#black sconce shades

[carolinhairandmakeup]

Bathroom in DC Metro Inspiration for a timeless powder room remodel with an undermount sink and white countertops

[il-faut-etre-shooter]

Transitional Bathroom

Example of a large transitional master subway tile and gray tile marble floor and beige floor bathroom design with shaker cabinets, black cabinets, white walls, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door, beige countertops and an undermount sink

[jamesmdavisson]

Transitional Bedroom Portland

Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional master dark wood floor, coffered ceiling and wallpaper bedroom remodel with white walls

[kennedysteve]

Bathroom Boston Mid-sized elegant 3/4 black and white tile and ceramic tile corner shower photo with an undermount sink, granite countertops, flat-panel cabinets and white cabinets

[blieve-bactive-bhealthy]

Transitional Bathroom - Master Bath A large transitional master bathroom corner shower design example with a hinged shower door, white cabinets with glass fronts, beige walls, an undermount sink, and marble countertops

[studytext]

Traditional Kitchen - Enclosed Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless l-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor enclosed kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, raised-panel cabinets, quartz countertops, blue backsplash, porcelain backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and purple cabinets

[spacecampband]

New York Master Bath Bathroom Huge transitional master marble floor and gray floor bathroom photo with recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, white walls, an undermount sink and white countertops

[iamcharlieg]

Bathroom - Traditional Powder Room Example of a mid-sized classic marble floor and multicolored floor powder room design with multicolored walls and a console sink

[melankoliadam]

Landscape Pathway (Boston)

[gunillamixtapes]

Transitional Kitchen - Kitchen

[michelepoehler]

Master Bath (New York)

[prythianpages]

ACOSM | The Night she made Azriel dance

azriel x rhysand's sister (oc)

warnings: angst/fluff? some suggestive content but nothing beyond a heated kiss

summary: The Court of Nightmares is celebrating Rhysand's accomplishment of enduring the blood rite. Valeria pulls Azriel for a dance and their unspoken feelings for each other begin to catch the attention of others.

A/N: this is an imagine among my collection of imagines that follow Rhysand's sister, Valeria. while I'm still working on them, you can find the masterlist for it here. You might be able to read it as a stand alone imagine.

**

Silver sconces flickered with small flames, casting long shadows across the grand ballroom of the Court of Nightmares. At the heart of the grand chamber, a colossal crystal chandelier bathed the dance floor in a cascade of soft, enchanting light. The crystals sparkled like stars, reflecting in the eyes of those gathered beneath. The tapestries, hung with pride and history, depicted battles, bloodshed, and triumphs of the fierce Illyrian warriors.

Tonight, the Court of Nightmares celebrated not only a warrior's coming of age, but the bonds forged through battles and hardships. The High Lord of the Night Court stood at the center of it all. Rhysand, his son and heir, stood to his right. He was dressed in obsidian finery lovingly crafted by his mother.

Valeria stood alongside her mother at the bottom of the stairs that led to their throne, her gaze avoiding her father at all costs…even as Rhysand kneeled before their father in acceptance of the new crown the High Lord held in his hands. She waited until the crowd that had gathered erupted into cheers, joining the High Lord in celebrating Rhysand, to leave her mother’s side.

She needed a drink.

As the musicians began to play a haunting melody, she made her way to the wine table. She wasn’t surprised to find Mor already there and under the influence. She wore an elegant black ball gown instead of her usual shades of red. Her brown eyes that were once full of life were dull and distant. She was still in mourning, joining Valeria in her lament for Mallory.

 Valeria had given her the jewelry box as soon as she had read Mallory’s letter. Upon her arrival to the Court of Nightmares, she had even stopped by Mor’s residence a couple of times to check up on her. She was turned down every time. She had even shut Rhysand completely out, not allowing either of the siblings in. She had chosen to mourn alone.

With a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, she poured a glass for Valeria.

**

Azriel and Cassian stepped into the grand ballroom, their large mesmerizing wings unfurled behind them. The two Illyrians, known for their rugged warrior appearance, had traded their customary leathers for a sleek ensemble befitting the grand occasion. They were both clad in tailored black suits that emphasized the lithe strength of their bodies.

Despite their fitting attire, they felt strangely out of place.

Azriel, partly concealed in his shadows, had an aura of quiet intensity. His eyes searched the room for a certain winged female. His shadows mirrored his request, sharing his determination. He was met with the same inexplicable magnetic pull that had seized him upon his return from the blood rite. 

Following that thread, his gaze swiftly alighted upon the raven-haired woman, who unknowingly, held the other end of the golden thread that beckoned Azriel closer. 

He gulped as his eyes raked over her frame, the first thing striking him of her appearance being the absence of her wings.

She was a vision of timeless beauty in a simple yet enchanting long ivory silk gown–a creation no doubt crafted by her mother’s loving and talented hands. Her long, raven hair tumbled down her back in loose curls that framed her face in a cascade of dark silk.

At her throat, she still wore the moonstone necklace gifted to her by Azriel, the delicate gemstone shimmering with an otherworldly glow.

Her violet eyes held a depth and intensity that continued to draw Azriel in as they met his hazel ones. Her brows rose slightly and he swore he saw the light return to her eyes.

In a blink of an eye, she was rushing toward him.

“Azriel,” she breathed, her voice laced with relief as she threw her arms around his taller, broader frame. She nestled her head against his chest as his shadows also joined him in in their embrace.

“Valeria.” He replied, matching her tone of relief as he held her tightly, the tension of their separation melting away in that single moment.

“Cassian!”

Valeria pulled away from Azriel sheepishly, still flushed with the emotions of their reunion. She turned to the Illyrian male beside him, who had called out his own name and waited for her with expectant open arms. She didn’t hesitate to move into Cassian’s brotherly embrace and he chuckled with delight.

