#wHAT DOES FAE BLOOD TASTE LIKE I WONDER

[the-dark-parade]

Dear marshal,

Could I have... REINCARNATION AU!!!

Let's say that reader (female) used to be a soldier under lilia

AND while working under him, she fell in love

So she confessed to him. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. (annoying.)

But one day, it looks like he's going to get hurt fatally, and she takes the but instead. (how stupid.)

And she dies. But she doesn't regret it. And gets reincarnated!

(I wanna see him pining for her the same way she does for him!!!!)

WARNINGS! THIS STORY CONTAINS... angst + fluff + lilia×fem reader

A/N: Thank you for your request, @something1032727 I hope my work pleases you. This is my first work after all. If you are not comfortable with this, feel free to leave. If you would like a version with male reader instead, please request it. Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Now, the parade starts with it's first destination...

Fate's Redemption: A Love Reborn

(part 1)

In the symphony of life, love echoes and reverberates endlessly, intertwining souls across time. Every gesture, every sacrifice, echoes through eternity, shaping destinies. And in the cycle of rebirth, love's refrain returns, reminding us that its melody endures, transcending even lifetimes. Truly, eternal echoes of love.

"Please go out with me!" You say as always, with such vigour, with such annoyingness, as always. Love-struck eyes stare into mine, seemingly going into my soul, hoping for a chance. It's like her eyes turn into hearts whenever I'm here.

How stupid. One of my best soldiers in the army, and she's so head-over-heels for me. Save her clumsy ass a few times, and she magically falls in love with you.

How naive.

I reject you once again, for what seems like the 1000th time or more, but you still don't give up. Your stubbornness is one of your worst yet best trait about you.

You eat my food with a smile even though my other soldiers avoid it like the plague. I suppose you do have good taste after all.

You cook for me, feed my ego, help me with my work, and so much more.

I wonder if you're just in it for fun. Perhaps you just want my title if we actually win the war. But I brush the thoughts off when I see your sincerity.

You ask again, and again, and again.

Why are you so insistent?

Why do you even bother?

Why do you like me so much?

This little crush of yours should be over by now. I have not treated you very nicely. I have not treated you any different from the rest. There is nothing between us. Why can't you understand that I'm just not interested?!

At least that was what I would like to say. If my heart didn't stop beating so hard around you. If your smile, your stupid, stupid confessions, that used to not bother me at all, now haunts me in my sleep every night!

What's wrong with me..?

Am I truly... falling in love..?

.

.

.

Well, that's what I wanted to ask.

How stupid. How fucking fucking fucking stupid!

How irritable can you be?

How much do you want me to cry over you?!

Is it too late to say I regret not accepting your confession all those years ago, if now you're dead..?

--

"General, watch out..!" You say, as you use your body to shield me from an arrow that I never even noticed was coming after me. Pushing me to the side.

"...you're dying. How stupid. Why did you take that arrow for me?" I pick you up, just running to base. Stupid human devices..! I can't cast my teleportation magic! There's no time, there's no time! You stupid fae...

"cause... *cough*, I love you." You say weakly, softly, coughing out blood in my arms. You even wink! You infuriate me so bad!

"Shut up! Don't you dare die on me!" I ran as fast as I could. Don't die. Don't die. Don't die! You made my life brighter, and now you want me to go back to how it was?!

You made me fall in love with you!

.

Fuck. Before we even reached, I could feel your heart stop beating. Your body is becoming cold. No, no, no! It can't end like this. It can't!

Is this what it feels to have your whole world crash upon you?

My heart feels heavy. My cheek feels wet. I feel like causing a massacre. My chest feels tight. It's a bit hard to breathe. I feel a chill go up my back.

But why..?

Death is normal in war. Death is a daily occurrence in war. Death happens in every fight, in every week.

So why?

Why does death, which was so normal for soldiers on the battlefield like me, make me feel this way?

Amidst my thoughts, I managed to bring you back to base. But it wasn't really you. Just a cold, soulless empty vessel of you.

This is just too cruel.

You should not have ended up this way, you still had so much to live for, and just when I was actually going to accept your confession you go and die on me?!

We... Could have been happy together.

If only... If only I wasn't so stubborn, denying my feelings for you.

If only you weren't so insistent on going out with me.

If only...

If only...

If only you didn't take that hit in my stead, could that have happened..?

Ah, but it's too late to regret it now, huh?

.

That night, it was said that wailings could be heard from inside the General's tent.

--

Years have passed, and the numbers signalling each year are not the only changes that happened in my life.

I have gotten wiser and older. Now I know what I felt for you in those days.

Love is the word for my overwhelming feelings for you.

I visit your grave from time to time. It mostly ends up in tears, despite how many years have passed.

I used to call you pathetic for being so love-driven. I guess now I'm the pathetic one. How my past words bite me in the gyatt, just like the youngsters say!

I entered school. I can't believe I still have that invitation letter from NRC from all those years ago!

I have gotten over you.

At least that would be what I would like to say, but when I saw you again, it was like my old heart started beating again.

"(y/n),"

The dark mirror said, and my eyes shot to the person in question. Could it truly be..?

Those eyes. Those mannerisms. Everything about you... I could never mistake you for anyone else. It's you.

"Thou shall be sorted into..."

Diasomnia. I hope she'll be sorted in the same dorm as me. But even so, I'll win her heart again even if she's not.

"Savannahclaw!"

I feel like sighing... We could have been dormmates! But, oh well!

Khehehe. This general makes a mission to himself, to make you fall in love with him as deeply and as hopelessly as you did all those years ago. And this general isn't one to fail a mission.

Get ready, my love.

A/N: dear souls, stay tuned for part 2! Thank you for reading if you read.

[hanafubukki]

for no other reason that i'd love seeing malleus and lilia freak out over you (men who keep it together SNAPPING when they see their loved one hurt? hell yes gimme), please imagine you visiting diasomnia dorm and accidentally take poison that was snuck to harm malleus.

i was replaying book 4 recently and remembered jamil taste-tests everything, but i don't remember his retainers doing the same... malleus probably grew some immunity due to lilia's cooking lolol jkjk ok but i wonder if he ever was under that eye... granted he's powerful enough that barely anyone would dare, but there must be someone who wants him gone, like, look at rollo lol that man had no fear.

so yeah, you're just doing your thing, hanging out and talking malleus' ears off while he's grabbed a snack or something, and maybe he playfully shoves the spoon into your mouth as he teases you "breathe, child of man" with a grin on his face (you know the one, the one he does when you poke him too much in the home screen and he says he'll "overlook your rudeness". sir you are not fooling anyone. you love getting our attention. ANYWAYS—). lilia's there, leaning on the counter chuckling while you roll your eyes, playing along–

and then your mouth goes numb. at first is your tongue, so you blink in confusion, not fully registering what's happening. malleus stares at you in confusion as well while lilia's the one narrowing his eyes now.

next it's your jaw that numbs, and you touch your face feeling a pang of worry–it's the next second, when it becomes hard to breathe, that panic sets in. and it sets in hard. you're clawing at your throat while your body fights for air as you panic. you hear the clang of a plate and the rustling of robes near you, and your vision is full of black and neon green as malleus' form covers you, trying to see and find what is wrong.

lilia is too familiar with said attempts, having been acquainted with nobility and a senate that hated his guts for centuries, plus the tensions among the fae kingdom centuries past. one touch to the food numbs his finger and he immediately knows, so he's out in a flash to find crewel's office where he knows there might be what he needs.

bonus points if the antidote is administered via kiss because you can't swallow it and cough it out :3

the fun part though (to me, i am not sorry lol) would be malleus going absolutely ballistic to the point where there is a storm on the whole school. maybe the island, even while lilia looks one step away from going back into general–mode. "maybe it's time i pull my old weapon out." "father, please don't."

(sebek and silver are your friends too so they'd be pissed off as well, or if you're into a whole polycule you can imagine them freaking out as well.)

but now everyone in the diasomnia dorm is under heavy scrutiny. who'd have the balls to try and go poison malleus draconia? someone with a deathwish, that's who. though now you get pampered to death by them, including some open heart talk about malleus feeling guilty you took the hit for him, albeit accidentally.

if you want the lite version with no poison, just pampering and no snapping, just imagine malleus giving you a cold or the flu, except he doesn't get it himself. his body just doesn't feel the symptoms because he's that powerfully built, but you do get it from him (does this make sense? no, i personally think the virus would avoid him alltogether but let's just go with the flow (flu, heh) here) and you fall sick in his presence a few days later, red and feverish–passing out on him on the couch, too! you didn't want to stay at ramshackle and rest when he'd been looking forward to hanging out with his favourite people, so you just popped some meds and went out anyways. congrats, now you'll be pampered to death as well! maybe literally, if lilia insists on making that soup...

(me personally i prefer the poison one because desperation + love is delicious. plus the antidote giving through a kiss. clichés are in my blood. though i'd also love the other way around where you save malleus instead, i admit it's hard for me to imagine a poison that's able to get that man at all... but hey maybe there is one! or lilia's the one that gets it accidentally. that would make both you and malleus go absolutely feral on the spot, and silver? oh boy. yeah you three are out for blood. sebek for once would be the calmest of the group while still being pretty pissed off about the whole ordeal.

but hey now you get to pamper your old man or prince a little bit! :D)

YESSS ANONIE YESSSS 🥳🫶🙌

ALL OF THIS

I love when the calm/happy ones snap. You know you’re out of luck when that happens. Whoever dared?? Their days are numbered big time.

And something caused by poison?? When it was meant for another? 🤌 yes give it to me.

I feel Malleus would have a poison resistance that he accumulates over the years. And even if his dorm is filled with mostly supporters and those who worship him, it doesn’t mean there isn’t anyone that doesn’t want to hurt him or the others.

There can be many reasons. Maybe they hate his stance with humans? Maybe they want to hurt Lilia. It could be an aftermath of his OB.

But either way, you have been harmed and that cannot be. An innocent who was a friend (or maybe something more) to them and they dare harm you?

And for Malleus to have “basically fed” you that poison? Oh the guilt and the horror.

Lilia, from experience alone, probably has a panacea or the ingredients needed. If not, crewel’s lab is getting raided. How could he have let this happen? How could he lower his guard like this? All of this he’ll have to reflect on later. Even now, enemies are in his shadows.

Administrating the antidote through kiss? Yesss

Forcing your mouth open and making you drink it. Slowly rubbing your throat to make sure it goes down.

Crewel and Vil are called to check up on you. While Lilia? He’s using his UM to find answers.

His eyes glow wine red. The shadows around him spreads. He is eerily quiet. He is hunting now.

Anything with a kiss always has me kicking my feet, I don’t care how cliche it is. I will eat it up like it’s a fine course meal and I have been starving 💞💞

Diasomnia is going to be extra protective of you for the next coming weeks minimum. Get ready to be cuddled 🥰🥰

Delicious, so delicious, thank you for this meal Anonie 🥰🥰

[gaysindistress]

Limits of a Fae Heart - three

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Summary: With war looming over their heads, the Inner Circle is desperate for a solution. The one they found comes in the form of a resurrected female who’s fated to not only their Shadowsinger but once to their enemy as well.

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: fighting, gore, blood

One | two | four | five | six

Rage like I’ve never felt before rolls off of me while the shadows lead me to their singer. I find him making tea in the kitchen with Cassian. The roguish male stiffens when I set my glower on him. He looks uncomfortable at best with his arms crossed over his chest and eyes darting between Azriel and me.

“We can talk later,” he quickly says to Az and slips out of with a small smile directed at me. My new shadow pets nudge me away from him and I swear I hear them hiss as he passes.

Azriel pretends to be calm and even indifferent to my arrival. He’s focused on removing the metal tea strainer which apparently takes more than 10 seconds. His shadows flutter around him and reach for me. I can’t see his entire face but there is a wary tension to his shoulders as he pretends to focus on the task.

“How are you?”

“No,” I snap at him and he stills, “how did you know about me?”

His beautiful hands finally set the strainer down and dry themselves on a dish towel before gripping the edge of the counter. He lifts his head to look at me and those stupid hazel eyes threaten to take my breath.

“It’s my job to know things that no one else does.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes but how?”

“You’ve met my shadows.”

“They report to you?”

He goes back to making his tea while a small smile tugs at his lips. “Most of the time.”

This male is frustratingly dodgy.

No wonder he works for the Night Court.

“Have they recently?”

The shadows that led me here have abandoned me and joined their kin around Azriel. They dance towards his ear and appear to whisper to him. He flickers his eyes over to me with that small smile playing on his mouth. His answer is a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Traitors,” I whisper to them, causing them to vibrate with energy. Whatever rage I felt earlier has disappeared and is replaced with whatever sick feeling I get in his presence. I desperately want it to shove off but it’s not working.

The next thing Azriel does shocks me although it really shouldn’t. He slides the cup he’s been obsessing over to me and settles against the counter behind him. He assures me it isn’t poisoned. I hesitantly take it and sniff at the spiced aroma before taking a tiny sip. A burst of flavors that I’ve never tasted before hits my tongue and my eyes dart to him in shock.

He chuckles at my reaction. “Do you like it?”

“What is it?”

“It’s a healing blend from our healer made for you.”

“For me?”

Azriel’s check flush. “I had her make it after your…” he trails off and looks to the things I’ve been trying to ignore.

Setting my tea down, my wings involuntarily shutter and I groan under my breath. Instantly shadows are all around me and Azriel’s jaw is tight as he watches me. More like stares at me but all the same, his eyes are scanning my entire body.

“Thank you,” I mutter. Deep breaths only do so much to calm the raging burn at my back. That foul golden warmth in my chest only adds to my agony and I’m forced to sit down before I completely collapse. The shadows guide me a tall chair at the counter. It’s not lost on me that this is the closest to we’ve ever been.

“There’s no need,” he breaths out. Tension is still holding his body taunt and it starting to effect his shadows. I reach out for them however they pull away.

Azriel lets out a deep sigh as the shadows close around him and away from me. An unexpected dagger finds its home in my chest. These little creatures had become something akin to friends to me and now they want nothing to do with me.

“No amount of kind gestures will convince me to accept the bond.”

His entire body tenses even more; his wings shutter and his face hardens. Many men have fallen to their knees under that sharp and murderous look and pleaded for mercy. The myths say that this gaze would be followed by a smile after making them wet themselves and only then would he bring his blade down upon their necks. The power that he holds in his fatal gaze is enough to make me almost reconsider my words and tugs at the bond deep inside my chest again.

“That wasn’t what i…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

His jaw snaps shut and he doesn’t bother to finish his sentence. When he doesn’t say anything more, I arch a brow at him.

Clearly I’ve struck a cord as is evident in the way that he shakes his head at me and rounds the counter. His footsteps are silent but deafening all the same as he moves to stand beside me. I turn in my seat so that we can face each other. He tentatively reaches for me and when I don’t move away, he cups the side of my face. My breathing stops for a second and feels like the elevation has suddenly gone up a thousand feet.

“We both know I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he whispers to me. Hazel eyes bore into mine and stroke every alerted nerve within my body. “Ask me again.”

At first I don’t fully understand what he meant and just stare at him. It’s beyond frustrating to be at the mercy of others like this, begging like a starving dog for straps and morsels of information. I would gather information but never knew why or what exactly I needed to get. All I was ever told was simply ���find them and don’t come back until you have everything.” The rage that had shimmered into a gentle mewl finds its voice again and begs to be released on Azriel.

