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azrielslightintheshadows · 6 months

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Princess

Azriel x Reader

One of the series I'm currently working on, hope you enjoy it.

Princess masterlist

General masterlist

Summary; Reader is Mor’s new friend that she found in the winter court while she was away for business. Y/n has been raised as a princess since her parents wanted to wed her to a noble fae in order to climb the social ranks. When her parents are brutally murdered y/n is left alone without a clue about the harsh reality or the brutality of the world. Mor finds her and takes her back to Velaris afraid of what might happen to her if she was left to live on her own. Will y/n survive the hate she will receive from certain members of the inner circle -including her mate- regarding the way she grew up?

Warnings; angst, mentions of abuse and death, description of reader.

Prologue

Y/n felt like she would pass out any moment now, the iron smell of blood filled her senses, her stomach twisting and the tears pouring down her face like a stream.

She couldn’t see the bodies, the guards of the winter court were standing in front of her shielding the view, she didn’t know if she wanted to thank them or curse them out for keeping her from seeing her parents one last time. A lady doesn’t curse. Her mother’s words ringed in her ears. A lady is polite.

She closed her eyes and took a few steps back exiting the house.

“We will take them now” a guard told her, and she nodded in response.

She was shopping dresses for the ball her cousin had invited her to. It was the perfect opportunity to meet high ranked faes her mother had told her. Guilt filled her body, she should’ve been there, with them. Who would do that? Enter a small cottage to steal… everyone knew that her family was poor, and when her father managed to sell some of the vegetables they grew in the covered part of their garden -so snow wouldn’t ruin them-, all the money would be used to buy clothes for her. Her parents always called her their saviour. She was beautiful, almost black hair, eyes sweet and brown like honey, gold in the sun. High cheekbones and full lips. She was a stunning female and that meant they could wed her to a noble fae thus she was their saviour. Ever since she was a little girl, she was trained to be a good wife, her only skills were keeping the house clean, cooking and being gentle and obedient. What would she do now? She wasn’t trained for anything else. She smoothed her dress and turned her back when the guards carried her parent’s bodies away from the house. The females of her street entered her house, rugs in their hands and buckets filled with water and essential oils to clean and take care of the smell. She always helped everyone in need and now it was time for them to pay her back for her kindness.

She didn’t know how long she stayed outside, snowflakes landing on her face leaving a rosy shade as they melted. She was used to the cold, it was even comforting for her. When the females were done cleaning, she walked inside nodding her head at the looks of pity she received. Her house was spotless, not a hint of the brutal act that took place there a few hours ago. She noticed that someone had even baked a pie for her. Her mouth watered but as she approached the pie she only felt nauseous, how could she eat right now? She shook her head and sat on the couch staring at the snow outside from the window there.

The next morning found her in the same spot, her tears had dried. She stood up and walked to the kitchen. You need to eat; males prefer healthy females who can carry their heirs. Her mother’s words again. She stared at the cold pie and ignoring her nausea she took a bite. She finished her food and cleaned the kitchen. She had to get to the ball, that’s what her parents wanted. So, with a deep breath she walked to the bathing room and stripped her clothes, the water was cold but she didn’t mind, she was numb. When she was done, she walked into her room, the dress she bought was laying on her bed, probably one of the females found it where she dropped it and left it here. After getting dressed and pulling her hair in a high bun she stared her reflection in the small mirror of her room. She looked good, only her eyes were dull, but she was sure no one would notice, males didn’t care about those things as long as she had a smile plastered on her face.

It would take a few hours to get to the big house where the ball was held. Her cousin was waiting for her outside in her small carriage. She smoothed the dress and left the house not looking back. No one was standing back there waving goodbye and wishing her luck anymore. As she climbed into the carriage her cousin had a sad smile on her face, she ignored her and made herself comfortable. The ride was filled with silence and after a few hours they arrived. Y/n was staring the house in awe, it was a beautiful three-story building with a huge garden. They were in the middle of the forest, the snowy trees only making the scene more magical.

The inside of the house was just as magnificent, everything decorated with gold ornaments, the floor so shiny someone could think it was a mirror. Blending in wasn’t that hard for y/n after all she was trained to be anything a male would want, a glass of wine in her hand, a sweet smile on her face and….as she turned to walk around she was met with a hard body, spilling her wine on the male’s feet.

“Watch where you’re fucking going” he hissed. He looked the same age as her, blond hair, blue eyes but filled with spite.

“I’m so sorry” she stuttered.

“Clean the mess you created. Now.” He ordered and she quickly grabbed the nearest cloth she could find, kneeling in front of him to clean his shoes.

“What the hell are you doing” a female voice said from behind. Y/n turned around slowly. Relief filled her face when she noticed the blonde female staring at him and not her.

“Why do you care” he growled.

The female grabbed y/n hand and pulled her so she was standing.

“Next time I see you treating a woman like that it will be your last day on this world” she said in a calm voice that sent shivers down y/n’s spine. The male paled and hurried off to his friends.

“Girl what was that?” the blonde asked her wide eyed.

“I spilled my wine on him…. It was my fault” y/n muttered.

“He would get over it, just an apology was enough” she scoffed. “I’m Mor by the way”

“Y/n. And I just wanted to please him, he could be a nice husband”.

Mor blinked. A look of horror when she realized that y/n was one of the girls trained to be perfect wives. Kallias had informed her about those types of girls and how he was planning to stop it.

“Cauldron boil me, who trained you like that?”

“My parents” y/n replied, her bottom lip trembled. “They were murdered yesterday” she continued.

Mor stared at y/n, her heart filled with rage.

“Do you have anyone else?”

“No… but I’m trying to find a husband like my parents wanted me to.”

“Okay, you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here alone with all these brutes” Mor replied making y/n gasp.

“Where?” she asked bitting her bottom lip. She was nervous but her eyes flashed with excitement.

“To the night court” and with that Mor grabbed her hand and darkness swallowed them.

When the darkness disappeared, they fell into a big balcony.

“Sorry I forgot to tell you about the drop” Mor smiled apologetically.

“It’s okay” y/n replied and turned to see the view. A beautiful city laid beneath them, buildings crafted out of white marbles and townhouses with green copper roofs and white chimneys. A river that started from the top of the hills and ended in the sea. The city was full of light and noise, y/n didn’t think that a city could be this beautiful without snow. She kept staring not daring to blink in case she missed anything. Mesmerizing. The only word that came into her mind. Mor was grinning next to her, amused by the way the young female was frozen in her spot, her eyes wide and a small smile on her face.

“By the way, stop being so okay with everything” Y/n snapped her head to Mor caught off guard when the blonde spoke. “You were okay with leaving with a stranger, and also okay when said stranger dropped you on a balcony endangering your life since you weren’t ready” Mor continued.

“I’m just being polite” y/n responded frowning. The blonde female just shook her head and started walking. They were met with glass doors that led into a dining room where several faeries were sitting enjoying their food and wine. All eyes were on y/n in an instant.

Mor cleared her throat. “Hello everyone, I brought some company” Y/n immediately felt uncomfortable, everyone was dressed so casually and here she stood in a pink dress of tulle, the skirt floating around her like a tent.

“This is y/n” Mor spoke again, and the female straightened her posture not sure if anyone spoke in the meantime when she was lost in her thoughts.

“I’m Rhysand” one of the males spoke and Y/n almost choked on air.

“The high lord of the night court Rhysand?” her hands were shaking, and she now regretted the choice to follow Mor here. Everyone burst into laughter by her reaction.

Rhysand smiled “And this is my high lady Feyre, her sisters Nesta and Elain, Cassian the General and commander of my armies, Amren my second in command and Azriel my spymaster.”

Y/n’s eyes were frantic from one face to another but what finally caught her attention was the hazel eyes of the spymaster, she studied him, her eyes moving from his face to his wings and hands -scarred hands. He caught her and removed his hands from the table, her face burned in embarrassment, and she moved her gaze back to Rhysand who kept staring at her waiting for what she had to say.

“Uhm my name is y/n, I’m from the winter court” she stuttered.

Rhysand’s gaze turned to Mor who finally spoke again “She was raised to be a good wife and her parents were murdered yesterday so you can understand why I think she needs protection.” Azriel snorted and Nesta gave him a questioning look “That means she was raised like a princess the worst thing she ever did was washing a dish probably and she has no idea about the world outside her pink bubble” he explained. Nesta’s face hardened and y/n stared at her shoes. “And dear Mor decided to bring her here to protect her without asking anyone first” he continued and stood up abandoning his food as he disappeared into the hall.

“Please excuse Azriel” Feyre spoke “He has been through a lot, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish for, let me show you the guest rooms”

“Thank you” she replied and followed Feyre. The last thing she heard was Mor reassuring Rhysand that she wasn’t a threat.

Now she entirely regretted following a stranger, but she knew that in order to survive in this world she needed to stay here even if Azriel and Nesta made her life a nightmare.

Just a thought I had yesterday. Do you think I should continue this story?

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antebunny · 3 months

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a cuckoo in the nest

(Aka the Fae!Tim fic that I decided not to finish and thus am dumping on Tumblr)

The creature that the Unseelie Queen forces on Bruce is disguised as a human child. Worse, it resembles Bruce’s two current children. Skin on the lighter side, lighter than either of his kids, black hair, blue eyes, and a light sweater and sweatpants combination that either Dick or Jason might wear. It is quite the contrast to the wild fey flashing too-bright teeth at Bruce.

“You will welcome it into your home,” the Unseelie Queen commands. “You will treat it as you would your own son. You will do nothing to indicate that it is anything but a human boy.”

One gnarled claw curls around the creature’s shoulder. The creature’s expression remains eerily blank. Another point in favor of its otherworldliness. A normal human child would show some reaction to the Unseelie Queen’s possessive presence. This creature stays perfectly still.

“In return…” the Unseelie Queen crooks one finger of her free hand in a come here motion and a figure stumbles out of the dark trees surrounding their little clearing.

It is Jason. Injured beyond belief, blue eyes red and weeping. Bruce’s knee jerks, but he forces himself to remain within the small summoning circle. A thin line of salt and iron protecting him from the Unseelie Queen’s unfathomable powers.

“You get your son back.” She presents Jason to Bruce like she’s selling a prize horse at an auction. One hand on the back of his neck. “Alive and well. As he was before his death. The memory of his death will remain, but dulled. That is my bargain, Batman.”

Bruce is not fool enough to give the Unseelie Queen his real name, nor is he stupid enough to lie to her. Using his nighttime alter ego presents the perfect compromise. Batman is not his real name, nor is it a lie. So it is Batman’s black gauntlets that curl into fists as Bruce considers the Unseelie Queen’s deal.

It is the height of stupidity to take a creature he does not know the abilities of into Wayne Manor, and pretend it is his son. Given what he knows of the Unseelie Queen, such a creature could cause unfathomable damage to his family, to Gotham. This is a bet of Bruce’s own intelligence against a fey hundreds of times older than Bruce. He could very well end up losing both of his sons this time.

“B,” Jason sobs. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

But the alternative is to walk away from a chance to have Jason back. This is not the universe where Bruce is capable of such an act. At least with the Unseelie Queen’s bargain, Bruce has a chance to limit any potential harm. Perhaps he can even outsmart the creature and prevent all damage whatsoever. If she had asked him to kill someone, or something more direct, Bruce wouldn’t stand a chance.

Bruce uncurls his fists slowly. “I accept.”

With those two words, both the creature and Jason are invited into the circle. The creature steps forward calmly, Nike sneakers passing over the salt and iron easily. Its arms are flat by its sides, and its head comes up to Bruce’s chest. If it were human, it would be around the same age that Jason was when Bruce caught him stealing the Batmobile’s tires. A blatant attempt at emotional manipulation on the Unseelie Queen’s part.

Jason is shoved forwards by the Unseelie Queen. He trips over his own feet, but Bruce is there to catch him this time, to gently fold him in his arms and check him over for injuries.

“I’m getting you home,” Bruce promises.

And if he has to bring home the Unseelie Queen’s little spy as well to make it happen, then that is a price Bruce is more than willing to pay to have his family whole again.

Tim finally has the chance to be part of a family again, and it is the best family he could have imagined. He can scarcely believe his luck as Mr. Wayne–Batman, for now–leads Tim and Jason (who doesn’t look so good) into the Batcave. Tim is so caught up trying not to gape in awe at everything that he misses the hushed conversation that Mr. Wayne has with his butler, and the slightly louder, much longer conversation he has with his eldest son. The original Robin is standing all of five meters away from Tim! He’s going to be Tim’s older brother!

A lifetime ago, when Tim was still fully human, with parents and the last name Drake, he’d been obsessed with Batman and Robin. Had followed them around pitch black rooftops, through the streets buzzing with neon lights and vices, just to get a glimpse of his heroes. Discovered Robin’s true identity shortly before Bruce Wayne adopted Jason Todd, and a new Robin came to roost in Gotham’s skyscrapers.

Then Janet and Jack Drake gave their only child to the Unseelie Queen in exchange for money and power, and Tim lost his name, and his home, and his entire world.

“What is your name?” Mr. Wayne interrupts Tim’s memories. He looms in front of Tim in an empty Batcave. Mr. Pennyworth and both Robins are long gone. It is only Tim, in his ill-fitting human clothes, and Batman.

Tim knew this question was coming. Mr. Wayne must think that Tim is a human child, and that asking for his name is a simple exchange of pleasantries. He cannot know that Tim is no longer fully human, and his name is no longer free to give or take, nor his own anymore. Luckily, Tim prepared a response. He does not want to lie to Batman, after all, but as much as he wishes he could trust Mr. Wayne with his name, he knows better.

“What do you want to be called?” Mr. Wayne amends, when Tim fails to answer fast enough.

Carefully, Tim purses his lips and whistles. Hoo-ooh. A sharp ho followed by a lower, longer oo sound. The call of a common cuckoo. Hoo-ooh. Hoo-ooh.

Mr. Wayne frowns in response. Tim panics briefly–did he not get the call right? He practiced so much!–and tries again, a little faster. Hoo-ooh, hoo-ooh, hoo-ooh. Please accept me. I know I’m an unwanted interloper, an imposter. Please accept me anyway.

“Do you have a name in English?” Mr. Wayne asks. He repeats the question in a few more languages. Tim recognizes the Spanish and Russian, but he’s not sure what the others are. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Tim nods frantically. He swallows with difficulty, and then whispers: “Tim.”

It is not a lie, and it is common enough that hopefully Tim can remain anonymous. He is a common cuckoo bird, after all, not even remarkable in his imposition.

“Well, Tim,” Mr. Wayne says, voice dropping to an ominous growl, “I will uphold my end of the bargain. But do not think for a second that I can be tricked into trusting you. And if you give me even the slightest indication that you intend to hurt a member of my family in any way, I will not hesitate to take you down. Do you understand?”

Tim has not cried in years, not since his parents gave him away. But tonight a peculiar wetness pricks at the corners of his eyes as he nods. “Yes, Mr. Wayne, sir,” he says quickly. “I understand.”

It isn’t as though Mr. Wayne is wrong. Tim is an interloper, here to trick Mr. Wayne and his family into caring about Tim. All Mr. Wayne did was make it clear that he will continue to pretend that Tim is part of his family and that he will not be tricked. There’s no reason for Tim to get emotional about it.

