#just so tired of dealing with aggressive fae all day

[ghouljams]

I'm really late to the party with this, but I have a fae-like character to share if you're interested 0w0

Basically, he was originally a human who tried to outsmart a fae by tricking it into giving him powers. Sadly, this didn't go too well for him and he ended up reduced to a monster roaming the woods in search of its next meal.

He wanted the power to change his appearance and, the fae, angry at the human for trying to deceive them, gave him exactly what he asked for. The man wanted to test out his new powers and turned himself into a moose, only it didn't work out quite right. His new body was deformed and monstrous and he found he could no longer return to his old human form.

The man can now no longer be considered human, rather a mimic that looks like a 's pretending to be a moose. While he can no longer change his form, he can mimic the sound of people's voices when he hears them, often using them to call out to friends and family, luring them into the woods to be consumed.

He can't speak in his own voice anymore, having long since forgotten how it used to sound, instead just copying the dying screams and begs for help of its prey. (Think the bear monster from annihilation).

I have a picture of him here if you're interested. (Hopefully this link works!)

I wonder if the Witch would encounter the Mimic at any point since she lives near the woods. LMAO I'm just imagining how fun it would be for it to try mimicking Price's voice to lure her over. Or perhaps one of the other darlings considering the Witch might be a little too clever to fall for such a thing.

Oooh I love this, love the horror, plus annihilation is one of my favorite movies. I hope you don't mind if I write a little something because this absolutely inspired me :)

You don't know what it is, but you've seen it, heard it. The crying, the wailing sob of a young woman, the screams of a child. The echoes of it through the thin limned trees and snow. You've watched, crouched behind your garden wall as the moose that isn't a moose wanders past with its strange and horrible cries. It scares you enough to pour salt along your wall, the purest barrier you can think of, a defense actually visible to you. You trust your threshold, but better safe than sorry.

You don't call Price, you should call Price. At least ask him to shoo the thing away. It keeps hanging around. Almost as bad as Price himself, but at least when Price spooks you, you know how to combat it. This thing is... you can't describe the feeling of it. Slick like oil, the magic simply doesn't mix with yours. Even the wisps of it through the cold of Winter give you a clear enough picture to not want it near your fence.

But it feels like it's getting closer.

Price left a little bit ago. You're back to your gardening, crouched next to the asparagus breaking off stalks with practiced fingers. You produce is coming in well this season, probably all the extra time you've been spending in the garden.

"Witch," Price calls behind you, you hum in answer, he must have forgotten something. "Sweetheart," He tries again, almost pleading. You blink, you've never heard that tone before. You stand and turn to face him.

Turn to face the dead glassy eyes of the Moose that isn't a moose as it snuffles at your salt barrier. Your ribs clench tight, stopping your breath before you can draw in a gasp. It's mouth opens to speak again, to croak out Price's voice from behind rows of needling teeth, its lips drawing too far back, predatory. It's ears twitch, listening for any sound of you. It can't get through your barrier, you remind yourself.

That doesn't stop it from trying. It's overgrown and stained horns scraping against the threshold, as it follows the line of the wall. The soft crunch of snow that follows it is too delicate for a beast that size. You turn to watch its path, the sickly matted fur, the raw musculature, you try your best to breath shallow and even. The slick magic around it is so at odds with everything you know about magic. The corrupted wild magic of human ambition and hubris where it meets a petty fae. If you weren't rooted in place you might throw up.

You press a hand to your chest, trying to feel for the strands you'd been steadfastly ignoring. Something to ground you to a feeling of safety and not this overwhelming fear. You don't know what to do but hold onto one of your ties to Price and wait for the creature to give up and leave.

When it finally does go it's with the same wailing cry you've heard so many times. It seems to be directed at you. The punishing sound of it for your ears only, crying over a lost meal. The scratches you feel on the threshold as it continues dragging its horns along it are raw and throbbing. The only solace you have is that for now your barriers have held up. You only hope that the creature is smart enough to recognize this failed attempt as a futile one, that it will find a new area to hunt in.

You'll work on a banishing spell just in case.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rut.

Pairing: Malleus/Reader (Twisted Wonderland)

Written for a lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 2.0k.

Synopsis: It’s hard for a human to learn about fae biology, especially from fae themselves and their distaste for the topic. So, when you agree to help your careful, composed boyfriend deal with his upcoming rut, your expectations might differ from reality.

TW: Afab!Reader, Dubious Consent, A/B/O Dynamics, Overstimulation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink, Slight Corruption Kink, Mentions of Blood, and Knotting.

Lillia said it was kind of like a vacation, for Malleus.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was more of one than you’d gotten from the other Diasomnia students. When prompted, Silver only shook his head, mentioning ‘medical needs’ and something about the fae hierarchy, and Sebek was too flustered to say much of anything, going red as he told you not to talk about things so vulgar, whatever that was supposed to mean. Lilia’d laughed, though, when you asked him why Malleus went off-campus every few months, always returning a little less irritable than he had been, when he left. He’d explained that, among a certain type of fae, this type of practice was normal, almost ritual. Hormones clouded judgment, urges beginning to overwhelm coherent thoughts, and Malleus just needed a few days to clear the fog, preferably as far from a brittle, breakable human as he could get. Just for caution’s sake, of course. Just to be safe.

But, you weren’t just a human. You weren’t breakable.

You were Malleus’ human, and that meant you were safe.

He’d been hesitant, when you offered to help during his next rut, but by the time his eyes were glazed over more often than not, his opposition stopped at a half-hearted warning and a disgruntled huff. It was almost strange to see him so out of it, his usual composure dulled and watered-down into a hazy, tired awareness. Even now, kingdoms away from Night Raven, he could barely seem to stay on his feet, taking any excuse to drape his arm over your shoulders or nuzzle into your chest or, in this case, slot himself against your back, his chin coming to rest against the back of your head as you bent over, supporting yourself against the stone windowsill. You didn’t push him away, obviously. You weren’t sure he’d be able to stand, if you did.

So, you admired the view as he made himself comfortable, keeping your eyes fixed on the landscape below. Malleus’ chosen safe-haven was scenic, to say the least, an isolated tower miles away from the nearest village, surrounded by woods and cliff-sides and little else. Even with a pane of glass separating you from the outside world, you could still see the breeze rustling through leaves, hear birds singing in the distance, practically feel the sunlight, just bright enough to make you squint. You were here for Malleus, of course, but you hoped you’d have some time to explore. Just a few hours, towards the end of the week. Hopefully, he’d be--

“(Y/n).” A whine pulled you out of your thoughts, drawn out and throaty, so unlike his usually poise. You were caught off-guard, but you still managed to chuckle, your smile only growing wider as he bent down, rubbing his cheek against the side of your neck as he went on. “You… you’re so beautiful, and you smell really--” He cut himself off before he could say something he’d regret. “You kept me waiting.”

Now, that was your Malleus, the bratty prince you knew and loved. You crossed your arms in front of you, leaning into the self-made nest as his hands found your hips, holding you in place as he ground lazily against your ass. It was a jerky motion, eager and unpracticed, but neither of you seemed to mind. “No need to rush,” You chided, playfully, rolling your eyes. “We’ve got plenty of time. At least help me find a bed, first.”

Something ripped, a sound like tearing fabric, and suddenly, you could feel cold skin against yours, clamping down around your waist in an iron-clad grip. “I’ve been patient enough.”

You didn’t have time to argue. Whatever thread of restraint Malleus was still holding onto snapped in the space between one second and another, and by the time you’d opened your mouth, he was already growling, barely remembering to let go of your waist before lifting you off your feet, dropping you onto the windowsill unceremoniously. You were stunned, for a moment, too surprised to do anything but clutch at the square edge and let your legs dangle off of the stone slab, but Malleus didn’t seem to have a similar problem. He was already falling to his knees, sharpened talons cutting through clothes and skin alike, leaving red, angry lines across your now-exposed thighs and Malleus, pressing fleeting kisses into the damage by way of apology. You almost stopped him. Part of you wanted to, in your stupor, if only to ask him to slow down, but this was supposed to be about him. If he needed to…

Your logic faltered quickly.

Oh.

His mouth was cold.

It felt strange. You almost couldn’t register it, even as he lapped at your cunt like a man starved, his tongue thinner than it should’ve been, longer than it should’ve been. It was alien in a way that made you more sensitive, more prone to writhing as he traced shapes into your entrance, to mewling every time he paused to tease your clit. It was a graceless sort of rhythm, a pursuit with the sole goal of getting you to buck against his face, to squirm, to do whatever you could to bring him closer. You tried to bite back your whimpers, incessant and hitched whenever he found a new spot to abuse, but your resolve broke as soon as you felt Malleus’ tongue fuck into you, drawing out a shaking, unabashed moan. It was too deep. Already, it was too deep.

You didn’t think, only lurching forward, latching onto the first thing you found - his horns. They were solid under your palms, smooth and so easy to squeeze, the pressure alone enough to make Malleus groan, the slight vibration only forcing you to hold him tighter. It didn’t seem to hurt. If anything, it only spurred him forward, two fingers soon taking his tongue’s place as he drew away, barely giving himself time to take a staggered breath before he was lavishing your clit, sucking on it, making that abrupt, awful, agonizing tension all the more unignorable. All the more terrible, in the blissful way Malleus’ touch happened to be.

He didn’t stop when you came, when your thighs clamped around his head and your entire body went tense. He didn’t even slow down, not until the sensation was more painful than pleasurable, not until you’d taken to pulling his hair, not that it did anything to deter him. Overstimulation came and went, pangs becoming constant, electrical jolts before all of it seemed to fade, leaving you trembling and shivering, barely able to hold yourself up. It felt painful. It felt great. You loved him, but you might’ve been beginning to hate him for it, too.

When he was done, when he was finally done, he kissed you. Your slick coated his chin, and you could taste yourself on his lips as they crashed against yours, the gesture hot and heavy and more aggressive than it had any right to be. There were going to be bruises tomorrow, on your legs and your waist and your jaw - his thumb digging into your skin just a little too harshly as he stopped you from pulling away, but if Malleus cared about the aftermath, he couldn’t find the strength to show much concern. With a nip to your collarbone, he was standing, towering above you with an expression somewhere between anger and concentration. For a moment, you let yourself linger on the irony - his shirt was still half-buttoned, his pants barely edged downward, while your clothes were torn to shreds, cuts and scrapes littered along your thighs and calves. By the end of the week, you were going to be a mangled mess. Malleus would be lucky if he’d even taken off his boots, by then.

Unsurprisingly, his voice did little to ease your concerns. “You’re already so worked up,” He teased, using the pad of his thumb to push an idle, painstaking circle into your clit, if only to watch the way you tried to squirm away. “Such a delicate little thing. How do you expect to take my cock like this, my love?”

You never got a chance to answer. One second, you were opening your mouth, the next, your breath was caught in your throat, an airy gasp taking the place of anything you might’ve said. There was a sting, and you couldn’t choke down the ragged, uneven sob you let out as he bottomed out, his hips soon slotting against yours. Malleus hushed you, a hand coming up to entangle itself in your hair, encouraging you to lean into him. To enjoy this, or to be aggregable enough to let him enjoy it for you. “It’ll only hurt for a second,” He assured, his tone soothing. “Let me take care of my mate.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Despite everything, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’m… I’m your mate?”

Malleus only chuckled, letting you bury your face in his chest as he pulled back, starting with short, shallow strokes. It was less of a comfort than it should’ve been, every slight motion only making you feel smaller, only making you feel more full. His patience must’ve been running short, though, because before long, he was hissing through gritted teeth, pumping into you like his heart would stop beating if he so much as slowed down. You swore you could feel him in your stomach, in your throat, every keen and every rut only making it tighter and hotter and worse. What little composure you’d managed to regain was gone in an instant, replaced with something malleable and desperate and needy. As eager to take as Malleus was to give, in his current state.

He was no better, but somehow, it seemed like he was. He was just so much taller than you, so much stronger, it almost felt patronizing when his teeth ghosted over your neck, his canines soon burrowed in the sensitive space just above your jugular. Even after he drew back, after he made sure your shoulders were riddled with those same bleeding, burning puncture wounds, his lips lingered against your skin, the contact muffling his words. “You’re so perfect,” He muttered, more for his sake than yours. “A perfect mate. My perfect mate. Perfect to--” He was interrupted by a stuttered grunt, low and animalistic. “Perfect to breed.”

In his defense, you didn’t object. You couldn’t have, not with his hand wrapped around your throat, not when your back was suddenly flush against the windowsill, your legs wrapped around his waist, every thrust so violent, it felt like he was trying to fuck your cervix rather than your pussy. Moaning wasn’t an option, anymore. Pitiful, whiny little sounds escaped before you could choke them back, making your cheeks burn and the slick, wet clicks slowly filling the room impossible to block out. “P-Please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but you were sure you needed to beg. Malleus’ grip tightened, but  you didn’t know if it was a signal to go on, or a sign that you should do anything but continue. “Malleus, please, I love you, I can’t--”

“Quiet.” He was growling again, but this time, you didn’t have to guess why. You could feel it - stretching your cunt, leaving you babbling and clenching around him, your vision going white and your back arching as he split you open on something too heavy, something too big. “Just take it,” He grunted, finally bottoming out. “For me, love. Just- Fuck--”

It was hot, more than anything. Smoldering, scalding, filling you up to the brim as the tension broke and Malleus slumped forward, panting. You were too disoriented to do anything but stare on as a small, reflexive smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This time, his kiss was soft, something feather-light and distant, barely tangible enough to lean into, but you tried regardless, whining as he pulled away. You couldn’t bring yourself to mourn the loss, though. You needed to sleep. You needed to rest. Or a bed, at least, something softer than stone and mortar. He must’ve needed a break too, after that. Anyone would, fae and human alike.

And then, Malleus started moving, and you had to wonder how long this week would really last.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Étienne the Fae, Part One of Two

This was commissioned by the illustrious and fantastical @monsterfolkandfiction​! Thank you so much, and I hope that everyone enjoys this story as well. A second part is being drafted now.

tw: disordered eating, manipulative and abusive mother

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement.

You shouldn’t have gone into your grandfather’s basement. .

There were voices. Lots of voices, and you thought that a show of brilliance might grant your grandfather’s coveted attention above your cousins’. The door was unlocked, how could you not sneak a peek down the forbidden stairwell? So you crept down, hand on the rail for safety, eyes wide in the hopes of spotting something.

You remember how to summon him. Always. You’ve blocked out everything else about him, but you always remember how to call him back, even if you never will. Only in an emergency, you would always think, glaring at your mark as though he can see you through the mottled purple flesh.

You wipe a bit of sweat from your face, chewing on your lower lip as you glance over your shoulder at the ticking clock—almost midnight. The little vagrant who caused the muddy disaster you’re cleaning is asleep already, hand clutching her rag still as she lays limp on the wooden floor.

Maria is a good kid. Troubled, yes, a mischief-maker for sure, but she’s good. She’s just the type who needs a little guidance, that’s all. You didn’t bother trying to wake her back up, mostly because you know it would do no good, and honestly, it’s probably easier to finish the mess yourself without dealing with a cranky, tired child. Besides, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like she hasn’t managed to clean up her messes before.

Just a little bit, you tell yourself as you scrub the rest of the mud from the floor,she’s lost.

It doesn’t take you much longer to finish up the mud, the water in the bucket sloshing an earthy brown the more you pollute it with the dirt slurry on your rag. None of the nuns have walked by the entrance, which is good, because you don’t exactly want to face them. You wouldn’t even have to come up with an explanation, they’ll know, especially the head of the abbey. The last thing you’d want is for Maria to be whipped with that reedy switch some of the nuns carry around to punish unruly children.

After dumping out the bucket of dirt, you wipe your sweaty palms on your apron, letting out a bated breath. The moon has already sunk behind the hills, the night only lit by the dim candles you managed to steal out from the servant’s noses. While one might think that a place of worship would have plenty of access to such supplies, it seems like everything is scarce in the days where the darkness licks and poisons like a snake.

“Are you alright, young sister?”

Though you jump, it’s only Sister Anya, a soft, young-looking nun looking down at you with the utmost concern.

Her pale hair is highlighted by the candlelight in the most martyr-like way that you feel the urge to fall on your knees and plead for her to pray for you. Everything about her is ethereal, almost almost horrendously beautiful, blue eyes so deep and dark your lungs fill with water as though drowning when you look at her.

Trying to steady yourself, you place a hand on the wooden bannister, then nod, shakily.

She glances at the bucket you’re holding, and her gaze softens considerably. “Were the children giving you a difficult time today?”

Since you know Anya isn’t one of the nuns who believe that pain is the path to godliness, so you’re more willing to express any frustrations you might have with her. So you shrug, then roll your eyes, trying to force your tongue to work but settle for gestures instead.

Sister Anya places a hand on your shoulder sympathetic gesture.” Your nerves are high today, hm?”

Thankful you don’t have to bother explaining yourself, verbally or through a thousand of different hand positions, you nod.

Sister Anya lets out a gentle sigh. “I’m so sorry, dove, the children ought to know not to press against your patience.”

Again, you shrug, walking over to the door in order to dump the muddied bucket, before passing it to her waiting hands.

“Again,” Sister Anya says softly, “I know that you’re not obligated to be here, but you know that the children love you. Even if they aren’t always so well behaved.”

You nod in acknowledgement, having had this conversation with her before. No matter the chaos the orphanage children might instil during sunlight, you always return, knowing that the kids truly mean well at the end of the day. Memories of blood bubble in your throat, your empathy digging too deeply in your past that you feel a sense of fear.

Quickly, you bid your leave, knowing that you should have long been back in your bed. God, if your mother finds out you’ve been loitering this late-

“Oh,” Sister Anya concedes, “of course, should I walk you back?”

Quickly, you shake your head, not wishing that she put herself at risk for your own sake. After once more asking over your assuredness, Sister Anya concedes, though her concern is not at all lacking. You know that the woods host a very numerous amount of creatures, though none have dared to ever bother you. The contrast has been so stark against the countless first-hand stories than you’ve heard that you’ve almost convinced yourself that you’re invisible to their otherworldly eyes, although you still hold healthy regard for what you might not understand.

Still, on the way back, all the negative attention you might receive is brief and fleeting, most crackling within the woods retreating as though you were about to set fire to the numerous dried foliage of the coming winter. Besides, your family estate is alarmingly close, you should be within the safety of its walls shortly after embarking, the sprites and critters almost obnoxiously ignoring your presence. Ever since… the incident, you haven’t needed to take the same precautions as the rest of your peers, and thus you manage to get yourself home earlier than someone might have estimated.

