#the faery reel

[godzilla-reads]

“Undine” by Patricia McKillip was low key kinda funny because the story can be summed up to an undine wants to lure a man into polluted water and winds up getting lured into his eco-political movement.

4/5 would recommend.

[pangeen]

“ The home of a tiny artist “ // © waldgeistleben 

Music:  Enya - Sumiregusa (Wild Violet)

[cerysdelaney]

Bookstore Purchase with No Regrets: Three Gaiman Short Story Collections

@neil-gaiman is one of those authors that I found through an anthology, “The Faery Reel: Tales from the Twilight Realm,” in which he had written a poem of the same name that enchanted me, perhaps forever. I am grateful to this day that this anthology left a list of his works like a treasure map.

“They’d slice [my heart] into four and then

they’d string with it a violin.

And every day and every night

they’d play upon my heart a song

So plaintive and so wild and strange

that all who heard it danced along�� (Faery Reel)

Fast forward 17 years later to last week when I’m perusing a bookstore’s shelves and find three of his short story collections. I purchase one, read the introduction in the cafe, and then give into temptation and purchase the other two. How could I not? Just read him:

“A few of [these stories] were written to amuse myself, or, more precisely, to get an idea or an image out of my head and pinned safely down on paper; which is as good a reason for writing as I know: releasing demons, letting them fly.” (Smoke and Mirrors - this now sits at my bedside for a nightly tale before bed)

“There are things in this book, as in life, that might upset you. There is death and pain in here, tears and discomfort, violence of all kinds, cruelty, even abuse. There is kindness, too, I hope, sometimes. Even a handful of happy endings. (Few stories end unhappily for all participants, after all). And there’s more than that: I know a lady called Rocky who is triggered by tentacles, and who genuinely needs warnings for things that have tentacles in them, especially tentacles with suckers, and who, confronted with an unexpected slice of squid or octopus, will dive, shaking, behind the nearest sofa. There is an enormous tentacle somewhere in these pages.” (Trigger Warning - this rests in my purse for random times when I’m asked to wait)

“It occurs to me that the peculiarity of most things we think of as fragile is how tough they truly are…Hearts may break, but hearts are the toughest of muscles, able to pump for a lifetime, seventy times a minute, and scarcely falter along the way. Even dreams, the most delicate and intangible of things, can prove remarkably difficult to kill.” (Fragile Things - hides in the living room by the couch, just out of reach of my toddler and waits for moments of quiet to tell me a story, or at least, part of one, before the next adventure).

Thank you, Mr. Gaiman, siren, pied piper, sandman, and dreamer - perhaps captive - setting part of your soul loose to tell stories so plaintive and so wild and strange.

It’s nice to have traveling companions, for a while or for a lifetime.

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 1

Rare

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Word count: ~5.6k Warning: None [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I have newfound respect for writers who have mastered group dynamics in their writing.

‘Two weeks,’ Mor whispered, trudging forward with her eyes set ahead in a daze. Her heels hit the cobbled path with soft clicks. ‘They’re closed for two weeks. What am I going to do?’

Feyre looped her arm through hers and guided her away from the closed doors of Rita’s. No one took the disappointment as hard as Mor. Still, they each expressed varying degrees of frustration with their grunts and groans. 

Cassian cursed aloud for it was his idea to enjoy a night like good old times . And he enjoyed a night like good old times every two months. However that night, the rest of the Inner Circle agreed to celebrate the few peaceful months they'd had in a while.

Except for one.

Azriel was grateful for his family’s reunion and their safety. Only he wanted to celebrate it in the quiet of their home. His family didn’t spare him the courtesy of protesting though. Knowing him well, they sent the middle Archeron sister to plead their case. One look at her hesitant eyes and he couldn’t deny the soft-hearted woman. He had one regret for the night—to have not flown off when he sensed Elaine’s presence on the other side of his door. 

When Rita disclosed their misfortune, Nesta pinned him with an accusatory glare as if his ill will had manifested into the burning down of their beloved retreat. She would have calmed if Azriel had stood there with his usual blank stare. Instead, he lifted a brow as a smirk tugged at his lips.

‘At least pretend not to enjoy this so much, you ass,’ grumbled Cass without even looking at his brother. 

‘Two weeks!’ Mor shrieked, throwing her arms in the air as she reeled out of the initial shock. Her blonde hair swayed behind her with every shake of her head. ‘How could she do this to me?’ 

Rhys walked on her other side. Besides Azriel, he was the only one unbothered by the ruin of their plans and his taunting tone was the only sign of his apathy for his cousin’s plight. ‘I’m sure the fire in her kitchen had barely anything to do with punishing you.’ 

Elaine’s voice perked up as Mor opened her mouth again. ‘We could go somewhere else,’ she inched away with each word as if she expected another outburst. ‘It’s not too late.’

And that’s how Azriel came to hate the woman for the night. 

He wasn’t cruel. He loved his family, and he agreed they deserved a break, but it wasn’t something he would sacrifice his peace for. He was ready with his own proposition—go back home, get drunk on faerie wine, and maybe some mirthroot if they resisted too much. His family would have their merriment, and he’d have his serenity.

As they stumbled and meandered through the streets, stopping at one place and the next, vetting out each other’s suggestions, Azriel found himself enjoying the moment—listening to his family’s usual banter, the comfort of familiarity built over centuries, and fussing over triviality instead of wars and courts. If his family chose to spend the entire night on the streets, he would gladly trade his peace for that.

But then, his family arrived at their destination. The last on their list. Another bar. Or at least what it said on the polished plaque that hung above the rusty door frame.

‘This is it?’ Cass spoke first, his words echoing the thought they all had in their minds.

Beyond the worn-out door held in place by a brick wedged between it and the doorframe was a harshly lit long room. Even the open door and cool breeze of the summer night failed to mask the stench of stuffiness from the dingy hole in the wall. Light flickered warning anyone dared contemplate entering the horrid place. Too narrow to hold waiting tables, there stood a sole desk opposite the entrance. Two shelves nailed behind it sloped, the bottles stacked atop them slowly making their way to the edge. Such a place at the centre of Velaris was nothing more than a swamp surrounded by beauty and life.

A woman rotten with age sat behind the table. Her hands jittered with each click of the needles held between her sharp, black claws. Her crooked nose curving past her thin lips and her non-existent ears were the only indications of her faerie blood other than her savage nails. Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he saw a creature that looked so old and fragile, yet with malice in her being, a kind of cruelty that lurked in one’s bones. 

Despite what he witnessed, none of it deterred him that night. His body shook with silent laughter. All that wasted trip, endless stops to pick at the tiniest flaws only for his family to end up there . 

Mother loved him. The complete disbelief on their faces was worth everything Azriel suffered since he opened his door to Elaine that night. Even his shadows seemed to enjoy the irony of their situation, skittering around his shoulders.

Mor turned to him sharply, her eyes alight with fire. ‘As long as there’s wine, this will do,’ she gritted her teeth. 

Pushing his friend, whose only purpose in life was proving a point, was the last thing Azriel wanted to do. Yet it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass. How far would his family go? What would it take to break them? Would they give in and chuck down whatever wretched brew the suspicious creature offered? He merely bowed his head and waved at the door.

Mor swallowed her squeak of disgust as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes ran over the assortment of bottles on the shelves—three filled to the brim with pale green liquid, two half-filled with something that looked awfully like rotten blood, of what Azriel didn’t care to find out. 

‘Do you suppose,’ she brought her eyes back to the woman, ‘you have any wine?’

The needles went silent for a beat, ‘Take your pick,’ and resumed. Not once did the creature glance at them as she jerked her chin to the shelf above her head.

With the seven of them now inside, the air turned hot and suffocating. Nesta pushed past to the front, standing next to Mor. ‘This is Pharus, isn’t it? The bar?’

Finally, the faerie looked up. Her eyes roved over their faces, their bodies, the detailing of threads on their clothes finer than the ones she held in her hands. 

‘Of course,’ she snarled, ‘why else would you be here?’ Her lazy eyes rolled creepily in their sockets to stop at the door beside the shelf. ‘Over there,’ she said and went back to her hideous patchwork of browns and blues and pinks.

In the silence, a steady thrum of beats crept along the floor. A soft murmur lured them to trust the creature’s words and enter the unknown awaiting them behind the burnished wood, a portal out of the creature’s lair.

Mor stepped up to the door, her eyes on the glass doorknob—hypnotised, curious, so bright. As her fingers brushed against it, the faerie cleared her throat. 

‘There’s a price for it,’ she added with a sly smile on her lips, a little thing that didn’t belong in her sagging face.

Azriel fished into his pockets while his family stared between the door and its guardian. His curiosity ebbed and grew to a point of no return. He had to find whatever called to him, whatever called to them . He dropped a gold on the table. It clattered on the wood, its ring echoing for a breath too long. 

The faerie stared at it and then at him, and then his family, studying each of their faces. Her claws left scratches on the wood as she grasped the coin in her palm. She sniffed it once and her eyes widened.

The door didn’t make a sound under Mor’s hand. One by one they entered, and Azriel let the door close behind him. Their heels clicked on the polished wooden floor that gleamed under golden lights.

Soothing warmth enveloped them even on the summer night in a comforting embrace. Fragrance of spices cut through the musk of the wooden furniture. Golden orbs hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow across the space enough to enable their fae sight, but none too harsh like Rita’s. Every plush leather chair, strategically arranged table, and carefully curated decorations contributed to the elegance of the room. 

A band sat on a raised podium at the far end, playing music that complimented their ambience. In the middle stood the majestic bar, a stretch of counter that ran along almost the entire length of the room. Bottles filled with various shades of liquor sat on the shelves behind—each of them, artistically planned and placed. Lights reflected off decanters and glasses set on trays adding a bit of colour to the brown and gold theme of the room.  

Faerie, high and lesser, took the seats without sparing each other a glance of discrimination. There was no stench of tension in the air, only a fragile calmness. Two servers shifted around the room speaking softly with polite smiles on their lips. A female tended to the bar, her hands worked with mesmerising precision. Despite the overflowing liquor, there wasn’t a loud cry, laughter, or chatter. 

Luxury and safety—the words came to Azriel’s mind. His shadows shaded his shoulders, falling quiet as they studied their new territory.

