#was ostracized for being lured into the dark forest

[perenlop]

tawnypelt and dovewing really feels like such a natural fit for a good bond between the two characters because tawnypelt has not only been in dovewings shoes in being ostracized from her birth clan over stuff she couldnt control and moving to shadowclan to feel close to family that does care about her, but i always got the impression that tawnypelt has made peace with her past, not stewing in bitterness over it. like, she knows shes from thunderclan, she knows shes the daughter of tigerstar, shes mature enough to just let all that slide now and focus on the life she’s built over there, but doesn’t hate her thunderclan family either, like she still cares about bramblestar clearly. so if she sees another thunderclan cat who left her clan because she felt ostracized and disrespected, i don’t think she’d go “EUGH ew im projecting my past onto her because i hate myself for what i did and outsiders BAD” i think she would be a good mentor figure for dove and help her adjust and get along with her new clanmates.

like if tawnypelt was apparently super bitter over all that and still hated thunderclan so much that she hated any cat that was from there, that doesnt come through in the text before her novella. she constantly goes over there for refuge she constantly confides in her brother she cares about where she came from but doesnt belong there. there is literally nooooooooo good reason for her to just hate dovewing besides the erins loving petty but boring drama that will never be expanded upon

[mortdane]

⸻ ❝ 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐆𝐄: 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 .

deep within the arlathan forests reside a homestead of elven farmers. tending to their cattle, their crops and their own kin. one among their flock bore a sickening fascination of the deceased. interested in the way animal anatomy decomposed depending on the seasonal elements. driven by morbid curiosity, the aforementioned soul lingered his presence around cadavers. one would certainly notice an oddity like he rummaging through the insides of a nug or halla simply to study them. or place said corpses in picturesque and decorative positions amidst a bed of flowers, where under the canopy speckles of sunlight dimple his lifeless muse. rumors of this elf's eccentricities spread throughout the forest, inevitably into the ears outside its region. tales of a taxidermist who preserves animal organs certainly piqued the interest of one rogue mortalitasi. once they've crossed paths, a journey inlaid with teachings of necromancy, utilizing the black arts of magic. what was taboo to his family mortice already accepted; perceiving himself equally as ostracized by how prejudice quickly sways one's opinion on such matters. his betrothed's expressing concern fell upon deaf ears, their letter correspondence gradually ceased altogether. unbeknownst to him, this would be the final words etched upon tattered parchment he will receive. the mortalitasi yearned for power. sought for an army; pawns to be used as a means to their end. they know of weak, harmless prey easily accessible. it only required a naive mortice to act as a lure for the bait. and as he reunites with his family, the mortalitasi's cordial veneer subsides, and offers them false promise of ' immortality '. an un-life. roaming the world as conscious dead. a choice they deprived mortice's family of having. before the death mage could siphon their souls, the novice taxidermist sprung into action, defending his family until he breathed his final breath. it took some time before he rises from the deep, eternal darkness, his mind was not his own. his autonomy encased in glass, confined to a barrier, a prison, conjured and manipulated by the mortalitasi's hand. carrying out the rogue necromancer's will without hesitation, without question. a taste for flesh need quenched, eternal hunger insatiable; familial blood stains his hands forevermore. the quest to empower their necrotic abilities inevitably attracted the attention of the mourn watch. a confrontation ensued, rifed with bloodshed, and in the end: one apprehended death mage. the strong tether on mortice's undead conscious severs. at a loss of purpose, of drive, having nowhere else to turn, he reluctantly inquiries about servitude under the mourn watch's banner.

⸻ ❝ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 .

he still grieves over the loss of his family. the theme for his questline consists of helping mortice learn to cope with his undeath, & helping him heal from his forced familicide. he’s wracked with guilt in the form of self-deprecating language & physically curling inward in himself. like a ball, he closes himself off externally from offered assistance. He views his problems as a burden, akin to a box of his inner turmoil that he solely wishes to carry. No one deserves that burden. This is how Mortice views himself. Insignificant. Hes a zombie. A walking corpse. A common enemy in any media, they’re a common and indistinguishable rabble. Additionally there is the theme of isolation & ostracization. How people disregard and demean those of the unliving. How the common folk view undead as naught but ghastly concoctions of an “evil underworld”. How when despite being abused and manipulated by a necromancer, Mortice had no choice but to join a faction entirely comprised of necromancers. Out of fear that the social collective would attempt to either imprison or hang him. His hand is forced to join a group of people out of necessity to survive. Why? Because of the promise he made to his late wife. To live. Despite his distrust of the Mourn Watch, he needed protection from unjust persecution and imminent danger.

tl;dr undead elf was treated like a slave by the necromancer who raised him. necromancer died. now zombie man has nowhere else to turn. gets adopted by the mourn watch. help out zombie man find his purpose in the world. can you convince him that there's more to being undead, or is he forever trapped in his own nihilism? and will that aid him when an old face resurfaces.

⸻ ❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 .

NAME : mortice ALIAS : morbid mortice, mundane mortice, moody mortice, mortimer (his name preceding his death), mopey mortice RENOWN : mournful ranger CLASS : rogue RACE : elf WEAPON : necrotic-enchanted bow, dagger & rapier FACTION : mourn watch AGE : 170 TEMPERAMENT : melancholic ALIGNMENT : true neutral LIKES : fresh meat, stuffing dead animals with fabric, skulls, candles, books, quiet, gardens DISLIKES : being touched, being complimented, personal space being invaded, undead prejudice

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

(Un)Wanted Part 1

Read on Ao3 

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden. 

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks. 

Word Count: 11,250

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

 He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. Run. 

 The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races. 

Demon. 

Evil. 

Bad. 

Cursed. 

 The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

 Oh. 

 Oh, no. 

 No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

 It’s a fae garden. 

 It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden. 

 No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

 “Oh, and what do we have here?”

 Shit. 

 His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face. 

 Where the fuck did he come from? He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

 “See something interesting, pretty thing?”

 His gaze snaps back to the—when the fuck did he get so close��fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t exactly remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst. 

 The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many—six arms? 

 He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he can’t get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae. 

 A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to—fuck why is he so close?

 Close enough that he can feel breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk. 

 “As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and fuck, that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.”

 He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot. 

 But this? 

 He’s in way over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t do anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

 The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces. 

 “Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the audacity of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel tiny, “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

 The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He won’t. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the fuck is he supposed to do with his arms?

 “My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

 The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft. 

 “Or, oh, and now this could be very interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you flustered, have I, my dear?”

 The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and fuck that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it does. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that—fuck, his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. Fuck. 

 The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat. 

 The snake’s grin widens. 

 “Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at all,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

 No, no—

 The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight. 

 “Lovely.”

 He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers. 

 “Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you precious~”

 The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away. 

 “Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

 He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs. 

 “You look distressed, kitten—“ prey— “are you…nervous?”

 Goddamnit, he’s not gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s not. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright. 

 I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!

 “Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

 Yes. 

 “You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was I supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

 He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully rude to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

 The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat. 

 The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

 That doesn’t make it any easier!

 “Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

 Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope.

 “Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin. 

 He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even tries to move he will fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

 “That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

 Stop it, he wants to plead, let me go. he can’t. 

 “Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

 He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

 He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan. 

 He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory. 

 He sees himself. His true self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts. 

 He blinks. 

 His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

 “Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

 He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle. 

 “It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,” the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, “lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”

 The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer. 

 “Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. “Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”

 The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes. 

 “So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.” 

 The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear. 

 “Lightly, my darling.”

 He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore. 

 “So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

 Really? Back to flirting already?

 “Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you too badly.”

 Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too. 

 “But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

 The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

 Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

 “You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you must look away.”

 Do what now?

 “Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to breathe, sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

 The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest. 

 “Breathe,” says the snake. 

 He breathes. 

 “Good.” 

 So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

 The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he knows the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was. 

 That doesn’t explain this. 

 “I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

 Shit. 

 “Why don’t you just relax,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

 And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything. 

 He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy. 

 “That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I could call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

 He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes. 

 “May I have your name?”

 Nope. I know that one. 

 He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

 The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. 

 “Clever boy. Very well, V, why don’t you just take another breath.”

 V breathes. 

 “Have you caught something new for us?”

 V’s breath catches. Fuck. 

 Another one?

 Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his hands. 

 “What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

 “No, of course not,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere else.”

 They have a schedule? How many of them are there?

 “Well, good!”

 The snake huffs and the other one chuckles. 

 “So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

 Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall. 

 “Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

 No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—

 No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes. 

 “There we go…”

 The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. 

