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krisanderwrites · 7 years

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Malachite and Sparrow 01

When I first moved into the dorms at Elsewhere University, everything seemed so vague and ethereal. Choose a nickname to go by? I had never had one before. Leave out creamer at night? Read poetry to the crows? Give Them offerings of bread. Well, I already had given them some of the soft pretzel I had brought from home, watching their black feathers gleam in the sunlight. They were nothing like the baby birds I had carefully hand-reared by instructions from wildlife rehabilitators. The crows were too orderly as they picked over the morsels I offered. I went with the name Sam, after my childhood pet. My first roommate never appeared. The RA assured me that everything was fine- just a mix up in the paperwork. I told him about my plans- biology major with a chemistry minor, becoming a veterinarian or forest ranger eventually- and he laughed and said that I would be alright. He reminded me to just carry salt packets in my pockets and wear the iron washer I had been given. Silly school traditions, I had thought to myself. Still, there was no harm in following his advice. I supposed reading to the crows would be at least a way to pass time- perhaps I could even study. Every day I would spend my time between classes reading aloud from my textbooks to them. Very few seemed to take an interest in my droning, often leaving for higher branches once the food I had brought was eaten. I made very little progress in the way of making human friends as well. Long hours studying and social anxiety kept me from interacting with any classmates unless absolutely necessary.

Slowly I began to withdraw. I spent more and more time indoors with the curtains drawn. I would go days sometimes without eating and nights without sleeping. I still cared for my potted plants and attended classes and studied, but everything was becoming dull and dim. I went through many electronics as my phone and laptop inexplicably would short out with little to no reason. I avoided calling my family. They always asked too many leading questions and I had never been any good at lying. At times the washer around my neck felt unnaturally heavy, like it was weighing me down, but I did not dare to take it off when outside my dorm room. Even as isolated as I was, I heard the stories. People who went missing and only sometimes came back. People who were avoided by fellow students until they packed up and went home. I did not want to end up like them. Home had no place for me anymore. It was not until near the end of my first year that I met her. Her nickname was Malachite. She had olive-toned skin and dark brown hair that reached her waist. Striking up a conversation about video games, of all things, she wormed her way into my life. Once there, she never left. I began collecting tidbits about her as time went by. She collected gemstones and crystals, embroidered things by hand, and drew in her spare time. At any point in time she had many pieces of silver jewelry on her person (not necessarily being worn). Although undecided in which she wanted to focus on, she was a foreign language major. She came from a big family but somehow felt just as alone as I did. At first we only hung out to watch shows or play video games, but quickly it became apparent that we had many other things in common. We shared book recommendations and downloaded music and even favorite snacks. I told her everything- from my perfect older sister and doted-upon baby brother to how I apparently could never do anything right to my long abandoned dreams. Eventually she was spending more time in my dorm room than in her own. Her roommate went missing for a week and then came back... different. Unsure as to where she had been, we were a little concerned. Eventually she disappeared again, this time along with all of her things. Malachite and I agreed to become roommates at the start of the next semester. I stayed on for summer classes just to avoid going home (avoid seeing familiar strangers). The entire time she was gone, I thought about what my family wanted me to be versus who I wanted to be myself. The conclusion I came to was that I had to let part of myself go to become someone I could live with for the rest of my life. I changed my nickname to Sparrow. It was time for me to spread my wings. * * * * When Malachite returned from the summer, she seemed profoundly relieved to be back on campus. I myself was profoundly relieved to have her back. She took the name and pronoun change in stride, gleeful that I was comfortable enough to try and become my own person. Together, we brought her things up to the room and unpacked. Negotiations for the room were easy- I got the bed furthest away from the hall so that I could perhaps sleep on occasion and she got the better closet. My comfy reading chair was agreed to be a timeshare since it was literally the best place to curl up with a book and I often studied while in bed. We took turns getting snacks or take-out food. I rolled my eyes when she glued salt to the floor and windowsill, but there were certainly people with weirder habits out there. She made me get out and go to the dormitory cafeteria for breakfast each morning. Together we went to the occasional gathering and I began to meet more people. When she could, she often joined me during my study sessions with the crows. Sometimes she even read her own selections to the crows, which were definitely more popular than my textbook sections. Her days of blasting music on her mp3 player were also well received by the birds. I learned more rules. Never say thank you or sorry in public, underwear was to be worn inside out for luck, and stay away from those promising to sell or trade things. Everything continued on as normal until one day when a fellow student from introduction to sociology showed up in my dorm. He asked me to see to one of the crows if I could, as it appeared injured. I gathered what supplies I had nearby and rushed out the door. Finding the bird was easy enough, but capturing it was another matter altogether. Eventually I managed to coax it within reach with calm words and bits of a sweet roll. The silly thing had managed to run afoul of something with a wicked set of claws. Luckily nothing looked too bad besides its eye. Frowning, I asked it to wait in a nearby tree. Getting pain meds was the hardest part, especially considering apparently no veterinarian normally visited the campus. One finally gave in and accompanied me to the place, eyeing the crows with frank unease. He gave me what I needed and instructions, as well as antibiotics. In return I very carefully never used his name. Medicating an unwilling patient was not a new task for me, even if the swearing definitely was. However, I got the crow cleaned up and diligently doled out treats to wash down the drugs. After a few weeks his scabs were almost gone and his lack of sight from his injured eye never stopped him. Even after his pill bottles were empty, he begrudgingly hung around me in exchange for snacks. The next week a cat limping along on three paws approached and mewled plaintively. Pulling the thorn out of her paw pad seemed strangely prophetic. Two days after that, another student brought me non-descript brown bird (the species of which I am still not sure) tangled in fishing line. The very next day I had my first human patient, a shaken freshie who needed stitches. I began carrying medical supplies in my messenger bag, along with all kinds of food. There is a saying on campus: One good turn deserves another. My first contact with anything that could be considered the Gentry was a person who stared a little too intently at me on my way back from a late afternoon class. I was on my way to the place where the crows gather to study, but the sort of prickly feeling that you get when someone is staring at your back forced me to stop and glance around. They seemed polite enough; however, their voice rung strangely through the air. When they asked me what I wanted in exchange for my aid, I was at first confused. After clarifying that they were not in need of my services immediately, I assured them that I expected nothing. Aid freely given to those in need that I could help. The being gazed a bit longer, eyes almost glowing yellow, and then finally made a pleased noise. I was declared a healer and handed a small golden medallion. They told me to break it in half should I ever find myself needed aid myself. I told them it was a very thoughtful gesture and that was that. When I informed Malachite about the incident, she got a faraway look in her eyes. The very next day she presented me with a gift of her own. A talisman made by her on an iron chain- to replace my freshman washer, of course. The fact that she also had her own copy was entirely besides the point, she declared. However, she was quite confident that the talisman would help one of us locate the other should we ever become lost. To humor her I wore it at all times. * * * * I had no idea that my interactions with the Fair Folk would only increase as time went by. I still continued to care for the crows and cats on campus, as well as the few wildlife, but every now and then someone would ask me to see something... else. The creatures would often look like a normal cat or dog, but none of the physical parameters made any sense. The people who asked were always a bit... odd yet polite. I chose my words carefully and kept my talisman in plain view, working diligently with what information I had that could be extrapolated to different species. The first party I attended (as a sort of lookout for a friend) put me face to face with a charming man with flame hair that most the guests were ignoring. After striking up polite conversation with him for a while, he suggested a game. The stakes were small and I had never played poker before; to this day I still have the distinct impression that he let me win. In exchange he changed my voice to the perfect tone. I traded it back thirty minutes later to keep a hapless girl from going home with him, amusement on his face as he watched me escort her to her dorm. I quickly learned that not all fae were as discerning as the ones I normally dealt with for my healing. Some took advantage of those who were desperate when making deals. One of the freshies lost their eyes in what was reportedly a "lab accident" if anyone actually believed the official announcement. There was a frog-eyed boy at the annual costume party that I watched like a hawk as he interacted with increasingly buzzed classmates. My friends always noted that I had a bit of a knight complex; I felt useless when I could not help others. Worried, I began amassing even more knowledge. Not just anatomy or physics or pharmacology, but legends and superstitions and even more inorganic chemistry than strictly necessary for my degree. A scientist at heart, I of course never took anything at face value. I asked around campus to find out what worked and what did not. On my own I conducted experiments. Knowing I could not lie, Malachite made me promise not to interfere. She told me tales of what happened to those who did not mind their own business when it came to the Gentry. Although it almost physically hurt to see others making mistakes over and over, I kept my end of the bargain. As long as it did not concern me and I could not easily prevent it by dealing with the humans, I stayed out of the way of the fae. I still healed animals and fed crows and handed out offerings and gave plastic beads to Jimothy. Somewhere along the way I gained a second nickname: Captain. Undoubtedly it began as a reference to Sparrow, and I expected to hear nothing but pirate jokes for the remainder of my time on campus. Instead, the people who most commonly called me Captain were those searching for my help. Occasionally they needed things that I could not help with, which left me turning to Malachite. She gladly pitched in as well- creating satchels full of gemstones to ward off nightmares or making salves out of my potted herbs and flowers. Together we ended our second year wiser and closer together.

#elsewhere university #elsewhere student #malachite and sparrow #i found a new sandbox to play in and wrote like three chapters immediately #someone send help of the non-fae kind

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blackrosesandwhump · 3 years

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Whump Prompts Collection

Tag me if any of these inspire you! I'd love to read the result. :)

Asphyxia/suffocation:

Whumpee joins an exploration mission that’s being sent into a place where the air is toxic, so he has to wear some kind of breathing gear; the environment and discomfort cause him to lose his mind and rip the gear off, exposing him to the toxic air and damaging the equipment. The others on the mission have to make an awful decision on who to save.

Denied air, then forced to exercise: muzzle your whumpee or otherwise reduce their breathing ability, then force them to exert themselves. For example, whumper could tape whumpee’s mouth shut, then make them run laps until they pass out. Or force them to wear something that reduces their oxygen intake, then do rigorous chores. Imagine a whumpee on their knees, scrubbing the floor as they struggle to breathe, then passing out on the damp floor amid the cleaning supplies. Such a pretty sight for the whumper to behold…

An airless chamber: whumper has a specialized room that’s been sealed to be airtight, perfect for particularly stubborn whumpees, or even just whumpees that are fun to torture. A couple of minutes in that room, and they emerge weak, gasping, willing to submit just so they don’t have to suffer the horror of suffocation again. And then there’s that one whumpee, the one that won’t break no matter how many times they’re shut in that room. Because it’s not what happens to them that will destroy them, but what happens to the people they love…

Claustrophobia:

Whumpee is tossed into a coffin with their crossed arms bound to their chest and their ankles fastened together, then left there for hours in silence. Claustrophobia sets in and whumpee panics and cries out.

Whumpee is confined to a tiny closet and forgotten while whumper is attacked. Whumpee is discovered by the attackers much much later, completely traumatized.

A is injured and needs to have a brain scan. They start to panic at the idea of being enclosed in such a tight space. The only person who can help calm them down is B, and B is not allowed in the room for whatever reason. Then A sees B through the glass and B’s smile and thumbs-up is enough to help them feel better.

Whumpee is forced to wear an iron mask as punishment. The mask can only be unlocked and removed by someone else, so they’re stuck for an entire day (or however long) unable to speak around the bit in their mouth and also short of breath.

Whumper knows about whumpee’s dislike of anything touching his face and forces whumpee to wear a mask that completely hides his face whenever he’s in whumper’s presence. Eventually the mask becomes part of whumpee’s identity.

Curses/magic:

Hero is given the gift of a scarf. What he doesn’t know is that it’s actually a gift from the Villain. He also doesn’t know it’s been cursed and will strangle him when the time comes. It won’t kill him, though—it will keep him just alive enough for Villain to interrogate him.

Hero is chained up in a dungeon. His chains are cursed so that every struggle causes more chains to coil around him. Villain enters the dungeon to find him completely wrapped in chains: around his neck, across his mouth, restricting his chest. Villain is amused and decides to leave Hero like that for a while longer.

Hero’s weapon is cursed so that every use weakens him for a period of time. The more he uses it, the more it weakens him each time and the harder it is for him to recover. Eventually his body begins to fail from how much he’s wielded it, but he won’t rest because he’s too fixated on using his weapon to its fullest potential.

Miscellaneous:

Whumper knows that whumpee is deathly afraid of buzzing insects, so he slathers whumpee in something sticky and sweet and ties him up so he can’t wipe it off. Then he leaves whumpee outside to be tormented by insects until he’s hoarse from screaming.

Whumper ties whumpee up, but not too painfully and not to torture them; no, this time whumper is going to draw all over whumpee’s skin, to let them know who they belong to now. They’ll be whumper’s canvas, whether they like it or not.

Whumper is given a drug that induces hallucinations and is bound to a chair and left in an empty room for hours…whumper returns to find whumpee bloodied from straining to escape and delirious with fear.

Whumper knows that the rescuers are on their way, so he slices whumpee up just enough to cause him lots of pain, then rolls him up in a rug and dumps him in a corner where the rescuers won’t think to look. Whumpee’s only hope is to make enough noise that they investigate.

Alternately, whumper binds whumpee up and gags him so he can’t move or cry out, then tosses him in a corner as above, so that whumpee can only listen as his rescuers pass by without even knowing he’s right there.

Whumpee has been kept underground for as long as he can remember. He’s never seen sunlight, only fire. The earthquake nearly kills him, but he manages to survive. The sunlight on the surface sends searing pain through his entire body, starting with his eyes. He’s blinded, crippled with agony from the overwhelming light. A human voice breaks through the pain: “We finally found you. Welcome to the surface, whumpee!”

Non-human whumpees:

A fae whumpee is exposed to rain that’s been tainted with iron from an iron factory. The water burns his skin like acid. The whumpee has his chemical burns covered with bandages, but the bandages can’t take away the pain…

Sunlight equals torture. Whumpee knows this all too well. After all, he’s a vampire. But whumper has tied him up in a place where the sunlight is intermittent. Every few minutes, the torture stops and his skin can heal a little…but then the sunlight hits him again, and it’s excruciating.

Whumpee squirms as the sun blazes down on them, panicking because they’ll suffocate as soon as the water in the fountain dries up. They need water to breathe. All merfolk do. But whumpee is chained up and can’t escape. Whumper laughs as whumpee tries to get free. “My little fish out of water. I’ll let you go…as soon as you let me harvest your scales.”

Aerosolized poison for inhuman creatures: poison your whumpees with aerosolized versions of the substances that most afflict them. For example, whumper (maybe a hunter in this case) traps the werewolf whumpee in a chamber rigged with canisters of aerosolized wolfsbane. Or whumper could poison a fae whumpee with an iron-based gas. (Not sure how that would work. Just thinking on the spot here.) Imagine the inhuman whumpee trying to survive by wearing breathing protection, then having it ripped off when whumper attacks them.

Weather/environment:

One of whumpee’s regular tasks is to take care of the garden, which they don’t mind, as it allows them to spend hours outside, away from whumper. They dread rainy days because it means they’re stuck in the house with whumper and can’t escape outside. It’s been storming for days and whumper is in a particularly nasty mood, which means that whumpee is about to suffer even more, and they’re already not in good shape…

Caretaker is desperately searching for whumpee in the rain, but whumpee is nowhere to be found. The rain is getting worse and worse and caretaker is about to give up…but then they spot something in the grass. It’s a leg. No, a whole body. Whumpee’s body. Whumpee is unresponsive, their eyes glazed, their skin ashen. Caretaker sees that they’ve just about drowned from exposure to the downpour, and it might be too late…but caretaker is going to save whumpee, no matter what.

Whumpee is locked up in a tower that’s crumbling into ruin. Whenever it rains, the roof leaks and puddles of water form on the floor. They can’t escape the damp and are left to try to protect themselves with whatever they can find in the tower. After a bad storm, whumper comes to get them, only to find that whumpee has gotten dangerously sick from the cold and wet and needs help. But whumper refuses to call a doctor…

Usually prisoners are kept in the dark. This time, whumpee is kept outside in a wooden cage. Their only relief from the sun comes at night…but night is when whumper lets them out to torture them. And every time whumpee is thrown back in the cage, they can’t escape from the heat and light. A cold cloth on their bruises would be heavenly. But they can only dream about it as they wait for nightfall…

Whumpee is barefoot and lost in a pine forest. Cold and exhausted, they can only stumble forward in the dimming light, feet scratched and bleeding from stepping on countless pine needles. And whumpee has nothing except the shirt on their back to bandage their feet…

While hiking alone, whumpee slips and falls down a small cliff, gashing their side on a sharp rock. Exhausted and bleeding, whumpee can only lie in the gathering darkness and hope someone comes looking for them. To distract themselves, they start reciting all the song lyrics they can remember. As they’re slipping into unconsciousness, they hear a strange echo of the song they’re humming. It’s caretaker, blasting the song as they search for whumpee in the dark.

A thunderstorm hits when whumpee doesn’t expect it, when they’re out on a walk to clear their head and don’t have shelter. Lost in the driving rain and hail, whumpee has no choice but to shelter in the first place they find: an abandoned shed. The next morning, caretaker finds their bruised and soaked body in the one place they hoped whumpee would never find.

#whump prompts #whump ideas #whumpy things #writing prompts #asphyxia tw #suffocation tw #claustrophobia tw #magic whump #non human whump #environmental whump

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nikethestatue · 3 years

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Heyyyyy I love your fanfics there amazing! I was wonder it you could write one of elain and azriel are on a bout with the ic and they all suspect something between them( elain and az) and then azriel get sea sick and elain does some cute stuff to help him and the ic are just looking at them like this 😱🥺🥺😭😭😭😍😍

Here you go! Enjoy

The Summer Barge

“Why are we always late?” Nesta grumbled.

Cassian wanted to point out that ‘always’ was a bit of a stretch, since this was the first time she and he were attending the annual summer barge excursion on the river together. Last year they were very newly mated and therefore went to Day Court, to the beach. Nesta’s never been to the beach before. Cassian was determined to get her into a bathing suit and into the water, and it took a couple of days of persuasion, until she finally agreed. Gods she looked hot in her modest navy one-piece number. He licked his lips, lost in thought.

“What are you grinning about?” she hissed under her breath.

“Nothing, nothing,” he muttered.

“Unca!” Nyx wrapped himself around Cassian’s legs the moment they stepped on the barge.

“Hey big boy! How are you?” Cassian lifted Nyx in one arm, lifting him over his head. Nyx’s little wings fluttered with delight and he screamed and squealed, flailing his arms. The antics earned a wince from Rhys and a sharp intake of breath from Feyre, but Cassian grabbed Nyx and swung him around, disregarding the parents. He and Az were ‘uncas’ and they had a special relationship with Nyx, to which his nosey parents weren’t privy to.

“Where is Elain?” asked Nesta, looking around, after she gave Nyx a kiss on his head.

“Where is Az?” Cassian said at the same time, looking for his brother.

There was confusion all around, everybody looking at each other, trying to figure out what happened to two members of the family.

“I thought you were winnowing them?”

“I thought you were flying her in?”

“I thought she was coming down here on her own?”

Mor got involved, offering to go and look for Elain, while Amren shrugged and smirked.

While everyone was standing around, pointing fingers at each other, Nyx yelled, pointing to the sky, “Unca. Lain!”

“Oh,” Feyre’s brow furrowed, when everyone turned their heads and watched Azriel land gracefully on the bow, cradling Elain to his chest. The moment he was standing, he let her go and she almost jumped out of his arms, smoothing her dress, a blush of her cheeks.

Nyx pranced towards them, though Cassian tucked in his puzzlement at Elain’s sudden awkwardness and Azriel’s overly flushed face.

Come to think of it, one strange thing did happen a year ago, when he and Nesta were in Day.

There was a promenade along the seashore, where residents took their early evening strolls, when the searing Day Court sun finally cooled off a bit and the Fae enjoyed a cocktail or an ice cream, sitting in any of the numerous cafes that dotted the shore. Cassian could’ve have sworn that he saw Azriel and Elain, walking together, his arm slung over her shoulders, and both were eating ice cream. He was absolutely positive that it was them—even in the dim evening light and the distance. But when he pointed them out to Nesta, she waved him off, and then pulled him into a kiss, and by the time they finally disengaged, the phantom figures of his brother and sister were nowhere to be found. So maybe he got a little too much sun that day, and his vision was affected.

He never did ask Az about that.

“So you came with Elain?” Cassian asked by way of greeting.

The barge disembarked and slowly made its way into the river.

He grabbed Nyx’s chubby hand in his, while Azriel took the other, and with Nyx urging them ‘up! up!” they rose slightly in the air, lifting him up and soliciting a pleased shriek from him. “More,” he demanded, and they hovered over the teak flooring of the barge, gently flying their nephew back and forth over the same spot.

“Well, everybody forgot about Elain,” mumbled Azriel. “So I brought her.”

Cassian wanted to ask how Azriel knew that everyone forgot about Elain, but he felt guilty about actually forgetting to pick her up, so he kept his mouth shut.

When Nyx got enough of flying and saw a table of sweet being set up, he rushed to the little pies and cupcakes, leaving his uncles behind.

“Ugh, can I just hover around here for the duration?” muttered Azriel with a grimace.

“I think it would be a little weird if you did,” chuckled Cassian, and then said, “come on, the water is very calm. You’ll be fine.”

Azriel didn’t always react well to the barge. He was fine with sailing, but somehow, the barge, this huge, slow-moving beast made him seasick. This was an annual thing—Azriel trying to find excuses not to attend, never finding them, and then suffering the entire afternoon.

“I don’t know if you know, but you keep looking at Elain,” Cassian muttered under his breath, once they stood back up on the barge.

“I am not!”

“You kind of are. She can’t swim?”

“What?”

“Why are you staring at her? Are you afraid she is going to fall overboard or something? She can’t swim?”

“Elain can swim. And I am not looking at her,” Azriel made a point to turn away from where Elain was standing, talking to Varian and Mor. “I am getting a drink.”

…Azriel was feeling so nauseous, he thought he might faint. That would be a good look—the damn spymaster and shadowsinger of the Night Court puking and passing out on a barge, in front of all the guests. His baby nephew was fine! Running around and dropping food on the floor, round face smeared with icing. But Azriel was not a hyperactive toddler with an iron stomach. He only barely managed to make his way to a dark corner of the barge, where he slumped on the deck, pressing his face to the cold iron railing.

Bile rose and fell in his stomach, churning constantly.

“Hi,”

His shadows failed to inform him that Elain was near, and he was so sick, that he didn’t even scent her, not until she was next to him.

“Hey,” he managed.

She didn’t ask anything about how he was feeling, but gently wrapped her arms around him and said, “come, lie down.”

His misery index was so high, he couldn’t object. It was prudent to object, to play the stoic shadowsinger, but at this moment, he couldn’t be bothered. He put his head on Elain’s lap, inhaling the sweet, familiar fragrance of her body, and closed his eyes.

“Breathe, my love,” she whispered and he smiled softly. Hopefully, they were far away from everyone and their attention. Elain probably shouldn’t have called him ‘her love’ in front of others, but it was so nice to hear, nevertheless. So nice. His eyes closed. Especially when she pressed her fingertips to his temples and began to rub his head in steady, light circles, applying just enough pressure.

“Breathe with me,” she murmured, taking deep, even breaths, and he began mirroring them with his own.

She stroked his jaw, her thumb brushing over his lower lip in a brief, intimate gesture.

“Someone will see,” he whispered.

“I am just giving you a little eucalyptus oil to smell,” she shrugged innocently, smiling down at him.

“Ahhh,” he managed a smile.

Cassian leaned over the railing, enjoying the evening breeze, and then his eyes fell on the scene below.

“Nes,” he muttered conspiratorially. “Nes!”

Nesta appeared at his side and threaded her arm in his, “what?”

“Did you see that?” he jerked his chin towards the lower deck.

Nesta glanced, then hummed, a small smile playing on her lips.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

“Doesn’t he get seasick?” she reminded him non-chalantly.

“Yeah, but usually he isn’t snuggling on Elain’s lap when he does,” he countered.

“Cass,” Feyre approached them from behind and wrapped her arms around both of their waists. Her eyes sparkled, when she exchanged a quick glance with Nesta. “Can you go keep Rhys company?”

“What do you girls know?” he grumbled, eyeing them suspiciously.

Just like that, Mor was there as well, and he was being herded by all these females, who created a veritable cordon with their bodies, leisurely positioning themselves along the railing and obscuring the lower deck.

“Rhysie is feeling neglected,” Mor chirped.

“Why do I have a feeling like you are sending me on some clandestine mission?”

“Talking and laughing with your brother and High Lord isn’t a mission, Cass,” Feyre smiled at him, batting her lashes.

