#fae king would be the BEST to draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-ocean-peahen · 2 years

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so I went through the tag to see if you had posted more for my new favorite bastard man and read this post and. ANGST ANGST ANGST

YESSSSS

I desperately want Link to be like really actually pissed off that the Fae King has even a piece of the Goddess Blood Essence, especially after how she lost Shei. How dare he desecrate his memory! ...That might be one of the only things keeping her going while this is going on; Shei's memory.

I also think it's really funny that it's the Essence of the Skies that he's got... especially with all these Girahim vibes he's got going on lol.

I really like Link's shattering-sound trauma coming into play- I bet that hurts culling the herd of pottery tho :')

Here's an angsty thought: how does Shei's sudden absence affect Link? I bet since the Fae King's already trying to make her feel vulnerable, that doent help any... I'd love if she tried to find strength through Shei, or even vice verca.... <3

It'd be funny if Link and/or Stella were made to do menial tasks/chores like mending and tending the fae nobilty hand and foot, just for Link and Stella to pretend to but really they're sabotaging like. seams to fall apart or for dough not to set right or rinsing dishes in dirty dish water... petty stuff like that- stuff that Shei would probably (definitely) teach them. What, he was locked up in a dungeon for five years, they had to give him something to do!

I really really like the part when Link stands up to the Fae King I'm. Feral.

very cathartic, that part building up to the Fae King's demise, thats god tier.

I think it'd be kinda funny if Stella went to stir up some dissent amongst the fae subjects while Link was busy being yknow. tortured, maybe instill a new ruler to take the Fae King's place before she and Link peace out ajnsfksd

One more nugget of angst tho... I wonder if the Fae King could idk... glimpse anything from the Goddess Blood Essence of the Skies... Maybe a line about Link's "poor little friend" before BITE KILL MAIM!!!

If the Fae King weren't yknow. Fae folk idk I feel like zelda theories would try really hard to say he was twili maybe... which ofc have ties to the sheikah and gerudo and bad blood (cough goddess blood cough pun cough) with the Royal Family so 👀👀👀👀👀

not sure if those are all of my thoughts I kinda tried to just. dump my brain in here after re-reading the thing bc I. missed it? somehow??? :(

but!! it was a very fun time! I hope you enjoy my thoughts and I look forward to more of this au! :D

Bonus: Fae King looks so fun to draw

AK;JWBEFIFBwiealRFBAIWELHFBWA,JERFHBAE

I WAS SO FREAKING HAPPY WHEN I SAW THIS IN MY INBOX THESE GIVE ME LIKE AN ENTIRE DAY'S WORTH OF HAPPY BRAIN CHEMICAL-

yessssss i absolutely picked the essence of the skies for a reason!! paralleling sksw zelda falling into the hands of ghirahim my beloved

hhhhhhhhhhhh link having pottery-related trauma is Something. she doesn't want to smash the pot because that would be Bad, obviously, so why are every one of her instincts screaming at her to do it

akjfkejw maybe hyrule has transitioned away from the use of pots or something maybe the screen shudders every time you smash a pot maybe she flinches but does it anyway because gremlin instincts cannot be ignoredddddddd

ooooooooooooooooooooooh what if the fae king pretends he can hear/sense shei in the piece of GBE but hes lying cuz hes a dirty lying liar

AKJSBFIUWABE;F!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAOCHGSHHS!!!!!!!!!!! YOU SOLVED THE PROBLEM THATS WHAT STELLA'S DOING THE WHOLE TIME SHES WORKING SEPARATELY (LIKE IN A BOILER ROOM OR SOMETHING) BUT SABOTAGING EVERYONE AND HHHHHHHHH WAIT WAIT WAIT WHAT IF SHES ALSO HELPING THE OTHER CHILD SERVANTS ESCAPE WITH LIKE SOME MAGIC OR SOMETHING (suddenly got spirited away vibes. no idea where that came from but BRAIN GO BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR)

and. im Thinking. about what the fae are in relation to the zelda lore. because unlike all the other races that pop up which are at least human-based in pysche faerie are so Not Human at all everything they are is human but a little to the left so What. could have happened to cause that. im thinking of stealing something from the fic i got all my info from (Miraculous Ladybug fic called Spellbound) where a bunch of humans tried to use power that didn't belong to them to become something elevated from humanity and their wish got granted but like not in the way they wanted because they ended up gaining the power they wanted but losing their humanity in the process and that would be So Fucking Cool because in Zelda there's mortals and then there's spirits/gods and nothing in between the fae would be like that bridge between them but instead of being a true bridge like this (forgive my absymal drawing)

they would be a bridge like this

between both but not anchored to neither and it fits even more because you know who's supposed to be a bridge between things LINK its literally his NAME so link being brought up among the false bridge but becoming the actual one between mortal and immortal is oagh ooagh ooooaaaaaaaaaaaa

(i think thats the longest run-on sentence ive ever written forgive me)

but then i have to figure out how that actually HAPPENED

like which people were they?? what power did they use to try and abandon their humanity?? what motive did they have?? cultists of the goddesses who strayed too far?? greedy outsiders unaware of the scope of hyrule's power?? would they be kokiri who grew up or something?? IS THAT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET LOST IN THE LOST WOODS YOU LITERALLY LOSE YOUR HUMANITY??? i like that last one actually

i appreciate your brain dumps so?? much?? seriously im so happy you're into this au i didn't think anybody would be and now i have a buddy to yell with and its the Best Thing so thank you sm 🥺🥺🥺

#fae king would be the BEST to draw #i have a friend with an artstyle that he would look absolutely STUNNING in #i know she would draw him if i asked (shes way to nice for her own good >:( won't even let me compensate her) but im wary about asking #again. thank you so much.#Legacy of a Millennia #spam in the slammer

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rayroseu · 9 months

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💚Mallevan/Levanoa Headcanons (2/?)

PART 01 PART 02⬇️

you guys dont know how often i brainrot about these couple who never even talked in game yet KDJAKSK

Am glad to see that Levan's receiving the "Yuusona treatment" because of the various ways that twst artists draws him lolol

• • • Headcanon 2.

Malenoa is the strongest of the trio. Because she is a royalty, she is much more knowledgeable about magic— particularly if its related to dragons. Naturally, she became kind of like a magical tutor to both Levan and Lilia when they were children.

i really like the thought of eastern dragons in TWST🥰 its a nice foreshadow that Levan is a Long bcs thats Malleus' Halloween costume✨

(if its really like that,,,, im going to cry bcs that means Malleus dressed up like his papa who he never knew 💔😭)

(also I'm praying with all my heart he's not some plot twist jerk in game like King Stefan from Maleficent 1 😭)

I think dragons are rare on TWST not only because they're really particular on their mates but also because raising one is extremely high maintainance.

Its 1: life threatening to the caretaker, 2: needs constant attention and love, 3: once it grows up, you even need to withstand its tantrums and emotions (who are btw magically powered) 😭💥

That's why I think ??? there's limited knowledge about mediating their power (so they just get stuck in this cycle of being the strongest but that very strength can bring disaster bcs its uncontrollable)

Thus, I thought of Malenoa being Levan's friend who teaches him about controlling his draconic powers because Levan doesn't really want to accidentally harm others because of his uncontrollable strength--✨✨✨

I like to think its because of Levan's pacifist nature that Land of Briar chose to have war treatiest first instead of just crushing the Silver Owls through Malenoa's military strength. He's aware that killing off humans would just make them more hostile to faes in general, and I don't think both Malenoa and Levan wants Malleus to grow up in war once he hatches-

—

Levan's fire is purple because I remember getting surprised when Overblot Malleus used that on his attack despite Land of Briar/Malenoa (?) being "mainly green colored" all this time...

So, I think that's one magic he got from his father??? because most of his features already derives from Malenoa (horns, tail, magic (i think his green fire is from Malenoa), straight hair, etc)

The purple fire might've originate from Malleus' mastery of void magic (I hc their dorm spells' element are their forte magic and Dorm Malleus is double void card) but we've never seen void magic used like a fire... its usually like an energy beam right? I think it was so exciting when he attacked like that💜👆‼️✨ (I literally squealed lol its so pretty?? but I know I'll die from that lol)

I love the thought that Lilia is the "mom friend"/"sensible friend" of this trio... 😂 because he says hes the one constantly working for these couple... mostly to deal with their antics lol

plus Lilia is literally the sole person working for Levan and Malenoa to meet together right now---

since Levan's missing and Malenoa can’t really leave the castle since she’s guarding unhatched Malleus--- and its just a bad move to send the best queen on the frontlines when they can just send Lilia yk 😆

i hope we get more dragon egg lore and also specifically egg malleus reveal🙌🙌 like how do THEY take care of a dragon egg anyway.... do they put it on cradles as well like human babies??? or their parents will hold them since they require vast amount of love-

i'd used to think malleus backstory would be his child self being lonely (which in the future might??? but for now?? his backstory is literally just him being an egg and all of us are crying over an egg JDHJWJD 😭😭😭

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dianthusandhisreds · 3 months

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「 ✦ 𝕄𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕦𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕓𝕠𝕪𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 ✦ 」

𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷:

♡ Malleus, like the dragon (fae) he is, is very fond of collecting/hoarding small trinkets or things he finds interesting, like his “pet” Gao-Gao Drakon-kun. It comes so natural to him that he believes everyone must feel that way, so expect him to shower you with gifts at every chance he gets.

♡ He also enjoys going on long walks with you in the middle of the night (he loves seeing you ramble on about the things you are interested in); so you often find yourself joining him on a stroll in the warmer part of the botanical garden in wintertime.

On that note, if he notices that you are cold, he’ll immediately suggest going somewhere warmer or he’ll cast a spell to warm you up.

♡ As for (public) displays of affection, Malleus is the kind of man who will ask you for permission before kissing you on the lips, often kissing your hand or forehead instead. As for hugs, you and him will probably have long cuddling sessions on your couch while you watch TV or while you game/read.

𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼:

♡ He’ll be ecstatic if you ask him about his favourite places or gargoyles, especially the latter. Hoo boy, better get ready for a lengthy lesson about them, their use, their evolution through history… You get the drill.

♡ The thing is, you can’t really stop him. I mean, look at this guy, his eyes light up every time someone shows even the slightest interest on his tastes. He’s just, so, happy. Why bother yourself with buying lightbulbs when you have a gleeful Malleus illuminating the whole room?

Speaking of which, after repeatedly telling Malleus he can come and visit you at Ramshackle whenever he wants to (as long as it’s not at an ungodly hour in the morning), he starts coming over all the time.

At first, he’ll look very awkward, just standing there in the middle of your living room, unsure what to do. Eventually though, he will warm up to his surroundings, and kind of make himself at home: popping in just to say hi; chatting with the ghosts, helping you out in the kitchen…

𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓪 𝓫𝓲𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷:

♡ To be honest, Malleus isn’t really good at knowing what to do or what to say when you are not doing well, but he’ll try his best because I mean, he’s going to be king, if he can’t help the one he loves, how is he going to aid his future subjects?

♡ He would usually ask Lilia for help, but because the old bat is emotionally constipated and just shrugs off his problems until people overblot , he decides to ask Trey or Deuce, as he knows you three get along.

♡ For the most part he’ll just hold your hand and draw circles on your back (if you are feeling like it) while he softly whispers reassurances in your ear. He doesn’t mind having to repeat words of encouragement over and over if it means that someday, you’ll believe them. After all, you have helped him numerous times, so what kind of person (?) would he be if he just left you suffering like that?

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likecanyoujustnot · 3 months

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Cardan’s letters pov

Part 2: nearer

A/n: this part is a fair bit longer lmk if you wanna be tagged for the other parts

Part 1. Part 3

I stared at Taryn from across the room. She was laughing at something a courtier had said. I’d contemplated asking her if she’d heard from Jude, but as far as I knew she still thought Jude and I hated each other. And asking as to her well-being would be suspicious.

“Cardan.”

It took all my self control to not flinch at that voice.

I turned to him, “Locke.”

“You seem to be particularly gloomy tonight.”

I ignored him and looked at the faeries, all of them drunk or drinking, laughing and dancing. Happy.

“You could have you pick of any of them.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Maybe more than just one. Wouldn’t be the first time now would it?”

I wish Jude was here. I’d ask her to stab him. Not so bad that he would die, just enough to shut him up.

I’d been like that the past weeks. I’d sent the letter 8 days ago. She’d now been gone for 19 days. If past Cardan could see me know, moping over a mortal, fantasising about my former best friend getting stabbed, not even touching the wine in my hand, he’d laugh and sneer, call me pathetic.

“No it would not.” I still didn’t look at him.

“This mood wouldn’t have to do with a certain Duarte sister’s recent exile would it?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Locke,” I threw as much venom into his name as possible. “I exiled her, I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“Yes well, usually by now you’d be drunk out of your mind, a few lovely ladies draped over you and a gaggle of courtiers hanging off your every alcohol-slurred word.” He laughed. “Seems that that crown has made you rather boring.”

I wanted to throw said crown at him.