It’s just that Tim hoped, if just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be pretend.

The Wayne family, aside from Mr. Wayne himself, is very easily tricked. Mr. Pennyworth (“call me Alfred, Master Tim”) lets Tim follow him around even though he won’t let Tim help with chores no matter how much he insists that he can do it. Tim is fine with that, really. For now it is better to be tolerated, if not liked, than not to be tolerated at all. He has noticed that even Mr. Wayne defers to Alfred in household matters, so it is good to have the real head of household somewhat in his corner.

Most days, Tim sits on the kitchen counter while Alfred cooks, and awkwardly attempts to answer questions about his previous life. It is mixed, as far as conversations go. The questions are very stressful for Tim, who is never sure how much he should say, but smelling and eating human food after so long without it still brings tears to his eyes.

Simmering tomato floats through the air as Alfred adds a pinch of rosemary to his soup. Tim’s mouth waters, and he swallows before talking.

“I had a really long argument with a rosemary plant, once,” Tim recalls ruefully. “It was dumb. But I was so desperate for human food that I’d’ve said just about anything.”

The rosemary plant refused, in the end. Everyone was too scared of the Unseelie Queen to help Tim.

Alfred stirs his pot carefully. “You had an argument…with the rosemary plant?” He clarifies neutrally.

“Yep.” Tim’s legs swing back and forth a bit faster. “I told you, it was really dumb. I would’ve tried with the mushrooms, but they’re mean and scary, really scary. And old.”

Some of the mushrooms are even older than the Unseelie Queen, which makes them even scarier. Except that the Unseelie Queen has Tim’s name, and the mushrooms do not.

Tim blushes all of a sudden, mindful of his audience. “I didn’t mean being old makes them scary,” he mumbles, furious at himself. He is supposed to be trying to get Alfred to like him, and instead he insults him! What is wrong with him?

“It is quite alright, dear boy,” Alfred says. “I assure you no offense was taken. Now, what is it you were saying about being desperate for human food?”

Mr. Grayson (“call me Dick, everyone else does!”) is the easiest to trick into caring about Tim. He is actually not sure what he did to pull it off. Dick stays at Wayne Manor most weekends, and the first time he comes over, before Tim has a chance to enact any of his thirty-four “Trick Robin Into Liking Me” plans, Dick asks if he wants to get ice cream. Tim accepts eagerly, and Dick smiles so brightly that Tim nearly forgets about Mr. Wayne scowling in the background. After that, Dick always makes a point to seek him out. Tim is pretty sure he makes a bumbling mess of himself every conversation, but somehow Dick keeps laughing it off and taking Tim out for another slightly reckless and exceedingly enjoyable excursion.

Jason is a bit harder to trick. He is still healing mentally and emotionally from his death, so he’s off-duty as Robin. Since school is out for the summer, this means he spends most of his time curled up in the library. Tim once hovered behind him for hours, trying to work up the courage to start a conversation, when Jason turned and snapped what so aggressively that Tim immediately ran away.

In general, he is surly, defensive, angry, and reluctant to accept affection from his real family, much less Tim. Eight plans to trick Jason into caring about him are complete failures that end in Tim further earning Jason’s ire. Another fourteen plans are thrown out before Tim can enact them, after the humiliation of the eight failures.

Eventually, Tim turns to Dick for help. Dick has alluded to a rough start with Jason, which sounds fake to Tim. Dick was Robin, how could anyone not like him? But maybe he can give Tim advice.

It is a sweltering Saturday in late July when Dick pulls away from Wayne Manor in some type of fancy car with Tim in the co-pilot seat.

“I need advice,” Tim says nervously as Bristol’s mansions flash by. Tim did his best not to look at the Drakes’ manor. He succeeded in not looking, but he wondered whether his parents started staying in Gotham more often once Tim was gone, and the question won’t leave him alone.

“What’s up?” Dick asks easily. He lazes in the driver’s seat, two fingers on the steering wheel. It is this nonchalance which convinces Tim to go through with his question.

Tim’s hands tap out some pattern on his forearms and elbows. “How do I get Jason to like me?”

Dick curls his right hand around the wheel and glances at Tim quickly. Tim still struggles reading expressions, so he has absolutely no idea what’s going through Dick’s mind. Maybe he’s thinking that there’s no way that Jason will ever like him. Maybe Dick doesn’t like Tim. Maybe he’s only acting like he cares about Tim because he’s so nice.

“Jason doesn’t…” Dick sighs. “Not like you. He’s just going through a lot right now. On top of the stuff with his birth mother, he also, well, you know.”

“Died,” Tim supplies.

Dick’s shoulders inch towards his ears. Veins in his forearm pop as the hand on the wheel tightens. “Yeah. So, just, give him some time, yeah?”

But Tim doesn’t have time. He has until the end of the summer, approximately two more months. To the fae the end of summer is not a specific day, but rather a sensation. Decay on the doorsteps, rot in the wind. Hot breezes melting into simmering afternoons. The crisp crackle of a leaf underfoot.

If he cannot trick every member of the Wayne family into loving him by the end of summer, he must return to the Unseelie Queen, this time forever. That was her bargain. This is Tim’s one chance to escape her.

Tim looks out his window at the cold, unfeeling mansions and nods miserably. “Okay.”

Jason does not like the new kid. Everything about him is just slightly off. He walks like he’s surprised that his feet come back down. He talks like he’s describing a dream and expects everyone else to understand. He’s constantly watching Jason silently with those eerie, unblinking eyes of his. Despite living in the same house as Batman, Tim is quieter still, always popping up unannounced and thrusting a trinket or a book at Jason.

This isn’t even getting into the part where Jason knows he died but doesn’t quite remember it and keeps having nightmares he doesn’t understand. He vaguely recalls a forest that wasn’t a forest and a hand that wasn’t a hand, curling around his shoulder. Bruce won’t stop treating Jason like glass and Dick still looks weepy sometimes, but neither will let Jason out as Robin. All three are letting Jason get away with everything except the things he actually wants to do. It’s infuriating.

In other words, the summer is off to a great start.

“Bets on the new kid,” Jason says. He’s in the middle of making himself peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, because he is the only one that Alfred allows in the kitchen.

Dick is draped dramatically across the counter, because according to him it’s so tragic how Jason never wants to do anything fun. Jason hit him over the head with a spatula in response. Dick whined about that, so Jason hit him even harder.

“What are we betting on?” Dick asks.

Jason half-shrugs. “Like…he’s clearly not human. What is he?”

Dick sits up on the counter. “Yeah, he keeps talking about talking to plants.”

“And plants are always a little bigger and shinier after he leaves the room,” Jason adds.

“Maybe he’s got some relation to Ivy,” Dick suggests.

This entire conversation would not be necessary if Bruce would just cough up the answer. But he responds to every question about Tim with some variation of “hmmm” or “I cannot say.” Jason even sucked up his pride and asked Barbara, but she doesn’t know what’s up with the new kid either. Jason suspects that Bruce promised Tim he wouldn’t tell, because–

“Have you seen his reaction to food though?” Jason asks rhetorically. “It’s like he’s so shocked he’s being fed.”

And he lets that hang, because maybe it’s true, and not a joke.

Dick scratches his chin. “And he says ‘human’ like he’s not one.”

“Okay.” Jason sets his mixing bowl down on the counter Dick claimed as his seat. “My theory: he’s a metahuman whose parents–or guardians–or whoever was in charge of him–treated as less than human, and he made B promise not to say ‘cause he doesn’t know we ain’t shit like his parents yet.”

“I mean.” Dick scoots off the counter when Jason comes swinging with the baking tray. He attempts to help Jason spread the parchment paper until Jason glares at him. “He thinks you hate him.”

Jason freezes in the middle of scooping a handful of cookie batter into the tray. Guilt curdles, expired milk and broken egg shells, in his stomach. “I don’t.”

“I know.”

Dick doesn’t mention the part about Jason dying, because he’s ultra sensitive to that sort of thing. Jason has debated making extra jokes about his death just to force Dick to get used to it, but he hasn’t gone through with it. He’s never seen Dick cry like he did when Jason came back. They haven’t talked about it, because Jason is allergic to big emotions and Dick is nothing but an oversized bundle of big emotions. But it lingers in the back of Jason’s mind, everytime Dick pretends that everything is fine. You mourned me. It’s so obvious, said like that. Of course he mourned Jason. But it’s not an experience Jason ever expected to live through.

Not even Jason knows how he came back to life. He suspects Bruce had something to do with it, but Bruce won’t say. The continuous silence from him is driving Jason to insanity where the Joker and dying failed.

“Fair tidings.” Tim’s head pops up by Jason’s shoulder and he forcibly suppresses a surprised reaction. Another weird-ism of Tim’s: what sort of American kid says fair tidings? “Can I help?”

“No,” Jason snaps immediately, curling one arm around the batter bowl.

Dick makes a noise, and Jason winces. He didn’t mean to snap at the kid. It’s just that everything about Tim sets off sirens in Jason’s head. And usually by the time Jason is ready to invite the kid in, he’s run off.

“Fine,” Jason grunts. He shoves the bowl at Tim. “We’re making cookies.”

Tim stares at the bowl with owlish eyes, and Jason clamps down on the urge to yell at the kid again.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says faux-casually. “I never asked. You got a last name?”

Tim’s head snaps up. “Why do you want to know?”

Jesus, he sounds one wrong word from breaking into tears. Jason exchanges a glance with Dick, who is taken aback by the uncharacteristic bout of aggression from the weird kid, and reluctantly decides to intervene.

“It’s ‘cause we wanna get to know the baby bro better,” Jason says gruffly. “Ya know. Bondin’ and shhhh, uh, stuff.”

Tim’s blue eyes widen into twin moons. “You want to be my big brother?”

The naked hope in his voice is really not helping with Jason’s guilt.

“Yeah.” Jason throws down a few more lumps of cookie dough a bit more forcefully than required. “Ain’t no way B is returning you to the kid store.”

Actually, he’s only seen Bruce interact with Tim once, and it was super awkward. But he’s pretty confident that Bruce wouldn’t take in a kid if he didn’t want that kid to be his kid.

Dick is smiling dopily, so Jason is pretty sure he said enough right words in the right order. “So?” Dick prompts. “Got a last name, baby bird?”

Tim’s hands float to his elbows and start tapping out an unknown pattern. “It’s, uh. Drake.”

“Tim Drake,” Jason tests out, and neither he nor Dick miss the way that Tim does his best impression of a wooden plank at the sound of his name. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Dunno.” Dick snaps his fingers and points at Tim. “Wait! You’re our neighbor!”

Tim gives Dick his weird blank stare, so Dick points at Jason instead. “The Drakes are our neighbors,” he explains. “The parents were always out of the country for vacation or something, but I remember they had a little kid tag along with them once or twice. What happened?”

“Bruh.” Jason shoves the tray in the oven with his bare hands, because he isn’t a wuss and he’s also not stupid enough to touch the burning hot metal with bare hands. “They supervillains or something?”

Tim shakes his head. His hands press flat against his legs. “They sold me.”

He says it so flatly that Jason exchanges another look with Dick just to make sure he heard right. But Dick’s jaw drops in outrage, so clearly they heard the same thing.

“How? When? To who?” Dick’s eyes narrow. He’s dropping into protective big brother mode. Jason has had the dubious pleasure of experiencing it first-hand a few times. “Does B know about this?”

But Tim shakes his head again. “I can’t say.”

“Are they threatening you?” Jason jumps in, pretending his tone isn’t leaning in the same big brother direction as Dick’s is. “You know B has Supes on speed-dial, right? Ain’t no one in the world who can get away with threatening you now that B’s got you.”

Tim shakes his head a third time, and Jason really has no idea if Tim actually means no or if he’s just moving his head.

Dick and Jason exchange another worried look, but this time Jason isn’t sure what Dick is thinking. Mostly because Tim just gave them about a thousand more questions in the process of answering one.

#batfam #batman #tim drake #my fanfiction #my writing #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne

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dutiful-wildcraft · 3 months

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Pack 141 - Fae!Soap Headcanons

Tags: monster au, Fae!Soap, poly 141, sfw, fluff, general lore, Soap's mom? for a minute at least, fae lore I roughly researched.

-Soap's mother was a stubborn and superstitious woman. When her baby boy was born with a caul over his face, her heart seized with dread. She had been told stories, how it was lucky to have a child able to see beyond the veil. How the caul signified a great power, coveted by the people of the forest. Her only babe, marked as Fae.

-They would come for her child, steal him in the night and replace him with another. And it would be a cold day in hell before Jill Mactavish let anything touch her son.

-She slept with the bundle clutched tightly in her arms, refusing to sleep until she left the hospital. Left him wrapped snugly to her front as she hammered iron railroad spikes into the corners of her property; hung horseshoes above her doors, sprinkled fine lines of salt around every doorway and window of her home.

-She thought it had worked. At least for a while. But the Fae are persistent if nothing else. Jill began to notice strange flowers pop up around the foundation of her home, odd tapping rhythms heard in the night. Would she know? Would she know if the lamb in her arms was replaced with another?

-She was so exhausted, worn thin from paranoia. Yet Jill Mactavish was no quitter. Under the light of a pale full moon she marched to the edge of her property. Her blue eyed bundle cooing and gumming happily at his fingers as he wriggled against her chest. With a final look to the boy she faced the forest with a stern resolve, “You won't take him! But I'll share him! Leave us be or help me raise him right!”

-The winds rustled, branches creaking ominously. Leaves gathered and spun into a tornado of color in the chill autumn air. Jill would freeze in place as the leaves fell away, revealing an ethereally beautiful creature before her. All high cheekbones and sharp eyes surrounded by inky black sclera.

-Ordinarily the Fae would swap out changelings, snag the babe once it was the right size and replace it with one of their own. Considering the wee one was already Touched….perhaps a swap would be unnecessary. Human mother's were coveted. The milk of human kindness and all that, and the babe was truly beautiful, destined to be strong. The fae had looked Jill up and down with a calculating look. Yes. A deal could be struck. They would raise the baby together.

-And thus Soap spent his time in equal parts amongst the Fae and humans, learning to socialize with both, though he didn't completely fitting in with either. Soap was hell on wheels. Rambunctious and equally curious, constantly nosing or getting into things he ought not have. Not that he was ostracized by either group he was just..*odd.* Unable to find his footing or close friends.

-You could say that Soap has many siblings, though this term is used liberally. By human technicalities Soap is an only child (his mum's baby boy). His mother, through the nature of her bargain, was brought into the fold with young John. Helping to raise and nurse her own gaggle of fae children of differing bloods. Other children Soap would call family.

-Fae don't have strict family dynamics, it's certainly a community effort to rear little ones. Fae children can be produced in a myriad of ways, with no one way being seen above another, p in v? that works. Born from a flower? Sure why not. Throw some herbs and intent together until a wailing babe sounds from the cauldron? That works too.

-Soap naturally inquired about this, as any kid would. “Ma? Did I come from a flower?” “You came from my belly wee one” Soap had squinted at her, eyeing her belly incredulously, "but how?”

-It took several conversations to get the toddler to understand that the other children in his human primary school were not in fact his brothers and sisters.

