little creature as it stands stark naked, hands on her little hips. "How did it go?"

"I told them! I told them that just because I was little, they couldn't push me around. It's not very springy of them," the pixie nods, her pointed tuft of hair bouncing with the movement. "And that the Lady of our Court would be very disappointed."

"And what did they say?"

"Um," the pixie gets shy. "Well, they said that Spring Court doesn't have a Lady, so I kicked them in the butt real hard."

Elain laughs. There are those who have yet to acclimate to her role in the Spring Court. Her husband, for all intents and purposes, is the Lord Emissary of Spring and in the absence of the Court's High Lord, the decisions fall to Lucien. She takes none of it to heart.

"I can't say I endorse the violence," Elain says firmly, but she looks around to see if anyone is around to eavesdrop. "Good job standing up for yourself." She smiles and presses a gentle kiss on the pixie's forehead. "I heard there's honey tarts in the kitchens. You should go reward yourself. Tell Aed that I, the not-Lady of the Court, sent you."

"Thank you, Miss Elain! I couldn't'a done it without you!"

The pixie flies off, excitedly doing loop-de-loops in the air, as Elain waves her goodbye.

Onwards towards my husband, Elain muses, a soft smile on her delicate features.

Five rhythmic knocks signal her arrival. Lucien lifts his head, and her heart flutters at the sight of him. Her spirits had been light already, but being with him makes her soul soar.

"My love," he greets smoothly.

"My dutiful emissary," she reprimands with a grin. "How long have you been here?"

Lucien sets his quill down, and waves away the other three that were scribbling away by the grace of his magic. "Not that long."

"Since the first crow of the cock, at least, and it is nearly noon." The grin that slithers on his face is made of mischief. Elain ignores the implications, skirting into the room. "When I married you, I thought I would have more of you."

"So did I, but our High Lord seems to have developed an aversion to paperwork. It's fatal, he says."

"Mhm, and that is why he is galavanting in Night Court?"

"He, and I quote, brought the honey — where else will he find the moon but in the Night Court?"

"Clever."

With a single finger (and his help), she coaxes his chair backwards. Elain climbs into her lap, and when he leans to press a kiss to her lips, she turns to focus on work. That is his preference, is it not? Instead, his kiss lands on the tops of her pointed ears.

"What's this?"

Elain's eyes dance across the page. It is a draft with words crossed out haphazardly and more scribbles above. She finds many things in the discarded—words of love and adoration, a plea for celebration, and a hundred other soft sentiments.

"You're still doing this?"

Lucien rests his chin on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist securely as he reads along with her. "Mhm."

"Lucien," she breathes. "You don't need to."

He promised—he promised he would love her in every which way, including professing his love to her in the languages of the Seven Courts of Prythian. On their fingers, they wear the shadows of the Night Court, a promise to always hold one another. In their eyes, flickers of brown dot Lucien's russet, and vice versa for Elain—the magic of Dawn sealed their promise to always see one another through glamour, magic and the storm of emotions. Both Autumn and Spring bargains are sealed here in the garden, their very own fire contained in their eternal flowers.

In his newest letter, he entreats the Winter Court to allow them into their territory for the Midwinter Festival where the two of them can bring life to a snowmite through the magic of their bargain. High Lord Kallias is not his father, but since Amarantha's invasion, Lucien has always tread carefully with Winter.

"I do. I love you to the ends of this Earth and back."

"I know that, you foolish male. I don't need grand gestures."

"And yet, you will recieve them anyway," Lucien grins.

"Even at the cost of spending time with my husband?"

"I'm almost done, my darling."

Oh, this will not do. Even if Lucien says he's almost done, Elain knows that this is the lie that plagues him the most. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips. "Not good enough. Aed has prepared new recipes for us to try. The food will get cold."

She knows if she truly asked him to stop working, he would. There is nothing Lucien would deny her. Instead, an idea flutters into her mind. The kind of idea that brings a deep flush to her cheeks. Mother above, it's so unlike her, Elain doubts if she can execute it properly. She would ask her sisters were they here, but they too have taken to galavanting across Prythian now that the threat of death no longer looms above them. Not for years now.

How much is too much? She would ask them.

A few years ago, we had nothing. Nothing is too much, Feyre would surely say while grazing on a tamelon with her feet up on the ornate couch and her boots still on.

Who cares? Nesta would snap. Do what makes you happy, El. He's a male, he will be happy with whatever you give him.

It's true, Feyre would agree.

It's a wonder how things have changed—how three sisters who could not be more different are now in sync. Their family, once fractured, feels whole again.

"You will have a time limit."

Lucien's auburn brows perk. "Oh? And how much time will I have?"

"That depends," Elain says, getting up and adjusting her skirts. She feigns looking for something under her desk.

"On what? What are you looking for down there?" Rather than answer, she pulls his chair closer, effectively trapping her beneath the desk, between his legs. "Elain?"

Never in her years has she thought of doing something like this. She has always watched the others; how freely they express their adoration for their partners. Her shyness has always overwhelmed her. If not, the propriety he mother taught her always took precedence. Her duty as the wife of an emissary is to represent him well. What use is there for her to do such things?

Only one way to find out.

Arousal pools in her belly before she even begins, warmth settling between her legs. She bites her lip, fascinated by the magic of her own mind. She hasn't done anything, and yet her body knows.

Elain's slender fingers smooth over Lucien's thighs. Beneanth the tailored fabric, she can feel the strength of his lean muscles. His style has always been a choice, projecting elegance and flair, all while hiding the power beneath. (Power that she knows well.)

She kisses his knee, a loving gesture he has done to her time and time again—one that she is happy to reciprocate. Her touch wanders to his hips, and his ass without lingering too long.

"Elain." Lucien's voice is a shuddered breath. "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself while you finish your work."

"Elain," he outright moans, a single-word complaint.

A smile dances on her lips as her hand explores the blooming erection between his legs. Elain laughs softly, but its drowned out by Lucien's groan. He spreads himself as much as he can, trapped between the walls of the desk. He could shatter the desk, but that would defy the point of her game.

Button by button, Elain takes her sweet time in freeing her husband's cock from the confines of his tailored trousers. It springs free, tall, proud and glistening, even in the dim light under the desk. She takes it in his hand, stroking the soft skin and toying with the folds of his tip.

"Ah, ah, Elain."

He speaks her name like a prayer, like salvation wrapped up in a single sound. His hips rise, looking for more friction, and the attempt makes her pull back. She is in charge, not him. Lucien groans, sitting up properly. He sighs, and above her, the quills begin to scribble once more.

He's getting it, she hums to herself, amused.

Elain leans forward, kissing the root of his erection. Her warm breath curls over his skin. She presses her lips along its length until she reaches the top and tongues beneath the skin to taste the salty-sweet of his precome. She lingers there for a bit, listening to the heavy breaths of her husband as he reigns in his desire. Then, when she's satisfied, she trails back down towards his balls. Each one is taken whole in her mouth, sucked lovingly. She nips at the skin; she gets to enjoy him in a new way today, entirely at her own pace and without his distractions.

Her husband is an impatient man, and a giving man, which means that she cannot have him on display like this—which means that she has never had him at her mercy. He squirms when the cool air hits his saliva-slicked balls.

"Keep playing with them," he pleads, but he is not in control here. The only thing Elain cares to hear is whether or not he is enjoying himself.

"Elain, you will be the death of me." He pauses, and she can hear the smile in his voice. "You give me life."

Another kiss graces Lucien's tip. Then, Elain spreads her lips to take him into her mouth. She cannot take him whole, not on the first try, and her throat seizes around him. She has to pull back.

"Fuck," he growls.

Elain tries again.

His cock slides into the warmth of her throat, and she holds him there. Just a little more. She just has to figure out how to take a little more of him. Thinking about it doesn't help, but she knows she has to measure her breath. She knows that she has to simply enjoy this.

Her fingers slip between her legs, feeling the moist patch at the centre of her undergarments. Outside the pink fabric, Elain applies pressure. A soft pulsing rhythm to distract her. The more she toys with herself, the more willing she is to open her mouth, to coax that fluttering muscle at the back of her mouth to yield for her husband's thick length.

"Are you playing with yourself?" He asks from above. "I can smell you, my sweet flower."

"Mhm."

"Fuck. I can just see it, my love. I could come on the very thought of you fingering yourself for me, so you can take me deeper."

