#bash and lily thread.

[inkshadow]

continued for @honeyhour from the source

"i guess but i don't know how well it'll go with the other parents if call their child 'stupid glue eater' to their faces." he gives a non-committal shrug, half tempted to actually do it. taken aback, his eyes narrow and jaw drops at the insinuation, though he supposed he should've expected it. most of what he does irks her. she just manages to comment in a semi-civil way. "i acknowledge that i've done bad things but i don't think our daughter regrets her decision."

[inkshadow]

normally, bash's spirit would've been utterly crushed by his defeat but the sound of lily's laughter is actually what this night is all about. that alone, the fact that it came so simply and organically, negates any loss of pride and ache in his chest as a result of it. well, so long as she doesn't rub it in his face too much. "instant karma?! we were even the moment you knocked my shoulder! so i guess you earned this, huh?" bash slides over the bill he'd placed between them towards her, a bubble of joy swelling in his chest at her win. maybe he has grown a bit since they split. "you even get a glowstick bracelet for your win, look at that... congratulations, lily. you did great."

“wait, did i?” lily sounds equally as surprised as he does, following his gaze towards the scoreboard with confusion written all over her face; then it vanishes and she begins to laugh freely instead. there’s that beginner’s luck she was talking about. “oh, look at that. i did! you know, i can’t help but feel like this is instant karma for how quick you were to play dirty… maybe you should let this be a lesson.” she shouldn’t sound so smug, especially for someone who was just as quick to retaliate, but she would argue the odds had been stacked against her from the start. she wasn’t lying when she said she believes him to be skilled at basically everything he tries.

[thehaberdasheress]

TRIUMPH over TAPESTRY

One of the big blessings of the 2024 Kickstarter was getting to work more with tapestry blanket design. These cotton blankets are beautiful and cozy, and give me a lot of freedom as a designer.

The downside is, since I'm not the one programming them into the loom or weaving them, it can be slow and frustrating sometimes. I often don't know how my design or its colours will translate to tapestry until I receive the finished piece. Alas for me, it's just also really frigging cool to see how they manage to combine specific coloured threads to create such complicated images, so I persist.

That's not the final design of the Celtic fish blanket, btw. When I found that one green that absolutely pops, I moved it to the focus of the pattern.

...For that colourway, that is. There are three.

So yeah! I finally got it done! I have bashed away at these designs until I felt really happy with them.

Lily of the Valley Tapestry Blanket

The "Celtic Sea" design is an adaptation of a Jugendstil pattern, part of the 1890-1910 German movement that parallelled Art Nouveau. The lily pattern is Art Nouveau itself, adapted from an 1896 ceramic tile pattern. And I designed the "Compass Star" pattern on my own, because I love geometric designs.

Compass Star Tapestry Blankets

And if nobody minds, I'm gonna go SLEEP

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Thirteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Canon typical violence. A walk through Velaris turns for the worse and the secrets of The Book are finally revealed...

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It would seem I was wrong. It does not take much for Bethsevah Mordeigh to turn. 

I should be ashamed, but the more often Thanatos keeps coming back, the more I come to like him. Make no mistake, he’s as dangerous and volatile as a starving animal, but compared to his siblings he’s a saint. 

I saw him kill a male yesterday. One who stumbled upon our hidden ceremony and threatened to come back with Koschei’s army and crush us and the Mother beneath his boot. 

But with a snap of Thanatos’s fingers the nameless fae was gone. Gone in a gust of red wind that smelled and tasted like metal. And Thanatos looked stronger for it. His pale skin stopped being so translucent. His hair looked a touch darker, so dark it swallowed all light. A piece cut away from the fabric of the world. 

Death is his food. Him and his siblings feed on it and crave it like nothing else. 

Except for me. 

Thanatos says he craves me. And I think I believe him. I think I’m beginning to crave him too. 

Gwyn froze when the mountain’s door slid back. Azriel stood outside Cagniv Library with a bouquet of salt-white water lilies clutched in one hand and pale blue tulips in the other. 

“Azriel,” you smiled brightly, the last word you’d meant to speak to Gwyn dying on your lips. “What’re you doing here?”

The midday sun beat down on the face of the mountain, shortening the shadows around your feet. 

“I was coming from the House of Wind and was hoping you’d take a long walk home with me. These are for you.” He held out the tulips. “And for you.” He held out the lilies for Gwyn, which she accepted after a brief moment of hesitance. 

Azriel looked… lighter. His shadows were stronger than ever, clinging to his body like a second scent, but his eyes held a fondness and love for you that Gwyn had never seen before. Not when he was looking at Mor, not when he was looking at Elain… not when he was looking at her. It was so obvious to Gwyn’s eyes, she was amazed you hadn’t caught on yet. You just looked at the flowers with a touch of color flooding your cheeks. Bashful and uncertain of how to accept such a gift. 

“Thank you.” You touched the velvety petals between your fingers as though they might crumble if you weren’t gentle. 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

Azriel looked at Gwyn, that small smile of his faltering and then growing once more when Gwyn nodded her head. It was a silent acknowledgement. A quiet understanding that didn’t completely escape your notice. 

I’m not happy with you. Gwyn’s eyes spoke. But I understand. Her teal eyes flashed protectively. Don’t fuck this up.

“I assume I’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” Gwyn smirked at you and nudged her shoulder with your own, feeling the soft give of her skin and the strength in her arms. 

“Where else would I be?”

“At home. Sleeping.”

“Pffft. Sleep is for the weak.” 

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Az. Now shoo.” Gwyn waved you off, watching as you took the arm that Azriel offered and made your way down the smooth steps of the mountain back to the city. 

You bowed your heads together, lips barely moving and cutting out two dark silhouettes in the air. Azriel must have said something funny because your gentle laugh carried itself on the wind, weaving into the air like silver thread. Gwyn couldn’t help but smile at you. 

If she knew what was about to happen, she would have never let you leave the library. 

“They’re in love.” 

Azriel looked sideways at you, catching the sweet scent of your hair as you leaned against him. The Palace of Hoof and Leaf buzzed with quiet energy, the air tinged with the scent of sugar from the confectionary booths. 

“Who?”

“Beth and Thanatos.” 

The book rocked against your hip, matching the beat of you and Azriel’s steps as you walked through the cobblestone marketplace. Lanterns hung unlit from the arches above, bobbing on wire like the bubbles that a pair of hawk-winged children were blowing from the steps of a peach-stone apartment. The girl, blue-eyed and red-haired, nudged the boy, pointing at the Shadowsinger with something like awe. Azriel offered them a faint smile and a few tendrils of his shadows licked at their feet as they scampered away with laughter. It was just a game to them after all. 

“I didn’t think he was capable of love,” Azriel noted. He thought back to the memories you’d unearthed with your powers and of the violent ways Thanatos had inched his way into Beth’s life. Wherever he lingered, death followed. But so far as you knew, he was also incredibly protective of Beth and the other priestesses. They’d benefited from his presence even if they were unnerved by it. He’d kept them hidden from Koschei.

“Beth didn’t think so either.” You flinched when one of the marketplace hawkers held his hand out to you. He didn’t shout like the others and seemed grieved when you stepped back into the folds of Azriel’s wings. He opened his sticky fist palm up to the sky revealing a handful of neat caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. 

“For the miss.” 

Y/n looked at Azriel, who only nodded with a smile.

“Thank you.” You gingerly took them from him, taking a moment to admire the light brown of the confectioner’s eyes, like burnt sugar, and the wisps of candy floss clinging to his shirt like loose threads. 

He didn’t resume his shouting until you were a good distance away, deep voice bellowing out over the square that his wares were made fresh that morning. You unwrapped one of the candies and stuck it in your mouth, sighing as it turned around on your tongue, slowly melting. Azriel took one of the candies you offered, but tucked it into his pocket when you turned your head to inspect the baskets of spices laid out on the sidewall.

“But he keeps staying with her. Keeps warning her of Koschei’s movements so she and her fellow priestesses can stay hidden. He… he cares for her. Or at least Beth seems to think so. The information — the story — is more pleasant than I could have hoped for, and I’m eternally grateful she doesn’t go in depth about their activities—” 

Azriel chuckled. “So it’s not like one of Nesta’s books.”

“Thank the Mother no. But it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out how to defeat Koschei. She doesn’t even talk about Koschei or the priestesses much. Only Thanatos. It’s just a love story.”

“Love stories are never just that though. They’re probably the most powerful things in the universe. Look at Rhysand and Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. I don’t think we’d be where we are now if not for their love for one another. The things they were willing to do to protect what they cared about.” 

“Do you ever wish you had that?” You dared to ask. “That kind of love? A mate?” Azriel turned to look at you, eyes filled with more cryptic meaning than you could ever imagine unraveling. There was hope, longing, grief, and a slew of other emotions. Their weight seemed to press in on you, but you didn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“All the time,” he whispered. Then he smiled, staring down at where your arm was linked to his. “Do you?” 

You turned away almost bitterly. “I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.”

“I would disagree.” 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you settled on silence. Luckily for you, silence with Azriel never felt uncomfortable. 

“If your shadows keep taking them, I’m going to forget how many I’ve selected.”

“I see no problem with this,” Azriel shrugged and continued to follow you around the bookshop. It had stuck out to you immediately on your long walk back to the River House. A squat, two-story townhouse with charmingly chipped white paint laid over sturdy brick and sage green shutters. Candles winked in the afternoon light pressed up against window sills where two fat ginger cats lay purring in the sun. The dark, woodsy interior dripped with books, leather notebooks, and automatic writing pens that hovered over thick pages like butterflies. “We have space in the house.” 

“It’s less about space and more about how much I’ve spent.” Your fingers brushed the next book on the shelf and its deep purple binding. 

Oh that one’s interesting — a romance between a Spring Court nymph and a Dundarian knife maker filled with adventure, lust, longing, and found family. 

You’d no sooner plucked it from the shelf before shadows crowded your hands, whisking it off to whatever ether Azriel kept them hidden in. He wrote the name of the book on a sheaf of paper, his handwriting neat and simple. 

You turned on him, arms folded over your chest. “You can’t keep doing that.” 

“You are not to spend a copper of your own money here. Rhysand and Feyre’s orders. Just put it on the House’s credit. Rhysand’s already added you.” 

“They put me on their credit?” You balked even thinking about the money you’d been given access to.

Azriel nodded. “Consider it repayment.”

“Repayment for what? I haven’t done anything.”

Azriel looked at you quietly, as if the answer were obvious. “You’re the reason I still have a sister-in-law and a niece. You’re the reason we now have a name to investigate and are one step closer to defeating Koschei. You’re the reason the Godswoods and the Gallows haven’t been stolen from yet and a number of Librarians still have their lives. Do I need to continue?”

You thought through what he said. It was true that Helion’s intervention in the Godswoods and the Gallows had been effective. No deaths had been reported since then, but it didn’t make you feel any safer. A snake was still a snake, even when camouflaged.

“Only two of those things matter to the Night Court. Helion owes me for the latter.” 

“Then you can have him contact the banks and transfer the sums.” Azriel’s eyes twinkled with mischie. You went to snatch the paper out of his hands, but all he had to do was raise his arm to the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. You jumped up, one hand firm on his shoulder for leverage, but it was no use. He was too damned tall. 

You stood on the tips of your toes to get closer to eye level with Azriel. His eyes flickered down to your lips, the shapes they made as you quietly said, “Thank you.” 

You lingered in the stacks for a few moments longer, nervously asked the shop owner to put the list of books on the High Lord and High Lady’s tab — which she did with a warm smile — and then made your way back outside. The bell hanging above the doorway jingled happily, the wood burned sign saying Come back soon! Love, Jessebell. 

You trailed ahead of him down the street. Every sign, every shop window display, every street sign — you drank them in like you were ravenous. 

Azriel felt Rhys’s presence drift in the outskirts of his mind, and without hesitation, he let him in. 

Where are you? What’s taking so long?

Nearly to the Sidra. I brought her to Jessebell’s. 

That explains your lateness. Rhys paused. She must have loved that. 

Azriel smiled inwardly. She did. She really did.  

A female with weathered, dark skin and flowers sprouting from her ears stopped you on the street and although your first instinct was to recoil, you relaxed when she only lifted up a deep black tulip in her textured hands. The wilting flower straightened up when you kissed one of the petals as instructed and the gentle laugh that followed had Azriel’s heart soaring. 

Well make sure you get here in time for dinner. I want as many of our family members under my roof as possible.

Is this an ask, or a command?

Don’t make me use my High Lord voice on you.

Azriel rolled his eyes with a smile. I am absolutely trembling. Do you use that tone of voice on Nyx? 

He felt as much as heard Rhys’s laughter. Enjoy your time with Y/n, but come back soon. Mor is looking to get her hands on your mate. Mother help us all.

Rhys cut the connection and Azriel was free to admire you once more. 

You cradled the bouquet he’d given you in your arms, light reflecting off the petals and casting a faint blue glow on your face as you chatted with the florist. Your smile, which had started out forced and nervous, was slipping into something more relaxed. When the female laughed merrily and touched your wrist, you didn’t flinch. 

Dark tendrils of night curled around his ears and Azriel felt a shiver trail down his spine. 

Behind you. His shadows whispered. The boy needs help. There’s something wrong with him.

The boy startled back when Azriel turned towards him, tripping over a nick in the cobblestones and landing with a wince on his palms. Glassy pale eyes stared up, wide and terrified. His clothes were rumpled and unkempt and his white-blond hair was a mess of curls flecked with grey, like he’d been rolling around in dust. Pale pink and blue veins rose to the surface of his green-tinged skin, sickly and unnerving. He looked like a corpse on puppet strings.

