#shes not native to the fae world and how it works she doesn’t have a clue whats going on lets bfr

[soartfullydone]

For fifty years, Rhysand was not doing the Calanmai ritual for the Night Court. 

That means the supposed most perfect and powerful court was missing out on fifty years’ worth of revitalizing magic from their High Lord conducting the Great Rite. Fifty years that would’ve likely led to famine and biting cold, making the entire land, court, and people weak AF and desperate, their High Lord appearing to all but abandon them. And there’s Valeris in the center of it all, its citizens unable to leave, unable to get any food or supplies in or out of the city. They’re trapped and dying while the Illyrians and the Court of Nightmares fight over what lingering bounties they can scrounge up.

A stand-in for him has never been established to my knowledge, and it never will be because SJM didn’t think this through at all. I actually don't believe the stand-in method works, like when she claimed that Lucien stood in for Tamlin. For one, why would the High Lords choose to make themselves vulnerable to both potential enemies and foreign magic if they could appoint anyone else to do it? Better, if they could spin it as an honor to serve? Endless ways to politically, socially, and culturally spin this one. Endless ways a volunteer could be rewarded for service, but whatever. We all know it doesn’t work like that.

Also, Lucien’s connection to the Spring Court is through loyalty to Tamlin. He is not connected to that court’s land and magic like native-born Spring Court fae are. He’s still Autumn fae through and through. At best, he could potentially contribute a smidgeon of magic by having sex, but it wouldn’t be any more powerful than any other fae’s contribution, and no one’s contributions would matter at all without the High Lord at the center of it all, performing the Rite. Like,,,, that’s the whole point,,,,,

If I was Amarantha making that bargain with Rhysand to leave the Night Court alone in exchange for his loyalty, I’d honor that to the letter (and she would, too!). Yeah, the Night Court will be completely left to its own devices. No Calanmai for you, Rhysand :). It would ensure another Prythian court would become weaker and weaker, unable to rise up beyond their own dire problems. And also, what a power trip for Amarantha, who gets to bed Rhysand whenever she wants without his full consent, and none of it will make a positive impact to his court. 

I won’t even fully get into SJM’s throwaway line that Rhysand and Feyre having sex just so happened to fall on the Night Court’s Calanmai. We all know that’s bullshit. There was no ritual (eating a bowl of soup for a mating bond isn’t it). There was no foreign magic entering Rhysand’s body (a mating bond isn’t it). There was no magical revitalization to the Night Court. Making a mountain explode because you orgasmed sO hArD didn’t help your land, babes. It probably just made some more poor Illyrians homeless.

It’s like this because she didn’t plan it for book 2. She didn’t plan anything. Not Valeris or Illyrians or the Inner Circle. Calanmai, however, was planned. It was one of the few world-building elements that SJM firmly established in book 1, so firmly in fact that she couldn’t figure out how to incorporate it into her fake feminist Night Court that she made up much later. So she decided to ignore it and rely on that one throwaway line, and it doesn’t work. She established that every High Lord has to perform the Rite.

Well, now it’s been what? 51, 52 years? And Rhysand still hasn’t done it.

[marzipanandminutiae]

God youre so right about the representation stuff. Do you have any recs for stuff that's actually good and has diverse characters? like ive literally asked people for queer recs that are actually good and theyll be like "watch this random terrible webshow and read this book with the worst writing youll ever encounter. the main character is bi. no ill give you no plot info bc it doesnt matter"

This will probably focus mostly on sapphic representation, since that’s what I look for first. But a lot of the works mentioned have other forms of diversity, too.

BOOKS

I have a few, though one of my favorites now comes with a big caveat.

Girls of Paper and Fire (Natasha Ngan). Fantasy based on multiple Asian cultures. Lei, the PoV character, lives in a world where humans like her are systemically oppressed and animal-like demons control the country. She’s kidnapped and brought to the palace as a concubine for the cruel, megalomaniacal king. Torn between her desperate desire to resist her fate and fear of reprisals against her family, Lei falls in love with another human concubine- one whose secrets might bring down the king’s regime once and for all. Sexual assault CW, although the most graphic stuff happens “offscreen.” Haven’t read the sequel.

Romancing the Inventor (Gail Carriger). A novella tied to her Supernatural Society series, but requiring no knowledge thereof. In an alternate, steampunk England, a woman named Imogen takes a job as a maid to some local vampires. At first she hopes to be seduced by the queen of the vampire hive. But the dashing French lady inventor in the potting shed proves much more intriguing... This one also has a CW for sexual assault, though the perpetrator doesn’t succeed in her full intentions. But most of it is lovelorn mutual pining c. 1878.

The October Daye series (Seanan McGuire). Okay, the main character is straight (or at least thinks she is). But this urban fantasy juggernaut series is chock-full of LGBT representation. Faerie in this universe is bi-normative, and it really shows. The basic premise concerns half-fae private investigator/knight October “Toby” Daye and her quest to beat her personal record for literally dying and coming back fight evil. Many of her friends and allies- and her love interest -are somewhere in the rainbow umbrella, and presented with great respect. No sexual assault in this one, but a LOT of violence, if that’s a problem.

The Wayward Children series (Seanan McGuire). If non-fantasy readers have heard of McGuire, this is probably why. Ever wondered how the kids and teens who fell into other worlds and magical adventures coped with coming home? Welcome to Eleanor West’s boarding school, where found family is everything and disappearing forever in the middle of the night will make your classmates mad with jealousy. Thoughtful, funny, and heart-wrenching stories about the nature of home, fairytales, and growing into yourself. Replete with all sorts of representation, including a sapphic mad scientist, a trans former goblin prince, an Asian candy warrior, and a fat mermaid. Some violence, though how much depends on the book

The Karen Memory series (Elizabeth Bear). This is the one with the caveat. Let me explain it first. In a steampunk Seattle c. 1879, young sex worker Karen and her friends fight to keep a truly monstrous man from becoming mayor via torture and mind control. A genius inventor named Priya who knows firsthand what said candidate is capable of might be her greatest ally in the fight- and much more. I love this book because it’s one of the few Wild West stories I’ve seen acknowledge the true diversity of the American west coast during the 19th century. The characters are white, Black, Indian, Chinese, Native, and various combinations thereof. The legendary Bass Reeves plays a major part. The main character is a lesbian and one of her coworkers is a trans woman, both handled very well. The author clearly did her research and balances the sci-fi elements with a solid grasp of real-world history. CW for mentions of sex trafficking/sexual assault. Also Karen is 17, and while that was considered past the age of consent at the time and you never see her working, it may be uncomfortable for some readers.

The caveat is pretty recent. Another author came forward and said that Bear and her husband emotionally abused and manipulated them when they were still new to the industry. Bear claims that said author actually abused her. I know none of the people involved and cannot speak to who’s telling the truth. It’s a matter for your conscience if you feel comfortable giving Bear money or would rather skip the book or get it from a library. Controversy surrounding the author doesn’t change what she wrote, however, and I do personally feel that the book is quality representation on multiple levels. Do what you feel comfortable with.

Fingersmith (Sarah Waters).  A young thief in Victorian London is recruited into a con game to cheat a sheltered heiress out of her fortune. But once she meets the other girl, their feelings for each other begin to complicate everything. Full of twists, turns, and that trademark slew of gothic novel coincidences. CW for child abuse (mostly emotional and physical), opiate addiction (not explored in detail), and abusive mental hospital staff.

It’s a short list, but hopefully it will expand as time goes on. My local sci-fi/fantasy bookstore takes representation and diverse voices seriously, so I’ll doubtless find more hidden gems.

MOVIES

Fingersmith. (Technically a miniseries.) I love this adaptation so much. The Korean horror version, The Handmaiden, is also supposed to be good, but it seems too gory and full of weird sex stuff- beyond the book’s erotic literature -for my personal taste.

The Favourite. Artsy, dramatic, funny in parts, and might leave you saying “...what?” but also “GAAAAAAY.” In 1701, two noblewomen vie for the attention of Queen Anne I of England. Attention in a platonic way but also in an oral sex way. The costuming is amazing even if almost all the characters are horrible people. So hewing close to history all the way ‘round, then.

Portrait of a Lady On Fire. Pining! An island off the coast of Brittany! Pining! The vague 1700s! Pining! Art! Did I mention pining? There’s. So much damn pining. THis is a movie I really liked because THE COUPLE ACTUALLY HAS CHEMISTRY. PRAISE THE HOLY TRIFECTA OF APHRODITE, CLIO, AND SAPPHO, GODDESSES AND HONORED ANCESTOR OF GOOD HISTORICAL WLW REPRESENTATION. The ending was disappointing, but I was just so glad to see a movie with a historical sapphic couple that actually seemed in love with each other. A movie that wasn’t Fingersmith.

A lot of LGBT movies aren’t really to my liking, because queer history and/or fantasy isn’t exactly a much-explored genre onscreen at the moment. Boo.

SHOWS

Carmilla. A webseries VERY loosely based on the Victorian novel of the same name/my favorite book. College freshman Laura Hollis sets out to investigate the disappearance of her roommate at a school that might as well be Night Vale University. But the appearance of a snarky, gorgeous vampire named Carmilla takes the weird to a whole other level. Also features a nonbinary mad scientist and two main Black characters- an Amazonian warrior woman, and a glamorous vampire with a penchant for corporate machination. (though the latter two don’t appear until s2, when fans were like “this show is very white” and creators were like “crap, you’re right; let’s rectify that.” one of them gets killed. she gets resurrected a few episodes later, though, because nobody on this show stays dead). This is my main fandom. Highly recommend.

Wynonna Earp. Honestly why don’t I just say “the wlw Megafandom c. 2015″ and be done with it? Wynonna, an irresponsible screw-up and descendant of Wyatt Earp, returns to her small, rural hometown just in time to turn 27 and activate the curse that forces her to put down the vengeful spirits of everyone killed with Wyatt’s gun. All of whom have it out for her family, and some of whom have bigger agendas of their own. Her sister  Waverly is a cinnamon roll history nerd dating The Only Valid Cop, Nicole. (Though how much normal police work Nicole does is highly debatable, since most of the crime in her town is demon-related.) Pretty violent, but well worth a watch if you can handle that.

I just realized I don’t actually watch much LGBT TV, either. Possibly because I’m not overly interested in things that aren’t historical or sci-fi/fantasy and my thematic tastes are very specific?

Anyway, those are my big favorites. But I’m sure there are other great pieces of media out there. Who knows what will cross my radar next- or yours?

[aion-rsa]

Trese: The Filipino Folklore Behind Netflix’s New Anime

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Trese, Netflix‘s new anime, introduces us to Alexandra Trese, a mandirigmang-babaylan—aka a warrior-shaman—who assists the Metro Manila police in solving supernatural crimes. Based on an award-winning Filipino comic by Budjette Tan and Kajo Baldisimo, the series combines urban fantasy noir and the bloody horror of Southeast Asia.

For fans from the Philippines and of the Filipino diaspora, the inspiration for the show’s setting and worldbuilding will be familiar and nostalgic. For other viewers, it may be fresh and unique. In fact, for many people, Trese may be the first series they’ve ever watched that’s set in the Philippines and that features elements from the country’s rich folklore.

Speaking of which, if you’re interested in learning more about the Filipino folklore featured in Trese, don’t worry. We got you. But first, let’s go over some basics. The Philippines is an archipelago consisting of over 7,500 islands. As a result, its supernatural folklore is incredibly diverse and varies from region to region. One supernatural monster may look slightly different depending on which island you visit. But while the details may change from place to place, the core of that creature stays the same.

So with that in mind, let’s take a look at the various denizens of Filipino folklore that appear in Trese.

“Tabi Tabi Po”

If you’ve watched the show, you’ll know this isn’t a supernatural being. This is what Alexandra says when she seeks information from Nuno. In the wider context of Filipino supernatural lore, however, it’s a crucial, life-saving phrase. By saying “tabi tabi po,” you’re essentially saying “excuse me” to whatever spirits may be nearby. This is something you say when you’re traveling through spaces where supernatural beings might live: a field, a mound of dirt, a tree, a riverbank, etc. You do this to avoid pissing off these spirits, some of which are easily offended if they think you’re not respectful or acknowledging their presence. Failing to say “tabi tabi po” may lead to your getting sick, coming down with a fever, and other related maladies. It’s the kind of thing where, even if you’re not a believer, you just say it. Why risk it?

Nuno sa Punso

In Trese, Nuno is Alexandra’s elderly, supernatural informant. He’s based on nuno sa punso, a nature spirit that takes the form of an old man that lives in a mound of dirt. Nuno sa punso are easily angered and vindictive, so this is a prime example where you should follow Alexandra’s lead and say “tabi tabi po.” Otherwise, you might twist your ankle or your foot might swell like a balloon because you encroached on his territory. Nuno from Trese is technically not a nuno sa punso. He’s actually the nuno sa manhole since he lives in the sewer and not a mound of dirt.

Duwende

While duwende are also earth spirits, they’re not to be confused with nuno sa punso. They’re more akin to capricious little goblins. They can bestow good luck upon you. They can serve you a heaping pile of bad luck. Or they can just steal your things, hide them, and then laugh at you when you try to find them. Seems fitting that in Trese, a duwende would help a woman become a famous actress even if it means sacrificing some things along the way.

Laman Lupa

Traditionally, laman lupa refers to the family of earth elementals in Filipino folklore. Using this definition, nuno sa punso and duwende would be types of laman lupa. But in Trese, laman lupa refers to the mud elementals that Nuno summons as protection.

The White Lady

The white lady is probably the most familiar of the supernatural denizens featured in Trese. Almost every country in the world has some urban legend about a female ghost who wears a white dress. The White Lady of Balete Drive is the most famous of the white ladies found throughout the Philippines. Her story is familiar to paranormal fans. A woman dies in a car accident on Balete Drive. Years later, she haunts taxi drivers who pick her up in the middle of the night. Other stories say people who drive along the street during the overnight hours may catch a glimpse of her in their rear-view before she vanishes. Many stories claim she has caused several accidents along Balete Drive.

Santelmo

Many stories explain the big fireball that Alexandra summons using her cell phone. The consensus is that santelmo are souls of the deceased with unfinished business. They might be seeking vengeance. Maybe they simply need help. Sometimes they chase you. Other times, they trick you into following them until you’re desperately lost. Think the will-o’-the-wisp from European folklore. If the name sounds suspiciously like St. Elmo’s Fire, you’re right. Santelmo is most likely a supernatural explanation for the real-life weather phenomena of ball lightning and luminous plasma.

Tikbalang

According to Filipino folklore, these humanoid horses like to live in remote mountains and forests. Note how Alexandra meets Señor Armanaz in a penthouse that resembles an indoor jungle. They’re infamous for playing tricks on travelers. They like to scare them and lead them astray. In the urban setting of Trese, this takes the form of Maliksi drag racing and causing his challengers to crash.

Sigbin

When Anton, Alexandra’s father, was still alive, he was assisted by a pack of shapechangers. Sigbin, as these creatures are called, are familiars. Depending on the needs of their master, they can take on many different forms, but in some regions, they often look like dogs, which is the version Trese follows.

Tiyanak

According to Filipino folklore, tiyanak are vampiric babies. They cry like infants to lure in unsuspecting people. Babies are harmless, after all. They can’t hurt you, right? But when you pick up what appears to be an abandoned infant, the tiyanak will transform and attack you. In some stories, tiyanak come from unborn children whose mothers died before giving birth. In other stories, they’re the spirits of children who died before being baptized. Remember, Spanish colonialization transformed the Philippines into a predominantly Catholic country and as a result, it influenced the native folklore.

