#fionn will shoot you

[chez-cinnamon]

Can i pls see angry fionn, like when someone breaks one his fav things? I love your art btw!

You may!

[seresinhangmanjake]

What if feyd's wife brought up the idea of having another child? How will he react? I loved his boy and all of your fics btw. You're a great writer!!!

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: You want another baby, but after what happened with your first pregnancy and birth, Feyd is hesitant. 

Warnings/Notes: Thank you for your kind comments, anon. I hope you like this! Mentions of smutty stuff but not anything extreme. I'm still gonna go with 18+ though. I don't think there's anything else. Typos, I'm sure. This is also part of the His series, but you don't have to read it first.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Your bottom lip is worn raw. You’ve spent three hours nibbling on the delicate skin as you stare at the ceiling, waiting for the sun to rise. When it finally does, your little boy stirs in the bed between you and Feyd—nightmares, poor thing—but he quickly settles back into sleep, his lips parted with light snores. 

Iron seeps onto your tongue. Swiping your finger over your mouth, it pulls back coated in red. “Wonderful,” you mutter.

“What did you do?” Your husband asks, making you gasp and shoot up in bed. He chuckles, his brow drawing close at your skittishness. Careful not to disturb Fionn, he pulls back the covers and walks over to your side. His palm cups your chin. His thumb runs over your lip, collecting a droplet before sticking it in his mouth with a wicked grin that makes you playfully roll your eyes. “Morning,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. 

You press a peck to his lips. “Morning.”

“That’s all I get?” 

You debate not doing this, not dragging down another morning, but you can’t help it. It's an impulse at this point. Unable to be contained. 

“I want to talk about it,” you say.

Feyd’s features solidify into stone and he straightens his spine. “We already talked about it,” he replies before turning for the bathroom. You hop up and follow after him, closing the door behind you as Feyd twists a knob so water can cascade into the deep tub. 

“I want to talk about it again.” Ignoring you, he puts his hand under the water to test its warmth. “I’m not going to let it go.”

“No, you’re not, are you.”

“You honestly don’t want another one?”

“What I want is my wife alive,” he says as he strips off his silken sleep pants. “I already had to watch you die once.”

“I didn’t die.”

Feyd’s chest inflates. He’s been holding in an explosion for days and you don’t know how long he can manage that. “Fionn won’t be up for hours,” he says, getting into the tub and finding a comfortable position. “Come join me.”

“Feyd–”

“Clothes off.”

You sigh and slide the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders until it falls to your feet. With your hand in Feyd’s, you step into the pool of heated water and get cozy with your back to his chest. You lean your head against his shoulder as he takes hold of both of your hands, his fingers playing with yours. 

“I didn’t die,” you remind him, keeping a softness to your voice. You tilt your chin back and plant a kiss on his jawline to ease the truth of your argument so it doesn’t induce a bout of rage. You’re good at that, after years of dealing with his fits. 

“I thought you did,” he says. “For a moment, I felt it as if you did.”

“I know, but–”

“What if it were me?” he says, and your heart leaps into your throat at the suggestion. “Would you want me doing something again that almost killed me the first time?”

That's not exactly fair, and you want so desperately to spit those words right back at him. It’s not as if you haven’t had to catch your breath once or twice when he goes up against a prisoner who has not yet lost the skills that came from years of training on their home planet. You’ve cleaned up a few nicks on your husband’s skin from a blade, and yet, he continues to fight without you saying a word about it. Even if it went against your wishes, he would continue. 

“I watch you in the arena all the time,” you tell him.

“That’s not the same. You know I’m going to survive,” he says, and you hate that you can’t argue his point because you do know that. He’s too skilled. The nearest he’s come to serious harm—harm that would not have even come close to resulting in his death—was against an Atreides. And while it was a harder fought duel, there was nothing sloppy about it. Feyd still ended the life of that man with the beautiful maneuvers of a practiced warrior.

Reaching for the last bit of logic you can, you say, “You don’t know that I won’t survive.”

Your husband groans, a rumble that vibrates against your back. “I don’t know that you will,” he says. “Don’t you understand that? I need you. Fionn needs you.”

“Feyd–”

“I love you and you would dare to leave me. You’re fighting me on this for the second time now.”

You swallow hard, trying to remove the lump in your throat, before you twist your body so you’re facing him. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub as your legs straddle his hips, but neither of you give the mess and ounce of attention. Your fingers weave at the back of his neck. 