One of the servers led them to the only table large enough to fit them and their wings—close to the band. A bench ran along the wall on one side, and chairs occupied the other. 

Once they settled, he spoke with a rehearsed tone, ‘I’m guessing you’re new here.’ The hitch in his breath told them he knew exactly who they were, and yet his smile remained. ‘We have two rules. One, we ensure the night’s peaceful as much as possible. So, we don’t appreciate misconduct of any kind, and I’d advise you to stay out of trouble. Two, if our barkeep cuts you off for whatever reason, you leave.’ 

The server breathed through his teeth. His shoulders relaxed as though the most exhausting part of his job was done, and his smile turned more genuine. ‘Other than that, you do whatever you want. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have faerie wine,’ Mor waited for no one, ‘Any wine. Don’t care how many.’ Her thigh pushed against Azriel’s as she shifted to her comfort on the velvet bench, her warmth seeping past his leathers. A swift nod from everyone else had the server scrambling back to the bar.

Nesta inspected the ones at the neighbouring tables. ‘What kind of moron expects drunks to follow rules?’

‘The one who doesn’t want to be held responsible for whatever happens when they are broken.’ Nesta’s eyes snapped to Azriel’s, and he merely shrugged. 

Elaine looked between their faces, expecting the inevitable discussion. But the Inner Circle indulged in spying on their night’s getaway. ‘Are we really ignoring what we saw outside?’

‘Oh,’ the server peered down at them as he set a tray with two wine bottles and glasses with a grace unexpected of his thick, manly fingers. ‘That hag is harmless. She just wastes her day knitting. If she bothered you, it’s because you’re new. Easy prey, you know? The regulars are used to her by now.’

Feyre reached for the glass offered to her. ‘Who is she?’

The server didn’t care to meet their eyes, but his words were eager. ‘She came with the building. This used to be her home. The old owner, her son, wanted to sell this bar. He found a better place for his family. But she didn’t want to move. Night and day they fought so much that people were afraid to even walk the street. Anyway, the son couldn’t resist our offer and sold it, and she—,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘she refused to leave with him. And Ayla didn’t want to leave her homeless.’

Azriel didn’t particularly enjoy the conversation as much as his family did. It mattered very little to the server, whose words tumbled out in a single breath. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time he was telling the story to his customers. He would make a terrible spy, Azriel thought. Maybe a decent source.

'Ayla?’

'She owns the place now. She gave the hag that hall. That’s where she and her husband lived before her son built a bar here.’ He sighed. His eyes swept over the rest of the room once he placed a filled glass in front of each of them. ‘It’s not good for business with a front like that. She scares everyone away. But Ayla insisted, and we renovated around it. Most customers don’t set foot inside after the first time. Some take pity and give her a few coppers. Not that she needs them though. Ayla takes care of all her needs.’

Another heavy breath, and he turned to them with a wide smile, with a server’s politeness. ‘Anyway, enjoy!’ He turned to leave. Then he paused, ‘You didn’t give her anything, did you?’

Every pair of eyes at the table fixated on Azriel. He blinked, ‘A gold.’

‘You better stay away from her the next time.’ The server walked away laughing.

In his long life, and also as a spy, Azriel had met enough faeries ranging from the vilest to the kindest. Nothing fazed him anymore. Though it would have made quite a story on any other day, his focus remained on his family. He would rather figure out a way to coax his friends to leave early than uncover more about a hag and her benefactor. After a long night of searching for a bar which offered wine sweeter than Rita’s, he knew it to be almost impossible.

At her sister’s request, Feyre led Elaine closer to the band, both nursing their drinks in their hands. Loose chairs littered the open space in front of the dais, where they took a seat among other patrons. The musicians nodded at them with a smile. 

Cass slammed his glass on the table. ‘I don’t like this place,’ he grumbled, looking at the well-behaved mob, ‘Where’s the fun here? This is not how a bar is supposed to be.’

‘Why? Is this place too classy for a brute like you?’ Nesta smirked, sipping her drink as she surveyed the place. With her usual elegance and simple gown, she fitted in better than the rest of them.

Years of sneaking and spying had ingrained the instincts in Azriel’s very bones, impossible to separate who he was and what he did for his family, for his court. His hazel eyes didn’t miss a thing. His shadows stayed close and whispered in his ears. Careful, calculating. Between the bar and the band stood two doors—one the servers often drifted in and out of with trays in their hands, a kitchen; and the other too pristine to be a back door or entrance to a storage room. An office, maybe. No one entered or exited it since his family took their seats across it. 

His brother was wrong. The patrons enjoyed their time, but not the way people did in Rita’s. Like his family, they bundled together and shared a drink and a laugh with their loved ones. Their glazed eyes and flushed faces proved they indulged in the drinks as much as Cass did. A few cleared the space in front of the band, shifting the chairs around and waltzing to the music. A sense of belonging lingered in the air, unlike the mindless chaos that stained Rita’s.

As warned, the bartender declined drinks to a few. Even the ones who posed the most threat to start a fight walked away without resistance. Not one sound of protest or trouble followed.

Elaine and Feyre returned when the band paused to start their next song. As Elaine settled into the seat across from him, she gave the widest smile to Azriel. He smiled back. Rhys filled Feyre’s glass and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Cass and Mor still disagreed with Nesta on the essence of true bar experience. Rhys took Nesta’s side only to watch his brother seethe with anger. With the remaining sisters returned to the table, it became clear Cass and Mor were losing the battle.

To add salt to their burn, Azriel trailed a finger along the rim of his glass and smirked. ‘I like this place too.’

‘You weren’t on board all night and now you have an opinion?’ Cass waved a hand of dismissal but his eyes burned with betrayal, ‘Go back to your brooding.’ 

Azriel grinned.

Laughing and stumbling, Mor headed to the bar. The bartender blushed so red that it wasn’t a mystery what she was up to. Minutes later, she returned with a bottle of amber liquor and a glass of a blue-green drink. Bottles were emptied, banter was shared, and laughs grew contagious. 

Even though it was harmless, raucous laughter, they attracted the wary eyes of the server. Azriel knew where they were headed. He slid Rhys’s glass of whiskey out of his grasp. His brother turned to him with an arched brow. He mumbled, ‘We’d need more than one ride tonight.’ 

Rhys didn’t argue. He limited his drinks as much as Azriel that night for the sake of his mate. Ever since Feyre, his brother’s usual recklessness waned. He became more attentive and considerate in ways he had never shown before. 

Both his brothers were equally troublesome. Cass with his wildness and brutality, and Rhys with his cunning and sly. And yet, after finding their mates, they were still all that and a bit more, someone better in every sense. 

Azriel looked at Mor pressed to his side, drunk and smiling. The woman he once loved. And then, Elaine, the one he wondered to be his mate. 

Even with the passage of time and endless disappointments, his heart refused to let go of hope—such a fickle thing for an immortal life. An everlasting pain that turned the kindest of souls into a force of cruelty—worse than love, worse than torture, worse than death.

To have heard of and believed in a spiritual bond with another was one thing, but to see it with his own eyes and long for it was not something even a damned soul like him could resist. 

Who wouldn’t want something so precious divined by Mother herself, to be blessed by her, to be born fortunate to have a mate in their lifetime and find them? 

Azriel knew love, he’d felt it. But how was it any different from a mating bond? Would a love be enough to save his wretched heart from himself? Could a love be as profound and sacred as a mating?

He looked at the happy faces of his family. Four of the seven—mated and in love. One with her supposed mate. 

Rare of the rarest.

And there he was. An ordinary rock amongst gems. One Mother didn’t deem worthy enough. Maybe she was right. What was he, after all, but an unlucky bastard? What would it take for Azriel to be one of them? Shadowsinger. Warrior. Servant. Brother. Friend. Survivor. Tortured. Abused. Broken. What more did he need to be to appease Mother to bless him with one miracle? 

What would make him one of the deserving?

He took the glass he snatched from his brother and downed the drink in one gulp. The liquor burned his throat, a good burn, almost as good as the one his hands endured a long, long time ago. 

Rhys turned to him with a blank stare. Azriel checked his mental wards and averted his eyes. It was pathetic enough to long for something he couldn’t have. He refused to warrant pity from his brothers as well. 

His family was together and happy. He breathed in the sweet aroma of the blue-green liquor Mor swirled in her glass. 

It was a good night. 

As he drank a little more, his shadows ventured out weaving through tables and shuffling feet. Azriel allowed it for a while before he reined them back. But they never answered when they returned, only dancing around his shoulders.

Moments later, they tried again, crawling down his back. The tug and pull of control slipped out of his hands as an invisible force stripped them off him. A gentle caress over his shoulders, coaxing him, easing him to let go. And his shadows followed this force, glad and willing, betraying their loyalty to him. Azriel didn’t touch his drink after that. 

As expected, the server approached their table and looked at him, the only one sober enough to be reasonable. 

‘We won’t cause any trouble,’ said Azriel before he could speak.

His shadows swayed around the back of his neck and leaned to peer beyond the man in their path. They stood still, unmoving and observing, and then crashed into his shoulder, turning into a dark mist.

The server watched them wide-eyed. He shook his head and peeked behind him at the once-closed door now open. ‘Maybe they could get something mild. Don't let Ayla see them like this.’ 

With those words, he stalked back to the bartender.

The room in front of him lacked the soft ambience outside with its golden lights and cosy furniture. A desk with a chair occupied the small space, giving a partial view of the bar. A woman bounded down the stairs that ran up from behind the door. She headed to the bar, exchanged a few words with the bartender, and went back inside. The servers paused by the door to greet her before they moved on.

Ayla.

To own a bar for high fae and lesser faeries alike, to have her workers and customers fear her, Ayla was laughably docile. Azriel had spent long enough around women of strength and courage to never judge one by looks, but he couldn’t help it. 

In her simple dark pants that flared at the hem and grey-white shirt, Ayla was underdressed than her workers. She was as tall as Feyre, maybe a few inches taller. Her face held a hint of innocence, not close to Elaine’s, but something about her convinced she was harmless. Unless she had a sharp tongue like Nesta or had someone like Mor or Amren to do her bidding, it was unlikely she managed to keep her patrons in line by herself.

‘Azriel,’ called Mor from beside him. Her eyes were unexpectedly fierce after all the wine she had. ‘You’re drinking, right?’ She waved the empty glass in her hand.

