#FEY bois on ICE!

[capsensislagamoprh]

Time worked differently in the material world than it did in the dreaming. If you were fey, you knew that. If you were not, you'd wind up spending three minutes arguing the prolific under management of sock distribution, storm out in a huff, only to find yourself in a whole new decade. That's not what happened to the Hero. He found himself standing in the middle of a battle field of steal and glass, great beasts screaming in rage as they tried to take off from a river of congealed earth. And it was raining. Turning to his void black steed, the man considered stabling it somewhere dry, with no idea where such a place would be. He listened. His brain exploded with sound. The city, for it was so called, was full of things that cried in different ways. Lovers sighs, hated rivals, disappointed mewls, angry shrieks. Focus, he told himself. Power thrugh. Bit by bit the sounds of the city pealed away, leaving a cool, crisp level of static. Turning to his steed, he considered the metal monsters that slid past, red eyes glaring in there wake.

His steed was powerful, fast and sleek. It seemed untroubled by the world of solid things. Mounting up, the Hero donned his helm of glimmering midnight, calling forth the fullness of its glamor. All of his armor reacted, flickering into sleek lines and shadows. Nudging his steed, it slipped into the flow of traffic as if it was always there, commanding the very essence of Rhodes.

He did not know how long he rode, his steed seeming to understand the laws of travel in this unchanging land on instinct. There were to many stops and starts, to many sudden crowded lanes, and far, far to many cries for help.

Then, amidst the rumbling plaintiff sounds came a hard, sharp cry. He turned towards it, steed picking up speed. There was violence. There was innocence. There was a fierce dream, a frantic prayer to be saved. It was fuel for his very soul. He could feel the gossamer thread of another legend forming, waiting for the supplicant to touch it, make it real.

All lands had their violence. It was a part of survival. All lands had rules, ever changing with their needs. This land seemed to merge them all into a cacophony of pick and choose. You could, if you didn't get caught. You couldn't if you thought about it to hard. It seeped into his skin, the rules. The ignobility of the way things worked only mattered if you were outside the place they applied. The brightly lit hut where people parked there coaches - he knew them now as such - was a market place where limited things could be bought. The tower of glass was a place of petty intrigue. There you could use the courtly laws to great advantage, but not the sword. And this cold, ruined place? Here survival was more than word or deed. It was in every breath. Buildings were destroyed, spirits gutted from hearth and home. This place had known battle on levels most places could not fathom. It would not recover. It would need to be reclaimed, fed to ground, then allowed to grow again. The cry came again, harsher, more urgent. There was pain in it. The Hero felt something tug at that gossamer string. It wove it into being. It paid for it in blood. He saw it then, the purest sacrifice. A father tried to protect his wife, his children. They were hunted by gangs and sell-swords. They were wanted for being 'different'. They were being driven out of there space by violence not necessary. This sort of thing was fading, becoming less common. And there it was, waiting, trying to reignite the abhorred smoke of hate. He shadowed the mercenaries, tainted souls who long forgot honor, replacing it with corporeal things. They had driven blades into the man, his life spreading across the thirsty ground. They aimed strange wands at the woman, greedy hands grasping young ones, tearing them away. The woman cried, screaming her outrage as she tried to shield them with her own life. They were scared, these children. So scared they forgot to dream. As the woman was forced from her youngest child, a wand to the back of her head, the small face of innocence looked at him, saw him. Its hand reached. It touched the string.

Her dreams were simple. She wanted to dance. She wanted to sing. She wanted to be something her parents could be proud of. She wanted a kitten. She wanted a puppy. Any pet would do, really. She wanted a friend, but only had siblings who had no time for silly things.

Her dream was simple. She wanted to live by her own rules. She was tired of living bound by the laws of survival. She wanted to dream. And to do that, she needed to be saved. Her father paid in blood. Her mother payed in agony. The children were stoic, waiting for the inevitable. She wanted to be someone her parents could be proud of. She would give anything. The dreaming accepted. The Hero took form. His steed was black, it's lines sleek. His armor the finest leather. He was handsome, yes, but that was always what children dreamed. The weapons he used were vorpal, kindly ending with out letting the wounded party know they were cut. They simply fell, shut off from access to mortality, caught in-between awake and dreams. The children stared. The woman shook, sobs seized by disbelief. She scrambled, racing to the side of the man who was fading, his soft words clinging to the tip of her ear as his life debt paid the earth itself for a moment of hope. His family would be safe. The child looked at the Hero, her hand still holding the string. She'd do anything. But the Hero did not make innocence pay. He made the sacrifice. That was part of his being. So he paid. And the dream accepted. His world faded, his form began to vibrate, locked into place. It shattered. It seethed. A thousand dark things broke into a fall breeze. The father stabilized, and of the Hero, a steed remained.

part 1, part 2

[timelostobserver]

@feiiitan - " I know I joke a lot about not knowing things but, actually, I can't remember anything of the past ten thousand years I've been down here. I fell, I remember that, I remember the before. I remember a little after but then, I don't remember anything. It feels like I woke up out of a dream now, things feel real. Does that make sense? I am sure it's not a big deal..."

Silence fell, Hades looked over his brother in silence. In-front of the two of them, cups of coffee... Still billowing steam even in the frigid cold of the Halls of the Dead. Ever since they met, formally, he'd kept the doors open to Fei, allowing him passage; even shelter if he so wished. But..

What could he honestly say to that?

That he 'didn't understand'? That was a bold faced lie. He remembered his own fall like it happened yesterday, the phantom pain from his missing wings serving to always remind him of that. But.. the blur, the passage of time. It was so different when you were as old as they were.

Days, weeks, months.. years blended together and faded so quickly if nothing of note happened. If nothing burned itself into your mind.

"A dream is a good way of wording it." Hades nodded his head slowly at this.

"Normally.. I would agree with you. That it's not a 'big deal' but, I'm starting to realize that it IS a big deal. Such.. gaping holes in memory, lost to the mundane, lost to nothing." He envied humans in that way. Such short, fleeting lives. That burn hot and are gone in an instant. They leave their mark, they leave a legacy, for good or for ill.

But at least a memory would linger in the hearts and minds of others.

And what did the Angels have?

"It speaks to the horrid truth of how we live. What we're cursed to be." He sighed. Especially as Fallen. Denied the home they were created within. Denied the light they warmed their wings to...

Denied love, or care from the one who made them. Only to be cast out by their kin to protect their image of 'perfection'.

"That we only have each other. But..." But indeed, especially for the two of them who isolated themselves. Who didn't try to see out the rest of their fallen family. Instead... in Fei's case, to wander mindlessly. And for Hades to lock himself away under his duty.

It wasn't healthy, in any way. And he knew that now.

[tiredassmage]

also playing today: two disaster spies + their first love confession (bc bold of anyone to assume the first time would be direct)

(and shoutout to fey for tagging along, gs mvp bestie)

[pupsmailbox]

MASC PRONOUNS ⌇　ae/aem.　ae/aim.　be/bem.　be/bim.　boy/boy.　ce/cem.　ce/cim.　de/dem.　de/dim.　ey/em.　fe/fem.　fe/fim.　ha/ham.　he/hem.　he/him.　h!/h!m.　h#/h#m.　h$/h$m.　h%/h%m.　h&/h&m.　h/hm.　h+/h+m.　h-/h-m.　h=/h=m.　h@/h@m.　h^/h^m.　h_/h_m.　h~/h~m.　h☆/h☆m.　h♡/h♡m.　hi/him.　ho/hom.　hu/hum.　hx/hxm.　hy/hym.　je/jem.　je/jim.　ke/kem.　ke/kim.　le/lem.　le/lim.　male/male.　masc/masc.　me/min.　mr/mr.　ne/nem.　ne/nim.　pe/pen.　pe/pin.　qe/qem.　qe/qim.　re/rem.　re/rim.　se/sem.　se/sim.　sir/sir.　te/tem.　te/tim.　ve/vem.　ve/vim.　we/wem.　we/win.　xe/xem.　xe/xim.　ye/yem.　ye/yim.　ze/zem.　ze/zim.

FEM PRONOUNS ⌇　ae/aer.　 ae/air.　 be/ber.　 be/bir.　 ce/cer.　 ce/cir.　 de/der.　 de/dir.　 ey/eir.　 ey/er.　 fe/fer.　 fe/fir.　 fem/fem.　 female/female.　 ge/ger.　 ge/gir.　 girl/girl.　 he/her.　 he/hir.　 je/jer.　 je/jir.　 ke/ker.　 ke/kir.　 le/ler.　 le/lir.　 madam/madam.　 me/mer.　 me/mir.　 miss/miss.　 mrs/mrs.　 ms/ms.　 ne/ner.　 ne/nir.　 pe/per.　 pe/pir.　 qe/qer.　 qe/qir.　 re/rer.　 re/rir.　 se/ser.　 se/sir.　 sha/har.　 she/her.　 sh☆/h☆r.　 sh♡/h♡r.　 sh~/h~r.　 sh!/h!r.　 sh@/h@r.　 sh#/h#r.　 sh$/h$r.　 sh%/h%r.　 sh^/h^r.　 sh&/h&r.　 sh*/h*r.　 sh_/h_r. sh-/h-r.　 sh+/h+r.sh=/h=r.　 shi/hir.　 shx/hxr.　 shy/hyr.　 te/ter.　 te/tir.　 ve/ver.　 ve/vir.　 we/wer.　 we/wir.　 xe/xer.　 xe/xir.　 ye/yer.　 ye/yir.　 ze/zer.　 ze/zir.

NEUTRAL PRONOUNS ⌇　aey/aem.　ahey/ahem.　at/at.　bey/bem.　bhey/bhem.　bt/bt.　cey/cem.　chey/chem.　ct/ct.　dey/dem.　dhey/dhem.　dt/dt.　ehey/ehem.　et/et.　ey/em.　fey/fem.　fhey/fhem.　ft/ft.　gey/gem.　ghey/ghem.　gt/gt.　hey/hem.　ht/ht.　ib/ib.　ic/ic.　id/id.　if/if.　ig/ig.　ih/ih.　ihey/ihem.　ij/ij.　ik/ik.　il/il.　im/im.　in/in.　ip/ip.　iq/iq.　ir/ir.　is/is.　it/it.　~t/~t.　!t/!t.　@t/@t.　#t/#t.　$t/$t.　%t/%t.　^t/ ^t.　&t/&t.　t/t.　-t/-t.　_t/_t.　+t/+t.　=t/=t.　☆t/☆t.　♡t/♡t.　iv/iv.　iw/iw.　ix/ix.　iz/iz.　jey/jem.　jhey/jhem.　jt/jt.　key/kem.　khey/khem.　kid/kid.　kt/kt.　ley/lem.　lhey/lhem.　lt/lt.　mey/mem.　mhey/mhem.　mt/mt.　mx/mx.　neu/neu.　neutral/neutral.　ney/nem.　nhey/nhem.　nt/nt.　ohey/ohem.　ot/ot.　person/person.　pey/pem.　phey/phem.　pt/pt.　qey/qem.　qhey/qhem.　qt/qt rey/rem.　rhey/rhem.　rt/rt.　sey/sem.　shey/shem.　st/st.　tey/tem.　they/them.　th☆y/th☆m.　th♡y/th♡m.　thxy/thxm.　thiy/thim.　thy/thym.　thay/tham.　th~y/th~m.　th!y/th!m.　th@y/th@m.　th#y/th#m.　th$y/th$m.　th%y/th%m.　th^y/th^m.　th&y/th&m.　thy/thm.　th_y/th_m.　th-y/th-m.　th=y/th=m.　th+y/th+m.　thon/thon.　uhey/uhem.　ut/ut.　vey/vem.　vhey/vhem.　vt/vt.　wey/wem.　whey/whem.　wt/wt.　xey/xem.　xhey/xhem.　xt/xt.　yey/yem.　yhey/yhem.　yt/yt.　zey/zem.　zhey/zhem.　zt/zt.