“Yeah, sure,” he sighed. “Fine, I’ll go, but,”

“But you’ll not discuss Elain and Azriel, of course,” sang Nesta lovingly, and stroked his jaw, before giving him a fleeting kiss on the lips.

“Oh, fuck. I knew something was going on,” he groaned. “I knew it!”

“You are very perceptive, darling,” she cooed.

“And you three knew?” he demanded under his breath.

“Knew what?” all three asked in unison, shrugging their shoulders.

#azriel #cassian #nesta #feyre #nyx #elain #elriel fanfiction #drabble #oneshot #mor #my writing #elriel #elain acheron

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local-ground-apple · 4 years

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May I request for headcanons with the dorm leader and a f!reader who’s scared of people and always have her guards up? How would they win her over? (I’m so sorry if this is way too much and if this is the wrong place to ask for requests)

It’s not too much and it’s a good place to ask for requests. Hope you will like it~!

I swear I don’t know why Vil and Azul are so long..

♥️ probably scared you with his tantrums and quick temper

♥️ and probably scared you even more with strict rules imposed on students,

♥️ at first Riddle had absolutely no clue how to approach you, you always seemed rather anxious and cautious around him and he didn’t like it at all. Eventually, he asks Trey for some advices on how to get closer to you,

♥️ now he’s making sure you’re not near before he ruthlessly scolds and punishes students or has an outburst of anger,

♥️ Riddle tries to control his emotions around you and talk in rather pleasant voice, sometimes may turn a blind eye if you break one, seemingly insignificant rule, even though he’s screaming internally,

♥️ asks you, how was your day and oftne starts small talks with you. Riddle even offers to help you with subjects you don’t excel at, which slowly makes you warm up to him and gradually builds your trust,

♥️ when you feel more comfortable in his company, he invites you for tea parties where just the two of you eat strawberry tarts and talk in pleasant ambiance (Riddle shamelessly denies it being a date and refers to it as friendly meeting, keep telling that to yourself)

♥️ Riddle is the listener and he tries hard not to push your barriers, he’s always there to listen to your problems and is more than willing to offer you a solution,

💛 he certainly enjoys a good chase and is up for the challenge, he’s not the type to easily give up. Leona is a predator after all and you happened to be considered a prey,

💛 since you always have your guard up around others, he finds your mysterious and unapproachable aura completely endearing, Leona wants to be the only one to whom you will open up

💛 he acts more than he talks, so at first expect that lazy lion to actually put some effort – he will intimidate people you’re scared of, will carry your bag if you happen to walk in the same direction as him without even asking for your permission or he would invite you to his table in canteen,

💛 when he realises his approach doesn’t work that well and you’re still slightly intimidated by him, Leona will change his strategy,

💛 since you don’t want to be open, then he won’t be forcing you. Leona decides to show you an example. He opens up to you, tells you his honest thoughts without beating around the bush – which actually works and makes you gradually trust him more and more,

💛 Leona is not rushing you or putting any pressure on you, after all hunts are not supposed to be easy and end so rapidly,

💙 his tentacle senses began tingling when he spotted you. His greedy and calculating self was looking for a perfect moment to get you to sign a contract. You had heard rumours about his fishy deals and after Floyd personally and brutally invaded your comfort zone, you swore to yourself your feet would never step in Mostro Lounge again. It led to you having absolutely no trust in him and basically running away at a mere sight of the twins,

💙 if you were scared of people before, now you were terrified and your guards were even higher than always. You promised yourself to be extra cautious around Azul,

💙 Azul can partially understand you, he doesn’t like feeling vulnerable either and usually has hard time opening to others and prefers to keep things to himself, yet it doesn’t mean he will go easy on you,

💙 after your brief meeting when you politely refused a contract, Azul actually gives you time, he doesn’t seem pushy or overbearing. You don’t see him or Leech twins for extended period of time. After a while you began to feel less anxious and your body isn’t in constant “fight or flight” mode, that’s when Azul steps in.

💙 gets paired with you in poison class, completely accidentally, much to your discontent. Azul leaves you surprised by how respectful he is, not putting any pressure on you and helping you with task. He gently asks about your opinion and listens to you, which leaves you stunned,

💙 you don’t warm that easily to him, having at the back of your mind all the horrible rumours about him. Azul is a great manipulator. While he was seemingly giving you time, Leech twins were busy collecting any information about you, which could be helpful in the future. Soon, Azul adapts his responses to your reactions, slowly making you lower your guard in his company,

💙 offers you a small favour, without any contract and wants nothing in return. You were suspicious, he keeps his promise, which makes you slightly warm up to him, Azul views that as investment in the future and he is more than willing to make another favour,

💙 just one day Azul will return to collect your outstanding debt,

💙 if he doesn’t manage to woo you with his manners, clever tricks, then surely, he can do it through a contract, right?

🧡he is open and friendly with everyone and his bright and energetic personality scared you a bit at first. His presence was a bit overbearing to you and you couldn’t believe you would find such a kind soul in this school,

🧡 Jamil had to explain to him, why you may not want to open up to new people and have trust issues, after that he would change his approach,

🧡 Kalim wants to gain your trust and become your friend, before he would try to woo you, he doesn’t want to blow his chances with you, so he takes things slow,

🧡 soon you learn that he’s genuinely friendly and cheerful and he’s not trying to be someone he isn’t,

🧡 Kalim talks openly with you, doesn’t hide anything about himself and is more than happy to share some histories about his past with you

🧡 often tells you that he appreciates time you spend with him and how this relationship is important to him,

🧡 gradually, your conversations began to flow more easily and naturally and you find yourself opening a little,

🧡 eventually, his bright personality wins you over

💜 Vil thinks highly of himself and is sure that making you fall for him would be easy-peasy. After all, who wouldn’t want to date him? Isn’t he such a perfect lover? He knows, it’s just a matter of time before you let your guard down and fall head over heels for him,

💜 sends Rook to discreetly gather some crucial information about you, he wants to understand why are you cautious and don’t you want to trust others. After finding a cause, Vil is more than happy to impose the best (in his opinion) solution and solve your issues. You won’t even notice his attempts,

💜 Vil is an excellent actor. After learning more about you and analysing your personality with Rook, he will adjust his words, gestures to your reactions. He always creates a perfect ambiance for your talks and seems to be empathizing with you. But you will never know which sugar-coated word was his true self.

💜 makes you believe that he leads the conversations with you, while having the intention of fully listening to you. Soon, you’re convinced that he’s a reliable person in whose company you can speak without feeling judged or embarrassed. After all, doesn’t he seek to understand you?

💜 Vil judges you internally, although in your eyes, he’s a very encouraging and supportive person. He helps you adjust in this completely new word and initially he isn’t harsh to you, as he is with Epel. He showers you in compliments, builds your self-esteem and makes you feel appreciated in his company. After all, Vil is going to fix your any imperfection after you eventually becomes his.

💜 if you reject him despite his relentless efforts, special addition to your apple or an old-fashioned love potion should make you fall for him,

🖤 oh boy, he is rather scared of people, often avoiding them at all cost and now he wants to overcome your barriers you had set around you and win you over?

🖤 it’s going to be a tough challenge, Idia himself is not sure whether he can overcome it,

🖤 feels very awkward whenever he tries to get out of his comfort zone and approach you, so he practically doesn’t leave it. You’re not sure how many times you had seen him leaving his dorm, yet alone his room,

🖤 you both share a lot in common, so he perfectly understands why you may have trust issues and don’t want to open up so easily,

🖤 Idia gives you (and mostly himself) quite a lot of time and if he finally gathers lasting remains of his practically non-existing courage, he will message you,

🖤 most of your conversations would be online. Surprisingly to you, they don’t feel awkward or forced, you both enjoy them, slowly warming up to each other,

🖤 eventually you would take your relationship from Internet to real life,

💚 he is a patient fae, so he gives you as much time as you need to warm up to him. Your mistrust and fear of people, as well as having your guards up all the time is understandable to him.

💚 Malleus is not exactly an open person with a vast circle of friends. Besides, most of Diasomnia students are also cautious and discreet, so he is rather accustomed to it and doesn’t find you weird,

💚 He doesn’t mind walking in the forest with you in complete silence and doesn’t even find it awkward,

💚 Malleus is elated when you gradually become more comfortable in his company, he always makes sure you’re feeling alright and is a great listener. You could spend hours rabbiting on how your day was awful and he would be there to hear it. You have his full and undivided attention,

💚 always tells you how much he appreciates time spent with you and how much this relationship means to him,

💚 appreciates every piece of information you share about yourself and in return does the same. Generally sooner or later, you both help subconsciously help each other open up and before you even realise, you start to develop feelings for your kind Tsunotarou,

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

To give without knowing (1/ ?)

Inspired by YorkandDelta <3

pairing: Geraskier

word count: 2k

summary: Jaskier finds a wooden figure Geralt had carved and thrown away in the woods and thinks it’s a gift from the fae

read on AO3

Witchers didn’t carry pretty trinkets and momentos with them. What use would they be? All they did was take up too much space in the bags and get in the way. So Geralt made a point not to get attached. Not to places, not to people and not to objects that weren’t strictly necessary for his survival. Least of all he got attached to the small wooden animals he found himself carving whenever he was alone with his thoughts and certain that no one was around to watch him craft them. Which happened less and less these days, ever since meeting the bard that refused to leave his side and was doing everything in his power to get Geralt to grow attached to him.

On the rare occasions that Jaskier was away, playing at some court or visiting his friends, Geralt found himself carving the little animals with more vigour than he had before he had met the bard, as if the scraping of the blade scratching over the wood was replacing the noise the bard was taking with him whenever he left. If Geralt were a man of pretty words and poetry he might have looked at the figures he carved to fill the silence left by his friend's absence and thought it poetic and meaningful in a way. But Geralt wasn't a poet. He was a witcher and witchers didn't give objects meaning. They didn’t grow attached. So he dropped the useless figures after finishing them on the forest floor and forgot about them. He didn't care about what happened to them. Didn’t care that he would never see them again. Until one day in early spring he found himself caring more than he'd ever thought possible.

Geralt had just closed his eyes, enjoying the thought of a quiet night of rest in an actual bed at an inn after a day of a brutal fight when the door was thrown open unceremoniously. Geralt cranked one eye open and shot a glare at the bard - dressed in obnoxious colours and with a smile that really shouldn't be so blinding - striding into the room. "You couldn't have knocked?" Geralt grunted, hoping his tone would hide the way his lips wanted to lift into a smile at the sight of his friend. The winter had been too long and if Geralt’s protesting muscles hadn’t made him aware of the movement he had made to get up, he would have probably tried to do something stupid like hug the bard. As it were, the only greeting Jaskier received after all the time spend apart was a grunt and a nod. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his face brightened at the familiar mannerisms. "I think we both know that if I had knocked you would have told me to fuck off. But now that you are in my wonderful presence you would never dare do that." "Jaskier," Geralt said, looking Jaskier deep in the eyes. "Fuck off." Jaskier threw his head back laughing. "Not a chance. We both know you're happy to see me." Geralt rolled his eyes but didn't deny the accusation. He couldn't tell if Jaskier noticed. His friend was too occupied putting his lute down and letting himself fall onto the bed with a content sigh. "Oh the joys of uncomfortable inn-beds," Jaskier groaned, running a hand down his face. "You are free to sleep on the floor," Geralt said with a bemused grin. "Aha!“ Jaskier shot back up and pointed a finger triumphantly at Geralt's nose. "So you do want me to share the room with you!" Of course I do. Geralt huffed and crossed his arms. "You wouldn't leave no matter what I said." Somehow Jaskier's smile got even brighter and Geralt's mouth went dry. "You know me too well, dear friend." Geralt hummed non-committally. Jaskier seemed to take it as a sign to start unpacking. Geralt leaned back and listened with closed eyes to the sound that had become routine; the noise of Jaskier bustling about, of the fabric of his night clothes unfolding, of Jaskier chattering away as he found the best spot to put his lute. It all sounded painfully like returning someplace safe.

For a foolish moment Geralt let himself imagine that they weren't at an inn, but in a place they could call home. The illusion and the routine were disrupted by a noise that didn't belong to their normalcy; the dull thud of wood on wood. Geralt opened his eyes again. His breath got stuck on his throat when he saw what Jaskier had put on the night stand. It was a chunky wooden figure of a bear, the wood unpolished and weakened by rain. The craftsmanship was clumsy at best and Geralt knew exactly why: because this figure had been carved with a dagger I stead of the appropriate carving tools. More specifically, Geralt's dagger. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the little bear. His little bear. No, not his. He had no use for these kinds of things. They didn't mean anything to him after he left them in the woods to rot. And yet... The thought of Jaskier having found one of them didn't sit right with Geralt. It did something strange and uncomfortable to his chest. It shouldn't bother him as it did, but he couldn't help but wish Jaskier had never seen Geralt's clumsy attempts at crafting something beautiful. Not when Jaskier himself was a master of creating beautiful things; weaving flower crowns with clever fingers and spinning tales and songs with his silver tongue. Geralt's eyes flickered up to Jaskier who had gone strangely still. Their eyes met and for a terrifying moment Geralt was certain Jaskier knew. He knew that Geralt was the one who had made this imperfect thing that wasn't worth picking up and Jaskier was mocking him with it. Geralt's stomach clenched painfully and he was overcome with the sudden need to flee. But then Jaskier's eyes crinkled with his brilliant smile and a wave of giddy excitement rolled off of him. "It's pretty isn't it?" Jaskier said and took the figure in hand again, holding it up as if to inspect it more closely. "I can't believe I finally found one too." Geralt stared at him dumbfounded. "Too?" "Why of course. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who hasn't been blessed by the forest spirits." Geralt's brows drew together. Jaskier must have noticed his confusion - or maybe he was just happy to talk and have Geralt listen - for he began to explain with shining eyes. "Those figures appear all over. Mostly in forests but sometimes they appear on the road as well. People have been finding them for decades. Have you never noticed how people put them on mantle pieces or carry them with them for protection?" Geralt schooled his face into neutral expression while his mind was racing. He had never intended for anyone to find his carvings. He had never wanted anyone to find them. They were... They didn't mean anything. There was no reason for people - for Jaskier - to get so excited about them. "They say that it's the fae's way of showing their favour,” Jaskier continued, unaware of Geralt’s inner turmoil. “The figures bring luck to those who find them. Well, at least that's one version of the tale. Over in Brugge they say that the figures are charmed and protect the bearer. One of my old teachers in Oxenfurt always said that someone who finds a wooden animal in the woods is bound to get together with their true love within a year. I always liked that version the best. What do you think, is this the year I finally get my true love?"

Jaskier winked at Geralt and nudged him playfully in the ribs. Geralt's mouth went dry and he forced himself to look away from the way Jaskier's eyes lit up. He told himself the only reason why his stomach was churning was because Jaskier would be disappointed when he realised that there was no magic in these carvings. It had nothing to do with the thought of Jaskier finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with and leave Geralt for them. "Fae would never show their favour to humans. If those things," he nodded his chin to the bear, "were made by the fae they would probably bear a curse. And they would be prettier," he added in a tone that wasn't meant sound that bitter. Jaskier gasped outraged and clutched the bear to his chest as if that could protect it. "How dare you!" he half-shouted in a voice if utter indignation. "I'll have you know that my little bear is perfect. And it does bring luck. After all, I found you mere hours after finding it." Jaskier lifted his chin triumphantly as if he had won an argument. Geralt huffed. "You call that lucky?" It came out more as a grumble than the playful tone he had aimed for. Geralt hadn't meant it to sound so dismissive, but it was better than letting the softness that rose up in him at Jaskier’s words creep into his voice instead. "Yes I do," Jaskier said with a finality that didn't allow any more protests. "And I would appreciate it if you could stop scowling at it as if you wanted to smash it." Geralt turned away with a shrug that looked more nonchalant than he felt. "I don't care what happens to it," he repeated the thoughts he had had so many times before and that for the first time might be a lie, "It's just a piece of wood. Nothing special about it." "I beg to differ. It's quite special to me." There was something in the way Jaskier said it so softly that made it hard to breath. Something unpleasant squirmed in Geralt's chest. He risked another glance at Jaskier who was looking down at the figure in his hand as if it was something to be treasured. It shouldn't feel so nice to have Jaskier hold something Geralt had made and look at it as if it was precious. It felt as if Geralt had given him a gift. Except, if Geralt actually had done that Jaskier wouldn't look at the figure with shining eyes. He wouldn’t smile like that if he knew who it really was from. No one wanted a gift from a witcher. Least of all Jaskier who had admirers sending him expensive doublets, bottles of wine and other luxuries a witcher wouldn’t be able to afford in his wildest dreams. Anything Geralt would have been able to offer Jaskier would have been nothing in comparison. So Geralt did the only thing he could and always pushed the thought of buying Jaskier nice things as far away from his mind as possible. Trying to gift Jaskier beautiful things that might make him happy was bound to fail for someone like Geralt. But here was Jaskier, stroking a finger absentmindedly over the wood as if it was polished and smooth. Geralt cleared his throat. "I'm glad you like it then." That seemed to content Jaskier, for he rewarded Geralt with a dazzling smile and put the little figure back in the nightstand right in Geralt's line of vision. Jaskier probably did it out of some sense of petty smugness, but as night fell and the little bear that for some reason meant so much to Jaskier watched over them, Geralt couldn't help but feel warm. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't so bad if his figures had found their way to a poet after all who could give meaning to them. Maybe sometimes tall tales of fae gifts and blessings from forest spirits helped bring a smile to a bard’s face and bring him some happiness that Geralt wouldn’t have been able to give him otherwise.

Next to him Jaskier turned over in his sleep and pressed his forehead against the space between Geralt’s shoulder blades, sighing contently. Under the curtain of the night Geralt allowed himself a little smile.

Maybe sometimes it wasn’t so bad to get attached after all.

#I'll probably write a second chapter #maybe #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher #witcher fic #fanfic #my writing

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 129

Despite the last couple weeks of work being profoundly exhausting (think 60 hours, easily), I am proud that I’ve been able to keep writing and stay ahead! I literally could not have done that without @baelpenrose, @charlylimph-blog, @the-raven-fae, and @anotherusrname. Y’all are my real-world rocks when everything gets crazy.

***Shameless Plug: @the-raven-fae has the first episode of the podcast up now! you can find it here!! ***

The other thing that has been keeping me going is each and every one of you who has found this story and binged it from start to finish as a speed-run. I can’t even name all of you at this point, but I want you all to know that I see it, and it makes me smile so hard my face hurts.

Now, who is ready for some Charly shenanigans?

A few days later, I had just enough time to sweep dinner off the table in my quarters before Charly unceremoniously dropped a long something in the midst of us with a dull thud. Immediately, a rusty red cloud rose up and set us all into a fit of tears and coughing.

Out in the hallway, I was eventually able to convince my lungs to at least try to breathe long enough to wheeze out, “Geezus, Charly, what the hell was that?”

“Soooo….” Uh oh. “ItmayneedsomecalibrationthecloudwasntsupposedtobethatbigandIdidntmeanforittogooffbut - “

I shook my head and typed a quick message on my datapad. “Please breathe because right now I don’t think the rest of us can and I would love to know why.”

She stopped rushing out what I think were words long enough to read the message and try again. “Chili powder arrows. I think I need to recalibrate them, though, because it shouldn’t have gone off at less than one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, and there’s no way I set it down that hard.”

“Why?” I rasped, still swallowing as hard as I could and mentally begging Noah to bring us some water or a medical transport.

“Defensive measures,” she insisted. “Scent navigation is really common in the Galactic community, and so is sensitivity to capsaicin, so…”

“Makes sense,” Conor managed to get out as he tried to gasp for air. “Even Noah.”

“Bit much.” I pinched my fingers as closely as I could without touching - which was more difficult than expected considering that I was shaking.

Maverick was the first to get up off the floor of the corridor, just as the medical transport arrived. He and Charly helped us on before distributing bottles of water to rinse our mouths and eyes. “It was… a good idea…” he panted once we were all seated. “Just… bit overkill…”

“The range of the cloud is only supposed to be five feet,” she insisted fretfully. “And I swear the pressure sensor is supposed to be calibrated to only go off if it’s fired from a bow or swung really, really hard.”

“Who...want...swing?” I was honestly starting to get dizzy fighting my airways to breathe.

Once we arrived at a medbay, Charly helped a couple of Miys’ bodies get us out of the transport and lying down in berths. In a glitch-like transition, suddenly I could breathe easily and she was joined by Arthur and Coffey in sitting with us.

“Wait… when did… I’m so confused,” I admitted, my voice only slightly strained.

“Lethe field, apparently,” Arthur shrugged. “You didn’t want to be awake for that.”

Conor sat up and rubbed his sternum. “I remember chili pepper arrows - Charly, love, that was brilliant except the, you know, going off bit - and getting off the transport.”

“Respiratory lavage,” Charly winced. “You know, war crime if done incorrectly?”

I shuddered and nodded. “Yep. Didn’t want to be awake for that, thanks. Glad I can’t remember, don’t ever want to, would rather remember the pepper bomb you set off. At point blank range?”

She snuggled further down in Coffey’s lap as he gently rubbed her scalp with his fingertips. Arthur spoke in her defense, instead. “She’s sending the schematics to Zach and Derek to find out what went wrong. Tactically, they were a brilliant idea - she’s right about the large amount of species who would react even worse than you did if hit with one.”

“I only inhale spices figuratively. I would prefer not to do it literally - like, ever again.”

Maverick sat up and gave Charly a curious look. “You said they can be swung… Unless I saw something wrong, the arrow was only two feet long. Who would want to swing something like that?”

Coffey and Arthur both held up gas masks and wiggled them. “Between my arm reach and the length of one of those, I could do it, no problem.”

“We aren’t all so fortunate,” Arthur intoned drily. “Plus, that doesn’t mean someone closer isn’t getting hit.”

Conor raised his hand politely before pointing out a potential flaw. “What if they have gas masks?”

“Noah has a topical reaction,” I answered, my mind racing. “And I assume we have other measures in the works?”

“Multiple types of sonic weaponry are being tested,” Coffey intoned with a nod. “Sub- and ultrasonics, infrasound, and just loud music.”

Still in full Devil’s Advocate mode, Conor persisted. “And if they are covered, head to toe, and none of that works?”

A deafening silence filled the medbay. The prospect of being forcibly boarded had only been a known issue for a week, and apparently this prospect hadn’t been covered yet in the defensive planning.

Finally, it was Maverick who spoke up. Had anyone else been talking, we couldn’t have heard him, but in the quiet his whisper echoed like a gunshot. “The interior hull is organic, not magnetic.”

“Mav, we know that. It doesn’t help us.” Conor’s voice was confused.

Arthur, however, looked like he had just seen a travesty occur in front him, unable to stop it. “You’re talking about blowing the airlocks.”

I scrambled to sit up, clawing at the blanket that covered my legs. “What!? Maverick, he’s wrong, right? You aren’t talking about that, right?”

“It makes logical sense,” Charly added, still laying her head against Coffey’s chest. “If someone boards the Ark by force, and they have enough gear that no amount of defense we mount even bothers them, they would be wearing enough gear to survive being blown into space.”

“And they can’t magnetize to the hull,” Maverick confirmed. “Maybe the outside, but not inside.”

“What about Noah?” I demanded. “They are a non-combatant.”

“Noah evolved in vacuum,” Charly pointed out.

“You’re talking a war strategy!” I nearly shouted. “What about Arthur? Coffey? Or Ivan? Are you seriously going to tell me they won’t be the first people charging to defend the Ark?” I pointed at the previously brandished gas masks with a damning glare.

“We are talking about a last-ditch defense to save as many people on this ship as possible,” she whispered. “I don’t make the decisions, I just make the tools they are going to use. You know, you know I don’t want us to use any of this. And I plan to booby-trap everything within an inch of all our lives to keep us from having to use as much of it as possible. Hence, arrows. As many kinds as I can make up.”

I started taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. At my heart of hearts, I knew she was sincere - Charly was almost as much of a pacifist as I was, at the end of the day. Even Arthur wasn’t necessarily a warmonger, just… uninhibited in what he defined as ‘the best defense is a good offense’.

Frustrated, I swung my legs over the side of the berth. “I need to go home. I want dinner, and a nap. Probably a drink.”

Charly reached out and pushed my legs back on to the bed. “You’re under observation for another hour. Dry-drowning risk.”

I groaned and gave her a pleading look. “I’m hungry, and this isn’t my bed. It’s honestly half the reason I’m in such a bad mood. You and Arthur probably make absolute perfect sense to less-sleepy, fed Sophia, but right now, not so much.”

“Your limey assistant is bringing a change of clothes, your sister, and some food,” Arthur smirked. “So you get to stay right there, not die, and get some sleep.”

“But Mac…”

“Is at Derek and Sam’s, but very nice try,” he confessed.