Aswang

The aswang is the Philippines’ most famous monster. It’s less a name for one type of supernatural creature and more a label we give an entire family of monsters. In Trese, we see a group of aswang confront Anton when Alexandra undergoes the ritual trial at the balete tree. But if you look closer, you’ll notice they come in different forms. One is a beautiful woman. Some are flying torsos, which are perhaps the most recognizable aswang, the manananggal. The first type of aswang we encounter in Trese are the ghouls who’ve formed organized gangs throughout Manila and traffic humans.

Diwata

While diwata don’t explicitly feature in any of Trese‘s six episodes, we catch glimpses of them at the supernatural gatherings that Anton holds. The beautiful woman with the flowing clothes and the magical sigil floating behind her? Definitely a diwata. Some Westerners like to call them the Filipino equivalent of elves. If a comparison must be made, they’re more akin to the traditional Irish concept of the Fae. Think supremely powerful nature spirits.

Kulam

Like “tabi tabi po,” kulam isn’t a supernatural being. In this case, it’s black magic performed by witches. The key fact to know here is that kulam specifically targets people who’ve committed a wrong. According to traditional lore, kulam doesn’t work on people who are innocent. In case you needed that bit of nuance to the attack on the police station.

Balete

Balete trees aren’t monsters either, but these trees occupy an important place in Filipino folklore. We know them as a type of strangler fig. Like other stranger figs, balete encircle host trees and eventually kill them. In Filipino folklore, however, they’re home to all manner of supernatural beings like tikbalang or diwata. They also serve as the site for magical rituals, as we see in Trese. Some balete found in the Philippines are said to be over 1,000 years old and have many chambers inside them. Balete Drive, home to the white lady, is named such because a balete tree used to grow on the street.

Did you spot any other references to and denizens of Filipino folklore? Let us know in the comments.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Trese is currently streaming on Netflix.

The post Trese: The Filipino Folklore Behind Netflix’s New Anime appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[hireath24]

Everything Wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant  Part One

Disclaimer: These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own personal opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways. 

Page 1: ‘...with a heady cup of tea.’ First of all... heady? Is Feyre spiking her morning tea with alcohol? Someone tell me.

Page 3: ‘I was still new enough to being a High Lady’ see, this is what I cannot understand. Even when I used to enjoy the books, I don’t get why Feyre was made a High Lady?? She has had no training, has no idea how to run a country and, when Rhysand first met her, she couldn’t even read nor write. And if Rhys cares so much about his court and the safety of his people, why put her in charge? THEY DIDN’T EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER FOR TWO YEARS WHEN HE DECIDED TO MAKE HER A HIGH LADY! HOW COULD HE TRUST HER ENOUGH TO SHARE OWNERSHIP OF HIS COURT?! 

Page 4: ‘Working had helped. Both of us.’ I’m convinced that this book was spell checked and then sent out for printing, lord help me.

Page 5: ‘It’s more for those who wish to honor the light’s rebirth, usually by spending the entire night sitting in absolute darkness.’ This is actually a pretty interesting concept. I would have loved to see the Inner Circle honor this tradition and maybe have a midnight dance where they all wear black clothing and we learn more about their culture but it was ruined by the need for pointless smut and bickering.

Page 5: ‘I donned the heavy charcoal sweater and the tight black leggings.’ Why is she wearing a sweater? Why is she wearing leggings? Is this not a fantasy novel? 

Page 6: ‘the heavy, wicked-looking mace that Rhys had somehow dumped beside the desk without my noticing.’ Look at the feminist hiding big weapons in his bedroom without asking his wife first. Ooooh. Also... Why does he even need weapons? And why in the bedroom? I was of the impression that the war was over?

Page 7: So SJM wants us all to think that Rhysand is this amazing ruler who would do anything for his people and is The Best High Lord but... ‘the court budget that Rhys never really cared to follow.’ Ahem. Also, what budget? Where are they getting their money from? Why is the Night Court the best court and why do they have so much money? Tell me how this works.

Page 11: Okay so this is in Rhysand’s POV and, to be honest, it’s so different from the tone he uses when we see him from Feyre’s POV? His thought process reads eerily like Feyre’s. Also, Rhys supposedly frees ‘old or young’ women from having to do ‘drudgery’ work and this basic act of inhuman decency shows us how woke of a person he is? 

Page 14: ‘buried inside her.’ Edit: Oh, dear High Lord, he said it twice.

Page 15: Rhysand’s cock is this magical thing that deserves its own religion and yet the big man can climax at a laugh. Wow. Also,they have sex in the sky and Feyre laughs when they nearly crash into someone’s roof? Isn’t that a bit insensitive considering they have to ‘rebuild Verlaris after the attacks’? THIS IS A YA BOOK. WHY IS RHYSAND CONSTANTLY THINKING ABOUT SEX AND FEYRE BEING ‘bent over’ A KITCHEN TABLE?! Also Feyre said that the house was getting too crowded with everyone there so when the fuck did they do that

Page 16: ‘We can’t kill our way out of this one.’ What an amazing ruler.

Page 18: ‘Cassian and my mate’s sister...’ Why can’t he just say Feyre? Honestly, this is so clunky and it just takes me right out of the scene. We get it! You’re mates! They go on about being mates as much as vegans go on about being... Do I really have to explain where I was going with this

Also, Rhysand tends to say things and then explain the reasoning behind what he said in his thought process. Which is basically a really crappy method for info-dumping. And it’s boring.

Page 19: ‘She’ll be there,’ I said, grinding my teeth,’ Honestly the way Nesta is treated is so terrible. Not only morally but also from a writing viewpoint: SJM can’t write a good, morally gray character and so she makes the MC hate Nesta to make her look like the bad guy.

Page 20: ‘It indeed would.’ Why does the indeed need to be there? It doesn’t. In fact, the line (about violence breaking out if Cassian spoke to Nesta about accepting a job that Rhys offered her) would be much more effective if the indeed... wasn’t there.

Page 20: ‘Your mother was 18 to your father’s nine hundred.’ I just- What? How does the aging system work for Fae? Also ew?? Just to put that into perspective: If I were to date Chaucer, he would only be 700 years old. 

Page 22: I’m wondering why Cassian’s POV is in third person when Feyre and Rhys’s POV is in first... And why does every character have to rave about how great Feyre and Rhys are? You can’t tell me that every single character thinks that they are the entire bee’s leg. That’s so boring to read about. These people are cardboard.

Page 26: Why is the mountain called Ramiel? Like, I get that people name mountains but why is it called that when it is older than ‘the first ruler of the Night Court’? I would like history, please.

Page 27: Cassian has burned an entire village to ‘only cinders and debris’ and he never faces any repercussions of that? Rhysand’s ruling feels very biased but go off, I guess.

Page 32: Feyre’s POV again and ‘I’d indeed braved the walk’ WHAT IS THIS OBSESSION WITH THAT WORD?! It doesn’t mean anything. It’s a filler word that shouldn’t be there and should only ever be used sparingly. This book shouldn’t be over 200 pages. 

Page 32: ‘Stop importing goods from other courts because it impacts local artisans’ What goods? What court are they trading with? How does it impact local artisans? And impacts what? Their money? Their general happiness? Their time?

Page 32: ‘And I now did, too.’ 

Page 34: ‘Indeed, the buildings around it...’ WHAT THE FUCK IS UP

Page 35: ‘On her pale green skin’ Why do some people have these skin tones and others don’t? I would have loved to see Rhysand look a little more magical. If his eyes weren’t violet but literally the night sky. No sclera. I would love to see Feyre’s appearance change when every single court gave her a drop of their power. That would have been amazing. But nope. 

Page 38: SJM has this shameless thing for cheesy lines. This is a personal nitpick of mine but saying things like ‘What do you paint? The things that need telling.’ and ‘Let’s make this a fight worthy of a song.’ Said by Aedion in the Throne of Glass series is just... It rubs me the wrong way, I don’t know why. It feels like a cliche and also like she’s trying too hard? I don’t know

Page 39: ‘...Without summoning a flame would be handy indeed.’ Guys, I have a new drinking game. 

Page 40: I stand by my theory that Amren is an asexual dragon forced to take the skin of a girl when she jumped between worlds.

Page 40: Also, how are people finding these jewels? Are there mines? Are some jewels native to certain courts and they have a trade agreement? 

Page 41: When thinking about the disaster that was Mor’s ‘coming out scene’ Feyre doesn’t use the term ‘coming out’ once. It’s just ‘what she told me.’ WHY? 

Page 44: I think this has been touched on before but what exactly is the Court of Nightmares? It’s a subcourt for the Night Court but... Does every court have that? And why? Do they have to do the same amount of work as the Night Court? Do they have to do any work? 

I was going to divide this rant to 50 pages for each one but I don’t want to start a new chapter and my battery is dying. Part 2 will be up soon. Edit: Part 2 can be found here and Part 3 can be found here. Part 4 can be found here.

[nadacwriter]

Natalie’s Curse/Dinogad’s Smock

When Natalie Gaine was born, they say she was cursed. As a hybrid of a human and a ghastly creature, she has some powers that may be out of her control. How will her family, specifically her Mother Marion, cope with these powers?

AN: A oneshot featuring a 6-year-old Natalie going through her first transformation. There’s a scene in this one where two characters speak Welsh to each other in the story, but I kept the written dialogue in english, I didn’t want you to have to translate for one of my silly little stories.

CW: Body Horror

Words: 2,335

The last name ‘Gaine’ carries respect with it in Delstran circles all over the world. Maybe you knew of the Gaine’s line, dating back generations; known for progressive politics, many saw them as activists and folk heroes, but others saw them as agitators and terrorists. It was hard to find a witch or wizard in their native Wales that didn’t have an opinion on the line.

Or, maybe you knew more about Marion Gaine, the world renowned duelist who married Krysta Gibson, one of the finest alchemists in the United States, bar none. If you lived in the town they called home, Edelmen, Iowa, you might have known their 8-year-old, Norah, born magically from Krysta. And their newest addition, Charice, a little infant, who had just had her blessing ceremony a month or so ago.

But if you know one thing about the Gaines, in Wales OR America, it’s this:

Natalie Gaine is cursed.

Natalie Gaine is the only child that Marion Gaine herself gave birth to, just two years after Norah was born. The story behind her conception is indeed gruesome, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone willing to tell you the whole story. After all, hybridization with other species is often fine, but with a red wraith? A highly dangerous spirit that most people had never even SEEN before? That was something else.

It didn’t matter. Natalie didn’t look anything like her sisters. Her skin was fair, her hair was jet black, and her body was small, feeble. But that doesn’t constitute rumors of a curse. But nearly killing your mother at birth? Reddish-gray eyes, massive scars and markings all over your body, surprising magical skill, a nasty temper, an inability to sleep, and a morbid curiosity for the dark and macabre? Those were, to the locals, anyways, SURE signs that the child had been cursed. Not the Gaine family, not even necessarily Marion Gaine herself, the biological mother.

Just the child. And life was going to get much more difficult…

“MOM! MAM!” Norah called out, her eyes wide and her stance tense, “I NEED HELP!”

Krysta was busy with her child, but she could hear the concern in Norah’s voice. She took the infant Charice in her arms and walked with her, finding Norah at the top of the stairs to the third floor, “Norah? What’s the Matter?”

Marion, who had been working down on the first floor, trying to repair one of her capes, heard the call as well, and headed swiftly up the stairs, finding Krysta and putting a hand on her shoulder, looking up to Norah, “What’s all the fuss about, love?” Norah breathlessly explained, “N-Natalie! She got angry, because someone was throwing rocks at her window, and she got really mad and she started breaking and I don’t know what to do but I think she’s broken!”

Krysta handed Charice off to Marion, who took her and shushed the now antsy infant. Krysta made her way up to the top of the stairs and put her hands on Norah’s shoulders, moving her out of the way. Norah ran down to Marion, “I-Is Mom gonna be okay?” She asked, tugging on Marion’s dress.

Marion was about to tell Norah that yes, everything would be fine, she probably just cast a spell wrong and they’d need to fix it, it wouldn’t be a big deal...when all of the sudden, a scream. “MARION!”

A pause, then, “Hold her, Norah,” Marion let Norah hold Charice. She made sure Norah’s hands were firm on Charice before bolting up the stairs, nearly tripping on her dress as she made her way to Natalie’s bedroom, finding Krysta. Krysta wore a terror on her face that Marion hadn’t seen in a logn, long time.

“What’s gone wrong? What’s happened?” Marion asked, gripping Krystan’s arms and looking her in the eye, “do I need to call someone?”

“Look, look!” Krysta pointed into the room, and the pair looked upon what was inside. The room was messy, with unmade bed and books strewn about the floor, as well as a window with a small crack in it. But that wasn’t really the pair’s focal point.

Natalie had transformed. Again, when other hybrids did this, it was fine. A human looking more like a fae, or a dryad of some kind. But with a red wraith, it was different. Natalie must have gotten VERY angry to transform like this, and she was probably still angry and scared and confused. The mirror in the room was smashed to bits.

Natalie’s hair was long and greasy, hanging black at her sides. Her clothes were stretched over this new body, and her fingers had formed into long, gnarly claws, with sickly gray tips, serving as claws. Her eyes glowed a cutting scarlet, and shined in the light. But the scariest feature was the mouth. Sharp, long teeth, and there were dozens of them. And her mouth had split, as well, with deep, horrible jowls hanging down from her mouth to her chest, embedded with teeth. Her breathing was heavy and labored, and her head flitted and shook, like a bird expecting a fight.

“I-I don’t know, WHAT is going on,” Krysta began, fear apparent in her wavering voice, “but if that’s permanent, we need to call-”

Marion shook her head, “No. It isn’t permanent.” She let go of Krysta, “Hybrids do this. It’s scary, but, I know how to fix this.” Marion displayed a level of calm and collection that could make a nun look like a drill sergeant. “I’ll fix this,” she said, “I’ll be fine. Go see to Norah.”

Krsta nodded gently, and hurried off. She was an attentive and caring figure, but anyone confronted with their child being transformed into that would be caught off guard. As she went away from the room, Marion calmly entered, and shut the door.

Natalie hissed at her as the door shut, and scurried into a corner, grunting and hitting her head against the wall. Whether she was trying to escape or otherwise, it wasn’t working. As Marion went to put a hand onto Natalie’s shoulder, she recoiled into herself, and screamed out, before she began what sounded like crying. The low, rough noise choking out from her was painful for Marion to hear. But she endured it, to help her daughter.

Marion scoured the books on the floor. She was looking for one in particular, a little picture book she’d brought with her from Wales. She’d never known why she’d kept it until now. And when she found the book, she slowly went to Natalie, sitting behind her.

“It’s alright, pet...cry.” She said, “I know you’re in there, somewhere, Natalie.” Marion reached for Natalie’s shoulder again, and this time, Natalie let herself be touched. She was cold, wrinkled, and she shook. Marion then began to hum a song, as she opened the book.

Natalie responded well, as she turned to face her mam. She spotted the book as well, and hissed at it, looking at the pages intently. Marion, meanwhile, kept the humming going, before she began to sing.

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

Marion would point at the pictures in the book. A rotund man, wearing a furry smock, and carrying a club, and a spear, and holding two dogs on a rope leash. Natalie was now leaning into Marion ow, calming down from her fear and rage. Her skin was growing warm, her hair short, and her eyes more human. Marion, meanwhile, continued,

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

Natalie was looking more human, her hands retracting into fingers and palms, her legs doing the same, and even her teeth grew less sharp, her chin reforming. Marion turned the page, and pointed out pictures, containing different amounts of animals that Dinogad had hunted. Marion’s smile was gentle, as was her grip on Natalie.