[book--brackets]

Song of the Lioness by Tamora Pierce (1983-1988)

From now on I'm Alan of Trebond, the younger twin. I'll be a knight.

And so young Alanna of Trebond begins the journey to knighthood. Though a girl, Alanna has always craved the adventure and daring allowed only for boys; her twin brother, Thom, yearns to learn the art of magic. So one day they decide to switch places: Thom heads for the convent to learn magic; Alanna, pretending to be a boy, is on her way to the castle of King Roald to begin her training as a page. 

But the road to knighthood is not an easy one. As Alanna masters the skills necessary for battle, she must also learn to control her heart and to discern her enemies from her allies.

Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovitch (2011-present)

Probationary Constable Peter Grant dreams of being a detective in London’s Metropolitan Police. Too bad his superior plans to assign him to the Case Progression Unit, where the biggest threat he’ll face is a paper cut. But Peter’s prospects change in the aftermath of a puzzling murder, when he gains exclusive information from an eyewitness who happens to be a ghost. Peter’s ability to speak with the lingering dead brings him to the attention of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, who investigates crimes involving magic and other manifestations of the uncanny. Now, as a wave of brutal and bizarre murders engulfs the city, Peter is plunged into a world where gods and goddesses mingle with mortals and a long-dead evil is making a comeback on a rising tide of magic.

Probationary Constable Peter Grant dreams of being a detective in London’s Metropolitan Police. Too bad his superior plans to assign him to the Case Progression Unit, where the biggest threat he’ll face is a paper cut. But Peter’s prospects change in the aftermath of a puzzling murder, when he gains exclusive information from an eyewitness who happens to be a ghost. Peter’s ability to speak with the lingering dead brings him to the attention of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, who investigates crimes involving magic and other manifestations of the uncanny. Now, as a wave of brutal and bizarre murders engulfs the city, Peter is plunged into a world where gods and goddesses mingle with mortals and a long-dead evil is making a comeback on a rising tide of magic.

Probationary Constable Peter Grant dreams of being a detective in London’s Metropolitan Police. Too bad his superior plans to assign him to the Case Progression Unit, where the biggest threat he’ll face is a paper cut. But Peter’s prospects change in the aftermath of a puzzling murder, when he gains exclusive information from an eyewitness who happens to be a ghost. Peter’s ability to speak with the lingering dead brings him to the attention of Detective Chief Inspector Thomas Nightingale, who investigates crimes involving magic and other manifestations of the uncanny. Now, as a wave of brutal and bizarre murders engulfs the city, Peter is plunged into a world where gods and goddesses mingle with mortals and a long-dead evil is making a comeback on a rising tide of magic.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (2018)

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father's inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty--until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold. When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk--grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh--Miryem's fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. She will face an impossible challenge and, along with two unlikely allies, uncover a secret that threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike.

Bartimaeus by Jonathan Stroud (2003-2005)

Nathaniel is a boy magician-in-training, sold to the government by his birth parents at the age of five and sent to live as an apprentice to a master. Powerful magicians rule Britain, and its empire, and Nathaniel is told his is the "ultimate sacrifice" for a "noble destiny."

If leaving his parents and erasing his past life isn't tough enough, Nathaniel's master, Arthur Underwood, is a cold, condescending, and cruel middle-ranking magician in the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The boy's only saving grace is the master's wife, Martha Underwood, who shows him genuine affection that he rewards with fierce devotion. Nathaniel gets along tolerably well over the years in the Underwood household until the summer before his eleventh birthday. Everything changes when he is publicly humiliated by the ruthless magician Simon Lovelace and betrayed by his cowardly master who does not defend him.

Nathaniel vows revenge. In a Faustian fever, he devours magical texts and hones his magic skills, all the while trying to appear subservient to his master. When he musters the strength to summon the 5,000-year-old djinni Bartimaeus to avenge Lovelace by stealing the powerful Amulet of Samarkand, the boy magician plunges into a situation more dangerous and deadly than anything he could ever imagine.

The Hollows by Kim Harrison (2004-present)

All the creatures of the night gather in "the Hollows" of Cincinnati, to hide, to prowl, to party . . . and to feed.

Vampires rule the darkness in a predator-eat-predator world rife with dangers beyond imagining—and it's Rachel Morgan's job to keep that world civilized.

A bounty hunter and a witch with serious sex appeal and an attitude, she'll bring 'em back alive, dead . . . or undead.

Strange the Dreamer by Laini Taylor (2017-2018)

The dream chooses the dreamer, not the other way around--and Lazlo Strange, war orphan and junior librarian, has always feared that his dream chose poorly. Since he was just five years old, he's been obsessed with the mythic lost city of Weep, but it would take someone bolder than he to cross half the world in search of it. Then a stunning opportunity presents itself, in the form of a hero called the Godslayer and a band of legendary warriors, and he has to seize his chance or lose his dream forever. 

What happened in Weep two hundred years ago to cut it off from the rest of the world? And who is the blue-skinned goddess who appears in Lazlo's dreams?

Septimus Heap by Angie Sage (2005-2013)

Septimus Heap, the seventh son of the seventh son, disappears the night he is born, pronounced dead by the midwife. That same night, the baby's father, Silas Heap, comes across an abandoned child in the snow--a newborn girl with violet eyes. Who is this mysterious baby girl, and what really happened to the Heaps' beloved son Septimus?

The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle (1968)

The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone…

…so she ventured out from the safety of the enchanted forest on a quest for others of her kind. Joined along the way by the bumbling magician Schmendrick and the indomitable Molly Grue, the unicorn learns all about the joys and sorrows of life and love before meeting her destiny in the castle of a despondent monarch—and confronting the creature that would drive her kind to extinction….

Redwall by Brian Jacques (1986-2011)

Redwall Abbey, tranquil home to a community of peace-loving mice, is threatened by Cluny the Scourge savage bilge rat warlord and his battle-hardened horde. But the Redwall mice and their loyal woodland friends combine their courage and strength.

The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani (2013-2020)

With her glass slippers and devotion to good deeds, Sophie knows she'll earn top marks at the School for Good and join the ranks of past students like Cinderella, Rapunzel, and Snow White. Meanwhile, Agatha, with her shapeless black frocks and wicked black cat, seems a natural fit for the villains in the School for Evil.

The two girls soon find their fortunes reversed--Sophie's dumped in the School for Evil to take Uglification, Death Curses, and Henchmen Training, while Agatha finds herself in the School for Good, thrust among handsome princes and fair maidens for classes in Princess Etiquette and Animal Communication.

But what if the mistake is actually the first clue to discovering who Sophie and Agatha really are?

[ludcake]

I've been chatting with beloved mutual @amethyinst and recently found a way better way of like, articulating my thoughts on the Others and the whole Fire and Ice thing.

I've written one or two pieces of meta on the Others before and I am a strong believer that they're people and not evil ice demons and that they have some cognition, society and that the books won't end with them just getting all destroyed and murdered in a big war - for a lot of reasons, including the fact that I think that would go very much against the overarching theme of the books, both in the sense that I disbelieve the idea that the Others are the big threat we have to pay attention but are too concerned with our own small, petty issues (I think that it would do an immense disservice to the struggles that these characters endure to ultimately frame them as pointless) and because I disbelieve that the ultimate, overarching conflict will be a big war in a display of violence.

The thing is, obviously, the Others are Ice - and we have the dragons, on the opposite corner, as Fire. Martin's mentioned a couple of times that fire, and the dragons, represent passion, and they represent life, and that's part of why they're associated with Dany's position as mother and breaker of chains... And he's also mentioned a couple of times that the Others are "ice sidhe", that they can do things with ice that are incredible, but I'm going to focus on that idea of them as sidhe - as fey beings, as counter to fire, but also as spirits and bound by spells.

To me, it's difficult to accept the idea that the dragons, and fire, is wholly positive - we've seen how "fire consumes until there's nothing left" is a theme through Thoros and Berric, and we've seen how dragons were used by the Targaryens and the Valyrians to keep a vast tyrannical empire that oppressed several peoples and kept them as slaves, the same system that Dany now uses her dragons to destroy. There's clearly a greater theme here, at play, that dragons aren't universally positive - and throughout A Dance With Dragons, specifically, we see Martin use the dragons, in particular Drogon, to represent Dany's desire for freedom, to escape politics, to escape Meereen, to fly and burn and end peace and crush the slavers.

And frankly, I don't think that the ultimate answer is that it's a necessarily good instinct. It's not a bad one either.

There's been a few pieces written about the Others that go at length about their role - a few ones that link their appearance to the sacking of the barrows beyond the Wall, or the idea that the ancient Pact has been broken, or the idea of the Wall and the Night's Watch as ultimately institutions of separation, and of course, linking the 7000ft tall wall of ice to the ice guys. And I think there's a point to be made here... There's few times where we see the Others themselves, but it has always fascinated me how in A Game of Thrones' Prologue, the Others ambushing Ser Waymar Royce accept his request for a fair and just duel, and fight against him in his own terms.

I think that if dragons are passion, and freedom, and warmth, then the Others are oaths, and laws, and the cold. The Others are not evil, but they are duty - and the dragons are love. Love is the death of duty, duty is the death of love - the Others are a slowly marching force, that moves ever onwards, and they will have their ultimate reckoning, and they will bind people to oaths and laws. They are Ned Stark executing a poor boy who was running for his life. They are Robb Stark executing the father of his friends for treason. They are Ser Barristan Selmy standing by while King Aerys ruled tyrannically. They are Duncan the Tall standing up and keeping to his oath of knighthood. They are Prince Baelor Targaryen defending Duncan. They are Stannis marching onwards for duty. They are every law and every oath and every rule, just or unjust, whether it upholds ideals or not - they are the ice sidhe, they are what you swear upon, they are the Old Gods of the North which look through the weirwoods and tell whether you've said a lie. They are cold, harsh, unforgiving truth.

