#fae utmv

[plasma-studios]

but all will be well (ao3: x)

inspired by @dycefic's fae short story (story) go show it some love it's one of my favourite pieces of fae media

In a world where the divine has grown weary of grandeur, an immortal finds meaning in life through a deal with the Fae for a child. His wish is granted, but not without a cost.

OR: Ink is an immortal that makes a deal with Fae!Error for a child, that turns out to be a child Fae i.e. Dream. Child Fae!Nightmare is also involved, much to his peril. Though, surely, things will all be alright in the end. Surely nothing bad will occur within a conflict that involves a past God, a Fae, and two child Faes. Surely not?

TL;DR: Immortal Ink/Fae Error x changeling Dream and Nightmare AU

Word count: 3.4k

There was once an immortal. An immortal who had once been known as a god but had long let go of such a title. He had tired of it, and with time chose to step away from the elaborate altars and ornate temples. Quite literally in his case: his steps had been soundless against the temple’s front steps.

How his acolytes had cried out in his absence; how the flowers rotted quickly in the gardens; how quickly the stories of him turned desperate. Devotees cried out with hands raised and ready offerings but he was already gone from their grasp.

These were all memories of a past life now.

So Ink slipped through the cracks of memory. Stories turned from desperate to angry, from angry to pitiful, then to nothing at all. He stopped listening to stories. His temples faded into ruin, into dust, and still he never returned.

He found his own way in the world. It was its own type of indulgence, really. For decades he did nothing but wander. But with time, there were no more beauties left for him, for he had seen them all: he tired of them once again.

There was a void in him that nothing could fill. Not worship, not life; it was the nature of his existence. Immortality was a lonely existence. If not for the nature of his Godhood, he would’ve departed from this world a long, long time ago.

But he was born a God, and the world could not continue on without the presence of its Gods. So, he had to make do.

He began to learn. Learned to mimic others. Learned to mimic warmth and frostiness, grief and sweetness. He found himself in the town squares and open fields, finding himself among the mortals again. For a while the pretense satiated him. 

But there were times when his mask slipped. Times when he faltered, unsure of how to react. 

They sensed it, he knew. They felt it; he wasn’t like them. He was good at pretending, but he was not perfect. It was unfair, wasn’t it? To fake warmth and attract folk to him like bees to honey when he wasn’t warm or sweet at all.

It was unfair. It really was, wasn’t it? He felt guilty at the thought. And if nothing else, Ink acted on feeling and nothing else.

So with time, he distanced himself from the others and dropped the pretense of warmth.

But as time passed, he only grew lonelier.

But the world was still there for him, with all its ugliness and beauty. So it was the world he was drawn to; he became a painter, an artist: mimicking the world through creation (an old friend) and for a while was content. Or as content as an immortal could be.

The others would stay to chat, but they would not stay. They would compliment his art, but they would leave thereafter. They were not cruel, they were not sweet, but they were kind enough and the brief moments of interaction were their own sweetness.

Perhaps that is why he soon grew comfortable enough to dream. Gods dreamt, but of their devotee’s prayers and wishes. Immortals didn’t dream. Most of them didn’t, anyway. There was just his voice in his dreams. Just him and hopes, of wonder. He was still lonely. The idea of companionship began trickling into his head like water into a cup.

But, for a time, he did nothing about it. It would still be unfair to search for a companion, the nature of his being being what it was. At minimum it would hurt him to leave them behind in death’s arms; he had heard stories of forlorn lovers, broken hearts and people driven to insanity faced with the death of a beloved. The heartbreak might even be mutual; then, he mused, what joy would there be in such a relationship? What would be the point?

For a while he considered kin instead of love. But separation would be no less painful than with a lover, perhaps worse: would the nature of his being affect a child of his? He did not want that. So for a time he was alone, and found what bliss there was in it. 

Then there were the Fae. They had always been there, really; just as Ink had been, and with the very nature of their existence being so different they hardly ever made contact. It was mutual, really; the breadth between them, a silent agreement to stay out of the other’s path.

But that agreement was no more than silence when the thought came to him one autumn-stained night. And the thought would not leave him, nor did he let it. So one night, with the wind of fallen leaves in the air, he made his way to the village well and tossed a copper coin into it. Quickly the wind fell into a silence, the ripples of the toss into the water smoothing over, and he wished for a child.

Then a whisper of sharpness, like a simper, like a laugh. 

“You know there will be a price to pay.” Ink did not look back. “I also know I may set conditions.”

“I suppose.” And the voice had dulled ever so slightly, as if disappointed. Not all-together  pleased. But Ink had not come here for them. 

“The child will be unharmed. You may set me a debt. You may set me a test. But in any case,” He continued, though he knew he would find a way to pay any debt and pass any test. “The child will not suffer. No death, no hurt; no misfortune, no pain. No curse, no hex. Let my debt be mine and mine alone.”

“Ahh.” And there was a note of amusement, of curiosity, of intrigue in his pleased voice. “That is a fair condition. Very well. By sunrise, you will have your child.”

A child that would be nothing like him. A child, whole and loved. A child, safe for him to love. Ink smiled. The wind started rustling again. When he turned to leave, the Fae was already gone. But the apple weighed in his hand and he found his way home in no time at all. 

True to the Fae’s word, which was always true, there was a beautiful babe waiting for him. A boy with charming, glowing eyes and pearly white bones. 

Ink cradled the babe in his arms the same way the mothers he’d watched had, but was careful to adjust the child so he would not kill them in less than a day. He felt almost nothing as he tipped the small bottle of milk into the child’s mouth; the soft, milky aroma that came of it elicited no stronger reaction than a twitch. 

The child smelled so strongly of honey. 

He wiped the drool from the child’s mouth, watched as he gazed back at him with round eyes; then, suddenly, they gleamed with a brilliant gold, and a gurgle left them. 

It was like the sound of a river, the sound of life.

The sheen of gold was gone as soon as it had been there, but then there were the small hands reaching for the half-empty bottle. It was a small bottle. 

Later, he would understand the gold gaze to be a sign of the child being happy. And, perhaps if the child was happy, he was content enough. Someday, there would be a price for this. The Fae would surely claim something grand and terrible. The Fae were not humble creatures.

Neither was he. It would be worth it. He had done miracles before, turned water to wine and blood to roses. If grandness was what was demanded of him, he would simply acquiesce like all the other times he’d done in the past. 

The tiny fingers reached up, grasping at the air before gently curling around the fingers around the milk bottle; he held on as if Ink was his entire world. Ink could feel all the internal gravitas that the memories of a past life had brought forth unravel in an instant.

He could feel himself turning soft. The sensation was not entirely unwelcome. Was this, oh, how it felt like to be mortal?

Ink gave the boy a fitting name, but was not so foolish as to speak it aloud should the Fae have been listening. But it was a beautiful name, and it suited the child very much.

He waited for the Fae to come and collect, but nothing ever came of it. All was well as the babe matured from a very, very small child to a very small child. The child was healthy and knew the joys of living so well that he never cried. They spent springs in meadows and summers in lakes, and though Ink waited for the time where he would need to pay the price, he was left waiting for months and months on end with no Fae contact at all.

Then, when autumn came, the child suddenly became ill. Once so eager to leave the walls of their dwelling Ink had begrudgingly constructed after realising it was not wise to leave a child out in the open, the child now tugged on his hand not to hasten their leave, but to stay. For a while, Ink assumed it had been the cold weather that had brought the abrupt rejection and merely made notes to mark the warmer days for their time outside, but even on the warmest autumn afternoons the child’s resolve remained.

Ink realised the child’s sickness a week in. As the days passed, his bone only grew increasingly, bitingly cold. The nights were the worst of it, and though the warmth of magic he had not used in a very long time unfurled through the house enough that it felt no different than summer sun, the child still shuddered and held onto him, looking upon him with small eyes that seemed to plead for him to make him well. He wailed for nights on end, so pale even in the candlelight of the beeswax candles he kept alight, and Ink began to grow tired. 

