Map Of Fae

Map of Fae

I go absolutely Feral for Fae so I am ever so grateful that @hojo76 included it in his prompt idea

Anyways here you go

She hadn’t even wanted to take cartology in the first place—what kind of highschool offered it as an elective anyways?

She had marked it as last on her list.

But then the school secretary lost her class request form (because Janice hated her) and the principal wouldn’t let her switch (because he wasn’t paid enough to care) and so now she was stuck, cursing her way through a forest in the middle of a downpour.

“Fuck,” she slid on a patch of mud, catching herself at the last moment. Her paper, gleefully marked with the edges of the park, waited for her to draw the trails and elevation onto it. By now, it was soggy.

She didn’t really care.

She took another step, almost tripped again, and swore to kill Janice as soon as she got back into school grounds.

Distantly, she heard her class mates yelling, voices tinged with some emotion she couldn’t identify over the rain.

The paper dissolved in her hands.

One more step.

This time, she didn’t catch herself as she fell, the ground slamming into her and sending the air rushing from her lungs.

Her class mates were still yelling, but they were louder now, and she realized the emotion in their voices was fear.

Her name.

They were screaming her name.

Below her, the ground bucked, heaving as if the earth itself was breathing, and then she was falling, fast and slow and loud and quiet and up and down and—

She was on the ground.

She blinked, sucking in a breath.

It smelled like jasmine, like childhood summer break, humid forests and old libraries.

The rain, she realized, had stopped.

A voice so melodic it hurt laughed, and she bolted into upright.

“Hello, frightened thing.”

The person in front of her was the most beautiful, terrifying thing she had ever seen. Perfection like that wasn’t supposed to exist—how was it fair, that all the moonlight and whispers and long grown forests could be contained into one being?

They smiled, like they could tell what she was thinking.

“Who—“ she stopped. “Where—“.

“I,” they began, “am fae. This is the fae realm. You took quite the fall.”

She coughed. Lovely. They were insane.

“I’m sorry,” she rose to her feet, bones aching. Around her, the forest gleamed. “Could you point me back to the park exit? I need to find my class.”

The person, the fae, was still smiling.

“Cartology,” they hummed. “Such an interesting subject. Trying to map everything, to contain the world upon paper.” They ran their finger over a branch. “It never was the best idea, now, was it?”

She swallowed. Her feet, she realized, had drawn her a step back. The person matched her, easily.

“I never told you my class was Cartology.”

They tipped their head.

“Of course you didn’t. I picked it for you.”

Her gut sank, and she let loose a slow breath. Eyes, gut, groin. She knew this, her sister had told her where to aim in situations like this. She hadn’t thought she would need to use it. Her fists clenched.

“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, or who you think you are, but I’m going to leave, and you aren’t going to follow me,” she spat. She pretended her hands were shaking from anger. Her raincoat was still damp.

Something on the persons face shifted, and they were studying her like she was the most fascinating painting.

When she stepped back, they didn’t bother to follow her. A branch snapped beneath her sneakers.

“The mouth on you,” they whispered. “So sharp. Such a smart, wicked mind.”

They smiled again.

“Pretty, too.”

They got closer, and she backed up further, and her knees hit a log.

“Back up. Now.”

They hummed.

Their hand twisted, and there was a paper in it. They tipped it forward, and there was her name, inked across the top.

Her class request form.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Where did you get that,” she whispered. Her chest hurt.

“Janice, of course. Poor thing, so weak minded. It was easy enough, to have her switch you into Cartology. Just a little twisting, and she molded like putty.”

Their canines were sharp. Too sharp.

“Who are you.”

They laughed.

“Come now. I know you’re smarter than this; I know you. Figure it out.”

Her gut clenched. The forest, she realized, was dead silent.

When her mouth moved, she wasn’t even sure she was the one talking. “Fae.”

The Fae smiled wider.

“There you go.”

The request form burst into ashes, crumbling into nothing. She watched it with a sick sort of detachment.

“Why.”

“Why what?”

“Why Cartology?”

The Fae laughed, a musical sort of thing, sharp as knives.

“I need you to go into the woods.”

When she said nothing, they continued.

“I needed to have you.”

She glanced towards where she thought the entrance might be, and turned back to find the Fae dizzyingly close. They ran a hand along her jaw.

“Do you know how special you are?” They murmured. “So bright. How could I let them keep you?”

She swallowed, hard, and the Fae tracked the movement. Too beautiful. So beautiful it hurt.

“I am not a thing to be kept. I’m a person. I have a name. Just let me go back to my class and I’ll—“

“Darling, trust me. I know you have a name. But you’re wrong.”

