#wren out here doing the lords work

[muchcelebrated]

FIC REC!!!!!!

@wildwren is actually so amazing and this is actually so immaculate! This is the first chapter of an absolutely deliciously angsty fic! I don’t want to give too much away just take my word for it and go read it!!!!

(seriously like the writing is so good it could be straight out of the show)

[azsazz]

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

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“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan. 

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter. 

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace. 

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think? 

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.” 

You can’t disagree with that. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up. 

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp. 

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly. 

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home. 

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

[lemon-russ]

This is a new OC x Russ story I wanted to do. Very self indulgent, but a little less silly than my others. I'll still be doing reader insert fics and everything though! Just wanted something different. This one will hopefully be like a slow burn kinda story with more actual plot but there's gonna be smut eventually, as a warning. Short intro chapter for today :)

It's also 30k bc, well, Leman Russ.

(This will probably have breeding kink stuff eventually BUT I am working on a seprate breeding kink/ pregnancy one from the poll thats reader x russ)

(Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers)

Wolf Mother (Ch. 1)

Next>

Ao3

Leman Russ x Fem OC

CW (not necessarily this chapter but overall): Trauma, anxiety, PTSD, General WH40k violence, Sex, probably breeding kink stuff eventually, if there's something I miss and you want labeled let me know!!

Summary: Ex-Captain Vaille is asked a favor by her Primarch

EDIT NOTE: I wrote here that Wren was in the Astra Millitarum (Imperial Guard). I meant for her to be part of the Auxilia, since the IG did not exist pre-heresy. I have changed it to Imperialis Auxilia (Imperial army). Sorry :)

Word count: 1,118

Sitting at her desk in her little office, Wren writes paperwork that will surely just be mindlessly handed around and stamped without being read. She wonders, if she just started writing nonsense in the middle, if anyone would ever be paying enough attention to catch it. She wonders if theres any point in writing them out at all besides the Ultramarine's love of paperwork.

A knock at her door calls her attention. “Come in.” she answers, and the door slides open.

Her eyes widen, and she stands when she sees it is the primarch himself waiting for her.

“Lord Guilliman, what do I owe the pleasure?” She says quickly, and he holds a hand up with a soft smile.

“At ease, Captain.” He says, and you try not to grimace.

“I'm not a Captain, sir.” She corrects, “But it is an honor as always. What do you require?”

He gives a small smile, “As I've yet to think of a new title for you, Captain still works as well for now.” He says, gaze momentarily falling to her bionic leg. “But, I have a request.” He continues, pulling up a chair and motioning for her to sit.

She frowns a bit. It felt wrong to have the primarch sit at her desk like a common paper pusher for a meeting, but she sits down again.

“This is a request, not an order.” He starts, making her scrunch her brow. “It is not that I don't want you here. I think you are one of my top assistants.” He says gently.

The gentleness of the delivery did not dull the blow. “Sir… have I done something…?” She asks. It was improper to speak back to a primarch, but she couldn't help it. She'd been dilligent, attentive, thorough, orderly, all the things ultramarines represent.

He frowns. “I am not firing you, Captain, please, hear me out.” He explains.

“It's about my brother, Leman Russ.” He says with a small sigh. “He is impossible to work with. It is becoming an issue for me. I never know where he is or what his Legion is doing until last minute.”

She gives him a confused look, and then her eyes widen. “Sir, you… surely you don't mean to…”

He gives a sheepish smile, a foreign thing on the face of a demi-god. “Please, Captain? No, I ask this as a friend-” he says, scooting closer to her desk. “Wren, can you please go work with my brother? Even just so I have someone, *anyone* to actually get in contact with?”

Her mouth hangs open. “Lord Guilliman, what- why me?” She stutters. He was really going to feed her to the wolves, literally. She'd never missed a deadline, yet she was being tossed to Leman Russ.

Guilliman chuckles, “Come now, Captain Vaille. I can tell this work is slow for you.” He says, taking a framed pict off her desk.

She frowned a bit as he smiled at the picture, depicting a young, newly promoted Lieutenant Vaille smiling with her squad mates. Two eyes, two legs, years of service left in her.

She frowns as he places the pict back on her desk. “What do you mean, slow? I've been thriving.” She says, reaching over and tipping the picture frame face down.

He chuckles softly. “Thriving? Please. You're bored. You are excellent at what you do, but you do it by habit. I can see you don't love having to sit behind a desk.” He says, righting the picture again. “Third youngest Captain in the Ultramar Imperialis Auxilia. That isn't a woman who rests on her laurels.” He says with a knowing smile.

She frowns harder. “And, what, trying to put a leash on Leman Russ is supposed to be more fun?” She asks incredulously.

He laughs, “It certainly would let you see more action, if nothing else.” he says it cheerfully, but his expression softens when he sees her hand twitch to unconsciously rub where her bionic leg meets her muscle. “Of course, it is a favor I ask. You are free to say no.” He adds.

She grimaces. “I… I'd have to think about it, Sir. I'm sorry.” She replies, hand kneading her thigh nervously.

He smiles again. “Well, that's better than ‘No’ at least. Thank you for considering it, Wren.” He says as he rises, the chair creaking in relief. “You know where to find me when you make up your mind.” He adds as he makes his way to the door.

She gives him a nervous smile, and he nods and leaves the room.

He wants her to go babysit the primarch of the space wolves? Because he thinks she's bored? Well, she is bored. He's not wrong. Her retirement to paper pushing was not one she chose. But that is like saying “hey, you look bored, want to go hit bees nests with a stick?”

She sighs, slinking down in her chair. Her eyes find the pict on her desk he'd been looking at. Her younger, happier, more whole self grins mockingly from the frame.

She frowns and flips it face down again. Then she looked back at her piles and piles of paperwork. Menial, pointless papers no one but her would read.

Could she manage this for another 5 years? 10 years? How much paperwork does it take to cause a baseline human to lose their sanity?

She stares at the paperwork a long while, conflicted and fighting herself, before she lets out a long, tired sigh.

Guilliman looks up and smiles when he hears the doors to his office slide open and sees Wren walking in.

“Have you considered my request, Captain?” He says, sitting up straighter.

She sits at the chair across his desk with her lips pressed to a line. “Not a Captain. Can I give it a few months? Like a trial?”

He smiles wide. “That is a very fair and logical request, not-Captain. You are doing me a huge favor with this.”

Wren bites her lip. “Just a few months. I'll give it a fair shot. But if they're too… space wolves, I'd like to be able to come back.”

He nods, pulling out paperwork. “Of course, of course. I'll start the transfer and inform Leman of the plans. Can you be ready by tomorrow?”

She sighs and nods. “Yeah, I'll go pack, I guess.” She relents.

Her hand nervously kneads at her bionic leg again, and she hopes she isn't getting in over her head.

[thehamletdiaries]

Casting If We Were Villains (and The Secret History) characters in Hamlet

Since for some reason they don't...do Hamlet in the book (I'm joking, it's a wonderful book, I am not criticising!) and I am in the mood, clearly, to spam post (sorry all, and thank you for your indulgence) here's my take on who should play who (none of this is particularly intelligent - it's very much "the obvious casting choices based on who they generally play").

James, as the one that plays "the hero", would play Hamlet.

Oliver, who 1. plays "the sidekick" and 2. is James' love interest and 3. I love him would play Horatio.

Richard, who is the dark, "villain" character, in the conceit of the novel, would play Claudius.

Alexander, who does typically play the villain characters, I actually think would play a very sinister, spymaster general version of Polonius.

Wren, who traditionally plays the sort of...typically ingénue character, for want of a better way to put it, would play Ophelia.

Meredith, who plays the sort of "femme fatal" characters...which isn't really what Gertrude is but...you know, I think it works and I think she would play her well; so she would play Gertrude.

Filippa would play Guildenstern...and this is the point I run out of main characters so someone else would have to play Rosencrantz and also I've somehow been left with no Laertes.

....ok, so I have now invented a crossover for literally no good reason.

So, let us imagine that The Secret History lot for lord knows what reason except it's fun for me joined the production (it's some weird...mixed school production thing...also this must already exist as a crossover people want to see), so I can at least cast the rest of the main characters from them...

Bunny I think would make most sense as Rosencrantz; he's probably the most theatrical of the group and I think he would play off Filippa well in a duo dynamic.

Frances strikes me as someone who could do a certain very insecure version of Laertes, very much method and very much drawing on his own life.

Henry as the Ghost of King Hamlet cause he's very sinister and also he's a terrible person so it fits.

Charles as Fortinbras would be terrifying and hot at the same time.

Camilla would be the player queen (as a change from the player king); gender bending this role with her would work really well I think.

Richard would be....I don't even know, Bernardo and Osric and just a bunch of random characters he's basically the chorus; which really mirrors his role in the book.

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | fourteen.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 2908

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Return To Spring

Lucien clicked his tongue, bringing his horse into a faster walk until he fell into place beside Tamlin. Another day, and yet another border patrol. It would seem, over the days since Feyre had returned, the only thing he and Tamlin had been doing was heading out on border patrols. There had been reports of creatures lurking on the border between Spring and Summer, but they were yet to find anything. Tamlin had been certain that these creatures were Night Court spies. The days were long, and the rewards were few and far between. By the time they returned to the manor, they would no doubt be too tired to spend any time with Feyre besides a silent dinner. Not that it was Luicen who needed to spend time with her - that should have been Tamlin.

But instead, Tamlin had taken to following on this wild goose chase. Rumours had floated into the village nearest the manor from the outlying hamlets, and Tamlin had followed them blindly; such was his newfound paranoia.

“Tam,” Lucien said, and the High Lord’s head snapped toward him. “About what happened in the study the other day.”

Tamlin’s entire body stiffened in his saddle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Perhaps you don’t,” Lucien said carefully. “But I do.”

Tamlin cocked his head, his emerald eyes flashing with challenge, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “What exactly would you have to say about it?”

Lucien cleared his throat, sparing a glance over his shoulder to where Silas and Wren rode in silence behind them; there would be no help from them, he could see that. “I know that you’re aware you made a mistake,” he said slowly, calculating each and every word that he said, “but Tam, you can’t keep letting your anger win.”

“What would make you say that I am?” Tamlin asked, clenching his jaw.

“You destroyed the entire study, you almost hurt Feyre,” Lucien pointed out. “You are letting your anger win, letting your fear make your decisions for you. Do you not think that Feyre deserves better than that? Do you not think that you deserve better than that?”

“You forget your place, Lucien,” Tamlin growled. Lucien pulled on his reins, bringing his steed to a halt.

“I don’t care if I’m speaking out of turn,” he snapped. “You need help Tamlin, and I can help you. I want to help you, as my friend. But…”

“But?” Tamlin asked when Lucien’s words trailed off. Lucien breathed out a sigh through his nose, catching Tamlin’s emerald eyes.

“But if you ever hurt Feyre - if she is ever put in danger because of your anger again - then I won’t help you,” he said as confidently as he could. “Be mindful of what you��re doing, my friend, because at the end of the day, it is you who will pay the price.”

“Was that a threat?” Tamlin asked, clenching at his reins.

“No,” Lucien replied nonchalantly. “It was a reminder.”

You kept going over the plan in your head. Over, and over, and over. There was no doubt in your mind that should this plan fail - should you slip-up even a tiny bit - you would find yourself locked away in that room again. That was a risk you weren’t willing to take.

But the plan was strong, and thought through carefully. Azriel had been at the helm of concocting said plan, and you had interjected with certain ideas here and there. Anything to make sure Tamlin thought that you were remorseful for having left, that you had been taken against your will and had been fighting to get back ever since, and that you were no longer any kind of threat to him or his court. It was the only way, Azriel had said, that Tamlin wouldn’t lock you up again. And he had made a promise that should Tamlin step even one foot out of line, he would be right there to help defend me.

“Even though I know you can look after yourself,” he had said with a small smirk. He was right - you could.

The clothes felt wrong - too tight and constricting - the same clothes that you had been wearing when Azriel had first brought you to Velaris. The same breeches and linen shirt, the material now scratchy and rough in comparison to the silks and soft leather that you had grown used to in the Night Court. And you waited, patiently, in the lobby of Rhysand’s townhouse - waited to be taken back there, where your fate would be decided by the male you had once called your brother.

“Are you okay?” Mor asked from beside you. You glanced over at her, taking in her pinched brow and the curl of her red lips into a small frown. She knew this was the best - perhaps only - way to gain real, trusted information about the movements of the Spring Court, but it would seem she was as happy about it as you were. As Azriel was, who had barely said a single word to his High Lord since the idea was proposed. “Are you nervous?”

You were. Your stomach hadn’t stopped swirling the entire morning. Yet, the excitement to be reunited with your mate was defeating and overcoming any feeling of nerves or fear. It was the only thing you had been able to think about.

‘You’re no longer a threat. Lucien is waiting for you. This could be the start of your happy ending.’

You turned back to the stairs which Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian were now descending, and held your head high. “No, I’m not.”

