#I cannot express how much I love that our lilacs bloom at the same time as they do in the books

[eyrieofsynapses]

good evening, all. it is May the 25th. our lilacs are blooming, just as the ones at the Watch House did. and I am thinking about remembrance of the fallen, and GNU, and the love in commemoration.

y'know, I read Night Watch… oh, maybe a year ago and some months ago. and the lilac symbolism, the remembrance of the Watch, has always struck me with the depth of the emotion of it, the tangibility of it in the flowers. but I wasn't aware that today was the day until I saw commemorative posts, all that gorgeous artwork and more, on my dash.

I was also not aware, until now, that fans commemorated the day not only because of the book reference, but in support of Terry Pratchett and of those with Alzheimer's. which knocked me over a bit because of course, of course the group that would use GNU to honor him would do that. and… I've been thinking about GNU a lot, lately, and this caught me again.

I read Going Postal a bit ago, and reread it recently. both times, the parts about GNU made me tear up. this idea of the names, the memories, the lives of the clacks workers who dedicated themselves to ensuring that people heard each other's voices—all those names spoken again and again and again by that which they poured their souls into, winging along in the air as they could not, an eternal reminder that they were loved—how could that not touch a person's heart?

when I found out that fans online used it to memorialize him, I damn well cried. hell, I still tear up just thinking about it. do you know, there's a code for an HTTP header "X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett" written by Reddit users to put in webpages, where it goes unseen by the average user? and in 2015, when Netcraft took a survey, there were eighty-four thousand websites using it? it's eight years later—how many thousands upon thousands of websites have this now, do you think? how many little cables of light has his name flown along, now? how many times?

that alone is absurdly and unimaginably lovely in its own right, but… there's something else to it. there's something about remembering with the lilac sprigs every year, just as Vimes and those who were there remembered their dead. something about how, when we take up our lilac sprigs, we carry a little piece of the characters in our hearts, too. I kept trying to put my finger on why that makes me tear up the way it does. the conclusion I came to is this:

what greater way to honor a writer is there, but to honor them the way they did the characters they poured their heart and soul into? what better way to say we know you and you are not forgotten and your work and words and gifts to the world are held in our hearts forever than to remember them by their own words, their own vision? how else could we say you embodied all the good you believed in and wished to see in the world, but to memorialize them after the little pieces of their soul they wrapped in ink and put upon the page?

it is a knowing of the writer, to remember them in their way. it is not a worn-out faceless platitude, but a reminder that their work has been read and will continue to be, that the characters and world they loved enough to bring to life last just as their name does. such remembrance is warm and loving and delights in their memory even as it grieves.

and now Pratchett's name has been written in his tradition, over and over and over, across the vast plane of the Internet, where it will—with any luck—continue to fly for generations to come.

there is no way to truly express the beauty of that… but perhaps we can catch a glimpse of it in the lilacs, both ours and the Watch's.

[wanderingsoul]

questions to ask yourself before the new year except its february and we’re in a pandemic

what is one small way you can become a better person? for others? for yourself?

i can become a better person by addressing the trauma that i carry, and addressing it, and learning to cope with it better. i can be a better friend, parter, daughter and sister by leaning into the parts of myself that are broken and taking the time to pursue healing in meaningful ways. i can become a better person by taking responsibility for my growth and healing and actively work towards a more healed, wholesome version of myself. 

what are you holding onto currently that is no longer serving you? why are you holding on? what’s one small step you can take towards releasing it?

i am holding on to the idea that i can fix those around me. being in a partnership/friendship with someone that openly expresses brokenness pulls on the need inside of me to fix things, and fix her. except thats not how people work, and thats not how healthy relationships work. i am holding on to this because for a long time, and sometimes i think to this day, i have been the glue for so many people. i am the common denominator, i am the steady, i am the savior. and being with alexa is a challenge because i have to be fully present, and wanting to support, with the very present knowledge that i can do absolutely nothing to make her feel better, and i might get my feelings hurt if i try. 

goal for the new year that excites me? goal that scares me?

the goal that excites me the most this year is buying a house. it feels like another piece in the puzzle of the ever-elusive “perfect life”. having a house, two cats and a garden is a dream that i am so desperately hoping becomes a reality this year. 

a goal that scares me is getting a therapist. i put it on my new years goals and here we are, almost march and i am no closer to reaching that goal. there are lots of things about therapy that are scary, being vulnerable mostly. and also the fear that i am going to open a can of worms that i can’t put back. and at the same time, i am afraid i am going to do the same thing i did last time - convince my therapist i was completely healed and didn’t need her help anymore to make her feel like she did a good job. probably one of the most toxic people pleasing i have ever done.... yikes. so this year, i want to be vulnerable and open with a therapist- and truly learn from them. 

what do you want to be a student of in the new year?

i want to be the student of self-love this year. i feel like i have so much to learn from her, and truly so much to gain. as i am on this journey of ~weight loss~ healthy living i want to learn how to truly love myself- in all the forms that i take. one of the childhood and teen traumas that i carry around is self-loathing for my physical body, and extreme uncomfortableness i feel inside of her. my body was different than i thought it should be, and i never felt thin or pretty enough. even though looking back i could not have been any thinner without blowing away. as i try and lose some weight to get back to a healthy range, its so tempting to chase that skinniness that seems closer than ever now. i don’t ever want to think about my body in a good or bad way again, the same with food. i want it all to be neutral and purposeful. i don’t want body positivity, i just want body neutrality. i want to be comfortable and unbothered. i want to take pictures and look for the joy and not be hyperfocused on the rolls. 

a quote that i am taking with me on this journey - 

“what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written, or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your things were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juice creative life of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? it’s going to break your heart. don’t let this happen.” - author unknown

who in your life deserves the biggest thank you for this year?

i am thankful for karl because of his understanding of me. i am thankful for mikaela for being a rock in my life and a cheerleader. i am thankful for silka because she offers more love than i know what to do with. i am thankful for alexa because she pushes me to be a better person. i am thankful for my mom, and her patience with me as i grow. i am thankful for my dad, and the hands-off role he has taken in my life. i am thankful for the friends that were patient and kind with me this year as i stayed away from most of them. 

what can you thank yourself for this year?

