#Distinguished Visitors Book

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Japanese Emperor Naruhito attends a banquet alongside Duke of Edinburgh

27 June 2024

Japanese Emperor Naruhito attends a banquet at the Guildhall in London, where he will be welcomed by the Guard of Honour, sign the Distinguished Visitors Book and make a speech after dinner in the Great Hall.

[azrielbrainrot]

Moonlit Shadows - Act I

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance (kinda), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: a bit of angst

Word Count: 12,4k

Rating: 18+ (this part is actually kinda chill)

Notes: Just as a warning (?) reader has white hair and white silvery eyes in this story but those are the only physical descriptions I will make, they're kind of part of her magic. Also when I started writing this I totally intended on it being a one-shot but the story got away from me and I decided to split it up into 3 parts. I really hope you enjoy!

You've been pacing in front of the temple's door ever since the sun set over the mountain, the warm rays slowly being replaced with the brilliant pale moonlight. You keep wringing your hands together and smoothing down any possible wrinkle on your dress, repositioning the diadem perched on your head to make sure it sits perfectly. It's not often you get visitors up in the temple, let alone any your Goddess went out of Her way to warn you about and gave clear instructions to help in any way you could. You can't quite distinguish if the anxiety building inside you is the result of excitement or wariness - possibly a healthy dose of both.

The last time someone climbed these steps had been almost a full decade ago. It was a quite short affair as well since the visitor only needed a book long forgotten in the temple's library. You'd read it multiple times before, and offered it without hesitation, prompting the traveler to thank you and immediately start descending the mountain, going on his way all the while muttering about finally having all the knowledge he needed to achieve his goal. That small interaction served as a reminder of your purpose in this temple, filled you with a sense of accomplishment you usually felt in such situations, but you've been alone in between these walls since then.

After almost four centuries you're more than used to the quiet, to the way your steps echoe in the grand empty space. The loneliness had been a more prominent companion, but even that had come and gone throughout the years. You had no place in the world, nor family or friends waiting for you anymore. All you had left was your duty to the temple. But you're still only fae and the longing for some company catches up to you every once in a while. At times you think you only want the reminder that you're still alive.

There wasn't much to do around the temple either, it magically gave you food and kept itself clean so you didn't even need to bother with that. You could recite every book in the library at this point and you found you weren't the best artist as you tried your hand at painting and sculpting, even music and dancing. The flowers around the temple seemed to grow effortlessly, not even needing you to tend to them either. Even keeping a journal proved inefficient as there was little to write down, the monotony of your life not interesting enough for such a thing. When tasked with guarding the temple, you would never have imagined boredom would end up being your biggest problem.

You still recall the day your hair started turning white and your eyes dulling, losing their color slowly until they turned into the silver, almost white color they were now, mirroring the moonlight. At first your parents thought it could be some disease or even a curse, they were scared for your health and safety beyond measure, but when the Goddess contacted you and sent you the amulet you now wear religiously around your neck, it guided you and your parents to this very temple hidden in the mountains of the Night Court. She then told you Herself what the fates had written for you, presenting you with an oath and sharing her power with you, making you the Keeper of the Moon Temple.

Everything had seemed impossible to believe at first, the time of the Gods had passed millenia ago, it was hard to find someone who could even name any of them anymore, you certainly couldn't at the time. So when you were told what your role in life was going to be you had been completely blindsided, not even knowing what to make of your new occupation, of being trusted with such an important task when you weren't even three decades old.

Truthfully, you expected at least a few people to show up every once in a while, asking for help or guidance. You even prepared yourself for there to be some threats to the temple, but things had been mostly peaceful and quiet, so quiet. You understand why guarding the temple is important, this type of knowledge and power can't ever fall into the wrong hands, the safety of the world depends on it, but sometimes you wonder what your life could have been like if you hadn't been chosen by fate to hold such a heavy burden by yourself.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you feel a presence approaching, used to feeling them pass by unannounced as the temple remains hidden in its protective spell. When it's clear this is the visitor the Goddess had warned you about, as they entered the wards seamlessly, you take a deep calming breath, adjusting the diadem one last time, and open the heavy doors, revealing the temple to the moonlight. As the stairs come into view, you step up to the threshold and clasp your hands together behind your back, waiting to be of help as your Goddess instructed you to.

Distractedly rehearsing your greeting, unused as it was, you almost miss the dark shadows swirling up the milky steps, passing by you and escaping to all corners of the temple before you have time to react. Your head snaps back to follow them, breaking the calming character you were falling into in preparation to fulfill your duty. Some of your power drips down to your fingertips, casting a white glow under your skin, as you study these shadows intently. Not finding any ill intent in them, as strange as they were, some of the tension leaves your body. They simply lay before you, more and more of these wispy shadows gathering together as they swirled around themselves, not paling even a fraction under the bright moonlight or your powers. Strange little things indeed.

You wonder for a moment if this was the visitor the Goddess had mentioned, not knowing what to make of it or how to approach such a situation. She had not specified if the visitor was fae, though you're not so sure how you would be able to help shadows. Before you could embarrass yourself in trying to speak to these creatures, the same presence you felt earlier makes itself known, much closer than before. Looking up at the starry sky, you find strong, dark wings carrying someone directly to the temple, a glimpse of blue shining over their dark form.

This was already the most interesting visitor you've ever had. You'd never had the pleasure of meeting any winged fae before, and, given their reaction to the fae approaching, you were confident the shadows were under their command. Those were definitely even rarer than winged fae - Shadowsingers, you remember them being called.

As they fly down closer to you and the temple, slowly letting the wind guide them, you feel a strange tug on your chest, and then another, this time strong enough that it makes you look down at yourself with furrowed eyebrows. Your confusion only deepens when you notice a bright string connected to your heart, raising your hand to try and touch it. Your fingers pass right through it, as if it wasn't there in the first place, and soon after you try catching it, the string disappears from sight.

You lay a hand down over your chest, feeling your heart beating under your palm. The string was invisible now, but you could still feel it tugging incessantly, as if urging you to look up. You follow its silent command, almost gasping out loud when you find the winged fae a lot closer than you had expected, catching him as he lands with a harsh tud on top of the steps, arms bracing out to maintain his balance as if he isn't quite used to landing yet. The shadows swirling at your feet rush to him, and a bewildered expression takes over his face, likely mirroring your own, as he stares at you, mouth agape.

Wide leathery wings stand behind him, open in a somewhat awkward angle as he stands frozen in place. As the moonlight filters through them you realize they're not quite black as they appeared before, the insides actually have a beautiful crimson hue to them. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they keep cataloging his entire form, taking note of every detail as if it was crucial information. He was covered from head to toe in black leathers, you recognize it as an armor of sorts. It clung to his every muscle, showcasing them as much as it protected him from harm. You find the same blue light from before twinkling in the midst of all the black, studying it closer to find it came from gems scattered across his armor, you're almost certain they hold some of his magic somehow.

Moving up his neck, you find tan skin shining under the moonlight and black hair curling into his forehead softly, locks messy and a little damp from the flight. The stranger also had striking hazel eyes, and you find yourself struggling to not get lost in them, only bringing yourself to break eye contact when you notice the glittery string once more in the corner of your eye, only this time it's connected to his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat as you follow its path slowly, careful not to lose the thin thread once more, finding it leading back to your own heart. You feel another tug, prompting you to look back up at the male in front of you. A hand falls over your heart at the implication, right where you could feel the phantom string had tied itself. Yet another tug confirming your suspicions.

How could this be?

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Azriel wasn't expecting his evening to turn out like this when he was called to Rhys' office. While he knew there was going to be a mission of sorts, he never imagined it would involve a temple no one has ever heard of or a Goddess long forgotten. Even with Amren's knowledge and the old books she found corroborating her words, Azriel was still anticipating coming back to Velaris empty handed. He's flown over these same mountains at least a million times in the five centuries he's been alive, and never once has he noticed a temple or any signs of magic.

The woods under him looked completely untouched as far as he could tell, no one choosing to live so far from the neighboring towns, isolated between the trees and steep mountains. His shadows filtered through the woods in case he missed something from his high position, even if he thought this search was in vain, it didn't mean he wasn't going to give it his best to fulfill his High Lord's order. He felt almost naked without his shadows latching onto his body though, the single companion still perched on his shoulder in order to relay him information not giving him nearly enough coverage to feel at ease when he was so far from home.

Mission and discomfort aside, the wind felt heavenly hitting his skin on this warm summer evening. It had been a while since he was able to fly for this long without dreading his destination as it usually meant he was visiting the Illyrian mountains, the Hewn City or a much more gruesome mission than the one he found himself in at the moment. It also feels good to step away from the full houses he found himself in nowadays. As much as he loved his family, Azriel had always valued his alone time and it was getting harder to find himself completely alone in the midst of missions and the ever growing inner circle.

As he was flying over the edge of the mountain, Azriel was getting ready to make the trip back and throw a very satisfying “I told you so” at his brother's face when his shadows suddenly disappeared right before his eyes. The abruptness of it made him panic for a few seconds, clapping his wings so he was hovering in the same place and was able to study the space ahead of him, trying to feel for any type of ward or shield but coming up empty. He could still feel his shadows, and knew they were alright given how calm the remaining one was as it sat on his shoulder and simply urged him forward, as if confused why he had stopped in the first place.

Azriel trusted his shadows blindly, they had never steered him wrong after all, and so he did as he was told and slowly started moving forward once again. After living for five hundred years surrounded by magic, there isn't much that can surprise the shadowsinger, but he can safely say he's never seen anything like this. He felt his body pass through some sort of gateway, one that went unnoticed by him until now, and as he did his surroundings began changing as if they had only been a mirage before.

In between the trees a path carved in white stone could now be seen, glinting under the moonlight in complete contrast to the rest of the dark woods. As his eyes followed this path, going up stairs of the same stone carved into the side of the mountain, he found a white temple sitting right at the top. It wasn't a huge building by any means, but the white eerie glow it emitted made it impossible to miss had it not been the spell covering it - one that would make the one who kept Velaris safe for centuries pale in comparison - and keeping it hidden from the world and unwanted eyes.

Amren had been right after all, something that happens more often than he would ever care to admit. The Goddess of the Moon still had at least a temple left in this world, leaving it behind when She took to the sky. Not much is known about the old Gods, but Azriel, born and raised in the Night Court, felt himself relax as he looked up at the moon shining above him, not believing this Goddess could be anything but benevolent. She had watched him fly over from Velaris after all, it almost felt like he was guided here.

The entire temple was made of white stone - it appeared to be the same type of stones used for the path and stairs leading up to it, only more polished. There were silver highlights carved into the walls and columns, these glowed with an intensity Azriel had never seen. Most of the roof was a huge skylight, likely so the moon could illuminate Her temple and Her followers could bask in Her brilliant light.

Given the color scheme of the entire building, his shadows were easy enough to spot, which would have been a big problem had he decided on a more covert operation when coming to the temple, he was more than glad he came here in peace. His little companions seemed perfectly content as they swirled around and over themselves right in front of the temple's doors, a few steps from a figure completely clad in white.

Even after finding the temple where he had only seen trees and shrubs before, he couldn't help but feel even more surprised that there was someone inside it. A sudden spark of magic has the shadowsinger moving faster, a gasp catching in his throat when he sees bright, pale light coming from the figure's palms. Even this wasn't enough to send the shadows that would be at the receiving hand of it into alarm, something curious on its own as they were usually as suspicious and careful as their master.

Azriel was already within earshot when the person in front of him decided his shadows posed no threat and the white light disappeared from her hands. At first glance she might have looked like a regular high fae female, but there was a different kind of power flowing through her, as shown by the strange way this light magic manifested itself, something Azriel had never felt before.

Upon flying down closer, his feet almost touching the top of the steps in front of the temple, he realizes she had not been wearing a white hood or veil as he initially thought but her hair was completely white. There was an unnatural element to it as each strand shone under the moonlight, almost rivaling it in its intensity. The floor length dress she wore was of the same color, made of a light, breathable fabric, almost translucent in certain areas, swishing softly in the faint breeze. She had not looked up at him yet, seemingly intrigued as she watched her own chest. Perhaps looking at the pendant she wore around her neck, the magic coming from it could almost be seen in its intensity.

Azriel took this moment to take her in, not knowing what to say since he was the one possibly trespassing. She was absolutely gorgeous, truly mesmerizing in her beauty and demeanor. It was almost impossible to believe she was real, standing right in front of him and not a Goddess walking his dreams. For a moment Azriel wonders if this is truly the Goddess, if She never left the land of the mortals as it was once believed, instead keeping herself safely hidden in these uninhabited mountains, but when she looks up from her necklace, eyes falling on him for the first time, all thoughts evaporate from his mind. White, silvery eyes meet hazel and a sudden rush of inexplicable feelings hit him right in the chest, squeezing his heart tight and taking his breath away. It felt as if the world had broken apart and put itself together, as if everything finally made sense. The only thing he could make sense of was one word, swirling around in his mind and completely taking over every cell on his body. Mate. You were his mate.

In his stupor, Azriel forgets he was still up in the air, wings freezing along with the rest of his body and sending him falling towards the ground. Thankfully, he hadn't been too high up, and was still able to land on his feet, knees only buckling under his weight slightly as he steadied himself. This had to be the most ungraceful landing he's performed since his brothers were training him between giggles and harmless teasing when he first joined the Illyrian camps. If he wasn't so surprised and his brain was able to formulate a single thought, he would be cringing at the fact that you had just witnessed it, his mate had witnessed it.

