#and he built it all up just for the fae to threaten his land and all his achievements and chase him out

[agni-ashes]

so i watched jimmy’s finale and uh. i’m thinking. so. since the old sheriff started treating sheriff jimmy like a kid/teenager i’m like. what if sheriff jimmy was legit a child. so when the revealing potion revealed that he’s short it’s not that he’s a toy it’s that he’s a literal child. idk but now i’m thinking that if sheriff jimmy was like idk 10 years old and ooh hoo hoo hoo i’m crying now. how much has he done?? how much responsibility has he taken, that little guy built an empire and made deals and took a stand against all these powerful adults who made fun of him and beat him down sometimes and rejected him and refused to believe that he was strong, that he was capable, that he was a good sheriff. and he still did his best. and. oh my god. they gave him a kid- he had to take care of his new charge- and he himself was just a kid. i’m going to cry.

[azrielsmommy]

Dark Paradise (Part One)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem! Reader

Summary: Never in the existence of Prythian had there been a rightful heir to two courts, much less a female, but there you are, in the flesh. With war upon the lands, and questionable family dynamics, a certain shadowsinger takes it upon himself to make your life just a little bit more interesting.

Word Count: 1058

Warnings: some angst, sexual themes

a/n: i have NEVER written anything on here about acotar, or just fanfics in general. this is just some slight backstory, i promise we get into the MEAT of it all soon!

The blazing sun was beating down on your face, causing your hair to shimmer with faint red hues as you approached the throne room. The sound of your long white skirt swishing, accompanied by the clicking of your heels against the white marble floors, were the only noise throughout the palace, not even birds sang their melodies.

As you walked through the large doors to the throne room, the sun increased by tenfold, beaming in through various circular skylights. To fae not from the Day Court, the sun would've been blistering and heat-stroke inducing, and in your years spent here, you've witnessed a fair share. Yet to you it was pleasant, you loved it, a sweet reminder of home. A slight smile stretched across your lips as you took in the intricate designs that decorated the pillars in the throne room.

The effort and care that went into sculpting this beautiful room never ceased to amaze, but your favourite piece of artwork was certainly the thrones themselves. Halting your footsteps before the stairs that led up to the three thrones, each one made of glistening white marble, all enveloped in golden light. You admired the middle throne, belonging to Helion, your father. It's the largest of the three, built for a High Lord, and it'll be yours, when the times comes, but you wish it doesn't anytime soon. You're tired of loosing family.

A wave of sorrow crashes over you as your gaze drifts to the smaller throne of the left, empty, a solemn reminder of your dead brother. It's covered in a large gold and white cloth, several little trinkets on the throne serves as a memory of him. You wrung your hands, as you focused on keeping your emotions at bay.

A sigh escaped from you, disappointment at the lack of your fathers presence, you thought he would've been here, welcoming you home from your travels. Dropping your hands in annoyance, you turned on your heel ready to leave when you heard echoing footsteps.

"What kind of daughter leaves her father, all alone, while she travels to Vallahan." Helion's voice had a teasing tone as he gracefully walked towards you.

"What kind of father forgets about his daughter?" You playfully retort back, raising an eyebrow as you try to keep a smile from forming on your lips. Helion stops just an arms reach from you, as he dramatically places a hand on his chest as if physically wounded.

"I would never forget about you, my sweet daughter." He spoke in a soft tone. The smile that threatened to spread on your face finally forms as you laughed, throwing your arms around your father in a tight hug. Helion held onto you like his life depended on it. You relished in the feeling of finally seeing your father after your long time spent abroad. After a minute he released you, instead throwing an arm around your shoulder, ushering you out of the throne room.

"How were your diplomatic measures in Vallahan, I presume they went smoothly?" He asked as we walked together through the palace hallways. It went more than just simply smooth, your time was spent drinking at bars, dancing until you could no longer, and sex with males of all kinds. Of course you successfully made alliances and discussed peace with fae in power, but a simple nod satisfied your father.

The rest of the evening was spent catching up with the people of your court over a the banquet created in celebration of your return. You spent your night drinking lavish wine, and dancing until your feet hurt, males watched you with pure lust and greed in their eyes, but you paid no attention to them.

As the night turned into early day, everybody stumbled back to their respective homes, and you to your room. Giggles slipped past your lips as you staggered down the halls to your room. Cauldron your feet fucking hurt.

"Stupid shoes," you slurred while fighting with the straps on your heels, fingers struggling to unclasp them. Finally you stepped out of them, letting your bare feet hit the floor. Nearly moaning at the feeling. Shoes in one hand you continued the trek to your room. Nearly face planting into the door, you stumbled towards your bed, and flopped down, shoes thrown onto the carpet.

You fell asleep as soon as you landed on your bed, not even caring to get under the soft covers, or take of your makeup and dress. As you slept your dreams were plagued by a man, he was shroud in shadows, his very aura exuded mystery.

His body looked like it was sculpted by the Mother herself, the lines of his muscles still visible through the battle leathers that he wore, and those wings. Dauntingly huge, you've never seen a pair of Illyrian wings that large before.

As your eyes drifted upwards towards his face you froze, he was devastatingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that would have any female begging for his attention. Your hand involuntarily reached out towards him, unable to take yourself out of the spell he seemingly put you under. He was some sort of an otherworldly dark paradise.

Your fingers just grazing his shoulder before you abruptly awoke. Shooting up from the bed you gasped, reeling from your dream that felt all too real.

Who was that man? Why was I dreaming of him? Thoughts ran through your mind at the speed of light, as you glanced around your room, a small shadow in the corner near your vanity caught your eye. As you watched the shadows flicker and slink about, it seemed as though somebody, through the shadows, watched back.

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

Azriel splashes his face with cold water, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat down. Running his hands through his hair he leaned against the bathroom counter, staring at himself through the mirror. He doesn't really.....dream, his sleep is always restless, filled with memories from his childhood. So imagine his surprise when a women, with slightly copper hair appears in his dreams, and reaches out for him.

His brains feels like mush, shaking his head, he tries to free the questions that desperately cling to his mind, as he heads into his closet, dressing into his leathers for the day.

Rhysand and him have a meeting with Helion today.

[wolven91]

Breelu & Moisés - Birthday Surprise

Despite the steep incline, Moisés found that he was barely out of breath, yet he still had a mildly concerning light headedness about him. He hadn't been able to shake the faint vertigo all morning, but he'd honestly expected to feel worse from the hiking. Moisés took a moment to rest, although found that he still didn't need to 'catch his breath'.

Breelu was waiting for him up ahead, his magnificent blue and white feathers with the black highlights always captivated the human, he was surrounded by shin high flowers, that parked the edge of the winding path up the mountain. The flowers were upside down, the petals protecting the plant.

Having already asked when they had first started their journey, Breelu had explained that the flowers open at night and tiny insects that light up make it a sight to be seen. The young man had made a mental note to come back here before they left the avian home planet and went home.

"Nearly there." Breelu offered, as Moisés trudged the few steps that separated the two.

"So, is this not, like a popular place?" Asked the human as he gazed across the gigantic forest treetops.

The avian home world capital was as alien as any city had come before. The avian home was covered in a genus of trees that put red woods to shame. Their whole city was built within the bows of these colossal natural towers. The air was warm and clean with only areas of necessity demanding that they clear the forest for landing pads and energy plants.

Moisés had joked that he'd never guessed that Breelu was an 'elf'. The joke missed unfortunately as the translation came across as 'fae' which, thanks to the draconians, translated as slang for humans.

"Of course this is popular. This is one of the most famous pillars in the area." Breelu retorted as he looped a scaled arm around Moisés's shoulders where a taloned hand slipped beneath the human's arm and held him to the avian's fluffy hip.

"How come we haven't seen anyone then? We've been walking for a good hour, and no one's passed us, either up or down."

Breelu's laugh echoed off the rocky wall and into the tree line that was abuzz with its own life. A large blue, white, and black wing buffeted Moisés causing dirt and wind to pick up ever so slightly. The human flinched and briefly raised an arm to defend his face, but the wing merely hovered there.

Until the penny dropped.

"They fly up don't they?" The young man asked, rather sheepishly. He had often fallen into the trap of thinking Breelu was a human, just a taller, feathery human. But that wasn't the case. Breelu's claws and sharp beak were an evolution as a dedicated hunter of the sky. All avians thought with the concept of a 3D space. They were not tethered to the ground by something as mundane as gravity.

"At least you're pretty." The large avian chuckled, jovially jabbing Moisés's bruised ego.

"What else do I-" But the human's words were lost as they finally made it to the top of the spire of rock. The spiralling path had finally deposited them high up into the sky were the trees that grew in the lower areas fell away. A threatening gust assaulted the pair, but Breelu weathered it stoically while his arm and wing caged the human in place. Moisés didn't falter with Breelu's firm hand supporting him.

The human was awed by his uninterrupted view the world.

There was no other word than 'awe' to describe the unending sea of trees that covered the planet from pole to pole. To his east, was the Haratooa Mountains, the wood pillars there were thin and whistled as the winds blew through them apparently, whereas to the south was the great forest sea, not a 'sea' in the sense of open water, but the forest there grew in a continent sized basin. The deeper one walked, the closer the trees grew and the darker the world became, until one made their way into the subterranean world of the aracnae.

The avains ruled the skies, whereas the aracnae ruled the ground and all that was below it. Whilst the avian home world was large, it was hollow; two species called this world home and shared it as such.

"This is amazing." Moisés whispered.

"Happy birthday Moisés." Whispered Breelu back, squeezing him into his hip once more while the human hugged him back, rubbing his cheek into the silky soft feathered of his loving partner.

"This is the best present." Declared the young man happily.

"Oh. Well. this. isn't your present?" Explained Breelu haltingly, suddenly more concerned that the avian may have missed his mark with his idea.

"It's not? What.?"

Breelu revealed a harness, already placed on the mountain top inside a bag that Moisés recognised as Breelu's.

"I thought you might want to go for a trip?" The giant birdlike alien offered gently.

"Are you sure? I know with me, we're too heavy for flight. It's a strain for you." The human retorted, not wanting to tire his lover out. This view was good enough for him, he didn't need to go any further if it was an effort.

"On the station, yes. But here? Above the thermals from the underground lava runs? Moisés, would you like to know what it's like to truly fly?"

== 0 ==

A mere ten minutes later, there was a human strapped to the front of a crouching avian, so the shorter of the two could stand on his own feet. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face as he looked out over the sheer drop of the mountainside. If he fell right now, it wouldn't be much of an issue; the path down was only about ten or twenty feet down.

"I'm going to shove off from the edge to clear the mountain, so it's going to be a sudden jerk first, okay?" Explained Breelu helpfully.

Damn.

Without asking for permission, the avian coiled in an almost imperceptible manner, before his powerful legs exploded outwards, launching the two into nothingness. The weakened gravity of the planet still pulled at the human, but the harness held him in place as the avian at his back wing's opened and he was pulled soring into the sky.

Moisés could feel the heat of the thermal updraft washing over him despite only seeing the mountain fall away and treetops everywhere else. His fists gripped the straps of the harness has the man's heart fluttered in fear and panic as he eyed the ground nervously.

"Chin up!" Called Breelu directly into his ear, over the wind that deafened him to most other noises.

Obeying the human lifted his chin and saw the horizon.

A beautiful rainbow of colours as a foreign sun with strange wavelengths played with an alien atmosphere. The human's eyes watered from both the wind that stung him as well as the beauty that assaulted his senses.

Moisés felt the curve of Breelu's sickle-like claw tickling his fingers, gently easing his grip until the scaled arms took his hands and spread his arms wide.

With his chin up, his arms spread like wings, the young man discovered the sensation of flight and was immediately in love.

A euphoric sense of freedom washed over him as Breelu gently steered them along the valley, following the invisible thermals that raised the pair up and into the sky.

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[highlordofkrypton]

Wildflowers, a Tamlin x Rhysand prequel fic

Chapter 7

It takes one year.

After eleven years of endless bloodshed, it takes one year after Tamlin’s participation in the Human Liberation War for the Courts of Prythian to call its first ceasefire in hopes of discussions for peace. If not for the sake of its people, then for the sake of their land.

Adriata is beautiful. A palace built atop a mountain, overlooking clear blue seas that wink with diamonds under the generous sunshine. The breeze is crisp and cool, even on the hottest of days. What he would give to be out there, playing in the water and letting it ease the ache in his muscles. Too much time has been wasted fighting, and he’s only done a year of it.

“Focus,” his brother, Enfys, jabs Tamlin in the side, his voice a barely-there hiss.

“It’s a good thing your youngest is a little dull, Celyddon, or I would have worried about your seat.” 

Tamlin tunes back into the conversation just in time to hear Beron Vanserra cast insults in his direction. The Autumn Court is their only ally within Prythian, but that means nothing in terms of kindness or respect. It only means that their goals are aligned. For the moment. 

“I would worry about your spawn, Beron. I have made three warriors of mine. Perhaps you should put your cock away and focus on strategy.” Celyddon grins, amused by his own humour. With seven sons, the only thing Beron seems to  be good at is conquering his wife.

All seven of the High Lords are in attendance, scattered around the room or seated at the circular dining table. Nostrus, High Lord of the Summer Court, had been kind enough to welcome them into his home. His territory along with Memrun’s Dawn Court are the only neutral locations left. Every other Court has pledged their forces to help the humans gain freedom. 

“Now, now, it may come as a surprise to you both, honourable lords, but we did not gather here to hear you bicker like old hags.” Nostrus clasps his hands together with a pleasant smile, beckoning the attention back to him. Naturally, with far too many powerful High Fae in one place, the conversation tends to diverge. Repeatedly. It’s the third time he’s had to reign them back in, and hopefully,  his charm will work in his favour to get somewhere more productive with this.

“Laugh all you want, Sieffre. I’ll make sure to string your half-breed son up along with his flying mutts.” Beron snarls at the High Lord of the Night Court, who only grins wider. The threat rolls off his shoulders, and he doesn’t bother to offer a counter-promise. At least, not with words. His violet eyes glow with tempered anger.

“Is that the limit of your creativity, Beron? You threaten us with a good time?” Sieffre could not sound more unimpressed.

Tamlin’s head throbs. The peace talks dwindle into background noise as he hones in on the song of the seabirds. As soon as the bickering picks up again, his headache intensifies. He has no choice but to excuse himself in the middle of High Lord Memrun’s appeal for Prythian to stand as one instead of tearing itself apart. The war has yet to resort to true violence, the kind that puts their territories and Courts in direct danger, but it is still young. There is time. Tamlin keeps his eyes downcast for the most part, a sign of submission he has ingrained in himself to make sure that no one ever misconstrues his presence or his powers as a challenge. At the threshold of the room, he catches the cold gaze of Nikitas, who simply offers him a single nod of respect—of disguised encouragement. It surprises Tamlin, who returns the gesture before finally escaping.

Once out, Tamlin can finally breathe .

He wants no part of this. No part of war or peace. None of it. He just wants to be left alone. Rhodri never taught him the patience needed for politics, only how to bide his time for the kill. He lacks the skill to be here, but if he understands correctly, his father only needs him here as a show of power. (But not too much. Never too much .)

Tamlin lets his impulsive thoughts lead him down the mountain, skipping down white stone steps into the town below. A handful of guards stop him, but he takes no offence at the necessary precautions. “I want to see the water,” is all he says. So, he will go see the water.

He looks nothing like the beastly son of the Spring Court, not in his fine dressing coats and even less once he sheds his clothes. He’s comfortable like this, tan skin drinking in the warmth of the sun and fearing no shame. He’s waged war with nothing but his ability to shapeshift; what embarrassment does he have now to go swimming completely bare? Tamlin dives into the water with grace and strength, his body making the perfect arc to mitigate unnecessary splashing. He can feel the weight of his golden hair clinging to his wet skin, but even that feels more liberating than whatever guise he’s meant to wear in  the war room.

“They can see you, you know.” His attention settles on familiar violet eyes. Tamlin ignores him; for a moment, floating calmly on his back.

Rhysand crouches on the dock, his gaze sliding down Tamlin’s chest to settle on the scar there—the scar he gave him in a fit of childish rage. It’s his fault; he should have contained himself better, but lords of their stature do not apologize, no matter what they feel. He can’t help the way his curiosity leads his attention elsewhere, brows raising in surprise before he scrubs his face.

“I don’t care,” Tamlin says flatly, back paddling lazily. “They’ll see what they want to see.” A dull animal. Nothing more and nothing less. He sees no reason to stop himself from doing exactly what he wants. The High Lords have already decided who he is.

What happened to you, Rhysand wonders, but he already knows the answer. War happened. Being born in their vicious courts happened. He kicks off his shoes and rolls up the hem of his black pants. Sitting at the end of the dock, he dips his feet in the water, baring his teeth at the initial cold. “You’ve grown, Little Prince.”

“Like what you see?” Tamlin teases, a ghost of a smile dancing on his features. 

Ah, there you are . 

“I still see a boy who licks walls and, apparently, would rather go swimming naked instead of negotiating for Prythian’s salvation.”

“There are more than enough people in that room. They can figure it out.” His emerald eyes flutter shut. The beads of water on his belly begin to dry, so he makes sure to dive back under once more before returning to his star-fishing.

Rhysand huffs his laughter. It’s true. The High Lords are more than capable of making anything happen by virtue of their power, and the question is whether or not they want to. 

The two of them exist in silence for a long moment, allowing the tension of battle to fade away for just a moment. Here, they are just precious sons. Not warriors. Not enemies. At the end of it all, the Courts will return to their status quo as if nothing happened. Grudges will be held, but for no real reason. Not in Tamlin’s eyes, at least. Politics flatter the ego; they don’t protect people. In a hundred years or two, none of this will matter. He doesn’t see why he should hate Rhysand for a job he didn’t even want. He would understand it if Rhysand wanted his head for killing people.

(There are days where he wishes the Fae would take it and spare him the meaningless violence. For what purpose does he even breathe ? He wishes that he was never b—)

“You fight sloppy, by the way. Against a more tactical legion, if they have a chance to focus on you, it’d be easy to pin you down,” Rhysand offers, suddenly. It makes Tamlin laugh because despite it all, they’re both still bitching about how the other fights.

“Good thing they’re busy with creatures like the Attor to focus on me. You fight too prettily. Or you’re holding back. I can’t decide.” It’s true. Rhysand enters the battlefield with such flair. Maybe it’s the nature of his powers, but Tamlin won’t know the full extent of Rhysand’s powers until he becomes High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand is a skilled fighter; his style is sharp compared to Tamlin’s broad strokes.

“You think I’m pretty?” Rhysand bats his eyes, mocking.

A low rumble escapes Tamlin’s chest, a growl of annoyance, and he splashes the other young lord with water. Repeatedly. (Tamlin has never thought about it, but now that it’s brought to his attention… The splashing is a good distraction from the gentle flush on his cheeks.)

“Hey! Hey! Enough!” 

Laughter feels like a miracle, and the sound of Rhysand’s as he tries to bat the water away makes Tamlin smile for the first time in a long time. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Tamlin says as he swims a bit closer. “Your wings are beautiful.” He must have found a way to summon them. 

Rhysand’s mouth parts in surprise, and his expression is sincere. “You noticed,” is all he can manage despite the nagging feeling in his chest. Flattery? Appreciation? Their last real conversation feels like a distant memory, but Tamlin remembered. As much as he can, Rhysand hides his wings. They’re a necessity in battle, but they’re also an important part of him. A private part of him that he does not share with anyone outside his people, not even his father. “Can you make wings?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Why not?”

Tamlin shrugs and goes back to paddling around. When he started shapeshifting, he felt like a thief. He would wander into the woods and ask the animals he found there if it would be alright with them to use their powers—the very things that made them strong. Would they forgive him if he used it to cause pain to others? After all, it is not in nature’s way to kill for sport or morals; it is only a necessity. He would whisper to them his bargain that after all this, he would stay true to Spring and offer rebirth. How, he hasn’t quite figured out, but he’ll find a way, either by giving back or opening his mind to possibilities. 

As for the wings, Tamlin always felt like that was someone else’s dream. Not something for him to take.

“Any plans for dinner tomorrow?”

Tamlin purses his lips thoughtfully, then shrugs. Nothing he can’t get out of as the spare in his family.

“Perfect, meet me in the east quarter. You owe me a drink.”

“For what ?” Tamlin squints. 

“Splashing, stabbing, lots of clawing. Oh, and you bit me.”

Tamlin rolls his eyes. “I recall you stabbing me in the heart.”

“Not much worse than going for my carotid. Plus, it was just the tip. If it makes you feel better, I won’t judge you if you forgo the pants.” Rhysand teases, trying to rile Tamlin up and find that playfulness he once knew. 