"How have you been, my little warrior?"

She pulled away from Cassian. It was almost instinctive the way her steps drew her closer to Azriel, her body unconsciously seeking to be close to him. Azriel’s body did the same, their fingers brushing against each other lightly.

Cassian couldn’t help but notice the subtle, unspoken connection between them. He wondered if he should say something.

“Bored. No one to annoy, unfortunately.” Valeria finally answered his question, pulling Cassian from his thoughts. She then looked at Azriel, her eyes looking toward his shoulders.

“Where is–”

“Noctis is resting in your room.” Azriel answered before Valeria could finish. “We thought it would be too chaotic here for him.”--He saw the concern in her eyes at the thought of her bird being left alone.--”I left some of my shadows to keep him company.”

“Thank you.” Valeria breathed a sigh of relief. She made sure to look at both Azriel and Cassian, knowing that they along with her brother–who she already thanked earlier–carefully nursed her beloved bird back to health.

“The house is awfully quiet without you there.” Cassian commented with a small frown.

Rhysand’s voice suddenly emerged from behind. “I never thought I’d be the one to say this but I miss you and that damn bird keeping me up at night with your piano...and those awful chirps of his.” 

Valeria rolled her eyes, turning around to face her brother to make sure he caught the gesture. “His chirps aren’t awful. They’re lovely.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Rhysand chuckled, his eyes looking amongst their group. “Where’s Mor?”

Valeria’s eyes widened as she realized that her cousin had not followed her and chose to remain at the wine table instead. Her heart ached for her. 

Cassian sighed. “I’ll go get her.”

Azriel seated himself at the empty table nearby. Rhysand and Valeria followed after him with the latter taking the empty chair beside him. A wave of magic filled the air, and suddenly, a sumptuous array of food materialized at the center of the table. Empty plates appeared before them, ready to be filled. Azriel was the first to fill his plate with a tempting assortment of delicious food but instead of indulging in it himself, he extended the plate to Valeria. 

“Here,” He urged her, his voice gentle, as he offered her the plate. “You need to eat.”

“It’s been hard to find an appetite these days.” Valeria admitted quietly, accepting the plate from him with a small thanks.

She found an immense guilt to do anything as she mourned the loss of her friend. She didn’t think anyone had noticed but Azriel had. It was subtle but he noticed her thinner frame and the slightly sunken appearance of her cheeks.

Rhysand’s gaze remained fixed on the two, his violet eyes narrowing as he watched their interactions. Gratitude welled within him for Azriel’s vigilant care for his sister yet a flicker of suspicion ignited in his mind. He wondered if Azriel’s watchful care held a depth of meaning beyond mere brotherly intention…

Rhysand’s gaze abruptly tore from the two upon the arrival of Cassian and Mor at their table. Mor stumbled into her seat, across from him, with Cassian’s careful support. 

“Oh, this food looks ravishing,” she slurred as she stole a piece of bread from Azriel’s plate.

Azriel didn’t seem to mind. However, when Cassian reached over to steal the potatoes from his plate, Azriel promptly moved his plate out of Cassian’s reach, fixing him with a glare. There was humor dancing in his eyes. 

“Congrats, bat boys.” Mor grinned, referring to their accomplishment in the blood rite. She hadn’t seen them since Valeria’s birthday.  

“Bat boys?” Azriel questioned, his brows furrowing in slight confusion while Valeria’s amused reaction almost led her to choking on her food. Her laughter bubbled forth, finding their surprised and bewildered expressions highly entertaining.

Mor looked at Valeria and joined in.

“Bat boys,” Rhysand echoed, a smile playing on his lips as he swirled the wine in his glass. “I can’t say I hate it.”

The three men shared a knowing look, finding relief and joy in the sound of Valeria’s and Mor’s laughter. A sound they had feared they wouldn't hear again. The five of them continued to enjoy their dinner, engrossed in light conversation.

When the music began to pick up and people took to the dance floor of the grand ballroom, Rhysand noticed Valeria’s eyes light up. He knew how much she enjoyed dancing as he was often forced to be her dancing partner when they were children. Determined to keep the his sister in bright spirits, he extended his free hand to her.

Valeria hesitated for a moment and a frown fell over her face as a wave of guilt hit her then. Guilt for daring to feel joy when Mallory was robbed of any more experiences.

Warmth and reassurance suddenly filled her in that moment, the same strange way it did after her nightmares would wake her, washing away her guilt. It’s okay, it seemed to say.

She accepted her brother’s offer and with a smile from Rhysand, they made their way to the dance floor. The people dancing seemed to part for them, allowing them to reach the center. Their presence was compelling and piercing and a cool mask was on both of their faces. Some stopped and stared, admiring the beauty of the son and daughter of the Night Court. 

Rhysand and Valeria began to move together, their steps fluid and graceful. He led with care, guiding Valeria through the steps. His own violet eyes held a promise of better days to come, and in that moment, Valeria felt a sense of hope return to her heart.

The music swelled and Rhysand twirled Valeria with a flourish. She couldn’t help but smile again as the weight of her worries began to lift.

“There she is,” Rhysand smiled back at her.

As the song came to an end, she curtsied at her brother and when the orchestra began another song, her gaze landed on Azriel. He remained at the table, nursing a wine glass of his own. His shadows had been watching her every move with a curious intensity as he pretended to be engaged in whatever Cassian was saying as the latter animatedly waved his hands.

Rhysand followed her gaze with an amused smile and then chuckled. “Az doesn’t dance. You’d have better luck with Cassian. Although, he might step on your toes.”

A mischievous glint danced in Valeria’s eyes as Azriel’s gaze lifted to meet hers across the room. It was as if he heard his name being called.

“He will for me."

