#humans get to be angry at the Fae! without being demonized for it! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladylilithprime · 3 months

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History Never Repeats

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel), past Dean/Lydia, past Sam/Jess

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Half-Fae Dean Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Sentient Baby/Impala, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Child Death, Baby's Backstory Is Really Tragic Y'all, Protective Dean Winchester, Faerie Name Conventions, Allosexual Dean Winchester, Minor Acephobia/Virgin-Shaming

Summary: Ceridmael had perfectly valid reasons for going off on his brother's little human pets after they nearly got him killed in an alicorn attack. He may have been lacking all of the facts when he did, though.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 24: Apology

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THE WORST THING about apologies when you were a faerie was that you actually had to mean them.

Granted, being a faerie also meant that you got very good at playing by the exact letter of your agreements and not a bit more, something for which Ceridmael, the Iron Prince of the Summer Court, was well known. Unfortunately for him, his younger brother Serendderch also knew it and tended to account for it whenever making bargains with Cer growing up, and he had taught their youngest brother Arianwaladr. For all Cer had a silver tongue, Seren and Ari were absolute rules lawyers well before the term came into common parlance.

The thing was, Cer was a Seelie prince, albeit a half-human one. He was used to putting on a strong front and proving himself over and over and over again. As a prince, he didn't apologize, because he had to be very, very careful to never be in the wrong, and if he ever was? He had to make the other person believe he wasn't, or make a quick getaway until tempers coolled and the other person either forgot about how bad it was or just stopped being angry enough for him to distract them with a gift and a funny story that swept the whole thing under the rug. It worked on his mother and brothers nineteen times out of twenty, and the outlier was usually something spectacular that even Cer had to admit he had messed up.

He was also very used to being the one who had to take care of his little brothers, especially Seren, from the moment they were laid in his arms as pink and squalling newborns with delicate leaf-pointed ears just like his. His number one foundational touchstone, as charged by his father: "Take care of your brother." So when something happened that he couldn't protect one of them from, it always felt like a rip in the core of his being and, like a wounded wolf, he lashed out. He had lashed out at that creepy fucker styling himself as a demon king that had made an appearance during Seren's time away that he hated to think about, and Seren had mostly forgiven him for it, at least enough to let him pretend the horned asshole didn't exist. And he had lashed out at the little human pets whose literally virgin asses had made them tasty beacons for the alicorns and gotten Seren run through by one of those damned cloven-hooved, flesh-eating ponies from the abyss.

Only this time Seren wasn't inclined to forgive him without an apology. Cer had left when his injured and pale brother had yelled at him to get out before he got up off his sickbed and threw him out, not wanting to risk Seren reopening his wounds, and he had figured that he'd give it a few months for Seren to calm down and realize he was right, that the little human pets who'd got him hurt weren't worth the hassle and the estrangement, and they could go back to normal.

But he hadn't.

And then Seren had gotten their mother involved. Cer could have gotten around a territory ban from Seren because, skilled mage or not, he was still Cer's younger brother. But their mother was a full-blooded faerie princess with four more millennia under her belt than either of them, and for some reason she had decided to take Seren's side. Her ban from his little brother's territory was much stronger, and had resulted in Baby stalling out when they had hit the bridge to get onto Seven Mile Island. Seren had driven out with that other human he had hired, the redheaded lesbian their cousin Gilda had had a fling with, and Seren had laid down the conditions while the girl had gotten Baby back up and running, talking to her the whole time. Apparently she had told Baby what was going on, because his darling girl had spun her radio dial to Metallica's "Unforgiven" for seventy-six miles before switching to dubstep.

Cer had missed spending Midsummer with his brother because Seren expected him to genuinely apologize to those pathetic pieces of monster bait, and he wasn't welcome in Seren's territory until he did.

The other thing was, Cer had actually kind of liked the twins when he had first met them. Jimmy was personable enough and a decent cook to boot, and anybody who made cookies that looked and tasted like mini pies the way Cas could was usually guaranteed to be golden in Cer's book. He had actually thought Seren had been trying to hook him up with Cas after tasting those cookies, and it had been a bit of a shock to find out that no, it was his little brother making time with not just one twin but both. Except that "making time" seemed to be missing a few key steps if they were throwing up the all you can eat signal for a carnivorous quadruped that was drawn to virgins for the taste. Not that Cer got that, either, but still! What was the point of saving those two fine asses at the risk of his own if Seren wasn't even going to tap 'em?

The question, when he voiced it to Catrin while borrowing her liquor cabinet, earned him a smack upside the head.

"Pull your head out of your hormones and ask yourself that question again, genius," she told him tartly. "Absent sex and the fact that Sam probably would have done the same damn thing if it had been that kid of his at risk, what reason would he have to put their lives above his own?"

"Oh come on, Cadi," Cer rolled his eyes. "They're human! Sure, they're a bit more accepting of the magical population than most, but Seren's not that stupid!"

"Watch it," Cadi growled, waving her wooden spoon at him. "Don't forget my husband is a human, as is your own father!"

"Yeah, well, they're exceptions that prove the rule," Cer muttered. "Most humans are cowardly magiphobes who can't handle the idea of hooking up long term with another species. Hell, a lot of them get weird about hooking up with someone who's got more or less melanin than them! Seren's known these two bozos, what, since this February?"

"And he commissioned my help in making them a pair of matching jackets out of the hide of the alicorns he killed defending them with a lining of alpaca and silk that he knit himself," Cadi said, leaning back against the counter. "He gifted those jackets to them last month, and they proposed to him in return."

"So?" Cer scoffed. "He spends six or seven decades playing house with them if he's lucky and then I have to pick up the pieces after he buries them, so what?"

"Idunn gave them two of her apples last week," Cadi told him flatly, grabbing for the paper towels to clean up the spray of whiskey. "That's what. So you had better think real hard and real fast about that apology if you want to get to see Sammy get married."

"Shit," Cer muttered, and poured himself another drink.

The thing about apologies as a faerie was that you had to actually mean them to even get out the words because, half-human or not, an outright lie was still impossible to force across your tongue and past your lips. And damn it, Cer was having a really hard time mustering up honest regret for how he had reacted. Seren had been impaled and could have been killed, and it would have been their fault for being out in the middle of the street during an alicorn incursion! That wasn't "casting blame on innocent people" or whatever Seren had said; that was fact!

"And what the hell kind of example is this setting for that kid of his anyway?" Cer muttered under his breath. "You don't jump into a relationship with someone you just fucking met!"

The radio clicked off. Cer only had a moment to really be thankful for the reprieve from dubstep before it clicked back on again. "...There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how..."

"You know you can talk to me about anything, babygirl," Cer protested, frowning. Limitations of her physical form aside, Baby never had a problem with making herself understood. Case in point, her habit of taking over the radio for her own purposes, even overriding his attempts to use the tape deck.

There was a rustle of static, and then the music came back with, "...by now, you should've somehow realised what you're not to do...."

Cer sighed. "You know why, Baby." Hell, Baby was a pretty big part of why Cer thought Seren should know better than to get so attached to a couple of humans he barely knew that he'd marry them, especially if they'd gone and somehow gotten ahold of two of Idunn's big time guarded super special Apples of Immortality! It had been devastating enough when Lydia had turned out to be the kind of woman who would throw her own baby across the room against a wall when she saw pointed ears because the damn nurses hadn't let Cer into the delivery room in time to glamour her to look human like he did himself, and they'd been together for two years at that point!

"...Papa I know you're... upset..."

"C'mon, Baby, Madonna?" Cer rolled his eyes. He had thought he'd managed to teach his daughter an appreciation for proper music.

There was a burst of static like a sigh, then, "...'Cause I was always your little girl/But you should know by now/I'm not a baby..."

Cer grimaced. "Fine, Emma, you know why I have good reason to think Seren's being stupid about this."

"...You always taught me right from wrong... daddy please be strong/I may be young at heart/But I know what I'm saying..."

"You've got a few more decades before you know more than me about love, young lady," Cer huffed, tapping the steering wheel pointedly.

The radio dial swiveled dramatically, and then burst out, "...Mama, ooh... I don't wanna die/I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all..."

"No, no, Baby, Emma, please don't even think that!" Cer shouted, clutching at the steering wheel desperately. "Please, kiddo, you being conceived and born was a treasured gift, and your mom never should've tried to take it away from us. Her being scared and stupid is not your fault!"

The radio clicked off sharply. Silence reigned, just the sound of Baby's engine and the road beneath her wheels for a long moment. Then the radio clicked back on. "...My life's a spectacle, a sad story... I know you had your dreams of a better life/This time we ain't making it through..."

"That's not your burden to bear, sweetheart," Cer murmured, stroking the steering wheel with his thumb. "Stars and supernovas, kiddo, that shouldn't ever weigh you down, and I wish I could spare you that... I wish I'd been faster...."

"....If I'm laden at all/I'm laden with sadness/That everyone's heart/Isn't filled with the gladness/Of love for one another/It's a long, long road/From which there is no return/While we're on the way..."

Yeah... his baby girl never liked it when her family was fighting. Cer had done his best to keep her from being exposed to more violence than the occasionally unavoidable road rage, but he and Seren were both stubborn, opinionated immortals and arguments happened. For Baby's sake, they usually cleared it up quickly, and the fact that Seren was actually putting his foot down and getting their mom involved was honestly a very clear sign of how strongly he felt about it this time.

"...Maybe we can try it if you let me/Take you by the hand... who understands... it's time... I'll admit that I'm scared/'Cause I've never really cared as much as this/It's worth the risk..."

Cer snorted. "A little disjointed there, kiddo. You trying to say I should just go talk to Seren's humans and see if they're really gonna be a good fit for him in spite of evidence to the contrary?"

"...You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so we can fly away?/We gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way..."

One little problem with that plan. "You know what's gonna happen the moment we set foot or wheel on the bridge," he warned her. His mother's mojo was no joke, after all.

"....Call me, beep me/If you wanna reach me..."

"Who the hell is playing Kim Possible on the radio?" Cer huffed, rolling his eyes. Still, point taken. He pulled out his cell phone and, after a moment's hesitation, dialed the number for Lighthouse CommodiTeas.

The phone rang twice before clicking with the connection as someone picked up. "Lighthouse CommodiTeas, how can I help you?"

Well, that was easy. It was one of the twins, though without seeing them he couldn't tell which one. "Is your brother nearby?"

"Ye-es? Did you wanna talk to him, or...?" came the hesitant answer, sounding rather bewildered. Jimmy, then. Cas tended to sound more like a deadpan robot for some reason.

"Can you get him so you're both on the line?" Cer asked, absently drumming his fingers against the steering wheel before a crackle of static from the radio made him stop. "I only wanna say this once, and since I can't set foot over there until I do it's gotta be like this."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Jimmy said in a carefully neutral tone, "Please hold."

There was an odd click like the phone receiver being set down on a flat surface, and Cer could hear the background bustle and murmur of customers and drinks being ordered and made for several long seconds that he tried not to count. He had reached seven four times before there was a clatter of the receiver being picked up again and Jimmy's voice was back.

"Alright, Dean," he said in that same controlled neutral tone. "We're both listening."

"I need to tell you both a little story first," he said, leaning back into the warm, supportive embrace of the driver's seat and closing his eyes, trusting his baby girl to keep them steady on the road. "About a faerie in hiding and the woman he wanted to marry."

"Sam told us about Jessica," came the more flat tones he knew belonged to Cas.

That was actually very interesting that Seren had been willing to open up about his almost wife from three hundred years ago, and good to know, but... "Her name was Lydia," he said, bypassing the topic of Jess for a moment. "And about a year into our relationship she got pregnant with my child."

There was a sharp inhale of breath, but whichever twin had done so, the one who spoke next was calm. "We're listening."

"Everything was fine up until the day our child was gonna be born," Cer went on, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. "This was back before things like ultrasound were really taking off, so up until then I had just been using an illusion on the image, same way I had a glamour hiding the fact I wasn't human. Didn't want the docs and nurses freaking out, right? And it wasn't gonna matter since I'd be right there in the delivery room when our kid was born... but then she went into labor while I was at work and the nurse wouldn't let me in 'cause we weren't married. So I wasn't there when the screaming started.

"Her family was Lutheran," he added, a little inanely. "That's not an excuse for what she did, but you two were raised Catholic so you can probably guess what must've happened when our kid came out with pointed ears where everyone could see. The nurses couldn't stop me busting in the door at that point, and... well, long story short, I only had a few seconds to rescue my baby girl's soul before her body died, and a 1967 Chevy Impala with enough personal connection to tie her to. And a lot of rage to work out." He swallowed. The radio was silent. "That was only forty six years ago, and I'd been with Lydia for nearly two years when she tried to kill our baby girl. If you know about Jess, you know how long Sammy mourned her after being with her for three years. You've only known him seven months."

There was silence from the other end of the line, and Cer wondered if he had finally cracked those stubborn human twins. Then Cas spoke up softly. "Jimmy and I have met Geth. He told us his full name without hesitation, and permitted us to hug him when we said goodnight after our meeting. That meeting was what convinced Sam to show us his true form beneath his own glamour for the first time."

"You know we only exist because our mother thought we were a changeling?" Jimmy said, almost conversationally. Cer blinked his eyes open and frowned. Had he heard that right? "She went to church every night for weeks praying for an angel to come take the changeling monster away and bring back her real, normal son. She didn't know about the enchanted blocks of wood, and autism didn't look very normal to her twenty-two years ago. And thanks to your brother, the only ones who actually remember we weren't born twins are the two of us, our mom, and the angel who split us apart. We get being judged for something we can't help. It happens every day, and we're human."

"Mostly," Cas added. "Did you know normal apple seeds have cyanide in them? That was the most daunting part to eat."

So they had already eaten the apples. Seren wouldn't be losing them to old age or disease, and only something really determined to kill them would even stand a chance... assuming Seren didn't kill it first, or train them to do it themselves. And they apparently had the guts to literally embrace Cer's brother's more dickish other half and not get vivisected for it. "Okay. For whatever it's worth to you, while I'm not sorry for trying to protect my brother, I am sorry for letting my issues keep me from getting to know you well enough before as more than just two more humans with the power to hurt him." At the burst of static from the radio, he huffed, "Look, that's the best I can do right now, okay? I can't get to know them if I can't get near them!"

"It'll do," Jimmy said, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"For now," Cas added, more flatly. "We will expect to see the accompanying change in behavior when you arrive. Which will be?"

"...walk five hun-dred miles..."

"'Bout eight hours or so," Cer translated for Baby. "Assuming this was good enough for Mom's curse, anyway."

"Guess you'll find out when you get here," Jimmy said.

And really, Cer supposed that was fair enough.

Notes:

The songs Baby uses to communicate with Dean are, in order:

"Wonderwall" by Oasis

"Papa Don't Preach" by Madonna

"Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen

"Hold Me Down" by Daniel Ceasar

"He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by The Hollies

"Understand" by Keshi

"Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman

The "Kim Possible" theme song

"I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by the Proclaimers

#fluffy february 2024 #rk writes #supernatural fic #sastimmy #urban fantasy au #outsider pov

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overx · 1 year

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Name one line in the sand your muse has. Tell us one way someone can go ‘too far’. (okay but for Volt tho)

Volt's morality is hard to explain, as a demon and a wrath demon at that... there are plenty of things he is indifferent to or even fails to see as "bad". So it's hard to have an exact line in the sand for him.

Physical fighting and killing for example is something he is completely unbothered by. People kill to defend themselves. They kill to protect others. They kill for things they believe in. They kill for power. They kill for revenge. He's had contracts for many of these things. The deaths of defenseless people who haven't personally wronged Volt are a "waste", but rarely does he find it tragic. It's the nature of all things to die after all, and he is strongly connected to the afterlife process, so death isn't even "the end" anyways.

Infidelity also isn't really a concept for the average demon. Most demons are not in monogamous relationships. Even a relationship with their bound partner(s) who you can think of as a spouse or spouses, often being open. There are exceptions of course, because every demon and every relationship are individual, but sex is not seen as personal or intimate to most of them. Generally they will have closed relationships only if envy is a major issue for one or all parties, or if one of the partners isn't a demon and their culture differs on the topic.

The real trouble with Volt is that although he's unbothered by many heavy concepts for humans, he is also easily agitated, and quick to retribution without thinking. He can and will injure others or cut them out of his life over slights that aren't that serious in the grand scheme.

Voluntas and most demons like him care a lot about fairness though. Not justice exactly, but transparency in their dealings. He would never trick someone into a pact or contract, even if the price for a wish can be extreme. He hates fae because they often use deception to get their way. Likewise, torment of others must be deserved (by the demon's own personal judgement at least), so he would deem something to be excessive on a case by case basis rather than from a baseline moral standard.

He would, for example, be fairly angry about Raz's history, or Lexi's, because their treatment was not "deserved". Yet he would do things just as cruel-- if not worse-- to the people who harmed each of them in retaliation.

So it's more accurate to say everything is evaluated individually for Volt rather than to some existing standard.

#;bleed magick #{volt}#thegatesofinfinitespace #[schematics]

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cinaja · 3 years

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okay but miryam & jurian actually being the most similar is SO GOOD. let them both be ruthless!! ik miryam doesn't canonically have the plagues but the crossing some moral lines + then dying + (eventually) being resurrected thing is a great parallel & also the best fuck you to canon trying to paint miryam as the good fae-acceptable human & jurian as the mean radical one. honestly she deserves to go off & destroy some shit, cause she didn't even get to do ANYTHING in canon, let alone destroy a mountain range or curse the black land.

Ahhh ty! And yes!! I also really love the parallels between Miryam and Jurian and them being so similar. Canon sets up some of the things there already (with them both being human leaders during the war who died at its end and (eventually) got resurrected), but as usual, it takes the worst possible route with everything, and I really enjoyed fixing it.