“Come join the party, a bed that big is surely too big for only one.”

There was only one woman I wanted in my bed. And she was currently in the mortal world.

“Perhaps you should be more worried about the amount of people who may be in your wife’s bed.” I threw a pointed glance at Taryn, standing awfully close to a green-haired faerie.

I would bet my title that Locke had not stayed loyal to his wife. The fae had twisted views on fidelity to one’s spouse, it was frowned upon, but also expected, especially among the likes of Locke, who believed they could do whatever they wished, I wouldn’t be surprised if Taryn took another lover to balance it all out. I had no intentions of ever betraying the trust of my wife.

Though I had already done that when I exiled her hadn’t I?

Locke didn’t even look at Taryn. Since we were both married to a Duarte sister, that technically made us brothers, though I would rather be drowned than ever acknowledge that to him.

“What my wife chooses to do with her spare time is none of my concern.”

Yes, like pretend to be her sister and trick the king into removing his general from his oaths, allowing him to do whatever he wants.

“Did you have any particular reason for bothering me Locke?” I looked at him, brows raised, unamused.

“Yes, about my birthday.”

“Your birthday is in five months.” That was it?

“Yes, I have something extravagant planned and I-”

I could see where this was going. “You are not using my gold to pay for your foolish personal revels, you have enough of your own.”

There was a flash of anger in his gaze as he said, “Very well. It appears some of Jude’s sensibility rubbed off on you,” and he left.

Good riddance.

I turned my attention back to studying Taryn. Everyone said they were identical, and they were, but I could tell the difference. Taryn didn’t seem to glow the way Jude did. Didn’t draw attention, didn’t make me want to do foolish things like declare how I felt for the world, risk war simply to get her back, do the things that haunted my most depraved thoughts.

Or maybe I couldn’t, since Taryn had fooled me. But I had been poisoned. And she had a strange quality to her skin.

I got up from the throne and left the party, walking to my room.

I was going to write another letter to Jude.

Locke was right, the bed was too big for just one. So I had to convince my wife to come back to me, to join me in that bed.

Jude,

Please come home, back to me, I need you

Why was putting my thoughts into words so difficult?

Maybe I should’ve been paying attention in school instead of getting drunk and spending half my time tormenting Jude and the other half staring at her and hoping no one noticed.

There had to be a reason she hadn’t come back didn’t there?

I assumed she was staying with Vivienne in the mortal lands, where Oak was as well. One would think if anything happened to her Vivienne would tell me, or at least tell Taryn, and if Taryn heard, Locke would, and he would undoubtedly lord it over me.

No.

Jude was stronger than that. She would never let anything in the mortal lands harm her, even if through nothing but force of will.

I wondered if her every waking moment was as filled with thoughts of me as mine were of her.

The guard had assured me that the last letter had made it to a messenger, so I didn’t see how she would not get it.

There was only one other reason she wasn’t coming back: me.

Had she felt that betrayed by the exile that she was staying away to spite me? Was the thought of being married to me, being my queen, that horrible that she didn’t want to come back? It seemed like something she would do.

Jude,

Since I cannot imagine there is much in the human lands to interest you, I can only suppose your continued absence in Elfhame is due to me.

I urge you. Come be angry at a nearer distance.

Cardan

I refrained from begging her to come back. Though if she didn’t respond to this I very well might.

If I had any clue where she was I’d go there personally. But I’d need to ask Taryn, and I did not want to talk to her.

This time I personally took the letter to a messenger I found scampering through a hallway. Half human male. Might be inclined to deliver a letter to another human.

“Make sure this gets to her.”

He nodded and took off, no questions as to why the king was sending a letter to his exiled seneschal.

It was out of my hands now.

All I could do was wait.

#cardans letters pov #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #folk of the air #the folk of the air #tfota

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the-lonelybarricade · 8 months

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You Are Not Alone - (2/3)

Summary: Captured and held in the dungeons of Hybern's castle, Azriel receives help from the most unexecpted being—a priestess.

This takes place in the A Court of Faded Dreams universe after Chapter 50, though it could possibly function as a stand alone read. I think the context is relatively straight forward, but I definitely recommend reading the main storyline if it interests you!

Read on AO3 ✦ ACoFD Masterlist ✦ Previous Chapter

Azriel was going to murder Jurian.

Of course, he would need to make his way down the list of people he was planning to murder first, and that was currently a long, grotesquely detailed list. At the top was the King of Hybern, who stood smugly behind him, carelessly holding Azriel’s restraints like he was little more than leashed chattel to be sold to the highest bidder.

Which led him to the next person on his kill list—the High Lord perched on the dias above him, as well as the litter of red-headed sons standing on either side of the oak-hewn throne. They were grinning, a pack of hyenas prepared to close in for the final kill.

“A gesture of goodwill,” the King of Hybern said, shoving Azriel to his knees. “Yours to do what you wish. Kill him, sell him, trade him back to the Night Court.”

Beron leaned back in his seat, studying his prize carefully. Azriel’s arms and wings were bound tightly behind his back, and though the chains biting into his chest and shoulders were crafted of faesbane, Azriel still liked his chances of putting at least one of the Vanserras on their ass if they got too close. He curled his lips back into a snarl, wanting them to know that if they took him prisoner, he would do everything in his power to make containing him a miserable, tedious affair. Eris smirked, eager to play the very same game.

“The fae do not give gifts freely—particularly none as valuable as the Night Court’s Spymaster.” Beron tipped his chin with an authority that spoke to the centuries he had sat on that throne. Even an instinctual part of Azriel sensed the power thrumming from the High Lord and begged for him to yield.

He raged against it, baring his teeth at the Lord and his sons. Jurian kicked him in the ribs as retribution, and Azriel snarled. With his matted hair and blood stained clothes, he likely looked every inch the primitive beast the Illyrians were usually accused of being.

“As far as I am aware,” Beron continued, paying no attention to Azriel’s show of defiance, “all debts between us are paid. What is it you seek in return?”

The King of Hybern tipped his head back and laughed. The sound rattled through the chamber—as low and hollow as a wooden knocker slamming against a rotted door.

“Still so careful, after all these centuries. Have I not fostered good will between us?” Beron stared ahead at the King, unflinching in the face of so much power. The King shook his head, the way one might at an amusing, petulant child. “Very well, Beron. I wish to add additional reinforcements to the delegation from my Kingdom.”

Beron’s face was stern. “How many?”

“Three of my commanders,” The King said, then made a sweeping gesture towards Jurian. “And my human general. They’ll be overseen by my niece and nephew, who I’ve heard have been greatly enjoying your hospitality.”

To the right of Beron’s throne, there was a whisper of movement. A flicker of red hair, attracting Azriel’s attention as he watched Eris Vanserra quickly reach out and bunch the back of his younger brother’s tunic into his fist, restraining the furious male with that single gesture. It was so subtle that no one else seemed to notice.

“For what purpose?” Eris asked, calmly, drawing a flat look from his father.

“Their mission is to survey the land. Find the best place to stage our battleground. They’ll be making expeditions into Spring to examine the wall.”

Beron gave a slow, if not displeased, nod. “Very well.”

At that, Jurian delivered a sharp kick to the gap between Azriel’s wings. With his hands restrained behind his back, Azriel had nothing to slow the momentum as he fell miserably onto his stomach with a low grunt. The chains rattled through the throne room.

“Eris,” Beron called.

There was no other instruction. Brown polished shoes came into Azriel’s line of sight as Eris stepped forward—a leashed pet in his own right. Azriel was tempted to spit on the fine leather that stopped in front of his face. From the clamor above him and the way his bindings slackened for just a moment, Azriel imagined the Autumn heir was taking the chains from the King.

Then a sturdy hand tangled in his hair, gripping tightly to yank Azriel’s neck upwards, forcing him to peer into the burning amber eyes of Eris Vanserra.

“Welcome to the Autumn Court,” he crooned.

“I must admit, I was surprised to hear from you.”

Ianthe’s voice had a lovely cadence and an even lovelier inflection. Soft, lilting, so like the chitter of birdsong in the trees overhead. It was easy to see why she had fast become a voice of influence among the priestesses. And though Gwyn had only heard glowing praise about Ianthe, she couldn’t help feeling nervous to be walking beside the High Priestess. Likely because she was so well renowned, and so kind, and Gwyn had not been entirely honest in her correspondence.

“Many of our sisters are understandably cautious about being assigned to the Autumn Court with the current state of politics,” Ianthe continued, leading Gywn past a pair of bronze-armored sentries standing outside the solid oak doors that led into the Forest House. The personal residence of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

“Of course,” Ianthe said, pushing the doors open with an unsettling amount of comfort, like she was more than a guest to the High Lord—like this was her home. “We have avowed to stay neutral to such affairs. Regardless, I understand that being in a court central to the conflicts can feel intimidating.” They stepped into a long corridor, their footsteps bouncing endlessly down the empty hall. “But it is precisely for that reason that the people of the Autumn Court need our help more than ever. As you well know, it is faith people turn to in times of crisis. They require our help, ordained by the Hands of the Goddess, to lead them out of despair and darkness.”

“I couldn’t agree more, sister,” Gwyn said, feeling only mildly guilty for the lie. She’d had to feign twice as much enthusiasm in Sangravah to get the transfer approved. Even more to Catrin, who strongly felt this plan was absurd. “My mother is from the Autumn Court and its people did not ask to be part of this conflict. I feel strongly that they could use our support, which is why I asked to be assigned under you.”

“It has been a long while since I had a pupil training under me,” Ianthe mused. There was a fondness in her voice that relaxed some of Gwyn’s nerves. Though it was an unexpected and sudden request, there was no reason for Ianthe to suspect Gwyn was there for anything other than enriching her studies as an acolyte.

“I hope you will find my guidance valuable.” Ianthe said, perfectly content to do the majority of the speaking. “And I’m sure there is plenty I will learn from you, in turn.”

Gwyn bowed her head respectively. “I will strive to learn all I can as your humble pupil.”

“I’ve been told you’re very well studied.” Ianthe’s full lips stretched into a smile. When she reached up to push the hood of her robe down, Gwyn was struck by how beautiful the High Priestess was. Sparkling teal eyes and bright golden hair that cascaded down to her slim waist. Charming and gorgeous and clever, it was all consistent with what Gwyn had been told to expect. She could not fathom why someone like Ianthe would choose to work so closely with a High Lord like Beron.

“I just enjoy reading,” Gwyn said, cheeks already growing warm from the praise.

“Research is a very valuable skill. I can already tell you are going to be a great asset.”

Together they turned down a short corridor where on the other end, Gwyn could see a spiral staircase carved from stone. They stopped just before it, at a wooden door which Ianthe opened to reveal a spacious bedroom.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Ianthe said. “The temple is just up the staircase, so that you can come and go at your convenience.”

“That is very considerate,” Gwyn murmured, peering into the room. It was much nicer than the accommodation she shared with Catrin in Sangravah. Gwyn eyed the large bed with longing, trying to remind herself that she was here on a mission and that it would be foolish to indulge too readily in the luxuries of Beron’s Court.

“Why don’t you get yourself settled?” Ianthe offered her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Once you’re ready, meet me in the temple for our afternoon service, then I will give you a tour of the Forest House.”

A tour. It would be the perfect opportunity to collect more information, to see what of the Autumn Court’s ties to Hybern would have encouraged the shadows to send her here.

Gwyn flashed the High Priestess her brightest smile. “That sounds perfect!”

“What a pleasure to have one of Rhysand’s dogs as our very own prisoner.”

Azriel had always known that Eris liked to hear himself speak, and he’d truly believed there was nothing that could make the male more insufferable than he already was. As it turned out, Eris’s snide voice was far worsened by the inability to punch him in the face. Regrettably, Azriel’s arms were still restrained behind his back, bound by the chain that wrapped around his neck, his legs, his wings. Two Vanserras hauled him forward by his shoulders on either side. If not for his injuries and the sedative Jurian had given him before they left the Hybern Castle, Azriel would have favored his chances of overpowering them.

Though Eris was capable of winnowing them to wherever Autumn kept its prisoners, he and his brother had decided to drag Azriel through the halls of the Forest House, flaunting their quarry to every courtier and servant that passed them by. It was a means of humiliation, but Azriel was taking full advantage of the rare opportunity to see inside the High Lord’s personal residence. He marked every corridor they turned down, his shadows already slinking away to search for every potential exit. Typical Autumn Court arrogance, betraying valuable intel for the sake of stroking their pride.

“I heard they couldn’t break you in Hybern,” Eris crooned at his back, closer than Azriel expected. “I wonder if a few nights under my care might be more persuasive.”

Azriel gave a low laugh. “From what I’ve heard, a night with you will only leave me disappointed and wanting—” He cut himself off with a low grunt as one of the Vanserra on his left threw his fist into Azriel’s gut.

“Illyrian filth always running their mouth,” he hissed.

“Easy,” Eris chided, unruffled by the insult. “There will be plenty of time for that once we’re downstairs.”

A shadow darted back to Azriel from around the corner. He felt its restlessness, but before it could provide its warning, the Vanserras turned him down the corridor.

