#bay window flower box

[studyelephant]

Phoenix Exterior

[bibliotecauditiva]

Exterior Stone Dallas Example of a sizable, two-story, stone exterior home in the transitional beige style with a tile roof.

[kalliforniaa]

Traditional Exterior Philadelphia Idea for a large, two-story, traditional gray vinyl home with a shingle roof

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

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.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free. 

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground. 

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes. 

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home. 

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls. 

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance. 

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion? 

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room. 

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those… 

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done? 

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water. 

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-” 

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely. 

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.” 

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.” 

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that. 

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.” 

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor. 

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae. 

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets. 

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed. 

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger. 

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip. 

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands. 

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it. 

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye. 

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved. 

“I made a mistake don’t-” 

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather. 

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic. 

“No, no I didn’t.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple. 

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman. 

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said. 

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side. 

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…” 

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.” 

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice. 

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.  

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed. 

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea. 

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly. 

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.” 

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood. 

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.” 

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night. 

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.” 

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him. 

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind. 

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for. 

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.” 

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

[heejayy]

Jason Todd x black reader (1.3k) Warning: angst, mentions death, blood, and swearing

A/n: this has no title it’s just been floating around in my head and I finally wrote it.

[Flashback]

Jason had been acting strangely for the previous week, but you didn't want to bother him because he already had enough on his plate for a seventeen-year-old side kick, but you couldn't help but keep an eye on him as he lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head. You follow his gaze, and he's simply staring out your bay window, watching the rain fall. Jason's nonverbal behavior is nothing new; he's always in his head, but this time feels different, which alarms you.

"Hey Jay you okay?" You asked scooting closer, and he only nodded, his gaze never leaving the window.

You frowned.

You reverted back to silence until you had an idea, then bent down and pecked his forehead, cheeks, and lips. You continued to kiss his face until his lips cracked into a smile.

"Stop, I'm trying to be broody and mysterious," you giggled, snorting.

"Leave that to your father it doesn't suit you." He let out a tiny gasp as he playfully nudged you. As the laughter subsided, Jason rolled off your bed and walked over to his gym bag. After rummaging through it for a few seconds, he found what he needed and returned to you. He was holding what appeared to be a little jewelry box.

“Jay wh-“ before you could question him on it he sat beside you gently grabbing your hand.

"Angel, before you open this, I want you to know that I adore you, and in the year we've spent together, you've truly made life worthwhile. I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, and I've been told I have a temper, but you've stayed with me nonetheless, and I wanted to thank you for that.” He leaned in, kissed your forehead, and handed you the box.

"Umm Jason if your contemplating on-"

"No! I'm not thinking about hurting myself, so just open the box." You laughed at his frustration and did as you were ordered. You opened the jewelry box, revealing a lovely charm bracelet. It was embellished with red and blue charms, his initials, and a robin. You couldn't stop yourself from crying, "Jason, I love it!" You wrapped your hand around his neck, squeezing him tightly and nearly knocking him down.

"Here, angel, let me put it on for you," you reluctantly let go, allowing him to snap the bracelet onto your wrist. You shook your wrist with a smile, hoping to hear the charms jitter together. "I'm never taking this off."

[Present]

And you never did.

Today marks four years since Jason passed; the night he gave you the bracelet was the last time you saw him. There were so many things you wanted to say if you had known what was about to happen.

You sulked as you fiddled with the charms on the bracelet, gently dragging your finger over the letter J…

"Y/n?"

"Y/n?!" Your head shot up, looking for whoever yelled your name.

"Focus! We're getting busy," you stumbled out of your seat in a haze and walked up to the cash register, muttering an apology to Anya before accepting the customer's order. "Hi I'm sorry for the delay welcome to Lush Latte how may I help you?"

And that's how your day went: trapped in a trance on autopilot, daydreaming about the what-ifs. Before you knew it, it was time to clock out, so you packed your belongings and headed for the door.

"Hey, before you leave, I wanted to ask if you were okay. You were more quiet than usual," Anya inquired. You nodded, offering her a little smile, before pulling the cafe doors wide. You were assaulted with a gust of cool air; autumn is gradually turning into winter, and the temperature begins to drop dramatically early in the day. Which you despised. You checked your phone and realized you had two hours till it was absolutely dark outside. You went to a flower shop, picked up a bouquet of lilies and orchids, and made your way to him.

….

As you approached Gotham's Cemetery, you gathered the flowers from the passenger seat and walked to his tombstone. As you placed your flowers in the vase, you noticed fresh white roses next to them, and a sad smile emerged on your lips. "Must be Alfred," you muttered, fixing his flowers in the vase alongside your own. After rearranging the flowers and cleaning up his grave, you took a step back. Looking at his tombstone always made his death seem too real. "Jason Todd, a good soldier" it read. Every time you read that, you're filled with wrath, remembering all of your arguments with Bruce to get it changed

“How could you?!!” He was your son not some fucking soldier, you used him and now you’re throwing him away! You never loved him! You NEVER CARED!”

You closed your eyes, and tears streamed down your cheeks. You remember shouting and striking him, but he never moved, never yelled or hit you back; he simply let you unleash your rage and frustration on him until Dick carried you away in an attempt to calm you.

How could he diminish his son to merely a soldier? You would never understand.

Thunder boomed over the sky, making you flinch; it began to drizzle, and you took this as your cue to depart. You bid him farewell, dried your tears, and drove home.

….

You didn't realize you had driven all the way home until you parked your car in the garage. You made it up to your apartment and locked the door behind you. By now, your head was throbbing and you were worn-out; this time of year is never easy for you.

You turned on the lamp and hung your purse and coat on the rack; when you kicked off your shoes, you noticed a small puddle on the floor. This triggered alarms in your head, and as you moved around more, you observed mud tracks around your flat, which couldn't have came from you because the shoe size was significantly larger than yours.

Fearful, you stealthily got a knife from the kitchen and wandered around your, "hello?!"

"If anyone is in here I have a knife and will fuck you up!" As you moved down the hall past the living room, you noticed that your bedroom door was open and the lights were turned on. Your breath hitched and stuttered in between gulps as your terror grew. There was blood on the door, plenty of it. You stormed into the room, ready to stab the stranger, but there was nothing there until you heard ragged breathing coming from the bathroom.

You peeked into the restroom and saw a pair of dirty boots, then pushed the door open with your foot to reveal a very massive beat up man lying down on the floor, gripping his bleeding abdomen.

"Who the hell are you?!" You screamed aiming the knife towards him. Wow, how terrifying…

He slowly peered up at you with hooded eyes, damp hair stuck to his forehead, barely conscious, and whispered, "You don't recognize me, angel?" You tilted your head in disbelief, still pointing the knife at the strange man.

Angel? The only person who ever called you angel was…no it can’t be.

Your grip on the knife loosened as the realization set in. But this is insane; you saw his body, and he is dead! You started feeling nauseous, your chest clenched, and your breathing became shallow. It can't be him; he's never had green eyes, this many scars, or a white streak combed through his hair.

"If you don't let me bleed out on your bathroom floor I'll explain everything, I promise.”

•••

©heejayy 2024 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission

[syninplays]

Medieval Set - ts3

It's been 84 years, but it's done. 35 objects from AggressiveKitty's Medieval Set now for The Sims 3!

Note: yeah I know a lot of stuff was left out, I tried to pick the things I actually liked and thought I would use for my game, plus passed on some stuff that is very similar to existing ts3cc or that was very high poly (*coughs* like the bed frames & the fireplace *coughs*)

>DOWNLOAD<

If you feel like it, you can support my tears me on Patreon or Ko-fi 🥺🥰

Polycounts + name references are under the cut ↓

Stone Tower - 1,1k

Medieval Cathedral Pinnacle - 4,1k poly (recolorable!)

Medieval Cathedral Tower - 3k poly (recolorable!)

Medieval Stone Panel Medium (& small) - 4,7k poly

Medieval Castle Stone Arch - 614 poly

Medieval Castle Square Tower - 6,5k poly

Medieval Gothic Trim - 1,5k poly (recolorable!)

Medieval Gothic Fence (trim) - 1,5k poly (recolorable!)

Medieval Single Star Window Bay - 800 poly (last swatch is recolorable!)

Medieval Top Dome - 2,5k poly (last two swatches are recolorable!)

Medieval Nuremburg Half Window Decor - 1,8k poly

Medieval Asset Spike - 6,1k poly

Medieval Castle Stair Tower - 6,6k poly

Medieval Tiny City Dome Full - 5,5k poly

Medieval Tiny City Dome Half - 5,4k poly

Medieval Castle Pack Long Tower - 5,2k poly

Medieval Castle Pack Stand Tower - 5,4k poly

Medieval Castle Pack Tower I - 550 poly

Medieval Castle Pack Building - 3k poly

Medieval City Small Dormer - 4,1k poly

Medieval Gothic Flower Divider Medium - 4,6k poly

Medieval Gothic Flower Divider Small - 4,6k poly

Medieval Gothic Fence Column - 6,7k poly

Medieval Lady Casket - 2,4k poly

Medieval Long Tapestry - 2,9k poly

Medieval Lord Gold Silver Wine Cup - 3,7k poly

Medieval Reliquary - 16,7k poly! (couldn't lower it more sorry!)