Elain stops, wincing her eyes shut. She could come on the words spilling from that damned mouth of his and he isn't trying. (She has come on his words alone.) Breath heavy, she swallows him to the root.

And then, she simply stays there.

"I want to fuck your mouth," Lucien complains. "I want to fuck your mouth. Fuck. You feel so good." His fingers curl into the desk, scraping at the wood. There is a long moment where he seems at war with himself, debating whether to give into his desire for this beautiful, wonderful woman at his feet, but he proves himself to be the better male.

Lucien gets to work. Elain remains between his legs, warming his cock with her mouth. She stops toying with herself. Instead, she leans her cheek against his thigh and waits. Occasionally, his fingers would reach down to caress her hair—to toy with her ear affectionally—before he finishes what he was writing. Whenever he touches her, Elain's eyes would flutter shut in sheer comfort.

Her eyes flutter shut. Occasionally, Elain will shift her tongue and even the slightest bit of friction will have him hardening once more. Her jaw begins to ache; like magic, he reaches down to massage the tense muscle. His hand trails down her neck, then to her shoulder for a gentle, grateful squeeze.

She hears him without him neeeding to say anything—

What have I done to deserve you?

It's why he will anchor their love in every Court, in every single one of their love languages. For her.

"I'm done," his voice rouses her from her comfortable lull, despite her mouth full of his cock. "Do you—"

Elain sits straighter, gripping his hip with one hand and withdrawing herself from him ever so slightly. She wraps her slender fingers around the base and begins bobbing her head, filling the room with wet, slurping sounds. She hollows her cheeks, sucking her husband's cock to the best of her ability.

"Hnng, my love."

Strands of her hair fall into her face, and before she can pause to tuck them behind her ear, Lucien's already there, gathering her hair in one hand and pulling slightly.

"You'll let me know if I get too rough?"

Elain nods.

Lucien starts to move against her, gently at first. Each thrust into her warm, wet, welcome mouth strikes at her chore. Wetness pools between her legs; she swears that she is ruining the soft carpet beneath her knees, but she has no regrets. None.

She tugs on the hem of his shirt. More, she asks, politely.

The bond nudges at her mind gently. Elain closes her eyes while Lucien fucks her mouth, letting the full breadth of their mating enter her.

She can feel it. Goddesses, she can feel him. She can feel the way her mouth encapsulates the length of his cock—the way her throat flutters around his tip. Each clench sends waves of ecstacy through Lucien, and he fights the urge to grip her hair and properly fuck her.

Oh, that is most definitely a problem.

Elain shifts gears. Using Lucien's thighs as leverage, she ups the pace, bobbing her head on him with fierce determination.

"Elain, ahhhh, Elain. I'm going to come."

Each time she spears herself upon him, the thrust is felt at her core like—like he's fucking both her mouth and her cunt at once. It pulls at her mind in every which way, wearing at her focus. She cannot decide between the high of worshipping Lucien with her mouth or being ridden.

"Let me," Lucien breathes, coaxing her to let him take control with a gentle touch along her jaw.

Elain nods.

His angle shifts, and he cups both her cheeks while driving himself into her. Her pussy clenches, as if trying to grab hold of something that isn't there, but she feels him. Elain slackens her jaw, the only way to take him at this pace. Although he truly, properly fucks her mouth, he's still careful. He never passes the threshold of her throat, never dares choke her; he is delicate in his use of her.

"I'm close, are you—are you sure you don't want me too —ah!"

Her fingers curl around his balls, fondling him. Her touch slips further back towards his perineum, and then, and then—does she dare? Elain presses the pad of one finger against his asshole.

"Elain."

Lucien's reaction is immediate, bucking into her mouth. Warmth floods her, and she has the bitter-sweet taste of his come on her tongue. He pumps into her a couple of more times, hips rolling from the high of ecstacy. When he pulls back, a dribble of saliva and cum escape her lips. She dabs at it, and swallows.

Elain blinks up at him, nothing the expression of surprise on her husband's face. Every time they've made love, he has been the one to take the lead. The fingering trick, that was his that she turned against him and it worked in her absolute favour. She ducks her head, sheepish.

"Don't look at me like that," Lucien grins. He picks her up, carefully placing his hand on her head to protect her from bumping it on the underside of the desk. "It's time for me to return the favour."

"We'll be late for lunch," she says with a deep flush on her cheeks.

"That's not very fair, is it? You've had your fill." Lucien pulls her close, leaning in to breathe into her ear. "Shall I save you for dessert then?" He squeezes her hands as he nips the lobe of her ear, just below the pretty fox earrings her sisters had gotten her for her last birthday. "Next time, don't swallow. I want to taste us." Lucien kisses her anyway.

Oh, oh, her face burns.

"Lucien!"

She smacks his shoulder, but takes a note for next time. There is much opportunity to explore herself and her husband. Some would say, there is an eternity ahead of them.

[poorly-drawn-cryptids-homestuck]

Bestiary

John Egbert -> Púca or pooka, is a creature of Celtic folklore, are Fae tricksters and shapeshifters, who take the appearances of horses, goats, cats, dogs, and hares. They can also take a human form, which includes various animal features, such as ears or a tail.

Rose Lalonde -> Eldritch / Warlock, A being that is strange or unnatural especially in a way that inspires fear : weird, eerie. As well as a warlock, one who also practices magic, power fulled by an outside source.

Dave Strider -> Harpy In Greek and Roman mythology, is a half-human and half-bird. Often sirens look harpies and are conflated. So for this au, this harpy is able to sing songs to lure prey.

Jade Harley -> Werewolf or lycanthrope, in folklore, can shape-shift into a wolf (or wolf-like creature), on the night of a full moon. Jade is also a Witch, a woman who practices magic.

Jane Crocker -> Faerie, Fae, or sprite in Celtic Folklore, is a creature with metaphysical, supernatural, or preternatural qualities. and a penchant for trickery

Roxy Lalonde -> Wizard Tressym is a cat-like Monstrosity and a practitioner of magic.

Dirk Strider -> Dullahan in Irish folklore, is depicted as a headless rider on a black horse, who carries his own head. often seen as a symbol of death.

Jake English -> Bigfoot or Sasquatch, in American and Canadian folklore, is a large and hairy human-like mythical cryptid alleged to inhabit forests in North America.

Aradia Megido -> Mothra, a Japanese based Kaiju depicted as a large moth. To be conflated with Mothman, a West Virginian cryptid, for the sake of this au. Currently a Ghost, a spirit of the dead that can appear to the living.

Tavros Nitram -> Minotaur, in Greek mythology, is a creature portrayed with the head and tail of a bull and the body of a man.

Sollux Captor -> Cross roads Demon, found in several folklore, religion, and literature, are often malevolent supernatural entities, who collect souls.

Karkat Vantas -> Cherub Angel, in religion, is an unearthly being. For this au they are similar to cupid. Winged beings who match make. please note that this au will NOT be referencing christianity heavily for this.

Nepeta Leijon -> Nekomata, in Japanese folklore, are a type of yokai, depicted as a shapeshifting cat with two tails. while they can take any form, they will always have the tails.

Kanaya Maryam -> Vampire, in European folklore, are undead humanoid creatures that subsists by feeding on the blood of the living. often able to shapeshift into a bat. and unable to go out in the sun.

Terezi Pyrope -> Dragon is a magical legendary creature that appears in the folklore of multiple cultures worldwide. This one is a western dragon, often depicted as winged, horned, and capable of breathing fire.

Vriska Serket -> Arachne / Jorōgumo. In Greek myth, Arachne is a woman turned into a spider by Athena. In Japanese myth, Jorōgumo are often yokai of a half woman half spider. please note Vriska is not a yokai nor is she Arachne... she is simply a half woman have spider creature, likened to these two examples.

Equius Zahhak -> Centaur, in Greek mythology, is a creature with the upper body of a human and the lower body and legs of a horse

Gamzee Makara -> The bogeyman is a creature used by adults to frighten children into good behavior. Bogeymen have no specific appearances but they are most commonly depicted as masculine or androgynous monsters. In this case, they look like a clown.

Eridan Ampora -> Selkie, in Celtic and Norse mythologies, are creatures that can shapeshift between seal and human forms. For this au, Eridan is part seahorse instead, and often takes the form of a elf instead.

Feferi Peixes -> Leviathan. A very large sea serpent noted in theology and mythology. Feferi is also likened to a mermaid / siren, when not the size of 10 whales.