 “We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, look at this!”

 V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and shit he doesn’t want to do this again. 

 “Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

 “It’s not for me.”

 “You, doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I have to see. Move your hand.”

 No, please don’t.

 “Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter. 

 “Oh, how could you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a crime to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just look at you, pretty thing.”

 Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely not to go even brighter and not to squirm a little against the hold. 

 “Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips. 

 If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation. 

 And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise. 

 “Oh, I could stand here for ages,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

 “He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

 Not you too!

 “I think he likes your voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles. 

 “I think so too.”

 “Which one does he like more?”

 No, no, let’s not test and find out, he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can feel the snake behind him and sure he could probably grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, please—

 “I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

 “Mm.”

 “Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount. 

 “What if I were to talk like this? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

 No, no no no, that voice…despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he melts. 

 “Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle…good…”

 He can’t help it, he whines. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he knows it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it works and he hates his traitorous body for responding to it. 

 “I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

 He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck. 

 “Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

 V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

 “That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so close, “give in…”

 “Enough.”

 Thank you.

 The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from whatever the fuck is happening. 

 “Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

 “I’m not jealous.”

 “Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

 “I haven’t gone yet.”

 “You had enough time before I showed up.”

 “And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

 “Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

 “Oh please.”

 “Like you can do better?”

 No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride. 

 A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear. 

 “Darling,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening. 

 The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

 He’s too close. He’s too close and that voice like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh god—

 “Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “squee.”

 V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away. 

 “Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face. 

 “Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

 He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking bolted the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

 “We didn’t break him, did we?”

 “He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

 “Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

 “Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

 He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and fuck, he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again. 

 “Too much?”

 He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut. 

 “You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. Someone could have told me.”

 “What, me? How could I have possibly known?”

 “Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

 “Never.”

 “I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

 Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—

 “Why is he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this lovely little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

 V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing. 

 The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there. 

 The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush. 

 “Oh…oh, sweetheart…”

 The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

 Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—

 “I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

 “You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

 It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to do. 

 The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns. 

 Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it stays and it keeps happening and is—is he—

 The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

 “It’s completely fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

 “Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

 Still no. 

 “You may call me V.”

 The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every single time one of them touches him—

 “You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

 “Wow.”

 “Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

 “Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

 How many of them are there?

 He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d would show up.”

 “You know better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to tell me before you give someone else nightmares.”

 “If you would pay attention for two seconds—“

 “Oh what, like you can talk.”

 “Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything he says.”

 “Why are you here?”

 “What did you do to the mortal?”

 “Oh, shut up—“

 “Don’t tell me to shut up!”

 “Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”

 Oh fuck one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a bad noise and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—

 Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to go—

 It stops. There’s silence. 

 For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or something but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears. 

 “Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake��s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

 Is he, though?

 “Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

 He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze. 

 “It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

 The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected. 

 “I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

 He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so hard right now and he knows this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just happened and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be safe. 

 “I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

 He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so bad.

 “Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

 He can. He can, but…

 “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

 The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it? 

 “I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

 T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

 “Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

 V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so hard?

 The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

 Is…is this one kissing him too?

 “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

 For the first time since god he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so clear. 

 “Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

 He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

 “Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

 “The others…”

 “Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says. 

 Not what he meant, but that’s good, right? 

 “Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

 The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling. 

 “Nice and quiet. I would hope,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would realize why that would not have been ideal.”

 “Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks. 

 “I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again. 

Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning.

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

 Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is. 

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

 The first time one of them has asked before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms. 

 “Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the—right, the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

 Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—

 He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

 “Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

 His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

 Is Specs healing him?

 “It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

 “Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, right behind him, making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

 Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

 Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

 Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that. 

 “…that’s better,” he chooses instead. 

 “Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

 “Huh?”

 “It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

 “They didn’t blind you, did they?”

 “No.”

 He really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are. 

 “They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

 “What happened to you,” the other one—how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate—asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so tense…you need to loosen up.”

 No. No more flirting. Please, no more. 

 It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same. 

 There are hands, warm hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

 “V?”

 There’s a hand on his face. 

 “V.”

 The hand leaves his face. He whimpers. 

 “Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

 “But—!”

 “Just for a second.”

 The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him. 

 “I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

 These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of. 

 He nods. 

 “Good. Can you hear me?”

 “Yes.”

 “Can you tell me what happened?”

 “What?”

 “How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

 “I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

 “Why were they chasing you?”

 “Did they hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes. 

 He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

 This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum. 

 “Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

 “W-what’s happening?”

 “I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you/”

 Feral. Blind. Protective. 

 I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me. 

 How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to escape. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

 Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, two of them have kissed him, and one of them just went feral because of…why, exactly?

 Fuck, what kind of shit is he going to owe them after this? 

 The fae doesn’t do anything for free. Ever. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just healed him. 

 Out of the frying pan, into the fire. 

 Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him. 

 He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

 Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes. 

 Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts. 

 Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

 “That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

 “Told you.”

 The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands—warm warm warm warm so warm—starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch. 

 His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold. 

 “Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

 “It is highly unlikely.”

 “And you said it would be difficult.”

 “Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and keeping one are two different things.”

 Hold on wait what now.

 “Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is him.”

 “That’s such a flattering description.”

 “Like it’s not true!”

 Ugh, noise. 

 Wait. What’s that? 

 He jerks his head around only to wince when more light—honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him. 

 “There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

 “How many of you are there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle. 

 “About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

 “Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically see the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

 The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

 “Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

 Okay, Dad has entered the chat. 

 The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. Rude. 

 “Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

 Because three of you specifically told me not to. 

 “It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

 “He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

 He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

 He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down. 

 “Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

 “It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable. 

 “I can fix that.”

 Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks. 

 The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. he registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. his gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh. 

 He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face. 

 Actually…do they all have the same face?

 He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince has to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves. 

 Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he really kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not. 

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like…really pretty. 

So pretty that just the thought of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears. 

 Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair. 

 His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

 Third time ain’t gonna be the charm. 

 “You may call me V.”

 He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

 …sure.

 “Have you met everyone else?”

 We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right. 

 He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around. 

 “You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

 “L,” says Specs. 

 The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

 “What? No, it can!”

 “You may call me the Prince.”

 “Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

 Nailed it. 

 Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles. 

 “He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

 “Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

 “Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

 “As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

 Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

 So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?

 But where would I go?

 He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the hurt, away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they hate him, hate everything that he is. 

 And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

 None of them has hurt him. 

 It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt. 

 Hell, one of them did go feral at the thought of someone else trying to hurt him. 

 Would…would it be so bad to stay here? 

 “Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

 “It’s not our job to interfere!”

 “On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

 “Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

 “That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters. 

 “I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

 “See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that we agree on something!”

 “The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

 The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly. 

 “Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

 Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement. 

 He nods. Pat smiles patiently. 

 “You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

 “…yes.”

 “You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their own kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to know how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

 “Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

 Does he?

 Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

 Would he even get there?

 The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

 “We are not keeping him!”

 They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they can. 

 Oh. Oh, wow. 

 The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

 Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

 “Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

 “I can’t see a damn thing!”

 “Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

 “It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

 “Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

 “Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

 “Where the fuck did he get off to?”

 “Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

 “He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

 “With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

 “Hey, what’s that?”

 “What?”

 “Over there, see the light?”

 No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

 He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

 —oh. 

 Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer. 

 “Hey, hey, stop!”

 “The fuck are you on about?”

 “Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in there!”

 “Think he ran through here?”

 “Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

 Pat quirks an eyebrow. 

 “Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

 “Let’s go back. I ain’t running through there and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

 “Maybe we should thank them.”

 Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone. 

 Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down. 

 "Did they hurt you?"

 His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

 "Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

 When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again. 

 “Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they want him?

 The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug. 

 “Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed. 

 “Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand. 

 “We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

 V nods, still confused as to where this is going. 

 “When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

 A…a claim?

 “Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

 “Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

 “Oh shit.”

 “How did we miss that?”

 “We gotta go!”

 The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders. 

 “Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

 He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens. 

 “This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

 He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway. 

 “They’re so dramatic, aren’t they?”

 He turns. 

 Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand. 

 “Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we have just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

 He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what he wants. 

 Part of it is the fact that he looks like that and sounds like that and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him. 

 “There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

 “'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

 The snake laughs. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

 When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

 “Wh-why did that happen?”

 The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

 “So…”

 “When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

 “I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

 A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “almost.”

 V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting. 

 “Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

 “Enough,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 “You can open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

 “Eye contact is the actual worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters. 

 He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

 There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he really doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now. 

 “It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

 “Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

 Gatekeeper. 

