#these two sound so very fey and not-quite-human here and that's EXACTLY how i want them to come across

[illumiera]

@lathez tagged me to help sujamma out by describing some details of my characters' appearances, and anything for sujamma! 💖 i've got a good few OCs, but i thought i'd stick to the two i can describe in the most detail. LOTS of yapping below, but first, i'll tag @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @hircines-hunter, @sulphuricgrin, @bougainvillea-and-saltwater, and @red-mountain-flower to tell us about their OCs! 🤲

standing at about 4'11/150cm barefoot, elentari is small in stature as well as in frame. she's a breton, as her pointed ears will tell you, but her silver-blonde hair, pale (and somewhat sparse) eyebrows, and equally pale eyelashes hint to some distant snow elf ancestry. her eyes are best described as "intent"—wide, very green, and prone to staring while hardly seeming to blink. her lips are full, most often found in a half-smile (which can appear gentle at rest and downright eerie in combat), and when she properly smiles, she gets little dimples. she has only one scar, a slash right over her heart, and an array of beauty marks including one at the outer corner of her right eye. when she blushes, her ears go red right to the very tips.

as far as clothing goes, ellie was raised a noblewoman and still dresses like it, embroidering most of her clothes with enchanted thread! in particular, her cloak is trimmed in plush white fur and embroidered with the constellations. she's a gown-wearer when at leisure, and though she tends to favour blues, silvers, whites, purples, and greens most of all, she really just likes colour. as far as jewellery goes, she can often be found wearing an amulet of mara and gold or silver cuffs on her ears, but there are two pieces she always wears: a silver ring on her left middle finger and its twin on a silver chain against her heart. though a healer, she can't abide the sight of blood on her bare hands, and she never, ever leaves home without a pair of gloves.

he might tower above ellie, and he might stand above most nords, but at 6'7/200cm, miraak was on the slightly lower end of average for an atmoran man of his day. his long golden-blond hair is often worn in braids that hold meaning according to atmoran culture, once elaborate and woven with beads to prove him a king, now arranged in a simple style that means "free". his eyelashes are long and golden, and his eyes are a bright, unearthly blue amidst a sea of black—though they were just blue, once, and very prone to staring in silence.

not only has apocrypha robbed him of the tiny, faint freckles scattered over his nose, but his long musician's fingers (which were tipped with sharp claws until elentari inadvertently healed them) have been stained with dark-coloured ink to the knuckles, and the same inky stains run from his eyes like tear-trails. he bears many scars on his body, including one over his heart to match ellie's, but two on his face: one running down a high cheekbone, the other curving around his mouth. his canine teeth are sharp. he likes jewel tones, especially regal purples and grassy greens, and like any self-respecting dragon, he's fond of jewellery, but prefers to wear it in his pierced ears—the golder the better.

a devout worshipper of dibella, miraak has one tattoo, this being a moth designed so that its wings appear shut when his knee is folded and open when his leg is held straight.

[charlotte--kensington]

Halloween is coming!! And so will these two, at least once I have written that

Until then...

Silver Chains & Chance Encounters

His contemplations regarding how to paraphrase his awesome one-liner before knocking the werewolf out were interrupted by the very same person, who now groaned as he sat up in the glorified sobering-up cell that was the magical holding cell. The only true difference was that all chains and handcuffs were made of an iron-silver alloy, to bind both fey and werewolves, really. Speaking of, those same handcuffs still bound Mr. Moonshine, simply to keep Alfred safe. Another nifty thing about the alloy was that it didn’t actually harm the respective Magicals, which was great both for human (and others’) rights and for Alfred’s nose, considering how disgusting burnt hair smelled. “Where the fu-” “Ah!” Alfred interrupted him. “No cussing in here, Mister, okay? You’re at the precinct in Soho - went on a little rampage earlier.” The stranger groaned once more, rising to his feet. With his hands still bound, albeit in front of his body, he did not hold on to the Met jacket. The issue with that was that Alfred had not looked away in time, meaning he got a good and prolonged view of the werecock he’d done his best to avoid looking at only an hour prior to this. It turned out a werewolf truly did have a knot even in human form. Who would have guessed? “My eyes are up here,” the werewolf said wryly. “Unless you want to keep staring?” At last Alfred snapped out of it, stifling a cough as he turned back towards the desk. “You know,” he said, making a point of staring at his paperwork instead of his suspect’s cock, “I would appreciate it, if you could just… Um. Cover yourself? Regular crime isn’t exactly my domain, but that doesn’t mean I’m a fan of public exposure.” The werewolf snorted, muttering something that sounded suspiciously much like You did seem like quite the fan just now… but at least he did pick up the coat, tying it around his hips. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Lycanthropy truly did turn people into nudists, Alfred thought, waiting for the other to be as presentable as one could be while wearing only a jacket-skirt.

Nothing like monsterfuckery for Halloween... At least once I've written it. I'm on it though, promise.

[roach-works]

here’s a story about changelings

reposted from my old blog, which got deleted:   Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage. Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. “Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin. “I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.” “I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.” “Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.” Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine. “We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…” “Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.” Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has. “Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.” Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project. She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still. “Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once. Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.” Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.   They all live happily ever after. * Here’s another story: Gregor grew fast, even for a boy, grew tall and big and healthy and began shoving his older siblings around early. He was blunt and strange and flew into rages over odd things, over the taste of his porridge or the scratch of his shirt, over the sound of rain hammering on the roof, over being touched when he didn’t expect it and sometimes even when he did. He never wore shoes if he could help it and he could tell you the number of nails in the floorboards without looking, and his favorite thing was to sit in the pantry and run his hands through the bags of dry barley and corn and oat. Considering as how he had fists like a young ox by the time he was five, his family left him to it. “He’s a changeling,” his father said to his wife, expecting an argument, but men are often the last to know anything about their children, and his wife only shrugged and nodded, like the matter was already settled, and that was that. They didn’t bind Gregor in iron and leave him in the woods for his own kind to take back. They didn’t dig him a grave and load him into it early. They worked out what made Gregor angry, in much the same way they figured out the personal constellations of emotion for each of their other sons, and when spring came, Gregor’s father taught him about sprouts, and when autumn came, Gregor’s father taught him about sheaves. Meanwhile his mother didn’t mind his quiet company around the house, the way he always knew where she’d left the kettle, or the mending, because she was forgetful and he never missed a detail. “Pity you’re not a girl, you’d never drop a stitch of knitting,” she tells Gregor, in the winter, watching him shell peas. His brothers wrestle and yell before the hearth fire, but her fairy child just works quietly, turning peas by their threes and fours into the bowl. “You know exactly how many you’ve got there, don’t you?” she says. “Six hundred and thirteen,” he says, in his quiet, precise way. His mother says “Very good,” and never says Pity you’re not human. He smiles just like one, if not for quite the same reasons. The next autumn he’s seven, a lucky number that pleases him immensely, and his father takes him along to the mill with the grain. “What you got there?” The miller asks them. “Sixty measures of Prince barley, thirty two measures of Hare’s Ear corn, and eighteen of Abernathy Blue Slate oats,” Gregor says. “Total weight is three hundred fifty pounds, or near enough. Our horse is named Madam. The wagon doesn’t have a name. I’m Gregor.” “My son,” his father says. “The changeling one.” “Bit sharper’n your others, ain’t he?” the miller says, and his father laughs. Gregor feels proud and excited and shy, and it dries up all his words, sticks them in his throat. The mill is overwhelming, but the miller is kind, and tells him the name of each and every part when he points at it, and the names of all the grain in all the bags waiting for him to get to them. “Didn’t know the fair folk were much for machinery,” the miller says. Gregor shrugs. “I like seeds,” he says, each word shelled out with careful concentration. “And names. And numbers.” “Aye, well. Suppose that’d do it. Want t’help me load up the grist?” They leave the grain with the miller, who tells Gregor’s father to bring him back ‘round when he comes to pick up the cornflour and cracked barley and rolled oats. Gregor falls asleep in the nameless wagon on the way back, and when he wakes up he goes right back to the pantry, where the rest of the seeds are left, and he runs his hands through the shifting, soothing textures and thinks about turning wheels, about windspeed and counterweights. When he’s twelve–another lucky number–he goes to live in the mill with the miller, and he never leaves, and he lives happily ever after. * Here’s another: James is a small boy who likes animals much more than people, which doesn’t bother his parents overmuch, as someone needs to watch the sheep and make the sheepdogs mind. James learns the whistles and calls along with the lambs and puppies, and by the time he’s six he’s out all day, tending to the flock. His dad gives him a knife and his mom gives him a knapsack, and the sheepdogs give him doggy kisses and the sheep don’t give him too much trouble, considering. “It’s not right for a boy to have so few complaints,” his mother says, once, when he’s about eight. “Probably ain’t right for his parents to have so few complaints about their boy, neither,” his dad says. That’s about the end of it. James’ parents aren’t very talkative, either. They live the routines of a farm, up at dawn and down by dusk, clucking softly to the chickens and calling harshly to the goats, and James grows up slow but happy. When James is eleven, he’s sent to school, because he’s going to be a man and a man should know his numbers. He gets in fights for the first time in his life, unused to peers with two legs and loud mouths and quick fists. He doesn’t like the feel of slate and chalk against his fingers, or the harsh bite of a wooden bench against his legs. He doesn’t like the rules: rules for math, rules for meals, rules for sitting down and speaking when you’re spoken to and wearing shoes all day and sitting under a low ceiling in a crowded room with no sheep or sheepdogs. Not even a puppy. But his teacher is a good woman, patient and experienced, and James isn’t the first miserable, rocking, kicking, crying lost lamb ever handed into her care. She herds the other boys away from him, when she can, and lets him sit in the corner by the door, and have a soft rag to hold his slate and chalk with, so they don’t gnaw so dryly at his fingers. James learns his numbers well enough, eventually, but he also learns with the abruptness of any lamb taking their first few steps–tottering straight into a gallop–to read. Familiar with the sort of things a strange boy needs to know, his teacher gives him myths and legends and fairytales, and steps back. James reads about Arthur and Morgana, about Hercules and Odysseus, about djinni and banshee and brownies and bargains and quests and how sometimes, something that looks human is left to try and stumble along in the humans’ world, step by uncertain step, as best they can. James never comes to enjoy writing. He learns to talk, instead, full tilt, a leaping joyous gambol, and after a time no one wants to hit him anymore. The other boys sit next to him, instead, with their mouths closed, and their hands quiet on their knees.   “Let’s hear from James,” the men at the alehouse say, years later, when he’s become a man who still spends more time with sheep than anyone else, but who always comes back into town with something grand waiting for his friends on his tongue. “What’ve you got for us tonight, eh?” James finishes his pint, and stands up, and says, “Here’s a story about changelings.”

[hockeyboysiguess]

Jerseys and Dumplings

a/n: some good old friends to lovers Tkachuk for your Thursday!

warnings: swearing

word count: 6.3K

You yanked the restaurant door open harder than you’d meant to, but you were in a rush. A last minute assignment had kept you at work later than you’d planned, much later than you’d planned, and you were running later than would ever be considered fashionably late by anyone who made insane amounts of money to recite a bunch of shitty dialogue to a camera. You pulled at the bottom of your skirt to adjust it as you walked through the door before giving up. Your skirt was definitely crooked, your hair was definitely a mess, but your mother’s words played over in your head, “It’s never the job of a successful, powerful to look a particular way. Success is messy. Own the messy.”

“Hi, sorry,” you whisper-yelled to the hostess. “Uh, Hanifin? Pretty sure everyone else is already here.”

“Right this way.”

She was clearly unimpressed with your disheveled appearance and your tardiness as she looked you over from top to bottom from over the top of her glasses. You pushed thoughts of her and work out of your head to focus the evening. Meeting your best friend’s boyfriend was a hit-miss experience with Tessa as your best friend. She alternated between introducing you to immature, outrageous guys who were all about having a good time who always ended up cheating on her or guys who were basically the human equivalent of a completely dried builder-grade beige wall. This one was apparently some moderately famous hockey player, which automatically had you leaning him in the first column, but she pleaded with you to reserve judgment until you met him tonight. You were desperate for her to finally date a guy that was somewhere on the middle of her two extremes. She always countered by saying she wanted you to go on a date, any date. You brushed her off every time, telling her you were focusing on your career and yourself.

“There you are!” Tessa shouted, bumping the table harshly as she stood up to great you. “I started to think you forgot about us.”

“Sorry, babes,” you sighed as you let her pull you in for a quick hug. “I-”

“Got caught up at the office.”

You pulled back from her and glared at her. Tessa saying the words that all too frequently left your lips was just a little passive aggressive, usually your specialty. You rolled your eyes at her and she giggled before reaching out to the guy next to her to pull him to his feet.

“This,” she wrapped her hands around his forearm in a sort of death grip, “is Noah. Noah, this is the ever-discussed best friend slash somehow roommate even though I see her more out to lunch than I do in our apartment.”

“Thanks, Tess,” you mumbled. Noah offered his arms out to you gingerly and you accepted a soft hug. “Nice to meet you, Noah.”

“Really nice to finally meet you,” he smiled softly as you took your seats.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind.” The sing-song tone in Tessa’s voice drew a groan from you because you knew what was going to come next. “Stop it! Anyway, Noah brought one of his teammates along, so you weren’t third wheeling.”

“Is he invisible?” you asked with a wave of your hand to the empty seat next to you.

“Just in the bathroom, actually.”

You turned your head and were greeted with a bright, toothy grin and mop of curly hair. The restaurant was dark, but you could tell he had a beautiful pair of baby blues to go with his dimples and sharp jawline. Tessa has clearly hand-picked this one out of the Flames line up for you. He was exactly your type. You watched as his light eyes broke contact with yours and gave you a quick once look over, lingering almost indiscernibly at your chest and your hips.

“I’m Matthew,” he said, his smile starting on a slippery slope to a smirk as he sat down next to you.

You debated calling him out for checking you out, but Tessa rapped her foot on your shin, letting you know she was ready and waiting to give you a swift kick if she didn’t like how you were acting. People thought Tessa was soft. You thought people shouldn’t underestimate Tessa, so you swallowed your comeback and introduced yourself instead. Matthew gave you a quick nod, his broken curls bouncing with the sudden movement. A smile began to pull at the corners of your lips against your will and something in your chest told you he was going to be trouble if you let him be, so you resolved not to let him be. You watched his attention shift to the couple across the table and his face scrunch up in disgust. Noah and Tessa were seeming trying to figure out if it was possible for two people to become one via their open mouths pressed against each other.

“Come on, guys,” Matthew whined as one of his hands came down roughly on the tabletop, causing the silverware to click together loudly. Noah and Tessa separated at the sound, not at Matthew’s words. “The single folks don’t even have drinks yet. Can you save the foreplay until we at least have some alcohol in us?” 

“Seriously,” you joined in. If Tessa was going to set you up against your will, at least it was with someone that hated Tessa’s fondness for wild amounts of PDA as much as you did. “Please keep all tongues, hands, and arms in your own seats tonight.”

“Genitals should remain their not upright and locked positions” Matthew added. Tess blushed at his words, causing Matthew to turn his head towards you. He cocked his head to the side, a mischievous look dancing in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Too much?” 

You answered by continuing, “Excellent addition, fellow date attendant. Fasten your seatbelts as we expect there might be some turbulence on tonight’s date.” 

“Turbulence?” Tessa asked, her voice a solid octave and a half higher than normal and her eyebrows raised, daring you to continue. 

“Oh yes, turbulence,” Matthew cut in. “So, Tessa, where did you grow up?”

“I’m sorry, I’m back on turbulence,” Noah jumped in verbally and physically, a hand raised across the table. 

“We,” you informed him, gesturing between Matthew and yourself, “are the turbulence.”

“Yes, thank you, good blind date I didn’t ask for,” Matthew nodded to you, curling bouncing again in a way that made you have to bite your lip to avoid smiling like a schoolgirl with a new crush. “You both worked together to set us up tonight, unasked for based on just how fed up my fellow date attendant seemed by my very presence. Esteemed co-worker, can you confirm, for the record, that you did not ask for this set up and that you’re just as tired as I am of your friends across the table setting you up with people?” 

Matthew grabbed a breadstick from the basket in one fist and presented it to you like a microphone. You laughed softly, making an out of character smile crack across Matthew’s face before you both pulled yourself back into the accidental routine you’d created. 

“Yes, yes, Matthew. I can confirm I was not made aware of your presence tonight and I have not asked Tessa to set me up with anyone at this time,” you replied seriously, putting on your best politician impression. 

“You sounded like you were doing an impression of Tina Fey doing her Sarah Palin impression from SNL,” Matthew laughed at you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he turned his attention to your friends who had no idea what monster they’d created tonight. “As my good colleague Sarah Palin just said, neither one of us asked to be here. So now, we’re teaming up to see if we really approve of this union or not. So, I repeat. Tessa, where are you from?” 

The evening was filled with you and Matthew teaming up to flip the script on your friends. You grilled Noah, with Matt’s support, and you offered some direction to his probing questions for Tessa. They took in stride though and you realized somehow, some way beyond your understanding, Tessa had fallen into a good relationship for the first time since you knew her. 

Just after making a two-bite dent into your incredible dessert, Tessa pulled you to the bathroom with her, the classic story of girls never being able to pee alone floating at the excuse. When you left the stall, you were greeted by Tessa, arms across her chest, one foot tapping on the ground, and wry smile on her face. 

“So, things seem to be going well with Matthew,” she said with a smirk and a soft nod. “Figured it would be sink or swim but didn’t think it would go quite this.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned as you turned on the water for the sink to start scrubbing your hands, “we’re just being friendly.”

“Are you kidding me?” she practically shouts at you. “He literally has not taken his eyes off you once all night. He’s so into you!”

“Tess, stop,” you told her with a sigh as you shut off the water. You grabbed a couple of paper towels before spinning on your heels to face her. “Seriously, Tess, he’s not into me. We’re just getting along as friends, okay? Be happy this didn’t blow up in your face for the first time.” 

“You cannot be serious right now,” Tessa whined. She reached for your arm as you tossed the paper towels away, pulling your attention back to her. She bounced on her heels a little and gave you the most frustrated look she could muster. “He is into you. Noah thinks so too. Just, can you just try? For me?” 

“I don’t want a relationship, Tess,” you replied curtly. “Why can’t you just accept that?” 

“He’s perfect for you!” Her frustration with you was growing with each word that she had to say as she tried to spell it out for you. “He’s your type. I know I nailed that one. I know you have to think he’s attractive, so you can’t lie to me. You have really similar senses of humor. He totally thinks you’re hot, which you are. Don’t you dare, that’s not up for debate. Come on, babes. Give Chucky a chance.” 

“Chucky is a murderous doll,” you retorted, skipping over everything else she’d said. “Look, Tess, can’t you just be happy I might have made a friend tonight? That’s growth for me right there.”

“But he wants to be your special friend!” she insisted, bouncing on her heels again. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image presented by her bouncing and her words. She was channeling herself at age six for sure, an age you didn’t know Tessa at, but from the stories her brothers and mother told you, you were kind of happy you didn’t know her at. 

“Jesus, did you just say that?” you got out between laughs. You sighed as you pulled yourself together. It was time you both escaped the bathroom as the boys were bound to get suspicious soon. “Look, I’m just not really in the sort of place to put myself out there at all right now. If Matthew really does want this and he really does try, I’ll think about it for real, okay? Does that work for you?” 

She sighed and rolled her eyes before saying, “I mean, no, it doesn’t because he would totally give you the good dick right here in this bathroom and probably buy you brunch tomorrow if you actually showed the tiniest bit of actual interest in him, but, it’s the best you’re going to give me, so it’s fine.” 

Your desire to leave the bathroom and get back to your chocolate cake overwhelmed the desire to correct Tess. You pulled her back to the table with you, collapsing into your seat and immediately diving back into the dessert you’d been hearing call your name since you’d left the table five minutes ago.

“You’re murdering that cake,” Matthew noted. “It’s impressive, honestly. Where does the cake go?” 

“Hopefully out my pores tomorrow in the stupid hot yoga class Tess is dragging me too,” you replied, halting another bite on its way to your mouth just to answer. “I wanted to watch Love is Blind and Too Hot to Handle as our new best friend activity for the month. Tessa wants to do hot yoga, so we’re doing hot yoga.” 

“So, you’re the boyfriend in this relationship?” Matthew joked, gesturing between you. 

You dropped your fork to your plate and reached for your almost empty drink instead before replying, “Gender roles are a completely unnecessary societal standard, Matthew, and they do not need to be enforced by heteronormative men who play an incredibly heteronormative sport. Who is the boyfriend and who is the girlfriend is unnecessarily gendered, especially considering I’m clearly the left chopstick and Tessa is the right. ” 

Matthew’s nose scrunched up when he laughed, a sight you were quickly growing used to over the evening, maybe even starting to like. He shook his head softly at you as he took a sip from his glass. 

“Says the girl who pitched to watch a bunch of trash Netflix dating reality shows that are all pretty heteronormative, right?” Matthew countered with a nod of his glass to you. 

“Garbage is not heteronormative,” you replied. “Trash TV is just trash TV, Matthew. Don’t read too much into it. I still haven’t gotten to watch any of it though.” 

“If you need someone to watch with, hit me up,” he told you. “I need an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday night and sounds like it I would need to be incredibly drunk to watch any of that.” 

“So, this Wednesday then?”

—————

Standing in front of Matthew’s apartment door with a wide variety from your favorite Chinese takeout place in one hand and a six-pack from your favorite local brewery five days later, you were beginning to regret the life choices that led you to this particular moment. You didn’t have much time for the regret to sink in though before Matthew opened the door. 