-As humans are fascinated with the Fae, the Fae are equally as fascinated by humans. As John grew into a young man he would see the differences. The Fae courts had long fallen into a peaceful rhythm. The humans? Hardly. With a powerful knack for chaos, among other abilities. Soap threw himself into the army. Keen to help as many as he could, and perhaps even find his own way.

-Soap is a marked child. He is more resilient on average than most Fae, and shows no obvious limitations in what disciplines he can learn. However, as marked he does have particular dispositions toward the following.

-Tongues, the ability to speak any language at will. Sometimes without thinking about it. For Soap this isn't automatic, but after a few days of listening or studying he's fluent. (Albeit with the accent). This gives Soap a peculiar edge when working with varying communities, elements, and other critters/creatures.

-Glamour, a sophisticated illusion, these may allow for invisibility or changes to appearance for a brief time (upwards to an hour but possibly longer depending on the severity of the change). Living amongst the Fae made permanent changes to his body. The sclera of his eyes had shifted inky black. His teeth and nails razor sharp. There is an ethereal beauty to all Fae as well. Naturally Soap uses this ability to cover some of the obvious issues.

-Soap knows he's distracting. He's a proud thing, and rarely bothers shifting that. He's damn good at what he does and looks damn good doing it. Hshows off his muscles/skills/looks without shame.

-Shapeshifting, self explanatory, but only works proportionally give or take a few inches. He may take on the appearance of another person or creature, briefly. But once again, only appearance. Mimicking voices is another skill.

-Sight or Clairvoyance, this ability's range depends on the court or bloodline. In Soap's case, his visions will occasionally come to him in dreams, these being more sophisticated visions or events far in the future. These visions are generally more detailed. He is typically privy to smaller prophecies, glimpses of events happening minutes before him. These are typically vague, but have consistently been enough to save his and his teammates asses numerous times in the field. The Infamous Mactavish Intuition ;)

-Soap is one hell of an alchemist, and can make due with most natural items at his disposal. Poisons, potions, explosives, you name it, Soap can make it. He excelled remarkably in the maths and sciences in school, and it’s why he was also quickly assigned to demolitions so long ago.

-Soap has a very noticeable smell. One that isn't exclusively detected by other supernatural beings. Any human standing beside him would notice it. Lemon and shortbread, with a warm curl of rose. Clean, green and vaguely sweet. People wonder if his callsign was from this fact rather than his prowess on the field.

-Nudity has no taboo with the Fae. Raised as such, the man has literally no shame. Soap Mactavish has been naked since he was a child in the woods, and will continue to proudly do so. Does not understand why everyone else is so uptight about it. Will bust in on someone in the shower without a second thought. “Stop screamin’ it’s just me”

-Fae are very partial to music, and Soap is no exception. He is so easily captivated by the sound, swaying slightly, almost as if hypnotized. Soap isn’t as in tune with artists and genres as Gaz is, but he keeps a hoard of songs on his phone. Gaz is his main contributor, keeps him well fed with playlists he makes. Playing new records for Soap as they bop around the kitchen together, playfully dancing or headbanging together. Soap was once pretty proficient with piano and guitar at his mam’s encouragement. His singing however, nearly got him killed in basic.

-Many animals are the watchdogs of the Fae. Soap has been seen having conversations with himself, unknowing to onlookers that a little frog or squirrel was sitting beside him. Someone swears they saw a mouse crawl out of his tac vest once. He whistles with the birds, scoops up bugs and plops them back into the weeds. He unfortunately doesn’t know the language of the shower spider. He doesn't bother to learn, he thinks he prefers the silence in this instance.

-Soap can be attracted with a myriad of things just like any other fae. Music as mentioned above is one. He is also partial to pretty chimes and bells, running water, shiny and/or colorful displays, as well as anything sweet, candies or sweet creams/milks/liquors.

- Too much contact with iron on his bare skin will poison him. Fortunately most weaponry constructed now is made of more synthetic material. It can be noticed that Soap is very particular about his gloves, and is rarely seen without them on. Iron on properties or above doors won’t exactly stop him, but it is incredibly uncomfortable and will lead to sickness if he is trapped within such a ward for too long.

-Fae, like crows, are enamored with jewels and other shiny objects, less of a weakness really and more of a distraction. Soap, prior to his enlistment had several piercings, such as his ears, and brow…among other things. He was very fond of the adornments, and easily captivated by the shiny displays on others. (This also extends to his intense love of blowing shit up and watching the sparks fly, big ole hearts in his eyes as the colors dance) In the event the team goes out for something special Soap will throw on a few pieces for fun~

-Soap can not lie, at least not directly, however Soap is a very sharp lad, and has learned to cleverly navigate around this by either not telling the whole truth, letting others assume, or simply not correcting misconceptions. He is a Fae afterall, being clever is his specialty.

-Customs of love and marriage vary among the Fae. Many Fae interpret strong love as variations of servitude, especially towards human mates. Soap has gotten himself tangled between both of these versions of love. For Soap love is servitude. Not something to be expected of his lovers, but from him. Soap gives himself to his lovers willingly, He wants to be good, give them anything they want and let them take what they need. Love is worship, and Soap is a very devoted man.

-Soap and Gaz had bro’d up as soon as they spotted each other. Having seen through each other's glamours, they became fast friends. Two oddballs fighting side by side. Which would turn into playful banter, and kips on the helo leaning against one another. Then to wandering hands and desperate kisses, having found comfort and fondness in each other after years of hiding themselves among humans. Soap and Gaz are the most cuddly. Johnny likes to lay sprawled in his Sphinx’s nest, his arms curled around his middle, face buried against Gaz's stomach. Both of them absolutely hate to sleep alone.

- Soap had a knack for getting into trouble. Disregarding orders to do what needed to be done. Had nearly been kicked out had his skills not saved his skin (and countless others). It was Price who sniffed him out, offered to take the man on loan for a bit. Soap's former CO was happy to be rid of him and hopeful that the notoriously stern Captain would knock some sense into him. Price, however had no such plans, he cut Soap loose, full authority, and watched the man bloom. Price did not anger at Soap’s decisions, didn’t flinch at his savagery in the field. In fact, Price had looked upon him with fondness (and a fair amount of exasperation). He kept Soap warm with lovely praises and a regular morning coffee, plus a heavy splash of sweet cream, for good measure.

-Simon had been more difficult, adamant on giving the Fae a hard time. Having seemingly been put off by Soap ever since he bounded off the truck and fist-bumped his arm on the tarmac. But Soap was determined, chatting and teasing, unphased by the lieutenants' icey behavior. They fell together in no time. Soap nestled to his chest, lips brushing over Simon's slow beating heart. Soap would never admit it. Never admit that he knew it would be like this all along. That Soap had seen him in his dreams.

206 notes · View notes

thelov3lybookworm · 5 months

Text

To Love and Cakes

Summary: Y/n is the daughter of a flower and gardening tools shop's owner in Velaris. When he gets sick, y/n makes her father take some rest and looks after the small shop herself. But she is new to all this as her father never let her work a day in her life.

One day, as she's looking after the shop, a red haired high fae comes looking for gardening gloves as a gift to someone. Y/n helps him, and learns that he is a frequent customer.

Due to his frequent visits, they soon develop a bond. More than friends, but not lovers.

Yet.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: i dont think there are any but still, here we go. elain being a sour and jealous mate even though she's been sailing on the elriel ship, a few curse words and all. Can't think of anything else, so let me know if i need to add anything.

A/n: this thing has been in my draft for faxing months. This is, to me, the best work of mine. This is my baby. I LOVED writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

(ps. even if youre not a lucien girlie, try reading it. i have a secret agenda to make every one of you creatures a lucien simp, just like im trying to make @artists-ally a lucien simp)

(also, the scene towards the end where reader is dancing was inspired by one of the fbaa books, if it seemed familiar or you were wondering)

t'is a long one children, Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

As Y/n finished walking around the store, cleaning, she thought back to the morning two days ago.

She had just woken up and was walking towards her father's kitchen for breakfast when she heard it. A cough. She quickened her pace, entering the kitchen to find her father bent over, his body heaving from the coughs.

She rushed to him, helping him to the nearest chair. When she bought him some water, he smiled up at her gratefully.

"How many times do I have to tell you to take some rest, father? Why won't you let me help you?"

"I might be getting old, but not that old that I need to rely on my daughter to help me earn. Unless you are trying to steal my shop?"

"Father!" She said, exasperated, even though she knew he was just saying that to irritate her. "You are staying home till you get better. I'll take care of the shop."

"But you don't know anything about it." At the glare she gave him, he finally conceded. "Let me help for today atleast. Show you how to handle it. I promise I'll rest."

She had come to visit and stay with her father for some days, having just quit her previous job, searching for a new one. They were well off, the house that Y/n lived in owned by her. She had wanted to see if her father needed any help around. Which he didn't. He wasn't very old and ill by any means, he just didn't know when to stop. That's why she had already made her father agree to closing the store earlier and taking the weekends off.

As Y/n put away the cleaning equipment in the back of the store, the bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. As she hurried to the front desk, she caught a glimpse of the beautiful male that was waiting from behind a shelf.

He had dark crimson hair cascading over his shoulder that looked like fire, with one russet eye and one that was a golden metal one, which was whirring. A scar marred the skin surrounding that eye and trailed to his jaw.

Y/n quickly averted her gaze when she realised she was staring. He hadn't yet noticed her though, looking around the shop. She stepped out from behind the shelf and cleared her throat.

He turned to her at once, giving her a warm smile.

"Hello. How can I help you today?" She asked with a small smile.

"I'm looking for enchanted gardening gloves."

She wracked her brain for the location of said gloves before perking up. "Right this way." As she led the way, he followed a respectful distance away. To fill the silence, she spoke up. "Are you from Night Court? You don't seem like you're from here."

"Yes. I'm from... Autumn Court." His hesitation was evident, and Y/n didn't push.

"Here we are." She said, stopping in front of the gloves stacked neatly on a shelf. She left him alone when he nodded.

She began sorting out her desk, her father's, really, which was near the entrance to the shop.

By the time she finished, the male was done with his browsing and bought out the gloves to the desk to pay for them. The whole ordeal went silently and quickly. With a word of thanks and a 'good day', he was on his way.

•○🌑○•

Lucien's pov.

He stared at her. His mate.

He wondered if, under other circumstances, she would have not despised him. Could she have ever loved him the way others loved their mates? Would the two of them be together if there was no cruelty in this world?

He answered those himself.

The first one? Probably.

The second one? Maybe.

The third one? No.

Because, if there was no cruelty in this world, his love, one his father had killed, would not be dead. Jesminda would be alive still. And if she was alive, he wouldn't care for anything, even his own mate.

And maybe that made him an asshole, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he stared at Elain smiling at the Shadowsinger from the corner of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey.

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the gift he'd bought for her. It was enchanted gardening gloves so her hands wouldn't get cut. Of course, the present had been discarded in a corner, unopened. It wasn't as if she didn't notice the gift. No, he had seen her look at it before placing it aside from her other gifts.

He'd seen her do that, and his heart had been pierced by an arrow. At least it felt like it.

As he stared at the gift, his mind drifted to the shop where he had bought it from. The shop run by the female. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. She hadn't even said much, but she had simply caught his attention.

He blinked when a loud laugh interrupted his thoughts, looking at the inner circle sitting in the center of the room and having the time of their lives, while he sat in the darkest corner he could find. He knew he didn't fit in here, and that most of them didnt trust or like him.

He didn't know why he had accepted Feyre's invitation to stay for the night when he knew he'd be miserable.

He had thought that maybe, just maybe, they would include him in their fun. At least for one night.

He felt so dumb now.

After a little bit of contemplation, he decided it best if he left. No one was going to miss him anyways.

Quietly, he downed the whiskey in his glass, then rolled onto his feet. He set the glass on a nearby table, then turned towards the door. He walked towards it, his boots making no noise.

As he exited the room, there was no sign of the festivities slowing down. None. He removed his coat from the nearby hook, donning it as he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

It wasn't until Lucien was out of the house that the sounds faltered for a brief moment, but then the laughter started back again, and Lucien sighed, his breath misting in front of him. He stared at the little cloud of fog in front of his face.

He didn't want to go home– if it could even be called that– not yet. The night was still young. Maybe he would go on a little walk around Velaris before he returned to the mortal lands.

He started the trek across the city, walking slowly, letting his mind wander, his eyes seeing everything but taking nothing in. It was like a waste of time, looking at the beauty but not caring enough to appreciate it.

He sighed, making his way through the vibrant market place. The children running around the place, candies in their hand, adults lingering around the place with their lovers and families truly added to the beauty of the festival.

But Lucien's eyes were unseeing, his heart unfeeling as he avoided the running and giggling children.

Someone slammed into Lucien from somewhere near him, and that finally broke him out of the haze that he'd been in.

He glanced at the fae leaning against him, trying to gain her footing in the crowded area.

"I am so sorry. I got pushed–" The female looked up at him, finally stable on her feet. She cocked her head, a smile spreading on her lips. "Oh. It's you."

He returned the smile, somehow easier than it should have been considering the foul mood he'd been. "It's me. I don't think I caught your name this morning."

The lady from the gardening shop grinned, her cheeks rosy, glowing with happiness. "Y/n."

"Lucien." He mumbled, studying her. She nodded, holding out her hand. He took it.

Then they stood there, awkwardly trying to figure out what to say. "Um... enjoying solstice?"

"Yeah." She returned, a relieved expression on her face. "Just left the house after dinner. My father said he's going out with some friends, so I decided to head out for some desserts. You?"

"Not really..." That was not the right answer, but Lucien was struggling to put on his mask of indifference.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you alone?"

He smiled ruefully as he looked away. "Very."

After a moment of silence, the lady spoke up again. "What are your thoughts on some cake? Pie? Or maybe cookies?"

Lucien blinked, then glanced at her. "What?"

She grinned, turning away and gesturing with her hand to follow her. Seeing that he had no other reason to haunt the streets of Velaris, he followed her.

She weaved in and out of the crowd, walking with purpose towards her destination. She stumbled sometimes, due to being pushed around by the crowd, but mostly by herself. She seemed to have a problem walking without tripping.

She tripped again, so bad that Lucien had to catch her elbow to stop her from faceplanting. She grinned up at him sheepishly.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you... drunk?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "I don't drink. It's taste is disgusting."

A small smirk made is way into Lucien's face, but he simply nodded at her to keep going. She continued on.

Soon, she was walking into a brightly lit shop, cakes and various baked goods displayed through the glass.

"This is my favourite place for sweets and baked items. It's really good."

She went to open the door, but Lucien stretched out his hand and held it for her. She blinked at him before smiling and stepping in to the warm interior.

"Hello." She greeted the kind looking old lady behing the counter, who smiled widely.

"How are you today?"

"I'm good. How about yourself?" Y/n replied.

"I'm good, I'm good. Just these joints creaking a little extra nowadays."

Y/n grinned fondly. "Maybe you should just get some rest, you old hag."

"Oh shut it. I will rest once I know I have succeded in convincing you to get a partner. Mother knows how lonely you must be."

"I'm not lonely, you old hag. As long as I have you and father, I will never be alone."

