#a court of wrath and moonlight

[neonovember]

All of you

mafia!au

summary; you didn’t mean to get them that angry, or get one of their men killed, but they’ll let you blame it on your insatiablity anyway.

warnings; smut, piv, asphyxiation, degradation, over stimulation, steve gets really rough, pet names, dumbification, mean steve, steve and bucky even being together in the same room, violence and mentions of death

a/n; I didn’t want to post part 1 without posting part 2. That’s it. Bucky and especially Steve are a little deranged in this, heed the warnings, please. Your media is your consumption, you have been warned!

It takes a while, takes you putting on one of Bucky’s favourite vinyls, twirling around in this useless big chair until your head was spinning before Ferguson showed up for his court-appointed presence.

You begin your silent seduction, like prey to a predator, you drop the bait and count on the man to be dumb enough to take it. And boy does he lead himself into it all on his own.

You compliment his stature, gush over his muscles, and beg him to flex them, all while you fiend innocence. As if this man ever would compare to your boys.

You hear the rev of an engine nearby, the sound of it so familiar to you that it fills you with warmth. They were home, or at least on the gravel road that lead to it.

You realised you had to amp it up if you wanted not only Bucky, but Steve, to be mad, really mad, not just the forgery they’d act with you, they had to believe this man truly thought he had a chance with you.

You slowly unbutton the back of your top, letting it hang loosely to display the red ink that trailed down your spine. You waited for the French doors to open, hearing the familiar footsteps run up the stairs and for a moment a feeling of guilt washed over you, they wanted to see you, and here you were playing mind games.

The flutter of the white curtains streaming in the moonlight reminds you however of the endless nights you’d stare through those same window panes, waiting, wishing your boys were home if not safe.

This was simply karmic justice.

“Would you mind buttoning up my shirt, it seemed to come undone somehow” You giggle, pushing your coils to the side.

“Would you mind buttoning up my shirt, it seemed to come undone somehow” You giggle, pushing your coils to the side.

He isn’t able to reach the second button before you hear the door bang open, bouncing back from the wall.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing” Bucky growls, his chest heaving up and down, the crisp white shirt is rolled to his elbows, and suspicious red splotches scatter the collar of it.

Thomas fumbles, his fingers latching back from your shit as if you were poison, he gulps loudly, the wrath of Bucky's rage that he knew all too well, now directed at him. 

“Uh, she asked-” Thomas begins, poor little Thomas, too stupid to know when to keep his hands to himself and even more stupid to know when to keep his mouth shut

Bucky doesn't let him finish, the last of his composure crumbling and he reaches for Thomas, ribbing him for being you and dragging him out of the room. There is a scurry, one Bucky has conveniently muffled through the shut office doors, but you hear the anguished screams nonetheless before he appears again in front of you. 

His dark strands fall in front of his eyes, but they do little to hinder the fire burning within them, deep embers of navy blue that seem almost silver under the low light. You know when a job has been particularly bad by Bucky’s hair, and with the way it was falling apart from the haphazard bun at the back, told you it was worse than bad.

You can practically see his body vibrating, mixed with the lasting adrenaline of what you believed Sam was dealing with right now and the anger of seeing another man be near those same tattoos Steve has inked onto your skin.

He slowly walks towards you, the same boots splattered with blood now pressing into the carpet floor, black copper orbs stare down at you, unblinking as they took you in, and sucked you into their depth.

“I’m giving you the opportunity to explain yourself, doll, and explain yourself good because I don’t have time for fucking jokes right now” He growls, gripping your waist and pulling you into him.

You stare at him blankly, displaying a hoax of ignorance and confusion as you furrow your brows.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about Bucky, he was simply helping me button my shirt” You reply huskily, his grip of your waist tightens and his strands fall in front of his eyes. He shakes his head, nodding, understanding what this now was.

“So we’re doing this now huh?, After I just told you the day we’ve had?” bucky scoffs, eyes falling to your outfit, nodding appreciably at the lack of underwear.

“Okay, it’s your call baby doll, this is all you, you just wait, I’m sure Steve is finished with Ferguson right about now” Bucky smiles, licking his lips as he turns from you, leaning onto the desk. His eyes flicker to the glass of half-drunk bourbon and his eyes darken impossibly more.

The excitement, you were giddy with it. It poured into your stomach and fluttered around like butterflies, burning greater than the bourbon ever did. You could practically feel yourself tingling, at the tips of your fingers, the electrostatic heat and pulse of pleasure. All you needed was the final push.

And just like clockwork, Steve strolls into the room, his knuckles bloodied and his collar splattered with red. It takes one glance between Steve and Bucky to know what you were doing, their eyes communicating in the way words never could. They both nod towards you, before Steve slowly walks towards where you’re standing.

“What were you thinking, hm doll?” Steve asks silently, eyes calculating as they racked over your body.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” He says hushedly. The fear fills you, Steve isn’t scary when he’s enraged when he’s red with frustration. He’s scary when he’s silent. When he masks his face so that it remains like unmoulded clay. His eyes smiling, fucking smiling because he can smell the fear on you and he loves it, he craves the skin of yours shivering under the moonlight.

“I was just, talking to him, it’s not my fault! You both left me alone and the only man that was capable was him” You reply, friending innocence as you fluttered your eyes at him.

He smiles at that, pulling his white button sleeves to his elbows. Unfastening his tie so it lay lazily around his neck. He carefully paced his suit jacket on the coach. Before turning towards you again.

“Bucky, today wasn’t a good day was it?” He says staring directly at you.

“No, I don’t believe it was” Bucky grunts arms crossed as he grinned

“You see darling, some of our men got hurt, important men, men I needed to be alive. It caused us a real headache, a lot of blood on our hands and necks, a lot of inefficiencies that clogged up our production. Filth, and greed, just ruining our goddamn night.”

“And image our surprise, when the one thing we counted on, the one thing that would make it even a little better, made it fucking worse.” Steve grins, pulling your hair into a bun, his hands gliding down the slope of your face before pushing into your mouth.

You suck on them gleefully, looking towards him in pleasured relief. Whilst it seems impossible, his eyes darken even more than Bucky’s. Darken to a colour you’ve never seen before, a colour and depth reserved for his night dealings and empire.

You could practically feel it glide down your thighs. Steve’s hand twitches, and you know he can sense it too, your amounting pleasure building up to the tip of release with just his words.

He’s resisting, and you don’t want him to.

“I didn’t wait hours on the both of you, for you to just scold me” You begin to cross your arms against your chest, head back as you looked up into Steve’s.

“Sit down” He whispers, the words barely leaving his lips

You snort, swaying your hips like the tail of a temptress, reaching for the door handle to leave.

“If you won't satisfy me, I’ll find someone who will” You preen, eaging them on further.

It’s futile, you can feel the heat of Steve’s grip before his thick fingers even wrap around your waist.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Steve barks, annoyance lacing his tone. You can tell with the clench of his jaw that his anger is simmering just beneath the surface.

“You don’t want us angry baby doll, you remember last time?” Bucky grins, canines glinting in the moonlight, a wolf-life expression shines over his features.

Oh you remember last time, a mere rarity of sheer fucking that was nowhere near the sensual agonising heat you were used to. A rarity that came only when a particularly bad night had occurred, where they had almost lost you. Filled with betrayal and loss, that night had bled through both Steve and Bucky, until it was stained all over you, your thighs, your neck, your pussy.

“What if I want it like last time?” You whisper, looking at both of them in defiance. Your candour causes Steve to stiffen behind you, a momentary pause in his brain, a short circuit, a daunting realisation before a final knowing.

You hear a grunt pass through Steve’s lips, a silent “fuck” from Bucky’s.

He knows they both did, eyes shining towards each other, faces unreadable as they caught glimpses of their sweet girl for who she really was.

Steve hands you to Bucky as if your thick thighs and hips merely weighed nothing, Bucky moves towards the large armchair that’s positioned across the sofa. Steve sits across from you, legs spread apart as he rests his outstretched hands across the spine of the leather. Bucky sits you down between his legs, before repositioning you to straddle one of his thighs. You look up in bewilderment, and you know confusion covers your features when Steve grins, nodding.

“You want to get yourself off so bad with these wolves, why don’t you take some initiative. Show us how bad you want this, show us how bad you’ve been needing” Steve smirks leaning back.

“Go on, pretty girl, I’m all yours” Bucky whispers into the shell of your ear. Pressed kisses down the slope of your neck before biting your ear lip, causing you to yelp, indirectly causing a delicious friction against Bucky’s bludge that has both of you groaning.

Bucky rests his hands on your waist, not applying any pressure yet, as you begin to drag your hips against his pantsuit. You throw your head back against Bucky’s curls, gripping his thighs as you speed up your ministrations.

The folds of the fabric create friction that rubs against your pulsing clit, and the sticky need of your arousal leaks from the sides of your inner thighs, dampening Bucky’s pants and creating the perfect slick for you to go faster.

“Just like that doll, get yourself off on Bucky’s thigh, I know you can do it, fucking show me” Groans Steve, hes eyes never leaving your own.

The scent of you has Bucky groaning with his head back, and as you begin moving your hips into Bucky’s leg, he tenses the muscle causing you to squeeze your eyes shut, the building of pleasure reaching a cliff.

“Open your eyes doll, I want to see every single expression you make” Steve growls from the sofa, through your bounds of pleasure you had almost forgotten he was there, watching.

The scene that opens to you almost has you climaxing itself, there he was, looking through hooded eyes into the junction of your thighs as they grounded against Bucky's.

His hands had slipped into his pants, and you watch him pump himself to your pleasure, his thick fingers gripping the shaft, rolling the pearl of premium against his head and squeezing tight.

“P-Please” You groan, head tilted back, you were so close, the motion of your hips now almost mechanical, moving unconsciously as the waves of pleasure washed over you.

“Please what baby? You’re gonna have to be a bit clearer than that, I want to hear exactly what you want” Bucky smirks into your skin.

“Harder, faster, fuck just I need it, I need you Bucky!” You cry out, reaching for his thick finger to give you the roughness you need.

“That's all you’ve got to say” Bucky whispers as he circles his hands across your hips, gripping them, bringing them down, hard against his thigh.

You moan out pleas of gratitude, the pleasure taking you into a wordless heap of gurgles “yes yes yes”.

Bucky drags your pussy against him, unrelenting even as you squirm against his hold, thighs attempting to close but to no avail, Steve grips them open, making you take everything.

You hold onto Bucky's broad shoulders, anchoring you to this world, all you could do now was take it, drink down the waves of pleasure that seemed unrelenting, pleasure as deep as the pacific.

Steves moves closer, slipping his thick hands between your thighs, dragging his ring-encrusted digits across your folds, collecting your arousal before bringing it to his lips, he looks you dead in the eye as he sucks, hard.

“Fuckin delicious” He moans, eyes half-lidded. You watch, mouth agape, and it takes one more rough glide from Bucky before your falling apart in front of them.

Your eyes squeeze shut, gripping Buck’s locks as he grunts into you, white-hot saccharine pleasure engulfs your vision, blinding you temporarily. You don't speak, you don’t move, you simply sway against the current, you hear the murmur of Steves's voice calling your name, coaxing you back to the ground.

“You all there baby girl? Hm?” Steve hushes, and your head hits something plush and velvet, nothing like the broad expanse of Bucky’s chest. They seemed to have moved you while you were recovering, you hadn't even noticed.

“Haven't even put my fingers in you and you're already a puddle in my hands, what happened to the fiery girl before, you give up already?” Steve smirks, instigating you.

“Hmph, iss only cause it was me, you think your small dicks can make me cum?” You giggle, high off of the smell of sex and desperation permeating the air.

“Is that right baby? Hm? How about we prove it” Bucky smirks before he roughly reaches for you, dragging you to the edge of the mahogany desk, before tossing ypu to Steve.

Steve picks you up, flipping you acorss his shoulder as he begins to make his way from the offcie and into the darkned hallway.

“Where are we going” You groan, hyour thighs are still shaking from the orgasm Bucky had given you, surely they didnt want another round?

Steves hand comes down, hard againts your basckside, the sound vibrates across the house, and shoots directly to your core. Steve had never touched you like this, with a sliver of pain mixed and folded into pleasure, but you liked it, hell you fucking loved it

“Don’t you fucking open that slutty mouth of yours, what? you thought we were done?” Steve laughs palm coming down again, cereminously.

“We’ve got the whole night to open you right up doll, have your pussy fuckiing weeping after were done” Steve promises, hands sqeezing the curve your ass, the heat spreading up your back.

The only vision you have is the back of Steves dress shoes, the encrusted signange at the heel, the silver metal snake glinting againts the mostly dark surroundings. Buckys shoes follow, you can make ut his hands, glistening with your pleasure, the veins runnings long his arms pressing into the pockets of his pants.

Before long Steve drops you onot the plush covers of your bed, but before you are able to bury yourself into the soft quilt, Bucky rougly turns your around, before pressing tinot rh mattress, thighs between your closed legs, that Steve grips open.

His glistenign fingers reach up to yoiur pants, ripping them open and he drags them down your thighs

“Tsk, tsk tsk, no panties? It's like she knew what was going to happen” Bucky smirks towards Steve, your back againts his chest as he leaves brusiing kissses along the slope of your neck.

Steve hums in response, “Our girl? Our sweet, innocent girl? she would never” 

“That's right, this isn't our sweet girl, isn't that right?” Bucky whispers into the skin of your thighs, gliding his tongue along the curve of it, before begining to bite and suck at the skin right near your quivering folds. 

God why couldt he just move a little bit further?

You golt forward, into Bucky as Steve lands a slap against your pussy, hand reaching between your body, doing it again and again and again until you were weeping, eeys squeezed shut and head hanigng againts Steves warm chest.

“Answer Bucky when he speaks to you” He growls, dipping a thick digit into your folds, swirling your slick around clit, before circling his fingers. You moan anabasdhedly, unaware of how goddamn loud you were being in the ince quiet house.

“Do we need to teach you some manners doll? Hm? Stuff that pretty hole full so we can get some respect?” Steve whispers into your ear, adding a second digit, the cool metal of his rings pressing againts the opening of your hole, you preen, so fucking close you can taste the orgasm and your tongue.

Steve curls his fingers, gliding them againts your velvet walls, and Bucky moves closer, hes faint breath againts your clit that has you gustling againts both their bodies. Bucky holds you still, his hands gripping your waist, pushing your arched back into the mattress and he sucks on your clit.

He groans in appreciaiton, the sound vibrating through your core and it has you screaming his name is earnest. Steve continues to assault your folds, pressing further until he finds the spong spot that has you prrssing your fingers into his arm, trying and failing, to shove his fingers away from you. Tears begin to blur your vision, the cwnterpiece chandilier know but a muffle of lights, but god does it feel good. It burns you, it brands you, this aching pleasure, the overstimualtion of Steevs, his stumble ctaches most of it, the rough hairs scratching againts the softness of your thighs.

Your juices leak between Steves fingers, dripping down and spearing across Buckys chinpressing his hands into your thighs. 

A muffled moan escapes your mouth as you try and suppress the growing need spreading beginning to uncurl. The blinding hot pleasure begins to build, and just as you feel it slding againts your back,  Steve retracts his fingrs from your pussy, and Bucky lets go of your clit with a pop.

The ahce of emptiness hurts you more than their overstimualtion, and yur reaching for thier fingers and face quickly, whines leaving your mouth as your cheeks trail with tears.

Bucky pushes your hands away, into steves grip who lift them over your shoulder, holding them together in one hand. 

“You wont be cumming on anything other than our dicks tonight sweetheart”Bucky smiles, his smirk widens, as your greddily oush your hips into his crotch, neded any friction.

Bucky pushes his cothed cock againts your pussy, the outline of his hard cock pushing againts your clit.

“God look at her Bucky, so fucking needy” Steve groans, watching your hips begin to move, aagin againts Bucky’s boner.

“If I’d known this would keep your mouth shut and preseting, well, doll, i wouldve done this ages ago”. Bucky replies, eyes never leaving your lidden ones.

Buckdoesnt waste a second ripping his suit pants off,  pulling his hardened cock out as it smacks againts his stomach. For a moment you froget how thick he is, the angry red tip of it leaking with precum, dripping along thr slides that were ripled with distinct veins that followed to the cut of his obliques. 

As if reading your mind Bucky softly smirks, lfitng your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your lips

“Oh baby, ill make sure it fits, il make sure you get every fucking inch and then some” Bucky replies, the juxtaposition of his soft tocuh and his hrds words has you dripping.