With a playful spin, Rhysand sent her Azriel's way, and she glided toward him. Azriel recognized the look in her eye immediately, already having an excuse ready for her. A lame one at that.

“I can’t dance.”

Valeria's eyes sparkled with an impish charm. "Your shadows tell me that's a lie."

"You can hear them?" Azriel raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.

His shadows, usually silent and obedient, seemed to have a mind of their own tonight. They coiled back, looking almost sheepish. Only when we want her to, they responded with unexpected sass.

“Sometimes.” Valeria shrugged nonchalantly, as if hearing his shadows was entirely ordinary. "Doesn't everyone?"

Azriel shook his head slowly. "No, not everyone."

"Oh."

His shadows brushed through her hair, their cool tendrils ghosting past her ear. "Well, right now they're telling me your mother actually taught you how to dance."

"Traitors," Azriel muttered grumpily at his defiant shadows, who dared to laugh in his ears, swirling playfully between Valeria and him.

Valeria, however, wasn't about to take no for an answer. With a touch of determination and playfulness, she intertwined her fingers with Azriel's, catching him off guard. His heart quickened, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he couldn't resist her any longer.

Complying with her invitation, Azriel rose from his seat, his eyes locked with Valeria's. Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, swaying to the gentle melody of the music.

In the midst of the crowd, they danced. It was a dance of shadows and moonlight, and in each other's arms, they found a rare and beautiful harmony.

Rhysand once again found his gaze fixed on the two as his sister and one of his closest friends--someone he considered his brother-- danced as if they were the only two in the room. Beside him, Cassian and Mor also watched the pair.

Cassian noticed the thoughtful furrow in Rhysand’s brow. “Something on your mind, Rhys?”

Rhysand hesitated before replying. “It’s Valeria. She and Azriel…”

“Oh, Rhys, you’re just being an overbearing and overprotective brother.” Mor couldn’t help but chuckle. She looked at Cassian, inclining her head at him to agree.

“Yeah,” Cassian said with a nod of his head. “We all care for Val deeply. She’s like a little sister to me and I’m sure Azriel feels the same.”

But even Cassian began to doubt his words as he remembered their earlier reunion and it did nothing to dwell the concern in Rhysand. He continued to watch his sister and Azriel before Mor pulled his attention away from the dance floor.

**

Valeria swayed gracefully on the dance floor, her white dress catching the light as Azriel spun her around. Her violet eyes sparkled with a mixture of joy and something deeper, something unspoken.

As the dance continued, Azriel couldn't help but glance down at Valeria's lips for a fleeting moment. The magnetic pull between them was undeniable, and the world around them seemed to blur as they swayed to the music. It was as if the air was charged with a palpable tension, their hearts beating in unison.

But just as the moment became achingly sweet and full of promise, a striking, dark-haired woman appeared before Azriel. "Would you do me the honor of the next dance, Shadowsinger?" she purred, her voice as seductive and charismatic as her gaze.

Azriel reluctantly pulled his gaze from Valeria to meet the woman’s. He looked back at Valeria. There was hesitation in his eyes, almost begging for Valeria to shake her head at him, to tell him no. Much to his disappointment, Valeria nodded at him and he reluctantly accepted the dark-haired woman's invitation.

As Valeria left Azriel's side, a sense of longing hung in the air–a dance interrupted and a moment deferred. She made her way back to the table with her brother and friends. She watched as Azriel and the woman began to dance with a mixture of curiosity and something she couldn’t quite name. 

Rhysand couldn't resist a teasing chuckle. "Look what you started.”

Valeria tried to hide her jealousy, but the sight of Azriel with another woman had her wrestling with her feelings. A small sigh escaped her lips. She couldn't blame him for being polite. She knew she had no reason to be jealous, but as a third female approached him for a dance, she couldn't help it. 

The Court of Nightmares' ball raged on. Valeria, still nursing her feelings of jealousy and insecurity, decided it was time to slip away from the festivities, using Mor’s drunken state as an excuse. Rhysand, her older brother, seemed oblivious to her inner turmoil, chatting with a beautiful stranger. Cassian had left earlier, sneaking away to visit his girlfriend.

“I think it’s time for bed.” Valeria said, looking at Mor’s slumping form at the table.

Rhysand chuckled and nodded. He began to excuse himself from the female, who had sat herself next to him, but Valeria stopped him with a wave of her hand. “I can handle it. I’ll take Mor to my room,” Valeria assured him as she placed the blonde’s arm over her shoulders and carefully lifted her from her seat.

Rhysand nodded, engaging himself in conversation with the pretty stranger once more, and Valeria slipped out into the cool night with Mor in tow. As Valeria discreetly made her way to the exit, her heart heavy with unresolved emotions, Azriel’s shadows noticed her departure and informed him.

As soon as the song came to a stop, a couple of minutes later, he was quick to pull away from the dance, bowing slightly at the female before making his way to where he had seen Valeria disappear into. On his way, he passed by the table that now consisted of Rhysand and a beautiful female, who sat on his lap. 

“Az,” Rhysand called out to him, forcing him to come to a stop. There was a glint in his violet eyes while the female on top of him raked Azriel’s body over with hungry eyes. “Care to join us?”

Their scent of arousal hit Azriel. If things were different, he would’ve gladly accepted Rhysand’s offer. It wouldn’t be the first time they shared a woman. But despite the female’s beauty and Rhysand’s promise of an entertaining night, he couldn’t bring himself to say yes.

Instead, he shook his head. “I think I should also call it a night.”

“Suit yourself,” Rhysand replied with a shrug. He feigned nonchalance on the outside but on the inside, his suspicions from earlier resurfaced...

Azriel excused himself and left the ballroom, his true intention to find where Valeria had slipped away to. In the darkness of the night, Azriel's shadows flitted through the corridors of the grand estate, searching for her. It didn't take them long to find Valeria at the opposite end of the palace. 

