#faery parade

[hellospriggan]

Spriggan Parade postcards are in my shop! 🌱🏳️🎺🥁🍃

[faenyxconstellations]

Faery Parade

21,6x18,8 cm

Watercolor and pencil on paper

2023

[faeriedoodles]

This guy keeps asking me to join a marching band. Not sure why.

[luciesartblog]

Gilbert Baker (June 2, 1951 - March 31, 2017) was a gay American artist, designer and activist, best known as the primary creator of the rainbow flag. In 1972 Baker was living in Chicago as an openly gay man, he was taught to sew by a fellow activist, Mary Dunn, using these skills to create banners for gay-rights and anti-war protest marches. It was also during this time that he met and became friends with Harvey Milk, an influential gay leader, who challenged Baker to create a new symbol of pride for the gay community.

The first rainbow flags were produced by a team that included Baker, seamster James McNamara and artist Lynn Segerblom. Segerblom, who was then known as Faerie Argyle Rainbow, reports to have created the original dyeing process for the flags. Thirty volunteers hand-dyed and stitched the first two flags for the parade. These original flags flew at the San Francisco Gay Freedom Day Parade celebration on June 25, 1978.

Though many variations have emerged in the decades since, the original design had eight stripes, with a specific meaning assigned to each of the colours: Hot pink for “sex”, red for “life”, orange for “healing”, yellow for “sunlight”, green for “nature”, turquoise for “magic” (though sometimes given as “art”?), indigo for “serenity” and violet for “spirit”.

I’m a little late for pride month, but I got all this done a lot quicker than I expected considering I only started working on it at the beginning of June (though I’ve been planning it on and off for a few years now😅). I did a lot of research and planning for each piece, and there was a lot I wanted to communicate with the project as a whole - it’s been a lot of work, and I challenged myself with a bunch of stuff I’m not familiar with, but I’m really happy with how everything turned out.

Happy pride, everyone, here’s to our community, to all the work that got us here, and to all the progress still to come! 🏳️‍🌈✨🏳️‍⚧️

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part IV — (Azriel x Reader)

Hey! Here’s Part IIII to this! Thank you for being lovely about it. 💕

Warnings: None for this part!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Your fingers danced across the piano keys with a mind entirely of their own.

Sheet music sat before you, but you didn’t need to glance at it. This was pure muscle memory. Your favourite piece, memorised note by note. Playing it always felt like breathing for the first time. 

Arrival of the Bluebird, it was called. You couldn’t help smiling as you played. 

The notes climbed and fell in their flawless way, always like the calming ebb and flow of a tide. You soaked it in, your eyes closed, your skin prickling at the music caressing you—

A soft rustle sounded behind you. A rude awakening.

Two thoughts struck you at that moment.

The first — that you’d never played for anyone but yourself. To have a spectator felt like parading naked through the village.

And the second — that said spectator was, bizarrely, of the same ilk that you had been raised to detest.

A shadow moved in your periphery, and your fingers fell still, the music coming to an abrupt stop.

The creature — Azriel — loomed at your side, his gaze intent on where your hands had sat.

“Beautiful.” He murmured softly. “You play so flawlessly.”

It seemed so, so strange, so wrong, to sit and chat casually with a creature of such bloodshed. Like the tune had washed over you and made you truly aware of the situation. Of the action you’d taken.

You’d let him into your home.

You’d helped him when he’d been more or less incapacitated. When you probably had the advantage to strike and make a killing blow. To rid the world of one of its demons. 

And now you were playing music for him. Had he…had he enchanted you, somehow? Some faerie magic, perhaps, that put you at such ease? That made you forget who you were alone in a building with?

Your body was taut as a bowstring as you slowly swivelled on the stool to face him. And his beauty struck you speechless again.

He offered you a smile. One that was small and reserved, and yet held such devastating charm. You quickly forced your eyes away.

“Who taught you to play?” He asked softly.

Your hands twisted around each other as you answered, “I taught myself.”

“Entirely by yourself?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Some people can’t reach such skill even with honed, esteemed pianists to master them. It must be in your blood.”

You’d always thought so. The piano had been here your entire life — your fingers had inched towards it for as long as you could remember.

“I’m told my mother used to play.” You said. That sore spot in your heart stung at the mere mention of the parent you’d never known. “The piano used to be out in the bar area. My father told me that she used to play every night, and people would flock to the inn just to listen.”

There was a heavy, unmissable pause. You were sure you noticed Azriel’s shoulders stiffening out of the corner of your eye.

“Used to?” He asked quietly. “Is she…is she no longer alive?”

You turned your gaze on him, sure it appeared as blazing as you felt. “I never knew her. She was murdered. By your kind.”

“By my kind?”

“By a group of High Fae.”

Another pause. Azriel’s head dipped a fraction, his eyes lowering to the ground. 

“That’s awful.” His voice was soft. Unbearably gentle. “I’m truly sorry that you suffered such a loss. However…I’m not High Fae.”

The declaration was enough for you to narrow your gaze on him. He certainly looked High Fae; you were sure there wasn’t a human in the world who carried such flawless beauty, nor the preternatural stillness that only a honed, immortal being could master. 

Azriel smiled wryly, like he knew you were searching for some physical evidence of what he’d said. He turned his head to the side, his fingers moving up to brush the shell of his ear.

A very rounded ear. No pointed tip. 

“I hail from a warrior-race of the fae called Illyrians.” He explained. “We’re fae, but…certainly not High Fae.”

You stared at him. 

At those rounded ears. The scarred fingers. 

As if not being High Fae somehow erased all that had been done.

It didn’t.  

You shrugged rather brusquely. “Makes no difference to me. Aren’t all fae the same, with a history steeped in violence? I hate violence.”

“…Blood has been spilled on both sides of the Wall—”

“I hate it.” You cut him off. “Too many people resort to violence needlessly. I see it every single night working in this place. And for fragile humans like ourselves, all it can take is one strike to finish a person off. I wish people — human and Fae — thought more before deciding violence as their route. Perhaps if they did, I wouldn’t have grown up without a mother.”

It was the most you’d said to Azriel in one breath. And you waited for his defensiveness, for him to tell you your thoughts were somehow wrong.

But he simply stared at you, an unreadable expression on his face. And his response wasn’t what you anticipated.

“You’re not wrong.” His voice was like wrapping yourself in silk. “I’m sorry you’ve seen such violence. I’m glad you have music to escape to, at least.” 

You stared back at him, your thoughts emptying for a moment. You willed yourself not to be intimidated by the beauty; by the deadliness of it. He could probably snuff out your life without anyone hearing so much as a squeak from you—

“Are you going to kill me now?” You blurted, rather pathetically.

Azriel’s steeled face twitched just slightly; the only reaction to your question.

It surprised you as he retreated a step. Put more distance between you. 

“Why are you so convinced that I want to kill you?” He asked quietly.

“Am I supposed to believe it a coincidence that a Fae male begins appearing in these parts at the same time that the girls in this village are being murdered?”

His brow furrowed. “Girls are being murdered?”

“Yes. The Village Guards have found them brutally slain, and then you appear. If I’m to be next, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t leave me to be found by my father in that condition.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in this village, and I’m not going to kill you.”

His words should have reassured you. But you honed in on the sentence. Saw it for what it was.

He hadn’t killed anyone in this village.

But he’d killed elsewhere. 

Bile rose up in your throat as you stared at him. And as he studied your fearful expression, he sighed. Looked away.

“What I told you was true. I was passing by, and I heard your music, and I wanted to hear more. But I don’t wish to frighten you.” He retreated another step. “Perhaps I should go—”

He was cut off by a thump so abrupt, it had you jumping out of your skin. Azriel quickly looked up.

Another thump, followed by a third.

“It’s the door.” You quickly stood, brushing yourself down. “I should answer.”

He pressed himself against the wall as you brushed past him, hurrying through to unlock the front door. You pulled it open a fraction, narrowing your eyes at the darkened figure on your doorstep.

Kiall. He looked…wired. Stimulated. But he didn’t stink of booze, for once.

“I’m sorry about the music.” You said before he could speak. “I didn’t realise how late it had got—”

“I’m not here about your little piano.” The older, scruffy male looked around feverishly. “I shot one down. A Fae. That fucking winged bastard from the alley. Got him right through those wings. He was flying above the village and I got him.”

You swallowed. Pulled the door a little closer to you. If Kiall — or anyone — knew that you had a Fae in your home, you’d be done for. Probably killed right alongside him. 

Unless, of course, you gave him up. Disabled him somehow and turned him over to the Village Guards. Perhaps those ash arrows, still lying in the puddle of his blood, could still be of some use—

“Where is the Fae now?” You blurted, blocking Kiall’s minuscule glimpse into your home. “Have the Guards dealt with him?”

“No.” Kiall sneered. “He got away someplace. Probably bleeding out somewhere nearby. I wanted to know if you’d seen or heard anything.”

This was your chance.

Kiall could help you.

Azriel had regained most of his strength, but he’d been caught unaware once already. Surely the two of you could deal with him. 

And then you’d never have to worry about him hanging around here again. Watching you. Watching and—

And listening to your music.

If he was to be believed…that was all he’d lingered for.

You didn’t really know why you did it. It probably made you an utter fool. But you swallowed and schooled your expression, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t see or hear anything.” You lied. “Like I said — I was playing music.”

Kiall studied you for a moment. And you wondered if, perhaps, the untruth lay blatantly on your face, in your eyes. The Bluebird Inn — your family business and home — was the hub of this little community. Everybody knew you. Everybody knew that you were the daughter of the Fae-hating innkeeper, and the woman who had been murdered by their kind. That you were raised to hate them just as fiercely.