i am thankful for the resiliency and grit it took to get through this year. feeling extremely burnt-out, from the pandemic, from social work and from life. managed to get a new job which is furthering my career in the healthcare field, managing to save a little money to buy a house. making it through the panic attacks and crying in the car at the thought of the losses in my life. thankfulness for the home that i have in myself, and the peace and safety i offer myself to be who i am and to encourage growth. 

what have you outgrown this year?

i have outgrown pointless complaining. life is what you make it (to some degree) and i am choosing joy where i can and peace towards things i cannot affect. 

what is an important boundary to set in the new year?

it is important to me this year to set emotional boundaries this year and create language to protect myself when i find myself trying to fix my partner and getting into old negative habits. 

what’s a memory from this past year that makes you smile just thinking about it?

now this one’s a bit challenging because of the pandemic and social tension of this year, but i am choosing to focus on the personal good that happened in my life. 

january- three way kiss with mariah and alexa. iceskating in CVS field with dalton. getting naked in the woods at taylors falls. 

february - tall heights concert. drinks at cowboys with emily, alexa, sarah and meghan. raincloud and strawberry tattoos. 

march - up/down bar with jaden and silka-getting mexican at 3am. cuddles on the couch with hippo while everyone was gone over spring break. drinking wine and looking at art at bethel. christian living on our couch- hiking afton. our neighbor mark gets his dog ella. 

april- doordashing with knute- danny davito picture. staying with karl and mikaela for 3 weeks. getting drunk with jimu // garage door beer challenge. getting to ride on todd’s motorcycle. 

may- seeing juneau for the first time. knute’s “just friends” instagram post. biking along st. croix with john. fishing with jaden at rapidan dam. lilac bushes blooming at the ranch. alexa’s graduation surprise. rollerblading... canoeing lake iduhapi with callie, sam, alexa and knute and smearing ourselves in charcoal. eating chinese and drinking wine for alexa’s birthday. 

june- watching the dad’s try and fit our couch into the house. GFS- nightwatches, curfews. birthday bagels on the balcony. celebration at camp iduhapi. biking in northfield with jen. adopting juneau! bringing her everywhere with me. fathers day with john eating tacos. breonna taylor march. getting drenched walking around bdemakaska. 

july- bee’s knees tattoo. cabin trip to barnum lake with alexa and jen. celebrating anthony’s birthday with alexa and erin (moving the gravestone). duluth trip with sam, knute and lea - jumping into lake superior. trip to padre island with john-getting way too burnt to function. chic fil a drivethrough with juneau. 

august- camping trip with mikaela -attempt to get into canada and immediatly denied. murder mystery at emily’s house. rain on the patio for emily’s birthday. golden retriever puppies. dinner date with emma downtown minneapolis. annual brule trip- flipped the canoe. 

september - alexa and i take a fake trip to ny. celebrating john’s birthday. visiting jeff’s farm. celebrating jen’s birthday in northfield. shooting pumpkins with jen. another trip up to barnum lake with karl, mikaela and seth. minnehaha trip with emma. jack’s apple farm trip. 

october- camp trip, reffing football. making apple crisp. murder mystery night for sarah’s birthday. thrifting outdoor outlet with emma and lea. hanging with ozzy the cat. photoshoot with alexa and hippo. halloween party at caitlin’s house- being velma and daphne with alexa. 

november - start working at bluestone. dinner at pub in minneapolis with jen where we die laughing. winning monopoly with callie and tyler. hiawatha hike with alexa. thanksgiving at silka’s. 

december - giving the cats a bath. accidentally breaking into a cemetery with alexa. muffin’s christmas photoshoot. christmas at jens. sea world with molly, kody and kids, seth, john, k&m -forcing ourselves to watch blackfish the next day. tattoos! hammocking by the river. almost running into the elementary school on jimu’s dirtbike. 

[fallingstarstuff]

Chapter 25 (WIP)

This is a preview of Chapter 25 (well, more like the first 2/3rds of it) and it is a work in progress, so some wording may change in the final cut. Also Tumblr ate all the formatting and I’m to lazy too put it back in, so just imagine italics in all the right spots.

Full fic on AO3: From the Mouth of an Injured Head

For @cipher-the-sidhe

 - - - - - - -

You had so many questions.

In that moment, none of them mattered.

Gaster shuffled inside your apartment while you clung to him with your legs dangling, his arms wrapped securely around you while nudging the door shut behind him with a foot.

Gaster had feet.

The hand that wasn’t holding the bundle of weeds rubbed soothing circles on your back, but you could not stop crying. Your joy at seeing him was a very fragile and perilous thing, made of spun glass and inches from turning to dust. Part of you was convinced this wasn’t real. 

Stars, let this be real.

You could feel hard bones pressed against your body under the lab coat. No longer was he an amorphous dripping mass of shadows. Skeletal arms, ribs, the knobs of his spine, all of it so strange and unfamiliar. He even smelled different, or rather you registered a scent where there was nothing before. He smelled of ozone, old books and magic. 

Your sobs waned, hiccups taking their place and you felt Gaster bend down, his spine bowing, to set you on the floor. Your fingers tightened their grip on his lab coat, not wanting to let go. His head turned, reassuring kisses dusting your neck, and after a few moments your arms slowly unwound, falling back to your sides.

Gaster straightened up, smiling down at you in an abashed way that didn’t reach his eye sockets. 

<I apologize for taking so long to return, the journey here was far longer than I expected.>

You shook your head, still trying to take him in with wide eyes, “I don’t understand.” you whispered. “It worked?”

<Yes, perhaps not precisely as intentioned, but as you can see...> He gestured almost grandly to himself, the success of the extraction process self-evident, <I am sure there is much explaining to be done, I cannot imagine what the experience must have been like from this side.> he glanced around your apartment, noting the machine that was ripped apart in your hallway and the huge chunks of wall missing as well as the scorched and warped platform. The scene of destruction curved his mouth into a confounded frown.

Despite the litany of questions you meant to ask, somehow the first one out of your mouth was: “Why do you have a bunch of weeds?” you rasped, pointing at the greenery. There were dandelions, queen anne’s lace, and buttercups, all slightly wilted clutched in his hand.