“Ask me how I knew about you and about my shadows.”

I furrow my brow at him but his enduring tone and gentle eyes pull the words from me. “Tell me how you knew about me. I want to know if your shadows have reported to you since I was brought here.”

He smiles in a heart wrenchingly adoring way, “there were rumors of a fae that he favored and kept at his side. People said that she could draw the truth from anyone with just a look and even more with her words. Not many knew if she really existed but I found those who did and they told me where to find you. As for my shadows, they found you the first night and would only tell me that you were okay. I couldn’t get anything else out of them and honestly I still can’t half of the time.”

My attention is divided between Azriel’s warm hand on my cheek that feels heavenly and his plump lips. Never have I been so drawn to another like this before and I’m starting to enjoy it. The craving for him I feel is slowly starting to replace the dread of life and I can’t find it within myself to hate it. For so long I wasn’t allowed to be happy and now that it’s cradling my face, I want to embrace it.

Neither of us have tugged on the golden thread that connects us yet but this moment almost begs for me to do it. He starts telling me more although it falls on deaf ears as I search for that thread.

“I will do whatever you need of me, all you have to do is ask. We’re strangers but you have to know that anything I do for you is without an ulterior motive. Anything my shadows do is born of their want to see you well…” he freezes mid sentence when I successfully find it and golden fire burns in his hazel eyes. The intensity they held before is nothing compared to inferno that lives in them now. His hand tightens against my cheek before sliding to my neck and tilts my head up more. He leans down as the other hand finds the back of my chair and I’m caged in without a care in the world. My own hands find the wrist at my neck and wrap around it, keeping it in place.

“Did you..”

“I did.”

His marble carved nose bumps against mine. “Why?”

“I needed to know that it was real, that this was real.”

“And what do you think?”

My eyes flutter closed when his lips ghost over mine and my words feel heavy against my tongue. “Reality is what we make it.”

And our reality becomes enveloped in shadows as we lean into each other, falling into a consuming kiss. Azriel draws me closer with his hands tangled into my hair and devours me. I nearly trip trying to stand but he catches me by wrapping an arm around my waist. Desperate breathing and wanton noises come from us both while we fight to convey everything we feel yet can’t admit. It’s pure euphoria kissing Azriel, feeling his strength in my hands while his power finds its way under my skin. Lifetimes will pass us by and memories will fade however his adoration for me and the physical imprint it leaves on me in the form of bruised lips will never blur.

He pulls away to look at me with wild and sweet eyes. I know he’s confused as am I. I told him only moments ago nothing could convince me to accept the bond and yet we kissed.

“Reality is what we make it,” I repeat in a small voice as I stare back at him, “and…”

Before I can finish, a gasp and the shattering of tea cups steals our moment from us. Azriel looks over his shoulder and immediately goes rigid.

“Az,” the sweet voice says in a trembling way, “what…what is going on? Who is she?”

Realization hits me like the cold and unforgiving waves of the seas in Hybern. I remove myself from him and pick up my tea. He’s watching me while always watching her however he can’t expect to play two parts at once. Few actors have the ability to pull off multiple believable performances and I suspect he is not one of them.

I put the mug in the sink and make eye contact with him. My words are going to hurt us both however they are necessary. “As I was saying, reality is what we make it and Fate has no bearing on my decisions. She gets it wrong more often than not.”

Flickering my gaze around him, I find a rather pale and frowny woman who I can only assume is the third Acheron sister, Elain. “Nothing is going on here and rest assured, nothing ever will. As for who I am, I am nobody important. Your high lord will soon find out I’m useless in his endeavors to win this pathetic war.”

“Nobody important?” The broken edge to my almost mate’s voice echoes into my hollow heart and rattles everything in me. The bond is taunt, pulled tight as it begs with each of us to reach out for the other although we won’t. That hope was shattered the moment those tea cups did.

“Yes, nobody important,” I barely manage to say back. His shadows split between us and I gently wave them away as I take my first steps towards the door. A cry of sadness comes from them and Elain rushes to Azriel, frantically checking him for any injuries. He’s solely focused on me as I slip out of the kitchen and drift even further out to sea than before.

He made a beautiful lighthouse to seek false refuge in however I will always be a lone drifting ship that’s found its home among the waves.

Tears prick at my eyes as I find my way back to my room. They fall in blazing clusters once the door is closed and I’m safely inside my room filled with his scent.

Whether it’s by accident or intention, I don’t see Azriel or even Elain over the next few days. Feyre and Mor are the only two that seem to be around with the occasional Rhys. At first I enjoyed having time and space to myself however that ache in my chest started to move from uncomfortable to outright unbearable. By the third day of little sleep, I take to the rooftop garden wrapped in the cream knitted blanket with a cup of the spiced tea steaming on a small iron table. My wings hurt less now but out in the open like this, they feel almost weightless and free. The city around me, Velaris as I’ve learned it’s called, is full of starlight and wonderment so late at night. I sip away at the spiced tea and allow the beauty of this city to whisk me into a daydream of that golden thread’s making.

Someone joins me on the rooftop and clears their throat to get my attention. Barely glancing over my shoulder, I’m shocked to see Rhys is leaning against the door frame. There’s an odd glimmer to his eye that I can’t quite figure out. He pushes off and takes a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the table.

“How is Velaris treating you?”

“Well I haven’t left the townhouse yet.”

“Would you like to?”

I turn away from him and back to the landscape before us, “I would like to go home.”

“And where is that?”

“I don’t think I have one anymore but this place,” I sigh as I gesture to the city, “this place isn’t my home. I’m grateful for your kindness and generosity but I can’t stay here. I belong on that island and that’s where I should go.”

It’s Rhys’ turn to sigh, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He stands and kneels before me, looking at me curiously. There’s something off about his gaze but then again there’s just something off about him. His presence is unnerving at the moment and even more so than usual.

Rhys’ violet eyes trail up and down my body, taking in every detail even as I’m wrapped in a blanket. Something is definitely different with him and I go to get out of my chair but he stops me with a bruising grip on both knees.

“Rhys,” I warn as I try to shove off his hands. My wings draw in tight behind me and I prepare myself to ruin all my healing if it means I have to fly to get away.

His eyes flash violently for a moment and I fully shove him off as I scramble up. The chair flies back and makes a horrific sound as it crashes to the ground.

Mischief causes his lips to curl into a cruel smirk, “I’m not Rhys.”

Frustration rises up in me and my nose flares at his annoyingly vague words, “I’m well aware of that now. So who are you then?”

This imposter only shrugs his shoulders as he stands and circles around me. He stops when he is directly in front of me and brushes my hair back, stroking the strands of hair that have fallen free. Tucking a particularly large piece back, his finger skims my cheek and the touch freezes my skin. I want to flinch back but I don’t want him to think I'm weak so I harden my gaze and body. It feels like an impossible task as he leans closer to me, letting his icy breath wash over me.

“There will come a day when all those you have come to trust will turn on you and you will be forced to become the female you once were. And when that day comes, I will happily watch you burn the world you’ve come to love,” he whispers against my ear. He slowly pulls away, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of my cheekbone before a black mist overcomes him.

When it clears, foul beasts stare back at me.

In his place are two of the King’s Ravens.

Sinister smirks paint their faces as they slowly start to advance towards me. It would be just my luck that these minions are here and have taken the face of someone that I’ve let near me.

The words that the imposter whispered into my ear are reminiscent of the promise that the King made me before he left me on that island. A prickle of bloodthirst itches at the back of my throat as the brainless weapons crowd closer.

“You should go,” I mumble as my breathing grows more labored. With my hands out in front of me and my wings tucked away, I try to make myself as small and vulnerable as possible. I pretend to trip over the chair and fall to the ground. The Ravens laugh and tease me about how pathetic I am begging them to go. The house does exactly as I need and a sword materializes in my hand.

I take my cue as their laughter grows close enough to rattle my body and stand with the sword pointed at them. They laugh even harder.

“Last chance,” I say with a bone chilling timber to my already low voice. My wings flare out with a loud snap and the men hesitate for a second. They scramble to get ready for a fight. We begin to circle each other and I smirk as I sniff the air. They reek of fear and it seems to feed the bloodlust rather than appease it.

One of them lounges at me.

A flash of black and silver block the other Raven’s view of what happened. Everything is silent at first and the remaining Raven waits with bated breath as a thud sounds across the rooftop. He dares to look down to see his partner’s head rolling towards him and looks back up to see me already staring at him, a smirk on my lips. He bares his teeth at me and attacks. Clashing swords and labored breathing become the music to the dance that I’m leading him in. He’s all too predictable but I need to control this situation and play the game how I want to.

However it’s cut short by the arrival of another male, his cedar and mist scent sweeping over us and momentarily distracting me. The Raven takes his chance to attack however he is too slow. I throw the sword as if it were a dagger and it lands with a sickening crunch in his chest. He gasps and stumbles backwards until he hits the edge of the roof and tips over it. Azriel’s eyes are wild and furious as he takes in the sight before him.

“Are you okay?” he settles on asking. He doesn’t move to get closer to me and I stay where I’m at, blood still splattered on my arm and wings standing on high alert. I feel his eyes rake over me, searching for any injuries and they pause on my wings. I can’t help but make a show of stretching them, allowing them to shake out to an even larger span and roll my shoulders back.

“I’m annoyed that my peaceful afternoon was interrupted,” I mumble and pick up the now filthy white blanket.

“That’s not what I asked.”

I can’t be bothered with him and his instinctively need to ensure that I’m okay. No I’m clearly not okay and I want nothing more than to crumple to the ground and cry. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of this foul King haunting me. I’m sick of being treated like I’m a prisoner but somehow an ally. I’m tired of feeling the sick need to be around the male before me and deny myself the joy of being around him. I’m sick and tired of it all but alas the only thing that I can change is that sick need however I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to reject the bond no matter how much I want to.

“Please don’t,” his low voice breaks my internal monologue and I snap my eyes at him. Did he somehow hear all of that? It dawned on me as a wave of foreign emotions hit me that I told him. I sent all of that down the bond that isn’t even accepted yet.

“Please,” he says again and steps towards me, “don’t reject it yet.”

“Give me one reason other than it’s what the Cauldron wanted,” I hiss at him, anger rolling off of me and it sends his shadows hiding behind him.

Words evade him and it causes me to scoff in disbelief.

“That’s what I thought

[teejaystumbles]

Dreamling AU with vampire gentleman Hob and goth/punk nixie Dream (tag: fins & fangs au, thanks @sleepsonfutons!)

(this elaborates on the story of the sketches and art I've done so far ^^)

Dream got hit over the head with a bottle at the White Horse Bar and Inn after pissing someone off who came onto him too strong and Hob, who's the owner, steps in, called by the smell of blood. He takes Dream to the back to take care of the wound, and if he licks a bit of blood from his fingers while he does it, well, Dream is too concussed to notice. When he tastes Dream's blood he realises that he is some kind of supernatural being, but he keeps quiet about it. He doesn't want to get called out as a vampire, too. Hob wants to take Dream home but finds out that he is homeless, he just sleeps on couches of friends, so Hob invites him to stay for a few days at one of the rooms at the Inn, without charge, and Dream is too much of an opportunist to decline. Hob starts bringing Dream roses every night and Dream thinks he's weird but is also charmed. Meanwhile Hob is trying to find out what kind of creature Dream is, but he is genuinely flirting with him because he's gorgoeus and his blood tastes amazing. Dream has no clue and just wonders when Hob will ask him for sex because that's how things like this usually go for him. Dream would not be opposed but Hob doesn't ask, he's the perfect gentleman and treats Dream like a prince, not a whore. One night Dream has had enough and tries to seduce Hob but Hob only accepts Dream's kiss without taking things further. He gently pushes Dream away and leaves. He thought that Dream was trying to charm him with his powers, he's pretty sure now that Dream is a fae or a nixie because they can charm someone and Dream has a very bewitching voice as well. Dream is frustrated to no end and decides to leave the Inn the next day. He's never seen Hob around in the day and so he packs his few belongings in his old black army backpack and leaves. In the night Dream stumbles across Hob feeding from a stranger in a back alley and is shocked at what he sees. Hob thinks Dream is only playing innocent and gets a bit rough and mean because he's hot from the blood he just drank, and Dream's scent and the memory of his taste have been trying his patience for days. He goads Dream to admit that he's a nixie but Dream has no clue what he means. Hob bites Dream and his powers awaken because he panics. Dream starts to violently shapeshift and flees. Hob lets him go but follows him to see if he needs help because he realised that Dream maybe really has no idea what he is...

(more later, I'll see if I can draw more first before spoiling the rest of the ideas for this)

[marvelmusing]

A Courtship of Shadows

Part Two

Pairing: Fae!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: Once again, Aleksander finds you at the edge of a ballroom and he finds himself more and more interested by you with every passing moment.

Warnings [18+]: mildly suggestive context (touching and Aleksander’s thoughts).

Word Count: 3K

My Masterlist • Part One

“That’s the third person she’s turned down.”

“There is no need to provide me with a running commentary, Fedoyr,” Aleksander remarks drily, swallowing down a mouthful of bitter wine as he keeps his gaze fixed purposefully away from whatever suitor had asked to dance with you.  

If Aleksander’s theory is correct, and you have Fae blood in you, the strangeness people had observed during your childhood is slowly shifting into an allure that the humans don’t quite understand, but they act upon it nonetheless. 

When he does risk a glance in your direction he observes the restlessness in your eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to realise you are bored. He can’t help but think of you attending one of his own balls at the Grand Palace in Os Alta. He wonders whether you would find more enjoyment among his court. 

Aleksander finds you intriguing. 

Ever since you had admitted that your mother thought you were a changeling child, he’s been entertaining the possibility that you might be Fae. 

He knows you have been contemplating what he told you, about the possibility of two humans conceiving a Fae child. Though Aleksander doesn’t believe that was the case for you. He suspects that your father was Fae, or at least had some Fae blood in him. 

He finds himself wondering about how you know so much about the Fae - especially the rules and tricks his kind use against humans. Perhaps your father had taught you, before he died.

As his mind wanders, he imagines what your Fae form might look like. Whether you would have thick curled horns like Zoya, or delicate pointed ears like himself. Whether your teeth would sharpen, or if your eyes might change colour. 

Living in the human realm for your entire life, you have been deprived of the magic that lingers in the soil of Aleksander’s kingdom. The same magic that provides Fae food with its luxurious taste that drives humans to addiction, as well as connecting every Fae to the making at the heart of the world. 

Whilst you seem healthy enough, he can’t stop himself from thinking of the toll such a disconnect from the Fae might have taken on you. 

Without thinking, he moves towards you, leaving Ivan and Fedyor at the side of the room. The crowd parts for him easily, lords and ladies averting their eyes as he passes them. A few people stare openly, watching as he walks across the ballroom. 

He’s wearing one of his most formal keftas, black with shimmering silver threads woven amongst the dark embroidery. This morning Genya had tailored his features to appear more human-like, but the nobles around him still recognise Aleksander as something not quite normal. 

Before he can reach you, someone stops at your side. Whilst the man doesn’t turn to address you, Aleksander can see your mouth moving as you take a sip of your wine. There’s a minute wrinkle to your nose as you swallow the dark liquid and it appears you’re as fond of the royal vintage as Aleksander is. 