To have one right here, in these very walls…to have helped him, and to now protect him…

You had utterly, utterly lost your mind. But you let none of that show.

“If I see or hear anything suspicious, I’ll report it right away.” You said.

Kiall eyeballed you again. “You do that, Y/N.”

“I will. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Be sure to lock your doors. Don’t want to end up like those other village girls.”

A shiver ran down your back. But you nodded. “I will.” You repeated. “Thank you.”

Kiall had always been a strange person. His reputation for being a drunk was known from one end of the village to the other. But being the one who served him most of those drinks, you saw something more. An ever-present, crazed look in his eye, like he was always on alert, always ready — and happy — to attack. Many of the brawls in the tavern had been started by him over nothing.

That crazed look stayed trained on you, now, as he slowly backed away from your front door. And when a good distance was between you, you pushed it firmly shut. Locked and deadbolted it. Released a long, deep breath.

You slumped against the door, blinking forward.

You’d lied. You’d actually lied. All those years of your father telling you what to do if you came face-to-face with a Fae, and what had you done? Played him music.

And then protected him from the wrath of other villagers.

Maybe you were the crazed one. Maybe—

Soft footsteps thudded against the floor. You looked up as Azriel slowly approached, keeping a great distance away. He studied you unsurely; you had no doubt that he’d heard every word. That he knew what you’d done.

“Are you alright?” His voice was so gentle, so quiet; something you knew no human voice could ever master. 

Are you alright? When was the last time anyone had asked you that?—

You knew precisely when. When Azriel had stepped in and protected you from Kiall’s drunken ranting in the alley.

You stared up at him — those hazel eyes — and wondered why. Why he seemed to care. 

And why it made you feel good.

“I’m alright.” You eventually answered, pushing to your feet. “You should…probably go, though.”

He dipped his chin. “Thank you — for what you did just then. And for pulling those arrows out. And for sharing your beautiful music.”

Your beautiful music. The words almost knocked you breathless.

To hear someone appreciate it so freely—

That, you told yourself, was why you asked, “Will you come back and listen again?”

You could have sworn Azriel’s lips twitched. “I’d certainly like to.”

Insane. This entire thing was insane. You with a Fae in your house, engaging in pleasant conversation. You more or less inviting him back.

But you couldn’t stop yourself. 

You dipped your head, staring at the floor. “Will it be safe? Flying, I mean — with the injuries. And with Kiall still snooping around.”

“I have enough strength to get home without flying, now.” Azriel nodded. “I’ll be alright. And what of you?”

“What of me?”

“Will you be alright?”

Yes? No? You weren’t sure. Possibly not. You weren’t entirely convinced that you wouldn’t collapse under the entire, bizarre weight of the night’s events. You were in need of a stiff drink yourself.

But you nodded, all the same. “I’ll be alright.”

A moment passed of nothing. No sound, no movement. Neither of you took a step forward or back. 

But then Azriel inclined his head. “Goodnight, then. Sleep well.” 

“You—”

Before your very eyes — before you could complete your sentence — he disappeared into thin air. You blinked at the space that he’d vacated. And at the words you knew you were about to speak.

You sleep well, too.

Well-wishes to a Fae. You almost laughed at yourself. 

But as you stepped past the spot in which Azriel had stood, you paused at the scent that lingered. And inhaled.

A scent like…like fresh, undisturbed snow. Frosty nights and cedarwood. 

It was calming. Soothing. You felt it wash over you, like a blanket of security. 

You stood there for a moment longer, and then made your way into the bar area to clean up. And fix yourself that drink.

And you found yourself continuously glancing out of the window. Wondering if Azriel truly would come back.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel didn’t consider the fact that he looked a little worse for wear.

That blood still stained his wings, his clothes, his skin.

That his hair made him appear like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. That he looked as though he could use at least three weeks’ worth of sleep.

Honed spymaster, indeed.

He traipsed into Rhysand’s office. The High Lord immediately sat up in his chair, relief filling his eyes.

“Don’t go quiet on me like that, asshole.” He admonished. “I couldn’t reach you.”

“Sorry.” Az winced slightly as he lowered himself into his chair; the wings were still a little sore. “Took a couple of ash arrows to the wings.”

Rhys stared back at him. “So it’s true, then. The humans are trying to rise up against us.”

“A whole group of them are travelling from village to village, spreading the word of their cause and trying to rally forces. They’re serious about this.”

Rhys slumped back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why now, though?”

Slowly, Azriel shook his head. “I think they’re using a whole number of reasons to justify it to themselves. They’re incensed about the land we have, the lives we live…a bunch of things. But…there have been attacks in one village. A few women have been slain. I think the Village Guards are spreading the word that they’re Fae attacks.”

“And do you believe them to be?”

“Not sure. I’d have to investigate it further.”

Rhys firmly shook his head. “I don’t want you going near those villages again for the time being. Not if they’ve got ash arrows in their arsenal.”

Azriel sat up. Tried not to wince. “The bastard had no more than two—”

“I’m not risking anything until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. We wait to see what move they make next; it could all just be talk, and I’m not risking you for some human gossip. I want you here, alerting the other courts that we may have an issue on our hands. Understood?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Yes, he understood. He understood his High Lord’s order perfectly well, but he didn’t have to like it. He wanted to go back to the village, ash arrows or no ash arrows. He wanted to hear the music again, to talk to Y/N again—

“Understood, Azriel?” Rhysand repeated.

“Yes.” The shadowsinger gritted out. “Understood.” 

“Good.” Just like that, Rhys was shucking off his title; sitting back and becoming a brother again. His face softened. “Go get some rest. You need it.”

Azriel stood without a word, dragging his feet from the room. 

He wouldn’t disobey Rhys’s orders.

But Cauldron fucking boil him, something nagged at him to do exactly that.

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Weeks passed. And there was no dark, passing figure in the skies. No booming clap of wings.

And your disappointment at Azriel’s absence frightened you far more than his presence ever had.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･

azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @emturtles @lostpirateinwonderland @kammsinn

[astrababyy]

i think the thing that frustrates me the most about feyre's character post-acotar — hell, even post-acomaf — is that she stops being a character past that point in the series. acomaf, i can still see elements of feyre's original character, but i think acowar and beyond (especially acofas and acosf) is where her character devolves completely into something virtually unrecognizable. and this, in my opinion, is because once she and rhysand become established in their relationship, her entire characterization starts to revolve around him.

prior to acomaf/acowar, feyre has a personality independent of the relationships she has with other people. her characterization has its flaws, as the first book is flawed as a whole, but she's generally a decently-crafted character. feyre is an interesting character because, in the first portion of the book, we learn that she's a jaded, clever huntress who is willing to kill to survive and make painful decisions for the good of herself and her family. she's bitter, resentful, and miserable, and the crux of her life revolves around survival.

but then we learn new things. feyre loves painting, and if she had a choice, she'd marry off her sisters and live peacefully with her father, spending her days painting anything her heart could desire. she's capable and an able killer, but her dreams and wants are for a peaceful life. these desires are expanded upon later in the book when we learn that, if given the option, feyre wouldn't kill. she's jaded and can come off as someone who'd be a stereotypical "girlboss," badass killer. but in reality, feyre doesn't like bloodshed. she doesn't like killing, and if she had it her way, she'd never kill another living thing again.

this is interesting. acotar!feyre is actually a very interesting and dynamic character when compared to who she becomes in later books. she has an internal conflict that affects every aspect of who she is, and it is this conflict that is so deeply tied to what she's forced to do in the climax of the story: either kill innocent faeries or watch as the love of her life dies before her very eyes. this final trial is so painful because it's been established that, in a peaceful environment, a killer is not someone feyre wants to be, and a killer is instead what she's forced to become.

then, of course, acomaf happens and yada, yada, yada. she's still a relatively interesting character on her own, if (arguably) ooc, but has an independent characterization regardless. it's after this book where things take a turn for the worse.

in acowar, feyre is no longer the character who protects the "little guy" and would give up petty jewels to make sure a faerie can eat. she's no longer the character who acts based on her morals and inherent humanity, rather than faerie logic. instead, she's the character who destabilizes an entire court on the brink of war, uncaring of the consequences to the people of spring. in acofas, she's buying another goddamn house while people in velaris and beyond are struggling to make ends' meet following the war that she and rhys dragged them into. in acosf, she's doing the same fucking thing to nesta that destroyed and traumatized her a few books previous, and she's become the glorified housewife to rhysand. she's having his kid when she's not even 25 yet. she's being paraded around like some prized horse. she's sitting around, painting and decorating houses, while rhys does all the actual politicking. she's exactly what she feared she'd become in acomaf, and there's no consequence whatsoever.

this is not the feyre of acotar. this feyre is the faceless, empty love interest to the real main character: rhysand. she's a reflection of him. that's why she went from the woman who feels uncomfortable wearing fancy jewels to the woman who'd spend her newfound millions on frivolous lingerie rather than do anything meaningful with her position as high lady. that's why she went from the character who had respect and a new understanding of nesta in book 1, to the character that'd do such horrendous things to her in acosf. that's why she stands around and lets rhys and amren bully and degrade nesta. she's not a character anymore. she's just rhysand's mate.

[theostrophywife]

mariposa.

i just need a quick fix, i ain't gonna miss this we've already crossed that line before, i won't get addicted tell me lies girl say it softly, you'll be sayin take it off me

author's note: you guys know how much i adore lucien. i'm absolutely unwell just thinking about our overprotective, feisty fox boy. there's also a surprise guest appearance that i think ya'll will appreciate 😏 song inspiration: lacrimosa by matt kent.