Azriel looked around, but no one was searching for the little boy. No yelps belonging to scared parents. No calls from a sibling. 

“Shadowsinger, sir?” Even his voice sounded sickly, like his vocal chords were disintegrating in his throat. 

Azriel immediately dropped to his knees and slid his hands behind his back. “What’s happened, little one? What’s wrong?” His voice was smooth and gentle. 

He was too busy thinking that his boy was younger than Nyx, too busy ordering his shadows out to search for the boy’s parents that he didn’t think twice about the lingering stench of blood clinging to the boy’s shoes or the faint pain beginning to grow behind his hazel eyes. 

The boy looked around furtively while wringing his grubby hands, and then leaned close to whisper in Azriel’s ear. His pale eyes narrowed in concentration.

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a black tulip before.” 

“It’s a little secret of mine. You need to get the seed and soil just right.” The female brushed her waist length hair over her shoulder. The knotted strands had the thick, coarse texture of seafarer’s rope, as aged and wise as the rest of her. When you held the flower back out for her to take she shook her head. 

“For you, my dear. I have dozens more and I think it would attract more business if you wore it around today. A beautiful creature like you must get lots of attention.” 

You knew she was probably just saying these things to get your business, but you couldn’t help the spark of joy the compliments gave you. She helped tuck the flower into the braids of your hair and you felt the petals kiss the tips of your left ear. 

“Say.” The female leaned in like she was about to share a secret. “If you aren’t already taken, I have a niece who’d love to have a pretty girl like you on her arm.” 

Your blush deepened and you found yourself stammering, “That’s very kind, but I don't-I don’t-'' You glanced up the street. Azriel was kneeling on the ground, head bent down to a small child. You only caught the wisps of white, candy floss hair over Azriel’s broad shoulders. 

The female traced the path of your gaze and sighed. “Ahhhhh. I see.” There was a triumphant look in her eyes, even as she said, “Shame. But I’ll still give you my niece’s name if you don’t mind.” 

Your eyes snapped away from Azriel’s and you smiled in embarrassment. “Oh, we’re not—”

“Henna.” 

You stepped back. Panic froze the blood in your veins and you felt pinpricks traveling up your body, stabbing your heart and your mind. You could see her now. Her silver hair fanned out around her. Her broken body. Her bloodied eye socket, dark and empty. 

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” You had to have heard her incorrectly. Your head was pounding but you pushed back on your mental wards, shoring up your defenses until the feeling passed.

The female tilted her head to the side. Her eyes were as milky and glassy as pearls. “Does the name mean anything to you, dear?” 

You took another step back and the female stepped forward. Her eyes seemed to clear then and her brows furrowed in concentration and pain. She lunged forward, tearing away at your clothes and knocking the flowers of your hands as she begged. “Help me. The boy. He’s inside—HELP ME!” 

You surged back, crumpling to the ground under her heavy weight as she continued to pull and claw. 

She’d been restocking the back room when the dirty little boy and the tailor showed up in the alleyway. He still carried that bolt of fabric under the crook of his arm. He took out a knife, orange eyes flashing and slit his throat from ear to ear while the little boy watched. Smiling.

“LET GO!” You kicked out, ramming your knee up and into the soft flesh of her stomach like you’d seen Emerie do to Cassian, but you lacked her strength and technique. The female wheezed but didn’t let go, even as others came to try and pry her off of you. Their voices were frantic, trying to calm you down, but they were the voices and hands of strangers. 

“AZ!” You screamed, feeling the female sink her nails into your arm.

There was an ugly tearing sound and the cool touch of wind at your chest. Your robes were ripped apart under her rough hands and her eyes narrowed in on your belt and the chain that connected to the book. She bucked off a cherub-faced female with a blow to her nose and blood splashed over your cheek. 

“Help me. Please. Oh… oh gods.” She grabbed at the book, but the chain glowed iron hot in her hands. The smell of burning scorched your nose as the magic did what it was meant to do. Nothing could break that chain. Not unless you willed it. Not while you were still alive. 

“Oh gods. Oh gods help me. I’m so sorry.” There were tears streaming down her face, tracing the canyons and valleys of her skin. She threw off the fae clamoring around you both and ran with jerky, uncoordinated leaps back into her flower shop. She snatched the gardening shears off the windowsill where she’d been trimming her hydrangea bushes. She wept and shook her head, mouth struggling to open and scream as she held the shears up high and then drove them into her neck.

The scene took a long time to filter through the haze of panic and disbelief. 

“Az… Az… Az—AZRIEL!” Your shrill scream pierced through the air. You scrambled away from everyone. Stones shaved away the skin of your knees, your palms. The tattered silk of your robes trailed behind you. “Don’t touch me!” You shrieked at the male who tried grabbing your arm, soft voice whispering. 

He wasn’t the one you wanted. 

“AZRIEL!” 

The female dropped to her knees, hands clutching her throat as blood poured out in bubbly, gurgling spurts. The candy pink strips of her apron turned a wet, sticky black as she crawled back towards the door.

“Oh gods… Please,” she wheezed, wet and agonized, before collapsing face down on the floor. Motionless. 

You staggered to your feet twisting away from everyone crowding around you. 

“Don’t touch me. Don’t!” 

“Miss you must sit. Please—”

“Let me help—” 

“Are you hurt? What’s—” 

“Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me. Don’t touch me!” 

Screams. The sound of doors slamming shut. Locks turning. Commanding barks calling for a healer. Calling for the High Lord and the High Lady. Calling for the Shadowsinger to help.

Azriel was still kneeling in front of that boy and no matter how many times you called his name and pushed through the crowd of people now rushing up and down the streets in a frenzy, he didn’t get up. He didn’t look at you. You may as well have not existed. 

You finally reached him, narrowly missing being run over by a satyr who seemed to have gotten the wrong impression about which direction to sprint in. Every clip clop of his hooves shot through you. 

“Az.” 

Why hadn’t… Why hadn’t he helped you? 

“Az.”

Why hadn’t he come when you called?

The Shadowsinger rose. One hand grabbed the hilt of Truth Teller and the malicious blade sang as it was unleashed. The shadows that normally hovered about him like mist were gone. They were all around you now, tugging you in the opposite direction towards the Sidra. They pleaded for you to run, but you couldn’t understand them.

Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Az.” You begged and grabbed hold of his hand. “Please. You’re scaring me.”

Truth Teller shot out and pain radiated up your arm as the blade cut neatly through your clothes and sliced open your skin. You tripped backward, landing with a thud on the street that rattled your bones. Your sleeve turned dark with blood. 

You whimpered, holding your ruined arm up to your chest. There was no feeling in Azriel’s eyes. No flicker of recognition. None of that warmth and kindness you were so accustomed to. Just a menacing, silent form towering over you and blocking out the sun. 

A pale boy stood by Azriel’s side with ice chip eyes and rectangular pupils. He grinned brightly and the stretch of his waxy cheeks was too tight. Too forced. He shouldn’t have been alive. He-he—

Andrian. 

You’d seen him in Henna’s memory. You’d heard the snap of his neck beneath Koschei’s hands. Even now the boy was bent awkwardly, his head left in a perpetual tilt that should have looked charming and inquisitive but instead made you want to retch.

Andrian smiled at you then plastered a practiced look of horror on his face before running away with tears streaming down his cheeks, shouting for his mother. A burly male grabbed his shoulders, alarm on his face as he hoisted Andrian into his arms and disappeared into the crowd. Because who wouldn’t stoop down to help a fragile little boy? Who would dare suspect that the daemati that had roamed the Day Court’s halls and slithered his way into Velaris was a child?

Azriel gripped you by the front of your ruined clothes, hosting you up in the air. Your feet kicked uselessly and grabbed onto Azriel’s arm, trying to alleviate the choking pressure of his hand so close to your neck. 

“No. Azriel please. It’s me,” you whimpered. “It’s me.”

There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. There and gone. So brief you wondered if you’d imagined it.

His left hand parted the tatters of your robes, and you flinched when his fingers brushed against your hip before settling on the chain that kept the book tied to you. 

Panic seized your soul. 

You’d been chipping away at the book’s secrets for months and you couldn’t let Azriel — couldn’t let Koschei — get his hands on it. Not without you knowing what it was that made Beth’s story so special.

You flung a hand out, feeling the leather of the book beneath your fingertips like it was your own skin. Your magic called out to the book, desperate and powerful and familiar, and the barriers it possessed to hide its secrets melted away at your beckoning. You poured every inch of your power into it even as Azriel’s lips turned down in an ugly frown that didn’t belong on his face. 

Your eyes turned to gold, bright as the sun as you basked in the knowledge flooding your mind with the force of a tsunami. You didn’t hold anything back. Not this time.

You were so lost in the book — in the emotions and memories wrapping around your mind, sharp and brighter than the light of a thousand suns — that you didn’t feel it when Azriel gripped that golden chain. The metal flared, a high-pitched ring piercing the air as it snapped in two, giving way to Azriel’s power. Nothing should have broken it. And yet there it was dangling from your waist.  

You did feel it when he broke your wrist. 

When he forced the book from your grasp. 

And then stabbed you in the stomach. 

Cassian and Nesta winnowed to the street and watched in horror as your body was dropped to the ground. Your head cracked the pavement, hands twitching palms up at your sides. 

Nesta shrieked. The sound was harrowing. The mourning, dying screams of an animal.  

She charged forward, twin blades flashing in her hands, and silver light shot out of her chest, crashing into Azriel’s shields and forcing him back twenty feet. He gritted his teeth. The rubber soles of his shoes skidded and burned. 

Cassian collapsed on his knees beside you, peeling off his leather jacket and wrapping it around your head and neck to keep it in place. 

“Shit.” His hands came away bloody. RHYS! FEYRE! He screamed into the corners of his mind, hoping they’d hear. GET HERE NOW! 

“Thanatos.” Your voice was weak.

“It’s Cass. Hey, keep your eyes on me ok.” He pressed his hands against your stomach, wings flared out to protect you from the cold burn of Nesta’s power as she went toe to toe with The Shadowsinger. Magic sizzled in the air, raising the hair on the back of Cassian’s neck like a lightning strike waiting to happen. Blood pooled over his hands, thick and dark. “Eyes open,” he commanded, “On me.”  

Your eyes were open, and glowing strangely, but you weren’t staring at Cassian. No. You were miles outside of your body. 

“The Bone Carver. That’s it.” 

“Eyes on me, Y/n. Eyes on me.” 

“Thanatos,” your hand twitched, “The Bone Carver. That’s how she did it.”

Nesta screamed, flying overhead in a burst of blue light that had her back slamming into one of the marketplace towers. The white marble cracked viciously and Nesta dropped to the ground, dazed and distracted as blood dripped out from her nose. 

“NESTA!” Cassian roared, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as Azriel waited at the bottom of the street. 

The Shadowsinger muttered something dark and revolting beneath his breath. Ancient, powerful words that were whispered in his mind. He held onto the book in his hands as it lit up in flames and then blew the ashes into the wind that would carry them all the way to Andrian’s master. 

Koschei.

The call of her mate sharpened her senses and Nesta rolled onto her feet, calling her weapons back into her hands and leveling a glare at Azriel that would have killed a lesser male on the spot. 

She was Nesta fucking Archeron. 

Lady Death. 

Queen of Queens. 

And she would be damned if she let Azriel hurt her or anyone else.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, Az,” she growled. 

She’d been holding back before. She’d been holding back a long while. But no more of that. The power she let out burst through Velaris with light brighter than a dying star, crackling with an energy that knocked Azriel off his feet and sent him crashing into the river wall with a sickening crack that shattered the bones in his arm, his leg, and his wings. 

Rhys appeared at his side, violet eyes wide open in shock. He could feel the magic suffocating his brother’s consciousness, burying him so deep there was almost nothing left but anger behind his whiskey-brown eyes. 

Rhysand grabbed the sides of his head, shoving his way into Azriel’s mind even while he fought back. Rhys flinched when one of Azriel’s knives nicked his temple, drawing blood that dripped down onto his velvet dinner jacket and floated on the dense material like dew drops. 

“Stop. This isn’t you, Az.” 

Azriel seethed, teeth bared and bloody. He spit in Rhysand’s face and he winced. Rhysand would never be able to forgive himself for what he did next. But someone had burrowed themselves into Azriel’s mind so thoroughly, so viciously, that in that moment, it was the only thing Rhys could think to do. 

Rhysand’s talons dragged down on Azriel’s mental walls so viciously he screamed as they were torn to pieces. He dug in with brutal efficiency. Reaching, tearing, clawing to catch the curl of power that had infected Azriel’s mind before it could do any more damage. He latched onto its slithery, silver body and wrenched it out of Azriel’s consciousness. 

When I find you. You’re as good as dead. Rhysand promised. 

The daemati slunk away with a giddiness that sent a shiver through The High Lord’s bones. 

Azriel slumped, weak and boneless, against his brother’s shoulder. Sweat beaded his brow and he shook, blinking the saltiness out of his eyes. He felt like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life. His bones were broken. His wings twisted. There was a raging headache that a hundred shots of vodka paled in comparison to. 

But it was his hands that horrified him most. Red and slippery. 

His breath shook.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t remember… what…. 

His eyes shot to Rhys, then up the street where he could make out Feyre, Cass, and Nesta huddled over your still body. The bond sat deep within him pulsing with terror and pain. 

