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katiefrog217 · 2 months

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Good Omens Fic + Poetry | Personal Recommendation Masterlist

I said I'd do it, so I'm doing it. For both myself, and so others can enjoy! I'll try to tag the original authors and link any secondaries/people who recommended me the stories!

If you feel so inclined, you may read my own (very long, very angsty) fic or it's companion piece:

Dubious Excerpts from the Chonicles of a Demon (Retired) | Post-Season 2 / Crowley comes back to the bookshop / Seriously, its a lot of angst/ Self-Contained Meta

From the Confidential Journals of A.Z Fell | Crowley found Azi's journals woops / Mostly Fluff / Ties in to previous Fic / Can be read Standalone

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To clarify: this list is going to be a collection of stuff I've personally read/been recommended. I'll try to make sure to tag everyone who owns the fics (if they have a Tumblr) and the people who recommended them to me (if at all). I'll update this list as I go, and might start sorting things into their own posts if it starts to get too long. I'm not going to be able to tag all warnings, so PLEASE HEED the A03 tags!

This list is not meant to play favorites! If I read it and enjoyed it, it will be going on this list. That means the quality may vary, but I think everyone should have a chance to have their work seen! Inevitably though, I will have my favorites, and if I ABSOLUTELY think you should read one, I'll mark in in Green. Everything else will be in Orange for visibility. Anything with NSFW Content will be marked with a (!!!).

If you would like to recommend me a fic (self-promotes welcome and encouraged!), feel free to drop a recommendation here, DM me, or send me an ask if you want to remain anonymous! If you don't see your's here, I haven't gotten to it yet!

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Poetry

@lickthecowhappy does a LOT of poetry for GO, and they have a masterlist on their own blog for their stuff, but my personal favorite is Pour Hot Water Into A Pot With Leaves

This Black Out Poem | Written by @crowleys-bentley-and-plants

Questions (Sonnet No. 2) | Written by @aziraphalesdiaries

This Two Part Poem | Written by @knifeforkspooncup

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Short n' Sweet

Literally anything written by the account @meanwhile-at-the-cottage (Seriously follow them they make my day)

Nada | Written and Recommended by @gabapunk (Pining/Season 3 where you at??)

This One-shot | Written by @bloodashre (Post season 2/ The world is ending but their love is not).

Hazel Storms and Gentle Ormes | Written by @ardentlake and beta read by thatskindarough (Short chapters but cute, Crown Prince Crowley)

His World In Her Hands | Written by @nik-knight to an art post by Camilleflyingrotten (I was genuinely unwell after this one| Azi got hurt and Crowley begs)

Rain In Avalon | Written by SnowFilly1 and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Long One-shot, Arthurian Times, Intimacy eluded to but nothing explicit)

Cozy Preening | Written by @canadiankazz and recommended by GoodOmensDuh (Not much plot BUT OMG SO CUTE/ Wing preening fluff)

Lord Knows it Would be the First Time | Written and recommended by @knifeforkspooncup (Angst/ But also Fluff / I want these idiots to be ok)

This Silly Story about Unicorns | Written by @brightwanderer (seriously just read it/I cackled really hard/ Crowley can be a dummy and I love that about him)

Starmaker and Starlight | Written by NohaIjiachi and recommended by thatskindarough (Super cute/ pre-fall Aziracrow / You already know exactly how it ends / but read it anyway/ this lives rent free in my head now)

Divine Interventions (!!!) | Written by @ineffable-roh (AKA Rohese_Purrs) and recommended by Knifeforkspooncup (Norse Deities do a little matchmaking / Fluffy NSFW / Male Crowley with lady bits)

Time Folding in On Itself | Written by Chernozemm (AKA black_earth) (Post season 2 / Aziracrow get to the point/ these two really need to talk)

Impromptu Collab (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat (Human Streamer AU / Indulgent NSFW / Plot what Plot / Please Mind the Tags)

Free | Written by @eviebane for Flawless (Small, cute, please read Flawless first for context)

A More Gentle Touch | Written by Nik-Knight for ME?? (I'm 100% Biased here / Creature Omens AU / IDC if you don't give a fuck about my au, this is cute AF please read it / Pure FLUFF / Dove Aziraphale and Snake Crowley my beloveds)

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Long Fics

This Is Who You Are | Written and Recommended by @azeutreciathewicked (Medium Length / Post Season 2 / RAPHAEL AGAIN HELLO / If you really love creative explainations for Heaven you'll LOVE this / A seriously interesting concept behind Azi and Crowley's relationship/ Snake Crowley and Bird Aziraphale my beloveds)

Instructions Not Included | Written by @brightwanderer (AKA Atalan) and recommended by DoomedLemur (Post Season 1 / Aziracrow run a detective agency for the supernatural / Hello Raphael (this time a different person) / Heavenly lore / There is some weird shit going on / WINGS)

And They Were Streamers | Written by @mrghostrat and recommended by HaeMey (Ongoing /Streamer Au / Its got art / KICKING MY FEET I LOVE THEM)

If We've Got Nothing (We've Got Us) | Written by @kedreeva, recommended by someone on Patreon (God POV / Grey Feathers / Medium Length / Old but Good)

Big Name Feelings (!!!) | Written by mrghostrat (Completed / Au/ Skippable NSFW/ Ace Crowley / I've never felt more seen and called out wtf/ I stayed up until 4 am reading it)

The Many Venomed Earth + sequel Such Rebel Blood | Written by @fremulon (AKA Curtaincall) and recommended by HaeMey (Human Au / Murder Mysteries / Crowley gets framed for a murder in the first one oh no / DETECTIVE (not really) AZI ON THE CASE / mutual pining / eventual payoff)

Mon Horrible Chéri (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat and recommended by TheCommonMold (Completed/ Human Teachers AU / literal enemies to lovers / ONLY ONE ROOM OH NO--)

Flawless (!!!) | Written by MrGhostRat and @chernozemm (AKA black_earth) (Huamn AU /Cheating Azi / very painful / seriously there is some angst here / happy ending tho TRUST)

Not Light, No Light | Written and recommended by PolarisVega (Their first fic / Season 3 headcanons / Fun Crowley Headcanons)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach | Written by mouseonamoose (aka Nnm) and recommended by lickthecowhappy and GoodOmensDuh (Crowley Goes to Therapy / Old but still REALLY good / Pre-season 2 / Super long chapters but very worth)

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach | Written by @mouseonamoose (Same as the previous, but Azi this time / Unfinished by nearly done / my poor baby Azi)

Factory Settings | Written by Anonymous (I don't remember how I found this one/ swear I must have seen it on Tumblr/ 60 chapters!! / Read carefully it can get a little confusing / Timey Whimey BS / RAPHAEL??/ Post Season 2 shenanigans with a good ending)

Telling Tall Tales (!!!) | Written by @siobhans-world (Human Aziracrow/ Azi is gay AF but lonely / Pretends to be Maggie's Bf (accidentally) / oh no hot cousin alert/ Not done but almost/ mutual pining)

Time Marches Forward | Written and Recommended by @bellisima-writes (Post Season 2 / Starts a little rocky BUT OMG? / FIRST FIC? / I dedicated my entire day to it / Adam is such a good character holy shit / I think about this fic all the time / wish a few more things were flushed out bUT THATS OK/ lots of angst/ someone save my boy Azi)

How Do We Turn on the Light? (!!!) | Written by @moonyinpisces (Post Season 2/I had insomnia and this was my companion / read all the chapters in a few hours and I'm FROTHING AT THE MOUTH / I swear to anybody I'm hanging off their every word / Still Updating / Super Long, Super good / full of angst and love and AAA/ light NSFW content/ they keep getting cockblocked)

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #fic rec #fic recommendation #Personal List #None of these are mine #But I want to share them #Writers deserve recognition #good omens fanfiction

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chantsdemarins · 2 months

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😅Real Villain Training [Tom Hiddleston circa 2012 X Fem.Reader]

Chapter three of Breath of the Æsir is almost here. I’m SO sorry for the wait! In the meantime, I hope you enjoy a very brief Tom story...

Honestly, I pledged to myself, no more Tom stories just focus on Loki. But I think I just can't help it. Especially when slutty inspiration like this photo comes my way (@lokischambermaid and @lokisgoodgirl 😳)

I am humbled by this era of Tom. In 2024 he is a husband/father/seasoned iconic actor in perpetual good cheer, but in 2012, he was a bad boy. As always please reblog and comment if you feel inspired!

Summary: Tom is hanging out with some real jerks for a new role, and he runs into you, literally. Your depression has caused your life to turn a little black and white, could this handsome stranger possibly add some color back? (at least to your cheeks🥵).

Smut factor: I hope...HOT 🔥

(Authors note: I have no concrete proof he was in fact a bad boy so please don't take seriously my young Tom plot themes of drugs and sex, which once again appear here. I could be totally wrong about him. It's art! It's a fabrication! Also, this story does involve mental health!)

I also don't know who would want to be on a tag list for a Tom fic these days! These are a few people who might be interested?? @lokischambermaid @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @lokisgoodgirl @wheredafandomat @sailorholly @mrs-illyrian-baby @superficialdomina @gigglingtiggerv2 @fictive-sl0th @muddyorbs @tbhiddlestan83 @huntress-artemiss @smolvenger @kikster606 @mjsthrillernp @hiroyukinasukawa

Los Angeles, 2012

That afternoon, the rooftop pool at the Saint Avalon was a pink swirl of bathing beauties in early spring. Tom tried to focus on his deadpan conversation with his agent, but polka dots and silly cocktails danced around him. He pushed his Ray-Bans back into place, his sweat—or perhaps nervousness—causing them to slowly slide off his nose.

"Serious British actor succumbs to being typecast as a Norse sociopath. That's where this is headed, Tom, if we don’t do something, get you something else.” “Do you really want to be known only for Marvel?” he repeated his plea. The words just weren’t sinking in.

Tom laughed and inadvertently tried to change the subject. "Have you been to the La Brea Tar Pits yet, John? It’s wild—10,000 years' worth of dire wolf bones.”

His stare remained galvanized by the poolside girls. They just didn't look like that in London. Number one, the sunshine. Number two, the tans. Number three, well, his girlfriend—or ex-girlfriend, rather—made it hard to look too long at anyone else. So had he ever found himself at a rooftop pool party, he wouldn't have had the chance he was having now.

“Tom, are you paying attention? This is important. You're only here for a week, and we need to move on this role. I need to know if you're a yes.” The truth was, Tom was suddenly filthy rich with his own money for the first time in his life. He really loved being a Norse sociopath and already had big ideas for Loki’s eventual character arc into becoming an anti-hero someday. He had filled three journals on his bedside stand with his ideas for Loki.

His agent tried again, “Just hang out with Giorgio. It’s less than a month. Then the movie should be a very easy shoot. You get to embed yourself with some real hedge fund cats.” Tom’s attention snapped back. “Wait, I like that.” “Right? It’s like if Loki worked on Wall Street.” “Well…” Tom hesitated. He didn’t think Loki would actually ever bore himself that way. Those guys were boring to Tom and to Loki.

His poor agent was right, though. He did need another role. Things had gone so well; filming for the next Avengers movie was starting this summer. If he could find another gig, a time filler, a totally different genre, it really would be the best for his career. “Then a play next,” the agent mused, taking a sip of his own cocktail. “Shakespeare, or something 70s.” “70s? As in the 1570s? Or the 1970s?” “Tom.” “How should I know?” Tom laughed to himself, eyes still canvassing the poolside display around him. His agent leaned across his lawn chair and placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “So, you’ll do it?”

Two Weeks Later

Deep down, he knew he didn’t have the dissociation required for the job. He was too corporeal, too embodied. Years of being a long-distance runner and a trained athlete had fastened his mind, heart, and soul firmly into his muscles. He clearly wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings in his highly emotive, sensitive body. That was the first thing he noticed about the guys he was forced to hang out with for this role. They were covered up with their suits and sexist jokes. It was like they had Hadrian’s Wall around them. Which was, in fact, what exactly led to his sudden departure from the bar at Rue 23.

He had been embedded with short and loud Glen, buzz-cut Ellis, and the tall and lanky, just like him, Brad Nelson. There were a few others, but they were too milquetoast to be memorable. Role be damned. He left so fast the thick glass door almost hit a nice young couple as he bolted into the cold Los Angeles spring night.

He wasn’t dressed right; in his haste to leave London, he didn’t remember that California got into the 40s after the sun went down. He didn’t even pack a suit coat. Thank God he remembered to grab his leather pack from under the bar. It contained exactly five cigarettes, a finicky Zippo, his aftershave, a white t-shirt, and a travel toothbrush. There might also be a rolled-up Popular Mechanics magazine from the Burbank airport, something he never would be caught dead reading at Heathrow.