He knew he should have said no. He glanced at the server across the room, but Nesta and Mor had already left for the bar. His attention drifted to the three drunk men who stood too close to a young fae trying to get away from them. She inched closer and closer to Mor who whispered into Nesta’s ear making her laugh. 

The shadows on his shoulders grew restless, creeping up and down his arms. He should have offered to get the drinks himself.

Cass was in the middle of narrating an elaborate plot of his fights in Illyrian war camps from their childhood days to Elaine as she leaned over the table with enthralled horror in her eyes. Rhys smiled smugly at his exaggerations while Feyre looked over at the bar, thinking the same as Azriel.

The crude comments of the three men circling the fae made the bartender stare between them with nervous eyes. The air silenced around them, nothing but their obnoxious laughter echoed. The smile on Nesta’s lips vanished, and Mor noticed. His friends at the table paused their conversation. 

‘Come now,’ one of the men carried on, ‘don’t be like that.’ 

Ayla looked up from the paper in her hand. She stared ahead where the man would have stood if not for the wall in her path. Dropping the papers onto the table, she reached inside a drawer. As she stepped out of the room, she cradled a leather bracelet to her right wrist, pulling its straps taut against her skin. 

The bartender breathed in relief as she eased next to her and took a step back. Ayla gathered her hair, securing it at the nape of her neck as the bartender whispered in her ear. Locks of hair slipped free and framed her face. She swept a glance across the bar, took in the faces seated before her, deliberately shifting over the three men. She stood in front of them, mixing drinks with precision and expertise on par with the bartender. She didn't lift her eyes up again.

The man moved close to the fae who immediately backed away. He spoke into her ear but his words rang across the room. ‘Come on, love. It’s free drink. You should be grateful.’ 

A minute longer, and Nesta would have ripped that fool’s tongue with a shard of her broken glass. Azriel had seen enough bar fights—started a few and ended too many—to know when one loomed around the corner.

Ayla's eyes darted to the man’s hand reaching for the fae and then his face for a second while her body gave no sign of her attention on anything but the tumbler in her hand. 

A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips. 

Maybe it was a bad idea to let Mor and Nesta murder a few in a bar they had never visited before. Maybe it was a bad idea not to interfere with their authority which usually saved time with vermin like the man. Or maybe it was a bad idea to let the situation escalate, putting the fae in danger only to see the bar owner’s reaction.

But Azriel was not above making bad decisions to quell his curiosity. He leaned back and brought his glass to his lips.

‘She’s not interested,’ said Ayla in a voice so soft and smooth. With her eyes on the pink liquor she poured into a tall glass, she added, ‘And she has a drink.’ 

Her eyes met the fae's, gentle yet firm. She pushed the glass with her index finger. The fae heaved a sigh of relief and reached for it.

The man turned his attention to Ayla with a wicked smile. He ran his vile eyes over her and winked. ‘The coins are to shut your mouth, pretty. I’ll come back for you later.’ With a bone-grating chuckle, he returned to the fae who charted for a way to her table. He extended a hand in front of her, ‘So what do you say?’

Oh, how Azriel wanted to tear every tooth from his jaws. 

Ayla finally looked at him. Her eyes were calm and intense, a reassured stillness in them. She straightened and placed her hands on the counter. And it was enough to shift the air around them. The woman who commanded respect from her patrons was in the room instead of the quiet, lingering spirit that drifted in and out moments earlier. The band slowed their music, and the ones who refused to look at the ruckus dared to glance their way.

‘I’m going to ask you to leave.’

The man let out a grunt, mean and vulgar. ‘Shut up, you bitch.’ Gone was his smile as he hissed at the fae, ‘You’re starting to make me angry.’

His eyes widened as a hand grabbed the back of his hand and shoved it face-first onto the wood of the counter. His arms flailed miserably to stop the impact, only to fail. The following crunch made the fae flinch away.

Ayla let go and walked around the bar, her steps calculated and leisured. She slipped her dainty fingers through two gold rings attached to the inside of the bracelet. 

‘You okay?’ she asked the fae softly as she pulled the fingers away, two cords of metal unwinding between the rings and the leather. Once she got a frantic nod from the fae, she diverted her focus to the crying man who swiped at his face and stared at his bloodied hands.

Cass snorted. His drink sprayed through his nose, drenching himself and poor Elaine. Rhys’s eyes gleamed with amusement. Feyre looked between the three women at the counter.

The man screeched, ‘She hit me! That bitch hit me.’ His nose flared and spurts of blood leaked soaking his shirt. His eyes flashed with anger as he lunged forward, ‘You’ll pay for this.’

Ayla sauntered ahead with lazy steps and swerved when his fist came close. Her left hand went around his head once. The man stumbled forward by the wasted force of his body and his neck caught in the cords.

She pulled her hands back to her sides, the cords went taut, and the man fell to his knees. His bloodied fingers pried at the noose around his neck. His breaths grew shallow and raspy. Blood sprinkled from his nose with each strain of his chest. His pained cries echoed in the quiet. Not even his friends attempted to help him.

‘Whining on the floor,’ Ayla curved her wrist around his head again, watching his eyes grow wider. ‘Leash on your neck. You sure you aren’t the bitch?’

Looking down at him, she clawed his jaw open. Her other hand reached for a bottle on the counter, her void eyes never leaving his. She tipped it close to his mouth and his breath left his chest in a painful heave. 

‘It’s free drink, love,’ she said, her voice a lover’s purr. Low and soft. As the liquor filled his mouth and streamed down his shirt mixed with the red of his blood, she gritted her teeth. ‘Be grateful.’

The first emotion she showed.

It was inappropriate.

Utterly inappropriate.

A deep chuckle ripped from Azriel’s throat, loud enough to warrant the glances from his family and the ones beside their table.

When the man choked and his eyes blurred, Ayla stopped. Her fingers released him and slipped out of the rings with a simple flick. The rings whipped spraying drops of amber-red in the air before it latched onto the bracelet again, the cords disappearing between the black of the leather. 

She turned to his friends, ‘Don’t come back.’

They nodded and began to back away. The cries of their friend brought them out of their stupor and they carried him out with his blood staining the once perfect floor. 

Ayla blinked. 

Once they were out the door, she went back behind the counter, and time resumed. The band began their music again. Servers shuffled to clean the floors and check on the fae. The bartender wiped at the splotches of blood off the counter.

Ayla cleaned her hands and continued with her other orders. As she offered drinks to the ones still waiting at the bar, she smiled. Azriel set his glass down.

When she reached Mor and Nesta, she studied their faces and uttered a few words. Mor pointed at their table with a grin, her eyes sparkling under the light swaying over her head. 

Ayla spared each of them a glance. Her eyes paused at Cass and his wings, Azriel and his wings, and finally Rhys and behind him where his wings should have been. The shadows didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. They went erratic around his shoulders and for a moment her eyes returned to the shadowsinger again.

‘She’s judging us,’ Rhys muttered through his grin. The amusement in his eyes flickered and she held his gaze. ‘Rather harshly,’ he chuckled. 

Feyre frowned at him. ‘Stop it!’

Rhys’s smile fell from his lips. He hummed, staring at Ayla for a beat too long before he turned to his mate. ‘It’s not my fault. Her mind called to me,’ he kissed her cheek.

Azriel wanted to ask what his brother meant, but knew better. His shadows quietened around him, still as midnight air, draping over his shoulders with their ghostly weight. They didn’t sing to him much that night.

Mor and Nesta returned with a tray of drinks. Ayla wrapped an arm around the bartender and whispered in her ear, a smile still on her lips. Azriel wondered if there was more between the two. Ayla rushed out of her room at the first sign of trouble and took charge of every responsibility while the other stayed safe and recovered.

‘I like this place!’ Mor exclaimed as she slumped next to him and handed him a glass after taking one for herself.

Cass only cursed under his breath. ‘Because she gave you free booze?’ He stole a drink for himself, ‘But that show was fun.’

‘So was yours,’ Nesta laughed and pointed at his soaked front.

Ayla accepted a sealed plate from the server, with that smile of hers, and headed to her office. Her hand stilled over the doorknob. Crimson spotted her shirt along her torso below her ribs. She ran her fingers over them once, slowly. She blinked and wiped again at the dried stain. And again. Then she closed the door.

Once the glasses were emptied, Mor hated the place again. The drinks Ayla offered sobered them completely. Grumbling and muttering their disapproval at the trickery and betrayal, Mor and Cass walked out of the bar with the others trailing behind them. 

Azriel sneaked a glance at the locked door smiling before he joined his family. 

It was indeed a good night.

Next chapter: Sanctuary

[rosiethorns88]

Heyyy everyone! Finally dropping this new papercraft standee that I built during the 88k follower stream on my IG account @rosiethorns88! (Available to watch in my reels) Featuring Wendell and Emily from the Emily Wilde series by @heather_fawcett! I thought Wendell's obsession with mending clothes was completely hilarious and had to capture it in this standee. I completely adored the first book (Emily Wilde's Encyclopedia of Faeries) and am excited to jump into Map of the Otherlands as soon as I get through a few others on my TBR. It's like choosing one out of a platter of your favorite desserts. If you're yearning for more after Elfhame and enjoy diving deep into Faerie folklore and all of the rules and tricks and mischief of the Folk with a dash of Howl & Sophie dynamic, you'll definitely want to pick this up! More standees to come! 🙌

[tamlinweek]

A little Suriel told us that you all are looking forward to getting the 2025 Tamlin Week prompts and we are here to deliver.

In The Suriel article above, all fourteen prompts (two per day) are hidden within the text. Let’s see if our clever Tamlin community can come together and uncover the hidden themes. We’ll also give you a hint: some prompts have combined wording.

Let us know in the comments what you think it is! We’ll be keeping an eye on your progress and adding to the tally 😉

We’ll reveal the official prompt list in one week.

PROMPTS UNCOVERED: 11/14

Below the cut, you will find a text version of the article for easier readability.

CHANGING SEASONS PROMPTS THE BEGINNING OF SPRING PREPARATIONS

By THE SURIEL

Artisans from far and wide have been seen crossing over into the Spring Court to prepare for the upcoming celebrations. As is tradition, and part of the Court’s Great Mythology, every Spring Equinox, the Great Rite must be performed by High Lord Tamlin. It is also tradition to spend the entire week before showing appreciation for all the Flower Prince has done for his people (and for blessing our eyes, oh yes). Creatures and faeries from every corner of Prythian are invited to worship the Mother and feed the powers of our land.