For making Miryam ruthless (& a lot like Jurian), I think it was a mixture of the whole set-up/story just DEMANDING she be at least a little bit ruthless and it being the only way to fix the mess that were the canon messages the entire thing conveys.

I just. Absolutely hated how she was written to have been the "model" human (specifically because she is presented as more forgiving of the Fae? SOMEHOW? Even though SHE was the one out of the two of them who had been a slave and therefore made the worst experiences with Fae?) and Jurian as the bad guy for... not liking the people who enslave his kind. It's just such a MESS. Tbh, Miryam breaking up with Jurian (a human) and instead marrying Drakon (a Fae noble) was already pretty bad and had a message I could not get behind at all, but with that entire "Miryam as the one who is forgiving towards Fae" thing on top of that, and the fact that Jurian was tortured and died as "punishment" for what he did while Miryam got resurrected and had a happy ever after with her Fae husband just made it completely terrible. It basically has the message that oppressed people should just forgive their oppressors and, idk, assimilate with them, but if they dare fight back, it will have a bad end for them or smth. And basically the only way out of that I saw was to let Miryam do something that is objectively far worse/more morally questionable than what Jurian did to Clythia and also generally be abundantly clear that she is no more forgiving towards the Fae than Jurian is even if she ends up married to one (which wasn't hard because why would she forgive them??? How could she NOT want some sort of revenge? Even if I choose to write her as someone who generally doesn't like violence and prefers to be kind whenever possible, how could that ever logically extend to the people who enslaved her?)

And, well, apart from Miryam's entire backstory and the entire "promised to free her people from the most powerful country of her time and actually succeeding after 7+ years of work" thing implying that she's at least a BIT ruthless, the whole Exodus retelling thing also demanded it since it was clear from the beginning that Miryam would need to be the one doing the plagues for it to work out. Canon doesn't include the plagues at all, but that makes the entire story fall apart (seriously, explain to me how Miryam and Drakon would manage to free all the humans WITHOUT first defeating the Black Land militarily), so I definitely needed them and I also definitely needed Miryam to do them because she is the Moses character in this and if it's already not her parting the sea, it HAS to be her with the plagues. (Also, once again, fuck canon for basically sidelining her in her own backstory. Everything we hear about the war just continuously implies that shr was important, but do we ever hear what she DID? Noooo, we instead hear ten million details about her romantic relationships, because that's apparently what matters. We couldn't spare a sentence to go "she was a diplomat" or "she was leader of the Alliance" or SOMETHING to explai what she actually DID during the war and why Mor thinks simply namedropping her will get her what she wants even 500 years after the war, but I'm so glad we got pages upon pages on her relationship drama ig.)

#this entire story is basically just #humans get to be angry at the Fae! without being demonized for it!#and Miryam gets to be angry and she gets to be ruthless and she gets to do SO MUCH STUFF #bc seriously. that setup of'promised to free her people from the Worst Country Of Her Time at 16-ish and then actually went through with it #is SO COOL. but ONLY if she actually gets to be the one working towards that goal #and her and Jurian are SO SIMILAR #which also makes the way they are presented in canon so hilarious bc I'm basically writing it down to #the IC Fundamentally Misunderstanding Everything About Them #cinaja talks about before the wall #lyn #thanks for the ask!!!

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johannestevans · 3 years

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The #MonstrousMayChallenge 2021

Love monsters?

The #MonstrousMayChallenge is going to be a series of monster-centric prompts for every day of the month of May!

Draw, write, talk about, analyse, shitpost, critique, rec, discuss, create, consume, and otherwise have fun with each prompt.

Tell your friends, pick and choose the prompts that you like best: make art, make fiction, make rec lists, make jokes, make monsters!

May 1. What is a Monster? May 2. How to Talk to Your Monster May 3. The Vampire May 4. Iconic Settings May 5. Feeding Time May 6. The Lycanthrope May 7. Adverse Weather Conditions May 8. The Monster in Love May 9. The Undead May 10. "... and add a monster." May 11. A Baby Monster May 12. The Alien May 13. The Domesticated Monster May 14. Clothing Your Monster May 15. The Mermaid

May 16. The Gentle Kaiju May 17. Monstrous Transformations May 18. Angels & Demons May 19. Monstrous Flora May 20. The Monster in History May 21. The Hybrid May 22. Kept Captive May 23. The Human is the Monster May 24. The Dragon May 25. The Monster Dies May 26. The Hive-Mind May 27. The Fae May 28. The Monster Extinct May 29. Cultural Differences May 30. The Minotaur May 31. Happily Ever After

The full write-up for the #MonstrousMayChallenge is below the cut — for every day of the month of May 2021, there’ll be a new prompt all to do with creating monsters and monster-centric stories!

You can either go directly off of the prompts themselves, or if you want a little more inspiration, you can come check this post for more in-depth exploration of the idea in question.

For each entry in response to the prompts, regardless of what platform you post to, make sure to tag the #MonstrousMayChallenge! In the meantime, just spread the word and tell your friends to get them ready for May!

Feel free to pick and mix the prompts you like best, to skip any prompts that don’t suit you, or to swap in prompts of your own if you like — every 3rd day is a specific category of “classic” monsters, and they’re not for everybody!

“Monsters are the patron saints of imperfection.” — Guillermo del Toro (x)

The emphasis on all of the prompts below are on monster-centric and monster-POV stories. Monstrous romances and monstrous erotica are both welcome and encouraged, just as much as platonic monstrosity is, and please feel free to join in regardless of your medium, whether you draw, write, animate, or create in another way entirely!

Just a note as to what expect — this challenge is intended for those who love monsters, who identify with monsters, who feel for the monsters, and all the prompts are written with that expectation in mind.

One small note: throughout these prompts there are references to folklore and ideas from different cultures and backgrounds. When exploring ideas from cultures that aren’t your own, remember that not every representation of spirits or monsters can be divorced from its original context, and take care to do your research to ensure you aren’t harming others by furthering harmful stereotypes or appropriating ideas of cultural importance.

We’re all here to have fun, which means that using a love of monsters as a vehicle for racism (whether that’s outright or by upholding colonial and imperial ideas, appropriating from other cultures, or fetishising other races and cultures) is not what we want to see in the course of this challenge, and isn’t welcome here.

Note the above especially in regards to the Alonquian W*nd*go.

Saturday 1st May 2021 — What is a monster?

Here’s a warm-up challenge to start the month off:

For you, what is a monster? What makes a monster monstrous? What delights you, excites you, scares you, horrifies you about a monster? What fills you with affection for monster?

When you first hear the word monster, what springs first to mind?

This is a free space — talk about, write about, draw, animate, sing about, the monster(s) you love best, and why you love them!

Sunday 2nd May 2021 — How To Talk To Your Monster

How does your monster communicate?

Do they have a mouth, lips, a tongue, like humans do? Do they communicate verbally at all? Do they communicate via telepathy, via their tentacles, or their limbs? Do they speak, but at a pitch or volume or speed inaudible or incomprehensible to human ears? How is this gap bridged?

Does your monster understand humans but struggle to make itself understood? Does your monster want to be understood?

Alternate: How does your monster communicate with other, different monsters?

Monday 3rd May 2021 — The Vampire

The vampire is a walking corpse that sustains itself by feeding off the the blood of the living.

There are a thousand variations on the myth — a corpse that rises from its grave at night only to mindlessly glut itself on the prey it can find becomes a reclusive gentleman who lives in isolation in a brooding, gothic castle overlooking a Transylvanian woodland (Dracula); a sparkly immortal Mormon who likes to climb into young women’s windows to watch them while they sleep (Twilight); a rich aristocrat so intent on preserving his properties and his privilege that he clings onto immortality at all costs (Interview with the Vampire); an extremely sexy vampire in sunglasses who’s devoted to killing other vampires (Blade), and so on and so forth.

Explore your own take on the vampire:

Is your vampire actually dead? Do they just appear dead, or sleep in coffins?

What makes a vampire? A curse? A ritual? Transmission of vampiric disease — via the exchange of blood or via sex? Are they born that way? Do dhampirs (half-vampires) exist? Do vampires become vampires by choice? Is there a contract or an agreement?

Does your vampire drink blood? Cerebral fluid? Consume human flesh? Do they sap energy from others in non-literal ways — for example, do they feed off of emotions or energy, or seek to devour a soul?

If they survive off of the above, do they also eat or drink other things? Are they capable of doing so without becoming ill?

Is your vampire sensitive to sunlight? Bright light in general? Do they physically react to it? Do they burn, or crumble to dust? How do they cope with this — do they only come out at night, do they wear leathers and carry a parasol, do they use a medicated suncream?

Can vampires become ill? Sick? What weakens a vampire? What kills them?

Does your vampire have any other powers? Can they fly, hypnotise people, transform into gas or another animal?

What happens if a non-human becomes a vampire?

Alternate: A non-vampire monster becomes absolutely obsessed with vampires. They love them to pieces! Why? How do they get their vampire fix?

Some inspiration, if you want it:

Article: An 18th-century guide to hunting vampires from National Geographic

Article: The Great New England Vampire Panic from the Smithsonian Magazine

Video Essay: The Sexy Vampire Trope, Explained, from The Take

Tuesday 4th May 2021 — Iconic Settings

Imagine an iconic setting within the horror genre or without — your Transylvanian castles, your unending deserts of shifting sands, your haunted houses and their infinitely winding corridors, your unholy spires atop distant peaks, your deep and dismal caves, your roiling seas…

What monsters lurk within these settings? How do they feel about their environs? What happens if you transplant a monster from one such setting into its opposite, or combine a few of them together?

What happens if these settings are invaded, lost, destroyed, expanded, changed?

Alternate: Imagine any iconic setting you like, but instead of the monster lurking within, the setting is the monster.

The seas themselves are sentient; the caves are toothy maws of impossible beasts; the mountains themselves have eyes; the castles and houses and ancient tombs and temples are, themselves, imbued with a spirit… Is it hungry? Angry? Lonely?

Wednesday 5th May 2021 — Feeding Time

What does your monster eat?

Is it predator or prey? To a human understanding, does it look like what it is? If it eats meat, does it prefer to eat it dead or alive? If it’s not from this planet or dimension, does it struggle to find new things to eat? What does it look like when your monster eats? Is it private about eating? Does it look scary when it feeds?

Does it eat at all? Does your monster get its energy from the sun, from electricity, from magic, from something else entirely?

Alternate: From a monstrous POV, a human’s dietary habits seem monstrous and strange. Why?

Thursday 6th May 2021 — The Lycanthrope

The werewolf is a person who turns into a wolf, typically at the time of the full moon. Lycanthropy is the name of the condition of being a werewolf, or someone who turns into some other animal.

The variations on the werewolf are infinite — the core is often people bitten by strange beasts and left forever cursed with their regular transformation (for example, in The Wolf Man); but a curse is also possible, such as when kings are turned into wolves as punishment for their hubris (as with King Lycaon in Metamorphoses); or of course, a curse inherited, such as when young men who come into their inherited lycanthropy and suddenly have a whole host of new puberty concerns (Teen Wolf).

And it needn’t be a wolf at all — there are all manner of shapeshifters between one myth and the next, and as much as there are werewolves there might be werelions, werebears, werebats, et cetera, et cetera.

For your lycanthrope, why not explore:

What animal or creature does your lycanthrope turn into? A wolf, a bear, a lion, a snake, a bird? Something magical — a phoenix, a unicorn, a griffin, a dragon?

Once transformed, can your lycanthrope be distinguished from the normal edition of the beast? What are the differences, for example, between a werewolf and a wolf?

Can your lycanthrope transform at will? Is it influenced by their emotion? Is it kept to a regular schedule? Can that schedule be interrupted? For example, if it’s a monthly cycle like someone’s menstruation, can they go for periods without transforming or with “spotty” transformations? If it’s with the phases of the moon, does hiding from the moon help? What happens if you send them to another planet?

Is the transformation painful? Physically or mentally taxing?Are there any health problems associated with lycanthropy?

When transformed, how conscious and aware of themselves is you lycanthrope? Do they know they’re transformed? Do they remember what they were?

Alternate: Sometimes, another monster turns into a human.

Friday 7th May 2021 — Adverse Weather Conditions

What weather is your monster happiest in? What weather is your monster least happy in?

Is your monster native to an area that’s extremely hot and humid? Very cold and dry? Is your monster used to heavy rains, droughts and little water, sandstorms, electrical storms, blizzards? If your monster lives in space or underwater, how are they affected by solar flares or tropical storms, shifts in tides and gravitational flows?

How has your monster evolved or developed to handle these weather conditions — or, is there anything your monster hasn’t evolved for, and struggles with?

Alternate: Your monster is a house-monster, and will not be going outside. They would like a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa and a nice comfortable bed, please and thank you.

Saturday 8th May 2021 — The Monster In Love

Your monster’s in love — what do they do about it?

Does your monster have any particular mating rituals or ways in which they show their affection? Does your monster mate for life, does your monster date, does your monster romance singular or multiple partners? Does your monster yearn, do they pine? Do they bring gifts, do they do special dances, do say particular words or have mating calls?

Is their love reciprocated — is it even understood?

When one monster loves another monster, what does it look like? What does it look like when a monster is in love with a human? When a human falls in love with a monster?

Alternate: Your monster has never been in love, and is baffled — perhaps even disgusted — by the prospect. Do they do research? Demand an explanation?

Sunday 9th May 2021 — The Undead

The undead covers a lot of things under a similar umbrella, and it’s up to you whether they count as monsters or not — ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists, spirits, revenants, draugr, reanimated corpses like zombies, arguably vampires… To infinity, and beyond.

We can be talking spirits without bodies or with new bodies, corpses with new spirits in them, corpses controlled by necromancers or the like, and so on.

So, for this prompt:

For your undead monster, are they conscious, sentient? Do they control their own body? Do they remember when they were alive, if they were dead and then reanimated?

If they have a physical form, can someone tell they’re undead? Are they rotting, corpse-like, desiccated, all bones, all flesh, all muscle? Are they missing parts? Do they have any extra ones? Do they look the same way they used to? If they don’t have a physical form, can you see them at all? Can you see them only sometimes?

What sustains this undead monster? Do they feed off of anything, or are they just sustained by the air itself, by magic, by some sort of magical object or curse?

Was your undead monster once a human? Once a werewolf? Once a faerie, once a dragon, once some other creature entirely?

Alternate: Your monster is a necromancer, and they are not undead, but control and raise, in some way or another, the undead.

Monday 10th May 2021 — “… and add a monster.”

Take absolutely any iconic work you like, whether it’s a classic piece of literature, a poem, a piece of mythology or folklore, a fairy tale, a fable, a shanty or a campfire song — anything that’s in the public domain and might be well-recognised — and add a monster.

Have Sherlock Holmes meeting a vampire, reimagine Jean Valjean as a minotaur, give Mr Darcy a deep and affectionate longing for his local werewolf.

You don’t have to keep to the same characters or plots — rewrite an existing plot with monsters (Rapunzel or Cinderella, for example), have two plots crossover (what happens when the monsters in two myths team up to defeat the hero out to kill them?), add monsters or change the monsters in the narrative, or if it already has a monster, add another.

Alternate: Take a public domain domain monster and give them a break. Send Dracula on holiday, give the poor result of Frankenstein’s experiments a spa day, etc.

Tuesday 11th May 2021 — A Baby Monster

How do the monsters breed?

Do they lay eggs? Give birth to live young? Do something else entirely? Are monsters active parents? What happens when monsters interbreed, or breed with humans?

Is the breeding… fun? 😉

I know not everyone likes writing babies or kids, and equally that some people have come into this challenge specifically for the monsterfucking, so there’ll be two streams of main prompts — one focusing on the breeding for you child-free monsterfuckers, and another focusing more on monstrous baby development once an egg is laid or a baby is born, etc.

Feel free to do both if you want to do both, as one does lead into the other!

Questions about breeding and monstrous pregnancy:

Does your monster fertilise eggs for the purposes of a live pregnancy, do they lay eggs, do they clone themselves, do they breed in some other way?

If your monster has genitalia, what do they look like? Are they analogous to human genitalia? Are they particularly big or particularly small compared to the analogous human parts, if so? How compatible is your monster’s genitalia with a human’s genitalia — or another monster’s?

If there is a size difference between monster and partner, what comes of this? Are there any chemical differences between monster and partner — for example, does the monster’s touch impart a high or some kind of contact aphrodisiac?

Are any attempts at breeding viable? If the monster’s partner is filled with eggs, what happens the longer they carry them? If the partner does carry the eggs or the babies to the point of birth and laying, what happens? Is it a painful process? Will they survive it? Does the partner know they’re pregnant at all?

And the pregnancy/egg-carrying questions: how does the partner’s biology change to accommodate the pregnancy? Do they have any strange or unexpected cravings? Does their biology change in any unexpected questions?

Questions about monstrous child development:

How is the monstrous baby first conceived? Is it an egg laid, is it an egg fertilised, an egg fertilised and then carried, as the result of a live pregnancy, something else entirely? If they’re laid eggs, do they go through a larval stage or other similar development?

Are monstrous babies born alone, or in groups? Do they have a high viability rate? Do the monstrous babies eat one another? Do they eat their egg casing or their placenta, if applicable? If not, what do they eat — do they drink milk or blood, do they need their food pre-chewed by their parents, can they look for food themselves?

Are monstrous parents very active in caring for their offspring? Are monstrous babies born able to take care of themselves, able to have a sort of independence, or do they need to be cared for for a period first?

How fast or slow is a monster’s development? How long does it take for them to become fully grown? How much do they grow, and how does their body develop and change as they run through their lifecycle? Do they shed their skin or any body parts, do they change a lot materially?

Alternate: What does monstrous contraception look like? Do they have a concept of it? If they don’t, how do they feel about it being explained to them?