She was in the moon gardens, amongst the terrace of blooming flowers. A handful of night-blooming jasmines and gardenias lay beside her. She held a gardenia in her hand, plucking the petals one-by-one deep in thought, as she nestled on the soft grass.

Valeria didn’t seem to notice his arrival.

Plucking a purple peony that matched her eyes from a flourishing bush, he silently settled beside her. “A flower for your thoughts?” 

The gardenia Valeria had been holding slipped from her fingers, landing atop its own ivory petals. She started, caught off guard by the sudden presence of the Shadowsinger.

He reached out, brushing a loose curl of her hair away from her face and secured the purple peony behind one of her ears. His shadows swirled around him, enraptured by her beauty, each tendril whispering in hushed admiration.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

"I just need some fresh air.” Valeria brushed off his concern and without considering the meaning of her words, she added: “I didn’t think you’d notice. You seemed to be having an awfully good time with all those beautiful females.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes glinted with amusement. “Is this jealousy I sense?”

Valeria scoffed, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Me? Jealous?”

“You’re right, you have no reason to be jealous.” Azriel acknowledged, his voice a soothing murmur of understanding. His lips curled into a smirk as his fingers gently lifted Valeria’s chin, coaxing her to meet his gaze.

Reluctantly, her eyes locked with his, and in that moment, a daring boldness took over him.

“I only have eyes for you.”

As Azriel's words hung in the air, the tension between them thickened.

Valeria's heart raced as his thumb brushed softly against her lower lip, his eyes following his movement in a tantalizing tease that sent shivers down her spine. Valeria found herself inching closer and Azriel did the same, his breath mingling with hers.

The world around them faded into insignificance as their faces drew nearer. 

His lips barely brushed hers, almost in a teasing manner, and he rejoiced in the way her eyelids fluttered close and lips parted in anticipation. She wanted this as much as he did. 

“I only want you,” he murmured against her lips before he claimed them in a tender kiss full of longing.

Her lips were just as soft as he had imagined. Just as sweet as he imagined and he savored her taste, yearning for more.

Their lips separated for a brief moment as she adjusted herself and before she knew it, their lips were crashing against each other once again in a heated kiss.

With the guidance of his hand at her waist, she found herself straddling his hips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the slit in her dress ripped further up, exposing her thigh but she did not care. All she cared about was the sweet taste of his lips and intoxicating scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

Azriel’s hand that had lingered on her chin found itself intertwining into the base of her hair. He pulled on it, angling her closer to him. The hand at her waist traveled down to her thigh before his fingers began to lightly trace their way up the newly exposed skin. His tongue traced against her bottom lip and she allowed him in, a soft moan escaping from her as he explored her mouth with his tongue.

He almost moaned at the sound. It sent a shiver throughout his body, fueling his insatiable urge to find out what other pretty sounds he can elicit from her pretty lips.

When they reluctantly pulled away to catch their breaths, their foreheads rested against each other. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself recognized the significance of this moment and the stars above twinkled.

Azriel’s pupils were dilated as he intently gazed down at her, admiration and a hint of lust in his hazel eyes. 

“Only you.” Valeria breathlessly echoed, the look in her eyes mirroring his. 

Azriel smiled, feeling his heart fill with such warmth that he thought he was about to explode. His shadows danced around them as he peppered her face with tender kisses.

His nose brushed against hers and as the moonlight casted a soft glow on their faces, their lips met again.

**

A/N: after all the sadness and angst, I wanted to write something more romantic. Rhys and Cass are finally catching onto Az and Val and it seems like Rhys might not be too happy about that...

I hope the kissing scene was okay. I've never written anything beyond a simple kiss or suggestive content but I am willing to try for future imagines. It's just hard and kinda ironic for me to write romantic scenes since I fall under the aroace spectrum. yet I love reading all kinds of romance lol

tag list: @justrepostandlove , @kemillyfreitas, @thelov3lybookworm

[writingjourney]

WIP Wednesday

Because I know I've been sort of quiet and haven't shared any writing in a while, here is a tiny little snippet of the Dracopia Friday Nights fic that I'm slowly chipping away at!! (gn!reader)

⛧ ✦ ⛧

A picturesque landscape stretches out in all directions as the black Bentley carries you towards your destination. Fall has painted the trees in vibrant shades of orange and red that glow amidst the darker evergreens in the last rays of a quickly fading sunset. As you leave the city, roads become quiet. Your driver is silent, occasionally glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

You are too occupied to really take note, staring outside while you can still see anything. Here, where the Carpathians begin to rise, rolling hills and dense forests, vast fields and the occasional house by the side of the road. About twenty minutes later you pass through the open gate in an old stone wall that leads up a steep dirt road lined with ever more trees. By now the sun has left completely and you struggle to make out your surroundings.

Eventually, the car stops in the courtyard of what must be Emeritus Castle. It is not the actual name of the medieval building but rather one the latest owner chose for it. According to your research he purchased it fifty years ago, though the land and title might have transferred to an heir by now.

The driver helps you with the door, then retrieves your luggage from the trunk of the Bentley. From what you can tell most of the medieval structure has been preserved. Besides the gatehouse you passed through, it consists of the main tower and its turrets, a keep that connects it to another, smaller tower, and a few additional buildings that hug the thick wall that encloses the whole castle. The round walk seems intact and you wonder what the view would be like from up there but then the monk ushers you over the threshold and into the cool stone walls of the castle.

Inside, the halls are illuminated by sconces and candles that flicker excitedly in the draft you carry with you. As you follow the man you try to keep track of where you go, two hallways down, two staircases up, another long hallway and then you round a corner into yet another hallway. The floorboards creak with every step where they replace the stone, carpets muffling the sounds of your steps. The man stops in front of a door that looks like many of the others you walked past.