He also hadn’t done so much coke since he was in college. Why was LA always so incredibly cliché? He couldn’t blame Luke. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for this role. He said yes when he was distracted. He was in over his head. They had hired these real blokes to make sure Tom looked authentic when they started filming next month, and given his intense drive for perfection, he had agreed that it was “brilliant” of the casting director to force the eight of them to spend these weeks in Los Angeles and one week in Manhattan, in a true immersive centrifuge of shallow materiality.

The night spun around him, a neon ball of yarn, teasing open his pupils until his eyes were black and not at all blue. As he walked, he ran his large hands down the surface of his body, the material of his shirt feeling like a fancy pillowcase from a boutique hotel.

One finger lingered over his jawline, tracing it as he brought his hands back up to his face. Engrossed in the comfort of his form a moment too long, he was distracted once again. This part of LA seemed to always be full of clusters of locals and tourists, laughing and talking. He was unfortunately moving against the flow of the crowd, a wayward salmon when he almost ran straight into you.

“Watch where you're going!” you yelled, dropping your purse onto the dirty LA sidewalk. It opened enough for your things to tumble out. Tom immediately stopped and bent down to help you, but you batted his hands away. “What the hell? I can pick up my own damn Chapstick,” you scolded. “Ma’am, I am so sorry, I am obviously not from here, and I am a little overwhelmed,” he rattled off. “Why is that obvious?” “My accent, of course.” “I didn’t honestly notice,” you spoke as you inspected the tall man’s face with squinting eyes.

You, of course, did immediately notice the timbre of his voice, his height, and the buttons on his tight shirt which looked like they were in the process of unbuttoning themselves. “Would you believe I’ve been doing coke all night with a bunch of Wall Street assholes at the Rue 23, and I had to get the fuck out of there,” he continued, not sure if you were listening, but you were definitely looking at him, so he continued.

“So now I am wandering the streets of Beverly Hills, and I haven’t the foggiest how the rest of my night will go.” You shuffled your feet for a moment before speaking. You had been heading home after a long day at work. You felt genuinely unprepared for navigating a handsome foreigner in the right direction. Yet there was a certain appeal to a man suddenly without his ship or his crew, so to speak. So you didn’t immediately walk away.

He had been shuffled from the airport to the bar in a hired car, he tried to explain, and his sense of direction bordered on problematic. Further, his flip phone was really only good for texting, and that even took way too long most days. He really did seem high, overwhelmed, and a little lost. He also seemed the type unable to handle any silence in a conversation.

“Do you live far?” he said after suffering through 30 seconds of no discourse. “It’s LA, everything is far.” “Fair enough,” Tom muttered sheepishly, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, which were still somehow unbuttoning themselves. He thought he had bought the right size shirt. Maybe not.

You realized that if you were to ask this too-high, too-hot British man back to your apartment, you would inevitably cave and end up sleeping with him just because he caught you in this particular moment of your life. It was an in-between time. You weren't quite your old self and your new self that you'd been working so hard on, hadn't emerged yet.

“Want to grab something to eat?” You finally offered a neutral segue. That seemed to be just what the man needed to hear. His demeanor calmed. “Oh sure, yes, I could go for a big American cheeseburger, honestly.” “Okay then, let’s go to Patty’s on Vine, we can walk,” you said as you pulled at his shirt to turn him toward the right direction. He bristled at the feeling of your touch.

His whole body was even more sensitive than usual. You looked like the queen of the ancient British Iceni to him. In truth, he didn’t much care for the California look. He loved that you appeared out of nowhere and you looked like Boudica, not like Gwyneth Paltrow. Even though he was sure he heard she was nice. RDJ seemed to really love her.

The diner where you were headed was the second-tier after-hours hang, so it wasn’t populated with the usual crowd, not yet at least. You had some time before you would be inundated, and perhaps before someone would recognize him, which you still did not. You could ask him, of course. Although, sometimes in Los Angeles, the worst part is knowing who someone is.

Although Tom being Tom was unable to resist personal questions. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, just a little,” he had to ask as the night air propelled him quickly down the sidewalk. You considered telling him about your job, but it was just how you paid the bills. Your passions were your passions and not for a stranger. So you decided to be a little goth. It couldn't hurt.

“I have something like anhedonia, I suppose,” you finally said. Tom seemed to know what you meant right away. “The inability to feel?” He spoke. “More classically refined, which results in numbness, making capturing interior somatic sensations nearly impossible,” you clarified. “Sounds like you are depressed,” Tom flattened out your creative retelling of your current state. “Maybe,” although you weren't sure of his simple label. "You think it will pass?" Tom continued, ever the optimist.

You considered one way to try and test if this state you'd been in could possibly change, would be to see if he could provoke feelings of passion or at least some kind of low-grade horniness. You’d been feeling functionally blank for a while now.

He was stunning, after all.

He seemed game for anything, his amphetamine grin taking up the majority of his handsome face. He looked so lovely under the hanging light in your dingy booth. You ate the two-egg special you ordered and watched him devour his American cheeseburger with genuine joy.

“So, you're here to practice for a new part?” You sincerely tried to keep the conversation flowing despite the growing desire to test your theory. “Yes, they want me to branch out. In my career, there’s the fear I am already 'type-casted,' I guess you could say.” “Type-casted? So early on?”

He looked young to you. Possibly younger than you actually. “Yes, I had a big role as a villain, it really blew up, but, he's like a mythological comic book one. I am misunderstood mostly. I mean my character, not me.” "Sure." You nodded in understanding and agreed even if you didn’t quite pick up what he was putting down. You wondered if he had ever seen 'The Last Starfighter.' A favorite movie of yours, you rarely shared with anyone else. Or had he been in that? Your mind wandered. You really didn't recognize him, but you also didn't want to offend him by this fact.

“So how would this role be redefining your abilities? If you are playing a heartless hedge fund dude, isn’t that also a kind of villain? Maybe that is why you got this part.” Tom pondered your insight. He again fell into overthinking and was only a text away from bailing on the entire endeavor. He was becoming that kind of guy, emotionally uneven under his elite veneer.

“I guess they feel like I don’t have the chops to be a 'real world' baddie.” “I needed more practice.” “You don’t?” you said very timidly, suddenly you weren’t hungry anymore. You gently pushed your plate aside so you could focus.

You realized his bromance compadres would find him eventually. Another LA truth: it was hard to get truly lost for long. You had been studying his face during the conversation. His pale complexion was slowly becoming flushed in small increments. Was it shyness or a hidden boldness he was bursting to demonstrate, you couldn't tell.

You had worn your espadrilles today, maybe it wasn’t the right season yet, but they always went so well with your outfit-a flowery dress from H&M. Gently and playfully, you kicked one of them off your foot, making a soft thud. Tom dipped his eyes beneath the table for only a moment and brought them back to you, a new flash of crimson emerging. Why were you taking off your shoes? Maybe your feet hurt from the walk?

He picked up his water and chugged almost all of it.

Your right leg lifted up and found purchase exactly between his, landing on the soft seat. Tom chuckled nervously and grabbed your foot. “Just what are you doing?” “I thought you were in training to be a real villain. Or did I misunderstand that?” You teased. Tom’s sincerity and earnestness were effulgent. “Oh no, I am, I really want the part, I need this role.” Suddenly when the idea of something illicit going on beneath the table loomed, he was not reticent about this new role. “Then you better continue to practice.” You laughed, your own smile forming across your face. “How long do we have until they find you?” You inched your foot closer to his crotch.

Tom took a deep breath in and pulled out his flip phone eyes squinting, trying to see the rectangle text banner across the tiny screen. He held the phone up to you. “Can you read this at all?” You grabbed it from him, feeling his hand shaking a little. It was charming. He was nervous.

You read the tiny screen aloud, “Not really, something about where are you at…you wanker, we are about to call your agent." It did say exactly that, and you wondered if possibly Tom was throwing away this role. Were you watching him collapse his career before your eyes? “Are you one for self-sabotage Tom?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. Maybe no one had asked him so bluntly. “Maybe,” he said after a long minute of typing something on the seemingly minute phone with his long fingers and even larger hands. “Just like I am possibly depressed," you offered. He looked up and sat his phone down. “Yes, I think so. Just like that.”

Incoming

Just then the waitress came by filled your water glasses and gave you another quick refill of coffee. Your chosen sobriety was a strange foil to Tom’s imbibed stimulant cocktail which showed no sign of waning. “So, are we on?” He finally said after biting his bottom lip, for what seemed like a year, until it was slightly puffy.

“For what? A staring contest?” You offered, laughing nervously too, your foot still stationed between his thighs. You wondered what you could accomplish at this hour with the looming threat of an incursion at any moment.

The glimmer in his dilated orbs registered that Tom was now aligned in a mission of testing the perpetuity of your anhedonic state. Suddenly under the table, you felt his long legs spread yours apart, like opening a long-closed window that had been painted over.

You gasped but didn’t say anything. He laughed and widened his legs further. You moved your eyes to watch him under the table, his hand reaching down to adjust his cock, which was obviously becoming hard.

At that moment you wanted to jump over to his side of the booth, you wanted to concede and take him to your far away apartment in embarrassing Marina Del Rey.

Tom went silent and finally let go of your bare foot, he had been holding it so hard with his other hand, that you were sure it would be bruised. You immediately placed it on his now impossibly hard cock, tenting his pants obscenely. Honestly, you’d never given a “foot job” before and only seen something like this in a French film once. You had no idea what you were doing.

You slowly began to move your foot up and down his length, which was quite impressive and required more force than you had anticipated. You curled your toes around him to try and create more friction, dragging your heel just at the base.

You placed your hands on the edge of the diner seat so you could put some real weight into getting him off. That seemed to work, and Tom let out a guttural moan. He quickly grabbed your water glass and drank it in addition to his own.

“Should I stop?” You let yourself wonder out loud. “Are you crazy? No.” Was Tom’s quick reply. “Does this feel good?” “Fuck yes.” His voice was breathy, and he shifted in his seat, daring to look around at the customers, but none showed any sign of noticing anything other than themselves. “But this isn’t fair,” he spoke again softly, panting. “How so?” “Because I am um, I am receiving.” “Aren’t you supposed to be a selfish cold surface-level junior business asshole?” “Yes.” “Then this is what they do, they get foot jobs in diners, amongst other perks of course,” you laughed. “Shit, you’re right,” Tom barely squeaked out.

Just then the diner door opened, and you could see the dim faces of the guys he had been partying with. They finally found him. “Don’t look now but your Republican friends have arrived.” Tom’s flush became pale. “Should I stop?” You checked in again. “No.” His response was as clear as mid-day.

So, you increased your speed, you took a deep breath. You were so turned on at this point. You were positive there would be a wet spot on the cracked vinyl seat. You lifted your skirt up further. Tom noticed and peered beneath the table again. He saw your hand brush past your underwear and a finger curl inside the lace trim. You matched his erratic breathing to your motions as you fucked yourself intently. His eyes were glued to you, his fists almost punching into the flimsy placemats. You laughed to yourself about the chances of you both coming in public, surely, he wouldn’t, or you couldn’t.

You were about to mention that perhaps you should stop. When suddenly Tom let out a muffled cry. His breath hitched. You could feel moisture beneath the bottom of your toes as you brought your foot back to the tip of his generous cock once more. “Ah, I see,” you laughed. "Well looks like we are done here." There was no more time to discuss what just happened. The bros had spotted him and you and made their way to your back corner.

Tom closed his eyes in what looked like a silent prayer. He had just had one of the best orgasms of his life. The short blond one with cropped hair spoke up, “Hiddleston, where the fuck have you been, your agency was about to call the cops, which would have been lame.”

“Hiddleston,” you said his surname out loud. Realizing you never got his last name. Tom looked at you with both lust and remorse. Then turned back to the assholes. “You found me, good work,” he said assuredly. “Well we gotta go dick we have a strip club that closes at 3am and it’s in the contract that we take you there.”

Tom slowly got up and used one of his long fingers to expertly untuck that white button-down shirt to conceal the mess you had both made. He looked your way, the pale blue of his eyes returning.

You exchanged numbers for the pleasantry of it, as the assholes looked on impatiently, probably wondering why Tom was wasting his time on a girl who looked like Boudica, but that's just what assholes do you remembered. Although you really didn’t expect to hear from him again. To your surprise right before dawn, perhaps as he was leaving said strip club, a text came over your Blackberry.

“I hope you felt something, I know I did.” Shit.

You did feel something, a lot of things actually. Tom had brought something back to the solemnly plain bagel of your life. You quickly wrote back.

"Don't let the bros see you texting me Tom, you laughed knowing he was probably squinting and barely able to see your words. You picture all of them looking over his shoulder.

"They went home. Can I come over? I feel like we aren't done quite yet. My asshole-in-training self expires at sunrise and I turn back into the real me. Is that okay?" You blinked a few times just to make sure you saw that correctly. "So you're actually Cinderella," you laughed nervously.

You managed to type your address and push send before pulling your covers over your head and screaming quietly enough to not wake up your still-slumbering roommates. You then looked around your room in quiet delightful horror, you had about 30 minutes to hide all your dirty clothes from the past three months under your bed...