 “It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

 The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

 Oh. 

 Oh. 

 “…you wanted to keep me,” he breathes. 

 The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes. 

 “Why do you look so scared?”

 Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?

 “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

 “Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

 “There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

 V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

 V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt. 

 V does it anyway. 

 “V—“

 “Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “Why?”

 The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

 “Of course it fucking matters, I don’t know what you want and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you want and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run away—“

 Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

 Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

 Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

 Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae. 

 Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae. 

 Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small. 

 It’s cold. It’s so cold. 

 Then it isn’t. 

 “Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…” 

 “W-wha—“

 “Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

 The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—

 “I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

 Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself. 

 “You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

 Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

 The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again. 

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

 “…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

 It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm. 

 “As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

 V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier. 

 The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

 He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft. 

 “What is it, darling?”

 “What,” he croaks, “do you want?”

 “You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

 He wipes away another tear. 

 “And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to stop.”

 He shifts his weight, still holding him firm. 

 “You are lost in darkness and you are so afraid, my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

 he nods. 

 “Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

 “What use is a broken mortal?”

 “Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

 “What fae makes a useless trade?”

 “What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

 “What fae gives something for free?”

 “What hurt caused this suspicion?”

 V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding. 

 “If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

 “…yes.”

 The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, just a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears. 

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe. 

 “Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs. 

 “Going feral?”

 “Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

 “I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to really enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you nothing and you’re—“

 Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud. 

 “I’m…what?”

 V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again. 

 “Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

 “…pretty.”

 The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

 “Pretty.”

 He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come. 

 “Look at me, V.”

 “Is that strictly necessary?”

 The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

 “You said that before you and the prince did…that thing.”

 “Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

 “I made that claim, this claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

 The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove. 

 “Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. I want you.”

 He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

 V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold. 

 “And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

 Shit. 

 “Oh, come on,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even trying that time.”

 “I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

 “You are adorable.”

 “Hey!”

 “You are, sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

 “No.”

 “Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

 Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him. 

 He’s safe. 

 He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him. 

 “If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

 “Probably.”

 “Then I won’t.”

 He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

 “Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

 “No…thank you.”

 His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

 Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button. 

 He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

 The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

 Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “Virgil.”

 The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening. 

 “Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

 “You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

 The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

 Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

 Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too. 

 “And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

 He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

 “I can’t help it, Virgil, you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

 “After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

 He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear. 

 “J.”

 “Hmm?”

 He tilts his head up to look at him. “J.”

 Oh. 

 Oh. 

 “…thank you, J.”

 “You’re welcome, Virgil.”

[lgbtqiahistoricalromance]

LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels w/ Ghosts, Vampires, and Other Gothic Delights!

Graveyard Sparrow by Kayla Bashe (f/f)

Katriona Sparrow, dubbed the Mad Heiress by most of London’s upper class, is the deceptively fragile ward of a foreign nobleman. She can’t stand making small talk with strangers, but she’s unparalleled when it comes to deciphering the dead. On a routine investigation, though, something goes horribly wrong, leaving Katriona catatonic in an upscale hospital and a serial killer with an artistic bent stalking London’s most vulnerable.

Enter Anthea Garlant, a young witch and academic ostracized from polite society for traveling the world without a chaperone.

She devises magical accommodations to protect Katriona from the side effects of her abilities — but as she grows more and more attached to the other woman, her professional façade begins to slip. Will they be able to stop the man who turns beautiful dead women into works of art — the man who is closer to Katriona than anyone suspects?

In The Valley of the Earth by RR Pearl (The Watchers #1) The only thing more dangerous than their chemistry…is their enemies! Mild-mannered Xenoarcheologist Dr. Alec Coimhead and his best friend, Dr. Clemy Armistead, are certain that they have just found the ancient location of an apocryphal battle between demons and angels. Whisked away on a rollicking adventure, Alec finds himself under the watchful eye of Rafe, a taciturn mountain of a man with a mysterious past.

Working with the enigmatic Praesidium, which claims to have protected humanity for generations, Alec clashes with his ethereally handsome bodyguard. As the New Watchers pursue the rambunctious pair across the globe, Alec and Rafe will have to battle ancient terrors and mythical creatures come to life. Racing to the ancient tomb of a fallen angel, Alec and Rafe may lose it all - and each other - to save the world. The Watchers: In The Valleys Of The Earth is the first book in an MM Action Adventure paranormal romance series.

Heart of Stone by Johannes T. Evans

The year is 1764, and following a glowing recommendation from his last employer, Henry Coffey, vampire, takes on a new personal secretary: young Theophilus Essex. The man is quite unlike any secretary - or any man, for that matter - that Henry has ever met. — ‘Heart of Stone’ is a slowly unfolding period romance between a vampire and his inimitably devoted clerk: lushly depicted in flowing, lovingly appended prose, we follow the slow understanding these two men grasp of one another, and the cross of their two worlds into each other’s.

Henry Coffey, immortal and ever-oscillating between periods of delighted focus upon his current passion project, is charming, witty, and seems utterly incapable of closing his mouth for more than a few moments; in contrast, Theophilus Essex is quiet and keenly focused, adopting an ever-flat affect, but as time goes on, he relaxes in his employer’s presence.

Craving resounding intimacy but with an ever aware of the polite boundaries for their situation, Coffey and Essex perform a slow dance as they grow closer to one another, and find themselves entangled.

The Strange Case of the Big Sur Benefactor by Jess Faraday (f/f and m/m)

Billiwack, California, 1884. When translator Rosetta Stein comes across her rival, Bartholomew Vincent, under attack by weird, raven-headed man-beasts behind the infamous Puckered Rosebud Gentleman’s Club, she senses opportunity. She rescues him in exchange for a crack at the commission he stole from under her nosea strangely inscribed artifact found by Big Sur bigwig George Taylor Granville in the Santa Lucia mountains. Misfortune has stalked Vincent from the moment he took on the project, and he’s only too happy to share it. In the meantime, a lady marshal has come to Billiwack, investigating rumors of strange, unlicensed weapons, and she can’t seem to decide if she’d rather kiss Rosetta or arrest her. And Vincent is suffering romantic complications of his own, in the forms of Rosetta’s charming layabout brother, and an amorous professor who won’t take God, no! for an answer.

The Harvest Moon by Joshua Ian (Darkly Enchanted Romance #1)

England, 1834. On the night of a harvest moon, in the shadows of late autumn, Malcolm comes across a quaint village tucked away in the forest. It seems the perfect spot for a weary traveller to lay his head, and maybe find a little company. But there is dark magic afoot, and lots of local gossip swirls around the seductive titian-haired weaver, Daniel. All Malcolm seeks is a night’s pleasure. He never suspected he would have to worry about losing his life. Or his heart.

The Ghost of Hillcomb Hall by Joshua Ian (Darkly Enchanted #2)

England, 1910. Landscape designer Jonas Laurence arrives at the cheerless and fog enswathed Hillcomb Hall, home to the Earl of Stanley and his family, to renovate their crumbling gardens. With a great storm crashing all around, his time is at the mercy of the house’s odd and mysterious occupants. Captivated by the hauntingly attractive portrait of Lord Stanley’s ancestor, which constantly seems to watch and taunt him, Jonas’s dreams become weird and distressing. And his waking moments are consumed by the strange stories and weird atmosphere of the manor estate. Ghostly visits in the night leave Jonas no choice but to accept his attraction to the otherworldly spirit from the painting. But is this affaire de coeur real? Or it all just a trick of the mind, a sinister game being played by the inhabitants of Hillcomb Hall?

Kinship and Kindness (Paranormal Society Romance Book One) by Kara Jorgensen (transmac MC)

Bennett Reynard needs one thing: to speak to the Rougarou about starting a union for shifters in New York City before the delegation arrives. When his dirigible finally lands in Louisiana, he finds the Rougarou is gone and in his stead is his handsome son, Theo, who seems to care for everyone but himself. Hoping he can still petition the Rougarou, Bennett stays only to find he is growing dangerously close to Theo Bisclavret.

Theo Bisclavret thought he had finally come to terms with never being able to take his father’s place as the Rougarou, but with his father stuck in England and a delegation of werewolves arriving in town, Theo’s quiet life is thrown into chaos as he and his sister take over his duties. Assuming his father’s place has salted old wounds, but when a stranger arrives offering to help, Theo knows he can’t say no, even if Mr. Reynard makes him long for things he had sworn off years ago.

As rivals arrive to challenge Theo for power and destroy the life Bennett has built, they know they must face their greatest fears or risk losing all they have fought for. With secrets threatening to topple their worlds, can Theo and Bennett let down their walls before it’s too late?

