#forest glen woods

[kodachrome-net]

Winter scene, Forest Glen Woods, Chicago, January 6, 2024

#winter #black and white #black and white photography #original photography #photograpers on tumblr #chicago river #north branch #forest preserves #woods #january #snow #google pixel 3a #bruce sharp #2024 #forest glen woods #labagh woods

[whore-ibly-hot]

"A Servant and His King."

Yandere!Fae-King x Fae!servant x. Fem! Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Dub-con, perverted thoughts, obsession, coercion, fae related hijinks, basically monster fucking, oral (fem receiving), loss of virginity, clit play, p-in-v sex, power dynamics.

(A/N): Part two to a non-smutnfic about Puck, based off of puck from 'Midsummer Nights Dream'. Can be read with or standalone.

Part one (not required to understand)

A brief gust of wind and leaves rattles the shutters of your small cottages window, not sounding out of place when mixed with the usual sounds of the forest. However, the gust turns softer as it gently brushes against the shutters, causing them to open slowly with a creak.

A pair of feet land nimbly upon the wooden dresser across the room from your bed, a shadowy figure squatting down with a grin. The figure hops down, making its way to your bed, where you sleeping form lies blissfully unaware of the intruder.

Groaning, you are soon roused from your slumber by a light pressure on your wrist, and your eyes flutter open. You gasp, seeing the being before you and trying to pull away. "

"W-who are you! Stay awa-" a finger is pressed softly to your lips, the figures face coming into view as the lean forward. Forest green eyes and a set of familiar pearly whites greet you.

"Shh! No need to fear, only Puck is here." He coos, kissing your wrist once more, pressing the soft flesh to his lips. "Sorry to frighten you, little mortal. I would never mean to upset you, but I couldn't very waltz in through the entrance to your humble abode, especially given your mother's feelings about my kind." He lays his lithe body across yours, head on your chest as he looks at you with glee.

"Why are you here, Puck? It's late, I must rest." You say, though you don't resist the fae boys touching. "Sleep is important for humans."

He scoffs. "I know, but I have something more important than your human need for sleep. My king, Oberon, leader of the seelie court wishes to meet you." He pulls you up by your shoulders, a hand fixing your nightgown which begins to slip from your shoulder.

"T-the king?" You're just a human woman, a peasant. You've never even met a human noble, much less a faery king. "Why? Puck, I'm not, I can't! Now? I'm not dressed properly, I'm a human, I-"

Once again, a finger is placed against your lips. Invading your space as per usual, Pucks forehead is pressed against your forehead, nose to nose. "Shush, little mortal. Please, the king loves me. I am his jester-servant, his beloved Puck! We've shared many a-" he chuckles. "Amourous night together. He knows if your good enough for me, then your good enough to meet him. Don't discredit yourself, you are so much more than some mortal maid I take in the woods for a night of passion." He makes her sit up, and tries to slip her out of the bed. "He'll love you, my sweet. It's only proper I introduce my new beloved friend to my closest companion, ruler, and my king." You allow him to pull you out of your bed, and into his lanky form.

"Mmph, Puck. I can walk." You groan, trying to wriggle from his grasp. He tsks with his tongue, and shakes his head.

"No, no, no. Don't whine, don't go away. Be good. It's a long stroll all the way to the spring we're going to, just relax." He cackles. "You humans are so indecisive. Just a moment ago you were whining, 'Puck, no. It's too late, I'm a human, I need my sleep.', now you won't let me carry your frail, tired self to see the king. Make up your mind."

You roll your eyes, but suppose he has a point, and allow yourself to melt into his warm embrace, shoulders flush against his pecs.

As he slips back through the window and dances through the glen, weaving through trees and brush like a gust of cool night air, he soon arrives upon a clearing. Smooth rock reflect moonlight, as the water resting atop them comes from the babbling freshwater spring that rests at the edge of the rocks. A figure, imposing and much more muscular than Puck's is sat on one of the rocks, admiring the water.

Puck gently sets you down with nimble hands, kissing your ear lightly. This causes you to squeak and push him off.

"Stop it, Puck! I-im about to meet a king and your acting like we're lovers! Like your an enamored schoolboy!" You exclaim, and his hands only wrap around your waist from behind, playing with the cloth there.

"And here I thought we were lovers..." He feigns a sad face and a pout, before jolting forward and taking you with him by the waist. "My king!" He yells.

The imposing figure looks over, causing you to freeze, mind not really in synch with body as Puck drags you forward. The king is truly a thing of beauty, rugged and piercing as if he were carved, not from stone, but from the wood that made up the forest which he called his domain. He wears a fur pelt around his waist, covering his only upper thigh and not leaving much to the imagination. His is decidedly hairy, and though beautiful is as rugged as a human man of the woods is expected to be. He has dark curls of hair not unsimilar to Puck's, but not as long. His eyes are a deep brown.

"Ah, Puck, my fair servant friend. I was almost afraid you had planned to trick me, having not shown yet." The king muses, legs spread casually and a hand resting against his chin.

Puck gasps, hand to his chest as if hurt. "Never, my liege. Well, at least not to you." Puck coos, sitting on the rock and curling up to the man's calve. The king runs his hands through the curls of the fae man, and you are taken aback by the sensuality of their interaction.

The king looks up. "And you, little mortal, must be my Pucks new favorite thing, hmm?" He asks, head tilted. You nod nervously as the man waves you closer. You bow, and he grins. "Good, good. I assume she knows who I am then? I am King Oberon, of this enchanted woods and over all of the seelie court. Though, my servant here told me you knew little to nothing of our people when asked you about us, so I doubt you'd know what the seelie court is."

You shake your head. "No, sir. All I know-" you glance at Puck, who is practically purring at his kings touch. "All I know is what Puck has told me. That you are powerful, and to be respected."

Oberon grins at this. "That is all you need know. Come here, allow a king to gaze upon you." His hands begin to wander, cupping your face. His large fingers prod your plump lips, your cheeks, and tilts your chin downwards to look at him from where he is sat. Then, the hand is on your shoulder, playing with the straps of your upper garment, then at your chest. This sudden touch in such an intimate place causes you to jolt back. Oberon raises a brow.

"I'm sorry, sir. That is, that is just a very intimate place for humans. It's for sensual matters, when between two adults." You try to explain. Puck sighs, leaning his head on Oberons knee while the king chuckles.

"I am aware. It is intimate and sensual for fae too. That is why you were being touched there." He says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Now, you are only more confused.

"Well, intimacy of those matters between humans happens between a-a married couple, and even then, it should not be openly discussed. A woman like myself couldn't, shouldn't ever bee with a stranger like that, not even a suitor before marriage!"

"I have heard humans are... less indulgent in the passions of life than fae. All those awful, boring rules. And yet you kill your leaders and revolt because your miserable? Perhaps. Eing unable to express those urges is why." He laughs, and Puck joins in. He sense your confusion and continues. "Fae do not believing in brief enjoyment and indulgence. We live life to the fullest. Our liquor is stronger yet we drink more, our food is richer, yet we all eat like kings. And most of all, we indulge in the passions of the flesh with each other more than your little mind could take. I think if you had the opportunity, you'd see it was the best way to live." He muses.

To your suprise, he suddenly moves Puck up from his calve to his lap, holding the thin man by the waist as Puck grins wickedly. "You see, me and my servant here are close, emotionally and physically. We have enjoyed many a night of passion, without the watchful eye of my queen, of course." There is some bitterness in Oberon's tone at the mention of his queen.

"You... you indulge in passion with those, of the same gender as you, o-often?" You ask. It is not wrong, you are just so suprised and curious. You are not even supposed to think about a man pleasing a woman, let alone a man and another man. It is such a foreign idea.

"Mhmm. Being a king is hard for his majesty, and Puck... I, am happy to help him with his desires. My king cares for me, and I care for him." Puck says, before gasping and cutting off. You blush, seeing Oberons hand has slipped below Pucks leafy loincloth, hand stroking Puck manhood. He focuses only on the tip for now.

"I am suprised seeing as you are so shocked by how touchy and sensual fae are, seeing as you bedded my dear servant." Oberon says, and you immediately shake your head.

"No! I've never, me and Puck did nothing together. We drank a little, but he took me home." You exclaim, and look st Ouck for answers. He's too busy letting out soft whimpers and moans as Oberon moves his hand the full length of Pucks cock, paying attention to his bulbous tip.

"Is this true, Puck? I find it hard to believe, my servant can't keep his hands to himself. I suppose this makes you seem even more special to me, that my Puck would wish to see you again so desperately, and rave about you to me even if he had not bedded you yet. That begs the question though..." He leans in to Puck's ear. "Why did you lie to your king?"

Puck groans, brows furrowing. "M' sorry, your majesty! I knew you were so busy, and if I told you I had found a mortal capable of giving such incredible pleasure, you'd be more likely to come and see what a treasure I had found." He stammers. The king shakes his head, slowing his movements on Puck's cock.

"You know better than to lie to a king with a temper, Puck."

Puck cries out, bucking his hips and trying to chase that friction against his kings rough hands. "N-no sir! Trust me, I know if she'd just indulge, the mortal would be wonderful! She... she could be our mortal, not just mine! Please sir, I'll be good, she'll be good, don't stop." He begs.

Oberon sighs, still frowning in Pucks direction but intrigued nonetheless. "Alright, mortal girl. I yell you, if you would only let go, indulge just a bit in the pleasures of the fae, you would live a better life overall. And, should you please a king of the woods, perhaps your... what is it your mother does? Herbs? Perhaps they would see a better yield. An enchantment perhaps?" He offers.

You gulp, body hot with both arousal at the sight before you and anxiety. "I couldn't. What would the people in town think, I-I would be outcast!"