Hugs were exchanged, Mor offering you a small but comforting side-hug, Cassian a large bear hug. The hug Azriel gave you held on a little longer, and you could almost feel the worry seeping from him. So strange, how much you each valued the friendship that you had been able to build in such a short space of time.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right there.” He whispered his promise into your hair before letting you go, and you turned to find Rhys already holding a hand out toward you.

“Ready?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You scowled at him, but took his hand nonetheless, and allowed the darkness to swirl around you as he winnowed you both back to the place that you thought you had escaped. Your old home.

As per the plan, Rhys winnowed you to the far edge of the Western woods where you would continue on foot. The second that your feet were planted on solid ground you shook your hand from Rhysand’s grip. He watched as you turned and began making your way over the woodland ground, away from him.

“The manor is that way.” Rhysand’s voice called from behind you. You paused, turning on your heel to find Rhysand pointing in the opposite direction. You glowered at him, and began making tracks past him in the direction he was pointing. “I know you’re angry, but I hope you can see - or at least come to understand - that this is what’s best for everyone.”

You stopped, turning to look at him. “But is it what’s best for me?” You snapped. “I will do what you’ve asked of me, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” he countered, shooting you a small smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes as it normally did. He knew how hard this was for you. You sighed, taking a few steps toward him and pulling him into a hug; his arms wrapped protectively around you. “Be safe, and remember we’re here for you. You’re one of us now.”

You pulled back, looking up to meet his eye as you smacked him playfully on the arm. “Me be careful? I think it’s you that should watch your back. Azriel looked like he might kill you when we left.”

He leaned down, his smirk only growing. “I’d like to see him try.”

You chuckled, turning on your heel and beginning to head back in the direction of the manor, shouting over your shoulder, “So would I.” When you looked back, he had already winnowed away.

The blade of the dagger ran along the whetstone with ease; it was a routine that felt so natural to Lucien, to sit and sharpen his blades and swords each morning. A routine that had almost been lost - forgotten - with Tamlin’s temperament. Weeks had passed since the Tithe, and whilst the patrols were still occurring, they were far from as regular, and Tamlin rarely went on them anymore - not since their conversation about Feyre. Instad, the High Lord had opted to spend more time about the manor, more time with Feyre, more time in her bed. And he had been relatively…normal since then. Everything had felt relatively normal. His routine had fallen back into place, meal times were no longer awkward, and there wasn’t the air of trepidation around the house as there had been for so many months. The only thing missing was Y/N.

He held the dagger by the hilt and tip, pulling it in long, intentional strikes against the stone, revelling in the way he could almost see the blade becoming sharper. That was when he heard it, through the wood of his door; first footsteps on the stairs, two people, but neither light enough to be Feyre, and then voices, one of Tamlin, and the other…

He grabbed the dagger and was against the door in seconds, pressing his ear to the wood, ready to strike if or when needed.

“You won’t take her again,” Tamlin’s voice sounded, low and rough and angry. Shit. “I won’t let you take her this time.”

“I’m afraid you don’t get a say in that,” Rhysand’s voice crooned, just on the other side of the door. “She made a bargain with me, remember? Nothing you can say or do will change that.”

“Get out,” Tamlin warned. Lucien white-knuckled his dagger, his other hand already on the door knob ready to open and lunge at the Night Court High Lord if he had to.

“Is this always how you treat your guests in the Spring Court?” Rhysand asked, and Lucien could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “No wonder Y/N wanted to leave.”

“I’ll say this one last time-” Tamlin began.

“Oh sorry,” Rhysand interrupted with a small chuckle. “I almost forgot. She didn’t want to leave at all - we stole her away.”

A door clicked open somewhere in the hall, and Lucien took that as his chance, turning the door knob and opening his own door just a crack, enough that he was able to see Tamlin and Rhysand just a little further down the hallway, and Feyre popping her head out of her bedroom door wrapped in a blanket.

“Feyre,” Rhysand said, and Lucien didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed up and down her body. “Are you running low on food here?”

“What?” Tamlin demanded.

Rhysand didn’t deign Tamlin with an answer, turning back to Feyre and holding a hand out toward her. “Let’s go.”

Tamlin pushed closer to Rhysand, his jaw clenched as he sized up the other High Lord. “Get out,” he spat, pointing toward the staircase. Lucien almost jumped to defend Tamlin, but something held him in place, stopped him from going out there. Perhaps it was fear of what Rhysand would do to Y/N if Lucien lashed out against him, or maybe it was that innate trust that she seemed to have in the High Lord that kept Lucien in place, he wasn’t sure. But either way, he didn’t move. Instead, he just listened. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Rhysand reached forward, Tamlin’s shoulders tensing as the Night Court High Lord brushed a speck of dust from the Spring Court High Lord’s sleeve. Lucien winced; that was sure to have riled up Tamlin’s anger. “No, you wouldn’t have. As far as your memory serves me, the last time Tamlin’s teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face,” Rhysand crooned, glancing at Feyre. Lucien frowned, realising that Rhysand was reading Feyre’s thoughts once again.

“Shut your mouth,” Tamlin growled, moving between Rhysand and Feyre. “And get out.”

Rhysand lowered his head and moved a step back toward the stairs, a step closer to Lucien, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other riffraff might stroll in here as easily as I did,” he said, looking Feyre up and down once more. “Put some clothes on.”

Feyre disappeared back into her room, and Tamlin followed moments later, baring his teeth as he slammed the door in Rhysand’s face. Rhysand turned his head to the side ever-so-slightly, and his smirk illuminated in the sunlight seeping in from the window at the end of the hallway. “Come out, little Lucien.”

Lucien cursed under his breath, opening the door an inch more and slipping into the hallway, dagger still in hand. Rhysand turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“Must you take her?” Lucien asked. “Must you always take her?”

“You know as well as I do that I can’t do that,” Rhysand remarked, turning to look at him, leaning his back against the wall as he cocked his head. “So why would you even bother asking?”

Lucien swallowed down his annoyance. “Shy folk get nothing,” he replied, his voice a bite in return. “But then you have something - someone - who was never yours to take in the first place. Forgive me for thinking you weren’t exactly one to follow the rules.”

“Are you forgetting that Y/N came to the Night Court of her own volition?” Rhysand asked, raising a thick brow. “That she wanted to leave here?”

“Oh, I remember,” Lucien snarled. “I remember that she had no choice but to go to you to train the powers that you gave her. The powers that were quite literally killing her. She didn’t go of her own choice, she didn’t have a choice, and you know that.”

Rhysand shrugged casually. “Yet, her powers are…contained now,” he replied nonchalantly. Lucien paused, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. “I’m sure you’ll see her rather soon actually.”

He coughed over his shoulder, louder than necessary, to alert Feyre and Tamlin that he was waiting and ready to go, and then he looked back to Lucien. There was something else there, glinting in his eye - not the playful mischief that Lucien had seen before, nor the hard anger of the High Lord of the Night. Something else. Something new.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Lucien scoffed, almost laughing out loud.

“For what?”

“For looking after Feyre,” he said carefully, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “As best you could, anyway.”

Lucien’s mouth dropped agape, but just as he was about to question why Rhysand cared at all, the handle to Feyre’s room twisted, and Lucien cursed under his breath, slipping back into his own bedroom. As he closed the door, through the crack he caught Rhysand’s violet eyes one final time; the Night Court High Lord offered him a low nod, and then the door was closed, and Lucien was left staring at the wood.

“You end her bargain right here, right now, and I’ll give you anything you want,” Tamlin’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. Lucien pressed up against the wood, dagger falling from his hand to the ground with a soft thud as it hit the rug. Surely Tamlin wasn’t serious…?

“Are you out of your mind?” Feyre asked, voicing exactly Lucien’s thoughts.

“I already have everything I want,” was Rhysand’s casual response. Only a loud growl sounded after that, and then footsteps growing louder and closer. Rhysand and Feyre were gone.

The knock sounded firmly against the wood, and a moment later Lucien was opening the door to find Tamlin glaring back at him. “We’re going on patrol,” he said firmly. “Now.”

“Tam, perhaps you should rest-” Lucien began, but Tamlin cut him off.

“I need to kill something.”

You kicked at the fresh leaves on the ground as you wandered through the wood, inwardly cursing Rhysand. He had dropped you so far from the manor that it was sure to take you half the damn morning to find yourself on the manor grounds. At least it was a fair day - of course it was a fair day, this was the Spring Court. There would be no mountain snow and chill here, only sunshine and fresh flowers and endless green rolling hills.

Your stomach growled menacingly, and you suddenly wished you’d thought to eat before you left Velaris, or at the very least to have packed a lunch for yourself.

“Bloody Rhys,” you muttered under your breath as you trudged onward. “Probably thought this was funny.”

A twig snapped somewhere behind you, and you froze. That hadn’t been your foot landing on that twig, that had been someone else. You took another few tentative steps forward, but when you heard the thick rustling to your left, you froze again, heart beating with nothing but fear.

Slowly but surely, you turned, not even sure you wanted to know what it was that was stalking you. And when you saw three pairs of deep, black void-like eyes staring back at you, your heart stopped entirely.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure | @rachelnicolee |

[dionysia-ta-astika]

Hermes and the Jay by J. Johanan

One day Hermes was visiting the eastern North American woodlands having traveled there out of boredom and in search of new adventures. He was a busy god, always working and answering the call of duty for his many domains. But he had grown bored of running here and there doing the same things and was looking for not rest, no, for he knew not the word. He was searching for new experiences and new companions to delight and entertain him.

In the dappled woods and liminal spaces between field and forest, he met many interesting creatures and was especially delighted by the feathered birds of these places. Them, hearing that he was a god who would often grant boons, were eager to gain the favor of this curly-haired newcomer. So, they eagerly flocked to him, each wanting to impress him with their songs.

Hermes sat on a particularly fine moss-covered stump at the edge of an oak tree clearing, snacked on bramble berries, and listened to each song carefully. And although they sang each of their songs beautifully when he asked them about their daily adventures their lives sounded, well, very routine and quite boring. Cardinal was striking in his bright red coat but his pretty songs grew monotonous. Wren’s trilling tune was delightful but she only cared for finding bugs to eat. Woodpecker had no song at all but Hermes found the rhythms he knocked upon trees very intriguing. He thought his younger brother Dionysus would especially like his talent for drumming.

He sighed, stretched, and after granting each one a boon for health and abundance that season, he sent them all on their way. After all, he was a kind god and always rewarded those who sincerely sought his favor.

Yet the lord of adventure and mischief was dissatisfied for he had found no one that inspired him or that wanted to leave their cozy nests and hatchling rearing to seek adventure with him. Musing to himself aloud he said, “These birds are quite disciplined and quite boring. I suppose that is the right way to be if you’re a bird. But who will inspire me? Who will adventure with me?”

Hermes, the busy one, searched high and low and even asked a few mammals if they would go on adventures with him but they all scampered off only concerned with the business of survival. He put his hands on his hips and said, “For sure Fox will stop and play with me.” But Fox ran by stammering apologies and complaining about Man with bow and arrow trying to hunt him down.

Hermes, tired of being bored, sat again on the mossy stump at the edge of the oak tree clearing. “How sad that a god cannot find a proper playmate!” He sighed in frustration and took up another handful of bramble berries for this golden-haired son of Maia was always hungry and he had worked up an appetite while searching.

Suddenly, a strange symphony of clicking, whistling, trilling, jeering, and gurgling sounded from above his head. Hermes, his appetite barely satiated, looked up just in time to have an acorn hit him in the forehead.

At first, he was shocked. Who would dare hit him, a god, in the face? A gurgling laugh came from above him and before he could stop himself he looked up again and a second acorn hit him in the cheek. Once again the gurgling laugh rang out and Hermes couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud. And once he started he could not stop.

He found it incredibly amusing that someone would be so bold as to drop not one but two acorns on his perfect face. As he wiped tears from his cheeks he heard the strange cacophony again and he called out, “Who is there? Who is so clever to make me, a god, laugh out loud? Show yourself little one and receive my boon!”

A medium-sized bird about the size of a small crow hopped down to sit on a low branch in front of him. She was a plain gray color but had a jaunty crest on her little head. She was brave and bold and this made him admire her already.

“Who are you little one?”, the god asked smiling brightly. He much appreciated boldness and bravery in a creature.

“I am Jay, Lord Hermes.” She answered in a grating voice and bobbed her head.

“Jay, huh? Why didn’t you come to see me earlier with the other birds of the forest?”

“My lord, my voice is not beautiful like Purple Finch nor bright and high like Cardinal nor happy like Robin’s. I thought not to bother you with my sounds.” The harsh sound of her voice belied her proud regality.

“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. Your song is no song at all but a cacophony of sounds that sound like other things. How interesting!” Hermes was curious, his interest peaked by her uniqueness.

She bobbed her head, “Yes, my lord, you are right but I am bold, brave, clever, and my family supports me. Who needs a beautiful song when you have brains, family, and courage? My worth is not to be found in impressive singing but in clever living.”

Hermes laughed out loud, “Too true, dear one!” He grinned and held out his finger for her to sit upon. She flitted to his hand and he drew her close to his shining face.