Azriel was pinned instantly beneath two pairs of wide, teal-colored eyes. He tried not to stiffen in his shock, desperate not to let his captors know how much the sight of the younger priestess—who looked suddenly to the point of tears—had rattled him. She was wearing the same acolyte robes he had last seen her in, hood pushed back to reveal her rich coppery hair. She raised a freckled hand to cover her mouth, red brows bunched together in abject horror.

No, Azriel internally begged, wishing he had some way to communicate with the priestess that she needed to put her hand back down. You don’t know me. You don’t care about me. I am nameless, nothing.

Ianthe stood beside her, her fair expression arched with intrigue. He was unsurprised that the High Priestess was not grieved to see a prisoner of war, though it made a stark—and almost amusing—comparison to Gwyneth’s outright horror.

“Pardon us,” Ianthe said, pressing a hand to Gwyn’s shoulder to guide her firmly out of the way. “My pupil is young and has just transferred from the Sangravah temple. She’s never been exposed to the facets of war.”

One of the brothers holding Azriel by the shoulder took a breath and Azriel was preparing himself for whatever cutting remark he’d need to repay in blood later.

“Excuse us for the violence, priestesses,” Eris interrupted, with more earnesty than Azriel had anticipated. “We are just transferring a prisoner from Hybern. Continue as you were.”

With that, Azriel was led away. He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder to watch the Priestess as he went, though his mind stayed with her, wondering where she was going, what she was doing here, as he was dragged further and further into the depths of the Forest House.

“You’ll get used to seeing such things,” Ianthe said with a frown that made it difficult for Gwyn to subdue her rapid pulse. She knew she needed to calm herself down or it would become obvious that she was disturbed for more than just a passing stranger. “The Autumn Court is rather blatant with its brutality. Other courts observe the same cruelties and simply keep it better concealed. I find that in some aspects, the transparency is refreshing.”

Refreshing. Gwyn felt nauseated.

She stared after the stone staircase, where the Vanserra’s had vanished with a bruised and bloodied Azriel. So close to where she was lodging… she imagined it had to be a sign from the mother. An indication that she was on the right path.

“I am fine, just a bit rattled,” Gwyn assured the High Priestess, putting a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat thrummed beneath her fingers and she willed it to still. “As you can imagine, I’ve never witnessed such violence before.”

Ianthe touched her shoulder sympathetically. “It will be good to get some exposure, so that you can better understand the adversities that others face.”

“Yes,” Gwyn breathed, numbly. All she could see was Azriel’s wide hazel eyes. He always kept to the shadows in the Sangravah temple, so this was the first proper glimpse she’d had of his face, caked in blood and grime as it were. His eyes were so big, trying so desperately to communicate something with her.

Ianthe was staring at her expectantly.

She forced a smile. “As you say, it is helpful to know the hardships of others, so that we can guide them from a place of understanding.”

“Precisely.

The fingers on her shoulder tightened, then released. Ianthe stepped back, pulling her hood back over her hair.

“Get some rest, Gwyneth,” she instructed. “If you need anything, the servants will be happy to accommodate you.”

Gwyn nodded, bowing to her High Priestess before she slipped into her lodgings and shut the door. She held her breath, listening to Ianthe’s footsteps grow distant as she disappeared down the hall.

Then she cracked open the door, peeking through the slit to see if anyone was coming. It was utterly silent, no approaching footsteps and no one in her line of sight.

So with a great, fortifying breath, Gwyn darted towards the staircase.

“Ready to play, shadowsinger?”

This time, Azriel did spit on Eris’s polished boots. The satisfaction made the sting of the resulting kick to his jaw slightly more tolerable.

“Leave us,” Eris growled to his brothers. There were huffs of disappointment, but the Vanserra grunts did as they were told, scraping the metal door shut behind them.

The Autumn Court prison was as dark as the one in Hybern, but not nearly as cold. The stone floor felt more welcoming without the biting chill of the sea, a mercy Azriel did not expect to encounter. He raised his head to meet Eris’s cunning eyes. The Autumn Lord bore all the self-importance of a sadistic god, staring at Azriel laying at his feet. His nose scrunched in distaste, the way he might stare at a bug he was considering crushing beneath his boot.

Azriel curled his lips back into a snarl. “Give me your worst, Vanserra.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Eris said, crouching in front of Azriel so that they were eye level. The affronting male reached out to straighten Azriel’s torn collar, as though he were making the least bit of difference in the Illryian’s haggard appearance. “I’ve heard your High Lord’s little alliance has decided to help me take the throne, which makes us allies. Things are about to get very ugly in this court.”

Eris was exactly the kind of male who used the term allies loosely. He never helped anyone if it didn’t benefit him in turn, and Azriel expected that meant he would be the Autumn Court’s prisoner until Eris could make a deal with Rhysand.

“And your vicious pets?” Azriel asked, jerking his head in the direction the other Vanserras had disappeared. “I think they might notice I’m not being tortured.”

Fingers dug, hard, into his chin as Eris pushed Azriel’s face back up, forcing their eyes to meet again. “I’ll keep them out of your cage,” He said through gritted teeth. It was clear his hostility was just barely leashed by their alliance. “But I want a favor from your court in turn. To be redeemed at my leisure.”

Azriel jerked his face away, like he’d been burned by the Autumn male’s touch. “I don’t speak on behalf of my court,” he said, seething.

“Then I want a favor from you,” Eris crooned in a sweet, mocking sing-song.

Torture was preferable.

But Azriel thought of those glistening teal eyes, staring at him as if he meant something. He swallowed roughly past his pride. “Only on the condition that the priestess—the red haired one—stays safe. If anything happens to her while she’s in this court, the deal's off.”

Eris raised an angular brow, intrigued, but clearly not invested enough to pry any further. It was enough that Azriel cared about her safety. An exposed vulnerability, but at least for the moment their interests were aligned.

“Fine. The priestess will be under my protection.”

“Deal,” Azriel said bitterly.

The smirk the crossed Eris’s face was disconcerting. Azriel tried not to think too carefully about what manner of favor he’d be called in to complete. He could worry about that after he was free.

“Good,” Eris said. “Then I hope you enjoy your brief stay. Make yourself comfortable.”

Gwyn wasn’t certain how far down they had taken Azriel. She hadn’t realized, until she embarked, just how many levels there were in the Forest House. The staircase twisted downwards indefinitely, growing darker with every step.

It allowed Azriel’s shadows to slip through undetected. Gwyn had nearly shrieked when one jumped out at her four levels ago, tugging at her wrist when she’d been about to push open the corridor. Down, it had told her, and so she kept going. Pausing at every floor only for the shadow to tug her harder. Down.

Down, down, down.

Until she heard footsteps, and paused.

Voices, distant at first, then closer. Bouncing off the stone.

The shadows pulled at her, but Gwyn didn’t need their instruction to dart out of the stairway, slipping through a large oak door. She didn’t let it shut fully—too nervous the sound would alert whoever was coming, and because it allowed her to press her face to the small slit in the door frame.

A pair of red headed males passed by, grumbling about Eris hogging all the fun. They passed by without even glancing her direction, continuing their ascent up the unending staircase. She released a breath once they were gone, counting the seconds in her head. How long should she wait, until she was sure they wouldn’t hear her shut the door?

Glancing behind her shoulder, Gwyn could see that she was in a long, dust-covered hallway, with a single door on the other end. Portraits covered in white cloth decorated the wall and, curiously, Gwyn wandered towards one to lift the cover.

Long, flame red hair greeted her, followed by golden brown skin and bright russet eyes. A handsome male, undoubtedly a Vanserra, though there was something different about him that caused Gwyn to tilt her head to examine him closer. Lucien, she recalled. The exiled son of Autumn.

Well, at least she knew that no one would likely be frequenting this floor.

“What’s this?”

Gwyn shrieked, whirling to find Eris Vanserra standing in the entryway, the wooden door propped open beneath his palm.

“I—” Gwyn scrambled to think of an excuse, and when she came up short, she admitted, “I was curious what was under the portraits.”

He raised a brow. She could tell he didn’t believe her.

“And what are you doing so far from the temple?”

“I think he’s cute,” she blurted, face burning so hot that she hoped it was convincing.

That, at least, seemed to surprise him. But pleasantly. The way a fly surprised a spider when it tangled in his web.

“You think my exiled little brother is… cute?”

“Is this where his room used to be?” She asked, pointing down the hall.

Eris’s expression soured. “Stick to your temple, little priestess. I don’t want to find you down here again.”

There was a threat to those words that made Gwyn feel like she was choking. She bowed her head in shame, hurrying quickly out of the corridor as she mumbled, “Yes, s-Sir. Er, my Lord—Lord Eris.”

He snorted. She couldn’t decipher if it was a sound borne from humor or irritation. He didn’t move as she skulked back into the stairwell, forcing her to duck beneath his arm. Those amber eyes tracked her the whole time, watching her climb back up the stairs. Even once she was out of his line of sight, she didn’t dare turn around to see if he was following.

Azriel would have to wait.

#This is for me and COTGS #I am fully expecting no one else to pay this any attention 😂#Gwynriel #Gwynriel fic #Gwynriel fanfic #Gwynriel fanfiction #Gwyn x Azriel #Azriel x Gwyn #A Court fo Faded Dreams #ACoFD

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starsreminisce · 3 months

Text

SJM Romance Week

Day Four

Little Things

Elain slowly sliced through the generous portion of the whipped cream and strawberry sandwich she had prepared for Lucien, delighted that it had turned out in the shape of a heart, just as she had intended. Humming to herself, she carefully wrapped it and tucked it alongside the brie and butter baguette, nudging the container of French fries aside.

She had sensed Lucien's mounting frustration all morning, particularly aggravated by his absence from Aspen and Briar's progress report. While she wasn't looking forward to the impending conversation, she knew they typically saw eye to eye on matters.

Making her way toward the grand marble-columned building near their home, where Lucien insisted on working, she passed fae and humans alike, her status as High Queen drawing no special attention. Gliding into the open structure of the building, she spotted Lucien, his arms crossed and irritation palpable, surrounded by representatives of the realm. Their eyes met, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

"We'll reconvene later," he declared to the assembly, his tone authoritative enough to make her toes curl. "I know better than to keep my wife waiting."

Amid murmurs of protest, Lucien paid them no mind as he led the way out of the room. Elain exchanged small nods of greeting with those present before joining him.

"Az," Lucien addressed the lingering shadowsinger.

Azriel turned to him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"What are your true thoughts?" Lucien asked as the last person exited the room, and Elain drifted to his side.

"I conveyed what I saw to you and Rhys," Azriel asserted in his deep voice. "The reports are solid."

Lucien's mechanical eye whirred. "I'm certain there's someone in their treasury who could... sing... given the right incentive."

A smirk tugged at Azriel's lips. "Are you implying I should disobey my High Lord, High King?"

Lucien matched his smirk with a knowing look. "Not at all. I have faith in the accuracy of the information we've been provided, but..."

"Extra caution is warranted," Azriel finished his sentence.

"Let me know if you require anything from me," Lucien said, punctuating his statement with a playful wink.

Gods, Elain thought, she certainly hoped he would use that voice on her later.

Azriel turned his attention to Elain and offered her a smile. "I heard about Aspen."

Elain let out a frustrated huff. "Don't even get me started."

Azriel nodded understandingly before departing, leaving Elain to turn back to Lucien and offer him the basket of food she had packed.

“I didn’t realize there were five kinds of varying forms of vexation,” Elain said, approaching him.

Lucien's expression softened as he took the basket from her. "You don’t have to do all this," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

She shook her head gently, a smile playing on her lips. “We are not staying here. You do your best thinking when you’re outside with me.”

Lucien chuckled, a spark of amusement lighting up his eyes. "You know me too well," he admitted, slipping his hand into hers. "Lead the way, my love."

Elain led Lucien out of the grand marble building and into the fresh air, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone path as they walked side by side. She guided him through the bustling streets of the city until they reached a quiet spot hidden away from the prying eyes of the world.

A small garden nestled between two buildings welcomed them with a tranquil atmosphere, the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves filling the air. A stone bench sat beneath a canopy of blooming flowers, offering the perfect place for them to sit and unwind.

“This is perfect,” Lucien said, his voice soft with appreciation as he took in their surroundings.

Elain smiled, feeling a sense of peace wash over her as she settled onto the bench beside him. She opened the basket of food and offered him a sandwich, watching as he took a bite with a contented sigh.

For a while, they simply enjoyed each other’s company in silence, the weight of their responsibilities melting away in the serenity of the garden. The warmth of the sun on their skin and the scent of flowers in the air wrapped around them like a comforting embrace.

"I am sorry you had to deal with Aspen and Bree alone," Lucien said, taking another bite of his sandwich, his expression a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

Elain reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I am sorry that you were kept with …" she started, but Lucien cut her off with a weary sigh.

"Rask," he said, his tone heavy with resignation.

Elain lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?" she asked, incredulous.

Lucien shrugged, a defeated look in his eyes. "It’s all there if you want to look at it. You know I’d love your input."

