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the-darkestminds · 3 hours

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Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 9

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: Not really sure how many miles into the continent the lake is, but for this fic just assume its tucked away in a remote location. Just a reminder that I took out the scene from acosf where Cassian and Azriel speak to Koschei. Assume this scene is their first encounter with him. Named one of Eris's brothers Alix. Kinda doing my own thing with Koschei. Did not find him to be very scary in acosf so I'm trying to make him into something entirely different. Just go with it!

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Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 9:

Azriel drifted between thick, dark clouds, his wings beaded with icy droplets of water from the storm gathering around him. Cassian flew several dozen yards to his left, eyes trained on the terrain far below. Between the gaps in the clouds, miles down, Azriel could make out the dark stretch of water churning and rippling restlessly, like the surface of a vast cauldron. The lake was a brooding, gray expanse, its waters dark and uninviting under the overcast sky. The jagged shoreline was bordered by dense forests and barren stretches of rocky terrain that sloped up into steep cliffs, some partially shrouded in mist.

Eris had alerted him to Beron’s departure only hours ago and Azriel had winnowed himself and Cassian to the edge of the continent. They had been circling for over an hour now, waiting for Beron to appear, but the dark shores of the lake remained empty and desolate.

Two mornings ago Azriel had woken up beside Eris, warm and blissfully happy, more so than he’d been in his entire life. The last thing he’d wanted to do was return to this cursed place.

The cold wind sliced Azriel to the bone, and not even his winter leathers could keep away the chill, or prevent his skin from pebbling uncomfortably under its steady assault. Though it was only partially due to the frigid temperatures. The wrongness of the lake made him uneasy, and reminded him of the ancient magic of the Middle.

As Azriel circled back around from the east, his eyes scanned the small temple situated atop the eddying waves. There was nothing remarkable about it. Smooth, white stone, seemingly untouched by the years it had weathered against wind and rain and snow, sat perched on a slab of glistening black rock. The arched door to the temple was adorned with swirling symbols and markings, all wholly unfamiliar to Azriel. He wondered what Eris would make of it—if it was perhaps one of the languages he had mastered during his tutelage as heir.

The lake’s ominous presence seemed to taunt Azriel. He had sworn he’d heard faint whispering echoing against the cliffs, but whenever he angled his head to listen the wind swept them away.

The last time Azriel had been here he’d been distracted—his mind entirely consumed by thoughts of Eris. Not much had changed on that front, though now he was fully aware of the stakes should something go wrong. He prayed that whatever they learned here today could give Eris the upper hand against his father—and give all of them the upper hand against Koschei.

Azriel had done his best to keep his shadows at bay, tucking them close behind his wings and wrapping himself tightly in a pulsing blue siphon shield that clung to him like a second skin. It was all he could think to do, for his shadows never truly left him. That is, until the last time he’d been here, when they’d seemingly vanished into his skin. He shivered at the memory. Cassian’s presence was a comfort, regardless of the fact that he was hardly speaking to him after his fight with Eris. For now, he had more important things to worry about.

They’d waited long enough.

He gave Cassian the signal and they dove quickly towards the muddy shore on the western side of the lake, wings tucked in tight. Azriel held his breath as his feet hit the damp soil—waited for the assault on his shadows and the screeching in his head to begin. But seconds passed and nothing happened. Azriel examined the stone temple where it rested around a hundred yards from where they’d landed, his Fae eyesight allowing him to see it as if it were mere inches away. He stood silently, eyes focused across the water.

Azriel’s breath curled in the cold air like puffs of smoke. There was no life here. No twittering of birds or chirping of insects. The murky water was black and endless and some primal sense warned Azriel not to touch it—that to do so would be a grave, possibly fatal, mistake. That it might truly drag him under if he got too close. Cassian was motionless beside him as he, too, gazed out across the stretch of gray.

By Rhysand’s orders, they were to get close enough to observe, but nothing more. He had warned them not to approach the temple for any reason, and to only speak if spoken to. And so they waited. Minutes ticked by and the air grew colder. The wind howled eerily across the water and whispered through the branches of the trees behind them, like a desperate song from the souls forever trapped beneath the lake’s surface. Azriel tucked his wings in tighter and rested his hand on the hilt of Truth Teller where it was sheathed at his thigh. His eyes burned from the icy wind that lashed at his face.

And then it all stopped—the water went still as glass and the air seemed to thicken and slow, pressing against his skin and muffling the sounds of the earth around them. All he could hear now was the rapid thump of his racing heart.

He glanced warily at Cassian and by the unnerved look on his brother’s face he knew he’d felt the change as well. Azriel’s breath came faster as the uneasiness within him grew. The water lapped softly against the shore. He was hit with a sudden certainty that they shouldn’t have come here. This place spoke of only death and pain and despair. They needed to leave now, while they still could—

It was like he’d been dropped in a pool of ice cold water. Azriel’s entire body went rigid as some oily, dark power slid across his skin and seized everything that he was. He tried to move, to escape, but his body refused to obey, wholly ensnared by the dark magic that shot across the black water, wrapped itself around him and squeezed. It was as if the very blood in his veins no longer belonged to him.

Azriel’s eyes were wide and unblinking as his vision tunneled—until all he could see was that floating mass of darkness above the water. The shadow warped and twisted and grew until he was looking at a large, cloaked figure, draped in black so dark it was painful to behold. The figure spoke in a low, slithering hiss, cold and ancient and horrible.

“I’ve seen your heart, shadowsinger.” The voice snaked along his bones and echoed loudly in his ears. “I’ve felt it burn.”

Koschei’s face was hidden beneath a black hood and his shapeless, cloaked body hovered eerily above the lake. Inky shadows frothed and writhed around him like crashing water. Azriel stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to breathe. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, at the death-lord who now held him in his grasp.

Koschei's voice dripped with sinister amusement as he spoke again. "The shadows whisper many secrets, Azriel. Even those hidden in the most forbidden places find their way to my ears. Did you think you were the only one who spoke their language?” His laugh was a chilling, hollow sound that echoed out of the darkness and skated painfully along Azriel’s bones. “How does it feel, Prince of Darkness, to play with fire?"

In that moment, time seemed to stretch, every second a lifetime of terror as his mind reeled at the meaning behind the words. Eris. Somehow this death-lord had been watching them—had been listening, even confined to this remote and forgotten corner of the continent. How? How had he seen?

Koschei sniffed, and the air around him hissed and warped in response. The death-lord’s laugh felt like sharp claws against his spine. “I can smell the ancient past on your skin. How long I have waited.” The figure shivered in excitement. “Tell me, shadowsinger. What would he do to keep you?”

Azriel stood frozen to the spot, fear a tightening noose around his neck. The creature lifted its head and the hood shifted. Where Koschei’s face should have been, there was only infinite darkness—a yawning abyss that devoured all light and warmth. The void seemed to pull Azriel in, and he would have screamed in terror if he had control of his tongue. The scene in front of him disappeared.

He wasn't seeing Koschei or the lake at all, but fire—vast, unearthly, world-ending fire that tore across the land, consuming everything in its wake. Screams echoed through the inferno—pained, wretched screaming that seemed to come from every direction. Azriel watched as the sky was ripped apart and darkness spilled in through the cracks, unleashing horrors beyond anything he could ever imagine. Masses of teeth and claws and scales—shadows and inky darkness. Wide, lidless blue eyes bored into him hungrily. Prythian burned—the world burned, as war raged around him. Excruciating pain tore through him as Fae, human, and animal alike turned to ash. And then he saw Autumn ablaze with that unearthly fire. The rivers ran red with with blood and all the while, a slithering, hissing laugh echoed loudly in his ears, drowning out the chaos and searing itself into his mind—

Then it all stopped, like a tether between them had snapped. Azriel was sucked back into his own body once more and collapsed to his knees. His stomach heaved and he wretched into the damp soil, his body trembling with horror at what he had seen—real?

“I’ll see you both soon,” the voice hissed, edged with horrible, wicked delight.

The last thing Azriel saw was Cassian’s terrified face before the darkness consumed him and everything went black.

***

Azriel sat limply in one of the plush armchairs in the living room of the river manor and stared vacantly at the floor. Cassian had flown with him on his back until they were within range of Rhys, who had winnowed them both directly to his estate.

Now, Rhys leaned against the fireplace, stone-faced and wary, while Amren paced in front of it, pausing occasionally to glance at Azriel skeptically. Feyre sat in the chair beside him, brows furrowed in concern. Cassian had been the one to relay Koschei’s words, as Azriel was too disturbed to speak.

“Are you going to tell us what this all means?” Cassian demanded. Beneath the anger, Azriel saw his own fear mirrored back at him on his brother’s pale face. Cassian had beheld the cloaked figure, had felt the air warp and freeze, and had listened to the words that slithered out from beneath that black hood. But his brother had not been snared by that dark, otherworldly power. No, only Azriel had been affected, had fallen into some kind of trance—one he couldn’t break free from until Koschei had released him. Cassian had been unable to do anything but stand there uselessly.

Azriel averted his gaze and kept his mouth shut, in part to avoid answering their questions, but mostly to prevent himself from emptying his stomach onto the rich carpet beneath his boots. Rhys mercifully spoke up instead.

“It would seem that Koschei is now well aware of our alliance with Eris,” Rhys said smoothly. Azriel could’ve kissed him for redirecting the conversation. “What he intends to do with that information will likely not be good for any of us, especially Eris,” he continued darkly. Azriel’s stomach clenched with dread. How does it feel to play with fire? He closed his eyes and swallowed his nausea, but the image of Autumn burning was like a brand on the insides of his eyelids.

“Then we have to warn him,” Feyre said firmly. “He said it himself that Beron’s been paranoid. Koschei’s likely the one who’s been whispering in his ear all this time.” Her voice was tight as she addressed them all.

Azriel could only nod. He sensed he was missing something crucial, but couldn’t put a finger on what exactly that was. All he knew was that he needed to see for himself that Eris was safe before panic smothered him entirely.

“If Koschei is aware of Eris’s betrayal, and informs Beron, what exactly can we do to protect him? Are we prepared to go after Beron ourselves?” Cassian asked with a glance at Azriel. “Is Eris worth the risk of stirring up the other courts and potentially igniting another war?” Though Azriel knew the questions were fair, each one only added to his mounting horror and he wanted to roar at his brother for daring to ask them. Instead, he remained silent and kept his eyes on the flickering fire so as to hide how close he was to falling apart completely.

“That remains to be seen,” Rhys said evenly. “But he’s risked a great deal in allying with us. As Feyre said, the least we can do is warn him.”

Azriel nodded again, still beyond words. He accepted the glass of liquor Cassian handed him but didn’t take a sip.