He might stand out amongst the humans, but Aleksander has always been rather gifted at blending into the shadows. As a result, he finds it easy enough to stroll lightly around the table you’re standing in front of and lean casually against a marble pillar nearby. The perfect spot to overhear your conversation under the guise of watching the crowd of dancers gathered in the ballroom. 

“I assume you have something for me,” you say quietly to the man beside you. 

“Not much, the usual trivial gossip, childish whispering really.” 

“Dimitri, I’ve been dealing with the rumour mill for years. Whatever you’re trying to protect me from, I assure you, I can handle it.” 

The man - Dimitri - sighs quietly and the two of you are silent for a long moment. 

“They think you’re involved with Lord Kirigan.” 

Aleksander hones in on the conversation immediately at the sound of the name he’s been using among the human court, to seem approachable without surrendering his true name. 

“Involved?” you repeat. 

“That you’re warming his bed,” Dimitri elaborates. 

“Oh.” 

Genya has a particular talent for collecting gossip and Aleksander had been made aware of these rumours only yesterday. He’s impressed that you seem to have your own system in place to remain informed of the rumours involving yourself. 

“You rarely address him during social functions aside from basic pleasantries,” Dimitri explains. “They think you’re hiding something.” 

“And yet if I spend any amount of time with him, then they will all think I’m conspiring with the Fae,” you remark with a humourless edge to your tone. 

“Well, you can’t blame them, given the rumours about your…”

There’s a sharpness in your eyes that has Dimitri’s words faltering and a shiver runs down Aleksander’s spine at the sight of you looking so commanding with a mere glance. The thought passes through his mind before he can stop it, you would make a formidable Queen. 

“Do you have anything else to say?” 

Dimitri looks down sheepishly for a moment. 

“I think you already know the rest. Kirigan accepted Rathbone’s invitation to Lichen Manor, though no one knows if he’s planning to join in on the hunting season.” 

“Not on Rathbone’s land, but he might accept someone else’s invitation.” Aleksander is intrigued by your causally confident answer, and luckily Dimitri seems equally curious for an explanation which you promptly provide. “Rathbone usually hunts deer on his land, and Kirigan won’t kill a deer, they’re practically sacred in East Ravka.”  

The nobles in this country always refer to Aleksander’s kingdom as the Fae Kingdom, refusing to acknowledge the historic connection between the two lands. To them, the human kingdom is the true Ravka. It’s clear you don’t share their views. 

He’s once again surprised that you know about Fae customs. Aleksander’s grandfather had created the first white stag many centuries ago, and since then his family has safeguarded the species. 

In the springtime, small white fawns can often be seen wobbling about the grounds of the Grand Palace as they take their first steps and Aleksander briefly wonders if you would like to see the deer for yourself one day. 

“I heard someone mention he intends to visit Hawthorne House while in the country.” 

Aleksander knows that Hawthorne is your childhood home, the family estate that your cousin will inherit when he is of age. 

“Mother will be pleased,” you remark.  

“Apparently she invited him.” 

“She’s most likely looking for an excuse to host a ball.” 

“You didn’t know?” 

A small sigh shifts at your shoulders. 

“No. We haven’t spoken for several weeks.” 

“Will you be spending your summer at Hawthorne?” 

“I suppose. It’s what I usually do, though if Mother is planning a ball I might make myself scarce.” 

There’s a small hum of acknowledgement from your informant. 

“Speaking of, I’d better move on.” 

“Thank you, Dimitri.” 

He nods politely and steps away from you without a word. 

Aleksander watches your expression change now that you are alone; exhaustion and worry touches your features as you pour another glass of wine. 

He decides to step out of the shadows, moving around the table and through a handful of people, to appear at your side. 

“Your highness,” you greet him with a polite bow. 

The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile as he inclines his head in acknowledgement. 

“Good evening, my lady. How are you enjoying the festivities?” 

He watches your expression falter slightly, that intelligent glimmer sparkling in your eyes as you attempt to work your way around his question. He knows you aren’t enjoying yourself but you won’t admit it. However, the Fae consider it impolite to lie, especially to someone in the nobility, or royalty like Aleksander. 

“Your pianist is very talented.”

He smiles with a nod of appreciation before he glances over at Marie as she sits at the piano placed in the centre of the king’s musicians, her fingers moving delicately over the ivory.

The quickest way to appease Aleksander is to compliment his people, and you appear to have noticed this. It both infuriates and enamours him. To feel so seen by a stranger is unnerving, but Aleksander can see an equal amount of you. 

He watches as you take a sip of your wine, and once again you appear to be as unimpressed by the taste as he was earlier. 

His thoughts move to the small basket that sits on a side table in the guest rooms he has been occupying whilst staying at the human palace. The basket which is filled with Fae food, in case of an emergency or a bout of homesickness from one of the younger Faefolk in Aleksander’s entourage. 

Now he imagines taking a luscious red apple, cutting a slice with his knife and holding the portion of fruit to your lips. The juice shimmering on your lips and the gleam in your eyes as you take a bite. The way your lashes might flutter as the pleasure sweeps through you. After all, you may have some Fae in you, but you’re still human. For now. 

He wonders how you might sound afterwards, whether your words would wracked with need or perhaps a dreamy sigh, as you thank him. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of you offering such power to him. 

Aleksander clears his throat, attempting to discard the distracting nature of his thoughts of you. Unfortunately, the noise attracts your attention prompting you to eye him expectantly and he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I was considering stepping out onto the terrace for a breath of fresh air,” he says with a small nod towards the french doors on the far side of the ballroom. “Would  you care to join me?” 

Being seen alone with you would do little to dispel the rumours surrounding the two of you, however, Aleksander cannot find it in himself to care for the opinion of the human nobility. He knows you would face more scrutiny than he ever would for such a thing, but he hopes he can one day convince you of how little these people matter. 

“I’d love to,” you say softly. The breath in Aleksander’s throat catches at the honesty in your words and his eyes remain locked on yours as he offers you his hand. 

When you take his hand with a small smile, he finds himself wishing you weren’t wearing gloves tonight. However, the intricate white lace of your gloves does allow him to feel the warmth of your skin and it looks far better on you than the silk often favoured by the ladies of the human court.

Delicate frills encircle your wrists, allowing him to admire the bare skin of your forearms, glowing under the light of the ballroom as he leads you towards the terrace. 

The cool evening air brings some clarity to Aleksander’s thoughts and he puts a respectful amount of distance between the two of you as he stands by your side in front of the stone wall that surrounds the terrace. 

Aleksander has always felt more comfortable during the night and it seems you favour the stillness too, though he will admit that his assumption is based on how alluring you look in the moonlight. 

Heavy black clouds gather ahead and Aleksander can taste rain in the air. A downpour is about to begin but he cannot find it in himself to draw you back into the light and heat of the ballroom, especially when you look so soothed by his quiet company - even as you engage in small talk with one another. 

“I hear you’re planning a tour of East Ravka on your return to your kingdom,” you remark lightly. 

He nods.

“As much as I intend to enjoy the summer here in West Ravka, I find myself longing to reacquaint myself with my country after such an absence.” 

“It is a good thing for a king. To love your country and people so much.”

“As an expression of goodwill, I extended an invitation to your king though he regretfully cannot join me for the journey.” 

“His health is of utmost importance at the moment,” you reply smoothly. Not a lie, though Aleksander can see that you want to soften the rejection. He knows why the human king does not wish to visit the Fae Kingdom, but he will accept your attempt at excusing your king’s superstition. 

“Of course.” 

He hesitates for a moment. He wants to study your reaction to what he is about to say. 

“He informed me that I could extend my invitation to anyone else in his court.”

As expected, you turn your head to face him. In the distance, thunder rumbles lowly. 

“Who do you plan to invite?” you ask quietly. 

He steps closer, watching as your gaze flickers from his eyes down to his lips. 

“There is only one person who I believe will appreciate my kingdom to the extent it deserves.” 

He is close enough to smell your perfume and he is thoroughly tempted to duck his head down and trace his nose over the hollow of your throat where he knows the scent will be the strongest. 

Then a raindrop falls on his head. Another falls on your face, tracing down your neck. Soon the rain is falling hurriedly and your lips part in surprise as the chill rises to your skin.

Aleksander relishes in the sweet scent of rain and he smiles at the refreshing sensation of rainwater soaking through his kefta. But he knows humans aren’t particularly fond of rain. 

“Perhaps we should return inside?” he suggests. 

He watches in awe as you shake your head, a wide smile illuminating your face. 

Aleksander stares as you tilt your head back, providing him with an exquisite view of your neck, bared so beautifully, and his eyes roam over the deep neckline of your dress as droplets of rainwater roll down your exposed skin. 

Saints, he should look away. 

He wants to ruin you. 

As your eyes flutter open, still heavy-lidded to protect yourself from the rain, your gaze meets his and Aleksander is certain his heart stops as you smile at him. He steps closer, his gaze acting as his hands wish to, scrambling over your form as the fabric of your dress clings even closer to your skin. 

Something in your own eyes darkens and Aleksander wants to devour your lips with a heated kiss and consume each and every moan he can wring from you. Instead, he traces his knuckles faintly over your cheek, following the path of a droplet as it runs down to your neck. 

His touch lingers against your collarbone, swiping his thumb over the water collected there by your chest. He can see the rapid movement of your breathing as your eyes remain fixed on him and the heat of your gaze warms his entire body, flooding down to the hardness growing beneath his trousers. 

He wants to take your hand and press it against the bulge there. He wants to see your lace-clad fingers roam over him. 

When he smooths his fingers down the length of your bodice, ignoring the swell of your breasts in favour of tracing a path down to your stomach, he sees you gasp silently. Lips parted, you stare wide eyed, and Aleksander wonders whether you have ever laid with someone. 

Fae do not wait for marriage and many engage in revelries that would cause a permanent scandal in the human realm. He wonders how flustered you would be, if you saw how brazenly the members of Aleksander’s court touch one another in public. 

A smirk curls at the corner of Aleksander’s mouth as he observes your sudden fixation on his lips. Surely you wouldn’t object to indulging in a kiss? Not when you look so willing. 

Just as Aleksander begins to lean in, you step backwards. 

“You’re right. We should return to the ballroom.”

He nods, though he doesn’t make an effort to move yet. 

“Not in this state. Might I suggest the door to the left?”

He nods in the direction of the door which will lead to a hopefully deserted hallway. Returning to the ballroom together, soaked through, will only lead to more rumours and Aleksander doesn’t want you to feel ashamed by what has just occurred between the two of you. 

He smiles softly when you nod in agreement and he follows you through the doorway and into the quiet hallway. Sounds from the ballroom are muffled but Aleksander can hear a waltz playing and people dancing to the tune. 

He watches as you remove your gloves, attempting to wring out the poor scraps of fabric. A shiver shakes your body and Aleksander notices the goosebumps on your skin as a few stray raindrops linger there.

Plucking out his handkerchief, he is pleased to find the fabric has remained dry enough to wipe the water from your face which he does so with a careful murmur, 

“Here. Allow me.”

There is no response from you as he continues to dry your neck, sweeping over your collarbones and dipping down momentarily to your cleavage. Without the all-encompassing patter of the rain, he can hear how your breathing shifts. He takes mental notes of the areas that make you inhale sharply or sigh softly. 

Once he is done, he hands you the handkerchief to dry any spots he may have missed. 

“Keep it,” he insists softly. 

The only form of thanks you offer him is a small nod of appreciation, but your lack of verbal thanks doesn’t vex him as it used to. Now, he wants to see how far he can push you before you thank him and is pleased every time you fail to fall into his trap because that alone means he must try harder at the next opportunity. 

He takes your hand, now bare as he had wished for earlier in the evening, and lifts it to his lips before he gifts you with a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He selects his next words carefully, hoping to leave a lasting impression on you. 

“I hope you have a pleasurable evening, little blossom.” 

He smiles as you blink dazedly at him, inclining his head before he releases your hand and heads down the hallway towards his rooms to dry off. 

-

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @housekeeperjjswife

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

[stealeroflemons]

eah plot hole fixer thing #27 because I'm stressed as hell and need a distraction

Okay so we've all been wondering how the hell the whole inheritance of destiny and kingdom management and nitty gritty details about certain elements of eah work. Well today I'm gonna dive in a little.

1.) How did the Evil Queen curse Sleeping Beuty to sleep for 100 years and steal Madame Thorn's destiny when all their kids are the same age?

Here's my little fix-it theory. If you know anything about fae lore then you know there's a general rule not to step into faerie circles (made of mushrooms or flowers but most commonly mushrooms) because you will lose all sense of time and become a slave to the fae or become a blood bag to them. (at least that's one of the more common interpretations)

I think the Evil Queen is far older than we realize. I think she's hundreds of years old but has used magic to keep herself young. I also think destiny is more fluid than we realize and that being the next evil queen is dependent on if you have the heart for it.

Thirsting for power and glory, the Evil Queen stepped into a faerie ring not to become a blood bag, but to learn the secrets of the dark fae. Since time works differently in the fae realm, she managed to stay young enough to walk back into the mortal world with vast amounts of new knowledge.

Wanting to prove she had a dark enough heart to earn the title of Evil Queen, she stole the destiny of Madame Thorn, Faybelle's mom.

Then to escape Madame Thorn's wrath of a lost destiny, she hid in a different pocket of the fae realm

Seeing that she got a taste for cursing princesses to eternal sleep, she emerged in time to go to school to pick Snow White as her next target.

2.) How does ruling kingdoms work if destinies run on different timelines?

I think there's a reason why many characters in the eah canon universe have siblings that don't have concrete destinies.

Take Briar for example. Even if she were to sleep for 100 years after being cursed by Faybelle, she canonically has eight younger brothers who could rule the kingdom and produce heirs to rule while she slept through her 100 year timeline until she could take her place ont he throne with her supposed true love

Historically also, kingdoms rise and fall all the time. If Ashlynn is supposed to live in poverty and be abused by her step mother and step sisters, it would make sense if her kingdom fell or was conquered and that is what drove her family to poverty. Then if she marries say a random Charming (which is canon that there are multiple unrelated Charming families) who isn't bound by a destiny, she is following the story of marrying a handsome prince. Then, once they're married, that is the next Cinderella kingdom.

3.) What about the stories where they aren't supposed to grow up as royalty?

Think back to Briar again. In the more popular version of Sleeping Beauty, Aurora doesn't know she's a princess. all she knows is that she's been raised by faeries her whole life until she turned sixteen. She knows nothing of the curse she's placed under.

I believe that when many of the elder generations reach adulthood, they don't feel the need to take precautions for their children. They believe that their children must grow up knowing their fates so that when the time comes, it'll go down smoother.

4.) What's with the names?

"why would Apple be named Apple-" because Snow White is a narcissist. She has a fantastic life where she's famous, adored, rich, beautiful, and virtually untouchable. How did she get this life? Because she bit a fucking poisoned apple. She's naming her daughter after the very thing that acted as a gateway to her happiness. It's like when guys name their daughters after their ex-girlfriends because "if we didn't break up I wouldn't have the life I do now", that shit

Same with the Charmings! They all name their kids after admirable attributes because they want people to admire them. It's a word association. Like when girls are named Grace or Aria or literally any flower with an aesthetically pleasing name.