Gaster flushed, and you noted that the color blooming on his skull was not the muted lilac you were used to, but a several shades closer to violet. <I had read that humans offer bouquets of flowers as tokens of affection. Unfortunately the options available along the road were quite limited.>

He held out the bunch of foliage, and you couldn’t help the broken laugh that escaped you, nor the slow, tired smile as you accepted the hastily constructed “bouquet”. “Thank you. You are too sweet. I don’t have a vase or-” you blinked, your exhausted mind sluggish to process his words. “What road?”

<The road down from Mount Ebott. I will speak with Doctor Alphys but clearly the procedure did not go entirely as planned and the convergence point collapsed. When I was ejected from the void I was flung out of the most proximal convergence point to this one.> he paused, waiting for you to find the answer, like his favorite pupil who always knew just what to say next.

You didn’t.

You were so tired.

Your head throbbed.

You SOUL hurt.

<...I exited the grey door in the Underground.> he provided the answer when you did not respond, eye sockets narrowing. His phalanges gripped your chin, tilting your head up so he could examine you closely and critically for the first time since he arrived. You were sure he was alarmed by what he saw. You could hardly stand to look at your own reflection, skin paler than ever, bloodshot eyes, and bruises under them. Chapped lips, wild-maned, broken.

“I look like shit.” you supplied, knowing he would never say that, even if he concurred.

<You look like you haven’t slept.> he signed, concern growing.

“‘Cause I haven’t.”

<Alex, it’s been two days.> His skull contorted with dismay.

“I thought you were dead!” you cried, voice splintering as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Gasters eye sockets widened, taken aback. “Everyone thinks you’re gone. I couldn’t feel you and there weren’t any readings and Sans said I killed you!”

He dropped down to one knee, lowering himself so he could hug you again as you broke down into tears, pulling you against his ribcage and softly stroking his phalanges through your tangled hair. Your weeping almost instantly slowed, soothed by his presence alone. He wasn’t dead, he was here, he was out of the void, he was here with you.

<I don’t understand, I can still sense you now, clearer than ever. It was how I navigated my way here. The link between our SOULs should still be there...May I see your SOUL?> he signed as he reluctantly pulled back.

You nodded, wiping your eyes with your palm and bracing yourself. The embers in your chest flared like they’d been exposed to fresh oxygen as you drew your SOUL out, hissing in pain through clenched teeth.

Gaster gasped, his bones rattling.

It was worse than you could have imagined.

The normally vivid blue was dull, no longer the bright glowing radiance that made your surroundings seem dim in comparison. Instead splotches of ashen grey mottled the surface, obscuring the usual luminosity giving your SOUL the appearance of being diseased. Of course it felt like it burned, but you hadn’t expected it to look like it too.

<What did you do!?> To say Gaster was horrified would be an understatement.

You shrugged, “Pulled you out of the void, apparently.”

There was an incredulous pause, then, <...What!?>

“The machine broke,” you gestured at the mangled device, “So I guess I got you out myself. Things got really foggy there at the end. I think I hit my head.”

He shook his skull, utterly dismayed at your flippant response. Swiftly, he took the flowers from your hands, dumping them on the counter and without warning, scooped you up, one long arm under your back, the other tucked under your knees as he stood back up and held you in an effortless princess carry.

<Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to do this?> he signed with summoned hands, looking rather irate as he walked towards your bedroom, stepping over broken machinery.

“Carry me off to bed?” you said with an attempt at a cheesy grin, the expression marred by your exhaustion.

<Hold you, like this,> he corrected, <and I wish it were under any other circumstances. I have not seen a SOUL Burn so severe in all my years, how are you still standing!?>

“Alphys didn’t seem too worried.”

<Had she misplaced her glasses!?> he signed, outraged.

“Nah, I did actually, couldn’t find them anywhere... I didn’t give her a chance to look at my SOUL. Kicked them all out. Started cleaning. Didn’t stop.” you muttered. 

<If you were a monster you would likely be dust. You nonchalance at this is deeply troubling, can you not feel the pain?>

“It does hurt. Feels like fire in my chest.”

<And you haven’t slept. I take it you haven’t eaten either. Have you had anything to drink??>

“Sorry.” you murmured, leaning your head against his bony shoulder. 

<No apologizing.> he tutted, shaking his head, <Humans are truly remarkable creatures.>

He laid you down on the bed, propping pillows under your back so you remained upright. Part of you wanted to object to being coddled but another part would have let him do whatever the hell he wanted. Let him dote on you, let him fuss. Whatever made him happy, whatever let him stay.

Which was why you tried to get out of bed to chase after him as he attempted to depart your bedroom, and he rounded on you with an uncommon amount of anger.

<Stay.> he signed sharply, pressing you back down against the bed, one large hand splayed over your chest. <I am only going to be a minute.> His expression softened, <Rest, please. It is my fault you are in this state->

“This isn’t your fault!” you yelled.

<We both know that is far from the truth.>

“Please don’t leave me, I don’t know if this is real, I can’t feel you.” your voice was trembling now.

He leaned down, kissing your forehead. <It is very real, I assure you. I will be right back. Please, stay here.>

“...Kiss me first.” you ordered, eyes hard.

He arched a brow bone at you. <I just did.>

“No, properly.” You were never like this. Needy and burdensome, sure, but it was rare you demanded something of him. But you needed to feel him, to know this wasn’t just a particularly vivid dream. And if you couldn’t sense him with your SOUL, well, this method would suffice.

Gaster was never one to deny you, and so his long fingers slowly curled along your jaw, tiling your face towards him and his skull lowered to meet your lips with his. This was the same, familiar in all the ways his restored form was not, soft lips against hard bone. And when your lips parted in an open invitation he did not waste a second, his tongue delving into your mouth, heatedly gliding over your own.

This was very different.

There was no icy cold. No strange shifting shadows, but a solid warmth, his tongue slick and buzzing with the unmistakable frisson of magic. Like fire whiskey, like a tingle of electricity, lighting your nerves, even your charred SOUL lurched in your chest from shock. 

