#drabble tags tba.

[intcritus]

there was a part of him in her grasp, fragments that crumbled like dried leaves in the wind, but she still clutches them still. trembling fingers grasping fading good like water through cracks and tears spill down fair cheeks, the whispers of ' no, no, no' as she refrains from rasping a goodbye.

because he's not gone, just a part of him, and yet the whole of him she cannot reach. how long have they been a part? when would she see the whole of him, to hold him against her, to cup his features and look upon him and tell him the stories, her woes and know he's there listening. but that seemed so far off and her knees hit the ground, forehead pressed to the ground and tears staining the earth.

how long must she suffer? how long would she keep being able to hear fragments of his words, how much he cares for her, and how much they both miss one another ? hand clutches the fabric over her heart, the organ aching. lumine has lived a long life, but nothing has ached quite as much as this. there is hope ( there will never be an ending for that ) but she's tired, and wants an end to this, and a beginning to seeing anaxa, to them once more. so she must rise, because she's not done yet, and this isn't going to break her, not yet.

an excerpt to something i've yet to finish. | @avaere

[ofglories]

Title: N/A characters: Taliesin, Morgan warnings: n/a

Autumn nights in Rheged were cold, naturally, being further north than even Gwynedd could be this time of year.

At least in the lowlands, such as they were.

But here... Well.

Taliesin leaned back, resting his head against the wall of his prison, taking in the hunter's moon beyond the window. The silver light was all the illumination that filled the tower room, the fire in the hearth having long died earlier that day. It wasn't as if the cold could truly harm him, the bard wasn't sure when the last he had even developed a mild fever was, but the discomfort was annoying. Discomfort made it harder to listen to the whispers of the Awen. Made it easier to be distracted by the creaking of long-dead Coel's palace in the night wind. And made it easier for the current ruler of the kingdom to convince him with promises of a warm bed.

Shameful though it was, Taliesin had allowed himself to be won over by such honeyed words more than once since his imprisonment.

Such a frustration it could be, having a body that craved comfort.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as he attempted to shut out the sounds of the castle. The noises of humans and animals both in slumber and waking. For a moment it worked. Silence reigning long enough for the gentle melody of the Awen to begin to whisper in his ears. Then an interruption.

Footsteps on the stone steps of the tower.

Too light and careful to be the king's heavy boots and heavier pride.

The bard kept his eyes closed even as the lock in the door clicked, and the heavy oak swung open. Candlelight? No, he surmised with a peek through his lashes. Witchlight. The queen, then. Hands likely full with her children still too young to walk or... anything, really, besides perhaps managing foods besides milk.

Morgan closed the door, slowly, before walking close enough that he could catch the faint threads of the herbal scent that lingered around the woman.

Uncannily familiar in smell to his own mother.

Finally, with a sigh, Taliesin opened his eyes to stare up at the queen, spreading his pale hands in almost mockery of welcome.

"How unusual for you to visit my chambers, daughter of Avalon. Last I recall, you said my presence was an abomination and an insult," a smile as sweet as honey, were it not for the acid delicately covering his words. Let it never be said that even when imprisoned, even when shackled with iron and silver and his magic suppressed to a mere trickle was Taliesin penn Baird not a force to be reckoned with. The bard's smile grew sharper at the discomfort in Morgan's face, twisting her fair features into something pained for a moment.

Just a moment, before it was smoothed and her wintry eyes looked down at him calmly.

"Indeed. That Uriens keeps you as a pet is indeed an insult and an abomination, Lord Taliesin," Morgan agreed, voice as regal as it ought to be for a daughter of kings such as her.

Still, Taliesin scoffed at the title, waving it away with the clattering of his chains.

"None of that, girl. Tell me what you want, this is no pleasure visit for small talk even if you've brought the twin stars with you."

Silence for a moment, the wind blowing just enough to rustle Morgan's raven hair. Then, slowly, she sank to her knees to meet golden eyes with pale blue. Taliesin jolted, uncomfortable with her sudden closeness, and the desperation visible now in the tightness of her expression.

"I leave Rheged tonight, Chief of all Bards. And I require a task of you before I do so."

"...What would you have me do when I am powerless due to the machinations of your husband, Morgan le Fae?" the bard sighed, shoulders drooping.

Always a task, always a duty.

But perhaps this one would be easy enough?

"I cannot take my children with me, they do not deserve a life of wandering and being hunted by their father." No. Taliesin felt a tendril of dread creep down his spine. "Morfudd... She has more Faerie in her than I would wish, and so she needs a teacher. I require a recommendation, for I know you know best. And Yvain... Will be in your care, ancient one."

It was like being slapped and kissed at the same time.

Taliesin shuddered looking at the boy, Yvain, sleeping against his mother's shoulder so comfortably. With his midnight hair and porcelain cheeks, for just a moment the bard saw another child in his place. Another with raven dark curls to be placed in his ruinous hands.

That last child he had raised with so much love that her loss had crushed what remained of his heart to dust.

"...Go... Go to Gwynedd, in the mountains on the coast. Light a fire with winter flowers and driftwood," he choked out, eyes still fixated on the boy even as he motioned vaguely to the girl, "Tell Gwydion that I sent you to deliver her unto his care. But I cannot raise this boy."

"You can and shall."

"I will not!" Taliesin stood with shout, wincing at how it stirred the children to whimper in their sleep. "I haven't the heart for that anymore, Morgan. My heart was lost with my starling daughter, I cannot love another child as they need to grow well," he continued with a strangled whisper, eyes turned once more towards the moon.

Morgan stood with a whisper of samite on weathered wood, walking close carefully as one would with a spooked horse.

Then, without warning his arms were full of sleeping babe, Yvain snuffling lightly in his slumber. Taliesin inhaled sharply, eyes wide as he looked first at the child then at the boy's mother, features softened with a gentle smile.