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston x Reader #Tom Hiddleston fan fic #foot lover #meet cute

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thethirdromana · 5 months

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Jenna's costumes, rated

By actual popular demand (of at least one person), here are my thoughts on Jenna's Blake's 7 costumes, from the sublime to the very, very 70s.

Screengrabs from here (they prefer their images copied, not linked) and record of what Jenna wears when from here. And if you want more Blake's 7 costume snark (mixed with some love), here are Avon and Servalan.

As seen in The Way Back, Space Fall and Cygnus Alpha.

Not many decent screengrabs of this one, which is a pity since it's one of my favourite early Jenna costumes. It's delicate and pretty at a point when all the other characters are wearing something rough and practical, which helps to sell the idea that Jenna the smuggler was a cut above the ordinary criminals she's locked up with. I would wear this. 8/10.

As seen in Cygnus Alpha, Time Squad, Seek-Locate-Destroy and Breakdown.

Well, the pretty costume was nice while it lasted. The pattern Jenna is wearing here is one I would associate primarily with ironing boards or perhaps baby-led weaning. It has a wipe-clean air to it. The collar adds to the overall playschool vibe. 0/10, I hate it.

As seen in The Web and Mission to Destiny.

Something I don't understand is why most of the costumes on Blake's 7 are beautifully constructed (look at anything Servalan wears) and then there's this. It's an unremarkable red dress with random bits stuck to it. The weird collar bits, made from leftover fabric from Jenna's previous weird collar, look like they would come off if you tugged on them, or chanced this in a hot wash. 4/10.

As seen in Duel, Project Avalon and Deliverance.

Matching outfits!! I'm torn, Jenna is very much losing the cool smuggler vibe at this point in favour of being the Designated Girl, and the fact that she gets the pink power ranger costume doesn't help with that impression. On the other hand, this is a gorgeous piece of costume design: plausible, flattering, well-constructed. Jenna, Blake and Gan are all looking great here. So, reluctantly, I have to approve. 8/10.

As seen in Duel, Project Avalon, Project Avalon, Bounty and Deliverance.

There are a few clothing trends I've never quite understood. Jumper dresses with cutouts. Peep toe boots. Cold shoulder tops. The clue is in the name; I don't understand the circumstances under which you would want to wear what is otherwise a warm and cosy item of clothing that randomly leaves some part of you to freeze. I would otherwise like this fun, futuristic space-y top, but all I can think of when I look at it is this: aren't her arms getting cold? 6/10.

As seen in Orac.

Simple, classic, flattering. The belt echoes her favourite necklace! I really like this, so of course Jenna only wears it for one episode. 9/10.

As seen in Hostage and Redemption.

Ack, I should like this one. We're getting a lovely sense of Grim Future fashion trends here in the repetition of batwing sleeves and belted tunics. She looks comfortable and sophisticated. Stylish Smuggler Jenna is back! The problem is that she looks like a pearly queen and I just can't get past it. 7/10.

Also, if I might be permitted to digress: what the ever-loving fuck is Cally wearing?

As seen in Shadow.

It says something about how Blake's 7 treated its female cast that I couldn't find a screenshot of this costume where Jenna was the focus of the frame. And it's such a pity because I really like this. It has all the same things going on as the pearly queen outfit minus the pearly queen-ness. 9/10.

As seen in Weapon, Pressure Point and Countdown.

I think I might have been watching too much of Rosamund Pike in the Wheel of Time, because I love this costume. I admit that the vibes are all wrong: this is a dress for an aristocratic sorceress, not a floaty tunic for a high-class smuggler, but I simply don't care, it looks fabulous. 15/10, fight me.

As seen in Horizon and Pressure Point (pink) and in Killer (blue).

It's February 1979, Abba are at number 2 in the UK singles chart with Chiquitita, and don't we know it from Jenna's costume choices. Jenna's outfits are that bit too much of their time for me to love them (and the contrast with Blake's Robin Hood chic isn't helping), but there's definitely an extra point here for her silver boots. 7/10.

As seen in Trial, Voice From the Past, The Keeper and Star One.

It's time for the biker leathers and for Jenna to wear a different necklace! Amazing that it's taken her this long to get on board with the leather trend that Avon was on since Time Squad. She must have squeaked her way across the Liberator in this but she makes it look so cool. 10/10, glad she got so much use of this one.

As seen in Gambit.

This is a poor imitation of the blue sorceress dress, unfortunately. Deep colours look great on Jenna but black is too severe. Should have given this costume to Servalan instead. 5/10.

As seen in The Keeper.

And we end with another red dress with bits stuck to it, except that Jenna, by now very much being treated as eye candy, has a lot more cleavage on display. But instead my eye is drawn to the Art Deco fish pattern she seems to be wearing like a sporran. Blake's 7 costume design: never knowingly unbaffling. 6/10.

#blake's 7 #costuming #jenna stannis #sally knyvette #jenna's outfits are that bit less mockable than avon's or servalan's but i did my best

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oneknightstand-if · 2 months

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So based on some of the gifs u use, is it fair to assume that male Merlin *kinda* looks like Fate Merlin and female Merlin *kinda* looks like Fate Lady Avalon? lol

Nnnot really. FGO Merlin does have the light hair and if you chopped the male one's hair above the shoulders, I suppose the haircut would be close enough...

...but the real reason why there's so much Fate, BBC Merlin, and Monty Python gifs on this blog is because those are the media that actually get a lot of animated gifs made of them.

Like if you do a Google Image search for Mordred gifs you get... Fate, and Fate, and Fate, and Fate... and then a BBC Mordred nine lines down.

Merlin canonly looks like whatever the MC thinks is most attractive so. Unless you think FGO Merlin is the height of hotness, they don't exactly look like that.

#FGO Merlin is probably the Merlin I have the most gifs of too #I need to use more of my Once Upon a Time Merlin gifs #oks-Merlin #oks-asks

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mako-neexu · 1 year

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from anon of @nasuversekinkmeme: gudako is trapped in a singularity/lostbelt/situation which can only be escaped by relaxing and taking at least one goddamn break

There it was, written in the sky, in words made from a jet’s smoke: “The Singularity can only be solved when the Master of Chaldea relaxes to the fullest.”

“P.S. There’s no tricks here, Senpai. Just do what is written above, teehee~”

Actually, Mash was in on this. She was to be the guide for Senpai as the Servants organized the facilities with them as its host and even went this far to create a singularity. Normally, she’d be opposed to it…

But Senpai has been running herself ragged to the point where it reminded her of Doctor Roman’s exhaustion. It really hurts seeing her push herself even farther after defeating ORT.

Each minute Singularity spawned, each time she’s got silver and golden apples to spare, she threw herself in simulations and battles to earn them mana and replenishable resources while in the destination.

Even King Hassan and Edmond Dantes (who rose from Senpai’s shadow that one time she was eating in the cafeteria late at night. Mash definitely walked in on them like that.) advised her to rest!

Yet, she just smiled it off.

Senpai’s body collapsing in the middle of a fight was the last straw, with the dark circles under her eyes pushing it.

BB had been the one to tell her that the Operation: Just Fucking Sleep was in the works last week, and she even produced a brochure and a manual for her to memorize. Of course, Mash had been skeptical. But even BB, BB was seriously concerned for Senpai’s well-being.

So here they were, in a large resort complete with a theme park, vast fields of different flowers and forests, several restaurants, other buildings, and they somehow managed to fit the Tokyo Dome too. Overall, it both looked chaotic and organized at the same time.

Mash looked at Ritsuka brightly, who was forced to wear new casual attire mystic codes along with her, “So, Senpai, there’s a map and some VIP passes over there. Shall we see what to enjoy first?”

Ritsuka’s response was to yawn and tap on her communicator, “Hold on a sec, Mash.” And she tapped on her communicator, only to see static. “We’re cut off from Chaldea? The magical energy isn’t that dense though? I think it’s just around 40%-ish”

…It seriously was concerning that Senpai can gauge the mana density alone even without the help of their detectors.

“A-Anyways, Senpai,” Mash held her hand and led her to a small table containing their passes and maps. “Yesterday, I heard you wanted to see a boyband from some of the male Servants? We didn’t get the chance to see them much during that time with Miss Crane after all. And look, Senpai! There’s even hot springs located in the north-east!”

Mash was trying her best.

She really, really was trying to make Ritsuka’s attention go to the more interesting ones, the ones she was sure she wanted to see. Like Mandricardo, Kintoki, Fergus and others forming a band, enjoying the beach without ANYTHING going wrong.

There’s an observatory with Erice and Voyager managing it, and there’s another theater dedicated to plays and classical music, with Mozart, Marie, and Salieri managing it (barely, uh, considering their relationship).

The streets and sights were also built close to Senpai’s hometown with a few modifications from Servants that make it both look different yet the same. Heck, there’s even NPCs to help make it an experience where it’s not completely a ghost town with only them to enjoy it.

There’s even lucky spots to roll gacha on (definitely not blessed with Merlin and Lady Avalon’s magic) to which would ease the pain of losing all the crystals Senpai saved in her phone.

But no. Ritsuka’s gaze was fixated on the top left corner of the map, where a bright-pink and evil looking double ‘B’ was pasted on an ordinary looking building.

Senpai waved her hand and hummed, “Let’s do that later, Mash. Let’s see first what BB really wants from us. Last time she did something like this, we were stuck in a time loop.”

Noooo- that would defeat the purpose of the Singularity!

“Oberon is running a hot dog stand, Senpai.” She blurted out, trying to find a way to loosen Ritsuka up.

But she only laughed and took a swig of her energy drink (where did she get that??? Mash swore that was the brand of energy drink more potent than pure acid) “Pfft- shit, let’s bully him with Castoria later, lol. Let’s see him after we determine our next course of action to get the Grail.”

Mash pouted, “But Senpai, BB already said it in the sky to relax-”

And then she started making her way down the hill they were on, Ritsuka turned her back and grinned, “And don’t worry! I’ve got plenty of apples in store just in case we need to farm some currency again. Also, I saw a shop there that sells eight hundred Proof of Hero and a fuckton of Gems!? There’s a bonus three million QP every item too! Gah, I seriously need it for Ordeal Call!”

…And Senpai, who was used to grinding to the point of making sure her things to exchange were at least in the ten-thousands if the shop has just a few of what they need, and then there’s here, where it’s basically paradise…Mash realized something:

They were never gonna get out of here, huh?

#fgo #fate grand order #mash kyrielight #guda #fujimaru ritsuka #mako: disappears into the void

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separatist-apologist · 11 months

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Love Is A Lie

Summary: After her mothers death, Arina goes from the well-loved daughter of a nobleman to a servant in his home. She dreams of escaping to the coast and making her own way, and when she learns of a ball the King of Avalon is hosting to pick a wife, Arina sees her chance. With a little help from a fairy godmother, Arina agrees to exchange a favor for one night with the King.

But Eris Vanserra has other plans when they meet, and Arina isn't sure she's ready for the consequences of one night dancing at a ball.

Part Two of OUAT series

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

A soft knock at the door pulled Arina from her thoughts. She was free, or so the king said, though he’d put her in a series of interconnected rooms and then instructed the door be locked from the outside. There was consistent food and hot water and a balcony overlooking a jewel-bright forest, but it was still a cage.

Arina had stayed up through the night, crying and pounding at the door until she grew tired and moved to a window seat in the sitting room. The door at the far end of the cavernous space unlocked and the princess of Ellesmere—or, Avalon, now that she’d married Prince Lucien, slipped in.

“Hello,” she murmured, tucking a thick curl behind her ear. A rosy gown matched her bright cheeks, swishing around her legs as she made her way over the immaculate white and gold swirled marble floors. “How are you feeling today?”

“I’ve been locked inside the palace while the king plans my wedding,” Arina replied bitterly, turning back for the window. “How do you think I am?”

There was a pause. “Is…why did you come, if not to be his wife?”

“I came to ask him to free me from my father,” Arina replied, well aware of what Elain Vanserra was going to say in response.

“He did…in his way—”

“There were hundreds of women there,” Arina interrupted, turning her desperation onto this woman. “I never thought he’d find me interesting. He was supposed to inform my father I was free to leave and then forget I existed.”

A smile tugged at Elain’s lip, like she knew some secret Arina didn’t. Arina didn’t have the ability to feel anger, at least, now at Elain. So when Elain sat beside her, taking Arina’s hand in her own, Arina didn’t pull away.

“Eris is stupid,” she said, catching Arina off guard. “But he means well. And this isn’t forever, either.”

“Couldn’t you…just…explain it to him.”

Elain’s smile didn’t fade. “There’s no reasoning with him. Didn’t you wonder why Connall came all that way to make sure you had an invitation? You were the only person he wanted to see.”