There is a lot to be happy about your life, you suppose, staring blankly up at the family portrait up on the wall. Happy mother. Happy father. Their absolute disgrace of an eldest child, which is you, unfortunately. You know that there are children in that abbey who would kill to have the same privileges you do, warm bed, food whenever you need, and water that doesn’t have a rusty undertaste of dirt, so you try not to feel… ungrateful.

You lick your lips, peeking out from the hall to check for anyone making their rounds, then quickly and quietly walk by the window towards your room. It’s late, so no one should be up, but that’s never stopped your mother when she’s in one of her worse moods, and just as you predicted, you hear her rapidly approach. Now entering panic mode, you move twice as quickly, slipping into your room and shutting the door quietly behind you.

Your muscles are stiff, fingers shaking, as you desperately try to pull the pins in your hair that kept everything marginally in place as you worked, knowing that you should be at least in your nightgown at this time. The scent of roses is thick, putrid, and always the choice of perfume for your mother. You suppose that it’s nice that you can at least smell her before she fully arrives, but now you can hardly look at those flowers without feeling a pinch of anxiety flowing through your chest.

The door wrenches open, your mother neither gentle nor willing to give you those extra precious moments where you might hide something. Your brush is in hand, and you are in the process of working through the knots that had accumulated through the day, but by the look of her face in the candlelight, your supposed innocence will be deeply in question.

“Where have you been?” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, it’s all you can do to not wince when she speaks.

I was at the orphanage, mother. You can’t even look her in the eye.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to work among those pathetic waifs, girl.”

Mother doesn’t even bother with your name, especially when she’s angry. And, judging by the tone of her voice, she’s incensed by something, only you don’t even know what it is she’s accusing you of, so you can’t even offer up any meagre defences.

“Did I say you were allowed to stay until the night turns to morning? What kind of a reputation are you trying to gain, you stupid, ungrateful child?”

The only ‘men’ in that orphanage are younger than eleven, but you know that this outburst isn’t at all over your chastity.

She raises her hand, and you flinch, but the strike doesn’t come this time. Instead, she walks up behind you, snagging the brush out of your hand and begins an aggressive grooming routine. “You should be grateful for what I give you and stop trying my patience. Everything I do for you is always met with silence, do you think the Bennet girls treat their poor mother like this? Or has the devil cursed me with you?”

You know that any attempt to escape her gnarled, rough fingers would be met with even more violence, so you sit still, digging your fingernails into the cushion of your chair. Everything in your body is on edge, your jaw is tight, your stomach still, all your muscles frozen in place to keep from crying out as the onslaught of your scalp continues. Silently resigned, you stare at yourself in the mirror, hating everything you see in the reflective glass.

“You would think that the gods would give me a child who shows a modicum of mercy for her poor mother, but no, all I get is this pathetic excuse of a lady. I know everyone goes behind my back and talks about what a joke you are, and yet you don’t even care enough about the person who put you into this world to even care enough to change.”

Your throat is dry, your eyes are not. Stubbornly, though, you refuse to give her tears, because she’ll only think that crying is a method of trying to guilt her into stopping. So you’re quiet, and you accept the onslaught of verbal terror, trying to let it all wash over you like water running over stones in a river.

“I should have never let you stay that summer with your grandfather, he put in all the wrong ideas in your head. And where did that get him, anyway? In a casket, six feet under.” Eventually, she tires herself out, as she always does. As she places the brushes back on the vanity, she notices the little jar of candies you like to keep around for both yourself and your younger siblings. Her brow furrows, and she takes it, “you don’t need to eat more than you already do.”

You don’t turn to watch her leave, letting the dull slamming of the door speak for itself. Once you’re certain she’s not going to come back for another round, you reach up and start braiding your hair for the night, fingers separating the strands and weaving them together. A strange sort of numbness takes over your body, a tugging emptiness draining your chest and veins of any life. When you lay your head on the pillow, there’s dampness on your cheek that you hadn’t noticed prior.

Luckily for you, in the morning, you are left to be ignored once more. You suppose that you are grateful that your mother only seeks you out when she is angry because that offers more freedom to do as you please when she isn’t. A strange thing to enjoy, but you are still willing to count your blessings nonetheless.

Every day goes by more or less the same. You pretend to be a fancy lady for the minimum amount of time, though thankfully you’re so often ignored you can slip away and head down to the orphanage. You have no official schedule of volunteering, since some days your mother is more persistently present than others, but the nuns are thankful for your appearance more or less.

And you tell yourself that you’re satisfied with everything. It’s a lie, and you know it’s a lie, but the moment you begin to move past that safe little untruth, you think your world will fall apart. So you wait. And you watch. And you’re silent.

The day your mother is uncharacteristically cheerful is the day you feel genuine fear.

She’s humming while going over the cook’s menu ideas. Humming. And she requested to see you… which… is rather unusual. As you walk in, you try to peek over her shoulder, though she shifts the papers ever so slightly out of your sight, offering a warning grunt in your direction. Still unsure of where she might be taking this nonexistent conversation, you take your book and sit on the other side of the table, trying to keep calm.

“There’s going to be a wedding,” she says in a sing-songy voice.

Normally, when your peers are wed off, she takes it like a personal attack, as though each girl is mocking your family by daring to marry before you. Now you’re even more nervous, trying to think over which of your siblings could be of marrying age. Surely they haven’t roped any poor waif into marrying your idiot brother, right?

“Tell me what colors you think would be appropriate for a spring ceremony,” she says, so dreamily it shakes you to your core.

You open your mouth, but your chest is so constricted by fear that it can’t possibly push air through your throat. Instead, you just look down and shrug, trying to steady yourself as you sit. God, you’re so hungry. That breakfast never really fills you up, but you never dare try to scavenge for more food in the daytime.

“I didn’t think you would have the good sense to know, anyways,” your mother dismisses your opinion with the wave of her hand. “A light lavender, maybe? Oh, perhaps daisies would be lovely, but that might seem too ‘country…’ or would that be fashionable?”

You nervously let her ramble, wishing you had it in you to just… get up. Leave. Go someplace where you would be alone and lie down. Your body itches to be surrounded by the greenery in the garden, let yourself become one with the earth. Never worrying about the court, about gentlemen of good breeding, or your mother again. She’s taking tea with biscuits, enough food on that platter to share, but you know better than to try to reach your hand over to grasp one.

But fate is a cruel mistress, and your mother even crueler. You don’t have much more warning than the click of your father’s office door as he and an unfamiliar person exit, and adrenaline laces along your veins. You don’t like how your mother looks at him, you don’t like how he looks at you, and you would very much like to no longer be perceived as a physical being. As your mother stands, you follow suit, just out of shock.

“Mr. Andreas,” your mother croons, a shiver of horror running down your spine.

The stranger nods, then glances over you with a critical kind of look, one that makes your insides squirm so uncomfortably you almost vomit.

“We’ve agreed to the terms,” your father says, then nods in your direction. “The wedding will be set in the spring.”

You’re dizzy, all the blood rushing from your head.

To make things worse, your mother is closer, the pungent scent of flowers invading your lungs with such a pervasive efficiency you can’t even breathe. She’s holding your hand, squeezing your pulse so tightly you know the blood is pooling out between her fingertips, and says, “say hello to your fiance, darling. Don’t be rude.”

It feels like a blink. A quick moment of absolutely nothing, your soul floating up above you like a spectre, and then you’re back. And in bed.

It’s dark outside, and a candle faithfully burns on the table by your bed. Leaning over, you blow it out, knowing that someone not nearly as blessed as you could use the precious light more. Your window rattles, a black shape writhing and clicking against the glass, but it doesn’t break through.

Your head feels empty, a thick, persistent kind of nothingness frying the different pathways to thought. Something important happened, something…. something you should be wary of, but it takes you quite a long time to remember the day’s events until a glimpse of that man’s smarmy face surfaces.

Engaged.

The word makes you gag, but there’s nothing in your stomach to retch. You have no clear idea of how long you’ve been in bed, but as you place your feet on the cold ground, a wave of empty dizziness fizzles through your head. It’s a hungry kind of dizziness, one where your body is at its last leg trying to keep itself upright.

There’s a hot, white pinching in your chest as you rise to a hand, legs and arms shaking like a leaf in a storm. Kitchen, you have to get to the kitchen, your vision blurry and faint. Still, you do your best to keep yourself together as you silently slip out of your room.

The halls are eerily silent, candlelight keeping the night’s terrors at bay. Servants occasionally make rounds to make sure the light doesn’t snuff itself out, but you’ve long timed the carefully coordinated efforts. Arms wrapped around your chest, you slowly make your way back to the kitchens, careful to dodge any straggling staff in the halls.

For the most part, the kitchen is rather modestly sized in comparison to the rest of the house, something the servants and cooks gripe about during the wasteful parties your parents throw to uphold some kind of ridiculous facade of class and wealth. But for you, in your occasional midnight snack, it’s just the right size to feel homely, but also with enough books and crannies for you to duck behind if someone unexpected makes a surprise cameo.

But today, it looks like the last person you wanted to see has been anticipating your visit though.

“Really,” your mother says, arms crossed, the steady glare of rage on her brow, “you faint to embarrass me and then, instead of apologizing, the first thing you think to do is to eat more?”

You swallow thickly, knowing you’re about to get an apocalyptic lecture.

“Look at yourself, girl,” your mother makes a wide, gestural sweep over your body, “your obsession with eating is what made you so difficult to marry in the first place. No one wants to marry a whale! And now that you think you’ve landed a man, you can settle back to your old bad habits?”

You shake your head, clammy and afraid.

“Of course not,” she doesn’t raise her voice, not once, and that somehow makes everything worse, “I told you all you needed was to lose those flaps at your waist, but you can’t even adhere to the diet I’ve set you on.”

If you faint again, she’s going to claim you only did so to guilt her, so you hold your dizzying head together with spit and empty determination. There’s a half-eaten loaf of bread covered on the stove, mocking you with its closeness, laughing at your desperation.

“Everything I do for you, and all you give me in return is your spiteful attitude.” She sighs dramatically and shakes her head. “Go back to bed, girl, I can’t even look at you without feeling disgusting. I don’t know how you can live the way you do.”

You don’t. But you accept the out, shakily wobbling back to your room, hearing your mother call out behind you.

“The engagement party is three days away. You know the rules.”

No sneaking food. Of course you do, she doesn’t allow you to forget it. You go back to your room and lay down on the bed, trying to ignore the painful punches in your starving stomach. Breakfasts in the morning. Breakfast in the morning. Breakfast in the morning.

The party is the epitome of everything you hate.

Bright, gaudy, the food so rich and plentiful despite the nearly starving children barely a mile away. Already you’re mentally calculating how much food you can sneak out to the abbey as soon as the night comes to a close, figuring that you might even be able to make two trips if you truly had to. Sister Anya would protest against you moving through the night, but you’ve never had any issues with the sprites.

Folding your hands together, you try to remain present in the moment, but you quickly find your fingernails scratching invisible streaks down your arms, landing on the palm of your hand... to the mark on your wrist. The doctor speculated that it must have been some kind of chemical burn, mostly because there seemed to be no other explanation about it. A toxic liquid spilt onto your wrist when you were wandering somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, and so now you must bear the speculations and the whispers whenever someone new catches a glimpse of the marking.

It’s an odd kind of thing, all angles and thin lines, coalescing in a shape that seems too particular and sharp to be an accidental blob. When you press your thumb down and close your eyes, though, you can see the exact moment you received it, smell the harsh sanitized basement, but somehow catch a whiff of summer lavender.

Could this be your emergency?

Quickly, you try to fill your mind with a thousand other thoughts, flooding your head to the point that scent is once again a distant memory. Everything that followed that day was filled to the brim with misfortune and misery, and you don’t wish to relive it in the slightest. Not until you absolutely have to.

Your mother is right, the duke is only interested in the land your father offers. To her, though, that’s some kind of blessing. For you, however, seated at the table, it feels like the darkest wickedness. Only once does that man glance in your direction, and you can see his nose briefly wrinkle as he silently dresses you down, as though he feels that fucking you would be some kind of burden that he would skip if allowed.

Everything about him fills you up with a strange sense of terror. It’s the way he holds himself, you think, looking over his posture and general facial expression. Tall. High. He might not be the largest man in the room, but he certainly acts the part, stepping over those he doesn’t necessarily deem to be equal.

To your parents though, that’s just a sign of good breeding. Something that you somehow don’t possess, even though ancestry is theoretically squeaky clean. Through your eyelashes, you observe him, lips glued shut with the waxy lipstick smeared against them. You want to crawl out of your skin, melt into the floorboards, fade into the wall, but you’re stuck in place beneath your mother’s critical glare.

Knowing exactly what she might be thinking, you try to mingle, but everyone has long learned that you’re not the type for conversation. Your search for a discussion amounts to you wandering circles around the ballroom, doing your best to seem interested in what’s going on, but ultimately being ignored.

Eventually, you end up back at the table, filled to the brim with foods so decadent and delicious your mouth waters at the scent. Cautiously, you look over your shoulder as you reach down, to find your mother staring at you from a nearby corner. Your hand freezes, and you retract it, almost ashamed.

The mark on your wrist throbs, gently reminding you of a possibility you can allow yourself to have.

Biting down on your tongue, you merely pour yourself some of the lemon flavored water laid out to the side, hoping to fill your stomach if only for a few moments. Everything is too bright, too much, you’re drowning in the absence of everything you could possibly want.

Even though you know your mother will be at her wit’s end, you snag a champagne flute and decide to go back to your room. The bubbles burn as you drink the flute down faster than should be done, retreating back through the crowded hallway. On your way out, you see a servant carrying another tray of alcohol, and you recklessly switch out your empty cup.

Bitterness swells in your throat. You don’t fucking deserve this, you never have. A part of you wants to burn the mansion down and let the sweeping darkness devour the ashes, but you’ve never had the courage or smarts to pull such a feat off. You spot another platter of champagne and make the trade once more.

Just as you begin sipping the brightly flavored alcohol, you bump into someone sturdy. Hard, dark, tall… your fiancé, unfortunately, you notice. Quickly, you lose all confidence you had been building up and instead curtsy out an apology.

“When your father said you were as quiet as a mouse I didn’t think it was possible,” he laughs, almost good naturally, “I didn’t think a woman could be quiet even if her life depended on it.”

The tops of your ears flare.

“But this is a nice surprise, I think it might make up for your other shortcomings.” He waves his hand in your face, as though you are deaf, not mute, then laughs again. “I suppose we’ll see whether or not you can squeal on the wedding night.”

An almost extinct temper raises its ugly head, you’re furious, but above all else, you’re embarrassed. The alcohol makes your anger boil over more, and to add insult to injury, he doesn’t seem to take the hint to stop talking.

“At least you wouldn’t be able to complain. I hate it when women think they deserve to be heard.” And just like that, he abandons you, wandering off towards a group of people you recognize as your neighbors.

Angrily, you drink more of the champagne, going up the stairs and trying to keep yourself calm. But you’re not calm, you’re furious. At yourself, at your parents, and at that babyfaced ass who has the audacity to mock you in the middle of your joint engagement party. By the time you get to your room, your face is hot and boiling with rage, the empty champagne flute mindlessly left on some random surface, and you bury yourself in the bed. You’ve drunk a fat more tonight than you have in years.

You can’t call a servant to help you out of this satin nightmare, not without your mother being informed, so you’re stuck trying to dislocate both your shoulders in order to reach at the strings lacing the top together. Nothing seems to be working, and you are getting more and more frustrated with your progress, each fucking second wasted on your struggles, making you more upset at the overall predicament.

And then, a thought.

Your drunken mind thinks it’s brilliant. The last thread of your sanity warns you that it’s stupid. But both parties involved agree that it would be very, very funny.

Your thumb finds the mark on your wrist.

Call an eternal being forth just to untie your corset? Absolutely ludicrous. Stupid, even. But definitely hilarious. At least, your drunken mind thinks it’s funny. Slowly, you trace the mark around with your indent finger, your eyesight blurry with drink.

Touch the mark. You place two of your fingers against the pulse of your wrist. Recite my name. Three times, unbroken.

It’s not an incredibly complicated ritual. You’ve recited it in your head many times, staring out of your window, tongue making the motions in your mouth. One favor, you get only but one favor, and every single day you’ve had to deal with another one of your mother’s lectures, your father’s criticism, or some other critical motion from most other people in your life, you’ve thought of him.

But now, while drunk, and after the party, it seems like a fine time to bring him forth from the Otherworld. If only to cause a bit of much-needed chaos. You close your eyes, urging your tongue to move, and you say-

“Étienne. Étienne. Étienne.”

Nothing happens. There is an overwhelming silence, one that causes your body to collapse further into the mattress, your brain slowly shutting itself off in a desperate attempt to sleep off the inordinate amount of alcohol that you’ve consumed. Your tongue and mouth are dry, almost as though they were stuffed with towels and cloth, a hazy exhaustion blocking your vision from comprehension.

And you’re asleep.

You don’t exactly know how long you were asleep for, only that you wake up with a throat as dry as the Dark Desert, lips cracked and bleeding, wrist tingling almost painfully like a thousand little pins are piercing into your flesh, though your face is oddly wet. The candle flickers at your side, likely lit by a servant, illuminating red dampness left on your pillow. A headache pinches between your eyes as you try to process those different elements.

“Here,” a smooth, low voice says, a gloved hand offering up a linen handkerchief.

You accept it, then realize who the hand belongs to. Quickly, you scoot yourself back right up to your headboard, spine pressing almost uncomfortably against the heavy wood.

He’s silent for a moment, eyes so dark and blue you feel like they’re sucking you in as though they’re a whirlpool, and you’re adrift in an ocean clinging to a piece of wood. Then he laughs, shockingly youthfully, hand over his mouth as you yank the handkerchief out from his fingers, pushing it up to your nose to catch the continuous drip of blood. Your mouth tastes like hot copper laid out in the sun, and droplets of redstart swimming in your vision.

“My dear,” he says, cocking his head to the side, curiously, “you called me here.”

“No I di-” fuck, the memory of what must have been only a fe hours prior swimming upward in your mind. “Well, I didn’t mean it.”

“Unfortunately whatever your intentions are, I cannot leave until your wish is fulfilled.” Luckily, he doesn’t seem at all annoyed. Only mildly disinterested in what your problems might be.