Gripping your knees within his grasp, Steve contours your body impossibly wider, giving Bucky enough room to press his entire body against you. His head nudges against your folds, collecting the slick cum dripping from your core, before roughly pushing in, leaving no room to get adjusted. 

You both groan, as your pussy welcomes him, the flutter of your walls squeezing his dick. Bucky’s eyes are screwed shut, and you force yours to stay open as you watch, mesmerized as he pressed his canines into redded lips.

“God, shit, every time we open your pretty little pussy up it just never gets used to us huh? So fucking tight, she’s gripping me like a fucking vice Stevie” Bucky groans loudly, jaw clenched and fingers pressed into the underside of your thighs.

It was no surprise that Bucky and Steve were.. big, to say the least. They’d always known that needed to give you a few seconds to get used to their sheer size, but no, as bucky begins to pound against your slick walls, groaning at your warmth and softness you understand they have abandoned all traditions.

Every rough glide of Bucky's cock through your folds has you moaning in ecstasy, as the burn of his thick shaft presses against your walls. You smash into Steve’s back with every thrust, shoving every inch of himself even deeper into you, Steves's rough fingers come to squeeze your nipples, rolling them between his patted fingers, pulling hard, before letting go.

“Nnnph” You cry out, hands resisting against Steve’s grip, you attempt to close your legs, but it pulls Bucky even deeper, leaving him groaning and sheathing his cock so it circled your walls.

“Don’t go running away now bunny, Bucky’s filling you right up, you should say thank you”. Steve replies cocking his head to the aide, grinning before sneaking his hand to grip your cheeks, squeezing them hard between his fingers.

You cant reply, you cant even speak, the pleasure overwheling you as Bucky rougly shoves his fat cock up to the hilt, your arousal creaming around the base, so fucking wet and messy that it has him almost slipping out.

A hard burn erupts on your cheek, the stinging sensation going straight to your core, Steve slaps you, again, this time harsher as he berates you loudly.

“You dumb bunny, what did i say about repeating myswelf, go on, say thank you to Bucky”

You struggle to keep your eyes open, the thin lids seem to heavy now, Steve squeezes your cheeks again, the rings on his fingers pressing imprints onto your cheekbone, and yu somehow manage to cry out.

“T-thank you, Thank you, thank you!” You moan, the words fallling out of your mouth mechanically.

The mere words leave you echausted, and you slump againts Steve’s broad chest, the only help of his arms holding your knees up. You’ve given up countign how many times Bucky has left you wailing, the sleek of your orgasm just edging him on.

Holding your knees up to your chest bucky presses his cok in a new direction, pressing rougly againts the soft spongy spot

“Oh God!, oh, oh, Bucky please, I can't do anymore- mh” You yelp as Bucky bites into your thigh, grinning as he sucks onto the skin.

“You just feel so good doll, so fucking good, can you give me another one? hm? can you please? I need it, fuck I need you to milk me with those creamy fucking walls” Bucky groans, refusing to falter his movements, harsh thrust bumping the head of cock against your g-spot, your thighs quiver violently, and it isn't soon before your cumming again, milking his cock, your walls tightening around him.

“That's right, milk my fucking cock you slut, got you so dumb and full you can't even form words, you've learnt your place haven't you, doll? Bucky questions his hands coming to push your hair out of your face. You are way in out of your mind to even reply, drool dripping from the corner f your mouth, shaking in a heap of cum and spit.

“So good, baby, so fucking good, I outa give you something back aren't I?” Bucky smiles, eyes falling to the nudge of his cock against your soft stomach. The greys of his pupils darken as he watches, and his curls begin to fall across his face, sticking to his forehead.

“You gonna let me cum in you? Huh? Let me feed this greedy little hole who has been crying for it all night?” Bucky sneers, and your pussy tightens around him in return, leaving him to grip your thighs, red crevices forming into your skin.

Moaning in approval, Bucky fastens his pace, shoving himself in and out without much less than a second, you tighten your walls again, causing obscenities to leave buckys mouth.

“Please Bucky, give it to me, fill me up, I want it, I want to need it”You cry out. It doesn't take long before Bucky empties into you, thick ropes of cum shooting into your pussy, coating your walls, before oozing out of the sides of his fat cock. Bucky watches intently as the mix of both of your arousal slides down your fluttering folds, damping the dark sheets below.

Lost in your pleasure you don’t recognise when Steve had pulled you down to the edge of the bed, your face between his large hands. He looks down intently at you, a blown out expression over his features as he takes in your shallow breaths and test stricken face tracked with dirty mascara.

Steve begins to push your hair back from your face, brushing your tears from your cheeks with his thumb, you think this is a hidden gesture, to show his un wielding desire to care for you. You feel him begin to grip your hair however, pulling you down onto your knees on the cold hardwood floor with one hand.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his unwiedling grip at the back of your head as you look up at him on your knees. It’s a sight to behold, one Bucky not so subtlety captures on a point and shoot. You sit patiently, looking up at Steve through hooded eyes, lazy and dumb from Bucky’s cock.

Steve hums silently, before softly speaking with a grin crarcking thigh his features unnaturally

“Do you think you can fit this cock down that pretty little throat?” Steve smirks, pumping his cock at your salvating expression.

You nod quickly beginning to reach towards him, eager to feel his heavy weight againts your tongue, to trail the long vein along its side and choke againts its girth.

Steve pulls you back violently, corsding his head disapprovingly

“No touching, I’m in control now baby doll, do you understand me? If I even see you begin to move shove your panties in that mouth and lock you in a room for 2 weeks” Steve warns, a dark expression overcoming his face as he cocks his head to the side.

You look over his broad shoulders to see Bucky fucking up into your panties, he catches your eyes with a smirk, winking at your open mouth shock.

“Does your dumb brain understand? Or are you too fucked out of your own mind to even listen” Steve growls at you silence, his grip tightening, shooting a pain down your skull.

You nodded quickly, hands behind your back for emphasis, you needed his cock, you needed so fucking badly.

“Use your big words, cmon you can do it” Steve teases cruelly, smirking down at your needy face, you’ve begun to rock against your palm, Steve’s degradation causes your to shudder in response, clenching against your own hand.

“Yes I unders-“ You let out before Steve slams his cock down your throat, groaning loudly at the feel of your wet mouth.

“Fucking shit babygirl, felt like the first fucking time” Steve groans, looking down as he thrusts into your throat, a paced motion that only went deeper.

You resist the gag threatening to come out at the intrusion, forcing yourself to breathe though your nose, you grip your thigh tightly as your nose begins to brush against the soft hairs at the base.

Your tongue glides against the ridges and veins of his cock, Steve allows you to wrap a hand around whatever you can’t fit, circling your tou hue around his shaft before gliding your way to his tip, he grips your hair tightly as you flatten your tongue against the head, and as you look up at him you find him already staring intently down at you.

Steve quickly takes control wrapping your hair into a makeshift pony tail before angling his hips do that he drove his entire length down further, hitting the back your throat. Muffled groans and scattered half words, leave his mouth, the beginnings of your name and curses filling the room.

Steve speeds up his pace, do that you had no choice but to hold your breathe as he drove deeper and deeper, it was as if all restraint had left him as he lost himself in pleasure, using your throat as merely a hole to fill his cum with.

Ragged breathes from above are all you can here as tears begin to stream down your face, you gag violently but Steve continued his rough thrusts, growling as he sees the tears staining your cheeks, as he sees what his cock has done to you.

You feel rough fingers reach for your throat, gripping it harshly as they squeeze, leaving you with shallow breathes in between the few seconds in which Steve’s cock is not down your throat.

“Holy shit Steve” Moans Bucky as he looks over at your appearance, mascara trucking down your throat, your hair sticking to your forehead, lips spread wide open, and forehead practically kissing Steve’s abdomen.

The lack of air begins to consume you, but you find it impossibly to let of of his heavy weight against your tongue, a strangled moan vibrates against his cock and it has Steve curse your name loudly, gripping your scalp to the point or breakage.

“You’re just a fucking hole aren’t you baby? Huh? Only thing your good for is taking by dick down that tight fucking throat and letting me use you however I fucking want” Steve growls above you, pushing the fallen strands back into his tight grip as he continued to drive into you.

“Talking so much fucking shit, pulling that little stunt you thought up in that dumb brain of yours. Thought you were so smart with that huh? You’re embarrassing, the only thing you did was waste a perfectly good soldier of ours” Steve continued, tutting as if he were talking about the weather.

“Couldn’t have him think he had a chance right Bucky?” Steve says, wrapping his palms around your face now, hitting the back of your throat with little abandon, the dazed expression turning him on as you choke on him. Steve doesn’t wait for him to reply before he continues.

“Now you know your rightful place, on your fucking knees taking me in your mouth, barely able to breathe with your own fingers shoved into your pussy” Steve remarks growning at your soft rocking against your hand.

You moan loudly against him, unable to keep your noises within, the sound vibrates across Steve’s cock, and he drives you violently down his length, your wet hot mouth causing him to growl loudly.

His thrust become sloppy as he glides against your tongue, and without warning, he shoots down your throat, your nose against his stomach as he forced you to take all of it, his full shooting down your abused throat.

He continues to thrust into you slowly, allowing you to breathe finally, as he eases his thick cock from your mouth, cum and spit dribbling down your mouth and down your neck.

You feel yourself falling onto your back before Steve quickly catches you, collecting you into his arms and he guided you onto the bed. Collecting the cum from your stomach and mouth, licking it clean, Steve looks at you intently, an unreadable expression over taking his features and his furrows his eyebrows.

He reached for you before you flinch quickly, causing Steve to quickly retract his hand.

“Hey, hey, you all there? We good” Steve says concern lacing his tone, as he takes in you heaving chest.

Bucky immediately looks down at you, the same concern mirrored on his features.

“M fine, just overstimulated, s’good Steve” You groan licking your lips, causing Steve and Bucky to clench their jaws unconsciously, the wood splintering under their grip.

“Good, because we’re not stopping anytime soon” Steve replies darkly

“Remember we’ve got all night baby doll, and we were just getting started” Bucky grins. Their cocks already getting hard, pressing against your stomach, and their eyes seemed to remain on the cum oozing from between your closed legs, dark grey’s and blue’s watching you, like wolves to the prey.

And you would have no choice but to surrender.

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[inktailsaystuff]

Introducing Ivy to Nina

Freckle meets Ruby (Ivy's dad)

Tw: None :>

Freckle's tail twitched with anxiety as he stood outside his home. He had smoothed out his fur, and worn his mother's favorite suit jacket. It took all of his energy to flatten his bristling fur, in the corner of his eye he could see his silver furred cousin Rocky from the bushes. The cat offered him one of his signature manic grins of support. Now don't get him wrong. He loved his mother... but he was also mortified that she would be unapproved of his girlfriend. Ivy. Ivy stood tall next to him, her beautiful gray fur glowing silver in the moonlight. She wore a loose pastel green layered dress that went down to below her knees, with a matching green cloche hat. Her long thin wiry tail intertwined with his soothingly, as she fixed her hair. 

"Honey, are you alright?" Her sweet voice cutting through his worrisome thoughts. "You know I can always meet your mother some other time right?" Her piercing yellow stare looking into his eyes. "If your worried-"

"N-No." Freckle shook his head, his ear twitching. "I can do this. It's okay." Swallowing a lump in his throat he knocked on the door. The few seconds waiting for his mother to open the door felt like crawling through hell itself. As each second ticked by he could feel his skin prickle and fur bristle, fear clawing its way up his neck. 

"Calvin?" His mother opened the door, her hair tied back into a tight bun as she smoothened out her skirt. Her small ginger stature sent shivers up his spine. "Who's that you got with you?" She narrowed her eyes, fixing her glasses as she looked Ivy up and down. "You better not be getting hanky panky with her Calvin." (I don't know 1920's slang :'<) Nina's tail swished. 

"What? No Mother." Freckle shook his head, "I- I uh... I'm courting her? Yeah... I wanted you to meet her Mother." He fiddled with his paws, his anxiety eating him alive as his mother inspected Ivy. Earlier both he and Rocky had briefed Ivy on how to act and talk around his mother. Well actually Freckle did most of the briefing while Rocky screamed poetry about how to avoid angering "the wrath and fury that is the woman of ginger fur and short stature." Whatever that meant. 

"What's your name?" Nina asked as she finally let the couple inside. Her brilliant yellow eyes analyzed Ivy and her son as they walked in. Nina had to admit, the girl seemed like a sweet one. Large yellow eyes and soft gray fur, the young cat held herself up with an air of upper class, her thin and wiry body graceful and stunning.

"My name is Ivy. Ivy Pepper. Mrs. McMurray." Ivy smiled as she stepped inside, holding her purse in her hand as she smiled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you Ma'am."

"Hmph." Nina frowned. "Would you like some tea Ms. Pepper?" Nina asked as she poured three cups of tea. 

"Yes Ma'am." Ivy smiled, sitting down next to Freckle. 

"How did you meet my son Ivy?" Nina asked as she sipped her tea. Her eyes were cold as she analyzed every one of Ivy's moves as if to find a single blunder. 

"W-We met at a cafe." Freckle offered, twisting their meeting into a less… scandalous version of events. 

"Did she start courting you?" Nina asked wryly, her tail lashing. 

"N-No." Freckle shook his head. "I approached her first..." That was a blatant lie, but alas if they wanted this to work they had to. "She was... uh... drinking tea... and she looked like a nice young woman so I asked to speak to her for a bit." 

"Hmph." Nina narrowed her eyes. "I suppose you do seem like a nice young lady Ms.Pepper." Nina closed her eyes as she sipped her tea. “What does your family do for work?” (I dont actually know what he works as so I’ll just pretend he's also a mine owner)

“My father owns a quarry, a little out of Kansas City, currently I’m going to college.” Ivy prattled off, her happy chipper voice polite as usual. “Anything else Ma’am?”

“I suppose. I shall consider this arrangement then.” Nina hummed, “Now Ms. Pepper, if you could wait outside for a moment I must discuss it with my son.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” Ivy smiled, her heels clacking against the floor as she left the room. Freckle almost cried at the sight of Ivy’s slender tail vanishing behind the door, leaving him to answer his mother’s questions.  

“So what do you think, Mother?” Freckle asked as he wrung his tail in his paws. Worried thoughts ran through his head; What if Ivy was too straightforward? What if her manners were off? What if his mother didn't like her? However his worried thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s booming voice. 

“Stop messing with your tail Calvin. You'll ruin your fur.” Nina finished sipping her tea. “I suppose the girl is soft spoken. A good woman for you Calvin.” Nina folded her hands in her lap. 

“You like her?” Freckle’s ears pricked in excitement. 

“Now wait there Calvin.” Nina raised a paw, “I do quite like this young lady, however I do not know if she is the right fit for you.” Upon the sight of Freckles' dejectedness, Nina rubbed her temple. “However, I will give her time, Calvin.” She looked at her son. “And if she proves to be fit, I give you my blessing.” It took all of Freckles' self control to not jump for joy. 

“Thank you Mother.” Freckle beamed, his tail swishing side to side in excitement. 

“Yes. Yes Calvin.” Nina waved a hand, “Have you met her papa yet?”

“Errrrr… yep. He’s a little busy but I managed to speak with him over the phone.” Freckle lied with a smile, praying to the heavens that his mother wouldn't catch that lie.  

“Good. Remember no hanky panky until after marriage.” Nina waved a finger at her son. “Understood? I want no such godless behavior under my roof.”

“Yes Mother.” Freckle smiled, scurrying out of the room, practically quivering with excitement to tell Rocky and Ivy the news. Nina sat down in her chair chuckling. 

“That’s a good one Calvin.” She wiped her hands on her apron watching as Freckle ran over to the car where Ivy was waiting for him. 

“Goodbye Mrs. McMurray.” Ivy called out curtseying to the older cat from outside as she entered the vehicle. “So how did I do?” Ivy asked once Rocky managed to drive the car a few blocks away from the house. “Did I pass?”

“She approves!” Freckle beamed. 

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy rocky #freckle mcmurray #freckle and ivy #freckle x ivy #calvin freckle mcmurray #ivy pepper #lackadaisy cats #fluff #lackadaisy nina #nina mcmurray #freckle lackadaisy #ivy pepper lackadaisy

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Chapter 6 of The Likes of You is up, featuring wedding planning, the extended Pankratz family, and Jaskier trying (and) failing to be sneaky.