I remember when I was but a little fate-mite, a whirling ball of magic rolling across the land. Prythian was not as it was today, especially in this flourishing Court. Once upon a time, in Dark Spring, we begged the Mother for forgiveness in hopes not to be annihilated on the spot. Shout out to my brother, the Turiel. You were the worst, and I’ll always remember that.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Over the course of the coming months, we expect the Spring Court to change and flourish right before our eyes. We expect a mass migration of celebrants, some hoping to secure lodging before all the inns are booked up, and the molehills are overflowing with guests. 

We’d also like to clarify in light of last year’s spy debacle that the human was not a from an alternate universe, but just a quirky new addition to our handsome High Lord’s polycule alongside Feyre, Lucien, Rhysand, Elain, Nesta, Azriel, Cassian, Beron, Eris, Jurian, and many more. For legal reasons, we are magically bound to say that it is possible that these famous faces may only share platonic relationships with High Lord Tamlin.

We’re also looking forward to this year’s performance from Tamlin’s warband. We are still reeling from the addition of fire breathers—what a beautiful way to integrate Spring Court emissary Lucien Vanserra’s heritage. 

If you or anyone you know is planning to spend your free days in Spring, The Suriel is continuously updating our collection of High Lord sightings. There can never be enough portraits of Tamlin’s glossy golden hair, his rippling muscles, and don’t you just want to take a bite out of his luscious chest—Sorry, sorry, our sprouts, we are getting ahead of ourselves, but sharing is caring, after all.

Stay tuned for more updates on Spring Court, and our favourite High Lord, Tamlin!

THE SURIEL is a Prythian Publishing Prize winner for several centuries in a row. They have been reporting the nation’s hottest celebrity news since the beginning of time, long before the lands had names. They currently reside in the Spring Court. If you have tea to spill, and for any advertising requests, sacrifice your freshest chicken in the Western Forest. The Suriel also responds to scenes of egging Beron’s house.

[strangelittlestories]

Let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

It is well known that most fae are tricksters. They are creatures who do not lie per se, but who make truth light as chaos or heavy as a contract.

They distract you with the truth and while you are looking at it, they steal the ground from beneath your feet, the name from the craw of your soul, and the

They are like shitty close-up magicians, but the coin they produce from behind your ear is everything you ever valued. And the rabbit they vanish into their hat is reality itself.

They leave you untethered, unmoored, floating free in the summerlands while the path home unravels like a knot of handkerchiefs.

It is well known that fae do this. However, you should realise that 'it is well known' is also a clever illusion.

For while you *should* fear the fair folk, they are multi-faceted and manifold. There are some among them that you may still wish to seek out - for while they will *wreck you* quite thoroughly, sometimes a person must shipwreck themselves to reach their destination.

So let me tell you about the Truthspeaker.

I first heard rumours of them when on my quest year. It's become something of a tradition among aspiring urban esotericists to take a year out to gain practical magical experience. Druids venture into the fragmented urban wilds beneath their city. Mages seek out spells and traditions in rare local dialects and folklores. Seers get very high and follow whatever visions they may have to their inevitable horrible conclusions.

Meanwhile, I started out seeking a simple remedy for mild dimensional bifurcation. One of the alchemists I spoke to mentioned they sometimes sourced ingredients from the fae - in particular, they had a connect for ice cold truths that they thought may help me.

Sadly, I was hot on the trail of the Reality-phage by that point. And that whole situation … escalated.

When I emerged from that densely-woven five-year headfuck with a master's degree in Divine Linguistics and a fully fractured sense of self, I went panning for gold through my memories … and I recalled the Truthspeaker.

The path to faerie is an easy one to find, but a hard one to walk. Especially if you want anything that resembles yourself to emerge on the other side.

I had little enough of my self left, so I took precautions.

I conjured a worm out of earth and lichen. I took one of my memories - one I could not afford to lose - and I fed it to the imaginary creature. It was fat and wriggling, as if ready to burst with dreams.

I wrote my own personal rune on the worm's skin in white marker. The worm wrote *its* rune on me in slime.

I took it to a dried up canal behind a main road. I walked onto the footbridge that crossed it. I speared the worm on a hook, tried it to a silver thread and I dangled it from a fishing pole.

From the canal bed beneath, hungry mouths began to warp out of the concrete. I snagged the biggest and reeled it in. Arms aching with the effort, finally it breached the guardrail with a squeal of metal. Its grey teeth gnashed towards me.

I dived in.

After a small unknowable bubble of time, in which the concrete hydra and I argued over semantics, we finally reached an accord.

I rode in its mouth into the Summerlands.

Apologies, I was supposed to be telling you about the Truthspeaker.

Reaching them was complex, even with my fearsome new ride. (Honestly, riding in that thing's maw made me feel I was in that book about the sandworms, but a bit more 'Vore.)

I won't repeat the trials I had to go through, the spirits I had to beg, bribe or bludgeon ... if you ever seek them yourself, you will need to pay your own way.

But eventually I reached their grove.

It was a strange place. It had a mushroom arch, like many fae groves, but if you looked close you could see spots of rust growing on the caps of them. I peered closer and saw: there was an iron frame beneath the fungi.

I've heard it said that fungus make death into the stuff of life. Even given some faeries' affinity for mushrooms, I think it takes a very special fae to take that which is inimical to you and make of it your sustenance. (And to be quite so cottagecore about it.)

I passed beneath the arch and felt my magical protections torn away by long intangible fingers clawed in ferrous decay.

Inside, the grove sat beneath ... what is the opposite of a 'verdant' canopy? A dying canopy? A putrefying canopy?

No, it was canopy of tomorrows. A vast and dense web of mycelial strands that ate dank darkness and shunned the sun. The interlaced fungal strings shone with strands of copper and arced with electricity.

At the centre of this dwelling with something akin to a cottage, but vast and ballooning with bulbous growths. Cosy and grand. Homely but haunting.

From within its cavernous doorway emerged the Truthspeaker.

My eyes were drawn first to the crown that burst from beneath the skin of their head. Filigreed wires wove in and out of their temples, burning where they met flesh. From that burning emerged green shoots and flowering fungus in all the colours of autumn killings.

They were dressed in stars and pale cotton. Their eyes were caverns. Their lips were lined with morning frost, which crunched softly as they spoke.

"You have travelled a long road." their sweet, soft voice was echoed deeply by the creatures that squirmed in the earth around their feet.

"I have, honoured one." My voice shook.

"There is no honour here, child."

"Nonetheless, I come to honour you."

"You come to ask of me."

Inside myself, I felt my heart shrivel and rot away and a new heart build itself again from the mess.

"From where I stand, to ask favour is to show my throat. This is honour."

"You are a sophist." they snorted and a cloud of spores filled the air, glittering.

"That is the source of my power, honoured one." The spores settled on my robe and began to form a sparkling crystal city.

"You bear the blessing of the Once God."

"I, uh..." I found myself reaching for my phone to take a scrying selfie and resisted. "I had honestly forgotten it was there."

"As had the blessing. Such is the way of things with the God That Was But Was Not."

"There is much I have lost."

"You are not special in this regard."

"Are there ... any ways in which I *am* special?"

"I don't especially care to name them if there are."

"I..." I licked my lips and they tasted of earthy spices. "I would ask you to tell me one true thing, Truthspeaker."

"I have already told you several."

"I can offer fair exchange. I can serve you. I had knowledge and skill once, I am sure I can find them again."

"No. You never shall."

I blanched.

"Never?"

"They are mulch. New talents will grow. Or you will die. Such is the way of things." they looked me up and down with their hollow, everything eyes, "Tell me what truth you would have. I will find something to do with you after."

My mouth was dry. My lungs filled with thick honey-like dreck. My skin shone translucent. The crystal city on my robe spread and grew, went through two cataclysms, rebuilt itself, then began to spread across my back.

I forget the truth I had planned to ask for.

Instead I said:

"Do you like me?"

"I do not know yet." The Truthspeaker said. "But I am willing to find out."

That is how I met the Truthspeaker. Our first meeting, but not our last. But that is all the detail I will give you for now. If you want more then you will have to seek me out and ask me or win it from me or remind me of it.

But what was it that I wanted to tell you about the Truthspeaker? What did I learn? What might you learn from them?

Surely, I have already told you that?

No, I will say one thing more:

Sometimes the truth does not set you free. Sometimes it anchors you.

Because sometimes you don't need a trickster fae to untie you from reality. Sometimes you are already doing a perfectly adequate job of that yourself.

And when that happens, a truth you can rely on is like cold iron for the soul.

---

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a one-off or recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 1

We're SO Back

School is back in session y’all!!!!

Fantasy High has returned to us after a long break and I am thrilled to come out of my recapping hiatus to bring back the Report Card for Junior Year! You know I could let my favorite chaotic high schoolers go un-analyzed! 

This episode wastes no time in getting started so neither will I. Brennan makes what I think is a very strong narrative choice by starting us in media res at the end of a classic Bad Kids adventure. It is the summer between Sophomore and Junior Year and the party has spent the last four months hot on the trail of the dreaded Night Yorb.

We catch up to our Intrepid Heroes in the Red Waste and they’re trying to catch up to the Night Yorb which is a big, eldritch, manta ray like monster who threatens to plunge the entire world into darkness, creating a very slow (but still effective!) apocalypse! The Night Yorb is flanked by its groupies, made up of members of the many cults dedicated to it (collectively known as “Yorbies”).

As I said, the Bad Kids are hot on its trail, in (and on) the Hangvan. Gorgug (who has been leaning more into his Artificer vibes lately) has outfitted the top of the Hangvan with a solar lasso that can be used to capture and reel in the Night Yorb so that Fig and Adaine can defeat it with a magical sigil. I’m gonna quickly run down where everyone is and what they’re doing:

Adaine and Fig are both standing on top of the Hangvan in order to spring the sigil when the time comes. Adaine is also joined by Boggy and a new addition, Moggy the Doggy (aka, Mordekainen’s Faithful Hound), which is a very round, very cute, very invisible Pomeranian looking dog. 

Gorgug is also up top with them because he’s manning the solar lasso. 