"You can still love, else you would not have told me who would be best for Morfudd. I place my trust in you, Taliesin, as well as the life of this child I love. He will not be another Branwen."

"He will. They always are. They always die so young..."

"What isn't young, to a being older than even this island such as yourself?"

Another smile, so heartrendingly gentle that it made the bard sob as he pulled Yvain close in a gentle hold so like he had held his last child. Morgan's touch to his cheek was cool, unlike her husband's blazingly hot palms. Unlike his mother's rough grip when she had encountered him as a man grown. The queen leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss to Taliesin's brow, before stepping away towards the window.

Now he took notice of the cloak of feathers she wore, doubtless woven to grant her flight.

"...You'll become a queen of the land of eternal spring, young Morgan," he managed as she stepped onto the ledge, the wind catching her hair in full now. Moonlight made it look like stars were trapped in the dark curls, glittering brightly as the breeze tousled it. "Some may remember you as a villain, others a hero. But you shall always be the queen that is remembered."

She smiled, turning to look at him once more, eyes bright with magic and freedom.

And then she flew, leaving the bard and the prince behind in the Kingdom of Ravens.

[offrozenmemoirs]

Cat in the Cradle

"It seems as if Vadu has deigned to give her blessing to your younger brother. I'll admit, I'm surprised that he was chosen, given his...deficiency."

Ariortos frowns as he listens to his father. He knew nothing of his sister, otherwise, he would've known that his brother, was a sister, and to speak of her as if she were useless because she couldn't call upon the elements...It annoyed him. Had he paid attention, he would know that she showed an interest in alchemy, a field that only a few from Nihiran took up as a study. Especially within the nobility, it was frowned upon for being seen as common work, but that hadn't mattered.

Part of him does feel a sting of jealousy at Nelia, the one member of their family who couldn't use magic, and she was the one who was chosen to be blessed by Vadu. It wasn't enough that she was the only one of them to be born with the hooves of a fiend, showing just how strong their hellish inheritance was within her.

[It seems almost unfair, to have put so much work into my practice, to become one of the greatest necromancers to ever graduate from the Graneyean Academy of the Arcane Arts, to have surpassed my grandfather...For someone who can't use magic, in a family known for magic, it makes no sense!]

He bites his tongue, controlling his body so that his tail doesn't lash in irritation. He tires of listening to his father speak about his sister, but it's not her fault that he's angry. Part of him knows it's wrong to be upset with Nelia, she didn't ask for the blessing, and had even went out of her way to cover up more and more to hide the changing pigmentation of her skin. Where there had been a rich, brown color matching their usual tone, splotches of red had been popping up and growing larger. She had come to him first, thinking that it had been a sign of sickness and that she was dying.

"Indeed. Though, I believe she is more afraid than anything. She does nott understand what is going on, at such a sensitive age...Nelia is panicking. Perhaps it would do her well to have you explain the changes?"

Leonardo raises an eyebrow once his son speaks, and where he might've shrunk under the other's gaze before, Ariortos simply stares back at him, eyes hidden behind his glasses. He could never read his son anymore, as if he never relaxed, or let himself be known by others. Rafan stuck to herself, even moreso once she began to work as Vadu's enforcer...Naeem, no, Nelia, when had that happened? Liyan was far too young to do anything other than babble and crawl around, and he left her to be cared for by his wife.

"I suppose you have a point. I'll make a note to have a talk with her. To explain the gift she's been given. Lack of magic or not, she's the one who will lead us to greater heights. Vadu's blessing has not manifested in centuries. She shall come to understand her role within the house soon enough."

Ariortos gives a stiff nod, waiting to be dismissed from his father's office. His eyes scan the room, despite being highborn, he never liked being in here. Everything was far too gaudy, gilded portraits, a collection of his father's accomplishments, but what stood proudly above the fireplace, was the head of a dragon, its bones perfectly preserved.

He never liked the idea of such majestic creatures being reduced to trophies of all things. He understand the history and them being reduced to near extinction, but to have done this...Horns capped in gold, spiraling along the grooves, ruby red gemstones placed in the eyes, engravings done to the bones, and filled with silver...It did not deserve the fate of being a trophy.

"By your leave, father."

Before Leonardo could say anything, he hears his son's retreating footsteps, broken from his thoughts.

[I remember when he used to hang on to every word of mine. How he would always ask me how to apply magic to more practical uses. Where has the time gone?]

He sits in silence, contemplating just how little he knew about his children nowadays. Had he become the same person his father had been to him? No, he couldn't have been that bad. At the very least, he acknowledged his children.

Ariortos found his way to his own office, much less decorated than his father's, a simple setup, with more lab equipment within it, and built to be functional over fashionable. Within it, sat a simple desk, with no decorations, save for a photo of himself and Corvus on their graduation date. He had even smiled, or what his friend teased him as a smile. Really, it had been more of a quirk of the lip than anything. His window was open, letting some air in. He sighs as he sinks into his chair, opening a drawer at the bottom of his desk. Within it, sat a bottle of Avernian Fire Wine, he never drank, but he couldn't refuse the gift from his only friend.

He could brew some tea right now, but he felt exhausted. He sat up, preparing to get up until he saw a familiar head of hair peeking within his doorway.

"Come in, Nelia. I can see you hiding within my doorway."

"Nuh-uh."

His lips twitch in an urge to smile.

"What do you mean, 'nuh-uh'? You are not intangible."

He hears her giggle as she steps into his office, wearing a smile. Ariortos knows that things have changed, she is chosen, and he was not...But does she deserve to be punished for that?

"You said you'd spend time with me today, big brother, so I'm here to bother you, now that...dad's not spending time with you."