And the dragons, of course, are that opposite. They are Maegor the Cruel destroying every rule of the realm, every demand of the Faith, because he rides Balerion. They are Daenerys destroying slavery and breaking the wheel, because she is the mother of dragons. They are passion and they are love, they are the impulse for freedom, they are might-makes-right and the breaking of chains, they are the Valyrians destroying every rule of society because they have dragons, they are Daenaerys making a better world because she has dragons, they are Aegon V seeing glimpses of a world where the smallfolk would not toil so much because he'd have dragons, they are Aerys the Mad burning his victims because he is a dragon. They are tyranny, and they are freedom - they are the fact that you are beholden to nothing but yourself.

And that can be used for good, and for ill; just as oaths can be good, or bad.

And that's what ice and fire are; they may both end the world, and they may both uphold it, but they are duty and love. The human heart in conflict with itself.

Is this a definitive analysis? Not at all. I'd love to see people counter argue or add onto it! It's just my brief thoughts on the bilaterality of ice and fire, and how that dichotomy is often presented, I think; I might write up something longer with proper references to the books sometime. But it is A Thought I've Had, and I think it's worth writing out.

[bramble-mouse]

The Faery Doctor

Chapter 2

Tags: G/t, gentle giant, timid tiny, fantasy setting, adventure Content warnings will be tagged appropriately for subsequent chapters. These may include death, gore and vore. They will include no sexual themes. CW: Vore (non-fatal), gore, vomit, implied death (Trish is fine!) Minors, please do not interact!

A marriage of peace and fear saturated every inch of Trish’s body the moment she stepped foot in the northern woods. Places as old as these carried stories, the voices born of nature itself that whispered to any with an open ear. While kind things could dwell in wise old trees, hungry monsters lurked, cunning and smarter than any ordinary beast. In truth, Trish was unsurprised that poor tanner’s son had vanished here. She could taste the old magic in the air, the countless memories of blood. 

If there’d been a road through these parts at some point, it hadn’t been maintained in a very long time. The only evidence it ever saw foot travel was an area where weeds didn’t grow between the remains of cobblestone. Trish had heard once from her mother that a great empire walked the world a long time ago, gifting roads, aqueducts and all manner of marvels to the common folk before departing to parts unknown. Some said these strange folk died out while others told of spying cities in the sky for a split second, only for them to vanish behind the dense cloud cover. 

What would it have been like to know this mysterious folk, Trish wondered? Were they elves? Old fey that predated even the sidhe? Were they beyond mortal knowing? Perhaps there would never be a true answer to the question, but Trish satisfied herself with coming up with theories whilst she picked her way along the road. 

The fork came quicker than expected- or perhaps Trish’s head had been so deep in the clouds she’d barely noticed time passing. She chewed on her lower lip. Perhaps being distracted was a poor choice. 

At the centre of the fork was a ruined statue, only the legs and the bottom of a robe remaining, captured in cracked plaster. Trish lingered, reaching out to trace the weathered surface with curious fingertips. A twig snapped to her left.

Trish’s head whipped towards the source of the noise and found a wolf staring at her, stalk still and muzzle coated in gore. It’s eyes were intense, alien and focused entirely on Trish.  Trish lowered her hand slowly, never once taking her eyes off the canine.

The wolf bolted and left its meal behind. She tiptoed forward out of morbid curiosity and peered over the small gathering of sparse brush.

Half a man’s torso, bare of clothing, with most of the ribcage exposed lay in a pile of gore and ichor on the permafrost. Trish covered her mouth and gasped, stumbling backwards away from the gruesome find. Was that from the tanner’s boy? No, frost giants generally ate their prey whole. The thought of the lad kicking as screaming as he was shoved into a maw of sharp teeth overwhelmed Trish with nausea.

The faery doctor found her feet and sprinted up the right path at the fork. There was nothing chasing her, yet she felt like a child rushing back upstairs when all the light went out for the night to escape the danger of shadows. 

Trish knew what could be in these woods, and meeting man eating giants in their element would be a death sentence. She pushed on up the incline, remembering her duty as a doctor. She had a patient in need at the end of this path, and come what may, her journey would be worth it if she could treat what ailed him.

Blessedly, it was spring and the majority of the snow had cleared off from the mountainside. Occasionally Trish came across piles of dirt flecked ice that stubbornly refused to yield to the sun. The trees grew taller, scragglier here with little successful underbrush beneath their high boughs, and soon enough, there was no longer a road to follow. Trish kept her eyes forward nervously. Would she get lost?

The lake Filip mentioned came into view, sweet relief in the form of an open space peppered with wild flowers, grass still recovering from the weight of heavy winter snow now since mostly melted and the bullrushes that flanked a corner of the water. Ducks floated atop the still waters of the lake, disturbed only by their movements and the jumping of trout. The fish were large, no doubt lovely if baked with lemon and herbs and a good dollop of butter. 

Trish felt sweat stick to her skin beneath her many layers. Despite the sunshine, she still felt the sting of the cold on her nose, a welcome relief after the most laborious leg of her trek. She longed to pause for a nap but there was a job to be done. Rest could come afterwards.

The faery doctor skirted around the lake and came to where the mouth of the cave should have been. Instead, there was a solid wall, seamless, jagged and unlikely to admit her any time soon. And yet the Sight bestowed upon her family generations ago by the faery yielded a flaw in the wall, a shimmering in a huge arch up the side of the cliff. Trish pulled out the stone Filip had given her and sure enough, the runes glowed, humming with a soft, electric power. The faery doctor drew in a few deep, grounding breaths before she touched the stone to the wall and watched her hand go through. The rest of her followed on nervous feet.

Inside of the cave was surprisingly bright, a tall corridor from the mouth illuminated by magical fire blue as sapphires. Every inch of this place thrummed with arcane power, both the wilder sort and the cultivated. The hairs on the back of Trish’s neck stood on end. She swore she smelled blood and ichor in the air still, shivering from both the chill of the higher elevation and the fresh memory of a discarded human torso.

There was a certain majesty to this place, carved into the very mountain as ancient dwarves had done. Though the handiwork was nowhere near as neat as a dwarf’s, the alcoves fit for the lights had been carved out by hand, high above on the walls. Trish still wasn’t sure she would get over just how high the ceiling was in this place. Would the end of this tunnel be just as massive?

Her answer arrived soon as she found a great opening nearly a hundred feet high, blocked off by a heavy patterned curtain embroidered with golden birds. The entire thing was beautifully sewn in a way only loving hands could craft.

Trish froze when she heard a pained groan from beyond the curtain. The voice was…big. Larger than any she’d ever known, like a clap of distant thunder.

‘I heard you treat anyone.’

The hooded woman had said.

Something dawned on Trish that turned her blood bitter cold.

Trish sidled around the heavy fabric and into a space that managed to be cozy despite being a cave. A kitchen counter had been carved from the stone, shaped and smoothed meticulously. She could not hope to spy what was on the countertops but she smelled something like stew and baked bread. There was a variety of rugs on the ground, handwoven, woolen and fur pelt alike. They served to make the hard ground more friendly to bare feet. There was a cold hearth straight ahead with an enormous iron stew pot over it, a well used kettle kept on the unlit augur in front of it. A plush cushion rested before the carved stone hearth, beside which was a ball of yarn and a half-knitted woolen shirt. Curiously, the shirt was a tiny thing, something made for someone her size rather than a giant.

A quick glance at the ceiling as Trish crept mouselike across the floor yielded a sight that made her gasp in quiet awe. Thousands of glowing crystals sprouted, like stars overhead. It was as if she were looking up at the nightsky, the soft myriad pinpricks of light chasing awake the lonely darkness in the cavern.

Another groan caught Trish’s attention and she snapped frightened eyes towards a large figure laid out on what appeared to be a bedroll. The figure appeared almost human- save for the sheer size, clad in simple grey breeches and a loose cotton shirt. The fellow must have been a good eighty feet tall, give or take. She was little more than a mouthful in comparison, and the consideration made Trish’s skin crawl.

But she was a faery doctor, Trish reminded herself, trying to bolster courage into limbs locked by terror.

She was a faery doctor and this creature was in pain. Trish had healed injured, grouchy dragons before, helped ogres with fevers and wargs with mange.

Would a giant be so different?

Trish decided not to dwell on that rhetorical question, lest what little bravery flee and send her running back the way she came.

“U…Um…Mister…Fr…Frio Frostfang?”

Trish’s small voice croaked out as she started forward towards the giant.

“E…Excuse me…Um..I…I’m s-s-sorry f…f..for b…barging in, I…”

Her throat closed up as the humongous  figure sat up with some difficulty. The giant’s eyes reminded her of the wolf’s she’d seen in the woods- pale, with slit pupils and fixed upon her with the intensity that could only belong to a predatory sizing up if she was a worthy meal. And yet the rest of his face sat at odds with such an assumption, a soft mouth, smooth angles, and an expression that while sick, showed concern.

“...You…”

The giant spoke breathlessly, his voice low and resonant in the closed space.

“Forgive me, I…”

“A woman sent me to heal you.”

Trish blurted out with the same intensity as one vomiting. She froze, wide eyed and shocked and her entire face went beet red.

The frost giant regarded her carefully, and Trish did the same to him in return. She noted soft, white waves of hair that fell in his eyes and down his neck. He sported short horns, like a young buck’s. Trish wondered idly if they were soft and velvety like deer horn too. She also noted, much to her own chagrin, that this giant was unfairly beautiful, utterly unlike any depiction of the burly, bearded and terrifying frost giants she’d heard about.

The giant’s lips perked up at the corners into a smile that softened his gaze, but the welcoming expression was fleeting. He winced and doubled over, clutching his middle.

“M…my apologies. I am not usually so terrible…”

He grit his teeth, hissed

“...A host.”

Trish swallowed thickly.

“...N..No, no, you’re… you’re unwell and…you weren’t expecting me, s…so…”

She trailed off, playing with the end of one of her braids. The ribbon fastening the end had loosened.

“I…I should like to give you an exam…if…if you’re comfortable with it.”

Frio hummed in assent.

“Gladly. Though I would like to know the name of my healer, I might thank her properly afterwards.”

Trish found she couldn’t meet his eye. Was he..was he charming? Yes, this giant was charming and polite- a gentleman, of all things. Not at all what she would expect from a frost giant. And yet here Frio was, well spoken and minding his manners even when he felt under the weather. She chewed on her lower lip. She continued to play with her hair ribbon, feeling the smoothness of the mossy green silk.

“T…Trish Mctavish, sir. I…I’m Doctor Trish Mctavish.”

She stammered.

“Sir?”

Frio chuckled softly.

“Please, my dear. Frio suits me well enough.”

Trish’s heart pounded. His laugh was gentle, too.

Trish made to approach the towering figure and the closer she drew, the more her fear returned. Her blood surged through her veins, a deafening pounding in her ear. She fought to keep her breathing even.

“I would never hurt my benefactor, doctor. Be as at ease as you are able.”