“Un ,

dau,

tri,

pedwar,

pump,

chwech,

saith,

wyth…”

Natalie was back to normal. Her face was stained with tears, her voice was shaky, but she was finally calming herself down. It was Natalie who sang the next part in the book, her voice gentle and raspy.

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

The pair went on, singing until the song was done and the book was closed. Marion stroked Natalie’s hair, kissing her forehead. She spoke with Natalie in Welsh, gently lifting her to the bed, and resting her own head on her own arms.

“Natalie,” She began, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” She asked, observing as her daughter turned away. She kept her eyes on her, just in case she ended up transforming again.

“Someone through a rock and my window and I got mad. Then Norah said my teeth looked funny, and I got scared. Then I heard a voice telling me to-” she paused, reluctant to go on, gripping the comforter of her bed.

“Natalie,” Marion got up and got the girl a set of less stretched clothes, “You transformed because you got too angry and too scared. Your brain didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

“But you told me I can’t control when I’m angry!” Natalie said, wrapping herself up in her blanket. She made it clear that she wasn’t budging, at least for a little while.

“Nat,” Marion sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her, “You can’t. But you can control how you deal with it.” Marion rubbed Nat’s back through the blanket, “Life will not be easy. Not for anyone. But your mother and I can help you take some of that weight. Okay?”

“…” Natalie reached out and hugged her mother tightly, squeezing her, “Thanks, Mam. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Nat. You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me, a little anger management isn’t gonna change that.”

///

Marion walked down the stairs calmly and quietly, and was greeted by Krysta, holding Charice, a worried expression on her face. “So...did you change her back?”

“Yes. Where’s Norah, is she alright?” Asked Marion, kissing Krysta gently on the cheek.

“She’s fine, I calmed her down,” she said, shaking her head and sitting in a nearby chair, “so, Natalie just transformed into a red wraith.”

“Yes.” Marion stated, matter-of-factly, as she sat next to Krysta, “It had to do with her anger. We’re gonna have to figure out a way to control it. I don’t know how.” Marion sighed, leaning forward.

Krysta bounced Charice up and down on her leg, “We’ll figure it out, Marion. I promise.” She put a hand onto of Marion’s, rubbing the back of her hand gently.

Marion smiled softly and nodded. “I know.” She said, leaning back into her chair. “Here,” She took Charice once more, rocking her gently, “I’ll keep her for now. You’ve been up a while. Rest.”

“You sure, dear? I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Ohh, I’m sure. She’s our baby, after all, should get to know her Mam.” Marion responded, nuzzling her nose into Charice’s, kissing her forehead, and letting her smile grow as Charice giggled in response.

Krysta rose from her seat and made her way down the stairs, letting Marion sit alone with Charice, and with her thoughts. Her smile faded into a frown, and her stare became vacant, as she let the little child sit in her arms, rocking back and forth in the chair. Thinking about Natalie, about how scared she looked when she’d turned, how terrified she must have felt when she turned. She thought for a while, until she heard the sound of little footsteps padding down the stairs.

Natalie was still wrapped up in her blanket, and looked to see Marion, walking over to her. “Can I sit, Mam?”

“’course, dear.” Marion replied, looking up and moving some pale hair out of her face.

Natalie sat in the chair next to Marion, and looked at Charice, wriggling a little and looking all around the room, her eyes taking in all the new sights. She kicked a little bit, and pointed at Natalie.

Natalie’s eyes widened, and she let a smile creep across her face, “can I hold her, Mam, pleeeease?”

marion looked over at the girl. Eyes red, hair black, scars and marks apparent. But her whole body was excited with the aspect of holding her little sister, of taking her into her arms. She just looked so ecstatic to hold her, and like she would die if she didn’t get to.

“Let me show you how,” Marion rose from her seat and walked over, teaching Natalie how to cradle Charice’s head in the crook of her elbow, how to support her body, instructing her to sit down when she held her. And then, she placed Charice into Natalie’s arms, and let go.

Charice kicked and wriggled, grunting and babbling, but she took well to the new person holding her. She sputtered and wriggled some more, all the while being looked at by Natalie, whose eyes were dead set on Charice the second she entered her arms.

“Mam,” She gasped, “She’s so tiny…”

“Gonna be as big as you some day, Nat, maybe even bigger!” Marion said. Marion watched as Natalie held Charice, careful with her, even while she was sitting down, and wrapped in a soft blanket. She was incredibly deliberate, as if every breath was calculated. All because she didn’t want to hurt her sister.

Marion stopped worrying about Natalie’s anger, at least, for now. She watched Natalie hold her little sister, with every ounce of care she could. And Marion knew, somewhere, that even IF Natalie was cursed, even if part of her wanted to kill those kids who were messing with her, there was a bigger part. A part that knew how important it was to be careful with a young child.

And Marion wouldn’t have it any other way.

[def-initely-soul]

Burn The Witch {1}

pairing: yoongi x reader (f.)

genre: supernatural; angst; mystery; magical society AU; magicals!AU

rating: PG-15

warnings: violence; emotional abuse; blood; bullying; mentions of murder; mature language

words: 3k

summary:

↠ {a boy who keeps running away, a girl who can’t seem to no matter how much she tries and a series of murders caught all in between of the cracks spread through what appears as a quiet little town…} ↞

or alternatively, not everything is always what it seems

.

.

There’s something distinctively peculiar about little towns. About their alleged serenity and peaceful way of living. About their closed-off shops and their faded-out road signs and billboards left behind simply because no one bothered to replace them. About the undeniable bonds existing between the native-borns and the ex ostracization of anyone that threatened those bonds, or really anyone different. About their so-called hospitality that turns into vicious, violent hatred once that quiet, “peaceful” way of living is put at risk.

Yoongi is bound to feel intrigued, as he drives by the road sign that welcomes him into such a small town. Xefoto its name. Derived from the Greek word for “clearing”, as it was one of the first towns that took in supernatural beings -or magicals if you prefer a different term- and let them build shelter in the clearing in the woods. Back when humans and magicals didn’t get along too well, so their new home had to be founded away from the outskirts of the human town. But as centuries went by, the two small establishments began growing and spreading, until the borders meshed together and humans and magicals learned to live side-by-side.

Yoongi has done his research before moving here. He may have a house he can settle in already, seeing as the Min Vampire Clan was one of the first vampire families to live in Xefoto, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be welcomed here.

Trees pass him by as his eyes never stray from the road, his grip on the steering wheel tight as he taps his fingers on the leather impatiently.

If his research is correct, he just transferred to one of the most prestigious universities for magicals. The “Xefoto University of Magical Arts”, or Xuma for short, has been around almost as long as the town has existed. People Yoongi only ever dreamt of meeting have studied here and the path he’s about to take is only promising in its entirety.

Then why does he feel as if he’s about to lose control of his own life?

His heart thumps once against his chest as he finally drives into town, the gloomy skies seeming like an appropriate welcome.

.

.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t exactly the welcoming he had expected.

Yoongi was ready for apathy for the rest of the student body, even some suspicious glances thrown his way, given he’s an outsider infiltrating their little town’s haven. Instead, from the moment he stepped foot into the academy castle, he’s met with students approaching him to know his name, to befriend him, to know more about him. Girls and boys alike are flooding his path, overly friendly smiles, and kind gestures to the point of feeling overwhelming and Yoongi can't help but hate this sudden interest in him.

He expected -wished even- to be left alone, not this welcoming committee of students following him like a shadow everywhere he goes.

There hasn’t been a course he’s been to today without someone approaching him, interested in getting to know him but it’s not something he welcomes. Most of those students, -or professors in some cases-, are after him only because he’s the new student. Something entirely foreign and simultaneously so much fascinating to people that have known nothing more than what’s inside the premises of their little town. No one is really interested in him as a person and so Yoongi finds all those interactions irritating and weird.

But there is one person that managed to intrigue him.

There’s this fae boy, Jimin. He approaches Yoongi throughout the day.

Although his method might seem to some… unconventional.

Most people that approach Yoongi are really excited to get to meet him. Big, wide smiles, so forceful they almost look hurtful, eyes swimming with excitement and overall people practically throwing themselves at his feet. Although Jimin seems dormant. No skippiness in his steps, no trembling excitement or flashing smiles, no eagerness to get close to him. Instead, a frown masks the fae boy’s features every time he nears the dark-haired vampire boy, slow, dragging steps, as if unwilling to move, as he points Yoongi to the next class or the cafeteria. His words always come out as exasperated grumbles. Yoongi at one point thought the boy was cursing at him, only to realize he was just informing him about lunch hours.

Jimin helps out Yoongi through the school grounds and routine but it seems like the fae is doing it almost by force.

The notion that this might be a prank has passed Yoongi’s mind, but to be honest, Jimin’s tips have proven to be helpful, so Yoongi can’t help but wonder about the blond boy.

Hence, why, when he spots the man in the dining hall, he wastes no time in taking the empty seat next to him.

Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets as he regards the vampire sitting nonchalantly beside him. Yoongi doesn’t seem like he pays attention to Jimin as he settles down and goes through his lunch, though his ears are attuned to the fae’s reactions, waiting for the moment the younger man speaks up.

Jimin closes his agape mouth and swallows nervously.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi almost laughs at the accusatory tone, finding himself enjoying teasing the other boy, but nonetheless, he remains serious.

“Having lunch?” he cocks an eyebrow.

Jimin huffs in annoyance. “No, yeah, I know, I mean…” he takes an exasperated breath, “Why here?”

“Because it’s the dining hall?” Yoongi barely manages to conceal his laughter as Jimin’s ears grow red.

“I- ugh! I meant why next to me?!” he exclaims out loud, irritation shimmering in his words, though he looks more like a child that’s just been denied ice cream. A slight glimmer appears behind Jimin, at the place where his wings are supposed to be, threatening to reveal themselves.

Yoongi lets out a breath, deciding that was enough teasing.

“Well, to be frank, it feels like you don't particularly like me and yet you still help me around. Couldn’t help but feel curious…” he comments before taking a bite of his medium-rare steak.

Jimin once again remains speechless as he regards the other boy, suddenly feeling ashamed of his behavior. His eyes fall to his lap, biting his lip as he ponders on his answer.

“I… I’m sorry if I made you feel unwelcome, it wasn’t my intention, honestly…” he responds, for once no sign of annoyance in his features, only remorse, and guilt.

“Don’t worry about it. Actually, it was a nice change from being treated like the town’s local rockstar,” Yoongi chuckles, tone casual as Jimin visibly relaxes next to him.

“Oh, yeah, the whole town’s been buzzing since they learned about the new vampire transfer…” Jimin comments, finally seeming to be comfortable around Yoongi’s presence.

“But why?” Yoongi’s voice is full of confusion, not at all understanding why is everyone so enticed by him.

“Well I think being a Min and a vampire might have tipped the scale…” the fae boy says as-a-matter-of-a-factly.

Yoongi’s unimpressed stare makes Jimin reconsider.

“Ah, right… You’re new here…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jimin rolls his eyes before he speaks again.

“Well, the fact that you belong to one of the oldest vampire families in the world should be enough but this town…”, he pauses, clearly struggling to find a way to put this, “...it’s a little different from other magical colonies…” Jimin begins to explain and Yoongi puts his food aside in favor of something much more interesting.

“I’m sure you’re aware of how the universal hierarchy of magicals works at the rest of the world. At the bottom there are the werewolves, -due to their lack of self-control once they transform-, then demons, then shapeshifters, then mermaids, fae, elves, vampires and on the top there are sirens and… witches,” he speaks the last word in a hushed whisper, something that confuses Yoongi, “due to each species’ control of their respective magic. But here…” the fae boy shakes his head in thought, “the hierarchy is a bit different…”

Yoongi thinks it’s safe to say his attention has been captured.

“You see, 11 years ago an accident happened that killed almost half the town, humans and supernatural beings alike…” Jimin’s voice now becomes quiet, eyes wary as they look around to make sure no one else is listening.

“There was a fire, started right at the witch coven of Xefoto and it spread through the entire town. If it wasn’t for the faes’ help the whole town would have gone down in flames. And even though many people were killed and injured, witches were entirely erased. Only one witch survived and well… it’s pretty much common knowledge between the locals that she set those fires…” Jimin concludes but Yoongi isn’t easily convinced.

“But why? It makes no sense for her to wipe out her entire coven…” he interjects but Jimin simply shrugs.

“No one knows. Rumor has it she was drunk for power and wiped her peers out so she could act freely without her coven interjecting her every decision. Everyone suspects it’s her but some of the evidence was destroyed so she was never caught. Others say she’s cursed…” Jimin responds with wide eyes and Yoongi has an inkling Jimin is one of those people.

But the fae boy continues, undisturbed. “And well… The hierarchy changed after that. Since practical magic was the one that caused everything, it is kind of frowned upon to practice the art of it since most times it’s completely uncontrollable. Natural magic, on the other hand, is completely fine, like faes’, elves’ and demons’. Witches, -or well just this one witch-, is at the bottom of the hierarchy tower.”

Yoongi scrunches his eyebrows. “Even bellow werewolves?” he finds that hard to believe.

But Jimin nods. And Yoongi can’t help but wonder how awful this woman’s life must be. Bellow werewolves? That shit’s hard.

Jimin continues. “So witches dropped and since sirens also use practical magic, they got dragged along with them. Now they’re on the same level as mermaids,” Yoongi shudders at the mere thought. A prideful and vengeful being like a siren being cramped up with mermaids? That can’t be good.

“Fae also rose up due to the help they provided and now rest at the top,” the blond boy explains somewhat remorseful before he keeps going, “... along with vampires.”

Yoongi lets out a sound of understanding at that. That’s why everyone was treating him like that.

“Okay, now everything makes a bit more sense…” he admits, before stealing a glance at Jimin.

“And I guess it explains your behavior towards me, too.”

Jimin's head snaps up, eyes wide with alarm.

“You were forced into befriending me, weren’t you?” Yoongi asks insightfully and Jimin’s ears redden once more.

“I’m sorry. My parents thought it’d be great for our family if I were to become your friend… we may be fae but… we’re not the most prestigious family there is. Not even close…” Jimin sounds resigned as if already expecting the vampire boy to be offended but this. But Yoongi can only nod in agreement.

He knows a thing or two about family expectations.

He sighs before pushing his tray aside, done with his food and he stands up. “So, where does the course for “interspecies rights” take place?” Yoongi asks nonchalantly, even though the boy already knows the way to said classroom. He can’t help but feel a certain level of sympathy towards the fae boy, even if Jimin approached him with a certain agenda in mind.

Jimin looks at Yoongi with disbelief. “I- I’m sorry?”

The vampire turns to look at him with no sign of malice in his eyes. “You’re my tour guide, aren’t you? I expect you to show me around, not just the university but the town as well,” Yoongi explains and Jimin can’t help but look at the boy with gratitude. Then the blond boy stands up as well.

“Follow me.”

.

.

As Jimin walks Yoongi through the academy grounds, the vampire gets to know a little bit more about the quiet fae boy.

Jimin is one year younger, at 22, born and raised at Xefoto but his family, -being one of the few that settled years after the settlement was formed-, isn’t exactly prestigious among their peers. Actually, Jimin’s family, the Parks, have been around no longer than 3 eons, making them almost foreigners in correlation with the other families.