Medieval Open Letter - 2,1k poly

Medieval Small Reliquary - 3,6k poly

Medieval Ye Olde Book - 5,3k poly

Medieval Bereau Writing Box - 5,7k poly

Medieval Lady Gold Silver Wine Cup - 4k poly

Medieval Small Tapestry - 1,9k poly

Medieval Living Chair - 2,6k poly

[zombholic]

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏

“who the fuck moves to tennessee dad!” you threw your hands to your head while having a heated argument with your father.

he said something about his business booming if they moved over there, how he’d be making twice as much as his regular income.

but next thing you knew you were unloading boxes upon boxes into your farm house that was beautifully remodeled you can even say. you chose the room with a gorgeous bay window that showed the entire farm from the backyard, you can say this is the whitest thing you dad ever decided.

after a couple of weeks of still getting settled into your new home, the only neighbor you had being at least three miles away. your dad had hired some help with the farm, he was eager to make it into something beautiful, he was having them buy all sorts of crops and farm animals. yeah, you like animals but if a chicken chased you, you are running for you damn life.

“y/n, come here real quick!” you slipped on your fluffy little slides and made your way downstairs to see your dad sitting down with a couple other people, he made them something to snack on in the meanwhile.

“yeah?” you sat on the arm of the coach “these are our farmers, they’re gonna be here for a very long time so introduce yourself now because they’re gonna become family real soon” he chuckled, you got up and shake their hands, your eyes getting caught on the muscular blonde with a long braided ponytail, her blue eyes and freckled face could’ve ended you right there until you noticed her arms.

“uh.. i’m y/n but you guys can call me y/nn if you want” your handshake with the girl lasting a little longer “well of course miss y/n, it’s great to meet you, my names abby!” a strong southern accent slipped from her lips.

—

every time your dad left for work you took the opportunity to blast music from you room, the songs slipped through the little cracks in the wooden house enough for the farmers to hear. you noticed today was a little hotter than other day so you decided to be a good little help and bring them sandwiches you made with something to drink.

walking outside over to the guys you thanked them for their help and handed them the snack, you couldn’t seem to find abby until you heard noise coming from the stables, entering it you swore you could’ve passed out at the sight of her. the sleeves to her button up rolled up to show off her veiny arms, sweat seeping through, strands of her hair sticking to her face. she was loading hay bells on top of each other, she noticed your presence after you staring at her with goo-goo eyes.

“hey ms. y/n, can i help you with anythin’?” she took her gloves off tucking them into her back pocket, wipes the sweat off her face with her arm, breathing heavily from the labor.

“i um made you a sandwich, you guys deserve a break” you gave her a shy smile before handing her the sandwich and cold water bottle “that’s so sweet of you hun, thank you” she took them from your smaller hands, gulping down the water bottle within seconds. “oh um, did you want another one?” you didn’t it was humanly possible to drink water that fast.

“no no, it’s all good miss, thank you s’much” god you couldn’t get enough of that accent of hers, “did you need help? i can help load them” you walked in front of her and tried to pick up one of the hay bells before miserably putting it back on the ground “no, don’t hurt yourself miss, they’re too heavy” it seemed almost like an insult, you can do heavy lifting as well.

“i can help around my farm as well abby, see” you finally lifted the hay, struggling very very badly to put it on the other ones “if you want to help, miss, you can pick those pretty little flowers” she grabbed the hay bell from you and settled it down “i don’t want your pretty little hands getting all rough n calloused like mine” she threw her gloves back on.

“i can do that” you went over to the small garden that growing the prettiest flowers, getting on your knees you slowly started picking the ones that you thought were pretty, you screamed bloody murder when you saw a little snake in between the flowers, jolting up and running away from it before hitting into something hard.

“oh god miss, what? what happened?” she held your arms with a very concerned look “abby there’s, oh fuck” you coughed a little, hiding your face in her chest unintentionally, you had the worst fear of snakes, didn’t matter how big or small they were, they scared you to death “what? miss? wheres what?” she noticed your distress and rubbed her hands on back “there’s a snake in the flowers, ohmygod im gonna pass out.”

abby had you sit down on the bench near the stable, your knees tucked against your knees as you were afraid of anything else showing up, she bent down and easily grabbed the little snake, a laugh erupting from her “you were scared of this little fella?” she looked over at you, you were tense by seeing her holding that thing.

“yes! please put it away somewhere far!” anyone else would’ve said you were overreacting but a phobia is a phobia.

she came back over to you with the softest smile “let’s get you back inside miss, don’t need you gettin’ a heart attack” she halfheartedly joked, agreeing with her you slowly and carefully walked back inside your house, abby following closely behind you like a bodyguard. turning around went you reached your back door you gave her an embarrassed look.

“i must’ve look so stupid to you, city girl comes to the country and screams at the first thing she sees outside” your comment earned a laugh from her “i can’t blame you miss but i grew up in this area so i’ve seen everything you can think of.” you smiled at her, giving her a small thank you before walking inside.

AUTHORS NOTE: ima drag tf outta this series yall!!

[wannabeschyulersister]

so long, chicago

Without the warmth of your things in the apartment, it looked sad and cold. The boxes that you packed were stacked along the hallway. Movers were scheduled to help you in the next hour.

Your belongings would be traveling across the country with you following.

After one last sweep of the apartment to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything, you stood at the large bay window facing the city. A city that you once considered home.

You’d miss Chicago. You’d miss the people that you’d met. The connections that you formed. The memories. The laughter.

The sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned and saw Carmen walk in. You didn’t expect for him to be home anytime soon. You’d hoped that you could avoid the last interaction.

“Hey.” You said softly.

He nodded, “I thought you’d be halfway outta town by now.”

“The movers should be here any minute.”

Carmen took off his coat and placed it on the right hook near the door. Yours would normally go on the left but it was currently sitting on top of one of your suitcases.

“Richie said you stopped by the restaurant last night.”

“Yeah, I wanted to tell him goodbye.”

“I guess that’s nice.”

“You guess?”

“What do you expect for me to say, (Y/n)? I love that you’re abandoning me and everyone you’ve met here?”

“Abandoning you?” You couldn’t believe that he really said that.

“We’ve been together for six fuckin’ years! One day you wake up and realize you don’t want to be with me anymore out of the fuckin’ blue!”

“Out of the blue?,” you raised your voice, “Carmen, I dreaded making that decision for months! You were so out of touch that you didn’t even realize that we had stopped acting like a couple long before I ending things.”

Carmen chuckled bitterly, “That’s not true.”

You hadn’t planned on leaving on ugly terms with Carmen. If anything, you wanted it to be civil. You were huge parts of each other’s lives. Under all of the pain and heartbreak, there was love.

“I was the only person trying in this relationship. You would get home at one or two in the morning and I’d try waiting around just so we can have a conversation after not seeing each other all day. I planned date nights and tried to pry you out of that kitchen to notice that I was practically falling apart at the seams!” You confessed. It hurt you that he hadn’t even noticed.

“Relationships are hard! That why you have to make them work!” Carmen was visibly upset at how the conversation was going.

“I was the only one fighting for this, Carmen! When was the last time you bought me flowers or texted me to see how my day was going? I barely even heard an ‘I love you’.”

“I do love you. So much that I don’t want you to go and move to San Diego. You belong here with me and- and with your friends. People that care about you!”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough. I’m tired, Carmen. Tired of feeling like I don’t mean shit to you. I need to be with someone that wants to be with me. I want someone that won’t make me feel alone when we are together.”

Carmen closed the space between you two. It was the closest he’d been to you in days. He still smelled of the cologne that you bought him for Christmas with a faintness of the cigarette he must’ve smoked before.

“I thought we’d spend the rest of our lives together.” He said softly.

“If you thought so, then why aren’t we married? I’ve had friends in shorter relationships that have taken the next step. I’ve waited for so long for you to ask me to be your wife and every anniversary that passes, I know that it’s not going to happen. I don’t want to leave. I really loved living here. This felt like home more than any place I’ve lived in, but I can’t stay here.”

“I’ve been a fuckin’ selfish asshole. I’m sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. Please, I’ll make things up to you. I’ll change.”

“And when things get hard? When you get busy and stressed at the restaurant, then what? It goes back to how things were? I can’t put myself through that. I can’t take that chance.” It killed you seeing him so upset but when you broke up with him, it was like you could breathe again.

You were becoming the person that you used to be. You didn’t want to sacrifice yourself for someone else that didn’t give you the time of day.

Three knocks to the front door made you step away from Carmen. You opened the door and saw the movers with a dollie and a couple of extra boxes.