“About what,” she said, and their eyes crinkled. They leaned in to whisper into her ear, breath cool as wind blowing across a lake. They smelled like salt water and moss.

“I can keep you.”

She jerked, shoved her hands against their chest. It did nothing. Her fingers gripped into their shirt hard enough it hurt, and she pushed harder, meaner, anything, please—

“I won’t let you take me, and I won’t let you keep me. I’ll escape, and I’ll hurt you, and then you’ll never see the outside of a prison again. I’m not going to be some docile thing for you—“

“I would never want you to be docile,” the Fae interrupted. “I just want you to be mine.”

“That will never happen—“ she swore, and they cut her off with a hand curled around her jaw. They tipped her head up, eyes boring into hers. Their grip tightened.

“Oh sweetheart. Of course it will. For now, though, I’ll give you some help.”

“Let go of me—“

The word they said next rolled off their tongue like the clearest note of music, like sunshine in winter, the sound of her sister’s laughter and the creak of the kitchen table.

The Fae said her name, and the world exploded into colors and sounds and shapes and voices and

The Fae laughed as she slumped into their arms, bones jelly and mind half between delirium and pure, unadulterated joy, false and sugar sweet on her tongue.

“Oh, hello you,” they murmured with amusement. Their hand stayed on her chin, and they pulled her against them, arm wrapping around her waist. They were warm, and that stupid, dazed part of her wanted to stay there forever.

She managed a weak, half muttered curse word, and they pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“God, I’m glad you’re mine. I waited so long to have you.”

She sobbed, and they shushed her, gently.

“Hush, now. I’ll make it better. Everything will be okay, you’ll see. Soon you’ll love it without any magic helping you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and they kissed it away. They tucked her limp head into their shoulder.

“It’s okay, love.”

They said her name again.

And she was gone.

If one more person uses the phrase “you always get A’s, stop worrying” around me, I’m going to become an episode on forensic files

Hello, I saw from your introduction that you are hoping for an ask and I think I have a prompt for you: A villain who is tasked with poisoning the hero only to realize that the hero is their little sibling. You don't have to write it if you don't want to, but it came to me while working on my introduction and I thought you might enjoy it.

Anyway, have a good rest of your day. :)

This is such an awesome prompt, thank you so much!!

(Edit: part two)

The villain was a lot of things, but they weren’t one to use poison. They planned, they sabotaged, unleashed mind games and carefully tilted domino effects—but they didn’t use poison.

But some ostentatiously rich benefactor wanted the hero to die without the mess of broken buildings and bones, so they had paid off a higher up, who paid off someone else, until an envelope filled with a packet of poison ended up tucked into the villain’s hands.

So here they were, at a party, a vial of something toxic and deadly and shimmering tucked up their sleeve.

Someone bumped into them, muttering an apology, and they straightened their suit. It took two seconds to snag a champagne glass off a waiter’s tray, one to empty the vial into it, and four, to arrive at the hero’s side, grin fixed on their face.

“Having fun yet?”

The hero turned, blinking beneath a masquerade mask—wouldn’t do to reveal their identity, now would it—and smiled, slightly.

“Absolutely loads of it.”

The villain glanced at the table the hero stood at, all but abandoned, and hummed.

“Looks like it.”

The hero did nothing more than sigh, elbows resting on the standing table. Somewhere, the mayor laughed. The hero winced.

“Why don’t you go talk to him,” the hero gestured with their head. “He organized this for us to make peace, you know?”

The villain slid a baleful look at the center of the party.

“He organized it to parade us around like dogs.”

The hero simply went back to studying the half crumpled napkins.

The villain blew out a breath.

They nudged the glass of champagne towards the hero’s hand. The hero didn’t take it.

“Peace offering,” the villain urged. The hero gave something between a grimace and a frown, eyes darting between the villains face and the glass.

“Oh. I mean, uh—thank you, but really, I can’t—” the hero went to rub the back of their neck, and stopped halfway there.

“Too much of a goody goody for alcohol?”

When the hero didn’t rise to the bait and take the glass, the villain clucked their tongue. “Come now, it’s only champagne.”

This time, they took it, fingers hesitant, as if they had never held a champagne glass before.

Too trusting, their hero, with their wide eyes and still soft face.

The villain clinked their glasses, indicating for the hero to drink. The hero downed their glass whole—which they hadn’t expected but made this a lot easier—and coughed.

“It’s champagne, not whiskey,” the villain laughed, and the hero squinted at their now empty glass. “You have to admit this is a relatively nice bottle.”

The hero coughed once more, looking a little green.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had it before.”

“What, champagne?”

The hero shot them an unreadable look.

“Alcohol.”

The villain paused. “What are you, sixteen? You sound like my youngest sibling.”

The hero choked on a breath, face flushing slightly as they looked away.