The Death Under the Dark Arches by Selina Kray (Stoker and Bash #3) Sing a song of sixpence A stage full of fright One two-faced blackbird Won’t last the night

When a phantom presence lures Hieronymus Bash into a deadly game, threatening to kill one of the players at his beloved Gaiety Theater each day until famed actor Horace Beastly returns to the stage, London’s premier consulting detective is on the case. The trouble? Horace Beastly is Hiero’s alter ego and the true object of this murderous obsession. When the current star of the show is struck down, Hiero has to risk everything by stealing back the spotlight.

After a golden summer together, DI Tim Stoker would do everything in his power to protect the man he loves. But a specter from his own past proves an unexpected, and perhaps fatal, distraction.

Scheming prima donnas, grudge-fuelled critics, and an axe-wielding theater ghost are all out for blood. Will Hiero and Tim unmask this menace before the final curtain call, or are they past the point of no return?

Secrets of Milan by Edale Lane (The Night Flyer Trilogy #2) (f/f)

Some secrets are meant to stay hidden.

While Florentina as the Night Flyer searches for a mysterious underworld organization that has attempted to murder the woman she loves, Maddie struggles to deal with the danger Florentina is courting. Her brother, Alessandro, has become the most prominent merchant of Milan, but the Night Flyer uncovers a secret so shocking it could destroy them all.

Secrets of Milan is the second book in Edale Lane’s Night Flyer Trilogy, a tale of power, passion, and payback in Renaissance Italy.

The Gentleman Attraction: a short victorian mm paranormal romance by Connor Peterson

Emerson Mallory never mixes business and pleasure. His eyes might wander but he certainly wouldn’t risk his professional reputation over a tryst. Not even for a silver-haired scoundrel who clearly knows his way around a bedroom and makes his heart race with just one look.

When a flirtatious train ride turns into a weekend in close quarters, Bennet Clarke doesn’t agree that it would be best to leave their attraction at the door. He gave up worrying about human sensibilities the night he became a vampire centuries ago, and right now he wants more than one taste of Emerson’s charm and unnerving ability to see past his cavalier masks.

Their host has a few secrets of their own and a madcap plan that requires Emerson to enlist Bennet’s help. When the inevitable happens, Emerson begins to think that maybe Bennet’s way of looking at things isn’t so bad. Bennet, however, is faced with a dilemma. Keep up the ruse, or confess that Emerson has no idea who he’s gotten involved with.

Amidst the flurry of activity surrounding their host, the two men will have to keep their affair secret, plan a successful party, and decide if forever is too much to ask.

The Faerie Hounds of York by Arden Powell

England, 1810. The north is governed by a single rule. Faerie will take as it pleases.

William Loxley is cursed. A pale and monstrous creature haunts his dreams, luring him from London to the desolate, grey landscape of his forgotten childhood. There, it will use him to open a door to Faerie—a fate that will trap Loxley in that glittering, heathen otherworld forever.

His only hope of escaping the creature’s grasp lies with John Thorncress, a dark and windswept stranger met on the moors. The longer Loxley stays in Thorncress’ company, the harder it becomes to fight his attraction to the man. Such attraction can only end in heartbreak—or the noose.

But Thorncress has his own bleak ties to Faerie. They come creeping in with the frost, their howls carrying on the winter wind. If Thorncress’ past catches up with him before they can break the curse, then Loxley will not only lose his soul. He’ll lose Thorncress, too.

Best Laid Plaids by Ella Stainton (Kilty Pleasures #1) 

Scotland, 1928 Dr. Ainsley Graham is cultivating a reputation as an eccentric. Two years ago, he catastrophically ended his academic career by publicly claiming to talk to ghosts. When Joachim Cockburn, a WWI veteran studying the power of delusional thinking, arrives at his door, Ainsley quickly catalogues him as yet another tiresome Englishman determined to mock his life’s work. But Joachim is tenacious and openhearted, and Ainsley’s intrigued despite himself. He agrees to motor his handsome new friend around to Scotland’s most unmistakable hauntings. If he can convince Joachim, Ainsley might be able to win back his good name and then some. He knows he’s not crazy—he just needs someone else to know it, too.

Joachim is one thesis away from realizing his dream of becoming a psychology professor, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, not even an enchanting ginger with a penchant for tartan and lewd jokes. But as the two travel across Scotland’s lovely—and definitely, definitely haunted—landscape, Joachim’s resolve starts to melt. And he’s beginning to think that an empty teaching post without the charming Dr. Graham would make a very poor consolation prize indeed…

Where There’s a Kilt, There’s a Way by Ella Stainton (Kilty Pleasures #2)

Sweden, 1930 Two years ago, Dr. Ainsley Graham proved the existence of ghosts, and fell in love–hard to top that. But a trip to Sweden to research at a prestigious University for the summer is nothing to sneeze at, especially since his partner, psychologist Joachim Cockburn, will be teaching alongside him. A change of scenery might be just the thing.

Their idyllic trip to Sweden is interrupted by a ghost with a proclivity for rude hand gestures and graphic curse words–and a ghastly history begging to be investigated. Life among the living is complicated, too, by a gruff professor who can’t take his eyes off Ainsley, and an enticing new job offer for Joachim. What starts as an adventurous trip abroad turns into mayhem, murder, and…a magical moose? And everyone–well, perhaps not the moose–is a suspect in the death of the ghostly young man who brings them

together to expose secrets, loves lost, and a crime that will shock them all. The Harp and the Sea by Lou Sylvre and Anne Barwell (Magic in the Isles #1) In 1605, Robbie Elliot—a Reiver and musician from the Scottish borders—nearly went to the gallows. The Witch of the Hermitage saved him with a ruse, but weeks later, she cursed him to an ethereal existence in the sea. He has seven chances to come alive, come ashore, and find true love. For over a century, Robbie’s been lost to that magic; six times love has failed. When he washes ashore on the Isle of Skye in 1745, he’s arrived at his last chance at love, his last chance at life.

Highland warrior Ian MacDonald came to Skye for loyalty and rebellion. He’s lost once at love, and stands as an outsider in his own clan. When Ian’s uncle and laird sends him to lonely Skye to hide and protect treasure meant for Bonnie Prince Charlie’s coffers, he resigns himself to a solitary life—his only companion the eternal sea. Lonely doldrums transform into romance and mystery when the tide brings beautiful Robbie Elliot and his broken harp ashore.

A curse dogs them, enemies hunt them, and war looms over their lives. Robbie and Ian will fight with love, will, and the sword. But without the help of magic and ancient gods, will it be enough to win them a future together?

Starcrossed by Allie Therin (Magic in Manhattan #2)

When everything they’ve built is threatened, only their bond remains… 1925 New York

Psychometric Rory Brodigan’s life hasn’t been the same since the day he met Arthur Kenzie. Arthur’s continued quest to contain supernatural relics that pose a threat to the world has captured Rory’s imagination—and his heart. But Arthur’s upper-class upbringing still leaves Rory worried that he’ll never measure up, especially when Arthur’s aristocratic ex arrives in New York. For Arthur, there’s only Rory. But keeping the man he’s fallen for safe is another matter altogether. When a group of ruthless paranormals throw the city into chaos, the two men’s strained relationship leaves Rory vulnerable to a monster from Arthur’s past.

With dark forces determined to tear them apart, Rory and Arthur will have to draw on every last bit of magic up their sleeves. And in the end, it’s the connection they’ve formed without magic that will be tested like never before.

Automata by Hayden Thorne (Curiosities #2)

A disastrous incident at a ball in St. Jude threatens to undo Alexej Sauveterre, and his protective adoptive family whisk him off to San Marco, a mythical and romantic city in the water. Born sickly, young Alexej has grown up resigned to the fact that only his family’s immense wealth makes him barely palatable to other gentlemen seeking partners.

The family’s sojourn in San Marco at first promises a much-needed distraction to Alexej when his older brother introduces him to an aristocratic inventor of automata as well as an old school friend who now tours the European continent as a classical pianist. Baseless hope and heartbreak, however, seem to follow Alexej everywhere.

Alexej’s fascination for automata and his hopeless infatuation with Briant Cousineau draw the attention of an entity from the otherworld, one that’s been wandering the globe for unwary souls to claim through cursed wishes. San Marco’s winged lion summons the city’s supernatural guardians in answer, and in the midst of glittering balls, magical clockwork puppets, and lonely dreams, a terrifying fight for Alexej’s soul darkens the streets of a fading city.

