#to becoming at least partially fae themselves

[humblemooncat]

He's just really pretty, man.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

How to train your Drake, Ch2

TWs for this chapter: self-harm (for religious reasons), religious trauma (also for religious reasons), lies, manipulation, and possessive behavior (god this fantasy religion is putting them THROUGH IT), child abuse (going to count it as being for religious reasons because it's being done by a god)

Stay safe everyone!

Previous part

Tim lay stretched out on the ground, Marinette tucked into his side, fast asleep. He would love to join her, but he knew that he couldn’t. If he dared to drift off, he would shift into his true form, and he was pretty sure that Marinette would wake up if a slightly warm ‘fae’ were to suddenly become a scale-covered dragon.

He would be fine, she couldn’t immediately kill him, they were both on holy ground and she was without weapons and armor, but everything would change. The moment they left Plagg’s altar, they would be enemies, and Tim didn’t want to have to kill her.

So, falling asleep was definitely not in anyone's best interest.

Besides, he didn’t really want to sleep at the moment, he wanted to enjoy the feeling of a warm body pressed against him and soft hair threading through his fingers. It was a new sensation, he rather liked it.

For about as long as Tim could remember, he had been alone.

Dragon children weren’t, really, supposed to be left behind. If anything, it was quite the opposite, they were supposed to be doted on by their parents like any other part of their hoard. There were quite a few stories of dragons being blocked from leaving once they reached maturity, their parents’ possessiveness over things they viewed as ‘belonging to them’ preventing them from truly being able to let go of their kid.

As far as he knew, there were no tales about a dragon child being left to fend for themselves. Not without intervention from knights, hunters, or salesmen, at least.

He would love to joke about how he was special, but he didn’t want to think about it. Why he was, apparently, uniquely unlovable to the point where his own parents hadn’t even tried to hold onto him for a few years. Why not even their possessive natures had been enough to make them stay, because in their eyes he was worthless in the most literal sense.

They hadn’t left him with nothing, at least. He’d been abandoned in a castle, teeming with rats and bugs that had mistakenly wandered inside in hopes of a place to hide from the elements, and he was able to survive on those.

Sometimes, humans would wander in, curious about the castle in disrepair in the middle of the forest or perhaps searching for their friends, and Tim would get to drop down from the rafters and eat an actual meal. He didn’t quite like it, though. The animals would scream for their lives, yes, but he actually understood what the humans were saying, and that made it far more difficult.

Still, he needed to eat.

It wasn’t a great life, but at least it was a life. And, with little else to hold onto, why wouldn’t he grab the one thing he actually could and not let go?

That was how he lived for years.

Until he found the room.

Sometimes, he wondered if it had appeared there by the god’s wishes, because he could have sworn he’d known the castle like the back of his hand, and yet he was face to face with a door that he’d never noticed before. It was hidden partially behind an alcove, though, in a part of the castle that he avoided until he was hungry enough (he would claim that he was trying to cultivate the population of animals there so he might have a ‘stockpile’ when things got dire but, in reality, the high walls and cold floors just made him even more aware of how alone he was), perhaps he had just missed it.

Regardless, he stumbled in and found himself in a surprisingly warm room. A stone structure against the far wall, framed in a window, towered over him. The stone was painted a deep black, with green cat eyes dotted around, just enough to show it was supposed to be a pattern, but so few in number that each eye felt slightly out of place. It was unsettling, especially since, no matter how he moved, he swore that each and every eye followed him.

 A dagger of sorts lay innocently on the table, the blade curved in a way that reminded him of the tool that humans sometimes used to harvest crops.

“Well, are you just going to stand there or what?”

He jolted, immediately looking around for the source of the sound, only to find a man sitting atop the altar, one leg crossed over the other lazily, the sun framed perfectly behind his head, like a halo. His slitted eyes were mostly hidden behind his shaggy blond hair, but that didn’t mean that Tim would have mistaken him for a human. The proportions were just slightly off, with too-long arms and legs that bent in strange places and a sharp-toothed smile that was far too wide for his face.

Tim outclassed it in size, and yet somehow, somewhere, he knew that he was the one that was in danger here. The line of the being's shoulders was too relaxed. Even it knew that it had him beat.

He started to take a step back, and almost immediately a chorus of screams rang in the back of his mind, almost sending him to the ground with the force of it. He stumbled a few steps forward, desperate to escape the sound, and yet he wasn’t relieved when everything cut out, tremors running under his skin despite the warmth of the room. 

He looked up at the being, and its smile only stretched ever wider.

“What? Cat’s got your tongue?”

Tim could only manage a pitiful squeak in return. He had never really tried to talk, had never had much use for it, and making a sound now only scraped at the walls of his throat. He shook his head, unsure what else he really could do.

The stranger looked at him for a moment, considering, its head tilting more and more to the side by the second. It wasn’t until his head was just past being completely upside down that it seemed to click, his head snapping right back into place, a Cheshire grin stretching across his lips.

“Ohhhhh,” he practically purred, hopping down and crossing the room in far too few steps. “I see.”

A set of too-cold hands came to hold him beneath the chin, and Tim tried to flinch back, but fingers dug between his scales before he could, and he didn’t want to risk having them torn out.

“You have no one – no one to teach you the ways of this world…” the being clicked his tongue, shaking his head, almost chiding. “What a shame, a baby dragon shouldn’t be left alone.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tim thought that he was trying to be soothing and comforting, but it came off as mocking.

He didn’t catch onto the offense in Tim’s expression, still smiling, always smiling, though it was slightly softer, less immediately threatening. Somehow, that was worse.

“This just won’t do! Come in, come in!”

As if Tim had a choice. He was dragged forward, into the room, the being hopping up onto the table with ease so Tim could get as close to the altar as possible, the stone of the table digging into his chest.

Finally, the fingers detached themselves, and Tim hissed at the feeling of his scales shifting back into place.

He was either not heard or ignored, the blade shooting up through the air, right into the being’s hand. Despite his strange proportions, the size of the blade suited him perfectly, like it was always meant to be there.

“Now, listen, I’m a good guy, but I can’t help you without getting something in return. Those are the rules. Just one of the downsides of being a god with infinite power, they had to nerf us somehow,” the being (god?) shrugged, though he didn’t seem all that broken up about it. “You know how it is.”

He wasn’t sure he did, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyway. His arm lifted up of its own accord, tugged along like a puppet on strings. Tim thought, dully, that his arm fit perfectly in the god’s hand, too.

And then he realized what was going to happen.

He tried to break the god’s grip, but it was strong, far stronger than anything Tim had ever felt before.

“Now, most dragons bite or claw their own skin, but I’ll do it for you, today. Something cleaner, just to get you used to it.”

“Do-n-t, ple-ease,” he said, his voice shaking. Maybe it was the disuse, maybe it was the fear. It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that he didn’t want to be stabbed, in the arm or otherwise.

To his surprise, the god stopped, the blade hovering right over Tim’s wrist. He didn’t seem happy about it, though. His smile hadn’t been nice to begin with, and now it was more of a baring of teeth than anything.

“‘Don’t’?” the god repeated, his tone innocent, as if he had genuinely thought he had misheard.

Tim shook his head, his eyes wide.

He sighed, shaking his head. “How about this? I’ll do this and, if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you alone. Priest’s honor.”

Tim hesitated.

The god had stopped, when asked, which suggested that he needed permission of some sort to do this, but there was nothing guaranteeing that he couldn’t hurt Tim, just that he couldn’t force him into an offering.

Which meant that this was, probably, the lesser of two evils.

And, hey, it would leave after this, at least.

“Come on, I promise you’ll like it,” the god tempted.

Tim had his doubts, but he nodded regardless.

He wasted no time, immediately dragging the knife down his scales, as if expecting him to take it back.

Blood spilled onto the altar, and the god smirked.

Tim wasn’t sure why he was so happy, because his arm stung.

He blew a puff of flame at him in retaliation, but the being didn’t even seem to notice. “I know, I know, it hurts. But watch this.”

Tim was nearly bowled over by a wave of… well, he wouldn’t call it ‘pleasure’, per se, that implied something specific, but it was certainly a nice feeling. Like when you scratch an itch that you had been previously struggling to reach. Like your needs had been met.

His arm was still bleeding, and it still ached, he knew that distantly, but he almost didn’t care about it. This was the best he had felt in quite a while, why would he care?

The feeling receded after a few minutes, leaving him almost desperate to go back to that contentedness.

The knife disappeared before he could try.

Tim made a whining sound in the back of his throat. He just wanted things to be okay again. And the being had said that he got something from it, too, so why was he stopping him?

“Now, now, we can’t have you bleeding out, now, can we?” He – Plagg, a voice in the back of his mind supplied, his name is Plagg – said, back to that chiding tone, but there was a softer note to it, too. “What kind of patron would I be if I let you die?”

Tim was still affronted by this entire arrangement. The guy had just stabbed him, and now he was preventing Tim from stabbing himself? Talk about hypocrisy. Give him his free will back.

“I guess you wouldn’t understand what a ‘patron’ is…” he chuckled, tipping his head to the side, thinking hard. “Alright, how about this: I’m, basically, your owner. You are a part of my hoard. I make sure you’re all nice and happy and, in return, I ask nothing more than for you to be mine… plus a few blood offerings here and there, just to prove that you’re still okay with the arrangement.”

Tim’s head shot up to look at him.

He would… belong to someone?

That sounded right.

Hesitantly, he nodded.

Plagg’s smile seemed to soften, and a hand rubbed the top of his head.

If Tim leaned into the touch a little bit, then Plagg didn’t say a word.

And, so, for the next few years, Tim would tear open his arm, and would be met with a feeling of contentedness that was unmatched by anything he could get naturally.

And, sure, Tim didn’t love the feeling of his skin breaking under his own teeth, he still had to psych himself up to do it more times than not, but the feeling he got after an offering was pretty much the best he could remember having, so he did it probably more than was strictly medically advisable.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t all smooth sailing, if you could even call what he had that to begin with.

Because food became a problem.

There simply wasn’t enough of it. Not for a growing dragon, especially not when he expended so much energy healing from offerings – the wounds would be sewn shut by magic, but his blood would take ages to replenish itself – and, if he didn't act soon, he was sure that he never would be able to. Meals became less and less filling, and his exhaustion and hunger were so intense that he would often feel them even through Plagg’s blessings.

Finally, he realized that he needed to venture outside of the castle.

And it wasn’t as if the forest would supply him much food. Sure, there was a plentiful amount of animals there, but Tim was too big, and would often find himself struggling to chase after anything. There were too many trees, dotted around sporadically, and his prey wouldn’t have to try too hard to weave their way through them until Tim was just a tiny speck, left in the dust.

What he had needed, really, was a wide-open field to catch prey in.

Enter, the town.

Or should he say enter the town, because that was what he had done.

The humans had plenty of livestock, anyway, surely they wouldn’t miss a few cows here and there?

Apparently, humans were just as territorial and possessive as dragons. Good to know. Though he wished he could have found out… any other way, really.

But there he was, gliding over the trees’ canopy because he couldn’t flap his wings without them hurting due to the teensy-tiny-little arrow lodged in his side. Hunters raced after him on the ground, hissing curses at both him and themselves, still trying to shoot him down every time they could catch a glimpse of him through the trees.

Slowly but surely, he was losing them.

But he was also losing steam, and he needed to lay down somewhere and rest. He couldn’t, though, because they also knew that he was injured and would need to stop sometime soon, and if they knew that then they also knew that they could wait to find him on the ground and ambush him.

So, he couldn’t stop.

He also couldn’t keep going. He was going to crash. Every beat of his wings made him want to scream again, which would only hurt his raw throat more, which only made it worse –.

And that’s when he came across it.

An altar.

He wasn’t sure whether or not it had always been there, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because he knew a sign when he saw one. He threw himself onto the stone, letting the blood spilling from his side drip onto the table, praying for help.

The woman wasted no time before appearing in front of him, though calling her a ‘woman’ was a little bit inaccurate, to be honest. She was too tall to be a human, first of all, the only reason her head wasn’t poking above the treeline was that she was ducking to hide herself. An orange foxtail poked out from behind her, swishing this way and that languidly as her eyes roved him over, taking everything in.

And her eyes. The moment Tim met her gaze, he regretted his decision to ask for help. Her eyes glimmered with something utterly wrong, dancing with too much glee for someone who was watching a person bleed out, and yet also, somehow, detached. There was no real investment, just cruel amusement and intrigue.

Trixx. The goddess of stories and – more importantly – tricks.

“He-lp me,” he begged, his voice cracking, just like it had the first day he had met Plagg, and yet this was different. He had learned to speak, but all the screaming had torn his throat raw.

“Aw, the little boy who’s been alone all his life will die alone, too, how sad.” Her eyes flicked to the side. The hunters were still searching for him, getting ever closer. “Or, perhaps, you won’t die alone, and that makes it worse, yes? Tragic.”

And, though the woman had declared it all ‘tragic’, it certainly didn’t seem like she was upset about it. If anything, she seemed to be almost giddy.

“I don’t want to die.”

“No one does,” she said, utterly uncaring, moving as if to pat his snout in a condescending manner… only to reel back as if she had been burned. Her eyes cut to his right arm, where the scales were just barely out of place from all of the times he had torn into it, then to his left arm (Plagg had told him to never use that one, though he wasn’t quite sure why) and its smooth gradient of red to black scales, and something unreadable crossed her expression.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re Plagg’s…”

Tim could only nod. This was true, after all. He belonged to Plagg in the same way that the castle belonged to Tim. Why would he ever disagree?

She giggled, a floaty sound. “I see, I see. How about this: I’ll help you, but I want half of you in return. Deal?”

Tim wasn’t sure whether or not it worked like that. If he didn’t belong to himself, did he have the ability to give himself away?

But he didn’t want to die.

So, even with a sinking feeling in his gut and something in the back of his mind screaming that he was making a mistake… he said yes.

For a moment, she smiled.

And then she was gone, leaving him alone, and yet there was definitely still something nearby, making the air heavier than it was supposed to be.

Magic wrapped around him and suddenly he was a person, with arms and legs and blood still spilling from a wound in his side. He panted, because the wound suddenly felt far worse, now that he had less blood to lose, and every pant made the arrow inside of him shift without scales to hold it in place. His fingers tried desperately to grip the stone beneath him, tearing the skin under his nails, but it did nothing to ground him, it just hurt.

He knew, instinctively, that he should be running.

But he couldn’t.

“What?” A voice nearby said, and he looked up at the hunters, terror gripping his heart.

Only to find the same horror mirrored in their own expressions.

“It’s a kid,” one of them said.

“It’s an illusion,” said the other, though he didn’t sound sure, and he shifted to hold his sword with both hands, as if he was scared he might lose his grip on it otherwise. “It’s a monster.”

Tears stung his eyes and he lifted a shaky, bloody hand to wipe it away. “I – I’m sorry,” he said, though it didn’t even really feel like himself. His mouth had moved, but he hadn’t asked it to.

The townsfolk looked at each other.

A voice in the back of his mind hissed the word ‘Now!’

… Tim wasn’t any less strong or fast in his new ‘human’ form.

But he wasn’t more strong or fast, which was why he was hesitating, standing outside of the room that held Plagg’s altar. There was still blood caked under his fingernails, something in his teeth that his tongue just couldn’t seem to get out, but he wasn’t going to waste time washing up.

No, he was going to waste time with his hand on the knob.

Or not, it swung open of its own accord. Plagg stood in the middle of the room, his hands behind his back.

Tim did not want to get closer.

But he did anyway.

The door slammed shut behind him.

“Hey, kid,” Plagg said, his tone deceptively cheery, though that wasn’t particularly surprising for the god. “How’s your day been?”

Tim swallowed thickly. “I almost bled out –.”

“Where?”

Tim looked down. The arrow was still sticking out of his side, even if he couldn’t really feel it anymore. This was probably a bad thing, but he was sure that angering a god was worse.

So, he motioned vaguely to his side.

This wasn’t the right answer, apparently, because Plagg’s eyes narrowed considerably. “No. Location-wise. Where’s your blood? Because that belongs to me, you know.”

Tim couldn’t bring himself to answer. He knew that Plagg was already aware, the god wouldn’t have shown up without prompting otherwise, and that the best thing for him would be to simply fess up and pray (ha!) that Plagg showed some mercy. But his new tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he didn’t say a word.

Plagg scoffed. “I see.”

He leaned forward, and though he was supposed to be far away – too far away to reach Tim – he found a face hovering mere centimeters in front of his own.

“All you have to do is denounce her,” Plagg said, his tone sickly sweet.

As if what he was suggesting wasn’t just as likely to get Tim killed as not denouncing her.

At least, with Plagg, he knew he was going to die now. If he were to cross Trixx, he would simply be stuck laying in wait, anxiety eating away at him until he would eventually find it a mercy whenever she tired of playing with her food and finally put him down.

Of course, it wasn’t an easy choice, to essentially agree to die, so he continued staring at the ground.

A clawed hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled, dragging his eyes up to meet Plagg’s.

“Fine. Well, my altar is right there, I suppose I can prevent you from ever betraying me again. A fitting punishment, don’t you think? You owe me quite a bit of blood, you know.”

Plagg’s other hand grabbed the arrow in Tim’s side, and his breath caught in his throat. Even just the slight adjustment made pain shoot up his spine, and he didn’t even want to think about what it would be like when Plagg followed through on the threat.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight.

It was completely quiet, save for Tim’s sniffles. Anticipation pressed down on him from all sides, he almost wanted to twist and simply rip the arrow out himself, at least then he’d have some semblance of control… but Plagg had all the power here. Literally. And Tim didn’t want to know what would happen if he dared to anger him further. There were worse ways to go than bleeding out on a cold castle floor.

And then Plagg sighed, removing his hands entirely.

“Let’s fix this up, okay?”

Tim peeked an eye open, unsure whether to expect a trick of some type. Maybe Plagg, too, wanted to mess with his head, as a kind of revenge. Surely, it had to be fake. Tim had betrayed Plagg, why would he be granted mercy?

Yet, he was.

The relationship between the two of them had been… different, after that. Closer. Outside of the first time, Plagg hadn’t shown his face, but now he consistently showed up in ‘person’, even going so far as to strike up conversations with him. Which was strange, considering their circumstances. Tim was pretty sure that Plagg had only kept him around to prove a point, though he couldn’t imagine what that point could even be. Tim still donated to Trixx (her offering was too good to pass up, even if it made Plagg’s expression twist into something truly ugly whenever Tim came home ‘smelling like her’), he didn’t think that Plagg had ‘won’ at all…

But he wouldn’t deny that it wasn’t nice. To have someone dote on him, if even just a little bit, if only to make sure that he didn’t get too injured by the numerous knights and hunters who started to frequent the castle. To have someone that was willing to take the time to teach him to read properly. To have someone that could teach him complex runes and how read, write, and (most importantly) use them.

Or to have someone that would, sometimes, give him advice.

Plagg was there, once again, sitting on the table.

Tim wasn’t sure when he’d gotten there, but he wasn’t sure it mattered anyway. It wasn’t like the god was going to acknowledge him before his meal was done.

His pupils were blown wide – whether this was to help him adapt to the darkness of the room or because he was content after his meal, Tim didn’t know. He licked the blade clean, and Tim was reminded of a storybook he had once stolen, and the child characters within it that had clamored for the spoon their mother had used to stir the cake batter with.