You squealed a surprised sound at the unexpected sensation, and before you could manage to pull away, his hand swiftly snaked around to the back of your neck, fingers woven through your hair as he cradled your head and kept you firmly in place. Insistently, yet not without tenderness, he kept kissing you, allowing you to feel and understand that he had changed. Even this act, this thing you had loved and found comfort in, would not be the same as it once was. But it was him. Undeniably, it was Gaster, he was here. A tension in your frame relaxed and you finally reciprocated, a tangle of tongues and lips and breath as you felt him sigh in relief.

Slowly he drew back, looking into your eyes, searching for a sign of alarm or discomfort. He wouldn’t find even a hint. 

<Please, let me take care of you.> he signed, fingers carding through your hair.

You relented with a nod, and true to his word Gaster was gone and back in short order, fussing over you once again. He had water that he made you drink, and some nearly expired granola bars he’d raided from the very back of your snack stash, probably the only pre-packaged food he could manage to find that was remotely healthy.

“I’m not hungry.” you murmured.

<You need food if your SOUL is to heal.> holding the opened package out to you sternly.

Reluctantly you ate, the food flavorless and tasting no better than ash.

<I would like to attempt to administer healing magic to your SOUL, if you will allow it.> he signed, sitting next to you on the bed. 

“Your magic is back?” you asked. It should have been obvious, if he was no longer in the void, it would stand to reason his magic would have returned to him.

<I have not yet attempted to utilize any, this will be a field experiment.> he signed with a wry grin, <May I?>

You nodded, and with a wince, drew out your damaged SOUL again. He examined it closely, phalanges hovering over the surface but never making contact with the core of your being.

The ring-shaped pupil in his left eye socket lit up a brilliant ultraviolet shade.

Then, for the first time, you felt Gaster’s magic.

It was completely novel. You were familiar with Sans and Papyrus and how their magic wove about them, but Gaster’s was very far removed from theirs. Very far removed from your own. If Papyrus was a steady stream, you a flame, and Sans a veritable firestorm, Gaster was...highly structured. Rhythmic and orderly. Layers of magic that conformed to perfect, precise arrangements.

It was like music.

Warmth and green light spilled forth from his fingers and you gasped, shuddering as his magic poured directly into your SOUL. Stars that felt so good. Like your SOUL was submerged in warm water, seeping in and soothing all of the damage your outburst of magic had inadvertently wrought. There was a sort of pressure there too, like a firm hug, or being swaddled in warmth. It was hard to translate what your SOUL felt into physical sensations, that magical core just too far removed from the physical matter of nerves and flesh. Those sensations were overwhelming after only a few moments, and you felt Gaster’s hand hold yours after you screwed your eyes shut and tried to remember how to pull air into your lungs properly.

It could have been a few minutes or a few hours by the time his magic abated, your SOUL slipping back into your chest and your breaths a shaky series of pants.

<How do you feel?>

“Mmmelty...” you slurred, “Like goop...” 

He smirked, then stifled a yawn behind a hollow hand, and you watched him, fascinated.

“You’re tired.” you said, awed and wide-eyed.

<It would appear so, yes. I believe I am long overdue for a nap.> he grinned.

You matched it, perhaps a little more conniving. “You’re sleeping here with me.”

<I would think not.> he quickly retorted, his grin slipping quickly into a frown, <You need your rest. I’ll sleep on the couch.>

“Like hell you will.” you responded hotly. You doubted he would even fit without his feet hanging off the end, “You’re staying with me. My house, my rules, and tonight I need my boyfriend here with me.”

He stared with raised brow bones at your declaration, as if waiting for you to correct yourself.

You did not.

<I haven’t any other clothes.> he weakly objected.

“So?”

<I would rather not sleep in this coat.>

“So take it off.” you said, like it was obvious.

<I am not wearing a shirt underneath.>

“Oh.” Was he shy?

<I don’t want make you uncomfortable.>

...Stupid, stupid skeleton.

“Gaster I swear to god, if you don’t get in this bed in the next five seconds I will use my magic on you, I don’t care what state my SOUL is in.” 

He sighed, hastily unbuttoning his lab coat, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his slacks, both carelessly tossed to the floor to reveal boxers with a little bone print pattern. It also revealed his bones, and you couldn’t help your eyes roving over his new (or perhaps old) form. He looked just as one would imagine, an animated skeleton with a broken skull, but it was so very strange to see the monster you’d fallen in love with appear this way.

“Cute.” you commented pointing at his boxers, and he rolled his eyelights. 

<I had to pilfer through my old office in the lab, it would seem everyone forgot it existed when they forgot me. My options for clothing were considerably limited.>

He crawled into bed with you, mattress dipping down with his additional weight, and you situated yourself against him. You didn’t have much choice, he was huge, taking up much of the space.

<Are you sure this is ok? I can wait until you fall asleep and go to the couch.>

“Does this bother you?” you asked, glancing up at his wary eyelights. 

<What do you mean?>

“Am I offending your modesty?”

<Not particularly...I thought you were afraid of skeletons.> 

“Not this one.” you answered simply, fingers lazily trailing over the bones of his arm in a tired sort of fascination. “Never you.” He wore the fondest of smiles then, carefully running his fingers through your messy hair, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy.

“Wanna make it even?” you murmured, words slightly slurred as you fought to stay awake.

You heard him make a sleepy ‘Hmm?’ sound, and felt it through his ribs, a low and deep hum that made a strange heat curl in your belly. 

You reached for the hem of your shirt, grabbing a fistfull of the fabric and tugging it up your body--

Quicker than you could track, his bones clamped around your wrist, pulling your hand right back down, your shirt along with it. Gaster’s skull was a blazing amethyst, and his eyelights were dim little pinpricks.  

<No. That will not be necessary.> You could hear his breath shuddering slightly, and you thought you might have heard a quiet rattle of bones.

“No fun.” you mumbled, rolling onto your side and tucking yourself securely against him. He was, well, bony. Hard and solid against you, perhaps not the most comfortable bedmate. You hardly cared, he was here, you were not alone.

<Will you please sleep now?> he asked, perhaps a little amused and exasperated at your antics.

“‘s long as you’re here, yeah.” you drowsed, words thick. “Thought I lost you.” Your eyes slipped closed and you could no longer read his signs, but you could feel unfamiliar arms made of bones wrap around you, and very familiar lips pressed against your temple. 