“If there is something the resembles a dumpling in that bag, I will be your servant for the rest of your life,” was Matthew’s verbal greeting.

“You’re about to be my servant then, but it’ll be worth it. These are the best dumplings I’ve ever had,” you informed him as you pushed past him into his apartment to drop the bags and beer on the counter. You started pulling containers out of the bags as you continued, “I will say you should never Google this place. I’ve only ever ordered via Grubhub delivery before today. I did pick up and this place honestly looks like the architect was drunk and the builders forgot their glasses for the entire build and I’ve never been more horrified, but the dumplings are killer, so I’ve just decided to put it in a box and try to forget I ever saw where they originated.”

You heard a beer crack open beside you and Matthew’s large hand came into view as he set it in front of you. He was close to you, closer than you had thought he would be. You could feel his tall frame behind you, his loose t-shirt brushing against you as he set the beer by your hand. His arms brushed your softly, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Good brewery pick,” he complimented you, his lips near your ear as he spoke. “Also, if you give me food poisoning from your weird Chinese food place, I’m released from my servitude.”

“You know the word servitude?” you countered, trying to pull your mind out of the gutter it was sliding headfirst down with sarcasm and chirping him.

Matthew laughed lightly and shifted himself closer to you. He leaned into you, his chest gentling coming into contact with your back with each breath you took. His large hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of you. He towered over you and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to let him bend you over this counter right here and now.

“Mm, I know a lot of things that might surprise you,” Matthew laughed in your ear.

He pulled back without warning and you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Matthew shifted over to the opposite side of the counter, grabbing a beer and popping it open on his journey. He didn’t say another word before turning on his heels and heading toward the couch. Your brows furrowed as thoughts began to swirl and bleed together in your mind. Was that just all in your mind or was that nothing that your mind turned into something? You didn’t have time for something like this. The fact that you’d found time to have dinner with Matthew within two weeks of meeting him astounding given your inconsistent hours and his season. No, you didn’t want him to be flirting with you, you decided, so he wasn’t. You came over looking for a friend, so that’s what you were here for, the only thing you were here for.

“Hope you can use chopsticks,” you told him as you sat an overly full plate of food in front of him a few minutes later.

“I play hockey. I wasn’t raised in a barn,” he threw back at you, a joking smile on his lips.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a roll of your eyes.

Matthew tossed the remote as you with his free hand as he brought a dumpling to his mouth with the other, dropping the entire thing into his mouth in one go. You watched his eyes go wide as he bit down for the first time. He looked at you in disbelief as he chewed.

“Holy fuck me,” he told you through a full mouth. “I want to marry whoever made this.”

“Now,” you open Netflix on his TV, “you get me, Tkachuk.”

Matthew had already shoved another one in his mouth by the time Netflix loaded the first episode. Matthew was in food heaven, shoving dumpling after dumpling into his mouth. You laughed a little as his stuffed cheeks. He looked like a curly-headed chipmunk and you told him just that as you grabbed another container of dumplings out of the bag on the counter. He almost chirped you back, but when you dropped a full container in his lap, the chirp died before it had even fully formed.

“I think you’ve ruined dumplings for me from everywhere else in the world. Also, is that guy hot? I feel like they’re just trying to convince us he’s hot when he’s not.”

You were amazed he was able to pay any attention to the show with the speed at which he was consuming food. It was equal parts impressive and disgusting.

“He’s alright,” you shrugged as you reached for your beer. “Not my type. You’d be better off asking Tessa.”

Something you’d said finally beat out the interest of the dumplings. Matthew dropped the container to the table and skewered a dumpling with his chopsticks in exchange for a beer and turning his attention to him. He raised an eyebrow at you before he spoke.

“A type, huh? I wouldn’t happened to fit that type, would I?”

He took a sip as he watched you roll your eyes at him. He chuckled a little against the edge of his bottle at your response.

“Why would you think you would?” you countered, barely pulling yourself together in time to say something within an acceptable response time.

Matthew shrugged casually before replying, “Noah asked me specifically to come the other night and after meeting Tessa, I have a hard time believing she let Noah pick whoever he wanted since that was definitely a set up and blah, blah, blah, so I’m definitely your type, right?”

“Mm,” you hummed as you took a sip of your beer to try and disguise the anxiety his question had brought on. “My type is definitely guys who are obsessed with trying to be my type. It’s so sexy how much you need my validation right now.”

Matthew’s head fell back as he laughed, curls shifting back in tandem. His mouth opened wide as he laughed a full belly laugh at your words. One of his hands came to his stomach as his laughs became breathier and he slowly brought himself back down.

“You’re something else,” Matthew mumbled through a smile, beer on its way back to his lips and soft shake of his head with his words.

“I’m a goddamn goddess and you know it,” was all you had to say to get him laughing again.

—————

“Let’s fucking go, Calgary!” Tessa screamed next to you out of the blue, jumping to her feet as she shouted, making you and several other people around you jump a little in their seats.

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Tess, can you take it down a notch or eighteen, please?”

“It’s the Battle of Alberta, baby!” she shouted in response, a wide drunken grin on her face as she retook her seat next to you with a flop.

The referee blew the whistle, stopping play, and you pulled your attention back to the game with a soft smile on your face. You looked down the ice to see someone wearing a red and black jersey tangled up with a white and blue one. You craned you’re neck to try and see who it was, your breath catching in your throat at the idea it as Matthew. Your eyes were flying back and forth between the ice and the screen, trying to see a number or part of name to figure out if it was him or not. Your racing thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the glass in front of you. You were greeted with a smile that was slowly becoming more and more familiar, just with a mouth guard hanging between his teeth, and some curls peeking out from under a helmet.

Matthew waved at you with two gloved hands, his light blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You were relieved he was standing in front of you, a goofy smile on his face, rather than down the ice in that fight. At least the linesman has managed to break it up by now. Matthew’s eyes broke contact from you to give you a once over. He pinched his jersey between his gloved fingers and his eyebrows furrowed down as he looked at you

“Where’s your jersey?” he shouted, though you had to read his lips to actually understand him

You just put your hands out next to you, palms up, and shrugged with a slight pout sticking out your bottom lip. You didn’t own any Flames gear of any kind, certainly not the Tkachuk jersey he was probably looking for. He shook his head at you and glared a little, just to get a small laugh out of you, before he turned his attention back to the game.

“Look at your guy!” Tessa said way too loudly for how tender she’d said it, hands stacked over her heart. “He likes you so much.”

“We are just friends,” you countered firmly, which made Tessa frown.

“He likes you! Aren’t you going over to his place after the game? You should make a move,” she nudged you in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m picking up exactly four containers of dumplings and we’re watching exactly two episodes of Love is Blind because we’re going to finish up the episodes before they go on vacation with their new fiancés, okay?” you told her. “That’s not exactly a hot date. Besides, I don’t want to make a move. I like him, as a friend.”

“Okay, whatever,” Tessa rolled her eyes at you. “You keep denying that I set you up with a good one until you can’t anymore. Chucky is so smitten with you, he’ll probably wait for you for a ridiculously long time, like rom-com style long time, babes.”

—————

It was your new routine. Well, it wasn’t regular enough to really be a routine. Matthew would text you when he felt like he hadn’t seen you recently enough and demand you show up that same day with dumplings and your sparkling personality. You had tried to deny him, push him off a day or two due to work, but he might be the only person you’d ever met more stubborn that you were. Over garbage television shows and Chinese food, you’d made an actual friend out of him and despite Tessa’s insisting that both of you wanted more.

“Oh, suck it!” Tessa shouted as the Bruins pulled out a last-minute OT goal against Edmonton. She hated the Bruins, but you were pretty sure the only thing Tessa hated more than your insistence that you didn’t want to date Matthew was Edmonton.

You sighed, realizing you’d lost the bet you’d made with her, even though you picked that Edmonton would win to piss her off. She was shouting and jumping up and down, trying to rub her win in your face, but a text cropping up on your phone was pulling your attention.

Tkachuk: pls get five orders of dumplings and bring them right over

You: worked hard today huh?

Tkachuk: you know I fucking did. See you in 30?

You smiled softly, catching Tessa’s attention in the middle of her winning tirade.

“Is that Chucky?” She was already leaning over you, trying to get a glimpse of your phone screen. “Are you ditching me for him again this evening?”

You glared up at her and tilted your phone back, hiding the screen from her view. She stated to glare back, but then her face softened as the corners of her mouth started to pull up. You caught a mischievous glint in her eyes start to form she spoke.

“Hey, the bet was that I get to pick your outfit next time you go out, right?” Tessa asked hesitantly.

“I mean, yeah, but your face is scaring me a little bit here,” you replied, concern for yourself dripping off each word.

“And out could just mean when you go to see Chucky in a few minutes, right?” Her excitement was beginning to leak out, but you couldn’t understand why. “Because since you’re leaving, that’s going out, right?”

“I mean, I guess- Tess, what are you getting at here?”

Tessa didn’t reply. She ran out of the living room, cursing as she banged her elbow on the corner as she turned into the hallway. You heard some rustling in her room, followed by another curse, before she came bounding back into the living room. She tossed something red at you, a borderline evil smile on her face as she did so. You grabbed the red garment. As soon as your fingers touched it, you had an idea of what it was based on the fabric and you groaned as you flipped the garment in your hands. You were greeted with Tkachuk in large bold letters when you looked at the back of the jersey.

“I’m not wearing that to Matthew’s apartment,” you whined, letting the jersey fall into your lap.

“Ah, yes you are. You lost the bet. You wear what I let you to wear,” she told you, waving off your complaints. “Besides, Chucky gave it to Noah to give to me to make sure you wore it to next game anyway. We’re just getting you in it earlier than he had in mind, that’s all.”

You sighed as you stood up to head to your room where you exchanged your comfortable, worn in sweatshirt for the new, crisp jersey. When the red fabric finally hung off your body, you turned and let out a groan when you saw his last name on your back. You knew he wasn’t going to let you live it down the entire time you were with him, but Tessa’s wrath was worse than Matthew’s chirping would ever be.

Tessa was laughing as soon as she caught site of the red fabric, but you didn’t give her much time to feel satisfied with her handiwork. You grabbed your wallet, keys, and phone and headed out the front door. You paused as you sat in the driver’s seat of your car. Tessa had said Matthew wanted you to have the jersey to wear to the next game you went to, but why was he insistent enough to get Noah to give Tessa one of his jerseys? Why didn’t he just give it to you himself? 

You tried to analyze the gesture as you waited in line at the restaurant. You’d taken to just coming in for pick up since you’d been unsuccessful in forgetting just how terrifying seeing this place for the first time was. You never called ahead anymore. You just showed up and the chef knew to start making dumplings for you. They were ready when you got to the counter to order, so you paid, grabbed your food, and returned to your car quickly. You decided the gesture was probably nothing, just Matthew being odd per usual, and tried to force the thought out of your mind as you drove over to his place. 

The thought hung around as you parked in his spare parking spot. The parking pass had gone from being loaned out to every guest to living in your car after the fifth dumpling and trash television visit. He said you were his most regular visitor and he was tired of having to leave to put it in your car for you since you always argued that you’d brought him food, so it was the least he could do. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out if all of it added up to something, or if you were adding up things that didn’t really exist to get to an answer that definitely didn’t. 

You only got one knock in before Matthew opened the door. He moaned when he saw the bag in your arms. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said, his eyes trained on the brown paper bag his hands were reaching for the entire time he spoke like a prayer had been answered.

You laughed at him and let him take the bag from your arms before following him inside. He dropped the bag on the counter and began grabbing containers and chopsticks while you kicked off your shoes. You let out a long sigh as you prepared yourself for the chirps that were bound to come when you took your coat off and the jersey was finally in his line of site. You chewed your bottom lip between your teeth as you spun around to face him. 

Matthew was frozen in place, a partially opened to-go container on the counter in front of him and chopsticks about to be ripped apart in his hands. His eyes were trained on the flaming logo on the front. 

“Tessa made me wear it,” you admitted quickly. “I lost a bet and she made me wear it.”

Matthew slowly put the chopsticks down and one of his hands came up to his mouth. His hand was on his chin, thumb crossing his lips as he shifted his weight to his other hand braced against the counter’s edge. His light eyes were darker than you were used to as they scanned up and down your body. They came to rest on the number partially visible on the shoulder. He moved his hand from his face to hovering in front of him with his index finger outstretched. Slowly, his index finger began to make small circles as he looked at you. 

“Oh, you’re rubbing this in now,” you huffed, hands going to your hips. 

Matthew just shook his head softly before he swallowed hard, then said one word, “Spin.” 

You sighed, knowing he wanted the full picture for future ammunition, but you wouldn’t get to enjoy your food until you gave him what he asked you. You slowly let your feet shift across the floor, moving you in a gentle circle, giving Matthew a perfect view of his last name across your back. You closed your eyes as you reached the point in your circling where you’d have to see him again. You didn’t need to see the smug look on his face. 

You heard Matthew sigh and you knew whatever he was about to say next was going to be brutal. Instead, all you heard was his feet shuffling quickly across the floor before you felt his hands on you, pressing you back against the nearest wall. Your eyes flung open when you made rough contact with the wall. Before you could fully process it, Matthew’s head dipped down and his mouth was on yours. You almost pulled back, but he was kissing you in a way that took your breath away. You couldn’t not fall into the moment with your palms coming to rest on his chest, but you needed some sort of explanation and you weren’t even sure if this was really what you wanted, so you pushed gently on his chest and he instantly separated from you.

“What the fuck?” you breathed out at him as you lifted your eyes to look at him. 

He was towering over you, his arms boxing you in on either side of your head. His eyes were even darker than they had been and while you could usually read Matthew like open book, you couldn’t recognize the expression on his face. 

“I can’t be your friend if you’re going to look this fucking good with my last name on your back,” he told you. His words were so matter of fact, as if it was the most obvious thing the world. “You have absolutely no idea how bad I want you right now.” 

“Matthew,” you said between deep breaths, “I don’t know.” 

“You know,” he said, his baby blue eyes locking your gaze on him. “You know you know. You’ve known since that first dinner. Tessa knew too. Hell, even Noah knew, and you know how fucking thick he is. We’re not supposed to be just friends. You,” he sucked in a breath through his teeth when he broke eye contact to look down at the jersey while balling some of the red fabric in his hands, “you are too perfect for me to be my friend. God, it’s like someone took everything I ever wanted and put it all in one perfect, stupidly sexy girl, except that someone made her fucking oblivious to her own feelings.”

Matthew let out a soft laugh and shook his head as he released the fabric from his hands. His eyes rolled up to lock with yours again. 

“You can’t stand her and tell me that kiss wasn’t different,” he continued. “stop being so fucking thick for two seconds and you’ll really feel it. I know you feel it. Because if somehow, I feel this goddamn strongly about someone, and they don’t feel a single ounce of something for me, then I must have really fucked up in my past life and deserve to have the perfect girl right between my fingers and feel her break my heart instead. Like, fuck, you know this is different, that this is something that stupid kinds of special. Just let yourself feel it. Let me in, baby. I’m right here. You’re not gonna fall. Nothing is going to break. I’m right here. I’ve got you, if you want me to.” 

Matthew was wrong. You felt the walls you built to keep you from having to put yourself out there, from having to risk anything, start to crack under Matthew’s gaze. His eyes started bouncing from feature to feature on your face, trying to figure out what was going on in your mind since you hadn’t said a word yet. When his baby blues met yours again, the walls broke, and you felt everything. You felt everything he said and somehow, so much more. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked his mouth down to yours. He kissed you back instantly, his hands reaching down to the backs of your thighs to pull you up to his height. Your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands moved to your torso, yanking at his new favorite piece of clothing you owned to get under it and feel your skin under his palms. 

You broke the kiss to breathe. His mouth moved to your neck as you tangled your fingers in his curls. 

“I’m going to fuck you and you’re going to wear this while I do it,” Matthew breathed out against your neck with a faint tug of the jersey, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Little aggressive,” you told him with a tug of his curls. Matthew pulled you away from the wall, switching to support your weight so he could start walking you towards his room.

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Matthew laughed against your skin. “If you actually have objections, fine, but the peanut gallery is closed for anything other than curse words and my name for the next few hours, okay?” 

“Whatever you say, Tkachuk.” 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Earth is A Deathwrold, “The Forest.”

Wrote a little something to start your day off or maybe finish it, who knows. Have a great day everyone :) 

“My family has lived in these mountains for more than three thousand years.”

“How can you be sure of that.”

“Because we have records going back two thousand years and then records of my family's tribe before that. For that reason, no one knows these mountains better than I do, and even then, I still don’t know everything there is to know. Every time I go out in the woods, I feel something new.” Krill glanced over at Sunny. If he could raise an eyebrow he would have.

OF all the places they could go on their weekend, and she had decided to go on a guided hike. This would be just like something Adam would do.

He thought of all the people he wouldn’t have to remind Sunny how dangerous Earth forests were with their trees, and animals, and poisonous plants, and, well, pretty much everything.

“Don’t give me that look, Krill. You know if Adam was here he would take us out to do the same thing, and you needed to quit moping anyway. He’s going to be back soon.”

Krill crossed his arms emphatically, “I am not moping.”

“You are too moping, and it’s honestly kind of pathetic. You get all cranky when Adam isn’t around.”

“That's because I worry about his health and safety.”

“He’s a grown man.”

“He's a man child.”

She sighed and turned back to look at their guide who was staring on in mild amusement. This human had dark tan skin, deep brown eyes and long dark hair pulled back from his face. He wore a green ranger’s uniform, but she knew for a fact he was off duty, “We’re ready.”

He smiled, and motioned them to follow him.

Krill held onto Sunny's shoulder as they followed the human into the woods.

“Aren't we going to take a trail?”

“You don’t need a trail when you have me.”

“I definitely think a trail would-.”

“Is your mind ever still?”

Sunny shoo her head, “No, never, not even a little bit.”

“Well try. I can’t show you anything if you don’t also listen.”

“Now that just makes no sense.”

Sunny huffed  and the ranger sighed, “There is more in these woods to hear that there is to see. The wind leaves the animals.” Then past over soggy earth and into a meadow filled with bright wildflowers. Krill was about to ask another question, but the ranger held up a hand despite not looking at him, “Shhh, just listen, to the silence.”

Krill turned to glower at Sunny, and she smirked at him, but he angrily did as told focusing away from his eyes and towards his ears. He could hear the wind in the trees, the distant chirp of birds, rustling in the underbrush, their feet as it moved over packed earth. In the silence there was also a strange rushing. A sort of white noise that you expect to find at the ocean but comes from deep within the mountains.

He watched their new human friend from the corner of his eye as it led them deeper into the mountains. For all sunny knew this creature was more interested in killing them and eating them.

How did she even know him?

With his usual paranoia, krill continued to watch as the green clad human lead them through patches of shadow, over rocks and through little mountain gullies. He used no trail, but it seemed as if all of his senses were alive, following something into the forest. He used his hands to trace over rough packed dirt  He scanned his eyes through the underbrush and lifted his head eyes closed allowing little gusts of air to sweep hair about his face.

He listened, and occasionally, krill thought he saw the human smelling at the air.

And as they went they were led deeper and deeper into the forest, krill had to admit that there was something peaceful about it, almost surreal, like being removed from one’s own head and being surrounded by the quiet.

A couple of times, he thought he saw the human smiling over his shoulder at him.

They had made it a good hour or two into the woods when they broke into a nearby clearing. Sunny was about to step out with him, but right at the edge of the treeline, she was stopped by the human, who had pulled back into the shadows.

Sunny blinked and looked around. Krill did as well.

The ranger shook his head.

Krill looked over Sunny’s shoulder, but in the clearing, he saw nothing, nothing except for a strangely geometric circle of wildflowers, in the middle of which there was nothing but a barren patch of dirt.

That was strange, there seemed to be nothing growing inside that circle.

“We go around.” he muttered 

“Why?”

“Because, we don’t want to trespass.”

“Trespass on what exactly?” Krill found himself whispering.

“Well, the fey, of course.” The human smiled at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the creature was pulling his leg or not.”

“What are the fey?”

The human smiled again slowly motioning him to follow as he led them around the open circle, “The fey or fairies, are a group of mystical creatures known to make mischief. Most of the time if you trespass on their land you forfeit your rights as human, and the laws of the fey world become absolute. If you take anything from a fey, you are immediately required to stay with them for the rest of eternity. There are many rules governing the world of the fey, so it is best just to avoid team.”

Krill snorted, “Ah yes…. fairies .”

“You laugh, but through all these years as a ranger, I have seen things I cannot explain.”

“Like what.”

“Like the time someone went missing in the forest. He was lost on a relatively well traveled hiking trail. We didn’t find him for over six months. The search party was called off after those first few weeks. Six months later I am hiking in an unrelated part of the forest forty miles away n the other side of a mountain, and I find this man’s decomposing corpse hanging from a forty-foot tall tree with impact wounds that looked like he had been dropped from a great height. There were no cliffs in the area, and it appeared as if the man had died three months earlier.”

Rill frowned. The math on that didn’t particularly add up.

“Then a year ago we went looking for a missing child. His parents turned around for five seconds and when they turned back he was gone. I found his body forty feet up a sheer cliff-face stuffed into a crevice five months later. He had been dead only two hours, and was wearing the same clothes he had been lost in.”

Sunny’s eyes widened and Krill snorted. 

He was expected to believe that?

The ranger waved at him, “Say what you will, but the forest is a dangerous and unusual place if you don’t know how to respect her.”

“Would you say you are superstitious then?”

“Very. Look, I can’t explain everything in the world, and I have no desire to do so. I see no harm in giving things the respect they deserve even if, later, it turns out I was wrong” 

The human was not particularly kidding about him being superstitious. More than a few times, he leads them around strange objects or formations. There was at one point, a time when they were heading towards another low gully in the middle of the woods, and all of a sudden their entire party grew very uneasy.