Though, the fatigue was minuscule compared to the grief. 

Try as he could, and did, nothing lifted the sickness from the child’s bones. All his Godly miracles did nothing, and neither did the herbs and remedies from the village. Vaguely, he recognised the cruel irony: love heralded grief, he had known that much. Yet, foreknowledge had changed nothing in the end. 

The child stopped crying midway into winter. He was so cold now, as cold as winter ice, but he no longer shuddered and pleaded for him to make him warm and well. The cool neutral nothingness in the child was worse than the days of constant consciousness trying to get him to rest, even for a minute. Neither did the child smile or laugh, and with startling clarity that filled into him as coldly as the child’s bone, he knew very well that this was the price to pay.

But had he not set the condition? Why was the child being made to suffer? Had the Fae wronged him? Now, he did not remember the heat of fury until it filled into him. He would utterly des—

No, he had set the condition, and the Fae could not break the conditions of a deal as they so pleased. There had to be something else at play.

But, suddenly, he cared less about the deal he made now almost years ago, and touched the child’s cheek, warmth pooling in his palm. The child stirred ever so slightly, but it did not seem to melt away the state he had fallen into. The child’s eyes did not show gold for the entire season of frosty winds and snowfall.

“Stay with me,” He murmured. Pleaded. “Stay with me,” He repeated, but the child did not seem to hear. 

By spring, the child had begun to return to his former self. The new season brought with it tentative hope, though the shadows of winter's ordeal still lingered. Ink watched as the child’s colour slowly returned, the once pallid cheeks now flushing with the faintest hints of life. The small eyes that had been so dim and pleading began to regain their spark, the light of curiosity and joy flickering back to life.

Yes, perhaps that was enough. No matter of the Fae’s curse or demand, if the child could recover, that would be enough. 

The next autumn, the child again grew weary and ill, and it was then Ink was certain of the Fae’s role in it. The confirmation had been unwelcome, but undeniable: it had come with the cool, steady clarity of a realisation utterly unquestionable.

But it had been nothing compared to the sight of the baby’s small bed empty. 

He considered many possibilities. Would it matter if he turned wrathful? Who in this world could stop him? Even the Fae would not be able to defend against him forever. It would not be the first time utter destruction had become of him; yes, the memories of previous times brought shame and regret now, but he could find no shame or regret in what he wanted to do in this moment.

Who were the Fae, to demand him come looking for them? Who were they, to abduct his child?

In the end, he merely returned to the well where his wish had been made so long ago. If there was even a chance of retrieving his child, well, how could he not go?

In the small bed of moss behind the well, he found two identical children asleep. Their eyes were closed, but their bones were pearly white even in the light of soon dusk, and the triumphant voice echoed with anticipatory delight. “One is the one you took home with you, the delightful gold-eyed child with the sweetness of honey. The other is a changeling, the one that made your autumns weary and winters fretful. The child you take in your arms and leave with will be yours forever, and the one you leave behind, you will never see again.”

Ink breathed, struck by a so very mortal emotion— terror.

“Choose. That is your test.” The Fae’s voice was so assured in themself, and how could they not have been? It was a cruel test. The cost, he now knew, was the child he would have to leave behind. The Fae must have been sure that he would choose the honeysweet boy; but, as he gazed upon the child that was always sickly in the colder seasons, he could not choose. 

Carefully, he touched the cheek of the honeysweet boy, then the cheek of the changeling child. One was of unbridled warmth, and the other so cold it burned. Surely the honeysweet boy had been tailored to perfection, made beautiful and flawless that he’d want to keep him. And the changeling child, though he did not know for certain, must’ve been made to suffer for the same reason, though for opposite ends. 

This was the cost. He understood it now. It had been the changeling made to suffer, not his own. The condition set had not been broken.

He could not quite take ‘his own’ into his arms and leave the changeling behind, as much as it seemed to be the only option he had.

Then, briefly, he exhaled.

“You said,” He said softly. “That the child I take in my arms and leave with will be mine forever, and the one I leave behind, I will never see again?”

“Indeed,” The voice was cruel, eager, curious.

The decision was made, and Ink took the honeysweet boy into his arms. The glitched, monstrous laughter of the Fae rang out, but it cut off as soon as Ink readjusted the child so he had enough leverage, and took the changeling child into his arms as well. 

“You— you cannot take both!” The voice was layered, glitched; and with the absence of any gloating or cruelty, Ink knew with certainty that he had found his solution. 

“Did you say I could only take one?” Now, the weight of a God found itself in him as he turned sharply to face the Fae, several feet taller than himself, and yet he stared unyieldingly into his mismatched eyes with ferocity that was gaining on him by the second. “No, you did not. I shall take my children, both of which I have loved and grieved, and you will do nothing of it.” “I will not allow that.” Now the Fae’s voice was becoming twisted, angry, inhuman. 

“Yes,” His voice was quiet, piercing. “ You will.”

Because he was watching the Fae so closely, he saw the way he faltered, the way his mismatched eyes widened. 

“You are— not mortal.”

“Your soul will be torn into tatters if you dare take my children from me,” He spoke plainly. “We are not bound by the deal anymore. I have done my part. You have done yours. Now leave me, or—”

“You have not passed.” His voice steadied. The chaotic, messy noise consolidated into a single sound. “You have not failed, but you have not passed. Your debt is unpaid.”

Fool. Ink opened his mouth, but the Fae continued. “I will not claim your children. They will be yours, forever and ever, when you leave with them. That is not what I ask.” “Then,” And Ink’s eyes were sharp, but he was curious too. “What price would you have me pay?”

The Fae was silent. His mismatched eyes were on him, and it was clear for the few moments of silence that lapsed between them that he was hesitating.

“I will go with you.” The words were declarative, sure. Ink blinked. It took a moment for the words to register. “They are still Fae children, even if just half-Fae. I will not have you hurt them with or without intention.”

Ink considered it for a moment more.

“Fine. Come with me, Fae.”

“Actually—” He let out a glitched sigh. “Call me Error.”

Ink glanced upon him. He looked away. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Nice try.” His tone was completely neutral. He followed the path out, and once he stepped out with his children tightly in his embrace, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. 

“The honeysweet child will no longer be just sweetness.” The warning came with the tone of conversation. “He was made that way for the test. He will begin to grow into his own, and experience his own unhappiness soon enough.”

“And the changeling child will become well?”

“Yeah, I guess Nightmare will.”

Ink came to a stop, then turned to Error incredulously. “You call him Nightmare?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not like I realised you would find a loophole and bring him back! His entire existence was crafted to fit that role, anyway.”

Ink let out a huff. Then, he paused, and touched his mouth, as if in a daze.

Error’s eyebrows creased. 

“What’s the matter with you?”

Ink let out a long, steady breath, and continued on his way. He would never voice the thoughts swirling around in his head in a haze of madness: if the children had brought love and grief into his life, what was the biting annoyance he felt now that was yet free of any real ire?

“Please tell me you don’t have iron in your house.” Ink turned to retort, and realised Error had adapted his form so that he appeared less unworldly. The glitching edges of his clothes, and the hum in his voice had been smoothed over or turned quieter, and he now looked no more unworldly than Ink.

“Well?” He prompted.

Ink gazed at him impassively. 

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Error laughed, a laugh steadier than a cackle, but it was still a glitching laugh beautiful in its madness.

Perhaps someday, he would finally tell Error the name he had chosen for the boy: Dream, because the new life had seemed nothing short of a miracle, a dream. 

Perhaps. Perhaps not. He would not make a decision on the first day.