“Rhys.” His voice broke. Rhysand angled his body to hide you from view, but it was too late. Azriel was panicking now, body trembling uncontrollably. “What happened?”

Rhysand said nothing. His eyes shined with horror. 

“What did I do? Rhys, what did I do?!” 

“Cass. Cassian, I’ve got her.” 

His hands were shaking. There was so much blood. The smell burned his nose and made him want to throw up his lunch. Feyre covered his hands with her own, peeling them away sticky and red from Y/n’s stomach. 

Light flooded out from Feyre’s palms, warm and lovely and Cassian and Nesta breathed a sigh of relief as the flow of red slowed and then stopped, flesh knitting itself back together. 

“It’s ok. You’ll be ok.” Nesta’s words were commanding as she held your neck and head still.

Your eyes searched the empty sky, seeing and unseeing. Then your hands shot up, grasping Feyre’s shoulders and digging in deep enough to leave bruises. Your eyes were wide, staring at her with an intensity that spoke of a thousand years. An unfathomable wealth of knowledge that should have crushed you beneath its weight. 

“Y/n it’s ok,” she murmured gently, pushing more power into your body, willing you to heal faster.

“Look. Feyre you need to look,” your voice was thick. Wet. Blood coated the inside of your mouth bitter and metallic. 

“I’m looking. Y/n, you hit your head. It’s going to be ok. You hear me? It’s going to be ok.” 

“You need to look,” you said once more.

You trailed a bloody, weak hand down Feyre’s arm and pulled her fingers up to your temple, tapping once. Twice. 

Without any more direction, she slipped into your mind and gasped.

Feyre stood in a pool of mist, white fingers reaching up her legs and splintering outwards before they changed direction and started to climb up into the darkness like trees. Or rather… like bookshelves. The mist formed stacks that disappeared into the distance, endless hallways and shelves that wound around each other. Chaotic and orderly at the same time. 

She could feel your presence beside her. Or rather she was you. In that moment she felt the raging winds of your power, hot and ravenous. It wrapped around you, tugging you to and fro like that uncontrollable lurch when you stand too close to the cliff’s edge. The call of the void.

She needed to answer that call the same way you did whenever you used your powers, because somewhere in the halls of your mind stood the knowledge you’d worked so hard to obtain. The truth of how it was Bethsevah Mordeigh was able to trap Koschei, and how to end it once and for all. 

Feyre let your magic pull her in the right direction. In the mist she stumbled upon the final memories you’d absorbed from the book before it had blown away in the wind.

Bethsevah wept, “No. No. No. I won’t,” shoving away the reed thin body that held her so close. Thanatos grasped her face in his pale hands, begging her to listen to him even as she shook her head frantically. “I won’t do it.” 

“You must. Bethsevah, you must.” His pitch black eyes winked with starlight… or maybe it was his tears. 

This world and its people had changed him. He could feel it in his bones. Something very deep and cruel within him had been twisted into something sacred. Something that toed the line of kindness. 

Koschei thought it was this element that made fae and humans beneath the three of them. They were supposed to be pure. Powerful. Handing out life and taking it away like the gods they were. But now Thanatos knew better. Now he knew exactly what it was that made Koschei and Stryga worse than even him — they would never be able to care for anyone. Not the way he cared for Bethsevah. Not the way he cared for the world she loved. 

“I won’t do it,” she growled.

“Then they’ll die,” he said, with a tone of finality that could only belong to a death god. “Everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you care about. I know my brother. Koschei craves attention and devotion above all else. He won’t let you worship your Mother. He won’t stop until you all kneel or until you’re ashes in the wind. Beth—” He wrenched her hands back from where she covered her eyes, refusing to even look at him. 

He tucked his crooked finger beneath her chin, coaxing her gaze up. Together they were storm clouds blanketing an eternal night. A lightning strike — brief and chaotic and electrifying. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” she whispered, steel laced in her soft voice, “You don’t know what you’re offering.” 

He smiled, sad and simple. “I know exactly what I’m offering up.”

“Once I lock you in The Prison, I won’t be able to let you out. No one will. You’ll be trapped there for eternity.” She shivered, closing her eyes. She wouldn’t wish that fate upon her worst enemy, but her mate? She shook her head. 

“I know.” 

“No, you—”

“I have seen the first fall of snow on a new world. I have seen entire cities leveled to dust with no survivors. I’ve lived thousands of years. I understand.”

“We’ll find a way. Kosch—” 

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered, “Back at the cabin? You were made to ruin me, Beth. And I will let you do it a million times over. Without hesitation.” 

You and Feyre felt Beth’s pain as acutely as if you shared the same heart.

“I wish she hadn’t done it,” Beth whispered, “I wish the Mother had never created me to be your mate.” 

“I don’t.” Thanatos leaned his forehead against Beth’s and got lost in her. “There is no other way, Bethsevah.” He kept saying her name, like just speaking the word and feeling the shapes it took in his mouth would prolong the time they had together. Would tie them together more surely than the bond that burned in their chests.

She felt the battleground slip beneath her feet and no amount of power, no amount of willpower, could change it. 

He brushed back her hair and trailed one of his slender fingers down the curve of her cheek ending one teardrop’s race to her chin. “Mating bonds are powerful things, Beth. Your magic — your blood — and yours alone will be able to cut through my defenses and sever me from my power. I want you to take it and lock me away. Once my magic is yours, Stryga won’t be able to see you coming and you’ll be able to take her power as well. So long as you leave Koschei for last it may just be enough power to rid him from this earth once and for all.” 

“You’d have me do this. Destroy you and your family. This is what you want?”

Thanatos hesitated. “I am not a good male. But this… this will have to be enough. This is what I want, Bethsevah. For you and your family to live. To be happy and safe.”

“I won’t be happy, “ she said, eyes now flat and dull as the silver coins they placed over the dead, “I won’t take anyone else.”

“I want you to,” he begged, “I want you to marry and to have children. I want you to grow your family so that one day, if I ever do make it out of that Prison, I’ll still see pieces and memories of you roaming this earth. That’s all I want, Bethsevah, and it’s already more than I deserve.” 

“I’ll find a way,” Beth promised. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear it.” 

“Don’t make any bargains with me.” He smiled sadly, thumb wiping away at her cheeks, “That’s what got us into this mess.”

Finally she laughed, just a little. “I don’t regret it.” 

“Neither do I.”

The memory froze. A moment in time trapped like a beetle in amber.

A hand grabbed Feyre by her shoulders and swung her around. You stood there cloaked in pale, golden light, your eyes shining like copper coins. When you opened your mouth, you spoke in Beth’s voice.

Thanatos told me that magic runs in blood — familiar, same. But mates are different. Powerful. Their magic can protect one another. Identify one another across space and across time. But they can also turn on each other viciously. A lock and a key. Madness and salvation.

What I could destroy in Thanatos, I stood a chance at destroying in his siblings.

Your face fell, hauntingly beautiful in the glow of your powers. 

But I couldn’t do it. Not in the way he asked. I took his power. I locked him in that Prison. I bound Stryga to her cabin in the woods. But I didn’t kill Koschei when I should have. When the power of three gods was coursing through my veins and stripping me down to my bones, when I had enough light within me to see the birth and death of stars and the face of the Mother, I couldn’t do it. 

I thought I would be capable of destroying Koschei and freeing Thanatos, but I couldn’t do either. I had only enough sanity left to take that power and bury it somewhere Koschei couldn’t touch. To trap him on the lake where he can live in madness knowing his magic is so close by and yet locked away. Unreachable. 

I’ve done my part. I’ve had my children. I’ve left my mark on the world, great and terrible as it is. If you’re reading this, my daughters, do what I could not. Take the power in the lake and destroy him. It will open for you, and only you. My power. My blood. 

And if you have any love for me at all, find a way to release Thanatos. That is what I ask of you.

Bethsevah’s calls had never been answered, at least not by her children. You knew this much in your heart. Thanatos — The Bone Carver — had freed himself thousands of years later only to die beneath the Cauldron’s power. 

You whispered a silent prayer to the Mother. You hoped the Bone Carver was at peace now. Now that he must be with his Beth. 

Azriel was screaming your name, broken cries cutting through the quiet of the marketplace. You’d never thought him capable of such a wretched noise. 

The High Lady sat shock still above you with tears streaming down her face. Grey eyes glistening.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

I apologize if you thought I'd forgotten about the plot with Koschei and was just writing cute, fluffy scenes between our favorite Librarian and our favorite Batboy. But you also should've remembered that I burned this girl's house down and had her kill a another character in self defense so... this was coming... sorry...

This is by far the chapter I've been most nervous about posting because it's where I start to tie together all the weird loose threads that have been accumulating throughout this story so I am very much open to feedback on how I can do things better and on how I can make things clearer moving forward. Or! If you thought I did a good job and are intrigued, I'd appreciate it if you let me know that too!

But anyway thanks for reading 😅.

[mackmontgomery]

"How can you declare something as innocent and fun as old ferris over there your mortal enemy?"

That kind of energy was better reserved for activities that deserved it -- like the pendulum, which he considered the wheel's menacing cousin.

"Slide it is," He concedes, knowing he would have no fun if Lily was hating every second of what they were doing. He points to where the queue for the slide started and made a twister motion with his index finger, "Let's swivel it over that way before we get stuck behind any candy-floss sticky kids."

@lilynunthapak

"You'd be yearning and I'd be crying. Everyone knows that the ferris wheel and I are basically mortal enemies," heights and Lily never being two things that could co-exist in world, "So, obviously, my vote goes to the fun slide. I need, like .. a good type of adrenaline rush to get my night started."

@mackmontgomery

[lacryem]

— A surprisingly long and in depth look about symbolism in the recent G-Fantasy cover by Yana Toboso ✦

Including references, flower language, how to decode the meaning of flowers, and a little too much brainrot. As well my personal interpretation drawn from all the sources I looked at. And of course what all of means (and maybe hints at?) for Sebastian and Ciel… and maybe even Sebaciel? 

Originally posted as a twitter thread, but threads suck and I forgot a couple things. so here now.

Disclaimer :

I don’t know FOR SURE that all these things were directly referenced by Yana when creating this art. But being a fan of her work for over a decade I've become familiar with her use of symbolism and reference, and believe myself to have a good eye for it at this point!   I'm also pretty familiar with the use of flower language, including different languages, due to having been involved in a project about it and having to read wayyy too much about this. 

Some of it also includes my own personal interpretation, but the meanings and info I based myself off of ARE factual. I think I made it pretty clear when referencing my personal interpretation. You're welcome to reach your own interpretation based off of the stuff provided!

And lastly, I'm not a sebaciel shipper. I'm not an anti (the complete opposite, actually) and have nothing against the ship, I like the narrative around them and how they're written but I don’t actively ship them romantically or sexually. So I'd say this is actually a pretty unbiased interpretation. Personal taste is one thing, but I don’t deny the author's intention and whats written in front of me! That is what this post is about.

Kuroshitsuji takes place in the Victorian period (1837~1901) in 1889.

The following are both important Victorian books on the language of flowers that I will be basing myself off of.

Language of Flowers by Greenaway Kate (1884), and The Language of flowers: An Alphabet of Floral Emblems (1857).

(Also, I’m treating Ciel’s rose as a deep red rose. Which is a bit different than red roses. But I am adding some relevant information about roses in general, anyway.

Now, on what they say about these flowers.

Deep rose, meaning "bashful shame". White lily, meaning "Purity and sweetness."

— The White Lily

Most people assume that the lily refers to Ciel's purity, and that’s a fair assumption. But I disagree. 

Firstly, the one holding the lily is Sebastian. Holding it on his right hand, tilted towards the right. However what's relevant here is the VIEWER. From the viewer's POV he's holding it to the left. Note he also holds the scissors on his left hand, where he bears HIS contract seal.

How you hold a flower, what position you give it to someone in, changes the meaning of the flower. These context clues are very important. It tells us that 'purity and sweetness' doesn’t refer to Ciel, but actually refers to Sebastian (…sorta).

This may be a little confusing. Purity and sweetness, Sebastian?! I know, I know. bear with me.

These books provide poems to help us understand how you may interpret the intended meaning. The lily poem is about enduring trials out of love because of the purity and sweetness he sees in his lover's eyes and soul. I believe Yana directly references the poems I will include in this post in her new artwork.

— My Interpretation

the meaning of Sebastian's lily is:

"I do all out of love for the sweetness and purity within you."

Him holding it to the contact seal and cutting the flower could stand for him destroying this sentiment (affection within himself) that has arisen in him as a result of their contract by destroying the sweetness and purity—the source of it—within Ciel (consuming his soul).

Note: This is debatable, as 'reversed' almost always means upside down. But if you consider the lily facing away from the viewer as reversed then it could mean "impurity and bitterness" which fits pretty well with Ciel, and it being held against the contract seal which is a physical representation of his impurity, brought on by his bitterness.

— The Deep Red Rose

There something I find very interesting. The rose is in a teacup, standing in for tea (I think there's even tea alongside it in the cup.) From Yana herself we know that Sebastian's eyes are a reference to the reddish brown colour of tea.

Like I said, I believe this rose to be a deep red rose, which is a bit more specific than the meaning given to red roses. However I think the poem included for roses in general very much applies here.

I was going to add my thoughts but I found this interpretation that sums it up pretty well if you replace the carpe diem theme with a more "running out of time" or "impending death" theme, which seems to be a more accurate reading for this artwork.

Looking at the rose itself, it has no thorns or leaves.