Extensive List from 2018 Even more for 2019

[xxanimecoolgirlxx]

More Idyllic Majestistrum Academy stuff because vibes also I’m bored

Also dark content is ahead, nothing explicit but there are implications so watch out!

Tales from the Headmaster:

Cautionary tales are told amongst the princesses of the academy against certain actions in fear of harsh punishment.

But often times there are tales that intentionally leave out information or events that happened or twist them into something that they’re not. For better or for worse, some information is left unheard and unwritten.

The tale of Princess Rosalind Charlotta of Hecatrane is a prime example of this.

If someone asked the students of IMA or anyone who is wise to such tales, they would be told the story of a haughty princess who had broken the rules imposed by the school, trifling with the male fae of the enchants woods and as punishment, the headmaster had her hands cut off, replacing them with glass ones. For then on, the girl had to hide her shame by wearing gloves, making sure to never been seen without to avoid her secret being revealed. The glass hands were also said to crack or shift whenever she even had the intention of disobeying the rules, a constant reminder of what the consequences were for her disobeying the first time.

However, that story is indeed mostly false, purposely so. For the true story, had it been revealed back then , would’ve ruined the poor girl.

It is true that the headmaster did catch Rosalind outside of the academy, but not for the same circumstances. He had been searching for her, as he had not seen her that morning for the breakfast banquet in mandatory attendance. He wasn’t especially concerned of her sneaking out, but something in him told him that day to check the outskirts of the woods.

And he was thankful that he did.

That’s where he found her, unconscious, soaking wet from the rainstorm of that morning and bruised nearly black and blue. Although she was bleeding from multiple areas, the most prominent were her hands once were, covering the green grass below her in a pool of crimson.

He brought her back inside through a hidden passageway back into his office where he had the maids wash her and tend to her wounds. By what the headmaid had reported, some were superficial, some would’ve had her bleed out had he not found her when he did. He was merely grateful that she was still alive, she had been cold to the touch, her breaths shallow and he barely could sense a heartbeat.

When Rosalind was well enough to give her account, she told him of how she had been tricked and seduced by the fae, manipulating and twisting her mind to come to the woods with them every night to do whatever it is their sadistic minds could think. But last night, they had planned on going too far , that and combined with a few words of much disrespect, earned their ire and their rage.

She had barely made it out of the forest with her life, having blacked out from exhaustion, but the fae had made sure that they had maimed for her life, to leave a permanent reminder of what they had done to her.

The Headmaster listened to her story and stayed quiet for a moment before going to the back of his office for something. He made Rosalind promise that she would not tell what would happen next. Rosalind obliged.

He came back with a pair of glass hands moments later and attached them to the girls wrists. To her surprise, they moved and almost felt just like her actual hands. She knew the only way this was possible was through magic, magic that was definitely prohibited throughout the land. The headmaster explained how the enchantment on her new hands worked. Anytime she may find herself in a potentially dangerous situation, it would let out a small crack as a warning. If she could keep herself safe for 3 years, making sure nobody knew of the glass hands, they would transform into real hands as if they had never been chopped off.

Rosalind asked the headmaster who exactly he was, to possess such magical talent.

The headmaster told her enough about his true nature to quench her curiosity.

And thus, they kept each other’s secrets, Rosalind out of gratitude and duty and The Headmaster out of professionalism and to protect her dignity amongst both her peers and her kingdom. He knew any scandal that came for him wouldn’t truly affect him, wether it be from his many powerful connections or simply time making the entire situation fade away.

He knew that Rosalind wouldn’t be able to withstand the rumors should this come out. They would destroy her, the brutality she would face would crumble her high position and have her come out disgraced and ostracized if she was lucky. So he kept what happened there a secret, excusing her absence as a simple case of a student wandering the school grounds.

And so things were peaceful once again. Of course he made sure the security on the school was increased. He made a trap to lure in the fae to thinking they had a new victim. They then founds themselves making an.. arrangement of sorts. A equivalent exchange.

They took Rosalind’s hands, so the Headmaster took their heads.

But that peace came to an end when Rosalind came to his office in private in tears with maid he had assigned to her in tow. Rosalind tried to speak but couldn’t through sobs, so the maid spoke for her.

Rosalind was heavy with child, the fae’s child.

The headmaster would be lying if he said he didn’t slightly freeze at that statement. Sure in retrospect, he should’ve seen this possibility happening. He quickly gained his composure before anyone could point this moment of wavering worry.

He comforted the princess as best he could, assuring her that everything would be taken care of, that no, her life as she knew it wasn’t over.

He had it arranged for her to be sent to a remote home in the country for the next year. He made sure to disguise this as an special course that would require someone to travel far off. The only ones who knew about this were the maids he sent with Rosalind and Rosalind’s most trusted friend, another princess, who begged to go with Rosalind to the cottage.

Those nine months came and went and when Rosalind returned, she acted as though nothing had ever happened, which was very much alright the headmaster, he didn’t ask too much about it. He was already informed by the maids that had came back with the princess about the events that had happened. After the delivery of the half fae child, they had left the newborn at the doorstep of a commoner family in hopes they’d take it in. The headmaster could only hope that it was the case,

Time came and went, a new generation of students came and as new rumors came about, old ones gained new fame. Some began talking of a former student who supposedly had glass hands, that she had her hands chopped off as punishment for sneaking out. It caused a wave of fear to take over the student body, and fewer and fewer people considered sneaking out at night.

When these rumors eventually made it back to the headmaster. He did nothing to calm them, in fact, it would only be the beginning of the multitude of cautionary tales he would indirectly spread of the dangers of the outside woods amongst other things.

Cautionary tales are told amongst the students of the academy, warning them against certain actions, lest they end up becoming one themselves.

[ssilmath]

Tieflings

Last night I was asked what sort of situation could lead to the birth of Tieflings, without something squicky like rape or willingly sleeping with devils.

Well, imagine…

You wake up in a cell, the same one you’ve been in for months.  Green glowing mushrooms provide the only illumination and your tentacle faced captors keep you alive by feeding you that same fungus.  One by one your companions have been taken, their echoing cries of anguish hinting at the painful end that awaits you.  And you are all that remain, your other cell mate having perished in the night.  But as you grip the bars in yet another futile attempt to escape you hear a voice in your ear.

“Do you want out?”  This voice is deep and smooth with a calm you haven’t heard in weeks.  You turn, and there stands your previously dead cellmate.  His skin has become incredibly pale, but his eyes are pools of blackness.  He glances out towards the deeper chambers, where your captors come from, then extends a hand.  “They are coming for you soon, so act quickly.  I can take you from this place, back to safety.  You have only to agree to bear my seed in your veins, and take my hand.”

There is little hesitation.  Months of sleep deprivation, torment and bland food has eroded your will and the imminent threat of agonizing death spurs you forward before you even consider the implications.  As your hand takes his you can feel the cold of a thousand winters seize your body and mind, and then your vision fills with a blur of blizzards, caverns of ice and a billion lost souls toiling for eternity.  But you know that is not your fate, as that deep and calm voice soothes your panic.

With one final lurch that feels like diving into a lake of ice, you find yourself in the sun once more.  You are sitting next to a barn, a bewildered cat staring at you and meowing in curiosity.  You recognize this barn.  You grew up less than a league away, and often played with the other children in the field nearby.  Though you haven’t been here for years, your old friends recognize you and wonder how you arrived and why you look so haggard and thin.  You tell them that you prayed harder than you ever had before, and a divine being rescued you.  Nobody you know ever learns the truth.

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Your Great-Granddaughter is the first to show the signs of the infernal.  On her third birthday, small horns begin to grow from her forehead.  Unable to disown their child, her parents hide the horns beneath bows and hats and continue to love her as good parents.  The tail on her ninth birthday is a bit harder to hide,but creative use of fashion can take care of that.  Her feet turning to hooves and her skin fading to pale blue the night of her sixteenth are the final change, and prove impossible to hide.  The townsfolk are wary of her, but she is beloved enough that they only request her exile.  So away to the nearest large city she goes, where the people are more accepting of those touched by the supernatural.

It is in Adlisburg that she meets Korivahn the Ancient, a wizard of high standing and peerless knowledge.  After a few years as a barmaid, she had found herself possessed of some small talent with weaving spells and cantrips.  Korivahn caught wind of a young, untapped talent and sought her out immediately.  It takes another decade of practice under his stern tutelage, but she is able to learn the secrets of Transmutation and Evocation.  Another two decades of adventuring, and the is recognized as an Archmage.  Another century, and she has herself taken on the title of The Ancient.