“...Love you.”

You were asleep within seconds.

You did not dream.

[blackphoenixalchemylab]

Surprise! Frankenstein Scents Return for One Night Only

We love to keep our regular Lunacy attendees on their toes! This Friday’s open-house event at the Lab will be no exception. We’ve unearthed (you might say exhumed) the boxes containing our FRANKENSTEIN scent collection from Yule 2011, and will be selling these bottles on Friday night for $26. That’s in person only -- these will not be going live on our site. 

We appear to have every single one of these blends, in limited quantity. Want someone to pick one up for you? Tell them to go here:

BLACK PHOENIX ALCHEMY LAB 12120 Sherman Way North Hollywood, CA 91605 6-9pm

Don’t forget, Dark Delicacies will be joining as our guest vendor, and they’ll be stocked with copies of Elsa Lanchester, Herself -- the autobiography penned by the actress who played both The Bride of Frankenstein and Mary Shelley in the 1935 film. (Visit Haute Macabre to see how you can win a free copy!)

The scent descriptions for our resurrected bottles are below. See you Friday!

AMIABLE AND LOVELY CREATURES

Sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathizing with my feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.

Amiable and lovely creatures: honey and rosewater with fig, patchouli, night-blooming jasmine, and white almond.

BEAUTIFUL AND ADORED They consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents’ house–my more than sister–the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.

Beautiful and adored: rose musk, white gardenia, English pear, vanilla bean, red currant, and honey.

A BLOT UPON THE EARTH Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of the same nature as man. I was more agile than they and could subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around I saw and heard of none like me. Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?

A blot upon the earth: black plum, Spanish moss, opoponax, davana, vetiver, and opium poppy.

BREATHLESS HORROR I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters, I beheld the wretch –the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life.

Breathless horror: icy white musk and thick olibanum with niaouli, carrot seed, white mint, and camphor.

A COMPANION OF THE SAME NATURE “If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us again: I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myself, and will be content with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on man, and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards me, I now see compassion in your eyes; me seize the favourable moment, and persuade you to promise what. I so ardently desire.”

A companion of the same nature: skin musk, red rose petals, mums, carnations, white linen, and sunlit amber on a bed of soft dry leaves.

THE COUNTRY OF ETERNAL LIGHT I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There — for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators — there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may regulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent forever. I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.

The country of eternal light: icy wind, depth hoar, and frost-limned lichen.

DAYS AND NIGHTS IN VAULTS AND CHARNEL HOUSES Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become food for the worm. Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of this decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.

Days and nights in vaults and charnel houses: grave soil, necrophagous insect chitins, moss, mold, dried blood, rot, dirt-smeared wool, and sweat-drenched citrus lilac aftershave.

THE DEEPEST MYSTERIES OF CREATION So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein-more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.

The deepest mysteries of creation: wild frankincense, rose otto, hyssop, and oudh.

A DENSE AND FRIGHTFUL DARKNESS The cup of life was poisoned forever; and although the sun shone upon me as upon the happy and gay of heart, I saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes they were the expressive eyes of Henry languishing in death, the dark orbs nearly covered by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster as I first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.

A dense and frightful darkness: black musk, vetiver, myrrh, opoponax, hemp, crushed sage, oakmoss, and tobacco.

A DREARY NIGHT OF NOVEMBER It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful!–Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

A dreary night of November: bone-white sandalwood, ink-black vetiver, Spanish moss, bitter clove, beeswax, and lotus root.

THE HORRORS OF MY SECRET TOIL Who shall conceive the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless clay?

The horrors of my secret toil: vetiver and rose.

INEXTINGUISHABLE HATRED “You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my archenemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth.”

Inextinguishable hatred: red ginger and black opoponax with black pepper, stinging neroli, myrrh, and tobacco absolute.

INSUPPORTABLE MISERY “Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery. “When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a staglike swiftness. Oh! What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and finding myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin. “But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.

Insupportable misery: violet leaf, saffron, gunpowder tea, bruised lilac, and despairing lavender.

THE MOON GAZED ON MY MIDNIGHT LABOURS These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking with unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my person had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very brink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the next day or the next hour might realise. One secret which I alone possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places. Who shall conceive the horrors of my secret toil, as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps of the grave, or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless clay? My limbs now tremble and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but then a resistless, and almost frantic, impulse urged me forward; I seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed but a passing trance that only made me feel with renewed acuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had returned to my old habits.

The moon gazed on my midnight labours: Moroccan musk, black opium poppy, clove, and orris root.

MOCKING THE INVISIBLE WORLD WITH ITS OWN SHADOWS After having made a few preparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall never forget: “The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.

Mocking the invisible world with its own shadows: olibanum and murky ambergris accord with verbena, white sandalwood, and wisteria.

PALE STUDENT OF UNHALLOWED ARTS I saw-with shut eyes, but acute mental vision-I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half-vital motion. Frightful must it be, for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavor to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world.

A pale student of unhallowed arts: fading Georgian cologne and split O3 molecules.

PRIDE OF WISDOM As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated. “You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should make up your mind to disappointment.” “That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.” I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium. “Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.”

The pride of wisdom: Roman chamomile, rosehips, ginseng, and fig.

THE REWARD OF MY BENEVOLENCE “I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at my body and fired. I sank to the ground, and my injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood. This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being from destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.”

The reward of my benevolence: boneflower, olive blossom, white sandalwood, clary sage, Himalayan cedar, and oakmoss

SOLITARY AND ABHORRED Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. `Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. `Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even YOU turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.

Solitary and abhorred: carrot seed, East Indian patchouli, white tea, and peru balsam.

SORROWFUL AFFECTION The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning, and her countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her feelings, exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she worked up her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were seated. A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest her utter guiltlessness.

Sorrowful affection: lily of the valley, tuberose, pink carnation, green tea absolute, orange zest, bourbon geranium, and blue musk.

TILL DEATH Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor–tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine–mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me–my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.

Till death: white rose, black locust blossom, French magnolia, globe amaranth, iris root, and honeysuckle.