“I wanna go home,” I grumbled sullenly.

Maverick nodded, and gulped down some water Charly handed him. “Did someone turn on the scrubbers in there yet?”

Conor and I turned wide eyes to him. The thought apparently never occurred to either of us. “Charly love,” Conor started hesitantly. “How much bigger was the cloud than you thought?”

“I’m not sure,” she confessed, sheepish. “It was pretty big.”

Rubbing my face briskly, I suppressed the urge to sob. “My blankets… the furniture… our clothes…”

“Else is working on it.”

I glanced at Coffey, confused. “Else is? They eat iron.”

Noah’s voice broke in from the ceiling. “Correction. When still a bacterium, Else fed on iron. However, as they have evolved, their needs have expanded to include a more diverse diet.”

“Are you telling me that there are faceless baby chickens flooding our quarters, eating the chili powder?”

“They do show a preference for foods more toxic to the general Galaxy. We estimate that this is due to their origin within human beings, who share the same marked trait.”

“At least someone is appreciating my hard work,” Charly grumbled.

I strained to suppress a smile. “I’ll make you whatever you want for dinner, for a week, to make up for being ungrateful?”

“Maybe just tell Alistair it was an accident? He gets upset when you almost die.”

“Both?”

“Both. Both is good.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #aliens #improvised weaponry #found family #apocalypse #earth is space australia #science fiction #original science fiction #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #sci fi #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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emilia3546 · 3 years

Text

Shadowsinger Part 10 - Gwynriel

ACOSF Spoilers! Do Not read this unless you have finished ACOSF and the Azriel bonus chapter

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

*****

Rhysand hadn't found anything new, he still had a long list of who might try something this drastic, but it would take far too long to search every place they could be. Feyre hadn't found anything in Cassian and Nesta's room either. Gwyn paced around Azriel's room once more, surely there was something they'd missed. Something moved in the corner of the room, and Gwyn froze,

"Rhysand," she muttered, "Something moved." Before he had even turned around from the corridor, the darkness moved again, and something shot towards her. She almost screamed, but something stopped her, it wasn't that darkness of before, no, this was a shadow. "Where is he?" She whispered, and the shadow swirled around her feet, nothing.

"Is that one of his?" Gwyn nodded,

"It must have gotten scared and hidden." She held a hand out for the shadow and it swirled up her arm to rest on her shoulder. "It's okay," she muttered, "We'll find him." Rhysand narrowed his eyes,

"I've never seen them leave his side, ever. They hide, but with him, never away from him." Gwyn shrugged, not quite noticing the way Rhysand stared after her as she followed the shadow out of the room.

"Where is he?" She repeated, and the shadow only pressed closer to her, "Do you know where he is?" The shadow fluttered again, "Okay, left hand for yes, right hand for no. Do you know where he is?" The shadow flickered between both hands, "You're not certain?" Left hand. "Can you find him?" Left hand. "He's alive?" Left hand. "Did you get scared and hide?" Right hand. "Are you still here on his orders?" Left hand. "To tell us where he is?" Right hand. "To help us when we go and fetch him?" Right hand. "To protect something?" Left hand. "Me?" Left hand. Gwyn couldn't stop the tears from forming, even as Rhysand stepped out of Azriel's room. He stopped moving at the sight of her tears, and stepped towards her, but stayed a couple of steps away from her,

"Gwyn." She met his eyes, saw the concern shining there, but concern for her, not for his missing family, "We're going to find them, we are." Gwyn nodded,

"I know. I, the shadow, it says its here to protect me, it says that Az made it stay for me." She rubbed her eyes with the back of a hand,

"You talked to it?" She nodded,

"Sort of. I can't understand it, but it understands me, it's going to my left hand for yes, and my right hand for no." Rhysand sat onto a chair across from her,

"Does it know where they are?"

"No, but it thinks it can find them, Az at least." The shadow had fallen still, and remained that way for about and hour while Rhysand and Feyre collected Azriel and Cassian's notes on Illyria, and tried to narrow down who could have taken them.

"This will take too long, anything from the shadow?" He called from another room

"Not yet. Perhaps a map." Rhysand reappeared with one moments later, and the shadow immediately swirled around a spot on the map,

"That's still a big area, can it be any more precise?" The shadow raced to Gwyn's right hand, and she shook her head, "That does narrow it down, though, there's two camp lords who hold sway over that area, and a few other minor lords, but only three who openly oppose us." Gwyn nodded,

"Az's spies?"

"He pulled them out a few days ago, we had reason to believe that they were compromised." Shit.

"So we have no way of finding where they are? Can't we send someone else in?"

"Perhaps, Nuala and Cerridwen might be able to get in, but they'll be obvious as not belonging there if anyone sees them. I don't want to risk whoever it is getting spooked and doing anything rash."

"You mean killing them early."

"Yes."

"Don't sugarcoat it." She snapped, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh shit, she'd just snapped at her High Lord, "I'm sorr-" Rhysand laughed, actually laughed,

"Relax, Gwyn, don't tell Feyre I admitted this, but I do need someone to snap at me occasionally." Gwyn stared at him in disbelief, forgetting her worries, her tears drying up, Are you okay to come back to the River House, we need to tell the others. Gwyn nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut when Rhysand winnowed them away.

*****

Azriel spat in the male's face, his brother just let out a course laugh,

"Aw, does baby bastard not like it? Oh well." He strained against the chains, but with the enchantments, his strength wasn't enough, and he slumped back into the chair. "Now, talk to me, dear brother, how do you talk to them?" He jerked his head towards the shadows, still swirling around the magic binding them, desperately trying to reach him,

"In the common tongue." Azriel's head snapped to the side as a heavy fist slammed into his jaw, he shook his head, blinking to recover,

"You're familiar with this situation, don't make me take this further."

"Then don't take it further." Azriel met his gaze, the eyes that were so like his own, but filled with coldness, cruelty.

"How do you talk to the shadows?"

"In the common tongue. Are you stupid?" Another blow. At this rate, he'd be lucky to go one day without a broken jaw.

"Don't fuck with me, my patience is not endless."

"I'd say it's non existent, but that's a long word for you." Anger simmered in the male's gaze,

"Why do they talk to you?"

"Now that is an entirely different question. They talk to me because I'm a shadowsinger." His brother rolled his eyes,

"I know that. How did you become a shadowsinger?" Azriel shrugged, "How can I become one?" Azriel laughed again,

"You can't, either you are or you aren't."

"I need it, you don't understand."

"Try me." The male stepped back,

"You're just as useless as you've always been. I need that edge in the coming battles, we're going to claim our birthright as ruling family, even without father, it's my birthright, I will be camp lord, even without your help." Azriel smirked again,

"You sure about that?" His brother surged forwards, and slammed his fist into Azriel's nose, bone crumpling under his fist, making tears spring to his eyes, even as Azriel tried to blink them away,

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're meddling in, bastard, none of you do. You will tell me how you gained mastery over them." Azriel shrugged, ignoring his broken nose, bruised jaw, and numerous cracked ribs,

"I don't think so."

"You will. Or it won't be you getting hurt next time." With that his brother walked out, leaving Azriel alone in the darkness, but the moment he left, the restrictions on his shadows lifted, leaving them free to rush back to his side,

Azriel!

I'm fine. Don't worry.

Our sister says she can feel us, she knows where we are, and she's shown the High Lord. Hold on.

Gwyn?

Safe. She's safe, worried, but safe.

Gwyn was safe. It didn't matter then, so long as he got Cassian and Nesta out, nothing else mattered. The shadows swirled around him, guarding him as he tried to make out anything of the dungeons around him. They were still with him when he passed out.

*****

Rhysand had marked out all potential places where prisoners could be held in the area Gwyn's shadow had indicated, too many. Even discounting those that could never hold powerful fae, there were too many. Gwyn stared at the map,

"Any hunches?" Rhysand asked,

"Why would I have a hunch?" He shrugged,

"You found the rooms first, any hunch is better than nothing." Gwyn ran her hand across the map, her bracelet glowing brighter when she moved her hand to the left. She blinked and moved her hand to Windhaven, to Emerie, the bracelet shone bright.

"I can find Nesta." She breathed, returning to the marked points. The room held its breath as she checked each one, nothing. Feyre squeezed her other hand,

"There might be some sort of shield." Gwyn nodded, or Nesta could be dead. No, she couldn't be. She turned to face Feyre, Mor and Amren sitting silently behind her,

"What happens if we can't find them?"

"We will."

"What if we can't?" She leaned back on the map,

"I've considered it." Rhysand rubbed his face, "Worst case, we can't find them and, you know, best case, we can't find them, but we work something out to keep them alive. In a few days, if we still have nothing, I'll call a meeting, figure out who's most excited at the prospect of modifying the laws, and we can go from there." Gwyn nodded, at least someone had considered it. She closed her eyes, Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. Almost of its own volition, her hand moved across the map, falling still on an unmarked keep, but the bracelet shone bright as the sun.

"What is that?" She muttered, the shadow leapt up from where it had settled on her shoulder, racing around that spot on the map,

"Abandoned is what it is." Mor muttered, standing up to see where she was pointing, "It was Azriel's father's keep, but he died in the war, his legitimate sons moved out afterwards."

"So no-one would think anyone was there?"

"Perhaps." Mor mused, "We can easily get Nuala and Cerridwen to check if its still empty. We'll know by tomorrow." Rhysand nodded,

"Okay, let's do it. We're going to find them, Gwyn. Thank you." Gwyn offered him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, all she could do now was wait.

Even reading was too difficult with her mind occupied with worries,

"Hey," Mor flopped onto the couch across from her, "They're gonna be okay,"

"Yeah."

"Here, I thought you might want this." Mor handed her a leather jacket, Illyrian fighting leathers, covered in Azriel's scent. "He's always kept a spare set at the townhouse."

"Thank you." Mor squeezed her hand,

"Nuala will find him, then we'll rain hell down on whoever took him from us, okay?" There was nothing but kindness in Mor's gaze, kindness, and perhaps gratitude, although for what Gwyn had no idea.

"Okay." She would, she would destroy whoever it was, and if he was hurt, there was nowhere that would be safe for them, not from the vengeance she would bring down. For the first time since yesterday morning, she really smiled.

*****

A scream split the air, and Azriel jolted awake, female, down the corridor to his left, she screamed again, a scream of utter terror, and Azriel tried to rise, but he was still chained to the chair. On the third scream he recognized her voice, Nesta. If Nesta was screaming, then,

"Don't touch her!" That was Cassian, Nesta screamed again, but differently, she might have been screaming in horror this time, then she screamed Cassian's name, and every sound that reached his ears had Azriel straining against the chains, someone was hurting them, or at least one of them. He managed to shuffled the chair forwards, and Nesta's screams grew louder, she was being moved towards him. Cassian bellowed again, threatening hell for anyone who hurt her, Nesta was still screaming his name when she appeared in Azriel's field of view, three males dragging her backwards along the corridor. She kicked out, but they kept her off balance, chuckling at her scream when Cassian shouted her name again. She fought as one of the males let go to open the cell across from Azriel, and tossed her inside, Azriel winced at the crunch as her ankle wrenched sideways. She glanced around, and let out a sob seeing Azriel, but her attention was immediately snatched away from him at the sound of a thump from where she had come,

"Cass!" She screamed, slamming herself against the bars of her cell, "Don't hurt him," she screamed, "Cassian!" Another two males appeared from that corridor and Nesta dropped to the floor, not noticing them step towards her.

"Don't even think about it," Azriel snarled, shuffling forwards, and his brother's voice sounded from the stairs,

"Then tell me, how do I control the shadows?" Nesta scrambled backwards as one of the males kicked out at her. "I warned you that it wouldn't be you getting hurt from now on."

"You can't." One of the males drew a dagger and held his hand out for the key to Nesta's cell. "You can't, damn you!" His brother nodded, and the male unlocked the door. Shit, no-one else should be here, this was his burden to bear, and his alone, "She has nothing to do with this!" Nesta glanced around, there was nothing she could use to fight with, and from the look of her, she was already injured, he met her terrified gaze. "No-one knows why shadowsingers have their power, not even me." The male stopped at a gesture from Azriel's brother.

"Go on,"

"Go on? That's it, I don't know how you could even try to control them." The male with the dagger stepped towards Nesta, and she dropped into a fighting stance. Azriel jerked the chair forwards, and it slipped, sending him sprawling, face-first, onto the floor, his bruised jaw shrieking in pain. He couldn't see from this angle, but footsteps faded, and the bars of his cell clanged, as it someone had kicked it on his way past. He didn't care, just so long as they'd left Nesta alone,

"Az?" She whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He muttered, "Just a bit battered, what happened to you?"

"I'm okay, they got bored, I think," Azriel managed to flip himself over, so that he could at least turn his head to face her, "Cass is worse." Her gaze returned to that corridor she had come from, "Where are we?" she whispered,

"My father's old keep. They'll come for us, just hold on." The impact of the floor still had his head spinning so he barely registered when the guards returned to take Nesta somewhere else again, only her kicking an screaming alerted him. He was just conscious enough to have a shadow sneak out and make a set of keys fall from the closest guard's belt, the shadow floating it to Azriel. He still couldn't get the chair upright, and passed out again, waking to the sound of a key in his door.

Without having been fed, overpowering the guards was not an option, so Azriel waited until they released him from the bindings, one of them slamming a fist into his stomach, leaving his chest heaving as he fought to refill his lungs. Memories flooded into him, this was the first time he had allowed his focus to slip enough for the fear to set in. He closed his eyes against the flames from the torches lining the walls, only sheer force of will keeping his breathing slow, measured. Never again, this time, he was older, this time, he was stronger.

He had a key now, step one complete. Step two, escape.

Azriel watched the guards' rotations closely, marking when they changed, where the guards went, how long it took for changes, who was slowest. The day it took to note the rotation was perhaps the longest he'd ever lived, his mind full of images of Cassian and Nesta, of what his 'brothers' might be doing to them at any moment. Flames filled his vision, and he blinked to clear the memory, but it wouldn't fade, and cruel laughter surrounded him. No, no, no, he scrambled backwards, but smoke filled the dungeons, filled his lungs, and he coughed, again and again, until his stomach heaved, trying to empty itself, but came up empty. As the smoke kept surrounding him, Azriel dropped to the floor, in a vain effort to escape the smoke, his vision hazy as that damned laughter continued. The torches, one of them had fallen to the floor, there must be some sort of magic enhancing the flames, and, that was oil, there was oil on the floor, covering the floor, not just of his cell, but the whole of the dungeons. No wonder the guards were running. They were going to leave him here. He choked again, trying to call for someone, anyone to get that torch, but couldn't manage anything louder than a whisper.

Extinguish that torch.

He hoped desperately that it wasn't too late, that the shadows had actually heard him, but they did shoot out of the cell, leaving him alone and shot for the torch, choking the flame, blocking its access to air. Slowly, too slowly, the flame sputtered and finally died, mere seconds before the flame would have met the oil.

Azriel lay still, letting the smoke rise above his head, waiting for his lungs to clear out, his head to clear. The guards hadn't returned yet, this was his chance, the only one until the next day, he slowly got to his feet, shaking his head and silently unlocked the door, shadows cloaking his movements as he ghosted down the corridor towards where Nesta had come from. The smoke cleared as he made his way down the corridor, at least Nesta and Cassian had been safe from that particular 'game'.

When he rounded the corner, Cassian was all he could see, leaning against the back wall of his cell, his eyes were closed, and Azriel sucked in a breath at the sight of his wings. How any Illyrian could bear to hurt another's wings was beyond him, especially as Cassian's had clearly been carefully targeted, almost every joint was dislocated, at least partially, perhaps Nesta had been able to try and reset them, but his right wing was drooping on the floor, the main bone snapped in two. On another step, Azriel saw Nesta huddled against her mate, tucked into his side, her face buried in his chest. One more step and Cassian's eyes flew open as he shoved Nesta behind him, tension releasing from his muscles as he recognized Azriel,

"It's just Az, Nes, it's okay." He muttered, "How?"

"I stole a key. Let's get out of here, can you both walk?" Azriel himself was still slightly limping, but Cassian nodded,

"Yeah, Nesta, she's okay, they only went for my wings." Nesta pressed against him at that,

"We'll fix them," she promised, and helped him to his feet, waiting for Azriel to unlock the door, "How did you get rid of the guards?"

"They set a fire and ran." Nesta's eyes widened, and she paused, as if unsure what to say, and she just grasped his hand, "It's fine, Nesta." Cassian clapped him on the shoulder, dropping into a familiar position on his right, with Nesta between them as they made their way back towards the dungeons' entrance. He'd just about started to relax when a winged silhouette filled the space atop the stairs.

#fanfiction #fanfic #acotar #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #gwyn #gwyn acosf #azriel x gwyn #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #azriel

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atruththatyoudeny · 4 years

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Monthly Reads | October 2020

Happy 28th! I probably sound like a broken record already but I have to say it again: this fandom has an insane amount of talented writers! I am in awe! Every single one of you is my hero! ♥♥♥ Here are all the 23 fics I read and loved this month:

✧ Welcome to The Rivalry | 2tiedships2 | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - enemies to lovers - rivalry - college - 19k “Welcome home!” Niall yelled, clapping his hands in excitement. “Isn’t it great?” Louis looked between Niall and the house, unsure how to respond. “I don’t understand,” Louis finally managed to say. “Aren’t we a little old to be living so close to campus?” Niall scoffed. “You’re only twenty-four for fuck’s sake. There is still plenty of partying left for us to do. What better place than one street over from where a car was set on fire after the Michigan game last year?” “Is there proof of that? Did the car have Michigan plates or something? Is there a photo I can send in a DM to Wolfie?” As if on cue, a Twitter notification popped up on Louis’ Apple watch. He had tweeted again. Or a reverse You’ve Got Mail au inspired by the Ohio State/Michigan rivalry. Featuring duplex neighbors, (kind of) enemies to lovers, and an anonymous Twitter feud between omega Louis and alpha Harry.

✧ Back to Seventeen | crimsontheory | teacher - soccer coach - 26k As a first grade teacher in a small town in Illinois, Harry’s life is pretty simple. He loves his job, is close with his family, and has a best friend he would go to the ends of the earth for. When a new soccer coach starts at the local high school, things start to get a bit more exciting for Harry. Because that coach just happens to be Louis Tomlinson; the guy Harry was unrequitedly in love with in high school. Or the one where Louis moves back to his hometown and Harry realizes he’s still not over his high school crush.

✧ Sigh for Sigh | logogram | historical - a/b/o - regency - miscommunication - pining - marriage of convenience - 11k When his father's sudden illness forces Harry to get married in a hurry, he's delighted that Lord Louis Tomlinson is the one who makes him an offer. Being married to Louis is just as wonderful as he imagined, except for one thing-- they haven't mated yet. Or the one where they're both idiots, Harry's afraid to say what he's thinking, and Louis's just trying to be honorable.

✧ We Can Find a Place to Feel Good | yeah_alright | 1960s - High School - school dances - 8k 14-year-old Harry is ecstatic to finally be old enough to experience the time-honored tradition of school dances. But with each year that passes and each dance he attends, he’s realizing they’re not all he used to hope they’d be. Especially when he can't actually dance with the person he most wants to. Maybe he and Louis can figure out their own ways to keep dancing, anyway.

✧ At Risk, I Fold | clare328 | canon compliant - established relationship - angst - emotional hurt/comfort - miscommunication - anxiety - implied/referenced alcohol abuse - 15k 2015 is a stream of hotel rooms and whisky on the rocks, tired glances and touching hands under tables. It’s the bears and the bees under a rainbow sky, and Harry and Louis have to figure out how to grow up together, instead of apart.

✧ Carry These Feelings | LadyLondonderry | fae Á faires - established relationship - magic - 3k Harry is one of the fae, and has to return to Court once a year to please the Queen. He makes a detour on his way home to Louis. Two weeks and I'll be home.

✧ Hung Up High in the Gallery | lovelarry10 | friends to lovers - slow burn - pining - 14k "Louis, lay still!” Louis sighed loudly, and Harry watched his chest puff out as he inhaled deeply, the breath he let out loudly making Harry’s curls shift. “I am, stop being so fussy. Can I see yet?” “Nope,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself. “I’m doing your chest next. Shit, this is going to look so good, Lou. Your tan and these colours… why haven’t we done this before?” “Because we haven’t been this drunk in a while, and it never occurred to me until tonight?” ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ When Harry’s best friend, Louis, comes to support him at his art show, he decides they need to do some celebrating afterwards. How fast do the lines between friends and lovers get blurred ... or better, get painted?

✧ Love you in the dark | Perzikje | historical - wedding night - arranged marriage - dubious consent - 10k The story of a historical wedding night: in which Louis is quite unaware as to just how clueless his brand new husband is about sex. They try their best to figure it out together.

✧ Victorian Boy | audreyhheart | historical - victorian - royalty - enemies to friends to lovers - slow burn - angst - murder mystery - 101k Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

✧ the anticipation of knowing you | sweetrevenge | strangers to lovers - neighbors - light angst - 13k Hello Neighbor! Just wanted to let you know that you were having sex so loud and scarily I called our building manager and security officer because I thought you were hurt. P.S. I sent them away when I heard you yell ‘cock’. I’m sorry that I heard that, but I wanted you to know in case they stopped by to check on you or something. Sorry! Your neighbor Louis Tomlinson in apartment #306 After Louis overhears his next door neighbor having sex, he doesn’t really expect anything but awkward hallway encounters to come from it. Instead, he’s surprised to find himself in a whirlwind pen pal relationship with the sweet, albeit loud, baker next door.

✧ We'll Be All Right | dandelionfairies | married couple - accridents - 13k Harry is performing his one night only show in LA but there are four very important people missing.

✧ The Last Song of Your Life | reminiscingintherain | famous/not famous - Rays of Sunhsine - homophobia - 21k As Harry glanced around at all of the faces, he froze as a very familiar pair of blue eyes leapt out at him. A pair of eyes that he hadn’t seen since before the One Direction bomb exploded. A pair of eyes that he never expected to see again. ~~~~ or the famous/not famous AU, with first love, miscommunication, interfering bandmates, and adorable little sisters.

✧ Her | jaerie | a/b/o - trans character - transitioning - dysphoria - anxiety - quarantine - 7k The buttery swipe of a high quality lipstick was almost a sexual experience in and of itself. This time a deep colour with purple undertones which drew out the emphasis of long, dark lashes and perfectly contoured cheekbones. It was a look for loose and styled curls, feeling the classy formal nightclub vibes reflected back from the mirror. The silky plum coloured slip dress would be perfect to debut. The tags still needed to be cut free from the new garment that hung in the closet, but tonight was the night to set it free. When Harry gets home, she can finally be who she wants to be. Letting someone else in always feels like a distant daydream to her... until it suddently isn't.

✧ Loving You's the Antidote | lululawrence | Stylinshaw - a/b/o - touch deprivation - hospitalization - soulmates - polyamory - anxiety - friends to lovers - no smut - 11k Nick and Harry had never been an obvious match. When eighteen-year-old Harry, newly presented as an omega, came home freshly bonded to Nick, a man nine years his elder and a beta no less, Anne had been more than skeptical and Eileen had shared some harsh words of her own. That didn’t deter them, though, and their families soon realised there really was something special about the bondmates that allowed them to work together almost seamlessly. It was only a few months later that Harry started getting sick. Or the one where Harry and Nick have been able to keep Harry's disorder at bay over the course of their relationship, but when they move to London and away from their support system, they find themselves in desperate need of help.

✧ Like A Neon Sign | reminiscingintherain | canon compliant - mentions of death - fluff - 8k Harry had always been perfect to Louis, through every age, through every stage, and in all the important ways, he was proud to have been able to witness the growth that Harry had experienced first-hand.

✧ We Had Everything | lightswoodmagic (sarah_writes) | exes to lovers - getting back together - famous/not famous - 3k “You know Harry’s coming, yeah?” Louis’ fingers twitched, faltering where he was straightening the knot in his tie as he tried to ignore the false nonchalance in Zayn’s voice. He had no idea how he missed the name on the invite list, how he skipped over the initials on the small gifts, didn’t notice the elegant swirl of Harry’s name inked onto an emerald green place card. Or, Louis and Harry fell apart, and Louis' never forgiven himself. He gets a second chance at Zayn and Liam's wedding.

✧ True To Your Heart | reminiscingintherain | Mulan AU - a/b/o - 13k The world was at war with itself. In the small country of Enilenif, in a tiny, often overlooked corner of the world, young Alphas were quickly signing up to fight, desperate to protect their Omegas and their country as Aidem began to attack their borders. A few defiant Omegas tried to enlist as well, but were firmly turned away with disapproving looks by the staff in the office. Harry Styles was one such Omega, sighing heavily as he kicked at a small stone on his walk home.