“Can’t you just go back?” You ask, voice losing its rasp as you swallow a mouthful of blood.

“That’s not how this works,” he says, almost disappointed in your desperate attempts to make him leave.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You’re shaking,” He observes, settling on the edge of your bed.

It’s as though the spirit of your mother possesses your body, vomiting out a sentence about your chastity as a lady, “there’s a man in my room, at night, with no chaperone present.”

A perfectly manicured eyebrow pops up. “You know I cannot hurt you.”

“It’s not about you, it’s- it’s about my reputation as a lady-”

The other eyebrow follows suit, and he’s looking at you so sceptically it appears he thinks this is some sort of trick. He reaches over and grabs hold of your hand, drawing your wrist close as to double-check for the mark. “I don’t remember you being such a meek little thing.”

“I was ten the last time we met.” You say, trying to keep your voice even.

“And you bit me, if I remember correctly.” And he smiles, as though the memory of a precocious child is somehow a fond one.

This can’t be happening, you can’t be having this conversation with him. A conversation. Talking. You swallow thickly, raking your nails through your scalp, trying to breathe. “I was only trying to defend myself! You- you ki- you killed-”

“He deserved it,” he says, and you are unfortunately inclined to agree.

You can’t tell if the droplet of liquid running down the side of your cheek is blood or sweat. Taking in a shaking, angry breath, and you stare down at your hands, eyes stinging. Ah, tears, okay. This is fine. Everything is fine.

“Ah, darling, I’ve forgotten myself.” He reaches over, and you flinch, so he quickly retracts his hand. “Let’s try again. What do you want from me?”

You think back to all the tiny, ugly little pinpricks of insults you’ve garnered every goddamn day of your life since the incident. You think about your husband to be, you think about your mother, you think about your long-dead grandfather. Everything hurts. Everything is wrong. Slowly, you close your eyes and breathe, trying to keep yourself together, just for another few moments.

“I’m to be married to a nearby heir,” you say.

He cocks his head.

“I don’t want to be.”

[lovee-infected]

• @0honeybaby0 :asked: “Hello! I have been having too much stress recently, and if you don't mind, would you please make some confront headcanons of Malleus and Leona? if you don't have time or simply you don't want to do it, it's okay! Take care!”

Reposting because tags were dead

Malleus had recognized your gloomy aura from the very first second, but decided to keep quiet not wanting to seem any rude or disturbing by forcing you into talking about it. He was hoping that it’s just a normal bad mood which would be taken away if he spends more time with you and keeps your mind off it.

He doesn’t know what may be wrong but tries his best to cheer you up anyway. He is quite shy to directly ask you out so he just goes with inviting you for a walk or taking you out to have something sweet together.

It is somehow helpful at first since spending time with him really lifts up your spirits. He is calm and mature yet so gentle and sweet, it’s never tiring to have him around, but as your struggling with anxiety continues you soon realize that even him can’t really make you feel any better.

When you begin lose interest in your short time with him as well Malleus gets really concerned; his attempt not only failed to make you feel any better but also ended up making you feel worse, what is wrong? Has he done something bad? Or could -he- be the reason you’ve been feeling down lately? Did he offend you by trying to get closer…?

He feels quite guilty thinking that it’s his fault that you aren’t feeling well, but he needs to make sure. He doesn’t want any coincidences to be between you and him so he finally takes the urge to ask you:

“My dear, you’ve been looking quite down lately, is there anything bothering you? Have I done something wrong?”

You are really surprised to hear that Malleus was actually thinking that he hes done something wrong while spending time with him was one of the very few things that could calm you down these days, it actually makes you laugh and the fae is confused again.

When you finally explain Malleus is relieved but also surprised: You were feeling nervous? He wasn’t considering the possibility of it, but if this is what has bothering you, he shall make sure to take away the anxiety from his beloved.

He wouldn’t mind giving you a hug or letting you lay your head on his lap if it helps you feel any better, but he’s more in charge of verbally confronting you now that you need it.

Malleus understands your concern as you feel responsible toward the tasks you’re given, but life is way too short to be spent on worrying because of them, especially for an mortal being like you. He doesn’t question you over the details, but he explains that no matter what the results are going to be, all that matters is that you tried your best and you should be proud because of it. Even as the results aren’t as good as you were expecting , letting failures bring you down would only hold you back from enjoying every other thing you love in this world; mistakes aren’t chains to hold you back from going any further, they are lessons to teach you how to go way further by telling you what is right and what isn’t. Doesn’t matter at all if you do not succeed, all that matters is whether you learned your lesson, or not.

He continues to talk for hours but it doesn’t seem to get any tiring, his tone is neither blaming nor dull, but so soft and calm like his words are coming out in melody. He gently pats you on head as you let go of the pain by just listening to him, feeling much better now that you’re no longer keeping it in.

When you’re done, Malleus takes a moment to look back at you and ask if it helped, glad that he now knows what has been bothering you all this time, but if you were struggling with anxiety and needed to talk, you could’ve just told him :“Why didn’t you just tell me in the first place?”

He doesn’t need you to word it, just by looking at your face he can tell that there’s something wrong. Leona isn’t usually one to give a damn about another’s personal problems or feelings, but when it comes to you, he does care.

No sugarcoating, he directly gets to the point and asks you what is wrong which certainly confuses you, unsure of what he is talking about. “You are a mess, what is it?” he points it out, saying just how obvious it is.

You realize his point but are too embarrassed to tell him the truth. Leona couldn’t care less about life and he probably isn’t one to let anything ever get to him, the best of his possible struggle would be a simple idgaf and going back to sleep. You think that he’d surely laugh it off if he knew that all you’re dealing with is anxiety, therefore you refuse to tell.

At first he doesn’t really care to ask why you’re lying, it might br just a -you- problem and you don’t really have to tell him if you don’t want to. Perhaps you just need some time to get over the thought, whatever it is.

He decides to leave you to it since you don’t seem to be wanting him to know, and tries to treat you normally regardless of what may be wrong. He invites you over, asks for your lap when he wants to take a nap, spends his usual time talking to you and in summary, does everything you always did together, but it doesn’t really seem as pleasant as usual. You look really tired, he isn’t used to seeing this face of yours. You were always the one to cheer him up when he wasn’t in the mood but now you seem to be even worse than the moody and tired Leona. He just realizes how much it pisses him off.

You were always the brighter one in this relationship and it’s going to be so screwed up if you aren’t feeling any good either. He doesn’t want you to be so, it really pisses him off.

One of you two has to be the one confronting the other and it was usually you, seems like this calls for a switch.He’s done, he’s had enough. He raises his head from your lap and sits in front of you:“One question, three words: What - is - wrong?”

You deny it at first saying that you’re totally fine, just a bit tired, but has had enough of it and tells you that if you aren’t going to talk, he’d get the Leech guy to pull the truth out of you. Ironic. Well embarrassing yourself in front of him wasn’t worse than being forced to do this anyway by Jade, so you give up.

You let it off your chest, how stressed out you’ve been feeling lately and what a pain life seemed to be, you are tired of it. You couldn’t get your mind of it but didn’t want to tell him either, afraid that this may cause him to look down on you and find it silly.

It turns out to be quite the opposite, he neither laughs nor finds it stupid, instead he says that he totally gets you.

Leona comes from a royal family and his childhood wasn’t really the easiest. He was always looked down to regardless of what he did or how much he tried, all because he had to bear the pain of being the second prince. He was always afraid of it being his unchangeable fate and it made him anxious, really anxious. He spent days training to the point of bleeding while he was just a child, and no one ever cared to ask him what was wrong. He ended up being an aggressive child while all he needed was some attention, to be cared for. But that never happened. And that’s how he ended up being the ignorant person he is, because he knows that there’s no point in being worried while all it does is to make you feel worse about things you cannot change.

He totally gets what it feels to be anxious and helpless so he’s with you on it, but there’s still a difference: You’d never end up like he did. You’ve got him to care for you and he’s always there to listen if you need to talk. He won’t ever let it get to you to the point of breaking down and he’s willing to help if there is something he can do, but he reminds you that it’s all an -exception- , only because you aren’t feeling well so don’t expect him to be as generous when you’re all fine again.

He has got free hugs for you if it helps you feel any better, but just this one time. He isn’t your personal hug toy but he’s decided to be soft since you need him now.

You’re going to have to nurse him all over in return when you’re better but for now, he’d just let his guard down so you can take your time and get the rest that you need, so he doesn’t mind spoiling you a bit more

“If you’d told me sooner I wouldn’t have laughed your problmes off, you know. But to keep it in because you thought I may find it stupid, man, you are absolutely silly,”

[221bshrlocked]

Ok slightly different ask, what monster would the boys fall for if reader was the monster? (Because I also want to be sexy, powerful and possibly dangerous)

BRO WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WATCHING ME???? I'M LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF A TOVAR AND FAE/FAIRY FIC RIGHT NOW!!!! I may or may not release that on the same day I release the Werewolf Tovar fic...I'm after each and every single one of you. Taking yall down with me.

Ok so. Deep breathes I can do this.

Marcus Pike would go for a Siren/Mermaid. I know it's the same as what he would be but I don't know man I just see him being enchanted by their voice and then he sees how unlike mythology they are and they can be dangerous but you're different and he wants to give you a chance and he doesn't regret it because you are much more than he thought he deserves and you're all his and this is what love is supposed to be.

Oberyn Martell would go for a succubus/incubus. Nough said. He'd have all the sex in the world with either or both and it would be fucking wild.

Pero Tovar would go for sure fuck and fall in love with a Fae. They are dangerous but beautiful. Strong but passionate and submissive if they wanted. He would be so enraptured and the thought of knowing that the Fae could kill him in a heartbeat makes him so.fucking.hard and he just wants to see those pretty wings shimmer underneath his touch as he makes it feel good.

Mandalorian would, and this is just a hunch, go for the Hybrid Vampire/Werewolf and I only say this because you could be blindfolded and your other senses would be so heightened that he can actually keep you blindfolded around the ship and would know that you wouldn't be hurt. Also, your hunting skills would be through the fucking roof because of said heightened senses and you'd do a great fucking job protecting Grogu so he's actually already kind of in love with you but he keeps it to himself because he doesn't want you to think that he's trying to control you but eventually, he does tell you and you tell him that it's good he finally said it because you kind of already chose him as your mate and it would have been awkward if the feelings weren't mutual.

Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels would probably go for a Centaur. He's a cowboy for fuck's sake. (I'm so sorry but I am laughing so fucking hard over this because he'd take yeehaw to a whole other level you know...truth is, I don't know who Jack would go for hence me making this joke...any thoughts anyone?) Or maybe he'd go for the Satyr because you're different and you're actually very very shy and he wants to show you how much he loves you and he wants you to be more assertive and it would take a long time but he'd get there. Also, sex is fun with you because different anatomy and he loves a challenge.

Javier Pena would want to corrupt an Angel. It would be a game at first but then he sees how kind and sweet and perfect they are and he'd honest to God fall for them. Also, he'll never say this out loud, but when the wings flutter around him as he fucks into them, god. It's divine.

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales would love to be on the good side of a Shapeshifter but then it quickly turns into more because they kind of know when to turn into what animal to comfort him (PTSD) and he realizes that his emotions run deep deep and I just picture him snuggling with a cat or something you know.

Comandante Veracruz would for sure, 100%, go for the Demon. They're as shameless and uncaring about others as he is and it's perfection itself because he doesn't need to hide anymore or pretend to care when he really doesn't give a shit.

Marcus Moreno would be drawn to a Dragon because besides the strength, the danger, the beauty, and the marvelous personality, his daughter loves everything dragons and you have been so patient with her and showed her what you like to hoard because very dragon hoards things and seeing you interacting with his kid seals the deal. Sex is great btw because your skin shimmers like scales whenever he makes you cum and he doesn't get tired of it.

Ezra would go for the Nymph I think. They're fascinating peaceful creatures that can be really helpful when they're asked nicely and he'd get to fall in love with nature along with this nymph and I mean...forest sex. Come on. Please.

Maxwell Lord would go for the Djinn. They'd grant him all his heart's desires and he'd be wrapped around their finger because he can get anything and everything he wants and all the Djinn wants is to get fucked real good by him.

Dave York would fall head over heels in love with a Vampire...if he does that sort of thing. Because let's face it, they're as dark and strong as him and he doesn't have to tone down his more aggressive tastes with a Vampire. I know not many find this interesting but when it comes to Vampire fanfiction, there's something about swapping blood that screams intimacy and lust.

Max Phillips would be so fascinated by Werewolves. His kind and their kind are not meant to mix you know and it's taboo and no one ever crossed that line but you're so fucking gorgeous and strong and always thirsty for more and he knows for a fact that no one would ever compare.

Again, yall, let me hear your opinions on these??? Because your comments always tend to full-on oneshots so hey...bother me with your thots.

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Small s/o to Fae from sope-and-shine for giving me great inspiration for this chapter!

Part Three

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 1.8k

You continue down the street, noticing yourself hold a faint smile from your time with Jimin. You have a feeling Intro to Comp will be more fun than you anticipated with him to keep you company. You really appreciated his easy-going nature that allowed playful digs to seem second nature between you two, even if you had just met.

You glance up at the sun, now starting to feel more intense as it approaches midday. Noticing, you slip your sunglasses out of your backpack and look at your phone to double check directions --- you weren’t too confident getting around campus quite yet. As you are looking at your GPS app, you see a text pop up from an unknown number.

*Hi y/nnnnn it’s your favorite seat partner from intro to comp!! Hehe*

You roll your eyes at Jimin’s text, and save his number.

*You are my only seat partner from intro to comp, Jimin. It’s been one day.*

*:( Don’t be a meanie, y/n. You know I’d be your favorite no matter what :DD*

*Who's to say? Maybe next time I’ll sit closer to Yoongi*

*GASP. You wouldn’t dare*

*Are you willing to put money on that?*

As you text Jimin, you follow the directions on your phone and end up at a cute little grocery store, with a built in cafe off to the side. When you notice it, you get some spring in your step. After seeing the coffee that the other students had in class you were yearning for a cup of your own, especially after your hectic morning.

The barista sent you a smile as you read the menu. Deciding on a nice warm cappuccino, you tell her your order and walk over to the side to receive your drink when she finishes.

She rings you out, and as you wait for your drink you begin running though your mental grocery list. Thankfully your apartment had a decent kitchen, which you knew you’d get good use of as you enjoyed cooking when you had a chance. Not to mention, your parents owned a small bakery in your hometown which meant you were well versed in the art of baking, and often found yourself baking during stressful moments in your life as a distraction. Maybe while you were here you’d pick up some basic supplies for baking… sugar, flour, baking soda, vanilla extract….

Your train of thought was quickly cut off by the barista, sliding your drink across the counter with a smile. You give her one back as you thank her, and stroll over to where you think the baking aisle would be. You take your time, checking out the products in each section to make sure you got everything you needed, beyond just your baking supplies.

As you near the paper goods aisle, you barely see a figure swing around the corner and run smack-dab into a paper towel display, which happened to be less than a meter from you. Unfortunately, the collision caused several of the rolls to go flying --- and one flying hard enough to knock the fresh coffee right out of your hand.

The chaos of the moment causes you to stand a little open mouthed while you stare at the now half-empty cardboard coffee cup rolling on it’s side away from you.

Toward the top of your field of vision you see a pair of men’s sneakers, which causes you to scan up towards his face. He is looking at you with the widest doe-eyed shocked expression you have possibly ever seen. His arms are half reached out, as if he wants to help, but can’t as he already caused the damage. One of the arms reaching out at you has a patchwork of black ink, trailing down over his toned muscles to his knuckles. His oversized grey t-shirt and loose jeans seem to swallow him a bit, which only adds to the almost child-like innocence of his wide eyes. Wavy brown hair frames his face, accentuating his masculine jawline.

Once your eyes connect for a few seconds, surely both wide in shock, he makes a squeaking noise and bends down to collect the scattered rolls.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I took the turn too fast, I’ll go buy you another coffee as soon as I pick these up---” His voice, while speaking rapidly, remained soft and delicate, obviously embarrassed at his mistake. When you bend down to join him in collecting the runaway towels, he cuts himself off to again look at you with a wide-eyed expression.

You smile at him, the surprise from the situation fading as you stretch your upper body as far as you can to grab one that rolled particularly far. “It’s okay, we all can be clumsy sometimes. I promise it’s not that big of a deal, it was just a coffee.” You give him a warm smile in reassurance, wanting to ease his obvious anxiety.

You both stand up, having collected the spilled display and him grabbing your abandoned coffee cup. “Um, what were you drinking? I’ll get you a new one, it’s the least I could do.” His blush deepens with his question, and he nervously glances off to the side as he grabs his elbow of the hand holding the empty cup to make himself smaller.

“It was a cappuccino… but honestly, you really don’t need to, it’s okay.” Sending him another warm smile, you hope to convey your ease at the situation.

“No, I want to. I’ll be right back, okay?” He holds your gaze for a second, seeming to double check that you weren’t going to run away on him.

“Okay.” Once you let out your reply, he sends you a quick smile as he turns around and lightly jogs away from you, back the direction you came from.

You can't help but notice the subtle ripple of his muscles across his shoulder blades as he does so. For being so meek, he sure had quite the muscular build under those baggy clothes. He definitely was “yummy” to use the word Jimin so aptly applied to Yoongi earlier. At the memory, you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle under your breath.

You scan the area quickly, making sure your run in with the boy didn’t leave a mess anywhere in the store. After seeing it clear, you glance back over your shoulder to watch him talking to the same barista. You could tell, even from this distance, that he seemed slightly embarrassed and had a pink tinge to his cheeks. The duality of this guy honestly is blowing your mind… his tattoos and muscular physique would give the impression that he would be super intimidating and confident, but by the way he blushed at attention so easily and was so timid when he apologized to you showed that he was was really a big sweetheart.

As he was now waiting for the barista to remake your drink, standing in the same spot you occupied a few minutes ago, you felt awkward hovering in the spot of the incident. After a quick glance back at him, you thought he would be able to find you pretty easily if you ventured down the aisle further. An aisle down from the paper goods, you found yourself in the exact aisle you were looking for.

Your mind quickly abandoned any prior thought as you took stock of the baking supplies the store had to offer. It looks like you’d be spending more on groceries today than you had anticipated.