The rhythmic pounding of hollow drums echoed throughout the spring manor, its seductive beat beckoning you to come outside and join in on the festivities. Your gaze flickered to the shimmering lock placed on your bedroom door as Tamlin’s warning echoed in the dark and empty bedchamber. 

Stay in your room.

You huffed, crossing your arms. Who the hell was he to tell you what to do? Tamlin may be the High Lord of the Spring Court, but it didn’t grant him the right to forbid you from attending Calanmai. Especially not after you spent the whole day being paraded around the countless lords seeking your hand in marriage only to then be tucked away when your presence was no longer convenient.

No, that simply wouldn’t do. 

With a wicked grin, you pulled a rhinestone pin out of your hair and knelt in front of the door. You whispered an incantation and the pin glowed brightly as you rattled it against the lock. With a flick of your wrist, the door propped open. You peered out into the hallway and confirmed that the coast was clear before carefully creeping through the quiet house. 

The spring manor was empty for the night. There wasn’t a single servant present to stop you from making your way downstairs. They were all probably at Calanmai already, dancing and drinking and doing all the things that Tamlin had barred you from doing. He already had the Great Rite to worry about, your brother had said. The High Lord didn’t need his troublesome little sister getting in the way of his duties. 

You would make him regret it. 

The thought put a spring in your step as you strolled through the gardens, taking in the balmy evening and the cool spring breeze. First thing was first, you needed to conceal your identity if you hoped to avoid being spotted by your brother or any of his cronies. With a wisp of magic, conjured an intricate golden mask, its ornate swirls and whorls fanning out into deep yellows and oranges as white spots dotted the edges of the black borders and veins. The accessory matched your copper dress perfectly. As you placed the mask over your eyes, the wings flickered and mimicked the graceful movements of a monarch butterfly.

Donning a satisfied smile, you crossed the clearing that would lead you to the festivities. Your skirts whispered against the earth as you winnowed atop the hill at the edge of the manor. Down below, you watched as High Fae and faeries alike danced around the fires lighting up the lush landscape. 

The savage beat of the drums summoned you across the grassy knoll and you gladly surrendered to its call. Smoke curled through the air and enveloped you in its intoxicating haze as you reached the heart of the crowd. Someone grabbed you by the waist, dragging you into the throng of dancing bodies circling the large bonfire burning at the center of the field. 

There was something magnetic about the movements, a ritual awakening deep within your bones as magic unfurled its golden glow through your entire being. You tipped your head back and laughed, twirling in dizzying circles as you changed partners again and again. One of them—a handsome dryad—handed you a goblet filled with a golden, sparkling liquid. 

The drink was unlike anything you’ve ever tasted before. You could feel the edges of your vision blurring, every thought and worry ebbing and flowing through your mind, and your surroundings turned fuzzy as though someone had placed a lace veil over your eyes. The carefree feeling it brought was delicious and addicting so you drained the drink down to its last drop, greedily licking the sparkling remnants off your lips. 

The dryad you were currently dancing with twirled you across the field and you clumsily stumbled across the soft grass before a pair of strong arms steadied you. 

You looked up to thank the stranger, but the words died in your throat as soon as you beheld the male standing before you. He was the embodiment of sensuality and seduction with raven hair as dark as night and golden brown skin gleaming against the backdrop of the burning bonfire, the flames mimicking the intricate tattoos peeking out above his perfectly fitted tunic. Fine clothing adorned his body, its deep ebony color matching the shimmer of darkness that seemed to waft through his shoulders like the night sky. 

But it was his eyes—those deep violet eyes that shimmered with amusement that seemed to set off your internal alarm. Danger lurked behind that amethyst gaze.

“Be careful, little butterfly.” A voice as smooth as velvet drawled. “We wouldn’t want you flying away now, do we?” 

With feline grace, the male placed one hand on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder as he swept you across the crowd. This dance wasn’t like the wild, jovial traditional dance of the Spring Court. It was smooth and steady, every twist and turn performed with calculated precision. A lethal waltz with an equally lethal partner. 

The stranger spun you around and the silks of your skirts hugged his dark trousers as he reeled you back into his arms. 

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” the handsome male purred. “Where has the High Lord been hiding a treasure like yourself, my lady?” 

You swallowed thickly. The music and laughter echoed all around you, but they sounded slow and distorted as though your mind had been dipped in a jar of honey. Faces blurred in your periphery and dragged across the forefront of your consciousness like molasses, there and gone with the blink of an eye. It took a considerable amount of effort to bring your focus back to the stranger.

“I’m new to the Spring Court.” 

It wasn’t technically a lie, given that you’d only just made your formal debut a week ago. The stranger raised a brow, but if he had any qualms regarding your statement, he didn’t voice them. 

“Allow me to extend the warmest of welcomes, then.” He took a gloved hand and pressed his lips against your knuckles, mischief sparkling in those star kissed eyes. “My name is Rhysand.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rhysand,” you said with a shy smile. “I’m—”

“Spoken for,” said a voice from behind you. 

A figure emerged from the trees, tall and lean and all too familiar. A flash of scarlet glimmered in the night as Lucien came into view. 

Of all people, it had to be your brother’s best friend catching you sneaking out of the manor and dancing with the most beautiful male you’ve ever laid eyes on. Still, there was the matter of the stupid little prattling of your heart as you turned to face the handsome red headed male.

Despite the increasing effects of that damned faerie wine, the sight of Lucien never failed to take your breath away. 

As befitting an emissary, he was dressed in fine clothing of a deep, rich green that accentuated the crimson locks flowing behind his back. Intricate braids crowned his head as soft tendrils kissed the planes of his elegant face. His sparkling amber and golden mechanical eye affixed on you. A heated spark flashed through his gaze, but it was gone before you could decipher its meaning. 

You’ve fancied Lucien for as long as you could remember. At first, it had been a harmless little thing. You were so young when you first met and he’d always had that older, mysterious allure made even more enticing by the fact that Lucien was forbidden fruit. He was Tamlin’s best friend and constant companion and you were the younger sister with an innocent crush.

But now that you were both fully grown, the tension between you and Lucien was anything but.

“Calanmai is for invited guests only,” Lucien said sharply, his shoulders tensing. "And the last time I checked, you weren't on the list."

A lazy smile tugged on Rhysand’s lips. “Now, now, Lucien. Is that any way for an emissary to address a High Lord?” That violet gaze winked down at you. “Especially not in the presence of a beautiful maiden.”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “The lady is spoken for.”

Now that was interesting. Lucien could’ve easily identified you as Tamlin’s sister, but he chose not to. Perhaps he didn’t want word of your escape to reach your brother.

“Stunning creatures, butterflies.” Rhysand said with a knowing smile, reaching out to caress your mask. Lucien bristled, but the High Lord of the Night Court only smirked seductively. “Though I’ve found that they tend to get restless if not properly stimulated.” 

Lucien angled himself between you and the handsome stranger. “My lady has had enough excitement for one night.” 

You frowned, glaring at your friend’s back. You wanted to dance and laugh and drink until dawn. You wanted to feel the wind in your hair and the music in your chest, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your body and making you relaxed and pliant, but as Lucien pinned his gaze on you, the fear and concern swimming in his eyes kept you from speaking.

“It’s time to escort you back to the manor,” Lucien announced with finality. He spoke into the smoky night, not once looking at you. An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it as your friend's fists clenched at his side.

Violet eyes met your own as Rhysand dipped into a bow. He kissed your hand once more, making you blush fiercely. “Until we meet again, little butterfly.”

You watched as the male sauntered away, but not before winking back at you with a sultry grin. 

Without a word, Lucien grabbed your wrist and winnowed into thin air. The sudden transition was jarring and you barely had time to gather your wits before you were being ushered through the doors of the manor. The black and white chequered marble floors blurred beneath your feet as you and Lucien passed through like a furious wind, his deep auburn hair nearly whipping against your cheek as he stomped up the sweeping staircase. 

He didn’t look back once. Didn’t speak as he threw the door open and watched you walk through the threshold. Alone in your bedchambers, Lucien whirled around with barely contained rage coloring his handsome face. 

“Are you fucking insane?” The Autumn Court male finally spoke as you plopped down on the bed, the aftereffects of all the dancing and drinking weighing heavy on your body. “Do you know how utterly idiotic it was to venture out alone? On Calanmai, of all nights! You’re lucky that it was me who found you and not Tamlin.”

“And dancing with Rhysand—Rhysand of all fucking people!”

“At least he bothered to talk to me!” you yelled, voice hoarse and strained. “All you and Tamlin ever do is lock me in here like I’m some child that needs to be constantly coddled.” 

“Could you blame us?” he said harshly. “One night on your own and you managed to attract the attention of the most dangerous male in all of Prythian. Rhysand may have flashed you pretty smiles and flowery words, but it doesn’t change the beast that lurks within. He is the High Lord of the Night Court. He could have ripped your mind apart without lifting a single finger.”

You blanched at the realization. “I—I didn’t know.”

“That’s precisely the point,” your friend snapped. “You jump into things headfirst without any regard for your safety.” Lucien released a shaky breath, his hand trembling as he raked his fingers through his hair. “If anything happened to you…”

The worry dancing in his eyes momentarily sobered you. Enough for you to take his hand and squeeze in reassurance. “I’m fine, Lucien. Rhysand didn’t do anything to me. We just danced, that’s all.”

His grip tightened around your wrist. “He made you smile. Made you laugh. And he called you little butterfly,” Lucien said the last word softly, but it laid heavy between you. 