Tamlin grunts, unimpressed, but ultimately accepts the offer.

***

What are you doing, Rhysand? What in the name of the Cauldron are you doing?

The other High Lords may be able to share a drink with their enemies, but Rhysand’s cool and calm demeanour in the face of Tamlin was manufactured, at least in part. It felt like that old memory again, just him and a boy he’d felt pity for. The rest of it is his instinct to protect himself and his own. He’s the enemy and he was vulnerable. His father would have told him to slit his throat on sight, let the sea dilute the blood and swallow his bones. His father would also tell him to use tonight as a lure, then slit his throat. It would deal a considerable blow to loyalist forces. Tamlin was a thorn in all their sides. Even Azriel’s intelligence is unable to predict where they’d place him on the battlefield, much less offer a tactic other than primal rampage.

He holds up two different tops. One is a simple long-sleeved button-up shirt made of silk. It’s black, like most of Rhysand’s outfits. He thinks to pair it with a navy coat with black lapels and a fine embroidery of black whorls, mimicking smoke. With just enough magic, he can give the illusion that the smoke is alive within the fabric. The other outfit is a black suit with gold detailing.

“I’m busy!” Rhysand shouts at the intruder at his door. They seem to pay him no mind as they barge in rudely.

“Aren’t we all,” his cousin drawls, a low purr in the face of his annoyance. The Morrigan is a figure of legend in this war, a female warrior blessed by demons. (Not actual demons; she’s just flanked by Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel alternately, depending on her mission of the day.) Outside of her battle leathers, she finds comfort in crimson and red gowns—a different kind of armour. Her pale brows raise in surprise. “You’re putting an awful lot of effort into a dinner with the High Lords .”

“I’m not going to dinner with your highnesses ,” he clips. He holds the gold outfit up to his neck again. He should have brought more choices; he doesn’t think Tamlin would notice what outfit he’s wearing anyway, but he takes care to dress well. It matters to Rhys .

“Rhys,” Morrigan sighs. “Rhys, tell me you’re not going to dinner with Celyddon’s youngest.” The day before, she had spotted them on the dock but assumed Rhysand was up to his usual taunts. She didn’t stay long enough because she gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

“And what if I am?”

Her sigh evolves into a groan. Two manicured fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, trying to cleanse her mind of the headache that is her idiot cousin. “You’ve been spending too much time with Cassian. I swear, you are growing more stupid by the second. Why can’t you be like Azriel? He minds his own business.”

“I assure you, Mor, that is the exact opposite of what Azriel does.”

“When he isn’t ordered to,” she rolls her eyes. Leave it to Rhysand to find a loophole. Were it anyone else, she would have assumed that this was part of some greater strategy, but Rhysand’s father has made a point to exclude his son from all planning. He’s also made sure to leave Rhysand on the outskirts of the fighting with one small squadron to command as he pleases. Anything to keep Rhysand out of sight, out of mind and feeling helpless in the war effort. “Fine. I’m going to regret asking this, but why? ”

Why indeed , Rhysand muses to himself. He works through his different opinions, casting aside the obvious answer. Manipulation is his father’s game. Rhysand hasn’t decided who he wants to be yet. With a deep breath, he figures if he’s going to be honest with anyone, it might as well be with Morrigan.

“I want to know him.”

“You do know him. He’s a wild animal that’s been killing troops of humans who just want to be free. You know how the other side is; they would rather kill them than let them go free. It makes no sense!”

“He’s not an animal,” Rhys says seriously, his gaze piercing into the mirror’s reflection. It’s enough to stop Morrigan mid-rant. She tenses her jaw.

“Is it because of the incident at Hybern ten years ago? You’re still fixated on that?”

Rhys says nothing. His fingers grip the coats in his hand, rumpling the fabric.

“He’s not you, Rhys. He’s his own person, and he is no longer a child. He can take care of himself; we’ve seen that. He doesn’t need you.”

And she’s right. Rhysand knows in his heart of hearts that Tamlin is not reliving his own isolated childhood with a cold father. He knows that Tamlin is more than capable of holding his own in a fight. Fuck, Rhysand would bet good money that Tamlin could take his father’s seat in a few years, if his powers keep growing this way.

“I know,” he says softly, turning to face her. “No one needs me, but he might like someone to talk to. Someone who understands.”

Morrigan opens her mouth to say something, and the look she gives Rhysand is one of pity. He’s not talking about Tamlin. He’s the one who needs this. She sighs, the third time in a handful of minutes. She gets up and rifles through the closet with the clothes he’s brought for himself. One of his suits is black on black, a silky black thread weaved in a paisley pattern (truly, one of the more beautiful gifts from humans). She enchants the embroidery into a forest green, dark enough so Rhysand’s aesthetic remains, but there’s enough of the pattern for the colour to be obvious.

“I’m not sure if he’ll notice, but this is the colour of his mother’s dress on that night.” Morrigan fondly recalls the memory, finding it sweet how he pawed at it while she enjoyed Margret's company.

“You’re making this feel like a date.”

“Isn’t it?” Morrigan grins.

“It is not .” On this, Rhysand remains firm. At the end of these talks, they will become enemies again, standing on opposite sides of the war. They’d need a miracle to change that. Or a change in leadership, but those thoughts should never be spoken aloud.

***

The tavern is in the merchant’s quarter of Adriata. The establishments are a mix of modest elegance inspired by beautiful handmade crafts and the familiarity of the working class. Sons of High Lords are welcomed with reverence, but when the sun sets, it’s easy for them to blend in among the people, so long as the drinks are flowing and the bards sing their epic tales. It’s still too soon to hear of war exploits, and perhaps it’s for the better, considering that there are agents of many sides in the city for the next unknown number of days.

Tamlin feels out of place in the cramped tavern where everyone sits close enough for their shoulders to brush. Everything is loud, and there are so many people , both human and fae alike. The only piece of comfort is the wood used both in structure and furnishing. Even cut, Tamlin can still hear the faint whispers of all the stories they have to tell—the lives they lived before coming here and the things they have seen afterwards. He presses his palm against one of the supporting pillars, a gesture akin to greeting an old friend. 

“Tamlin?” 

His name makes him jump as if caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. The young lord turns slowly, only to be met with another High Fae. Lucien Vanserra is the youngest son of the Autumn Court. (The one who had caught stray insults despite having done nothing to deserve it.) Red-haired and always smiling, Tamlin rather liked Lucien. He is amiable to everyone around him, treating the people he speaks to like they’re the only ones in the room, all while making connections and building bridges for others to connect.

Tamlin smiles genuinely. “Lucien. Hello.” They haven’t seen each other since they were children, except for a handful of negligible occasions where the Autumn Court deigned the Spring Court worthy of their attention. Lucien was always, always kind. 

“I’m surprised to see you here, but I’m glad. Truly.” The words are warm, and Lucien goes as far as taking Tamlin’s hand and shaking it, one palm over and under. He hadn’t liked it at first, but understands the meaning in it now. He offers a squeeze in return.

“Is this… a popular place?” Tamlin glances around. He’s not even sure how he’ll get a table, much less hold a conversation with anyone over the noise.

“Of course, isn’t that why you’re here?”

“No, ah, I was…” Tamlin pauses, humming as a time filler until he can come up with a reasonable excuse. Rhysand might not want anyone to know that they’re meeting; maybe that’s why he picked a place where they can get lost in the crowd. Even if he did not mind, Lucien is Beron’s son. Who knows what Beron would do with this information?

“He was meeting me.” Rhysand’s cool tone joins the conversation. He slips his arm across Tamlin’s shoulders in an attempt to lean on him casually. It doesn’t work as well as he hoped; Tamlin’s just that much taller for the gesture to be awkward. It’s only made worse by the way Tamlin shimmies out from under him to put distance between them.

“Rhys! It’s been a while!” Lucien’s smile grows wider, and the two Fae go as far as hugging one another with two pats on the back. 

“Too long, might I say. I see you’ve already scouted out the best places to be on an evening like this.”

Tamlin watches the interaction curiously as they catch up. He even goes as far as looking at his hands, wondering if he could ever feel comfortable enough to hug an acquaintance as a pleasantry. He figures he could omit the two pats on the back for fear of smacking anyone too hard. He gets so caught up in his quiet little thoughts that he loses track of the conversation, and Lucien has to ask him a question twice.

“Hm?”

“I said, are you coming to Tarquin’s later? You know how he likes to party. There will be wine and dice, at the very least.” Lucien leaves his statement open for more. Tarquin’s parties are known throughout the realm to be otherworldly ; that’s how fun they are. He’s unsure how much to share, lest he scare Tamlin off. 

“We might go. Depends who’s coming,” Rhysand interjects when Tamlin never answers the question.

“Most of the guests will be of the Summer Court. Eris will probably go and Tamlin’s brothers, too. I know I saw Kallias earlier, but Nikitas is very strict on partying during wartime.” 

The mention of Eris and his brothers has Tamlin making a face. One of the shortcomings of his training is that he never learned to guard his emotions. Not in Court affairs, at least. 

“We’ll think about it,” Rhysand laughs, catching the expression and gently patting Tamlin on the shoulder in reassurance. “It was nice seeing you, Luce. Have a drink on me while you’re here.” 

And with that, he ushers Tamlin away to the first two free seats at a table that already seems like there are far too many people on it. At the very least, they are on the very edge of the wooden table. It’s a lot less cramped that way, for someone of Tamlin’s stature, at least. Rhysand manages just fine. Or he makes it look that way.

“We’re getting mead. One glass, you’ll be fine. The lamb here is to die for. It’s slow-roasted for hours, and you can taste every spice for… What’s wrong?”

“I…,” Tamlin starts but stops to glance around. No one’s listening to them. Even the people closest to them are immersed in their own personal nonsense. Here, they aren’t traitors to their Court or enemies. They are just two Fae, enjoying time spent together. He lowers his voice anyway, and his gaze drops with learned shame. “I don’t eat meat.”

Rhysand laughs until he realizes that Tamlin’s serious. “Wait, seriously? How does that make any sense?”

Anger snaps into place and darkens Tamlin’s golden features. “Yes, seriously. Why is that so unbelievable?” He’s suddenly that boy again, the one who would never allow anyone to laugh at the son of the High Lord of the Spring Court, except this anger is darker. Tinted with pain and… something else.

“Well,” Rhysand tries more gently now. “I just didn’t expect that since I’ve seen you take a bite out of people. Multiple times.”

“I don’t swallow.”

“So, you spit?”

The two men beside them stop to stare. Tamlin growls loud enough for them to get up and take their business elsewhere. Good, more space for them. “Yes, what’s so wrong with that?”

As much as Rhysand wants to be gentle, he can’t help but laugh again. He reaches out and touches the fist that Tamlin has balled on the table, coaxing him to relax . “There’s nothing wrong with that, I’m just surprised. Also, they looked at you because I was making an innuendo, which you confirmed. And!” He says, louder, in hopes of outracing Tamlin’s thoughts. “And it was not to make fun of you , the joke was obvious. I had to make it. Nothing to do with whether you do spit or swallow. That is dealer’s choice.”

Tamlin pulls his hand away. Otherwise, he seems mollified by the explanation. A small part of him is annoyed at himself for revealing himself to be as dull as the High Lords say, but it says a lot more about Rhysand who cares enough to speak to him patiently. Any other Lord would willingly coax his anger for the sake of meaningless, momentary victory.

When the barmaid asks for their order, Rhysand orders strictly vegetables (with the classic spices, of course).

“You don’t have to do that, Rhysand.”

“Do what? I’m not doing it for you . I’m just curious whether or not I could survive a meal without meat. You would allow me this experiment, won’t you?” He bats his violet eyes, trying to sound as sincere as possible. “Tell me, though. What difference does it make? The lamb is already slaughtered, whether you eat it or not.” Rhysand knows there’s more to his personal choice, but he questions his methods.

“Perhaps it won’t make a difference here, but in a much smaller setting, the ingredients are rationed towards the number of guests. At home, that means one less plate of meat, if not more, to be prepared by the cook.” It could even mean the salvation of one whole animal, but that’s not the whole reason. Tamlin respects the circle of life and his own necessity to eat other living things. “I’ve already spilled enough blood uselessly. This is my way of restoring the balance,” he shrugs. Rhysand probably thinks it’s silly, the same way his entire family, except his Iolin, had. 

Rhysand takes what Tamlin’s saying to heart and raises his glass in the name of his new-old friend. “To restoring the natural balance.”

Tamlin stares. Processes. For once, he’s not being mocked. For the first time, outside of the context of killing, he’s being… celebrated?

“Oh, don’t give me that look and raise your damn glass.” Who would have thought? Tamlin, the ‘beast’ of the Spring Court, is thoughtful. Their glasses clink, a truce in disguise. “So… what do you do in the field? Most of the rations are meat, or the vegetables are stewed in broth.”

“I forage.”

“You forage ? In the middle of war ?” Rhysand’s brows shoot up. Were he anyone else, this information could be critical. Tamlin foraging alone sometime before or, even worse, after a battle, could make him easy prey for an assassin. Or a shadowsinger. 

“I like the time alone.” 

“You are something else, Lordling.”

Tamlin frowns, yet again, but he doesn’t seem as bothered this time. The food arrives, and even though it’s not what Rhysand came to sell him on, Tamlin’s happy. Each plate is treated with care, cooked individually rather than tossed together in a single marinate. He notes the char on some of them, just the right amount without burning but pulling out all the right flavours. If it wasn’t for his change in diet, he might not have noticed these little nuances, but it is a surprise how hard it is to feel satiated in a single meal with a variety of choices. (It’s been a year since he’s been home. Choice is a luxury someone of his stature does not deserve.)

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying it.” Rhysand grins, half of an aubergine disc on his fork.

“How do you know I like it?”

“Because your eyes get wide like saucers, and you do a little happy bob with your head.” Rhysand does his best to mimic it.

“I do not.”

“Sure, you don’t.”

Dinner is easy. They don’t tread on heavy topics, just casually hopping from one mundane thing to another. Both of them carry enough weight on their shoulders. The ceasefire might very well be a vacation for them. Rhysand manages to ease Tamlin into their friendship, enough that they’re fighting over the last stuffed cucumber in a battle of forks. He lets Tamlin win. Or so he says.

“So, what now?” Tamlin asks. 

Rhysand had expected him to retire after dinner, muttering some lame excuse about duty, but he sees his opportunity and takes it, grinning all the while. “Well, I'll settle the tab, and we’ll see what we feel like doing. Did you want to join Lucien at Tarquin’s?”

“I thought I owed you?”

“Consider it my thanks for the good company and your honesty.”

“Oh,” is all Tamlin can say. He hopes the dim lighting of the tavern hides the way his cheeks colour. He can’t help the way his heart latches onto the compliment. It’s one thing to be lauded for his physical prowess, another to be appreciated for his personality. He knows Rhysand must be flattering him because he really, really doesn’t bring much to the conversation.

He follows the other Fae to the bar, vaguely listening to Rhysand pay for Lucien’s drinks, too. Tamlin often gets lost in his thoughts and his surroundings, curious about everything and finds magic in the world around him. He’s attentive to what others might find mundane, noticing what often goes forgotten. His attention lingers on the pattern of Rhysand’s suit, fingers reaching out tentatively to trace them. 

“Ready—” Rhysand turns to Tamlin, unable to finish the thought as they are shoved all too close to one another. People squeeze past them, coming in and out, and Rhysand finds himself pressed against Tamlin’s chest. He looks up, watching the High Fae curiously.

“Sorry,” Tamlin mumbles under his breath. Despite the proximity, he puts his hands on either side of Rhysand and onto the bar, making sure that Rhysand’s minimal personal space is protected. It’s a small gesture—meaningless because he can shove all the other patrons out of the way in one swipe—but he shields Rhysand anyway. “What?” He asks, noticing the way Rhysand is staring at him.

“Nothing,” Rhysand grins. “I think we’re good to go.” He nods in the direction of the group that’s just left, the last of them already out of the door.

Tamlin clears his throat and steps back, allowing Rhysand to lead the way. “Would you be interested in a walk? Down to the docks?”

“Are you trying to bait me into a nightly swim, Little Prince?”

“You don’t have to swim if you don’t want to.” Tamlin grins. He properly grins at Rhysand, and it may be one of the rarest beauties Rhysand has ever seen. (Does he covet it because it’s rare? Or because even the night skies yearn to see the sun?)

“Oh, I want to. Race you?”

Oh, Tamlin is like a child again. He lights up in a way that he hasn’t in over a decade as he nods and charges ahead without waiting for a countdown. He dashes through the crowd, smiling to himself and offering no apologies for those who have to jump out of his way. Even before he gets to the dock, he’s discarding his clothes and this time, he makes a splash as big as the ball of joy rooted inside his chest. 

Rhysand comes to a slow at the dock, looking down at his friend with a smile and shaking his head. “I let you win,” he proclaims. It’s the cucumber all over again. He hesitates, worried about his clothes, but decides fuck it . He hasn’t felt this free in a long time. Layer by layer, he discards each item in a pile on the dock before standing there, proud and naked as the day he was born. Dark tattoos whorl around his arms and back, meeting at the chest. No one else has seen them, but Tamlin has shared some vulnerabilities. Rhysand can share this much in return.

“Coming in?” Tamlin asks as if he wasn’t just tracing the tattoos with his eyes. And there’s the scar of his teeth on his shoulder, properly healed but silvery against his pale skin. Tamlin notices that, too. He’s far too polite to stare, or to satiate any other possible curiosity, only diving beneath the waves and disappearing.

“Little Prince? Tam? Tamlin?” Rhysand expects there to be some fancy trick or fish-flopping that Tamlin wants to show off. Minutes tick by and Tamlin never resurfaces. Rhysand has heard of the creatures living beneath the water, prone to waking by the moonlight and slumbering by day. The son of a High Lord wouldn’t drown so easily, would he? He lets his doubts get the better of him and dives into the water, only to find a horde of bubbles blowing him back to the surface.

More splashes and laughter. 

“Got you,” Tamlin snorts and back paddles away.

“No, you didn’t.” Rhysand challenges him, swimming after him and jumping onto his shoulders.

As far as anyone can see, there are no Lords here and no prodigal sons. Only two boys reclaiming the childhood they never had.

[nosignalformiles]

The winter court

Not a name they chose, but one humans attributed to them because of the environment there. It's one of the larger courts in terms of landmass, but has a smaller population, only a few large towns or cities, all on the main land, and then a lot of isolated villages scattered across small islands separated by incredibly dangerous waters.

The capital city, where the main physical court is, and where Felix was raised, is built into the side of a mountain, tunneling back into caves. Hot springs exist both above ground and flowing through the caves themselves.

While the reputation with humans says they're more dangerous, the court is generally seen as far less threatening to other fae. Humans are more susceptible to word games and tricks, which they love. It's a really common way to pass time indoors around fires. As is a lot of performance. Entertaining each other, telling stories, singing, playing music. Got to pass the time somehow. They are one of the courts that prize creative bending of the truth and playing with words over lying. Something that needed to be cut out of a particular prince, cause the waystones want liars.

Currently ruled by a Queen, Felix's mom. She is not married and doesn't need to be, instead having a number of occasional consorts. Nothing is really thought of this, it's just another way to pass the time. Some of the kids might be full siblings, it really doesn't matter to any of them.

In general, the people in the court prefer character and pomp and drama to good governance, when it comes to their leaders. Makes for better stories. It's why the capital is very happy with the eldest son, Westley, who is nothing if not entertaining. Unlike a lot of other courts, royals in the winter court are not seen as anything all that different to the general population, they go to public schools, they participate and are fully integrated.

Felix and most of his siblings, in birth order. (Removed the cut cause it fucked up the images for some reason, so just suffer with the longer post)

Names, for those curious: Westley, Dorian, Parker, Hugo, Blair (Felix), Luke (Lucius), Morgan, Aria, Cadyence, Newt(on), Quin, Misha (Michael).

The queen made the deal with the Waystones for access to a magic that would solve an illness wiping out livestock - the environment isn't one which allows a lot plant growth, so livestock, hunting, and fishing, are the main food sources. People were suffering. They saw an opportunity for not only a new location - claiming a tidal cave on one of the islands - but to get something they could use as leverage in the future.

It was random, which kid they took. The deal even allowed the twins that hadn't been born yet. Bad luck for Felix. He was only around the equivalent of ten. What happened to him is known within the family, but it's one of the few actual secrets they keep. Public story being running away, and presumed dead.

The royals all share a few signature elements, the horns for one - regardless of sex or gender - the icy hue and frost texture to their skin. When they use magic, it smells like frost covered forests and fresh snow, and makes the area around them cold.