“I’m not leaving you,” you tell him. “I’m not leaving Fionn. I just want to bring more into our lives.”

“We don’t need more,” he says. “I don’t want more.”

His words poke a needle through your chest and into pumping organ behind your ribcage. “At all? You’ve never imagined it? A brother for Fionn? A little girl you could train to be as strong as you?”

Feyd’s eyes fall from yours. His fingers tighten at your waist. “Stop it,” he demands, and by the way he continues to avoid your stare you suddenly see that he has, in fact, thought about it; that it has been considered. All this time, you’ve assumed he brushed off the idea without so much as bothering to picture what another child would be like for your little family. But no. You were wrong. And you wonder what images of that future he’s conjured up in that mind of his. What scenarios he’s denied the possibility of simply because he is scared. 

“You have imagined it.”

Feyd huffs. “So what?”

“What’s it like?”

“Without you?” he asks. “Miserable.”

“And with me?”

Your husband takes a deep breath that exhales as a slow but heavy stream of air through his nose. “I told you to stop.”

“I can’t.” You press your forehead into his. His arms wrap around your waist and pull you in closer. “Feyd, I can’t. Can’t we just try?”

Feyd leans back and looks up at you, examining your features with an intensity that suggests he doesn’t already know the shapes and planes of your face by memory. It brings forth a blush that heats your cheeks; a blush he’s always able to work out of you, one way or another, even after nearly seven years together. It makes you want to make your baby right now, and if he agreed, and if your son was not sleeping just in the other room, you would. You’d touch him and harden him and slide down onto him, writhing and shifting your hips until he was groaning and filling you. 

“Please,” you whisper. Your hands plant on his cheeks. Your thumbs run across the sharp edges of his cheekbones and you move in to capture his lips in a kiss that then travels to his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Please,” you say between more kisses. You say it again, punctuating the word with a little nibble on his collarbone. 

Feyd shifts underneath you. You can feel him grow thicker against your core. With a suck in of air, he pushes your hips down harder onto his lap, but then he holds you still. And it’s for the best. You weren’t trying to start something anyway, not here, not now. 

“We’ll talk to the doctor,” he says as you rest your head into the crook of his neck. Relief floods your whole body. “But if he says no, then it’s not happening. And if he says yes but then something happens to you, I’m killing him, so you should be prepared for that.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” you swear to him. And you do believe that, genuinely, in your heart of hearts. “And I’m always prepared for you to end someone's life. I wouldn't have married you if I thought you'd be any different.”

Feyd almost chuckles. “You didn't have a choice in marrying me.”

“Yes, but I wanted to marry you anyway,” you tell him. “Murder and all.”

---

A/N: thank you for reading. Let me know what you think. If you have any ideas or thoughts on the His series, I am open for requests.

[auniverseforgotten]

Last line tag game!

Rules: In a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

Tagged by @crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer so long ago,,,the world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it, in the air. Much that once was...is lost. For none now live...who remember it.

The scene is peaceful: men asleep on a table after going too far into their cups, one chair overturned likely from a night of merriment. The fires are but embers now as morning light finally begins to force its way through the bleakness of night. And as the sun rises, so rise the men. Fionn wakes slowly as if forcing himself through deep water, his head a riot of pain and confusion. None of the alcohol was strong enough to make him even slightly tipsy; he is already on high alert as he turns to one side then the other, accounting for all his men- the chair to his right. Empty, knocked aside, the occupant left in a great hurry. Diarmuid's chair. Fionn is on his feet in a moment, glancing wildly around the room for his lieutenant, for his dearest friend. Pinpricks of pain shoot up his arm the moment pressure is put upon it; when he glances down he finds a line of deep puncture wounds, as if claws had dug into his forearm, as if someone had clung to him in desperation. As if Diarmuid had tried in vain to wake him, panicked enough to draw blood.

"That's not a last line that doesn't count" look Wolfie and I have given up on the last line we wrote and now it is simply the last bit that we wrote that we wish to scream into the world

Now I'm gonna go HIDE FOREVER because I'm CRINGE LMAO GOODBYE EVERYONE

Anyway uhhhhhhh this is. Probably never gonna be posted even if I finish it hahA I just. Don't think it'll ever be good enough to post orz BUT THIS IS. Sorta??? A pursuit AU???? Bcus ever since I read Tea's Oh, Darling, You Can Stop Drowning [INCREDIBLE FIC BTW YOU SHOULD READ IT OH GOD MY HEART] I cannot look at The Pursuit in any other way like.