He hates how her smile falls at talking about their father...Sperm donor, really, it's not as if he's ever made any effort to spend time with them or get to know them. He's been the one who really took care of Rafan and Nelia, and he knew that. She carries a book of alchemy, the basics, but she's already taken to it like someone years above her own.

"Do not fret over him. Pull up a chair, we shall go over the applications of alchemy for combat today. I know you have been excited for that portion of lessons, correct?"

As quick as it faded, it came back in full force, and she excitedly took a seat next to him. She already begins questioning him, and he smiles at her.

[Perhaps she has been chosen for a reason. But she does not deserve my anger. No, I shall reserve that for father and Vadu.]

Right now, he took a small pleasure in getting to help his sister come into her own. If only to assuage her feelings of inadequacy, he would be happy to help her understand that she could be just as great as any member of House Zarin, if she put the effort in.

[livesforgttn]

BLACK HERON.

❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : CRACK. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : study. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : aes. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : dash com. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : answered. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : drabble. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : headcanon. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : saved. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : main verse. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : black heron : verse tba.

[disturbnot]

afternoon friends. i think i'm nearly ready to get back to normal here. i hope you've all been doing well this past week! ❤️ irregularly scheduled ash nonsense will resume after this commercial break —

[widowshill]

um idk this is just like a little. what if vic was there in 1969 and she'd been to london with roger and we weren't worried about the cult stuff yet. and such things.

Roger Collins twirled the stem of the lily between long, soft fingers, admiring the way the winter light gleamed almost white and pure as snow on the open petals. It seemed a shame to cut such a lovely thing away from life, to put it away in the elegant curves of its coffin for a few brief days of beauty before its sudden, untimely decay. But what days of beauty! He lifted the bloom to his face to take in the scent — so like the untouched sweetness of early spring and yet, unmistakably, the funeral bier. One corner of his mouth pulled into a smile, and he reached down to slip the flower among the rest of them in the vase.

“Roger?”

He flinched, and the lily slipped from his hand to lie lonely on the workbench. Roger cast an almost guilty glance over his shoulder. His constant shadow in chartreuse — the all-knowing jacquarded Hera.

“Liz! I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. Her brother was rarely to be found out in the greenhouse — not even when she had specifically asked him there for his help. And here he was now, the very image of his son caught in some place he should not be, shears tucked behind his back for good measure, as though she would not notice the damning angle of his elbow.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, just filling a vase … I am permitted to do that, aren’t I?” 

“I wish you’d have asked me first.” 

Her eye landed next on the arrangement, relieved, at least, he hadn’t taken anything too prized, or that would not regrow. Only a few Madonnas. But whatever for? 

“Roger, I just put fresh flowers in your room this morning.” 

“I know that."

“Where did that vase come from? It’s not one of ours.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Liz, Carolyn picked it up for me at the antique shop. I suppose I must approve every new possession of mine with you.” 

The eldest Collins would never argue that her brother didn’t have impeccable taste when it came to the arts. It was beautiful –– pristine sky blue Wedgwood, no doubt an authentic Georgian piece, arrayed with some classical scene in polished white. Not something she’d have expected him to like, but then he’d surprised her before. Elizabeth's posture loosened, just slightly, her eye fixed on that vase. She'd have liked to relish his sudden interest in the plants. She would have, ordinarily. But those shears had yet to reappear from behind his back.

His sister raised her brows at him. She might as well have been saying: stay out of my room.

“If you want more flowers made up you need only ask me.”

He managed not to roll his eyes at her final disapproving glance, wondering for half a moment if she’d take the flowers from him — as she would have as a child if she’d found him stealing a toy. But she didn’t, she only reached for a half-full cup of coffee she’d evidently forgotten here that morning, and went back out into the snow, as composed as if nothing whatsoever had happened, as if ice itself had no capacity to disturb the steady heeled gait of the mistress of the house. Of course it had none: the very grounds themselves worshipped her.

Roger leaned against the bench as soon as she was out of view of the big glass panes, flooded with relief as he cradled the vase, errant stem tucked at last into safekeeping. One good thing had come out of his niece working at that infernal shop, anyway. Phillip Todd had gone all the way to Boston for it when his little niece had mentioned her uncle's interest in jasperware.

He ran a thumb over raised porcelain, and smiled. The Winged Victoria.

"Vicki Winters, what on earth has gotten into you?"

The little governess blinked at her with wide, innocent eyes that could have shirked all accusation from almost anyone else.

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said for the last fifteen minutes. You're miles away."

Victoria smiled, sheepishly, and laid aside the pair of cufflinks she'd been fiddling with (to the great dismay of the counterwoman, who felt her commission draining like water through her fingers).

"No, I haven't, Carolyn, I'm sorry. You'll have to tell me again."

Her apologies did not satisfy her –– not that she'd guessed they would –– and within a moment the tempest of golden hair was at her side, fully of sound and fury at the greatest possible sin against the maiden Stoddard: inattention.

"I think you're going to tell me something. You weren't thinking of those for yourself. Who are you buying for?"

"No one. I was just admiring them."

"Uh huh." Attempts to give her interrogator the slip into the women's jewelry section proved fruitless. She'd hoped, however faintly, she'd be dazzled by some locket and forget about Miss Winters' minor infraction for a while, but no such luck. Carolyn seemed to sense the tactic, and stepped in her path before she could retreat even further to cosmetics. "Now you're a liar and a poor listener. I'm keeping score, Vicki."

"Your mother doesn't pay me that much. even if I wanted them, I could never – "

"I knew it." Smug pleasure replaced the sting of abandonment, and she grinned, convinced now that she was right. "Tell me who they're for and I'll get them for you."

"That's bribery, Carolyn Stoddard. I'm keeping score, too."

"So what if it is? Mother owes you a million dollars at least for putting up with David all this time, it'll make a small dent in our debt to you. Go on, tell me."