“Um, here’s your coffee…” The boy from earlier had returned before you realized any time had passed. Caught, you looked at him, now looking at you, with a hesitant look on his face, as he saw the almost comical amount of stuff you had balanced in your arms. Now embarrassed a tad, you realize you have no hand to take the coffee from him, and it seems like it had just occurred to him too. He looked back and forth between the coffee in his hand and your ridiculously full arms and quickly offered, “I’ll be right back. I’ll get you a basket.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I’m sorry, I guess I got carried away!” You sheepishly respond to his kind offer. It was above what a normal person would do. He nodded his head quickly and did his half-jog thing again to go back to the front of the store. You weren’t getting tired of the view, to be honest.

Before you even knew it, he was back and gently removing items from the tetris you created in your arms of baking supplies. “Thank you so much, you really don't have to do any of this…” you feel slightly guilty for the boy’s kindness.

“No, it’s really okay, I shouldn’t have thrown paper towels at you.” As he speaks, he catches your eye and gives you a smile you could only compare to a cute bunny or other small adorable creature. You couldn’t help but fall just a little in love with him right there in the aisle. Now comfortable enough to joke with you, you left out a surprised laugh in response. You tip your head back slightly and feel your cheeks squish up without warning.

“I suppose you got me there. Maybe try to lower the aggression levels on your next grocery store run,” you egg him on slightly, a teasing smile remaining on his face.

“What would be the fun in that?” His eyes hold contact just a millisecond longer than normal, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in them. Ah, so bunny-boy knows at least a little how much of a hunk he is.

“Do you flirt with pretty girls at the store by knocking the coffee out of their hands for fun then?” Your eyebrow is raised slightly, and your tone stays as a teasing lilt.

Apparently at his banter limit, he blushes and gapes for a second. “Just teasing you. Thank you again for the coffee,” you reassure. Full basket and fresh coffee in hand, you flash him one last grin before you make your way around him to head towards the register.

As you leave the store, re-entering the street, you can’t help but hope you run into that guy again. He seemed like a genuinely sweet person that you’d love to be friends with. Starting towards the direction of your apartment, you ponder the chances.

You also ponder what baked treat you were going to throw the rest of your afternoon into. After some mental deliberation, you settled on muffins. Easy to take with you for that pesky morning calculus class. Ugh, at the thought of calculus you groaned inside a little. Not only did you have to grapple with the boring math, but you now have to grapple with the decidedly not so boring boys in your class.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I’m rewording some parts A bit angst request How about a situation in which MC breaks up with Dorm heads (Malleus, Leona, Vil and Azul)? Saying that “I cannot handle you anymore. All these rules, laziness, weirdoness etc” How would they react? It would be a lot worse in dorm heads wanted to go phase 2 or 3 with MC Gender: she/her (preferred but they/them is also okay) Thank you for the feedback and have a nice day

***Warning: spoilers for SR Malleus Lab Coat personal stories.***

Curiouser and Curiouser...

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore...I think we need to break up.”

Vil Schoenheit...

...thinks he must have misheard you.

You repeat it--that he is too demanding of you, too obsessed with maintaining a perfect image in the public eye. It tires you, always having to meet his high expectations and having to pretend to be happy so he can keep up his facade.

Vil gives a cold, high-pitched laugh.

“So that’s it? You’re dumping me, little potato?” His words drip with venom. “Fine. I won’t waste any more of my precious time entertaining you. Go on then--out of my sight!”

He is very bitter about the breakup after the fact--always turning his head away when you’re in the room or wrinkling his nose when you make eye contact.

Vil has enough class to avoid “getting back” at you by spreading nasty rumors--though he will vent to Rook about his love troubles.

The type to be petty to you in person, but will also cry into a tub of ice-cream in private while drowning in self pity. Will passive aggressively talk about you to his 5 million MagiCam followers, but remains vague/”courteous” enough to never bring up your name.

Vil is broken, like a shattered mirror missing various fragments.

Leona Kingscholar...

...becomes angry--no, livid.

He immediately jumps to conclusions. Leona is a lion wounded--but instead of tucking his tail between his legs and whimpering, he lashes out,

“Have you found someone else? Is that it?! Who it is? Don’t tell me it’s Jack. That damn dog has always been trailing after you like a lovesick pup. No, wait--Ruggie? If it is, I’m going to kick his ass. Oi! Look at your king when he is talking to you, herbivore! Who is it?!”

You correct Leona by saying that he has no one to blame but himself. He is stubborn, lazy, and arrogant--you are fed up with such childish behavior! He’s like, what? 20? He should be more mature!

You get into a huge argument that results in you storming out.

Leona goes on a rampage in the night.

The other Savanaclaw students are too terrified to check up on him. When Ruggie comes to wake up Leona the next morning, he finds the room in chaos. Fabric shredded, pots smashed.

Having lost your heart, Leona is king of nothing now.

Azul Ashengrotto...

...becomes very, very emotional.

He swaps between cold rage and being a blubbering, teary-eyed mess.

He has done everything he can to make you happy, hasn’t he? He has given you so much, shown you his vulnerable side...so why? Why are you leaving him?

You point out that Azul’s shady business dealings are becoming too much. It’s morally wrong to cheat others like that! Not to mention that he is also so greedy, so possessive...he constantly has the twins checking up on you!

“...Fine. I see your point. If you do not see yourself being happy at my side, then leave. They all leave eventually--why shouldn’t you do the same?!”

Definitely cries to the twins after the breakup. Azul fears they, too, will abandon him. They reassure him that they won’t, but Azul is uncertain.

Throws himself into his work just to keep himself from thinking about you and spiraling into another fit of inky tears. Literally cries himself to sleep once his work has exhausted him.

Azul is such a poor, unfortunate soul...wallowing in his own self-pity.

Malleus Draconia...

...is absolutely crushed, heartbroken.

You tell him that he is too mopey, too clingy. For a great fae, why is he so dependent on you for emotional support? You’re sick of always having to listen to his problems.

“...Very well. If that is what you wish, then so be it. You are free, Child of Man. Go forth, and do as you please.”

He accepts defeat gracefully and willingly, only breaking down after you have walked away.

Malleus sulks in his room for a long time, barely eating anything and refusing to leave. He can’t even cheer up from Gao-Gao Dragon-kun--it is just another painful reminder of the times you spent together.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so much--this crushing despair, the loneliness, the rejection...he thinks he had found true love, but this is no happy ending.

Lilia and Silver need to restrain Sebek from charging up to you and ranting about how the breakup has negatively impacted the Young Master, and how ashamed you should be, and blah, blah, blah--

Malleus walked with you once upon a dream, and now he walks alone in an empty dreamscape.

[bunni-hopper]

Here's the thing about copying.

I'm gonna hit ya'll with a hard truth. As brutal or mean as this sounds, it's something that every creator has to accept.

No idea you ever have will be original. No idea, nor concept. Nothing.

Of course, this sounds like something someone would say to excuse copycats, right? I mean, it'd sound that way to me.

Except it's not.

See, there are...a LOT of people on this planet. Millions and millions of them. It's no wonder that there will a good number of people that have the same idea.

Say person A made a concept based around the life of a fairy. Person B also makes a concept around the life of a fairy. There are certain things in both stories that line up with the other.

One would think it's a clear cut case of B copying A right? However...

B has never even heard of A, and the concept B and A had were both inspired by real life fae lore that are really popularized and well known.

That's not copying, and it never will be. It's just a coincidence that two people had similar ideas.

A very good example of this would be Dennis the Menace. There's the old newspaper comic, and there was also someone else who made a story called Dennis the Menace. Despite that, both creators had NO idea whatsoever that the other existed at the time.

Now, another point I want to make...

There is a massive difference between copying and taking inspiration.

You can be aware of a creation that exists while making your own. Person C saw a comic revolving around an alien that can control emotions. They're a fan of it, and they get ideas for their own work. C uses those ideas from that comic to make their own creation, a little girl who has psychic powers and can control emotions.

Copying would be if C basically reused every little detail that comic had with barely any changes to it and passed it as their own original idea.

This isn't to say that copying doesn't exist. Far from it. Copying someone's idea is a very malicious act that hurts the original creator.

But there's another point I want you all to keep in mind. There is ONE thing that someone has that makes a piece truly original (and even then, this can still follow the rule of two people having the same idea. Again, LOTS of people on this earth)...

...an idea isn't original, but the execution is.

It always ALWAYS comes down to the execution. You can have the same kind of cast, main characters, side characters, setting, time period...

...and then there's the execution of it all.

Here's two examples you all might be more familiar with for those who've followed me for a bit.

This is Joe. He belongs to @atomi-cat and is one of her titular characters. As you can see, he's a mug, tall, has a big nose, is purple, is based around coffee, looks tired all the time, and dresses pretty formal, and is really strong. He's also the oldest of his siblings, having to look after them and take care of them after something happened to their parents. He loves his family and will protect them with his life.

Other examples of Joe with his siblings, showing how he is with them.

This is Cafe de Olla, he is owned by @bichcarito and is the main character of her comic, Rooibos City Life. He's a mug, big nose, purple, tall, really strong, dresses formal, looks tired, centered around coffee, is the oldest of his siblings after what happened with their parents and took care of them from then on, being very protective of them.

Another example of Cafe and his family

Sounds pretty similar right?

Well, yes, because they are.

But.

Their execution and stories differ very much from each other. The two dress formal, but Joe is an accountant while Cafe is a cop. Joe is less expressive and monotone while Cafe is aggressive and loud. Cafe shows favoritism with his siblings while Joe doesn't. Joe's parents disappeared one day when he was a child and never came back, while Cafe is still in contact with his father and escaped his mother from an abusive situation when he was in his 20s.

Story wise, it's more episodic so there's not much of a linear story with Joe, but he lives his day to day life with his siblings with some adventure and trouble here and there, while Cafe's story focuses on his life as a cop in Rooibos City, where corruption is on the rise and having to deal with his past, as well as his love life with Latte.

A perfect example of coming up with an idea, while similar, but still managing to keep them entirely separate and their own individual thing.

So to wrap this up, these accusations being thrown around of copying and stealing these days is tiring, and it needs to stop. Even then, if you believe this is what's happening, you need to go to either creator and let them know so they themselves can handle this PRIVATELY. Starting a witchhunt and white knighting helps NO ONE. All it does is cause unneeded drama and having it become public ruins people and prevents others from creating in fear of being accused of the same.

(Images shown were all used with permission from their creators)

[megan-is-mia]

I loved that yan sebek Do you mind doing number 13 of delusional prompts for sebek?

(Prompt D13 gotta alot love this time round, but yes, yes you can get that for Sebek) 13. “No one else makes me feel this way! I can’t lose that!” (Yandere! Sebek Zigvolt x Fem! S/o)

(Y/n) had no idea how she’d managed to earn the ire of Sebek. No matter what she did, he had something disapproving to say about it. The nagging was starting to drive her crazy and one day she finally lost it, turning in her seat and slapping the crocodile-fae across the face before angrily saying “If what I do bothers you so much why don't you just leave me alone?!” to the boy who’d been stunned into silence by the slap. “Besides why do you care so much about how I live my life?! You’re not my mom!” she added before storming off and leaving the young fae blinking in bewilderment over her aggressive reaction to his words. Sebek didn't understand why his beloved human had slapped him when he’d only been trying to give her advice to better herself. What he did understand was that he probably needed to apologize for being too harsh. As (Y/n) stomped down the hallway, she let out an annoyed sigh. She was tired of dealing with the rude crocodile-fae, and she was running out of options for dealing with him peacefully. However her attention was grabbed by the sound of approaching feet, and she whipped around to see Sebek power-walking towards her. The red handprint from her slap was painfully obvious against his pale skin. The young fae picked up speed once he caught sight of the human girl. He opened his mouth, intending to call out to her when (Y/n) broke into a sprint down the hallway. Sebek had no choice but to run after the mortal and grabbed her before she could disappear down the stairs out of the building. He dragged her into a supply closet, locking the door behind them with magic before turning to face the girl. “I’m sorry for slapping you” (Y/n) blurted out, her gaze alternating between focusing on the handprint on Sebek’s cheek and trying to stare anywhere but the handprint. “I didn’t mean to get so angry at you. I’ve been having a tough week and your words just were the straw that broke the camel’s back for me” she added not even sure why she was apologizing to him at all. “You are forgiven” the crocodile-fae said, his voice usually soft as if he was trying to calm her. Unfortunately, his decreased volume only had the opposite effect on (Y/n). Her pulse quickened and she eyed the door hopefully, just in case the spell he’d put on it broke and she’d have a second chance to escape. The girl’s chin was grabbed by the fae, in the process tearing her gaze from the door. “But you should listen to my advice, I just want you to be the best you possible even if you are a weak human” Sebek said still using the quiet voice, still hopeful that it would calm (Y/n) if only a little bit. The girl’s pulse had not gone down at all, so the fae resorted to drastic measures and used a calming spell to force her into a more serene state. The young woman went limp, putting all her weight on crocodile-fae’s hand to hold her up.

“Please understand (Y/n) no one else makes me feel this way” the young fae said wrapping his other arm around the girl to help her remain standing. “I can’t lose that! You’ve become precious to me, and so I must help you be a worthy partner for me” Sebek added his cheeks turning pink with a blush that almost matched the red handprint. As the young woman opened her mouth to speak she was cut off with a kiss. When she was finally released from the kiss, (Y/n) sank down coming to sit on an upturned bucket with her head lolled back to rest against the wall. Sebek was now kneeling before her, clearly awaiting her response to his disjoined confession and subsequent profession of his feelings. The human girl’s heart sank. She knew she didn't stand a chance if she tried rejecting the fae, so she quietly nodded even as tears filled her eyes and threatened to fall... THE END

[yandere-wishes]

Disney villains as Yanderes

These are yandere headcanons for Genderbent! Cruella de Ville, Genderbent! Ursula, Genderbent! Maleficent, Shan Yu, Hades, Humann!Scar and Human! Shere Khan. Also, try to imagine them the way they look in fanart rather than the Disney movies I find that helps a lot

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Cruella de Ville

Cruella is just the most sadistic yandere you'll ever meet, his treatment of his darling is only slightly better than his treatment of those poor pups. He keeps her chained up in his room, forcing her to wear the most decorative monochrome collar with the heaviest iron leash, limiting the poor darling's movement. 

But his tournament is just beginning. For some sick, demented reason Cruella just loves to humiliate his "little puppy". He'll make you eat and drink from a bowl on the ground, make you sit at his feet begging to his attention if you want something. It's disgracing, soul-crushing even, but for him it's power! It shows that he controls all aspects of your meaningless life. It's the ultimate proof that YOU BELONG TO HIM. 

"Little puppy what is it that you want?..."

There are days -few and scattered- where the wicked man can be almost called nice. He won't start treating you like a human being but more like the favorite pet instead of some runt. On these sacred days, he'll have you sit on his lap as he sketches out a new design, sometimes even drawing a cute dress or skirt for you to wear. On days where he's feeling generous, days where you've proved that you are indeed his sweet little pet. Cruella will take you to the outside world, a place your memory can just barely recall. The two of you will spend the day shopping through the luxury boutiques. The black and white-haired man will make you try on everything that catches his eye, he may be cruel but he's not unreasonable he always wants his cute puppy to look their best. 

"...You better be ready to beg for it."

Ursula 

Ursula is so so manipulative to the point where talking to him becomes an exhausting task. He's so good with words, twisted every single word until it better serves him. At the end of any conversation, you're left bewildered, trying to retrace your words to find just how you got here. 

The sea witch had no need to kidnap his beloved darling all he had to do was speak. Through radiating words, he promises you all that your heart desires. He promises a straight forward easy contract but instead, you're given nothing but misery, locked away forever in his somber cave. 

"You poor unfortunate soul tell me...."

Even if you do try and escape, Urusal will just send his lackeys to retrieve you, they are even given the pleasure of "toying" with you a bit. Leaving little nibble marks along your arms, drawing a bit of blood along the way but never anything too devastating no that pleasure is left for Urusal and Urusal alone.

The Cecelia's punishments are harsh, they aren't exactly painful...it's more the gut wrenching feeling of guilt and fear that Urusal is able to install in you that makes them particularly fearsome. No matter what you are being punished for, the end is always the same. Somehow cruel heartless Urusal is always the innocent victims while you are the ungrateful, conniving leech that is never satisfied. Poor Urusal just gives and gives wishing only a loving companion in return but what do you do? You run away! Throw a tantrum breaking some of his rare potions just because he was looking out for your safety and wouldn't let you go out. He should chop off your tail! Leave you on land to shrivel up and die!... Oh but he just can't bear losing his little lover! Maybe just for once, he'll just lock you up in a cage made from megalodon teeth, a tiny punishment for your huge crime!

"...Tell me what it is your heart desires?"

Maleficent 

The dark fae is a rather caring protective, who is very lucid about the predicament of his relationship with his darling. He knows that they don't love him, he knows that he stole them away from their old life, he knows. But he's just so good at justifying his actions! He took you from the company of those humans because they are all corrupt! They hurt all that is pure in this world! It's just better if he keeps you locked up in his castle far away from those monsters!

Now unlike the majority of the Disney Villian, Maleficent isn't cruel or sadistic. The only reason he kidnapped his darling is to keep them safe! Why would he do anything that could jeopardize their happiness and safety! No, no Maleficent would never find amusement in your pain, never lay a hand on you cause you latched out. If ever the need arises where he had to punish you, then he'll lock you up in the dungeons. A couple of days alone in darkness will have you behaving like the sweet innocent lover that he wants!

"I love you (y/n)..." 

At some point, after a great deal of time has passed from your kidnapping, Maleficent will grant you the freedom to roam around the castle. There is still the lingering rule for his darling to never step foot outside even when Maleficent is with them. But that -along with most things- is just a countermeasure to keep them safe! 

".....No power on earth can change that!"

All in all, Maleficent is one of the better yandere to have, he's caring to the point where he seals every door and windows so nothing dangerous can get in, he's overprotective to the point of following you around everywhere, he's loving to the point where he's willing to submerge you in endless darkness just so you see his perspective! Yes! All so very loving! And very soon you will see it that way too.

Hades 

The god of the underworld is a very bizarre mix, he's possessive, so very possessive that he probably killed you himself! Just so you could never leave him! But at the same time, he's very delusional, seeing your murder as less of a crime and more of a romantic gesture akin to marriage. 

Hades' love for his darling is so sick and twisted that some may not even call it love! It's just pure mania! One minute the fiery god is cooing at you, complimenting how gorgeous you look in the black toga he got you. The next he's screaming, hair burning a staking red as he yells about how quiet and cold you're being! How you don't love him as much as he loves! Truth is Hades' doesn't want your love exactly, better yet he doesn't know what love is. He just wants you to be as obsessed with him as he is with you! 