It is not a youthful rose as its already fully open and losing petals. "No hope, and no fear" fits with the poem, the rose is basically an hourglass referring to Ciel. His fate is unavoidable, but this isn't a deterrent. He's dancing on the ledge.

The deep red rose means 'bashful shame'.

When you compare it to the lily, which is a direct proclamation, the deep red rose is a quiet confession one cannot verbalize.

Debatable, to be fair but given the tie in to Sebastian's eye colour and the fact that he is always the one pouring tea for Ciel, I believe the Sebastian to be the speaker here too, but this time speaking on Ciel's feelings (Hence why he's the one holding it) rather than Sebastian's own. 

— My Interpretation

The meaning of the deep red rose Ciel holds, speaking about Ciel's feelings of guardedness, and in response saying:

"Abandon your bashful shame, and let yourself be admired without expectations (hope) or fear"

Sebastian speaks about Ciel's feelings, the deep red rose acknowledges his feelings but they remain unspoken.

The Waller poem is a plead for his beloved to seize the day, for time is short, and allow herself to be loved completely. 

Her beauty is one to be appreciated, she is not meant to be a rose unacknowledged (unloved) in the desert.

Regarding 'expectations', I think this is more about rigid ideas of how 'appreciation' or 'admiration, might be shown or received. Sebastian and Ciel's relationship defies normality or 'expectations'. So this, too, would defy expectations a young boy like Ciel, or a traumatised boy like Ciel, may have.

From Yana herself, we know Sebastian's dedication and how highly he holds 'beauty', specifically Ciel's beauty.

The author of the poem proclaims that beauty not appreciated is not beautiful indeeed, and so he calls his beloved to come to him and be appreciated wholly during the invaluable, limited time they have.

We see the deep red rose's petals fall away, in my opinion not only symbolising the withering away of time, but also the crumbling away of this "bashful shame" that Sebastian ascribes to Ciel.

How Sebastian wishes to "appreciate" this beauty is debatable. How he wants to "admire" and "desire" (per the poem) Ciel is rather open ended. Wether it be in a romantic way, a sexual way or by consuming his soul.

However, I don’t think these are mutually exclusive. And consuming Ciel can easily be a metaphor for the former two. 

— The Lily and The Rose

The Greeneaway book has this poem which im sure was directly referenced. This poem speaks about the lily and the rose in a direct power struggle and fight for dominance, until they eventually unite and reign as one.

Now when speaking about this "union", you could say it refers to their contract, but I don’t think so.

The contract ties them to each other, but it doesn’t necessarily unite them. So I believe 'unity' to be about the appreciation Sebastian speaks of Ciel opening up to. 

"The Lily" and "The Rose" might be interpreted as directly representing Sebastian and Ciel, and the unity that would come from them joining and becoming a truly complimentary pair. I think a power struggle and fight for being the one in control is very accurate way to describe their current dynamic in canon.

It may also be interpreted as "The Lily" and "The Rose" as being representations of their feelings and ideals previously. And then it would represent these two conflicting expressions—a loud  unrelenting and destructive devotion, and a guarded, bashful, unspoken reluctance— coming together and turning from conflicting to complimentary. 

Or as it tends to be with these things, both!

Either way all of this is expressed under the sense of impending doom created by their circumstances and the contract. So there's a sense of urgency permeating all of it.

Also clear to me is a sense of internal conflictedness coming from Sebastian's message that is usually only hinted at like this, and some people end up overlooking.

Sebastian desires Ciel deeply, but having him would also mean not being able to have him anymore.

Sebastian is torn and that’s why he attempts to cut the root of his wavering feelings represented by the lily. 

All of this makes me wonder about what's next, and if we will see these things said more blatantly. Foreshadowing with flower language and references like this, isn't exactly rare for Yana. I wonder if we will see this 'unity' come to be, and what necessary development Sebastian and Ciel will need to undergo to make it possible. As well as what shape it will take.

I also wonder very much about Ciel's perspective in all of this, as this was almost entirely from Sebastian's POV, but I think that's intentional. Ciel has his own goals and a lot on his mind. Sebastian's goal IS Ciel. So I assume he spends a lot more time thinking about Ciel and this kind of thing.

Thank you if you read the whole way through. Like I said before, even though the sources defending it are, my interpretation is not law and you're welcome to reach your own with the things presented.

Links for sources, including free public domain PDFs of the books mentioned are found at the end of my twitter thread.

— Thanks for reading! —

[nyxunderwood]

Reddit asked me to sell them on my favourite Marauders ship...

I just spent my commute home writing my Sirius/James treatise for a post on reddit. I'm copying it here too because I'm clearly obsessed and want everyone else to be too. Feel free to jump into the Reddit thread and share your sales pitch for your rare pair/crack ship.

Prongsfoot sales pitch

There is a saying that love is friendship caught fire - and I think that is why my mind/body/soul belong to Sirius/James - my beloved Prongsfoot 🦌🐾

It is difficult to summarise their appeal, but here is a short list: 

Best friends to lovers: the connection, the loyalty, the unconditional acceptance, the slow-burn angst of not wanting to ruin the friendship - amplified because of the vulnerability of Sirius relying on the Potters after he ran away from Grimmauld Place. Even people who don’t ship them recognise the soul bond between them and I love exploring that dynamic. 

Sirius as a complex character: I HC Sirius as someone deeply complex, who is both confident and self-loathing, someone who fundamentally believes - due to the trauma of his upbringing - that he is unworthy of love. Now imagine how much a person like that would struggle with accepting that confident, big-hearted, sunshine smile James Potter could want to be with him. And then add to that the pure healing of accepting his love. And you basically have my long-form slow-burn love letter of a fic: Object Permanence. 

Adventures and shenanigans: The storytelling potential of these two is unmatched. At school you have their general capacity for mayhem and back chat. As adults you have their role in the war and the fact they basically compete over who gets to save the others life. 

The angst: the tragedy of the canon story is already insane. We all know Sirius never got over James - if he looked into the Mirror of Erised he would see himself and James together again. There’s the angst of Sirius pining for James while he pursues Lily, the angst of James realising he has feelings for Sirius and struggling with his sexuality. Any force that separates them is going to be inherently painful. I’ve taken it to the next level in Shooting Stars, Falling Objects by having Sirius ostensibly “die” in a Death Eater attack just before graduation, with only James believing he’s still alive. Exploring James’ grief and love for Sirius in the flashbacks has only confirmed my love for this ship. Also it’s fun to have four-year-old Harry obsessed with Sirius when he returns. 

Side dynamics: the pairing also gives the opportunity to explore broader dynamics in an interesting way: 

Interactions with Harry: now I’m writing a fic featuring a happy, cheeky Harry with living parents it’s so much fun having him be the tiniest but biggest fan of Sirius Black and Sirius growing into his role as protective, loving future step father. After all, Harry loving Sirius is canon.   ️  

The end of Jily: I tend to have James/Lily together at some point in the fics and never like Lily bashing so it’s interesting to explore how their relationship ends when James realises what he truly wants - to be known by someone who loves him unconditionally. 

Reluctant brother-in-law Regulus: I love exploring the complex dynamic between the Black brothers of course but the snarky, reluctant allies vibe of Regulus and James is particularly appealing. I also enjoy the idea of prickly Uncle Regulus being utterly unhinged when it comes to dealing with school bullies who give Harry a hard time. Sirius pretends to disapprove when James gets complaints from the parents but he secretly buys Regulus a gift basket. 

Traumatised Remus: poor long suffering Remus having to wait for Sirius and James to wake up to themselves - and then getting traumatised by their PDAs. This will be in every fic I write for this pair. Now that I've started getting into Remus/Regulus (Moonwater, my beloved) I feel like there's even more angst potential. 

Canon basis: I don't think this is a dealbreaker for ships, of course, but I like that the ship is canon divergent but is not fantastical from a canon perspective given the close relationship between Sirius/James. Even people who don't ship them romantically acknowledge the platonic soulmate status. Although they should ship them romantically too 😂

That’s honestly the tip of the iceberg. I invite everyone to put me out of my rarepair misery by writing more fics about them. 

Thank you for attending my TED talk.

[sustiawan-author]

Hii !! I love your work 🫶🫶 Your SFW alpahabet for Neil is absolutely adorable ! I wanted to know if you could write a Neil Perry x Black reader ? (Of course if you’re comfortable with that, since this time period is complicated 😭)

Love you !

And When At Last I Find You, Your Song Will Fill The Air - Neil Perry . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

of course i would (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

Neil thought they were all stupid. How could they hate a girl like her? A girl so wonderful, bright — indescribable by even the finest sonnets or poets the world could begin to offer. She wasn't just some words in a piece of paper; all that life encompasses must be her, for how else could he explain the impending feeling in his belly? A hunger not for sustenance, but perhaps a different kind of it.

She resumed singing a melody she knew he loved, her voice echoing in the heart of the cave. Her nimble fingers stitched together an embroidered banner, small enough for him to hang in his room without his professors fussing over it. He loved her until the moon and back, and even then he'd still tug the crescent satellite down for her; perform his best act for it just so it could be persuaded to shine gently for her when she ought to sleep.

"How's that?" she halted her singing to hold the fabric up by her hands, biting off the thread before displaying it to his sight.

Neil hummed in approval, coming closer to inspect the fabric with his spectacles on. Her breaths fanned against his cheek, and it tinted them pink.

"It's red. I like it," he complimented. His brown eyes met hers, dainty and dark. Her bashful smile squeezed his heart and made it ache.

"Not just any red," she corrected, splaying the fabric on her lap for them to admire, "maroon, clementine, and amber."

She proudly showed him the nearly-finished design; a griffin flying above a stock of clouds and trees, above it the sun burned like a flame, woven with the finest polyester she found under her mother's bed. Neil knew it reminded her of him. And just on the griffin's neck laced a colorful wreath of lilies and dahlias, a reminder of her presence even when Welton tests him with the depths of its tribulations.

He pried the needle off her hand and reached his face up, ghosting just across the side of her nose. She hid her face, but he gave a silent plead by the pull of his fingers against hers.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever got to see," his eyes scanned her, every crevice of her beautiful skin and those lashes he loved so dearly. He grinned then, a boyish expression of affection. She relented, cupping his face and caressing it with her thumb.

"Someday soon, I'll take us far, far away from this place," he whispered against your palm, kissing it, "a farm, somewhere nice so we can have our children and let them play around in a place where no one could judge them. No one could judge us, peer at us — where you'll be mine, eternal.

"Would you want that?" he pleaded, searching for your answer.

Your tears were effervescent as they fell, Neil catching them before they wet your dress — your lovely, lovely dress which he bought for you last winter.

His heart leapt at the sight of you nodding,

"Yes," you laughed wetly, "yes, Neil, how could I ever say no to that?"

The two of you embraced in the nearing darkness of the cave, protected, safe. Loved by the soul of one another, guarded by the light of a candle much kinder than the sun which exposed them outside. Someday soon, he said,

then someday soon it will be.

Bet you didn't expect this ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

[rhysbradley]

"Oh just pick anyone livin' in Carriage Falls." Rhys paused, taking a sip of his coffee as he glanced around the people in the room. "They love boasting about how much each item in their house has cost them." he of all people could speak from experience after suffering the ordeal of his step-mother until he was eighteen. "It's a dick measurin' competition for Karen's." he explained simply. He pondered Lily's question for a moment, before gently shrugging his shoulders. "I was hoping to find something small I could give as a gift. An apology." Rhys was quick to correct.

Her lip nearly quirked up at the offer as she laid the napkin down gingerly on the table, careful not to allow the liquid to stain the tablecloth. She was making a point, but far be it from Lily to actually ruin something and be reminded how out of place she felt in an event such as this. Maybe of the lineup, she should have picked the seafood or food trucks. Not the art gallery where she knew not as single name associated with the paintings around her. “I’ll keep that suggestion in mind for my second masterpiece. I would rather go home with thirty thousand than only twenty. Just have to find the right target.” Casting a glance around the room where everyone stood and interpreted the meaning of the various brush strokes against canvas, she looked back at her present company. “Assuming you’re not among the art buffs or wannabe collectors, what made you show up to a gallery opening?” / @rhysbradley

[honeybee2807]

Do you know what is funny to me? It's that some people read Cursed Child and genuinely believe that Albus is Harry's favorite child and his other kids(James in particular) are his least favorites. I just read this fanfic which is CC compliant and had James saying "No matter what I do, dad still loves Albus more!"

Like c'mon, if that's how Harry treats his favorite child, he should not be allowed to parent at all. Like you don't tell to your favorite child that you wish they weren't your child! In one scene, he literally confides to Ginny that he wished that Albus was more like James and Lily who were more easier to handle.

Like i get it. HC all what you want(James and Lily could be more neglected so Harry could focus on the "problem child" like certain dynamics of fucked up families). But Albus is definitely not the favorite child. All of James' and Lily's interactions were positive and happy for god's sake.

I genuinely feel like its all projecting. Most of the ppl who hc this tend to be oldest siblings. I once remember a reddit thread that stated that Albus was an ungrateful brat in CC and James was so unloved and neglected and when asked for evidence, they stated that in the epilogue, Harry focused more on Albus than James, the day Albus goes to Hogwarts the first time!!! Ofc Harry is going to focus on Albus. And the OP didnt like that only Albus got to know about Harry's sorting problem, even though Harry said to Albus to comfort him. Redditors didn't believe it and later the OP confessed that they thought James was like them and said how OP's parents favored younger brother over them.

Well I don't think OP realised that there is a thing called "Middle Child syndrome".