Fabian is inside the Hangvan along with Baby (aka Wretchrot, aka Fig’s screeching blood imp who has no mechanical benefit unless she takes another level of Warlock as Brenan keeping reminding us) and Ecaf, a mirror with a sultry voice that Fabian is *heavily* flirting with, much to everyone’s discomfort. It’s tres Narcissus. (Also, ha, Face backwards. I see you Brennan).

Kristen is in the back with Fabian and Riz is driving, even though he is WAY too small to effectively be driving a Gorgug sized van. 

The Hangman–Fabian’s trusty motorcycle/hellhound–is out in front of the Hangvan.

Also Squeem is on the roof with the others! Beloved, fan favorite Squeem!

Yeah, so this episode does a thing of pretending like we’re jumping into the last episode of an arc that we’ve seen every episode of and introducing characters in a very Sam Reich, “He’s been there this whole time” way even though it’s their first appearance. I think it’s very funny and it reminds me of that Community episode where they’re all flashing back to episodes that never aired. But anyway, I mention this so that if I mention a name and you’re like “Whomst?” it’s probably just a bit, you’re not forgetting a major character.

Anyway, we’re joining this chase already in progress which means our kids are hurt and down spell slots but their opponents are as well. The distribution is pretty uneven–Adaine is way less hurt than Fabian and Kristen for instance, which honestly checks out (curious how they decided on that though). 

Because this episode is just one big battle sequence for the most part, I’m going to follow the precedent I set in the recaps for The Seven and just give the highlights in bullets and then do an analysis on where all the Bad Kids are right now at the end:

Murph comes in hot, using his first action of the new season to shoot his gun and doing 30 points of damage with a 27 to hit. New year, new Murph! 

Siobhan invokes the corn cuties debacle from fight one and all the falling off the tables that happened. Clearly, a bit of Adaine’s oracle energy is rubbing off on her because the next thing that happens in that Fabian decides to jump on top of the Hangvan to cast Faerie Fire on the Night Yorb (which has shrouded itself in magical darkness), rolls the first Nat 1 of the season, absolutely eats it, and gets run over by Riz–narrowly avoiding going down. He’s ultimately fine–The Hangman comes and picks him up–but it’s not a very auspicious star from Master Fabian. 

Emily and Murph have a cute moment of womping Brennan back to back by using Silvery Barbs to make him reroll two attacks on the Hangvan–one of which is a crit–and then giving each other the advantage on the next roll.

Kristen is a real pillar in this encounter–holding up the Circle of Power spell that allows her friends to ignore big chunks of damage that absolutely would have dropped them. But throughout the entire fight, her patron goddess, Cassandra, keeps trying to talk to her and Kristen keeps leaving her on read–we’ll get more into that in a bit. 

Adaine comes in clutch with a Nat 1 portent roll to stop the NIght Yorb from resisting Gorgug’s attempt to reel it in further. Truly, the best time to roll a Nat 1 in this game. Divination Wizards are awesome!

We learn that “Don’t Speak of the Night Yorb” is more than just a silly bit when Fig realizes that saying its name makes it heal up which isn’t great because they’ve been *very* cavalier about invoking its name. 

Squeem gets a big emotional goodbye with Gorgug on top of the Hangvan, heroically leaps off to fend off some Yorbies…and then rolls a 2 and totally faceplants. No! Squeem! Beloved fan favorite Squeem! They already had to revivify you once! 

On the Night Yorb’s turn, Brennan does an attack and shakes so many dice that it sounds like maracas. It’s 61 points of damage and squishy wizard Adaine goes down, but everyone else stays up–large in part due to Kristen’s aforementioned Circle of Power. (Siobhan, describing how bad her saving rolls were zings two separate friends saying, “It was Fabian level nasty. I fucking Murph’d it.”)

Luckily, Fig and Gorgug are up on the roof with Adaine so she does not go sliding off the van when she goes down. They catch her before she can fall. 

At this point the Van has sustained a lot of damage so Murph reminds the teacher that they have homework/Brennan that they have to roll for a mishap. That turns out to be the breaks blowing out. Now, all the Van can do is accelerate! It’s just like the movie Speed!

Two more characters who we totally know and have been here this whole time show up to help–Balthazar and Duggan McCann! A cool grizzled veteran and a centaur cowboy. Riz immediately starts doing cool guy banter with them because he’s somehow convinced them that he’s cool (which he is for the record, just in a completely different way lol). Unfortch, Baz almost right away gets eaten by the NIght Yorb. Who’s gonna take care of his litter (?) of parrots?????

 At this point in the fight, everyone gets a ping on their crystals, reminding them that school starts in three days. This stresses everyone out more than the fight that they’re currently in. 

Fig brings up Adaine with a Healing Word but she immediately has to do Wis save with the rest of the party. She and Fabian fail, but once again Fabian is saved by fear negating effects of his dad’s eyepatch. So Adaine starts to have a panic attack about the fact that she’s fighting the Night Yorb while standing on the roof of a moving vehicle which, real talk, very normal and valid reaction. In fact, probably concerning that she’s reached a point in her life where that *isn’t* the default reaction. 

The Hangvan is coming up on a jump it’ll have to make to continue following the Night Yorb (and it can’t even try to stop because the brakes are cut). Riz fails the roll which means that the van is probably going to fall on its side. Adding insult to injury, a pillar of rock falls and is going to crash into the van, doing even more major damage. 

Fig watches this, and almost dissociates, feeling the weight of the entire summer taken from them to do this quest. Feeling so so tired. Feeling the fact that even if they win, they’re just gonna have to go back to school and adventure some more. A piece of magic she’s been holding inside of for a long time flickers and she hears an enticing voice whisper in her ears. “If you would take me, you know what you would save.” She smells a sour, curdled scent and she knows that if she says yes, she can save her friends. Maybe there’s another way, but she just wants this to be over. “I’m yours,” Fig says. 

There’s a flash of “lemony, yellow, creamy” light (hmmmm) and the rock stops falling. The Hangvan starts righting itself.

And then there’s a sick gurgle from Fig’s stomach. 

Uh-oh, gang. 

For those of you who are new to these recaps, every week, I give one PC Detention and put one on the Honor Roll for their in-game actions. We’re starting off hot this semester with:

Detention 

Kristen Applebees for Being a BAD Friend to Cassandra 

Like, OK. Faith is complicated. Kristen’s relationship with religion is complicated. Being a cleric is complicated. But notice that I didn’t say being a bad *cleric*. I said being a bad *friend*. To be clear, she’s also being a bad cleric, and I’ll talk about that later. But having understandably conflicted views on religion doesn’t make sliding in your Fantasy Airpods while the being who is essentially a lonely teen girl and who is keeping you and all your friends alive tries to talk to you NOT seem like a giant dick move. Come on girl, get it together. 

Honor Roll

Brennan Lee Mulligan for Being a Great DM!

I realized as I was writing this that I’ve given Brennan Detention but never Honor Roll so he’s getting it today. It feels so good to have him back in the dome with the kids and he drew me back into the world, right away. I’m so psyched that we have a full season of this ahead of us! 

CHARACTER CHECK-INS

Like I said earlier, because this is the first episode back, I want to really quickly check in with all of the Bad Kids and where they are, character-wise. I’m going to do this roughly from least concerning to me to most concerning to me. 

-Adaine: Adaine seems like she’s living her best life. She has her frog! She has her dog! Her character art is so much more chill and she’s coming into her own. This season, I’m hoping we get to see more of her relationship with her sister (yes, I’m a predictable bitch. Sue me) and with Zayn (who is also living at Mordred in her tower) who I think has a lot of potential to be an interesting supporting character with more spotlight. But yeah, go Adaine! 

-Gorgug: Gorgug is making his parents proud (not that they ever weren’t) by taking another artificer level. He’s not a 7/3 Barb/Art split. I love that he’s gone from calling himself dumb to taking on this very technical skill. He also apparently has a homunculus? Fascinated to see what that looks like. 

-Riz: Now that his big investigation is over and he knows his dad is a cool secret agent, Riz has switched his subclass from Inquisitor to Arcane Trickster which means he’s got tons of gadgets and that he’s a ring guy now. Love that for him. He’s very much not a chill person though so I’m very curious to know what the next thing he’ll latch onto is. He the kind of guy who always need something going on, you know? 

-Fabian: Fabian is a fancy, dance boy now (6/4 Fighter/Bard)! But that doesn’t mean he’s any less athletic. I mean, have you ever seen a male ballerina? He still is, however, a total disaster. And I mean that affectionately. I mean, his current love interest (?) is a mirror that is showing a fuzzy reflection of his own face. My guy, what are you doing? Although I will say, idk if that’s more or less toxic than him dating Aelwyn. 

-Kristen: Kristen. GIRL. 

OK, so first of all. There is nothing inherently wrong with getting super jacked and like, respect. But in this context it feels like a red flag. Like the kind of thing you do because you’re on the rocks with your girlfriend or if you’ve recently broken up. I will be *very* interested to know what Tracker is up to as she’d not mentioned in this episode. Last we heard, she was out doing cleric stuff for the Moon Goddess, right? Long distance can be hell on a relationship. (Also, idk how seriously we’re supposed to take this but Ally mentioned the one shot it happened in in this episode so Kristen was also totally trying to flirt with a college girl in that college visit oneshot. Brennan shut it down pretty quick, but it very much did happen). 

Also, speaking of cleric stuff, Cass. I feel SO bad for Cass. Like, a god isn’t owed followers, but Kristen chose that role. She CHOSE it. This isn’t like a Helio situation. Cass wasn’t pushy. She specifically says in this episode that she doesn’t want to be pushy. Hell, she says in the episode where she’s introduced that if people don’t want her around she’ll go away. But Kristen chose to be her follower, knowing what the implications of being the sole follower of a goddess is. Cass is made in her image. That’s how deeply entwined they are. Her goddess is made in her image. In The Seven, we learn that Ost’s god hasn’t talked to anyone in years. Kristen has Cass coming in like a mom offering snacks mid battle and Kristen is leaving her on read! It’s honestly kinda hard to watch her be so blithely dismissive of someone so dependent on her even though it’s played off as kind of a joke. I felt like I was watching a loyal puppy get kicked every time they interacted. 