Once upon a time,  there was an immortal that abandoned godhood for the simple reason that he found no meaning in it. He’d left the elaborate altars and ornate temples behind to wander the world, stuck between the living, feeling masses and the simple awareness that he would be alive for forever and ever. There had been simple joys he’d found in this unique sort of existence here and there, across the centuries he’d been alive for.

But the life that awaited him now wasn’t too bad either. 

[owl-bones]

a king at war

[someverygaymoth]

CFK!AU KillerDust!!!

They're so in love, guys you don't even understand.

[forgettingcrowbin]

Just some sketches to get me back into the roll of things ;D

[antlered-prince]

On the continuation of the berry post, “going back will be painful” is that literal for fae or ppl turning fae?

Attempting to go back to the human realm before you're fully fae speeds up the process, which can be painful depending on how much still needs to change.

Full fae have no problem going back and forth, although it generally requires knowing how to glamour first.

[fairy-verse]

: ̗̀➛ Mother of the Fae

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden who dearly wished to become a mother. She was of fair skin, with brown hair and eyes, and though the latter could almost be as dark as night, they never ceased to keep a certain tender kindness to them. And yet still, they were often saddened. For you see, she so dearly desired to become a mother and raise little children of her own, yet she desired no man. It wasn’t that she had few choices, no, no, many men from different villages came to ask for her hand, but always she refused.

Many were handsome, many were not, but all failed to move her heart.

And so, with little other choice to be made, the young maiden left her humble home one early morning to wander into the Great Forest. Thick were the trees and tall were their roots, and though the ground was soft with moss and grass the young maiden found that often her feet would ache, and her legs would grow weak. Delirium wreaked havoc upon her mind and she came to remember the warnings of the fairy hunters.

“Fairies cast a spell upon their lands long ago. It’s difficult to travel far into their territory without growing confused and frightened, and unless you’re trained you shouldn’t push on, but if you must, then do not fall asleep until the confusion has left you, or else you’ll never wake up again.”

It was difficult to not fall asleep. The young maiden felt so tired, and her feet and legs ached so, but taking an apple from her satchel she quickly ate and continued, drinking from every stream she passed. The water was fresh and cold; delicious, far better than any she’d ever tasted before. It made her sleepier still.

Through the day and into the night she walked, and the forest did not lessen but seemed to grow more ancient, stranger almost in its appearance, yet the young maiden found it to be beautiful and she smiled as she ran her hands along the trees she passed.

She fell asleep by the third day, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. The moss was softer than her bed back home and the large leaves of the trees were warmer than her blankets. Peacefully she slept throughout the night and early morning and well into the evening, so tired was she that she did not wake until a sharp nip came at her neck. Delirious she awoke and clutched at the sore skin, finding a drop of blood on her fingers.

The roots around her moved, pushing her upwards until she stood. The trees swayed and waved their branches, and they whispered “This way, this way” as their roots pushed at her back, forcing her forward.

They were more beautiful than ever before, thought the young maiden; and the trees rustled as their leaves caressed her hair, her cheeks and arms as they fell. Surely, they must have heard her thoughts for they grew so merry they almost danced, and slowly they parted ways until the maiden came upon a large lake. Glittering white bubbles swam across the water’s surface and fairies in the hundreds flew by so fast they made the maiden’s head spin as she tried to look at them.

Loudly they laughed as they chased each other, some carried sticks, others rode on dragonflies or threw bumblebees as if they were mere toys, yet the furry bees snickered as they soared through the air and one crashed against the maiden’s forehead, shook itself gently, apologised, and flew off.

The maiden laughed at it all, giggling as if she was a little girl as she clapped her hands. The fairies stilled their play and watched her, and she grew still once more. The silence was sudden, but it was soon broken by the maiden’s gasp as a fairy, brighter and faster by all came towards her, wings of the rainbow casting coloured lights across the water and the trees. He came to a sudden halt right by her nose, and his smile was wide as he tilted his head this way and that, studying her closely.

His mouth opened and chirps came out.

He was cute, very cute, and the maiden smiled though she couldn’t understand him. The fairy laughed and flew back, and with a swirl of leaves and petals, he was suddenly larger, still shorter than her, but closer to her size.

“I will grant your wish, fair maiden,” said the fairy, smiling wide, sharp canines bared as he flew closer to her again. He said nothing more and neither did she as he kissed her, holding her cheeks and making her world swim as her feet were lifted from the forest floor. Her heart grew flooded, and stars danced across and around her as branches and wind held her. Warmth consumed her body, and she sang as fairies flew over and under her, their voices small and merry as they watched.

The maiden’s eyes opened with a start. Her skin prickled with cold, and she sat up, the moss beneath her damp. Quickly her eyes turned down and breath escaped her. Carefully, she reached to caress her swollen belly. It was warm to the touch.

A huff of a breath.

A soft laughter.

A cry of joy.

The woman, a maiden no more, put on her dress and stood upon her feet. The night was dark, and the forest was alive with grunts and ugly laughter. Trolls were roaming about, and the woman clutched at her stomach protectively. The trees slowly swayed, and she found a great hollow oak to hide within until the morrow came. Long was the night as trolls caught her scent and searched for her; hunted for her, but none found her. Not until the sun was well and truly up did she dare to make her way back home, and now the path back was short, only an hour’s worth of travel.

Joyfully she ran into her village, proclaiming that she was finally full with child, but her family only watched in horror as they and all the others screamed at her to go away, to take her demon child before it cursed them all. And the woman was saddened for she didn’t know where to go, and thus instead turned back to the forest, her feet now sore as her shoes grew rotten before falling off.

Grieved she caressed her belly, now larger than ever before, and she marvelled at the sight of it even as her sorrow grew. How was she to take care of her child, all alone as she was? But alas, alone she was not as a familiar fairy laughed in her ear before kissing her cheek and carrying her up, up, up into the air. Frightened laughter soon turned to squeals as the woman saw what none other than her had ever seen before, and the fairy who held her so gently took her to a small clearing where a house had been raised, built by the trees giving a root each for its construction.

Here she would lay as the dark of night ensnared the island once more, and trolls sang their ugly songs as the woman screamed to the moon.

One

   Two

      Three

         Four

            …

               Forty-six

                  …

                     A hundred and seventy-two…

                        …

Even as the woman screamed, tears of happiness trailed across her cheeks as her children were born, one after another. So many they were that they swarmed her quaint room, their skin pale and their eyes black as night, and quickly they crawled through cracks, windows and doors as their wings took to the wind and they flew away, searching for homes of their own.

“Your name, my maiden no more,” said her fairy, his wings glowing in the darkened room and warding off any roaming trolls. “Give me your name.”

“Faye.”

“Faye,” he said, tasting the name as he took it with that smile ever present on his lovely face. “I shall give it to our children. Fae, they shall hence be named for the sun to hear, their true names only for the moon to keep,” said he, soft chuckles escaping him as he kissed her once more. “And for your name, I give you life, one that is yours to keep for all eternity, lest you wish to close your eyes and sleep once more. Should you ever return to slumber under the moon, then that life will return to me, and dreams will forever be your only company.”

And though the fairy laughed most cruelly, the woman only smiled as she held his hand and kissed his knuckles with her soul’s tenderness. He grew momentarily still, though he caressed her cheek one last time before he left her, and never once returned to her again.

It is said the mother of the fae remains deep in the forest, grown far older than any human should, yet remaining as beautiful as the day she lost her name. She never sleeps but remains awake to bask in the sight of her children playing and growing ever stranger as the days and nights pass, and she loves them more than life itself, for what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t wish nothing but the best for her beloved children.

Addendum:

Ink’s wickedness knows no bounds when it comes to granting the wishes of desperate big folk, yet the completion of Faye’s wish has and still does not bring her grief. Though he granted her two hundred and fifty-five fae children, she is – still at present – ever in a perpetual state of readied pregnancy.