It's portrayed all over the place as a tragic love story but Grainne [this Grainne there is an earlier Grainne] just completely. Diarmuid says no and she curses him to make him go with her. I just. Yeah I can't read it any other way. I also hadn't extensively read The Pursuit prior to Tea's fic/finding Tea's blog so am I biased sure BUT TEA IS RIGHT-

ANYWAY. I just. The feels and the blorbos got away from me today and yesterday and I just started Goin'. SO UH YEAH THIS'LL PROB NEVER BE POSTED BUT. HERE U GO DXFCGHV

Tagging: @crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer BACK TO THE WRITING WITH YE O ACCURSED WOLF

[the-hollyday]

The Bitch is Back

Admittedly this is a wild title for someone who had absolutely zero presence or following on this website in the past, despite spending unending hours reblogging pictures of old cameras and cigarettes when I was a teenager and early university student. But I'm back.

Everything feels quite different, I'm finding myself having to search directory items for functions that I could do with my eyes closed when I was 16; "where are my drafts", "are likes default public or private". Other questions you can't google as easily. Is it uncool to use a free blog theme? How are you viewed in the microcosm culture of the website for using a picture of your real face instead of a character or avatar?

The main drive to get back in to tumblr was to escape from twitter, which I was starting to feel like was making me stupider. There are two accounts I'll miss: my friend Autumn who posts photos of her beautiful sewing and quilting projects (she tufted a chair the other day??? She's so cool.) and that menswear guy who's always dunking on people wearing bad suits.

The other main reason was that I want to write. And I want to write about me. I'm trying to develop some more language and attention-span improving habits; my partner Jethro sat down on the couch with me the other day and told me that he was starting to feel worried about the amount of time I'm spending just aimlessly scrolling before getting up to start my day in the mornings. I agree with him, and it's not even like the habit makes me feel good. It's just void stuffing. We'll start with a migration to a new website where I can write longform. But, you know, wherever you go, there you are.

That's right, Poorly Translated Mod Caroline.

It's felt like a much busier summer than it actually has been, but pockets of very high activity have left me feeling exhausted frequently. My brother in law Fionn came to stay with us from Toronto for a couple days so we took him out to experience some true Vancouver culture: shooting pool and drinking two pitchers of beer at the Ivanhoe.

We also stuffed him full of good pasta and bread at my favourite Italian place before putting him on the plane back home.

I love dive bar graffiti.

I also completed annual summer maintenance at my theatre. We usually put on movies while we clean lights and this year the request was for 1954 Godzilla. This was a really interesting watch (that I'm not prepared to fully tackle in this post) but suffice to say I did not expect to cry while watching a movie I believed to be primarily about a giant lizard. Or how hard it would be to try and read subtitles while you're trying to clean lights.

The last big summer 2024 adventure is quickly on the horizon, Jethro and I fly to Japan a week from today for my first trip off continent. I'm very excited, and also a little scared. I'm a worrier by nature so it's been a productive exercise in preventing worry by action rather than succumbing to procrastination, but also the letting go of things that just aren't that important. And I'm sure I'll find new things to worry about once I'm there.

[sonicasura]

A Challange of Wits and Wisdom

Joker finding himself an odd situations seemed to be becoming more and more frequent, though he wasn't alone as DQ and Gooey had been with him at the time.

They were just at the entrance to Mementos doing some light exploring as everyone was busy today and Morgana in his infinite wisdom ate a bad piece of sushi and ended up getting a stomach. Thankfully DQ was free as Sojiro had to close up shop to head home early. It was just to check the first floor to see how far the safe zone was before shadows started to appear. It was during this when Joker's eye caught something, a button, a button that looked out of place in Mementos. Joker, DQ and Gooey talked it over for a bit about wether to leave it be or press it.

Naturaly they pressed it

And after they pressed it the floor they were standing on immediately gave way, sending the three to an unkown part of Mementos. After they were done falling and got their barrings, they were not greeted by Mementos's harsh red light, but a nice cool blue.

" It's nice to finally meet the three of you"

Snapping around with weapons drawn and magic at the ready they came face to face with an odd man. He had bright blonde hair, an attire that wouldn't be out of place in DQ's world, tribal markings and most percuilarly a red thumb. The man stood unfazed and spoke.

" My apologies I didn't mean to startle you, just to greet and talk"

DQ: Talk about what?