“Hey, kid,” Plagg said eventually, opening his palm, the blade tipping out of his hand and falling back down onto the table carelessly.

Tim stiffened just slightly at the sound, his gaze flitting to Marinette. She was still sound asleep, her face tucked into his shoulder, an arm thrown over his stomach.

Plagg’s contented smile stretched wider. “She’ll stay asleep, don’t worry about that. What happens between a person and their patron isn’t for outsiders.”

He hummed thoughtfully, and then dragged Marinette closer to himself, his lips coming to press a kiss to the top of her head. She didn’t stir in the slightest.

Plagg, however, made up for her lack of response by being as dramatic as possible: “Ugh, gross. You know, you’re lucky you’re mine, and she’s lucky she’s yours. I was about to smite you for doing… that near my altar.” He mimed throwing up. “Seriously, don’t do that again.”

Tim smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Plagg. In my defense, what was I supposed to say? ‘No’?”

“Yes!”

He gave an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “She wouldn’t have felt safe enough in any other room, though.”

Plagg snorted. “Yeah. Wonder why that is.”

His smile fell. “She can’t know.”

“She’s going to figure it out sooner rather than later. Trixx’s –” the name was hissed out like a curse. “– blessing is keeping her suspicions at bay, but if she catches you in a single lie, even about something small, even if you’re just messing around and joking, the whole jig is up.”

Tim knew that. Of course, he did. He’d honestly thought he’d accidentally slipped up when they’d been joking about how it was an affront that she was doing her job as a knight and trying to ‘protect’ him. He’d accidentally agreed that she was evil for being a knight, too caught up in the fun to realize that he’d slipped until the words were out. But she had interpreted it as him simply not liking knights (admittedly, not untrue, he hated all knights that weren’t her), thankfully.

He couldn’t bank on that happening again.

“I just… I need her to get attached before I reveal myself to her,” he said. “She needs to see me as a person and then, when I reveal myself as a dragon, she won’t be scared.”

“The betrayal might sting more that way,” Plagg said.

He cringed. “It’s my best shot.”

Plagg’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“Perhaps not. There is one way to guarantee she’ll stay with you…”

>>>>>

Next part

Tag: @jeminiikrystal

[chaotic-galaxy-collective]

Alterhuman is a term that refers to someone who does not fit the traditional standard of what is considered human, and/or does not identify as human. This can include non-human system members and introjects, however it also includes singlets who don't quite fit the term human, or identify as non-human to an extent.

Otherkin refers to someone who identifies partially or wholly as something non-human, usually involuntarily.

Mythkin: identifying as something found in mythology, such as a unicorn, merperson, dragon, etc.

Divinekin: identifying as something with divine origin, such as an angel, demon, or other deity.

Faekin: identifying as any type of fae, such as fairies or elves.

Alienkin: identifying as an alien, or any non-earth being.

Robotkin: identifying as a robot, AI, or similar technology.

Objectkin: identifying as an object of some kind.

Conceptkin: identifying as a concept of some kind. This may overlap with fictionkin and musickin.

Musickin: identifying as a song, album, tune, or similar.

Plantkin: identifying as a tree, flower, or other plant.

Foodkin: identifying as a food of some kind.

Polykin: having multiple kintypes; identifying as multiple beings.

Halfkin or demikin: Those who identify partially as another species/a fictional being, rather than fully. A kin identity such as a Werewolfkin could be considered a halfkin under certain circumstances.

Therians or animalkin are people who feel their spirit is non-human, typically being an earthly animal. They are included under otherkin, though they describe those with more earthly-based spirits, and do not include creatures that are mythical, fictional, deities, magical, etc.

Therians may have animalistic impulses and instincts such as biting, hissing, scratching and panting, and they also may 'shift' and feel more animalistic at times, though not all therians shift. Some may engage in quadrobics (depending on the theriotype), wear faux tails, ears, and wings, and join therian packs to meet other members of the community.

Fictionkin (formerly known as mediakin) are those who identify as something found in fiction, including characters, species, glitches, etc. This may or may not be considered otherkin, since fictionkin includes human fictotypes, however it is typically included under the otherkin umbrella.

Some fictionkin believe they are reincarnated, some follow psychological beliefs for their identity, while some follow metaphysical beliefs (such as soul collecting.)

Hearted/Otherhearted/Fictionhearted

For the therian, otherkin and fictionkin community respectively, being ‘hearted is having a strong feeling of connection and kinship with a being. This differs from kin due to the fact that ‘hearted individuals identify with the creature, not as it.

Astral Shift

When someone’s astral body takes on the form of their kintypes during astral projection.

Aura Shift

When one’s aura takes on the shape of their kintypes.

Awakening

When Someone comes to the realization that they identify as nonhuman. This is not “becoming” or choosing to be a therian or kin, it is realizing what they were all along.

Berserker Shift

A type of deep mental shift where all human awareness is lost and the individual becomes their kintype completely (mentally, not physically.)

Bi-location Shift

A shift in which the shifter leaves their physical body and materializes elsewhere in the form of their kintype. Some people claim that the form is physical and can interact with objects, while others say it can not. This shift is a very controversial concept in the community.

Cladotherian

Someone who identifies as a whole clade of animals, rather than a specific species. For example, a feline cladotherian would identify as all species of felines, (tigers and bobcats and house cats etc...) or could be described as having a feline “essence,” without being able to narrow it down to a specific theriotype. They may have a few main forms, such as being a feline cladotherian that often has tiger and house cat shifts.

Contherian

A person who’s humanside and animalside are fully integrated, so they are in a consistent state of both human and animal at all times. They do not experience shifts because there is nothing to shift into.

Draconic

Describing the community of people who identify themselves as dragons spiritually or psychologically. Most of the old draconic community has merged with the ever-growing otherkin community.

Dream Shift

A dream Shift is when one is, or transforms into their theriotype in their dreams. When still searching for your kintype, dreams should be taken with a grain of salt, as they can often have other, non-literal meaning that’s not so obvious, and animal dreams do not always point to a kintype.

Emotional Shift

A shift that is triggered during certain emotions.

Greymuzzle

Someone who has been in the therian, otherkin or furry community for a long time and has a lot of wisdom and experience. This is not a self-given

Involuntary Shift

A shift that happens without conscious effort

Kintype/Kinself

The word used to describe the species or character one identifies as. Used mostly by otherkin and fictionkin.

Mental Shift

When one’s thoughts and behaviours change to resemble ones kintype. This can be anything from a mild animalistic urge, to a very strong shift in perception.

Paleotherian

A therianthrope that identifies as a creature that is extinct. Also can be called paleokin.

Phantom/Astral Limb

A phantom limb when one feels and receives sensory info from what feels like a limb when no such thing exists physically. This is experienced by amputees who have their limb, as well as therians and otherkin. The type that therians and otherkin feel specifically, are called supernumerary phantom limbs, because they feel limbs such as tails and wings that were never there in the first place, at least not in ones human life.

Phantom/Astral Limb Shift

A Phantom/Astral Limb shift is a Shift in which the kin feels the sensation of the body parts of their kintype, such as a cat therian feeling a tail, although there isn’t one there.

Polymorph

Not to be confused with polykin, a polymorph is someone who’s kintype shapeshifts into a vast array of forms, though they usually have a base form.

Polytherian/Polykin/Polywere

A polytherian, or, polykin is an individual who has more than one therio and/or kintype.

Psychological Therian/Kin

Someone who believes that their therianthropy/kinity stems from a psychological cause, such as abnormal brain wiring or imprinting.

Sensory Shift

A sensory shift is when a kins senses become heightened and more like that of their kintype. This is not a physical heightening of the senses (Senses can not be heightened beyond the limits of the human body,) but rather a heightened awareness of those senses, resulting in the person noticing them more.

Shapeshifterkin

Someone who has a kintype that is able to shift into other beings. This is not the same as actually claiming to be able to physically shift.

Shift

A change in state that causes one to become more like their kintype. There are many different kinds of shifts.

Species Dysphoria

A feeling of great discontentment/discomfort about ones human body. Feeling as if one was born the wrong species.

Spiritual Shift

When someone’s aura or astral body shifts into their kintype

Spiritual Therian/Otherkin

Someone who believes their therianthropy or kinity stems from spiritual causes.

Standard Therian/Otherkin

A therian or otherkin that only has one kintype.

Sun/syntherian

A suntherian is someone who’s theriotype is integrated in their personality. However, unlike contherians, they can have changes in mood that cause them to feel more or less non-human.

Synpath

Someone dwho identifies strongly with and has a deep connection to a creature. This is sometimes used interchangeably with otherhearted.

Therian Gear

Therian Gear are articles of clothing or accessories that some therians like to wear as a way of feeling more like their theriotype. They can be good relievers of dysphoria, but can also just be worn for fun. Some examples of Therian Gear would be a tail, an animal shirt, a therian necklace or a headband with animal ears attached. 

Theriomythic

An Uncommon term used to describe someone who identifies as a mythical creature such as a dragon or gryphon, but feels more wild and instinctual, and often finds it easier to relate to the therian than the otherkin community.

Vacillant Therian

A therian whose therioside is integrated so that shifts occur fluidly as if on a sliding scale.

Voluntary Shift

A shift that is induced through conscious effort.

[starbornsinger]

Elriel/Gwynriel/Elucien Theory Time :)

Ok so in regards to the Az POV chapter, I have some thoughts. This is super long and detailed and also tearing down ships, so uh, beware.

⚠️ACOSF spoilers (duh)⚠️

So I was re-reading the thing and as I was reading the conversation between Az and Rhys, it kind of hit me. I used to be an Elriel shipper until ACOSF, and I was really all for it.

But I don't think they're in love.

See, earlier in the chapter, Az is thinking about how jealous he is of the other couples. We know he isn't very lucky in love, and seeing Elain and her mate and their mating bond upsets him. I think he fancies Elain because she's beautiful and sweet, but I don't think he's in love with her. I think she's another thing he can't have, and he feels frustrated and it only makes him want her more. Because he thinks, why shouldn't he have her? Why is the Mother so cruel as to deny him love? And he thinks, "well all my other brothers have Archeron mates, why don't I? It must be a mistake!"

I think what Azriel's biggest issue is though, is that he wants love so bad, he's willing to risk it all for the first girl he feels attraction too. It also feels relevant that the primary thing we see in his POV is his physical attraction to her, his sexual attraction. We don't see much of how he thinks she's so sweet or so clever or so gentle, but instead how nice her tits are and how badly he wants to kiss and fuck her. I think he doesn't particularly want Elain, and while he likes her, I think what he really wants is love. True love, just like his brothers and friends. He thinks the Mother must be wrong because they both got Archeron sisters while he didn't, and his attraction to Elain makes him wish they were Mates so he could finally have that true love that's entirely his own.

But she's not. And he can't. I think what Azriel wants most isn't Elain. He wants her sexually, and he admires her and has a crush on her, but the thing he focuses on and gives him the most emotion is that she has a Mate and he doesn't, and that everyone does but him. I think he wants someone like Elain and wants to feel happy, but I think he doesn't exactly want Elain. When he thinks of her, he doesn't seem to be truly in love as we've seen other SJM couples are. And sure, it's early, but it's also been like— 2 years. I don't think they're in love sadly, I think Azriel just wants to move on from Mor and finally find love. He has a type, and when he found someone who loosely fit into the mold of his ideal partner, he jumped at it because he's desperate to have someone love him. All his life, he's struggled with self-love and love from others, and I think that it's deeply affected his relationship with love itself.

Physical attraction and desire and interest isn't love. And the idea of her being mated already only makes him mad— that of course the first girl he likes for the first time in 500 years, of course the girl that could help him move on from Mor, is mated. I think that only makes him feel more passionate towards her; and Rhys notes how he seems to think he has a claim to her, when he doesn't. It makes Az angry, not because Rhysand thinks he's being possessive and reckless, but because it's true. He genuinely can't have her.

As for Elain, I think she's far too hesitant to be with him. She reminds me of Daisy in The Great Gatsby, and how she claims to love Jay but she won't leave Tom, or jilt him. Now this is a different situation, because Daisy was selfish and didn't want to give up her comforts and stability and fame. Elain, on the other hand, doesn't seem ready to have a serious relationship with Az. I think she is still severely affected by Graysen's rejection, and is still clearly not over him. I don't think she's ready to accept Az fully and be with him, and I also don't think she's ready to reject her mating bond with Lucien.

I don't know 100% what's going on with Elain, but what I do know is that clearly she is intrigued by Lucien in some capacity. Ok Elriel shippers, don't come for me, but there are several scenes in which Elain seems to want to talk to Lucien, or whatever the heck. But also seems disinterested, like when she dismisses his Solstice gifts and doesn't speak to him.

However, I don't think she's resentful towards him exactly, or at least that isn't the main reason she's like this. While we know he was helping Tamlin lowkey, Feyre and the IC all understood he was on their side, and was their friend. So it seems kind of odd to still bear a grudge against him, but who knows.

But funnily enough, she has yet to reject their mating bond. If she's so disinterested, or hates him so much, why hasn't she turned him down? Mother, she's barely spoken to him at all. I think the obvious reason behind her disdain or distancing from Lucien is her connection to Graysen and her human life. Of all the sisters, Elain has not yet adapted to or accepted that she is Fae— or if she has, she's sure as hell not happy about it. Even Nesta in ACOSF mentioned how she actually likes her ears now, and we know Feyre has totally accepted being Fae. But with Elain, she had the most human connected life of them all, and to have it taken away from her is shitty.

For Elain, her happiness seems to come from a love of gardening, of family, of people. She has very little human things to hold onto, and adding a Mating bond to the mix right as she's made Fae is like she's had all her humanity stripped. She doesn't hate Lucien, she hates the bond. She dislikes that it's chained her to someone and taken away her choices, which we know is a big deal for the sisters after being imprisoned, kidnapped, and Made. I think Elriel is an infatuation, because even though she doesn't love Az, he's helping her rebound from Graysen (and giving her control and power over her love life). He's a choice she (can't really) make, but a choice nonetheless. With Lucien, she feels she has no choice with him, and no control over her obvious attraction I say obvious because mates have a primal attraction of some level to each other , and is probably afraid that accepting the Mating bond will remove any last connections she has to who she used to be, and the human she feels she really is.

But she also hasn't rejected it, because I think she realizes that Lucien is a genuine and kind and hot guy, and that rejecting him would be a stupid idea. He's been very patient and very kind and accepting, and has always given her the freedom of choice when it comes to the bond. I think Lucien is the kind of guy that would be very easy to fall in love with, and I think Elain sees that and knows it.

Also, I think with ACOSF, it feels relevant that Cassian pointed out specifically how Elain looked beautiful in black at the ball, but it looked horribly wrong on her. With SJM the devil is always in the details, and I think it was a clearly accentuated bit of symbolism. Although Elain looks beautiful, the black dress wasn't for her. And although Elriel is very sweet, it won't work out. She won't thrive in the Night Court, or with Azriel. Az doesn't challenge her or meet her as an equal (like all other SJM ships), and they don't push each other to be better or to accept themselves or whatever etc etc.

And I really used to like Elriel, but I think that surprisingly, Elain will be the one who says "stop, I can't do this" to Az. I think she knows she isn't ready, and I think she knows they aren't meant to be. Even if a Mating bond was put in place between her and Lucien, I still think their relationship wouldn't work because they're both too insecure, too closed off, too non-communicative, and too stagnant together to be a healthy or good match. I think with Elain they would struggle to understand each other even if they were fond of each other and can relate on some level, but at its rawest form I think they won't truly be able to be themselves with each other.

With Elain, Azriel's shadows— a key part of him— disappear. While I initially thought, awww that's so cute, she's a light in his life, I soon realized I was wrong. Az's shadows are not just a part of him, they're an extension of him, of his will and subconscious and emotions. So Elain chasing them away, while chasing away the shadows and darkness seems cute, isn't a good thing. Most of the time with shadows, we think "ew bad!" Because they have an inherent connotation of negativity or sorrow or depression or darkness etc etc. And while this is partially true, Azriel's shadows and darkness are a part of him. His sadness and struggles are a part of him. And his shadows aren't just representative of that, they're also a representation of how he overcame his abuse and turned that fire (pun unintended) and anger and trauma into something beautiful and powerful and a weapon. I think they can serve as an armor and a shield, and while that's not good, I also don't think they should fully disappear.

More on that: with Azriel's shadows, we know they're a part of him, right? So I think an important part of self is self-regulation. Rather than be consumed entirely by shadow, or totally exposed to the light, I think he just needs his shadows to be calm and present, but not controlling or hiding. I think the whole "Elain bringing him out of the shadows" bit sounds cute at first, but then you have to think of it like this. In order to be with Elain, he would have to change. He couldn't be a spy or a shadowsinger or a torturer, and he couldn't be dark and introverted. With her, he has to push that aside. Those are key parts of him, key parts that would have a big impact on their relationship. Elain can't be with someone with so much blood on their hands or a history of violence or darkness. We know that, because we know that sort of thing upsets her and she doesn't like it.

Azriel can't just be himself with her, he has to become someone else. And while he's attracted enough to not care, after awhile, that grows exhausting. Being in love and not being your true self, all of it, is exhausting. And while some might argue "why can't he be his true self?!" well my slime, I think we both know that even if we wanted him to, Elain would be silently resigned about it. I don't think— no, I know— Elain can't be with someone like Azriel. Even if they have feelings, even if they have lust or affection, it isn't love. They aren't in love, and they won't work out no matter how much we want it to.

Onto Elain: with Elain, this all ties back to what Cassian said in Hewn City. She looks beautiful in black, but it's wholly wrong for her. The Night Court is wrong for her, and darkness is wrong for her. While some yin-yang relationship tropes can work very well, I don't think this will. She doesn't like the darkness or accept it, and she doesn't want to be a part of it. I think the Night Court is good and happy for her when she makes her own little garden world, and only then, really. It's like living in the middle of the desert and only thinking of the beach: it's not the right place for her.

I think the Spring Court needs her, and I think she needs it. Here's more on that.

So we've seen the set up and execution of the fall of the Spring Court. We know that it's in shambles and is weak and needs a new/better leader than Tampon. I feel like SJM is setting things up for a new book focused in the Spring Court, because in a lot of ways, it's becoming the centerpiece for action in Prythian (aside from the Night Court). I genuinely believe that as Tamlin's second, Lucien will take over the Spring Court as High Lord. He doesn't fit in with Autumn, didn't fit in with Night, and wasn't really a part of Spring. But with Spring, it was where he was happy, where he felt safe, and the home he chose. Chosen homes and chosen families are a big deal for SJM, and I think that Lucien will return to the Spring Court to try and help it, because Mother knows it needs it. I think Elain belongs there, not only because she needs to be in an environment suited to her, but because she needs to heal.