✧ What the Water Gave Me | larryatendoftheday | fantasy - mermaids - long distance relationship - 29k When a mermaid crawls out of the sea to listen to Harry sing, it changes everything.

✧ it’s hard for me to go home | localopa | angst - breakup - getting back together - 5k don’t call me baby again

✧ The Prince and the Thief | jaerie | Fairy Tale - a/b/o - strangers to lovers - violence - kidnapping - threats of rape/non-con - 19k Harry is an omega prince locked in a tower and Louis is the thief sent to kidnap him. Nothing turns out as planned.

✧ Up On The Shore | wordsnnotes | Eroda AU - magic - epistolary - friends to lovers - childhood friends - emotional/psychological abuse - angst - long-distance relationship - domestic violence - 34k Magic has been outlawed on Eroda ever since President Cowell came into power, and all the magic people had to go live on the island of Stonell. Things are not looking good for Harry when he finds out he's a magician and his abilities seem more and more out of control. Thankfully, his best friend Niall's mother has the idea to put him in touch with Louis, a magician boy living on Stonell. They begin a secret correspondence and drama ensues. Or: Louis hides his feelings under sarcasm, Harry is too sweet for his own sake, everyone is a rebel, the mums are amazing, Harry's dad is a jerk, and I'm struggling to make it understandable without using normal narration.

✧ this town's just an ocean now | louistomlinsons | exes to lovers - friends to lovers - summer romance - miscommunication - childhood friends - light angst - fluff - 31k “I have really great friends. Do you remember Louis? You guys were always hanging out when you were growing up.” Harry remembers Louis. Harry remembers Louis. Suddenly, his throat feels way too dry, despite the ice cream he keeps licking at. He chokes a little on a chocolate chip before saying, “I, uh. I remember Louis.” Her face brightens. “We have dinner every Sunday. He owns the house now. His parents moved further north, and he wanted to stay here, so they just gave it over. Now if you want to worry about someone being lonely, that’s who I worry about.” inspired by watermelon sugar, featuring picnics on the beach and boys being dumb

✧ I Am the Blinking Light | dearmrsawyer | ghosts - shipwreck - 19k There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.

#28th appreciation #fic rec #my fic rec #monthly reads #completed fics #larry fics

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hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years

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AU Raffle: Cryptid AU!

[COMPLETE]

The result of the random selection was the Cryptid AU! Multiple people suggested this, so I'm looking forward to hearing all the ideas and extensions you guys will come up with. This will be a masterpost collecting them all, and it will be pinned for the duration of the AU.

Original suggestion: "For the Raffle. Cryptid AU. None of the Hermits are truly human and they all are really powerful cryptids that are hiding their true nature. The catch! Every Hermit thinks the other Hermits are totally normal and they are the only cryptid one. Hilarity ensures with everyone trying to explain the extrange things that keep happening "

Some ideas I came up with:

- every Hermit is a cryptid or monster of some kind, except for Grian, who is fully human and completely clueless about everything that's going on (suggested by a previous ask)

- Team ZIT is an investigation group trying to prove the existence of cryptids, but each one of them is subtly trying to sabotage the investigation to hide their own cryptid-ness. None of the three know the other two are also cryptids. Hilarity ensues.

- Xisuma probably knows what's going on with everyone, but he's not saying anything

- Mumbo is doing an absolutely horrible job of hiding that he's a cryptid, but somehow people still don't notice. Iskall is probably the closest to figuring it out.

- VintageBeef has already figured out that Keralis isn't human, but Keralis is bribing him to keep quiet

I hope that's enough to get the ball rolling! Send in your ideas using asks, and I'll put them down here!

If you need ideas about which cryptid would fit best with which Hermit, this list may be helpful.

Anonymous Additions:

- I feel like xisuma should be some kind of shapeshifter

- cleo was brought back to life by a family that loved her very much- or at least, that was what they tried to do. in reality, they brought a completely new soul back in the body of a deceased relative. cleo felt uncomfortable around people who thought she was a different person than she was, so she ran away and eventually befriended the hermits bc she just felt ~drawn to them~. she disguises her bloodless skin and lack of body heat with thick clothes and lots of makeup

- Cleo, of course, is a zombie, but she also has ties to Cthulu that she doesn't really try to hide, but that people overlook all the time. I'm just saying, an avatar of an eldritch being having to be a zombie kinda makes sense...

- Cthulu needed a body, and this kind family was nice enough to supply one! It was kinda their fault really, praying to ancient gods and making deals without reading the fine print. Cleo might feel guilty, but it wasn't on her, not really

- cryptid au: joe isn't a human, but a changeling: a shapeshifting, nonhuman entity that evolved to invade human families like a cuckoo. he has the ability to bend light to make illusions, but he normally just uses his powers to make himself appear human. however he does like to make all lime green things he sees invisible, for the lulz

- What about mumbo being a vampire, it just introduces the idea of so many odd behaviors that the others are just oblivious to

- What if ren is a werewolf(I know it isn't original) and he just thinks of the other hermits as his pack and is therefor very protective of them

- Obligatory Ren is a Werewolf for the Cryptid AU. He is acts like a gigant puppy when he is in wolf form. Nobody questions why sometimes they found a gigant wolf trying to play fetch with them. But nobody is complaining. Everyone talks about it and Ren is just upset because the gigant pupper has never come to see him. Surprise!! Not even Ren knows he is a werewolf

- idk if your still doing cryptid stuff because i don't really know how this works but,, what if everyone thinks that Grian Is Something when he's not. They keep trying to figure it out by asking him weird questions or trying to get him to do weird stuff, but he still stays completely oblivious. And then since Xisuma knows what everyone is, he thinks it's hilarious trying to watch everyone try to find something that isn't there.

- Cryptid au: Doc has made it obvious that he is a cryptid like, he explains it so obviously even an idiot would tell that he's one, But no one has figured out yet. So after the 15th time of explaining things he decides to present how he's a cryptid, by making a goatess.

- For the au, I have 2 ideas for grian, either he is very outspoken about not believing in the super natural, or he very much does believe in the supernatural, either way he unknowingly befriends multiple cryptids and is very confused

- Cryptic AU: Tango has fire for hair, and no ones really questioned as to why?

- What if false was a siren, just because it seems like an interesting idea (my addition: Wels would also make a great siren)

- Stress seems like the type to be an elf, graceful and cheerful, and of course admiring nature's beauty

- What if Impulse was mothman, I like this idea because of the whole team zit being paranormal investigators and they just go looking for mothman on one trip, and Impulse is just standing there probably feeling a bit awkward

- If Impulse is Mothman and he can fly and Tango is like a fire demon that controls fire, is only fair that Zed is an aquatic Cryptid. Maybe related to a lake monster or he is a Sea Serpent

- Yeti Iskall getting used to the hot environment of the Jungle??? Maybe?

- i have no clue how this works but etho is related to ningen in a way (Antarctic sea creatures from Japanese folklore)

- Joe's poems seem to stick in your head, echoing around for hours after you hear them, ringing between your ears. Their subjects vary, but they often seem eerily prophetic, warnings encased in rhythm and rhyme. Sometimes you swear you can hear the soft scritch of a pen on paper, before you realize you are the only one around.

- Wait how the hell would jevin hide that fact he's a slime? Better yet how do the other hermits not put to and to together? Through I think jevin probably wouldn't even bother trying to hide it, I mean he's a huge blob of slime how would you not be able to tell

(my response, summarized) Jevin inhabits a body of slime because that's the easiest way to hide his true form. "Jevin" is a non-physical entity that can possess other lifeforms by destroying their will. He chose a slime this time because it was easy and inconspicuous.)

- Cryptid au: Team ZIT have a headquarters and they all pitched in to commission Etho to make their door bell chime, the ghost busters theme, and afterward interrogated Etho to the ground.

- Doc is not a creeper with cyborneticts. Doc is the AI that came with the cyborneticts and over-wrote the conciousness of the creeper. Figured that making Doc something else would be too dificult so maybe subverting what he is with what we got alredy is enough (like you did with Jevin)

- I am putting this here for vampire mumbo in the au because the thought will not leave my head. It's dark, and mumbo's eyes seem to reflect light very well, his canine teeth seem just a bit too long and sharp, they seem to be stained red,was he always this tall? Something about him seems off, he seems very elegant in this darkness.

- cryptid au: when joe was young, he was ignored so much that he turned invisible. you can still see his shadow but you could look directly at him and not see him there with the best tools. he disguises himself by staying quiet, using text to communicate with the other hermits or by covering himself with clothes and masks so nobody would be able to see his body even if he wasnt invisible.

- For the au I think that Iskall could be a dryad because of his base this season

- Imagine if you will: Tango leaves town for a bit so the team ZIT can't do their "investigations". Impulse gets bored and decided to pretend to kidnap Zedaph in mothman-form. When Tango returns, Zedaph tells him how he almost was kidnapped by Mothman (and is over-exaggerating on every detail)

- What if in the au there is a situation where team zit is in some sort of danger, and so each of them just independently decide that they have to reveal the fact of their cryptid selves, and they just collectivly think,"huh. Okay." And after they are safe, they just talk about it as a group

- Beef is big foot.

- Biffa looks like a robot or cyborg, which one? He won't say. Maybe its because its neither, maybe he's just a walking body with a mind, maybe he's just a suit of armor roaming the world, maybe a spirit or ghost from the past, maybe a mob whose inhabited and pilots the body, maybe he's just Biffa. Only he knows, but he won't say

- Cryptid AU: I’m just imagining zedaph or tango throwing a bell at grian in an attempt to “capture” him under the suspicion that he’s part fae or something at a server meeting

- About Cryptid!Wels, sometimes, when the night is dark and the world is silent, you'll hear it; a soft voice in the darkness. You can't help but listen to it as you get lost in the song, swaying to the melody as your foot moves to the beat. The song gets louder and your feet are more frantic as they seem to take you somewhere. Suddenly, the voice stops singing and so you stop moving, and when you open your eyes you find yourself on the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. The siren lurks near

- Doc isnt a Creeper with cybrog parts but a robot made to look like a creeper, that arm and eye? yea just exposed parts from years of just not caring enough. He's waiting to see when someone will call him out on it. So far, only TFC and X but they like to watch how long this will go. Doc isnt even hiding anymore, he loves to mess with Grian by making remarks that imply he's a robot but Grian just can't figure it out

- tbh I love the idea of Joe as a regular human who just acts super cryptic and strange, and has a bit of skill at poetry. others try and figure out what he is, and he's just vibing in a corner, the last one anyone would expect to be the sole normal person on the server

- Cryptid AU. Joe and Cleo as the ‘One Bagel. No!! Two bagels!’ Vine. Joe being the one that asked and Cleo ignoring Cthulhu

- Joe starts sharing different ideas of what he could be, and only Cleo knows (mostly... she's the closest at least). Joe's mystery is a Hermitcraft classic, greeting every hermit except X, who still only has what Joe's told him to go on. He delights in the chaos he causes

- Scar is a poltergeist, he hides it well. One time Grian caught him using his powers, after scar fessed up, in private, they both bring some amount of chaos to the server, but not to much so the ZIT crypt hunters, name in progress, don't know about the chaos, thus not puting the duo in danger.

- Mumbo might be a vampire, but it isn’t for blood (at least, not anymore). Only Grian has come close to figuring it out, and it’s due to seeing how refreshed and satisfied his friend looks after being around 2+ groups of people. If only he would just straight up and ask. - 🦊

- Rather last minute but do you have any ideas of how Evil Xisuma could fit into this? Would he be a shapeshifter as well. A copy of X's true form? A demon haunting Xisuma? Just X's pesky brother? There's a handful of ideas I can't personally decide what would fit best. Maybe none of them at all, who know?

Cryptid Au. Xisuma shapeshifts for fun. Thats how we get Turtle!Xisuma, Beesuma and Stridersuma. All hermits just assume X changes his suit because they have never seen his face so there is no way for them to know he shifts. Also clasic headcanon that TFC is Herobrine and he is just laying low in Hermitcraft after years of going around worlds. Everyone knows the legend about Herobrine but have not connected the dots yet because TFC is just everyone’s grandpa. No way he could be Herobrine.

- @/ivi-prism

- While most might assume that Grian would be a harpy, its actully Scar. He's incredibly flexable in Human form, hes able to manuver his foot behind his head, and moret than once has Cub walked in on Scar with a living fish in his mouth. He never questioned it because "Hey, Vex magics weird."

- Imagine- sytyr Zedaph and Fae Impulse walking in on Willowwisp Tango who,because willowwisps are typically tiny, shrunk in response to panic and is now stuck in a caldron. I think that be hilarious. Just the idea of impulse going-"YOUR A CRYPTID?" while Zed just "WAIT I KNEW I DIDNT BURN THOSE PAPERS!" Which leads into a discussion of ZIT internal sabotage, and suddenly ZIT invesigation changes direction from "Are cryptids real" to "Is anyone else a Cryptid cause this cannot be a Coincidence"

- @/crypticalwitch

- Cryptic AU: Tango can also control his hair, to an extent. He can slick it back, but it still looks like burning embers. It's a bit mesmerizing

- Cryptid AU: Cub was a normal guy, maybe with some weirder interests, before the Vex. "Playing" with their magic too much is what made him a cryptid. So maybe he understands that the other hermits aren't exactly "human". But it isn't his business, and it means they don't question what the Vex get him into, so he just doesn't say anything about it

- Cryptic AU: Team ZIT's strongest evidence for Grian is the fact he's a master with an elytra, especially since he first said he "might use it a little bit" for long journeys. He's flown into a dark hole in a dark wall that's barely big enough to fit him multiple times, with ease, among other risky stunts that would get other hermits killed. The fact there's not much else to go on, besides his pranking zeal only matched by Zed himself, drives them up the wall

- Cryptic AU: when you stay out too long at night, you might start to feel watched. You'll turn around and nobody is there, but still you feel eyes on your back, and the breeze always seems hot and brushes your neck like too-close breathing and a hand. Finally, you catch it: a familiar figure that stands too stiffly, always just too far away to name. Then it vanishes with an airy shriek, and phantoms descend from the stars. Bdubs did always say the worst things happen in the night.

- Cryptic AU: Impulse's smiles are just a little too big. If you look at one too long, you feel as though it's stretching wider and wider, the cheery shine in his eyes twisting into a hungry gleam, but then you blink and he's back to normal ol Impulse and you question if you really saw anything. That time you saw his smile glinting in the darkness just beyond your bed must've been a nightmare. Your imagination.

- Cryptic AU: Don't look into his eyes. Look in, and you will see the universes. Billions of stars, trillions of futures, all impossibly swirling together, hauntingly beautiful. You'll fall down, down, down through the glittering spirals, until with a breathtaking snap you're on your knees, on solid ground. You're lucky he doesn't want to keep you, like others might. The lives and worlds you glimpsed will echo through your mind, weave through your dreams. Do not fear. Do not look into his eyes.

- The mountain is his territory. If you enter it unbidden, he will ensure you leave, lucky to keep your life. His contraptions are nonsense, seeming to serve no purpose other than to confuse. They distract from how the air crackles on your skin, how it tastes of storms and thunder. They distract how, from the corner of your eye, Zedaph's limbs are too long, fingers with too many knuckles and legs with too many knees. All angles and bones, like his designs. Do not look too closely at his garden.

- Everyone learned not to ask about him. Mostly because in trying to form the question, you'll find the words slipping from your mind. So Tango's hair burns, his eyes are red cherries. In the darkness he glows, the embers of a forgotten fire. His skin is always hot, almost feverish, yet he isnt sick. If he gets too close to lava, the illusion fades, reveals the magma that forms his skin. Illusion? No, that was just a burn. He relishes the smoke and rubble of explosions. Control. Always controlled.

- xB doesn't mind being away from the other hermits. It's quiet there; far enough away that most aren't bothered to prank him. He doesn't like surprises. Surprises get people hurt. Gets his friends hurt. His guardians appreciate the still predictability. The calm. Yes, he prefers to sit back, quiet, and watch. If he looks too long, bad things happen. So he observes it all, never focusing too much on one detail, never letting them go unseen. It prevents surprises.

- Because that last one wasn't all that clear, xB is a guardian-based cryptid! While nothing seems inhuman about him at a glance, he has a close affinity to water, and when threatened the spines he hides with his clothes will stick out. (Guardians only spawn in water, but they actually don't suffocate in air! Though their desperate flopping is a sad sight to behold) Plus, laser-eyes

- Xisuma wasn't always able to change his form as easily or drastically as he can now. But by now, he's forgotten his own face. Now, he'll feel his skin, his body begin to itch with the need to change. He's glad the hermits don't seem to care when he does. Keralis's mimicry was a surprise, but a welcome one. He feels less alone. Loneliness is how he would lose himself. He's scared of that possibility.

- When he sleeps, he walks through the minds of those whose eyes met his, as if it were his own dream. He'll hear their thoughts as if they were his own. He doesn't like this. It feels like an invasion. He feels like a parasite, and maybe he is. Whoever he dreamed through last, they seem exhausted and jumpy after, while he feels energized, near invincible. It's through this ability he knows their deepest secrets, but they aren't his to tell. Sometimes, he wishes he could understand. (Xisuma pt 2)

- Cryptid AU: another reason that Grian cant possibly be a human is his clothes. Just. How does he have something for every occasion. He even has a janitor one? Why did he have that? This "man" doesn't own a single closet yet has at least 20 different costumes-- not to mention you blink and he's changed! Wh- he had a REAPER costume for himself AND SCAR???

- @/basaltdragon

- Cryptid AU: Grian used to be against cryptids because of Sam (YHS) and his bunny attributes, but has since accepted the fact Sam was just a bad apple, and cryptids as a whole are neutral/good.

- Your heart, it beats, like redstone ticking away within you. He knows redstone through and through... so why not you too? Every pulse sent though the machine of your body is one more reason for him to reverse engineer you. But he restrains, takes a step back, as these machines could never be put back together.

- He's been here since the beginning; not of Hermitcraft, but everything. Watching as the game evolved over the years... He smiles at the thought. His hair now matching his eyes - like harsh reflective snow - he recalls these memories fondly. As his eyes fade to their piercing blue, he sighs, for this is home.

- When any of the other Hermits (at least the ones with blood) get injured, Mumbo has to step away. The need for their blood, their lifeforce, is too overwhelming.

- @/12u3ie

- Cryptid AU: with the team ZIT headquarters I thought of something similar to the TEA headquarters from season 3. Probably more confusing, colourful and chock full of even more excessive redstone doors. Why not add another elevator? Where's the coffee machine? Maybe the next room over? Was that corridor there before? I don't know. What's the use of that room? What's behind that door? What's behind you?

- Cryptid AU: with the whole burning hair thing on Tango, another explanation for why no one questions it. That's just Hermitcraft, people just assume he either royally messed up a redstone machine, or succeeded completely, you never know with Tango. Or maybe they think they're sleep deprived. They haven't slept in a while, Bdubs has been reminding them to do so. What were they doing? Maybe they should go home instead. Whatever they were doing can probably be done later. What were they doing?

- @/the-royal-bat-snake

- If joe is a changing then he is some kind of fae folk or as the irish and the Scots call them "the good neighbours" he could like anything, from a human, a small man, like knee height or a small green impish or goblin esque creature. Also changlings were the very old fae folk, not just the babies (humma women were stolen to be nurse maids cus fae folk cant make milk, also stolen to be mistresses) I know a lot of irish faerie lore so if you want to know anymore

- @/whatschooldoesntteachyou

#hcraft #hermitcraftheadcanons #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mod shade #au raffle #cryptid au #hermitcraft server

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lifblogs · 4 years

Text

celnene

9414 words

destiel, fae!castiel, high fantasy!au

written as a prompt request awhile ago

The baby was crying. The beautiful, blond-haired baby with green eyes was crying, and both parents had left him there in the cabin alone. Their intentions hadn’t been evil, seeing as the mother had gone to hunt for food, and the father had gone to the market to sell furs in exchange for something to eat other than meat. Castiel understood why they hadn’t brought the baby along. Even the trek to the market could be dangerous. Castiel had been there before, wearing a glamour so as to hide from the humans. He found that he enjoyed watching them, even though these people would kill him if they knew who, and what, he was. They’d see his sharp canines, and his pointed ears, his perfect skin, and ethereal glow, and they’d shoot and stab him full of iron.

Usually, most of them weren’t violent to other humans, not as severely as some had been during the wars centuries ago. There were a number, however, who belied that simple fact. Bandits were on the roads, ready to take advantage of helpless townsfolk. A few ex-soldiers wandered, taking their anger out at being dismissed from the army on the people there, and bullying them for money.

So no, a baby wouldn’t have been able to be brought along, despite the sure amount of kindness he would find.

As for friends? Castiel was sure the two parents of this baby didn’t have any that could watch their six-month old. He knew because, well, for some reason he had had his eye fixed upon them for years. He just felt… drawn to them, particularly when the mother had become pregnant.

Once they’d had the baby, they’d taken extra precautions, making weapons of iron. Some were still in the house, but if they didn’t touch Castiel, he would be fine. Would the parents return in time to make an attempt at ending his life? No, the chances of that were slim. Even now he could smell the scents of the parents fading, and they hadn’t renewed. They were getting farther away.

That baby boy was still crying. At six months old he was able to eat mashed food, and he was becoming a little less helpless. Still, he was a baby, and for now, he was all alone in the world.

Castiel came down from his perch on the tree, jumping easily to the ground fifteen feet below and landing on his feet, strong bones and legs easily taking the impact.

As he walked towards the cabin, idly flicking out his power behind him to brush the snow and obscure his tracks, he raised his hand, and he pushed, letting his power pulse outwards. The latch unhooked, the door swinging open slightly. Cold air rushed in ahead of him, and a flurry of snow swept across the mat inside the door. Not wanting the baby to get too cold, Castiel hurried in, taking care to close the door behind him.

The baby didn’t seem hungry when he swept a discerning hand that glowed gold over his body. He was fine. However, he was… lonely.

Castiel, feeling warmth in his chest, picked up the baby, and started bouncing him. For some reason he started telling him about the wars, telling him of the dark fae the humans had helped battle off, and then, in a stroke of mistrust, had turned on the fae that had helped them. The battles had killed more humans than fae, and Castiel, acting as a highlord beneath the reign of his father, the highprince, had been able to convince them to turn away. He left out the gory details, of course, but he told the story of how their peoples had separated, and how some fae still cared about the humans. Too many years had passed for the humans to remember what had happened, and those who weren’t royal or wealthy could barely read. Even then, most humans saw the word Fae and turned away from it, even if that word was on a history book.

Despite their ignorance, Castiel found them interesting. But not as interesting as the baby boy he was bouncing on his knee. The baby, whose name he’d caught a few months ago—Dean—was now gurgling instead of crying. He looked up at Castiel with the greenest of eyes. One of his little hands fisted in Castiel’s silvery-white cloak.

“Yes, it’s all right, Dean,” he told him. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

Castiel stayed with Dean till he heard the parents arriving home.

They didn’t even know he had been there.

✥

Castiel had work to do as a highprince. In his opinion, it was boring work. Most of it was politics between the different courts in the realm in an attempt to postpone another war. Along with that, there were ledgers to keep a decent account of, new guards to choose for his retinue, overseeing commerce—which, to his dismay, included strong drinks that were so punctuated with alcohol they could easily double as cleaning fluid. The alcohol hadn’t made its way to the nobles of his court, but he was aware of its circulation through the slums in the lower depths of his city.

Castiel’s city was Taivakel, built atop a towering mountain. His palace resided at the top; a thing of marble, and gold, and diamond. The city then grew out in a circle all around the mountain, many of the buildings made of smoothened white stone. Different sections of the mountain had been carefully segregated. Though, in the past century, Castiel had had the walls separating them knocked down. He did not want his people to be divided. In part because he cared about them, but he also knew that a divided people could plant animosity among his citizens, and dangerous things could happen. Rebellion—though that hadn’t happened since his father was highprince—civil wars, higher criminal activity.

With this new system, the different quarters had begun to merge with each other, and Castiel quite enjoyed it. The reports he received from his lords and advisors relayed that the people did as well.

Castiel’s people were all fae. The lesser ones, without powers, had been pushed to the bottom of the mountain. They lived in small, wooden shacks and crowded apartments. They had created a black market centuries ago as an attempt to get by. Another highprince, one of whom he was acquainted with—Corvalend, the highprince of Aardess—tried to curtail his worries about the lesser folk. He claimed that they were lesser for a reason, reminding him of the fact that they lacked magic.