Frio said, his voice low as if he could read her thoughts. She tilted her head up and caught sight of his nose twitching in a manner more beast than man. Had Frio smelled her discomfort? He smiled down at her.

“Ah, but…I should lay down. I doubt you would like to try and…”

He paused, his jaw clenching as another wave of pain from his middle surged through.

“Y-Yes please.”

Trish cut in.

Frio nodded and laid down gingerly, pressing into his belly with one hand. His fingers were tipped with dark talons. They looked sharp.

She stared at the side of his head, noticing that he wore a blue tear drop earring.

“W…Would you turn to… to face me please?”

Frio hummed in response and tilted his head to the side. His lashes were long and pale, a veil over his monstrous, yet kind eyes.  She reached up to touch his forehead, painfully mindful of those immense gaze pinned to her form.

“You are quite pretty.”

He hummed, the statement decidedly too casual for the situation. Trish squeaked in response, her hand darting away. The giant laughed.

“My apologies. I am distracting you.”

Trish felt like she might explode from such velvety words- especially when they were close enough to rattle her very bones. 

Trish went through a mental checklist as she scanned over his body. A mild temperature (at least for an ice aspected being), sharp pain in his belly, and persistent nausea.

“Would you...o…open…your…”

Trish trailed off.

A giant’s mouth. Trish felt her courage falter and dug her nails into her palms to push on.

“Mouth. I …I need to…see inside your…”

Frio frowned. He appeared as if he wished to say something, to offer some word of comfort. Instead, the frost giant parted plush lips and revealed long fangs, a bluish tongue and the cavernous darkness in the back of his throat. The sight set off alarms within Trish- her instincts begging her to run, to flee, to hide, that she was in danger.

Frio’s breath gusted past her frame, tousling her tartan dress, coat and hair. It smelled of elderberries, and felt like a welcome, sunny breeze in early spring.

Trish could do this. She was a faery doctor and Frio was her patient.

The little woman set down her pack, shed her coat atop the mound of her belongings on the ground and poked her head inside the giant’s mouth despite the protests screaming loudly in her head. She sought any sign of poor health- discolouration of the tongue, a sore in the cheek, any inflammation in the throat.

Trish backed up, shaking from the ordeal and the moment she was far enough away, Frio snapped his jaws shut, causing her to squeak.

“Ah…My apologies.”

He said. Trish noted his features were flush and he seemed hesitant to meet her eye.

“Perhaps I should give a warning next time? If there is one. I would not presume…”

Trish chewed on her lower lip and fiddled with her skirts.

“N..No, I…It’s alright.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between them both before Frio cleared his throat and turned onto his side fully.

“Do you know what ails me, Doctor Mctavish?”

Trish rubbed her upper arm. There were several potential diagnoses but none that make sense for the sharp pains Frio described. A dull ache or a sour feeling would have made more sense- food poisoning, or a giant’s strain of stomach flu. And yet…

“Frio, what did you have to eat when you first noticed these pains?”

She inquired.

The frost giant’s face fell. He pressed his lips into a thin line. His brow creased and it was not anger that crossed his features but shame.

“...A giant hunter.”

He admitted, and his own voice wavered.

Trish knew logically what most frost giants ate. By rights, she could be on Frio’s menu once he was well again. Perhaps it would be the best choice to leave him here in pain and run before he could scarf her down too.

But that look in Frio’s eye- Why would a frost giant feel shame for admitting he’d eaten what was natural to him?

“You don’t like to eat humans.”

Trish mused aloud, words that had been meant to stay in her head tumbling free.

Frio laughed humorlessly.

“My nature would have me kill thinking, feeling beings for no reason other than greed and hunger. It is…disgusting to me, every time I falter.”

Trish frowned.

“And…and you said he was…was a giant hunter, didn’t you?”

Frio’s eyes flew back towards her, lidded and tormented.

“I could excuse myself for murdering him because he wanted to kill me first. Yet that would taste like a lie. I chose to consume him like a common beast. A man who most assuredly had a family. Who will now be a hole left in a child's life, a widow’s heartache.”

Fear was a strange thing in Trish’s line of work. It could manifest so easily when dealing with a stranger. She felt it even when she treated ordinary human men. It ebbed and flowed as easily as a tide while Trish treated every manner of creature both friendly to humankind and enemy to it.

So when every last mote of fear fled from Trish’s body, replaced by the adrenaline of compassion, Trish decided to follow that flow- that ever wobbling march of fear and bravery every faery doctor required.

“I have met very many different souls in my profession,”

Trish spoke.

“And…When a man regrets his actions this way, I…I find that such mental pain can make his illness all the worse.”

She glanced towards the giant’s midsection, so far away from where she stood. She’d noted the telltale sounds of indigestion when she’d made her observations there.

Trish lamented when she realized just how far she was about to go for a patient.

“What I…I mean to say is…is that I trust a man who desires to cause no harm, even if he falters. Because someone who makes a mistake so terrible is that much more steadfast in his conviction not to do so again.”

Frio’s eyes shimmered, reflecting the glowing crystals on the ceiling. He reached for her gently, slowly and when Trish flinched at first, he paused, extending the back of his index finger claw to her. It was an invitation. Trish hesitated once before reaching for the fingertip, placing her hand atop the pad.

“You think whatever I consumed with the hunter must be responsible for my pain, I take it.”

He said in a near whisper.

“Just as well.”

Trish fluttered her lips.

“Did you…”

How should she word this…

“Did you…eat him whole? With…with all of his affects?”

Frio cleared his throat.

“I…Yes.”

Trish nodded slowly, her hand still rested atop his finger. The cogs turned in her head. Resignation had her shoulders sagging, her hands reaching for the hem of her dress to pull it up and over her head. She kicked her boots off.

“What are you…”

Frio inquired and stopped.

“I…I need to perform an…extraction. And…”

Trish swallowed nervously, her voice cracking

“An internal examination.”

Frio appeared as if he’d been slapped. His eyes went wide.

“Absolutely not!”

He balked.

“I am sure the pain will pass with time. I will not subject someone I hardly know to…this!”

Frio gestured towards his middle with a claw.

“So you would swallow a friend, then?”

Trish mumbled before she could catch herself.

Frio’s mouth hung open a little. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No, no I would not.”

Trish, dressed in stays, bloomers and woolen stockings that only served to accentuate just how boney her tiny form was, padded closer to his mouth. Her hands shook. The cold and the fear crept ever nearer and Trish had to begin before she could back out.

“I-It’s the doctor’s orders, i…if you please!”

She countered.

“I…I will be alright. I…I…”

Trish knew the words the sought their place on her tongue. They calmed her. Somehow, some part of her, faery gift or her own innate instinct on people kicked in.

“...I trust you, Frio.”

The frost giant was clearly at a loss for words. He looked utterly horrified at the thought of consuming this frail little woman, terrified she would break at his slightest touch.

Gods, was she brave. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

“You have known me for mere moments and you would trust me.”

Frio said.

“You are either a kind or foolish doctor.”

He opened his eyes again, fixing them upon the little human in front of his face.

“Are you certain you are willing to do this?”

Trish chewed her lower lip and went to his mouth, placing a hand on his lip. He tensed at the touch, felt something inside of him twist wonderfully. The doctor had no idea the effect she had.

“Yes. I cannot leave a patient to suffer. No matter who he is.”

Trish felt the careful weight of the giant's fingers on her upper arm. She felt the gentle stroke, a reassurance.

“You have my word that I will keep you safe.”

He spoke with conviction that gave Trish no doubt he meant what he said.

The faery doctor nodded, grabbed a few things from her pack and returned to his mouth.

“C…Could you…?” She said.

“Of course.”

Frio replied and turned over, mouth open wide and chin on the ground. The giant’s posture brought to mind a prostrated man praying to his god for salvation in one of the great temples.

Trish steeled herself for what would come next- for the horror she would find within this (thus far) gentle being’s belly. She lifted her foot onto his lip and hoisted herself inside. Her first step sank into his tongue. Trish felt his shuddering breaths rush past her.

Drool pooled quickly beneath the giant’s tongue. Was Trish making Frio salivate? The thought was unsettling yet…not fully unpleasant, to be delicious. Something to unpack when she wasn’t about to journey to the literal belly of the beast shortly. Trish lowered herself down, keeping a tight hold on a little satchel of supplies that thrummed with magic. She could hear the squelching of his throat, the way it seemed all too eager for her arrival.

“...You can..”

Trish whimpered

“S…Swallow me..”

Frio’s tongue slid her towards the back of his throat and she gasped in surprise. The giant stopped instantly.

“K-Keep going!”

Trish insisted.

Frio sighed passed her little body and pushed her past the point of no return with a deep, meaty gulp.

Trish had never been swallowed before and frankly, the entire experience was terrifying. She shook and stifled sobs as the darkness of Frio’s squeezing throat forced her downwards. Claustrophobia, the imminent destination below her- the faery doctor’s eyes prickled with tears as her whole body shuddered in fear. A powerful heart hammered behind Trish. Was Frio afraid too? The erratic pulse nearly deafened her as she felt the final squeeze before a free fall into an active stomach. She let out a cry, muffled by walls of thick flesh as she dropped into a pile of liquid that made her skin tingle. Trish gasped and scrambled backwards in the dark until she felt a solid wall at her back. A loud gurgle vibrated the fleshy chamber.

The inside of Frio’s belly was pitch black, humid but blissfully not sweltering; Trish had his frost giant nature to thank for that small blessing. The stomach grumbled again, the distinct sound of imminent digestion. Regardless of Frio’s wishes, the giant’s stomach viewed Trish as food. She would need to work quickly.

As Trish dug about in her bag of holding, she heard a muffled, yet booming voice cut through the squishing, wet sounds of bodily organs working around her.

“...Are you alright?”

Frio. He was checking on her.

“Y..Yes! I’m..I’m just getting to work.”

She shouted back. Would the giant even hear her? Evidently so, because his heart rate calmed some at the evidence of her well-being.

“I will give you five minutes, doctor, before I bring you back up.”

Frio stated firmly.

The time limit was a bit of a comfort, but it also meant she had a tighter deadline to find the hunter’s remains and figure out how to deal with his armour. Trish groped about her bag of holding until she found her quarry- a little piece of expensive parchment. It glowed faintly, then brighter when Trish read its incantation aloud. A trio of glowing lights, yellow like sunflowers illuminated the rippling space.

Immediately, Trish noted that she was wading ankle deep in masticated stew- and floating human bones. She yelped at the gruesome sight and started to hyperventilate, the sour air making her nearly sick as it stung her eyes and throat.  Trish reigned herself back in, thinking of her mother’s calm voice, lessons that ingrained deep in her psyche.

‘Deep breath. Assess the patient, find the ailment and the cause, determine the treatment.’

Trish’s lip quivered, her whole body trembling, but she cast her gaze around the inside of Frio’s stomach. Wrinkled pale blue flesh pressed in against her, writhing and alive. There was a mark along the lining and instantly, Trish knew it was the culprit of Frio’s pain. It weeped dark blue blood and appeared raw and angry, unable to heal when constantly irritated by the chaos of a working stomach.