We've seen a theme of helping others heal in order to heal ourselves, and I think a good book idea (and what I think an Elain book would be about), is healing the Spring Court and helping it. Elain is a gardener. She wants to see things grow and blossom, wants to get her hands dirty and dig in! But she can't do that in the NC. I think she needs something new and fresh and blossoming that she can help and tend to, and I think the person that can be at her side for that is Lucien. I think with Azriel, she can't see growth and life and flowers. He's a different kind of person, far too different, and the two wouldn't mesh well. Elain isn't like Persephone and Azriel isn't like Hades; although she's flowers and he's death and they're attracted to each other, they don't fully accept those roles and cross into each other's. Elain could never be a killer or someone who wears black or thrives in a darker place, and Azriel couldn't be someone who is in the full heat of the light and wear bright colors and be cheerful and flowery. In a dream world, yes, but I think in this one, no. SJM loves to create realistic relationships and realistic relationship conflict, and I think we'll see this here. Even though they want it to work, and in theory it should, it won't. I think they know it too. Azriel's shadows vanish when she's around, and Elain struggles to feel comfortable in the darkness and Night Court, and fit in with the others in the black dress that is wholly un-Elain.

I also think that this relationship doesn't bring development to the table. The forbidden love concept is adorable and a trope I love, but this love isn't one that will push them to grow. Azriel can feel loved and happy, but can he feel fully accepted? Can he stop being ashamed of his shadows, of his violence? Of who he is? Can Elain break out of her shelf and be more assertive, and truly grow and change? Can she be herself and be happy? The answer is a sad no. Their relationship is sweet and cute, but it won't truly work. I genuinely believe Lucien is a better match for Elain, and while the Cauldron isn't always right (like Rhysand's parents), it usually is. If he isn't, then I'm all for independent Elain.

Now onto the moment you've all been waiting for: who should Az be with?

Gwyn. :)

[mmvalentine]

Hiii, firstly I love your writing, you’re sooo good and thanks for blessing us with your fics❤️ i looooove your smuts🥵 Secondly, I want to make a request. Would you mind writing something for Rhys’s birthday, something smutty?

Thank you sweet thing, I would not mind at all! And thanks to all the prompt senders who are still waiting while I work on The Bargain, your patience is appreciated x

Birthday Regards

The gala for Rhys’ birthday every November 21st was always a lovely night, but it was always exhausting, too.

When Rhys was young, his birthday was a revel that went for three days, a large portion of which he went at least partially naked. He had been the Prince of the Nightmare Court, then, and nightmare he was.

When Rhys became High Lord and distanced himself from the Hewn City, he just took the one day for his birthday, and it was a feast in the courtyards of Velaris where he spent time with the fae in his beloved city.

Now that he was approaching 600 years old, all he really wanted to do was spend the day with his family, but it had become a tradition of late that they would open up the estate by the Sidra and host a gala dinner, that absolutely everyone was invited to and could come eat and drink from their tables.

It wasn’t that Rhys didn’t want to be there. Far from it- ever since he had returned from Under the Mountain, the Night Court fae had been so attached to him. Like children whose mother had gone unexpectedly, so they clung to him now that he was back. And he was likewise glad to be home. So opening up their house and filling it with happy fae was a great pleasure.

The occasion also served as an opportunity to strengthen bonds between the courts. Rhys had sent out invites to the High Lords and Ladies around Prythian, and while not all had accepted and weren’t ever going to, he knew it was still a gesture of good will to send the offer. After all, there were so few times when the courts gathered that did not involve crisis or bloodshed or plotting. A birthday party was so much nicer. Good for souls.

But after hours and hours of mingling, smiling, kissing cheeks and shaking hands, Rhys was tired. Mor and Cassian were dancing in the centre of the room still, and Azriel and Amren were deep in conversation with some visiting High Lords. But Rhys had lost the appetite for it all. He scanned the room, seeking out Feyre, and found her drinking wine in a shadowy corner.

“Drinking alone, Feyre darling?” Rhys asked her, stepping out from the shadows. His voice teased, but his arms slid round her waist and his nose nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Feyre leaned back against him automatically, and closed her eyes. After all these years, he still loved how easy she was around him. The only one who never shied from him.

“Just taking a moment,” Feyre murmured. “I think I’ve spoken to a thousand people tonight, and there are still faces I don’t recognise.” Rhys chuckled into her skin. “The duties of being High Lady,” he said. “One of many,” Feyre replied, and then stifled a yawn. Rhys kissed her on the cheek.

“Alright, go to bed,” he said. “But there are still so many people here,” Feyre argued. “Yes but you’re exhausted and they can entertain themselves.”

Feyre turned and looped her arms around Rhys’ neck. “Will you at least come with me?” she asked. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. Then nipped his lower lip with her teeth. Rhys circled her wrists with his hands, and supressed a shudder.

“In a bit,” he said. “Then I should stay too,” Feyre frowned. Rhys stroked his hands down her back. “I’m giving you an out darling,” he said. “Now do you want to stay and make small talk or do you want to snuggle up in bed?” Feyre hesitated. “That’s what I thought,” Rhys said. “Now get.”

Feyre kissed him once more, then stepped away. “Where’s Nyx?” she asked. Rhys shrugged. “Last I saw he was going for a romantic stroll with a young fae along the Sidra.” “What? Who?” Feyre demanded. “He’s fine now go,” Rhys shooed her. And Feyre rolled her eyes but wandered off to bed.

Rhys was able to stomach almost a full hour after that. But by that time of night, most everyone was too drunk to be paying him much attention, and he was able to slip upstairs on tired feet. He didn’t know when he had gotten too old for parties, but wondered if maybe they should start celebrating Nyx’s birthday instead of his. Let his son be up all night entertaining, twenty was almost certainly old enough.

Rhys rubbed his eyes as he trudged up the stairs, and opened the door as quietly as he could so as not to wake Feyre. He removed his jacket and shoes in the dark, and had just undone his top three buttons when a candelabra blazed to life on the bedside table. Rhys blinked in shock, and then stared.

Feyre was kneeling on their bed, completely naked, her hair unpinned and tumbling around her face and shoulders. And she was tied up all over in a red satin ribbon. Her hands were bound behind her back and a perfect bow was fastened just below her navel.

Rhys let out a slow breath as his eyes roved all over his mate, suddenly wide awake. His gaze followed the lines of the ribbon- around her neck, between her breasts, crisscrossing over her ribcage. Wrapping around her upper arms, her thighs, her ankles. Knots at her waist and wrists. That shiny, crimson bow.

“Happy birthday, Rhysie darling,” Feyre said, and her voice was honey and velvet.

“Happy birthday to me indeed,” Rhys murmured. He began a slow circuit around the sides of the bed, taking in Feyre from all angles. His fingers worked his buttons at the same time, and when he returned to the middle, he laid his shirt over the cast iron end of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair as he contemplated where to begin.

Rhys kneeled up onto the foot of the mattress, and traced one finger down the ribbon that followed Feyre’s sternum.

“Who wrapped you up so nicely for me, Feyre love?” he asked her. His hands now traced the ribbon under her breasts. Her heart beat faster, and the sound in his ears was delicious.

“The Shadowsinger sends his birthday regards,” she said, and then gasped when Rhys bent his head and put his mouth over her nipple. His fingers spread over the ribbon on her ribs.

“Pity,” Rhys said, eyeing the knots at the hollows of her shoulders. “That means they’re unbreakable then.” But the look in his eyes was anything but regretful, as a whisper of magic brought a sharp, silver blade into his hand.

Rhys hooked one finger behind the ribbon on Feyre’s breastbone and used it to pull her in and kiss her. With their eyes closed, he teased the cold edge of the knife down her stomach. At the same time, his tongue traced the edge of her bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on Feyre’s skin.

The first slice Rhys made was vertically through the length of ribbon that was tied off between her navel and breastbone. He didn’t sever it, just cut a slit down the centre of it and then swiftly followed the blade with his tongue. He waited for Feyre’s first moan, before he turned the knife and cut the satin away.

Next he turned his attention to the stripes across Feyre’s thighs. She was on her shins, with her knees apart and her feet together behind her. Rhys threaded his fingers through the wrapped ribbon, and leaned on her legs as he moved his tongue up her throat.

“Of all the presents I’ve gotten today,” Rhys said, between soft bites, “you are by far my favourite.” “Well,” Feyre said, trying to steady her breathing, “I’m just for you, mate.” He picked up the knife again. “I could unwrap you all night.” Rhys leaned back and surveyed her arms, her hands still tied behind her back. Then he began slicing through the bands up her arms, from wrist to shoulder. The silver kissed her skin over and over, Rhys moving achingly slowly as the tightness was cut away and blood flow returned to her limbs. He left her hands tied, though.

As to the ribbon wrapped around her thighs, he dispensed with the knife altogether and tore through these ties with his teeth. Scraped them sharply against her skin as he bit against each wrap, working from her knees upward, until his mouth was right up against her inner thigh and she was writhing beneath his lips to get them where she really needed them. But she couldn’t do more because her wrists and ankles were bound. And then he moved to the other knee and started again.

By the time all he got back to the top of her other thigh, Feyre was breathing heavily and her eyes were glazed with lust. The tails of the bow at her navel hung down in front of Rhys’ nose, and he took one in his teeth and tugged it every so painfully slowly. When it came apart he licked a swift, broad stroke all the way up her pussy.

Feyre’s moan shuddered through her and she lifted her hips up to him. Rhys’ hands slid up the sides of her thighs and curled around her backside as he buried his tongue in her, licked and lapped at her until she was squirming against her bindings and his name was tumbling from her lips.

A little restricted there, are you my love? Rhys asked, looking up at her without moving his mouth from her. Her head was tilted back, and he could feel the twitching in her thighs. She didn’t answer, just dug her knees into the mattress to try and get her hips closer.

Must be difficult to be all tied up, he mused. You usually have your hands in my hair by now. He sped up his tongue on her clit. Or your legs wrapped around my head.

At this last suggestion, Feyre broke, came suddenly on his lips. Rhys grinned against her, and then eased back. Removed the rest of his clothes while Feyre watched, panting on the bed. Then he guided her onto her stomach, pulled her hips back, and slid his fingers into her while he began kissing up her spine.

Feyre moaned, the side of her face pressing into the mattress since her hands were behind her back. Rhys took a hold of the knot between her wrists, and used it to hold her steady as he pushed his cock against her soaking wet entrance.

“Mmmm,” Rhys rumbled, low in his chest. The sight of her ass perked up like this for him was to die for. He held onto the ribbons, and began to thrust lazily. “You look so damn good in red, Feyre darling,” he said. Feyre turned her face into the sheets, and arched her back to get him deeper. This earned a groan from Rhys.

“You look absolutely… fucking… perfect,” he ground out, starting to pick up the pace a little. “You’re all I want, for every birthday, for the rest of my birthdays.”

Feyre looked back at him, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Then you better work a little harder than that, old man,” she teased. Rhys spanked her across the ass. “Cruel thing,” he said. “I’m not that old.” His hips sped up nonetheless. “Prove it,” Feyre returned, and Rhys grabbed a hold of her hips and fucked her until she was screaming into the mattress.

Her climax squeezing around him brought him over the edge with her, and then they collapsed together amongst the pieces of red ribbon scattered around the bed.

Rhys reached for his knife and cut away the last few ties that bound Feyre, and then lay her back against the pillows before kissing every scarlet mark left on her pale skin. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands stroked his hair as he did, while her limbs relaxed and her breathing deepened and slowed. When he was done, Rhys came up to rest his head on her chest, and Feyre kissed him on the forehead while he listened to her heart beat.

“Thank you for my birthday present,” Rhys whispered. “Next year,” Feyre said, “I’m tying you up.”

Rhys laughed, and kissed her skin, and breathed in the endlessly gorgeous scent of his mate.

****

Something a little different for us? Hope you enjoy this nonnie, thanks for sending this in!

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @asteria-of-mars

[spicycreativity]

Fantasy au moceit fluff, for the ask thing. <3<3

Thank you for the request! And sorry it took so long to fill 😅

I went with a Mushishi fusion. The simplest explanation of Mushishi is that mushi are creatures somewhat analogous to fae/faeries and tend to cause chaos when they interact with humans. So it's Japanese fantasy, but it's still fantasy!

I could go on a whole rant about how Mushishi is such a great reflection of Japanese cultural Shintoism and how Janus as a character rejects that and Patton embraces it, which is a fun juxtaposition because Janus is the mushi-shi in this story, but I won't 😇

Anyway! It's a little under 2k, CW for very mild body/eye horror (Patton temporarily gets afflicted with frog traits that affect his skin and eyes)

The steep mountain path was neither well-worn nor clearly-marked, the ground a uniform carpet of deep green pine needles dotted here and there with pinecones. Still, it was a path Janus could tread with his remaining eye closed. A few wooden signs still stood, though they were mostly grown over with moss. Janus let them be. Very few visitors came to this tiny mountain village, at least by this particular path. He was more interested in the chorus of frog croaks that grew ever louder the closer he got to the village. He thought, though it was hard to be certain, wispy and ephemeral as they were, that the mushi were increasing in density, too. This place had always been a hotbed for mushi, even without Janus' presence to draw them near. It was unusual, he reflected, to hear this many frogs this high in the mountains. The croaks were now a maddening constant, enough to make him wish that he only had one working ear, instead of one eye.

He guarded that wish carefully, in case any mushi with the power to make it come true were nearby. 

He made it into the village unscathed, pausing when he realized that the croaking had stopped. For the most part. He looked around, rubbing his face against the sharp, familiar bite of the mountain wind, cooled further still by the nearby presence of a lake. Now, only one plaintive croak reached his ears. He tried not to let his heart sink, tried not to jump to conclusions, though he set off for the house where his sweetheart waited for him with an uncharacteristic urgency in his movements. 

The life of a mushi-shi did not foster close relationships, and Janus had long since closed off his heart to new connections. Growing close was a one-way journey to becoming hurt, as he could never stay anywhere for long. Yet somehow, on a trip to a lonely mountain village, Patton had slipped through his defenses. They couldn’t be together, not the way they wanted, but they had promised themselves to each other. It was an easy thing for Janus to promise not to love another. The challenge had been in entrusting Patton with his heart. But he had gotten there in the end. In the absence of a proper wedding ceremony, they had simply taken a scrap of the other’s clothing as a token. 

Janus didn’t bother to knock on the door when he arrived. Patton’s door was always unlocked, unbarricaded. To Janus’ dismay, the croaking did not stop upon his arrival inside, and several mushi danced in the corners where the walls met the ceiling. “Patton, love?”

“Don’t come closer!” Patton’s voice was high, tight with panic. “Just wait a second,” he added in a pleading tone. “I’m glad you’re back, but--”

“Having trouble with mushi?” Janus guessed. The singular frog croaks had stopped when Patton spoke. “Please, do keep worrying about how I’m going to react.” he tugged on the scrap of cloth tied to the straps of his woven backpack. It was old and tattered now, no longer smelled like Patton or bore the pattern it had before.

“It’s just…” Croak.

Janus considered. Whatever mushi had latched onto Patton, it was probably affecting his appearance, hence the hesitancy. “Come on, love, let me see. I’ll have you cured in no time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Besides, it’s not like I’m a paragon of good looks, either. Maybe we’ll match for a bit.” This was only partially true in Janus’ mind. His own looks were inoffensive, but strangers tended to shy away from him, frightened by the piercing gold and slitted pupil of his remaining eye.

It was silent for a moment. Then came the shuffle-scrape of bare feet on wooden floors. Patton appeared at the end of the hall with his head angled downward. Even still, Janus could see the patches of mottled brown skin on his hands and cheeks. Frog skin. “We do match a little,” Patton said, forcing humor into his voice. He came closer and lifted his head to reveal that one of his eyes was now golden, with a horizontal pupil.

“Oh,” said Janus, careful not to tease. “That’s not so bad.” He cupped Patton’s face, gently running his thumb over a slightly damp patch of frog skin. “You’re still beautiful, love.”

“But you can cure it?” Patton asked.

“Of course.” Janus smiled a little. He hoped it was reassuring. “You’ve been poisoned by a kaeru mushi.”

“Poisoned?” Patton yelped, and a little nervous croak escaped his throat.

Janus patted his cheek. “If only you knew a deeply intelligent, highly skilled mush-shi who could take care of that for you.”

“If only,” Patton repeated, widening his eyes at Janus. The effect was somewhat dampened by his frog eye, but only somewhat. It was still enough to send a wave of fondness through Janus’ chest.

"Come on," Janus said, taking Patton by the hand. He led Patton to the kitchen and set his backpack on the ground with a light thump. The tight weave was strong, but it was beginning to get creaky with age, and Janus made a mental note to see about getting a replacement. "You can take it as a tea, although the flavor is more savory, like a soup." He opened up his backpack and began to dig through it. The paper-wrapped vials rustled and clicked beneath his fingers, and a few specimens brought back memories of his recent trip. "Here we go." He held up the vial and showed it to Patton. "It does take a while to brew. I hope you don't mind being stuck like that for a bit."

Patton extended a hand to help Janus up and pulled him into an embrace, mindful of the glass in Janus' hand. "I already feel better now that you're here."

"You know me," Janus said, nuzzling Patton's forehead. "I live to serve."

It was meant to be sarcasm, though Patton refused to take it as such. "You're so selfless," he said into Janus' chest.

"Patton, love, you are the first and only person to ever accuse me of that." It was true. Janus' bedside manner was objectively abhorrent, his patience for stupidity and stubbornness nonexistent. Most villages regarded him as a necessary evil, rather than a presence to be celebrated. He pulled away before Patton could get it into his head that Janus needed comforting. "Let's get going on the antidote, shall we?"

Patton nodded. "There's a patch of snow out back," he said. "I've been fishing, trying to make the most of it."

"Fish soup?" Janus asked, putting the pieces together.

Patton nodded. "You'll have some, won't you?" He made a point of looking Janus up and down, and even the golden frog eye did not diminish his look of somewhat paternal concern. "You work too hard."

"Again, Patton," Janus said, turning to examine the cooking pot, "you are the only person who's ever said that about me."

"I think I would know," Patton said definitively, taking Janus by the hand to lead him outside.

They held each other while they waited for the cure to steep properly, Janus wrapping his arms around Patton and holding him close. He rested his chin on Patton's shoulder and watched the mushi dance around them. He found it hard to regard them as anything other than vermin, little nuisances who made his life worse. The world was cruel and arbitrary and mushi were no more than a reflection of that, but he couldn't help but resent the situation at hand. Patton didn't deserve this.

As though reading his thoughts, Patton nuzzled Janus' cheek. "Are they here now?"

"The mushi?"

"Mm-hm."

"Yes." Janus pointed even though he knew Patton couldn't see them.

"Describe them to me?" A principle difference between the two of them: Patton treasured every living thing. He never resented the bears that sometimes stole his fish, he never resented the deer when they ate the flowers he'd worked so hard to cultivate. He cherished them. He cherished mushi, too. Even now, when the poison coursing through his body was turning him into one (though Janus had decided not to tell Patton that, thinking that there was no sense worrying him when the cure was at hand).

"They're moving around a lot," Janus said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Though he harbored no love for mushi, he loved Patton dearly. "There's one that looks like a little octopus." Patton was not very well traveled, though he had gone to the ocean once. "And a few that look like worms. They're all glowing."

"They sound so pretty," Patton said, covering Janus' hands with his own.

"I'll bring you back some candles next time I go out," Janus promised, the idea occurring to him in one lightning strike. "And some lanterns made of colored paper. You can string them up outside."

"Oh!" Patton spun around to pull Janus into a proper hug, and Janus was careful not to stare at the frog skin now slowly-advancing down his neck. "That would be lovely."