These are just a few of my own little fix-its and theories and shit. You don't have to agree with them or think they're correct, but ultimately, we're looking at the logistics of a kids show guys, I promise you not even the creators were looking this deep into it lol

[rebornofstars]

king of hyrule: a clumsy analysis, ch1.

for @toyouhellohowareyou, @nyastri, and @starwolfie, who asked for a director's commentary on king of hyrule.... i've never done one of these before but i've always wanted to try!! we'll see how it goes. warning: i have given myself permission to ramble. hard tw for descriptions of gore under the cut.

also, my deepest apologies to anyone who thought i knew what i was doing at any point.

first i will give context. this fic was given to @across-violet-skies as an (extremely belated) birthday gift... i'd been trying to find out what sort of ideal gift riv would like without actually asking, and so far had received no hints, because i was a coward who wasn't actually asking. then a perfect opportunity fell in my lap! i said "i've never actually written anything from hyrule's perspective" (we are all gracefully ignoring THE VASE), riv said "i love hyrule. if you write hyrule it will 100% go on my to read list", @a-manicured-lawn went straight for the throat with "Hyrule MEETS THE CHAIN MID SACRIFICE"... and then thunder clashed overhead, sealing my fate forever. chat threw evil possessive fae rulie at me and i caught him with both hands. the first thing i wrote in the document was came back wrong.

i opened a new doc. faced with the spine-tingling prospect of writing from a perspective i was not experienced with, i immediately closed the doc. i backtracked to my headcanons file. in the hyrule section, i found this:

his sisters do not seem to know that he was born so large and wingless, but he thinks that maybe they understand better than he does, for joining them feels like shedding his skin for something truer, and even when he puts it back on he can feel it, these days. he can feel where it rubs against his wings underneath, feels like he is hiding in a shell like the hermit crabs of wind’s beaches, like he is only in disguise as human and is really perhaps something else entirely. fairies are mouthless unless they need to be otherwise, in the case of offered sugar water and fruit. they sing more than speak, and it sounds like chimes, and hyrule knows this, it needs no translation, it sings to the boneless ecstasy of this form, of flight and family and the sweetness of being small…

which i quite enjoyed thinking about. the intersection of fairy joy and horror had potential. the alien qualities of magical creatures. i drew from this feeling to cobble together an opening line:

Mouthless, the fairies sing to him. In his dreams they are made of light.

okay, so, this is a solid start, right? i love it.

He wakes from memories of the cold-sweet greenwoods of Twilight’s era to darkness, and for a moment the sound of his brothers’ laughter seems so far away he wonders whether they were a feverish invention...

i aimed for confusion and befuddlement rather than ignorance. he needed to have some sort of expectations for the situation, so i could fuck with his head more effectively 😈

...a flame deep in the cave, a flickering torch, and by it he sees blood.

here we meet fuckup number 1, in the second paragraph because i exceed even my own expectations! the original draft included monsters - because, logically, who put hyrule on the altar? wouldn't they wish to witness the sacrifice? i ended up getting rid of the monsters to eliminate the need for a fight scene (although, PFFFT, i went back there in chapter 2 anyway), but this lonely torch stuck around. it makes no sense. i don't know why i didn't just remove it. i needed the cave to be very dark anyway, so that the chain would have to light a lamp in order to see the damage hyrule's body sustained...

Hyrule reaches out a finger and scoops it up. It tastes of iron. He can’t afford to leave it, out in the open, where…

blood curse!

...the dark wet pool where he’d been laying. Hyrule reaches out with terrible dawning horror and traces the edge of a divot in the stone, a path for the blood that had leaked out of him while he was unconscious, down and down and down until his hand slips off the edge of the altar and sinks into a bowl of soft ashes —

deeply unhappy with this paragraph. dark wet pool, as a description, gets a mediocre 5/7. the stone altar has carved channels for the blood? okay, but why did i not call them channels??? and thirdly, THE ASHES, ALSO KNOWN AS FUCKUP NUMBER 2. THIS IS LIKE, THE ONLY TIME I MENTION THEM IN THE WHOLE STORY. WHAT THE FUCK, PAST ME.

His dreams of light and greenery are quickly becoming murky.

i quite like this sentence, but—

He lowers his hips off the edge, but he can’t feel the floor. There is not enough light to jump. The altar seems to drop away into an abyss.

WHERE! ARE! THE! ASHES! ARE THEY FLOATING??? HOW DID HE FEEL THEM OFF THE EDGE OF THE ALTAR IF ITS SO TALL??? i was having such conflicting mental images when writing this fic. the altar in my head was like... a normal altar height. but i needed it to be taller to explain why he didn't just run away, since i got rid of all the monsters. so i spent the whole three thousand words trying to edit the altar in my head. mostly unsuccessfully.

The skin on his stomach scrapes against rock as he pulls himself back up.

this sentence was about his hip bone. but i hadn't told you about it yet so i had to switch it out for skin. but it's really about his hip bone in my heart. you understand

...tries to draw his knees into his chest on instinct and the twinge becomes a full body shudder—a spike in his side that reverberates down into his thigh, creaking and bending—

this paragraph was originally about real pain. and then a few minutes later, i was like - wouldn't it be better (worse) if there wasn't any pain? then i can focus on the actual horror part of it rather than the injured part of being injured. if that makes any sense. the imagery is also a bit messy. if i was editing, this is one of the paragraphs i would rewrite. sometimes i actually can't believe i put this stuff on the internet. wtf am i doing

...traces the damp skin where his blood had run all the way back to where it started...

i can't even look this sentence in the eye. i did you so dirty, babygirl. you need a comma. or major surgery. maybe both

edit: i did, in fact, go back and add a comma.

...back to the tender flesh of his hip, where he touches something smooth and hard. He strokes it gently with his fingers, exploring in the dark. He finds wet skin, and hot tense muscle.

okay LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!

Hyrule shivers. He sits quietly with the ghost of what should be pain. Letting it wash over him. The knowledge festers.

something something the horror of placidity when faced with terrible things. something something hyrule has been running from this exact possibility for years and now that it has happened he doesn't know what to do next. something something life after his inevitable sacrifice has never been a possibility for him

He has been bled like an animal for this sacrifice.

ripping this sentence to shreds with my teeth. in a good way. me when characters dehumanise themselves‼️

If he has already bled into the ashes, if he has already been sacrificed, how is he still awake? How is he still alive?

this is me asking myself this question, by the way. at this point i still didn't really have any idea what was happening beyond "let's fuck em up"

Where is Ganon? Unless—

and then i was like, aha. there is something here that i can work with. you are watching me figure this fic out in real time.

...finds skin; hands reaching up from the ground, fingers just reaching the altar. He grasps them, weak. They are hot. Or maybe it is just that his own pulse is cold and slow? He feels faint.

reaching twice in the same sentence? i'm going to travel back in time and break all my fingers before i can hit post. that wasn't intentional. also, the hands were originally cold, and hyrule felt very hot, because like... fury and anger and evil, u know? temperatures rise with a fever? he's sick from the possession? but then later on i wanted legend to be warm with the triforce, and i realised that it made more sense for hyrule to be cold like a corpse. so i changed it.

He bites his lip. So what if he bleeds? What could it matter now?

hopelessness. lack of urgency. he (and i) are both starting to get an idea of what is happening.

“LIGHT!” Legend shouts. “I FOUND HIM! WE NEED LIGHT—are you hurt?”

legend's so cute when he's stressed out. i say this in a demonic writerly way 🥰

“A darkness looms in this cavern,” Four’s voice says distantly. “Something is shrouding the torches. They’re lit, but… the light is stifled.” “I feel it,” Time agrees. “Evil is here.”

where tf is everyone else? i ask myself. ensemble stories are difficult, because they shift the tone. i need to keep the focus solely on legend and hyrule, so [throws glitter] now you're all wandering around in the dark!!

Sorry, sorry,” he says again, feeling the heat inside him shift and writhe. “It wakes. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

this is the point where i was like, hell yes, he has ganon inside him. also, meet fuckup number 3. i forgot to get rid of the heat motif. he's supposed to be cold now. whoops.

“Sorry for what?” Legend cries. His hands flutter at the edge of the tall altar, empty, searching. 

in which i remind myself that the altar is supposed to be tall.

Hyrule curls his palm over his heart and wishes to wake from a dream. Nothing happens. He traces the familiar scar with the fingers of the opposite hand. It’s cold and light and empty . Why is it cold? Where is the tr—

first reference to the triforce. heavy-handed, but i needed to make sure everyone was on the same page. he doesn't have it anymore. also, i use the rich text box to post to ao3, and it always adds a space after italicised text, which is mildly annoying.

The path that led through the cold-sweet greenwoods, and laughter that quickly turned to shouts of fear and the ring of steel on steel. The ambush. His flaming sword. Legend, turning for a moment to protect Warriors’ back, and the Darknut that launched itself from behind a moblin towards him—

backstory! and a reference to the first paragraph, because i was really enjoying the phrase "cold-sweet greenwoods". an antithesis to everything currently happening (or at least, it was when hyrule still had his heat motif). "his flaming sword" is hyrule's fire spell. i picked a monster at random.

His hand comes away wet from his chest. He can’t feel anything.

i decided he was going to be impaled even before i decided he was going to be possessed 🥰 it wasn't in the brief but sometimes... sometimes you just gotta sheath a sword in someones chest. u know. u kn—

“I’m not Hyrule anymore,” he says.

and then i was like. you know what would make this worse? what if i trick everyone. what if ganon and hyrule's perspectives are hopelessly entwined? what if there's no way of knowing how much is hyrule and how much is ganon? what if this was actually ganon?

and so this is where i started to have lots and lots of fun. and we get into the gore.

His heart. He is touching his own heart. It beats still. That’s not a good sign.

a bit of casualness among the heavy descriptions! a bit of levity for your brain! also, hyrule(?)'s slow, burgeoning panic? i'm chewing on it. if i do say so myself.

Hyrule’s body withdraws his wrist from the inside of his own chest. How deep does the wound go? If there was light, would Legend be able to see the other side of the altar through him?

i was oddly captivated by this idea that legend would be able to see through his chest. this is also our FIRST use of "hyrule's body" replacing "hyrule" as the perspective character! this transition was something a lot of people loved, and i am very glad i went ahead with it. the idea didn't come to me until the night before posting, and i almost discarded it because it made some sentences clunky.

“You know it,” Hyrule’s body says gently. He cups his hand around the veteran’s face, red-stained nails just lightly pressing against skin, wondering what would happen if he dug them into that soft flesh. “You know it, don’t you? You saw that wound. Nothing could survive that.” “You’re not a thing,” Legend objects from under his palm.

once again, me and characters dehumanising themselves. not a huge focus but it complements the ganon/rulie identity issues nicely.

hyrule's always been a "do not go gentle into that good night" sort of character to me - the idea of him so fatalistic? so hopeless? alarm bells are screeching. something is wrong. SOMETHING IS WRONG

the uncomfortable intimacy begins.

“I think I am,” Hyrule’s body says. “I am a corpse.”

this has really got to be one of the most fun lines in the whole thing.

...flinches back, grip tightening on Legend’s face, dragging him forward until he is pressed against the altar.

underestimating the height of the altar, the sequel.

“Finally. We can see,” someone says. “That took forever. Where’s Legend?”

who? is the character omitted because it's not important, or because hyrule's body doesn't immediately know? the legend fixation is rearing its ugly head 🥰

...and Hyrule’s body is saddened but unsurprised to see tears on his face. They glisten like silver stars.

it took me literally twenty minutes to remember what this sentence was supposed to mean, if you're wondering how brain dead i am right now. anyway, it's genuine sadness, not patronising sadness. it's the part of hyrule that still lives and hurts to see a brother grieving. in a way, this is the only moment in the story that hyrule allows himself to properly mourn, and it's through the lens of his relationship with legend.

Their clothes are unstained, faces tense but clean of blood. In this unholy place, from this altar, their wholeness seems hideous.

i like this bit. it widens the gap between them. makes things a bit more real, a bit darker. presenting the chain as alien emphasises rulie's stance as an unreliable narrator. SOMETHING IS WRONG!!

Somehow, he does not care so much anymore about the mess. He is numb. The stone altar almost feels comfortable to his sensationless legs. He moves, and bone scrapes against the stone. 

this paragraph doesn't quite do what i wanted it to do. it's not raw enough. but it has potential.

...drinks the noise in, heart quickening. Another wave of blood paints itself over his chest.

i'm mortal enemies with this last sentence. i scratched it and rewrote it five times. still not happy.

He flashes his eyes into the dark, where the Chain lurk, unwilling to step closer, faced with such a spectre. A corpse. A king, woken.

the eye flash was important to me. i was thinking about how many nocturnal animal eyes reflect light? the inherent creepiness of blank glowy eyes. also subtle dehumanisation. and ganon begins to enter the story consciousness - a king, woken.

“You were too late to save Hyrule. You chose to protect Warriors instead.”

this was a largely unnecessary plot point. i don't know. i think i was just trying to increase the tension between legend and hyrule. highlight how off the gentle intimacy between them was. they weren't codependent before. they weren't a perfectly synced pair. and now...

Hyrule’s body looks at him and thinks with a deep, all-encompassing revulsion, mine. All mine.

had to make sure i was hitting that 'possessive rulie' button! i've never written a possessive character before so it took a bit of wobbling before i committed. "how weird am i acceptably allowed to make this?" i was thinking.

Hyrule’s body smears the blood lovingly over him: letting it trace the ghost of his silver tears over his cheeks and nose. Rubbing it gently into his forehead. He hushes him.

replacing the tears with blood -> replacing the grief with fear -> replacing the love with something more terrible. also, characters doing horrible unspeakable things very calmly and gently makes me shiver.

Legend sobs again and tries to pull away, but a dead man’s grip is stronger than stinging iron, and Legend himself is weak and trembling. Barely more than a rabbit under his fingers. He wonders, detached, what it would feel like to snap that neck. What it would sound like. The crunch of bone.

stinging iron! fae reference. dead man! enforcing that corpse idea. rabbit! we know this one. the intrusive thoughts are not winning yet, but they're getting closer.

He giggles, and squeezes Legend until he squeaks. “I forgot you all were here,” he confides cheerfully.

i had a lot of fun with this. the happy cutesy language!! the most effective kind of horror, for me, has always been when something awful is sort of... not quite in focus. there, but not fully understood. happening in the background, or right under your nose while you're concentrating on something else. very casual. very normal. very scary.

“But he’s mine,” Hyrule’s body says reasonably. The torch flickers as a slight breeze passes through the cavern. He feels it whistle through his chest and twitches. Warriors’ eyes are wide and afraid. Hyrule’s body grins and licks his bitten lips, painting his canines with blood. “What are you?” the captain breathes.

and this is when i was like, fuck ganon/rulie's identity crisis, why didn't i write this from someone else's perspective??? HOW AWFUL WOULD IT HAVE BEEN??? WHAT ARE THE REST OF THE CHAIN THINKING??? WHAT DOES HYRULE LOOK LIKE??? his detachment, while working well to create tone and pacing, really made it hard to convey the horror of his appearance.

to my great joy, all my dreams were later answered in Hero of Hyrule, Knight of Hyrule, and Founder of Hyrule.