It takes several moments before he starts catching on to the situation, the ringing in his ears subsiding and the rest of the world re-emerging around you. He hadn't even noticed his shadows had returned to him, ecstatic for their master finally found his equal. Azriel tries to school his features in an attempt to keep at least some dignity, in fear of coming on too strong as well, especially since it seemed you were in the same predicament as him, a curious but stunned expression locked in your beautiful face as you studied him. His stupid Illyrian senses make him flare out his wings a little before he has the chance to fully take control of his body. When your gaze finds his once more, his heart stalls in his chest before speeding up at an alarming rate. You haven't even spoken a single word to him, but his heart already sang for yours.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The oath you made before your Goddess rushes into your head as you study the handsome male in front of you. How could this be possible? The fates had decided your life lied within the temple long before you were born, so why give you a mate? A bond like this is extremely rare, you'd never seen one in your entire lifetime, albeit you lived isolated from the world for most of it. Still, this was something only a few were blessed with, a bond stronger than what mortal minds could even comprehend, so why waste it on you? Could the fates and the Mother be this cruel?

You can't even bring yourself to hope he didn't notice the brilliant bond forming between you - an angry twist pulling at your heartstrings when you dare to think of hiding it - considering the expression on his face and his silence, it seems he's already more than aware of it. All it took was a single glance and it had fallen into place for both of you.

In the midst of the rushing thoughts invading your brain, you try to remember what you've read about mating bonds. There was a book talking about them in the library, of this much you were sure, but its contents were evading your racing mind.

Gaze falling to the floor, trying to sober up from what you imagine to be one of the most intense occurrences anyone could go through, you almost miss the step he takes towards you. The surprise of it makes you flinch slightly, but it was enough for him to notice and take the same step back, wings coiling up tightly to his back and shadows moving to cover him almost completely, excitement wiped off his face and replaced with a hurt expression.

Your gaze falls on him once more, a self loathing feeling crawling up your throat and making you want to beg for his forgiveness on your knees at the thought that you put that expression on his face. This bond would take some getting used to, in what world would you kneel before a male you've just met. Still, you didn't want him to think he scared or even disgusted you in any way, mate or no mate, that was extremely rude.

You clear your throat softly, remembering the weight of your role in this temple and trying desperately to fall back into character, hoping the familiarity of your duties will bring your mind some peace and help you get through this moment.

“Forgive me, it isn't often that we get visitors,” his entire body tenses up even further at your words, but it relaxes as you keep speaking, “I welcome you to the last Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple. I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats, but also do my best to help anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just as you have been.”

You try not to look too long in his general direction in fear of getting lost in his eyes once more, but that's close to impossible when you're talking to him and he might be the most beautiful male you've ever encountered. Taking a step to the side, you hold out a hand towards the door, inviting him into the temple, something you should have already done.

He nods his head once after watching your outstretched arm for a moment longer, and then makes his way inside slowly. As he passes by, you can't help but breathe in his scent, it feels intoxicating and it takes every bit of strength in your body to not let your mind linger on how well it would smell mixed with yours, until you couldn't point out where one ended and the other began.

A gasp pulls you out of your betraying thoughts, a smile finding its way to your lips, knowing the sight was making him speechless. It always sparks a little pride in you when someone gazes upon the temple for the first time. Even after living here for centuries, this temple's beauty still takes your breath away. The entire floor was made of replandescent white stones, silver gems weave highlights into them, creating patterns across the entire room, maps of constellations and lunar phases, and giving it a particular glow of their own. They were illuminated by the giant skylight making up most of the ceiling, as to allow both the moon and sunlight to enter. You've tried identifying the materials used in this construction before but ended up coming up empty. It seems the precious stones and gems used no longer grew in this world, perhaps they never did.

At the far corner of the room there was an altar, one without statue or offering table, but an altar all the same. Even when She walked this world, your Goddess never accepted gifts or ever allowed anyone to replicate her image because even that could end up leaving traces of her power behind. The altar looks empty right now, and you catch yourself wishing he could be here to see it on a full moon, when the moon rays fall right over it and you can communicate with and receive any orders the Goddess might have for you. The entire room holds an even more intense glow during that night of the month as well, you're sure he would find it fascinating.

Making your way around him, careful not to step too close or accidentally touch his wings, you catch sight of his awe stricken face, tan skin glowing beautifully under the moonlight. A small, fond smile appears on his face when his gaze falls back on yours, and you almost curse the Mother for the challenge she just put in front of you. His beauty was truly otherworldly, it rivaled every shiny gem and stone in this room, maybe even the moon herself. How were you supposed to act normally knowing this was your mate?

“I've never seen anything like this before,” he admits softly, eyes never straying from yours. The sound of his voice makes you pause, it feels strangely familiar, like something you've been waiting to hear your entire life. There's a curious kind of magic around mating bonds, you don't know how it's possible for someone you've just met to already have so much power over you, even when you're trying your best to ignore him.

“I still find myself at a loss for words when gazing at this room as well,” you agree, wanting to cringe at the bashful expression you know has fallen over your face. Your plan of keeping a detached demeanor while fulfilling your duties was doomed from the start. You clasp your hands behind your back before continuing in what you hope is a professional voice. “The Goddess warned me of your arrival and left orders for me to help you in any way I can. If you tell me what you seek, I will give you what you came here for as long as it's within my abilities.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly at your words. “How did you know I was coming?”

“The Goddess knows more than us mortals will ever be able to grasp,” you explain as vaguely as possible while hopefully not raising any suspicions. There's not a single cell in your body that thinks he's untrustworthy, but they're incredibly biased, and the inner workings of your role as the Moon's keeper must be protected.

He seems satisfied enough with your answer, but there's a different kind of air about him now. As if remembering he doesn't know you, and has found himself at your mercy.

“You haven't told me what you came for,” you remind him. If you sit in silence for long your thoughts will start drifting again.

“Right,” he clears his throat, a pinkish tint covering the tips of his rounded ears. “I come on behalf of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.” Your eyebrows raise at this, not expecting him to be such an important person. “One of the High Lady's sisters has been turned into a seer recently, and given that she wasn't even born fae, these powers have proven extremely hard to control.”

You've heard the story of the human who saved the fae from the evil clutches of Amarantha, and her sisters who were tragically thrown in the cauldron by King Hybern and turned into fae against their will. Your Goddess had even told you one of the sisters vengefully stole her powers from the cauldron, and the other was gifted seer abilities. Given the circumstances in which this all went down, it's understandable that she has been having trouble controlling her powers. Being a seer is an exceptionally heavy burden, and she's still so young too.

“We have some books that might be able to help, both in controlling one's power and pulling an entranced fae out of any visions or dreams they've found themselves stuck in. Was that what you were hoping for?”

“Yes,” he admits, apparently relieved at having found what he was looking for, “We found texts mentioning the followers of the Moon Goddess often had prophetic dreams, and wrote entire manuals on how to navigate them. Since Elain wasn't born with these powers these books seemed perfect to help her, and so the High Lady sent me searching for them.” You nod, motioning for him to follow you as you turn and start walking to the library, already making a mental list of all the books that might help his friend.

Even lost in thought, you sense him stopping in his steps as you're walking down the corridor, overwhelmingly aware of his every move as you were. This prompts you to turn around and face him in question, only to find him watching you in amazement.

“You're breathtaking,” he blurts out before he can catch himself, making heat rush up your neck and settle over your entire face. He looks away embarrassed for a moment, one of his shadows crawling up his neck and over his ear, before looking back at you with a bashful look. “I'm sorry. I just- Is it normal for you to glow like this?”

This power has been a part of you for so long, you almost forget about the way your hair lights up in the dark, an aura surrounding you as well, giving you an overall ethereal glow. “Yes, I harness power from the moon and She glows so…” you trail off, biting your lip as he keeps studying you. “The library is right up ahead,” you add, turning your back to him once more so you can gather your thoughts for the nth time since he stepped foot into this temple.

As you navigate through the familiar rows of shelves your heart finally calms, easily picking up the pertinent books. You can't help but keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, not out of suspicion, but curiosity for his every reaction. He seems content with following after you as he watches the decorations and studies the books sitting on the shelves, not once asking you what you're giving him, simply carrying the books you hand him. It makes you wonder if he usually trusts everyone this easily or if it's something reserved for you.

When you hand him the last book, you move to the back of the room slowly, the place where you keep some important magical amulets and tools, waiting on any sign from the Goddess forbidding you from lending him any of them. He comes to stand beside you then, likely noticing your hesitation.

“There is also an artifact that I think could help your friend,” you start, picking up the bracelet in question and holding it up as you explain its power, “This can help numb one's powers.”

“Like faebane?”

You shake your head, “No, this is completely painless, but it's vital that it is only used when she's finding herself lost in her visions and you're struggling to pull her out. This is not to be used as a crutch. If she used it to suppress her powers too often, she might never be able to take control of her full powers and this bracelet could become something she can't live without.” He nods, hopefully understanding the gravity behind your words. “It's also extremely rare and dangerous so I ask that, as soon as she has a better grasp of her abilities, I would say within a few years at most, this bracelet is delivered back to the temple so it can be kept safe.”

“What happens if we don't return it?”

The question makes you tense up and close your hands around the bracelet, your voice coming out clipped as you answer him. “I'm not entirely sure as no one has ever attempted something so foolish as long as I've been here, but those types of transgressions are handled by the Goddess so I imagine you would not be able to keep it even if you tried.”

“I wasn't considering keeping it. I was merely curious,” he rushes to explain, sincerity dripping from every word and making you relax a bit.

“Curious?”

“If you would be the one to come for it,” he confessed.

A warm tingly feeling spreads through your body as you digest his words. Would he seriously consider stealing from a God just for a chance to see you again? Even if it meant being at the end of your wrath? Can you be confident the bond wouldn't drive you to such extremes as well?

“I can't leave the temple unattended,” you murmur, much too softly for your own good. Your emotions are running all over the place, it almost seems like they're fighting to see which one will take control of your body, and unfortunately, you have an inkling as to which is winning as his scent overwhelms your senses once again.

“Of course,” he says, taking a small step closer to you, shadows mostly retreating from his body, “Forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you.” Must his voice sound like a cup of hot chocolate after a day spent playing in the snow?

It doesn't help that you've been in this temple for so long that you can't even recall the last time someone touched you, not even sexually, no one has so much as held your hand or hugged you in decades, ever since your parents passed. Looking at him, you know you could get lost in his arms, your head resting against his strong chest.

It's only when you squeeze the bracelet too hard, a bit of its power zapping through you, that you're finally able to pull yourself from the beautiful hazel of his eyes, and your consuming thoughts. Clearing your throat and handing him the bracelet. He only hesitates a second, likely pulling himself out of the moment as well, before carefully taking it from your hand, conscious of not letting his skin touch yours, much to your dismay.

You can feel your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred hands before you have a chance to school your features. The armor he wears and the sword strapped between his wings tell you he's a warrior, but you can't imagine what could have happened for this injury to scar like this. Someone employed directly under the High Lord must have access to the best healers in the court. Suddenly, anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach at the thought that someone dared to hurt your mate.

This time he's the one to pull away from you abruptly, shadows returning to their master, and that infuriating string tugging at your heart as he does. It makes you want to reach out and hold his hand, reassure him somehow, but thankfully your brain catches up to the thought that might be overstepping, and so you simply nod at him and ask him to follow you back to the temple's main room once more.

The walk back is filled with a heavy atmosphere, not only considering your oversight, but also at the realization that you must send him away now, likely never to see him again. If you're lucky he will be the one to return the bracelet, and you will be able to see him in a few years. The thought makes you slow your pace.

It's only when you reach the heavy doors, that you allow yourself to turn to him, his face reflecting your feelings perfectly. You briefly consider mentioning the bond, at least to make sure he feels it too, but you fail to see what good that would bring. You still can't leave the temple and, now that he's gotten what he came for, he will not be able to return either. This will be the last time you see each other, regardless of your feelings.

He studies your face carefully, perhaps wondering the same. It seems he reaches a conclusion as he speaks up, “Can you tell me your name?” He sounded hopeful, but somehow scared of asking, as if denying him could hurt him beyond comparison.

You whisper your name hesitantly, knowing this isn't just another stranger, this was your mate. He repeats it, tasting it on his tongue as he stares at you with an intensity you almost couldn't bear, but were unable to look away from.

“My name is Azriel,” he offers willingly, like he wanted nothing more than to hear you say his name, and who were you to deny him this when you were already withholding so much? You repeat his name the same way he did yours, the impertinent little silver string connecting you and your mate reappearing as the delicious word left your lips.

You keep repeating it in your mind as he thanks you for your help and you watch him take flight, hesitation written in his entire body language as his wings slowly carry him over the clouds, looking back down multiple times as if fighting himself to keep moving. You repeat it once more out loud, when you can't see him anymore and you know he's out of earshot. This time his name is followed by a broken whisper of an apology.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The flight back to Velaris was one of the hardest ones Azriel has ever attempted, noticeably taking him much longer than it would have under normal circumstances. He has had to fly back home on an injured body and even injured wings, carrying another with him – Cassian of all people – and he's had to fly through the most extreme weather, heavy rain, snow and the torrid desert sun. All of those things had seemed easy compared to what he was experiencing now with a well rested body.

Both Rhysand and Cassian had mentioned how the mating bond made them act differently, how it seemed like it was taking control of their body and pushing them to act a certain way, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. His every instinct was screaming at him to turn around and go back for his mate.

He even had to take a break along the way, after watching the temple disappear right before his eyes, hidden inside the spell that had kept it safe for millenia. As the sight of the brilliant building was replaced with trees and rocks, the only thing going through Azriel's mind was that he might never see his mate again, the mere thought sending his heart into disarray. He spends a good while sitting under the moonlight, looking ahead at where he knows she is, while his shadows do their best to comfort him. Trying desperately to wrap his head around everything that happened, and how much his life changed in such a short time.

If he had been given a warning, a chance to prepare himself, then maybe he would have approached things differently, but getting blindsided by a mating bond wasn't in his plans. In fact, it had been a good while since he had stopped hoping for a mate.

He had longed for one most of his life. For someone that not only was his equal, but was also able to connect to him in ways only those who have experienced such a thing can begin to comprehend. A person that would accept him no matter how wretched he was, how much blood he has had to wash off his hands for the sake of his court. Someone he would love with every breath in him, even if it ruined him completely.