Wednesday 12th May 2021 — The Alien

What makes an alien?

Are they from another planet, another dimension? How similar are they to anything found on Earth? How did they get here?

Are they intelligent, sentient? Do they know they’re on a foreign planet or in a foreign dimension? How fit are they to survive on Earth? How do they respond to the animals, the new sounds, the new world, around them? What technology do they have? Do they appear to be aliens as people imagine them? Do they pilot aircraft as people think they do?

Alternate: A human (or another species from Earth) is the alien on another planet or another dimension populated with “monsters”.

Thursday 13th May 2021 — The Domesticated Monster

Let’s look at the monster domesticated.

The likes of Pokémon, fantastical creatures as beasts of burden or as steeds — unicorns and pegasi and giant spiders and dragons, for example — or other tamed monsters that have learned to live with humans, and live side-by-side with them.

Are monsters actively bred for a result, or do they domesticate themselves as cats and dogs did? Do they perform tasks or assist humans? Do they give milk or eggs or honey or silk or meat? At what point in their domestication are they? Are they happy? Are they well-treated?

Alternate: A monster gets a pet of their own — is it a fantastical species, or is it a dog, cat, bird, etc? Is it even a human?

Friday 14th May 2021 — Clothing Your Monster

Does your monster wear clothes or armour?

What sort of clothes or armour do they wear? Is it grown, made, bought, traded for? Do they wear any other kind of jewelry or decoration? Do they always wear it, or only for some occasion? What do they think of human clothes? Do they want to try wearing any themselves, or taking human fabrics for monstrous clothes?

Alternate: If your monster does not wear clothes, what do they think of human clothes? How do they feel about the fact that humans wear them? Do they have a full understanding of the separation between clothes and flesh?

Saturday 15th May 2021 — The Mermaid

A mermaid is a half-human, half-fish.

You can take this very literally, as in The Little Mermaid, with someone who has a human upper half and fishy bottom half (or the other way around…😏), you can think more along the lines of the fish-person we see in Abe Sapien from Hellboy or (also) in Guillermo Del Toro’s The Shape of Water, or you can look at different variations on mermaids — the seal-like selkie who can remove their pelt to walk on land; the siren that calls to sailors so they dash themselves upon the rocks; naiads and other spirits of the water; the rusalke of the water, and so on.

Questions for your merfolk:

Do they belong in freshwater, saltwater, brackish water? Do they stay in the seas, in deep lakes, in ponds?

Do they regularly come to the surface, or do they live very deep below? What sort of temperatures are they used to, and how much sunlight? If they live in cold water or deep below the surface, are they very large and blubbery to ensure they can cope with the pressure and the cold?

Are your merfolk bioluminscent? Fish-like, cetacean-like, cephalapod-esque? If they do look similar to humans, with a human face or human body parts, do they look or feel like human flesh underneath the skin, or is it just for appearance?

What and how do your merfolk eat? Do they eat fish, meat, seaweed, plankton?

How do your merfolk feel about humans? About fish and other marine life? About animals on land? Other monsters?

Can your merfolk step onto land? Do they want to? Are they curious about what they find there? Do the humans nearby know about them, care about them?

Do merfolk live alone, in groups or as families? Are they migratory? How far do they travel, and for what reasons? Do they build towns and cities? How do they feel humans compare to them?

Alternate: A completely different non-merfolk-esque monster lives at the very bottom of the sea. What is it? How do humans come upon it? How big is it?

Sunday 16th May 2021 — The Gentle Kaiju

Kaiju is a Japanese genre of films— your Godzilla, your Mothra, your Rodan, all of these are kaiju: strange, gigantic beasts.

This prompt is centred around any monsters of superlative size that are trying their absolute best not to harm any of the little people scurrying them about them.

You can take this literally — think kaiju tip-toeing their ways through great cities and trying not to step on anything important, huge space beasts careful not to disturb planetary orbits in case they hurt anyone, or even the likes of the human trying not to step on any ants — or you can think of other monsters trying not to harm others despite some aspect of their biology making it difficult for them — Lovecraftian beasts doing their best not to do anyone any psionic damage, for example, or Medusa-like beings desperate to avoid people’s gazes in case they do any harm.

Alternate: An extremely tiny monster or another monster very easily harmed by human activities needs to kept safe.

Monday 17th May 2021 — Monstrous Transformations

How does a monster transform?

Does in transition between one form or another, like a werewolf, or between forms for land versus water? Does it regularly transform or transition through different physical presentations? Does it shed its skin, leave its old body behind? Does it grow new teeth or claws or body parts? Does it transform in response to disease or ailment?

Does a human transform slowly into a monster? Does a monster transform into another? Is this transformation willing, conscious — is it against all desperate attempts to prevent it? Is it painful? Is it agony?

Alternate: A monster expresses deep curiosity about human transformations — perhaps the differences between a child and an adult and their scale of growth, perhaps the apparent transformation when a human changes clothes, or puts on a mask, or even make-up.

Tuesday 18th May 2021 — Angels & Demons

A demon is typically an evil spirit or devil, and are sometimes thought to be fallen angels; angels are typically benevolent spirits, often thought of as celestial messengers.

Being as they’re often thought to be celestial or infernal, do you think of them as being from another dimension? How well do they mesh with Earth, from their own perspectives and human ones? How do they look or appear? Do they have to present themselves in a strange or unusual form? How do they communicate with humans — and why? Are they evil, benevolent, or simply neutral?

Are angels and demons separate things? How many kinds of angels and demons are there respectively? If they’re separate, do they communicate with one another, balance with one another?

Alternate: A monster that is not a demon or angel decides to present itself as one or the other. What is it? Why does it present itself this way?

Wednesday 19th May 2021 — Monstrous Flora

Your monster is plant- or mushroom-based!

(Or lichen-based, or algae-based, or moss-based, or coral-based, or…)

What does it look like? What makes it different from a mammalian or scaly monster? Where does it come from? How does it move, how does it breathe, how does it eat? Does it sleep? Does it 😏… you know? Is it good at it?

Alternate: Your monster lives codependently with, or lives inside, some sort of plant. What does that co-evolved relationship look like? How big is the plant? What does it look like?

Thursday 20th May 2021 — The Monster in History

Throughout history, the perception of your monster has changed over time.

Is your monster immortal? Over the progression of recorded history, has it been this same monster recorded in one sighting after another, in art or in story? Or, is your monster the latest generation of a species or line of inheritance that has gone on for a long while?

How much has your monster’s culture changed and developed in that time — has it changed in reaction to or alongside human cultures? How accurate has human perception of your monster been as the centuries have rolled by? How has art or stories about your monster changed in their telling?

How has the monster reacted to changes in human history, or different events as they have happened?

Does your monster even notice the passage of time? Are they in some way insensible to it, or do they experience it in a way humans don’t?

Alternate: The monster is a time-traveler! How do they do this? Why?

Friday 21st May 2021 — The Hybrid

A few things are bred together to create a monster, whether that monster be sublime or an abomination before the universe!

Think about griffins, pegasi, basilisks, cockatrices, and of course the manticore — any sort of beast made by combining one creature with another.

What creatures have been combined to create this monster? Has a human been one of them? How has this combination been achieved — via actual interbreeding, magically assisted or otherwise, via alchemy, a curse, or some other magical process? Has this creature literally been stitched together and then reanimated? How have the different creatures contributing to the creature changed its behaviour or its abilities?

Alternate: An attempt is made to create a hybrid… and unfortunately this is not the result. What is?

Saturday 22nd May 2021 — Kept Captive

The monster is captured.

How big or small is your monster? How was it captured — was bait used to draw it in, such as a food stuff, a copied call? Was it herded into an ambush? Was it trapped under a cage, in drop trap, in a magic trap? How easy was it to capture — did it take a long time, were several attempts made? For what reason was the monster captured?

Now kept captive, how big is your monster’s enclosure? Is it a cage, a glass box, physical chains or bondage, something else entirely? How long has it been there? Is it alone — would it rather be alone than the alternative? Is it struggling with its captivity? Is it marking out the amount of time it has been kept trapped, screaming at its captors, harming itself in its desperation for escape?

Is it likely ever to be freed?

Alternative: A human is kept captive by a monster.

Sunday 23rd May 2021 — The Human Is The Monster

From the perspective of the narrator, the human is the monster.

Who or what is made to fear them? What makes the human so monstrous in their eyes? Is it to do with the human’s size, their appearance, their behaviour, the nature of humans as a collective?

Alternative: The human thinks they’re thought of as the monster — the real monster is behind them (figuratively or literally).

Monday 24th May 2021 — The Dragon

A dragon is a mythical creature, often large and scaly, with variations found the world over.

Is your dragon extremely big, or very small? Is it indeed scaly, or does it appear so? Is it some form of sea serpent, or does it fly? Does it have wings, fins, a tail, teeth? Does it have very powerful senses, or different ones entirely to what one might expect? Does it have a mouth, eyes, a tongue, ears? Does it breathe fire or ice, have gills? Does it have some other supernatural power — telepathy, telekinesis, affect the weather or the tide?

What does your dragon eat? Does it eat meat, vegetables? Does it feed off of magic?

Does your dragon hoard anything — gold, jewels, young people out for a wander? Livestock? Something else entirely?

Alternate: An ancient dungeon, temple, or some other monument, is marked by a huge statue of a dragon. Something else inhabits it.

Tuesday 25th May 2021 — The Monster Dies

It’s the end of the story — or perhaps the beginning.

The monster dies.

Alternate: The monster dies… but only for a while.

Wednesday 26th May 2021 — The Hive-Mind

The monsters in this one are multiple.

They share a hive-mind, whether that hive-mind is created by pheromones, by fungus or infection or disease, by magic, by telepathy, by technology, or something else entirely. How many beings are part of this collective? Do they exist in conjunction with one another, and move as a swarm or a hive? Do they synchronise their movements, and work together toward a common goal? Can they work independently, or only as a group?

Can others be inducted into this hive-mind, willingly or otherwise? Is this painful or uncomfortable? Does it wipe away what experiences came before?

If a member of the hive-mind travels far away, do they remain connected to the whole? How is this hive-mind used, when beings work independently? Can it be sensed or its effects be noticed by outsiders? What is its everyday function?

Alternative: A being once a member of a hive-mind or a collective is severed from it, and now alone. Are they grieving? Do they feel free? Are tasks suddenly more difficult or easy for them? How do they feel?

Thursday 27th May 2021 — The Fae

The fae are supernatural beings or spirits found in a variety of folklore.

The fae are often associated with woodland, bodies of water, bogland, or other particular areas, but there are variations on variations of different fae legend: elves, brownies, merfolk, y tylwyth teg, the bean sidhe, selkies, gnomes, kobolds, leprechauns, nymphs, pixies…

In a lot of modern fantasy, the fae are associated with rigidity around law and rules, certain contracts, and many superstitions are associated with fae or fae-like beings, where one offends them at one’s peril.

What makes the fae monstrous? What makes them frightening and an object of horror for others? What rules do they follow and expect others to follow? What superstitions are associated with them?

Alternate: The fae are introduced to pop culture depictions of fairies. What is their response?

Friday 28th May 2021 — The Monster Extinct

The monster has been extinct for thousands of years, if not hundreds of thousands, and based off of the evidence of them — stories, fossils, remains, old art, people are trying to back-engineer what they were like, what they looked like, how they communicated.

How accurate are they? How off?

Alternate: The monster doesn’t exist yet, or is a long way off, but has been told about in prophecy, or glimpsed in visions of the future. Are these glimpses accurate to the truth? Do they tell the whole story?

Saturday 29th May 2021 — Cultural Differences

What does cultural exchange look like between monster and human, or between two monstrous cultures?

How do these distinct cultures affect one another or interact? Are there large cultural differences between the monstrous cultures and the human ones? Are there any moral, ethical, aesthetic, economic, political, legal, or other cultural aspects that are very much at odds between some cultures and the others?

For example, do the human and monstrous cultures both have money? Do they treat money as of the same importance? Do they rank things in the same orders of importance? Do they have similar customs around politeness, greeting, language? Does each culture respect the others, or do they consider themselves superior or inferior?

Alternate: A human has never had much experience of the culture they were born of — they only know the monstrous culture they were raised by and into. What does that look like?

Sunday 30th 2021 — The Minotaur

It’s my birthday and the minotaur is my absolute favourite, so! Minotaurs!

The classical minotaur was the son of Pasiphaë and the unwilling stepson of King Minos of Knossos: born with the body of a man and the head and tail of a bull, he was declared monstrous and trapped within the labyrinthine maze beneath the great palaces of Knossos, until the hero Theseus came to slay him dead.

Today, the minotaur is the name for any half-bull half-human delight, tragic or otherwise.

Alternate: You needn’t limit yourself to a half-bull half-human if you feel the need to abandon literal perfection — go for the drider, perhaps, a half-human half-spider, return to the merfolk of several prompts above, and go half-human, half-fish, the satyr, half-goat half-human.

Whatever it is, make it half-human, half-something else, and then decide:

Is your monster cursed? Were they made this way, were they born this way? Are they happy? Are they the same as their family members, or are they different? If they are the latter, are they loved and accepted, or made an exile?

What are the benefits and negatives to their physical appearance and to their biology? Are there any aspects that might be unexpected?

Are they viewed by people in general as frightening, intimidating, unusual, strange, incredibly sexy? Are they treated as a monster?

Monday 31st May 2021 — Happily Ever After

The monster lives happily ever after…

What does that look like?

Alternate: Or, your monster has a tragic ending — because you’re the monster, apparently! 😒😭

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Thanks so much for considering taking part in the #MonstrousMayChallenge!

If you want to do any of the above prompts, or if you want to do them all, but you’re not a writer or an artist, or you are but you’re not always in the mood for art, here’s a list of alternate activities you can do to tick off the prompts!

Do some worldbuilding, analysis, meta, or discussion of common tropes within or related to the prompt

Shitpost or make jokes or memes about or related to the prompt

Do some aesthetic or graphic posts

Watch movies or TV episodes, read comics, or consume other media, related to the prompts

Make rec lists for other people of movies or TV episodes or books (or other media!) related to the prompts

Comment on and show some love for other prompt fills in the #MonsterMayChallenge tag! Share your favourite work and support fellow creators!

I’m on Twitter, and will be posting about the challenge throughout, but I also write other short stories and books!

Check out my Patreon, my stories on Medium, my books for sale, and my WorldAnvil — and if you would like to, feel free to leave a tip!

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datawyrms · 3 years

Text

Ectober Day 29/5 Echo

On Ao3

Danny’s memories were awful. The way his voice shook, but the echo of his words rang clearly in her head only made it worse. The fragmented hints of feeling small and helpless that found an opening to crowd around her heart hurt.

This wasn’t someone trying to trick them. It was too fleeting, accidental and open to be. The demon struggled not to show too much hurt, but either was unaware of the weak whimpering that invaded the back of her mind, or wasn’t able to stop it. Tucker seemed to feel something too- but differently. He sort of twitched sometimes, or rubbed at his neck as if it might push a sensation away. She seemed to be getting words, mostly...maybe Tucker was feeling the echo of how the demon had physically felt in those moments. If he was, she pitied him. The words hurt enough.

It had been getting difficult to try and keep suspicious of Phantom, trying to rationalize he was a demon and prone to wanting to trick them. This just smashed any pretense of keeping that wall up. Even if he was a demon, his actions didn’t come close to what had been done to him, he never acted anywhere near as cruel. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest to just add him to their little friend group, especially considering how they met in the first place. How couldn’t they though? They couldn’t just leave a fellow sort of outcast out to rot, not when he was just lonely and frightened. If he ended up being some sort of monster after all? Then she and Tucker would pull him out of it, because in the end, he wasn’t a monster by nature. No matter where he’d come from.

So they needed a plan to get the real monster out of their lives. It was just a little difficult to try and ask someone who was hurting for more details. Even if it was to help them figure out how to get rid of the problem. What would Gregor or other fae be weak to? Iron? Was using Elliot’s body protecting him? So many questions.

It was Tucker who decided to brave it first, though he had insisted on making a messy blanket and pillow fort like they were all eight again first. The green light that sometimes crept in behind Danny’s eyes cast odd shadows- but it seemed to calm him down better than anything they could actually say out loud. Apparently he was a bit of a pillow hog, wanting to be half on theirs too, when he already had three. Tucker hesitated a little, but pushed through to ask. “Hey. How’d you get away? The first time.”

Danny sunk a little into the blankets, face down instead of speaking clearly again. “I didn’t, really. Not on my own.”

“Was it Wulf?” Sam hazarded a guess, unsure if his guilt was because of that or not. The fact he never spoke about any friends made it pretty hard to know if he had any.

“No. He should have been free but I thought he was angry with me too, since he never came...but he wasn’t free at all,” he groaned “Stupid. Of course he wouldn’t have abandoned me to that fate.”

“It’s not like you could know, right?”

The demon grunted, clearly still stewing about Wulf. “My sister found out and got me.”

Not his parents. Did they know he’d been trapped and just left him? Or they’d told his sister to go help instead of doing so themselves? She didn’t like either option. They couldn’t seriously have left him to suffer because of an accident? Of course they could have, human parents could be almost as terrible.

“You have a sister?”

“I have lots of siblings. Not much of a legion if there’s only four of us…I don’t know most of them personally.”

“Do you know what she did to get you out of there? We don’t want you trapped with no idea how to get you out again.” Tucker asked, gently nudging the demon back on topic.

“Uhhh. Mostly showed up and started ripping anyone in her way to shreds? There was a lot of getting permission to get there without stepping on any toes first but it was pretty simple once she was actually present.”

“So your sister is seriously scary.”

“She’s a proper sort of demon, yeah. Probably make you drop dead on the spot if you looked at her,” he managed to sit back up, a hint of a smile back on his face. “Nothing like me.”