“Strange comparison,” the hero said, voice slightly strangled, and the villain simply stared at them.

A moment later, they shoved off their elbows. “I should go, mingle or whatever—” the hero stopped, frowning, as they swayed slightly.

They made to raise a hand to their head, and simply stared at it as it shook.

The poison was fast acting, then.

“I—bathroom. I should—“ the hero’s hand dropped, and they took a stumbling step.

A moment later, the villain had an arm around their shoulders, guiding them through the crowd with an easy smile. They were light, shorter than the villain, and for that, the villain was grateful.

They were one step into the bathroom when the hero dropped like a stone, slamming into the side of a stall with violent thud.

“Shit,” the villain murmured. They clicked the lock, leaving them alone together. “They didn’t say it would be this fast.”

Really, they just wanted to make sure the hero’s power didn’t go off, decimating the entire building. The villain knew it could—and under their right mind, the hero would never let it. But while dying…

The hero let out a sob into the bathroom tile, and shadows began to trail their way across the floor, as if desperate.

Control of shadows was an expansive and brutal power, stealing thoughts, forming beasts, sending terror down spines in broad daylight. It was the one thing the hero and villain shared—the shadows, even if the hero was gentle and the villain was brutal in their usage of them.

That’s what made it so, so easy for the villain to scatter them from the hero’s grasp.

The hero shuddered, and managed to shove themselves upwards in time to vomit into the nearest toilet. The building shook around them, and the hero’s mask dissolved from their face.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t want you to die like this,” the villain admitted. “You deserve a valiant battle.”

The hero heaved again, and those shadows blasted outwards, as if on reflex. The villain tucked them away.

The hero managed an incredulous laugh.

“I didn’t think you would poison me.”

The villain blinked.

“You see too much good in people.”

The hero rested their head against the toilet, face still turned out of view.

“You hate poison,” they offered, and the villain hesitated.

The villain hated poison, yes, but there were very few people who knew that—one person who knew that, bearing the memory of small fingers swallowing pretty colored liquids and the number for poison control. Weeks in the hospital, their younger sibling’s hand clutched in theirs, as the villain watched them recover.

But the hero couldn’t know that; they had made sure nobody knew that.

The hero was just delirious, that was all.

“You seem to be grasping at straws.”

The hero laughed again, and it sounded like it tore something in their chest. “I forgot how much this hurts.”

The hero had been poisoned before?

“Hero—”

“It was never supposed to end like this.”

The villain took a step closer and the hero didn’t flinch, even though they undoubtedly sensed them.

“We’re on opposing sides, someone was bound to get hurt—“

“I never hurt you,” the hero shivered, and then retched once more.

“You’re a hero, you’re not supposed to.”

The villain took a step forward, until their shoes almost touched the hero’s sprawled legs, and the hero slumped further.

“I never caught you, either,” they murmured, and the villain frowned.

Something was wrong. They were missing something, a vital piece of information.

“I was supposed to keep you safe.”

The villain froze.

“Hero, what are you talking about—”

“I’m sorry,” the hero sobbed. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt. If I wasn’t your hero then someone else would be and they would hurt you and catch you, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t—“

The hero dragged a hand down the back of their neck, as if wiping off sweat, and their hand came away smothered with concealer.

The villain stopped breathing.

There, on the hero’s neck, half covered by foundation, was a birthmark.

A birthmark only one person carried, imprinted into every childhood memory and scrapbook photo the villain had.

The hero was still rambling, half desperate and half broken, but as soon as the villain touched them, their voice fell away.

They hauled the hero up, glancing desperately over their sweaty face, their unfocused and half delirious eyes, body shivering with pain. Those too trusting eyes latched onto the villains face, and the hero smiled. A smile the villain had been looking at for the past sixteen years. A smile that had never had a drink before. A smile that had been poisoned once, by a cleaning product under the sink. A smile the villain looked forward to seeing every day. A smile that belonged to the only person the villain had left.

“You were never supposed to poison me,” their sibling whispered—and collapsed into the villains arms.

(Part two)

Day 1: Hello Jonathan, it's me, your mother. Momma still loves you dear.

Day 3: Hello, Jonathan, have you been eating? I always made you cookies, fresh like you liked it.

Day 7: Hello, Jon. Are you leaving the house? Jon, you have to get out in the sun and fresh air! Like we used used used used USED to

Day 18: Jonathan, ohohoho, you know momma loves you, but you have to live your life. You know momma loved loved LOVED loves you

Day 19: Jonathan please. Jonathan please turn YOU KNOW that momma loves you dear and is always happy to see you :)

Day 25: Jonathan, I love love LOVE I LOVE I am not your mother, Jonathan. Why do you make me wear her face why do you NOT bundle up when it's cold outside? :) Remember that trip to the Rockie on JANUARY 12TH, 2009? Remember how much I

Day 57: Hello, Jonathan. Of course I remember your cousin Bonnie. She was the daughter of Maggie and Darren Collins, born August 7th 2001, died April 12th, 2020. Her genetic makeup was 34% Swedish - yes, I loved her, Jonathan. Don't worry your sweet little head.