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders Viewers' Choice #29: Alice Kuonji

today on grailfinders I desperately see how broken a character who does nothing themselves can be, because we’re making Alice Kuonji from Tsukihime, but she’s also in FGO now, so at least I’m saving myself a future headache. Alice is a Necromancer Wizard because we need an ungodly amount of magic, and also necromancers are just better summoners if all you want to do is summon. ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵉˢ, ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖˡᵒʸˢ ⁽ᵖʳᵒᵇᵃᵇˡʸ⁾ ᵃʳᵉⁿ’ᵗ ᶻᵒᵐᵇᶦᵉˢ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈᵒ ʳᵉᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᵗ ᵃ “ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵈᵉᵃᵈ” ᵃᵍᵉ

well I thought I was being clever.

anyways, check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here! I’m taking the next month off as far as vc builds go since I already have a sizeable backlog I need to catch up on and summer isn’t doing me any favors, so the next poll will hopefully be in August!

Ancestry & Background

starting things off nice and normal, Alice is a Satyr.

okay hear me out.

in the nasuverse, Alice Kuonji is a Witch, which is actually a type of fey, and thus not a human. while there are several races of fey that can be played in D&D, a lot of them can be ruled out quickly. Centaurs have the wrong number of limbs and focus on physical attacks, Faeries are just too small to work, and Changelings have a central conceit that we wouldn’t use in any capacity.

that leaves us with Hexblood, which is… fine, I guess, I guess you can use the eerie tokens as more familiars, but Satyrs are one of the most powerful races you can pick in D&D, and Alice is kind of busted, so it fits a bit better. besides, we’ll have plenty of familiars from magic alone, don’t worry.

as a Satyr you are, of course, a Fey, so spells like Hold Person straight up don’t work on you- already off to a great start for your immortality. you can Ram people which is not something we’re using, but your Magical Resistance more than makes up for it by giving you advantage on all saves against all magic. your Mirthful Leaps let you add extra distance to your long and high jumps, which actually fits rather well with your ability to levitate, and as a Reveler you get extra proficiencies. I’m actually going to keep Performance for a lil somethin’-somethin’ later, but you get Deception too, to hide your true nature from humans.

most of your ploys come from your ancestors, making you an Inheritor of their power. that gives you proficiency with Survival and Arcana.

Ability Scores

first is Intelligence- a lot of your ploys have weird conditions and drawbacks you have to keep in mind when you fight, so you have to fight smart. second is Wisdom- you’re actually not that great with the modern world, so most of your actual knowledge isn’t book smarts. of course, wisdom doesn’t have a mechanical benefit here, so it’s lower. third is Constitution. it’s not how much you can bleed, but how hard you can get hit and keep getting up. you have like 18 guts stacked on you by default, so… that’s a lot. your Dexterity is just above average to hopefully keep you alive until level 20. that means your Charisma isn’t great- you’re a shut-in among mages, which is really saying something. of course, we’re dumping Strength. you have other people to do that stuff for you. well, not people, but still.

Class Levels

1. at level one, all wizards get an Arcane Recovery, so once per day you can regain a few spell slots on your short rest, with the total level of all the slots equaling half your level, rounded up. speaking of, you also learn Spells, which you cast and prepare using your Intelligence. since you use a spellbook for these, you can also learn spells by copying them down from other wizards, and with six spells now and two more every level, you won’t be left wanting.

that being said I don’t have all day to exhaustively talk about every spell you’ll learn as you level up, so I’ll break them down into two categories: Familiars and Spells that Make You Die Less. if a spell doesn’t fit into either of these categories, or there’s something specific I want to point out, I’ll do it here, otherwise check the character sheet for the full spell list.

that being said, there’s two spells at level 1 I need to touch on- Detect Magic, because everyone needs an information dump at some point so they can follow along, and Fog Cloud. it’s not exactly Flat Snark just yet, but it’s a start.

2. second level necromancers become Necromancers, so you’re a necromancy savant, so copying necromancy spells is faster and cheaper. you also can reap a Grim Harvest, so whenever you kill a living creature with a spell you get double the spell’s level back in HP (or three times if it’s a necromancy spell). I don’t think this really works for Alice, but we don’t really use it in this build anyway, since you tend to use summons, so it’s never really “you” killing anything. the first couple levels are a bit slow, but things pick up when we can actually summon stuff, don’t worry.

you also learn Sleep this level though. No real reason for it tbh, but it felt like a faerie tale thing a witch would do, which is kind of your MO.

3. at third level you learn second level spells, so now you can make Darkness happen whenever you want. this doesn’t actually make it nighttime, so it doesn’t really affect your spells, but I figured I’d get it anyway as an homage.

4. use your first Ability Score Improvement to round up your Constitution and Intelligence to cast better and live long enough to cast even better later. remember, bonuses to your constitution affect your health retroactively, so you get 4 extra HP this level!

Prestidigitation is the cantrip you give someone when they’re just good at everything, and Alice can levitate, so… Levitate.

5. fifth level wizards get third level spells, and while I won’t go into much detail, you can celebrate gaining your first summoning spell, Summon Fey. you’ve had a couple ploys by now, but this is the first time one’s been really able to help you in battle.

6. at level six you can command Undead Thralls, giving you the Animate Dead spell for free, and whenever you summon undead, they come out with extra HP and damage. while this encourages us to stick only to undead, ploys are whatever the hell you want them to be, so feel free to experiment with the other summoning spells. like Tiny Servant! now you can make an adorable teapot minion to carry out your will. if you overcharge the spell, you can make a whole cutlery drawer do your bidding!

7. seventh level wizards get fourth level spells, and surprise surprise it’s more summoning!

8. at eighth level you gain the Gift of the Metallic Dragon instead of an Ability Score Improvement, so you learn Cure Wounds for a solid healing factor, and Protective Wings, giving you an even better shield. well, it’s not better yet, but shield is +5 AC and this right now is +3, but without using spell slots.

9. ninth level wizards get fifth level spells- Bigby’s Hand is our best simulacrum of a giant murderous you… for now, so I guess this is Flat Snarp’s final form… or is it?

10. tenth level necromancers are Inured to Undeath, so you resist necrotic damage and your HP total can’t be reduced. period. this is a secret tool that will help us later.

also, if you really want a great shield you can use Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere to lock yourself in a resilient sphere. nothing can pass into or out of the sphere, so make sure you summon your lackeys before hiding away in it.

actually don’t do that, most summons require concentration, as does this spell. once again, the rules of dnd prevent us from having a good time in dnd, shame.

11. eleventh level wizards get sixth level spells, and now you can create a Wall of Ice. the moon throws icebergs at people sometimes, don’t ask me for context. also you can Create Undead this level, but only at night! just like your ploys, eh? that’s what we call “flavor”. just. don’t actually lick the zombies.

12. in your final NP you kind of… become the snarp? I guess? so that’s why Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise is here.

13. thirteenth level wizards get seventh level spells, and you can turn the entire world into a fantasy land thanks to Mirage Arcane, letting you warp everything around you whenever you so wish. you can also create your own ploys this level using Create Magen. it’s worth pointing out that this spell normally has the drawback of permanently reducing your max HP, but we can safely ignore that because you’re a necromancer.

14. at fourteenth level you can Command Undead, forcing an undead creature under your control until you take someone else over. you can also use this on intelligent undead, but it won’t last nearly as long. your best ploys are someone else’s anyway, so it works.

15. at fifteenth level you can use eighth level spells, like Control Weather. I’m pretty sure this also can’t make it turn to night, but I’d let you do it, fuck it it’s an eighth level spell.

16. sixteenth level wizards get another ASI, to bump up your Constitution again. you can also use Telekinesis now. sometimes the moon throws a carnival at people, it’s fine don’t worry about it.

17. seventeenth level wizards get ninth level spells. Invulnerability makes you invulnerable, and True Polymorph lets you turn random objects into faerie-tale creatures. it turns out the rule-breaking ultramage really likes ninth level spells, go figure.

18. eighth level wizards learn Spell Mastery, letting you cast one 1st level spell and one 2nd level spell for free at will, so you know we have to grab Find Familiar and Levitate. you have way too many familiars and levitation is just something you do for funsies, it all fits.

also, you get Wish. yeah that’s just a thing you can do, idk how there’s any kind of plot with you around I’ll be honest.

19. use your last ASI to grab the Tough feat for 40 more HP. yep.