So many don't truly believe in mating bonds until they see them in front of them, but Azriel always did. He'd seen the worst this world had to offer and knew that if there was such darkness, then its counterpart would be equally as strong. And what could be stronger and brighter than love?

It wasn't until his brothers found mates of their own within a year of each other that Azriel started truly wishing for one though. Before, it was nothing more than a dream, just as he had dreamt of flying when he was locked in his cell, of seeing his mother when his cruel father kept him away from her, but seeing the happiness the mating bond had brought his brothers and how amazing the connection they shared with their mates was, he couldn't help longing for the same.

That was until enough years passed, everyone around him happily mated or in loving relationships while he stood by and watched from the same dark corner of the room. Azriel had convinced himself he wasn't worthy of a mate, even now after seeing you he can't help but feel the same. You were perfect in every aspect of the word, a beacon of light even kept away in your temple, while Azriel was nothing more than a monster. The feared Spymaster of the Night Court. Always ready to drench his hands in blood for the sake of his family and his home, always covered in shadows. A lesser fae, Illyrian of all kinds.

You deserve someone better, of that much he's sure, but the Mother had decided you were equals, and Azriel didn't mind doing his best to be worthy of you even if he had to work for it for the rest of his life. He's been waiting to love someone for so long, has been saving all of that inside him, and he wants nothing more than to shower you in affection, in reverence. Except it didn't seem like he would have the chance.

For most of your interaction, Azriel was convinced you had also felt the bond forming between you two, but he couldn't be sure, not when you hadn't even mentioned it or alluded to it before showing him out. Maybe he had read too much into things, let his own feelings bleed into his analysis, or maybe you simply didn't want a mating bond, not with someone like him. It didn't seem like you knew of him, but who's to say you haven't heard of the awful things he's done, and decided you didn't want anything to do with a monster like him.

The thought had his shadows rushing to soothe him once more, whispering vehement denials of his unworthiness as they covered him. Unfortunately, they wouldn't answer any of his questions about you, claiming it wasn't their place to explain your feelings or situation. In a way they were right, but that left him with no idea of what to think.

Azriel sat on that mountain, mulling over everything that had happened until the first rays of the sun started rising over the horizon. It wasn't until Rhysand reached out to check on him, worried at his spymaster's unusual tardiness, that he resumed his trip back to Velaris, this time passing through shadows along the way to cut his time shorter, hoping his brother hadn't caught glimpse of the heartbreakingly beautiful female consuming his every thought. Trying desperately to clear his mind as the cool wind hit his face, preparing for the meeting that was waiting for him as soon as he got home.

“So the temple truly exists?” Rhysand had been as skeptical about the temple's existence as Azriel, finding it hard to believe that such a thing could be hidden in his own court without his knowledge.

Azriel nods and sets the books you've given him on the dark desk, dropping the bracelet on top of the pile carefully, trying not to be reminded of the way you had handed it to him, or focus on your scent still clinging to it faintly. Shaking himself out of it and letting the spymaster mask fall over his face, he starts explaining how he had found the temple behind a powerful spell, going into detail about the building itself, the keeper who had helped him and the books and bracelet given to him, including the warnings you gave him, making sure to stress the fact that the bracelet was to be returned as soon as Elain gained enough control of her abilities.

“You really didn't feel the wards around the temple?”

“No, if my shadows hadn't disappeared right before my eyes I wouldn't have even noticed they were there.” So much had happened that Azriel almost forgot how peculiar those wards were, in fact all the magic present in the temple and in you had felt different.

“And this keeper?” His heart speeds up treacherously, enough so that Rhys gets a curious glint in his purple eyes, undoubtedly noticing it. “Tell me about her.”

A soft scowl takes over his features, a strange possessiveness creeping up before has the chance to quell it. “She was waiting for me at the entrance. Apparently the Moon Goddess warned her there was a visitor coming.”

“She can talk to the Goddess?”

“It seems so,” Azriel hesitates for a moment, “Her magic is different from any fae I've seen. Her hair is completely white, and her eyes aren't much darker, maybe a bit more silver. There was a certain aura about her, her entire being seemed to glow beautifully under the moonlight, even more when we moved inside. She truly looked otherworldly. In that moment, she looked even more radiant than the stars and the moon combined.”

A moment of silence falls over the room as everyone digests Azriel's words, tiny gasps leaving Feyre and Elain, who had been out of it for most of the conversation as a result of yet another one of her visions, and Nesta's jaw dropping significantly as they were not used to hearing the Shadowsinger muse about someone like this. Unfortunately, the others have seen him drunk enough when he was younger, so it wasn't as much of a surprise.

“What was that, brother?” Cassian's teasing voice cuts through his thoughts, “I thought you didn't resort to poetry.”

Azriel looks up at this, heat rising to his cheeks at the amused looks shared by everyone in the room, realizing he had lost himself in his descriptions of you, unable to keep them as clinical as he normally would, especially when it came to a mission.

“I just meant her magic manifests in a way I've never seen before,” he finishes lamely, one of his shadows oh so helpfully crawling up his neck to notify him that no one seemed to believe his excuse.

“Right, her magic,” Nesta mocks, suddenly interested in hearing about the temple after focusing on the books that would be helping her sister.

Thankfully, Amren didn't care about whether he found the keeper beautiful or not, and wanted to keep the conversation on track, a bored expression on her face as she pulled the attention back to her and the topic at hand.

“You said she called herself the keeper of the temple, correct?”

Azriel nods at her while checking his mental walls just in case, lest he also let them fall in his moment of distraction, and his High Lord or Lady saw something they shouldn't. He can only guess what feelings and thoughts would be attached to your image in his mind. If they saw this he would never hear the end of it.

“I believe she not only can communicate with the Goddess but also shares some of her powers. It's hard to determine just how powerful she truly is,” the ancient one turns to Rhys and Feyre, a serious look taking over her features, “She could become a threat to us.”

“She's not a threat,” his voice cuts through the room, protecting his mate instinctively.

Rhysand raises one annoyingly perfect eyebrow at Azriel's sudden outburst. Some of the amusement still lingers around the room, but the anger behind his statement was undeniable, creating some tension and confusion between everyone. It's not often they see him so on edge, to the point of raising his voice at Amren of all people.

He tries to calm himself as much as possible, knowing this is a symptom of the mating bond and that his brothers and sister-in-laws might be able to figure that out, and tries to explain himself once again.

“I was the one who talked to her, there were no ill intentions when she guided me through the temple and gave me the books. She even added more books than we wanted or knew existed, and the bracelet. She helped us willingly.”

Amren studies him through narrowed eyes for a moment longer before finishing her earlier thought. “Even if she had any ill intentions, keepers are bound to their temples and can't physically leave, so there wouldn't be much to worry about.”

It feels like the world stops when Azriel hears these words. Every little hope he was clinging to in regards to your bond escaped him in that moment. If what Amren said was true, you couldn't leave the temple, even if you wanted to come and find him, and he couldn't find the temple unless he needed something and the Goddess showed him the way. He could very well never see you again, or only once more, when Elain got better and he had to deliver the books and bracelet back to the temple. Was that why you ignored the bond? Because you knew there was no hope for the two of you?

Azriel spends the rest of the meeting in a sort of trance, barely able to listen to what his family was talking about, or even register what they decided when it came to helping Elain use the books. It was impossible to focus on anything when it felt like his life, a dream that had barely started was crumbling right before his eyes. He only tunes back in when the meeting is over and most of the Inner Circle starts leaving, hoping he can at least go rest from his flight, take a long bath and find a quiet place to be alone and digest these life changing last few hours.

He was already on his feet, dragging his exhausted body to the door when Rhys called out his name, making him turn around in question. “There's something else we need to discuss.” His brother was always the most perceptive at the worst times. The last thing Azriel wants to do right now is discuss his miserable fate with anyone.

Everyone filters out the room then, even Feyre who drops a kiss on her mate's cheek before following her sister out - a gesture he's more than used to witnessing but bears a different weight today - leaving the two brothers alone in the quiet office. Azriel doesn't move from his spot, standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms as Rhysand studies him, daring him to start the conversation, secretly praying he simply has another mission to send him on instead of the conversation he's almost sure is about to start.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with this keeper?”

Azriel has to physically stop himself from sighing. Why couldn't the Mother let him have a moment after everything that has already happened in the last few hours?

“Nothing happened,” he sounds defensive even to himself, his mind too preoccupied to try and mask his emotions, “She gave me the books and then I left.” This much was true, unfortunately.

Rhys simply hums, always sounding irritatingly sure of himself. “So you wouldn't mind showing me your memories of last night, right? I'd like to take a good look at the temple. It seemed quite intriguing,” he pauses for a second, head tilting a fraction to the side, mouth forming into a smirk, “and so did she.”

A snarl escapes Azriel's mouth at his brother's words. Even if he knew he was being baited, controlling this damned bond was impossible right now. Rhysand's smirk only deepens, like a predator who successfully lured its prey, since his brother gives him the exact reaction he was expecting with that little comment. No wonder Azriel has to work so hard as his Spymaster, it's a miracle Rhys has lived this long.

“You look very defensive of a female you've only exchanged one simple conversation with.”

“Like I said before,” he says, that snarl not quite leaving his lips no matter how hard he tries, “She helped us without a second thought, even more than we expected. I just don't understand why everyone keeps insisting that she might be a threat.”

“I didn't say she was a threat, I simply asked you to show me what she looked like.” The High Lord taps his purple painted nails on the table, waiting for a response. When it becomes clear that Azriel isn't taking the bait, Rhys keeps going, “Can't blame me for being curious of how this keeper beautifully glows under the moonlight. She looked otherworldly, you said?”

The thought of assassinating his loving brother crosses Azriel's mind. He doesn't even know what to respond knowing those were his own words, and any reaction would be amplified by the mating bond. The High Lord had him right where he wanted him.

As he keeps staring at his brother, shadows climbing up his body until most of him is covered from those intense violet eyes, Rhysand's expression changes, a somewhat defeated look replacing the earlier amusement as he accepts that he'll have to pry the truth from his spymaster.

“Azriel, I've known you for over five centuries. I can tell when you're hiding something from me,” his face and tone turning even more serious as he continues, “I also know what a fresh mating bond feels like, the emotions it evokes in us.”

Azriel stares at his brother for another moment, before realizing there was no need to try and pretend he wasn't right, letting out a sigh before sitting down in the chair across from him defeatedly, shadows settling while his wings drooped, enough to touch the floor.

“If you already know, why are you asking me about it?”

“I didn't expect this to be your reaction,” he says, thoroughly studying Azriel's face. “I don't understand why you wouldn't be happy. I know it can be scary, but you've always wanted a mate, Az.”

“There's nothing to be happy about.”

Rhys simply rolls his eyes, “I know a bit more about mating bonds than you do. Trust me there's a lot to be happy about.”

His temper rises at this, emotions still not having settled - he's starting to wonder if they ever will. Even his shadows were becoming overstimulated, not knowing how to soothe their singer in these circumstances.

“Didn't you hear what Amren said? She can't leave the temple, she's bound to it, and I can't go back there since it's hidden under whatever spell that was,” the words almost caught in his throat, “I'm never seeing her again.”

Saying it out loud makes the whole situation unbearably real. It's not often Azriel sees himself in conversation such as these, always one to ignore his feelings for as long as possible, and then isolating himself when they become too much, but his brother knows him too well, as he said before, and was prying out everything too easily.

“I don't even know if she wanted this,” he finds himself whispering.

“Why wouldn't she?”

Azriel swallows all the self-pity, the unworthiness he felt when it came to you, or anyone else really. Diving into these feelings would lead them into a different conversation, one he wasn't sure he could handle, much less right now, and so he opts for the simpler answer.

“She didn't mention the bond once, she was ignoring it – if she even felt it at all,” he leans back and runs his hand through his hair, “my feelings were muddled the whole time I was there so I can't even know for sure.”

“You didn't tell her you were her mate either,” Rhysand reminds him.

Would things have gone a different way if he had? Or would you simply let him down as soon as he brought it up? Did it even matter? Would he be able to survive your rejection?

“She told you the temple showed itself for the people who needed it, right?” Azriel looks up at his brother, nodding. “Seems to me like you need to talk to her.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

You're not entirely sure what one is supposed to do after finding their Mother-blessed mate, and then proceed to send them on their way, possibly to never return. Not being able to get even a wink of sleep and spending the next few hours searching your library for any information on mating bonds seems appropriate though. There wasn't anything written in these books that you didn't already know about mating bonds: extreme attraction, a connection of emotions, feelings of primal possessiveness, the possibility for a love unlike any other.

There was no mention of the silver string you'd seen tied around both of your hearts, but the bond seems to manifest itself differently for everyone, and the magic your Goddess has poured into you was peculiar to say the least. Even Azriel might not have seen or felt it manifest the same way you did, but that doesn't mean it's not there. Denying it is out of the picture at this point.

The section about rejecting mating bonds caught your eye, but it quickly soured your mood. It seems there's no way to reject a mating bond and hope for life to ever go back to normal, especially for males as they would always feel like a part of them was missing. The book didn't exactly go into depth on the topic – there can't be too many other idiots thinking of turning down a mating bond, – so it didn't mention anything about just ignoring the bond. Would it just fizzle out until you could barely feel anything, or would it end up with the same effects of a rejected bond? As much as you knew this bond was doomed from the start, you didn't want to convict Azriel to a lifetime of madness, or even worse. It was bad enough he couldn't get a mate out of you.

After your mood deflates at the bleak prospect for your future, and the sun has already replaced the moon, you decide to indulge yourself for a moment. Since your encounter had been so brief, you ended up not finding out too much about Azriel aside from his name, and, as much as there was a voice nagging at the back of your mind, warning you that trying to learn more about your mate won't help you in successfully ignoring the bond at all, you're still only fae and curiosity got the best of you. How could you not be curious about your mate?