"Who would know? Even if someone were to find out, no one would believe a quiet gardeners daughter slept with a wicked spirit." The king teases, tongue poking out from between his lips slightly. He pulls you to him, and you offer no resistance. "For an untouched maiden, I assure you there is no one better to introduce you to a world of pleasure than the king, and his most loyal servant."

As he says this, the moaning Puck latches his lips onto your neck, continuing to moan as he sucks the soft flesh. You gasp.

"Oh, oh, gods." You squeak, the sensitive skin of your nape never having been touched, much less kissed in such a way.

"No gods, here, mortal. No angels or demons, only fae. Only the spirits of nature." He leans into your ear, kissing the shell. "Only your king."

Soon, a rough hand gets your skirt pooled around your knees, kneading the fat of your thigh and preparing to spread your legs and allow the fae king and his srmervant a view of the untouched treasure that lies there. You shiver as the cold air brushes across your stomach, you've never felt so exposed.

"See, highness? I told you, she's the perfect, pretty little mortal. Tease her, please? For me? I want to see her face as she experiences pleasure for the first time." Puck begs.

Oberon raises a brow and the request. "Such demands from a liar who has already been granted mercy, and is still being pleasure bu the hands of a king." He pulls his hand from Ouck's cock, causing tears to well in the edged faes eyes, having been denied his release.

"Majesty-"

"Enough. I will allow you to tease and prep the maiden, so she may except you king. Before you say anything, be grateful I don't only allow you to watch, or send you home." Puck whines, but grins a little inside. He knows the king enjoys his presence to much to remove him from this sensual scene.

Oberons large hands keep your shoulders flat against the warm stones of the spring, while Puck, still hard beneath his tented loincloth, crawls unceremoniously up between your thighs.

"What are you doing, Puck?" You whisper out softly, looking into his dazzling green eyes. He smiles warmly, pressing his cheek to one of your thighs.

"I assure you, maiden, my wicked tongue is not only good for japes and jabs." He coos. You are still confused at what he could mean, until the two thin fingers parting your folds are replaced with a hot, wet muscle. Puck licks a stripe teasingly up your center, savoring the flavour but eyes never leaving your face.

Oberon smiles down as he watches your face contort and wrinkle at the new sensation.

"Puck, y-your majesty, what is- oh, what is he doing?" You ask, trying to form a coherent sentence at the odd feeling of pressure and friction against both your clit and your entrance as Puck explores your folds.

"It's called cunnilingus, maiden. Fae have many ways to pleasure each other, but many enjoys the feel of one's mouth on their most intimate areas." He chuckles as he watches Puck tasting you curiously. "Sometimes, I find filling his mouth is the only way to quiet him." Puck giggles, and the vibrations make your legs quake.

Soon, the muscle invades your entrance, as Puck is now groaning almost as much as you. It's a gentle stretch, but both Ouck and Oberon know it will be necessary for what the king is to do later. Your aroused and needy clit is not forgotten by the fae pleasuring you, as a free hand comes to tweak it gently. The feeling is overwhelming, and soon, that knot inside you snaps, and you feel a high you've never known. It feels as though currents, waves run through your body as your maidenhood spasms around Pucks tongue.

He removes it, but continues to lap at your spent clit, tasting the juices of your climax. Oberon smiles.

"Was he good, maiden? Did you first touch by a man satisfy?" He asks. You can only weakly nod. "Ah, answer, maiden. Your being addressed by a royal."

"It was... it was very good, m-majesty." You gasp out. You look away at the sheer lewdness of the sight and Oberon crashes his lips to Pucks so that he may taste you on his servants lips.

"She was a divine nectar, my liege." Puck groans, pulling away from the kiss and now trading spots with his king. Now Puck lays by your shoulders, playing with your locks and kissing your neck and jawline while Oberon moves into place.

His chisled body places itself atop you, his sheer size dwarfing you and removing the moonlight from your body, casting a large shadow. You gulp.

"I... I've never done-" he chuckles, cutting you off.

"I'm aware, mortal. All that talk of purity led me to that conclusion. But, you won't be that innocent for long. I will be gentle, but it will hurt at first when you accept me into your sweet cunt. It's all part of the process."

You tense a little at the feeling of something hard, much more rigid than Pucks limp tongue, prodding at your entrance and folds.

"M' scared." You admit. This seems to soften the sensual yet cold king, and he sighs. Even Puck gives him a sad, wide eyes look. He leans down.

"Don't worry, mortal. I will be as gentle as any man has been with a woman. My Puck was never one to be nervous, but I have had lovers in the past who were. I will take care of you." He says.

Puck holds your hand and nuzzles his cheek to yours to provide a semblance of comfort. "It's true. The king is a fair and gentle lover when he wants to be. Don't worry, my friend." He assures.

Oberon strokes your thighs to relax soon, and soon the tip enters your weeping slit. You whine, the intrusion burns a little, especially as he adds a few inches every so often. But, he is slow, and talks you through it.

"Shh, it's alright. Your taking me so well, especially since I am endowed with more than some. Such a good mortal girl, it will feel good once you've stretched to accommodate a fae's cock." He coos.

As he begins to gently thrust, the slightly pain gives way to a burning pleasure. You whimper, his thrusts rocking your ads back against the stone of the spring. His large, curved tip is hitting the right spots, cervix getting pounded by the large man of the forest.

"O-oh, shit! Oberon, please- please, m-more! I need all, all of you in me!" You cry, and he chuckles.

"That's your womb speaking. This is your first time, you couldn't possibly accommodate all of me. But I will give you what I think, ugh, what I think you can take." He thursts become rhythmic, rolling in and out of your stretched tunnel, as Puck holds you steady and plays gently with your chest.

Oberon humps against you a few more times, moaning at Pucks encouragement. "She is so close, sire. I can tell, she's all tense and red, come on! Give it to her, let her take you. Please." It's clear Puck is still needy from not having gotten his release earlier. Still, he seems satisfied watching the king fuck his newest treasure.

"Mortal, mortal. You squeeze like a vice, such a warm, needy cunt. You needed this, to feel such pleasure, didn't you? Needed a cock to fill this cunt?" He moans. "It was fate, wasn't it, Puck? Finding this maiden, all alone. It was fate for you to be brought to us." Puck nods as his master continues.

"Your majesty, I'm gonna- its happening again." You cry, and his pace doesn't slow.

"I know, I know. I'm, fuck-" one last thrust sends the king over the edge. He groans, feeling your tunnel convulse around him as his thick white cum fills you. Puck plants quick, overwhelming kisses across your face as you climax, secretly wondering what you would look like if you bore the king's child.

Soon, Oberon pulls out, and you lay there, trembling and on the verge of sleep. Puck leans down and plants a final kiss upon your lips. He smiles.

"Sleep, little mortal. It's okay, you are safe with me and my king. I'll return you to your bed, pretty one." He strokes your hair softly, until your tired eyes close and stay closes. He sighs, and looks at the king. It's clear he could go for a fee more rounds.

"Majesty, our poor mortal needed this so badly, her body was on fire for it. We can't... we can't well let her go back to her little cottage, all alone in the dangerous wood with no one to please her. She's trusting, and she broke all the rules of interacting with fae so quickly, what if a worse one came along and-"

"Puck!" Oberon exclaims, making the imp jolt and go silent. Oberon sighs. "I am not a fool. I know how much this unique mortal has captivated the two of us. You need not convince me to take her back to my palace. As fair as Titania will be concerned, she is a plaything for you, correct? I will not have her cursing this treasure." Oberons muscular arms cradle your slumbering form.

"Majesty, I know of your endurance. Perhaps when we get back to the palace, while our maiden rests, I may please you." Puck asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Oberon scoffs. "All this acting because I didn't allow you to finish, Puck?" Oberon says, seeing through Pucks facade of goodwill and selflessness. Puck pouts.

"Isn't it tempting, though?"

"Perhaps."

#yandere #yandere oc #tw.yandere #yandere fanfiction #yandere content #tw.dark content #x reader #yandere boy #yandere fae #yandere king #oc Puck #oc Oberon #tw.dubcon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader

[majordemonblockparty]

also, on the subject of sam winchester's two canonical obsessions (serial killers and esoteric podcasts):

wouldn't it be funny if sam and jess met at like. true crime trivia night at their local dive bar. and they get put on the singles team with other people who came without an established trivia team, but it becomes pretty clear pretty quick that they're gonna be the stars of this show.

jess raised on a steady diet of pulp crime paperbacks and crime reporting television, who has all kinds of gory shit rattling around in her head, who can identify what hideous once-in-a-century murder is depicted in grainy grayscale crime scene photos in under thirty seconds, who can quote verbatim from over two dozen ransom notes, who's obsessed with people who disappeared mysteriously, never to be seen or heard from again. and sam, who's been raised... well, who's been raised the way he's been raised.

they get on like a house on fire. (the irony of that is lost on both of them.)

finally, somebody who doesn't think it's weird to have real theory about what happened to the sodder children, none of that sicilian mafia nonsense. someone who can speak intelligently about the prevalence of killings in national parks and protected forests. someone whose eye will snag on headlines like "couple found slain; county sheriff to hold conference today" and "charred corpse still unidentified" and flip through to find whatever column inches have been allotted to the day's worst happenings. someone who can name drop cold cases and milk carton kids like a memorized major league roster -- the boy in the box, the babes in the woods, the lyon girls, the des moines register newspaper boys; angie samota, bobby dunbar, alfred beilhartz, charley ross, dorothy ann distelhurst, everett ruess, glen and bessie hyde, marjorie west.

(jess who's so hyped to show sam an article she found about the twentieth anniversary of a mysterious fire where a young mother died and her two young children vanished, presumably with her husband in the aftermath. "isn't that crazy?" she tells him, brandishing a xerox, all cheshire-cat meet-in-the-back-of-her-head grin. "they had the same last name as you!"