[art-rat]

Ok but like consider this

Fae David au

He's at least 100 years old

Definitely

But is still one of the younger fea

The camp was built literally in the middle of his territory

But he was too nice to terrorize literal children

But at the same time had to make sure they didn't mess up his beautiful forest

So to compromise

Posed as a child to keep an eye on the humans

But got attached

Oops

Tried to be an annoying little kid

Somehow became someone's best friend???

Also cant act for long periods of time apparently

Cambell in return for "keeping the camp safe" keeps people from destroying the forest

: buying out construction sites threatening people un aliving them shady shit

"You must make sure I can't get sued or let the camp get shut down due to my shady business practices related to this camp."

"alright but in return you must keep my forests safe, protect my land from your people"

(Little Fae Davy grumpy that his parents are making him go out and experience the human world via a human summer camp)

no one except Cambell knows he's fae at first

Later on I think the treo find out somehow

Like Davids healing a dead tree or they over hear him talking to Cambell about their "broken deal"

Campbell finds out later

He totally thinks little Davy is human for an embarrassingly long period of time.

Like David glows in the light somehow and Cambell in none the wiser

Davy having to spell it out for him...

Lmao definitely

"HOLY CRAP YOUR A FAIRY"

"fae sir but yes I told you this a thousand times, I counted"

"I can't believe I figured it out all on my own!"

"=-= ...sure"

"I, Cameron Campbell, found a fairy that hid itself as a camper in my camp!"

"I... wasn't really hiding from you, Mr. Campbell sir..."

"yep I found it, me, all on my own"

"But-"

"All on my own"

"And now, you must do my bidding."

"I don't do people's bidding, I make deals. And... your camp could use a deal."

Please make a deal, I don't want to lose this amazing camp to human money nonsense or whatever.

"a deal aye, what's in it for me" he's smirks a little after all deals are his specialty

"Well, you're-" Dang it, I don't really understand human stuff like this.

"You, um... Mentioned that you need to... To keep this camp running somehow... And that the idea I gave you might get you ... sewed?"

He thinks for a second "alright how about this, you use your fairy magic to keep me from being

in prison for the rest of my life, sued, or hurt"

"I'm not using my magic to make sure you never get hurt. There's nothing you have that could make me want to spend the rest of my life stopping everything bad from happening."

"fine fine how about just keeping this place open and keeping me from getting sued, that good enough for you fairy boy"

"Hmm.... yes, but you have to protect the surrounding forest and natural sites from human attempts to colonize it."

"yeah yeah sure nature hippie shit whatever"

"so it's a deal?" David says as he raises his hand and his eyes shine a faint green glow

[sassyhobbits]

Could you please write post Kingdom of Ash fic where Aelin has to go back to Doranelle with Rowan on important business or something and she deals with her trauma going back/ meets Rowans family/ Rowan repairs his relationship with his cousins? Pretty please 🥺

loved this idea and had so much fun writing it!! combined with the modified prompt of “living is so much harder than dying. are you sure youre fit for living?”

here’s day 5 everyone!!

~~~

It had been three years since Aelin Galathynius had stepped foot in the City of Rivers.

Her first two visits to Doranelle had been… less than pleasant, to say the least. Most sane people who had gone through what Aelin had would never get within a hundred miles of the city. But, Aelin had never been one to allow a shitty experience or two keep her away.

In the three years since the end of the war, Terrasen had slowly been rebuilt. Aelin had gotten used to her role as queen, had gotten used to peace. Although it had been hard and strenuous work, it was worth it. Every struggle and late night, argument with lords and advisors, had led to happiness for her people. Aelin would do just about anything for them.

Part of being queen, Aelin had quickly learned, was responding to correspondences from other kingdoms. Sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. She liked to write to Dorian, enjoyed the sporadic letters she received from Manon. But there were plenty of others that were less fun. Taxes, proposals, budgeting.

But, a few weeks ago, she received a letter from Rowan’s cousin, Sellene, the new Queen of Doranelle. She invited both Aelin and her husband for a diplomatic visit to her lands.

“Are you sure about this, Fireheart?” Rowan had murmured to her one night, curled up in his arms in bed. “You don’t have to go.”

Aelin understood his concern. The last time she had been to Doranelle, she had been beaten and bruised within an inch of her life, patched back together, only to go through the process again the next day. Maeve had certainly done a number on her. But Aelin would be damned if she let the bitch get the last laugh.

“I want to go, Ro,” Aelin assured him. “I want to see where you grew up, get to know your family better.”

I need to go, is what she didn’t have to say, but knew Rowan understood. Aelin had conquered many of her fears in the years since the war, but there were still nights she woke up screaming, still nights when it was impossible to tell the difference between the darkness of night and the darkness of the iron coffin.

She needed to go back to the place where she had been brought down to her lowest. Needed to prove that she was strong, and that she had triumphed.

And so it was decided. The queen and king consort would sail east.

They stayed a week in Wendlyn with Aelin’s cousin, Galan. Since he had sailed to her aid during the war, they had formed a closer friendship. It was good to see him, to see the kingdom from which her mother hailed.

From there, they traveled by carriage to Doranelle.

“Much nicer than the first time we made this journey,” Aelin remarked one afternoon from the comfort of their carriage, resting her head against Rowan’s shoulder.

“You certainly smell better.”

Rowan earned himself a slug on the shoulder for that little comment.

They passed into the City of Rivers discreetly, not truly wanting to deal with a huge welcoming party. Aelin convinced Rowan to take a day to themselves, for her husband to show her the city itself. The beautiful, simple lives of the citizens of Doranelle. How Rowan had grown up.

It was a perfect day. Aelin loved seeing Doranelle in all its glory. It was truly a work of art, unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her years traipsing the continent. They wore hoods despite the mild, spring weather, the both of them far too recognizable now to move freely without some sort of disguise. It brought her back to the days of being Adarlan’s Assassin.

Rowan brought her to some of his favorite places growing up, showed her a block that sold the traditional street foods of Doranelle for lunch. He bought her some sweets and took her to a lovely park, where they lounged under the shade, just talking and sharing kisses. He took her to a nice restaurant for dinner, snagging a private back room for just the two of them. It was all perfect.

And then the next day, they woke and readied themselves to head to the palace. Aelin managed to wrangle her husband into something nice, though he protested it on the basis of it just being his cousins. She wouldn’t hear of it.

That first day in Doranelle, exploring the streets as nothing more than another citizen, Aelin had been nothing but content and relaxed… but the first sight of that wide, curving bridge that would lead them to the palace had her heart beating just a little bit faster.

She remembered the last time she had crossed this bridge beside Rowan. She had still been going by Celaena then, freshly nineteen, just stepping into her power and her status. Terrified, though she never would have admitted it then. She had already been falling in love with Rowan, and her newly healed heart certainly wouldn’t have survived losing him.

She knew Rowan noticed the small change in her demeanor, feeling him squeeze her hand comfortingly.

They were greeted by Sellene, who was just as elegant and beautiful as Aelin remembered. It was clear she had stepped into her role as ruler with dignity and grace. She embraced Aelin like she was an old friend, making her feel truly welcome.

They were shown to their rooms, given time to settle in and refresh themselves before they would meet in court before dinner.

Their quarters were lovely: bright, open, and airy. The glassless windows allowed for the sweet spring breeze to blow into their room. There was a large bath that Aelin had full intentions of making use of that evening. Hopefully with Rowan. He wouldn’t need much convincing.

Some of Sellene’s ladies came in to help Aelin prepare, making sure her hair was thoroughly brushed and gleaming, twisted up in perfection before placing her crown on top. Her gown was a lovely piece of Terrasen green and intricate silver embroidery.

By the time they were both ready, they made quite a pair. Striking, indeed. Aelin made sure she complimented her husband thoroughly as they made the short trip from their chambers to the throne room.

It managed to distract both Rowan and herself. She barely took in the halls they walked through, some of it twinging deep recesses in her memory, like some sort of dream. But, she forced herself to focus on Rowan, the man she loved, lest the memories get the better of her.

The next thing she knew, they were being announced as they strolled leisurely through the crowded throne room. Fae nobility bowed and curtsied as they walked by, sending them wide, broad grins.

The throne room was so different than Aelin had remembered it. When it had been Maeve perched on that throne, it had been cold and quiet. It had somehow always felt like a trap. But, with Sellene as queen, it was bright and full of life. Music played, people laughed and smiled. It was… good.

A half hour passed by busily. Aelin was introduced to some of Sellene’s courtiers, reintroduced to Rowan’s other cousins. People gave her their thanks, commended her hard work and sacrifice during the war.

It was hectic enough at the beginning to keep her mind thoroughly occupied. Chatting and charming and laughing. It took a while before there was a lull in the conversation, when Aelin wasn’t listening to someone or speaking herself. But, it finally came.

Aelin took the rare moment of solitude to take in her surroundings. Rowan was across the room, talking with his uncle and cousin, Enda. He looked happy, relaxed. She loved it when he smiled.

She looked away from her husband, glancing around the room. Despite her better judgements, her gaze snagged on that throne.  It almost looked non-threatening in the late afternoon sunlight, but her gut still twisted. Images of a pale woman with dark hair and a spider’s smile flashed to her mind unwillingly. She flinched, eyes screwing shut and willing the memories of Maeve away. She was successful at first, but not for long. Images and snippets of voices, of screams that she didn’t know came from herself or others, assaulted her all at once.

Aelin’s breathing sped up, her heart hammering beneath her ribs. She felt the phantom bite of broken glass in her knees, heard Maeve’s cruel laughs. She saw Fenrys, heard his cry when Connall spilled his own blood right there by the throne. It was so clean now. Like none of it had ever happened.

But no. That had been real. The other images Maeve had sent her weren’t but…

Suddenly, the airy throne room was too small, too packed. Aelin felt ill. She ducked her head down, slipping out as discreetly as she could manage. The moment she was sure she was out of view, she bunched up her skirts and ran.

Her body remembered the way down into the depths of the palace, though she had never navigated herself. It had left a mark on her soul. She would never forget.

The dungeons below the palace were a stark difference from the open, bright architecture above. It could have been a different world. It was just as dark and cold as Aelin remembered, as it was in her nightmares.

She wasn’t sure how, exactly, she knew which of the near identical, dismal cells had been hers but… she knew. She hesitated outside the door, amazed by just how ordinary it looked. Who would have guessed that she had been held and tortured behind that door for two months?

Aelin pressed her palm against the door, the magic left in her recoiling at the iron she sensed. These dungeons had been built to keep people with magic contained. They had been well designed.

She pushed into the room slowly, using her magic to light the torches lining the walls. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find: a coffin, blood stains, iron chains waiting just for her. But… it was empty. Even the stone table she had been chained to while Cairn carved her up was gone.

Just… nothing.

Aelin wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she sensed a familiar presence behind her. She was wrapped in the familiar scent of pine and snow, Rowan’s warm body standing just behind her. He placed a broad hand on her shoulder. “I thought I’d find you here.”

A tiny smile curved her lips, though she didn’t bother looking back at her mate. “You know me well, husband.”

There were a few beats of silence. Aelin didn't have to be looking at Rowan to know he was carefully considering his next words. So, she did him a favor, and spoke first.

“There’s nothing here,” Aelin said simply, stating the obvious.

“No, there isn’t. Is that a bad thing?”

A tiny shrug. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” Aelin hung her head in defeat, covering Rowan’s hand with her own. “Sometimes, it's hard to believe it all really happened. Without the scars, without the coffin… it just seems like something I dreamed up. I know I didn’t but…”

“But what, Fireheart?”

Her eyes burned with tears, throat tightening. “It would be… comforting, I suppose, to know that the experience left its mark somewhere else than in my head. It was terrifying and hopeless but I don’t want to forget it happened.”

Rowan stepped closer, her back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around her securely, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I think you know that what happened doesn't only still affect you. I don’t think Lorcan will ever fully forgive himself for summoning Maeve to the beach that day, I don’t think Aedion will ever stop feeling guilty that he hadn’t been there for you when you needed him. And I…”

He trailed off, but Aelin knew Rowan better than she knew herself. She knew his fears, his regrets, his insecurities. Just as Aelin awoke some nights thinking she was back in that coffin, Rowan would wake thinking she was gone. Those nights, he would wrap her tightly in his arms and wouldn’t let go until the sunrise, as if she’d disappear with the morning dew.

She gave a meek nod. “You’re right.”

They stood in silence for a bit longer, stealing strength from one another. After a period of silence, Aelin spoke again.

“I thought it’d be easier by now,” she commented. “I spent most of my life struggling to survive, trying not to die in one way or another. It’s been three years of peace. I know three years is nothing to you and will eventually be nothing to me too but… when does life get easier?”

Rowan didn’t answer right away. “Living, Aelin, is so much harder than dying.”

She sighed and nodded. “You’re right. But when have I ever not stepped up to a challenge?” She looked up at Rowan and smiled cockily. He gave a breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You’ve already conquered death, Aelin Galathynius,” he said. “I have no doubts you’ll conquer life just as easily.”

[sp00kworm]

Kinetic Siphon

Ollmoch

Demon x Reader