20. with our last level you get the wizard capstone, Signature Spells, two third level spells that you always have prepared, and they also get a free cast each day. so of course we’re getting Animate Dead and Tiny Servant. whimsical and horrifying, all in one go!

Pros & Cons

Pros:

thanks to the power of necromancy, building and maintaining an army of 30 ploys is not only possible, but not even close to the upper limit you can wield. you could even get the actual 108 you brag about all the time! not only that, but you’re not just limited to shambling corpses, having access to various kinds of fey, elementals, and magen to make some clever clogs under your control.

invulnerability makes you completely immune to damage for ten minutes, which is a long time for a wizard to be able to do whatever the fuck they want. even before that, you’re pretty durable for a spellcaster, with almost 200 HP, access to your own healing, and even having the option to clone yourself and come back time after time.

you have Wish, so you can literally just do whatever you want, forever. yes you have a good chance to lose the spell forever if you abuse it, but still, using it the right way once can end any problem you could possibly have.

Cons:

like most spellcasters, the good shit comes in the endgame, so you’ll have to survive a pretty long time on your lonesome first. you don’t even get any summons until level 5, so hopefully that’s when your campaign starts.

invulnerability is nice, but most of your damaging spells that aren’t zombie-related require concentration, so you’ll have to choose between turtling and living forever or doing stuff and being at risk. if you’re playing to character the former is the correct answer, but it might not be that fun in-game.

that ploy army requires upkeep, and the more you make the more spell slots will be used on just those zombies day after day. at a point, your zombies will be getting taken out in one hit, so just keep that in mind before you burn half your slots each morning.

[lexalovesbooks]

five books with aroace main characters you say....please share 👀

You are super in luck anon because almost as soon as i posted that I started compiling a list of all the ace/aro-spec books I could remember reading, these are all across a big variety of genres and age categories but all the mcs fall somewhere on the aro-ace spectrum (and personal faves are bolded)

Every Heart a Doorway by Seanan McGuire: I think most people here know this one. A world where children sometimes disappear through magical doorways to other worlds, and sometimes return. When this happens, they usually are desperate to find a way back. Nancy is one of these children, looking for a way back to an underworld of living statues that has become her home while also trying to find a murderer at the boarding school full of other children looking for their own doorways back to their worlds. Asexual mc

Summer Bird Blue by Akemi Dawn Bowman: Rumi, a teenager whose younger sister recently died, moves to Hawaii to spend a few months with her aunt, where she tries to piece together who she is without her sister and rediscover her love of songwriting, something she and her sister always did together. Aro-ace questioning mc

Forward March by Skye Quinlan: Harper, a student at a prestigious high school whose father is running for president, deals with school, marching band, and a presidential campaign all while trying to figure out if she really likes the girl and fellow bandmate who recently was catfished by someone pretending to be Harper. Ace lesbian mc

All Systems Red by Martha Wells: This one is pretty popular too, idc. Murderbot is a self-named human-bot construct (think cyborg, but manufactured specifically for security purposes) who hacked its own governer module to gain free will, and then used that free will to continue doing its job while watching thousands of hours worth of space soap operas. Unfortunately, its existence of efficiently half-assing keeping humans safe is disrupted by a group of clients who end up in hot water, all while being unexpectedly concerned with its state of freedom and the status of its personhood. Aro-ace agender mc

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger: Elatsoe, also known as Ellie, is a young Lipan Apache girl who has a dream where her cousin tells her the name of his killer—the morning before she wakes up to the news of his death. She and her parents travel to the town he lived and died in and work to comfort his grieving family while searching for evidence that will prove the killer, a well-liked community figure, is guilty. Also features faeries, ghosts, and other paranormal and mythical creatures. Asexual mc

The Foxhole Court by Nora Sakavic: ANOTHER very well-known tumblr book! Whatever, not gonna try to explain the plot, these are the lacrosse murder books you’ve heard of them and if you haven’t you can look up a summary. Mc is word-of-god demisexual but also it’s so evident in canon even without being explicitly stated that I personally don't even think you need the disclaimer

Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson: In a world where dead spirits regularly rise from deceased bodies to devour and possess the living, Artemisia is a nun-in-training who will one day cleanse the bodies of the recently deceased so that their souls can move on to the afterlife. Then, she releases an ancient and dangerous spirit from a relic to protect her convent from attack. The spirit possesses her body and gives her extraordinary power—but the spirit isn't necessarily on her side, and it's unclear if the connection formed between the two of them can safely be severed. Asexual mc (not explicit bc it's fantasy, but I think it's pretty obvious even without the exact word used)

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace: In a dystopian world torn apart by two rival corporations, Mallory is one of many people who find refuge in a virtual reality game that allows you to enter battle, earn real-life credits for sorely-needed necessities like water, and interact with virtual, computer-created versions of the league of supersoldiers that protect her home city from attack. Mallory has had a parasocial obsession with one of these supersoldiers—22—for years, until one day she gets caught in an attack that results in her meeting the flesh-and-blood version of the celebrity/superpowered protector. As she spends more time with 22 and his paired operative, she begins to see just how deep the corruption of the company that controls her city runs—and also begins to wonder what she can do to help the city and everyone who lives in it. Aro-ace mc

Those are all the ones I feel like writing out full summaries for, but some other books that I really like with aroace mcs are The Diviners by Libba Bray (ace lesbian mc in second book), The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon (word-of-god aroace mc), The Poppy War by R.F. Kuang (word-of-god aroace secondary character), and The Last Sun by K.D. Edwards (word-of-god demisexual gay mc, ace secondary character). The one thing I haven't really read any of is books with aroallo main characters :( If anyone has recs for those, please feel free to share!

[hrizantemy]

the questions I now have to live with since I've read acotar. Haven't read the book in a while and I don't plan to for the sake of my own sanity 😭 so sorry if this doesn't make sense

Did Feyre even earn the wings she uses? Why the fuck did rhysand allow her to even be able to have them ?? I would be so offended as a woman who had her wings taken if a human turned far was able to just summon a part of myself that I lost.

Why was there a inner circle again? They were all useless

Did Feyre even earn the title high lady or have any power?

What was mor's role again?

Why should I be scared of the tiny creature who can't access her powers but is trapped in a fae body. How exactly is she a threat?

Why do people say that bat boy deserves better? Last I checked Nesta had zero power over bar boy, wasn't harassing him and didn't trap him in a house or mock him to the point of a breakdown. Yes she was mean but that doesn't excuse the fact she was abused by higher authority and treated like an object.

Why didn't the high lords not team up and attack Rhysand? I would have declared war on him if I were the rest of the high lords. Plus the other half of his court who hates him wouldn't mind.

The same questions I’m asking myself everyday I think about this book. I’ll try and answer some of it though !!

1. The Illyrian culture, where wings hold significant symbolism and are a part of their identity, is deeply ingrained in their society. For Feyre, a human-turned-faerie, to possess wings without earning them through the traditional Illyrian rites or experiences is at least in my perspective appropriating their culture. It disregards the cultural significance and the struggles Illyrian women face with having their wings clipped. Feyre, as a human, comes from a different background and has not endured the same hardships as Illyrian women. Rhysand, as Feyre's partner and a powerful High Lord, holds significant influence over her abilities and development. Granting her wings without her earning them could perpetuate unequal power dynamics within their relationship. It suggests that Feyre's empowerment is dependent on Rhysand's decisions rather than her own agency and efforts. While the decision to give Feyre wings may have been made with good intentions, it’s viewed as problematic due to its implications regarding cultural appropriation, privilege, power dynamics, disregard for traditions.

2. In history, an "Inner Circle" typically refers to a close-knit group of individuals who hold significant influence and power within a particular organization, government, or social circle. The Inner Circle is often composed of trusted advisors, confidants, or allies of a leader or authority figure. Despite being portrayed as a close-knit group, there are instances in the series where members of the Inner Circle experience internal conflicts, disagreements, and tensions. This lack of unity can undermine their effectiveness as a cohesive team. The Inner Circle contributes less to the group's overall objectives or face fewer consequences for their actions compared to others. The Inner Circle's decision-making process is inconsistent or questionable at times, leading to outcomes are illogical or unsatisfying. In conclusion Sarah J. Maas doesn’t even know why they’re there because like Nesta and Elain they were meant to be flat characters.