A good portion of her children snuck away on travelling merchant ships to settle on the mainland and created various colonies of their own, breeding with different magical creatures now and again to create different versions of the fae. However, the fae that remained on Fairy Island lived in smaller colonies spread around the western lands of Ink’s domain, and they lived as secluded families, only ever accepting the presence of their father and mother; showing hostility to any other that tried to mingle with them.

As they are all brothers and sisters, they do not breed with each other, so they live for centuries until their inevitable decay. And every time a fae of Fairy Island dies, their mother – at first appearing flat-bellied – grows round again, preparing to replace those who wither and fall to death.

How fortunate for Faye that she so dearly loves to be a mother, and how the prospect of forever being in a perpetual state of readied pregnancy doesn’t at all frighten her. After all, should she ever tire of it, then she only needs to sleep, for then she will never wake again and she will find rest forevermore; not dead, but ever lost in precious dreams as the world shifts and moves around her.

[boxofwaspss]

they r just.... litle guys...

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Do you have any fics with Nightmare x reader but like it’s an au of an au,like in a pirate or fae AU?

FAE AU pls?

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Summoned (Nightmare!Sans x Reader) by SkellieUser666 (General Audiences, Incomplete)

(Y/N) didn't want to be friend the popular kids. Nor had she ever dreamed that she would have a sleepover with them. But boy is she wrong when she is forced to go with the popular girls for a one night sleepover. But what (Y/N) doesn't know. Is that her life will change in that very night. "Well well well, look what we have here." Cover by: @ scryl.studio on Instagram

Sweet Like Lavender by InkyOverlord (Teen And Up, Complete)

Over the centuries, that small villager grew into a town, then a city before they both knew it Dream became the monster ambassador This left Nightmare to tend to a bookstore, giving him the chance to meet someone new.

Lurking in the Shadows by etherealbutters (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

(Y/N) is a twenty-something-year-old girl. At least, she thinks she is. She can't remember anything, except for the past eleven months since she mysteriously awoke in an outcode realm known as "the Doodle Sphere". Here, she has begun living a new life with her vigilante roommates - a group of skeleton monsters who call themselves the Star Sanses. After her friend, Dream, is suddenly captured by the leader of their rivals, (Y/N) discovers that there may be more to their friendship than she could have realized.

Nights and Their Rulers by HeyLook_Sum_Beanz (Not Rated, Complete)

You are your kingdom's top knight. When the queen invites you to a ball, you meet the King of the Monster Kingdom, and assassins strike. You're asked to return with the King to his kingdom. But why does your chest hurt whenever you think of the King being with someone? Or You're Nightmare's soulmate, he knows it, you don't. You're kinda stupid like that. Will you ever find out?? Dreamtale belongs to Joku_Blog

Cyan decks by Idea_Writes (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Y/n just got a new job as nightly janitor on a merchant ship but she ends up attracting some unwanted attention from an aquatic king

[orange-artblog]

dark cream week: day 6 - thunder

shattered by galacii-gallery

cross by jakei95

dark cream week by @zu-is-here

the full image ->

and a close up of Shattered as I think it‘s quite pretty

[kaygee-doodles]

A commission for @cali-n-fae of their Underfell Sans! This was so much fun to work on, I'm glad I got the opportunity.

[plasma-studios]

Miracle Child (ao3: x)

Inspired by Sweeter Than Honey by CleanLenins and The Snow King by Poker.

After almost two decades without an heir, the King and Queen make a deal with the Winter Ruler!Nightmare for a child. And so they have a lovely daughter. But alas, life heralds death, and their end of the bargain had gone from heartbreaking to unthinkable. So they refuse to pay it.

And so on the Princess' christening, she is cursed to never live past seventeen by the Winter Ruler. But perhaps, there is hope: the Summer Ruler!Dream could very well protect the Princess from the fate that awaited her. But what will be the cost for taking aid from the Fae again?

(Perhaps they should've remembered that the Summer Ruler was still Fae.)

OR: a UTMV X Sleeping Beauty AU, where Summer Ruler!Dream raises the Princess out of the reach of Winter Ruler!Nightmare, but eventually comes to love the Princess as if she were his own daughter. And when the time comes to return the Princess, well, he is not entirely willing. He is the Summer Ruler, after all. If he takes what he wants from the Kingdom, who can stop him?

(Yes, that includes the member of the King's Guard he's rather soft on. What was his Name again? Cross?)

Chapter 1: letting the people we love go

Word count: 6.6k

TW: mention of stillbirth

By the seventeenth year of their marriage, there was still no heir to be had, and the court was growing increasingly worried.

Though both King and Queen were married at the youthful age when it was easiest to be fruitful, the war with their neighbouring Kingdoms inherited from his father kept the King away from their bedchambers in the first few years. But the court was preoccupied with war efforts, and the Queen was a Good Queen. She faithfully waited for her husband to return, the perfect martyr.

The war ended on the enemy Kingdom’s surrender. So instead of the disgrace of defeat, the King returned to his Palace in the glory of victory, Only then did talk of an heir start up again. And the King, finally in the company of his wife after so much time away, did not argu

There would be nothing bourn until nearly a year later; but, less than a month later, what would have been their heir died tragically in the womb. The King and Queen tried again, but they would not conceive until the next Spring.

It would be dead by Winter.

Soon it had been a decade, and both King and Queen so much older, and yet not a single child to show for it. There was fear that soon the Queen would no longer be able to conceive, and that the King ought to marry a second wife, one more youthful, one that might birth him his heir.

However, the King refused to remarry. What an insult to his Queen! But he was not unwise; they had to have an heir, and he understood that the odds were against them. Increasingly so, as day by day passed and no heir was conceived. He invited help from all the corners of the world, summoning midwives and beseeching witches but nothing did any good at all.

Perhaps fortunately, or unfortunately, when he asked for the cause of their misfortune, he was told that the cause was just that; there was no illness, no curse. They were simply unlucky. Time would bring to them their heir soon enough. But time, he feared, was not on their side.

It was in a moment of great desperation that the King began searching the Fae texts for anything that could help.

It was, again, fortune or misfortune that there was indeed something.

***

The birth of the Princess was a truly momentous occasion. She was said to be as bright as Summer skies, and just as lovely a s Spring fields, as the daughter of the very best of their people. So the people rejoiced! And very little of this was a lie. The Princess was lovely indeed, though all babes do seem to be to their parents.

For the wonder that was her birth after seventeen years of failure, she was named Mira***.

The day of her christening was a day of celebration. Nobles and commonfolk alike were invited to the feast, and in his jubilation the King extended the invitation to even the Fae.

The ceremony was only the start of the celebration; the festivities ran into the afternoon, and the feast ran into the night.

It was by the end of the feast that the Fae came forward with gifts for the Princess.

The King and Queen exchanged glances, but they sat still on their gilded thrones and watched the first of them to step forward.

The skeletal faerie in silver armour and, interestingly enough, scarfed in blueberry blue, was the first.1 He stepped to the cradle, and bent to kiss her forehead. “May courage serve her well.”

For an instant there were blue sparks sticking to her forehead left by the kiss, then he gently pulled away from the girl and strolled to the side for the next Fae.

The second Faerie, who was quite a glutton, kissed the girl and commanded, “She shall be as sweet as honey cakes.” There was a slight tension at that, but not an uncomfortable one at all (save for the few who immediately choked on the honey cake in their mouth).2

The third Faerie was meek, reptilian yellow scales glinting in the light as she approached the girl, back hunched.3 She was far quieter as she murmured, “She’ll be an inquisitive girl. One as curious as the breeze of fall.” And the curiosity of the autumn winds had carried the chill of fall to all four corners of the world. Indeed, there was nothing above-ground that the autumn winds had not felt out at least once, curious as they were.