"Yeah yeah whatever." Then the old female seemed to notice Lucien, and her eyes lit up. "Are you finally seeing someone?"

Y/n blinked, then glanced at Lucien. Her lips parted, then a flush climbed up her neck. She furiously shook her head, and the old lady sighed.

"Well, hope I'm not dead when you finally decide to interact with others." The female bustled away as other people walked upto the counter to place their order.

Y/n turned to Lucien, her face red, and she gestured to the display of sweets. He grinned when she turned away again. "Choose what you would like to try. I always go for pineapple, but chocolate is also good."

Lucien dipped his head in a nod when she glanced at him to make sure he understood her, and then the two of them went on to get their cakes.

As they were about to leave the shop, the owner of the shop called to him. "Psst. Hey! You!"

When Lucien glanced up questioningly, the lady Y/n had been talking to motioned at him to come closer. He inched towards the counter behind which the lady stood as Y/n talked to another one of the workers.

"What are your intentions for her?" The lady hissed at Lucien as soon as she was sure no one could hear her.

Lucien blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Don't you dare even think of hurting her. Males have hurt her enough. She is a pure soul, and if you hurt her, then I will carve your eyes out with a spoon. You hear me young man?"

Lucien nodded, dumbfounded. Thank the cauldron though, Y/n decided that moment to walk up to the two of them.

The old lady smiled at her, and then shooed Y/n and Lucien away. Y/n rolled her eyes and led Lucien out of the shop.

She crossed the road and settled onto one of the many benches overlooking the Sidra. She patted the place next to her and he obliged, studying her.

"What were you and the old hag talking about?"

"Nothing..."

Y/n raised a brow but stayed silent as she dug into the treat in her hands.

The two of them sat in silence as they ate, staring at the waters of the Sidra.

Unfortunately, soon enough the two of them were done eating, and Y/n turned to Lucien. She smiled. "Did you like the cake?"

Lucien gave her a smile. A genuine one, one that felt like he hadn't smiled in centuries. He probably hadn't.

"I did. Thank you for making my solstice better."

"I enjoyed the time too, no need to thank me."

And then the two of them parted ways, Lucien thanking her again and her telling him not to worry about it.

Lucien watched her until she had vanished between the crowd, then he turned and decided to walk to secluded place before he winnowed back to human lands.

A soft breeze caressed his face, and he closed his eyes, savoring the cool touch. His mind drifted back to Y/n.

He smiled softly, opening his eyes and leaning his head back, staring at the stars twinkling down at him, as if they were winking.

Maybe... just maybe, not all fae were miserable and hateful.

Maybe there was someone out there, like Y/n, who would not hate him for simply existing.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Y/n only had one thought in her mind, and that was to hurry up.

She had been out in the market, getting the things she needed according to the cooking book she had recently bought.

She had decided to surprise her best friend since childhood with a home baked cake, and hence the rush to get home and start the preparations.

The catch?

Y/n was shit at baking.

The few times she had tried to bake, she had either ended with something that was too hard to even be called a rock, or with something that vaguely resembled... puke.

Even thinking about it sent shivers up Y/n's spine.

But back then she hadn't used a cookbook's instruction, she tried to reason with the sane part of her brain, the one that knew this was a bad idea.

Hurry up-

And she smacked into a wall. A very warm wall.

All her bags slipped from her hands and onto the ground as she stumbled back, barely keeping herself from falling onto her ass.

She lifted her head to apologise to whoever she had crashed onto when her eyes met russet and gold. Lucien.

She paused as she watched him cock his head, a little smile spreading on his features.

"I seem to notice a pattern, Y/n."

She lifted an eyebrow as she bent to gather her stuff. He followed. "What pattern?"

She tried to shoo him off by waving her hands, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. "You are always crashing into me. That sounds like a pattern to me."

She scowled, knowing that if her father or any of her friends saw her, they would yell at her for being disrespectful to someone who was helping her.

He grinned, glancing at her as he stood, most of her bags in his hands.

"Do you need any help carrying these?" He questioned when she climbed to her feet too, and she blinked.

"Oh no, it's alright. I'll carry them myself. I don't want to bother you."

"I insist. And it's really not a bother. I have nothing else to do. These are really heavy, let me help."

"You really don't have anything else to do?"

He smiled triumphantly, as if he knew he had won. "I don't."

She sighed. "Fine then. My house is nearby. Thank you vey much."

He shook his head, that smile still on his face. "No worries."

She led him to her house, a peaceful silence between the two.

It wasn't long before they reached her house, and she turned to him, keys in her hand.

"Please come in. Let me make you some tea." That was the least she could do for him.

"Oh no, that is unnecessary, I don't want to bother you. It was my pleasure to help."

"I insist. And it really is not a bother." She smirked, throwing his words back at him.

He shook his head, grinning. "Fine."

She let the two of them in, setting about to get some tea ready. "So, may I ask what you are going to with these?"

When Y/n turned to look at him, he gestured at the bags he set on the counter.

"Because from what I saw outside, these things are usually used for baking."

Y/n smiled. "Yeah. It's my friends birthday today. I was thinking of making her a cake."

"That's great. Do you bake often?"

Her smile now turned sheepish. "No. I tried a couple of times, back when I was younger," -six months ago- "and I damn near brought down the whole kitchen once."

Lucien chuckled. "So now you think you can do it properly?"

She picked up the cookbook nearby and waved it at him. "I will follow instructions this time."

Judging by the amusement in his eyes, she thought he would laugh, but he didn't. He simply extended his hand towards her and asked, "Can I have a look?"

She handed it to him, turning to check on the tea she was brewing.

The sound of the pages being flipped were the only sounds other than her pouring the liquid into cups for the two of them.

When she turned back around, she found him staring intensely at the book, his brows furrowed, a downward tilt to his mouth. She tried to make no noise as she set down the cup in front of him, hoping to not disturb his concentration.

But he glanced up at her, frowning. "This won't work. This is too complicated."

Y/n blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in his eyes and words. "What do you mean?"

He closed the book, setting it aside as he pulled the cup of tea towards him. "Baking is simpler than whatever bullshit is given in there."

"You know how to bake?"

"I helped my mother when I was younger."

"And exactly how many years ago was that?"

His eyes narrowed. "How many years since you baked anything?"

That made Y/n shut up.

She sighed ruefully. "Maybe I'm just not supposed to bake."

Lucien shook his head. "I can help."

She glanced at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do anyways. I can help you bake the cake."

"I don't want to bother-"

"Its not a bother. I would love to help."

Y/n smiled behind her cup as she took a sip of her tea, a warmth spreading through her chest.

"Thank you. I appreciate the gesture." Then, she looked at the redhead for a moment longer before turning away. "And you know what? I am noticing a pattern too."

•○🌑○•

After a day filled with trying to decide on the flavour for the cake, the decorations, making the cake and laughter, it was finally time to sleep.

The party had been perfect, so many memories made, and so many things she could think about.

But no matter what, Y/n couldn't stop thinking about him.

She didn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so thoroughly around a male, let alone one she knew nothing about.

And as she went to sleep that night, trying not to think of how his eyes twinkled in amusement when she had dropped an egg on the ground- huffing and puffing- she failed to keep that smile off of her face.

•○●⛦●○•

Lucien's pov.

After the day filled with helping her bake, correcting anything she had been doing wrong and watching as happiness spread across her face when the cake came out almost nearly perfect, it was finally time to sleep.

The day had been perfect, a reprieve from the constant ugly thoughts Lucien had about himself. Memories had been made, though unexpected.

But no matter what, Lucien could not stop thinking about her.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so thoroughly around someone, let alone someone he barely knew anything about.

And as he went to sleep that night, trying not to think of how she had jumped around and squealed in excitement- so much so that she had nearly burnt herself by the hot pan- Lucien failed to keep that smile off of his face.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Soon enough, Y/n learned that the handsome male with the metal eye, Lucien, was the Lucien Vanserra. The youngest son of the High Lord of Autumn Court.

He frequented the shop after that day they spent baking, him and Y/n becoming fast friends. He'd told her that he lived in the human lands with his friends, Jurian and Vassa.

Recently, she had learned that this Jurian he was friends with was the Jurian from the war centuries ago, the powerful human commander, remade by the Cauldron.

Expect Lucien to surprise a four hundred year old fae who thought she could not be surprised about anything anymore.

Y/n shook her head with an exasperated grin, finishing braiding her hair. She had spent the whole afternoon wondering what hairstyle would look good with her dress for her meeting with Lucien, eventually settling for a simple braid. Few strands framed her face, and she thought it looked better than any elaborate hairstyle she could have done.

Even after six months of being friends with him, he never failed to shock her by telling her things about himself.

He had sent a letter in advance that he would be visiting today, and he wanted to meet with her in their favourite cafe before reporting to the High Lord.

She had, of course, agreed. He was the only friend she had other than the female she had baked for, what with her being cooped up in her home with a book in hand when she wasn't working in the nearby jewellery store.

A knock sounded on the door, and Y/n practically flew down the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm her heart before opening the door.

There he stood in all his glory, smiling at her. The fading sunshine made his hair look on fire, his skin glowing.

"My lady. You look quite...dishevelled." He murmured, his eye twinkling. Y/n frowned, lifting her hand to her hair. It had looked good when she checked it in the mirror. Maybe the braid didn't look as good as she thought it did. In which case, she wanted to go and jump off a cliff.

Before her hand could touch her hair though, Lucien caught it, grinning and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, all the while maintaining eye contact. Y/n blushed.

"When I said dishevelled, I meant you look like you've run a mile. That looks exquisite." He said, straightening and flicking her forehead. "You look exquisite."

"Shut up." She mumbled, shoving his shoulder and stepping out, turning to lock the door. When she had finished, she turned to find him leaning against a pillar of the front porch. He smiled and inclined his head towards the road.

They walked towards the cafe, talking about his past days in the human lands and her job at the jewellery store. How she didn't really care for it and was thinking of taking up something else.

They soon reached the cafe which stood right on the banks of the Sidra and had outdoor seating as well in the backyard, right next to the river. As they settled down in their usual seat in a corner right next to the river, her eyes sharpened on the paper stuck on a nearby wall.

"Hey Lucien? Do you see that?" Y/n questioned, making Lucien glance back at it.

"Yeah. Looks like they're hiring." Lucien's eye lit up as he turned back to her. "You should try." She nodded enthusiastically.

Soon, they finished their food and Lucien was waiting to pay, having insisted on paying while Y/n talked to the hotel's owner. She was quite happy Y/n said she wanted to work there. They finally settled on her starting in two days.

After that, as they were walking home, the delicious smell of freshly baked cakes reached them. Y/n grinned at Lucien who took her arm and walked towards the stand where an old lady was selling small round cakes that were the size of Y/n's palm. They made idle conversation with her while she handed them their treats.

"You two make a good couple. Are you mates?" She asked as soon Y/n took a bite. Which was very unfortunate as she immediately choked on it. Lucien patted her back, grinning as he turned to the lady.

"No, we aren't mates. We're just friends."

"What a shame. But maybe the bond hasn't made itself known yet?"

Lucien shook his head with a sad smile. "That would've been wonderful, really." Y/n's had whipped to him, her eyes wide. Did he just say what she thought he did? Could it be that he... no. That was stupid. He had a mate that he would die for, regardless of whether she liked him back. He would never...

"But I already have a mate." He continued.

"Oh I'm so sorry then for assuming things."

"Don't be. It's not like it matters anyway. She doesn't want the bond."

"Oh mother, that's truly unfortunate. Maybe you could be with someone else? I loved someone in my youth, but he never paid me any attention. Then one day my friend advised me to forget the male. Now I'm married to my friend and I think I couldn't be any more happy."

Lucien looked thoughtful. "That's a good advice, I must say. And I'll definitely think about it." He winked at Y/n, making her blush furiously.

They continued on after that, though there was silence now compared to their earlier mindless chatter. And it was filled with tension. Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the waters of the Sidra nearby.

As they walked, her mind wandered to what Lucien had said to the woman. Could he really mean what he had said? He wasn't one to joke about such serious matters... but then again, maybe he was jesting.

Soon, they had reached her house, and she stepped up to open the door.

"You want to come in? We can have some tea..."

Lucien smiled. "I would love to if it's not a problem."

As she set about making the tea, he sat watching her every move. Which made her work extremely carefully, wondering if he was judging her. Which was absurd. Because, not only would Lucien never judge her, but also because she never would have cared for something so trivial as someone judging her. So why did she care now?

Because you lov–

She shut the thought down before it even finished.

•○🌑○•

Lucien's pov.

It had been over a month since he had seen his Y/n, and he was already craving her presence. Initially, he been able to go longer periods without meeting his friend. But as time went on, he became more and more enraptured with her and shorter and shorter became the time period between his visits.

The way she laughed on anything he said. The way her eyes would light up when she looked at him. The way he could make her blush by just looking at her. How she would get excited when taking about the newest book she was reading or when she learned something that made her happy.

He just couldn't get enough of her sometimes. All he wanted to do was stay and bask in her presence.

Of course, it wasn't possible, what with his work of going back and forth between human lands and the Night Court, as well as Day Court, where he had been spending some time getting to know his father.

It was a shock when he found out that Beron wasn't his real father, but he was adjusting. She had a big part in his acceptance. And he was grateful for it.

Now, he was going to leave his emissary duties for the Night Court, going to live in his father's court permanently. Which was why Feyre had decided to have the whole of the inner circle and him go out to eat for dinner. Lucien had suggested the cafe by the Sidra for the ordeal.

The place where Y/n currently worked.

He was smiling at his thoughts of her when he knocked on the door of the River House. Nuala opened it, greeting him with a smile before letting him enter. There was already sounds of chatter coming from the living room as he walked towards it. Everyone was here then. Great.

The quicker this was over, the faster he could spend time with Y/n.

He would leave soon, but that didn't mean he wouldn't come back to Velaris. He had important people here.

He had informed Rhys about his departure a few months ago, and had agreed to stay till they found someone who would be willing to take up the duties of Lucien. They were still searching for someone, so Lucien was still the emissary.

•○●⛦●○•

Lucien tapped his leg on the floor impatiently, his eyes constantly flitting between the tables and booths in search of his friend.

It had only been a few moments since he had arrived with the inner circle, but he simply couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of her.

While he was searching for Y/n, he failed to notice the High lord and lady's, as well as the entire inner circle's eyes on him.

He craned his head, and he finally heard that beautiful voice he'd been dying to hear from behind him.

"Good evening. May I take your order?"

He turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, but Lucien didn't care as his eyes met those of Y/n's.

Her mouth lifted at the edges, a knowing look in her eyes as she turned away to converse with Rhysand.

His brain didn't process the words being exchanged between the two, he was so busy admiring her.

And wondering when the damn dinner will be over so he could finally talk to her and catch up.

When she left the table after taking their orders, she distcreetly brushed her hand against his bicep, pulling a smile on his face.

Just an hour or so. He reminded himself as he focused on the table in front of him, ignoring the looks of the inner circle, including Elain.

Which wasn't all that hard.

•○●⛦●○•

The time seemed to pass slower, just to torture Lucien that night.

Right when Lucien was about to loose his patience, everyone had finished dessert, and were on the verge of leaving.