" To talk about helping the Trickster and you Royalty to Monsters"

Shooting eachother a sideways glance they nodded and agreed to talk.

A soft smile adorned the man's face

" Great, now let me introduce myself I am the Persona Fionn Mac Cumhail"

The conversation that took place gave both thieves ( and Monster) a lot of information to process. First was the fact that Fionn was a persona that sought out Joker to test him to see if they were worthy of his aid. When asked why he wanted to aid them in the first place all he said was " To help in your fight aganist the one who seeks to control all". An ominous answer, but they choose to return to that answer later. Then there was the fact that Fionn wanted to test them in game to see if they were worthy. The prospect of a persona's help especially one that they could all tell held quite a lot of power, was one they couldn't pass up.

The test consisted of five riddles that tested their knowledge, Joker was glad he studied quite a bit, cause it helped in solving the first three. The forth ended up being a trick, but they all saw right through it. The final riddle wasn't actualky a riddle, but a poem in which they had to decipher what it was talking about, which they did end up figureing it out thanks to Gooey's in put.

Afterwards Fionn congratulated the trio on a job well done and as Fionn said joind Joker, though not before gifting DQ a beautifull Great Sword and the special buff Salmon's Wisdom

Overall a succesfull day and good news to give the thieves when they next meet up

Fionn Mac Cumhail

Special Attack: Mac an Luin

Ability: Wisdom of the Salmon- Increases wisdom everytime a weakness is used on the enemy or a dodge occurs

Special buff

Salmon's Wisdom

A quick swipe of the thumb aganist your mouth increases wisdom, your chance to dodge and a critical spell occuring

What do you think?

Took a long time to write a scenario that I think worked.

I love this. A pretty nice twist to add to the story and further expand on the worldbuilding. Personas are mysterious in their own right so ones who take alternative ways to test a Wildcard's abilities is plausible.

[wildfaeworld]

so like. in Peril's Gate (volume 6 of the critically-acclaimed fantasy epic The Wars of Light and Shadow by Janny Wurts) when Arithon is fleeing across the Daon Ramon barrens. and his wounded hand. i need to focus on his hand for a hot minute bc it's there as a quiet intensifier of his misery and fear the whole time but it's so much more and i just realized it and i need to bite and chomp and shake it around in my mouth.

because it's taking away his music, the last of his innate gifts not tainted by either his heritage or the Mistwraith's geas, the last (he believes) tie to his sanity in a world that has been arrayed entirely against him for fifty-odd years, the last purely good thing he has. and he got this wound. he got this wound because of the s'Falenn geas of compassion laid on his ancestor HIS COMPASSION DO YOU UNDERSTAND because he couldn't look away from young stupid Fionn Areth he couldn't leave that idiot boy to his own devices and for his compassion Fionn put his sword through Arithon's hand aurghhhhh

but it's more it's MORE. the wounded hand is a metaphor for the wounding of Arithon's spirit for the last fifty years, it's a metaphor for his self-imposed guilt and inability to cede to others the consequences of their own actions, it's the festering, leeching drain on his soul of every hurt to someone else that he can't let go OOOUGH DO YOU GET IT

and as he's hunted across those barrens in the dead of winter, stripped down to the wary flinch and wire-taut defensive reflex of a cornered leopard, and his hand gets worse and worse until it's a useless club at the end of his arm and he has to try to keep using it anyway, over and over forcing himself to aim straight to shoot, to wield a sword, to scratch and claw his way to another snatched moment of reprieve, DO YOU GET IT it's the paralyzing weight of not allowing others to carry the good and the bad of their own choices, it's the twisted selflessness turned to self-centering harm that disallows the freedom to live DO YOU GET IT

and Davien's maze is the debridement of that dead flesh, do you get it?

[kafkaoftherubbles]

无题

I didn't dare write this until the day was about to end because you know what it's like throughout our history on this date.

I mean, bad luck is kinda one of our features, right? "Moe point", we called it? 业障君 is the half-affectionate-half-derogatory name we forced on Fionn before lowkey blaming him for all that bad luck, even though he hadn't done anything?

And usually, around this date, dreadful things just happened. To be fair, they happened on every other day, and quite frequently too growing up, but when it happened on this date... older versions of us just felt personal. Stuff kept being thrown and broken, and people shouted at each other, and then eventually it ended with you. Remember what they shouted at you? I remember all of these as semantic memory, but Fionn remembers them as episodic memory. Of course! We made him tank every dreadful thing. He's the only one kind enough.