And like, I said this before, Cassandra is made in Kristen’s image. But specifically, she looks like Sophomore year Kristen. Still all skinny and still in her tie-die shirt and shorts. There is a definite vibe of almost wanting to kill the part of yourself that embarasses you, you know? It feels like she's being mean to Cass but also to herself. 

Also, mechanically speaking, it’s wild to be just ignoring the person you’re getting your powers from like this. Like, this is real Wizard behavior. You don’t have to answer to anyone if you studied for your magic but you absolutely do as a cleric. Does Kristen even want to be a cleric? It honestly doesn’t seem like it. She’s shown a pattern of behavior of chafing at every god put in her path, even the ones she literally made up. I thought Cass might be the end of her searching, but we’re right back on the Merry Go Round. The party absolutely needs a healer though so idk how she deals with that. 

I saw the snipped clip of Ally’s interview about Kristen’s arc this season involving what happens when chaos stops being cute, and I can def see seeds being planted. Fascinated to see how they explore that because this feels like a real ticking time bomb of a situation. 

Oh also, her Dex went DOWN????? GIRL!

Fig: I had a lot more to say about Kristen but Fig has to be last on the list for making a deal with a literal devil lol. Like, classic Fig though, right? This WOULD happen. Emily talked about potentially retiring Fig and getting reeled in by some enticing plot hook from Brennan and it feels like we might be about to find out what that is. I won’t speculate on it too much right now because we’re presumably about to find out but there were a LOT of yogurt themed adjectives when that magic activated which has me very split on whether this is about to be deeply concerning or deeply silly. Or both! It could be both! 

Random Thoughts

I LOVE that we have a proper theme song now. It feels so fitting and I love the opening art and it’s all so cool. The show’s so profesh now!

Also, shout out to @caitmayart for making the new art! It has the quality of a professional and the extra love of a fan. It’s my fave D20 official art so far. 

I don’t know when this feature was added but I love that there is a full transcript you can pull up and search and jump to that time in the video now. That’s gonna be SO useful for me. 

One of my favorite things about Adaine is that she’s generally polite but occasionally she’ll just absolutely verbally decimate someone so casually and this episode she said to the Solesian Yorbie they encountered, “What movie theater were you assistant managing before you decided to become a Yorbie?” Brutal. 

Also love how vehement she was about the fact that Brennan couldn’t touch Moggy, even when she went down. You are absolutely NOT gonna kill that dog Brennan.  

“Object interaction, touch Gorgug’s foot.”

Fig asks Gorgug how they can heal a van and he says, “Take it to a shop for 3-4 days.” Zac, underrated comic genius. 

I really can’t overstate how funny it is that Fabian spends most of this episode flirting with his own reflection. I’ve said this many times but something I love about Lou is that he’s not afraid to make Fabian deeply uncool, even though Fabian’s whole thing is being as cool as possible. 

Kristen says she needs to have an intense conversation with Cassandra when the fight is over and what does that mean? Like a breakup conversation? Which I guess would kill her because then she’d have no followers again? I am, como se dice, concerned. 

Also, just looking ahead, Tracker is also a cleric. A pretty faithful one from what I can tell. I have to wonder what her take on Kristen completely neglecting her goddess and church is. 

I think it’s so funny that Emily was thinking about retiring Fig so she could just ride off into the sunset with her cool rockstar life and awesome girlfriend because Riz’s big thing last year was being worried all his friend would pair up and leave him so for him to accept it and then have his fears validated right away would be like, welp. 

At a certain point, Murph has to roll damage and he rolls 45 out of a possible 50 damage. That’s crazy. Let’s see how long that luck holds.

[rosanna-writer]

WIP Wednesday

So uhhhh...I completely forgot I wrote 1k words of an "Elain was having visions of a future with Lucien even as a human" AU a while back?

When the King of Hybern's men brought her into the throne room, Elain's eyes were so overfull of tears that at first, all she saw of the male was a blur of red. The king was saying something she probably should have paid attention to, but all Elain could hear was a quiet mechanical whirring from her dreams. It was him. The heartbreak was strong enough to cut through Elain's panic. Perhaps she'd been stupid and naive to think that those dreams had been anything other than a faerie's attempt at luring her over the Wall. If Feyre's mate could bend wills and crush minds without breaking a sweat…who knew what this one was capable of? There was more conversation, but Elain's mind was reeling too much to follow any of it. But there—the sound of his voice as he said, "She sold out—she sold out Feyre’s family. To you." She'd never heard him speak before. Just the sound of it heated her blood. And for some reason Elain didn't understand, some monstrous part of her railed at the sound of the word "she" on his lips. She was bound and gagged because he'd probably betrayed her, yet the thought of him even speaking about another woman was enough to send her into a rage. Maybe she'd finally lost touch with reality.

[ofstarsandmoonlightt]

HCs about Kit’s instagram:

• has a couple candids of himself that jem or tessa took

• most pics are of mina

•some good ones of church when he doesn’t look like the devil he actually is (kits words not mine)

•some reels he made w his school friends

•he doesn’t put much thought into what he posts but kinda gets a lot of followers

•dru shows him tiktoks of people using his parts of the reels into edits

•dru: look someone’s famous 👀

bonus:

•dru’s an avid user

•posts many reels and hops on trends (w thais ofc)

•becomes famous for doing each of them flawlessly

•ty’s not much of an ig user but dru install’s it on his phone and follows the whole blackthorns (+extended too)

•anush always spends all his free time watching funny reels

•also cute ones of cats/animals in general and keeps sending them to ty

•idt ash has a phone as he’s in faerie but dru makes him get one once everything’s normal

•jaime doesn’t have any time for all this as he’s always on the run

[godzilla-reads]

The next story from The Faery Reel is… The Night Market by Holly Black!

Holly Black is one of my favorite writers and I can’t wait to see what she has included in this short story collection 🤩

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn’s Shadow: Chapter 1

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: This is not canon compliant. It takes place sometime during acosf before Eris is taken by Briallyn. Please assume the following: Cassian never played courtier, Azriel never had any feelings for Elain, he never helped Cassian train the priestesses, and they have not told Eris about the trove.

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 1:

“Shadowsinger.”

Azriel stepped out of a pocket of shadows at the sound of that infernal voice. A voice he had been longing to make scream in pain for centuries now. Since the night Azriel had found Mor in those woods he had dreamed of how he might slowly and painfully tear the Heir of Autumn apart. Though technically they were allies now. Rhys insisted on these frequent meetings to get information on Beron’s movements in Spring, along with any whisper of his dealings with Briallyn and Koschei. Which was precisely why Azriel found himself in the woods along Night’s southern border in the dead of night. He steeled himself as he took in the male faerie before him.

“Report,” Azriel said coldly to Eris Vanserra.

Eris stood casually near the base of a great oak, a smirk on his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his emerald green jacket. As if out for an innocent stroll in the moonlight. How Eris had known he’d been lurking in the shadows, Azriel didn’t let himself consider. He prided himself on his stealth. It was part of what it meant to be a shadowsinger. But this was not the first time Eris had caught him lurking about and it pissed him off to no end. 

“You’re early,” Eris said, arching a red brow, clearly amused at how easy it was to rile the spymaster. “Did you miss me?” His auburn eyes glinted with feral delight as he took in the anger on Azriel’s face. 

Azriel ignored the comment and stalked forward until they stood only several feet apart, his hand twitching at his side as if he itched to unsheath the blade across his back and stab it through Eris’s elegant, long neck. “I said, report. What are his plans for Spring?” 

Tamlin had long since given up any semblance of protection of his lands. They now stood empty and desolate. Most of the Spring Court citizens had been forced to flee during the war, or were actively pushed out by Hybern’s armies. Azriel had spied a small force of Beron’s Autumn Court soldiers camped past their court’s southern border, on land Tamlin should have been patrolling.

Eris sighed dramatically and crossed his arms, frowning. 

“You’re no fun. Beron is merely testing to see if Tamlin will respond to an encroachment on his land. So far he hasn’t.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if this were all just a minor inconvenience and not a potential act of war.

“And Briallyn?” Azriel asked.

“My father’s unexplained absences have increased in length and frequency. I suspect he is visiting the continent to meet with the queen, though I have no means of following him to confirm. Perhaps you’ll have more luck with those delightful gifts of yours.” Eris glanced at the shadows curling around Azriel’s shoulders with thinly veiled interest.

“Does Beron know what she wants from Koschei?” Azriel asked, and then added, “Is he even aware of Koschei’s existence?” They had decided to inform Eris of the Death God, but not of the trove, or of Briallyn’s use of it thus far. If that information found its way into the wrong hands they might find themselves faced with more enemies who sought to arm themselves with the trove, on top of the threat from Briallyn and Koschei. 

It irked Azriel to be asking Eris about any of this. As spymaster, he should’ve been able to acquire the answers himself instead of standing here with his dick in his hand, begging Eris for intel. He scowled as Eris continued.

“My father speaks little of his plans to anyone these days. I can only assume he’s aware of Koschei if Briallyn’s allied with him, though I have no evidence to prove it. He’d be foolish not to inquire about her own personal motives.” Eris acted unconcerned, but Azriel could tell his father’s silence on the matter troubled him. He likely wasn’t used to being completely shut out of Beron’s schemes. Eris added, “You truly have no inkling of what she’s been after?” He gave Azriel a pointed look, like he was aware Azriel knew more than he was letting on.

Azriel ignored his question and contemplated the information. They did not yet know how closely Briallyn was tied to Koschei. Though he had been to the continent to spy on the once-human queen, Azriel had not yet been able to determine what Briallyn wanted from Koschei, and vice versa. As far as they knew, Briallyn had no means of freeing him from the lake. But perhaps they were missing something. Despite Azriel’s insistence that it could give them the upperhand in defeating Briallyn and prevent any further escalation with Koschei, Rhys had forbade him from getting close to Koschei’s lake, arguing that it was not worth the risk. Azriel had eventually backed off. But if Beron had indeed allied with Koschei…Azriel tucked the information away. He would study it later. 

He’d heard enough, for now. “I’ll let you know when I have something.”

Azriel turned to leave when Eris drawled, “Do give Mor my regards.” He knew Eris said it only to taunt him, but the comment had him turning back around. 

“Keep her name out of your filthy mouth,” he snarled. 