"Look (y/n) this whole relationship this is easy!...." 

Hades' punishments are also very fierce. The lord of the dead gets offended quickly! The slightest offense can drive him into a mad rage!

 He'll do practically anything to teach his darling a lesson, from burning them to disembodying them and then stitching them back together. The idea of inflicting pain is just so enjoyable to him! The thought that he has full control over how you feel! Oh, how he loves "playing" with you controlling your every move.

Eventually, Hades' darling will get so used to his temperamental moods and sadistic behavior that they just end up not caring. He's going to burn your right arm until it's limb? Okay, cool is that before or after your date to Skopelos? Oh, he's threatening to feed you to Cerberus? That's fine just don't forget I want Tomatokeftedes for dinner. Not much really fazes you at this point.

"You just got to make me the center of your world and ba-bing ba-boom we're an official couple!" 

Scar

it's always blood and guts with him 

always screams of agony and frustration 

always his word above all else 

always him

Scar is one of the worst yanderes, cause he can make pain feel like nostalgic, welcoming even. With only a few sugar-laced words he can turn your own mind against you. He's cruel and calculating never permitting you to do the smallest thing for yourself. If you want something you have bat your eyes and beg real nicely so he'll consider ordering someone to do it for you. It's such a rare, practically precious accurate if Scar ever decides to do anything even remotely nice for you. If ever he fetches you your or dress you or even toss you a gift. You will have to treasure those moments. 

" Be prepared (y/n)..."

Everything is a quid pro quo with him, the black-haired man never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. He makes you thank him for the simplest of things like letting you eat, or giving you a bed to sleep in. 

Despite how horribly Scar treats his darling he still expects them to love him unconditionally. He wants to be the only thing his darling thinks. In a rather twisted way, he really does try to prove that he loves you, even if it's though scratch marks that are just a little too deep to be considered "scratched" or love bites that draw too much blood. He does love you, you know he does!...or maybe it's all just a mind game. 

"....For I shall always remain your king!"

Shan Yu 

Shan Yu borders somewhere between protective and obsessive. he knows his darling can protect herself, they're strong, capable, but the truth of the matter is he doesn't want them to! He wants you to depend on him, to make him feel wanted. It's very likely that his darling is a soldier in his army (from what I've heard women from the Hun tribes could join the army) which permits him to start a "casual affair with them. It's nothing at first, a passe time between fleeting moments of peace. But it turns dark quickly when he notices them "flirting" with some other soldiers, touching them, smiling at them, things she should only be doing with him!

He doesn't so much kidnap his darling as "claim" them either through a straightforward declaration to his tropes or through "love marks" that he leaves over their body. It's a sudden kind of thing, one moment is preparing for battle-ready to strike down anyone that stands in their way the next they are being dragged to Shan Yu's tent and being told they aren't permitted to fight anymore!

"I tire of your arrogance, (y/n)..."

Shan Yu isn't exactly cruel per se...he's just a tad bit aggressive. He takes every tiny disobedience as a sign of rebellion! And he's more than willing to strangle the resistance out of you. He hates to punish you, hates to see you in any form of pain but how else is he going to get you to be his trusty loving darling?!

At some point, he'll let his darling on the battlefield, only for battles he knows for certain that his team will win. Shan Yu adores the way his darling gracefully swings their blade at anything in sight! Cutting enemies with practiced elegance and wearing their blood like a dress made from the finest silk.

"....You belong to me why can't you just accept that?"

Shere Khan

(Fun fact his name translates to "Lion King" in Persian. Shere being the direct translation of lion and Khan being a prefix (such as majesty) to a king or ruler. )  

Shere Khan is a complex yandere and can't really be nailed to a specific "type" he's protective of his darling, willing to kill anyone that so much as looks at them wrong. On the other hand, he himself adores tormenting his darling. Sometimes it's just flirting, making them flustered, other times it's raking his claw-like nails over every inch of their body until they're a bloody mess. Then there's just how obsessed he is with his darling, how they infiltrate his mind every second of every day. Even when the poor man is asleep all they can think of his lover.  

The important thing to remember about Shere Khan is that he doesn't mean any malice, he doesn't do what he does out of spite or hatred but rather for both love and "fun", he's a bit like a puppy that doesn't understand that biting his harmful and instead sees it as a game. "hurting" his lover is just claiming them, heck Khan will be thrilled if his darling left their own marks on his body.  

"No matter how fast you run..."  

Khan is a rather cold lover, never really showing you much of his emotions, he's secretive, quiet. But he makes up for that with the gift that he buys his darling. Khan insists that his darling always dresses in the most lavish, flowing dresses. They must always look their best, after all, he deserves only the best.  

There are times when he'll be nicer towards his darling taking them out for walks or maybe even cuddling with them. He does love the feeling of warmth that his darling radiates. His favorite thing to do his lay down in the sun with his arms wrapped tightly around his lover and just drift off to sleep.  

"..I Will always find you!"

[first-and-last-neocount]

Whumptober Day 3

Now we’re really kicking into high gear on the AUs. This is one of the two AUs for which I’ve written multiple Whumptober fills; this one I’ve been referring to in my head as the Happy Families AU, which is only barely sarcastic, because most of my headcanons for this AU are sickeningly sweet domestic fluff. There’s a few darker bits, though, and that’s what ended up in these fills. 

A couple of notes on this AU setting: Jenseny survived her attempted martyrdom, she ended up leaving the Eastern Continent with Damien and Gerald due to the extreme social unrest there and the lingering prejudice against adepts, and after dealing with Calesta the two of them adopted her. Similar to another AU I’ll be showcasing among these fills, the fae is still Workable and Gerald still has some of his Hunter traits; I’ll go into more detail on my headcanons surrounding that whole topic on a later day, when my head isn’t splitting open from a migraine, which it is currently giving its best shot at. 

Day 3 - Theme Chosen: “Who did this to you?”

“Jen? What's wrong?”

Damien was no adept, but he didn't need to be. He knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the yard. On any other day, his adopted daughter would have been bolting out the front door the moment she heard him reining in his unhorse at the gate; her school let out an hour before he got home from work, and she was invariably waiting, bubbling over with stories about her day. Today, however, the yard had been empty except for the dozing form of their pet weiler, a massive brown-and-black beast named Marchosias that Gerald had picked out – and named – as a puppy two years ago. When Damien unlatched the gate, the dog lifted his blocky head and whuffed once, before rolling over and going back to sleep; reassured that nothing was too terribly awry, Damien had stabled his tired horse, then gone in search of his daughter.

He found her in the sitting room, curled up on the window bench with her homework spread in front of her. She was still wearing the sky blue blouse and ruffled indigo skirt she'd had on when he dropped her off at school that morning, but she'd taken her hair out of its thick braid and let it spill over her shoulders; bent forward over a heavy textbook in her lap, it hung like a curtain, partially shielding her face. Her legs were tucked up alongside her on the cushion, and the position of the door relative to the window meant that Damien was seeing her in profile, limned by the watery autumn sunlight outside. She only barely looked up at him, a sideways flash of her dark brown eyes before her gaze returned to the book in front of her, but her expression was calm and her voice steady when she replied.

“Nothing's wrong, Dad. I just had a long day at school.”

Damien frowned, leaning against the door frame for a moment. Jenseny still didn't look up at him, strangely avoidant; she seemed to only be focusing very hard on whatever she was reading, but the lack of a smile combined with her studiedly level demeanour made a hard knot of anxiety start to form in his gut. He waited a moment, picking his words carefully, before he spoke.

“If something's bothering you, Jen, I'd like to talk about it... but I understand if you don't want to, and you don't have to give me any details if you'd rather not. I'd prefer you to be honest with me, though, so I know it's not something serious.”

Halfway through turning a page, Jenseny's hand froze in midair. The knot in his belly tightening, Damien waited silently. After a moment, Jenseny let go of the page and allowed it to flutter back into place, dropping her hand to rest on her leg where it was tucked up beside her. Damien could see her gnawing on her lip, just a little, her internal war more than obvious; he held himself still, wanting desperately to cross the room and pull her into a hug, but resolved not to pressure her while she made her decision.

Then, hesitantly, she finally turned to face him. She swung her legs off the cushion to do so, sitting upright properly – and as the far side of her face came into view, Damien gasped.

“Jen.”

There was a large, misshapen bruise blooming over her left cheekbone, dark and damning against her warm ochre skin. The facade of calm finally cracked, and Jenseny's lower lip began to tremble, her eyes welling up with a glossy sheen of tears. His heart breaking, Damien was across the room in a few strides, sinking onto the window bench next to her and putting his arm around her; instantly, she sank into him, burying the uninjured side of her face against his shoulder as she muffled a sob. Damien smoothed a hand over her dark curls, the first sparks of fury warring with the sorrow coursing through him.

“Sweetheart, who did this to you?”

For a moment, Jenseny was quiet, though Damien could feel the damp heat of her tears soaking his shirt. When she started to speak, her words were soft and muffled.

“Some of the other kids in my class... don't like me because I'm an adept. They say I shouldn't be in Sheva, because the Forest makes people like me go crazy. The boys mostly just avoid me, and that's fine. I don't need them all to be my friends. Some of the girls, though...”

Of course. Damien felt those sparks of fury start to catch, growing and brightening in his chest. The prejudice of mankind knew no bounds, after all, and even living on a world where the planet's very lifeblood seemed determined to kill them hadn't changed that. He and Gerald had known, when they debated where they were going to live, that there were risks in every answer; Gerald was more than capable of Working a protection that would keep Jenseny shielded from any of the Forest's influence, he was its master after all, but any adept living so close to Jahanna's borders was bound to draw a curious eye or two. They had decided it was worth it, for the distance it afforded from the cities where the Church kept a closer watch, but they had recognized even then that it was far from a perfect solution.

Perhaps more surprising, that the first outright aggression had come from a girl – but it sounded as if it had been more than one, and maybe it wasn't that surprising after all, given how vicious teenage girls could be when emboldened by numbers.

“What did they do?” Damien murmured.

Jenseny pulled in a deep breath and straightened up, wiping at her wet eyes as she choked out the words.

“They cornered me after class. There were five of them – they're the most popular girls in class, they always hang out together. They were making fun of me, saying that I'm going to go crazy too, that I'll probably wind up jumping into the river like that poor man last year... but then, one of them said that I might take somebody else with me.” Jenseny paused for a moment, drawing in a shuddering breath. “The whole mood shifted, I could See them all getting angrier – and they were scared, too. I could feel it pouring off them, and I was so afraid, because it felt – it felt like it used to, in the cities, on the nights when they...”

She trailed off, unable or unwilling to complete the thought, but she didn't have to. Damien felt as if an iron band was squeezing his chest. He knew exactly what she was referring to; those horrific nights, on the Eastern Continent, when the governors of the cities had staked adepts outside in the forest to act as bait for demons. He could only imagine the atmosphere of mingled terror and bloodlust that must have accompanied that practice, and for Jenseny's classmates to be in that same state...

After a few steadying breaths, Jenseny went on. “One of them, the girl that always bosses the others around, said I should leave. That I need to get out of Sheva, and never come back, so I won't make any trouble for normal people.” She shut her eyes, pain flickering over her expression, and Damien felt the first true flames of fury igniting in his heart. “Then they were all shoving me, and one of them tripped me – I didn't see which one – and I hit my face on the side of the flowerbed when I fell.”

When she opened her eyes again, they shone with fresh tears. “I ran straight home, but I didn't – I didn't want to make you and Papa worry. I know it hasn't been easy adjusting to living here, especially for Papa, not having his books or his workrooms anymore... we're all just finally starting to settle in. I don't want us to have to move. I don't want you to be worried every time I'm at school, either. They were all so angry at me, though... I don't know if I can just go back and pretend nothing happened.”

Damien had to close his own eyes for a moment, overcome. God. She's been through so much, and still, her first thoughts are for others. Was I ever that selfless? If I was, I've forgotten what that felt like. Age and loss have made me selfish.

And then. Selfish enough to be willing to do almost anything, to protect my family.

Drawing in a deep breath, Damien opened his eyes and met his daughter's worried gaze steadily. “We're not going to have to move, Jen. And those girls aren't going to hurt you again. I need you to give me their names, though.”

Jenseny's eyes widened, and Damien wondered what she saw, as her eyes flickered over the air around him; he knew she was reading the currents, Seeing the reflection of his emotions in the fae. At last, she whispered the question he'd known was coming.

“What are you going to do?”

“They won't get hurt,” he said quietly, answering the question that she really meant but hadn't quite asked. “But they also won't ever hurt you again.”

Jenseny considered that for a moment. Then, quietly, she gave him the names of the five girls.

“Thank you.” Damien opened his arms for a hug that Jenseny gladly leaned into, then pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her curls. “Why don't you go call Marc in for dinner, and then you can help me make our famous family spaghetti, how does that sound?”

Jenseny's eyes lit up. “That sounds great!” she exclaimed, her natural cheer finally breaking through the melancholy that had gripped her. She kissed his cheek, then bounded off the window bench and headed out of the room. At the doorway, she paused with one hand on the frame and glanced back, her smile falling into something smaller, warmer, and profoundly meaningful.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Then she was gone, around the corner and out the front door, calling enthusiastically for Marchosias. Hearing the dog's booming bark in response, Damien smiled and closed his eyes, reaching for the link that lay between his own soul and his husband's. Currently quiescent, but always present, and only ever a thought away.

Gerald?

A moment later, he felt a warm thrum of acknowledgement, mixed with a thread of concern; Gerald's hours at the city's Historical Archives weren't much different from Damien's hours at the hospital, and it was rare for them to communicate through the link during the work day unless something fairly urgent had happened.

I'm just finishing my last lecture of the day. What's wrong?

Damien opened his eyes in time to see Marchosias go bounding by the sitting room door, an entirely too-large blur of black and brown fur skidding across the polished wood floor as his own enthusiasm exceeded the friction of his paws, Jenseny following after him in a burst of laughter. Damien smiled more widely, and directed another thought down the link.

Tonight, after dinner, we're going... out.

He felt a burst of surprise from his husband, shifting into anticipation and curiosity; Gerald's focus on the link grew, and Damien felt his husband's mind slide against his own, picking through his recent thoughts for an explanation. He offered up the memories of his conversation with their daughter, and felt a flicker of understanding and recognition.

I see. Yes. I couldn't agree more.

As the thoughts intertwined with his own grew dark and hungry, Damien stood and headed for the kitchen to start dinner. He and Gerald might still have their ideological differences, but there was one thing they agreed perfectly on.

No one was ever going to hurt their daughter. Not without answering to them.

[willcwthewisp]

next in line | marley & willow

LOCATION: willow’s workplace. PARTIES:  @detectivedreameater and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: marley has some questions for willow concerning a missing person from her work. CONTAINS: head trauma mentions.

Marley pinched the bridge of her nose as she fought back the wave of another headache. Her body felt like it was deflating, slowly, with each hour that passed. Her blackouts were getting worse as well, and maybe Erin had a point, maybe she should get Queenie to look at her head. Maybe the crash had done more damage than she thought. Still, she hesitated, because she felt as if something were different this time. Something had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but for now, she would push it to the back of her mind. She was back at work, but only on interrogation terms. So, it was with three other officers, that she’d ended up at a call center where someone had been reported missing. Missing persons were so boring, it was the same ending every time. They were dead or no longer human. In rare occasions, under a fae promise or kept in a vampire’s basement for food. She rubbed her eyes as she went in to her first interview, with one Willow Finch. Her picture looked like she smiled too much, and Marley frowned as she walked in, unsurprised, but still disappointed, the woman matched the photo. She sat in the chair across from her. “Need any water?” she asked, motioning to the pitcher next to them. 

Getting questioned by the police was the absolute last place Willow wanted to be. Sure, they’d brought in literally everyone from the office, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she were the one under a magnifying glass, even if that wasn’t true in the least. They couldn’t have possibly come to ask about the man at her gallery, right? The one who’s arm she’d broken? After all, he said he wouldn’t press charges! But no matter what she told herself, Willow’s foot was still tapping anxiously against the office floor as the detective stood across from her. Detective… “Um- sorry- what did you say your name was?” Had the woman even said her name? She always felt at least a little better when she knew someone’s name. As for the water… “Oh- no thank you! I mean...maybe? Or...maybe not! Sorry- I just don’t know what the protocol is here. Which one’s the one that means you’re guilty again? Drinking the water or not drinking it?”

“Neither,” Marley said unenthusiastically as she watched the woman practically bounce in her chair. She talked a million miles an hour and Marley was tired. She poured herself a glass of water and then the other, scooting the extra glass towards the woman. “Neither means you’re guilty, I’m literally just offering you a glass of water.” And it was the truth, actually. Offering a glass of water was supposed to simply establish a baseline for behaviour, but this woman was so squirrelly, Marley knew immediately that wasn’t going to happen. “Stryder,” she announced sitting back and looking her over. She had big, brown eyes and shiny, blonde hair. She looked so unassuming, sitting across from her, almost an opposite to Marley’s all black outfit and her black hair and dark eyes. “So, first things first. I need you to state your name, age, how long you’ve been working here, and you daily schedule, please.” Maybe this would go better. She doubted it, but she could still hope, right?

“Neither?” Willow echoed with brief confusion, her mind working too quickly and anxiously to realize exactly what Marley meant. “But you can’t do neither- you can only take it or not take it?” How was she supposed to look innocent if neither action was the answer? It dawned on her too late what the detective had actually been getting around to. “Oh- you mean...nevermind…” Willow looked away in her embarrassment, cheeks already heating as a flush came over her cheeks. “Sorry I’m just ah- a little nervous. Not that I have anything to be nervous about!” She didn’t even really know the man that had gone missing due to mostly keeping to herself in the office. There was a reason she’d chosen a job as a telemarketer, and that reason was the exact opposite of any attempts to make friends. “Stryder?” Willow’s head titled quizzically to the side, the name ringing a bell. “You’re the woman who-” The medium glanced around as if making sure they were truly alone before leaning forward and lowering her voice. “-the woman who knows Nora?” Her back straightened against the chair as she prepared to answer the question, as if she were readying for a spelling bee at school. “Right- uh, Willow Finch. I’m 32, and I’ve been working here for…” She did a quick tabulation, grimacing when she realized how long her gallery had been closed. “About six months. Daily schedule like...work schedule or the entire day?”