The woods seemed darker to Krill than they had before.

But he shook it off.

Sunny seemed to be behaving similarly.

But the ranger, he looked downright terrified, grabbed the two of them by the arm and pulled them away quick time setting them to a low jog in the opposite direction.

Sunny and Krill stared at him in confusion not entirely sure what to make of it.

“What was that all about.”

The human just shook his head, “We were not welcome?”

“From what.”

“Does it matter. When you are not welcome somewhere, you do not question it.”

“What are you worried about angering the wendigo.”

It was at that moment that Krill was pretty sure he had made a huge mistake, as the human grabbed him and had a hand pressed over his mouth in under a millisecond flat. Even sunny looked shocked, “We do not joke about those ind of things here.”

He let Krill go, and Krill stared on in confusion and mild terror.

“I come from a line of people who believe you can attract things to you based off the kind of energy you put off. Now I don’t know if it’s true or not, but joking about something’s existence is bound to piss it off enough to test its patience.” he took a deep breath and adjusted his shirt, ‘now there are a few other things it could have been. It could have been the den of a  mountain lion, or a bear. It could have been a subliminal sense of danger, an incorrect smell, or the way the rocks looked. Or it could simply have been us all getting paranoid at once, but whatever it is, I would rather be safe than sorry. Now come on, let’s take you back.”

Krill stayed quiet and tried not to joke more about the supernatural things. Apparently humans tended to take that sort of thing seriously. They heard more stories form the strange ranger, about finding people in places they shouldn't be, staircases in strange places, the sudden loss of time.

“There was one point, when I was doing some training out in the field. We were on top of a mountain, and I went off to go to the bathroom. It was so weird, after I was finished, it was like time seemed to slow down. I got starving, and I was looking around in the forest thinking I might be able to find something to eat. I was so hungry. It was all I could think about, and then suddenly I see one of the other rangers, sort of snaps me out of how hungry I was.” He shrugged, “I raise my hand to him and this guy looks terrified, he runs up to me, and he’s going off about where was I and what was I doing, what is going on we have been looking for you Of course, I am super confused and as what he’s on about, and this guy looks at me, and he’s all like you have been missing for three days.” 

Krill and sunny stared at him 

“I know, strange isn’t it. To me it almost seemed like hours. But it was three days and almost twenty miles over to the next mountain ridge. I don’t remember any of it.”

“Sounds like a dissociative fugue.” 

“Maybe, whatever i was it was strange.” Behind them, the sun was just beginning to fall and the undergrowth was heading towards a deep black. They could see the parking lot just ahead of them, and it was at that moment, a blood curling shriek echoed up from the trees at their back.

Sunny leaped nearly a foot.

Krill squealed 

The ranger jumped.

The scream came again.

It sounded like a woman’s voice in absolute gut wrenching agony. Like she was being eviscerated from the inside moving out.

The ranger turned back towards the trees his chin down his eyes up, “Get back to the car, but don’t run.”

“Don’t run! Don’t run.”

“Yes don’t run. It’s a mountain lion.”  he stared hard into the trees, “It is a mountain lion and if you run it will have no other choice than to chase you. They don’t like to attack from the front and running will trigger her hunting instincts. Walk backwards towards the car very slowly and do not take your eyes off the treeline.”

Off to his side, krill heard a sharp metallic snik and watched as Sunny’s spear suddenly appeared in hand.

Of course, she wasn’t worried.

But together they backed towards the truck and got in.

As their headlights turned on, the high beams broke over a body hunched up against the treeline.

Sunny cursed in Drev.

The ranger nodded, “See, mountain lion.”

Krill stared in paralyzed horror at the massive cat as it stalked back into the trees. “Going to have to call that in. She is way to close to the trails for comfort, someone is going to get hurt.”

As they were driving away, Krill glanced back towards he woods, and did a double take as he thought he saw a tall willowy figure standing at the edge of the treeline in almost the same spot as the mountain lion with glittering red eyes, but when he looked again it was gone.

He sat back in his seat eyes straight forward.

He had a greater appreciation for the woods now because, for some reason, on earth nature is connected to something strange an unexplainable, and whatever it is krill was not interested in finding out. 

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

I wish you would do a fic during world war 2 timeline where the reader is running away from germany to switzerland and faints in the middle of a small stable. Maybe a certain Swiss comes along in the morning to let his goats out to graze when he sees you???? (Sorry! I am not good at this and I am simply dying for this man right now ugh)

I don’t think this is quite what either of us had in mind Lovely, but... I sense the potential for a series here, but I doubt I would ever get around to writing it. If so, I feel this is how part of it would play out. Hope you like it!

*

​You couldn't run anymore.

Your legs felt as if they were laden with lead, the effort of moving them only emphasized by the sharp ache that kept piercing your senses with each step.

You were well past the border now, you were certain of it. Even if you hadn't completely made the crossing just yet, your ascent surely had left any pursuers at least a few days behind you.

For now, surrounded by forest as far as you could see, you decided it was safe enough to rest, even just for a few hours.

The moon was scarcely a sliver, barely peeking through the clouds, and you weren't going to risk a light.

You weren't foolish enough to fear the fey from the fairy tales your family had fed you throughout your childhood, but you weren't so naive to believe monsters weren't real. Tragically, it seemed you were damned to know just how real they actually were.

You wandered for maybe another hour, relieved to find a quiet stream and, next to it, a ramshackle old barn. You prayed it was abandoned, dared to hope when you noticed no animals nearby, no recent signs of life.

There was a hole worn through the roof, several in the floor of the loft, and what had likely once been a vividly decorated door barely clung to its hinges; you found a warm wave of attached contentment for its ruin.

You barely remembered falling asleep,  barely remembered checking every possible exit for easiest accessibility. You did recall thinking how warm the hay was around you- hidden as you decided to make yourself in it- and the silent hope that any rats would leave you in peace.

Morning came with a gentleness that lulled you into a false sense of security. For a few moments, you simply watched the dust play in the sunshine, let yourself listen to the various birds darting between the exposed rafters, inhaled the scents of pine and hay and goa-

You felt your whole body stiffen in your panic, mentally trying to determine which of the six exits would be easiest, which would-

"Wouldn't bother; you won't get far."

If you had been scared before, the sudden presence of a male voice absolutely petrified you. Your heart stopped, your eyes frantically seeking out the source of sound, even from underneath your pile of hay.

"You could try going west from here, but you don't seem the climbin' type."

You let yourself process his words, recognized some sort of strange calm radiating from them, a detached sort of bluntness. It was- odd.

"Then again, appearances can be deceiving. That's what Lilli's always telling me; for all I know you're even more a mountaineer than I am."

Higher peaks to the west then? You really did make it past the border.

Would also explain his accent.

"I would say south, but they're pretty strict on sending people back to wherever they started from, no matter what they're sending them back to."

So you couldn't go south, and there was no way you were going to risk north or east again. West, perhaps, but you didn't have the right equipment, and you'd be damned if you would risk traveling through a pass, and God only knew how far you still were from France.

Other details of your surroundings were starting to register- the steady rhythm of milking, the scrape of hooves against the wooden floors, the smell of toast and jam drifting in through the window nearby. You could hear the flap of clothes hanging on a line, let yourself imagine the older farmer who was casually telling you how best to avoid capture.

Even in later years, you never would be able to explain what exactly possessed you to leave your little nest, never could quite explain how his odd form of detachment gave you a sense of security.

Whatever the reason, you were soon descending the ladder into the main part of the stable, shocked to discover the farmer- who you had guessed was likely in his 40s or 50s- was maybe only a handful of years older than you, speaking softly to his goats as you crept closer, stopping several feet away, head hanging in defeat.

"Where can I go?"

You didn't see him startle at your voice, missed the surprise and curiosity in his eyes when he got his first proper look at you. You were not at all who he had been expecting, and that fact alone changed everything.

"Who says you have to go anywhere?"

The casual wording, a dismissal woven almost entirely into an invitation, had you once more facing your host, confusion etching itself clearly across your features. "I'm sorry?"

If he was at all fazed by your presence, by your past, by anything- He really was making it a point not to show it. He shrugged at your unspoken question, a half shake as he continued milking the little black and brown goat, attention turning to the task at hand. 

"You don't have to go anywhere." There was a pointed pause for a moment, and then he was turning to you again, something resembling concern in his eyes. "Unless you- Sorry, I shouldn't assume. Are you meeting someone?"

The sincerity, the concern, the compassion- It was one of the few glimpses of Humanity that you had seen in what felt an infinity, and you could have been knocked over with a feather for how weightless it made you.

But sobriety was swiftly restored, a bitterness to your words as you felt a familiar wave of grief, of longing, of pure, unadulterated anguish. There were so many connections severed, so many people you would never see again, either of choice or-

"There's no one who'd miss me."

You could have been mistaken, but you were quite certain you saw a flicker of anger in his gaze, so swift and unexpected that you forgot all about it in the next moment. "I'm sorry."

You knew he meant it, even if his tone still carried a hint of that detachment. You knew he was apologizing for more than your isolation, for your fate, for not being able to offer you more than he was.

It was a kind gesture, but the platitudes of strangers are a passing comfort at best. He seemed to realize this even as you did, overcome by an abrupt awkwardness that almost immediately endeared him to you.

He was grumbling something incoherent, a redness tinting his ears, eyes directed somewhere beyond you as he collected himself. Finally, he sighed, turning to you once more.

"Lilli should still have some breakfast warmed up. It won't be much but you're welcome to it. We can try to find you some new clothes later; I'm sure you want a day or two to rest up."

You nearly protested; he was being too kind and almost too welcoming; you-

His very pointed glance at your leg- which you had forgotten all about- and the makeshift bandage (made of an old scarf and your mother's formerly favorite apron) immediately silenced any arguments you may have utelized.

With a wince, you nodded in agreement, silently vowing to yourself to not stay any longer than you needed to. He was too good a person- and Lilli, too, though you had yet to meet her- for you to risk putting in danger.

Just for a few days. *

[creativia10]

Janus in Wickhills Part 1

(Title not certain)

Janus wakes up on a forest floor, having no idea how he got there. He soon learns that apparently he seems to resemble some sort of dead evil faery king, snake scales and all, and he has no idea why. So he finds himself getting wary and suspicious looks from people he doesn’t even know, including the ones who offered to help him. Not to mention, dealing with the confusing nature of the green skinned fae who Janus can’t help but be intrigued by. However, he may come to learn that he is more connected to everything than he was aware.

Warnings : Threats of violence

Notes: So, I decided to go ahead and start posting this story. This is a fanfic au of @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors 's Love and Other Fairytales series. I did not know before that I needed to add in the ‘read more’ link. Since this is a bigger story, I want to do better with that this time. I will probably put specific warnings at the front of each part.

Ok, so here is some setup for the story: This is an au of Laoft where Remus came back several years earlier, and Linda isn’t in the picture yet. With this in mind, setting takes place some time after Logan has become the Seelie court rep.

I do not know yet how long this fic will be, since I am still writing it, or when I will update. So far, I have five chapters written.

Let me know if you have questions about anything, or if I forgot anything.

Chapter 1

Janus stirred, first aware of a dark green surfacing through the little light against his closed eyelids. He slowly blinked his eyes open, not quite aware of everything yet. As his eyes opened he noticed some light coming in through the leaves of the top of the forest. Top of the forest? Wait.

As Janus brought himself to sit up he felt leaves shift below him. He leaned back, thankful there was a tree behind him.

Something…wasn’t right, here. He shouldn’t be waking up on the floor of a forest. He was feeling a great wrongness here. He tried to think back to how he got there, but that only gave him fuzzy images and a dizzying headache. That could not be good. He put his hand against the tree as he stood up. He felt groggy.

How long had he been asleep? That was also concerning.

As he righted himself he looked around. He was definitely in the middle of a forest. How strange. It seemed dark in there though.

He seemed to be in period clothes with a cape, that didn’t feel off at least. He carefully started stepping around, wondering how he should go about this, considering he didn’t know which way was out. Something told him it would probably be a bad idea to call out either, he didn’t know what lurked in these woods. As he started to walk around he tried to find a space between trees that could remotely resemble a path. They didn’t seem consistent though.

He hadn’t gotten far before he heard someone clicking.

“Oh you’ve done it.”

Janus whirled around to face the figure, human-like with an inhuman quality. Fae, his mind supplied him with somehow. Not sure how he knew that.

“Ohh you’ve done it now,” the figure said as they stepped towards Janus. Janus couldn’t help but step away. The fae laughed and then shook their head.

“I don’t know where you got off going around with the dead Serpent King’s face. It’s not going to end well either way.”

Janus narrowed his eyes. What were they talking about? The fae rolled their eyes.

“Oh please, no point in keeping up an act. It’s a pretty stupid thing to do.”

The fae flicked out into their hand a light colored blade.

“We don’t take kindly to mockeries of betraying usurpers around here. You wear his face, you get the same fate.”

Janus gasped and quickly dove away from the blade aimed right towards him. He breathed fast as he quickly tried to get away, not wanting them out of his sight but also wanting to get out of there.

“Help!” He shouted then bit his tongue. That felt like a stupid thing to do. He didn’t know the intentions of any of the creatures around there. An angry snarl came from the fae who attacked him.

“Don’t act so pathetic when you dare to wear that traitor’s face!”

They launched for Janus again. Janus stumbled back, falling backwards when another figure swiftly stood in front of the other fae. Said fae stopped when he did, frowning, but standing down.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Your highness, I didn’t t-“

“This is still close enough to the revel for me to intervene. What is the issue?”

The fae scowled.

“That bastard made a mockery of the executed king by traipsing around with his face! I was only doing us all a favor by putting a stop to it.”

The royal stiffened and looked around to look at Janus. Janus stood up and eyed him cautiously, poised to take off if he had to, not that Janus knew where exactly he could go.

The royal’s face was unreadable.

“I am here now, so I am not allowing personal justice by killing on sight. I will see to it that this matter is addressed.”

“But-“

“Why do you wear my brother’s face?” The Royal asked Janus this time. Janus just looked at him.

“I am afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He lies!” The other fae cried.

“I do not understand your accusation, seeing as we can only consider a fae capable of such a transformation, and in that case, he would be incapable of lying.”

Fae? Him? Janus felt like whether or not he was fae, should be something he should know about himself. So why did he feel so unsure about that?

The royal gave the fae attacker beside him a sharp look.

“You are no longer helpful to this situation. Go on to the revel now.”

The other fae did not seem happy about this but went off without a complaint. The royal looked at Janus again.

“Explain,” He said.

“Explain what?”

“Explain how you look nearly identical to my dead brother.”

“How the hell should I know that? You’re acting like you’ve never seen someone who looks similar to someone else before.”

“Well his snake scales are pretty iconic to him.”

His what?

Janus took notice of an off feeling, as some things were coming back to him slower. He reached his hand to touch the left side of his face and gasped when he felt not smooth skin but the raised circles of reptilian scales. Well, that mas definitely a magical characteristic. The royal was watching him.

“I, along with many others, also saw him brutally murdered in front of our own eyes, so him seeming alive should not make any sense at all.”

Janus eyes widened at that. What the hell?

This was a lot. He clenched his teeth as he felt the start of what could turn into hyperventilating. That was the last thing he needed right there. To go into a vulnerable state in front of a stranger who clearly viewed him suspiciously.

“Perhaps we should start with what you are doing here?”

Janus sucked in a breath.

“I-I don’t know.” Janus looked at him then broke eye contact. “I don’t know how I got here. I just woke up on the forest floor. I know how that sounds-“

“Not as farfetched as you would think.”

Janus looked up at him in bewilderment. The royal’s lips twitched up briefly.

“Do you know who I am?”

Janus shook his head.

“Should I?”

The royal seemed to withhold a laugh again.

“Some call me the lord of the forest.”

Janus slowly nodded at that. Somehow, that seemed to work, considering how the attacking fae earlier had acted around him.

“I am also known as the spider prince. What is the last thing you remember?” the lord of the forest asked.

“Before waking up?”

He nodded.

Janus pursed his lips as he thought. It was a bit fuzzy. He went up to a tree. There was a conversation with someone whose face he couldn’t recall. Something happened. It wasn’t good. He remembered his consciousness fading.

He hissed and winced. It was clearly not a good memory. The prince frowned.

Janus said, “Not much.”

The prince hmmed. Then he turned around.

“Come with me,” he said.

Janus just stood for a moment.

“I may know of some people who can help,” the prince said. He started to walk away.

“You may want to readjust your hat, though,” he said as he nodded to Janus’ snake side and then began to walk again. Janus turned his hat and pulled it down some, not quite covering the side of his face completely, and found himself following. It wasn’t like he had many other choices anyways.

There were whispers around them. Here comes the prince.

Strange. Who follows him?

Who tries to cover part of his face?

Poor coverage indeed.

Wait is that-?

How can it be?

We saw him dead.

Who wears the dead serpent’s face?

Janus drew himself up and sped up his pace some, feeling extremely uncomfortable. They walked into a very big clearing, filled with people dancing about. There was an overall feyness to it. Many stared at them as they went past. This whole thing seemed to scream danger to Janus. He followed the prince wondering what he was thinking. He didn’t know what the prince thought of Janus at all. They made their way to an area along the edge of the clearing in the back, clearly set aside from everything else. There were three others who looked close in age to the prince. Janus noticed a fey knight off to the side as well. She made her way over to them as the two walked forward. The prince gestured.

“Can you explain this?” He asked her. The fey knight looked at Janus in shock, then her hand made its way to the sword at her side. Janus gasped and stepped back. The prince held up a hand before her.

“I already spoke with him, he claims not to know how he got here. If he is fae, as I suspect, then he can’t be lying.”

The knight frowned but she eased up some.

“That doesn’t make him innocent though.” The other three who had been waiting for the prince stood near them. Varying levels of expressions on their faces.

The knight gave him a hard look.

“What is your name?”

Janus opened his mouth, then paused. You weren’t supposed to give your name to the fae, which she clearly was, along with the prince.

“…you may call me Jay,” He almost wished he had thought of a cleverer nickname, not one that was too close to his actual name. She hmmed, still on guard.

“He never gave anyone his real name anyways,” one of the others standing by them spoke up, who was also dressed like a knight. Although he had an iron dagger on his sheath. The prince nodded.

“I also asked him if he knew who I was and he said no,” The prince said. That caused many confused looks around them. The prince looked to another in their group. Another fae. This one, who also appeared fae, yet strangely wore glasses, tilted his head and looked at Janus in consideration.

“Hmm, well he does seem to be fae.”

“I think the snake scales were pretty telling of that. I also don’t know of any witches who can do that.”

“He did act surprised when I mentioned the scales though, as though he didn’t conjure a glamor for himself.”

“I cannot think of why someone would play at this anyways though. After all, we cannot lie and to our knowledge no one else has transformative abilities like the fae do,” Specs said.

“Aren’t there other faeries who look alike though?” The last one, with curly hair and similar glasses, asked.

The glasses clad fae shook his head.

“Not like this at least.”

“My brother was made to be gentry, as we were made to be ruling heirs of this forest. He and I were the only ones who came into being the way we did. There would be no one like us.”

The one dressed as a knight gestured at Janus.

“Well then how would you explain this!?”

The glasses faery pursed his lips.

“I am afraid I am not sure.”

This was all just really weird. He would have left ages ago if he had any idea on where to go.

“Hey everyone! What’s going on?” A voice called out loudly from behind him, getting closer. “What are you all staring at?”

The people in front of him seemed to grow very concerned as the voice approached.

The glasses fae spoke, “R-Duke…”

Janus found he couldn’t help but turn to face the other. This was a green man. He literally had mint green skin. He hung a spiked mace over his shoulder. The green man, Duke as specs called him, just stared at him, face varying in extreme expressions. Janus wasn’t sure what to make of this. He was starting to get used to the bizarre reactions to him which was incredibly infuriating. There was something about the man before him though. Something familiar that was almost on the tip of his tongue. He seemed handsome too, even with the green skin, and somewhat ridiculous mustache. The man seemed to settle on something.

“What..the hell!?”

( Continues in Janus in Wickhills Part 2)

[butterfly-winx]

I'm not sure if you've already answered this but could u talk about everyone's first experiences with magic?