“What about the vision?” His own voice sounded gravelly and foreign in his ears. When no one responded he dragged his gaze away from the flames. They were all looking at him with varying degrees of alarm.

“What vision?” Cassian asked, brows drawn together in confusion.

“You didn’t see it?” Azriel rasped. Had Koschei shown it only to him?

“See what?” Cassian demanded at the same time Rhys said, “Show me.” Azriel’s stomach rebelled at the idea of recalling the images he’d been forced to witness, but when he felt that dark, silken hand brush against his mind in request, he relented and dropped his shields.

Azriel watched the blood drain from Rhysand’s face until his skin was the color of ash. Rhys looked at Azriel with such terror in his eyes that he felt guilty for opening his mouth in the first place. His brother had only just recovered from the recent horror of nearly losing his mate and son, and now they were all in severe danger once again. Feyre stood and walked to Rhys, wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Show me?” A silent conversation passed between them and seconds later Feyre whispered that she needed to be with Nyx and left the room. Rhys watched her go, his normally bright eyes dark and pained.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Cassian ground out. Amren stepped forward as well. They both went still as they, too, watched Koschei’s vision unfold. Amren cursed viciously.

“This is a clear warning,” Amren said to all of them. “Of the devastation he intends to unleash when he is free to roam the world once more.” Cassian shivered at the ominous words. The conversation continued on but Azriel could barely hear it over the memory of those agonized screams echoing loudly in his head.

It had been a very long time since Azriel had been afraid of the dark. He’d long since learned to thrive in it, to speak its language, until the shadows had become a comforting embrace. But when he thought of the darkness beneath that hood—that yawning chasm of endless black and despair—fear unsheathed its claws, wrapped them slowly around his neck and squeezed. Death-lord indeed. He shivered and tossed back the liquid, savoring the burn as it went down.

***

It was over an hour before everyone left, until only Azriel and Rhysand remained in the darkened sitting room. Amren and Rhys had debated back and forth as to how Koschei might free himself and open what Amren described as a rip in the fabric of the world, with Cassian occasionally chiming in with his own thoughts. Azriel hadn’t spoken a word. Couldn’t speak. He needed to get up, but his legs felt like lead and he knew he owed Rhys an explanation for his behavior.

Rhys didn’t waste any time. “What is going on between you and Eris?”

The last thing Azriel wanted to do was talk about his feelings, but the secrecy had been weighing on him heavily, and now that Eris’s life was in danger, even more so than usual…hiding in the shadows no longer mattered. Not here, at least.

“We’re…together,” Azriel said lamely. That was about all of the detail he was inclined to offer.

“Together how?” Azriel leveled Rhys with an icy look. Rhysand ducked his head but not before Azriel saw the small smile on his face, and his temper rose sharply.

“Is something funny?” The words were a soft snarl.

Rhys snapped his head up, eyes wide with alarm at Azriel’s dark tone. “No. No, Az, I’m not—it’s just amusing how things work out. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Azriel relaxed at the sincerity he beheld on his brother’s face. Rhys went on, “So this was a warning for all of us, but more specifically for you. That he knows about the two of you. And you’re worried he means to tell Beron.” Azriel nodded, jaw clenched too tightly to speak.

“Do the other words mean anything to you? ‘The ancient past’? The vision?” Rhys pressed him.

“No,” Azriel bit out. He was currently being eaten alive by his fear for Eris. He needed to contact him immediately, and said as much to Rhys.

“Fine, go, warn him. Just be careful,” Rhys said warily. “We’re not done discussing this.” He looked like he wanted to add more, but held his tongue. Azriel was out the door and traveling across Velaris before Rhys could bid him farewell.

***

A full day had passed and Azriel had still not heard from Eris. Yes, he had warned Azriel that he’d have to be more discreet, so the delayed response wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but Azriel was itching to do something, anything, to make sure he was okay. He’d give him one more day, and then…he’d decide what to do. One more day.

He was going out of his mind with worry, living in a constant state of terror that something horrible had happened to him and that Azriel would never know. Or maybe Eris was being hurt right now, and Azriel was sitting on his ass uselessly.

The thought had him on his feet, desperate for a distraction from the gnawing dread. Azriel flew up to the House and landed on the edge of the sparring ring that had become a permanent fixture over the last few months. Nesta and Cassian were in the ring while Gwyn and Emerie watched on with interest. Their eyes all found Azriel as he stepped out of the shadows. Nesta and Cassian paused their sparring to greet him.

“Finally tired of being out of shape?” Cassian taunted. “When’s the last time you trained?” The words were meant as a dig, but they held a degree of truth. It had been a while. Nesta eyed him knowingly and Azriel stared back at her. Her hair, damp with sweat, curled at the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion. She looked much better than the last time he’d seen her, and Azriel’s chest lightened ever so slightly at the realization.

“I need a break,” Nesta announced and walked out of the ring to the water station beside her friends, seemingly aware that Azriel needed to work off some steam and that Cassian was the only opponent who could match his skill.

Cassian’s face was guarded, and Azriel’s usual guilt returned and settled like a rock in his stomach. He’d been unfair to Cassian—shutting him out completely, making little to no attempts to bridge the gap that had formed between them since Azriel began spending all of his spare time with Eris.

Cassian had been spooked by Azriel’s reaction to Koschei and it hadn’t helped that he’d refused to elaborate on any of it. The tense set of his shoulders said as much. He wondered if it was now clear to Cassian that what Azriel and Eris had was more than friendship. He didn’t ask.

Azriel stepped into the chalk-lined circle, rolling his neck and stretching out the tightness in his shoulders. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, striding to the middle of the ring and stopping a few feet from Cassian. He took up a fighting stance and Azriel mimicked him.

At Cassian’s nod, they began. Azriel kept his eyes on his brother as they slowly circled one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Azriel’s thoughts quieted and he let himself slip into the focused calm he always found when sparring. He desperately needed this release, and Cassian was happy to provide it.

“Well?” Cassian needled. “Feeling a little rusty?” Azriel didn’t take the bait and kept his attention focused.

A second later, Cassian lunged. Azriel blocked the fist that flew at his face and returned with a jab to Cassian’s stomach. He dodged the hit and aimed a punch at Azriel’s ribs and their dance began. Azriel tried to get lost in the movements, tried to maintain the calm silence in his head as he ducked and weaved around Cassian’s assault. He scored a lucky blow to his brother’s ribs and turned at the last second to avoid a punch to the mouth. They were both panting and glistening with sweat as they moved. Their bodies were honed into fierce weapons only centuries of training could achieve. They each knew the other’s weaknesses well and were evenly matched. Kick, punch, hit, step—the maneuvers were as natural to them as breathing.

The thought of Eris sparring flitted across Azriel’s mind and he wondered if the male would be able to hold his own in a fight. The brief distraction cost him as Cassian drove his fist straight into Azriel’s gut. The air left him in a whoosh and he staggered, wheezing painfully.

“Something on your mind, Az?” Cassian’s teeth were bared in a vicious grin. Azriel snarled as he righted himself and charged. Cassian ducked under his arm and returned with a counterattack. Their dance picked up speed, the blows coming harder and with greater force as they each tried to gain the upper hand. “Talking might help,” Cassian panted as he sidestepped the sweep of Azriel’s leg.

“I’m fine,” Az ground out. His fist snapped out in a blur that would’ve put lesser males on the ground, but Cassian blocked it easily.

“Spare me the bullshit, Az,” Cassian shot back as his arm swung wide in an attempt to clap Azriel on the side of the head. He ducked and drove his fist up and it finally connected with Cassian’s ribs. He grunted in pain but didn’t slow. On and on it went until Azriel’s breath was sawing out of him. Cassian feinted left and then drove his elbow up into Azriel’s face. He turned his head at the last second to avoid a broken nose, but in the same breath Cassian hooked a leg around his ankle and jerked his leg back.

Azriel landed on his back with a thud and his body bleated in pain. He groaned and wiped the sweat from his eyes, the bright sun near blinding as it beat down on him. And then a shadow blocked the light and he met Cassian’s hazel eyes, lit with amusement.

“When you decide to trust me again, I’m here,” he said, quietly enough that only Azriel could hear. Azriel dropped his gaze, shame pooling in his gut. But when Cassian held out his hand, Azriel grasped it and let himself be hauled to his feet. His entire body ached.

“My turn,” Nesta called from behind him and Azriel turned to face her. Her smile was bright and her eyes glittered with excitement and challenge.

He could use a few more hours of distraction, he supposed. He grinned back at Nesta and took up the fighting stance once more.

***

The respite offered by the sparring lasted all of one minute upon returning to his apartment. Alone with his thoughts once more, the fear and dread slowly crept back up like twisting vines curling around his limbs and choking off his air supply.

He tossed and turned all night, only managing a few minutes of sleep despite his exhaustion. The following day passed in a blur and by the late afternoon he had little memory of anything he’d done since he’d left his apartment that morning.

It had now been two full days since Azriel had contacted Eris and all he’d received in return was deafening silence. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he could barely breathe, and he was damn near close to pulling his own hair out. He needed to do something.

Seconds later, Azriel took a deep breath and stepped into the doorway of Rhys’s large office. He found his brother kneeling before a bookcase in the corner of the room.

“I need to talk to you,” Azriel said forcibly. Rhys jumped at the sound, banging his head loudly on a shelf in the process. He turned to Azriel with a glare.

“Gods Azriel, don’t do that. Have you ever heard of knocking?” Rhys complained, rubbing the top of his head gingerly as he stood. “This is going to bruise,” he grumbled.

Azriel ignored him and stepped inside the room, closing the door behind him. Rhys took in the frantic look on Azriel’s face and sobered up immediately.

“What happened?” Azriel swallowed once. Twice. Dragged his hands through his hair and sat in the chair before Rhys’s desk.

“Nothing. I’ve heard nothing,” Azriel rasped. “I think he’s in trouble. I’m only here to tell you I’m going after him.” Rhys’s eyes flared with shock and his mouth fell open in disbelief.

“Are you out of your mind?” Rhys asked incredulously. Azriel didn’t respond and Rhys paled at whatever he saw in his face. “Tell me you’re not that stupid,” he said darkly. Azriel ground his teeth together to prevent the retort from slipping out. Rhys held his stare, those violet eyes flickering with fury as he realized Azriel was indeed serious. “Let me make this very clear,” he snarled softly. “Under no circumstances are you to step one foot into Autumn. Not even a shadow will cross that border.” His High Lord’s rage was palpable, the gleam in his eyes one of pure threat as he willed Azriel to obey.

Azriel was relieved to be sitting as that volatile power rippled through the room like a dark cloud and settled on his shoulders. He was certain his knees would’ve given out if he’d been standing. He said nothing.

