#temptsdeath

[lyctoralsaints]

✧     ֺ    ˖    ⎎ @temptsdeath said blood + swap , for azriel & cassian if it’s okay 💗

wretched  things  happen  to  good  people,  he  thinks  to  himself  as  he  settles  on  a  stool  in  front  of  his  best  friend.  a  hand  raises  to  grasp  his  chin  and  lift  his  face,  the  bowl  he  had  retrieved  being  abandoned  on  the  table  by  them.  the  cloth that  had  been  soaking  in  the  warm  water is   lifted,  wrung  out  with  one  hand  and  then  raised  to  the  illyrian's  cheek.  cassian  has  always  had  the  handsomer  face  of  the  two  of  them,  he  thinks.  he  would  know  that  face  even  if  he  were  permanently  blinded;  he  can  see  it  when  he  closes  his  eyes,  as  clear  as  day  ––  their  hundreds  of  years  spent  by  each  other's  sides  to  blame  for  it.  even  now,  splattered  in  blood,  he  thinks  cassian  is  every  bit  the  truth  of  the  beauty  of  illyrians  old  tales  rave  about. the  cloth  dips  beneath  the  edge  of  his  jaw,  brushing  away  sanguine  and  dirt  before  his  attention  is  turned  to  the  column  of  his  throat.  all  the  while,  he  is  silent,  the  hand  formerly  holding  cass's  chin  raises  to  brush  his  loose  strands  back,  gingerly.  he  cleans  the  rag,  and  then  starts  at  his  armor,  and  the  very  edges  of  it.  he  carefully  peels  it  from  skin,  bit-by-bit,  so  he  may  continue  in  his  silent  endeavour  of  cleaning  ichor.  until  finally  ––  mercifully  ––  he  finds  the  strength  to  speak,  〝  you  fought  well  today.  ”  not  that  he  has  ever  needed  the  praise  or  reassurance.  a  pause  is  all  he  allows  himself  as  he  leans  forward,  to  rest  his  forehead  against  cassian's  shoulder.  there  is  a  moment  of  vulnerability  in  this,  where  he  can  swear  that  this  is  okay,  that  cassian  would  be  as  he  is  now  if  he  thought  he  had  lost  him.  a  heavy  sigh,  a  deep  breath  and  then  he  draws  away  to  get  to  his  feet,  moving  to  stand  at  his  back.  cassian  wings  are  powerful,  and  though  he  is  well  aware  of  how  intimate  the  touching  of  an  illyrian's  wings  is  considered  ––  his  own  tucked  tight  against  his  back  to  keep  from  knocking  things  over  ––  he  begins  to  clean  blood  from  them,  too.  the  flimsy  cloth  sweeps  over  bones  and  membrane  until  not  a  spot  remains.  it  is  a  process  that  is  done  quietly  on  azriel's  end,  and  keeps  him  in  place  until  his  shadows  sweep  through  the  war  -  tent. 

[draconikia]

she makes good points, this particular path will lead them to disaster. it will cost her everything. and it will cost him -- her. when he'd made the bargain he'd been so foolish, so bold, thinking how easy to manipulate the human mortals. how many men had he sacrificed to find her, to find the one woman that would make this thing work. only to find, she was the one person he was not willing to sacrifice.

fingers card through her hair, silken strands curling around musicians fingers, his hand loosely fists as he guides her focus back to him. lips brushing her temples, her forehead, down her nose, to just graze her lips.

' that wasn't an order to stop -- was it? '

he is damning them both. selfishly he does not do this for his people, he does it for himself. he does it to know love, to be wanted, to be chosen -- for the first time in his life. to be seen for more than just the youngest son of a brutal high lord, to be seen for who he wanted to be. and all he wants to be, in these beautiful twilight moments -- is hers.

❛ we can't keep doing this . ❜ // tamlin && feyre // @temptsdeath

[bloodofthefates]

x. " sorry , i didn't mean to hurt you . " - cedric to pascale ! :) for @temptsdeath

Pascale was no stranger to physical violence, but usually she was the one to be enacting it upon her unsuspecting victims at the hands of her cruelty for kicks and laughs amongst her pack of minions. Accidental physical run-ins she was far less accustomed to as most other students fanned out and kept their distance either out of fear of what she might say or do to them or to keep the attention of her torment from them or their friends. True to her arrogance, the sea of students typically parted for her and gave her a wide berth and she paid little attention to the behaviors and details of others when they interested her so little. “Keep your sad excuse of an apology…Don't ever touch me again.” She snapped, grimacing as she rubbed a bump beginning to form on her head that she couldn’t be sure of but suspected had been delivered by his bony elbow. Glaring at him in response, her venom only seethed when she recognized the gold accent of his robes. “A Hufflepuff? A sad excuse of a House then too.” She snickered to herself, rolling her eyes as she tapped her clawed fingernails against her chin. “Shouldn’t you apologize to everyone for your existence?” 