Miss Winters only shook her head. Her captor, resumed now in her pout, let her escape her glass-framed cage and trailed after her as she headed to the assured safety of the checkout counter.

"I'm buying the shirts she sent me to pick up for David, and that's all. That'll have to satisfy you."

"Vicki, if there is someone –"

"Carolyn."

"If there is then I'd be happy for you. I know how hard it's been after everything's that happened with you and ... well, I think it's wonderful you're thinking about it again. That's all."

Victoria was silent. She hadn't said the name, but it was there in the air anyways, in her knuckles –– tense as they withdrew her purse and the envelope within, bare now of the wedding band that had left a white mark of summer-long widowhood. A reminder burned into the skin. Carolyn softened.

"Whoever he is, he's a lucky guy."

Miss Winters turned to look at her, over the bulk of the new-wrapped box in her arms, and for only a moment it seemed as though she might say something ––  but she chewed at the inside of her cheek, and thought better of it.

"You'll be the first to know if there's something to tell, alright?"

"I'll hold you to that, Miss Winters."

"I know you will."

"It's good to see you feeling so much better, David." Victoria placed a fond kiss to the top of his head, which one might say he endured rather than enjoyed, but nonetheless he no longer squirmed away. Recent months had made the both of them far too aware just how precious annoying governess kisses were in the world. "How do you like the watercolors?"

"I like 'em okay. Still getting the hang of it, I guess."

David's version of "getting the hang of it" never ceased to surprise her. He'd had the box of corner store paints for two weeks, and he was already a portraitist fit to rival Charles Delaware Tate (at least, in her professional opinion). Her student had a fine, if exploratory, way of capturing the the gleam of satin and the white powdering of lace and the soft curve of a nose that ... oh. Her brows lifted, just faintly.

"Is that me?"

"Yes. I saw it in my crystal ball."

"I didn't know you still played with that."

"It's not a toy. I looked in it."

"Alright, you looked in it." She smiled down at him, immensely grateful he couldn't hear her heart beating in her ears. He hadn't seen her in her finery on her last wedding day (either of them), though she supposed his aunt must have told him she'd worn Naomi's veil. He could have found it, playing dress up in old storage rooms, or in a portrait somewhere, any place. Not so unusual. "Did your crystal ball show you the groom, too?"

"No, just you."

"Well, it's a beautiful likeness. I might want to keep it when you're finished."

He hesitated, and frowned down at the picture before laying aside his brush in a muddied water cup.

"Are you getting married again soon, Miss Winters?"

"If I am, no one's told me about it."

"Well, the crystal ball never lies. You know that."

"I know."

He was silent for another moment, then: "Do you want to get married again?"

"Sure, sometime. But I don't know that I can anytime soon. We haven't got your geometry up where I want it just yet."

David only grinned in answer, and picked up his brush again –– focused intently now not on the face of his subject, but on some mystery deep within flawless crystal. Vicki could see nothing there, of course, she'd never been able to since Burke first gave it to him. But he'd evidently found something he'd forgotten, because he was quickly back to work adding a long strand of pearls around her neck, as clear and as detailed as if he could see them right before his face. She didn't have anything like that. She felt dizzy.

"There, now it's finished. You can have it."

"Thank you, David." She studied the necklace. It was old, very old, she was sure of that. Maybe she'd ask Mrs. Stoddard about it. "Wait –– you should sign it, all artists sign their portraits."

"Oh! You're right."

Once he'd scrawled his name, he blew on the wet corner to dry it : David, sans Collins, she noticed with a smile. Not a family that liked lending their name to the men of Bohemia. She ruffled his hair and took the finished portrait in hand.

"Who knows, in a hundred years someone might pay thousands of dollars for this picture. An authentic David Collins."

"Maybe."

Victoria made to leave the room, but took one look behind her as he was packing up the newspapers littered across his desk, shaking his ever-longer hair back into place.

"David? If your crystal ball says who I'm going to marry, you'll tell me, won't you?"

"Sure."

“Carolyn! I thought you came home hours ago, with Vicki.”

“I did. I snuck out again, you don’t think she saw me, do you?”

"Well, no, but –"

"Good." Roger's niece collapsed next to him on the sofa, close enough that he could still make out a few stubborn snowflakes in her hair. There must have been another bout of flurries after the sun went down, he hadn't noticed. "I want you to tell me what you think of these."

From fine white crocodile leather, she withdrew a small jewelry box, containing an intricate pair of cufflinks on its green velvet bed: silver, each adorned with a single pearl. Expensive, undoubtedly.

"They're very charming, kitten. Who are they for?"

"Well that's just it, I don't know."

"Oh?" He handed them back with a smile, quizzical but by now quite used to the heiress' little intrigues.

"Vicki was looking at them earlier."

"Vicki?" The smile dropped from his face as rapidly as it appeared. Thankfully, the young Miss Stoddard was much too engrossed in her own plot to notice.

"Yes. She had to have someone in mind, didn't she? I mean, she wouldn't have been admiring them on her own, would she?"

"No, I shouldn't think so.” Not unless their governess had taken a new interest in men’s jewelry he’d never known her to possess. “Admiring them, you said? Miss Winters can hardly afford something like this on her salary."

"That was her objection, too. I told her I'd buy them for her if she told me who it was."

That earned her a laugh. "Well, I hope you learned that trick from your mother and not from me."

"She said no, anyways. You know how Vicki is."

Yes, he knew. Honorable to a fault, their Miss Winters, never more so than when it came to her latest pup trailing after her. He pulled at his lower lip idly, thinking about the drape of porcelain chiton under his fingertip, the damning yellow pollen that had crept like a lipstick stain onto his shirt cuff. Roger rose from his place, and filled his half-empty glass to the brim.