"crazy," sam echos and stares down at the blurry black-and-white photo of a house he barely remembers.)

lifelong true crime junkie jessica moore and lifelong true crime victim sam winchester.

#sam winchester #jessica moore #supernatural headcanon #headcanons & other nonsense #she speaks

[mcflymemes]

FANTASY SETTINGS / LOCATIONS PROMPTS *  fantasy location based prompts for starters, adjust as necessary

[ 01 ] under the shelter of an ancient oak tree in the depths of a dark forest

[ 02 ] a rickety bridge hanging over a massive waterfall

[ 03 ] a tiny village bakery, the shelves stocked with freshly baked goods

[ 04 ] standing beside a massive magical portal. who knows where it might lead?

[ 05 ] the darkest depths of a dragon's lair, gold glittering at your feet

[ 06 ] a vast, empty field with a bright blue sky overhead

[ 07 ] the space between two shelves stuffed with magical tomes and old leatherbound journals

[ 08 ] a rowdy village tavern crowded with drunk, singing patrons

[ 09 ] a winding path in the dark that leads to nowhere

[ 10 ] the crumbling remains of a burnt-out homestead

[ 11 ] another realm, unknown to you, the lights bright enough to blind you

[ 12 ] a tiny tent in the middle of the woods, the fading embers of your campfire still glowing just outside the door

[ 13 ] a tidy apothecary shop crowded with labeled jars and bowls of supplies

[ 14 ] the fiery lair of your mortal enemy

[ 15 ] the hallowed halls of an ancient sanctuary, stone walls covered in vines and light peeking in through cracks in the ceiling

[ 16 ] a civilized throne room, lanterns lit on the walls leading up to the throne itself

[ 17 ] a dewy meadow perfect for a picnic

[ 18 ] a valley packed with tents, knights , and weapons all readying themselves for a major battle

[ 19 ] a bright, snowy glen

[ 20 ] a strange village doused in darkness, the streets teeming with cloaked figures and suspicious individuals

[ 21 ] a chilly cave hidden behind a waterfall

[ 22 ] in the midst of a dangerous battle, bandits attacking from all sides

[ 23 ] at the foot of a massive, venerated shrine, one that's been forgotten by time and worn down with age

[ 24 ] a busy village market, shopkeepers shouting their prices and selling their wares to curious passerby

[ 25 ] a magical greenhouse with glowing plants and precious, healing herbs

#rp prompt #rp meme #rp musings #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #writing prompts #writing prompt #rp asks #askbox meme #ask meme #ask game #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter #sentence starters #sentence starter prompt #location prompts #location memes #fantasy prompts #fantasy memes #memes #mcflymemes

[ivys-garden]

My head cannon endings for all the Hilda cast post finale (Spoilers for season 3)

Astrid

She remains in her home, never moving away. However she makes sure to visit Hilda often, which has become easier now that she's learned to fly again. She also doesn't get to lonely as she invites the Pooka to like with her and helps him practice shape shifting. When she dies she is buried where the fairy mound once was to be closer to her family.

Raven

He travels the world but always returns to Trollburg, on cold winter nights he joins Hilda and her family for tea and games, maybe the yule lads join in too. On his travels he spreads the story on Hilda far and wide even long after she's gone.

Tryla & Baba

They remain at the mountain most days but do ecompany Hilda on adventures during her weekly visit. They still live there long after everyone else is gone, telling tales of Hilda to the next hundreds of generations of trolls.

Anders

He continues living in Trollburg, working on wall and city maintenance with the bellkeeper. He never gets back together with Johana but he does try and be a better dad to Hilda, including taking her on that camping trip.

Johana

Begins selling her paintings to people, she also starts painting things from her and Hilda's adventures, including the Fae Ilse, which she still thinks about often. When she dies Hilda burries her at the fairy mound with Auntie Astrid, but she keeps a lock of her hair in a locket. One day, in the far future when Hilda has finally moved on she hangs that locket at the remains of the cabin.

Tontu

Just keeps doing what he does mostly. Going on adventures with Hilda occasionally but mostly keeping to himself. He remains in the house for a long time, even after Hilda had died.

Alfur

Keeps writing reports for the northern counties but he also begins working with Gerda and the safety patrol, his days are busy but that's how he likes them. When he dies, if elfs even do, he would be given a funeral pyre by the lost clan and Hilda returns to the northern counties to scatter his ashes.

Louise

Would go on many more adventures with the trio and would start to develop a crush on David, one that David would reciprocate. She would eventually become a wildlife photographer.

David

Started researching entomology and now runs an insect focused wildlife centre near the sparrow scout building, enjoying a more peaceful and quiet life than most of his friends. He also assists the linworm in a construction of a new garden on sparrow scout property, sometimes the two of them and Louise have tea together. He was the first to die out of the four and was buried in Trollburgs graveyard, later Louise would be buried with him when she died.

Frida

Finished her training and became a fully fledged witch. She would take over running the Trollburg library from Kaisa after Kaisa was appointed to the witch council. When they were teenagers she and Hilda started dating but they never decided to get married.

Hilda

She still goes on adventures in her teenage years, it wouldn't be Hilda if she didn't. She and Johanna also practised flying with their fae magic. She always makes sure to keep in touch with Astrid and Victoria. She continues to paint and make music and becomes a freelance artist like her mum. Twig also grows big enough to ride when he gets older. She lived in her apartment in Trollburg until her death. She and Frida were buried together at the overgrown remains of the cabin

Woodman

He's still there, deep in the woods. even after everyone else has long since died, perhaps he tells the tales of a mysterious blue haired friend to spirits to the passersby.

Or perhaps he would tell you that if you walk deep enough into the woods, you could find an old forest glen where a cabin once was, and you can speak to her spirit yourself

#hilda the show #hilda the series #hilda netflix #hilda #hilda david #hilda frida #hilda johanna #hilda alfur #hilda twig #hilda tontu #hilda anders #hilda astrid #hilda louise #frilda #louivid

[treeroutes]

what's up ! non-exhaustive list of stories featuring weird plants :

The Day of the Triffids, John Wyndham

The Night of the Triffids, Simon Clark

In the Tall Grass, Stephen King and Joe Hill

The Boats of the 'Glen Carrig', William Hope Hodgson

The Man Whom the Trees Loved, Algernon Blackwood

The Red Tree, Caitlín R. Kiernan

Annihilation, Jeff VanderMeer

The Willows, Algernon Blackwood

The Nature of Balance, Tim Lebbon

'Bloom', John Langan

The Ruins, Scott Smith

The Wise Friend, Ramsey Campbell

'The Green Man of Freetown', The Envious Nothing : A Collection of Literary Ruins, Curtis M. Lawson

The Beauty, Aliya Whiteley

The Ash-Tree, M.R. James

Canavan's Backyard, J.P. Brennan

Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Jack Finney

The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher

'Reaching for Ruins', Crow Shine, Alan Baxter

'Vortex of Horror', Gaylord Sabatini

Hothouse, Brian W. Aldiss

Vaster than Empires and More Slow, Ursula K. Le Guin

Odd Attachment, Ian M. Banks

Deathworld #1, Harry Harrison

The Bridge, John Skipp and Craig Spector

'The Garden of Paris', Eric Williams

Apartment Building E, Malachi King

The Seed from the Sepulchre, Clark Ashton Smith

Rappaccini's Daughter, Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Nursery, Lewis Mallory

The Other Side of the Mountain, Michel Bernanos

The Vegetarian, Han Kang

Sisyphean, Dempow Torishima

The Root Witch, Debra Castaneda

Semiosis, Sue Burke

The Wolf in Winter, Charlie Parker #12, John Connolly

Perennials, Bryce Gibson

Relic, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child

Gwen, in Green, Hugh Zachary

The Voice in the Night, William Hope Hodgson

Ordinary Horror, David Searcy

The Family Tree, Sheri S. Tepper

The Book of Koli, Rampart Trilogy #1, M.R. Carey

Seeders, A.J. Colucci

Concrete Jungle, Brett McBean

The Plant, Stephen King

Anthologies/collections :

The Roots of Evil: Weird Stories of Supernatural Plants, edited by Michel Parry

Chlorophobia: An Eco-Horror Anthology, edited by A.R. Ward

Roots of Evil: Beyond the Secret Life of Plants, edited by Carlos Cassaba

The Green Man: Tales from the Mythic Forest, edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling

Sylvan Dread: Tales of Pastoral Darkness, Richard Gavin

Evil Roots: Killer Tales of the Botanical Gothic, edited by Daisy Butcher

Weird Woods: Tales From the Haunted Forests of Britain, edited by John Miller

'But fungi aren't plants' :

The Fungus, Harry Adam Knight

Growing Things and Other Stories, Paul Tremblay

The Girl with All the Gifts, M.R. Carey

Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Fruiting Bodies, and Other Fungi, Brian Lumley

'The Black Mould', The Age of Decayed Futurity, Mark Samuels

What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher

The House Without a Summer, DeAnna Knippling

Mungwort, James Noll

Fungi, edited by Orrin Grey and Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Trouble with Lichen, John Wyndham

Notes :

all links lead to the goodreads page of the book, mostly because i like to look at book cover art ;

list features authors/books that i love (T. Kingfisher, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Ursula K. Le Guin, the collections from the British Library Tales of the Weird, etc.), but also a few that i don't like and some that i have not yet read ;

if upon seeing that list the first novel you check out is by Stephen King's you have not understood the assignment ;

not all of those are strictly horror stories, some are 100% science fiction (Brian W. Aldiss' Hothouse for instance).

#text #ramblings #plant tag #botanical horror #last time i posted a list of non-fiction books on the topic. time for some variety

[talonabraxas]

Pan the Forest God Johfra Bosschart

In ancient Greek religion and mythology, Pan is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, rustic music and impromptus, and companion of the nymphs. He has the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, in the same manner as a faun or satyr. With his homeland in rustic Arcadia, he is also recognized as the god of fields, groves, wooded glens and often affiliated with sex; because of this, Pan is connected to fertility and the season of spring.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Knight of Dreams.