Elain glanced at him, sensing his reluctance. He shot her a withering look, silently pleading for her cooperation.

"Do I have to?" Lucien bemoaned, his shoulders slumping.

"You know my asking price," said Elain, unable to resist a smug grin.

"Elain," Lucien slipped into that commanding voice once more, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There is a stack of papers you have yet to review, and I expect a full report by the end of day today."

Elain's breath hitched at his authoritative tone, a shiver running down her spine. "And if I don’t, my lord?" she challenged, meeting his gaze with a daring glint in her eyes.

"Do you really want to see me not pleased?" Lucien's voice was low and dangerous, sending a thrill through Elain despite herself.

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You fuck me the hardest when you’re not pleased at something," she confessed, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Lucien groaned, unable to suppress a reaction to her bold words. Taking another bite of his sandwich, he sighed heavily, knowing that he was utterly helpless against her charms.

Elain leaned back on the bench, a thoughtful expression on her face as she watched Lucien chew on his sandwich. "Speaking of not being pleased," she began, her voice tinged with concern, “Aspen's trainer had a few choice words of concern."

Lucien's brow furrowed as he turned to look at her, his curiosity piqued. "And?" he prompted, setting his sandwich aside to give her his full attention.

Elain sighed, her gaze drifting to the ground. "It seems our son is not doing so well in his weapons training," she admitted reluctantly.

Lucien's expression darkened, a frown marring his features. "What do you mean, 'not doing well'?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

"He's struggling," Elain confessed, her heart heavy with disappointment. "He lacks focus and discipline, and his skills are not improving as they should be."

A heavy silence settled between them as they both contemplated the implications of Aspen's shortcomings. But before Lucien could respond, Elain pressed on, determined to share some good news amidst the bad.

"But," she said, a hint of pride creeping into her voice, "Bree, on the other hand, has been excelling in her training."

A small smile tugged at Lucien's lips at the mention of their daughter's name. "That's my girl," he said, a note of pride evident in his voice.

Elain nodded, a sense of relief washing over her as she saw the flicker of hope in Lucien's eyes. "Yes, she's been dedicated and determined, just like her father," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

Lucien pulled her hand to his lips and gave it a tender kiss. “Sounds more like her mother to me,” he replied with a gentle smile, his eyes softening as he gazed at her.

She felt her cheeks flush at his words, a warmth spreading through her at his affectionate gesture. As he trailed kisses up her arm, she tilted her head slightly, inviting him closer.

His lips lingered behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine as his kisses became slower and more deliberate. "I love you," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin, eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

She turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of desire and adoration. Leaning in, she captured his lips in a passionate kiss, feeling the heat between them ignite with each touch.

His tongue teased hers, sending a jolt of electricity through her body as she responded eagerly, lost in the sensation of their connection.

“I bet you’ll love me more once I take a look at the Rask issue,” she said with a playful smirk, pulling away slightly but keeping her gaze locked with his.

Lucien's eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers once more. "I already love you more than words can express," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. The intensity of his gaze held her captive, his words washing over her like a warm embrace.

Elain's heart swelled with love and gratitude as she melted into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, lost in the sweet, intoxicating dance of their love.

As they finally pulled away, breathless and flushed with passion, Lucien rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still filled with affection. "You are my everything," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity.

A soft smile graced Elain's lips as she gazed into his eyes, feeling a sense of completeness wash over her. "And you are mine," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

With a reluctant sigh, they finally broke apart, their brief respite coming to an end as they remembered the responsibilities that awaited them. Lucien pressed a lingering kiss to Elain's forehead before reluctantly pulling away.

"Back to work, then," he said, his tone tinged with regret as he stood up from the bench.

Elain nodded, a sense of determination settling over her as she rose to her feet beside him. "Back to work," she echoed, her voice steady with resolve.

Hand in hand, they made their way back to the grand marble building, Lucien guiding Elain to his office, a spacious room with large windows that offered a stunning vista of the surrounding landscape. As they entered, Elain couldn't help but admire the elegance of the room, from the polished mahogany desk to the intricate artwork adorning the walls.

She perched herself on the edge of the desk, her eyes scanning the piles of paper scattered across its surface. Lucien took a seat in his chair, his gaze fixed on her as she began to sift through the documents. The weight of responsibility hung heavy in the air as they delved into the intricacies of the trade deal before them.

With each passing moment, Elain could feel Lucien's attention divided between her and the papers in front of them. His touch on her foot, then her calves, was both distracting and comforting, a silent reassurance of their connection amidst the chaos of their duties.

"You're being really good," she murmured, her focus shifting between the documents and his gentle ministrations.

A smirk tugged at Lucien's lips as his hands continued their soothing movements. "I could change that real quick," he teased, "but I think you need the extra concentration."

Elain chuckled softly, her eyes still glued to the papers. "You're right. This is a mess."

"It looks good and seems safe but—" Lucien started, but Elain finished his thought before he could.

"Rask is rich," she supplied, her brow furrowing in thought. "Why would they want a trade deal where we are heavily favored?"

Lucien nodded, his expression serious. "Everyone on the council is telling me to take it," he sighed, frustration evident in his voice.

"Except Az and Eris?" Elain asked, her gaze meeting his.

"They're being quite subtle with their disagreement," Lucien confirmed, looking up from her knees. "You know it's not a good thing when all three of us are the only ones who agree."

Elain sighed, feeling the weight of their responsibilities pressing down on her shoulders. "That explains the frustration," she murmured, her mind already racing with possible solutions.

"Would you want your wife to make you feel better?" she asked, a playful smile dancing on her lips as Lucien rose from his chair.

His presence filled the space between them as he pressed his body against hers, the heat of his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "Say the word, High Queen," he murmured, his voice low and enticing. "However way you'll allow me."

Elain's smile widened, a spark of desire igniting within her. "I'm pretty sure you'll want me to wait until I'm at your level of frustration," she teased, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "And I will also need you to make me feel better."

Lucien's smile matched hers as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "After my meeting, I'll pick up the kids and cook dinner," he whispered. "Tug when you're wanting me to bring you home."

With a nod of agreement, they sealed their silent pact with a kiss, Elain watching him leave his office as she prepared to continue her work. Moving from the desk to his chair, she couldn't help but notice that it still carried his scent, a comforting reminder of his presence.

As the day wore on and the sun began to set, Elain found herself unable to shake the feeling that something was amiss, despite her thorough review of the documents before her. Groaning in frustration, she leaned back against the chair, her mind racing with possibilities but finding no clear answers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of their children bursting through the door, followed by Lucien entering with their youngest babe in his arms. Elain couldn't help but smile at the sight of her family, the tension of the day melting away in their presence.

“You didn’t need to do all this,” Elain said as she greeted their two middle children with kisses.

“It’s getting late, and it’ll be here in the morning,” said Lucien, his voice filled with warmth. “Besides, you do your best thinking outside with me.”

Elain frowned, the weight of her concerns still heavy on her mind. “I don’t think I can wait until the morning,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Lucien's smile softened as he kissed their babe's head. “Bring it with you, and I’ll take care of the kids tonight and get them ready for bed. A dinner break won’t hurt.”

“I also thought you were cooking,” Elain said with a raised eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Lucien gave his lopsided grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I remember a certain queen fussing that I need to delegate more, so dinner would be…”

“Pizza!” Their kids exclaimed in chorus, their faces lighting up with excitement at the prospect.

Elain couldn't help but laugh at their enthusiasm, feeling a sense of relief wash over her at the thought of sharing a meal with her family. With a grateful smile, she gathered up the documents, knowing that with their support, she could face whatever challenges awaited her.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #sjmromanceweek2024

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 2 years

Text

Tithe 1/2(?)

Summary: Younger Gods AU "one-shot." What if the fae gave the little lightning god to Hell as their tithe?

You don't need to read YG to enjoy, all you need to know is: the reader character's lightning god father conceived her with a mortal to cheat a faerie deal. The fae put a magical collar of golden ash boughs around her neck to contain her.

Master list for further reading.

I said it would be a one-shot. I lied. This fucker has grown longer than I planned, and I'm also struggling with the second half, so enjoy what I have. Your interest will determine if I write the original smut/second half/ending I had planned, so seriously do drop a comment or message. Otherwise I will focus my efforts elsewhere (on more Sandman stuff, of course). This was a very, very experimental piece for me.

Behold! The first "one-shot" of the 500 follower celebration. Now there are 1000 of you. Holy shit.

Warnings: Hell, torture, neglect/abuse (non-sexual) of a minor

P.S. Do you know how hard it is to write a character with NO pronouns? Ruler of Hell indeed.

Part 1

Children tumble into Hell more often than the parents of the waking world dare believe. They confuse innocence with inexperience, trusting youth to protect their little angels. But even a child can learn to hate. To steal. To break rules and call down judgement. Children sin every day.

It is the same faulty logic humans use to assure each other bad men of the right faith will go to heaven, or that good people of the wrong faith might find a peaceful afterlife. They have thousands more excuses for their children, but they forget that children live before they die, and they do die, no matter what their fairy stories promise.

Children suffer accidents and illness, too. Anything can kill a vulnerable young soul. Some fall out of trees or high windows. Others perish in fiery wrecks with their parents at the wheel.

And some are sold.

Lucifer Morningstar knows this well, but when the fae King Alberich enters with his tithe, no mere mortal kneels before the throne of Hell. Alberich has grown desperate. He’s misjudged his sway over his court, and he knows if he forces a fae to serve as his court’s hundred year tithe to Hell when a half-mortal pet sits his feet, they will only keep him alive long enough to be the next gift to the infernal dominion.

This sacrifice hurts him, clearly. His frustration ticks with a muscle in his clenched jaw, rage curls his fists, and a sneer fouls the gracious words of a tithe-bringer. As he offers his growling pleasantries, the child’s hands keep twitching up to her neck, and Lucifer notes how the boughs of her collar twist and cinch and bite with the king’s rising temper.

It’s potent magic, and it’s tied to the king.

Alberich doesn’t intent to let the tithe live very long once she’s passed to new hands, and that is a slight difficult to ignore.

But it is not the collar or the wrathful king that snare the Morningstar’s focus.

Alberich must have been wicked indeed to inspire his little pet to look at the ruler of hell like that.

For the first time since the Fall, eyes turn to the Morningstar full of hope. Innocent eyes. Desperate eyes. A child’s eyes. Life, helpless rage, and tears that smell like petrichor draw the lord of Hell’s attention. If nothing is done to save her, the child will suffocate, and the tithe will be a useless gift. Another soul. Another husk of rotting flesh. But there’s a touch of the divine in this one, something attentive and precious in those hopeful eyes, and the Morningstar has the power to keep them.

“I accept your tithe gladly.”

The child shudders, finally clutching the collar as it jerks tight around her neck.

“We do not need the collar. Remove it.”

Alberich flushes and rushes to lie. “It is a gift, your majesty. To contr-”

“It. Is. Not.”

There is no doubt, no room to debate. It’s clear to all Alberich’s machinations are transparent as glass, that’s he’s bested and cornered, that he ought to bow his head swiftly before the Morningstar’s loyal Lilim takes it from him.

The Morningstar smiles sweetly, and asks in a voice like honey, “Did you hope to cheat me, Alberich? If I wanted dead tithes, I would ask you to dig up graveyards to fetch old bones. Do you think we need protection from a demi-god child?” A short silence is enough for the king and his entourage to hear the howls of the damned and the gleeful roars of demons torturing them. Even the wind’s voice trembles in agony as it stirs the fires of the throne room.

“Now remove the collar, and perhaps I’ll consider letting you remove yourself from my realm intact. At least for the next hundred years.”

He takes the warning and bows to the will of the Morningstar. He utters a word that sounds like a newborn’s cry and an old man’s death rattle. It whispers with the pulse of a shadow heart leeching the pulse of flesh and blood. Around the child’s neck, the boughs wither and crumble away in golden dust, leaving the ring of bruises, cuts, and scars bare for the first time since infancy.

“Now leave us.”

The fae king does as he is told, and Mazikeen stands by the door to defend her sovereign’s privacy. The Morningstar rises from the throne, descending the steps of the dais. From the floor, the girl stares up with hope practically burning in her face, and tears of relief drip off her chin, onto her knuckles, where her hands linger over her throat, amazed.

Long fingers take the tears and the chin and lift them up to better see the wonder shining there.

“Have you a name, sweet little storm god?”

She tries to bow her head, but the Morningstar’s grip forbids it, so she lowers her eyes until Lucifer’s tutting forbids that, too. Returning her full attention to her new keeper’s gaze, she finally says, “They called me precious and pet. They said I didn’t need the name my mother gave me.”

Lucifer runs a thumb along the tears, marveling at the adoration trapped in each drop. Childish devotion, pure and sweet and belonging only to the lord of Hell.

Lucifer Morningstar smiles.

“Well, then. We shall call you Rain.”

----------------------------------------------

Rain understands torment, and although the Hell in which she finds herself now has no sky, or flowers, or green grass, she prefers it to the first. She breathes in dust and sulfur, but she breathes.