Arina had heard a servant say that, too. Drawing her legs up under the silken yellow dress she’d been put in, Arina said, “He hated me—”

“He just doesn’t know how to soften his face. We’re working on that. But he didn’t hate you then, and he doesn’t hate you, now.”

“If he cares for me, he should let me go.”

“Men are terribly selfish creatures,” Elain murmured, squeezing Arina’s hand. The sun snagged against the pearl ring nestled over her finger, reminding Arina that this princess had gotten to choose her own husband and was better for it. She simply didn’t understand because she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“So that's it, then? I just…do whatever he wants and tell myself to be grateful?”

Arina shrugged. “You could, if you wanted. But Eris is a grown man who could use someone snapping at him. And just between you and I, I think you could have the freedom you’re so desperate for even as his wife. Afterall, surely you’re not the only woman trapped in this predicament?”

Arina looked up at Elain. “I never asked for that.”

Elain sighed softly. “Who does? Still, you have it and you could do great things if you wanted to.”

Arina didn’t believe that for a second. However, when Elain left, Arina waited for the tell-tale click of the lock and when it didn’t come, she bolted. Unlike her home, where no one dared to look at her and certainly never spoke to her, here it seemed everyone wanted to hear her speak. Every couple steps a servant was curtseying or a courtier pausing to ask how she was liking the Forest Palace.

As if they hadn’t all watched Eris carry her back into the palace sobbing into his jacket. She knew rumors must have spread, though the nature of them eluded her. Did they know the truth? Or did they think she was so impossibly happy she’d merely broken down? And which was more embarrassing?

By the time Arina made it back outside, she was all tangled up in her thoughts and, perhaps worst of all, lost. She had shoes, and her dress had long sleeves, but she wasn’t equipped to run on foot. So, she decided this was merely reconnaissance. Eris likely was aware she was moving through his palace and would be coming to look for her—better to lull him into a false sense of security.

Though, as Arina crunched over the grounds, fingers skimming flowers that reached her hip, she thought of what Elain had said. How many other women were in her predicament? Arina had never given that any thought, certainly not before. She’d been so focused on survival that getting out was all Arina had ever hoped for.

Now, though…now the King intended to make her his wife. Did men truly abide by the whims of their wives, or was that merely a tale told to young girls to make them feel better for the raw deal marriage offered?

Arina made it just to the border of the woods when the King appeared, far more casual than he’d been the night before in a fawn brown coat and dark, black trousers tucked into gleaming boots. His cape was, as always, draped over one broad shoulder, clasped around his chest with a gold chain.

“Princess,” he murmured, amber eyes gleaming. “How nice to see you outdoors.”

“Someone unlocked my bedroom door,” she shot back, catching the shuttering look of guilt that flashed across his features.

“Trying to escape?” he guessed.

“Just inspecting my new home,” she lied. Eris knew, though, judging from that sharp smile.

“I’m sure that’s all you’re doing. How are you finding the palace?”

“Big. I could use a map.”

“You should have asked Elain,” he commented, stepping closer to her. Close enough she could smell the scent of warm bourbon and fire smoke against his skin. Sweet and bright, yet still heady and masculine. Arina fought back a shiver and lost when his fingers brushed over the back of her hand. “Or me. I would be happy to show you every place a great lady such as yourself might evade her husband and vanish to the coast.”

“Oh? Is that what your mother did?”

He flinched. “She tried.”

Arina knew his fathers reputation. Everyone knew. The former king had never tried to hide his rage, nor had he ever cared about the obvious bruises his wife bore, often in public. Eris peered down at Arina, and she wondered if this was the moment he promised not to hit her.

“I spoke with your father today,” he said instead, taking her by surprise. Hands in his pockets, Eris nodded for her to follow beside him. Arina tripped after him, heart thudding in her chest.

“Oh? What did he say?”

Grinding his teeth, Eris said, “He’s asked if you’ll require a dowry and informed me you don’t have one. He thinks I should pick another woman.”

Arina’s stomach splattered at her feet, even as she agreed. “You should.”

“I won’t. A dowry is your protection…and now you don’t have one.”

“What protection could a dowry provide against a king?” Arina demanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eris grumbled, shaking his head of auburn hair. “There isn’t a man at court with a daughter that hasn’t been preparing a dowry but yours doesn’t have one.”

Arina stared. Did he think she’d been working as a maid for fun? There were a million things she could have said, and though it was tempting to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until some sense rattled into that head of his, Arina merely said, “You could always pick another wife.”

“I could,” he agreed, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I won’t. We’ll be married in a month.”

“And then what?”

Eris only shrugged. “Have you considered the piano? All the great ladies at court seem to play it.”

Arina whipped around, crowding his personal space. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, the picture of bored nobility. “If you’re looking for a terribly boring hobby, why not join the rest of the ladies at court and take up piano?”

“You know what your problem is?” she hissed.

Eris smirked. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“You and your well-read lords at court decide what women are allowed to learn. Sewing, piano, and gardening. If we’re allowed lessons, it's paltry in comparison to your own and all of it is in service to one day being your vapid wives. You keep us in the dark purposefully so you will always be the smartest man in the room, and then turn around and mock us for not being as interesting as you. God forbid a lady try and impress the great king with her piano skills! You don’t get to have it both ways, your majesty.”

And then, with a pounding heart and a dry mouth, Arina curtseyed mockingly while Eris stood utterly still, jaw clenched as he watched. She couldn’t believe he was going to let her get away with what she’d said, but Arina had to say it. Especially since she knew the ladies at court were far more accomplished than she was, and he was already mocking them. How long before he realized how lacking she was and hated her for it?

Arina spun on her heel, not wanting to be so close to him simply because his eyes were threatening to wreck her anger. She made it all of three steps before he was back on her, fingers curling around her wrist.

“Let me go—”

“What are you interested in, then? Tell me,” he added, a strange note of pleading lacing his authoritative words.

“So you can mock me?” she demanded, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “I don’t think so.”

“Tell me,” he repeated. Arina understood why he was king right then. Legs trembling, Arina had to force herself to remain upright when every part of her wanted to bow before him. Eris wasn’t smiling, nor was he truly asking. He was ordering her to tell him.

“When my mother died, my education ended. I—” she bit her bottom lip as Eris edged closer, eyes gleaming with interest. “I wanted to work in a library when I left. Make up the deficits in my knowledge.”

Eris nodded, lips pressed together in a firm line. It was impossible to gauge how he felt about this information. Was he regretting his decision, knowing she knew even less than everyone around her? That his wife was so poorly mannered she’d yell at him on his own lawn? A strange war wrestled in her chest—between hoping he’d let her go and the fear he’d no longer want her.

Eris inclined his head, a dismissal if Arina had ever seen it. There would be no dissecting his thoughts today, which ought to have filled her with relief.

And yet, with each step Arina took away from him, she felt worse. Like she ought to have stayed. Turning only once, she found him watching her leave, head cocked. It needed to be said, she reminded herself. And it changed nothing between them. She still needed to leave before the wedding took place and she was irrevocably bound to him.

She only needed to figure out how.

ERIS:

“Lord Novak, thank you for meeting with me,” Eris murmured, refusing to stand when Arina’s father slithered into the room. The mere sight of him filled Eris with rage. The man was well-dressed and elegant, handsome by all accounts. Eris had seen him over the years at court, traveling from his shitty little town to simper at his fathers feet.

Had he been a better man, he’d have brought his daughter with him. A daughter Eris might have had the opportunity to court properly, so their impending marriage was less of a shit show. She might at least like him, which was all of the battle at this point. Eris had every servant, every guard, and every friend he could count on instructed to keep him informed of her comings and goings. Elain had tracked Arina down and the last Eris heard, the pair were mapping out the palace so his future wife could try and escape him in the night.

It wasn’t ideal, of course. If anyone could persuade Arina on his merits—along with the charms of his home—it was Elain. It occurred to Eris he ought to be paying Elain for the good work she did. He wouldn’t—but he ought to. Lucien could pay her if he wanted to, given he had access to the palace coffers.

But back to the matters at hand. Eris lounged on his throne, his mind still on the lawn with Arina. She’d looked at him with such hatred it robbed him of breath. It had been only luck that kept him on his feet rather than on his knees, begging her forgiveness. This was not an auspicious start to a marriage.

It was far easier to blame her father than to blame himself. So Eris, drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne while Novak straightened himself up.

“It’s my pleasure, your majesty. How can I be of service?”

“Why did you discontinue Arina’s education?”

Novak straightened, smoothing his hands over the cream jacket he wore. Eris expected a stammering apology. Not— “She lacks aptitude, sire. Are you learning this as well? My late wife spent a great deal of time and effort trying to turn her into a great lady, but Arina only cared to run barefoot through the mud. Focusing her on more detailed tasks helped a little, but she was always far too wild for court.”

Far too wild for court. What was wrong with Eris that the knowledge his wife might join him in the forest, might enjoy a little mess, aroused him? He didn’t betray a hint of it to her father, not wanting Novak to think he had any leverage over Eris.

Once the wedding happened, he intended to strip the man of his titles to repay him for his treatment. But for now, Eris merely nodded his head. “I see.”

“If you’re reconsidering—and I would urge you to, your majesty—my wife and I would be happy to take her back.”

Yeah, Eris bet they would. And he knew he’d never see her again, regardless of what he ordered Novak to do. There’d be some story of a contagious illness, and then a funeral and Eris would never be subjected to the loathing in her pine green eyes. What a tragedy.

Eris merely stared until Novak withered, bowing his head. “My apologies, majesty.”

“What killed her mother?”

“Consumption, sire. It swept through the village. I believe it was Arina who brought it into the house. She’d been told to stay indoors but she doesn’t listen, I—”

“That’s enough,” Eris ordered, heart racing in his chest. What kind of life had Arina lived where she could be blamed for her mothers death, ripped out of the life she’d grown accustomed to, and made to serve a man who likely had never loved her. “You will stay away from her unless she expressly requests your presence. And you will leave court immediately until I decide what I want to do with you.”

“Sire?”

But Eris had no intention of explaining himself to the likes of Novak. Waving a hand, he sent the man out of his throne room tripping over his own jeweled boots. Eris watched him go before summoning Connall back to him. He was the only one who’d remained behind, asserting he had no interest in a foreign princess or convincing her sleeping body to love him, and Eris didn’t want to see all his brothers die battling a dragon.

In truth, he would have sent none of them if he could get away with it. Earning Elain’s goodwill had been a good move at the time—she was doing all the hard work of making Arina feel at home in the palace.

Connall entered mere minutes later, hair mussed and his shirt half buttoned. “Brother,” he said with a lazy smile. “I’m not going to bow.”

“How about tucking in your shirt?” Eris asked instead.

“No point. You left so many ladies at court heartbroken, brother. The least I can do is console them.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

Connall glanced around the empty room, pausing in a wide shaft of sunlight streaming through arched windows. Eris could recall a time when their father used to drag them all in, lining them up in the same spot to decide which son he hated the most—and who would be punished for it. His brother was making a good show of pretending he wasn’t worried Eris was about to do the same.

Standing, Eris met his brother at the bottom of the three steps leading up to the dais. “I want to strip Novak of his titles and ancestral lands.”

“Bold,” Connall replied with a wicked smile. “And dangerous, if the other lords disapprove.”

Eris nodded, hands behind his back as he walked Connall out of the throne room. “I need a reason. Surely you could help me manufacture one?”

Connall’s smile widened. “Careful, brother, or people will start to think you have a weakness.”

Eris hadn’t considered that, and it irked him that he had to think about it now. Sighing, he said, “A wife assumes I have some affection—”

“Don’t let father hear you say that,” Connall interrupted smoothly. “What is it you’re asking from me, brother?”

“Find anything that gives my plan legitimacy. Preferably something financial—something the other lords are likely also doing so they’ll think twice about crossing me.”

Connall nodded. “I can do that, if it's what you want.”

It was—kind of. What Eris really wanted was to drag Novak into the dungeon, string him up, and torture him long enough to feel whatever pain Arina had suffered. The only thing that kept him from doing so was his belief she wouldn’t thank him for such cruelty. Given she already thought so poorly of him, Eris was motivated to make things easy—and keep his behavior quiet.

Connall bled off in the hall, vanishing past a corner before Eris could warn him not to fuck another married woman. Again.

As if it would make any difference. The more in love the woman, the bigger the challenge as far as Connall was concerned. Eris couldn’t police his brother, who was likely to die in a duel one day from a pissed man. Sometimes he thought his brother found that a terribly romantic way to die.

His brothers were fools.

Not him, though. Or, that’s what he told himself as he made his way through the palace to the little breakfast nook he knew Elain and Arina were in. He could fix things between them by proving he wasn’t as awful as she imagined, and that he cared about her and what she wanted.

So long as what she wanted was to remain here with him. Maybe it was manipulative, then, to dangle the only thing he really knew about her over her head. But Eris was a desperate man, well aware that one day his wife was going to try and sneak out in the night and he might very well lose her.