“An open wound…”

Trish mused quietly to herself as she dug about in her bag for a solution. The holding enchantment afforded the doctor the ability to bring all manner of potions along to unique locations- and the perfect one for the job sat in her hands now, a soft lavender coloured liquid that resembled a milky sweet tea. Normally, Trish would have had a patient simply drink it but she doubted it would do little other than get lost in the rest of his stomach contents.

Trish felt her ankles begin to itch as stomach juices soaked through her stockings. She quickly but carefully poured the potion over the wound- and thankfully got enough on it before Frio let out a grunt of pain and the entire fleshy chamber shifted. Trish screamed as she was thrown backward against the opposite wall, the wind blown out of her. A splash of stomach liquid on her front made her panic. It burned.

“Gods, I am so sorry.”

The giant fretted.

Trish shoved a stomach wall, a silent reassurance that she was still alive and well, and heard the way Frio’s lungs filled and emptied like a relieved hurricane.

“Forgive me.”

She felt something press in against her. His hand, perhaps.

Trish found her balance again and toddered back over towards the site of the injury. It steamed and already, it was closing. Good. That would be enough.

And now, the disgusting bit.

Trish turned around with a grimace and stared down at the pile of bones surrounded by horrifically blood red, murky liquid. While even the bones had begun to slowly erode, the chain mail and the leather armour the hunter had worn over it remained nearly untouched. If the faint shimmer of magic rising off the articles was any indication, they were enchanted to be incredibly durable.

 Frio’s stomach let out a bubbling groan around Trish, the wrinkled walls closing in on her. She wobbled but mercifully stayed upright; Trish never would have recovered from falling on the hunter’s corpse.

“Whatever you have done is working wonders.”

The giant’s voice spoke again with a deep sigh. 

Trish chewed her lower lip. His relief would mean nothing if the armour made another wound. With that, the faery doctor let out a whine, picked up a vomit covered chain shirt and stuffed it into her bag of holding.

“Oh…Good heavens above…”

She gagged, the bits of tougher leather going in next. The bones Trish would leave. A frost giant could digest that when given enough time. The bag of holding would be the best method of transporting the indigestible bits out without potentially tearing up Frio’s throat even if Trish feared she’d never get the smell out.

Trish cinched the bag shut and found her voice again.

“I’m…I’m done!”

She called up.

Trish’s expulsion occurred faster than expected. Frio’s stomach lurched around the live human and propelled her and a load of chyme rapidly upwards. Trish’s shriek cut off in his throat.

Frio remained doubled over and coughed the little doctor up in a pile of half digested lunch. He caught his breath, then rolled over onto his side, his collapse like an earthquake.

The faery doctor stared up at the ceiling, panting, gulping in lungfuls of clean air.

Trish had just been in a stomach. In a stomach. In a giant’s bloody stomach.

And she was still alive to hopefully never tell the tale to a living soul.

She shivered in the open air, her whole body soaked and slimy. Trish felt dizzy, overwhelmed.

Shock prevented her from registering when a pair of massive, gentle hands slid beneath her body and lifted her up. Trish’s last view before passing out consisted of two frantic, pale eyes fixed upon her, and a soft, rumbling voice apologizing repeatedly and thanking her in a jumbled mess of words Trish felt too exhausted to make out.

[demoniqt]

Ideas I have for MLC, a fix-it and another abo fic. Dunno when I'm going to write it but I want to.

1. Time travel - LLH died at the end of episode 40 n suddenly he wakes up at the beginning, 10 yrs before the fight with DFS at the East Sea.

Knowing what he knew now, he heads off years of scheming on Shan Gudao's part and Li Xiangyi aka Li Lianhua ropes A-Fei into going on the adventure to get the karmic mother bug and destroying it.

Since he already knows where the mother bug is, it would save them all a lot of trouble destroying it rather than go to Yipin tomb and hunt down the ice shards.

While he was at it, he might as well help DFS get rid of the mind control that he's suffering from.

DFS is very confused by the change in LXY, who's now less intense, lies non-stop and more flirty with him. (He's not dying now, he's allowed to think about his future with his A-Fei.)

2. Abo - DFS go looking for LXY to challenge him for the first time but arrives at Sigu Sect in time to find out that there's a Groom Selection for the omegas of the sect. Basically, the qianyun aka alphas fight in a tournament for the hand in marriage of their chosen kunze/omega.

Of course, DFS immediately signs up for it. Coz, it's fighting. It's what he does best. Hahaha.

Only he meets and fall for a competitor who introduces himself as Li Lianhua 🤣

Meanwhile, Shi Shui and Qian Wanmian is sitting at the parapet having popcorn going, 'When do you think ppl will realise the no 1 prize is competing with them right now?'

Coz there's no way Li Xiangyi would allow the boys to have all the fun.

Then FeiHua falls in love n DFS wants to forfeit the last fight coz he already found a partner, even though he thought LLH is an alpha. But LLH keeps telling him to stay and finish the competition. Cue the miscommunication where DFS thinks that LLH wants him to marry LXY 😂

At the bridal suite, LXY is dressed to the nines with a veil like in Immortal Samsara and DFS tells him that he's in love with someone else. That person is LLH.

DFS: I just want to fight you! *Pulls off the veil*

LXY: Surprise! But we've already fought! And you won me! 😄

DFS: 😳

[darealsaltysam]

hiya!! welcome to my blog!! im sam (she/her) and i like to write :3

since you're stopping by anyway, why not take a little look at my fics? i write on ao3 and have done work in many, many different fandoms! currently, you can find fics from the following;

ace attorney

fnaf

wynncraft

faith

the walking dead

star wars

paladins

the x-men movies

dsmp (mainly older, discontinued works)

below the cut i'm going to put more detailed descriptions of all of the fics i'm proudest of, so if any of the above fandoms interest you, take a little peek!!

ACE ATTORNEY

spiky twink rebooted

a very silly highschool au chatfic. crack with minimal angst here and there to carry some plot along, but it's very low-stakes. really just something i write for fun to wind down. perfect if ur looking for some good ol crack to turn your brain off to!

waiting for godot

a three-part fic exploring mia and diego's story in ace attorney - before, during, and after his coma. it goes into the background of their relationship and dives into godot's mentality after waking up and finding out about what happened to mia. angst with a somewhat bittersweet ending, canon compliant.

SOME OLDER FICS

Object Class: Fey - completed. an ace attorney scp au, very miego focused with some light background narumitsu. does not represent my current quality or style of writing, but i still enjoy the story a lot and am proud of the fic as a whole!

Time Paradox at The Turnabout - discontinued. a time travel fic of sorts. various different versions of various different characters travel to one time period, hijinks ensue. not that well-written and was never completed, but you might enjoy the concept!

the adventures of spiky twink and the burger queen - discontinued. older version of spiky twink rebooted - read that one instead!

spiky twink extras - discontinued. companion piece to the above. short stories within the universe, essentially!

FNAF

THE SCRIPTVERSE

the scriptverse is a trilogy of scripts + a prose prequel which seeks to retell fnaf lore completely. it sticks to canon in some parts but deviates in others, so it will surprise you even if you know the lore inside out! i made my own changes to the timeline, mixed and matched stuff from the movie, books and games... overall, just a big revamp of the whole thing, all told through movie scripts!

the series is made up of:

MR AFTON, a william-focused first part retelling the missing children incident

MR SCHMIDT [act 1], a michael-focused sequel retelling william's trial shortly after

MR SCHMIDT [act 2], a massive third part to the series which deals with the fallout of the murder and the trial, michael meeting jeremy, ghosts showing up in the pizzeria, and michael finding out he has a sister he didn't know about! crazy stuff!

mr emily & ms schmidt, a prose prequel to the series which focuses on how henry, william and his wife clara met

WYNNCRAFT

warm hands, cold hearts, gentle smiles (also holy shit is that bak'al over there?)

a fic which focuses on exploring the dynamics between the four twain brothers as kids + includes an appearance from wynncraft's favorite bitch boy. also, i made theorick less of a bitch by explaining WHY canon theo is such a bitch!

my legacy in death, your legacy in ice, our legacy in blood

a follow-up of sorts to the above fic, focusing on mael having to help nesaak post-theorick freezing it. the second half of the fic looks at the time mael spent training bob. all around lots of angst, some hurt/comfort in the second part, and a very, very bittersweet ending.

requiem

currently ongoing!!! an x reader fic that has you, the player, take on the role of the villain. you team up with bak'al to take revenge on someone who has wronged you. the fic, and even its description, contains BIG spoilers for wynncraft's late-game quests, most notably a journey further and a hunter's calling. it also explores some dark and uncomfortable themes, please refer to all relevant warnings!! read at your own risk!

OTHER FICS

closer, then you're close enough to lose - completed. a short, slykaar/bob one-shot based in an au i came up with together with @meefys !!

PALADINS

a city of self-fulfilling prophecies [paladins superhero au]

currently ongoing!!! a paladins superhero au that i've been putting together for years, and am now finally writing! most champions will be included as characters, with maeve, ying and lex as the three protagonists and corvus as the lead villain, alongside evie, cassie & kinessa, lian & rei, octavia and many others as major characters!

SOME OLDER FICS

the scholar loved the scion // and the scion loved the scholar, but not in the same way - completed. a short fic exploring a one-sided relationship between lian and rei. hurt, and no comfort!

FAITH

soul of christ (sanctify me)

a short fic which focuses on john and lisa's childhood, with a nice portion of catholic guilt and queer shame on the side (yes i projected onto john. no i am not sorry). very experimental but probably one of my personal fave works ever!!!

X-MEN (movies)

oh, i will ruin you (it's a habit, i can't help it)

a very short cherik one-shot, because they've infected my brain. it's just them flirting and making out tbh. nothing more nothing less. but i'm pretty proud of it!

again and again and again and again

a 5+1 exploring charles' post-first class depression era, from hank's perspective. lots of bitterness, lots of anger, lots of sad feels, and a bitter-sweet comfort ending.

OTHER FICS

below you can find all my other fics - these i'm a little less confident in, because they're either older works or discontinued ones.

tommyinnit - dragonborn! - discontinued. dsmp skyrim au, sbi focused, secondary dream team focus. i really loved this fic and writing it but was forced to discontinue due to... stuff(tm). im still very passionate about the story and happy with what i wrote here, so i recommend it if you're into it.

The Between Dreams and Memories Series - discontinued. a complete retelling of the dsmp storyline. was planned to have 3 parts - same as above, forced to discontinue. contains 2 complete fics (part 1 and a spin off) and one unfinished fic (part 2 of the planned trilogy). one of the biggest fics on my account, a product of several years of work, and a very important work for me, even if its quality doesn't hold up. read if you wish!

a house full of serial killers VS the barbie movie starring margot robbie and ryan gosling - completed. a very very stupid creepypasta chatfic oneshot. i wrote it in one sitting because i was bored. it's nothing special, but it's pretty funny!

dance with the devil - completed. a very short dsmp oneshot, focusing specifically on c!niki and c!schlatt. im still pretty happy with how it turned out!