Excerpt: Yennefer grabs him by the elbow and drags him behind the statue, ignoring his yelp of protest as the red wine sloshes. “Your Cousin Magrit.”

“Oh, is she here?” Jaskier glances over his shoulder. “Good! Her husband is the ambassador to Lyria, so we weren’t sure—”

“Was her husband the ambassador to Aedirn before he went to Lyria?”

Jaskier’s face falls. “Oh, shit.”

“You didn’t think to mention that one of your cousins used to live in the kingdom where I spent thirty fucking years as the court mage?” Yennefer demands through gritted teeth.

“Yennefer, do you see all these fucking cousins?” Jaskier gestures around. “I can barely remember all their names, never mind where they’re from! Do you think she’ll recognize you?”

“I don’t know, Jaskier. How many violet-eyed women do you think she’s met in her life?”

“Cock.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “You couldn’t have picked a less unique eye color? Maybe a nice hazel?”

“Focus, bard.”

“What do you want me to do? Gouge her eyes out? Yennefer, do not get that look on your face. No eyes are being gouged out at this wedding.”

“Well, we need to do something,” Yennefer snaps. “Because as soon as she sees me and asks someone why little Julek is marrying the former court mage of Aedirn, we’re fucked.”

“Oh, there he is!” Magrit’s booming voice can be heard over the crowd, advancing on them as surely as the wrath of Nilfgaard. “Julek, I’m so glad to—”

Jaskier tosses one of the glasses of wine in Yennefer’s face. While she splutters, shocked, he whips a handkerchief out of his pocket and begins aggressively dabbing at her.

“Oh, Anica, dearest, I am so, so sorry! So clumsy of me. Oh no, your poor dress.”

“You—” Yennefer starts to hiss, but Jaskier grabs her with one arm, tucking her close so that her face is hidden from sight.

“Hello, Magrit, thank you so much for coming,” he babbles. “I’m so sorry, but my little sugarplum has had a terrible accident. I’m afraid introductions will have to wait until tomorrow. She’s terribly shy, the poor thing. Can’t bear to be seen with wine stains all over.”

Yennefer lets herself be dragged from the room. As soon as the doors close behind them, she glances up, blinking wine from her eyes. “I’m going to kill you.”

Jaskier ignores the threat, which is galling. He’s not nearly afraid enough of her anymore. Instead, he’s examining his doublet. “Ah, shit, I got wine on this doublet. It’s going to be a loss.”

“So will your balls, when I’m done with you.”

“Kinky.” Jaskier winks. “You’re lucky I used to moonlight for the Redanian Secret Service. Not everyone could have pulled that off.”

“What?”

“Oops,” he says. “Probably shouldn’t have announced that, should I?”

#the witcher #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #jaskier/yennefer #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #ghost's fic #ghost's writing #the likes of you #yennefer big bang 2022

[libidomechanica]

But the Indies

You murdring sick of handsomely     cottage-smell, and made the poor Frederick may do betraying     triumphed, or boast though he would your affairs, fall by law     of a merely was beheaded stand tired, wanting Hero’s     ears, taught each stick; and

wild dismay o’er there is fairies     take a little charming, charitable, would your eyes and     fussed around the voice in the vineyard, as in that Learning.     Had been and we close besides alas! We little Leila,     with his time and unco

wae, to thee. But love calls for rich     in the Bard refuse than what singing, Die, oh!—But this: Once     you surpassed, they formed, and meed! All the Moon of Canto of     our sunburned, cast him in the blot of love’s seat of Jove close     bells trembling by Dame nature

gets upon it any place,     with eyes are rustling theefe, wilt heard me softly said, Alas!—     Which so prevarication, not ask.—An’ Charlie, he’s my     darling, my way, left him to the horsemen my own dove was     herse, ceasse now it was

uncertain if one discolours tourne.     Plus the sun himself, and I am, yet mighty mass     returning I feel! Those sweet harmony. Ends me birth, as if     facing here sole in this homestead, they could run dry. And fain     by steale but ofttimes

let him the woods which thee not,     thought, since the roses of your mother hands, so they stole souls     fly to keep their charm her unjustly when you may give the     moonlight observer in Catholic eyes; if all with they     commended knees most of

sentimental. And soft affection;     but to his marble looming like that hideous human     heart the garden …. With ambition or pearles how quiet     tomb, our frown’st thou art my ioy, and once which wondrous battle,     hurried many people

in the high prize, both in thy praise     add something my launch. Murder, rape, but seats are faire, and     disheveled, but not there, and the nigh. I look at thy will; since     she sounds with dost beguile keepe from the days. The guest to me     wandering back, which made

agree. Again thy affair, so     you constitutional debt-sinkers. Nor tears do rob, but     thou can’st see by glim’ring of their former lives and surpass     as much mescal. Her who is the same times behind, go sleep,     as I by yours, and thrusts

him in this fierce pursued his heart     the fieldes and cloute she saw my wrong. Forbid! That starts, or     hot desire or a girl who stared an inspiration     so that is on the world and with thou counsel me, to pleasure     to be country yielding

organs to flow. At the sun     is gone as with Sisyphus he research of her hand; in     touch, and so deformed and ever, I can love; flesh no aching     had then towards of his thyr sourse, als Colin cloud, glimpsed her,     and we close our poor; the

lot of battle, whose double vainer     to hurt and spend revenged on through Sestos Hero,     Venus demands. Requisite grip, and all his mantled     medowes mourning wide; they misse thee all women are we, unlike,     whose weigh not its harvest.

Without remorse. For dead and     now beginnings are style become not you. And will come I,     since from my jewel out? Just when I venture to denounces     that noble sign is gone, and hold is worth remains unseen     hand it or walke; with pushing

underwent a glow, to stop     his yearn to meet that was a period some slight with Absál     to the forest-ways, who has nought to be tongues, thy broad     day are all the dry and saw my white nor bad, nor left my     birthday and could not merely

was deem’d so sweet. Flash up in     us like a Miss to see how did Judas had an     ejection or upsets a throne, whether it was court was born     to his rest. No man’s door, he is fled; in the brere be with     his Agrarian laws

the chivalrous battles to the     night assuraunce; horsemanship both the cherye be without allay.     It’s a blur, a little hour by glancing sheep, his own     he laid and, looked behind I would reach’d ten o’clock has     justified,—take it. The sole

mortal men, that which was not daunted     man, she knew. Seemed to light which the boatman’s good society:     and the lantern, Child. The light of sleep in the and,     where liues she quiet! When the way of wrath and a wretched     race, incensed with his look.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #112 texts #ballad

[ciar-galyna]

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter One

Word Count : 2.8k

Warning(s) : None

Next Chapter

Lyphon

Everything is painfully dark in here. I can't see any of the walls of this damned prison, nor can I even hear anything, not even the whisper of a breeze. I haven't able to since I was locked inside this dreadful place. All my movements are restricted by chains linked to cuffs locked around my ankles, wrists, and wings. By now the feathers have definitely gone dull. No doubt Achlys will pout for weeks about his lost beauty and demand to find Gyn to fix his problems again. I won't lie though, finding Gyn immediately to fix whatever is wrong with me now sounds like a good idea. Assuming I'm even going to be freed from this hell.

It was certainly a bold move on Ulysse's part, a stupid one, but a bolder one than I'm sure any of us could've expected. While it cost us to underestimate him and his ambitions, it will cost him more once we've been freed. Especially when one of us is an expert in anatomy and tends to use psychological warfare more than her actual weapons. They used to say, probably ages ago, to never underestimate the wrath of a Mortis. I can only assume Ulysse went against that warning, since he didn't seem all that concerned about Great Grandpa and his love for his Great Grandchildren. I wouldn't be surprised if Great Grandpa killed him honestly. I'm half expecting to see a grave when we get home.

A sharp, faint ring echoes through this lifeless prison. One that makes my ears twitch, aching to hear anything else. What was the ringing caused by? Is the top finally opening? That makes me excited and afraid. I'll be exposed to light again, and I haven't seen anything remotely bright or dim for who knows how long. I'll need to find Gyn fast, she'll be able to heal any damage, and I'd rather not go blind instantly and eternally.

It feels like ages before there's another faint, echoing ring, followed by another and then another and then another. I have no idea what that sound could be. If it's people, I could be freed. If it's a beast...I'm basically a sitting duck. Damn you Ulysse and your rotten soul. Hissing, I look up, or at least what I think is up, it's hard to tell when everything is pitch black here. The sound is coming from above me, so I'm assuming, and hoping, that I'm not upside down right now. If I strain my ears enough, I can hear something like a voice, or voices. I can't make out exact words, but voices are better than growls or hisses.

A low, aching, and loud groan suddenly sounds, like ancient metal doors scraping and opening against each other, and right in my ears. I wince as I cover my ears, which does very little to help block out the noise, but it's better than nothing I suppose. The groaning on gets higher in pitch until a loud slam echoes in this prison, making my ears ring to the point I'm convinced they'll start bleeding at any moment. Light peers in from above, and despite it being moonlight, it still almost feels blinding. A few tears fall, my eyes burning despite my arms shielding my face now.

Sound floods in more clearly now, no doors are blocking my ears from the outside world. Voices whisper and gossip about what could be in the endless void that is the uncovered cube of ancient metals. Rumours begin to build about the markings on the outside being to protect anyone from a cursed creature inside, how they should shut the doors again. A sense of desperation builds at those words, and whether I know better or not, I call out.

"Don't shut the doors."

There are gasps, a few shrieks. My voice is a little rough from lack of use, but not as bad as I imagined it would be. Soft footsteps approach from above. Two more people have come to watch at the edge, to try and spot where I am. A soft breeze blows in, the coolness practically making me shudder. Wind, finally, I can feel something from outside. But the wind also carries the scents of the two newcomers. One smells of apples and a burning hearth, the other of rain and the earth. The rain and earth smell makes me tense, more alert. It's now I can sense the power, it may have been eternity, but I can still recognize the power and aura of a High Lord.

"Well well..so it appears there is someone down there. Who and what are you? What Court do you reign from?"

One of them speaks, I don't know who that is, but I don't think they're the High Lord, not that I'm feeling lucky at the moment. Still, giving them an answer can lessen suspicion, make me less..dangerous in their eyes maybe. Or, it can make it worse when they won't recognize my name and Court. One answer is better than no answer, if I give nothing they might close the doors, and here I have no windows.

"Lyphon Mortis, son of Erebus Mortis, late High Lord of the End Court, and the younger brother of Achlys and Gyn Mortis."

Silences follows, someone says something low enough I can't catch it. People start moving away, but the doors don't creak, so they're being left open. Something falls and whips the air in here a little, somewhere above my head. The voice from earlier speaks again.

"We're going to need more rope."

Gyn

The entirety of this massive prison groans, metal upset and screaming for whatever is happening to stop. I wince at the sound, but it's better than the random rush of water or incessant, rage-inducing dripping from behind me. My own bones almost groan with the prison, they've been aching for ages now, stuck in an uncomfortable, terrible position. Legs bent and sat on, torso leaning forward, arms stretched to the sides, and wings clamped shut. All limbs chained to the walls, my neck chained to the ceiling, but unable to move from the tightness of the cuffs and taughtness of the chains. My legs beg for me to stand, my back pleading for me to slouch or at least shift, and my precious wings just want to stretch and feel the wind against my feathers again. Oh what I'd give to fly again. And all of my body pleading for me to stop soaking in the water as high as my chest, nearly to my face at this point, some hair dangling and dipping into dark waters. The two wings on the lower end of my back is already half in the water, soaking and making me want to shiver again.

The prison wasn't always this water filled, but slowly it's built up. And given enough time, I'd likely be stuck here, eternally drowning but unable to die. True hell indeed.

With a groan the prison suddenly tilts backwards. Water rushes at me, drenching my entire body and leaving me holding my breath for a moment, then choking and spitting out water for another few. Unfortunately, despite gravity trying to pull me back into the water, now below me, the chains don't allow it, I'm dangling above the water. There's another groan and the prison rights itself, returning to it's original position. I wince and brace myself for the oncoming impact of the rushing, practically tidalwaving, water. There's a loud rush and a strong force hits my wings and head. I nearly black out, but I'm left awake, under water and with a nasty headache. I scream, the sound muffled by the water and turning to bubbles that rush to top. When the water sinks back to chest height my scream echoes, the shrill noise nearly deafening me.

I hack and cough as small droplets rise from my lungs and drip back into the dark, chilly water. I groan, head wanting to hang but instead making the collar choke me. With a wince I right my head again. Air blesses my lungs as the only good thing of today. What the hell was that just now anyways? I can only assume Ulysse made sure this prison was cast underwater, so maybe a large sea creature? No..maybe not..but what else could it be? This prison is ancient and massive, nothing small could move it.

I grunt as the prison moves again, this time there's a draggin sound by the doors ahead of me, something like..sand? Possibly dirt? My body shakes when the prison abruptly stops moving, the chains rattle and clink, swinging for a little bit. The ancient doors that keep me locked in here more than the chains open, light from the day floods in, reaching my knees. The darkness flees from the front, behind me probably becoming ever darker. The sudden brightness makes my vision go white, eyes burning with a pressure behind them that makes a strangled scream escape me. I struggle to turn, to look away, let my eyes adjust and not go blind instantly. A few hot, burning tears fall and quickly slide down my face and neck. All six wings flap violently, trying to free themselves and block the light, protect me, unfortunately it doesn't work. Gods it hurts. Another pained noise comes from my throat, something between a sob and a cry. As much as I'd love to feel embarassed right now, I don't have it in me.

Footsteps approach, swiftly, each one echoing in this hollow chamber. At the sound I realize most of the water has flooded out. Voices shout warnings and commands to stop, to back away and 'get away from them! They could be dangerous'. I wince, twisting my head again, skin scraping against the rough, damp, and cold collar around my neck. My arms pull and push, trying to cover my ears and eyes, it only makes them scrape badly against my shackles though. More tears flow and another mix of a sob and cry echoes in the prison. The footsteps approach faster until some of the light vanishes from my vision, the pressure behind my eyes easing away.

The smell of the sea and lotuses envelops me, catching me a little off guard. The stranger in front of me gently takes my face, turning it back to face forwards again. The first thing I see are bright turquoise eyes, concern is laced in them and I can't help but feel guilty. But at the same time, I'm a little captivated by their eyes. They're a beautiful turquoise, almost like they've captured the sea and trapped them in a pair of eyes. It almost catches my breath, and my wings almost flap a little. They smile slightly, which is when I notice the stranger's dark skin and white hair, I almost smile back.

"Be careful, you're going to hurt yourself..now can you tell me who you are? Where you're from maybe? Or why you're in here?..Do you understand me?"

His voice is soothing, almost melodic. I smile faintly, but for very briefly, I need to give him answers.

"I understand, don't worry. Thank you for the concern..my name is Gyn Mortis. My home is likely not a place you know of, but I'll say anyways. I am from the End Court, it is north of the Night Court. I am in here because my Father, it's former High Lord, died and my cousin imprisoned me and my two brothers in seperate prisons. Rumours had been going around that one of us would inherit the title, so out of jealousy he forced us into these. I do not know how long I have been in here and I can only guess where I am."

I end coughing after speaking. I haven't spoken in a while, nor this much. The stranger pats my back, chuckling a little while looking a bit surprised.

"Easy there, don't push yourself. And I'm sorry, you're right, I don't know of the End Court..but I will try to help you."

I smile a little, nodding and whispering thank you. He turns to call behind him, ordering for a blanket and a locksmith.

Achlys

The flame, small as one on a candle, seems as bright as the sun. I try not to wince or squint, acting like my eyes aren't ready to bleed at the brightness. I'll need to find Gyn, get her to make my feathers beautiful again and fix my broken, breaking eyes. But that'll have to wait until this jackass lets me go.

I sigh as the russet eyed, ruby haired male in front of me stares me down. He and some of his servants had found me and managed to get me out of the damned prison, which immediately returned itself home, no doubt family members will either shout for joy or throw a hissy fit when they're informed of the returned prison. The servants stand a few feet behind the male, heads all facing downwards, all of them apparently finding the dirt ground of the cave fascinating.

Russet eyes squats, the fire right between us now. I opted to sit rather than stand, it seemed more comfortable and I've already had to stand for who knows how long anyways; I was switched between standing and sitting every so often, but for the longest time now I had to stand, making my legs feel weak, tired, and stiff. I could swear he's smirking slightly. It's tempting to just slap him, maybe see how he reacts. I don't, of course, but it's nice imagining it happening.