From the hall, Eris could hear loud giggling—which ended the moment he opened the door. Both Elain and Arina turned their gazes toward him. Eris had stared down armies, his father—a witch masquerading as a human queen—and nothing had ever intimidated him half as much as Elain and Arina’s faces right then.

Was he King of Avalon? He felt like a schoolboy. Clearing his throat, Eris looked at his would-be wife. She was beautiful in yellow, hair curled around her perfect face in accordance with the latest fashion. In a better world—one where she wanted him—he would have been allowed to slide his fingers through the strands and see the pins clatter to the floor.

But that wasn’t his world, and to that end, Eris asked, “Are you two done in here?” “Why, my lord, I don’t think we’ll ever be done mocking you,” Elain replied sweetly, dabbing the corner of her lips with a lace napkin.

Eris merely arched a brow. So that was how it was to be, was it? There were a million things Eris wanted to say—and would, just as soon as Arina wasn’t able to hear him. Arina kept her lips pressed together, though her eyes were bright with amusement. Fine. So long as she wasn’t looking at him hatefully, it would have to do.

“With me, then,” he ordered, nodding with his head for Arina to join him in the hall. He stepped out so she could quietly thank Elain for her hospitality and kindness. It was something he knew hadn’t been regularly extended to her. Arina met him in the hall, arms crossed over her chest.

“Come to mock me again?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Eris replied, offering her his hand which she pointedly declined. Ouch. Sighing softly, he added, “Follow me. I have a gift for you.”

“I don’t want any gifts.”

“Well, you’ll have it all the same.”

It was Arina’s turn to sigh, though she continued to match his pace. Eris didn’t slow down, deciding if she wanted to be difficult, well—he could be, too. Arina was taller than most women, though she couldn’t touch him for height, and more than once he caught her lifting her skirts as they went upstairs so she could keep up.

And Eris pretended the sight of her bare legs weren’t doing something to him.

She was making a mess of him. He’d seen far more of women than just an ankle—he’d seen multiple women dance before him, naked as they touched each other, touched him. It should have been nothing, to see that hint of golden skin, that slim leg and yet Eris had to resist adjusting his cock lest she realize just how much power she held over him.

“What is this?” Arina demanded, halting just outside the golden doors pulled open to reveal the library just inside.

“A library, Arina,” he replied patiently. If looks could have killed, he would have been dead. He took the opportunity to brush his fingers over her back, guiding her inside. There was nothing like this place in the world—save for, perhaps, Helion’s grand libraries on the continent. But here, there was just Avalon, and the six stories filled with shelves and chairs and art. Scholars, too, who spent their whole lives within the palace walls trying to uncover the mysteries of their world.

Like the curse that had been put on Elain. But for today, all he wanted was to give Arina a reason to stay. His head scholar made their way toward them, unnoticed by Arina who was staring up at the glass dome overhead that allowed brilliant sunlight to pour into the room. She seemed to glow, standing in a golden shaft like a princess of daylight.

He wanted to kiss her. Instead, Eris greeted the red robed scholar with a respectful incline of his head. “Agnus,” he murmured, drawing her attention. “This is Arina.”

Agnus bowed deeply, revealing the shiny, hairless top of his head before his hood flopped over it. The older man kept his eyes on Eris’s would-be wife, reaching for her hand to offer a respectful kill. More jealousy looped through him, squashed quickly as he reminded himself Agnus had his own wife he was, by all accounts, very devoted to.

“His majesty speaks very highly of you. He says you have ambition to be a scholar?”

Arina looked over at Eris, eyes wide with surprise. Did she really think he went all over the palace besmirching her good name? He kept his expression neutral, waiting for Arina to speak.

“I—he’s right. I do.”

“Well. It would be my honor to instruct her highness in whatever matters she requests. I am at your disposal.”

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he murmured, turning before Arina could do something that would ruin this for him. He’d given her what she wanted. There was no need to hide away on the coast. Her father would be worse than a beggar by the time Eris finished with him, and his wife would be the best educated woman in the realm, if she wished to be.

What else could she want? He’d give her houses and horses and wealth beyond her wildest dreams if she’d only offer him an ounce of affection. Eris had made it just down the hall when he heard Arina call his name.

Her fingers caught his own, dropped when she realized she was touching him. She hesitated, and then surged up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“This was…thank you.”

Eris couldn’t resist cupping her cheek in his hand. “I would do far more, if you asked.”

“This is enough, “she whispered.

But it wasn’t.

And it never would be.

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra and the no good horrible day #maybe there was a better way to obtain a wife??#no no you're right this was the best way to go about it #shes just unreasonable

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stillwintering · 5 months

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All's Fair in Love and Politics (a modern Nessian AU - where Rhys is running for president)

Summary: In the ruthless arena of politics, victory demands risking everything, even one's own heart. Rhysand has his eyes on the presidency. Feyre convinces her estranged sister, Nesta, to join the political campaign. Nesta and Cassian find themselves forging an unexpected bond as the campaign intensifies. But can their budding romance survive the treacherous waters of modern political warfare?

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Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Cassian spent the rest of his evening at the River House, which had turned into an impromptu campaign headquarters of sorts. After all the official business was settled and Amren had left to take the last flight back to DC, Cassian found himself lingering in the company of Rhys and Azriel. They gathered in Rhys's expansive wood-paneled study for a nightcap.

It had been too long since the three of them had the chance to simply exist together as brothers in arms without the weight of duty or the shadow of danger looming over them.

The day's activities had visibly taken a toll on Rhys, understandable given how many media appearances he completed. By all accounts, the speech had been a resounding success, yet Rhys seemed lost in thought, gazing pensively at the drink in his hand, almost sad.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Cassian's voice broke the silence. He leaned in, trying to catch Rhys's eye, giving him a teasing nudge on the elbow. Azriel, seated in an armchair on Rhys's other side, only observed silently.

Rhys raised his head, a faint smile on his lips, though his eyes remained somber. "Something like that."

Cassian sucked in a breath. "I'm afraid it's too late to turn back now, brother." He held up his crystal glass, the amber liquid inside glinting in the lamplight, before taking a sip. "The horse is out of the barn."

"What if..." Rhys looked away to the moonlit sky out the window of his study and the Sidra sparkling under the stars.

"It will be a tough fight for the nomination and a even tougher fight in the general election." Cassian smiled at him reassuringly. "It's going to be hard and chances are, we'll lose. But no one will fault you for that."

Rhys shook his head, his expression turning resolute. "No, I mean what if I actually win?"

A moment of realization washed over Cassian. "There's no one else I'd trust more with such power and responsibility," he told him.

"I don't trust myself," Rhys murmured, his voice tinged with a vulnerability rare for him.

"I know you." Azriel knocked his knee gently against Rhys's. "You're the one," he stated firmly.

Rhys's gaze drifted away again, his doubts still clinging to him like shadows.

Cassian turned to Azriel. "They say a good man can't get elected President these days," he mused with a half-smile. "I refuse to believe that. Do you, Az?"

"Absolutely not," he responded without hesitation.

"And you think I'm that man?" Rhys interjected, his face still dark, "Does it matter that I'm not as sure?"

"Do you remember that operation outside of Kabul? The one that went sideways real fast?" Cassian reclined back in his armchair, his demeanor thoughtful. "Our first hot zone and we were completely outgunned, stuck in a crossfire with enemy combatants all around. I’ll be honest, I thought we were done for. We were just rookies back then. But you, Rhys, you just took over like you were born to do it. Directing our moves, calling out targets, staying cool under that kind of heat. You got us out of there with zero civilian casualties. It’s a rare thing, Rhys."

Cassian stopped to catch his eye. "I knew from that moment that I would follow you into the Mist of Avalon."

Azriel only chuckled while Rhys let out a dry laugh. "Cass, please, you're the one with the natural aptitude for strategic combat." Rhys waved his hand. "But I do find, somehow, urban warfare easier to navigate than politics."

Cassian raised his glass in a toast, prompting the others to do the same. "To fighting the good fight then," he announced with a wink. "Political or otherwise."

Azriel joined in, his glass meeting theirs with a gentle chime. "To making a difference," he added.

Rhys looked at his friends -- his brothers -- their faces unflinching. "To the future," he said, his eyes clear and focused. "May it be brighter than we dare to hope."

---

By the time Cassian and Azriel returned to the House of the Wind, the inky night had draped its silent shroud over the building. They expected the grand lobby to be completely deserted at this late hour. Yet, to Cassian's wonder, Nesta was there.

Lost in a world of her own, Nesta walked under the dim glow of the ornate chandelier, her figure casting long, fluid shadows across the polished marble floor. From the way she was dressed, it looked like she was about to go on a late-night run.

It wasn't until Cassian stepped into her space, closing the distance to a mere foot, that she snapped out of her thoughts. Her gaze, sharp and piercing, lifted to meet his and then to Azriel's. A flicker of surprise darted across her features before she veiled it with a practiced air of indifference.

"Going on another evening run?" Cassian asked her as a way of greeting.

Nesta's response was terse, her lips pursing slightly as she uttered a succinct "Yes." She looked over the both of them again. "Anything happen at the meeting at the River House?"

"You didn't miss much," Azriel responded. "Amren will send out a memo first thing tomorrow."

Cassian studied her for a beat longer, noting the slight clench of her jaw and the way her eyes darted to the lobby doors. An idea sparked in him.

"If you give me ten minutes," he offered, gesturing towards the elevators with a hopeful tilt of his head, "I can join you."

The words hung in the air, a delicate offer. He saw it then -- the imperceptible stiffening of her posture, ready to refuse. So he quickly added, a playful note in his voice, "I know all the good running routes around here."

Nesta hesitated, but her expression wavered. "I would rather run on my own."

"I don't blame you," Azriel teased, unable to stop himself. "Cassian is terrible company."

Cassian scowled at his brother. "It's dark out, Nes," he tried again. "Let me come with you."

Nesta looked away to the pitch-blackness that lay outside the lobby doors, calculating. Although Velaris was generally a very safe city, she had never tried to navigate it in the dead of night. Finally, she looked back at him, her expression unreadable.

"Fine," Nesta acquiesced. "Ten minutes."

She gracefully sidestepped, allowing Cassian and Azriel access to the elevators. She then glided to a nearby sofa, settling into its plush cushions to wait.

Cassian burst into the elevator and jabbed at the buttons for their respective floors, his foot tapping impatiently. Azriel leaned back against the elevator wall, his arms folded casually across his chest, with a mischievous grin on his lips as he observed Cassian's barely veiled agitation.

"Easy there, big guy," he remarked affectionately. "She's not going to disappear."

Cassian shot him a quick, frustrated glance. "I just don't want to keep her waiting longer than necessary," he muttered.

"Oh, is that so?" Azriel's eyebrow arched in amusement. "Or could it be that you're just eager to spend time with her under the starry sky?"

As the elevator finally dinged at Cassian's floor, he practically leaped out. "You don't know what you're talking about, Az," he retorted over his shoulder.

Azriel laughed, shaking his head as the elevator doors slid shut. "Good luck!" he called after Cassian.

---

Cassian led the way, his stride confident and familiar as they ran up the winding road that hugged the contours of the mountain behind the House of the Wind. The path, bathed in the soft glow of well-placed lights, carved a serpentine trail through the dense pine forest and upwards into the heart of the mountainside. A delicate mist had descended, settling into the treetops like cobwebs.

"There's a lookout a few miles up with an amazing view of the city," Cassian said, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet night.

Nesta only nodded, allowing him to set a moderate pace. The scent of pine and earth filled her senses, and she found herself leaning into the night air, into his steadfast strength beside her.

Their heavy breaths, synchronized and rhythmic, filled the silent space between them.

As they ascended, the forest around them began to change. The trees grew taller, their branches interlocking above to create a natural cathedral, their needles whispering secrets. She let all the noise of her mind recede into the thickening mist, let it wrap around her like a soothing embrace.

When they finally reached the lookout, Nesta stopped, her breath labored from the climb, and gazed out at the glittering city below, beyond the mist of the forest, sprawled like a jeweled tapestry, the lights flickering like distant stars caught in an earthly web. The world seemed to pause -- the only sounds were their heartbeats and the distant hum of Velaris.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

Cassian turned towards her, his expression soft yet intense. His hazel eyes, reflecting the city's lights, narrowed on Nesta as if she were the only object in this vast, sparkling expanse. "Yes," he breathed.

Nesta could feel the blood rushing through her head. A breeze tousled Cassian's hair, setting it dancing wild under the silver glow of the moon.

"Tell me why you're here," Nesta asked, her words floating on the night air.

He bowed his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me why you left a promising military career to work on a long shot political campaign."

He studied her face intently, sensing the urgency in her question. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Because I care about who gets to be in the room where it happens," he finally said.

Nesta's brow furrowed, her eyes searching his for more.

"I was a good soldier," Cassian continued. "But in the military, I was a cog in the machine. Being on the ground, seeing the consequences of following orders... it changes you."