~~~

~~~

A whole week free from work. You smiled as you gazed up at the old battlements of the castle. It was built during the Orc revolt and held many of the old designs of the time. Reinforced stone and steel hidden within the heavy stone bricks. Mortar had been used in recent years to try and keep the original structure together and preserve the natural history of the land. The revolt was a trying time, that resulted in many deaths on both sides. It was firmly engrained in history, but now the Orcs had come to be far more beneficial allies. Modern medicines for bacterial infections were based on many old Orcish root remedies where they’d worked to isolate the key components. Now the world was a much more accepting place. You looked at the old stone as you stepped through the portcullis. There was no longer a drawbridge, but rather a new heavy stone bridge, but the old metal gates were still in place, restored and painted to protect it against the elements. Still, it looked like something you saw in fairy tales. Gazing up at the stone, you tried to keep your mouth shut as you entered through the battlements and gazed at the inner building. It was made from the same stone with several French influences for the pointed tower tops around a central cuboidal shaped tower. The old windows were still intact from the modern occupation and you looked on in awe at the giant structure.

 A winding staircase led you up to the castle doors and you waited in the small line before being allowed in to see the beautiful rooms, decorated to resemble the time period and filled with relics from many years gone by. The hunting room was grand, around a large, old desk, used by the head of the family for many years. It was sad to see blank spots where the barbaric practice of hunting other races had once decorated the room. You looked at the information board. Once an Orcish clan leader’s head had sat on one wall and various Fae and Goblins alongside them. Magic, species and race were all greatly misunderstood back then. You offered a solemn look to the missing heads and hoped they had been returned to their families, where they rightfully belonged. Still, the dragon teeth on the desk apparently didn’t count as the same thing. You left the hunting room and continued towards the dining room, then through to the drawing room, where guests were hosted. It was full of overstuffed chairs and fainting couches. You marvelled at the tapestries on one wall and the depictions of a battle with the Orcs. It was history, however sad it was. The castle was large, and you spent a few hours looking at the information and the history inside before you took to wandering the enormous, well looked after gardens.

The stairs out the back of the main castle lead into a well-designed garden, full of the area’s flora and flowers from abroad, of which were not common. The greenhouse was the far side of the castle, and you wrapped your scarf tighter as you headed towards it. It was particularly windy as you headed towards the large greenhouse. The signposts pointed towards the battlements and the internal corridors that ran beneath them. You looked at the wall and frowned at the sign. It pointed into an unusual door. It was heavy and wooden with a thick metal latch. You opened the handle and peered inside. It was lit up well with new electrical lighting, and you shrugged, entering the hallway before making sure to close the old door firmly behind you. The hallway lights dimmed and flickered as you stepped inside fully, and you scowled up at the ceiling as they started to blink, the bulbs making a soft ticking noise as they snapped on and off. After a minute, the blinking stopped, and you continued down the corridor.

“I’m pretty sure this is the wrong way.” You hummed to yourself as you followed the long pathway to the end. A set of stairs sat before you, “This is definitely not where the greenhouse is.” But still, there was no key card access and no locks. Curiosity got the better of you and you walked down the stairs, spiralling lower into another dim room, closing another heavy oaken door behind you as you entered.

 The room was huge and filled to the brim with works that were in the process of being restored for the castle. Vanities and huge dressers were positioned in places of high airflow and covered with sheets and wraps. It was amazing to see even suits of rusted armour placed around the room, their hinges and metal plating underway to being shiny and brilliant once more. You tried not to gape at the room of antiques as you moved past the furniture and into the carefully lined up and ticketed pieces of history. There was a statue of a female goddess, her sword raised to the sky, and you smiled as you squeezed between it and the wall in your attempts to really gaze at the riches of the rest of the collection. The vast expanse of antiques was arranged around a great rack of catalogued swords. You eased your way towards them and avoided knocking over giant vases as you weaselled towards the more interesting antiques. It was glorious. Long swords, sabres and broadswords were positioned with knives and daggers, some handles made to be in matching sets to the swords. You looked at a small tomahawk before you looked at the end of the rack and to a cloth wrapped scabbard that was discarded on the floor.

 The cloth wrapping was rotten and musty. You carefully picked up the scabbard and eyed the jewelled hilt with a sceptical eye. The ruby set in the end was dull. You wiped the jewel with your coat and coughed at the dust as you unwrapped the sword. It was intricately patterned, a form of tanned black leather pressed with runes and swirling lines. You ran your fingers over the pattern and unclipped the wrap from around the hilt, gazing at the tarnished metal before you sucked in a breath and slid the great sword free from its scabbard. There was nothing. You gazed at the blade and huffed a bit under the weight, but held it out from your body, looking down the length before you turned it flat. It was then that a great rumble sounded, shaking the ground beneath your feet. The shaking started in the walls before soon the whole room was moving back and forth. Vases and pottery clinked and shuddered in place as you grabbed for the sword rack and peered up. A great, high pitched whining noise made you flinch as something tore open a hole above your head. You gazed up as a black slit opened in the space above you and two clawed hands pierced the space. The red hands wriggled before clutching either side of the hole and clicking. The space opened wider and you watched two arms slide through before you were faced with the face of a monster.

 There, staring at you from the space, slowly sliding free of the hole, was a creature with six, rolling viper eyes. The golden orbs investigated your face as a jaw opened along its cheeks, just beneath its slitted nose. Great pointed teeth dripped with saliva as it unhinged its jaw and stretched its arms further. The great horns caressed the sides of the hole before it twisted it’s neck and slid free. Three pairs of horns curled from its head, the front most pair, and the tallest, forms a chitinous plate over its nose, framing its sideways blinking eyes. With a growl, it tore the hole wider with another click and tear of his claws and placed its giant talons on the floor, sliding the rest of its body free in a smooth ripple of muscle down its back and legs. It perched itself on the floor for a moment, looking around, chitinous back plates facing any danger as a pointed tail swung left and right. The beast was covered in more spines and spikes, hardened and sharp to the touch. Your gaze peered downwards, and you tried to hide the fact you had gazed at his crotch, where he was hidden with a simple covering of hanging cloth. The face looked at you again, eyes open wide before a tongue dipped out to lick at your face, tasting the skin before he flicked it, tasting the air, mouth and nose open wide. The monster stood to his full height and you gazed at his back where the plates formed a neat, intricate row down his spine. He curled his feet and you looked at him as he curled the talons into the stone. Two great plates curled over his shoulders and you swallowed at the sight of more great spikes lining them.

 “For what have I been summoned?” His voice was like thunder, vibrating the very air around you with power as he stretched his body and turned, his tail snatching you from the ground, dragging you closer to his six eyes. They moved independently for a moment before they all fixed on your terrified face, the lids sliding over them in pairs, down his face in turn.

“I…” He leaned closer to your face, his hands gripping you as he crouched near to the floor, his eight-foot frame ducking down, “I didn’t mean to summon you.” You confessed quietly, but the demon heard you, his pointed ears flicking. You watched the bone that pierced through them shake as he drew back and laughed, his tongue out and teeth exposed.

“Such jokes with your family.” He gripped you tighter, “Come now, I have no patience for your games anymore. Your ancestors may have bound me, but I could still tear you open and die with you.” He threatened, looming over you with unblinking eyes, his hands constraining your waist tight making you wheeze softly, “It would only take a moment.” He purred in delight, “Now, tell me your desires, little one.” His talons grazed your hair, “I grow bored.”

 You took another breath and dropped the sword, gazing up at the creature with tears in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what you’re talking about but please, please let me go.”

The demon scowled, as well as he could with no real eyebrows and only plates covering his brow bone. He licked at you again and hummed, “I cannot taste a lie…” He mused as he stood up, his horns scrapping the ceiling before he properly situated himself, “Then…” Confusion clouded his face, “Where am I, human?” He asked as he crouched down with you in his grasp, “Why have the possessions been discarded here?”

“I… It’s the two thousands. This castle is owned by the last remaining members of the Hollack family but its open to the public.” You dared to look at his eyes, “When were you last, um, summoned?”

The demon tilted his head and licked at his lips, “Sixteen fifty-four.” He nodded and then took note of your clothes, “It…has been so long?” He questioned the air as he placed you on his plated thigh, “You are not of the Hollack family, are you?”

“No…I got lost. I’m visiting and I ended up here. I guess…I bit off a little more than I could chew?” You offered lamely as the demon anchored himself up with his tail, you perched on his leg as he idly set his claws over your legs, trapping you in place.

 The demon threw his head back and gave another round of thunderous laughter as his eyes blinked and closed in their downwards pattern, “Perhaps you have.” He confirmed before stretching up to his giant height. Carefully, he placed you back down on your feet and peered up at the cold rift.

“Where…where do you come from?” You asked quietly as you listened to the silence.

The demon ducked his red head and let out a rumble, “A pocket dimension…It is my cage, so to speak. I sleep until I am summoned…I feed only when I’m allowed out.” He offered quietly before his sharp teeth snapped together, “It has been so long. Even speaking is making me tired and ravenous.”

“You just sleep?” You offered before awkwardly shuffling, “Can you not break the contract?” You asked, feeling silly in the face of a creature so old.

He laughed again and you watched his tongue roll against his teeth before he reached to his chest and pressed one taloned hand against the skin. The red skin parted and revealed a great glowing eye. The golden eye blinked awake and starred deep into your own eyes before it began to glow. The demon snapped his fingers and wiped his hand over his chest again and the eye disappeared.

You suddenly felt tired, “What was that?”

“That was my power. It is weak. I consume energy, change it, or siphon it. My ability to control it is now tied to that…relic.” He hissed as you took hold of the sword again and peered at the metal.

 The length of the blade glowed with burning gold runes. It was a sight and the demon hissed at the word written down the length. You couldn’t read the runes and you frowned up at the demon.

“What are those?” You asked, “I can’t read them…”

The demon’s mouth unhinged in a maniacal smile, teasing you, “My name, written in the ancient mage tongue.” He hissed through his teeth again as he looked down at it, “The language is lost, little one.” He lamented, “No one has been able to read it since the dark ages.” He offered as he sat down on the floor and clicked his fingers again, the portal closing with a swirl and a great pop.

“If I could read it, what would that do?” You asked as you took the scabbard in hand and stood by his knee, “Would it release you?”

The demon laughed again, “It would transfer my contract to you. My bindings would be shifted from the Hollack family to you, but I have never met someone capable of bearing my burden. I am old, it would take a great deal of power to break such a curse.” He grazed his talons over the stone in a great raking motion, “I am... ravenous.” He purred before you, his golden eyes squinted with glee at his mischief.

“You need a lot of energy then?” You asked.

“Mmm.” He purred, “I used to rip open rifts and portals and consume leaks of energy within the continuum, but that was how I was trapped. They created such a great energy rift that I was attracted, such was the greed of my youth, and trapped with that cursed thing.” The demon stretched his plates again and snapped his fingers out, snatching the blade from your grasp, “If I could tear apart the very molecules of this sword and be free, I would.” He snarled in anger.

 You reached towards his hands and held out your hand for the blade, “Where would your name be?” You asked, “Is the blade named after you?” You asked and he held the hilt out towards you.

He scowled, “I do not remember…” But his eyes widened as you rushed back towards the door with the sword in tow. With a howl he was after you, disappearing before he reappeared in front of the door to the way out. His talons snatched you from the floor again as he opened his mouth threateningly, “You will not have that sword!” He hissed.

“I…” You wheezed, “The catalogue book.” You pointed and wheezed again.

The demon looked at the desk behind him and plucked the big logbook from the table.

Suddenly, he was very sheepish, his ears back and his lips pouted as he sat down with a thump again and placed you on his lap. He handed you the book, “Ah, yes. I apologise, little one.” His shoulders twitched as you smiled up at him, rubbing your ribs as you opened the cover and peered at the numbers. Everything was catalogued by value and item description with a numerical identity code attached to the item type name. Sword. You looked for the code, SW and flicked through the book quickly to the section. There wasn’t that many, most of them on the rack behind you and the demon. You tried not to scare as the demon wrapped his tail over you, his eyes peering at the pages as you ran your finger down them.

 “Here. Look.” You held the book to his face, “There’s only three with names attached, all of them have been translated too.” With a cheer you watched him hold the book in his hands.

He frowned at the words, “I do not remember.” He lamented as defeat flashed over his features. The demon gave you the book back, “Perhaps if you read them?” Lamely he turned his hand and with a scared nod you climbed from his lap and watched him dip to his knees and stretch his back straight, so his horns sat like a crown.

“Do I need to do anything?” You asked meekly.

The demon nodded and placed one of your hands against his head, right on the hot skin between his curved, three pairs of horns, “We must be bound for this to work.”

“Wait…I can’t be a vessel for you!” You flinched away but the demon held your hand firm.

Golden eyes looked at you with sadness, “Please.” He whispered before growling, “I have spent seven centuries in agony!” He caught himself before his fury could truly boil over, “You don’t have to see me again…I will disappear and feed and never bother you, so, please, just release me.” His other hand clutched your own on top of his head, “I do not beg mortals lightly, little one, but please help me.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me after this?” You whispered back.

“I will be bound to your soul. It would be impossible.” He placed a hand over his chest, “If I did, I too would suffer the same death.”

 You took a deep breath and looked at the three names before you in the book. You curled your fingers against the chitinous base of his horns and spoke.

“Maelstrom.”

The air was silent, and the demon continued to breathe quietly underneath your hand, radiating heat and anxiety as he clenched his chest and waited. After a moment you continued down the list.

“Azar.”

Silence again. You looked at the stones, expecting a rumble from them, but they remained still. You took a final breath and looked at the final name. It was old, and you didn’t understand the meaning as you whispered the name and then repeated it into the open air.

“Ollmoch.”

With bated breath, you waited. Like a crack of thunder, you heard the demon’s claws slam into the floor as the sword next to you vibrated violently. With an echo of metal, it slid free of the scabbard again and burned gold with power, the runes searing from the metal as the demon gave a grunt and slammed at the floor again, his teeth exposed in a pained snarl. His chest heaved as the great golden eye opened between his pectorals. The viper pupil burned with light as it bled from black to a bright red. The light grew brighter and brighter, until you were forced to close your eyes. There was a violent flash behind your eyelids before you felt your hand fall from the demon’s head.

 “Little one.” You heard him whisper next to you, “You can open your eyes.” A hand brushed your cheek and with a gasp you opened your eyes to gaze into his golden irises. They burned with pulsing red veins and you looked at his skin as it gave off wave after wave of burning heat.

“What happened?” You asked him, “Wait, you’re called Ollmoch?” You felt the floor swim in your vision as you looked down, and you gagged as your swung back and forth on your own feet. Ollmoch was quick to catch you in his giant hands, holding you before he tucked you carefully in one of his arms, holding you gently.

“Quiet now, little one. You are exhausted.” Ollmoch rumbled to you as his fingers snapped and his tail swung behind him. The ceiling swam and you closed your eyes to try and get rid of the feeling of nausea, panting heavily as you felt the blood rush around you. There was a crackle of energy around you, and your hair stood on end as you planted your face against Ollmoch’s pectoral, your eyes rolling open and closed before you passed out completely to the delighted howl of the demon as he leaped for the portal swirling overhead.

 Sunlight burned your eyelids as you slowly felt feeling return to your fingers and back. With a small gasp, you bolted upright in bed and clutched at the sheets as you rubbed your tired eyes and looked around the room blearily. It was still daylight. You looked closer and did a double take. It was morning. The sunlight peaked over the horizon weakly, bathing your room in a barely-there warm glow. It was early but the winter mornings had been getting darker and darker recently. You slapped at your table for your phone before realising you were still in your jeans and you reached into the pocket to take out your phone and gaze at the time.  It was barely eight o’clock and you sighed as you tried to remember how you had gotten home. It was then, as you yawned, that a hand slid under your covers. With a squeal, you jumped away and watched as horns rose over the side of your bed and a great, red skinned demon hauled himself out of a chugging, black portal in your carpet. Six golden eyes appeared next as the demon’s hands curled into your sheets, tugging them away from you as he rose up and stood over your bed.

 “Are you well, little one?” Ollmoch rumbled as he curled his talons into the cotton and carefully eased his hands up towards your legs.

“What happened?” You asked as you crossed your legs under you, looking up at the half nude demon as he dragged his hands back and caressed his own horns, stretching with a hum.

Ollmoch tapped the middle of your forehead, “Your brain gave in. I believe you fainted.” He offered before he opened his mouth and sniffed, pulling air into his mouth, over his tongue and into his nose, “You were drained. It is good energy has returned to you.” He raised his hand and licked at his palm which had grazed your skin, “You are very lively. Full of energy. Untapped potential.” The energy demon smacked his lips before he licked at his fingers again and hummed, “Not enough to truly command me.”

“Why would I want that?” You asked with a scowl, “You wanted to be free, so you can do that now, right?”

Ollmoch nodded his great head as he hissed and touched his chest, “Yes. It is a good thing because I am starving.” He offered before he raised your hand to his face, licking the back of it before he kissed the palm softly, “Thank you, mortal.” He blew a hot breath over the skin, “I am in your debt, and I am at your call, as is the rules of such a bargain.”

 Your mouth went dry before you carefully scratched between his horns. Ollmoch’s bone jewellery jingled and clinked as he accepted the touch before he pulled away and tucked your hand back against your side. His chest eye opened with a growl and you watched as your wall distorted. A sharp click snapped open a hole which the demon stretched with another movement of his hands. Ollmoch gazed into the abyss before he held up one talon.

“If you need me…Say my name, little one. I will be here.” He promised gently before grinning his sharp, shark-like teeth. You smiled back at him.

“Good luck, Ollmoch.” You offered as your cheeks felt hot, “I hope you fair better than in that pocket dimension.” Lamely, you let your hands fall to your side. Ollmoch looked at you, one pair of golden eyes focused on your face. Sadness.

He flicked his tongue and tasted the emotion on the air before he grabbed at your hand again, pressing it to the hot skin beneath the bright, burning eye in his chest, “I will come back, little one. I must feed, but I will be here.” He promised as he grazed his talons over the back of your neck, “What you feel, I will feel.” He whispered as he scratched the back of your neck and flinched himself, “We are linked. Nothing can take my binding from your very soul.” Ollmoch grinned as his talons gazed their way over your face, “Call, little one. Call and I will come.” He promised before he melted back into the wall, his talons and plating disappearing into the void of the in-between.

Your cheeks burned as you flopped back against the bed, looking at the ceiling as you felt the ghostly touches of talons over your skin.  

[wistfulcynic]

The Eternal and Unseen (1 of 3)

SUMMARY: Misthaven University is an ancient place, and as all ancient places do it guards some secrets. Secrets such as Emma Swan and Killian Jones, a fae princess and her royal guardian, whose true identities are well concealed behind the guise of average college students—if not quite well enough to foil the plot their enemies have hatched against them. Now their friends will have to come together, putting their own differences aside to battle an enemy that threatens them all—fae and vampire and werewolf together… plus one very baffled human named David. 

For @cssns​​ 

a/n: Thanks to @spartanguard​​ and  @optomisticgirl​​ for the prompts that planted the seeds of this idea and to my TERRACE-mates @thisonesatellite​​, @ohmightydevviepuu​​, and @katie-dub​​, without whom I might never have found the right way to encourage them to grow, and of course INCOHERENT GIBBERING NOISES OF DELIGHT to @carpedzem​​ for the absolutely stunning art about which I cannot possibly say enough good things. Please zoom all the way in and appreciate the perfection of all the little details she included. The tiny wee fronds on the plant! The shape of the light! Emma’s feather earrings! Her red cloak! Her hat! (the hat you guys, the hat!!). Everything about it is so, so gorgeous and Nat is so talented and creative and such a joy to work with ❤️❤️❤️.

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On AO3 Rating: M Words: 3.9k (first chapter)

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CHAPTER ONE: 

David Nolan was always surprised by people’s reactions when they learned he was the Resident Assistant for H.C. Andersen Hall at Misthaven University. Sure, it was the oldest dorm on the campus, built of dark stone in a high Gothic style, with tall towers and pointed arches, way back when Misthaven and her people still believed in magic. And sure, the heavy wooden doors had a way of creaking on their iron hinges and the windows rattled in their frames when the wind was high... sometimes even when it didn’t blow at all. But this was merely rust and weather and David was a practical man, not one to be troubled by such things as can be plausibly explained away.

And yes, Andersen did have that reputation, though David was certain it could be no more than simple silly student gossip. As an upperclassmen dorm its occupancy was by request only, and over the years it had come to be known as the place where some of the more… unique students tended to convene. But that was surely no reason for people to give that startled twitch or to take a wary step back from him when he told them about his job. Or for the other candidates to look so relieved when they learned it was he and not they who’d be taking over from the last RA, a guy called Walsh who had, in the words of one, “Still not recovered from the trau—er, the experience. But hey, good luck, man.”

A thousand years ago when it was known by another name, Andersen alone had been the university, a haven for scholars of every kith and creed and a place where learning took precedence over any rivalry, however ancient. The building had both schooled and housed them, fed them in its great dining hall with food cooked in the basement kitchen, tutored them in the tower classrooms with books procured from the vast library. When lessons were completed the scholars found repose in the common room, a comfortable space with an enormous fireplace, large, overstuffed chairs, and carved wooden tables where lively debates were had each night until the fire died and they withdrew to their rooms to sleep. (Rooms which, David observed to his delight, were twice the size of those in the other dorms and always single occupancy—no roommate squabbles for him to contend with.) As the university grew and newer dorms were built, as the ancient covenants were forgotten and magic faded from the land, fewer and fewer students chose to reside in the newly christened Andersen Hall. At present there were only eight, plus David, who despite the strange reactions he encountered was thrilled to be the RA there. Eight residents, and all upperclassmen, he thought to himself. Andersen had to be the easiest gig on campus. How odd that no one else had seemed to want it.