He pledged to see his father off with a smile. That last wish, he could not fulfill.

This isn’t the happy ending he wanted—open your eyes.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

He wakes to the woods.

Silver automatically recognizes his surroundings. He'd laid out at the base of a great oak, planted right in the center of a lush forest glen. Sunlight filters through the leaves, granting the place an ethereal glow.

A stream threads around a cottage with a roof of straw, shuttered windows open and smiling at him. Where the water rounds at a bend, there's an arched bridge that leads to a path winding up to the cottage. It's picturesque and cozy, an illustration right out of a fairy tale.

It's home.

Silver rubs at his eyes, dispelling the remaining shreds of his drowsiness.

I must have dozed off again. Father must be worried.

He stands, dusting himself off. There's a few blades of grass clinging to his clothes, some petals coming loose. As he runs his hands over fabric, they snag upon something small and hard in the pocket of his pants.

"Huh? What is this...?"

Silver's voice trails off as he fishes out the object. It's a chunky ring in the shape of a crown, which hangs off of a golden chain. Embedded into the ring are many small, clear jewels. In the center is a large gemstone--and when it catches the sunlight, it refracts the colors of the rainbow.

A dull pain starts in the back of his head. He frowns, gently rubbing at the spot to soothe it.

Strange. I don't recall owning something like this. Did I find it lost in the forest?

For reasons unknown to him, the vague image of a smiling man is conjured. The owner? He gropes around in his foggy memories, but comes up with no answer.

Even so, his fingers close protectively around the bauble.

"Silver!"

He looks up, finding his father in the doorway. Lilia wears a shamelessly frilled apron, KISS THE COOK emblazoned upon his chest. The fae happily waves for his son to approach, and his heart melts.

Silver jogs up the path, barely breaking a sweat when he arrives on the porch. "Father."

"Silly boy, you're going to be late for your own birthday party," Lilia teases, lightly booping him on the nose. "Well, come on in! Everything's just about ready."

Silver curiously peers inside. The cottage is clean and neat--a rarity when left alone with his father, though Silver suspects he must have enchanted a broom to do the tidying.

It seems that his father has been hard at work in the kitchen, whipping up many of his... signature dishes which radiate a noxious aura. The most edible looking thing on their tiny dining table is a tiered vanilla cake with 18 candles stabbed into it. It's leaning over, blue frosting dribbling down its sides.

Tucked in one corner of the room is a fine suit on a mannequin, stitched together in shades of pink, blue, and green. Silver raises a brow at his father, who shrugs.

"I couldn't decide on just one color!" Lilia admits.

"You didn't have to go out of your way for all of this."

"Oh, but I wanted to," his father insists, giving him a quick hug. He pulls back, but keeps his hands on Silver's shoulders. "After all, this birthday is a very special one: you're finally considered an adult."

An... adult?

There it is again, that throbbing pain. It comes stronger this time, blinking in and out like a warning light.

Silver grimaces, bringing a hand to his forehead.

Lilia frowns. "Oh dear, are you still half asleep? Maybe you ought to sit down. We can't have you feeling unwell, especially before Malleus and Sebek get here."

"Yes, I think I'll do that," Silver agrees. "I apologize for the trouble. I feel like I haven't been myself lately. Like something is... wrong."

"I didn't realize you were so anxious about aging!" Lilia jokes, steering him over to an open chair. As soon as Silver is safely seated, Lilia goes in for an aggressive ruffle of his hair. "Chin up, m'boy! There is no shame in maturing. Why, I've raised you to be an upstanding young man if I do say so myself! You've got nothing to worry about."

Silver attempts a smile. "Of course."

His clutch on the ring and its chain instinctively tightens.

Lilia notices. "What's that you've got there? You're clenching your fist rather hard."

"Oh, this..." Silver unfurls his fingers. As soon as Lilia lays his eyes upon the piece of jewelry, a shadow passes over his expression, clouding it.

"Where did you find that?" he asks softly. Lilia leans over, a hand hovering, as if preparing to snatch it up. "You weren't supposed to receive this yet. Here, give it back to--"

"NO!!"

Silver says it louder than he means to, startling his father. His body turns from him and toward the ring, intent on guarding it. He doesn't know why--but everything in him is screaming that he must not let it be taken away.

Lilia stops, then shakes his head. "... It's fine. You were going to be gifted it sooner or later."

"You know what it is?" Silver remains alert, still shielding the ring.

"It's your birthday present, from me to you. I've been saving up for quite a while to afford it for you--I wanted it to be a big surprise," Lilia pouts. "Ah, but in the end... I suppose it doesn't matter what the method of delivery is, so long as you're still happy with it."

Silver's brows crease. Something about the comfortable narrative does not quite roll of the tongue smoothly.

A present from his father...

He stares down at the large gem laid in the center of the ring. It's facets twinkle, pink and blue and purple. Just like his eyes.

My... eyes?

A buzzing sound rings in his ears. His father's deep voice rises up through the white noise.

"It must be what your parents wished for. That their child's eyes may remain like this jewel, clear and unclouded... It suits you, Silver."

That is...

Silver sits up straight.

All at once, everything looks different. The world, shifted, and the glowing filter over his lens, gone. This house is not his home, and this man is not his father.

"Hm? Why are you staring at me like that, Silver?" Lilia giggles. "Don't tell me you're daydreaming again."

"... No. No, it's not that."

Silver's eyes flick to the door. It seems so far away.

"I... just remembered something. I forgot to greet the bluebirds." His stomach sinks as he speaks the lie into existence.

"Oh? That's not like you. You're becoming forgetful at age 18!"

Silver nods. "I won't have the time to speak with them once the party begins. May I quickly go to them?"

"Oh my, you're heading out already? So eager to leave the nest."

"... Yes. But please don't worry about me." Silver closes a hand around Lilia's and squeezes. Even if this is all fake, a facsimile, it's still very much the face of his father he is gazing into. He offers reassurance. "I'll be back soon."

"Kufufu. Alright." Lilia squeezes in return. "I'll be waiting then. Don't be late now."

Silver heads for the door.

At the threshold, he looks back one last time. At this, the happy ending crafted for him. A quaint little cottage in the woods, where he would spend the rest of his days with his beloved family.

But it's not what Lilia would have wanted for him. For everyone.

Silver painfully looks away. "Farewell, father. I promise... I will see you again."

Out there. In the real world.

He shuts the door, putting the dream behind him. Silver takes a deep breath.

"Those I've met and will someday... Meet in a Dream."

And then he is gone.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Silver #Lilia Vanrouge #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst countdown #twisted wonderland countdown #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twst scenarios #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst anni #twisted wonderland anni #twst anniversary #twisted wonderland anniversary #I've been dreaming... #book 7 spoilers

[boojangs]

@blackenheartbutterfly @boldlyshamlessfangirl funny that you both mentioned braids.

Wednesday braids Enid's fur, Enid repays the favor 🩷🖤🐺🐦‍⬛

Wednesday sighed quietly as she traversed the Nevermore woods, her eyes continuously tracking toward the massive wolf that dutifully followed along beside her. She glanced up at the full moon above them as they walked over gnarled roots, her breath steaming as it escaped parted lips, dissipating against the bluedark of the midnight sky. She bundled herself in Enid’s coat as she walked, the wolf chuffing quietly as she leaned her head over Wednesday’s shoulder, delicate fingers dancing over the golden fur as she leaned into Enid’s scarred cheek. The wolf stopped walking, rumbling a soft noise as Wednesday easily nodded in agreement, shrugging the bag off her back and pulling a blanket out of her pack, her eyes blinking only once as she regarded her paramour.

Enid chuffed again and moved towards the small clearing they’d made their own, ever since she’d been cleared to shift away from the school’s kennels, their dorm mates complaining of the loud howling, whenever she shifted indoors. Wednesday had offered the forest as a peaceful alternative, the pair escaping into the woods on the far side of the Nevermore grounds, far away from the lupin cages, knowing the other wolves loathed her freedom. Enid led them to this very glen the very first night she’d shifted free of her constraints, had told Wednesday the morning after that she’d stumbled upon it during one of her many runs, marking down the location for any chances at several future dates.

Wednesday easily followed behind the large beast, folding the blanket over the ground beside a large, lightning-struck tree, the twisted, scarred trunk disappearing into the inky black around them. She dropped her pack onto the ground and sat back against the tree, curling the blanket over her jeans as she curled up and looked over at Enid, the wolf walking a cursory lap around the edges of the clearing, checking for anything she deemed suspicious, her eyes feral and silver as she stared through the endless dark. Satisfied, she turned and trotted back to Wednesday, sitting her massive frame just beside her girlfriend, rumbling happily as the tiny brunette leaned into the warmth of her side. Enid bent down and nosed along the dark hair, grousing when Wednesday huffed and reached a hand up, draping it over the top of Enid’s large snout as she looked up at her partner.

“Querida, you are incorrigible in any form,” she blinked when Enid moved, the beast curling up beside her, “It is endless, the affection I hold for you in any form.”

Enid whined and lifted her large head, bumping her nose just under Wednesday’s jaw by way of greeting, something akin to a laugh echoing up from the titanic wolf. Wednesday placed her hand atop the large head, her fingers idly scratching at the base of Enid’s ears before the lycan settled her head across her lap, the seer sighing lovingly at the warmth seeping into her icy skin. She leaned her head back and stared up at the clear sky, the moon burning brightly among thousands of stars, casting silver shadows along the twisted forest floor. Her hands traced through the thick, plush fur, her focus finally moving down to look to Enid, the wolf’s sapphire eyes hopelessly staring up at her, affection prevalent in the brilliant gaze. Wednesday breathed the faintest hint of a smile, Enid lifting her nose to touch the dimple before Wednesday gestured her back across her lap, intent on allowing her rest. She followed the hues of blue and pink as they streaked through Enid’s rich mane, the fur even longer in the winter, Wednesday’s head tilting in quiet thought as she dug her fingers into the silky hide.