No I haven’t and I can’t claim I have thought about it long enough to have rock hard hc, but it’s a fun prompt anon, so here we go:

Bloom:

Aside from being protected from the flames of the house burning around her as a baby, Bloom’s first conscious brush with magic was actually using her innate aspect. She has always been a sensitive kid and everybody assumed it was just some form of hyperempathy when she talked about other people’s feelings with high accuracy. But when she categorised people into colours depending on their auras, she meant it. Then as sensitive weird kids be, Bloom was picked on a lot in late primary and middle school and that’s when her temper started to show. Bloom got angry easily and it only riled up the other children more to get her to show a reaction. Before that it was mostly tears, but one memorable occasion Bloom’s control over temperature manifested with her burst of anger and she made everyone and herself develop a sudden high fever. She fainted from it unfortunately and spent the next two years transfixed by all sources of fire and flames eventually circling back on her obsession with fairies and all things magic. The older she got the less she paid attention to the colourful auras until they completely faded from her everyday sight and only cropped up when she herself felt her emotion in a disarray. As Bloom got older, other magic effects started to crop up with higher frequency, like her “magically” avoiding injuries or recovering from them super fast, or never getting burned on hot pots as the Dragonflame started to feel cramped unused in her body. When Stella was being threatened by the goblins and the ogre, Bloom’s fight or flight instincts automatically allowed the Dragonflame an outlet. (She then of course followed Stella down a rabbit hole of an adventure and got a place in Alfea due to her new friend’s quick thinking and forgery)

Stella:

With two proficient magic users as parents Stella was practically hounded over as adults in her life anxiously waited for her to show signs of magic. She went through magic prep courses trying her hardest to please everyone who was so important to her. She wanted to be magic so bad, always afraid of that infinitesimal chance that she didn’t get all the right genes from her parents. At age seven she was kind of a late bloomer for fully magic children to yet show any sign of magic sensitivity, and she spent another short holiday with her mother’s family up north. it was Stella’s favourite pastime to wander as close to the edge of the estate as she dared to alone in the constant twilight of the Solarian pole. Her favourite spot was a little cropping of shrubs populated by lighting bugs that always flocked to her when she came by. The loved collecting the shiny rocks as well that lit up at her touch and create her own little sun filled garden in the back where no one would bother her for hours. In retrospect Stella can tell exactly why she hasn’t come forward with all of these light related oddities, wanting to keep her island of peace to herself, but back then baby Stella really just didn’t clock that this could be related to her magic aspect. Her grandma eventually noticed and eased her into the thought that yes, she was definitely magic. After that the expectations were laid on even thicker instead of getting easier to bear as Stella got instructions at school and from both of her parents after school. Luna was very helpful with first developing Stella’s magic, so Stella actually started off with a stronger focus on her moon based powers. Radius with his control over bright skies was not very useful and Stella soon started feeling guilty over that and took up sun focused spells and fey magic explicitly to please her father. Radius would have loved her no matter what, but Stella’s insecurities were early risers and she felt the need to please others, so she was more than happy to follow his footsteps and enrol off planet in Alfea, his alma mater.

Musa:

She was equally under observation, only because she is mixed (human-elven) and it was unclear which type her magic would manifest as. Maylin herself a magic using elf would have loved to teach her daughter all she knew, but there was of course always room for her to chose a human stream, should she take after her human father more. That Musa was magic sensitive was a well known fact ever since she was a baby and was able to produce... quite a cry. Maylin was lovingly warned that her daughter was likely to be a musical type along with a gift of full sound-blocking earbuds. At age six Musa could remember the melodies of over 300 pieces of music of ranging complexity, regularly got birds to sing for her and had impeccable hearing - all in all she showed signs of having a promising future as a magic user. For her to be gifted with skills in music that brought Maylin and HaoBai together was a blessing from the Heavens. Then Maylin died and Musa and her father’s world shattered with her. Grief can have complicated effects on one’s magic, and Musa age 9, appeared with dried up magic meridians like she was a l 90 year old. It took a lot of family counselling and well timed teenage rebellion for her to pick up music and with that magic again. And it was hard work, let her tell you that. Both letting magic inot her and developing a feeling for it and doing it all while hiding from her father, afraid he’d want to ban her music and snap instruments again (it happened once, and HaoBai isn’t proud of how much the pain of loss had consimed him at that moment). At fifteen she finally had enough and decided to go head first for it, insisting her half-orphan “recompensation fund” to be used as tuition at Alfea College for fairies, despite never having received any magic prep education. Through brute force, luck and insane talent Musa aced all entrance examinations and made it despite it all.

Techna:

As childbirth on Zenith is, it was completely up in the air whether Techna would be magic or not.  All the early childhood signs Techna showed for their aspect were at first more or less mis-categorised as autism (which they absolutely have, but them going through technical books detailing the technological systems of ancient civilisations daily wasn’t just that). The first one suspecting they have magic was actually Techna’s elder sister, Electra. Electra five years older than Techna was very into the idea of a baby sister and loved smushing and cuddling Techna, which Techan absolutely hated and kept giving Electra static shocks out of nowhere. Once Electra understood where static came from and identified that there was absolutely nothing charged around Techna when they did that, she became suspicions. The whole family found out when during dinner, Techna announced in the calmest voice possible that they have heard the car talk and it told Techna exactly what was wrong with it setting an end to their parents tense discussion about the car having issues. The car was sent for repairs, confirming what Techna had  said and Techna was taken for a magic sensitivity test having that confirmed. (Baby Techna like: oh yeah I could always hear machines they just usually don’t have anything worthwhile to say). She wasn’t quite five at this point. Magic isn’t as widely practiced on Zenith and it took Techna’s ranerts a while to find a magic prep school for them to attend after school, which ended up being outside the borders of Transjordan actually. The daily drive was very long and exhausting both for teen Techna and the parent of the day who had to drive them, so they started talking about sending Techna to a boarding school once they were old enough. Techha was left to do their own research and they realised they had quite many options, even with just narrowing it down to fey magic that were closer to home than Magics, but they all advertised themselves as “girls’ colleges” and even pre-gender realisation that just irked Techan for an inexplicable reason. They much preferred going to a coed school, so Alfea ended up as their first choice on the application form.

Layla:

In Layla’s case, detecting her magic sensitivity was incredibly difficult, seeing as she grew up practically constantly submerged in water playing with her cousins by the shore. Androsi people naturally have a large lung capacity and are able to dive long. That Layla dried super fast afterwards and never got salt rashes was also brushed under the rug ascribed to good royal hygiene and skin care. When she started being schooled in the castle Layla was colossally bored. She received basic magic training just because, no one actually expected her to be magic since they believed she didn’t show any sensitivity for it, and kind of for shits and giggles Layla took it and ran with it. Layla discovered privately in tidal caves just what a mistake that was able to make the water be kind to her and mold and move just so she could always get out unharmed. She surprised everyone at age eleven when during a banquet the visiting princeling was annoying her just so much, she used her water magic to turn his strictly pomaded hair into a bird’s nest, overshooting and drenching the next three dignitaries around him as well. The party stopped. At first Layla though she was going to get into so much trouble, caught under the strict eyes of her father, but as it turns out, he was overjoyed. Layla was put on a fast track for learning magic and surprised people once again choosing fey magic and being able to transform at the tender age of 13. She was never sent to Alfea, but received the offer from Faragonda after the Darkar incident thinking Layla could easily make it to Enchantix (which she did, this girl is talented).

Flora:

Both of Flora’s parents are untrained magic users, so her being somewhat sensitive at least was also expected. Flora loved sitting to the side watching her father run the potion shop when she wasn’t chasing all her other parental figures and watching what they were doing with curious eyes. She loved it when her aunti Nimali gave her bumps and scrapes a little kiss so she started doing that to all sorts of things including her father’s ingredient plants. He was indulging her harmless kid fantasy, knowing full well that most of his magic plants responded to emotions like they had a soul and was more than surprised when he found these plants not only healed but sprouting wildly whenever Flora gave them a small “get well smooch”. The village talked it all over and Flora was given over to the local magic users to train with and shadow what they were doing. Her interest in potion making however prevailed and by the time she emerged from Nature’s Teaching Path having singlehandedly ran the little children’s colony it was very clear that Flora would need to receive proper training from a proper institution. She was just too good at magic for her family to fail her not being able to offer her more knowledge. Flora wanted magic with frankly for her startling greed and ambition, but she hated the idea of moving away. She could have just gone to Woodland College like most other magic users, but even there the entrance exam examiner was suggesting the school was too small for her. (And Flora kind of felt that - she overthought the whole exam because it was just so simple, she just had to touch the plant, and will the box to float. Her aspect of plant growth might not have given her complete control over the environment, but she was still a lot better than her peers.) The teacher spoke to the Council about the potential of sending Flora off planet and now that had her attention and full investment in doing everything the Council demanded to get her a visa to study in Magics.

Out of the six Layla and Techna were able to transform already before they came to Alfea, Flora and Stella had unstable first attempts (Stella during her own first year that is, not her re-run), while Bloom and Musa were the only ones who fully had to learn it from scratch during their first year.

Stella and Layla pay their tuition from royal funds, Flora is Lynphean Council sponsored and Bloom after the first year paid from Callisto’s royal fund (oops) is on a Magics scholarship for minority cultures as a surviving Dominian. Techna benefits from Transjordan’s education scheme which gives students a basic income, their parents supplement the small remainder, while Musa is 100% self sponsored from aforementioned widower’s trust fund they got after Maylin’s passing.

[sufeyfolkau]

Kiss It & Make It Better

rating: T word count: 3k

Steven stumbles upon a new power that, just like all of the rest, doesn't work quite like his mother's. It has some negative side effects that he's a bit reluctant to explain to the others.

Part of my “Feyfolk & Fiends” AU. Enjoy!

[Read on AO3]

-

Steven adores Connie.

This is probably obvious in everything he does. What began as a partnership, as a mutual interest in all things magical and fey, has become something so much more. It’s something he’ll always carry with him, forever.

So of course it’s with her that he discovers a new power.

Most of his powers are fairly standard fey stuff. He can summon a shield and disintegrate it at his will. He can summon wings, too; semi-transparent things that are hued an unnatural pink, insectoid and bizarre-looking even to Pearl, who knew his mother best. He can manipulate others, though it is a temporary thing and people are usually aware of the magical interference on their thinking if they’re not already strongly learning that way.

Then there’s this.

Steven presses a joking kiss to the injury on Connie’s finger, so mild that calling it an injury is hyperbole, and insists he’ll make it better. They laugh, both their cheeks blushing at the flirtatious nature of it all. And then they stare at each other in awe as the paper cut on Connie’s finger magically seals itself, the skin suddenly baby-smooth. Connie runs her fingers over it again and again, a “Whoa” murmuring out.

Steven winces at a prickling ache in his own finger. He looks down to see a paper cut there, in what might have been an identical spot to the one on Connie’s.

“I didn’t know you could heal,” Connie whispers.

“I didn’t either,” he confesses with nervous laughter.

Is that paper cut from that, just now? No. It couldn’t be. It’s just a coincidence, though he doesn’t remember how exactly he got the papercut in the first place. That’s fine.

“How?”

Steven shrugs, fingers curling into his palm, and hopes that Connie leaves it at that.

-

Of course, she doesn’t. Connie has always been inquisitive by nature, and it’s one of Steven’s favorite things about her. There’s nothing wrong with it, period, but it makes something like this… well, more than a little awkward.

“Describe what happened,” Garnet says in that stoic way of hers, and Steven feels his face heating.

“Okay, so!” Connie takes Steven’s hand in hers, a grin spread across her face. “We were just joking around, right? And I’d gotten a paper cut earlier today at school. And I complained about it to him, so he said he’d ‘kiss it and make it better.’ And then he did!”

“I’ve never heard of a fey healing a mortal with a kiss,” Garnet murmurs. “You weren’t using magic?”

“Garnet.” Steven laughs, high and awkward and nerves spiking. “You know I can’t.”

“All fey have access to magic.”

“Clearly that doesn’t mean me.”

“The skills you call ‘powers’ are all different forms of—”

“We’ve had this conversation!” Steven waves his hands, wildly, desperate to direct the topic elsewhere. “It doesn’t matter. It was a one-time thing, and it won’t happen again.”

He’s scared of what might happen if it does.

Garnet nods once, and though no expression forms at her lips or in her eyebrows, he wishes he could see past her visor to know what her eyes were saying. “We could ask Mother.”

Connie gasps, excitement bursting at her seams, but Steven pales. The idea of Sapphire finding out — she would take one look at him and know. He’s never been able to hide anything from her. She would probably ban him from every healing anyone ever again. Or maybe she’d be okay with this.

Or maybe Steven’s freaking out over nothing, because who knows if he got that paper cut from somewhere else that he just forgot about?

“I-I don’t know. Maybe this was just a fluke.”

“We could always test that theory,” Garnet suggests.

“Fine.” Steven knows he’ll regret saying it, but he acquiesces. “Let’s test it!”

He words it as a challenge, praying fervently that Garnet will read his mind and see that they should just drop this subject and leave it alone.

Garnet, however, is not, nor has she ever claimed to be, a mind reader.

-

“Ooh, this sounds like a fun experiment. And you are due for another sword-fighting lesson, Connie.”

Normally, Steven is ecstatic when Connie’s up for training with Pearl. She’s very much Pearl’s student, as graceful and diligent as her teacher. The brownie has always been willing to share the things she’s learned — not in terms of the skills she knows inherently, as a brownie, but the skills she learned and trained herself in and mastered. The two of them in the arena together are a brilliant, dazzling display.

But today’s lesson seems like it would be less for Connie and more for Steven.

“Don’t, uh. Don’t beat each other up too hard,” Steven says, as Connie follows Pearl to the fairy circle.

Connie laughs. “Oh, I’m gonna kick Pearl’s ass.”

“Profanity, young lady,” Pearl scolds.

It would get a giggle out of Steven if he wasn’t absolutely terrified.

-

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Go away.”

“This is my room.”

Steven doesn’t move. He stays exactly where he is, curled up behind one of Amethyst’s many piles of miscellaneous paraphernalia. Amethyst sighs, the sound so near a groan that he almost winces, and then he feels the shift of movement and cloth as she plops down next to him. He’s on his butt, knees up, arms wrapped around them and head pressed between, but Amethyst leans over him, almost on top of him. “What’s got you down, bud? What’re you hiding from?”

“Nothing, geez!”

“So you’re telling me that you’re in my room for no reason?”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not a full moon, is it?”

“Stop being obtuse, you dweeb.”

Steven groans. He shifts, pushing Amethyst off of him in order to look at her. “I just… well. Garnet and Pearl are training with Connie because they think it’s going to help me, but I’m pretty sure it won’t. So I’m hiding out in here so I won’t have to face them when they’re done.”

“Just tell them that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sounds like it is when you won’t tell me why it’s complicated.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Amethyst hums, but she sounds almost as if she’s bored. She isn’t; Steven knows her well enough by now, but as always, it makes his nerves spike. As if he’s burdening her by being here, when the very reason he’s here is because he knows she doesn’t see him like that and she never will. “Well, why don’t you ask Sapphire? Maybe her future vision can help out so you won’t have to say anything.”

Steven considers it. He has a feeling that Sapphire would be straight with him about it, but she would spell everything out, word for word. And he doesn’t know if he wants to hear her wise voice articulating the specifics of this strange new power.

-

Which is how Steven winds up in front of Ruby.

“What’s goin’ on, Ste-man?” Ruby asks, burning a Poptart in her hand right before she devours it.

“I gotta ask you for some advice.” The words sigh out him, almost like he’s deflating, as he plops into the seat at the counter.

Ruby blinks, stunned. Yeah, Steven isn’t surprised by that. The last time he went to Ruby for advice, she’d made him swear never to come to her again. “That’s Sapphire’s thing, I guess,” she’d said with a blush and a nervous laugh. But Ruby had lived for eons, just like Sapphire, and just because she didn’t have the korrigan’s future vision didn’t mean her insight wasn’t also valuable.

Especially when it came to said korrigan.

“So… how do you recommend approaching Sapphire when I don’t want to actually talk about something, I kinda just want her to know it?”

Ruby’s expression remains exactly the same. Stunned, bewildered. Steven’s wondering if he’s made some sort of mistake when Ruby says, “Sapphire… can’t read minds, Steven. You know that. Sure, she can see a bunch of different futures, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to know what’s bothering you right away.”

Okay, that makes sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s what he wants to hear.

“What’s up with my fave little man?” Ruby asks, hopping up onto the counter and swinging her legs over the side.

And, honestly? No one else is allowed to be so diminutive with him. If only because Ruby knows exactly what it’s like to be called that kind of thing, and she doesn’t get the privilege of growing up like he does. (Then again, she can choose whatever human form she wants.)

“Uh, so…” He knows Ruby won’t let this leak. Of all of them, she’s probably the most tight-lipped... except in her anger, of course. “Connie and I discovered a new power of mine, but… I don’t really know how to tell her that I think it’s got some pretty negative side effects? But she’s already working on it, so… I just wanna know if I should pretend it doesn’t work, or that it was a fluke, or whatever.”

“Huh.”

Ruby doesn’t say anything for a moment, tapping at her chin with a furrow to her brow. “Mind if I ask what kind of side effects?”

“Um…” Steven bites his lip.

Ruby sighs. “Well, if you’re not gonna talk about it with me, I don’t know how you’re expecting to talk about it with Sapphy. And Steven, we’re all gonna know sooner or later. Might as well rip off the band-aid now, y’know?”

She was right. Of course she was right.

“I guess I have the power to heal people,” he begins.

“Oh, like Rose’s tears!”

Ruby’s starry eyes make Steven laugh, tone high and awkward. “Uh, kind of. But through kisses. And it’s not just healing. I don’t know how Mom did it, but for me, it seems like… I can take on whatever injury they’ve got.”

“Oh.” Ruby’s expression changes immediately from one of excitement to one of concern. “You sure?”

Steven shrugs. “It’s only happened once and it was over a paper cut, but… yeah, pretty sure. Usually once a new power hits, I can kind of tell.” Emphasis on the kind of; they all remember when his wings manifested. That had been…

Ruby nods slowly, gears turning in her brain. “Well, we should probably tell people about this, right? You don’t wanna end up in a situation where you feel like you have to use it, and everyone’s expecting you to, only for that to hit the fan right then.”

“I-I guess?”

Ruby slaps his shoulder, and he yelps. Her touch burns his skin through his jacket. “C’mon, little man!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

-

“This assumption you’ve made is based on one single event.”

Steven nods slowly, though the lump in his throat is heavy. “Um… yeah. I would really rather not test it, if that’s what you’re about to suggest.”

Sapphire considers this. She is at about Ruby’s height — which is to say, she comes up this waist and no higher. He used to think that she used to look down on him despite this, and in hindsight, that’s pretty hilarious, because Sapphire doesn’t conceive of others that way. Korrigans are typically incredibly beautiful creatures, and though Steven would say that Sapphire fits the bill, many fey would not; for Sapphire, somehow, came into being with only one eye. Sapphire has been treated horribly enough by plenty of fey for that sole thing — Steven’s even heard someone claim she has “more in common with the monsters than with fey” — and while that almost made him go off, she insisted it was fine.

She even jokes that her future vision requires two, and her third is for sight. Steven isn’t sure what to make of any that, but he does know that she’s probably the least likely to look down on anyone else.

“We won’t do anything that cannot be swiftly remedied.” Despite the assurance, Steven finds himself hesitating. Sapphire gestures for him to follow her, so he does. “You know, Steven, that your mother’s healing abilities worked differently.”

He swallows. “Yeah.” Hers were perfect, infallible in every way. Her tears would heal injuries with absolutely no casualties. Supposedly she could heal fey on the brink of death — something quite difficult for fey to reach in the first place — and they would resurrect, good as new and fatigue restored.

Steven’s powers are almost always different from Rose’s somehow. Never quite as unique, never quite as special.

“What you may not have known is that they affected mortals differently than they did fey.”

He blinks. He looks up, trying to catch Sapphire’s gaze, but she’s too many steps ahead. He recognizes this path well; she is leading him to the fairy circle. When he was young, they built the house around it. Apparently some of his mother’s magic was able to make it so that this particular circle could only be accessed by those with the proper credentials, though Steven hasn’t the foggiest idea about how any of that works.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this circle is not composed of typical mushrooms, but of eternal fairy roses. Her namesake.

“Can you, um… elaborate?”

As they come to the circle, she extends her hand to him. He takes it, and together they step into the circle. A moment later their house is gone, their surroundings morphing into strange and new shapes until they settle on a familiar scene:

His mother’s fountain. Its water seem higher than ever as they exist the fairy circle, the statue of her higher still.

“Your mother’s powers were regenerative with injured fey; their heart would cease to beat, and your mother’s tears would inspire it to continue on, as if it’d never stopped. Broken bone would mend, lost limbs would regrow. But with mortals, it was very different. Their limbs would remain lost, her magic only causing the skin to heal over exposed bone. Their stopped hearts, when awoken, would be marching to an entirely new rhythm.”

Unease settles in his stomach.

“I’m curious to see if your power behaves the same on mortals and fey, or if it too finds different purpose in our differences.”

Steven stops.

They’ve come to the edge of the fountain. Sapphire smiles, and with a burst of magical energy, a dagger appears in her hand.

“N-no, Sapphire—”

“Easy, now.” Sapphire presses the dagger into the tip of her index finger. Steven watches, horrified, as her blood pools there, before slowly dripping to the stone floor in red speckles.

His stomach lurches again. He feels bile rise and he pushes it down, down, down. It’s just blood. There’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s just blood. And he can fix this.

The dagger disappears and Sapphire beckons him closer with her uninjured hand. Obediently, he comes to her side, but when she extends the injury to him to heal, he freezes. He stares at the blood, still dripping ever so slowly to the floor below.

 What, you can’t handle a little blood, Steven Universe?

“Let���s… just use Mom’s fountain. Okay?”

Sapphire pauses. Something odd crosses her face and Steven squeezes his eyes shut, begging her to do literally anything else but push her injury in front of him and insist.

“Okay.” His eyes fly open to see that Sapphire has turned from him, already dipping her finger into the pond; he nearly misses the shimmer from the water, and when she pulls her hand away, the injury is there no longer.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“I should have asked if this was something you were comfortable with before I insisted. Forgive me.”

Why does he feel like he’s just failed her?

-

He’s lying face down in his bed, curled up under the covers, when he hears a knock at his door. He shoots upright, untangling himself from the blankets as quickly as he can and ends up on the floor with a thud. “U-uh, come in!”

He’s just barely on his feet when Connie comes in, bruises all over her and a look of concern on her face. “Steven?”

 Oh.

In his haste to throw a pity party, he totally forgot that he’d forgotten he’d agreed to try to heal Connie’s training injuries. He scans her for a moment; she’s got a particularly nasty bruise on her elbow, but otherwise her injuries don’t seem too bad. She’s probably sore — will he inherit that, as well, or will he be spared it? If it’s just this one time, then this is probably fine, right?