Still, Castiel was trying to help; setting up donations, attempting to send builders to fix up the homes, lowering the taxes, and sharing goods. Some for free, some at a lower price. Despite his attempts, he had received quite a bit of backlash from the non-magic folk in his city. They claimed they did not want the help of a highprince who surely looked down upon them, and they insisted that they did not need his help. They had been self-sufficient for four centuries now, and claimed that their ways of life could not be changed. Still, he tried. He desperately tried, caring about all his people.

Then, of course, there were the religious zealots of Dawn’s Children. Dawn was supposedly a representative of the dawn of a new age, in which humans and fae would live together. To most, it was blasphemy. Castiel was not very religious, but he welcomed the idea of merging with the humans. However, sharing that would make him very unpopular with his people.

Dawn’s Children took in all kinds. They preached in thick robes, collected followers, kept their heads unshaven. To appease them, Castiel had appointed their high priestess as one of his advisors.

Many of Dawn’s Children were tame, gentle, but problems quickly arose whenever they wandered into human territory. Which they did quite frequently.

They wished to mate with them, seeing as they had found ways for two beings of the same sex to mate and create life. In the city, that secret was guarded carefully. However, the work of Dawn’s Children never seemed to come to fruition. Many of the members who delved into the human kingdoms did not return. During their first foray, Castiel’s father had sent a battalion of troops after them, even requesting that Castiel lead them. He had declined, and without his leadership, only half the troops had returned. His father blamed him, as Castiel did himself.

Quite frequently he found himself venturing into the human realm in secret, as he had a few years ago when drawn to that baby. His only creed was to explore, observe, and not interact. Yet, he felt pulled to the child, and often walked through doorways of light to the human realm. He would do this at night, while tasking one of his lords or trusted advisors to watch over the city in his stead. Perhaps the time for another visit was drawing near.

✥

The day had been grueling. Highprince Castiel had undertaken a building project in the lower quarter. Though his identity had remained hidden till an hour or two into his work, he was eventually found out, and vitriol was flung his way. Still, Castiel worked, whether these fae wanted him to or not. This was his duty. To serve, protect, lead. If he could not do what he would ask of someone else, then in his eyes he would have failed as a highprince.

Castiel let out a deep sigh as he now settled down into the hot water filled nearly to the brim in his deep-set, marble tub. There was a ledge to sit on when one did not want to be fully submerged.

The ledge was where he rested for now, sore from his day’s work. Eventually, he soaped up his body, washing away the sweat, and grime that had collected on him. After dunking into the water to rinse away the soap, servants toweled him dry. They attempted to dress him in his night clothes, and Castiel dismissed them, a fluffy towel wrapped about his hips.

He perused his wardrobe, opting for dark clothing. He donned a black silk tunic with a deep v cut down the center, and silvery embroidery on the cuffs, black leather pants, paired with fur-lined boots, a vest for partial warmth, and a cloak.

Fall had come, and he did not want to get cold on his travels.

Castiel waved his hand, widening a doorway of golden light. He stepped into it.

✥

Dean was playing in the forest. It was evening, the sky that dull gray before the sun lowered beyond the horizon and surrendered the world to starry night.

Dean was seven years of age now, and he was receiving some schooling. His little brother was three years of age. Dean couldn’t wait to take him out in the woods to play with him. All his brother Sam seemed to be able to do for now was play with the wooden toys their father had carved for Dean some years ago.

Sometimes, against his mother’s will, Dean traveled into town. Whilst there he came to know that his patched together clothing, originally taken from his father’s trunk after his death, was a sign of poverty. With one parent, they were not very well off.

Now, he played in the woods; he had found a giant stick, and was whacking a tree with it. He moved into different stances, ones he had come up with in his head, and had convinced himself that the soldiers used.

Light broke through the twilit sky, and Dean gripped his stick hard, heart pounding. What was that?

Then he saw a tall shadow through that golden glow, and Dean ran to hide behind a thick ash tree he had taken to climbing a year ago.

Poking his head around, he saw the shadow step out of the light and materialize into a man. He was dressed in black, his tan skin inhumanly smooth, dark hair immaculate, and—

Dean hid behind the tree again, gasping, breathing hard.

The man was fae!

Dean had seen the pointed ears. Did he have fangs too?

The fae male stepped so lightly that Dean hadn’t even heard him approach, and—

He rounded the tree Dean was hidden behind. At his discovery, Dean’s instincts told him to drop his stick, to run. Yet, there was something deeper inside of him. An excitement, a thrill of some sort. Dean ran at the fae male and cried out, swearing, “Get back! Get back! You don’t belong here, you damned Inenuan rubbish!” as he beat at his legs and lower abdomen with his stick.

Eventually, he tired, and when he stepped away, panting, shaking fingers scraped from bark, still holding onto his stick, he looked up into the face that observed him. He saw blue eyes, a strong jaw, nearly too-pink lips, and eyes as blue as the Clear Lake a few miles away. Mary and Dean had made the trek before; Mary with Sam bundled up against her chest. Dean was reminded of those waters when he looked into those eyes. Blue, cold, perhaps even empty.

No, emptiness was not what lay there. Just something different, something he could not recognize. After all, he was fae.

The fae male reached out, and took Dean’s stick. Dean trembled.

“You know,” he said in a low, gravelly voice, sharp teeth flashing as he examined the stick, “if you stripped this of bark, whittled it down, and sharpened the edge, it would be a more effective weapon.”

He handed it back to Dean, and Dean just stared, mouth dry. He licked his lips.

“Your form was off as well,” he commented. Then Dean was sure his heart had stopped because that thing, that being, was touching him. The touch was not harsh, nor anywhere inappropriate; simply meant for moving his limbs around. Yet he had dropped his stick in shock. “Here,” the male said, “you want to keep your feet shoulder width apart, and lower yourself slightly as if you were sitting up on a high stool. There, good. Feet must be straight, pointing forward, bringing power and balance into your legs.”

Dean still couldn’t breathe. A fae was touching him! Talking to him! When would the killing blow come? Would he steal him away, cook him up before eating him for dinner? Would he enslave him, perhaps keep him as a pet? Or would he put him on the front lines of his army to be used as a distraction to lessen the deaths of the real soldiers? No matter the course of action, he was sure he would die.

“All right. Yes. Now put your arms up.” He now grabbed hold of his arms, and Dean took in a sharp breath. Though, the touch was gentle, perhaps even kind. No, impossible. This creature did not know kindness. “You want to keep one held up, angled slightly away from your body. This one you use to block blows. It protects you, and from this position you can easily lift it to protect your face, or lower it to protect your abdomen. The other arm should be lower, pulled back slightly. You can alternate which hands you use if we’re talking hand-to-hand combat—here make a fist—keeping you from tiring on one side too quickly, and giving you the advantage of coming at your enemy from both sides. And you see here?” He lightly patted Dean’s elbow, and Dean realized he had not left the position he’d been placed in, too terrified to move. “With this arm farther back, when you reach out to punch someone, it gathers momentum, but only if you keep your elbow and wrist straight.” The male backed up slightly, taking his hands off him. “Here, try it. Punch me.”

“Wh-what?” Dean questioned, voice small in the otherwise empty forest.

“Hit me,” the fae male commanded.

That voice was commanding. It was the voice of a leader, the voice of one with power. Dean found he could not resist. He stepped out with one foot, and drove a punch into the fae male’s gut. The satisfying sound of a fist hitting the center of a body met Dean’s ears. To his dismay, the male had not moved even an inch.

Dean faltered.

The fae crouched down, getting on his level. “It’s all right, Dean,” he told him. “I am stronger than you, able to withstand much more, but with practice, you will be able to protect yourself.”

“H-h-how do you kn-know my name?” Dean asked, struggling to get the words out.

“That story is long,” he said. “But perhaps in a decade or two, I will tell it to you.”

A gate of golden light opened, and Dean shielded his suddenly-watering eyes against it, blinking something fierce.

“Farewell, Dean,” the fae male said, and then he made to walk into the light. Before disappearing into it he turned, saying as if in afterthought, “By the way, my name is Castiel.”

Castiel stepped into the light, which receded behind him. Dean was alone in the darkened woods.

✥

Sam coughed, blood coming up on his lips. Dean just held his hand, bowing his head. Sam was unconscious, but still he said to him, voice rough, throat aching with emotion, “Come on, Sammy. Hold on for me. You’ll be okay.”

Mary was out trying to get herbs for him, and she was desperate, saying she would not lose another one of her boys. After their father had died, she had attempted to be a good mother, but had no longer possessed the will. The spark had gone out, and Dean had tried to light it once more. He’d given everything for her, for Sam. It hadn’t been enough.

Somehow, with Sam being sick, she seemed to have that spark again, that fight. She was going to be there for him.

Dean searched their little cabin for a cloth. He found one resting over the edge of the washbasin—which was empty. He groaned, knowing they needed more water.

Dean put the cloth over his shoulder, took the washbasin, and went outside into the cold with it. He forwent putting on a cloak. He wouldn’t be out there for long. He went to the spigot located in the back of their cabin. The metal was cold as he worked it up and down to get the water from the cistern. It seemed to burn his hand.

Doesn’t matter.

Water splashed over his hands. Dean couldn’t do this gently. He was breathing hard, sweat on his forehead despite the cold.

Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam

Praise Ilvasar, that even this little bit of water would help.

Doubtful.

Dean went back in out of the cold, put the washbasin down near Sam, and then soaked the cloth. Water dripped in little pitter-patters as he wrung it out. He used it to clean the blood off of Sam, and then put the clean part of it on his blazing hot forehead.

Sam’s breaths rattled in his chest.

Dean stayed kneeling by the bed, and put his head down against Sam, one hand resting across his brother’s stomach. He knew that with his arm like this, he was supposed to be able to feel Sam breathing. The abdomen seemed to hold deep breaths. Sam couldn’t breathe deeply enough for them to reach lower.

His brother whimpered, and when Dean moved his head higher, he could feel Sam’s too-slow heartbeat. His breaths rattled, and squeaked. A tear fell from one of Dean’s eyes, rolling down his cheek to land on Sam’s cotton tunic.

Dean held on to his shoulder, fingers kneading, trying to soothe.

“Sammy…” he murmured.

The door banged open, and in an instant, Dean—though exhausted—rose and settled into a stance he’d somehow learned but possessed no memory of being taught. He relaxed, heaving out a breath at the revelation that it was just his mother.

Their eyes met, and unspoken, horrid words passed between them.

Dean collapsed to his knees, reaching out for Sam’s hand.

His mother came to hold his hand, and despite the trials of their past, he allowed the touch.

“What must we do?” Dean murmured.

“There’s nothing.”

Dean pulled his hand away. A part of him wished to argue, wished to fall into the habits he’d developed years ago. Instead, he went into his room, and donned the jacket and cloak he’d left resting on his bed. He grabbed his leather gloves by the door, and pulled his hood up, ready to set out.

His mother grabbed him.

“You can’t go,” she said to him, pleading.

Dean found his words were lost to him, that he could not speak. Instead of soothing his mother, or confiding in her with his plan, he shrugged free of her grip, and walked out into the cold evening.

Dean wandered for quite some time, searching for any roots that could have survived in all the snow. There were rumors of magic in the land, so surely there would be some.

His search proved fruitless. Dean had wandered at least two miles from the cabin, the sun now beginning to set. The sky was painted in red, bleeding into the gray darkness.

Cold, shivering, Dean knelt in the snow, holding himself upright against the thick base of a tree. His hands were frigid despite the gloves protecting his skin. The ice bit at his nose, his lips, and the wind made a good many attempts to tear his hood off.

He held onto it with his free hand, breaths suddenly coming hard and fast.

The now-familiar ache in his throat built up, and in pain-filled moments his vision began to blur, the world fading away from him.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

Sam was surely meant for the grave.

With that thought pounding inside his head, he rose, and walked, even as he lost all track of time, all understanding of his body. Dark had settled upon the world when he came to, when his tears dried. Stars blinked out above the bare trees.

Ilvasar, please.

No. Hope for his brother was not something Ilvasar could grant him, if Ilvasar even truly existed. Religion had always seemed rather weak and feeble to Dean. Were gods and powerful spirits truly watching over them? Or were the human superstitions all for naught?

However, Dean had begun to burn prayers for the gods some months ago, searching for anything that could help Sam.

Ilvasar was a common god to be used as a curse. However, he would not help here. He didn’t have the powers, did not know how. So he looked up, and he prayed to Neia, the goddess of all things natural in the world. The legends told of her proclivity for healing. Perhaps…

Dean attempted to reach her, to believe.

Please, my brother is dying. Neia. I beg of you.

Sam will die.

Please…

Sam will die. He will perish and be taken to the afterlife, perhaps even into a realm of darkness.

Neia…

A tortured scream left Dean, and he climbed to his feet. He kicked at the snow, and then drew his arm back in a fist. When he punched the tree, the bark tore at the leather glove of his right hand. His knuckles throbbed. Yet, he wished to take his anger out on the tree once more.

Fist raised, about to deliver another blow, the realization that he should put his anger and fear into use came upon him. What would screaming and crying in the dark and cold accomplish? Such a manifestation of emotions would never help.

Hand throbbing, ice cold reaching through the tear in his glove, and radiating against him to numb his face, he birthed an idea.

Was the idea a terrible, and possibly perilous one?

Yes.

No other options had presented themselves.

Beginning to hunger, his stomach growling from missing dinner, Dean looked up at the stars, determining his position.

Good. He had already unintentionally been traveling in the correct direction. All he must do was continue north in a straight line.

He walked, keeping his cloak wrapped securely about himself, raising his feet up high so as to not get stuck in the snow. His breaths were harsh in his chest, his thighs beginning to ache. Still, onward he went.

Dean was not sure how he was aware of crossing the Border. Perhaps it was the slight tingle that had traveled down his spine. Or perhaps it was the way the very air seemed different, more… pure.

Now what must he do?

Dean knew not.

He walked. Hopeless.

Cold and exhaustion gripped him, and he gave in, lying beneath the low bough of a fir.

✥

The tugging in Castiel’s gut alerted him to Dean’s presence. He had crossed the Border. But why? Why did Castiel then sense a dark dread, and exhaustion?

These feelings had awoken him, and he did not bother to dress—only grabbing his cloak, and shoving his feet into some boots—before fixing himself on Dean’s location. Light opened up in his chambers, a tear in the physical plane of this world. He stepped through it.

Where he was transported to was a forest a few miles from the Border. Dean had been traveling north, yet he would have never reached Castiel’s territory that way—if that had truly been his goal.

He slept beneath a tree, his face pale against the light of Castiel’s portal, his lips blue. His hair, which had darkened to brown with age, had been swept away from his face.

With his chest aching despite his immortality, Castiel rushed to him, and cradled his head in one hand, hoisting him up into his lap. He wrapped an arm around him, and found Dean was limp. Lifeless.

Not even daring to hope, he put two fingers to Dean’s neck, feeling for life, for blood flowing through him.

Yes!

There it was.

Faint.

Castiel could not bring beings back from the dead, but he could heal. It was an ability he’d acquired from his father.

Those two fingers traveled to Dean’s frozen lips, almost pressing into his mouth. Closing his eyes, he reached into the well of power inside of him, reached into that strong, viperous glow and warmth. Light played against Castiel’s eyelids. In mere moments, Dean’s breath warmed his fingers.

Pleased that Dean would not die at this moment, Castiel hoisted him up, carrying him over his shoulder, and he took him through the portal.

✥

Softness caressed Dean, enveloping him. He was sunken into something plush, furs layered above him. Despite this, the outward comfort could not penetrate the aches in his body.

Eyelids heavy, feeling as though he could barely open them, Dean breathed deep, attempting to fall back into sweet, blanketing sleep.

Fear suddenly spiked through him, and he tried to sit up. He hardly succeeded, holding himself up with a shaking arm, his other arm across his aching ribs.

Hands were on him now, and Dean tried to push them off, rip them away from him.

He found he could not do so. There was an iron strength in those hands.

As Dean took in the room, the white, gold, and silver coloring of it, his head became a place rife with fear.

He had passed through the Border.

These were not the chambers of a human. There was something distinctly inhuman about them. Perhaps it was the delicate, arching designs, the natural lines to everything that put the rough angles of humanity’s creations to shame. Silver and gold arced and swirled through the white of the room, creating a beautiful, unfathomable pattern.

Dean dared to look up into the face near his. Dared to confront the truth that he had been captured by a fae, and one who was surely male, the size of his hands giving him away.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean started, gaze traveling over that strong jaw, those pink lips, the nearly sharp cheekbones, and the big, beautiful eyes. The fae’s skin was tan, hair dark and ruffled. It did not serve to hide his pointed ears.

Did he have sharp fangs?

Why did it matter? This fae knew his name.

This fae had captured him.

Dean was plunged into the stomach-churning sensation of vulnerability, and then a new realization came upon him. He looked down to assess the truth. Of course. He was naked.

“How do you know my name, and what did you do to me!” Dean growled, shocked by the strength in his voice.

The fae male just pushed him down into the bed, Dean struggling all the while. He then set himself on the bed beside Dean, pulling the furs up against his chest, covering him once more.

“You were dying,” his captor told him.

Fear pumped through Dean’s blood.

Yet, those eyes, that face, was so beautiful. Strength lay beneath his night clothes. A deeper part of Dean that tended to crave someone’s touch, was very pleased with this situation. However, it was not the one ruling his mind.

“The cold had gotten to you,” he explained. “You were blue, frost-bitten. Your bodily functions had slowed. Death had been upon you, so close that I feared I hadn’t reached you in time.”

Dean glared, and this strong, stupid, self-absorbed, repgunant being—

No, Dean, he chastised himself. You require his help. For Sam.

He saved you.

He can save your brother.

—the fae male removed his hands, leaving Dean propped up on plush pillows.

“You still haven’t answered how you know my name,” Dean said.

The fae frowned, tilting his head in a way that seemed to signal confusion.

“You truly don’t know?” he questioned.

“Know what?”

The male reached two fingers out towards him, and Dean attempted to shy away.

Useless. Those warm fingers rested against his forehead with a gentle touch.

Dean was carried away. Away from the bed, the elaborate and lavish chambers that were so hauntingly beautiful. Away from the palace he now understood he was in. Away from time, from the present. He went back, and back…

Till he was just a little boy standing in a forest, shaking with fear as he raised a stick, preparing to fight the fae before him. He was all dark hair, and bright eyes, so tall, so large.

The fae spoke, positioned his body, taught him. Dean recognized the stance he was directed through, a stance that had helped him when he had enlisted in the army. The army had not brought much good, seeing as any attempts to fight across the Border had killed troops in droves, yet Dean had learned to fight. With his fists, with knives, a sword, a staff, a spear. Before he’d become a deserter upon hearing of Sam’s illness, he’d been training with the axe, and even with a bow.

Had… Had this being truly helped him with this?

Why couldn’t Dean—

As the fae male turned to leave through a gate of golden light, he turned back, a slight smile turning up his lips. By the way, my name is Castiel.

Dean was rushed back through time, through the world, as if a rope had suddenly been pulled taut, the strength of some ethereal creature reeling him back in. Dean strained against it, head pounding.

A voice rang through the travels of his mind: Don’t fight it. It’s all right.

Implicit trust was born in Dean, and he breathed deeply.

His mind returned to its natural place inside him. His vision was blurred, but in seconds, it righted itself.

“Castiel,” Dean breathed.

Castiel’s smile in response to his words was gentle, warm. It was not what he had expected of a fae.

“So where am I?” Dean asked, attempting to sit up once more. He shied away from Castiel’s hands, though the strength in them had begun to stoke a fire deep in him. “I saw this is a palace. Are you… Are you a royal of some sort?”

“I’m a highprince of the kingdom of Taivakel,” Castiel informed. “We are on top of a mountain, and you are leagues from the Border.”

“All right. Why am I naked?”

“I had to warm you. Your clothes were wet and cold.”

Dean saw the sense in that, but still, he was slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps not in a way he should’ve been. Staring at Castiel, his gut began to throb.

He attempted to banish the treacherous thoughts from his head. He smothered them under prolonged pain, and the coming of grief.

Words spilled from his mouth, tone aching with the very love he held for his brother, “Castiel, you have to help me. My brother Sam is dying of sickness. I crossed the Border to find someone to save him, to…” He swallowed roughly, and forged on, “To make a deal.”

A sultry darkness flickered in Castiel’s eyes, and the grin on his face transformed into something feral.

Dean’s mouth went dry, and he tried to swallow, but found his throat was just as parched.

“Cas—” he began to ask before the dryness of his throat deadened his words.

“Yes, we can make a deal. But you cannot back out of it. Whatever we come to, you must follow through accordingly. Betraying me, attempting to break the deal, it will result in your untimely death.”

Dean found the strength to speak. He asked, his voice rough, gravelly, “You can save him?”

“Yes, I can save him.” Castiel pulled away from him, getting off the bed. He began to pace, a hand to his chin. “But what do I desire?”

Dean wanted to hide in the furs, pretend he was no longer there despite the deadly allure of Castiel.

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Castiel turned to Dean, eyes bright, and Dean gulped, holding the furs to himself, kicking himself away as Castiel crawled over him on the bed. He held himself up with his hands and knees, and Dean’s breaths were shallow as he stared up at this being, as he felt the pressure where their bodies touched. Dean imagined he could hear his heartbeat. How was that possible? All fae had hearts of stone, surely. It was why they could not die.

Those eyes seemed to penetrate him, and Dean’s body began to betray him, heat building up in between his legs.

Oh, Ilvasar. Neia. Jhana. No. Spirits, help me.

Castiel lowered his face to his, their lips nearly touching, nose brushing against his own. Everything in Dean begged and pleaded for he himself to reach up, to press their lips together. To discover whether the stone was in his entire body, if the dreaded evil could truly live in him.

Castiel breathed deep, and Dean shifted, hand lowering to hide his growing arousal.

“I will heal your brother for you, Dean Winchester. In return, I ask only for your firstborn.”

That was it?

Dean had expected to bleed for him, to become enslaved, to be at the mercy of this fae.

For the moment, sacrificing his firstborn did not seem like an evil act. He did not have a child, and surely wouldn’t for years. Dean was not the kind of man who gave women a reason to stay and settle down with him—his recently broken engagement was testament to that. As for his other tastes… They could not produce children.

He’d heard rumors however that when a human and a fae... became close in that way, that despite being the same sex, they could create a child… somehow. Perhaps it was just rumor, but still, Dean found himself asking, wanting to hold up his end of the bargain as studiously as possible, “When will we begin?”

Castiel pulled back slightly. “I beg pardon?”

“Creating a child,” Dean added, cheeks reddening, gaze traveling away from those penetrating eyes. They then found the thickness of his body, and his own body continued to betray him. “I… I heard that… a human man, and a fae male can…”

Castiel sat back, and sidled off of Dean. He rested back on his heels. “Ah, so you’ve been preached to by Dawn’s Children.”

Dean nodded.

“They pander lies, they meddle where they should not, but that is one truth they properly acknowledge. However, my people and I try to keep it close to us.”

“Why?” Dean found himself asking.

“It is thought of as blasphemous for our races to mix.”

Dean wished to nod in agreement, but he was still frozen, naked under the pile of furs.

“However,” Castiel went on, a sensual haze darkening his eyes, “I find your presence quite persuasive. I am not averse to the idea of making you mine.”

Highprince Castiel grinned.

✥

Castiel had the strong urge to dress Dean up as he saw fit, to parade this human around as his own. He was. He would be. The idea of creating life with Dean Winchester coaxed a thrill in him that he could barely contain. Was it because of the taboo acts that would take place? The betrayal of a stifling culture? The touch of someone forbidden? No matter, he wished to let out the thrill, the rush. To let it out in luxurious ways that this human wouldn’t even be capable of comprehending.

Yet, Dean ordered him around. He ordered Castiel to get him clothes, to leave him alone as he dressed. Made him heal his aches, get him food and refreshment. Now, he came out of Castiel’s room, and crossed his arms as he stood across from him.

Dean was dressed in fine leathers and furs of mostly black. Castiel resisted licking his bottom lip when he looked at him.

“First things first, you are going to hold up your end of the bargain. I’m not quite sure how much time my brother has left, but when I went in search of something, anything, to help him he was… He must not have long.

Dean lowered his head slightly at those words, blinking fiercely.

Perhaps Castiel should have feigned ignorance and pretended he hadn’t seen that look, but he went to Dean, and held him by his shoulders in what he hoped was a reassuring grip. Dean was an inch taller than him, it would seem, but that didn’t mean that Castiel couldn’t do as he wished.

He lowered himself slightly, head tilted upward, so he could meet Dean’s tearful gaze.

“I will save him,” Castiel promised.

✥

Memories rekindled themselves in Dean’s mind when Castiel seemed to create a glowing tear in reality. He had been hesitant to step through it, so the highprince had grabbed him by his upper arm, and hauled him through with him.