“Well I like not being dead, so we’ll just cross that off as a plan.”

“Ha. It’s not like she’d answer a summoning from you guys anyway. She sees too much to bother with most humans. Maybe if she sees an easy mistake and wants a meal.”

The fondness in his voice made something click in her head. Okay, she might not like humans, but the two demons clearly cared enough to be somewhat close? To boast about her like this? “Wait. Wait wait wait. She’d ignore us, but she wouldn’t ignore you.”

“Uhhh. I’m a demon. I’m the one who gets summoned, not the other way around?” Danny’s confusion was enough to make him tilt on his side to get a better look at her. “Humans summon.”

“If you’re human enough to not get put in a thermos, maybe you’re human enough to use a summoning circle?”

“I don’t know anything about those? Well, I know how to spot broken ones and mistakes to escape, but not use one.”

“Dude, you think we have any idea how this stuff works? We’re just copying out of a book basically.” Tucker was already up, going to grab his laptop and the ‘Flash Drive Of Most Organized Magic’ as he insisted on calling it. “That and some problem solving, I guess.”

“If we need a circle to hand over a demon, couldn’t we just use it to summon one instead? You’d be safe calling her, right?”

“Uh. Maybe? She can only come over so fast,” the boy sounded unsure, but was leaning over to look closely where Tucker indicated. “It’s a bit of a strain on reality for something like her to force her way through.”

“So we’d need more time, but we wouldn’t have to worry too much on what Gregor would do if we could pull that off.” Sam muttered, adding it to the list. Unleashing some apparently horrific demon on the town just to squash Gregor might be a bit much...but it could make a decent emergency plan.

“Don’t you want to try out other kinds of magic? Just to see what it’s like?” Tucker gave him a little nudge.

“It just seems weird. I shouldn’t be able to do those things…human stuff.”

“All the more reason he’s in for a nasty surprise to think he can just drag you off to be tormented again.” It was difficult to get him to look at her, but he eventually did.

“I guess...it’s worth trying to figure out.”

#Danny Phantom #ectoberhaunt 2021 #ectober week 2021 #sam manson #Tucker Foley #demonau #in which the kids plan #and brag about siblings

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

(Un)Wanted Part 1

Read on Ao3

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden.

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks.

Word Count: 11,250

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. Run.

The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races.

Demon.

Evil.

Bad.

Cursed.

The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

It’s a fae garden.

It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden.

No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

“Oh, and what do we have here?”

Shit.

His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face.

Where the fuck did he come from? He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

“See something interesting, pretty thing?”

His gaze snaps back to the—when the fuck did he get so close—fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t exactly remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst.

The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many—six arms?

He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he can’t get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae.

A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to—fuck why is he so close?

Close enough that he can feel breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk.

“As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and fuck, that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.”

He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot.

But this?

He’s in way over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t do anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces.

“Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the audacity of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel tiny, “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He won’t. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the fuck is he supposed to do with his arms?

“My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft.

“Or, oh, and now this could be very interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you flustered, have I, my dear?”

The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and fuck that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it does. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that—fuck, his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. Fuck.

The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat.

The snake’s grin widens.

“Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at all,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

No, no—

The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight.

“Lovely.”

He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers.

“Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you precious~”

The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away.

“Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs.

“You look distressed, kitten—“ prey— “are you…nervous?”

Goddamnit, he’s not gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s not. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright.

I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!

“Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

Yes.

“You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was I supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully rude to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat.

The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

That doesn’t make it any easier!

“Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope.

“Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin.

He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even tries to move he will fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

“That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

Stop it, he wants to plead, let me go. he can’t.

“Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan.

He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory.

He sees himself. His true self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts.

He blinks.

His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

“Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle.

“It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,” the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, “lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”

The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer.

“Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. “Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”

The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes.

“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.”

The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.

“Lightly, my darling.”

He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

“So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

Really? Back to flirting already?

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you too badly.”

Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too.

“But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

“You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you must look away.”

Do what now?

“Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to breathe, sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest.

“Breathe,” says the snake.

He breathes.

“Good.”

So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he knows the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was.

That doesn’t explain this.

“I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

Shit.

“Why don’t you just relax,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything.

He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy.

“That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I could call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes.

“May I have your name?”

Nope. I know that one.

He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

“Clever boy. Very well, V, why don’t you just take another breath.”

V breathes.

“Have you caught something new for us?”

V’s breath catches. Fuck.

Another one?

Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his hands.

“What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of course not,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere else.”

They have a schedule? How many of them are there?

“Well, good!”

The snake huffs and the other one chuckles.

“So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall.

“Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—

No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes.

“There we go…”

The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, look at this!”

V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and shit he doesn’t want to do this again.

“Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

“It’s not for me.”

“You, doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I have to see. Move your hand.”

No, please don’t.

“Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter.

“Oh, how could you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a crime to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just look at you, pretty thing.”

Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely not to go even brighter and not to squirm a little against the hold.

“Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips.

If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation.

And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise.

“Oh, I could stand here for ages,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

“He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

Not you too!

“I think he likes your voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles.

“I think so too.”

“Which one does he like more?”

No, no, let’s not test and find out, he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can feel the snake behind him and sure he could probably grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, please—

“I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

“Mm.”

“Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount.

“What if I were to talk like this? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

No, no no no, that voice…despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he melts.

“Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle…good…”

He can’t help it, he whines. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he knows it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it works and he hates his traitorous body for responding to it.

“I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck.

“Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

“That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so close, “give in…”

“Enough.”

Thank you.

The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from whatever the fuck is happening.

“Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

“I haven’t gone yet.”

“You had enough time before I showed up.”

“And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

“Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

“Oh please.”

“Like you can do better?”

No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride.

A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear.

“Darling,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening.

The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

He’s too close. He’s too close and that voice like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh god—

“Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “squee.”

V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away.

“Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face.

“Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking bolted the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

“We didn’t break him, did we?”

“He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

“Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

“Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and fuck, he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again.

“Too much?”

He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. Someone could have told me.”

“What, me? How could I have possibly known?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

“Never.”

“I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—

“Why is he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this lovely little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing.

The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there.

The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush.

“Oh…oh, sweetheart…”

The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—

“I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to do.

The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns.

Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it stays and it keeps happening and is—is he—

The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

“It’s completely fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

“Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

Still no.

“You may call me V.”

The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every single time one of them touches him—

“You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

“Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

How many of them are there?

He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d would show up.”

“You know better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to tell me before you give someone else nightmares.”

“If you would pay attention for two seconds—“

“Oh what, like you can talk.”

“Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything he says.”

“Why are you here?”

“What did you do to the mortal?”

“Oh, shut up—“

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

“Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”

Oh fuck one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a bad noise and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—

Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to go—

It stops. There’s silence.

For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or something but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears.

“Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake’s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

Is he, though?

“Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze.

“It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected.

“I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so hard right now and he knows this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just happened and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be safe.

“I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so bad.

“Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

He can. He can, but…

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it?

“I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

“Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so hard?

The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

Is…is this one kissing him too?

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

For the first time since god he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so clear.

“Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

“Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

“The others…”

“Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says.

Not what he meant, but that’s good, right?

“Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling.

“Nice and quiet. I would hope,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would realize why that would not have been ideal.”

“Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks.

“I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again.

Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning.

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is.

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

The first time one of them has asked before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms.

“Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the—right, the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—

He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

“Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

Is Specs healing him?

“It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

“Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, right behind him, making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that.

“…that’s better,” he chooses instead.

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

“They didn’t blind you, did they?”

“No.”

He really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are.

“They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

“What happened to you,” the other one—how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate—asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so tense…you need to loosen up.”

No. No more flirting. Please, no more.

It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same.

There are hands, warm hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

“V?”

There’s a hand on his face.

“V.”

The hand leaves his face. He whimpers.

“Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

“But—!”

“Just for a second.”

The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him.

“I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of.

He nods.

“Good. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“What?”

“How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

“I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

“Why were they chasing you?”

“Did they hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes.

He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum.

“Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

“W-what’s happening?”

“I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you/”

Feral. Blind. Protective.

I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me.

How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to escape. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, two of them have kissed him, and one of them just went feral because of…why, exactly?

Fuck, what kind of shit is he going to owe them after this?

The fae doesn’t do anything for free. Ever. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just healed him.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him.

He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes.

Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts.

Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

“That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

“Told you.”

The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands—warm warm warm warm so warm—starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch.

His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

“It is highly unlikely.”

“And you said it would be difficult.”

“Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and keeping one are two different things.”

Hold on wait what now.

“Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is him.”

“That’s such a flattering description.”

“Like it’s not true!”

Ugh, noise.

Wait. What’s that?

He jerks his head around only to wince when more light—honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him.

“There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

“How many of you are there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle.

“About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

“Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically see the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

“Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

Okay, Dad has entered the chat.

The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. Rude.

“Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

Because three of you specifically told me not to.

“It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

“He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down.

“Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

“It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable.

“I can fix that.”

Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks.

The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. he registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. his gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh.

He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face.

Actually…do they all have the same face?

He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince has to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves.

Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he really kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not.

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like…really pretty.

So pretty that just the thought of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears.

Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair.

His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

Third time ain’t gonna be the charm.

“You may call me V.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

…sure.

“Have you met everyone else?”

We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right.

He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around.

“You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

“L,” says Specs.

The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

“What? No, it can!”

“You may call me the Prince.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

Nailed it.

Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles.

“He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

“Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

“Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

“As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?

But where would I go?

He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the hurt, away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they hate him, hate everything that he is.

And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

None of them has hurt him.

It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt.

Hell, one of them did go feral at the thought of someone else trying to hurt him.

Would…would it be so bad to stay here?

“Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

“It’s not our job to interfere!”

“On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

“Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

“That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters.

“I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

“See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that we agree on something!”

“The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly.

“Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement.

He nods. Pat smiles patiently.

“You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“…yes.”

“You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their own kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to know how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

“Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

Does he?

Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

Would he even get there?

The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

“We are not keeping him!”

They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they can.

Oh. Oh, wow.

The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

“Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

“Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

“Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

“Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

“Where the fuck did he get off to?”

“Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

“He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

“With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“Over there, see the light?”

No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

—oh.

Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer.

“Hey, hey, stop!”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in there!”

“Think he ran through here?”

“Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

Pat quirks an eyebrow.

“Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

“Let’s go back. I ain’t running through there and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

“Maybe we should thank them.”

Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone.

Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down.

"Did they hurt you?"

His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

"Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again.

“Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they want him?

The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug.

“Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed.

“Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand.

“We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

V nods, still confused as to where this is going.

“When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

A…a claim?

“Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

“Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

“Oh shit.”

“How did we miss that?”

“We gotta go!”

The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders.

“Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens.

“This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway.

“They’re so dramatic, aren’t they?”

He turns.

Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand.

“Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we have just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what he wants.

Part of it is the fact that he looks like that and sounds like that and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him.

“There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

“'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

The snake laughs. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

“Wh-why did that happen?”

The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

“So…”

“When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

“I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “almost.”

V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting.

“Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

“Enough,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You can open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

“Eye contact is the actual worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters.

He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he really doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now.

“It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

“Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

Gatekeeper.

“It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

Oh.

“…you wanted to keep me,” he breathes.

The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes.

“Why do you look so scared?”

Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

“There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt.

V does it anyway.

“V—“

“Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “Why?”

The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters, I don’t know what you want and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you want and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run away—“

Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae.

Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae.

Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small.

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

Then it isn’t.

“Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…”

“W-wha—“

“Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—

“I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself.

“You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again.

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

“…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm.

“As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier.

The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft.

“What is it, darling?”

“What,” he croaks, “do you want?”

“You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

He wipes away another tear.

“And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to stop.”

He shifts his weight, still holding him firm.

“You are lost in darkness and you are so afraid, my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

he nods.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

“What use is a broken mortal?”

“Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

“What fae makes a useless trade?”

“What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

“What fae gives something for free?”

“What hurt caused this suspicion?”

V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding.

“If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

“…yes.”

The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, just a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears.

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe.

“Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs.

“Going feral?”

“Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

“I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to really enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you nothing and you’re—“

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud.

“I’m…what?”

V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again.

“Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

“…pretty.”

The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

“Pretty.”

He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come.

“Look at me, V.”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

“You said that before you and the prince did…that thing.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

“I made that claim, this claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove.

“Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. I want you.”

He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold.

“And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

Shit.

“Oh, come on,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even trying that time.”

“I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

“You are adorable.”

“Hey!”

“You are, sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

“No.”

“Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him.

He’s safe.

He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him.

“If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

“Probably.”

“Then I won’t.”

He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

“No…thank you.”

His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button.

He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “Virgil.”

The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

“You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too.

“And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

“I can’t help it, Virgil, you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

“After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear.

“J.”

“Hmm?”

He tilts his head up to look at him. “J.”

Oh.

“…thank you, J.”

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

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chalkstarz · 3 years

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Dangers of working with demons

Dangers of working with demon:

1. Incubi/succubi- they are possessive, good luck at living a life with a true love such as a soul mate or twin flame. Probably won’t happen. They feed on your life energy and shorten your life span. They shouldn’t be invoked in a house with children because they can be aggressive and indiscriminate with whom they target. There is no such thing as consent once you invoke incubi or succubi. Once you start you’re stuck with what you get whether you like it or not, there is no such thing as withdrawing consent.

2. Fae: I don’t care what anyone says, even if the are light beings fae are straight up demon. They move your shit, they steal your favorite jewelry and in order to get your shit back you have to leave them offerings. They basically bully you into giving them offerings. Don’t say thank you to them or they will hold you in debt. Don’t apologize to them or they will retaliate.

3. Goetia demons- the main danger of working with the goetia demons is fucking up the ritual and getting fucked over by an angry demon. If you’re super n00b and summon a demon when you’re not familiar with working with demons, when you haven’t built a relationship with that demon, you put yourself at risk for not knowing how to “speak their language”. Belial for example is the poltergeist you see on tv, the one that makes your head spin and makes you vomit two ways until Sunday. Not really a good idea to start off by invoking him without any idea of how to work with him.

4. Jinn- jinn are fucking powerful and they are fucking ancient. They can drive a human being insane with a simple touch. They can be huffy and narcissistic, think a cancer rising moon, Leo sun, with generational trauma issues. If you want to work with them, you have to be prepared to be on your best behavior and be the hostess with the mostest when you serve them. They will work with you but that doesn’t mean they won’t drop you the second they feel like they are done with you.

5. Iblis- king of Jinns and in a category of his own. He’s a trickster and he is manipulative, but In a very sly and subtle way. But in a way that will creep into you and overpower you if you aren’t grounded in yourself. I remember working with you on a spell invoking Iblis. I remember my mentoe telling me when she first saw him- she demonstrated how he looked at her just staring, staring. I had that same vision when I was driving two days later. He was looking at me. In glasses, tall and lanky. Not evil dark energy, but a heavy dark energy where he knew exactly what his power was. He invokes the “ill burn this house down to the ground if you don’t give me what you want” energy. He has immense power and if he can be tricky. He can take from you, payment you weren’t expecting to give for what you want, and maybe even payment that you absolutely wouldn’t have agreed to give, ever, in the first place.

6. Intranquil spirit- when you summon an intranquil spirit it’s like sending out a light beam and all the intranquil spirits in the area answer the call. If you don’t know how to work with intranquil spirits well it can be risky. Also you have to pay and if you don’t pay sufficiently they will take payment from you.

7. Other demons- can manipulate you, possess you, ruin your life and fuck with you hard if you make them angry.

#succubi #incubi #goetia #djinn #jinn #dark magick

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nehemia-deserved-better · 3 years

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Elorcan deserved about 500 more chapters all to themselves, so I decided to write one of them. I intended this story to be as canon-compliant as possible, so that it could plausibly be considered an extra Elorcan chapter in Empire of Storms. It would be set a day after their fight over Lorcan killing the ship owner in chapter 43, and before the next time we see them where Elide claims to have not spoken to him for 3 days.

So without further ado: How The Light Gets In

The nightmare began at the top of a stone stair. Elide’s heavy, uneven footfalls echoed ominously in the tight space as she descended, spiraling down into the fetid air of the dungeons. The chains snaking around her ankles rattled and slithered with each step. Yet it was not that sound which frightened Elide; it was the cacophony of despair emanating from below. Women’s voices: moaning, screaming, and—worst of all— pleading. She tried to flee back up the stair, but a phantom hand seized her chains and sent her pitching headlong into the unforgiving stone. Her fingernails splintered and bled as she scrabbled for purchase, fighting to crawl away from that horrible noise. But the pull on her chains was relentless. Elide was dragged downwards into that ocean of misery, each voice crashing over her until she was drowning in sound, unable to distinguish her own screams.

—————

Lorcan stood at the prow of the ship, illuminated by the light of the stars, and cursed his keen fae hearing. He couldn’t block out the soft whimpers coming from within the ship’s cabin, or the rustling of a small form tossing under the blankets. He didn’t want to know that Elide was having a nightmare, didn’t want to care. After all, why should he? Pathetic she had called him, nearly spitting the words in disgust. Jealous, lonely, pathetic, unhappy—each insult flung from her with greater conviction than the last. And when she had finally finished, face mottled red in rage and chest heaving, he couldn’t even muster a convincing facade of anger. Instead, as he looked down on that tiny, furious woman, he felt only admiration and a surprising amount of desire. When was the last time someone had dared speak to him with such candor? He had killed males for lesser offenses, and she knew it. And yet, she remained stubbornly unafraid.

But when she had followed that outburst with a demand to leave the ship, to leave him... Lorcan realized belatedly that the gut-wrenching sensation he'd felt then had been fear. He tilted his head up to look at the stars, admonishing himself for that weakness. This human should not have such power over him. Still, he knew he would not allow this fierce creature out of his sight. He wanted more of her. He wanted to feel her thick, dark hair between his fingers, and to do more with that red mouth than just gaze at it. But mostly, he wanted more of her passion, honesty, and bravery— her ability to see right through to the core of him with those cunning eyes. Lorcan found himself striding for the cabin door before he could think better of it.