“Excuse me.” You felt Carmen grab his coat and brush past you. Part of you wanted to chase him down and wrap your arms around him. You didn’t want the last image you had of him to be so hurt.

As you watched the movers grab your boxes and take them down to the awaiting truck, you grabbed the letter that you wrote for Carmen. You planned to leave it on the kitchen counter.

You didn’t know if he’d even read it. Maybe he would rip it up into tiny pieces. Maybe he would read it over and over again.

It wasn’t up for you to wonder. You were at peace with your decision and that’s all that mattered.

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ( a collection of various settings for drabbles or prompts, or both! )

001. a tattoo parlour, buzzing with machinery and walls lined with artwork . 002. a shopping mall, crowded and loud . 003. a cabin in the mountains, taking shelter from the snow storm. 004. an abandoned tea party, occupied with broken dolls . 005. the shooting range, empty casings clinking on the floor and sulphur in the air . 006. a music room, filled with melodies of an instrument . 007. an empty auto shop, hood of a car left open and quiet music coming through speakers . 008. a bright arcade, coins falling from machines and claws grabbing at soft toys . 009. the kennels, filled with barking dogs and excited companions . 010. a restaurant, where everyone is eerily quiet and staff are overly friendly . 011. a riding arena, with trained riders atop proud horses . 012. a mini golf course, sails of a windmill obscuring the path ahead . 013. a zoo, filled with an array of unique animals . 014. the docks of a bay, boats lining the decks . 015. a pond with ducks, seeking food . 016. a museum, displaying ancient bones and pottery of a history long ago . 017. a closed down prison, ghosts of violent history echoing in empty cells . 018. a quiet train station, lights overhead flickering and announcement board displaying errors . 019. the vast desert, scorching heat baring down at high noon . 020. the dark woods, filled with strange hanging symbols made of sticks . 021. a deep hole in the ground, covered by leaves and sticks . 022. a wishing fountain, base lined with copper coins of past wishes . 023. an abandoned picnic in an empty field, flask still warm with coffee . 024. a barn filled with hay and tools, old wood creaking in the wind . 025. a graveyard in the dead of night, wind howling through the trees . 026. a crumbling bridge above a raging river . 027. the refreshing waters of a lake, away from prying eyes . 028. the crossroads, in the middle of nowhere . 029. a cosy bonfire at summer camp, marshmallows roasting on the fire . 030. the top of a radio tower, with the perfect view of the surrounding area . 031. a lone phone box on a street corner . 032. a large elaborate temple dedicated to a deity, offerings still intact . 033. a drive-in movie theatre, cars empty and projector casting only light onto the screen . 034. a strange trail of breadcrumbs on a woodland path . 035. a haunted mansion, ancient paintings watching every footstep . 036. a decrepit mine located out in the hills, believed by locals to have a powerful curse cast upon it . 037. the edge of a cliff, overlooking the rough waves and distant sounds of approaching danger . 038. a road trip across country, music blaring through speakers . 039. a flower shop, filled with bouquets and a sweet aroma . 040. an airport in the early hours of the morning, deprived of sleep . 041. a train on its way to its destination, a sleeping passenger resting on a shoulder . 042. an abandoned shack filled with strange books of the occult and something mysterious bubbling on the stove . 043. an empty throne room, moonlight glimmering through tall windows . 044. an underwater tunnel in an aquarium, fish swimming overhead and sharks looming in the distance . 045. deep within unmarked cave located in the side of a mountain, lit only by a flare . 046. the dusty streets of a western town, watched by wary residents . 047. the back of a vast library, surrounded by books, when a black book falls from the highest shelf . 048. a room of an asylum, an abandoned camcorder left in the middle of the room . 049. the shores of an unknown beach, washed up from the ocean . 050. the deck of an unsteady ship, waves crashing against the haul and rain lashing down from dark clouds .

[desertdollranch]

My miniature doll room

Hello and welcome to the doll room!

This was a special project made for me by my mom. She's a Barbie collector and loves crafting little room boxes for them with tiny realistic accessories. When she asked if I wanted a room box, I was tempted to say no because I'm not into Barbies or dolls their size, but then I saw, fully formed in my imagination, a miniature doll room. And she delivered. Pretty much everything you see in the above photo was made by her: the crib, the chair, the curtain, and even the potted plants!

I expected nothing less than this. I come from several generations of doll collectors, enthusiasts, and artists. My mom was already a talented miniature maker by the time I was born, having taken classes in making them for several years. Her classmates even made her this mini nursery to celebrate my birth! She also made this lovely Victorian dollhouse. She's the real deal when it comes to all things mini.

The Barbie here in the comfy chair represents me, and the comfy clothes I wear at home. She's holding her newest doll, a Zuru My Mini Baby. I'm glad that at least she has a silicone reborn baby doll, because I certainly will never be able to afford a life-sized one for myself. So I live vicariously through her in that way.

Sometimes Briana comes by for a visit! She's very careful when playing with the dolls, since some are vintage and fragile.

On the left is the chair my mom made. On the right are the mini American Girl posters. The reborn baby is in her stroller.

Most of her dolls stand on their shelves. My mom acquired most of these. I contributed the dolls on the bottom shelf, above the compartments. The one on the left is mini Isabelle Palmer (an American Girl crossover with McDonald's happy meal toys).

The next shelf above them is the American Girl doll shelf. These all came from Mega Bloks Construct sets. In the middle is Kit with her scooter and her dog Grace riding inside. Above that shelf are the tiny dolls. I bought the little porcelain doll on the left at last year's local doll show. And the top shelf is Disney and fantasy characters. I don't actually have any Disney dolls, but these look cute in the mini room, and I'm definitely not going for total accuracy here. That would be impossible.

Here's the bay window. My mom made the flowers and the green plant in the middle. She showed me how she made the colorful flowers and it's so easy, but my mind is still blown at how amazing they turned out.

The window is clear plastic. I added the scene out the window. It's from a calendar, and is a view of the San Francisco volcanic field in northern Arizona. It's a somewhat close resemblance to what I see when I look out my house's windows.

On the other side is the crib with the baby dolls. The three blonde babies are Barbie babies. I have no idea what the baby on the left is.

On this end of the crib are vintage Tiny Blessings dolls.

And the animal shelf is above the crib.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Death Becomes Them chapter 3 is up!

Read on ao3 or below

(See ao3 for warnings/tags)

**********

Buck unzipped the bag Tommy had given him and pulled out what was inside. It had been a while since he’d packed it and he couldn’t remember what he’d put in there.

Sweatpants, a T-shirt, a hoodie, 2 pairs of underwear, 2 pairs of socks, toothbrush and toothpaste, a razor, a small bottle of shower gel and shampoo, and a phone charger.

He lifted up the hoodie and brought it to his face to smell knowing it would smell like Tommys laundry detergent. His heart simultaneously filled with warmth and broke at the scent.

Memories flooded his senses. Sliding in Tommy’s freshly made bed—that he’d made just for Buck—after a long arduous shift, Tommy taking him apart so thoroughly and expertly, Buck returning the favour and having the privilege of seeing Tommy Kinard broken apart underneath him. Doing laundry together or snuggling up on Tommy’s sofa under a freshly washed blanket.. it was all too much and a few silent tears fell from his eyes.

He took a second to allow himself to feel the pain, then shook himself out of it and headed to the bathroom to shower.

*

Tommy opened the door to Buck’s knocking wearing grey sweats and a tight navy blue T-shirt. His hair was still damp from his own shower and Buck honest to god didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or punch him for daring to still look so fucking hot!

“Come on in.” He stepped aside. Buck walked inside and immediately saw the bottles of unopened beer on the table at the far corner of the room. Tommy noticed him looking at them. He walked over and opened one handing it to Buck and then one for himself.

“Figured it might ease some of the awkwardness.” Buck raised an eyebrow. “Come on—I know you think this is weird. Us. Here.” He stepped back and sat on the sofa underneath the window. “I’m just glad that you’re here, Evan. Honestly I.. I really couldn’t do this without you here.”

Tommy’s eyes were wet with emotion that he was clearly trying to keep at bay. Buck sat on one of the chairs at the table.

“I’m just glad you let me be here for you.” He said honestly. And he meant it. As hard as it was to be in the presence of his ex boyfriend, he really did want to be a comfort to him if he could.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” He asked.

“I was thinking of starting to clear out the house.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to do that straight away. There’s plenty of time for that.”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. The sooner I get it cleared out and ready to be put on the market the sooner we can go home and I don’t have to deal with him ever again.”

Buck heard the words but didn’t believe that it would be as easy as Tommy was making it out to be. Not after what happened today at being confronted of the memory of his mother. But Buck didn’t argue.

“Okay, we can do that.”

They opted to order pizza from a place down the street and both sat on the bed; the pizza box in between them serving as a cardboard emotional barrier. There was a crappy action flick on the tv on the wall opposite that neither of them were really paying attention to.

“Can.. can I ask you something? And you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Buck asked tentatively.

“Sure.”

“Would you tell me about your mom? What was she like?”