Lucien stood, nodding at Cassian and Azriel in goodbye, hugging Feyre and shaking Rhys's hand. Making some excuse- unconvincing, he was sure- about having to go meet up with Vassa and Jurian, he walked away, eyeing the place Y/n had disappeared into.

He knew that she was about to leave, had probably already left, and he couldn't wait to tell her all the juicy stories he'd acquired over his recent travels, as well as the budding tensions between Vassa and Jurian.

The moment he stepped out onto the road, he heard her voice.

"So desperate to meet me fox boy?"

Lucien smirked, turning to find the owner of the voice leaning against a wall. "You wish."

Her eyebrows lifted as she pushed herself off the wall. "Sure. Didn't seem like it was just my fantasy when you were searching around like an eager puppy."

He grinned, though a flush climbed up his neck at being caught red handed. "Just wanted to see you so I could tell you about Vassa and Jurian."

Y/n grinned, throwing her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his neck. He returned the hug in kind, warming up his body a little through his magic so he could ward off the chill in the air surrounding them.

They stayed in the hug for longer than seemed appropriate, but no one was watching anyways. And neither of them cared if anyone was.

Y/n was the first to pull away, smiling shyly up at Lucien.

"You want to get some cake before we go home?" Y/n questioned, beginning towards the general direction of her home.

"I feel like we should make it ourselves." Lucien wiggled his eyebrows, throwing his arm around her shoulders as they began the trek to her home.

She shook her head slightly, becoming redder by the moment as she grinned softly at her feet.

•○🌑○•

It was solstice tonight.

It had been one not-long-enough year since he'd met Y/n.

Lucien's chest felt lighter than it had been in ages.

They had already found a new emissary who they trusted, and so today was Lucien's last day as a member of the Inner Circle.

He was here today to deliver some reports to Rhys.

The sound of utensils and laughter greeted him as soon as he entered the River house, the inner circle being as loud as ever. But as soon as he stepped foot in the dining room, everything went silent, all eyes turning to him.

He smiled at Feyre, nodding to Rhys and pointing to the papers in his hands. He placed the stack on a table nearby, before nodding again to the rulers of Night and turning away.

"Wait! Where are you going? Come have dinner with us." Lucien looked at Feyre, shaking his head.

He didn't want to stay. Not when all that was going through his head was how he would go up to Y/n's door and knock, and how she would open the door suspiciously, those eyes narrowed. But then she would realise that it was him, and she would fling the door open with squeal, tackling him into a hug, laughing. How when she pulled back, she'd realise she was in her pajamas and would self consciously brush herself down, touching her hair. How–

"Lucien?" Lucien winced, coming back to the present.

"I can't stay. I have to go meet a friend."

"Oh. Did you plan a meeting beforehand?"

"Oh no. She doesn't know I'm here. I'm going to go surprise her."

"She?" A gentle and soft voice intoned. Lucien stiffened. The voice he had wanted to hear acknowledge him ever since the bond snapped for him.

He turned to look at Elain, his brows rising as he took her in. She was standing from her seat next to the shadowsinger, her knuckles white from clenching her fork so tightly. Her brows were furrowed in anger, and she looked murderous.

"Yes..." He didn't really know how to answer the question, so he simply watched her.

Rage entered her eyes. "Is this the female you went with that night when we were out?"

Lucien blinked, wondering what was making Elain so angry. "Yes. Exactly that one."

Elain huffed out a bitter laugh. "So is she trying to steal my mate now? She did look like someone who steals males."

For a moment, no one moved. There was so much silence it was deafening.

Almost everyone was staring between Elain and Lucien, their eyes wide. Except from Amren, of course. Nothing could faze the little devil. And Nyx, who waved around a piece of carrot like a sword.

Lucien smiled slowly. "Glad to know your thoughts on my life, mate. I will let her know of your amazing thoughts about her."

Lucien turned away, walking towards the foyer, but just before he turned out of sight, he glanced back, his eyes meeting Elain's.

"She and I were only ever friends, but now that you've said it, I realise that we never were meant to be friends." Lucien smiled slightly, bowing his head. "Thank you."

And with that, he left, ready to meet with his friend.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Her solstice had been normal. Nothing great to do. Her father had gone out drinking with his friends, her friends having been busy with their own families. Even the old hag was busy tending to and celebrating with her brother.

She was sure Lucien would also be busy with something, since he hadn't written to her to let her know of his arrival if he was coming.

That left Y/n alone.

But then suddenly, a knock had sounded on the door, and Y/n's heart had fluttered before even knowing who stood on the other side of the door.

After Lucien told her what was going on with Vassa and Jurian, he began telling her of the events that went down in the High lord's home as she got ready to take a stroll around Velaris with Lucien.

Her blood boiled when she heard of the things Elain said to Lucien, but a smile of reassurance from him was all it took for her to calm down.

They were in the main square of Velaris right now, watching the people dance around the huge fire in the centre.

It had become a tradition in the recent years for the people of the city to come together and dance the night away, laughing and drinking and mingling. It was a wholesome event, where younger people would gather around the old towards the end of the night and simply listen to their tales.

This was the first time Y/n was attending with someone else, as usually she would come here alone and sit next to the elderly, watching as younger couple her age danced around and bonded.

The glow from the fire danced in Lucien's eyes, making it look like there was fire inside those mismatched eyes. There was a relaxed grin on his face, one like she'd never seen before. He seemed so careless now, so free, it made Y/n smile too.

"You're staring." He pointed out, his voice barely audible over the cheers and the faeries singing along.

Y/n blushed, but in a sudden burst of boldness, she spoke, looking away. "It would be a crime not to."

From the periphery of her eyes, she found him gaping at her and had to suppress a triumphant smile.

"You know, I feel like the Mother took extra time making you."

He let out a surprised laugh, the sound lighting fires across Y/n's body.

"All that extra time to make me ruined by a fucking scar."

His tone was light, though Y/n could sense a hint of insecurity and sadness under the joy.

She turned to him, watching as the smile slowly vanished from his face at the look in her eyes.

"You are beautiful, Lucien, scars and all. And if I had the chance, I would show you how beautiful they are to me." She let her hand reach up toward his face, ignoring the heat entering his eyes or the way his pupils dilated as she traced the scar that ended at his jaw.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

HIs eyes fell shut as the music came to an end, and the people dancing around the fire dispersed for a moment.

"Y/n..." He whispered, his hand reaching up to hold hers against his face.

The music started up again, a soft and slower sound than before, more sensual.

This one was for people who were a couple or in a relationship, just a slow waltz to cool down before everyone again joined in a faster, more traditional dance.

"Dance with me."

The words were a shock to her system, and she nodded without even thinking.

It wasn't until the two of them had begun dancing, her arms wrapped around his broad and strong shoulders, their faces barely inches away, that she remembered that this was a waltz for couples, and she and Lucien were definitely not a couple.

She glanced up at him, his eyes already fixed on her. She opened her mouth to tell him, trying to ignore the warmth against her skin from the fire behind her, his body pressed so close to hers in the front.

"Lucien, this dance is for-"

"I know." He mumbled, his eyes smoldering. "I know." He repeated, making sure she understood.

Suddenly, his arms around her waist became more apparent, the way they rested over her lower back. The way the stray hairs that had escaped his low bun tickled her neck, the way his breath washed over her skin when he exhaled.

Y/n's mind was about to either stop working, or remind her of Lucien's touch every two minutes, and honestly, she didn't know which one she prefered.

He never broke eye contact once during the whole dance.

Soon, but not soon enough, the slow music came to an end. And the people that sat along the outer edge cheered, clapping and demanding the couples kiss. And as all the couples shared that intimate moment, Y/n's heart rate picked up, panic clawing up her throat, feeling so many eyes on her and him, wondering what Lucien would do.

She didn't have to wonder long, though.

Lucien began leaning in, making Y/n's eyes flutter closed. She swallowed, licking her lips.

Then she felt his hot breath closer to her face, his lashes brushing gently against her skin as she felt those plump, beautiful lips on the corner of hers.

She felt him smile against her skin. All the while, it was hard to breathe.

But then he pulled away, a flush on his cheeks. If it was because of the heat of the enormous fire behind her, or because he was genuinely flustered, she couldn't tell.

As the faster music started, Lucien grinned wickedly at her.

"Let's dance, my lady."

•○🌑○•

Y/n's feet were sore, but it was all so worth it.

At some point during the night, she had discarded her shoes next to a kind old male who she had known since she was a child.

All the dances after Y/n and Lucien's initial waltz had been fast paced, where everyone changed partners every few moments. It was one of the best things that had happened that night, getting to know new people and dancing and singing along to the top of their lungs.

It was all so beautiful.

She had always thought so, watching from the sidelines. But now, being one of the people she would have watched, it was a whole different experience.

The dancing was supposed to go on for atleast one more hour before the elders gathered and began telling stories. That would go on for the rest of the night.

And so, Y/n decided to get some rest, maybe somewhere on he benches near the Sidra where it would be quiet before returning to listen to the elder's tales.

Listening to loud music for hours was one way to invite a headache.

Y/n began making her way up to Lucien, who stood on the opposite side of the huge fire, but then she paused, simply admiring him.

He had discarded his embroidered overcoat next to where Y/n had placed her shoes, now only in a simple, thin white shirt that clung to his sweaty frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He laughed as he held the hands of a little girl, giving her instructions on how to move. The little girl's tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated, and Lucien was just as concentrated as her.

Once the current music came to an end, the girl grinned up at Lucien, and he ruffled her hair in return before she ran away, maybe to her friends.

Y/n finally walked up to Lucien, smiling tiredly at him.

"Hello, you."

He smiled back. "Good evening, my lady."

Y/n rolled her eyes at the title. "Shut up."

"Can I not even greet you now?"

"Yeah yeah whatever. I'm going to go sit at a bench, rest a little then return. You coming?"

He nodded, walking over to where his coat lay on the ground. He picked it up along with her shoes then returned.

When she tried to take her shoes from him, he waved her away.

The two of them walked in silence, heading towards the quiet river. Once there, they walked onto the bank and settled down where the place was relatively drier than all other places. Y/n dipped her feet in the cold water, releasing a relieved sigh at the soothing sensation.

Lucien pulled out two packets from the pocket of his coat, tearing open the wrapper and handing one to Y/n. She looked at him, confused.

He simply opened his pack, and then bit into the cake.

"Why do you have these with you?" She questioned, though she began nibbling on the little treat.

He shrugged. "Jurian found these at a bakery in mortal lands a few days ago. I thought you might like it."

She smiled, staring into the water as she slowly chewed.

"The inner circle were in the crowd tonight."

Y/n whipped her head to look at Lucien, but he didn't even seem bothered or interested in talking about the inner circle. He said it so casually, like he was telling her it was night and not day.

After a moment, Y/n spoke. "Was Elain there?"

He nodded, taking a bite of the cake. He took his time chewing before he gave her a response.

"I saw them after the fourth or fifth song. Apparently, they'd been watching since the first song."

Y/n gaped at him.

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Why are you so nonchalant about this?! Your mate saw you dancing with me on a song meant for people involved romantically!"

He blinked, then raised a brow. "And?"

"That might ruin any chances you had with her!"

He shrugged again. "There was never any chance anyway."

"Lucien! You-"

"Look Y/n. It's been long since the bond made itself known. It's been long enough that if she wanted to accept the bond, she would have. And long enough that if she didn't want the bond, she would have rejected it."

"Yes I know but you love her-"

"Let me speak, love. Let me get this off my chest. I never loved her. She didn't give me the chance to. The pull I felt towards her was simply the bond clouding my judgement. The desperation with which I seeked to gain her attention was me simply yearning for happiness. If I had not been so lonely and upset all the time, maybe I wouldn't even have acknowledged the bond if she ignored it too.

"And maybe I am a bastard for that, but I don't know what had gotten over me for the past year or so. I had lost almost all of myself, until you came along.

"You-" Lucien looked at Y/n, his eyes bright "-you made me realise that I did not need another person to make me happy, and that I didn't have to stop being myself for someone to love me. And i will be eternally grateful to you for it."

Y/n shook her head, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. "Lucien, you deserve to find love. You deserve to have a happy life."

"And I know that now. All because of you."

"But I did nothing." She sniffed, her cake forgotten in her hand.

"You didn't have to. Just simply being my friend and showing me kindness made a significant difference in how I saw myself."

"But what about Elain? What about the bond?"

He smiled. "She can be with anyone she wants now. She wanted to have control over some aspects of her life after having been forced to turn, and honestly, I don't blame her. I would have wanted to do the same if my life had been anything like her."

"And what about you?"

Y/n felt like she knew the answer, but she still wanted to know.

"I do not need a bond to be with someone I love, you know."

"And who is it that you love?"

His smile turned knowing. "You know the answer, don't you?"

"Tell me still. After all, you do love hearing yourself speak."

This was a serious moment, but Y/n felt like if she didn't try to lighten the air by joking, this would become real. And she didn't know if she could handle that.

"I love you, Y/n."

She closed her eyes, telling herself this was not real, that she would wake up soon, and realise this had been a dream. Just like all the times before she had had the dream of being with Lucien and then waking up, all alone in her bed and staring at the ceiling.

But when silence settled around her, him staring at her expectantly, she realised this was no dream.

That someone like Lucien really was in love with someone like her.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eyes. "You don't mean that."

She felt his thumb brushing away the tear a moment before she felt his lips on her cheek. "I do. I am in love with you, my lady. I would do anything to show you how much I love you. To prove to you that I really do."

Her eyes fluttered open, staring into his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. "Why?"

He chuckled. "What do you mean why? There is not need of a reason for me to love you. I simply love you because you exist."

After a moment, she whispered what she had been dying to scream. "I love you, Lucien. I love you so much."

His smile widened, and he began closing the distance between them. "Then let me be yours."

Just before their lips met, she mumbled. "Be mine."

And her body ignited.

•○●⛦●○•

Her joints were creaking, but the old hag watched, and waited.

She had this primal need to have the little girl she'd watched grow up in front of her eyes find happiness, and she would threaten even the mother if the need arose to make Y/n happy.

But she didn't have to do that, because as she watched, the fire head male leaned in and pressed a kiss to Y/n's lips, and the old hag smiled, giddy with happiness and excitement.

And then she turned away, meaning to hobble back to the solstice celebration in the main square and leave the two younglings to enjoy the night together.

But then she paused, staring at the young female that stared at Y/n and the fire boy she'd fallen in love with.

Slowly, the old hag's brain remembered that this female with soft features and silky hair was the high lady's sister. And in turn, Lucien's mate.

Damn the mother. The old hag cursed, shaking her head.

"Leave them be." The hag ordered the girl in front of her, who turned to her with wide eyes. "They both deserve happiness. Don't you dare think about getting in the way."

The girl in the lilac dress nodded, her eyes becoming watery, but the hag had already begun walking away.

And after a final glance at the giggling couple on the riverbank, the girl turned away, jealousy and relief warring in her chest.

•○●⛦●○•

When Lucien pulled away, his hand still resting on her cheek, she couldn't stop a giggle from escaping. His lips quirked, a little swollen.

"Something funny?"

She shook her head, her cheeks warm as she turned back to the water. "Should we do a toast, my lord?"