Deserve Better - completed. a pretty badly written who killed markiplier oneshot. darkstache focused. one of the first fics i ever posted!

laughter [anidala] - completed. a short star wars one-shot i wrote for my girlfriend, focusing on ani and padme!

mutual hatred builds character - completed. a short the walking dead one-shot, focused on maggie and negan. NOT SHIP! i just think they're a fun duo to study like bugs

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Fëanorian Week - Celegorm

And it's not getting better :D Let's hurt Tyelko a little, shall we?

Words: 520

Characters: Celegorm & Nerdanel, Celegorm & Curufin

Prompts: Childhood, Hunting, Strength & Beauty, Nargothrond

Warnings:Sadness, loss, death of a child, doom, bad decisions

Rough, calloused fingers slid fervently along the worn curves of the small figurine, which had melted like ice in the sun over countless years of struggle and strife to the point where it had long since become unrecognisable.

The tiny creature—he couldn’t even remember whether it had originally been a bear or a wolf—was Celegorm’s best-kept secret.

He’d loved animals for as long as he could recall, and it had undoubtedly been in an effort to keep him from sneaking out of the nursery and into the woods that Nerdanel, famous and justly extolled sculptress, had crafted this little companion to soothe his desire for adventure and freedom.

Maybe, he now thought as he rubbed his hidden talisman yet again to strengthen his resolve and quieten the voice of doubt and agony within his mind, it didn’t matter what fey savage beast his mother had had in mind.

A heavy, sturdy child, Celegorm had certainly often reminded her of a bear cub himself as she stood, harried by dark foreboding, beside his crib with a worried frown.

Even in so frivolous an endeavour, Nerdanel had not let herself grow negligent, and it was a shame that his nigh-on superstitious habit of touching the stone doll had irrevocably erased so many of the marvellous details she had carved in meticulous handiwork.

Curufin, stern and solemn, shook his head almost imperceptibly—he might have known or at least guessed with what his solitary brother toyed in the depths of his pocket. Still, he preferred not to bring up their parents if not absolutely necessary for fear that it would irrevocably break their spirits and keep them from pursuing their path with the necessary determination.

Fate was unravelling fast now, and Celegorm was reminded abruptly of the fact that he’d never been good at making sensible decisions. He’d have to blindly rely on his brother’s cold intelligence and the residual maternal magic with which his childhood charm was imbued.

For the first time in his life, Celegorm didn’t feel heartened and comforted by his mother’s craft, though, and he clenched his teeth stubbornly as this last despicable act of disloyalty and betrayal stripped him of every remaining blessing he’d been hitherto granted.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded. What else could he do? They’d soon leave Nargothrond in hopes of salvation and pursuit of inevitable desolation, and—no matter how much any of them wished things to be different—there was nought he could do to change the tide of destiny.

Following his brother, Celegorm considered shortly leaving his most precious treasure to be buried and forgotten along with Finrod’s jewels and the vestiges of their honour, but his fingers wouldn’t unclasp.

In the end, feeling the gentle caress of death falling over him like a ghostly shroud, Celegorm slipped the unidentifiable stone guardian into the pocket of a silver-haired boy who stood, crying noiselessly, over the broken body of his father.

“Mother,” Celegorm mouthed, hoping against all hope that his faithful fetich would manage one more miracle and keep another wild-eyed, fey boy safe in the dangerous darkness of the woods.

-> Masterlist

@feanorianweek, and we go on...

[capsensislagamoprh]

"Hello? Hello, is this thing connecting?" Phichit came thrugh in a patchy static, his face distorted by the crystal cut of the mirror.

"Hello Phichit. This is Christoph. How have you been, my old friend?"

"Well, well. Thank you. I don't often hear from you unless there's a need. So what is it this time? A new lover, a mortal treat? Do I need to get one of your court out of scandal again?"

Victor rose a brow, his gaze flicking up and down the man next to him. "You don't really order lovers from the mortal realm do you?"

"I never have to order any lover," Christoph grinned.

"Who is with you, Christoph?" Phichit asked, trying to see around the distorted edges for the source of the second voice.

"Ah, my dear, delicate flower," Christoph purred, "have I got a surprise for you!" With a sharp yank, he pulled the silver haired fey into view. "Meet Victor Nikiforov, Lord of Winter, or King of Ice, which ever you prefer," the last said with a flicker of his fingers.

Phichit straightened up immediately. A noble. A titled and realmed noble. It had been ages since he'd seen one. "Your majesty," he squeaked, quickly bowing. "How may the embassy be honored to help you today?"

Victor paused, eyes desperately crying out for Christoph to help him. Christoph wiggled his brows in response, eyes twinkling. Making a face Lilia would not approve, Victor composed his most winning smile, then turned back to the crystal mirror. "Ambassador. You wouldn't happen to know the were about of a fey, about this high, dark hair, horse?"

"Pooka?"

Victor looked blank. Gathering himself, he bubbled, "No, no. No. He's one of - " motioning to himself, with a glittering grin.

"A noble. In the real? Well, your majesty, I do have a full list of nobles for our records. Perhaps we could reduce the pool with more descriptive details?"

"Yes! This sounds good. Ask me your questions."

Phichit caught sight of Christoph stifling a giggle in the background. Pulling out a pad of paper and a yellow click pen, he schooled his features. "Alright, please tell me, your majesty, the court of the noble you are looking for."

"Unseelie."

Phichit made a note. "Season?"

Victor hesitated. "Fall and winter."

Phichit started to note this, then paused. "You can't be both. Which one is he more of?"

"There is not more of. He is both."

Christoph whispered over his shoulder, "Might as well tell him. He's going to need to know."

A deep breath. "I need to find the Hero."

"Oh, well that shouldn't be hard. He'll be where ever the need is greatest. How long do we have to find him?"

"Two weeks?"

"Two... weeks?" Phichit paused, looking at the scene thrugh his desk top mirror. "Forgive me your majesty, but that's... it takes enormous power to find someone in those places. I'd have to call in the worst sort of unseelie. Are you sure we can't push it out further? I could use trusted contacts, from ether court."

"Yes, well, the thing is, Beltaine is in three weeks, and we need time to prepare."

"Why not simply wait until after the change of courts?"

Victor's lips puckered into a tight circle, his eyes wide. "Ah, well, the thing about that is - "

"Is there a way to open the gates from your side?" Christoph asks.

"Oh! Well, yes, but it's dangerous."

"Dangerous! Yes! That will fetch him! Tell me all about it," Victor preens, palm on his chin.

"We'd have to ask."

"Ask? That's it? Open sesame the gates to Arcadia?"

Phichit's chin hit the back of his neck as Christoph rolled his eyes. The man really needed to get out more. "No, your majesty. You cannot 'open sesame' the gates to the dreaming. You have to offer them something, or brute force them."

"No, no brute forcing. Damages the dream. What about this offering."

"As it's a Seelie court, I'd say offer it a dream of fire and heat. Passion. Offer it growth. Something like that."

"Interesting."

"Yeah, I mean, it should be easy if you have a dream or two of summer to spare. A spring dream wouldn't go amiss, honestly. You could choose to make a dream come true. That's powerful, though. It could take time. You said you only have two weeks?"

"Ideally."

"If this is about the Hero, he always returns home. That's one of his basic foundations."

"Unless he's a tragic hero," Christoph said dramatically, back of his hand to his forehead as he sink half way into a swoon.

"Well, yes," Phichit agreed. "But he still returns home."

"Not if home is also missing," Victor muttered.

"I'm sorry, your majesty. I didn't quite catch that."

"Nothing. A dream come true you say? Well, that shouldn't be hard. "Christoph! Be a darling and arrange things? I have to face down," he shuddered, "Baranovskaya."

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

[adobedragon]

The Collected Works of sitehound

All my stories, in one place, listed by fandom—which means, mostly Voltron: Legendary Defender—and by romantic ship (if applicable). Ratings vary from G to E.

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

Darcy/Loki

A Morbid Taste for Ice (Complete at 200K words | Rated M | Mystery | Romance | Contemporary | Eventual Sex | Mental Health Issues)

My magnum opus! More than a decade after I started posting it, it still, IMO, holds up well.

Following the events of Loki’s attack on New York, Thor, Loki, Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster find themselves unwilling roommates, living in a crappy trailer home in the New Mexico desert.

Original Work

Elrekki Chaosbringer/Kelly Marquez

Lost in Paradise (Ongoing story | Rated M | Space Opera | Romance | Graphic Depictions of Violence | Eventual Sex | Inspired by MCU's Thor & Loki)

A bookstore owner’s life is turned upside down by a mysterious young man who turns out to be a criminal from an alternate universe.

Voltron: Legendary Defender (VLD)

GEN (No, or minimal romance, although Plance does sneak in…)

How to Impress Your Pidgeon (14K words, Complete | Rated T | Mild Violence | Dragons | Dragonriders of Pern crossover)

Pidge, an apprentice in the MasterSmith Crafthall, meets a very opinionated young dragon.

I’ll Stand by You (3K words | Rated T | Bullying | Friendship | Pre-Canon)

In which Pidge, aka Katie Holt, finds that impersonating a male cadet presents challenges she never thought of.

Three (Would-be) Paladins and a DeLorean (5.7K words | Rated T | Garrison Trio | Pre-Canon | AU | Humor | Reckless Driving | Back to the Future DeLorean)

Pidge, Lance and Hunk sneak out of Galaxy Garrison for some unauthorized R&R in the nearby town of Torre Siena. When the inevitable happens—they get kicked out of a bar—they wander the streets and encounter a very strange car.

Lance/Female Reader

A Little Artistic Nudity (9.2K words | Rated E | Post-Canon | Second Person POV | No use of Y/N)

On a planet zillions of light years away, you meet a cute guy in a café and instantly strike up a rapport.

Shiro/Keith

The Color of Joy is Brown? (7.8K words | Rated T | Mild Violence | Dragons | Dragonriders of Pern crossover | Meet-Cute)

An unwanted orphan bounced from Hold to Hold, now a murderer consigned to hard labor in the mines of Crom, Keith is grimly resigned to a short, miserable life. But when a chance encounter leads to him standing on the sands of Benden Weyr's hatching grounds, a Candidate for Impression, he dares to hope for something better.

Keith/Lance

The Scarecrow (19K words, Complete | Rated T | Mild Violence | Pre-canon | AU | Happy Ending | Queerplatonic Relationships)

In the wake of crushing loss, Keith, Pidge and Hunk, once Galaxy Garrison cadets, now conscripts in the Galra war efforts, plan a desperate escape from Sendak’s estate in the New Mexico desert.

No Good Deed… (2400 words | Rated T | Fantasy AU | Urban Fantasy | Wolf-boy Keith | Fey Lance | Ambiguous Ending)

Lance has an encounter in the woods with a wolf-boy.