3. In many fantasy narratives, characters earn titles or positions through specific trials, accomplishments, or displays of skill. Feyre’s ascension to High Lady lacks clear, earned qualifications or achievements traditionally associated with such a prestigious title. Throughout the series, Feyre makes decisions that are morally ambiguous or controversial. Feyre's journey to becoming High Lady is heavily influenced by her relationships with other characters, particularly Rhysand. She is overly reliant on Rhysand's support and guidance, raising questions about her ability to lead independently and make tough decisions without external assistance. Compared to other characters in positions of leadership, such as the High Lords or Ladies of other courts, Feyre's experience and training may appear limited. Although Feyre possesses certain magical abilities, such as the ability to manipulate and control different types of magic, her powers are relatively limited in scope compared to other characters who wield vast and diverse magical abilities.

4. She’s a bisexual leaning lesbian who sleeps with men but hates it and uses her brother/fuck buddy to prove to another man he can never have her while being jealous that her brother/fuck buddy has a mate that she things “doesn’t deserve him” that’s her role and we’re supposed to route for her I guess.

5. Because her eyes swirl silver and she drinks blood???

6. Because that bat boy dick makes people delusional I swear it has to be good.

7. Tarquin needs to send them back the blood rubies and gather allies and then destroy their court and let them be invaded and court destroyed. Sound familiar? Yeah.

I’m so sorry I got tired and lazy through like half of this !!! 😭😭😭😭

[noblebs]

oc interaction tag

tagged by @fortunatetragedy like 2 weeks ago lmaooo ;;;

your oc:

Khalid is a 12-year-old Son of Ether who is beginning his Ph.D. in biophysics. (Quantum biophysics, specifically.) He is curious, friendly, and socially isolated; also touch-averse and easily startled. He understands more references than you'd think he would. The air around him seems charged with electricity at all times, and he has a shock of white hair in his wavy dark brown hair. He wears safety goggles around his neck at all times hoping no one will notice his neck. (Or he wears a button-up shirt with a tie under a lab coat everywhere. Harder to see his throat that way.)

my oc:

Orion Murphy is a fae creature with a desperate desire for companionship, which manifests as a set of large fangs on his throat, a host of eyes he can't see through scattered across his body, and a frequent craving for human flesh. he wears fashionable (and often revealing) clothes, travels constantly for a job he hates, and smokes a lot. she is dishonest, self-absorbed, and capricious, but generally a people person. she fears the vulnerability of getting too close to others emotionally, but once she decides to hold onto someone, just about nothing will make her let go.

it was tough picking between Orion and Marrow for this--I think Khalid would be fascinated by Marrow.

of course Orion would not mention the neck thing or try to sneak a better look, she's tried to hide her teeth before so she gets it. but also...Orion really likes kids. whether he's good with them maybe depends on who you ask, but he would talk to and treat Khalid like an adult (he does not believe any topics to be age-inappropriate lmao) and would indulge whatever interest Khalid had in checking out the extra eyes/teeth. he wouldn't understand half of what Khalid talks about--Orion's not particularly well-educated--but would certainly be happy to listen if he's inclined to infodump. I don't think Orion could ever say "no" to a child tbh.

might actually be a problem if she gets attached though... faeries' reputation for stealing children is not entirely unearned. and she would be horrified by all the shit I know Khalid's gone through lmao

how likely is it she would eat him? ummmmmmm don't worry about it

I'll tag hmm @writernopal @autism-purgatory @coarsely @ink-flavored and PLEASE ANYONE ELSE who wants their oc to be friends with any of my ocs lol

[saltspill]

General:

Name: Arling

Pronouns: they/she

Gender: nonbinary femme

Sexuality: bisexual

Birthday: April 21

Age: Young Adult ( idfr how I made fairy ages work in the original story and I'm 99% sure it changed like 3 times but in a human au Arling would be around 21 )

Appearance:

Height: 5 foot even

Build: a little Soft and round

Eyes: pink

Hair: lavender/light purple, shoulder length and moderately curly, usually half up in twin buns

Race: sylph / white

Other:

small, white, fluffy "angel" wings that clip magically through any clothes

a glowing, golden halo that hovers over her head

a small but intricately designed ace of spades tattoo on the base of her neck

Misc:

Arling has a quiet, mostly flat voice

citing that post that's like "more trauma victims gaining weight as a sign of Healing" as a big character inspiration

which is why their biggest interests are "relaxing and eating good food"

Arling is cursed with unwavering bad luck. any game or skill that includes an element of luck will always be skewed against their favor, and they attract seemingly random misfortune. this curse can affect those physically close to them by association, and Arling cannot wish someone "good luck" without guaranteeing them the worst possible outcome.

Their halo is the mark of their curse, originally a glowing collar around their throat that they were able to shape themself out of and push just that far away from themself. It hovers over their head and yes, bobs around during physical activity. it would be really cute if not for the Implications

Warnings:

Arling is a victim of some really heinous abuse during the many years she spent in the Cruel Circus. I will never go into any specific or gruesome details on this blog as the focus of Arling's story is recovery, however it may come up in some formats or conversations and will be tagged "abuse mention //"

Backstory Exposition

headcanon tag || selfie tag || picrew tag

Vent/Nsfw blog @sugarplumbfae

Faerie World History Masterpost

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (3/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.8k

The rest of the Inner Circle meets Feyre, or:

"I've only had Feyre a day and a half but if anything happened to her, I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself" - the Inner Circle probably

Read on AO3 or you can find the third chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - the altar is my hips | ch 2. - an arrowhead leading us home | ch. 3 - by the way, i just may like some explanations

From the early hour and their mussed hair, I suspected that Morrigan had pulled Cassian and Azriel from their beds. But weapons hung from both their belts, so if that was true, they either slept armed or with daggers nearby. Warriors too, then.

The shock was obvious on both their faces the second my scent hit their noses. Morrigan dropped their hands.

"This is Feyre," she said. "I found her in the townhouse this morning when the wards alarmed. She claims she's Rhys's mate."

"She's telling the truth. I can sense the bond," Amren said with an authoritative finality.

Amren still terrified me, especially when her tone brooked no argument, but I relaxed a bit at that. At least the terrifying creature was on my side.

Cassian snickered and said, "And I'm sure that's not the only thing you can sense on her."

Cauldron, I would have killed for a bath, just to stop these comments. My cheeks heated, and Morrigan smacked Cassian in the center of the chest. Perhaps it shouldn't have caught me off-guard—Rhys had specifically told me to find his family, after all—but I hadn't expected them to act so much like siblings as they interrogated me.

"We're—" Azriel started to say, but I cut him off.

"Cassian and Azriel. Rhys told me to find all of you," I said.

"What else did he tell you?" Azriel said.

I hesitated. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," Morrigan said with a smile that I think was meant to be reassuring.

All I could do was start from the very beginning. I didn't want to tell them about killing Andras, especially after Lucien had hated me so much for it at first, but there was no way around it. I expected disgust that their High Lord's mate was a murderer, not the looks of understanding I got instead.

In fact, it wasn't until I described the way Tamlin had burst into our cottage and taken me to Prythian instead of killing me that I got much of a reaction at all. The four of them shared significant looks, and Mor in particular tensed up with anger.

"That was never in the Treaty," she said, interrupting me. "I'd know, I helped negotiate it. There are no special consequences for a human killing a faerie."

A lie. Tamlin had ripped me from my family and brought me to Prythian and lied to me to do it. And everyone I'd spoken to in the Spring Court had gone along with it.

"But why?" I said.

"He might have known you're Rhys's mate," Azriel said quietly, tucking his wings in tight. I wasn't sure what the gesture meant.

"That's not Tamlin's style. He would have just killed her outright," Cassian said.

"If Tamlin just needed a human girl for whatever he's planning, then it seems terribly coincidental that the one he found is Rhys's mate."

I felt the blood drain from my face at that, even though Rhys had warned me that there would be a target on my back. I just hadn't thought the threat could be from Tamlin.

By the Cauldron, I'd been falling for him.

"You're scaring her," Mor hissed at them.

"We can't keep her safe from enemies if she doesn't know who they are," Amren said coolly. Mor glowered back at her.

"She is right here, you know," I said, crossing my arms across my chest.

Mor's face softened as she turned back to me and said more gently, "There's bad blood between Rhys and Tamlin, from centuries ago. We can tell you all of it later, but please keep going."

I told them everything—Tamlin's promise my family was taken care of, the Bogge, painting again—and left nothing out. They just let me talk, occasionally sharing more significant looks among the four of them that I didn't understand. At some point, I took my cloak and Rhys's jacket off, and we moved to Amren's sitting area. It seemed we'd be talking for a while.