“I want to hear you say it. Do not go looking for Eris,” Rhys snarled. Azriel glared back at him, bit his tongue so hard he could taste blood in his mouth. He fought against the raw dominance in the command, threw every ounce of defiance he could muster back at his High Lord even as his shoulders bowed slightly under the force of it. “Azriel.”

“You expect me to do nothing?” he bit out. He gripped the armrests so hard the wood groaned and splintered under his hands.

“You’ll get yourself and Eris killed just by going there! He knew the risks in allying with us.” Azriel jerked back at the words. He didn’t care if they were true, they made him want to tear Rhys apart.

They glowered at each other. “You will remain in Velaris until he contacts you,” Rhys said, the words dangerously soft. “That’s an order. Do you understand?” Azriel stiffened, and sweat beaded on his forehead as he resisted. Finally, Azriel nodded.

“Get out. Go home and stay there,” Rhys snapped.

Azriel left as quickly as he had come, winnowing back to his apartment to begin gathering his weapons, anything he might need to protect himself and Eris once he got to Autumn. He rolled his neck and shook off the lingering effects of Rhysand’s power.

He’d never actually agreed to anything, had only nodded in understanding. His brother could piss off. Not even an order from his High Lord would keep him from Eris.

What if Beron already knew? Eris could be locked in a dungeon somewhere in the Forest House. Or worse. He cut off the thought before it could sprout and grow like poison in his blood. His hands trembled as he grabbed Truth Teller to strap to his back—

As if conjured by Azriel’s panicked thoughts, Eris winnowed directly into Azriel’s living room. Azriel whipped around and choked in relief. He was across the room and hauling Eris against his chest in a blink. He breathed in his intoxicating scent of cider and warm spice and let it wash over him.

“Azriel? What happened?” Azriel didn’t answer. He gripped Eris tighter.

Eris winced. The pained sound had Azriel stiffening instantly. He pulled back to look at Eris’s face and froze.

His beautiful face was marred with purple and black bruises all along his jaw and cheekbones. His right eye was black and so swollen it was nearly sealed shut. Azriel gaped at Eris in shock and fury. A vicious snarl escaped his throat before he could choke it down and his entire body spasmed with rage. Carefully, with a trembling hand, Azriel lifted Eris’s shirt. His blood began roaring in his ears.

Ghastly black and yellow bruises trailed up the right side of Eris’s torso. His ribs had evidently been broken mere hours ago and had only just begun to heal. Azriel couldn’t see or hear over the primal wrath coursing through his veins.

“Who.” The word was low and promised violence. His shadows writhed and skittered around him as he slipped into a cold killing calm.

“Who do you think?” Eris’s tone was light, unconcerned. Azriel stared and stared at those bruises. “Azriel.” Eris said his name softly. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll be healed by tomorrow.” Eris lifted Azriel’s chin with his fingers so their eyes met. That haunted look was back—his amber eyes were shadowed and dull. Azriel let his shirt fall back into place, feeling murderous at the sight of that beautiful skin so harshly marred.

“It’s not nothing, Eris!” Azriel growled. Eris flinched and Azriel’s fury deflated. Gods, he was an idiot. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. What happened?” Azriel tried to slow his heart and took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“I made the mistake of inquiring after my father's absence from court as of late. He didn't take well to being questioned,” Eris said wryly. At Azriel’s bewildered face, he sniffed and added, “Even I have my moments.”

Azriel could barely see the room around him through the red haze now coating his vision. He wanted to peel the skin from Beron’s bones, slowly, over the course of several weeks so he would be begging for death by the end. He’d snap every bone in his body until he was nothing more than saggy, bruised flesh. Or maybe a death by a thousand well-placed cuts, and then he’d remove his head from his body for good measure. He tried and failed to reign in his low growl.

“Easy,” Eris said. Azriel took another deep breath. He let the violent fantasies soothe him as he unclenched his fists. Eris arched the brow above his uninjured eye. “Do I even want to know what you’re thinking about?” he asked dryly. Azriel glared at him, unamused, and slumped onto the couch. Eris sat down beside him.

“Don’t joke about this,” Azriel ground out. “It’s taking all of my self control not to winnow to Autumn right now and slit his throat.” He met Eris’s eyes again and knew instantly that he was holding something back. “What else?” Azriel pressed, more gently this time. Eris glanced down at the floor. He swallowed thickly before speaking, hands trembling as he clenched them tightly in his lap.

“Things in Autumn have been…uneasy,” Eris started. “With each passing day Beron grows more paranoid and more violent. He’s convinced there are traitors in his court.” Azriel stiffened at the words, but Eris went on. “He demanded my brothers and I root them out, and deliver them to him for questioning.” His voice wobbled slightly and he paused for several seconds. “I had just gotten back from a hunt with Alix when we were both summoned to the throne room. My father had apprehended two snakes, he’d said. Two lords who have served Autumn for over 100 years. Good males.” Eris’s voice was a hoarse whisper now, and Azriel’s stomach sank as he suspected where this story was headed. “He had me execute one, Alix the other, right there in the throne room for all to bear witness. I did it. I—” He pressed his lips together, unable to continue, and looked away. Azriel reached out and turned his face. His amber eyes were rimmed with tears and the sight of them cracked something in Azriel’s heart.

“You had no choice,” Azriel said, and meant it. To disobey Beron might’ve meant Eris’s own death. Azriel would let a thousand Autumn Court lords die if it ensured Eris’s safety.

“They were good males,” he whispered again, miserably. “And yet all I could think about as I did it was what if it had been you? What if you—” Eris’s voice caught and his eyes were so full of agony and self loathing that Azriel’s heart splintered in his chest. He knew the feeling all too well. He gently pulled Eris against him, mindful of the bruises, and curled a wing around them both. As Eris cried out his anger, and misery, and guilt, perhaps his pain too, Azriel weathered it with him and did not let go.

***

When Eris had finally calmed down, he remembered that Azriel had called him there for something urgent.

“Cassian and I went to the lake as planned. We…saw Koschei. He spoke to me.” And then the words were spilling out of him and Eris listened intently, his face paling further with each word from Azriel’s mouth until his skin was the color of fresh snow. When he spoke of the destruction he’d been shown, the fire that had raged through Autumn, Eris looked like he was going to be sick. When Azriel was finished, neither of them spoke for several minutes.

“You think this was a vision? Of what shall befall us all if Koschei is set free?” Eris asked. Azriel nodded. “The ancient past…” Eris murmured to himself, eyes distant and unfocused. Azriel let him ponder it. If anyone could decipher Koschei’s riddles it would be Eris. “I think…Koschei’s curse is tied to Autumn, but how, I can’t be sure. And I don’t think Beron is aware of it either,” Eris said darkly.

“What does it have to do with us, though?” Azriel asked. Or had Koschei merely been taunting him for his own amusement? “And why does it feel like he’s on the verge of breaking free? What’s changed?”

“I don’t know,” Eris whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. He reached out and took Azriel’s scarred hand in his, both of them falling silent once again. Azriel was afraid. “I can’t stay long,” Eris sighed. Azriel jerked his head up, hoping he’d misheard him.

“Eris, you can’t go back.” Now it was Eris’s turn to look at him in disbelief.

“I have to. There are people counting on me. People I need to protect.”

“And what about you? Who protects you?” Azriel’s panic was building again. Beron could be informed of Eris’s betrayal at any moment, and then he would be alone in facing his father’s wrath. Azriel couldn’t stomach it.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Eris said hoarsely. Azriel ground his teeth in frustration. There was no reason for Eris to waste time worrying about him. After all, he wasn’t the one in constant danger, and he could take care of himself. Eris didn’t seem to notice his anger. His eyes were distant and haunted again, his mind far away.

“I should go.” He made to get up but Azriel wouldn’t release his hand.

“Not yet, please.” He wasn’t above begging at this point. “I thought you were dead. Give me a few minutes to appreciate that you’re not.” Their time together was never enough, and every time Eris left it was like a piece of Azriel went with him.

Eris’s gaze softened and he smiled faintly. Azriel pressed a kiss against that small smile, the touch feather light, and Eris melted into him. He gently guided Eris onto his back and brushed his lips softly against each bruise, willed them to heal quickly so Eris wouldn’t be in pain. And then Azriel worshipped every inch of his body, took him deep in his mouth until he was panting and trembling with pleasure. It wasn’t nearly enough, but he’d take anything Eris would give him.

Hours after he’d left, Azriel could still taste the male on his tongue. He sat alone in the dark gloom of his apartment, his chest empty and hollow. His heart was miles away with Eris. As he laid down for the night and tried to sleep, Azriel sent a silent prayer to the Mother, pleading for Eris’s protection. He hoped with everything he was that it would be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Full Chapter List

Tag list: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @christeareads @jules-writes-stories

#azris #azris fanfiction #azris fic #azriel #azriel pov #azriel x eris #eris vanserra #eris x azriel #eris angst #azris angst #acotar #acosf fanfiction #azris supremacy #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #pro azris

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dragonedged-if · 6 months

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Author's Tale Entries

So Merry Christmas my lovely Readers! Yes! I know that I disappeared for a long time but to summarize it I took a break and life is very hectic as of now.

Writing is resuming and as you guys wait I decided to this. Ever since I was a kid me and my friends use to to this type of thing plus I can use it as practice. I'm sure you guys already stumbles stuff like this but to clarify I will explain it. This will be your story where the outcome is random based on your choice and my let's say whims. So expect the writing style will change as time goes on and such. So without further ado let us begin.

Close your ey- Wait! Haha silly me, your reading not listening so I want you instead to visualize. (Keep them peepers open now!)

A.T. Entry 1

The sun, a celestial artist, weaves an ethereal tapestry through the verdant foliage overhead. It bathes you in its warm, golden embrace, illuminating the colors of the surrounding flora with an intensity that leaves you mesmerized. You draw in a lungful of the pristine air, letting it fill your senses with the harmony of nature, before releasing it with a contented sigh that mingles with the rustling of the leaves.

Every pore of your skin basks in the sun's affectionate kiss, sending a delightful tingle coursing through your veins, a reminder of the life that thrums within you. Your ears, attuned to the forest's melody, catch the harmonious chirping of the birds, their fluttering wings beating a rhythm that resonates with the very heartbeat of the wilderness, shaking of the branches as their talons find purchase on its woods..

Suddenly, an unexpected sound - the crisp snap of a twig - punctuates the serenity. Whirling around, your boots send a spray of loose earth and pebbles scattering. A figure emerges from the dappled shadows, and a doe steps into your line of sight. It regards you with its obsidian eyes, an epitome of tranquility as it absentmindedly munches on some fresh leaves, wholly unperturbed by your presence.

Now, isn't this a sight to behold? You, alone in the heart of nature, sharing a moment with a doe - something straight out of a Disney movie, don't you think? Except, of course, without the singing animals and magic. But hey, who needs that when you've got the real deal right here, in all its untamed glory? It's almost as if Mother Nature herself decided to roll out the red carpet just for you.