Pidge/Lance/Keith

Well, There Goes Our Security Deposit (2.1K words | Rated T | Fluff)

Keith comes home one day to find that his partners in love and life have wrecked the apartment.

How I Met Your Chabbit (1.7K words | Rated T | Drunk Pidge | Fluff | Pet Adoption | Domestic Bliss)

Everyone has an origin story. This is Rogelio the chabbit’s.

Centaur’s Rising (Ongoing story | Rated M | Mild Violence | Grief Mourning | Eventual Sex | Pacific Rim Crossover)

The last place Lance wants to be is in a Conn-Pod, but it may be his best chance at a new beginning, provided he can move on from the past. A retelling, of sorts, of Pacific Rim, featuring Pidge, Lance and Keith.

Keith/Pidge

Stop Thinking (9.2K words | Rated E | Post-canon | First Times)

On a dark and stormy night, after years of waiting, Pidge Holt gets what she wants.

Pidge/Lance (Plance, Pidgance, FlirtyRobot, my OTP)

St. Elmo’s Fire (150K words, Complete | Rated M | Post-Canon | Eventual Sex | Grief/Mourning | Graphic Depictions of Violence | Eventual Happy Ending)

More than a decade before, Lance ghosted Pidge. But a chance encounter leads to a journey together in a small spaceship across the Earth’s solar system, offering the opportunity to repair a friendships and fall in love.

Mind the Hardwood (4.5K words, Rated E | Post-Canon | Cut scene from St. Elmo’s Fire)

In which Pidge and Lance get busy on in the cockpit of Pidge’s small spaceship.

Us, Only Us (5.2K words | Rated M | Post-Canon | Angst | First Fight | Makeup Sex | Romance | Cut scene from St. Elmo's Fire)

Lance stumbles upon Pidge’s attempt to comprehend and model their relationship using math.

Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (11K words, Complete | Rated E | Canon | Canon Divergent | First Times)

Pidge successfully seduces Lance.

A Rain of Terror (3.6K words | Rated T | Post-Canon | Angst | Grief/Mourning)

Pidge Holt can repair anything. Except a broken heart. In the gathering fury of a dangerous Altean oort storm, she struggles with her terrible people skills, needing to get a depressed and nearly catatonic Lance out of the storm’s path.

If a Door Slams in Outer Space, Can You Hear It? (2.9K | Canon | Canon Divergent | Story in a Story)

Lance makes like a bard and courts Pidge with a good story.

To Find a Princess, You Gotta Kiss a Green Paladin (7.6 words | Rated T | AU | Actor AU)

In which Katie Holt, girl genius, finds herself cast in a movie playing an Altean princess to Lance’s Paladin of Voltron.

Turn Over a New Leaf (8.8K words, Complete | Rated T | Fix-it | S8E1 rewrite | Romance | Allura and Lance friendship)

All his life, Lance has craved attention. To be seen as more than the farm boy from Cuba. On the eve of the Galactic Coalition’s final offensive against the Galra, Lance finally learns, with a little help from his friends, that growing up means letting go of what you want and accepting what you need.

In Deep Space Where the Wallflowers Grow (2.4K words | Rated T | Post-Canon | Pidge Salsa Dances)

Pidge Holt is so done with being paraded about the universe, expected to mingle and meet and greet the Galactic Coalition's bigwigs. During a brunch on a Galra cruiser, she retreats to a quiet spot in the stateroom by a vast window to do some stargazing, but her solitude is interrupted by a certain social butterfly.

A Pidge in a Dress is Still a Pidge (5.6K words | Rated T | 1950s AU | Science Fiction)

“Just one dance,” Pidge’s mom had stated. One dance with anyone and Pidge can leave the gala at the Altean embassy, go home, take off this beautiful but totally not-Pidge ballgown and go back to being a tomboy girl genius. Alas, the only available dance partners are creeps who are trying to suck-up to Admiral Sam Holt through his daughter. It's gonna be a long evening

Shapeshifter, Shapeshifter, Shape Me a Match (6.1K words | Rated G | Fantasy AU | Shapeshifter Lance)

On a quiet little farm, a mischievous shapeshifter meets his match in a studious girl.

It Is You I Have Loved (A Collection of Plance Fanart and Short Fiction) (Ongoing project)

What it says in the title: drabble plus fanart.

The Tithe (Ongoing story | Rated T | Teen Romance | Pre-Canon | Garrison Trio | Inspired by Tam Lin | Sex Magic)

Katie Holt, masquerading as Galaxy Garrison cadet Pidge Gunderson, is on a mission: to find the truth about her family’s disappearance. But an unlikely romance leads to the startling discovery that otherworldly forces are at work in the Garrison.

I Crave None of Your Blood (Ongoing story | Rated M | Post-Canon | Graphic Depictions of Violence | Character Turned in a Vampire | Grief/Mourning | Eventual Sex | Rough Sex)

Lance, Pidge and Keith, three Paladins of Voltron, each carrying a permanent legacy of their Voltron experience, and now pawns of forces that might save or destroy the universe.

Centaur’s Rising (Ongoing story | Rated M | Mild Violence | Grief Mourning | Eventual Sex | Pacific Rim Crossover)

The last place Lance wants to be is in a Conn-Pod, but it may be his best chance at a new beginning, provided he can move on from the past. A retelling, of sorts, of Pacific Rim, featuring Pidge, Lance and Keith.

[wormworker]

fuck trying to figure out "goth subgenres" or what "goth adjacent" means, do you listen to:

bands with a man singing who sounds like a sad ghoul drifting around a mausoleum and moaning or something idk (sisters of mercy, fields of the nephilim, glorious din, christian death, o children, joy division, plastique noir, she past away, red lorry yellow lorry)

with a guy who sounds like he's possessed by some kind of evil snake demon (bauhaus, the wake, plasticzooms, skinny puppy, altar de fey, hocico)

bands with a frontwoman who has literally the most angelic, haunting voice ever or the band overall has a sound like that oooo aaaa (cocteau twins, strange boutique, dead can dance, chelsea wolfe, tamaryn, this mortal coil)

frontwoman who sounds like she personally wants to rip you apart with her teeth (gitane demone, light asylum, skeletal family, diva destruction, boy harsher, voodoo church)

bro who sounds like he's crying on the phone to his mom because someone made fun of his eyeliner on the playground (killing joke, drab majesty, the march violets, theatre of hate, the damned)

woman who sounds like, against all recommendations, she needs another iced coffee with three shots of espresso (lebanon hanover, nico, the harrow, switchblade symphony)

gang who would make anyone go nuts on the dancefloor (cabaret voltaire, plasticzooms, nine inch nails)

they have that guy who is just british (the legendary pink dots, the tear garden)

people who are angy as fuk and they should be (skinny puppy, the tear garden, kmfdm, nine inch nails)

guys who would kiss you on the forehead and tuck you in at night (vnv nation, depeche mode)

gang who makes you feel like you're literally dying like in a good way (tropic of cancer)

they yell at you a lot (the march violets, skinny puppy, alien sex fiend, play dead, the fair sex, bauhaus)

singer sounds positively whorish, complimentary (male tears, elz and the cult, virgin prunes, xymox, alien sex fiend, london after midnight, gene loves jezebel)

[ghostedgrim]

Shit post Imagine

Imagine you were human, or a lesser fey, or anything around that, and you fall into the cauldron getting turned into a high fey. You have no understanding or any magical changes aside from your appearance and having common magic. Then one day you're in Velaris at Rhys' townhouse (or in the home of your fav fey that isn't in the IC). You're outside in the garden and it starts raining hard and the next thing you know you turn into a mermaid. Cue one of the bat boys, (or different fey if ur not in Velaris), finding you. You both probably panic, they carry you inside and fortunately once you dry off you turn back into a high fey.

Please I beg of someone please feed me some ACOTAR × mer reader.

[sonnet141snz]

Council meeting (part 1/?) OCs

Ok sooo I finally done it! This is the first time I’m posting original content here and I’m quite nervous about it, but these characters just wouldn’t stop banging inside my head so I just had to do it. But anyway, don’t mind me lol

This story is set in a world where each high born fey family has some sort of supernatural ability. The two main characters are Aiden and Callum. (They kinda hate each other at this point by the way) Aiden is the crown prince and has ice powers. Callum is a metal manipulator and is the fourth son of the Daewynn family.

Anyway I’ll stop rambling now. If by any chance anyone is interested I can do a more detailed description of the two of them, but for now that’s it I guess :)

Needless to say, minors DNI. And please don’t reblog this on non kink blogs.

———————————————————————

“Well, we’ll close the damn gates to the humans then. They belong in the battlefield anyway, not the capital.”

In the opulent council chamber, tensions simmered as Aiden seethed at Lord Brandel’s callous disregard for human life. Each word uttered by the arrogant noble grated on Aiden’s nerves, reinforcing his disdain for these Council Meetings. Discussing warfare strategies was grim enough, but enduring the self-righteousness of Brandel was a trial in itself.

“Didn’t your own men die in that same battlefield, Lord Brandel? Do the lives lost on that battlefield mean nothing to you? Or has your heart turned to stone along with your ambition?”

The atmosphere in the chamber grew stiflingly hot, mirroring the fiery exchange between Aiden and Lord Emyr Brandel. With a regal bearing, Brandel rose from his seat, fixing Aiden with a steely glare that bore into him like searing flames. The intensity of his gaze conveyed a sense of disdain, as if Aiden were nothing more than an errant pup caught in the act. Such animosity was no surprise; as members of the pyrotechnic lineage, the Brendels, harbored a longstanding rivalry with Aiden's family, their ambitions for the throne smoldering beneath the surface like dormant embers awaiting ignition.

“I am not having my honor questioned by a boy, ” he practically roared.

A boy? A boy? He had only celebrated his 125th birthday a fortnight ago. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t aged as… “gracefully” as Brandel.

A wave of fury swept across Lord Brandel’s features, his expression twisted into a mask of seething rage. Aiden couldn’t help but relish the prospect of a confrontation, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes despite the solemn setting of the Council Chamber. With a subtle smirk playing at his lips, he welcomed the challenge, his demeanor betraying an air of nonchalance even as he wielded his power to cool the room, casting a literal chill over the heated exchange.

“I am not questioning your honor, Lord Brandel. I’m denying its existence.”

At the far end of the table, Aiden’s gaze fell upon Callum, who raised his eyebrows, a sly smirk playing at his lips. Engrossed in his own amusement, Callum manipulated a sphere of gleaming gold he always seemed to carry around everywhere.

With a deft flick of his wrist, the sphere morphed itself into the likeness of a dragon, sigil of the Brandels, a crown atop its head.

Aiden couldn’t help but glare at him but decided to say nothing about it.

“You little— we shall hear what the King has to say about this.”

“No, we shan’t. This meeting is over.” Aiden said.

