#so much mushrooms in maiden woods

[teeahra]

i love my termina crew so much

[separatist-apologist]

What are your favorite monster fics? I’ve read all of yours and you have left me craving it.

You can't go wrong with any of these, and they are also my personal favorites:

On Waves of Blue by @kingofsummer93 [elucien]

Elain is bored of her mind-numbingly dull life as Princess of Mushroom Kingdom. The only excitement she's ever known is the threat of the great fire-breathing King Koopa, intent on making her his bride.

Is it so wrong, then, that she doesn't fear his return?

To Tango With The Devil by @iambutmortal [feysand]

For two years, Feyre’s been obsessed with the demon statue in the church. It haunts her dreams, even on the eve of her wedding. To bad the statue’s just as obsessed with her.

Bow Down by @shadowisles-writes [elucien]

When one of Elain's rituals releases more magic than usual, a much bigger demon than what she has ever protected herself against comes to her door. No amount of hidden traps and talismans can protect her from what he wants to take.

My Heart of Stone by @c-e-d-dreamer [nessian]

“Why do you run from me, my mate?” the gargoyle asks, tilting his head and sending his dark hair cascading over one shoulder.

Nesta feels hysterical, fear rising like bile in the back of her throat, but somehow she’s able to choke out the words, “what did you just call me?”

Howl by @iftheshoef1tz [azris]

When Azriel suspects that werewolves are behind the disappearance of his brother, he turns to the only werewolf expert he knows. Unfortunately for Azriel, Eris might be the werewolf he's been looking for.

Smite My Enemies by @abraxos-and-ataraxia [nessian]

Nesta summons a creature to obliterate her enemies, but quickly finds another use for the demon that appears.

A Woman So Heartless by @velidewrites [nessian]

When the Goddess of the Underworld grants a mortal General an extended stay in the land of the living, she doesn’t expect him to come back with another deal — one she has no idea will ruin her life forever.

Bejeweled by @thesistersarcheron [feysand]

Every court has their own Great Rite with unique, ancient traditions. The Night Court’s priestesses have played coy with Rhysand since he inherited the throne last year about what imbuing the land with his power really means; all they tell him is that he is meant to spend the night in the Night Court’s mines dripping in ceremonial jewels while everyone else gets to attend the orgy without him.

He doesn’t expect to find Feyre, a faerie made of crystal who leads him on a chase deeper and deeper into the mines as the Rite’s magic overcomes him.

Meet Me In The Woods by @paranoidbagel [feysand]

Returning to the ancient forests surrounding his ancestral home in the Scottish highlands, Rhys quickly discovers how the hunter becomes the hunted when a bloodthirsty Scottish faerie turns her ravenous sights on him.

The Music of the Night by @the-lonelybarricade [feysand]

It's Feyre's first year as an elligible maiden for the village reaping. In order to escape the chance of being chosen, Feyre rushes into a marriage with Lord Tamlin. She is terrified on her wedding night, but foruntately she is spared from consumating her marriage when she is pulled into a strange, erotic dream with an enchanting creature.

Paint It Red by @moodymelanist [nessian]

Nesta Archeron has been thirsting for revenge against Tomas Mandray since a fatal encounter in November 1940. When he suddenly reappears decades later, she finally has the perfect opportunity to make him pay for what he’s done. Her only problem? She and her friends aren’t powerful enough to take Tomas and his lackeys down on their own…

Cassian Valladares is the deadliest vampire hunter Windhaven has seen in a generation. When Nesta approaches him with a plan to kill her ex-fiancé, he’s initially hesitant – he wants nothing to do with leeches, especially one who almost got him killed. But as the bodies start piling up, Cassian and his brothers are forced to reconsider…

Will Nesta and Cassian be able to put aside their differences long enough to work together? Or will they find themselves consumed by something else entirely?

Crow Song by @damedechance [gwynriel]

Three years ago, Gwyneth Berdara became the ward of the Night Institute, a band of hunters led by Rhysand who work to rid the world of vampires. After one fateful night where Gwyn unwittingly welcomes one such creature into their home, she strikes a deal with Azriel, one that is just as likely to condemn them as it is to save them.

What The Shadows Hide by @shadowsxgwynriel [gwynriel]

When Gwyn goes out on the night of Calanmai to search for a missing priestess, she’ll soon find out that something lurks in the shadows...

[under-cotton-and-calicos]

Fungi and Fae

NB Fae x AFAB Reader

AN: I wrote this last year while I was in the mood for fall. I'm a bit late for Valentine's but here's some fluff (and smut later in part two)!

Word count: 1.6k

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊Part Two (to be updated)𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

"You are looking devilishly beautiful today, m'eudail." 

"I appreciate it." You mutter, eyes scanning your surroundings for brown caps or yellow growths. After years of gathering, you have grown quite adept at it. 

“Won’t you spare me even one glance?”

The autumnal rain serves as a wonderful humectant for mushrooms- they come bursting forth from the ground and wood in vivid browns, yellows and striking black, well, the edible ones at least. A few of the local birds migrate for the season, leaving the woods serenely quiet. In their place, papery field maple seeds dance through the air like a set of wings carrying invisible bodies. Shades of red and orange permeate the woods, and even though you have looked out at the sea of colour countless times, the intensity of their hue and atmosphere always takes your breath away at the beginning of the season. It is your favourite time of the year, and it would always be much more enjoyable if it weren’t for your buzzing companion.

“I attended the most wonderful ball the other day, yet it was sorely lacking in good company. Would that you were there-”

“Your kind would have made me dance to death. Literally.” You quip, hiking your skirt up and stepping over a dead log. Conversation, if you could even call the slinging of words between the two of you, comes as naturally as breathing to you in the presence of Aetyn. Your grandmother had warned you about their kind since you were but a babe, cautioning you against their trickery. You were glad that she had trained you on how to handle them as it came into good use whenever you came out to forage.

Never accept gifts. Don’t stare at them for extended periods of time. If you encounter one, be gracious but maintain a boundary. You leave offerings of cream and pasties out for them, and wear a bell in the ribbon tying your hair.

After years of being around Aetyn, however, you have come to doubt the veracity of several claims. In the beginning they had attempted to ensnare you in all sorts of ways, fairy rings, gifts in the form of decadent chocolates and precious gems, wordplay. It all flowed over you like water. You presume that they gave up after the first two autumns.

Early on, you had accidentally gazed at them. It was hard not to- they have fine features so different from those of humans. It was as if fae were sculpted from marble, perfect and polished. Their smooth skin, hooked and noble nose as well as their androgynous beauty caught your gaze like a fish to bait. Nothing happened to you though, they just stared at you quizzically and asked if they had something on their face. Nonetheless, you still remain slightly guarded around Aetyn.

“Aetyn, would you ever consider chasing after a more naive, vulnerable maiden?” He’s quiet for a few seconds. You can almost hear the little cogs turning in his head.

“...but they don’t have your sharp tongue, or your bewitching-”

With a gasp, you clamber over to a massive queen bolete, brushing leaves and dirt from its cap before plucking it, its stem breaking from the earth with a satisfying crunch. You place it into your basket among a handful of porcinis, morels and chanterelles. Before you can stand and continue, you notice Aetyn laying belly-down on the grass with their head in their hands, long pink hair ostentatiously trailing down their shoulder.

“You have a look in your eyes when you find a good one. You smile so wide-” they have a sparkle in their eyes, you think you see their legs kicking in the air

“You’re so pretty.”

For some reason, the compliment feels oddly genuine, different from the other pet names that he piles onto you. Sensing the heat rising up your neck you look away, fussing with the mushrooms in your basket and wandering off to the clearing ahead. You’ve gotten used to Aetyn’s careless flirtation- they had used it as a tactic to trick you so you never take it to heart. Something about the look in their eyes strikes a chord within you this time, though. A jumble of strange, foreign emotions stir in your chest, so preoccupied are you with your thoughts that you make a near fatal mistake.

“Be careful!” 

Suddenly, an arm wraps around your midriff and tugs you backward. You’re leaned forward, torso tipped precariously over a circle of mushrooms. Gingerly, Aetyn gathers you into their arms, pulling you upright and a few steps away from the fairy ring.

“It wouldn’t do for you to fall into the snare of another fae now would it?” In the circle of their embrace, you are acutely aware of their body against yours even through your shirt and your coat. Your eyes are drawn to their lashes- pink just like their hair, so fair that you had never noticed just how long they were, fanning across their rosy cheeks. Aetyn’s gaze trails down the features of your face and lands on your mouth, hands sliding down your shoulders to your wrists. The feeling of his skin on yours is surprisingly humanlike, soft and comforting, but what ever made you think it would be otherwise? The urge to say something…or to do something-

A light ring and plink snaps you out of your reverie. Tearing your eyes away from them, you twist around to see your ribbon and bell on the ground. Aetyn steps away from you, the usual ease and gracefulness gone from their lithe body. They bend over, picking the delicate ribbon up. Your fringe has come loose, the two neat braids threaded to the back of your head by your grandmother undone.

“May I?” Aetyn pushes back the hair that obscures your vision. You nod, taking a seat on a cushion of brown leaves.

Their fingers carting through your hair are tender, deft as they expertly do up the braids and secure them once more. It feels…good. The warmth of their fingers, which you have watched pointing and gesturing many a time, seeps into your scalp. For once, the two of you are silent and you realise that you are wholly unaccustomed to the quiet whenever Aetyn is around. You’ve just grown used to their chatter like the tweeting of a little bird hovering over your shoulder. 

“It is done.” 

You are unable to see it, so you run a hand over the back of your head and feel the braids just as they were when you left home. They really are surprisingly good at it. Your tongue slips loose, from the intimacy in that moment or the fluttering in your chest, you do not know.

“Thank y-” You slap a hand over your mouth, unable to stop the panic from bubbling and frothing over. You look at Aetyn warily but regret it in the exact same moment, because you can see your distrust reflected in their eyes. The wide grin plastered onto their face falls and they look away from you. Whatever little shreds of trust that they’d hoped to have built up with you had blown away in the wind, they must think. 

It’s the first time that you’ve seen them look hurt and the sight claws at your heart. A few moments of unbearable quiet pass before you dust off your skirt and pick up your basket.

“I-I think that’s all I need for today.”

As the both of you walk through the lush woods, your mind is racing. With just one move, you’ve upended any semblance of kinship you shared with Aetyn. What were you going to do? Do you even want to do anything about it?

Just as you near the bend leading to your home, you come to the panicked conclusion that it would be awful to end the day this way. Aetyn has had every opportunity to capture you with trickery today, yet spurned it each time. Considering the seasons of your…relationship, you feel like you have shunned them. Summoning courage, you take a deep breath before spinning around so abruptly that Aetyn jumps.

“Today…was nice.” you bumble, acutely aware of how awkwardly your mouth forms the syllables. Your free hand twists the fabric of your shirt hopelessly.

“It was nothing. I am honoured to have your company.” They respond politely with a smile, eyes downcast. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish for a few seconds before

“Th…Th-thank you!” As soon as the two words leave your mouth, you squeeze your eyes shut.

This is it. I’m sorry for being such a foolish girl, grandmama.

What feels like an eternity passes and yet, you haven’t somehow been turned into a beetle, or been bound to servitude to a diabolical fae for the rest of your meagre mortal life, or anything really. It was quite anticlimactic. 

Instead, you feel a rush of warmth in the air and the bristle of tree branches bustling against their neighbours and the sweet call of a bird somewhere. And you hear laughter- Aetyn’s laughter, bright and rich which makes your chest brim with weight and ache. 

Your eyes still closed, a hand tugs gently against the nape of your neck and a pair of feather-soft lips plant a kiss on your brow.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” He cradles your face in his hands. You feel compelled to lean into them but you remain rooted in place.

“Thank you.”

You place your basket on the kitchen counter, moving to don your apron and get started on dinner when your grandmother shambles into the room with her cane in hand.

“That’s a pretty flower in your hair,” she squints through the glasses perched on her nose, “wherever did you find it at this time of year?”

A hand flies to the back of your head, fingers tangling with little stems and soft, small flowers tucked into your braids. Your heart beats like the wings of a hummingbird.

“Oh my.”

Your grandmother peers at you with mirth.

“You have the look of someone in love, dear.”

[antebunny]

You should've left her in the pond

(A retelling of the swan maiden fairytale. Trigger warnings for: explicit body horror, gore, assault, dismemberment; implied animal death, cannibalism, and sexual violence).

~

He finds her by the water. Deep in the forests where sunlight holds no power and the shadows reign supreme. Fear of the wild has long since settled into his bones. Any hunter that reaches his age ought to revere the wild, or at least respect it. He doesn’t. Fear substitutes well enough. 

He strays too deep and wanders too far and in return the sunset sees him lost, far away from his cottage, still on the hunt. He stumbles upon the pond entirely by accident. One boot slipped over the edge before he registers the dark clearing before him. 

Perhaps I shall spend the night here, he muses. A pond has fresh water and is no safer than anywhere else. Still, unease squeezes his insides. He is still the hunter, not the hunted, but in the dark this can change at any moment. He tries not to think about how long it will take before someone from the village knocks on his door. (A while). Or how long before someone goes out looking for him. (Never?)

Faint splashing has him readying his bow. A catch will make this miserable day end that much better. A missed shot will cost him a precious arrow. He creeps closer, ringing around the pond. His foot slips on something soft and loose. Without taking his eyes off the darkened smudge in the pond where he heard movement, he picks it up. His fingers run over a wet, soft and feathery cloak. 

“Don’t take it!” An alarmed feminine voice rings out from the pond and into the darkened woods. 

His eyes flicker from the woman in the pond to the feather cloak in his hands. He may not respect nature but he did not get this far by ignoring the tales. “Are you a swan maiden?” His voice runs like water over gravel.

“Yes.” Breathless. The swan maiden rises from the water’s black surface, with more grace than he expected from a pond-dweller. She approaches him, skittish, determined. Every finer feature lost to the night, save for her bright red eyes. They’re beautiful. He yearns to know the rest of her. 

“Please,” she begs. “Give it back.”

Something yawns open wide at her words. Bubbling in his stomach, then frothing in the mouth, a waterfall, a hunger; call it curiosity, call it consumption. Or childishness: he just doesn’t want to. “No,” he says, perplexed by his own refusal. “Come with me.”

Her bare feet stumble over each other, closer to him with every step. He won’t fall for the pitiable fear in the curve of her hunched shoulders or be tricked by her fumbling feet. He knows the stories too well for that. And isn’t he owed something from this fruitless day? Doesn’t he deserve some joy out of this wretched night? This is just a different sort of catch, and he is a hunter, after all. It wouldn’t do to defy his nature.

The stories must be true, because she doesn’t fight him. She follows him out of the forests, afraid, stumbling, quiet like a whisper, yet silent in dignity. Let it never be said that swans do not comport themselves with grace.  

(She cries so pitifully the first night that he doesn’t touch her for the next month. But it’s not because he feels guilty. It’s not. He married her, after all. What has he got to be guilty about?) 

~

“Please,” the hunter says. “Eat.”

It isn’t right that he must beg for her to feed herself. 

The swan maiden hisses at him, maintaining her low crouch atop the wooden chest that contains her cloak. “Give me the key,” she says. Too pitiful to be a demand, too confrontational to be a plea. 

“No.” The hunter clenches both hands. In his left, the golden key. In his right, the bowl of duck soup that was supposed to be their dinner. She ought to be grateful. No other maiden in the village receives lovingly made duck soup for dinner. Porridge, perhaps, barley soup or mushroom stew. Never duck. 

“They will come for me,” the swan maiden vows. 

The hunter laughs. “No one,” he says, “ever comes.”

He wonders, fleetingly, if she is telling the truth. If she has a family, how long until they coming looking for her? A week? A while?