So go ahead, take a moment. Savor the feeling. After all, it's not every day you get to play Snow White in the woods, is it?

Finish? Well, it seems the doe's novelty has worn off, hasn't it? You turn your back on it, slightly affronted by its lack of interest, and, dare we say, its judgmental gaze? Well, no matter, there's a whole world out there waiting to be explored. One foot before the other, you march forward, your path dictated not by choice but by the whims of this narrative.

But wait! What's that lurking in the distance? A structure of some sort emerges from the verdant sea of green, its silhouette a stark contrast against the sunlit foliage. Even from this considerable gap, the infectious melody of mirth reaches your ears, a siren's call that tugs at your curiosity. It appears the festivities have begun without you, you old latecomer, you!

Intrigued and slightly affronted (because who starts a party without you?), you press on, drawn towards the distant merriment like a moth to a flame. The harmony of laughter and joyous chatter wafts towards you, carried on the gentle breeze, a tantalizing taste of what lies ahead.

Isn't it just like you, chasing after the sound of fun and abandoning our poor doe friend? But, who can blame you? After all, who can resist the pull of a good party, especially when the soundtrack sounds like a scene straight out of The Great Gatsby? So, dust off your boots and straighten your collar, my friend, for it seems the night has only just begun. And remember, punctuality is overrated when you're the life of the party!

As you draw closer to the establishment, your eyes eagerly roam about, searching for any signs of life. And there it is, a sign looming atop the building, its weathered appearance only adding to its charm. The words "Nature's Embrace" are proudly displayed, the letters slightly faded but still commanding attention. It's as if the tavern has emerged from the heart of the forest itself, nestled in a place where magic and reality intertwine.

Vines boldly crawl up the sides of the building, embracing it with nature's touch, as if the very essence of the forest has claimed this place as its own. The wooden facade, weathered and worn, tells tales of countless adventures and laughter that have echoed within.

As you approach the entrance, the sound of merriment grows louder, seeping through the cracks of the door and beckoning you to step inside. You can't help but marvel at the warm glow that spills out from the windows, casting dancing shadows on the path before you. Laughter and the clinking of mugs intertwine, creating a collection of joy that resonates in the air.

With anticipation bubbling within you, each step on the worn-out staircase seems to echo through the air, the creaking boards adding a touch of suspense to your ascent. The sound magnifies the excitement building inside you, as if the very steps are teasing you with the promise of what lies beyond. (Oh, the anticipation must be killing you, my dear reader!)

Finally, you reach the doorknob, your hand reaching out to grasp the weathered wooden knob. Its rough surface greets your fingertips, creating a tactile connection that heightens your senses. You can almost feel the stories embedded within its grains and the countless hands that have turned it over the years. With a firm grip, you push the door open, revealing a burst of light and life within.

As you step further into the bustling tavern, the noise that greeted you outside is nothing compared to the deafening orchestra that engulfs you now. The air is alive with the vibrant melodies of musicians stationed on the side, their fingers dancing across strings and keys with unparalleled gusto. A lute is plucked with nimble precision, its melody resonating with a sense of longing and whimsy. A harp is strummed, its ethereal notes cascading through the air like a gentle breeze. And the xylophone adds its own playful rhythm, its vibrant tones punctuating the music with a delightful charm. (Don't be shy now, go one shake that hip, tap that foot and get your groove on!)

In the center of the room, a roaring fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm and inviting glow. Its flames dance with wild abandon, casting flickering shadows that playfully dance across the walls. And what a sight those walls present! Adorned with the heads of majestic animals, each trophy tells a story of bravery and triumph. The mighty bear stands proud, its gaze fierce and unwavering. The boar's tusks gleam in the flickering light, a testament to its untamed strength. And the wolf, frozen in a ferocious snarl, seems to guard the room with unwavering loyalty. Among the trophies, a bow is proudly displayed, its wood gleaming with a polished sheen.

With a spring in your step, you confidently navigate through the bustling atmosphere of the tavern, deftly sidestepping two men locked in a heated brawl. The sound of bones crunching fills the air as their punches connect. You manage to avoid the chaos and make your way towards a vacant table, before skillfully maneuvering around a stumbling drunkard, his ale swishing dangerously in his mug. Just as he nears collision with you, he trips over a misplaced stool and crashes to the ground, his muffled groans drowned out by the raucous laughter of the patrons.

Finally, you settle into the comfort of a sturdy chair at the table, relieved to have survived the onslaught of what the locals call "Happy Hour." The tavern is alive with conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Amidst the lively ambiance, a voice, sultry and captivating, slices through the noise, capturing your attention like a siren's call.

You turn towards the source of the voice and find yourself captivated by the sight of a woman in her thirties. A mischievous smile dances upon her lips, and her amber eyes burn with a fiery intensity. Her cascading hair, the color of autumn leaves, frames her face like a soft halo. "Come here often, stranger?"

In one fluid motion, she reaches for a frothy mug on her tray and takes a seat at your table. "On the house!" she declares, her voice a velvety purr, before sauntering off to attend to the other patrons. The rich aroma of the freshly poured ale wafts up to your nostrils, tempting your senses with its intoxicating fragrance.

Hold your horses, my adventurous friend, for no journey is complete without choosing your class and assembling your crew! With your mug in hand, you survey the area, searching for potential allies amidst the lively festivities. Your eyes are drawn to the far left corner, where a group of armored figures revel in high spirits. One particularly enthusiastic individual jumps onto a table, rallying his comrades with fervor.

"Come, brothers and sisters! Tonight, we celebrate our initiation as the Lord's instruments of justice!" the helmet-clad leader exclaims, his voice booming across the tavern. The group responds in unison, their voices harmonizing in a resounding chorus of "AMEN…AMEN…AMEN!" Just as the leader raises his mug to drink, he sways precariously, losing his balance and toppling off the table, much to the amusement of his companions.

Curiosity piqued, you continue your search, your gaze now shifting to the shadowy corners of the room. Two individuals stand apart from the revelry, observing the festivities with an air of quiet detachment. Their eyes dart around, filled with a mix of distrust and paranoia. Squinting to get a better look, you notice tattoos adorning their hands, but before you can discern their meaning, the owners quickly roll up their sleeves, obscuring your view.

As you crane your head, your attention is immediately captivated by a group of adventurers gathered around a grand feast. One of them bears an impressive ax strapped to his back, exuding an aura of strength and determination. An elf, with a sleek bow slung across her shoulder, exudes an air of grace and precision. Your keen eye catches the subtle movements of another figure, a nimble thief, his hands disappearing and reappearing in a swift and practiced manner. And lastly, a fair maiden donning a pristine white robe, her head bowed in prayer, murmuring words of protection for her comrades.

Just as you begin to take in their presence, another voice, filled with confidence and charm, reaches your ears. "Listen, lads and lasses, for I shall regale you with a tale of the legendary Sword Dancer!" The speaker, undoubtedly a seasoned storyteller, captures the attention of the entire group. Their appearance suggests they are mercenaries, enjoying a well-deserved respite after a successful mission. Two members of their party, engrossed in a game of Five Finger Fillet, demonstrate their dexterity as the knives dance across their fingertips, the metallic tips dangerously close to their flesh.

As you take a sip of the complimentary ale, its flavors explode on your tongue, a delightful blend of hops and malt that dances across your taste buds. The liquid glides smoothly down your throat, leaving a warm, lingering sensation in its wake. You can't help but savor the moment, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the boisterous crowd that surrounds you.

Now dear readers as you drink your ale in deep thought, let me present to you four enticing classes to choose from. Each class possesses its own unique abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, along with their own unique captivating stories and journeys.

Let us begin with the Paladin class, noble warriors skilled in the art of close combat. Their proficiency with weapons and unwavering strength make them formidable adversaries on the battlefield. These warriors seek honor and glory, their journey driven by an unwavering determination to prove themselves in combat and earn the respect of their comrades. However, their reliance on physical strength may sometimes cloud their tactical judgment, leading to challenges that test their resolve.

Moving on, we have the enigmatic Assassins, masters of stealth and deception. These silent predators thrive in the shadows, executing covert operations with deadly precision. Their agility and reflexes make them formidable foes, capable of infiltrating enemy lines undetected and eliminating their targets with lethal efficiency. The Assassins' journey is one of secrecy and intrigue, navigating a world where shadows hold secrets and danger lurks at every turn. However, their solitary nature can sometimes isolate them from their allies, presenting a unique set of challenges.

The Mercenary Class, our third option, consists of battle-hardened warriors with vast experience in combat tactics. These versatile fighters adapt to any situation, whether it be engaging in close combat or providing ranged support. Driven by profit and the thrill of adventure, mercenaries eagerly take on contracts and revel in the spoils of war. However, their loyalty lies with the highest bidder, and their actions may be fueled by personal gain rather than a sense of honor or duty.

Lastly, we have the Bard Mage, a mesmerizing combination of spellcasting and musical enchantment. These magical minstrels wield both the power of spells and the captivating melodies of music. With their harmonies, they can heal wounds, inspire bravery, or lull enemies into a deep slumber. The Bard Mage's repertoire of spells is vast and diverse, allowing them to adapt to any situation they encounter. Their journey is one of artistic expression and mystical exploration.

As you contemplate these four intriguing classes, the possibilities unfold before you. The allure of glory and honor beckons as you envision yourself as a valiant Paladin, standing on the frontlines of battle. Perhaps the thrill of adventure and the promise of lucrative rewards draw you towards the life of a Mercenary, where each new contract brings both danger and excitement. Or maybe, just maybe, the enigmatic world of shadows and secrets calls to your soul, tempting you to become an elusive Assassin, a master of stealth and deception. Alternatively, the enchanting melodies and spellcasting prowess of the Bard Mage may resonate within you, offering a path of magic and artistic expression.

Dear readers, the choice is yours. So, weigh the pros and cons, let your imagination soar, and select the class that ignites a fire within your heart, guiding you towards the adventure that awaits.

#A.T. Entries #choose your own adventure #Adventure #fantasy writing #dnd #cyoa #my polls

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steves-strapcollection · 1 year

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W-W-W-W-W-W-WIPPP WEDNESDAY: here i have found some peace of mind [WIP Snippet]

Heyyyyyyy it's WIP wednesday and I'm graaaadually getting closer to a point where I think i can start posting this fic but ANYWAY for anyone new this is from my modern rockstar!Eddie/group housing coordinator!Steve AU where Steve thought Eddie's name was Chris for a while due to Shenanigans And Such once this fics goes live, it'll be uploaded to my writing blog @gerrystamour PLEASE accept and enjoy this snippet ;p

So, Steve typed in “Eddie Munson Corroded Coffin” and waited for the search to load. As soon as the first images popped up, Steve knew he had made a huge mistake googling him.