The fae boy is studying to become a Bringer, the magical equivalent of a lawyer. Although Yoongi spots a healing course at the younger man’s schedule that has nothing to do with being a bringer.

But Yoongi doesn’t ask. Everyone has their secrets.

What he also learned is that Jimin has a girlfriend. Actually, scratch that, the exact word used was “betrothed”. Which came as quite a shock to say the least, as when Yoongi first met the blond boy, he thought he was gay. To be honest, though, Sua and Jimin didn’t seem to be exactly enamored with one another.

But, again, Yoongi does not ask.

Instead, he pretends to be interested in the architecture of the castle and not at all observing the slightly suspicious looks Sua is giving him.

“So,” the fae girl exclaims, voice loud and commanding, successfully interrupting whatever Jimin was about to say. The boy effectively swallows his words before deflating slightly. But then, as if it never happened, a mask of excitement takes over his features as he turns his attention to his girlfriend.

Yoongi observes the interaction with hawk-like eyes. And again he says nothing.

Sua smiles brightly before continuing. “Where are you boys planning on going next? Jimin you should show Yoongi around our town! There’s so much to see really!” the girl exclaims enthusiastically and Yoongi fights to conceal the slight frown that threatens to appear. If he had to guess, he’d say Sua supports the Parks family’s decision to force Jimin on Yoongi.

Jimin timidly nods his head before speaking up. “Ah, yes, I was hoping to show him the old town of Xefoto and then grab some drinks-”

Sua gasps excitedly. “That’s a great idea! I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go to Selkie’s Place? They serve some wonderful mashed potatoes - and I can meet you there with some friends, I’m sure you must be dying to meet new people!” she concludes with a grin and Jimin throws an apologetic smile at Yoongi.

Yoongi grinds his teeth. “Yes… dying…”

Sua doesn’t get the sarcasm and squeals before clapping her hands together. “Fantastic! Let’s say eight? Yeah, that’s perfect, we’ll meet you there!” she says excitedly before fishing her phone out of her skirt and walking away almost immediately. Too engrossed in her typing to actually say “goodbye” to the two boys.

Yoongi sends a glare to a fidgeting Jimin. “That’s your girlfriend?”

Jimin sighs. “I know she’s kind of a lot. But she’s nice once you get to know her!”

Yoongi purses his lips before shrugging, it’s not his place to comment on that. “If you say so. So, old town of Xefoto, huh?” he redirects the conversation and Jimin’s eyes gleam in excitement, as they begin walking towards the exit.

“Oh yes! It’s very picturesque, there’s this museum with historic relics and the history of the town, plus the first families that gotten here, the founding of the academy and even-” Jimin rambles on about something he’s clearly into but as Yoongi listens to him he fails to see the person to his left.

This inevitably leads into him bumping into said person, thus spreading the books they’ve been holding all over the marble floors.

He hears a sigh of resignation coming from the girl dressed in all black before she crouches down to pick up her books.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking,” Yoongi explains, ignoring Jimin’s terrified gasp as he rushes to help by picking up the rest of the books. Only to stop when he realizes the girl has stopped as well.

And currently stares at him.

He raises his eyes at her, indignantly, not ready to deal with another person dying to get to know him.

But instead of the heart-eyes look he expects to see, he’s met with big, doe-like eyes that stare at him with unadulterated shock.

Yoongi suddenly forgets the rest of his sentence. What did he want to say anyway? Something foolish and weird for sure and with the way the girl’s eyes are boring into him he can’t help do anything but blink.

There’s something about her, he can’t quite tell. Something about the way her eyelashes flutter, about the parting of her lips as she silently gasps, the roundness of her cheeks and the crystal color of her eyes. They all leave Yoongi breathless. Like she took the air out of the room and he’s left helpless. He could swear he’s been under some sort of spell. But he knows his spells. And this isn’t one.

The girl’s hair falls right into her face and Yoongi has an itch in his fingers, from the sudden urge to reach forward and brush them away to get a better look. 

But that would be weird. Definitely creepy and weird.

Then the girl’s eyes, as if suddenly remembering where they are, move to the person behind Yoongi, Jimin.

Her eyes widen even more and Yoongi swears he sees fear in them.

Fear accompanied by sadness.

That doesn’t sit well with him. As he sees the girl’s eyes moving rapidly away, he has this bad feeling growing in the middle of his chest, warning him, burning him. Like a premonition he’s certain he doesn’t want to come true.

So he speaks up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

But as soon as his voice reaches her ears, the girl springs into action.

She immediately grabs her books from Yoongi’s hands before taking off instantly, not sparing the two men another glance.

Yoongi’s eyes follow her figure down the hall, speechless. Did he actually creep her out? He couldn’t tell.

The girl disappears behind the gates, hasty in her steps, not bothering to look back.

At that moment Jimin releases a breath, Yoongi only now remembering the existence of the other boy, and he sees the fae being relieved by the girl’s absence.

“What?”

Jimin’s eyes are wide with horror. “God that was close! Do you know who that was?”

Yoongi’s unimpressed stare gives Jimin his answer.

“That was her! The witch!”

Yoongi’s features scrunch up in confusion at that.

The witch? The one that’s supposed to have caused the accident?

Yoongi thought the witch was an old woman for sure. Some recluse, living far away from modern society, deep in the woods, cursing everyone that crossed her path. After all the fires happened eleven years ago.

Realization hits him and his eyes widen in mortification. 

She was only a child.

His stare moves to the gates, already curious about the girl with the black dress that disappeared behind them.

next part: {2}

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

Kay, so I found this old story idea I had a while back but never really did anything with, and I figured hey, I've got 300+ prisoners beloved followers who for some reason put up with my garbage, so might as well inflict this upon them.

That being said, welcome to what I call The Department for the Colonisation of Childhood Whimsey.

So our story starts with a little girl called Dee.

Dee lives in the UK, in a council estate. When she was a kid, there wasn't all that much space to play or do the things richer middle-class kids got to do. Her parents house didn't have a garden, the local streets were too dangerous for a child to go out and play in, and the house itself was cramped and crowded.

Despite this, Dee had what could charitably be called an overactive imagination, an imagination she channelled into two things: a plastic triceratops toy she called Sarah, and a book - a blank book of A4 paper that had coffee stains on it and papers falling out when she got it - that she claimed had a magical power: anything written in the book would come true.

Cut to a few years later. Dee is in high school, and like a typical teenager she's moved on from her childish dreams. That is, until one day when Sarah the triceratops approaches her after school and tells her she's in danger.

So, yeah, pretty basic beginning, you've probably seen fifty books that start out like this, and that's all I wrote back when I was actually trying to make this a thing. However, one thing I always do vis-a-vis my writing style is worldbuild, and it's the worldbuilding that I'm really keen on with this idea. So, let's talk about that:

The actual premise of the story is simple: at some point in the 1960s, the British government came to the conclusion that the British Empire was more or less doomed. Not only was the post-war economy not capable of sustaining an empire, not only was the Cold War between the Americans and the Russians ravaging them, but an increased awareness of the plight of one's fellow man was inspiring many people - not just in the colonies but in England too - to demand independence. No matter how hard they tried, Parliament could not forsee a solution that the people would accept where the British Empire continued.

So, a solution was posed. For the past hundred years or so, the government had been made aware of the existence of pockets of space-time created by people with active enough imaginations. From Neverland to Oz, from the Hundred Acre Wood to Wonderland, these places had resources beyond any place on Earth - magic, especially. If the public would not countenance colonisation where they could see it, then perhaps the solution would be to colonise somewhere they could not see?

Thus, the British Empire never really died. It simply... moved.

Cut to the present day, and the Department for the Colonisation of Childhood Whimsey is still going strong. Almost every parallel world is under their control, and the profits of these regions are beyond belief. However, rather naturally for stories like this there is a resistance movement, that seeks to free the imaginary lands from the Department. Although they are small and weak, they have had several worthwhile victories over the Department in the past few months, and the higher-ups in the Department, including the shadowy and little-seen Director, want all such resistance movements stamped out.

This, rather naturally, is where Dee steps in.

Every generation, one in a million people have the ability to shape the forces of Imagination itself, and the stories these people tell, and others tell after them, become reality in the Imaginarium. These people become known as Imagineers, and Dee is one such person. However, the lack of much real output for this power has led to most of it being placed inside The Book, which has led to a fascinating feedback loop - Dee's Book not only influences the Imaginarium, it influences physical reality itself to a certain extent. Thus, the Department need simply write in the book that the resistance movement does not exist, and it will be so. The resistance, naturally enough, are not down with this, and have sent Dee's childhood friend to bring her and the book back to them, to keep them safe.

There's also a ton of other small worldbuilding touches I came up with, chief among them being the thing the Department sends to collect Dee - a Stalker, the amalgamation of that seemingly universal childhood experience of that thing that followed your car on long journeys. But a couple of words on the characters:

The leader of the resistance is Peter Pan, because of course he is, why wouldn't he be? He's much more of the capricious, vaguely fae Pan of the book, not exactly evil but very much ammoral and childish. He's mainly invested in reclaiming Neverland, the Lost Boys, and Tinkerbell, although there is the subtext of him using the Department as an example of the inevitable consequences of growing up - although he's completely forgotten Hook, like he does in the book, he's still looking for that antagonistic relationship with a grown-up.

Peter's second-in-command and the one really running the resistance is Princess Ozma, who's much more... agreeable than Pan. Oz has been colonised too, but Ozma is still in nominal control of it, and she supplies the resistance with all the resources she can, although she can't openly work against the Department because the CIA branch of it has Dorothy imprisoned and are basically pulling a 'we have your wife' scenario on her.

The third key player in the resistance is Alice Liddel, who provides the resistance with shelter and safe passage - the Department has been having little success applying the logic of supply chains and regimented exterminations to a place as willfully chaotic as Wonderland.

The rest of the resistance are mainly heroic characters from other public domain stories, although some of the heroes are working for the Department, either willingly or because they're coerced, but one of the other main characters - and Dee's eventual love interest - is a character called many things, but most commonly Insert.

Insert is... complicated. Like the Stalker, they're an amalgamation of a certain new-fangled trend - namely, they're every self-insert character that's ever been written. Naturally, they have a habit of... changing, at random intervals. On any given day, they're any gender, of any ethnicity, of any sexual orientation, and with backstories ranging from an officer on a starship in the far future to a student at a school of magic in Scotland. Given literally everything about them is eternally mutable - including their allegiance to the resistance or the Department - the resistance members treat them with some distrust, a distrust that Dee generally doesn't share. Their relationship is pretty rocky at first - Dee thinks Insert is only interested in her because she can use The Book to give them a concrete identity, Insert is angrt when she reveals this because the constant shifting is just who they are, they don't want to be bound down, and later on there is a genuine dilemma of whether or not Insert is interested in Dee by their own choice or because she's clearly the protagonist and a key part of their identity in a lot of their lives is to be shipped with the protagonist. Also, obvious joke but at several points Insert turns into Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way, because of course they do.

The Department's side isn't that interesting - it's a whole load of villains, some of the more... problematique heroes, and a few hundred grunts. The most interesting character is The Director. He's never seen, even by the highest ranking members of the Department, and no-one knows anything about him other than his gender. Everyone in the resistance has a different theory of who he is - Pan has a suspicion he may have faced him before, Ozma thinks its the Nome King, Alice the Jabberwocky, and Insert fluctuates, as is their nature, although the top two choices are Voldemort or Dumbledore.

It's Dee, however, who figures out the truth, when captured by the Department. The others couldn't possibly know him, but Dee's heard his voice before, in her history classes.

The Director of the Department is Winston Churchill, made immortal by the collective consensus of him as The War-Time Leader. Unfortunately for the whitewashers of history, the immortal they created isn't the brave fighter of tyranny, but the actual Churchill, warts and all, the man who starved over two million Indians out of spite and neglectfulness. Dee being a descendant of Indian immigrants, this meeting isn't perhaps the best one.

There are side effects to the Director's immortality, however. Since the perception of Churchill is tied so deeply to his speeches, to the voice on the radio, that's all he is now. He wants The Book to give him back a body again, and the Department is basically a means to that end.

That's about all I'd concretely plotted out, otherwise I just had random ideas for sequels:

The America Book, where the resistance goes to rescue Dorothy from the CIA version of the Department, which is located under a theme park that is as close to Disneyland as it is possible to be. Naturally, the head of the American Department is Walt Disney's cryogenically frozen head.

The India Book, because a book about British colonialism has got to touch on India at some point. I haven't gotten far in this one, but one idea was that there would be an ongoing war between the native myths and legends - Hindu mythology, the Mahabharata and such - and what is derisively referred to as the 'imports' - namely, the Jungle Book. Again, no idea how this resolves itself, and frankly as a Brit myself I am in no way equipped to tell a story about India, but food for thought.

That's basically it. This isn't a 'here's something to hype up this series' thing - this is an idea I had, I did some thinking about it, but other things happened and I'm kinda splurging this so anyone else who wants to do this idea can pick it up. If you write something like this, feel free to tell me and I'd love to hear about it.

[hijustanotherfanficwriter]

The Cold Sun and The Dark Moon- Chapter One

A guard, a fae warrior, and a prince walk into a meeting...

Sixty years after the war, Fenrys moonbeam still traveled the world as Terrasen’s ambassador, working through his demons as he works to keep the world together.

Sixty years since things changed for the better, and worse for some. Enedina Kane has always thought her only choice was to run, but suddenly she realizes she can’t run forever.

quick note: I typed this whole story and then the app glitched and I lost all of my work :( but I loved this idea so I rewrote it all over again, hope you enjoy. Part two will be posted tomorrow! If you would like to be apart of a tag list so that you can be reminded every time I post a new part to this story let me know. Please enjoy! :)

Warnings: some light swearing (twice I believe)

- - - - -

Another meeting, another alliance opportunity, another day in his new life. Fenrys Moonbeam accepted the role as the Queen of Terrasen’s ambassador about fifty years ago, ten years after the war had passed and he had come, somewhat, to peace with his past horrors. He loves his job. He got to travel the world, meet new people, and still got to go home and be at peace. He knew if he ever needed a break Aelin would gladly give it to him. But once he started the job, he didn’t think he would ever want to stop.

Today he found himself in Melisande, a kingdom that had kept to itself during the war, if you could even call it that. The kingdom kept quiet through the years and no one seemed to know much about it, though Yerne and Aelin both had been there before, neither truly knew much about it.

That’s why he was here, to make connections with a forgotten kingdom. To make new ties with Terrasen.

He had traveled many days to reach the kingdom, on the way visiting some old friends including Dorian, Choal, and Yerne, who were all growing old. The Westfall’s children had greeted him at the gate, smiling and talking his ear off, filling him in on what had happened since his last visit. He talked with the King and his wife Mannon, both still looked the same. Whatever bit of fae blood Dorian had kept him young, and by some miracle, Choal and Yerne had not aged a day. He guessed it had something to do with the healers powers, or maybe the long gone Gods had smiled down upon the couple when Yerne had defected Erawan.

He knew Aelin was more than thrilled to hear about her friends slow to no aging, he still remembers the tears that welled up in her eyes when he told her twenty or so years ago.

After the war everything went into high speed yet seemed to go ever so slowly at the same time. There was no impending doom, just rebuilding, crowning, and weddings. So. Many. Weddings.

First Rowan and Aelin has an official ceremony, then Elide and Lorcan, then Lysandra and Aedion. Then ten years ago Mannon and Dorian finally tied the knot.

He was happy for his friends, they often asked him if he felt lonely not having a significant other, but then he always joked that Vaughn was still single too.