Yeah, this was going to be a long day. Marley sighed and rubbed her head before setting the file down on the table and leaning forward. Oh, shit, this was that one chick from online? The one Nora had harassed? She almost groaned out loud. “Yeah, that’s me,” she said, tapping the papers, “guess I shoulda figured. Not too many Willows in a town like this.” It wasn’t an accurate commentary, really, just another dry joke. Marley’s specialty. She wrote down all the things Willow told her, watching the woman’s face closely. She wasn’t lying about any of it, not that she thought she would. But the straightened back and the momentary pauses between sentences helped establish a quick baseline, in case she did try to lie. “Like work schedule. I don’t need to know what you do with your free time, besides throw bear people around.”

Great. It wasn’t that Willow didn’t like Marley based on her first impressions online. It was just that the woman had seemed abrasive, somewhat aggressive, and a little dismissive. Okay...maybe she didn’t really like Detective Stryder. But the last thing she needed was for a police officer to know that. “Is there...not?” The medium blinked slowly, apparently not catching Marley’s dry humor in person in that same way it’d flown over her head on the forums. “Okay-” she began with a nod, this time looking as if she were getting ready for an oral examination in front of the class. “Well- I usually work five days a week. I’m full-time.” She’d needed to be to even begin to cover her bills. She’d bought her apartment in the prime of her gallery flourishing, and telemarketing wasn’t quite as profitable. “And uh- when I’m here I just...you know- call people and try and sell them things.” With the mention of bear people, Willow’s voice quieted. “I thought you said they’re called bugbears?”

Marley was just trying to drown the exhaustion out when something felt as if it were being lifted from her shoulders, and her body felt suddenly lighter. So light she almost thought she was standing up, but looked down at her hands and found herself in the same position as before. She blinked, looked around, then back at Willow. Though her head still hurt and her eyes still drooped, she no longer felt the extreme exhaustion she’d had since first waking up from her accident a few weeks ago. “Full time, got it,” she noted, picking up her pen slowly and writing that down, too. She’d completely missed Willow’s first question, but breezed right by it as if it had never been said. “When do you take your breaks? Same time every day?” she asked, glancing across the table to Willow and wondering if she was simply seeing things, or if that side of the room suddenly looked darked. “What? Oh, yeah, they are. It was just-- I just...joking.” 

A heaviness settled onto Willow as Marley spoke, suddenly feeling as if she were carrying more weight than she had been before. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to shake the sensation to no avail. Ugh, was this just another anxious symptom of being interrogated? Maybe she could just go straight to sleep after work, and shake the feeling of being drained by the sensation of being under a microscope. She didn’t feel the need to repeat the question Marley had skipped over concerning her name. The sooner she got out of her the better. “Usually I do. I like to keep a schedule and stuff.” It made it so she knew what to expect of the day. “Every now and then I’ll take it other times, though.” Why did her break schedule matter? Did they think she’d had something to do with the missing person on her breaks? Again she felt the feeling of nerves clawing up her throat, pressing her to ask her next question. “You don’t- you don’t think it was me, right? I mean honestly I would have confessed by now. I’m really bad at keeping secrets that make me feel guilty. You should ask my sister- I always ended up tattling on her, and Forest is a whole other story. Oh- Forest is my brother.” Gosh, that had been a lot of words, hadn’t it? Already it felt as if they were taking a toll on her. A lot of words meant a lot of energy.

“And what time are those breaks?” Marley asked, going down the routine list of questions. No, she didn’t think Willow had anything to do with it, of course she didn’t. The girl had accidentally confessed to hurting Nora like two seconds after finding out Marley was a cop, it was doubtful she could lie even to save her own life. Marley took in a breath and for the first time in ages, felt it reach all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t help but smile a little. “They’re just routine questions,” she told her, tapping the notebook with the pen, like children do when they have too much energy. “The faster you answer them, the faster you get outta here. I know you didn’t have anything to do with it, Willow. You’re a narc, you’d narc on yourself, proof being that you already did it once before.” She gave a smirk, shrugging as she sat back. “I really don’t need to know about your family dynamics right now. But if it turns out you did kidnap this dude, then you can tell me allll about them, sound like a deal?”

The time of the breaks? Willow didn’t understand why these were the questions being asked, and that only sent her a little further over the edge of trepidation. She didn’t know how to give a good answer without knowing what it was Marley was looking for. “Um- I usually take the half hour break first around 12:30 for lunch, and then the fifteen minute break around 3:30.” She liked her mornings longer, saving her break for later in the day when she was less fresh. Now the detective was smiling. Was that good or bad? “Okay...what are the other questions? Or is that all of them?” she asked hopefully, trying to remember if there was any more of the coffee she liked leftover in the breakroom. She wasn’t usually a big drinker of it, but the sudden drowsiness that had taken her over was inspiring her to think differently. A frown came over Willow’s lips, not entirely certain that she liked the way Marley said the words narc, and applied it to her. “What do you mean I did it once before?” Oh god, was Marley lying and she did think that Willow was the reason for the missing person? Had she accidentally somehow admitted to the crime? “I didn’t!” she insisted while her tone grew more worried. “I really didn’t I mean- I don’t even think I could fit a body in my car or anything!”

Marley noted the rest of Willow’s answers and compared them to the notes on when the man went missing, and just like she thought, none of it added up. The poor man had disappeared on the overnight shift, anyway, so interviewing the day shift seemed pointless. But the captain wanted to be thorough, and so they would be thorough. She etched a little note on the pad and closed it, looking up at Willow. “What? Oh, no-- that’s all the questions. You’re good to go.” Except Willow kept talking, rambling, worrying. If this had been ten minutes ago, Marley would have groaned out loud and walked away. But as it were, she was feeling better, so she stayed put. “You practically confessed to me about Nora, remember? You were all worried I was gonna arrest you or fine you or something.” Marley let out a loud chuckle. “Woah, hey, realx, it’s fine. I know you didn’t have anything to do with it. I’m kidding. You really, really need to learn how to read sarcasm.”

“Oh, really?” Willow managed to say once she’d finally processed that she was free to live another day, and the shackles of the man wouldn’t be clapping onto her wrists anytime soon. “Thank god,” she sighed while her shoulders sagged, still a little confused as to why the questions had left her feeling so heavy. Sure- she did poorly in situations where she thought she might be arrested, but her anxiety didn’t usually leave her this level of tired. “Oh right, Nora.” She hadn’t realized Marley had been talking about a time other than today, and it was true that Willow had been all too eager to ‘confess’ her crime of throwing Nora through a window despite the bugbear being the one to break in. Willow blinked while Marley made an attempt to calm her, somewhat surprised that the woman was trying to help in the first place. Maybe she was kinder in person than she was online. “I just...I kinda forget it exists when I’m worried,” Willow admitted sheepishly, generally fine with sarcasm if she wasn’t thinking about everything that could go wrong. “But um- I hope you find him. You know- the missing person.” She knew just as well as any other native White Crester that far more people tended to go missing than were found. It was practically a death sentence in a town such as this. Just the thought of it made her want to lie down.

[johannesviii]

Top 12 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2014

The “least good” of the three best years of the 2010s. This is still a top 12. Because I can, and I will.

I know. People also call it a bad year. And I think they’re wrong.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

New job, which is the one I still have currently. Also, I discovered Doctor Who in December 2013 and you know exactly what happened in 2014 because I dived head first into the extended universe as soon as I finished New Who and I’ve never really recovered since then. The end of the year was highly stressful, with my cat being sick, my father needing a very dangerous surgical intervention, and me being so stressed out I was basically unable to sleep for days. Might explain why there’s a lot of cute songs on this list, I needed cute stuff.

That year wasn’t very generous in good albums from bands I liked. Epica released The Quantum Enigma, and it was okay, Within Temptation had Hydra, and it was also okay, and Coldplay had the very underrated (in my opinion at least) Ghost Stories, a mostly melancholic album full of bittersweet post-breakup songs. So I’m left with no choice but to declare The Birthday Massacre’s album Superstition my album of the year for 2014. They had stayed at a consistent level since Pins And Needles so I wasn’t expecting anything better from them, but boy do they delivered. Here is Divide, it’s about a subterranean world and it might be a metaphor but as you know I’m very literal-minded! Here’s Beyond, about a lady falling in love with a strange woman who might be some sort of fae or supernatural entity!! I love most of the album and there’s only one subpar song on it. I know they’ll never get a crossover hit but they’d deserve it so much. Look at the state of the world. We’re so ready for a new mainstream wave of energetic, angsty, weird music. Just bring it on.

There’s only one non-elligible song that truely pisses me off this time, and it’s Traffic Girl by Indochine, another single from their Black City Parade album. It’s about a policewoman in North Korea who has to wave and smile at non existant traffic all day long and the song presents her as a modern hero. It’s one of my favorite songs on the album and I’m so mad it didn’t make the French year-end list.

Here’s a list of honorable menti-holy shit why is this list so long

Albatraoz (AronChupa) - Riiiiiight at the limit between catchy and annoying. But it’s blissfully short.

Chandelier (Sia) - I would like this more if it wasn’t that painful to listen to, I swear.

Magic in the Air (Magic System) - Insert my usual comment about these guys and their fun & happy songs.

Un Jour Au Mauvais Endroit (Calogero) - Great music, good lyrics. It’s still Calogero and I tend to dislike how overdramatic he usually is. Not enough to ruin that one song for me though.

Je Garde le Sourire (Black M) - This isn’t the last time he’s gonna appear in this post.

Prayer In C (Lilly Wood & The Prick) - A bit repetitive but in a good way.

Budapest (Georges Ezra) - A bit repetitive but in a good way 2, the return but in a completely different genre.

The Monster (Eminem & Rihanna) - We’ve now entered the songs which I considered putting on the list, and yeah, there’s a lot of them even if this is a top 12. “Bad year for pop music”. Yeah. Right.

Addicted To You (Avicii) - This is good, and the music video is great, and I want to stop feeling emotional about Avicii. Please.

Don’t Tell Em (Jeremih) - I. Uh. What the f█ck. Okay. There’s no way I can justify this. I simply adore this beat even if the lyrics are really, really bad. It’s just visually stunning and I really wish the song itself was better.

Photomaton (Jabberwocky) - I don’t think this would have charted without the success of Kavinsky the previous year. But still. Wonderful stuff. Well deserved.

Madame Pavoshko (Black M) - This was on the first version of the list but in the end I really had no room left for it. It’s a song about a guy telling his old teacher he made it in life despite the fact she labelled him a hopeless case at school. With such a premise, it could be an angry song, but no, it’s upbeat, sarcastic and fun. Wonderful stuff.

Le Graal (Kyo) - Kyo? Wait, you mean the embarrassing emo guys from my 2002 and 2003 lists? These guys?? They were back on the charts after ten years?? And suddenly everyone thought it was cool to like them again?? Including me??? Sounds fake but okay

Turn Down For What (DJ Snake) - The last cut. Stim music at its finest, sharp, aggressive and colorful. Everything I ever wanted from a hit song.

Well, that was long. Here’s the actual list.

12 - Wake Me Up (Avicii)

US: #22 / FR: Not on the list

“So wake me up when it’s all over, when I’m wiser and I’m older” should make no sense. You can’t get wiser if you’re asleep. At least that’s what I would probably say if I didn’t feel this. There’s a lot of times in my life I wished I could be switched off and woken up a couple of years later and be like “hello I’m back, I feel better now, what did I miss”. I totally get it.

The only reason this song is so low on the list is the drop. I don’t like it very much. The rest is damn good.

11 - Boom Clap (Charlie XCX)

US: #34 / FR: #84

Boom! Boom! Boom! CLAP. That song got me after its first seconds. Love its atmosphere, very cotton candy-like, very fluffy, with a sharp voice. Doesn’t work well if you listen to it on a loop, though, and that’s the only negative thing I can say against it.

10 - Stay The Night (Zedd)

US: #94 / FR: Not on the list

This on the other hand works very well on repeat and that drop is golden. I’m afraid I don’t have anything very interesting to say about it. It stayed on my playlist from 2014 to summer 2019, though, so that’s an impressive feat.

9 - Rather Be (Clean Bandit)

US: #41 / FR: #18

Several critics I follow have commented this song is 1) mostly meaningless 2) too perfect to say anything about it and I agree. It’s also too perfect to be really passionate about it, unfortunately, but still, very, very good stuff.

8 - Magic (Coldplay)

US: Not on the list / FR: #66

You already know I don’t really like lowkey emotional songs and I also hate the first act of Coldplay’s career, so why on earth did I like Ghost Stories so much and why is Magic making me feel so emotional, you ask? Well it’s because the music itself isn’t bland. It’s lowkey but rich, dense and colourful, and it works much better than whatever they were doing before with their slow boring songs. Also, I really struggle with dramatic vocal performances on quiet emotional songs (which is why I tend to have issues with Adele’s voice on some of her stuff), and here the balance is just ideal. Soft colors, soft textures, soft voice, this is like a colorful plushie you’ve lost for years and just found in the attic and it brings you to tears. I adore it.

Also the part of the lyrics that goes “And if you were to ask me / After all that we've been through / Still believe in magic? / Oh yes I do”, that makes me want to hug someone and never let go.

7 - Waves (Mr Probz)

US: Not on the list / FR: #15

This is completely hypnotic. It’s perfect to drive, to walk, to draw. to sit on a bench and look at the trees. It’s just wave after wave of pastel colors with a good beat and it washes away your anxiety slowly but surely. Therapeutic and beautiful without ever feeling bland. Wonderful stuff.

6 - Uptown Funk (Bruno Mars & Mark Ronson)

US: Not on the list (#1 on the 2015 year-end list) / FR: #3

Everyone loved it and I wasn’t an exception. You all know it and I’ve got nothing new or interesting to say about it. A ton of fun. Love the lyrics.

5 - Sur Ma Route (Black M)

US: Not on the list / FR: #7

If you’re wondering what’s going on in this picture, the guy is parodying a lot of famous movies or series in the music video. It’s a simple but super energetic song about trying to trace your own road in life and all the problems you encounter and how you can’t always count on people you thought were your friends. It’s very propulsive and motivating and it’s my favorite song from that guy even though he made a lot of good songs. Just great stuff. Check it out if you’ve never heard it.

Speaking of being on your own...

4 - Ain’t It Fun (Paramore)

US: #47 / FR: Not on the list

I miss hearing that kind of thing on the radio and yes, I’m aware that makes me sound like an old idiot. Oh how I wish this had been released in 2010 when I just started to work, that would have been perfect. I know the song is supposed to be sarcastic with the whole “ain’t it fun being on your own” angle, but yeah, when your life wasn’t great before, it’s actually liberating to “live in the real world”, even if it sucks at times, even if it’s difficult and you have responsibilities and all.

Also the music video is super cute. Love it.

3 - Pompeii (Bastille)

US: #12 / FR: Not on the list

I’m honestly surprised this is only #3 on this list considering how much I loved this one back when it came out, and don’t get me wrong, it’s still a song I love to this day, just... a bit less. Maybe it’s because of overplay? I’m not exactly sure considering #1 was also played very often and I never ever got tired of it. And it’s well written, and it’s not every day that you hear a song about two dead people talking about the wrath of the gods after their city was engulfed in ash.

So yeah. Not sure what happened there. I hope this band is eventually gonna have another hit like this one. Bastille, more of Pompeii and less of Happier, please.

2 - Dangerous (David Guetta)

US: Not on the list / FR: #8

A few months ago I heard Memories by Maroon 5 and I was instantly filled with a truely disproportionate amount of rage for such a bland pop song. See, I love it when music uses well-known classical tunes and completely changes their context and tone, but Memories doesn’t do any of that, it’s just the Pachelbel canon with some bad lyrics on top. So yeah, it’s a pet peeve.

Dangerous, on the other hand, is a song mixing a small loop of Toccata & Fugue in D minor and it basically uses it as an ominous pseudo-police siren in a song about illegally cruising a car with your possibly criminal, possibly gangster crush and not knowing if you’re scared, in love or feeling the thrill of adventure, or all of that at once. I. Love this damn song.

When the only bad thing I have to say about a song talking about driving at night way too fast is “eh this isn’t as good as Kavinsky”, you know you’ve found gold.

1 - A Sky Full of Stars (Coldplay & Avicii)

US: #51 / FR: #9

As much as I love Dangerous, there wasn’t any doubt about what would top this list. I’ve spent about ten lists explaining how my appreciation of Coldplay kept growing over time and four lists explaining how much I loved Avicii, and this song is the best of both worlds. The first time I heard it, I was driving and, no joke, I was so overwhelmed I had to park my car to properly concentrate on the song.

One day I will have to paint this song to explain how fantastic it looks and I’d have to use purple, china blue and pink watercolor inks and basically paint a psychedelic night sky full of little lights and yeah, this is basically another of these songs that are deeply satisfying on a synesthetic level, and it joins this very select club with the blue song called “Blue”, the song full of bright flashes called “Lights” and the song that looks like gentle pulsing lights called “Fireflies”. I’m trying (and failing) to learn how to play it on the piano. I know the chords, and I suck, but I’m very determined.

On top of that deeply satisfying visual, there’s the soft vocals so specific of the Ghost Stories album, and the very simple, very cute lyrics, and I simply hear “'Cause you're a sky, 'cause you're a sky full of stars, I'm gonna give you my heart” and I die instantly. This is high quality musical fluff. Come to think of it, this list is full of it, and this is the Ultimate Fluffy Song. One fluff to rule them all.

Sidenote, considering I fell into the DW audios right when this song came out, that’s one of my theme songs for Eight and Charley. Because of course it is.

Next up: The beginning of a progressive drop in quality but you wouldn’t be able to tell considering how long this list of honorable mentions is

[darklesmylove]

wicked games ch. 3 | jurdan

check it out on ao3 as well!

Jude's P.O.V

"You're up."

The sound of Vivi's surprised voice floated into the kitchen, hopefulness and a touch of suspicion edging her tone. I didn't look up, my vision filled with stacks of scribbled plans, some crumpled and tossed to the side and others spilling over with scrawled writings scratched in bleeding ink.

"I am up, astute observation Vivi," I hummed, rubbing the back of my hand across my tired, burning eyes before scribbling another idea onto my list.

"Why are you writing like a madman, what is all of this shit?" she frowned as she walked to the edge of the table, her eyes casting over my stacks of papers in relative distaste. I dimly felt the wicked, crazed grin involuntarily crawling up my mouth as my attention flickered up to her.

"Planning on how to best kill Cardan Greenbriar."