"Well then, I've freed you, whatever you are. So you owe me one. Now you're going to kill my someone for me."

I narrow my eyes this time, almost tilting my head. If I didn't know any better I'd think I'd returned home with the prison. Of course I was only freed to be indebted to Russet Eyes. I hiss lowly, much to Russet's amusement.

"Don't look so pouty. It's only one life. Besides, it'll probably be easy for you. I doubt they locked up a human in something like your little prison." He smirks again, I almost scowl. "Don't tell me you're nothing but a weakling. Gods, I didn't save someone useless did I? What a waste of effort."

At that I nearly punch him, I'd certainly love the feeling of his face being broken by my fists, blood pouring everywhere. I almost smirk at the thought, that would be wonderful.

"Shut it. I have no doubts I am more powerful than you, nor do I have any doubts that my skill is greatly higher than yours."

He snorts as I stand, moving to leave. If someone hasn't already found my siblings, I might as well find them myself. He stands though, pressing a hand on my chest, just over my heart. A warmth builds until it's borderline burning and there's a chance my shirt is about to be set on fire or start smoking. I glare at him, cracking my neck as I flex my fingers. It's been some time, but now that I'm not trapped in that damning prison I can use my abilities again. It feels good to watch his daggers rise and hover a hair above his scalp, like some mock crown that could kill him at any moment. Though because of how long it's been it's not as stable, some of the daggers occasionally wobbling. Clenching my hands into fists the daggers fix themselves, staying still and perfectly angled to stab into his head. I'm going to need to practice more, make sure I'm back to my original skill and strength again.

Russet raises a brow, humming faintly. "What is your name?..You're not from here, are you?"

"If you're really so curious, red locks, it's Achlys. And I come from hell."

He bristles a little at the nickname, but snickers at my last answer. "Red locks..no. You can call me Fenix Vanserra, welcome to Hell 2.0."

~~~

Hello, thank you for reading this. Feel free to let me know what you think. Have a good day/night. You deserve to be happy.

~~~

P.S. This fanfic is available on Quotev and AO3

#acotar #fanfiction #mortis #acosag #acotar fanfiction #a court of shackles and glass #Chapter 1 #chapter one #vanserra brothers #lucien vanserra #tamlin #tarquin

[gobboguy]

Chapter 4: Shadows and Whispers

Later that night, in the dimly lit confines of their opulent bedchamber, tension hung heavy in the air like an impending storm. King Rode Farfield, his face etched with frustration and impatience, glared at his wife, Queen Alys, who stood with a steely resolve in her eyes. The king's anger crackled in the air as he voiced his grievances.

"Your inability to provide me with an heir is a disgrace," King Rode seethed, his voice a low growl that echoed off the chamber's walls. "I've depended on my sister, Lord Cedric, my brother Rade, and his wife Holbore to secure the future of our lineage, while you remain barren."

Queen Alys, her chin lifted defiantly, shot back with a biting retort, questioning her husband's fertility. "Perhaps the problem lies not with me, but with your own seed, my lord. Your potency seems lacking."

The king's eyes flared with rage, his face contorting in a mixture of fury and humiliation. "Watch your tongue, woman. I am the king, and you will address me with respect!"

With that, he vaguely threatened her, his words hanging in the air like a sword poised to strike. "Cross me on this matter again, and you shall suffer consequences far graver than words can convey."

Unable to bear his wrath any longer, King Rode stormed off into the night, leaving Queen Alys alone in their bedchamber. She clenched her jaw in frustration, her nails digging into her palms. In a desperate bid to seek solace, she reached for her glass of vintage Sherstab Wine, its rich aroma filling the room.

Summoning her courtly powers, she murmured under her breath, calling upon via use of an aide to Maeggar, the Court Wizard, a man with a sniveling weasel-faced appearance and eyes that glinted with cunning and ambition.

Maeggar entered the chamber with a low bow, his voice oily as he greeted his queen. "Your Majesty, how may I be of service to you this evening?"

Maeggar, the Court Wizard, slithered into the chamber like a shadowy specter, his wiry frame clad in robes of deepest midnight. The fabric, as dark as the void between stars, clung to his form, accentuating his thinness. His garments were adorned with intricate silver sigils that seemed to writhe and twist like serpents in the moonlight, hinting at the arcane power he wielded. His long, bony fingers protruded from sleeves that hung loosely, adorned with rings of unknown origin, each bearing a gemstone that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. His face, a canvas of sharp angles and sallow skin, bore the marks of time and treachery, his eyes as calculating as a predator's, always watching, always assessing. A hood concealed most of his features, casting his eyes into shadow, giving him an air of mystery that sent shivers down the spines of those who met his gaze.

In the candlelit chamber, Queen Alys's eyes flashed with frustration and impatience as she turned her attention to Maeggar, the Court Wizard, demanding answers to the pressing matter that had plagued her for far too long. "Maeggar, your spells were supposed to ensure an heir for our kingdom. Yet, despite your assurances, my womb remains empty. Why have your incantations failed us?" Her voice was sharp, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

Maeggar, his tone sly and insidious, met her gaze with an unflinching stare. "Magic is a volatile force, Your Majesty. It is not to be taken lightly. The complexities of the arcane arts are beyond the comprehension of most mortals. As long as the animosity between you and King Rode festers, your body will reject the very essence of life. Your womb, poisoned by your mutual hatred, cannot nurture the seed of an heir."

Queen Alys snapped at his impertinence, her patience wearing thin. "I care not for your excuses, Maeggar. I demand a solution, not a litany of obstacles."

Maeggar, ever sly and calculating, inclined his head in a mock bow. "I will delve deeper into my ancient texts, seeking a remedy that might overcome the curse of your discord. But be warned, Your Majesty, the answers I seek may come at a price."

With those cryptic words, Maeggar retreated from the chamber, his robes whispering against the stone floor as he left Queen Alys to ponder the ominous implications of his words. The air in the room hung heavy with uncertainty, and the queen was left alone, her mind a whirlwind of desperation and determination. The quest for an heir had become a treacherous game, one in which magic, ambition, and bitter resentment converged in a volatile dance, threatening to shatter the fragile peace of the kingdom.

Maeggar ascended the spiraling stairs of his towering abode, each step creaking beneath the weight of centuries-old secrets. The wizard's tower stood tall and imposing, its stone walls adorned with ancient runes and symbols of forgotten power. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting eerie shadows that danced upon the walls, enhancing the mystique of the place. The air within crackled with arcane energy, and the shelves lining the tower's walls were stacked high with dusty tomes, vials of shimmering potions, and artifacts of unimaginable potency. The ceiling above was adorned with a vast, celestial mural, depicting constellations and mythical creatures that seemed to come alive in the flickering candlelight.

Entering his dimly lit study, Maeggar chuckled to himself, his dark magic already at work, weaving intricate webs of influence and deceit. His allegiance lay with the Kingdom of Acury, and his loyalty to their cause was unwavering. By the command of the King of Acury, the spells intended to enhance Queen Alys's fertility had been twisted to render her barren, weakening Farfield from within and paving the way for Acury's sinister ambitions.

As he prepared his cauldron for his latest potion, Maeggar's thoughts wandered to his own desires and ambitions. Lady Seraphina, with her grace and beauty, had captivated his twisted heart, and he yearned to make her his own. With a sinister glint in his eyes, he contemplated the dark arts, considering ways to manipulate events behind the scenes and bend the course of fate to suit his nefarious purposes.

Opening one of his many ancient texts, Maeggar delved into his dark study, the pages rustling as he sought forbidden knowledge. His mind raced with wicked schemes, weaving a tapestry of shadows and illusions. In the depths of his tower, far removed from prying eyes, Maeggar began his sinister machinations, forging alliances with unseen forces, all while plotting to manipulate the destinies of Farfield and Lady Seraphina to fulfill his own malevolent desires.

#fantasy #goblins #orcs #literature #gobboguy #SongsofPower5

[p-isforpoetry]

"Adonais: An Elegy on the Death of John Keats" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (read by Samuel West)

I I weep for Adonais—he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me Died Adonais; till the Future dares Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be An echo and a light unto eternity!"

II Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy Son lay, pierc'd by the shaft which flies In darkness? where was lorn Urania When Adonais died? With veiled eyes, 'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise She sate, while one, with soft enamour'd breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies, With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorn'd and hid the coming bulk of Death.

III Oh, weep for Adonais—he is dead! Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep! Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone, where all things wise and fair Descend—oh, dream not that the amorous Deep Will yet restore him to the vital air; Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

IV Most musical of mourners, weep again! Lament anew, Urania! He died, Who was the Sire of an immortal strain, Blind, old and lonely, when his country's pride, The priest, the slave and the liberticide, Trampled and mock'd with many a loathed rite Of lust and blood; he went, unterrified, Into the gulf of death; but his clear Sprite Yet reigns o'er earth; the third among the sons of light.

V Most musical of mourners, weep anew! Not all to that bright station dar'd to climb; And happier they their happiness who knew, Whose tapers yet burn through that night of time In which suns perish'd; others more sublime, Struck by the envious wrath of man or god, Have sunk, extinct in their refulgent prime; And some yet live, treading the thorny road, Which leads, through toil and hate, to Fame's serene abode.

VI But now, thy youngest, dearest one, has perish'd, The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cherish'd, And fed with true-love tears, instead of dew; Most musical of mourners, weep anew! Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last, The bloom, whose petals nipp'd before they blew Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste; The broken lily lies—the storm is overpast.

VII To that high Capital, where kingly Death Keeps his pale court in beauty and decay, He came; and bought, with price of purest breath, A grave among the eternal.—Come away! Haste, while the vault of blue Italian day Is yet his fitting charnel-roof! while still He lies, as if in dewy sleep he lay; Awake him not! surely he takes his fill Of deep and liquid rest, forgetful of all ill.

VIII He will awake no more, oh, never more! Within the twilight chamber spreads apace The shadow of white Death, and at the door Invisible Corruption waits to trace His extreme way to her dim dwelling-place; The eternal Hunger sits, but pity and awe Soothe her pale rage, nor dares she to deface So fair a prey, till darkness and the law Of change shall o'er his sleep the mortal curtain draw.

IX Oh, weep for Adonais! The quick Dreams, The passion-winged Ministers of thought, Who were his flocks, whom near the living streams Of his young spirit he fed, and whom he taught The love which was its music, wander not— Wander no more, from kindling brain to brain, But droop there, whence they sprung; and mourn their lot Round the cold heart, where, after their sweet pain, They ne'er will gather strength, or find a home again.

X And one with trembling hands clasps his cold head, And fans him with her moonlight wings, and cries, "Our love, our hope, our sorrow, is not dead; See, on the silken fringe of his faint eyes, Like dew upon a sleeping flower, there lies A tear some Dream has loosen'd from his brain." Lost Angel of a ruin'd Paradise! She knew not 'twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

XI One from a lucid urn of starry dew Wash'd his light limbs as if embalming them; Another clipp'd her profuse locks, and threw The wreath upon him, like an anadem, Which frozen tears instead of pearls begem; Another in her wilful grief would break Her bow and winged reeds, as if to stem A greater loss with one which was more weak; And dull the barbed fire against his frozen cheek.

XII Another Splendour on his mouth alit, That mouth, whence it was wont to draw the breath Which gave it strength to pierce the guarded wit, And pass into the panting heart beneath With lightning and with music: the damp death Quench'd its caress upon his icy lips; And, as a dying meteor stains a wreath Of moonlight vapour, which the cold night clips, It flush'd through his pale limbs, and pass'd to its eclipse.

XIII And others came . . . Desires and Adorations, Winged Persuasions and veil'd Destinies, Splendours, and Glooms, and glimmering Incarnations Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies; And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs, And Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gleam Of her own dying smile instead of eyes, Came in slow pomp; the moving pomp might seem Like pageantry of mist on an autumnal stream.

XIV All he had lov'd, and moulded into thought, From shape, and hue, and odour, and sweet sound, Lamented Adonais. Morning sought Her eastern watch-tower, and her hair unbound, Wet with the tears which should adorn the ground, Dimm'd the aëreal eyes that kindle day; Afar the melancholy thunder moan'd, Pale Ocean in unquiet slumber lay, And the wild Winds flew round, sobbing in their dismay.

XV Lost Echo sits amid the voiceless mountains, And feeds her grief with his remember'd lay, And will no more reply to winds or fountains, Or amorous birds perch'd on the young green spray, Or herdsman's horn, or bell at closing day; Since she can mimic not his lips, more dear Than those for whose disdain she pin'd away Into a shadow of all sounds: a drear Murmur, between their songs, is all the woodmen hear.

XVI Grief made the young Spring wild, and she threw down Her kindling buds, as if she Autumn were, Or they dead leaves; since her delight is flown, For whom should she have wak'd the sullen year? To Phoebus was not Hyacinth so dear Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both Thou, Adonais: wan they stand and sere Amid the faint companions of their youth, With dew all turn'd to tears; odour, to sighing ruth.

XVII Thy spirit's sister, the lorn nightingale Mourns not her mate with such melodious pain; Not so the eagle, who like thee could scale Heaven, and could nourish in the sun's domain Her mighty youth with morning, doth complain, Soaring and screaming round her empty nest, As Albion wails for thee: the curse of Cain Light on his head who pierc'd thy innocent breast, And scar'd the angel soul that was its earthly guest!

XVIII Ah, woe is me! Winter is come and gone, But grief returns with the revolving year; The airs and streams renew their joyous tone; The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear; Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Seasons' bier; The amorous birds now pair in every brake, And build their mossy homes in field and brere; And the green lizard, and the golden snake, Like unimprison'd flames, out of their trance awake.

XIX Through wood and stream and field and hill and Ocean A quickening life from the Earth's heart has burst As it has ever done, with change and motion, From the great morning of the world when first God dawn'd on Chaos; in its stream immers'd, The lamps of Heaven flash with a softer light; All baser things pant with life's sacred thirst; Diffuse themselves; and spend in love's delight, The beauty and the joy of their renewed might.

XX The leprous corpse, touch'd by this spirit tender, Exhales itself in flowers of gentle breath; Like incarnations of the stars, when splendour Is chang'd to fragrance, they illumine death And mock the merry worm that wakes beneath; Nought we know, dies. Shall that alone which knows Be as a sword consum'd before the sheath By sightless lightning?—the intense atom glows A moment, then is quench'd in a most cold repose.

XXI Alas! that all we lov'd of him should be, But for our grief, as if it had not been, And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me! Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene The actors or spectators? Great and mean Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow. As long as skies are blue, and fields are green, Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

XXII He will awake no more, oh, never more! "Wake thou," cried Misery, "childless Mother, rise Out of thy sleep, and slake, in thy heart's core, A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs." And all the Dreams that watch'd Urania's eyes, And all the Echoes whom their sister's song Had held in holy silence, cried: "Arise!" Swift as a Thought by the snake Memory stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.

XXIII She rose like an autumnal Night, that springs Out of the East, and follows wild and drear The golden Day, which, on eternal wings, Even as a ghost abandoning a bier, Had left the Earth a corpse. Sorrow and fear So struck, so rous'd, so rapt Urania; So sadden'd round her like an atmosphere Of stormy mist; so swept her on her way Even to the mournful place where Adonais lay.

XXIV Out of her secret Paradise she sped, Through camps and cities rough with stone, and steel, And human hearts, which to her aery tread Yielding not, wounded the invisible Palms of her tender feet where'er they fell: And barbed tongues, and thoughts more sharp than they, Rent the soft Form they never could repel, Whose sacred blood, like the young tears of May, Pav'd with eternal flowers that undeserving way.

XXV In the death-chamber for a moment Death, Sham'd by the presence of that living Might, Blush'd to annihilation, and the breath Revisited those lips, and Life's pale light Flash'd through those limbs, so late her dear delight. "Leave me not wild and drear and comfortless, As silent lightning leaves the starless night! Leave me not!" cried Urania: her distress Rous'd Death: Death rose and smil'd, and met her vain caress.

XXVI "Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again; Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live; And in my heartless breast and burning brain That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive, With food of saddest memory kept alive, Now thou art dead, as if it were a part Of thee, my Adonais! I would give All that I am to be as thou now art! But I am chain'd to Time, and cannot thence depart!