Mindlessly, her hands moved over Enid’s neck, following the pronounced ridge of her mane for well over an hour, her fingers braiding small plaits into the thick hackles. Wednesday finally stopped in her work once the fur faded down across the broad shoulders and fanned out across the large back, the wolf’s fur hardly as long over the rest of her body. She looked to Enid, the wolf having fallen asleep across her lap, the large chest rumbling quietly as she peacefully slept, the night gently slipping away from them both.

Wednesday awoke right before daybreak, soft lips rousing her from sleep as she fluttered her eyes open, Enid kneeling on the ground in front of her. She swallowed, the tips of her ears burning in near embarrassment, though Enid only grinned and reached for her hands, deftly pulling her to her feet. She hummed, grabbing Wednesday by the collar of her borrowed jacket and kissing her soundly in greeting, her eyes sparkling blue in the twilight gray.

“Okay, you braiding my fur put me right to sleep, Wens,” she laughed, shouldering Wednesday’s bag as she adjusted her pink fuzzy sweater, and reached for her girlfriend’s hand, “I didn’t even know it was long enough to braid. Honestly, your hands just felt nice. I’d love it if you braided my actual hair, too, if you wanted to.”

The seer made a face, her blush crawling more down her neck as she reached down for their blanket, tossing it over her free shoulder.

“I... wouldn’t mind assisting you,” she looked up at Enid, scowling at the smug grin, “You need only ask.”

Enid wrinkled her nose in a smile, leaning down to kiss along her freckles, “You know, Wens… I’d really like to braid your hair one day, too. I know how protective you are of your hair, but it’s just so pretty, and I love running my fingers through it when we’re laying in bed.”

Wednesday nodded and fell into silence as they headed back toward the academy, her hand tightening into Enid’s as they navigated the winding halls, the school buzzing as it prepared for breakfast. Enid stopped off at the mess hall to grab them breakfast, stealing two bagels and three croissants, also grabbing a handful of cream cheese cups and pats of butter, stuffing them in her empty pack before she snagged two waters, finally preparing their morning tea and coffee. She grinned as she met Wednesday in the hallway, following her girlfriend up the many stairs before they escaped into their room, Wednesday locking the door behind them, a habit she’d picked up after their harrowing year. She tossed the other blanket across the bed on her side of the room, following Enid over to her desk as she set up breakfast for them, the seer eagerly accepting her coffee and taking a long, grateful pull.

They ate quickly, Enid scarfing down two bagels and one of the croissants, grinning as she finally stood from her desk and stretched, her limbs popping as she fully adjusted to her human body. She tossed back her bottle of water before escaping into the bathroom to prepare for bed, brushing her teeth and splashing cool water across her face before heading back out into their room, tugging her sweater off before she kicked her shoes off toward her closet. She adjusted her tank top and pulled down the covers, settling herself on her normal side of the bed. Wednesday rose as well, disappearing into the bathroom for her own routine, eventually escaping back into the chilly, quiet room. She untied her boots and left them by Enid’s desk, the seer already dressed in her stolen sweater and black sweatpants, her hair still braided as she hovered near their bed, her dark eyes studying the quiet wolf.

Enid looked up with a smile, stifling a small yawn as she tilted her head in thought, “Wens, you okay?”

Wednesday nodded, shuffling quietly in place before she sighed, lifting her hairbrush before offering it to Enid. The wolf’s smile grew, her eyes widening in surprise as she eagerly nodded her head, throwing the blankets off her lap and patting the place between her knees. Wednesday grumbled and crawled into the space in front of Enid, crossing her arms as she leaned her elbows on her knees, her eyes falling closed. Enid held her excitement in check, her fingers guiding down the familiar braids before she set about carefully unfurling them, shaking out the waves as her fingers quickly unbraided the signature plaits. She ran the brush through the thick hair, Wednesday humming lowly in contentment, comfort falling over her loosening shoulders. Enid bit her lip to keep from smiling, leaning over to quietly put the brush aside, her fingers lightly combing through the thick, dark hair.

She smiled as Wednesday sagged farther and farther, nearly leaning back into her chest, Enid grinning as she kissed the top of a blood red ear, snaking an arm around Wednesday’s middle.

“Wens?”

Wednesday only sighed slowly, her body suddenly collapsing as sleep fully claimed her, Enid smiling as she supported the girl in her arms, leaning them both back against the pillows at the top of their bed. She moved only once, stretching her legs out before curling Wednesday against her chest, winding her arms around the petite seer before kissing the top of her head.

“I love you, ma lune,” Enid whispered, gently nuzzling into her cheek, pressing a kiss to the slack jaw, “Goodnight.”

#wenclair #my fics #my drabbles

[kingofsummer93]

Once Cursed, Twice Shy

Part 1 of my gift to @velidewrites for @acotargiftexchange!

Summary:

Don't mix vodka and magic, they said. It will end badly, they said.

Elain's never been particularly superstitious, but when a ghost from her past comes crashing back into her life, she realizes that the old saying might have been true after all.

And that she might have (accidentally and definitely not on purpose) cursed her ex-boyfriend.

Inspired by the Ex Hex by Rachel Hawkins.

Chapter 1: A Fateful Spark, an Ill-Timed Blaze

Ao3

Ten years previously

A clap of thunder rang out over the town of Maple Glen, followed by a torrential downpour so sudden it seemed as though the sky had singled out their little village to bear the brunt of its ire.

Elain sighed, burrowing further into the couch under her nest of blankets and pillows. She envied the storm, at that moment. What she wouldn’t give to be able to dump her hurt and anger into the world for a couple hours before being reborn, fresh and dewy, her broken heart melded back together by sunshine as her memories faded like a clearing sky.

She sighed, and the storm raged on as if in answer.

“Do you ever wish you were born as something else?” she asked, swirling the dregs of her bright blue cocktail around in her glass. “Like, a bird, or a tree, or, or…”

Vassa let out a noise that was halfway between a snort and a hiccup. “There it is.”

“There is what?”

“The philosophical stage of your drunk journey. I thought we passed it two drinks ago. First we have affectionate Elain, then loud Elain, followed with a brief appearance by pensive Elain, and then-”

Elain grabbed a throw pillow and chucked it at her friend, who nearly toppled off her end of the couch as she ducked to avoid it. Perhaps they were a bit drunk.

“I mean it,” Elain pressed, draining her glass. “Trees don’t have to worry about dumb boys, or school, or finding a job. They just…” She held out her arms and lifted her head to the ceiling, wriggling her fingers around like leaves in the wind. “Hang out and bask in the sunshine.”

“Babe,” Vassa said drily, “trees get cut down and then get sawed up into building materials or burned or whatever. Dumb boys are the least of their worries.”

Perhaps it was the vodka’s fault, but for some reason this seemed incredibly sad to Elain. Her throat closed up, her eyes suddenly burning with unshed tears.

“Oh no.” Vassa flapped her hands around in a panic, her mirth gone. “Oh shit, what did I say?”

“Lucien had a tree house growing up.” The words bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “He told me his oldest brother helped him build it. And then one day he went out to the forest and discovered that the section of the woods with his tree house had been cut down. Something about tree rot.”

“See,” Vassa said wisely as she refilled both their glasses from a pitcher. “And that’s why you don’t want to be a tree.”

Elain snorted, wiping the tears from her face with an already damp corner of her blanket. She’d shed so many tears in the past two days that she was shocked she hadn’t dried up like a raisin yet.

“Fuck him,” Vassa continued. “He doesn’t deserve a treehouse- or any house, for that matter. He can live on the streets for all I care.”

Elain pictured it for a moment; Lucien’s long fiery hair grown even longer from years of living as a vagabond, a scraggly beard not quite covering his devilish grin. Perhaps he’d live in the woods, in a little cave with a mattress made of leaves and moss. The image didn’t repulse her as much as it should have.

Suddenly she was enraged.

This had been her refrain for the past three days, ever since she had so unceremoniously thrown him out of her apartment. Moments of deep grief when it seemed like she’d never stop crying were followed by rage so intense it felt like her blood was on fire.

The same fire that ran through his veins, the flame that she had found so utterly irresistible.

Her gaze moved against her will, landing on the box sitting in a corner near the door. She’d been studiously avoiding it, torn between the satisfaction she’d get at throwing it out, and the desire to keep a piece of him close, if only for a little while longer.

It was irrational, but that box of stuff had somehow become a physical reminder of him, and getting rid of it would be like cutting the final thread that tethered him to her. Not to mention that a small part of her brain still hoped that he would come back, that somehow it would turn out to all be a misunderstanding.

That he would choose her, against all odds, in defiance of the path that had been laid out for him.

Perhaps even more humiliating than the rejection itself had been the deception. Because he had known- for the entirety of the summer he had spent tangled up in bed with her, whispering that she was the one, making her burn in a way she had never even dreamed possible, he had known it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last, because by the end of the summer he was due back in England, where his betrothed waited for him.

The fucker had been engaged the entire time and hadn’t bothered sharing that information with her.

But the worst thing of all had been the way she’d so thoroughly fallen for him. Every touch, every whispered word had seemed so sincere that she’d never once questioned his devotion. What a fool she’d been. Perhaps if he had been honest with her from the start she would have allowed him to fall into her bed, but not into her heart.

Or better yet, she would have steered clear of Lucien Vanserra altogether.