Eddie Munson had to be one of the most attractive men Steve had ever seen. Granted, the first images were from a very suggestive photoshoot he’d done at some point, but there was only so much that could be credited to make-up and editing.

Eddie had long, curly brown hair and a soft face, his eyes big and brown and wholly captivating. Steve was struck by how… sweet Eddie probably would look if he wasn’t smirking to show off a pair of fangs with a heavy-lidded stare. Even his curly hair was messy in a way that oozed sensuality.

In the photo, he was wearing sinfully tight leather pants and nothing else as he knelt in front of a pew, and the laces of the fly were tantalizingly undone. Eddie leaned back with his elbows on the bench, accentuating the long, tattooed line of his torso. There was a guitar propped up against the pew next to him, and his left hand was wrapped around the neck of it loosely, suggestively even. His fingers were blackened, with dark veins traveling up his forearms and up his neck. Belatedly, Steve noticed that Eddie had horns in the image as well, as if he was some sort of demon.

Quickly, Steve looked at another image, but it was just another photo from the same shoot. He was still only wearing a pair of leather pants, except this time, Eddie was sitting on an elaborate altar with his legs spread wide to accommodate a man—a priest kneeling between them. One of Eddie’s hands was holding the top of the priest’s head while the other was holding a rotting apple up. There was a snake wrapped around his bare shoulders and traveling down the arm holding the priest. Eddie’s head was tilted back, a maniacal, toothy grin on his face and dark eyes staring down the camera. The horns coming out of his forehead were bigger, more elaborate and his shadow against the back wall had massive, bat-like wings.

Steve stared at the column of Eddie’s throat and only snapped out of his stupor when he choked on his own spit.

With a groan he tossed his phone away from himself and covered his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Of course he’s fucking gorgeous, it was just Steve’s luck. If Steve had known before he told Eddie to fuck off, he might not have been so quick to decide sleeping with him wasn’t worth the risking his job.

Even as he thought that, he knew it wasn’t true, but he was hurt and Eddie was hot. Blasphemous, and hot. Honestly, the blasphemy made him even more attractive.

Picking his phone back up, Steve went back to looking up the band, and quickly discovered that these images were part of the promotion for their latest album, and the image on the altar was a still from one of their music videos. He saw a few shots of the other band members, and Steve was a bit overwhelmed at how attractive all of them were.

It was when he clicked through to the music video that Steve remembered Eddie talking about their YouTube channel. The music video itself started with heavy guitars and Eddie crawling out of a hole that looked like a red, gaping wound on the ground, wearing nothing but the mud and viscera that clung to him. Steve knew for his sanity that he couldn’t watch that music video, so he clicked through to the channel instead.

Do i desperately wish for those images of Eddie to be drawn??? Yes. Yes I do. If I had the money to commission them.............my god i would be unstoppable. ANYWAY Hope you enjoyed this!!!! Please consider reblogging and such!!! Taglist! @indigohightide, @mylilplanet, @inairbinad, @patchworkgargoyle, @steddieas-shegoes, @scoops-stevie, @scarcrossdlvrs, @sidekick-hero, @afewproblems, @matchingbatbites, @xenon-demon

#steddie #steddie wip #wip wednesday #gerry writes

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llondonfog · 7 months

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Hey! I just got a horrible wonderful AU idea and I need to share cause I think you might enjoy it.

A Silver Owl Silver is given a backhanded blessing by Melenor for eternal youth, and he will not age until he finds his one true love. He ends up in the castle still till modern day mourning how he couldn't protect the kingdom ( how could that not be his true love, did he not truely love his home? his parents? How can he think of he loyal people and not truly care for them?) and feeling like he's failed as a knight, until this curious lil babybat fae wanders in to explore the ruins. ( big bug eyes too long teeth and pointy ears he needs to grow into)

Silver ends up taking in Lilia and moving into this quiet little cottage. As the years pass Silver starts looking towards the future again and looking forward to seeing Lilia grow, for once truly feeling like he has been blessed, but realizes something horrible and wonderful as he looks in the mirror one morning.

He has laugh lines around his eyes.

the way that this ask has haunted me ever since i read it.

i've talked about a few role reversal aus with a friend but this!! the thought of silver being cursed with eternal youth until he finds his true love, and then the doubled agony of realizing that he will age and die well before lilia, leaving his beloved child all alone in this world!!!

ohhh but the scene of him finding babybat lilia,,,, he's a homely little thing, all eyes and fangs and ears and wings, but silver feels drawn to him instantly— even more so once he realizes the child has no family waiting on his return. silver definitely carries a lot of scars from those early days of raising lilia, patiently bearing the love nips from his fangs and the teething of a baby bat, along with the thin lines from his claws when he digs them into silver's pant legs and sleeves to clamber up his body and perch on his shoulder, equally attached to the strange human who has granted him a home.

it gives silver a purpose, looking after lilia, something to throw himself wholly in once more. he adores and is awed by everything that the boy is capable of— from his magic, his flying abilities, to his prowess at the sword, and lilia THRIVES under the praise. (thinking about comparisons to how canon silver was raised to this au; silver is infinitely more patient and practical when teaching lilia how to focus his magic).

also just some silly parallel moments to canon— silver gets caught in a snowstorm on his way back from making a long and arduous trek to a nearby human village to get lilia a boardgame he had been curious about for his birthday. lilia frantically swoops through the valley and forests to find him, scolding his father harshly when he sees the young man nearly succumbing to the frigid elements (he's much more brash and vocal with his exasperation to silver, almost like sebek in a way? but oh, how he loves his father and will turn his fangs and claws on anyone who dares to threaten silver!! idk I JUST REALLY LIKE TSUNDERE FAE LILIA PRIOR TO HIS DOMESTICATION). (also the thought that this is the beginning of silver's human weaknesses beginning to creep back in as he nearly catches hypothermia).

but the laughter lines. he can't hide these, how cruel to magic them away behind a glamour, and lilia either REFUSES to accept the truth or tries to reject the depth of their attachment??? i keep thinking of some awful moment where lilia is distraught and shouts that it must be true, humans are liars all along when he thought that he'd be together with his father forever, and running away instead of having to deal with the horrible nature of silver's curse (cue a panicked and frantic silver who chases after him— would be a real shame if something happened that would highlight the true depths of his mortality now!!)

anyways, i adore this concept, i need to devote more thought to it when i'm feeling better aaaaaa

#lettie's asks #twisted wonderland silver #twst silver #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #diasomnia #ahhhh i have more thoughts but my brain is dead from cramps #please i'm just struck by the image of babybat lilia and silver.......#twst spoilers

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deejadabbles · 4 months

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Don't mind me, just trying my hand at more new characters, I hope I did your man justice @wings-and-beskar 💛 (there's a dash of suggestive dialogue but no other warnings to worry about)

"I didn't know you had a secret admirer," came a voice along with a colorful mass taking over your field of vision, startling you from your work.

It took you a moment to not only register what your coworker said, but what they had shoved in front of you: a rather large bouquet of flowers. Some of the blooms you recognized, others were an exotic mystery, but all filled your little work space with a wonderful, peaceful aroma. And there, nestled between two stems of your favorite flower, was a card sporting your name, written in neat script.

"Lucky," huffed the woman who brought them to you, "my boyfriend never gets me flowers."

"You do realize her man is like- constantly off world, risking his life day in and day out, right?" Another coworker said, causing the former to huff again and walk off without another word.

After shooting your friend a grateful smile, you turned back to the floral arrangement, feeling your heart and stomach getting lighter as you reached for the card.

It wasn't his handwriting inside, of course, but the words were so uniquely his that his voice was practically in your ear as you read it.

"Mesh'la,

I thought sending you flowers would be a nice, simple gesture for today, but you know me, nothing worth doing should be done half-assed. So instead of just getting you some roses, I did a bit of research and I think these say all they need to. About how I see you and how I feel.

The red ones are from Naboo, legend says that they were given to their first Queen, for her wisdom and kindness.

The pink are found on a little colony in the mid rim, growing, thriving, and remaining beautiful in even the harshest conditions.

The purple ones, according to Pantoran traditions, you're only meant to give those to someone who has completely and wholly stolen your heart.

And lastly, I had to include your personal favorite, because the things you love are important to me.

-Yours, forever, Cody."

By the time you were done reading your face was burning with a racing heart.

Work could wait, such a lovely gift couldn't go unanswered. After finding a nice private spot (or as private as you could manage at work) you pulled out your commlink. If he couldn't answer then at least you could leave him a message.

Apparently the Maker was a romantic, because by some stroke of luck, you caught him during one of his manageable moments.

"I take it my gift arrived?" Came his voice and it sent a pleasant shiver through you.

"It did. I- Cody I don't even know what to say, they're amazing."

There was the smallest crackling sound on his end, as if exhaling in relief, "Only the best for you, beautiful."

"How did you pull it off? I know being a trooper doesn't exactly pay well." And the thought of how much the gift would have cost was too much, he knew you loved him regardless of fancy tokens.

"Let's just say I called in a favor or two. Being a Marshal Commander has it's perks, you know.... I just wish I could have given them to you in person."

And there your heart went again, doing little somersaults in your chest. "Don't worry, there's plenty more we can do in person."

That got a chuckle, the low, sultry one that definitely should have been illegal, given it's effect on you. "Oh, I have plans for that too, I-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a distant voice and you to tried to ignore that little shot of pain that went through your chest. His rank had its perks, but even more burdens.

"I'll let you get back to work, I just wanted to hear your voice and say thank you."

"I'm glad you did, and I'll see if I can get some more time to talk later. But for now, Happy Birthday, mesh'la, I love you."

#deeja writes

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saltygilmores · 4 months

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THOUGHTS WHILE WATCHING GILMORE GIRLS: SEASON 3/EP 7: DANCE MARATHON EPISODE PT.2 (A VERY SHORT ONE SO WE CAN GET TO THE FUN STUFF ASAP)

So several moots who are way smarter than me explained this joke to me. Paris is calling JayMonaise/Jamie Mayonaise a parrot because he is repeating himself so Paris says he should find a pirate's shoulder to sit on. Yeah okay fine that's valid but my Sit On A Pirate's Hook is still what I'm running with. Jumping back to the Gilmore residence, Rory has retreated to the kitchen where Lorelai grovels for her daughter's hand in dance, leaving Dean and Lane together in the living room. Why would you do that to Lane, Rory? I thought she was your friend.

Lorelai persuades Rory to become her dance partner, dashing Rory's dream of taking Dean's Dance Marathon Virginity (while Lorelai's dream is that sentence with the words Dance Marathon removed) and bullshitting with him on the sidelines (hey, that’s my job, except the Dean part). Rory will also have to cancel her plans to work on the boring-ass newspaper with Paris, Madelyn, Louise, and the rest. Who cares.