When I laid it out like this, I felt like such a fool for having let my guard down in the Spring Court. Years of keeping my wits about me in the woods, only for all my defenses to crumble the first time someone was a bit kind to me. It was just so stupid.

The Mother only knew what would have become of me if I'd stayed in there any longer.

It wasn't until I started to tell them about the Suriel that I was interrupted again. Cassian blurted out, "How the hell did a scrawny little thing like you manage to catch a Suriel?"

Maybe I was just exhausted, but hearing another arrogant faerie question my ability to build a snare eroded the last of my patience. Even the ones who seemed to like me equated being human with being useless. "I was even scrawnier when I did it," I snapped. "I think the real question is how the hell did you manage to survive this long without anyone killing you?"

I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't for Cassian to tip his head back and laugh. Or for Azriel's brows to flick up in what I thought might be approval.

Mor smiled, but her eyes still looked sad. "You wouldn't be Rhys's mate if you weren't a little mean," she said, as if it were a good thing.

Before I could continue, the mating bond roared to life as a wave of Rhys's emotion slammed into me. Rage, pain, disgust, a million other awful feelings, but above them all—an overwhelming sense of violation.

I let out an inhuman-sounding cry and vomited on Amren's feet.

Wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked up at their concerned faces. "Someone's hurting Rhys," I said, my voice trembling.

Not just hurting, raping him, but I couldn't bring myself to say that aloud.

My breath came in gasps, and I dug my nails into the tops of my thighs, willing the pain to stop. I hardly registered it as Mor made the vomit disappear, then guided me over to the sink and handed me a cup of liquid to rinse my mouth out with. At some point, I ended up sitting down again as she rubbed my back. I don't remember when I picked up Rhys's jacket, but I clutched it to my chest as I cried.

Mor's help calmed me enough to reach down the bond for Rhys, as if I was holding out a hand to someone in distress. There were a few scattered images I saw through his eyes—red hair spilling across a naked breast, the ceiling of a room that looked like it was carved into a mountain, a ring with a spinning eyeball.

It lasted barely a second before he shoved me out, a mental wall slamming down between us. His pain still leaked down the bond, but it had a strange, muffled quality.

My breathing returned to normal, and my hands stopped shaking. Rhys was distant enough that I took in my surroundings again and gently pushed Mor's hand off my back. Cassian, Azriel, and Amren were across the room, talking in urgent voices too low for me to hear.

And then it hit me with a cold certainty—I might have known Rhys for less than a day, but I'd kill whoever did this to my mate. Slowly, and I'd enjoy it.

I'd never thought I'd ever have it in me to take pleasure in killing anything, but everything had changed last night, changed in a bone-deep, fundamental way. It was the first sense I had of the way a mating bond reorients the way you see the world.

"The redhead who wears an eye as a ring. Who is she?" I said.

"Amarantha," Amren said. "She stole Rhysand's power along with the rest of the High Lords', and she's been ruling from Under the Mountain for the last fifty years."

That certainly explained why no one wanted to say her name—and why she'd been able to put her hands on a High Lord and not be killed for it.

For the first time since Tamlin told me my family was taken care of, I had a goal. I needed to get Rhys back. It didn't matter that he was little more than a stranger or that I was a human who didn't stand a chance against a faerie holding the power of all seven High Lords.

A mating bond overruled logic.

As long as she was hurting Rhys, a sense of wrongness wouldn't leave me, rippling under my skin like the echo of the stag's magic. But unlike a gift, this would eat me alive from the inside out. I had to end her.

Cassian broke away from his conversation with Azriel and Amren and came to sit next to me. "No. Absolutely not," he said, his voice sharp and full of authority. I jumped, thinking he could read my thoughts like Rhys could, but he continued, a bit more softly, "I've fought enough battles to know what that look means. We're not letting you do something rash and get yourself killed."

"I can feel what she's doing to him," I whispered. "I can't just sit here. It hurts."

"I get it. Even when it's the right move, waiting still feels like shit. It helps to remind yourself that Rhys deserves our best effort, and that means getting your head on straight before doing anything," he said, looking at me with the deepest well of empathy I'd ever known. He was speaking from experience, the way only an immortal could.

I reminded myself that this was Rhys's family. It was hurting them, too.

Even if this had been going on for more than the length of my life twice over.

"Tell us what you learned from the Suriel," Amren said.

I didn't miss the disgusted look Mor shot Amren, as if to tell her to back off. As tired as I was, I didn't mind pressing forward. I wanted to get this done.

Amren frowned as I described what the Suriel had told me, and I supposed she was disappointed that there wasn't any new information for her. But for me, it was good to hear the four of them confirm everything I'd learned, then fill in a bit more about Amarantha.

I kept going, telling them about the naga, the faerie who'd returned with his wings ripped off and bled out in the manor, the pool of starlight and then…Calanmai.

I almost didn't tell them that the stag had called me High Lady. Even then, it had struck me as ridiculous, but now in broad daylight and surrounded by three powerful fae—plus whatever Amren was—it seemed even more absurd. But in the end, my worry about what they might do to me if they found out I withheld information won out.

As soon as I said it, Amren grabbed my left hand and held it out so she could see the tattoo. The glint in her silver eyes was unsettling enough that I didn't snatch my hand back.

"I should have seen it sooner," she said. "Rhysand didn't give you this, did he?"

"No," I said. "I…I think the Night Court itself did."

Amren studied me, tilting her head again and making me feel as if I were some sort of interesting bug she was trying to identify. I willed myself not to squirm under her gaze.

"You're Made, but there's more than that. It's fainter than when I sensed it on Rhysand back when he was just his father's heir, but I can feel it on you regardless," Amren said.

She turned my hand over to examine the tattoo from the other side. The hairs on my arm stood up. "Feel what?" I said.

"Potential."

I had no idea what she meant by that. I didn't want to know.

"If the rest of the design were filled in…" Mor said softly, trailing off. Her eyes were on my hand, too. So were Cassian's and Azriel's.

"It would mark her as High Lady of the Night Court," Amren said, dropping my hand.

"What about that line on your third finger, Feyre?" Mor said.

"That was just my mate being a prick," I said, earning a chuckle from Azriel.

Amren scowled and said, "Just tell us the rest, girl."

I shoved my tattooed hand under Rhys's jacket, not wanting to look at it again, then continued on and told them about the stag's boon, finding Rhys, and giving him the pomegranate seeds.

At that, Cassian cut me off again and said, "Shit Feyre, you really just accepted the bond without even knowing his name?"

I had no idea what that meant, but just from his tone, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. "Accepted the bond?" I said, a little weakly.

Mor was looking at me with what looked like a mixture of horror and pity, and I couldn't face it. I twisted the fabric of Rhys's jacket in my lap and stared down at it.

"When a female offers her mate food for the first time, it means she accepts the bond," Mor said gently. "It's rare for a mating bond to be rejected, but most pairs get to know each other first and make an occasion out of it. It's an…important moment."

I didn't say anything at first, just let that sink in. With the magic in the air and the stag's instructions pushing me towards Rhys, I wasn't sure if I would have even had the willpower to reject the bond, or even just wait, if I'd known. And Gods, this was something the fae made into an event, but he'd eaten straight out of my hand outside a random cave in the forest.

Maybe there'd been a reason beyond my safety that he'd been so quick to send me away.

"Is it…permanent?" I said, even though I knew the answer. I could feel the strength of the bond for myself, how nothing could possibly be the same again.

"A mating bond runs deeper and more permanent than anything else," Amren said.

I nodded and tried not to think about what a burden it must be for Rhys, an eternal bond to a human. With no magic or means to protect myself, I was a weak point, a dead weight.

And now I always would be.

"It's been a few centuries since there's been a Lady of the Night Court," Azriel said. His face was blank, and his tone didn't give much away, either.

But it didn't escape my notice that he'd said Lady, not High Lady. Mother above, I had a title. I wasn't sure I wanted to know why it had been so long since anyone else held it or what had happened to the last Lady of Night. This was Prythian—whoever she was, she'd likely met a bad end.

"It has," Amren said, "but we can discuss that later. Finish your story, girl."

There wasn't much more to tell. I certainly wasn't going to give anyone else a detailed account of what had happened in that cave. I skipped ahead to this morning and kept talking until I described arriving at the townhouse.

It felt like getting a weight off my chest, albeit a small one. It was all out in the open, and no one seemed inclined to attack me. "What next?" I said.