“It was because of the mask—”

A burning fire raged within Lucien. “I don’t give a damn why. He doesn’t have the right.” He titled your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Only I get to call you that, mariposa.”

You whimpered at the gruffness of his voice. Mariposa was Lucien's nickname for you and he usually said it with soft fondness, but the there was nothing gentle about the way he was wielding it now.

There was a part of you that knew Lucien was angry. His words echoed, but they didn’t fully register and were instead swallowed up by the haze clouding your mind. The only thing you could focus on was how badly the room was spinning and how your internal temperature seemed to spike higher and higher as Lucien pulled back to pace in front of the crackling hearth.

Heat blossomed in your core and snaked its fiery tendrils throughout your body, making you feel flushed and overheated. Your skin felt too hot and your dress too suffocating as you crumpled into a nearby chair. You hadn’t even noticed that your hands were shaking until you haphazardly wiped the sweat off of your brow. 

“Y/N?” Lucien’s voice sounded hollow and distant even though he was kneeling right beside you. You blinked, murmuring softly as he took your face in his hands. Gone was the wrath and fury from earlier, replaced now by worry and concern. “You’re burning up.”

His mechanical eye focused on the golden flecks covering your mouth. Lucien cursed lowly as he wiped his thumb across your bottom lip. The action made you shiver and you involuntarily leaned into his touch, his warmth, his scent. It felt good, so good, to have him touching you. 

“Did the High Lord give you anything to drink?” Lucien tilted your chin and you groaned, lashes fluttering against your cheek as his rough, calloused hands brushed against your skin. “Think, Y/N. I need you to answer me, sweetheart.”

You blinked, recalling the goblet of wine. “No, no, it wasn’t Rhys. It was another male. A dryad. Your fingers brushed against the flecks on your mouth and you furrowed your brows in confusion at Lucien’s deep frown. “He gave me some wine. It was gold and sweet.”

“That bloody bastard.” Your friend’s tone was sharp and biting, anger rippling through him in waves. 

“Why?” you asked as spots blurred your vision. “I feel fuzzy and warm and it’s so godsdamned stuffy in this room. What’s happening to me, Lucien?”

“You drank Amortis,” Lucien explained. 

The mention of the potion sent a course of panic through you, but it was swallowed up again by the flame of desire burning hotter and hotter underneath your friend’s intense gaze. Somewhere in the abscesses of your brain, you knew that this was bad. 

Amortis was an aphrodisiac used as an aid during the mating rituals of Calanmai. You vaguely recalled learning about it during your lessons about the Great Rite, but you’d been too drunk on faerie wine and music for the significance of the drink to register.

“The dryad must have slipped it into your wine when you weren’t looking.” His expression darkened, a snarl rippling through his chest. “I’m going to rip him apart bit by bit. Tamlin can have what’s left.”

His eyes widened. “Oh gods, I have to tell Tam.”

You shook your head and tugged at his wrist. “No,” you pleaded. If Tamlin heard about any of this, he’d never let you out of his sight again. “Please don’t tell my brother, Lu.” 

Lucien softened at your given nickname for him. Try as he might, the Autumn Court male couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for you. Having known you your entire life, he was just as protective over you as Tamlin was. Growing up with brothers, he hadn’t been prepared for the antics and schemes that you always seemed to get yourself into. You were trouble personified and you had him completely wrapped around your finger. 

Always have, always will.  

So he sighed in defeat. 

“Fine,” Lucien conceded. “But we have to do something. You’re burning up.” 

“A shower,” you suggested. “I need a cold shower.”

Your friend helped you onto your feet and escorted you into the large bathroom attached to your bedchambers. The marble tiled shower hissed and groaned as Lucien eased the handles. Mist fogged up the mirror and you leaned against the countertop, wriggling out of your shoes. 

The effects of the potion reached its peak and took full control of your body. Every sensation felt intensified as you doubled over in pain. You nearly ripped the dress off of your body, leaving you in nothing but your lace underclothes as you stepped into the cold shower. 

Curled up into a fetal position, you hugged your knees to your chest and allowed the freezing water to cool your body temperature. Lucien knelt down beside you and wrapped an arm against your shoulder, stroking your hair and murmuring words of comfort. 

The warmth of the Autumn Court male enveloped you in cinnamon and sunshine. Whether it was the Amortis or your natural attraction to Lucien, you found yourself leaning in closer and nuzzling into his neck. His grip on your shoulder tightened as your lips brushed against his skin. 

“Y/N.” 

A fiery tendril curled around your finger as you looked up and met Lucien’s gaze. Water fell in rapid droplets, soaking through his white shirt and clinging onto his golden-brown skin. You traced the scar above his brow and his eyes fluttered close in response. Lucien’s ragged breathing filled the room as you traced the elegant planes of his face, your thumb brushing against his lips. They looked so lush and inviting, you wanted nothing more than to lean in and take a bite. 

You tilted your chin up, nuzzling your nose against his. An inch closer and his lips would be on yours. Lucien's lashes kissed your cheek as his eyes fluttered open. Meeting his burning gaze was like looking directly at the sun.

“I want to kiss you,” you whispered. 

A flash of something dark and dangerous glimmered in Lucien’s hypnotic stare before he clamped down on your wrist. For a second, you could see the conflict raging within him. He wanted this as much as you did. All he needed to do was give in. The shower above you hissed and Lucien blinked, snapping out of whatever moment the two of you had been in the midst of.

He pulled away, clearing his throat. “It’s just the effects of Amortis.” 

“Amortis lowers your inhibitions,” you countered. “But it doesn’t alter your desires, which means I’d want to kiss you even if I were sober.”

Lucien gently removed your hand from his face and set it on your lap. “Maybe so,” he mused before reaching up to turn the shower handle. “But I’m not going to kiss you tonight. Not like this.”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Why? Because I’m Tamlin’s pesky little sister who’s had an embarrassing crush on you for centuries?” 

The redhead pinned you against the tiled wall, his stare burning holes into your skin. “Because I care about you. Because the first time I kiss you won’t be because you accidentally consumed an aphrodisiac.” He braced his palms on either side of your head and you swallowed at how much he towered over you, how easily he caged you in. “When I finally kiss you, mariposa, it won’t just be a kiss. It’ll be everything and there’ll be no going back from it. So I need you to be sure.” 

A shiver crawled up your spine. “I am sure,” you said softly. “I’ve always been sure about you, Lucien.”

He smiled. A devastating sort of smile that sent sunlight into the cracks of your soul. “Then tell me in the morning, little butterfly.”

Dawn broke over the horizon as golden rays speared through the bruised sky. Someone had left the curtains in your bedchambers spread apart. Probably you. Or maybe it was Lucien. 

Lucien. 

Memories from the night before flooded your thoughts. After your embarrassing confession, Lucien had helped you get dressed and carried you to bed. You shot up in the large four poster bed, rustling the pillows and blankets that he’d carefully tucked you into. A glimpse of red snagged your attention and you found your friend sprawled across a velvet lounge chair, his long legs hanging over the edge. 

The sound of your shuffling roused the red haired male from sleep. He pitched forward, alarm spreading through his face when he found you staring at him. Lucien crossed the room in two strides and knelt beside your bed. He scanned your features, gently cradling your chin between his fingers. 

“I’m fine, Lu.” 

Relief washed over your friend. There was something endearing about the way he fretted over you. 

“Never scare me like that again,” Lucien said. 

You grinned. “I think that’s the last time I ever drink Amortis. Though I can’t promise to stay out of trouble.”

Lucien sighed deeply, running a hand through his fiery locks. “I’m serious, Y/N. In all of my immortal existence, I’ve never felt terror like I did when I saw you dancing with Rhysand.”

“Is the High Lord truly that horrifying?” 

“I wasn’t scared of him,” Lucien said. There was no bravado in the statement, just pure honesty as he fixed his gaze on you. “I was scared for him. Of what I wanted to do to him for simply breathing the same air as you.”

You swallowed thickly. “What you said last night…what I said last night. I meant it, Lucien.” 

Lucien went still as death, his mechanical eye whirring to life as he scanned over you. Checking for any traces of Amortis. Confirming that you weren’t still under its spell. Your heart pounded in your chest as you caressed his cheek. 

“I’m not under any spell,” you whispered softly. “What I feel, it’s real. I wanted to kiss you last night and I still want to kiss you this morning. I’m sure, Lucien.” 

His slender fingers curled gently around your wrist, his breathing low and ragged as he brought his gaze up to you. There was something primal and possessive in those eyes. 

“I won’t insult you by attempting to describe how I feel about you in words,” he declared, his voice like honeyed wine ebbing through your very core. “I’ll just show you instead.”

Lucien’s slender fingers curled through your unbound hair, tilting your head at just the right angle before he gently pressed his lips against yours. The kiss ignited a fire within your core. It was soft and sweet yet demanding and possessive. You could tell that Lucien was barely restraining himself by the way his breath hitched as your lips met. 

You melted into his touch as he brought you closer, setting you on his lap as he leaned against the headboard. Centuries of curiosity was satisfied as you raked your fingers through his hair, the feel of it smooth and silky like you’d always imagined. Shy pecks turned into lingering heated kisses as you explored one another. Lucien groaned when you shifted your hips, greedily leaning down to taste more of him. 

He tugged you by the top of your thighs, placing you chest to chest. The sunlight streaming in from the window crowned him in glorious day, his auburn hair shining brightly like a living flame as though Lucien was the embodiment of fire itself. There was a wildness in him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. 