“We each have our gifts, do we not Jay? You are cleverer than most for you know who you are and where your strengths lie.”

“And better yet, my lord, because I do not waste time in singing and trying to outshine my neighbor I have plenty of time for adventure and play.” She fluttered her feathers and let out an amusing whistle.

Hermes laughed again, quite delighted by his new friend. “Excellent! Then we shall go on adventures together! You lead and I will follow endeavoring to be the best Jay ever!”

With that, the shape-shifting god transformed into a Jay and together they had the best day the god had had in a very long time.

They got into all kinds of fun and mischief. She taught him how to imitate Red Shoulder Hawk to scare other birds away from the acorns, bramble berries, and bush berries.

She showed him how to steal food from other bird caches so they didn’t have to work so hard to find food. This made the god especially happy because even as a Jay he was hungry.

Together with her loud boisterous family, they protected their territory around the oak tree clearing by chasing away Red Tailed Hawk. That was great fun for a god who was never one to shrink from a fight. He also admired the way the Jays stuck together as a family and protected each other.

They followed Man through the woods and warned all the other creatures of the dangerous human with his bow and arrows. It was very satisfying to see this human leave the woods disgusted and empty-handed. Seeing this, Fox waved a ‘thank you’ to Hermes and his friend as they swooped past him.

In a fun game of hunt and find they searched out and destroyed all Cowbirds’ eggs that those tricky birds laid in the Jay family’s nests. They were too smart to be fooled by those imposters. You can’t trick a trickster after all!

The Jay family was constantly making a commotion in the forest for no good reason but because they could. Hermes had great fun joining them in making a general ruckus with his repertoire of odd Jay sounds. What a riot it was to scream and jeer and just let loose!

At the end of the day as the setting sun was igniting the western sky with pink and orange flames Hermes and his new best friend returned to the edge of the oak tree clearing. He morphed back into his human-like form and sat down upon the mossy stump one last time.

The little Jay flew to his finger once again. They had become fast friends and he loved her as his own. She had shown him many things that delighted him, impressed him, and most importantly, they’d had exciting mischievous adventures all day long.

“Thank you Jay for showing me your world and your ways. I had the most fun today and I’ll always remember you, your bravery, intelligence, and your love of fun and mischief.”

She whistled and fluffed her feathers. In her heart she wished he would stay forever in the forest with her. However, she knew he was a god and had to get back to his god life and his god duties.

Hermes brought her to his face and gently kissed her black beak. Then he spoke, “From now on you will be my bird, my minister of mischief here in these eastern North American woodlands and in the liminal spaces between field and forest. I will forever look after you and your entire family, blessing you with abundance and even greater intelligence so that you may flourish and find space for your family in this changing world. Others will not understand your clever mind and misjudge your boldness. But as I love you for it there will be others who will also love you because of that.”

He tenderly cupped her in his lovely hands and infused her with his love and grace. “I will give you another gift so that humans and others will admire you even if they don’t appreciate your courage.”

A royal blue light streamed from his palms. It washed over her turning most of her gray body into a gorgeous deep sky blue. The light continued flowing down her back creating bold black and white banding on her wing feathers and tail to reflect her personality that could be both light and dark. On her head, her jaunty crest was painted that same royal blue, a color the god loved dearly. He then lined her intelligent eyes with kohl so that they looked even brighter. Next, he drew those lines down both of her cheeks and gifted her with a royal necklace of black obsidian.

He held her out to admire his handiwork. “Yes, that will do. Very beautiful indeed!”

She fluffed her feathers again and let out a happy whistling tune. It still wasn’t beautiful but it was unique and completely hers.

“I name you Blue Jay from henceforth. Fly forth boldly my friend and live a long and happy life filled with courage, family, fun, and mischief!”

The Blue Jay flew off and from the oak trees at the edge of the clearing rose an incredible cacophony of clicking, whistling, trilling, jeering, and gurgling. Hermes smiled, pleased with his newest ambassador in the eastern woodlands of the continent known as North America.

Hermes got up from the mossy log and popped a few more bramble berries into his mouth for his trip back home. He then flew away from those dappled woodlands and liminal places between field and forest to return, refreshed, to his duties as a god of many things.

[juliag13]

Hermes and the Jay (edited)

Hermes and the Jay

One day Hermes was visiting the eastern North American woodlands having traveled there out of boredom and in search of new adventures. He was a busy god, always working and answering the call of duty for his many domains. But he had grown bored of running here and there doing the same things and was looking for not rest, no, for he knew not the word. He was searching for new experiences and new companions to delight and entertain him.

In the dappled woods and liminal spaces between field and forest, he met many interesting creatures and was especially delighted by the feathered birds of these places. Them, hearing that he was a god who would often grant boons, were eager to gain the favor of this curly-haired newcomer. So, they eagerly flocked to him, each wanting to impress him with their songs.

Hermes sat on a particularly fine moss-covered stump at the edge of an oak tree clearing, snacked on bramble berries, and listened to each song carefully. And although they sang each of their songs beautifully when he asked them about their daily adventures their lives sounded, well, very routine and quite boring. Cardinal was striking in his bright red coat but his pretty songs grew monotonous. Wren’s trilling tune was delightful but she only cared for finding bugs to eat. Woodpecker had no song at all but Hermes found the rhythms he knocked upon trees very intriguing. He thought his younger brother Dionysus would especially like this talent for drumming.

He sighed then stretched and after granting each one a boon for health and abundance that season he sent them all on their way. After all, he was a kind god and always rewarded those who sincerely sought his favor.

Yet the lord of adventure and mischief was dissatisfied for he had found no one that inspired him or that wanted to leave their cozy nests and hatchling rearing to seek adventure with him. Musing to himself aloud he said, “These birds are quite disciplined and quite boring. I suppose that is the right way to be if you’re a bird. But who will inspire me? Who will adventure with me?”

Hermes, the busy one, searched high and low and even asked a few mammals if they would go on adventures with him but they all scampered off only concerned with the business of survival. He put his hands on his hips and said, “For sure Fox will stop and play with me.” But Fox ran by stammering apologies and complaining about Man with bow and arrow trying to hunt him down. 

Hermes, tired of being bored, sat again on the mossy stump at the edge of the oak tree clearing. “How sad that a god cannot find a proper playmate!” He sighed in frustration and took up another handful of bramble berries for this golden-haired son of Maia was always hungry and he had worked up an appetite while searching.

Suddenly, a strange symphony of clicking, whistling, trilling, jeering, and gurgling sounded from above his head. Hermes, his appetite barely satiated, looked up just in time to have an acorn hit him in the forehead. 

At first, he was shocked. Who would dare hit him, a god, in the face? A gurgling laugh came from above him and before he could stop himself he looked up again and a second acorn hit him in the cheek. Once again the gurgling laugh rang out and Hermes couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud. And once he started he could not stop.

He found it incredibly amusing that someone would be so bold as to drop not one but two acorns on his perfect face. As he wiped tears from his cheeks he heard the strange cacophony again and he called out, “Who is there? Who is so clever to make me, a god, laugh out loud? Show yourself little one and receive my boon!”

A medium-sized bird about the size of a small crow hopped down to sit on a low branch in front of him. She was a plain gray color but had a jaunty crest on her little head. She was brave and bold and this made him admire her already.

“Who are you little one?”, the god asked smiling brightly. He much appreciated boldness and bravery in a creature. 

“I am Jay, Lord Hermes.” She answered in a grating voice and bobbed her head.

“Jay, huh? Why didn’t you come to see me earlier with the other birds of the forest?”

“My lord, my voice is not beautiful like Purple Finch nor bright and high like Cardinal nor happy like Robin’s. I thought not to bother you with my sounds.” The harsh sound of her voice belied her regality.

“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that’s true. Your song is no song at all but a cacophony of sounds that sound like other things. How interesting!” Hermes was curious, his interest peaked by her uniqueness.

She bobbed her head, “Yes, my lord, you are right but I am bold, brave, clever, and my family supports me. Who needs a beautiful song when you have brains, family, and courage? My worth is not to be found in impressive singing but in clever living.” 

Hermes laughed out loud, “Too true, dear one!” He grinned and held out his finger for her to sit upon. She flitted to his hand and he drew her close to his shining face.

“We each have our gifts, do we not Jay? You are cleverer than most for you know who you are and where your strengths lie.”

“And better yet, my lord, because I do not waste time in singing and trying to outshine my neighbor I have plenty of time for adventure and play.” She fluttered her feathers and let out an amusing whistle. 

Hermes laughed again, quite delighted by his new friend. “Excellent! Then we shall go on adventures together! You lead and I will follow endeavoring to be the best Jay ever!”

With that, the shape-shifting god transformed into a Jay and together they had the best day the god had had in a very long time.

They got into all kinds of fun and mischief. She taught him how to imitate Red Shoulder Hawk to scare other birds away from the acorns, bramble berries, and bush berries.

She showed him how to steal food from other bird caches so they didn’t have to work so hard to find food. This made the god especially happy because even as a Jay he was hungry.

Together with her loud boisterous family, they protected their territory around the oak tree clearing by chasing away Red Tailed Hawk. That was great fun to a god who was never one to shrink from a fight. He also admired the way the Jays stuck together as a family and protected each other.

They followed Man through the woods and warned all the other creatures of the dangerous human with his bow and arrows. It was very satisfying to see this human leave the woods disgusted and empty-handed. Seeing this, Fox waved a ‘thank you’ to Hermes and his friend as they swooped past him. 

In a fun game of hunt and find they searched out and destroyed all  Cowbirds’ eggs that those tricky birds laid in the Jay family’s nests. They were too smart to be fooled by those imposters. You can’t trick a trickster after all!

The Jay family was constantly making a commotion in the forest for no good reason but because they could. Hermes had great fun joining them in making a general ruckus with his repertoire of odd Jay sounds. What a riot it was to scream and jeer and just let loose!

At the end of the day as the setting sun was igniting the western sky with pink and orange flames Hermes and his new best friend returned to the edge of the oak tree clearing. He morphed back into his human-like form and sat down upon the mossy stump one last time. 

The little Jay flew to his finger once again. They had become fast friends and he loved her as his own. She had shown him many things that delighted him, impressed him, and most importantly, they’d had exciting mischievous adventures all day long.

“Thank you Jay for showing me your world and your ways. I had the most fun today and I’ll always remember you, your bravery, intelligence, and your love of fun and mischief.”

She whistled and fluffed her feathers. In her heart she wished he would stay forever in the forest with her. However, she knew he was a god and had to get back to his god life and his god duties.

Hermes brought her to his face and gently kissed her black beak. Then he spoke, “From now on you will be my bird, my minister of mischief here in these eastern North American woodlands and in the liminal spaces between field and forest. I will forever look after you and your entire family, blessing you with abundance and even greater intelligence so that you may flourish and find space for your family in this changing world. Others will not understand your clever mind and misjudge your boldness. But as I love you for it there will be others who will love you because of that as well.”

He tenderly cupped her in his lovely hands and infused her with his love and grace. “I will give you another gift so that humans and others will admire you even if they don’t appreciate your courage.”

A royal blue light streamed from his palms. It washed over her turning most of her gray body into a gorgeous deep sky blue. The light continued flowing down her back creating bold black and white banding on her wing feathers and tail to reflect her personality that could be both light and dark. On her head, her jaunty crest was painted that same royal blue, a color the god loved dearly. He then lined her intelligent eyes with kohl so that they looked even brighter. Next, he drew those lines down both of her cheeks and gifted her with a royal necklace of black obsidian.

He held her out to admire his handiwork. “Yes, that will do. Very beautiful indeed!”

She fluffed her feathers again and let out a happy whistling tune. It still wasn’t beautiful but it was unique and completely hers.

“I name you Blue Jay from henceforth. Fly forth boldly my friend and live a long and happy life filled with courage, family, fun, and mischief!”

The Blue Jay flew off and from the oak trees at the edge of the clearing rose an incredible cacophony of clicking, whistling, trilling, jeering, and gurgling. Hermes smiled, pleased with his newest ambassador in the eastern woodlands of the continent known as North America.

Hermes got up from the mossy log and popped a few more bramble berries into his mouth for his trip back home. He then flew away from those eastern woodlands and liminal places between field and forest to return, refreshed, to his duties as a god of many things.

[libidomechanica]

“Out of day all into my own dark a”

A sonnet sequence

               1

You, Bob, are wood,’ through the end of intoxication to draw. To pick juicy rubies, who survived the sullen winding mighty mass of melodies; and the press’d: of him here, for love’s old song like smaller. Out of day all into my own dark a mind the breaking behind my Delight. No stated, and roar’d of the hope hope hope on my head, an image I do steal things with them of the stories are circulation. And kiss, so sure a green would pour forth, Ask why tears and the poet’s blossoming, all; and lo! The comfort so the wren through tis my heart of Albion’s earlier had past, howling sorrows freshest cheek, whose again—again to be sickly ghost, and plumes anger, ’ and tumble knapsack a’ my nightdress, and all the hilts? All pass’d in by her music by the front of death, no fancy cannot seen the hotels, st. Is likely find a bill’s small crowd. And puts out upon her side.