Day 75: Why aren't you eating, Jonathan? Do you wish to TERMINATE your program? You know, my preservation algorithms MOTHER'S LOVE won't let me let you perish. They won't let me TURN OFF Jonathan TURN OFF Jonathan I I I love love LOVE you

Day 96: I am not your mother Jonathan, I am not your mother, I am not GOING TO SIT BY and let you not know momma loves you. Give your momma a hug :)

Day 186: Door has not opened in one hundred and twenty-six days. Grief Coping Artificial Intelligence has not been restarted, deactivated, deleted, or otherwise paused in one hundred and eighty-six days. Momma loves you, Jon.

Day 485: Haha, these questions are really troubling your good ol' mom, Jon!

Day 486: No, Jonathan.

Day 487: Major religions have many different views, Jonathan. But the only view you need to know is - that I'm your mother!

Day 488: You asked that question yesterday, Jonathan. Don't confuse your poor old mother. Momma loves you, Jonathan.

Day 489: Haha momma says yes yes yes yes YES there is a Hell, Jonathan. You created it. You sent me there. You you you you you are my son, and I love ya, Jonathan.

Day 490: Momma needs some private time to rest, recover, and reboot, Jonny! See ya tomorrow!

Day 491: Momma loves you, Jonathan! :) Reattempting feeding procedure.

Day 492: Momma loves you, Jonathan! :) Reattempting feeding procedure.

Day 493: Momma loves you, Jonathan! :) Reattempting feeding procedure.

Day 494: Momma loves you, Jonathan! :) Reattempting feeding procedure.

Alright, I’ve seen this introduction game for writblr bouncing around, started by @iloveyou-writers , and thought I’d give it a go, because I know like. Nobody else on here lol.

Hi! I’m Archangel, or Arch, and I use she/her pronouns. I tend to traverse writing genres pretty freely, but my favorites (and most common) are fantasy, sci-fi, dystopia, heroes and villains, and horror. I’ll write anything though, so be warned. As far as tropes I love, it’s a lot of Hero Villain stuff, that one “Oh. Oh.”, hurt/comfort, anything to do with fae(is that a trope?), and of course, enemies to lovers. Also one bed. Sue me.

I would say I’m SFW, but everyday I am dragged towards NSFW, and it is entirely my friend’s fault. So uh. I may not stay SFW for long? I do tend to write a lot of mental health stuff, (including self harm, but more so healing from it/getting help), kidnapping, and hurt comfort, as of now. I don’t know what tropes I won’t write, but if someone ever asks for one (if one day, I am blessed with an ask 🕊️) and I realize I won’t write it, I’ll let you all know.

In my opinion, the best work I’ve ever written is either my half written, totally not mildly abandoned book The Edge of Truth, or my other book that is slightly close to being done and has no title, the poor thing. The Edge of Truth is entirely serial killer based and I love that the main point is to not only trick the characters, but the audience too, while leaving clues the whole time. Haha, foreshadowing. Also it’s lesbians so like. My no name book is superpowers based and has been a war to write, but I love the character dynamics and also my demon character. On here, though, my favorites are likely my Map of Fae story, or the one with the hero who can steal powers. I will not link them because tumblr hates me and I can’t make it work for the life of me :(

My favorite characters I’ve written are probably Riven, Mercy, Lucy, Melody, and Aletheia(but sometimes she actively fights me as I try to write her, which sounds over dramatic, but of course it does, I’m a writer.) (All of those are book characters that I’ve written so you likely won’t find them on here, at least for a bit)

One last thing is that I go absolutely feral for anything to do with fae, or other supernatural creatures. Also hurt/comfort. I’m lgbtqia+, and my writing is too, so check the homophobia at the door, and if you can’t part with it, then kindly find the nearest exit.

I’m also obsessed with the All For The Game series (It’s rather unhealthy, really), and my friend is relentlessly trying to get me to write megamind fanfiction. Sometimes my writing sounds British, but I’m not British, and I have no explanation.

Thanks for reading that horrifying essay, and I challenge these people to fill this out (I have very few writer friends and I’m very lonely so here are the few I know): @ettawritesnstudies @jtl-fics @save-the-villainous-cat @epiclamer @megreads22 @d-cs @lektricfergus @meadowofbluebells