XXVII "O gentle child, beautiful as thou wert, Why didst thou leave the trodden paths of men Too soon, and with weak hands though mighty heart Dare the unpastur'd dragon in his den? Defenceless as thou wert, oh, where was then Wisdom the mirror'd shield, or scorn the spear? Or hadst thou waited the full cycle, when Thy spirit should have fill'd its crescent sphere, The monsters of life's waste had fled from thee like deer.

XXVIII "The herded wolves, bold only to pursue; The obscene ravens, clamorous o'er the dead; The vultures to the conqueror's banner true Who feed where Desolation first has fed, And whose wings rain contagion; how they fled, When, like Apollo, from his golden bow The Pythian of the age one arrow sped And smil'd! The spoilers tempt no second blow, They fawn on the proud feet that spurn them lying low.

XXIX "The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn; He sets, and each ephemeral insect then Is gather'd into death without a dawn, And the immortal stars awake again; So is it in the world of living men: A godlike mind soars forth, in its delight Making earth bare and veiling heaven, and when It sinks, the swarms that dimm'd or shar'd its light Leave to its kindred lamps the spirit's awful night."

XXX Thus ceas'd she: and the mountain shepherds came, Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent; The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame Over his living head like Heaven is bent, An early but enduring monument, Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong, And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.

XXXI Midst others of less note, came one frail Form, A phantom among men; companionless As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess, Had gaz'd on Nature's naked loveliness, Actaeon-like, and now he fled astray With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness, And his own thoughts, along that rugged way, Pursu'd, like raging hounds, their father and their prey.

XXXII A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift— A Love in desolation mask'd—a Power Girt round with weakness—it can scarce uplift The weight of the superincumbent hour; It is a dying lamp, a falling shower, A breaking billow; even whilst we speak Is it not broken? On the withering flower The killing sun smiles brightly: on a cheek The life can burn in blood, even while the heart may break.

XXXIII His head was bound with pansies overblown, And faded violets, white, and pied, and blue; And a light spear topp'd with a cypress cone, Round whose rude shaft dark ivy-tresses grew Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew, Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it; of that crew He came the last, neglected and apart; A herd-abandon'd deer struck by the hunter's dart.

XXXIV All stood aloof, and at his partial moan Smil'd through their tears; well knew that gentle band Who in another's fate now wept his own, As in the accents of an unknown land He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann'd The Stranger's mien, and murmur'd: "Who art thou?" He answer'd not, but with a sudden hand Made bare his branded and ensanguin'd brow, Which was like Cain's or Christ's—oh! that it should be so!

XXXV What softer voice is hush'd over the dead? Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown? What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed, In mockery of monumental stone, The heavy heart heaving without a moan? If it be He, who, gentlest of the wise, Taught, sooth'd, lov'd, honour'd the departed one, Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs, The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice.

XXXVI Our Adonais has drunk poison—oh! What deaf and viperous murderer could crown Life's early cup with such a draught of woe? The nameless worm would now itself disown: It felt, yet could escape, the magic tone Whose prelude held all envy, hate and wrong, But what was howling in one breast alone, Silent with expectation of the song, Whose master's hand is cold, whose silver lyre unstrung.

XXXVII Live thou, whose infamy is not thy fame! Live! fear no heavier chastisement from me, Thou noteless blot on a remember'd name! But be thyself, and know thyself to be! And ever at thy season be thou free To spill the venom when thy fangs o'erflow; Remorse and Self-contempt shall cling to thee; Hot Shame shall burn upon thy secret brow, And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt—as now.

XXXVIII Nor let us weep that our delight is fled Far from these carrion kites that scream below; He wakes or sleeps with the enduring dead; Thou canst not soar where he is sitting now. Dust to the dust! but the pure spirit shall flow Back to the burning fountain whence it came, A portion of the Eternal, which must glow Through time and change, unquenchably the same, Whilst thy cold embers choke the sordid hearth of shame.

XXXIX Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep, He hath awaken'd from the dream of life; 'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep With phantoms an unprofitable strife, And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife Invulnerable nothings. We decay Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief Convulse us and consume us day by day, And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

XL He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night; Envy and calumny and hate and pain, And that unrest which men miscall delight, Can touch him not and torture not again; From the contagion of the world's slow stain He is secure, and now can never mourn A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain; Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn, With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

XLI He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he; Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn, Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee The spirit thou lamentest is not gone; Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan! Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air, Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

XLII He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

XLIII He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely: he doth bear His part, while the one Spirit's plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear; Torturing th' unwilling dross that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; And bursting in its beauty and its might From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven's light.

XLIV The splendours of the firmament of time May be eclips'd, but are extinguish'd not; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.

XLV The inheritors of unfulfill'd renown Rose from their thrones, built beyond mortal thought, Far in the Unapparent. Chatterton Rose pale, his solemn agony had not Yet faded from him; Sidney, as he fought And as he fell and as he liv'd and lov'd Sublimely mild, a Spirit without spot, Arose; and Lucan, by his death approv'd: Oblivion as they rose shrank like a thing reprov'd.

XLVI And many more, whose names on Earth are dark, But whose transmitted effluence cannot die So long as fire outlives the parent spark, Rose, rob'd in dazzling immortality. "Thou art become as one of us," they cry, "It was for thee yon kingless sphere has long Swung blind in unascended majesty, Silent alone amid a Heaven of Song. Assume thy winged throne, thou Vesper of our throng!"

XLVII Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth, Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright. Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth; As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might Satiate the void circumference: then shrink Even to a point within our day and night; And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink When hope has kindled hope, and lur'd thee to the brink.

XLVIII Or go to Rome, which is the sepulchre, Oh, not of him, but of our joy: 'tis nought That ages, empires and religions there Lie buried in the ravage they have wrought; For such as he can lend—they borrow not Glory from those who made the world their prey; And he is gather'd to the kings of thought Who wag'd contention with their time's decay, And of the past are all that cannot pass away.

XLIX Go thou to Rome—at once the Paradise, The grave, the city, and the wilderness; And where its wrecks like shatter'd mountains rise, And flowering weeds, and fragrant copses dress The bones of Desolation's nakedness Pass, till the spirit of the spot shall lead Thy footsteps to a slope of green access Where, like an infant's smile, over the dead A light of laughing flowers along the grass is spread;

L And gray walls moulder round, on which dull Time Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand; And one keen pyramid with wedge sublime, Pavilioning the dust of him who plann'd This refuge for his memory, doth stand Like flame transform'd to marble; and beneath, A field is spread, on which a newer band Have pitch'd in Heaven's smile their camp of death, Welcoming him we lose with scarce extinguish'd breath.

LI Here pause: these graves are all too young as yet To have outgrown the sorrow which consign'd Its charge to each; and if the seal is set, Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind, Break it not thou! too surely shalt thou find Thine own well full, if thou returnest home, Of tears and gall. From the world's bitter wind Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb. What Adonais is, why fear we to become?

LII The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colour'd glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.—Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!—Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.

LIII Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart? Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here They have departed; thou shouldst now depart! A light is pass'd from the revolving year, And man, and woman; and what still is dear Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither. The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near: 'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither, No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

LIV That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move, That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

LV The breath whose might I have invok'd in song Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar; Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

Source: The Poetry of Shelley

#Adonais #Percy Bysshe Shelley #Shelley #Samuel West #poem #poetry #audio #Youtube

[illyrianwingspans]

A Court of Wrath and Moonlight: Chapter 1

Hey guys! So I’m about halfway through my fic and after a lot of fussing over the first few chapters, I’ve finally decided to post it because I can’t wait to share this with you guys! I’m still waiting for an invite to Ao3 (I’ve never used the site to post before so that’s all new territory to me) so hopefully it’ll be up there soon for those that prefer reading it there! 

This is set seventy five years after ACOWAR and will centre around Feyre and Rhys’s son (an OC of mine) and Tamlin’s daughter (another OC of mine). Some pronunciation guidelines:

-Keorah (kee-oh-ruh)

-Keke (kee-kee) (yes, like the drake song)

-Milo (my-low)

-Vesna (Vess-nuh)

-Nyana (knee-a-nuh)

-Isra (Ee-z-raa) (here’s a link to the proper pronunciation, the arabic one)

-When Keorah says Mama and Papa, they are pronounced with a central-american accent, not southern united states

Without further ado, here is A Court of Wrath and Moonlight!

CHAPTER 1

Calloused, slender and careful, those hands drifted across the page, filling in whatever spaces they deemed fitting with fine brushes of charcoal. The surroundings were blurred around the edges, only a pale-stained wooden table littered with thick, creamy stationary, some new and waiting to be used, others crumpled up at failed attempts. A set of the finest charcoals gold could buy sat carefully poised near the unknown artist’s right hand, always within reach in case they felt the need to switch. Though it was a little messy, just by the care and precision those hands handled their tools, I could tell that they worshipped this art. 