“Your room,” he says as he unlocks the door with an old iron key. “You can wait here until the other guests arrive. We will gather in the courtyard in three hours.”

“Do you not… need my name? Or an ID?”

“I know who you are, heh.”

He says your name, then, and hands you the key, not without a hint of satisfaction. You briefly wonder if they are doing background checks on their guests and whether he might have found your old Facebook account with the embarrassing pictures from a decade ago but then your hand brushes the sleek black leather gloves he’s wearing and a violent shiver tears through your whole body. A darker, less faded shape remains on the back of his hand, almost like a cross, as though whatever was on there has been ripped off. A monk who fell from grace? He pulls away the moment the key rests in your palm and you are left with a lingering sense of dread. Who exactly does the Count employ here?

As you recollect yourself the man carries your luggage inside the room. A rather large wooden bed takes up most of the small space and he places your suitcase on top of the white sheets. Then he begins to light a few candles that are scattered around the room, methodically, and not with a lighter but with matchsticks.

“No electricity?” you ask, noting the severe lack of light switches and wall sockets.

“No no, they did not have that in medieval times, no?”

“No, I suppose not.” You reach for your pocket, pausing at the sight of your phone. “I guess I should turn it off to save the battery then…”

The man looks up at you briefly and as the candle illuminates his masked face you notice his eyes for the very first time. Startled, you take a step back, spooked by how one of his irises is so pale that you can hardly tell where it ends. His other eye is darker, perhaps green, but it is hard to tell in the orange glow of the candles. He must have rimmed them with pitch black make up as there is no skin peeking through the eye holes of the mask, despite the skin on his wrist being rather pale. He looks eery and for the first time you wonder if coming here was a mistake.

“I will leave you now,” he says. “Remember, courtyard, three hours.”

“Is there a clock anywhere so I can see the time?”

“A colleague will call you all downstairs, eh? You can unpack in the meantime.”

He does not wait for a reply. His black robes swish past you as he hurries out of the room and closes the door behind him. You are left with a lingering sense of danger, and only after half an hour does your heart rate begin to fully go down to a normal resting pulse.

[maxparkhurst]

Duplicity

Somewhere in the distance, the clock tolled eight.

A warm, ember glow filtered through the curtains to cast a dappling spotlight upon Max. She hovered outside the window pane, peering into what would otherwise be a dim and dark interior. The alchemical sconces were lit to full this evening as her brother and their assistant - an aspiring arcanist named Colette- guided a fresh face through the labyrinth of books, herbs, and alchemical formulae. The new hire was a stripling of an elf, whose name eluded Max despite being introduced not moments prior. Colette fluttered like a hummingbird around the new hire, chirping in his ear as she fed on the nectar of his attention. She plucked vials haphazardly from their cases and paraded them as if they were her own concoctions. Watching her peacock around, knowing very well Max’s departure would not be for another few days, coated the alchemist’s throat in a caustic venom.

She did not want to hire Colette, much less a second assistant. Not for a lack of finance; between the stipends gifted by several organizations and the building’s rent covered by their absentee benefactor, the Parkhursts were to able accrue both monetary and influential wealth. From connections to the Gilnean Black Market, to the discrete research done for the kingdom’s reconnaissances division, it was safe to say that the Parkhursts possessed hands in several pockets. Except for Dalaran. No one held much claim in Dalaran; not as recently.

The shattering of glass caused Max to retreat into the shadow. Colette stood with upraised palms, she and the new hire blinking at the pool of azure and glass at their feet- utterly dumbfounded. A sour scowl drew across Max’s lips. No, it was not a lack of money that made her loathe someone new or novel.

Max’s attention briefly flicked to her brother. Augustine dispelled their stupor with a gentle smile and a chittering laugh. Both Colette and the elf grinned alongside him as they stepped back from the mess. Her brother’s gentle nature disarmed even the most seasoned veteran. Warm and affable, people often drew to him like moths to the flame. Yet as of the last few months, he began to shift. Slow and subtle. Constant, like a shimmer of sorts, dark like an overcast sky. She first noticed it when she woke in Drustvar after a long slumber. She heard it in his voice. In his choice of words. Not wrong. No. Still undoubtedly her brother. But there was deliberation in his words. Reservation. A guarded nature she did not see in him before. He was different. As if possessed of some new secret. Or, perhaps more adequate, stripped of something integral. Augustine was adept at batting away the topic of Drustvar and its witch. Whatever happened, he would not share with Max. He only continued to be different.

Augustine guided them to a new case of potions, directing their attention away from the deepening shadow sewn to his feet. The dark pool rippled and stirred. Tendrils rose from the depths, wavering in the shop’s glow, before coalescing into themselves. Gradually, the dark took form. A mirror image of her brother separated from his shadow. It was void of color and depth as if it’d been clipped from the daily paper. With an off-handed gesture from Augustine, the shade began cleaning the broken vial.

The mishap remedied and forgotten, the three continued their charades. Colette the bird and Elf the sheep, poking and prodding at Max’s work. Shepherded by Auggie - her dearest brother- who was more vulpine than either of them could ever imagine.

Max watched from the other side of the window. The burden of the sky weighed on her shoulders. The Alliance called for aid in Khaz Algar; if she did not go, then he must. And she would do anything to keep him safe within her shadow of silver-spun sophistry.

Some part of her, though, wished to go inside. To banish these newcomers from her burrow…

Somewhere in the distance, the clock tolled nine.