You'd heard stories about a shadowsinger working under the High Lord of the Night Court, but you didn't know if that was him as the High Lord had changed since then. If it was though, this would make him a truly important figure for this court, country even. You can't help but feel proud at the thought.

Your search for information on Shadowsingers soon proves fruitless, not being able to find much else aside from their abilities to communicate with shadows, rare as they are, so you move onto researching winged fae instead, in hopes of finding out what kind he is. There are various kinds, this much you know, but for some reason you've always imagined them all to have feathered wings. It's at times like these that you wished you had traveled more when you were younger.

Most of the day is spent like this, tucked into your favorite sofa in the library, the temple refilling your teacup and offering you little snacks as you search for any bit of information that could help you understand who Azriel is. A tug on your silver string finally pulls you out of the moment, body immediately going into alert as you feel your mate nearing. These feelings are entirely too abstract, there's no way of knowing if he's flying over the temple or simply a bit closer than he had been an hour prior - which could still be halfway across the Night Court. You'd also found in one of the books that mates could attempt reaching out to each other through the bond, the descriptions of the resulting feeling appearing quite similar to what you were experiencing at the moment.

You try to ignore it and carry on reading your book on wings - the irony not lost on you - but the string keeps tugging incessantly, even more firmly now, and you suddenly get the feeling that he was actually close, possibly even trying to reach out at the same time or following the bond.

Had he come looking for you? You told him the temple kept itself hidden unless the visitor needed something from within these walls and the Goddess allowed them passage. He had to know that he wouldn't find anything more than trees and shrubs in this forest, the temple keeping itself out of sight even if he had been here before and knew its exact location, such were the wards around this place.

Putting away the book and sitting up on the sofa, you wonder what you should do. There's no way of communicating with him, and you won't be able to let him in, no matter how desperate you were since that decision was not your own to make. Your role was to protect the temple, but you knew he wasn't a threat either. Were you to simply stand by and watch while he looked for you, only to be met with silence? The Mother seems to have a twisted sense of humor.

As you were preparing yourself mentally for what you assumed were going to be a tough few hours, you feel the unmistakable sign of someone passing through the barrier, prompting you to stand up and winnow straight to the main hall, opening the front doors in a rush, only to find a familiar dark figure waiting for you.

If you weren't witnessing it with your own eyes, if your heart wasn't beating at that rhythm that seemed reserved solely for him, you wouldn't have believed this to be true. Your feet move of their own accord, carrying you towards your mate as he stands at the entrance to your temple, a contagiously hopeful expression on his face as he watches you move to him.

“How did you get here?” You can't help the dumb question, not being able to understand what is happening in the midst of your surprise and every other feeling that came with his presence.

“I needed to talk to you,” he explains in a breathy tone, smiling down at you like he wasn't sure if this would have worked either, if he was actually going to be able to find you.

The Goddess showed him the way, if She hadn't he wouldn't have been able to find you, even with any shadowsinger trick he might have had up his sleeve. Could She know he's your mate? She had been the one to warn you of his arrival the day before after all.

You're still trying to gather your thoughts when he continues, skipping over all the pleasantries as if he couldn't keep the words in any longer.

“You're my mate.”

Hearing the word coming from his mouth makes your heart soar, a tingling feeling spreading over your entire body as if lava was now running through your veins. This was not a confession you needed to hear, but the bond welcomed it anyway.

“I know,” you admit, a bittersweet smile overtaking your features.

“Are you unhappy with it? With me?” You quickly shake your head in denial, but he continues before you have the chance to explain, “I would understand it if you were, and if you don't want the bond, I won't force you to accept it. I promise I will never hurt you.”

Is this what has been going through his mind since he left? That you wouldn't want him? The thought makes you swallow, you've only wanted to spare him as much pain as you could, not hurt him more yourself.

“Azriel, that's not it. There's nothing wrong with you, or any reason I wouldn't want you as my mate” you assure, “but I swore my life to protecting this temple, and I can't physically leave the grounds. That's not fair to you.”

He doesn't seem to be surprised at the information, meaning he was probably already aware of your predicament and decided to come talk to you anyway, but he still takes a moment before speaking, thinking through his words as he watches you, shadows coming up to whisper in his ear.

“Did you make a vow of chastity or anything similar?” The question takes you aback for a second, heat rising to your cheeks at the implication.

“Not explicitly, no,” you clear your throat, “but it's hard to keep a relationship when you're bound to a temple hidden in the middle of nowhere. I can't even walk past the first few steps.”

Azriel looks behind him at your words. If he took a few steps down, you wouldn't be able to follow him, a different set of wards keeping you within these grounds. When he meets your eyes once again, you add carefully, “This isn't a relationship worth pursuing when we both know it won't end up working.”

“I think I would like to decide that for myself,” he says as he takes a small step closer to you, “if you'll allow me.”

“What?”

“I would like to come visit you whenever I can, and get to know you. This… I don't think we should throw away a chance like this so lightly, not without at least giving it a try.” He closes most of the distance between you, raising up his hand and holding his palm up for you to take, “Even if it never becomes a romantic relationship, or if it ends up breaking both of our hearts, I don't want to be the person who didn't fight for something so special in fear of getting hurt.”

You watch his hand as you mull over his words. It's not as if he doesn't make sense in his argument, you're more than aware how downright stupid it is to throw away a mating bond when some people spend their whole lives searching for one, but you're scared, for both of your sakes. Letting your mate into your life, even without accepting the bond, knowing that there will come a time when you will want more from it than what you're capable of having would not simply hurt you both, but change both of your lives beyond recognition – it could even kill you. And yet, staring into his hopeful eyes every little reason why you should be turning him down, walking back into the temple and closing the door behind you, seems to escape your mind.

When his hand lowers slightly, wings drooping as well, possibly taking your hesitation as denial, your hand moves to hold his instinctively, surprising the both of you. You had been kidding yourself into thinking you could fight a bond like this. The smallest sign that your mate would leave and your body moved to keep him by your side. Your decision has been made. You can only hope the Gods will have mercy on you.

“I would like to get to know you too, Azriel,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours as a blinding smile takes over his devastatingly handsome face. “As long as the Goddess shows you the way to the temple, I don't see anything wrong with… talking.”

He lets his thumb run over the back of your hand before raising it to his lips, sending your heart into disarray as he leaves a soft kiss on your skin. A flush covers the tip of his ears, and you catch a flash of the silver string connecting the both of you.

“Then I promise to come see you as often as I can.” He lets your hands fall between you two, fingers still intertwined as you stare at each other like fools. You catch yourself after a moment, thanking the Mother for living in this isolated mountain for once so no one could witness this.

“Do you want to come in? You must be tired after your flight,” you invite, letting go of his hand, missing the warmth of his skin immediately.

His gaze drops to your hand before meeting yours once again and nodding, following you inside into the main hall he had been in before. It looked different in the light of day, his hazel eyes studying it once more.

“I didn't fly all the way here,” he starts, gaze still stuck on the stone covered walls, “I can travel through shadows, similarly to how most high fae can winnow.”

“Oh.” You watch as his shadows move lazily around him, coming up his legs. “Is that one of your shadowsinger abilities?”

“Yes.” You wanted to ask more, your earlier curiosity returning, but you find a conflicted expression when he meets your eyes, you can also feel it in your chest, and so you wait for him to decide if he wants to share it with you.

“I'm not high fae,” he admits.

“Right, the wings,” you let out, much too excitedly, as your eyes fall on the huge appendages on his back, “I've never met anyone with wings, and haven't even heard of featherless wings. I searched in the library for types of winged fae, but most of our collection is a bit outdated, and the Goddess was never too interested in those sorts of things so I couldn't find anything that fit your description.” Your mind finally catches up to your words then, eyes widening before falling to your hands as you play with your fingers, and add lamely, “I have a lot of time on my hands here, and I didn't think I'd see you again so…”

You dare a look at his face when his silence drags on too long, finding him watching you with a surprised expression, wide hazel eyes staring into your white ones. His shadows had crept up his neck once again - singing to him you suppose.

Azriel finally finds his words after another moment, your eyes not straying from his for a second, “I'm Illyrian,” he starts, studying your face carefully before continuing, “As far as I know, we're the only ones whose wings have no feathers.”

“Illyrian?”

“Have you heard of it?” He seems scared somehow, but you're not exactly sure why he would be. You try to remember where you've heard the word before, only taking you a moment to remember them as people who live in the mountains up in the north, and were part of the High Lord's army.

“Yes. I know they're people who live in the mountains, and fought in the war but I didn't even know you had wings,” you gesture to them, “I didn't get much of a chance to travel before I came to the temple, so I've never met any Illyrians.”

“That's all you've heard?” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing at his insistence. “Illyrians have an unfavorable reputation. The males train their whole lives to fight, and the females aren't regarded as much more than a means for procreation,” he explains further, “Some have started changing their ways, slowly, but most camps insist on their traditions, no matter how cruel. They- We just don't have a good reputation.”

You start understanding where he was getting at. Some fae had trouble opening their eyes to how the world was changing around them, choosing to remain willfully ignorant to the harm it brought those who were different from them, who they deemed as lesser. He was scared that, had you heard about whatever cruelty he's seen from his peers, you would judge him for it. You feel a little offended that he would think so lowly of you, but the truth is he doesn't know you at all, or you him.

“It's hard to outlive archaic traditions when we live for centuries. I wouldn't ever dream of passing judgment on an entire group of people for the beliefs some of its members insist on clinging onto,” you clasp your hands together behind your back, shrugging as you smile up at him, “and I might be biased, or even wrong, but I think you're very kind, Azriel. You came all the way here to help your friend, with no real proof that you'd find what you were looking for, and then you came back to ask permission to visit me, even when you thought I might not accept it. Cruel is the last word I'd use to describe you. I'd rather go with sweet.”

“Sweet?” He asks, a flush rising to his cheeks and a bashful smile finally erasing that conflicted expression off his face. “You think I'm sweet?” You hum in agreement, your grin growing so large it hurts your cheeks. “I'll have to let my mother know at last someone agrees with her.”

You let out a laugh, the image of a baby Azriel getting showered in praises from his mother entering your mind. You almost have trouble imagining him as a child, but you have no doubts he was more than sweet, adorable even, with his round cheeks and small wings.

“So…” You lean back on your heels, intertwining your hands behind your back. “Do you want me to show you around the temple?”

“I would love to,” he agrees with a blinding smile on his face.

[thesummerestsolstice]

People seemed interested in Library Orc Blorbo so I decided to write down my headcanons about him:

His name is Garthaglir (it’s Sindarin for “poem keeper”)

He renamed himself after discovering a love for library sciences, shortly after he moved to the valley

Rivendell’s head librarian

Used to be an extremely dangerous warrior, now considers himself retired

Extremely tall and buff, blue skin, salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed beard

Very distinguished, very polite

Has a tiny pair of spectacles he uses to read because he's farsighted

He doesn’t look like an old man but he is one deep in his heart

He was one of the first reformed orcs to end up in Rivendell, so he helps other orcs adjust to living there

Basically invented Middle Earth’s version of the Dewey Decimal system

Look, Rivendell’s library is like, unfathomably huge, there’s 6000+ years of books in there, someone had to organize it

He, Elrond, and Erestor are the only people who have keys to the part of the library where they keep the cursed books

The three of them also have a monthly book club

He holds a weekly story time for the kids

(Yes, he does do funny voices, no, you are not allowed to comment on it)

Has tracked people down at 3 AM before because “M’am? M’am you have an overdue book, here, I brought my library stamp would you mind just checking this out again? You can keep it out for another month that way. Just a moment, ah, yes thank you, I’ll be on my way now. Excellent choice in reading material.”

He has a fancy sunhat he wears outside during the day so the sun doesn’t burn him, it was a gift from small Arwen and he cherishes it

He has a library cat, her name is Mittens and he would die for her

Uses his free time to teach himself different languages; there are hundreds in Rivendell’s books

Enjoys recommending books to visitors, he’s gotten really good at getting a read on what people will like

Personally, when he’s in the mood for fiction, he prefers a good mystery

[sillygoofyqueer]

Even more thoughts, for you to post if you so choose!

I do love the idea of Shen Yuan having a fancy hair piece with a pin that doubles as a weapon! Just because demon crows don’t have access to spiritual swords doesn’t mean he can’t stab the hell out of you.

For his main weapon, I’m thinking crow demons that can take human form tend to use bows, with the feathers shed by their clan as fletching. (Perhaps demon feathers also grant abilities of some sort to the arrows?)

Looking at the iridescence of crow feathers reminds me of the Chinese tradition of making jewelry with kingfisher feathers. Now I think it would be lovely if the crow demons also had a tradition of fashioning similar jewelry with their own feathers, perhaps treated with solutions and lacquered in a way that brings out even more of their color.

Speaking of colors, while crows aren’t among those birds able to see significant ultraviolet, they are tetrachromats, and thus are able to distinguish colors to a far greater extent than humans. I’m sure his sudden ability to see way more colors than he could in his last life is very perplexing to poor Shen Yuan!

The regular crows acting as an alarm system by cursing and saying spooky nonsense at all unknown visitors is an absolute delight!

I vote that Shen Yuan intentionally never gives them whatever signal that would mark Airplane as a friend, just so they continue to harass the guy every time he comes to visit. 😂

(I’m thinking poor Airplane is trying to set up trade routes for demons, and struggling with the general hostility different types of demons have for one another. Killing interlopers and/or raiding other demons for their stuff is not conductive to trade! It’s no wonder demons lack the arts. Nobody shares anything with anyone, except when giving demon nobles tribute. 😭)

You know, with all the feathers and bird-folks about, the transmigrators probably figure out quill pens. Not sure how big of an improvement they’d be compared to brushes, but they’re at least more like what the transmigrators are used to.

It’d also be funny if all the demon crows and villagers were learning to write simplified Chinese from Shen Yuan, instead of traditional, leading visitors to wonder what the hell is up with this one location’s weird writing system, where half the characters are inexplicably different.