Lucien stroked your cheek tenderly as though he were convincing himself that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination. His features softened as you took his hand and kissed his fingertips. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed. “You put the flowers in this court to shame with the way you bloom.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, filling you with a wave of emotions. It was a rare occasion for you to be rendered speechless, but Lucien was more than capable of stunning you into complete silence. 

You pressed your lips against his in response, the kiss turning urgent as you poured all of the words you weren’t able to articulate into one single action. Lucien groaned as you gently tugged on his bottom lip. He teased his tongue past the seam of your lips and you gladly obliged, welcoming him in. 

There was no trace of his restraint from earlier as Lucien flipped you over, pinning you underneath him as he completely devoured you. It was in that moment that you realized that you’ve never been properly kissed. Because this…this paled in comparison to every other kiss you’ve ever had. 

It nearly knocked the breath out of you. From the way that Lucien’s chest was rising and falling, you weren’t the only one. As the kiss deepened, the desire to feel him, to truly feel him, became overwhelming. You tugged on the hem of his shirt and Lucien pulled away to allow you to pull it off of him. 

He toyed with the straps of the nightgown that he had helped you change into a few hours ago, a question in his expression. You merely nodded and shrugged out of the silky material. Lucien watched as you laid yourself bare before him, his fingers brushing against your delicate skin. 

You tugged at the front of his trousers and he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist. “Are you sure?” 

“I told you, Lucien.” You said, meeting his burning gaze. “I’ve always been sure about you. I want this. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” he whispered. “More than anyone has ever wanted anything in this entire realm.” 

“So take me.”

Lucien didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed you again but this time it was desperate and full of need. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every line and curve with devotion. Lucien kissed every surface of skin as though he were committing your body to memory. His fingers dipped low as he parted your legs, groaning when he found you wet and ready for him. 

You watched as he lined himself up at your entrance. Every move was filled with tenderness. Lucien teased the tip in, his gaze never leaving yours while he eased his cock inside of you. His length stretched you beyond your limit, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Once he filled you to the hilt, he paused. 

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, brushing a stray strand of red hair from his cheek. “Never better.”

Your friend smiled before slowly pulling out, monitoring your reactions as he established a steady pace. By no means were you inexperienced, but as Lucien rolled his hips into yours, it felt like you’d been starved of touch your whole life. He seemed to echo the sentiment as awe and bewilderment took over his features. 

It had never felt like this with anyone else. 

The way he touched you was full of devotion as though your body was a temple and he was making his burnt offerings upon the altar. Lucien lavished you with worship, his large hands easing your leg up so he could angle himself deeper. You moaned as he brushed against a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Gods, Lucien.”

His forehead dropped to yours, eyes blazing with fire. You didn’t have to say the words. Lucien knew exactly what you meant. “I know,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “I know, sweetheart.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he buried his face into the crook of your shoulder, his breathing ragged. His muscles tensed underneath your fingertips as you raked your nails across his back. Lucien growled into your mouth as you dragged him down beside you, flipping positions so that you were perched on his lap. 

His skin glistened in the early morning light, beads of sweat glimmering like crystals along his perfectly sculpted torso. You braced your hands on his chest and rode him slowly, moving your hips back and forth while he watched through heavy lids. A large hand clamped down on your right hip hard enough to bruise, but you kept the steady rhythm as the male underneath you groaned. 

From this angle, the friction on your clit combined with Lucien’s upward thrusts unraveled that familiar feeling in your core. Lucien felt you clench around him and he sat upright, sucking harshly at your neck. 

“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he whispered gently. You closed your eyes, giving into the rush of sensations. “That’s it. I want to watch you come undone.”

The impact made your vision blur with white heat. For a split second, you felt as though you were floating above your body, watching as you writhed in pleasure. Lucien’s voice brought you back and you relished the way your name tumbled so prettily from his mouth, like the prayer of a devoted believer. He roared as he finished, his head lolling against the crook of your neck. 

At some point, his braids had come undone and you giggled as crimson locks tickled your cheek. Lucien lifted his head, observing you with a soft smile. Behind him, the sun reached its peak over the horizon and formed a golden crown upon his head. 

You propped an elbow up against your pillow, a small smile spreading across your lips as you admired the male beside you. 

Lucien grinned back, brushing his nose against your cheek. “What are you thinking about, mariposa?”

“I’m thinking that I should endanger myself more often if this is what it leads to.”

The redhead frowned, flicking your nose. “You do seem to have a special talent for attracting trouble.” 

You shrugged lazily. “I attract a lot of things. Including stubborn, possessive redheads.”

Lucien chuckled before pulling you into his chest. His arm snaked around your waist as he nuzzled against the back of your neck. 

“Falling for you is by far the most reckless thing I’ve ever done,” he whispered softly. You turned slightly, worry marking your features. Lucien smoothed the creases on your forehead. “But I don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

You sighed in relief, melting back into his arms. Comfortable silence stretched between you as the reality of what you’d just done settled. Lucien was right. There was no going back from this. 

The spring manor came to life, voices filtering in and out as everyone started preparing for the day. You turned to fully face him, speaking the words that you were both thinking. 

“What are we gonna tell my brother, Lu?”

Lucien brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “We’ll tell him the truth. That this was inevitable. That nothing in this realm could’ve kept me away from you.”

“Are you sure about this?” Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. “About me?” 

“I am sure,” he said with a smile. “I’ve always been sure about you.”

As he echoed your words from last night, you leaned in to kiss him. You were part thrilled, part terrified of whatever came next. 

But as long as Lucien was by your side, you were ready to face the dawn of a new day.

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[loonybun]

hi thinking of circus whump rn and gonna make it your problem

- one of those classic sword box tricks, but it’s very much real. I think with an immortal whumpee that would be pretty neat.

- sad clown whumpee breaking down mid-performance, sobbing to the audience and letting go of years of anguish… Only to be quickly interrupted with a quick punchline from another clown! The audience, none the wiser, roars with laughter.

- a caged inhuman/supernatural whumpee being awed at as they’re paraded through the tent. get a whole freak show while you’re at it!

- a very poorly trained acrobat whumpee being forced to walk a high tightrope. without a net, obviously.

- a whumper as a ringmaster, showing clear favoritism towards the better performing acts of the night and giving them special privileges like decent food.

- saw this one comment under a song that suggested a faerie circus (as in faeries putting humans in a circus) and it has not and will never leave my brain. the POTENTIAL.

- bleeding out backstage. there’s no medical care in sight. you’d expect a circus to have better health insurance.

- a whumpee or caretaker looking after or finding comfort in the animals in the circus. just trying to provide them with more care than they were given.

- evil clowns! if you like evil clowns, why not use em? clown whumpers clown whumpers clown whumpers…..

if you write anything using these please tag me i will go nuts.

[shigure]

thoughts on "writing oberon"

i don't think oberon is compelled to lie about everything intrinsically. if you ask him coffee or tea he can pick one. if you ask him what color the sky is he can tell you blue. if you ask him who won the superbowl, he's not googling it just to make sure he gets it wrong.

vocabulary for this post

vortigern: abyssal worm that destroys and loathes

faerie king: who he pretends to be

oberon: both/neither, just the fastest way to refer to the unit as a thinking being/practical reality

the nature of his lies comes from his existence as a walking contradiction. the faerie king is perfectly suited to faerie britain on the surface - he's friendly and silly and popular, and he enjoys playing pranks and entertaining people. he's never experienced any major loss like murian has, and he's as loyal to his wife as aurora is to melusine. the fairie king as presented by shakespeare doesn't have anything substantial going on between his ears. || the destroyer of faerie britain has always been disgusted by every part of it. he's keenly aware of how it was made; he's the will of britain trying to kill itself rather than limping along as this colossal parody propped up by moronic culture thieves. and just like the place itself, he's being paraded about as some kind of clown - hell, a cheater to boot. he's a walking insult to his own dignity, and he will only feel peace when it's all been blown to pieces.

this of course creates his cynicism. his experiences on the surface befriending the welsh forest faeries allowed him to feel real love for parts of this place, which heightened his disgust for all of it. surely he lamented in an irreconcilable way when barghest, the monster he created, [destroyed part of britain] and killed the friends he had made. and as his perspective becomes more disjointed in a way that can be understood, it all becomes even shakier when you add in that the faerie king is inherently unreliable, frankly just insubstantial - because any strong emotions the faerie king expresses are written to be ploys and no more, the being that is oberon-vortigern cannot voice sadness or anger, lest they be taken for the faerie king's crocodile tears. forget feeling responsible and conflicted, he can't even grieve because his strongest emotions are labelled tricks as soon as he shows them.

-

beyond that, it's really important to remember that oberon is an actor. he describes "the faerie king" as a character many times (titania too!), but you and he are not side characters - he calls the two of you spectators, i.e. not actively serving as characters at all. when he is participating, he plays a role. when he is with you, even though he as a person is still tricking you, he's not going out of his way to act like a silly faerie king and entertain you. it might be easier to understand this if you think about what he was pretending to be for you: a PHH faerie fitting in as a lostworld faerie. he's undercover, and even though the guy you talk to is still a faerie king, he's here with a more serious mission that differs from his public face.

him being an actor is crucial for how he was summoned in the first place. vortigern is a writhing mass of hatred for what britain has become. it can't love britain. it can't belong in britain. things that don't belong in faerie britain, like holmes and nemo, are weakened there. if it's going to enter britain, it needs a body that won't hate britain. it will hire itself as an actor to play "the faerie king," and read its lines dutifully. this isn't something vortigern manifested before doing and decided upon, it's something that had to happen as a premise of the summoning itself, to allow vortigern to manifest at all. for the duration of oberon's existence, from summoning til nonexistence, he is there as an actor. that includes while he's being vortigern. look at vortigern's sprite: do you see where his bug feet and bug hand connect to his body? not clearly, no! hell, his legs actually black out so we can't see whether the pants cover insect legs or turn into props. they appear to be melded to his clothes, but those aren't gloves and shoes. they're connected to his body, but they're something as removable as an actor's prosthetic.

all that is to say, [vortigern] [is an actor playing] [oberon] is a statement without removable parts. all that can happen is shifting the order into [oberon] [is an actor playing] [vortigern]. and just like the faerie king's love for the welsh forest faeries was just lines read off a script by vortigern, vortigern's vitriolic disgust for those same faeries is just lines read off a script by oberon. if the "actor" part was optional, vortigern's body would be a hell of a lot more fucked up.