He laughed at that, shifting closer to her as he put an arm around her shoulders. "And what will we toast with? We don't have wine or anything."

"We have these cakes." She pointed out.

He lifted his cake into the air. "Alright then. To love!"

Y/n wrinkled her nose. "And cakes!" She said as she raised her hand, and Lucien laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Carefree and happy.

And Y/n simply watched, admiring.

Loving.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

238 notes · View notes

comfortless · 5 months

Text

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #konig x reader #König #Konig #cod fanfiction #call of duty

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bettdraws · 2 months

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This is a wild Elucien headcanon…

but please imagine Lucien being in a really dangerous situation with the Autumn court, like something happened and they have him as a prisoner, or unable to leave.

And Elain is there listening to how Lucien could potentially be held captive in a cold cell or even tortured.

And shes there when Eris says the only way to save him is if he has real ties to the Night Court or if he officially becomes a member, and the only way to do that is if he gets mated/married to someone from there, not anyone, but the High Lady’s sister.

And everyone is outraged with what he is suggesting but Elain is suddenly quiet.

And she suddenly says “I will do it” and everyone gapes at her, some try to talk her out of it (possibly Feyre or Nesta) but Rhys just nods.

And they send notice to the Autumn court that they cannot harm Lucien because he is a Night Court citizen, but Beron doesn’t believe it, he demands that Elain goes there so he can determine it.

Chaos, outrage, but she agrees, and she obviously doesn’t go alone. She convinces herself that while she doesn’t owe Lucien anything, she is tired of the bloodshed, the loss, and if she has the power in her hands, she will act. That is all, she couldn’t care less about him. She convinces herself she would be this worried for anyone that is close to her sister, it’s not because shes worried and scared and petrified of something bad happening to him.

They’re in the Forest House, they bring out Lucien who is luckily generally unharmed but Elain looks at the binds in his wrists and her whole body reacts to the sudden urge to protect. Beron takes one sniff at them and knows it is true. They’re mates. But Beron says an unfulfilled mating bond is not valid (listen idk about these fae laws bear with me) they need to marry. Elain declares that was the plan all along. Lucien is shocked. (I just imagine what must be going through his head seeing his mate stand before Beron in the same room where Jesminda was killed)

They let Lucien go with his mate but they have to stay in the Forest House until everything gets resolved. Elain and Lucien are shoved into a room, no more chains on him, but he doesn’t understand any of it.

Both of them are standing awkwardly in the room. Lucien is staring at her as if she has grown ears, still shocked, still reliving moments, furious at them for being so dumb as to risk themselves for him. He supposed he really was a big asset for Rhys to have done this. But her… why was she here? Why did she put herself in this position?

“Did they make you do this?” He says through his teeth.

She muses on what to say. “No” she gets offended with the assumption that she can’t make decisions for herself. “I agreed to this and came on my own free will”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I’m tired of people dying, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I could have done something” A silence and for some forsaken reason Elain has the need to add. “This doesn’t mean what you think it means”

Something irks at Lucien then, and the awoken nerves on his body make him respond to that. “And please tell, Lady, what do I think it means?”

Elain clenches her fists. “That I’ve changed my mind about you… about this” She signals between them. “This is just temporary, out of necessity”

Lucien just stares at her.

“I never entertained that you did, I can assure you.” It is easier to turn on her, on this beautiful female that is putting herself at risk for him, than to be hurt at the continuing rejection from her. “You’ve always just assumed that I’m some brute fae that wants to steal you away, let me tell you now that we’re speaking frankly, that its not the case. I can’t control the pull from the bond, but I have no interest in pursuing a female who doesn’t want me”

That sends Elain to retaliate. “What about the gifts then, was that not pursuing?” She cocks her head arrogantly.

“I was bringing them to Feyre as well. That was me being polite, but guess you don’t know the first thing about that”

“You are one to talk about politeness when I’m here risking my life for your neck and this is how you treat me” She takes one step closer.

“I never asked you to do it” He mirrors her and steps closer with his broad hands clenched in fists.

“I will just let you die next time then”

“Fine by me, as long as I don’t have to endure you shoving it on my face”

“Asshole”

“I’ve been called worse” A sly, angry smile creeps at one corner of his mouth. She suddenly realizes they’re breathing on each other’s face.

“And all this time I thought you were a gentleman” She summons her anger to keep focused.

“You will learn I can be a gentleman, Elain” Her name on his lips, for the first time. “But I can be so much worse too”

His breath is hot on her face, their hearts already beating fast.

“You admit you were pretending then, to win me over”

A sharp breathy laugh from him. “If I wanted to win you over, I would not have tried to be gentle”

Her lips form a thin line as she holds herself, the pull, his words, the sudden effect of his mismatched gaze intense on her face.

“You shouldn’t have done this” He says quietly, roughly, his eyes showing something beyond just annoyance, she sees the fear in them. She pushes it back.

“What’s done is done” She says. “We will pretend, see this through, and then we’re done”

“Alright, dove”

She’s startled. Her nostrils flare. She ignores the outrageous pet name he just used on her. “I’m going to take a bath, I suggest you do the same, you stink” She begins to walk away and stops herself “I mean after I’m done” She frowns as she strolls away.

He watches her with sudden amusement.

He’s scared, hes pissed and hurt. He’s tired. But something inside him sparks, and he can’t really put a name to it.

Oh he’s not alright.

#guys im not a writer but I had to put this out there #if youre a writer PLEASE TAKE THIS I NEED IT #elucien #pro elucien #marriage of convenience #the best trope im sorry #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x lucien #autumn court drama #elucien headcanon #elucien one shot #elain and lucien banter will EAT

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twstgarden · 3 months

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❀ ❝ 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿'𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵 ❞

━ malleus draconia x gn! reader (reader can be yuu and/or your oc) ━ it was malleus' birthday and you planned to surprise him with a gift you've made with your own hands. (f/n means first name)

this work may contain spoilers for chapter 7, diasomnia’s arc.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

it was another hectic day for malleus. though he was not in the briar valley palace being overwhelmed with plans for his birthday, he was still busy in night raven college. lilia was in the room with him, smiling at the fae as he greeted, “happy birthday, malleus! come, the guests await.”

the diasomnia dormitory head followed his guardian’s request, trailing behind him as they both went to the lounge. the celebration was splendid, to say the least. he received gifts and was greeted by students he never personally interacted with before – though they were steps away from him while delivering their greetings.

the platinum outfit he wore for this year’s birthday theme made him stand out – quite so, as he is the birthday boy. the interview was something he enjoyed as well; having deuce as his interviewer made it even more pleasant.

the celebration was nearing its end, and while he was grateful, he cannot help but feel as if something is missing. his eyes wandered around the lounge, looking for a certain person but to no avail. lilia, who stood beside him, intuitively knew who he was looking for, merely smiling, and not saying anything.

once the celebration ended, the rest of the guests returned to their respective rooms and dorms, leaving only lilia, silver, and sebek in the lounge with malleus, sorting through the gifts. while doing so, the young fae’s gaze landed on a green envelope, opening the letter as he did not recall who handed it to him.

‘to my dearest,

pleasant salutations, my love. today marks the day of your birth, and i am more than happy to wish you a happy birthday. thank you for the beautiful memories you have made with me, and i hope we can continue to make more memories together.

you might wonder about my whereabouts throughout the whole party. in all honesty, i was preparing your gift. once you have received this letter, it is time for you to take a moment to indulge in my present made for you and only you.

let us put you to a test. search for an item that fits the description i underlined. good luck!

amongst the thorny bushes, i remain bright and romantic.

forever yours, f/n l/n’

a smile ghosted over malleus’ lips, chuckling to himself as he was intrigued by your behaviour. you would go as far as putting him to a test and sending him out on a scavenger hunt, searching for objects with nothing but riddles as a clue.

“how amusing,” spoke malleus with that amused smile on his face, “quite creative, however.” lilia peeked at the letter before chuckling and gently patting his shoulder, “what are you waiting for? time is ticking!”

and with that, malleus went around the dormitory in search of something that stayed bright and romantic amongst the thorny bushes. he has gotten his first clue. thorny bushes must mean the location is in the garden of diasomnia, no? however, they do have flower bushes and whatnot, so what exactly is he supposed to find?

still, he went to the dormitory garden, eyeing all the colourful bushes before his eyes landed on the thorn bushes nearby. nothing seemed out of place, but as he stepped closer, a glowing red rose hid within the bush.

“ah, is this the item i’m supposed to find?” mumbled malleus as he quickly grabbed the rose, the thorns not pricking him as he used his magic to avoid damage. upon contact, the rose glowed even more before disappearing into thin air, and what came in replacement was a quick reveal of the words, ‘turn around.’

and so, he did. the young fae turned around with a puzzled expression before his eyes landed on you standing there with a smile. how did he not notice you? surely, he could have heard your footsteps, no? his puzzled expression morphed into a shocked one before he smiled at you, noticing your arms tucked behind you as if you were hiding something.

“and what are you hiding, dearest?” asked the male with a smug smile.

“oh, nothing~” you replied, “close your eyes.”

malleus raised a brow, eyeing you for a moment before complying with your request, closing his eyes without another word as he waited for your action. he heard a soft twinkle as you spoke, “okay, you can open them…”

once he opened his eyes, you stood with your arms out, a snow globe rested on your palm as the miniature scenery had two dragons that look identical, but one seemed to be a baby dragon holding an ice cream cone. his eyes widened as you held it out to him with a shy smile, “i made this for you…”

made?

“made?” asked malleus. you nodded as you avoided his gaze, thinking he might not like it as you mumbled a response, “yes, i don’t have much to offer, but i am skilled with arts and crafts…” you eyed the snow globe again, shaking it a little to make it snow with a soft twinkle.

malleus smiled softly as he watched you shake the globe before gently grabbing it from you, looking at it closely as he realised the dragon looks like him. “a personalised snow globe… thank you, f/n…”

“happy birthday, malleus,” you greeted with a smile, the same smile that he had always loved, the same smile that brightened his lonely days, the same smile that greets him every morning. his eyes stayed on you as he looked at you like a lovestruck puppy, wishing for this moment to never end.

an eternity with you and those he holds dear is all that he asks for.

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acotarfrustrations · 6 months

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Acomaf feyre is turning into something that acotar feyre would absolutely despise and honestly it's so sad the way sjm sniped what SHOULD have been the main character of the series (bcus we all know rhys is the real mc). Like her mind raping tarquin to steal something that she could just ask for when he literally thinks they're friends.

The thing about amren making a meal of any guards that see them steal the book particularly bothers me because this should be the main book where we should see emotional consequences of feyre's actions utm and with andras. Killing an innocent fae for a stupid reason should be SOMETHING SHES VEHEMENTLY OPPOSED TO. ITS WHAT HER WHOLE ACOTAR ARC WAS BASED ON AND HAVING TO GO AGAINST THOSE MORALS DESTROYED HER MIND

NOw all of a sudden it's just another tuesday. Not to mention the things they're doing? WARS HAVE BEEN STARTED FOR LESS. Coming under the guise of diplomacy to a foreign nation to steal their precious artifacts, steal their jewels, and possibly kill their citizens if they see what you're doing??? Why didn't tarquin just kill them?? Those are blatant acts of war

It's so stupid because even Feyre acknowledges that what they're doing is dumb and makes no sense and asks why they can't just ask tarquin for the book. RHYS DOESNT EVEN GIVE AN ANSWER. He's just like "oh well Cresseida told me tarquin is ambitious so, uh, yeah we have to steal the book"

ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID????

It literally feels like rhys only wants to steal it because he's jealous and thinks tarquin wants to fuck feyre so he wants to steal it to not only prove a point but ruin any potential allies that feyre could have outside of IC. Anything to get Feyre dependent on him am I right?

And I feel like this would distress acotar feyre so much because she's not blinded by the rose tinted glasses of rhys' penis and she would be able to clearly see what was going on.

Rhys intentionally waited until feyre was in a very vulnerable state, forced her to come to his house, gave her things he knew she wanted and would benefit him, and uses his mind powers to cater to her every whim and give her what she wants so she can be on his side. Not because he loves her or she's his mate, because it's strategic and there's the added bonus of pissing tamlin off in the beginning. When shit hits the fan for feyre and tamlin, he immediately takes that opportunity to get her to work with him and induct her into the rhys circle jerk cult and now she's thinking like him.

He's so deep in her head that the reader is literally watching sjm change parts of a character's core values to mold her around her love interest and call it empowering feminism, using her trauma and her "darkness" as a justification.

And this "he's not 'dark' enough to be with me" thing particularly bothers me because it's actually a common mindset for traumatized people when it comes to relationships. Thinking that your trauma has ruined you for a healthy relationship and that it's something that you don't deserve so you should actually date evil people because they're the only ones who understand your trauma responses so you won't feel like a burden is a very real mindset and feyre is displaying it to a tee. And Sjm is romanticizing it.

Like yeah rhys might understand her dark side or whatever but that is because he is more evil than her. He sends her to the weaver in what feels like a cruel prank just to go get a ring, he uses her as bait, he shuts her ideas down for no reason, he only tells her what he wants her to know, he grooms her into being a tool for him instead of letting her explore her own personality, and he only shows her around velaris. The only time he takes her somewhere else, he and amren decided to be complete assholes to the summer court and pull a completely unneccesary heist to make feyre feel pressured to join in their schemes and cement this "it's the NC against the world" mentality to isolate her and prevent her from making friends

Like I just imagine book 1 feyre feeling horrified and disgusted at what she becomes and it's honestly so sad. At this point, I honestly only feel sorry for feyre but I think acowar is going to be the breaking point that actually pushes me into hating her. Like at that point, I think she actually becomes one of the IC, mentality actions and all, and idk I just feel so bad.

#anti sarah j maas #anti acotar #anti rhysand #anti sjm #anti ic #anti acomaf #anti feysand #pro feyre

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dotster001 · 1 year

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May I request Savanaclaw and Octotrio in Twisted Earth?

I can request a part of Twisted Earth but with the octotrio (u know Octavinelle dorm)? Please. I really love your work!! 😩

Twisted Earth Part Three

Summary: Octavinelle/Savannaclaw x gn!reader. They're real, you're the game.

A/N:The people have spoken! I'm so happy you guys like these 🥺 I got these two requests, plus one other that included Savannaclaw all within the course of three hours of eachother. Also! Thank you guys for 800 followers!

Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Part Six

He downloaded the game after it started to gain popularity. He was doing research, because as it was making its rounds around NRC, he realized he could have a themed night in the lounge, and make the big bucks.

He plays it between clients in the VIP room. Once the room is empty, he'll subtly pull out his phone under his desk. If Jade or Floyd come back in unexpectedly, he'll be like, "What?!? I'm not doing anything!" And throw his phone. ( The twins do it on purpose now, they think it's hysterical)

He corners the market on merch. The devs don't really release their own merch, so he's making the big money! But it's all under the table. No one but the twins know that Octavinelle is the leading producer of Twisted Earth Merch. (They have Tshirt making parties when stock is low. It's so wholesome)

He likes you a lot. He likes that you're a flawed character. You're not perfect. And because of this, he thinks you'd help heal his broken parts. For now, he'll live vicariously through the game…but if a certain horned fae were to request a contract that would help bring you to life, he'd be hard pressed to refuse.