Dean found that he did not possess the will to object. With Castiel’s strong hand on him, Dean felt as if he had just started living, as if his previous life was in dull colors and darker shades.

He worried. Yes, he worried. He had given himself to this fae highprince, and he had done so with hardly a thought.

Yet, Dean would do it all over again. He would have given up more if he had to, he would have become a very slave to the highprince who had saved him if that was what was required.

For now, it seemed as if Castiel was content to fulfill his end of the bargain.

The light had taken them to Dean’s family’s cabin, which now seemed too small and drab, even after only seeing a few rooms in the palace of Taivakel. His life, a human life, could not compare to the very being holding onto him so tightly. The heat his touch brought to life in Dean’s stomach was something he had never felt before. Even with all the girls he had been with in the village, and the few boys, Castiel was already unlike any other. Dean’s betrothal to Lisa now seemed far and in the past, despite it only being broken off a fortnight ago. She didn’t matter. Only Sammy mattered. Only… Dare he say it?

No, he could not.

He would not.

Dean was better than that.

If you are, then why did you offer yourself up to him so willingly? Are you that desperate for someone to fill the void?

Dean tried to push that thought down, but it festered inside of him. His black, fur-lined cloak billowed in the winter wind whispering through the trees, as did Castiel’s.

What he was wearing was still astonishing. He knew his clothes had not been anything special, and at times were very close to falling apart, but now, he felt regal. How was it that he felt such a thing from clothes he did not belong in? These were the clothes of a fae, not of a man. Clothes of royalty.

Dean was no such thing.

Castiel took his hand—which was protected with a black leather glove, just like Dean’s—and hurried over to the cabin with him. No light could be found inside despite the growing dark.

Dark?

Had it not been day when he’d awoken?

Yes, but he had assumed it was morning, not taking time to look at the positioning of the sun.

He swallowed roughly. Oh, Ilvasar, he’d been away a whole day.

Where was his mother?

Was Sam…?

Was he…?

Dean shrugged himself free of Castiel’s grip, and rushed towards his home. He flung the door open, barely daring to see what awaited him.

Darkness shrouded the common area where Sam’s bed had been set up so it would be easier to keep an eye on him. His mother would have had a fire going, or at least have some candles lit. She wasn’t here.

“Sam?” he called out, voice shaking.

He knew his brother couldn’t answer, yet it felt better to speak than to stand there silently.

A hand clasped down on his shoulder, and he jumped. He turned to look at Castiel.

“Do not tarry, Dean. Your brother still lives, but is approaching the veil.”

Paying closer attention to sound, he heard his brother’s harsh breathing. He rushed in, tripped on a stool, cursed, and then stumbled to Sam’s side. As Castiel entered, a golden glow was lit upon his hand, brighter than any lantern. For a moment, Dean had to shield his eyes.

Dean held his brother’s hand, and brushed his sweat-dampened hair back from his face. He was in different night clothes, and he looked as if he’d been bathed. So his mother had been here. Where was she now? Why was she gone?

Perhaps it didn’t matter.

“I’m here now, Sammy. It’ll be all right. I’m going to look after you.”

Still on his knees, Dean turned, and he swallowed roughly as he looked up at Highprince Castiel, as he took in the ethereal features that would never be touched with age, the pointed ears, the dark hair, those sensuous lips hiding sharp canines, the beautiful blue eyes that had seen countless lifetimes of men wax and wane.

“Please, help him.”

Castiel bowed his head in deference, startling Dean. “As you wish,” he told him.

Before long, Castiel was kneeling beside Dean, and he had one of his glowing palms pressed against Sam’s chest. The glow intensified, and Sam’s breathing seemed to falter, his body arching up into that large hand.

Dean gripped Castiel’s arm.

“Stop it. What are you doing to him? What’s happening?”

Castiel just gripped Dean by his hair, and pulled him off of him.

“Quiet. I’m healing him.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and his lips were parted as he focused. His breaths came heavy, and Dean could just see those fangs poking out.

A darkness seemed to flow up into Castiel’s hand, nearly blotting out the light. It twisted up his arm, where it penetrated him. He groaned, and then his body slumped; he let out a protracted sigh. Sam’s body relaxed, and his breaths sounded even for the first time in two months.

Oh, praise Jhana! He was alright!

Smiling, tears dripping from his eyes, Dean held Sam.

Suddenly, Castiel and his light were gone, and Sam’s eyes opened. Before Dean could wonder about the whereabouts of the highprince, Sam met his gaze.

“Dean?”

“I’m here, Sammy. I took care of you. You’re all better.”

“How?”

Dean leaned down, placing a kiss upon his brother’s brow. “The answer matters not. You’re all right now. You’re healed.”

“Where’s Mother?” Sam asked, now sitting up on his own, searching the cabin.

Castiel chose that time to make his reappearance. Light shot out from his hands, making both Dean and Sam flinch, and in moments, the cold fireplace was a beacon of roaring warmth.

Sam kicked himself backwards on the bed.

“D-Dean? Who is that?”

Dean was given no chance to answer. Instead, Castiel informed them, “Your mother will be along shortly.”

“And you…” Sam began to ask, then swallowed roughly. His wide eyes traveled between Dean and Castiel. Then, his face softened, but not into an expression of admiration or content. There was sadness there. “And you made a deal with him,” Sam finished.

“Yes, I did, Sammy.”

Sam ripped his hand from Dean’s.

“How could you?”

“You were dying!”

“What did he ask of you in return? To be his pet? His whore?”

“Sammy, I’m alright.”

Castiel came over, Sam flinching back. “Your brother has offered up his firstborn. He intends to have me collect shortly.”

Sam’s brows furrowed together. “How? Dean’s not—”

“No, he’s not. It appears he would like to do this with me. I shall be helping him.”

Disgust painted his brother’s features, tension coiling in his limbs.

“How?”

“The details are not of import,” Castiel answered. “What you need to know is that your brother came into this willingly, and that he will be all right. I swear to you, Sam, I will not harm him, and I vow to keep him safe.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Sam accused.

Castiel started pulling the glove on his right hand off. With the leather off, Dean saw a large ring on his fourth finger he hadn’t taken note of before. The gem set in the silver metal was darkened and smooth. Castiel worked the ring off his finger, and held it out for Sam to take. Hesitantly, Sam held his hand out, and Castiel dropped the ring into his anxiously waiting palm.

“Here,” he told him. “This ring is connected to another that I have in my palace. Rub your thumb over it whenever you wish to see how your brother fares.”

“What if you hide the other ring?” Sam asked. “What if this one is not real? What if you will pretend that Dean is safe?”

“I like you, boy,” Castiel commented. “You certainly think of all the loopholes.” Sam just gave him a grim look in return. Dean went back to holding his hand, and his brother let him. “How about, one week out of every month, I let you, and perhaps your mother, come stay with me to see how Dean fares?”

Despite having been unconscious and bogged down with sickness for so long, Sam’s mind seemed just as sharp as ever.

“And what do you want in return?”

Castiel brushed a hand across Dean’s cheek, his stomach fluttering at his touch.

“I will get to keep Dean.”

“What? No!”

“It’s all in the price of saving you,” Dean told him. “I think it an honorable deed. Please, let me do this. I will be safe. Besides, it was about time I moved out of the cabin anyway. I’m a little too old to be living with my family. Perhaps it’s time to make my own way.”

“You won’t be able to!”

“Sam.”

“Tied to him, you won’t—”

Dean took hold of Sam’s face, looking deep into his hazel eyes.

“I will. I wanted this. I did this for you. You’re”—Dean choked on the next words he wished to speak, and his vision blurred, a tear rolling down his cheek—“...damned Inenua! You’re alive.”

“Dean, you know you should not speak of that place.”

“What?” he asked with a shrug. “You know it’s not real.”

The silence of Castiel beside him was deafening.

Dean looked up at him, and Castiel just winced.

He swallowed roughly. “Ah, well. Wonderful. I suppose I always liked fire anyway.”

“Hush now,” Castiel commanded.

Dean had opened his mouth to say something else, but now he found he had no choice but to obey. The sheer power in Castiel’s tone was something that he was sure no being could ignore.

“All right, Sammy, I have to go,” Dean said when words came to him once more.

“You’ll leave me? Just like—just like Dad?”

“You know it’s not like that. Besides, you’re old enough to be out on your own. We’ll see each other often. Please, live your life. Don’t waste away in my shadow.”

Sam nodded, having difficulty looking at Dean. Then, he drew him into a bone-crushing hug. Dean held him with just as much strength.

“Bitch,” Dean quietly called him, as was their proper way of saying goodbye to each other.

Sam laughed against him. “Twit.”

Long seconds passed before Dean was able to pull himself from Sam’s grip.

“Bye, Sammy.”

“See you soon, Dean. What of Mother?”

He waved his hand absently. “Ah, she’ll be fine. As will you.”

He turned to the highprince who still held onto him, the highprince who might actually possess a real heart. “I suppose it’s time you took me back to the palace.”

A golden tear opened in the room already flooded with light and warmth. Dean blinked his eyes against it.

“Wait,” Sam began, standing and taking his first steps from the bed in months. “Your ring,” he offered to Castiel.

Castiel smiled at him, and it was a smile that Dean hadn’t ever expected from a fae. What he saw there was…

Kindness.

He barely noticed anything else besides the light Castiel had the ability to create.

“Keep it.”

Once through the tear in reality, they were back in Castiel’s chambers.

Immediately, the highprince shoved Dean against a wall. Perhaps being fearful would have been the reasonable reaction, but Dean had never been known for being reasonable. His breaths left him as wanting groans, and he fought against Castiel for only a moment, testing his strength.

Yes, Castiel was far superior.

Dean swallowed roughly, and asked, voice already a low gravel, “Not going to show me off to the lords and ladies first?”

As an answer, Castiel growled, and pulled Dean’s head back. Throat exposed, Dean barely dared to breathe. The highprince began to lavish his neck with gentle kisses, a press of lips against skin that was soon becoming more insistent. When he began to suck over his pulse point, it was as if a string of pleasure had been drawn taut throughout his body, and someone had just yanked on it, making it shudder with wanton desire. He moaned, finding himself weak, needy, at this fae’s mercy.

Castiel held Dean’s arms above his head, so he had nowhere to go when he felt Castiel’s fangs at his neck.

Again, his reaction was far from reasonable. In fact, his body was beginning to ache with arousal.

“Do it,” Dean begged.

Castiel tilted his head up, stroking a thumb along the column of Dean’s throat. Pleasure trailed through him.

“Hmm, if you wish for it that badly, then no, I will not give you what you desire.”

“Then what—“

Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s, and Dean kissed back. The world faded away into a realm of white light. Castiel remained pressed up against him, yet his lips were traveling lower as he began to undress him.

Dean felt weightless, and yet, the white all around him did not falter.

Breathless, Dean asked, “Are we in Celnene?” Celnene was one of the afterlives, the one Dean wished to pass into after death took him.

Castiel grinned, a dark, seductive laugh leaving him as he straightened.

“We’re in your mind.”

Dean pulled back, furrowing his brow as he frowned at him in confusion.

“I… I don’t understand.”

Castiel let Dean step away, yet he took the space apart as an opportunity to begin undressing. First he unpinned his cloak. It fell away, as if it had never existed. In fact, when Dean looked down he found no true source of stability. What were they standing on?

Overwhelmed, dizzy, he began to feel like he was falling, and would never stop.

Dean suddenly found himself in Castiel’s strong arms, and he panted as he looked at him.

“It sure would be nice if my mind at least knew how to create a floor.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you, Dean.”

A bright flash of pain seared from his throat down to his collarbone. It greatly stirred his fading arousal. Then, of all things, he felt a body pressing against him, hardness fervently grinding in between his legs, finding Dean’s own—

Yet, Castiel was only holding him in here.

“Castiel?” Dean asked.

The highprince swiped a thumb across Dean’s cheekbone. “I am about to show you the proper way to make love. Making love is not just an act of the body, it is one of the mind, and we fae can embody that. In fact, that is how I am going to put a child in you.”

Dean groaned at those words.

Castiel ground against him in the physical realm, and in the realm of Dean’s mind they were suddenly… ONE. Gold flared through Dean, caressing his very insides. The sensations seemed to shatter him, burning him all over. When he opened his mouth to scream, pleasure took hold of him there. It went into his mouth, into his throat. Dean breathed in the very essence of Castiel, and he learned in every part of his being that Castiel’s heart pumped blood like any living being. A whole world burst behind his eyelids, and Dean never wanted this fae male to leave him. Dean himself would surely never leave him.

He was in Celnene.

This was more than just something he had agreed to to save his brother. This was what he wanted.

Great Ilvasar, and Neia, and Jhana above, this was what he was sure he had always wanted, whether he’d known it or not.

Castiel claimed him, and in turn, Dean claimed Castiel.

Somehow, when the act was over, Dean could feel a part of Castiel’s consciousness in him, mixing with his own. He was lying down, groaning, tired and aching all over. Castiel was up against him, bare skin nearly burning everywhere they touched.

“So that’s how—” Dean began to ask.

Castiel kissed the back of his head. “Yes, which is one of the reasons we tend to not interact with humans. The child you will birth for me will be more powerful than even myself.”

Dean twisted his head back to look at him, the soft furs of the bed caressing his skin as he did so. When had they gotten to the bed?

“Then why? Why agree to this?”

“You agreed first.”

Dean grinned at him. “Trying to win against you is folly, I assume?”

“I think you would find trying to do so a most unfortunate plight. Now, sleep.”

At his words, the tiredness and exhaustion Dean had been feeling since the completion of their coupling simmered to the surface.

“Sleep,” Castiel murmured, holding Dean close. He kissed the back of his head once more, and began to caress him, touch gentle against his chest. “Sleep.”

Dean began to let that comforting darkness take him, knowing in his heart that his brother was saved, and that he was where he was supposed to be. Not only in Taivakel, or in this realm. With Castiel. His own little slice of Celnene.

With memories of meeting Castiel in his childhood dragging him down to sleep, warmth enveloped him. So this was where Dean’s life had been leading him.

Now, all he could do was wait, and birth his firstborn—the babe that would become Castiel’s.

In sealing this bargain, even Dean had become Castiel’s.

What Castiel didn’t know yet, was that Dean was going to make him his. A fae highprince all to himself.

Once more, Castiel murmured, voice soft in his ear, “Sleep.”

#spn #destiel #supernatural #fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #fantasy!au #fae!castiel #slightly nsft #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #writing #my writing

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

Text

Transgressions || Morgan & Leah

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @phoenixleah & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Leah has secrets to reveal: one for herself, and one for Constance. Morgan finds that sometimes answers aren’t enough.

CONTAINS: Brief references to past abuse.

“I still can’t believe you found something on her,” Morgan said, following Leah inside. “I must have torn up every other repository of books in town. I even had someone dig up legal documents from the town and county’s files. And all I got was a lousy death certificate, which was wonkily dated because when you surrender your body to pay for an infinite curse alone in the woods, no one’s around to clock your real time of death back in eighteen whatever. Nothing that could help satisfy even a knowledge-focused intention or answer literally anything substantive.” Morgan paused, smiling apologetically. Between all the attempted murder, ingredient hunting, and the convenient lack of support from Nell, Morgan felt like she was being cut down to one brittle edge. But Leah was a good friend, and she would give Morgan the missing pieces she needed in Constance’s story. Pieces she needed to make sense of the fuckery that had plagued her existence, and might give her something to twist the knife when she finally had her pinned down in the exorcism. “Thank you. You are the best. I’m sorry I’m kind of...on edge.”

As Leah led Morgan into the library, long after closing hours, her lips were pressed together to suppress a grin. There was always a sense of pride that came with coming across information that no one else seemed to have access to, and the praise that came with it didn’t hurt, either. She let out a chuckle at Morgan’s words, turning around to face her. “This is what friends do”, she said, brushing off Morgan’s thanks. “It’s so weird, but as soon as you mentioned her name to me, it sounded strangely familiar”, she explained, reaching behind Morgan to lock the entrance to the library behind them. She had a few dusty tomes piled up on the front desk, pressing her lips together as she watched Morgan take them in. They certainly weren’t books you’d find in a typical library, so she wondered if she’d take notice. “A lot going on lately?” she asked at the admission.

Morgan shrugged. “Okay, maybe not a lot by White Crest standards, but with the latest nonsense and my being stalked and hunted by a hundred year old ghost teenager, I’m feeling a little...end of my rope-y. You would think that the endless physical stamina thing would come in handy here, but while I am an expert at pulling a good old fashioned all-nighter, the whole not-being-able to sleep thing means my brain will, eventually, in its near inability to reach total unconsciousness, turn on itself and make everything happening to me worse.” She cleared her throat, realizing that she was veering dangerously close to dumping everything on Leah at once. “But! This is going to be great! I mean, she wrecks my car, she sends ghost minions after me, she tries to kill me and friends, it’s like, who are you? Why are you like this? Obviously we are way past reasoning and talking things out nicely, but I would feel pretty satisfied knowing how long she’s been this awful.” She hoped, more than anything, to walk away with what she had done to Agnes that finally made her realize how awful the girl was. Had she hurt her? Or someone else Agnes cared for? It made Morgan’s stomach clench to think of this curse being leveled against a teenage girl who’d just been trying to protect her family. The idea made the whole curse more twisted, that they were all punished for nothing from the very beginning. But the more she was forced to contend with Constance, the more it felt ikely. “Can you walk me through what you got? These definitely don’t look like your average tomes. Like, at all.”

As she listened to Morgan explain, Leah tilted her head to the side in curiosity. “You need to rest”, she agreed with assurance. “You’re feeling end of your rope-y because you’re probably physically and mentally at the end of your rope. I think you’re poor brain has been non-stop stressed since everything with Deirdre and her mushrooms.” She put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, noting the cool temperature compared to her own. It was a relief that her friend now knew her secret, there was no longer stress about explaining mundane things away like her warmth. There were far more important matters to worry about. And tonight, apparently, another secret to reveal. “So once we’re through with her, I’m definitely setting up a fae and zombie approved spa night somewhere in that gorgeous house of yours.” A soft smile began to grow the more Morgan ranted about this girl, … this Constance. “Sometimes spirits that haven’t moved on have a very very specific one track mind… so… if it’s you she’s back for, it’s you she’s going to concentrate on. We just need to figure out why.” She bit her lip as she glanced back at the tomes, leading Morgan over to them tentatively. “So… in order to tell you how I know what I do and make it make sense, I also need to, sort of, tell you something else about myself. But this secret, Morgan, it’s even more important that it stays between us than my being a phoenix, okay?” She glanced to the door that was now behind her, the one to the basement of the library that held years and years of private journals with supernatural knowledge. “Have you ever heard of the Scribes?”

“No such thing as physical exhaustion for a zombie,” Morgan smirked, her mouth curling bitterly. “It never stops. It’s just the brain that gets tired. I’m pretty sure sapient consciousness wasn’t meant to run twenty four-seven, but that’s what spacing out into the abyss is for!” A small laugh bubbled out of her, but there wasn’t much joy floating in it. “It’s really not… I’m just being a baby. I want a break, I want the skinny ghost bitch gone, and I had this delusion that being done with my curse meant being done with all of this… tragic backstory deluxe family pack.” She sniffled and dabbed at the corners of her eyes before her tears could start running over and make a mess of the books and her makeup job. “Anyways, you were doing me a big favor and we were being proactive.” She moved in close to the books, brushing one open with the tip of her finger. The leather bound volume was—handwritten?

It was then that Leah’s question came. Morgan said nothing a moment, looking from the old journal, to Leah, and back again. “...I have, yeah…” she said slowly. “I kind of… there’s this place in the woods? Rio calls it the Scribrary. It’s been helpful to me over the months. Even if I don’t know how to feel about the whole… hands off, true neutral thing. But they’re not around anymore to—” She stopped, eyes going wide as she looked at Leah. “Is this? Are you—?” Her brain was struggling to compute. “Did past life you steal these?” She asked, lowering her voice to an amazed whisper.

“I don’t think working yourself to the point of exhaustion is being a baby, Morgan. It’s predictable, honestly.”, Leah said, absentmindedly running her hands over the binding of the tomes. She softened, sympathizing with Morgan. “You’d think that your death ending your family curse would have been enough tragedy and inconvenience for one person, but, I hope after this, you can be done with all the bullshit. We’re going to get her gone, okay? Both you and Constance need to rest, in your own way, and I’m one hundred percent sure we’ll find a way to make that happen.” The scribary, she’d have to get Rio to get her in there sometime. She had a lot of information, sure, but the tomes there had to have gone back even further than hers did.

Leah watched carefully as Morgan seemed to play her words around in her head, working out exactly what Leah could mean. She was always worried if it was suspicious- to be so openly knowledgeable about the supernatural world, to be able to offer help or random spurts of information about any number of creatures. Some people had to suspect, right? Suspect that, while yes, the scribes were essentially dead, she and her family had somehow fallen through the cracks of the tragedies and misfortunes that befell them. But then, there was Morgan’s question, and it was abundantly clear that there were no suspicions, at least not on her friend’s part. It was a relief, honestly, because as one of the most intelligent and well-read people she knew, Morgan seemed like the person who, if anyone, would have suspected. She couldn’t help but giggle at the question, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Steal them?” she asked, covering her mouth. “No...n-no, they’re not stolen. They’re mine.” She looked down at the ones in front of her proudly, pressing her lips together. “Well, ...ours. My family’s.” She let out a breath, a sense of pride filling her up as she looked back to Morgan. “Because we- well… the scribes aren’t all dead like everyone thinks. The library’s always been a nice cover, honestly.” She gestured to the door behind her as she spoke. “The uh, basement is bigger than you’d think.” She felt nervous again, hoping that this new information, another secret she’d been keeping from Morgan, wouldn’t turn her friend off in anyway. “It’s not something that many people know about me, because protecting this information is integral to protecting White Crest and the integrity of the scribes, but…”, she ran her hands over the dusty tomes in front of them, grinning, “...well, I’m pretty sure I wrote all of these myself.”

Morgan stared, waiting for some other catch to come in. “Yours,” she repeated. “And ours. Not you and me ours, but you and...your family ‘ours.’ Because you’re...for real scribes.” She gaped, trying not to laugh with disbelief. “Holy shit. The scribes are alive, and the scribes are you and---holy shit!” She doubled over, trying to process. Leah didn’t really seem like the bystander syndrome type. She was always ready to learn and share with anyone, a lot like Rio. Did Morgan have the scribes all wrong, or did it take a mini apocalypse for something good to grow? She turned upright, her face still awed. “I have a lot of questions. Like, a lot. But, I think the first one is...do you actually remember any of those...things? I mean, do you know her or is it more like...as if your great great grandma knew her? You...just discovered this, right? I mean--” Morgan reached out for one of the books, her hand frozen over the pages. “You don’t really know her, do you?”

Leah couldn’t help but laugh at Morgan’s reaction, the giggles bubbling up unexpectedly. She knew most people thought all the scribes were dead, and honestly, most of them were. Her family was rare in that they were able to keep their archives over all these years, and she attributed it mostly to some of them being phoenixes. She tilted her head once she calmed down, an apologetic look forming on her face. “So, sadly, I don’t have many memories of writing this, or of what happened when I was writing it. I mean, as a phoenix I should be able to piece together some things, but for some reason, that’s not so easy for me in this lifetime.” She really needed to explore the theory that something happened to her memories, because the older she got, the more inconvenient not knowing who she was in the past was becoming. “I think that’s a better way to look at it. But luckily… Great Great Grandma Lucrecia seemed to be pretty thorough”. With that, she pulled the first tome off of the top of the pile, opening to a page that she had marked with a tab earlier. She looked up at Morgan when she found the page, the traces of a grin playing on her lips. “It seems like your friend Constance was surprisingly powerful”, she said, turning the book so Morgan could get a better look.

Leah’s giggles were reassuring to Morgan. She wasn’t offended by Morgan's confusion and she hadn’t been sitting on some secret past life friendship. “Okay!” She breathed, “No, that’s good. That’s really good.” She sighed again, laughing as she did. “I mean, you have these resources that literally no one else on the planet has, and you weren’t like, hiding things. Which is great because I feel like this whole time I just...cannot get people to understand why I need what I need out of this mess, and knowing that this is just...exactly what it seems like, which is a fucking miracle…” She wiped her eyes, realizing she was crying and wasn’t even sure why. “Anyway, uh, my thanks to Great Great Grandma Lucrecia. If there’s a way to pay respects to phoenix past lives or past incarnations, however that is, I want to know about it. And do that, if that’s okay.”