Carolyn noticed that, if nothing else. But she was persistent. "Anyway, I thought I'd surprise her with them, and she'd be grateful enough to let it slip. Or at least you and I can keep our eyes peeled for any men about town with a new pair of cuff links."

"An impeccable plan. You have my full collaboration, if need be."

He downed the brandy in a swallow. His niece waited patiently, almost expectantly, at his elbow.

"Uncle Roger, it doesn't bother you that Vicki might be seeing someone, does it?"

"It certainly does. Her last romantic fiasco was hard enough on all of us, especially David. I should hate to think of him being put through that again." He filled the glass a second time, then turned to face her, his free hand resting on his hip. "You know, I'm not sure I quite trust her judgment in her choice of young men, and her secrecy does nothing to endear this one to me."

Carolyn toyed with the velvet lining of the box. Her delightful mystery she'd happened upon was quickly losing its charm. He was right, she guessed, it affected all of them –– and no one more than David –– where and when their governess placed her romantic attentions. But still ...

"You want her to be happy, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Well, don't be horrible to her."

"Now, kitten, does that sound like me?"

"Miss Winters, are you awake?"

"Roger! Come in." The little governess brightened despite the blizzard at her window, a vision of springtime in yellow chiffon as she rose from her desk to meet him, note still in hand that she'd plucked from the bouquet. "Roger, I never got the chance to thank you for the flowers, and the vase, they’re beautiful, it was so thoughtful of you to — ”

“You’re welcome, Miss Winters.” He did not return the smile, and hers gradually fell from her face. He could have sworn that the room itself got darker, as though she’d pulled the curtains.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, I suppose not.”

“I don’t understand.”

In answer, he pulled a small jewelry box from the pocket of his smoking jacket, held tidily between thumb and forefinger. She didn't need to see it opened to know precisely what was inside.

"Carolyn!" Victoria grabbed for it, but Roger held it not quite teasingly out of reach.

"Yes, my dear niece told me all about your little excursion this afternoon."

"I'm sure she knows all about it."

"Oh, don't blame Carolyn." He paced towards her ––  slow, methodical, but his strides were lengthy, his legs rather longer than hers. "She meant nothing by it but curiosity, she asked my help identifying your young man."

"My young man?" Victoria smothered a smirk, but the corners of her mouth twitched relentlessly ––  Roger did not find it quite so amusing.

"I think you owe me an apology, Miss Winters."

"I don't see that I do."

"You don't –– !" he scowled. "What a stupid gift for this suitor of yours, it would have cost you six months' wages at least – "

The back of her thighs hit the desk. She looked up at him, startled, but he shirked her gaze, landing instead at the contents of her desktop. Some picture of David's she'd left laying out. Oh. It was her. Looking almost just as she had on her wedding day, her face framed by Parisian lace, so radiant and ––  his face drained of its color. "It seems you have something else to explain."

"David painted that this afternoon, he's been playing with the crystal ball again."

He lifted up the portrait by the corner, as if to touch it would singe him. "My son painted this? So you'll involve even David in your little schemes."

"I already told you, he saw that in his crystal ball."

"Victoria Winters, really, you surprise me."

"I wanted to keep it because I thought it was a good likeness."

"It's a wonderful likeness. Remarkable. You look just like you did when ..." his throat tightened. "If you're already thinking of marrying whoever it is, then you certainly owe me the decency of telling me. You've let me make a fool out of myself."

"I'm not thinking of marrying anyone."

"But this ––!"

"You haven't asked me!"

He went silent, lips parted as he searched her eyes –– grey like sharpened steel, now, fraught with impatience. She was so lovely, even when she was angry with him, perhaps especially then. " ... what ?"

"Well, you haven't. So I don't see how I can be planning to get married to anyone."

"Vicki." A small, cautiously hopeful smile warmed his face.

"But now I don't know that I'd want to even if you did, if you're going to accuse me of infidelity every time I browse the men's department."

"The cuff links were for...?"

"Roger Collins, I wanted to buy those for you."

"You did?"

"Yes, and now Carolyn's ruined the surprise on top of everything else."

"Then you mean, there's no –– "

"No, there's no young man."

He was pleased enough not to resent her little barb in the least, and laid aside David's artwork to take the real thing into his arms instead. The drape of her nightgown was dreamlike in his fingers, clinging to skin soft as porcelain.

"Forty-four's not too old, is it?"

She only sighed. "What am I going to get you? Secrets don't last a day in this house."

Roger chuckled at that. "Not usually." He kissed her cheek, her neck –– there, beneath her ear, where he could feel her pulse jump. Alive, always so alive in this house of ghosts, their governess. Warm as if he stood before the hearth, as though she were the greenhouse sun, or brandy in the throat. "You liked the vase?"

"I did." She relaxed, at last, in his attention. "I remembered. Nike."

"Victoria." He held her chin, and studied her. "the goddess Victoria..."

He wished they were hundreds of miles from here, arm in arm in the Duveen Gallery again, far from ghosts, from the Todd's, from Elizabeth, from Jeremiah and Isaac and Theodore. Bathed instead in the beauty of millennia-old marble. He leaned to kiss her, but in the very moment before it could connect, a boy's voice, frantic with excitement, echoed outside the door.

"Miss Winters! Miss Winters, it told me!"

Roger winced, but did not withdraw. Perhaps he'd go away. Perhaps he didn't know she was in here. Perhaps –– then the door banged open.

"The crystal ball said it's my father." David stopped in his tracks, his little jaw dropped and eyes wide –– knowing perfectly well he'd stumbled on something he wasn't meant to see. But the shock did not last long. He smirked, and darted just as quickly from the room as he'd entered it. "Aunt Elizabeth!"

That moved him from his spot. "David Collins!"