"Lanterns are better than mushi, anyway," Janus said, his resolve finally cracking a little, "because they're actually useful."

Patton only smiled and brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Janus' face. 

It was around evening when Janus deemed the cure properly steeped. Patton made him sit down so they could eat together, smiling all the while, and Janus found any protest he might have melting away in the face of Patton's innocent kindness. It wasn't like the cure could hurt him, after all.

It took effect when they were washing the dishes with water Patton had carried in from a nearby stream. He stopped what he was doing and touched his face, already turning to Janus for confirmation.

Janus nodded, privately satisfied to see both of Patton's eyes back to their rich, deep brown. "Back to normal."

"Thank you, love." Abandoning the dishes, Patton pulled Janus in for a hug. His hands were wet, but Janus couldn't couldn't bring himself to mind the icy droplets that crawled down his neck.

Janus, who was incurably given to teasing, finally let himself off the leash. "Oh, don't thank me; it was for my own benefit. People would laugh if they found out I was in love with a frog-man."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Patton said. He had known Janus far too long, long enough that Janus no longer had to beat back the urge to flee like a startled animal in the face of such intimate knowing.

"You're right," he said, and he meant it.

[calamitousrpgarchive]

THE WINDS ARE CHANGING, 

There’s never a quiet day in the state of Calamity. 

And if there is. 

It’s the quiet before the storm. 

THERE’S WAR ON THE HORIZON. 

The mortals have suffered catastrophic loss already, Bram Mackie; a formerly prestigious hunter has fallen in with the wolves in order to strengthen himself and increase his chance of protecting his family. His friend Michael “Mike” Fothergill is offering his house for refuge whilst the newly turned wolf adjusts to his new self. This information is only known to those closest to him, and those who have been told via word of mouth from said people.Sabrina Mackie, Lucky Jones Adams and the rest of the Mackie clan seem supportive of his choice, though Cardelle Mackie would express the opposite. Begs the question, is the sacrifice worth it in the long run?

The former Commander Damien Alanis is another tragic loss for the Hideout ranks; attacked by rogue vampires, and only discovered in his last moments by his lover Malcolm “Mal” Davenport who acted against Damien’s will be transformed into one of the very creatures he used to hunt. 

The news broke out in waves, and chances of alliances across the westside remain to look slim. Malcolm and Damien have both been contained in the basement of Kazimir Mikhailov’s manor for their own protection, and the protection of others. It had been adjustment after adjustment. Jessie Davenport, Axel Reyes and Kazimir have been between diplomatic meetings in order to damage control and repair the human and vampire relations. 

Malcolm will be punished severely for the murder of one of his own via Jessie, Demitri & Jakoris “Jack” Davenport’s will. 

Axel Reyes, former Second in Command in the Hideout, has stepped up to Commander role and is heading the human relations, tightening security and doing everything he can in order to protect his people where it appears his predecessor failed. There has been a private meeting between the Commander and the Overlord after the rather large indiscretion; to prevent a Westside war that would be more blood than anything else. 

The former Second also took it upon himself to hunt down the former Commander, as the two of them had a long lived agreement that they’d not let one another turn into another species. With this in mind, Axel managed to convince Damien to meet him in neutral territory. He brought Lucky with him, wanting to make sure that the deed would be done, whether Axel finished the job or her. Unfortunately for the two of them, Kazimir found them and stopped it before either of them could do damage to one another.

They have come to a shaky agreement that Axel will donate blood to Damien for training purposes, in exchange for the vampires providing supplies that would be too difficult to acquire safely on their own, or risky. However, a miscommunication between the two leaders may mean that it doesn’t hold for all that long, because the Commander wants a guarantee that the humans in his ranks would not be touched, which the Overlord seems to agree to at first, despite the orders given. For an entire hierarchy of vampires to go against their nature, it seems like a dream that would only go on so long...

Outside of the Darklands ranks, Claude Jones has become a vampire once more, Scarlett Jane Grey her maker in a reversal of roles. Due to her lack of memory, she cannot remember much of her first maker Fox Crathorne. This transformation has left little reflection of Claudette and she is using her practice to lure unsuspecting humans and fae in for counselling and entertain her newly unhinged mannerisms. SJ has been at the reigns of handling the reprimands for Lydia Cragore and her misdeeds that pitted her as disloyal to the vampires. This led her to also become aware of Daniel Wright’s involvement in regards to trying to help Lydia with an escape, or at least attempting to encourage her to try and leave. Meanwhile, not long after this - and with incredibly poor timing as a diplomatic member - Scarlett has left Calamity on a temporary hiatus from the state. Few know of this (Claude and Jessie), and her absence is noticed but unquestioned when those might pester Jessie Davenport for answers about her Bite Club’s second lady. 

Demitri Davenport remains to be unlike himself after his own punishment a couple months ago after he acted off orders and tortured Malcolm. He is attempting to be better in his role and stay out of the firing line of Jessie Davenport because of it. Unknown to him, Jessie is considering him among the names she might suggest to Kazimir about filling their Consul position - believing that with the diplomatic relations as they are, the more voices offering a partial democracy would benefit them all. The vizier also managed to recruit Rosalie Winters into accumulating blood for Kazimir. But will she follow through? There are whispers of Rosalie and Fox Crathorne co-hosting a dinner party. 

Giselle Stoneheart has also been in contact with the Diplomat in order to discuss terms of a potential alliance, as has Josiah Maxwell as representing the Mer Kingdom, so the vampire has been attempting to fortify relations across the entire state in order to secure the continued survival of her race. Giselle, before this has been keeping a relatively low profile with the absence of an acting High Court among the fae, and has been acting on her own ideals for the benefit of her people. 

And in a hit to the vampires themselves, Teddy Byrne has taken a silveriron bullet to the shoulder by a rogue mortal and has been spending some time recovering. His old flame, and former pet (perhaps?) Matias “Matty” Desoto has been helping aid in his healing process, and both men trea thin water, considering Matty’s position at the Overlord’s side as a private feeder and companion. A secondary concern, one thinks to the diplomatic mess that Kaz has been busy with - slipped beneath his nose for a smidge longer than it usually would, maybe? Matty has also been pursuing Kaz to turn him into a vampire, but has been grossly denied until he has levelled his own personal deep seated issues, in order to make the transition easier. His brother Ace Remington, continues to antagonise him - and he persists to try and help the psychopath.

Under Axel’s new leadership, Cardelle Mackie approached him about the potential to be Second, pending a trial period that would be to prove himself as a leader. Daniel Wright has been tasked with hunting additional medical supplies for Sabrina Mackie, Aiden Kinsey, Ellie May and Diego Garcia to potentially use to develop and synthesis new medicine. Sabrina has been also developing her own skills in research development, including such things as vampire repellant, haemotology in order to further the knowlegde they have on how it works (species), hybridising plants and a multitude of salves that would be for the betterment of her people; friends and family. Her other half, Lorelai Mackie still remains to be missing, and her family are refusing to give up any hope. 

Unbeknowst to them, Lorelai Mackie is under the name Mackenzie and has been abducted to be a feeder between the two rivalling clubs on the Westside, BC and Voci. There has been the briefest of revelations in her search when Bram Mackie nearly slaughtered Jakoris “Jack” Davenport in the SRS where there was an information exchange that somehow, salvaged the vampire’s life but offered an in for the Mackie about the woman he was searching for. Jack now suspects a connection based on the two somwhat tense interactions they have shared, whilst Bram has a likely lead about Lorelai’s whereabouts. 

Along with Daniel’s orders to bring supplies into the Hideout, he’s also secretly helping the far, Cordelia Darkwood with a baby; picking up small trinkets and baby things that he delivers to her in private. He plans to inform the Hideout of this little secret in due time; when tensions have lessened. Daniel broke Gabriel Fothergill’s nose, brushed his scent onto him and may have put himself in danger by crossing paths with Michael “Mike” Fothergill, who is experiencing the backend of Liliana Solar’s punishment of being trapped in a silveriron cage that left him even madder than usual. Gabe has made it his life’s mission to press Mike’s buttons and the mad wolf sports the burns for all to see his injuries. And despite common knowledge of being enemies, he is tangled in leige with the Vociferous Owner, Oberyn Cortez and there’s something more than just unlikely flings between them. Though, it isn’t public. 

The very same vampire has been manipulating Aiden Kinsey and fabricating the mortal’s memories with compulsion. With the help of Avery Arden, a troublesome fae, they have gradually been uncovering the vampire’s handiwork to the discovery of Oberyn using Aiden as a blood source for his own personal gain. He has acquired a magical necklace that allows Avery and he to communicate telepathically, and has been self-questioning a route to elongate his lifespan to spend longer with the fae; perhaps taking the same route as Bram Mackie? 

On the less volatile side of the wolves, the oldest pack have been running amok on the Southside, troubled in their own ways - the usual pack warfare. Alpha of the Syndico’s Enzo Sinclair has been dealing with difficult family and lovers drama, Jaxon Reed has admitted the truth of Sinclair’s heritage and revealed that he is the Alpha’s father which has proven to be difficult for Enzo. With this, Jax has also confessed to having intimate relations with a member of a rival pack and the exchange of secrets has only made the Alpha make his Beta keep it hush. The only other person who knows of this familial truth is Izyk Vissar, the Alpha’s husband and formerly Exiled wolf. They are all trying to keep the inter-family drama outside of pack business, and Jaxon has found himself engaging with those he may want to avoid to cope with having to keep his confessions secret. 

Adding to Enzo Sinclair’s family carnage, his mother is heading back into town to scorn the man’s choice in husband; express her absolute disapproval. Izyk’s dealing with that, alongside his new position within the Syndico pack, and gaining acceptance as a valued member. 

Aslyn Bishop remains to be wavering with her loyalties to the wolves, and ongoing relations with Logan Crest Cree, of the vampires. Jaxon Reed has been attempting to keep her out of this trouble. 

To add to the wolves despair, Max Roper remains to be cursed to wolf form, and Phoebe Gallagher has been doing her best to cope and help with this, and has been searching for magical remedies to reverse the curse. Though, she’s not the only one trying to help the wolf. Haylee Dubois seems to think she might have a cure for the spell that is plaguing Max, while Esme is also doing her best to help. With all of this help, Max may be appear human once again.

In the ocean, the Mer kingdom remains to be recovering from their stroke of constant bad luck, death after death amongst the royal family implies they would be overdue something good. Andrew and Saylor Zander as reigning monarchs oversee their people and continue to attempt to keep them safe given past events. King Andrew and Katya Tilki have both recently returned from their travels to neighbouring kingdoms in order to recruit allies to aid in the silent war that threatens the Forgotten. Andrew is angry since his father ran his twin out of town and just as motivated by that, as he is the near assassination on him at his own wedding. Queen Saylor, privately, acted on her own in retaliation to that by targeting the demons at the latest Party of the Century, and dropped numerous with her potent concoction The Exitus. Nobody knows who was responsible for the toxic drink, but Azarius and Jahi of the Dominion have opened up their own investigations, and began dropping their own suspects across the state of Calamity in a hunt for the culprit, each pointing fingers in other directions. Azarius suspects his assassination attempt with Azagi Rabaz at the royal wedding might have something to do with the targeting. 

A silent war of the East remains under the radar, for now. 

In the diplomacy side of the underwater kingdom, Advisor, Josiah Maxwell has been reaching out for allies, whilst balancing his own personal interests in the Queen and the contract they drew up months ago that vowed the royal circle, himself and Kondor Tarren to secrecy in regards to inter-personal relationships that may jeopradise the integrity of vows, and hierarchial traditions. Greyson Zander has expressed his upset in conversation with his sister, but they all signed themselves to silence. Love is pain, no? Kondor Tarren caught between Greyson and Andrew whilst Saylor has her head turned by her Advisor. 

Saylor continues to plan for a war, has recently secured an alliance with the Syndico Pack and with her Advisor’s help, is working on allying with more. Dayanara “Daya” Lighcrest, in the background is hellbent on her pursuit for the throne, and has taken a private leave under a false guise where she was instead attempting to recruit her own people from neighbouring kingdoms to her cause, and has been planting seeds in her compatriots that antagonise the Zander’s, the potential that Azarius and Azagi may be part of her recruitment after the demon’s lazy attack on them may pose a different degree of threat. She is greatening her force, making no moves but is a reckoning force in the rear view of  the Zander’s gaze.

Among the demons, post-attack on them, and an absence of any particular unit of force, few care to act on it, others, want to terrorize the state as a result. Azagi Rabiaz is caught in a triangle of carnage, Jack Davenport, Lan Darquen and Azarius all have varying interests in the demon, but never as first choice. A complicated turmoil and mixture of monsters that serve as entertainment, toxicity and terror in one package. Lan remains unaware that Azagi and Jack have been more than just passing acquaintances, and both Jack and Azagi have learned during their jibes that they share a common partner in crime; they aren’t looking forward to letting that slip to the Invidias; the demon of envy. Nor is the little secrets of Azagi taking impromptu naps in the Davenport’s bed particularly eager knowledge they want broadcasted. 

Jakoris “Jack” Davenport in amongst the diplomatic trouble of the Darklands, is growing to put it on the back burner; disagrees with some decisions made and it might jeopradise his standing. Evanora Bile, his best friend and witch, admits to her magic waning (due to age) and that her lifespan is being reduced to that of a mortals - much to the vampire’s distaste and is currently in the pursuit (and somehow, pushing down rage) of some magical cure that might stop the mortal process of aging as he gradually wars with denial and truth. But his likely bloody chase for answers, might put himself in predicaments that derail all diplomacies on the Westside.

Ezekiel “Zeki” Amari has founded and opened his own bistro by the name of Polaris, and its a welcome reprieve for a lot of patrons of Calamity, Izara “Kit” Levine among one of its first customers on opening night and unaware that its founder had been one of her oldest companions from when they were both affiliated with the Hideout. This goes before Kit has crossed paths with her long time ex fiance, Axel Reyes and they balance a love, hate relationship amongst the diplomatic stress the Commander is dealing with. 

The state’s local good source of all things tasty, Zane Saxena has been manufacturing his own supplies of drugs and poisons in order of the growing demand. War? Brings about something with a little more potency, Pixie still a big first choice for most of the users, Ace Remington and Harley Xhanthi among his best customers, if not best friends - if it would be called such a thing. He is taking orders directly through Havelowe’s in the black market. The same Harley that has transformed species more than once, first a fallen, later a mortal via the powerful concoction at the Winter Ball, before Luella Edwards turned him into her protege and has been training him through fledgling hood. Her maker, Elias Reyes is still as insane as ever. 

Northside, the witches are as divided as ever, Esmeray Black alongside Esme Darcy are both heading the sorcerers and Black, newly given the position is still learning of the secrets that are bestowed upon the Arch Conduits. There is plans to potentially steal a child to fulfill missing gaps in her soul and assist Rhysand Darkwood in murdering Andrew’s father. Freyja Carter, without knowledge of witchcraft or the magic in her blood, is on the cusp of connecting with Luca Whitmore to help her realise what she is, but reluctantly. Aurora Lightwood, a ticking time bomb if there ever was one, the Tamperer with more power than any moertal body could handle, is trying to get a grasp of what her past has left her with. 

The High Sage keeps the Naturals in order, except her own Shaman, Haylee Dubois who appears to have wavering loyalties and rushes of impulsive behaviours, perhaps from being on such a tight leash til now? Atemu Elmasry, a poor choice in companion, dealing with his own past haunting him in the form of lost love - pitted against a complicated back and forth with the Shaman on the opposite side of the civil war of the witches, and on the brink of losing one of his oldest allies in Evanora Bile. He finds comfort in Valdana Romanov and cannot work out why he keeps finding himself in life and death, back and forths with Haylee; stops her from plummeting into dark magic and yet tolerates it. Daphne Groves is one of Haylee’s closest, and is defending all her choices, but quietly hopes she will remain on the side of light, and repel darkness. Daph is also getting a little too close to Yara Clementine, the vampire that stands as the only link left back to the witch’s mother and begins to question the High Sage’s values; instead stands to believe all species should be helped; anti-war. Still a believer, even after Azagi Rabaz presented the eyes of a loyalist in a terrifying act to coax information out of the witch?

A grand opening Southside, Coveted offers something new, founded by Adonis Romero he has found that it benefits him beyond the obvious. In some complicated thing with Teddy Byrne that seems mutually beneficial, Adonis is attempting to get the vampire addicted to his fae blood in order to manipulate the vampire to do what he wants. The trickery of the fae knows no bounds, it seems. The fae of Myre Grove seem relatively tame, Jasper Dalton’s step-brother Samuel Dalton has strode into town again to cause all kinds of trouble. Already found his long time companions in the Davenports, and Jessie has warned him off leaving messes that could caue diplomatic problems. 

Jasper has however antagonised Quentin Miles’ boyfriend when in The Bloom anda fight broke out, Kane Harrison bit Jasper and the situation grew extreme - Malakiah’s arrival worsened the situation, and the flower shop became a warzone that ended only when Quentin agreed to assist in Jasper’s injuries. What was said about how love hurts? Fortunately, an isolated indiscretion between the fae, fallen and the wolf was nothing more that lovers’ spats. 

Speaking of Jasper... He also seems to have caught the eye of his Manager and supposed friend, Amos De Leon. The man, usually seen surrounded by luck, seems to have a couple of people wrapped around his finger. Giselle, darling, are you having fun? It’s unknown if some of his games are for shits and giggles, or if he intends to blackmail those around him. All that luck is bound to run out at some point... 

Under the noses of the rest of the fae, Avery Arden plans to help conduit the human and vampire alliance in a negative direction, possibly with the assistance of Dalton and this would be detrimental to stopping a war of the West. 

Dojermaur “Dodger” Dros has been getting increasingly closer to Lennell Moore, but a Letharger’s interest in a mortal seems suspicious, no? Nira has been trying to assist in wakening the Unawakened and helping them blossom into their true potential, and Jack Riley seems to be a perfect candidate - on the road to recovery from his substance abuse, and trying to help his new Commander, and Hideout with supply runs and being support. 

Alexander remains to be under the thrall of the demons in the Dominion, continues to work as a bartender at Hypnos and is irrefutably flirting with his best friend. He’s gained custody of his child within the confines of the tunnels. The same tunnels that Atemu Elmasry and Teddy Byrne almost fought in when they reuinted for the first time in a decade and spurred the hundred year old feud that runs deep between them - Fallon Knight the only reason that the two only part ways with new scars, and their lives. 

/ END

This is the briefest of reference materials we could compile together based on what we know, and what the muns of Calamitous have sent us. If there is anything incorrect, or misinterpreted - or you lovelies want something added/included, let us know! 

We didn’t receive updates for everyone, but we’re happy to add something in, we hope this runover of the latest events helps you guys who don’t have the time to follow everything on the dash! 

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 35: Blessing

Sorry about the wait (...again lmao) But I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think! (also - this is the last one before the meeting between Maeve and Aelin! We really are getting close to the ending!)

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For the first time, seemingly in weeks, Rowan awoke with a clear head.

Today, they would leave Mistward. In the week that had passed since his…cadre’s…departure, the fortress had gotten no word from the capital. No summons, no orders. This did not comfort him.