She gestured to the book, making sure it was really okay to get a look and peered in. It seemed like Constance had made a regular nuisance of herself at the local scribe library, gobbling up as many magic texts as she could. She told Lucrecia that she had mastered whatever else was given, enough so that Lucrecia was skeptical of her claims, but it seemed Constance could summon at least basic potential in multiple fields of magic. And of course, she didn’t care about using it with tact or responsibility, although Lurecia’s words were much kinder, even sympathetic about it. Constance was well-meaning, too eager, too desperate to impress. She was a prodigy, and she was interested in the art of spellcraft, hoping that she could challenge, and even outrun herself. “Wow, goodie for her,” Morgan grumbled bitterly.

She gestured for Leah’s help with turning the page and came across and entry that gave her pause. “Hey, Leah? What does this line mean? She makes it sound like...Constance was being mistreated? She had to call for a healer...again? Do we know if these injuries were actually attributed to home stuff, or could it have been more magic experimentation going wrong, do you think?” Arcane backlash was nothing to sniff at, but it didn’t necessarily go in line with the broken bones and bruises written about in careful, solemn detai. But then again, Morgan had barely tasted what the backlash of a miscast spell could do. Her mother had been so harsh on any of her flaws, she’d never had the chance to fail that spectacularly. “And what’s this about Agnes visiting with her? Are there more entries like this?”

“It’s a very rare person that gets to see these, Morgan,” Leah started. “I still try my best to keep within scribe traditions, but it’s been more than a few times that I’ve had to break them to help someone in town. I’m usually able to pull it off secretly, though. Like you with the zombie stuff. But I thought...there was no way knowing about your personal family history could have been explained away.” She gave Morgan a light nod, signaling it was okay for her to continue. Given Morgan’s history with books, it was clear she could be trusted not to damage anything. She watched Morgan take in the new information with rapt attention, remembering the little details she’d read earlier that week.

“It seems that they were attributed to home things, but I can’t be sure. The fact that I mentioned them in the journals makes me think that they’re supernaturally related. They’d be some sort of spell backlash then, right?” She cleared her throat, gesturing to the page. “But then, there were so many other things to do with Constance that I seemed to comment on, as well”. Leah pressed her lips together, watching Morgan carefully. There had been more than a few entries that her past life had written that touched on something very specific. Something she knew that the Leah, or Lucrecia of the time could definitely relate to. Anges and Constance, Constance and Agnes. It was clear what she had been hinting at. Had she related to it, then, because she’d spent so much of her own time hiding a relationship like theirs? “It seems that I… well I had some suspicions about how much time Constance and Agnes spent together.” Although her head stayed low, her eyes traveled up to meet Morgan’s, searching them to see if they understood. Even now, when Constance was a ghost hell bent on ruining Moran’s life, it felt wrong to out her.

“Some traditions are meant to be broken,” Morgan said with a little smile. “I don’t know your whole scribe-y ethos, obviously, but I would figure that there shouldn’t be anything wrong with using your power or your knowledge to help people who need it. I mean, what’s the point of all that knowledge if you’re just gonna sit on it, right?” She continued to read, having to force herself to slow down and actually take in the old, loopy script and ink smudges. She was so focused on finding something that would say ‘reason for assholery here’ that Leah’s words reached her at a delay. “She worked in the house,” Morgan muttered. “They were close.” Which made the whole thing where Constance ruined her life extra shitty.

Then Morgan found the word. “Romantic.”

“Oh. You mean...Stars, what the hell? Who does something like this to someone they--” Morgan shook her head and kept flipping. “I guess I’m just glad she had her tiny claws in my great-great grandma and not 19th century you. Seems pretty safe to say you dodged a bullet.” Morgan shivered and started flipping ahead to the months before Constance’s death. “See, look, Constance was-- ‘cast aside.’ They fired her, I guess? But it doesn’t say why just that it was ‘unjust’. Thanks for the objectivity, Lucrecia.” Morgan rolled her eyes and skimmed for more clues. “Wait, you weren’t thinking that it was because they--because of Constance and Agnes, right?” She looked back at the book. Worse things happened to girls who kissed each other, even now. She took a slow breath. “I swear to every atom in the universe, if I was cursed and fucking murdered because of a bad breakup and homophobic parents…” Well, Constance didn’t have a head to roll. But Morgan could try and step up her efforts to get everything she needed for the ritual. Get an exorcist on the phone and see if she could speed things up.

Leah smirked at Morgan’s musing, and she nodded in agreement. “Sometimes they are, with restrictions, of course.” She watched Morgan as she read through the pages, taking in the information. It must have been hard for her to be objective, when Constance had caused so much harm to her family already. But Lead felt genuinely that there was something else she needed to understand before she knew the whole picture. “Helping people with the information is what it’s for, I think. And maybe, with the information I found here, we can find a way to help Constance move on peacefully”.

Leah let out a low, slow breath, closing her eyes as Morgan tried to process what she was reading. She turned the book back toward herself briefly, only so she could find a specific section she’d flagged enthusiastically a few pages beyond where her friend had already been reading. “It was a bit more than a bad break up, I think”, she said, pointing out the section of writing. It was the most candid Lucrecia had been about the whole situation, and her past life seemed utterly torn about how to feel. “They were going to...they had plans”, Leah elaborated, pausing a bit to turn the book back and let Morgan read on her own. “But, when they were caught, well…” she licked her lips, sighing sadly. “Agnes sort of… abandoned her. Blamed her, and they forced her out. And Constance was left with… Well, she was left with nothing. No home, no family, not even a future to build. She had nothing, Morgan. After she and Agnes had promised each other everything. For all the time I- or Lucrecia spent talking about her frivolousness, I practically weep here in sorrow for how she was treated after they were caught.” Part of her wondered still, if she had related in some way.

Morgan went stiff at Leah’s mention of the word ‘peacefully.’ It was true that she hadn’t brought up the details of the ritual she was gathering materials for. She didn’t have the stamina to be judged by or lose another friend. But she had kind of hoped that with all the anger and the generational angst she’d been put through, Leah wouldn’t assume giving Constance a peace she hadn’t earned as the default option. Morgan tried to think about at what point things had become so dead-set for her, if she could have ever stomached doing anything different without feeling like her body was going to destroy itself with rage.

She couldn’t.

Destroying her would have been the only way to end the curse, and as those fucking mirrors in that fun house had shown her, there had been no chance in hell Constance’s magic was ever going let her free. She’d been fate-screwed from the beginning and this, numb and broken with no rest or relief in sight, not for now, not for a whole fucking eternity, slipping away from everything, struggling to just manage herself into a ghost of normalcy, having to be bound just so she could take a break from controlling herself all the time.

“That’s just based on what past-you heard from Constance. Who, I would like to point out, also goes around calling herself ‘my justice,’ ‘my fate,’ and my doom.’ You know, when she’s not victim-blaming me for her own bullshit.” Morgan skimmed the words. It was horrible, and some part of it was almost certainly true, but she didn’t feel like dropping everything she’d been working for because, oh, poor baby, abandoned by a girl you liked. Like her curse hadn’t done that to Morgan so many times before White Crest. Like that balanced with all the women in her family she had ground up and broken into monsters.

Morgan closed the book abruptly and stepped away from it, not quite looking at Leah. “Thank you for trusting me, Leah.” She muttered, her voice flattening as she choked down her bitterness. “I appreciate what you’re risking by doing this, and your secret is safe with me.”

Leah alternated between holding her mouth shut tightly and worrying her lower lip with her teeth while Morgan spoke, knowing full well that convincing Morgan to take some pity on Constance wouldn’t be an easy task. It made sense that Morgan felt the way she did- a lifelong curse that stubbornly followed her into her afterlife for something she had no part in was anything but fair. But it also wasn’t fair what had happened to Constance. She worried that striking back instead of trying to find a balance would just continue this cycle further. “Past me seemed rather annoyed by Constance, mostly, or at least turned off by something about her. Maybe I was pretentious, or maybe she was childish- who knows. My point is, despite my aversion to her, I still seem to sympathize and write about what happened to her as if she’s the victim here… It doesn’t negate all the horrible she’s done to your family, obviously, or to you.” She let her eyes leave the dusty tome to find Morgan’s, searching them to try and find a way to get her point across. “Betrayal and tragedy can do something to a person’s psyche, and that’s heightened in the afterlife if left unresolved- that’s all I’m saying. And when all that tragedy is trapped inside someone for years upon years, thinking clearly is not going to be that someone’s forte. This information is for you- it’s yours… I’ve made copies of things I found significant just in case you want to study more”, as she spoke, she slipped out a rather bulky folder from inside her desk, sliding it over to Morgan. “It’s yours to do what you want with it, and despite my opinion, I know whatever you choose to do will be best for you.”

“Hey.” Leah reached out, gently grazing Morgan’s arm, as if that would offer some sort of comfort. She knew it wouldn't, or couldn’t, rather, but it felt like a necessary thing to do before she spoke. “I’m sorry this is happening. You don’t deserve it, and I hope with everything that it’s over soon. You’ll let me know if there’s any other way I can help, right?”

Morgan understood that Leah was just trying to be a good friend: talking as much dirt as she could manage about someone she had never met before who she knew Morgan hated, balancing her automatic sympathy (the same sympathy everyone wanted to give Constance just because she happened to make the decision that bound Morgan’s existence to perpetual suffering at nineteen) with a take she thought Morgan would appreciate more. As if it would make her stance sting a little less if Morgan thought they could bitch and stitch about her after work, as if this was just a case of clashing friend groups. Morgan’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice low and even and clear as she spoke. “I am intimately aware of how repeated traumas and tragedy can negatively impact someone’s ability to function, much less thrive. I’ve been in and out of therapy for fifteen odd years, processing my steadily growing pile of baggage and the truly awful things that were done to my mother, because of Constance’s curse, that she then passed onto me in her own special way. It’s been over a hundred years of crushing my family until they turned that damage on themselves and each other. By the time I came along, the world I was allowed to have was so small… And, you know, I take a strong prescription that has to be injected directly into my brainstem along with some spinal fluid now that my circulatory system doesn’t work anymore, on account of Constance murdering me six months ago. So I get it. I do. I know suffering does something to you after a while.” Morgan’s lip trembled and she bit down on it to keep steady. “I don’t think I need your copies, but I’ll take them, just in case. Because I know you want me to.”

She flinched at Leah’s touch. Part of her was desperate to let it happen, to clutch her hand as hard as she dared and tell her everything, tell her to please, please understand what it’s like to find out you never had a chance, to be born as some invisible monster’s damage toy, to build up so much hope and wind up on the floor over and over again, to have your wires so fucking crossed you want to hide or break over anything that feels like calm or normal, because that means it’s all a second away from being smashed. She could never seem to find the words, and could never let herself back into those dark rooms that had been cut into her. Everything that happened to her was so absurd, so improbable, and with every curse year, the ordinary mishaps of existence sent spikes of terror into Morgan for days, for weeks. It was the best mindfuck of all because part of it, the worst of it, was real.

Morgan remained still, unable to press in, unable to shake her off. “It’s my damage, my problem. You’ve already done enough for me, Leah. I do genuinely appreciate that, and everything else. I should probably go now, right?”

“I-I didn’t mean to… I just meant that-”. Morgan’s reaction wasn’t at all unexpected, but it still made a mixture of guilt and sympathy ping in Leah’s gut. This situation wasn’t as black and white as either of them wanted it to be, and there was no easy solution- no right opinions. Two wrongs didn’t make a right, but how many wrongs was Morgan supposed to suffer before she was completely broken? Still, there couldn’t have been a better way of dealing with Constance than benevolence, right? Show her the thing she’d be constantly denied all those years ago, show her that change was possible, and send her off to rest peacefully. Whatever afterlife karmic balance existed would deal with her crimes on their own. “I’m sorry”, she said, finally. “There’s no possible way for me to understand where you’re coming from, or how much you’ve been through. My intention was to make this easier, not more difficult for you. I’m sorry if that’s backfired.”

She blinked, pulling her hand away slowly after a small squeeze when she realized Morgan was going to remain stiff. “It’s not only your problem. That’s what you have friends for, you know? Like I said, despite what I think, whatever you choose is what’s best for you, because you’re incredibly intelligent and compassionate, and you know better about this than anyone.” She looked around the empty library, letting out a slow breath as she gently traced the tome’s binding. You can leave, but if you’re up for it, I’d like to treat you for lunch. I never repayed you for letting me stay with you and Deirdre and helping discover my sleepwalking. How about some Al’s so we can forget about this shit? At least for an hour or two.”

Morgan tried her hardest to not cry in front of Leah. Up until this moment she had trusted Leah with just as much as she did the rest of her friends. Not Constance, that had blown up in her face enough times already and she couldn’t being tricked again, but the promise of an answer, something to tie her closer to Agnes, had been too much to say no to. She couldn’t slam the brakes on a trust like that, or tell her body this wasn’t worth it and have it listen. She scrubbed furiously at the corners of her eyes, but at the word ‘intention,’ she let her arms fall limp and let the tears fall, surrendering to embarrassment of showing just how much she’d been hurt, just how tired and alone she felt for a walking corpse that could shamble on forever.

“You’re a really good friend, Leah,” she sniffled, staring at the cuffs on her jacket. “I know you’re trying and that’s, that counts for…a lot.” It was almost worth everything. More than she could reckon on from others she’d known longer. It gave her hope. Only, in the past few weeks, hope had cut worse than any other wound. Morgan let out a shaky exhale. “Um, I don’t really eat out anymore, and playing pretend sometimes makes me really sad, when I remember how good stuff used to taste, so I’m just gonna--” She gestured to the door, tried to smile like she was totally okay and certainly not on the verge of blubbering. “But maybe we’ll do something else another time.” Morgan didn’t have it in her to give even a half hearted wave. She shoved the photocopies into her bag and left, eyes narrowed only on the road ahead and how many steps she needed to get through the next minute, and the next, and the next.

#wr leah #wr chatzy #wr leah chatzy #transgressions #abuse tw #//just gals being pals #// '''soft'''#wickedswriting

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marewriteblr · 5 years

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Traits And Quirks For Characters In Fantasy (list)

idk if I’m the only one, but when creating characters for my wips, I like to google lists of traits and quirks to give a bit more depth to them. and since I mostly write fantasy, I thought my characters deserved some more fantasy-related traits and quirks, so here’s a list of 150+ traits and quirks for characters in a fantasy setting!! hope it helps some of you too

has tattoos that keep changing

bad vision—takes magical potion to see clearly

addicted to magical food or drink

weird things happen when they laugh, sneeze, cough…

sees things that aren‘t there—or are they?

speaks in rhymes

has a wandering scar

has a wound that never stops bleeding

shows symptoms of a curse but pretends to not know how they got it

physical signs when lying, eg hair growing unnaturally fast

can summon any mythical creature easily

has a mythical creature for a pet

brings a slight breeze with them whenever they enter a room

was dead once

refuses to eat certain type of food for no specific reason as though it were amoral or inethical

obsession with a particular period in history

obsession with a magical creature/species

doesn‘t dance or make music because weird things happen

haunted by a ghost, their best companion

always has a candle lit (eg for their ghost companion)

can speak a mystery language only very few people understand

can turn the light of single stars on and off as they please

used to be part of a secret society

wears shoes with wings, no one knows if they actually work

can predict the future correctly for a ridiculous/bizarre reason

lives at court, no one knows why or where they came from but they let them stay

can only talk in questions or riddles

always seen reading spell books though they can‘t do magic

always seen reading books though they can‘t read. bonus if the reason for this is magical

tells everyone about the time they did something they‘ve certainly never done

tells everyone they used to be a dragon, is obviously lying

is actually blind, no one has noticed

never speaks, only talks to people telepathically, they’re used to it by now

has blood of unnatural colour, tells the weirdest stories of why that is—story changes every time

sacrificed 7 years of their life to magical creature who might claim them any minute

sacrificed a body part, determined to get it back

sacrificed their good looks

always learning spells by heart and seen using them the next day as though they’d prepared it for the occasion

has a secret identity, eg can do a certain type of magic and sneaks out to commit crimes/perform on stage/meet their companions…

keeps getting into trouble because people are convinced they have magic, but they don’t

belongs to a human/non-magical species but was kidnapped years ago and never went back

is actually a ghost

is immortal but doesn‘t know anything about history—can tell you all about the migration of dwarf antelopes on their continent throughout the centuries though

always corrects people on history/mythology facts with things they can‘t possibly know if they weren‘t there themselves

allergic to magic. bonus if they‘re a powerful wizard or deity

obsessed with knives and swords. you can fight them but they‘re more interested in the crafting of your blade

allergic to a certain spell and only that spell for no apparent reason

always has a certain item or food in their pocket in case they need to bribe a magical creature today

miscorrects others‘ pronunciation of spells and pronounces them wrong themselves (eg emphasis on wrong syllable)

talks in a fake elf accent to piss off elves

pretends to be a species they clearly aren’t judging by their appearance, and gets defensive when told so, calling people racist

gets themselves into trouble by trying to seduce nymphs when drunk. also an alcoholic

is cursed to never remember any names—has forgotten their real name a long time ago so no one can ever have that power over them

introduces themselves with a different name every time they meet someone

heavily worships an evil trickster god

ominously refers to themselves in third person

doesn‘t walk but jumps from roof to roof instead

predicts the future but is always horribly wrong

challenges people to a quest all the time

seems to know every person in the entire kingdom

seems to be enemies with every person in the entire kingdom

spends a lot of time in dimly-lit taverns seeking opponents for a strange board game

likes to look for bizarre monsters deep in the forest

talks to their dagger

talks too much during sword fights

gets involved in sword fights but only ever carries a paper sword with them

makes up crazy and hardly believable stories when asked about their past to hide their guilt

collects a particular type of item that can only be found on adventurous quests to dangerous places

has large horns on their head despite their species having no such thing, refuses to tell anyone why

never seen eating

never seen sleeping

takes every time anyone mentions something being hard or dangerous to do as a challenge to try it

wears an eyepatch solely for the looks of it

collects dangerous enchanted jewellery

random hissing

an excellent storyteller, like unnaturally excellent

politically involved and fights for giants‘ rights

has a finger that‘s mysteriously shorter than the others

is best friends with a demon

is nocturnal but loves sunlight

pretends to be completely resistant to pain

always sneaking around

has a tattoo that keeps dis- and reappearing

enchants people with their acting

has a wooden prosthesis

doesn‘t wear shoes

changes eye colour every day

wears gloves all the time and tells people it‘s for their safety

hears the trees talk to them

believes the apocalypse is near

pretends to be immortal

breaks into people‘s homes to steal food. no jewellery. only food

pins pressed flowers to their walls

believes that flowers grant wishes

has random visions of other people‘s pasts that aren‘t necessarily true but always get them into trouble

strongly believes in reincarnation

talks in a different accent every day

is convinced they are cursed

sees every minor conflict as a challenge to a sword fight

fights their battles using nothing but darts

is an archer and also blind or missing an arm

accidentally stabs themselves. a lot.

always carrying poison around „just in case“

is at fault for the fall of a mighty god

knows all about mythology

always up to date regarding drama and gossip between the gods

immediately scared they’re about to be cursed whenever someone raises their voice

still mourns over the death of a friend

whatever they touch breaks instantly

chews on their wand (definitely not a good idea)

always wears their hair tied up into a bun, is longer than rapunzel‘s when worn loose

brags they were good at picking locks but actually just hit it really hard until it breaks

accidental shapeshifting

still waiting for an ominous prophecy to foretell their destiny

makes weird/seemingly unnecessary bargains with strangers

has something slightly off about their appearance that makes people stop in their tracks to watch them

unhealthy obsession with cloaks

is a great fan of wizards. collects wands and hats like action figures

horses don‘t like them, they ride a wolf instead

sings the spells they use

constantly mumbling to themselves or someone others can‘t see

can duplicate themselves but can‘t do math so they‘re always a bit confused

has a leaf sticking to the back of their hand. don‘t ask them why

is a painter, travels very far to obtain a particular kind of paint

sketches their dreams in a book after they come to them at night

always seems to be charged with electricity

freckles on their cheeks dance when laughing or when light hits them

makes up prophecies and tells strangers about them

grows wings when high up due to fear of falling

gets arrested regularly for pranking nature spirits and deities

sneezes when using magic

insomniac, needs a particular spell or magical food/herb to fall asleep

magic makes them fall asleep (when they use it or when others use it nearby)

mixes the weirdest potions all day

can‘t eat spicy food, literally breathes fire

necromancy but only to revive their dead cat

turns the same colour of any food they eat

dreams of becoming a knight

horrible short term memory but can easily recite anything they read two centuries ago

makes their eye colour look white just to mess with people

can‘t remember spells for shit. says them incorrectly which always goes horribly wrong

terrible handwriting. bonus if they’re a messenger who has to send important letters on a daily, causing things to go very wrong

can correctly guess anyone‘s magical power on a scale from 1-10. is stupid enough to point it out aloud, too

wears cloaks that are way too long

carries a fake sword on their hip

carries way more weapons on them than necessary

uses their dagger as a toothpick

plays with dagger when thinking

supernaturally heavy sleeper

gets the different species mixed up a lot

tells everyone how many people they‘ve killed in their life

a die hard fan of a well-known assassin

a die hard fan of shakespeare‘s puck

desperately wants to be abducted by the fae

heavily affected by the phase of the moon

#this list will definitely be updated #but i thought i'd post it #since some might wanna use these #i certainly have already skskskk #writing resources #traits and quirks #characters #character development #worldbuilding #fantasy #top posts

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isolctions · 3 years

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Wedding ring emoji for ur current active muses (headcanon meme)

headcanon prompts

💍 — does your muse have a “type” of people that they prefer to enter relationships with? is their type generally compatible with them, or does the dynamic tend to be toxic?

ASPEN: she truly does not have a type??? i feel like aspen is honestly just shocked yet excited that anyone is showing her enough interest to consistently want to spend time with her, let alone date her! and while i do feel like she would like to have people that are compatible with her, either as an opposites attract sort of situation to help get her out of her comfort zone or someone that shares similar interests with her, i do feel like aspen having a sort of hopeless romanticism about her would lead her to put herself in a toxic situation simply because she tries to see the best in people — and again, she's so focused on the fact that someone showed positive interest in her in general that she wouldn't want to see their faults out of fear of losing that. but...she also has ilyssa who is murderously protective over her well-being / offspring that she's verse-dependently carrying, so the situation should hopefully not get that far.

ILYSSA: ilyssa historically only ever wanted an equal that she could feel whole with. she does typically go for other supernatural creatures / entities / enhanced humans because she's a cocky bitch and also because she does seek out a partner that has power, but humans can be an exception depending on what kind of human they are. (basically, if she thinks you're too worthy to be eaten and mutilated, that's a pretty good indicator that she's fond of you.) things do kinda get toxic with her because she's an extremely bitter former angel and thrives off of negativity and violence, but i only really foresee that if she's with a person that's morally opposite of her, and she tries not to go for people with a conscience. just makes things messy.

ZEPHYR: i swear these questions are so hard to answer in a non-biased way because she has a whole marriage with two kids now...BUT ALL OF THAT ASIDE! zephyr's type of person is generally someone that shares similar traits as her. she isn't extremely big on trying new things and that includes dating people that are out of her normal comfort zone, but it isn't something that she's completely opposed to just because zephyr also likes to experience new points of view as well — nobody wants to be with someone that's so similar that the routine gets boring. and while she does not actively seek out toxic relationships (not unless she's drunk off her ass sending texts at 3 in the morning because arguing turns her on sometimes.), zephyr has been known to get herself into some situations and stay with a bad person just because she doesn't want things to change, or because they have good sex or whatever.

JAIRA: jaira has been with all kinds of people, so her "type" is largely diverse and not at all specific to just one kind of personality or behavior. she does want things to be exciting at times and she does enjoy spontaneity and romance and all that mushy gushy stuff, but she also likes people that she can take things slow with, just enjoying the time they have together in peace and quiet without any extra noise going on in the background. (and yes, different "kinds" of people include different species. she leans more towards shifters, immortals, and the occasional werewolf / cat / what may have you, but that just depends on the personality because she isn't fond of all of them. she's a sucker for humans, and largely avoids relationships with other vampires after decades with luciano.) while jaira is too damn old for new aged toxicity, she does love her a good enemies with benefits. why? idk. just to keep things spicy, i guess.

RUE: rue's actual dating history is pretty empty and bleak. she wasn't really allowed to date when she was a teenager because she had an abusive overbearing mother with psychic abilities and was extremely shy / socially stunted, and a good 80% of the relationships she's been in as an adult were label-made. one thing for certain is that she does not want someone similar to her in terms of a career — she's been there, has done that, isn't really impressed by it. (if she does date someone who shares fame, though, she wants someone that can actually like...understand her. which is rare when your personality is not even fully you and no one knows you're a psychic witch but your family.) she'd like to be with someone that is compatible, yes, but above all she wants someone with a lifestyle that's entirely different than hers is, simply because this woman has not known a minute of peace since birth and craves that in a person. is she prone to toxicity? yeah. sometimes she's the toxic one because her schedule makes her very inconsistent, she's a liar, she's currently a binge drinker, and she gets bored very easily. but she does not seek to attract that.