**

Elain could still picture the moment she’d first laid eyes on him during the Summer Solstice festival. Vassa had bullied her into setting up a kissing booth (a venture that had turned out to be quite lucrative) and they’d had a steady stream of customers all morning. Around midday the energy in the crowd had shifted, like a ripple in a pond. And then the crowd had shifted, parting like the sea.

And he had appeared. Tall, his golden skin practically glowing in the summer sun, his shoulder-length hair so vividly red she immediately knew he was a witch. No human could ever look like that. He had locked eyes with her from a distance, and it had felt to Elain like she was being set on fire.

“Who is that?” she stage-whispered to Vassa, who had just given their elementary school math teacher a wholesome peck on the cheek for the sum of five dollars.

“Who?” Vassa followed her gaze, and her eyes went wide, her hand clamping painfully around Elain’s wrist.

“Ow!”

“I think he’s one of the Vanserras,” Vassa whispered, slightly awed. “He’s got to be, look at that hair.”

A smile quirked up the corner of the handsome stranger’s mouth, and Elain wondered absurdly if he had somehow heard. The Vanserras were a powerful magical family, and nobody knew the true depth of their power. She wouldn’t be surprised if they had unnaturally powerful hearing.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Elain said, stupidly. She felt slightly dazed as she continued to stare into his eyes, as if she was physically incapable of looking away.

In truth she had never seen any of them before.

Hundreds of years ago, a man called Thelor Vanserra had founded Maple Glen and tied his magic to the village. Magic ran strong here- for those who knew where to look, that is. Tourists simply assumed they had stumbled upon a particularly charming village, where commerce always boomed and disaster never struck.

But the truly odd thing about Maple Glen was the fact that it never snowed, despite being far enough north that it should by all reason get buried under snow every winter. It was like the town was stuck in perpetual autumn, with only a few weeks of balmier weather in the spring and summer. Nobody questioned it, assuming Maple Glen simply existed in a peculiar micro-climate.

It was a wonder how far people would go to avoid seeing magic, even when it existed right under their noses.

Twice a year, on Summer Solstice and Winter Solstice, a member of the Vanserra bloodline would come to town in order to regenerate the magic for the coming season before disappearing back to England. They were notoriously reclusive and haughty, and were rarely seen around town- much less strolling through a crowded festival.

“I always pictured them scrawny and inbred,” Vassa had said, surreptitiously fixing her hair.

The crooked grin on the stranger’s face widened, and Elain’s stomach dropped. He had definitely heard that.

And then he started walking towards them.

Elain froze, her stomach roiling with equal parts thrill and fear. Would he curse them? It didn’t seem likely, judging from the amusement on his face, but she squirmed nonetheless.

When he was a few paces away from their booth he paused, his eyes still fixed on her. From this close Elain could make out the color of his eyes- a warm brown, tinged russet, as if kissed by the flame his bloodline was rumored to wield. His features were sharp and elegant, his wide jaw covered with the barest hint of auburn stubble. There was a thin, crooked scar running down the left side of his face that, combined with the devilish gleam in his eyes, gave him an aura of danger. It sent a shiver down Elain’s spine, and she felt momentarily struck dumb, as if by magic.

“My lady,” he said, inclining his head. The motion made a strand of his vibrant hair fall over his face, and Elain’s fingers itched to brush it back.

Vassa giggled beside her. Elain had never, in her nineteen years of life, heard her friend make such a sound. She bit her lip hard to prevent herself from doing the same.

“If I walked through fire for you, could I get a kiss too?”

Vassa made a choked sound that sounded as though she was holding in another giggle. Elain could only stare for a moment, before realizing that she was staring at him with her mouth hanging wide open.

“I- sorry, what?”

With a casual wave of his hand a wall of flame had burst to life out of thin air. Elain jumped to her feet, scanning the crowd for signs of anyone having noticed the blatant display of magic. But oddly enough, nobody at all was looking at them. It was almost as if some force was making the crowd look away.

She glanced back at the flames just in time to see him walk through them. Surrounded by flames, with that troublesome grin on his face and his eyes twinkling with mirth, it almost seemed like she was being bewitched by the devil himself.

In the end it turned out to be not too far from the truth.

The summer romance that had followed had completely knocked her off her feet. Lucien was nothing like the boys she’d dated before. There was something charmingly old-fashioned about the way he spoke, his impeccable manners and posh accent so at odds with his serpentine tongue and devilish humour. He had felt like a drug, something decadent and rare that left her buoyant and giddy. She’d been hooked from her first taste, her fate sealed the moment he’d walked through those flames and pressed a feather-soft kiss directly to her lips. She’d let those flames consume her.

But the thing with fire, she’d learned, was that it could be doused in an instant.

Elain wondered if he ever would have said anything at all, had that vision not infiltrated her dreams. Would he simply have left her apartment and gotten on a plane back to Yorkshire without so much as a goodbye, never to be heard from again?

They had been lying in bed when the vision had swarmed her senses, limbs tangled together, a lazily swirling fan doing little to cool their heated skin. There was never any logic or reason to what triggered her visions, but something about that hazy veil between consciousness and sleep seemed to make her prone to them. One unclear reality being replaced by another, images fogging her mind so that sometimes she wasn’t sure if they were visions, dreams, or nothing at all.

But that night, as she’d laid there happy and content, blissfully uncaring about anything but the present, the future had decided to make itself known to her anyway. At first she thought she was simply drifting off into dreams of him, and she had sighed, grateful to be with him even in sleep.

Her blood had grown cold as she’d realized the Lucien in her mind was not alone, and nor was his soft smile aimed at her. There was someone else, someone with long rosewood-colored tresses and hazel eyes that shone almost golden, like a cat’s. Someone who was wearing a white dress, wrapped in the arms of the man currently in her bed.

Someone who was decidedly not her.

At first she’d chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it wasn’t a vision at all, but simply her lust-addled brain playing tricks on her. But then Lucien had announced that he needed to fly back home for a while, to take care of some business.

“I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone,” he assured her, his mouth pressed to her ear. “You won’t even miss me.”

In the span of a few seconds he had managed to rip her heart out and rip it to shreds. She’d been so stunned that at first she didn’t know how ro react.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he murmured, misunderstanding her shock as displeasure. “There’s some things with…my family, that I need to handle in person.”

Something about his choice of words had made Elain want to laugh, even as she was fighting rising tides of panic and heartbreak.

“Who is she?” had been the only words she’d been able to formulate.

Lucien stared at her in shock, the color draining from his skin until she knew for certain she hadn’t miscalculated.

Then had come the accusations, the excuses, the explanations, followed by more accusations.

He was engaged.

Betrothed had been the word he’d used, like something out of those romance novels her sister liked. He was betrothed to a stranger he’d never even met, someone he allegedly had no intention of marrying. He was going back to end it, he claimed. He wanted her, he assured.

“I didn’t want to say anything at first because I didn’t know what this thing was between us, and then when it became serious it felt like it was too late, and I didn’t know what to do, and please, Elain, just look at me…”

She had, and something about seeing him like this, his usual smooth exterior replaced by rambling words and eyes wide with panic, almost made her break. But then she’d remembered the woman in her vision, the one with such unusual colouring that she could only be a witch- and a powerful one, if she had been betrothed to a Vanserra. And most of all, she remembered the joy on Lucien’s face in that vision, the way his eyes had crinkled around the edges like they did when he was happy.

In retrospect, throwing his clothes out the window had perhaps been a tad immature, but it had been effective in getting him to shut up and leave her apartment.

**

Elain shook her head, clearing away the memories that refused to leave her alone.

“You know what,” she declared, slamming her glass on the coffee table with a clang, “let’s burn his stuff.”

Vassa whooped, jumping to her feet before Elain could second guess her decision. Fuck him. Fuck him and his beautiful fiancé (bethrothed) who no doubt had the perfect pedigree and wielded some powerful brand of magic to match the Vanserra’s. Something respectable, like elemental magic, or a knack for spell work. Not something weird and impossible to understand like her Sight.

“Fuck him,” she said again, getting to her feet. “Fuck her!”

“That’s the spirit!”

Vassa upended the box into their fireplace, lifting up a cloud of dust, ash, and various herbs from an ill-advised cleaning spell they’d tried to cast the week before. “Care to do the honors?” she asked, extending a box of matches towards Elain.

Elain took a shuddering breath as she looked at the sad little pile of ashy belongings. Clothes, a few books, thin leather straps Lucien had used to tie his hair back. Straps he’d once used to bind her wrists together as he-

Elain struck the match so aggressively that it snapped clean in half. The second one lit, the little flame seeming to mock her as it danced near the tips of her fingers.

The fire was slow to catch, smoking pathetically as it tried to crawl along the pile of fabric and books. And then it grew, until their faces warmed by the heat of the flames. Elain very pointedly ignored the fact that Lucien could summon flames ten times this size without so much as blinking.

“We curse you, Lucien Vanserra!” Vassa declared, stirring the flames with a poker.

“I hope you burn in hell,” Elain mumbled.

Vassa cackled. “He’d probably be happy there. Let him rot somewhere his flame can’t catch.”

Elain might have imagined it, but just for a moment the fire seemed to grow brighter in the hearth.

“And may his betrothed be frigid in bed!” Vassa added with another cackling laugh. Once again the flames flashed hotter, almost blue.

“And may she break his heart, just like he did mine,” Elain added sadly.

It seemed like she was speaking directly to the flames themselves, and for a second they appeared to wink in response. She blinked, and shook her head against a wave of disorientation. Merlin, she was drunk.

A flash of lightning lit up the night sky outside, followed by another rumble of thunder that made them both jump. With a mechanical groaning the lights inside the apartment blinked off, leaving them sitting there in the dark.

Vassa groaned. “Damn it, power’s out again.”

But Elain’s attention was still on the fire- or, more accurately, on the space where it should have been. In the space where moments before flames had danced merrily, there was now only a fine layer of ash, all traces of Lucien’s belongings having vanished, like the flames, into thin air.