Smoke burned Max’s throat raw. The last of the cigarette sucked down in greedy puffs before being snuffed of its embers. Max tucked the bud in her pocket - after all, she must maintain the image of a consciousness citizen- and pushed off her claimed lamppost. A salt-laced breeze from the harbor rustled her hair, tiptoeing past to the silent gardens of Lion’s Rest. News of Dalaran and the growing onslaught of Nerubians finally reached Stormwind. It suffocated the last inkling of summer idealism, leaving behind a dense shawl of unrest and uncertainty. Many were recruited to the front lines. Most soldiers. Some artisans, scholars, mages, alchemists…

A sigh escaped Max’s chest as she meandered through the stone arches that fed into the harbor. She passed a number of shops on her way, a dozen unlit, a dozen half-lit, and a dozen dying dark. The city was dead as a result of recent events. Which served Max just fine. She needn’t worry about which mask appeared most pleasant. Even if it that dance were almost reflexive at this point. Being clever and pleasant was always exhausting. Better to be seen by no one at all.

She stopped just short of a door nestled where Light, Death, and the Deep meet.

Well- perhaps that was a small lie. There were a few individuals who saw past Max’s facade. And one in particular whose gaze she sought more than anyone’s.

From her satchel, Max fished out a sealed envelope. She ran her thumbs over the corners, ignoring the needle stuck between her ribs. A courtesy, she reminded herself, to a friend. That was the purpose of her letter. Her gaze lifted to the Kraken embossed on the door. A momentary pause as she wrestled with herself, hand poised above the knocker. She sucked the backs of her teeth and withdrew into herself. Standing on the other side of the door, she shifted on cold feet. The burden of her decisions weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Max drew in a quiet breath before placing the envelope in the door’s mail slot. She stepped back into the streets, hands stuffed in her pockets, and took a final cursory glance over the building. All the windows were vacant of light, much like the rest of the city at this hour. She found it rather peculiar and lingered a moment longer. The home’s tenant was gone for the evening. Not a strange occurrence. Yet Max couldn’t seem to shake a distinct feeling of deja vu.

Stuffing tendrils of dread deep into her chest, Max snaked her way through the Cathedral District and towards the Canals.

Some part of her, though, wished to retreat back in time. To a small cottage hidden in the shadows of the Jade Temple…

Somewhere very near, the clock tolled ten.

“He must be worried.”

More statement than question, Max’s voice cut through the Canal’s gentle quiet. She perched on the bridge connecting the Trade District and Old Town. Another sealed envelope sat heavy in her lap. Her myopic gaze lifted from the water and slid to the slip of shadow that lingered a few paces back. At this hour, with the street lamps burning low, the feline appeared paper thin. No more than a piece of shadow-stitched patchwork with eyes that glistened like translucent marbles. No fire burned in its gaze. Those eyes belonged to Calcifer alone.

“Is he still tending to our guests?”

The feline flicked its tail.

Max pursed her lips with a flat-note hum.

“I see.”

She offered the envelope down to the shadow familiar.

It stared back, unblinking.

“Deliver this to Director Hawke for me.” She settled back on her palms when the feline freed her of the missive. Head cocked back and eyes shut, she released a slow breath. “I haven’t the energy to do it myself.”

She was met with silence.

Peeking her eye open, she caught the last glimpse of Calcifer as he stepped out of the lamplight’s halo and dispersed into the evening’s dark.

Alone again.

Some part of her wished that Calcifer had stayed…

____ Mentions: @longveil & @kat-hawke

[jade-efflorescence]

spent some time waiting for your face (all the same mistakes)

 shine on the comets, fall in my life

henry henderson/martha mariott | rated t | chapter one

martha and henry reconnect after the world around them has changed.

ao3

Martha never thought she’d see a ballet again. How strange it is that she is wrong.

Everything tonight is startlingly new—the carved, wooden doors of the theater she stands in front of, the dance performance she is here to watch. (An exchange of Ostanian and Westalian culture after a century comes alive through a spectacle of dance! declares the papers, sensationalizing a future emerging from decades of silent war.) The hundreds of people—rich and poor, old and young, West and East—all surround her in a shared, joyful frenzy. Gold and jewelry and satin dresses float across her vision, all belonging to some giddy figure’s indulgence, all chattering eagerly about a future still uncertain in her eyes. Any uncertainty in the rest of the world is hard to tell—at least for tonight.

Martha is overwhelmed, to say the least.

For the first time in a long while, she allows herself to face her emotions. She is not a wide-eyed twelve year old anymore, nor is she a graying, steel-minded woman, holding to a resigned resolve behind friendly smiles. Instead, she is Martha Marriott, facets of both and neither, the remnants of remarkable and common scars.

The opportunities are far too great to be shadowed by what I used to be, she thinks, and walks past the doors, the tulle of her navy gown brushing the red, spiraled carpet in the foyer.

Like many of the women tonight, her dress is new for the show, though not out of her own insistence. That would be the work of one Becky Blackbell, who despite Martha’s many protests, had taken her and Anya shopping a few months ago and included a piece of finery for her as a gift. ( “It’s extra thanks for handling the brat I was when you were my governess,” she claimed, waving off Martha’s protests on the price. “And you can’t fit into that old black one forever, you know!”)

The material product was never needed, of course, but Miss Blackbell’s kindness during such a tumultuous season for a young heir was admirable, and Martha figured she’d find another time to use the dress. Though she had quite a few reservations about the state of Ostania at this point, she had a feeling that future peaceful events would happen sooner rather than later.

Martha feels too old to be taking pride in her appearance—most of her appeal has faded away with time and circumstance. Yet, she finds herself smoothing down her navy-blue skirt as she weaves through the crowded halls and fixing her braided bun as she goes up staircase after staircase. Finally she enters the theater’s balcony, where she observes people picking their way across the rows of seats on the floor. Red, scalloped wall sconces burn just above her head and the stage is closed from view by a gold-fringed curtain. She finds her aisle number from the remnants of her ticket and sits down, silently pleased at how her dress settles about her ankles.