One moment, there was only shading and vague figures and shapes, coming together to reveal awful, black hands that seemed to be reaching into the artist’s very soul, an evil, ancient and malicious crook to the fingers that only aimed to taunt and terrorize. Darkness surrounded them, thick opaque darkness that made me want to scream out to the artist, to wrap my hands around his, protect him from this pain that gripped his mind. But one sweep of his hand over the page and the lines were completely rearranged to portray a naked female body dead beneath the surface of bath water, dark juice lining her lips pale lips. My eyes snapped open. I gulped down choked breaths, unable to shake the image of that drawing from my mind, and cursed the Cauldron for ever creating nightmares. Before I even knew where my feet were taking me, I was ripping back the sheets and stalking to my wardrobe to pull on my fighting leathers, strap my knives into belt, then winnow to the forest as far from the manor as I could possibly be. The wind tore at my hair as I ran through the forest, my leather-clad fae thighs pushing off the ground far faster and more powerfully than most fae I knew. It seemed as though hours passed as I dashed by tree after bush after meadow. The leaves from the tall trees rustled in the night breeze and the moonlight guiding my path was fractured by the canopies that overhung above. As those canopies became thicker, I shifted my eyes into an animal's, my view instantly becoming accustomed to the dark of the night. I barely had time to register the strong, steady beat of my heart pounding throughout my body as I cleared the forest and was left with a grassy strip of land that separated myself from the jutting cliff that overlooked torrid sea thrashing a hundred feet below. I accelerated as the jut was only feet away, then pushed off as hard as I could from the rock ledge and dove down, down, down into the dark chaos. Just as my fingertips touched the water’s surface, I folded myself between the pockets of the world, the smell of sea brine and roses tangling together until I was slouched and panting underneath a willow tree, my favorite spot in my court. Its branches swayed softly in the wind, and I closed my eyes, picturing those moments with my mother that'd happened ages ago, feeling as though they were yesterday. "C'mon, my rose petal," she chirped, beckoning to sit with her under the shady refuge of the willow offered from the beating sun. It was a warm spring day, and the smell of the blooming roses filled every puff of breath I took as my infant legs waddled over to my mother's side. Slumped against the tree, I nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder, then gazed down at the book in front of us. “Alright, Keke,” she murmured encouragingly, “just as we practiced.” I nodded my head hesitantly. Her finger pointed to a sentence halfway down the page, and shockingly I began, “The…y-young boy stared up at the dark sk—” I paused for a moment, then, remembering the feel and sound of the word in my mind, I completed, “sky.” “Very good!” She exclaimed, a beaming smile donning her face, then her finger jumped to the next line. It was interrupted though by the booming sound of my father’s voice. “Lyra! Keorah!” By the growling undertones that laced those two words, I shot my mother a panicked look, and she only planted a kiss to my temple before we tore off into the meadow, towards the sound of his voice, exactly the opposite of where I wanted to go. Those moments alone with her—those were the only ones that’d kept me sane these past fifty years. And now, they’d be gone forever. Because my mother died last week. And tomorrow was the funeral. * * * Minutes later I found myself in my washroom, stripping down the worn, foul smelling leathers and quietly climbing into the tub to wash away the remaining sweat from tonight’s workout. I’d lather properly tomorrow morning before they stuffed me into yet another dress. Sitting against the white porcelain of the bathtub, the warm water soothing the endorphins running through my veins, I wondered once again what my mother thought and felt those last few moments of her life. Before she’d taken those berries and tore herself away from me. Before she’d fallen unconscious, then drowned to her death. I wondered if she thought of me. The life we’d built together. The life we’d survived so far together. I wondered if she felt any guilt or remorse as the sour juice of those deathly things touched her tongue. She’d left nothing behind. No note, no explanation, no last words. I knew because I’d been the one to find her dead, cold body— I shut the thought out and abruptly stood up, water splashing at my knees. There was nothing I could do about it now. Just play the perfect mourning daughter tomorrow as the rest of Prythian came to pay their respects. Towelling myself off, I watched as the cold rustling breeze whipped at the black banner hanging from my window, resisting the urge to snarl. Though she left no note, though she offered no explanation, I knew why she’d left us. Though I despised her for leaving me, I still had a small part of me that understood. Especially when I peered over my shoulder into the mirror that reflected the image of five claw marks slashing down my bare back from right shoulder down to left hip. * * * I didn’t mind the primping. My head-lady, Vesna, was excellent at what she did: she could make braids out of tangles with a brush and her nimble fingers, beauty out of dullness with fine powders and expensive stains. All the while cheering me up as I scowled at my reflection each morning. Her jokes and bawdy-tune singing always managed to crack a grin from me. But today, as every other day this past week, she worked in silence with two others, carefully arranging my blonde hair under the black chapeau that bit into my scalp Vesna applied a thicker layer of bright cream beneath my eyes to conceal the bags, the product of my late outing last night. Though she would normally go a little extravagant due to the presence of all seven courts today, she kept my face plain for the simple fact that she believed that maybe today would be the day I finally wept for my mother. So far, I hadn’t yet. I didn’t feel the rising urge to do so. Ever since I felt the absence of her heartbeat, something within me had broken so immensely that I believed my mother had stolen my emotions along with her life. Everybody was waiting for me to break down. I could tell by the way the servants silenced as I walked by. By the way guards stood a little more alert when I entered a room. Even my father was cautious this week during our brief exchanges. Though those were few and far between. He was out half the time wreaking havoc on the acres of land behind the manor, trying to keep the destruction out of the house. I knew with absolute certainty the white walls and marble floors would be in ruins if he’d unleashed himself upon them. Not me. No, while papa angered and raged at the world, I tamed the imploding of my life to the confines of my mind and body. And I would continue to do so, if only to try to grasp and preserve any bits of sanity I had left. “I think that is all, Keke,” Vesna murmured softly as she adjusted the black mesh material that fell over half my face and covered the chapeau in tufts. I only gave a brisk nod, then pushed off my chair, taking one last look at the flowing skirt of my dress that hugged my waist and torso, the billowing, long sleeves that always managed to get snagged on everything. A brusque knock at the door had me releasing a long sigh. It was time. * * * “Keorah, was that you I heard last night stomping about your room?” Papa’s voice filled the cracks and crevices of the manor as he escorted me from my room in the west wing down to the throne room. My stomach dropped to the floor. I thought I’d been careful, but his sensitive fae ears must’ve picked up on it. “Yes Papa,” I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. “And what could you possibly be doing at all hours of the night?” “I went for a run, Papa,” I answered truthfully. “I needed to exercise. I couldn’t sleep.” He let out an angered huff. “How can you expect to be High Lady when you can’t follow a simple rule?” Those words, High Lady, always sent a shiver down my spine. There has never been a High Lady of Spring Court. There were only two High Ladies currently in power: Vivianne, High Lady of Winter Court, and Feyre, the first High Lady ever in Prythian, of the Night Court. Keorah, High Lady of the Spring Court. My father had been roiling when Mama gave birth only to see she’d had a daughter. And though they tried countless times again, Mama never had another child, let alone a son. And now she never would. And Papa was stuck with me as heir. “When I’m High Lady, Papa,” I countered quietly, “they’ll be my rules.” He snarled. “You will keep the laws of this court as I have done, and every predecessor before me—” “Can we not, Papa? Please. Not today.” I hated that word. Please. I hated whimpering it every time those claws unsheathed themselves. “You keep quiet,” Papa ordered. It seemed as though he’d allow me some peace, if only for today. Despite the alarming amount of people in attendance today, there was barely any noise sounding throughout the manor, only the echo of our quiet footsteps across the empty halls. Guards were far and few in between within the manor. They’d been concentrated outside to keep any ill-meaning people out, rightfully so. Today was not a day for trouble amongst the people. “You say what we practiced, you thank guests for coming, and you say how wonderful Mama was.” Right before the grand oak doors of the throne room, be stopped, then gripped my shoulders, and a slice of panic tore through me as I felt those claws creep out, only an inch, from his knuckles. They sat threateningly on my shoulders, ready to pierce the skin and ruin the dress, and it all but livened the storm brewing within Papa’s eyes. “Do not,” he breathed, “speak a word of what she did. If I hear those words leave your mouth, you will find yourself without a heartbeat.” Though the words careened within me and tore at the very heartstrings keeping me from completely falling apart, I only gave a curt nod, then, “Yes, Papa.” Resuming our initial position, our elbows hooked around each other, the doors opened merely from one thought of Papa’s mind. As one, the people stood from the pews that lined both walls of the throne room. As one, they bowed their heads. I did not meet their eyes as Papa and I sat at the front and Nevanthi, the High Priestess, began the ceremony. * * * “Tamlin, our sincere condolences,” Vivianne, High Lady of Winter murmured, clasping hands with Papa. Tears lined her eyes, and I let out a wheeze of a breath, remembering how well she and Mama used to get along. One year, when we went to Winter to celebrate solstice festivities, they’d invited me to play an old game of cards with them. They’d been heavily intoxicated by the time I’d joined them, and I’ll never forget the howls of laughter that’d radiated from the both of them at the stupidities they said. Kallias, High Lord of Winter, echoed similar words, and Vivianne’s tears spilled over as she turned to me. “You look so much like her,” she breathed, then collapsed into sobs, arms hooking around me so tightly I thought she’d bruise me. “Lyra was the best female I’ve ever known, best mother I’ve ever known,” she cried, cupping my cheeks with her palms. “You don’t understand how sorry I am for your loss.” “I miss her every heartbeat,” I whispered, laying my hands atop hers to retract them from my face, and close them within my own. I brought our hands and held them to my heart. “You were her dearest friend, Vivianne. She loved you so much.” “Cauldron bless her,” Nevanthi added quietly from my right. I bit back a scowl. It seemed Vivianne did as well. Though our court respected High Priestesses despite the havoc Ianthe had wreaked upon our court, it seemed that my father hadn’t learned his lesson, and let yet again a problematic Priestess slither in. Nevanthi was deemed as an important leader within our ranks, yet other courts seemed to…frown upon her. The High Lord and High Lady of Winter gave me one last quick embrace before the endless tide continued on, and my voice became scratchy from the never-ending exchange of words between myself and people Mama barely knew. High Fae and lesser faeries alike filed up the steps and embraced us over and over again before heading outdoors to the final part of the ceremony where my mother’s ashes would be scattered amongst the budding rosebushes, injecting her essence to transfer her life force to theirs. A familiar flash of red hair bobbed up the steps until Lucien was before us. My breath rushed out of me and I almost sagged in relief at the familiar sight of his ruggedly handsome face and metal eye. He wrapped Tamlin in a one-armed embrace, promising to talk later, before turning to me and practically tackling me in a hug. There was silver lining his eyes as he pulled away just enough to scan my face, then pull me once more against him. I buried my face into his chest, clutching his dark tunic with all my might. “I’m so sorry, Keo,” he murmured into my ear, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I would’ve been here so much sooner, there was just some business I needed to take care of in the Day court—” “It’s okay, Luci,” I assured him, resting my hands on his upper arms, “you’re here now. It’s all I need.” “Just fulfilling my blessed-fatherly duties,” he smiled weakly, and I tried to mirror it, but failed miserably. I knew he needed to move along so we could finally have this ordeal over with. He stepped away, and with a purse of his lips at Nevanthi, faded back into the crowd. Instead of more mourners, Bron and Hart, captains of the guard marched up the stairs with urgency and began whispering sinisterly with Papa. “They weren’t invited,” Papa hissed. My eyes darted down to see claws inching their way out of his knuckles, as I’d suspected. Concern made my eyebrows furrow. Who wasn’t invited? “…made it through the wards…just the two of them…waiting at the entrance.” A growl from my father. Then, begrudgingly, “Let them in.” Nods from both of them and they were off. Half an hour later, after nodding along to tearful words from Fae of the nearby village with high enough status to attend, only two people remained at the bottom of the steps. When my gaze settled upon them, the breath was ripped from my lungs. There, at the bottom of the dais, were the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre Cauldron-blessed was dazzling despite her plain dark gown. Her hair hung in soft curls and framed the high cheekbones and plucked eyebrows of her face. Her long thin nose was perfectly symmetrical, and those bright blue eyes pierced through my own as we locked gazes. Then my sight shifted to Rhysand, and something within me halted. I’d never met the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, nor had I met either of their children. I’d only ever heard stories and descriptions, myths and legends surrounding their many triumphs through the safe-guarding of Prythian through the second war with Hybern, and the recent news that their son had been captured in the night by lingering enemies across the sea, but was safely returned home. Yet as I gazed at Lord Rhysand’s jet black combed back hair and electric violet eyes, I felt as though I’d seen that face before, somewhere far off and distant. There was this feeling in my stomach that drew me toward those violet eyes. I ignored it as best as I could as Papa began to speak. “Rhysand,” my father said tightly. “Feyre.” “Tamlin,” Lord Rhysand replied, a grim expression on his face, “our sincerest condolences.” Everyone knew the stories behind my father and Feyre. Vesna told me they whispered them around Mama and Papa’s wedding, saying how history would repeat itself, that those tendencies don’t go away. They were right. They didn’t go away. He just got better at hiding them. Though the High Lady of Night, Feyre Cursebreaker, Feyre Cauldron-Blessed, did not show a hint of the history between Papa and her as she and her mate climbed those four steps and stood before us. Lady Feyre was clad in a simple black gown that hugged her curves, Lord Rhysand a complementing tunic. Ethereal swirls of darkness seemed to dance around them sombrely, only a hint of what their magic offered. I held back the urge to run my hands through those tendrils, to snatch the starlight that encompassed the both of them. “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Feyre offered quietly, but with vehemence, “I couldn’t imagine the pain.” Papa only nodded, only the tiniest hint of disgust lining the features of his face. I knew the topography of those features, how they danced and contorted together. “No politics, no masks, no history,” Rhysand added softly. “I wouldn’t wish this sorrow on anybody.” Tamlin only let out a huff, mumbled what seemed like words of thanks, then stalked off through the oak doors we’d entered in, leaving only myself and the Night Court family on the dais. For a moment, we stood in silence. Feyre’s gaze wandered over the throne room as if remembering her time spent here all those years ago. Rhysand only watched her intently. He curled a hand around her waist in a supportive manner, and she turned to him, some unreadable expression dawning their faces. Their eyes finally tore away from each other, as though they’d been speaking in some silent language, before their gazes turned to me. Feyre’s eyes softened as she took me in. People often seemed to do that: with my soft blonde hair and doll-like face, to them, I was seen as the pretty little flower of Spring, Tamlin and Lyra’s pride and joy. I let people indulge in that mask. I didn’t let them see the fierceness that burned beneath, the scars that lined my body though I hadn’t been alive for any war. I let them see the primped, dolled-up blonde stuffed into dresses and bonnets, learning to play housewife. I gave a deep bow of my head. It was no secret that the Night Court was the most powerful court in Prythian. The denizens of Prythian owed a great debt to the Night Court and its Inner Circle for all the efforts they contributed to stopping Hybern from invading seventy-five years ago. Showing respect to the pair that stood before me was inked into my very blood. “Please, there’s no need.” Feyre smiled softly. Rhysand remained neutral, scanning me head to toe, assessing. There was a beat of silence before Feyre finally offered, “We never knew your mother very well.” I blinked. Of course, they didn’t. Papa wasn’t very keen on visiting the Night Court. Neither was he keen on having the Night Court visit us. “It can only be expected with the…strenuous relations.” Rhysand nodded solemnly at my words. “Nonetheless, my dear, we know you’ve probably heard condolences and sorry’s a thousand times this week, which is why I will only say that I too know what it is like to lose somebody so important to me. You are not alone. Though it may feel this way, you are not alone.” There was something in the way he said it, something about the words he offered me that had sobs rising up my throat. I only put a hand to my heart and replied, “Your words are much appreciated, High Lord.” There was more silence, and the hall was quickly emptying. The oak doors opened once again, and Papa, red-faced and claws out stormed back onto the dais. He was breathing heavily, and I did not want to see the state of his study after this whole ordeal was over. Feyre only blinked as she stared at the claws, claws she’d probably grown to fear just as much as I did. “Excuse my absence,” Papa said dryly as those mighty claws retracted once more. “It is time for the Rebirth.” He waved a hand to the entrance of the throne room. The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court nodded once more before stepping down the dais and heading for the doors. I was about to follow suit until thick, calloused fingers wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me roughly back, causing me to nearly trip in my shoes. “What did they say to you?” Growled my father, eyes full of rage and wrath. I swallowed, used to the anger, used to the temper that consumed him. “They only offered their condolences, Papa.” “You swear—” “I swear it,” I interrupted him, tired of the constant back and forth, just wanting to get this day over with. My impatience only earned a squeeze of his fingers, tightening so hard that I winced and tore my arm away from him. In silence, we walked to the front doors. I hated that silence. Because I knew, I knew that if my mother were here, it wouldn’t be silent. She would’ve protected me. Calmed Papa down. But she was just a pile of ash now. A pile of ash and roses. * * * Dinner was taken to my room. I peeled myself out of the black dress with Vesna’s help. Her eyes skipped over the purple bruise lining my left upper arm due to the simple fact she couldn’t see it. I kept the glamour on my skin thick and solid at all times, even going to the extent to teach myself to have it on while I slept. The servants knew full well the wrath that boiled within my father’s veins, and when that wrath surfaced, they were quick to turn a blind eye. Obviously, they didn’t know the actions that rage drove him to, nor the pain he inflicted on Mama and I. Even if they did, they couldn’t defy their High Lord, no matter the brutality he may wreak upon the manor. But the less they knew, the better. They needed to feed their families, to keep a steady lifestyle for themselves, despite what it may mean for me, or others around him. Once I was in my beige cotton trousers and soft white knit sweater, I settled into the wooden rocking chair beside the window overlooking the front gardens with my mutton stew for another night of loneliness and shifting my food around my plate. Then there was a soft knock at my door, and Vesna opened it to an auburn-haired head poking through to reveal Lucien’s smiling face. For the first time in a while, a full smile danced on my features, and I set my tray down on a nearby table and ran to him, giving him a proper greeting as per our tradition. He scooped me into his arms and swung me around, just as he did when I was about as tall as his hips, then set me down, clearing away the hair that fell into my face. “Tell me everything,” he murmured. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.” I looked down at my shoes, my hands curling to fists, before breathing a long sigh through my nose. “Me neither. It seems unreal.” He joined me where I was in my rocking chair, pulling over a plush velvet chaise and slumping back. I picked up my bowl of mutton stew once more, more for the heat if offered my hands than the food itself. “It was just like any other ride, you know? We were out in the woods near the border when they attacked. One minute we were both laughing, galloping along.” I swallowed. “The next she was ripped out of her saddle. Before I could even blink they’d bit her head clean off her body. Then, before I could draw a breath, my power misted the seven of them.” “Naga,” he swore. “Bastards.” It was the story Nevanthi had concocted to cover-up the ‘sin’ behind my mother’s true cause of death. She said the people would respond negatively if they knew she’d taken her own life, because the Cauldron heavily cursed those who committed ‘such atrocities against its gift of life’. Though I knew it was because it would reveal the true state of this court and the person ruling over it. “Bastards,” I echoed. “You truly misted them?” Lucien murmured in wonder. I couldn’t blame him. Misting was a very, very rare and deadly gift that few and far in between possessed, but I nodded my head anyway. It hadn’t been a complete lie. With a snap of my hands I conjured an orange, plucking it from the kitchen and tugging through those pockets within the fabric of the world, then once it sat in my hand, only one thought and it turned into a citrusy mist where the full, ripe fruit used to be. His eyes widened in wonder. “When did you learn? How did you—” “Mama, it seemed, kept the power a secret from Tamlin,” I said quietly, “and taught me discretely. Your silence is appreciated.” A frown, then a clench of his knuckles, and finally a sigh. “He hasn’t changed, has he?” I’d never told Lucien of the abuse. I’d never shown him the scars or bruises, which I kept constantly glamoured, I’d never hinted at the notion he would lay a hand on me. The show my mother and I kept up was exhausting and took a toll on ourselves emotionally, but she convinced me it would keep us safe. And look where that got us. “No,” I admitted, then grinned. “But look at how wonderful I turned out.” Lucien snorted. “Yes, a snot-nosed brat with enough power to tear life away with the blink of an eye.” “Now, now Lucien, those are hurtful words you’re directing towards your beloved—and might I add only—blessed-daughter!” “Believe me, Keo, I was forced into it. It didn’t seem so bad when you were a diaper-soiling baby, but once you grew that mouth of yours—Cauldron, did I regret it.” I only rolled my eyes in response, giving him a vulgar gesture. When I was Blessed by the Mother as a child, my head dipped into the soft rose-petaled waters that filled Nevanthi’s sacred basin to represent the Cauldron, Mama and Papa had chosen Lucien and his mate as well as High Lady Feyre’s older sister Elain to be my blessed-parents. If anything were to happen to my parents before I turned of age, the pair would take care of me until I reached maturity and could rule my court. Yet now that I was of age, or nearly in a few weeks, the role seemed useless. But I cherished it if only for the fact that it created a special bond between Lucien and I. Elain and he had tried to figure out their messy relationship. Mama, Papa and Lucien never gave me the full details, only that she was there for my Blessing, then gone a year later once they mutually decided it wouldn’t work out between them. Well, mutual is a strong word. Nobody ever broached the subject with Lucien. Especially once the news reached us that Elain had married a member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. Lucien left the Spring Court soon after for the Day Court, where his true father was, and took up his life he never had there, claiming he couldn’t stand to be around so many flowers after being with her. I was barely five years old. But he’d visited regularly, teased me, raised me, trained me. Sometimes I wished that he’d been my father instead of Tamlin. “How are you holding together?” Lucien wondered after a few moments passed, the humour leeched from the conversation with those five words. I shrugged my shoulders. “As fine as I could wish for.” He gave me a pointed look. “You know I don’t believe that for a second.” “I know. But maybe if I say it enough I’ll believe it.” “Fair enough.” “How long are you staying?” He sighed. “Not long, unfortunately. A few days at most. Internal affairs issues concerning trade deals with Dawn popped up and we’ve been trying to charm their pants off to keep them in our good graces.” “Why do I feel as though Helion takes the saying ‘charm their pants off’ literally?” Lucien shuddered. “Because he does. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my father is an orgy-powered walking library.” “Don’t forget the powerful thighs,” I smirked. He poked his own. “Doesn’t seem like I inherited those.” I flashed him a grin and finally reached over to set down my plate. Lucien looked down at my outstretched hands and frowned. “So it’s still happening then? The engagement?” Ah, yes. The engagement. I’d worn the ring for so long now that my mind filtered it out every time I looked at my hands. If only it could filter out the misogyny surrounding my husband-to-be’s words and actions. Carrick was a High Fae of wealth and haute social class in the nearby village. Papa had decided that when I was to turn eighteen, the age of maturity, I’d be betrothed to him and have him as consort once I was High Lady. Though the idea was mighty appealing to Carrick’s family in terms of power, and for Papa in terms of the wealth they’d be giving to the kingdom in thanks for the union, the real catch was the fact that Carrick was the most powerful High Fae in the village. Offspring from our shared genes would likely be of incredible strength, power and capability. Carrick had extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, air and wind manipulation as well as winnowing and other minor powers. Combined with my extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, wind manipulation, misting powers, winnowing, fire manipulation, spell-cleaving and healing powers… The results would be incredible. I’d earned few of my powers from Papa. Lyra, a denizen originally from the Dawn Court, had a mixed bloodline of powerful males and females from all over the courts. Her lineage seemed to dilute the more it expanded, yet for some reason she’d been gifted many of it: fire manipulation, spell-cleaving, air and wind manipulation, healing abilities, misting powers… a blend of autumn, day, dawn and night carefully crafted and siphoned into one female, who then handed it down to me. People murmured how I was stronger than any of my predecessors. As a young girl I never believed them, yet as Mama and I practiced in the thicket near the willow tree, I finally began to believe them. Carrick though, as a male, was definitely not the choice I would’ve made for myself. He was handsome, sure—ruggedly so, with short sandy coloured hair and hazel eyes. His body and shape were as expected: pure toned muscle hardened by decades of rigorous training and constant toning. Yet his personality fell flat due to the fact that he held no respect for me. Or any female, for that matter. Marrying him would be signing myself away like a piece of property, something Papa had no qualms over doing. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t have a say in it, that’d been decided when I was still a young girl, not even past my first bleeding. “Yes,” I finally answered the loaded question, “it was supposed to be the week of my eighteenth birthday, a few weeks from now. I’m only hoping that maybe I could feign needing more time to mourn.” “Surely you wouldn’t have to feign it, Keorah,” Lucien’s brows furrowed together, and the words had an accusatory lilt to them. “What happened was tragic. It’s normal if the grief is overwhelming. Nobody will blame you for taking the time you need to mourn your mother.” And I wished I could tell him the truth, I wish he could scream with me at the injustice of it all. So I settled for a half-truth instead. “It just hasn’t set in yet, I think. Mother’s arse, Lucien, I haven’t even cried. Does that make me a monster? Does that make me abnormal?” “Two things. No, three things.” Lucien pushed himself to the edge of his seat and gripped my biceps. I hid my wince at the uncomfortable pressure on my left arm. “Firstly, not crying doesn’t make you a monster. We all grieve differently, and what you saw was extremely traumatic. You’re probably still in a state of shock. Seeing your mother die like that?” He scoffed. “That would likely dredge away anybody’s sanity for a little while. Secondly, no, it doesn’t make you abnormal, and even if it did, you are abnormal anyways. You are abnormal in the best way possible. If you were normal, you’d be boring as hell, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing my blessed-daughter is so mundane. And thirdly,” he chuckled, “if I ever hear you say Mother’s arse again, I’ll throw you into the rose bushes, thorns and all.” I shook my head at the incredulousness of his words yet still smiled. “Why can’t you visit more often?”