Vaughn has turned up at the palace one winter day. He waltzed right in and claimed he was done freezing his ass off and asked for a room.

Of course everyone was in the middle of dinner and was wondering how in the hell he had gotten in, but it wouldn’t be Vaughn’s return if it wasn’t dramatic.

That had been six years after the war.

It still felt like it was yesterday the war ended.

He sighed and looked at the clock on the wall of his chambers. He had been given quite a nice room the moment he got here and hadn’t spoken to anyone except a few servants in two days. He arrived early in hopes of learning more about the mysterious country but had not seen anything but the stone chamber that had been decorated quite loveily he must say.

A knock sounded at the door before it swung open to reveal three guards all dressed in light blue and navy with yellow accents, the colors of their kingdom. Two males with masks that covered all but their eyes flanked a tall woman who’s light colored hair was braided over her shoulder, and a wore no mask. She had kind eyes and a small smile, red tinted her pale face, and freckles adorned her nose.

“Fenrys Moonbeam?” His name rolled off of her tongue, a slight accent making it come off even smoother.

He nodded his head, standing from the chair by the window which he found himself at most hours of the days he had been here. “Yes, that’s me.”

She turned towards the door and nodded her head, “Come with me then.” And began walking before Fenrys could ask any questions. He followed her, eventually keeping pace next to her while the two guards followed behind. He couldn’t help but catch a whiff of her scent, and he wish he hadn’t. Not that she smelt bad...it was that she smelt so good. Her scent was intoxicating.

“Are we going to the meeting?” He only received a nod as she continued walking. “Is there a reason I’ve been confined to my rooms?” Annoyance flooded his tone without him meaning too. Her scent still invading his nostrils, making it hard to think straight.

She cut him a glance, “You were told you could venture throughout the city, no?” He shook his head in response. Her eyebrows furrowed and she stopped walking for a moment and turned to the guards behind her and said something, in what he guessed was the native tongue of the area, quickly and curtly, before continuing walking.

“May I inquire what you said?”

She smirked at him a bit before smoothening her features back into a face of calm and discipline. “That they have disappointed me in being rude to our first guest from Terrasen.”

He wanted to ask about the language but something she said caught his ear. “First of Terrasen? Have other counties been here since the war?”

“You may discuss that with the King.” She moves a bit closer to him before quietly adding, “Fenharrow, Red Dessert, and the Southern Continent.”

He nodded gratefully at the information, glad to know something of the strange kingdom before going into the meeting.

She leads him to the end of a hallway made up of windows, overlooking the Oakwald forest and a river rolling through the heart of the city, that he still had no name for.

“Isn’t it beautiful.” He was shaken from his gaze at the lands to see the woman standing next to him looking too, adoration swimming in her bright blue eyes. Her scent becoming stronger at the close proximity.

“It is... is this your homeland?” His gaze still resting upon her.

Something in her eyes turned hard as she frowned and she looked away from the view and became very interested in the doors, “No.” Before he could inquire any further, she walked to the doors and opened them, revealing a long table with many seats, a few had already been claimed. Empty plates sat in front of each seat along with silverware and a tall glass.

The woman held the door open for the two guards and himself, and as he passed he looked at her again to be met with the face he saw when she entered his room. Calm, disciplined, a small smile and calm eyes. It should have been comforting, but something about the gaze made him feel more uneasy about the strange kingdom.

“What is your name?” Slipped through his lips before he could even process the thought.

She blinked and the mask dropped for a moment revealing a look he could not tell what it meant, before the composed look was back and she answered, “Enedina” before walking into the room, not seeming to care if the door smacked him.

She walked beside a young man who looked to be young, but his slightly pointed ears gave Fenrys the feeling he was at least a hundred years old. A Demi fae prince? How had this kingdom survived the wrath of Adarlan’s old king?

The male looked away from another demi fae, who looked older and was wearing a crown upon his head, the king then, to turn his attention to Enedina. He smiled and pulled her in for a hug, she laughed at something whispered in her ear and he laughed when she returned the favor. When they pulled apart, the man he guessed to be the king pulled her in for a quick hug before nodding and walking over to a group of human men standing on the other side of the room.

Fenrys couldn’t help but stare at Enedina and the male as she suddenly came alive, seeming to tell him a story, her face alive and joyous, hands moving tell the story with her, the male laughing and mock frowning at various parts.

He sat down at the table in a random seat, tearing his gaze away. He didn’t understand why he felt a twinge of jealousy, he barely knew her...and yet he could still smell her intoxicating sent from all the way across the room.

~

She couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across her face as she told Ellery of her adventure to the Red Dessert, she has been sent there for a mission and it had gone amazing, as usual.

She had missed her friend very very much and had been worried sick about him while she was gone.

When she finished with her story, Ellery glanced somewhere behind her before signing to her, “What a pretty male.”

She rolled her eyes before saying, “He doesn’t know our ‘language’” she air quoted language, “you can speak, no need for silent conversation.”

Ellery rolled his eyes before signing back, “He may not know it but others in this room do, no one but you and I know our broken made up sign language.”

She huffed out a laugh before looking at the male, sitting by himself at the table, glancing around the room, and turned her gaze back to her friend and signing, “He’s nervous you know. He probably thinks we will kill him.”

“I’ve heard his form is a wolf” She quirked up an eyebrow. “I’ve heard roasted potatoes and wolf are quite delicious.”

A laugh tumbled out of her as she smacked his hand, his laugh following. She was aware of the looks she received, knowing only one would be confused.

“I think he fancies you” Ellery signed, smirking that Gods awful smirk of his. She knew he was up to no good.

“You’re an idiot, go find your seat, the meeting starts soon” She said aloud in common tongue. Ellery boomed out another laugh before going and sitting beside the head of the table.

She took her position by the door and was well aware of the fae male’s gaze upon her, but she chose to ignore it and opted to watch the guests filter in, saying hello and hugging a few. Once all the seats were filled the king nodded to her and she ushered the other guards and servants out before closing the door and going to stand in the corner of the room.

“Let the meeting begin.” The King announced, voice easily filling the large room, in the countries fabricated ‘language’.

She cleared her throat, bringing the King’s attention to her, “Yes Enedina?”

“Our guest does not speak our tongue sir.” She reminded him politely.

“Ah yes, our guest.” The King nodded and turned his attention to the warrior ambassador of Terrasen. “Let’s begin.”

- - - - -

Hope you enjoyed chapter one, let me know what you think! Part two will be up tomorrow!!

[leafenclaw]

B, N, and P for the ask meme, please? ^^

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

I’m the most easy person to influence when it comes to fictional pairings, honestly. Unless I can’t stand one of the characters involved, you’ll never get a firm “NUH” from me (you may get one after I try and decide it’s not my cup of tea, but I’ll always be willing to hear it out first). And I’m also usually the first one to bring up all the weird pairings, much to my poor friends’ horror when I stumble on a new one and start ranting about it. x)

However. There was that one time I stumbled on a Morland/Joan werewolf-verse story and went .__. because I hadn’t considered them at all. Well, I’m super glad I clicked. The story was amazing and frankly it made me look back on all those Morland VS Joan confrontations in season 4 with fresh eyes (and much amusement).

N - Name three things you wish you saw more of in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice). 

1 - Meta-analysis that isn’t written around pairings, including pairings I’m interested in, because sometimes I get sick of all fandom things being filtered through the lens of relationships. My main fandoms lately are TV shows, so how about rants on camera language, use of light, colour schemes, what they’re trying to achieve, and how this affects the perception of characters involved in a scene (theirs and/or ours)? How about analysis of scene composition, of narrative arcs over a season beyond how characters bond with each other, of character portrayal depending on who writes them? Tell me about recurring themes and language quirks of writers across their episodes, about the things that worked and didn’t work in episodes directed by main actors on the show, about all those allusions to the source material those shows were inspired of. Hell, especially with TM because at least Elementary did a little bit of that in early seasons, give me an exploration of how character arcs are affected by issues that define them in a significant way (race, multiculturalism, gender, sexuality, neurodivergence, etc.). Or for God’s sake someone give me signs there would be interest if I was to rant about those things myself.

2 - How about going back to “Your Kink Is Not My Kink (And That’s Okay)”, “Ship And Let Ship”, and “Don’t Like, Don’t Read”? Seems like we could all do with more of that.

3 - Very selfishly, more Joshua Vikner content please.

P - Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas). 

Kurland’s Moriarty series: Hmmmmmmm how about a Good Omens AU in which Moriarty is Aziraphale (misanthropic book seller with a sweet tooth and a marked loathing for parting with the books he collects) and Holmes is Crowley (reluctant agent of chaos with an unhealthy fascination for his angelic colleague). Would work well, no? XD The other way around would probably work just as well, but it wouldn’t be as funny to me. ^^

Elementary: You know what, there’s this one thing I’ve been thinking about for a while but never took the time to put into words. See, in my culture we have this very particular brand of magical realism deeply rooted in Catholicism? It’s a bit of an unholy union between the Bible, Irish fae folklore, and Native American myths, where any number of supernatural beings walk amongst us because they belong here the same way we do, but at the same time they’re always just waiting to trick you into an unholy pact and/or do miracles for you depending on what you say and do when you interact.

And I’d love to see Sherlock and Joan deal with a world like that. Being called when cops suspect the crimes they're investigating have a supernatural element to them for example, possibly because the cops are too scared to get on the bad side of the creatures responsible for trouble, and Sherlock doesn’t give a damn about the risks he personally incurs. Possibly in turn because Jamie is a supernatural creature who claimed Sherlock as her own, and those beings are known to get very possessive with their humans so nobody can get in their way directly without suffering Jamie’s wrath. (And she’s scary. 0.0)

Or perhaps Sherlock is himself a renegade creature who got striped of his powers, so now he uses this insider knowledge to help solve supernatural crimes, undo harm, and generally cause trouble for his own kind. Can you imagine on what apocalyptic level the traditional Holmes/Moriarty pissing contest would occur the moment Jamie realises this damn human getting in her way isn’t actually a human at all? Or the impending crisis when Jamie just casually claims Joan, partly to protect her (in a “you’re mine to harm or cherish as I see fit, others can piss off” way), partly to annoy Sherlock who cannot do it himself anymore?

I could go on (relationship with the 11th precinct, Morland vs Jamie, Mycroft) but I’ll stop here because this is getting long, sorry. ^^; But, yeah. The possibilities with that kind of world are endless and all of them make me clutch my face in glee. x)

Alphabet Ask

[peachyteabuck]

cold-blooded & perfect

summary: In a move less orthodox than your father, Lagertha invades a country expecting to raid it, but instead merely takes its princess – you. While you’re surprised, you’re not necessarily unhappy with her sudden change of heart.  

pairing: Lagertha x Reader

words: 2,896

trigger warnings: kidnapping, taking of virginity, vaginal fingering, poor family ties

notes/other: Breaking into the Vikings fandom hell YEAH. feels good. 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The Vikings invade your homeland with fire in their eyes and bloodlust on their tongues. The small, untrained army assigned to protect your country is defeated in a matter of minutes, those left with heartbeats either taken captive for later use or killed when they drop their swords. Your father, still in his most lavish robes from the festivities the night before, is forced out to the capital’s center with his hands up and his spine perpendicular to the sharp blade of one of their savage warriors.

From your place in your unscathed room, far up in the vast castle, you anxiously watch the exchange between the leaders. It’s there, as your eyes follow your father’s footsteps, that you notice the rest of the army fathering round him like flies swarm an almost-deceased rabbit; nearly vibrating with excitement, unable to stop their twitchy movements as they circle his shaking form.

While your country is small, its position lining the ocean shore makes it a necessary siege on the pathway to the more inwards parts of the continent. You’ve known this all your life, you know your father has known this for all of his, and you know the foreigners’ leader knows this now.

You can’t quite understand how this woman, this woman decked in the same armor as her underlings, has climbed her way to the top of whatever hierarchy they’ve formed. You can tell she’s powerful though, can tell she isn’t afraid to grasp whole worlds in her hands. As she speaks to your father, the small smirk her lips have twisted themselves into manipulates your insides in a way you cannot describe, and do not try to begin to.

“So,” she asks him, words choppy and accented and curious. “You are king here?”

Like those loyal to her, she circles him. Unlike the rest of them, though, she is not waiting for the creature to give up. Oh, never would she miss the chance to take down anyone who stood in her pathway to victory, to gold, to whatever it is she craves. Her bright teeth remind you of a she-wolf, and your father’s trembling body reminds you of an injured goat.

“Yes,” he answers truthfully. His works shake worse than his limbs as she replies to his numerous questions.

“And do you value the protection of your people?”

Your father gulps but stands a little straighter. “Of course. God gave me the crown to serve Him as well as my people.”

The woman shrugs and leans on her sword, with its sharped point in the ground and the handle covered by her hands. “You know, I’ve heard a lot about your god, you single, individual god,” the women and men behind her chuckle, but she remains stoic. “Does this god accept sacrifices?”

“He sacrificed his Son for us, and in turn we sacrifice for Him, to show our love and appreciation,” your father speaks lowly, words more confident and steadier. The rehearsed string of sentences flowing easily from his lips, and you roll your eyes and pull away from the window. The king, your father, the ruler of your country, the father of your motherland, is no holy man. The mistresses he’s had out-number the maggots in a deer’s corpse, he couldn’t identify the Holy Bible from a child’s drawings made in pools of mud, the cross he supposedly wears has become tarnished from lack of human touch.

Whatever. If he gets beheaded in the town’s square the man you’ve been betrothed to since the very second the doctor turned his nose up at your absence of a penis. You know very little about the Viking culture, their religion, their gods, but you assume they’re smart enough to know killing a princess gains them nothing but a martyr for the opposite side.

The sound of your name pulls you from your disgusted internal monologue.

“And how old is this daughter?” The woman asks. Your father is now on the ground – not injured, just a coward.

“Old enough to wed,” he replies. He doesn’t seem scared anymore. You, though, tremble in fear.

“Then a truce,” the woman smiles brighter than the sun and her eyes gleam. “I will take the woman and we will leave your land. If you promise no contact, my people and I will not invade as long as I am ruler.”

“Okay,” your father agrees immediately. “I will allow my daughter to go with you for my country’s safety.”

Your eyes bulge as you realize what just happened.

What the fuck.

You have mere heartbeats to process the chaos your future has been thrown into before several men are storming into your room. To your surprise, the men don’t grab at you – they simply stand by the door to prevent you from leaving. You’re their captor, but at least they’re passive about it.

From behind them, the blonde woman from the square emerges. She smirks as her eyes trail your body from your bare feet to your sleep-mused hair.

“Congratulations, princess,” she tells you, playful tone floating through the air like fae. “You’ve saved your nation from the savage beasts that are the Vikings.”

You’re allowed to pack one trunk – the woman, who introduces herself as Lagertha as you shove your mother’s locket deep into the pocket of your favorite winter coat - already knows your name, and soon her routine questions and vies for attention turn personal, intimate.

Nevertheless, your answers remain curt through the entire time you’re with her in your chambers.

“I heard your mother died when you were young. I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” she whispers in the darkness of night as you both lay in her temporary bed, a straw thing a few feet from your own plush amenities.

You don’t say anything back, forcing through the uncomfortable silence with purse lips.

A beat. You can hear Lagertha turn to face you as she speaks. “Do you miss her?”

You sigh, then nod. “Sometimes. I don’t really remember her. She died when I was pretty young, and she had a lot of kingdom-y stuff to attend to when she was alive.”