—————

It is a peculiarity of nightmares to seamlessly blend one horror into the next, forgoing transitions in exchange for an unending montage of terror. And so, Elide suddenly found herself standing at the base of the stair. She pressed her palms over her ears to no avail; nothing could block out that endless, many-voiced wailing. A long hall lined with torches and iron doors stretched out before her. She knew what lay beyond those doors, though her mind recoiled from the thought of witches and alters and demons. In the flickering light of the fires stood a ghostly woman draped in black. Kaltain raised a finger to her lips and, as though by her command, a curtain of silence fell over the hall. Elide didn't spare a moment to be relieved. She stepped toward Kaltain, trying to tell her that they must run, that they weren’t safe here. No words passed her lips— they never did, in her dreams. The Lady merely stared at her. “You can’t save them. Only I can do that now.” Elide furrowed her brow in confusion, prompting a breathy laugh from Kaltain. “Don’t you remember? Or did you forget about my sacrifice so easily?” Her lips split wide in a mockery of a smile, her mouth opening and opening until the flesh peeled away completely. Beneath, shrugging off Kaltain’s skin like an oversized coat, was a pale woman with blood red lips. “And what of my sacrifice, my darling girl? What became of me?” Elide reached for her mother, but she crumbled to ash between her fingers.

—————

Lorcan’s breath caught as he laid eyes on Elide sleeping fretfully in the narrow cabin bed. The blankets were twisted around her legs, becoming thoroughly tangled as she continued to shift in agitation. A sheen of sweat glimmered at the base of her throat. Distress was clear in her expression, despite her face being partially obscured by her disheveled hair. Lorcan had no idea what to do. He wanted to soothe her and provide comfort, but he had no experience with such things. Besides, if Elide’s resolute silence of the previous day was any indication, she would likely not welcome his presence. And yet, he found himself unable to walk away, as though some gravity beyond his control were pulling them together.

Gently, Lorcan reached down and brushed the loose strands of hair from her face, smoothing them behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, brushing against her cheek. He marveled at how small she seemed under his broad palms. She stirred, and he quickly retracted his fingers, scolding himself for his stupidity. How incensed would she be to wake and find him standing over her? He began to turn away.

“Stay.” The word was a single breath, so quiet that Lorcan was fairly certain it was a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. But then it came again, soft as a prayer, “stay.” He simply stared at her. Elide didn’t even seem to be awake. It was very possible that she was speaking to someone in her dream, utterly unaware of his presence. Just as he was convincing himself of this, a hand lightly grasped his own. Her fingers were so little in his, delicate like the bones of a bird. But he knew the strength that lay there, knew she had calluses and scars to mirror his own. Lorcan softly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, Elide's hand still in his. He wasn’t used to holding something with such care, not with these hands that had wrought so much death. He found that he liked the change.

“Elide?” he whispered. No response. “Are you awake?” Her eyes remained closed but she spoke slowly in reply.

“Lorcan...You’re not usually here.”

“In the cabin?”

“In my dreams.”

He took a moment to absorb that blow to his male ego. Before he could think of a suitable response, Elide was tugging on his hand, trying to pull him closer. Lorcan was conflicted. She was clearly not fully awake, hovering in the limbo of her dreams. As much as he wanted nothing more than to lay down and pull her close, to see just how well the curves of her body fit with his own, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of her hazy consciousness. And in addition, there was no way his massive frame would fit on that bed with her unless she was nearly on top of him. He struggled to divert his imagination away from that particular path of thought.

When he looked back at her face, he was startled to find her eyes wide open. The gaze that met his own was clear, apparently awake. “Stay,” she repeated, and the last of his reservations disappeared. She scooted up against the wall, occupying the narrowest strip of bed possible. After some adjusting of bodies and untangling of blankets, Lorcan wound up on his back. His shoulders took up the entire width of the bed, and still he was precariously close to the edge. Elide was pressed between his body and the wall, her limbs sprawled out across him: an arm resting on his chest, a leg bent up over his own, her foot pressed between his calves. Gingerly, he slid his arm underneath her head, providing his bicep as a pillow.

“I thought you were still angry with me,” he grumbled.

“I am. I don’t think I’ll ever speak to you again, because you are a cruel bastard,” she responded sleepily, snuggling closer. Lorcan had gone past the point of confusion and was now hovering somewhere in the realm of utter bewilderment.

“I’ll find a way to manage without you.” Why could he never find the right thing to say to her?

“No, you won’t, because you promised.” She paused there for a yawn. “As mysterious as you think you are, I know that promise matters to you... that I matter to you. Why else would I dream of you after a nightmare?” She yawned, more pronounced than the first time. When she began speaking again her voice was thick with exhaustion. “I know I’m safe with you. I know that you will protect me.” And with that, she was fully asleep once more. Not a trace of the nightmare remained on her face, and her breathing was deep and untroubled.

Lorcan could only stare at the top of her head, stunned. Despite how lucid she seemed, she had clearly still been half in the grip of her dreams. But her words, her absolute confidence in him, the comfort she had found in his arms...He had never experienced this before. Receiving affection without sex or motive, soothing fear instead of creating it— this was all uncharted territory. Something in him fractured with astounding force. It was as though every place their bodies touched was cracking open and she was the light pouring in, pushing back all that darkness he had gathered throughout the centuries. He had no word to name this feeling coursing through his blood, but he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so unburdened. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and whispered “I will always keep you safe”. Then, he laid his cheek atop her hair and listened to her breathe for a long while before he fell asleep.

—————

Elide woke to the smell of cooking trout, and the soft sound of water lapping against the boat. Even through her closed lids she could see that daylight was pouring through the windows of the cabin, meaning she must have slept very late into the morning. She rolled over with a groan and reached out a hand for...for whom? Was she expecting to find someone in her bed? Sitting fully upright now, she looked around in confusion. She’d had a very strange dream. Lady Kaltain had been there, in the dungeons of Morath… she shuddered at the memory, both of the dream and its real-life inspiration. She’d vomited for days after she saw behind those iron doors, and had no desire to recollect the specifics either awake or asleep.

But then she’d left the dungeon and arrived in the ship’s cabin, where her fear-addled brain had conjured an image of the only true safety she had known for the last decade: Lorcan. A soft smile graced her face at the thought, quickly replaced by a grimace as she remembered him killing that man, and their resulting fight. He provided safety for her, perhaps, but he brought only death to those who got in his way. Her thoughts lingered on the barge owner who had once slept in this bed, dutifully cleaned the cabin windows, adorned the small table with an embroidered cloth— she bolted out of the bed and through the door, suddenly needing to be anywhere else.

Fingers gripping the ship’s railing so tight that her knuckles threatened to pop out, Elide leaned into the wind off the river water. Lorcan may well have saved both their lives by ending that man’s. An innocent bystander he may have seemed, but one likely to jump at the chance to profit from their capture. Lorcan had done it, as he seemed to do everything these days, to protect her.

That thought brought her back to her dream. It had been so real. She could recall the way his breath had stirred her hair, the feeling of his muscular chest under her fingers and his considerable bicep cushioning her head, how she had confidently declared how much he cared for her— she stopped as though her thoughts had crashed into a stone wall. She felt the blood drain from her face. She never, never spoke in her dreams.

A gentle tap on her shoulder had her shouting in surprise; Lorcan couldn’t normally sneak up on her, to his eternal annoyance, but she had been too deep in thought to notice his approach. Wordlessly, he held out a plate of trout. He betrayed no expression beyond a slight quirk of the eyebrows, likely in reaction to having a small woman scream at him in a pitch only bats and immortal demi-fae could hear. Elide studied the harsh planes of his face as she accepted the food in silence. She found nothing there to suggest she had spent the night curled in his arms. He seemed to be examining her expression as well. His lips parted, as though there was something he wanted to say, but something in her face seemed to convince him to remain quiet. With a soft shake of the head and a furrow in his brow, he turned away.

As he walked back toward the prow, she let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a dream. She felt an unexpected disappointment at the thought. It was harmless to admire his power and strength from a distance, or to feel sparks of desire as his gaze slid to her lips every damn time they spoke, but to spend the night in his arms? She watched him tirelessly propelling the boat with a long pole, his dark hair sticking to his neck in the hot midday sun. No, it had been a dream, and that’s all it would ever be...right?

Thanks for sticking around all the way till the end! It would mean a lot if you would comment and let me know what you think of my first ever fanfiction :)

#Elorcan #empire of storms #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #throne of glass #elorcan fanfiction #elorcan ff #throne of glass ff

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notyouraverageeldaryafan · 3 years

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World Building part 1/5

The History of the Fae World

Hello and welcome to the first post dedicated to explaining how I would rewrite Eldarya! You can find the context to this post here. Before I begin here is your kind reminder that this is just my opinion and that it is subjective and that my version/AU is not better than the original or any other version for that matter, feel free to disagree and even tell me how wrong I am as long as you remain kind and polite. I will assume you are familiar with the game’s plot and so these posts will contain spoilers.

Let’s start with one of the core problems of this game, the world building. The game glosses over it, vaguely explaining it and seldom utilizes it in the plot. The team had a few good ideas, such as the war between the dragons and the aengels and it’s aftermath, but also they fail to take into account some of their decisions and their consequences. I am referring to the fact that the ritual was not completed and thus the food grown on Eldarya isn’t nutritional, it’s interesting in theory but the application is sloppy considering they have to constantly steal food from Earth but are unable to bring the main character back home. I will try to rewrite this origin story as well as a bit more of this world’s history, trying to make it as interesting but without it having so many consequences that are just making things less fun. (warning: this is unnecessarily long)

The creation:

The birth of Christ was but a few centuries away: humanity was slowly learning how to write, faes were worshiped like gods and everyone lived in harmony. All was good and dandy until The Oracle (yes, the one in the Crystal) foretells a grim future. The Oracle was but a young witch back then, someone very similar to the Oracle of Delphi who could see into the future. She began to tell of a world where there’s only God who’s word is law and where fear of the unknown pushes humanity to persecute and abuse of faes (aka Christianity and unholy amount of persecution they led against witches and pagans). This of course was terrifying to the current leaders of the faes and, despite having some doubts, they still decided to act upon this prophecy. The Oracle offered the solution, the creation of a new world, an escape, so that, if things get out of control, the faes can just escape to this world and close the gates towards Earth guarantying their safety.

All that was required was to complete a century long ritual, led by none other than the Oracle, where three of the mightiest faes species will have to sacrifice themselves in order to use the power within them to create this new world. These species symbolize what this new world should be like: the Dragons represent its power and might, the Phoenix, its immortality and fairness, the Aengels, its generosity and beauty. But there was a catch. The Oracle was using part of the power released by this sacrifice to become more powerful herself, unbeknownst to the others. Her Apprentice ended up discovering her secret and told the sacrificed about it. They decided to trap her during the last ritual inside of a giant crystal so that she may not use her new found powers against them in the future. And so they did, The Oracle found herself eaten by blue crystals where she stood and as she understood what was happening to her, she cursed this new world that she built: pieces of her Crystal will make faes go insane with greed and power, forcing them on killing sprees, that as much as they will try to keep the crystal in one piece, it will shatter, poisoning the inhabitants reminding them of her wrath. Dumbfounded, the remaining faes didn’t know what to do now, afraid of going in this new and now completed world, none wanting to go insane. The Apprentice stepped up, promising she knew how to appease her late master and thus control the intensity of this curse.

Thus began something known as the First Wave, only a few thousand faes left for this new world they have created, to understand if it was truly dangerous, led by the Apprentice and much later by her reincarnations. Among these faes were the Original Three (the Dragons, Aengels and Phoenix) who each claimed one of the four main continents, the last one going to The Apprentice and her followers (you can find more details about the geography of this new world here [yet to be written]). At first, the Crystal was easy to control and the cases of Corrupted Faes were few and far between but it couldn’t last forever. (cf:The Fall of the Mightiest and The Return of The Oracle, found below)

The War between the Dragons and the Aengels, also known as the Rise of the Mightiest:

The Ritual has left the Original Three weak and far less in numbers than they used to be. The Apprentice decided to give up the continent she was assigned, preferring to dedicate her life to dealing with the Oracle than to rule land. Both the Dragons and the Aengels wished to take this now ‘vacant’ continent for themselves. They were unable to compromise lands both wanting the land in its entirety. A war began between the two, The War of The Mighty Two. Meanwhile the Phoenix decided to remain true to their principals and remained neutral and fair, not taking part in this quarrel. They ended up regretting this much later. The war stretched for a couple of centuries until the Aengels disappeared completely from the face of this new world, declaring the Dragons victors and rulers of now three of the four main continents. Thus the Dragons began to change history, changing the name of the Aengels into Daemons and antagonizing them in history books. The Phoenix let them do so out of fear but also because they were afraid of losing their neutral stance.

Special thanks to @partyinnevarra for helping me perfect this section and giving me the idea for the better reason behind the War between The Dragons and the Aengels, thanks again for your help <3

The Fall of the Mightiest and The Return of the Oracle:

In some sort of divine karma, the Dragons themselves suffered greatly. The Crystal, who had been quiet until then, awoke. The Oracle, who is theorized to have a conscious, waited until the new world was at its weakest to attack. The Dragons were the main victims of the First Corruption, going insane with power and destroying the world they promised to protect. The local faes were overwhelmed and called upon the faes that had remained on Earth to help them, mostly Dragons that have stayed behind. This was know as the Second Wave, starting around the fall of the roman empire and ending around the middle of the Dark Ages. The on-going fight with the Corrupted lasted less of a millennium and is to this day the longest cycle of Corruption to date. It is also good to know that back then, the faes weren’t sure how to fight these Corrupted, even more so that they used to be their saviors and were the strongest faes at the time.

The easiest way to deal with the Corrupted was to kill them and take the piece of Crystal from their cadavers in order for it not to spread. It was the way that was prioritized for it was the most straight forward one (this technique is still used to this day). Another way is to trap the Corrupted in objects or caves or what-not, anything that can potentially contain something, but it required a lot of skill and maana and thus was deemed too costly (more on how that works here [yet to be written]) (this can also be an interesting villain for an episode, maybe a Dragon from the Dark-Ages trapped in ice or something else being freed by a villain or something) (this technique also explains the monster that could eat knowledge that was released by the main character in one of the episode). The last and perhaps the most efficient way of dealing with the Corrupted is through the Apprentice’s divine powers. The reincarnation of The Apprentice can extract the Crystal piece out of the Corrupted without harming them, this is called the Purification, but it is energy consuming and, well, there has only been 4 reincarnated at a time for thousands of Corrupted, so it is still considered the last viable option. (more information about how the Reincarnated work go here [yet to be written])

The First Corruption led to the almost complete extinction of the Dragons. On one side they were Corrupted and killed, on the other they fought against their brothers to extract the Crystal from them. The few Dragons left on Earth were hunted for sport by the likes of Arthur and his knights. A few unhatched eggs were saved and are kept by the Phoenix, in hopes that one day they will be able to save their species but there have been many debates surrounding the subject, mainly because of the fear that if the Dragons were to return, the Crystal might target them again.

Aengels, Daemons and The Divine:

The Aengels were not all gone, a few escaped to Earth while the rest went into hiding. The ones on Earth quickly abused the then growing Christianism, becoming the known angels and demons. Despite that, they couldn’t hide from the witch hunts and the industrialization and either disappeared or returned to the fae world during the Final Wave.

The Final Wave and The Second Corruption:

After the last of the Dragons disappeared, the First Corruption calmed down, the exact details aren’t clear, mostly because the faes that survived were few and traumatized. It took one full century for this new world to heal and for the faes on Earth to figure out that maybe, living in the fear of being Corrupted is better than dying at the hands of angry mods. Because, you guessed it, the Inquisition began followed by the witch hunts as well as the colonization of most of Earth which meant that even the places that were still considered “safe” (places that respected their legends and magical creatures, co-habiting, I’m thinking mostly of native tribes) started being invaded. Thus the last of the faes left Earth and joined the fae world, though a few remained but not enough to be worth being considered. The Second Corruption happened soon after the Final Wave and lasted less than two centuries. This time, everything was managed better, mostly because of the creation of the Guards (one of which the story takes place in), military bases meant to regulate the “bigger” Crystals and be able to predict the amount of Corruption, usually a Reincarnated accompanies the Guard members.

The Third Corruption:

After a few centuries of moderate silence where the Corrupted were present but not the worst of threats, the Oracle awoke again. And it is at this moment the actual story starts.

Nota bene:

This version of their history won’t be told to the heroine until much later in the game. At first, she will believe the story the Dragons have crafted, the version where Daemons are the villains and deserved what happened to them. The Oracle is also not seen as the villain for most of the game, mostly because the Oracle and the Crystal are seen as two different entities in the faes’ consciousness. The Oracle is seen as a helping hand, sometimes even worshipped as the goddess of this new world. The Apprentice and her reincarnations pushed forward this deification in an attempt to calm her late master’s wrath, maybe being seen as the goddess she always wanted to be would sooth her (spoilers: it doesn’t). All of this history being hidden would work greatly in the game’s over-arcing theme of lies vs. truths (it’s a theme that was present in the original material: just look at how many things the Guard hides from the protagonist even in A New Era where she is their savior). The fact that most of the faes population believed a lie ties in perfectly into the theme without making characters that the player is supposed to like and sometimes romance lie to the protagonist’s face (idk why for some reason beemoov keeps making their LIs lie to their main character, no one in 2021 finds that hot anymore, not that i think anyone ever found it hot in the first place, also you don’t need to have people lie to each other to create drama pls beemoov im sick of it) (sorry for the rant xD)

Wow!! I’m actually done... this was way to long, thank you so much for reading so far if you did. This is way too fun tho, wish I could do something more with this than just throw it in the void that is tumblr. Oh well. Next time, I’ll try to tackle the gameplay and the dreaded maana system.