It is still Hell. The ash, blood, and burned face of Lucifer’s Lilim remind her. The king has given her to a greater monarch, the collar is gone, and she will never see the sun again.

She will be sad later, she decides, because – at least for the moment – she has a mighty protector.

Demons leer when they come to seek an audience with their sovereign, and a few ask the Morningstar for an opportunity to break in the new tithe. Lucifer responds by lifting Rain off the floor and onto satin-covered knees before dispatching the ones who dare hunger for that which does not belong to them.

Word travels fast, and soon the demons learn not to ask. Not to look.

The ruler of Hell picks dead flowers and old leaves out of Rain’s hair, flicking them into the open fires dotting the room. Long, pale fingers examine Ran’s neck, murmuring questions that make it easy to believe the ruler of Hell cares about the aches and pains left by the collar. It’s easy to believe, and she desperately wants to. After all, the collar is gone by ruler of Hell’s command.

The sunless days of Hell see her in the Morningstar’s company or they do not see her at all.

“We must keep you safe,” the monarch tells her before putting her in a little cell that first night. “When you are not with me, prying eyes, claws, and teeth may find you. You will rest here, and I will return.”

She spends the first night with her heart in her throat, convinced this is her punishment for eternity. She’s had angry thoughts, made vengeful little plans. Karma must repay her for those, and she will never escape this little hole. A normal child would sleep, but she has yet to learn that skill.

When the Morningstar returns, she decides the ruler of Hell couldn’t be better named. The monarch kept true to every word, and her hope flares back to life. As Lucifer guides her by the hand throughout the endless day, she tries very hard to listen, to watch. She knows she is small, and she must learn everything in this strange, horrifying place. She must repay the Morningstar and ensure someone comes to fetch her from the cell every day. Kindness never grew from nothing. She must give Lucifer reasons to remember her, because even she is old enough to know being forgotten in Hell leads to the darkest fates.

She learns to answer to her new name quickly. It pleases the Morningstar, and she feels safest when her monarch is pleased.

Food arrives unasked for, and though it isn’t good food – “There is nothing good in Hell, sweet” – it fills her belly. Except on particularly bad days. When Lucifer loses. When the Morningstar is thwarted and angry. Rain stays in the dark, and food doesn’t appear the first day – or sometimes the second – once she’s released. But her fasts never last long, and the Morningstar delights in feeding her well again, worrying she’s grown thin, becoming a doting nurturer over the damage inflicted by the Morningstar’s own hand.

Lucifer keeps her dressed in clean, flowing gowns that are nearly robes. Soft greys fold around her, and a subtle sheen of every imaginable color glistens in just the right light. She knows she’s marked in some way, not only by the company she keeps, but by the care given to her appearance.

But it’s the same as the food – the fabric is beautiful, but never enough to keep warm away from the fires in Lucifer’s chambers. It gives the ruler of Hell more reasons to keep her physically near.

Even in Hell, she grows. Soon she’s too big to sit on knees, so she sits beside them, resting her head where the Morningstar can reach her hair. Or she waits in the shadows with Mazikeen, the only place beyond the cell and the Morningstar’s reach she is told she is safe.

She mistakes her first sleep for death, and when the Morningstar opens the door, she asks if she’s still alive.

“Of course, you are.” Lucifer wears a mask of concern, skin deep, but animated by genuine curiosity. “What made you fear you had? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don’t know.”

“You cannot remember?”

“I don’t know if I slept. I’ve never tried it before.”

In the following days, Lucifer riddles out the truth – the old magic is finally fading, and Rain not only can but must sleep. The Morningstar wants to watch, and instead of tucking her away behind the door, the ruler of Hell has her rest on a bench.

She doesn’t drift into an easy sleep. She falls. It scares her awake again, and the Morningstar keeps her there, promising her mortal mother’s blood will give her dreams if she can conquer her fear of the endless nothing behind her thoughts.

Because she believes the Morningstar, she tries. Because the Morningstar has her hope, she dares brave the fall. Again and again, sleeping and waking like a storm tide striking the high cliffs.

Until she is stands in a spring-green meadow with boiling grey clouds overhead. Before she can wonder over the magic that has pulled her out of Hell, the clouds burst, and sheets of rain wash over her face with a purr of thunder.

For the first time, she wakes with regret, and the Morningstar knows.

“Of what did you dream?”

“A storm.”

Curiosity sated, Lucifer returns her to the cell the next night.

----------------------------------------------

She dreams in the dark cell, chasing the scent of ozone as she wakes. The Morningstar greets her in the dim light, and she takes up her role as Lucifer’s attendant, ward, and distraction depending on her monarch’s mood. She excels in each position, and although there’s never a drop of precipitation in Hell, her name reflects her fluidity of purpose.

Rain.

The Morningstar’s relief.

“Every tortured soul in Hell yearns for something soft and bright,” the Morningstar tells her. “If you would walk among them, they’d tear you apart just to keep a piece of you.”

What the Morningstar doesn’t say is that the ruler of Hell suffers the same curse as the lowliest soul, that Lucifer craves something soft and bright just as much as the demons clamoring in the courtyard below the royal balcony wish to destroy it.

Time softens caution, and there is plenty of time in Hell. Eventually, one of the demons dares again, and this time they do not ask.

She’s on the precipice of becoming a woman, and her clothes have been tailored to fit her new shape. Her cell cradles her like a cold womb, a place where she can pause her existence, perhaps be unmade if she stays long enough. Is she even real when the Morningstar has no need of her? She overcame her fear of the dark years ago. Now it is only a comfortable dread.

One night – or the time she’s come to think of as night – when the door screeches and shrieks under long claws, she jumps awake. The comfort in her darkness evaporates, and all she knows is that the shadows will make a flimsy shield if the door should fail. She hears it bend and crack, beaten by something large and hungry.

Her cell offers no space to retreat. It is made for her alone, so there is no need, and she may only have good things at the Morningstar’s side.

Russet light stabs through the cracks, overtaking the blackness inch by inch, and bestial eyes peer through. Long claws hook through the gaps, tearing away metal and stone until the door hangs bent and ruined. No longer an obstacle. Only a prophecy.

The demon’s voice crackles as it reaches for her. “Thirsty. Need the Rain, Rain, Rain cloud.”

White eyes dripping ichor follow her as dodges the first grab, but it fills the door, and she only delays the inevitable by seconds. It rushes into her cell, pressing her flat against the wall as claws long as her arm wrap around her, holding her like a toy with limbs pinned in its grip.

“Give us Rain, Rain, Rain.”

Its grip squeezes the air from her lungs. She can’t even scream as it drags her away, out the palace and through the gates. When it finds a quiet place it likes under a bridge, it rearranges its grip, and she takes a deep breath to call for help, to pray for the Morningstar.

Jagged teeth snap into her torso, and she screams instead. The demon’s mouth is so large, it eclipses her lower ribs and the soft places above her hips with one bite. It has row upon row of teeth, some like a shark, others like a lion, a few blunt like a man’s, and they all hurt in terrible, different ways. They cut, and pierce, and grind her into pieces as her scream fades.

She hangs limp in its jaws.

It tilts its head back so her blood pours down its throat, tongue like sandpaper demanding more from every inch it can reach. It isn’t enough, and the demon shakes its head, tearing fresh gashes to staunch its thirst. Her next scream is only a gasp. The demon groans.

“Tasty Rain, Rain, Rain. Good Rain, Rain, Rain.” It speaks with its mouth full, every syllable drawing the teeth out and down again – sometimes into new bites, sometimes into old holes.

Her lungs rattle with blood, and the red warmth rolls from her broken skin to drip over her face, down between her toes.

She’s hard to kill, Mazikeen told her, but she won’t survive much longer in the demon’s grip.

A sense she only discovered after the Morningstar removed the collar stirs. It is wrath carried by a hurricane, quick lightning begging to escape and strike. It reaches to the sky, but the air, moisture, and electricity it summons have no place in Hell, and nothing answers her call. She feels like she’s tugging on a rope attached to a wall. Pointless. Hopeless.

Her only hope is in the Morningstar.

“What are you doing?”

She knows the voice. So does the demon. It drops her, and she lands with a wet slap and a puff of ash. The dust tickles her throat as she tries to force her fluttering lungs to draw a proper breath, but her diaphragm is torn, and instead of air, blood bubbles over her lips.

The demon actually brushes more ash over her mutilated body, like a dog trying to bury the evidence of its misbehavior.

“Is that my sweet Rain?”

She can’t answer, but the Morningstar’s voice is light as spun sugar. The demon’s master already knows. This is a game played on the way to the gallows.

“Fou – Found her.” It isn’t exactly a lie, but the half-truth won’t save the demon while her blood still drips from its teeth.

“I can see that.” The Morningstar steps closer, and the edge of a white robe brushes through Rain’s vision. A rattle of chainmail announces Mazikeen as she kneels, turning Rain so the Morningstar can view her face.

She stares up with the same dreadful hope she offered upon their first meeting. Help me or kill me, but make this suffering end. Only you, only you, only…

She will miss her dreams if she dies, but that is all. She has nothing else. Even her body and soul belong to Hell, to Lucifer. Death is transformation, not escape.

The cool, dry air turns her blood tacky, and ash sticks to her lashes as she blinks up, waiting for a merciful blade or a healing hand. She’ll take whatever she’s given, because her fortunes begin and end in the Morningstar’s will.

The fair ruler of Hell smiles down at Rain, dismissing the demon with the barest wave. “Set the hounds him. Let them have their fill. He should give them good sport after such a grand meal.”

As the demon flees, squealing, the Morningstar’s eyes stay with Rain, whose own vision begins to fade as she fights for consciousness. It’s a battle she’s already lost, but she clings to awareness just long enough to press her face into the cool hand that strokes her cheek.

Healing in Hell never comes as a blessing. It’s used to keep fragile bodies alive for more pain, to restore enough life and vitality for the suffering to continue. That alone makes many beg to just die, but Hell thrives on excess. Medical care in Hell is its own torture. Magic twists bones back into place slowly, grinding the nerves beyond the point of agony. Mending flesh itches and burns. Through it all, the demonic power crackles like flame through the patient’s blood. Her veins glow with it, and she’s reminded once again that life in Hell is no gift.

The Morningstar hovers throughout the procedure, graceful but tense, full of unwelcome emotions the monarch easily stirs into rage. When at last the blood is gone, the holes mended, and only tears run down Rain’s face, Lucifer steps forward to take her face in hand, peering deep, searching for something she doesn’t understand. Something already given, or something she never had. In the Morningstar’s grip, she feels small, much less than the woman she’s becoming and once more the child fighting to breathe on the throne room floor, dazzled and horrified by the greatest of all angels.

“This will not happen again.” Those words should offer comfort – finally – but they echo like a strike on the bell at the outer gates. An end curls out of a beginning, and they twist into a new era like a choking vine.

Lucifer moves her cell to the edge of the royal chambers, and a single lock becomes twenty. Rain listens to their clicks and clangs as a lullaby in the dark. They are the last thing she hears before she sleeps, and the first thing to break the silence of a new day.

Mazikeen brings a veil. When demons come to the throne room, Rain pulls it over her face. Only in the most private moments, when none but Mazikeen stands guard, and the Morningstar is confident in the room’s security may Rain take it off.

It isn’t enough.

The Morningstar has strings of bells forged and chained around Rain’s ankles. Even if she cannot scream, someone will hear her move.

As if anyone would try after the last demon to steal her away becomes steaming dog shit. The Morningstar ensures his dying screams carry throughout the realm, a warning and a promise to any creature foolish enough to take what belongs to the ruler of Hell.

She has become something the Morningstar fears to lose.

----------------------------------------------

When the Dream Lord comes for his helm, Lucifer tucks Rain away in her cell. She doesn’t see him, but his visit shapes her future. Mazikeen opens the door once he leaves, and Rain smells the brimstone tint of her master’s rage. The demon hands her food and water and closes the door again, because she is a good servant, and when their monarch has calmed, Rain will have a purpose again.

The Morningstar does not mean to forget, but there are other things to consider, to mull over and hate – too many to remember the little storm god.

It’s fortunate the little storm god is accustomed to loneliness. She can’t remember a time she wasn’t at least a little lonely, and she struggles to imagine anything better than the days spent beside the Morningstar. There isn’t love, there isn’t trust, but there is something, and a starving child – or woman – will always choose something over the void. Time alone won’t kill her. She’ll emerge refreshed and hungry for the Morningstar’s attention, which will make it all the better.

With food in her belly and the locks thrown against her, Rain has nothing to do but sleep.

There are no stars in Hell. No storm clouds, either. Hell has no real weather and no real sky, because weather is change, change is life, and Hell is for the dead. So, when she looks up and sees cumulonimbus scudding along a lavender sunset, she knows she’s in a dream.

She falls back into the long grass. It feels impossibly soft, gentler than her distant memories of rose petals and rabbit fur.

Misting rain washes over the field, kissing life into skin starved of the sun in over a decade – maybe longer; days and nights stretch or shrink by the Morningstar’s whim. It could be a century since she heard a real wind combing through dry cattails.