“Yeah. C’mon in.”

She shuts the door behind her and comes in. He sits on the bed and she moves to sit beside him. He’s already taking her hand and bending down to kiss it when she puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back. He looks up, startled to see that concern still there.

“Steven… Ruby and Sapphire told us about it.”

“Us?” he squeaks.

“Pearl and I. I’m assuming Amethyst and Garnet probably know, too.”

His face burns. “Oh.” Slowly, Steven lets her hand drop, and he pulls his hand away from hers, sitting it back in his lap. He stares at them, fidgeting them while the silence grows. Connie seems to be expecting something from him, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“Steven…” Connie sighs. “Next time, please just tell me. Please just tell me something like this would hurt you, okay? We can always just go to your mother’s fountain. Or not! I don’t even go there half the time after training because these aches and bruises are earned, you know? So I don’t even need healing!”

He nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Another beat passes. Connie gives a soft, gentle sigh, and she curls her hands around his face, pulling his eyes up to meet hers. “Steven. If healing someone is going to put you at risk, then we’ll just bandage things up and let them heal the old-fashioned way. Okay? Let me care for you.”

Steven presses his forehead against hers and offers her a slow, hesitant smile. “Okay.”

She presses a kiss to his nose, and for a moment, everything is better.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Lillia, the Bashful Bloom build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

I’m waiting for the Neeko x Hecarim OTP short story, Riot.

Memes aside Lillia is a fairly simplistic champ in-terms of abilities, and she’s new so of course I’m going to try to recreate her as accurately as possible before she even comes out!

Oh and she’s also EXTREMELY SCOTTISH despite being from the Japan region of Runeterra. I mean... okay then Riot.

GOALS

Every flower blooms to be seen! - Lillia has many a nature-themed spell at her disposal. You’ll never guess what class we’re going to be...

Every time I hold my branch... - Lillia literally has an ability where she runs at you and bonks you on the head with her branch. And it’s called “Watch Out! Eep!” Goddammit Riot and your Japanimes...

Where are you little lost dreams? - Despite dreams and sleeping and what-not kinda being Lillia’s thing she doesn’t really have that much sleeping ability to her. Still: sleep is sleep.

RACE

Four legs? Human body? Sounds like a Centaur to me! As a Centaur your Strength increases by 2 and your Wisdom increases by 1. Your movement speed is 40, which is good because if you Charge 30 feet and hit an enemy with your weapon you can then strike them with your Hooves, which do a d4 + Strength bludgeoning damage.

Your creature type is considered Fey rather than humanoid, which gives you some indirect counterplay to spells like Charm Person and Hold Person. And your Equine Build doubles your carrying capacity at the cost of making it a lot harder for you to climb.

Finally you can speak both Common and Sylvan, and get proficiency in either Animal Handling, Medicine, Nature, or Survival thanks to the Survivor trait. This may come as a surprise to you but the character who was literally born from a flower and lived their entire life in a garden should be proficient in Nature.

ABILITY SCORES

15; WISDOM - You are literally a being of dreams, and can go into people’s subconcious to see what they think.

14; DEXTERITY - You have the body of a fawn to hop, skip, and jump around the battlefield. That, and 14 DEX is enough for Medium Armor, even if Lillia doesn’t wear armor in-game.

13; CONSTITUTION - I can’t make a testament to Lillia’s stats in-game since she’s... you know... not in-game yet, but she’s a very close-range champ who no doubt needs a bit of bulk to survive.

12; CHARISMA - You’re a cute little deer lady who I’m going to say right now... furry bait.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You spent your entire life in a garden where I doubt you got to read many books.

8; STRENGTH - Lillia is a deer and deer are not strong. The +2 from our race helps this out a bit but still.

BACKGROUND

If you want the most accurate choice of background Outlander would fit Lillia perfectly. However Lillia doesn’t exactly know her way around or how to find water so we’ll be going for the next most logical background which is Far Traveler. This is because the feature of Far Traveler “All Eyes on You” makes it obvious that you’re not from around these parts, based on your mannerisms, figures of speech, appearance (what? A deer centaur isn’t common?) and your accent. Some people might be interested in meeting you, and you might be interested in meeting them! You might even be able to distract them or get some information from them with stories of your garden!

Along with your feature you get proficiency in the Insight and Perception skills, to see the dreams and see the dreams. You also learn one language of your choice (Quori is the language of the Kalashtar, who are dream people, but if your setting doesn’t have Eberron races just pick a language that will be more useful) and either a musical instrument or gaming set. Lillia just sings for her dance emote so I’d pick whatever instrument you want since it’s not like you had much time to play chess with Mother Tree. I opted for a Pan Flute but you can choose whatever you want.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - DRUID 1

wOw WhO wOuLd’Ve GuEsSeD tHaT tHe NaTuRe ChArAcTeR wHo’S bAsEd EnTiReLy ArOuNd NaTuRe WoUlD bE a DrUiD? Regardless Druids can pick two skills from the Druid list: Arcana would be good to know about the magic of dreams but none of the other skills really stick out to me. I opted for Survival for one that made the most sense.

As a Druid you know Druidic, an ancient language only spoken by Druids which no doubt has a massive Scottish accent to it. The message is hidden to non-Druids unless they succeed on a DC 15 Perception check, but even if they see it they can’t decipher it without magic.

Speaking of magic: Spellcasting! You learn two cantrips from the Druid list and of course to whack people with a stick Shillelagh will let you do so very hard. For the spell’s duration your weapon becomes a d8 and uses your spellcasting modifier to attack. For your second cantrip Druidcraft will let you make flowers bloom and petals fall; it has a bunch of effects detailed in the spell’s description which I suggest you read.

Druids are prepared spellcasters, meaning they can choose what spells to have ready. You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Wisdom modifier plus your Druid level. Anyways for a Booming Blooming Blows Thunderwave will hit everyone within 15 feet of you. For a bit of dreaming magic Charm Person will make your target think they’re in a dream for awhile. To light an enemy up with Dream Dust Faerie Fire will illuminate them and make them easier for your allies to hit. And finally when in Rome take Healing Word to help in a pinch.

LEVEL 2 - DRUID 2

Second level Druids can Wild Shape, allowing them to turn into a Beast of CR 1/4 or lower. You spend your action to gain all the statistics of the chosen beast, and you gain their health as Temporary Hitpoints. You can stay in a beast shape for a number of hours equal to half your druid level (rounded down) or until you lose all the health of your beast form. There’s a lot of other factors to Wild Shape that I recommend reading into, even if Lillia doesn’t really shapeshift. But hey instead of being a half-deer you can turn into a full deer (or rather an Elk since that has a higher CR.) Dreams are weird, you know. “I’m not wearing any pants!”

And with “the big Druid ability” out of the way it’s time to talk about your subclass, or rather your Druidic Circle. Surprisingly we won’t be going for the Circle of Dreams, or even the Circle of Stars, but rather the Circle of the Land. You can choose a type of land to connect with and despite the fact that you lived in a Forest I’m going to instead suggest Grassland as your land of choice. This will come into play next level but it’s still good to mention it now.

As a Circle of the Land Druid you get an Extra Cantrip, and I’d be remissed not to mention Guidance. Free d4 to ability checks? Absolutely! You also get Natural Recovery, allowing you to recover spell slots during a short rest. The combined level of all the spells you recover can equal no more than half your Druid level (rounded up) and none of the spells can be above 6th level. Is this just the Wizard’s Arcane Recovery feature tacked onto a Druid? Yup! Even down to the fact that you can only use it once per Long Rest, so use it wisely!

And all that talk of spells reminds me that you can prepare another spell such as Entagle, to keep your foes wrapped up in their dreams.

LEVEL 3 - DRUID 3

I’m going to instead suggest Grassland as your land of choice. This will come into play next level but it’s still good to mention it now.

Third level Druids can cast second level spells, and as a Grasslands Druid you know Invisibility and Pass without Trace innately. These spells don’t count against your total spells prepared, nor do you have to prepare them. They’re great spells to keep hidden from the world.

Additionally you can prepare another spell such as Moonbeam to force your foes to sleep, one way or another.

LEVEL 4 - DRUID 4

4th level Druids get Wildshape Improvements to transform into beasts of CR 1/2 or lower, and can turn into a beast with a swim speed! But more importantly for us you get an Ability Score Improvement, or rather a Feat. And because Magic Initiate smells here comes Aberrant Dragon Mark from Eberron!

Along with an increase to your Constitution by 1 the Aberrant Dragon Mark lets you cast one cantrip and one spell from the Sorcerer list. For cantrip I’d suggest anything with range, though seeing as Swirlseed slows I’d recommend Ray of Frost. For your leveled spell this may be shocking but you’re going to want Sleep to put foes to... sleep. Your Sleep spell can only be used once per short rest, so use it wisely!

Additionally when you cast Sleep you can expend one of your Hit Dice. If you roll an even number, you gain a number of temporary hit points equal to the number rolled. If you roll an odd number, one random creature within 30 feet of you takes force damage equal to the number rolled. If no other creatures are in range, you take the damage. I’d personally say that the damage is done before the effects of sleep, so that you don’t accidentally wake your enemy up. Do use this ability wisely though, as your hit die are limited as the random force damage can be quite chaotic!

Oh and finally you also get the ability to prepare one more spell, and learn one more cantrip! For your cantrip of choice Mending will help if you ever see a crack in your staff, and for your spell Hold Person will force your foe to do a little more than just sleep.

(Artwork by M-LukaART on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 5 - DRUID 5

5th level Druids get third level spells. As a Grasslands Druid you get Daylight and Haste innately: bright lights and fast movement aren’t typical for a dream, but Haste is a really good spell and Lillia moves faster when hitting her abilities. (Probably better to give Haste to someone else though.)

You can also prepare third level spells like Speak with Plants to speak with Mother Tree. Is this spell highly situational? Yes. Can you swap out spells as you please as a Druid? Also yes. Do you have to follow this guide point-for-point? No; make your own Lillia!

I should also mention that by this point your cantrips start to scale, but Shillelagh doesn’t. So now would be a good time for me to tell you about our Lord and Savior Primal Savagery. (As well as its more well-known cousin Thunderclap, which is loud as hell but hits in an AoE.)

LEVEL 6 - DRUID 6

6th level Land Druids get Land’s Stride, allowing them to move through difficult terrain without expending extra movement and move through nonmagical plants without taking damage. Additionally you gain advantage against magical plants made to slow you down. Isn’t this literally the Ranger’s 8th level ability? Yes it is; good thing we won’t be taking levels in Ranger.

You can also prepare another spell and I’m going to hop back to second level for Healing Spirit, which is just a really good spell even after its eratta nerfs. Maybe you picked up a Redemption? Who knows.

LEVEL 7 - DRUID 7

7th level Druids can prepare 4th level spells. As a Grasslands Druid you get Divination and Freedom of Movement innately, to see around the world in your dreams and to be able to pop a Quicksilver Sash in a pinch.

You can also invoke Mother Tree with the spell Guardian of Nature. If you take the form of a Great Tree you gain 10 temporary hitpoints, you make Constitution saves (such as Concentration checks!) with Advantage, you make Dexterity and Wisdom-based attacks with Advantage (such as literally all your attacks!), and the area within 15 feet of you is difficult terrain.

You could also take the form of a Primal Beast for +10 movement speed, greater Darkvision, advantage on Strength attacks, and more damage with your melee attacks. Now would be a good time to mention that spells carry over even if you Wildshape, so you can use them to boost your combat skills as an animal if you so desire.

LEVEL 8 - DRUID 8

Speaking of Wildshape: 8th level Druids get Wildshape Improvements, allowing them to turn into a beast of CR 1 with no restrictions on the Beast’s ability to run, swim, or fly! There aren’t many deer at CR 1, but you could dream that you’re a Dire Wolf. Or a Giant Eagle!

You also get an Ability Score Improvement and now would be a good time to increase your Wisdom for stronger spells. You’ve gotten some practice so you can’t be meek anymore!

With the Wisdom increase you can now prepare two more spells! Hallucinatory Terrain will let you send your foes to a dreamscape, where things aren’t always as they seem. For your other spell there isn’t much to take at 4th level, so I’m going to suggest hopping all the way back to first level for a good old-fashioned Cure Wounds.

LEVEL 9 - DRUID 9

At 9th level you can prepare 5th level spells, and as a Grasslands Druid you learn the Insect Plague spell innately as well as the spell Dream; finally another spell to sleep on! This is honestly the main reason we opted for Grassland Druid, but the other innate spells we got are good to.

You can also prepare a spell such as Commune with Nature to ask Mother Tree for guidance. Even though this is a 5th level spell it is a Ritual, so you can spend some time to speak to the trees if need-be.

LEVEL 10 - DRUID 10

10th level Land Druids get Nature’s Ward, making them immune to Charming or Frightening effects from Elementals or Fae, and making them immune to poison and disease. You’re a dream blossom that was brought to life so naturally you can’t catch a cold. But don’t let it stop you from sneezing adorably!

You can also prepare another spell and we’ll be taking Wrath of Nature from 5th level for all sorts of powerful effects when Mother Tree gets angry! You can also learn another cantrip but at this point we’ve gotten most of the cantrips we would need. Perhaps Gust to choose where the wind blows the dream petals?

LEVEL 11 - DRUID 11

11th level Druids can prepare 6th level spells and while you stop gaining innate spells as a Land Druid you can still make a garden on the fly with Druid Grove. There’s a lot to the spell that I highly recommend reading yourself because if I copy-pasted everything this one level would be huge.

LEVEL 12 - DRUID 12

12th level Druids get another Ability Score Improvement: increase your Wisdom further for the strongest connection to Mother Tree possible.

You can also prepare another two spells thanks to the Wisdom increase and the level increase: Sunbeam is a bit of a rude wake-up call, forcing creatures in a 60 foot line to make a Constitution save or take 6d8 Radiant Damage.

Heroes’ Feast meanwhile lets everyone sit down and enjoy themselves during the Blossom Festival! You conjure a feast that takes an hour to eat, and those who partake are cured of all poisons / diseases, becomes immune to poison and being frightened, and makes all Wisdom saving throws with advantage. Their hit point maximum also increases by 2d10, and it gains the same number of hit points. These benefits last for 24 hours, so if you all have a nice dinner before going to bed it guarantees sweet dreams and a great day to come tomorrow!

(Artwork by HazielWishmaster on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 13 - DRUID 13

13th level Druids can prepare 7th level spells, and while there are a lot of fun ones feel free to Reverse Gravity since the laws of physics can be weird in a dream. This spell makes everyone fall upwards which is pretty straightforward in my opinion, but feel free to read the spell over to figure out how exactly it works.

LEVEL 14 - DRUID 14

14th level Land Druids are protected by Nature’s Sanctuary. When a beast or plant creature attacks you, they must make a Wisdom saving throw against your Druid spell save DC. On a failed save, the creature must choose a different target, or the attack automatically misses. On a successful save, the creature is immune to this effect for 24 hours. The creature knows that you are Mother Tree’s chosen before it attacks you, however.

You can also prepare another spell but I’d actually suggest going back to earlier levels for a hop, skip, and a Jump to triple your jump distance. Am I just suggesting this because you get a boat load of spells and not nearly enough spell slots? Yup, but you’re a prepared caster so pick what you want!

LEVEL 15 - DRUID 15

15th level Druids can cast 8th level spells. There are a lot of great ones at this level but Antipathy/Sympathy is your best choice to keep your garden safe. I suggest reading the spell over in full to see what it can do because it’s rather hard to explain without copy-pasting the description.

LEVEL 16 - DRUID 16

16th level Druids get an Ability Score Improvement: you can either increase your Constitution for better health and a better Ray of Frost, or invest in some Feats if you so desire.

You can also prepare another spell and you know that moment that your dad opens the curtains even though you could get another 10 minutes of sleep in? Well you can recreate that with Sunburst, a bright flash of light that does a hella-lot of damage to everyone’s eyes.

LEVEL 17 - DRUID 17

17th level Druids can prepare the mighty 9th level spell! Shapechange will let your dreams shape you into whatever creature you want to be. Want to be a dragon? Go ahead! A god? That’s an option! (Well, a Celestial anyways.) An ooze? Weird choice, but sure!

LEVEL 18 - DRUID 18

18th level Druids get Beast Spells, allowing them to cast spells while in Wild Shape! Yeah it’s kinda dumb that you have to wait until 18th level to use your core class feature while using your other core class feature, but now there’s practically no downside to Wildshaping! (Except that you can’t provide Material components to cast spells while Wildshaped.) Additionally time moves slower in your dreams as you gain a Timeless Body, only aging 1 year for every 10 years that pass. That way you can spend as much time as possible with Mother Tree!

You can also prepare another spell at this level but at this point you can prepare so many spells I’m inclined to just tell you to pick what you want. You have every Druid spell at your disposal I’m sure you’ll find something.

LEVEL 19 - DRUID 19

19th level Druids get another Ability Score Improvement and again: CON if you want health, Feats if you want feats.

LEVEL 20 - DRUID 20

At level 20 you officially become an Archdruid. As an Archdruid you can Wildshape an infinite number of times, and you ignore all the components of a spell unless they have a gold cost.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

The magic is within you - You essentially chose “the Wizard” subclass for Druid, giving you access to tons of spells and the ability to refresh your spells akin to a Wizard.

Oh! Hello bird! - You are a friend of the forest. Plants and animals will be careful when attacking you, and no manipulation of nature can slow you down! And as a centaur spells meant to stop humans don’t affect you either!

Look who's blooming now - So let’s talk about the Archdruid capstone... Firstly: Wildshaping gives you Temporary hitpoints, and you can Wildshape an infinite number of times. Henceforth you have infinite hitpoints? Secondly the fact that you ignore the components when casting a spell means no one can counterspell you!

CONS

Better a sleepy head than a sleepy heart - You have 25 prepared spells and 10 extra innate spells from your subclass, but only a limited number of spell slots to cast them with. There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.

Eeeep! I mean... eep. - While none of them are negative (thankfully) your stats other than your Wisdom are rather lacking. Your Strength in particular is very lacking which makes your centaur hooves rather unappealing.

It's the dream's turn to sleep - Much like in League your ability to actually put people to sleep as “the dream champion” is extremely limited. You gain the ability to cast it again on a short rest yes, but you can only cast the sleep spell at level 1, and it will quickly lose its potency.

But yes: one of your downsides is literally “you are too good.” You’re basically a Wizard who doesn’t have to do anything to cast their spells, and can turn into a bear; what a dream that would be! Be the blossom that blooms into a fully grown tree, and connect the world with their dreams again. Just watch out for ganks and stay away from e621; eep!

(Artwork by kukuruyo - WARNING: NSFW ARTIST)

[pokegeek151]

Word-of-the-day writing challenge - 3/3/21

cromulent. adj. acceptable or legitimate.

(This is a continuation of a piece I had already started, so it is a full story instead of just a snippet.)

“Should I have worn something less conspicuous?” Nith asked, fiddling with the sleeves of her purple robe. 

“Maybe,” Heysel said absently. He was only half listening to Nith’s rambling, focusing more on the hushed conversations happening in the waiting room around them. He wasn’t looking for work here, but old habits die hard.

“What about my signet? Should I hide it? I might be recognized, which could disrupt your plan here. What is your plan here? Do we need a plan?”

“It’s probably too late about the ring,” he said. “Her secretary already saw it.”

“What about everyone else? Do you think I will be attacked? Or harassed? Will someone follow us and try to attack me when I am most vulnerable?” she pressed.

Heysel sighed. “If you’re so worried, tuck it into your shirt.”

She took his advice, slipping the heavy ring on its chain under her collar. “Am I safe here?”

“Are you planning on arresting anyone?”

“No.”

“Then you’re fine.” He shot a glare at someone who was moving a little too close, and they stepped back. “You aren’t exactly everyone’s favorite visitor, but hurting a princess would cause too many problems.”

“I am awed by their kindness,” Nith said flatly.

Before Nith could launch into her diatribe about how she is not technically a princess, the door the secretary had vanished behind earlier opened. “She is willing to see you,” the secretary said as he held the door open for them.

Heysel nodded in acknowledgment and pulled Nith into the room with him before she could start asking more questions and drawing further attention to them.

Heysel gave himself a moment to take in the office as the door latched behind them. Though it wasn’t barren, the office wasn’t intensely decorated. Heysel knew from experience that the most visually interesting items were displayed on the wall behind them, though there were a couple paintings on the other walls. The bookshelf behind the desk had a couple rows of varied tomes and old ledgers with the occasional artifact to break up the monotony. The desk itself and the chair it came with were the most ornate objects in the room - richly colored, elegantly carved hardwood. An almost intimidating furniture piece that matched the woman who used it and outclassed the relatively simple chairs set out for visitors.

“Hello, Ophi,” Heysel said, bowing slightly to the dragonborn woman sitting in the high backed chair. As he straightened, he let his hood fall back off his head, though he kept his mask around his lower face. “It’s good to see you.”

Ophi studied him for a moment before breaking out into a huge grin, causing her bronze scales to catch the light in an almost mesmerizing way. “Heysel Lonefield, as I live and breathe! How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”

“Quite a while. Sorry I vanished without saying goodbye.”

“Everyone thought you were dead, kid,” she said, much too cheerfully. “I wasn’t sure. I knew you, you were one of the best we had even though you were barely old enough to drink. They almost had me convinced, though, because I knew you wouldn’t just leave without saying something unless you had a damned good reason, wouldn’t you?” 

Heysel kept his cool as she looked him in the eye and the air started to buzz with building static. “Of course.”