The hall itself stood just at the edge of the modern campus, tucked against the so-called enchanted forest that marked the border of Misthaven on three sides. It was an ancient forest, whether enchanted or not—a forest of twisted trees and clinging moss and the shrouding mist that gave their country its name. Very little sunlight survived to reach its floor and thus such things as grew there fed on decay, most digging their roots deep into the soil to wrench what nutrients they could from it and barely peeking the tips of their grey-green leaves above the ground. Other valiant species reached out for whatever light could penetrate the dense canopy, stretching upward into vines that curled around the trunks and branches of the gnarled trees to unfurl their broad leaves hopefully as close as they could to the sky. And so it was of course these very leaves and vines and branches that crept up Andersen’s stone walls and scraped against its windows, and cast deep and shifting shadows that fell both outside the hall and in.

So yeah, David reflected, Andersen Hall was old. And dark. And with each successive year it sank a bit more deeply into the forest’s embrace—a perfectly benign embrace, most of the time, although perhaps not ideal when you found yourself alone in your dorm with the music in your headphones never quite as loud as the branches across your windows, or the distant howls of wolves, or the much less distant scrabblings of other creatures to which it was not always wise to put a name. So, yeah, there was that.

And the students who chose to live in Andersen were characters, that was for sure. Even David had to admit that he’d never met anyone quite like them before. But, he reminded himself, at the end of the day they were just students. Just kids like all the others, despite the sometimes unnerving focus of their attention and the surprising depth to their eyes. Just college kids discovering themselves, exploring their quirks and hobbies and interests.

Take Emma, for example. Emma Swan, as graceful as her name implied and even more beautiful, with her warm smile and wry humour and the spark of mischief in her green eyes. One of the nicest girls David had ever met, tough and smart but with a kind and generous heart and a tender vulnerability that made him wish it were still fashionable to slay dragons. He’d gladly slay one for her—or anything else that might threaten her. His urge to protect Emma at all costs—though from what dangers it was never quite clear—surprised him with its persistent and overwhelming strength.

Also surprising was Emma’s choice of dorm-room decor; the space in her room not occupied by the bed, desk, television, and mini-fridge that were standard even in Andersen rooms, she had filled entirely with plants. Plants the like of which David was certain he had never before seen, long and twisted vines that clung and crept across the stone walls, broad leaves and pointed ones and flowers in unexpected colours. He’d examined them with a frown the day she moved in, mildly unnerved by how comfortably they already seemed to inhabit the space but convinced by Emma’s soothing reassurances and the evidence of his own eyes that none of them were anything college kids might wish to dry and smoke. And while keeping what was essentially a greenhouse in a dorm room may be a bit unorthodox it wasn’t strictly against the rules—David had even made a special visit to the Chancellor to ensure Emma wouldn’t run into any difficulty later on, if another student made a complaint, for example. The Chancellor’s eyes had widened to an alarming size, but he’d confirmed that yes, students were allowed plants in their rooms, and there wasn’t technically a limit on their number, then hustled David from his office with the rather thin excuse of a dentist appointment he suddenly remembered he had.

And as for Emma’s habit of chatting to her plants as though they understood her words, or chuckling to herself as she did so, or singing as she watered them—a low and haunting tune in a language David felt he really ought to recognise—all while wearing a pointed hat made of green straw with flowers round the brim which she called her ‘special gardening hat’… well, she wasn’t bothering anyone and David really didn’t think it was his place to judge.

And actually, Emma’s plants weren’t even the most unusual things that could be found in the rooms of his residents. Victor Whale, a slender, pale young man who gave the impression of feeding off his own nervous energy, had what looked to David’s admittedly untrained eye like an entire laboratory set up in his room—tall shelves lined with specimen jars and long tables loaded with Bunsen burners under simmering beakers of… substances in which David felt it might be wisest not to invest too much careful thought. He had not spoken to the Chancellor about those burners and didn’t intend to, both because he didn’t wish to draw attention to them and because Victor with his wild hair and wilder eyes, the sardonic smirk he nearly always wore and the barbed comments he loved to make, did not rouse quite the same protective instincts in David as Emma did.

That, and he wasn’t entirely certain the Chancellor would agree to meet with him again.

Of all his residents, the one David felt he could relate to most was Graham. They shared a similar taste for plaid shirts and brown leather jackets, and a similar appreciation for the simple joys that could be had in the great outdoors. Graham had an deep, instinctual understanding of nature that David envied; several times he’d caught the younger man in conversation with the dogs he met on the walks he liked to take or the squirrels who paused to chatter at him from the branches of trees, even the deer and other creatures that crept out from the forest to scratch at his window, serious conversation that did not appear one-sided. Graham spoke to animals as Emma did to plants—in the manner of folk to their brethren—but the connection went deeper even than that. Every few weeks he went out to spend all night in the woods, generally, David couldn’t help noticing, around the time of the full moon—and when David inquired why Graham simply replied “The animals need me.”

If animals of the furry variety had need of Graham, the feathered kind flocked, quite literally, to Snow. There never seemed to be a time when she wasn't accompanied by some feathered friend or other, and her dorm window was always open so they could come and go as they pleased. She kept bowls of seeds on her shelves and handfuls of them in her pockets and had been delighted when Emma gave her a tree so the birds would have somewhere in her room to nest—a tree that within a week had overgrown its pot and sunk roots into the stone floor of Snow’s room in a way David again found himself opting not to examine. He himself passed many a pleasant afternoon with Snow in that room, listening to her talk about—and to—her birds. It amazed him now how little attention he’d paid to birds before. They were astounding, beautiful creatures, and the sound of Snow’s voice, melodic and soothing as she stroked their feathered heads, was… well, it was… it was something he sometimes felt he could listen to forever.

Snow’s best friend in the dorm was Ruby and though David liked Ruby perfectly well he had to admit he was a bit baffled by how close the two were. They didn’t seem to have a whole lot in common. All but the bravest of Snow’s birds fled when Ruby approached, and the ones that stayed eyed her warily and stuck close to Snow as she flashed them a grin and licked her chops. Er, her lips. She licked her lips and it made the birds nervous, and… and at any rate, Ruby was bold and charming but just a bit wild. She liked to party and to stay out late, often not returning to her room until the early hours of the morning. Andersen had no curfew so David said nothing, though he couldn’t help noticing that in sharp contrast to Ruby’s habits Snow was usually in bed by 10 o’clock. Not that he paid her or her sleeping habits any particular attention, certainly not, just that he happened to notice she always left her room at around 9.45 to go wash her face, always wearing such cute pajamas and trailed by a flock of bluebirds—and it wasn’t like he made a point of being out in the common room when he knew she’d be walking by, he just… well, he happened to be there sometimes. That was all.

Yet despite these differences Snow and Ruby were the best of friends, and while Emma was more solitary and a bit distant until you got to know her, she also got along well with them. Ruby got along with just about everybody, including Belle, who David sometimes forgot was even among his residents. Belle had an unnerving way of appearing very suddenly where she was least expected and of disappearing without warning from places she’d been moments before. She was a quiet, studious young woman who moved as though her feet didn’t quite touch the floor and was so pale he sometimes fancied he could see through her. She was hardly ever in her room or even the common room, preferring to spend her time in the library.

“You might say she haunts the place,” August had remarked with a wry note in his voice that David imagined was significant, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Feeling at something of a loss, he had simply nodded. “She certainly does spend a lot of time there,” he’d agreed, then frowned when August laughed.

August was a bit of an odd one, the only person in the dorm whom Ruby actively disliked, so much that she actually snarled at him whenever their paths crossed. He took only evening classes and was never anywhere to be found during the day. At least once a week he returned from his classes accompanied by a young woman—always beautiful and rarely the same one twice—and David observed that while August preferred to sleep the day away those women would stumble from his room quite early the next morning and looking awful—pale and drawn and thoroughly exhausted. Before leaving they all would go to Emma’s door, knock three times slowly then three times fast, and when it opened they all smiled the same sheepish smile and stuttered the same apologies as they slipped into her room. When they emerged from it they were as new women—pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, glowing with health and quite pleased with themselves, wreathed in satisfied smiles.

David felt uncomfortably as though he ought to do something about this, though he had no idea what. The women always seemed so thrilled when they arrived—clinging to August’s arm and chattering brightly as he smiled at them with a peculiar sort of fond disinterest—and so contented when they left, after they’d seen Emma, at least, and as no formal complaints were ever lodged David was left with nothing more to go on than a feeling of vague discomfort.

He’d attempted to broach the subject once with Emma but she had simply shrugged and said “Groupies. What can you do?” and so he’d let it go.  

So those were his residents. Four women—Emma, Snow, Ruby, and Belle, and four men—Graham, Victor, August… and Killian.

Ah, yes. Killian.

David liked Killian, he truly did. It was a point of pride with him to find something to like about every one of his residents, though he had to admit that finding that thing for Killian posed something of a challenge. It wasn’t just that Killian preferred his leather black or opted for dark button-downs or obscure band t-shirts instead of plaid. It wasn’t even that he was mouthy and arrogant, smarter than most everyone he met and not afraid to let them know it. No, the challenge for David when it came to liking Killian was Emma. Or more specifically, the way Killian looked at Emma. And the way she very much looked back.

“I suppose that’s one way to ‘guard’ her,” Victor remarked one evening as they sat around the fire in the common room, Emma laughing with Graham in one corner while Killian glowered darkly at the pair of them from the other. “Very dramatic, you know. Very Charlotte Brontë. Or is it Emily, I always get them mixed up.”

“Piss off,” Killian snarled, returning his attention to his textbooks just in time to miss the glance Emma shot him from the corner of her eye.

“‘Course I suppose she doesn’t make it easy for you—” Victor began, then smirked when Killian slammed his book shut and got up. “I’m going to bed,” he declared and stalked from the room, Emma’s eyes following his every move as he went.

“Enemies to lovers slow burn, 100k,” Belle whispered to Ruby on another occasion, a rare instance when she left the library to join them for breakfast. Ruby nodded sagely and both of them sat back, observing Emma and Killian’s heated argument about the best way to make a cup of tea with all apparent enjoyment. David wasn’t entirely certain what that meant, or that he liked the way his residents seemed to find the pair’s squabbles so entertaining. He knew only that if Emma and Killian really thought anyone believed they hated each other the way they both so loudly and frequently proclaimed, they were seriously deluding themselves. Their little snarky comments and defiant challenges were some of the most obvious flirtation David had ever seen, especially when combined with those damned looks. Looks that all but screamed how much they would prefer to resolve their differences with physical action than with words, and that they had already imagined how those physical dispute resolutions might go—frequently and in great detail.

David did not approve of those looks.

Nor did he approve, as the summer heat faded into the cooler air of autumn and the green leaves of the forest’s trees took on brighter hues, of the way Emma and Killian’s snappish words began to lose the battle with that oh-so-evident longing to touch. Slowly at first and tentatively, small brushes of arms and fingers that before long began to linger… In principle he supposed there was nothing wrong with what they were doing, or with the budding feelings they continued to deny. He would be one hundred percent in support of it, in fact, were it not so damned blatant—those sparks of tension that turned the air electric, the raw hunger in Killian’s eyes as he watched her, the answering ache in hers when she watched him—David had come to think of Emma as he would a little sister and he did not appreciate being slapped in the face, so to speak, by the evidence of her active sexual interest in a man whom David was not at all convinced was good enough for her. It annoyed him so much that he almost—almost—found himself agreeing with Victor, who had taken to rolling his eyes and muttering “I wish they’d just fuck already” a bit too loudly whenever Emma and Killian got into one of their ‘disputes.’

He would have been able to officially disapprove the night he caught them doing tequila slammers in her dorm room—alcohol was discouraged in the dorms, even for students of legal drinking age—except that had turned out to be nothing but a very bizarre dream… although… had it been a dream? It must have been, though it had seemed so real at the time… but he remembered only catching sight of them through her slightly open door and reaching up to knock… the next thing he knew he was groaning as he woke in his own room, his head aching and feeling full of cotton wool, Emma sitting by his bedside with her ‘world famous hangover cure’ in one of Victor’s beakers explaining that he was the one who’d overindulged... “So unlike you, David, I’m really very shocked,” she’d said with that glint in her eye… and when David confronted Killian about the incident he’d merely scoffed and said “Tequila, mate? You were definitely dreaming. You know I only drink rum, and that in the company of ladies more… amenable than Swan.”

Of course, on the late October afternoon when David accompanied Graham on his walk and they stumbled upon Emma and Killian beneath a tree in the forest, wrapped around each other and kissing so deeply that he wondered how they could also be breathing—well, that was most definitely not a dream. It was also not in the dorm and therefore not technically within his jurisdiction, so he simply caught Graham by the arm and turned back the way they came.

The energy had shifted between Emma and Killian, he realised with a curious sort of bittersweet thrum in his chest. An unmistakable shift yet hard to define, as though they were hovering just on the cusp of something both nebulous and truly extraordinary. And despite them being right out in public—seriously, right off the footpath—the way they’d held each other was so intensely intimate that interrupting them, even to ask them to move to a more appropriate location, would have felt like the worst kind of intrusion. Plus of course there was no telling what uncomfortable circumstances David might find himself waking up in if he dared to cock-block Emma Swan.

Now where in hell had that thought come from?

A few hours later Emma and Killian returned to the dorm, flushed and mussed and with leaves in their hair, buzzing with that newly shifted energy—and holding hands, though they let go both reluctantly and immediately upon realising they were being eagerly observed.

“Well well well,” smirked Victor, elbowing David in the ribs. “Looks like August owes me twenty. I should probably thank you, Jones.”

“Bugger off, mate,” muttered Killian, entirely without his usual snarl, and then with a defiant glare and a flush high on his cheekbones, he sauntered after Emma into her room and shut the door firmly behind him.

“Well, I think I’ll go put on some very loud music,” Victor remarked, and retreated into his own room, leaving David alone in the common room feeling vaguely unsettled.

The next morning Killian and Emma arrived at breakfast together, radiating happiness and unable to stop touching, and, David would swear to it, with actual stars in their eyes. They left for their morning classes with their arms around each other, returning in the afternoon in the same manner, and when Victor and August tried to mock him about it Killian just laughed.

“We’ve worked out our differences, mates,” he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “I’m certain you know what I mean.”

“It’s sweet, really,” August observed one evening a week or so later, in that dry, supercilious tone of his that grated on David’s nerves. “Though possibly not the wisest move, sleeping with the woman under his protection. I’ve seen the vows they have to take, you know, and they are intense. It could literally be the death of him.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Ruby snapped, baring her teeth as Snow placed a soothing hand on her arm. “Not that you would know anything about that.”

“You’re right of course,” August agreed, his eyes flashing red in the firelight. “What would I know about love and loss, I’m only three hundr—”

“Well, I think it’s great they’ve finally gotten together,” said Snow loudly, glaring first at August then Ruby then August again. “I hope they’ll be happy.”

David hoped so too, genuinely. Even he could see how good the two of them were for each other. She smoothed his rough edges and he drew her out from her shell, and the dangerous sparks of their attraction settled down into the far gentler flame of new love. It was sweet, and he did approve, and yet—still he felt unsettled, a vague sensation of unease twisting deep in his gut. He’d call it a premonition, if he believed in such things. But he was a sensible man, a man of science and the twenty-first century, and so he firmly ignored it.

Two days later Emma Swan disappeared.

___

[capri-ramblings]

Yikes,I know there's bound to be questions but trust me, chapter 3 will answer most of them. Aha,I'm sorry if this chapter is kinda confusing at first,I'm not good at planning out thoughts or stories systemically,it kinda makes it harder for me to write whenever I try to. But here,the second chapter of Raptured! Thank you for reading! ( ꈍᴗꈍ) ♥️

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter 2: Banter

In the moment Riddle had finished telling his brothers what conspired with their human captive, the first to speak up was Azul.

"They offered what?" His words were a mix of shock and amusement, gaze fixated on Riddle who seemed almost flustered from how red his cheeks were.

The red haired sighed, sending him a narrow eyed glare before crossing his arms.

"The head of their own brother"

"By their own hands?" Kalim asked aloud, his features scrunched up worryingly. "Isn't that bad? Why would anyone want to kill their own brother so suddenly?"

From the chaise across the room,Leona let out a scoff, lips upturned into a smirk.

"What are you? A five year old? If you give a herbivore the chance of freedom,they'd leave their entire fleet open to make sure they survive. Humans aren't so different."

"Indeed" Vil joined in with a smile of his own. "Humans are very fickle things, they live out their life struggling and as a result they stink of repulsion."

"They can barely even stand on their own.." Idia added thoughtfully and as the gazes of his brothers turned to him, the flames on his hair flickered and he looked away.

"Maybe the isolation's got to their head?"

Riddle let out a scoff, his lips upturned in a sneer almost too vicious to be formed on such a delicate looking face.

"The cottage they were in was secluded from the rest of the village,they were already a reclusive. Why should it bother them now?"

"Maybe Idia has a point" Kalim interjected then "Before they were on their own by choice...and they weren't exactly trapped in a tower either"

"It's all the same" Leona snapped " Damn herbivores will always be too fragile."

"Though, our soft-shelled brothers have a sound reason" Vil's lips curled in an effortless smile,his ever sharp gaze glinting like jewels.

"At this rate our small hare is going to die before the homage from her brother, and that makes all of this pointless."

The room went silent then. Each males having their own thoughts wrapped around the situation.

When they came to a decision to face the hunter who killed their family beast, he was nowhere to be seen and left tending to his cottage was none other than their captive human, a young sibling unaware of what their fool brother had committed. They opted it was easier to simply kidnap them and have their brother come looking since neither one of them wanted to wait around. There was also the fact that the death of the beast had affected their Mother's health greatly, and all seven brothers fumed with rage.

"Our methods doesn't matter anymore" Riddle spoke up, "What's done is done. We can't exactly just put them back where we found them."

"I agree" Azul said "Though if the human dies in our care now, when we're fully able to change their situation, I fear the price of that loss would be great."

"What? Are the humans going to chase us around with pitchforks?" Leona sneered,his sharp fangs visible as he leaned back into the chaste. "You saw how further in their cottage was, chances are the herbivore doesn't even go down to the village often enough for people to notice them missing."

"They can't die." Idia drawled the words out this time,his gaze sharp and harsh as he stared down Leona who all but grinned at his brother.

"Why? Because you like them?" The laugh that barked out from Leona was cruel and Idia flinched.

"Go ahead and save the poor herbivore then,Prince Idia of the lands of burrowed moles. You think they'd ever look at you fondly?"

"Enough." Riddle came between the fight with his own ire and before he sent a glare towards Leona, he let Idia catch the solace in his.

The situation was getting worst. They needed a decision quick.

"You're not a five year old as well,Leona, so keep that tongue of yours tamed"

"What are you? Suddenly playing the role of the Eldest when you can't even reach his height?" Leona scrutinized Riddle with an aggression that seemed ready to claw him in the face, but Riddle kept his own spite and promptly choose to ignore his brother.

Instead,he turned to Azul.

"The hunter should've came back and see his sibling gone, you even sent those eels of yours to make sure he got the hints. Why hasn't he made a single move? It's been two months."

"Maybe he's forgetful?" Kalim chipped in, eyes glowing. Riddle wanted to tap the side of his face and gently tell him to shut up but Vil patted his head instead.

"A forgetful hunter managing to kill a wild beast is unlikely, mein bruder"

Azul crossed his arms,gaze narrowing.

"They've sent word that they have information regarding our human and the whereabouts of their brother"

"And?" Vil prompted.

"I told them to come meet us as soon as they can, which shouldn't be long."

The moment those words were uttered, a dull thud came from the would-be-entrance of the tower, and a familiar voice calling out.

"My Princes! Open the door please!" The urgency of the voice had all the present Princes turning their head, though the one who seemed genuinely surprised and concerned was Kalim.

"That voice..." He said, turning to Azul "Is that who I think it is?"

Azul's lips curled into a knowing smile and with a flick of his fingers, the sound of a door being swung opened then slammed shut could be heard within the tower itself,followed by light rapid footsteps approaching them.

Out of breath and desperately panting, a young girl made a hasty bow as she came before the Princes, though the way her legs slightly trembled suggested that she was near collapsing.

"It is her!" Kalim's eyes grew wide with familiarity, the worry in his voice replaced with joy as he came up to place his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"The last time I saw you, you were still learning how to walk!" Kalim's loud voice seemed to make her flinch but the girl met his gaze with warmth before she bowed her head again.

"Pleasure to meet you again,Prince Kalim." She's heard stories of him, the Prince Fae known to give out bits of his treasures to those who come wishing at his well. It seemed odd to act as if she's known him, but she knew better than to put logic before courtesy. He was one of the seven Princes after all. Acting too smart with them was a fool's mistake.

Before Kalim could say anything else, Azul stepped forward and the girl promptly met his side with a suddenly serious demeanor.

"I'd ask you for the information I had you fetch but I wonder why you were running in the first place?"

The girl laughed dryly if not nervously.

"Floyd wanted to see who could win in a race in getting here,your Highness."

Azul frowned, internally sighing.

"Why on Earth did you agree to that?"