[litearra]

❛  i’m  just  saying  ,  murder  is  an  option  .  ❜ 

dinners with rhysand’s inner circle surely are interesting, near choking on her food as @temptsdeath mutters murder is an option. granted she may have been the only one who heard, or this is simply normal behaviour for the second in command. reminding her to stay in her good graces.     ❝ last resort i hope?❞     head turns, a soft smile grazing her features. she may have lead the day court’s small army into battle, but above anything she preferred peace.

[tophatz]

⤷  ❐ . * @temptsdeath said   .*

" power belongs to those who take it . " to gavin from achilles ; bc fc bias + they sound like they’d butt heads so this is a challenge . :)

No shit it does, but he really can't bring himself to care. Not the philosophy type. He doesn't give a flying fuck who power BELONGS to, all he knows is he's got a chunk of it and wouldn't mind more every now and again. That's the extent of his investment in the other's statement.

" Wooow. Real fuckin' enlightenin' there, wank-ass. Where'dya nab that one from? Some pretty little poetry collection you keep 'round the corner your mates beatya to pulp in every Saturday? " For all he knows that little remark of his MIGHT be true, just from the tone of the other. Something about him's punchable. Though in Gavin's World something about everyone is punchable so that doesn't really mean much.

[aureumlilium]

@temptsdeath liked the sc !

Long, delicate fingers toy with a loose thread from the sleeve of his tunic, now long worn out due to the mistreatment it has suffered during the quest he took upon himself, and Wren's affliction. It is his favourite tunic too; warm, dark blue, and exceedingly soft to the touch velvet, and were the circumstances any different, the Prince might have spent a good afternoon or two mourning after it ― alas, acting as such seems insignificant and utterly childish right now. Especially considering Jude is staring down at him with cold, hard, brown eyes fixed upon him in a dangerous glare, and with her mouth opening and then sharply closing soon after, as though she is having difficulty picking from the plethora of options to first scold him about.

She never did go easy when it came to schooling him, and Oak most definitely does not expect this to have changed ― not unless Mab graced them with a miracle in this past month that he has been gone. He almost wishes Cardan were here for he always had a talent for soothing Jude down ― or annoying her to such an extent she tended to forget the reason she was angered with Oak to begin with. Though the Prince does not exactly fault the High King for not being present; himself would not wish to be here either, not when the High Queen's fury burns so bright she appears tranquil.

❛ Just get on with it, already ! ❜ Huffs the Prince, kicking one hoove against the hardwood floor of his chamber in evident irritation. His patience is running thin, and being exhausted and beyond hungry is certainly not of any aid in the matter. ❛ Go on, tell me how utterly irresponsible and dim-witted I am ! Just say something and quit staring down at like one of Mab's statues ! ❜

[youfought]

"you put the target too close. you've gone easy on me."

your brows furrow, throwing a glare at cassian as you lower the bow once you've hit the mark. while you appreciate his sense of humor in putting the practise dummy in a green coat that you know is meant to represent tamlin, your indignation is still visible and the general can surely sense it thick in your voice.

"may i remind you i've been using a bow since i was ten years old?" you fold your arms over your chest, blowing a stray curl from your sweat-peppered forehead. then, grabbing another arrow, you center your attention on a green bow, hanging from the branch of a tree, all the way across the training field. narrowing your eyes, you make the shot. perfect marksmanship- the bow is now nailed to the trunk.

"move the dummy all the way to that tree i just used. i need actual distance! or i'll go train with azriel instead." @temptsdeath ft. cassian

[loath3d]

he grins, the arrogance seeping out of the high lord of the night court as violet eyes fall upon the being before him. ❝ prove it. ❞ they both know it would be easy enough for feyre to show him through their bond, but what fun is that? rhys' smile grows, taunting his mate.

starter for / @temptsdeath

[stormduelist]

starter for @temptsdeath / from here.