Life makes so much noise. Even quiet places have a pulse.

She breathes the free air, and the clouds breathe with her.

Eyes closed, she tries to pull the dream into her heart, into her lungs, and gut, and all the hidden places it might survive a little while in the infernal realm. It’s easy to forget she was born for lightning and hurricanes when her life is full of black marble, ash, and flame. She’s learned what she is by absence rather than discovery.

The dream hurts, aches with the illusion of freedom, and she won’t give it up until the choice leaves her hands. Eventually, she’ll have to wake and drink water. Eventually, she’ll have to return to Hell and eat food. Eventually. Not now. Not for a while yet.

She watches the purple sky turn blue, then black as the imagined atmosphere fades, and brighter lights make way for the cosmos. Millions of stars, many too close and colorful to be real, glitter overhead. The Milky Way bends through the chaos, and it looks so tangible she wonders if she could walk along it, out of her field and up into space.

But that requires getting up, and she’s happy where she is.

The night fades, and the Morningstar welcomes the dawn. Only a hint of peach flushes across the horizon before fresh storm clouds roll in, growling with thunder and flashes of lightning. She sits up to welcome it, and the downpour lashes her face clean of yesterday’s tears.

She spends another three days in the meadow before the tug of her body’s needs shakes the ground beneath her. Eventually has arrived, and she rises to meet it. As the colors fade and her mind gathers itself to leave, she sees a dark shape at the edge of field, waiting under the trees. He could’ve been there for hours, but she only just notices him before the dream folds in on itself.

She wakes, and pours water down her aching throat. Once that settles, she takes another bite of bread, and wriggles into a better position against the stone while her stomach settles. She has no idea how long she’ll be in her cell this time. Mazikeen’s gift suggests it may be months, so she consumes her rations carefully. Just enough to live, to dream a little longer.

And just like that, she falls asleep again.

The dark figure waits at the tree line, and the continuous thread jars her so badly she wonders if she never woke in the first place. Her reality could be the dream, the dream the truth. But life isn’t kind enough for that, and the fantastic hope disintegrates the moment she imagines it.

However, she understands as she holds the stranger’s gaze through the storm that she isn’t alone.

There is a stranger in her world of longing, and he waits for her. Eyes like her night sky call through the wind and sheeting rain, and she thinks she may know them. Did they watch her from beside the Milky Way? Has he spied on her?

Questions string tight between them, a link that pulls, and his gaze becomes a summons.

Once he’s confident she’ll follow, he turns and walks into the shadows between the oaks and sycamores. She leaves the meadow and steps willingly into the dark, where the rain cascades in slow, heavy drops from leaf – to leaf – to the forest floor. It patters in whispers over twisted roots, stirring the loam to perfume the air with sweet decay and new life under the shelter of the old wood.

He waits under a maple tree, its leaves flushed scarlet.

When she nears, he says, “Hell has not suffered a living dreamer in an age.”

He feels out of place in her dream, a stranger, but he knows her, and even if she’s never met him, she still recognizes something about him. It isn’t just his eyes. It’s the shadows under his feet, the way the light reflects off his skin. He could be glimmer of lightning in distant clouds or the yearning in ancient trees reaching for fresh rain.

“You know me?”

“I am Dream of the Endless. I know all dreamers.” He looks down, scrutinizing, and she raises her chin to meet his examination.

She has nothing to hide, and she refuses to cower in her own imagination. In this place, unlike all others, her dignity and will are her own.

“I know all dreamers,” he repeats, softer, “and you have such long dreams.”

He is asking something, but she can’t grasp what he wants. Does he want her reassurance that she’s well? Does he want her gone from his realm? To drag her sulfur stink and lonely wishes somewhere else?

She cannot live without them.

“Are you going to take them from me?”

He shifts to face her rather than the tree. Whatever he wanted to hear, she didn’t say it. His stern expression flickers with a ghost of surprise. “No.”

Habit demands she bow her head, compose herself and find something to make him warm to her. A pacifying performance. She knows the way of rulers, but she doesn’t want to play the humble subject, and it is her dream. He says he won’t take it, so she will not compromise it with false deference.

“If my long dreams bother you, blame yourself. The Morningstar has forgotten me because of you. There’s no escape from my cell but these dreams.”

His nostrils flare, and the light sharpens in his eyes. “Are you behind the bolted door in the Light Bringer’s chambers?”

“Yes.”

He comes closer, toe-to-toe, like he wants to touch her, examine her, but he keeps his hands in the pockets of his robe.

“I saw it when I came for my helm. I wondered what great terror the Morningstar would lock away so securely, yet keep so near. Now I see.” He doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t close the distance. But his eyes trace her face, lingering and searching. A smirk almost too quick to see flickers through his expression. “It was no monster in the vault but a treasure.”

“A tithe,” she corrects, “in a prison.”

She does not like to think those words, but they are the truth, and her dreamscape inspires honesty, all the parts of herself she cannot embrace in her waking life. Her storms and her meadows. If he wants to walk with her here, he must weather it all.

The Dream Lord’s lashes flutter, and other tales hide in his eyes. It isn’t only her pain he sees when he looks down at her, snarling against his memories.

Now she sees his question.

“You cannot save me, Dream Lord.”

He closes his eyes, and she returns to the meadow. It’s like the whole forest steps away, so one instant she’s with him, and the next she’s alone.

Part 2

#morpheus x reader smut #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman fanfic #lucifer morningstar

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tricksterrune · 9 months

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Rogues playing DnD: Classes

I fully admit that this is based on my limited experience of DnD, mainly through season 1 of Vox Machina, The Gamers 2: Dorkness Rising and FrasierDnD Twitter, specifically this. I also used to play The Dark Eye from which I steal aspects. And WoW

for @belphegor1982

Piper: DungeonMaster

He brings them together. They call him a nerd for it, but it sounds like fun so they all join in. But while Piper is the most experienced as of now, he hasn't played since college and wasn't the dungeon master, he isn't 100% in control and improvises a lot. At first he tries to keep them on the story path but learns to relax and let go. He used to have a high level bard in college and frequently uses that character's relatives as npcs.

James: hmmmmm

In the Dark Eye there were classic fae changelings. Fae could take a child and leave a changeling in its wake. And you could then play as the child that was taken which grew up in the fae realm, learn magic and becomes fae-like (If I remember correctly). James would play a character but never actually clarify whether he was the original character or the changeling pretending to be him.

Or I go with my initial answer and say that he roleplays as someone who does not fit into the world of DnD (as I once played a whole quest trying to be Indiana Jones). Half-elf...alledgedly

Mick: Monk....now

Mick's character became a monk later in life and starts as a veteran character (is that a thing in DnD?). Which means that he starts stronger but his character is old. He'd be a Dragonborn because they look badass. He is always super-prepared and carries endless supplies.

Mark: Wizard, elf or human

I hc Mark as someone who likes reading and not just Mark Twain, who was overshadowed by his gifted brother who was into natural sciences. He probably loves fantasy books but never engaged as a teen, wanting to appear tough. He has big ideas but hasn't read the rulebook too closely, just stories and wants to be a wizard who can do everything, mainly throw fireballs at people. Piper has to remind him frequently that he can't do the thing he just announced he was going to do. "I cast Firestorm!" "Do you know the spell?" "No?" "What about your spell slots?" "My what?"

Roscoe: Artificer, human

He sticks to what he knows best so he essentially plays himself. BUT he has read the rulebook twice and has become a rule's lawyer. He often thinks outside of the box but sometimes gets bigged down by what the numbers say are possible and what's a good story. He'd try a peasant railgun.

Lisa: Rogue, tiefling

Skintight leather? Check. Awfully sharp knives? Check. Steal absolutely EVERYTHING? Check. Often gets the party into trouble with her antics. "Can I roll to steal the crown?" "Seeing as its currently on the king's head, he's looking at you and is surrounded by his royal guard....no." She'd play tiefling, sexy as hell.

Digger: Barbarian, half-orc or orc

Digger junior, his character's name, will fight everyone, drink everything and then fight everyone again. He is legendary in bar brawls. His secret goal is to be the brawler like no ever ever was. Fighting's his real test, drinking is his cause. Digger jr is Digger unfiltered which you'd think was impossible.

Len: Druid, elf

He was blackmailed into attending at first (but secretly has fun) and plays a druid, almost exclusively in bear form (assuming that's possible, I' drawing on my WoW knowledge). His favorite trick is making people think he's a regular bear and only reveals himself when it's funny. Has written a couple of bear puns, but is afraid to use them unless he's a little drunk.

Sam: Bard! And a woman!

Charisma, charisma and charisma! He needs everyone to know that he is the most beautiful lady of all the land. And his character doesn't get her hands dirty, she stays outside and keeps inspiring the party. In ideal circumstances anyway, she has mace (an actual mace) when things get tough.

Roy: Warlock, Tiefling.

Roy strives to become an eldritch entity himself, possibly by killing his patron. At least he's not giving up his soul. He draws the most beautiful character portraits between rounds.

#dndrogues #flash rogues

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aita-blorbos · 9 months

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AITA for stealing Excalibur to save my faerie gf?

Exactly what it says on the tin. I (27F) am a descendent of Merlin, and serve as the court mage for the current king of Camelot. The fair folk live in the forests, and over the past century have made travel more and more difficult, as they lure any travelers off the path for various reasons, most are never seen again. The king sent me as an ambassador, as I know the most about resisting enchantment and protecting myself with magic, to hopefully broker peaceful relations. I encountered a beautiful fae, V, (???F) who naturally tried to charm me to draw me off the path. I was able to make a deal with her to bring a message to the Faerie Queen of my desire to meet with her, provided I came back in three days.

I returned, and we talked and she showed me beautiful things, and yeah I was attracted to her but I had a duty to my kingdom first. We answered questions for each other about ourselves and our worlds quid pro quo. I learned I could have an audience with the Queen on midsummers night.

The third time I returned, V enchanted me, and was about to kill me with me being none the wiser as I was under her spell. But she let me go. She explained that if she didn't kill me, the Queen would kill her, but that she had fallen in love with me… and I had fallen for her. I tried to take her out of Faerie with me, but she couldn't be unbound from her service to the Queen. So I met with the Queen to bargain for her freedom. I know I could have negotiated for peace between our kingdoms but she had specifically told V to kill me so that the humans wouldn't try such a "foolish notion" again, so there was no inroad there.

I was as clever as I could be, but the Queen demanded Excalibur within 3 days in exchange for mine and V's freedom and safety. And if I didn't make a deal by sunrise, I might be trapped there. So I went back to Camelot and I tried to break the news to the king… but it was clear he wouldn't sacrifice the relic. So I stole it.

This is our only fae ally! This has to be worth something! And I owe her, she saved my life at the possible expense of her own… or a fate worse than death, it would seem, as punishment for her treason.

The king will notice Excalibur is gone and what was left behind was a fake before long. I'm on my way to the forest now. I'll do my best to find a way around this, and retain the sword. But if I don't, I've betrayed my kingdom, my people. V and I will both be traitors to our people. I'm already carrying the deep guilt of it… but this is for love, and for honor that transcends country. I don't think I'm TA, but… am I?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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mysticstarlightduck · 8 months

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OC Questions Tag

Thank you for the Tag, @tabswrites! Her post can be found here

I'll be doing this for Xarian Argyris, a deceitful fairy outlaw from my new high fantasy WIP, Tales of Wilted Flowers!

5 words to physically describe your OC (do you have a drawing? even better!)

Lanky, tall. Dangerous beauty. Metallic hair

Who inspired your OC? (can be your mum to a very famous fungi)

Uh... I don't really know if this is a valid answer but maybe: Julian Devorak (from The Arcana game), Astarion (from Baldur's Gate 3) and general fairytale lore. My character Xarian starts out running away from someone trying to kill him and being framed for something he didn't exactly do, is slightly unstable but a very good person where it counts, while also being a socially awkward trickster/liar and having a very confusing moral compass - and an obsession with strange knowledge. Take that however you will lmao.

Give me a song to define your OC (I will listen to it to enter in your WIP mood!)

I'll do one better! Here are five songs that define Xarian!

Willow - Bardcore Cover by Hildegard Von Blingin

No Good - Unsecret ft Ruelle

S.O.S - Indila

Wild Uncharted Waters - Jonah Hauer-King

Natural - Imagine Dragons cover by Caleb Hyles

If I met your OC on the street how would they greet me?

Xarian - while very refined and sophisticated - is still a socially awkward young adult at heart. He would likely greet you with a formal fae salutation (a little bow) and wish you a good day from a distance while being internally like "Oh, gods, please tell me you won't go in for a hug." The greeting would be short, but pleasantly polite.

Can your OC be your best friend? Why?

I mean once we get past the stabby-stabby "Come any closer and you'll be speaking to the sharp end of my blade" beginning and he eventually opens up to my friendship - and shows his true, kinder side - then sure! We'd make a good team and would have lots to talk about, especially about books.