The swan maiden bares two rows of perfectly human teeth. “Maybe not for you.”

(Never). 

He hurls the bowl at her feet. Thick, viscous liquid drips down her dress. Those red eyes blink rapidly and well up with tears. He refuses to pity her. He refuses to apologize or return her cloak. He refuses. “Fine,” he hisses. “Starve.”

~

Perhaps it is for the best that he does not hunt or fight with sword or dagger. Sometimes he catches her staring at his arrows a little too long. When he fletches new arrows, she always joins him, across the table, and watches hungrily.

“What are the tips made of?” She asks on one such day.

The hunter reaches for another goose feather. “Flint.”

“Why are they shaped so?” She mimics the triangular shape with her hands. 

“For the highest chance of success,” the hunter replies, “and maximum damage. The arrows enter easiest from a smaller point, like this.” he demonstrates by taking an arrowhead and ramming it into the table. It quivers, and so does she. “Thus making way for a wider wound.”

She tears her red eyes from the arrowhead and leans forward gracefully. (Let it never be said that swans–swan maidens–do not behave with grace). Bony elbows dig into old wood, tongue flickering over pink lips. Hungry. “Will you teach me?”

He pauses, fingers over goose feather. “No.” 

After that, he makes his arrows only when she’s not around. Which isn’t often, since she’s always around. She can’t leave. 

~

The fading sun follows his footsteps back to his cottage. From his belt hangs one gold key and two plump rabbits. He’ll have to skin them himself–he won’t let a knife out of his sight, much less into her hands–but afterwards she’ll turn them into an excellent stew. Well, first she’ll pray over the rabbits and weep. But then she’ll pull herself together. She always does. 

A faint squelch stops him in his tracks and drags him out of his thoughts. There, leading up to his front door: footsteps. No, not footsteps. They’re not human. He squats, hunter’s eyes running over the gentle indentations. A duck. No, a goose. Or a swan. His eyes travel up the goose or swan tracks to the bottom of his front door. Fear knifes his spine. Dread runs deep. He sprints the rest of the distance and throws the door open.

She’s inside, boiling a pot of water. Her hand jerks on the handle when the door flies open, splashing hot liquid on her fingers, and she flinches. By the time he strides to her side, she’s smiling. 

“What’s the matter, dear?”

His breathing calms. “Nothing. I just missed you, that’s all.”

A polite laugh. “Well then.” Smiling, smiling, smiling. “What have you got for our dinner?”

He presents the two rabbits proudly, though he knows what comes next.

“Ah.” Sure enough, tears spring to her scarlet eyes. They spill down her nose, caught in the curve of her lips, because she is still smiling, through the tears, through everything. (Let it never be said that swan maidens do not carry themselves with grace). 

All he can focus on is his relief. The tracks outside do not belong to her. But of course they don’t. If she could leave, she wouldn't stay. 

~

But sometimes he thinks she might love him. 

Sunlight dances on the pink rose petals. They stand side by side in the cottage’s single window and admire the roses together. 

“They’re beautiful, dear,” she says. “But how in the world did you get them? What did they cost?”

He half-shrugs. “You said you missed smelling the flowers.”

“Yes, but–” she stops, cross.

“No, don’t stop. What were you going to stay?”

She hesitates. Licks her lips. Hungry. Who’s hungry? “But roses are so rare around here.”

“I’d do anything if it made you happy,” he says honestly.

“Oh,” she says, and again: “oh.” And she laughs. A bubbling brook in summertime. 

His stomach swoops, because this is real, and it’s true, and it’s burning him alive. And he ignores the tinkling little voice that whispers any thing but one. “If you left you wouldn’t be able to smell the roses,” he points out carefully. Not carefully enough.

She makes a noise, half birdsong, half hum, into his shoulder. 

He draws himself up, shoulder by her chin, lungs filling with fresh air. “If you could leave, would you?”

She hums again, rose red eyes on his neck. “I don’t know.”

And he believes her. (He has to). And it’s good enough. (It has to be).

~

On stormy nights he sleeps uneasily. The slumber of the guilty and the damned. He dreams of his wife’s skin covered in swan feathers, and of his hands, plucking the feathers out one by one while she screams and begs for him to stop. Inevitably the dream reaches the stage where her screams evolve, reaching higher pitches, more animalistic, until from her lips bursts a bright red beak, which opens wide, teeth shining–

He wakes. The hunter throws off his blanket and sits up, willing his heart to calm. Beside him, his wife slumbers on. He listens to the sheets of rain battering the cottage walls and the sound of her breathing; the sigh of spring, a summer breeze. (Let it never be said that maidens–swan maidens–do not live and breathe grace and beauty). 

The hunter slips out of their bed, feet crossing the floorboards without touching any area that creaks. He fishes the golden key out of today’s hiding spot (beneath the bed of roses) and takes it to the wooden chest. 

Fleetingly, he wonders if he can truly keep this up forever. Hiding and rehiding the key every day. Bringing water fowl and small game animals back for dinner, to see eyes that demand pity and fear in her smile. Waiting for her to break. Waiting for her to love him back. He banishes the thought as quickly as it came. 

The wooden chest opens silently. He reaches one arm down and runs his fingers over the soft, silky swan feathers. Pristine from years of disuse. He closes the lid as quietly as he opened it and stands. He looks at the bed. Screams ring in his ears, below the rain, but above her breathing. 

He walks to the front door. Breathes in and listens to the rain hurling itself against the wooden frame. Isn’t there something else, something higher, something calling out in the night? In a fit of idiocy, he throws the door open.

Outside, the forest howls in anger. Raindrops batter his toes and he steps back. Wind threads through the inky black night, bowing the trees to its will. A tiny red light blinks. The hunter squints and strains his eyes. Two tiny red lights blink. With his lack of depth perception, they could be large and far away or small and close by. They look like eyes. But what eyes glow?

The hunter closes the door. “Not tonight.” And he goes back to bed.

Something must have woken his wife, because she speaks when he slides back under the covers. “What’s the matter, dear?” She murmurs. “Nightmares?”

“It’s–” Nothing. She blinks at him innocently and he thinks of the red lights in the darkness, watching him. He cannot see the redness of her irises in the dark, but the knowledge haunts him. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” she encourages. 

And he almost does. Well, he thinks about it. (No he doesn’t). “It’s nothing,” he insists. A dismissal. A refusal. “Go back to sleep.”

~

A problem is running around the village. He can tell by the little gatherings of people, their positions, their voices. Subtle changes invisible to someone who has not spent their life in this village. 

“What’s wrong?” The hunter asks.

“It’s the water,” the baker says. They’re in the village’s favorite gathering spot. The tavern. “There’s something wrong with the water.”

“How so?” The hunter does not usually engage in midday drinking, but he does today. Something from last night’s rain has not left his mind. 

The baker shrugs. “It tastes funny. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it’s the well. I wouldn’t drink it if I were you.”

The hunter leans back in his chair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” (He won’t).

“Whatever.” The baker shrugs again. “And tell your wife.” She side-eyes the hunter, countless questions in her eyes, questions that he’s long grown tired of. Why don’t we ever see her? Where did she come from? Why doesn’t she ever go outside? Who is she? What is she?

~

The nightmares worsen. On kinder nights she screams for mercy, for forgiveness, for a savior, for peace. On crueler nights she finds that she is the one with no forgiveness to give. 

(A swan head, severed at the neck by an arrow, rolling to a stop at his feet. Red beak opening wide, revealing two sets of human teeth, and one human question: “Why?”)

He wakes panting on those nights, running from the wolves. But they keep howling during the day. He doesn’t stray so deep into the forests anymore. She needs him to be back before dark, after all. 

(Well. Technically, she doesn’t need him, but–)

~

“What’s the matter, dear?” She asks one day when a sudden gust of wind sends him walking into the table.

“Nothing, nothing,” he mumbles. “Distracted, that’s all.” He casts about the little room for their water jug. “How is the soup?”

“Simmering,” she replies swiftly, with a sweet smile. (Let it never be said that maidens do not converse with grace and wit). She turns her back to the pot. “Are you looking for water? It’s right here, dear.” She serves both of them a glass. “But really, if something’s going on, you can tell me.” Her fingers linger on the glass when she hands it to him. She’s as human as they come but he’s never touched another human that felt this electrifying. “I’m here for you.” She smiles, too, well, smiles more, and it’s all for him.

He knows what she’s saying, underneath her spoken words: I love you. She loves him. He knows it. He knows. The hunter gulps the water down like a man lost in a desert. “Do you still want to learn how to fletch arrows?”

The swan maiden’s voice trembles. “Yes. I would love to.” 

“Then I’ll teach you.” 

The hunter leads her to where he keeps his secret cache of arrows–where he’s kept them today, at least. He doesn’t think he’ll be hiding them anymore. He has just a few unassembled materials–sticks, flint and feathers–on hand, but it’s enough for a first attempt. 

He doesn’t plan on letting her try for that long for two reasons. First, he’s developed a frustrating headache, and in his experience the only cure is a long and deep sleep. Second, her eagerness reminds him uncomfortably of her hunger to learn of violence, earlier in their relationship. She ought to know by now that he hunts out of necessity, not desire, and that violence does not justify violence, and that not all hunger is equal. He ignores the argument raging in the back of his mind. (When you first saw her, was that not hunger? Yes, but a different kind, an understandable one, a satisfiable one; after all, it’s my hunger). 

Sticks, not yet shaped. Flint, sharpened, but unattached. Feathers, loose and not yet fletched. A small wood-shaving knife. The hunter spreads them all across the table. “It’s a complicated process,” he prefaces. “Don’t feel bad if it takes you a while to get.”

She picks up the pieces one by one and turns them over in her hands. The stick, which she discards. A white goose feather, which she smoothes over and over. A flint arrowhead. She smiles wide. 

“Oh, I won’t,” she promises. 

Then she rams the arrowhead into his neck as hard as she can.

Well, more like his upper chest, because he jerks back on instinct. The scrape of the flint point across his collar bone is what he imagines burning alive to feel like. No, he thinks. NO. She wouldn’t. She can’t. She loves me. He stands without thinking, shoves her without thinking, and then the anger rushes in. He tackles her to the floor, but she’s got another arrowhead in her other hand and she swipes it across his face. Someone’s screaming, or roaring, like an animal. Is it him? His head spins. He’s dizzier than before, but it can’t be the rush of anger, it must be something else, it must be the water. Blood splatters her face, spraying from above. She screams. Did he punch her? Yes, but he missed. He tries again. One of her hands snakes through, grasps the arrowhead still buried in his upper chest, and twists. Pain explodes across his chest and in his head, pain like he’s never known. His arms give in. She rolls out of the way as he collapses. 

“Maximum damage,” she spits as she rises. 

She swipes something off the table and stoops down. He raises his arms to defend himself, and each slash of flint across his forearms redoubles his screaming. She grabs one of his arms with her free hand, and he was lying before when he said her touch was like no other, because this is like no other, before was merely some pale imitation, a ghostly foreshadowing, this is electricity, fire on his skin, this is burning him alive and–

The arrowhead sinks into his neck. 

He screams, or he gargles, feet lashing out blindly. One flailing arm finds the table’s edge and holds on tight. Sweaty and bloody hand on the old wood. An arrowhead strikes across his wrist, tearing through muscles and tendons and arteries. He didn’t know she had this capacity for brutality. She strikes again; same wrist, different line, making a jigsaw puzzle of his arm. He reels back, hitting the floor right before his hand does, jolting the arrowhead stuck in his neck. 

Someone’s screaming. It’s still him. He clutches his bloody stump with the hand he still has, eyes fixated on the lifeless fingers on the floor a foot away from him. I’ll never shoot an arrow again. A realization and a bargain. Both come too late. 

Blood soaks his clothes. He can’t feel a thing. Her foot comes down on the arrowhead lodged above his collarbone, pressing it in, and suddenly he can feel, but he’d gladly never feel again. His spine curls and he flattens to the floor, head banging against the floorboards. 

She looms over him, those red eyes he once mistook as beautiful overflowing with malice, a gentle curve to her lips. He screams until he chokes. 

Why? A horrible, rattling gurgle escapes his lips instead of a word. She still answers like she heard it loud and clear.

“It’s like you said, dear,” she explains, sweet smile in place. (Let it never be said that swan maidens–that swans–oh, you know). “No one was coming.” 

She reaches down and plucks the golden key from his belt. “You should’ve given me the key.” It may be blood loss but her teeth are longer and sharper. “You should’ve left me in the pond.” It may be the lack of light but there are small teeth on her tongue. Like a swan. Or a monster. She strides to the front door and throws it open. 

The wild streams in. Chipmunks and raccoons, scampering across the floorboards, chittering and growling. Insects, invisible until they’re crawling over him. A brown hare thumps to a stop by his face, eyes large and red and unafraid. The wind blows cool night air into the cottage and her bloodstained dress ripples in the breeze. Something bites him, teeth on his ear, and horror breaks through the all-consuming pain. Many things bite him, only some with teeth, and quickly the horror grows into pain once more.

“Please,” he sobs. An insect crawls over his face and into his mouth. He spasms and curls. The animals gnaw closer.

“What’s the matter, dear?” The swan maiden tilts her head, red eyes blinking, clawed hands on hips. “Isn’t turnabout fair play?” She squats by his side, fingers brushing his hair back tenderly. “I should thank you. It’s because of you that I’ve developed a taste for meat.” Eyes alight, tongue over lip. Hungry. “And I know just what to make for supper.”

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Moonah Girl

Some details about Silver (my Ghosts oc's) curse and her connection with the moon(ah). It's more than just a cute nickname given to her by Robin.

- It's unclear if Silver's curse to only be awake during the three days of the full moon was always going to be part of her as a ghost given the time that she died and her Esbat ritual, or had something to do with Robin placing her in the bed of cornflowers. At least, that's a thought that often plagues him, if he is somehow at fault for what was meant to be a sweet gesture. Silver, on the other hand, likes to believe that he 'saved' her by placing her on that bed, and that she might have just been trapped in sleep forever as a ghost if he hadn't.

- As a Pisces, Silver's main element is water. The moon is connected to her as it is the tide. Canon Silver doesn't have any powers but Gore Silver has the ability to summon mist, as a shield and a veil to confuse and distort people. The land outside BH is nearly always coated with mist, which if Livings stare hard enough they can see her dancing upon the field.

- The moon charges Silver as the sun does a solar powered battery. The moon is to her what Monster drinks were to her best friend. Even though she only gets three days a month, she takes advantage of every minute and is always hyper and positive - that is if she's slept during a month of clear skies and lots of moonlight. As much as Mary would have preferred her darling girl to sleep inside where she was sheltered and close, Robin explained to her that it's important for Silver to always rest in moonlight. Not only does it refuel her energy but it also makes her dreams more pleasant. Only during a new moon does she suffer either way, the lack of moonlight giving her bad dreams or night terrors at worse. During this time, either Robin or Mary stay close to try to soothe her through them, Mary sometimes bringing her inside to cuddle her in her room.

- Even when awake, Silver feeds off the moonlight. As much as she will come inside the house to visit her friends, at night when they're asleep, she'll mostly wander outside, usually alone or often with fellow night owls Robin and later Amy. The one time Silver attempted to spend her entire three days doing a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, she ended up regretting it, as trying to stay indoors for too long made her drained and sickly, and her dreams for most of the month after were unpleasant to say the least, until she was 'recharged'. As for what would happen to Gore Silver if kept away from the moonlight...well. 😬 👿

- Speaking of Gore Silver, moonlight is one of two things she can 'see' through her blindness, the other being her "Mummy's" fire, at least until Mary 'turns the lights on' for her - ie, casts her magic over her mind to see her surroundings as a fantasy world.