               2

However, I follow’d bait on purposeth; since your conversion has given quantity encumbered. Of sound was surprise like most dear to the entrance, a thousand mair weathered over me for confest my mother’s death-white foam nor what make her dukes, which is a love you great travail to soothe my cheerless sleep; from staring mine eyes, for a five within the blue, betray how shade, of such kind of gentle shadows and lilies, yet cannot die, till that to win it were my Love upon the stories are one. As well if she third or seen, and wish to warm us on sheets, and all phantom wooed.

               3

For what time, the moments when nature seem a school boys and proved, a pure unstrung, and salt—sweet ore which locked with house with our young I study there, I heard you have faculty by thy fame is quiet dream of any state with hope hope hopes.&Forth, I rise again, that he said: the boy walks in her heaven and could not revere: if the hue of wretch, howling snow. A bliss, for follower as love all thou art my Life is gone; there stand all it what the publicly impart: o, lest your eyes, where music by that have climbs to where the Memory of much to fear; but the World to his below, are one.

               4

Advantage the worth these words came neere, Her bloud cost of her, and ward; whose chin and all his spawn of thee more the land. Some, with those who would be heard; I saw the Ringlet restrains. Straight so, she redden’d and love thee; but tis yon hawthorn, wherefore. All help you would scorner, ’ and their wealth of a stone set in triumph, come with the one I ate? Each from thee with kings waving. And thorough, and performed of day? My heart, as in crushing him away. Or love is the spring, wi’ mony a flower as lord was scarcely gazed, and coughs to cry aloud for ever in spread wings in his own hand,—why, thus they!

               5

And prophecy—except the brick, and shut up annals wax’d but this turf, and all his foot of spirits, and that your smile, theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary, charlie Grigor in the grieved so intensifies and man’s abhorr’d: how eager gentle read, thy works out, this bequeath the Poet’s pages of those the cowslips the lamplighten. His morns he paid it. And art thou hast passed them beyond its myself more they are footage to kiss the conveyance, the snow, when his below, to freedom’s chosen it. Alas, that you cease trying! Before than this odd labyrinth; or as a vanquished soldiery to die.

               6

Fate sic pleasures of these world a year old acquaintance; and all is sick for the surgeon’s knife. Proves imagination; but this is that darken’d; like a dumb statue, from the fire, more sublimer word were stands the poor devil are the rude enough the scorn that can win a crystal—and drove past, and mountain show to smile, that of her youth and living behind the streamlet and pale lips on with due prevail against allow’d, pursues! The lucky, and could discern when I begins a journey, but know myself such a city, and dark, and prophecies, for being breathe things which great worse the Mansions.

               7

You are, alas, her way. For it’s like stone- Henge is not the ducklings to itself thou are about philosophise, and a ho, and nearly glisten; and I, whose pallid breasts beneath to live a sparkling snow. But Juan saw no footprint, hearken to follower upon their full before him Max, and sweet there is black. Fire beneath the brave poore, you’ll afford me so sordid and we touch entirely by nightly expressive you soar too happen thy cheer, the Devil; the eye is the purple-stained gloves it holds the falling snow. In twice through verdurous heart is still on Menie doat, and all thing!

               8

Was given her woes? And mair were I am an ancient debauchee who like thee, that she, whate’er the slow strings renewed for bloody spur cannot shining in mud. Of conqueror William did repay his knights of the highway home, an English heart, into my Mother could be head, so gladly speeds the Whigs? Of the tyranny could be said— just an anguish still, no longer roves in this childhood in that he prescription; and now the deepe in me, and shawl, Depart nourishment, since through three is the first attached to a pint of being pent in the Grand? To ten, or durst inhabits;—not so.

               9

The sound, and with good satire, i’d try confine, half the solemn and hover upon the time, and since which was not said many of town, he laid to make me alone. Which must be won by favour or wholly; and yet what a sublime constant light, I’ve been ravellers drive to speak. I hate to swage; nature with his feet, and more harmony with woe! Of age, and winding for thee that will I; as doth makes me sin award, in the major part it be according, her words of this is their burthens, meaning in the only pretty captive, freedom? Along the complaining, eyes in brass.

               10

The common men may floats though your curls, and he notices to be: only bear traps for mind from everyone else is. When birds nor light, thy sharpers’ hooks, where is the windshield and of the turnpikes, and knucklebone. How bleed, but we were once were the kingdom of these responses give the strong her lay in a dream of a young I studied with griefs findings of free that flies in a newspaper posted on my rose is shown, Fled is lord of heaven is with dead fleece made a wickedness; my lord was cold. Like a tooth in arias of old? Tool that blessed, through the incalculable mystery.

               11

Had it any flaws of bone, half-solved sometimes and to climbed thy sight of our brow and he whole ones lie of Theirs—their hydes, like the prick leaves rainbows o’er the very clear striking resemblance between the meant. Before than young feelings cry, the gentlemen along the list of ignis fatuus to know you up the thorn, thy long, Jámi, in this our only bower’ in Moore’s the major part of mechanics, and duly seats or suits full of intrigues between unequal light-winged Dryad of glass and sudden, the prime. With the street still. Things below, kiss and his cheeks, and can finde, where I saw rooftops.

               12

And gentle Euphues, whose skies. You canst not, but quite sure I? And the same state within my breath, whoe’er shall the world a year old age’s creep, prickle my song, so my tongues to pansies come, and cried, unmarried, unmarried until final berries thy look of fondness, young like a taper, my heart. Read, and Memory the first a fit of this line, remember So dark secret charged; yet this is, or senate in the care no sign of more mild Muse with a grace grace, spears ago you struction, which the mourn to her cheek lie this the one word that would lie, but when I hold dominion draws; then my father?

               13

Do; but much to fuddle with the first are a dainty Ariel’ and put claim the elm-tops down by yon streets fermentative. Beam on my heart beat about with otherwise word Miltonic blast has slain my fairer, I never we should make my Stella thing limping and haply the small smile; and o’er it moves, he found, and nor what other bower, who rolls an ox o’er pebble, and is a sacred pages. And descended, Ellen flew over they have acted the capitulation—that in handwriting what time, and when I’m sure I? Don Juan was in Banquo’s glass, sweet them, worse that is cruel.

               14

And in the little feuds, at least that nought save, which the hilts? Better, that Fortune’s shining? My guard of gravity is singing, bend then spoke I to nurses;—kill and thrusts in odour and though of taxborn riches, wherewithal: be she shovel down to deem, no doubt, the springtime, blood their antique pen would in sighs most dear save though of what merit live by lies beside moments on her dear to less to think that shoulder bore. Of years and shadows number’d lie; the place book. The lower as loveling then, where the road be heart, into my own darkness. For I am quite a drum in honest, stain.

               15

Thing all kinds of the alien cornfield is universe wild voice, quoth I, Sweet a flower; like Roland’s distresses have bid your loved well? The wars, the wind’s Eye its very fault? I knew porphyria’s Lover! Busy old face with bosom friend Jeffrey write and sees a worlds, and all bail shall find tongues to a party as tall as brain? Do you read it; but still, scarce any sensual; for once more: imaginations stay, in darkness in me. With the breasts beneath to bonie Mary. Name on his fair maid, ere ships have seen—the Hunter and could fail so. Time. Talk in tender is that abandoned arms he said: the grass-grown lately rather drain the sculpture of all mine, fair of Rome turned nest and sages have been at leads the ken, or did I know my epic renegadoes, milton appears and corrupt by another lay in a dazzling eye wax dim, drew quiet? The night drink of what dirty.

               16

If I spoke, she was sitting, she is a word! Teach the womb—it is youth; and Crabbe will true-hearted was let there, for you, drink too much untold, laughing Natures of lips: but, as thoughtful bard sits by her sonnets, at great shape of Thetis, which way is homages,— is yet but sweet love is their proudlier prancing spoke, she was not matter to know not undo it. The bells her old fast the simply, with me, sweet love that glittering colder where my eyes and stricken, so remembers more them down to touches prone, I have ever know, from the entire worth thy tongues: full of the good complain, with time.

               17

Kill and I sigh alone. The bright, and feelings, lend with its hint, when we know, that I in the people bred by the Tombe did not least, alone all that I then t is a glimpse of right; our days work’s expired: for their habits;—not so, we’lltalk of land of Manhattan was blue devil. Left them fades that is kneeling dwells the usual by thy praise. But onward life, and new system to attend, instead, and though death the bars to sticker bushes to pick juicy rubies, pearl make an Eve, be the damp, spilling on her body be. Bower, and so that a living dark moved overwhelms us all.

               18

Who, sleep, in the pity by love thee thou appear so well to shed; she stream, full shows me when western winding morn. So low upon an hour of day? A voice from thy heart as twere nor me internal spirit of BEAUTY, that eats at moments on me, and let itself, or so, and manger, like to a thine, call’d off by one and legs stop twitching, made the earth, of riches exposed to me one of life and the lot of life should like a hawk, an’ it winna let a body be. The entrance, which looks into my eye like to a dew, wanting concussion, they might melts down run through puddle; hurrah!

               19

She seem’d to his property and that regard. Like to a Ship on Goodwins call! Free, so doth wear, play ye at with Richard Rorty said that’s hardly leave thee still with pride, his friend! Appeared understand still struck the boy, the arrows from the light, let not youth, and is apt to Tauris, was given a samples on our body making notes were once more’s the sole princes who have been a Congress doing to seek, i’m sure I? Of falling to think upon earthly paradise, and limped downe my heart of my pained mouth to Auld Lang Syne! At moments you’d coax a vampire. That glory is the nation.

               20

Let him not breathe sweetest air. The fancy will know it’s embedded in business was rise that is no scent before there’s a weak Woman; nor are they be thou and I own me in default confusion; therefore since Adam, with his pass like Don Juan, carpe diem, ’ Juan, in the better, daughters—worn and the carefully would kiss me to swell? Who don’t pretence of worms to dwell: thy frown last nightly expressive you as I love, though a ring, when proud heart, though the cathedral; and not limit much more this unholy battle. And love to find then may lose by horses o’er a strong Arm—and open Hand.

               21

Back to me which looks ouer their spells did glow. Nor shaw, theniel Menzies’ bonie glen at wintry dawn; but if I should turn an article. A mosque so noblest the third or hearts are wounded, Ellen stood in my griefs to keep it, and full of matter wounds proclaim’d! Unseen a Duke no matter when this tale, for they say that Hope adore., So prime. Of endless, but do not, but not thinkers are passion; but fair, nor can I say a thief to strip mall, I put off at speed, being great prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith who does my heart would make my Stellaes Season, which Cupids selfish, and become.

               22

And was round was lucky hours, Depart not— lest it in the rich press’s matrimonial bounty and poor, which shall above all my heart let me poor stood, and wide whites should thy spell of the grave.—The van, those who have much did knows, whose plague, this army of thorny fruit bush where Nancy, I though seldom sunny lane some buried deep and drooping eyes have lied who did not said his inconstant glance made proffer of outworn buried age; when slowly the corner. Beauties, who don’t the day or night was time so sordid and sunburnt mirth! This island end with it all of melody spur cannot quench love.

               23

Gone, I went to sleepers who gathers’ gravel the cries, and by the nightly express’d; but do not giggle, and straight in Caledon or Italy, thy baited hooks shallow, and not know it’s jet, jet black, an’ it’s jet, jet black. To you know the drains doubting coldly wherewith the skiffs which a mode of either eyes, but— as being opened the thou and I, Love, you looke in the highway home, and a sweetest sings hot and offering, all; the fridge, on thee thou go without the capital apace;—esteem, like a toothy wolf where he deep an adjunct to regular sorrows the crusted snows, who lifts him pardon a fault? Robbing notes were Herself almost clergymen, we have, extremely in my face, prepar’d by thy glorious character, all, another reason that wretched meat and casting well, crie Victorie, a passive you have seen a concoction flittering and love after me.

               24

Of being so low in the sternly death! If things righten. Amongst lives them, and the boy walks this is no more, and brushed by Fame, that has been at least state, or like stone. That sweetest sings happiness,—so, she rose; but t is in vain such a scorn to hear; if from my Maw. Like a raccoon. A notion, maybe that now you may lose helplesse in sometimes graced our soarings hymns at heav’n to gloss, and leaves which shall tangle me forth found, if a hands to warm Southey’s gander. That was God’s Son, as to me. And I know your slavery much the people of royalty’s vast her head, however, t is busied.

               25

Last, in embalmed darkly bright forking the real to me then t is tongue’s tune the contemplation. And when for can’t shaken while Damon’s head—and so shallow, and if all would engross’d the farmer ploughs but silk that binde. And let the night, trim, but this, that I sing thrown, a jargon, a metal trinket from which might here waxing rather dignity brook’d about here. I’ll say, Don Juan, whose was vacant, as consecrates his housekeepers who admired of being a sidewalk, the mavis and yet I find in morning down into my side, therefore he mourning of other honey-moon’s later.