Ophi leaned back, and the static faded. “But time waits for no one, not even possible traitors. You were either dead, or you really didn’t want to be found. Either way, you weren’t causing me trouble, so you were no longer worth my time.” She flashed him another winning smile. “But now you’re back home! With a princess on your arm, no less.” Nith elbowed him lightly. “What have you been up to, Heysel Lonefield?”

“It’s a long story. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“I’m sure I will be absolutely enthralled by your tale. But first, introduce me to your friend,” Ophi said. “She doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would know me.”

Heysel glanced at Nith, gauging her reaction, before turning back to Ophi. “Nith, this is Ophifaeth Myirjaar, a...former employer of mine.”

“Your pronunciation has degraded during your time in exile,” Ophi chastised lightly. “We’ll work on it. You can call me Ophi, my dear,” she said to Nith.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Myirjaar.” Though Heysel’s accent wasn’t as bad as Ophi made it seem, Nith’s was much cleaner, clearly a product of study.

“You are Nith Starglory, yes?” Ophi asked. “I would hate to embarrass myself if I was wrong.” Nith barely got out a noise of affirmation before Ophi continued. “I thought so. You have an air of nobility.”

“And your secretary saw her signet,” Heysel added wryly.

Ophi’s ability to smile and glare at the same time had always confused and astounded Heysel, and the wonder had not faded in his time away. 

“Please, sit, both of you. I’ll have Rehsir bring in some tea, and you can tell me about why you left without finishing the jobs you had picked up from me.” She tapped on a small stone on her desk. “Rehsir, we’re going to be a while. Move any meetings back and bring us some tea when you have a minute.”

Heysel lowered himself into one of the chairs facing the desk as Nith started bouncing excitedly on her toes. “Is that a sending stone?” she asked. “Is it enhanced? It seems frivolous to use it to send that sort of message if you only get one per day, and you do not seem like a frivolous person, so it is probably an enhanced stone, correct?”

Despite the limits of her facial structure, Ophi managed to shift her eyebrow ridge in a way that conveyed amusement. “It is indeed. Cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth it to not have to stand up every time I need to ask poor Rehsir a question. You study magic, yes? Youngest Starglory, hidden away in your tower. What brings you all the way to my office?”

“I came here with Heysel.”

Ophi propped her chin on her hands. “And how did you two end up together? The young princess and the little thief who has barely aged in fifty years?” Heysel’s hands curled into fists in his lap. Ophi smirked. “I may age slower than you humans, but I own a calendar.”

The door opened as Rehsir, the secretary, carried in a tray with cups and a teapot. He placed it wordlessly on the desk and slipped out. Ophi lifted the pot and began to pour for the three of them. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Heysel waited until Nith sat and Ophi finished serving to begin. “It seems ridiculous to ask that you keep this all under wraps,” he said.

“It sounds ridiculous. I wouldn’t dream of revealing your trick. It might encourage others to do the same,” she said, winking.

“I doubt it would,” Heysel said, “but I appreciate your discretion.”

“You’re killing me with this suspense, Heysel.”

“Right. Sorry.” He didn’t start immediately, though.

Nith wasn’t sure where to focus her attention. Ophi was an unknown variable in this situation, but she was still learning to read Heysel. Heysel finally began his explanation as she settled on watching him and monitoring Ophi out of the corner of her eye.

“I was...taken. By Maple. My other main employer,” he clarified.

“Yes, I think I remember her. I don’t believe we ever met, but she pulled some of my freelance workers occasionally.” She sounded bitter still.

“It was all a front. She was trying to lure me in.”

“You specifically?”

“Me specifically. She is not what she appeared to be. She is a noble in the fey courts, and she has been...cultivating me since before I was born.” He did not meet Ophi’s eyes.

Ophi was quiet for a moment, and the air felt heavy with the thrum of electricity, like the minutes before a storm. “How did you escape?”

“Nith broke the geas,” he said, finally looking up. He lightly traced the outline of the tattoo.

“I was wondering about that,” she muttered. She did not examine the mark further, however. Nor did she question Nith. “How old are you now?” she asked instead, almost tenderly.

“Nearly thirty,” he said softly.

“Ten years with them,” she said, quietly amazed. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“I came here as a courtesy,” Heysel said, forcing calm into his voice as he bluntly shifted the topic. “I don’t plan on working for you anymore, at least not for a while. I know you would have heard about my presence in the city, so I decided to come to you so you could hear the story directly from me. Save the rumor mill some trouble. Besides,” he added, a wry smile touching his features beneath the mask, “now you won’t have to send some of your workers to track me down.”

Ophi didn’t say anything, and the tension was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. This was the breaking point; if Ophi did not accept Heysel’s reason for his absence, it was possible neither of them would leave the building alive.

But Heysel didn’t seem worried, at least not about this. After a few moments of tense silence that he thought might have been theatrics, Ophi smiled warmly. 

“Welcome home, Heysel Lonefield. Give your father my regards.”

Nith let out a quiet breath, and Heysel realized he’d forgotten about her for a few minutes. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I will.”

“Drink your tea, Heysel. You’ll feel better,” Ophi said. He hadn’t touched his cup.

He took an obliging sip. It was a high quality blend, and once he had the caffeine in his system, his nerves began to ease. He had always been scared, awed really, by Ophi, and even ten years and what felt like a lifetime of constant danger later, he was still influenced by the way he’d felt as a teenager.

“It’s very good,” Nith said, easily taking over the conversation now that it had returned to small talk. “Where is it from?”

Heysel idly listened to their chatter until his tea was gone and his heartrate had settled. “Thank you again, Ophi,” he said, standing up. “I wish you good health.” He wished he could remember the expression in Draconic. It felt right.

Nith hurriedly stood as well. “Good health,” she said.

Ophi nodded appreciatively. “Good health to you both. Don’t be a stranger, Heysel,” she said, then, without ceremony, returned to the paperwork she had been studying before they came in.

Heysel guided Nith out of the office and through the lobby, waving to Rehsir on their way past. He did not let go of her arm until they were well down the street and Heysel no longer felt the eyes of Ophi’s entire company on his back.

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Size of Hope

(also on ao3)

Mordon isn’t certain what to make of the fairy tale king his goblin friends captured, and King Graham has no idea what to make of the huge and clumsy goblin who keeps running into his path. The two warily team up, but neither one belongs in the goblin kingdom, and some pain runs deeper than either expects.

(Gen canon-expansion fic putting scrapped fragments from the subtitle file back into the game. Full fic warnings: bruising, canon-typical violence, self-hatred, abuse, Goblins Do Not Make Good Friends)

~*~*~

3/5

(1: Seen)(2: Found)(3: Buried)

~*~*~

Some of the castle tunnels could carry sounds quite far, Graham realized. It made him uneasy. He could hear all sorts of things as they walked. He could hear low murmurs of other goblins (hopefully far away), could hear water dripping down and splashing into hidden underground pools, could hear the chittering chirp of those glowing salamanders as they scampered over walls. He was aware of how his boots rang against the stone, like that noise could pin him down as something that didn’t belong.

It perhaps wasn’t surprising that he heard the voice, then, since he was listening so carefully to shifting shadows. The voice itself, though, that was surprising, and he stopped, heart pounding in his throat.

Was that…Manny?

Positively inconceivable. Absolutely not. And yet. And yet, Graham had always known Manny had something to do with the kidnapping, hadn’t he? Or at least, suspected it, and this might be the proof he needed. He didn’t know why Manny would be here, didn’t know who he would be talking to, but it was certainly his lilting voice, coy and snide and manipulative, echoing gently along this side tunnel. Mordon and Graham had just passed it—it wasn’t on the way to the goblin king, it wasn’t important, but suddenly Graham very much wanted to see what was on the other end of it.

He glanced at Mordon. Suppose Graham did find Manny in these tunnels. Suppose he did confront him. This might be his only chance to do so, assuming Manny was really here and Graham wasn’t just imagining things. But if Mordon was with him, if Mordon saw Manny, if Manny had wrapped the goblins in that deceitful web of his…things could go wrong, fast.

Graham didn’t want Mordon to have to choose between loyalties. Especially because Graham thought he would probably lose that fight.

And, quietly, he wanted to keep Mordon as far away from Manny as possible anyway. He felt a curious need to keep the little (okay, not so little) goblin from that treacherous knight and his lies. Silly, perhaps. But if there was a chance their paths hadn’t crossed before, there wasn’t any reason to subject Mordon to that sort of manipulation.

Right. That’s an easy decision. Give it up, Graham. You’ve got more important things to worry about. Your friends need you. The Feys won’t make it another day and you know it. Find the king. Don’t get distracted. Find the king.

But…but hearing that voice had sent a horrible crackle down his spine. Made him think of things lost.

Wouldn’t seeing Manny be proof enough? He wouldn’t need to confront the knight, he would just need to see. And then he would know. The not knowing was the problem. Graham couldn’t act on a suspicion, not even against Manny: he couldn’t live with himself if he was somehow wrong. The question of who would do this to him, who would try to kill him in such a cruel, calculating way—he had to know.

Decision made.

“Stay here,” Graham said. “I’ll be right back.”

“What?” Mordon looked startled, even with the mask. Horrified, even.

“Stay here,” Graham repeated. “I’ve got to do something. I’ll be right back.”

“You…you’re leaving me?”

“Just for a minute.”

“No!” Mordon’s hands clawed at his helmet, like he was going to rip it off, before dropping them again.

“Mordon….” Oh, no, what have I done, he’s going to jump me, this is it, I’ve ruined everything.

“No one wants Mordon. Everyone always leaves.” Mordon was choking back tears, and he curled into himself even further, smaller and smaller, and his arms were covering his head like he was being attacked. “I am always left. No one wants me. I…I’m a monster.”

“Oh! Oh, no, no, that’s not it,” Graham said, relief slumping his shoulders. He tried that smile, the smile that Mordon seemed to like so much, and he knelt at Mordon’s level. He deserves better. “Mordon, it’s okay. Stay calm. I don’t think you’re a monster. You’re helping me, and I appreciate that, really. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back.”

“Promise?” Mordon snuffled.

“I promise.” Without thinking, he reached out and touched Mordon’s bruised arm, the lightest of affirmations, and then he turned and hurried down the side tunnel, leaving the goblin stunned and silent and alone.

~*~*~

Somehow, being alone added a whole new level of stress. Graham padded cautiously down the hall, pressed as close to the wall as possible. At least with Mordon, they could have pretended like he was being escorted somewhere by a guard. Now, though, it was abundantly clear that he was escaping.

The tunnel felt deserted. He couldn’t hear his “best friend” anymore. Maybe Manny had left, or had never been there in the first place, and this was a fool’s errand. He pushed on, wary of every soft sound.

The pale colors of the illuminated salamanders and mushrooms started to give way to a warmer, more familiar sort of light. Flickering torchlight brightened the tunnel with each step, until he found himself at the entrance to a library. Empty of anything but books and stories. Long banners hung from the shelves with illustrations from favored tales.

He was disappointed and desperately relieved at the same time.

In the center of the room stood a pedestal with what seemed like a special book on it. It was marked as some sort of prize winner, and Graham, after considering his options, stepped forward to have a look, curious about what goblins would treasure so highly.

He was startled to realize that he recognized it. When he had first been captured and brought into this underground kingdom, he had stood before some goblin in a rather impressive hat (a goblin Graham suspected might be more important than he’d assumed at the time). The goblin had compared Graham to this book—compared the real king of Daventry to the little illustrated king.

Idly, Graham flicked pages, skimming the story. He thought he recognized pieces of it. It described a kingdom overrun with rats, and a useless king who did nothing but make wishes to get rid of them without looking for any real solutions. And when a solution magically appeared, the town made eager promises to their savior and then failed to deliver on any of them. Justifiably, the whole village was magically stolen away by the piper with an enchanting flute….

Graham remembered the flute playing goblin.

He could picture the goblin standing on the rooftops of Daventry’s town, trilling and dancing like the piper in the illustrations. He wouldn’t forget it in a hurry—that goblin had cracked the flute over Graham’s head during the kidnapping. And here, the same flute, played during a similar kidnapping.

He gaped at the page, at the illustrated villagers vanishing into the caves. This person looked like Bramble. That one might be Chester, in the right light. And the one over on this page was wearing what could be Amaya’s blacksmithing apron. His stomach dropped, and he felt a clammy chill crawl across his skin.

With a shaking hand, he turned back to the front of the book, to the title page he had cheerfully ignored just a minute ago.

Written and illustrated by…Manny.

“Once, in a town just like the one you’re imagining, there was a beautiful castle that stood high on a hill.”

Graham’s hand curled into a fist.

Manny had known exactly what to do, had written a story with just enough injustice to incite the story-obsessed goblins to action. Of course they would want to play out this story, this entertaining tale, and punish the sly villagers who didn’t respect the piper.

And Manny wouldn’t have to do a thing once this story was written. He could sit back and watch as the goblins had their fun. And, to them, it was fun. Graham had seen dozens of examples of playacting by now. Even though they took it completely seriously, even though they hoped some magic would flourish and the frog would transform into a prince, it was still a game. He was still just a toy.

And if they forgot to feed their toy—or, more accurately, if someone broke the food supply line—the goblins wouldn’t notice or care. Graham was a character to tip out of a box and throw away when they got bored. Like the goblin they’d locked in a room to play Rumpelstiltskin until he could spin straw to gold, that poor skeleton he’d found hidden away and forgotten with nothing but a rusted spinning wheel and a towering pile of hay. Not flesh and blood to goblins in the midst of their play. Magic and words.

He closed the book with a thump. So, Manny was fighting with stories.

I can do that, too. I’m good at telling stories.

A story got them in this mess. A story might get them out again.

But he needed to be sure he could do it right. That he could weave the same magic that the goblins loved so much. He went to the shelves. If these books were elevated, kept here in a royal library, they were probably best to replicate as he spun his own. He’d only have one chance at this.

He was still feeling jangled and raw, so when he pulled out the first book and found it had nothing to do with fairy tales, he swore. He didn’t have a lot of time, and a book detailing various goblin pranks was hardly useful. He glanced at some illustration of baby swapping between humans and goblins, and angrily dropped the book, desperate to find something more helpful. Changeling stories were not what he wanted.

Changeling stories. He stomped across the room, muttering under his breath as he searched for something more useful than changeli—

He froze.

Changeling stories.

If Mordon would stand up straight…

Graham whirled, cloak swirling around him. The book had fallen open to that drawing of a human and a goblin exchanging places. His heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he almost didn’t notice the sounds of approaching goblins, but at the last possible instant he realized he was about to have company. He could hear the squeak of a door opening somewhere in the room. (What door? The room didn’t have a door, did it?)

There wasn’t time to get the book. He dove behind a reading desk, hands pressed over his mouth, cloak wrapped around his knees, out of sight and silent. He hoped.

Goblin footsteps were light and quick. Their leather-wrapped feet made practically no sound on the stone floor as they walked, but their stone armor made some scraping noises so he could sort of track where they were in the room.

There were multiple goblins, he thought. At least two.

This is it. I’m going to be caught.

They were coming closer to his hiding place. They were talking happily amongst themselves, and then they were suddenly silent, and Graham thought, Zards, they know something’s wrong. They’ve seen something. I’m dead. And if he was dead, his friends were, too. They wouldn’t get out of this, and he hadn’t even had a chance to try.

Someone leaned against the desk.

He pressed his hands harder against his mouth. He didn’t dare breathe. Everything seemed completely frozen, except for his heart, which wouldn’t stop racing. It was going to give him away: they would hear it thundering in his chest, how could they not…?

And then they were walking away, laughing again. They meandered down the hall, pushing each other and tripping each other and causing trouble.

Hours passed—or, more likely, a minute or two—before Graham eased himself from his hiding place. He inhaled sharp and desperate, lungs aching, knees like jelly, dizzy and weak and pathetic. He couldn’t make himself stand yet. He willed his nerves to calm again, feeling the ghostly imprint of his own fingertips where he’d pressed them against his cheeks.

He noticed the room was different—subtly, in a way he might not have noticed were he not sitting still. He blinked, shook his head, focused. Realized. When he’d entered the library, he’d been sure it was a dead end, but now he could see that one of the bookcases was slightly ajar—a secret door, like that out of a mystery story. Just open a crack, barely noticeable. The goblins had probably meant to close it behind them but hadn’t pressed hard enough.

And the book about the goblin pranks, the changeling story, was no longer on the floor. Not back in its place on the shelf. Gone with the goblins, and Graham wondered if he’d seen it in the first place or if his nervous mind, twisted up with stories and ideas, had conjured it from nowhere and taken it away again.

Briefly, selfishly, he wished it was the latter. But the secret sat in his gut, gnawing his empty stomach. A shroud of stone. A size that didn’t fit.

And that…that…

I need to get back to Mordon, he thought. But...what can I possibly say? What if I’m wrong? What might he do? What can I do?

Manny might still be here. Might be down that secret tunnel. Graham’s initial reason for coming down this path was still viable. And the delay might also give him the time to find the words he needed. He risked losing everything here, he knew. Every step he took could lead him to safety. Or to something deadly. Lives were depending on him making the right choice. Not getting distracted, not taking unnecessary risks. Bramble, Wente, Amaya, Chester, Muriel, the Merchant, Mr. Fancycakes, and now…

Now someone else might need him, too.

[taomega20writings]

"Hi! I'm Gorlan Fortonen. You are really pretty!"

A boy, human, maybe ten years old, ran over to me. His family had built a home over the hill. Some knight who won a battle or saved a noble or some such reason. His family was given land and had a home made in it.

The boy saw me tending the trees in the forest around us, and decided to run over.

"Thank you little one. You are quite handsome yourself. You will be a good and artful man, I think." The boys build was too thin to be very strong. Not weak, but he won't be lifting wood beams and the like. No his build is one of a finer Craftsman.

The boy smiled at my words, bright and sweet.

I knelt down next to him, smiling kindly.

"You should head back, your parents might worry."

The boy smiled and nodded. As he turned and started to run I called again.

"Your family may have the hill, and the way to the road, but remember to be kind to the trees and their creatures. Do that and they will be kind to you."

The boy paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he walked over to a tree and gave it a kiss.

I couldn't help the laugh that came to me. This boy is certainly interesting. I think I will like my neighbors. Maybe they won't mind a forest elf neighbor.

................

"Heara! Hearaaa!" The voice was masculine, but still a higher pitch than his father.

"I'm up here Gorlan! I was trying to sketch the foxes. But there was a loud noise that chased them off." I eyed him. Knowing he would blush. He was cute when he blushed. Still young though, barely fourteen.

"S-sorry Heara, I was just excited to see you." He shifted his feet as he was talking, embarrassed, but still eager.

"What has you so excited this early in the morning?" I asked, coming down from the branch I was sitting on.

"I'll always be amazed at how graceful you are." That brought a smile to my lips. He always looked in awe of me, even when I was doing mundane things.

"It is just me, I'm not even that talented among elves."

"And yet you embody grace and beauty in my mind." He had a soft smile as he said that, somewhere between endearment and fondness. I have yet to place it exactly.

"You only say that because you've been calling me pretty since we first met." I smiled as he got more embarrassed.

"Yeah, well, you still are really pretty." He mumbled it under his breath, but I still caught it.

"Well, you came down to tell me something. What is it?"

He perked up again, his bright smile back. "Oh yeah! My parents have noticed how you keep the trees healthy, and the animals well. They have invited you to dinner with them!"

That peaked my interest. "Really? They invited me?"

He faltered a bit. "Well, not specifically you, but they said they wanted to meet the forest keeper."

That sounds about right.

"So you want to introduce me?"

"Well, yeah. You have been my friend for years now, is it that odd?"

I take a moments pause.

"No, I guess not. Did you have a time in mind?"

"Yeah, tonight!"

................

"You know they wouldn't want you to loose yourself like this."

Gorlan had just gotten back to his home. It had grown since he was a kid. Leading a revolution required more than a wooden home, even if it was a rather large one.

"They can't want anything. They are gone."

I stormed over to him and stuck my finger in his face.

"Don't you dare spit on their memory like that. I have tended to their graves while you have been off trying your damnedest to get yourself killed! I know you are hurt, and I know you wish they were still here, but throwing yourself into fight after fight isn't going to help." I was shaking. Huh, I guess I had been bottling some things up too.

I heard a sniff and looked up. Tears were streaming from his eyes freely.

I wrapped my arms around him right as I started crying too.

They were amazing friends of mine, and their king had let them die. Gorlan had every right to be upset and angry. And from how his revolution is going it was past due the king was dethroned. But I don't want to loose Gorlan. He is the last friend I have.

I don't want to be alone anymore.

..................

They made him king.

He absolutely hated it, and he lets the council know every chance he gets. They say it lets them know he isn't corrupt.

I hate that it means we can't be together. At least publicly.

Elves and humans can't have kids together, and it is expected that a king and his queen have kids.

I suppose that means he should be getting a human wife.

I know he never will. Stubborn, lovable fool.

My stubborn, lovable fool.

.............

He is old now. So very old.

Sometimes he forgets the names of his friends. Or how long he has known them.

He never forgets me though, and I thank the gods for that. They have a new king, and this castle is left to my Gorlan.

It is still very small for a castle. Only two stories.

I know that soon I will have to bury him.

I don't know how I will live with him gone.

..................

The courtyard is quiet today. The birds heading away for winter.

I make sure there is still timber in the guest house. Then that the doors to the castle are still locked.

I head out to the graves behind the castle.

There is someone there. They are looking at the tombstones.

I walk next to them and kneel in front of the stones.

They startle a bit before calming themselves.

"Hello, sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm Jacqueline. I was just looking at these headstones. They don't look as old as the dates on them and I was wracking my brain to try and figure why."

I turn towards her and tilt my head. "I've had to replace them a few times. Sometimes a kid gets in and decides to break it, sometimes it's a bad year and one cracks. But most of the time it's just old age."