- One of Silver's patron deities in her practice was Artemis, who is not only a lunar deity but also was known to live in the woods and be surrounded by her nymphs. Basically one of the reasons Silver is so chill about her situation - for the most part - is she sees it as being one of her godddess' chosen maidens.

- Though usually happy and upbeat, partly from the moon and also the mushrooms consumed before her aneurysm ruptured, several things can cause Silver's mood to crash in the opposite direction. Either being indoors or weather covering the moon or just something genuinely upsetting her. This is exaggerated more so with Gore Silver, who will be happy and friendly and childlike most of the time, but her 'crashes' can result in tearful meltdowns while being forced to keep smiling, or laughing hysterically and causing the brains of those around her to suffer instead - either intentionally or not. But if she seeks vengeance and justice, she will get it. She's a Guppy after all.

[queer-ragnelle]

Hi there @ourano-s

I can only speak for myself as it’s impossible to divine David Lowery’s true intentions with this film. Since I made this post, I’ve purchased a copy of the movie from A24’s website with bonus features, which included deleted scenes. Some of those illuminated the foundation of my criticisms—conversations with Gawain that had important elaboration on story elements were cut in favor of silent wide shots. Not what I would’ve done, but there it is.

In regards to the significant motifs, I’m not a medievalist. And my first suggestion is to read the original Sir Gawain and The Green Knight poem if you have not already. (There are many free to read translations online.) But I can give you my answer.

Beheadings were significant in Christian-dominant cultures who believed this death to be atonement and would make the person better for the kingdom of heaven to come. This article states:

“The ideal death involved accepting the punishment and willingly submitting to it with courage and humility.”

Does that sound like Lowery’s Gawain? Nope.

It’s traditional in medieval literature for knights to be subjected to awkward trials at the behest of maidens or undergo hardship on their journey as a test of their fortitude. The idea is they are meant to follow a code of ethics that dictates all of their behavior. That’s what the original SGATGK poem is really about, Gawain finding some way to please the lady while remaining truthful to the lord, but ended up breaking that convention by keeping the green girdle a secret.

This entire premise falls flat in Lowery’s story as his Gawain isn’t truly knighted and held to a standard to which he hasn’t sworn.

Superstition about foxes could be a reference to the literary character Reynard the Fox, who was an anthropometric, amoral, trickster. The fox in SGATGK is what the lord hunts on the third day, a parallel to the lady’s cunning trick to get Gawain to accept the girdle by telling him it will prevent him from bleeding.

All of that is lost in the movie as the fox just randomly shows up, and the scene in which the lord presents a boar on the second day was cut (it exists as a deleted scene on the bluray only). Gawain does run into the lord in the woods and receives the fox, but the significance had already been diluted.

As for giants, they supposedly lived on the Isle of Albion before “man” came. Brutus arrived, renamed the land Britain, and his companion Cornelius defeated the last of the giants, Gogmagog, then named the land after himself: Cornwall. Giants are significant to Arthurian mythology across a multitude of languages.

But they seemed very numinous in Lowery’s story and sort of difficult to quantify in any meaningful way. It felt tacked-on. Although I personally believe Gawain was hallucinating, as he had just eaten those suspicious mushrooms in the scene before.

Lastly Saint Winifred isn’t mentioned directly in SGATGK, but Gawain mentions the well which sprouted where her decapitated head landed, dubbing it “þe Holy Hede.” Lowery chose to extrapolate a story from that. Which I love!

But I don’t think it quite worked and felt more like an aside as Gawain isn’t a knight so chastising him for his unwillingness to aid random people doesn’t quite land as hard as if he were breaking vows.

This is just my opinion. There was a lot of thought put into all these things on Lowery’s part, that much is evident. But I don’t think they all work thematically well together and end up taking away from the central plot more than they added. Simply put, the lord and lady of the manor needed more screen time than they got. In light of the deleted scenes, I now know Lowery cut the lord and lady’s presence down in favor of Winifred and giants, which baffles me. If this were one film in a greater universe, perhaps it could have worked. But it felt a little too scattered for me and lacked a through line to hang all these ideas on.

Hope this answers your question and gives you some stuff to read. :^)

Shout out to my lovely coworker who messaged me asking my opinion of The Green Knight (2021) and then apologized if it offended me, but they think Gawain sucks. Out here reducing people’s regard for me by doubling down, “Yeah, he really does!” and liking a movie with what I consider to be a mediocre manuscript, if shot well and with a nice score.

Meh opinions about director/writer David Lowery’s baffling writing choices below.

But for real my coworker was just so confused by it all and honestly Lowery could’ve stood to explain obscure historical nuances a little more. And by that I mean literally at all. The significance of beheadings, codes of honor, superstition about foxes, the legends of giants; these aren’t common knowledge to modern American viewers. My coworker had no idea why Gawain would stand up and behead the Green Knight or how Saint Winifred mattered, or why Gawain would throw a rock at the fox in the cave, or plead with the giants and then cower in fear. How would they? No cultural baseline is ever established. And of course, not every movie is for every viewer. But The Green Knight certainly didn’t resonate with medievalists and enthusiasts as much as it could have while confusing and alienating everyone else.

I dunno, having adapted the poem myself, there’s a balance to be found. Somewhere between insulting your audience’s intelligence with blatant narrative pauses to expound upon details and providing literally zero worldbuilding so that even people who read the poem have to sit back and question what they watched. Because it’s not a one to one adaptation, there’s an expectation the narrative will organically define the rules of the universe, and show us the confines of our hero’s skills, understanding, and limitations within that universe.

Shouldn’t Morgan have warned Gawain about dangers and counsel him on etiquette while giving him the girdle? Why didn’t Gawain converse with someone at the pub about the threats outside the kingdom? Couldn’t Arthur have given him an interesting anecdote that foreshadows what’s to come? Merlin is worse than a macguffin, just a wasted narrative tool that could’ve guided Gawain or even reminisced with Arthur about some history, but instead he has no dialogue at all. He just nods when the Green Knight enters and serves as a paternity test in the flash-forward. I wonder how Essel’s bell motif could’ve been extrapolated on. Maybe she gives it to Gawain with a warning about foxes or the threat of bandits or even doppelgängers! Why not give her a cutesy nursery rhyme to sing about the outside world while the year wheel rotates and rotates?

It would’ve been perfectly in character for Gawain to ignore all of this only to meet his comeuppance while providing the audience with necessary context. There was so much time spent on wide shots of Ireland that could’ve been used more effectively or even in conjunction with voice over flashbacks. The creators went through the trouble to cast children to play Gawain’s future offspring, why not use them in flashbacks as a representation of his past self as he reconsiders his rash skeptic’s stance? Even continue the doppelgänger motif? But alas! I’m critical because I liked it and wanted to like it more and because it’s a recent and accessible Gawain-related media several people have watched and come to me about. They thought we could bond over it. Except so far, nobody has liked it…haha!

[leebird-simmer]

Russian Fairy Tales Test Prep: Spirits of the Forests, Waters, and Fields

Like the domovoi, the spirits of the forests, waters, and fields had their origin in pre-Christian times, but the nature spirits were considered basically harmful to humans and were generally regarded as unclean. The bulk of available sources re: nature spirits dates from the end of the 19th century, when belief in these beings was already in a state of decline and information about them was often imprecise or contaminated by the addition of traits more properly belonging to the Devil.

The Leshii: master of the forest, guardian of beasts.

He could assume the likeness of a familiar person, a forest beast, a domestic animal, even a mushroom. He made his presence known to peasants venturing into his territory through laughter, handclapping, and the various sounds of the forest. It was reported that he could “sing without words.” He would frequently “prank” peasants by calling to them in a familiar voice so they would get lost in a deep thicket or ravine. Sometimes he would tickle people to death. At all times, it was considered essential to utter a protective prayer upon entering the forest. The leshii hated boisterous conduct, sojourns in the woods at night, and woodcutters. He wailed if one of his favorite trees was chopped down. 

Historical basis: In medieval Russia, it was customary to cut off a robber’s left ear after the first offense. The peasants had a tendency to refer to the forest spirit as kornoukhii (”one whose ear has been cut off”). In Karelia, Russians often pictured forest spirits wearing military uniforms, indicating that peasants assigned them traits of fugitive soldiers hiding in the forest. Similarly, narratives in which the leshii approaches a campfire and requests food may reflect this practice among vagabonds and escaped serfs seeking refuge in the forest.

Social organization: While there was usually one leshii per forest, sometimes there were several. For particularly large forests, the notion existed that there was a hierarchy of forest spirits, ruled by a tsar. Forest spirits feasted and played games together. The leshii lived with his wife, his children, and sometimes his mother & father. Their domestic order was imagined as similar to that of the peasants; they lived in houses, had dogs, and raised livestock. In certain areas, the leshii’s wife, the lesovikha, played a prominent role in forest lore. 

Dealings with humans: Among the forest beasts, the wolf was the leshii’s favorite, and on occasion the spirit assumed the form of a large white wolf. Throughout the woodlands of Great Russia, peasants took measures to guard their cattle from the leshii’s wolves. Many of them called on St. George’s protection from predators.

In the Russian North, where cattle were pastured in the forest, peasants also solicited the leshii’s protection. This sometimes took the form of a pact between the forest spirit & the herdsman, who (according to one account) concluded this agreement much the same way that sorcerers concluded pacts with the devil: he removed his cross from his neck, swore fidelity to the forest spirit, and instead of swallowing holy communion, handed it over to the leshii. Peasants often looked askance at herdsmen (and at hunters, who made similar pacts), suspecting they possessed occult powers.

Leshie also carried off young girls, who they sometimes married, and women living in discord with their husbands. Narratives tell of peasant women abducted or summoned to serve as nannies or midwives for the forest spirit. One occasionally encounters the idea that captives could gain their freedom by refusing to eat the leshii’s food. Those who returned from the forest were reportedly wild-looking and covered with moss, and often they could no longer speak. Many never recovered, remaining in a state of continual distraction for the rest of their lives. Some made use of the knowledge of the unclean force gained by their forest experience and became sorcerers.

The Vodianoi

- often referred to as “the water devil” - universally considered evil & dangerous, since his sole purpose was drowning people

Habitat: The vodianoi lived underwater in deep pools. He confined himself to his own & neighboring waters, coming out only as far as the bank or the mill wheel. In some areas, it was believed that the vodianoi did not leave the water at all, but emerged only as far as his waist.

In the black-earth provinces of Riazan, Tula, Orel, and Kaluga, peasants claimed that the spirits had magnificent underwater palaces of crystal and that they gave grand feasts. Peasants from northern areas (such as Olonets) had a more modest conception of the spirits’ dwellings: here the silver floors, golden ceilings, and crystal chandeliers of their southern kin are replaced by sandy bottoms, snarled branches, and slimy logs.

Relationships: The vodianoi married a drowned maiden, either a rusalka or his female counterpart (the vodianikha), who was envisioned as a naked woman with gigantic breasts sitting on the bank at night, combing her long wet hair.

The vodianoi liked millers & fishermen; the miller in particular was often regarded with suspicion because of his relationship with the spirit. When a new mill was constructed, a black rooster was placed under the threshold as an offering to the vodianoi. If you really wanted to impress him, you could drown a drunk passerby instead of a rooster, maybe even as an annual sacrifice. That was said to be worthy of a standing invitation to the spirit’s nightly underwater feast.

The Polevoi & Poludnitsa: spirits of the field.

In some places, the polevoi was considered an oracle, and thus morally neutral. In other places, they were a sign of misfortune, considered unclean and dangerous. According to folk notions, it was dangerous to sleep on the boundaries of the field because the polevoi liked to gallop there and might run you over with his horse. His children also played there and liked to smother sleeping humans.

In some regions, one finds mention of a female field spirit known as the poludnitsa or “midday spirit” AKA Lady Mid-day, who may have played an important role in folk belief during medieval times. Back then, she was believed to walk the fields at noon when the grain was ripe. Her function was to protect the crop and to punish peasants caught working at noon (in violation of custom) by breaking their bones and twisting their necks.

The Rusalka: female spirits, thought to be the souls of unbaptized/stillborn babies and drowned maidens.

alternate names for her: “jokestress” (shutovka), “tickler” (loskotukha), “abductor” (khitka), and among the Northern Great Russians, “demoness” (chertovka).

alternate origins:

 1. Some creation legends claimed that the devil himself fashioned the spirits (both domestic AND natural) when, imitating God, he struck one rock against the other. The fragments became these creatures.  2. One legend claims that these spirits were children whom Adam (or Noah) was ashamed to show to God and thus hid.  3. Vodianye & rusalki were thought to be descended from Pharoah’s forces, drowned while pursuing Moses across the Red Sea.  4. In Kaluga Province, it was believed that they received their eternal youth and beauty directly from the Devil, who boiled them in a cauldron.   5. Only in Bulgaria was the rusalka portrayed positively; rusalki were understood as winged spirits who lived on the edge of the world and brought moisture & fertility.

All but the last of these explanations bear the stamp of apocryphal legends based on the Old Testament, illustrating the grafting process of dvoeverie. 

These spirits were considered especially dangerous in the late spring during Rusal’naia Week, when they supposedly left their underwater homes from the forests & fields. Peasant women sometimes hung offerings of scarves and linen on forest trees to appease them. Reports sometimes specified that the rusalki did not like women; on the other hand, they often told of love between these spirits and village lads. 

Most accounts of the rusalki paint this picture: sisterhoods of lovely maidens in league with the unclean force. This is the standard image for Southern Great Russia & the Ukraine, an image highly evocative in its interweaving of beauty and treachery.

[casiavium]

I've been editing old stuff instead of writing anything new so I'm going to post some of the parts of my fanfic that I don't hate and work well out of context!!

The crunch of leaves under Link's feet filled the forest, but for once, he wasn't afraid to alert others to his position. They were safe now.

Though it was hard to tell back in the perpetual springtime of Skyloft, time had passed since he fought Demise.

As the months wore on, the surface showed it. The stories of changing leaves and colder breezes that had been passed down for as long as anyone could remember turned out to be true. The world below was filled with brilliant reds and yellows, the air in Faron woods sharper than it had been before.

Link wasn't paying attention to where the path was leading him. He knew the woods well, even if they hadn't made the final move to the surface yet. He wasn't too worried about running into anything dangerous, as it seemed without a leader the bokoblins and moblins had vanished.

Though Faron appeared safe, Link wanted to wander farther. In the middle of their maps was a blank space where a kingdom once stood. He knew ruins laid there, hopefully with the answers to unsolved mysteries regarding gods and demons. Zelda wouldn't let him go alone, but the plans to move meant no one could be spared.

He sighed out loud, stopping in front of a fallen log. He didn't know the area beyond it very well, down a tunnel that looked like it was leading to a canyon. He really should turn back, people would start to worry. Climbing up the log onto the ledge, Link looked back out over the forest.

He wasn't familiar with the area. If he turned around now, he could head straight back the way he came, and be sure to end up at the Sealed Temple. Zelda was waiting for him there, discussing the future of both the surface and Skyloft with Groose. He had said he would be right back, he just needed a minute to get some air. They'd be looking for him soon...

Beyond the tunnel, a faint noise rang through the canyon. Link whipped around, sure he had imagined it. He hadn't heard the soft sound of bells for three months, not since he had left the Master Sword to rest in the past. Wandering farther down the path, Link ignored the instinct to head back.

He had been here before. A long time ago, now. Though the walls of the canyon hid it, Link knew a temple was sitting at the end, surrounded by a grove of trees and wildflowers unlike any others on the surface. The winding path dropped off abruptly in places, fraying rope the only way to cross.

It was dangerous. Alone, if something were to happen to him, he would be trapped. Not expecting to adventure today, he only carried a simple training sword.

At the bend of the path, a shadowy figure flickered at the edge of Link's vision. The chime rang through the canyon again, this time a little louder. When he turned to face the figure head on, the shadow disappeared.