“Oh, were you trying to say something?” he asks, with his best manners. “Go on. You can do it.”

the CONDESCENSION. i then realised what i was about to make him do, and ran back to riv, asking how gorey the fic was allowed to be. "i can change it. it's not too late," i said... "i am so curious," riv replied. so i continued.

and here we go:

...lips pressed tightly together against the blood, which coats his mouth and the skin around it. It looks like he’s taken a bite right out of Hyrule’s flesh, he thinks. It suits him...

i am making things WEIRD and i am making things WORSE. i have nothing to say for myself. it's intentionally uncomfortable.

Hyrule’s body pats his tongue. “There we are! That wasn’t so hard.”

this is one of those sentences that was worsened by the switch to "hyrule's body". but i'm on a roll now. the next few paragraphs mostly consist of me grinning evilly to myself.

...waits, fingers clamped across Legend’s nose, until the man swallows, shivering. His eyes are glazed. Drying blood clumped in the lashes. Hyrule’s body coos. This was his big brother, once.

this is really the point in which legend's agency is completely gone from hyrule's perspective. he ceases to become a player - whether that's because of the way hyrule has succeeded in taking all control from him, or because of ganon/rulie's further mental spiral, who knows? and i just threw that brother line in there to hurt you. of course.

“Ru—Rulie would n—never do this,” someone else agrees, voice breaking. Legend whines an agreement.

even though i'm having a great time writing a darker, more horrific hyrule, i retain the belief that the heroes are each fundamentally good people. my main doubt with this fic is that i don't think i'm straddling that line very well. i mean... after all...

“I already told you I wasn’t Hyrule,” Hyrule’s body says. He squeezes Legend again to coax more pained sounds from him. What is he feeling? Does it hurt? He feels the numb bone of his hip grind against the altar as he moves. The cold point of Warriors’ sword presses softly into his chest. The pressure is almost welcome compared to the gaping emptiness of his wound. “You can taste it, right? You can tell?”

the trusty old obsession with legend manifests itself as jealousy, for a brief moment.

here we see my second attempt at describing bone scraping on stone. it's marginally better.

you guessed it baby, it's the impaling thing again!! if he can't feel pain, does he think of it only as an absence? a lack? there is a metaphor here that i'm not touching but it's in the room with us. it's in the room.

blood curse. right. that's where we're going

Legend jerks in his hold. He laughs delightedly.

now we're getting it!

“Yes, brave one,” he croons, “that’s what the ashes were for. Except I didn’t have enough of a body left to really inhabit , so I borrowed this one. Oh, he bled so nicely for me. It was beautiful.”

those FUCKING ASHES!!! WHY DID I NEGLECT THEM!!! also watch me stickytape an explanation for the possession together in real time

“Didn’t even have to tie him down,” he says gleefully. “He only woke up once during the whole thing, and I guess he figured you’d left him for dead, because he just laid back down. Placid as a lamb, that one, in the end. So easy , when he realised he couldn’t do anything to stop what had already been started…”

is hyrule's body lying? who am i to say (yes yes i know, but). whatever the truth of that dark moment was, i really love this little speech. the idea of him mock-comforting legend with a sugar-sweet description of his own death does something to me. the way he presents himself as helpless. the way he presents himself as unheroic. as giving up. is this hyrule or ganon talking? does it matter?

“STOP IT!” someone screeches. “STOP IT! DON’T SAY THAT!”

i had to keep stopping and going back to add in bits where the chain could talk. whatever fucked-up thing was happening between legend and hyrule had even me constantly forgetting that everyone was right there witnessing it. and when i did remember i had to stop and shriek and wonder whether i'd ever have the guts to post this on the internet.

“BECAUSE I HAVE WOKEN. I HAVE BEEN REBORN. I AM GANON, KING OF HYRULE!”

title drop. every time i read this sentence i get jumpscared by the first bit of my username. the speech pattern is also very clunky. 2/7.

Silence falls for a moment. The torch sputters. 

that fucking torch!!! i'm going to commit a murder.

...and, unwilling to let go of Legend for some inexplicable reason, Hyrule’s body instead lets himself sink down onto the sword. His ribs crunch. The blade enters at an angle but then slots neatly into the hole already there—he slides down the steel, still laughing, until the crossguard presses across his chest.

this paragraph and the start of the next had some good ideas and poor execution. i'm playing around with the 'wound as an absence, a loss' thing again. filled by the sword, by violence. that other metaphor is still hanging around. i'm pointedly not touching it. and ganon/rulie places legend above himself. or is it that he places his control of legend above the physical condition of a body he enjoys injuring, to watch the chain squirm? that's the question, isn't it? is this an act of cruelty or protection?

...scrapes against the walls of his heart, tears his lungs ragged. Fresh blood bubbles into the wound and runs, dripping, off the end of the blade. Legend is crying.

blood & tears.

He can’t stop laughing in this dead boy’s voice. He is back. He is finally free. No longer trapped in blood—no longer suppressed by that triforce— his broken knees sag as he hunts them through the dark—

i just wrote him jumping down like a normal person (underestimating the height of the altar, the sequel's sequel), and then my fingers produced "his broken knees sag as he hunts them through the dark" in response to a personal inquiry as to what ganon/rulie's movement would look like and i was like, FUCK, okay, well, this has to be in it. so i broke his knees.

“Which of you has it?” he says suddenly, snapping his head around as he tracks their movement. His neck crunches. The sword in his chest slows him down. He isn’t bothered to remove it. Behind him, Legend retches, curled into himself on the floor.

how will this end? i asked myself. aha: a wish on the triforce. not too much of a deus ex machina, right? it's literally canon. so this is the point when i went back and added in that earlier stuff about the triforce. there's also a half-hearted broken neck in this paragraph. if i had the change to go back, i'd either elaborate on that or cut it entirely. i was too caught up at the time in wondering how to wrap the story up to pay attention to the details. my bad, guys.

The group exchanges glances, unwilling. He pounces on the nearest and shakes him against the ground, climbing atop the man and snarling in his face like a creature. “WHERE IS IT?”

does ganon/rulie know who this is? does he care?

As he leans over, Warriors’ sword begins to ooze back out of his chest. It slips down until the pommel touches the hero’s sternum. Like an axle it balances between them. He is a sheath for the blade. He is the meat on the skewer. He touches his forehead, leaving bloody splotches behind. Where are these thoughts coming from? He is not—he is more—he is GANON, RIGHTFUL KING OF HYRULE.

an interesting visual here, and not one that i'm convinced i pulled off. but i have been informed that the internal conflict was very good, which is comforting.

“Kill him, then,” says Warriors suddenly. There is an outcry from the others.

i wrote this without really thinking about where it would go, but i'm VERY happy i did. everything clicked into place. there could be a sort of standoff - ganon/rulie's dissonance would be exposed - then something and something else and then the end. i was getting close.

“You said he was yours,” Warriors says. “Why would Ganon say that?” He pauses. Hyrule looks back at Legend. He gets off the floor. 

this, wars my beloved, is a VERY GOOD POINT. he's the only person with a single useful thought in his head.

The blood and puke squelches under his bare feet as he walks back across the room to Legend.

i was pretty happy with this sentence for no good reason. it feels like a child to me. a disgusting, vomit-y child. maybe i'm just proud i managed to remember that legend threw up. keeping track of details is one of my most important goals in writing.

The wet tip of the blade touches the side of his neck. Simple and so—tantalising. Hyrule’s body can picture it. He can picture—

the internal conflict gets a change to shine. also i just love the contrast in the way ganon/rulie touches and thinks about legend. neither entirely separate. thoughts and actions bleeding into each other emotionally but not physically - he's holding back. he's been holding back this entire time.

But wouldn’t it be better if he—he has been so careful not to break Legend. So gentle. He has let him taste. Helped him understand what was happening—explained, kindly—let himself sink down with a squelch onto the sword—only thought about peeling back the skin from Legend’s face with his fingernails. Left the grinning muscle and bone safe in its flesh wrappings and protected— He stops.

i really love this bit. it was a joy to write. gentle horrors, once again. well-meaning destruction.

“See?” says Warriors. He sounds quietly smug. Hyrule’s body snarls. He wants to rip his arms off. Chew through muscle and tendon and nerve with his teeth—snap him bone by bone—he wants to haul him up onto the altar and keep him still and quiet and safe while his minions take over the world—he grips his forehead—what is happening to him—

my love for the em dash cannot be contained. i'm working on it, i promise, but it's easy and so tasty

Hyrule’s body looks. He finds himself with one hand cupped around Legend’s cheek, Legend pressing into the touch despite himself.

yeahh........ i fucked them up.

“I don’t—” he starts. “I SHOULD KILL YOU.” “But you won’t,” Legend rasps.

i'm not sure where i fall on the capitalised dialogue issue. (YES, i KNOW, it was ME who wrote it.) it goes a long way in emphasising power, magnitude, other-ness of the possession... but sometimes i squint at it and it seems a little camp. i guess that's not my problem anymore, though, unless i decide to write another ch—

“There you are,” Legend says. His mouth flickers into a smile. 

his agency is taken back. the culmination of something (of 20 days of bashing my head into a keyboard)

He pushes up to his feet, half-dried blood soggy on his face and matted in his hair—he stretches up to his full height, scabbed knees and dirty tunic and— His hand is so hot on Hyrule’s own that it burns. Legend blinks. Suddenly his irises are gold.

yes, i thought. yes, yes, yes, home run—wait, fuck, i don't know how the fucking triforce actually works—

“I wish to seal away Ganon once more,” Legend says. “So that Link, Hero of Hyrule, will be safe from harm.”

seven google searches and one plea to discord later, i say fuck it we ball. he's going to wish like a disney princess. it's part of the charm of the franchise, these cute fairytale elements, i say, as i frantically mop the blood off the floor

The torch roars higher. He sees a single tear on Legend’s face amongst the blood, shining like a silver star in the firelight. Darkness overtakes him—pain, suddenly, finally, spikes—

TORCH. 🪦

For a moment the sounds of the cavern seem so far away he wonders whether he is being tortured by a feverish invention. An echo. A might-have-been.  Then everything fades.

how do you write a proper conclusion to your essay? just rephrase the introduction/thesis. easy. what? that doesn't work with fic? surely you're mistaken. behold.

so here we are! this post has been a journey and a half. if you have genuinely read this entire thing, my life is yours. i had so much fun writing this fic, and i hope from the bottom of my heart you have at least mildly enjoyed me rambling about the creation of it. this story could never have existed without the wonderful egging-on of my friends 🥰🥰🥰 thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[born-to-riot]

WIP Wednesday

Since there is exactly one week until the day I plan to post my @polyacotarweek fic, I think it's time I share a little snippet of Nesta's adventure with Amren and Varian.... in their bed hehehehe

TW: NSFW

____________

[So 900 words may be too long for a snippet but just so you have an idea of what you're getting into, this is the message I sent @acourtofladydeath when I came up with this idea: (I think there is a sore lack of vamren in the community and shall I fix that by having them invite a third? Shall it be Nesta? Shall Amren show her how to harness her potential by taking it out on a needy overstimulated Varian?)

__________

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, did we leave you alone too long,” Amren coos to her lover. Varian sits exposed on a simple wooden chair in the middle of the couple’s bedroom. The Summer Court male’s head is hanging low, his white tendrils of hair acting like a shield in front of his face. Nesta did not pick up on any sort of response from the male that indicates that he acknowledges their presence. She takes a quick peek over at Amren and decides not to worry after finding the other female to seem emphatically unconcerned. Nesta watches on silently as the tiny fae takes a couple soft predatory steps towards the subdued male. Nonetheless, she stills to take in the view of the delicious specimen of man in front of her. Nesta can admit fully that she has never really given much thought to Varian before, not really having much time to assess him in the short three months after the war with Hybern. However, now, she can’t seem to look away from the large male’s thick muscular thighs, his heavy cock, his beautiful dark skin–fuck, Nesta feels her cunt throb in anticipation. 

“Baby boy,” Amren releases another coo, causing Varian to finally raise his gaze to meet his Mistresses and causing Nesta to shiver for a different reason entirely. Now, not only does she have a better view of the male himself, a white blindfold and ball gag rendering his sight and ability to speak obsolete; but also she can see his nostrils flaring and his muscles twitching. Nesta is absolutely enraptured in the scene in front of her as she watches Varian suddenly seem to try to lunge in Amren’s direction, the man trying and failing to get closer to her, his muscles bulging in their effort to win a one-sided battle against his restraints.

But it isn’t until Nesta spots Varian’s collar, large and heavy on his neck, that she feels her nipples harden and another bout of wetness starting to form between her folds. Here, on Varian’s neck, in Amren’s apartment in Velaris, was one of the Summer Court’s infamous blood rubies. The massive jewel's weight was supported by a two-inch thick diamond encrusted platinum band. She knows it must sit heavy on his neck, it seems almost impossible that a jewel that large could be fixed upon a collar without falling, but here it stands.

Last Nesta had checked, the source material of Prythian’s most common nightmares had decided to use this ‘threat’ as a paperweight. Although, she can’t deny how much the pathway to her center steams at the thought of the Summer Court male being made to wear a sign of ownership stamped with the ultimate symbol of betrayal of his own court, an invocation of  a feud on a personal level. 

Nesta can’t help but muse over what the thrill of incurring such a depth of loyalty from another must taste like, she wonders too, greedily and needily what it feels like to be such a fearsome predator to surpass the laws of societal expectation. Is this Amren’s subtle yet personal way of invoking her own feud, a remnant of the possessive creature that once roamed inside of her that is furious at the land for claiming ownership of something that she marked as hers. She also wonders heatedly, enviously, what it would be like to be wanted that furiously. Need starts to play at the strings of her core, she can feel it heating and readying itself for something more.

“Don’t be shy now boy,” Amren instructs Varian, the man immediately turning his head in the direction of her voice, clearly desperate for her touch. Nesta would be lying if she said the palpable smell and taste of his desperation didn’t cause her clit to start to throb.

The sweetness of the pair in front of her simultaneously puts Nesta on edge as well as incurs yet another thrum of heat inside of her. Amren is never sweet. Nesta watches on as her mentor finally reaches her lover–no, her pet. Amren looks Varian up and down with a hungry gleam in her eye before grabbing his chin roughly, causing what sounds like a gruff moan to escape the large man’s lips. That’s all it took? Nesta thinks to herself. 

“You haven’t even been touched boy and you’re already sweating?” Amren tuts, roughly maneuvering his chin as she gives him a thorough inspection, the male seemingly keening into the contact despite its roughness. Nesta tries not to get whiplash as Amren softly pats the male’s cheek twice with her free hand before letting it drop to rest on her waist.

“Pathetic,” the ancient one scoffs, finally releasing her other hand’s grip on his chin. 

Nesta realizes that the male in front of her is not the same one that has been a frequent guest at their dinner table over the last couple of months. No, tonight she is not looking at the same captain of Tarquin’s guard nor the commendable battle tactician that she has come to know. Instead, Nesta finds herself looking at Amren’s pet. As soon as the thought crosses her mind though, Nesta is hit by a shudder that rolls through her entire body, a shock of a reprimand from something deep in her core, something primal. No, Nesta reprimands herself, straightening her posture as she starts to make her own way towards Varian. Tonight, he is her prey.

__________

hehehehe if you liked this then feel free to come back next week to see the full thing (hopefully I will come up with a title before then)

EDIT: im slow so this is going to be posted on the free day!!!!