Another beat. Your breaths come out shaky, your attempts not to shed tears

“Do you have any siblings?” she tries to change the subject as she notices the tears welling up in your eyes and reflecting the bright half-moon.

“Six older sisters,” you tell her honestly. “All married off and living in foreign lands, like I was supposed to…”

The silence between you two is heavy, blanketing you heavier than the furs keeping the cold night air from your skin. Neither of you speak for a long time, unsure of how to proceed. It’s awkward, painfully so, when you’re shoved into a small ship and told to sit with a woman who had injured her ankle hunting a few hours prior to boarding the small boat.

You and her are silent most of the journey, the conversations you manage to get yourself to engage with short, choppy, impersonal. Similar situations happen with Lagertha each time she offers food, water, an extra fur, someone else to sit next to.

The first full sentence you speak is when you’re brought to Lagertha’s bed, the trunk carried by two of the most muscular women you’ve ever seen in your life.

It’s once they exit that the words leave your lips. “Are the women here warriors as well as the men?”

Lagertha laughs a little as she drinks from a gauntlet you don’t remember seeing before now. “Of course. They’re women, not frail babies.”

You don’t respond, simply looking around the room. Lagertha leaves you alone after that, allowing you to unpack your things and learn the map of the house of which you’ll be living.

The two of you don’t speak until dinner, an affair she keeps small for, it seems, your benefit. It’s just one of her sons – Bjorn, and his wife. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen the Vikings eat, nor is it the first time you’ve heard them speak in their native tongue, a language foreign to your ears. But, it is the first time you haven’t been able to hide yourself from such savagery.

They bite into their meats like bears tasting the first taste of flesh in months and their unintelligible babble rakes in your ears like rusty knives through hardened wood.  All of their words seem angry, biting, even when they laugh or smile.

For the entirety of the meal Lagertha keeps her hand on your lower back, a gesture you believe (hope) is meant to comfort you.

The verbal exchanges between you two are scarce, especially since you’d insisted of sleeping in a different bed as your captor.

It’s about a week in this new, still-strange place when Lagertha approaches you as you hunt through your things for something, anything to do. She can tell you’re bored, mind-numbingly so as you spend your days pacing her keep. It reminds her of a dog locked in a pen without straw or bones or rocks and far enough away from society they and their masters do not breathe the same breaths.

She seems to understand what you’re looking for, sitting on the bed. You’re kneeling on the floor, and you can feel her feet bump at your hip as she speaks.

“What did you back in your home country?” Lagertha asks you.

“Not much,” you admit. “Back home for me is…it’s quite different from here…” Even as you speak your native tongue, you struggle to find the right words. “Women don’t do much. They, they all, they all think that we’re weaker somehow, that we can’t do much. As a royal all I was permitted to do was learn to sew, cook. A servant once taught me some medicinal skills – so I studied those old books sometimes.”

Lagertha sees you struggling, and as she speaks she attempts to comfort you with a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to continue those things?”

You inhale deeply, considering the question. Lagertha’s not a malicious woman – at least not to you. So far she’s been kind, welcoming; doesn’t seem like the type to deny you such basic commodities as the ones you would ask for. In hopes of not feeling the sharp pain of rejection, you respond with the polite passivity you’d had quite aggressively drilled into your vernacular. “It’d be a nice pastime, yes.”

Lagertha smiles, your eyes locking together. Hers are bright, playful, while yours remain stilled with fear. “You are quite small in your speech, princess. I hope you in time learn to be more upfront with yourself, your wants, your needs.”

You swallow at the thick knot in your throat, one that isn’t quite terrified but still shakes when she pushes a small strand of hair behind your hear. “It is improper for a lady to be so forceful.”

Lagertha simply laughs. Big, chesty, head thrown back laughs. “Is that what they taught you? To be some meek little doll?” You nod meekly with small movements. “Then I hope you learn life is much different here.”

It’s the day after that you find some crude crafting supplies laid out onto your bed – some thick, blunt needles and furs and rough fabric and thread. It’s sweet, despite not being what you’re used to, despite not being the finer things the servants taught you with. No more brightly-colored silken thread and soft, thin fabric. Nonetheless, it is still a gift – and one you treasure.

Winter in this region comes much sooner, and much harsher, than you had expected. Of course, the locals giggled each time you shivered at a mere featherlight kiss of the wind, but even the seer couldn’t predict how poorly the fragile skin wrapping your body was able to withstand such cold.

It’s a few night falls into the deep season when you find yourself on the small bed just outside the kitchen, shaking so hard your teeth clack together and your very bones feel as if they are freezing. In the dead of this night is when Lagertha appears to take pity on you, calling for you across the homestead for you to join her in her bed.

You reluctantly you do, body shivering violently at the raw exposure to air.

Under the furs Lagertha’s body is warm, almost painfully so against your frigid flesh. If the queen notices you shaking against her, she doesn’t say anything about it.

Wordlessly, she curls herself around you, pulling you two together. It’s not an action that’s unwelcome, but it’s still one that makes a specific type of shive run up your spine. This sort of intimacy, especially between two women, was forbidden back home.  To think of a maiden or one of your father’s servant bursting in to find you – little, unmarried you - in the muscular arms of some woman who fights like a man, your heart quickens at the scandal it would bring. Just imagining the villagers, the people your father rules over, having such ammunition would plunge your country, your nation, your people, into despair.

The woman wrapped around you senses your distress. “Are you okay, love?” she asks, voice low like she’s talking to your father’s dog – a small white thing that shakes every time it rains.

Your words barely reach above a whisper. “Just thinking of home.”

She mmms in a way that makes you think she knows you’re hiding something. “Good memories or bad?”

You pull away from her a little bit, trying to find purchase on the slick furs. “They’re not memories at all.”

Lagertha pulls you back to her, resting her chin on the top of your hair. “Let me help, love,” she whispers just over the shell of your ear. “Let me help you.”

Her rough fingertips, her scarred hands, they run over your skin with featherlight touches over your many skin blemishes inherited from your mother.

Still, you lay passively, not sure what to do. Your headmistresses over the years had described sex not just as an act between man and wife, but also something that will hurt, that will be quick, that will simply be to solidify an heir, then to strengthen the diplomatic capabilities of the family you’d be married off to. No matter your education, you can still feel the heat between your legs pool slightly faster than your trembling heart can convince you to stop.

Lagertha daintily pushes the two sides of the slit in your address apart, just enough to give her access to the side of your hip and upper thigh. Lightly, as if not to scare you, she places her calloused, scarred, battle-torn hand there. It’s nice, surprisingly enough, it’s nice to see her warmth there. “Have you ever been with a woman?” She asks. It’s not accusatory, rather inquisitive. A genuine question stemming from genuine interest.

You think of the time you kissed one of your lady’s maids when you were twelve and she was thirteen, of the time you snuck away under a table in the kitchen and palmed at the breasts of a kitchen maid when you were both sixteen. Each experience more intimidating than this one – most likely due to the lack of dread from the idea of your father or headmistress or anyone finding you in such a state of sin.

Lagertha’s teeth bite into the tender flesh of your neck, leaving marks there. You’re happy your thick hair covers such an intimate spot, but something inside you whispers to expose such skin to the murderous winter as to alert the fellow Kattegat residents of your newfound status as lover rather than captive.

Her fingers dip into your virgin heat with patience, the woman watching your face’s every movement as she works each digit into you. “Do you like that, princess?” she asks, voice deep and low. “Do you like the way I feel inside of you?”

You nod, unable to speak anything but high-pitched whines.

“Good,” she purrs. Soon she has three fingers working in and out of you, crooking them so that all you see is hot white with her thumb rubbing at the crest of your center so behind all that is stars. It’s not long before the hot coil in your lower intestine becomes too tight, too tight to bear and you’re screaming for her to keep going don’t stop please my queen do not stop for anything in the world and she’s smiling into the base of your neck and nipping at your collarbones and telling you she wouldn’t let go of you for promise of Valhalla and suddenly-

Suddenly you’re both gasping and unable to breath, squeezing your eyes shut and keeping them locked on Lagertha’s form now over you with her hand driving into you, body relaxed and tense.

You collapse (when did you sit up?) onto the furs with your chest expanding painfully. “Oh, God,” you moan with the world still spinning around you.

“That’s not me,” Lagertha says with a smirk. “But I’ll happily take the compliment.”

You almost, almost have the energy to laugh at her stupid joke, but instead you merely throw her a small smile and curl back into the warmth of her body. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe this is the start of a love you don’t have to fear.

[glassrain83]

Dear Yuletide Writer

I am GlassRain on AO3, and thank you for writing for my tiny fandom(s)!

I love all these characters and any fic about them will make me happy. If you already have an idea feel free to run with it. If you want extra prompts or ideas, that’s what this is for.

Yes please: gay stuff, outer space, magic. Non-con, dub-con, and mind control. Relationships where there’s a power imbalance but they also truly love each other and do the work to make it good. Relationships with size differences (not as in short human/tall human, as in human/building-sized dragon). Identity porn/any kind of reveal where the audience knows something and gets to enjoy watching the characters figure it out.

No thanks: Gore/body horror/graphic depictions of violence, embarrassment, extreme underage (teen characters having sex is fine), bodily fluids (except the usual ones for sex scenes), non-canon character death, mundane AUs.

Fandoms:

Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette

Characters: Felix, Mildmay

The Doctrine of Labyrinths is a series of fantasy novels by Sarah Monette. It is set in the secondary world of Meduse and tells the story of the adventures of the wizard Felix Harrowgate and his half-brother, former assassin Mildmay the Fox.

Lush fantasy melodrama full of codependence and great hurt/comfort. I have gotten Felix/Mildmay fic before and will keep prompting more of it until the end of time (or until a TV adaptation turns this into a megafandom, whichever comes first). Gen about them is also welcome.

Prompts:

Sci-fi/cyberpunk AU. Make the hocuses into hackers, the magical curses into corrupted cybernetics, the petty thieves into data pirates. Could be the alternate version of a canon event, or a whole new SF-themed plot twist.

Missing scene from Felix and Mildmay’s journey across the continent in book 1, something where Felix has a bad turn and Mildmay successfully calms him down. Just lean all the way into the h/c in their weird-but-deep sibling bond.

Guilty frantic brothercest. (During a time in canon when they’re both mentally capable of consenting.) Especially if it’s already an ongoing situation when the story starts, so it’s not a story about how they fell into it but about how they can’t seem to get out.

If you are up for writing crossovers: it’s a crime that there are no Labyrinth crossovers yet. How would Felix and Mildmay face off against the Goblin King?

The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells

Characters: Murderbot

Science fiction series about an artificial construct designed as a Security Unit, which manages to override its governor module, thus enabling it to develop independence, which it primarily uses to watch media. As it spends more time with some caring humans, it starts developing human feelings, which it finds inconvenient.

Ongoing sci-fi adventure in an interstellar corporate dystopia. Grumpy sarcastic Murderbot (it picked the name itself) just wants to be left alone to watch TV, but is smart and competent and keeps deciding it likes humans who need inconvenient rescues. No romance for Murderbot please, but go as hard as you want on the intense friendships it doesn’t want to admit it has.

Prompts:

Murderbot finds itself in charge of an impromptu So You Just Achieved Self-Determination, Now What? support group. Possible members: SecUnit Three, the unnamed ComfortUnit, original characters who hacked themselves independently and figured they were the only ones until they saw it on the news...

ART figures out that Murderbot enjoys very specific kinds of touch (low-key, platonic, comfort-seeking, non-threatening), and starts gleefully engineering situations where it can get some.

Murderbot’s love of Sanctuary Moon becomes public knowledge. Let’s see the reactions from SM fan forums, or in-universe cons, or the media company and its marketing department.

Leif & Thorn (Webcomic)

Characters: Any

Leif is a gardener in thrall to a mysterious debt, serving his native Sønheim at a foreign embassy. Thorn is a Knight of Ceannis who got severely burned while dragonslaying, and was rewarded with a cushy job guarding the embassy gates. Thorn doesn’t speak Leif’s language too well at first — but as they get to know each other, he finds a lot of reasons to learn.

Ongoing fantasy dramedy, with a cross-cultural romance and a great ensemble cast. (Read it here.) Leif/Thorn is canon. I’d love fic about them, and/or any romance (canon or not) that doesn’t break them up, and/or gen about anyone else.

Prompts:

Canon divergence AU where Thorn joined the Secret Order of Monster Hunters instead of the knights...and meets Leif while in the middle of a vampire-assassinating mission.

Holiday fic where Leif and Thorn share their traditions with each other. Warmth and fluffiness a plus.

Violet’s participation in fandom on the magic-crystal-internet. And maybe off of it, if a convention comes to town. What is magical-crystal-Yuletide like? Which series have split fandoms over badly-translated Ceannic-language dubs? Who else in the cast loves Violet’s fic without realizing she’s the one behind the pseudonym?

Tender, loving, slow-and-thorough Thorn/Kale. With Leif’s encouragement...or participation...or, depending on how you want to play it, direction.

Jeeves & Wooster

Characters: Jeeves, Wooster

Bertram Wooster, a well-intentioned, wealthy layabout, has a habit of getting himself into trouble and it’s up to his brilliant valet, Jeeves, to get him out.  

Completed TV adaptation of the books by P.G. Wodehouse, starring Hugh Laurie as Wooster and Stephen Fry as Jeeves. Funny, charming, impressively complicated for how low-stakes the outcomes are. Gen or Jeeves/Wooster romance (with or without any of these prompts) all welcome.

Prompts:

Magical AU where they’re supernatural creatures – fae, elves, angels, demons, nature spirits, things in that category – and still manage to have the same dynamic, over much more ethereal problems.

Role-swap where Jeeves is a smart-but-disaffected member of the idle rich, and Bertie is a fanciful valet. Problems are solved by a mix of Bertie’s own talents and his ability to inspire Jeeves' brilliance.

Bertie discovers the fandom for his published writing (and probably needs Jeeves’ advice on how to keep professional boundaries). This can be a modern AU if you want to get the internet into it.

[presents-n-pistols]

𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞  𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧  𝐚  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  …  Jessica Claus / Jessie Kringle was  known  as  the  friendly  &  exciteable sheriff of the North Pole with  a  reputation  for  being  a  Alexandra Breckenridge  doppelganger  .   but  now  ,  under  the  stress  of  the  war  on  the  horizon  ,  the  natural  born  hero light practicing witch  has  become  widely  known  for  being  rather  mild-tempered &  rambunctious.   let’s  see  how  long  the  seasonal realms native  will  last  during  this  war  .   after  all  they’re  only forty  /  one thousand, seven hundred and forty-nine years old .   +  she/her  &  cismale  ,  oc

Hey guys it’s jer again. Third character incoming, and surely not the last. I’ve got the fever for more cowbell. Below you can find Mrs. North’s full extensive bio, but I’ll go ahead and sum it up above the cut unless no one chooses to read:

It’s Jessica Claus Kringle North, but Ma’am works great. She also responds well to gumdrop depending on how ryan reynolds the voice sounds.

She’s spitfire in a glass mug, served with a splash of milk and warm cookies

She was born with the biggest motherly bone that just so happens to be the heart that she wears on her sleeve.

She’s a witch farm girl, entirely scared of her powers..

She’s the sheriff of the North Pole, and will literally whip out a pistol to protect her husband. Sometimes, she’s a little hasty about this and knows this, so she’ll apologize with a warm plate of cookies.