Something was wrong, Link thought, as he felt himself follow the shadow. He had done this before, at the beginning of his quest, with Fi, but this time... the energy that was calling to him felt different. Like it wasn't meant for him. He still followed.

Link almost lost his balance crossing a rope bridge when the shadow appeared at the end. It was small, dark, and still. He couldn't recognize the outline, a vague humanoid, but the chime it sent out sounded so familiar he couldn't ignore it. A soon as he corrected himself, it was gone.

As he followed the path, Link began to worry. He could have been hallucinating the apparition, but more than likely, it was leading him somewhere. A thought crossed his mind that it was guiding him to certain death, luring in a victim with a false sense of security. At the back of his mind, probably the worst thing to have in this situation, was hope.

The similarities to Fi, but darker, different... Link knew it was dangerous to wish for, but he was praying to Hylia the shadow figure was Ghirahim, calling to him as his own sword once had. He knew the spirit was alive, he saw him, Fi told him to find Ghirahim again, but it had been three months. There was no sign of the demon, no idea of where to even start, and Link was close to giving up.

As the shadow appeared in and out of his vision, Link continued down the path leading to Skyview Temple. Soon, he found himself at the front steps, staring up at the building before him.

He really should head back now, get backup or at least a better sword. He had actually turned to leave, but there it was again, the shadowy figure in the corner of his vision. At the entrance to the temple, it flickered, beckoning him inside.

Despite his better judgement, Link followed. There shouldn't have been any bokoblins to deal with, and though his sword was not the best, it would hold up against skulltullas well enough. The temple hadn't changed, and Link was lucky to find every door left unlocked from the last time he had been there.

At the end of the maze of passages, Link once again came to the broken bridge, the room taken over by vines and trees. Across the chasm, the shadow waited in front of the golden door, a dark contrast to the scattered glow of stray mushroom spores.

This was the first time he was able to look at it head on. The figure stood as tall as the keyhole, touching the floor but almost floating as it waited for him. It wasn't solid, a few glowing dots drifting through its body, and as each second passed Link could swear it was getting dimmer.

He couldn't say how much time was spent staring ahead. The figure blinked out of existence once more, and Link finally moved to follow it. The rope before him shook under his weight, and he nearly lost his balance a few times, but he had made it to the other side.

The large door was still unlocked, and open by just a sliver. Drawing his sword, Link pushed through.

Nothing had changed. The empty room stood before him, shattered pieces of pottery from the last fight that took place lining the edges. There was no figure, no demon nor sword waiting for him.

Link lowered his blade. He hadn't expected anything, really, but the confirmation of his fears stung. The sunlight had been very bright outside, the figure must have been a mirage his tired brain kept conjuring. Even so, he felt it would be a good idea to let the others know in case of some sinister new enemy. Placing his sword back in the scabbard, Link turned to leave.

"Did you really just sheathe your sword? Foolish boy."

At the voice, Link spun around with a racing heart. Across the room, where they had first met, Ghirahim was waiting for him.

"Hello, Link."

He looked the same as when Link last saw him. Taller than he was used to, eerily similar to Fi, glowing core exposed. He looked less worn down, but signs of battle were still etched onto his skin, cracks in the gem revealing the glow underneath. His hand held onto the sword, nearly as tall as Link, a reflection of the demon himself.

"It's been a while."

"It has." Link whispered in response, scared to walk closer and break the spell. "What took you so long?"

"Me?" Ghirahim scoffed. "I've been waiting here for you. I thought you'd come back eventually."

Link was confused. Looking back over his shoulder, he had the strange feeling of being watched. "So you weren't the shadow?"

"I don't know what you mean. Does it matter? You're here now."

Still wary, Link turned his attention back to Ghirahim. "I... yes. What... what happens now?"

Ghirahim twisted the sword in his hand. Picking it up, he walked towards Link, offering the blade to him. "That is up to you. I was under the impression you no longer have a sword, correct?"

Link absentmindedly brought his hand up to the training weapon. "Yeah."

"You are a swordsman in need of a blade. I am a blade in need of a master. Surely you see how we can solve these problems?"

Link stared at the black blade in front of him. He had imagined this day for months now, wanting nothing more, but he had never told anyone. Hesitation at taking the weapon clouded his mind. It would be difficult to explain.

"... what exactly does this mean?"

Growing frustrated, Ghirahim snapped, "You've had months to think about it. It's no different than your old spirit, and I promise, if you still worry that I may try to hurt you or your precious spirit maiden, this is the only way you could stop me."

At the mention of Zelda, Link stiffened. She wouldn't react well to this. Yet, Ghirahim had a point. Under his command, Ghirahim wouldn't hurt anyone. Fi had seemed okay with the idea, encouraged him to take it, even. He had been through so much... he deserved this one thing, at least.

"I'll take it."

"Good."

Reaching out for the blade, Link closed his eyes as he grasped the cold hilt. His fingers brushed against Ghirahim's for a moment, before the spirit was gone. Cracking an eye open, Link watched as the sword glowed, red flames lighting the room as it changed before his eyes. Just as when using the sacred flames on the Goddess Sword, the blade transformed under his grip, fitting to his palm and becoming much easier to handle.

The final form was smaller, the edges of the blade smoother. It looked similar to the Master Sword, yet rougher at the edges and still distinctly Ghirahim. Link lifted the newly transformed blade to the light, watching the last of the flames fall away.

Behind him, a hand rested on his waist. This time when Ghirahim leaned over his shoulder, tongue flicking out by his ear, Link did not flinch away. He was pulled against the other's body as that tongue traced his jaw, lips stopping to rest on his neck. Cold against his skin, he could feel them move as Ghirahim whispered,

"It will be a pleasure to serve you, Master."

[your-pal-crow]

One cold afternoon, a rich man was walking through the forest for he was terribly lost. A foggy mist clouded around him, anything past 20 feet or so was completely white.. The branches of the trees shook with an eerie howl of wind, and a new presence made itself known with a small cough. A witch disguised as an older woman shuffled over to the rich man.

"Why hello dear, are you lost?" She asked curiously, her head cocking to the side.

"Yes miss.. I believe I am... By any chance would you know how to get out of the woods? My maid is cooking dinner at home, and if I don't get back in time it will be cold, and she knows how much I despise eating cold food."

Well this man didn't seem very nice at all, so the playful witch decided to play a little trick on him.

"Yes yes of course I do, I'll lead you out of the foggy forest on one condition."

"Anything! I have gold and riches, servants in The finest clothing you've ever seen! You will be paid well for your kindness."

She shook her head, having a different idea in mind.

"I'm quite old you see, I have no use for money and silk. My only condition is that you take my four daughters with you, and fed them well. So if they're too much of a hassle for you then you can simply sell them off to be married."

Although a bit perplexed, the man shook her hand and the deal was made. After all, how much of a ruckus could a few young girls make? She led the rich man back to her small cottage, surrounded by mushrooms and wildflowers. Having him wait by the door, she went inside and came out with a lantern and four beautiful women. They were quite similar to one another, each had striking green eyes just like their mother.

"The lantern will illuminate your path, follow the trail of moss and you'll find your way out rather quickly." The rich man did his she said, the quadrant of maidens following behind him whilst giggling and chatting amongst themselves.

The old woman (or rather the clever witch) was right, the green path led them out safely and he was quite relieved.

Back to his luxurious home they went, though the girls didn't seem as surprised or awestruck as he had hoped.. He would pride himself on showing off his riches to others, and was not used to them being brushed off like this.

"The four of you will share a room, right next to mine." The man declared and the girls simply nodded in agreement and walked into their new bedroom. It was late, so the man did the same, walking into his bedroom and lying down on his comfortable bedding.

"what a poor old woman..." He thought, though his mind was slowly drifting into sleep. "..That she is forced to give away her daughters to a strange man for she can not feed them." That is what he thought at least, for the girls were rather skinny for their age. He descended into his slumber with a smile, happy with his deal.

The next morning the fog seems to have disappeared from the landscape, sunlight peeking through the drapes like a playful child asking to play. He awoke, got dressed, and descended down the stairs into the dining hall where the four beauties were waiting for him.

"Thank you for having us sir." One politely spoke.

"Terribly kind of you sir." Another smiled.

"I hope you won't mind us around." The third laughed nervously.

"Terribly kind indeed." The youngest giggled to herself quietly.

Breakfast arrived and the room nearly lit up with the joy on their faces, causing a grin to spread across the rich man's face.

"You've lived a life of poverty, eat as much as you'd like!" He laughed, digging into his food right away. The beautiful women relished their meal, afterwards each asking for a second helping.

The rich man was never very good with love, so having four happy and beautiful women sleeping rather close to you does help quite a bit doesn't it? He bought each of them expensive golden jewelry, and beautiful dresses made out of the finest silk, woven with emeralds and rubies. His attempts at courting went seemingly unnoticed however, each girl peppering him with compliments but never kisses, or giving him only a glance in the hallways.

There was only one thing that bothered him though, despite being quite skinny the girls ate an awful lot of food. Two servings turned into four servings, then to five then to seven and so on. So much food and so much cooking cost the rich man quite a bit of money, until he wasn't nearly as rich anymore. Of course he loved the women, but they were sucking every penny he had with grand feasts just about every meal and he could not stand the thought of being without a roof over his head or a loaf of bread on his table.

Finally, after about a month of these antics he realized that these girls were not as they seemed, and it finally got through that thick skull of his that he had been tricked. Night after night he tossed and turned, trying to think of how he could rid himself of these ravenous maidens before he was as poor as the old woman in the woods.

"What did the woman say that night? There must be something I can do.." he muttered anxiously, looking out his window at the glowing moon. The moon almost looked like a large silver coin, round and bright and beautiful. That's when it hit him like a stone, the woman had said that he could sell them off to be married if they were too much of a hassle. And at this point, they were definitely a hassle.

The very next morning the not-so-rich man took his harem into a nearby village that had been weakened by an infestation of wolves and looked for somebody who could take care of them for him. He felt sure that they could use a bit of help around since their numbers were dwindling. The townspeople however, were very cautious about this sudden deal. They've heard tales of the girls who could eat twice their weight in beef, and knew none of them could afford such a cost.

He asked the baker "Please, these beautiful girls will help you make your bread and your cakes, as long as you feed them well." The baker declined, for he could not feed them.

Next he asked the medicine maker "Please, these beautiful girls will help you grind your herbs and stir your pots, as long as you feed them well." the medicine maker declined, for he could not feed them.

Running out of options, he came to the final house with the four girls' giggles seeming more devious than before...

In that house lived the weaver, a kind young lady with a nack for sewing, and a gray cat that followed her around. "Please, these beautiful girls will assist you in whatever you need, as long as you feed them well."

The weaver saw the mischievous gleam and the girl's eyes and simply smiled and nodded. "They'll be a great help around the house, I don't have much money but I'd like to pay you back even a little for such a generous gesture.."

Though his money was dwindling, he was desperate to rid themselves of these gorgeous menaces. "I ask for only a single bronze coin in exchange for my harem!"

Although a bit surprised, she hurried inside the house and came back with a small pouch. "Here you go sir, have a lovely day" The weaver smiled as she pressed the coin into his hand and the girls walked in.

The not-so-rich man went home feeling relieved, and had learned a lesson about making deals with strangers in the woods...

Meanwhile the weaver took care of the girls rather easily, after a few trips to the huntsman's cabin they learned how to hunt for themselves. The wolves no longer terrorized the village, for any that got too close were gobbled up by the beautiful yet gluttonous women, who had found great joy in running through the woods and shooting arrows.

And the weaver grew rather attached to them over time, and they to her, until one day te weaver and the eldest sister were happily wed. Over time the other three sisters went their separate ways, yet remained in the village hunting and dancing together every other night.

A good life they all lived, and thankfully the children were not nearly as hungry as their mothers.

What a good deal I'd say, and as the old saying goes.

"A penny for your thots"

[renee-writer]

Cousins Chapter 27

Trigger warning for rape

AO3

She wonders deep into the woods, to lost in thought to notice. She is to be picking mushrooms but.. “It isn’t fair,” she thinks. “To have to wait two years. Claire isn’t so much older and she has a husband and a bairn coming. There has to be a way to get what I want.” She should have been paying attention to where she was.

He watches from the shadows. She is attractive enough and absent brained just the way he likes them.

She comes back to herself as the shadows lengthen. How long has she been wondering about, not paying attention to where she is? Granny is going to strap her. Quickly, she starts searching for the mushrooms she is supposed to be gathering as she makes her way back to towards the castle. Unbeknownst to her, she isn’t alone.

She has to be from the Mackenzie keep. Attentive now, she will soon be back there, or close enough they can hear her call out. No, it has to be now. He comes up behind her and has her on her back before she knows what is happening. Her bosom is exposed and her skirts are pulled up. She screams but only the animals hear as he undoes his breaks and forces himself into her.

A virgin. What a nice surprise. He hasn’t had one of them in awhile. She screams louder as her breaks her maiden head. He just continues to pound until he cums deep within her. She has fainted dead away and he lifts her over his shoulder and carries her to the outskirts of the Mackenzie lands where he leaves her.

Willie is doing patrol. When he first sees her, he fears she is dead. Carefully approaching, he sees the raise and fall of her chest. Flushing at her state of undress, her covers her with his tartan before cradling her in his arms and running back to Leoch, calling for Mrs. Fitz.

[bitterlikesweets]

There’s No Lying About Love

This is a sidlink fic but there’s also a bit of one-sided zelink

It’s around 2000 words

Link doesn’t know how to tell Zelda that there is someone else that he needs to go back to. 

He doesn’t know how to admit it, when she’s battered and bruised, looking at him with green eyes so full of affection that he can’t hope to match it. He averts his gaze uneasily, fidgeting with a large silver band attached to his belt--a bracelet that just so happens to belong to a certain prince that he would love to teleport back to as soon as possible. 

“Do you remember me?” Zelda asks, and Link bites his tongue because those green eyes narrow as she continues to gaze at him, and they’re gentle and close and unfamiliar. 

How is he supposed to tell her? How is he supposed to explain things to her when she’s looking at him like nothing’s changed? Everything has changed for Link. He’s known her as nothing more than a disembodied voice and few scattered memories that barely feel real for months now. He vaguely recalled a few moments here and there from his past life, but they don’t feel like his memories. He saw himself, but it felt like he was witnessing a different person. That stoic and proper knight did not feel like the current Link, the Link who ran around half naked in the woods, swinging tree branches at anything that so much as looked in his direction. The personal knight of Zelda feels so different from the young man who spends his free time climbing mountains and eating mushrooms he finds off the ground. 

Those one hundred years turned Link into a different man, but Zelda is the same as she ever was, and the guilt rocks him until he’s unsteady on his feet. When he stumbles away from her, she reaches out to help him, and she smiles as if she knows how he’s feeling, but she doesn’t. He clutches Sidon’s bracelet, hanging low by his waist, and it calms him until he sees Zelda’s eyes follow the movement of his hands. 

“Ah,” she says softly. Her gaze lowers, and he suddenly realizes that she is shaking, her eyes barely able to stay open, and his own selfishness pools heavily in his stomach. He feels sick. He’s been thinking nothing but himself, and Zelda is barely hanging on. How has he not thought to let her rest now that the battle is over? 

He supposes part of him has thought of her as similar to the goddess whose power she wields, after knowing her as nothing more than that voice, as a far off entity that had been doing the impossible for a century. It’s strange to see her and think of her as a person, a person who is likely exhausted and clearly staring at Link like a maiden in love, even in her tired state. 

“My sheikah slate,” she mumbles, her eyelids fluttering. “Perhaps we can…”

She falls forward, and Link is barely quick enough to catch her, and that’s when he realizes that she was never gazing at Sidon’s bracelet in the first place. He shifts to pull her up onto his back, and she feels impossibly light. He wonders when she’s last eaten as he absentmindedly sets his destination on the sheikah slate, and it’s only as the blue light swirls around him that he realizes that in his panic, he’s sent them straight to Zora’s domain. 