A TORRENT OF LIGHT When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it. Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable difficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether I should attempt the creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organisation; but my imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful as man. The materials at present within my command hardly appeared adequate to so arduous an undertaking; but I doubted not that I should ultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my operations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be imperfect: yet, when I considered the improvement which every day takes place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present attempts would at least lay the foundations of future success. Nor could I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any argument of its impracticability. It was with these feelings that I began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts formed a great hinderance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature; that is to say, about eight feet in height, and proportionably large. After having formed this determination, and having spent some months in successfully collecting and arranging my materials, I began.

No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. Pursuing these reflections, I thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.

A torrent of light: eucalyptus petals, white mint, white amber, and ozone.

WORKSHOP OF FILTHY CREATION I collected bones from charnel-houses and disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase, I kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from their sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The dissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials; and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation, whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.

The workshop of filthy creation: electricity-scarred cypress beams, ancient stone slabs, damp metal, the coppery tang of coagulating blood, and ozone.

[kitashiwrites]

Wave Upon The Sand - A Tarquin Fic

Series: A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas Characters: Tarquin, Cresseida, Varian, Feyre, Rhysand, Amren POV: Tarquin Rating: T Word Count: 3503 Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9818336

Summary: Chapter 32 of ACOMAF from Tarquin’s POV.

**May be continued! Read the note at the beginning :)**

Tarquin has received a request from the Night Court for the High Lord, Rhysand, and his courtiers to visit the Summer Court, stating that he has information regarding a potential threat from Hybern. For a new High Lord without solid allies, this could be a good move… or one he could possibly regret for centuries to come.

Comments: TARQUIN! I don’t know if anyone else has done anything from his POV yet?  Either way, I’ve loved this idea ever since it was requested by Emily on my Ao3, but actually figuring out what to do was hard. I knew it had to be the Summer Court, but how much? Would people actually be interested in this? So I am leaving it up to you, the readers, how far I take this. If you would like to see the rest of the Summer Court visit from his POV, I will continue it. Or if not, I’ll leave it as is. All you have do is let me know!

Either way, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. :) Thank you guys for the comments and kudos on Ao3, and the likes and reblogs here! I don’t tell you all enough how much I appreciate you guys <3

A big thanks (as always), to the best tumblr bestie in the whole wide world, @illyriantremors, who is always my biggest cheerleader and I appreciate more than I can say <3<3<3

—

“Absolutely not!” Cresseida snapped.

I let out a sigh of frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Cresseida—”

“No! I will not allow you to let that traitorous whore and his court into Adriata. You owe him nothing.”

“We owe the Cursebreaker,” I argued, “and we do owe Rhysand our lives for not outing us as rebels when he clearly saw it!” This meeting had been going on for hours, and not for the first time, I wished I sat where Varian sat—a Captain and a Prince again, able to take off to sea at will, and not deciding whether we would meet with the man who had stood at the left hand of Amarantha.

Cresseida threw up her hands. “Why are we even having this meeting if you aren’t going to listen to a word we say?”

I sat back in my chair. “That’s what I would like to know, seeing as you are the one who wanted to have it in the first place.”

“Tarquin is right, sister,” Varian interjected. “We do owe the Cursebreaker. It is just our unfortunate luck that she is with the Night Court.”

“How do we know that isn’t just him manipulating her?” She turned to me. “You said yourself that he melted our courtier’s mind. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do it to her to—”

“Cresseida,” I said firmly. “They are coming tomorrow. I see no better way to test if Rhysand’s request for a meeting and possible alliance is genuine. If he does anything untoward to anyone while he’s here, we will have justice.” I let out a sigh. “We don’t have many options. The last fifty years have left us all trying to recover—”

“We can recover just fine without that monstrous court,” she said stubbornly.

“You weren’t there!” I snapped, my patience running thin. “You cannot possibly imagine what it was like to watch that, and know that all it would have taken for me to befall the same fate would have been one look from Rhysand. And the Cursebreaker’s title speaks for itself. If you will not play nice for another High Lord, at least try not to embarrass us in front of the one who saved us all.” I was probably being too harsh, but Cresseida had the decency to look embarrassed nonetheless. Varian cleared his throat.

“While it is true we weren’t there, Rhysand’s reputation still stands. Are you sure this is a wise move?”

No. I wasn’t sure of anything. That’s why I’d appointed my siblings as my advisors—to keep me from making ignorant moves. But somehow, I still ended up reining them in sometimes. It was a vicious cycle.

As if she’d sensed my thoughts, Cresseida asked nonchalantly, “I wonder if Tamlin is aware how close she will be to his lands.”

“Cresseida,” I warned. The last thing we needed was to be the ones instigating a war between Spring and Night. For all that one or the other might consider us allies depending on who we helped, I couldn’t get rid of the nagging animosity I felt for our southern neighbor. It was Tamlin’s inaction that made it so we had to rebel. It was our own mistakes that got us caught, but had there been some kind of effort for the remaining courts to go against her…

But that was in the past. We now had the freedom and the luxury to ponder the what-ifs, and right now, we had the chance to gain an ally of one of the most powerful courts in Prythian.

“I’m simply saying we don’t know that Rhysand didn’t kidnap her,” Cresseida continued, clearly having taken my silence as an opportunity to try to convince me. “Tamlin has been beside himself, if the rumors are to be believed. I somehow doubt after all she went through to free him that she would suddenly just abandon him.”

“Why are you paying any mind to rumors from the Spring Court?” I asked, my irritation growing.

“I simply do not want to be caught off guard if we are asked about her.”

It was Varian who answered this time. “Cresseida, do not go courting trouble.”

I let out a sigh and slumped in my chair as the conversation, and thus the bickering, started all over again.

~~

The day passed by rather quickly, turning into the hour of their arrival before I knew it. I now waited with my siblings at the entryway to the palace for our guests, who would be here any moment. There was a nice sea breeze, but there was no denying it was a warm day, even for Adriata. I wondered how long we would be standing here waiting. My only real interactions with Rhysand had thankfully been from a distance Under the Mountain, but this meant I didn’t really know what to expect from him when it came to punctuality.

And speak of the devil himself, there they were.