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

I. Hate. You.

I hate you so fucking much. I hate you with every fiber of my being. I hate the air you breathe. I hate your confidence. I hate your charisma. I hate that people like you because of what you actually are. I hate that you're the kind of person I would have tried to do parkour to impress when I was ten. I hate that you believe that the world could be a better place. I hate that you don't respect me. I hate the idea of you forgetting me. I hate that I already went down this path. I hate that there's no going back. I hate every moment my hands aren't wrapped around your neck. I hate that I know you're better than me. I hate that I'm not you.

...I hate that you're gone. I hate whatever took you from me. I hate seeing you in countless other faces who I know aren't yours. I hate that I never got to finish things.

I hate that I miss you.

[corvidmagicae]

　 　 “... What?”

It's a very simple response, one heard by the witch many a time before. Any other mage who knew her reputation may have been cowed by her annoyed glower, those sharp red eyes glowing beneath the brim of her hat... but those who had actually gotten to know her would recognize the subdued disbelief and confusion in her expression was vastly dwarfing any irritation.

The suited human shoving a manilla folder in Bridgette's face? She fell into the later category. If anything, the woman - affectionately self-nicknamed 'Gadget' (since she refused to even remotely share any other name) - would just give a snicker at the elder's expression, rolling her eyes.

　 　 “C'mon, Biddie. You're old, but i know you're not deaf. Some of the younger fanged folk haven't gotten the memo yet that we're 'off the menu.'”

And immediately held her hand up to interrupt Bridgette's attempt to shoot a quip back at the wording choice.

　 　 “Yeah yeah, i know vampires aren't your forte. That isn't why the old ladies are putting this on your radar. THIS is.” The youngster opened the folder, slipping a couple of photographs out - the first a message scrawled at the scene of the crime, mentioning a particular newcomer to the local gangs.... and the second? A candid image of a familiar blonde. And Bridgette bit back a snarl, one of her fangs showing.

　 　 “The kid's alive - someone outside our group got to her first, obviously. Hopefully they know what they're doing to mitigate vampire bites. Something something, gotta wait out the poison, yeah? Keep them alive long enough? You'd know that sort of thing better than me. The problem is the group in question, and what happened to the biter. The dude's uh... he's not presentable. Not gunna show those images. But a little bit of clairvoyance got us a look at who decided to do some vigilante justice."

Gadget nudges the photo of the blonde towards Bri.

　 　 “So... yeah. That one's yours, isn't she?”

　 　 “She's not mine-”

　 　 “Yeah yeah, fae bullshit. But the point is, she's involved. And the old girls upstairs don't really don't care whatever rivalry you two have going on.... but they've decided that she's your responsibility. For uh... obvious reasons. If it were just her, it wouldn't be a problem, but this Vulcan thing has them rattled. Just... keep an eye on her maybe? Or give her a history lesson, or something. I dunno. You're the most contact she's had with the rest of SIBYL, so if anyone's going to get a better read of her and what she's trying to do, or better yet maybe get her to be less public, it's you.”

Oh, now Gadget's actually taking a moment to breath. Not before smacking the shorter witch on the forehead with the folder, unspoken yet light reprimanding, before dropping the folder in Bridgette's hands, but she's ceased talking none-the-less.

Not that Bridgette's taking the chance to talk. No, she's just running a palm along her face in an exasperated motion, pinching the bridge of her nose while she takes a moment to process what she's been told.

　 　 “Oh, goddammit Krupp. The hell have you done?”

[adsevel]

Among statures of mortal customers, a snake-like entity plunged in undetected and unheard. Wrapping itself around the shopkeeper's ankle on four loops; gently like a silken thread, flapping miniatures of virescent wings like on Hermes' sandal. Imitating speech and intonation of its master and his familiar: ' You forgot something on the rooftop. ~ ' || @kuraikyu ❤️

It was one of those particularly busy days. One where he had, for better or for worse, not a moment to himself for a few hours already while watching his companions flit to and fro in attempts to alleviate workload that the shopkeeper truly did not mind. In a sense, he enjoyed the bustle of human souls filtering themselves in and out of the Shōten, so that, already by noon most of his new arrivals had been snatched up and were gone, leaving patrons arriving 'too late', to have him note and jot down more and more orders. Alas, that was just how it was, some of the imports of specialities from all over the world would ring in the ears of potential buyers all over the city before he could even announce that he had any of these delicacies for purchase. 

These minutes turning to hours spent wiling away, were enough for him to be that slightest bit distracted to not quite catch the little 'intruder' making its way through customers and soon enough finding him standing amidst them all. 

" What do we have here~? " A whispered intonation past so that not even the most attentive and nosy of 'guests' would be able to hear. Not a moment's notice to waste when he looks down, watching the small creature with particular interest, the softness of it, the gentleness of it. If he were any other or would not have the acquaintances he had, perhaps the sheer sight of this little snake could startle him, put him on edge, into the defensive - but so? 

Urges turned and churned, driving him to excuse his presence with words of unimportance, turning attention towards a little someone far more important for heartbeats spared.

He finds a place to be for a moment. Just reaches down for the little curse that sits tamely and willingly, having uttered just that bit of teasing amongst the crowd, now repeating it like a parrot would in the seclusion of the two together. It's quite a beautiful little creature, even-tempered, just as all of Suguru's pets had turned out to be, delighting not only him but Jinta and Ururu as well should they come across them with show after show presented voluntarily [ sometimes near too freely? ] whenever the Sorcerer had been close by. Just as much as now, when the snake curls around the merchant's wrist in a fashion similar to how it had sat just moments prior, tongue flicking in mild and decided attempt to, perchance, figure out what Kisuke would now do---

--- " So I see. " Waiting, waiting, just letting it hang in the air for a bit. Free hand is used to carefully stroke along the miniature scales, reaching for those small wings to feel the texture beneath a benign touch. Nothing for the little creature to flinch away from, careful and near reverent he was with the softness of this gesture before a low chuckle follows and he would tilt his head in contemplation. To allow a message to be brought back towards point of mutual play and interest, what should he say? - Now that there was awareness spun of the ease with which it could all travel?