IZIDORA: izidora doesn't really actively seek out relationships, simply because she doesn't really know how to maintain a healthy one. she grew up in an unstable environment with absent parents and emotionally absent caregivers aside from her grandmother, and her aunt's boyfriend was abusive towards her aunt, herself, and her sister as well as being the cause of all of her [redacted] trauma. ideally, she seeks out people who are not only just as aggressive as she is but people that she knows can protect her and that she can be vulnerable with. she is extremely prone to falling into toxic situations because she takes relationships to extreme levels (either too distant, emotionally unavailable and closed off or too extreme, aggressive, sometimes can be hypersexual and may even be violent), and truthfully izidora isn't above defending herself physically by use of either weapons or magic. yet at the same time, izidora can actually be really shy with relationships? especially when they're new??? so whether it's someone she's compatible with personally wise or someone that's outside of her comfort zone, it honestly varies on what kind of behavior the person exhibits because she's largely a reactive person as a defense mechanism.

APPLE: listen, apple does not have a type at all. personally i think it would be funny to see her in a relationship with someone who's morally opposite of her and probably an absolutely atrocious being in general simply because i go a special kind of crazy for villainous characters that are mean to everyone but their sunshine s/o. but enough about me. i feel like apple is open to experiencing all kinds of different people with all kinds of scenarios, and does tend to lean towards supernatural entities, especially witches / other fae or elven folk, because hello, they're both different from society! they are the same! they can be useful to each other while also protecting each other! (also? i personally believe a fae / werewolf couple...makes...sense? it makes sense. don't ask me to explain i will not.) as for situations of toxicity...um, not gonna happen. you can't play a fae. and while apple can be gullible and come off as really friendly and non-threatening, her powers (and her old magic) will override any situation deemed unsafe and she will send that ass to a realm to suffer for all eternity so fast. so no crazy shit around here, folks!

#i am once again demanding you all start some romantic shit with me soon or so help me #i am giving y'all ALL the romance clues! use them!!#aspen — facts #ilyssa — facts #jaira — facts #rue — facts #izidora — facts #apple — facts #leopardos

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 5 years

Note

hey! thank you for everything that you do! you are awesome. im just wondering if you any fic were Stiles is fae? thank you!

We sure do. - Anastasia

till the moon has taken flight (to the waters and the wild) by WindyRein

(5/10 I 1,426 I Not Rated I Steter)

It's not fair! But he knows already that life isn't fair, doesn't he? He can feel the bitter smile curling his lips.He, if there is such a thing anymore, floats and is torn apart and doesn't exist. (but that would be kind, wouldn't it?)

Bloody Secrets by cywscross

(1/1 I 3,085 I Teen I Steter)

Stiles has silver in his veins.

Peter could’ve done without finding out this way though.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 3,352 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Dance Under the Moonlight by Therapeutic_Steter

(2/2 I 3,440 I Mature I Steter)

Fae!Stiles saving Peter from Pack's stupidity and washing his hands of them. Please?

The Other Side by Green

(1/1 I 3,769 I Explicit I Steter)

Stiles doesn't know anything about his father, only what his mother told him, that he's human. Despite her words, Stiles has had his doubts. So when the queen sends him through the veil, he's nervous and isn't sure what to think.

Seven Years Falling by InfiniteAlexisA

(1/1 I 3,880 I Not Rated I Sterek)

“I don’t mean to!” Derek yelled throwing his hands in the air.“DON’T YELL AT ME!” Stiles screeched, his entire body going up in flames.This is what Derek gets for dating a fire elemental.

we're not so different (you and i) by colferstilinski

(1/1 I 5,621 I Explicit I Sterek)

For many of the fairies that lives here, Utopia is their sanctuary—haven, in other words—and why shouldn't it be? It never rains on this stretch of meadow, the clouds in the skies always pink with interest and it smells like the breaking of spring every dawn and dusk.

Stiles detest it, the least to say.

It’s too much and he hates swinging along with the status quo with the other fairies. Yeah, with their blooming shades of colours and the shimmering, silken tunics they don on and fuck, the limitless sparkles. There’s even a new trend going on with the younger generation where they gather allium blooms to form a flower crown, oh—with added glitter!—and it makes Stiles wants to roll his eyes.

Or the fic in which Stiles is a fairy and wants to escape the horrendous, boring world of fairyland to have an adventure. And by adventure, he means meeting Derek. The plant. Or... not-so plant.

Cold Iron by the_problem_with_stardust

(5/5 I 5,641 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek thought the disaster that ended with Kate Argent almost burning down his family home was a relationship worst-case scenario. So, when Dr. Deaton reveals that his current girlfriend is not what she seems, Derek is ready to swear off romance forever. In an attempt to escape his well-meaning (but insanely overbearing) family, Derek volunteers to take over remodeling the small cottage that was left to the Hale siblings in his grandmother’s will. Connemara is nothing like California, and Derek feels like his luck just might be looking up.

salt and a waltz by The Byger (Byacolate)

(1/1 I 7,433 I Explicit i Sterek)

"Not that lubed-up Q-tips aren’t the sexiest thing in the world, but I kinda want to know what it’s like, you know. To be impaled on your huge dick without actually being impaled.”

“It was about to get sexy there, but you shot the mood right in the face.”

In which Stiles is a faerie and Derek is sick and tired of not being able to fuck him.

Don't You Wanna Be My Sky? by WhoNatural

(1/1 I 9,420 I General I Sterek)

Stiles got ratted out by the Realm Guard for sneaking off with Scott a total of seven times before his dad buckled, promising sabbatical once Stiles reached Faehood, and enough Earth culture in the meantime to have him talking like a born-and-bred Californian teenager.

He just didn’t have the tan.

(Or, in which Stiles is a Frost Fae sent to the Earth Realm on the Fae version of Rumspringa and immediately falls head-first into a Coffee Shop AU)

No Love in Idleness by Elpie (Horribibble)

(2/2 I 11,687 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles is the sole grandchild of none other than Robin Goodfellow, the most mischievous faerie ever to wreak havoc among the Folk and Man alike. To the people of Beacon Court, he is at best a merry wanderer of the night.

At first, Ser Derek is inclined to agree, but the little bird on his shoulder has quite a bit to say about that.

Trees are always a relief after dealing with people (except when they aren't) by ravelqueen

(1/1 I 15,889 I Mature I Sterek)

Derek Hale decides to become a hermit before he reaches 25. Too bad he picked Beacon Hills as his retirement home.

(Or the one where Stiles is a wood nymph/pixie/human hybrid who falls in love with his new grumpy werewolf neighbour)

Broken People Get Recycled by poemwithnorhyme

(1/1 I 16,389 I General i Sterek)

Nothing is ever just calm in Beacon Hills. No, something always has to go wrong, and this time, it's Stiles' turn in the spotlight. That doesn't mean he has to like it. Post S2 AUFae!Stiles

The Magic's in the Coffee by xxxillusionxxx

(8/8 I 17,596 I Explicit I Sterek)

Ever since the tall, muscled, leather-clad werewolf had begun his daily coffee routine at the Skullery—a horrendous name in Stiles’s opinion, but his boss was a skeleton who thought he was terribly clever—an impromptu competition developed among the baristas.

When Trust is Everything by hellbells

(12/12 I 27,913 I Teen i Sterek)

For a secret to remain true then only one person can know it; if not then it will come out. Beacon Hills is the converging point of several secrets all wrapped up in the supernatural. For Stiles, the unravelling of several will let him find peace, love and safety in the arms of his true mate. The only question is can he trust a Sourwolf and his pack well enough to show his true self.

It just might be the one thing between Beacon Hills and safety!

(Or observe the really awkward distrustful courtship between a Sourwolf and a hidden Fae Mage)

A Little Bit of Sunshine by 100KlicksAway

(21/? I 29,600 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles woke with a start, dreams of pixies flitting around his head. He’d dreamed… He’d dreamed that he was a wolf? Or…. He wasn’t sure. Something with fangs… His mouth had been dripping blood in his dream, and when he woke, he could still taste the thick copper taste coating his mouth.

Stiles has been working hard for the pack since Scott was bitten. They leave him out more and more frequently, though, until Stiles realizes that he's strictly unnecessary. Then, the pack's activities throw him into danger and he ends up in a shitty situation with no one helping him.

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills. He doesn't care anymore, he just... Needs out.

The Last Chills of Winter by LeeHan

(1/1 I 42,525 I Explicit I Sterek)

“He didn’t magically charm me,” Derek shot back in his defense.“Oh, so he just regular charmed you?” Laura said with a smirk.“What? No,” Derek growled.“Was he hot?”“No! He just—“ He just had a laugh like a sun shower. Fuck.

We Follow Darkness Like a Dream by GreenasCole

(10/10 I 51,106 I Mature I Sterek)

When a mysterious note is left on the Stilinski's door it leads Stiles and his best friend Scott out into the woods on quest for answers about Beacon Hills's most infamous tragedy. After a surprise encounter with a monstrous wolf the two boys are hurled into an ancient and terrifying world, only for Stiles to discover he was secretly a part of it all along. Will he manage to survive the insanity of Fae politics and avoid the enemies that are suddenly crawling out of the woodwork to find a place in this new world? Or will the very revelation of his existence be the catalyst that plunges both worlds into war and chaos? And why can't Scott just stop teasing him every time he catches Stiles looking at their new "friend" Derek too long?

Laughter in the Dark by Starshaker

(13/? I 56,148 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles is a fae. A trickster spirit with too much curiosity for his own good and a knack for getting into trouble. When he's just trying to help things don't go to plan and coincidences don't seem to end up for the better.Trapped, isolated and aching to get home, though it's better than what Gerard would have had planned for him initially, Stiles learns to deal with his new set of circumstances.

The Fairy's Wolf by kuki

(57/? I 90,602 I Explicit I Sciles)

In a world where non-humans mingle with humans in public schools until they became of age, about high school age, going instead to a specialty finishing school, a young halfling fae fights to stay with his friends. His fear of losing touch with his best friend, a young Alpha werewolf, has the pair pushing their relationship to the edge; and their relationship has the world on the brink of war.

-or-where I apparently ship Skittles hard now, hate myself with this work load on top of my school work, switch up species because f-u that's why, make up mythology, and try to give Derek a nice life.

Where You Still Remember Dreaming by yodasyoyo

(15/15 I 95,612 I Explicit I Sterek)

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Balto.”

“What’s yours?”

“Stiles.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. That isn’t his real name. There’s no way. But now he thinks about it, he has a vague memory of someone, probably Uncle Peter, telling him that with the fae, names have power. “I’m Miguel,” he says.

“Lie.”

“Are you trying to tell me your real name is Stiles?”

Stiles runs his tongue across his teeth and considers Derek carefully. “Fair enough,” he says, “Miguel it is.”

Grabbing his groceries and pocketing the change, Derek turns to leave; he’s nearly at the door when Stiles calls out, “By the way, Miguel, if you’re interested, it’s two for one on bags of kibble at the pet store down the street.”

Derek doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate, just raises a hand and flips him off on the way out.

#teen wolf #sterek #sciles #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #scott mccall #derek hale #fae!stiles

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cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 22

Summary: Five hundred years before Feyre Archeron is born, the world is much different from the one she lives in. Humans are slaves, seen as little more than animals by the Fae who rule. But things are beginning to change. Talks of rebellion is spreading and on the Continent, some Fae territories begin to consider the potential gain of War. All it takes is one spark and everything will explode.

Masterlist

----

The war keeps raging.

Soon, the days begin to blur together into a never-ending circle of battles, each one more brutal than the last. It seems like each battle ends with more corpses lying on the battlefield after the fighting ceases. Corpses piling high, entire swaths of land reduced to ashes. Sometimes, Miryam feels like the entire world is drenched.

For a few months, the Alliance keeps the upper hand. But before long, the tide begins to turn. They are losing ground and soldiers, far more than the enemy. And suddenly, they are not winning anymore.

Battle after battle, day after day. Miryam is being sent around more, now. Soon, she begins to cherish the diplomatic trips. They are far better than the days when her help in battle is requested. She hates those days the most (she is not a soldier, she never wanted to be a soldier), but she is their only witch, so there is no choice. Some days, the Loyalists send one of their own witches to battle against her. Even when Miryam does her best to limit herself to wards, those days still end with scorched earth, entire battalions of soldiers dying in the span of heartbeats. It still surprises Miryam that she ends up winning the fights more times than not.

With each passing day, she understands more about her powers. But even though setting up wards, countering spells, now feels as natural as breathing, her magic becomes unwieldy. It feels like with each time she uses it, it slips her control more. It begins tugging at her, pushing her to let go of her control. At first, she thinks nothing of it, but soon, she has to fight for control more and more.

She doesn`t tell anyone about it. Not even Jurian. After all, everyone else is as busy as she is, trying to put out fires left and right. She figures no one really needs her problems on top of their own and with everything that is going on, her trouble with her magic seem so insignificant they are barely worth talking about.

The months bleed together. Soon, the war has been raging for two years. Three. Still, no end of the slaughter is in sight. So they keep fighting. And still, the war keeps raging.

----

They`ve been sparring for close to an hour. It has been raining all day, so they are both soaked to the bone and covered in mud. It is quite annoying, really, but Jurian certainly isn`t about to be the first to suggest that Drakon could put up a shield against the rain. If he`s being honest, he hoped the prince would do it on his own account, but he seems to be just as stubborn as Jurian and by now, they are both wet enough that it doesn`t matter anymore.

After another half an hour, they finally lower their swords. Drakon shakes his wings, sending mud flying everywhere. Then, he flicks his wrist and both him and Jurian are instantly dry.

“Fancy”, Jurian mutters, “If you ever get tired of the Prince-thing, you could still make a living as a hairdryer.”

Drakon laughs and passes Jurian his water bottle. “I think I`ll pass on that offer.”

If anyone would have told Jurian three years ago that he would ever consider a Fae – a prince, no less – one of his closest friends, he would have called the person a madman. But over the past two years, Drakon has truly become one of his closest friends. They share the running of the camp – together with Miryam, of course – and he supposes that could either lead to them becoming enemies or friends.

“Where`s Miryam, anyways?”, Drakon asks.

“Off in Telique. There was some politics stuff that needed to be done, but she should be back soon.” It`s only half the truth. The human queens wanted to see Miryam over some meeting they have planned, but it was supposed to be secret, so Jurian isn`t about to talk about it in the middle of the camp. He passes the water bottle back to Drakon and grins at him. “And while we`re talking about my amazing lover: What about you?”

“What?”

“Well, do you have your eyes set on anyone?” Jurian winks at him. “You and Mor seem to be getting along quite well. Is there anything you aren`t telling me?”

“No”, Drakon says, “No on both counts. I´m friends with Mor, nothing else.”

“Come on, now”, Jurian says, “There has to be someone. Our lives are serious enough as it is, a little joy on the side is good for you. And you really shouldn`t have trouble finding anyone.”

Truth is, Jurian thinks a little distraction would be good for Drakon – and if it turned into something serious, that would be even better. With the War, they are all busy, but Drakon isn`t just trying to keep his army together, but also run a country at the same time. As one of his best friends (together with Miryam, that is), Jurian is a bit worried.

Unfortunately, Drakon shakes his head. “There isn`t anyone. Really”, he says.

“Oh, come on, surely-“

“What are you talking about?”, a voice asks from behind them.

They both turn around to Miryam. She has pulled the hood of her cloak deep into her face to ward off the rain and is jumping from one foot to the other against the cold.

“Uhm…”, Jurian says. He looks to Drakon for help, but he quickly begins brushing some dirt off his wings. Coward. “Boy stuff”, Jurian finishes a bit lamely.

Miryam looks between them, brows raised. “Are you trying to play matchmaker for poor Drakon again?”

“No?”, Jurian says. When Miryam doesn`t look convinced, he throws his hands in the air in expiration. “Fine! I stand by what I said: Him and Mor should give it a try.”

Miryam frowns slightly. Unlike Jurian, she doesn`t seem to think that the two of them fit together, but she never told him the reason. Maybe he should ask her sometime. For all he knows, Mor might be interested in someone else.

“Talking about Mor”, Miryam says, “It`s her birthday in a few weeks.”

“You`re planning anything?”, Drakon asks. He seems eager to take the subject away from his non-existent relationships.

“We haven`t celebrated birthdays in a while”, Jurian points out. Usually, the war doesn`t allow it.

“Exactly”, Miryam says, “We`ve had preciously little to celebrate these past months. Maybe we should change that sometime.”

----

The meeting room is smaller than their usual one Telique. Darker, too. But it serves its purpose well enough, given that it only has to host less than half of the Alliance council`s members and that the meeting is supposed to be secret. Miryam had to spend the better part of the last day setting up wards around the palace a few hours away from Telique that they are using as their meeting place.

“I don`t like this”, she says softly, “If the Fae find out that we`re meeting without them – in secret, no less – it will be considered a political éclat.”

“I`m sure they also have separate meetings of their own”, one of the human queens says.

“Not that I know of.”

“If you are so against this”, Nakia drawls, “then do us all a favour and just leave. I don`t know why you got invited anyways, given that this is supposed to be an all-humans meeting.”

That comment earns her a glare from Andromache and a soft hiss from Jurian, who is sitting to Miryam`s right. Miryam for her part just ignores it. After three years of sitting on the Alliance council, she is quite used to Nakia`s sharp comments. The insults barely even sting anymore.

“What is it you called us here to discuss, then?”, she asks in her best just get this over with voice.

Nakia leans back in her chair. “I think by now, it should be clear to everyone that we are not exactly winning this war anymore. It is past time we take precautions.”

Jurian bristles. “The war is far from decided. It is too early to turn tails and run.”

“Still”, Nakia says, “it is our duty as rulers to think of ways to save our people, should this end badly.” She glances around the room, face grave. “Out Fae allies have less at stake than we do. They might lose some influence, but for us, losing might mean that every human will become a slave. We cannot risk this.”

Murmurs of agreement rise around the table. Miryam nods as well. What Nakia is saying is the truth, but she sees no way to solve that problem. They have always been gambling with high stakes in this war, but there is no other option for them to play the game.

“A good idea”, she says, nodding to Nakia. For all their personal dislike for one another, she can respect the queen`s dedication to her people. “What manner of precautions were you thinking of?”

“That is what I called you here to discuss”, Nakia says.

So they discuss. For hours, or so it seems.

“We`d need a way to keep the Fae out of the human lands”, Andromache says after a while, “Like a wall.”

“Yeah, sure”, Jurian mutters, “Let`s just pile up a bunch of bricks around the human lands. Might slow these bastards down for a total of five seconds.”

Miryam nudges him in the side. They are both tired after a sleepless night spent stuck in another meeting, but Andromache is their friend and ally. Speaking out against her like this is bad form.

“And if we used magic?”, one of the non-royal human commanders asks, “I mean, if we could create some kind of strong magical barrier – like a ward - around our lands, it might serve the purpose.”

“Might be a good idea no matter how this war ends”, someone mutters, “I, for one, would like to keep the Fae permanently out of our lands.”

“We`d still need the Fae for that, though”, another says.

“Not necessarily”, Nakia cuts in.

And suddenly, everybody is looking at Miryam. It takes her a heartbeat to catch on. (Cauldron, she is tired.)

“No”, she says, shaking her head, “I can`t… You`d need an impenetrable ward, able to hold back Fae and withstand their powers. Not only that, but it would need to be thousands of miles long. I don`t even think such a thing is possible.”

“You think”, Nakia says, “You don`t know.”

“Well, I`ve certainly never heard of anything like it.”

“But you haven`t looked into it, either.”

Miryam has to fight to keep the annoyance out of her voice as she says, “No. But even if it was possible, I wouldn`t be able to do it. It would be too complicated.” And with the way her magic is acting recently, she certainly doesn`t want to risk trying. She seems to lose control the more she uses her power, and even trying anything of that size might well be the thing to send her over the edge.

“Are you sure?”, Nakia asks, “Or is it just that you don`t really care what happens to the rest of us, as long as your precious slaves get freed?”

The entire table falls silent. Miryam just stares at her.

“You take that back”, Jurian says softly but with an edge in his voice.

Nakia lifts her chin. “Am I wrong?”

“Of course you`re wrong!” Miryam shakes her head. “I… How can you even say something like this?”

“Nakia”, Andromache says, frowning, “You`re way out of line.”

The queen hesitates for a heartbeat, then shrugs. “Apologies”, she drawls, but the smug expression remains on her face.

“Miryam”, Andromache says hesitantly, “I think we all understand that there are challenges. But it might still be worth looking into, don`t you think?”

Miryam doesn`t want to look into it. Not at all. Unfortunately, everyone else is looking at her hopefully, which means there is no way she can refuse. And even if she could… There are lives on the line. Thousands of them if this war does indeed end badly.

“I`ll do my best”, she says, “But I can`t promise anything.”

----

For the first time in weeks, the camp is quiet. Both Miryam and Jurian are gone for some meeting Drakon isn`t supposed to know about, it has been weeks since the last battle and for once, there aren`t any fires to put out. All letters are answered, his two other armies are fine and Drakon spent the entire day solving the most pressing issues back in Erithia with his council.

For once without anything pressing to do, Drakon has retreated to his tent. The entire table and large parts of the ground are covered in books and papers. Drakon is just finishing up the last paragraph of his thesis when the tent`s entrance opens. As a gust of wind blows in, some of the papers start rustling and he hastily sets up a ward.

“Sorry”, Miryam says and hastily pulls the entrance close behind her. Curiously, she looks around. “What happened here?”

“Oh, uhm…” Drakon surveys the chaos he created. His cheeks heat. “It`s nothing, really. Just something I`ve been working on.”

“Can I see it?”, Miryam asks. She carefully steps over the papers to the table.

“It`s not finished”, Drakon mutters.

And he doesn`t usually show around the things he writes. When he was younger and studying at university, he published a few papers, but no one but a few scholars ever cared about what he had to say, and he hasn`t done it since he became Prince. But Miryam is one of his closest friends these days. If he can show it to anyone, it would be her.

He sighs and hands over the sheets of paper he just finished. “It isn`t edited”, he says, “Just a few thoughts, really. You`ll find it boring.”

“I doubt it”, Miryam says and takes the paper, “You`ve never shown me your writing before.”

Her eyes dart over the pages. Drakon can barely watch as she reads, frowning slightly in concentration. He begins cleaning up his books, mostly just to have something to do with his hands. Finally, Miryam sets down the paper.

“Just a little something?”, she asks, “Drakon, this is amazing!”

Now, he blushes in earnest. “Well…”, he mutters.

“Why don`t you ever let anyone see?”

“I`ve learned my lesson about playing around in international politics, Miryam”, he says, “I`m not making the same mistake twice.”

Miryam, however, is not deterred. (She`s nothing if not determined.) “This isn`t politics, though.” She waves the paper at him. “And something like this could truly make a difference.”

“Wouldn`t it be better if this was written by a human?”

“Yes”, Miryam says, “And if we lived in an ideal world, Fae might actually care about the words of a human. As it stands, though, the word of a Fae – a Fae royal, no less – have far more weight.”

Drakon flares his wings in annoyance and puts the last book on a stack. “And you truly think anyone would listen? To me?”

He knows exactly what most of the Continent thinks of him. Miryam and Jurian may be too polite to tell him of the whispered insults, but his emissary is obliged to inform him of what`s going on in the Alliance.

“Not being able to play by their rules is only a weakness as long as you make it out to be one”, Miryam says, “You could own up to it, stop running. You have enough strengths by far – you shouldn`t let yourself be reduced to one thing you can`t do.”

Well, he can certainly imagine how she managed to create this Alliance from scratch. How she gets Fae who are centuries her senior to do her bidding. For a second, Drakon is almost tempted to give in. But then, the image of his family`s statues on the Mountain of the Dead flashes through his mind. He remembers the absolutely horrible feeling of standing in Ravenia`s palace, knowing fully well that he is messing up every single rule of Continental politics. He imagines what it would be like to join the Alliance council meetings – the whispers and pitying looks. The pretty words hiding sharp insults that he never manages to detect because he just can`t keep the thousands of rules straight.

“No”, he says softly. “I´m sorry, but I can`t.”

Miryam watches him closely. Whatever she sees in his face has her set down the papers. “Alright”, she says and nods towards the entrance. “I was going to visit Rhys to arrange Mor`s party. You want to come?”

Drakon tries not to feel like a coward for refusing. It`s for the best, he tells himself.

“Sure”, he says and offers his arm to Miryam. “Let`s go.”

----

Tags: @sjm-things

#miryam #jurian #drakon #mor #andromache #Before the Wall

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