When her arms flop limply over her shoulders, and he moves her higher on  his back so that her bare feet don’t dip in the water surrounding the shrine in the Domain, Link realizes that he’s tired too. His muscles ache and his clothes are torn, and he wants nothing more than to feel Sidon’s cool fingers on his cheeks, the remedy that has healed his mind as many times as Mipha’s powers healed his body. Perhaps that was why he traveled there instead of his home in Hateno; a part of him was searching for the remedy he always used after a tough battle. 

But he can’t help but think it was awful timing for him to fall back on his habits. As much as he loves Sidon’s touch, Sidon’s smile, the Zora prince’s presence will do nothing to lessen the guilt currently gnawing at Link’s insides. 

As Link slowly makes his way up the steps, the princess on his back, he spies Sidon standing in front of Mipha’s statue in the courtyard, and Link can’t help but silently curse his awful luck. Sidon sees Link immediately, yellow eyes growing wide and then even wider upon noticing who Link carries on his back. Link is sure that Sidon was probably too young when they knew each other to truly recognize her, but Sidon was the one who saw Link off when he marched off to fight Calamity Ganon. Sidon knew enough about the situation to guess. 

Or maybe Sidon did recognize her. Maybe a sense of familiarity washed over the prince, from seeing this woman from his childhood again. Maybe Sidon remembered her more than Link did, even with what little memories Link had left still vivid in his mind. 

The thought makes the heavy feeling in Link’s stomach burn. 

When he sees Link sway, Sidon rushes over, hands outstretched to help Link, as always, but Link pulls back just before they can touch, not sure if he could handle both Sidon and Zelda at once, even with the princess unconscious. Sidon steps back, yellow eyes staring inquisitively down at Link, but Link averts his gaze, instead focusing his gaze on the floor. 

“Are you alright, love?” 

Link flinches at the name but nods, and with his gaze still stubbornly glued to floor, he misses Sidon’s frown. When the prince speaks again, his voice is softer, more hesitant. 

“Is the princess alright?”

Link nods again, shifting her slightly higher on his back.

"I can arrange a bed for her. I'm sure you're tired too."

Link nods again, and when a few of the Zora come to take her away, she clings to Link, small hands balled up in the blue fabric of his dirty Hylian tunic. Link frowns slightly, leaning his head back to look at her, nudging her head with his in the process. She’s still knocked out, but she nuzzles into his touch and Link stiffens, the now familiar feeling of guilt only worsening when he turns and sees Sidon frowning down at him, his hands clasped behind his back. 

It’s moments like these when he wishes words came easily to him, but as always, they don’t. So he hangs his head and pries Zelda’s hands off, refusing to watch as the Zora gently whisk her away into the night. 

The lack of her physical weight does nothing to lighten Link’s terrible mood and increasing fatigue. He thinks about going to her, waking her up, just to get the likely devastating conversation over with. He thinks of her, waking alone some time tomorrow, wondering why the knight she seems to love so much is not by her side. He thinks of having to tell her that he can’t be by her side, not like she wants him too. 

And the heavy liquid guilt in his stomach sways and rocks him because he thinks of how everyone she ever knew and loved is now gone—except for Link, but in a way, he’s gone too. 

Link wants to vomit. He physically sways, and Sidon’s large hands come to hold him up by the elbows and Link’s head spins because Hylia, he loves Sidon, and he loves the prince’s smile and the way those hands always treat him like a treasure, like something precious, but at the moment, even that gentle affection feels like it’s too much. Because he’s something precious to too many people, and he looks up to push Sidon back and his eyes lock on Mipha’s statue—

A garbled noise crawls out of his throat—a whimper combined with a shout of distress, a noise that a wounded animal might make. And Sidon smiles down at him. His red hands slide from Link’s elbows to his shoulders. He squeezes, and Link sags beneath the tension. 

“You worry too much, beloved,” Sidon says, and his voice is soft, only for Link to hear. 

Link’s eyebrows pull sharply downwards as he frowns because clearly he hasn’t worried enough--if he’d thought more about it, he would’ve been more prepared for this. He would have had a speech or a letter ready or something. He would’ve noticed the signs from those brief memories and not been so caught off guard by the look in Zelda’s eyes while they were both at the edge of their sanity, the last of Calamity Ganon’s energy still fading in the air behind them. 

“I worried similarly to you,” Sidon said, “at first. After all, my sister was as fond of you as I am.” 

Link shrinks beneath Sidon’s gaze, a frown pulling at his lips. Link thought about it back then too. When he met her spirit in the Divine Beasts, his cheek warmed and he spluttered like a fish out of water because Mipha gauged his feelings for Sidon with little more than a glance. It was easier with Mipha, because she knew without him saying. 

And because she could not hope for a future between the two of them, but Link often tries not to think of it that way. 

“I wondered,” Sidon continued, gently guiding Link to stand in front of Mipha’s statue, “if she would ever forgive me for such a thing. She loved you deeply, and I…”

Sidon’s hands tighten on Link’s shoulders. 

“I wasn’t sure what I owed to her, and if that outweighed what I wanted for myself. I’m sure it is harder on you, knowing that you are all the princess has.”

Link’s hands clench into fists at his sides. 

“Link,” Sidon says, and his voice is a whisper again, “I love you. And if, someday far in the future, you found someone you loved much more than me, someone who made you happy, I would understand. I would let you go.”

Sidon spins Link around so that they are facing each other, and Link has no idea when Sidon began to kneel, but they are suddenly eye to eye. Sidon slowly reaches for him, cradling Link’s face in his hands. 

“And if the princess truly loves you—and if I make you happy—then she, too, will understand.”

Link is still uneasy, but the painful, heavy guilt in his gut abates a bit. He relaxes just enough to lean into Sidon’s touch, to weakly smile back when Sidon flashes him a sharp-toothed grin. He places his hand’s over Sidon’s as the prince continues to cradle his face, humming slightly in appreciation, and Sidon’s grin grows even brighter. When the nervousness and panic begins to slowly fade, Link realizes just how tired he is. He feels the ache in all his muscles from the long fight, from staying up multiple nights throughout that grueling battle. He sags forward and Sidon catches him with a laugh. 

“I think that’s enough being Hero of Hyrule for a little while,” Sidon says. “Time to take a break. Be Link for a few days.”

Link wearily shakes his head with a grumble, even as he burrows into the prince’s arms. He thinks of all the things he should do—people he should inform of Calamity Ganon’s demise. He wants to sweep the areas most prone to monsters, and there’s no telling what he will have to do with Zelda to help her rebuild the kingdom. 

“The world can wait a few days,” Sidon says firmly. “It waited a hundred years with a great beast fighting for its destruction; it will survive for at least a few days more.” 

Link grumbles dissent again, even as Sidon slowly but surely pulls him to the bedroom to rest. 

“Alright then. Sir Hero, think of the lover you’ve been neglecting. Surely, spending time with me is part of your many duties?”

Link’s next grunt sounds like a reluctant form of agreement and Sidon grins brightly, sweeping Link off of his feet and cradling the little Hylian close to his chest. Link manages a playful punch to Sidon’s chest before his eyes lip shut, sleep turning his mind into a dizzy haze. 

Just before he drifts off, he hears Sidon speak up, but he’s too out of it to truly take in the words. 

“Princess Zelda! How long have you been awake?”

“Oh, well… Just long enough, I suppose.”

Link hears a sniffle. Then Sidon’s voice, full of sympathy.

“Your highness…”

“Just… Take care of him, will you?”

“...Of course. You have my word.”

The real world is lost to Link after that, but he dreams a wonderfully pleasant dream. He stands beside Sidon, their hands linked together. And they look up at the sky together. The goddess Hylia looks down upon them, but her face is strangely familiar. Bright green eyes regard the couple fondly, and when she smiles down at Link, he grins brightly up at her in return.

[shera-dnd]

And we are back, this time with some wonderful backstory for our favorite cat.

Also featuring Ozpin being his usual weird self and Adam being a cunt

AND ANGST

so all the things we love here

The night was dark and the rain was loud. An army could march around this human village, and would have been none the wiser. But the fae didn’t need an army to wipe them out, all they needed was a single woman with just enough hurt to compel the world to act.

The Black Cat emerged from the nearby woods. Her mission was clear in her mind, and her pain fresh in her heart. Silently she stalked through the night and circled the human village.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

With each full circle she recited the crimes of their people. The true names of those they had killed, the forests they burned, the villages they destroyed. And with each circle the shadows grew longer and darkness grew deeper. Threatening to engulf the village entirely.

It was when she had finished the third circle that she saw him. A man standing alone in the pouring rain, his smell both impossibly old and incredibly young. The man raised his cane, and The Black Cat flinched as she saw the glint of metal, but it soon became clear that it was made of silver, not iron. Then he brought his cane down.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And the shadows receded.

Though the Cat was certain that her magic still hid her from sight, the man looked into her eyes and addressed her directly.

“I was hoping to have a chat with one of your kind,” he spoke, more calmly than she liked.

Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was a need to assert her power over the strange human, but something spurred the Cat to emerge from the shadows. She stood up now on her hind legs, easily towering over the man.

“You’re rather bold, human,” she snarled.

“Just an old man who knows a thing or two about magic,” he answered.

She had heard about people like him. Humans who had learned the secrets of magic. “A wizard then? And you think your magic can protect this village?”

“I am hoping it will not come to that,” his tone was as calm as ever even as he stood within mawling range of the large fae.

“Again, very bold for a human,” she commented.

He smiled at that.

“Now, tell me,” he began, “why exactly are you turning your ire towards these people?”

The Cat growled, “they’re too close!”

“And yet, for each tree cut down, a new one is planted. For each animal hunted, their bones are buried in the woods. When a circle of mushrooms is found, we step around them,” he explained, and the cat could tell that his voice matched his smell more than his face, “we shun iron, and abide by the ancient ways. Surely, this is the sort of cohabitation that could not possibly offend our fae neighbors?”

His words touched the tiniest ember of hope that still hid in her heart. It was the most insignificant remnant of her life before she became unseelie, and for a moment it sparked with life. The Cat was quick to bury it under a mountain of contempt.

“The unseelie do not seek cohabitation,” she countered, “you’re too close!”

“Can we not convince you to change your mind?” The man asked, unwilling to let go of hope.

“You cannot atone for humanity’s sins,” she snarled.

The man let out a tired sigh, and for a moment looked so old she was convinced he would crumble to dust before her.

“Humanity is divided, my friend,” he argued, though that statement seemed to hurt him to say, “you’ve clearly met those who arm themselves in iron and march into your woods, I’m sure. Now you’ve met those like us. Are we not as different from one another as your courts?”

That quiets her. Though he was human, he echoed the words of a fae she had abandoned long ago. Another black cat whose strength of body was matched only by his strength of heart.

“You’ve been chatting with me far too long for a true member of the unseelie courts,” he commented.

She growled and bared her teeth at him.

“My apologies,” he replied, hand raised in surrender, “it was simply an observation.”

“I’ve made my choice!” She shouted, “I do not intend to change my mind.”

That caught his attention, “so you chose to walk the path of the unseelie.”

She should kill him. Slit his throat. Bite his head off. Poison him, and leave him to die, it didn’t really matter how. He was human -a threat - she should return him to nature then and there. But something about that felt wrong. Something in her still truly wanted to believe what he had to say.

So instead she answered, “yes.”

“And yet, you have your doubts,” he said, clearly seeing the conflict within her, “please, listen to them, listen to what your heart has to say.”

She hesitated, unsure of the path she should take.

“Why do you seek this alliance with our kind?” She asked.

“Because that is the right thing to do,” he spoke with true faith, and conviction behind every word. It felt strange and familiar all the same.

Once more his words rang true, and once more she felt those embers ignite.

“I would like to make a statement, in the near future,” he continued to explain himself, “of hope and goodwill, and of harmony with the natural world. I do not rule this kingdom, but its lords value my insight, and have agreed that perhaps it is time...that a fae joined our ranks.”

“Join you?” Her words didn’t sound like mockery, as much as she wanted them to, “am I to be your diplomat? Your Servant? Or perhaps there is some heir of yours you’ll have me marry.”

“No, no. Goodness, nothing of the sorts,” he answered with a hearty chuckle, “if you’ll allow me to explain. Our four kingdoms are guarded by four sacred orders of knights, each led by a witch who grants us small boons of magic when the times allow. Though their primary function is to commune with our vacant divines.”

“So you want a fae to take that role? A faery witch for an order of human knights?”

“That would maybe be too bold for my colleagues’ tastes,” he replied, “but there is an empty seat in the Order of the Fall Maiden, and we would be honored to have one of yours fill it.”

She studied him for a moment, pondering his words. Something about the man still unsettled her, something that made him…not fully human. She couldn’t quite tell what that something was, but it unsettled her.

“Am I to be your appointed knight?” She asked, quietly now, like the embers that were burning would snuff out if she spoke any louder.

“You are the one they call The Black Cat, yes? Blake, I believe was the name,” he asked, the name he offered was wrong, and he knew that, was he offering her a courtesy? “Well, I think you may be more than qualified for the role.”

Years ago ‘Blake’ would have taken that offer without a second thought. To be the bridge between her people and the humans, to usher in an era of peace and cooperation between their people, it would be the greatest honor. But too many years, too many scars made sure she couldn’t just trust their kind like that.

“And why would I accept your offer?” She demanded.

“We can grant you a boon,” he answered, “and the Fall Witch already has one in mind for you.”

Blake raised an eyebrow and the man smirked.