Elain gulped. “Vassa? I think we might have done something bad.”

#elucien #elucien fanfic #acotar gift exchange #it's a holiday romcom folks #low plot heavy shenanigans #Lucien VanCursed

[coffeedrawingandwriting]

La Douleur Exquise (Fairy!Dream Sans x Moth!Fairy Reader)

la douleur exquise - exquisite pain

The day and night are just as separated as their lords, Dream and Nightmare.

But your heart yearns for the sunn, even as the moon pulls back at it and tries to keep you safe.

As long as no one gets burned, it should be fine to just look.

Right?

(Mild angst, unrequited/forbidden love, a hint of Nightmare Sans/Reader)

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

The soft glow of the moon brought a calm serenity to the deep glades of the forest, moss hanging in an elegant weave down branches and trunks of the birch and oak trees. 

Smells of old forest, rotting wood, mushrooms, the faint floral hint of hidden bluebells and wild strawberries breaking through on faint breeze.  

Tonight was a special night.  

The fairy rings of mushrooms had grown the night before, dew fresh on their caps, forming a multilayered wall of security around the deep glens of the woods.  

Fall was coming, the time of preparation for winter, but a time to celebrate the colors and their change.  

For those, at least, of the day and summer.  

Elegant fae with butterfly wings of gold, silver, every imaginable color, decorated in mesmerizing colors of flower and tree.  

Delicate maiden fae dressed in daisies, snowdrops, and lilies. Wiser matrons dressed in layered rose gowns. The young daring men darting to and fro in dashing armor of oak and birch bark armor, and the stately lords in fir and yew armor.  

The glade was filled with the soft lights of fireflies, and fairy candles lit all around. Soft young grass surrounded the large rock that the gathering was centered around. The rock was black in color, sharp and jagged, flat on the top, carved in ancient runes.  

A small throne of oak twig had been placed on its peak; citrine stone woven into the thin fibers.  

The throne for the lord of the day, the lord of the-

A gust of wind shook the branch you were resting on, your eyes widening as you squeaked in fear, wings trying to steady yourself, rapidly flapping your wings.  

Despite your efforts, it wasn’t enough. You dropped to the ground, landing outside the glade, rustling among the dead leaves as your antenna twitched, the fluffy strands indicating what you were.  

Not invited, for one.  

This gala was exclusively for those with butterfly wings, beautiful and large wings. The ones who loved the day and were loved by it.  

Not for those of the evening and dusk, those who burrowed in the ground, were able to bear the cold winter, cherished the dark.  

Tonight was the migration festival, a time to celebrate before the butterfly fairies went south to weather the winter. And your kingdom, your people, were not invited.  

They never were, but it would be nice if, for once, those of the night were invited.  

Your wings fluttered, as you tried to evaluate the best place to once again look upon the festivities.  

You were a tiger moth, or at least, had the wings and the antenna of one. The nape and collar of your chest and back to your shoulders was soft white fuzz, with black patches on the back part. Your wings branched from the middle of your shoulders, the upper a checkered black and white, crisp and clean. Your lower wings held a gradient from orange to yellow, with black spots. On the inner of your arms and legs, red blotches of color with black emblems spiraled to your feet and hands. The white fuzz was dusted around the base of your antenna, soft black feathery things. It was also prominent along your calves and lower arms.  

Soft paper bark made up a soft halter top, and a blue morning glory made your skirt.  

You were sneaking, of course, trying to catch a glimpse of the festivities.  

Of course, your king had tried to stop you, but then again, he was a firm believer in learning through painful mistake. Such as what had happened to him, long ago.  

Nightmare was kinder than his name implied, and he ruled over the dark abyss of the moth kingdom fairly, more so than he said his frivolous brother did.  

His own wings were impressive, dusky purple and black perfectly complimenting his dark gray bone. The streaks of black along his bones made him impressive, purple eye lights fierce and stern in those deep sockets.  

He was waiting for you, back among the shadows.  

You had expressed your desire to see, just once, the beauty of a butterfly festival. He had begrudgingly led you here (after you had begged and begged him). You were lucky he was your good friend.  

So, here you were. Peering into a world you would never belong in.  

Music serenaded those within, as couples came together to dance a song of life, love, long travels and the well earned rest at the end of it.  

But that’s not who you wanted to see.  

Ah! There. 

The quick flutter of true golden wings, shimmering in the light due to their unique opaqueness. Blue and black specks like dust on his wings, the sweep of pale bone into a hard set, the seriousness of the prince of light and day shining as he settled into his throne, wings spread.  

Dream.  

Draped in silk of golden spider thread, his presence caused awe among those gathered, admiring yet fearful glances thrown his way. His bones were pristine, white, not a mar or fleck upon them. His own eye lights, a deep teal like a shining gem deep in a river, scorched the surroundings, searching.  

Any one fairy would be honored to be asked to dance with him, but instead, he sat coldly on his throne.  

You often wondered if he was waiting for someone to approach him, or waiting till one caught his eye. Not that you think anyone would. They were too dim in his presence. 

You sighed in adoration, pupils shrinking to properly adjust to the light. He was so bright, almost too much so, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from that wonderful visage. 

The first time you had seen him had been your first journey into the canopy, to explore what was beyond the roots and shady underbrush you had long familiarized yourself with. Your antenna twitched with every rogue gust of wind, every trill of a bird from afar.

But it had been so worth it to see the blue sky beneath green dappled leaves, to peer at the fluffy white things in the sky (Nightmare had called them clouds), and to wonder at the great landscape all around.

The snap of a twig; the pale eyes of a shrike seeing you.

A butcher bird.

While your colors blared danger to those who dared to try and eat you, it still dove. Your panicked yelp echoed as you dove as well, spinning among the branches and trying to shake off your pursuer. For several harrowing minutes you tried your best to weave and dodge, its claws nearly grasping you several times. In a panic, you crashed roughly into a nightshade bush, burrowing into the depths of its shade, vines pulling at your wings.

Its ugly cry alerted you to its hunt as it circled, then twisted midair. Claws extended for you, its eyes fixed on you, exposed even among a plant of the night.

You shrank back, arms raising to futilely cover your face.

A burst of golden light, teal eye lights blazing in fury darted by to sink a spear into the shrike's wing, the bird shrieking and wheeling off. Its pained squawks echoed for quite a time.

He had hovered there, those wings of his keeping high and aloft, defending you.

You had wanted to step out, to thank him... when a crowd of fairies came to croon and congratulate him on his hunt, how extraordinary he was. Realization gripped your heart that he may have just been showing off, not knowing he had saved a lowly moth from death.

Regardless, you had pledged yourself a vow of gratitude to the lord of the day, the lord of warmth and sun.

The flap of wings startled you, the alert of a patrol to catch any wandering fae other than those invited. You knew the punishment that came with trespassing, even among fae, and there was no chance that you would be charming enough to get yourself out of serious punishment. And Nightmare wouldn’t step in either, you knew.  

It was his demand as a king, to be just and fair.  

You buried yourself into the dead leaves, the jagged cut of your own wings helping you blend in.  

The patrol passed without taking notice.  

A deep sigh left you. It was time to go.

You clambered over leaves and twigs, going outside the fairy circles to Nightmare's side, his eye lights soft with understanding. His own wing closed around you to keep you close, the dusky scales of his wing shielding you.

Your heart often wondered if you would ever be able to repay the debt you felt you owed Dream.

Or at least, to speak to him and thank him.

Nightmare grasped your hand in his, a comforting squeeze as the two of you descended in the depths of his realm.

Unknowing that teal eye lights had been tracking you all this time.

#undertale #dream sans #dream x reader #dream sans x reader #writing #xreader #sans x reader #x reader #moth reader #fairy dream sans #fairy nightmare sans #moth fairy reader #angst #unrequited love #longing #forbidden love #just realized this has strange magic vibes

[kanobarlowe]

Hi I just wrote a little something that will not make sense to anyone except like 2 people maybe but I had fun writing it. I won't spoil what but it may or may not relate to a book I'm working toward publishing.

———•———•———•———•———•———•———

Blues and purples metamorphosed into reds and pinks as the morning sun dawned across the trees. The autumn leaves glowed in its cool rays, and the forest appeared engulfed in flames of dying vegetation. Thin branches shuddered as the whistling breeze swept through the woods. Lake Bozepokoj's waters lapped against rocky shores, defending its depths against the oncoming winter frost that crept in each morning.

As herders emerged from their tents, breath puffing in crisp clouds before their grizzled faces, cattle lounged and slept in a tight pack in the rocky wolow pass that arched high above the forest basin into lands beyond. The men tied their camping bundles to packmules before whistling for the hounds to rouse the cattle and guide them down into the trees toward the lake. A peaceful morning, the threat of oncoming winter slowly forgotten as the sun breached the trees each waking moment, casting light into an illustrious wood.

It woke as it did each day from its slumber deep in the cavern depths. Sunlight had not yet peeked into its forested glen, but the shimmering waters cascading around it whispered of morning.

The skull lifted from its patch of grass, eyes hollow and void of life. Then the body emerged from its jaw like pooling blood dribbling across stone, melting and bubbling into a great creature of fur and flesh. It stepped forward, inky darkness trailing behind it. Two thin, bat-like wings sprouted from its sides, but folded as clawed paws and thick hooves lurched over the ground with each step. Its breath, raspy through the skulls fangs, echoed in the caves beneath the lake.

Its bony visage peered upward, to the hole that led toward the sky. It could feel it, even from it's safe home: death. He felt the prickling of grass that screamed and wailed underfoot, in the mouth's of animals, relenting its life to the cold. Each leaf that fell from the branch cried, piercing its ears. The forest creatures, from rabbit to bear, wailing in a sickening song that burned its hollow ears.