Thanks again and have a good day!

#rewriting eldarya as not-really-an-average fan #eldarya #world building part 1/5 #order 1 #the history of the faes #man i forgot how hard is english

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 3 years

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 170

170

Lance lavished Keith with extra attention as they got ready for the day ahead. Today was finally the day that Curtis was freed from his curse. Waking feeling ill, Lance kept it to himself. Keith was fighting his own dose of anxiety, coupled with lingering pain from bottoming though that had been a good 15 hours ago now. Making extra coffee, Lance had cooked a few of Curtis’s favourite foods, and comfort food for Shiro, assuming being an anchor for his boyfriend’s soul would be quite taxing on their friend. They weren’t allowed on the same floor as their friends, so Pidge and Hunk were coming with them to Platt, told by Coran to be a few hours late.

When Hunk picked them up, Lance was glad he was the one driving. Keith had hit that angry stage of anxiety, a little snappy and overly apologetic. Lance unable to keep from thinking about the house and Curtis on the drive. Hunk trying to cheer them up as he and Pidge talked tech. The house was clearly an unsaid no go topic for the day. Plans shifting to making the most of the road trip down to see Keith’s father once Curtis was up for it. Keith barely contributed. Lance ignoring safety in favour of sitting in the middle back seat with just a lap belt to be able to hold Keith close to him. Honestly having so much in his head distracted from the discomfort in his belly. A growing feeling something was wrong left him teary, though he knew he’d done everything he was supposed to be doing to keep the pregnancy progressing smoothly.

Parking in the staff parking under Pidge’s direction, Lance was hit with vertigo as he climbed from Hunk’s car, resulting in him tripping on his own feet as his left ankle rolled. Something felt very wrong. Again, he knew it was his anxiety blowing things out of proportion... Embarrassingly, Lance found himself on all fours throwing up. Keith yelling his name as if he’d been shot or stabbed, and not something as damn common as him falling over. Grabbing him around the shoulders, Lance hacked, spitting in his puddle of mess with his nose scrunched up

“Babe?!”

“I’m okay...”

“You collapsed. Do you have a fever?”

Keith smacked him in the head as he tried to check. Lance sighing heavily

“I’m fine. I tripped...”

“You...”

“I tripped. I’m okay”

Ugh. Stupid ankles. It didn’t matter how fast and how strong you were, ankles would get you every time

“We should get Coran to check you”

“Babe, I’m okay... help me up”

Keith hovered. Hunk hovered. Pidge had a bounce in her step as she led them to her office. Everything within VOLTRON was running smoothly. People going about their jobs. No blaring alarms. No one was hurt. No big bad jumped out them. He was being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The only thing around to fear was Lance and his paranoia... and his paranoid anger loaf who’d made Hunk carry the picnic basket, then started “helping” him along as if he was old and decrepit, reducing him to shuffling along. Thank god no one else was there to fuss, his anxiety hadn’t settled as it was, now it’d decided to kick into overdrive there’d be no settling it until Keith finally stopped fussing and they could see their friends again.

Keith couldn’t stop thinking about Shiro. He hadn’t called him. He hadn’t wished him good luck today. He’d said nothing to his brother and he hoped his brother took it to mean he trusted things to go smoothly, and not that he was giving up before things had started.

Settling in in Pidge’s office, she shared her space with three other technicians. Keith would have gotten lost if he hadn’t been following her as she confidently led them to the lab. With his arm around Lance, he found himself torn between who to fret over more. His boyfriend who’d fallen over and then promptly thrown up, or Shiro who would acting as Curtis’s anchor right about now. Thank fuck that the fellow lab techs weren’t in at the moment, because he wasn’t sure he could keep his damn temper in check over the situation. He didn’t blame Lance for throwing up. It’d been a while since it’d happened outside... His boyfriend had spent the morning trying his hardest to be reassuring, but when his rock started crumbling, Keith didn’t know what to do. Lance kept him grounded. Lance had to be okay. Plus Lance had totally nailed him the night before and he worried the slip of his ego had somehow upset the twins. Keith had been swept up in Lance’s scent and the way his boyfriend’s body moved. He’d rushed in, over sensitised and flipped some kind of switch inside Lance. He didn’t regret it. Even with his vampire side showing, Lance hadn’t hurt him. His grip firm, without being painful, pleasure pounded into him until he had to touch himself for relief.

Now Lance was sitting in a chair Pidge stole from another technicians desk, his boyfriend rubbing his stomach as their little gremlin grabbed a case for him to rest his feet on. Keith had seen plenty of those cases before. Normally they contained things that someone shouldn’t be putting their feet on. “Dusting” her hands off, Pidge beamed

“Okie dokie, guys. Lance has decided he needed the royal treatment, but do you guys want to see my lab?”

Pidge and Hunk had showed they were they’re for them, by being physically there for them. Pidge was keeping them smiling, as she’d done at the house, using her “gremlin powers” as a force for good. Going to the house had been a sobering experience for them, and Keith had let his duties as the cool mature older friend slide by providing very little comfort to her, despite the fact both her brother and father had been held there. Leaning back in his chair, Lance nominated him

“Keith would love to. I’m going to chill here and be pregnant. Maybe think about breaking into the locker room and appropriating some toothpaste... the options are endless”

Pidge poked Lance in the back of the head, Lance swatting at her hand. How could the pair of them act so normal? Hunk seemed the only one worried outwardly. Lance letting Pidge tease him only served to annoy Keith. His boyfriend might be clumsy, yet he felt there was more going on with Lance that what met the eye

“If you’re feeling that much better, you can come on the tour too”

“I’m busy growing two humans at the moment...”

“You’re on a roller chair. Hunk can drive you”

“Piiiiidge, I promise I’ll listen, but I’m not feeling great. Show Keith and Hunk around, brag about your job. You deserve it”

There was no one there that Keith trusted Lance’s health too. Allura helping in the summoning ritual, and Keith now realising he hadn’t been worried about the two faes. He should be worried. A demon against Coran and Allura... That wasn’t as simple as a werewolf with a cavity. They could be seriously hurt if the summoning went wrong. Catching him staring, Lance held his hand out of him, Keith moving to automatically grip it

“I’m going to be okay. You’re not leaving me. You’re not leaving the room. It’s all psychosomatic from what I can tell”

“So something is wrong...”

He’d known it. He fucking knew it. Now Lance was admitting it so it had to be true

“Just a little pain in my stomach, and a little bit of dizziness. I’m fine now I’m sitting”

“You should have told me”

“I know. But I’m in the best place I can be and I’m like pretty sure that maybe it’s because I’m worrying about our friends. They’re going to be okay. Coran knows what he’s doing. They’re going to be okay and we’re all going to in relief once it’s over, you’ll see”

“But what if something’s wrong?”

“The most important thing we can do is be calm. Go check out the tech. I packed my phone, so maybe Pidge can play with that?”

Keith had forgotten about Lance’s phone. His head felt foggy from the moment he’d woken up. Too many thoughts were taxing his brain power. Crossing her arms, Pidge huffed

“I do not play. You guys should appreciate my genius”

“Trust me, Pidgeon, we do. Hunk, Bud. It’s all going to be okay. You’re allowed to be here, so you don’t have to be nervous. Kolivan isn’t here to kidnap you guys, and Coran loves you. I’m sure that engineering side of you is dying to tinker. You’ve already signed a non-disclosure, and as your amazing legal advisor I’m telling you it’s totally fine to relax”

Hunk worried his pointer fingers together

“I’m worried about you. Oh, man. I said it. Dude, are you sure you’re okay being here... You’re pregnant and pregnant people should be resting and we went to the house and you didn’t look very well then and...”

Lance gently interrupted Hunk

“Sunshine of my life, all bromo and no homo, I’m okay. You don’t need to worry. I’m older than you, remember, plus I’m a vampire. A little trip isn’t going to hurt the babies. My stomach didn’t even touch the ground. Go forth and tinker. Maybe you can swipe something useful?”

Lance liked to think he was magically easing everyone, but Keith could tell differently. He felt it, that Lance wasn’t being completely honest, yet Lance did like to stress and worry too much... He felt kind of weird being in the labs without being at work. He’d start back tomorrow, provided everything went well today. Lance had probably already thought about that too. His boyfriend being so thoroughly himself by trying his hardest to support him. Leaning down, Keith kissed the top of Lance’s head. He was being silly. He was letting his anxieties blow things out of proportion

“I’m sorry. I’m not handling this very well”

“Babe, none of us are. But we’re all not handling it well together. We’re a pack remember, it’s natural we’re worried for our family. Now, give me a kiss...”

Keith did as he was told, Lance smiling at him toothily, before continuing

“... and don’t go touching anything”

“Why not? You said Hunk could”

“Because Hunk could probably rebuild anything he broke. We have to face it, babe, we’re a little bit dumb when compared to these two. Not that you are dumb. I have no doubt you could rebuild any weapon you get your hands on, I’m just saying there’s no way I could fix a microscope if I broke it”

Keith got it. He was no wiz when it came to tech

“That’s true. We’ll be... somewhere in here, if you need me call me”

Lance slowly rubbed the underside of his swell

“You know I will. Me and our cupcakes are just going to chill”

Not knowing how long the summoning would take, the wait dragged on. Keith had taken to borrowing a roller chair, keeping himself preoccupied as Pidge worked on Lance’s phone with Hunk. Rolling over to his boyfriend, Lance raised his leg, pushing lightly and sending him rolling across the room. Yeah. They’d hit level of boredom. “Running” back across the room on his tip toes, Pidge pushed her chair back to stop him

“If you two keep this up, I’m going to evict you”

Lance sighed at Pidge, pulling himself up in his chair

“Don’t get snappy at him”

“Then don’t get mad when your phone explodes!”

Lance rolled his eyes, not phased by an angry Pidge

“Is it just me, or does our gremlin sound like she needs another dose of coffee?”

Coffee sounded great. Plus it’d give him something to do with hands

“I’ll go!”

Pidge huffed at Keith’s enthusiasm at leaving. He could have brought Kosmo and taken him for a walk while they waited

“Say how you really feel. You’re supposed to be helping me with the interface”

“I can’t help you until we get there”

Lance wheeled himself over to Hunk

“Hunk, the coffee nerds are fighting. Want to come get the coffee with me?”

Hunk nodded, playing along as he whispered loudly

“They’re scary when they fight”

“I know. I’m surprised Pidge hasn’t invented a Roomba that knives ankles when someone gets between her and coffee”

“Man, don’t go giving her ideas!”

Pidge pushed her chair back, crashing lightly into Lance and Hunk

“You two suck. I hope you both know that”

Lance raised his hand to ruffle her hair

“So Pidgeon doesn’t want a coffee? I guess I shouldn’t get cookies either”

“If you dare come back without cookies, I will end you”

“Many have tried. I’m having cupcakes with the last hunter who came to do just that. You might be a gremlin, but you’re facing a creature of the night”

Pidge sighed at Lance

“You’re a dramatic arsehole, you know that, right?”

“I have been told my arsehole is very dramatic and I don’t even know what that was. Hunk, do you want to come for the walk?”

“Sure... are you up for walking? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’ve rested and I need to pee. Besides, Keith is cranky. He needs sugar and caffeine”

Keith scowled at the pair of them. He should be the one going for coffee, not his pregnant lover

“Why don’t I get to go?”

“Because Pidge might need your help. We’ll be back soon, babe”

Wheeling herself back to her desk, Pidge mocked him

“Yeah, babe. He’ll be back soon, babe. Don’t worry, babe”

Pidge could pull off being a summoned demon with ease. Keith glad she was using her powers for good instead of running a top class criminal racket

“You’re evil”

“I know”

“Guys, we’re all family and we all love each other. We’ll be back soon. Babe, it’s okay. I love you and I promise I’ll get your order right”

“I know you will. Love you, too. Make sure Hunk doesn’t get lost”

What the heck was that? “Make sure Hunk doesn’t get lost”? What a time to be awkward... Lance snorted

“Pfft. I’ll make him hold my hand and look both ways before crossing the road”

Hunk groaned at them

“Why am I being treated like a kid?”

Lance smiled happily at Hunk

“Because you’re our Hunk and we love you. Pidge, do you want any real food?”

“Nope. I’ve got my own fridge with adult food and everything. You two losers go get the coffee already”

“Ma’am, yes, Ma’am”

Lance shot Pidge a sloppy salute, Pidge over exaggerating rolling her eyes at him

“Go already! Keith, why do you put up with him?”

“Because I love him”

“Acceptable answer. Okay, come over here and pretend to make yourself useful”

The bad feeling Lance had hadn’t left. Leaving VOLTRON the world felt warmer. The sunshine and busy streets distracting with their overness. So many people were talking he couldn’t narrow in on one particular sound. With each step away from the building, he felt better. The pains in his stomach hadn’t abated at all. Yet if something was wrong, all he could do was wait for Coran as it was. Noticing his distracted mood, Hunk held his hand, Lance smiling and he shook his head when it first slipped into his.

Unable to stop from over ordering, Hunk was on coffee carrying duty, as Lance carried the two bags from the bakery back. The pain now starting to get to the point when he had to slow down, and rest every few metres. Reminding himself he only had to make back to the next block, he tried his hardest to ignore it. It’d pass. It’d pass and the twins would be okay. He didn’t so much care for himself, he’d heal, but them... He couldn’t lose them. He’d give himself an hour. If things hadn’t improved in an hour he’d head down to the infirmary and let them poke at him.

Hunk noticed the stops, the big man slowing to a snails pace to match his. Making their way through the bookshop and into the elevator, Lance dropped the bags as he grunted, staggering into the elevator wall. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong. These... this felt like... his fake contractions but a hundred times worse

“Lance!”

“Call... Keith...”

Gripping his stomach with one hand, Lance held himself up, bent over with his hand against the elevator walls. A second wave of pain made him moan in misery

“Fuck, okay, okay, okay. It’s only a little further...”

Wetness trickled down his legs, Lance immediately panicking at the warmth

“Call Keith!”

Behind him Hunk had hit the button down to the labs, the elevator doors sliding shut. They’d only just started moving when elevator shuddered, some kind of barely audible boom causing it to shudder around them as it came to a stop. Shit. This couldn’t be good

“I can’t get through to Keith. The call won’t connect!”

“What do you mean you can’t reach... agh!”

Gripping his stomach, Lance’s knees bent, nearly buckling under the pain. A wave of something evil seemed to tear through the air, the hairs on his skin standing upright as his body erupted into goosebumps

“It says no signal! What do I do?!”

Hunk was freaking out. Lance was freaking out. He hated being trapped. He hated elevators but knew the doors would open, so ignored the discomfort of being in one. Above the lights flickered, red replacing bright white light as an alarm started ringing. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone wrong with the summoning. That was the only thing Lance could think of... fuck... fuck it hurt... it hurt so much his head dropped as he swore violently in time with the wave of pain

“Fuuuuuck!”

This couldn’t be happening. He’d done everything right. Every demand placed on him, he’d done it. He’d stabbed himself over and over with those damn injections. He’d drunk Keith’s blood. He’d eaten until he started to hate food.

Coming to his side, Hunk had set the tray of coffees down. Placing his hand on Lance’s lower back, he leaned around him

“Lance? What do I do?”

“Hunk, I need... need you to check... if I’m bleeding...”

“Wha...”

“Just put your hand on my arse and tell me if you see blood”

Hunk moved, his moved hesitant as he pulled down the back of Lance’s pants exposing his underwear. Thank god for elastic maternity pants

“N-no...”

Okay. Okay. That was good. Forcing down a deep lungful of air through his nose Lance released it slowly through his mouth

“I think I’m in labour. The summoning’s gone wrong... I need you to check the elevator doors. See if you can get them open”

It didn’t matter what floor they were on. Coran had built the place with a labyrinth of hidden stairs. If they could get out, they could get help. He could send Hunk through the car park to call Krolia, Matt and Rieva

“On it... Dude, do you want to sit? I don’t know what to do...”

Poor Hunk. Lance had to keep strong for him, but fuck... He needed Coran, like right now!

“No... no... standing... is better... fuck... fucking fuckery fuck...”

#once bitten twice stupid #oncebittentwicestupid #ashratherose

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 19: The Ring

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Aelin was quiet through the long walk up the side of the mountain, not speaking a word of complaint as they climbed higher and higher, the trees fading into mounds of lichen-covered rock, which soon were covered by snow and ice as they approached the crest of the snow-capped peak of Bald Mountain.

But before they’d have to start clambering through snow drifts, Rowan turned, delving southwest, where the gaping maw of a massive cave lay hidden.

“What in every burning ring of hell are we doing here?” Aelin asked as the cave came into view. Her tone was derisive, but the effect of her scorn was somewhat lost in the sound of her out-of-breath panting.

Rowan ignored the question, instead striding through the entrance of the cave and saying, “Hurry up.” The hike had taken them longer than he had thought it would, and he was starting to get just a little bit worried.

Rowan had to hold in a grimace as he strode through the darkness. The cavern smelled horrible, of mold and rust and rotting things. But he kept his path straight, heading towards the lake he knew waited for them, his icy power keeping its surface frozen solid.

Though his steps were quiet, the ground was rocky, littered with small stones worn smooth by water, and the sound of his feet on the loose rock echoed unnervingly. Especially since the stones weren’t the only obstacles that lay before them. The cave was also strewn with rusted weapons, armor, and clothes. Relics left by Fae long since dead.

Fae such as Brannon of the Wildfire, and Athril the Healer.

It was Emrys’ stories that had reminded him, that had shown him the answer. Rowan didn’t know when he had first heard the tale of Maeve and her love, the story of her great tragedy. But he did remember the day he learned the lie at its heart.