He has terrible luck. He has put real money in the game and still never gotten any of your cards. It's infuriating.

He downloaded it because it looked fun. But he gets bored quickly, so he only plays every couple of months. (This is usually when he over hears someone talking about how they love you, and he gets angry that someone would try to steal his shrimpy, so he rage plays for a week)

Has incredible luck. He'll do a single pull, and get the card he wants. Then he won't even take care of it. It just sits in his collection. Again, infuriating.

Has a t-shirt of you, but it's literally just a meme about you that someone put on a Tshirt. It's so cursed, but he loves it.

You look so squishy! And he bets you'd be so short compared to him if you were real! And if not, he could climb you like a bean pole! He wants to squeeze you so bad! You'd let him if you were real, right? And you wouldn't let anyone else squeeze you? Cause that would be very mean.

Destroyed his phone when that one character admitted they were in love with you…. He's only allowed to play under supervision now.

He's a scientist, first and foremost. If all the school is interested in something, it's his job to play it, and find out why. Honestly, he's probably the one who suggested a themed night to Azul.

He finds you fascinating. If you were real, he'd probably just watch you. He doesn't need to interact, he just wants to see what you're doing. Rewards you for good choices with a custom made terrarium.

He named one of his mushrooms after you, which is the highest honor he can bestow. (You can't tell me he doesn't name his mushrooms) One time, Floyd was ready to throw all the terrariums out in a rage, but finding out one was named after you (but not being told which one) he left them alone.

He has decent luck. But he doesn't have to focus super hard on his collection, since he can just use Floyd's.

(He believes he'd just watch you if you were real, but after that character admitted they loved you, he went on a six hour rage hike.)

He got tired of getting ads for it, so he downloaded it to make fun of it. Then his eyes met yours and…..well, you get it.

He won't ever admit how much light the game brings to him. But sometimes when Ruggie wakes him up, and he logs into the game, he can make out the softest smile on Leona's face when you greet him.

He very heavily debated getting a body pillow. He knew he'd use it too, because of how often he cuddles his pillows at nap time. But he could never pull the trigger. He thought it would be too far.

He likes to think that you would care about him, not his title or his magic, him. And in turn, he would spoil you like you deserve to be. You'd want for nothing, just be his cuddle buddy for a few minutes longer.

He has the SSR basic card for every character except you. He has all your regular cards, sure. But no matter how many hundreds and thousands of pulls he does, you just won't come home. Not that he cares. Gacha is a stupid system anyway.

He rarely has the time to play. Honestly, he doesn't even really play at all. It sits on his phone, and is never opened. But he makes up for it by watching videos online, checking out fan forums, and reading fan fictions and theories.

He didn't even get to meet your character in the game before he got too busy to play. But he read a fanfic called y/n x workaholic reader, where you helped the reader with their work, and then pampered them afterwards. He loved you ever since.

He doesn't think merch is a good use of his hard earned money. But should he ever strike gold, there is one plushie he has his eyes on that he would love to just squish all day.

At this point, he's read so many fanfics, that he's pretty sure he wouldn't actually enjoy the canon story. But he'll leave it on his phone for now. He can't bring himself to delete it.

Downloaded it when he heard all the Savannahlaw guys going on and on about their favorite characters. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Surely, every character couldn't possibly be…oh. Oh yeah every one of them is very pretty.

But he finds you the prettiest. He isn't sure why. Maybe it's that glint in your eyes, or the way your hair sits just the way he likes it, or the jacket your character wears. He doesn't know what it is. But you're the prettiest to him.

He won't spend money on this. He thinks it would be a waste. So he's lucky that he has two of your SSR cards. And both of them have stories where you persevere and show everyone you are stronger than you look, physically and emotionally. It just proves that he was right to pick you.

For some reason, he always imagines how things would be if you were real. He'd want to have soft domestic moments with you. Maybe you'd both brush each other's hair. Maybe you'd cook together. Maybe you'd do chores in the same room. He imagines you two could say very little, and be happy that you are both just in each other's company.

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laughableillusions · 8 months

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Random Jareth HCs

I talk so much abt him and I have some silly ideas :3c

If he stays in owl form too long he has some trouble changing back. He gets kind of stuck a bit between. He chitters like a barn owl in “human” form, can screech like one if mad. There’s feathers in his hair, and sometimes he still has bird-feet. The worst case was when his arms were still big useless wings. It goes away after a while but he’s impatient as hell and will sulk about it and punish anyone who dares laugh at him for his chicken feet.

Jareth actually runs cold. He can change his body temperature if needed, but it’s very surface level. Usually he’s around room temperature (like a corpse). Cuddling or any close physical contact will warm his body up.

His hands are strangely rough under his gloves, they’re rough and hard like stone. He almost never removes his gloves because his touch alone can cause serious magic shit to happen if he isn’t careful. The glamour he uses to keep his more human form doesn’t really extend to his hands for whatever reason (his truest form is made of stone), so he wears gloves to sort of hide it.

Music lover, I mean duh. He sings and dances ofc, but he actually knows very little about modern music. His knowledge of humanity is still stuck in the 18th century. While he would like the idea of things like CD players and MP3 players etc etc, he will always prefer live performances, be it himself or watching someone else. He would probably go to a lot of concerts just to see what the music vibe is these days.

Doesn’t do well in human crowds. A masquerade ball in his castle is one thing, it’s his realm, it’s other fae. But you put him in a shopping mall or grocery store??? He is not having a good time. Mostly because he sees most humans as beneath him (except for the few he decides are special little princesses/princes lol). Modern humans apparently have a stench to him, and he finds it disgusting when “in concentration.”

He can make any small child stop crying however. If Toby proved anything it showed how good with kids Jareth is. He can entertain any small child with ease. Though it starts to freak the parents out when he starts talking about how much he wants to steal them away from their mothers. The man loves kids, and hopes one day he can actually keep a human baby to raise as his own.

Unbearably physically clingy. Like…unbearably. He’d be attached to his lover like a parasite whenever they try to go anywhere without him. If he can’t touch you, he’s standing behind you with his hands behind his back to keep himself from touching you. Like Jesus Christ man back up you’re not gonna go anywhere‼️‼️

Has a jealousy problem as well. With his stuff and his lovers. You do not touch his stuff without asking him, or until he lends it to you. With romantic jealousy, it’s about the same. Nobody touches what he deems his. He has enough dignity not to cause a public scene, but will glare at anyone who dares flirt with his lover- or if he thinks your not paying attention to him enough, he will give you the cold shoulder until you shove him aside and ask him what the fuck is going on.

Enjoys playing mind games. Though he’s too much of a romantic to do things that would really hurt you, at least intentionally. But his fae nature gives him a bastard side that sometimes can’t help it. But really, he would hate to actually fight with you. The last thing he wants is for you to be genuinely upset, and so will bend over backwards to keep you happy.

Speaking of that, Jareth is 100% a doormat to the ones he loves. He’s been alone for centuries (if not more). And any hope of validation he will chase like a kicked puppy. But everything he does, he expects something in return. (ex: I am exhausted by your expectations of me, isn’t that generous?) Fae are deal makers after all, and so he will create a beautiful ideallic place for you to live…but in return he expects your devotion and loyalty. It seems like a small price, until it isn’t. Sometimes, in exchange for a favor he does for you, he will ask for something in return (be it a task, or an a object).

As hedonistic and mischievous as he is, Jareth is quite emotionally intelligent. His age gives him wisdom, and sometimes it’s like he knows exactly just what to say. Humans have such predictable emotions after all, and he can use his knowledge of them as a form of manipulation if he wants/needs to. But to someone he loves, he would bring perfect comfort to. He will try and make you laugh, then ask if you want him to stay with you or leave you be, anything you ask if it would make you less upset and more comfortable he will do (doormat). If you want him to read you a bedtime story? Do a handstand? He’d fucking do it.

#Jareth #jareth the goblin king #labyrinth 1986 #labyrinth #headcanon post #jareth x reader #my headcanons

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anarchy-and-piglins · 11 months

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Technoblade had his guard up the moment they stepped foot on Unseelie territory.

The rumors he had grown up with rang true. As a fae himself, Techno could tell a difference in the magic that ran through these woods. Any creature encountered here could not be trusted.

And that was kind of a problem considering he was pretty much traveling blindly. All they had given him was a vague set of directions and his precious cargo that Techno had to get there. No pointers on how to get across Unseelie land untouched. The guards he had brought with him were capable and Techno wasn't humble about his own skills in a fight. The issue wasn't a threat to their physical safety. But he didn't want to cause an all-out war if he provoked any hostility.

The last time the two courts had a serious conflict, too many lives were lost. As the leader of this envoy, it was Techno’s responsibility to prevent that from happening again.

It hadn't been long before he heard something up ahead. It sounded like a lute being played, and the humming of a tune that ran underneath. They continued down the road, until Techno spotted him. A young fae around his age was sitting on a branch that curved over the path. His feet dangled off as he played his instrument.

But Techno wasn’t fooled. He had expected they’d be keeping an eye on the road.

The Unseelie knew about his mission. And they’d do anything to get their hands on something so precious.

Raising a hand to signal his men to stay back, Techno stepped forward. As much as he loathed the intricacies of diplomacy, Techno knew his way around words very well. He’d rather do the talking himself than risk one of the guards misspeaking and getting them into trouble.

“Hullo,” he greeted the man politely enough.

The other fae looked down at him with vivid brown eyes, mouth pulling up into a wicked grin.

“Oh, what’s this? Lost wanderers?” He dropped himself down from the tree to land nimbly on his feet, brown curls bouncing. “Can I have your name? I don’t like talking to strangers.”

“You may know my name,” Techno said, trying not to grin at a slight twitch of the man’s brow in annoyance. Did they really think he’d be that stupid? “It’s Technoblade.”

“I suppose you may know mine too then. Wilbur.” Techno ignored his outstretched hand.

“I need to get to the other side of these woods,” he explained. “You wouldn’t be so chill as to grant us safe passage for free, would you? That’d be pretty pog.”

This time it was Wilbur’s turn to chuckle. With the Unseelie, nothing came without a price.

“Depends on where you need to go. Can I have your map?” Wilbur asked.

“No,” Techno said while handing it to him. “But you can look at it.”

Wilbur unfurled it with a light laugh. “I’m not going to steal your shit.”

“I’ve heard your sort is quite prone to doing that.”

“Nah, we only take what’s interesting to us.” With that, Wilbur’s eyes briefly flicked towards where Techno’s guards were waiting, the paladin with his cargo.

“Safe passage,” Techno reminded him.

“Right, right.” Wilbur bunched the map up into a messy ball and shoved it back at him, starting to walk ahead and gesturing for them to follow. “My family can take you. I’ll bring you to them. And I guarantee no harm will come to you or your shipment.”

“Liar.”

Wilbur froze. The expression on his face was comically confused.

“Fae can’t lie,” he said slowly, almost as if he was testing the water.

“Seelie can’t lie,” Techno corrected - ironically also because Wilbur was right. Seelie couldn’t lie.

Unseelie, on the other hand.

“How did you know I was lying?” Wilbur asked.

Again, Techno found himself unable to speak anything but the truth.

“It’s a talent I’ve had since birth. No clue where it comes from, I can just tell when I’m being lied to.” It was no wonder Techno had been chosen for this mission.

“Interesting,” Wilbur muttered. And when Techno looked at him, Wilbur was staring right back at him, golden-brown eyes even more ablaze with an uncomfortable sort of fascination. “You’re… that’s very interesting.”

Techno shifted on the spot, trying not to instinctively reach for his sword. “Your family?”

“Yes!” Wilbur snapped out of it suddenly, blinking a few times. But he never really looked away from Techno again, his smile that much more unsettling. “Right this way, they’ll be thrilled to meet you. We so rarely get visitors here, I think they’ll really enjoy having you stay.”

And oddly enough, Techno could tell that those words were not a lie.

#dark sbi #technoblade #shara writes

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grizzersmamma · 3 months

Text

Son of Zmei | Fae AU | Nikto x F!Reader | Part 3.

Overview: You try to take the dog somewhere he'll be safe and be returned to his owner. The dog, however, has other ideas, much to your chagrin.

A/N: I've had this sat in my drafts for a while needing to be finalized. Just a reminder that this isn't one of my main fics, just a silly side work for my own indulgence, so updates may be sporadic. Tagging the amazing @ghouljams as always.

Warnings: None

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Prev Part | Next Part

You wake to the unpleasant sensation of hot, damp breath in your face. As you slowly blink your eyes back open, you’re met with the face of the black dog, its amber eyes staring down at you intently without blinking. When it notices you’re awake, the dog huffs – relief or annoyance you can’t really tell – and takes a few steps back to give you some room to sit up.

The dog sits itself down, patiently waiting and watching as you push yourself off the floor, rubbing at the back of your head. It pulses at you angrily, clearly not appreciating being smacked onto the floor when you passed out.

“Did you just speak?” you anxiously ask the canine, body gearing up to flee should it actually respond.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for your sanity, the dog simply stares at you silently. Its head tilts to the side, blinking at you slowly, before standing up and wandering away, disinterested.

“I’m losing it,” you mumble to yourself, head resting in your hands. Of course a dog can’t talk, why would your mind even come up with that? Is it just the stress of yesterday and this morning finally catching up with you? Perhaps you need to speak to someone if you’re having hallucinations of talking animals.

Regardless, you need to get the dog out of your house, if only to ensure that its owner won’t come to you looking for it. The man doesn’t know where you live, but you really don’t need him thinking you’re trying to steal his pet.

Getting back to your feet and brushing off your pants, you call for the dog in a bright, excitable tone. It returns with the soft tapping of claws on laminate, ears perked up and trained on you. He sits at your feet, posture dead straight as if waiting for commands. He’s rather intense for a dog, though that may just be his rather large size talking.

You don’t own a leash and the dog is lacking a collar, but he seems well trained enough that you doubt he’ll run off. Besides, there’s a veterinary clinic just a short walk down the street from your house where you can probably drop the animal off. With any luck someone there will recognise the dog since, well, he’s a rather unique breed for the area, and will be able to contact his rightful owner.

“Come on then, good boy,” you call a little overexcitedly, grabbing your house keys and opening the door.

The dog follows you without issue, patiently waiting at your side while you lock up, then remaining in a perfect heel as you start down the concrete path toward the town centre. He’s remarkably well behaved, walking between you and the road, uninterested in anything else around you. Even when a dog starts barking at the two of you from the other side of the road, the dog beside you doesn’t so much as flinch, eyes still firmly focused on the path ahead.

Fortunately, the walk to the vet is quick thanks to the dog’s good behaviour, and he follows you inside without problem. The women inside excitedly swarm the fluffy animal, cooing at him and stroking his fur. He seems less than impressed with the strangers smothering him with affection but tolerates it with only a handful of resigned huffs.

You fill out the form that the kind receptionist hands you while one of the nurses gently leads the dog through the door and into the back of the clinic. He pauses at the door, staring at you as if asking what you want him to do. He waits patiently until you offer him a soft, “go on then,” in an encouraging voice, waving him on.

The vets assure you that they’ll get the dog back to his rightful owner and you take your leave, happy knowing he’ll get home safe. You, perhaps foolishly, assume that will be the end of things.