" Go back and tell who I forgot.--- " Of course, he was aware of the implications of the something residing upon the top of the store in hidden veils and away from prying eyes, keeping shrouded a presence that could be overwhelming when it came into contact with those that could not see or perceive the unknown. " That I will come up in an hour. If he deems it too long of a time to wait, can always come and join me a bit earlier. " Wings slowly move, stretching in all its pretty nuances of shining glimmers in the indication of understanding being granted, before the merchant would lift his arm towards the ceiling and allow the small creature to find and wind a way back to where its master would reside and expect an answer for the time being. 

' You forgot something on the rooftop. ~ ' - how curious of a mocking intonation even that the Curse User was very obviously aware of the hustle and bustle around this time of the day drawing to a certain close, time halting for the night to arrive, ticking slower and slower the more concentration would be placed on ticking clocks slowing down and down - and yet he chose to remain and wait and want? 

Alas, an hour is what he had aimed to let pass till joining someone so 'forgotten' in a place of mutual secrecy. Mayhap, if the cultist was willing and not let himself be guided back down in sheer throes of curiosity and restlessness, he could arrange for an array of sweets and drinks to be brought up as well. After all? If such a discardable spell had truly passed, the night-time ringing in and shining through at the edge of the horizon may just underline whatever treasured mystery they sure do hold for each other. 

[ofglories]

Title: The Weight of a Crown Warnings: N/A Characters: Arthur Setting: Sometime in the middle of the Arthurian era

Kings were not allowed the privilege of being human.

This was something Merlin had taught Arthur long ago.

He was not allowed to show anger, not even in battle. Not allowed to weep except when hidden far from the eyes and ears of others. Smiles and laughter were to be carefully controlled, kept from showing too much at any time.

Be stalwart, unyielding.

An eternal beacon of justice for his knights and his people.

Arthur raised his head from where it had been cradled in his hands, staring now at the starry skies far above, peeking through the leaves of the forest canopy. Here in the wilds, in the forests that surrounded Camelot and only here, could he allow himself the freedom to be a human again. Where he didn't need to worry about the ever present whispers of a certain half-incubus mage reminding him to keep everything suppressed. To hold everything in regardless of how coldhearted it made him seem. Or how every time he did so it felt as if a piece of himself was lost, chipped away like carving a figure from stone.

Carving away Arthur, just for King Arthur Pendragon to take his place.

So he would escape to the shelter of the trees when the day allowed it, to sit here on the grass and moss and stone and simply be.

The solitude was comforting, when once it had been a source of terror back when Arthur had been Wart. Back when the world was simple and all he needed to worry about was becoming a proper squire for Kay and following Bedivere around. When he and Lucan could laugh as they stole treats from the kitchens to the immense scoldings of both Ector and Bedivere's mother.

When the lessons given in his dreams had felt unnecessary though they had stuck with him stubbornly.

"When you drew that sword, you ceased to be human," Merlin had said what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"But I don't wish to stop being human," Wart had replied almost petulantly, staring up at the mage with frustration, "I'm still a human. A sword won't change anything!"

"A crown will."

And indeed the crown had. The weight was heavy, unbearably so. Arthur shuddered as he inhaled, blinking his eyes furiously to allow the flow of tears to fall uninhibited. But still his heart was human. He was human.

Even if a Perfect King wasn't meant to be.

[livesforgttnaa]

ne zha tags.

⋘ MUSE. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ VISAGE. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ CRACK. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ HEADCANON. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ META. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ AES. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ ANSWERED. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ DRABBLES. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ SAVED. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ DASH COM. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ MAIN VERSE. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ GENERAL VERSE. ne zha. ⋙ ⋘ NE ZHA VERSE TBA. ⋙

[a0iakuma]

This may be a not-so-little cheeky thing & prologue to how it starts ⸻ might be cram packed with feelings because it involves death. But essentially something that I want to write. Because I like being mean to Sonic. ( And giving him soft things. ) But as you can tell this is for the displaced future verse. ( playlist here if you want feels. )

A hero's death is supposed to be heroic, but Sonic wasn't thinking about the heroism of his death. He was too busy dragging his feet against the ground, using his strength or what little he had to die somewhere else. The inevitable was here and he knew that. He knew that one day it would come to an end. But Sonic kept committing to the fight. Committing to the fight with everyone else — a group that he trusts with his whole heart. And knew they can continue without him. But he couldn't let Tails see. ( God forbid Tails seeing this. )

So Sonic inevitably died alone. He stumbled further away underneath a cherry blossom tree that was currently bare. A shadow passing over him, but Sonic was too far gone to see who it was. Sonic was dead. But died with a smile on his face knowing he swatted Eggman for the final time. ( “ This is it, buddy. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me and carry on without me. I know you can do it. ” His final words to himself. )

⸻ but fate had other plans and further through the years, many seasons passing by and the same cherry blossom tree standing tall for years to come, Sonic would come back. ( As someone used the Chaos Emeralds and just something extra. ) His body weak — the final breath turned into his first gasp.

No wounds, but dignity and pride wounded immediately the moment Sonic tried to run, tripping over his legs that felt like jelly and face-planting on the dirt. It's wounded even more knowing he had to walk. Weak. Disoriented. And walking into a place that is unfamiliar with generations of new faces and new technology.

And after a week for learning the whats and wheres. Sonic had to find Tails. And he did. He found his grave and the moment he saw it, Sonic lets out a scream of pain and anguish. His dear best friend ⸻ his younger brother. ( Or not so younger but Tails will always be his baby brother no matter the years. ) The hedgehog slumped down; knees weak, hands trembling. The same trembling hand brushed along the stone, fingers sweeping over the engraved name.