(He probably teaches them traditional too, if only for the sake of reading imported books and things, but simplified is probably faster for personal notes and bookkeeping or the like).

I've always loved when people have weapons in discreet places, so it seemed necessary to dump that onto Shen Yuan because he's the most iconic character ever. Especially CrowYuan as well, it seems like something he'd do just to be safe when it comes to these things - after everything he's read, it's hard not to always be prepared. (Also, a more cheeky reason if I may, imagine Shen Yuan in a sticky situation and he pulls the hair pin out of his hair, now holding a weapon and looking AWESOME as he does it) Also, main weapon as a bow IS MAKING ME LOOOSE MY MIND. Ever since I was little, I've been obsessed with people who use bows (Legolas, Robin Hood, Hawkeye, Kate Bishop, various book characters) and the idea of giving Shen Yuan a bow?? I am dropping to my knees and shaking my fists at the sky. HUZZAAAHH!!! Feathers as fletching is a great idea, almost like a calling card of sorts, as well as a warning. Demon feathers giving certain abilities to arrows is a brilliant idea, such as resilience, poison, increased speeds (useful for high pressure situations where someone has to die before they can be alerted). I'd find it interesting if different demon feathers grant different abilities, and it's almost a norm for these demons to trade feathers! The jewellery idea is absolutely gorgeous and adorable! I was thinking that it could mainly be a crow demon thing, and to have one made for you if you aren't a crow demon is a sign of great trust within the community, a decision that has to be agreed to by at least half of the community! Also, itty bitty angst idea, this jewellery could also be highly sought out because it's gorgeous and its making is entirely a clan secret that is only taught to those within it - so, it's often seen as a spoil of war, a way to brag about a crow demon's death is to wear the jewellery "won" from "battle". Shen Yuan would most definitely be thrown off guard by this wider arrange of colours, often found in the wildest areas of the forest and just staring at everything. At first, he wonders if it's because he's a demon now, but more research (aka, bullying a demon chicken Airplane for answers) shows that it is fact not because he's a demon, but instead because he's a crow. He is both excited that he can see all these colours and fiercely delighted that Airplane can't, because he's a spiteful little shit and I love him. If Airplane comes to visit, he's grown adept to immediately submitting to the harassment of the crows because they soon grow bored of him if they don't get any reaction other than pitiful screaming. (He would highly suffer from trying to set up trade routes as well, lmaooo) OH MY GOD, if Mobei Jun ever comes to visit Bing-ge, he would also be immediately attacked by crows and that is funnier than anything else right now in my mind. His stern face immediately becomes one of absolute outrage, but it quickly becomes confusion when Bing-ge says he can't attack them back because "Shen Yuan would never forgive me" On the idea of feathers as quill pens, that would end up being incredibly useful for them! Perhaps the use of certain demon feathers would be better than others if we go by different demon feathers holding different abilities - for instance, let's say crow feathers hold increased speed, that would be helpful for writing because one would merely need to guide the quill and let it do the rest. However, a demon feather that created a poison effect, let's say chicken feathers, would not be the best for writing, which makes certain feathers more valuable than others for different things! Shen Yuan would be a great teacher, because he knows the traditional Chinese - which is useful for things you previously mentioned - but then he would be able to introduce a whole new writing system that makes it easier to write. This would be especially useful for those who may struggle with the traditional Chinese, because then they would still be able to access writing!! {part seven! part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, and part six!}

[mimi-0007]

Paul Adams 1920-2013, joined the Tuskegee Airmen shortly after graduating from South Carolina State University. He flew with the 332nd Fighter Squadron (the famed "Red Tails") throughout WWII. He would retire from the military in 1962. He then would become a teaching in the Lincoln (NE) public school system. They named Adams Elementary school for him in 2008.

Paul Adams and his fellow Tuskegee Airmen were the first African-American aviators in the U.S. military, whose distinguished record many historians credit with helping pave the way for the civil rights movement.

The group set an unprecedented record, flying more than 1,500 missions in Europe and North Africa. Adam served in nine major campaigns and received the Commendation Medal with three Oak Leaf clusters, each of which signifies subsequent bestowals of the same honor.

Doane College recognized him with the President's Honor of Distinction Award the same year. In 2007, he received the Congressional Gold Medal along with other Tuskegee Airmen, who were known as "guardian angels" by white airmen who were escorted by the African-American pilots during the war. Adams received a bronze replica at a ceremony in Lincoln. Doane College recognized him with the President's Honor of Distinction Award the same year.

And two years later, Adams, at President Barack Obama's invitation, attended the inauguration of the first black president along with other Tuskegee Airmen. Adams went on to become one of the first black teachers in LPS, and in 2008, his accomplishments were honored when the district named a new school after him.

He became a frequent visitor at Adams Elementary, where books about Tuskegee Airmen fill the library and teachers make a point to read them to students. The history became an integral part of Adams Elementary school

[ravenna-reid]

Kisses, Lulls and Incoherent Ramblings

~ what happens when the lights cut out at one of Bruce's galas? ~

You and Jason were attending the last gala of the year when suddenly, there was a power outage and you two were asked to explore the manor.

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None <3

The gala was magnificent. Golden chandeliers littered the ceiling with their crystals cascading down and shimmering. Waiters went around handing out decorated tarts and some of the most expensive wines and champagnes in Gotham. Distinguished guests were dressed in their best tailored suits and array of velvet and satin dresses.

Hours had passed, and given only you and Jason were so reclusive when it came to Galas, you eventually gravitated towards each other. Bruce and Dick were both socialising with all of the guests, Dick’s charm coming more natural to him then Bruce’s forced persona. Tim was with Stephanie and the boy he’d been seeing, laughing in the corner of the opulent room. Lucky for Cassandra, she was on a ballet trip across Europe right now. 

And Damian. Well, no one knew where Damian was.

Nevertheless, you were just content that everyone was happy and safe right now.

Drinking your what, third? Fourth drink of the night? You began to feel the tipsiness seep into your bones. Usually, you were great with alcohol. Always pacing yourself and knowing when to stop. But given it was the last gala of the year, and you, Cassandra, and Jason had been left to deal with Deathstroke whilst Bruce went off somewhere to fight Ra’s, you were in dire need of some fun. You wanted to drown the thoughts out in your mind that constantly gnawed away at you. Hell, it had been a rough five months, and you deserved this. 

You couldn't help but notice Jason seemed to have the same idea as you. Maybe he needed the champagne to get through this evening, as you knew that these sorts of things were more unbearable for him than anyone else.

Unexpectedly, the lights had all cut out as darkness quickly enveloped the room. Gasps filled the room before Bruce and Dick began to calm everyone down and try to figure out what caused the sudden power outage. Dread filled their stomachs as they all hoped it wasn’t an attack orchestrated by some villain that had a vendetta against the Wayne’s. After a while, Alfred had come over to you and Jason, explaining how Master Bruce had informed him to tell everyone to search the Wayne Manor for any unwanted visitors. Just in case. You and Jason agreed, Jason more so happy to leave the watchful eyes and prying questions of the guests. Setting your glasses down on the nearest table you both headed up the winding stairs to the West wing. 

As you cautiously walked down the hall, Jason poured over how the moon beams streamed through the windows beside you, casting soft shadows across your face. He didn’t think you could look any more angelic, but you seemed to always prove him wrong. Hands beside your glistening navy silk dress as you scouted your surroundings, he wanted nothing more than to tenderly grab hold of your hand. To pull you in closer to him as you strolled around the dark manor. 

“Hey look, this door is slightly open.” You whispered dramatically as you edged back towards him. The alcohol seemed to still be in your system. 

Jason was suddenly torn from his thoughts. Clearing his throat and raising his brows, he spoke up. “What?” He slurred. 

“That door, it’s open. Let’s go take a look.”

As you both neared one of the manors libraries, Jason instinctively stood closer to you, just in case there was someone in there. Slowly pushing the door open, you both walked into the room, the strong scent of antiques and old books filling your senses. You and Jason split up and roamed around the room, taken aback by its sheer beauty, especially in the moonlight. Meeting in the centre of the library once you both realised the room was empty, your gazes met each other. 

A small small crept onto your face when you noticed Jason was hiding something behind his back.

“What’s that you got there?” You asked with a light laugh. 

With his signature smirk on his handsome face, Jason revealed a wine bottle he had found hidden amongst the books. 

You laughed, grabbing the large bottle from him.

“Probably Bruce’s.” He said, watching you read the golden label. 

It was an expensive bottle. A well known wine. Probably thousands of dollars. 

Either way, you handed it to Jason and he did the honours of opening it. 

Weaving through the many bookshelves with Jason and the wine was far better than anything that was happening downstairs at the gala. Here you could relax. You could be yourself rather than this ‘uptight, pretentious socialite’ everyone wanted you to be. 

Taking turns of having swigs of the bottle, your laughs soon filled the air. Jason’s smile was so perfect as he flashed you his pearly whites. A flutter began in your stomach once you realised you’d never seen him like this before. He was acting so carefree and open. Not like the stoic, intimidating, sarcastic Jason he usually was. You didn’t mind either side of him, but this one made your smile grow. 

Twirling around with the bottle in your hand, you turned to go down the Classical Literature section of the library. Following behind, the wine made Jason admit something he would have never admitted to anyone sober.

“This is my favourite section.” He said sheepishly. 

“No way.” You smiled, running your hands along all of the lined up dusty books. “Let me guess. Wuthering Heights?” 

 “Pride and Prejudice.” He admitted, a blush creeping onto his face. 

You laughed and jokingly nudged his arm. “You big marshmallow.” 

Turning the corner, you hadn’t seen the wooden carving stuck onto the wall, a design meant to hold candles. You smacked your head on it and a turrent of curse words left your lips. 

Jason quickly made his way over to you, his hand on your arm.

“Are you alright?” 

You held your hand over the spot on your forehead you hit. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggled, slightly embarrassed. 

“Are you sure?” 

Before he could stop himself, Jason’s hand was tenderly moving yours so he could see if you had a mark, his thumb running over the skin on your forehead.

“Should we go get some ice?”

“Jason,” You laughed, grabbing his hand and cupping it in yours to grab his attention. 

Suddenly, his entire world froze as he gazed back at you. 

Heavens, you were gorgeous. You were just…everything. 

And it made him giddy. And hopelessly devoted to you. And also sick, although he was sure the alcohol was to blame for that. 

“I promise, I’m alright.” You said. 

Your mind was dragged to the music you could hear beginning again downstairs. The power must be back on. Swaying to its rhythm, you began to hum along, poking Jason on the tip of his nose at the end of the verse. With the confidence from the wine and the admiration he had for you, Jason went for it. Leaning in, he gingerly placed a kiss on your cheek. Warm and firm. His kiss cut you short, a soft gasp escaping you as your body stilled. When he pulled away, his head was bent down, his soft, raven black hair brushed against your face.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You just had to do it. Bringing your hand up to his face, your fingers began to trace his skin. 

“Pretty boy.” You murmured. 

And with that, Jason fell back into your embrace. His soothing, slurred words played against your ear. Each soft kiss brought lulls and incoherent ramblings from Jason in attempts to show his undying affection for you. But given that he was tipsy, probably more than tipsy, you didn’t know how much of what he said was true. You could hardly focus yourself. 

Sweet promises and loving remarks. So foreign from the Jason you knew. It was like an entirely different person stood before you. Instead of a scowl, there was a soft expression that brushed upon his features. Instead of the aggressive and brutish nature that he acted in so naturally, there was a tender and gentle side of him you had never seen before. Instead of holding guns in his hands, he held you. The sudden display of affection towards you had your cheeks burning and heart beating in your chest. You never wanted this night to end.

[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse One (you're here!)

Despite the title, this series will focus a little more on Steve growing up in Genovia for the first few parts. That being said, there will be Steddie because this whole thing was inspired by my desire to write a modern royalty AU.

So, ya know, it's coming lol

For now, just enjoy Steve being raised by our favorite queen.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

Clarisse stares at the two-story house from the driveway. It looks incredibly...American. It's American in a way that Amelia's home and city aren't. This house is the Ideal American Home, the kind people are told is the goal in life, the kind with no personality and no distinguishing features compared to other houses on its street. It's the kind of house she'd never see in Genovia, and she's glad for it.

"Your Majesty," Joe says, pulling her attention from the house to her driver. "If you are nervous, may I suggest returning another day?"

She knows exactly what he's doing. It still works. She still pulls herself together, rolls her shoulders back, and raises her chin. "A queen is never nervous. She is simply calculating her approach."

With that, she opens the door and gracefully (the kind of grace that comes with years of practice) steps out of the car. She smooths down her clothes, takes one more deep breath, and strides to the front door. Joe is just a step behind her, always a step behind her, as she rings the doorbell and waits.

A few moments pass, the blinds in the window next to the door shift, and then the door is pulled open. A young boy, certainly no more than ten, stands before her, looking nervously between Clarisse and Joe.

And could you blame Steve? The only visitors he gets when his parents are gone are secretaries that sweep into the home, make sure he's alive, and leave right after. Nobody rings the doorbell, nobody knocks, and nobody knows he's alone in the big house, just like his parents told him it should be.

"Hello," the lady says, her accent vaguely European and similar to his father's. "Are you Steve Harrington?"

If she knows his name, maybe she's been sent by his parents. She looks fancy enough, and the guy with her looks scary enough. Steve grips the door tighter and nods once. "Yes, ma'am," he says, his voice soft and barely a whisper so he doesn't upset her.

"Good. Is your father home?"

"No, ma'am."

That makes her pause, her lips tugging down in a frown, and Steve wonders if he's already failed whatever test this must be. His father will give them sometimes, in the rare moments he's home, and it's always to measure how polite Steve his, how proper, how cultured. This must be a new kind of test, a way for his father to further measure him. He gathers himself, takes a subtle breath, and asks, "Would you like to come in?"

"You don't know who we are," the man suddenly says. "Why are you inviting us in?"