The theater itself is magnificent: a true blend of Eastern and Western architecture. Martha doesn’t know much about the fine details, and yet she can see something of both in each gilded, sculpted pillar, each curve of the painted mural on the chandeliered ceiling. It’s quite fascinating, how—

“Martha?”

Oh.

“Henry?”

She meets his eyes for the first time in decades—the same comforting, honeycomb-brown she’s remembered all her life. The man’s waist-length hair is in its signature ponytail, a bit thinner and whiter than she recalls. He responds to her voice with a polite nod, giving her a small smile. She glances at his silk waistcoat and notices they’re wearing the same shade of blue.

“What an elegant surprise,” he exclaims, as if they had been old, connected friends all this while. Though she’s entirely aware of life being the opposite, she finds herself softening under his gaze—not quite the blushing schoolgirl, but a sliver of it inside the smile lines that crease her cheeks.

Ever the gentleman, Henry hovers a hand and himself some paces away from the chair next to her. “I hope you don’t mind if I…?”

“Of course not. Sit! I was wondering if I’d recognize another face around here.” That, at least, is a response that springs out of her mind.

“Ahh. Well, then.” He gives her a quick nod and does so, propping up his cane against the right side of his theater seat. A birch one now, she notices, polished and painted to perfection. She hears him let out a deep breath and briefly wonders how close their shoulders are.

She waves the thought away. No one said this night would be easy.

“I must say,” he starts, “that gown on you is simply marvelous. Is it Miss Blackbell’s doing? I’ve been acquainted with her long enough that I recognize some choices from her favorite shop.”

Martha nods and smooths down the skirt, focusing quite heavily on the texture of the bunched-up tulle. “One of her favorites, yes. I suppose she was feeling generous that day.”

“I’m grateful for her consideration, then.”

“Thank you.” She takes a breath, avoiding his gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is Anneliese? Is she feeling alright? I know that an event like this may be a significant amount to handle.”

“Anneliese?” Henry hums. “Unfortunately, my wife passed away a couple years ago. I don’t doubt that she would have enjoyed witnessing such a moment in East-West history.”

“Oh.” Something in her chest bursts like a moth flits through darkness, drawn to a pulsing light. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I appreciate your condolences, Martha. Truly.” Though he lingers over the last syllable for little more than a second, his silence over the matter is sharper than any expressed emotion.

“On that subject, how are you doing tonight?” he asks, lowering his voice and leaning towards her as if they were sharing a secret. “I know this place may not hold pleasant memories. You are free to keep whatever you wish to express to yourself, of course. I know we haven’t been the most…well, the most in touch with each other. However, I figured it would not be elegant of me to avoid asking about your condition.”

(In the midst of the flowery vocabulary and stilted speech, Martha thinks this is the least composed she’s seen him since they met once more.)

She smiles. “Thank you for your concern. It has been a little overwhelming so far. But that isn’t necessarily bad. I suppose I’m grateful that we’ve reached a point where such a thing is possible.” Her mind wanders to olive-green Ostanian glades, to gunshots more constant than changing seasons, to the clawing, desperate feeling of a continually empty stomach, to experiencing the best and worst of humanity. “If I was never allowed to dance in a ballet, or travel the world in a time of peace, or eat in Westalian and Ostanian homes without fear, at least the young people now will experience those things.”

His responding smile takes on a small, wry twist, mirroring her own thoughts in a sense. Even after years of never speaking to one another, never meeting past the occasional student-caretaker conversation or searching for another designer item Becky lost at school, it seems that he can read her well.

“I’ve also found myself thinking that way,” he admits, the wryness in his smile fading to a soft, comforting edge. “It is quite a difficult perspective to maintain, but I’d like to think that the new generations benefit from our altered lives, even if we never see any of those results ourselves.”

“Well,” she answers, “I’d like to think tonight is where those good things begin, don’t you?”

It is worryingly fascinating, how much delight Martha finds in noting the remnants of a love affair that died decades ago, of remembering the picture of a man that died decades ago. She is all too aware of the additional sun-spots on the backs of her old lover’s hands, the weaker volume of his voice, the guarded weight his eyes have yet to be rid of. And yet, she finds she is all too ready to re-discover what makes him Henry once more, if life and loss will let them this time.

She hopes she is not reflecting the folly of youth if she imagines Henry feels the same towards her. Why else would he speak with her so, if not for a yearning for what they had? If the only outcome was a friendship revisited, that would be a delight, for Henry would always remain good company to her. If anything more…well, what would that be but a miracle on earth?

The lights dim. The crowd’s chatter disperses into whispers. Somewhere near the front, the orchestra begins tuning their instruments, mingling notes through the concert hall like the feeling of a velvet curtain.

The curtain parts, and Martha is caught up in the old and the new in a sort of dizzying, fragile dance of her own.

During the intermission of a ballet performance she never thought she’d see, Henry rests his fingertips on her own, and asks her to tea at his home, as the garden they used to meet in long ago has been completely demolished. Renovations, or some such thing, he claims.

“But that shouldn’t stop an old man and woman from catching up, right?” he adds, honeycomb eyes crinkled with fondness.

(A part of Martha wishes she was more surprised.)

[no-quit-lucy]

Chenford's first kiss from Tamara's pov

read on ao3 rated T wc: 1326

Tamara was annoyed, walking home from the bus stop two blocks away. The day had not gone according to plan, not even close. After Lucy’s recommendation to check out C’s car auction for a good deal on buying her first car, Tamara showed up to their special Memorial Day sale and fell in love with this mega cute light blue mini with the white stripes. She had seen it listed on their outdated website, stoked Lucy had known about them since they were frequently used by police and the fire department to remove vehicles in the streets blocking entrances, fire hydrants, and other fire and safety codes.