He paused, his gaze growing distant. Cassian remembered his lover during the war -- Tanwyn, with a smile like a storm, who was a surgeon with Doctors Without Borders. She chose to work at a hospital in the middle of a conflict zone and chose to stay even when the town came under siege. After the bombing started, Cassian disputed his commander's decision to engage the enemy so close to a civilian-occupied area. When that went nowhere, he had begged, begged her to get to safety. But Tanwyn had refused, "I didn't go through 14 years of medical training to abandon my patients." Her last words to him.

It took Cassian a very long time to get over her death.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"I've experienced the fallout of strategic miscalculations, witnessed the collateral damage of executive decisions made in far-off offices," Cassian concluded. "No more senseless wars. That's why I'm here."

Nesta listened, absorbing his words. She tried to understand the rollercoaster of emotions that had swept through his face.

"And you think Rhysand Starborn is the right person to be in the room where it happens?"

Cassian gave her a wry grin. "Funny you should ask."

"Why?"

He dismissed the moment with a shake of his head.

When he faced her again, Cassian's expression was one of unwavering conviction. "I am certain he is the right person for the job."

Nesta took a long moment to study him, taking in the firm set of his jaw and the gentle curves of his lips -- the lines crinkling around his eyes seemed to tell stories of bravery and compassion.

"Okay," she said at last, as though settling an internal debate.

"Okay?"

Nesta nodded, this time with a certainty that seemed to anchor her. "Yes, okay," she repeated, giving him an assured smile.

They stood together for a moment longer, time seemingly stretching out as they surveyed the panoramic view of Velaris. The night breeze caressed Nesta's skin and sent a shiver down her spine as her body cooled from their earlier ascent to the overlook.

"Shall we head back?" she suggested, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself for warmth.

Cassian agreed with a dip of his chin, but his curiosity piqued. "These evening runs of yours, are they a regular thing?"

Nesta hesitated, her words tangling slightly. "Yes -- no, well, sort of. I'm actually training for the National Women's Half Marathon," she clarified. "I've committed to running it with some friends."

"If you want, I could help -- I could train with you."

Nesta mulled over his offer again, the sincerity in his voice apparent. "That might be nice," she said, giving in to the tug in her heart. "I'll let you know when I'm planning my next run."

Cassian's answering smile was so bright, so full of warmth, that Nesta felt momentarily dazed -- a radiance that rivaled the moon above.

"Come on then." He turned from the outlook, and Nesta followed, falling into step beside him as they began their descent.

---

Nesta inhaled deeply, trying to stifle the swell of emotions in her chest. She stood on the meticulously groomed lawns of the River House, where Feyre was hosting a luncheon for the League of Women Voters of Velaris.

In front of her, the Starborn's grand conservatory was bustling with guests -- their conversations a steady buzz against the clinking of fine china. The large glass structure was situated in the back of the house, hidden from view from the street. Sunlight poured in through the expansive glass panels, bathing the interior space in a golden, dappled light. The conservatory itself was an oasis of botanical beauty, brimming with an array of vibrant flowers and delicate greenery. Nesta knew immediately that Elain must love it here.

Feyre weaved through the crowd with grace and charm, playing the part of hostess perfectly, but Nesta knew her sister was still adjusting to the relentless glare of the public eye. That was why she agreed to drop into the luncheon to make sure that the reporter the local paper sent to cover the event was on their best behavior.

Nesta had never been to the River House before. Every Christmas, a perfunctory invitation to visit from Feyre would arrive, and each time, Nesta found a convenient excuse to decline, preferring to maintain a distance from the life that Feyre had carved out for herself. Standing before the River House, with its stately charm and the Sidra flowing majestically in the background, Nesta couldn't help but feel a pang of regret mingled with a deep urge to flee.

When Feyre's eyes found hers through the glass panels, Feyre's relief was evident as she beckoned Nesta inside.

"I'm so glad you're here," Feyre murmured.

Nesta, feeling a rare surge of sisterly affection, reached out and gave Feyre's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great," she offered, her voice softer than usual.

Feyre's smile wavered. "I've been so nervous about this event," she confessed. "And talking to that reporter later. I've never done any press without Rhys before."

"I've already vetted the interview questions. There won't be any curveballs," Nesta reassured her. "It's a simple society piece for the local paper, nothing too intense. Just steer clear of any policy talk. You'll be fine."

Feyre bit her lip. "Can you stay until after I talk to the reporter?"

"Of course, I'll stay."

With a nod of gratitude, Feyre turned and glided gracefully back to mingling with her guests.

Left to herself, Nesta pulled out her phone to go through the emails that inevitably crowd her inbox. She glanced around and noticed a large door that led into the quieter recesses of the River House. The luncheon was in full swing, but she couldn't find it in herself to work the room the way Feyre or Rhys would.

Nesta crossed the threshold, finding herself in a peaceful hallway. She took in the grand space around her: the high ceiling, intricate moldings, and silk curtains framing the windows. As she looked down the corridor, her eyes followed the row of oil paintings lining the walls. Something about them seemed deeply familiar -- the impressionistic brushwork and open, airy compositions bore the unmistakable touch of Feyre's hand.

Nesta made her way down the hallway, her steps soft and nearly silent on the plush carpet, looking for a quiet space away from the party to focus on her inbox. Eventually, she found herself in a cozy sitting room, its wide walls lined with books.

Her eyes immediately fell to the shelves full of framed photographs. Nesta stepped closer to study the pictures.

There were several of Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian together, chronicling different chapters of their lives -- from their college days to their military service to ski trips that appeared suspiciously like snowball fights.

In each image, Cassian's smile was wide and unrestrained, his arms invariably slung around his brothers, his hair noticeably longer in his younger years. Azriel, by contrast, looked stern, though his eyes were warm. Rhys appeared relaxed and completely at ease among his friends and family -- a side of him she had never witnessed.

There were photos of Mor exuding her usual glamour and confidence. In one snapshot, Mor stood between Azriel and Cassian. They were dressed to the nines. Azriel looked at Mor with something like total adoration on his face, while Mor was laughing with her head thrown back, leaning into Cassian. But Cassian was grinning at the camera.

An old photograph tucked in the back was of the Starborns -- Rhys's father and mother. Beside it was a portrait of Rhys's mother sitting by the fire on what looked like Christmas morning.

Then Nesta recognized an image that must have been taken the night Rhys had first won his congressional seat -- even Amren was smiling in that one. Feyre, joyous, was in the middle of leaning into a hug from Rhys. He looked only at Feyre even as the dozen faces in the photos were turned towards him.

Scattered in between the memories of their "inner circle" were many photos chronicling Nyx's young life -- a teary-eyed Rhys holding an ultrasound with Feyre behind him; a portrait of Feyre with a swollen belly; Feyre holding Nyx for the first time on a hospital bed with Rhys next to her; Rhys lifting a toddler Nyx into the air. There was a blurry image of Nyx at his third birthday party, white frosting all over his face, with Cassian and Mor fussing over him and Azriel standing to the side laughing, clumps of frosting in his dark hair.

The most recent photo was one of Elain and Nyx together, surrounded by flowers in a field.

Nesta felt her pulse quicken in dread. These photographs were windows into the vibrant life Feyre had lived, yet, Nesta found no trace of herself in these frozen moments.

Finally, she noticed a large photo in a corner -- Feyre was wearing a simple white slip-dress, her arms interlocked with Rhys, dashing in a blue linen suit. They were standing barefoot on a beach, waves crashing behind them. Feyre held a large bouquet of hydrangeas and roses in her other hand. Surrounding the smiling couple on either side were Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They were all beaming, although Mor had clearly been crying. It was plainly a wedding photo.

It suddenly struck Nesta that there were no images from the grand Velrais wedding at the House of the Wind. Rather just another portrait of Feyre and Rhys -- taken on the same day on the beach -- looking adoringly at each other. Their hands were joined, prominently displaying their golden wedding bands.

Nesta realized that she hadn’t encountered Cassian, Azriel, or Mor at the ceremony she attended. She was certain she would have remembered someone like Cassian with his distinct presence. The Velaris wedding was a formal event attended by hundreds of guests, a high-society wedding. But the pictures on the shelf displayed a private, intimate celebration for only those closest to the couple.

She didn't know how much time had passed as she stood there, taking in the evidence of the chasm that had grown between her and her sister. The pictures showcased a version of Feyre's life that Nesta had never been part of, a narrative woven from experiences and bonds she hadn’t shared.

Nesta felt like a stranger looking in, witnessing a parallel world where laughter and joy flowed freely, a stark contrast to the guardedness that marked her own interactions with Feyre.

"Aunt Nesta!" A child's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Nesta turned swiftly at the call. "Nyx?" she asked in surprise, her eyes landing on her young nephew. His round cheeks were just visible as he peered around the edge of a nearby armchair.

"Hi Nesta." Elain emerged behind him with Mr. Carrot in tow.

Nesta felt every muscle in her body tense. "Hi Elain," she returned, keeping her voice neutral.

"Feyre mentioned you might drop by today." Elain smoothed her skirts, almost nervous, but smiled tentatively. "I hear things are going well with the campaign."

Nesta bristled at the comments. She hated that her sisters seemed to treat her like a problem to be handled -- managed.

"The campaign is going as expected," she replied curtly.

Elain hesitated, her lips parting as if to say more, but her gaze shifted to Nyx. "Are you hungry, dear?" she asked him softly.

Nyx, his attention still fixed on Nesta, shook his head, his curiosity about his aunt undiminished.

Feeling the need to escape the conversation, Nesta made a move to leave. "I should get back to -- "

"Nesta, wait," Elain interjected quickly, her expression turning earnest. "Won't you stay for tea? It's been a while since we all sat down together." Her hand dropped to rest on Nyx's shoulder. "We really should catch up."

Nesta's eyes swept the room -- this house with its layers of memories, the shelves lined with snapshots that narrated a life where everyone was content, perhaps even better off, in her absence.

With a dry chuckle, Nesta gestured at their surroundings. "I think I'm all caught up, thanks."

Elain's expression faltered. "Nesta, that's not fair," she said as a flicker of hurt crossed her features. “I’m sorry I never got around to returning your calls. But -- ”

Nesta's gaze hardened. "Are you?" she countered, her voice low but sharp. "Everyone here seems quite happy have their entire lives subsumed by Rhysand Starborn."

Elain frowned. "Please Nesta, it's not like that," she began, but Nesta cut her off.

"I can't have this conversation right now." Nesta turned towards the hallway, her movements brisk.

She needed space, air -- something to clear the tightness building in her chest.

"Where is Aunt Nesta going?" She heard Nyx ask behind her.

But Nesta didn't stop. She looked for the nearest exit -- a pair of French doors that took her back onto the house's sweeping lawns.

She walked towards the water's edge, taking in the midday light, calming her thundering heart. She did not understand herself, why she couldn't bear the hurt in Elain's eyes, why she always felt the need to retreat into herself whenever her sisters were around.

---

Eventually, Nesta took the long way around the grounds of the River House, back towards the conservatory. Feyre was already speaking with a young female reporter when Nesta found them sitting on a pair of Adirondack chairs on the crest of a gentle hill overlooking the Sidra.

She gave them some space as they finished the interview.

"We corresponded over email earlier," Nesta said as she introduced herself to the reporter, reaching out to shake her outreached hand.

The young woman beamed in recognition. "Ms. Archeron," she said.

"Do you have everything you need?"

The reporter nodded. "It's been an absolute pleasure, Mrs. Starborn," she said to Feyre, putting away her voice recorder.

"Do you mind sending us a copy of the story before it goes to print?" Nesta asked.

The reporter's smile never faltered. "Of course," she replied and picked up her bag. "Someone from the paper may reach out later for fact checking."

"You have my contact information," Nesta answered as the reporter shook Feyre's hand goodbye.

When they were alone, Nesta asked, "How did it go?"

"Fine, I think," Feyre replied, her voice wary. "I am just relieved it's over."

"Don't worry," Nesta said. "We'll get a chance to correct the article before it comes out."

Feyre reclined in her chair. "Can you sit with me for a while?"

Nesta flinched. "Feyre," she answered, feeling the tightness building in her chest again. "I have to get back to work."

Feyre looked up at her, her blue-gray eyes shuttered. "Oh," she breathed. "Of course. Sorry to keep you," her voice turning oddly formal, "Thank you for coming today."

---

Nesta threw herself into her work for the rest of the afternoon, finding a quiet refuge in the familiar demands of her tasks. By the time she returned to the House of the Wind, the sun was a fiery orb hovering low in the sky. The majestic sight of the House, silhouetted against the orange and pink sky, was strangely comforting. But the solitude that awaited her in her room felt overwhelming -- for the first time that day, she did not want to be alone.

She stopped at the front desk to ask for Cassian's room number. With a kind of new-found courage, Nesta took the elevator to his floor.

Cassian opened the door on her third knock.