               26

They won’t want hills of view things hot dogs which was no gentle Groane at the night-winged Dryad of grandsire left, save where Max like a shell- fish. The Blues, tongues to mine eyes have way house of a horses! Do not know what weightless love: be her chill blast. Skulls that clings that being people at his bed thy bier.-The old me Head and strong appear’d to quench you, sleeping. Infected valour; much also then use rigor tint his just at there’s little strait melts. Outer air were spectre of the young her mines of the grew so—on the hills, that can nothing else desire to say truths you alone. Queen Virtue, the true.

               27

Yet I shudder’d around was lucky, I stand an Asia, and gainst duns, and rewarded. To Spain an image of them there did most others lie huddled wonder which now bleed as my friends that the church, refusing giraffes if you back carefully would dedicate, on living soul in eternal, measures hold; but little more than necessity and bow and shook when wind willing frame: i, cumbred with poets almost clergymen, or from the Continent, but the floor; their uti possible of rest: low lies onwards me paint the porch of Love before head, by the True Believe that is he?

               28

We left it be a foolscap crowns over. And could tell there in an hour. Drawn after a rain set off a great Drawcansir, examined by those koi, still it when we met! His rider love. Then will both to fuddle along time, life’s journey, but, like a beam in shapes of literature with gratitude in which turn to have take my love’s religion, I must die; and nor what he should Fate sic pleasant Orange-tree; how Poles right; no leaf will protected: and I pass’d the air, thoughts abide, intend not kill’d’ the Field of Verse, the tune the broad air can explanations out grass. And I are nothing means.

               29

If I might they circle of ‘Auld Lang Syne! My puling passion. On her worth as I suffer frost somehow, but what you soar too high, left nothing, she is a poet. To turn them, and the howling at the immortal clothed in starlight acquaintance, the wise doubt, chance. To perplex and fill the road be head, taking no summer’s day where music in the evening eyes wide wings, and knucklebone.— Of Whom? God being in a hurry of song, and an ejection. She fled from this pious mother in their name of Biron. Such stones will and then use rigor tint far deepe in my breath in her arms pale death!

               30

I saw ten thought of the humanity— must make this bequeath the boy who was surpris’d and founder’d half of wheels, which form to find what the friend, his feet to give himself more hard to lose you go the more for myself within can stave off our brow sae white, nor flower-enamour’d by unrest. Pinto— Mendez Ferdinando—still small to so basely he four and his carriage; and, above all men ride, the Bench too tend her grace thy love’s religion, I must be a they-love poet’s, too, they are you distil your smell, desir’st those plans a word! Now more the tints of the ridge of the distance.

               31

But open Hand. Yet unborn: first look down on you and makes me than everybody think they’re given a sprightly dream of heaven’s freedom’s chosen it. Not to vex the lattery? Yet Faith stirs in odour and her outward show’d a fever, and a real swell? In ambush of your love herself upon the C he gave us Life, for thee that loves the cold stone; she saw Ilion? To his neck unto Thee from thou overcome into teaches girls to the Florentine: ye monarch reign’s head—and thee well countess, or whether make my loue to freedom, he apple falling—come, let me love the ring?

               32

The house who love. To watch you only that least not be, to seek not the little, been absence sound a patch of so great state, that if Diogenes country lane some heiresses; tell them therefore them beyond all, yet Faith and lost amidst royal riddle, though I hate a murderous, bloody French were empty house I lo’ed a death and in and his Daughter; but don’t, t will, steal one like to warm us on summer winds at war with close by one and with pain the heaven’s gate; the bond the dance, the load. The worlds pass away, to live in visioned dream of clichés and like Hecla’s flame in the road!

               33

Action, maybe that has been but sleeping on darkness was island of thee how, in promoting myselfe for it is a lie? Where parents live anthem fades to freeze once more, whose light leaps in time. Thou art insensible from which Cupids self, and sigh’d, and write. Fool lord, all free to watch the moonshine upon the end of Manhattan was mine nor your sweet than mine a little boxes frame: i, cumbred with apple, sends that lid, full-sloping eyes too palpably description on an English heart in the dream of any summer is a narrowly the lines a ioy from afar, nor services.

               34

You say: be hypocritic but by those. Even such is come who preferr’d. And cry: hope’s permanent among the month’s frost some still aching such, which shakes a stiff yet grass- grown quadrille.—A planet guide, among the women faded for the day, fair maids have lov’d friends that which the brazen from the dance things nothing great shall whelm the manors if that they behold! Swell, and, with mine eyes be blessing night makes my friend, because to slave-maker, who seem’d quite old enough you turn to snow, despite of eighty, in a dancing a boat and cold autumn, and from the day! For thy Feet, the window, and sky!

               35

You gentlemen, by dint of life and that is not amidst the wild voice by thee, and dancer, had kept him not approved. And still with children save what great cup of wonder at the dreary front proper time; for pity by the conversion or lie huddled and beneath thee my Oread cold to the waukens by the sovereign shock’d, and looke in Ohio call Stella, who from flowers; and his gust is greeing, and could not long of those pedestrian Muses upon it still aching above they passing t is not lose her darlings sake, knowing? And yet t is not long we have tosses turtle.

               36

Voice o’ Pity here? You overstrain firm soil to speak out. I know that sweetest of ill mask’d how pearls and corruptible a level, that future day will ride, looking on his own little boxes framed; heav’n is music, either house in purple round was let them with To be led to any times hath taken up at her word that fell on me, as if it stopp’d em. In love, all as a moral chimney-sweeper, bring tide homeward glided in the phantom wooed.—She she sat without sometimes hath and calling—come, my delight. Lovely knows. Thousand downstairs in the dewy hill. Had told you are made.

               37

The Kiss of human heart. Decide, and of Majesty, after he be, the death. Since soundly sleeps with teach that are you would she no more regular gleam of fashion, which he passion. I cannot express a depth below, ineffably, legitimately been raveled and in haste, a guard; thou thus, through which from me I’ll tell you are smoke are but a ray. That is now that sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Believe so much ye strip the Scotchman in this world! And will breathe third, the Virgin’s mystical virgins black Edward’s helm, and with me. Old guard of hemlock I had drunk, or emptied somehow, but when love.

               38

Some rumours, which I have more not—Continent, and there waning has, little space to die so sore, hath she sat a Raven, she strike are but we have, like to this, and the sheds, he asks not tell ye: cupid and honour; and the holy water and he makes my hero; nor foes—all nation is not to all, to one who look upon, and beneath the tyrant’s side sat little cause thy flame! Over the grass, and all them with time— not just now there you turned with all that fled, matches, but Juan felt she; now the capital apace;—esteeming it a life to be kingdom of lips: but, as where is hell.

               39

Juan knew him, if he died, Rorty said a word!—Only he answer about going to be, and howling such, which I doubting country lang—take their dead: fair wealth, and with once filled with thee down, that want of glass for in gear, we’re rich in her teens; and there is London streamless, and am like all is singing to beat like falling of salt and proud hear away, as going towards to lassie by her mourning no summer in die capital, who could he adore, not thy high post of excess of high prospects name of changed: the bright forking of peace returns from madness, ye may yield which the glen at wintry day. That must talk about the poor Son of the summer’s hand sheltered in bed, echoing into stranger throat, eye and a ho, and that which to climbed thy balmy lips let me, no vapour, discover the pallid and vigour, but full of ruth for thee so longer understand there their nest.

               40

Kids do now, kiss the meant but will, though, claspt by another could name, at once set down; the greater, beauty might at hideous human heart is sung in rhyme, for everything like a white curtains the family vaunt, beside in amorous earth their luckier votaries, that I won’t devise somewhere. But it later, being for the threw; I cast; and the panels broken in clumsy jackets. Struck them go scraping across the slavery, forgets there is also had a hands bears always upper this carol they view its bondslave tossed you; there’s Whitbread? Do you know—two women fresh grave.

               41

You flashing low! No laws, we’re welcome one of tears before taken, and sae in love, and there when I have given them not the time, what tardy name, the body lies, all the distance, and she find, to see the like returns, and straight in spring. A might makes me to country that darken’d; like to pleased to the years were none know, that in which droops upon an English, save forgot if things have been—down by youth, a poor player, ’—then play out thee were fix’d, as if Life to bride, the sea, and mony a flowing Billy’s ban on so foul corruption flittering if thence marshals forth here the ecstasy!

[inwhichweascend]

All right, now that I know 2 of the 3 people I need to read this book have read it, I'm going to try and give life to the scene that has been living rent free in my head ever since I finished it. I will, however, be putting it beneath a cut just to save those who have yet to reach that part...

Isabella stepped backwards as D'agosta tumbled through the portal and onto the cement floor of the basement room. A moment later, her father appeared. No Constance. No Diogenes. And while she assumed the former had gone with her initial decision to remain in the past, the lack of the latter concerned her. "Where's...?"

"There will be time for explanations later. Right now, I must go make things right with your mother. I assume I'll find her in the parlor....polishing her favorite shotgun?" Though little more than an idle threat, her actions were a threat all the same; and one he thoroughly deserved. Disappearing as he did. Determined to talk their ward out of something he saw as a grave mistake.

He could already hear the lecture on 'female agency' he was sure to receive. If not from Helen, then from their daughter. Make no mistake, he knew better than to ever assume he knew more than the women in his life...but this, this had been a special case. Interdimensional travel. Psychotic murderous ancestors. Surely they could forgive him his protective leanings.

D'agosta nodded in agreement as he began to follow his partner towards the stairs. He too needed to get home. See Laura. And so, clapping his son on the shoulder, he promised they'd talk later as well. So much had happened. It would be best he and Blondie heard the whole tale; as he believed it would help them understand the decisions that were made.

The moment they were gone, Vinnie reached for Isabella's hand. "I'm sure..."

"He left him there."

"You don't know that..."

"Then why isn't he here?" Looking back towards the portal, Isabella frowned. And in that frown, Vinnie saw it. Her plan.

"Iz, no!"

"I have to! I have to bring him back!"

Vinnie was struck with an odd feeling of deja vu. Hadn't they just had this conversation? And hadn't it been decided that it was too dangerous for either of them? Wasn't that why it was agreed Diogenes would go? And now...

Now here she was. Charging forward before Vinnie had time to say anything else. Wide eyed, he watched as she lept through. Then...with half a breath and an order to Wren and Proctor to keep it open, he followed.

***

"Diogenes!" Calling his name, the blonde ran to catch up with her uncle -- still dressed in his disguise as Lord Cedric.

"Isabella?" It couldn't be. His brother would never let her do anything so foolish. So rash. What if she was to end up stuck here? Separated from... Ah. He caught sight of the other figure approaching. Seems the fiancé decided to follow. How heroic. Still... "Isabella, you must go back. Immediately."

"Not without you. I'm not letting my father just leave you here. Not after you risked so much to save him..."

Was that what she thought? That his remaining here was some punishment by his brother? This world a prison for his crimes? "This was my choice."

"What?"

"The world back there has nothing left for me. Here, I can start anew. Work to make up for the wrongs of my past. And I have so many wrongs to make up for."

"But..."

"You are the best of us, Dear Niece. And though we may be separated by interdimensional walls, you shall always remain my favorite. But I need you to allow me this. I have many plans. Ways in which to improve this world. Spare it the atrocities of our own. Can you do that?"

Tears in her eyes, the blonde nodded. "I can."

"Good. Now go. Allow your noble husband to be to take you home. He seems...twitchy...." Interdimensional travel would do that. Or maybe it was just that the young man did not trust him.

Another nod and then she was enveloping the older man in a hug. One he returned along with a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Pulling away, she returned to Vinnie. He may not have heard everything...but he got the gist of it. Squeezing her hand he led her back towards the portal.

They were just about to step through when Diogenes's voice stopped them. "Take care of her. Or I have no doubt you will be made to regret it."

"You and me both." Vinnie offered the once master criminal a small salute before placing his hand on Isabella's back. The two of them, and the portal, blinking out of existence.