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A Great-Great-Grandson down another branch is not so lucky in his life.  He is born with skin the color fresh blood, and is thought to be have been born with an unlucky mark.  His family is ostracized in their community, always the victims of vicious gossip and poor treatment.  When his curved hooves and cloven horns developed on his tenth birthday, his mother beat him bloody in fear and anger at what he was becoming.  The physical abuse eventually subsided as his body grew into a broad shouldered young man, but he was always reminded that his family suffered because of his strangeness.

That changed the day a local gang of boys decided to take out their aggressions on him.  He was used to defending himself, but that day there were too many.  As his defenses and willpower crumbled, a spark of anger welled up inside of him.  With a shouted word in a language he had never spoken, but intimately knew, the upraised arm the gangs leader burst into flame.  As the boys bellowed in panic, the Great-Great-Grandson ran into the nearby forest.  This was his retreat, a place to recover from his torment and restore his soul.  The animals were wary, but they did not flee if he did not move towards them aggressively.

This day though, something strange happened.  A skunk approached him without fear or hesitation.  As he crouched and reached out a shaking hand in greeting, it spoke to him.  She named herself Selias, Arch-Druid of this wood, and told him that she had watched him for all of his years of torment.  Though it was not usual for her to approach those in their teenage years, his plight had moved her and the other Watchers of the forest to offer him solace and escape.

Unsure if his tears were of relief, happiness or raw desperation, he accepted the Arch-Druid’s offer and allowed himself to be lead deeper into the woods.  He learned the ancient rites of the Watchers and found his broad frame ideal of taking the fight to those who would desecrate his home.  He learned to cover his red skin when patrolling, only to reveal his Infernal heritage to frighten away miscreants and poachers.  When Shallarku the Black descended upon the land in rage and hatred, Selias and her Ranger were among those who fell defending the innocent.

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Finally there was Ketliss.  She was a Great-Great-Grandchild as well, though she never knew of her other family.  When her skin turned a deep maroon upon her fifth birthday, her parents fled the mob that assembled to purge their city of those tainted by a Devil.  Her parents and sister died during the voyage away from their country, lost when a mighty storm swamped the ship and claimed half the crew.  Ketliss knew only hardship after that, sold to a local leatherworker to pay for the cost of her voyage.

Her hooves, horns and tail all appeared on her fifteenth birthday.  Her master had been somewhat kind, but the port they lived in restricted slavery to ten years of service and he was not legally allowed to hire her.  She worked what jobs she could, even as the Infernal blood within her worked to the favor of her appearance.  Soon she found that she could provide companionship to sailors for money, and made a name for herself as the Ruby of Granite Bay.  But her work could not fill the void in her soul, a whisper in her mind that she was destined for something far greater.

The catalyst came at the hands of a drunk and particularly rough John.  Unwilling to service him further, she found herself threatened with violence and defilement.  Luring him in with a meek nod of consent, she instead opened his throat with a blade she had not known she possessed before.  The curved sword dripped with the lifeblood of her assailant, but she did not stay to marvel at the happenstance.  Instead, she gathered her belongings and fled into the night.

She did not know where she was going, yet knew she was headed in the right direction.  For hours she journeyed in the dark, the sword in her hand gently pressuring her to the left or right where she needed to turn.  As the ancient castle loomed into view, the ache in her soul grew almost unbearable.  Ketliss did not hesitate for a moment, striding up the crumbling stairs and through the ruined gates to her destiny.

In the courtyard stood a pedestal, encased in a block of ice.  She had heard local adventurers speak of this place, and of the unmeltable ice that had remained in place for generations.  The ice retreated into nothingness as she approached, not melting so much as simply ceasing to be.  All that remained was a suit of armor, steel grey scales glinting in the moonlight.  It fit her perfectly, as if a smith had labored long to produce an armor that would both accentuate and safeguard her beauty.

The helmet likewise fit perfectly, with slots for her curled horns to into and a visor shaped in her likeness.  As she left the ancient palace, she noticed a stranger standing by the gates.  He had horns and hooves like her, though his skin was pale as ice and his hair black instead of blonde.  He held out a hand, and spoke with a deep, smooth and calm voice.

“Ketliss.  I’ve waited so long to meet you.  We have great and mighty things to do.”

[theblondeintheoffice]

October 2020 Reading Wrap Up

If you’d like to visit the actual blog, here’s the link: http://theblondeintheoffice.com/2020/12/05/october-2020-wrap-up/

If you’d rather stay on Tumblr, I totally get that, too. Here’s the post:

Another month in the books, and we are well on our way to longer nights and cooler days. Here in Florida, it'll still be in the 80's well into December. I can't remember a holiday season in at least a decade where we haven't had the air conditioning on full blast. I've always wanted to wear one of those cute Snow Princess costumes - the cute velvet ones with the faux fur collars and cuffs - for Halloween, but it's just never been in the cards here.

In October, I didn't have a set TBR. My goal was to make up for my lack of spooky books in September. I really wanted to get into the Halloween spirit with some ghost stories or a creepy murder mystery. But not too scary because I'm the worlds biggest wuss. I did better - but I didn't quite get there. It wasn't for lack of trying - I went through my whole TBR and scoured Booktube to try to find some creepy-but-not-so-scary-I-wouldn't-sleep books. They just don't exist! I don't like scary. I don't like being scared. And you know what - there's nothing wrong with that.

So I'm sure by now you're ready to know what I actually did read. Well, without further ado . . . and remember that if you use the link in the paragraph, I get a few cents from your purchase through the Amazon affiliate program to help keep the blog going.

The first book I chose this month was The Haunting of H.G. Wells by Robert Masello. H.G. Wells, for anyone who doesn't know, was a prolific sci-fi writer in the late 19th century. In The Haunting of H.G. Wells, we see H.G. travel to front lines of the war to report and boost public morale. When H.G. gets separated from his unit and ends up in a mustard gas attack, he begins seeing things he can't explain. These apparitions start telling him that the war isn't just being fought on the frontlines - that there is a dangerous and deadly plot afoot in the heart of London. Can H.G. and his companion (yes, that kind) Rebecca West stop this plot?

This was a three star read for me. It's  October appropriate because what's more spooky than ghost soldiers? Besides little kid ghosts . . . eesh. No. The Kindle version comes in at around 393 pages, and it's a fast paced romp through a war torn London in the early 20th century. It draws on well-known myths and lore and uses magical realism and other prominent characters from the time period to weave a tale of intrigue. The main antagonist is written well enough that you are honestly scared of him in a few scenes. The rest of the characters are a bit of a wash. Masello was definitely focused on making the book about H.G. Wells, and darn the fact that he has to write all these other characters, too.

Pick up your copy [ here ]

The second book I read in October was Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo. Leigh Bardugo is better known for her Grisha series, which I haven't read yet. Ninth House is not part of this series. It looks like it might be part of its own series and I am HERE FOR THIS.

Ninth House tells the story of Alex Stern, a girl with a tragic past and a dark secret who is recruited to attend Yale by the Dean of the college after she survives a gruesome attack on her and her roommates. The college has nine houses. Eight are devoted to magick and the mystical arts. The ninth, called Lethe, is devoted to policing the other eight houses and making sure that they don't let anything out - or in. Alex is especially suited to this task because ever since she was a little girl, she's been able to see ghosts. When her trainer goes missing and a townie gets murdered on campus, she has to rely on this gift to solve both crimes, against the advice of Lethe house and in a wild race with time and the next moon cycle.

What a perfect book for October - a murder mystery about Yale in the fall! I was going to rate this one three stars - I was entertained but the story wasn't exactly life changing. In 476 Kindle pages, it didn't break my heart or leave me crying in my kitchen floor. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized it deserves four stars. It's an original story, Alex was relatable to me (she's not to a lot of people but we aren't going to have that conversation today), and I couldn't put it down. I spent 2 hours sitting on a freezing cold beach with a biting wind blowing because I didn't want to put the book down to pack up and go back to the Airbnb. The ending wasn't exactly happy and there was no stupid romance shoved into the story just to be there. Are some things a stretch? Yes. I'm not saying it's a perfect story but I had so much fun reading it! If there is more to the Alex Stern series, I'll probably buy the ebook the day it comes out.

Grab your copy [ here ]

After reading Ninth House, I needed something a little lighter. The Wicked Deep by Shea Ernshaw fit the bill. This was a total cover buy for me. I found it at one of my local used book stores. The wording and design on the cover are iridescent and it was sitting on its shelf shimmering when I decided it needed to come home with me.