Were they really doing this again? Eris’s moods these past few months had been unpredictable at best. He was a completely different male from one week to the next. Sometimes Eris showed up and said little, his eyes distant and cold, as if consumed by some far away storm. Other times he was almost pleasant, and seemed eager to prove his commitment to their new and tenuous alliance. Today he must’ve been in a foul mood, if his bringing up Mor was any indication, and was likely attempting to take the edge off by stoking Azriel’s temper. Eris excelled at it. 

Azriel was in no mood for the male’s forked tongue today, but Eris continued, “It’s rather pathetic, don’t you think? How long you’ve been panting after her. She will never love you, shadowsinger.” His laugh was cold and mirthless. Azriel said nothing. He knew Eris spoke the truth, and it was something that weighed on him every day of his miserable existence. That he was not and would never be enough. 

“Though I’m sure you know that, deep down,” Eris mused, nodding faintly to himself. Azriel growled softly, temper rising. He should leave. Now. Before he did something that could not be undone. He knew he shouldn’t allow himself to get so worked up. These were old wounds. And yet something about Eris had always made Azriel see red—had his normally cool and calm rage igniting into something hot and savage. 

He’d reluctantly begun to think Eris wasn’t as bad as he let on—had even started to believe they were making decent progress in their civility towards one another. Gods, he’d even caught himself trusting the male. Perhaps he’d been a fool to think Eris was anything but a prick.

“I don’t know why you’re still so angry after all these years.” The words kept spilling out of his hateful mouth. “Surely you can’t really blame me for leaving her in those woods. Although, you are a bastard. Perhaps you’re used to having Cassian’s leftovers—” Azriel’s temper snapped. A blink and he was in front of Eris, scarred hand around his throat as he slammed him against the tree and snarled mere inches from his face.

“Say one more word about her and I will rip out your fucking throat,” Azriel snarled at him, his rage whetted into something sharp and dangerous. They were both breathing hard. Eris hissed as Azriel’s hand tightened around his neck. 

“You make it so easy,” Eris sneered. “It’s almost not even fun anymore. Almost.” His smile was edged with something Azriel couldn’t place. 

Azriel remained silent as he tried to tamp down his rage and get control of the roaring inside his head. He felt the column of Eris’s throat bob as he swallowed, could also feel Eris’s steady heartbeat under his thumb. 

He didn’t realize he’d moved his thumb over that pulse until Eris purred, “Are you going to grope me all night? Would you like me to remove my clothes?” 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Eris’s and he could feel the blood coloring his high cheekbones. He ground his teeth at the taunt and had to stop himself from snatching his hand back in embarrassment.

Eris blinked. The only sign of his surprise. And then his lips curled into a wicked smile. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Stop talking,” Azriel growled, tightening his grip further. His face was burning. He had rapidly lost control of this meeting—suddenly he felt like he was failing some test but wasn’t sure what the objectives were, only that he had somehow given Eris the upperhand. He was fumbling—

And then Eris reached down and palmed him roughly through the leather of his pants. Azriel’s eyes widened and every thought eddied out of his head. His face burned hot as he gaped at Eris, who laughed darkly, a heated glint in his amber eyes. Azriel was frozen where he stood, his mind utterly blank. Eris squeezed him and Azriel shuddered, hardening instantly under the intimate touch.

“What,” Azriel bit out through clenched teeth, his hand still wrapped around Eris’s throat, “are you doing?” 

Every muscle in Azriel’s body was taught, as if he might snap at the slightest pressure. But Eris didn’t reply. He just smiled darkly and reached for the buttons of Azriel’s pants—Azriel’s free hand stopped him before it could go further. Stopped his hand, but did not push it away. He only held Eris’s fine wrist in his scarred hand as they stared at each other. The males said nothing, their breaths mingling in the chill night air. Azriel’s grip on Eris’s throat finally loosened, and he let his hand fall to rest against Eris’s collarbone. He glared at the Autumn heir, so unruffled, while his own face was flushed red.

And then suddenly he was dragging Eris towards him by the collar of his shirt. Their lips crashed together ferociously, painfully. Tongues and teeth and shadows and flame danced together as Azriel gave himself over to the distraction of Eris’s hot mouth. He slipped his hand into those silken red strands and pulled Eris’s head back roughly, angling his face so he could better taste him. He grunted as Eris bit him hard enough to draw blood, but only gripped him tighter. Eris laughed cruelly into his mouth and Azriel could taste his own blood on their lips. Eris traced his tongue along Azriel’s bottom lip and then moaned softly as he delved his tongue back into his mouth. 

Azriel groaned in pleasure as Eris slipped a hand down the front of his leathers and gripped his shaft tightly. Gods, what was he doing? This was Eris, Eris, who he hated and who hated him in return—and then Azriel stopped thinking about anything at all as Eris began working him in earnest. His long, elegant fingers gripped him around his base and then worked their way up Azriel’s considerable length, thumb swirling the beaded drop of moisture already formed at the tip. Eris moved his hand up and down deftly, almost painfully, and Azriel felt himself thrust into that hand. He would’ve been embarrassed at his own fervor if he wasn’t so overcome with mindless, writhing need. Azriel stepped closer, their bodies completely flush, as he drove his tongue into Eris’s mouth. He tasted of fall and crackling flames and something sweet, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He could feel Eris’s own need pressing hard against his stomach as he matched his tongue stroke for stroke. 

Eris’s hand twisted over the head of his cock and Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Azriel groaned into his mouth as Eris grabbed the back of his neck to draw him in closer, like he might swallow every pleasured sound that escaped Azriel’s lips. Eris squeezed the head of his cock again and Azriel felt the pleasure building along his legs and spine. He increased the pace, his hand moving up and down roughly—Azriel felt Eris thrust his own hips forward and feeling that hard length against him sent him toppling over the edge. 

Azriel felt like there was fire in his veins as his release barreled through him. His hips jerked as he emptied himself into Eris’s hand. The male stroked him gently as he slowly stopped trembling. He let his head drop against Eris’s shoulder as he tried to calm his racing heart. Azriel was wrecked. He had no idea what had come over him, only that he’d come hard enough to see stars. 

He felt Eris remove his hand from his leathers, their bodies still pressed together. But the absence of that touch shook Azriel from the haze of his orgasm and he straightened up quickly and stepped back. Eris gazed back at him, his normally pale cheeks flushed. They stood there staring at each other silently. Azriel was at a loss for words, still reeling from what they’d done. And then Eris smiled cruelly, arched a brow, and Azriel braced himself for the blow that was surely to come—the words that would spill out of that wicked mouth and shred the remaining scraps of his pride into nothing. Dread pooled in his stomach. But then Eris paused, cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Azriel. Azriel held his breath, waited. And then Eris vanished, nothing but the rustling leaves any indication he had been there at all. Azriel stared at the spot long after he left, until the cold finally had him stepping back into the shadows and disappearing into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Tag list: @unanswered-stars

[returntheoriginaljellyteam]

desperately curious about your feelings on tyrannia (wrt the omelette faerie but also in general) as i feel they might align with mine

It's been SO LONG since we have done anything with Tyrannia. I was musing about it the other day that we really havent done anything with Tyrannia since the original plot. Which is a shame because the art for it currently is so lush and beautiful and filled with detail, it makes it seem like such an interesting place.

Like I said in my omelette faerie review; the author wrote a good story but did not know how to tell it in the format. The content is solid though. I love the idea that even after all this time, Tyrannia is still recovering from the war. Which makes sense- so is Darigan. Faerieland is still recovering from the crash. It traumatized people. Tyrannia is a land that was seperated from the wider world for millenia and only within living memory has joined the world at large. The giant omelette is PERFECT with the general lore it's been given: this is a country that survived a devastating war and a resulting famine that killed a lot of people. Old folks like Kyruggi and Sabre-X who were there, over twenty very real years ago, fighting in the war, remember fear and hunger. And for Sabre-X's driving force to be creating a future where no Tyrannian ever goes hungry again... That's so good. Guarding the omelette to make sure there is always enough that everyone gets a piece every day, that the hungry are fed and it's for free. Everyone has a right to eat and to not be hungry and thats the world he's prepared to fight for, even if he is very much tired of fighting.

It's very much a land in recovery that seems very proud, also, and unwilling to rely on the help of others. Darigan is still reeling from the effects of their OWN war and famine but they have accepted the aid of other nations and it's clearly benefited them. They've recovered a lot. Faerie Fragments has actually been getting into the current status of Faerieland post crash quite a bit, and how the crash was so traumatic most people are unwilling to even talk about it. I think tyrannia probably rightfully resents the fact other neopians regard them as less developed or primitive, and that's why they're too proud to really accept outsider help.

[shadowqueenjude]

For Day 6 of @sjmvillainweek Afterlife

The Trials of Beron Vanserra: read on ao3.

Preview below the cut

Summary:

Beron Vanserra has been killed by his own wife. He has been sent to the afterlife where he will be judged. However, just when he is about to be sent to hell, Beron convinces the judges to give him one chance: survive the Trials, and he can be reborn for another chance at heaven. Should he fail…he goes to hell. And given the main judge is Beron’s own sister who he wronged in life, she is not going to make to easy for him.

When Beron woke up once more, he knew he was no longer in Prythian. In fact, he was no longer alive. It was a strange feeling. He was in a space that resembled the inside of a cloud, looking down at his dead body. His wife (Seraphina) and sons stood over it; all his children aside from the two who were dead. Even Lucien- who may not have been his by blood, but was undoubtedly his- was there, along with his mate, the kingslayer. Seraphina’s hand shook around the bloody knife that she had killed him with. He sensed mixed feelings from everyone around him: anger, peace, sadness, regret.

“You deserved a far worse ending than the one we gave you,” Eris said softly. Of all his children, he had always been the most like him. “But as your family, we granted you mercy.”

And it was- a Fae mercy. A human mind would never understand it, but Beron understood. A twisted part of him was actually proud- proud that his son had mustered the guts to overthrow him after all this time.

Beron Vanserra. I have been waiting for you a long time.

Beron had expected the voice of the Mother- that was what was said they’d meet after death-but it was still jarring to hear her speak in his mind.

Beron stumbled over himself to get in a prostate position. Though she did not speak, Beron could feel her amusement in his mind.

“You bowed to no one in life, yet you bow to me in death? How very strange. But it shall not keep you from meeting your destiny.”

Beron closed his eyes. Now was the moment of truth-to determine whether he’d done the right things in life.