Rhysand winnowed into sight, standing between two women, each with a hand in his. A short, raven haired woman dressed in grey, and the other—

The last time I’d seen this woman, she’d been a mortal whose neck had been snapped by Amarantha for daring to challenge her and winning. She’d been resurrected, Made into a High Fae. The Cursebreaker herself. She snatched her hand away from the High Lord, a scowl on her face.

“Welcome to Adriata,” I said, eyeing my guests.

“Good to see you again, Tarquin,” Rhysand drawled. He looked almost exactly as I remembered him, down to his midnight black outfit. The only difference was the tan that now colored his skin, and the considerable power I could feel in the air around him. He could hide his power well, but for another High Lord… it was still clearly there. I began to wonder if I had made a bigger mistake than I’d realized, letting him into my court.

But he could have outed me Under the Mountain. He could have had my entire court wiped out with merely a word, tortured… and he didn’t. And despite all the alarm bells ringing in my head, I chose in that moment to give him a chance.

He gestured to the tiny woman next to him, inspecting her sharp looking nails. “Amren, I think you know. Though you haven’t met her since your… promotion.”

I gave her a small nod. One would be remiss to forget the unnerving, silver eyed woman that I now remembered was Rhysand’s Second. He wasn’t fooling around. “Welcome back to the city, lady.” She didn’t nod, or bow, or so much as curtsy. She looked me over appraisingly, as though she were eyeing her next meal.

“At least you are far more handsome than your cousin. He was an eyesore.” Her red lips stretched wide as her gaze shifted behind me. “Condolences, of course.” I wasn’t quite sure how to answer this… could it be considered a compliment? The Night Court clearly had a different way of interacting than we did in Summer. I could only imagine the look Cresseida was giving them right now.

Rhysand gestured to the Cursebreaker. “I don’t believe you two were ever formally introduced Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Feyre. Feyre, Tarquin.” A very informal formal introduction. But even though I’d hardly spoken to her before this, really only thanking her for saving us, there was still something so familiar feeling about her. I fixed my gaze on her, keeping the political mask that Varian and Cresseida insisted I needed to use with them in place. Her expression was the same, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that Cresseida might not have been entirely wrong about Rhysand controlling her.

Dressed in a flowing lilac and pearl dress, and her brassy hair in curls, Feyre was clearly prepared for our court’s weather and looked like she would fit right in. However, there were hints of the Night Court in her dress—night blooming flowers, specifically. Subtle enough to be overlooked, but still spoke volumes. I couldn’t help but letting my gaze wander to the plunging neckline of her gown, accentuating her figure attractively.

Rhysand had clearly noticed. “Her breasts are rather spectacular, aren’t they? Delicious as ripe apples.”

I didn’t like the possessive tone that was lightly woven into that statement, but wondered if that was his way of letting me know hands off.

Feyre slid her gaze to him, keeping her face neutral. “Here I was, thinking you had a fascination with my mouth.” The look of surprised delight that crossed his face made me rethink my suspicion, but I still remained wary.

“You have a tale to tell, it seems,” I said finally.

“We have many tales to tell,” Rhysand said, jerking his head towards the glass doors behind me. “So why not get comfortable.”

“We have refreshments prepared,” Cresseida said. I suddenly realized I had never introduced my Court. An amateur’s mistake. I placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Cresseida—Princess of Adriata,” I said, trying to correct my mistake. Cresseida took a step forward.

“A pleasure,” she murmured. “And an honor.”

Feyre shrugged in an almost perfect imitation of Rhysand. “The honor is mine, princess.”

I hastily introduced the rest of our courtiers and Varian, in hopes of moving us along, though Varian kept his eyes fixed wholly on Rhysand’s Second, his stance wary at best and hostile at worst. The small woman returned his glare with a smile of feral delight. Thankfully, it didn’t progress any further, and soon we were walking into the palace. Rhysand walked next to me, his companions falling into step behind him.

“Nynsar approaches soon,” Rhysand said suddenly. “Have you decided what flowers you’re going to decorate with?” It was such an odd question, and so… normal. His letter had been more urgent of a request, stating that he had information regarding a potential uprising from Hybern. While I would never allow them to dock in my port after Amarantha, it never hurt to be prepared in the event they tried to force my hand.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet,” I said carefully, not sure where he was going with this. “I imagine Cresseida has some ideas, though I’m sure there will at least be some hibiscus and water lilies. And you?”

“Jasmine,” he said matter of factly. “Maybe something else, but for us, the real show will be in the sky, so not many will be caring about the flowers around them.” Indeed, I’d heard the stories of Nynsar in the Night Court—Starfall, they called it. It was supposed to be one of the most beautiful sights in Prythian. Our conversation died off, neither of us really knowing what to talk about. It was hard to converse when the last time you had seen each other, you had been reveling in the freedom you’d been denied for half a century. I looked behind me. The group followed us, with my siblings bringing up the rear. Feyre wasn’t far from Rhysand or Amren, but seemed… distracted.

“We have four main cities in my territory,” I said to her over my shoulder, trying to be a good host. It was her first visit here after all. “We spend the last month of winter and first spring months in Adriata—it’s finest at this time of year.”

She nodded. “It’s very beautiful.” Her tone was sincere as far as I could tell, but I couldn’t help staring at her. That… something… it was still there. I couldn’t place what it was, and I was sure before this visit was over, I’d either ask her or go insane.

“The repairs have been going well, I take it,” Rhysand said suddenly, hauling my attention back to him.

“Mostly,” I admitted. “There remains much to be done. The back half of the castle is a wreck. But, as you can see, we’ve finished most of the inside. We focused on the city first—and those repairs are ongoing.”

“I hope no valuables were lost due its occupation,” he said. Another odd question, but from the expression on his face, it seemed innocent.

“Not the most important things, thank the Mother,” I said honestly. I could feel the eyes of my advisors on me, each one digging into my back. As they peeled away, making excuses to go do other duties, I wondered if I had done something wrong. But now was not the time to worry about that. I smiled at them as best I could, and led our guests into the dining room. Feyre walked right past the table, as though she hadn’t even seen it, and stood at the windows that overlooked to the bay and the sea that lay beyond. “This is my favorite view,” I said to her, seeing the awe on her face as I moved to stand next to her. I looked out at the water again. It really was—it was one of the first places I went to see when we returned to the palace after starting the rebuilding effort in the city, and it would likely be my last stop when we left for the season.