-

i've previously likened oberon to an experience i have when i'm discussing something i dearly love with people who also love it, but i mention something i really hate about it. for me, this happens because i get nervous, but i end up panicking and trying to reassure my friends that i really do like the thing in question. so, i end up walking away feeling dissatisfied: i either didn't properly convey my unhappiness with That One Thing, or i did a disservice in expressing how much i love the overall product. when this happens, i feel i haven't done justice to myself.

i don't think oberon has self confidence issues (though obviously he does hate himself), so he's not going through it the way i am. but it's also true that when he's talking about things that really count, nothing he says can do justice to the multifaceted emotions he has about things. furthermore, the automatic devaluing of his most emphatic statements that comes from him being the faerie king is incredibly disheartening.

his options are either be noncommittal and insubstantial, or be sarcastic and dismissive. he's black and white in one, but not grey, instead a checkerboard. he's the ultimate "and" statement. to force an opinion out of him is to pin him to one side, but since the other side isn't less true, whatever he says becomes false. if you use a command spell to make him only speak the whole truth, he will fall silent.

i think that as you spend more time with him, a lot can be better conveyed without words. i think that if you make it clear you understand and believe the part of him that despises you, you can experience the equal part of him that is impressed by and maybe even grateful to you. i don't think it's impossible to understand him, and someone who understands him and still wants him is something he considers an unattainable dream.

[clockworkbee]

1989 tv as Jude x Cardan’s version

♪ Slut! ♪

Cardan Got lovestruck, went straight to my head,

Jude, Cardan thought, hating even the shape of her name. Jude. —how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories: the prince of elfhame is mildly inconvenienced

Jude Got lovesick, all over my bed / Love to think you'll never forget.

Back in bed, I push aside the curtain and let the sunlight spill in, brighter than any lamp. I take the folded-up paper from behind my pillow. Smoothing it out, I see Cardan’s furious, arrogant handwriting scrawled over the page, taking up all available space. In some places, he pressed the nib so angrily that the paper tore. Her brows knit together. Jude, it reads, each hateful rendering of my name like a punch to the gut. —the cruel prince, chapter 14

Cardan Lovelorn and nobody knows, Jude Love thorns all over this rose.

I flattered myself that at moments you had feelings for me other than contempt, but even were that true, they would be but watered wine beside the feast of your other, greater desires. —the queen of nothing exclusive editions: Cardan’s letters to Jude

You love him, too, I think. You’ve loved him since before you were a prisoner of the Undersea. You loved him when you agreed to marry him. Once this is over, I will find the bravery to tell him. —the queen of nothing, chapter 22

Jude But if I'm all dressed up, Cardan They might as well be looking at us.

This mortal was a girl, dressed in gloves and a long gown that appeared like the sky at night. She was of medium height, with hair the ted-brown of a willow tree. She had soft features and the solid grace of someone used living in her body. An acrobat, perhaps. Or a soldier. The tail faerie boy who held her in his arms had a mess of black hair. His cheeks were painted in silver, his eyes edged in black kohl, and he looked drunk, his crown askew. The girl was glaring at him, and Kaye wondered how they wound up dancing together. Then she noticed the way he was looking at her. But that made things even more puzzling. —a visit to the impossible lands, the cruel prince bonus story

Jude And if they call me a slut, You know it might be worth it for once

“Is this really what you wanted? Him?” —the wicked king, chapter 7

But we all know what you lost.” “Locke?” I laugh. “Good riddance.” Her brows knit together. “Surely it’s not the High King himself you were gazing at.” —the wicked king, chapter 8

I’m there to whisper my counsel in his ear, as any seneschal might. The difference is that he must listen to me. And if he whispers back a few horrific insults, well, at least he’s forced to whisper. —the wicked king, chapter 1

Cardan And if I'm gonna be drunk, Might as well be drunk in love.

“Yes, my sweet villain, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can.” And with that, he kisses me on the mouth. I feel a cacophony of things at once. I am furious with him, furious and resigned that he is a failure as High King, corrupt and fanciful and as weak as Orlagh could have hoped. Then there is the public nature of the kiss, parading this before the Court is shocking, too. He’s never been willing to seem to want me in public. Perhaps he can take it back, but in this moment, it is known. But there is also a weakness in me, because I dreamed of him kissing me for all my time in the Undersea, and now with his mouth on mine, I want to sink my nails into his back. His tongue brushes my lower lip, the taste heady and familiar. Wraithberry. He’s not drunk; he’s been poisoned. —the wicked king, chapter 27

Jude Send the code, he's waiting there, The sticks and stones they throw froze mid-air

I realize what’s happening a moment too late. A note told the Court of an assassination attempt, and the Bomb went looking for an assassin. She found someone hiding in the shadows with a weapon. Someone who had every reason to want to kill the king: me. // I feel a guard’s hand close on my arm. Then Cardan’s voice comes. “Do not touch her.” A terrible silence follows. I wait for him to pronounce judgment on me. Whatever he commands will be done. His power is absolute. I don’t even have the strength to fight back “Whatever can you mean?” Randalin says. “She’s—” “She is my wife,” Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. “The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile.” The shocked roar of the crowd rolls around me, but none of them are more shocked than I am. —the queen of nothing, chapter 16

Cardan The wrong place at the right time

I keep thinking of the steady way he looked at me when we were both naked, before he pulled on his shirt and fastened those elegant cuffs. We should have called truce, he’d said, brushing back his ink-black hair impatiently. We should have called truce long before this. But neither of us called it, not then, not after. Jude, he’d said, running a hand up my calf, are you afraid of me? I clear my throat, forcing the memories away. “I command you not to allow yourself to be alone from tonight’s sundown to tomorrow’s sunup.” He draws back, as though bitten. He no longer expects me to deliver orders in this high-handed way, as though I don’t trust him. The High King of Elfhame makes a shallow bow. “Your wish—no, strike that. Your command is my command,” he says. I cannot look at him as he goes out. I am a coward. —the wicked king, chapter 21

“I hate you. You sent me into exile. Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.” The sheathed knife slides easily to my hand. “Of course it was a trick—” he begins, then sees the weapon and bites off whatever he was about to say. —the queen of nothing, chapter 7

“It’s you I love,” he says. “I spent much of my life guarding my heart. I guarded it so well that I could behave as though I didn’t have one at all. Even now, it is a shabby, worm-eaten, and scabrous thing. But it is yours.” He walks to the door to the royal chambers, as though to end the conversation. “You probably guessed as much,” he says. “But just in case you didn’t.” He opens the door to prevent me from responding. Abruptly, we are no longer alone. Fand and the rest of our guard stand ready in the hall, with the Living Council waiting impatiently beside them. —the queen of nothing, chapter 22

Jude And I break down, then he's pullin' me in, Cardan In a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

I am on the High King’s enormous bed, bleeding on his majestically appointed coverlets. Everything hurts. There’s a hot, raw pain in my belly, and my head is pounding. Cardan stands over me. His jacket is thrown on a nearby chair, the velvet soaked through with some dark substance. His white sleeves are rolled up, and he’s washing my hands with a wet cloth. Getting the blood off them. —the queen of nothing, chapter 17

He’s every bit as terrifying as any serpent. I don’t care. I run into his arms. —the queen of nothing, chapter 26

Cardan’s fingers dig into my back. He’s trembling, and whether it is from ebbing magic or horror, I am not sure. But he holds me as though I am the only solid thing in the world. —the queen of nothing, chapter 27

Jude This is luxury / You're not saying you're in love with me / But you're going to.

I let go of him and remain standing. I promised myself I would do this, if I ever had the chance again. I promised I would do this the first moment I could. “I love you,” I say, the words coming out in an unintelligible rush. Cardan looks taken aback. Or possibly I spoke so fast he’s not even sure what I said. —the queen of nothing, chapter 27

Cardan and Jude: Half awake, Taking your chance, It's a big mistake, I said it might blow up in your pretty face, I'm not saying do it anyway, But you're going to.

“Hear my judgment,” Cardan says, authority ringing in his voice. “I hereafter exile Jude Duarte to the mortal world until such time as she is pardoned by the crown. Until then, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life.” I gasp. “But you can’t do that!” He looks at me for a long moment, but his gaze is mild, as though he’s expecting me to be fine with exile. As though I am nothing more than one of his petitioners. As though I am nothing at all. “Of course I can,” he replies. “But I’m the Queen of Faerie,” I shout, and for a moment, there is silence. Then everyone around me begins to laugh. I can feel my cheeks heat. Tears of frustration and fury prick my eyes as, a beat too late, Cardan laughs with them. At that moment, knights clap their hands on my wrists. Sir Rannoch pulls me down from the horse. For a mad moment I consider fighting him as though two dozen knights aren’t around us. “Deny it then,” I yell. “Deny me!” He cannot, of course, so he does not. Our eyes meet, and the odd smile on his face is clearly meant for me. —the wicked king, chapter 30

“I need something from you,” I tell Severin. He makes his bow. “Of course, my queen. Whatever is mine is yours.” // You already know how to end the curse. “I do love you,” I whisper. “I will always love you.” I tuck the golden bridle into my belt. Two paths are before me, but only one leads to victory. But I don’t want to win like this. Perhaps I will never live without fear, perhaps power will slip from my grasp, perhaps the pain of losing him will hurt more than I can bear. And yet, if I love him, there’s only one choice. —the queen of nothing, chapters 25 // 26

Jurdan And if I'm gonna be drunk / Might as well be drunk in love.