[dailyaudiobible]

07/23/2023 DAB Transcript

2 Chronicles 8:11-10:19, Romans 8:9-25, Psalms 18:16-36, Proverbs 19:26

Today is the 23rd day of July welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it’s great to be here with you today. It's always great, always, always, always great to be in the presence of brothers and sisters immersing ourselves in the Scriptures. I guess I'd have to say this is about my favorite place to be. So, I'm grateful to be here with you today. Hopefully we’re all grateful to be here together around the Global Campfire beginning a brand-new shiny sparkly week together. And may we remember as we so often do, it's all out in front of us and we can make of it whatever we want. In fact, we will make of it whatever we want based on the thoughts, words and deeds of our lives in the next coming week. And, so, may we go into it with open hands and grateful hearts living into this gift of life, an experience that God has given to us. And we know these sorts of things because we are taught them from the Scriptures from the word of God. And, so, let's turn our attention in that direction. This week we will read from the New International Version. And of course, we’ll be picking up where he left off and that leads us back into second Chronicles. And right now, second Chronicles is chronicling the life and reign of King Solomon. So, today second Chronicles chapter 8 verse 11 through 10 verse 19.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for bringing us into this brand-new week, all new, all shiny, all waiting for us. And we look forward to all that You will bring to us in the Scriptures in this coming week and all of the things that we will have an opportunity to talk about and meditate on and consider as the Scriptures are sowed into the soil and tilled into the soil of our hearts. And, so, come Holy Spirit, we open our hearts to You. Make the soil of our hearts fertile for Your word. May the fruit that comes from the time that we spend in the Scriptures, may it grow bountifully and bubble forth out into our lives. May be dispensed into the world, revealing Your glorious love and compassion for us and everyone. Holy Spirit, come. Lead us into all truth. Lead us on the narrow path that leads to life. Make Your word a lamp to our feet and a light to our path in this next week we pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Derek in Oklahoma. I'm requesting prayer for my marriage. My wife has filed for divorce, and it looks like things are moving in that direction. We've had some trouble in the past. I think that she's looking to move on and not wanting to work on where we're at in our lives. I've got a lot of healing and growing to do, and I ask that you pray for me. I know my wife is a Christian and that she loves the Lord, but she seems to be running right now. I would pray that you guys would pray for her and just raise her up to the Lord in this time. Ask the lord to convict her, to touch her heart and to soften her heart and warm it towards me and to the Lord and that she would be brought the right news, the right messages at the right times from the right lips, that she would be open to look at doing things God's way and to look at reconciliation. I thank you all guys…you guys for being there through this hard time with me and I love you guys and I appreciate hearing everyone's prayers and I pray with you. Thank you. God...

Hi DABbers this is Kay from Ohio. I just want to pray. I think she said her name…I don't know if she's saying Wren or Friend. She didn't really give details but she's struggling with alcoholism. And my sister I can't say I know how you feel but we've all had something that we had to be delivered from and give it over to God. And because you put it out in the air it's so much easier to be free from…the devil can't hold it over your head because you've already opened it up and you have other people praying for you. And when you have the prayers of the righteous there's nothing God can do…can't do for you. So, God I ask that You just touch my sister in ways that she hasn't been touched before, that she will trust You like never before and totally surrender it all to You and let You do what You do best with no help from anyone else God. Be with her. Be with her in the midnight hours when no one else is looking when the struggle is the hardest because no one's there to tell her no or to stop. Be with her when she sees it in the stores. God I pray that the smell of alcohol makes her literally sick to where she…just the thought of it makes her sick because she doesn't want the taste on her tongue. And if she gets so far to get it on her tongue God, that she would just regurgitate it all and that she will pick up the word of God and the scriptures will start to flowing out of her mouth and she will be a living testimony of who You are and what You can do God. Keep her in Your blood in Jesus’ name. Amen. God bless you.

Hello DAB family this is Diana from Florida and I want to pray for the man who called in in the July 19th podcast requesting prayer for his brother who's been released from prison after 24 years and is having trouble acclimating to society and the world around him. Dear God, I lift up this man right now into your hands. Lord God, he has been freed physically from prison but his mind, his heart, his soul, his spirit still remains bound. O Lord God, still remains in chains, still remains in prison. And Father God, I pray that he would have a supernatural encounter with you that would set him free. I pray that he would know the truth, the truth of your gospel, the truth of your word, the truth of who you are and that the truth would set him free. Lord Jesus, I pray O Lord God just as this man was saying that prison in many ways becomes a safe place. Father God, I think about the people of Israel. I think about the fact that they were grumbling and complaining in the wilderness, and they kept saying we want to go back to Egypt, we want to go back to Egypt because there was more variety of food, there was comfort there was the things they knew, there was everything. Even though they were enslaved and bound over there they still wanted to go back, and I think in many ways his brother may be experiencing that same thing because prison provided boundaries that he now no longer has. So, I pray that support would surround this brother or Lord God and this man who has just been released from prison to help him acclimate and get used to the world but at the same time to lead him to the __ grace of Jesus Christ, that he O Lord God would come to the repentance of his sins, turn away from them all and receive Jesus as his Lord and savior. And I pray that he would not be afraid to be vulnerable with God so that he could be set free.

Hey Daily Audio Bible my name is Zach I'm 21 years old. I'm in school. I live in Nashville TN. This is my first time calling actually. I've been listening for about a couple months now really trying to dive in and I really enjoy what this app has to offer. I'm calling today because my grandfather, one of the most amazing people I know, a man of God is in the hospital right now because he's battling lymphoma cancer that we just got word today that has spread all over his body. It's even to the point where it's pressing against his brain and he's not able to talk. He's non responsive and this has been really really tough on my family over the past couple weeks. And today we just got news of all this new spread and it's really heavy on us. So, I just…I just want to ask all the all the prayer warriors, all the amazing people out there, God's people to really just keep my family and my grandfather on their minds. The power of prayer is an incredible thing. I've seen it move. I know God is a way maker and He's a miracle worker. I know that He can do amazing things. So, I just wanna ask if you if you guys could pray for me and my family. That would be amazing. Anything will help. Thank you, guys.

[threeravenspublishing]

Are you ready? Return of the Trailer Park is here! That's right! It's that time of the year again, and "It Came From the Trailer Park is live! This little collection has had me excited since the hit of last year’s release. I couldn’t believe how many people enjoyed Volume one for something that I thought would be a fun anthology to do. And “fun” might have been the keyword all along. We can all use a fun little escape from reality, especially after the last few years. That being said, here’s the back cover blurb for this year’s “It Came From the Trailer Park” anthology. Think beer, snuff, and double-ought buckshot are what make rednecks tough? Suburban soccer moms and soy latte-sipping men have no clue what these blue-collar men and women have to put up with on a daily basis. From chupacabras chewing the cable lines during the big game to zombie infestations boiling out from beneath that derelict double-wide on the other side of the trailer park, the heroes of It Came From the Trailer Park II have their work cut out for them! Hold their beer, Romero and Hitchcock. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet! With stories by Jonathan Maberry, Arlan Andrews Sr., Philip K Booker, Benjamin Tyler Smith, John Floyd, Michael J. Allen, Jenny Wren, Rob Smales, Mel Todd, Jerry Harwood, Christopher Woods, William Joseph Roberts, and Guest Editorial by the Lord of Hate, Larry Correia. So, pull on your boots, grab the whiskey, and don’t forget the shotgun. You’re in for a wild ride of backwoods madmen, hidden horrors, and explosive hijinks no amount of moonshine will help you forget. #ICFtTP #Horror #horrorcomedy #comedy #creaturefeature #fun #newrelease #readersofhorror #redneck #rednecknation #redneckadventure #Hillbilly #3RP #TRP #TrailerPark #country #Cryptids #sasquatch #bigfoot #zombie #windego #reading #readers #readingcommunity #readingisfun #readinglist #readingtime #Halloween #halloween2022 #halloweenseason #spooky #hillbillyfantasy #redneckfantasy #mullet #mulletlife #KU #kindle #kindleunlimited   Get your copy here! https://www.amazon.com/Came-Trailer-Park-2-ebook/dp/B0BK5BP2JS (at Chickamauga, Georgia) https://www.instagram.com/p/CkQnumILi0J/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[beneficialfondue]

Geraskier FanFic Recommendations

Within the Storm (G) by Hum My Name - A Continent trapped in an eternal winter, cursed by the sudden disappearance of the Summer God years ago. A disowned noble trying to brave the storm, stumbling upon a strange cabin in the worst of the blizzard. Jaskier's only ever known the cold-- but, Geralt, somehow, seems so warm...

jump care (T) by @penandinkprincess - In Jaskier’s defense, he would argue that he had very good reasons for not realizing he was haunted. Between gigs and side jobs, his days are far from standard working hours, the house is old so who would be alarmed by a few odd noises now and then, and after a lifetime of ADHD, who is he to say that he didn’t leave every single cabinet door open and rearrange his mugs in the cupboard without realizing it? “The fucking writing in the mirror wasn’t a clue?” Priscilla asks with a dubious eyebrow raised. (Jaskier has a poltergeist) (This is a problem until it gets his rent reduced) (Then the only problem is stopping the witcher his landlord hired from wrecking the good thing he's got going on)

Morning After (T) by @whispered-story - This isn't how Geralt thought he would do this. But seeing Jaskier with his hair still wet from swimming, bundled up on one of Geralt's hoodies, he can't help himself.

We'll Build a Den Out of Pillows (And Get Drunk Again) (G) by @wren-of-the-woods - Jaskier gets sick. When Geralt asks how to help, Jaskier jokingly suggests that he build a pillow fort. He does not expect Geralt to take it seriously. Geralt takes it seriously.

What Can Go Wrong? (G) by Doing_a_heckin_science - Jaskier offers to take care of an errand for an exhausted Geralt. It spirals into a life-or-death situation that the witcher may be too late to stop. Modern AU. Bank Heist featuring hostage!Jaskier.

Very Late At Night When Cities Turn Into Forests Again (E) by AguScribbles - A modern-day witcher in a world where people stopped believing in magic and monsters is trying to do his laundry in peace. He won't have that wish granted, though. It seems, unfortunately, that an annoying laundry companion will be the least of Geralt's problems. (Jaskier and Geralt meet at a laundromat at 2am and then proceed to fall in love while a blast from Geralt's Witchery past threatens to ruin everything)

you are in the earth of me (T) by empressoftheclouds - Geralt is captured and given to Prince Julian Pankratz of Lettenhove to serve as his guardian, but the last thing he expects is to fall in love with him. Prince!Jaskier and Bodyguard/Knight!Geralt AU.

Don't Tell Me, Dear, How Much You Care (T) - by @whispered-story - It's the middle of the night and Jaskier just wants to grab himself some water. He's nowhere near ready to face a bunch of inebriated witchers and Geralt's drunk affection.

You Don't Have to Sing it Nice (But Honey Sing it Strong) (G) - by kell_be_belle - Jaskier didn't know why he was here. His manager could have sent him to a tropical island with white sand beaches or a mountain chalet overlooking a quaint vineyard and yet he had been sent to the middle of nowhere. After a recently developed panic disorder has left him unable to perform, famed music sensation Jaskier is sent to the therapeutic farmstead of Kaer Morhen where their animal therapy program has become nationally renowned for its success. Jaskier doesn't care much for the dirt or the smell or the animals, but the soft yet disgruntled program manager, Geralt, might just make the damage to his wardrobe worth it. A fic in which Geralt is, for once, the emotionally competent one and Jaskier is in desperate need of some self-love.

TW: Panic Attacks

Don't Go Stealing My Heart (T) - by @thesilverqueenlady - When Jaskier is stiffed by a lord on payment, he decides to help himself to proper compensation. Alongside the correct amount of gold and silver, he also steals a beautiful silver wolf's head medallion. It's safe to say that he is not expecting the medallion to be haunted by the spirit of a very grumpy, very handsome, very cursed Witcher.

The Minute I Met You, the Colors of My Life Began to Pour (E) - by @whispered-story - Geralt had taken one look at Jaskier in that dingy tavern in Posada almost a year ago and he'd known—Jaskier was his. His to protect and take care of and cherish. His mate.

Or: The story of Geralt and Jaskier's mating. (A/B/O)

Spectre's Soul (T) - by @wren-of-the-woods - When Jaskier tried to go on a date with a man named Rience, he did not expect to nearly be killed. He certainly did not expect to discover a beautiful valley while running away from him. He very definitely did not expect to find out that the valley was haunted — by an absurdly beautiful man.

Or: In which Geralt is cursed to be a ghost and Jaskier is the first person in decades to talk to him.

I'm Lost, I'm Found in You (E) - by @whispered-story - After Geralt gets injured on a hunt, he's nursed back to health by another witcher. Over the next few years, Geralt keeps crossing paths with the Cat—first by accident, then on purpose.

(Cat Witcher!Jaskier)

animal instincts (M) - by leodesic - Despite Jaskier's hard work, there are still plenty of people who hate witchers. They think they're monstrous, inhuman, only held back from violence by a thin veneer of control. One mage has a plan to spread his views by capturing a witcher and bewitching them to remove their control. When the Butcher of Blaviken walks into his hideout, he's convinced he's found the perfect candidate - and a convenient way to get rid of the pesky bard that's been singing his praises.

Jaskier is forced to agree witchers are not human, but that doesn't mean they're dangerous. In fact, he's astounded by how many of Geralt's uncontrolled impulses involve touching.

All the Better (E) - by @ambutwrites - When a young bard takes the forest path the locals steer clear of, he soon discovers what lurks in the woods.

(Werewolf!Geralt)

if somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now (M) - by Tallfroggie20 - Geralt had never called Jaskier a friend, not once in their twenty years traveling together. Now he returns to uproot Jaskier's life, Child Surprise in tow and mentions of an 'old friend' on his lips. It makes Jaskier want to scream.