Her lip curled slightly in disapproval. "I can't believe you would even think about trying to go back, Jude, there's so much the mortal world has to offer. Less murder and stupid Faerie politics, for one."

I snorted, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture.

I didn't have a chance to focus back on my papers before Oak came bouncing into the kitchen spouting unintelligible lyrics to some mortal world pop song. He stopped short when he noticed me sitting at the table, his eyes going wide. "Jude's up! Jude's up!" he promptly ran over to me chanting, throwing his tiny arms around my neck and hanging on me with painful enthusiasm. Begrudgingly, I put down my pen in favor of hugging him back, ruffling his silky hair with a weakly genuine smile.

Oak was another reminder of Faerie that stung horribly, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I had undeniably been avoiding interacting with him. Though to be fair, I didn't interact much with anyone.

But as of today, my days of moping were over.

Inspiration had struck in the dark hours before sunrise, and I had subsequently stayed up all night devising the best strategy to find a way back to Elfame so I could murder my supposed husband.

"What cereal today, Oak?" Vivi asked with a sigh, seemingly having given up on our conversation in favor of a more forgiving subject. Oak slid into the chair next to me, pouting his lips and swinging his short legs back and forth in thought for a brief moment.

"Lucky Charms!" he finally determined with a lopsided smile, slapping his hands on the table in excitement and for added emphasis.

"What about you, Jude," Vivi raised a brow as she plucked the bright red cardboard box from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. I shook my head dismissively, my stare dipping down as I turned my attention back to my papers.

"Choke him to death with his stupid crown?"

Oak was suddenly over my shoulder, his small voice holding a mixture of fear and confusion as he read my scrawled words aloud.

I quickly snatched the paper away, clearing my throat as Vivi shot me a withering glare. "Really, Jude?" My shoulders lifted in a half shrug, though I shuffled my papers into a crude stack before pushing them out of Oak's line of sight. Truthfully, that was by far one of the tamest plans I had devised. "Eat up Oak, we're going to be late for school," Vivi placed Oak's bowl on the table in front of him before turning her attention to me. "Would you like to come, Jude? I could use someone to help me grocery shop afterwards." The proposition made my lip curl. I had gone to the mortal store 'Target' with her once before. Needless to say, I hated every second of it. The mortal world was obnoxious and loud and tiring at best.  

Though if I really thought about it, I would have readily used the same descriptors for half the people living in Faerie.

But at least I had power in Elfhame. In the mortal world I was nothing, just another insignificant speck roaming the face of the earth with no purpose or meaning to life. I was nothing here.

The queen of nothing.

My teeth clenched together so hard it felt as if they might shatter from the pressure.

Oak hugging me good bye was a dim sensation, the sound of him and Vivi leaving the apartment a million miles away.

The pen was snatched up from the table again in the span of a blink, a fresh set of new ideas of torture and humiliation spilling over in my thoughts.

I was going to make the King of Elfhame pay for what he had reduced me to. What he had taken away from me.

Preferably with his life.

***

Jude's P.O.V

I didn't know why I had done it, why I had gone to Vivi's stash of liquor and drank through her stores as if it was my last night to live. Maybe it had something to do with catching a scent not unlike someone I loved and loathed with every fiber of my being. Maybe it had been my eyes burning with angry, exhausted tears as I came up with the hundredth new idea for how best to kill that someone. Maybe it had been the thought of what he was currently doing, who he was currently laying with.

Regardless, several empty bottles later I was sprawled out on the floor of my room, something between laughter and sobs spilling from my lips in between drunken hiccups as I stared listlessly up at the ceiling.

What would I say to him when I inevitably fought my way back to Faerie? What would he have to say for himself?

Maybe I would carve out his vocal chords before he even got the chance to speak. It would be decidedly much easier that way, to not have to hear his carefully crafted lies and manipulation ever again.

My fingers lazily crawled down my side, slipping out the kitchen knife I had come to keep strapped to my leg, a pitiful replacement for my daggers. Grasping its grooved handle, I held it above me, watching the light glint off of its sharpened blade with drunken fascination. My vision blurred in and out, my skin buzzing with heat. Another wild laugh formed on my tongue at the thought of what Cardan's face would look like when I found my way back. I would relish his terror, savor it, feed off of it. For once, he would be the one cowering, and I was going to enjoy every single second of it.

The moment of satisfaction was short lived as a wave of unbearably warm nauseousness passed over me. My eyelids fluttered as I groaned, pressing a hand over my mouth to stifle the vomit that was threatening at the back of my throat. I was sweating and feverish, alternating between blissful and miserable as the world tilted around me in a haze of sickening dizziness. It baffled me how Cardan did this every day, how he enjoyed it. Or maybe this was just another side affect of being drunk for mortals that the Fae never had to endure. The thought was bitter on my tongue.

"Jude?"

My heavy eyelids struggled to look up at the dim sound of Vivi's voice, her form blurring in and out of focus where she stood above me with her hands pressed on her hips.

"Hey sis," I greeted, slightly slurred as I absentmindedly reached for the last half empty bottle of vodka.

"I guess I can't be mad that you're finally acting like a normal teenager for once," she remarked mildly, though my intoxication wasn't quite strong enough to make me miss the mournful edge to her words.

"But I don't want to be normal." I felt the frown creep up on my lips of its own accord.

She snorted, bending down and starting to gather the bottles littering the carpet around me like some sort of shrine. The thought made me giggle briefly. "Jude, all I've wanted is for you to find happiness in yourself, outside of their world," she sighed, "I know I can't understand what it's like living there and not being one of them, but the point is that you never needed to be. You're Jude Duarte, the fiercest person I know. Being exiled doesn't take that away from you, neither does being normal and living powerless in the mortal world."

If I hadn't been drunk, I dimly suspected the words would have ignited a spark of anger. Instead, a lump grew in my throat in response.

The words teased at my tongue, anxious to be voiced aloud.

I just want to feel like I belong somewhere. With someone.

My mouth snapped shut around the admission even as Cardan's face flashed through my vision, making my nausea increase exponentially.

"I'll try harder, Vivi, I promise," I mumbled, exhaustion firmly working to press my eyelids closed.

She laughed in soft amusement. "Okay, Jude. Enjoy sleeping while it lasts, you're going to have a nasty hangover tomorrow."

Something unintelligible parted my lips in response before, promptly, I passed out.

***

Cardan's P.O.V

Cardan's mood was sullen, to say the very least. The festivities going on before him were in full swing, the people collectively intoxicated to a level that normally would have delighted him in witnessing the chaos that it elicited. But no drink has touched his tongue tonight, no nevermore graced his lips. He had remained painfully sober for quite possibly the first night since he had exiled Jude, and not for no good reason either. Orlagh was pressing for marriage again, threatening him in passive aggressive manners to make Nicasia his consort. Nicasia was currently gazing at him from across the room, conversing with Locke with her graceful arms haughtily folded over her chest. There was no denying she was beautiful, yet somehow she still paled in comparison to Jude. Jude, the mortal.

His mortal wife, that is.

No one knew of her status, of the deal they had made or of the consecration of their marriage. He had kept the information locked and guarded in the depths of his heart. Regardless if it had been what he truly desired, the move had been a political one. With her exiled and holding the title of queen, it insured the crown couldn't be stolen from him. It insured that she was protected as much as he was.

Even still, he knew he was lying to himself when he silently insisted it had nothing to do with his having feelings for her. Even as much as he so desperately wanted to, Jude Duarte was a weakness that he couldn't seem to deny anymore. His sleepless nights and empty bed could attest to that.

"Cardan." His eyes flickered up, slightly startled as he brought his focus up to Nicasia. She had crossed the room without him realizing it, and was now standing in front of him with ice blue eyes narrowed.

He couldn't hold back the contempt in his sneer. "I prefer to be addressed by my title."

Her body visibly tensed, her elegant hands curling into fists as he leaned back, crossing his legs and lazily gesturing for her to continue. "High King," she ground out, as if it physically pained her to admit she was inferior in status, "I request time for us to speak alone. My mother would like me to relay information regarding your imminent marriage." It took all of his pitifully low amount of self control to keep from jeering at her.

I already have a wife. Fuck off.

Instead, he twirled his thumb around his stacked rings in thought, turning his attention to the bare finger where a ruby formerly sat. His free hand lifted to brush against the edge of his crown, a charade of an absentminded movement, but purposefully arrogant. "Many have been pursuing my courtship and I have turned them down, what makes you think you are special, my dear Nicasia?" She reddened, making a smirk curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Maybe because I have the Queen of the Undersea behind me," she bit out, though it obviously wasn't the answer that had sprung to her mind first. She had wanted him to want her.

He fell into quiet contemplation for a brief moment. As much as it amused him to antagonize her, the question at hand was much more complex than throwing insults back and forth. His stare instinctively flickered to the right, where his seneschal had once stood by his side day in and day out. Jude would have known what to do.

Her absence had quickly made him realize with increasing urgency that he had no idea how to run a kingdom by himself. He was standing on shaky ground as it was, finally making an alliance through Nicasia would have been the smartest decision.

And yet, he couldn't make himself accept. The idea repulsed him so intensely it was mildly unnerving.

"I am currently considering my options," he settled on a rather ambiguous response, a political one, really. Neither confirming or rejecting. But it wouldn't suffice for long, and they both knew it.

Nicasia's scathing stared raked over him once, twice, before she nodded stiffly, twirling on her heels and promptly stalking away. His crown tipped slightly askew as he leaned his head back against his throne. The tedious game of politics was going to drive him mad, if it hadn't already.

"High King, there's been reports that Orlagh is starting to get impatient," the Roach appeared silently from behind him, the report low and hushed. Cardan's eyes follow Nicasia's path until she disappeared into the frenzied crowd of drunken dancers.

"So it appears," he sighed, pressed two fingers to his temple. A headache was quickly beginning to throb there, an insistent and irritating ache.

"The council is displeased with your indecision," the Roach continued impassively, doing well not to hint at his own feelings on the subject.

"Tell the council the High King says to kiss my ass," Cardan grumbled, sinking further into his seat. The Roach nodded before retreating back into the shadows, though Cardan could have sworn he caught the soft sound of his laugh.

He lifted his hand, summoning an attendant to his side in a few brief seconds.

"High King?" the boy promptly asked, his voice high pitched and breathless.

"Get me the best wine you can find, and some nevermore while you're at it," he ordered before he could think better of it. He hadn't been sober for a night in weeks, months even, why stop now? The thought made a miserable chuckle form on his lips. He didn't hesitate as a goblet appeared in his hand, downing the contents as easily as if it were water before swiping a generous amount of gold over his lower lip. This was the only way to dull the pain, to forget the sharp knife of agony pressed between his ribs and lodged into his heart.

There was only one thing that could really stop this hurt, but he knew painfully well that the only solution was one that he couldn't have, getting back the woman he could very well possibly never see again.

***

Jude's P.O.V

"Get pop tarts for Oak, he likes those for breakfast," Vivi murmured as she looked over the different types of bread with entirely too intense contemplation. My feet dragged just slightly as I walked down the aisle, swiping a box of strawberry flavored ones before tossing it into the cart.

True to my drunken word, over the past week or so I had made an effort to least act as if I was adjusting to mortal life. Grocery runs, coming along in the morning to take Oak to school, afternoon walks through the park, I had endured it all. And when I wasn't moping, I had to admit it wasn't the worst thing in the world not to have to worry about everything I ate killing me or possibly being stabbed in the back at every turn. It was normal, comfortable, but still agonizing in its monotony. Like the taste of Faerie fruit, living in Elfhame had left me addicted, always wanting more.

But maybe that was the key. No matter how much I tried to fit in, no matter how much power I wielded, maybe it would never be enough.

The thought was haunting, I shivered as I pushed the cart through the aisles, trailing behind Vivi's long, confident strides. "Do you want any candy, Jude? You could use some sweetness to balance out your bitter disposition," she smirked slightly, making an overdramatic, sweeping gesture to the wide array of brightly colored packages spilling over on the shelves.

"Coming from the household cynic, thats rich," I rolled my eyes, though not before snatching a package of hard caramels and tossing it in. It was one of the only crystal clear memories I had from before Madoc stole us away, eating hard caramels with Vivi and Taryn and sticking out out tongues to see who's would melt away the fastest.

The thought of Taryn made my jaw clench. Every single one of my memories with her were tainted now. Hollow, bitter, stained black with betrayal.

What was she doing now in Elfhame? My hands clenched, fingernails crushing into my palms. Probably celebrating her and Madoc's successes, spending nights with Locke. It was likely I didn't even pass through her mind anymore.

I hadn't realized that Vivi had moved on to the next aisle and an unfamiliar face was standing in front of me until the person waved his hand in front of my face, letting out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, sorry," I cleared my throat, blinking several times to bring myself back to reality. He flashed me a slightly lopsided smile, dirty blonde curls falling into his eyes as he shifted nervously on his feet.

"No its fine, um, I just wanted to tell you that you're really pretty," he laughed again, cheeks flushing slightly. My mouth parted as surprise tingled at my fingertips before it snapped shut just as quickly.

Come on Jude, you're gaping like an idiot. Say something you dumb ass.

"Well, thanks, I guess," I stiffly replied.

He blinked, his cheeks reddening even further at my dry response. "Ah, sorry, I usually don't do things like this but, you know, I just, wanted you to know," he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

My wariness melted away slightly at his hopeful smile. I guess this was what flirting was like between normal, mortal people.

"Yeah, I get what you mean," I flashed him a commiserating grimace, hesitantly meeting his hazel eyes. "Don't flirt much?" he asked with a hint of playfulness. "Oh, so thats what this is," I raised a brow with just as much teasing to my voice. He blushed harder.

For some reason, it made something inside me warm with an unfamiliar feeling. Happiness? Comfort? It was bittersweet, and brought me back to painful reality with a violent jolt.

"I don't want to lead you on, I just got out of a... complicated relationship," I almost physically cringed with the words, "You seem nice, but it's just really not a good time for me."

He wilted slightly, his eyes falling to the floor in thinly veiled disappointment. "Oh well, okay. Thanks for the conversation then, it was fun while it lasted." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, flashing me one last crooked grin. I silently watched him trudge away, my body frozen as I stared after him.

For this first time since being humiliated and exiled, I actually felt.. good? Maybe 'not miserable' was a better way to describe it. But still, it felt like a glimmer of hope. That maybe, just maybe, I could fit in, I could have a life in this world.

"Jude, come on lets get going, we have to pick Oak up from school," Vivi peeked her head back into the aisle from the next row over, completely oblivious to what had just transpired. I curled my lip in projected irritation. "I'm coming." She shook her head slightly, rolling her eyes and disappearing back down the next aisle over.

As I followed her, I couldn't help but smile.

***

Cardan's P.O.V

"I'm going to go see her, and you can't stop me," Cardan slurred, attempting to push past the two individuals, again to no avail. The Roach and the Bomb shared a look that was mildly infuriating as they continued to block his bedroom door, making Cardan scowl in response. "I'm the High King, and I order you to move," he growled, the menace behind his words slightly diminished as he swayed heavily on his feet, almost stumbling before steadying himself with a hand against the side of his desk. His fingers tracked thick gold across the wood, the bright color catching his attention for a brief moment before he forced himself to focus again.

"With all due respect, your highness, you are intoxicated and not in your right mind to make this kind of decision," the Bomb firmly spoke, crossing her arms and planting her feet.

"I don't care, I want to see Jude, I miss her," Cardan insisted, his head spinning. His thoughts were a mess, blurred and muffled, but one of them managed to stand out with stark clarity.

He didn't care about plans or strategy or politics any more. He wanted Jude back.

And he was going to go get her.

"Cardan, do you realize you might not like what you find when you go to see her?" the Roach raised a brow, the question plain but not unkind. Even so, it left him reeling with a wave of pain and hurt, so strong it almost brought him to his knees.

"She wouldn't move on so fast, she-" The words died on his lips, his breath hitching as if he had physically choked on them. The thought of her happy, without him? Not that she had been necessarily happy with him, but...

"It's been a month, and you betrayed her," the Bomb softly reminded him.

His heart ached for a fresh bottle of wine, to drown the horrible feeling currently hollowing out his chest. "I'm tired," he sighed, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Both mentally and physically, with equal parts exhaustion and misery. He ached for the familiar feeling of Jude shoving him rather roughly under the sheets, a typical occurrence back when he was under her control and she was still his seneschal watching over his every drunk and reckless action.

"How about you go to bed and I'll teach you another magic trick in the morning," the Roach offered, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on Cardan's shoulder. Cardan smacked his lips, running his tongue around in his entirely too dry mouth.

"Fine," he relented rather reluctantly, limply allowing himself to be promptly dragged back toward his grand bed. Despite its luxury, it still looked less than inviting without Jude in it. The mental image of her sprawled out on his sheets was ingrained into his vision with permanent clarity.

He fell onto the bed, world still spinning in a dizzying haze as he buried his face into the soft mound of a silken pillow. Dimly, he recognized the sound of murmurs of relief between the Roach and the Bomb before they walked out with nearly silent steps.

His eyes snapped back open almost immediately.

He was going to get Jude back, and no one was going to stop him.

***

Jude's P.O.V

"I'm going with Oak to a playdate, do you want to come?" Vivi asked, letting out an annoyed huff as Oak bounced on her arm, repeatedly yanking on her sleeve.

"I think I'll let you endure that hyperactive ball on your own," I eyed him pointedly with a soft laugh, to which Oak stuck his tongue out in response.

"Rude Jude, Rude Jude," he chanted obnoxiously, making me roll my eyes.

"I'm sorry Oak, you're the picture of sophistication, pardon me." I smirked as he paused, most likely trying to figure out if I was being sarcastic or not.

"I accept your apology," he sniffed, turning his nose up just slightly in an adorable parody of regalness.

I stifled my snicker, instead pressing my lips together in a smile as I nodded.

"It seems stupid Fae politics followed us here after all," Vivi rolled her eyes, snatching up Oak's restless hand and pulling him into her side.

"Hey, he answers to me, I'm the queen, remember?" I sarcastically spoke, ignoring the twinge of hurt that the words brought me.  

"Whatever, Queen Jude, King Oak, I don't care, you're in my world," she raised a brow, "We'll be back tonight, okay?" I waved my hand in a lazy gesture of understanding and dismissal, sinking down into the couch and letting my attention be captured back up by the tv as they promptly exited, the door slamming definitively behind them.