The Wicked Deep tells the story of Sparrow, Oregon where three sisters were drowned as witches in the harbor of the little town. Ever since, for a short time each summer they return and steal the bodies of three girls with the aim of luring at least three more boys to their death in the deep, cold water. Penny Talbot has lived in Sparrow all her life and has watched the cycle play out for as long as she can remember. This year, Penny has something to lose. A new boy has just driven into town, and he has no idea what he just walked into.

This was another three star for me, albeit a low three. It was wonderfully YA tropey and was such a perfect read for October, even though it's set in summer. It was a quick, light read coming in at 320 Kindle pages. The author really made you feel for the sisters. To be murdered so violently for a crime they didn't even commit - well, I would absolutely come back and wreak havoc if I could. The ending left a lot to be desired, though, and the twist in the middle was so halfhearted that when it was revealed I just shrugged and kept reading. Overall, it's an easy read if you need a palate cleaner between heavy books and you don't feel like reading Harry Potter again.

Pick up your copy [ here ]

My closer for October is a book that you have no doubt seen on many a BookTube, Bookstagram, Bookblr, and book blog. It's majorly hyped for being a story of a black witch in a Salem-esque town with a religious hierarchy that recalls tales of Mormon polygamy and cult like devotion. It was also supposed to be scary as hell. What better book to read to close out October and celebrate Halloween with?!

The Year of the Witching by Alexis Henderson is about an orphan girl named Immanuelle who lives with her grandparents and cousins in a town called Bethel. After the tragic deaths of her mother and father before she was born, Immanuelle tries hard - very hard - to follow the teachings of the church and to worship the Father. Inside, though, Immanuelle knows that she's different. For starters, she can hear the Darkwood that surrounds Bethel calling her by name and beckoning her inside, which is strictly forbidden by the church. One night on her way home from the market, her ram runs into the forest. Immanuelle has no choice but to follow. In doing so, she starts a chain events that will change the town - and her - forever.

I really wanted to love this book. I wanted it to be a five star read. Witches and religous cults and a creepy forest - it's the perfect recipe to give you chills and enrage you all at the same time. That's not what I got from this one. It was a great concept - a young black witch going to war with a religious sect. I even got excited again writing the blurb up there! The writing fell flat for me. Immanuelle was a great character. Her pain, her conflict, her ostracization just for looking different made her complex and beautiful. The story didn't do her justice.

Ultimately, I gave this one three stars. I finished, I was entertained, and towards the end of the book I didn't want to put it down. According to Goodreads, I devoured all 363 Kindle pages in 4 days. Read it - really, I insist.

Buy it [ here ] 

So to recap, I ended up with a historical fiction ghost story, an Ivy league murder mystery, a revenge story including possession, and a historical fiction about a witch. That is as scary as I would like to read, thankyouverymuch!

What did you read in October or how did you celebrate Halloween with social distancing?

[rouilleandcompany]

Rouille Agam Rochi

“Existence is not a silly toy, to be picked up and discarded at will. Existence must be preserved, and only undeath can preserve it.”

(Profile by H. A. Wainio, @featherycats on Tumblr. Check them out, their work is excellent!)

Undeath has not greatly improved Rouille’s mood. Distrustful, blunt, and withdrawn, Rouille is quick to make enemies and lose friends. However, she changes into almost an entirely different creature around her animals and her few allies. Fiercely loyal, protective, and loving, she is quick to their defense and support.

Family History: Rouille knows virtually nothing of her family. She was left at the Stormwind orphanage by her mother as an infant. A half-orc child abandoned in year 13, readers are welcome to hypothesize about the circumstances surrounding her birth as they will.

Early Life: Stormwind in the 10’s & early 20’s was not a comfortable place for a half-orc child. Although Rouille was grudgingly allowed to live outside of the internment camps, it was made clear that her kind was not welcome among the humans. At best, she was ignored; at worst, she was mocked, harassed, and threatened.

Because Rouille was ostracized by the humans, she surrounded herself with new friends—namely, animals and books. At a young age, Rouille realized that creatures didn’t care about the color of her skin or the point of her ears. She had learned to monitor peoples’ emotions carefully, to keep herself safe in a dangerous environment. She translated these skills into animal-training, carefully observing the animals to understand what they were thinking and what they needed. She learned to work within the needs and wants of the animals to gain their trust and turn them into allies. While she started with domesticated animals, she quickly specialized in rats.

Rouille also learned to read as a child, and as a result she spent a substantial amount of time sneaking into the Stormwind libraries, reading while her rats scurried around her. Here, she stumbled across books detailing the rise of the Forsaken. While the books spoke of the undead with disgust, Rouille was fascinated by the idea of an immortal race where human weaknesses, such as sleep and pain and irrational emotions, were cleansed. She dreamt of a space where differences in life, such as race and class, would be equalized in one grand community. While the idea frightened the child, she spent hours memorizing the Forsaken language. She also trained her body physically, focusing on archery. One way or another, she assured herself that she would become someone important when she was an adult.

When Rouille was 16, a group of fellow orphans lured her outside of the orphanage to play. Rouille was excited to finally be accepted by her peers, and joyfully followed them out. However, when she returned, she discovered that two of the meaner boys her age had slaughtered her rats while they were alone.

This experience changed everything for Rouille. She decided then that she could never expect to truly be accepted by the humans, and that attempting to live among them would only put herself and the creatures she cared about at risk. She grew extremely cold and isolated, only spending her time training in fighting and Forsaken. She decided that there was only one way to even possibly find acceptance, and that was to start over in unlife.

On her 18th birthday, when she was officially an adult and free of the orphanage, Rouille made her decision. After stealing enough bread for just one night, she lured the same boys who killed her rats into the forest and killed them as revenge for her rats. As she was now a fugitive, she had sealed her fate.

Still covered in blood from the murder, Rouille fled to Duskwood, where she happened upon a group of Forsaken that she convinced to kill her and bring her before the Val’kyr to be raised. Raising was more traumatic for Rouille than she expected, and it left her with scars on her face where she tried to claw off her own skin. However, undeath did give her the second chance she dreamed of. She wandered for a time, to re-learn her old body, where she happened upon a bear cub that was being used by the Forsaken as a spider hatchery. She rescued the cub, and began training it as an ally.

Recent History (RPed in-game): Rouille had a long tenure as the Blight General of the Royal Apothecary Society. Here, she feuded with virtually every Grand Apothecary, until she was eventually forced out by Grand Apothecary Seenwood. This is also where she was gifted her current mount, the Tallstrider Might, by Grand Apothecary Eralos.

During a brief sabbatical from the Royal Apothecary Society, Rouille studied a family of rats closely. She has since taken five of those rats as her pets—or, as Rouille would call them, allies. She removed her heart to keep them especially safe, allowing the rats to live in her chest.

Rouille travelled to Highmountain to battle the Legion, where she was taken captive by Legion slavers. There, she was given her last name by a Tauren family captured with her—Agam Rochi translates to “Beast Mother”—before she was rescued and eventually destroyed the slaving operation with a group of old friends.

Known Associates: The Wolfmane Tribe, with whom she has a tentative friendship; J. Lucien Felswift, Morferius Agamand, Valinette Verlorian, Brodsky Redplague, Helskorn, Phaedra, Anneis, and Inkoka, her associates from Royal Apothecary Society

Art: https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/162748753840/the-other-wonderful-piece-of-pet-art-i-got-done

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/163001983700/yall-look-at-this-photoshop-that-my-guildie-cjorg

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/163053934670/attractive-zombies-a-bunch-of-requests-i-did

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/163568890170/andyetanotherartblog-commission-for-rouille-who

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/163698692910/belly-goat-present-for-our-deader-friend-rouille

https://rouilledraws.tumblr.com/post/168908029898/and-here-we-have-rouille-demonstrating-the-one

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/169630527325/rouilledraws-not-my-standard-art-project-but-an

Stories & Writing: https://rouillewra.tumblr.com/post/162730446745/rouille-death

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/168840718865/rouille-raising

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/168840896045/when-discussing-the-plague-many-of-us-are

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/162730610490/this-poem-is-supposed-to-be-by-rouille-to-put

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/163527295515/jlucienfelswift-originally-posted-on-march-15

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/167807095895/in-retrospect-a-tauren-occupied-mountain-was-not

https://rouilleandcompany.tumblr.com/post/169855316565/the-great-titan-lit-the-entirety-of-azeroth-his

Basic Information

Age: Undead, died at 18

Hair Color: Dark brown

Eye Color: Yellow

Skin Color: Green—has a green tint from before death

Physical Features: Has the square jaw and pointed ears of a half-orc. Her cheeks include scars from when she scratched at her own face.