"You look dead on your feet. You should sleep," Mor said.

She wasn't wrong—I'd barely gotten any rest, and I was beginning to feel it. But that wasn't what I'd meant.

"After that, I think I should trap the Suriel. I could see what it knows about what Tamlin wanted with me and how to get Rhys back," I said.

Cassian's face darkened. "I don't like the idea of sending you back through the wards alone," he said. Mor seemed to agree with him, but Azriel's face was still blank.

I balled my hands into fists and looked Cassian straight in the eye. "And does Night treat its guests the same way Spring does?" I spat. If they meant to keep me here, I wanted them to at least be honest about it.

Cassian just shrugged. "It wasn't an order. I don't have to like everything you do."

I couldn't tell if he truly meant that, or if this was another false choice like when Tamlin had told me I was free to live anywhere in Prythian. Technically true, but I never would have made it more than a half mile from his manor before one monster or another killed me.

"It's a risk, but a reasonable one. Feyre can clearly navigate a forest alone, and if Tamlin is planning something, we'll all sleep better knowing what it is," Amren said.

Again, she spoke with a finality in her voice that made me think she had some sort of authority over all the others. Or perhaps she just terrified them all into going with whatever it was she wanted.

"I'm with Amren," Azriel added, tucking in his wings again. "I don't see another option, not while my shadows can't leave the city, either."

That seemed to settle it—Mor would glamour me to hide my scent on the off chance I did run into anyone. But from what they said, it sounded like the pine forests were mostly empty, and I'd likely only encounter animals.

Whatever Rhys had been doing for the past fifty years, it had been keeping the blight well away from the Night Court.

Mor brought me back to the townhouse not long after that. I'd assumed she'd show me where to find a bed, but she just stayed in the living room and said, "Feyre, I hate to ask you a personal question right now, but it's time sensitive. Have you been taking a contraceptive brew?"

I froze. I hadn't even thought about the possibility of a pregnancy, and I would have just gone right to sleep if Mor hadn't asked. Gods, that could have been disastrous.

"No, but I need one. Can you…?" I said.

Mor smiled. "Of course. There's no food in the house, either, just Rhys's things. I'll pick some up for you."

She squeezed my shoulder before winnowing away, and she was back shortly after I'd tucked the bow, quiver, and knife in the antechamber. There was probably a closet or something else to store them in, but it felt rude to poke around a house that didn't belong to me. Exploring Tamlin's manor, which had been full of servants, had been different. The townhouse felt lived-in, cozy, and intimate.

When she got back, Mor inclined her head towards the kitchen and handed me a small box. "I'll show you where the kettle is if you'd feel safer boiling the water yourself. I'll have a cup of non-medicinal tea if you don't mind me staying," she said.

I did feel safer boiling the water myself, and I was relieved she'd brought me a sealed, unopened package, even if it contained more than I'd probably need. As I filled the kettle, it hit me that Mor was experienced at this kind of thing. Maybe it had been magic, but she'd been back quickly, as if she'd known exactly where to go. And when she'd rubbed my back as I'd cried, she'd given me just the right amount of space to make it feel comforting but not smothering.

I wasn't sure exactly why Mor had spent so much time supporting distraught women in need of emergency contraception, but I was glad to have her here.

She could have used magic to get everything out of the cabinets, but Mor grabbed it all herself, probably for my benefit. And even though I'd been around the fae for months now, it set me at ease, too. A few minutes later, she was giving me a sympathetic look above her own teacup as I sipped the bitter brew.

"I think you should know," she said slowly, "that even though things between you and Rhys might be…up in the air, you're part of our family now. We're duty-bound to protect you and all that, but I want to be your friend, too. You have guts, and I like that."

I didn't believe her. I was grateful for the help, but the last faerie I'd thought I could call a friend was Lucien, and he'd been assisting my kidnapper. Even if Mor and the others didn't have an ulterior motive, at best I was a horribly fragile human who'd been dumped on their doorstep to be babysat.

But I wasn't stupid enough to tell any of that to Mor. I just took another sip of the contraceptive brew and said, "Thanks."

"And all of us might be a little overprotective—don't be surprised if you find Cass or Az perched on the roof later. You can tell any of us to get fucked if it's too much," she said.

That sounded like those fae instincts that always had them growling, snarling, and scenting. I wasn't sure I'd ever completely get used to it. "Overprotective because I'm human?" I said.

"Yes," Mor said, and I appreciated the honesty, "and because you're young and you've already been through a lot."

There was no pity or condescension there. It was still a bit strange to hear this sort of plain honesty from a faerie, especially after so much I'd been told in Spring had turned out to be half-truths.

And I hadn't thought about it earlier, but if Mor had helped negotiate the Treaty, she must be at least five hundred. It wasn't the time to ask, but I wondered if she or the others had fought in the War.

If they had, something told me it wasn't on the same side as Spring and Hybern.

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, so I just forced down a few more sips of the awful, bitter tea. Mor didn't seem bothered at all that I was so quiet, just continued in that chipper way of hers, "But anyway, I just didn't want to let it go unsaid, even though I think you'd tell us off if you needed to. I can't wait until this is all over and I get to watch you nail Rhys's balls to the wall."

That got me to crack a smile, as impossible as it felt after everything that had happened in the past day. I didn't share her optimism, but I wanted to like Mor and hoped I could trust her eventually.

I finished my tea, and Mor showed me where to find everything upstairs. I took a guest room instead of Rhys's—I already felt like enough of an invader just staying in the house. Mor left me with a set of soft nightclothes and surprised me by pulling me into a hug before winnowing away.

I wanted a bath, but just changing and crawling into bed sapped the last of my energy. As I drifted off, Rhys's talons brushed the very edge of my mind. They didn't invade any further, just reached out as if to reassure him I was still there.

With a mental hand, I curled my fingers around a talon and clutched it until I was asleep.

[beloved-daydreams]

Folktober2023 Prompt: "My sister, the serial killer." 🔪🌼

An attempt by

Hosted by @jurdannetrevels and @jurdannet

📘 1 400+ words

😎 Characters: Taryn, Jude mention, Myriadh, Tatterfell, The Ghost/Larkin

✒️ Tags: self-reflection, sharing, sweet

📢 Summary: Taryn has made it to her sister’s place along with her attendant Myriadh. As she learns that Jude’s not home, Taryn decides to take a stroll in the palace's "garden", which is also the graveyard of Elfhame's enemies. More specifically, the ones who have fallen under Jude’s sword.

🧐 Author’s Note: Part 2 of the Taryn 3-parter I have prepared for Folktober! First part was for "Corn maze" and the third and final part will be out for "graveyard meet-cute"!

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As we arrive at the palace, I'm immediately recognized to be the High Queen's sister. Before, clothes and crown aside, it was still sometimes a bit harder to tell, but now with the size of my belly, we are unmistakable. Myriadh extends her hand to me as I'm about to jump out of the carriage, I politely hold it, not actually putting any of my weight into it.

We pass through the front garden that is used to make all visitors fear for their life. Each spot of the garden is covered in a different type of flower which gives it a strange charm, yet knowing the reason behind such an arrangement makes the fae sweat from anxiousness. It has only been 6 months since Jude and Cardan are both reigning over Elfhame, yet all those flowers show the amount of fae Jude has killed.

All traitors and enemies. Jude is now known as the mortal high queen who ends the fae's immortalities. She has already outlived all the fae in this beautiful graveyard by killing them. This graveyard that everyone has to pass through in order to enter the palace. She was now a Queen but still very much with the spirit of a killer. Though maybe it sounds too harsh, I should say assassin since her killings supposedly have meaning. "Don't fuck with me." That's the meaning. I breathe the scent in. I love it. Myriadh is trying to keep a straight face but I can tell she feels a bit uneasy by the sight.

Well, to be fair, I also feel a bit uneasy at the sight but for a different reason. Witnessing how beautiful the fae are even after their death. Not like us, rotting corpses with no pretty flowers to grow from our bodies. The only flowers on top of our graves come from those who miss us. And by how inconsequential I am, I'm not sure if anyone other than my siblings and child will leave flowers on where I will rest. I sigh at the depressing thoughts. Pregnancy mood swings be damned. Pheromones be damned.

"Are you feeling okay, my liege? Shall we go back after all?"

"No need. It won't take long."