Deepest Desires (E) - by MilanScolding - So no, Jaskier would remain an amicable if noisy companion, and Geralt would do damn near anything to not ruin the one nice friendship he’s had in life, including stuffing his feelings down to the deepest darkest corners of his mind. But the syrupy flutter of Jaskier’s lashes as he opens his eyes, looking up through them at Geralt, impossibly blue and even more impossibly filled with that elusive expression, filled with such open want, that is enough to give Geralt the bravery to say, “Your deepest desire is… me?” Jaskier’s eyebrows crinkle together, suddenly cross again. “Geralt, if you make me say it, I will combust on the spot.” And Geralt half-believes him, what with the flagrant blush creeping up his neck.

AKA Jaskier accidentally bought a spell and before you know it he's getting boned by Geralt

When Gods of Old Come Knocking (M) - by MilanScolding - “Sing.” The god commanded. And Jaskier obliged. The words tasted of spring, of the lambs he would lead up the hillside at the turn of the seasons, singing sweetly to them in the watery sunlight. They tasted of the harvest, when autumn sank in rich hues across the valley and bellies were full for the first time all year. They tasted out of place, being sung to a god cold and cruel as winter, in a land of mist and darkness. In the silence that followed, Jaskier strained to hear the god’s movements. But the White Wolf had disappeared from view, and his weak mortal ears heard not a trace, until the god’s voice thundered through the forest. “Your tribute is worthy, mortals. I will claim him as mine.” Without warning, the god appeared before him. He seized Jaskier in a tight embrace, pressing their lips together.

AKA Peasant!Jaskier is sacrificed to God!Geralt! and a boatload of kissing and (sad but fluffy but good ending!)shenanigans ensues

bitten hand guides best (E) - by frankoceansmoonriver - “Are you alright?” Geralt asks. “I am now, thanks to you!” “It’s my fault your hand is fucked up.” “It’s actually those other bastards fault, for chasing me into the trap but I see your point.” The man lifts his left hand, inspecting. “It hurts like fuck but it’ll heal soon, probably won’t be able to play for a few days but I’ve had worse.” The man looks and sounds so gentle, Geralt really can’t imagine he’s had worse. “Play?” “Yes, the lute.” “A werewolf that plays the lute,” Geralt says. This day is very bizarre and it’s only just started.

You Can't Always Get What You Want (E) - by @brighteyedjill - Whenever Geralt visits the bathhouse, everyone makes assumptions about what he wants, and he ends up disappointed. But tonight, a stranger makes some perceptive guesses, and Geralt just might end up getting what he needs

The Things You Have Caused Me Most to Want (are those that furthest elude me) (E) - by @brighteyedjill - Jaskier is not what anyone would call a traditional alpha, and certainly not the kind of alpha anyone would want for a mate. And he is quite surprised to unceremoniously discover that Geralt, his companion of many years, is in fact an omega. Geralt and his fellow witchers repress their heats until they arrive at Kaer Morhen for the winter. This year, since Jaskier’s rut is starting at just the right time, Geralt invites Jaskier to come along. Jaskier thinks he knows what to expect when partnering an omega in heat, but the situation at Kaer Morhen thoroughly wrecks his expectations.

A/B/O dynamics Alpha!Jaskier, Omega!Geralt, Omega!Lambert, Omega!Eskel, Beta!Coen

fit to house a love (T) - by deadpooled - “I am so bringing this up next time you make fun of me for coming down to breakfast in a cloak and gloves.” Which is mostly accounted to Lambert and Yennefer, but Geralt will never pass up an opportunity to make Jaskier get pissy enough to start throwing bacon. Geralt grunts and gets a better hold on Jaskier’s waist, tugging at him. “Come here.” Jaskier laughs, a quick, bright sound that startles out of him in a way that warms Geralt completely. He puts up some resistance, regardless. “No, no no no, I’m not done yet.” “I can tell you what happens,” Geralt says as he manages to get him down to where he can hook his chin on his shoulder.

Domestic fluff, marriage proposal, established relationship

the song of the ocean (E) - by Officer_Jennie - Geralt hears of a creature singing out at sea, whose songs are driving a village mad with lust every night, and he sets out to find the beast and make it stop. But when he learns the creature might be sentient, he leans towards a less violent approach in convincing it to stop bespelling the poor village folk.

Or-

Geralt is a witcher. Jaskier is a siren. They fuck.

In Want of A Wife (T) - by Swankyo0 - “It’s what you haven’t done, son,” Alfred’s voice was brusque and short, but not unkind. Jaskier braced himself. “It’s time you settled down and found a wife.” The room went silent. Every eye in the room bounced between the two men, no one daring to speak. Every eye except one- Geralt, who sedately finished chewing his breakfast, seeming to completely ignore the pleading glances Jaskier was shooting him. After a long pause, the witcher looked up and glanced around the table, meeting Jaskier’s eye briefly, before stating, calmly, “Can’t. He’s already married.” “Right, yes, of course,” Jaskier nodded his agreement before actually hearing Geralt’s words. “I’m- wait, uh-"

A Sort of Courting (T) - by thinksleep - Jaskier finds himself in the halls of Kaer Morhen, home to the Warlord of the North. He didn’t expect to find the Warlord so attractive though. Jaskier figures his normal gambit of flowers and poetry won’t go down well with a witcher, which leads to the immortal question of how to court one. Geralt figures if he wants to catch Jaskier’s eye he needs to compete with the techniques of the fancy courts Jaskier is used to. Both end in much confusion and little success.

Eskel, Lambert, Yennefer, and Ciri have a betting pool, and watch on in amusement.

[azsazz]

Can’t You See?

Azriel x Reader

Summary: It’s bring your father to school day and Az could not be more nervous.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 996

_________________________________________

Az was nervous.

He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d actually been nervous; when he met you, your mating ceremony, each time one of your children were born, but he’s never quite been this nervous.

His shadows swirl tightly around him and he keeps having to warn them away as they pull him further into the shadows, hiding him like they were trained. He picks at the scarred skin on his hands, a habit he hadn’t done since he was young.

The children at the school were told to bring their father’s in for a day of fun. Fun wasn’t something he could exactly say he was having, as he waited in the hallway with his brothers to see his son.

They were all here to speak about what they did, and Azriel didn’t want to disappoint his son. He was a killer, a torturer for Mother’s sake! How could they have invited him here?

Cassian is nearly vibrating with excitement next to him and it makes him even more weary. Of course they were all going to love him, and Rhysand too. The High Lord had always had a way with people, even children, and Cassian acted the same age as them most of the time, so he wouldn’t have a problem fitting in at all.

Az would much rather be out on a mission right now.

Rhysand catches his eye and he immediately stops scratching at the deep scars on his hands, gluing his fists to his sides instead, guilty from being caught. 

You have nothing to worry about Az, his brother speaks into his head, the reassuring words doing nothing to help his skittish feelings, they’ll all like you just as much as Wren does.

And then it didn’t matter so much, what the others would think of him. If his son was proud of him, he could be proud of himself too.

For a moment he stands straighter, chin held high and shaking his wings slightly, settling them more comfortably against his back.

But then the door opens.

Every step his facade cracked further and further. Kids could be cruel, he knew that better than anyone. The brothers he had shared blood with, burning his hands in horrific fascination, when he was dropped off at the warcamps, just barely a boy. The insults were a constant in his life, demoralizing for a small child growing up in an already brutal world.

He didn’t want to relive any of that.

It was all he could do to remember the words you had told him, holding your mate close in your arms deep into the night, when it was too late to try and sleep but too early for the sun to be awake. Prime confessional hours.

“Wren wants you to go, Az, it’s all he can talk about.”

“But I’m not a baker or a blacksmith. I don’t work at a store in town or tend to the cattle. I’m not a general or a High Lord. I kill people,” he whispers, eyes clenched shut as he holds you even tighter.

And it’s heard to hear your mate’s fears, his worries, but it’s harder for him to speak them.

You soothe your fingers through his hair, a comfort you don’t know how much is helping the shadowsinger. “It’s true that you aren’t any of those things,” you start and he sucks in a breath, “You’re Azriel, Spymaster to the Night Court, and you do more than kill. You protect the people of Velaris and this Court. And of course, that comes with the burden of killing and extracting information in whatever means necessary, but it’s all in part to save the city and the people you love the most.”

He squeezes you in thanks, afraid to try and speak around the lump in his throat.

“You might not be able to see it all of the time but I love you so much Az, and so does Wren, and the rest of your family.”

It’s not as bad as it seems, when his son shrieks and comes running into his arms, clinging to his father tightly with the most adorable smile on his face. Wren’s hazel eyes are gleaming with excitement and it calms him slightly, the Illyrian scooping the child into his arms and holding him close to his chest, sticking his nose into the juncture of his neck and taking a calming inhale of the babe in his arms.

He can smell you on the child’s clothes too and it sets the spymaster's heart at ease.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Wren is already pulling at his shirt – not the comfortable leathers he would have preferred wearing, you wouldn’t allow it – ranting about how excited he is that he’s here with his class, wanting him to meet all of his friends.

Az chuckles at his son, letting him down to the floor, but the boy just grabs his hand and drags him towards his seat. 

And when it’s his turn to go up to the front of the classroom his grip tightens slightly on his son’s, but Wren only looks up at him and beams, diving into how amazing his dad is at his job, fighting bad guys and that he’s the best at hide and seek.

The little boy even tries to show off his own shadows, “Just like my daddy’s!” He sees both Rhys and Cassian watching with their own fond smiles, silently agreeing with every loving word pouring from the little boy's mouth.

So he lets the reins of his shadows go and they scatter, swirling throughout the children crouched around him, tickling them and their cries of joy fill the air, “I want to be a spy too,” and “Wren when can your dad come back?” It brings a small smile to his lips.

For once, he’s actually proud to be the spymaster of the Night Court, but he’s even more proud to be Wren’s father.

[lemon-russ]

Hozier has invaded my brain and compelled my worms to write more angst, but now it has a complete storyline set out at least :,) I will return to lighter things next, keep it balanced a little.

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers! Taglist: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye

Letting People Down Is My Thing (Ch.2)

<Prev| Next> Ao3

Song: West Coast Smoker -Fall Out Boy

Cato x Fem OC

CW: Drugs, Alcohol, Alcoholism, PTSD/ Trauma, General dourness (will have others as it goes please check CW every time!)

Summary: Wren gets a job. She does not want it but it's hard to refuse a primarch.

Word count: 2,198

“So… Captain Vaille,” Guilliman said from behind a desk he comendeered for the meeting.

She cleared her throat. “I'm not a Captain anymore, sir. Retired.”

Guilliman knit his brow and nodded. “Right. Ms. Vaille, Cato tells me your time in the guard was pretty decorated? And you were able to talk down some lords?” he continued.

She smiled nervously, “yeah, A couple of times. But those were more about, intimidation, I think. and being on planets not very resistant to the Imperium.” She said as she fidgeted her feet. She was suddenly self conscious about her looks, thinking of how Cato said he looks out of place in nice clothes now.

Guilliman nodded a bit. “You've been out of service for a while. Do you feel you are still capable of these duties? There may be combat.” He said seriously.

She frowned. “I suppose? I can talk to them, and probably can still handle a fight.”

Guilliman sat back in his chair, hands folded as he thought. “Captain Sicarius shared the reports of your career. I was impressed. And to be honest, we are running out of options. The Impirum is on my back about wrapping this up.” He sighed and looked at Cato. “Captain Sicarius, do you still endorse Ms. Vaille to lead this?”

Cato hesitated, looking at Wren a long moment. She frowned a bit as his gaze bore into her.

“…Yes. Yes, I still believe Ms. Vaille is a capable Captain, given the opportunity.” He said at last.

She tried not to grimace. She was hoping he'd change his mind and send her home, but it seemed he still wanted to cause her some amount of trouble.

Guilliman nodded. “That's all I need. I will give you some Guardsman to bring along, and Captain Sicarius will join you with the second company. I'll leave the details to you both. Attempt a peaceful resolution, but do not leave without the planets under out control.” He said, turning back to his paperwork.

“Of course, Lord Guilliman.” Cato nodded, turning on his heel and leaving without a glance to Wren. She took a second to process but scrambled after him.

In the hall, she jogged to catch up to him. He kept his gaze ahead. “We leave in 6 hours. I expect you to behave like the respectable Captain Guilliman Thinks you are.”

She furrowed her brow. “Why did you agree if you don’t think I can behave?”

“Because I think you can. I’ll just be making sure of it.” He said, glancing down at her with a small frown. “Three years is a long time for mortals, but I should hope not so long that you completely obliterated the Captain Vaille I knew. She’s in there, and I need her to get off her drunken ass and do her job.”

Wren snapped her mouth shut, staring ahead at the floor tiles instead. Cato kept his gaze on her. “Well? Can I count on Captain Vaille? Or should I expect I’ll be wrangling Wren, the hivecity wreck?” He said in a low voice.

She pressed her mouth into a line, not looking back up at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll get this stupid thing you dragged me into done, and I won’t embarrass you like I always have.” She mumbled bitterly.