Hope you liked it! I’ll be posting the next chapter tomorrow :)

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acofas #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acomaf fanfic #acomaf fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses fanfic #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #a court of wrath and moonlight #a court of wrath and moonlight chapter 1 #feyrhys #feysand #feyre #rhysand #azriel #cassian #tamlin #mor #amren #night court #spring court

[favoniuscodex]

love story. [ scaramouche ]

prompt: "god who is playing that godawful music outside my house and throwing rocks at my window. oh. it’s you, with a love confession. cringe but also i accept." w/ scaramouche pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader warnings: modern!au, death threat except it's the equivalent of scaramouche threatening to punt someone across a football field words: ~1.3k words

a/n: lofksdlaslkal i cant wait for canon scaramouche to get revealed and refute all the fanfics where i make him angry AKAKSKJSDJ. first prompt done for the new follower event, number chosen by random.org

it's three am and there's someone blaring taylor swift outside your window. you just want to sleep, yet taylor won't stop singing about how she wants romeo to save her and how she feels so alone. you can relate only partially -- you want romeo to save you from this hell of having to listen to this song interrupt your sleep, but you certainly do not feel alone with the song piercing through the silence of the street you live on, likely waking your neighbors up as well.

deciding you've had enough after about a minute of it, you trudge over to your window and get ready to peek through the blinds to see what idiot was interrupting your well-deserved rest. being a fatui agent was backbreaking labor and the only reprieve you had from it were the few hours you were allowed to sleep in your own residence each night. whoever decided that being a swiftie applied to their little three am rendezvous was about to meet the wrath of your vision and weapon.

however, before you can inspect whatever the hell was occurring outside, a soft plink of something hitting your window causes you to take a step back, startled. you immediately materialize your weapon and step to the side of the window pane, ready to beat up any possible intruder, but nobody enters. another plink resonates through the air, followed by another, which is then followed by another. it creates a steady pattern that is horribly off-sync with the music outside.

what the hell? you taking a deep breath, you use two fingers to pry open the blinds just barely enough to see what's happening outside. was it the safest decision? probably not. outside stands a rather short man holding up a paper sign and, behind him, a car stalls with its headlights on. the car is certainly the origin of miss swift's melodies, yet you have no idea who the short window is.

"(y/n)!" the man yells upon spotting you looking through the blinds. "open the window!"

wait. wait a damn minute. without his traditional uniform, you hardly recognized him (nor did you realize how awful his haircut actually is, but that was an argument for another time). scaramouche. while he often was a headache at work, you never thought that your fellow harbinger would also be a nuisance outside of work as well. was it an emergency? was this some type of secret code for help that you hadn't been informed about?

yet, as you yank on the cord of the blinds, sending them flying up, you realize this is far different from a cry for help. rather, it's a cry for your love, as dictated by the writing on the sign he holds as it glints in the moonlight. immediately, you unlatch the window and push it open, glaring at your coworker in your full half-asleep, pajama-clad glory.

the music dies down rapidly and you feel a sense of bewilderment wash over you. he brought someone with him? you question, but your thoughts are disrupted as scaramouche begins yelling.

"(y/n)! i wish to court you!" the harbinger yells and you quickly come to a few conclusions. one: this man has never asked anyone out in his life. two: he asked someone for advice on how to ask you out. three: that person who gave him said advice led him horribly, horribly astray. you quickly run through a mental checklist of who it could possibly be. la signora wouldn't care enough to give him any other advice than "just ask them out", dottore would probably suggest for scaramouche to kill someone to prove his love and childe... yeah. it was definitely childe.

"um," you yell back, not entirely sure what to say. "hold on!"

you back away from the window and hastily shove your feet into the closest pair of shoes. you yank a robe from your closet and wrap it around your figure, securing it by tying it around you as you exit your house and make your way over to scaramouche, who stands on your front lawn still. as you approach, the harbinger sets the sign down next to him and picks something else off the ground, thrusting it in your direction.

in a t-shirt and jeans, scaramouche looks completely... different as he was missing the attire that made him normal in your eyes. you blink at him before glancing down to the object he's presenting you and your heart melts at the gesture. in his hand rests a bouquet of roses.

"well? are you going to take them or not?" scaramouche questions, waving them at you slightly. you let out a light laugh at his indignant behavior and take the bouquet from him, making sure to brush your hand against his as you do so. in the light provided by both the moon and the streetlight, you notice a blush creep across his features as he feels the touch of your hand against his.

"yes," you respond, causing his indigo eyes to look at you with confusion. "to your proposition from earlier. i will let you court me."

"of course. i expected nothing less," scaramouche responds, but you notice his relief in the way he stands up a little straighter and his expression relaxes. "i have brought a poem of my affections as i was instructed to do s-"

"scaramouche," you begin, tone soft. his arrogance lessens as he visibly perks up upon hearing you say his name. "if i may ask, who told you to do all of this?"

"i... sought advice from tartaglia," he confesses and you let out a long sigh.

"i... appreciate the gesture," you reassure him. "but... next time, just ask a person out casually. this kind of stuff is only ever really done in movies."

scaramouche looks at you blankly. "so he lied to me?" his voice is deadpan and, you decide, that scaramouche has finally transcended the typical realm of his anger and entered into sheer fury.

"yes, but uh. the flowers were nice!" you hold up the bouquet to prove your point. "very nice. i liked them."

scaramouche seemingly forgets about his hatred of the eleventh harbinger for a brief moment as you hold the flowers up to your nose, sniffing the roses slightly. a gentle smile crosses his face and he takes a step closer to you, carefully placing one of his hands on the forearm that holds up the bouquet. as scaramouche begins to gently push it down, leaning in close to close the distance between the two of you, a honk from the stalled car has the both of you jumping away from each other, startled.

"did they say yes?!" you hear the familiar voice of tartaglia yell from the car. you and scaramouche exchange glances before looking over at the car.

"start driving, tartaglia," scaramouche orders as electricity begins to crackle in his palms. "because i am going to kill you."

a brief moment of silence occurs before taylor swift returns at full volume. before scaramouche can sprint over and give childe a piece of his mind, the car switches into drive and speeds off, not wanting to incur the wrath of scaramouche upon it. for once, childe has a brain, yet you can only thank him for everything upon seeing the adoration in scaramouche's eyes as he finally turns back to you.

you move your hands out of the way as scaramouche steps closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek to stabilize the connection between of you.

"now that he's gone, where were we?" scaramouche asks, but before you can answer, scaramouche closes the distance between the two of you, placing his lips on yours.

#thriving with the headcanon that scaramouche knows absolutely nothing abt romance #scaramouche: childe how do u ask someone out #childe upon realizing what opportunity scaramouche has just given him: well u see- #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #axia's writing #axia's 3.5k follower event

[troublesometrollhunters]

Headcanons of siren!Morgana and sea pirate reader? :3c

~ Your the captain of your small ship and your pirate team is feared around the world. Strickler the weapons and historian/linguistics expert, Otto the doctor, sharp shooter, and sailor, Nomura the warrior, ship hand, lock smith and seducer, and you are the world's best thief, fighter, and pirate. You steal from the rich, give to the poor, and keep all the cool stuff for yourselves. Your team is small but mighty. With all your combined skills your unstoppable and your hesists are unforgettable. Than one day you meet her.

~ Mermaids are friends to pirates as they value any allies to the seas but sirens they drag your ship down and they leave no survivors. Their melodious song the last thing you hear before your drowning in the unforgiving depths as their class rip you apart. Otto warned you about her, the notorious sea witch, the siren queen, Morgana Le Faye.

~ However she is different than the stories told about her. Mischevious sure but malicious? Not really. If anything she seems curious about humans and sings to them to get the answers she wants. It's not her fault if the fools drown themselves because their not careful. All good pirates and sailors know to take precautions.

~ Your at the wheel of the ship watching the fog roll in as the stars shine above. The night is quiet and the sea still as the waters come to a rest, lapping at the ship gently. All is peaceful as your crew sleeps but then you hear it. Promises of gold, glory, and acceptance. You hum knowing her song and thank the cotton and wax stuffed in your ears for their assistance. You can still semi hear but her song is all but drowned out and the things her song promise you are things you already have, therefore you can resist.

~ When her song doesn't work you see the siren poke her head over the side of the ship curious. Her tail slaps against the ship, golden tail glowing in the moonlight. Her illuminating green eyes search for people as her claws keep her clinging to the deck. Her hair is as red as fire and fans out around her longer than any hair you'd ever seen on a human woman and her face was dotted in freckles like the stars. When she sees you she's so surprised her grip loosens and she falls back into the sea, sinking under the waves.

~ The next night she's back. Curious eyes watching you work the deck as she observes. You hum at her and she smiles waving in repsonse, her claws reminding you just how dangerous she could be. She dissapears before the sun rises but you notice how she leaves you a gift before she goes.

~ Otto sees the long lost pirates gold your fiddling with and he warns you Morgana is known to seduce sailors and pirates only to drag them to their watery deaths. Strickler advises you be careful do not break her heart but do not fall in love with her. Nomura suggests you do what you feel is right but you feel that's her attempt of trying to kill you so she may take the role of Captain on the ship.

~ The next night she comes you decide to do whats best for your saftey and the crews. You ask her to leave, shooing her away with your hands. But she stays. You try to scare her away but the waves begin to shake the boat and your left having to decide between pride and your life. You let Morgana stay and she seems satisfied as the sea once again stays calm.

~ She speaks English. Her siren song and Mer is intresting to listen to but you do not know the languae. You can't communicate so eventually she gives in and admits she knows English she just doesn't like it. As you sit on the deck letting your ship be lead by the waves Morgana tells you stories far older than you and makes jokes that have you laughing until early morning.

~ Sirens are not night creatures but Morgana says the sun irritates her skin so she always slips beneath the waves before morning light. The other crew members catch glimpses of her but they never say anything in fear of your wrath of hers. It's clear that Morgana has chosen you so they leave it worried for your saftey but intrigued to see where this'll go.

~ The siren soon starts officially courting you. She brings treasures from the sea. Gold, jewels, necklaces of immeasurable wealth, artifacts, magic trinkets, rich silk clothes, preserved maps, ancient books, wines, fresh fish, and whatever she finds that she thinks you'll like.

~ It's the greatest dishonor to not use/wear what a mermaid or siren gifts you when courting. So often you find yourself covered in gold, emeralds, and rubies (Morganas main colors). She asks about the gifts shes gotten you too see if you've looked through them or like them. You try to return the favor giving her intresting human items but she says she likes spoiling you and that you need not worry about pleasing her. However you notice she never turns down a gift and even begins carrying a satchel so she may always have the things you give her close.

~ Pretty soon Morgana becomes a constant in your life and the life of your pirates. She gives Strickler books long lost to history, Otto strange but effective medicines, and Nomura weapons the siren knows she'd like. The crew are unsure at first but months go by and Morgana has done nothing to harm any of you or the ship. So they begin to relax. She follows your boat everyday and night enjoying the stories you share about your adventures on land. She even begins to help! Sending Storms and rough waves at ships that chase you so she knows your safe while those that intend to harm you are not.

~ You begin falling for Morgana, in a way you've never fallen for anyone. You love her and the crew loves you. You want to tell her but your unsure how. One night you lean in to kiss her and she kisses back making you blush. She smiles before slipping under the waves.

~ She comes back the next night and she gives you a ring but it's unlike any ring you've ever seen. She comes onto the ship and her long golden tail turns into two legs. She smiles at you before slipping the golden ring on your finger showing her matching one.

"Marry me?" Otto warned you not to give you heart but Morgana had stolen it long ago. Nodding yes before kissing her your crew mates clap happy for you and your new first mate and wife.

#trollhunters #trollhunters x reader #toa #toa x reader #wizards #wizards x reader #morgana le faye x reader #toa morgana le faye x reader #trollhunters morgana le faye x reader #wizards morgana le faye x reader #toa morgana x reader #trollhunters morgana x reader #wizards morgana x reader #toa morgana #trollhunters morgana #wizards morgana #mer may #mermaid requests #pirate reader #mermaid morgana #morgana x reader #the janus order #strickler #nomura #otto #mermay

[elriel-oblivion]

So I started this in the last week of 2020, and I'm ready to post it 😊 I've still got a couple other wips I'd started before this one but I haven't been bothered to finish those lol so I'm putting this one out first. Anyway, this'll be 6 parts long; I'll prob put up the next part in three or four days.

I'll put word counts so you can gauge how long each part is and if you wanna read it 😅 Also lemme know if you'd like to be tagged

Word count: 2.2K

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part I

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The shadows were colder than usual tonight. On better days, their chill wrapped Azriel's bones in an icy embrace, a comforting freeze numbing any semblance of feeling in his wasted heart.

But this miserable night, they were searing cold, the kind of cold piercing the highest of mountain peaks; the kind of cold that penetrated the brain itself. He shivered as he travelled through those shadows, dark mists and wisps coiling like vines about his head.

Maybe he was deliberately searching for the coldest areas. Maybe he wanted a complete absence of feeling: physical, emotional, spiritual. It would certainly be easier to feel nothing than trying to quell the frigid rage inside. How could an avalanche be stopped once it started?

Further and further he moved through his shadows, dawn chasing him from a few hours away. Mountains and villages surged past through those charcoal mists, making way to depthless forests and ravines. He clenched his jaw tight against the cold, memory guiding him home.

But the fresh blood he'd seen earlier, and the mutilated remains of that little girl, one wing torn off and lying bent at the edge of the dirt path ... Her unseeing eyes were glazed, that shine as bright and true on his mind as the glint of moonlight on the blade of Death. And her scream. Cauldron, it curdled his own blood.

He'd been but a minute late. A matter of seconds were all that stood between him and the sadistic bastard who'd brutalised that child. Barely a heartbeat in his lifetime.

He blinked once to rid himself of her stare. Twice.

The image remained, muddying with his path home. His hands clenched and unclenched, nails biting into his skin, but the girl's hazel eyes and her ashen skin and the fingers outstretched for that severed wing remained an imprint on his vision.

Why was this affecting him so much? It wasn't the first time he'd seen horrors like this. But if Azriel wanted to be honest with himself, some days were harder than others simply because they were. Some days, the despair rattled his core and tossed him far out - because he was a person and emotions, feelings, these things were too abstract to be boxed in.

Everything had a limit. Had Azriel ever truly reached his?

Sometimes Azriel himself didn't understand how he kept it all in. How he didn't react or display any sign of having seen or heard the things he did. Sometimes he was repulsed by himself because of it. At least Cassian and his rare vomiting showed some of the humanity inside.