A warm smile came across Tommy’s face. “Beautiful. Silly. When I was in kindergarten she used to draw these weird little monsters on my lunch bag. She loved flowers. Any, really—as long as they were brightly coloured.” His smile faded. “Dad hated them; wouldn’t allow her to have any in the house. He hated anything colourful. I remember my grandma had this photo album and the photos of my mom before she met him, she was always in bright colours, and then she got with him and you could literally see her clothes getting duller and duller over the years. He always said women who wore bright coloured clothes were attention whores.” He sniffed and coughed away the emotion.

“After my gramma died, we planted flowers at her gravesite. I can’t even tell you what they were but I remember a year or so later the whole grave was an array of colour. During spring when my dad was working or busy doing something we’d sneak down there and tend to our little garden.” A sad smile came back to his face.

“I think she’d have loved you.” He said and Buck had to hold back his own emotion at hearing that.

“Y-yeah?” He said.

“Yeah. She loved learning things and we’d spent hours in the library reading random books on stuff. Although I don’t think I’d have survived the two of you believing in curses.” He laughed a little, fondly, at the end. Buck gave a soft laugh back.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

Tommy turned his head to look at him. “Me too.“

Buck could so easily get lost in those eyes again; desperately wanted to, really. Be he looked away before he lost himself.

“Is there anybody that needs to be informed about your dad?”

“No, not that I’m aware of. No family left and I doubt he had any friends—people didn’t tend to stick around him very long.” Tommy told him.

“You said that you hadn’t seen him in 10 years?”

Tommy nodded. “My aunt Clara, mom’s sister, died and I came back for the funeral.” He picked at the paper on his beer bottle. “I was actually on my probie year at the 118 at the time. So you can imagine what it was like being closeted and under Gerrard.. I wasn’t exactly in the best place mentally. Dad was drinking as usual and by the time we got to the wake he was deliberately trying to goad me. Loudly telling everyone that I couldn’t hack it in the army because I wasn’t a real man. Then he made a comment about being as weak as my mom and I just lost it. I mean I wailed on him. 4 people had to drag me off him. I walked out of the place, got in my car and haven’t been back since.”

“Tommy, I..” Buck pushed the pizza box to the bottom of the bed and moved closer to him, putting a hand in his shoulder. “I’m so fucking sorry you had to grow up with someone like that. God, I wish I could go back and take you away from him. Or kick the crap out of him myself.” That last part got a snort out of Tommy.

He reached up and placed his hand on top of Bucks. Both of their hands fell from Tommys shoulder but they kept their fingers together.

“I, uh.. I actually owe you an apology.” Buck said to Tommy’s surprise.

“For what?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last month and at first I was angry at you because you basically said that I didn’t really know you, just the idea of you. An-and I thought that it’s not my fault that you didn’t open up all that much. But then.. then I started to realise that there were things I never opened up to you about either.” He kept his eyes on their hands still connected by their fingertips.

“I never really told you about my parents.” He said.

“You don’t have to, Evan.”

“No, I-I do. I can’t ask you to be honest with me about your past and not show you the same courtesy.”

“Okay.” Tommy said.

“I had a brother.” He confessed. Tommy’s eyes widened.

“Yeah?”

Buck nodded. “Daniel. He was born after Maddie. He, uh got leukaemia. None of the family were a match so.. they made one. Me.” Tommy brows knitted together as he listened to Buck. “But the cells didn’t take and he, uh.. he died a year later.”

“Jesus, Evan. I’m sorry.” His hand, still in Bucks, squeezed a little tighter.

“Thing is, I didn’t know about him until a couple of years ago. Maddie told me that after he died they disappeared into their grief. Got rid of all his things, packed us all up and moved us away; forcing Maddie to keep his existence secret. I only found out because I found a photo of him and she told me about him.” He sipped his beer and took a deep breath.

“The thing is, when she told me it suddenly made my whole life make sense. I-I always felt like they looked through me. Unless they were criticising me and then suddenly they saw me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Nothing either of us did was good enough. I spent my whole childhood doing stupid shit that got me hurt because when I was hurt I got their attention.

Anyway, Maddie dealt with it by taking the first opportunity to leave and ended up married to an abusive asshole. And I ended up flunking out of community college. I didn’t know at the time that Maddies husband was hurting her but I knew she wasn’t happy. I tried to convinced her to leave with me but in the end she couldn’t leave Doug and so she gave me her Jeep and I left.”

It had been years since Buck had found out about Daniel, and he’d dealt with it. But it wasn’t easy talking about sometimes. It always reminded him about the worst parts of his childhood and how lost and alone he felt. But it felt good telling Tommy.

He’d wanted to tell Tommy about Daniel when they were together but things were so happy and exciting with him that he feared any serious talk might ruin that.

And that was the moment he realised that he was equally at fault about their relationship ending. Tommy might have been the one to pull the trigger, but Buck wasn’t blameless.

“Where did you go?” Tommy asked.

Buck breathed a laugh into his beer bottle “Everywhere. Travelled all over the country trying out different things. Worked on a ranch, tried out for the Navy Seals, I-“

“You tried out for the Seals?” Tommy said in disbelief.

“Yep. I actually got accepted. But they wanted mindless and emotionless drones and-“

“And that is definitely not you.” Tommy teased.

“No it isn’t.” Buck agreed. “I ended up in Peru tending a bar. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was always searching for something that was missing. Every time I thought I’d found it, that missing feeling would come back.”

“Did you ever find it?”

Buck looked at Tommy for second before he answered.

“When you kissed me.”

Tommy’s face softened as he looked at him. Again Buck had to pull his eyes away before he did something stupid.

“I realised then that it was my sexuality. That was the missing piece I was searching for.”

Tommy specifically aside, the moment a man’s lips were on his it was like an epiphany smacking him dead in the face. He’d felt settled and right for the first time in his life. He also felt a little stupid after some retrospection and realised there were moments where it should have been a little more obvious.

Regardless, uncovering that side of himself made him feel more in tune with who he truly was.

But he could never forget that it was Tommy who opened up that side of him. Tommy who made him feel things he’d never felt before—physically and emotionally. And Tommy who despite that, had broken his heart.

He finally let go of Tommy’s hand and got off the bed. “I, uh.. I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna head to bed.”

A disappointed look showed on Tommy’s face for a moment before he fixed himself. “Yeah, I’m pretty damn exhausted too.” He stood up and removed the pizza box, closing it and placing it on the table before following Buck to the door.

“Evan?”

“Hm?” He said turning around.

Tommy stepped into his space and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Bucks arms automatically found their place around his waist and he closed his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed like that for a minute before Tommy pulled away and stepped back. Buck felt a surge of disappointment but said nothing. He opened the door and walked out into the hall.

“Good night.” He said walking the few feet to his door.

“Good night, Evan.”

[savage-rhi]

Weird request but could you write a prompto/Noctis drabble based on those emojis? ❤️🫴🫶💐🍝🧋💍

It had been five years since Noctis gave his life to the world.

It had been five years since the monarchy ended, and a new government had risen from the ashes.

It had been five years since the boys had been on a road trip, and it had been five years since Prompto and Noctis celebrated their anniversary—the day they became friends in high school.

Prompto quietly gazed out his apartment window, overlooking the world of Insomnia below him. His eyes admired the endless lights that kept the darkness at bay. He felt proud of himself for how far he, Gladio, and Ignis had come in the restoration effort. Patching up a broken city was no easy task, much less helping the new government find its feet.

Surrounding Prompto and the coffee table in his living room was a plate of burnt spaghetti, wilted flowers, cheap boba, and a plastic ring—its color chipping off over the years. These items were irrelevant to most, but to Prompto, each was priceless.

Prompto purposefully overcooked the spaghetti noodles, just as Noctis did the night he first came to the prince's apartment. Their ideal gaming weekend was ruined as both became sick to their stomachs. That didn't stop the teasing or the laughs that lasted into the early hours, by which point Noctis thought he would die and called Ignis. The man was so angry that he had to run to several markets to get medicine. It was also the first time Prompto met Iggy; he was confident it would be the last. After all, who would throw their lot in with a young cackling teenager who couldn't help the royal prince with food poisoning? Prompto was shocked that Ignis pulled him aside after putting Noct to bed, shook his hand, and told him to keep coming over as Noctis never had company--and, of course, Ignis gently pointed out he needed a break from the prince's shenanigans.

Prompto's eyes then stared at the wilted flowers, remembering when he made Noctis a flower crown during the spring festival—plopping it upon his head in front of a group of ladies who had been ogling him and sprinkling sylleblossom petals at his feet while skipping around. Prompto teased Noct to the point where the ladies he was trying to woo ended up laughing and leaving since it seemed Noct was "already taken." He gave Noct so much shit that night that Prompto was surprised that he never sought vengeance.

Prompto looked at the empty container of boba, remembering the nights both Noctis and himself would go to the corner market past midnight, too restless to sleep. How they tried to cram in as much studying, only to end with playing video games and sharing personal stories. Prompto wished he knew then why Noctis didn't like talking about the future because, deep down, Noct knew he wouldn't live long enough to see it through.