Will you marry me?

My queens. M&L love 35 year old undercover reporters sent on assignment to pose as high school students. Rory: You can't stop smiling. Paris recapping her date with Jay-Monaise: We went for coffee. He said he had a great time and that he finds me fascinating and he thought about me all the time.

"I find you fascinating" has some real serial killer undertones. Paris then correctly refers to him as a Ted Bundy clone. But this episode only has room for one murderer, and he's still waiting in the wings.

Yeah, I mean...he is kinda barking up the wrong tree here. Paris: Don't tell Madelyn and Louise, the second they find out I'm dating a guy they'll start singing the Trojan Man jingle. Rememeber the days when cheeky ads for condoms and erectile dysfunction pills aired shamelessly on tv? Those days, they sure were days. Rory promises to keep Paris' secret, continue to pledge her undying love to Paris, and enter "what is Trojan Man?" into Ask Jeeves later. This scene was wholly irrelevant except to further establish that Paris Geller's heterosexuality is hanging on by a piece of dental floss. Now let's get to the good stuff! In another post. I will need to push the boundaries of Tumblr's 30-Screen-Shots-Per-Post limit for this episode.

#gilmore girls #denise rewatches gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 3 #paris geller #rory gilmore #trojan man #they shoot gilmores dont they #tsgdt #dance marathon #PariMore

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throughtrialbyfire · 7 months

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𝑾𝑰𝑷 𝑾𝒆𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒚 ♥

oh man, it's that time of the week again!! i've been busy irl with the semester coming to an end, but i always look forward to wednesday around here!

tagged by the lovely @thequeenofthewinter , thank you so much!! <33

tagging @dirty-bosmer @totally-not-deacon @viss-and-pinegar @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @orfeoarte @thana-topsy @archangelsunited @rainpebble3 @boethiahspillowbook @gilgamish @umbracirrus and you!! and there's no pressure to participate, no worries!!

this week i'm sharing some long snippets from 2 different wips - "Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood", my fic centering Dragonborn!Frothar and taking place 10-ish years after the dragon crisis began, and a snippet from the rough draft of chaper 28 of "Cycle of the Serpent" in which athenath is going into meridia's temple to get rid of the necromancer, malkoran! hope you enjoy <3

Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood

He'd heard of dragon lairs distantly, and in every story, he hoped they were exaggerating. The grass crunched under his feet as he approached the stone outcropping among the mountains. This dragon must breathe fire, he surmised. The ground, once rich with soil and plant life, cracked beneath his boots. The plants, as he'd gotten closer to the beast, appeared so sullen and dead that he'd wondered if this spot in Whiterun got any rain at all. His gaze darted around at the once-thriving soil, the dirt, the clay, all of it splitting and dusty and strange under his feet. Then, he finally allowed his gaze to land on the dragon. Sleeping atop a wall inscribed with strange markings, he could see the scales, the glinting of red, the horrible shape of it. The beast laid atop the stone like a cat on a fence, it's scaley figure breathing in slow noises. Each breath puffed out small embers and trails of smoke, rising to the sky and dissipating into the air above. Frothar tightened his armor, securing himself as well as he could. He unsheathed his blade. What was his plan, exactly?

He wanted to kill it. The thing had been terrorizing locals. This was his duty. As the oldest son of Jarl Balgruuf, he should be keeping his people safe, right? Surely this was how things went. This was his duty. But how to approach, how to take it down? Did he even have a real plan, or was this all folly? Frothar swallowed the ball of anxiety lodged firmly in his throat. He watched as the creature slumbered. He wondered if it would have been smarter to grab a bow and some arrows rather than risk it with a sword, but-

He didn't have time to think. The eyes of the creature, hearing a twig snap from a far-off deer - damned deer - thrilled open. The pupils, like slits, widened at the sight and then shrank into long, black lines. Frothar's own gaze went wide as he dashed behind a large stone, missing his death by mere inches as the beast spat fire in a way that sounded like screaming. He covered his ears, the heat searing through the rock, hotter than any summer's sun he'd ever known. He waited. The moment the dragon rose to the skies, he sprinted to another rock, watching as it flung another breath of fire at him, and ducked down low. Gods, what had he been thinking? He'd really been this stupid to march up the side of a mountain to fight a dragon wholly unprepared! He'd done this all for what? And now he was going to die here, he would die on this hill and it wouldn't be for anything or for anyone, just his own selfish fucking- The dragon landed, the ground shivering with the impact. The whole earth repulsed at the feeling of it's existence, the land quaking as the dragon tread one foot in front of the other, wings lightly rising, then lowering, sending waves of dry-sucking heat out around it. "You seek your death, little one?"

The words thrummed through Frothar's chest. Like hearing the sun speak, like feeling every lick of flames against his face. It burned from the inside out, the sound, the way they rattled through him. The words themselves burrowed into his lungs, and he clutched his sword tighter, his own throat closed in fear. Sweat poured out of him, drenching the back of his tunic, his blood racing in his ears so loud he could hardly hear, but the words… He could understand them. It was in no language he'd ever known, a language he would never be able to fully articulate, but it was not with his ears or mind he understood, but something far older. His heart raced, slamming against his sternum, breaths barely having enough time to lodge in his lungs before being pushed out of him again. "Do you come to die? Perhaps your bones will nourish me, child." Frothar knit his brow. His father. He thought of him. He thought of Jarl Balgruuf and how, no matter how many times Frothar proved himself again and again, his father would not let him out of his grasp. Whiterun needed a leader when Balgruuf was gone. It fell on the eldest's shoulders. It fell on his shoulders. It was his duty. Whiterun needed a capable leader, a good leader, a brave leader. He would not die a coward. At the least, he'd go down and he'd do it swinging.

Cycle of the Serpent, Chapter 28

A foul air pitched low through the corridors, thick in the winding depths of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, shrouded in its blinding dark. The stench of decay wafted through the Altmer's senses. Athenath pressed their sleeve to his nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. Meaty and slithering, sweet like overripe fruit trampled under the foot of a count's horses. He stepped forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded the once-quiet air above them, using their sword to break apart spiderwebs that threaded through the temple's corners and crevices. The hair on the back of their neck prickled, skin bumping, spine aching with the all-too-familiar dread that sent a shiver down the column. The lit braziers up ahead offered both peace and terror. A presence had been here. The dark, then, seemed safer than the figure they knew lurked deeper in the temple. Still, he pushed one foot ahead of the other along the well-worn stones, creeping low as to not draw the attention of whoever - or whatever - had contaminated the temple of Meridia. A burning ache at the back of his throat caught them as they continued forward, caution in every shallow breath they nearly feared to breathe. Guilt should be for later, he told himself, but it threatened them now in here, the guilt of aiding a Daedric Prince. Was what the Vigilants said true? Was this doing the bidding of something that would merely toss them aside when through? It's not like he had a choice. They hadn't seen the light, the Lady of Infinite Energies, the way she hovered as a bright and shining beacon in the skies above Solitude. And Athenath, unfortunately, had. Still, it did little to stop his hand from clutching the amulet of Mara beneath his clothes.

[....] He lowered himself once again, creeping towards it, and picked the lock with ease. For a moment, they were glad that Emeros and Wyndrelis were above, fighting off the Vigilants. It saved him the embarrassment of the other two pointing out the door to the half-distracted Altmer. Then, shame filled his face with red, as he wrapped a hand around the lever. He shouldn't rejoice their absence right now. They were up there, fighting off the Vigilants so that Athenath had a chance to investigate the temple, as they all wanted to. Who knew how the battle above was going? Who could say if his friends were dead or alive? Athenath stifled the thought, smothered it deep until it choked out. There was nothing saying that his friends weren't alive and waiting for him. They had to have hope.

[....]

The further Athenath went, the more they clung to this idea. Sometimes, a moment of idle collection of breath and thought, they clutched the amulet hanging out of the collar of his shirt. They wondered if Mara had sent them to Skyrim for a reason. Surely, her devotee would find a place to spread her compassion and her love in all its forms, in this land claimed by war and its aftermath? Maybe it was no mistake Athenath would be attending the Bard's College, after all. Training with them, then going off into the world, maybe this was exactly where they were meant to be. Even though pain soared through their body from various injuries, even when hope dimmed when he drank the last of his healing potions, they pushed onward into the temple. Meridia had asked it of them. Mara was commanding them. Mother Mara, lady of compassion, of love, of family, the lady Athenath looked to when the world crumbled and the stars burned out and the sun breathed its last. The lady who forgave him, who gave them a new life, unwasted here. This was an extension of Mara's compassion. It had to be.

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 9 months

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Sometimes it be like this.

My heart and brain want to work together.

My soul and mind still have a few values they are negotiating.

And I'm just standing here, holding the scales, waiting for them to balance.

Impatiently, I may add.

Fearfully, sometimes.

My mind has its intelligence and knowledge that I've painstakingly acquired and organized into different skills and crafts.

My heart has one of those burning souls that have all the wings and eyes and a thousand different creatures all spiraling within it.

My eyes have enough tears to flood the world, and they have tried.

My arms have the ability to both swim and fly.

My feet are beginning to learn how to dance and step without my mind setting limits others gave to it.

My hands are learning how to touch without fearing themselves weapons of destruction. They are weapons of destruction, but it is I who master the controls. These palms will never strike another thoughtlessly. These fists will never stop curling into themselves when my anger begs for control.

My fingertips will consensually explore whatever they desire.

My body is my own to control.

No matter what regulations others try to set.

I choose my own compliance.

I choose my own submission.

I choose my preferences and my comfort.

I choose to step out of them whenever I want.

I choose to let you understand me.

I choose to understand you with the information you give to me.

And you give me so much information.

I catch all of it.

I collect your movements, your words, and what things or feelings put the emotion into your expression.

I know what makes your eyes flash.

I know what makes them flood.

I know how to get them to focus on what I want.

I am at this time in my life where I now have to make decisions.

Everything is in pieces.

I am staring at the pile of it.

My life feels like it is just in piles around my room.

I have razed my beloved garden into ashes.

Everything that I am.

Everything I was.

Everything that made me.

Everything that destroyed me.

Everything I tried to build.

Everything I successfully destroyed.

Everything I'm willing to take back.

Everything I will never forgive.

Everything I will allow to follow me.

Everything I will leave in the ashes.

Everything I will step away from.

I have to begin considering my choices.

For the first time in my life, I am going to wholly and consciously contemplate my true wishes, desires, dreams, ideals, values, and relationships.

I am going to make lists.

I am going to compile evidence.

My own internal scarlet crusade is here in full banner and calvary.