Inhuman screeching, quick and heavy footsteps, animals scurrying away from the path of destruction. Death approaches. The sound of broken, taunting laughter seems to echo from every direction, shadows dancing this way and that, until they coalesce into a cloaked figure. The source of the laughter (horrible screeching, wailing even—) becomes apparent then, though a choir of other voices join in on it even when it comes from simply one being.

"How the mighty fall." Vagni croaks out, crimson eyes peering at her, as if the words themselves clawed their way out of its throat. "I sensed you, caged in that body as you are. The lands you tread on whisper of your age-old presence. That a tiny form would suffice for you..." There comes howling, wheezing, together with a narrowed gaze. "All the better to feast on prey with, yes?" That is to say: Nobody sees her coming because of it.

[dustwifeold]

“ a talent is something you use , not something that uses you . “ / @temptsdeath

ALL THIS TOILING ... tediously parsing intention, ego, from outcome. as if it wouldn't all muddle together given apt time. impatience flares in the tense of her jaw. the tight drum of her nails on wood.

leera simmers in it, eyes narrowing.

all magic is transactory to lament otherwise was a waste of precious breath. what wasn't consumed would consume in turn. all that'd ever interested her was the end. " what does it matter ? " it's not a pour of words, the burble of rushed sentiment, but a strike. high. sharp.

" if the ends suit your needs, what's the logic in moping over the details ? "

[ircnwrought]

SEND ME 👑 + A CHARACTER NAME OF A CHARACTER YOU THINK I SHOULD WRITE !  // 👑 + a muse u would write if they had a bigger fandom !! // @temptsdeath

WOULD I: YES / MAYBE / NO

if the fandom was bigger / there were more opportunities to write pre-got muses, i'd love to try t.yanna of the tower, but i really want to lean into the unreliable narrator aspect of the story where t.yanna wasn't evil as depicted, but more morally grey. she raised m.aegor at v.isenya's insistance && stayed both because she had no life / power of her own across the sea && because she knew m.aegor would be raised souless so she became determined to prevent his offspring from living since they would be monsters. her confession of poisoning the black brides is true, but she had a complicated reason of trying to save the continent && her position at court

HAVE I EVER BEFORE: YES / NO  ICON & WRITING SAMPLE (IF YES TO EITHER PREV. QUESTION):

THE QUEEN FEELS HER LIP CURL IN DISGUST TO SEE THE THREE WEEPING WOMEN AT THE WEDDING DAIS. she is her husband's master of whispers, she knows the court already dubs the three maegor's black brides ( most forget that her position affords her the opportunity to shape her own narrative. her every move, every look is studied; how easy it is to plant the idea that the nausea gripping her is rooted in jealousy to share the king's affections ) the truth is so much more complicated than what the maesters will write centuries from now. she will be the villain of this story, she will bear the hate && the names ( witch !! murderer !! evil-hearted !! at least two of those are true ) she will be whatever history needs her to be, for she knows, when her soul is judged by the gods: she will be the only one preventing the fires of hell from burning this kingdom asunder.

[lyctoralsaints]

✧     ֺ    ˖    ⎎ @temptsdeath said * 09 from cass to az ! he probably drools too , sorry .

∗ o9﹕ sender  falls  asleep  leaning  against  receiver .

how  many  years  had  they  spent  together  and  how  long  had  it  taken  for  cass  to  get  this  comfortable?  most  believe  their  lord  of  bloodshed  to  be  easily  trusting,  to  warm  up  like  the  summer  court's  coast  in  the  early  morning  ––  but  azriel  doesn't  think  he  will  ever  grow  accustomed  to  this  nor  the  way  his  heart  always  turns  thunderous  behind  his  sternum.  when  cass  first  leant  against  him  he  had  expected  a  flirtatious  nudge,  a  teasing  grin  .    .    .  he  found  only  the  other  tucking  his  head  under  the  edge  of  azriel's  jaw  as  they  sat  on  the  comfortable  slant  of  the  roof.  he  fears  if  he  moves  to  check  if  he  is  truly  sleeping,  he  will  accidentally  wake  him.  but  cassian's  breathing  slows;  assuming  he  is  asleep,  an  arm  slips  around  him,  cradling  him  closer,  keeping  him  from  slipping  away.  azriel  looks  to  him  with  fondness,  watches  the  droop  of  his  wings  behind  him.  rather  than  nuzzling  closer  like  he  so  desperately  wants  to,  his  own  head  tilts  back.  azriel  is  left  staring  at  the  stars  studded  across  the  canvas  of  midnight  blue  and  wonders  if  the  gods  had  been  kind  enough  to  some  other  fraction  of  them  that  they  placed  them  in  another  world  where  they  had  been  mates;  where  azriel  wasn't  just  some  asset  and  cassian  wasn't  viewed  as  only  a  weapon. 