Oh. He's failing this test already. Steve bites his lip, ducking his head. "It's polite to invite people in," he says. "But, um, could you tell me your names first?"

He glances up to see that frown on the lady's face deepen, and his stomach starts to churn. "Yes, of course," she says, clearing her throat before continuing, "I am Clarisse Renaldi, and this is Joe."

Steve looks between the two of them before slowly nodding. "Please, come in," he says, holding the door open. The two adults are hesitant but enter the home anyway, watching Steve as he shuts the door silently and locks it. "This way, please."

He leads them to the living room, looks at the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and blushes. "I'm sorry for the mess," he says, quickly sweeping everything off the coffee table and holding it close to his chest. "I was doing homework and didn't expect visitors. Please, sit. I'll get some tea."

With that, he turns on his heel and hurries out of the living room. He presses his back against the wall, eyes closed and heart racing as he listens to the man and woman talk. "He's very polite," the woman says, sounding pleased and surprised.

"Too polite," the man replies, "What ten year old says things like expecting visitors and offers to make tea?"

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and hurries to the kitchen. He puts his papers and books on the small table there, climbs the stool in front of the sink to fill a kettle with water, and then climbs the stool in front of the stove to place it down. He turns on the burner, watching the flames jump before getting cups, a teapot, tea leaves, and a tray to place it all on.

In total, the process from heating the water to pouring it over the leaves in the pot and carrying that to the living room is no more than eight minutes. It still feels like an eternity, though, when Steve knows each second is a mark against him. "I'm sorry for making you wait," he says as he enters the living room, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. He pours a cup for the woman first, then the man, and then himself, careful not to spill a drop.

"Did you make this yourself?" the woman asks, picking up her teacup and taking a polite sip.

When Steve nods, he gets a tiny smile in return. And then the man says, "Aren't you a little young to do these things?"

Steve has been taught how to answer questions like this, ones that imply his parents aren’t doing enough to raise him. He picks up his teacup, holding it in his hands and letting the warmth transfer to his palms. “I like making tea,” he says, keeping his voice steady, “so Mother taught me how to use the stove safely.”

Joe looks ready to say more, but Clarisse clears her throat. He shuts his mouth, picking up his own cup just to do something. “When should we expect your father, Steve?” Clarisse asks, placing her teacup back on its plate. She’s seated on the edge of the couch, her ankles tucked together so her legs are at a slant and her back perfectly straight. 

He can’t lie. If they stay, they’ll know he’s lying when his father doesn’t return. Maybe they just want to see his father, and Steve can let them think his mother will be home soon and convince them to leave before she is. He decides this is a good plan and says the extremely familiar words, “He’s away on a business trip.”

That earns him a frown, but before he can try to fix his mistake, Clarisse nods once and asks, “What about your mother, then?”

Steve tenses, dropping his gaze to his teacup and scrambling to find an answer. He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, takes a sip of his tea, and feels his stomach twist when he still doesn’t have anything to say in response. 

“How long have your parents been gone?” Joe asks. 

The question pierces through him so harshly that Steve’s hands twitch, tea splashing over the edges of the cup and onto his fingers. He hisses at the temperature, quickly setting the cup down and getting a tissue to wipe the tea away. 

“What do you mean gone?” Clarisse asks.

“There are no cars in the driveway and no adult shoes by the door. We passed the kitchen on the way here, and only one set of dishes is in the drying rack. Stools have been placed wherever a child might need to reach something too high for them otherwise. Dust is on the shelf with adult books, but the smaller shelf with movies appropriate for children is clean, implying regular use. Finally, my men have informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington boarded a plane headed for Hong Kong from London.”

Steve’s eyes widen as Joe speaks, his stomach twisting ever tighter with each word. When Clarisse looks back at him, his eyes begin to sting and he looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice quiet as he clenches the hem of his shirt. 

“What on Earth are you apologizing for?” Clarisse asks, sounding so insulted that Steve shrinks in on himself. “You are not to blame for your parents’ incompetence and negligence. Of all the things your father has done, abandoning you to fend for yourself is unforgivable.”

Oh. She’s…angry for him? Steve looks up, meeting Clarisse’s eyes and wondering why she cares. And then, because he thinks she can’t possibly be any angrier, he takes a risk by asking, “Why are you here?”

Clarisse pauses, blinks twice, and then gathers herself. Her shoulders relax some, but her back remains straight. “I am Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia, and your grandmother.”

Steve stares at her, glances at Joe to see if this is some kind of joke, and then looks back when all he gets in return is a blank stare. “My…grandmother?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Yes. Your father, Richard Harrington, is my son. He was…well, he involved himself in troublesome schemes and had to leave Genovia and the line of succession. We keep tabs on him, of course, but all contact is otherwise restricted.”

None of that surprises Steve. He’s heard his father complaining when he has a bit too much whiskey, muttering under his breath about betrayal and being forced from his home and that it was only a few million he took. 

“I…still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Yes, well, the Crown Prince of Genovia has recently passed, and you are next in the line of succession. So, I traveled here to meet you and bring you back to Genovia for a proper education befitting a Crown Prince.”

Steve is staring at his lap again, his mind turning. So much information has been given to him, and he can only focus on the part that makes his heart speed up with hesitant hope. “Would…would my parents go with us?” he asks.

“Your father is still barred from Genovia. Your mother is welcome, though.”

“Does she have to go with us?”

He looks up in time to see Clarisse pause, tilting her head as she considers him for a moment. “No, Steve, neither of your parents must accompany us,” she says.

“Will I ever be alone?”

“The royal family employs upwards of 300 staff to keep the palace running smoothly,” Joe says, nodding once to confirm that number when Steve gives him an incredulous look. 

“Members of staff will be assigned to you as well,” Clarisse adds, smiling softly when Steve returns his attention to her. “At least three maids, several private tutors, at least one playmate for social development, and a personal team of security to keep you safe.”

Something lifts from Steve’s shoulders then. He’s not stupid. He knows his parents aren’t good. He learned that last year when he realized that other kids’ parents picked them up from school and gave them hugs and surprised them with pizza nights and just smiled at them. Steve looked at those parents, thought of his own, and quietly accepted that they either sucked or he just hasn’t figured out what will make them love him yet.

A tiny part of him knows that nothing will.

“Will you be my new mother, then?” Steve asks.

He watches Clarisse’s surprised expression morph into something unsure. “I will certainly be taking on a parental role,” she says, the words slow.

Steve looks down again, trying to ignore the disappointment that stirs in him when he realizes she’s just trying to spare his feelings. She won’t be a mother; she’ll be like his teacher. She’ll be someone who makes sure he learns what he should, eats when he should, and passes him along to the appropriate person when there’s a problem. 

Still, she’s nicer than his own parents, and Steve won’t be alone if he goes to Genovia. If nothing else, it will be better than this empty house and his absent parents. “If I packed right now, can we leave?” he asks.

When Clarisse agrees, Steve excuses himself and goes to his room. 

Once he’s out of sight, Clarisse looks at Joe and says, “He’s a very mature child.”

“He shouldn’t be.”

Clarisse nods once in agreement, looking down at the teapot in front of them and wondering if Steve has ever burned himself on it. “I believe he’ll take to being royalty well,” she says.

When she looks up, Joe is frowning. “If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?” he asks. When Clarisse nods, he clears his throat. “Before he can be royalty, he needs to be a child. For his own good, he needs a parent, not someone taking on a parental role. You may not be his mother, Your Majesty, but you are his grandmother. You have the ability to give him the unconditional care and love he’s been deprived of so far.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Clarisse admits, frowning slightly in thought. “I just…”

“You are worried he will be like his father.”

“Yes.”

“He is not his father. You cannot project the wrongdoings of Richard onto Steve. It is unfair to him and you. He deserves a fresh start, one that is not burdened by his father.”

“I will think on it,” Clarisse says, already knowing she’s going to do as Joe has suggested. “In the meantime, look into parenting books. If nothing else, Steve’s maids and tutors can review their contents as he grows.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

--------------

Genovia is small, but the palace is huge. It towers over Steve like something out of a Disney movie, and he almost falls behind during the brief tour through its halls. He manages to catch up, though, meeting Clarisse’s stride just in time for her to gesture at a set of double-doors and say, “Beyond these will be your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

“Yes, more than one,” Clarisse says, smiling down at Steve as she leads him past the doors and into a sitting room. A group of people are already gathered there. Most of them are adults, but a few younger children are playing with a Lego set in the corner and a girl and boy his age are standing with the adults. “These are your personal staff members.”

Before Steve can say anything, one of the women steps forward, her smile warm and her face framed by her brown hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Joyce. I’ll coordinate your schedule and make sure your rooms are taken care of. My husband, Jim, will be the head of your security team, and my eldest son, Jonathan, will be one of your playmates,” she says, pointing to her husband and then the boy his age.

“Feel free to call me Hopper, Your Highness,” her husband says.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonathan adds, smiling politely in a way that Steve painfully understands as fake and forced.

Joyce steps back, and a black woman steps forward. “My name is Sue. I’ll be in charge of your education. That means I’ll be arranging your tutors, making sure your lessons match what a child your age should be learning, and overseeing your Royal Education with Her Majesty. My husband, Charles, will be your science tutor.”

Steve glances at Charles when he waves and nods in greeting. His smile, at least, seems more genuine than Jonathan’s was, and Sue is so straightforward that Steve finds it refreshing. 

The last woman steps forward. She’s a little heavier than the other two, and she’s wearing an apron that has stains smeared across it. “Wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Claudia. I’ll be in charge of your diet and medical needs. If you’re allergic to anything or just plain hate certain foods, let me know.”

She steps back, leaving only the young girl. With a grin, she moves to stand in front of Steve and holds her hand out. “Name’s Robin,” she says, “I’m supposed to be your friend, but Her Majesty and I’ve got an agreement that I can ditch you if you suck. If I stick around, I’ll be trained by Hopper to be your personal guard.”

It’s so sudden and blunt that Steve can’t stop his grin as he takes Robin’s hand and shakes once. “To make things fair,” he says, “I should get to ditch you, too.”

Her eyes light up, and Steve thinks he’s done something right, which is an odd but welcome feeling. She lets go of his hand but stays by his side, standing close enough that their shoulders brush as Clarisse gestures for Joyce to take over the tour. He’s introduced to the children playing with Legos first, bombarded with their names (Dustin, Will, El, Lucas, and Erica) and which parents they belong to, before moving on to the rooms. 

In total, he has five: the sitting room, a classroom, a small library, an empty room that he can do whatever he’d like with, and his bedroom. The bedroom has its own bathroom with a shower attached, but there are extra bathrooms in the other rooms, too. He’d count his closet as another room entirely, but he’s not ready to admit he really has six rooms. 

He’s still too overwhelmed by the giant bed and the rooms that all belong to him and this group of people that will always be around him. He turns to Clarisse, ready to thank her, when she smiles at him and says, “There is one more thing.”

Something else? There’s more? What more could there possibly be? What else could he be given? Steve watches as she walks to the door that leads into the bathroom, steps inside, and comes back out holding something that squirms slightly in her arms. 

She quickly deposits the thing in Steve’s arms, and he stares wide-eyed at the Rottweiler puppy that starts sniffing at his hands and neck. “What?” he asks.

“She’s yours, Steve. Rottweilers are very loyal dogs, so she’ll stay by your side. They’re also loyal and protective. Once she’s grown, she’ll keep you safe, too.”

“What am I then, chopped liver?” Robin asks, pouting slightly as she looks at the dog. She leans closer to it and yelps when she gets licked. 

Steve can’t help laughing, holding the dog closer to his chest. “Does she have a name?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s Dart!”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Dustin, meeting his curly hair and slightly gummy smile. Next to him, Claudia flushes slightly and hurriedly says, “You don’t need to listen to him, Your Highness. You can name her whatever you’d like.”

“No, I think Dart is good,” Steve replies, looking down at the dog and gently scratching behind her ears. She perks up, her entire body wiggling with excitement, and Steve feels something hopeful and optimistic settle in his chest.

--------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv

[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 10: A Maker-Forsaken Prince

Hawke x Trevelyan | Dragon Age 2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

Gif by ofallingstar

Chapter Summary:

Rose nurses a hangover and has an unexpected visitor. Garrett regrets a favor he called in.

Fic Summary:

Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue by the string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

Excerpt:

Bodahn makes his apologies by the doorway and looks around the breakfast room, more addled than usual before addressing them generally. “His majesty Prince Sebastian Vael is here.” Garrett notes the way his voice quavers more than usual.

“Ah, brilliant,” says Garrett, though he makes a point to glance at Rose with regret. “Show him to the library, I’ll see him there—”

“Ah— to see Lady Trevelyan and Lady Rose, Messere,” he adds.

Garrett blinks, perplexed by this development. Rose glances about equally baffled and Alsatia sits straighter than a pin, her entire affect suddenly raptor-like. But what could Sebastian mean by this anyhow? Garrett peers at Rose who dodges his scrutiny. She’s undoubtedly mortified by her pie-eyed advances the night before, but he hasn’t found a bloody moment to ask to kiss her properly and he’d like it to be more enchanting than grabbing her round a corner.

“How lovely! Sebastian is always such a gentleman,” says Leandra, seizing upon the opportunity to parade her familiarity with actual royalty. “I’m not the least bit surprised he’d call to pay his respects.”

“Well, I suppose I should see the man, too. I found the strangest book in the library about an angry Maker or some such and he should probably see it,” says Garrett, glancing at Rose as he stands. “Ladies. My friend, the Prince of Starkhaven, wishes to make your acquaintance.”

“But we have no need of introductions!” protests Alsatia. “It has been a few years perhaps, but we are well acquainted with the Vaels.”

“Seven at least, Mother,” murmurs Rose, obviously flustered.

Perhaps she missed the memo about the family’s unfortunate demise. Sebastian stands with his hands folded behind his back, gazing up at a Blessed age portrait of the Amell family above the mantel when they all descend into the foyer.