I was such a foolish boy--such a damned foolish kid...

Prompto let out a breath, making a fist against his knee. He forced his gaze to the plastic ring. It was one of the last gifts Noctis ever gave him, a prize he got from a cereal box.

"You need the opal one to complete the King's Knight set, right? There's no point in buying crates of Cactaur Flakes when I can give it to you. Also, happy friendiversary! Marry me while you're at it? Haha!"

Prompto sniffled, wiping away the tears that flowed down his cheeks. His heart beat so fast as he remembered those words. He picked up the plastic toy and gazed upon its cracks. It had seen better days and no doubt would be obsolete in the coming decade, but the piece of plastic was the closest thing Prompto had to hugging Noctis again as he placed it over his chest and took a deep breath.

He wished he had done it that night before the final battle, offering Noctis his hand and telling him every unspoken word. Every feeling he had placed upon that shitty cereal box ring the moment Noctis jokingly asked for his hand in marriage. Alas, it wasn't meant to be, just as Noctis wasn't meant to see the new world Prompto and the boys had built.

Prompto didn't know which truth made him sadder.

He missed him so much.

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[emkayewrites]

Another update to my very slow-burn #Lukola fanfiction, inspired by these two and their banter...

(Excerpt taken from Chapter 11 of 'Curtain Fall')

27th July 2022 – London (UK)

“Oh. My. God. What have I walked into here?”

Nicola stood still, mouth agape.

Luke rolled his eyes at her reaction.

They were in the living room of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend.  Dark blue curtains framed a big bay window that bought daylight into the room.  A dark green sofa and armchair faced the window and a flatscreen TV.  Further back in the room, there was a modest-sized dining table with two chairs.  All in all, it was a small space that felt lived in and cosy.

Nicola was still stood at the entryway, her eyes fixated on what had been artfully arranged across the well-worn sofa.  There was what seemed to be at least six different soft toys of varying shapes and sizes; there was a large Dalmatian dog, a brown-coated teddy bear and a few Squishmallows.  They were positioned around what seemed to be the centerpiece which was a large bouquet of red roses already placed into a deep blue vase and a few separately framed photos of Jade dressed in various costuming from theatre productions she had been involved in.  One of the photos was from the opening night of 101 Dalmatians which Nicola had attended only a few weeks prior.  Accompanying the flowers and photos was an impressively sized box of Lindt chocolates and a gift bag that had a Champneys Spa logo on the front. 

“Alright, get it out of your system.” He said with some amusement in his voice. 

“It’s giving shrine.” Nicola stated.

Luke laughed good-naturedly.  He moved towards the table where there was an already-lit Jo Malone candle, an orange ceramic teapot, two small teacups and a lot of paperwork strewn about. 

 “I was hoping it was giving your boyfriend loves you very much, well done on all your hard work, I’m really proud of you – oh and sorry I’m going to be working so much for the next couple of months.” He started to pour what looked like green tea into each of the cups.

“Well, I guess a harem of plushies is easier than fitting all that on a card.” Nicola quipped, following him towards the table.

He laughed again. “Alright, I get taking the piss but do you have to cheapen it by calling it a shrine and a harem?”

“Deal, as long as I can keep taking the piss because this is just... I mean, I’m going to need some time to absorb you in your natural element.”  Nicola gestured around the room.

“My natural element? Do I want to hear this?”

“The little pot of tea, the candles, the definitely-not-standing-in-attendance-for-a-ritual-sacrifice-cuddly-toys – it’s all very cute. Jade is a lucky woman.” She did mean the words she was speaking.  It was all very sweet.  It was just even easier to mock.  He could tell she was trying to keep her face straight.

“I’m never inviting you here again.” He stated matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his tea. “I pity the man who buys you flowers.”

It was a lighthearted remark but something about it stung. 

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Ezra remained hot and cold in his messages with her.  There were days where he would text and call prolifically, bestowing every ounce of attention on her.  Then came the days she had dubbed the drought. She was aware she felt neglected, and her feelings were getting hurt.  She responded to these emotions with frustration at herself for placing too much expectation on the situation and on him.  Why can’t I just be cool? She thought.

She forced a small laugh in response to Luke’s remark as she shook off her jacket and sat down opposite him.  They were sat around a table so small their knees were practically touching. 

She suddenly felt conscious of her outfit choice.  She was dressed in jeans and a black low-cut top that flattered her body.  She had not put too much thought into her clothes; favouring something comfortable and somewhat stylish was her go-to protocol for getting dressed.  Now in such close proximity to him, something about how ample her cleavage was in that top felt inappropriate.  In fact, she felt as if she had seen his eyes travel across her body as she had seated herself, but when she looked at him directly, he was studiously rifling through the pages in front of him.  She had to remind herself that her mind often played tricks on her when she felt self-conscious; it made her feel as if the entire room was eyeing her up, judging her and her body.  She tried to shift her mind from focusing on how intimate the setting felt and onto the work they were there to do.

“I’ve got Lizzy’s questions for consideration, and then I put down some of my own thoughts. We could go through it?”  He asked, his mind seemingly a million miles away from hers.

“I did the same.” She dug out a small notebook and pen from her jacket pocket. “So, the question is - how can I help you get through the scenes?”

He eyed the page before him. “Right. Well, firstly, I’m scared you’re just going to laugh in my face when we film – God knows where I got that complex from.” He shot her a look, and she smirked back.

“Then, it’s the obvious one.  I just want to not feel weird when I’m naked, man.”  He shrugged.

“Yeah, reasonable request and I’ll co-sign that one.” She agreed.

“I think we were getting somewhere in the New Forest with the first one though.” He continued. “I’ve not been method before but something about being in Colin’s head like that was good, and I think you were warming up to him too.”

She considered this.  “You’re right. And we have a proper script now, we can get comfortable with saying the words to each other and then layer in the emotions – rehearse the romance into the scenes. I think that practice will help me stay in scene.”

“Another obvious one – touching each other.” He was reading off the paper in front of him. “In a few episodes we go from a pretty chaste kiss to – well carriage scene.”

“Oooh yeah, Pen and Colin get pretty comfortable pretty quick.” She laughed. “So we have just the teeny tiny task of acting out passion that goes zero to one hundred.  Not easy.”

“I think the more we act scared of it and build it up, the worse it’s going to be” He spoke in tone that suggested he was trying to convince himself as much as her.  “It’s acting, it’s a touch that means nothing to us and we should just get comfortable with that.” 

“Fully down with that.”

“Have you ever done the intimacy hierarchy?”

Nicola wracked her mind.  “I don’t think so.”

“It’s a warm-up for intimate scenes.” He explained. “You start with touch that’s less intimate like a handshake and gradually work your way towards more intimacy – within your boundaries obviously – so you might end with a kiss on the cheek.  My last theatre gig, the romantic leads were starting with a hug and ending with a French kiss!”

As he spoke, the familiarity of the approach dawned on her.  She had indeed worked through acting exercises like this, albeit the Galway Acting School had a slightly less sophisticated name for the technique.

“That’s an excellent idea, Luke.”  She took a sip of the tea, the tart taste felt refreshing on her tongue.

“I feel like we’re close enough to just start with the kiss.”  He said the words in a casual manner. Regardless, something about them caused her throat to constrict and the tea to flow straight back out of her mouth; she spluttered onto the table and onto him.

“Jesus!” He pushed his chair back, moving away.

“Sorry, sorry.” She placed a hand on her chest. “I’ve just never been propositioned in front of a gaggle of Squishmallows before.”

For the second time that afternoon, he rolled his eyes at her.

“Note that I called the very sweet toys a gaggle when the words demon-spawn and cultists were right in front of me?”

“Yeah, no you’re right, this is a vast improvement.” He replied dryly.

“Truth be told, I hadn’t thought much about where I stand on the intimacy hierarchy with you, so it took me a bit by surprise.” She added.

“Really? It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” He smiled.

There was something about the way he said those words that gave her an odd feeling in her stomach.  She found herself thinking about how deeply thoughtful he was.  He often described himself as an introvert and an overthinker.  She was starting to see what he meant.  There was something nice about having someone be considerate of you in this way. 

“Well, I’m going to be thinking about it too.” She assured him.

In any other setting, telling someone you would be thinking about kissing them whilst you were sat in the home they shared with their long-term partner would be a incredibly odd thing to do.  It was one of the beautifully weird things about being an actor that she had long come to accept.

They spent the rest of the afternoon refuelling with green tea and tea cakes and scribbling notes onto their respective scripts.  As the hours flew by, their chairs gradually drew closer, their knees touched, and their hands brushed the others’ arms and hands in physical gestures that felt second-nature.  Laying out their worst fears together felt a lot more intimate than any physical touch that was happening between them. 

Read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emkayewrites

[astroportals]

TRESPASSING

Down on Willow Street there is a house with blue shutters and little white flowers in plant-boxes beneath the windows.