Though his Number 1 best friends are - and will forever be, in his own words - his girlfriend Lorelai Wildwood and their friend (and travel companion) Rylisan Fenrith.

1 adjective and 1 noun to describe your OC (blue soul)

True friend

Tagging (gently with no pressure): @your-absent-father, @cabbojage, @clairelsonao3, @exquisitecrow, @liv-is, and OPEN TAG (for anyone who wants to do this)!

#my wips #character writing #my writing #my characters #writerblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writeblr #tag games!#WIP: Tales of Wilted Flowers #Xarian Argyris

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vintagelacerosette · 1 year

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Artist/ Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by the magnificent darling Chrissy @you-are-so-much-better-than-that who came up with the artist questions, the sensational sweetheart Harvey @mikhailoisbaby & honeypie Willow @ian-galagher thank youuu 🥰

1. Do you post on Ao3? If so, how many works do you have on AO3? If not, where do you post?

I don't post my art on ao3 but on tumblr 😊

2. What is your total art count?

17 🎨

3. What are your top 5 pieces by likes/kudos?

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do respond by liking them bc most comments are in the tags & idk should i respond in the comments? lol

5. What is your current fandom, and what was the first fandom you drew for?

Current fandom: Gallavich & First fandom i drew for & shared my art is Gallavich but probably first fandom was maybe soul eater

6. Have you ever received hate on any art?

Not hate but a complaint on my gallacrafts for theme 11 I'm fucking gay. I got an anon asking why I made the lesbian flag & put the phrase I'm fucking gay & i that should have just done lesbian although I had actually made both but it was on the part 2 bc i had a limit of 10 pictures.

7. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t drawn for yet but want to?

Maybe Spirk or Soul x Maka from Soul Eater

8. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Gallavich most definitely, they hit all my likes in a ship plus they're canon & married to boot! #spoiled 😆

9. Do you draw outside of fandom?

Yeah I started getting back into drawing with makinng flowers for mutual's birthday 🥰 I've also made little mascots of baby animals for my niece's baby shower

10. What’s the an art piece you’ve drawn that came out completely differently than you expected?

Probably the GGE2022 for Macy. I had some other ideas. Also their poses were gonna be different like it was either the back of them looking at snow or tumbled into the snow on top of an ny roof top but still not the best at figure drawing so i just did the best of my abilities 😄

11. Do you draw smut?

Not yet but one day 😏

12. Have you ever had any of your art stolen or copied?

Not that I know of

13. Have you ever collaborated on a piece?

No but I think it could be fun to do 🖼

14. What’s an idea you have that you have yet to draw?

Snow king Mickey & Snowflake fae Ian that was gonna be my 2nd choice for the GGE2022 but i loved making fanart for Macy 🥰

Crop top Ian & Mickey in Ian's ROTC hat

Smoo fae Mickey in Ian's arms from a reference pic i saw here

15. What are your drawing strengths?

Faces, hair, blushing & colouring maybe?

16. What are your drawing weaknesses?

Poses, hands & backgrounds

17. What’s your favourite art piece you’ve drawn?

I would say my good omens au I simply adorethe little details I put into the drawing. I referenced Mickey's outfit in Ian's delete scene dream. Ian's outfit is 7x10 just in darker colours. I loved being able to create Ian's ombre eyes by colour picking Cameron's hazel ones. Ian's hair shading. The heart wings & being able to creat the wing texture on the angel wing. AND their signature shows with the timberland & bright read air forces!!! I had such a fun time drawing this 🥰 Also it was my 100,000 post lol

18. What is one thing you’d like to tell people about your art that they might not know?

My gallavich art is the first time I've been colouring my drawings. When I drew a lot in high school I would just do the line art & was too hesitant to colour them.

19. What inspires or motivates you to create for fandom?

Definitely you guys! Being able to make you guys smile. As well as your creations & the creating events 💕🖌

20. And finally, can you describe your process a little? Do you have a favourite place to draw? Do you play something in the background? Do you do research or just go for it? Give us a little insight.

I do like to crawl up into a hunched ball on the lounge couch or my bed (which should stop bad for posture lol) Then I do enjoy playing YouTube video essays about internet history/horror games I'd never play or movie reactions.

Also, I am more of an artist who researches & and works with many references. I got a whole lotta unclosed tabs of Ian & Mickey, body poses & clothes that i forgot to close lol.

So I’m not a fic writer yet! 😉 But here are the interviews questions if you guys wanna ❤️

Fic Writer Interview

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

7. Do you write crossovers?

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

15. What are your writing strengths?

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I’m tagging these twinkling hearts if they wanna play 🥰 @mrsinistertype @crossmydna @friend-bear @darthvaders-wife @psychicskulldamage @divine-gallavich @very-sleepy-head @deathclassic @celestialmickey @depressedstressedlemonzest @suchagallabitch @bekkachaos @ianandmickeygallavich @milkoviched @grumpymickmilk @gallavichgeek @annatrow @sisitrip @lalazeewrites @imikhailotakeyouian @look-i-love-u @suzy-queued @y0itsbri @mishervellous @filorux @jomilky @auds-and-evens @xninetiestrendx @beebabycastiel @bravemikhailo @arrowflier @shameless-notashamed @adakechi @skies-below @takeyourpillsbitchh @mikcrymilkovich @tsuga-of-mars @ardent-fox @you-show-me-love @wehangout

#tag game #artist interview

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deathsmallcaps · 9 months

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Just something I’m writing, it’s very very first draft. Not looking for feedback until I actually finish the first draft

Once, upon a time, there was the knight family Rowland. Being friends of Merlin before he passesd, they made powerful enemies, one being a fae king, who wish to become a father.

The prince had long ago lost his wife. Despite his best efforts afterward, and many willing participants, purely Fae couples were rarely fruitful, and most human women knew better than to court the Fae by the time Christianity reached the British Isles. As such he had sired none, and would Fae couple that had children with fight heaven and earth, rather than give up their children. Anyone who were somehow orphaned, went straight to the next of kin. So he had to resort to other means, when it became immediately necessary that an heir appeared.

When the father Rowland, trapped in slew the Ixrunian king and queen, and announced his name in a victorious scream, the prince – turned – new – king saw an opportunity. Fae magic cannot be direct nor placed without cause – enchantments may be laid upon weapons, healing spells infused with potions, and curses must have specific conditions. And here was a good chance for in an advantageous faegild.

So when the king merely said,

“Not thou, but thine children-kin,

Take thrice a Widdershins spin, about thine holy father’s house,

mine attention they shall rouse. Possession, thine child I win,

And in tears thine heart will souse.”

The father took it as a stroke of luck – all he needed to do was stop his children from going around the church counter clockwise? Not a bad deal as far as Fae curses went.

Of course, that was when his daughter, youngest of four, finished her third lap around the church.

The king, grinning toothily at the poorly timed relief on the human’s face disappeared, and grabbed the child just before she fell into the sudden in crack in the earth that led to Faerie.

Being unable to open the doorway, and not knowing of any of the various caves that also lead to Faerie, the father sent his sons in after her. Confidently, he sent Alric. Sorrowfully he sent Bertram. And though he disallowed the boy, Childe, he snuck out and followed soon after.

Buy some stroke of luck, Childe manage to rescue his brothers and sister, and they made it back to the human world.

The family took many pains to avoid making the same mistake, for they knew not if the cursed still stood.

But as with most things, the story was partially forgotten, and the rest passed into legend. If someone pointed out to a Roland, for the line persisted across the world, that their name matched that of a famous epic, they at most chuckled and moved on. Only by sheer luck did none pass counter-clockwise about a church for many centuries.

Until one did.

And Ek knew none of this.

——

It started out a nice day for Ek. There was only one idiot on the road to his summer job today, and he passed through the metal detector without issue (yesterday he forgot to take his belt buckle off).

This was what his friends called, “a layup job” - it was relatively easy, until it wasn’t. He manned the ‘Lost Families’ yard at the waterpark. Very few children or parents approached him, and the security guards only bought a child over if the parent proved difficult to find, and they had other issues to attend to. Mostly, he copied descriptions of the missing persons from the walkie-talkie, and kept an eye out for them, and between reading the book he brought, or writing, or drawing.

If a child did come, his job was to keep them safe and busy until the parent was found. But they were only stayed for long. His record for the summer was six kids out of 20 lost in a day being brought over.

Basically, he worked 11 to 7, and was mostly bored. He was pretty sure his job existed mostly for insurance purposes.

Sitting at a picnic table all day was hard work, so Ed regularly got up and stretched. He got a few stares from the dining area that was nearby. He supposed a random employee standing in a roped off yard not doing much was entertaining – but it was necessary.

His doctor had recommended not working or doing only light work in an air-conditioned area from the weeks after top surgery, so Ed figured this was sort of fell under the recommended activity. He was paid well and stayed out of the sun, so could he really complain? (Maybe a little bit. The surgery had been expensive.)

But in any case, he was doing light stretches to make sure his scars didn’t get stiff, when he noticed a toddler running around unattended.

The little girl couldn’t have been more than 1 1/2, and she was having a grand old time, the soft, dark waves of her ponytail bouncing as she chased a butterfly around the multi denominational prayer pavilion, which the park also had for an insurance purposes. Sometimes it was used as a rain shelter.

As far as Ed knew, it wasn’t time for prayer for any religion yet, and the pavilion was empty. ‘This kid is definitely lost.‘ He thought, a little grumpy but mostly worried. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and made his way over.

The little girl took no notice of Ek, and he was not legally permitted to touch her, besides holding her hand, so he called out to her, “Hey little one, are you OK? Where are your parents?”

She tossed a glance at him, as if she knew some of those words, but they were ultimately meaningless. She kept running.

He studied her for a moment. The girl looked like she was maybe Lao like him, probably mixed or something. She had a white cotton string around her wrist - a good sign she was Lao - so he tried again, and the only other language he knew. It sucked when he got children that didn’t know any of the languages he knew. It was hard to make them feel better. He crossed his fingers.

“Hey little one, are you okay?” He said in Lao, just as she came around the bend.

She stopped! The butterfly stopped too, surprisingly enough.

“Hi! My name is Ek. Do you know where your parents are? He asked, encouraged.

She nodded, and took a step forward when the butterfly fluttered frenetically around her head, now the one to chase her.

“Can you show me where they are?” he reached for her hand.

She nodded again, her dark little eyes looking shyly up at him through those long lashes babies always seem to have. From here, Ed could smell the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo.

She stepped forward, but then shrieked.

Three things happen then, in the space a few seconds, much to add her. First, the butterfly landed on her shoulder.

Second, the butterfly made these horrible crunching and flashy sounds, as it turned from a walnut and cream colored butterfly to a walnut and cream colored hand. Then outgrew an arm, and then a body, and finally a smiling face with a shot of black and white hair, like he belong to an 80s rock band.

Some distant and stupid part of Ek thought, ‘He’s hot!’

Third, the hand that remain on the little girl shoulder pulled her close to the body. The earth opened up behind the two, and they fell in. The Earth closed up behind them.

All that in a couple seconds.

Ek’s first thought was, ‘I am SO fired.’ How could he, the guy in charge of Lost Families, lose a child? Then he realized what he had seen was impossible. And who would believe him? If the parents reported her missing, and they didn’t find her until the end of the day, cameras would show him losing her. And what was the camera show? Him, reaching out to touch their child, their baby – and her disappearing?

He was panicking. ’Who would believe me? Mom would, maybe. Maetu definitely would. She still prays to see and stuff. But –‘

His train of thought broke off. His grandmother would totally believe him! Ek hurried over to his yard, and dialed his grandmother, hoping his boss wouldn’t catch him using his phone.

“Maetu?” he asked as soon as the phone stopped ringing.

Hello? Who is it?“ asked his grandmother, his Maetu, in Lao.

It’s Ek. Your youngest grandson. Sorry to bother you, but –“

“Oh! Ek! I was just talking to your auntie! Did you know that your cousin, Kathy, just got-“

“Maetu,” Ek interrupted, wincing, “It’s an emergency. I need your help.”

He could practically hear Maetu frown through the phone. But she must’ve been in a good mood, or maybe recognized the desperation in his voice, because she merely said, “Oh?”

He explained the situation.

Maetu was silent for a good long moment, then really said, “Let me talk to the Mor Phan.” The shaman. She hung up

Ek panicked some more, digging his nail in to some of his pencils until the paint cracked. When the phone finally rang again, he fumbled, and nearly dropped it in his all his nervousness.

“Maetu! What did the Mor Phan say? Is there anything I can do?“

Clearly irritated, Maetu let him suffer for a moment of silence, but some maternal instinct for the danger of the situation must have won out, for she explained that the Mor Phan suggested that he feed the local phi – perform Liang Phi – and ask for more information, and maybe for a way to save that little girl. “Shaman Sengphet will pray for you and the little girl.“ Her voice softened. “Call me when you’re done with all this. And be safe!” Once again, she hung up first

#original fiction #childe Rowland chantha rasphone

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nothwell · 2 years

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Thank you to Sailorstkwrning at Tartsweet for this thoughtful review of my gay Victorian fae romance Oak King Holly King!