“You shall be judged by the dead,” the Mother continued. “Be ready.”

Then Beron was falling, falling, into an abyss. His screams disappeared as soon as they came, lost to this never ending fall. At last, he landed in a pit, where countless others lay in wait.

“Where are we?” Beron asked.

“In line,” a female voice said coolly. Beron whipped around to give her a piece of his mind when he froze. She didn’t look normal; she was a translucent steely grey mirage, and underneath, her skeleton was visible. Beron tried to focus on the mirage, but he couldn’t help but see the bones.

“A proper answer,” Beron said, but it didn’t have the desired effect. He was still disoriented by the whole being dead thing.

“You’re in the aisle of the Trials,” someone called out. Beron turned towards the sound. “There’s an arena out there. Once you leave this pit and enter the arena, people shall judge whether you were a good or a bad person in life before sending you to Narakaloka or Swargaloka.”

Beron swallowed. “Who are the judges?”

The ghost man gave Beron a horrific smile. “Typically, those amongst the dead who hate you the most.”

Cool. Cool cool cool cool. Sounded like a recipe for a biased trial. “Do I get to defend myself?” Beron asked.

The man sneered. “You can try, but I don’t think anybody can save you from the depths of hell, Beron Vanserra.”

If Beron could pale, he would’ve. As it was, his mind reeled over the fact that this ghost could recognize him in this form. “Who are you?” Beron demanded. The man chuckled. “Me? I’m just a farmer from Autumn. You treat us like shit. But in the realm of the dead, lesser faeries aren’t separated from the High Fae. Oh no, all humans and animals and faeries go to the exact same place. Isn’t that wonderful?”

It was the absolute opposite of wonderful. If he was being judged by commoners, then he was screwed.

The wait was absolute torture. Beron could no longer feel things, but it was still absolute boredom and fear-wracking to wait for so long to stand trial. It was time for him to figure out whether everything he had done in life was worth it. Centuries could’ve passed by and it would’ve felt the same to Beron. At long last, he was the first person in a long line to enter the pit. “Beron Vanserra!” a voice boomed. Filled with nerves, Beron walked into the arena.

The pit where the dead stood trial was not so different from the old Autumn Court arena where blood duels had been held. The stands were polished gold and went up as far as the eye could see. The ground was grainy white sand that somehow Beron knew was satiny soft. As he reached the center of the arena, he could see there were three ancient carved pillars before him, behind each of which a ghost sat.

Beron saw the judges then and knew he was doomed.

They were indistinguishable from any of the other ghosts, yet Beron knew them exactly when he saw them. How could he not? On either side sat his dead sons who he had sent after Lucien. One had been killed by Lucien; the other had been killed by Tamlin.

“Henri. Andre.” Beron’s voice failed him when he saw who sat in the middle. She must have died then, at some point. She had survived their duel, but she had later died, though Beron had no idea when she had died. The woman who had been more a mother to him than his actual mother. The woman who had wiped his tears and cleaned his wounds after his father beat him. The woman who had taught him how to read, how to life a sword, how to use a fire. The woman who had been his best friend. The woman who he had betrayed for power. His biggest regret in life. She had cursed him. She had warned him. And she had been right.

“Vivi,” Beron whispered.

“You have long since lost the right to call me that, Beron,” Violet snarled. His proper name was an insult, for his older sister had never called him anything but Berry before. True, she was only his sister on their mother’s side, but blood had never mattered much between them.

All the pain and regret Beron had tried to wash away in his lifetime returned in earnest in death. Had he still had the ability, he would’ve burst into tears at the sight of his sister. Despite his centuries as a high lord, before her he felt like a baby brother again.

“I know it doesn’t mean anything now, but…I’m sorry,” Beron choked.

“Spare me,” Violet snapped. “I’ve seen how you treat Lucien.”

Lucien, who reminded him of Violet in almost every way. Who was also a bastard child, with that fierce but loving personality. Who had mostly been raised by Eris. Beron couldn’t help but see himself and Violet in those two, had their situations been reversed. It made him love and hate them at the same time that they had the ending that he and Violet had never gotten, even though he had no one to blame for it but himself.

“I’ve seen how you treat your children. Your wife. You are just like Father. Nay, worse. At least father didn’t beat his wife. At least he didn’t treat me like an outcast for most of my life.”

Violet reached a hand towards Beron’s dead sons. They took hers. “Your poor sons never got to meet their aunt. Don’t worry, though. I’ve been taking great care of these two while you were down in the world of the living torturing your remaining family. These two have finally experienced what having a real family is like, and once they finish judging you, they’re free to go and be reborn into the living for a second chance at heaven.”

“That-that’s good,” Beron managed.

“Don’t say that like you care,” Henri snarled. “My mate was pregnant when I died. I never got to meet my daughter.”

Right. Beron forgot he had a grandchild. He had never met her- she was kept well-hidden from him on purpose; it did not help that Nora, the mother of the child, was Helion’s daughter. It seemed he and Helion were destined to be connected forever; they shared a lady and a grandchild? Now this was getting ridiculous.

“I’m sorry,” Beron repeated. Those two words felt feeble and worthless, but he had to try.

“No,” Henri retorted, “But you will be.”

[nagirambles]

Helloy FT Fandom of Tumblr

Can help me with something. Please recommend Fairy Tail fanfics in the comments and reblogs. Any ship, no ship, self promo is ok. Just spread that love around. Thanks. I would like a positivity boost right now because I am going to throw a pillow otherwise. I also am looking for more things to read.

I'll start. My obsession is rewrite fics/dragon slayer centric with plenty of family feels, so that's most of my recs.

Obligatorily dropping my own AO3 @ here.

Tra'viin Tome'mir by GemmaRose. A series with a Sense8 style mindscape-sharing Dragon Slayers. I'm obsessed with this entire thing. I am not normal about it. It's everything I ever wanted with the dragon slayer dynamic in a ft rewrite-type fic.

Faeries, Dragons, and Demons this story has been disconned and orphanned, but I still believe it's the best rewrite of FT of all time.

How to Raise Your Dragon Slayers by PencilofAwesomeness because I go feral for this Papalogia AU and the kids being the best thing to ever happen to him and everyone who ever reads this. I would die for them

all i got is this pride by titaniaeli about Loke knowing the Dragon Slayers back when they were kids, a 5+1 about them not recognizing him before all remembering at once. This fic keeps me up at night I love it so mudsakdjal

The Fourth Of Jellal by dragonshost when I say the concept of this fic has me by the chokehold pls. Mystogan becomes Master against his every will and he ends up having to actually confront existing in the Fairy Tail guild hall. I never realized how much I craved Mystogan interactions with his Earthland family until now.

D for Dragon Slayers by Beastrage ahhh this crossover between One Piece and Fairy Tail??? It gets my mind reeling. Seeing these unhinged feral mongrels with their un-understandable powers just existing in the One Piece world and the way they all react to them... I so desperately want them to reunite. I will die if they don't. I will.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Bambi and the King

cw fantasy whump, captivity, nonhuman whumpee, defiant whumpee, royalty

Cassian choked on the wine he was drinking. “You what?” he demanded between coughs, handing the glass to one of his servants. 

“A wood nymph,” Valeria, the leader of the royal guard, repeated with a stoic expression. “We found him about fifty miles west, sneaking through Arlo Forest. The little thing was a pain to catch, but we got him.” 

Cassian was still reeling. A nymph venturing into his kingdom was almost unheard of—they knew better. And the fact that his guard had managed to capture the creature was equally stunning. As far as magical beings went, nymphs were up there with faeries in terms of flightiness and cunning. “You have him?” Cassian repeated in disbelief. 

Valeria nodded once. “Yes, your majesty. Would you like us to bring him in?” 

The man waved his hands in an aborted gesture. “Um—yes. Yes, of course.” 

Valeria strode away silently, returning to the throne room a few moments later followed by two other guards. They were each holding an arm of the struggling wood nymph, dragging him to stand before Cassian. He looked young—no older than twenty, maybe, but Cassian wasn’t sure what that meant for nymphs. Soft auburn hair framed his face and he was scowling poisonously.

“Well, isn’t this something,” Cassian drawled, gazing down at the creature. He was tall and thin—willowy, his mind supplied—with big brown eyes. Sweet, like a fawn. He could have almost looked innocent if Cassian didn’t know the strength nymphs were capable of through their magic. And if this one weren’t looking at him like he was a second away from scratching the king’s eyes out. 

“Get off me,” the nymph spat, yanking his arms away from the guards. 

Cassian waved them off. “It’s alright. Let him go.” 

The guards released him and they, along with Valeria, stood to the side. The nymph stayed where he was, standing before Cassian’s throne, but those doe eyes shot daggers at him. Delicate wrists were locked in front of him in gold chains—special cuffs that blocked magic. The only reason they still had the creature there, and he hadn’t already run off or upended the entire castle. 

“I must admit,” Cassian said, “I’m very curious why you were trespassing on my land, Bambi.” 

The nymph’s glare soured even more, if that was possible. “My name is August.” 

Cassian waved his hand dismissively. “Not what I asked. Don’t you know that magical beings are not allowed to enter my kingdom without express permission? Your kind usually isn’t foolish enough to disregard that rule.” 

“The second I get these cuffs off, I'll fucking kill you,” August sneered, tugging pointedly at the restraints. 

A strange sense of excitement filled Cassian—this was already more entertainment than he’d had in a long time. And if the little nymph at his feet happened to be quite pretty as well, that was just a plus. “Well,” Cassian sighed, “if you don’t wish to answer my questions, then I suppose I'll have to keep you around until you’re ready to talk. Valeria—take him away, please.” 

August startled, trying to jerk away from the guards as they returned to grab him. “Wait, I—” 

“Don’t worry. They’ll be gentle with you, Bambi,” the king promised sympathetically. He turned his gaze to Valeria, instructing, “Find somewhere nicer to keep him, please. I don’t want our guest catching a chill in the dungeon.” 

The nymph’s eyes widened, but the fight quickly returned as Cassian’s guards began to drag him away. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he snapped, before turning over his shoulder to shout at Cassian. “I will claw that stupid, smug look off your face! You can’t keep me here!” 

“I’ll come see you soon,” Cassian called after him. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

taglist: @morning-star-whump ((lmk if you want to be added!))

pt 2