GO INSIDE. EVADE THE DISAPPOINTED FATHER WHO SITS UNMOVING IN HIS ARMCHAIR. FIND THE SCHOOL BAG. (HINT: IT'S IN THE DEAD BOY'S ROOM, BELOW HIS DESK)

In the SCHOOL BAG you will find:

- a rosary - clippings of asters and goldenrod - house key - notes for the physics study group

TAKE THE NOTES AND THE FLOWERS. MEET BACK AT THE EMPTY HOUSE AT ANGEL'S BAY.

REMNANTS OF A LONELY BOY

[A SHEET OF LOOSE PAPER, TUCKED INTO THE PHYSICS NOTES. NOT JACK'S HANDWRITING]

QUESTIONS TO ASK YOUR MOTHER:

1. does she know what her husband really is? 2. has she ever heard of THE LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT? 3. what does she know of the burning field?

[A SECOND PIECE OF LOOSE PAPER. DATED: OCTOBER 5th, 1997. JACK'S HANDWRITING, FRANTIC SCRIBBLES]

LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT LIGHTHOUSE IN THE DESERT

THE WATCHER. OBSERVER. CALLISTO. 1968. CONNECTION. PORTAL. HARVEST MOON >> THE ANGEL WILL RISE.

september prompts - various | @nosebleedclub

[ricardian-werewolf]

2. If I didn't care, would I feel this way?

Summary: Alina settles in at the Great Palace, and comes to learn that sometimes the friends one makes come from the most unlikely of places. With her powers beginning to show at last, Genya and Nikolai reconnect and take Alina under their wings. Nikolai recollects on his childhood and begins to come to terms with being home.

Notes; none

Word count: 4.2k

Chapter below the cut.

The Great Palace, Os Alta.

Alina’s legs ached as she let Nikolai guide her to her new chambers. 

Up they went a series of dizzyingly tight stairs, through endless marble and gold-gilded hallways, until they reached a set of white double doors with gold handles carved in the shapes of stag-antlers.

“Your rooms. Genya Safin should be along in a moment or two.” Nikolai pushed the doors open and stepped into a wide receiving room of rich velvet settees, sofas, plush, cloud-like carpets and heavy drapes. All of the room was upholstered in the royal colour of emerald green, with gold edging. 

“Wait. This isn’t the little Palace.” Alina murmured, pulling off her boots, as mud and dirt soaked they were, she wasn’t about to make some poor servant clear up her messes. Nikolai had already changed into a pair of deep green slippers monogrammed with his symbol - a fox running under a crescent moon.

“No, it’s not.” Nikolai threw the drapes wide, and pushed up the sash. The windows, arranged in a bay formation, gave a visage of Os Alta sprawled out before them. “As a member of my household, you’ll be taking your residence in the Great Palace.”

“Why?” Alina examined the solid gold samovar and clicked her tongue at the lack of tea. The spout was in the shape of a stag-head. Padding across the room, she glared up at the massive landscape watercolour of the woods where Morozovas stag was said to roam with its herd.

“Tradition, according to my father at least.” Nikolai rubbed the back of his neck with his palm. “You’re not a prisoner. You’ll have a room in the Little Palace as well, once your training starts. The Fabrikators are working on it as we speak, though it’ll be a different kind of grandness to this. For now…” 

He paused, looking both bashful, and sheepish. Alina glanced over her shoulder at him, her brow raised in curiosity. 

“I don’t want you to think that I’m…” He paused again. “Using you. That you’ll just be some sort of trophy.” 

That was exactly what I was thinking. Alina thought, looking genuinely surprised and pleased at the opposite occurring. Nikolai went back to scratching the back of his neck, then looked up as a ginger-haired woman dressed in the white kefta of the palace servants stepped into the room.

“Ah, Genya!” Nikolai murmured, coming over to the woman. She hugged him tightly and kissed one another’s cheeks in rapid succession. “Nikolasha, I’d no idea you’d be home!” She smiled, and looked past him.

Alina couldn’t help herself. She scowled darkly at this woman, and Genya sighed. “Ah. It seems like your Sun Summoner is possessive.” raising a brow, Genya stepped over to Alina and began examining her.

“She’s half-Shu.”

“Genya.” Nikolai lit a cigarette. “It’s not kind to speak about Alina like she isn’t here.”

“Ah.” Genya blinked. “My apologies.” Her expression softened, and she bowed her head. 

“I’m Genya Safin, and the Queen has assigned me as your personal Tailor.”

“So you mend my clothes?” Alina blinked. Weren’t there servants to do that? What did she need this devilishly pretty ginger woman for, then?

“Not exactly. Let’s see.” Genya stepped over to a brown box with gold edging that looked to Alina's eyes like needles and spools of thread. Lifting the lid, Genya’s fingers dipped into the different little inner boxes, pulling out a string of black beads, a vial of gold dust, and a small bulb of some dried flower.

Nikolai examined some part of her room as Genya sat Alina down at her dressing table and handed her a small hand mirror made of gold embellished with sapphires. The sheer opulence of everything was almost overwhelming. 

“I’m seriously going to be part of Prince Nikolai’s household?” Alina breathed as Genya ran her fingers over her hair. The limp curls sprang into neat coils and her hair became an inky black, weeks of grease and oils simply vanishing in an instant. Alina almost dropped the mirror.

“Saints!”

“She’s pretty damn awesome, no?” Nikolai breathed from where he stood by the fireplace, examining the wall of her room that led to her bathing chamber for some reason. Shadows curled about his shoulders like a stole, and he seemed almost… Ill at ease.

“Yes.” Alina ducked her head. “Though I thought it rude to swear.”

“He’s the second son of the Tsar. He can do what he pleases.” Genya sniffed, gently pinching the bulb’s tip in her fingers. Those fingers brought out Alina’s blush and lightened her skin, assisting in the healing process her light explosion had kickstarted.

“The testers found me when I was 5, and I was brought to the Little Palace then. As a gift for our wonderful Tsarina Tatiana. Technically, I’m not supposed to be Tailoring you, but..” Genya’s gaze turned to Nikolai, who gave her a crooked grin. “Prince Nikolai owes me a few favours. Plus, I like his section of the palace far better than anywhere else.”

“His section-” Alina glanced over at Nikolai.

“The entire western wing of the palace is mine. Though it’s mostly shut up for the year. I only like to be back when everyone else is on a hunt. It seems, however…” Nikolai crossed over to a dark oak side table and lifted a silver serving dish to reveal a plate of crisp and fluffy blini. Stabbing a few with a fork, he picked up a plate and crossed to Alina.

“I suspect you last had a meal… last night?”

“Has it only been a day?” Alina scoffed, taking the fork and plated stack of blini from Nikolai. She set to shoving the delicious cakes into her mouth as Genya continued tailoring her and Nikolai went about embroidering the compass rose onto a discarded First Army uniform.

“You embroider?” She asked, sipping a glass of sugared tea. He nodded without looking at her, reaching over in his seat to turn down the gramophone playing Beethoven with a swift wrist-flick. 

“Helps calm my mind. That, or I love to tinker.” He unfurled a whole roll of gold thread and set back to embroidering in her ranking icon as a private on the lower part of the sleeve. The pluck of the needle, along with the crackling and pop of the spring hickory logs made the whole space feel largely intimate. Safe.

Soon enough, however, the uniform was being tugged over Alina’s head by Genya, and with Nikolai’s help, Alina was veiled, her shoes slipped on and guided through the Great Palace to the throne room. As they walked, Alina gripped Nikolai’s arm in her right hand and Genya’s hand in her left.

“You’re doing wonderfully. Just walk straight, and don’t lift the veil. My father likes the idea of a fragile First Army girl who’s not seen combat.” Nikolai murmured in her ear. Alina nodded.

“How’s Dominik?” Genya asked, cocking her head. Nikolai looked over Alina’s head, and mouthed: Banned from the Great Palace still. But he’s at the Little Palace. Probably hiding out with David.

Genya nodded silently, and sighed. The Grisha were going to shun her the moment Alina showed off her powers. Nikolai hadn’t dressed in his deep green kefta. The Darkling would tear him a new one for that. If he had his way, Nikolai would probably come dressed in his work clothes. The Volkvolny was docked in Os Kervo, after all. Plus, his sailing boats were already in the water after the Spring thaw broke the 4-inch thick ice-sheet on the Great Lake blocking off the Little and Great Palaces from one another.

“Are you planning to go sailing once this is over?” Genya queried.

“You sail?” Alina breathed, almost lifting her veil. Nikolai coughed, gently adjusted the gold spanish lace and Shu silk blend, and nodded. “Yes. I do. It’s a pastime.” He explained quickly as they descended the long, wide and expansive marble stairs to the Palace’s entrance hall. 

A whole motley of servants of the palace, armed guards of the Darkling and Tsar, and rogue Grisha flanked the double-golden doors leading into the throne Room with its double golden domes, and Nikolai paused.