“Sebastian, what a surprise!” says Garrett, summoning his best manners. “Lady Trevelyan, Lady Rose, allow me to present His Majesty, Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven.”

“No need for such formalities, Hawke,” says Sebastian. “It is my great honor to see you both.”

Alsatia gapes with admiration as she sinks into a low curtsy and Rose, nibbling on her lip, joins her. The man looks as damnably handsome as usual, his auburn hair combed tidily back, a finely embroidered doublet in cream and gold making him look like a Maker-damned sculpture. Garrett sneaks another glance over at Rose, feeling a sudden tension in his chest that can go straight to the Void.

“I heard my friend was having distinguished guests,” says Sebastian in his dashing bloody brogue. “It’s been several years since I last had the privilege of their company, but I thought perhaps I could invite Lady Trevelyan and her esteemed daughter for a tour of Kirkwall’s Chantry. Mother Elthina is my dearest friend.”

“We would be honored,” breathes Alsatia. Garrett rolls his eyes as the woman floats away on a cloud.

“You might be surprised at what the Kirkwall Chantry has on its grounds, especially beyond in the clerical annex,” says Sebastian. “The gardens are some of the finest in the Marches, even this time of year when the winterberry is fruiting. And the library is well-known of course. There’s a brewery and a fromagerie. The archery range is—”

“Archery?” asks Rose, perking up.

“Indeed. I’d heard a rumor you’d taken it up,” says Sebastian, smiling warmly.

“I’ve been bow hunting for several years now,” Rose explains. “My father taught me.”

“Hardly more than a hobby,” says Alsatia, though Rose shoots her a scowl.

“Few things bring me greater joy,” Rose adds.

Sebastian’s brows lift in appreciation. Garrett’s lift in surprise. Somehow her archery interests were omitted in the letters pitching her.

“You may remember I’m an archer myself. Trained since I was but a boy,” he says, genuine charm rolling off him in waves. “It’s rare for a woman of your breeding to take it up, but I’m glad to see it!”

Garrett purses his lips into a vexed crease when he notices the crimson wash in Rose’s cheeks, the shy smile, and the way she’s fidgeting with her fingers.

“I think you’ll find Rose to be quite an adept,” says Alsatia. Maker, could she be any more naked in her machinations? Rose peers suspiciously at her mother from the corner of her eye.

“You’ve never shown me the Chantry’s archery range,” says Garrett.

“I’ve seen you with a bow, Hawke,” chuckles Sebastian. Garrett has never felt the urge to throttle a friend so keenly. “I didn’t think it would interest a swordsman like yourself. What do you say ladies? Can I interest you in a tour?”

But then it dawns on Garrett that Sebastian is here as a favor. To take the women he’d complained about for weeks in advance off his hands, to entertain them and charm them so he wouldn’t have to. To draw Rose’s attention away from him. This won’t do at all.

Read the rest here | Start the fic here

DAFF Tag List:

@about2dance | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @blarrghe | @bluewren | @breninarthur

@crackinglamb | @delicatefade | @dreadfutures | @effelants | @exalted-dawn-drabbles 

@hekaerges | @inquisimer | @ir0n-angel | @leggywillow | @oxygenforthewicked

 @plisuu | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @queenaeducan | @warpedlegacy

[isfjmel-phleg]

Who is Amarantha?

Today, October 4, is my OC Amarantha's birthday.

Bio

Amarantha Margeth Melbray is the daughter of Levico (L. D.) Melbray, author of the popular Morrick Hopeley detective stories, and his wife Edmara, nurse to King Talfrin's son, Elystan. The nature of Edmara's job makes it difficult for her to be at home consistently, so Amarantha has been raised primarily by her father. She developed an interest in art at an early age and has been encouraged to cultivate this talent. Her greatest aspiration is to become a famous artist, specializing in portraiture, and she is given a chance to work toward that future when her mother's employer, Queen Bethira, grants her a scholarship to a distinguished girls' school for the arts.

Upon arriving at this school, however, Amarantha learns that her scholarship has been suddenly and unexpectedly revoked. With nowhere else to go while her father is on a lecture tour, she joins her mother at the palace, where she reencounters her old nemesis Elystan. Amarantha has for a long time been deeply jealous of the boy who monopolizes her mother's attention and affection, and their meeting doesn't go well--she ends up slapping him and incurs the wrath of his mother. That night, Amarantha's mother wakes her up and hurries them onto a train, but she vanishes before she can explain, and Amarantha wakes up in a remote moated castle, lost, confused, and trapped. But she's not alone--Elystan's there too! Can she find answers about what happened and find a way out? Is Elystan worth joining forces with in this adventure? Is there any hope for her scholarship now that she's offended the royal family?

Why I Love Her

This child is intense. Everything is Serious Business, especially art. She has one plan for her life, it's her glorious purpose, and she has no backup plans. At age twelve, she's already got Opinions about what portraiture should and shouldn't be. She's constantly struggling with reality's failure to live up to her grandiose expectations. She's trying so hard to win her mother's attention back (maybe if I accomplish something impressive enough, maybe if I'm accommodating enough, maybe if I'm responsible and undemanding enough...) but she feels as if she can never get more than crumbs, and she's deeply resentful beneath the compliance. She's a judgmental, jealous, petty jerk who thinks she knows and understands other people far more than she actually does--but also a naïve child who hasn't lost her sense of wonder and tendency to get caught up in fancifulness. She needs friends. She's going to get friends. She needs growth. She's going to get that too.

Description

Visitors to the Melbray parlor who encountered Amarantha seated silently on the sofa, her hands folded, typically received the impression that she was a quiet, mannerly child. It usually took a while before they noticed her peering at them with prominent brown eyes like an insect who had weighed them in the balance and found them wanting. The bow at the base of the brown braid wrapped around her head sprung from the back of her neck like a pair of wings. Her round face and small nose and mouth gave her an otherwise doll-like countenance, but nothing could soften the intensity of that gaze.

Further Info

There is a list of random OC facts for her here, newly revised and updated.

Appearances

Prequel scene for Book 2

Short dialogue between Amarantha and her father (before Book 2)

Revised Book 2 Chapter One

Early Morning Tea (set immediately after Book 2 Chapter One)

Revised Book 2 Chapter Two

Revised Book 2 Chapter Three

Revised Book 2 Chapter Four

Revised Book 2 Chapter Five

Revised Book 2 Chapter Six

Picnic in the Clock Tower (later in Book 2)

Tell Me Where You Live (sketch)

Speaking to a Housemaid (sometime in Book 3)

Portrait of the Monarch as a Young Woman (sometime in Book 4)

[theblackbookofarkera]

Mintainese

Largely indistinguishable from the Tauxi, the Mintanese maintain that they hail from a purer and more distinguished bloodline than their more populous cousins. They claim direct ancestry from the nobility of ancient Mythin, a lineage they believe bestows upon them a natural inclination towards high intelligence, civility, and morality. This noble heritage is a source of great pride for the Mintanese, who see their refined qualities as evidence of their superior stock.

The Mintanese are well-educated and deeply family-centered, valuing knowledge and kinship above all else. This emphasis on education and family instills in them a humility that is not commonly found in other races of higher stock, particularly their Tauxi cousins, who often regard themselves as Arkera’s superior race. The Mintanese, in contrast, approach their interactions with a sense of modesty and respect, which endears them to many.

Physically, most Mintanese are small in stature with black hair, a common trait that links them to their Tauxi relatives. However, among the nobility, there are individuals who stand out with their tall, lithe frames and striking white hair, as pure as snow. These noble Mintanese are seen as the epitome of their ancient lineage, embodying the grace and elegance of their Mythin ancestors.

The Mintanese society is a blend of ancient traditions and modern advancements. Their cities are known for their beautiful architecture, combining the grandeur of Mythin with contemporary innovations. The people are also renowned for their artistic talents, excelling in fields such as poetry, music, and visual arts. Festivals and cultural events are common, celebrating both their rich heritage and their achievements.

In their daily lives, the Mintanese practice a blend of ancestor worship, shamanism, and polytheism, known collectively as "the Heavenly Schools." This spiritual framework emphasizes the importance of honoring one's ancestors, seeking harmony with nature, and pursuing knowledge in various disciplines, including art, sorcery, mathematics, and logic.

Despite their humility, the Mintanese are fiercely protective of their traditions and knowledge. They actively engage in trade and welcome foreign visitors, but they resist any attempts to undermine their cultural heritage. Their economy thrives on the export of silk, gems, pomegranates, porcelain, and bronze, while their most cherished import is knowledge. Mintanese nobles are known to pay generously for foreign scholars and books, eager to expand their understanding of the world.

The Lang-shi ruling family, claiming descent from the last prince of Mythin, exemplifies the Mintanese values of wisdom, fairness, and dedication to the people. This noble lineage has guided Mintai through countless challenges, ensuring the nation's survival and prosperity.

[sirianasims]

Chapter 9

The End of an Era

Welcome back to the Duchelli household, where we are hurtling towards the final stretches of our first generation.

I’m not sure what is going on here, but I think Johnny is showing off some yoga moves. On the sidewalk. To a stray cat.

His daughter Jodi is pretending she doesn’t know him in the background.

To increase the household income enough to send Cora off to university, everyone is working hard. On top of her criminal activities, Alex has taking up writing a few books and painting.

Cora is still single and has no real friends, so for Love Day, she gives a rose to her beloved sister.

Brielle and Shawn used Love Day to finally make it official. No one was surprised, as they have been together for a while.

Another visitor dropping by is one of Brie’s best friends, Ariana Broke. She’s one of Angela and Dustin Broke’s twin daughters.

This is Adriana, the other twin. Both twins are very close with Brie.

Cora has neither the time nor inclination for making friends. It’s all about homework.

After fulfilling his aspiration to be the greatest bodybuilder ever, Don is back to being a serial romantic. He still has strong opinions on cheating, and most of the women closer to his age are married, so the dating pool is honestly a little sparse. Therefore, he invites out the somewhat younger Evie Delgato.

Evie tells Don all about her college, and mentions how she isn’t planning on settling down in a serious relationship until she gets her career started, so she’s open to just having some fun.

And so, after “having some fun” in a back room of the bar…

… Don kisses Evie goodbye before she heads back to her dorm.

Cora has gotten a job as a barista, which means she has to get up insanely early. So she’s always tired and in a bad mood. Late night studying does not work well with 5 AM workdays.

After work and a nap, she barely has time to fall asleep in her breakfast before going to school.

Her barista job, however, has given her a newfound appreciation for coffee, and she manages to talk her parents into letting her buy a fancy coffee maker at home.

Much better! Hopefully this’ll get her up in the morning.

While out on the town one day, Don hears someone cry in the ladies room. Out comes Morgan Fyres-Munch. Don asks her what is wrong, and she tells him that her and Wolfgang’s marriage has been rocky for a while, due to the stress of them living with her aging parents, and he finally had enough and left her.

Always the gentleman, Don cheers Morgan up and invites her to join him for coffee.

They hit it off immediately, and Don does his best to make Morgan feel better about herself.

It doesn’t take long before Morgan starts flirting back.

And to no one’s surprise, they end up in a back room.

Cora is really doing nothing but studying. She’s trying to get accepted into the distinguished degree in Physics at Foxbury University, and that takes hard work.

One evening, the girls are given school projects as usual, and Brie brings, besides one of the Broke twins, this guy.

His name is Aidan, and it turns out he’s a bit of a nerdy loner. Maybe Brie brought him because he reminds her of Cora. They immediately bond over robots.

“Alex, babe, will you still love me when I’m old and wrinkly?”

“Of course, honey.”

And so, Don is the first member of the family to hit old age.

Cora, would it kill you to leave the voidcritters alone and attend your father’s birthday? Sheesh. Even Christie from his fitness club is more excited than you.

beginning / previous / next

[transgenderer]

Seven-Five-Three Festival

For the entire month of November the shrine becomes a vehicle to ensure safe passage through periods of physical and social transition in the lives of children. Although there is no formal ritual in the upper shrine in honor of children, November 3 is listed as the day for beginning shichi-go-san mairi. So as not to interfere with a busy wedding season in the upper shrine,19 the lower sanctuary (Gokitoden) is the site for wave after wave of families who wish for some kind of ritual acknowledgment for periods of development in their children’s lives. The phenomenon of shichi-go-san mairi (a shrine visitation in years when girls are aged three or seven and boys are aged five) grew out of customs associated with samurai families during the middle Edo period that acknowledged certain intervals of social development (Nakamaki 1990:152). At age three, for example, girls adopted a more refined way of wearing their hair (kami-oki), and, at age seven, they could wear an obi for the first time in a style more akin to that worn by women. Boys likewise distinguished themselves socially at age five by wearing loose-fitting hakama pantaloons over a formal kimono (a fashion innovation begun in imperial China over two thousand years ago and still a part of the attire worn by Shinto priests). It was not until the Taisho¯ period that the shichi-go-san began to gain popularity, in part owing to the construction of Meiji Shrine in 1920 as a kind of ujigami-sha for all of Japan. However, Nakamaki notes that a book published in 1958 mentions the holiday as gaining in popularity in the Kyoto-Osaka region, so it appears that this holiday is quite new

Since fashion has always been an important part of the shichi-go-san, the contemporary observance of this month-long November holiday finds children brought to shrines in their very best clothes and photographed extensively against the backdrop of the institution; many participate in a short ceremony of purification and blessing as well. Shrines view this holiday as a prime opportunity for bringing children into the sphere of the kami (it is also financially rewarding) and so compete for public attention, placing advertisements in local newspapers or contracting printing companies to post colored advertisements on telephone poles and public notice boards. Kamigamo takes a typically low-key approach, posting generic advertisements here and there in north Kyoto showing a young boy and girl dressed in shichi-go-san finery, with the name of the shrine written in by hand at the bottom.