The fourth Faerie was also skeletal, the curious blooms poking out from under his clothing.4 Still, there was just a gentleness in his smile as he gave his blessing. “May the blossom-filled airs alight even her breaths with peace.”

The fifth Faerie’s smile was almost sharp, but he did not approach the girl and merely waved his hand for a cascade of rosy sparks showered upon the girl.5

“She shall be as beautiful as Springtime.” His violet tongue slipped out beneath his teeth as he spoke, voice edged with a certain alluring hunger.

Now the fifth Faerie stepped aside to join the other Fae, and the silence of bated breath swarmed the hall. All this while the Princess was blinking curiously, sweeping her head to the side to catch another glance at these mysterious strangers.

The King and Queen let out sighs of relief, exchanging looks, for they had both been afraid that a Fae’s well-meaning gift might have ended up being a curse. The King got to his feet, ready to address the crowd with new bravado now that the danger had passed. Surely now there was nothing to fear.

‘Nothing’ let out a laugh edged with ice.

The grin on the King’s face froze, the laughter slicing through the brief moment of relief and cutting down to bone. But he did not speak, for he had not seen the intruder form out of thin air. Because no one had. No one noticed the silvery moonlight light being blocked by the figure emerging from its shadow, and nor did anyone realise the appearance of a well-dressed boy before the window.

What they did notice, however, was how every gaze of the Fae fell to the stranger. Then even the King’s eyes were upon them as well. The stranger’s purple eyes scanned the crowd, sweeping across the nobles and commonfolk before pausing at the cradle.

The King’s Guard began to reach for the hilt of their swords. Before the King could raise a hand to halt them, there were yelps and the suddenly frozen swords shattered into useless splinters.

Though the stranger was merely a boy, the King could not quite move.

“Your Majesty,” He spoke, and his voice was a quiet, earthy rumble that permeated the hall. “I see talk has not been exaggerated, much. She truly is beloved. Celebrated.” The stranger’s smile did not meet his eyes. “Quite a miracle, was she not?”

The King’s mouth went dry. And, suddenly, the King on the throne seemed quite powerless. “Guardian, I—”

“And miracles have costs, do they not?” A cost for reward, a price for folly. And the glint in the stranger’s eyes was akin to glare. Suddenly, the miracle baby was the focus of all within the hall, and the stranger— a Guardian?— was watching them with the patience of a predator.

“We did not mean to offend you,” The Queen pleaded. “We simply made— we simply forgot.”

Gasps rippled over the hall. Forgot? And the immediate stiffening of her mouth drawing her lips into a tight grimace might as well have been the nail in the coffin: the confirmation of a debt would be enough to fuel rumours of illegitimacy for weeks, and people had talked of far less. And in the tense quiet no one saw the Fae guests stiffen-flinch-sigh, for they felt the lie as clearly as the stranger did.

“I was so gracious to you, Your Majesties,” He mused. “Seventeen years without an heir? My, in another time that would have meant utter annihilation. And what did I ask in exchange for saving your bloodline from its end?”

“Don’t do this,” The King breathed. He was not so regal anymore, even up on his raised throne. There would have been disdain, if not for the overwhelming fear. And the stranger knew it coyly.

“Without my mercy, your reign would have become ruinous, would it not?” And the stranger’s eyes gleamed with an odd sort of amusement. “Come now, esteemed guests and lessers. Allow me to elucidate. Shall you make your own judgement?”

“Don’t.” But the King was absolutely helpless.

“Did none of you find it odd there was not a single heir for seventeen years of marriage? No, perhaps odder that after all that stagnancy, there was a miracle of life. Time was running out, was it not? And you sought a child. I was very fair with the price, no?”

She clambered to her feet. “You wanted our daughter—”

“Your daughter?” His voice was so very quiet. “Your daughter?” The air had turned freezing. What warmth was left was stolen away from the broths like gems picked out of the soil. “My, what an awkward situation. I assumed, even after all this offence, you would know to pay back your debts.”

A whoosh of wind blew out the candles.

“A child for a child. A life for a life. The Fair Folk are very fair, Foolish King. I will be fair. So tell me,” And his voice had grown deafeningly quieter. “How will you pay for your offence?”

There was a sharp pause as the people registered it: this was a Fae. Sharp breaths echoed throughout the space, some taking steps back but the King hesitated only a fraction of a second.

“Gold.” The words came as if drowned in the quiet. “Jewels, land, crowns—” He began to trip over his tongue. “Paintings, sculptures—”

“No.”

The single word broke up the King’s offers.

“No gold shines as bright as the smile of a happy child. No jewel could ever compare to the joy in a child’s eyes. I am unsatisfied.”

The Queen began to shift. “Kind sir,” She spoke with the tone of a plea, “It was our offence, we shall repay it for ourselves, the Kingdom had had no hand in this.” And the stranger began to laugh.

“Is that so? Are you the only souls in this hall celebrating the Princess?”

And the Queen faltered. “I—”

“Payment, then? Every Fae present has presented their own gift to the Princess. I think a curse for the offence is thus suitable, isn’t it so?”

And the Queen’s fair skin grew pale as the King’s eyes widened minutely.

“Good sir, kind sir—”

“A plague, perhaps? Maybe pestilence would break in the lesson well enough. Perhaps famine or flood? Or shall I turn you into a boar? A pig, to be carved up and served for dinner?”And he laughed a cruel laugh. “Or perhaps the Princess into a cow.”

At this the Queen had let out a cry of grief. It was this that the stranger’s gazes honed in on, though he did not miss the King’s clenched fist of the cloth of his clothes.

But then the stranger’s gaze flickered to the Fae, who were looking upon him with a sort of detachment. (The thrum of their gifts hummed, so faint compared to his power.)

The stranger pulled his gaze back. “No, I suppose not.” And there was a strangeness in his eye. A gleam, but made of a shadow. A darkness, but a swallowing one.

There was a lapse in the moonlight. It lasted for a second more. Two seconds. Three.

It was a lunar eclipse.

In the darkness, no one noticed the green emerge from the darkness swallowed purple pupils. No one could see the tendrils extend and lurch out of his back. The King and Queen could not see in the overwhelming darkness, but they could make out a shape of a shadow slowly moving to them— no, the cradle.

No, the Queen tried to choke out, but she couldn’t move from her throne. The King tried to give the command to the King’s Guard, but he couldn’t move a finger.

In the darkness, no one could see the harsh line of the stranger’s mouth soften. Momentarily there was an almost gentleness in the stranger’s eyes looking upon the Princess.6

“The Princess shall indeed grow to be all that the Fae have blessed her to be.” The voice rumbled quietly. “Beloved by all who meet her. But she will never grow older than seventeen.” There was a pause. There was still a gentleness in his eyes that could not be seen. “She shall leave you before she may ever inherit.”

There was a terrible silence. He touched her cheek, green sparks falling from his fingers.

He was long gone by the moonlight filtering back into the hall.

One by one, the crushing pressure loosened on the people and weeping began to fill the hall. The Fae watched on, silent, but with slightly bowed heads. The King seemed stuck, as if not quite grasping the reality or perhaps resisting it. The Queen got to her feet at once and stumbled to the Princess.

“Oh, my darling,” She murmured, fighting the sobbing in her throat. “My darling, my darling…” And against her will her voice began to break.

Then, abruptly, it seemed, gazes one by one turned to the Fae guests. It seemed it would be mere moments before some foolish— “Do something!” Some foolish noble (for only a fool would shout at a Fae) in the crowd cried out. “You are here to bless the Princess, are you not? What could be a greater gift than a lifted curse?”

The Faerie in armour slowly turned his gaze to them.

“We cannot undo the curse of a Ruler.”

And the other Fae dipped their head in silent assent.