Again, the girl laughed. "He terrifies me,my Prince."

Riddle couldn't place where he's met her, but hearing her words had him internally sympathising her. Azul's leeches were a pair he'd gladly avoid for eternity as well.

"So,you got a changeling to be at your beck and call as well,Azul?" Vil sounded amused as he turned to Azul, but the degrading glance he gave the girl bellied the smile coyly sitting on his lips then.

"She's indebted to us anyway" Azul stated simply "Why not put her to work?"

His gaze returned to the girl.

"What do you have about our human then?"

It took a full ten minutes for the young changeling to inform them of what she's managed to compile on their human and hunter. Turns out they aren't related by blood but by marriage. Apparently most of the villagers knew of the hunter but rarely saw the younger sibling as they took more liking in staying indoors. There was also talk that their relationship with one another was never close and answered Riddle's question as to why he hadn't showed up yet.

"So, he's just going to leave his sibling at our mercy?" Kalim asked,he had his expression scrunched up with worry and pity again but Leona shared none of it and only growled with distaste.

"There won't be mercy if they're left with us a second longer"

Riddle caught the flicker of Idia's flames and instantly reacted.

"Threaten to murder our captive one more time and I'll have your head,Leona."

"Hah, you're trying to scare me,Riddle?" Leona sneered,fangs glistening with malice. He's been irritated by the whole situation since the beginning. Taking in a human in hopes that another would appear to save them, it was all a damn fairytale. Leona knew humans were selfish, his brothers should've had that piece of common sense drilled into their heads as well. No one was going to play hero for their captive.

Riddle gritted his teeth and again instead of lashing out senselessly, he swirled around to face the changeling. Every bit of his anger flaring in his grey gaze.

"Where's the hunter now?" He asked,though it sounded painfully like a death threat.

The changeling bowed her head.

"He's at the human King's palace,Prince Riddle. King Aothor ...of Nostorne"

The words sent the entire room tilting, and Riddle would've gripped her by her neck if Azul hadn't stepped forward.

"King? Since when did the humans have a King?" The last time they came to the world,their mother's shrine was built almost everywhere to acknowledge her ruling. Had times changed so drastically since their absence?

"Yes. It's been this way for years now. A dukedom raised after Her Most Divine's departure from the human realm and ever since then a lineage of human nobles have taken the throne as the Human ruler."

"My, how futuristic, and here we were in the guise that we still sat on the top of their world" Vil was laughing but his words cut into the tension of the room like a blade coated in venom and the changeling girl shifted uncomfortably.

"It seems like the order of the slaughtering was made by him and ultimately fulfilled by the hunter. His name is Cyril and he's being celebrated by the King for his bravery."

Leona heaved a heavy sigh,leaning once more into his chaise. He looked ready to fall into a deep slumber already but his irritation kept him awake.

"So,we have information. Now what's the plan?"

***

Jade and Floyd,two of Azul's trusted companions came into the situation while the Princes were sorting out their thoughts and opinions (Which all greatly contradict one another) and brought word that their hunter had refused to save their sibling in a conversation Jade overheard him had with another hunter right before he was called on by the King.

"He said he knew of the Fae's trick and that by taking something of theirs as his own, he'd gladly give anything they took from him as compensation." Jade explained in his usual matter-of-fact tone,his mismatched gaze still and knowing.

Riddle clicked his tongue, brows furrowing. Idia's was the most sympathetic along with Kalim while Leona and Vil seemed ready to send a fleet of their army to storm into the human villages.

"I'm not really surprised though" Floyd spoke up lazily "He seems like a guy who'd do that kind of thing anyways"

"But now the Princes are stuck with keeping a human captive in their care", Boe,the young changeling from earlier, pointed out grimly.

"What if we sent you to negotiate with him in our stead?" Idia suggested which earned a rather hasty look from the girl.

"Human royals don't take too kindly to my kind,Prince Idia. I doubt he'd even let me enter"

Leona let out a menacing growl. One that reverberated through the tower walls.

"This is going nowhere. Riddle, go up to that damn herbivore and have them beg their brother come and pay his homage so we can give them back."

Riddle frowned.

"You heard the changeling,Leona. If their relationship with their brother is as bad as we've heard, do you really think they'd beg for him to come save them?"

"Couldn't you talk some sense in them?" Azul had eyes turning once more to the young changeling who all but reluctantly slumped her shoulders.

"I don't see how me being the one talking will get them to cooperate..."

"Clamshell,you should at least try,right?" Floyd's smile was sickly sweet and when he attempted to sling his arm over her shoulders, she avoided the outcome by shifting close to Jade.

"What would you want me to say to them?"

"The offer they gave" Riddle said "Have them elaborate more on that. I'm not going into a deal without knowing why it was proposed in the first place."

There was hesitation in her eyes but it was swiftly changed to a silent resolve as she nodded her head.

"I'll see what I can do."

[here4theheartbreak]

Whistling Woods (TaeGi)

✩ AO3 Link Here!

✩ Relationships: taegi (Taehyung x Yoongi)

✩ Genre/Universe: fluff

✩ Rating: General Audiences

✩ Tags: getting together, suggestive scenes, fluff, fairies, angels, fae!Taehyung, fae!Jimin

✩ Summary: Yoongi hears a strange whistling in the woods outside his apartment. What he finds will change his life.

✩ Word Count: ~3.6k

✩ A/N: This fic fills the square Snow Angels for @btsholidaybingo​ - Also for Taehyung’s birthday 2020. And! Finally, this is also my last fic of 2020!! I will return next year with even better works for you all. Thank you for your support this year!

Yoongi fell into bed with a deep groan. Long nights were the worst. He’d been up until three in the morning, working on the latest report for his company. He was ready to sleep for a damn week. Yoongi simply was not built for this style of working. 

He plugged his phone in and wrestled his way under the covers, sighing contentedly as the cool winter breeze drifted in through his open window. His eyelids grew heavy, slipping shut.

The whistle was like nothing Yoongi had ever heard before. A long, high squeal followed by three rapid trills. At first, he wondered if it was the wind through the trees outside his window, but he’d never heard wind whistle like that. There was silence for a few moments, and then another series, two rapid trills, one long whistle, one more rapid chirp. 

Yoongi sat up, scowling at the darkness outside his window. It sounded so close. He lived on the third floor of his apartment, but it sounded right like it was right outside, in the little grove of trees that connected to the wider woods. 

Another series of chirps and whistles, different than the previous two. An animal? Some sort of bird? He’d never heard a bird like that. He sounded almost too mechanical, like someone was trilling on a referee’s whistle. 

The noise went on for another twenty minutes, and Yoongi had begun to get chills down his spine. There was something deeply eerie about the sound. It didn’t belong. It wasn’t right. The shadows in his room suddenly felt far more threatening, and the cool breeze through his screen that normally helped him sleep was far more chilling.

Yoongi swore under his breath when it happened again, kicking out of his blankets and padding over to his clothes. He tugged on sweatpants over his pajamas, and a hoodie, then added his winter jacket. He pulled his boots on and slipped quietly out the door of his apartment. He could still hear the whistling faintly as he padded down the steps to the ground floor, and far louder once he was outside. Yoongi’s heart was beating a mile a minute, not sure what he was actually doing out here. Whatever was making that noise wasn’t an animal or the wind, so it was probably a human. But why would a human be blowing a whistle at three in the morning? 

Despite the knowledge that this was probably a very bad idea, Yoongi circled around the apartment building and stepped onto one of the dirt paths that wound through the wooded area. 

The chirping continued as Yoongi snuck along, sounding much louder and much closer as he wandered along the paths. He lost sight of the apartment building among the trees, digging in his pockets to find his phone. A dread settled into his stomach when he realized he’d left it charging on the bedside stand. If he got lost, he would be in trouble. 

As if confirming his concern, the whistling erupted again, near enough to his left side that it made his ears ache. He ducked low behind a tree, creeping off the path and heading toward the sound. His boots crunched in the snow despite his best efforts to quiet them. 

As he neared what l looked like an open patch in the trees, the crunching of snow and quiet titters of something filled his ears. His own footsteps were entirely drowned out. He moved himself behind a tree, peeking out. 

It was a small clearing, moonlight shining down and casting a cool, bluish glow over the snow. In the center were two men—at least they looked sort of like men, making snow angels in the deep snow. Yoongi leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to see them better. One sat up, and his face shone in moonlight. Yoongi’s heart jumped. He was the most stunning man Yoongi had ever laid eyes on. A sharp jawline and shaggy, wavy hair colored in a variety of blue shades, his mouth drawn back into a wide smile.

The whistling erupted again. It was coming from the man. Not that he was blowing a whistle – but from his mouth. It moved like he was speaking to the other, pink haired man in the snow, gesturing to the angel he’d made. 

As if things couldn’t get any stranger, wings erupted from the blue haired man’s back, fluttering iridescent in the moonlight. This time Yoongi did gasp. 

Both men’s heads whipped around, landing on the spot Yoongi was hidden. His heart began to pound as they approached, the blue haired man’s feet lifting from the ground every few feet as his wings – his wings!! – fluttered him forward. Yoongi looked around, wondering if he had any chance of hiding. 

His thoughts were cut short when a slender hand grabbed his arm with surprising strength, yanking him forward into the field. Yoongi cried out in surprise, landing in the snow. Some puffed up into his face, blinding him momentarily. 

When he cleared it, he was face to face with the stunning blue haired… creature. Now that he could see him clearly, he realized that fit far better than man. His skin was smooth and perfect, almost poreless in the shine of the moonlight. His eyes were bright blue, the same shade as his hair, which Yoongi could now see was just as iridescent as the wings sprouted from his broad back. 

“You can see us.” The voice that came from the creature was shocking; a rich, velvety, deep sound that settled immediately into Yoongi’s bones.

“You speak Korean.”

The creature tilted his head. “Of course. Is that not where we live?”

“Th—The whistling.”

“You heard that?” Chirped the pink haired creature behind him. He was just as stunning as the blue haired one; shorter and slimmer, with a full, pouty mouth and vibrant pinkish irises. His voice was higher and softer, but just as velvety and soothing. 

“Of course. It’s why I came out here. It woke me, but sounded like nothing I’ve heard before. I needed to know.”

The blue haired creature blinked. He straightened up, allowing Yoongi to sit up and bat the snow from his coat. 

“You live in that brick building outside the grove.”

“Yes, my apartment building.” 

“Hum. You shouldn’t see us.”

“Well I do. Clear as day. Right here.” Yoongi reached out and touched the creature’s arm. He jumped visibly.

“I don’t get it. Humans can’t see us! Unless—” 

“Humans? What are you?” Yoongi asked.

The pink haired one crept closer, his movements light enough that he barely disturbed the snow under his feet. “He doesn’t look Fae, Taehyungie.”

“I know. Did you have two parents? Both humans?”

“Of course I did. Fae? Is that what you two…” Yoongi drifted off, staring at the two in front of him. It would make sense. The wings, the otherworldly beauty, the inhumanness in general. But Fae? They didn’t exist outside of fairy tales.

“Yes,” Taehyung said simply. “But only ones with Fae blood should be able to see us unless we let them. Nobody can hear us speak our own language.”

“That’s what the whistling was.”

“Yes.”

Yoongi shook his head. “This is insane. I—I’m just a normal guy. I just wanted to sleep in peace.” Yoongi put his cold hands over his face, screwing his eyes shut.

“I think he’s frightened, Tae.”

“And probably cold. You should stand up, human. Come on. We won’t hurt you.” Taehyung grabbed Yoongi’s elbow, hauling him to his feet. 

“I just wanted to sleep,” Yoongi groaned. 

“What’s your name, human?” Taehyung asked. He pried Yoongi’s hands from his face and offered a smile.

“Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

“My name is Taehyung. This is my brother, Jimin. You should go home, it’s too cold, your nose is turning red.”

“I—” Yoongi hesitated, looking around. “I’m lost. I wandered off the trail trying to find the noises…”

“Let me take you home,” Taehyung offered. “I know the way.”

Yoongi hesitated, looking between the two creatures. Fae. Fucking fairies! 

Jimin smiled, seeming to sense his hesitation. “We’re peaceful. We won’t hurt someone who won’t hurt us. Humans can’t see us, normally – We’re just confused, but we don’t mean you any harm, Min Yoongi.”

“I’m just… This is all too much.”

“Let me take you home,” Taehyung said again. “We will be quieter, you won’t need to even remember tonight, it can be a dream.”

Yoongi chuckled without humor, shaking his head. “This is too insane to even be a dream.”

Despite his lamentation, Yoongi let Taehyung grasp his hand and lead him through the woods.

As they walked, Yoongi couldn’t help but keep looking over, examining the features of the man next to him. The only problem was, more times than not, when Yoongi would look over, Taehyung was already looking at him, their eyes meeting awkwardly before both looked forward once more. 

When they reached the edge of the woods, apartment looming up in front of them, Taehyung grabbed Yoongi’s hand once more.

“I don’t know why you can see us, but please don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“No, of course not,” Yoongi said. “Frankly the story would be entirely unbelievable anyway… But I figure you guys are hidden for a reason, so…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“It was my pleasure.” Taehyung hesitated, glancing around the empty area. He seemed like he had something more to say, so Yoongi waited, standing just outside the protection of the woods. 

“What’s up?” Yoongi finally asked when the silence had stretched on too long.

“Nothing, I just… I can’t figure out why you can see me.”

“I don’t know, honestly. I had two perfectly normal parents, nothing magical or special about me.”

“That’s untrue,” Taehyung said.

“What?”

“Saying there’s nothing special about you. It may not be in the Fae sense… But you are special, Yoongi. I can feel it.”

“Is that so?” Yoongi chuckled. “Tell that to my boss.”

Taehyung tilted his head a little. He let go of Yoongi’s hand after giving it a little squeeze. “Sleep well, Min Yoongi.”

“Uh… Thanks. You too, if you sleep?”

Taehyung smiled brightly, a squarish shape that was both odd and endearing. “We do. And I will. Thank you.” He turned then and slipped back into the trees. Yoongi watched until he could no longer see the blue of Taehyung’s hair, feeling strangely sad when it finally disappeared. He shook his head and headed into the apartment. What an insane night, he thought as he fell into bed. So fairies were real… And really pretty. Who knew?

Yoongi woke the next morning to a fresh snowfall and a perfectly nice breeze in his window. It only took a few minutes of lying in bed, breathing in the crisp air, for the memories from the night before to come flooding back. 

Fairies. He’d met… real fairies. Though he may have been able to brush it off as a wildly detailed dream, the damp sweats hanging over his desk chair, and the boots, still puddled with melted snow by his door, told a different story. So, it had happened. He’d met… Fairies. The blue haired one - Taehyung - swam to the forefront of his memory. He was so stunning. Yoongi was almost disappointed he’d likely never see him again. 

He rose and dressed for work, facing yet another mundane day. He went to see his boss first thing when he reached the office, intending to update him about the progress on the reports he’d finished the night prior. When he entered the office, however, his boss jumped up. 

“Min Yoongi! Just the man I wanted to see.”

“O— Oh?” Yoongi asked, glancing around. “Is there something wrong with the numbers?”

“What? No, the numbers are great, they always are. You, my boy, you are something special. You know what I think you need? A raise. How does that sound?”

“A raise?” Yoongi spluttered. “But why?” 

“Because you’re good at your job. Damn good at it. In fact, did you finish the spreadsheets for this week?”

“Uh-huh. Last night. That’s what I was coming in to say—“

“Great. Take the rest of the day off. Early weekend.”

“What?” 

“Well, why should you stay around, you’ve done your job. Go home and enjoy the day. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked, confusion written across his features. 

“Of course I am, get out of here.”

Yoongi bowed in thanks, walking out hesitatingly. He kept waiting for his boss to call him back, say it was a joke. Even as he rode the bus home, he waited for the inevitable ‘get your ass back here’ phone call that was sure to come. 

But it never did, and Yoongi was able to spend the day relaxing, working on music and art and just generally enjoying his day. 

As the sun dipped down over the horizon, Yoongi settled in for a long, relaxing bath. He was going to get to bed early tonight and wake up refreshed for the weekend ahead, he decided. 

After the longest, most pampering bath he’d let himself take in near a year, Yoongi trotted out of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and headed for his bedroom. 

And on his bed sat Taehyung, cross-legged and wingless, reading a magazine that was on Yoongi’s bedside stand. 

Yoongi screamed in surprise, covering his bare chest with his arm and squeezing the knot on his towel more tightly. Taehyung looked up.

“Oh! You’re out. I didn’t want to bother you in the bath, so I waited here. Why do you look so frightened?”

Taehyung hesitated, then gasped. “Oh, right. Humans knock rather than just appearing, huh?”

“Usually,” Yoongi said, still breathing hard, “yes. Also I’m naked and you’re on my bed.”

“Is that a sexual proposition?” Taehyung asked simply. Yoongi thought for a moment he was going to choke on his own tongue as he struggled to respond.

“What, no!”

“Oh. Why do you need to point out your nudity in relation to my position on the bed then?”

“Because I’m naked, Taehyung!” Yoongi cried, slumping against the wall. “I need to put clothes on and you’re in my bedroom!”

“So…” Taehyung blinked. He gasped then. “Oh! You’re timid.”

“I am not timid,” Yoongi bristled.

“About your nudity?”

“No! It’s just... I don’t—Just turn away at least so I can put on underwear.”

Taehyung shrugged and spun around on the bed, his back to Yoongi. Yoongi hurried over to his dresser and pulled on his boxers and a pair of pajamas. “Okay, fine,” he said, tossing his towel into the hamper. He heard the bedsheets rustle as Taehyung turned back around, but faced his closet to find a shirt to sleep in.

“You have a nice body.”

Yoongi’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Thanks…”

He tugged on his shirt and turned. “How’d you get into my room?”

“Your window.”

“It’s barely open.”

“Enough for me. I can get very small when I want to.”

“Like Tinkerbell,” Yoongi joked. He paced around a moment, unsure what to do with himself. Finally, he sat in his desk chair, facing the bed. 

“I suppose,” Taehyung finally responded, after watching him pace. “We can change size if needed but we don’t stay tiny like the cartoon.”

“I see… Why are you in my room?”

“Because I wanted to see you again. Did your boss treat you better today?”

Yoongi scowled at that. “He—” His words from the previous night came back to him. ‘Tell that to my boss.’ 

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. I just told him that you were special and should be treated as such.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Yoongi lamented, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it. “But thank you. He gave me a raise and the day off.”

“That’s a good thing for humans then?”

“Yeah, I’ve deserved a raise in that place for a year. He’s normally too stingy. So, yeah, thank you… I can’t believe you did it, but… How did you know where I worked, anyway?”

Taehyung smiled and shrugged. “We fairies have our ways. I like you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so? What for? I’m just a human.”

“You have a nice face. And I think a nice personality. Your hair is a bit dull… But all my people are so bright, it’s kind of nice see that too.” Taehyung rose, approaching Yoongi. He sat on his lap, ignoring Yoongi’s sharp gasp of surprise. “And you have a nice aura.” Taehyung swiped at a spot near the side of Yoongi’s head. “It shimmers and flows. There’s dark spots but it’s not so bad at all. Not like most of your kind.”

“Auras huh? I assumed mine would be black as hell… I’m an angry person.”

“I can see that.” Taehyung tilted his head. He reached out again, drawing swirls in something only he could see. “But there’s more.”

Yoongi shivered a little despite the comfortable temperature of the room. His eyes slipped shut, then snapped open. There was a fairy. On his lap. In his bedroom. A very pretty fairy… Making him shiver…

“Taehyung—”

“Hm?” 

“You should move.”

“Why?”

“Just—You should.”

“Do you not like me this close?”

Yoongi bared his teeth, swallowing hard. “That’s the problem.” 

“Are you implying your arousal? I can see it, silly.” 

Yoongi looked down at his lap, and Taehyung laughed. “I mean in your aura. It’s quite a pretty silver shade. See?” Taehyung swiped up through the air next to Yoongi’s head and Yoongi moaned, a shudder running down his spine and straight to his crotch. 

“Wh—”

“Fairies can play with auras of humans. It’s fun sometimes. We can’t make things happen, or erase things, but we can sort of spread the emotion that’s there.”

“Well still,” Yoongi whispered, closing his eyes. 

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Taehyung said. Yoongi could feel his breath across his cheek. “If you could see my aura it’d be very pearl. That’s my aroused color. I told you I liked you.”

Yoongi opened his eyes, surprised to see Taehyung almost nose to nose with him, his blue eyes shimmering. 

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Taehyung said simply.

Yoongi barely nodded before Taehyung closed the short distance between their mouths, their lips sliding together a little awkwardly at first. It was no different, really, kissing a fairy, Yoongi realized. No fireworks or rainbows… Just a soft mouth that tasted faintly of something sweet… And comfort. Yoongi relaxed against the chair, sighing softly into Taehyung’s mouth as their lips moved together. 

Taehyung broke the kiss first, offering a crooked, square smile. “That was nice.”

“Hm… Mhm,” Yoongi mumbled, his eyes half closed.

“Do you have plans tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

“Get dressed in warm clothes.”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. “Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“My brother is waiting for me. I promised him I’d only take a few minutes. But I don’t want to leave you yet. Come play in the snow with us.”

Yoongi grimaced. “I hate the snow.”

Taehyung grinned wider. “But we love it. And I can always warm you up after.”

Yoongi swallowed hard at that, his mind going all sorts of dirty places. 

“Is your brother gonna be okay with me being there? Yesterday he seemed a little weirded out that I wasn’t a fairy like you guys.”

“Oh, Jimin’s an angel. He’s my half-brother.”

“But he said Fae—”

“Yeah, angels are Fae too. They’re the more… Hm… Powerful ones? But he’s okay with it, we talked and he knows I like you. He wants to get to know you better too. It’ll be a while before it snows again, and we wanted to make a few more snow fairies.”

“S—Snow fairies?”

“You know…” Taehyung made arcs with his arms. 

“Oh! We call them snow angels.” 

Taehyung giggled then. “Jimin will be so enamored to hear that. Will you come?”

Yoongi bit his lip, glancing at his warm, inviting bed. “Okay, lemme get my clothes on. Wait for me outside?”

“Sure. Same place we parted.”

Yoongi nodded. Taehyung rose. His wings twitched into being, making Yoongi gasp in quiet surprise. Even in the low light in the bedroom, they were stunning.

Taehyung’s smile was sheepish. “What?”

“Pretty,” Yoongi said simply.

“Thank you. I’ll meet you there.” His wings fluttered for a moment, and he seemed to shimmer around his entire form, before – in the blink of an eye – he was gone. Well not gone, Yoongi realized as the small firefly like creature flitted around his room and out his open window. Tiny. 

Was he really going to do this? He tugged on sweats and a pair of snow pants, and then his warmer jacket and a scarf. He donned his hat and a pair of boots last, grabbing gloves. He was definitely going to do this… How many people could say they went and made snow angels – Snow fairies with a real fairy and angel? 

And… That they got to warm up with said fairy afterward. 

Yoongi couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he hurried down his stairs and around the back of the apartment building. As promised, Taehyung was waiting by the mouth of the wooded area, his hair shining in the moonlight. 

Yoongi walked up to him, and Taehyung grabbed his hand, twining their fingers. He kissed his cheek before pulling him into the woods. 

Who could say they had a fairy for a boyfriend? Yoongi could, after tonight. And that was all the warmth he needed.  

[thewinedarksea]

the hell crossover

ft. arin and little knife vibing. tw: the ink mage, but mild this time. for the anon 💜

“Is he always like this?”