"Azriel, I thought --," he began, before his voice trailed off, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Nesta standing before him.

"Hey," she said, taking him in. Cassian's crisp white dress shirt was casually half unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of the defined muscles of his chest and the intricate whorls of black tattoos that contrasted against his golden skin.

Cassian quickly recovered from his initial shock. "Nesta, I wasn't expecting you," he said, holding his door open wider. "What can I do you for?"

Nesta immediately felt the knot in her chest loosen at the humor in his voice. His eyes were studying her gently. The corners of her lips twitched upwards.

"Run with me?"

---

Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list.

Tag list: @acourtofladydeath @fwiggle @swifti-ed

---

#a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #cassian #nessian #acosf #acotar #nesta #nessian fanfiction #archeron sisters #acotar fanfiction #all's fair in love and politics #political au #modern au #archive of our own

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winter-leftovers · 5 months

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Til The End Of Eternity || Chapter twenty one: Coming Back (21/?)

(Douxie Casperan x f!reader)

Summary: Y/n is trying to figure her life out but is going to be hard since her brother is the new trollhunter and she is plagued by dreams and feelings she doesn’t understand.

Chapter Summary: Y/n recovers her memory. The search for the staff of avalon begins

Word count: 1661

Warnings: No

(Season 3 Episodes 6, 7)

Song?: Mother Stands For Comfort by Kate Bush

Previous - Next

Masterlist

Y/n holded the doorknob to the backdoor of her house until she felt her hot hand would melt the metal under it. After spending a couple days away in a remote part of the woods her memory came back.

Amongst the trees and the darkness, the old spell lifted, allowing all the old memories wash over her like water breaking through a dam. She could finally recall who she really was and why she was there in Arcadia, in the Lake’s home or at least why she thought her father would want her there: to help the first human trollhunter to fulfill his destiny.

All the pieces of her life came back and laid to rest in their designated place, all except one: the night she strayed from her old life to found herself in Arcadia as a child in Barbara’s arms. That rainy night is still foggy in her mind.

Finally, Y/n opened the door to an empty kitchen but to a full living room. Claire’s parents and Toby’s grandmother were sitting on the couch talking with Barbara.

She sighed, relieved, she hadn't figured out what she was going to tell her family about what she uncovered in the last couple of months and more people around could buy her a little more time.

“Hi,” she smiled, quickly walking to the stairs “I don’t want to get too close, I've been camping” Y/n chuckled.

Barbara walked up to her daughter before she could run upstairs.

“You don’t have to lie anymore. I remembered everything. I even put Claire’s and Toby’s parents up to speed” Barbara laughed.

“I’m not lying! You can smell my hair” Y/n smiled.

Barbara looked at her daughter. She could sense something about her was different but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Barbara always could read her daughter like the palm of her hand

“Something’s off” she frowned and grabbed her hand.

Y/n looked at her mother’s eyes, the only mother she ever had and gave her a genuine smile “I promise I’ll explain. Just not right now” she looked back at their guests.

Barbara nodded and squeezed her daughter’s hand

“You know that I’m always here, right, sweetie?”

Y/n nodded and let go of her mother’s hand to run upstairs to take a shower.

“I wasn’t finished. That’s deranged!” Blinky’s screams echoed through the hallway.

Y/n slowly opened Jim’s door and poked her head through it. The whole gang was there except for Aaarrrgghh with the new addition, Dictatious.

“You’re saying Jim should destroy his amulet ‘cause you think you saw some old man put a map inside of it?” Toby sounded like he was going to lose his mind.

“It was Merlin” insistes Claire “The key to finding his tomb, to finding his staff, is inside his amulet”

‘Yeah, that’s him’ though Y/n.

“The girl-child may be on to something. The amulet and the staff are connected” said Dictatious.

“Both fueled by the magic of Merlin” said Blinky.

“But if Jim breaks his amulet, he can’t armor up! And if he can’t armor up ‘Goodbye, Eclipse Blade!’ How’s he supposed to kill Gunmar?” Screamed Toby in desperation.

“If we don’t get the staff first, none of that will matter anyway” said Claire

“Maybe I don’t have to destroy the amulet. You said Gunmar has Aaarrrgghh captive?” Jim looked at Dictatious.

Y/n frowned.

“And Aaarrrgghh could be used as an emotional anchor” said Blinky.

“We’d portal jump right to him” said Claire.

“The plan is set. We save Aaarrrgghh and stop Gunmar by any means necessary before he acquires the staff”

“What’s going on?” Y/n entered the room.

“Y/n?” The kids screamed in unison.

“Who is that…?” Asked Dictatious

“Shh” Blinky hit his brother on the head “Y/n, where have you been?”

“Where’ve you been?” Jim hugged his sister tight.

“Yeah, I’ve been texting, I needed…ughh” Toby hugged her and took a step back “You smell awful”

“I miss you too but…Toby is right” Claire grabbed her free hand.

“I was in the woods. Doing some…spiritual work. It's a long story and from what I heard we don’t have time” Y/n scratched Jim's hair that was still hugging her.

“We really do not have any time” said Blinky.

“Do we have time to explain the new accent?” Toby lifted a brow.

“What?”

“You’re madonna-ing”

“I’m not. Shut up” Y/n frowned. Her memories had brought her accent back?

—

After taking a quick shower, Y/n came downstairs as the trollhunter team were saying their goodbyes.

“I’m coming with” Y/n announced “I’m not letting Blinky unsupervised”

Jim and Toby laughed.

Y/n hugged Barbara tight. Y/n whispered in her mother’s ear

“You’re the best mother I could ever have”

She quickly stood behind Claire before the tears started rolling.

“Part of the spiritual trip?” Jim smiled.

“Something like that” Y/n smiled back.

The five of them jumped through the portal to a dark ruin quickly finding Aaarrrgghh in a stasis trap.

“The work of Angor Rot” observed Blinky.

“Uhm, those are Dwarkstones. If we deactivate the stasis, this place is gonna blow” said Claire.

“Aaarrrgghh, my friend, they’ve used you as bait to kill us” screamed Blinky.

Aaarrrgghh groaned.

“We gotta get him out of there!” Screamed Toby in desperation.

“No, Wingman. You leave” said Aaarrrgghh

“No, we’re not giving up”

“Guys, I’ve got an idea!” said Jim.

Everyone turned to Jim.

“Okay. Toby drops the hammer, we drop into the room below” he points to the ground.

“The hammer’s power and weight might be enough to override the stasis trap or it’ll fail, Toby will disintegrate into nothingness, and we’ll die with the explosion” Blinky explained.

“Cool beans” said Toby.

“Charming” Y/n pated the trolls back.

“Even if it works, what if we drop into something worse?” Asked Claire, fear written all over her face.

“Than this? I’ll take my chances. Tobes, are you ready?” Jim crouched down.

“Ready to possibly kill us all and die in failure? Yeah” he took a deep breath before start running “For Aaarrrgghh”

Jim pushed Toby into the air, giving the hammer enough strength to break the floor and destroying the trap, making the team fall into a dark tunnel of nothingness.

Y/n felt her knees hit the hard floor, she looked up and saw Aaarrrgghh covering them from the rest of the debri falling from the trap.

“Is everyone alright?” Y/n asked once the rain of stones stopped falling.

Jim draw daylight to illuminate the dark room.

“Wingman” Toby threw himself to Aaarrrgghh.

“Wingman” Aaarrrgghh quickly reciprocated the hug.

The group laughed and followed the two, for a moment forgetting where they were.

“What is this place?” Blinky asked

“Smells old” Aaarrrgghh sniffed the humid air.

“Ah!” Toby tried to take a step forward, almost falling into the abyss.

“Remarkable” Blinky looked down “An ancient gyre”

The team went down to investigate the old artifact.

“Why would there be a gyre here?” Jim got into the gyre.

“It doesn’t even have controls” observed Blinky.

Y/n observed the cave with the help of little light that was able to shine through the broken ceiling. She walked around the gyre with a small smile on her face. Of course. She finally recognised the place. It was Douxie’s and her longest task.

“If I break the amulet it will lead us to Merlin’s tomb” Jim said.

Y/n stopped walking through the dark and dusty room, she turned her head back to the sound of her brother’s voice. She ran to the stairs and up to the gyre and saw Jim hit the amulet with Toby’s hammer.

For an instant, a blue light illuminated the room then disappeared as quickly as it came revealing the destroyed pieces of Merlin’s amulet.

Jim kneeled in front of the stone where the pieces rested and picked them up one by one

“No turning back now” he said.

“No turning back” Y/n whispered to herself, as she played with her bracelet.

She felt her stomach turn. She knew from the moment that she crossed that portal that there was no turning back but now, that notion is final. Her old and new life were going to crash and she wasn’t sure how that was going to go. She was nervous. She hasn’t seen her father in nine hundred years and she hasn’t told her friends about her identity yet.

Jim put the blue stone where the controls of the gyre should be and a warm blue light surrounded them, the gyre starting its travel.

Y/n started to breathe a little better as she felt Douxie’s old magic all around.

“If this is fate, I really hope we’re not destined to die” screamed Toby, grabbing Y/n’s hand as the machine started to gain speed.

—

“Whoa, a hidden entrance” Jim smiled as they crossed the waterfall.

“Yeah, but to where?” Claire walked close behind the trollhunter.

Y/n took a couple steps forward when she saw Toby starting to struggle with his war hammer. She didn’t want to be behind him when the ‘no-magic’ spell got to him.

“Why no war hammer magic?” Toby complained as the artifact fell to the floor.

“No magic here” Blinky translated the sign on top of the door “It appears this hallowed tomb is warded against sorcery”

“My shadow staff doesn’t work either” Claire tried to use her staff in vain.

“Hey, what’s that?” Y/n pointed behind the girl at the giant claw marks that shouldn't be there.

“These claw marks look fresh” observed Claire.

“Hmm. Yes, yes.” Blinky got closer “As if…a struggle”

“Draal” Aaarrrgghh said.

Y/n turned back and saw the troll holding a chain “There's no magic here. He’s free”

“Then we’re not just here for the staff. We can save Draal” Jim smiled at the idea of recovering their friend.

A/n: we’re getting closer to the part that inspired the series!!! Also!!! I fucking!!! Hate!!!! Summer!!!

Remember that reviews, love letters and death threats are always appreciated 💖

#tales of arcadia #douxie x reader #douxie #toa #trollhunters #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux x reader #my writing #Til The End Of Eternity

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hoardingpuffin · 3 days

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SkyBound SMP Characters as Fewjar Songs

Because I have an agenda and the agenda is getting more people to listen to Fewjar. The fandom are like 20 people we need more.

Vast - Lateniteaha

God, I still have so many questions I'd be dead by now But I wanna find out What only the dead know

Especially now as Vast is figuring out what the Avicane actually are and is figuring out who to be after learning that information, they simply have Lateniteaha vibes to me.

Rune - Cepheus

How did I end up here, stone bound? All I feel ist the striking distance to the clouds My flesh is fettered on the skin of the soil But even so I almost reach the sparks in the void

There is a theme in Cepheus of desperation and being stuck in a place, which reminds me of Rune, especially considering how he seems to view themselves and considering the crumbs of backstory we've gotten so far.

Sylph - Go For It!

Something we put together From pieces we found Of a broken jar spread on the floor It's not whole again Can't be filled up to the top Yet a beauty lies inside the pain

Sylph to me seems like the type of character that looks at like, a broken apart piece of furniture or clothing and goes "I can fix that up" and then with the help of hot glue and sparkly tape and some neon paint they actually do fix it up and yeah, sure, it's not perfect and it's not without scars but it's something new and beautiful and crazy. In the best way. Best type of character in my eyes.

Taliesin - Yesterday's Eve

But everything is at a turning point Light is coming in Raised dust's telling the story Again, and again, and again

Yesterday's Eve has this theme of passing through, of change and uncertainess that seems to fit with what we've gotten to see of Taliesin so far. We'll see if my opinion changes as we see the flamingo more.

Marcel - Treasure

Pale hands Nothing to get so serious about but Let us be honest In peculiar moments of Never never letting go the sum of my parts Over and over again

I will admit that the lyrics of Treasure don't match up with Marcel, at least not 100%, but something in the vibe of the sound and the music video makes me think of him so there.

Armor - Gemini

Exposing scars What have we done? Composing lifelines always won Don't you know where we came from Where all began?

In all honesty, we literally had one stream with Armor so this is based on vibes and vibes only.

Pietro - Lo

Searching for a deeper sense In a pile of vowels and consonants In a pleasant appearance A Sisyphus- mountain to ascend

Pietro gets one of my favourites and my favourite Fewjar music video! I can't 100% pinpoint why, but something between the sunlight/dawn aesthetic of the video and the almost pleading nature of the chorus make me thing of Pietro and her relationship with his brother.

Virgil - Skeleton

So hold on to me Although our way won't be a safe terrain Oh hollow me Tell me would you hold on To a skeleton?