The tale told throughout the land was that Athril, beloved of the dark queen, had died in obscurity, in some long-forgotten conflict. But that was untrue. Maeve had killed Athril. Killed him for spite or hate or some hidden strategy, Rowan did not know. But she had killed him, forcing Brannon to flee these lands with his sword, Goldryn, and Athril’s family ring. But he did not cross the ocean with them.

Brannon escaped Doranelle, traversed the mountain paths and even passed through Mistward itself. But when he arrived at the fortress, he came empty-handed, the only explanation being that he’d abandoned the sword and ring somewhere between Doranelle and Mistward.

Maeve had no idea where Brannon had left them, though she had searched high and low. Searched through the long years, until decades became centuries. But Rowan knew. Or at least, he thought he did.

Goldryn and the ring lay among the weapons beneath Bald Mountain, where Athril had once carved out the eye of a great water-demon. It was a story no one else knew, a story his mother had once told him. The story of Athril and Brannon and the lake-monster.

Maeve didn’t like tales of Brannon, kept them from being told within her borders. So Rowan’s mother had whispered it in secret, beneath the bedcovers and behind closed doors. It had been one of his favorites.

Rowan had always liked tales of Brannon, of his fire and his fierce heart. Just as he had always loved Mala, Rowan had wanted to grow up to be exactly like the ferocious Fae warrior. But Maeve hated Brannon, had raised up a city of water and stone as protection against him. Protection against Brannon’s wrath from murdering his beloved friend.

It had taken Emrys’ reminder to connect the dots, to realize that the only plausible resting place for Goldryn and the ring was this cave. The cave where the lake-monster had once dwelt, slain long ago by Brannon and Athril.

Rowan walked briskly through the darkness, Aelin staggering after him. Soon, his eyes adjusted and a figure came into view across the frozen expanse of the ancient lake. A figure he had left chained there barely an hour before.

“Tell me I’m hallucinating.” Aelin’s tone was hard, unyielding.

Sitting on a blanket in the center of the lake, the chains around his wrists anchored under the ice, was Luca.

Aelin’s motivation, and her distraction.

Luca’s chains clanked as he raised a hand in greeting. “I thought you’d never show. I’m freezing,” he called, and tucked his hands back under his arms.

“What is this place?” Aelin asked.

“Go get him,” Rowan answered.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He only smiled. Rowan could feel the heat of Aelin’s fury from nearly five feet away. She stepped toward the ice, but he blocked her path before she could get any farther. “In your other form.”

“He doesn’t know what I am,” she murmured, still looking out towards the boy. A small curl of fear and shame wafted from her.

After all these weeks, she still feared her other form. Had learned to hate it. What had happened to her in Adarlan?

“You’ve been living in a fortress of demi-Fae, you know. He won’t care.”

Aelin clenched her jaw and turned to face Rowan, anger once again overpowering all other emotion in her scent. “How dare you drag him into this?”

“You dragged him in yourself when you insulted him – and Emrys. The least you can do is retrieve him.” A convenient excuse.

While Rowan had hauled Luca up the mountain, the boy had explained what’d happened in the kitchens that morning. The princess had been primed to snap, but still, Rowan couldn’t help wondering what an Eyllwe knife meant to her, why it had broken her from her slim mask of control and caused her to explode on the three demi-Fae males. It didn’t matter though; Rowan would’ve used Luca for this regardless. Making things up to the boy was just another motivating force he could try to pull in his favor.

Before the princess could retort, Luca interrupted. “I hope you brought snacks! I’m starving. Hurry up, Elentiya. Rowan said you had to do this as part of your training, and …” the prattle continued but Rowan shut it out, focusing his gaze on Aelin.

She was hesitating. Finding a way to justify, to avoid having to confront her identity. Not only as an Heir, but also as Fae. Still, she clung to the guise of pure humanity.

“What is the gods-damned point of this? Just punishment for acting like an ass?”

Rowan almost flinched. If anyone deserved punishment, it was he. “You can control your power in human form – keep it dormant. But the moment you switch, the moment you get agitated or angry or afraid, the moment you remember how much your power scares you, your magic rises up to protect you. It doesn’t understand that you are the source of those feelings, not some external threat. When there is an outside threat, when you forget to fear your power long enough, you have control. Or some control.” He pointed at Luca. “So free him.”

As he spoke, the anger leeched out of her scent, replaced by a fear so strong, so deep-seated and visceral, Rowan was surprised her knees weren’t shaking.

“What happens to Luca if I fail?”

“He’ll be very cold and very wet. And possibly die.” Rowan smiled at her. Making her think that he would actually let the boy come to harm. He might let them fall in, but he would never let the boy drown. Emrys and Malakai would kill him.

“Were the chains really necessary? He’ll go right to the bottom.” Her voice was faint. Aelin turned to look out over the icy expanse, her eyes surveying Luca and his chains. Then, she held out her hand expectantly, silently asking for the key.

Rowan shook his head, there was no key. She would have to melt the chains, or break through the ice. “Control is your key. And focus. Cross the lake, then figure out how to free him without drowning the both of you.”

Aelin nearly snarled, baring her teeth. “Don’t give me a lesson like you’re some mystical-nonsense master! This is the stupidest thing I have ever had to – ”

“Hurry,” Rowan interrupted with a wolfish grin, sending out a tendril of his power to weaken the ice ever so slightly. It groaned loudly, and Aelin flinched, her eyes widening.

“You are a bastard.” She stared him down, as if resolving to make his life a living hell. Rowan’s grim smile didn’t shift one inch. If this worked, he would take whatever she threw at him.

Then Aelin transformed, the change quicker and more in control with each time she shifted. She blinked through the discomfort, then scowled at Rowan, saying, “It gives me comfort to know that people like you have a special place in hell waiting for them.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Aelin just turned, giving him a particularly vulgar gesture as she took her first cautious step onto the ice.

Though Rowan was confident she wasn’t going to fall through, he strengthened the ice beneath her feet, creating an ironclad path between her and Luca. But before turning to begin his search for the ring and sword, Rowan hesitated, watching as she placed foot after tentative foot on the thin layer of his magic.

The Heir of Fire walked above the frozen lake, striding over the clear ice in an image straight from a fireside tale. An ember dancing atop the still water, a lick of flame burning in the deep dark.

As she drew farther and farther away from the shore, her terror swelled, and her power grew right alongside it. Until the layer of ice began to shudder and groan under the pressure from her magic.

And Rowan let it, let the ice crack and spiderweb beneath her feet. Allowing it to complain just enough for her to be forced to reign in her own power. For her to have to find the control to prevent an icy plunge.

“Stop it,” she hissed at Rowan.

Aelin took another tentative step, and the ice cracked again. Rowan could feel the ice melting, could feel her blistering heat like a bonfire in the middle of the lake, beginning to carve its way through the thin barrier between her body and the icy water below.

“Elentiya?” Luca asked, worry coating his voice. Despite his original intentions, Rowan began strengthening the ice, the tension forcing him to wield his magic. But then Aelin began to breathe, slow and deep and even.

Her hands clenched, her muscles tensing, and Rowan could feel the heat slowly fading. Just enough to allow the ice beneath her feet to re-freeze, leaving it white and cloudy. But panic still clouded her scent with its copper tang, and her magic still writhed in a great cloud around her.

Aelin slid one foot forwards, slowly, hesitantly. A soft humming sound emanated from her closed lips, a lovely, lilting tune. At first it seemed to calm her, but then her advance slowed until it stopped completely. And she stood, staring at the ice as if it were her worst enemy, as if it was everything she feared in this world.

“Elentiya?” Luca’s voice was even more anxious.

Aelin’s magic flickered in response, expanding once again until a violent crack splintered through the air, echoing off the walls of the cave.

Worry curled in Rowan’s gut, but his voice was steady as he said, “You are in control now.” He took a step closer to her, once again strengthening the path between her and Luca. “You are its master.”

Aelin took another step, and the ice cracked again. “You are the keeper of your own fate,” Rowan said, his voice soft.

Even if he didn’t understand why she feared herself so, why she hated her magic when couldn’t even imagine not loving his, Rowan knew what it was to not be in control. He understood how it felt to be helpless before the plots and desires of others. To have forces out of your control shape your life regardless of want or will.

Aelin hummed some more, and the flame receded. Rowan could feel the heat dissipate from the surface of the ice, could feel her magic spooling back into her form until its pressure had almost completely withdrawn.

Aelin’s advance quickened, becoming steady and confident. Rowan barely held in a triumphant smile.

He turned away from the princess, who he was now sure would make it across the frozen lake without incident, and strode along the shore, his eyes flicking over the stony expanse, searching intently.

It had to be here, it just had to be…

Rowan carefully catalogued each of the blades resting on the beach, and then dismissed them. None were of fine enough make to be the sword he sought. He looked out over the clear water, where he could see the metallic glints that indicated that many more blades lay at the bottom of the lake. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Rowan could hear the princess and the boy talking quietly from the center of the lake, along with the clatter of chains as Luca shifted on the ice. Rowan thought he could feel Aelin’s anger from all the way on the other side of the cave.

Rowan turned back to the shore, glancing over the weapons he had already dismissed, and then looked up to examine the cave wall. And there it was, a small crevice concealing the object of his search – a sword with a golden hilt and a ruby the size of a chicken’s egg on the pommel, with a plain gold ring hidden just beneath the scabbard.

The objects that were Aelin’s only chance of walking out of Doranelle free and unharmed.

Rowan reached into the crevice and removed the ancient blade, almost marveling at the power he could feel curling from it, a golden mist of ageless force.

But before he could properly examine the exquisite sword, Rowan felt Aelin begin to reach for her magic once more, pulling out a small, burning thread. He turned back to face the frozen lake just as the ice splintered around them, and Luca yelped in surprise.

“Control,” Rowan barked at Aelin, while reaching within, readying his own power to rescue the pair of them from the icy water if necessary. But Aelin remained in control, and a small hole melted where her palm had been.

She took several long breaths, and then rallied once more, drawing out a tiny thread of power and using it to burrow into the ice. There was a clank of metal, a hiss of steam, and then –

“Oh, thank the gods,” Luca moaned, and hauled the length of chain out of the hole, while Aelin closed her eyes and pulled her magic back into her body, slowly wrapping it around the invisible spool deep in her chest until the world was cold and empty once more.

“Please tell me you brought food,” Luca whined.

“Is that why you came? Rowan promised you snacks?” Aelin’s voice was bitter, but her ire wasn’t directed at the boy. Rowan wondered if they would even make it to the trees before Aelin started yelling at him for this one. But it had been worth it, so worth it – on both counts.

“I’m a growing boy.” Luca grumbled, then winced as he glanced at Rowan. “And you don’t say no to him.”

Rowan almost winced himself. Now he definitely could feel Aelin’s fury pressing in on him, burning cinders and grinding pepper. It choked in his throat.

But then, before he could so much as flinch, Aelin’s scent shifted. Copper and ash coated his throat as Aelin’s fear exploded from her in a great torrent, and Rowan froze on the shore, a hundred yards away and completely unable to help as a bright red eye peeked through the hole Aelin had made in the ice, violence and death and hate leeching from it like poisoned wine.

Aelin cursed violently, her hand pressing against Luca’s small form. “Get off the ice now,” she breathed, her body still as she fought to control the fear that coursed through her blood.

Rowan breathed, eyes wide and muscles tense as he did exactly the same, drawing his sword in one hand and clutching Goldryn in the other.

That creature was not supposed to be here. The cave was supposed to be empty, the monster long since dead, killed by Athril and Brannon centuries ago. But here it was, ancient and furious and filled with such violent malevolence it was a wonder how it remained so still and quiet when all it wanted was to rip and tear and roar.

“Holy gods,” Luca whispered, “What is that?”

“Shut up and go,” Aelin hissed, slowly standing from her crouch before the hole.

But the boy still didn’t move. “Now, Luca,” Rowan growled.

Rowan ached to run onto the ice, to get between the princess and the monster, but he couldn’t move, could do nothing at all. If he ran out there, he would just put more stress on the ice, and make it all the more likely that the creature would break through and send them all tumbling into the freezing depths together.

The creature drew still closer to Aelin and Luca, its massive white teeth gleaming in the faint light, it red eye glowing with an ageless fury. And Rowan could only stand on the shore and hold the ice in place, a bridge back to land and out of the dark cave.

Rowan sent his power towards them, strengthening and thickening the ice that connected them to the shore. But the consequence of shifting the focus of his magic was that the rest of the ice covering the lake began to weaken under the pressure of the shifting water. It was a risk he would have to take.

“Don’t look down,” Aelin said, then gave the boy a shove. “Go.”

Luca finally began to shuffle down the path of ice, moving slowly backwards, looking towards where Aelin still stood motionless. Towards the creature that now hovered only a few feet below her. But Aelin did not move.

Rowan wanted to shout at her, to demand that she flee, but he understood. The princess was letting the boy get ahead, was guarding his back. Rowan almost cursed himself. The princess didn’t even have a weapon, and still she waited, curbing her terror, to protect the boy he had so recklessly endangered.

“Faster,” Rowan growled at Luca, who was only halfway to the shore. Aelin still wasn’t moving.

The lake-monster floated even higher, and now Rowan could see every detail of its mutilated face, of its massive, scaled body. Not a dragon or wyvern or serpent, but some monstrous creature in between. A creature even Brannon of the Wildfire had failed to kill. And Aelin still hadn’t moved.

Rowan almost shouted again, but then she finally broke into a shuffle. But before she could make it more than three steps, a bone-white flash snapped up through the depths, twisting like a striking asp.

It was the creature’s long tail, and it whipped against the thin layer of ice with the force of a storm-driven rockfall.

Rowan kept it together through sheer force of will, his muscles straining as the magic took its toll. The surface of the lake rippled and arched, but the icy bridge did not break.

Aelin fell to her knees as the world bounced. Then scrambled, frantically forcing down her own magic as she lurched to the side to avoid the scaled head that hurtled towards the ice just beneath her feet. And once again, the surface quaked.

Rowan’s muscles tensed as he contained the force of the creature’s massive body, his iron will facing the monster’s ancient strength. Sweat began to drip into his eyes, and he blinked it away furiously.

Rowan could feel little pieces of ice breaking off at the edges while he focused on maintaining the ice that protected them from the monster. But no matter how much he pushed, how tightly he wove his magic, those cracks drew ever closer. Invisible tendrils caused by stress. Inevitable and inescapable. A ticking clock.

“Weapon,” Aelin gasped, and Rowan slid Goldryn across the bridge, propelling the blade towards her on a brisk wind.

“Hurry,” he growled at Aelin, drawing his hatchet to replace the lost weapon. If this came to a fight, no matter her skill with a blade, she could not win. And she would drown in the icy water if he couldn’t keep the ice intact.

Aelin scooped up the weapon, swiftly unsheathing the sword and wielding it comfortably in her right hand. But as she freed the blade, Athril’s ring fell onto the ice at her feet. Before Rowan could curse through the struggle of holding the ice in place, Aelin leaned down, grabbed the ring, pocketed it, and ran. Just as the creature’s tail whipped up once again and the ice shuddered.

Except this time, the princess didn’t fall, gracefully sinking onto her haunches to offset the motion of the bucking surface. But Luca did, slipping on the slick surface and landing on his face, motionless.

Aelin didn’t wait for the surface to steady, instead running to protect the vulnerable Luca. She reached the boy in a few more heartbeats and hauled him up, gripping him tightly as she continued their frantic flight, just as the creature began to pound away at the ice, the bridge lifting and stretching again and again and again.

Rowan strained, sweat dripping down his face, his power leeching away as he fought back the immense force of the creature’s massive body.

And then enormous talons joined the tail, gouging deep lines into the rapidly weakening ice. It was all Rowan could do to keep the path between him and Aelin intact, the bridge narrowing and thinning until it was only a slim barrier that melted behind Aelin’s pounding feet like a rippling cape.

The seconds passed like hours until finally, finally, they reached the shore and Rowan could let go, and the ice exploded in a shower of freezing water.

They were now all on dry ground, but they were far from safety. The creature could likely move on land, could pursue them out of the cave and down the mountainside. Their blades were barely toothpicks to a creature so large, and now that the ice was gone, so was their thin layer of protection from those claws and tail and teeth.

So Aelin did not stop, hauling the boy over the rocks and towards the cave entrance where they could just see the pale light of day flickering through the darkness. But before Rowan turned and fled with them, he caught a glimpse the monster trying to crawl onto the shore, its one red eye wild with hunger, its massive teeth promising a brutal, violent death.

And they were running, sprinting out of the darkness and down the side of the mountain, Aelin barely a few feet ahead of him as she dodged rocks and trees, stumbling under the weight of the boy in her arms.

Rowan stayed behind, his sword and hatchet still drawn, guarding their backs just as Aelin had done earlier. They hit the murky trees, leaving the rocky paths behind, and then –

A roar shook the stones and sent the birds scattering into the air. But it was a roar of rage and hunger, not of triumph. Rowan turned to look back up at the cave on the crest of the hill, and saw the swish of a tail, the glint of scales.

After millennia in the watery dark, the monster could not withstand the sunshine.

But Rowan did not relax as he turned and sprinted down through the forest, following after the princess and her young charge as they fled down the mountainside and towards the fortress that was their only protection when night fell.

···

Aelin didn’t slow her relentless pace the whole way down the mountainside. Rowan spent the whole time silently cursing himself.

You complete gods-damned fucking idiot. Gods. Fuck.

He’d almost lost both of them, Aelin and Luca. And if he had, it would’ve been entirely his fault. He’d left Luca alone in the cave for over an hour for godssake. If the monster had come then, if it had been a bit quicker…Gods help him. You fucking idiot.