Maeve knew everything, she had to. But instead of choosing to strike, she was biding her time. She knew that he had to return to Doranelle eventually. It was not to her advantage to drag them home early, and against their will.

As Rowan walked about their rooms, gathering various belongings, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened upon the cadre’s return to the city. Couldn’t help but imagine what they had been forced to endure on his behalf.

Aelin stirred in bed, giving Rowan the chance to shake away those thoughts. He took it gratefully.

The princess sat up, her golden hair rumpled. Cloudy eyes found his. “It’s time to leave. Isn’t it?”

Rowan only nodded.

Within half an hour, they were ready to depart, and found themselves standing at the kitchen door, saying their goodbyes to Emrys, Malakai, and Luca.

Somewhere to his right, Aelin was enduring a torrent of worry and affection from Emrys, all while the old male shoved more food than Rowan thought was in the entire fortress pantry into her rapidly-filling pack. Rowan was facing Malakai, who seemed to be struggling to figure out what exactly to say.

The prince decided to take pity on the male. “It has been an honor, Commander,” he said firmly, with a slight bow of his head.

Malakai’s body jerked, his scent speaking of surprise. “…the very same, Your Highness.” The old commander also bowed his head, respect lining his brow.

A small smile graced Rowan’s lips as he backed away, allowing Aelin to say her final goodbyes without any interference.

The princess was looking at the three males, her brow furrowed with anxiety but her scent warm with affection. “It might take a while,” she was saying, “but if – when, I reclaim my kingdom, the demi-Fae will always have a home there. And you two – and Malakai – will have a place in my household, should you wish it. As my friends.”

Emrys’ eyes were gleaming as he nodded, gripping Luca’s hand. Malakai let the ghost of a smile intrude on his resolute expression. Rowan had to hold in a grin at the sight – the gruff commander really had let this female worm into his heart, whether he had wanted it or not.

Luca was openly staring at Aelin, his eyes filled with wonder. Rowan was not sure whether he had ever truly understood who he had spent all those weeks toiling beside in the kitchens. But there was no doubt in his mind now – this was a future queen standing before them. And no longer could anyone easily forget it.

Pride at everything Aelin had accomplished coursed through him. Pride and fondness. He had known that he loved her, deep in his heart, for days – weeks, really. Ever since he saw her looking back at him through the Valg darkness, and she smiled at him, with that Queen’s smile.

Aelin reached out and ruffled Luca’s hair, a warm smile stretching her cheeks. She made to turn and join Rowan at the edges of the trees, but before she could Emrys spoke up.

“Your mother would be proud,” he said. Aelin put a hand on her heart and bowed her thanks. Rowan knew without even needing to taste her scent that words wouldn’t be capable of communicating the depth of her gratitude.

But the morning was beginning to wane, so he cleared his throat softly. And Aelin gave the three males one last parting smile before she followed him into the trees.

Their feet were light as they padded over the leaf-dusted earth, their speed increasing until they were once again streaks of gold and silver through the misty undergrowth. Only this time, their path headed up the mountains to the east, in the direction of the rising sun. To Maeve, at last.

···

The whipping was no more than he deserved.

Lorcan didn’t have to say it out loud to know that it was true, though he’d found himself repeating it over and over again in his head over the past two days. Days that he had spent tied to a post in the stocks, being whipped by Cairn.

There was no warning before Cairn entered the small, muddy yard. No time for Lorcan to prepare. All of a sudden, he would feel a breath at his back, would hear the slight pull of feet in mud, and then the iron would rent his back.

Cairn worked at him for what felt like hours at a time, his every stroke of the whip coated with gleeful mutterings and shouted taunts. Lorcan knew that the vile male took every possible pleasure in having such power over him, that every sound he made would be played over in Cairn’s mind for weeks or months to come.

So Lorcan kept as silent as he could, each stroke of the whip becoming a vow of revenge.

He knew that he deserved punishment. But this, this was something different. This was personal. And Lorcan would take his vengeance on Cairn even if it took him unto the end of his life.

Mostly, Lorcan slept. And let the pain and rage consume him.

Even so, Lorcan couldn’t find it within himself to really regret the decision. The betrayal. Rowan had not lied – if they hadn’t come, Mistward would have fallen. They had saved him, and that fire-breathing bitch. This was just the price they had to pay.

But Lorcan wasn’t sure he would ever forget the sound of that word on his queen’s lips. Betrayal.

He had betrayed her. The one thing he had sworn never to do, not in his extraordinarily long life. And he had done it. When it came down to it, he had chosen Whitethorn’s life over his devotion to his Queen. Had chosen Rowan over Maeve.

And the truth of that decision shook him.

Maeve had found him in that hovel, those centuries past, had rescued him and nurtured him. Had made him into who he was. And yet he had betrayed her. It would be a long time before he would be able to reconcile that with himself.

He was her Second, her top commander, her most trusted confidant. He was responsible. The one in charge. He was at least as guilty as Whitethorn. He didn’t blame Maeve for her punishment of him, even as he hated Cairn for it. Even though he had betrayed his Queen, he could never hate her.

Ever since he had first beheld her, and felt the curls of her dark power brush his dark soul, he had loved her. There hadn’t been anything he could do about it. It was like they were made for each other, both creatures of darkness. Both Fae who stood alone and apart. Who were both loved, and hated, by those less powerful than they.

But she did not feel the same.

Her every rejection of him cut him to the quick. Lorcan tried not to let her see how much her indifference hurt him, but he knew that she knew. And that she gloried in it, in his suffering. Gloried in the way that they both knew this doomed courtship would never end, that he would never stop loving her, and she would never stop taunting him with that love.

Lorcan knew that she bedded Fenrys partially to spite him. Knowing that choosing him over Lorcan would hurt more than some noble, or courtier. And the fact that it worked infuriated him. But there was nothing he could do about it.

Other than perhaps be grateful that Rowan was her relation, however distant, and therefore could not be the blade of her choice. For it was certain that Maeve choosing Rowan to take to bed would hurt more than even Fenrys.

Rowan was his, not hers.

Or at least he was his. Not anymore.

Lorcan had lost Rowan to the clutches of some foreign whore. A bitch-queen from across the sea. And he had no idea how to get him back.

So Lorcan took his whipping with a curse, and a smile. Cairn was the least of his problems. And soon, Lorcan would ensure that the despicable male got what was coming to him.

Cairn left him there, bleeding on the stones, until day passed into night and then day again. And Gavriel and Fenrys came for him.

A key clicked in a lock, shackles fell into the mud with a thump, and Lorcan sagged to the ground, his limbs sighing in relief even as they wept fresh blood into the earth, red beneath his bloody body.

“Get him up,” Gavriel said softly, and Lorcan felt hands reach around his arms and pull him to his feet. “I’m sorry Lorcan, she ordered us not to heal your wounds with our power.”

Lorcan just grunted, forcing his legs to take his weight. They shook, but held. Fenrys began to guide him back up the path to the area of the palace that held their suites.

Lorcan frowned, but accepted the male’s assistance with as much grace as he could muster. He didn’t really have another choice.

“Anything to report?” Lorcan’s voice strained through gritted teeth. One step after the other, he said to himself, one step after the other.

“Nothing of any significance.” Gavriel shrugged. “We received word yesterday from the sentries that guard the western pass that the wolves spotted Rowan and Aelin making their way through the mountains.”

“So they are on their way to Doranelle.” Lorcan grunted.

“Evidently.”

“And when are they expected – ” he gasped, sucking in a breath through his teeth, “ – to arrive?”

“Within two or three days,” Gavriel said, soberly.

Fenrys, however, seemed to have a very different reaction. His scent filled with anger, and his muscles filled with tension, coiled to spring. He shook his head. “When Rowan gets here, I hope he suffers for what he’s done. I hope she drags him over hot coals for this.”

Gavriel turned in alarm, “Fenrys, you don’t – ”

“I mean it, Gavriel. I can’t wait to tell him what happened because he sent us those damned letters. To tell him that she tied Lorcan up in the yard and let Cairn – ”

“You will do no such thing.” Lorcan forced as much authority as he could into his pained voice. Fenrys frowned at him, confused. “You will not speak of this, not to Rowan, not to anyone.”

“But Lorcan – ”

“No, Fenrys. What’s done is done. There’s no changing it now. And it’s no use harping on about it like some upset child.”

Lorcan could feel Gavriel looking at him inquisitively, but Lorcan kept his eyes ahead, until they reached the familiar halls of the residential part of the castle and he shook off their assistance and told them to go and get some rest.

But before he could escape to his rooms, Fenrys tried to speak up one last time. “Lorcan, Rowan should – ”

“No, Fenrys. And I will not hear any more of this from you. You will not speak to Whitethorn about what happened here, and I’m tired of saying so. And if I find out that you defied a direct order, there will be consequences.” Lorcan stared him down, looking the young male directly in the eyes, until Fenrys nodded and turned away.

Gavriel nodded as well, and the two males left the stone corridor.

Lorcan collapsed facedown into bed, but for long minutes, sleep eluded him. He knew that within a couple of hours, or perhaps a day, his own magic would heal the wounds to his body. But right now, they hurt enough to keep him from sleep.

Rowan would have enough to face when he reached Doranelle, he didn’t need Fenrys attacking him at first opportunity as well. And the knowledge of what Maeve had done because Rowan had called for their aid…he didn’t need that weighing on his soul.

Rowan hadn’t really had another choice. He needed to save the fortress, and the demi-Fae. Needed to save the female he loved.

Lorcan turned over in bed, the sheets rustling as he groaned in pain. If Lorcan knew nothing else, he knew how far one would go for the one they loved.

···

Rowan awoke with the rustling of leaves, and the flicker of a breeze over his cheeks. It whispered of birds chattering, a far-off stream, of the coming dawn, and of the countless dreams of slumbering Fae, hidden just from sight.

He rose slowly, his eyes automatically flicking over to his left side to check on the female who was still slumbering there. Aelin’s eyes flickered beneath her lids, her brow furrowed and her mouth open, letting the occasional bated breath escape. Telltale signs of nightmares haunting her sleep.

Rowan frowned and stood. There was nothing he could do, and she needed all the sleep she could get, even if that sleep was restless. Today, she would meet with the Queen of the Fae, and show her all that she had learnt.

They had camped that night at the top of a hill, at the bottom of which you could see the rivers that would lead them through the rest of the valley and right up to the stone walls of Doranelle. Rowan strode through their small camp, heading east to where the first glints of the rising sun could be gleaned over the ruffled edge of the horizon.

Below him, the river water churned, gray and violent and deep. Surely a promise of what was to come.

Today, he would see Maeve again. For the first time in months. For the first time since he had realized the true depth of what he had given up the day he swore her the blood oath. Rowan wondered how long it would take her before she knew that she had lost him forever. Wondered if she already knew. Surely Lorcan and Gavriel had told her what happened at the ward-gates? Surely she must have guessed?

Either way, all would be decided before nightfall. Relief and panic warred within him, fighting for dominance. Both held fast.

Rowan turned to glance back at the queen – his Queen – shifting on her bed of leaves, close to wakefulness. She was so beautiful. Everything he wanted, and everything he couldn’t have.

But something that he just had to save. Someone he had to save.

Desperation began to overflow within him, breaking through the final barriers of ice surrounding his heart. And then, as he turned back to face the now-rising sun, it happened.

At first, it was just a brush, like a trail of burning fingertips, across his brow and down his cheek. Then the feeling of a Presence. Greater and more terrible than he had ever thought to comprehend. Greater than any he could possibly imagine.

She was the sun and the stars and the hearth and the candleflame, the great and the small, the important and the insignificant. She was more than any would ever know, more than thousands of years of worship could appreciate.

She was Mala Firebringer.

And like a sunbeam though the morning dew, she appeared before Rowan Whitethorn, Prince of Doranelle, Lieutenant and second to Lorcan Salvaterre, and bloodsworn to Maeve, The Queen of All the Fae, a silent question ready on her lips.

What ails you so, Prince of Ice?

Rowan wanted to fall to his knees, to avert his eyes, to fall into some remembered prayer from childhood lessons. Yet he was frozen in place.

She was barely more than an outline, a shaft of light enclosed in the rising sun, but he felt her mighty power and strange gentleness as potently as if she were standing right next to him. And that mighty power felt…familiar. Like something he had already learned to love.

So Rowan breathed in her unknowable scent and offered up his desperate prayer.

Rowan Whitethorn begged the Goddess of Dawn to protect Aelin Galathynius. To keep her safe from Maeve when they entered Doranelle, to give her strength and guidance, and to let her walk out alive.

And yet Mala waited. Her question still unanswered. A hidden truth not yet acknowledged.

So Rowan unlocked that final door, and told Mala what truly weighed on his heart. Not for Aelin to survive, or to leave safely, having secured her armies and her peace. But for them to stay together. For Rowan to remain with Aelin, the woman he loved. Here or in any other world.

And as he admitted that, the deepest truth of his heart, Rowan felt the goddess smile at him, across time and space, through other worlds and bearing the prayers of thousands, as she disappeared into the brightening sun.

Aelin awoke, and moved to stand beside him. She cast him a questioning look, which he left unanswered. He didn’t know if he could explain what had just passed. But he knew that it had been something permanent, unchangeable.

They packed up camp and began to scale the hill, following the rushing river back to its source. To Doranelle they went, for their futures to be decided. To Doranelle, where a dark Queen lay in her spider’s web, waiting to pounce. To Doranelle, with the grace of a goddess bestowed upon them, their blades sharp, their steps light, and their eyes bright with star fire.

To Doranelle.

···

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···

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[hag-rambling-on]

More about the schools in rewinxing Magix...

Let's see. First to said these three schools are at the end run by the Magic Realm Council, and it is best to think of them as a military academy or affiliated with a UNO-type para/military group.

They send their students on missions (the only thing that explains to me that the winx and the specialists go out so much and the adults leave them).

The first with supervision, the following with follow-up and then with reports it’s enough.

Average time of studies and graduation mark

Witches/wizards study at least 7 years or 9 because 7 is a magic number and 9 is three times 3. It does not have a final transformation but a series of spells and creation of minimal artifacts (such as Gloomix -now called Sheen Trinket-, the Vacuum -we will call it by their dub name Whisperian Bottles-, Convergence and the Grief Edge/Blade -actually takes form of random weapon- for graduation)

fairies/faes at leat 5 years. Both begin with coming of age when the creature's magic core has stabilized. There are many reconized fairy transformations. But in Alfea they ask for the Enchantix as a graduation mark transformation because a Guardian Fairy has to be willing to give everything for others. Many fairies of Alfea achieve their basic form in the first year and in the following a few others according to their affinities up to Enchantix. It is not normal to get the Enchantix in the 3rd year, although it is introduced in that year so that the fairies/faes can get mentalized.

Paladins and Specialists start at 14 years old and train for a minimum of 10 years. The first years can be skipped but you have to show that you have physical fitness, which is what they focus on. Because magic is tricky and the body is not. But sure, most royals train at home and go straight into the last courses. Their final exam is a circuit or mission that requires they to use a great deal of their knowledge learned over the years. It is very comprehensive and has individual and group parts.

Uniforms

Faes have uniforms with protection against falls and blows, also to facilitate the invocation of the wings. They are not gender specific, yes, there are skirts and pants, but you wear what you want.

Witches do not have a uniform, but on special occasions - when they confront other schools - they wear long black robes to identify themselves.

Specialists and Paladins uniforms they are very resistant, thermal insulating and have a dark-light type concealment function. Which is not black or white, but a range of dark and light colors to blend in in dark places or in deserts and tundras. Obtaining the energy for it depends on whether they are Specialists (technomagic) or Paladins (magical artifacts) it is for this energy that each person gets a different color. They also start with a full standard armor coating that tends to decrease according to the combat style of each fighter But it also helps training -because of the extra weight-. Paladins uniforms adds featherlike wings, specialists usually use animals or vehicles.

Schools buildings and location

All schools are located in Magix. An asteroid in a belt, in the remains of Planet Hike, from which it formed. It is a neutral location and home to the Magic Realm Council. Another place considered neutral is Lymphea.

Lake Rocaluce is where a great meteor was invoked and caused the fracture of the planet (and the end of a war, an interRealm war that Hika hosted, but that was long before even the Ancient Witches. The schools are placed around him in eternal memory it... Although... they no longer remember... Magix (the city) was founded by the weary survivors of this war and they too formed the Magic Realms Council, with their sede in the Fortress of Light that hangs above Lake Roccaluce.

---

Both Alfea and CT has been saturated with a lot of magic for a long time, this is why they are relatively alive. Although this is much more obvious in Cloud Tower (Alias Cloudy). The latter is alive to the point that some people become obsessed with school and not drop it, and suspend, suspend, and continue to fail.

Room customization is encouraged as a form of self-expression, specially in Alfea.

Cloud Tower is in dark colors so I already mentioned to welcome its residents without strident stimuli. On the contrary, Alfea has light and harmonic colors, vibrant without being garish, which call joy, warm, hope, cleanliness.

---

It doesn't seem practical to me for Fonterrosa to float in the air with a super powerful storm witch around. Rebuilt in the ground with a -I'm paranoid, I dare you to come in this time- f*ck you face but the staff.

Here the first months are "open rooms", that is, if you are not satisfied, you can change rooms and teams if you defend yourself well with the teachers. Being reasonable and knowing how to explain yourself is supposed to be part of the job and sometimes things don't work out, they get it (and all of the specialist sleep with their weapon near!!!)

---

LC or Lyceum is how they short call the Lymphea College for faes/ies, witches/wizards, specialists and Paladins. But within them, the Faction of Paladins is considered a n.p. So, if they talk about fairies/witches/specialists they would say they come from the Lyceum, but if they are Paladins, they come from The Faction [of the Lymphea College, affiliate to the Council, of Rocaluce, of Magix, of... etc. Jedi everywhere)]

Scholarships

Alfea, Cloud Tower and Fonterrosa are known as the elite of their kind, so they have few scholarships and are very rigorous. Or of course money money.

Forgoing a scholarship is frowned upon, although they are willing to give you a recommendation for the school of your choice. How was the case with Flora (she got a scholarship in CT but she didn’t accept it, either way they recommended her to Alfea and therefore she was able to enter, Miele did not have that opportunity for so she stays in Lymphea).

Musa got a full scholarship. Bloom's special case led to a partial scholarship, although no one told her, so she stayed until she got her family back, both studying and working as a waitress. Under normal circumstances she couldn't have allowed herself a course at Alfea on a single waitress's salary.

Riven has a partial scholarship only because his behavior fails to win him full scholarship, this actually improves when the series begins.

Paladins and Specialists

At first they were the same order but favoritism vs obstracism to people who could use magic devices or musr rely on technomagic ones separated them. Over time they have come together again and make times of exchange to favor collaboration and such.

Today the Paladins have taken a more peaceful approach and they usually work directly for the Magic Realms Council and the Specialists more combat oriented. that are not so "exquisite". I am not saying Specialists are mercenaries, but they not serve exclusively a single Jedi-wanna-be organization.

Timmy and Brandom could have been paladins. Timmy chose not to be so as not to fall into the nerdy stereotype that is only good for purely external help. Brandon for Sky obviously. We already mentioned that Nabu and Helia have witch origin.

Other schools and possible jobs

I think I mentioned it in another post, but the main output of these schools is Guardian, the formation of Kaleidoscopes, Covens and Squads, everything is oriented to that.