The girl stared blankly up at him, her silver eyes wide and glossy. Arin had been informed that she didn’t have a name. 

“You know.” He gestured vaguely to the chaos of the room and the tall, slender figure in the center of it. “This.”

They’d appeared in a halo of light and thick, choking smoke, boring a hole through several alternate dimensions and straight into the center of Conference Room B. A girl and a man, both magical, both coughing. In the two hours since they’d landed in the Bureau the man had insulted Director Li, Sub-Directors Romano and Fitzgerald, the entire janitorial staff, and the curtains. He’d also set fire to a table he disagreed with the look of and caved in half of the security department’s ceiling when officers had the nerve to try and arrest him for careening his way into a restricted section. 

He’d come to rest in the linguistics department, citing that the magical energy there was optimal for crafting a portal back to his own world. 

Arin had been informed that his name was the Ink Mage, and that not interfering with his work was of the highest priority. He was also a dick. No one had told Arin that; he’d worked it out for himself, right around when the Ink Mage had stolen his desk for “purposes of higher learning that a child like you has no business being around, why are you still here, get out of my way.”

He regarded his lost property mournfully. The outline of today’s work agenda was softly smoking, and his treatise on future tense verbs in Low Seelie had been tossed onto the floor to make room for one of the Ink Mage’s strange machines. Most of his plants had survived the invasion unscathed, but a shower of pale pink blossoms from an upturned hydrangea scattered the ground, and the yellow lady’s slipper orchid was cowering fearfully in its pot. 

“Worse.” 

The girl’s voice was low and colorless, whispering like water on rocks. She’d taken up residence on Nyssa’s desk, her legs dangling off the edge. Beneath a cloud of pale hair her face was expressionless, eyes empty as she watched the Ink Mage pace the length of the room. 

She put him, unexpectedly, in mind of the Unseelie. Arin had seen a procession of nobles once, when he’d accompanied Caym on an errand to the Court. He’d drawn back into the shadows as they approached, afraid they’d catch sight of him and decide he was more interesting as an eyeless corpse than another half-fae. They’d swept past in a river of flowing silks and ringing laughter, and the sight of their cruel, lovely faces still haunted him. There had been nothing human in their leering smiles, only a vast, towering nothingness peering out from the cracks in the masks. 

He felt the same pervasive sense of wrongness when he looked at her, all empty eyes and emptier expressions. Silence, coiled to the snapping point, clung to her like a fine shawl: a bone-deep stillness that promised bloodshed when broken. 

“It can get worse?” He felt a stirring of compassion for the strange girl. The Ink Mage’s hectic energy set his teeth on edge, made him want to burrow his head beneath layers of blankets until quiet returned to his life. If Caym or Tselel had contained half as much capacity for motion he doubted he ever would have bothered falling in love. 

“He’s not throwing things.” The girl tipped her head to one side, pale eyes trailing after the Ink Mage. “Or yelling, which means he’s not upset.” She glanced over at him. “You don’t want to see him when he’s angry.” 

“No, I can’t imagine I would.” 

Another beat of silence fell, tenser this time. For all his motion the Ink Mage worked in near total quiet, the only sound the harsh scrape of his pen as he scribbled runes across the floor and up the walls. Inky loops wrapped the thermostat and climbed the sides of his desk, spilling across the shiny surface in a dark wave. 

Arin squinted at the nearest line, trying to pick out the individual pieces of the twisting spell. The few sigils he could decipher pulsed faintly, meaning slithering just beyond his grasp. Pressure built behind his eyes the longer he stared. 

Across the room the Ink Mage flicked a hand. The runes crumbled to metallic ash, blurring the line into a haze of sharp peaks and sinuous curves once more. A headache pounded its fists against the walls of Arin’s mind at the intoxicating sweep of power. With an effort he ignored it, wrenching his attention from the strange magic. 

“So you’re his…” Arin left the question dangling, unsure of the proper terminology. The girl contemplated it for a moment, as if trying to seek out a hook.

“Apprentice.” A smile so faint as to be nonexistent quirked the edge of her mouth. “Or slave. Whore. Abomination. Depends on who you ask.” 

“I’m asking you.”

The girl blinked up at him and gave a suggestion of a shrug. The unease deepened. 

“Okay. So you’re his...apprentice.” He stumbled a bit over the word. Abomination suited his tongue better, but it was bad form to throw it at someone not half-fae, even if he did have the feeling that she wouldn’t mind. “Do you like it? Learning magic and stuff.” 

The girl tipped her head the other way. Light reflected off the strange silver sheen of her eyes, turning them flat and empty as a mirror. She didn’t answer. 

“No personal questions. Got it.” He picked at his sleeve, searching for a loose thread to distract from the situation.  “I have a friend you might like to meet. Well, not a friend. Ex-boyfriend. Stalker? 

“Anyways, he likes dodging questions too. I think he may be allergic to emotions, actually. Besides arrogance, of course. And anger. Also disgust. You know what, I’m going to revise my statement: he’s allergic to positive emotions. The point is that you should have a conversation with him. I think you’d get along.”  

Arin closed his mouth with a click, cutting off the stream of nervous chatter. More words rose in his throat and he swallowed them with an effort. The silence around the girl gaped, open and hungry, the urge to fill it nearly unbearable. He hadn’t seen quiet so weaponized since he’d walked out of Caym’s life. The urge to lock them in a room together intensified. 

“Girl.” The Ink Mage’s voice cut through the space. A stir of magic rose, dragging unpleasantly across Arin’s skin. It left a residue of blood in his mouth, the taste of copper clinging to his teeth.

The girl slid soundlessly from the desk, picking her way through the fields of ink to hover at the man’s side. Without a word she rolled up her sleeves, baring the battered skin of her forearms. The Ink Mage caught her wrist and began to scribble his writings across her wrist, heedless of the bruises already there. Blood welled in neat lines, dripping in crimson splotches onto the floor. 

Arin straightened, discomfort and anger warring in his chest. He wanted to punch the Ink Mage in the mouth. More, he wanted to call Tselel and have her punch him in mouth. And then maybe a few other times, in more deadly places. 

Don’t interfere, the Director had said. So he wouldn’t. He would be obedient, and walk away, and protect his job. With an effort he pushed down the rage, the clawing darkness that threatened to overtake him. Arin was good at closing his eyes and following orders. 

Besides, for all he knew, every mage in this strange other world wandered around turning their apprentices into living magic sources. 

“I’ll go make you some coffee,” he called. She flicked a look his way, the emptiness shaded with gratitude, another not-there smile touching briefly upon her mouth. “Don’t let him touch my plants.”

“Five sugars,” said the Ink Mage, right before Arin slammed the door. 

Most of the employees had evacuated the building in case the madman made good on his threat to blow it up, and so it was only a few members of the security department that watched Arin gather every offensive gesture he’d learned from years on the street and throw them in the Ink Mage’s direction.

Then he went to make coffee. And swear. Not necessarily in that order.

[feygana2]

morgana as an entity, or morgan of the faye, is linked heavily to the goddess matrona of celtic mythology, and also to a goddess specifically known for the ulster cycle as of her involvement in la morte de arthur,  written in 1470.   while i will have a much, much longer headcanon dealing with her link to matrona, especially being that the same deity was linked to be a protector of modron,  or mordred....     i specifically wanted to talk about her similarities with the another goddess of irish mythology known as the morrigan. the goddess is more of a primordial force than a ‘god’ by conventional means, and is known more by her moniker ‘the phantom queen’. while she is linked heavily to the outcome of battle and bloody war, rather than being wholly associated with the actual fighting of a battle, she has more to do with the fate of those in and after a clash and the gruesome deaths that follow. but instead of acting as a means to transport someone to the afterlife,  they were simply a symbol of death on the battlefield to some lesser extend.  

A huge part of the Tuatha de Danann, the Morrigan was also known to have been made up of three distinct goddesses known mostly today as the maiden, the mother and the crone. All of which have a link to Morgana in one of the many stages of her life and to goddesses such as Ceredwen,

The morrigan would often appear in the form of a black crow, which happens to be morgana’s symbolic familiar, and upon seeing one on the battlefield it was believed to mean that death would befall that person imminently. this aspect of the morrigan made her popular for worship by those going into battle. interestingly, in most forms of media that portray morgana, this also links to her being used as an instrument of war, offering her services to the queens and kings of the north in exchange for shelter and safety, or for troops to fight of camelot and the rest of growing mercia.

but the morrigan also has in-depth protective qualities that enable her to protect her people. namely those who were worshipers of these ancestral gods and practitioners of magic, which also directly aligns with morgana’s personal interests. morgana le faye was a symbol to most practitioners of witchcraft and druidism of this time as a pariah that fought against the Anglicization of what would become albion. remember that at the time of her life (presumed to be around the timeperiods of 400-600 ad, respectively) it was when the heavy Catholicisation of what is now great britain, had begun. uther pendragon, and later the knights of the round, had pushed those that they had deemed uncivilized (magic-users) into areas in and north/west of lothian, gaelic and pictish lands.  

BECAUSE OF THIS, TOO,  morgana can be seen as a protector of those who were like her, especially if we bring popular canon such as bbc’s merlin into view, which i take some inspiration from in terms of magic being ‘outlawed’ at the time through penalty of death. fighting against the oppression of pagan ritualistic practitioners all over briton,  as well as the druids of the dal riata alike, she was turned into a martyr of sorts and later demonized to the point of gaining a status of ‘evil’ ...  while the kings who had oppressed or slaughtered these people (particularly the druids, like uther pendragon or his son in historic canon, not in the case of bbc) were instead built of as heroes to the people of albion for ridding them of the ‘evil’ pagans that had previously (as termed by uther) ‘infested’ their lands. propoganda against them surmounted and the britons and anglo-saxons continued their territory war, until separately the battle of camlann occured              [ where king arthur had lead his knights of the round table into a war that would have claimed most of the northern territory in the name of camelot against the anglo-saxons, which had currently belonged to several albic tribes including that which belonged at the time to his nephew, gwaine of loth. ]

almost ironically, this battle is what enabled the bernicians to take even more land for themselves, creating the kingdom of deira (which, in my canon is what pushed morgana even further north of lothian, into the lands of the gaels). the reason i bring up this battle is because the morrigan is famous for taking part in the battle against the fomorians. the  morrigan did naught at first but speak in chant, which caused the fomorians to scatter in fear until they fell into the seas.

another story she is involved in is that of Cú Chulainn, who threatens the morrigan when she releases his cattle back into the wild, only to realize who he has angered and explain his misdeed. when the morrigan prophecies ill-tidings for him on behalf of his threat, he tells her that she has no power over him. as we would expect,  Cú Chulainn is given numerous chances to mend the relationship with the morrigan and botches it every time, eventually leading him to his inevitable death with the morrigan, as a crow, standing atop his dead body as a means to confirm his death. interestingly, morgana was also present at the battle of camlann, which i mentioned earlier, when both her nephew and her half-brother (mordred and king arthur) were slain by a single blow from one another’s enchanted blades.

so why bring up the morrigan at all?                   in my canon/headcanon, morgana didn’t just receive simple ‘fae’ powers from becoming the high priestess of avalon. i believe she drank from the proverbial spring itself when there was nothing more to learn from merlin and nimue and was granted similar powers to the three major goddesses, including the ability to dictate fate - albeit with a price she was not ready to pay. morgana in general is almost always seen as both a victim and chooser of fate, so i felt this was a very nice way to tie these figures together.

[taytei]

More Ancient AU facts

Stuff that got asked and answered over on my insta that I figured I’d share here as well!

- Lance asked keith out first out loud, but Keith kinda already figured they were dating at that point already (they totally were)

- Keith’s wings are only vaguely sensitive on the webbing on the inner side. They’re actually incredibly durable and can be used practically as shields.

- Soulmates are a thing in this au now by the way

- When you meet your soulmate, it’s an instant connection, a gut feelings. The idea of being separated from them is just so viscerally upsetting, it’s almost painful. Most people meet when they’re older.

- Lance and Keith tho, met when they were babies, so you can imagine how two kids throwing monstrous temper tantrums cause they want to see each other can go sahklhkglsa

- so they didn’t actually realize that they were soulbound until they were older shakhlgsa

- they realized it because, when people get older, they get restless and feel the need to travel to find their partner. Keith and Lance never once felt that way. The closest to that was whenever they were separated from one another. And it just clicked that, “oh, yea, that makes sense” but also kind of “goddamnit, of course it’s him”

- Also, if you are an Ancient’s soulmate, but you yourself are not an ancient, once you soulbond, you basically become immortal so you can stay with them forever

- Lance and Keith intertwine their tails a lot, it’s basically like holding hands

- I just wanna clarify also, that Lance isn’t strictly a mermaid in this AU. He’s an Ocean Descendent, an Ancient one at that. He sticks mostly with the mermaid form because that’s what his parents found most comfortable, so it’s his default. He can take on the form of ANY water based mythical creature if he so wants.

- Also, don’t touch his tail. Unless you are family, a close friend, or given explicit permission, you do not touch his tail.

- Keith takes Lance flying, whether Lance asks him to or not. sometimes he’ll just scoop lance up out of the water unexpectedly

- wing hugs. Ever since they were little, keith has tried his best to wrap his wings around him and lance, even if they weren’t big enough. Once they grew to full size, he would often just cacoon the two of them in his wings whenever he was feeling vulnerable, needy, or protective

- Lance and Keith own an apartment together gsakhlsa

- but they also have their own island that they escape to whenever they feel the need to get away (it was a gift from Hunk for their wedding)

- On their first official date, Lance called in a favor from Allura and asked for a “cosmic light show that’s gonna sweet Keith off his feet and right into my arms”

- something like the northern lights with exploding stars and a metero shower happening all at once ended up being of the most nearly-life threatening but also romantic moments they could have asked for

- i say “life-threatening” but Ancients can’t actually be killed.

- they can be wounded and hurt badly enough that they go into a “resting/healing period”, which is mostly a meditative coma, but they can’t be killed by an outside source.

    - when either Lance or Keith is in their resting/healing period, they experience the same feelings as when they’re separated, only like 500x more potent. They’re restless and anxious and more protective and it’s practically impossible to pry them away from the other’s side

- they decide when they want to go out, and once they do, they join The Colony of the Cosmos, where Allura and her small group of people reside.

- Only the Ancients go to the Colony once they decide to die, everyone else on the planet just gets reincarnated over and over again.

- Lance, Keith, Hunk and Shiro’s families are all Ancients, so they all get to go to the colony when they decide its their time

- A bit about the Colony, they’re people of pure cosmic energy. Ruled by Allura and her family. (Honerva and Zarkon are happily married, and Lotor never grew up troubled, they’re perfectly happy).

- When any of the Ancients become cosmic beings, they lose their descendent-attributes (Lance would lose his ear-fins, Keith would lose his horns, etc) and they would gain the Altean-esque ears and specialized markings

- but Cosmic Beings can alter their appearance however they want, so they can always give those attributes back to themselves if they really wanted them

- Lance’s home in built into the underside of a massive island right off the main shoreline

- which Keith visits on quite a few occasions, once he’s granted the Blessed Breath (which is an enchantment that involves an Ocean Ancient tracing a magic rune along their throat that allows them to breathe under water. It’s generally permanent, if used consistently and as long as the caster doesn’t dispel the magic)

- he was only allowed to have it once he actually learned out to swim

- also, it’s impossible for Lance to ever ever drown, even if he’s in his human form

- keith’s is basically the equivalent of lava girl’s land, filled with volcanoes and lava rivers, but there ARE forests of Ash trees and they have beautiful hot springs

- It’s really hot there tho. Lance can visit and endure the heat pretty well, since he’d been visiting since he was little, but he needs to have a canteen of water at hand at all times.

- plus the kogane family had a cooling spring implemented for when lance and his family decided to visit

- Everyone has the ability to look entirely human, no scales, horns, wings, tails, etc, but it’s not really necessary, unless they enter a “Human Glamour required” zone

- Everyone is aware that Ancients exist. they just kind of assume they stay in their “pristine palaces, too good to mingle with the common folk”, not realizing the doofus that just dabbed and the boyfriend that got whacked in the face because of that are two of the most powerful beings in the world

- and being ancients, they’re KIND of famous? once people find out that they ARE ancients. Cause really, they blend pretty seamlessly among everyone else. Most people just assuming they’re common ocean/fire descendent civilians

- people are usually more like “whoa, what? really? YOU’RE an Ancient? I just watched you coke on a baby carrot for almost a solid minute”

- usually that’s followed by people asking just how old they actually are

- Lance & Keith: “it’s been a long time, lost track”     - Keith: *actually lost track of how old they are* Lance: *refuses to reveal just how old he actually is*

- Keith gives Lance gifts of gold and jewels and cool weapons that his people either find in their caves or craft from their magma

- the trident that lance has is actually a gift from Keith’s family. The metal is unable to rust or age, it’s completely unbreakable, and with an utterance of a spell, the metal will heat to the same temperature as if it was being forged (like the sun-forge elf blades from the dragon prince)

- meanwhile Lance gives keith ocean found objects, pearls, sea stones, shark teeth, weapons coated in some of the sea’s most poisonous creatures, stuff like that

- Shiro: “I uploaded my music to the cloud, look”     An actual rain cloud: *starts playing Africa by Toto*

- Shiro also CAN have normal human feet, but he actively chooses to have bird legs cause he can pick stuff up with his toes without needing to bend over

- When Lance was first learning how to walk, he first went to Allura so he could surprise everyone with how great he is at walking. Only, she taught him by basically playing QWOP with his legs. (google it if you haven’t heard of it, it’s fucking hilarious)

- Hunk is an Earth Ancient, able to shift continents and form mountains with nothing but a thought

- he popped up a statue of Keith for Lance to take to his underwater cavern where Lance keeps all the jewels and gold that Keith gives him, where he basically performs a Part of your World on a constant.

- Pidge is NOT an ancient. She’s a new Age, and gained the figurehead position at a young age because she founded a new type of magic

and FINALLY

- how Shiro lost his wing, how he met adam, and can he ever fly again???

- the accident happened back when he was still a teenager, when Lance’s and Keith’s parents were still the ruling figureheads for their territories. There was a brief moment of imbalance in their world when either Krolia or Lance’s mom was severely injured and wnt into a healing period.

- with the balance so suddenly being thrown off so early in the world’s creation, there was a power backlash throughout the Ancients.

- Shiro got zapped right out of the sky by his own lightning, his wing got fried, and it broke when he crashed landed down

- he lost his wing, since there was ... absolutely no way to salvage it.

- he went to the Forest Fae, as they were renowned healers, when his wing was still aching, and hoping maybe there was an alternative for his wing

- And that’s where he met (one) of his soulmates, adam. (eventually they meet Curtis, cause damnit, shiro deserves two soulmates, LET THE MAN BE LOVED). Adam helped with the phantom pains and worked his best to help the wing heal properly, even if it wouldn’t ever be able to grow in full again

- and as for whether shiro can fly, there IS an alternative.

- a super complicated spell called the “Spirit of the wing”, which basically gives him a spectral wing to make up for what he’s lost. but it is incredibly exhausting on the user, and tends to make his phantom pains act up more severely

- so he only uses it when he absolutely needs to

sorry that this was so long! But I thought that i would share them!

[hetalialoverwrites]

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

A long, long time ago, a faerie fell in love with a human. They loved each other and promised each other their lives, only for the human to betray the faerie. Deciding to never love again, the faerie separated her world from the human's and cast a curse on the daughter of her betrayer. But in time, she began to love the daughter as her own. The curse was broken, and the faerie gave her kingdom to her human daughter to rule as queen. 

Eventually, the daughter fell in love and was engaged to be married to the human prince of another kingdom. The daughter wanted so much for the prince's family to enjoy her, so she asked the faerie to hide her true self. Sadly, the prince's mother was just as dark-hearted as the human that had betrayed the faerie. The prince's mother sent rumors throughout the kingdoms about the faerie, the humans turning against her. The mother had even managed to turn her daughter against her. 

But then, the mother tried to kill the other Fae and the faerie's people. There was war between the two peoples, but luckily good prevailed. The daughter married the prince, the faerie and her daughter both became queens. They ruled their neighboring kingdoms in harmony for many years. But this isn't their story, that one has already been told. This is the story of two sisters, daughters of the faerie and sisters of the new queen.

So, let's start at the beginning.

Part One

Next

________________________________________________________________

     Maleficent flew over the Moors, smiling as she was soon joined by the Dark Fae children, her people. She observed the Moors from her aerial viewpoint, looking for any danger before her journey. She soon spotted a friend of hers, Borra, standing atop one of the massive rock pillars watching her. She banked to the right before flying over, beating her wings and slowing herself. She landed in front of him and watched as she bowed to her, "My Queen." He greeted. She scoffed a little, lightheartedly and he was grinning as he straightened up. "Hello, Borra." She greeted. "Do you really have to go? We searched everywhere for our fellow kin before you were taken to our place of origin. There shouldn't be anyone left out there to bring back." Borra asked, worried about what could happen to her alone.

        "Yes, I must. But don't worry, I will be fine. And the Moors will be too, I've asked Aurora to look after everyone while I look for more of us. I won't take long." Maleficent reassured, inclining her head to him before walking past him. Her black and white dress danced in the wind as she made her way towards the cliff's edge. "...When shall we expect you back?" Borra hesitated a moment before asking, accepting her wishes. "Hm... I'm not sure really. It should take me quite some time to search the whole world." Maleficent mused to herself before looking over her shoulder at him. "Expect 5 years. If I am not back within 7 years, you may come to look for me. And if you cannot find me, you know who your new queen is." She informed him, but Borra could tell by the look in her eyes that she believed a search wouldn't be needed. Borra nodded and bowed to his queen once more before watching as she took off into the sky, hoping that she was right. How sad it is that she wasn't.