“You must be very proud,” she said, “to have such stunning lands.”

I slid my gaze over to hers. “How do they compare to the ones you have seen?”

“Everything in Prythian is lovely, when compared to the mortal realm,” she said dully—a diplomatic answer.

“And is being immortal lovelier than being human?” I asked.

She turned to me and looked at me up and down, brazenly and without a shred of politeness said, “You tell me.”

Any worries I’d had that her mind was being controlled by Rhysand were gone. This was the fire I’d seen in the mortal woman Under the Mountain. No one could replicate that so flawlessly, not even Rhysand. I smiled genuinely at her. “You are a pearl. Though I knew that the day you threw that bone at Amarantha and splattered mud on her favorite dress.”

“I do not remember you being quite so handsome Under the Mountain. The sunlight and sea suit you,” she said flirtatiously. If this had been anyone else, I’d probably have been embarrassed by the comment, even flattered. But this was the woman who had been a part of two other courts in the span of a year, and the favorite of both of their High Lords.

“How, exactly, do you fit in within Rhysand’s court?” I asked baldly. If she could be frank, then so would I. It was so much more honest, and a better way to negotiate.

She looked uncertain of her answer, but before I could press further, Rhysand’s voice rang out from the table, as if he’d heard every word—somehow I didn’t doubt he had. “Feyre is a member of my Inner Circle. And is my Emissary to the Mortal Lands.”

Cresseida, seated beside him, asked, “Do you have much contact with the mortal realm?” Feyre took this opportunity Cresseida had unwittingly given her, and moved to the table to sit next to Rhysand’s Second, away from me and directly across from Rhysand.

Rhysand sniffed at his wine, to the clear chagrin  of Cresseida. “I prefer to be prepared for every potential situation. And given that Hybern seems set on making themselves a nuisance, striking up a conversation with the humans might be in our best interest.”

Varian drew his focus away from Rhysand’s Second. “So it’s been confirmed?” he asked roughly. “Hybern is readying for war.”

“They’re done readying,” Rhysand drawled, sipping his wine. “War is imminent.”

“Yes, you mentioned that in your letter,” I said, finally taking my seat at the head of the table between Rhysand and his Second. “And you know against Hybern, we will fight. We lost enough good people Under the Mountain. I have no interest in being slaves again. But if you are here to ask me to fight in another war, Rhysand—”

“That is not a possibility,” he interrupted smoothly, “and had not even entered my mind.” Though I doubted that, I was glad that he seemed to understand my warning.

“High Lords have gone to war for less you know,” Cresseida crooned from her seat. I looked at her and saw her gaze was focused on Feyre. “Doing it over such an unusual female would be nothing unexpected.”

“Try not to look so excited, princess,” Feyre said flatly. “The High Lord of Spring has no plans to go to war with the Night Court.”

“Are you in contact with Tamlin, then?” My sister’s saccharine smile was borderline feral. She was playing with fire, but she didn’t seem to care.

“There are things that are public knowledge, and things that are not,” Feyre said quietly, measured—a voice that didn’t demand attention, but you couldn’t help but be drawn in. “My relationship with him is well known. Its current standing, however, is none of your concern. Or anyone else’s. But I do know Tamlin, and I know that there will be no internal war between courts—at least not over me, or my decisions.”

“What a relief, then,” Cresseida said, sipping her white wine and cracking a crab claw open. “To know we are not harboring a stolen bride—and that we need not bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.” I knew that last part was for me, though I could feel Rhysand Second still next to me, recognizing my sister’s threat.

“I left of my own free will,” Feyre answered, clearly unhappy with the direction of this conversation. “And no one is my master.”

My sister shrugged. “Think that all you want, lady, but the law is the law. You are—were his bride. Swearing fealty to another High Lord does not change that. So it is a very good thing that he respects your decisions. Otherwise, all it would take would be one letter from him to Tarquin, requesting your return, and we would have to obey. Or risk war ourselves.”

Rhysand sighed. “You are always a joy, Cresseida.”

“Careful, High Lord,” Varian warned. “My sister speaks the truth.”

I laid a hand on the table, my siblings antics finally too much for me to ignore. “Rhysand is our guest—his courtiers are our guests. And we will treat them as such.” I decided to throw a reminder of my own to her. “We will treat them, Cresseida, as we treat people who saved our necks when all it would have taken was one word from them for us to be very, very dead.” I studied Rhysand and Feyre. While Rhysand’s expression was completely disinterested, Feyre’s eyes betrayed how bothered by my sister’s comments she’d been, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She’d been thrown into our world simply because she’d fulfilled the criteria to save us, and now was one of us. I wondered how that had affected her since her Making. I shook my head—these were thoughts for another time. I turned to Rhysand. “We have more to discuss later, you and I. Tonight, I’m throwing a party for you all on my pleasure barge in the bay. After that, you are free to roam in this city wherever you wish. You will forgive its princess if she is protective of her people. Rebuilding these months has been long and hard. We do not wish to do it again any time soon.”

I turned to Feyre. “Cresseida made many sacrifices on behalf of her people,” I offered gently. “Do not take her caution personally.”

“We all made sacrifices,” Rhysand said suddenly, his voice razor-sharp and icy. “And you now sit at this table with your family because of the ones Feyre made. So you will forgive me, Tarquin, if I tell your princess that if she sends word to Tamlin, or if any of your people try to bring her to him, their lives will be forfeit.”

Even the sea breeze died. This was the man who led the Court of Nightmares. Who could—and did—kill in Amarantha’s name for fifty years.

“Do not threaten me in my own home, Rhysand,” I warned, though my bravado was on shaky ground. “My gratitude only goes so far.”

“It’s not a threat,” he countered, the crab claws on his plate cracking open all at once, the meat practically exploding out of the shells—under his power. “It’s a promise.”

I turned towards Feyre, to see how she would respond to such a… protective statement. Especially for one who said she had no master.

Feyre merely looked at all of us and raised her glass as if in a toast. She held my gaze the longest. “No wonder immortality never gets dull.”

The charged air crackling about the table dissipated almost instantly, and I chuckled.

This was going to be a very interesting visit.