“We can make you immune to iron.”

~~~

That night Blake ran through hidden trails, and down non-existent paths. She leaped from shadow to shadow, through roots and branches, until she reached the one place humanity had never, and would never, touch. She was back home, with the unseelie, though she didn’t approach her people just yet.

She stalked at the edges of their home, looking for the one man she wished to speak to. Thankfully he was - as always - the center of attention, boasting about the blow they were about to strike against humanity, and how his lover would be the one to deliver it.

Huh, that word had never bothered her before now.

Getting his attention on the other hand was a bit harder, but she asked the wind to whisper his name for her. Though he did not stop his speech immediately, he at least seemed to notice her presence. Thankfully his boasting did not last much longer and soon he walked up to meet her.

“My love,” he greeted, full of pride, “by the smell of human on you, I take it your mission has gone perfectly.”

Taurus.

Her love.

A great blind bull, with fur as red as blood, his body scarred from iron brandings. He was the rage of the fae given form, the epitome of everything the unseelie believed. But right now, Blake had to hope he would be her lover first.

“The villagers still live, my love,” she replied, shrinking in shame.

“What!?” Anger flashed in his voice, but he soothed it quickly, “I mean...did something go wrong?”

“Not exactly,” Blake answered. Explaining things to Taurus would be a delicate process, she had to choose her words carefully, “the night answered my call at first, but the villagers…they had a wizard with them.”

He huffed at that word, “if he as much as touched you with his filthy human magic tricks I swear on the moon and stars I’ll--!”

“He didn’t!” She interrupted, trying to keep his rage from rising once again, “he only used his magic to stop mine. He didn’t want to fight me, he just wanted to talk.”

“The human wanted to talk?” He scoffed.

“Yes!” She insisted.

“Tell me you did not allow the human to poison you with his words,” his tone turned demeaning, in a way it did far too often in these recent months.

“He did not poison me!” She bit back, her own fury flaring at his condescension, “we spoke and he made me an offer.”

“How bold of him,” he mocked.

“Will you at least listen to what he had to say!?” Blake snapped, tired of his derision, “he offered me a chance to help stop an all out war between our people!”

“And you believed him?” He accused, “don’t you see what that means? They fear us, beloved. They know they cannot stop us if we go to war, so they try to trick us instead.”

“This is no trick, my love,” she insisted, “we can finally have peace.”

“I do not want peace!” Taurus shouted, “you think I will accept anything less than retribution? You think I will rest until I have my revenge?”

When had her love become so self centered?

It was as if a glamour had begun to crack in front of her, and she did not like what hid behind it.

“What about the rest of us? Are we not allowed to choose peace!?” She countered.

“My love, don’t you understand?” He asked, voice turning sickly sweet, “the humans are just trying to divide us. They know how strong we are, and they know they don’t stand a chance if we fight together. Their peace is nothing but a deception meant to weaken us.”

“But love--”

“See?” He interrupted, moving closer and gently holding her in his arms, “If they can make us argue like this, can you imagine how easily they would split our people?”

She pushed him away and growled, “you think me some child who can be swayed by some treats? You think I let those humans live because some old man with a fancy cane dangled a boon in front of me?”

That made him quiet down for a moment, and she had hoped he had seen reason, but she had no such luck.

“What boon?”

“He promised to take away our only weakness,” Blake answered, “make me immune to the touch of iron.”

And so Taurus laughed, “you believed that?”

“Yes!” She roared back, “and it’s my choice to offer him my trust. I did not come here to ask for your permission. I came here to let you know I would be leaving.”

“What!? You’re just gonna leave me like that? Gonna choose some human lie over your people? Over us!?” He accused, hand reaching to grab her.

Her tail whipped and poisonous thorns scratched at his skin. Her toxin would not kill him, but it still caused him terrible pain.

“If this is truly about us. If you really do love me, then say my name, Taurus!” Blake demanded. His name that had once tasted like love in her lips, now tasted of rage, and bitterness, it was an accusation, and a challenge. Show me that you love me, or leave me forever!

And so Taurus made the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

He hesitated, and that told her all she had to know.

He would never see her again.

[ivarswickedqueen]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIS

My dear friend @lisinfleur​​ celebrates her birthday today and here is my little gift for this amazing friend of mine ♥  I love you and I am happy and honored that I can call you my friend, babe ♥ 

Paring: Amma x Hvitserk Word account: 3285 Warning: none, oh there are spoilers for 6B, so if you didn’t watch it don’t read it ;) 

Amma was sharpening her sword and her arrowheads and she was afraid to go to sleep, because tomorrow there will be a huge battle between her people and Rus army led by Oleg the Prophet. She has never seen this man, but she heard enough stories about him to fear the day when he could possibly walk into the Kattegat as its new ruler. She also heard that prince Hvitserk Ragnarsson is marching with the Rus army alongside his younger brother Ivar and she didn’t know, what to think about it. The last time she saw Hvitserk was when his own brother Björn wanted to burn him alive because he killed his mother - the most famous shield-maiden in the world - Lagertha. But his other brother Ubbe saved him on Björn’s command and Björn casted him out of Kattegat for good, shouting these horrible words to his face: “I saved you. And do you want to know why I saved you? Because I know you were happy to die. But I don't want you to be happy. No. I don't want you to enter Odin's Hall. I want you to suffer a living death, expelled from Kattegat and the haunts of men, destined to die in a ditch in some forest somewhere, utterly forgotten, wretched, insignificant, unmemorable! Like a flea on a sheep's back. Take him away! He won't survive the winter.” That day Amma couldn’t help herself and she felt so sorry for him. She spent so many days with the young prince. She watched him, when he was sleeping, shivering and murmuring nonsense words under his nose, trembling because he was an addict. He was obviously addicted to mushrooms and his brothers didn’t care enough to help him through the rough times. She knew why he started escaping his problems in the alternate realities created by the mushrooms in his system. His brother Ivar treated him like a dog and mocked him in front of everyone for a very long time, making him feel like a shit even though Hvitserk jumped ship for him and abandoned his beloved brother Ubbe. And when he found someone who finally made him happy, a beautiful girl named Thora, Ivar burned her and her whole family alive. And it was second of Hvitserk lovers who found death in his younger brother’s arms. The slave girl Margrethe was murdered by Ivar’s men even though he never admitted that publicly. Hvitserk suffered so much and he had nobody to care about him so he became this pitiful wreck of human being. She was trying to help him. She tried her best to keep him home, away from the drug dealers. She tried to make him eat properly and drink less ale, but he was stubborn and she had her own duties so she couldn’t be there for him all day. She felt so sad when she found him high as a kite every evening when she came back to the great hall, he was calling Thora’s name, saying the words full of love to someone who was long gone. He saw her everywhere, her burnt body telling him to kill Ivar, to avenge her, but he couldn't do anything, he was scared of Ivar, he was losing his mind and he saw him everywhere. Every shadow in his mind was Ivar, ever strange sound from outside was Ivar, slowly crawling to him, intending to finish him. He was slowly losing his mind and there was nothing she could do to help him.

But the real hell broke loose when he killed Lagertha. She couldn’t help him anymore. She was crying her eyes out when they took him away, tied him up to the stake and lit the fire under him.

But she quickly wiped out her eyes, when he was saved and casted out of the town. She quickly ran to her cabin, she took some food into a bag and few warm furs and clean male clothes that belonged to her brother, she also took one of her old swords and she quickly and quietly run to the woods. She knew that she will find Hvitserk there somewhere. He had nowhere else to run.

She found him after few minutes, trembling under a big tree. She gave him the dry clothes; she wrapped him into the warm furs and lit a fire. She cuddled closer to him, trying to warm him up because he was still trembling. She spent the night in his arms, feeling him hugging her tightly like if his life depended on it. Next morning she gave him the bag with food into one hand and the sword into another and with heavy heart she sent him on his way. She wanted to go with him, but she knew that her brothers would start looking for her soon and she didn’t want to cause him more troubles. And he didn’t show any interest for her to go with him. He seemed like he didn’t care what is going to happen to him. She watched him until he disappeared behind the horizon, thinking that it’s the last time when she saw his face.

And now he is back, leading the Rus army towards Kattegat. He obviously survived the cold winter and met Ivar in the woods. She was more than surprised when she heard that he is with Ivar again. She clearly remembered his terrified face when someone only mentioned Ivar’s name in front of him. Something obviously changed. She was wondering why he came back and for a very brief moment she let herself believe that he came back for her, but it was nonsense. He probably already forgot her face… He came back because he wanted revenge, he wanted to show Björn and Ubbe, that he was still worth something. That he is not some pathetic excuse for a human being. Amma finally put her sword down and changed her clothes and went to bed, trying to get some sleep before the big fight. She wasn’t very successful because she couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning, Hvitserk’s face kept popping in front of her eyes, making her feel excited and frustrated, because she shouldn’t feel something like this for an enemy.

In the middle of the battle

Amma felt like if this battle took forever. It seemed to her like if it was days ago since Björn rode into the battle on his horse, mortally injured, leading his people into the battle for the last time. It felt like years ago, when her eyes found Hvitserk standing next to Oleg and Ivar. He looked so much better than the last time she saw him. He gained some weight, his hair were clean and braided again, he was sitting astride on his horse, looking majestic, looking around him with clear, intelligent and sober eyes. She could see that his eyes were green again, the blood stains were gone and so were his inner demons. His lips were no longer quivering. He looked again like a mighty warrior and she stopped worrying about him being easily striked down by the defending soldiers. She stopped worrying about him hours ago and right now she started worrying about herself. She was trained shield-maiden, but her arms were becoming weaker and weaker with every hit from their enemies. She let out a frustrated scream and stabbed her sword through the heart of the nearest fighter. But seconds later another two started banging their swords on her shield and she felt that her arms will give up on her soon if she won’t retreat. But she wasn’t a coward, she would stand her ground and fight until her last breath.  She fell on her knees and the bangs falling on her shield became louder and harder. She felt that her shield started slipping out of her hand and she had no control over it anymore. She closed her eyes and prepared herself for the final blow, but it never came. She heard someone shouted above her, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw Hvitserk standing above her, yelling commands and pushing those two soldiers away from her kneeling form.

“Can you stand up?” he asked her and she nodded shakily. Hvitserk’s strong arm pulled her up, but her trembling legs failed her and if he didn’t catch her, she would fall down on the ground again. “I will take care of you this time, sweet Amma,” he said softly and carefully took her away from the battle field in his strong arms, into one of the healing tents. He gently put her down on the bed and shouted at the healers to take care of her. He stepped aside and let the healers do their work, his eyes never leaving her small body. “You can go Prince Hvitserk, we will take care of her,” one of the healers assured him, but he didn’t move. He wanted to personally make sure, that she is OK. It seemed like he didn’t even care what is going on outside the tent. Amma lost her conscience couple times and then she fell asleep. When she woke up she was alone. Or at least she thought that she is alone until she heard angry voices yelling outside the tent. “Where the hell have you been?” Ivar yelled at someone and she shivered. “I just needed to make sure that she is OK, Ivar!” Hvitserk answered, his voice also full of anger. “Who is she? Who are you hiding inside that tent?” Ivar asked again and tried to step inside the tent but Hvitserk stopped him. “Don’t you dare to go inside, don’t you dare to go anywhere near her!” he shouted, obviously trying to stop his brother to go anywhere near Amma. “Listen to me Ivar, I care about this girl, she is the reason why I am still alive. She helped me to survive my darkest days and without her I would never be able to make it to the woods where you found me. I owe her my life! So listen to me very carefully little brother! If anything wrong going to happen to her by your hand , I will hunt you down and blood eagle you on the nearest tree, letting you there as a feast for the crows, do you understand me!!!” he growled the last words. She couldn’t hear Ivar’s answer, but it seemed like he simply nodded, surprised by his brother's sudden burst of protective words. Amma didn’t have time to think about everything she just overheard, because Hvitserk stepped inside the tent and rushed to her, when he noticed that she is awake. “How do you feel Amma?” he asked her, obviously worried if she is OK. “Tired, but happy that I didn’t enter Valhalla today,” she said with light smile and couldn’t take her eyes from his face. She only knew the addicted version of him, and his sober face was much more beautiful and lovable. “Why are you staring at me?” he laughed and gently tucked a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. “You are so handsome, when you are sober,” she blurted and quickly covered her mouth with her injured hand, wincing in pain. “I am so sorry, prince Hvitserk,” she mumbled but he took her hand gently into his and smiled at her bitterly. “My dear Amma, you have every right to tell me the truth into my eyes. You saw me at my lowest point and you didn’t abandon me in those terrible dark times. You were the only light and warmth that kept me alive those days. But I wasn’t aware of it back then. I pushed you away, I yelled at you, I called you names, I refused your help and continued my road to my own destruction. But when Björn kicked me out of Kattegat and when the drugs got out of my system, I started seeing things clearly. I remembered everything. I remembered your encouraging words, telling me, that I can get through the darkness surrounding me, your sweet voice telling me that you believe in me, that you believe I can become the man who I used to be. It was you who made sure that I ate a warm meal every day, it was you, who helped me to lie down on bed and take off my clothes and shoes when I was too drunk to do it on my own. It was you, who was holding me when the nightmares and hallucinations surrounded me in the middle of the night or day. And most importantly, it was you who gave me warms clothes, food and weapon when my own family abandoned me and let me die in the woods. I will never forget that, my sweet, little, caring Amma. I was thinking about you a lot when I was in Kyiv. I was wondering what you were doing. I was worried If Björn hadn’t found out that you helped me and punished you for it. I was wondering if you are still single or if you found a fine man and gave him your heart,” he finally looked at her after his long speech, his eyes full of tears, guilt and love. He left her speechless, but she couldn’t say a word even if she could because he quickly continued. “Amma, I know that I wasn’t very kind to you. You witnessed the worst in me and you stayed by my side the whole time. I would love to show you my better side. I would like to show you the real Hvitserk, son of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. I would love to give you all my love and respect. I would love to cherish you, protect you and take care of you until my last breath. If you let me, my little sweet, courageous shield-maiden,” he smiled nervously and looked at her with so much hope in his beautiful green eyes that all she could do was nod her head and smile kindly at him. She was overwhelmed by his unexpected confession and by her own feelings, because she realized, that she was in love with him for a very long time and that she could be never happy without him. Hvitserk’s face lit with the brightest smile she has ever seen on it and gently kissed her forehead.  

Oleg the Prophet lost the battle and they had to retreat back to Kyiv and Amma didn’t have to think twice about it and left with them, never leaving Hvitserk’s side. She helped Ivar, Katia and Hvitserk to get Igor out of Kyiv and then she came back to Kattegat with the brothers. She didn’t expect warm welcome, especially when she heard that Gunnhild died. And she was right, people were hostile to her, because they saw her as a traitor. She wasn’t son of Ragnar so people of Kattegat did not forgive her so easily. So when Hvitserk told her that he would like to go with Ivar and Harald to go raiding in Anglia and to defeat young king Alfred, she didn’t hesitate and left Kattegat with both brothers. She was excited about the new adventure and about the new lands, but nothing went as they planned. Alfred won the battle and Ivar was stabbed to death and Hvitserk was seriously injured. They were both standing above Ivar’s grave, Amma was silent and let Hvitserk “speak” with his little brother for the last time.

“You don't know this, but you saved my life so many times. And one day, when we meet again, I can thank you. After all, one way or the other, none of us really lived a simple or ordinary life. And who wants to live an ordinary life? So enjoy Valhalla, brother, while it still exists. We can all see the sky darkening. We can all see the Twilight of the Gods. And I trust to be with you in that great defeat. So, hail and farewell, my brother. I wish I had something important to leave on your grave, but I sold my arm-ring to the drug dealer,” Hvitserk ended his speech sadly and Amma quickly started rummaging in her bag. She quietly walked to Hvitserk and put her small hand on his strong shoulder. He looked at her sadly and she took his hand and put something shining into it. “What is that?” he asked and looked at her in disbelieve. “It’s your arm-ring, my love. I bought it back from the drug dealer. One night I noticed that you no are longer wearing it and I asked you about it. You told me, that you sold it and I went back there and bought it back from that dirty scumbag. I thought that you would like it back one day,” she said softly and gave him a small sad smile.  Hvitserk gaped at her, lost for words, feeling another wave of strong love for this little woman. He kissed her hand lovingly, unable to say anything, overwhelmed by his love for her and great sadness of losing his beloved brother.