Another mindless game show was on, though for some reason they didn't seem to irritate me nearly as much any more. Weren't we all just waiting to get our lucky break in life?

My thoughts wandered to Dain, to my induction into the life of a spy. To driving a knife into my hand. To killing for the first time. To having control over Cardan. To becoming the Queen of Elfame, only to have it all ripped away from me merely hours later.

I had thought that Dain noticing me had been my lucky break. A far cry from conventional, to say the least.

My teeth found my lower lip, slicing into it as I bit down hard.

Did I even want any of that any more? However surprisingly, I had found some sort of semblance of happiness here. There was still a gaping, jagged hole torn from my soul at what I had lost, but maybe it wasn't so ridiculous to think that it could heal one day, at least with time. It had been a little over a month, maybe in a year I would have rebuilt myself already and found some new goal to pursue just as relentlessly.

A sharp, insistent knock broke me away from my thoughts.

I groaned softly as I forced myself from the comforts of the couch, running a hand through my hair as I trudged to the front door. Another loud knock that made me scowl in annoyance.

"Chill out, it's been three seconds," I groused, unlocking the door with a soft snick and swinging it open.

The figure on the steps look wildly out of place, gilded crown of gold and jewels crooked and falling to one side of his brow, ruffled, silken dress shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest. I couldn't stop my mouth from falling open as I met his coal black eyes.

"Hello wife," Cardan grinned.

tags: @highqueenofelfhame @daddycardan @barrowmare @lazyperfectionistteen @brittpetersen @greenbriaars @thequeenofeveything @drublackthorns @sleepingfancies @feysandmaraudersdramatic @thomasscresswell @courtofdreamsandterrasen @nxyatr @totallyamazingasshole @starlightfound @jeanval24601 @city-of-fae

[somuchfuckingsalt]

The Faerie AU

Alright I just found this post about faeries and Ireland and how even though it’s a very modern country there’s just places you don’t go and things you don’t fuck with because even if you don’t believe in faeries, you don’t want to find out they exist by pissing them off.

So anyway, here’s my Fae AU where Annabeth unwittingly puts herself in danger because Fae are Not Real and why would she believe in children’s stories.

One year, after the Chase family has spent many an hour in therapy together, Frederick decides to take the entire family on an extended vacation to Ireland, where his uncle resides. Said uncle is going to be spending the summer elsewhere and has offered his very large house for their use while he’s gone.

Annabeth finds both good and bad things about the trip.

For good, her great uncle lives in a very old, historical home and she has been studying it obsessively with great fascination.

For bad, her father insists on ‘bonding time’ since the whole point of the trip was to help them work through their collective shit.

For good, Annabeth can escape bonding time by going into the local village.

For bad, the local village is a bit of a trek on foot and she’s not allowed to drive her uncle’s nice cars.

For good, there’s this hill that she can climb over that will cut the walk time nearly in half. It’s a large hill, with a few dips and rises but nothing major or terribly difficult. It’s spotted with trees and there’s a natural path made out of the roots of trees breaching the ground that provides an easy way not to get lost.

For bad, it’s One of Those Hills.

The first time Annabeth walked across that hill, it was shortly after lunch and she was following a google search that told her that the village was home to a small second hand bookstore that she wanted to explore. When she started out she slowed herself down though because the path was scenic and she had a healthy appreciation for how green and beautiful Ireland is.

When she emerged in town the first person who saw didn’t even bother to greet her, just asked if she’d come from the hill and then proceeded to inquire whether she’d littered or taken anything from the path. She hadn’t, but she was both baffled and annoyed by their behaviour. Since she had done neither of those things the local had let her be and she’d brushed it off as someone who just didn’t want the American Tourist to mess up their home.

Later that day when she had started home the same way, a young woman who introduced herself as Katie, had warned her to stick to the road because it would be dark soon. Thinking she had meant wild animals were more likely to come about at night on a remote hill rather than road, Annabeth had listened and walked the long way home.

It didn’t take long for Annabeth to learn that those incidents were not because the locals were concerned about wild animals, but rather because of the Fae. Each time Annabeth took that tree root path or mentioned her shortcut some local would warn her about being respectful and never, ever taking the path at night. 

Annabeth never failed to roll her eyes at the warnings, laughing slightly and asking if the newest well-intentioned local actually believed in fairies. They never did, agreeing whole-heartedly that the Fae (as they called them) didn’t exist.

But don’t go to the Hill at night. 

She found this endlessly confusing, however, she also never failed to take the long way home when her trips to town ran a little bit late.

Maybe it was the story Katie told her of some drunk high school kid who’d thrown his empty beer from the paved road high up onto the hill and spent the next three weeks in the hospital because of an unknown but extremely aggressive stomach bug.

Or perhaps it was the story the bookstore owner Anthelia told her, about a nature hiker taking a pretty, crystal looking stone from the path and find the next morning that every tire in her care had somehow gone flat from running over sharp rocks.

Or it was the story of the dairy farmer’s daughter, who’d taken the short cut but wandered off the path, not to be seen for three days and with no memory of where she’d been. 

Most likely it was the fact that there was an apparent string of missing persons who were last seen heading towards The Hill at night. 

Meanwhile there’s Percy, 100% Fae and 100% up for stirring some shit among the humans. He knows about the American girl with the pretty, long blond hair, and very time he heard a tale of her rolling her eyes at the stories the locals told he rolled her eyes at her, just waiting for the day that she’d specifically do something the locals warned her against just to prove them wrong.

Part of him hopes he’d be the one to catch her tossing her crips bag into the grass or picking a flower, mainly because her smarter-than-thou-foolish-fae-believers attitude was pissing him off just a bit. It had been a long time since someone had managed to do something that warranted more than having a minor inconvenience bestowed upon them and quite frankly, Percy was a bit bored.

Percy’s hopes of tying the girl’s long pretty hair to the bars of her headboard (or perhaps to the branches of a thorn bush) were dashed when his only and favouritest little sister came home one day and told her about the human princess with golden hair she’d met on the Hill who’d given her half a chocolate bar and rigged the straps of her dress with a ponytail when a button fell off.

Estelle was too little to give the girl a gift, or do her a favour, herself so could her bestest big brother do it for her? Pretty please?

Well fine. He could do something nice for her now but that doesn’t mean he still won’t switch all of the covers of her books around.

He’d planned on watching her a bit for a day or two so he could know what she’d appreciate best without noticing it as an outright gift (although he’d played around with giving her the most FaeTM gift possible just to watch her question everything but that would not fall under the ‘nice gift/favour’ category).

He’d been thinking about slipping some kind of precious book or an interesting antique into her belongings when she’d left a dinner out with her family abruptly, pissed off, and heading straight for The Hill.

Percy was astounded. Truly baffled. Because of all the dumbass ways to prove the local legends wrong, going to The Hill at night was the dumbest of the dumbass ways.

Quite frankly, Percy didn’t entirely think fixing his sister’s dress and giving her some chocolate was enough of a good deed for him to catch shit for rescuing the girl from herself and preventing the local Fae community from having their first kidnapping in decades. And he knows, deep in his heart, that Beckendorf is going to tease him for the next century about saving the pretty human girl and he does not want to deal with that even a little bit (he does think she’s pretty, and that may or may not be why he’s been paying extra attention to the gossip about the American vacationers, but that’s besides the point). 

However, if his sister found out her golden princess was going to have her pretty grey eyes added to someone’s collection, she’d probably be upset.

So Percy followed her in, keeping his distance at first, until words began to whisper and began to slow, her eyes scanning the land for what could possibly be making the noise. She probably didn’t even notice she was slowly moving off of the path until Percy kicked a rock to get her attention with the noise.

Now both scared and angry, she directed her venom at him. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

“The locals warned you about coming up here. Stellie would be upset if you got carried off.” Percy replied, thinking at first she was freaked because on a regular day his appearance could be *ahem* alarming to humans. Until he realized he’d glamoured himself and he was a boy and she was a girl and it was night and even Fae know human girls should not be around strange boys at night.

“I don’t believe in children’s stories and I don’t know who that is.”

“My sister. You helped her with her dress and gave her a treat, so she asked me to help you.” That last bit he wasn’t looking at her as he said it, instead passed her to the land beyond the path and those that occupied it. They weren’t entirely pleased with him but even though they’d complain and kick up a fuss about their lost prey, fighting with him would be fruitless.

She didn’t look like she particularly trusted him, though she believed that he was the brother of the little girl she had helped. That wasn’t entirely comforting to her though, because that little girl had freaked Annabeth out just a touch with her too big eyes and odd speech and the way Annabeth swore there were little growths underneath her hair.

He offered to walk the path in front of her. That way she could keep an eye on him and he could tell his sister he walked her home safe and sound.

Along the way he couldn’t quite help himself, he asked why in the fuck she would go for a nature walk in the middle of the night when everyone who knows the area has told not to do. Children’s stories aside, it’s still partial wilderness and she’s alone.

That was the wrong thing to say, because she was not a happy camper and no matter what Percy said she was not pleased.

To be fair to Annabeth, he was a strange boy who’d apparently appeared out of nowhere, she’d been plague by chills and an ominous feeling the entire walk, and she had just gone through one (1) horrendous dinner with her family. The Boy was also infuriatingly smug for a reason she could not for the life of her comprehend and every word coming out of his mouth was a frustrating mixture of annoying as hell and super sexy because goddamn that accent.

Percy manages to get her all the way home, respectfully staying at the gate while she walks to the front door, and waiting until said door is locked before he turns to leave.

(To his chagrin both Beckendorf and Grover are waiting to give him hell but goddammit word travels fast).

Annabeth may or not be slightly obsessed with the hot boy who appeared one (1) time in a village small enough that by week two of their family vacation everyone knew her name and where she went to high school. A boy who was rather strange but no one seemed to know when she gave them a description.

She also may or may not have been plagued by bad luck until the end of her trip (lost items, ripped clothes, tripping lots, etcetera). Percy thinks it’s a decent trade off for being carried off in the middle of the night.

It’s not until her next summer trip two years later that she finds out why Percy was so very smug when she insisted that Fae aren’t real. 

[blackdamed-blog]

Obrien ( a land of eight nearly united kingdoms )

Oriens -- The largest and most diverse country, serves as the unofficial capital of Obrien. Is home to human, dwarven and vampire realms. Home of the dwarves of Jorrsgar and the Emerald Mountains, who separated from the Duregbag dwarves long ago to achieve democracy. Noble houses are aplenty in the land, but there also an abundance of commoners living comfortably middle or lower class. Though there is poverty, jobs are fairly easy to come into. The people of Oriens are opened-minded, due to being exposed to many races and cultures, but there are always a select many that stay prejudiced to others unlike themselves.

Sanct Amell -- The capital and home of the royal family, named after one of Obrien’s long deceased saints, Sister Catherine Amell. It used to be a humble and quaint town, full of the middle and lower class among the towering castle, but gentrification has began making changes to the village and it’s quickly becoming a bustling city. Some of the upper class seek to move closer to the castle, prices raising and forcing the middle and lower class out of their homes. Home of Cypress.

Charles -- Named after the late Lord Roywood Charles, ancestor of the current King Heathwood Charles. And, no, no more Charles men have been named after wood. A romantic and lively town, full of creative architecture, art, and music. Home of the upper and middle class. Charles is also the home of the Bard’s College, where many come to learn the trade of song.

Sanct Marie -- Named after the long deceased saint, Lady Marie Flores. A more humble area of Oriens, this is also a town where middle and lower class usually reside. It’s quiet and far from the other cities, ripe with greenery and animals. Farmers and ranchers like to make a living there. A true country town.

Lissa -- Named after a late princess of Oriens, Princess Lissa Ysell, who’s untimely death of illness caused her parents so much grief that they named a town after her. Lissa is a gated settlement where many of the wealthy are located. One must make $$$$$ amount of money to reside there.

Seline -- Named after the late Queen, Seline Del Rio, who was Oriens’ primary ruler once upon a time after her father’s death. Seline is a mountainous region, filled with grassy plains and plenty of rain. Much like Sanct Marie, it’s a country region far from city life.

Lisanct -- A port town and the only predominantly human settlement that’s not named after a person. It is believed that Oriens stemmed from Lisanct and grew from there.

Mudarra -- A forest region, bombarded with trees and and other vegetation. It is said that the moon and stars are most beautiful when seen from a clearing in the Mudarra forest, but it is also home to a vampire clan. However, the vampire clan has sworn not to suck the blood of human -- lest they be purged from Oriens and life all together by the Oriens guard. Such a deal was struck long ago and is upheld by a treaty. To keep the peace, the clan is strict with what vampires come in and out of Oriens. Each member is registered and kept under surveillance by clan prefect. The leaders of the vampire clan are Garnet and Slate. All vampires that come in give up their old lives and names, renamed after stones. Lately though, Slate has been getting tired of living under human rules. He believes that the vampires are losing the power they once held over the world. Why should they fear what humans will do to them?

Emerald Mountains -- A large dwarven region that takes up nearly half of Oriens; separated by a large mountainous region that borders Seline and Lissa. Unlike the dwarves of Jorrsgar, the dwarves of the Emerald Mountains kept their strong caste system that rooted from Duregbag and is ruled by royalty and several noble houses. King Agni is a distant cousin of the current King of Duregbag, King Afolabi, and their family cut ties after Agni’s ancestors left Duregbag to rule elsewhere. Greed was the root, both families simply wanting to have power, and it sprouted a war in the bloodline. What ended the inner war was the split up.

Jorrsgar -- A humble town of dwarves, in between Sanct Marie and Lisanct, that believed Agni’s family truly wanted democracy. When that wasn’t the case, they left and created a settlement of their own, protected by the Oriens royal family. Their current mayor is Hilde Gold Hand.

Sybil -- A primarily human country, but it borders Orc and Shifter territory that are not in Sybil’s protection. Sybil is larger, albeit more old fashioned than Oriens; long ruled by a royal family under the surname Harebell. It’s current ruler is the unmarried Queen Marth-Marie Harebell, inherited from the late King Renald Harebell after his untimely death. Queen Marth is accompanied in ruling by a string of advisers and her hand, Violette de Montsimmard. Though reserved towards outsiders, the people of Sybil are no strangers to mages and magic users. They seek to help control them instead of eradicating or banishing them, therefore establishing the only Mage’s College in all of Obrien. Establishing such has created a large mage population in the country, which they are struggling to control. Each mage must register themselves (or be forced to) and must give blood for a phylactery, which can trace magic back to whoever cast it.

White City -- The capital, where the royal family resides. The streets and large buildings of the town are made with white stone and the city is quite picturesque to look at. The palace, made of beautiful pearly stone and marble itself, towers over the other large structures. The White City is very much a marketplace, houses and living spaces few or right above a store; where the store owners live.

Riverwell -- Right off from the White City, this is where the homes that the White City lacks usually are. Upper and middle class live here.

Brightenwood -- A quaint town, home to the largest library in all of Obrien; the Brightenwood Guild of Education. Despite it’s name, formerly a college for the wealthy, it’s open to all and is mainly used as a public library. True to it’s name, the town is surrounded by woodland and there’s hardly a cloudy day -- save for the colder seasons. There is a Brightenwood Old Town, gentrified by the wealthy, and simply Brightenwood; where the middle and lower class stay. Home of Hamsa.

Marshlands -- Not protected by the Sybil royal family, but apart of the country. This is an orc realm, separated from the Orcs of Azacstan. These are a group of Orcs that found Azacstan’s bloody and aggressive culture too much to live with and sought a better life for themselves. They seek for other races to see them as peace lovers, but the Orcs of Azacstan have terrorized all of Obrien for many years. They are often antagonized by raiders from Azacstan, constantly asking for Sybil’s protection and for the royal family to send more guards to help them. Long has the late King Choi turned a deaf ear to them, perhaps Queen Marth will hear them out.

Black Forest -- Shifter territory, home to several pacts of animal shifters that do not need the protection of Sybil. A forest region, so overrun with greenery that the sun is merely a small peep in the sky. Humans dare not set foot there.

Hidden Forest -- A region, far off from Brightenwood, that is not documented on the map. This is home to a clan of vampires that name themselves after flowers. The clan is primarily for young vampires undergoing their chrysalis (fluctuating emotions that young vampires and dhampyr go through), but word among creatures of the night is that older vampires have also disappeared around this region -- seen again within the clan, memories of life outside of it erased. There seems to be no leader within this clan, except for an unknown master from the Blood Council. It is co-run by prefects. This is the vampire clan that Cypress is a prefect of.

Dawnstar -- A fae realm, in which humans are warned away from. If a non-fae steps foot in Dawnstar, they’ll only be met with an endless forest. In this endless forest, one is prone to being the victim of several types of fae -- good and bad.

Kur Vashox -- A large country in between Oriens and Sybil, ruled by several Jarls. More so than relying on bloodlines, Kur Vashox has a culture of fending for oneself and ‘survival of the fittest’. If a Jarl was uprooted and defeated by another one day, that person who defeated the Jarl would become the new Jarl. If the people of a town collectively decide that their Jarl is unfit and seek to seat another, they have all right to forcefully uproot that Jarl and place the other in the seat. Otherwise, it is the Jarl’s choice for who comes after them. Not determined by birth, but who’s fit for the seat. Kur Vashox is unofficially democratic. The Kurians are a hearty people. The land is nearly surrounded by the sea and, as such, they have become a sea faring folk. Nearly every Kurian has been on a ship in their life and many middle to upper class family have their own small boats; which are kept in the port

Morgal -- Capital of the country and it’s port city. Many merchants make a living there.

Valenguard -- A simple town to the naked eye, nothing much but a few houses, stores, and a tavern. To those who know better, it’s home to the Emerald Eye; a guild of thieves who’s members are spread across Obrien.

Ervisgur

Ysgor

Duregbag -- A dwarven kingdom inside of a large mountain, so it has no cities -- only districts. Duregbag has a strict caste system and is run by the wealthy and nobility. Their King, Afolabi, is a man who listen to those with the deepest pockets and turns away from the poor. In Duregbag, the wealthy can take up harems -- the owner of it can be man or woman. The people in these harems get a monthly salary, so many of the better-looking people in poverty turn to being apart of a wealthy patron’s harem. That or sell themselves into servitude. There are dwarves who live just outside of Duregbag, surface dwarves. These dwarves still fall under the reign of the King, but enjoy a little more freedom outside of the caste system. There is another castle just off from Duregbag, at the very top of the mountain. It is known that this castle belongs to a strange dragon (Hamsa), who appears to be docile. The people of Duregbag dare not bother it.