So, once finished here, you can work on many things with security and embassy being the most obvious and demanded from these schools.

But you can be a teacher, researcher, creator / repairer / tester of potions or magic items, animal caretaker, nurse, any version of work from the magic application ranger by example, firefighter, cleaner. Or you can jump to the normal university in a vip way. From here.

What do you can to learn

Some subjects/courses common to all schools (even though theoretically have studied it before). BTW They can go to other schools to receive extra courses: Good Manners/Etiquette, Flight, Cognitive analysis, History of Magix, Basic Survival, Firsts Aids, Basic Witchcraft, Basic Fairycraft, Basic Magical Zoology, Basic Zoology, Basic Herbology, Basic Magic Herbology, Magiphysics, Dance, Music, Art. Diplomacy.

Other examples but only to magic schools: Potionology, Magiphilosophy, History of Magic, Healing, Transfiguration (metamorphosis, metamorphosymbiosis, biotrasformation), Applied convergence, Summoning, Psychic arts (speciality *x* ie illusion, emotion, mind-reading), Divination, Basic Wild Magic, Elemental Magic (speciality *x*), Nature Magic, Art-applied magics (speciality *x*), Magical Zoology, Basic Craftsmanship Magic, Advanced Craftsmanship Magic, Astral Magic, Basic Forbidden Magic Knowledge. FORBIDDEN: Demonology, Necromancy, Sacrificial Magic among others.

Other examples but only to Specialists and Paladins (for paladins some are mandatory): Dragon wrangling, flying fighter crafts, Riding, Driving/navigation, Astronavigation, Beast/Animal Taming, Close quarter combat (sub speciality in weapon *x*), Long range combat, Cooperation, Mechanics, Technology, Hand-to-hand combat (sub speciality in *x*), Strategy, (numbers yes or no 101 and more), Advanced survival techniques, Close protection operative, Concealment operations, Unconventional weapons, Fighting Magic Basic-Advanced-Expert, Fighting Magic Users Basic-Advanced-Expert.

Paladins have more courses related to magic and the application and repair of magic items. And deep in others as diplomacy I guess.

[randomtwstuff]

TWST - What They Hate + Why

Warning: kinda long, definitely unnecessary. Don’t mind me.

Riddle - rule violations; it’s been explained in his backstory in chapter 1 but he’s had basically every part of his life formed around obedience and following rules set out for him, so it makes sense that witnessing someone else go against that sort of thing would probably set him off

Trey - not having brushed his teeth before bed; Listen. I honestly have no idea why this boy like his teef so damn much. But thinking about it, him being around sweets all the time probably makes him wary of getting cavities. So there’s that.

Cater - sucking up to his older sisters; Completely understandable from a younger sibling’s standpoint.

Deuce - limited time sales; Another one that’s hard to understand without character context. But to me, this reflects on his inability to think of solutions in a pinch, and how stressing such situations probably are for him.

Ace - indecisiveness; Boy likes having a plan. Can’t argue with that. Also, his quickfire personality definitely contributes.

Leona - playing with children; And yet, he’s still a beloved uncle. But in all honesty, someone who radiates this strong of a tsundere vibe will automatically be reluctant to involve themselves in overtly emotional situations, such as anything dealing with kids.

Ruggie - being at a disadvantage; My boy’s from the streets, and most definitely has been in enough bad situations to warrant not wanting to experience such a situation again.

Jack - fighting without reason; He’s got a strong sense of justice, and works hard to get anywhere - especially grades - so doing things without a worthy reason or otherwise wasting time over starting drama and fights is against his personality. Good good boy.

Azul - relying on luck; He’s worked extremely hard at everything he’s ever done to get where he is now, and relies on his own learned methods and tools to get jobs done. So, it would make sense that relying on luck, or witnessing someone else rely on luck (and even worse, succeeding), drills directly into his being.

Jade - predictable and expected things; He and Floyd have said time and time again that if Azul were to become boring, they would leave him. And although Jade doesn’t have nearly as erratic a personality as his brother, they are close enough in motive that his sense of adventure and excitement would prevent him from being around anything overly boring - thus his trips up mountains and collecting weird mushrooms.

Floyd - shackles; I’m uncertain if this means shackles as in the object, or shackles as in he hates being restricted in any way, but I feel like it might be the second one. Floyd is a very, very free spirit whose ever-changing personality makes him unpredictable in every way. So, it fits that any method of restraint - mental or physical - would clash heavily with him.

Kalim - eating by himself; Why would anyone ever let him be alone??? My poor boy???? Alone??????????!?!?AaaaaaaAAAAA - But in all seriousness, it makes sense considering he’s probably spent a significant amount of his life surrounded by people, and the idea of having to go to a meal (or probably anything) completely alone would make him sad.

Jamil - touching bugs; Now, is it just the touching part, or do bugs in general...bug him? sorry not sorry Because both the situation of him calling in someone else to take care of a bug - maybe Yuu - because he doesn’t want to be anywhere near it should it try to crawl on him, and the situation of him freezing up at seeing one or shrieking when one lands on him are just so fucking funny. (I don’t really have any explanation for his feelings toward bugs since a lot of people hate bugs.)

Vil - intentional negligence; I had to look this word up I’m so fucking dumb Vil takes things like self care very seriously - even if his ‘routine’ is a bit lengthy and he seems harsh at times about it - and as such having to witness someone intentionally leaving themselves in a state of disarray because they simply don’t care about it would very much tick him off.

Rook - people intruding on his private life; He is a hunter. With a wall of mystery photos. And an album full of other mystery items. It seems he has no problem with other peoples’ privacy, only his. Probably because a lot of his things are weird. I still love him though

Epel - being mistaken for a woman; He wants to be ‘manly’, and as such, being called the supposed ‘opposite’ would be a blow to his attempted persona. Boy wanted to be in Savanaclaw, after all.

Idia - face-to-face conversation; Since we don’t have any other information as of right now - he’s an introvert. Who spends so much time inside, with only Ortho as his physical company, that talking to anyone in person terrifies him. Honestly, I feel like there may be more to this than just introversion, since he is quite possibly one of the most extreme cases I’ve seen in a character, but who knows, he could just be a stereotypical otaku-nerd-man character (like Levi!)

Ortho - lightning; I don’t really know enough about him to make any assumptions other than that, he’s a robot - or what many people have headcanons of, a cyborg - who runs on at least some form of power source, with its own generated energy. Lightning generates an absolute fuckton of electricity, and a human being struck by it can a.) hurt a lot, b.) permanently damage their body, or c.) fucking end them, so a robot/cyborg being struck by it - as machines being struck by lightning have shown - would be annihilated. Completely valid fear to have.

Malleus - using machines; He’s probably very old, being a fae and all, and although Lilia has shown that they play videogames and watch TV, he very well may have been raised away from it - although, he was raised at least partially by Lilia himself, so either they were both introduced to machines later on and Malleus was the only one who struggled, or he just never got used to them.

Lilia - losing things; I am unaware of any backstory to this, but it is a very valid thing to hate. I do it all the time, so it’s very relatable.

Silver - sleeping away his time; Seeing that he has been shown to fall asleep at random - possibly narcolepsy, or something else we’ll find out about later - and also him being a loyal knight to the current prince, it makes sense that the former would interrupt his duties as the latter. You can’t exactly protect someone if you’re knocked out. I mean, unless you sleep-fight. Then you’re good.

Sebek - being considered a nuisance by the Young Master, whining; I find his undying loyalty to Malleus adorable, to be honest. Having this much of a senpai crush going on would definitely make any negativity from said senpai hurt quite a lot. But what does it mean by whining - does he himself hate whining, or does he hate it when other people whine? Maybe both?

[lavendairs]

♚  ━━━  ❛ ALL ABOUT AUGUST.

G E N E R A L  —

NAME.         his full birth name is august ahn-evergreene, his last names being a combination of his maternal and paternal last names because his mother wasn’t going to allow her children to not have her last name in some fashion. however, in his twenties he drops evergreene and only uses ahn as his last name due to a rift with his mother / wanting an identity separate from her ( he’s not fond of his father either but he has a habit of leaving town so it’s easier for august to distance himself from that part of his family’s ‘legacy’ ).

AGE.         he appears in his late 20s ( 27-30 ) but is around 60 years old due to the extended lifespan of a mage.

HEIGHT.          he stands at 6′1 ( 185.42 ). no, he’s not a sloucher and is the type to internally judge people who do because stand up straight wtf?

WEIGHT.          170 pounds ( 77.1kg ). he’s lean and not overly muscular; doesn’t do much heavy physical activity anymore due to his current ‘condition’.

ETHNICITY.         korean-filipino american mage. he comes from a bloodline of magic-users. if commenting on his natural magical prowess, expect a dry ‘of course, i was breed to be.’ in response.

OCCUPATION.           he is what the people of crescent creek call ‘the overseer’, the highest sitting member of the council of novema ( or just ‘the council’ for short ). they are the ones who ‘govern’ the town and its people, establishing laws and stepping in to resolve high-level matters between residents if it should come to it. with the council needing to hear matters from the magi, vampires, fae, werewolves, and other beings, august has a constant headache.

GENDER.          cis-male.

SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.         he would state that he’s heterosexual but admittedly he’s never fully explored his sexuality enough for that to be a definite statement. he hasn’t seriously dated in a very long time™ and it isn’t interested in changing that.

MBTI.         INTJ-A,  The  Architect  —  it can be lonely at the top. as one of the rarest personality types – and one of the most capable – architects ( INTJs ) know this all too well. rational and quick-witted, architects may struggle to find people who can keep up with their nonstop analysis of everything around them. these personalities can be both the boldest of dreamers and the bitterest of pessimists. architects believe that, through willpower and intelligence, they can achieve even the most challenging of goals. but they may be cynical about human nature more generally, assuming that most people are lazy, unimaginative, or simply doomed to mediocrity.

S P E C I F I C S  —

FAVOURITE  FOOD.           he’s very particular about getting his three meals a day in if he can but he probably has the most fondest for food that was often served at dinner time with his family or when all his cousins spent time at his lola’s house when they visited her. dishes such as bopis, kimchi, pancit canton, tocino and rice, korean styled steak, etc. are personal favorites.

FAVOURITE  DRINK.           his day isn’t complete without having a nice, chilled glass of vintage red wine during dinner ( and maybe just drinking straight from the bottle by the end of the night ). he does enjoy drinking rosé during a nice breakfast or lunch depending on the bottle.

FAVOURITE  HOBBY.          brooding. joking aside, he does enjoy sparring matches, ‘magical’ based sparring matches. he does practice taekkyeon ( korean martial arts ) and enjoys mixing spells in by shocking opponents, blocking their spells with his own wards, etc.

FAVOURITE  SCENT.             the smell of freshly cut grass as well as the scent of pomegranates, vanilla, cinnamon, and musk. the former is bittersweet and nostalgic, reminding of his years as a teen: when he was young, oblivious, and only had to be concerned about being late to football / soccer practice. the latter reminds him of someone he would rather forget.

FAVOURITE  PERSON.        i. his twin brother, ansel ahn. his death still hurts and he’ll always partially blame himself for it - despite the fact that there would’ve been nothing he could’ve done to change it. ( this is the part where that wand.avision quote is inserted in ). the loss of his brother dramatically changes the course of his life. ii. his lola, nora evergreene. she grounds him a lot. one of the few times he’s at peace is when he visits her for brunch every third saturday of the month. iii. his ex, audrey cramer. he would never admit it out loud though - at least not anymore.

T E N   F A C T S  —

he’s well versed in magical creatures : one of the 'gifts’ of being the overseer is the ability to traverse pass the veil - a barrier / entry way that exist between ‘earth’ and the many dimensions that exist beyond it. this ability, however, is one that has fallen out of use over the past few decades. ever the abnormally, august makes use of this ability for his own personal agenda. outside of the different races that already live within crescent creek ( witches, vampires, werewolves, fairies, etc. ), there are those that prefer to live freely in their own worlds rather than live in secrecy on earth. so yes, he has met unicorns and he thinks most of them are actually assholes.

on the nature of the veil : the origin of the veil itself is a mystery. all that is known that about its existence is that many millennium ago, those from different dimensions ( or ‘worlds’ ) were able to freely pass through it without the need of assistance or a spell. as time progressed and humanity began to rise, passage through the veil became increasingly more restricted, leading to entry ways within the veil being sealed and only accessible through the leader in each world ( ex. the overseer in crescent creek ). although the town of crescent creek has always traded with other towns, cities, etc. pass the veil, many of those trades have slowed to a stop entirely as those dimensions have become inaccessible. to somewhat ease panic and concern, the council has framed the issue being due to other dimensions permanently closing themselves off from earth ( a situation that has previously happened some worlds ). in truth, the veil itself has become 'infected’ by a foreign spell that’s led to the blocking of entry ways that lead into other worlds. due to not knowing the source of the spell and its affect on the veil, the knowledge of its presence is unknown to most people in crescent creek. // note: this is more of an overall ‘lore’ fact that explains the backdrop of what’s going on in this ‘world’ to understand other facts about him. in the grand scheme of things, this wouldn’t come up when interacting with him.

he doesn’t believe in astrologists, psychics, fortune tellers, etc. : which may seem contradictory considering he’s a literal magical being but in his experience, it’s typically humans pushing pseudoscience or mages using their magic to con clueless humans. people in that line of ‘work’ are hacks to him - especially since he’s seen it first hand with his own father’s profession.

over the past twenty years, he’s been continuing his brother’s research : ansel, his older, twin brother, had been studying the distortions within the veil in secret before his death a decade prior. although the status of the veil was supposed to be concealed to those outside of the council’s reach, ansel confided in his brother before his death. in august’s eyes, whatever spell that’s taken over the veil is an active threat and with the backing of onyx crane, a vampire on the council, and his cousin, faye evergreene, he began an almost obsessive-like determination to complete his brother’s work and find answers - even if it’s to his own detriment. // *note: with a big soap opera trope being people returning from the dead, it shouldn’t be shocking to discover that ansel, is in fact, not actually dead. he used a storm that hit the town as a means to fake his own death ( disasters that kill off characters is usually a soap opera storyline that happens during ‘sweeps’ period ) and left town for his own agenda.

the youngest overseer to sit in the council : his status as the overseer is one steeped in controversy due to...a variety of reasons: an overseer typically is replaced by another council member by vote or an apprentice to the overseer should they have one after an overseer’s death, resignation, or if they’ve been forcefully discharged from the position. none of these things applied to august’s own mother, tala ahn-evergreene, when he usurped her - blackmailing the council by threatening to expose the truth about the current threat of the veil. // *note: in every ( american ) soap opera, it is a staple to have a ‘thing’, whether it be a business, a central institution in town ( ex. a hospital ), or a position ( CEO of a company, chief of staff at a hospital, etc. ) that many of the characters are tied to or even fighting for control over. ELQ, the quartermaine’s family business on general hospital, often have storylines where family members are fighting over shares of the company, who should run it, or the family teaming up to oust an outsider that’s taken over the company ( funnily enough, there is a story like the latter happening on the show right now ). the point here is that being the overseer or even sitting on the council of novema is that ‘thing’ that people fight over to be on for various reason. 

he takes his personal upkeep very seriously : there’s a lot of things one could say about crescent creek’s current overseer but no one can ever say they’ve seen august ahn not look put together when he’s out and about ( this is him going out publicly basically ). as someone who values consistency and control in his life but pretty much never has it, august actually highly treasures the time spent doing his morning / nightly skincare routines, getting his acupuncture treatments, and so on. he supports the self care movement essentially.

he ( as well as his siblings ) once witnessed one of his father’s affairs : it was an awful experience. -10/10. doesn’t recommend. this incident shapes his attitude towards relationships in general and how he operates within them. august has a very black and white attitude about relationships: you are either with him 100% or you’re not with him at all. it’s unhealthy and he has to unpack that. // *fun fact: this is actually a real event that happened with this family back in the sims 2 over ten years ago - they just all had different names, were a different race, and so on at that point.. they’ve changed a lot:tm:. 

may be an active suspect for murder : it happens. when marlena cramer, a former council member, suddenly passes on, the town is overtaken by a wave of a grief...that soon becomes shock and suspicion when her death is rules to be from unnatural causes. between being one of the last people to see her alive and reports of him wanting her off the council, august becomes one of the prime suspects for her murder case. // *note: whodunit’s are probably up there with ‘who’s the daddy’ storylines in terms of being the most common soap opera staple ( ex. who shot j.r. on dallas ).

voted most likely to be successful in his HS yearbook : august was the picture perfect prom king, the jock that was friends with everyone on campus, and the one everyone expected ride off into the sunset with his hs sweetheart. on paper, august was well rounded - some would say outright perfect. today, those who knew him in high school would shake their heads and ask themselves what happened to the boy who always smiled at them when he passed you by in the hallway or whose laughter could easily be heard the loudest in a classroom. august, as he is now, is a stranger to those that once knew him.

it’s happening gradually but he is, in fact, dying : many of the worlds that had become unaccessible were not only blocked off but were actively decaying - many of its residents fleeing to other worlds before they were forever trapped in a dying one while others locked their entry ways to stop the spell from spreading to their own homes. the overseers in crescent creek were restricted from traversing the veil themselves due to the unknown risk of the spell, a rule that august actively ignores. every time he travels through the veil, the more the spell slowly eats away at him - a fact that he is well aware of and he has no desire to stop. he will keep traveling worlds ( and helping those he can ) until he finds the source of the spell and kills its caster himself.

FIVE  THINGS  HE  LIKES.

visiting the sauna. the heat helps with his internal pain.

eating home-cooked meals.

getting hydrafacials ( james_franco_so_good.gif ).

smoking with his cousin, faye.

blasting emo music as he gets drunk, questions his life choices, and stares at the ceiling

FIVE  THINGS  HE  DISLIKES.

feeling used.

disloyal / uncommitted people

selfishness.

tough, chewy steak.

cheap wine.

COMMON  WORDS / PHRASES  THAT  ANNOY  THEM.         during a misunderstanding or argument, the worst thing to tell him is that he ‘doesn’t understand’. even if the person is somewhat correct, august is a person that prides himself on being an objective observer of a situation, rational in his thinking, and not someone who lets his emotions dictate his choices. saying something like that to him would just further annoy him.

PERSONALITY  TYPES  THEY  PREFER.        those who are smart, loyal, and efficient. those who are willing to dirty their hands on occasion, and believe that the ends do justify the means.

PERSONALITY  TYPES  THEY  AVOID.       selfish and incompetent people, those who proceed to waste his time, useless people in positions of powers, jerky unicorns.