Tldr: C'mon, how is Albus the favorite child???? If for some reason that is true, I'll petition to steal all the kids and kick out Harry, cuz if that's how you treat a favorite child, I shudder to think about how he treats Lily and James

PS- Sorry if I sounded a bit rude. It's just some people use this hc to bash on Albus and call him an ungrateful brat. Like if you want to be an anti, no need to create an entire neglect plotline. And also this reminds me of the idea that older siblings suffer way more and any younger siblings who struggle are brats. I sympathise(those parents who favorite the younger siblings should be punished), but i dont think anyone realises how the same older siblings torment and terrorise their younger siblings for fun. (One girl stabbed sister with pencil and got cheered on for it and there are a lot more stories[drowning a younger sib, etc].) If you think I don't have any siblings, you're wrong and my sibling and I don't pull this shit. Ofc, I don't want to downplay older sibling's trauma but y'know it gets tiring to see younger siblings get demonised constantly

[emeralddoeadeer]

trick or treat?

A little October 31st palate cleanser excerpt from Everlong Jily, thanks for the suggestion, Anon.

Lily doesn’t bother changing her clothes, simply envelopes herself in a warm coat and locks the door behind her, walking to the house around the corner.

The sound of children laughing catches her attention, a ladybird and a ninja zoom past her, a harried parent apologising as they follow diligently, a tote bag filled with treats rustling.

Leaves crunch underfoot, red, yellow, and brown, bringing a smile to her face; autumn is her favourite season.

Lily rings the bell, surprised when the bespectacled face that appears is forty years younger than she was expecting, “Trick or treat?”

James leans against the door frame, “You are always a treat Lil, you coming in?”

She follows him inside, the smell of wood burning draws her into the snug where she kicks off her shoes and removes her outer layer, before standing in front of the flames, replacing heat for heat, much to James’ amusement.

He loves that she makes herself at home here, a warmth spreading through him that has more to do with her than the fire in the grate.

“Where are your folks?”

“They went to Dotty’s, her grandkids are visiting, going round the doors here instead of their neighbourhood, Mum and Dad were invited along.”

She nods her head, the thought hadn’t even occurred to her to check, “I uh, got new locks and wanted to drop off a spare key, that’s why I’m here.”

He smiles at her sudden bashfulness, “You don’t need an excuse, I was dropping the car back… but I’m staying for dinner, and I reckon since you don’t have a functioning kitchen yet, you should too, but you’ll have to hang about until they’re back.”

Lily stands with her back to the fire, hands clasped behind her to gather warmth, she bites down on her lip looking back at him, the reflection in his glasses of flames dancing across the lenses.

He takes a step forward and then another, holding his hand out to her, “Come, we can shoot some pool while we wait, the doorbell is pretty loud so if anyone comes, we’ll hear it.”

She slips her hand in his, fingers threading together allowing him to lead her to the games room.

She bumps her shoulder against his, the table already has balls scattered, clear it’s been abandoned mid-match, “Yes, ok, I was playing myself, but it’s more fun to beat someone else so—”

Cut off by her swat, he retrieves the triangle and starts stacking the balls while Lily collects her preferred cue and chalks the tip.

“What are we playing for?” She asks, noticing the soft vocals over electronic music playing from the sound system, a song she hasn’t heard in years, ambient background music.

“How about, old school rules… winner gets a dare.”

Lily accepts his terms but insists she goes first potting two reds and a yellow and progressing around the board to pot another two reds, before narrowly missing the pocket.

Aside from the brief walk to her flat, runs shared in the park and the time together when she was poorly, this is the first real alone time James and she have had together in years.

Lily feels a current run through her, not from apprehension or discomfort but anticipation.

She watches as James lines up his shot, the sleeves of his grey Henley pushed up, tanned forearms already on show, muscles contracting as he arches his hand, altering the angle of the bridge.

“This is nice—” his voice cuts through her reverie, “—us… hanging out.”

Lily looks up to see him watching her, looking for a reaction to his words, tentatively taking his shot and moving to the next set-up.

This boy, this man, he has no idea what he does to her.

The yellow is potted but followed swiftly into the pocket by the white, James collects the cue ball and lays it in the semi-circle for Lily to take her shot, she stands in place, seemingly appraising the table for the best angle.

James walks back around to her side, pausing to see things from her perspective, see what she has planned.

She turns, her back against the long rail, hardly a gap between them, he smiles down at her, his dimple appearing, enjoying this dance, this game.

...

If you want the rest of the scene, click here for chapter 20. It's the one everyone waited a long time for.

xDoe

[sparklywombatwolfcalzone]

The last time Cole had seen Justin would’ve been 6/5-ish years ago… not sure why her fans think that’s evidence of anything especially given Blake’s allegations haven’t went to trial yet, and now she’s being sued as well. They need to leave him out of that crap. But wasn’t Lili exposed for having Maria and her friends make fake accounts to pick up a narrative against Cole and for creating group chats with fans to bash him? Pretty sure she and her mom got exposed for giving false info to people so they could make Twitter threads about him

I completely agree that it was obvious that Lili and Amy orchestrated everything against Cole, with Maria and her petty friends. But, unfortunately, I don't know if they were so exposed. I have no doubt that they were passing on information about Cole, if it wasn't Lili herself and her PR. However, online, I fear that the smear campaign against Cole somehow worked.

And seeing the tweet I linked and other comments about "always believe women," makes me fear that people still don't realize that this was all a petty PR fight, where some people played very dirty.

I agree that despite Blake being much more powerful than Lili, she will come out very bruised from the fight. It is a fight that hurts everyone. But since it has been public how bots, fandoms, trolls are used by celebrities in their childish revenge; It is good that we are able to see them when they are right in front of our noses, and not reduce them, as I have seen done, to something that men do to women.

But yeah, I want Cole left out of this crap. I didn't tag this post because I wanted it to be seen only by people I follow, who are mostly Cole fans and not Lili fans.

[dragimalsdaydreams]

[image ID: 2 images of the same front-view, full-body screenshot of Sucrose from the game Genshin Impact.

the image first is an unedited screenshot of how Sucrose appears in-game. she's pale-skinned with amber-gold eyes framed by big, round, wood-framed glasses. her minty-teal hair is fluffy and short-cropped, with a long rat tail extending her hair from the back (not visible from this front view). two long, pointed, fox-like ears extend from the sides of her head, matching the color of her hair, and pulled down in a bashful position. Sucrose is wearing a very short black + navy blue skirt/romper with long white sleeves, navy ribbons/frills, and gold filigree accents. she's also wearing a matching hat, gloves, and boots, sheer black stockings, and a short white cape (not very visible from the front).

the second image is a heavily edited version of the first. Sucrose now has a minty-teal, fox-like tail to match her ears. a little doodle to the side shows the rat tail being cut off with an emphatic, "NO!!" she's now wearing a brown vest and brown jodhpur pants with mint/gold accents, while the colors of the gloves and boots have been shifted to match. her cape has been extended into a much longer design, shaped after insect wings with a mint-teal gradient, dark teal "veins", and gold accents. a white/teal lily is pinned just under her hat, with two of the stamens extending out much taller than natural, to give the impression of "insect antennae".

end ID]

WHEW this one was unexpected! I've always thought Sucrose was cute, but I honestly didn't think about her all that much. but the recent Windblume gave me a greater appreciation for her character... as well as a newfound irritation for her outfit, lmao. the more I like a character, the more I end up scrutinizing their outfit, sigh...

anyways, design notes and more in-depth image desc under the cut!

barring Tighnari (he's a special case...), I usually start a redesign with shape design in mind rather than color design, as it comes more naturally to me. but Sucrose flipped the script-- I hate how the navy clashes with the mint more than anything else.

[image ID: the two versions, cropped to the torso area.

the original design features a skin-tight, black romper, with a short, navy blue "skirt" wrapped over the top, but split down the middle. the bottom edge of the skirt has thick, navy blue frills. long white sleeves with wide, flared cuffs sit on the shoulders, detached from the romper, leaving a gap of bare skin above the bust. an Anemo vision and black/white bow pins the sleeves up at the base of the throat, sitting just under a fluffy black collar. two leather straps are pinned to the sides of the skirt, one side holding bubbling alchemy tubes. gold filigree accents are scattered about, notably large designs on the shoulders, over the sleeves.

the edited design has changed the romper/skirt into a brown vest that flares into a similar "skirt" shape at the hips. the edges are trimmed in gold, the frills at the bottom edge are mint, and the center is buttoned up with shiny, round mint buttons. the sleeves now attach to the main vest, but are a darker brown that fades even darker towards the white/gold cuff. the leather straps now sit above pockets which are sewed in with thick mint thread. the top of the cape now wraps over the top of the shoulders, and is pinned at the base of the throat by the Anemo vision and a mint bow. this part of the cape is white with the same fluffy black collar, and the large, gold filigree designs on the shoulders.

end ID]

I figure that leaning into the mint with a "minty mocha" palette works better, though I may be biased because it's one of my favorite palettes for mint colors, haha.

all this is to say... I really didn't have any ideas for shapes at first (no, I didn't even have the insect theme in mind yet!). I knew I wanted to give her more interesting pants, at least, but nothing felt "right", or it felt overdone (like the poofy-bottom pants I love so much). I think I only landed on jodhpur pants because I was trying to reverse my own "bottom-heavy" tendencies, haha

[image ID: the edited image, cropped to the pants. these pants flare out wide with extra, poofy fabric at the outside of the hips, then turn sharply back in towards the knees, tapering down into the skin-tight lower legs. they're the same dark brown as the sleeves, and fade to darker brown towards the ends of the pants. the fly is lined with gold, and buttoned with a couple round, teal buttons. the outer sides of the lower legs are lined with a star-tipped gold line, and buttoned with a few teal buttons. end ID]

yes, I know jodhpurs are riding pants, and I... honestly don't even know if Sucrose rides horses in the first place. I usually try to match the practicality of clothing to a character, but I love the shape so much, I just went on ahead with it. maybe she got inspired by Sumeru rider fashion? (and maybe I'll do an alt outfit for Kaeya with jodhpurs? hmm..)

the insect inspiration hit me when I was brainstorming her cape and realized it could reference crystalfly wings!

[image ID: small sketches of the inside and outside of the cape. the cape is shaped vaguely like insect wings, folded back and connected along the seam between each wing. the inner corner of each wing has a long, thin "tail" that flares out into a crescent-like tip. both sides have the gradient of dark-to-light teal, but the outside is notably darker. dark teal "veins" flare across both sides, including the "tails". the main veins have a swirl shape in the center, much like an Anemo crystalfly. both sides are edged in gold trim, but the outside has white section over shoulder area. end ID]

very fitting, since she uses crystalfly constructs in her attacks (though the tails admittedly evoke more "butterfly" than anything)

the cecilia is supposed to add to this "insect" silhouette, evoking "antennae"

[image ID: a white lily, with the typical 6 large, pointed petals, prominent long pistil, and 6 long, thin stamens. the center is teal fading out to white towards the tips of the petals. the pistil is teal, and the stamens are gold with teal tips. two of the stamens are far longer than normal, curving far above the top edge of the flower. end ID]

I figure this is one of Sucrose' alchemy-mutated specimens, to explain the color and two longer stamens, haha

also, fun fact: I always thought cecilias looked like lilies, so I figured it was just another name for lilies I'd never heard of (or otherwise a similar-looking species). so I google cecilias, and what do I find?? it's not a name for any real-life flower-- Genshin cecilias are just misnamed lilies. bizarre Genshin naming conventions strike again (don't look at the animal or ingredient archive too hard if ur a biologist, u might go insane...)

as for the tail, well. can you blame me?

[image ID: a small doodle of the fox tail, hanging comfortably limp. much like the ears, the base color is a light mint, which fades to darker teal at the tip. end ID]

it makes no sense to me that Sucrose and Yae Miko are the only animal-people in the game that don't have tails to match their ears. throw us furries a goddamn bone for once!!

(the cynical part of me thinks it's because fluffy fox tails block the ass too much from the back, unlike thin cat tails, but I can only speculate...)

anyways, since we don't know Sucrose's species, I just went with a fox-like tail, since her ear shape matches Yae's

[thirstyforred]

For the fic writer asks: 5 & 18!

thank's for the ask! (the writer's ask in question)

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

I would say that I note down so many stories ideas that unless something suddenly fixed me, like 3/4 of them won't ever be turned into full fics. That being said I had also some ideas that were essentially character bashing and then i thought to myself, well, I don't actually want to write that, I don't want to be that person no matter how much I dislike character or ship, or rest of the fandom. I can be spiteful, but I'm not crazy

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

Ugh, hard to pick only one!

"Well, for male mages finding “some life essence” is as easy as coming in hand."

from "The Bug Lover" always cracks me up and remains main reason why I kept my sanity while writing that.

“Erland,” whispered the kid. Again, with the incredible gravitas of the king dying from old age after leaving his kingdom to sons and just on his deathbed revealing the existence of a legible older bastard. “I need to pee.”

from one of the chapters of "children of the worse god". Just something about the visual of a six yo sitting sick under blankets and tormenting Erland <3

The truth is that there’s just one thread inside you, making up every single part of you, and it has its own mirror twin, and they spiral each other, and that’s that. If you start pulling on this thread you will unravel yourself completely.

from my fav flop "Wild Hungover", idk I just like the idea that people of Witcherlands may see themselves as containing some fraction of the Spiral and it's 50/50 whether it's coiling to inside or unraveling, but if it's unraveling you can just accidentally will yourself out of existence. i can fuck with that

and of course the best of the best, I hate Dragon Age yet I peaked while writing it: from "The Botanical Compendium"

Through the weeks of their writing, they moved from the lilies to carnations, then violets to lavenders. Soon they would have a whole bouquet. She almost could smell them.