The Feast would be concluded with an air so much more sombre than the morning’s. Still the girl in her cradle was quiet, having fallen asleep some time ago. The Kingdom’s beloved little Princess, now doomed to never come of age.

Most of the Fae thereafter vanished into thin air. However, perhaps the sight of the weeping Queen brought one or two Fae to pity, because not all were gone by the midnight bells. The Faerie in silver armour remained by the side, overstaying his welcome, but who dared to chase him away by bringing out the iron?

Long after the last guests were filling out, someone entered the hall. At once the Faerie in silver armour moved, and the two approached the wary King and Queen by the cradle. The Queen kept close to the Princess, as if ready to fling herself to her defence at a moment’s notice, and the King’s hand on his sword was not-to-slowly clenching into a fist.

But the two Fae were unperturbed; they paused a few paces away and did not reach the cradle.

The new Faerie appeared to be a small human child, or she would have had it not been for the blooms swallowing half her face.7 “I have not given my gift.”

The Queen, with her child still in her arms, could not speak. The King spoke first, his voice hoarse and weary, “What gift could you possibly offer now? After what has been done?”

The new Faerie did not flinch. She looked so much like a little girl. She was so small, so little, hardly a threat. Her head was barely above the armoured Faerie’s waist. The sight made the bleeding ache within the Queen’s heart marginally worse.

“Do not despair, Your Majesties. All is not lost.”

“Can you revoke the curse?” She pleaded.

“I am no Ruler,” She spoke softly. “But do not despair. I cannot say if they will agree to help, for I cannot speak for them. But neither does the Winter Ruler.”

“Can they lift the curse?” The King questioned, desperate.

“We only say that they might be willing to,” The armoured Faerie interjected. His face was still neutral, but there he broached the subject with the slightest gentleness. “The Summer Ruler will have the most power to help you. Summer counteracts Winter, after all.”

“He may refuse,” The new Faerie said softly. “If he does, go to Spring before Autumn. You will have a higher chance of saving your daughter’s life in the season of life. But if all else fails, seek from any season but Winter.”

“How do we ask them to help us?” The King’s voice trembled.

“Go to the Summer Court,” The armoured Faerie responded. “And present your case directly to the Summer Ruler.” He gazed upon the Queen. “It will be best for a mother to request his help, he is kinder to mothers. But whoever you send must be ready to make an offer on behalf of the Kingdom.”

The Queen clutched the babe tighter, her voice barely a whisper. "And, if we succeed, he will revoke the curse?”

The two Fae slowly turned to each other. Their gazes were utterly unreadable.

“It is possible. Though we have no authority to challenge the Winter Ruler, the Summer Ruler might be amenable to your pleas. But that all depends on what you offer in return.”

The weight of their words hung heavy in the air. The Queen took in a shaky breath.

“But what if he desires something beyond our means?” The King interjected, his brow furrowed with worry. “What if we cannot fulfill his request? It was a deal that ended us in this… altercation, in the first place.”

The armoured Faerie sighed. “Then you must be prepared to negotiate.”

The new Faerie simply shrugged. “I cannot preside over whatever deal you strike to save your child.”

The Queen carefully placed the Princess back in the cradle. “But you did have a gift for her, yes?” There was an intensity forming in her gaze, the almost-power of a Queen, as she searched the new Fae’s face for any sign of hope.

The new Faerie hesitated. “I do,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “My original gift was spirit. But the gift I have for the girl now, in light of all that has happened, is a chance. A chance for life beyond the curse.” The now sixth Faerie to bless the child tiptoed to the cradle and spoke the words softly, as if afraid they would break if she was too rough with them. “She shall hold the hope of the stars in her heart.”

“That’s a lovely gift.” The Queen’s heartache eased slightly at the Fae’s words. But then all at once they lifted themselves up and turned away.

“Now we must go,” The Faerie in armour murmured, and they were gone.

***

Humans who entered the Fae Realm were usually considered fair game, but when the Queen and her entourage arrived, no Fae deigned to lure them. Or perhaps little Fae, surely one or two thought of it before the weight of the Summer Ruler’s authority crushed any thought of dissent.

For the Queen was there for the Summer Ruler, and no Fae would be so foolish as to attempt to sway his prey away from his grasp. Most Fae, anyway.

The Queen was foolish. There was no way around it; anyone deigning to make a deal with the Fae would be foolish, especially one traversing into their realm for it. But the Queen was clever enough to not fail at the first step; with iron around her wrists, neck and ankles, she followed the path carefully with not a single step off it. Not to say her entire entourage obeyed, but they could not stop for one or two led astray.

They had more important things to worry about, because the Queen was a Queen, and as desperate as she was foolish. But she was also a mother, and it was her sent on the journey because of the advice of those two Fae: ‘It will be best for a mother to request his help. He is kinder to mothers.’ So, her it was. And so they tumbled through the Fae Realm with earnest desperation in their hearts with the Summer Ruler’s eyes on them from their first step in.

As the air grew warmer and warmer, they realised they’d found their way into Summer. And Summer had been waiting for them, because it seemed so very swift that they found themselves in the Summer Court.

There was a gleam of golden light, then: “Ah, Good Queen, what brings you to our Court?”

The Queen, who had come with the hope of hiding her true identity, had to swallow her discomfort and answer. “Good sir, I come looking for the Summer Ruler; whom I have a favour to ask of.”

The surrounding chittering Fae quietened.

The Summer Ruler laughed a clear laugh, and then all at once she realised who he must be when he replied, “Very well, Good Queen. Since you’ve come all this way, I’ll hear your request.”

All at once the Queen was relieved, then the tension of asking something of the Fae settled in her chest so quickly she deflated.

“Come, Good Queen.” And when the Summer Ruler, or Dream as the stories called him, reached out a hand, it was after only a moment's hesitation that she took it. A gleam of scintillating light; then they were gone.

***

“How long will they take?” The casual question was edged with nervous uncertainty. They had their hand resting awkwardly on the hilt of their sword, fidgeting with the slight leverage it gave them.

“Who knows. Could be here 'til sundown.” And did the sun in the Summer Court even set?

A Guard murmured, "Hope they hurry up. I’m getting chills.” His eyes were scanning what they could see of the horizon.

“Don’t say that. You’ll piss them off,” Someone hissed.

Some of the Royal Guard were on their feet, shifting awkwardly and exchanging glances with just enough effort put in to disguise worry. Some of the Royal Guard were resting on the sand, stretching their sore limbs and warily watching the sun above them. It shone like a dozen suns in one; like an otherworldly thing, as if a fire that could burn them up in a flash of light.

Cross was part of the latter group, but he paid no heed to the sun. He was toying his armband as much as the inflexible material allowed, but his mind was elsewhere. This was practically a suicide mission. Literally everyone (or most people, there would always be idiots) knew not to mess with the Fae. Usually it was the Fae messing with them.

Even if the Queen succeeded, they might still be left behind. She didn’t care for them, not so much as to demand their return.

Something cold settled in his stomach. So cold that it burned him from the inside out.

It was nothing personal, he knew.

It was so hot. Cross wiped the sweat off his forehead.

A laugh echoed from the side. He paused.

“My bad, my bad,” The guilty soldier murmured. “It’s not that funny, you’re just sweating a lot and— um, you’re soaking the sand.”

Cross blinked, and looked down. He was.

“Ah,” He said very eloquently, shifting away from the soaked sand with a slight burn in his cheeks.

“Wait, it’s fine!” They were very clearly trying to bite back a smile, and Cross shook his head, almost exasperated with himself. “Seriously, I feel bad now. It’s not that big of a deal,” They tried again.

“It’s very hot,” Cross murmured. “Sorry about it.”

“It’s fine, really.” And there was a glint in their eyes that betrayed their attempt to disguise the humour they found in it. “Really!”

They lapsed into a silence. The other Guard hovered there, quiet. Cross was conscious of his presence, but also didn’t really care, so he just sat there too.