WHAT  DO  YOU  FIND  DIFFERENT / DISTINCT  ABOUT  YOUR  PORTRAYAL?

         the whole concept of this ‘world’ is based around soap opera cliches and tropes so the character is intentionally ‘tropey’ and meant to pull from different fictional men from the genre - as well as outside of it. i would say him being the leading man is unique within itself because people of color in soaps ( at least within american soaps which this is all inspired by ) are generally never the leads or involved in what i actually watch soaps for: the drama, the love stories, the scheming, the cheating, etc. they’re usually the straight men to the white characters; living well off but boring lives and are rarely given front burner stories. all black people in a soap opera are usually always going to somehow know each other, only date each other, etc. you can switch black people out with latinos, asians, etc. and it would still be true. the characters of color are easily written off as a result of this.

        in general, soap operas are very white - and still are today. they have a history of casting white people as mexican characters, ex. lindsay hartley as theresa on passions. asian american soap characters are severly lacking - i could probably count the amount of i’ve seen on screen. a black actress formerly on general hospital mentioned how people jokingly called the show ‘generally white hospital’ behind the scenes. chad.wick bos.eman left all my children because of how much of a stereotype his character was - and he was right ( ironically, michael b. jord.an was his recast ). some shows are getting better, bold and beautiful currently has a story involving two characters cheating ( one of which is black ) and it’s hot af but it’s still not enough for the times we’re in. this isn’t a problem exclusive to soaps either - most media has a problem with this. people of color aren’t getting lead roles and especially not romantic lead roles - even if they do, the shows always make it a interracial romance with a white person ( ex. bridg/erton ) as if people of color of different races are incapable of dating each other.

         finally, i’ve noticed that you rarely see asian american men portrayed as romantic leads or desirable ( at least in a non-fetishized way ) in western media. that’s pretty lame:tm: so that was also a factor when i revamped audrey’s love interest ( parts of ‘old’ him still exist, ex. him being a jock / king of the school as a teen, a complicated relationship with his brother, etc ). anyway, stan august uwu.

tagged by:   i took it from myself. tagging:   anyone who wants to.

[bardofheartdive]

You've been visited by the random OC question fairy! :D ~☆

What is something that your character actively tries to forget about themselves or the people/things around them? Any memories they'd rather not be reminded of?

Hellos! 

There are rules about thanking the fae but let me say, it’s very nice of you to drop in and I was thrilled to find this ask in my box. Especially because it inspired me to actually WRITE something, which I’ve been struggling with for a good long while. This is my first fic for my newest Shepard, Donovan, who is NOT to be confused with Donovan Lír, despite their similarities.

Be Happy (also on AO3)

Why can’t you just be happy?

The first time Dmitri asks it’s an amused, almost fond question over their celebratory dinner. The charges from Torfan have been dismissed. The looming dishonorable discharge completely averted with a single call. Two hours ago he was musing over his preference between firing squad or lethal injection, now it’s red or white wine.

“Would you really prefer the alternative?” Dmitri continues, a lighthearted tease, and Donovan would rather be alive than dead, free instead of thrown into a prison to rot, so he tries not to think about the piles of batarian bodies and nods and sips his wine.

Why can’t you just be happy?

It doesn’t take long for amusement to turn to exasperation. 

It’s partially his own fault. A promotion, especially accompanied by N7 designation, comes with a change in assignments and he questions each of them in a way he never has before.

“This is what you wanted.” Dmitri sighs as he taps the symbol on Donovan’s chest. The badge of honor now a brand of shame. “Everything you wanted.”

He wants to answer that he didn’t want this. At least not like this. Not when it’s built on a lie. Not when the price is his team and hundreds of innocent lives. That there’s no honor in awards earned with other people’s blood. He wants to but he’s not sure how or if Dmitri would understand anyway, so he says nothing.

Why can’t you just be happy?

He isn’t sure when it becomes an accusation. The same brutal cross-examination that Dmitri built his own career and reputation on.

“They could have thrown the book at you,” Dmitri rails. “Disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer. Missing movement. Unauthorized absence. Willfully disobeying a superior commissioned officer. Mutiny and sedition. Aiding the enemy. You should be thrilled with the way things played out. Or do you honestly think that justice was served?”

And for the first time he snaps back.

“You want to talk about justice? Where’s the fucking justice in leaving civilians to hang after after we made a bags of the thing? We led the pirates right to them and Kyle wanted us to abandon them! It was the wrong call!”

“That doesn’t make it an unlawful one.”

“But you honestly think following it would have been justice served?”

He spits the words back at him, some deep, desperate, wounded part of him hoping they cut just as deep. They do but Donovan finds no satisfaction in the flash of pain. Dmitri believes in the law the way he believed in the Alliance so for one terrible moment he is Dmitri’s Torfan. 

Then the hurt is gone, replaced by a certainty both harder and more brittle than it was before. As if denying doubt could make his faith stronger. As if by blaming him, he can absolve himself.

“It would have prevented this mess, wouldn’t it?”

Why can’t you just be happy?

Donovan “celebrates” the first anniversary alone but the words linger even with Dmitri gone. No wine this time, white or red, just eight shots of whiskey in a line on the bar in front of him.

One for the people he killed, by success and failure.

One for each member of his team, six Alliance soldiers dead in the name of justice, he hopes.

One for himself, the life he lost without dying.

[icariagazette]

“Hi...Hey hello I am not Atti or Jasmine... I’m the editor for the show and being on the radio is uh... not my normal. But something very weird happened and I hate .... to be the one to tell you but.... both Wolfgang Jamison and Jasmine Kos have gone missing.  They had taken over the station last night and used our recording booth to record a new segment meant to air today... But uh... Well, I’ll let the recording speak for itself. This was the last known audio of the duo.”

“Hello and welcome to a special episode of Atti In The Morning. As most of you should know -- I'm not Atticus. Atticus was one of those taken earlier this year. My name is Jasmine Kos and I've been hosting the show in Atti's absence. We've been talking on and off since the first person went missing five years ago about these missing cases.Over the past five yers we've come up with some really interesting and insane theories of what has happened to our friends and family and today we decided its time to talk about all these ideas. So I've invited on an actual journalist to help us break down all these ideas and talk about all these theories.Hello Wolfgang, how are you this morning?" "Well, I'm here so that's already a decent start. Ready to discuss with you and hopefully debunk some of the more off the wall theories that I've heard floating around while writing the stories on those missing on the island." "What has been the most off the wall theory you've heard as of late? I'm sure you've heard some crazy ones, I know we've gotten some insane calls with theories. One of the most recent was that they were being replaced by the creatures that have come through the door." “See that’s not as crazy as it sounds. The doors did show up right before people began to turn up missing. I believe one of the most off the wall ones I’ve been told when interviewing residents on the island was that they weren’t missing at all but rather they all took off to start a cult ran by Chloe Vara. Which is probably the least likely to start a cult out of those missing.” “Well, that’s only partially true isn’t it?  Demigods have been going missing for five years now, but the uptick does coincide with those weird doors. Any idea what might be behind them? Beyond the one that opened at the family day party. But on the idea of Chloe, i think i rather like the idea of it being a cult run by her. At least you know they’re being well taken care of instead of this dread we all have of how they are and what’s happened to them. “ "Yes but there has never been any evidence to link the crimes now to those in the past other than no one found them. In any other part of the world that happens every single day. Growing up in New York you learned quickly that crime can happen at any point to anyone. The fact that the disappearances ramped up when the doors appear may be a coincidence but we might not find out unless those involved are found or come forward with any information. One of the things I always wondered is how Luke Decker completely vanished without a trace. Did they not have tabs on their officers at all times?" "I remember back when the first person seemingly vanished off the isle, Noreen, we all assumed she just ran away or went on some sort of extended vacation. I imagine that's sort of how it was for a lot of the people who went missing in the first couple years, back when it wasn't suggested we all live on this isle. People probably thought, 'they just went away for a bit' or because of where they lived people just chose to ignore it because of how common disappearances were in their area.  I think its massively overwhelming for isle residents because this is supposed to be a safe zone. " A beat and a breath, then,  "Which yeah -- that plays into how does a detective just vanish into thin air. You'd think after the first like 10 demi-gods went missing and the numbers ramped up they would have been tracking people's phones or something. Which -- do we know if they've been keeping a record of GPS movements of people since this has gotten so much worse?" "I would assume you are referring to Noreen Gomez? The demi-god who seemingly vanished after a fight with her girlfriend? Yeah, it might have been that way or not connected at all. These are just theories but you have to consider we're paying more attention because it's our kind that are disappearing. I just want to know why the police have only just now really started investigating the disappearances. The Gomez case has been closed for five years, they just assumed she took off. Which, alright, a demi-god goes missing and they don't bat an eyelash but how do they have no idea as to where Decker went? It makes me think that the police know more than they're letting on, which happens to avoid panic, but six months have passed since they began ramping up and we have no answers. You'd think they would be surveying everyone on the island at this point. No one else in and no one else out."

"One and the same; But yes, it appears we're all paying way more attention now than we used to. My guess as to why now compared to before would just be that one or two wasn't worth, as horrible as that sounds, all the time and energy the police department wanted to spend but now theres... 15 missing just from the isle, thats not counting those who were kidnapped off isle...It's dumb. All of it. They should have never closed the Gomez case they shouldn't even let up on the ones they're working on now. They need to search every inch of the isle, the shadows, the dark corners... all of it. I don't -- totally disagree, maybe locking down the isle could stop, or at least lead to some clues about what happened to our loved ones."

"No, I believe we are on the same page which is where my own conspiracy comes into play. I'm not sure I trust the police completely, which makes me sound as if I were a huge conspiracy theorist. Maybe I am now. Perhaps this entire situation has made me jaded and I want someone to blame, much like others do as well. I just don't understand how none of the crime scenes seemed to leave behind any trace of evidence. The entire apartment was ransacked when Atticus and Briar went missing and the same for Wesley Sullivan. Yet, they found nothing? I wonder if there's not more going on in that station." "I think the whole isle has become a giant conspiracy. We're all a bit obsessed with them now. It wouldn't surprise me either if there was a cover up, if someone in the police force is a bit to close to the kidnappers and is protecting them -- if not one of them. Its either that, or whoever is kidnapping the demi-gods is one themselves and knows what we'll look for. I just -- dont understand how no one sees them leaving the house with the person, how has no one, anywhere in the world seen anything to give us a hint at how our friends and family are going missing? Its like they’re shadows or ghosts. Which, after the door opening, I 100% believe theres ghosts running around now."

"That's my thought exactly. Something strange is going on and I want to get to the bottom of it. I know that the listeners might not know how often we get together and talk about conspiracies like this. Jasmine has become my partner in crime when it comes to this story and I do appreciate your help in what we're trying to discover. Right now, only those missing and the ones that are taking them know what is happening. What kind of creature lurks in the shadows and snatches people at night? Maybe it's Fae folk. They've been said to be tricky little things. All I know is I don't trust many people at this point."

“Yes! Wolf and i have become a bit of a duo looking into all this. It’s been sad and fun in its own way, and I’m more than happy to try and help save our friends. I also made a friend at the station, not PD but she seems pretty -- honest. We may, with her help, actually get to the bottom of this. But the idea of fae folk sounds pretty realistic to me; we have gods, creatures — who’s to say that the myths outside of Greek mythos isn’t real? I wouldn’t be surprised if all of mythology is actually real at this point. Maybe some other god from another religion is pissed off and taking children to make a point”

"Good, we need all the help we can get in getting to the bottom of this. I want to make things right for those of our peers that have been taken away from us for so long. I want to make sure they get the justice and truth that they deserve. That's a great point, it could very well be someone trying to make a point. If that were the case, the question remains what kind of point are they attempting to make right now? And how many more people have to suffer?" "I think we have lots of people on the isle that will happily help us in whatever way they can. We just have to ask and I'm sure they will. But yes i agree. We need to make sure our friends and loved ones get the justice they deserve because I can't -- seem to make any logical explanation for the reasons they're gone or why someone would be trying to make a point by kidnapping people. I just really hope they're ---" Rustling "What  -- How did you get in here?" Muffled voice "Go where? I --"  Silence

--------------------

As you can hear... someone else came into the recording booth, we’ve done everything we could to try to enhance the voice, hear what the other person said but .... nothing can be made out. Nothing makes sense.... We don’t know who or what or why this happened. All we know is when we came in this morning it was set up and recording as if they had just stepped out to go to the bathroom.... I --- I honestly don’t know what else to do or say or how the show will continue on after today... We’ll figure it out. And I’m sorry.”

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

What’s really fascinating (or really annoying, depending on your tolerance for confusion!) about the word “witch” as a self-identifier is that it’s embraced by -- and I’m not a sociologist or anything, but this is based on decades of observation and I feel semi-confident about it -- basically three entirely separate groups of people:

Group One uses witchcraft to mean basically any form of Western folk magic, a tradition passed on kind of piecemeal by teachers, books, and the general mechanisms of folklore.  They mean that their worldview is non-materialist, and their magic operates on the general model of like-influences-like and part-influences-whole, and they favor an ad hoc collection of crystals, herbs, divination, astrology, spoken charms, intention/affirmations, and sometimes the loosely defined concept of spirit guides.  They often make explicit connections between witchcraft and art, based on a shared respect for symbolic language and emotional effectiveness.  Because they generally oppose gatekeeping and accept all or most people as witches who self-identify, they’re easily mocked and dismissed as uneducated dilettantes, which some certainly are, but by no means all.  They do have deep historical roots, from Hellenistic Neoplatonism through the early modern grimoire tradition and into Spiritualism and the democratized tradition of folk magic that spread in the US through almanacs, candle shops, popular texts like The Long-Lost Friend, and all manner of professional folk healers and charmers -- but they don’t see the legitimacy of their practices as dependent on those roots, but rather on its personal meaning and usefulness to them.  They commonly embrace left-leaning politics for a variety of complicated cultural and historical reasons, and they are the group most likely to explicitly connect their witchcraft practice to their political beliefs.

Group Two is pretty intensely convinced that the only legitimate inheritors of the term witch are people with a direct spiritual connection to some version of European folk magic, derived from relationships with ancestral and land spirits that they believe as a matter of faith are the same spirits (or basically the same spirits) with whom historical witches were in relationship.  They may or may not conceptualize these spirit contacts as constituting a religion per se; they may or may not conceptualize the more powerful of these spirits as gods.  The core of their practice is contacting these “traditional” spirits through practices that are accepted as equally “traditional,” so they tend to think of themselves as anti-eclectic; this often makes them come across as elitist and kind of douchey, which they -- aren’t necessarily, but can be for sure.  They tend to be secretive, partially in opposition to what they see as a watering-down of these traditional practices, but also because the tradition itself is localized and intimate -- you literally can’t practice with someone *else’s* land spirits, fae, and ancestors, so groups and families tend to teach a small set of core practices, then kind of develop independently from each other.  They often favor incorporating ethnic and regional traditions, including some forms of folk Christianity, such as saint veneration, including angelic and demonic powers in their spirit families, and often share a self-mythology that derives from canonical and non-canonical Biblical stories about the nephilim and antediluvian priesthoods.  Because they quite literally draw their legitimacy from Blood and Soil (or at least the spiritual resonances involved with bloodlines and places), they can vibe a little fashy; though they’re mostly not fascists, this type of witchcraft obviously does attract small-c conservatives with a jaundiced attitude toward the newfangled.  At one point I would’ve said they were largely either apolitical/libertarian or center-right as a group, but a self-consciously leftist, largely anarcho-primitivist strain has emerged recently to shake things up a bit.

Group Three practice an explicitly religious neopagan form of initiatory witchcraft.  They were, until recently, the most front-facing group to claim the label witch, so they have kind of set the terms of debate for decades; they are now outnumbered by Group One, and it’s causing Some Drama, but we’re all managing.  They all kind of come out of the rootstock of Gardnerian witchcraft (with the possible exception of Anderson Feri-based traditions, which seem to have begun independent of Gardner’s work and then merged with it instead of starting with Gardner and diverging, cool, huh?), which was synthesized and systematized in the mid-20th century out of basically an ad hoc marriage between British folk magic a la Group Two and the Golden Dawn, which is its own long essay to explain, but basically think Freemasonry reskinned by the Romantic literary movement.  By no means are all of Group Three directly descended from the Gardnerians, but they are all kind of working variations on a theme in terms of how that “marriage” of folk and ceremonial magic should interact -- they are neither folk magicians nor ceremonialists, but a thing unto themselves syncretized from both.  Because this type of witchcraft was practiced extensively within the US counterculture during the 60s, 70s, and 80s, it has absorbed feminist, environmentalist, antiwar, and civil libertarian values, although the idea of explicitly wedding witchcraft and political action remains a more divisive idea here than it is among Group One, having passionate advocates both for and against.  This group is very comfortable talking about (and to!) deities, and the most likely to think of witchcraft as their religion, including devotion and service to the gods within their practice, although the theological variations are wide in terms of what exactly they think a deity *is.*  When I say they are “initiatory,” I mean in the broadest sense; some strands of this group do still believe that being a witch requires a teacher who then ritually initiates you, but the more liberalized view has become the norm, which is that a self-performed initiation ritual is legitimate.  Still, most of Group Three makes some sort of distinction between the non-initiated practitioner and someone who is A Witch by virtue of having been transformed on a karmic and spiritual level through the power of the gods.  It’s common, though not universal, for this group to take a rather Protestant view of initiation, where it is synonymous with an elevation to the priesthood; witchcraft is understood to be a religion of clergy, where initiating makes you a priest/ess and entails some form of service to deity and/or community.

These are semi-porous categories -- I’m a Group Three witch, but it’s perfectly easy for me to communicate with Groups One and Two, and in fact I’ve learned a lot from them over the years -- and some people have an equivalent foot in two different camps (I find it hard to imagine being evenly balanced between all three, but never say never?)  However, there’s a real fundamental difference between what these three groups think witchcraft is for and what it takes to claim the title.  I’m the hippie-dippy what’s-your-pronoun type, so I have no desire to invalidate any of these groups; their definitions vary, but I don’t see why that means any of them are more correct than the others, words are great, they mean all sorts of things.  I think we’d fight a lot less if we recognized that we aren’t using words the same way And That’s Okay, but that’s just my Gemini moon talking. 

[brooklynislandgirl]

@mynameisanakin

{{Before}}

Unfortunately, Beth is a little late to the party.

As has become a common ritual during the weekends they haunt the lanai each starting on opposite sides of the wicker not-quite-sofa until by some cosmic ideal they become entangled in a mass of stray limbs, soft skin, and a kind of warmth that rivals the sun. It is a companionable silence while he reads and she knits. Where they can disengage from the world and still feel connected to it through the existence of the other. It’s one of those things too difficult to describe if the person being told has never experienced it for themselves.

So when Anakin’s voice raises the small hairs along the nape of her neck, the crashing book startling her enough to jerk her head up from this particular perl, there is a moment of confusion written across her face in worry lines in her brow, the formation of frown-lines at the corners of her mouth. And for one glorious instant had there been a clear and present danger, it almost looks like she would have stabbed it with said knitting needle.

“Wha-” the whole word doesn’t make it out of her mouth. Beth is used to Anakin’s creative use of impolite expletives, how the shape of them along with tone have come to convey so many different things, but when she catches the rest of it she can’t help but look away. Partially in an effort to conceal the sudden flicker of honest-to-goodness brimstone and fire guilt. Partially to not have him bear witness to the discomfort that might otherwise have made itself apparent because she isn’t very good at hiding things. And the honest truth is the few times that Beth has ever felt any latent attraction to anyone or anything, they have been of that particular persuasion. Though she knows for a fact that what some writers get up to in their fiction and the reality of these beings are vastly different.