I make my way to some guards, they inform me that my timing is unfortunate, that my sister has left just a little while ago. Thus I ask for Tatterfell. When they invite me in, I turn them down. We make our way through the garden, I catch so many new flowers that weren't there 3 weeks ago, last time I visited. I like finding new flowers, wondering from what type of fae they're growing out of.

And before I can stop my big mouth from spilling the words, they're already out.

"I'm so envious, you know."

Myriadh blinks at me, not sure how to answer since my words are so half-assed and nonsensical. So I continue.

"Of you. The fae. You're all beautiful from the moment you're born, magnificent while you live, powerful when you die and still beautiful after death. I mean, you've been living with me for the past 4 months Myr, you've seen how bad I look in the mornings."

I think back to how Locke looked when I killed him. When yellow roses grew out of him as I tried to dispose of his body. I thought it was so unfair, he was still flaunting his superior beauty at me even from beyond the grave I wanted to put him in. I think of how I would eat those faerie fruits at his revels as if I'm a pet of a wife, a fun little human who will obey the whims of her caring husband. Oh so benevolent for marrying a human who's only redeeming quality is being agreeable. Pleasant to spend time with because she'll listen and laugh, and agree.

Myriadh gathers her thoughts, probably trying to find a proper way to answer me. I like that about her. How careful she is with words and etiquette, maybe just as much as Oriana was. I miss her.

"Although you are right, I believe humans have things that may stir up envy from the fae's side as well."

I fake a laugh like I always do. I hope it doesn't sound too bitter.

"Is that so? Tell me."

We're now standing in place, I realize this might take some time so I sit at a bench and gesture to her to do the same. She sits next to me, but not too close as a sign of respect for my personal space.

"Do you know how old I am, my liege?"

Of course I know, I remember everything I'm told.

"If I remember correctly, 120 years or so?"

Rhetorical question, I know I'm right.

"Yes. I've been trying to have a child my whole life." She pauses. Probably measuring her words again, trying to not make it sound like she's accusing me of being too ignorant, too unaware of what they might go through in their long lives. "It's something I've been yearning for, giving life. Twenty years ago I gave up and made my way to the human world where I worked at a daycare for a while, putting the little ones to sleep."

I turn my head towards Myriadh, my eyes that were focused on the garden are now observing the faerie woman who looks like she can't be older than 25. She spares me a glance, seeing that I don't look offended but rather shocked, she continues.

"Homesickness got the better of me in the end, I came back recently. And, well… my coworkers started to wonder why I didn't seem to age at all despite having worked there for 20 years."

I chuckle, this time a real laugh.

"I guess you didn't think that far ahead." I smile kindly.

"I guess not. I should've glamored myself to slowly look older and older through the years. If I had made myself suddenly look older after hearing them gossiping about it, it would've been strange." She agrees.

I see now. To her who tried to have a child for a century, I must sound quite small-minded with my beauty talk. It's not like my envy has dissipated but it's good to put things in perspective.

Far away, I see a familiar figure approaching us. Tatterfell.

I tell her about my request to have the maze around my house be eradicated. She doesn't ask me why but she notes how, although Jude isn't home at the moment, since the request is coming from me, it can be done easily. Before going back to work, she shares with me something unexpected.

"Consider visiting us more often. Although Ju- Her Highness is often busy, I suspect she misses you. I have no answer to give her every time I'm asked about your whereabouts and she has seriously considered sending some of her people to guard your household."

"... Are you sure you're allowed to tell me this?"

Tatterfell shrugs and smiles.

"So you're still more preoccupied about etiquette than your sister's care for you. That's good to see, Oriana would be proud of the consistency."

I blush. I know this is not a jab at me since Tatterfell isn't the type to do so and she must truly believe the words she's saying, coming from her mouth this is not sarcasm. Yet I feel embarrassed at the idea that I haven't changed all that much.

Tatterfell leaves us be. I suppose it might be good to go back now.

As we're walking back to the carriage with slow steps, Myriadh looks as if she wants to tell me something. I welcome her to do so.

"Well, about before-"

Her sentence is cut short as a figure is suddenly in front of us. As if it materialized out of thin air. Myriadh jumps in front of me in a protective manner, she's about to open her mouth, letting her voice put the creature to sleep. But having the time to process the sight, I quickly realize it's not a creature.

"Wait!" The indistinct voice begs. I hold Myriadh's arm, a sign for her to hold on.

Hood down, mask off, the individual suddenly becomes recognizable to us. Jude had gifted the court of shadows some masks that can blur their presence. I realize now this is what it was. The faerie, or rather, the half-faerie standing in front of us is actually Larkin. Better known as the Ghost amongst his "fellow colleagues" if we can even consider spying and killing as work.

He shoots a smile at me, a tense one. And suddenly, I’m not so sure on how to act anymore.

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I’m excited about the next and last part!!! (For obvious reasons at this point.) Let’s say that the "character interactions" I wrote for the next part were... interesting to figure out? 😂 I’m quite pleased with it although I know it won’t get much traction since the central character in this is Taryn 🫠 It’s okay girlie, if no one’s here, I’m here!

Please leave comments/tags!!! 💖

[scribble-dee-vee]

Happy STS! Which of your characters do you think would be most popular among cosplayers? If you had to pick one of your OCs to cosplay, who would it be?

Oh heck yea! Thanks for the ask; I lowkey forgot that STS was a thing

So, I loooove cosplay as an art form/means of having fun! I used to do it more when I was younger, and I still dress up for cons/fan themed events. I also follow a lot of cosplay content online. I must admit that I think about the cosplay-ability of my characters a LOT. Like, every author wants a screen adaptation/a fully VA'd audiobook/whatever, but I specifically want silly creative ppl on the internet to dress up as my lads!!

That being said, I have many opinions on this front.

Taking a broad look at the Heart of Lead universe, I think it would offer a lot of different options to cosplayers. I could see the extended cast catering to people of all skill levels and interests, at least in terms of character design. You got regular-ass humans with one or two defining physical traits (although someone could always go in for more detail, because of the Victorian-fantasy clothes)! You also got characters with A.) complicated armor/uniforms/gowns, B.) wings/fangs/assorted fantastical traits, and C.) like,,, props?? Like there is a very large, somewhat evil sentient sword in this universe, and I would die happy if someone made their own for cosplay purposes. I would DIE.

All that in mind, here are the characters I think would be the most popular to cosplay, based on my observations of present-day cosplay communities online. I've given all them "most ___" awards, for funsies.

Dale Porter – most popular. No contest whatsoever. Sarcastic, evil, conventionally attractive white man. People love to cosplay characters with this profile; it's inescapable, and somewhat obnoxious. He's also fairly easy to cosplay, I would argue, as long as u got a white wig. (I would not personally cosplay him. He is my pookie but he can go ROT.)

Rosalind Lake – most sexy. If you want to wear an ostentatious dress and look hot in a femme way, here ya go. She's not the most important character, but her look is distinctive and fun. (I would definitely cosplay Rosalind.)

Wren Dorian – most steampunk. Listen, if you love steampunk/gaslamp fantasy/cabaret rock aesthetics, she is your GIRL. Big curly hair, big boots, massive belt full of tools, potentially goggles if you're feeling really fancy. Wren also gets some interesting design variations throughout the series that make her even cooler. (I would cosplay Wren. I have closet-cosplayed her before.)

Nicolas – most edgy. At least, that's how I think people would cosplay him. He wears a black trench coat and fingerless gloves for like half of the series; he has emo boy hair; he lowkey looks like Dream of the Endless. I'm not going to spoil his magical abilities, which make him EVEN EDGIER, but those exist, and they also impact his physical appearance. He's a sweetie boy baby who cries a whole lot, but he LOOKS very cool to one's inner 13-year-old. (I would cosplay Nicolas, and I have closet-cosplayed him before!)

Vesper – most fantasy. They're a faerie. He has wings. Their magic turns their eyes and fingers black. He wears sickass gender-nonconforming outfits, including such articles as capes and tiaras. If I was actually going to pour tens of hours into creating a cosplay from the HoL universe, I would 100% cosplay Vesper. They look cool as hell. (Also, fun personality – he's very outgoing and sweet!)

I'll leave it there for now, but I genuinely have SO many more opinions about HoL cosplay potentiality. There are options for the ppl who only cosplay evil dilfs,,,, for ppl who like to play princess dress-up,,,,, for ppl who incorporate gore and horror elements into their cosplays,,,,, we've got it all!!

(Now to get about FINISHING and PUBLISHING these books, so ppl can feasibly do this. Lmao.)