PERSONALITY

She’s a friendly, excitable cowgirl, and thrives on love. She is sassy, sweet, cute, athletic, and has a habit of speaking loudly when she is happy or excited. She is a philanthropist and humanitarian who is deeply concerned for the children of the world. Her broad outlook on life has always allowed her to see the bigger picture and too often has caused her to stubbornly shy away from minute details. She has a romantic personality that focuses more on her dreams and ambitions instead.

She cam become timid, uncertain, and ungrateful putting the blame for her troubles on others instead of realizing that they are her own. She is extremely stubborn and never backs down from a fight. She is always right, even when she’s wrong and she’ll refuse to speak to you until you tell her you were wrong. She can be quite argumentative when she’s passionate about things, and she’s not afraid to threaten anyone twice her size.

POWERS

Species: Light Practicing Pagan Witch. Pagan witches were known to have worshipped the old gods and derived their power from them. Jessie’s hometown was known to

Abilities:

Enchantment: The power to imbue a person or object with a magical capability.

Spell Casting: The power to change, manipulate and control objects, events, actions and phenomena through the use of incantations, commands, rituals, gestures or pure sheer force of will.

Warding: The power to place protection spells and wards on places and people, shielding them from harm or danger.

Portal Opening: The power to open a portal to another dimension.

AESTHETICS

a toasty winter fire in a cozy cabin on the ranch

snow flurries atop a warm bundle of fiery red hair

the smells of cinnamon, sugar, and 

chocolate coming from three separate ovens in a kitchen.

fancy doily aprons clashing with leather cowboy boots

the prettiest handwriting you've ever seen on letters stamped with love

sugar coated kisses, and chesnut roasted hugs

convienently placed mistletoe around every corner of the house

the lights of christmas spirit all year round

rosey cheeks and red tipped noses to match a perfectly placed red bandana

messages of devotion written in snow

a single barrel pointed at you if you forget your manners

a snow fort to protect the cattle just in case the snowball fight gets to rowdy

sounds of jingle bells from studds in boots

friendship that lasts longer than a cow hitch

a sheriff's badge a Colt Dragoon a spellbook and a cookbook all resting on the same shelf

HCS

She's the world's biggest pen pal, because sometimes she writes letters to children in Santa's name.

She’s the Sheriff of the North Pole and wears that badge proudly.

She’s an excellent homemaker, and big on superfoods. This year it’s Kale, last year it was quinoa, and the year before? Beets. 

She doesn’t trust the elves, and often blames anything she can on them.

She is constantly bringing reindeer home to their ranch that’s nearly overrun with cattle.

She tried teaching in the North Pole, for only a few years, though she didn’t have the patience for her students, the Yeti’s. 

She’s still scared of her magic, and only uses it when her husband is in close proximity.

She exudes toughness and is one to lay out the law plainly, but breaks her own rules for her loved ones.

She is horribly claustrophobic

She always wears bandanas. 

BIOGRAPHY

Her father was a religious man with a prodigal daughter. 

She was born with a mark that she was forced to cover up since she could remember. It was an 8 pointed star splattered on her skin in a gray ash color just below her jaw on the right side of her face. Even as a toddler the bandanas and scarves she went through irritated her skin, and made her mark feel bigger than it was. 

The first time Jessie ever used magic, she was in her late teens. It was on accident. It felt suppressed. It surprised her and everyone around her. It scared her. It felt both unnatural, yet oddly familiar, as if it was something she had within all along. It was something she felt in her heart. It was a secret guilt hidden behind every smile that was reflected towards her father. 

When his wife passed away, he thought his family would slip apart. He didn’t mean to make it so that his 8 year old daughter would piece them back together. She  tried her hardest to tend to the stables, when her father drank his pain away.  She tried her best at sewing and knitting when her brothers outgrew of their clothes. She cooked nice and warm home cooked meals for the men in her family so they wouldn’t starve over the last piece of bread from the bakery.  She learned to bake for survival. She learned to pick frowns from chins and turn them upside down. She learned how to hold a pistol to any intruder, and often did so when her father would come home in drunken fits without a penny to his name. She quit school, and became the conglomerate of every household task her late mother left behind. Despite trying so hard, she feared that she was never good enough to take that role.

She feared leaving her family, and their small little farm. 

At the tiny age of 17, those ideals had all changed. She was in love, well, she had been in love ( since, well, she couldn’t hecking remember when ) but she’d declared that it was the love she could finally accept. It was a love she would  return despite the guilt of leaving her siblings behind with their abusive father.

She was in love with the strange boy with pointy ears, fairy wings, and a magical smile that only she was able to see, and she wanted to do as he asked and spend the rest of her life with him and their unborn child.  She wanted to protect that boy, she wanted to laugh with him, and she wanted to feel safe with him always. She made a promise to him, to always be there when he needed catching even if it was from the highest tree. 

So she’d tucked her brothers into bed, told them one final story about the nice man who wold leave them presents under the pine tree if they said their final prayers every night before bed. 

She thought her father was oblivious to her escape, but that was a tender dream that turned into a horrible reality.  Her father had his own opinions about the boy. Her father protested. He believed Kris Kringle was a product of evil, and he thought that the boy was poisoning his little girl. He didn’t ever conclude that they’d fallen in love, were on their way to elope, nor would he ever wrap his head around a grandchild that he could never want.

Jessie faced betrayal for the first time that night, in herself.

She didn’t mean for it to happen. She could have sworn that she’d placed the single barrel Colt revolver on the highest shelf out of reach. She could have sworn it was unloaded, even as it was pointed at Kris.  She tried to reason on his behalf, and she tried to remain calm. She thought she was protecting her new family, but instead wounded her old one. Her father pulled the trigger, aimed it between her lover’s eyes, yet received the bullet in his own shoulder. It was magic, and for once, her father knew it wasn’t fae magic. 

Jessie’s arm extended before him, a magical barrier caused the bullet to ricochet and hit her father instead. They were all stunned as the scarlet billows painted the snow at her father’s boots.

The couple made their escape as her father’s bicep bled out, but it was the final choice she’d have to choose in picking her husband over her family. She could hear her father’s calls in the dead of the night, “ Witch” days after.

They found a cabin. They lived happily. 

She gave birth to their little girl, Noelle, and with the help of her new husband she learned to control her magic. Kris taught her how to love the ugly, and scary parts of herself, and she returned the favor. Noelle’s laughter was the hope and warmth they needed to survive those harsh winters in their cozy new home. All was right and bright until it wasn’t.

The hardest winter came with a mob three years later. Her husband hadn’t come home. Noelle lay fast asleep as Jessie peaked through heavily curtained windows in the cabin. Until she saw the pitchforks and torches. The familiar faces of her brothers and father led the angered group of citizens into her home. She watched them tear about her new belongings, as she clutched onto her daughter for safety. She pressed soft palms into her daughter’s ears as they’d explained what they did to her husband. She covered Noelle’s eyes, as they let her burn to a crisp. She squeezed her daughter in her arms as they took away what was left of her hope. She cried tears of grief as Noelle suggested she’d seen Daddy on the way to her old home. 

She was locked away for months.

Jessie’s father thought that if she repented in her darkness she would be cured and cleansed from the evil that lurked in her blood. He locked her away, and kept her child from her. He prayed with his daughter, for her and to her until Jessie found herself mindlessly muttering those same prayers back. It was working, her father would explain with a smile on his face in between supervised visits with Noelle.

Jessie would smile and nod, though, she knew in her heart they were silent prayers for her daughter’s safety and peace for her late husband. It was working well in her mind too, in an odd way. Tucking her daughter’s red locks behind her hair, she agreed to the baptism.

It was a hot summer. She remembered feeling as if her hair had set fire. Despite how thin her garment was she felt as if she were sweating. Her red haired braids felt frizzy against the hot dry air. She was told would rise from the waters a clean and pure woman. Her soul, along with baby Noelle’s would be cleansed, but she was hardly given a chance.

When she floated in the water everything changed. Eyes of horror witnessed and accused her of renouncing her baptism and entering the Devil’s service. She was held down by her arms, and sentenced by her own father to drown in that lake. She yelled for her daughter, she yelled for Kris. She shrieked in fear as her life was taken from her. Her final sight, however, was a blessing from the god’s. She watched her daughter turn away from the horror’s lead by her husband. 

The man in the moon saved her.

Or at least that’s what she’s lead to believe. He’d saved her husband, Kris. He’d saved many others. And while she couldn’t feel fully saved without any knowledge of her daughter’s whereabouts it was good enough.  She didn’t have any memory of an afterlife. She had no recollection of how much time she’d spent in that water. She didn’t know where her daughter was, but she knew to follow a star that matched her birthmark, north.

She found her husband by following a trail of wooden carved toys. She found her light, her happiness, and her meaning. 

The North Star led her way to that ranch. She was shivering, cold, and nearly discarded, but she’d felt more alive than ever as she ran into her husband’s arms. 

She lives comfortably in her home, on her ranch, with plenty of reindeer, yetis and elves. She helps spread the Christmas cheer with North. She wishes to protect her new family, find her daughter, and make sure everyone still has that hope in their hearts.

RESOURCES

https://riverdale.fandom.com/wiki/Witch

https://christmas-specials.fandom.com/wiki/Jessica_Claus

https://www.womenshistory.org/education-resources/biographies/annie-oakley

ADDITIONAL LINKS

https://www.pinterest.com/latinkesha/ch-bazooka-jane/

[ginnyzero]

5 Books that Got Me Interested in Werewolves

I like werewolves. Both of my current book series, Heaven's Heathens MC and the Dawn Series include werewolves. And if you've read any of my previous blog posts, you'll know that The Lone Prospect (Heaven's Heathens MC #1) was inspired after watching the Expendables  2 during a binge watching of Sons of Anarchy.

My interest in doing werewolves instead of say vampires came from reading a lot of books about werewolves, where in the series werewolves weren't the main focus. I wanted a series of books that wasn't expressly romance that focused on werewolves and werewolf dynamics and adventures and being a werewolf was more an accepted part of life than "woe is me, I am a monster."

Monsters more often than not have human faces. See Frankenstein.

These are not necessarily recommendations. But if you like werewolf books and aren't picky, you may like these.

1. Bitten by Kelley Armstrong

Elena Michaels is the only female werewolf that has ever survived the change. A journalist good at investigating, she used her skills to track down rogue werewolves and kill them. Until she got tired of the violence the life required no matter how much she loved the male members of her pack. She's been trying to live like a human, but an old enemy is about to resurface threatening the pack she loves. Now, she's being drawn back into that world.

This was Kelley Armstrong's first novel. I liked the original cover and that's why I bought it. It focused completely on werewolves and was an interesting start to a new series. Book 2 started introducing other races and after a while I gave up on it when it focused exclusively on the young witch that was also introduced in book 2, Stolen. Bitten doesn't really hold up to any sort of in depth critical thinking when it comes to werewolves. Why is Elena the only female werewolf? She's also an orphan who has been sexually abused and then her boyfriend changed her without permission. I can see why she left the guy. I don't care how hot he's supposed to be. My last gripe for this book was Elena really felt like a stand in for the author. They are both Canadian and the politics commentary was really heavy handed. Maybe it was supposed to make the book feel relevant in 2001. It just made me grimace a bit.

2. Fool Moon by Jim Butcher

Business has been slow, no dead, for Harry Dresden, Chicago's only professional Wizard. Until Karen Murphy comes with a case of brutal murder. Mutilated corpse, strange paw prints and a full moon. It's going to take all of Harry's knowledge and skill to get to the bottom of which werewolf group is performing the murders. And the answer may be closer than he thought.

Fool Moon was Jim Butcher's second Harry Dresden Case File. He hadn't quite hit his writing stride yet. (That didn't happen until book 3.) In the book, Jim Butcher went through and used about every single type of werewolf he could think of to blow the readers off the scent (see what I did there) of who the real murders were. He used a lot of "classic" Universal studios werewolf lore and lore from other werewolf, lycanthropy, berserker type werewolves as well. And then he pretty much dropped the whole werewolf thing like hot potatoes in the books after this in order to pursue his Black Council and Winter Court Fae big story lines. And the times he does end up using the werewolves, it can be rather offensive, such as werewolves going into heat and the general way he describes the female werewolves. (He also has this problem with most of his female characters. I digress.) It was a good starting point for me at least to look at the different werewolf types and go research more on my own.

3. A Fistful of Charms by Kim Harrison

Rachel Morgan's love life has never been that great. Now, Nick, a former boyfriend who cut and run needs Rachel's particular skills as a runner. A thief, he's stolen an artifact that could give the werewolves more power over the vampires and now he's been caught. It's up to Rachel to find the artifact and free him from the werewolves. The problem is, he's not in Cincinnati, but up in Michigan and on an island in the middle of one of the Great Lakes. And it's going to take more than a few magical spells and wishful thinking to get him out alive.

This was book 4 of Kim Harrison's Hollows Series. In one of the previous books, she'd made a one off character, an insurance adjuster, who was a werewolf. Kim Harrison is not someone who really outlines her books in advance, so this insurance adjuster suddenly became a lot more important and so did werewolves for this fourth book. Because Rachel Morgan is so caught up in vampire, demon and fae politics, other than some consequences of what happened because of this book and her joining the insurance adjuster's pack for ... insurance... purposes, after this, werewolves were dropped. So, this book was the best look at the way werewolf packs worked in her world. I liked it because there was one part of the book where it was clear that the lead female of the pack had as much power as the male leader. And in other books, there were female pack leaders as well. But the series became very much about Rachel Morgan, her love life and how she was so special. I read until the last book, but left feeling very unsatisfied as a reader. But this wasn't that bad of an adventure! I especially loved Jenks in this book. Jenks is one of my favorite characters in the entire series. This was "his" book so to speak.

4. Moon Called by Patricia Briggs

Mercedes Thompson is part Native American, part mechanic and all coyote shifter. When a scruffy werewolf teen ends up at her auto shop looking for a quick job and a place to sleep, she helps him because of the werewolves that raised her. When his dead body ends up on her doorstep. She goes looking for who killed him and ends up getting entangled again with the man she thought she loved and had to leave them to get away from it all.

Moon Called was a promising first book, some Native American anachronisms aside. (Becca did a better review of this than I ever could.) As far as the series went, since Mercy lived right next door to a werewolf and later ended up dating him (and I won't spoil whether that worked out or not) the books had plenty of werewolf story lines. And if you like your werewolves to be OCD barely controlled anger management monsters controlled by the patriarchy then sure, this is the series for you. Sure, there were times Mercy tried/tries to address the problem of male dominant packs but that doesn't and isn't the focus of the books. Most of the books are how Mercy somehow gets involved in another species like vampire or fae's trouble despite the fact she's a relatively low powered coyote shapeshifter. There's no real reason why Mercy is "special" and everyone wants her, she just is. These werewolves have absolutely no basis in any sort of wolf science. Being the series is so werewolf focused, it started to drive me bonkers after a while. I gave up when another "bad thing" happened to Mercy after 10 books. (The Rape happens in book 3 btw. Just a warning.)

5. Master of Wolves by Angela Knight

Officer Faith Weston, head of the Clarkston PD K-9 department is still reeling from losing her previous dog. She's hoping that an all business front and a new dog will help her move on and keep the attention of her lewd boss away from her. Her new dog Rambo was big and tough and didn't give her any crap. Too bad Rambo was more than he seemed. Jim London, bounty hunter and werewolf, is certain that the murder of his friend Tony has been covered up by the Clarkston police department. There's only one way to find out and that's to go undercover and his dog form is perfect for the job. Faith Weston though is bringing out the animal in him.