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 150lbs

Place of residence: Nomadic

Place of Birth: Presumably, Stormwind

Romantic Interests: N/A

Religion/Philosophy: Has very strong moral beliefs surrounding life, but no set religion

Occupation: No clear employer. Working more as a traveler/adventurer

Weapons of choice: Bow

Hobbies: Animal training, reading, anatomy research

Special Abilities: Highly skilled at communicating with animals

Positive Personality Traits: Loyal, intelligent, driven, and powerful

Negative Personality Traits: Distrustful to the point of paranoid. Racist against the living. Blunt and often dismissive.

Misc. Quirks: Has a surprising appreciation for the Tauren and their culture

Favorite Food: (In life) Moonberry Juice

Favorite Drink: (In life) Roasted potatoes

Favorite Spot: Hunting in the Arathi Highlands or Mulgore with her creatures

Favorite Animal: Rats

Least Favorite Food: (In life) Crackers

Least Favorite Drink: (In life) Green tea

Least Favorite Spot: Stormwind

Least Favorite Animal: Spiders

RP Class: Hunter

[helafontrecs]

Journal of Sivart Samoth the Immortal Hammer Colony Assessment Tour Day 038 We are 2 days out from the Alpha Sierra colony & i am still haunted by the smell of Ifri. I pleaded w/ her to join us back in continuum city ( i even offered her a good position in the immortal army ), but she was far too engrossed in her royal guard training to even give the prospect any real consideration. The king is his normal oblivious self today ( literally whistling while walking ) while i am torn inside. It is getting late & we are unsure where to make camp. I suggest that we ascend into the olympian mountain range, but the king ( always the overachiever ) said he heard news of a small rogue colony in a nearby bayou named boogi & wanted to go break bread w/ the inhabitants. It is a slightly longer trek & considerably more unpredictable, but i acquiesce to my liege. As the sun set we came upon the edge of the forest line where we found a surprisingly well maintained trail penetrating the thick vegetation. As we traveled down the path the surrounding flora gained an eerie quality that made me increasingly more uneasy as we proceeded, the king seemed unaffected. At the end of the path we found a town that was quite a bit larger than what we had been expecting ( there were probably at least 20+ structures radiating from a central water source ). Just as i began stating that I had a bad feeling about this place we were greeted by a man who gruffly introduced himself as CHIEF! He explained that him & a couple of the other founders of the town had been somewhat ostracized back in olympia & felt a pull to explore further lands, in time they set out on their own & were eventually all drawn to boogi. When CHIEF learned of the kings stature, he was eager to have him survey their land. Being an outlaw, I felt he might have reason to fear us, but he seemed quite interested in becoming part of the continuum kingdom. After the 2 finished talking CHIEF rustled us up a place to stay for the night & we parted ways. Colony Assessment Tour Day 039 A lot has transpired since yesterday. It all started last night after we turned in. The king easily slipped into slumber once inside our temporary lodgings, but i stirred. The bayou was terribly hot & i could not shake thoughts of ifri from my mindspace, so i decided to go out for a walk around the bayou. The scene appeared serene, but an odd presence hung in the thick air. I walked the perimeter of the water taking in the ramshackle houses cast in the shadows of the night. The little moonlight that escaped through the branches that covered almost the entirety of the towns ceiling crept across the ground in unusual ways that seemed impossible within the rules of our world.

After i had almost completed my loop around the jagged circlet of water i saw a faint glow coming from a nearby dock. I slowed my pace & crept quietly to obtain a closer look. I ducked behind a nearby brush patch & peeped a bizarre scene through the reeds. It was CHIEF struggling w/ a peculiar large headed young man. The glow appeared to be emanating from the young man ( most notably his eyes ) which seemed to project light like miniature spotlights. The young man was bound & gagged, he was struggling & noticeably petrified. His fear intensified as CHIEF began dragging him towards the water. Believing that this poor boys life was in danger i rushed out to intercede, but when i attempted to tackle CHIEF i passed through him like he was a specter, leaving me to watch helplessly as he flung the boy into the water, the glowing body sinking helplessly to the bottom until there was only a faint glow deep in the water. Horrified i turned to run & alert the town, but when i did, the glowing eyed young man was now standing face to face w/ me. His eyes were mesmerizing... The next thing i knew i was back in my bed. The kings bed was already made, but his pack was now sitting on top of it. I quickly dressed & began searching for him. I followed the smell of cooking food to a building w/ a small dining hall in it, I spotted the king breaking his fast w/ CHIEF & some of the other founders. I rushed up to him & murmured something about classified kingdom business & whisked him away. Once outside I blurted out all the things I had witnessed last night. A lot of people would have been skeptical of my tale, but the king & I had a trust that I’ve never experienced w/ any other being on this planet. He instantly recognized the strange predicament we were in, we knew no one in this town except our potential murderer & something very sinister was transpiring. Being honorable men of the highest order we could not turn a blind eye.

The king went back inside in an attempt to not arouse suspicion ( & to finish his food ), I began doing recon around town. I silently watched the townsfolk for the remainder of the day. Most of them seemed normal as could be, but eventually one girl stood out to me, she did not seem to be talking to the rest of the group, she also seemed to be the only person in the village that did not appear content. In one of her isolated moments I snuck up & pulled her aside. As soon as I looked into her eyes I knew this was the person I was looking for. Her eyes were mesmerizing... I reconvened w/ the king later that day & explained that the girl was the sister of the young drowning man & his name was lantern. A couple months ago he began confiding in her that the founders were not who they appeared to be. He became more & more paranoid until one day he just vanished. Everyone just assumed he ran away because he never fit in, but his sister knew he would never just leave her like that. Later that night after everyone had gone to bed the king & I crept through the town to CHIEFs abode. We peeked through his window to behold a strange scene, CHIEF was standing behind a small podium leading a chant w/ the other founders sitting in a circle surrounding a fire. The flame leapt around like it was being manipulated by great winds even though it was inside an enclosed space. I was mesmerized by the shadows dancing across the walls until I saw a pair of ominous eyes open on the opposite wall from the group. The shadow slowly started to take physical shape as a creature pulled itself from some distant realm. An overwhelming terror came over me but the king turned to me & said Ive seen enough then walked to the front door & opened it before I had any chance to dissuade him.

The shadows spilled out of the small cabin like someone released a flood gate. Once outside the shadow creature was 2x times its original size, but the king stood steadfast. I ran towards it & swung my war-hammer at the creatures head, but just like w/ the apparitions on the dock it was completely unfazed. The creature immediately spawned a multitude of dark tendrils that wrapped around me & I felt all willpower instantly drain out of me as I slumped to the ground. The creature turned back towards the king who silently unsheathed his weapon & released the blade. The silky smooth form of the creature bristled at the light emanating from the quantum sword. More tendrils appeared from the innards of the creature & they went straight for the king. He effortlessly swung his sword severing all the tips of the tentacles as he moved towards the demon. Once close enough he sunk his blade into the living shadow & it let forth a sound like air screaming, then dissipated into smoke. As soon as the creature was gone I was released & fell into a deep slumber. Colony Assessment Tour Day 041 I awoke in my bed to see my kings bed made w/ his pack on top again. Still exhausted I dragged myself to the dining hall & found him there once again eating w/ the founders, I sat down to join them. As we ate the king explained that a shadow spirit had taken over CHIEFs body back in olympia & that it had used its power to lure all these people to boogi. It turned out that lantern had a sort of spectral vision that allowed him to see the shadow spirit inside the townsfolk & when the spirit realized this, it killed lantern to keep him quiet. As he concluded his tale, laterns sister walked in & asked if we could go for a walk. She thanked me for all that we had done, I explained that the king had actually done most of the heavy lifting, but she was adamant that her brother had chosen me to help & if I hadnt found her they would have never cracked the case. She told me there was nothing left for her in boogi & asked if she could join us on our trip back to continuum city, I regretfully informed her that we weren’t going home yet, the king had more colonies to see & I must accompany him. She seemed disappointed, but she took my directions & said she would go anyways & that hopefully one day we would meet again. I told her I would hope for the same thing.

I Can Feel It ( bb ) contains samples from In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins from the album Face Value & Bayou Boogie by David Wise from The Donkey Kong Country soundtrack which also samples In the Air Tonight.

This is part of the 7 dmnsns mixtape available on:

BANDCAMP

DATPIFF

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