[call-sign-shark]

Lily, fasten you seat belt because this comment is going to be a wild ride. I've got so much to say that I must apologize in advance for the length and for the number of things I'm going to quote.

I enjoy the way you opened the chapter with Tommy's peaceful morning routine after his first night at the Dreadfort. The bond he has with Syndor is adorable. I swoon when the dragon pressed him against his warm scales and purred - he's nothing but a big baby, and I look forward seeing him act such with mama Lucy. The description here is particuarly vivid, such is the case with the lirbary scene. You really manage to balance detailed and efficient descriptions without writing too much nor losing the thread of it and that's very pleasant. The meet cute with Lucy was so heartwarming !! It felt like a romantic movie, with our favorite redhead dropping her books and the handsome, melancholic Prince helping her. It's so great to see Tommy acting like a bashful schoolboy with her, and her being all flustered. I want to hug these two babies.

“No, no, go on. It’s not everyday that I’m so casually threatened.”   I giggled so hard, this was so adorable and fun at the same time. Poor Lucy was shocked hihi. They just met and I can already feel the love radiating off them, they are so pure. I love the trope love at first sight and you did such a good job with it, moreover it suits these two love birds very well. The physical description of Lucy through Tom's eyes was so magnificent, what abeauty she is. No wonder why he was left flabbergasted. I particularly love the "brown sunset" imagery for her warm eyes.

Now, I wasn't ready for the awful reputation she has and how brilliant it is to reuse her nickname Red Demon! "And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair2 Oh my gosh I love it so much, the rumors surrounding her are scary as heck - and they are rendered tragic when you know that she's forced to do it and that it is a torture for her too... I'm side-eyeing Amos hard here. With that being said, Tommy immediately knowing that there was more behind it mad me clap. YES TOM. Side note, the fact they are both quiet in nature and very observant is so greeeeat. What a team they'd make. "

Now, I wasn't ready for the awful reputation she has and how brilliant it is to reuse her nickname Red Demon! "And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair2 Oh my gosh I love it so much, the rumors surrounding her are scary as heck - and they are rendered tragic when you know that she's forced to do it and that it is a torture for her too... I'm side-eyeing Amos hard here. With that being said, Tommy immediately knowing that there was more behind it mad me clap. YES TOM. Side note, the fact they are both quiet in nature and very observant is so greeeeat. What a team they'd make. "Those were not the eyes of a soulless torturer." SURE. And his observation doesn't come from nowhere since I bet he knows how to unmask real cruel people. The whole moment where he hesitates to suggest her to come see him in King's Landing is ADORABLE. Look at our little cold Prince already looking to meet Lucy more.

Aaaah you mentioned the episode in Highgarden and the fact she still writes to Lady Rose, this is adorable. I love that these two stayed in touch. Their friendship is pristine.🖤

Now I'm going to repeat myself but your treatment of Amos is a fucking masterpiece. To the point that you've managed to make me afraid of my own character. I adore how you can feel that he governs pretty much everything and that his presence is suffocating even when he's not physically here. That's something I already said in the previous chapter the but fact each character are very often saying "Amos did this, Amos thinks that, Amos wants this" is so oppressing and very much what I pictured myself. Especially when paired with Lucy's anxious body language when she spins her ring. And how she closes herself and reply that it's not a topic she wants to talk about randered it even more creepy. That's such a realistic traumatic response...

“I’ve never seen him so…taken with someone before.” GNNNNN LILY IIM SCREAMING. YESSS.

"For fuck’s sake. Focus. He forced himself to swallow around his desires” He's already so heels-over-head for head aw. And the moment he focuses on her lips and notices every detail - the fact they are a bit chapped but still look soft - is so intimate!

Okay now when I told you that you've managed to make me scared of my own character I wasn't joking. I literally stopped breathing when Amos appeared and, for that, thank you. Thank you for doing such a great job with him, to the extent of writing about his crushing and terrifying aura so well that even I can feel it through your prose. I am obsessed with the little body language things you add like this: "Lucilla quickly drawing away from him, a half frightened look crossing her face before it was wiped from her features, replaced instead by that tensing of her jaw, defiance already starting to simmer in her eyes. Like she was preparing for an argument. " This is pure talent. This, and the fact he's very often silently questioning/demanding explanations from Lucy. Poor doll, she must always feel cornered like a little animal in front of a predator. I swear when he left I finally breathed again.

"He felt his lips pull upwards a fraction. Ah. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with her." I didn't even think about that but now that I read about it... Yes? How could have I been so blind to this obvious link? They are both outcasted in their family so they are in the best position to understand and empathize with the other.

Aaahhhh the dinner scene... This comment is already too long but I really cannot stop and I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. Her conversation with Teddy was so fun. Especially that part about him willing to steal Tom from her, jokingly said of course aha. He really is a little gay ball of chaos and sunshine <3. As their conversation unfolded, I melted at how Tommy and Lucy looked for and silently greeted each other. Their almost telepathic bond (while they barely know each other) is something I really adored, especially that whole scene with Victor, when she mentally begs him not to say anything... He must have felt that Victor would have got back at her if he did.This is so soft... The panic she felt when she came to sit with her made me laugh so much, a real teenager in love I said. Pure first love.🖤 Like, the two of them brishing each other's fingers and not daring to do more hedkvletgdsdfs.. My babies. You really belong to each other. The "she felt safe with him", while just one sentence, is SO FUCKING IMPORTANT to Lucy.

Their whole conversation and Lucy's confession had me on the edge of my seat. As you wrote, the fact she's literally risking her life if words about her talking badly of Amos end up coming back to him madee the scene so intense. We can see that poor Lucy constantly live in fear of her family hurting her. But her description of Amos' opinion on Victor is on point. See, she's so observant and clever!! She managed to catch the little details while her father is completely oblivious to them. The whole confession was perfect and I was very tempted to copy/paste it entirely because... Perfection is not even strong enough. It's adorable how she's so worried for both Hev and the fact Amos is going to be King, granted him an immense power. Her fears are pretty legitimate and Tom's replies to them are exactly what I had in mind. “My cousin is no shrinking violet. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. And she has Kairaxès at her side.” // “Lord Bolton may be poised to be king, but I have no intention of handing over our dynasty or all of our power to him. Heavenerys will still be queen, and myself and members of my family will continue sit on the small council.” Absolutely!

Thomaryon shrugged. “You can, if you like.” He glanced over at where Heavenerys was still standing with Amos. Her arms were linked with his, smiling up at him adoringly. “But it won’t change anything.” omggg I loved this passage so much. Very spot on once again, and I'm still shocked by how your portrayal of Tommy is exactly what I intended to do with him.

broooooo, blablabla Elyas... ELYAS AT COURT. Let me side wth Lucy and be disgusted along with her. Bro, even Amos would be like "aha no. Go with Fynlor and let the adults work."

And last but not least... THAT FUCKING LAST SCENE. CAN YOU HOLD MY PROTEIN SHAKE WHILE I AM BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL PLEASE??? The little mention of Aerthurys' mental health decaying since the wedding announcement and how stupid Thomaryon thinks it is, knowing that he was well aware of the outcomes in case he still wanted to get involved with Hev... This is so Tommy! I am also obsessed by the relationship you crafted between Hev and Tommy because this is also what I had in mind. He's acting both like a councelor and as a big brother. And Heaven gently teasing him about women is very much little sister-coded. Also while indeed strong and wicked, she is only seventeen; a bit naive and has been sheltered by Polly. You are 100% right.

“She’s…” Beautiful. Warm. Sweet. Fiery. “Nice,” he cleared his throat quickly. “I think you and her will get along.” THIS MADE ME GO BRRRR... OMG SO CUTE. He's already so obsessed - in a good way. Pls I need more of Tommy simping for Lucy.

Now, I told you but that whole conversation got me ecstatic. What a masterpiece! From Polly already showing beef against Lucy (yeah, I got the mean jab aha) to the "Oh he's wonderful --" //"Can you control him?" exchange .... Im yelling. The words "control/handle" Tommy uses and how he emphasizes on the fact that she has to be certain she can handle Amos not only today or tomorrow but for the rest of their life is so powerful.

As for one of the best sentence... “Then he will be my monster.” Just thank you. Listen, I got tears in my eyes when I read this, do you know what? Whether you did it on purpose or not, I wrote a similar thing in which Hev says "He might be a monster but he is MY monster" and the fact you wrote this line literally warmed my heart.

That was wonderful Lily!!!! HAT OFF.

Part 1: Hidden Devotions

Summary: Tommy and Lucy get a chance to speak to each other, and Lucy does her best to warn the Targaryens of the man poised to marry the heir to the throne.

Word Count: 5,924

Warnings: References to torture, incest, and violence.

Notes: Heavenerys and Amos belong to @call-sign-shark, and Rose Tyrell, Jared II Stark, and the other Stark boys belong to @justrainandcoffee.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 2: What Dragons Dream Of

The early morning air was crisp against Tommy’s cheeks, a slight breeze ruffling at his hair. 

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, grateful that the Boltons had thought to provide them with some additional clothing more suited to the northern elements than their own. If he was indeed to start regularly making the trip up here to check on Heavenerys, he was going to need to get a whole new wardrobe for such occasions. 

Beneath his hand, he felt Syndor’s side flex with a snort. Seeming to sense that he was chilled, the dragon’s tail curled against the grass, bumping gently against the back of Tommy’s legs to try to draw him closer to his warm side. 

Tommy chuckled, leaning his cheek against his dragon’s inky scales, closing his eyes at the pleasant burn of them, the cold quickly banished from his bones. 

“Thank you, Syndor,” he said in High Valyrian. A purr rumbled from the dragon’s chest in response, his nose nuzzling at Tommy affectionately.

Tommy smiled, giving him a few strokes along his great side, just enjoying the warmth and comfort of being alone with his dragon. No distrusting eyes staring at him. No whispers behind his back when the utterers thought he couldn’t hear. No judgement burning into his skin.

He sighed, opening his eyes. Giving Syndor one final pat, he pulled away.

“I’ll come see you later,” he promised. Syndor chirped at him in understanding, curling up on the grass. He looked like an enormous, scaled black cat whenever he did that. Happy and content to doze in a patch of sunlight, a slight twitch wracking through his limbs every once in a while as he dreamed of whatever it was that dragons dreamed of.  

Tommy passed a few of the other dragons, most still slumbering soundly, on his way back to the Dreadfort’s gates. He felt awful leaving them out in the cold like this. Even if they did not seem to mind it. 

He stepped through the gates and into the courtyard, glancing around. It was early enough that most of the castle seemed to still be asleep. Not that he minded; it was good to have some time to himself before another day that was likely to be full of meetings and mingling.

Making his way back inside, he slipped off his leather gloves, rubbing his hands together against the cold. He stopped a bustling serving girl to point him in the direction of the library, following her instructions up a quick climb of the stairs and through a few winding hallways until he was pushing open huge oak double doors. 

He was greeted with dozens upon dozens of shelves, each stuffed near to bursting with books. Letting the doors swing shut behind him, Tommy picked one aisle at random to walk down, eyes sliding over the vast assortment of spines detailing practically every subject imaginable, perusing lazily for something that might catch his attention. He was impressed. Though it had nothing on the library in the Red Keep, it was still a surmountable collection. 

There was a sudden loud, heavy thud from a few rows over, followed by several more, and a soft, irritated mumbling. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, following the noise to find the tiny Lady Lucilla between two stacks, attempting to balance an armful of books almost as big as her. A few had fallen from her grasp to land on the floor around her. She huffed, attempting to reach down to pick up the books even with the rest still in her arms. 

With quick steps, Tommy walked down the aisle to her, bending to help gather up the fallen books. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his footsteps, eyes remaining downcast towards the floor. 

“I swear, if you get on my ass about this too, I will–” she began to say, but immediately stopped, eyes growing wide as saucers and jaw falling open when her gaze finally lifted to meet his. Tommy felt his eyebrow twitch upwards again, fighting back an amused grin.

“No, no, go on. It’s not everyday that I’m so casually threatened.”   

“Prince Thomaryon…I am so sorry!” she stammered, cheeks turning the same shade as her hair. “I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s alright.” He reached for another of the fallen books.

“You don’t have to do that. I can manage,” Lucilla tried to insist, still looking adorably flustered. Tommy shook his head. 

“Nonsense. I don’t mind.” When he raised his eyes to her, it was to find Lucilla watching him, her blush seeming to grow when their gazes met. 

Tommy swallowed hard. She was even more beautiful up close than when she had first caught his eye in the courtyard yesterday. A tiny thing, somehow even shorter and more petite than Heavenerys. Slender, but curved in all the right places, with long red hair that fell in tousled waves down her back. Her fair skin was smattered with freckles even more numerous than his own, her eyes a warm, shining sunset brown.

But beneath the soft, wide-eyed expression, he could see a hint of the stern hardness that had been emblazoned on her face yesterday. A look which had only deepened when she and Amos had briefly made eye contact when he introduced her to Heavenerys. It seemed to be a common expression here in the north; a result of the harsh elements and distrust that seemed to permeate throughout the region. 

The northmen were a hard, wild people. They would do well to remember that. 