I will be so honest, Skeleton is less Virgil-specific and more it reminds me of both Virgil's relationships with Pietro and Giovanni. The themes of burying yourself in work or a cause even to the extent of ignoring ones own safety that rings through Skeleton - yeah.

Avalon - Chalkbird

Crystal sparrow come with me Cause I recognized That you, just like me Don't belong to this place

Pinning a song for Ava was hard as hell but Chalkbird makes me think of her and Rune and their relationship so tadaaaa.

Gaverin - A Bleakbox of Insights

Irrelevance is my playground And loneliness is my hometown Covered in dust lies A conspiracy

When you listen to Bleakbox at first you might say "That's not at all Gaverin" and to that I say: "I see your point but rewatch the bits where Gaverin talks about their family and read between the lines because that's what I did and that's how I ended up with Bleakbox" /lh

Cosie - We Wonder

We got time So much time And we wonder We wonder, we wonder If everything's on hold Why don't we hold each other?

This is mostly based on the vibes Cosie gives off to me? Not 100% sure if the song fits lyric-wise but the vibe itself seems right to me.

Erin - Levitation

I didn't pick Levitation because of the lyrics, but because of the sound of the song itself. To me, Levitation sounds like a mix of lonely, whistful and comforting and those vibes to me seem like they can align with Erin.

Ashril - Despite This

I'll be filling my ears with some fire crackle So you can't call me Sky is covered by crowns, your smoke signals They won't reach me

I cannot be convinced that Ash isn't running from something. Thus, Despite This.

#fewjar #fewjar band #skybound smp #boundsmp

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ikarosx · 20 days

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Notes: Ikaros through the years. Little timestamps of visions, from his first to his most recent, and how he understands them. Mentions: @abelasx, @iskendcr, @faelortianyou, Titania, Yavanna, Oberon.

Timestamp: I was ten.

The sky was a mix of yellow and red. The light of the Laurelin was always bright, always mixing with what I could see.

“You were named after my grandmother,” Yavanna whispered in my ear, like it was some grand secret between the two of us. “Ikaria, she was called. Dark hair like yours, seemingly knowing everything and anything,” there was a lilt of amusement to her voice now, but still calming as the two of us sat within Mythal’s Glade.

I felt like there was a new piece to the puzzle of my history, to the idea that I could be named after a great queen of the past, someone I never would’ve met. “Was she a good queen?” I'm not sure why I wanted to know, it wasn't like I thought she possibly couldn't be, but my grandmother was always honest. I liked that.

Yavanna smiled down at me, “Yes, I like to think she was. She passed the crown to my father, her eldest.” The smile faded for a moment, and I wondered if I had said something wrong. I didn’t get to ask my other question, my father suddenly appearing and taking my short attention span away from my grandmother.

Oberon was tall, charming - the elvhen loved him. For what reason, I wouldn’t ask that question for decades. To me, he was larger than life. A brilliant warrior, one who held devotion to Titania, but there were flashes of imperfection, something I admired in secret. Things were done a certain way in Avalon, customs of the Elvhen, but I appreciated when things were messy. If only because it made me laugh.

It was that moment that Aravel appeared, and I was already moving to leave my grandmother’s lap. It was embarrassing, couldn't she see my friends were around? There was a group of children waiting, those who lived within Mythal’s Glade, “Can I go? Please? Aravel will start the game without me. He knows I hate it. He will-“ Yavanna’s hand stopped my complaints, but it didn’t stop my scowl.

“You may. But don’t be long,” it was her usual goodbye, though as she rose and she approached Oberon, the two falling in quiet conversation, she was the only one to glance back at me as I ran off with a wave.

“Ara!” I had to run to catch up, my best friend still slightly out of range. Everything looked wrong, however. One of the kids was towering, another looked unimpressed at Aravel. Only I was allowed to look at him like that. Aravel was weird, sure, but he was my only friend, taken into the palace two years ago when his father had died. It was a great sadness, to lose someone like that. I wasn't sure how to process it at first, but I'd tried my best to cheer up my friend.

Though time seemed to slow as I got closer. Like my legs were stuck in mud, and I couldn't move my arms. Panic would've overcome me if I could've felt my own emotions. I prayed for death to save me from the embarrassment of falling over, but the gods must've been busy because Aravel was talking to me. I couldn't hear him because everything felt red. Hot, red, red, red. "I was talking about you." Rage, an undercurrent of grey, of fear. A fist coming towards my face, and I was landing face first in the mud from the hit. Laughter. It was red, red, red. It was like an out of body experience, consuming me from the inside. I was watching, standing by, and then all of the sudden, it faded.

“What’s wrong with him?” Someone spoke, and I was pulled from my vision, Aravel holding on to my wrist like it would keep me from falling over. And it did, I was a scrawny thing anyway, that's what my father had said. Lanky, like one of those elk Aravel had mentioned once. Too big for my legs. Once I gathered myself, Aravel spoke.

“There are Owlbears we can talk to, Ikaros. It’s fine,” Aravel was the weird kid, and I loved him for it. I was about to answer him, but the words were dying on my tongue as the older kid that I'd just seen in my head stepped forward.

“Freak. Run home to mummy, she’ll fix it all.”

The tug from Aravel did nothing to stop me from turning back, some fierce streak of protectiveness running through me, “Don’t call him that.”

“I was talking about you.” The features on the other child’s face twisted, and in hindsight, it was all very dramatic for a few ten year olds. I knew it was coming, moving to watch as the older boy’s fist missed me and he slipped face first into the mud.

Laughter bubbled up from behind me, and I turned to see Aravel cover his mouth with his hand. His laugh was important to me, it had been so for two years now, though I stepped over the boy on the ground to follow my friend without a glance back. I was desperate to tell my mother, but for now, there were Owlbears to meet.

They'd hunted and brought us rabbits and gophers.

Aravel and I cooked the rabbits for them.

They were pleased.

We said we wouldn't touch the gophers.

They were less pleased.

It was only when it was time for me to sleep that I found my words again, my mother standing a few feet away. I didn't want to get in trouble, but what was the worse that could happen? The kid had tried to hit me, and I wasn't stupid. So I puffed out my chest, everything coming out at once as I continued my story. “I felt…red. Like it’s all I saw. And a little bit of pink. And grey, like I was mad and angry at the same time. And then he threw a punch and it hit me but then when he actually did it, it didn’t hit me. I moved. I was so good, you should’ve seen me. Aravel was there. He’d tell you the truth. He said I stared off like a cat-sith when they’re hunting. I don’t know what that means but it sounds pretty cool.”

Titania hushed me, and my chest deflated when she took my hands, only the two of us in her room. I idly wondered where my father was, but it was a distant thought as my mother met my gaze, “You’re upset with me," I couldn't tell what her expression was, and I was seconds from blaming the other kid. "Am I weird for seeing it?"

“I’m not, Ikaros. But what you’re seeing…it’s your gift.”

Timestamp: I was two hundred and fifty five.

It was blue. Of course it was. The ocean always was. It was vast and filled so deeply with melancholy that I thought I would choke on it.

That’s all I felt in my chest as a woman reached for my hand, the Moongate just a few steps away. She was Silver Elvhen, desperate to know what had happened to her child. I had told her it wasn’t like that, that I didn’t know what would come if I looked. Contact had almost come repulsive to me, and it had taken a while to understand what could possibly bring on a vision. It wasn't anything to do with objects, sometimes I could see something in the middle of the night, other times, I could attempt it with a little bit of contact. Maybe it was desperation, or something else, but she grabbed my hand to ask once again and it did exactly what I was hoping to avoid – it triggered me.

Blue, blue, blue.

Midnight blue.

The stars felt like ice along my skin, so deep was the ocean of her grief, like the expanse of dark midnight sky.

There was a body being lifted, a young man who looked no older than twenty, from the back of a horse. I saw the woman scream, her grief all encompassing as it passed through me. So blue. Always blue. Every vision was blue. Death and devastation, it was always Iskaldrik. Always taking from the Silverlands, all while the High Elvhen stayed hidden behind the Moongate offering support from behind a glass mirror. I wasn't a fool, but I also wasn't the King.

Our contact was broken, I felt a shudder run through me until I felt a strong hand on my chest. Grounding, always grounding – Tianyou. It steadied me, but I felt depressed and angry all at once. There was the beginning of a migraine, I could feel it, and I wasn't going to escape it this time. “He’s dead,” that was all I could get out, unable to really sugarcoat it like I would at another time. Her wail of grief followed me through the Moongate.

Echoing, blue, blue, blue.

Timestamp: I was almost four hundred.

It was yellow. It was orange. It was laughter, happiness, sunshine and grass and leaves.

It was love. It was what I felt, and I was sure that I hated it.

Not really, but it was close enough. I had to explain once that I wasn’t an empath, there were those that understood emotions way better than I did. They could manipulate them, understand them. For myself, the visions consumed me. I was never just a third party watching a scene play out, if anything, I wished I was. It was all encompassing. I could feel the anger in the air, red and red, or the sorrow of midnight blue. Or perhaps laughter, orange and yellow and sunshine. Other times, there was the blinding white light of peace.

This was different.

I was awake, for one, the Silver Elvhen laughing in front of me. For the longest time, I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t think it would work out if I saw something in the future, immediate or not. But I could explain it to Abelas later, if I could even find my brother later. He was always off adventuring, and Deniz was unlike any I'd met. But there was always a catch. I'd come to expect that.

I'd also come to accept that some people, no matter how good their heart was, or how much love they had to give, they would always be alone. That was how I'd felt for so long. Some twisted isolation that was my fault, my prerogative, and I'd changed it to know Deniz. My mother had told me, not too soon after Oberon had been banished, that sometimes, you were able to choose the life you wanted. "And if you're lucky, sometimes that life chooses you back," she'd finished, and I'd only understood that she'd meant me. The rest would sting, but there was life to be lived, and she would continue on.

But all things ended, even myself and Deniz. My first great love, the one where I could put my hand on his and I could feel my own emotions. Deniz was that moment before a storm. Where the sky was grey and cloudy, where the electricity in the air made you shiver. All encompassing, and I was ready to wait it out.

Yet it was a horrible thing, to see the future and know that no matter what I did, what Deniz did, that I couldn't fix it no matter how much I wanted to. He'd said it before, how there wouldn't be a forever. Nothing lasted like that, I'd remind him, but there was that midnight blue sorrow I would feel. It would mix with the yellow and green of sunshine and grass, of rain and the sound the leaves made when the wind passed through them. But it wasn't enough.

I was like the sun, and he was the moon: always chasing.

Timestamp: Present Day

We all had monsters in our dreams. Some of us had just lived with them longer.

My head was pounding. I felt like I'd belonged at the bottom of one of those filthy gutters that I'd seen in Eterna, somewhere around the tower. The Tower itself was always pristine, as was Arvandoril, so it wasn't like it didn't feel more at home than usual.

I'd come a few days prior, Tianyou not far behind me, waiting for the healers of Ceres to once again give me something. It was magic, it was the mind, they'd remind me of that often.

One of the witches had looked at me the day before, saying it would be a shame if an oracle was to be lost. It'd taken me a moment to understand how far through the mud she was dragging me.

"I'm not depressed."

They'd looked me up and down, "You aren't? Why on earth not?"

That'd been the end of that conversatoin. I'd stormed off in a gloriously dramatic fashion, Tian laughing at me as I'd made it outside the door.

"I hate it here," I'd growled out, sounding more like my cat-sith every day. I'd even been accused of purring once, but when Saleba purred, it indicated devious plotting involving nefarious deeds. I didn't trust that cat, but I loved him. So there was that.

"You wanted to visit," Tianyou pointed out the obvious, and I had to refrain from being grouchy once more.

That was yesterday, and today, I'd only managed to drag myself out of bed after taking the herbs recommended to me. Magic couldn't fix everything. There were days where I felt lighter, this was not one of those days. It'd be nice if I could be paint on a wall, blending into the background, but I was always present. I had so many questions. To be a High Elvhen was to never be alone, but to see the future? It felt isolating. And time, it never stopped, but it often felt elastic.

I could feel another vision, edging at the back of my conscious. This one was dark again, relating to no one near me. My only contact was the desk I'd balanced myself against. Fear. Black, all consuming, darkness. A roar echoed in my head, but I was there. I could see it. Creatures of the blight, another blighted hand reaching forward. Was it mine? Flashes of yellow – deceit. I gasped as I was brought out of it by a banging on the door. A wave of desperation overtook me. I had to see more. I had to go back. But it never worked. Was it the future? Was it the current? It'd be someone I'd met before, had to be, but as I stumbled to the door, looking less like a prince with every stumbling step I took, I had little time to pull it open before I was looking into the eyes of one of the Queen's Court.

"Iskaldrik has fallen."

#self para #this is all i wrote while i was gone #muse was musing #also sorry this is lame #just little snippits of his life #and i have more i wanted #dont get me started on Daddy Issues #that gets its own para #mirror

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