And Aelin…she had barely escaped with her life. She’d stayed behind, to protect the child he’d endangered in his reckless folly, and nearly been killed herself. If she had died there…Rowan didn’t let the thought complete in his mind. It would have been an undoing of all he had tried to achieve. The hope he tried to foster.

Once Mistward was in sight, Aelin practically threw Luca down the slope, shouting at him to keep his mouth shut about what happened in the cave. Rowan halted a few steps behind her, panting.

She waited until Luca had disappeared into the underbrush, then turned, throwing Goldryn to the ground and snarled at him. “I will kill you.”

Then she launched herself at him.

He dodged her assault automatically. Even in her Fae form, he was faster than her, and instead of slamming into him, she ran headfirst into the tree at his back. But he didn’t have time to get much farther than a step away, and now she was close, too close.

Aelin whirled and lunged once again, teeth bared, and he was trapped between her and an oaken bough. She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and slammed her fist into his face.

Rowan snarled as the pain lanced through his jaw, and threw her roughly to the ground, the breath whooshing out of her. Even so, triumph lined her face, wicked pleasure joining the fury in her scent despite the blood choking her throat and dripping from her nose. Rowan moved to pounce on her chest, but before he could pin her to the ground, Aelin got her legs around him and shoved.

Surprise and fury wiped away the remains of shame and guilt as Rowan lay on his back in the dirt, immobilized by the assassin with ease. There weren’t many Fae that could get the drop on Rowan, and though Aelin had been well-trained, he hadn’t thought that she might be one of them. She moved with a fluid ease, like a snake, or a water-reed. Born and bred for combat. If he hadn’t been so furious, he might have marveled.

Her thighs crushed into his sides as she slammed her fist into his head again, pounding at his tattoo.

“If you ever again bring someone else into this,” she punched him again, mangling the marks still further, “If you ever endanger anyone else the way you did today …” her blood splattered onto his face, joining his own. “I will kill you.”

Rowan had gone still, had stopped fighting. He deserved it. Deserved far worse than a beating for all he had done in this life.

Another strike. “I will rip out your rutting throat.” Aelin bared her canines. “You understand?”

Rowan turned his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. His cheekbones ached. He knew he would have to fix the damage to his tattoo in the morning. And that, more than anything else, had Rowan’s fury pushing back through the apathy, his blood roaring.

It took him a moment to notice, but then he felt Aelin’s power surge. She turned inwards to fight it back down, and Rowan lunged, flipping them over on the grass until she was pinned beneath him.

Rowan spoke without thinking, “I will do whatever I please.”

“You will keep other people out of it!” she screamed, so loudly that the birds stopped chattering. “No one else!”

She thrashed against him, grabbing at his wrists. Her power broke its leash and began burning his arms like hot irons. Though her fingers crisped his skin, his flesh blistering through his burnt shirt, Rowan made no move to remove her hands.

She was too far gone to even notice. The terror of their flight, and then the anger and release of their short brawl had unleashed something in Aelin. Something teased at the edges, aching to be let go. And Rowan wanted to hear it, wanted to understand.

“Tell me why, Aelin.”

“Because I am sick of it!” Air rasped down her lungs, the words escaping her body like uncaged birds. Frantic and desperate and wild.

“I told her I would not help, so she orchestrated her own death. Because she thought …” She laughed, a horrible, painful sound. “She thought that her death would spur me into action. She thought I could somehow do more than her – that she was worth more dead. And she lied – about everything. She lied to me because I was a coward, and I hate her for it. I hate her for leaving me.”

The words barely made sense, but as she spoke them, Aelin’s fury leeched from her, a wave falling back into the sea. She let go of his scorched wrists, though Rowan made no move to get off her.

“Please,” she begged. “Please don’t bring anyone else into it. I will do anything you ask of me. But that is my line. Anything else but that.”

Rowan looked at her pain-wracked face, those golden eyes lined with silver, and slowly, he let go of her arms, his wrists screaming in pain.

He had once thought this girl heartless. A killer. Thought her spoiled and cowardly and spineless.

“How did she die?” Rowan asked, peeling away from her still form, the space between them now a tangible thing.

Her words were cold. “She manipulated a mutual acquaintance into thinking he needed to kill her in order to further his agenda. He hired an assassin, made sure I wasn’t around, and had her murdered.”

“What happened to the two men?” a wry question.

“The assassin I hunted down and left in pieces in an alleyway. And the man who hired him …” Aelin paused, a ghost of memory haunting her face. “I gutted him and dumped his body in a sewer.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Good.”

Good that they had died, good that justice had been served.

But more than that – good that Aelin was the same, that she fought the same monsters, that the same darkness writhed beneath her skin. Good that he wasn’t wrong about her, not a second time. She was his reflection, she was his mirror.

The prince and the assassin, the warrior and the embers.

She stared back at him, and then finally seemed to take in the damage she’d done to his body – her eyes settling on the handprint shaped burns on his forearms.

She stood, her eyes wide and her scent filling with remorse. “I am…so sorry – ” she started, but Rowan held up a hand.

“You do not apologize,” he said, “for defending the people you care about.”

Rowan stood as well, wincing slightly as he flexed his arms. Aelin strode over to where she had abandoned Goldryn and picked it up, saying, “I’m keeping the sword.”

Rowan pursed his lips at her demanding tone, “You haven’t earned it.” No Fae he trained was allowed their own weapons until they were deemed worthy of possessing them.

But then Rowan reconsidered. It would be far more difficult for him to give her the sword later than to let her take it now. The blood oath wouldn’t let him unless he found some way to subvert his intentions. For as long as he intended it as a weapon against Maeve, he couldn’t give it to Aelin outright.

So, though it went against every rule of training he held, Rowan let her keep it. “Consider this a favor. Leave it in your rooms when we’re training.”

Aelin turned her head to look back up the mountain, her brow furrowing. “What if that thing tracks us to the fortress once darkness falls?”

“Even if it does, it can’t get past the wards.”

Aelin just raised her brows in confusion.

“The stones around the fortress have a spell woven between them to keep out enemies. Even magic bounces off it.”

“Oh,” she replied simply, and they began to walk back to the fortress.

“You know,” she said slyly after a few moments of silence, “that’s twice now you’ve made a mess of my training with your tasks. I’m fairly sure that makes you the worst instructor I’ve ever had.”

Rowan gave her a sidelong look. “I’m surprised it took you this long to call attention to it.”

Aelin snorted, and while she didn’t smile exactly, her lips twitched and her expression became warm and open. Though they were both complete wrecks, aching and limping and blood dripping from their faces, the air between them was light, peaceful. And after all that had happened between them, both this afternoon and last night and every night before then, Rowan could still make her smile.

···

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silvershears · 3 years

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Alright, listen. This book honks. And I want to talk about why. No, I'm not getting into the book review scene, but please indulge me.

I never had any intention of reading this book. I'll be up front with that.

A new coworker is a newish fantasy reader who, upon discovering that I am a long-time fantasy reader who also writes and has some vague publishing background, asked, "Would you read this book and tell me what you think? I haven't read it yet, but I'm curious to hear your opinion."

Sure. Why not. I was only 50 pages into the book I was reading at the time, so why not put that on pause and give this a go? This became infinitely more complicated by the fact that my new coworker is acquaintances with his wife, and then add in that I've met this author, had a bad interaction, and decided I never wanted to read his books. Nevertheless, I was determined to give it a go anyway, and I wavered for a while on whether to even include that background here.

Wasn't I already predisposed to not like this book? Perhaps. But this book was an excellent learning opportunity, if not a good story, and I think it's important for us all to approach books we don't like this way: Each time I ran hard up against my own disgust, I paused to ask myself why I felt that way. What was it about the story, the writing, the character, the plot, the world that made me react this way, and how did that interact with the author's intent?

First of all, a disclaimer: This will have spoilers. If you intended to check this book out, perhaps don't continue further until you've read it yourself. Maybe then come back and compare your experience to mine.

> The worldbuilding is based on two-dimensional lore.

The world is comprised of what appears to be three human races split along religious lines. The three sibling gods each have their own race of followers with some individuals inheriting the magical power of their god. One is a magic associated with air and water with a father/older brother god figure; the next is a mother/middle sister associated with fire and light; the third is a little brother associated with... the hard labor of forging? It's unclear what he originally stood for, but by the time the immense lore dumps are complete, we see the little brother's transformation from a highly skilled craftsperson who takes immense pleasure in crafting gifts to his siblings into a petty, angry god bent on chaos and destruction of his siblings' domains.

What brings on this transformation? The gift of a song.

He is so enraged that his siblings gave him a song instead of a physical item like he gave them that he goes into a rage, evicts himself from the metaphorical house, and goes to live in the bowels of the world where he can forge in peace. He goes on to create all the various fantasy creature races in the world like dragons, fae, constructs, shadow demons, etc.

And his name? Keos. He's the chaos god and his name is Keos. I can forgive a poor name here an there—perhaps he never said them out loud—but add in that the sister's light/fire magic is called lumen—y'know, like what lightbulbs are measured in—and I have concerns.

Naming problems aside, the entire world's history and the racial relations all stem from a god's immensely childish reaction to a gift. I am well aware that many deity lore can be goofy or based on overblown reactions to things, but it feels so thin and flimsy that to prop the whole world and its cultures on top of it could not stand.

> Ableism is pervasive in the culture.

The story starts off with a prologue, which, as a concept, is not inherently a problem, but it was my first clue that this was not the story for me. In this world, being disfigured in any way physically marks you as an agent of the chaos god. Either these agents are killed or ostracized in order to better mitigate any mischief and evil they may commit or bring to their community. We are immediately thrust into this intensely ableist world with the birth of a child missing a hand and part of a forearm. The parents are killed and the baby taken to the woods to die.

I hate it already.

The author, being the sort of person to review their own book, states in his lengthy review: "Whatever you do, don't think for a moment that I'm blind to the tropes I've chosen to use. They serve a purpose and are conscious choices."

If this is the case—that he's aware of his tropes and they are purposeful—he must also be aware of the statement he's making by having all disabled and disfigured be labeled as evil ne'er-do-wells. Because this story takes place almost entirely within the small town of Chaenbalu where these beliefs are rampant, we're lead to believe that this is the way the whole world works. We get one glimpse of the outside world where it mentions a larger prevalence of disabled and disfigured individuals, but it's so brief and not at all explored that our understanding of the world goes mostly unchanged.

Is this part of Call's subversion of tropes? Perhaps Chaenbalu is indeed a backwards town, holding on to old traditions that the rest of the world has left behind, but the characters are so isolated they wouldn't know—and therefore we don't know whether that's the case. Bad news: It's so distasteful that I'm not interested in reading more to find out if it's just Chaenbalu that's the issue. I'm so put off by the whole concept.

> Every female character is cardboard, and they all die.

Centered in Chaenbalu is the Academy, a school with two gendered factions: the witwomen and the Master Avatars. (You'll notice that the sexism starts right off the bat with the fact that Masters get capitalized but witwoman does not.) The witwomen are trained midwives and kidnappers, sent out into the world to collect children and bring them back to the Academy as a "reap" or class of new students. The students are told that their parents submitted them to the Academy's care in a boarding-school-type thing, but that's spoiled in the prologue as being untrue.

Unfortunately, we don’t get a chance to really explore what it is the witwomen are up to, or what any of the women are like. There is only one female character with any amount of on-screen time, and even that is negligible. She acts as nothing more than a plot device, which I’ll talk about later, functioning only as an object for the main character to lust after. Anytime she is described, it is with delicate detail paid to her soft, plump, pink lips, the breasts, the hips. At every turn, she’s sexualized—and perhaps that’s due to the main character’s gaze being the narration we receive, but even in the epilogue scene when our main character is not present, the author continues to describe her this way, so perhaps it’s not a function of the main character at all. She receives no further development than who her father is, what her body is like, and how much she dislikes those marked by Keos, aka, the disabled and disfigured.

The other witapprentices and witwomen appear for two scenes, and by the end of the book, they are all dead in the midst of an attack on the Academy that serves only to move the main character's story forward. Without this attack, he would never have a story worth telling in a book. Without their deaths, the attack would not have happened. And even the romantic interest is faux-killed in order to provoke a specific emotional reaction in the main character to move the character's development forward.

> The characters are shallow.

While I can't guarantee that this problem is due to the two-dimensional worldbuilding, I personally feel they're probably related. There are a couple of friend characters around and a mentor that are all lacking in development, but let me focus on the main character.

The male students train at the Academy with the goal of becoming avatars, and then later, Master Avatars. As avatars, they are expected to go out on secret missions to retrieve magical artifacts and, if the artifact is a "dark artifact,"—that is, if it's built to do harm to another person, and by lore belongs to Keos—murder its owner.

The main character is one such student, testing to become an avatar, and worse yet, if he doesn't pass his test this go-around, he'll never be able to become an avatar and he'll instead be relegated to steward status, taking care of the upkeep of the Academy. And of course, no one wants to be a steward! You'd be a servant to everyone, and where's the action-packed fun in that?

But our main character has a motivation even more powerful than the dread of being a steward: a girl. Not just any girl. The headmaster's daughter.

To be fair, this book is not advertised as a romance. Which is good, because it's not a romance. The main character has a deadly crush. He even has a promise ring forged, ready to give it to her when he passes his test and becomes an avatar. His love for this girl is so powerful for him that it's quite literally all he thinks about, but because she's the headmaster's daughter and is also a witapprentice, he hardly ever sees her, and the times we do get them in the same scene, it's plain this relationship will literally never work out.

She may not know about his missing half an arm thanks to a magical prosthetic, but it's clear she holds on to the old ableist traditions with positive glee and with the same strength as a hippo's jaw. While our main character pines after her and even eventually when they are engaged, we are telegraphed again and again that it will never last, that she is a horrible person, and that she will never accept him with his missing hand. We know this and we watch the main character acknowledge this so many times that it is a failing of the plot that there is even a chance for her to betray him.

Which she does, of course.

This goes back to the author's assertion that he's aware of his tropes and to trust him in his plan. He sets up a male lead and throws the only female character at him, establishing the possibility for a romance—a common trope—and molds that romance into the core motivation for the male lead. She is his reason for wanting to succeed, and he waxes poetical about how terrible it would be if A) someone else got her first, or B) he didn't pass the test and he couldn't be with her. They must fall in love, yes? The author also tries to convince us that she is a likeable person, a person worthy of his devotion, all the while foreshadowing with a heavy hand that she's, frankly, ableist, racist, and a terrible person who is not at all worthy of his devotion. Ah-hah, a subversion! They are not at all meant to be together!

The problem is that she repeatedly shows her hand as a garbage human in front of him an innumerable amount. We the audience dislike her so intensely that to have her as the main character’s sole motivation is laughable. Perfectly inconceivable. A true weakness in the foundation of the plot that’s so profound that if the story struggled to stand on its weak worldbuilding, it almost certainly cannot stand on this. Her betrayal is so blatantly obvious and inevitable that his surprise is outrageous, and his hurt comes not with sympathy from us but absolute incredulity.

> The author’s prejudices taint the writing, and the writing needs editing.

I won’t talk too much in depth about a scene in which the romantic interest is stunned and the main character performs a grossly sexualized search of her body, but I will point out that later, the author writes, “he relived the seconds they had shared in the shadows...” There was no sharing of moments. She was stunned. There was nothing romantic about it.

Later, the main character is sent out on an assassination mission. The author writes, “He wondered what kind of a man he was about to kill - good or evil, father or bachelor - and whether the man would struggle.” Ah yes, an unmarried man. The opposite of having children. Of course, how silly of me to consider that being unmarried precludes me from having children, or that being married means I must have children.

At another time, a character who is well known to wear an eyepatch is described as “winking at him with his one eye.” I’m sorry, author, but that’s just blinking. I could have given him the benefit of the doubt that perhaps he’d forgotten this character is missing an eye and wears an eyepatch if not for the “with his one eye.” The author knew what he was doing.

These moments aside, many scenes dwell in the melodramatic, letting emotion set the scenes awash in a horribly garish light that fails to give the scenes their weight. The point of view was pretty tight to the main character, but with odd moments where it split away to document events that happened outside of that character’s view, even within scenes where the main character is present. It felt a bit sloppy. Passive voice is rampant, with sentences and whole scenes in dire need of better editing. “Myjun was walking in step with her father...” “His flyssa was caught by Annev’s flamberge...” It made the writing dull—hobbled by too many words that meant too little, and too specific of words amidst their plain neighbors that made it dissonant.

> The plot is overstretched.

This book is 576 pages. At page 250, something occurred that made me think that perhaps I’d just witnessed the inciting incident and that now the plot would begin. At page 330, I thought the same thing. At page 400, I thought the same thing. At page 525, I realized with a jolt that I was witnessing what this book would consider the climax, and I could put what happened at page 400 the inciting incident. Until that point, there was no clear indication of what the plot actually was, and there were at least 300 pages of unnecessary story.

I understand from a bit of research that this is intended to be the first of a four part series. Realizing that puts the entire plot of this book into perspective. This climax is the point of no return for the series, with a 500-page lead up. With a bit better editing and a cleaner line, this book could have been immensely less frustrating. Perhaps all these things that bother me are the point of the book—perhaps the next books in the series will overthrow some of these expectations as the main character ventures outside Chaenbalu and sees what the rest of the world is really like. Perhaps.

Do I trust that the author will do that? No.

Am I interested enough to continue reading this series to see if it gets better? No. Do I hope it does? Sincerely. I may not like the author, and I may not have liked this book, but there are people who do and I respect that. I hope it meets their satisfaction. It’s not for me.

Do I regret reading this over the last month instead of the book I was reading and will go back to reading? Surprisingly, no. I hated it, don’t get me wrong, but I also learned a lot about why I hate it—what made it not work—and I think there’s value there, too.

#master of sorrows #books #i didn't want to put this on goodreads because i do know the guy but i also wanted to document my exploration into hating this book

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