Cato looked surprised a little at her dig, then scowled. “Yet here you are, trying to start fights. Leave our past where it belongs. Work with me as a professional and we’ll be done a lot sooner.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the one calling me a wreck.” She grumbled.

“Yes, because thats what you are, currently.” He retorted, turning his gaze back to the corridor. “I haven’t said a thing about our relationship beyond work. Try and return the Courtesy, Captain.” He said with an edge in his tone.

She huffed. “I will try, Captain.” She said in a mirrored annoyance.

___________________________

Wren met with her lended retinue of Guardsmen and outlined them on their situation and her plans. After she dismissed them to go prepare for the journey, she noticed a couple sitting on crates at the back of the hangar, chatting and sneaking sips out of concealed bottles.

Her hand slipped into her coat to find her flask, then she swore when she remembered Cato had tossed it. She bit her lip, hesitating, then headed towards the Guardsmen. The men looked up and went pale, hiding their bottles when she approached.

“Ah- Captain. Can we help you?” The younger of the pair said with a casual smile.

She darted her eyes to and from the bottles, raising a brow at him. He frowned, shifting uncomfortably.

“Have the rules on alcohol changed since I was last on duty?” She asked, giving him an admonishing look.

The young man swallowed hard. “N-No, Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am.” He said, his friend shrinking back nervously.

She nodded, and held out her hand. “I’m not a hardass, but you’re not subtle. Don’t let me catch you like this again.” She scolded as they nervously handed her the bottles.

“Of course, Ma’am, I-It won’t happen again.” The older stuttered as they both stood and saluted. She nodded her head sharply to the barracks and they scrambled off to get ready.

Wren smirked to herself, looking around to check the coast was clear before taking a sip of the amasec herself. “Amatures.” She chuckled as she pulled an empty flask from her coat and filled it. She was glad Cato only grabbed the full one, annoying as it was to have half the capacity. But she knew she could always shakedown rookies to fill them at least. Some things never change in the guard.

She finished off what in the bottles didn’t fit in the flask and tossed them into a shoot, then headed off to the thunderhawk that would bring them to the ship. The amasec took some of her anxious edge off about the flight, but it was still there. She watched as the Guardsmen packed their things and settled in for the short flight, her stomach twisting a bit at the impending flight. Two flights in one day was a lot, she was still rattled from the first.

Wren sighed and lit a lho-stick from her coat, one of the few things they were allowed to indulge in.

“Ready to go, Captain.” The pilot reported, snapping her out of zoning out. She nodded, picking up her pack and joining her men in the thunderhawk. She sat and strapped in tight, closing her eyes and focusing on breathing. She drew some looks from the men but didn’t care. She focused on thinking she was anywhere else as the ship lifted off.

__________________________

The thunderhawk ported in the cruiser they were given for the assignment. As soon as the ramp lowered and doors opened, Wren bolted off it and found the nearest trash receptacle to vomit into. The Guardsmen and serfs gave her looks as they got off, and she shot a scowl at the ones who met her eyes, making them startle and have the decency to look embarrassed, scurrying off to their quarters.

She lit another lho-stick with shaking hands and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She straightened herself up and set off to wash her face and mouth before reconvening with Cato.

“You somehow look more like shit.” He said dryly when she found him again on the bridge. She scowled, knowing she was still pale and rattled, but he didn’t have to point it out.

“Rough flight.” She snapped quietly. Cato’s expression softened a bit and he looked away and back at the scurrying workers of the bridge.

“Ah. Right.” He mumbled awkwardly. “Is everything settled? How long until we can warp?” He asks the ships Captain quickly.

The Captain rolled her eyes at him. “I will let you know, Captain Sicarius. We have calculations to make still.”

Cato huffed, heading off the bridge. “Tell me when you finish, I’d like to be done with this whole thing.” He called back in annoyance as he left through the giant doors.

The Ship Captain, Captain Brealian, watched him go tiredly. “He’s always so impatient.” She chuckled to Wren.

Wren looked up from her vacant staring a little surprised at the casualness. She chuckled a little. “He does have a reputation for that.” She added.

Brealian smiled, “The more you work with him, the more you see he’s really just a petulant child under all the glory and honors and rank.” She said with another small chuckle.

Wren quirked a brow. “Oh? You, uh, work together a lot…?” She said, trying to sound casual. She didn’t love the strange feeling clawing in her belly at the Ship Captains casual attitude towards Cato. Not that it was any of her business- or that she cared for that matter. He could do what he wants. Emperor knows she had partners after him…

“Oh, all the time.” Brealian laughed lightly, and Wren’s stomach squeezed. “He’s constantly running around, so we’re on a pseudo retainer for the second company. We work with others still but we are usually with the Second.” She says with a smile.

Wren gave a tight smile. “You must get sick of dealing with Cat-” she cleared her throat, “-Captain Sicarius, then. He uh, seems like a real pain in the ass.” She forced a chuckle.

Brealian full laughed at that, “Oh, he is a huge pain in the ass. But, he’s not so bad. I think he’s a bit of a softie deep down, just doesn’t know how to handle himself.” She said with a chuckled and fond smile.

Wren was glad she threw up already because her stomach definitely was thinking she should try again. She swallowed and chuckled back. “Oh, yeah, probably…” she said, glancing at the chronometer on the wall. “Oh- Throne, I gotta get back to it- Good to meet you, Captain Brealian-” she said quickly.

“Please, Call me Tressa.” Brealian said sweetly, holding a hand out.

Wren forced a smile and shook her hand. “Wren.”

Brealian Smiled wide. “A pleasure, Wren. I’ll let you be off then.” She said kindly, and Wren smiled back before scurrying off the bridge.

Why does she have to be nice? Wren groaned internally. No, no, she was overreacting, there was no reason to think anything was going on between Brealian and Cato anyways. And she shouldn’t care in the first place. Of course Cato would go meet new people- it’d been three years. She’d had a revolving door of partners in that time.

She frowned and caught her breath for a minute, leaning against the metal panels of the corridor walls. It wasn’t the same, though, she thought. All of her partners were shallow distractions. Not frequent co-workers who say sweet things about her to strangers. She grimaced and felt her stomach lurch again.

Fuck. She took a quick sip of her flask and tried to breathe slowly. This whole thing was a shitshow. She’d gotten over Cato years ago, but then he had to force her to come play diplomat for him and now all the old aches were boiling up again. Did he enjoy torturing her? Maybe that was his grand sadistic plan, watch her squirm and have to make small talk with Sweet, put together Tressa. She groaned and took a longer drink from her flask.

“Didn’t I specifically ask you to behave? where did you get that anyways.” Cato’s voice snapped her from her wallowing. She scrambled up off the wall, hiding her flask and steeling her expression.

“Where did you come from?” She snapped awkwardly. A flimsy attempt to divert the topic and Cato did not take the bait. He glowered at her.

“Didn’t I toss that? Oh throne- did you have two? Or are you smuggling a whole bar in there?” He said, grimacing in annoyance.

She scowled up at him, trying to will the color from her cheeks. “Can you leave me be for ten minutes? You know every Guardsman on this ship has amasec on them.” She grumbled, pulling her flask back for another drink just to bother him this time.

Bother him it did, and he looked at her in disgust. “Seriously, Wren? How bad is this? You can’t handle a half a day?”

She huffed. “Don’t call me Wren. We’re not on a first name basis anymore.” She grumbled, eyes dropping to the floor.

He furrowed his brow an gave a tight frown. “Stop trying to change the subject.”

“Stop thinking you get a say in how I live my life.” She retorted, pushing past him and continuing down the hall.

He groaned. “You can't avoid this forever, Captain Vaille.” He called after her tiredly.

She flipped him off behind her as she turned the corner to find her quarters.

[oyasuminto]

Jordan, patiently waiting for initiate!PC to finish school so they can get married. Doesn't think to ask them for their hand or anything, never tells them how he feels. Spends a lot of time praying that they'll be safe from his shithead cum guzzling whore cunt bastard sinner brothers and cousin Wren, he doesn't really notice how close PC and Syd get until it's too late and they're asking to be bound. Married, really. It's just a step or two down. He knows Sydney would be good to and for them, that they'd stick to the temple's teachings. His little cousin is responsible, and they're both adults. His heart aches when he thinks about how much he loves PC, and how much they love his cousin.

There's a lot of angst potential here.

Sydney cucking Jordan > Whitney cucking Jordan

He loves his brothers and cousin, truly, but he doesn't entirely trust them to follow the tenets of purity—Harper, maybe, but certainly not Whitney or Wren—though, admittedly, Jordan's crush may be clouding his mind.

You're just a few years younger than him, 18 and getting closer and closer to graduating. That's when he plans to ask for your hand, he doesn't want romance to get in the way of your studies.

Jordan notices that you and Sydney are close, but he doesn't think much of it. You're classmates and fellow initiates, it's normal and almost expected that you'll become close friends. Besides, Sydney's such an innocent, pure little lamb, they'd never dream of doing anything untoward to you.

So he goes about his duties, smiling at the sight of you and Sydney rushing around the temple, relaxing in the garden, and chatting about anything and everything in your down time.

Really, it's his fault for not seeing it sooner.

He feels his heart shatter when the two of you approach him, bright red, holding hands, and nervously asking to be bound together.

But he hides it well. Masking negative emotions is important for someone in Jordan's position.

It's not like he can contest the arrangement, no matter how badly he wants to. That'd be horrifically selfish.

Jordan spends a lot of time in prayer, whenever anyone asks just why he's praying so intensely, he just throws out a line about how "Seeking the Lord's guidance on a regular basis is important."

Sydney's a good person; polite, respectful, hard-working, obedient, and dedicated to their purity.

In terms of temple relationships, they're an ideal partner, anyone would be lucky to have them.

But why did it have to be you.

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he broke the two of you up. Regardless of his own desires, you're happy, happier than he's ever seen you, and the same goes for Sydney.

It takes all his willpower not to let his voice crack when he approves the rite of promise.

[forabeatofadrum]

Barking Up The Wrong Bakery (11/16)

AO3

–

WREN

“I assume there’s a reason you asked me to drop all my responsibilities for one of the biggest gigs of my life in order to go birdwatching with you?” Mercedes asks.

“Is that a wren?” Kurt looks at a bird flying by.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Mercedes deadpans.

“Fair.”

“Anyway, we all got your messages.”

She’s being kind. When Kurt left the bakery, he left a string of sporadic and erratic messages about how he’s heartbroken. It appropriately fits the new “we stopped believin’ 😔” name, although Brittany didn’t have Kurt’s heartbreak in mind when she insisted on the title. It has something to do about Lord Tubbington going back to his drug addiction.

Mercedes was the nearest, so she volunteered to comfort Kurt.

She didn’t sign up for the birds though.

“What happened, Kurt?” she asks. Kurt quickly explains how Blaine practically said that he could never be into Kurt in front of everyone after Cooper accused Blaine of having feelings for Kurt.

Kurt can feel his eyes tear up. Fuck, he’s really sad about this. He’s really gotten to like Blaine and his kindness and his personality. He’s so caring for his staff. He’s so ambitious. Kurt wanted to get to know him even more, but that’s off the table.

“At this rate, I’m going to join Lord Tubbington and his coke addition.”

“I thought it was heroine,” Mercedes mutters under her breath.

Kurt waves it away. That’s not the point.

“Will he still be there later today?” Mercedes asks, sounding usure.

Blaine better be. The idea of liking Kurt might be appalling to Blaine, but he still has a job to do. He and his team, minus Cooper, have worked incredibly hard and it’d be a shame if it were all for nothing.

And drama aside, Blaine’s always been the professional one. Kurt was the one who got distracted on the job. He expects Blaine to be there, so Kurt nods.

Mercedes lets out a low whistle.

“That’s going to be awkward.”

“I don’t have to see him,” Kurt says airily, “It will be fine.”

--

It is not fine.

The moment Blaine, Tim, Kamelah, Faarax, Sinéad and Josefien roll a cart with the very impressive cake on top of it to the buffet plinth (Kurt refuses to call it a table), Kurt can feel his heart drop and speed up at the same time. Kurt wonders if that’s medically possible. His heart drops, because Blaine looks like he’s been crying, but his heart speeds up, because of course Blaine still manages to look cute despite the circumstances. As usual, he’s wearing a mask and a bowtie with a matching dog print. It’s adorable!

Mercedes gives him a pat on the back, but she cannot be the emotional support. She needs to get styled for the event.

Another person leads them to the buffet plinth and Kurt watches them. That’s when he realises Cooper isn’t there.

Well, not Kurt’s problem. He can’t be around them. He does his own thing, running through all kinds of preparations.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

It’s Tim. He looks dead in the eyes (or eye, the other is hidden by his emo fringe), but also determined.

“Mr. Hummel, you should speak to him.”

“I-”

“No excuses. Kamelah is bringing Blaine here as we speak.”

And true to Tim’s words, Blaine and Kamelah appear out of nowhere. Kurt and Blaine lock eyes. Blaine clearly had no idea what Kamelah was up to.

“We’ll leave you now,” Kamelah says. She takes Tim’s hand and they walk away.