It was a good car and probably sat in a parking garage for most of the pandemic so it didn't have too many miles on it yet and looked fairly clean. It had the retro center dash, no touch screen. The perfect car to zip around LA and look cute while doing it. Tamara balked at the low price, excited to see it was below the amount she had saved for her first car purchase, able to snag it with enthusiasm. 

Just that morning, she showed up to offer her cash in exchange for the car. After Lucy’s insistence that she meet her at the station to show off her new ride, (so Lucy would know it was her driving if she needed to pull her over), Tamara saw her dream car snatched away from her the instant that police dog started barking at her trunk.

Forced back onto the bus just hours after thinking she was done with it, Tamara contemplated stealing acquiring her 6th car. Instead, she had asked the cute boy who worked in the police garage to keep an eye on when the car would be released from Evidence so she could repurchase it before it went to auction. She had considered texting Tim to keep track of it, knowing he would just to get Lucy off his back; she ended up not, expecting him to be in a bad mood after meeting his doppelgänger. 

Not being able to stick around and see him, to make fun of Tim, sucked, but she had to catch the bus in time for her late morning class and had to miss out on what Lucy had later texted and could only be described as “Florida Tim.”

She liked the car and freaking hated taking the bus. All she wanted to do when she walked in the door was get to relax, and not worry about her car. Then she wanted to bother Lucy about Dim and hear about Tim’s reaction to it all over a bowl of whatever cliptok recipe she had saved last.

Walking up to the building, she looked up and saw a low light emitting from their 6th-floor corner apartment even though the shades were closed. Lucy probably had candles lit, the cute wall sconces, and her lanterns. The apartment got so much sun, alternative lighting was more of an ambiance thing than anything else. 

Then she noticed Tim’s car parked in their second parking spot, her parking spot. The one she would have used had that dog not found the black-tar heroin in her trunk. And thank fuck it was Lucy and Tim who had been there, instead of some random cops on Melrose.

Tamara took the elevator up to their floor, shuffling her backpack to get out her apartment keys, so much lighter missing the weight of her car key. It was only there a short time, but damn it had been so emotionally bonding struggling to take it on and then off again just an hour later. Only one drive in on their journey together. She flipped the light blue coiled rubber around her finger, waiting for the elevator to finish ascending, wondering what Tim was doing at their apartment. He and Lucy didn't really hang out outside of work, not since Tim started dating Ashley and Lucy started seeing Chris.

What she didn't expect to see, but couldn’t say surprised her, when she unlocked her apartment door– Tim and Lucy standing fully pressed together, and making out. 

“Ooh? Uh, I—” Tamara startled, interrupting their moment.

They backed away from each other, like teens caught doing something they knew they shouldn't have, shocked and outed, fear dripping off their faces with fright. 

Breathless and affected by a good kiss, Tamara knew it was a long time coming and immediately offered to vacate for their privacy so they could continue. It was about damn time those two idiots wised up and did a little more than just make out. 

“I should probably go,” she thumbed back to the hallway, sure she could let Lucy and Tim have the apartment for the night.

“No!” Lucy protested, pointing accusingly to Tim she explained, “This is work. This is work.”

Tim, panting, nodding along with what she was saying, jumped in on their alibi, “Yeah, yeah, we-we’re going undercover. And its—”

Tamara interrupted, not needing to hear their half-baked excuses, “I mean, hey- hey, it's cool. I mean, you don't have to explain yourself. Alright?” She huffed with a laugh, wanting to show her support for their budding relationship. “I should probably go.” nodding back to herself and the door, Tamara stepped toward it.

“Nope!” Lucy protested as Tim chanted behind her a series of no’s.

“I was just about to leave. You know what?” Tim rushed toward the coffee table, both of them having no idea what to do with themselves or their bodies. “No, I don't have anything.”

Tim stepped around the couch and looked to Lucy to say goodbye but thought better of it, instead just awkwardly pointing at her and saying, “I'll see you tomorrow,” in a low and even tone.

“Good— good work tonight,” Lucy muttered clearly in reply. Turning away from him, hating out that sounded.

Tim echoed his reply, “Great work as well,” before saying a curt “bye” to Tamara and shutting the apartment door looking like he was still stuck in the gravitation pull of Lucy’s kiss.

Tamara looked around the apartment as he left, trying to see if anything was out of place, giving Lucy an extra moment to compose herself before offering up anything, really. Seeing the events still processing on Lucy’s face, Tamara did the kind thing and offered to leave her to it, “I’m gonna go to my room,” she announced, watching Lucy immediately turn away in agreement.

“Yeah, me too. Good.” Stalking off tall and proud, Lucy went to her room to spiral for a minute, or two.

***

Tamara got the rundown at breakfast– they’re doing an undercover assignment as their doppelgängers who happen to be dating each other… Lucy warned Tamara not to comment on it and swore that the kiss didn’t mean anything. He was dating Ashley, she was dating Chris, he was her boss, and nothing was going to come from it. It was just a part of becoming an undercover cop and Lucy was going to have to get used to pretending with her coworkers if she wanted to be halfway decent at her job.

Plus, she needed to debrief with Tim, needed to see how he was reacting, if they would talk about it and do something about the chemistry they both felt or if they were going to move on like it was just part of crafting their undercover personas– which is what it was, part of their backstory. They had to be good at kissing, and they were, maybe a little too good.

Whatever her excuse, Tamara didn’t quite believe her, always having advocated for appreciation of Tim’s zaddy-ness and knowing Lucy had a thing for older guys. Ah, it would only be a matter of time now, until Tamara needed to get a car to give her an even easier out to leaving the apartment vacant most nights for Tim and Lucy to practice more.