1 year later

Hvitserk was coming back from one of the successful raids in East Anglia. After Ivar’s funeral he and Amma managed to escape from Alfred and they found safe haven in small kingdom whose king was Ragnar’s old ally and he welcomed his son with open arms. Hvitserk never wanted to be king and rule over lands or to be the most famous Viking who ever lived like Ivar. He wanted to find new lands like Björn when he was younger, but it didn’t interest him anymore. He didn’t want to be a farmer and settler like Ubbe. He wanted a simple Viking life. He wanted to raid, enjoy the rush of a battle, defeat his enemies, gain new lands for his king and after the successful raid go back to his home and find a loving woman inside, waiting for his arrival. He opened the wooden door of his house and smiled happily when Amma jump on her feet, rushing to him as fast as the huge belly allowed her to. “Hello, my love. How was the raid?” she asked him after she welcomed him with a long tender kiss. “Successful, the slaves will bring my share tomorrow. But tell me, how is my little boy doing?” he asked lovingly and gently stroked her belly. “He was a good little boy, but he is like his father, always hungry. I ate almost everything I found here,” she pouted and Hvitserk chuckled happily. “Ok, give me few minutes and I will get you more food from the market,” he winked at her, ready to rush out and buy some food and quickly return back home to her. “No need to rush, my love. Me and little Ivar will wait for you here,” she said softly and he looked at her surprised. “You want to name him Ivar?” he asked her with trembling voice, clearly moved by her suggestion. “If you agree, it would be an honor for our son to be named after his fearless, strong, intelligent uncle, who meant so much for his father,” she said and Hvitserk quickly walked to her and kissed her lovingly, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you so much Amma,” he confessed. “I love you too, my sweet Hvitserk,” she smiled happily and her stomach made a loud noise. “Alright, alright, I am going for the food, don’t worry son,” Hvitserk chuckled and left the cabin, happier than any of his family members were in long decades.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Sheepless Sheep Girl ~Yin Zhi x Reader

Yin Zhi, the 3rd Prince, was a mystery for everyone living in the Palace, no matter their age, gender or even if they were his own relatives. He was truly an enigma that, no matter how much you’d try to decipher, you couldn’t. He was unique, a thorough individualist, and all he’d ever want to do is practice archery, study, read diverse literature books and enjoy a secluded life somewhere beautiful, all alone...Or perhaps, with someone by his side to understand him...

But he’s a weirdo, by everyone’s stuck up and closed-minded views, so he doubts he’d ever find anyone to actually get him and who he is.

He’s the 3rd Prince, after all, and since the 1st Prince died young, and the Crown Prince is a fuckass that everyone hates, people look at him to take up the reigns and become the best candidate to lead.

What a joke.

He couldn’t care less about trivial things like these - Being an Emperor is too much hassle than it’s worth. Too many responsibilities, too many people to hear and please, and way too many women and heirs needed...Too much socialisation, too many voices, lies, gossips, snakes and threats to deprive him of the peaceful life he always dreamt of.

Life, however, is an unexpected turn of events, and what was supposed to be just some basic archery training in some far away forest, and somehow, he ended up heavily injured, his horse running away, and he was barely able to keep himself standing.

He was beginning to hate himself for not telling anyone - Not even his eunuch - About his adventurous trip, so nobody would be looking for him any time soon...And maybe, by the time he is found, he will already be animal food, or dead from this wound overbleeding.

Perhaps sleeping at the base of this old oak tree wouldn’t be such a bad idea...

When he next opened his eyes, however, instead of feeling the hard bark of the tree he was leaning on, he felt himself in a weirdly comfortable...Bed? This couldn’t be...How COULD this be?

He shot up in a wild panic, only to feel a pair of hands on his bare, bandaged chest, pushing him gently back down on the bed. It was a beautiful girl with a gentle, yet exhausted complexion, eyes resembling those of a baby fawn, sweet and wet, filled with a myriad of emotions, and her hair looked shiny, long, let down, reaching below the waist, mimicking a gorgeous cascade.

“Please, don’t move too much. Your injuries were pretty grave. I disinfected and stitched them while you were unconscious, dressed them and...You risk ripping them and overbleeding.” she explained, gently brushing her fingers through his hair, getting it away from his face. “Who are you...? And how did you find me?” Yin Zhi asked in a tired, hoarse voice. “I am just a sheep girl. I found you by the Oak tree when I went out looking for mushrooms. I couldn’t possibly let an injured being die out there, helpless, could I?” she spoke with an amused smile...Her voice was so light and warming...What was so different about this woman that made her stand out so much? She’s no noble lady, she’s just some...Sheep girl, living alone, in the middle of the woods. “And how can a Sheep Girl treat such life-threatening wounds anyway?” his sharp eyes peered into hers, analysing her every single move and reaction. “My parents and I used to be the village’s physicians, so any little health issue would come our way. I may be young, but I have enough experience to treat such basic wounds like yours.” she got up, putting some more wood into the heater and stirring into the pot on the oven a few more times, she put stew in a bowl and taking a spoon, came back to sit by his side. “Then why do you live so far away from the village?” he murmured, getting in a sitting position with the help of the girl. “My...My parents died because of a new disease that struck the village. Many died...And while in that terrible state, my parents begged me to experiment on them to find an antidote...Which I did. It’s just...I got blamed for the deaths, so I was shunned. And here I am. Living out here, away from any problem, worry and annoying, stuck up people.” she shrugged simply, clearly used to the idea and the tragedy that befell her. “I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” the prince muttered, not knowing what to say in such a situation. “Don’t be. That’s how life is...Although, sometimes I miss socialising with actual people, not just with sheep.” she chuckled awkwardly, looking away. “It’s a peaceful place you’ve got here. I wish I could live in a secluded place, away from all the nosy and incompetent people out there.” Yin Zhi spoke out, almost without realising. “Would you mind sharing your story with someone you’ll never meet again, stranger whose name I don’t know?” she took the bowl away from him as soon as he finished eating. “Only if you vow to treat me the same as before.” his look changed into one of warning, but she was not intimidated in the least. “I’ve been away from socialising for a long time. Forgive my lack of manners, but I’ll behave with you the same way no matter the status you hold.” she shot right back, which made him smirk in delight. “My name is Yin Zhi, the Emperor’s 3rd Prince. And what is yours, mysterious physician?” he asked, waiting to hear the name of the brilliant woman taking care of him. “Y/N. Nice to meet you, Yin Zhi.”

Due to the gravity of the injuries, he had to stay for two weeks to recover, and in this time, he was able to discover who this girl really was, from her kindness, to her intelligence, her points of view, her choices in books, in literature, how versed she in sciences, in herbalism and many more.

Not to mention, despite his amusement about the 3 animals, grew fond of the family of sheep. Only one ram, one sheep, and a little lamb, all the named after her and her family.  The lamb, especially, was incredibly playful and affectionate with him, and would always try to stay around him, poking his cheeks with her wet nose, jumping on his lap, running around his legs and many more, which, for some reason, amused the man greatly.

He had so much to learn from this lone woman - In fact, so much more than many of the scholars, teachers, physicians and eunuchs in the Palace could offer him - And so, he didn’t think of his hunting accident as a misfortune, but as as grace from fate.

These two weeks in this place were truly all he ever dreamt of, and more, should he not have been in pain from his wounds, but by now, he was fully recovered, and as a thank you, he properly taught her how to use a bow and arrow, to protect herself and her sheep family from any potential predators, and more, he helped her build a better shelter for them.

However, like all beautiful dreams, one must wake up, and thus, he was forced to return to the Palace, with the promise of visiting again, and also, to help her with anything she needed, no matter the cost.

Yin Zhi cursed how dull Palace life was, and truly, he felt more all here, constantly surrounded by thousands of people, than away n the woods, with Y/N, so he did what he always did to escape reality - Succumb himself into studying and reading, and clearly, staying as far away from people as possible.

Days passed, then weeks, months, and his mind kept flying off to that great, peaceful time when he was all alone, just with her, some animals, away into the forest, and he could read at leisure without being interrupted by these annoying pests.

He almost wasn’t sure how much time passed, until he received a letter from his trusted Eunuch, from someone calling themselves “The Sheepless Sheep Girl” and worry started harbouring in his heart, as he began reading her words.

As stated, some thieves came by while she was away, picking berries from the forest, and killed her sheep, destroyed the crops and stole everything she had, and now she’s helpless, scared and has no clue what to do.

Darkness and anger flooded him for the first time in ages, realising that, to save her, he needed to get her into the Palace, maybe saying she was his new Head Maiden... What a difficult situation they both found themselves into.

Well, why should he care what anyone else thinks, anyway? He’s not going to be an Emperor, so he doesn’t need to be surrounded by concubines, consorts and whatever other useless women or different statuses and ranks that they did nothing to earn, so why shouldn’t she just be given the title of Imperial Physician?...HIS Personal, Imperial Physician?

Sure, only men have the privilege of having this title given, but she’s talented, well-versed and knowledgeable, so there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be able to be HIS Physician, right? She already saved him once, anyway. It’s not like the Emperor could deny or complain about it, considering he never asked for anything, and used his own power and knowledge to achieve everything he wanted.

She won’t even have to leave his Palace, if she doesn’t want to. She is a timid little doe who has no idea of Palace mannerisms, or how cruel everyone in this forsaken place is, and truly, the last thing he wants is to break her soul and taint her bright innocence and purity with the evil hanging around this polluted air.

Nonetheless, she needed to be taken care of, and so she will be, under his wing, without anyone interfering.

As soon as he got back to her place, Yin Zhi noticed how the house was in a terrible state, and she...Her face...It was obvious that she was exhausted. She was barely able to keep herself standing, she was weak, and her face was pink from the crying... This deteriorated state of her made his own heart ache, and that’s when he realised that he wanted nothing more than to protect her and her precious smile. He wanted her happy, by his side. It didn’t matter if she loved him or not, he just wanted her to shine brightly again, just as before.

He had his Eunuch find the best maid for her to attend her every need, and he found some petite girl called Shi Lian, with a soft voice, but very friendly, and with that, at least, he was content.

“Thank you...You did more than I asked you to...How can I ever repay you, Your Grace?” Y/N bowed her head down, speaking in a broken voice, almost as if feeling herself unworthy to be looked at by someone like him. “First of all, never call me that again. It’s only my name, for you, understood? Secondly, look at me, just like you used to. I won’t allow anything bad to come upon you ever again, I promise you. You saved me once...Let me save you now, Y/N.” he extended his hand for her to hold, as a way of asking if she trusts him. “...If it’s not asking for too much...Please take care of me, Yin Zhi. I trust you.” she gingerly held his hand in both of hers, raising it to her face, placing a soft kiss as a thank you. He realised that, compared to all the women in the Palace, her hands weren’t as soft and delicate, but more on the rough said, from all the hard work she had to put into taking care of herself. That’s a truly reliable woman, he thought, as he vowed to make sure she’s pampered at all times. “Anything for you.” his voice came barely above a whisper as he kissed her forehead, hoping she wouldn’t hear his heart’s confession...And yet, the soft blush on her face proved otherwise.

With each day passing, he could see her skin glowing, her eyes sparkling with life whenever she’d lay down at the base of the willow next to the pond as she would read one of the books he had in his library, her smile, dazzling as before, whenever some stray cat would get in his Palace garden and she would play with it, feed it, and somehow end up adopting it...Them...For there were many cats now in his garden, but it’s not like he could complain. He wasn’t the one doing the cleaning in his Palace, and he was content enough with seeing her happy.

She would sometimes play the flute while he was reading outside, or would pick up flowers from the field and make flower crowns for her and Shi Lian...And yet, on one occasion, she put one on his head while he was too absorbed in his reading to notice.

She wasn’t afraid to ask him for help to understand things she didn’t know from books he had that she wasn’t familiar with, and somehow, he never felt irritated by her - In fact, he actually felt his heart warm whenever he had to explain things to her - And the same went the other way around, when it came to science.

Not to mention how thrilled she was when she found out she was allowed to be a physician once again, just like long ago, and even more, she was bold enough to throw her arms around him, pulling him into a hug, that shocked him beyond belief.

And so, one day, when he came home, he brought a little gift for her... A little lamb that he named after her, to remind her of her little sheep family from before.

It made Y/N laugh with happy tears in her eyes, as she started playing around and cuddling the little lamb, even going as far as to let the baby lamb sleep in her own bed with her, and truly, Yin Zhi didn’t think it could get any better.

His life was finally beginning to shift in the right direction, the one he’s always dreamt of...Especially after one night, she lead him up the hill to watch the beautiful moon and the fireflies, holding hands as they lay on the soft grass and observing the stars, pointing out constellations, telling little legends, myths and stories about random things. He couldn’t help but admire her beauty highlighted by the silver light of Mother Moon, and how she looked like a dryad in that flowy, light green dress, and the fact that she looked ethereal without having to wear make up truly made it obvious how she was above them all without even trying.

For the first time in his life he felt completely enamoured, his heart was captured by this unique woman and he couldn’t help but put his hands on her delicate cheeks and kiss her pink lips that resembled the petals of the softest, most beautiful rose. He was never interested in love or women, he preferred to enrich his boundaries and knowledge, but this one...This one was truly something else. She was special, and he was making him feel special without even trying.

There was no doubt about it - She was truly the one. 

And he couldn’t be happier.

It felt like he was living in a fairy tale, the Prince and the Princess, having their happily ever after.

But like any fairy tale, there must always be something bad happening to the Princess.

He wasn’t expecting anything like that to happen - He was sure she barely left his Palace and nobody held any grudge against her. It’s not like she was trying to get up the ranks, or get the Emperor’s favour, she was just a simple girl enjoying the simple life he was offering her.

As he got back home, pissed off for having had to meet up with a neighbouring Princess for the 10th time this week, or, rather said, her father alone, for some reason - Princess that the Empress wanted him to marry, he got in the house, expecting to be greeted by his brilliant lover and her little lamb, or her adopted cats and dogs...But he wasn’t. Instead, he was greeted by a trail of blood that led out in the garden, and to his horror, the girl he held so dear to his heart was sprawled on the ground, he arm extended towards the pond water...

He ran to her, held her in his arms, checking for a pulse, that was faint, but at least there, so yelling for his Eunuch to call for the Imperial Physician, he was able to pronounce that she was poisoned, based on the tea served in the Palace’s tea house, and now, the question came - Who poisoned her?

Of course, the main suspect was her Handmaid, poor Shi Lian, but something in his gut told him that this girl was innocent. Perhaps he wanted to trust her innocence, for it resembled that of Y/N, or maybe he just wanted to trust Y/N’s own trust in her.

Every day and every night, he would be restless, unable to sleep, so he would hold her hand, caressing it, kissing it, kissing her forehead, wiping away the sweat from her face, making sure she’s comfortable, despite the state of agony her unconscious self is in.

“Ricin...” Yin Zhi heard a soft, barely audible voice, struggling to mumble coherently. “Ricin?” he asked again, louder and clear, hoping he didn’t mishear or hallucinate. “Nails...Tea...” she continued, as tears kept streaming down her face, as she was finally able to open her eyes, her breath ragged, as she was fighting with her own body to keep herself awake and coherent. “Ricin...Nails...Tea...So the culprit put Ricin poison in your tea...With their nails? Does that mean it was Ricin powder hidden in their nails, so when they went to help prepare the tea, they mixed it in your cup, correct?” he asked, hoping for an affirmative answer, which is confirmed with a slow nod. “Who was it, darling? Do you remember? A name, a gender, some distinguishing appearance traits?” he pressed again, feeling adrenaline surge through his veins. “Princess...Jealous...Yin Zhi...” she started coughing blood again, clinging on his arm to keep herself grounded, as he helped her drink a glass of water. “A jealous Princess...I know just who you are talking to. Don’t worry, darling, I will solve this and make sure she pays for her sins. Nobody dares harm my beloved dove and gets away with this.” it was obvious he was angry, and rightfully so, and yet, she held onto his arm, not wanting him to leave. “Don’t go...Please...” she whispered, looking up at him with tired, fawn eyes, that melted his rage away. “I will be here until you fall asleep, my dear. I promise.” he kissed her softly, and stroked her hair until she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