Beth could tell Anakin all about the Changing Breeds. Well, at least the ones she knows about, which account for at least four different kinds. She could tell Anakin what has been theorised about the Kindred and the oddity that is having relations with what amounts to their food source. She is pretty sure she’s never seen a green bean that she wanted to kiss breathless. She was a little less sure about ghosts and the like but she could, if it were ever to become important, ask one or more. And she does believe that love is one of the few things that transcends death. She doesn’t trust the fae to give an answer in any form of truthfulness. And those like them?

Well, as much as it’s painful to admit, the Awakened are still very much human. It doesn’t really matter what side of Ascension you fall on, you’re prone to the same wants and desires as the rest of the world. It’s just that you have slightly more options on how to go about getting what it is you crave. And that also makes Beth suddenly painfully aware that there is more Anakin under her than their perch, and very slowly she begins the process of unravelling their tangled bits of limb and clothes. Until now it wasn’t a concern, this sort of cuddle-puddle as her brother would call it was not uncommon between them, was no more scandalous as being curled up on an inside couch and watching a movie that they usually ended up talking through and at, as if the people on the screen could hear them and react differently in light of new information. Or any of a hundred other intimacies and liberties taken with each other.

What she doesn’t like is the way he intones the word ‘stupid’. She’s heard it one too many times as a slight not only on her intelligence but as slur for whatever foreign quality she threatened the speaker with at the time. She doesn’t bother to correct him on it, or even point it out. She knows he doesn’t mean it that way, that it’s merely a word to express his frustration and it’s one she understands all too well. Just as she knows if she did bring it up he would eat himself alive with guilt. Would spend upwards of weeks trying to apologise for something that wasn’t even really that much of a big deal. Somehow, she is glad he was never a samurai during the Edo period. Even as she worried about his self-castigation, he’s already starting to wilt, to recoil in on himself emotionally and as an instinct his arm curls around her leg before she can really sit up, drop her knitting in the basket, and focus her attentions on what he’s saying. And she lets him. Mostly. The closer he gets to the scar, the less comfortable she is, and she slides that leg away, placing her foot squarely on the floor.

As always, her gaze flutters in lackadaisical circuits between his eyes and his mouth. Sometimes Anakin gets this almost lazy way of talking that makes it hard for her to pick out every individual word so she pays more attention to his lips than maybe is good for either of them.

There’s a soft exhale of a laugh when he pauses, she can almost hear the unspoken thoughts and she is quite familiar with the sentiment. There’s some books she can’t get through, which gives her something to offer him once he’s gotten out all the things she can see lurking in his expression.

She does sneak a glance at the title, and doesn’t know the author. The cover itself is questionable. The sort of thing that gets hastily put together, often by a design artist who hasn’t even read the text. Or who only cribbed the dust jacket snippets. “Who told you dat you’d like it? Because I don’ t’ink ya really ought ta call dem ya friend no more.” She listens to the synopsis with an open mind. At least at first. But the more he talks about the character, the worse and worse she starts to feel. Because in some ways, he could be describing her. Well, with the whole exception of strength. She has emotional and intellectual fortitude, that’s for certain. But she isn’t exactly playing first string for the Saints, is she? In times she has to she can borrow a bit of physical prowess from the earth but that’s not what he really means, and not something she brags about. Though it does remind her that she should probably teach him that rote along with a few others.

He loses her there for a little bit. Not in the explanation but in the context and she’s almost horrifically curious to pick it up and see exactly what he’s talking about. If the inner sense of shame doesn’t do her in as he continues to explain. Her mouth opens slowly and then closes right up. Especially biting back the need to defend the character but also distance herself from the perceived comparison that could be drawn.

She is only so very thankful when he groans again, this time allowing the sound to pool down at the bottom of her spine, and that he shuts his eyes so he doesn’t see the garish clash of red on her cheeks and that faint green-around-the-gills she knows are both there. Although Anakin has here right then and there. Right at ‘morality wank’ and she can’t help the outburst of very real laughter followed by an apologetic squeeze of his knee. She hadn’t meant to but faces from her life before Anakin came into it serve to flesh out the imagery he’s painting.

She manages to hold it all together until he says the last two words, and again, anxious laughter comes bubbling up from inside her until she has to fan herself with her own hand for fear of lacking oxygen. She turns her head to the side and coughs softly before taking a more sobering breath. And when she talks, she tries her very hardest to keep the whole wine-auntie tone out of everything.

“No, I feel dis gotta come wi’ one caveat and dat’s uhm...I may not be da right person f’ say any of dis. But I...I t’ink dis writer would probably end up so much kibble if she evah try f’ do proper research. I know it’s fiction an’ all, but...dere is jus’ so much wrong wi’ da way ya explain it an’ I am so sorry for laughing. I promise, I no was laughing at you.”

No, it’s jumbled and not very clear at all, and she should have started out with the apology.

“Yeah, naw. See... I was t’inkin’ dat I could salvage some kine about dis, but no can. Mebbe a mo’ beddah way about it den is...t’ aks ya if mebbe...was dere any part ya like? Or dat you were okay pretendin’ t’ believe? Like... was it da actual sex part boddah you, or da pseudo-psychology of makin’ excuses, puttin’ on aires? Or was it all jus’ so bad, ya no can wi’ any of it?”

[nessie-rp]

WERECREATURE.

Werecreatures roam almost every continent, with legends of manbeasts stretching across cultures since time immemorial. This class of being shares one common trait: the ability to magically transform from human to therian predator. There are five known types of therianthropes, each with distinct origins and sets of traits. No connection to shapeshifters has yet been discovered, though they consider themselves kindred species in the unchanging city. The most common werecreatures in Lyonesse are nahuales and werewolves, each respectively claiming territory in New Aztlán and Old Town Row.

There are five types of werecreatures: NAHUALES/WEREPANTHERS, WEREWOLVES, WEREBEARS, WERETIGERS, and WEREHYENAS.

HISTORY.

The first of these beings were born from humanity's first brushes with magic, when humankind had just started to form civilizations thousands of years ago. Their histories are human histories, for the most part, given that to live as a werecreature is to walk two paths at once: person and beast. Of the five forms, we know that at least two — the wolves and the hyenas — originated from curses from outside influences (or, in the case of the hyenas, self-imposed), but the origins of the other three are largely attributed to witches with unique bonds to transformative magics that drifted apart from witch ways to forge their own.

IN LYONESSE.

Each kind of werecreature comes from a different walk of life and oftentimes an entirely different part of the world. The wolves were the first through the gates, but the nahuales and tigers followed soon after. It wasn't until the 19th century that any bears or hyenas were documented in the city.

The nahuales' connection to magic was what brought the first group of them to Lyonesse, hailing from Central America but intrigued by the possibilities of dimensional travel that the gates presented. It wasn't long before the mage leader of that group became interested in a more permanent presence in the city in the early 14th century, leaving a few trusted members of his family — the ones who would later stake their claim on New Aztlán — to learn more about the supernatural beings they had never previously interacted with.

The wolves did not initially demand a council seat when they began to immigrate to the city, chased out of their villages by angry humans — no, instead a pack tried to start a new settlement on the far side of the Morroi forest without notifying the council. The colony was disbanded by the council after many negotiations with the leadership of the pack, though there is reason to believe threats were levied against the wolves because of the dangers of exploring and occupying land so far from the safety of the gates. It was at this point that the wolves gained a seat on the council.

The tigers, hyenas, and bears do not have a strong enough presence in the city as of yet to have much interest in political power. They mainly keep to themselves.

FACTS.

SHARED ABILITIES.

PHYSICALITY.

All werecreatures possess enhanced senses and superhuman strength and speed, even in their human forms. Many individual werecreatures can go toe-to-toe with other powerful species, such as the fae or the vampire, depending on their control of their abilities. A lone opponent rarely has a chance against more than one werecreature.

SHAPESHIFTING.

Beings of dual natures, werecreatures have a human form and a beast form. Their ability to transform themselves between the two comes with certain conditions, depending on the specifics of their lineage (see individual lore sections for more details), but one constant remains: the transformation of man to beast and back again. Some can partially shift, gaining more noticeable predatory traits (i.e. fangs, claws, glowing eyes, colorations and hair patterns). An intentional partial shift is not an easy feat, and usually only experienced werecreatures or those of significant power can accomplish and maintain such a thing. Younger and less trained weres may partially shift in response to traumas, unexpected stimuli, or overwhelming emotions.

HEALING.

All werecreatures have a greater control over their physical systems which allows them to magically change forms, but this also extends to controlling other body processes — most notably, healing. Though their healing abilities are not as strong as dragons or vampires, many can concentrate their energy into rapid healing from severe injuries. This can give them the time they need to seek medical attention or bring them back from the brink of death, but will run out of steam depending on therity of the injury. It's an imperfect process.

INTERSPECIES RELATIONS.

Werecreatures have a natural affinity for other shapeshifters, though this notably does not extend to the trickster fae who tend to shapeshift into other humanoid forms. Though they are not naturally opposed to vampires, vampires have a mistrust of them that has exacerbated tensions between the species at different points in history.

In general, the more reclusive or solitary weres are wary of other beings, even in the city. That being said, weretigers have had certain... misunderstandings with yōkai in the past, as have werebears with the nahual shifters of the Americas.

MYTHS.

These things do not apply:

All werecreatures are forced to shift on the night of the full moon. That's a werewolf thing. Short end of the stick, huh?

The bites of werecreatures are toxic to vampires. Nah, but they'll still hurt and cause significant damage.

They're the natural predators of vampires. Someone really should be, but werecreatures may or may not have significant beef with their local covens.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS.

CAN A WERECREATURE GET DRUNK/HIGH?

Alcohol and drugs must be consumed in large quantities to affect a werecreature because of their heightened metabolism. Their effects also burn off much faster than they do in humans. Magical substances can affect werecreatures much more easily than normal substances, but they still have a stronger tolerance to their effects than humans do.

NAHUALES & WEREPANTHERS.

FACTS.

Nahuales are a mortal species with an extended lifespan (~250-300 years) with a deep connection to ancestral magics, including those of transformation and mediumship. They are classed as werecreatures for their ability to shapeshift from man to jaguar. They cannot be differentiated from non-magical jaguars when transformed. Their power comes from a spiritual connection to the worlds around and beyond them, a severed tie in magical practice between the nahual and the witch.

Only those born with a certain daysign, according to the tōnalpōhualli, are born nahual. According to nahual spiritual belief, the daysign acts with a person's tonalli — one third of a mortal's "soul" — to determine their characteristics and destiny. Because of this, being born to a nahual does not guarantee that the child will inherit the gift, as it always depends on daysign — and astrology is sacred to these beings to such a degree that natural mating cycles have evolved to favor the births of those with nahual signs. A mortal may be born without the ability to transform but still be destined to become a nahual; they must be bitten. Those who are bitten and not meant for the gift will die.

NOTE: Because of this species' mythos and significance in modern spiritual practice and cultural studies, nahuales must be portrayed by face claims with some indigenous roots in Mesoamerica.

ABILITIES.

NEPANTLA.

Sensitive to the comings and goings of magic, nahuales have the power not only to sense places of power but to traverse liminal spaces. The nepantla is a place neither here nor there — neither shadow nor shining. Chaos is in constant lurch around all living things, but it can get caught here and there, folded over itself, confused. It is these spaces — dimensional portals, djinn entrapments, ruptures in time, the cosmic branches of all world trees, those worlds which are not for mortal eye to behold — which can be accessed with easy by the nahual, drawn to their energy but unaffected by their capricious magical natures. Some say this makes nahuales the lightest of all creatures on their feet, hardest to detect when they are unwilling to be found. Others consider this a mark of just how dangerous they can be, a reason to stay away for fear of being drawn into the twilight neitherworld.

MEDIUMSHIP.

It is said that a nahual never dies. Linked together through time and past death, nahuales can communicate with their ancestors. This mental link develops over time, and will be stronger in some than others. They are extremely vulnerable when reaching out with their tonalli to the dead, and they can only communicate with other nahuales in this manner lest they risk their own lives.

SHAPESHIFTING.

Unburdened by the curse of the wolves or hyenas, nahuales are free to shift when they please, though they may be compelled to transform by offensive magic or intense emotional responses. Their extra connections to magic make them the fastest werecreatures in shifting from one form to the next.

WEAKNESSES.

MORTALITY.

Nahuales are susceptible to human disease and fatal injury, though their longevity is in part bolstered by their healing abilities. Excessive trauma and prolonged illness can still kill them, as can magical attacks.

TZITZIMITL.

Named for bonemonsters of the stars from Aztec myth but known by many names, the tzitzimitl manifests first as trouble with vision before worsening into blindness. It is caused by long stays in the nepantla. Time passes differently there with every voyage, so the risk of overstaying is one that cannot be understated. After the onset of the blindness, the nahual will begin to lose other senses until they become trapped and convinced that they are being burned alive. The worst time to travel the nepantla is during a solar eclipse, as it is almost certain that a nahual will suffer the tzitzimitl immediately upon their return. Cures for this illness are yet unknown.

WEREPANTHERS.

Werepanthers (also called werepumas or werecougars, as their form more closely resembles a cougar than a jaguar) are descended from nahuales but have a more tenuous connection to their ancestral magics due to colonization and the eradication of native cultures in the Americas. As such, they resemble other werecreatures who have lost all of their magical abilities save the power of transformation.

ORGANIZATION & SOCIETY.

Nahuales strongly prefer to live among humans and tend to be very open about their true natures with other beings, in contrast to many other species that prefer to keep their existence secret. Because of this, and the rarity of new nahuales, they do not have a rigid social structure outside of those imposed by humans, such as nuclear or extended families that live in the same home and small social circles. They often occupy places of importance in their communities and make excellent leaders. In Lyonesse, they have integrated themselves with all kinds of supernatural structures.

Notable astronomical events bring nahuales together for festivities or simple communal observance, as these are moments when the spirits of the ancestors are the most active — the dead may compel the nahuales they have communicated with to seek out their still-living loved ones, which leads to larger gatherings.

WEREWOLVES.

FACTS.

Werewolves are a mortal species with an extended lifespan who have the ability to shapeshift from man to wolf. Essentially, their first shift begins to slow down to their aging, allowing them to live up to 150 years of age. Once a werewolf reaches 100, they begin to age more quickly and feel less of a need to shift to their wolf form. Most werewolves that pass away of natural causes have stopped shifting completely for at least 15 years or more.

With regard to their origins, werewolves are a species that are either born or turned. No cursed wolves have been created since at least 1879. Born werewolves experience their first shift around puberty, usually between the ages of 13 and 16. Despite being born a werewolf, those that are born still experience the sickness that comes with the days leading up to their first shift. Born werewolves are more naturally inclined to have better control than turned werewolves.

Werewolves are easily distinguishable from normal wolves, being much bigger than any normal wolf. Their fur can be any natural wolf coat colors, regardless of their human form's coloration.

ABILITIES.

SHAPESHIFTING.

The full shift can be enacted at will, except on the full moon. It’s usually a quick but uncomfortable or even painful process. Alphas are usually the fastest at their shifts, but it isn't entirely unheard of for lower ranked wolves to be able to shift from man to wolf in the blink of an eye. Significant injuries will make the shift more dangerous and painful. Transformations that are forced (i.e. the full moon, alpha command, or magic-induced) are extremely painful to the individual, but intentional shifts can eventually become less painful. Many wolves choose to shift well before the full moon to avoid a forced shift.

WEAKNESSES.

THE FULL MOON.

The full moon is a shackle that werewolves can never escape, forcing their kind to transform for the duration of every full moon for the rest of their lives. During the night of the full moon, the majority of werewolves (including all but the most powerful alphas and betas) are more beast than man, increasing the risk they pose to creatures of all species. On the days leading up to the full moon, werewolves are often restless and irritable.

SILVER & WOLFSBANE.

Both substances can be fatal to a werewolf if ingested/injected or through prolonged exposure. Wolfsbane can induce vomiting, dizziness, general weakness (shifting becomes near impossible), and in some rare cases, drive a werewolf mad. Silver burns on contact and is most commonly used in restraints. Older werewolves are more likely to develop some resistance to wolfsbane and silver.

MORTALITY.

Werewolves can survive most injuries that would kill a human, thanks to their healing ability, but would not survive the most traumatic, such as fatal damage to the heart, decapitation, explosion, etc.

LOSS OF A MATE.

The unexpected death of a mate can drive a wolf so deep into despair that they become gravely ill.

MAGIC.

Werewolves are very susceptible to magic, especially magic that ties to the moon and rituals that are completed during the night of the full moon.

THE TURN.

To become a werewolf, one must be bitten during the week of the full moon. The higher the attacking wolf is in the pack hierarchy, the better the chance the individual has of surviving the transformation. This transformation happens on the next full moon, but the victim will endure a long and strange illness for the entire month between. Those bitten have a high chance of the transformation killing them or driving them insane.

ORGANIZATION & SOCIETY.

Werewolves congregate in pack structures like their natural kin. Packs are often full of related wolves, depending on their history and the amount of territory they occupy. However, regardless of blood relation — pack is, in most situations, family.

ALPHAS.

Packs are led by an alpha pair. Alphas can be of any gender, as the position is determined by power and ability rather than by any specific biological factors. Magic, stemming from the original curse, is what gives the alpha ranking its authority. Female alphas are highly revered in werewolf culture. Alphas are identifiable by the bright, illuminating glow of their eyes when partially or fully transformed; it is also easy to identify an alpha amongst other wolves of their pack due to the social deference they command.

When it comes to succession to alpha status, such a title is usually bestowed based upon respect rather than strictly inherited. Should an alpha die before naming a successor, the alpha rank is conferred to the next strongest wolf in the pack, usually one of the betas. Pack elders are often involved in this decision should the previous alpha face an untimely demise.

BETAS.

Known as the seconds in command to the alpha, betas are responsible for helping enforce the alpha’s rules. They can be any gender. Their main concerns are pack security and safety as well as ensuring the alpha's orders are followed.

None of the betas have power over another, though many will defer to older and wiser members of the pack.

PACK ELDERS.

Elders have been with their packs for a very long time, guiding and caring for the younger generations. Soemtimes they're parents or adoptive family of the core pack members (alphas and betas) — other times there's no specific familial tie; either way, they're always gramps or auntie or baba. Respect for the elders is expected, though they may not have any official position of authority and they may not even still be turning members of the pack. The respect they are owed doesn't come from social pressures so much as it comes from the roles they typically fill in the pack as connections to pack ancestors and caretakers of the young.

LONE WOLVES & ROGUE WOLVES.

Lone wolves are rare, and do not thrive outside of pack life.

Rogue wolves are outcasts, labeled as such for an infraction among their pack and/or the werewolf community (putting others in danger, disobeying their alpha, intentionally biting humans to change them, etc.). Wolves may also be described as rogue if they have gone mad from wolfsbane exposure or from forced transforming. These wolves, reduced to predator instincts and mad with rage, are sentenced to death in Lyonesse. A local alpha, pack elder, or in extreme cases, the council all have the authority to carry out the sentence.

MATES.

Wolves take partnerships very seriously, as any mated pair may eventually break off from a pack to build their own. The mating bond is equivalent to marriage within a pack; in fact, in Lyonesse mating carries the same legal connotations and recognition as marriage as of the 1925 Ritual Partnership Act.

There are various courtship practices and ceremonies observed in wolf packs — some more similar to mortal courtships in that they involve sharing gifts, declarations of intention, and spending time alone together, and others more in common with wolves, such as grooming and territorial displays.