“Moi Soverenyi.” He bowed to the Darkling, who sneered at Nikolai in his court dress, and took Alina’s hand.

“You tailored her?” Kirigan asked Genya, who nodded. Tugging on the collar of her white kefta, Genya disappeared after Nikolai through a set of double doors in the same white as Alina’s room. 

“She’ll be fine.” Nikolai lit another cigarette and passed it to Genya, who took two puffs and coughed. “Saints. How can you take these?”

“It’s for my nerves.” Nikolai dropped the cigarette to the carpet and swiftly ground it under his heel. He hated being amongst his parents as much as Genya did, and he wasn’t blind to the sins of his father against her. “Dominik’s been working on another round of poisons for you. These should be more potent.” He murmured, reaching for her hand. “I’ll try and fix something, this time, I promise.”

Those words had been the last words Nikolai had said to Genya at their first meeting when she was 5 and he 6. Now, they were 20 and 19, and the sins had only doubled amongst them both. Genya deserved better, and Ravka deserved a better Tsar than Nikolai’s father. His mother was just as bad, and he hated her just as much. Anyone with two brain cells would realise that Nikolai and Aleksander III looked nothing alike. Where Nikolai’s jaw was thin and arrow-sharp, his nose straight and eyes a bright hazel, Aleksander’s chin was ruddy, fattened with years of poor diet and health. His eyes were a watery blue, his hair the colour of winter-wheat.

Nikolai and Genya’s secretive location in a lesser servant’s hallway in the double-layered walls of the throne room wouldn’t stay secret for long. With a glance behind them, Nikolai grabbed Genya’s hand and the two ghost-children-turned-adults slipped into the marble and gold throne room. 

Taking their places on the dias, Nikolai stood behind his mother, who gave him a glance of pure, child-like adoration. Genya took her place at her other side, and tried to stay as far as she could from the Tsar as possible. On the Tsar’s other side, Vasily leaned forward on his elbows against his father’s throne’s back. He glared through a monocle at the sight of Alina coming up to the dias. Her booted feet made not even a whisper of noise in the baby-blue carpeting that stretched from the golden double doors to the marble dias, and the Darkling beside her radiated possessive delight. Despite the beard and dark eyes, Nikolai remembered with a shudder just how old the man was, and settled his face into an expression of nonchalance. The instances of these court demonstrations were few and far between, but he for one wanted to see Alina’s powers on display.

“Lift the veil, child.” The Tsar rumbled, and Nikolai smirked to himself. Let his parents express their horror over another Sobachka gracing their halls. Between Genya, Dominik, and now Alina, Nikolai had a habit of collecting the mutts that no one else cared for. He put his palm under his chin and winked at his father as Aleksander’s gaze turned to him full of angry ire.

“Is this her?” Tatiana leaned forward, fingering the diamond choker adorning her wrinkled throat. Time had not been kind to either of his parents, something Nikolai delighted in. For while he maintained a youthful glow for much longer than anyone expected, his parents had fallen deep into the sins of their own makings, and it suited them. He winked at Alina, who blushed and dipped her head.

“Oh, I don’t know, tell her Good morning in Shu?” Tatiana murmured weakly.

“She speaks Ravkan, Madraya.” Nikolai murmured in reply, softly enough to not cause Alina any public embarrassment. Her eyes were wide enough already. Cocking his head to Genya, he signed: 

She looks ready to bolt. Can you arrange for her to take dinner in her room and keep the Grisha off her back till mid-week?

Genya nodded, signing back swiftly: Of course. Will you be dining with her?

No such chance. The bear and the lapdog will want me to dine with them. Perhaps I can figure out why I’ve been recalled back-

Nikolai stopped signing as the Darkling spread his hands and shadows filled the room. He’d been saying something about liberation, or words to that effect, and Nikolai hadn’t been paying attention. His mind was too distracted trying to figure out the schematics of Alina’s kefta. Emerald green with gold embroidery and sunburst buttons. Matching boots. Fox-fur edging. Red fur.

In the darkness, Nikolai watched the Darkling’s hand reach Alina’s wrist. A part of him felt sick, as he remembered the feeling of the Darkling’s hand on his own wrist in that cold, freezing winter of his 14th half-year name-day celebration. It’d been so dark, so… snowy, when the Darkling had taken his born gifts and warped them beyond belief. The darkness had just been one facet.

He hoped that Alina would thrive under his protection. She would not be like him. Broken, abused and hidden behind a mask of lies. Nikolai straightened as light filled the room, blasting back the darkness. He could see the wonder on his parents’s faces, on Alina’s, and he sighed. The warmth of her light felt cleansing and holy, quite unlike his darkness.

When the light settled and the lamps flared anew, claps and cheers rang out. Nikolai stepped around his mother’s throne at his father’s behest and settled his feet easily on the second step down the dias. 

“My son, Grand Duke Nikolai, has become the Sun Summoner’s liege-lord, protector, and confidante. She will become part of his household, as tradition demands, and take rooms in both the Little and Great Palaces. As his vassal, Miss…” Aleksander paused.

“Starkov. Assistant Junior cartographer, formerly.” Nikolai provided, catching his father’s dirty glare at Alina. He sniffed, settled his weight more evenly in his feet and let his father continue.

“Will be provided with an annual annum of 400 gold vlacki per seasonal period, and may wish to have that money sent as compensation to any family member she desires. Along with that, she will train with General Kirigan and his…” Aleksander paused again to cough into a provided handkerchief. Blood spotted the edge. Nikolai grinned to himself. It seemed Genya’s poison was working.

“Grisha. Now, please, disperse. I trust the Sun summoner has many great things to accomplish, and I do not wish to delay her.” Aleksander looked up at Vasily, whose monocle hung from its chest pin. His face was still contorted in dumb shock.

Nikolai stepped down the dias, hands in his pockets and whistling a jaunty tune as the Grisha filed out according to their order, and the Darkling went with them, sending a dark scowl at Nikolai as he departed. However, it was the Apparat’s rat-like nostril-twitch that sent Nikolai’s pulse spiking.

“All well, Moi Tsarevich?” Alina murmured, looping her hand through his arm. Nikolai blinked, smiled. “Oh. Yes.” He grinned, and waved a swift goodbye to his parents. Genya drifted easily after them, a secretive grin shared between the three of them. 

***

That evening, as a rainstorm of epic proportions roared outside, Alina lay splayed out on her plush velvet sofa. By her head, her phonograph played a rotating assortment of different classical pieces, though the 1812 Overture was currently blasting at full volume. Nikolai was humming along, his feet tucked under him as he sat with a tea-tray on his lap and was dabbing at a canvas print with a watercolour brush. By his feet, maps of the True sea lay spread across the chaise longue’s surface.

“Word is, from the Little Palace, that a certain Sun Summoner shunning her first dinner for the comfort of her chambers is something rather unladylike.” Genya announced as she kicked the door shut with the heel of her foot. Balanced on a silver serving tray were three bowls of borscht, with smaller china bowls of sour cream. Piled high on a plate were slices of rye bread.

“I thought the Grisha ate like peasants. And weren’t you supposed to be at dinner?” Alina asked Nikolai, who snorted.

“It’s better to be full when dining with my parents. Dinner lasts for so long that by the time the courses show, it’s gone the midnight bell. All they do is argue, or round-about discuss Vasily’s achievements and my failures. Plus, I always have to curry favour with them, deflect questions from Vasily on which girl I tumbled this time-” He looked up from his painting of a golden sunne in splendour and sighed. “- I don’t tumble girls often, and besides, it’s almost expected when you’re of my social standing. My celibacy is something my mother finds more scandalous than the multiple bastards Vasily sires in a given harvest season.” 

“Plus, the Grisha do eat like peasants. Kirigan says its to keep us humble. Whatever that means.” Genya placed the platter down on the low-set tea-table in the centre of Alina’s private sitting room. She carefully laid out soup, spoons, the sour cream, rye bread, and glasses of tea and kvas. Nikolai however took a glass of brandy, something Alina didn’t know he imbibed in.

“Be warned. Most Grisha breakfasts are of poached fish and rye bread.” 

Alina sniffed in distaste. “Anything you can do to alleviate that?” She looked at Nikolai, who nodded and went back to painting. “Technically since I’m your liege-lord, you’re under my command, not the Darkling. The whole matter of all this will no doubt drive him insane, but not even he can go against a crown-ordained law. Unless he wants to find the First Army’s bayonets in his throat whenever he sleeps.”

“As for food.” He dipped his brush in water and set the whole platter aside. “I control what you eat, how much, and so on. Which, since I’m not the kind of man to be that controlling, you’re free to have the whole of the Great Palace’s kitchen to yourself.”

“Saints.” Alina looked at him in amazement. “Doesn’t this whole power dynamic strike you as strange? One moment we’re meeting in a crowded mess tent, and the next you suddenly are in command of my every movement.”

“I’m planning to be as lax as possible. Plus, you’re what? 18?”

Alina nodded. 