“How long do you think they’ll take?” They prompted.

Cross glanced at them. “Hopefully not long. I’m soaking through my clothes here.”

They let out a laugh. “I can see that, uh, sorry, what was your name?”

A beat. He side-eyed them for a fraction of a second. Bemused, after a moment of silence, Cross replied, “Probably not wise to share names in the Fae Realm. But you can call me Cross.”

They looked at him sheepishly. “Then, uh, you can call me Blue.”

Cross hummed.

“Alright.”

***

Cross would never realise Blue was never a member of the King’s Guard.

***

The Queen did not panic upon being whisked away; she was well aware that most Rulers preferred to make their deals in private. So she eased the slight panic in her throat and spoke.

“I ask for your assistance, kind sir.” The Queen did not waste a second in her haste. “For my daughter has been cursed by another Fae, and the direst of fates has been imposed upon her by it.”

“Ahh. I understand,” Dream mused. “And what would you give for my help?”

The Queen, who had come to bargain, had a ready answer on her lips. “All the jewels in the Palace, good sir. No jewels could ever compare to the joy in a loved child's eyes.” For she truly wanted her daughter to be safe, and she could always source more jewels from the mines.

Dream smiled, tickled. “I agree, no jewel could ever match up to the joy of children. What else would you give?”

“All the gold in the Palace treasury,” The Queen answered, for they could always raise taxes on the Nobility to regain the lost gold. “For no gold shines as bright as the smile of a safe child.”

Dream laughed. “Indeed, Sweet Mother. But what else would you give?

At this, the Queen hesitated. She could think of no more that could be given without even direr consequence, and after a pause carefully asked, “Kind sir, what price would you ask of me?”

Dream chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll figure out an arrangement. Perhaps we should first discuss the feasibility of your ask. Tell me what curse has been put upon your daughter.”

“A terrible one, kind sir. A curse of death, cursing her to never pass her seventeenth birthday.”

It was at this that Dream laughed. But he mentioned nothing of it as he continued, “When was she cursed? At infancy, or after?”

“At her christening, kind sir.”

“Well,” Dream smiled. “Who was the one to curse her?”

The Queen hesitated.

“I— I believe it was the Winter Ruler, kind sir.”

“Oh, yes. Nightmare does seem the type. But I hear this is not the first deal your kin has made with the Fae.” His eyes were gleaming with the intensity of a thousand burning suns. “Is that not how you invoked his wrath?”

She froze.

“Well? Speak, Your Majesty.”

“It was my husband, not I.” She took in a heavy breath. “He made a deal with the Winter Ruler, yes, for a Life Flower. So that I would be able to conceive.’

“Ah, the Flower. Each one takes centuries to bloom, you know. I must admit, I was not too pleased that it was plucked before blossoming into an Apple, but what can you do?” His eyes twinkled. “So shall I keep prompting you? What was your end of the bargain?”

The Queen did not speak, for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, let out a breath, and only then did she confess. “There were to be two children. A son, and a daughter. The oldest would have been ours to keep, but the youngest would have been owed.”

“Oh? A fair price,” He mused. “I did not hear of any Prince. You did not want to give your daughter to him?”

“He did not survive.” The Queen had to bite back the anger. “The boy was dead before he left my womb. The exact wording of the deal afforded us the oldest, and my daughter had been the only child to live. Is she not the oldest? How can the only child be younger than any other? Show me the boy that’s supposedly where our claim lies. I know him better than anyone, I spent hours in agony as they removed him from me in bits and pieces. The oldest child is yours, and the youngest child is what is owed. Is it our fault there is no younger child to claim?”

Dream was entirely silent. The Queen was beginning to fear that she’d overstepped when he let out a clear laugh.

“Very well. But, sadly, you still have nothing to offer me, so we cannot make a fair deal. Why don’t I grant you a wish instead?”

The Queen blinked. “What?”

He smiled, amused. “Your argument has merit. I confess, it does please me to thwart Nightmare. I will grant you one wish. Use it wisely.”

She clamped her mouth shut. A wish?

“Is there really nothing we can offer you?”

“Depends.” And by his tone, he was teasing. “Are you willing to part with your True Name?”

“No.” It came so vehemently that it surprised even her. But Dream looked unbothered. “Could you… revoke the curse?”

At this, Dream frowned. “Why does everyone always assume Summer can negate Winter? We may be sides of the same coin, but we don’t cross each other out. Winter is all about death and despair and everything adjacent; Summer is— well, I won’t delve into it. But we aren’t life. That’s Spring’s domain.”

“So you can’t?”

“Revoke it?” He crossed his arms. “No, I can’t undo what has already been done. But there are other ways to prevent the dire fate of the curse.”

The Queen let out a breath, beside herself. “How?”

Dream smiled.

“I could curse her to die at sixteen, instead.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She stared at Dream, searching his face for some sign that he was jesting, any sign—

“But of course, that’s not the only option. I could also, say, turn her into a statue and revert her after. But I suppose you would not be pleased with that?”

“What?” She stared at him, incredulous. “Of course not!”

“So fussy. “ He tsked. “Then what would you have me do?”

Her voice trembled with fear. Or was it frustration? “Anything but that.”

Dream tilted his head slightly, considering her words. “You ask for mercy,” he mused. “But mercy takes many forms. A quick end, a long sleep. Being turned into a wolf, being crushed under the sun. This could all be mercy.”

“What can you do,” The Queen, who felt like she was going insane, said slowly. “To prevent her from dying at or before seventeen, without causing her harm?”

He frowned. “You humans are so fragile. What if she walks off a cliff, or drowns in a river? I’d have to watch her every hour of the day.”

“Can I wish for that?” She could barely process what he was saying. “For you to protect her?”

He reached out, and gently lifted her chin. “I would have to guard her constantly. Every step she’d take, every breath she’d draw, would be shadowed by me. She would need to grow up under my watch in the Summer Court, far from the Kingdom where Nightmare could snatch her up like a bird with the worm.”

Her hands fell to her side, limp.

“You won’t see your daughter grow up. Do you think you can live, truly live, under such a burden?"

The Queen faltered. The weight of choice was— crushing.

Dream stepped closer, his voice a soft whisper now, almost tender. "But if you truly wish it, I can make sure the curse does not so much as grace her dying breath."

She stared at him, torn. And she was not a Queen, but a mother when she begged, "And she’ll be unharmed? No suffering?”

Dream’s gaze was piercing, but not condemning.

“Yes.”

The Queen’s hands were clenched, her arms limp by her side. If this meant never seeing her daughter grow up, even if that would ensure her survival— her heart screamed at her to stop, but her head... her head whispered to her, however resignedly, that there was no other way.

“You will return her home, after?”

Dream looked at her, amused. But he nodded his assent.

“Then I wish it.” She felt so small, but she fought to keep her words steady. “I wish for you to protect her against the curse, and return her home after.”

Dream regarded her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slight bow of his head, he said, "So it shall be. I will help you. I swear it by the Sun of the Summer, by my Crown as its Ruler. But you must obey my instruction to protect your child to the letter. Do you understand?”

The Queen exhaled, the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escaping her in a shudder.

“What do I do?” she whispered, speaking more so to herself than to him.

He shrugged. “On the morning of the Summer Solstice, remove the iron in her walls so I may retrieve her. I shall return her to you after her seventeenth.”

Relief was coursing through her. Or was it fear? Had she made the right choice? It was too late to second-guess now. “Is that it?” For a moment the Queen forgot herself and let her surprise slip out. Dream merely laughed again. The Queen shrunk back.

“You may replace the iron thereafter, but do not forget what you owe, Fair Queen. Come; you may have safe passage out as a courtesy.”