The members of the Small Council stood, Lord Brandel being the first to storm out of the room, Callum being the last. Or at least he would have been.

“You’re not that funny you know?”

Callum looked over his shoulder, the little golden ball morphing itself into a necklace, a pendant that looked like a shield hanging on it.

“Oh, I know I’m not. I found your reaction far more entertaining, Your Highness.”

Aiden closed the distance between them and could have sworn he saw Callum shiver a bit. Most people did though. Not exactly out of fear — although he supposed some did — it was a reaction that most individuals exhibited in his presence due to his cold nature. But not him. Not ever. Callum (and all members of his House for that matter) seemed immune to the chill that often accompanied Aiden’s proximity, a trait attributed to metal manipulators’ ability to withstand extreme temperatures. It struck Aiden as peculiar that this was the first time he truly noticed Callum’s appearance that day. Flushed cheeks and a reddened nose hinted at exhaustion, while the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed a weariness that was uncharacteristic of the typically too composed nobleman. As Aiden prepared to respond to Callum’s taunt, he detected a distant look in his eyes, scrunching the scar that marred his features. Stretching from his left eyebrow to his lower right cheek, the scar served as a stark reminder many unanswered questions. Aiden couldn’t help but wonder why Callum chose to retain the scar, especially when Healers of house Mosseye could easily erase its presence. It puzzled him further, considering Every metal manipulator he’s ever known has lost at least a finger or two, and he was sure Callum did too. So why wouldn’t he have this one specifically healed? All his fingers were there, and he didn’t seem to carry any other scars, not visible ones anyway. So why —

“— nkggt! Nggxt!” Callum’s shoulders shuttered with the effort. He stayed in place for a few seconds as if in anticipation, but finally decided to turn back around as he lowered his arm.

“Sorry.” He murmured, probably out of mere habit.

Well, this was decidedly out of character. Men like Callum never showed their “weaknesses”, maintaining an ironclad facade even in the face of death, especially not in front of Aiden. Though he sensed that something was amiss, he opted to ignore it, seamlessly steering their interaction back to their usual banter.

“I don’t believe I reacted in anyway, Lord Daewynn.” He knew Callum would hate the use of his title.

“You certainly surprised me,” Callum remarked, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Watching you stand up to Brandel was rather entertaining. I must admit, I didn’t expect such boldness from you.” He gave a wet sniffle as quietly as he possibly could and rubbed his knuckles at his nose.

“Well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“Huh- nkggtchu!

Another sneeze. This time it was only half successful and the goblets still on the table rattled, their stems trembling with the force of the disturbance. Even the chandeliers above swayed, casting flickering shadows across the room. Looking around with raised eyebrows, Aiden decided it was clear that he could no longer ignore the peculiar occurrences unfolding before him, not after the unsettling display of Callum’s wavering control over his powers.

“Alright, what’s the matter with you?”Aiden inquired, his tone softening.

Callum, who was rubbing at his nose, stopped almost immediacy and snapped back to reality “What do you mean ‘what’s the matter’ with me?”

Unfortunately for him and without his consent, his chest jumped and he uttered a barely audible stifled sneeze once more, even more forceful than the last three. Aiden only stared at him for a brief moment said “You know, you really shouldn’t do that.”

For how long has he been doing that anyway? If his powers were starting to go haywire like that, probably for quite some time. Aiden couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Being the lord of one’s own house couldn’t possibly be easy, especially when it wasn’t a role one had anticipated. Aiden always know he’d be king one day. It was different for Callum.

Growing up, Callum was very much the youngest son. He pursued his own desires and hobbies without restraint, unburdened by the weight of responsibility or duty. Truth be told, this independence fueled Aiden’s apparent disdain for him. Not the fact that he was arrogant and “oh so powerful”. Not the fact that he almost always won when they sparred at the Training Pit. Deep down, he knew he was just jealous of the noble who had always marched to the beat of his own drum.

Only a few years ago, when his older brother and father died in battle, he became lord of house Daewyn, given that his three older brothers had all taken oaths to serve in the King’s Guard, they were barred from inheriting any titles or assets and father any offspring. It was a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of life, and it left Aiden grappling with a mixture of emotions, including a begrudging respect for the burden Callum now carried.

“Do what, sneeze in front of my prince? I’m so sorry Your Highness, but I can’t exactly help it, can I?”

Aiden rolled his eyes “What I meant was attempting to be overly polite about it. It's not as if you've ever done that before anyway.”

He might not exactly like the guy but he wasn’t that cruel. It weirdly bothered him to see Callum look so miserable. Besides, it was not that fun to taunt him when he was in such a state. He was not one to kick a man when he was down.

“I assume you don’t want to get stabbed by every piece of metal in this room, so I’m afraid I have to.”

“You, showing concern for my well-being? How flattering,” Aiden remarked, raising a hand to his chest to emphasize his statement.

“Not really, no. It just would be such a nuisance to kill the Crown Prince, so I’d rather avoid it. I do enjoy my freedom.”

“What makes you think you could ever kill me, Daewynn?”

Callum raised an eyebrow “I don’t know, the last time we sparred perhaps?”

Aiden chuckled at that.

“Fair enough.”

For a moment they just stared at each other until Aiden realized that his cold nature might not be exactly helping Callum. Suddenly, he felt surprisingly guilty for lowering the temperature so much when Brandel tried to defy him.

“Go rest, Daewynn. You look like you need it.”

The only response he received was a brisk nod before Callum exited the room. Aiden remained behind for a moment, his gaze lingering on the now crumpled goblets adorning the council table, before eventually making his way back to his chambers.

[nemenalya]

Beast; Day 1 of @tes-summer-fest In the wooded heart of Skyrim, it is ill-advised for a lone child to travel too far, for the devious and the divine lurk inseparably entwined, waiting to cast their snares. 

In Atmora of old, there were no children left by the end. By the end of the end, neither were the woods. 

Year by year, season by season, the world got smaller; the storms surrendering a little less land from howling snow and lashing branches. Those who had neither foresight nor good fortune to be taken by the woodsman soon found themselves staring down the endless ocean, herded by creeping glacial giants. The fey ones, the woodwalkers, the spirits‘ playthings and companions, all penned in on the piers their mellower counterparts had long since set forth from. Ushered onto boats jauntily bobbing on the torrential currents, the last woods of Atmora creaking underfoot.

With ice nipping at their heels they were forced onto the vast expanse, unwell and seething under the hands of the oarsmen. Unwashed bodies smelling putrid in and under furs, meat rancid where there was any to be had. The crisp smell of the shore a distant memory before the tang fermenting slickly on the planks. 

Skyrim is stuffy, claustrophobic with its many peoples dispersed through the land, inhabitants old and new and newer still the silent raving sentinels of Atmora. Sweltering coasts and swamps and woods all carved up in a fever, parcelled out and jealously guarded. Tumorous sproutings of towns and villages all over, people domesticating themselves in one last betrayal of their frozen home. 

A veritable cacophony to senses weaned on glacial waters; honed on ritual hunts. People talking incessantly and clamouring and shouting the very earth into submission. Cages within cages. There’s a lord over them all now, by his own admission and ambition. He summons the mighty, the furious insane. Even among the last feral hermits his invitation is passed, there’s talk of accepting. 

The eastern lands sound cruder still than this drab shadow of mighty Atmora, heaps of foreign novelty. Many slink away from the fires, the settlements, called back out by blood. The wolf pelted earth breaker is among them– they won‘t be some scrawny king‘s lap dog.

Skyrim is divvied up, and yet there is enough wilderness to swallow them whole. Where there isn’t, the less reclusive Atmorans take it back, boasting and clamouring. Little farms and homesteads, almost Nord themselves now. The fey and the woodwalkers return to their pacing, territories vast like feral beasts. Not even time will make them band together. 

The wolf roams the lands deep south beyond the pearlescent lake that even with the spring thaws does not gleam quite as bright as their glacial home. They run from the clamour and cloying until harsh mountains cut their path. For a while it is peaceful, and ever restless they endeavour to keep it thus with claws and teeth.

They have no word of their people who with conquering swords and shouts never returned from the east, but the Nords spread like a disease. One year people settle on the lake, then further deep where snaking mountain passes meet a pleasant rushing stream. The last children of Atmora wish more to run than to fight, and the wolf sheds not their pelt to scream their protests unto land and sky. Wordless, out of sight, they surrender the ground. 

The ever receding depths of the forest –crushed now by sullen hands not gleaming sheets of ice– remain a sanctuary not intruded upon, warnings of one too far line crossed written in blood and pain. Atmora’s lost children live long lives, but even they might not outlast the torrential unbroken tide of just a few trees more below the axe. 

Instead they live long enough to be found. The dun pup, hapless and toothless, anointing them with blackberry sup alike enough to blood.They let the boy name them 'Mara'. They let the boy call them 'she'. The boy speaks with hands more than words, and she learns fast like remembering a hazy half-dream, teaching him the language of beasts in trade.

The seasons slow for them, curled up on a bed of rust coloured needles in a yew grove, sharing jam and pies as rain platters overhead and the trees weep red blood. Warm summer storms pass over them unminded, turning the stone slippery and the loamy hillsides navigable, until they run cold and sleety, mist rolling down the forested mountain slopes. 

They sing at the stars and moons overhead, drifting lazily together in snow or mellowing summer heat. Around them the birds sing and the streams gurgle, and she hears the earth itself hum a contented lullaby. They roam between the village and the lake, smelling and tasting and running. He gets overwhelmed, and sometimes so does she, seeing this land through fresh eyes. 

She hunts them game, the boy perched silently on her shoulders. With him, she never hunts down the woodcutters and mushroom gatherers and intruders into her woods. She doubts he‘d mind, but her pup has to grow his own fangs before they can truly feast. He picks berries from between the brambles, staring silently as hands dart cleverly between the thorns that would cut her muzzle. They catch fish in nimble claws and marvel at the gleam of sun on scales. 

The townsfolk grow weary of them, their urge to roam a distant memory. Even she can bury her bitter longing for home now. For a while. 

One crisp spring, the boy leaves. She follows him to the edge of the mountains eternally draped in ice, where her woods break on sheer rocks. She knows he knows she’s there, an unspoken offer like all between them. Still, she dislikes the mountain, the dragon, and she will not abandon the wilderness she has carved herself in this overflowing land. He looks back once, hesitates too long, places a precious sweet before the steep incline of the mountain pass.  

He leaves. She stays. The seasons stumble on. 

Time is a vague notion, when not measured by the inexorable creep of ice. She tastes the change in the air, startled over a bloody meal. The earth sings of their approach, humming in delight at the dizzy of one and one, coarse crude notes intertwined into a simple haunting harmony. Soft vibrations of the forest floor, crunching of mud and leaf, the smell of furs and foreign lands and ferns snapping underfoot. Yet in her heart she knows. 

It is inadvisable for a child to travel alone in the deepest woods of Skyrim. But the pups have travelled far further and stranger, never alone. And they have grown up.