In the outer courtyard visitors find a sign directing them to purchase three tickets for five thousand yen (U.S. $42): the first will permit them to enter the Gokitoden sanctuary ( just inside the Tower Gate courtyard) and be purified and blessed by two priests in a ten-minute ritual. They will then receive a bag containing candy, coloring and comic books, a small amulet, and the shrine’s autumn newsletter. The next ticket allows them to be photographed by one of the priests; the photo will later be printed on a calendar for the coming year. The final ticket gives the child his or her choice of toys (arranged by gender-specific areas). While five thousand yen may at first seem somewhat expensive for these services, most other shrines charge four thousand yen for a quick wave of the wand of purification and a bag containing candy, a small toy, and a comic or coloring book. Of the twenty-five people I interviewed, no one complained about the price; in fact, most thought the innovations at Kamigamo were creative and well worth the expense

-Enduring Identities, Nelson

charmingly tacky and mercantile. every culture across the world dedicated to dressing their child up in fancy outfits and paying too much to get them photographed

[distant-velleity]

i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream

Summary: Normally, Silver dreams. This time, it is a nightmare he suffers through.

Warnings: none (I'd hope)

Pairings: no romantic ones; Silver & Malleus Draconia

Word count: 1351 A/N: I didn’t post the first bingo slot I did because the content is kind of sensitive, so we start(?) with this. Silver and Book 7 have me so unwell. I'll be writing another piece to follow this one up for this same bingo at some point, so stay tuned? Maybe?

Without fail, Silver remembers the dainty little cottage he grew up in with his father, isolated from humans and fae alike except for the occasional visitor—Sebek, Sebek’s family, or Malleus. Those were peaceful, simple days of lessons, training, and living in happy coexistence with the gentle creatures of the forest. It is no surprise, therefore, that in the midst of his slumber, Silver finds himself back where he belongs: in the sprawling yard of the cottage, taking in the view.

He treads the stone path to the door with a serene smile on his face, happy to be home even if it is merely a dream. Everything is exactly as he remembers it to be—birds chirping from the trees, flowers blooming amidst the blades of grass, water babbling in a small stream along the stone path.

It is peaceful, naturally perfect, beautifully—it is undeniably home.

However, as soon as Silver pushes on the handle and opens the door, the birds stop chirping and the wind ceases to blow. Without looking down at the ground, he takes a step forward—

And suddenly he’s falling, his rapid surroundings blurring from gentle pinks, purples, and whites to cold and lifeless black. 

Before he knows it, Silver is landing back-first on cold stone tiles with a loud thud and a soft grunt. Although dreams are his forte and he’s arguably even more powerful here than he would be in the waking world, he feels incredibly disoriented nonetheless. He closes his eyes and lets his head thunk back against the ground, trying to will the air back into his lungs.

This isn’t par for the course, he thinks. Normally my dreams don’t shift that violently, and so soon at that. What could this mean…?

“Silver.”

At the sound of a distinguishably deep, noble voice coming from above him, Silver’s eyes shoot open. He scrambles to stand on his feet and sharply steps into a salute. “Lord Malleus! I apologize for my idleness.”

Even in a dream, Malleus still retains the same majesty and gravity of presence that surrounds him in real life. His gaze sweeps Silver up and down for a moment, before he makes an indecipherable noise. “See to it that it does not happen again.” With an air of displeasure to him, he walks past his knight-in-training with long strides.

Silver frowns and turns around, in the process gaining an understanding of his surroundings—it’s a room in the style of the Diasomnia dorms, all grey tiles edged in the green of magical firelight. At the end of the room where Malleus stands is the sole object in the vicinity, draped in the dusty light of the windows: a wooden spinning wheel, old and well-used.

It’s then that he notes how it’s raining outside, precipitation drumming on the windowpanes and running down in unsteady streams. It seems odd, for some reason, Malleus’ temper—he would not normally be so worked up over a soldier merely taking a few moments for themselves. Maybe he’d poke a little fun at their expense and lightly remind them of their place, but today… Perhaps that and the rain are indicative of something worse at play.

…Or perhaps he’s taking this dream too seriously? After all, this isn’t the real Malleus. But he should be treated with respect nonetheless.

“My prince,” Silver begins cautiously, eyes trained on Malleus’ back turned to him, “if I may… did something occur today?”

Malleus is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, gazing out the window. Finally, he turns to face Silver once more with an unreadable smirk, standing possessively close to the spinning wheel. “We are like brothers, are we not? There is no need to tread on metaphorical eggshells around me.” When he receives no response, Malleus’s expression sobers considerably. “...Well, then. Come a little closer, Silver. I’d like to show you something.”

Not one to disobey direct orders, Silver steps forward cautiously, one after another until he’s standing before his lord and the spinning wheel.

“Legends say that this spinning wheel, specifically its spindle, was used to send a princess into a deep slumber,” Malleus recalls, and—much to Silver’s growing uneasiness—gazes at the sharp point of the spindle with something akin to admiration. “A slumber not unlike death itself.” Then, his focus shifts to Silver. “I must ask you—do you trust me?”

“Of course, my prince,” replies Silver on instinct—it is like second nature to him, serving and carrying out Malleus’ will. So of course, he should trust him…

…if it weren’t for the fact that Malleus’ expression has shifted into something cruel, something cold, something tyrant-like. Something distinctly unfamiliar to Silver and his understanding of the prince. Suddenly, it feels as if ice is creeping throughout the room and all along the walls, depriving the atmosphere of any warmth it could’ve had.

“Then touch the spindle,” Malleus commands, regarding Silver with a foreign sort of callousness. 

Silver freezes, alarmed for certain now. This is not the Malleus Draconia he knows—this is some figment of his dream. Just a figment. 

“...No,” he replies, feeling the word force itself from his throat like molasses.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. At the same time, frost creeps up Silver’s boots and even further into the room, painting the walls in a shimmering layer of greyish-white.

“Did you misunderstand?” asks Malleus lowly, dangerously. “I ordered you to touch the spindle, Silver, after you said you trust me. There is no room for resistance.”

Silver stands his ground. “No.”

Suddenly, the dream phases out of existence and back in, flickering—one moment the cold Diasomnia walls, the next a dimly-lit throne room lined in briar thorns. Malleus is still there with the spinning wheel, but now he bears regal robes and is gripping Silver’s wrist tightly enough to bruise.

“This,” says Malleus, sweeping his free hand to the side in order to gesture at their new surroundings, “is the price you'll pay for your defiance. Do you understand?”

Confused and a little terrified, Silver slowly turns his head to look around. It’s with horror that he realizes there are people laying on the ground amidst the briars, and not just any people; all Night Raven College students, with Lilia and Sebek in the middle—all prone and unmoving. 

“This is…” He swallows dryly. “Malleus, you…”

“Now, come.”

Malleus ignores any attempts to flail or thrash his way free from Silver and leads his hand closer, closer, ever closer to the spindle.

“Malleus—”

“You feel no fondness towards your sleeping ailment, correct? Allow me to cure that for you.”

Malleus narrows his eyes. Emerald fire crackles to life all around them.

“Permanently.”

Silver’s finger is forced to touch the spindle, its needle-sharp point easily breaking skin and drawing what turns out not to be blood but black, inky blot. He has all of a few moments to react before it rushes up and clogs his throat as well, triggering a series of coughs and choking so great he’s forced to his knees. 

The fires all around them make Malleus’ shadow on the floor appear to be a daunting, larger-than-life dragon as he steps closer, heels clacking ominously on the tiled floor. “It’s a pity,” he muses aloud, stopping right before the splotches of Silver’s forcibly-regurgitated blot, “how you and your father both share this stubborn streak. I only want what’s best for you—you’d do well to remember that.”

Silver hacks up even more blot, looking up at Malleus with blurred vision before swaying to one side and collapsing—

He wakes up from the nightmare suddenly, throat feeling dry. When he looks around, he is still in bed in his dorm room. His blankets are still a little messy, and everything is unorganized in a contrarily orderly fashion. There is no spinning wheel in sight, nor any emerald flames or sprawling briar thorns.

…That’s right, Silver thinks. It was just a nightmare. There’s nothing to be worried about.

He settles back down under the blanket and is out like a light again once his head hits the pillow, unaware of the verdant eyes watching him silently from his slightly ajar door.

[themainspoon]

Occasionally I remember that one Prussian spy report on Karl Marx that says the following about him:

“His intellectual superiority exercises an irresistible power on his surroundings.

In private life he is an extremely disorderly, cynical human being, and a bad host. He leads the existence of a real bohemian intellectual. Washing, grooming and changing his linen are things he does rarely, and he likes to get drunk. Though he is often idle for days on end, he will work day and night with tireless endurance when he has a great deal of work to do. He has no fixed times for going to sleep and waking up. He often stays up all night, and then lies down fully clothed on the sofa at midday and sleeps till evening, untroubled by the comings and goings of the whole world.

His wife is the sister of the Prussian Minister von Westphalen, a cultured and charming woman, who out of love for her husband has accustomed herself to his bohemian existence, and now feels perfectly at home in this poverty. She has two daughters and one son, and all three children are truly handsome.

As husband and father, Marx, in spite of his wild and restless character, is the gentlest and mildest of men. Marx lives in one of the worst - therefore, one of the cheapest - quarters of London. He occupies two rooms. The one looking out on the street is the living room, and the bedroom is at the back. In the whole apartment there is not one dean and solid piece of furniture. Everything is broken down,tattered and torn,with a half inch of dust over everything and the greatest disorder everywhere. In the middle of the living room there is a large old-fashioned table covered with an oilcloth, and on it there lie his manuscripts, books and newspapers, as well as the children's toys, and rags and tatters of his wife's sewing basket, several cups with broken rims, knives, forks, lamps, an inkpot, tumblers, Dutch day pipes, tobacco ash- in a word, everything topsy-turvy, and all on the same table. A seller of secondhand goods would be ashamed to give away such a remarkable collection of odds and ends.

When you enter Marx's room, smoke from the coal and fumes from the tobacco make your eyes water so much that for a moment you seem to be groping about in a cavern, but gradually, as you grow accustomed to the fog, you can make out certain objects which distinguish themselves from the surrounding haze. Everything is dirty and covered with dust, so that to sit down becomes a thoroughly dangerous business. Here is a chair with only three legs, on another chair the children are playing at cooking- this chair happens to have four legs. This is the one which is offered to the visitor, but the children's cooking has not been wiped away; and if you sit down, you risk a pair of trousers. But none of these things embarrass Marx or his wife. You are received in the most friendly way and cordially offered pipes and tobacco and whatever else there may happen to be; and eventually a spirited and agreeable conversation arises to make amends for the domestic deficiencies, thus making the discomfort tolerable. Finally you grow accustomed to the company, and find it interesting and original. This is a true picture of the family life of the communist chief Marx.”

Imagine the kind of shit he could have written if he had access to Ritalin.

(I looked it up and apparently the English source of the quote is Karl Marx: Interviews and Recollections from 1981, and it was apparently translated from G. Mayer's 'Neue Beitrage zur Biographie von Karl Marx', Archiv fur die Geschichte des Sozialismus und der Arbeiter bewegung published in 1922. The only place I could find this information was in a reddit comment made by a now deleted account, Reddit isn’t exactly a reliable source, but I just wanted to know where this claim came from, and it answered that question. Answering that question is something that a lot of the sites using this quote didn’t do, a lot of them also tried to use it to pretend that all this somehow made Marx a bad person. Take all this as you will.)

[princesssarisa]

A Christmas Carol Holiday Season: "A Christmas Carol" (1997 animated feature)

This hour-long animated musical, which premiered on Nickelodeon as part of the network's Sunday Movie Toons series, is a bit of a missed opportunity. With a star-studded voice cast headed by Tim Curry as Scrooge, it could have been an iconic children's retelling Dickens's story. Unfortunately, the whole doesn't equal the sum of the parts. But it still has some charm, especially for young viewers.

The familiar plot is followed faithfully, but with an assortment of creative choices. In a detail clearly meant to add appeal for children, this version of Scrooge has a bulldog named Debit (his barks and growls provided by Frank Welker), who chases away unwanted visitors, but who isn't really as vicious as he seems and provides comic relief. Never mind that Dickens's Scrooge would never waste his money on a dog, nor care so little for his reputation as to sic a dog on respectable charity men. This adaptation also gives us inventive portrayals of the three Christmas ghosts. The Ghost of Christmas Past (voice of Kath Soucie, who also voices Mrs. Cratchit and Fan) is a cheeky little Cockney boy in a blue pearlie costume; the Ghost of Christmas Present (voice of Whoopi Goldberg), while still large, jolly, and green-clad as usual, is a black woman with blue hair; and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, while the usual hooded phantom, floats in midair and glows with eerie purple light.

Yet this Carol also includes a few rarely-seen details from the book, For example, the face of Marley (voice of Ed Asner) appearing on the tiles of Scrooge's fireplace, and the visions of the child Scrooge's favorite book characters in Christmas Past. The latter moment is expanded on too, as in Christmas Present, Scrooge's interest in Tiny Tim is peaked by the sight of Tim reading Robinson Crusoe as well.

The main virtue of this Carol is the voice cast. Tim Curry makes the most he can of Scrooge's role, bringing all of his usual verve to his initial meanness, later vulnerability, and ultimate joy. Other noteworthy vice actors are Michael York as Bob Cratchit, Jodi Benson as Belle, and Ian Whitcomb as the voiceover narrator. The animation quality is reasonably good too, with some touches of CGI added for ghostly glows and smoke effects. But the character designs tend to be Saturday morning cartoonish. Meanwhile, the songs – "Tell Me a Tale About Christmas," "Random Acts of Kindness," "When Shadows Fall," "I'll Cross This Bridge," and "Santa's Sooty Suit" – range from mildly charming to forgettable.

This will never be a favorite Christmas Carol of mine. But it would still be a fine first Carol for children, and for its distinguished voice cast and assorted creative choices alone, I recommend it.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @thealmightyemprex, @reds-revenge, @faintingheroine, @thatscarletflycatcher