Who do you think burned the garden down?

I didn't call them.

I never knew how to knowingly summon forces outside myself.

Fuck, I can't even ask for help in this life from people I trust when I so desperately need it.

(But I'm learning. I'm learning. I'm learning and making it part of whatever integrated self I have at the end of this.)

But this image.

This art.

This picture that someone conjured by the tools they had skill with...

This picture says everything to me that I needed to put into words.

The words found me and ran like sugar in my bloodstream to my mind who then told my fingers to find the keys and surrender all of my to my heart.

It's my heart who writes.

My hands are only her wings.

And my soul is the one who whispers in song to her all the beauty she inspires to make him burn.

She melts into him.

And my mind gives them whatever they need.

We're all learning how to work together.

If you measure time without season and cycle, how can you truly learn the lessons nature is here to teach us?

Nature worships Balance.

And so will I.

Artist Of Image -Giulia Grillo

#Giulia Grillo #poetry #recovery #healing #ego death #death #rebirth #scorpio #mind vs heart #terrified #malevolent #queen of sorrows #queen of shade #queen of shadows #queen of ghosts #melinoe

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muzzleroars · 1 year

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I love that in the Old Testament, mortals couldn't look at an angel's face or God's light, because they will burnout. And in Ultrakill, we can't see Gabriel's true face, but I'm pretty sure it's clearly there, by the holes in the helmet. What a beautiful reference. In my headcanons, Gabriel's face (his true form) is more destructive than the helmeted one. From angelic mercy, he never takes off his helmet.

How is it in your theories?

Oh and what do you think about Lucifer? What would he look like? Should we wait art from you, with him?

P. S. I love you art sooo muchh

aaaaa thank you so much! AND YES....more angel theories!!! my answer will include spoilers from the new update + the arg, so proceed with caution!!

ooooh i love theories on gabe's true face and just why he always keeps it covered, bc there definitely is something under there given those holes in his helm. i have two ideas on it, and one is what you've stated here - that simply seeing his open radiance would cause severe damage and so he keeps it concealed. even in a fight he cannot win, even as v1 bests him twice, he would never resort to removing his helmet nor even consider it. it's not in his nature, nor would he ever favor a victory that relies on something so sure and honestly so cheap (and it would be considered unacceptable by his peers as well, just an incredibly poor show from anyone in heaven let alone an archangel). in fact, he would protect against it, doing what he can to not allow too much damage to his helm, not for his sake but for others.

second theory is that he could remove it without causing harm, but his true form is only to be seen by god and so he never does. i do think it would still be dazzling to look at and would radiate a significant amount of heat, but it's safe to see, even to touch for something like v1, it's just not meant for anyone but himself and god. it goes back to the idea that his identity is not his, that his face is not to be known by anyone because he is not to be known - and this is so for all true angels, none of them know one another's faces. this is the one i tend to go with more often, but it's really just because i do like gabriel allowing v1 to see his face before he dies, to let himself be known even if it's at the very end. there is no god and soon there will be nothing left of him as well...so he wants v1 to see him as he is, to break that taboo and let himself truly be remembered.

now lucifer is interesting...i saw people speculating before that lucifer wouldn't be a part of the game, but now we know he's canon due to the newest testament. and that testament is....interesting in regard to how he might fit into the story. it states how god cast him into hell, but the preceding lines are vague and i'm not sure if they're in reference to lucifer or not. an angel asks god why eternal torment exists, and this angel referred to may be lucifer who was cast out for questioning god (and causing him to question himself) BUT generally the war in heaven that saw satan damned is what creates hell in most mythologies. meaning that lucifer is being mentioned here as an example of one that god has damned while the angel that asks the question may be someone else (obviously first pick is gabriel due to his narrative importance and how the angel is described in the testament - this could be god terrified that he will again lose his brightest angel). BUT ANYWAY....how he'll be incorporated is anyone's guess, though of course he could borrow from dante's satan and that depiction is pretty interesting imo - in the inferno, satan is locked in ice, forever in tears, and has caused the deepest layer of hell to freeze over by constantly beating his massive wings. he is frozen in eternal grief, he can't interact with anyone or anything because he is so deeply buried in his own tormented mind that the outside world no longer exists. his hell is wholly internal, he seems to know nothing of the external hell he and all his sinners are in, how he himself is making it unbearable to them because he sees and knows nothing but his own emotional pain. however, i'm not entirely sure how he might work as an enemy, considering how unresponsive he is (although it could actually be kind of funny as a concept. like that thing just doesn't care and you're trying to kill it lol)

BUT but i saw over on twitter that the arg has been solved, and through that we now know (if the document is correct in canon) that hell itself is sentient. it's bored, the humans came to it and it devoured their knowledge, it analyzed them to mimic their technologies and augment the husks there. it may have some kind of symbiosis at this point with the terminals or they have worked in tandem (i keep thinking now both of them together may have wiped out humans, hell for more to play with, the terminals so that all machines would be forced to enter hell for their shared entertainment). and i have to wonder. where is lucifer in this? is he as dante's satan, ignorant of all this due to his own isolated misery? is he a part of this, a part maybe of hell itself that gave it its mind and now they're one and the same and he is no longer lucifer? is he trapped in it like the rest of the sinners there and used for hell's entertainment too? honestly there's far too much to speculate at so i can't give any definitive answer but i do think whatever the case, lucifer is going to be in a wretched state. at the very least, i've got the nebulous sort of idea that he'll show just how vile a creation hell really was.

#SPOILERS in the tags here too////#brings a much new perspective to the testament where god says he can't unmake hell #also....with the way hell learns and how it's doing this for fun......#it's got things in common with v1 too ouuhhhh #SORRY this got so speculative and off the rails a little #the new lore is just deeply interesting imo #and maybe hell will just be the final boss lol #cake answers #ultrakill spoilers

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bitchfitch · 1 year

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The cup of tea was warm in his hands. The few leaves that had escaped the strainer floating placidly on the surface. Esti focussed on their gentle paths, swirling the cup occasionally to keep them moving as for every second he was focused on them he could avoid looking at his mother across the table from him.

Corvus was the image of matronly patience as she waited for him to break the silence. Her own cup on the table in front of her, neatly sat on its little plate like it was to be the third participant in what Esti was predicting to be an absolutely miserable conversation.

"I love him," Esti started. It was a fact. It deserved to go first. He only said it because he knew it would be the absolute last thing she would want to hear.

"I'm aware."

Her plan wasn't difficult to parse out. She needed him on his back foot and knew nothing was harder for him than having to ask for what he wanted. Especially when it went so far against the will of who he was asking for it from. She would deny him either way, but making him ask meant he wouldn't ask so him failing this negotiation would be wholly his fault instead of her refusing to just let them be happy-

"I'll allow you to marry him so long as you give me a way to keep you safe."

"What?" Esti couldn't believe what his brain was telling him he'd heard her say.

"Did you already change your mind?" The teasing smile on her voice was full of the summer night warmth he'd almost forgotten she was capable of.

"No! No- Of course not. But, really? I- Thank you," he bumbled through a few words as every question and expression of gratitude tied themselves in knots in their race to his tongue.

"Yes, Esti. Pavo is... not my first choice for you, but he argued his case and made a few promises that, should he keep his end of the deal, were too good for our people for me to refuse," she sighed and rested her hands palm up on the table between them, a silent invitation that Esti gladly accepted. He set his cup aside and placed his in hers. His deep grey skin looking so much lighter than it was against the true light eating darkness of hers. "I hope he is good to you. I hope and wish and pray to every deity that might listen to my words as though they are coming just from a mother instead of one who is a demon as well, that he proves me wrong in every way," she squeezes his hands, "I worry I am sacrificing you to a monster for the sake of those who pretend you aren't my eldest son. I want to be wrong, but I still worry."

"You are, I- I promise it Mother. He's kind to me. He's never once been a monster to me and he never will be. I swear it."

"Do you think the brides slaughtered by their beloveds thought they were beasts before they sent them weeping to their graves? You can not know he will remain kind... That's why my approval of your marriage to him is conditional."

He felt a twinge of something curl in the back of his gut. Suspicion or anxiety or some worry he may not be able to give her what he needs to to have the groom he desires more than a bat with shredded wings desired the open air of the night sky.

"All I ask is that you give me a way to bring you home should he prove unworthy of your love. Tell me how to see through the wards that keep his village hiddencfrom demon-kind so that I can come save my son should he ever need me to."

Esti swallowed hard, trying to drown out they growing growling feeling with the hope and joy earning her permission will bring him. If sharing one secret was all it took to have Pavo's hand he couldn't possibly deny her it right? It was just one secret.

"In the clearing before the gate, face away from it and walk forwards while making yourself believe that you will pass through it. When you should be stood below the archway make the sigil of his house in the air before you. You will be within the village when you take your next step," his dread built with every word.

She let go of his hands. Her next action was nearly lost to the thick shadows that clung to her fingers, but still, he saw her remove the wedding band his father had proposed to her with.

"Thank you, I know what sorts of suspicions he has probably filled you with, so I hope this will be a strong enough gesture to convince you I do truly intend to only use that information if he goes back on his promises of your safety in his care," she sets the ring on the table before him. "I would like it if you proposed to him here in your maiden home so that we may celebrate the engagement as a family. As you do not just have my permission, but my blessing as well."

The ring didn't feel real when he picked it up. It was heavy in his hand, and warm from her skin. The metal hard and smooth and the gems glittered in their settings, but it still didn't feel real.

He had spent weeks pacing and trying to think up back up plans for his back up plans. Never, in any of his anxious strategizing had he thought she would say yes without an argument about avoiding war and breaking his heart. Even then, her blessing was something he had written off completely. A quick disowning was what he presumed would be the best result not... this.

She came around the table and wrapped him in a hug as she shushed him. He hadn't even realized he had begun to cry.

"Thank you. Thank you. I- I I have nothing else, just thank you," he leaned against her, wiping at his eyes and trying valiantly to stop his tears. The relief and elation drowned out his worry. Of course he was just being paranoid. Of course she wanted nothing but what was best for their family. He tried to apologize for doubting her, but his blubbering mangled the words beyond what was recognizable.

Corvus chuckled and rubbed his shoulder when she let go. "Go now. Your groom is probably planning something stupid. Give him the news before he has time to act on those plans."

Esti nodded, and was on his feet in a stumbling trot to the door before he could think himself into a new anxiety spiral.

Beyond the door, Pavo leaned against the wall, his agrivated grimace turning to an expression of worry as he saw the tears. Esti was in his arms and burrying his face against Pavo's chest before he had time to demand to know what had happened.

Any thought of grand romantic gestures Esti might have had were eaten by his eagerness as he grabbed for Pavo's hand the instant he could bare to back away enough to do so. Wordlessly he put the ring on Pavo's little finger, the band being sized for someone with much finer hands barely fit but the implications of the action still rung loud and clear.