You get halfway home when you notice the sound of claws tapping against the concrete behind you. When you turn around, you near enough jump out of your skin. The dog is standing behind you again. “What the-” you blink at the dog while he stares up at you, ignoring your surprise and simply continuing on his way back toward your house.

You look back and forth, down the road toward the vet clinic and back at the dog again, like the explanation for the dog’s sudden reappearance will abruptly make itself clear.

Taking your phone out, you quickly search up the phone number of the vet, dialing it and waiting until the call connects. You exchange a brief greeting, before continuing, “I was just at the clinic to drop off a dog I found, but he’s just come up to me again...?”

The woman on the other end of the phone breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank God, he just vanished! We had him locked in one of the crates while dealing with another patient and when we came back, he was just gone!” The poor woman sounds slightly frantic as she adds, “we’ve been searching the whole building for him.”

By now, the dog has noticed you aren’t following and quickly returns to your side, sitting patiently at your feet.

“Would it be too much trouble for you to return him to the clinic?” the woman asks, hanging up when you offer a weak agreement. She sounded almost as frazzled as you feel, looking into the pale blue eyes of the massive dog. They’re certainly a unique colour, far from the dark browns and golds of most canines, but they also seem to hold a depth to them you’re unfamiliar with.

It makes you uncomfortable just to meet the animal’s gaze, reminded so much of his strange owner.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you back to the vet, yeah?” you try to keep you voice as steady and friendly as possible, constantly repeating to yourself that’s it’s only a dog, nothing more. So what if he seems to understand whatever you’re saying and occasionally have eerily human responses. You just need to get rid of it, then everything will go back to normal.

The dog once again follows you to the clinic, following a different nurse this time through the doors. The receptionist offers you a brief word of thanks, and you make your hasty retreat.

This time, there are no following paws, and you’re able to make the short trip back to your house without issue. Taking a quick visual sweep of both sides of the street and ensuring you are well and truly alone, you unlock the front door and quickly slide inside, very nearly slamming it closed and flicking the lock back into place.

You take a deep breath to steady your thundering heart, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation. It’s a dog. You’re acting like a frightened child over some fluffy dog just because it gives you weird vibes.

Ridiculous.

Mourning your poor sanity, you let out a relieved sigh and turn around.

The dog is sitting behind you.

You’re not sure how many curse words you shriek out, falling backwards against the door with a hand clutching your chest. It’s back. The damn dog is back, and it’s in your house. How did it even get into the house? How did it get away from the vets again? Why does it keep coming back?

It stares at you in complete silence, head tilting slightly to the side as it watches you struggle for breath.

“Why are you here?!” You must look like a mad person, screaming at a dog, but there’s very little else you can think to do. You feel as though you’re losing your mind.

Standing back up properly again, you quickly unlock the door and pull it open again. “Out!” you practically shout, waving at the animal, “get out!” You’ve finally reached your limit; you need this weird dog to leave you alone before you completely lose it. The dog just blinks at you slowly, but thankfully, blessedly, it complies with your screamed demand.

The moment it’s outside you slam the door closed and slide the lock back into place, taking a few steps back and breathing. A quick glance through the window and you can see the dog is sitting right on the front step of your house, back to your door and his gaze focused on the other side of your fence.

It isn’t gone, but at the very lease you have the inside of your house to yourself again.

#call of duty modern warfare #writing #cod nikto #nikto call of duty #nikto x reader #tf 1fae1 #fae au

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azastr · 10 months

Text

Tail Troubles and Moonlight Stumbles

Cardan Greenbriar

Description : Cardan helping y/n navigate through the dark because being a human she can't see anything and her accidently stepping on his precious tail

warnings : none

In the dimly lit forest of Elfhame, Cardan Greenbriar, the High King of Faerie, and Y/n found themselves venturing through the shadows. The moonlight barely pierced through the dense canopy, casting an ethereal glow upon the foliage.

As they walked hand in hand, Cardan's raven hair, disheveled as ever, framed his face, emphasizing his sharp features and piercing black eyes. His high cheekbones and pointed ears gave him an otherworldly allure, while a delicate tail swayed behind him. Towering at 5'11, he seemed to effortlessly glide through the darkness.

Y/n, a human girl known for her ambition, pride, and determination, matched Cardan's stride with grace, her steps steady and confident. Her sarcastic nature was evident in the playful gleam in her eyes. She was skilled with swords and daggers, but in this realm of Faerie, humans were despised.

As they ventured further into the woods, Y/n's lack of night vision became apparent. With each step, she stumbled slightly, her hand tightening around Cardan's. Sensing her discomfort, he gently guided her, their fingers intertwining like vines.

"Darling," Cardan's velvety voice whispered, his tone laced with affection, "watch your step. The path can be treacherous."

Y/n huffed, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Oh, believe me, Your Highness, I'm watching. But it's not exactly easy when I can't see a thing."

Cardan chuckled softly, the sound a melody in the night. "Well, fear not, my love. For I am here to guide you through the darkness."

Y/n playfully rolled her eyes. "You know, sometimes I think you enjoy these dramatic moments a little too much."

As they continued their journey, Y/n's foot landed on Cardan's sensitive tail, he let out a theatrical yelp that echoed through the forest. He hopped on one foot, his face contorted in an exaggerated expression of pain, as he dramatically clutched his tail with both hands.

"Darling!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with mock despair. "Must you constantly step on my precious tail? Do you not see how delicate it is? It's the epitome of fae elegance!"

Y/n couldn't help but stifle a giggle, finding Cardan's dramatic display both endearing and amusing. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she responded, "Oh, please, Cardan. It's not as if I did it on purpose. Besides, I can't see in the dark like you can.”

Cardan's pout deepened, his hand still cradling his tail. "Ah, the plight of a poor mortal," he sighed dramatically, his tone dripping with exaggerated sympathy. "Blind as a bat, stumbling around and wreaking havoc on fae royalty. Truly, it's a tragedy."

Y/n playfully rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, spare me the theatrics, Your Highness," she retorted, her voice filled with playful sarcasm. "You're the one with the tail, after all. Perhaps you should move your delicate tail out of the way next time."

Cardan paused his hopping and gazed at Y/n with a faux expression of offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, so you think it's my fault now, do you? Blaming the High King for his own impeccable elegance. How dare you!"

Y/n's laughter rang through the air as she replied, "Well, someone needs to take responsibility for that dangerously attractive tail of yours."

Cardan's pout transformed into a playful smirk as he approached Y/n, closing the distance between them. He tilted his head, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously. "Ah, so you find my tail dangerously attractive, do you? I must warn you, my dear, it has been known to steal hearts and cause mortals to stumble."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her gaze. "Is that a warning or a promise, High King?"

Cardan's laughter joined hers, the sound blending harmoniously in the enchanted forest. "Consider it both, my fiery, sarcastic darling. But don't worry, even if you stumble, I'll always be here to catch you. Even if it means nursing my precious tail back to health."

Their banter continued as they resumed their journey, Cardan's tail swaying gently behind him. Their playful interactions illuminated the darkness, bringing a sense of lightness to their path. In those moments, Y/n realized that Cardan's dramatics and their shared laughter were not just a source of amusement but a reminder of the deep connection they shared—a bond that could withstand any challenge that lay ahead.

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erinsintra · 5 months

Text

The wild world of Brazilian folklore

Been a while since I write anything with more than three lines for the five people who bother reading them. Well, I'm bored and too lazy to start looking a job today, so here you go.

I've seen a lot of people here talking about American folklore, Greek mythology, African mythology (and they always call it "African mythology" as if it's one country - seriously, imagine if we called Irish folklore "European mythology". it makes no sense), but I'm yet to see anyone talking about Brazilian folk myths. So here are some of the ones I like the most.

I encourage you to look for more on your own, because there's a shitton of them and I can't fit everything on a single post.

Saci Pererê

Perhaps the most famous mythological creature throughout the country, the Saci is a mischievous, fae-like being commonly depicted as a short black man with one leg wearing a red cap. He is famous for his pranks, which are usually mostly harmless, such as switching the contents of sugar and salt pots and tying knots on horses' hair. He's also said to control the winds and ride dustdevils, escaping faster than a regular person can run.

In some versions of the legend, the red cap on his head is the source of all his powers, and by stealing it, a person can control the Saci as they please. They can also be trapped inside a bottle with a cross drawn across it, and one can also make a deal with him by offering booze and tobacco.

Boitatá

An immortal eldritch being that roams the forests of the countryside, usually depicted as a giant flaming snake. Merely looking at it is enough to drive a man mad, and the only way to escape it is by standing completely still with one's eyes closed. It is said that once, when the world was plunged into darkness, the Boitatá feasted on the eyes of those who could not see.

Boiúna

Isn't it weird how every pantheon ever has an evil snake on it? The Boiúna is a giant sea serpent with shapeshifting powers that feeds on the vessels that try to approach it by mimicking the shape of a human ship.

In some versions, he's also said to shift into human form and once had an affair with a human woman. More on that later.

Bruxas (Witches)

Brazilian witches tend to be quite different from their European counterparts. For starters, they are not women who made a deal with the devil - a witch is born as a witch, and depending on the version, she's either the seventh child of a family or the offspring of a priest and a pagan (i.e, nonchristian) woman.

Witches don't fly on brooms, they don't need to. Most can turn into a moth at will, and they're also said to be able to pass through small spaces by stretching their bodies like a cartoon character. Have you ever seen a Brazilian moth? They're bigger than some birds.

Witches are also said to drink the blood of pagan children by landing on their bellybuttons while they sleep and drinking it up while in moth form. A big-ass moth inside your house is usually a bad omen, and you better not touch it with your bare hands. But witches also really love their booze, and you can make a deal with one by offering her some alcohol.

There's also the Cumacanga, a little known variation of witch with a detachable head and hair made of flames that scares of people during the night. In order to figure out her identity, one must gift her a needle, and she'll soon arrive at your doorstep in human form to return it to you when morning comes. I don't know why, but some of those creatures are very polite.

Mula sem Cabeça (Headless Mule)

If there's anything those myths have taught me, is that you shouldn't fuck a priest. At all.

The headless mule is - rather obviously - a large equine with a flaming bonfire for a head that roams around destroying everyone it sees. If a priest breaks his vows and marries a woman, she'll become a headless mule the next Friday night (the legend is very specific about the day for some reason). In order to protect yourself from one, you must lie down and cover your teeth and nails, for they're attracted by shiny things. You can turn a mule back into a human by stabbing it with an iron knife.

Lobisomem (Werewolf)

Brazilian werewolves, like witches, are very different from the Hollywood version. While it is common for a human to become a werewolf by being bitten by another one, most werewolves are born that way - either the seventh male child of a family or the offspring of a priest and a pagan woman, pretty much the boy version of a witch - and awake their powers during puberty. Moreover, they are rarely true wolves: most are a combination of various farm animals and a few do not resemble canines at all. As with the Hollywood variant, werewolves are weak against silver and holy water, and they can also be cured of their condition by - and I have to quote this - "being impaled by a thorn from an orange tree planted on a cemetery during a Friday". No idea how the fuck they figured that out.

It's oftentimes said that, in order to prevent a seventh son from becoming a werewolf, he must be given a female name - and the opposite is true for witches.

Labatut

The Labatut is a beastial figure with a boar-like face, prominent tusks and a single large eye that roams through the Northeastern countryside. He was apparently based on Pedro Labatut, a French mercenary who fought for the Empire during the independence war and gained a reputation for being quite ruthless against his opponents.

Corpo Seco (Dried Corpse or Dried Body)

The Corpo Seco was born as a human boy. Though his name varies from tale to tale, every version agree that he was an absolute asshole - if he were alive today, he would most likely be a moderator for an incel forum. He once tied his mother to a chair and beat her up after she yelled at him, and friends and family alike were terrified of him. It is said that, when he died, not a single person wept for him, and no one attended his funeral. More than that, the Earth itself spat out his corpse after they'd buried him, and neither Heaven nor Hell claimed his wretched soul. He still wanders the country, neither alive nor dead, occasionally weeping in the distance. Some versions also claim that, since he's technically not dead, his hair and nails never stopped growing, giving him a rather gruesome look.

Loira do Banheiro (Blonde girl of the bathroom)

Oh, that one used to scare me shitless as a kid. The blonde girl of the bathroom is a Hanako-esque ghost that haunts schools and public bathrooms alike. Most versions differ when talking about her past, but she was either a victim of bullying who committed suicide in her school's bathroom or a girl obsessed with her own appearance that got sucked inside the mirror whilst gazing at her own reflection. Either way, she's a spirit that can be summoned in a public bathroom.

Again, every version has a different way of summoning her - yelling curse words at the mirror, flushing all the toilets at once, turning on all the faucets, etc. Where I grew up in, they used to say you had to yell her birth name three times whilst looking at the mirror. If you managed to successfully summon her, she would either kill you, grant you a wish, or just scare your ass.

Apparently, her story was based on the life of Maria Augusta de Oliveira Borges, a real woman who died under mysterious circumstances back in imperial times. So, uh, if you want to summon her or something, there's her full name.

Cobra Norato and Maria Caninana

Remember when I said that the Boiúna once had an affair with a human mortal? These two are their kids.

Abandoned by their mother on the side of a river, the two giant snakes soon learned how to talk by mimicking human fishermen. Norato was a kind soul who helped those who came near the river, but Maria was a greedy bitch who saw humans as little more than food. At some point, they fought each other over their disagreements, and Norato ended up killing his sister.

Norato desperately wanted to be a human, but lifting his curse was no easy task: in order to turn him into a man, one would have to feed him three drops of breast milk and pat him with an iron stick while he slept. No, I am not making this up. Luckily, he found a hunter willing to do the job.

Boto Cor de Rosa (Pink Dolphin)

In case you didn't know, pink dolphins are real. They can be found in the Amazonas river and its surroundings, though they're in risk of extinction due to overhunting.

But this guy is no mere dolphin, he is THE pink dolphin. He can talk, he can shapeshift, and he wants to bone a hot lady.

The boto will often turn into an attractive man with a bald head and a fancy hat, which hides the breathing hole thing dolphins have. I personally like to imagine him as a tan-skinned Walter White. Any woman who meets him will soon be charmed by his looks, and he'll frequently involve himself romantically with the locals for quite some time. It never lasts for long, though: he will sudden disappear without a trace, presumably back to the water where he belongs, always right after the woman he's involved with finds out that she's pregnant. Sadly, none of the versions of the legend ever mention what happens to his child. Imagine if your dad was a talking dolphin.

So, uh, that's it. There's probably more creatures I forgot, so I again recommend you to search for more stuff on your own.

Also, if you want to use any of these in a fantasy setting or anything, feel free to do it! I am so fucking tired of works whose mythology is just a one-to-one ripoff of Greek or Norse myths. If anyone starts bitching at you about cultural appropriation or whatever, show them this post and tell them I gave you my permission. Now, back to our usual shitposting.

#mythology #myths #folklore #brazil #brasil #fantasy #story ideas #character idea #fyp #fypツ #memes #tumblr fyp #explorepage #explore #fypage #foryou #dumb shit #werewolves #werewolf #Tumblr

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