Dream reached his hand out again, and the Queen took it in an instant. A gleam of light; then she found herself back where they had been just before entering the Fae Realm. Her entourage was there waiting for her, albeit rather nervously.

It was surprisingly kind for a Fae to return them. Indeed the Queen had already considered the possibility that she would lose members of her party to the Fae Realm, but that was nothing compared to her daughter’s safety. Besides, they knew the risk.

But since the Summer Ruler had returned them whole, it hardly mattered anyway.

But when she returned home and found her sleeping Princess in the cradle, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, the thought of missing so many years made her ill with grief. Perhaps she cried for more than one night. How could she bear it? To be absent for her daughter’s first steps, her first words, her laughter and tears— the Princess had taken seventeen years, and now another seventeen would be taken from them.

"Forgive me, my sweet girl." Her voice cracked, though her words were oh so quiet for she did not want to wake the child. "I did this to keep you safe. I will miss you every moment, but I will do what I must.” Her voice was tight, filled with the resolve that only a mother could summon in the face of such pain.

Whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means letting you go.

***

On the day of the Summer Solstice, the Palace was high strung with tension. The King had been sent away, for the danger that the Summer Ruler would pose to him (oddly enough, the Queen was of no concern; suppose she did not mean much to their court after all, but she knew that already, they were already planning to find a more fertile replacement before the Princess’ conception). The Princess’ servants were all sent away, and the Queen joined her daughter in her room to await Dream. The Princess had fallen asleep yet again, but the Queen did not have the heart to awake her.

All she did was press a soft kiss to her forehead. She did not wish to consider that it would be the last kiss from her for the longest time. Already the sorrow was achingly present— but she had to hold her resolve, or it would consume her whole. She closed her eyes, trying to memorize the feel of her child in her arms, and the sound of her gentle breathing.

When she opened them, the Queen briefly felt blinded by a gleam of sunlight. She rubbed the blurriness away, only to find the Summer Ruler sitting opposite her by the Princess’s side.

“So this is your daughter?” The Summer Ruler tilted his head. “She’s been blessed by a number of Fae.”

The Queen nodded stiffly.

“Ah, well.” His fingers dipped to the Princess’ forehead. The Princess, in her sleep, flinched slightly, but he made a soothing noise and she relaxed once more. “Let’s see here.”

His golden eyes began to glint. Carefully, he plucked the hairs away from her forehead and pressed ever so gently.

A quiet. His golden eyes began to gleam. The Queen hovered by his side, uneasy.

“Tell me, Fair Mother. What have you named your daughter?”

And the Queen stilled. Stiffened. “You may— you may call her Mira.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “ Mira? But that is not her true name, is it?”

“You do not have a claim to her true name.”

The Queen stilled, her heart pounding as if trying to escape her chest. "You may— you may call her Mira," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dream let out a quiet, almost amused laugh. "Mira? But that is not her true name, is it?"

"You do not have a claim to her true name," she replied, with more certainty than she felt. She knew the power of names, and they had already failed to protect her Princess once before. For a moment, fear gripped her—had she been too bold? But the Fae merely dismissed her words with a wave of his hand, oddly forgiving.

"Very well," he said, his tone light, as if amused by her defiance. "I shall make do."

And he laid his arms open: waiting, expectant. The Queen’s breath froze in her throat. It was time to hand her over.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the tiny, warm bundle. Mira stirred slightly in her sleep, but she went on snoring, her small eyes remaining blissfully shut. The Queen held her daughter close for a moment longer, pressing her to her chest, as if it could somehow delay the inevitable. But she knew she could not delay any longer. She was already pushing the Fae’s mercy.

With a shaky breath, she placed ‘Mira’ into Dream's outstretched arms. Just as his arms closed around the child— she let out a breath, the wind knocked out of her.

“Farewell, my little light.” And she could speak no more, or it would be a sob.

Dream cradled the infant with surprising gentleness. “Hello, little sunshine.” He gazed upon her with an expression quite unreadable, but then he glanced up to the Queen, and he said softly, “Fear not. I will keep her safe."

Then all at once he ripped his gaze away. The Queen, confused, met his eyes and flinched back because his gold eyes were burning. Dream’s form was melting away, the air turning a golden glow; the Queen let out a gasp, for his features were blurring into light burning so intensely her eyes were drying up.

She blinked, and both him and her daughter were gone. The Queen stood there, alone in the room. Without a Princess, without her daughter.

She stood there, numb.

The command would be given to seal the Princess’ rooms away, and the King and Queen spent a fortnight in solitude. Away from court, away from the people, as if they were in mourning.

Footnotes:

1. Blue! Starting off the Fae gifts with courage, we can always count on you :]

2. A Spring Fae!OC! Honestly iconic.

3. Alphys! Lovely to see ya, bud. Thought the inherent curiosity of any scientist would be fitting for both her and her gift!

4. Flowertale Sans:) fun fact, if you know Flowertale lore you would know that, uh, the flowers grow where they died the previous timeline... and, y'know, growing out from under his clothes... where his ribs are.... COUGH COUGH.

5. Lust <3 also don't take him to be lusting after the Princess pls the 'alluring hunger' is just how he speaks, pst pst along the lines of... charmspeak? he's just going internally 'pretty privilege is real and it's gonna be a sickass gift'

6. He’s thinking: eh, this technically isn’t her fault. I won’t curse her too badly. He curses her to die rather then, say, be turned into a beast, lose her mind, etc etc.

7. Flowertale Frisk :D a little late to the party but we'll take it!

[fandomsoda]

Hey anybody remember Faeverse? Because I do, here’s some more art of Fae!Ink //very, very minor blood warning

Faeverse is a project being done by me and @dinosaurzzz , a retelling of Underverse with a twist of xvials and fae folklore from many different myths. It’s still been brewing but we’ve had it around for a while and it’s about time I did some more stuff for it, this time a doodle sheet for the variation of Ink in this story. If you would like to learn more, please go to my personal project masterpost which is linked in my pinned and you will find more information in the links provided for this project. If you plan to make fan content, those posts are essential!

Either way, enjoy :3

[someverygaymoth]

CFK!AU Horrordust for the poll!! These idiots are so in love.

[mochavi]

Fae Au im working on ✨

[fairy-verse]

What would happen if a Big Folk and a fairy (normal or Firstborn?) fell in love?

For such a tragic yet ever-so-beautiful situation to occur, a child of the Big Folk must forgo their traditional ways of thinking and instead embrace the ways of the island so that their soul and heart can become fully enveloped by the tales of the wind and the songs of the trees. The love between someone of the Big Folk and a fairy is unlikely, but not entirely impossible, for the fairies hold such curiosity and amazement towards the Big Folk, no matter how frightening they may be, for they are such peculiar creatures to them, and many are so, so beautiful.

While the affection shared between a fairy and one of the Big Folk may be pure and good-intentioned, it is little they can do about the inevitable fallout that will (or could) steadily approach. Fairies live for so much longer than the Big Folk, and they cannot leave the island, nor can they solely reside within a household of the Big Folk. Should an agreement be made where they can live as close to nature as possible, then perhaps the relationship may flourish to become something strong and resilient, and who knows... Perhaps there are forces, such as the Firstborn themselves, that can give their aid in allowing one of the Big Folk to become one of them, in their own peculiar little ways.

After all, it has happened before, in the tale that whispers the words of the mother of the fae, who essentially gave birth to those half-human, half-fairy creatures that mostly reside at the edges of Ink’s domain, close to the sea. The mother of the fae may not have been loved in the traditional sense of the word, but she was dearly beloved by the firstborn of spring, and he was not about to release the soul who had sought him out in a desperate attempt to have children of her own. No, he kept her, hidden among the trees in a cottage built by her own hands. There, she still lives, though whether she is one of the Big Folk anymore remains to be seen.

[hampterfae]

New Fae OC for utmv au?? 👀