[ofduskanddreams]

Sunshine — another Helion x LoA meet-cute drabble 🌞

Writing the drabble last week reminded me I wrote this long ago. Enjoy this revised scene from a retired fic of mine :)

around 700 words, rated G

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” The beautiful prince asked, his arms braced on the balcony's edge.

“Maybe I want to know yours before I tell you mine, lord.” She flashed him a coy little smile.

He drew his face closer to hers, the flames in the brazier refracting off his thin gold circlet. “Helion. My name is Helion, lady,” he spoke the words like a plea.

“Helion.” Serafina parsed the lilting syllables out, enjoying the way the name felt on her tongue. “Helion,” she repeated in confirmation. “Do people ever call you Hell?” The thought made her laugh, but she was careful to hide her mouth behind her palm.

He took her wrist, tugging to gently lower her hand. “Don’t hide that lovely smile. This is Day, we prefer to let beauty shine,” he said with a slightly rakish smirk.

“How many females have you used that line on, Hell?” She mirrored his grin, feeling rather smug when his eyes went wide at the corners.

“Just because I’ve said something before does not diminish its validity, Sunshine.”

“Oh,” Serafina gasped, mockingly offended. “Do they all swoon when you use fancy words too?”

Helion’s abashed expression turned gleeful. “They were right then,” he mused to himself, though it was clear he wanted her to hear.

Fine, she would take the bait. “Right about what, Hell?”

“Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

“Right about what? Don’t try and change the subject just to rile me, it's unbecoming.”

“Sunshine I think you’re already riled and I prefer myself improper—I think you do too.” He winked at her before continuing. Heat stole across her cheekbones. “They were right about Autumn fae having fire in their blood.”

Serafina grinned a little wickedly and a wisp of white flame danced across her palm held between them. She watched his reaction to her magic carefully. “Most people are afraid of getting burned.”

She wasn’t supposed to use her magic, especially not in front of males who could tell her father that she had broken the rules. Something told her this male was different—that she could trust him with this.

Helion looked at the little flame, fascinated. Then he did something she hadn’t expected. Quick as a lark diving between the clouds, he ran his hand through the white fire. And smiled.

Serafina cooled the flame so it wouldn’t burn and she sent it twirling up his arm. Helion watched the little wisp with fascination. Then those amber eyes flicked back to her, sparkling with sunlight.

The prince leaned a little closer. Serafina’s hand came to rest against his chest on instinct, her palm touching the draped white linen but her fingers pressed into his bare skin. The warmth of him left her a little breathless, it was so different from the warmth of fire.

Fire was dramatic—high heat that vanished to an aching cold when it died out. But this magic—him, the sunlight—was slowly and thoroughly warming. She imagined it would linger, like stones still warm in the dark after a clear summer's day.

“Luckily for you, Sunshine. I like playing with fire.” His smile was dazzling, hopeful, promising and she never wanted to look away.

Somewhere a bell tower struck, ten bright tolls ringing through the night. Serafina forced herself to step away, she couldn’t afford to be punished. Not when this week would likely be her last taste of freedom.

“I’m sorry, I have to get back before my father starts wondering where I am.” She watched disappointment flash across the prince’s lovely features.

“Will I see you again?” He asked, stepping toward her.

“My family is staying through the end of the festival. You can if you would like.”

“I would like that very much,” he beamed.

She turned on a slippered heel.

“Wait!” Helion called. She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Please—tell me your name.”

“Serafina!” She called back, helpless to stop the wide smile that stretched across her face. “But you can keep calling me Sunshine!”

It was to the rich, joyous sound of Helion’s laughter that Serafina skipped down the stairs and towards her family’s guest suite.

@ablogofbipanic @spell-cleavers @ whoever else is a Helion x LoA fan — happy friday :)

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

△ "Does it scare you knowing you're just another beings puppet? Something to play with and disscard as soon as it gets tired, that'd scare me. Maybe you you really didn't deserve what happened to you and you aren't what people forced you to fit the mold of? I've covered plenty of stories like that. People who think they're utterly irredeemable, because of how society forced them to be and how crippling it is when they realize they're not that way at all." - Sable @ dbd Robibi

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 △ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎�� DEAD BY DAYLIGHT VERSE Difficulty Rating: 9/10

The man cast his gaze downward upon the salt circle where the girl was situated, did she hope it would offer her solace or serve as a barrier if he decided to not play nicely? Such a flimsy little thing could never be a proper bulwark, especially not when her questions itched and dug at the ever-deepening hole situated in his chest. Each one forced his mind open to memories; foggy as they were. Sable's soothing, delicate almost caring inquiries failed to provoke even a hint of warmth within him ━ instead a frigid chill penetrated his entire being. He ... didn't deserve what had happened to him? Ah ... it had been so long that it had become but a dream; a blurred reflection on the wrong side of a looking glass. Yet still somehow it blossomed into clarity.

He was suddenly dreadfully aware of how his skin sat on his bones, the damning silence within his ribcage, and how the blood barrier of his brain was beginning to bubble with uncertainties and long laid to rest horror. An image was thrust to the surface of his consciousness: his skull pulses matching the torrent of blood gushing through his wintry lashes to cast a red veil over the world. The rhythmic thudding of boots relentlessly striking his knuckles until half of his fingers were broken; the single thrust of a blade into his back forcing him to teeter on the edge of oblivion's stupor. Voices echoed in the cavernous depths of his memory, each slice trying to goad him to expose an imagined devil lurking beneath his soft spoken demeanor.

He remembered it, just for a moment; the soil beneath him whispering his name as he fell deeper into a numbing void. Robin felt himself floating deeper and deeper into the immeasurable cosmic ooze; unequivocally alone while the voices shrunk into oblivion. His body tightened into a crystalline husk ━ frozen in time with only the taste of pickling bile to comfort him. Had his tear ducts not dried up he would have wept as he ebbed in and out of existence all together. How many days had he been stuck here? Was it days? Hours? Years? Eons? No. No no no no no no no ━

I’m still alive. My body is still here.

Was it? Was he? Had he ever existed at all?

Our Lord Jesus Christ, to the world to save and to set me free. I trust in your power and grace that sustain and restore me. Loving Father, touch me now with your healing hands. Touch me, O Lord, and fill me with your light and your hope. Please Lord hear me - please save me please save me save me save me save me save me save me save me save me save me ━

Golden light flooded into his eyes and nearly blinded him, yet the burning sting across his dried cornea was one of the most wonderful things he had ever felt. The world slowly dripped into place once more and eventually color began to return, and his skin prickled with a cold breeze. The dappled sunlight flitted across his stagnant stare as the minutes ticked on, and he took the time to listen to each sound the forest produced. A thrill surged through him, as the melodic chorus of birds heralded the break of day; their nests stirring to acknowledge the rising sun. The crickets sang in brilliant unison, while the trees and foliage nearby whispered softly to him; each gentle breeze over his person felt like a wave of prayers.

For a span of three nights he stayed stuck in place, denied the bracing sensation of winter's fae dancing upon his exposed flesh. His mind was too clouded, and his thoughts meandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of questions. Something had heard his prayers and bestowed upon him this renewed opportunity, as though he were Christ. His heart wept when he witnessed the sun ascend and descend thrice in the horizon before he finally felt his nerves reignite and remind him of how he had ended up here. Verdant eyes bubbled with tears - he was far too overstimulated to do much else besides wail and dig his nails into the soil. Robin choked up as he blinked the gritty tears from his eyes in order to gaze down at his twitching fingers; he savored the brief respite and quiet before being interrupted by a nearby sound.

A dog barking and a familiar face rushing over towards him ... Who was that?

Another splinter of ice pierced his brain and began unweaving the intricate network of nerves and veins threading together the thin blanket of his current reality. And hidden beneath the layers of membrane, was a town full of living flesh gasping and retching on the fetid airs of their rotted kin. Each one bled dry and carved into grave meat; and when his cup ran dry he cleaved through the next flesh sac. Men, women, children ━ all were harvested until the village became a crypt. Snowfall that marked the end of England's winter was marred by the remains of the deceased, leaving death stains upon the pristine white landscape ... Then he saw Her.

Her coaxing fog gave rise to a pale horse that beckoned him onward into a realm awash with blood and anguished shrieks of those She deemed unworthy of Her sacred radiance. Power was given unto him ... to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. The time of Judgement had come, had it not? In the course of his existence, a trio of horses - white, red, and black - had been by his side; it was now his time to accept the generous offer of reins extended to him by Her grace and love. To become the fourth rider with Her to walk by his side, jaws open and receiving the victims slain by Her devote servant.

"Something to discard? Oh no, my sweet ewe, you have failed utterly to see the destiny that lies before us all. Little Lamb, yours is the blood that will dye the robes of the faithful into white. Mine is the blade that will sacrifice you to our beloved God. Each one of Her creations plays a part, and She will guide us."

His body ... it was his, wasn't it? Yes. Yes. He chose to walk into the fog, he remembered that clearly; what else was there to do? Lay himself to a second final resting amongst the corpses and carrion of that accursed town? Or join in Her army of angels sent to slay and bring about the end of days? Perhaps those mangled villagers from his town had been right about his talent for sin, but his cruelty was rewarded with a Heaven of comfort and safety. He would never have to worry for his immortal soul again; God had already chosen him as Her scion.

Perhaps those mangled villagers from his town had been right about his propensity for wickedness, yet his sins were compensated with a Heaven of tranquility and security. As if something like this pathetic creature could ever hope to understand; oh well. She would know the truth soon enough; her true purpose written in red across her skin.

Robin watched her for a moment. Just one. Thereafter he slowly stepped forward and let his foot pass beyond the salt circle's protection.

[vulpes-fennec]

The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 12) 🌊

Summary: The girls have a night out in town, but then they run into some trouble on the way home. TW: verbal harassment after the asterisk

Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, has sent ripples of shock throughout Prythian with his plans to eliminate discrimination against Lesser Fae. When the Night Court is invited to send a delegation to Summer Court, Elain Archeron can’t wait to show everybody what she’s capable of on her first official Inner Circle assignment. Little does she know that Tarquin has also recruited Lucien Vanserra’s assistance…

Read: Ch 1 | Ch 11 | AO3

Rita’s held a special place in Emerie’s heart, but The Orchid in Adriata was an experience unlike any other. Perched on the crest of a hill, The Orchid recreated an undersea party with its blue faelights and seashell decor. Better yet, Fae from all backgrounds communed at The Orchid, which made Emerie feel less out of place with her oversized wings. 

Melanie and Kiyah, a Winter Court snow sprite, had looped Emerie, Elain, and Sona the Spring Court water wraith into going out tonight. Though she normally wouldn’t be caught dead in a skimpy short dress, Emerie had to admit the silky purple fabric and the warm night air on her bare thighs made her feel sexy and powerful. Besides, her friends’ equally skimpy outfits made Emerie feel less self-conscious about stepping out in public with so much exposed skin. 

Their little group danced in a circle for what seemed like hours, before escaping to the rooftop patio to cool down. Down in the shimmering crescent bay, the Summer Palace glowed translucent like a pearl. From her vantage point, Emerie also could observe the little lives of Adriata’s inhabitants through the golden windows of haphazardly organized houses and apartments. 

Emerie settled on a chaise lounge with her non-alcoholic pineapple and guava slushie. “What kind of drink did you get?” Emerie nodded her head towards Elain. Elain’s strappy gold dress glimmered in the moonlight, making her face glow with light. 

“Coconut cream cocktail,” Elain said, taking a sip of her drink. She twirled the little paper umbrella that was perched on the rim. “With rum.” 

“Can I try your drink?” Sona asked Elain. “You can have some of mine.” The females exchanged glasses, and the water wraith nodded approvingly after sampling Elain’s cocktail.

Elain, on the other hand, wore a peculiar expression. “I’m tasting mint…but what’s the green thing? Tastes…wet.” She made delicate smacking sounds with her tongue, as if trying to parse out the different flavors.

“Oh, it’s seagrass,” Sona replied casually. “I ordered a mint and seagrass mojito.” The water wraith must love seagrass, for she had covered up her breasts and legs with a flowing seagrass garment. 

Does Gwyn have a fondness for seagrass, too? Emerie wondered. Maybe I should gift her a seagrass dress. I’m sure Azriel would like it. Gwyn was only a quarter water nymph, but in the years of friendship they’d shared, Emerie hadn’t seen Gwyn swim or eat aquatic plants. Elain took another sip, but handed the drink back to Sona with a barely suppressed grimace. Sona only laughed, a grating sound like rough rocks. 

“I want to try!” Melanie proclaimed. “But I don’t think you would be interested in mine.” 

Emerie sniffed the air, scenting a thick tang. “Is that blood?” she gasped incredulously. 

Melanie grinned, revealing her characteristically pointed incisors. “I am a vampyr, after all.” Apparently no one was curious enough to ask what kind of blood was fizzing in Melanie’s cup.

“Are there many vampyrs in Hewn City?” Kiyah asked. 

Melanie nodded affirmatively. “Of course. Hewn City has one of the highest populations of vampyrs in Prythian. There are several large communities in the continent, but I’ve never visited them before.” She glanced at Emerie’s Illyrian wings. “Many say that we share a common fae ancestor with the Illyrians. They inherited the wings, while we got the big bat ears and cave roosting habits.”

“And clearly the blood drinking tendencies,” Elain quipped, causing Melanie to chuckle. 

“What’s Hewn City like?” Sona asked. “I heard that the Court of Nightmares is full of revelry and darkness.”

“You’re wondering if cruelty is truly our specialty, aren’t you? Well, it is.” Melanie’s dark eyes slid over towards Emerie, implying she knew all too well about Mor’s fraught relationship with the city.

“But you don’t seem very cruel at all,” Elain objected.

Melanie flashed her sharp teeth in a wild grin. “What makes you think I’m not simply being on my best behavior here? To any regular visitor, it may seem sin and darkness are pervasive in our hallowed halls.” Melanie glanced up at the night sky, half pondering and half admiring the constellations. As if she’d rarely observed them before. 

“But that doesn’t mean we’re uncaring towards our neighbors. That there is no camaraderie within our communities. It exists, but you wouldn’t know if you only visited the Court of Nightmares.” 

“I suppose it’s like how the Winter Court nobility are all stuffy and full of traditionalists,” Kiyah reflected. “They have their own customs and their daily life is so different from ours.” 

“This is just between us, but I’m not a fan of the ruling family.” The vampyr glanced at Elain sharply. “Well, not her family,” she clarified for Kiyah and Sona. “Though it would be nice if the High Lord and Lady could deign to do something about it.” 

Elain glanced down uncomfortably. “I’ll bring it up next time I see them,” she replied weakly. I wonder how that’s going to go, Emerie mused. I don’t think Elain talks Night Court politics at the dinner table. 

Melanie turned her gaze towards Emerie. “Is your girlfriend going to succeed Keir?” she inquired expectantly. “It would be nice to have a change of scenery.” 

Emerie shifted in her seat awkwardly. “Erm…I can’t speak for Mor. Do the residents even want a steward? Stewardess?” 

Melanie drained her bloody drink with a slurp. “Hmmm. We’ve had a steward for thousands and thousands of years, so long that it’s difficult to imagine anything different.” 

“Your girlfriend is Morrigan?” Kiyah squeaked, her blue eyes wide with delight. “How did you two start dating?” 