"Old age? But you can't be more than thirty years old."

I lift my hood and let my eyes glow with my inherited magic.

"Elves tend to live a while, you know."

I expected her to run. Most do when they come across a 'fey warrior' as we've come to be known. Stupid kids thinking fighting a war would be fun.

She didn't though. Run that is. She looked in awe.

"So you knew them?" She has a bright smile. So much like his was.

"Yes, I knew them well." I run my hand along the top of His headstone. "He was my love."

She sobered at that. "I appologise, I didn't mean to bring up anything painful-"

"You are fine. This was centuries ago. Long before people started calling me the Keeper. Silly title that, just because I tend the place doesn't mean I need a title."

"Well, they think you are a ghost."

"A ghost? Really?"

"Yeah, you do the same thing most days, and people are usually too scared to talk to you. Those that do only talk about weird feelings and glowing eyes."

"Well I'm not a ghost. And I'd like to think that I'm not that scary."

"You aren't, you just have a powerful aura about you."

"Interesting. But enough of me. What brought you to my home?"

"I was hoping to learn a bit about the history here. Not many books talk of it, but the ones that do say it was important for a time."

Have people really forgotten?

I look again to the girl. I see much of my Gorlan in her. Is this what a child of ours could have looked like?

"Would you like to know the story?"

...

[tenecity]

from haters to lovers; lin yanjun

from haters to lovers—a series where nine percent and you have the cliche, typical love story

au; highschool

cr. @aestheticninepercent i juST HAD TO ADD THIS IN its so prettyyyy bub ure a genius

[AT THE START]

You hated playboys. Like you absolutely hate them. You think they are detestable. I mean, they literally go around, leading other people on, enticing others with their enchanting looks and the later on, turn from the angel to the devil and break people’s hearts. I mean hello?? We’re in 2018?? Some respect for others’ feelings please??? They never take relationships seriously; everything is just a fling for them. But have they ever considered the fact that some people emotionally invest in relationships??? This world isn’t always cruel and cold; people have feelings too, people have emotions too, and playing with their heartstrings like a puppeteer isn’t what a decent human being should do.

Hence why you hate Lin Yanjun. He is literally

playboy

ˈpleɪbɔɪ/

noun

      Lin Yanjun

He is the Original™ playboy of the school, that one heartbreaker that everyone doesn’t want to fall for, but eventually falls for, gets broken and moves on from. Everytime he opens his locker or looks under his desk, there is at least 5 love letters waiting for him to read but they are never read because he just glances at them, waits for them to pile up, and then at the end of each term, he throws them into the rubbish bin. You have seen him do it. And it makes your blood boil.

So yes, you absolutely hate Lin Yanjun. Not popular opinion, especially since at least 90% of the girls in school pine for him, 9.9% of them have boyfriends so technically they can’t pine for him (although you have seen boys crying at the rooftops because their girlfriends had been stolen by Yanjun) and then there is the 0.1%, which is just basically you, who shows no interest whatsoever for that idiot.

“Oh my god!!! Lin Yanjun!!!” The girls screamed as they all crowd around the volleyball court and watch the said boy play. Honestly, it’s not like he is a very good player. Average, at best? You scoff when you hear the screams go off again and drop of your bag. “Y/n!” Your captain calls you. “Decided to take a break from studying?” You shrug and smile cheekily at him, playfully hitting his arm. “Closet mugger, you don’t get to say that to me.” Picking up the other edge of the net,, you head over to the court and helped Zhengting set it up. You hooked the ends up to the pole and asked “Zhengting, you’re not seriously considering Yanjun as a main player, right?” “Why not?” He questions as he tugs the string to pull the net up. “Because, he is a terrible player.” You say it in a matter-of-factly way.

“He is, quite unfortunately, not a bad player. You have a bias! That’s why. Don’t give that pout now. Go and join the team and start warming up.” He says as he rolls your eyes at you, knowing full well how you hate Yanjun; and he secretly agrees. Whether it is because Yanjun had kissed his girlfriend during last year’s Christmas party, it doesn’t matter. At least there is one person in the school is clearly not blinded by the stunts Yanjun pulls.

You get on the opposite team, fist bumping your teammates. Yanjun is at the edge of the court, a smirk on his face as he throws the ball up and sends it flying over the net. Ziyi hits it back perfectly, catching Fei off guard and she misses it, crashing ungracefully on the floor. You can almost hear Yanjun inwardly groaning and you send him a wink as he glares back at you. 1-0, playboy.

The game continues and neither team is having a strong win. As soon as your team ends their victory hug, Yanjun’s team scores another point. And you’ve had enough; it’s now or never, you think as Xukun sets you the ball and you jump up, hand posed and you slam the ball down to the other court. You can hear Zhengting screaming “Perfect spike y/n!!!!” and you smile smugly to yourself as you land.

What you didn’t expect was to hear a body crashing to the ground and a sharp cry of pain.

[SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN]

You cross your arms as you wait outside the infirmary. It’s not your fault Lin Yanjun sucks as receiving the ball and he ended up fracturing his arm. Does he not know how to break his fall? Who the hell breaks their arm while playing volleyball?

The door opens and the doctor comes out, with Zhengting and Yanjun trailing behind him. You speechlessly bow the the doctor and look at the two. Zhengting is giving you the warning look and Yanjun… that’s weird. You thought he would be glowering at you, but he wasn’t. He just looked rather dazed, if not stunned, a deep crease between his brows and his head sometimes tilting to the left and right. You sincerely hope he didn’t hit his head.

“Y/n, y/n? Y/N!” Zhengting is nearly screaming at you when your head snaps up and stare at Zhengting. Was I staring at...Lin Yanjun this whole time? You frown at the thought. Gross. “Y/n, stop frowning, you look exactly like Yanjun. Yanjun, Yanjun, YANJUN! Hey yes brother, welcome to reality. You feeling ok? Why do you look so dazed?” Zhengting shakes Yanjun and the other’s eyes shift their gaze from you to Zhengting. “Huh….?” Zhengting rolls his eyes and looks back at you.

What? You mouth.

Apologise. He mouths back, jerking his chin at Yanjun.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you, Yanjun.” Zhengting stares at you with doubt written all over his face and Yanjun seems to snap out of whatever trance he is in and just nods. “Not your fault, I should have broken my fall better.” He says nonchalantly. “Captain, my chauffeur is here. Can I go?” He doesn’t even reply and slips from Zhengting’s hold, stalking over to his car.

“Close your mouth, y/n. You look ugly like that.” Zhengting says as he wrinkles his nose in fake disgust and walks towards the bus stop. You automatically seal your lips together. You don’t know whether you should be shocked that he didn’t even blame you for a single thing, or be further disgusted by the fact that Yanjun is not only a playboy, he is also rich. Filthy rich. I mean, who the hell calls 4 cars to bring one person home?

Zhengting puffs out some air and turns to look at you as you take a seat next to him on the bench. “Y/n, if you did that because-”

“You know I didn’t,” You idly reply back. Zhengting sighs and takes a seat next to you. “Yea, I know you didn’t…”

He sighs so hard that his shoulders slump. “I am just worried…. Because I don’t know just what his fanclub of hysterical girls will say about you.”

Zhengting is right. Those hysterical girls had spread word that you had intentionally slammed the ball down and made it impossible for Yanjun to receive. Every single girl you pass by has at least said one comment about how you’re a single loser who is just trying to get Yanjun’s attention. You close your eyes as you seat at your place, hoping that the crude comments will wash over you like water.

You hear a fist slam down on the table and you open your eyes, thinking that it was Zhengting, for he had a short temper, especially when it came to people bullying you. He hated it that you would passively allow others to push you over and taunt you. You had shrugged and just said it didn’t matter.

Well obviously, it mattered a lot to a certain Taiwanese because he is looking at you from across the classroom, the desk he had slammed slightly dented, a glint in his eyes as his irises pierce through you. Normally, such a glare wouldn’t put you off. But today, your stomach feels weird and you feel choked, words stuck in your throat.

“Are you seriously going to continue to let this bunch of giggling shits bitch about you?” You have never noticed how silky his voice was; like a lightly flowing stream, gentle and soft, but at the rocks they gush and rush and cut the edges of the hard stones. The room has fallen silent, besides the crunching sound from the edge of the classroom (probably you zhangjing). The smirks on the girls’ faces have fallen and the snark comments, dead on their lips. “I, er,” You mumble, looking at everywhere but Yanjun.

“God.” He sighs out and walks up to you, an unreadable expression on his face. The next thing you know, his hand is having an iron grip on your wrist and he is dragging you up to the rooftop, despite your protests for him to let you go.

[AT THE END OF THE DAY]

“GOD! I told you to let go, damn.” You glare at him, and snatch your hand away from him, rubbing your red wrists. He almost looks apologetic when he grabs it again, but this time, his thumb gently swipes over the red spots. Your wrists is lifted up to his face and his eyes are assessing if there was any damage done.

The sun rays hit perfectly against his angled face, giving his skin a pretty glow, the shadows casted all at the right angles and positions, accentuating his beautiful features. You tear your eyes away from him and swallow hard, praying hard that the pulsing rate of your heart wouldn’t be detected as his fingers graze over your translucent skin, where the veins are pumping with life and vigour, like the waters plummeting down the Niagara Falls.

You feel his lips ghost over your skin and out of pure reflex, you jerk your hand and simply stare at him. “What are you doing?”  “Trying to kiss your ‘injured’ wrist?” He casually replies, an eyebrow raised, as if asking why are you so startled?

The audacity of him, seriously! To actually say that out, shamelessly! Playboy syndrome perhaps.

“You look extremely cute when you blush.” The heat only flames even stronger and your cheeks burn. “So, would you rather stay here in the stairway or would you go to the rooftop?” He asks, a hand extending out to you. You take it and continue climbing up the stairs, the colour in your cheeks not dissipating as you become hyper-aware of how Yanjun’s fingers graze the inside of your palm and move stealthily to intertwine with your fingers, as if like water, flowing through your palm. Only, unlike water, the fingers anchor themselves at your knuckles and hold on tight.

“Do you plan on telling me what you want to talk to me about, or are you going to just continue staring at me like I grew another head?” You mumble out. Yanjun laughs, a tinkling one.

“Wanna know why I missed that ball you spiked, when I definitely could have received it?” He begins. You roll your eyes at the ‘I definitely could have received it’ part. “Oh, so it wasn’t because you’re a trashy player?”

He leans in, pink lips so near, you didn’t think you would have the self control to keep your hands to yourself. “Ok, ok, I get it, sorry. Now tell me why.” You awkwardly move backwards and stutter out.

“Because, when you spike,

You look so damn hot.”

“What?” You attempt to wrench your hand out of his grasp, out of pure surprise and because you want to hide your burning face in your hands. Who the hell has so much courage to say that? Well apparently, Lin Yanjun-

His name is the last thought as your hand is flipped and Yanjun’s fingers are flowing through your fingers and are intertwined with yours, gripping hard as he presses your hand against the wall. The other hand lands itself on your side and he holds you gently, but firmly. Pink lips lean in but stop just an inch near your lips, ghosting over the trembling skin, as if contemplating.

Okay, that’s it.

You lean in and press your own lips against his. His lips are chapped but surprisingly soft. They are soon slick from your tongue swiping against his, an apology for the hurt spot that had just been in between your teeth. He kisses back with equal fervor, lips capturing and recapturing yours, each suck on the lips, a needier one than the previous. His right hand releases your hand to cup your jaw, tilting it upwards as he squeezes it a little, as if he can’t have enough of you. The other hand snakes behind your back and preses you forward, flushing your body against his. You take in a breath. He smells like fresh dew on freshly cut grass and wet earth, a hint of new flowers and blossoming spring.

His lips move down to your jaw and he traces it carefully with his finger, his lips trailing right after. The kisses flow down to your neck and you bite your lip as he presses teeth prints onto your the pale skin, lips brushing over the marred skin.

Your fingers weave their way through his silk-like hair, gripping at the roots and pushing him down, clearly not having enough of him. He moves back to attack your lips; and then, a light fleeting press of the lips against your forehead that leaves you light headed. He leans his head against yours as he catches your breath.

“You are exactly like what they say. I would rate a 9/10 for kissing.” You say once he pulls away from you. He laughs. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What else do I say? Will you go out with me?” You had mindlessly said it, but as soon as the words are out of your mouth, you regret it immediately. The crease reappears on his forehead, the refreshed and youthful look disappears. “You mean, you weren’t planning on accepting my request for a date?”

You choose your words carefully, but in the end, they flow out relentless, like water bursting out from a dam. “I mean, how do I know if you’re serious about me? And come on, just a couple of days ago you hated me-”

“And you hated me too. I….” he scratches his head and huffs. “I never hated you. You… you didn’t whine for me, like all those other girls did. You didn’t suck up to me. You...were intriguing and enchanting. I…..I had a crush on you for the longest time.” You stare at him. Residential playboy has a crush on you? Impossible.

“Do you remember when you were 10? You lived in that log house temporarily, for a holiday I think. I...live in that village, and lived in the village. I was the boy who helped your aunt. But after that, you barely spared me a glance.”

“Remember when you were 12? I was that boy at the stream but after that, you… you left and never came back.” He whispers the end, the hand that had still be on your side, squeezes your hips slightly with trembling fingers, as if he was scared you would be gone again.

“But still, everyday, sneaking peeks at you from my window when you went with your aunt to the market, and seeing you wrestle the boys instead of playing with dolls, made me love you even more…” He chuckled. “You were...different. Everyone else was predictable, flowing all in the same direction. But you always went against the tide.”

“I couldn’t believe my luck, when I saw you walking through the gates on the first day of school.”

You stare at him, and searching for words, you could only say, “Lin Yanjun, you really are a hopeless romantic.”

He laughs, warm, safe and home. “Is that really all you can say?” And you chuckle back, warmth surrounding you, peace and serenity filling your entire being.

As you lean against Yanjun, you vaguely remembering doing the same thing for a little cute boy with dimples, behind the log house, at the edge of a forest stream, where the glistening water had flowed amongst the dark green trees.

—水

[BEFORE]

As a little child, you loved going to your aunt’s house. She was those few city people who grew to dislike the hustle amongst the tall buildings, and had decided to move outwards and into nature.

She created the log house herself and it was the most beautiful thing you have seen, with pretty wild flowers and vines running up the edges of the door frame, a comfortable fire in the living room and a warm bunk for you to sleep in. You loved the peace and quiet; you loved going to the village just down the narrow path, to listen to the old folks tell you acient legends and secrets.

When you were 10 or so, she had asked you to help her bring some pots up to roof. While she was bringing them in from the village to the house, a small boy, who had been bouncing a ball had come up to her and asked if she needed help, so she passed some pots to him and that’s how she brought the boy to you.

As you held the pots and glass bottles and climbed up to the roof, the boy didn’t speak a word, his eyes only following yours. It’s fine. You like the silence.

You get to the to the rooftop and pull out the dirty old cloth off the roof floor. Unbeknownst to you, when you did that, the glass pots and bottles had slipped from your hand.

The coloured glass shards fly and some fall onto the newly uncovered skylight with a clank. The boy raises his eyebrows and then furrows them together. Eyes avoiding his, you stoop down to pick up the glass shards when a hand grabs yours, stopping you from picking them up.

Head tilted up, you give him a questioning look. And for the first time his lips unseal. “Look.” He says, pointing at the house below.

The glass shards have caught some of the setting sun’s rays and were shedding red, orange, green shadows on the wooden floor.

Without another word, you take a glass bottle from the boy’s hands and break it, as he moves to arrange the broken glass pieces to cover the skylight.

You meet the boy again, when you were 12 and had gone to pick some berries with your aunt. You had wandered to the stream and were marvelling at the small but blossoming life under the crystal surface. He wasn’t too far away, standing in the middle of gushing waters and rocks, trying to catch a fish.

You sensed his presence and your eyes automatically moved from the glittery scales of the fishes to his lean figure. You find that his eyes are already on you.

“Want one?” he blurts out, pointing at the basket on the other side of the bank. “.....You give me one fish for 5 berries?” You reply. He shrugs and waddles towards you, carefully guiding you through the waters and pulling you to the other side.

Your aunt had found the two of you at the stream, talking and laughing, and had decided to leave the two of you there. She left you a lamp and a phone, before trudging back to the log house, a smile on her lips.

“There’s the constellation, Crux. I think it might just be the smallest constellation, but it’s one of the brightest.” He lies down next to you on the grass, and breathes in, enjoying the smell of wet earth.

“And?” You ask him, turning to face him, an elbow propping you up.

“And, that’s exactly like you. I’ve seen you wrestle with the boys in the village. You’re small but fast and quick. And bright, like the constellation.” His irises, almost black from the lack of light, still shine brightly in the darkness, reflecting the fleeting moonlight. It looked just like the stream’s gushing water, glittering from the reflections of the same moonlight.

And you think, he is one, the Crux, the brightest of them all.

“You’re really pretty, you know.” He almost says it idly.

Him. Is the last thought you have as he presses his lips against yours, breathing in your scent of fresh flowers, and you taking in the scent of wet earth that clings to his clothes.

That’s the last he sees of you, because the next day, you had gone back to the city. You had then moved from Taiwan to Beijing for your education. And you never saw him again.

That is of course, until now.

series

Cr. idea of broken glass shards to pg 205, 206 of “counting by 7s” by Holly Goldberg Sioan

“there’s the constellation…” line to weightless, written by johnsonzzzyc

[longsightmyth]

Chapter-by-Chapter, The Naming, Chapter 13

PELLINOR

It’s a long one again, folks. Buckle up. (warning for some weirdness with mental health later on)

Cadvan wakes Maerad in the middle of the night because a gormorant (big beastie with a scorpion tale and armor plating) goes trundling by. Thankfully it doesn’t find them, because the Bardhome is like ‘not today, buddy’. Are gormorants actual things from mythology that I have somehow missed? I would have to verify from Green Rider, but I’m pretty sure that is the name and description of a corrupted animal in there. Go figure.

The theme of sleeping outside continues for a few more days as they ride through a large forest called the Weywood: they don't light fires because they’re worried now about being followed. As they travel we get some expository worldbuilding - there are seven kingdoms, most of them along the coast since the last fight with the Nameless One. Nobody knows the origins of the Bards. They do play music, which to me seems like more of an indication of Bards being around than a fire would be but I guess birds have to fly and bards have to play music, etc etc.

Maerad feels like they’re being watched, but Cadvan isn’t acting nervous so she stays quiet about it, figuring it’s her nerves. Maerad remains not genre-savvy, bless her. She wakes up one day to see a pair of eyes “gleaming yellow like a cat’s” but they disappear and she tells Cadvan that she must have seen an owl or something. Bless her heart. She further wishes she could have a bath, since she’s grimy and gross and her clothes haven’t been washed in days. I know that feel, Maerad, my mom liked to backpack the Appalachian trail for a week at a time and take me with her, and don’t get me started on the ten day river trips (though at least you basically got bathed when your cousin tipped you out of the raft out of spite and/or you got overturned in your kayak speaking from personal experience whatever could you mean?)(I got back at the cousin, never fear)

Anyway, they’ve been in the Waywood a long time and Maerad is getting sick of the woods. This will become a theme. Cadvan assures her that it’s two days tops to open sky.

As they travel, Maerad begins to hear faint singing. She keeps waiting for Cadvan to say something but he doesn’t, so she finally mentions it. He says it’s interesting that she can hear it, because a lot of people can’t, and Maerad realizes she can understand the words. She and the horses are immediately distracted by a woman with the catlike eyes appearing from nowhere.

“Hail, daughter,” the figure said to Maerad. “I have been watching thee.”

...She had the wildest face [Maerad] had ever seen, inhuman and fey, amoral and beautiful as a flower.

“Why?” stammered Maerad. “Why have you been watching me?”

The figure laughed. “How often does one of my kin come this way? I thought perhaps you were coming to greet me, and make music in the old way. But I see you are with one of these dolts, the humans.” She laughed again, and Maerad felt a shiver of ice run down her spine. She shook herself and looked down; Cadvan was staring up at her, but it was as if she looked at him through a veil.

“What do you want of me?” she asked.

“I know thee,” said the figure. “I will not hinder thee.” She came closer to Maerad, and it seemed that she stepped on the air and stood before her, globed in aqueous light. “I do not hinder my children.” She took Maerad’s chin in her hand and lifted it, so they gazed eye to eye. “I loved thy forefather many an age ago, and his head rested on my breast, and such pleasure was a wonder to me.”

She let Maerad go and stretched sensuously, like a cat, reaching her arms up into the trees. “But like all mortals, he aged and died. I forgot him. And then I heard your voice, and it sounded like his, and I remembered. So I followed thee, and saw; you are my kin.”

After loosing a few potshots at humans, asking if Cadvan is Maerad’s lover (I guess some leeway must be given here: ages are probably hard to tell when you’re basically a forever-living nature spirit?) and telling Maerad to forget him because all humans die super easy and most are boring, she gives Maerad a pipe and tells her to play it and she (the figure) will hear. I note cynically that the figure does not say she will help. Then she disappears.

Cadvan is understandably a little freaked out by the whole thing, especially since he didn’t understand a single word. He was worried she’d been bewitched, which I assume is roughly the equivalent of being fairy-struck, but she assures him otherwise. He says that not only was the Elidhu (nature spirit, rough elf or fae equivalent in this world) speaking its native tongue (which they don’t do around humans because humans can’t understand them), Maerad was also speaking it. Maerad relays they conversation, “omitting the Elidhu’s comments about Cadvan,” and Cadvan is less freaked out but still kinda freaked out. He examines the pipe - he knows how to make them, but the reed itself is not one he’s come across.