He had to deal with this bitch Princess, but he couldn’t just rat her out without being petty and have his revenge. He had to get his physician to prove she had ricin powder in her nails. He could only guess it must have been in her pockets, because a sachet would have been too obvious, so with more help from his darling Y/N, he found out she was wearing a yellow and pink dress with only one pocket on the right, so with the help of his spies, he stole that dress, and his physician found the powder right there.

He won, once again.

And now, it was time for the grand finale, before this stupid Princess would leave. He was going to marry Y/N even if it was the last thing he’d ever do in his life, no matter how angry and disapproving his father would be, or how much the Empress would be against it, since the Princess is from her own family.

So, as soon as Y/N was back in full health again, and discussed things with her, so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or surprised at what was going to happen, and so, he took her with him in front of the Emperor and the Empress, along with the Princess and her father, to present his case.

“The 3rd Prince summoned us here for a reason, correct? It is not often that you choose to be surrounded by so many people.” the Empress pointed out with a pleased expression, thinking she knew what was going on. “Your Highness, the Empress chose Princess Ruong Xian to be my bride, for she is of noble birth...Her own bloodline. I do not doubt that she is a capable woman with many attributes...One of this attributes being poisoning and deceiving a harmless, innocent woman, because of her burning jealousy. I do not think someone like her should be the wife of the Emperor’s son.” his voice was as cold and harsh as usual, despite his politeness, which created chaos among everyone. “Poison?! Me?! How DARE you accuse me of something so vile? I’m a woman, I do not study plants and poisons, that’s the work of a physician! And what do I have to be jealous of? This ugly, no name who’s nothing more than a hand maid? She has no way of competing with me!” the Princess’ passive voice twisted into a hideous glare, pointing accusatory at the sheep girl who was awkwardly standing right behind him, fidgeting with her fingers and looking down as to not attract too much attention to herself...More than she already did, that is. “My son, that is a grave accusation you are telling us. Knowing you, however, I do believe you have some kind of proof to prove it. I am listening.” the Emperor spoke calmly, knowing very well to trust his intelligent son who never crosses boundaries, breaks rules or does things for the sake of it. “Physician Li, bring forth the dress. Father, this woman I brought home, Y/N, was poisoned recently, and it was proved that the poison was in the tea. Ricin powder. Barely detectable, unless you are incredibly knowledgeable and used to working with plants and medicine, like Y/N, who was brought up in a Physician home, and continued the tradition. The only way Ricin powder could have been put in her tea was through powder brought on her nails, most likely brought in a pocket, for a pouch would be too obvious.” Yin Zhi explained the theory, which made both the Princess and her father yell at him for the disrespect brought. “You have no proof, 3rd Prince! How dare you accuse my daughter of something so evil? You are tarnishing not only our name, but the Empress’ as well!” her father scowled at him, and he could only give him a cocky smirk. “Your Highness, this dress is the one the Princess wore on the day of the poisoning. If we get it inside out, we can still see some powder inside, that on further examining, proved to be ricin powder, which completely proves the theory the Prince explained.” the physician spoke out, showing everyone the proof, and suddenly, the Palace of Mental Cultivation became quiet as a graveyard. “To think that the Empress’ own blood would dare do such criminal acts in my own palace! This woman, Y/N, has been nothing but helpful for the kingdom and our Imperial Physicians, and you dared attempt to kill her? That simply cannot go unpunished! Guards! Take the Princess and her Father to the Hard Labour Camp and give them 50 canes!” the Emperor rose from his throne, his voice loud and angry, not even blinking from the bloodcurling pitched shrieks of the Princess that were imploring the Prince to save her, nor of her father’s. “Yin Zhi! My darling, please, save me! Please, my beloved! You deserve someone pretty! Someone of high rank! Not some filthy shepard girl! Yin Zhi! My Prince! Please, have mercy! Pleaseeee!” she kept shrieking as she was dragged away, only for the Prince to not even spare her another chance. “As sharp and intuitive as always, my son. I’m proud of you and your choices. I am sure you would make for a great Emperor someday...And yet, I know that is not your wish, nor ambition, unfortunately.” the old man’s voice became more fatherly and nostalgic as he looked at his son. “Father, I thank you for your praises, but I am undeserving. I will be forever grateful for you accepting my decisions, and I hope today you will stand by it once again, for I want to marry Y/N. I know she’s of no royal blood, but since I won’t be an Emperor, I believe she would be the best person for this Kingdom. She is kind, incredibly smart, studies all the time, is well-versed in multiple subjects, including science, healing, poetry and music, she is altruistic and helpful to all people, and, as you said, she has been an incredible asset for the Physicians, and was the one to realise it was ricin powder in her tea, even in her delusional fever-induced state. I only ask for your blessings, father, so please, take everything into consideration when you give your answer.” the Prince spoke up in a bold and firm voice, which made the girl standing next to him blush furiously, as she wasn’t used to so many compliments, as Yin Zhi was one to show his affections indirectly, most of the time, not through words, but with actions. “I see...I can see you are smitten with this girl, and rightfully so. I believe she truly is the perfect choice for you, but with her status, she cannot marry a prince.” the Emperor began, making his son frown, only for the man to continue speaking right away. “That is why, for the marriage to take place, I shall give Y/N the title of Lady Shuyu, the title given to Wise and Virtuous women of the Palace, and I will officially give her the post of the Chief Imperial Physician, specifically your personal Physician, my son. Is that to your liking?” the Emperor’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he saw both his son and the girl next to him looking at him with shock in their eyes. “Thank you so much for allowing our love to continue, Your Highness. You are most merciful and benevolent.” the girl immediately knelt, obviously bewildered at what just happened. “Thank you, Father. You have our eternal gratitude.” he couldn’t speak much from the shock, as he also knelt as a thank you. “You have my blessings, my children. You deserve to be happy.” he smiled kindly, seeing as the left the Palace, holding hands.

Out of the Palace, the girl jumped in his arms, as he held her tightly, kissing the top of her head, finally feeling content and at peace with what was going on. They could finally live together, without anyone daring to utter a word against her, or try to sabotage her. Their life together in partial solitude could finally be a dream come true, as they could have a little house somewhere in the woods, back there where she used to live, if they ever want to escape this royal chaos they had to live in, and even better, they could live with all the pets they wanted, go out together in the dark, watch the fireflies, go for a swim in the lake, read together, practice archery together, all while facing no scrutiny or complaint.

They could finally live the dream life their heart yearned for all this time.

[puckwritesstuff]

Necklace

One Word Prompt 15 – Necklace

The marketplaces of Alfheim were not the safest places for Asgardians, especially an Asgardian prince, but it was the only realm that sold the spell ingredients that Loki and Sigyn were looking for. They wandered through the narrow streets made by the crowded stalls, wearing as much of a disguise as was needed not to be recognized, and pretending to be brother and sister to keep questioning eyes and wandering hands off them. All around them were trolls, goblins, and elves, selling anything they could— fine textiles, rare books, wood carvings, barrels of spices, mushrooms, and salts. The shouting of the vendors was matched by the customers trying to haggle a deal out of them.

Loki was weighing his coin against a rare flower when Sigyn heard a voice from the other side of the road.

“Would the lady of Asgard like to purchase some jewels?”

She looked to the vendor asking her. He was a dwarf of Nidavellir, selling beautifully crafted jewelry. Sigyn stepped towards the stall.

“And what makes you think I am a lady of Asgard?” she asked.

“Only the bravest of Asgard come to the markets of Alfheim,” the dwarf said.

She nodded, not answering one way or the other. Her eye was drawn to a necklace with intricately woven gold, studded with emeralds.

“Did you craft these yourself, Master Dwarf?” she asked.

“Aye, ma’am,” he said. “That one in particular has a clever little spell attached.”

“Is that so?” she said.

“Any woman who wears it will become the fairest in the Nine Realms,” the dwarf said.

Sigyn laughed softly. “The queen is the fairest of the Nine Realms.”

“I’ve heard otherwise,” the dwarf said. “Rumors of a young woman with golden hair, whose beauty surpasses all others, and is a favored companion of the princes.”

“I know the woman you speak of,” Sigyn said. “I did not realize she was known so well in the other realms.”

“Her grace and beauty are surpassing, are they not?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Sigyn said.

“Now, I’m sure a young maiden such as yourself is attempting to court, yes?” the dwarf asked. “Do you have a particular young man in mind?”

She didn’t say anything but smiled with a flash in her eye that answered his question.

“And let me guess,” the dwarf continued. “He’s not of your station and has barely acknowledged you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said. “We’re quite close actually.”

“But he does not see you in a romantic light, does he?” the dwarf asked.

Sigyn paused.

“Ah, of course not,” he said. “I promise, if you put this on, he will no longer ignore you.”

“And what’s over here?” Loki asked, finally rejoining Sigyn.

“He’s offering an enchanted necklace that would make me more beautiful than Lady Sigyn,” Sigyn said. “Apparently, that would make me the fairest woman in the Nine Realms.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Loki said.

Sigyn looked back to the dwarf. “Forgive my brother, Master Dwarf, he is a bit more skeptical of such things.”

“I understand,” the dwarf said. “Here.”

He closed the box that the necklace was in and handed it to her.

“Free of charge,” he said.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I insist,” the dwarf said, placing the box in her hand. “Good luck to you, my lady.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Master Dwarf.”

Loki led her away from the stall. Sigyn opened the box to look at the necklace.

“It is very pretty,” Loki said. “But you’re breaking that enchantment as soon as we get home, right?”

“Obviously,” Sigyn said. “It’s probably meant to strangle me or something. ‘Fairest in the Nine Realms’, honestly. Who could possibly be the judge of that?”

“Interesting that he chose you as a comparison,” Loki said. “Normally they pick Mother.”

“I brought up your mother,” Sigyn said. “Apparently, I have grown fairer.”

“I’d guess it’s the hair,” Loki said. “Mother’s been going grey for centuries. Ever since she had me, strangely enough…”

“Her hair isn’t grey, it’s silver,” Sigyn said. “And it’s distinguished. I would be delighted if I aged half as well as she has.”

“Somehow, I think age will be more than kind to you,” Loki said.

(Thank you for the request!)

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course Chapter 11) Wanderlust.

.-.-.

Back in Kattegat, Ivar used to disappear in the woodlands. Don’t get lost dhyrbare, his mother would press, conflicted by her youngest wanderlust. As a response Ivar would ignore her, keeping his chin up as he crawled out of the Great Hall, haunted by the merciless ridicule of his brothers. None of them ever earned their mother’s concern, because their legs were strong, their physique proportionate. There was no reason for any mother to fear for the safety of those capable boys. But Ivar, poor Ivar… now that one could easily be trampled down by a horse. It did not matter how much Ivar physically challenged himself; dueling, throwing axes, wrestling his brothers to the ground. By the end of the day, his opponent could easily jump back on their feet. His small victory diminished in front of his eyes as his brother’s ran off, leaving him alone under the watchful eyes of their mother. Poor Ivar, defenseless in a fight to the death. 

It always left a bitter taste in his mouth and so, he spent most of his time in solitude. Ivar devoted himself to setting traps for rabbits all throughout the forest, pushing his upper body to its absolute limits as an everyday battle against himself. 

At times he’d tumble down a hill, or slip into a ditch. Mother’s eyes always showed their clear disapproval when she’d tweezed out thorns from his palms and fingers. His brothers would snigger when showing off his loot and call him crazy for poaching; he was a prince after all, a precious prince, why get his hands dirty?

Ivar never granted them any form of explanation for his endless wandering; it was his secret and his secret alone to keep.

In the forest, he was able to disappear. 

Nature did not care about his disfigurements nor his short fuze; in the maze of trees, trunks and wild lands there was only one rule that mattered: to eat or be eaten. 

As tall grass tickled his chin; seconds, minutes and even hours became inconsequential. Ivar could lose himself into the cycle of daylight and darkness, simply merging into the rural landscape. Nature was ruthless, it would not treat him differently; if a wild boar or wold found him, it would be a fight to the death. With no time for amused sniggering, ruffling his hair, nor a sympathizing pat on the back. Many times, Ivar would lose himself completely in the woods, silently willing that boar or wolf to appear; even if his remains would be eaten by wild creatures, he’d die with more dignity then the death that lay in his future; being smothered by their mother’s insufferable love.  Cold nor rain bothered him, draped from head to toe in his cloak, Ivar simply watched the drizzle canopy the dense and tangled vegetation. Bowl-shaped plants caught rainwater, insects, snails and frogs came out from hiding. Trees would whisper, thick leaves creaking underneath  hooves of skittish does, birds would jitter high up mighty oaks in the frisky weather. While munching on mushrooms, Ivar would get into contact with the otherworldly creatures; elves. He could see them, only from the corners of his eyes; like a pleasant dream they’d disappear before his perception was focussed enough to grasp their true form. 

They’d tease him, but not in the same tasteless way most humans did. Their soft voices were nothing more than a tingle in the air, their giggling sweeter than a songbird's chirp. The elves were tiny creatures, delicate and all female. They must have casted a spell on him, because on the green moss layered with roots, Ivar would find himself at peace; at times the forest was the only thing that silenced the raging turmoil that meandered endlessly inside his head. In the forest, Ivar did not need his legs, it was enough to simply observe his surroundings. 

A trait that had proven to be of value. He’d taught himself to be invisible and disappear into his surroundings, but his eyes and ears were always open. In Kattegat, it was merely tactical to play his brothers off against each other. Or use their secrets as blackmail to get things done. 

Now this trait could be essential. Because if Ivar’s captivity taught him one thing; it was that it’s useless to put up a fight. He was completely outnumbered, weakened, starving and in constant pain. But that did not mean he was giving up. No, what would the Gods think of him if those Christian bastards managed to break his spirit? Hel wouldn’t even care to take him in and he’d spend his entire afterlife in the same pitiful place as he was right now; down at everyone’s feet. Ivar did not pledge to kill the Giant to nurture his anger. No, he’d made a solid commitment to end that man’s life in the worst way possible. But if he wanted to succeed, he needed more than a weapon. What he needed was the perfect opportunity and an escape plan, because he certainly wasn’t planning to die on Christian soil. No, the Gods must have more in store for him. He did not survive all those drownings for nothing. Surely his father did not layoff his feast in Valhalla for nothing, there must be greater meaning to Ivar’s survival than to waste away in a pigsty. 

So, Ivar would keep his head down and quietly observe his surroundings, keeping his eyes and ears open at all times. 

Piglet had managed to inform him about their whereabouts using her hands and feet. ‘De Haar,’ was the name of the castle and although Ivar hadn’t been able to see past the courtyard, the  majestic towers and ramparts, moats and gats were drawn to him. Their shed was, like all the other peasant huts, banished from all beauty but was protected by the outer walls that surrounded the entire fortress.

Today Ivar was tasked with a new burden; cleaning various dirty cauldrons at the well. Although the work was boring and repetitious, it gave Ivar a perfect hiding spot at the well. While scraping the insides with sand and an old rag, ridding the iron of all caked up layers of food scraps, Ivar became a quiet observer.

By noon he’d learned that in order to reach the centre of the castle he needed to use the nearest side entrance. The linen-maidens walked in and out, using that entrance. Surely such expensive bed material wasn’t used for the common folks. The Giant’s chambers must be somewhere behind that side entrance.

Ivar also learned that Piglet was as much an outcast as he was. The linen-maidens didn’t give her the time of day and jerked their freshly folded linen away as Piglet passed them, as if her dirtiness would turn into a shadow itself and spoil their hard work. As noon passed, Ivar kept an eye on Piglet; she took her task as caretaker of the cattle very seriously. At dawn, she routinely took the animals to another paddock across from the well. The grass was taller there and a perfectly planted tree provided enough shade and sun. Scraping hooves, checking eyes for possible infection, petting their furs; the cattle all got their proper share of attention. A harsh smack on the back of his head brought Ivar back to his place; cleaning cooking material. A task he’d dared to pause for a moment and of course his master was eager to make him remember that there was no time to spend lazing around. The Giant granted him another degrading job; cleaning the chamber pots. Thank the Gods, all of them were already emptied, but still the stench of human waste made Ivar retch and shudder. 

.-.-.

A/N: So yes, back in the day Ivar spent much time tripping balls in the woods. If you read between the lines, Ivar was pretty much a lonely, depressed teenager, waiting for an encounter in the forest so he could die with dignity. I’m not saying ‘suicide’ but it comes close to mind. It’s sad really how a large part of his family ignored him, while his mother tried to smother him with love. Family dynamic at its worst if you ask me. 

Also, Castle  De Haar is a real Castle. I’ve been there a few times, time-line-wise a Viking could not be in the Castle, because it wasn’t built during their era. But hey, it’s my fic, my rules. Check out the Castle if you like, it’s stunning! 

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@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

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Xoxoxo Nukyster