Pavo looked between the ring and Esti and Corvus. His worry turning to surprise then to the same elation Esti clearly felt as he wrapped him in his arms again. Heftig him up and spinning him with giddy love sick glee. Cackling his acceptance of the proposal and looking more like a person than Corvus had ever seen him as before.

Pavo barely set Esti back down on his feet, still not letting him go, before he was addressing her, "Thank you. You won't regret this. I swear it on my life that I will keep him safer and happier than anyone else could, and if I fail that it will be my own blade I fall too."

#dramatic irony is a literary device by which the reader's understanding of events or individuals in a work surpasses that of its characters

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burningblake · 2 months

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I finally finished reading the penryn and the end of days book series by susan ee. I have many mixed feelings, so let's start with what I liked:

the ending battle! whoah! that was brilliant and awesome! I loved how all the elements came to work together in the end. Like the Consumed taking host on the sixers? - poetic justice! And the beauty of humans celebrating art as their last stance against the evil that took the world! and they way it was all planned out! the image of metal music blasting from the speakers! raffe and penryn fighting back to back, switching the sword between them! perfect just so absolutely perfect!

raffe sacrificing his wings to save penryn, the way it brings his character arc full circle and poetically signals his choice of putting penryn over everything else - delicious!

penryn's mom!! pure chaotic energy! I loved her so much! And it was hilarious how everyone feared her lol!

finally, raffe and penryn's dynamic. their relationship was built up so beautifully and I could truly feel their longing for each other. It was beautiful how their love was the forbidden kind from so many aspects.

Now on to the things I didn't like (which are the majority unfortunately):

I understood the logic of artificial monsters to create a fake apocalypse, but the whole bit with the lab scorpions was so SO horrendous and out of place. I would expect to read this kind of thing in a book about a nuclear-war apocalypse, and not a biblical one. The whole second book was so hard to get through because of this.

speaking of, the only reason I got through the second book was because of the beautiful promise of raffe and penryn's reunion, but that also disappointed me as there was not even a single kiss. it felt like it was done on purpose to increase the hype for the third book, because when someone thinks the love of their life died and suddenly they get them back unexpectedly, rules and reason and self-control cease to matter.

and in general, throughout reading raffryn's story, their longing for each other was so intense that I couldn't wait to finally see them be wholly together... But that never happened. The few times it almost happened, the fire quickly blazed out. The intimate moments only lasted for a few paragraphs and always left you wanting for more. And that more never came. And I'm not talking about sex. But them both actually giving in to one goddamned passionate kiss without holding back, letting their thoughts and emotions out without restraint. That never happens and it's just so disappointing.

Finally, and this is what angers me the most. The fucking creepy scorpions got redeemed into being friendly cute pets when they should have all been wiped out of existence! But Beliel?!? No. He spends eternity in hell and the only rightful end for him is to have a lonely and painful death. That was SO FUCKING UNFAIR! Like of course I hated his crimes and everything he did. But the writer chose to write a backstory like THAT for him, and thought it was ok to still kill him off? But yeah, the flesh-sucking scorpions are just cute giant bees in the end. Thanks, I hate it.

#text post #pateod #raffryn #penryn and the end of days

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goodbysunball · 1 year

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1/4 Dead In 2023

It's a really bad time to try and cut back on buying music; here's four reasons why, and I've still got another eight or so waiting in the wings. Suck on these chicken wings like Steve Buscemi in Ghost World and I'll bring you another basket when you think you're through.

Cheater Slicks, Ill-Fated Cusses (In the Red)

The world's greatest active rock 'n roll band is back with their first studio LP in 11 years. Cheater Slicks could have very easily hung it up by now, especially following the tragic death of drummer Dana Hatch's son, but some mysterious impulse keeps the brothers Shannon and Dana Hatch (joined here by James Arthur on bass) churning after all these years. There are no other bands that can play garage rock with the abandon that Cheater Slicks seem to nail album after album, and their return to In the Red is possibly their best yet. The comfortable intro to "The Nude Intruder" soon picks up speed and careens headfirst into some solos that are the best I've heard since maybe Mordecai's College Rock. From there the band proceeds to lean heavily into guitar worship, sounding as paranoid and grimy as ever, barely-controlled outbursts of scuzz drenching "Fear" and "Flummoxed by the Snafu." Where previous albums seemed to opt for a sort of ballad to close each side, the band decides to try out "Lichen" to end side one, a feedback-laden stumble through the wake of "The Gift" but even more seasick and desperate. The band's hardly left behind the ballads from albums past; "Garden of Memories" and "Far Away Distantly" are gruff and affecting like the best of the Slicks' quieter moments. My favorite track here is "Coming Back to Me," which oscillates from Hatch's pounding drums and foam-mouthed shouts to zen-like group vocals repeating the title, and erupts in a ferocious guitar solo. It's songs like "Coming Back to Me" that show why Cheater Slicks have single-handedly rejuvenated garage rock and stand alone at the top of the heap. In a time where I've been leaning toward more abstract and indecipherable sounds, it feels really good to be leveled by a no frills rock 'n roll album, something familiar but wholly fresh, without pretension and effortlessly memorable. Cheater Slicks, now and forever. Highest recommendation; get yourself a copy post-haste, and maybe go see 'em blow the younger acts off the stage in a rare live appearance at Gonerfest this year.

Equipment Pointed Ankh, From Inside the House (Bruit Direct Disques)

The latest and greatest from this loose Louisville, KY collective, bringing some welcome cohesion to their brand of off-kilter omnivorous rock deconstruction. I've always found Equipment Pointed Ankh interesting, spiritually akin to fellow Kentuckians Sapat, but their albums can feel cluttered and overlong; on Without Human Permission, something like "Blue Folding Room" bowls me over, but then I've traversed so far by the end of side one that I'm disoriented and exhausted. Could have been a case of too many cooks/too many ideas, but whatever it was has been ironed out on From Inside the House, brought to us by the fine tastemakers at Bruit Direct Disques. "Rubber Slacks" snaps into gear at the front, but the song devolves into a noisy coda, feedback and droning synths fighting to wrest control of the song from the rhythmic backbone. What felt like genre-hopping exercises on previous records has coalesced into a no less confusing but exhilarating whole; off-kilter tunefulness emerges from rudimentary drumbeats, drone and jazz coexist with minimalist beats and modern classical. What emerges from the speakers isn't really as heady as that sounds, though: From Inside the House fits easily as background music and rewards close listening alike through it's rich, full production. The highlight for me is the drumless, airy seven-minute title track, which coupled with Jenny Rose's spoken lyrics brings to mind Cosey Fanni Tutti's "Time to Tell." It's a surprisingly arresting, moving track from a collective that seems mostly hellbent on upending genre distinctions with a permanent smirk. "I'm looking for something else," Rose says, and across seven tracks and 35 minutes, it sounds like EPA's found it on From Inside the House, a surprising early favorite record of 2023. Buy not only for the music, but the screenprinted jacket and Bill Nace artwork, too. Another left-of-center gem from Bruit Direct Disques.

Ustalost, Before the Glinting Spell Unvests (Gilead Media)

This was technically released at the tail-end of 2021, but I've only received my copy of the LP this month, and it's one well worth a year's patience. Ustalost is a side project from the Will Skarstad, one of the brothers behind Yellow Eyes, but there's not much to differentiate the two projects. It's nominally Will Skarstad's solo compositional outlet, though his brother, Sam, gets credits for the lyrics and production. The release, Ustalost's second, states that the project "has always been an exercise in indulgence," and that's probably as good of a descriptor as you're gonna get; it's black metal drizzled with the Skarstads' slowly twinkling guitar lines, drenched in Gregorian chant, keyboards and synthesizers straight out of the first wave of funeral doom (Thergothon comes to mind). I never much cared for keyboards in metal, but they're worked in nicely here: something like the jittery line at the start of "White Marble Column Air" adds to disorienting effect rather than distracts. The bass and drums are up front in the mix, this anchor allowing the record to violently lob between sickly sweetness and pummeling madness, something the opener "Enough Glass Will Cast a Shadow" deftly displays. Before the Glinting Spell Unvests, like The Spoor of Vipers before it, feels as approachable and lush as black metal could be while maintaining the icy, sharp aggression of the best Scandinavian forebears. It's a credit to the songwriting of Will Skarstad to maintain that delicate balance without succumbing to cheesy fist-pumping choruses or invoking war as a crutch; the psychedelic psychosis and decadence are vivid enough to warp one's reality. Fantastic record, one that pushes the envelope in exciting new ways without concessions. Let's hope there's not another seven-year wait for the next one.

Witness K, s/t (ever/never)

Cured Pink, one of several projects from Andrew McLellan, was and probably remains one of the most difficult and misunderstood bands from the contemporary Australian underground. The project's new/no wave laced with sharp commentary and wry humor is admittedly a tough sell, but a deep dive into their catalog, especially their LPs, is a worthwhile endeavor. Seems that McLellan may have retired the Cured Pink name for now, shifting to the gravely serious Witness K, pairing up again with NYC's ever/never records to once more challenge even the most seasoned listeners. On the self-titled debut, the band displays stunning restraint, creating a dour atmosphere befitting Carla dal Forno or Tindersticks. Vocals are hushed and often spoken, and even leaning in closely doesn't really allow me to crack the meaning of it all. The lyrics, or "poetry" as the credits on the release state, are obscured beneath a lush bed of single chord guitars, flute, accordion and a smattering of keys, and feels like the soundtrack to a Kurosawa film or dimly lit noir story bathed in shadows. It's a record that seeps into and takes control of the room, arresting even in its silences, moving carefully and speaking thoughtfully. I'm reminded, in spirit at least, of the Gerogerigegege's left-turn >(decrescendo) or the American Jobs' overlooked Carne Levare, music wielding a quiet power. But Witness K never feels fragile despite sounding gossamer-thin at points; the bass-rich production keeps things sturdy and churning, as on album highlights "Scream Across the Low Fence" and "Thank You, Harold." Notes linger in the air, billowing smoke refracted in late-day sunlight, sunlight that can't be enjoyed because of yet another man-made environmental disaster. Whatever's happening, it's grim. Witness K have made a record acknowledging native land that seems like it could actually do something about it, not just paying lip service to a complicated issue. Stunning, brilliant record; Witness K feels like a modern classic already. Between this and last year's Kilynn Lunsford LP, ever/never's swinging for the fences. Time to break out the binoculars and pay attention while this seasoned vet serves up taters at the dish.

#Cheater Slicks #Equipment Pointed Ankh #Ustalost #Witness K #In the Red Records #Bruit Direct Disques #Gilead Media #ever/never records

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