“I knew little else, but I always knew you.” And when he kisses me, I feel as though I can finally breathe again. —the queen of nothing, chapter 27

more 1989/tfota posts on #1989 tv as jude and cardan’s version tag

[thecreaturecodex]

May I ask what reference materials you have at your disposal?

This list includes only books about monsters that I own and have used for the Codex at some point. It does not include books I've gotten from libraries (I have access to an excellent university library and one of the best public library systems in the country), nor does it include RPG books or books about science and nature. We'd be here all day, and this list already took like 90 minutes to collate.

A Field Guide to the Little People—Arrowsmiths and Moore Barlowe’s Guide to Extraterrestrials; Barlowe’s Guide to Fantasy—Barlowe The Dictionary of Demons—Belanger Monsters in Print—Benedict Ghosts Monsters and Demons of India—Bhairav and Khonna The Mwindo Epic—Biebuyck and Mateene, ed. The Beast of Boggy Creek; Momo—Blackburn Bigfoot: Life and Times of a Legend—Buhs The Hidden—Christopher and Austin The Unexplained!—Clark Ghostland; The Unidentified—Dickey Prehistoric Monster Mash; Dinosaur Memories II—Debus After Man; The New Dinosaurs; Man After Man—Dixon Mysterious Creatures: A Guide to Cryptozoology—Eberhart Welsh Monsters and Mythical Beasts—Ellis The Book of Yokai; Pandemonium and Parade—Foster Encounters With Flying Humanoids—Gerhard The Leprechaun’s Kingdom—Haining Meeting With Monsters—Hlioberg and Aegisson Dragons—Hogarth and Cleary Monster Atlas Volume 1—Hyland and Kay The Field Guide to Extraterrestrials—Hyughe Bestiarium Greenlandica—Kreutzmann Evil in Our Midst—Jones The Natural History of Unicorns—Lavers Legends of the Fire Spirits—Lebling Travels to the Otherworld and Fantastic Realms—Lecouteaux and Lecouteaux Cowboys and Saurians 1 and 2—Lemay Medieval Monsters—Lindquist and Mittman The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures—Matthews and Matthews The Night Parade of 100 Demons; The Hour of Meeting Evil Spirits; The Book of the Hakutaku; The Fox’s Wedding—Meyer Hunting Monsters—Naish Cryptozoologicon Volume 1—Naish, Koseman and Conway Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology—Newton The United States of Cryptids—Ocker Chasing American Monsters—Ofutt Iberian Monsters—Prado The Creatures of Philippine Mythology—Ramos A Wizard’s Bestiary—Ravenheart Giants, Monsters and Dragons; Spirits, Faeries, Leprechauns and Goblins—Rose The Encyclopedia of Monsters—Rovin Bad UFOs—Schaeffer JaPandemonium Illustrated—Sekien, translated by Yoda and Alt Dragons: A Natural History; A Manifestation of Monsters; The Beasts that Hide from Man; Flying Toads and Snakes with Wings; Extraordinary Animals Revisited; Mirabilis; A Menagerie of Marvels; The UneXplained—Shuker Dangerous Spirits—Smallman Myths and Legends of the Australian Aboriginies—Smith Monsters of the Gevaudan—Smith A Chinese Bestiary—Strassberg Mummies Cannibals and Vampires—Sugg The Ashgate Encyclopedia of Literary and Cinematic Monsters—Weinstock, ed. Mythical Creatures of the USA and Canada—Wyman The World of Kong—Weta Workshop Mystery Animals of China—Xu

Appearing on this list does not necessarily constitute a recommendation. Carol Rose's books, for example, has a lot of gaps and are responsible for a number of myths and misconceptions that have circulated around the internet. And A Wizard's Bestiary by Oberon Zell-Ravenheart is more worthwhile as a curiosity than as reference material.

There are a lot of internet sources, of course, but I'm linking my top choices. If you're not already aware of A Book of Creatures and Yokai.com, you need to be.

[innytoes]

make more dark fantasy AU. please. pretty please. sugar please. there are children crying. Its me im children crying

I mean same, anon.

-Caleb just being completely obsessed with the jazz beat Alex showed him. He's pretty sure that's why it took so 'long' for the fairy to turn on him, he loved jazz.

-Alex was supposed to learn the drums to play in a nice, wholesome, Christian marching band and do the military drum beats for the army parades and scouts stuff but he learned the Fun Cool Music on the sly.

-The first several years Alex was in the fairy realm, he and Willie never exchanged a word. Like, when he was still having a good time, he'd spot Willie from across the room and think he was pretty, but he was always whisked away by a fairy who wanted to dance with him or Caleb who wanted him to play drums.

-Once he realises he made a big mistake, and it's too late to run, and his feet keep moving without his permission, his face in a smile that isn't his own, that's when he and Willie finally make contact. Every time he's nearing his breaking point and thinking he's going to go insane, Willie is there, whisking him out of someone else's arms, feeding him honey cakes, dancing with him to a song he hums in Alex' ear, slow and sweet and not at all what the music around them is, and he's practically holding Alex' body up, letting him rest.

-It's not until Caleb and the faeries disappear on some kind of hunt, who knows how long after, and he finally has control over his own limbs again, that Willie speaks. And then it's only a "come with me" as he leads Alex away, gently holding on to his fingers. And what is Alex going to do, not follow?

-They end up in some kind of room with a bed made out of moss. One of the musicians he saw was also there, already asleep, and oh god, there's more humans here? Willie just urged him into the bed and gently tucks him in and curls around him, and he's not sure how long they sleep but when he's woken up it's frantic and the boy with the lute - Luke, he introduces himself hastily - is dragging him up and away because its best not to keep Caleb waiting and he shouted he wanted music.

-Over the months, years, decades, he can't tell, he slowly learns more about who Luke and Willie are. Other humans come and go, and Alex sees just what can happen to the ones who do not stay on the fae's good side.

-Let's just say Caleb does Not like disco.

-Willie gets away with a lot more than the other humans can. And some of the lower ranking fairies seem to be almost afraid of him. Alex can never figure out quite how Caleb sees him though. Sometimes he acts like Willie is his child - usually when he wants affection or admiration - sometimes like Willie is a pet, and sometimes, the worst times, he takes his anger out on Willie in a way that is sometimes subtle, sometimes overt, and always terrifying.

-Once they live with the Molinas, Reggie is just dying to introduce the guys to things like Pizza and Poptarts and poprocks.

-The boys have very fucked up sleep schedules. Sometimes they don't sleep for days. Sometimes, worryingly, they do. Sometimes they sleep for 12 hours, raid the fridge, and go nap for another four.

-Willie biting into a pear and realising pears and pixie pears taste VERY different: excuse me but what the fuck is this?

He makes Reggie taste it and Reggie is like: yeah sorry buddy that's just what pears taste like here.

-On the other hand, pineapple is a new and exciting thing. For Luke, too, honestly.

-Carlos introduces him to Pixie Stix which have nothing to do with actual pixies but are Really Good and if you have 15 of them you have So Much Energy!!!!

-Willie being a Disney Princess. He can talk to birds. He makes friends with neighbourhood cats. Ray has a long conversation about how animal friends are outdoor friends after he came downstairs to find Willie on the sofa petting a raccoon in his lap and sharing a carrot with it.

-Look, Ray isn't saying now that he knows his kids have some kind of fairy changeling lineage that he's noticing things but... sometimes they are weirdly lucky, just like Rose was.

-And he's never had a green thumb... Rose's plant wall in the studio was close to death, until Carlos started going into the studio again. And they didn't truly perk up until Julie started playing music there again.

(Or maybe that's because Ray stopped overwatering the plants after Willie talked to him.)

-Reggie knows that he's not the only one with nightmares and trauma, okay, he knows that, but none of the other boys were hunted for sport and none of them have his weird aversion to horn sounds and bows and arrows. It makes things really awkward when Julie tries to show him nerdy movies he missed, like Lord of the Rings or the Hunger Games.

-Ray reads a lot of books and guides and studies on trauma informed parenting and how to help the boys, because he's pretty sure telling a therapist 'I was kidnapped to the fairy realm' is not going to give the kids the help they need.

-When Luke and Julie start dating, he's happy for them, though he does do the strict dad routine. Even though Luke is very old fashioned in a way that is charming and a little hilarious at times, given that his perception has been warped by hundreds of years of fae revelries. (Orgies? Eh, whatever. Getting to hold Julie's hand? Life changing, huge step.)

-The other guys seem happy for him. But the first time Luke falls asleep in Julie's room - innocently song writing, but he hadn't slept in two days and Julie's voice was so pretty and her bed was so soft - and she lets him stay, he wakes up to find the other boys demonstratively piled up on the floor around Julie's bed.

-Because Willie can't sleep without Luke there, so he bodily carried an already sleeping Alex to Julie's room. He was just about to go back for Reggie, but Reggie doesn't like sleeping alone either so he followed, dragging one of their blankets with him. And yeah, Julie has some explaining to do to Ray when he finds them like that the next morning. (The door was open! Luke was on top of the covers and she wasn't! They weren't even facing each other, dad!)