The Red Demon of the Dreadfort. That was what they called her. It was unclear how exactly the nickname had come about. During a break when they were flying up from King’s Landing, Aeda had started spinning stories about how Lucilla Bolton got the title because of her role as one of the Dreadfort’s torturers. That it was said screams would echo from the bowels of the deepest dungeons of the castle whenever the red haired lady would descend into their depths to convene with the poor souls who had been dragged before her. Some said that the screaming was so loud, villagers residing along the Weeping Water could hear it. And at the end of each session, Lucilla Bolton would emerge from the bowels of the castle, covered head to toe in blood as red as her hair.  

But one look in her eyes, and Tommy knew that could not be all there was to the story. Even if there was any truth in it, some significant detail had been left out; the picture left incomplete. Those were not the eyes of a soulless torturer. There was too much warmth in them.

“So,” he said, quickly looking away, realizing that he had been staring. “Are you checking all of these out…?”

“Returning, actually,” she straightened up, sliding a book into the shelf. Tommy finished gathering the remaining ones that had fallen to the floor, following her as she began to wander through the stacks, returning each book to its proper place. “Thank you. And I’m sorry again for…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

She cast him a shy smile, and he felt a slight swoop in his stomach that he tried to ignore. Fuck, she was pretty. 

“How are you finding the north, my prince?”

“Cold.”

She hummed in sympathy. “I imagine it’s quite grim compared to the capitol.”

“Have you ever been to King’s Landing?”

“No.”

He frowned. “Not even when you came of age?” Many children of the noble houses came to the capitol to be presented at court, usually with the intention of finding a wife or husband if they were not already betrothed. 

Lucilla shook her head. “My father wouldn’t permit it.”

Tommy cocked his head. That made sense, he supposed. Had she been presented at court, he was sure he would have remembered her. “He wouldn’t?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think that he thought anyone would be interested in the daughter of a second son.” She adjusted the books in her arms, an uncomfortable look crossing her face. “Anyway…the furthest south I’ve ever been is to Highgarden. But I was so little, I barely remember any of it.”

“What were you doing in Highgarden?” 

Lucilla stretched up onto her toes, trying to shove a book into a shelf above her head. Tommy took it from her, sliding it back into place. She cast him a thankful look.

“Something about Amos going to ward there. But the arrangement fell through while we were there.”

“Lord Tyrell chose the Baratheon boy instead.” Tommy was only vaguely aware of the incident. Something to do with Amos’s temper getting the better of him and causing Lord Tyrell to send him away. 

“That’s right.” A wistful look entered Lucilla’s eyes. “I’d like to go back there someday. I still write to Lady Rose, sometimes.”

“Lady Rose is a kind woman,” Tommy had not yet met her himself, but word of Highgarden’s most treasured flower had spread far and wide across the realm.

“Yes,” Lucilla agreed. “But usually Riverrun is as far south as we travel.”

“Your mother is a Tully.”

“That’s right.” She slid the last of her books into its proper place on the shelves.

“Well…” Tommy hesitated, momentarily worried that what he was about to suggest might be a little too forward. “Heavenerys and Lord Bolton will be expected to travel to King’s Landing from time to time to make appearances at court. Perhaps you and your family can join them, sometime.”

Something flickered in Lucilla’s eyes, a soft smile finding its way onto her lips. “I would like that.”

Tommy was suddenly deeply aware of just how close they were standing, their chests practically brushing. It wasn’t often that he found himself so much taller than someone. The top of her head barely came up to his chin. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he noticed her eyes lingering on his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucilla cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’m being so rude. Were you looking for something in particular here? The Maester isn’t usually in this early in the morning…” 

Tommy gave a shake of his head. “I was just looking around to pass the time.”

“Why were you up so early?” she asked, head cocking curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added quickly. 

“I like the quiet of the mornings. It’s a good time to think. And I wanted to check on the dragons before breakfast.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of the dragons. “How are they doing?”

“They’re fine.”

Her hands, empty of books now, started fiddling with the few plain gold rings she was wearing. “I’m sorry that we don’t have anywhere better than the field to put them.”

“It’s alright. Truth be told, I think it’s good for them to be out in the open for a while, rather than cooped up in the dragon pit back home.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him something, but decided against it. “Well,” she glanced towards the door, “if you’re hungry, breakfast ought to be finally ready about now. And I expect Amos and my father will both be awake. Even if no one else is.”

“Alright.” He followed her out of the library and down the hall, letting her guide the way to the great hall. “Thank you for keeping me company this morning,” he told her as they descended down the stairs. Lucilla gave him another one of those shy, sweet smiles. 

“Thank you for saving me from my mountain of books.”

He had to push down another smile, momentarily puzzled at how many times he’d had to do so since encountering her in the library. It felt so…easy to be around her. He could not even have begun to explain why. She was a Bolton. Practically a complete stranger. He should have felt wary at best when it came to being alone with her.

“Amos and the princess seem quite pleased with each other,” Lucilla remarked as they walked.

“You sound surprised.”

“Amos hasn’t been interested in marriage at all. He refused every match brought before him until he was offered the future queen.” Her fingers were twisting at her rings again. “I’ve never seen him so…taken with someone before.”

Tommy cocked his head, still trying to puzzle out the details regarding the clear animosity between Lord Bolton and Lucilla. “You and him don’t get along.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway.

“No. Not since I was a child.”

“Why?”

Her pace slowed, shoulders tensing, jaw setting as though it were locking tight around the answer to his question.  

“Lady Lucilla?” Tommy pressed. 

“It’s not a pleasant topic of conversation.” An odd, faraway look crossed her beautiful features, as though her mind was somewhere else. Locked in some haunting, dark memory that had the color draining a little from her cheeks, the warm light flickering out in her eyes.

They came to a stop at a door leading into the great hall, her small hand enclosing around the knob. Before she could turn it, Tommy reached out, wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, turning her gently to face him. He tried to ignore the way something tightened in his chest at the feeling of the warmth from her body even through the layers of her dress. 

She looked up at him, eyes wide. She had lovely, full pink lips. Despite being chapped a little from the dry air of the north, they looked soft. 

For fuck’s sake. Focus. He forced himself to swallow around his desires. Lucilla was staring up at him, confliction apparent in her face.

“What…?” he began to ask, but the sound of approaching footsteps had Lucilla quickly drawing away from him, a half frightened look crossing her face before it was wiped from her features, replaced instead by that tensing of her jaw, defiance already starting to simmer in her eyes. Like she was preparing for an argument. 

“Prince Thomaryon. Lucilla,” Lord Amos Bolton said, dark eyes gleaming when he caught sight of them. “How surprising to see you together.”

“Good morning, Amos,” Lucilla greeted her cousin.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked, eyes narrowing at her scrutinizingly, shifting between her and Tommy suspiciously. 

Lucilla’s hands had clasped together in front of herself, gripping each other so tight her knuckles were turning white. “I…”

“I got lost,” Tommy interrupted quickly, flashing Amos a bashful smile, “trying to find my way to the great hall from the library. Lady Lucilla was kind enough to rescue me.”

Amos raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He was still eying Lucilla questioningly. She shifted from foot to foot. 

“Just trying to be a good host, Amos,” she murmured.  

Amos frowned. “How unlike you, Lucilla.”

She managed a weak smile. “Even I know to be on my best behavior when dragons are about, cousin.” She opened the door to the great hall, shuffling aside. “After you, my prince. My lord.”

Tommy gestured for Amos to go first. Once the lord had swept into the hall, he cast another curious glance Lucilla’s way.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, eyes still watching Amos warily where he was moving to sit beside Victor Bolton, already seated and eating his porridge.

“Of course,” Tommy murmured in reply, deciding that now was not a good time to try to pry further into her problems with her cousin. He shot her a half teasing look. “Are you not normally a good host?”

With Amos a good distance away, some of the tension seemed to drain out of her face. Enough so that she was able to manage a small, mischievous smirk. 

“Oh, don’t you know, my prince? No matter what I do, I will ever get their approval. I’m the outcast of the family.”

He felt his lips pull upwards a fraction. Ah. Perhaps that was why he felt such kinship with her. 

“So am I.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Dinner was a quieter affair than it had been last night. Only members of house Bolton and Targaryen occupied the great hall, so that the families could get to know each other better without any distractions from the other houses. A few stood to mingle or swap seats as the meal went on, and soon the buzz of multiple conversations was flowing naturally throughout the hall.

Lucy sat at her spot next to Teddy at the high table, sipping her wine and humming along to whatever it was her brother was talking to her about. She wasn’t really listening. Her mind had been distracted all day, endlessly replaying the encounter in the library with Prince Thomaryon. The blue of his eyes staring piercingly back at her. The deep rumble of his voice. The way his lips kept twitching up at the edges as if he were suppressing a smile. The warmth of his hand through the thick layers of her dress when he touched her arm. 

“Lucy?”

“Hm?”

Teddy poked her. “You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then closed it. There really was no point in trying to pretend. 

“Sorry.”

Her little brother–even though he was only a year younger than her, she would always think of him that way–cocked his head. His shaggy blonde hair fell into his face, that mischievous glow that was almost always present in his eyes starting to burn more earnestly. “What is it that’s gotten you so distracted all day?”    

Lucy wriggled in her seat, gaze darting across the great hall to where Thomaryon was sitting before she could stop herself. As if sensing her looking at him, the prince’s eyes shifted to fix on hers. She quickly looked away, feeling her cheeks warm. Beside her, having followed her gaze, Teddy grinned. 

“Ah.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say a thing.” He raised his wine glass to his lips, grin broadening. “Can’t really blame you though.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Those blue eyes of his really are something.”

“I ran into him in the library this morning. He’s nice,” that last part came out as a whisper.

Her brother rested his chin on his palm, eyes still dancing with amusement, but something more analytical had entered them as well, appraising her face in a way that made her shift nervously.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smitten before.”

“I am not–”

“That blush you’re sporting says otherwise.”

She swallowed hard, frowning. “I barely even know him.”

“So?” Teddy smirked at her. “He keeps looking over here at you.”

She chanced a quick glance back across the hall to find that he was right. Thomaryon was indeed staring at her, but this time when their gazes met, neither of them immediately looked away. Thomaryon raised an eyebrow, one side of his lips tugging up. 

Hi, his eyes seemed to say.     

Lucy offered him a small smile in return. Hello.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” Teddy said in her ear. She pulled her eyes away from Thomaryon to fix back upon her brother.

“No.” Her hands fidgeted with each other, twisting at her rings. “I’m sure that he’s had more than enough conversation with me for one day.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Oh you do, do you? And why’s that?”

Teddy grinned. “‘Cos he’s coming over right now.”

She felt her eyes widen, panic momentarily seizing her. “What–!?”

Teddy smirked, picking up his goblet. “If you do manage to snare him, I don’t suppose you’d consider sharing, would you?”

“Theodan!”

“I’m only kidding! Mostly. Good luck!” He shot her a wink, then stood from his seat and sauntered away to go speak with Prince Jon in one of the far corners of the hall.

Lucy drew in a shaky breath to try to steady herself, looking up when the prince’s shadow fell across her. The expression on his face was almost shy. 

“Lady Lucilla. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Prince Thomaryon.”

He nodded to the vacant seat next to her. “May I…?”

She nodded, hoping that she didn’t come across as too eager. “Yes, yes, of course.”

He sank into the chair, setting his goblet down onto the table.

“How was your first day at the Dreadfort?” she asked. “I heard that you were meeting with my father and cousin earlier.” The three of them had disappeared after breakfast to speak in Amos’s study. Something about discussing the structure of the court and small council once Heavenerys and Amos had been crowned. 

“It was alright,” he shrugged. “Productive.”

“Will you be remaining as Hand of the King?” Her eyes fixated on the pin clipped to the left side of his chest, glinting slightly in the dim candlelight. He had been appointed to the position during Pollyanna’s regency, and by all accounts had taken to the role as though he were born for it. 

“Yes. We discussed it, and Amos wants to keep me on.”

“That must be a relief.”

“Yes, it is,” he admitted. “We weren’t sure if Amos would want to name your father to the position instead.”

“Ah,” she couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the suggestion, even though she understood why they might have thought that. “Lucky for you, I don’t think that Amos is as fond of my father as he might initially appear.”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “Really? I thought that Lord Victor was his primary advisor and mentor after Lord Bolton’s father died.”

“He was. But I think Amos prefers to keep him at arm's length. He…” she frowned, struggling to put the relationship into words, “he knows my father is loyal. And useful. But I don’t think he carries particular affection for him.” It was perhaps one of a few things that she and her cousin had in common.

“But your father cares for him.”

“Yes,” she looked away. “He is the first born son that he never had.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness entirely out of her voice. 

Thomaryon reached out, hesitated, and then brushed his thick fingers across her knuckles to draw her attention back to him. Lucy swallowed harshly at just how much bigger his hand was compared to hers. It wasn’t until their eyes met that he seemed to even realize what he was doing, quickly snatching his hand back and leaving her to mourn the loss of his burning touch. 

“About earlier…” Thomaryon cleared his throat awkwardly. “My questions about you and Amos…I apologize if I overstepped…”

Lucy shook her head quickly. “It’s alright.”

The prince relaxed, face softening a little. “If there ever is anything that you feel you ought to tell myself or my family, you are always welcome to. Anything you say will be taken into confidence, and no punishment will come to you. You have my word.”

You don’t know my family very well, she thought sadly, but smiled at him for the gesture. All day, she had agonized over whether or not she should say something to one of them. If she did warn them regarding what they were sending Heavenerys into, and word got back to Amos that it was her who spoke up, the consequences would be dire.