( Here lies: Miles Tails Prower. )

His body shook as the hedgehog burst out crying, his emotions out of the window and thrown into the wind. He curled up almost practically into a ball, laying on Tails' grave while knowing he may never see Tails again and was feeling the heavy guilt. Sonic didn't want to move, didn't want to leave Tails again. ( “ I'm so sorry, I am so sorry. I left you, and I didn't think. But you lived a good life without me. But I should've been there. I should've held on. ” was his words to the grave, hoping he could be heard nonetheless. ) And he remained there, curled, eventually falling asleep with cheeks wet from all the tears he cried, and for more tears to come eventually when he wakes up so the cycle can repeat.

[livesforgttn]

KNUCKLES

❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : CRACK. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : study. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : aes. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : dash com. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : answered. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : drabble. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : headcanon. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : saved. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : main verse. ❛ 𝗠𝗨𝗦𝗘 : knuckles : verse tba.

[arkclipse]

It was sudden. It was swift.                      The cacophony of blood that splattered across the translucent blue skies, as if trying to soak the very innocent clouds in an array of bloodshed — one's own hand did so tremble as it reached out,                     beckoning, pleading, yearning. 《 ... it's all your fault ; it's all 'Mana D. Campbell's' fault ! 》                                                                                                     ❛ Keep on living, Mana... ❜ The crimson agate which trickled and pooled beneath them both ; the sinister consequences of a duty once evaded. The trembling of his own weak heart, which thudded like war drums, his pulse so desperately loud in his ears that his own haggard breaths were being drown in a sea of his turbulent sorrows. The very fact that one so dearly beloved other half was now laying in a pool of the very same crimson that flowed through them both. Oh, he couldn't bear it...! He can't bear it...!

                               ❛ Mana... don't cry. You must keep living, Mana. Keep... walking,                                 Mana. Don't stop... Keep moving. We will meet again, Mana. ❜

... and with those words, Mana's self restraint snapped ; he was no longer in control of himself. 

                                                                   『 . . . 』

❝ !!!!!!!! ❞            Panting, Mana's chest heaved as he sat upright in his bed. Long ebony locks clung to the sweat on his skin ; his body trembled like a frail leaf among the winds. The silence was deafening. Where, where was Nea? Where was his beloved other half? Where was Caterina? Where—

                   ... ah... that's right... he was alone again.

His lips trembled as he succumbed to the melancholic emotions that swept over him like a tidal wave, saltine tears pouring down like waterfalls as his sobs tore at his throat, clawing like sharp vines tightening around his neck.

It was all just another dream.

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

The United FConfederation does not recognize the existence of any legal entities known as "King Scourge," "King Scourge Anarkos I," "House Anarkos," "Queen Fiona," 'The Kingdom of Moebius," "King Sonic," or "The King, Baby." No currency allegedly issued by any of these entities is recognized as legal tender. No claims made in court on the basis of the decree of a "world sovereign" of Moebius will be recognized as valid.

Jules Maurice Hedgehog II is recognized as the de facto head of state of the Kingdom of Acorn pending the organization of special elections by the international community. He does not have any legal authority in any polity of the United FConfederation or any other Moebian government besides the Kingdom of Acorn in a temporary custodial capacity.

[Internal Note: Stick to the name changes. Tower says don't rock the boat.]

[corvidmagicae]

The witch is tapping her fingers against the table, crafting an irritated rhythm. It's not unusual per say, for certain individuals to linger on her mind unprompted. A telltale sign of her interest... but such interest rarely stayed.

　 　(Especially since those individuals rarely treasured the gift she gave them, as a reward for catching her attention. Outright spitting in her face for freeing them from the strangling confines of humanity - that's a different can of worms, though.)

A certain heiress, she'd recently realized, broke that trend. Diana had long become a constant that lingered in the back of her mind... at first due to fear and obligation, then fury and annoyance, as the heiress continued to demand her attention through her hijinks.

The first time she'd met her, she'd tried to transform her - like she would all potential threats. She'd failed, but had silently vowed to do it again, should the heiress let her guard down... warily playing a familiar song and dance, hoping to catch her in a fault and find reason to act with lethal finality.

but ... why did she hesitate at the thought of doing so now?

Not that the opportunity had arose... the heiress was still treating her with lackadaisical but guarded fascination, and hadn't stopped creating barbs that would inevitably get under her skin. She wasn't leaving her guard down.

But thinking on it now, of thinking of ways to finally act against her... it had dawned on her that she lacked the conviction to find a chip in that defense.

What had changed?

She'd held so much fury towards her, where did it go? Diana was still a threat, to both her and her kin's way of life - so why did the thought of stabbing her in the back feel wrong?

Diana had helped her yes - aided her when her luck had failed her... but owing a debt is not something she'd ever allow to affect her long-term plans, or affect how she'd view someone. If anything, it would make her dislike them more - so that wasn't part of the factor, she was sure.

She could repay a debt, then turn around and bite the one she'd aided, no problem. Diana held the potential to become one of her kin, to walk their path... but potential didn't mean anything if their path became a threat to everyone else.

So if she had to act, especially if her higher-ups told her to, then she would.

.... but she didn't want to. Not this time. Why?

Something about their dynamic had changed. She felt irritation... but it's tired. There's gratitude, but it's tempered by worry. There's fear... of loss? Diana wasn't hers - so why would she be upset over having to get rid of her? Why was she regarding that infuriating woman with any sense of respect?

She's been interested in others before... but not like this. This wasn't some passing fancy or desire for the other's company - if it were, she'd have no qualms with turning her into a bird or getting rid of her. Again - Diana wasn't hers - she never made such a claim. So why was she feeling possessive as if she were?

Why was this different? What is she supposed to do here?