It has been so long since I bought this one that I actually don’t remember why I picked it up, other than I am always a sucker for a good shifter romance. (My assigned theme for this month was “animals” and I’m going to say two characters named after birds one of whom IS a bird is, uh. close enough.) Anyway – love a shifter romance, also love a historical romance, historical + shifter + supernatural shenanigans = autobuy, for me. Also the cover is beautiful.

Shrike is a fae on a mission, and that mission is to not die in combat at the solstice. He also has to (re)learn how to navigate the mortal world in order to get Wren to help him with not-dying on the Solstice, and learn how to be both a lover and a true partner to Wren. And he’s helping Wren solve a mortal mystery. I think what I liked best about Shrike was that his POV always felt . . . a little alien, for a lack of a better term, but still suffused with love and kindness and respect for Wren and his baffling-to-Shrike boundaries.

Wren is a man pulled between two worlds and deeply anxious in both of them. His reasonably orderly (though muted) life gets absolutely upended when Shrike shows up, and then thoroughly flipped over when his potentially scandalous drawings, and then his employer’s disreputable ward, both disappear. Wren also has to learn to be loved, and to be brave, and to live, not just exist.

This book had all of the things I enjoy in a historical supernatural shifter romance: Fae, the Wild Hunt, hilariously indignant Victorians, rich and lyrical description, a twisty-turvy mystery, and a period-accurate trans character (who is not of of the MCs) who gets a happy ending. Also all the baddies get what is coming to them. It’s a delicious puff pastry of escapism.

The one thing that I found jarring is also a MASSIVE spoiler, but I can say this: I arched both eyebrows but it didn’t ruin the book for me. I just didn’t feel like the characters had done quite enough on-page growing and changing for me to buy the narrative heading in that direction.

Overall I thought it was great, and I’d definitely read this author again. Would recommend it for any and all of your cozy rainy fall/winter reading needs.

Grade: B-

Oak King Holly King is a gay Victorian fae romance, available now wherever fine books are found!

Amazon • Apple Books • Barnes & Noble • Bookshop.org • Kobo • Overdrive • Smashwords

#fae #fantasy #cottagecore #historical fantasy #fae romance #fantasy romance #gay romance #mm romance #queer romance #oak king holly king #sebastian nothwell #kind words

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luna-crow · 1 year

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Fool’s Bargain | Luna & Cillain

Neve had feared this moment would come. But to have it occur at the biggest soiree of the new year, under the eyes of King Oberon and his menacing court brought a new type of terror.

It had started with a single finger. Neve had reached for an oyster from a passing tray, mouth watering at the sight of the delicate pink of the meat sitting atop an iridescent shell the size of her fist. But, just as quickly her hand recoiled in horror. Her pinky finger was the color of teak with a nail bitten down to the point of bleeding, while the rest of her well-groomed hand was so pale each blue vein was visible through the skin. Neve’s eyes darted around her, paranoia flooding her senses. Curling her hand into a fist that hid her right pinky from view, she ducked into the crowd and headed towards the doors to the gardens. She tried her best to keep her breath steady and her steps light, even as she felt bile rising in her throat.

Did any part of her looking different? Had anyone noticed? Neve dared not make eye contact with any of the extravagantly dressed fae that packed the ballroom, for fear of drawing anyone’s gaze. This was only the beginning, she knew. These days just about every time she took Luna’s form, or reverted back to her own, it was agony. And each time it grew harder to keep it on all day. Every morning she felt as though she were being torn in two, muffling the sounds of her screams with a silk covered pillow. Nosebleeds came more and more frequently, and the dull ache in her bones never faded. Neve was dabbling in magic far out of her skillset. But, she knew a mere glamour to look like Luna would not fool the most skilled spellcasters in the room. Taking Luna’s form for long periods of time required true magic, the kind only the most talented of spellcasters could uphold. And it was probably killing her.

It was surely on a matter of minutes before the bones beneath Neve’s skin began to ripple, break and reform as they did each day. She had little faith she could hold back the screams this time, even under this kind of duress. Neve could feel her hold on her magic reaching it’s limits, her control of it growing so taut that it threatened to snap. Could she make it to her chambers in the castle before she looked more Neve than Luna? Her heart sank at the thought of the maze of hallways it would take. It was too risky. Better to distance herself from the eyes of any passing courtier or servant.

It was just as Luna reached the threshold of the door that she felt the first ripple. A whimper escaped her lips as the bones of her arm began to lengthen, unnaturally stretching the skin under the sleeve of her gown. Her steps hurried as she walked out into the mercifully dark royal gardens, nothing but the moon’s glow offering any scant light. This was the place that most nobles went at these sort of gatherings when they didn’t want to be seen. Sure, this was usually due to actions of a more carnal or blatantly illegal nature than this. But, it would have to do.

Had anyone followed her out, Neve would likely not have noticed. The pounding in her ears and eyes full of terrified tears obscured her sense. The many goblets of mead she had downed were likely of little help either. All she could think of was getting as far away from the revelry as possible.

@cillianokeefe

#fools bargain #para #cillian o'keefe #cillianokeefe

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pearblossommina · 1 year

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ToG Read-a-Long, Crown of Midnight, Day 7

Kaltain got taken away, and married to the duke, I’ll miss you baby, I hope you and he work out. At least you can see the sky again. I’m not sure what Celaena is implying by drawing a connection between Roland, Cain, and Kaltain, does she think that King Whatever plopped portions of Wyrdkeys into them? Or… what?

And is the Ah! Time’s Rift! Riddle actually an anagram?!? I TRIED SO HARD to decode it, lol, but I’m pretty bad at anagrams. It just seemed like the kind of sentence that was rearranged to make an anagram, though.

Here, lemme try again

“The fair mist” or maybe “the first aim”

I am

So bad at this

Oh my god 😂

You could hide something forever from me by giving me an anagram, I feel like I NEVER would have gotten that

BUT that poem also spelled it out, Celaena. We knew it was in the tomb. The king knew. The door knew. Everybody knew. Lol.

So Dorian is only magical because his dad made it so that he would be… that was a surprisingly thoughtful thing for Dorian’s dad to do. And kinda out of character, honestly, but maybe he’s hoping that Dorian will follow in his evil footsteps.

I like that the ghost of King Gavin is like wake up boy go stop Celaena she’s all mad with grief

Oh my God 😭

I never thought I’d see you again, Nehemia!

Can you kiss

Can you hold hands

Just one last time!

“I knew what my fate was to be and I embraced it. I ran toward it.”

Girl. You died so violently, lol. How. How could you run toward THAT end.

Hello Archer, wow, that’s really random, I wasn’t expecting to see YOU here…

Um!

This fucking guy was the murderer all along! Archer how could you! I liked you!

Dorian and Chaol to the rescue

Best friends

It seems like they’re making up at last

INTENSE INTENSITY

HOLY SHIT

FLEETFOOT

CHAOL

whaaaa, that reveal tho

Was she fae this whole time? How did she disguise herself? How did she get to the human realm? Is she trapped there, since there’s no magic? Or did stepping through the portal cause her to transform kinda like being dunked into a cauldron?

(Is the faerie realm just the human realm, or are they separate realms?)

(Glancing at the map)

(Guys I’m excited)

(I’d much rather read about fae and faeries, I was under the impression these books were about fae and faeries and was so shocked when I started reading and was like huh???)

(Anyway. FINALLY! this is such a thrill)

(I DO NOT WANT TO STOP READING)

(That dog better be ok or my sanity is going to crumble)

That was quite a fun ride!

I feel like it’s impossible to stop reading right now especially with how it feels like there’s hardly any book left.

No promises that I won’t just read the rest right now

(I’m gonna go eat lunch first)

(The end of SJM books are always very intense and entertaining and hard to put down)

#tog read along 2023 #crown of midnight

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fancy-feast-official · 11 months

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bored so i'm gonna make a master list of all my ocs with descriptions lol. see the readmore for uh... more! (and please read the tags as there are some triggering implications in some oc descriptions)

bellatrice lane

this story was created by @flareboi! you can see more stuff about it on our shared toyhouse here

elias the witch age: (physical) 25, (actual) 255 pronouns: he/him (trans) born in colonial new england, and moved to what would later become new mexico during the revolution. does not know what the united states are.

adachi haru age: (physical) 34, (actual) 148 pronouns: he/him (cis) trained samurai, born in korea but lived in mexico city after his mother died. moved to new mexico shortly before his death.

zeyna la cour age: (physical) 42, (actual) 133 pronouns: she/her (cis) one of the three fortune tellers, took care of pumpkin while she was living in the circus

sybil clutterbuck age: (physical) 27, (actual) 127 pronouns: she/her (cis) an acrobat with terrible body dysmorphia. her ghost form manifests with many wings that she uses to cover her face and body (@mosseatermyla recently drew a wonderful drawing of her, which is the third image in this post!!)

jeanie birdwhistle age: (physical) 35, (actual) 124 pronouns: she/her (cis) mother of 5 (iirc), including the former contortionist of the circus. she was also a fortune teller at one point, after zeyna and pumpkin

felix levine age: (physical) 30, (actual) 109 pronouns: he/him (in a 100% genderqueer way) animal tamer and catboy, friends with sybil and didi/maxime as well as @fetts-macaroni-art's oc casper.

"pumpkin" age: (physical) 15, (actual) 106 pronouns: she/her (later switches to they/them) the youngest part of the fortune teller, former runaway who experienced true prophetic visions.

brindille "didi" auclair / maxime auclair age: (physical) 25, (actual) 102 pronouns: originally she/her but eventually he/him jeanie's second youngest child and the former contortionist. their unfinished business is egg-cracking.

théo birdwhistle age: (physical) 37, (actual) 100 pronouns: he/him (cis) jeanie's youngest, died in a car accident with his fiancé, claude, and got trapped in the attic of the house. initially unaware that any of his family members are ghosts.

claude shepherd age: (physical) 35, (actual) 98 pronouns: he/him (cis) théo's fiancé and local garden ghost. he looks like a gnome and always has plants growing on him.

phillip mclellan age: (physical) 19, (actual) 56 pronouns: he/him (genderqueer) former member of a cult in a town next to hapsville, where bellatrice lane takes place. had his own soul exorcised from his body and sent to hell, and he spent almost forty years fighting his way back out, before digging himself out of his own grave. basically possessing his own body, which has been mysteriously frozen in time.

damien lioncourt age: 15 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: vampire he is not aware that he's a vampire. just thinks that he's allergic to garlic and easily sunburnt (this is despite the fact that the rest of his family knows they're all vampires. they just... forgot to tell damien)

f.a.e. (for all eternity)

more information can be seen on the fae website here!

his majesty fechin dune of the dappled forest age: 25 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: seelie fae has a tumblr: @ask-fechin. king of his kingdom, and very very homosexual (married to @reedsaloser's oc knox affean, prince of naranthia)

veronica hippotigris age: 24 pronouns: she/they species: elf courting knox's adopted sibling rowan (who is fechin's half-brother... weird). loves violin.

zemenu/zamir pirags age: 21 pronouns: she/he (genderfluid but doesn't realize till she starts dressing as a man to hide that her partner is gay) species: seelie fae personal bodyguard and best friend of prince oberon fournier of finapor, an island kingdom near naranthia and the dappled forest.

silas waylen age: 18 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: seelie fae son of a disgraced noblewoman from the dappled forest, he's spent his entire life in finapor. twin of siana, and deeply autistic.

siana waylen age: 18 pronouns: she/her (cis) species: seelie fae daughter of a disgraced noblewoman and twin sister of silas. more adhd than autistic, and also missing an arm.

fish cardiff age: 20 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: human technically a witch, but he doesn't like to make that known. son of queen chrysanthemum's (fechin's mother's) first human pet, anton. he lives in the forest between his village and the dappled forest kingdom.

moon woo-yeong age: 19 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: unseelie fae the crown prince of the underdark kingdom of elysium, and one of the two survivors of a terrible carriage accident that killed his father and older sister. he has the power to see auras

myung jong-woo age: 15 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: unseelie fae the younger maternal cousin of the crown prince, and the older son of the head monk of the country's religion. because he didn't inherit the family power of seeing auras, he was passed over for inheriting his father's title in favor of his younger brother, sang-hoon, who he bullies relentlessly.

the house

pavel volkov age: 120 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: witch owns a magickal house with a mind of its own

duncan farwell age: 119 pronouns: he/him (cis) species: specialized human subject of a series of experiements which resulted in him being able to control synthetic magick

lowell cotreau age: 120 pronouns: he/they species: human magick experimenter who accidentally sent himself to the faerie realm, connecting the story of the house to fae. became the last human pet of queen chrysanthemum.

maisy osse age: 20 pronouns: they/them species: half-giant pavel's apprentice and literally the tallest motherfucker you'll ever meet. they have three eyes and my entire heart <3

#arlo's oc tag #for all eternity #fae #bellatrice lane #the house #implied death #implied child death #putting those there just in case lol #religious trauma #buried alive #fictional death #fictional child death

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