Apparently there are rumors about the House of Karn (which Maerad is descended from through her mother, though we don’t learn that until a page or two later) having Elidhu blood somewhere back there, but Cadvan never really believed them. He clearly is realigning his worldview while they ride to the next Bardhome, and continues when they reach it and set of camp and care for the horses.

He looked tired; deep furrows ran from nose to mouth, and his eyes were hooded. In such moments he seemed a stranger to her - a dark, withdrawn man, his face lined with thought, toughened and weathered by a life of which she had no knowledge.

He apologizes for being so withdrawn, but he’s trying to figure shit out. Maerad can’t understand the Speech but she’s got Elidhu, a language that is not spoken by humans, down pat? He admits that Barding doesn’t cover everything. There are deeper older Knowings, and the Elidhu were here way before humans, so he’s willing to accept that there’s stuff no Bards know.

He paused, then continued, “To have the blood of Elementals is, among Bards, not quite considered a good thing,” he said. “If it was in the House of Karn, it is no wonder it was kept secret.” “Why?” asked Maerad. “She was not evil.”

“Not evil,” said Cadvan. “But neither can they be relied un in the human world. You spoke to the Elidhu; would you trust her? The things of the Wild are not as us; they are apt to forget what we must remember, and turn like fire in a trice from benign to deadly.”

Maerad asks what the House of Karn is, and Cadvan realizes he hasn’t actually given her much background info. It’s a little unclear how much of it was just because it’s generally assumed knowledge and Cadvan just assumed and how much of it was Cadvan not wanting her to put too much stock in a long line of Bards making her special, as many Bards these days seem to do.

This conversation segues neatly into a discussion of Nelac, Cadvan’s old teacher, and Enkir, the First Bard of Norloch. Cadvan says Nelac is a much better Bard, but admits that he is biased. Enkir is from another great Bard house, and he’s a Reader (apparently Norloch First Bards almost always are; I appreciate that it’s sort of a sign of corruption that only powerful magic users are put in charge of things, and that Norloch seems to dismiss its Tenders is a sign of Bad).

“Norloch is very different from Innail,” said Cadvan. “But you have already withstood more frightening things than old men.”

MORE RIDING. It’s almost like crossing a continent takes some time, y’all. Who knew?

They make it out of the Weywood and come upon the Hollow Lands. Maerad is nonplussed at the ruins (that are so ancient literally no one knows who built them. Like, the Dhyllin, who are legendary ancient people and made Maerad’s lyre, didn’t know where the ruins came from) and the dreary landscape. They camp and everything feels weirdly empty. In a nice detail, Maerad wakes up to Cadvan snoring softly, and I don’t know why that detail struck me so much. She looks up at the stars and eventually falls asleep again (why isn’t one of them keeping watch aren’t we worried about hull pursuit YOU GUYS).

Eventually Cadvan says they’re coming up on civilization again, so he disguises them with Bardcraft. Cadvan makes Maerad look like a boy and gives himself red hair. Even his voice is deeper. The horses he makes less conspicuous too, but then he has to rest: it takes more effort to make illusions that will fool Bards as well as nonBards, and they’re about to enter Ettinor’s lands. If you remember, that’s where a lot of rumors about Bards not being bardly are coming from.

The town of Milhol isn’t great and neither is the inn: it’s expensive, everyone is grouchy, and everything smells. Also, bedbugs. Look y’all, I work in a hotel. We do not use the b word. It freaks people out. I hope Cadvan and Maerad have a spell to get rid of them because otherwise those bugs are going to stay there and get into everything and every house town and inn they walk through. Those things are nightmares.

Maerad and Cadvan wake up early and leave immediately (armored up now) and I do not blame them. They find the Bard Road and can make good time because it’s in good condition. Nobody’s happy along the road.

“It’s hard to scrape a living from this land,” said Cadvan. “And it makes the people bitter.”

Ain’t that the truth.

When they camp that night the illusions wear off. Cadvan decides to conserve strength and not recast them for a few days. They ride on in the morning.

Y’all I hadn’t exactly forgotten this part but I sort of glossed over it in my mind. They run into a hull unexpectedly. Maerad pretends to be Cadvan’s ‘lunatic daughter’ to avoid notice. It doesn’t really work, but we do get a good feel for what Ettinor is (or isn’t) doing, re: traditional barding duties, since Cadvan tells the hull he’s taking his daughter for help to the school.

“There might be help in Ettinor for such as you,” said the hull sneeringly. “Or there might not.”

Things are rotten in the state of Ettinor, y’all.

Things aren’t great in the state of Pellinor books dealing with mental health issues either because Maerad pretends to have a fit to throw the hull off and like. There are worse things in the world to read, definitely, but this is one of the few things in Pellinor that pings me as… less well done than they might have been. So that’s fun.

The hull leaves. Cadvan and Maerad high themselves off as quickly as possible, discussing how distressing it is to learn that Ettinor is not only full of dicks but also evil undead dicks.

THRONE OF GLASS

We’re back to three chapters. You’d think I’d learn to just round up every time, but no, so here we go with chapters 25, 26, and 27.

25 starts with Celaena having a dream about exploring the castle secret passages and finding a man and a woman, the woman in light, the man in shadow. They both wear crowns, and we’re assured that the woman’s “wasn’t a tacky, enormous thing, but rather a slender peak with a blue gem embedded at its center.”

Give women substantial crowns 2k18.

Celaena realizes that she’s seeing Elena Havilliard, the foremother of the Adarlan royal line, when she notices that the woman has “ever so slightly pointed” ears, because that’s the last time a fae married into the Havilliards. Elena’s husband Gavin Havilliard is next to her with a famous sword named Damaris. Elena was a princess of Terrasen, which is where Celaena is from (in one of the bonus short stories that you have to buy a specific hardcover edition of a book to read, we also learn that Celaena has a Terrasen (Terrasenian?) accent. It’s never mentioned anywhere else that I can recall, but I’ve been wrong before).

Anyway, Elena starts talking to Celaena in the dream and starts loading on the destiny stuff couched in Celaena being cool.

“You must win this competition and become the King’s Champion. You understand the people’s plight. Erilea needs you as the King’s Champion.”

Turns out there’s an evil in the castle that needs to be destroyed.

”Courage of the heart is very rare. Let it guide you.”

I'm ide-eyeing Elena for reasons entirely different than the book has Celaena suddenly decide to do later.

She gives Celaena something and shouts for Celaena to run because something is coming, and Celaena wakes up in bed holding an amulet. The door to the secret passage is ajar. Celaena shuts it and considers becoming the King’s Champion and the unspecified Dark Force.

“...while she would be more than happy if some dark force somehow destroyed Cain, Perrington, the king, and Kaltain Rompier, if Nehemia, or even Chaol and Dorian, were somehow harmed...”

Holy shit Celaena you’re lumping in some mean girl whispering with conquering and colonization and the murder of your family? Chill, girl. Slow your roll. What the fuck. I’m glad you don’t want Nehemia dead, I guess?

She goes to sleep, which brings us to chapter 26.

Chaol wakes her by banging open the doors to her room, which does not reassure me that he wasn’t watching her sleep because everyone in this book is a creeper. Then again, he does start demanding her whereabouts last night, which is when we learn that one of the named but plain and unimportant champions was murdered and half eaten.

Celaena reflects that this means that the other champions hadn’t been killed in a drunken brawl, which. Okay. I thought we already knew that. Moving on. Celaena says that she was in her room all night, her guards can vouch, and so can Chaol if the king asks. Chaol says they won’t be training together today since he needs to investigate, and Celaena pretends to be pleased. She waits for him to leave before grabbing supplies and going to explore some more. She explores the tomb at the end of the third tunnel and notes that there is a shaft lined with gold that allows people to see in the tomb.

How people have missed a tunnel to the outside that is literally coated in gold in a still functioning castle is beyond me. Also, you’d think they’d use a less expensive (and harder?) metal for illumination. Oh yeah, there are words saying “Ah! Time’s Rift!” on a sarcophagus. What are the burial customs for this culture?

Celaena leaves the tomb after rationalizing her way out of taking any initiative whatsoever.

Later she’s all dressed up in a pink and white dress (other details unmentioned: someone GIVE ME FASHION) that makes her look so spectacular that every woman who sees her is jealous and every man wants her. She smirks about it. Then she tries to go investigate the dead champion.

There are wyrdmarks, so Celaena decides that makes it something more than a brutal killing. She also decides (again) that this wasn’t an accident, since his brain appears to have been removed. Grave appears and is smirky. Celaena decides that she feels bad for two seconds.

We swap to Dorian’s PoV. He’s sparring with Chaol. They’re getting Manly and arguing about Celaena. Then they talk about how the king has left with none of the guards that Chaol suggested. Then Dorian asks if Chaol thinks someone is murdering the champions.

At some point in a later book someone says that it isn’t Dorian’s magic but his brains that make him an asset. I want that noted for the record.

Dorian, after worrying about Celaena for a minute, decides he too has a lot to worry about because of the burned list of eligible women given to him by his mother. Obviously this is comparable to possibly being murdered. End chapter.

Chapter 27 starts with Celaena and Nehemia looking at the clock tower, and Celaena reflects that it’s creepy and that she can’t be sent back to Endovier because another winter will kill her. Nehemia is already improving her use of the common tongue. Celaena has not improved her Eyllwe much. The clock tower is creepy some more. Nehemia wants to know more about the dead body, since her guards didn’t get close enough to give her much detail. Celaena tells her, and Nehemia looks upset.

Celaena begins to apologize for upsetting her (hey look actual friendship moment) but Cain appears and starts slinging insults at champion and princess alike. I question how this court works. Celaena and Nehemia leave, and Celaena reflects that it’s nice to have someone looking out for her for once. I stare in blank confusion.

In Chaol’s PoV we’re watching Celaena train with Nox. Chaol brought Dorian, hoping to impress upon him how dangerous Celaena is, but honestly I’m pretty sure a damp sweet potato could beat Celaena at this point so that’s not a great plan. Dorian is glad she has made a friend and tells Chaol to let her keep practicing with Nox.

Next PoV is Celaena’s, and she’s complaining about researching wyrdmarks in the library. Chaol tells her she sounds crazy when she starts talking creation theories and then scares her with a scraping noise when she’s already creeped out by a different one. Celaena storms out.

COMPARISON

Maerad and Cadvan continue to go through some shit. Celaena continues to have a suite of rooms in a palace and be ineptly flirted with while whining about missing parties. HOWEVER, in both of these sections we meet Elidhu/fae (or half-fae, in Elena’s case) for the first time. Both heroines have powers related to their fae ancestry (though I guess we don’t actually know For Certain Sure that Celaena has fae ancestry at this point, but come on, you and I both knew she was The Long Lost Fairy Princess the first time we read the book, that is the kind of book Throne of Glass is). Both heroines speak to vaguely spirit-y fae/Elidhu in this section, too. I could not have lined these sections up better for comparison if I had done it on purpose.

It might very well be personal preference, but I’ve always found fae and fae equivalents more interesting when they actually are outside human morality. I talked about this in a goodreads status update while reading The Naming for fragments etc, but the Elidhu very clearly exist in a blue and orange morality spectrum compared to a human’s black/white/greyscale. They just fundamentally Do Not Get It. They are immortal. Our concerns are not their concerns. The Nameless One kind of offends them because he tries to use them (we learn later), but they don’t really care about Maerad’s quest otherwise aside from the fact that it is Maerad’s quest, because she has some Elidhu blood in her. Y’all, her ancestor straight up forgot about the human family she had because she’s so fuckng old. This is the otherworldly race I signed up for. The Elidhu isn’t even impressed by Cadvan, who’s a super powerful Bard, because whatever, he’s gonna die or be boring. He is boring to her. The narrative doesn’t even try to say otherwise. He’s not boring to Maerad, obviously, and he isn’t boring to us, but to an Elidhu who has seen it all, married and slept with an ancient hero-bard-king of old, and gone on to forget about the experience? Cadvan ain’t shit.

(I’m sorry Cadvan I love you)

There is never an instance in any Throne of Glass book where the love interest is allowed to be anything less than utterly desirable by anyone. Can you imagine Maeve looking at Rowan and going ‘eh’? No. We are constantly bombarded with discussions of how desirable every man in Throne of Glass is unless they’re evil. They’re the best at everything they do, they’re the best looking out of everyone around, and by god we will hear about it. Random fae comment on it. Random humans comment on it. Bad guys. Good guys. And then we’re supposed to believe they are so powerful no one can ever challenge them even though people constantly challenge them?

All of this comes back to the immortals in the series even though I sort of went on a tangent. Why are the fae so impressed by all of these mortals? Even Aedion, who supposedly has a reputation as the best general around, seems pretty unimpressive (to me) compared to the theoretical accomplishments of people who were around thousands of years ago before a few gods were deified and the world changed etc etc (because I was just reminded in Empire of Storms that Rowan apparently met Gavin Havilliard, who we know from later books was around the first time the Big Bad Valg came into this dimension or whatever how the fuck old is Rowan why is he interested in a barely eighteen year old why is he impressed by anything  at this point).

The fae in Throne of Glass are incredibly invested in nonfae doings. One might say overly invested. It just doesn’t click for me. Further, Throne of Glass focuses way more on making the fae attractive rather than interesting - the narrative goes out of the way to assure us that everything about Elena is dainty and only slightly nonhuman (she’s half goddess, btw, so I don’t know why she’s not MORE otherworldly rather than less?) even down to her crown. Heaven forfend a woman have multiple pages of screentime, as it were, and not be conventionally attractive, though actually now that I think about it this applies to men in ToG too, just in a different way. The men are The Most Manly. The women are The Most Womanly But They Also Have to Physically Kick Ass On Top Of It or they’re treated by narrative and characters alike as not worth their time at best. It’s a problem.

I continue to despair at everyone’s incompetence in Throne of Glass, though I also side eye the playing of music on the down low when you aren’t lighting fires or keeping watch in Pellinor. Cadvan, you should know better even if Maerad doesn’t.

Pellinor is also better at giving me atmospheric creepiness, though I suppose your mileage could vary on this point. Compare the grey, rocky land with no trees and lonely ruins that still remember people with an obsidian clock tower. Bonus points to Pellinor for having to deal with bugs and bullshit.

Another thing I appreciate about Pellinor (there are many): Maerad is from an Ancient and Storied Lineage, but Cadvan is very clear that that doesn’t matter much in the day-to-day, and Maerad agrees. It might CONTRIBUTE to Maerad being the foretold, but people who hold entirely to the importance of their ancestors are dicks. We’ll see that more with Enkir, and I personally feel that it is amply shown (though apparently unintentionally) in Throne of Glass.

STATS

Throne of Glass:

Pages: 29

Fragments: 67

Em-Dashes: 59

Ellipses: 24

Pellinor:

Pages: 26

Fragments: 5

Em-Dashes: 7

Ellipses: 6

[recentanimenews]

INTERVIEW: So I’m a Spider, So What? Shun Voice Actor Shun Horie

  In coordination with the current season of So I’m a Spider, So What?, Crunchyroll News was given the opportunity to officially translate interviews with the staff and cast of the series. You can read the original Japanese interview with Shun Horie right here.

The interview was conducted by Daisuke Iwakura. 

      So I'm A Spider, So What? Relay Interview: Shun Horie as Shun. "He may not be very reliable right now, but it'll be interesting to see how he grows." 

  Part 4 of the interview series for the TV Anime So I'm A Spider, So What? features Shun Horie, who plays the character of Shun! How does he portray a character who's serious with a good sense of right and wrong, but still in the process of growing up? And what kind of drama will unfold in the human side of the story? We ask all about what to expect.

    —The story has finally begun. What do you have to say about the first two episodes?

  Horie: Early on it was explained to me that Shun is the protagonist of the human portion of the story, but he's still not quite acting like one, so you get the impression he hasn't sorted himself out yet. His adoration for his brother, the Hero Julius, is more strong than anything else about him, and it feels less like he's trying to live up to that example and more like he's just chasing his brother's coat tails. There's a mixture of, "Is he gonna be okay?" anxiety and, "He's just getting started," expectation. 

  —He does seem to be kind of infatuated with the idea of Julius whenever he comes up.

  Horie: I agree. (Laughs) In the scenes where Shun talks about Julius, the audio director told me to talk in a higher pitch and to sound more excited. 

  —That's interesting. What approach did you bring to the role in general? 

  Horie: I was told at the audition to not make him seem too heroic, so I make sure to try and emphasize how weak and underdeveloped he still is. It ended up being harder than I thought, especially as the number of battle scenes increased. It's hard to maintain that underlying vulnerability. Take a scene where he's fighting with a sword, for example. It's difficult to know how much oomph to put into the sounds he makes. I've received direction to "make sure to leave some weakness in there" before. 

    —Is the idea to show how gradually Shun grows over time?

  Horie: I think so. Shun has a lot of trials waiting in his future, where he's going to get a little bit stronger every time. It helps to have that long-term perspective on where he's going. 

  —Was there anything particular about the human side of the story from episodes 1 and 2 that you wanted to make note of?

  Horie: I think Hugo's presence is hard to ignore. You can feel how ambitious he is and tell how high of an opinion he has of himself. It gives him the impression of subconsciously looking down on everyone, which makes you worry about him becoming a source of conflict and misunderstanding.  He calls their teacher Filimøs "Oka-chan" and is casually friendly with his other classmates, but... you get the feeling he could be dangerous.

    —There's a scene in episode two where Hugo talks about becoming the strongest human, and that doesn't seem to sit right with Shun.

  Horie: Right. Because Shun thinks the strongest human should be his brother, Julius. (Laughs) I don't think Shun and Hugo's relationship is going to be smooth sailing going forward, but I personally can't bring myself to hate Hugo, so I hope things don't get too caustic between them.

  —Kaito Ishikawa, who voices Hugo, is in the same talent agency as you, right?

  Horie: We're recording voiceover in smaller groups, but I'm always glad when I get to work with Ishikawa-san. We both ended up as main cast members in another show at the same time as this one, and it's made things a lot easier, because there's a kind of natural interplay that develops from getting to work together frequently. There was an episode that was a big turning point in Shun and Hugo's relationship, and I told him afterwards, "That was fun," and he was glad to hear it. (laughs)

  —Are there any other characters you find interesting at this point?

  Horie: Yuri and Fei, I'd say. Yuri seems cute enough, but like her character introduction implies, she can get tunnel vision about certain things. There are scenes where she says some ominous stuff coming up, so I'm curious and anxious about how she's going to play into the story moving forward. As for Fei... I had a lot of trouble figuring out how Shun would interact with her. 

    —What do you mean? 

  Horie: Fei is kind of like Shun's partner in a lot of ways. And I wasn't sure how to really dig into how they get along... Fei was a bully when she was a human, and thinks that her monster form is a kind of punishment for that. And when it came up, I thought about how, even though she's so close to Shun, she used to be a bully. I'm pretty sure that Shun knew that Mirei Shinohara (Fei's previous life) was bullying people. It made me wonder about the two of them becoming friends in spite of that. It kind of stuck in my mind...

  —It sounds like you personally have trouble accepting it.

  Horie: I think so. I believe the only person that she was bullying was a girl named Wakaba-san, and that her relationship with Shunsuke Yamada (Shun's past life) wasn't particularly rough. But it makes me wonder about Shun, who lets this bully ride around his shoulder like his partner. It took me a while to accept that. KitaEri's (Eri Kitamura) acting is really good too, and gives off a really stuck-up vibe, which just made it harder. (laughs) 

  —Was there anything in particular that helped you understand their relationship? 

  Horie: Moving forward, the story is really going to dig into what kind of person Shun is, and there will be a scene that makes clear what his position is relative to his classmates. Portraying things like that helped me understand, eventually. Anyone who is interested in the relationship between Shun and Fei will have plenty to look forward to.

    —On another note, what do you think of the Kumoko parts of the story?

  Horie: There's such a clear distinction between the human segments and Kumoko's in terms of the atmosphere and the sense of world-building, it's almost like getting to enjoy two shows at once. When I first got the script, I didn't know that Kumoko would be 3DCG or that the human parts would be so smoothly animated, so it came as a surprise to actually see. It's interesting to watch the different parties doing their best in totally different situations. Other than that... I'm honestly intimidated by how talented (Aoi) Yuki-san is, especially since we work at the same agency. 

  —She had a remarkable number of lines in the first episode. 

  Horie: Oh, definitely. (Laughs) When I saw how much of the first script was nothing but Kumoko lines, I started to feel a little anxious. The human part of the story, especially in the second half, didn't have nearly as much, which really made how much Kumoko had to talk stand out in comparison. Yuuki-san records her lines separately, so usually those of us from the human part of the story just talk about how amazing her work turns out after the fact. (laughs) Her acting is honestly really incredible. She talks almost non-stop, yet you never get tired of listening to her, and she does a great job of accentuating every moment.

  —The fact that your recording sessions are separate feels like the story being reflected in real life. 

  Horie: That's exactly the case. Until the finished episode is ready, I don't know what Yuuki-san's performance is like, so it's like we really did reincarnate into different places. Ishikawa-san, KitaEri-san and I will wonder how Kumoko is doing when we're recording. 

    —Thank you for talking with us. Do you have anything you want people to keep an eye out for in episode 3 and beyond?

  Horie: The situation starts to change drastically on the human side from this point on, particularly the relationship between Shun and Hugo. This will result in Shun starting to grow more as a prince and as a human being, so I hope people keep an eye on that. The further into the series we get, the more serious the situation becomes on the human side, but Kumoko will bring the laughs even as she encounters danger. Be careful not to get whiplash from the difference in tone. (laughs) 

  By: Guest Author