With that, the conversation shifted to much lighter topics. After another round of drinks, Kiyah and Sona finally exhausted their questions for Emerie. “So,” Emerie prompted, raising her eyebrows expectantly at Elain. 

Melanie perked up from the chaise lounge next to Elain. “Did something happen?” 

“You should have what happened today,” Emerie supplied with a grin. “Elain had a little moment in the training ring.” 

Elain’s eyes widened. “It was nothing!” she cried hastily. “I just said hello to him after he finished sparring with Varian.”  

“Is this about Lucien? Did he win the match? Ohhh…something tells me that this sparring was done shirtless,” Kiyah teased, putting two and two together. “Did he throw you a kiss?” 

“O-of course not!” Elain sputtered. “I think he was being strangely flirtatious, though? And I don’t think there was a declared winner.”

“He was being flirtatious,” Emerie affirmed smugly at the same time as Sona pointed out, “you’re blushing.”

“Oh, I’m not!” Elain replied hotly, but she covered her cheeks with her palms. “Alcohol makes my face red.” 

Sona rolled her eyes, clearly not believing Elain’s excuse. “I remember Lucien,” she said. 

Elain’s eyebrows rose hopefully. “From the Spring Court? You knew him back then?” 

“Oh yes. He was very distrustful of my sisters and I whenever the Tithe came around.” Sona smirked, revealing her pointy teeth. “Always had a hand on his dagger when I was near.” 

“I’m sorry.” Elain’s face fell. 

“Why apologize for him? Just because he’s your mate doesn’t mean you’re responsible for his actions.” Emerie noticed Elain’s fingers twitch around her cocktail glass, as if she didn’t like the word Sona used. “I don’t doubt Lucien’s sincerity in wanting to help. But even well-meaning Fae like him hold their own… assumptions of Fae like us.” Sona shrugged. “Who knows? The emissary may have changed since his time with Tamlin.” 

“What was Lucien like back then?” Elain asked after a pause. 

“Oh, he was very talkative,” Sona chuckled at the faraway memories. “Always had something to say. He did a lot of emissary work with equal parts charm and sarcasm.” 

Emerie, Melanie, and Kiyah both nodded silently, watching Elain’s expressions carefully. The lady’s brown eyes were gleaming curiously, and she was angling her shoulders forward with interest. 

“And…and did he have any lovers?” Elain asked, shyly. Sona’s sharp mouth and coal-dark eyes softened with a look of pity. “I want to hear the truth,” Elain added hastily. “Please don’t spare my feelings.” 

Sona nodded, taking a very long sip of her mojito. “Lucien had many lovers,” she said quietly. Elain’s hopeful expression dropped. Oh Cauldron, it’s like when I found out Mor had centuries of female lovers before me, Emerie sighed with sympathy. On the bright side, it seems Elain’s feelings for Lucien have deepened since last week. She’d seemed so ambivalent towards him during all his previous visits to Velaris, so this is a good sign. “They were never serious romances. They were more physical by nature—” 

“That’s not any better,” Kiyah chided.

“No, no, it’s alright,” Elain assured Sona before the water wraith could say anything else. “I was curious, after hearing about Jesminda.” But Emerie detected a certain tightness at the corners of Elain’s pretty mouth, a sadness in the downturn of her eyes.  

“If it makes you feel better, Lucien is flustered around you, which is highly unusual. In a good way.” Sona tilted her head curiously, bottomless black eyes twinkling. “Did you know that before that foxy male ran off from the Spring Court, he would rest by the wildflower patch next to my pond? I heard him whispering your name to the wind, talking out loud.”

The comment was enough to return Elain to her flustered state.  

***

It was just past midnight when they finally left The Orchid. Emerie’s stomach was sloshing with three different fruity slush drinks, making her regret not using the bathroom earlier. Elain, Sona, and Melanie had finished the evening with a whole bottle of wine, and were leaning against each other as they giggled and stumbled down the cobblestone road.

The gauzy breeze and warm night air were luxurious on Emerie’s wings. Windhaven nights were never like this. I was always worrying about the next day, the next week, the future. Thinking about my finances, the shop, the other Illyrians…

It was not until she befriended Gwyn and Nesta that she learned what it was like to simply live in the moment, to spend time leisurely in the company of others. She was still getting used to making friends, actual friends, so being able to dance and chat with other females tonight was certainly progress. 

They’d walked no more than three blocks when Emerie’s wings prickled uneasily. She swiveled her head, sighting a group of three males loitering outside a busy bar on the opposite end of the street. They were well dressed males, and Emerie would have passed them off as random bar patrons catching some fresh air. But their leering expressions implied otherwise. “How’s it going, ladies?” the taller one with dark blonde hair, called out. 

Elain glanced sharply at the males, and then swiveled her head back to see who the males were talking to. Big mistake. Now they know we’ve heard them. 

An audacious whistle pierced the air, and now Emerie knew for certain it was directed at them. Ah, fuck. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore a friendly greeting?” 

Her heart thundered in her chest, as if struggling to take flight away from the danger. Emerie didn’t want to turn and see which male whistled. Didn’t want to reach for the thin steel dagger she’d kept hidden under her skirt just yet. Males are unpredictable…if I draw a weapon I might escalate the situation. Keep calm, Emerie, keep calm. You cannot give them the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

“What’s a cute snow sprite doing in the Summer Court, hmm?” a different male called out. “Are you lost? Want to come home with us? We’ll show you a good time.”   

“Fuck, we need to go,” Kiyah hissed. They hustled around the corner and onto the main street. With more fae out and about on a weekend night, perhaps the males would be less inclined to follow them out. Surely these finer establishments would not tolerate drunken riff-raff harassing a group of females.

No such luck. The trio had indeed trailed them, voicing horrible comments loudly and without shame. “Look, they’ve got a vampyr with them!” the third male jeered. “You think she’d suck cock as well as she sucks blood?” 

Emerie’s anger flared. Sona growled under her breath, ready to turn around and probably hiss at the males. “Ignore them,” Melanie said quietly, but her pale face was tense with fear. “The sooner we make it back to the docks, the better.” 

Emerie sent a look of both pleading and warning to a group of High Fae females walking down the street towards them. Be careful, she tried to convey. Please do something. One of them made eye contact with Emerie, but instead of saying anything, the lady slid her eyes elsewhere uncomfortably. And continued walking. 

“I don’t like this,” Emerie muttered. There were plenty of passersby, but none of them were moving towards their aid. And the inaction only seemed to embolden the High Fae males, whose laughter seemed to be getting close by the second. The docks…where the hell are the docks? Every building, every block they passed appeared the same. Emerie had no idea if they were even going in the right direction. 

“What’s a pretty High Fae lady like you doing with the low-borns?” Elain wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying faster. 

Blood chilled in Emerie’s veins when she allowed herself a quick glance backwards. The males were hot on their tails, and close enough for her to realize they were perfectly sober from the clear, power-hungry look in their eyes. Maybe now is a good time to draw my knife. 

The shorter one made another vulgar statement, this time, a barely veiled threat. Waves of fear were rolling off of Elain and Melanie, making Emerie shove them in front of her. “Go, go, go,” she muttered. Why can’t someone just notice how uncomfortable this is? Why can’t anyone just say something?

It happened so fast that Emerie couldn’t react: one of the males grabbed Kiyah by her wrist and her long, blue locks of hair, yanking her away from the group. The snow sprite cried out in terror. 

Sona snarled, baring her pointed teeth as she lunged for the male gripping Kiyah. But the male only grinned as he flicked his hand, blocking Sona off with a wall of air. Sona snarled and launched herself at the invisible barrier again, but to no avail. The two other males laughed, as if Kiyah’s fear and Sona’s futile efforts were pure entertainment to them. 

“Let go of her!” Elain screamed. Somewhere in the haze, a bottle shattered. 

If the High Fae have magic, then I need to incapacitate them before they can use it, Emerie realized.  

Before she could change her mind, Emerie whirled around and punched the shortest male in the face with a closed fist before he could touch her. The oaf let out a litany of curses as he stumbled backwards, blood gushing from his nose. Fucking hell, my position could have been better, she shook her fist, knuckles smarting. Emerie shifted her position and threw another punch, an uppercut at his jaw that sent him sprawling. 

Melanie made a fearful sound behind her, and Emerie realized that by taking down the second male, she left the path wide open for the third male. Shit! I didn’t drink alcohol, yet I’m making so many careless mistakes. Emerie gave the downed male another vicious kick to the groin before running back to her friends. 

Elain, to Emerie’s surprise, was wielding a jagged broken bottle with shaking hands. She was shielding Melanie, mouth set in gritted determination and her eyes fierce.

With his focus on Elain and Melanie, the male did not see Emerie coming as she tackled him from behind. He was heavier than she’d expected, clearly someone who maintained his physique. When his legs flexed and his shoulders straightened, Emerie knew from Valkyrie training that she only had a matter of seconds before he threw her off. So she dropped down to the ground on all fours, swinging her leg out in a circle to trip and knock him off balance again. 

Tempering emotions—Mind Stilling—was a core part of Valkyrie training. Emotions could cloud one’s judgment in the heat of battle, increasing the likelihood of a fatal mistake. Bloodlust was also a male Illyrian trait that Emerie had sworn to herself not to emulate.

But right now, all she felt was rage. Incandescent, shaking rage. 

How dare they target us, ruining our night out? Do they think we are weak, that they can take advantage of us without any consequences? Because we are considered Lesser Fae? 

Emerie leapt to her feet, drawing her dagger. The male had caught himself on the ground with his hands, and her sharp eyes narrowed on her next target. I will break the bones in his hand, she vowed. I will saw his fingers off. He will never lay a hand on another female again. 

Hot anger fueled her steps, providing an extra surge of force as Emerie brought her platformed boot down onto the male’s wrist. Hard. He howled in pain as his wrist popped, effectively rendering it useless—for the moment. Given how quickly the High Fae healed, it would only be a matter of minutes before he was back to normal. She slammed her heel down on it again, viciously. 

Another curse sounded from behind her. Kiyah’s captor had released her, clutching at his blood-soaked abdomen. The snow sprite stumbled backwards, expression defiant as she wielded a bloodied icicle. But the male’s amber eyes were entirely murderous as he picked up a small rock on the road, winding up his arm to throw it straight at Kiyah. 

“No!” Emerie screamed, but she was too far away. She raised her dagger to throw it, but hesitated. What if I hit an innocent bystander instead? What if I hit Kiyah? Shit—

A wall of water erupted out of nowhere, shielding Kiyah from her aggressor. Another wave swept the male under her boot to the side, preventing her from finishing her job. Emerie gasped, wondering who created the impenetrable shield at the last minute. 

Varian had appeared at the end of the street, alongside two members of the guard. It looked like they had been running as fast as they could. 

Emerie had never been happier seeing males in her life. But she tensed when she saw Lucien standing with Varian, knowing all too well the consequences of a mated male unleashed. Here was a warrior with the ability to sizzle threats into a crisp before he even reached for the blade strapped to his belt. 

“Elain!” Lucien roared as he barreled down the street, flaming red hair streaking behind him. 

“Lucien!” Elain cried, dropping the bottle with a clatter. She stumbled towards him, terrified, and buried her face against her mate’s chest. Lucien’s russet eye blazed with fury as he wrapped an arm protectively around Elain’s shoulders. Fire sizzled at the tips of his other hand, and the air thickened with the tang of powerful magic. 

Emerie braced herself for the end. While the two may not have accepted the mating bond, no one could be sure what a mated male could do. But several seconds passed, and she was still alive. Somehow, Lucien managed to not to gut their harassers. 

“Emerie.” Varian jogged up to her, concern blatant in his brown eyes. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Did anyone get hurt? What happened?” 

Varian’s familiar face gave Emerie enough sense of security to tuck her dagger away, but her heart still pounded with anxiety. “I…I’m alright, but the male with the blonde hair grabbed Kiyah,” she replied, her voice shaky. “We were at The Orchid, and on our way back, they started harassing us.” She glanced at the errant males, the three of them looking worse for wear with their hands bound in chains fashioned from flowing water and blood crusting over wounds. 

“I’m so sorry,” Varian said again. “Tarquin will certainly hear about this. Lucien can escort you all back to the Summer Palace while I take care of this.” Emerie nodded her silent thanks, as Varian moved off to make sure Kiyah was alright.

“Are you alright?” Emerie asked Melanie, who was trembling behind her. The vampyr did not sustain any physical injuries, but Emerie knew that such experiences could inflict wounds below surface level. Melanie nodded, but her black eyes glimmered with tears. Off to the side, Sona was helping Kiyah up from the ground. The bloodied icicle had melted into a puddle of crimson water, and Kiyah’s knee had been scraped raw. 

Now that Emerie’s focus was not entirely honed on escaping, she was able to take in their surroundings. Several residents were poking their heads out of apartment windows, while others slowed down to stare at the scene as they walked by. High Fae. They’d entered a High Fae neighborhood, and yet none of them had intervened. 

“I hate…I hate how things finally stopped only when other males came,” Melanie muttered darkly. “It should have never gotten to this point.” 

It could be because we are considered Lesser Fae, Emerie thought silently. Judging from Melanie’s sad expression, her friend was thinking the same. “And I’m a Valkyrie…I should have been able to fight them off just fine,” Emerie added bitterly.  

Melanie shook her head. “Do not blame yourself, Emerie. No one is invincible. Besides, you kicked their asses real good.” But Melanie’s assurances were paltry in the face of Emerie’s worst fears. 

I survived the Blood Rite. I’m a Carynthian. I should’ve been able to defend my friends from a couple of males. I need to train harder, be stronger, so that no one can ever hurt us again…

Sona walked up to Emerie, pulling her into a hug. The water wraith’s skin was clammy and damp, but the comforting gesture soothed some of Emerie’s nerves. “Emerie, you were amazing.” 

It was hard to accept praise when so much adrenaline was still pumping through her veins. “Y-you were brave too, Sona. When you moved to protect Kiyah.” 

“I did what anybody else should have done. Us females…we need to stick together.” Us Lesser Fae, too, was what Sona’s bottomless eyes added quietly. The water wraith glanced at Elain, who approached them cautiously from behind. “I saw you too, Elain. You were ready to stick that bottle into the male if he got any closer,” Sona acknowledged. 

“If those males knew the Kingslayer was in our midst, they’d think twice about coming onto us,” Emerie tried to joke. 

“I think you meant to say Carynthian Valkyrie, instead.” Elain cracked a half smile, but her face was still stiff with shock as they began walking to the docks. 

[raspiberi]

What is wrong with me (that's the question you will be asking yourself because idk either).