-Willie not quite knowing what to feel because on the one hand, relationships were very fluid among the fae and it's not like he has issues sharing. He never minded sharing Luke with Alex or Reggie. But then they were all together, and now, Luke and Julie keep disappearing together.

-And he's had Luke in his life the longest, and he doesn't know what to do with this new feeling inside him that makes him want to grab Luke and keep him away from everyone except his boys. And then he has a realisation that he's just like Caleb and he maybe hides out in the loft of the studio until Alex and Reggie find him and coax him down.

-Alex soothes him that he's nothing like Caleb, that being a little jealous when one of your friends pulls back because he's head over heels for someone is normal. That's the word for his feelings. Jealous.

-Reggie is very silent, and Willie flops on him and stares at him until Reggie starts petting his hair. And he realises that maybe Reggie is also jealous of Luke and Julie. And then he thinks back at how many times he and Alex have gone off on their own and thinks maybe Reggie is jealous of him and Alex as well. There's no more revelries where they are all together anymore. He should fix that. He doesn't want Reggie to feel what he's feeling.

-He makes extra sure to cuddle Reggie during that night's 'watching the tellyvision'. It also distracts him from wanting to hiss at Julie when she snuggles up to Luke and pull him away.

-Asking Ray about hosting revelries goes badly. He's pretty sure the modern human word for it is 'buzz kill'.

-As a compromise, Ray hosts a 'pizza party' which Willie is pretty sure is not comparable. He wants to pout, but then Ray mentions you can put pineapple on pizza and he's distracted.

-He talks to Alex about it all, because Alex is better at feelings and thinking. Reggie says he's better at Overthinking but Willie is pretty sure he's just jealous Alex can think of all the bad outcomes of their plans before they do them. (It doesn't stop them, but sometimes Alex does get to say 'I told you so', which is funny.)

-Alex tries to explain that things are different in the human world, that romantic and sexual relationships are between two people, usually. Alex is very cagey about answering Willie's question about whether or not he misses the other two boys, but finally Willie drags it out of him that yes, he does. But he also wants to be normal, and being with four people isn't normal, and he loves Willie and what they have.

-In response Willie pushes him through a wall, just to remind him they're Not Normal, and says they should kiss Reggie and Luke at the pizza party.

-Alex splutters and says they should ask first. He is also very insistent that there will be Nothing More Than Kissing at the pizza party, and Willie pouts. Ray already had that talk with him, thanks. Humans were so weird, they invented the most amazing ways to have fun (skateboards! Tellyvisions! Dubstep!) but were so boring in other areas.

-The pizza party was a success. He and Luke were Very Excited about the Pineapple Pizza. Reggie looked in heaven. Even Alex seemed to forget he was nervous about tonight as he stuffed an entire slice of pizza into his face. Alex was so talented.

-So around the last slice he asks Reggie if he can kiss him, and Reggie splutters and is confused, and Willie says he misses him, and Ray won't host any revelries and he wants to kiss him and Alex said he had to ask first.

-And Reggie looks at Luke and Julie and he looks conflicted and for a moment Willie is scared that Reggie doesn't actually miss them at all, he just wants Luke and Julie, and he's ready to teleport away and hide when Reggie says yes.

-The kiss is sweet and tastes vaguely of pizza. They have a very long talk and Reggie admits he'd missed them too but didn't want to intrude. He'd come to them last, he understood if Willie chose Alex, and Luke and Julie were clearly meant to be.

-Willie cuts him off and pulls him close and is like: you're ours and we're yours.

-Luke is looking very, very conflicted, and Julie looks like she's trying to understand, like when Willie tried to teach her a fae dance. He knows he should not anger their hosts, that's like the first thing he learned, but he can't help it and pouts over Reggie's shoulder: "Julie, you need to share."

-And Julie paused, and then nods. "Okay."

-And Luke is shocked, and Reggie and Alex seem shocked, but Willie is just pleased, and he leans over so he can kiss Luke as well, and finally the tight, sour feeling in his chest goes away and all is well.

-And if a few weeks later, Julie comes into the studio holding Reggie's hand and declaring Willie has to share, Willie is fine with that.

[ae-neon]

Rewrite Drabble.

Writers block is actually killing me so I'm gonna word vomit.

"I heard," Isaac said from where he held the ladder, "you Scythians don't celebrate the three saints."

Feyre wanted to knock some paint down on him just to remind him she was as much a Southlander as he was.

Though, if she was being honest, she didn't care for any of the saints, wasn't even sure they ever existed. Not that she'd say that out loud, not to any Southlander or Scythian. They might think her madder than Old Len.

She leaned back, inspecting the burning tree behind the kneeling knight and feeling a little flower of pride bloom in her chest. That at least, should buy her some favour with the town, if not the Mother Herself.

Isaac failed to hide his own grin at the painted sheet as Feyre descended the ladder and carefully packed away the brushes and paints Mr Kelsey had borrowed her - slipping one thin brush into her boot as she did.

"You don't think he'll notice?" Isaac asked, eyes too sharp to be fooled even by Feyre's quick hands.

She glanced up at where he was still leaning against the ladder, her blue eyes hard but her mouth tugging into a grin, "They never do."

She glanced over the painting once again and smiled, mood lifting, "Once more before you go?" She wanted to spar - needed to if she was going to become a guard before she turned twenty and every mam and aunt in town started trying to match her up to a son or nephew one town over.

Isaac laughed but lifted his hands in surrender, "And be the reason you're late? No thanks. I think I'd rather eat dirt. Besides, I'm actually looking forward to seeing you in a dress."

Feyre glowered, throwing him a rude gesture then turning to walk away at his laugh. It wasn't that she hated dresses, but having to parade around town like some sort of prize mare made her less than excited to attend the Fire Night.

She made it across the town square, abuzz with preparation for the night's celebration, to the post she'd left Johnathan tied to. The horse, large and gentle, greeted her warmly - knowing it was time to return to his true master.

Feyre almost rolled her eyes. Horses, dogs, children and men; they all took to Elain like bees to a flower.

She mounted with ease, noting she would not be able to do so later when she would be forced to forgo her pants and boots for a dress and heeled slippers.

The ride out of town and into the farmland that encompassed it was always her favourite. The well worn path that followed along silverspring creek was lined with trees - not the gnarled, eery things that crowded the Blackwood - tall, beautiful ashwoods whose leaves never fell.

Old Len said magic, older than even the Gates, fed the trees, that some of them had been given to the First Freemen by the faeries of Spring.

Feyre doubted anything so beautiful could come from magic. Especially when the Blackwood stood in such contrast; unnaturally still and always choked in mist.

Nesta had told her that scholars wrote that magic had corrupted the earth itself, that it lived in the air that blew down from Prythian, that the people who lived closest to the Gates would never be able to truly escape it.

In some ways they were right.

For centuries foul creatures had slipped through the Wall, come through Jurian's Gate and haunted the Blackwood, hunting the humans who lived along it.

But for just as long the Iron Guard had existed, descendants of the First Freemen and the Last Legion, dedicated to holding the land their ancestors had died for.

They held fast to duty, strength and honour.

And before she turned 20, Feyre vowed by every name remembered and every name forgotten that she would become a member of the Iron Guard.

*

Hmmm

Very asoiaf inspired but can you blame

[hoodiedoodles]

I think the ultimate tragedy of Faerie Britain is that the fae COULD change

i’ve seen some people say “all the fae deserve to burn”, and they’re right, none of the living fae deserve to be alive. every one must die because every one is a monster by our own metrics

but they didn’t HAVE to be

they could change, they could’ve learned

and the proof of that, is a little pub-owning faerie named Mike

maybe it was too little too late, maybe it’s just a coincidence, but at the end of all things, when the world burned around him, Mike was the only fairy to truly MAKE something

in all of faerie britain, nobody bu the humans could Create. The fae can only imitate, copy, reproduce. Maybe in infinite variations, like breaking apart a lego set and putting it back together, but they can’t get new pieces to play with unless a Human makes them first

Except for Mike.

as riots paraded the streets and blood ran down like rain, Mike invented Galletes.

and when the Mors Curse began to overcome his soul, and envy took over his heart, he was the only faerie to push it back, back, back. He pulled himself together and resisted his impulses

because hard things are so much fun

in a world where laziness lead to all of this suffering, one faerie, a small, boring, simple faerie, was the first and only faerie to realize the value of hard and fulfilling work

in fourteen thousand years, Mike is the only faerie who had Become Free of Sin

and he is proof that they all could have done the same, if only they had chosen too

[bighermie]

Looking Back: "We're Coming For Your Children" Group, The Radical Faeries, was Founded by a "Man-Boy Loving" Marxist | The Gateway Pundit | by Brian Lupo | 161

[tybaltsjuliet]

hello dolly <3 and into the woods!

dolly is such a cute show, i have always been fond of it! i have a soft spot for frothy midcentury victwardian musicals and i appreciate that it holds up well enough that i do not have to give a dozen disclaimers before showing it to people, lol. “before the parade passes by” was a big mental health support song for me for a while, too <3

and, as far as ITW...oh, i want to like this show so much. i really, really do. there are parts of it that are very moving to me - cinderella’s arc, the baker and his father (“no more” is probably my favorite song in the whole show). but something about it has always struck me as a little more mean-spirited than i generally like my fractured faery tales to be. it’s kind of like my complaint about just ella, which i have shared here before - at a certain point, it feels like the characters are simply being punished for wanting happy endings. and i do not care for that.

also, justice for rapunzel :(