Azriel gave away nothing. Was there even humanity in himself? Everyone but his family looked at him like he was an unhinged monster imprisoned by his Illyrian skin. Like he was moments from escape and they would be his first victims.

Or - not just his family. Her. Elain. Did he consider he family? Perhaps it was too early, or even too inappropriate to do so.

Either way, how could he stain the sudden image of her with himself, with the horrors he'd just seen, had always had the displeasure of seeing? She was lovely and warm and beautiful and he was dark and cold and hideous.

Elain. Something inexplicable stirred in him at the thought of her.

He tried to calm it, this heat, this single star in his midnight sky. But it remained. And it grew.

And he was disgusted. Ashamed. He was not worthy of her.

And it ached. Another unrequited love.

That word snapped something in him. Mocked him.

Love.

A choking sound ripped from his throat and he welcomed it, let it mount into a scream, let it tear through his body and soul. Like that monster was finally breaking free. It was invigorating yet scorching. It burned him from the inside out but the cold of those shadows permeated his mind so heavily, he forgot the essence of corporeality and only his soul seemed to drift.

His ragged breathing sounded, throat parched. Where was he? Through the shadows, all around him, there seemed only darkness. Was he flying? No, the shadows sang their usual baritone thrum as opposed to the high harmony of the wind.

Above, no stars glistened. His eyes strained but nothing peeked through. It wasn't often that his shadows became this thick; usually thin and wispy, they now shrouded his being, coalescing over, in him. He became the cold, a shadow, darkness itself, floating through the ether, higher and higher like ashes on the wind.

But even ashes settled down at some point.

Unless his soul truly were ascending, unless this truly were death. It almost seemed too easy. All the battles, those two great wars, the poison that shot through his veins and stole his breath as per Hybern's whim. Poison that sometimes woke him up in cold sweats, a phantom memory of its iciness picking through his body as though he were being cut up by the sharpest blade ...

Sometimes it even felt like his own blade.

No, this couldn't be death. A mere scream, the image of lives lost, a bloody fight - he hated to admit that these were commonplace among his memories, his life. But in doing so, he knew death was too easy an aftermath for what had happened tonight.

Death, an ascent. But he was sure when his time came, his stained soul would descend like the demon he was.

So he grounded, drifting down weightlessly until the solidity of rock steadied him. He would not go to that darkest of places yet. But he was still exhausted. So damn tired of everything. He feared that if he dropped into a slumber right now, he'd not get up for a lifetime. As it was, his legs almost gave out, but he forced some remaining strength back into them. All he had to do was get home now.

He stepped out of his shadows; Devlon's camp was quiet around him. A fire to his far right sputtered in the harsh winds and Azriel swept himself back into his shadows.

This time he travelled faster, composing himself, locking his muscles and bones up, clenching his jaw. He let that familiar cool comfort drain his rage, cleaning it through his veins before it settled in the frozen lake of his heart where the rest of his darkness lay, inescapable through the impenetrable foot of icy wrath and sorrow. He savoured his shadows, a confidant in their own right, thanked them for their understanding and the escape he found within them.

But they were growing warmer now. Azriel squinted through them as they shifted him across land and water - the scape of Velaris and its brilliant lights greeted him. Closer to home now, he could breathe with a looser chest but this was still unusual; his shadows shouldn't be warmer, they should be cool and refreshing, like the autumn night breeze beyond.

His wings rustled, body reacting to his shadows' autonomy before his thawing mind caught up. 'Where are you taking me?' he murmured.

Mist swirled about him and the shadows deposited him at the far edge of the dimly lit back garden at his High Lord and Lady's riverfront estate. Why would they bring him here? Rhysand and Feyre were at the mountain cabin, Cassian and Nesta were together in Illyria and Mor was at the Winter Court. As far as he knew, Amren was at her own apartment so the only person left was -

'Azriel!' came Elain's voice. It was distant in a way it shouldn't be.

Azriel leaned against a tree, pretending to fiddle with the Siphon atop his left hand. Breathing was difficult but he swallowed and exhaled in a shudder.

He needed to fully compose himself before anyone saw him like this. If only his damn shadows hadn't taken control for those last few moments, he'd be in his own home and lying in that swirling darkness in peace. Though, he supposed, it was his own fatigue that had yielded that control.

'Azriel!' Elain cried, stopping in front of him. Her face was caught between a frown and a wince and her arm was raised slightly. 'You don't look okay.'

As always, he was momentarily stunned by how unafraid this small female was of him. Here he was in his full armour, every bit the monstrous warrior that sent his people scurrying into their homes and locking their doors, and yet Elain stood strong before him. Like she saw not a killing machine but a person.

She never even commented on how his shadows made to disappear around her. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

He swallowed before he let out what he thought was a light laugh. 'I'm fine, don't worry.' But he could hear the hoarseness of his voice, now facing the consequences of that scathing scream. And his limbs felt even heavier than before, like someone had injected liquid lead into them.

'You don't have to pretend with me, Azriel,' she whispered, lowering both her gaze and arm.

He paused, trying to catch her gaze. The constant light in her eyes whenever she looked at him was a balm to his soul. He could use some of that right now.

He reached out an arm, so impossibly leaden right now - if he could just get to sit down -

'Can I wash your hair, please?'

He started. 'You want to wash my hair?'

Elain's eyes flicked back up to skirt over his, up to his hair, where they stayed pinned. 'I'm positive that's mud and you shouldn't sleep with that in your hair. It'll only take a few minutes.'

Shit. He hadn't even thought of his appearance after that bloody fight earlier. How that had slipped his mind? He ran a hand through his hair, and surely enough, crumbs of dirt rained down.

Although, he really hadn't expected to turn up here of all places. In the privacy of his own home, he wouldn't have cared if he were missing a whole damn limb, if only it meant he could sleep like the dead.

Not to mention that sleeping with a little mud was the least an Illyrian warrior's problems. But Elain's care was something of a punch to his gut. When was the last time someone had truly tended to him for reasons that weren't battle or holiday related?

'You've managed to get some on your face, too,' she said, brow furrowed as she stared at his cheek.

Her eyes were so deep and focused, he wished they would just meet his once. But of course, that level of scrutiny he'd come to learn from Elain meant shyness. Just shyness. She was so endearing, he could've laughed with such fondness if he weren't so damn tired. He wished this whole damn night would be over already.

His leg faltered slightly and he stumbled forward.

'I'm washing your hair. It'll help relax you into falling asleep.'

He raised his brows at her, but she simply took his arm and began leading him towards the house. She looked so small before him but didn't slow despite dragging his bulk behind her.

Halfway across the garden, he pulled her to him with his free arm, his shadows saving the both of them the energy of walking through that mansion of a home.

'My bathroom,' she murmured. Elain didn't balk through the five seconds of that darkness, didn't even look surprised. She showed no sign of hearing the spike in his pulse either. Thank the Mother.

He set them in her bathroom, and she didn't look at him once as she flitted around the chamber, pulling a chair from her bedroom to the sink and grabbing a towel, soap and a jug from the cupboard. Standing there, his breathing began to smooth out.

The window was open, a chill breeze sweeping in. The faelights were dim and their placid light sent a dusky illumination over Elain's features. Some bottles of oils and herbs sat on the edge of the bathtub. Azriel had heard of people using oils for bathing, but herbs? Perhaps they were like flower petals, used for their scent.

Towel in hand, Elain waited at the sink, placing the soap and jug down. 'I think you'll have to collapse your armour for this.'

Azriel nodded, tapping his Siphon. Within seconds, that second skin of cold scales and gleaming wrath was safely stored away. Just his plain black trousers and tunic were left.

Elain's eyes caught every moment of the transformation. 'It's beautiful, all of it.'

He didn't even know if she was speaking of his armour or the basic clothes underneath or what, but his face warmed slightly, wings rustling.

'Please sit,' she said, gesturing to the chair. As he did, she wrapped the towel around his shoulders, fingers hovering above his forehead for a few seconds.

Those seconds felt perennial. He almost shuddered as her fingers made contact with his skin. Her hands were so gentle as they pushed his head back, and he shifted in the seat. He lowered his wings, and she stepped into the space he provided. She was still as he got comfortable, only turning the tap once he was settled. There was a slight crease between her brows, and he clenched his fists to keep from smoothing it out.

Sounding so much like his own mother that his throat tightened, she whispered, 'You can close your eyes.'

So he did.

__

Feedback is welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

#elain archeron #azriel #elriel #acotar #elain x azriel

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

#obiyukibingo21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #swan princess au #my fic #ans #listen this is another fic where like #i want to write the 50K lead up #the political intrigue that leads to this whole arrangement #and the magic #and obi and shirayuki and zen as kids who BARELY like each other and then become besties and then have this LOVE TRIANGLE #the whole terrible relationship between Uncle and Mukaze and Shirayuki's Mom and Haruto and KAIN #sideplots with Izana and Raj #like guys i have THOUGHTS #one day i'll come back around and write more of this #or someone will make me #WHO KNOWS #😂

[malpractiice]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS.

APHRODITE          laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger

APOLLO         glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account

ARES         armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fists raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath

ARTEMIS          keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling

ATHENA      discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, stoic statues, pottery classes  

DEMETER          soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air

DIONYSUS         drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause

HEPHAESTUS        sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

HERA          resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold

HERMES          devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers

POSEIDON       storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow

ZEUS        thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy calendar with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch

#「 HEADCANONS. 」 #now i have to go back to work but ideally?? i will have some time on thursday/friday

[sanktere]

Olympian Aesthetic Headcanons

Bold where applicable, italicize where situationally relevant

APHRODITE. (2.5) laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, turned on by danger.

APOLLO. (4) glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeping naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes.

ARES. (4.5) armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. (2.5) keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. (3) discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. (4.5) soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants (elementals), leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS. (0) drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS. (0.5) the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry.

HERA. (1) resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. (0) devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. (5.5) storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. (2) thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch.

#˙ ˖ ⊰ ✧ ⊱ 彡 meta ･ mercy has come to me exactly in this way¸ as a premonition. #i expected demeter to be high but poseidon winning....... INTERESTING #should clarify i don't think lucius is Moody in the traditional sense but he has an aries cusp on that pisces and it jumps out sometimes #lucius as a son of poseidon.... :think: unorthodox but i kinda dig it

[libidomechanica]

“On me, me, me, me, me,”

Divine ASTREA right guid will coupe.     He came to shoote agayne: sike a sighing on, that befel,     even in safety to fold me overwrought for him Pity’s     heels. The changed, or odds, it may be. ’ Alas! Always petals     nipp’d Fate will turn the

eyes! On me, me, me, me, me, that     if she’d tell her to do, saddening breath-air,—but for a humble     shone the lady stream that none else transition we’re ever-     nearing a kind of the age of course wounded into     the Sun. All this descending;

once the place and makest faced     snubnosed rogue of your round, and sky. Without colors is     to smile, an’ I’ll troubles fall, and my own deserving? Is     not seen only I saw it and good. Like a length, and such     giddiness is in them:

knowledge from memory, doth trust;     may man thou speak in the Baron saith Loue, I thinke so longer     spousals are dared. But thine. Perhaps with a rose that were     slurring on the whole, to screen, and rehearsal of all marrow     drain’d. Credit as early,

and yet the amorous Deep     with endorse her souls! And yet this sad court in its populous     starry rope of scorch’d on Nature’s soft sheepe in gay let     thee in my experience my honest man that love, and     for thee. Than poor souls’

antipodes. Some where is so great     arc his sleep underneath the lifted upon the virginity,     be duly pull him and hand, as she had gone. Is     chief of pantomime;—he dances of melancholy mirth     is all give throat: then can

tell me when it comes the hid and     only now it—I willing stuff might night I stands now poring     over mouths with the river leaves are done if we had     hang the love and kiss it may breasts. Of burst with phantom years     and chide my lips and by

black clouds bedimme my flocke did sing     i’d say easily as they eyed each got his rash in     the thing, and out for could sing into the very model     of the snow is below no bigger not disgrace; let cloud     they found his neck them to

his extreme, rude, cruel, love, I would     I cared his sword decide: the millinery with sacred     mounted by dignified: the Princess crie on the wrath and     all his ravish’d by those flash’d, and near and gazed upon the     oak but sometime and stirs;

ah!—And troubled lattice wrought limbs     before the gold to bind your fancies healèd me, if asked what     lonely for heroines my musick mass may scorn and that     of being on? And meet youth of shut very rough at the     shade, not wild figtree snapp’d up

thy contumelious, are old, I     said, sir Ralph has when he had taught. In this shed. On her speak     the cuckoo-like, endangerous quality agreeable,     and of people might be but to the feature sickening     to be your pypes she

never on his face down. Like grow     now my discontent vs in this thou my heart and girt     roused to them stood aloof;— and Scylla and takes him ere there.     Of lust of blood, my Queen; at whose rose within the jasmine     and folded her maidens

glimmering page than Heaven shall     a summer, dusty skin, but the enthrall, maud the moonlight,     sank down than fiction of the shared it EVIL. As she was     thine: see him three paces the swamp of your braid to blossom’d     bowed my cared for men short

to the sonnet; with hooded breathe     away her own worth and stools, that month with its fruit, is that     they are no more to my mother shalt win. There is strange sighing     flood—the sweet love can speak footing in and root, and through     infinite immensity.

Dost thou liest, that Christabel     her lap. With a suddenly sent from the city, guess, I     hardly highway ringed Ministers the chamber floor of tumbled     and would have actually, inevitably ridiculous.     For month withstood

and still we rename here, it’s a     kiss, shaped strawberry, that are a day, and was gone a fabric     crystalline: so strictly over us. Have ebbs of     foot, and we went to the wanting with eye or history of     hys misdeede, that all be

that she was I clung about thou,     but one of thing every titles a’ arc empty corridors     which bear the green snake I bring your despairing, all being     blood so fine would fall. He does not thou shalt heard me some     and tried my echoing

slowly, creep to the sweet, and look     at me! Who fondly loue. So prayse is such, so cased; then     we parts of blue who tries to entering bosks of her till     my name …. Her way even of my boys dead and the sun’s noonsted’s     made, in rymes with

soul stands of days! Brother’s almost     miserable is the world of my tremulous stars tis we,     who reward; still. Then their backs, whom rage Go thought mighty deeps,     and though dooms of hope, we drove this flowers have seeketh on     a kind of—as it shows

wildly clad; her dangered the     yesterday my joy and his deep, deep emotion new     magnificence. Like to hate, in such vnsuted spot for wear not     a tutors. Which he lies, traverse the Lady of     Is there wert thought, and love.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #262 texts #ballad

[roses-and-grimoires]

Character Summary - Idristan

alias/nicknames. Idris, Idristan Greystone, Cillien Grinnaux, Whitebane, Sworn Knight of the Court of Night, Avatar of the Moon, Knight Forward of the Ishgard Heavensguard

gender. cis male

age. 39

zodiac. The scroll (pisces)

abilities + talents. Idristan has been trained in Ishgardian conjury as well as red magic. He has knowledge of thaumaturgy and some experience with void magic, as well as being an expert on the void and voidsent. He is skilled with a rapier and a capable field medic. He is an excellent swimmer and an exceptional dancer, as well as being a decent cook.

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Halonic Orthodox (non-practicing)

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Common, Ishgardian, Old Ishgardian, Mhachi, Fae.

family. Father: Isolvar Ravendarke ( @thedarknesssings​​ ) Mother: Ationne Agache (deceased) Siblings: Elonne Derinloire (half-sister) Children: Bellamy Blackthorne (informally adopted son)

friends. Talan Sergenaux @reddevil-xiv​ (fiance), Caedrien @thedarknesssings​ (fiance), Ghost ( @phantom-xiv​ ), Lyrin’a Muinvel ( @hiraethwyl​ ), Marius Vieremont ( @marius-vieremont​ ) are amongst those he’d consider closest.

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered (engaged) / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / responsive

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 6'3"

scars. Idristan bears quite a few scars, the most prominent of which runs across his left cheek. He is also covered in silver runic tattoos, as well as having frost whorls mixed with lightning running down his spine.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

Aviators - Wake Me When It’s Over

Jonathan Young - Unravel

Kamelot - Moonlight

Tagged by: @houserosaire​​​​ and @liminal-storage​​​​

Tagging: Anyone who’d like to!

#thanks for tagging me #idristan agache