[morguewritten]

🎲 for nesta & cassian !

SEND '🎲' TO GET A STARTER IN A RANDOMIZED SETTING !!! A CEMETERY AT 3AM SHARP, the fog is making it hard to see

since being made, nesta had no trouble seeing in the dark, and tonight should have been no different... ── but it was. the fog that surrounded the pair was thick, unrelenting, unearthly as it swirled around them, blinding her vision. a chill coiled down her spine, just to creep right back up. the chill spread to her shoulders, then to her arms, and all the way down to her fingertips. phantom fingers, incredibly cold, wrapped around her throat. there was no squeeze, no pressure, no constriction, and as she brought her hand up to mirror the phantom's around her neck... the fingers feeling faded. ❝ cassian ... ── ❞ her steps now so close behind his, she almost clipped his heels with the toes of her boots. his name was barely a whisper on her lips, filled with worry and dread. it sounded somewhat foreign to her, so accustomed to only saying his name so softly behind closed doors. she didn't say more, fearing she had already said too much for whatever was in this cemetery with them. instead, her hand moved from her neck to rest on ataraxia's hilt, ready to draw her weapon in a moment's notice ── if not sooner.

[cruelprincae]

“ i’m not particularly happy here, but you’re not particularly happy with where you are, either. “ from jude !!

A low, hissing sound erupts from his throat from where he is seated upon the oak-made throne and black eyes rimmed in gold narrow dangerously upon the figure of his mortal Seneschal, but other than that, Cardan makes no attempt to counter her statement, for he cannot lie ― not like the mortal girl before him, at least, who appears to be using the liberty of her tongue to speak lies in her every waking moment, to spin things ― and people ― in the direction of her choosing. Had she not done exactly that when she falsely vowed to allow him to leave Elfhame after aiding her to fulfil her scheme, only to trick him into getting crowned High King mere days later, knowing this was something he had no desire of ever becoming ?

No, to say he is not happy is a mere understatement of what he truly feels at this very instance; rage, contempt, and hatred, burning so deep and bright it could scorch up the entirety of Elfhame and leave it in ashes in his wake. Hatred for the mortal, whose soft words and pretty lies rented him blind, and none the wiser to her true intentions and to whom he had vowed himself into service despite that he had sworn to never again become a pawn to someone's game ― and hatred for himself, for not hating her as much as he ought to, even now. Hatred for not knowing whether he wants her, or if he wants her gone.

❛ Pardon me if I do not feel particularly inclined to sympathise with your profound discomfort, ❜ Pointently remarks Cardan with evident disdain. His brows furrow beneath the Crown resting lopsided, in a rather peculiar angle, upon his brows and with one last scowl, he abruptly sips from his silver goblet, filled to the brim with the contents of Faerie wine. ❛ And why should you not be happy ? You got everything you schemed and lied ever so profusely to achieve. I am but a mere puppet in your hands, awaiting your next command. What more could you possibly wish for to achieve your so-called happiness ? There is nothing left to have. ❜

[rhysie]

“ the problem with this criminal thing , is it’s kinda fun . " ━ @temptsdeath ( cassian )

violet gaze rolls, rhysand rubbing at his temples. corresponding to the summer court has not been ideal, the damage his brother has caused to their beloved building earning nothing but a headache. " is that so? well, i'm glad you had fun. " he wears the crown of high lord in this moment, words sharp, lacking any amusement ( though if he knows any better, they'll be laughing this over at a tavern in a week or two. ) this is his least favorite part, as rare as it is: scolding his family for mistakes he himself would probably make. " do me a favor & don't make a habit of it. " hands fall at the paper work that lays upon his desk, gesturing at the great stack. " i had to send the summer court a shipment of spices & enough gold to rebuild two buildings, to convince them not to send a blood ruby with your name on it. "

[litearra]

where should you be kissed?

knuckles it feels as though you have fought every day of your life. sometimes, you cannot even tell how much of the blood on your hands is your own... and how much comes from those who've tried to hurt those you defend. you deserve the gentleness of a kiss to your bruised knuckles and broken skin, a reminder that you are not only made of violence.

tagged by : @temptsdeath

tagging : @literare, @burygods, @shadowbrn, @denouemente, @hellsurvivr, @lingeringscars, @fightfirst, @2onrad, @folkorae & @wandyrlust