But…could she really live with herself if she said nothing, and left the princess to walk into the jaws of a rabid dog potentially unawares?

She met Thomaryon’s gaze. There was something warm there, despite the icy blue of his eyes. She could not have entirely said why, but she felt safe with him. She did not doubt that he would make good on his promise of protection if that was what it came to. 

“You’ve heard the rumors about him,” she started to say, slowly. “About this place.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you promised her to him anyway.” That was the one thing she could not understand. Amos’s reputation was no secret. He wore it proudly. They had to know what he was. Why would they have offered him the future queen’s hand, and by extension one of the most powerful seats in the entire kingdom, if they were aware of all that? 

“Heavenerys is certain that she can handle him.”

“Can she?”

“Yes, I believe she can.” 

“Even if everything the rumors say about him is true?”

Thomaryon cocked his head. “My cousin is no shrinking violet. She’s more than capable of protecting herself. And she has Kairaxès at her side.”

Lucy nodded. The enormous, frost-scaled dragon was a formidable, legendary creature. She certainly would not want to risk his blue flames or sharp teeth if she was Amos. 

“He’s going to be king,” she said softly, her last hopes that the arrangement would fall through slowly dying, glancing across the room to where Amos was standing next to Heavenerys, close enough for their sides to be brushing while they conversed with her father. 

“Lucilla,” Thomaryon leaned forward, an urgency in his face. His voice lowered. “Lord Bolton may be poised to be king, but I have no intention of handing over our dynasty or all of our power to him. Heavenerys will still be queen, and myself and members of my family will continue sit on the small council.”

Lucy let her arm rest on the table, her fingers but inches away from his, aching to reach out and recapture the comfort that the warmth of his brief touch had brought her earlier, but not brave enough to actually do so. She nodded, letting his words sink in and soothe some of her worries. 

“Just…be careful with him,” she murmured. 

Thomaryon nodded. “We will.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief at knowing he had taken her warnings seriously and understood what he was dealing with. And yet…

“I feel as though I should say something to the princess as well…” 

Thomaryon shrugged. “You can, if you like.” He glanced over at where Heavenerys was still standing with Amos. Her arms were linked with his, smiling up at him adoringly. “But it won’t change anything.”

Lucy had to agree with him on that front. Amos was looking at Heavenerys with a similar expression of adoration splitting his face. Lucy shook her head. She barely recognized him. Never before had she seen him so…happy.

“We had to marry her to a northman,” Thomaryon explained, swirling the wine in his goblet lazily. 

“The people have been growing restless up here,” she concurred. 

“Yes. And with your house’s recent amassing of power, alongside how formidable the Starks already are, my aunt is worried about rebellions.”

“Why didn’t you marry her to one of the Stark boys?”

“Word is that Jared II is not particularly interested in the company of women, and the other two are already betrothed.”

“And I don’t imagine that the queen was all too interested in marrying the princess off to a house of any lesser standing than ours,” Lucy concluded.

“That’s right.”

She hummed, still watching Amos and Heavenerys, trying to discern if either of them were faking the love that seemed to be sparking between them. “Perhaps it will end up being a good match and I’m worrying for nothing.”

“Perhaps.” 

She looked back at Thomaryon to find him still gazing at her. The warm intensity of his eyes had her heart skipping a beat, warmth finding its way back to her cheeks. She opened her mouth, intending to change the subject to something more pleasant, when a voice interrupted. 

“Prince Thomaryon,” her father said, a hand landing on the back of her chair. Lucy felt her spine go rigid, jaw setting in a grimace at the unwanted presence. “So sorry to interrupt, but if you have a moment, I want to introduce you to my son, Elyas.”

Thomaryon frowned, looking like he was about to protest.

“That’s alright,” Lucy said quickly, knowing that if he refused his request, it would only cause a fuss between her and her father later. He’d probably accuse her of holding the prince hostage with her silly, boring little stories. “I’m sure that I’m boring the poor prince to tears anyway,” she managed a weak smile. Her father merely scowled at her before turning his expectant face back to Thomaryon.

The prince looked back at her, frowning a little, still looking conflicted. 

Please, just do what he wants. It’s easier, that way, she silently pleaded.

Whether he read the message in her eyes or not, Thomaryon stood, albeit reluctantly. “Alright.” But before departing with her father, he reached out, taking Lucy’s hand in his, and lifted it to press a quick kiss to the back of her palm. Lucy’s eyes widened at the softness of his lips against her skin. “It was lovely getting to speak with you, Lucilla,” he murmured, letting her hand go. 

“You as well, my prince,” she managed to stutter out. He gave her a small smile, lashes lowered slightly, light from the candles reflecting in his ice colored eyes. Her heart felt as though it was doing backflips in her chest, cradling the hand he had kissed to her chest as if she could infinitely hold the memory of his lips on her skin. Her father led him impatiently away, already saying something about his hopes that there may be a place for Elyas at court someday. Lucy cringed, feeling vaguely ill at the idea. She had been so focused on warning Thomaryon about Amos, she had not even gotten a chance to offer him a heads up regarding her brothers. 

“Cockblock,” Teddy muttered scowling at the back of their father’s head, coming up to stand beside her. “Ow!” he complained upon her elbowing him in the side.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” she scolded halfheartedly while he retook his seat next to her. It wasn’t like she needed anymore of that. She already got hollered at for things enough as it was. 

Teddy flashed her a smile, as if he knew something that she didn’t. “Oh, sweet sister. Based on the way that he looks at you, I think you already are.”  

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy rapped his knuckles against the wooden door leading into Heavenery’s chambers impatiently. It took only a moment for the door to be opened not by Heavenerys, but by Polly. 

“What do you want?” his aunt asked, looking puzzled at his presence. 

“I need to speak with Hev about something.”

She raised an eyebrow, but stepped aside to let him in. Heavenerys was sitting on a loveseat near the fire, working to undo the intricate braids her hair had been styled in for the day. 

“Hello, Tommy,” she greeted him warmly. “What’s going on? Is it Aerthurys?”

He sighed. It had been his and Jon’s job to keep their older brother from losing his damned mind during their time at the Dreadfort. Ever since Heavenerys’s betrothal to Amos had been announced, their older brother had been teetering on a ledge, moments away from spiraling into madness.

Tommy understood, to some level. Aerthurys had loved Heavenerys since they were children. It had to be agonizing for him to watch her be wrenched from his side and married to another man. But that did not stop Tommy from wishing that he could get a damned grip over himself. They may be royalty, but none of them were above duty. They had known that this day would come eventually. Polly had made it clear from the beginning that they would not be partaking in the tradition of incest that their family had enacted in the past. They needed to strengthen their ties with the other houses across the realm, and dilute some of the madness and sickness which generations of inbreeding had wrought upon them. 

Tommy struggled to understand how Aerthurys had not properly prepared himself for this moment. But then again, if he had any sense at all, his brother wouldn’t have gotten involved with their cousin in the first place.

“No,” he reassured, taking a seat across from Heavenerys, “it’s not Aerthurys.”

She tipped her head curiously. Polly sat down next to her. “So what is it?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve spoken to Lady Lucilla some today.”

Heavenerys’s expression warmed. “I saw you sitting beside her at dinner. What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Beautiful. Warm. Sweet. Fiery. “Nice,” he cleared his throat quickly. “I think you and her will get along.”

Heavenerys brightened further. 

“But…?” Polly prompted, expression still stiff. Tommy kept his gaze locked with Heavenerys’s.

“You and Amos seem to be getting on well.”

His cousin’s face lit up like the sun, eyes glowing with the brightness of a woman newly in love. “Oh, Tommy, he’s wonderful…”

“Can you control him?”

Her smile faded a little. “What…?”

He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the over. He hated to potentially throw cold water onto her happiness, but he needed to be certain about this. “Lucilla says that all the rumors about him are true.”

Heavenerys’s smile died away. Polly’s lips pursed. “Amos has been nothing but lovely and charming when I’ve spoken to him.”

“Of course he has. You’re the queen. And his betrothed’s mother. If he were rude to you I’d be questioning his intelligence.”

Polly leaned back into the loveseat, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “You’re really going to trust the word of a torturer?”

He frowned at the reminder of the rumors that swirled around Lucilla. “I don’t think that’s what she really is.”

Polly scoffed. “Thomaryon, when it comes to beautiful women, you’re not always the best judge of character…”

He sputtered slightly in offense. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you often think with the head not attached to your shoulders,” Heavenerys giggled.

Tommy huffed, running a hand through his hair and giving a slight shake of his head. “She seems frightened of him. And her father. Look…she just wants us to be careful, that’s all.”

Heavenerys tipped her head. “That’s kind of her to worry, but she doesn’t need to.” She smiled slyly. “I’ve already got him eating from the palm of my hand, and we haven’t even spent the night together yet.”

Tommy leaned towards her, staring hard into her eyes. There was a dismissiveness in her attitude that only worried him further, but that he did not know how to combat. She was only seven and ten, and–while she may have denied it–still optimistic and naive when it came to much in the ways of the world. Polly had always been so protective over her. She’d sheltered her, sometimes too much. 

“You’re the future of the realm, Hev. I need you to be sure that you can handle him. Not just today, or tomorrow. But for all the years to come. And in all matters. We can’t have him becoming another cruel tyrant on the throne. I can help you, but there’s only so much that I can do, even as Hand…” 

Heavenerys smiled at him, leaning closer, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “I am sure, Tommy. You don’t need to worry.”

“Even if he really is a monster?”

An edge seemed to enter her smile, something flickering within her near glowing eyes, and he was reminded of the superstitions that his cousin was kissed by the cold, cursed with something wicked and twisted.

Perhaps, that really did make her the perfect match for the dark lord of the Dreadfort.

“Then he will be my monster.”

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[spiltscribbles]

Ooohhh write us something pretty with 27 I love the way you interpret prompts

2SNotes: OMFG ANGEL 😭😭😭 you are so fucking gorgeous for this babes! This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like MONTHS holy shit! Thank you so so much and I can’t wait to pump out more of these pretty prompts tonight xxxx💞💞😘

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A REBLOG IS WORTH SO MUCH |  Send Me A Prompt  |  27. A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

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It’s new. This thing between them. This mirage of quick kisses pressed to the corner of mouths, and hands brushing beneath desks during shared classes, and purposefully jumbled scarves because the scent of Remus’s bonfire scented  soap always works like a charm to relieve Sirius from any headache coming on.

It only became official over Christmas break, after Sirius had finally snuck away from his oppressive familial home and to the warm embrace of the Potter manner and he made a personal promise to finally just take grasp of anything and everything he wanted without fearing the oppressive hand of his familial ancestry; so o course when Remus tumbled through the the fireplace with a flush faced and giggling Lily in one arm, and a bouquet of tulips for Mrs Potter in the other— fashionably early for the annual Potter Christmas Eve bash— Sirius couldn’t help but drag him to the gardens right at the cusp of midnight. And lying here now, it’s a near echo of that night with starlight dusting silver in Remus’s fair hair and the moon tracing romantically down the slope of his nose and atop the high points of his cheeks and around the perfect cupids bow of his lips.

And just like a mere two months ago— amidst the glistening snowfall and tolling bells and laughter soaked outdoors— Sirius leans over the six inches dividing them on the fourposter, and threads his hand in Remus’s curls, and he thrills when he feels the cold tips of Remus’s fingers tucking beneath his vest the moment their lips meld together like a sort of dance from ages long past.

“You taste like treacle tart,” Remus says lowly, half against Sirius’s mouth and half amidst a laugh that sounds like everything dulcet Sirius couldn’t possibly begin to name.

With all the bravado that the Black name has afforded him, Sirius scoffs, sits up from where he was draped atop of Remus and tries his best to glower amidst the glee mangling his face into something bright and glimmering. “Oi, Lupin, if we’re talking about which one of us got a sweet tooth, I’d watch my cavity infested mouth if I were you.”

“Is that right?”

“One of us has got pockets full of chocolate frogs and fudge flies at all moments, love, and it surely me, innit.”

“And here I thought you just felt me up for the fun and not for my sugary sweets,” Remus retorts tauntingly, feigning hurt with a grin bubbling at one corner of his lips and one of his golden brows cocked.

And it’s one of those perfect, glittering moments between them. Cheeky banter that’s blanketing all the unspoken truths that’s needling just above the surface of the six years that has built them together. Six years of trust and heartache and love and friendship and all the trappings those feelings entail— Six years that culminated that winter night a hand full of weeks ago where they looked into one another’s eyes— silver melding into gold— and all the guardedness was finally stripped away, washed off in a ocean of wandering hands and desperate tongues and half managed out whispers that amounted to I’ve wanted this for so long.

sitting here now, in the hush of their empty dormitory, Sirius knows it’s another one of those heavy moments full of potential. A space of time where Sirius can tell Remus that he loves him, that he’s never really seen what it means to be in love before meeting the Potters but he knows innately that what he feels for Remus and what he’s always felt for him is that. Sirius knows that this bone weary, but intoxicating sensation is that. He knows that the way Remus can make his heart lighter with only his grin and make Sirius’s palms sweat with only the way his eyes get darker when there tucked beneath a shared duvet, is a love that’s for the ages.

But then he hears stomping footsteps rushing up the stairs, and Peter’s cracking voice whining about James taking something or the other from him, and he sees that Remus’s coquettish little leer has tightened up to a more measured, more appropriate straight line, the one that Sirius himself has dubbed as the Prefect Pout. 

The moment’s popped, but he’s sure that they’ll have a life time’s worth of them for Sirius to tell Remus just exactly how much he adores him.