“Right. And I’m 20. Not at all strange. Anyways, you’re an adult. You can do whatever you bloody well wish, as far as I’m concerned.” Nikolai sipped at his soup, then as the need for food consumed him, he turned to inhaling the portion.

“Nikolai has a small issue of forgetting when he needs to eat.” Genya explained as she lightly buttered her slice of rye bread and added a portion of goose liver pate to it. “He’s a poor dining companion in the eyes of his parents, but we’ve eaten together since we were children, and once Dominik joined us, the idea of Nikolai sitting down for dinner was finally not a foreign concept.” 

“I was a very active child.” Nikolai replied swiftly, shooting Genya a glance. She shrugged, chewed her slice of bread. Alina dipped her spoon in the borscht, noting the lack of beetroot. “Is the royal version of this made without beets?”

“Oh, it is. But the cook didn’t want this portion looking too red. Otherwise Prince Vasily gets testy.”

“He doesn’t like blood or things that look like it. Which is strange, since he never saw a day of active combat.” Nikolai grumbled as he wiped at his chin with his napkin and set to scooping up the drippings with a piece of bread. “I’ve killed and I’m fine with it.” His grumblings turned softer as he chewed on the bread and slugged back his glass of brandy.

“I miss my old cook.” He pressed his chin against his palm. “Wonderful man. Doused things in too much butter.”

“You have a fondness for butter. And salt.” Genya rolled her eyes. “I had to lock the salt away after a while. He would easily put it on everything.”

“Within moderation!” Nikolai protested. He sat back, kicked his feet up on the tea table, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Please tell me I don’t have to go to this dinner with my parents, Gen…” He groaned.

“You do, Nikolasha.” She sighed, patting his hand. “I’ll walk you over, since your mother will no doubt want me to tailor you. But then-” She turned her gaze back to Alina. “I’ll be right back to help you get ready for bed. Or we can stay up, pop popcorn over the fireplace and gossip. These kinds of rainy evenings are the best for books and quiet conversation, in my opinion.” Genya squeezed Alina’s hand.

She smiled. “I’ve never really had any friends besides Mal, and what with Zoya’s cruel remark… I have a feeling it’ll be like how it was back there.” She murmured, rubbing at her nose with her finger.

“Nonsense. You have us! And Dominik, once I figure out how to sneak him in.” Nikolai grinned.

“Are you two…” Alina looked between Nikolai and Genya. “Together?”

A beat of silence passed, and then Genya burst out laughing. Nikolai snorted, and suppressed his laughter behind his napkin, his feet kicking out as he snickered into the linen.

“No.” He squeaked. “We’ve been friends since we were children. But no, Genya had her head turned by a certain fabrikator with glasses.”

“His name is David.” Genya hit Nikolai with her dinner napkin, and wiped her streaming eyes with a tissue stuck up her sleeve. “And yes, Nikolai is correct. We grew up together in the Great Palace.” She explained. “But I can see why you’d assume that.” As Genya patted Alina’s hand, the sun summoner’s face turned red.

“Bloody hell.” She groaned. “My apologies.” 

“None needed. We get it. I mean, I half wanted to ask if that boy… Mal, had tumbled you. The look on his face when he saw you in the Darkling’s carriage made me think so.”

“No!” Alina breathed. “No, we’ve been friends since our orphanage days. Like…” She looked between Genya and Nikolai. “You both, it seems.”

“Ah.” Genya nodded at Nikolai. “Told you so.”

“Oh, of course you’d know.” Nikolai snipped, turning to his watercolours. He grumbled as he squinted at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. “Saints, is it nine bells already? I should get going.”

“When’re you supposed to be there?” Alina asked as she sipped her glass of kvas.

“By ten bells, but I want to be early so I get off on the right foot. It’s been… how long?” Nikolai asked Genya as she straightened his mussed tie, combed his hair and spritzed him with eau de cologne. Along with that, she tailored his hair to give it a dimmer streak, and wiped away a scar he’d gotten from fighting Drüskelle. 

“Anything else?” Genya asked as she turned back to her box. 

Nikolai bit his lip. 

“Nah. I’ll be fine. If I come back busted up, you’ll know.” He cut a glance to the door, and straightened his evening kefta’s lapels. The cummerbund at his waist was bottle-green, his heraldic colour. The fox fur of his kefta shimmered in the gas-lamps' light that were scattered throughout the room. 

Genya sighed, but nodded. Gathering up the dishes, she carried the tray to the door and Nikolai pulled the bell-cord for her. A serving maid materialised in the doorway as if by magic, and took the tray, as well as Genya’s box of tools. 

“Alright.” Nikolai spun on his heel and came back to Alina. He kissed the knuckles of her offered hand, which made the girl blush, and cast his gaze to Genya. “Take care of her, will you?”

“Obviously.” Genya smirked, smacking the prince’s behind. “Off you get, you scourge. If I wasn’t here, I’m sure you’d ravish her.” She hissed in Nikolai’s ear.

He squawked in indignation, threw Alina a kiss over his shoulder. Genya pulled the double doors shut, and the two of them raced through the halls, chasing and teasing one another. Soon enough, they reached the royal couple’s chamber doors, and stopped dead. 

Genya pulled on his bow-tie, while Nikolai helped Genya pin her hair up and straighten her cuffs. They did this all without a word between them, and grinned at one another.

“Ready?” Nikolai murmured, reaching for Genya’s hand.

“Are we ever?” She replied, squeezing his hand.

“No.” He added, settling his shoulders. He always felt so young coming back here. Partly why he avoided it. He pushed the double doors open, and let Genya step first into the Lion’s maw. Following her, Nikolai paused in the doorway.

He wanted Alina here with them. But not yet. 

Ravka needed her. Nikolai needed her. So did Genya. But Alina needed to find herself first. 

Nikolai closed his eyes, and stepped from the world he controlled to the world that was out of his control. He would go quietly, not screaming or kicking. 

For he controlled what he could, and the rest was up to the Saints.

End of chapter 2. 

[aphroditestummyrolls]

If you're still playing - spare prayer or proposal (I'm so predictable) ❤️

HELLO MY FRIEND ❤️

His long legs stepped fast, and Inej grabbed his hand to slow him the slightest bit. He was nervous. It was plain to see. Jesper had never been good at hiding his feelings— they bubbled to the surface like frothing champagne, whether they’re happy or sad, angry or frightened. Whether or not he was masking one feeling with another, it was always clear to Inej.

She knew him too well.

And he knew her too well, too. Well enough to not bother trying to mask anymore. His smile was tight at the corners as he tugged her down a side corridor. She squeezed reassuringly at his fingers.

What in the name of all the Saints was going on?

The room they stepped into was all stark white walls and rich hardwood. The windows were expansive— if the sun hadn’t set hours ago, there would be a lovely view looking over the gardens. Hanraat Bay sparkled in the distance. The city was lit up streetlamp orange and steeped in smog, just as it had always been.

It was lovely, if a bit clinical. There wasn’t a speck of colour in the whole room, and Inej felt a prickle of anxiety that they both still held their half full wine glasses. Jesper, though, didn’t seem to care at all.

He was utterly at home in the space— turning up the gas lamps, setting his glass on the desk with no coaster or covering, digging around in the bottom of a side drawer. He was bouncing ever so slightly on his toes.

It set something at ease in her chest. It was excitement— Jesper might seem out of sorts, but he wasn’t lying. It truly wasn’t bad.

“Jes?”

“It’s my workshop— Wylan had it set up for me to practise, and meet with my grisha tutor here.” He exclaimed triumphantly, finally holding up what he’d been looking for. It was a tiny pewter key. “It’s all a bit hush-hush, but he wanted me to be able to train it if I wanted.”

“It’s awfully plain.”

He grinned. “Not by choice, I promise. It’s to make transferring colours easier. It’s a pain in the ass to learn— so much easier to bleach something colourful, than the other way round.”

Beckoning her with an eager wave, he pulled a trinket box from the back of the desk, and inserted his hard-won key.

It opened with a click.

In the box, with Jesper holding his breath beside her, Inej peered in to see…

“I thought we were crows, not magpies.”

“Crows collect shiny objects as much as any other corvid.” Jes feigned offence, but he was practically vibrating. “I’ve been using anything I can get to practise on… don’t tell anybody, ‘Nej. This box has to stay secret. For now.”

The velvet lining of the lacquer box was almost inscrutable from the piles and piles of metal fragments inside. All of them were richly engraved with flowers and filigree, each one more beautiful than the last. Some were just pieces and parts of sheet metal, probably from proper practise with his tutor. But, others were more discernible. Keys, spoons, coins… rings.

“Did you do all this engraving?”

Her friend nodded, making an affirmative hum into his wine.

Everything slid into place in her mind so suddenly, she felt stupid for having missed it.

There were so many rings.

“Jesper Fahey, are you—“

“I’ve never been so happy, ‘Nej. I promise. I… it scares the Hell out of me.”

Thanks for playing ❤️❤️❤️