Okay, yes, spoiler alert, Master of Wolves is a romance novel. I don't read a lot of these and when I do they tend to be primarily fantasy focused. I've read Terry Spears (one book and no more, no, never again, bad wolf science, BAD,) Thea Harrison and a few others, but Angela Knight was the one I picked up back in 2006 when looking for werewolf novels to read. There are a few moments of "I don't know what Angela Knight was thinking" when it comes to the scenes about Jim being a dog and... thinking like a man hound dog about Faith and later Faith seems okay with it? Maybe it was supposed to be funny but, yeah. 4 of the 9 books in Angela Knight's series focus on werewolves and for the most part they are pretty much very formulaic romance novels and the werewolf pack dynamics were once again patriarchal and based on bad wolf science. Really, it was more the fact that this book was focused on werewolves and solving a mystery and using all the forms that the werewolf had to do it that stood out to me.

Five different books, five different treatments of werewolves, though most are the same "werewolves are monsters" based on no good modern science about wolves. But they each had different facets that got me thinking about how I would write a werewolf focused novel if I ever wrote one. Then I did and it's called The Lone Prospect, available in ebook (3.99) and paperback (7.99) on Amazon.

[scripturient-manipulator]

Happy STS! I'm new to your blog so could you tell me about your main writing project(s)? - @fruzsiwrites

Hi @fruzsiwrites! So I’m working on a lot of things right now, in various different stages. Usually I work by completing a draft, completing the draft of a different project while the first one sits, going to another draft while the first two sit, and so on. But due to deadlines and such, I’m doing a lot!

Highest on the list in terms of finished is Where The Lost Boys Go To Play, a retelling of Peter Pan where Wendy is an imaginary friend from 1888 trying to take down Neverland which, in actuality, is a trap set up by Tinkerbell (an UnSeelie Fae) to catch and keep the human souls she wants to eat. Peter Pan is deeply out of it, he’s been her broken pet for centuries now. She loves him, but in a twisted way. I got to do some research on a sadly now gone Native American tribe which was wonderful; the Calusa tribe who I set Tiger Lily in, I love writing about things I know nothing about because then I get to research. That one is being queried to agents!A Hand Extended is currently kind of being worked on, I’m trying to stay on track with a different story but it keeps drawing me back to write the first draft. In a fantasy world a pediatric doctor goes to treat a sick girl, the only child in her particular village in decades. While the doctor is there she falls in love with the girl’s mom, but something dark in the mountain’s woods keeps drawing her in.The story I’m trying to focus on doesn’t have a name yet, it’s for a Holocaust Memorial contest that my college does every year. A Romani woman in 1938 is desperately keeping her family safe during the Night Of Broken Glass, hating that she’s glad how for once it’s not her people being assaulted. Until the next day’s newspaper hits, with a decree that all Romani, at the moment shoved away into slums on the outskirts of the city, are now illegal in Germany. And then the gunfire starts. It’s just barely in the first draft’s stage but the deadline is March so I gotta get moving on it.My first draft that’s resting right now is for an anthology @crankygryphon told me about that I’m very excited for; a princess in a fantasy country moves to another for an arranged marriage, thinking she’s coming to a place that isn’t wretchedly bound by hierarchy and she won’t need to wear weighted clothing to slow her down because she’s a woman. Except her new husband likes the old ways, the complete lack of privacy and use of public shame to keep people in line. So she and her girlfriend-bodyguard are gonna tear the whole government down. They’re so cute together. I really like her girlfriend’s religion, she’s a bodyguard who’s bound by faith to never kill. But she does. For her girlfriend-queen.I’m also working in the mental realm on a sequel to my published novella Perfect World; unfortunately my publisher shut down, so I can only sell ebook copies right now. My dad really wants a sequel to learn more about Mary 1308, so even if it’s only for him I’m gonna write it.

[pitterpatterpot]

I dont know how you’d feel about this but please maybe write a scene where Evangeline is struggling with body image and Rowan comforts her?

Sorry this took so long! I was a little stuck on what to write. I hope what I’ve done is alright!

___

“You don’t want a tart, sweetheart?” Aedion lowers his hands, speaking through a mouthful of crumbs himself. “They’re good. The lemon ones especially.”

It’s with a strange kind of disdain Evangeline purses her lips at the tarts, even as her eyes seem to hover over them for a moment longer than needed. “I’m sure. Thank you, though.”

“Alright,” Aedion shrugs, inhaling enough as Gavriel eyes him with a mix of horror and fascination.

“Darling,” Gavriel leans over to murmur, “you really shouldn’t underestimate the appetite of a demi-fae Aedion’s age. There might not be any left in a minute.”

“I can hear you,” Aedion glares as Evangeline and Lysandra both smirk. “And my appetite is just healthy.”

“How do you know if someone’s appetite is healthy?” Evangeline asks, looking more to Lysandra as Aedion and Gavriel continue to bicker.

“Usually it refers to people who eat more than they should,” Lysandra rolls her eyes. “However, when you use up energy you would be surprised by how much sustenance you need. It’s different for everyone. If you ask me it doesn’t matter what you eat as long as Aedion isn’t the one who cooked.”

“It was one time, Lysandra.”

Gavriel shakes his head, sighing. Lysandra and Evangeline laugh at his reaction as Aedion gapes.

“Lysandra isn’t wrong,” Gavriel continue the conversation. “It’s recommended to eat an amount of food that’s proportional to how much energy you burn. But everyone is different. It can be a difficult thing to measure.”

“Why do you ask?” Lysandra’s brows draw together in concern. “Are you not eating enough? You know you have full access to the kitchens-”

“It’s fine,” Evangeline presses, taking a tart to prove her point. “Just wondering since Aedion eats so much.”

Mumbling, Aedion turns away. “Not as if Lysandra hasn’t eaten people-”

“I was in my ghost leopard form! That makes it different!”

“They were people, Lysandra!”

~~~

Evangeline sighs, fingers running over the spines of books. The libraries are regrowing, slowly but surely with both native and foreign texts finding their way onto the shelves. Dorian forcing his people to return stolen pieces of literature aided greatly in the process.

“You’re interested in cooking?”

Startled, Evangeline turns, blinking at Aelin. “What?”

The queen raises her brows, in casual wear as she leans against a shelf. “This is the food section.”

“I suppose I am,” Evangeline hesitates for a moment, considering Aelin as she scrolls through the books. “Do you ever think about food?”

“All the time,” Aelin shrugs.

Evangeline pauses. “Really?”

“Of course,” the queen flashes a grin. “Mainly chocolate. I have a box in my office if you’d like to partake in secretly eating them with me?”

Something wheezes and deflates within Evangeline at the offer. “Thank you, but I think I’ll take Fleetfoot for a walk in the gardens.”

“You’re a saint, my dear,” Aelin throws an arm over her shoulders, leading her out of the library. “Sometimes I forget you’re growing.”

“I don’t,” Evangeline scowls. 

~~~

Fleetfoot has no hesitation in running in circles, completely unconcerned with patterns as she bounds across the gardens. Evangeline sits on a bench and sighs, watching the canine sniff at the grass. 

“You seem down.”

Rowan is a tall, imposing figure. Or he was when Evangeline first met him. Now, as he slides onto the bench next to her, there’s an overwhelming feeling of relief more than anything at having such a sturdy presence beside her.

“Do you think I need to train more?” Evangeline plays with the hem of her dress, eyes keenly watching Fleetfoot.

Rowan crosses his arms, sitting back to consider the question. “Not particularly. You’re making good progress. Why? Do you wish to improve a certain skill set? We’d all be happy to help.”

“No, I was just wondering if you thought I wasn’t doing enough,” Evangeline’s voice drops to a mumble.

Rowan says nothing, allowing the soft silence to drift between them. He asks no questions, waiting to listen instead of demanding to know what problem he has to fix. It’s that which causes Evangeline to sigh heavily.

“Do you think I’m getting fat?”

The king does a doubletake, looking down at Evangeline and blinking. “I’m sorry?”

“Do you think I’m fat?” The next words come out strangled and wobbled, tears welling in her eyes as she grips the fabric of her dress.

“I- no. No. Why would I think that?” Unsure of what to do with his hands, Rowan simply places them flat against his thighs.

“Because I’m round,” Evangeline hiccups, wiping at her eyes with the palm of her hand. “And other girls my age are all so skinny and I don’t understand why.”

“You’re maturing,” Rowan winces, wondering how to explain. “There is such a thing as different body types.”

“But Aelin and Lysandra are so thin,” Evangeline sucks in a breath, swallowing thickly.

“They are,” Rowan agrees. “But-”

“And I’m round,” Evangeline sniffles. “I have soft bits everywhere.”

Sighing, Rowan wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Yes!”

“Evangeline,” Rowan looks her in the eyes, “I have soft bits.”

The girl blinks. “I- no you don’t.”

“You can try to replace as much fat with muscle as you want, but there are going to always be bits that are soft. Even Aelin and Lysandra have soft bits. And you’re at that age when you’re going to get ready to grow.”

“Lysandra already explained that,” Evangeline cracks a small smile.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Rowan places his head in his hands. “I couldn’t handle that kind of conversation. Evangeline, you are healthy. And with health comes beauty. Size and shape mean nothing to that.”

“I don’t like the way I look,” Evangeline scowls, picking at a freckle on her arm.

“I don’t think anyone likes the way they look,” Rowan shrugs, “except Fenrys, Aelin and Aedion. Consider it a sign of not being a narcissist.”

“You once said you were the most handsome king in Terrasen?”

“I was stating a fact. That’s different,” Rowan leans forward, dropping his voice as if to share a secret. “I have a scar on my hit that I hate. It makes the skin dip and looks uneven.”

“Really?” Evangeline cocks her head to the side, disbelief in her voice.

“We should love ourselves above everything, but we don’t,” Rowan shrugs. “It’s a horrible contradiction.”

“But I’m getting soft everywhere,” Evangeline scowls, wiping a few stray tears away.

“That’s going to happen for the next few years.”

“It’s horrible.”

“I don’t know what I can say to make you feel better,” Rowan scratches Fleetfoot as she trots over, “but there are many people around you who perceive you as beautiful. If you can’t trust your own opinion then trust there’s.”

“Thank you,” Evangeline offers a small smile. “Do you really have a scar?”

“From an arrow. Hurt like hell and left a damn mark,” Rowan scowls. “Trust me, your skin is much better than mine.”

“But you have tattoos!” Evangeline argues, her small smile growing.

“Exactly,” the king grins. “Don’t ruin your skin like I did. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, a little,” Evangeline wipes at her nose. 

“Everyone feels like crap about themselves for different reasons,” Rowan says softly. “Some hate themselves for multiple reasons. The best you can do sometimes is remember that you still have an impact on this world, no matter how small.”

“Aedion said that once when I was sad,” Evangeline admits. “Or something like it. I’m not sure if it makes me feel better.”

“I’m sure he would have,” Rowan tugs one of her braids and stands. “Come on, you do need to work on archery. And you need a distraction. The more you think about this the more you’ll sadden yourself.”

“Can’t we do it tomorrow?” Evangeline sighs, standing. “I’m tired.”

“Only if you help me bother Aedion,” Rowan whistles Fleetfoot over. “That should be amusing.”

“Deal. I know what kind of bugs he hates.”

“You’re a blessing.”

[elucien]

heknittingoracle: hair braiding

“You’ve always braided my hair but I’ve never neared yours,” muses Lucien, fingertips dancing against the tips of hair.

Elain breathes out, if only because of the sensation that his cool fingertips against her bare, heated skin provides.

It’s Lucien who steps over the threshold and into the room that pales in regards to the others; while there are wide, sweeping windows the curtains aren’t as exquisite as the others, lacking the embroidery and beading that others within the house have. What does, however, make it seem to stand out is the coloring; the room is awash in the colors of the forest of the Autumn Court, vibrant hues of orange and brown with subtle green, interwoven subtly, visible only to those with an eye for detail.

Then there’s the matter of Elain with strands of hair that resemble burnished gold near mattered to her forehead, slender frame obscured by the thickest of blankets. Her breathing is labored and whimpers audible only to Fae with the keenest of hearing, but it wasn’t that which had alerted Lucien. It had been the mating bond, an ivy and jasmine covered corridor laced with tangs of fear and pain, which had set him in a state of panic.

Feyre peers of his shoulder but doesn’t dare set foot in the room, instead only seeking out the healer that she’d grown familiar with herself, only loosing a breath once locking eyes with Majda. So Elain had gotten her first cycle, then.

Elain’s eyes flutter open of her own accord and she make to sit forward before wincing and thinking better of it. She merely props up on an elbow before asking with startling clarity, “Has the sun set?”

The question sets Lucien in a state of bewilderment, brows arching incredibly high before he makes for his mate, pausing only once he sits on the edge of the bed - his bed. It isn’t lost entirely on Feyre either, who shoots a pointed glance at him that means nothing but trouble.

“I - no, it hasn’t, dove.” His jaw tightens at another whimper that eases from her but he doesn’t make do on commenting, not when this relationship is tentative, not when he doesn’t want to add to her discomfort. “Is there something you need done?”

His tone with her is as gentle a tone as anyone has heard from Lucien, akin to the sound of cool water trickling over a stream in the warmest part of his native forest, a sound meant to invoke comfort and solely that. She moves towards him at the sound of it, ignoring the sharp pain it brings.

“The flowers,” she says carefully after a delay, attempting to push the blankets off of her. “I haven’t tended to the garden the whole day. One whole day.”

They’re her attempt at normality, a line that no one has crossed in mentioning in conversation because it’s what had kept her sane, at first. It was what had provided her a tie to her old life and did not let her feel so foreign within these lands. Despite the changes, the violation that had occurred so that she may be made into one of them, she had still held onto some sort of hope that she’d one day peer into a mirror and see herself within her reflection, no matter how changed it was. She’d worked on it every afternoon, fought against the darkness that had struggled to overwhelm her with each seed that was planted, with each bit of water that was poured onto the garden that she had so skillfully cultivated.

It’s Lucien who broaches the topic after a probing look from Feyre, a broad hand reaching out so that it may rest atop her knee, his thumb rubbing circles against the blanket. She near purrs at the action, would’ve perhaps been content enough to spend a day beneath his touch had she not felt another bit of pain that had her leaning forward, grabbing at the silver bin beside the bed so that she could empty the contents of her stomach.

The hand that had been on her knee is now on her back and cauldron help him, he nears cringes at the heat radiating off of her before he grasps at her hair, holding it back until she’s done.

She marvels at how different his touch is from last night, how hands that had been rough and downright cruel while he’d made her say his name, near scream it in pleasure, were now gentle and capable of coaxing out the tears she’d felt since dawn.

“I’ll tend to them,” he says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, “and you’ll tell me what specifics need to be done through the bond.”

Her cheeks flare with color but she is quiet with consideration, brows furrowed before she huffs. “I suppose.”

The two sit in solemn silence, staring intently at one another until it’s obvious to both Feyre and Majda that the bond is being used as a method of communication.

“You’ve always braided my hair but I’ve never neared yours,” muses Lucien, fingertips dancing against the tips of her hair.

Elain breathes out, if only because of the sensation that his cool fingertips against her bare, heated skin provides. But she nods, as if to allow him. He makes quick work of it, starting from the very top, weaving the hair in and out with a concentration that leaves Elain alit with some sort of glow that Feyre cannot place.

Her sister hadn’t accepted the mating bond, no; but she could very easily scent Lucien off of her, as if his scent was intertwined with hers, as if the two had been made together and ended with one another.

“There.”

He gives a little tug at her braid, and when satisfied of his work presses a kiss against her forehead. “I’ll be back within the hour.”