________________________________________________________________

        Three years pass as Maleficent scoured the lands looking for other Dark Fae that was alone, just like she used to be. She had managed to find no one yet, but she supposed that was encouraging. It meant that no one had been left behind. She hoped her search would reveal the same results as she continued. Looking ahead of her at the new land she had arrived at, she was surprised to see humans rounding up their own kind. Soldiers were covering the ground, pulling some people from their homes and throwing them in magic carriages with iron bars. She made a disdained face at the sight of the bars, remembering the feeling of them burning her skin as her wings were cut off, the iron netting, the red powder that killed so many of her kind. It brought only pain. She wondered absentmindedly if she could ask Aurora to stop iron production in her land, as it was so close to the Moors. But as her thoughts drifted, she was startled back to the present by a sharp and burning pain ripping through her wing.

        Maleficent was sent plunging towards the earth, spiraling out of control as she tried to dodge the onslaught of bullets. She crashed through the trees and heard shouting as her head filled with fog. Her brilliant green eyes started to turn amber as she was slowly surrounded by the soldiers. She rose to her feet and looked at them all dangerously, her eyes flashing a warning to all that approached. She was powerful, her eyes told them, and she would not go down without a fight. A long battle raged as Maleficent fought for her life against the annoying soldiers who wanted to bring her harm without reason. 'However,' She thought to herself, '...many humans don't need a reason to hurt her and her people. Only Aurora and Philip's kingdom was accepting of the faeries.' Eventually, the winner of the battle was decided and Maleficent was overwhelmed by soldiers and iron, slipping into unconsciousness. 

________________________________________________________________

        Maleficent woke up in pain and her head was spinning. Sitting up, she almost fell over once at a crash of dizziness. "Now, now. Lay back down, you've been through quite a lot." A prim voice chided her as Maleficent opened her eyes. She took in her surroundings for a moment. It was a small room, rather poorly built. It looked smaller than the room Aurora lived in as a baby. She was sitting on a rather uncomfortable bed with a thin, average height woman in front of her. The woman handed her a glass of water and Maleficent took it, the water helping her clear her mind. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she was alarmed and shocked to feel something familiar. Familiar in all the wrong ways. She cried out in pain and clutched her injured wing, gently touching the wound where the iron bullet was lodged inside. "Oh my, I didn't see that earlier. Let me take it out." The woman murmured, turning to a medical kit that she had out. Maleficent realized that her wounds had been bandaged all except for her wing. The woman turned around and pulled out the bullet with a pair of tweezers. "Who are you?" Maleficent asked, wary of the woman despite her help. 

        "Hm?" the prim voice hummed for a moment before answering, "My name is Queen Grimhilde. Also known as the Evil Queen, Wicked Witch, Witch Queen, take your pick. Though I would prefer if you called me Queen." The Evil Queen paused for a moment before looking at Maleficent curiously, "And who are you?" "Maleficent, Mistress of Evil as the humans call me. But I am Queen of the Moors and the faeries." She replied, looking at the Evil Queen careful, examining her reaction. "Ah yes, I see. I've heard of you before. Terrible rumors, I'm sure. It's a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it was under different circumstances." The Evil Queen shook her head, wiping her hands on a towel. "What do you mean?" Maleficent asked, narrowing her eyes slightly at the queen. "Well, we've been captured. All of us. Everyone that was considered evil to royalty was gathered and thrown onto this bleary island. It already has been given a name by the current king. The Isle of the Lost." Queen sighed, looking out of the window at the cloudy sky.

        "And before you try, since everyone has already attempted to, we can't leave the island. There is a magic barrier." Queen informed Maleficent, looking closely over her wings, "It prevents the use of magic. We are not sure just how far the barrier goes up as we can't get above the storm clouds." "Why are you telling me all of this?" Maleficent asked, giving Queen a sharp look. It was met with a despicable smile and the kindly woman ruse Queen had been using slipped, "Well you have wings, don't you? Why don't you go fly up and check?" Queen asked, a wicked look in her eyes. Maleficent understood why she was being taken care of now. Queen Grimhilde wanted her to check to see if the barrier was open above the clouds and get her out of this place. Typical. But instead of being angry, Maleficent just gave her a bone-chilling smile of her own, watching as Queen Grimhilde stepped back in fear of the Dark Fae. "I see. While I commend your courage, I warn you it is not wise to accost me like this. While I don't have magic, I still have my wings. And I know from experience that humans can't live after falling from great heights." Maleficent threatened, stepping towards Grimhilde. 

        The woman gulped for a moment, fear coursing through her veins as the almost feral look that crossed through Maleficent's eyes. The only thing that saved Grimhilde her life was the familiar call of a man. "Maleficent!" The Dark Fae stopped a moment and tilted her head, listening. "Maleficent!" The voice called once again. "Hm... Diaval." Maleficent whispered to herself, walking out of the room into a rather large house. She paid no mind and walked out the front door, "Diaval." Said raven perked up at her voice and ran towards her, holding a very familiar staff in his hands. "Diaval, where did you get that and why are you here?" Maleficent was surprised to see him here, especially with her staff in hand. "There you are! I've been looking for you all over the Isle!" Diaval panted, not used to so much running in his human state. He handed over her staff and she took it, gazing at it carefully in her hands as she asked once more, "What are you doing here?"

        "I was following you to make sure you were okay." Diaval practically preened as she looked at him. "Hm." She sounded not too pleased with him and he took a step back, holding up his hands. "Well, I know you didn't want anyone following you, but you know I wouldn't leave your side! Especially not with you going round and possibly getting yourself into danger!" Diaval admitted the truth in his usual way. Maleficent looked up at him, "And the staff?" "I had a feeling you might need it. I'm not sure why though." Diaval had an odd expression on his face. Maleficent brushed the comment off, deciding it wasn't important. "Have you tried the barrier?" She asked. "On the sides, yes. But up top? Not at all. I can't change forms in this place." His displeasure was told through his tone. Not being able to go back to his true form would be a nightmare for the raven, but there wasn't anything else to do. Maleficent just thought for a moment before nodding, "I see. Come Diaval." She turned on her heel and headed back inside, claiming the house as her own. 

________________________________________________________________

        Maleficent tried for another few years to get off the Isle, trying to get back to her people and the Moors. Each attempt was unsuccessful. Over the next few years, Maleficent became the most feared villain on the Isle even without her magic. She fell in love once again, something that she didn't think would happen after... Diaval was supportive of this, despite the man being a pain in the neck to the raven occasionally. Eventually, two baby girls were born, twins. They reminded Maleficent of the Dark Fae children that used to fly with her back home. However, being demi goddesses, they looked slightly different than the other children. Their hair was unnatural colors, one being a vibrant purple and the other an amber color. It reminded Maleficent of the amber that entrapped the Phoenix back at her nest of origin. Like her magic. The purple-haired Dark Fae's wings were dark just like Maleficent's wings but had a purple shine to them. The reddish amber haired Dark Fae had similar wings, but with amber patterning on her feathers. They both had horns that looked just like hers, albeit much smaller. "What should we name them?" Hades, her lover asked. The father of their children. Maleficent looked back down at her daughters, turning to the purple-haired Dark Fae. "Mal..." Maleficent whispered gently before looking to the amber haired one. "And (Y/n)..." 

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders Arthurian Tales Revisited

Chapter 1: How It All Starts

Death rolled over slightly as the first signs of morning came. Well the ones outside anyway. Although this was rarely enough to wake him. In these cases, Fuzzball has to come into his room. Finding where the Elder Horsemen sleeps is easy when he usually either passes out at his desk or sleeps in a simple cot. Fuzzball found Death groaning slightly in his sleep before readying himself for a jump. Shimmying in preparation for a lunge at the cot. Finally the little limt hopped at the edge of the cot, and missed. Landing on the floor, on his face with a muffled whimper. His white fur ruffled slightly as he lay upon the floor. Wiggling his little legs normally hidden under his fluffy fur.

Death sat up briefly and asked in a grumble, "What did you do this time?"

Looking over the edge of the cot he found Fuzzball on his face, still whimpering in pain... But it was WAY too early in his opinion, so he'd deal with that when he felt like waking up truly. Suddenly, he heard a knocking at his front door. The moment he got comfy again! Groaning and throwing the blanket over his head, he waited in annoyed silence for them to give up eventually. Fuzzball meanwhile got up off his face and scurried to a side table by the front door. Hung on the side of it was a special key for unlocking the door, and it worked on either side. Fuzzball grabbed the key with a better timed hop than before, then began to scratch at the door. Signifying to the knocker that he'd be answering for Death.

Strife meanwhile backed up confused until Fuzzball hopped through the doggy door. He barked with the key in his mouth to greet his master's brother.

"Hey man, you mind letting me in?" Strife said.

Fuzzball happily handed the key to him and barked some more before rolling over for pets.

Strife chuckled, "You deserve this", before removing his gauntlet to scritch the little guy's belly some. He then put it back on his hand before unlocking the door, calling to his brother upon opening it, "Wake up sleepyhead!"

Death heard him, but gave only a grumble in response.

"You're not a dog, quit it. And you ain't cute enough to be Fuzzball's twin so..." Strife remarked to his oh-so exhausted brother.

"If you seek to patronize me...please leave me before I grab Harvester." Death threatened.

"You'd have grabbed it by now if you felt it was important."

"Speak.", Death then bid of Strife, his hand raised.

Strife looking at him a slight bit offended and stated, "Bitch please."

"Strife, I am NOT IN THE MOOD."

Strife sighed and began to explain the situation, "Council's heard some rumors that King Uther's built a weapon that can cause other weapons to appear."

"Weapon?!", Death replied tossing the pillow off his head, still sounding exhausted.

"Yeah, Council wants us to take a look into it just in case. So if these are rumors then we'd be just having a little vacation basically. And if not, then we'd actually be doing something."

Death looked at his brother before sighing deeply. Then he got up and began to pop his back, "Right."

"And hey, maybe the Fae Realm has better beds for ya." Strife offered to him.

"What is that supposed to mean exactly?"

Strife cocked his head, and then lifted his eyebrow, "Really?", then pointing at the cot he continued, "That is not a bed to be sleeping on. I mean did you hear what you sounded like? It was all like snap crackle pop there."

Death in turn raised his own eyebrow before saying, "Shut up."

"Whatever old man, I'll go make some food." Strife stated simply.

Death sighed to himself again before looking at Fuzzball happily panting on the floor, "What are you so happy about? I'm gonna be gone for a while."

"Yeah, leaving this desolate bone shack." Strife snidely said.

Death gave him an annoyed look before telling him, "Can you quit it with the snide remarks?"

As Death walked out of his room finally, Fuzzball followed him from behind happily. Meanwhile Strife replied, "Come on, you do realize this place is like 'goth heaven' right?"

"And you don't think that's the point?"

"Yeah I know that dude, but come on. This place is a little too dreary." Strife insisted.

Death retorted with, "Says the social butterfly."

Strife however came right back at him, "Says the antisocial workaholic."

The two brothers looked at each other angrily as Fuzzball hid under the table expecting another early morning fight. But was surprised when the two started laughing.

"Please tell me that you're cooking the bacon right." Death implored.

"Yeah yeah yeah, don't worry about it. Now let get to it before it burns."

Death only nodded in response before cracking some drake eggs to cook once the bacon was done. Strife in the meantime began making pancakes alongside him.

"Why add pancakes to this?" Death inquired.

"Well....I didn't exactly eat anything after my workout." Strife replied rubbing his neck.

Sighing Death asked, "Seriously?"

"I was in the middle of it when the watcher showed up!" Strife exclaimed.

Death mumbled under his breath, "And you tell me that I don't eat."

"Do you really eat though man? With the rations you bring on missions and all."

"It's still food." Death stated simply.

"Right right, crap food. Only good for keeping ya from starvation. You-you know what those rations remind me of? Those days when you used to experiment with food."

"It's still edible." Death said in another simple answer.

"Define edible. Because bitch, there ain't anything edible about those rations. I just don't see why you eat such crap, when you cook better than most Angels, and Demons."

Death exhaled a bit whilst Fuzzball whimpered and hid under the table again. Strife took a minute to observe the little critter, "Dude I think we should stop. Before we give Fuzzball a heart attack."

Death looked down under the table after plating the eggs and asked gently, "You alright little one?"

Fuzzball made a small yip and came back out to nuzzle his hand some. Death in response gave him a few small scritches before calmly saying, "It's going to be fine. We're not fighting, we're just having a minor discussion of sorts."

Fuzzball cocked his head making a 'merph' sound as if saying, 'really?'. Death raised an eyebrow again before telling him, "You need to stop learning things from Strife."

"What do you mean? I'm the smartest one in the group!"

"Right, smart." Death mumbled sarcastically.

Strife just shook his head before remembering something, "Oh! Just remembered. You know since this is reconnaissance, I heard that a party was happening down at Uther's castle. It's a Masque, so you won't have to worry about showing your face. But you're probably gonna need to change out what your mask is."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah dude, you have like the most recognizable mask ever. You built up a whole persona around it." Strife remarked.

"What about you?"

Strife shrugged, "Eh, I can change my visor easily. Just make sure you wear something fancy and not....gaudy. I still remember the highwayman outfit."

"I thought it would look better!" Death exclaimed.

"Well it didn't."

Death just shook his head and started to look through a crystal on his study desk. And found a pewter bird mask with a shortened beak. "Will this do?"

"Perfect, now onto something to wear. And no I don't mean the highwayman outfit."

"Yeah yeah." Death said embarrassed.

"Seriously what were you thinking?"

Death spoke in further embarrassment, "I may have been a little drunk at the time."

Strife just shook his head that, "You and your absinthe man."

"Hey! I do not get that drunk!"

"Riiiiiiiiight." Strife remarked snidely.

With that the two gentlemen began getting dressed for the occasion. 'Course Death couldn't help but wonder, how they'd get in without getting thrown out the minute they showed up. A plan would be needed, somehow they'd need to find a way to get invited.

"What exactly do you have planned for us to get in?"

Strife shrugged, "I dunno..."

"We are NOT announcing ourselves." Death stated assertively.

"I know I know I know. We could sneak in. We could pretend we were invited."

"And if we get caught?" Death questioned him.

"Then we make a daring escape." Strife declared.

Death facepalmed and told him, "What a brilliant 'plan'."

"Hey you gotta anything better to try?" Strife questioned him.

Death in frustration as he tried to think of a plan, began to hit his head against the wall. Strife, for lack of any better reaction, watched him. This went on for several minutes.

"How's that helping ya?" Strife inquired after a little while longer.

Death only grumbles before Strife grabs him by his back to stop him from hitting his head further. Death stopped, and looked at him annoyed as Strife simply explained,

"Since you've clearly got no more of your 'ingenius' plans, let's just push our luck. See if it works from there. Ok.", then at Death's grumbling, "Yeah yeah grumble grumble grumble. Let's just get going."

The two Horsemen then went outside, not noticing Fuzzball following them this time. As Death and Strife mounted their steeds, Fuzzball hopped into one of Despair's saddlebags. Hiding himself easily as the brothers began to ride at last. Upon them leaving, a hidden spider in the stable's rafters sent word to his master. From there Barrcus noted this information and then he went to see what Uther had chosen for Morgen to wear this time.

Barrcus went down the hall to see Uther about it and was greeted by quite the monstrosity. The dress he saw Uther tending to was a massive ivory white gown. A long train trailed behind and around it on the mannequin, and golden decals covered the chest and torso regions. The 'shawl' may as well have been poofy sleeves.

Barrcus couldn't help but comment on it, "My lord, is that really a.....'proper' dress for dancing?"

"Hmmm...I guess not." Uther stated simply.

"Yes I would think not."

Uther responded, "I thought not. But what of this one?", then gestured towards a much bigger gold dress with several layers of ruffles and an excess of glitter. Truly the amount of fabric was surely too heavy.

"I would think that would be....too gaudy...too much of eyesore. Don't you think?" Barrcus implored of him.

Uther then cocked his head saying, "I guess so, but what about this dress?", then gesturing to a pastel blue and white dress with an ice motif about it. A far prettier dress than the others. Barrcus however, still found himself unsatisfied with it.

He believed a far better dress could be given to Morgen, and that he'd found it, "How about this one here?"

He revealed a beautiful slender dress of both dark and royal purple in a gradient with rose pink off shoulder sleeves. The decals while gold, also had a flattering mix of silver as well. The waist sash was also a rose pink and hung off to the side of the skirt with gold embroidery. Uther examined the dress and found it too dark for his liking. Sure the pink color was nice, but it didn't look like a true to form Seelie dress.

This much, he informed Barrcus of, "Yes it's a very lovely dress. But it is not suitable for such an occasion. THIS ONE however is perfect, and it exemplifies her Unseelie origins."

Barrcus however was undeterred, being adamant his dress would better. "Yes while that does seem nice it's also a bit....bland. While this one however....", He began whilst gesturing to the butterfly decals on the lower part of the skirt, "...is much more lively."

"Hmm...right."

Vortigern came into the room as the gentlemen began to grow angered at each other. He looked to Uther and queried, "What is going on here brother?"

"Just having a simple 'dispute' over a few dresses." Uther replied.

"A dispute hmm, and what is the problem exactly?" Vortigern questioned.

Barrcus spoke up at that, "We're having a disagreement over a dress for Morgen."

Vortigern raised an eyebrow, "Ah. And why is it you are fighting? A dress for her should be simple to find right?"

"You would think brother. But apparently both me and Barrcus have a disagreement between these two dresses here." Uther stated gesturing between both of them before continuing, "I am vying for this blue and white dress here."

"Whilst I would find it to be more appropriate for Morgen to wear this one here." Barrcus declared.

Vortigern sighed and decided to examine both dresses himself. Whilst the dress Uther picked was better than what he'd normally place her in, it still felt as though it could have something more to it. While Barrcus' pick was a truly complete work of art on fabric. Not to mention a far better choice if Uther intended for Morgen to dance with a few men like he usually wanted.

"Well yes this one is indeed good, I'll have to side with Barrcus on this one brother. For many reasons in fact. One, it's far easier to dance in. Two, it's far more vibrant than that one. Finally, it suits her more. Just imagine her in it."

"I AM imagining her in it." Uther muttered.

"So can you not agree with us Uther? That this dress would suit Morgen the best? That Barrcus chose well in this endeavor?" Vortigern inquired of him.

Uther thought for but a moment on it, "I guess I can see her wearing such a dress, and being 'appealing'."

Vortigern and Barrcus both felt their skin crawl at the choice of words, but when he left both gentlemen simply looked at each other in silence for a while.

Barrcus was the one to break it, "I'll take this up to her room. Would you like me to pass along anything for you?"

"Tell her I'll be along in a moment. There are a few things my brother and I must discuss."

"I will let her know. But she herself has a few things to attend to as well." Barrcus informed him.

"Just make sure she knows that I'm doing well." Vortigern asks of him.

"I'll try....where are the girls by chance?"

"Oh they don't need to see their Father arguing with their Uncle. Not right now at least. Can you make Morgen can keep an eye on them?" Vortigern proposed to him.

"Just send them up to her room and she'll keep a close eye on them. As will Mina." Barrcus informed him.

"Why not yourself?"

"I may have other matters come up in time." Barrcus explained.

"Ah well just make sure the girls get there." Vortigern says.

"I will, but Morgen may have other things to attend to, like I said before."

"Yes of course, and I shall make sure my discussion with my brother is...short." Vortigern stated before walking off. His two young daughters he sent off towards Barrcus after a quick but tight hug.

Both Anna and Elaine hugged Barrcus upon reaching him and greeting him in unison as well, "Hi Mr. Barrcus!"

"Hello girls, how are you doing this fine afternoon?"

"Oh we're good. We ate before we left home." Anna replied.

Barrcus nodded, "Good, now just follow me and you'll be with your cousin shortly."

They followed him closely and wondered what could be under the covered object that Barrcus was wheeling around with them. Before long they reach Morgen's room, just in time for Mina to have finished brushing her hair down for later. Both women greeted the little girls happily, but Morgen was the most happy between them.

"Hello my little sweets. How are you?" Morgen bade them.

"We're good Cousin Morgen!" Anna exclaimed.

"Yeah! Papa says there'll be a party tonight too, can we come?" Elaine begged of her.

"Yes please! We love parties too, they're not too boring! We'll behave." Anna says begging alongside her younger twin.

Morgen chuckled and held fast however, "Now girls, these parties are for adults you know. Nothing children should be seeing at all."

The girls looked at her sadly before Mina added on, "Now now little loves, you can't go to this one. These types of parties aren't child safe at all. Not with how drunk everyone may...oh shite!"

"What's it mean to be drunk?" Anna quizzed her.

"Oh well little lass you see....uhmmm...." Mina stumbled out whilst looking at Barrcus for help.

"Ever wondered what it looks like for an adult to be extremely tired, for no good reason?" Barrcus expressed to them.

The girls only shook their heads and replied together, "Uh uh."

Barrcus sighed before whispering, "I'm going to give you something. But you can't tell your Father about it, trust me."

The girls looked excitedly at him whilst Mina and Morgen looked at him worried.

"Barrcus is that really wise?" Morgen inquired.

"Barrcus if I not just seen ya last night, I'd say ye'd lost yer mind." Mina declared.

"Now this is a very 'adult drink'. See if you like it." Barrcus told them whilst handing them two baijiu shots.

Morgen and Mina both realize what it is but are too late to stop the girls from sipping. Both of them spit it out and begin complaining to Morgen about how bad the drink really was. As well as poor Anna needing comfort for trying to swallow it. "Now now little dears you're ok, you're ok."

Mina however smacked Barrcus upside the head, "WHAT WERE YA THINKING YA DAMN FOOL?!"

"Watch this..." He said rubbing his head before telling the girls, "Now these are gonna be the only drinks at the party. Do you really wish to attend them?"

Both girls shook their heads as they cuddled their elder Cousin, who gave Barrcus an annoyed look before asking, "Honestly? That was your plan?"

"It worked didn't it?" Barrcus questioned before getting smacked again. After rubbing his head again he remembers his reason for being there, "Anyway, aside from teaching a valuable lesson...."

Morgen watched him as he walked up to the covered object he'd brought into the room and asked a bit disheartened, "Is that another dress from Uther?"

"Hehe....something like that."

Barrcus then unveiled it and Morgen was left stunned. "Oh my....this is....it's....I can't believe it."

Mina looked at Barrcus again, "Did ya really get Uther to pick out a good dress for once?"

"It took some bellyaching, but it worked." Barrcus declared before Morgen hugged him tightly.

"Thank you."

Barrcus hid all the pain he could as Morgen hugged him, course before long he regrettably has to tell her, "If you'd be so kind as to....stop this...nice endeavor."

Morgen let go quickly and apologized, "I'm sorry, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, although I really do like our hugs...it's just...I'm still a bit fragile...after everything." Barrcus informed her gently.

"Right, again please forgive me Barrcus." Morgen said to him.

Barrcus placed a hand under her chin, "I'm fine. Now we start getting ready for your little trip.