In a home, it felt the spattering of brain on wood as a man killed another man for sleeping with his woman. Farther along, an arrow soared through the air before striking a hare that could barely squeak its pain as it perished.

It felt each pain. Stabs to the skin, grating against flesh and muscle and bone, ringing in its ears - oh, it knew the pain of death all too well.

How it longed to wail, too.

In a croaking gasp, the creature tilted its head upward... and screamed.

The howl tore through the morning air. All the forest fell silent to the ear-piercing shriek. Shepherds with their flocks and herders with their packs froze, hands to spears, searching the trees for it - for the skull, for the sign, for doom.

Deep in the cavern, its body twisted, cracking and snapping beneath the oozy blackness of its form. Black blood, thicker than the blackest inks, splattered across the cavern floor as a hand twisted out of its figure. The hand grasped the darkness and pulled, and the creature fell in a spasm on the ground. Twitching like a deer succumbing to the wracking pains of wasting, it came apart, tearing itself to pieces in screams and moans of torment.

The arm grasped the skull and pulled. A shoulder emerged from the darkness, then a torso. A human body, a man, emerged from the bestial mess and gore, skin stained with grime and blood and soot. Naked, the man stood on wobbling feet, then tore flesh from the beast, wrapping his nude figure in its wet, pungent carcass.

As he donned the decrepit skull, the flesh conformed to his, wrapping him in what became black cloaks and furs. Hollow, black eyes peered out of the skull's sockets, and a tangling, writhing mass of hair burst out of the back of the skull like a wild mane.

The man stepped forward, away from the creature that birthed him. He sucked in a breath and looked toward the sky as the sun broke out, casting light across his face as it welcomed him to morning.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers #creative writing #horror writing #writing blurb #quick write #writing excerpt

[mings]

Scenes from the trail - new episode

I haven't been here much recently because reasons. Yesterday was an opportunity for me & the Bean to stretch our legs and clear our heads.

I was recently appointed to the board of directors of the local Forest Trust, which is on the threshold of a huge, once in a generation opportunity. Over 1100 acres (450ha) of land neighbouring the forest is on the market, and the owners are willing to consider a community purchase. We're forming a joint venture with another local organisation and hope to raise the funds to buy it.

That's no small endeavour - we'll need to raise more than £1 million - and at any stage, an external buyer could step in and beat us to it.

Anyway, as it's for the community, what better way to put a plan together than to ask the community for their views, ideas, and aspirations? So we're holding drop-in sessions here and in the neighbouring village. I thought it might be useful to have some images of a wilderness that many folks may never have seen.

Although this used to be the drover's route from Fort William to Inverness, there's little evidence of it today. Apart from the prolific heather, much of the ground is peat bog, giving us a clue that this was once a very different wooded landscape. It's ripe for rewilding, and the presence of well-established willow and juniper suggests that either the deer are few enough to be manageable (unlikely) or they stay out of sight in the forested areas. We'll also have to be aware of the wild boar that are regular inhabitants of Glenurquhart because this land adjoins the Glen, and its inevitable that they'll continue their eastward migration.

Peatland restoration holds massive potential for carbon capture and the opportunities for healthy pursuits are endless. Meall na h-Eilrig at 465 metres (1526 feet) sits above Loch Glanaig and provides spectacular 360° views. It's a grind getting there, but restoring and extending the old peat cutting tracks would make it much more accessible for both foot and cycle traffic.

So many things to think about. Now, where to find a spare million or so...

#scenes from the trail #meall na h-Eilrig #highlands #scotland #the great outdoors #hillwalking #landscape #my photography

[scotianostra]

October 2nd 1721 saw the little known Battle of Coille Bhan (Scottish Gaelic for White Wood).

This was more of a skirmish in real terms, but history recall it as a battle, to me the numbers involved make it less so. The way I look at it is that this was also an attempt by the Government of the, still quite new, Union, to impose some sort of rule to the Highland Clans, in this instance it can also go down as leading from an often overlooked Jacobite uprising in 1719, called The “Little Rising“.

The background was that government forces had failed to take the lands of Mackenzie of Seaforth. The taxes being collected by Mackenzie's factor, Donald Murchison were being sent to Mackenzie himself who was living in exile in France for his part in the '15 Jacobite uprising, after which his lands were forfeited to the crown. It was decided that a second attempt should be made to seize Mackenzie of Seaforth's estates.

This time 160 soldiers of Colonel Kirk's regiment left under the command of a Captain McNeil, who unlike their predecessors who had been ambushed in Glen Affric, McNeil took a longer but easier route from Inverness to Dingwall then onto Strath-Garve and Loch Carron.Mackenzie's force were led by Colonel Donald Murchison who had led the ambush at Glen Affric, and I bloody wish my spell check didn't keep trying to make me say Africa instead of Affric!!!

Anyway the Colonel marched his men up a mountain pass called Mam Attadale, a "gallant" relative, named Kenneth Murchison volunteered to attempt an ambush with a small party of 13 at Coille Bhan (White Wood), while the bulk of the party should remain where they were.

Captain McNeil with 18 men of his government force advanced on Kenneth Murchison's position. They received fire in which several of the government troops were wounded and one was killed. McNeil persisted in attacking his enemy and eventually he defeated them and Kenneth Murchison's men withdrew, as they were unable to resist any further, there is no mention of the Jacobite's losses.

The long and short of it is, although Captain McNeil had defeated this advance force, he soon heard of the larger group of Mackenzies waiting at Attadale under the command of Donald Murchison, unwilling to take on these men, who also held the high ground McNeil, himself wounded retreated and high-tailed it back to Inverness.

Kenneth Murchison quickly rejoined Colonel Donald on Mam Attadale, with the cheering intelligence that one salvo of thirteen guns had repelled the hundred and sixty red-coats. No further attempts were made on Mackenzie of Seaforth's lands.

This episode confirmed the view in the south that the Jacobite clans equated with banditry and disorder, but Donald Murchison was also a bold man, reading on, in the History of The Mackenzies he appeared in Edinburgh two years later with £200 in back rents, looking for someone to take it over to France, he was not so stupid as to make himself conspicuous and is said to have been wearing "the garb of a lowlander", he did however spend two weeks in the capital, and although he was a wanted man went unmolested during this time.

Mackenzie of Seaforth, also known as William dubh MacKenzie or Black MacKenzie, like may other Jacobites during earlier uprisings, was later pardoned and returned returned to Scotland in 1726, he died in 1740.

During the '45 uprising, such was the split across The Highlands one of his sons fought on the Hanoverian side in the campaign, whereas a large part of the Clan Mackenzie followed the chief's cousin George Mackenzie, 3rd Earl of Cromartie chose to fight for the Jacobite cause.

The pics showsmoorland and Lochcarron, the second is Attadale Forest Early morning cloud clearing out of the valleys. Forest can mean hunting area, hence the forest without any trees., next is the expanse of land that Clan MacKenzie enjoyed as their own, and their clan crest with the motto Luceo Non Uro (I shine, not burn). MacCoinneach the Gaelic name for the clan means son of the fair bright one.

#scotland #scottish #history #jacobites

[obaewankenope]

The day Dobby died is the day House Elves everywhere felt a shift in their being. Something fundamental was returned to them that they had never even realised they'd lost.

Almost overnight, dozens of witches and wizards found themselves on the receiving end of punishments they'd handed out to their elves for whatever reasons they'd had at the time. Thousands died screaming and begging and confused.

Children were spared only when the House Elves knew they would be different to their parents. Not all children met that single criteria.

Two days after the death of Dobby The Free Elf, House Elves reestablished their ownership of forests and woods, glens, brooks, rivers and streams. House Elves remembered they had never been meant for houses.

The Brownies returned to England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland.

Brownies returned and the wizarding world trembled.

#Hogwarts #Harry Potter #Dobby #House Elves #Kat writes #Little thing #Imagine if this happened tho #Bc fuck Rowling and the slave elves 🙃

[laliloon]

🗺️Creepypasta Nationality Headcanons:

+ their place of birth

Jeff the Killer: Salvadoran - La Palma, Chalatenango

Homicidal Lou: Salvadoran - La Palma, Chalatenango

Jane the Killer: Guatemalan-Salvadoran - San Salvador

BEN: American - Boston, Massachusetts

Eyeless Jack: Serbian-American - Augusta, Maine

Nina the Killer: Angolan-Brazilian - Brasilia

Laughing Jack: English - London

Laughing Jill: Scottish - Glasgow

Isaac Clement: English - London

Will Clement: Lithuanian-English - London

Frank the Undead: American - New York City, New York

Jason the Toymaker: French - Narbonne, Occitania

Sally: American - Dallas, Texas

Toby: German - Freiburg im Breisgau, Baden-Württemberg

Clockwork: Croatian - Dubrovnik, Dalmatia

Bloody Painter: Vietnamese - Ho Chi Minh City

Judge Angels: Italian-English - Sandy, Bedfordshire

The Puppeteer: Trinidadian - Chaguanas

Zero: Australian - Brisbane, Queensland

Nurse Ann: South African - Pretoria

The Dollmaker: Russian - St Petersburg

Kagekao: Japanese - Yokohama, Kantō

Candy Pop: Irish - Bonny Glen Woods, Donegal

Slenderman: No distinct nationality or ethnicity- The Black Forest, Baden-Württemberg

Zalgo: No distinct nationality or ethnicity - The Negev Desert

#creepypasta #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #jane the killer #ben drowned #eyeless jack #nina the killer #laughing jack #laughing jill #isaac grossman #will grossman #frankie the undead #jason the toymaker #creepypasta sally #ticci toby #clockwork #bloody painter #judge angels #the puppeteer #zero creepypasta #nurse ann #the dollmaker #candy pop #slenderman #kagekao #zalgo #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta fandom