I recently finished reading "These Twisted Bonds" and I thought the book was good overall, but it left a sour taste in my mouth towards the end. SPOILERS AHEAD

Look, I like Brie and Finn, and Finn really proved himself in this book. He showed kindness, he was honest, mysterious, selfless, represented all aspects of a wonderful leader ready to do anything for his people. He was handsome, patient and loving with Abriella. Not to mention he carries with himself a sense of poise and dignity. He's selfish with the ones he loves, and he made it clear where his feelings stood without being too pushy with Abriella. He gave her the choice to love him, and she chose him in the end. And I think that she was fine to choose him. I really wanted to be completely immersed in their love story, but why, tell me why I was still so set on her being with Sebastian? Idk, both men are just >>>>>>, but it was Sebastian that actually reeled me in. Even after all the questionable things he did, and even though his betrayal felt like it personally cut me, I STILL wanted to see the good in him. I so desperately LOVED the angst going on between Abriella and Sebastian, and thought that was going to be explored more so that they would end up together. Because who ever said love was easy? And in retrospect, I know Sebastian acted at times like a child, practically begging Abriella to stay and give them a chance, because despite all that happened, he really did still love her. That was never a lie. And I guess it just makes my heart a little sad that she never gave him a chance after that. I know, I know, you might tell me it's realistic that people change their feelings, but idk, I had such a soft spot for Sebastian throughout the book, and I just felt sad that he was feeling sad over Abriella and Finn's new romantic development. He really did love Abriella despite his flaws. And at the end, when he chose to give up everything after already losing so much, idk, my heart pined and ached for him even more. I might be the only one who thinks this, but I just feel like he got so easily pushed to the side. Why did it take Abriella so long to forgive Sebastian over Finn who practically did the same thing? It's like she was using all excuses to break the bond with Sebastian at all costs, never really properly sitting down and allowing for a deep and proper exploration of their feelings. I know, time and place and a whole fae political war going on. But I just wanted closure. And honestly, I still felt sad for Bash. He lost his mother, his bestfriend, the girl he loved, and he got reduced to nothing in the end in Abriella's story. Look, he does have a role to play with how it all went out, but as he said, he had no choice. Abriella would have turned fae anyway with her blood, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that Sebastian deserved better. Especially with his sacrifice to become mortal so he could let Abriella be happy. And it wasn't with him. I just think Sebastian deserved to be given a chance, and not just forgiven when he decided to lose everything in the end. I really think that was so selfless of him. Idk, the first book had me so enamoured by Sebastian and Abriella's relationship. Even before starting the book, I just knew there would be more focus on Finn and Abriella's relationship. But idk, justice for my man Sebastian who deserved to be happy in the end too. Honestly, I was thinking that Brie could have learned to love both the men in her life and not choose one over the other. I would have been okay with that. After all, it's the fae world, and anything goes, right? But still, as weird as I find it, even after finishing "These Twisted Bonds" and developing a soft spot for Finn because he really proved himself this book to be worthy of Abriella's love, a part of me still hurts for Sebastian, and I would have loved to have seen them get together. But I guess it simply wasn't meant to be. This really feeds into my angst heart brilliantly, but it still hurts. I know, I know, I'll probably be the only one who thinks this way, and that's okay. I've come to terms with that. If you read my blabbering this far, you're a trooper. XD

[faoighiche]

[pm] [User's brain short circuits because someone thinks they are lucky to have her as a friend.] Um Yes. You are luck [...] Right. I know of the dead. I did not know we taste extra good to the dead but I did know they feed on us. The fae are the dead's main host. The dead need and want to feed on the fae because our blood and flesh can return the dead to life. [...] Ok. I will [...] add "monster thingies" in my notebook. [User slightly smiles.] Good. Yes. The chocolate covered insects will taste great because the chocolate always tastes great despite what the tea human types. I am excited to eat the chocolate covered insects with you.

[...] I also wish people thought so. I appreciate that you wish people would "stick around" for me. I do deserve that.

It does feel good to take. It is good to take. That is why I love to protect and guide my parasites. My parasites showed me how wonderful it is to take. I also like binding people. The humans lie too much. [...] The fae might lie too [...] The binds are needed to make sure people do not lie. People do not respect their words. People forget that their words have power.

Ok. The others do not matter because you are fae and what you say is the tr [User thinks about the mare.] [...] We say the truth. If we say the friendships are more important than the romances then it will be true. I will start. [User says "The friendships are more important than the romances" out loud.]

[...] I have questions for you. Has your mare friend mentioned the horses? Does your mare friend have the horse?

[pm] I appreciate that. I'm lucky to have you as a friend. [...] I don't know. There are a lot of dangers, I'm sure. Vampires can still feed on us -- apparently, fae blood tastes extra good to them. And there are a lot of, like, monster thingies in town that can be dangerous, too. [...] I can totally melt the chocolate for us! It'll be easy! And it'll taste great.

It is important. I wish [...] more people thought so. And I wish people stuck around for you, too. You deserve that. I'm glad you have your parasites, though. And I know they're glad to have you looking out for them and making sure they get to take.

No. I'm not scared of you. I think [...] I like to take, too. I pretend not to, but I do. It feels good. I can't do it the way you do, but I [...] like binding people. I like having that guarantee.

To me, friendships are more important. But other people might disagree.

[luxmaeastra]

It tilted its head watching the feral thing hiss at them.

"That one is dying."

It stepped into the cave gesturing to the back. It slammed the thing against the wall.

"You're keeping her from the Void -"

"She is mine!"

It stilled, something in it waking. It leaned toward him. Its mouth inches from his lips.

"So what will you do to save her?"

His eyes went wide, sweeping over its form. A youth now, knives strapped to its back. He raised his eyes to its own inhaling sharply.

"Anything. Anything you wish for -"

"Bite me, make me bleed."

He did, biting down hard. It instructed him to drink. It's magic worming it's way through him. It gripped the back of his neck and pried his hand away.

"Give her some, kiss her."

He paused looking to it.

"Why are you - why are you helping us? Don't you hate us?"

"Because I changed my mind. Now hurry up before I change it again."

He kissed her, holding tightly as Acaeja gasped and sat up. She clung to him sobbing into his arms. It rolled its eyes and snapped its fingers.

"Get out this is my cave now."

--------

Kajmar watched Acaeja and Silba clung to each other. He could finally think the fog in his head gone. He watched the way life sparkled in her eyes again.

All the bridges burned was worth it for this one moment again. Lumas nudged their shoulders together. He rose an eyebrow at him.

"So what unholy deal did you make? Do you need a body for it?"

He snorted and held his hand up. The Wyrd ring seemed to suck the light from the room. Even Lumas looked paler against it.

"I cannot say but you can guess."

"You met Cennan? Why aren't you in rapturous awe?"

He opened his mouth to respond. To say he didn't feel much right now beyond shock...right?

But Acaeja turned to him. Gripping his hand hard. He could feel the pressure but the blood welling under her fingernails didn't feel like anything.

"Why can't I feel you?!"

The fae servant who had been tending to them jerked. Her plates toppled and she twisted to look at them.

Her smile was too wide her lips cracking with the force of it. Her eyes were dull as if she had no soul.

"How does it feel to a taste of what you denied her?"

He should feel anger, fear - something. But he simply stared. Acaeja snarled reaching for a blade to slam into the fae servant.

The maid only laughed and tisked. Her visage flickered. Her horror and terror filling the room before Cennan retook her.

"I wouldn't kill the poor vessel. I wonder who I'll take then hmm? But since you're so....vibrant now Acaeja. Let's play a game. Who does your life belong to?"

Kajmar realized without emotion what he'd said. He'd implied his claim on her had superceded a god. In all the texts that Cennan spoke it denied being their God. It was merely the final dwelling place.

Apparently that had changed.

What unholy deal did you make? The question that came from Lumas drew her attention away from Acaeja, the question that seemed to hover in the air and would not just leave. It was one which she had honestly considered, but in her happiness of seeing Acaejashe had honestly chosen to ignore it.

Her eyes widened slightly, even from where she was she could sense the shift suddenly. The ring upon his hand, the price of what he had paid was clear. Many had whispered about Cennan, those lucky few who had been lucky enough to be in their presence.

Silba was startled when Acaeja turned, as she moved towards him. The weight of the scene soon filled the room, the sudden shift and change in the environment made her stand as she moved close to Lumas.

They had invited the Void into their home, they had brought the one who was deemed their god. Her fingers gripped her mate's arm, her eyes transfixed upon the scene that was unfolding before her.

"What has happened to them?"

[neon-lights-stardust-nights]

Favorite calm activity with Strange? What’s your favorite food Hook has made? Have you ever been on a date with Xigbar? What does a night out with 🚬 look like? (Hope you feel better! 🐹✨)

Waaaah thank you! I'm very

right now, but I'm trying to handcuff myself to the Be Gentle With Yourself table right now. Thank you for the stuff to ramble about waaaaaaaaaaaaa--

I'm answering these kind of randomly don't mind that ehehe

Xigbar and Xayvn have TECHNICALLY been on dates. None of them were planned, but Saix very quickly found a problem with assigning them both a mission: they inevitably wouldn't do it. They'd much rather skip town for ice cream and laughs than take care of what needed taking care of (for the most part.)

Xigbar's approach was usually to speedrun the task at hand, whereas Xavyn is the one who more openly encouraged straight up not doing it. Whatever it was, the expected mission time would be doubled by the hijinks, lowjinks, and midjinks they got into. Never send them somewhere with a circus in town, Xavyn will drag Xigbar away immediately to go see it. Similarly, a shooting range is a really good way to convince Xigbar away from their goals.

They were never official dates, but they were all dates nevertheless.

And 🚬!!!! Much like Strange, he's a man of culture. Revolutionaries still can have taste, even if 🚬 and 🦴 have different ideas of a good time. Faers favorite place to be is with a gun in one hand, a knife in the other, and the sweet, blaring sound of Blood Sex and Drugs techno.

If 🚬 picks the festivities though, a night out with him looks much more refined. Nice wine, a dinner place he has to wear a disguise to even get into... Disguising 🦴 can be difficult, but if breaking into the cities is no longer an option? 🦴 is plenty content with what exists outside them. There are still nice bars out there, and 🚬 is plenty willing to blow money on his darling little Dead Eye.

That said, he still occasionally would consider a night out a night of indulging 🦴 in said rampage. Fae's a wonder to watch work! Just... Wear kevlar if you're in the audience...

Speaking of my unethical doctor, one of many for the collection...

There is a surprising amount of domestic activity the both of them can agree on. Once Kronos got some confidence, fae was very quick to "I want to perform villainy the way drag queens perform femininity." Strange is Strange, I don't know if I need to explain why domestic and him don't always look like close friends.

Kronos is more than willing to drag him to the couch to watch things together. He never cared about anime, not broader than the things Kronos shows him... But he also can't say "no" unless he's busy--there's times where he's convinced fae doesn't even look that happy in bed. Rambling away the whole time, excitedly lamenting how fae can't just spit spoilers (until being reminded that he doesn't care, please. Indulge him. What the hell is going to happen?)

And similarly, Kronos is an attentive listener. Insatiable curiosity has led to one of their calmer activities simply being bringing him things to explain. Things within his field--"so what the hell does this mean?" Even if it usually leads to him using terms Kronos also has to ask about, fae absorbs it like a sponge. At a point earlier in things, Strange was a little tempted to scold faer for not taking notes. Little did he expect faer to remember it all--to site it when asking about newer concepts fae stumbled upon... And there is contentment in them both--in him knowing fae gives a damn about the subject at hand, and in faer listening to his voice... Idly kicking faers legs, fidgeting with a half finished gadget the whole time...

AAAA OKAY I'VE BEEN PUTTING HIM OFF BECAUSE EVERY TIME I TRY TO TALK ABOUT HIM I MEOW OUT THE BODY'S MOUTH AND IT'S APPARENTLY DECENT ENOUGH TO MAKE MY CAT GIVE US LOOKS AND STUFF BECAUSE WHENEVER I TALK ABOUT HOOK I JUST GO

LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL TRYING TO DESCRIBE THINGS ABOUT HER CRUSH I'M SO SORRY IF THIS SECTION IS LARGELY INCOHERENT!!!!

(fun fact, she bounces on time to the song I used as an example of "blood, sex, and drugs" techno.)

Glumiko didn't really know what to expect from human food, because basically everything the inky squid people ate was raw. They just kind of ate what they catched. The closest fae would get before getting with The Man Himself was people who dropped food while fae hung around the docks, but... That was mostly spilled liquor, and it gave faer a very funny impression of what exactly humans were eating up there.

Glumiko's first encounter real with rum was expectedly hectic and not relevant to discuss other than the fact that it turns out: getting the people made of ink drunk means you have lots of ink to clean later.

Inevitably, anything with fish Hook presented was received with less hesitance. Glumiko could probably tell you more about half those fish than anyone on board ever knew, too. He did accidentally give faer a taste for pork though. Turns out: squid people were missing out. Pig was where it was fucking AT.

He made pulled pork and it fucking blew faers mind.

Expected for a mostly carnivorous race: he couldn't get faer to touch vegetables tho :/

[writingforatwistedworld]

This is just a general request but I was wondering how would Leona,Ace and Sebak (separately) react to a reader that gives them flowers as a way of romantic affection or courtship(?).

I hope you have a good day and happy 500 followers.(^^)

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, religion, implied murder, imprisonment, obsession, possessiveness, murder, blood, stalking

Ace Trappola/Leona Kingscholar/Sebek Zigvolt-Giving them flowers

Ace is one of those that brag about things like this

But let's start from the beginning

So one day you came up to him and practically shoved them into his hands

Did he realize what was happening? No

He was way too shocked that something like this was happening

The moment he finds out that this is no dream he is for once pretty silent

Did the most powerful being in this world just give him flowers?

Does that mean that you accept his services??!

He really doesn't know how to react

Until now he always thought that he was the one who needed to approach you first

And even then his advances could never be romantic

Oh dear monarch, you won't get out of this so easy

He is suddenly everywhere

Not that he wasn't “watching you” before but now he doesn't even hide it anymore

You like him back, right? So no need to hold back!

Did I mention that he is also approaching you now way more than before

Now he is eating with you alone at a desk during lunch break, sitting besides you alone during history lessons, your usual desk neighbor suddenly ill and much more

Let's just say that you will see him a lot in the future...

Waitwaitwait, huh??!

Leona isn't used to getting gifts

Never mind romantic ones

So one day he blinks the sleep out of his eyes and then suddenly something is shoved into his face

You know that his sense of smell is more sensitive, right?

This leads to him sneezing a lot

And then he realizes that those are flowers

From you

Leona doesn't know what to do

Should he give you also flowers?

Nah, that's not his style

His style is rather always prowling around you, being offensive to others and making sure that you are isolated

You started this courtship so see through with it!

But nah, this isn't Ace and as per usual there is also more in the stuff that I write and if you are new, hi, welcome to the madness. It's tinted red (most of the time).

Leona brings you... “presents”

A hand here, a leg there...

All from potential dangers towards your relationship

If you had friends in their world I would recommend to keep your distance from that moment on

Safety measures

Maybe you should have just continued walking on that day...

You sure you want to do this? Yes?! Ok, it's your choice...

Fae are already going bacon they see a single hair of yours

So you giving him flowers?

Yes, you heard that right! Malleus isn't followed by a certain green-haired student anymore

Instead you are

The day you gifted him flowers he didn't speak a word for the rest of the day

We're his dorm members scared? Yes, yes they were

Sebek doesn't tell anyone why he was so silent on that day

Usually he would never keep something to himself but this...

This was from you to him!

And now you are having a weird relationship which includes him being something between a servant and someone you have a romantic relationship with

Or at least, he thinks you have a romantic relationship

In truth he is just so pushy that you are too afraid to tell him no

But dear Overseer, there are so many heretics, you must be protected!

And you aren't in the outside world!

So don't leave your room!

What can I say? You will miss your freedom but never the taste of really good tea

Just stay there like the good little God that you are and don't do anything stupid. Sebek would hate to take those legs away

Everything for your protection!