Even this year, something still broke, haha! But this time, it was by me! My rubber-gloved hands slipped while doing the dishes, I broke the glass bowl while trying to rescue it, and ke-raaack! I accidentally crunched it. The combined force of its falling momentum and my poor muscle control did it! And then the shard stabbed through my palm. If you look at the left one and find a gash under the longer, older, also-by-glass scar, oops! That'd be me! September 2023 Lyndis! Not to worry. As always, we healed very quickly. The wound closed in minutes, but the ruptured capillaries needed a bit more time. Nonetheless, it didn't hurt during the shower! That's the best cause' you know how sensitive we are to pain! Fionn is the best at weathering through that, though.

---

I know why we're kinda afraid of this date. It feels right for everyone else to celebrate theirs because it always feels like everyone else deserves to be here. I don't think I do, though. It's not like I have managed to shore up concrete proof of my contributions and achievements to counter my "but do I reaaaaally deserve to be here" argument. 'Cause I haven't done anything! No. I'm not closer to being a scientist or researcher, even though the past version of us discovered that this is what we actually would love to be. Let alone the whole education reformation plan; the one our sleepy-ass country needs. Or even the "become Prime Minister" plan to spite everyone who said you can't be an ethical civil servant. Nah, I have to report that we're no closer to any of those.

... Are you?

It's fine if you're not. Causal determinism, remember? There are many factors beyond our control--more than just luck. We do not have free will. We cannot manifest destiny. So it's okay. Unless you're someone completely different, I'll assume you're like most of us--even if you didn't make it, it's not for a lack of trying.

---

Oh! Nothing happened today. It's indistinguishable from other days. Isn't that great?! I had to work overtime a bit to reach the weekly quota though, because I'm going to that archery range tomorrow with Lyishere. I bet she's still our best friend by your time. I bet she still isn't gonna try shooting by your time, too, because she said she rather focus on her legs or something. Pfft. Muay Thai.

Oh! There are reasons why we had to work overtime, heh heh! I wrote a long essay on Tuesday about silver-white-haired characters and stuff (yes, it's related to To Your Eternity in the end. Oh man, you must have known the ending already, right?! Did any of my hypotheses get falsified or confirmed? Oh, what about the ones made by my immediate predecessors?! What about Fionn's?!). Then, today, I wrote ANOTHER essay on YouTube, even though unlike 2019 and 2020 Lyndis, I rarely comment on things and usually just read them. But can you blame me? I think people have misunderstood one of Jujutsu Kaisen's themes! And that extended to misunderstanding Gojo too. I'm gonna copy the essay here as a record one of these days.

Anyway, I think it's very Lyndis to do this. I oddly adore how I wasted my time rambling instead of slaving away on a trashy-fuck project with zero literary merits, even though the latter gives me money. It's fitting of Lyndis as a person to compulsively analyze things and connect them to other things Lyndis has collected. It's probably one of the qualities all of us mains, past and present, share without fault. It's a pretty consistent trait of Lyndis.

---

It's hard to feel like I deserve to have a date like this. I feel like a ghost a lot of times, like the rest of Them, even though I'm the one with the body. Ghosts don't celebrate this; they failed the first quality, which is to be consistently alive till every anniversary. Overall, it can feel like we haven't earned the right to celebrate it even after 27 years, now 28. If we have, why do I consistently feel see-through, right? Why does it feel like I'm still not out here, with everyone else, and still trapped somewhere inside a 360-degree touchscreen depicting the outside world?

Or maybe! This is just how our brain feels. It's the one trapped in a black box being fed information and doling out information, even including embodied sensations and consciousness. Haha, how fun!

...But you know, even if we were ghosts, there's something quite indisputable: I know I'm alive because I'm embedded in a long, long chain of casual deterministic process that had begun since time. Whatever I do, no matter how insignificant and trivial, creates effects. And whenever I'm experiencing an effect, or am acting as an effect, or being the effect--it is caused. When I breathe in, I can sense it. When I breathe out, I can sense that too. And the effects of these actions are both immediate and ever-propagating. When I lift my finger it's because something made me want to lift it--my brain, physical objects, a thought, an aversion to it being clamped within the crack of the door.

I don't exist outside this deterministic world. I don't have free will; everything I do is caused, and everything I do will cause effects. Do you know what that means?

It means I'm not a ghost at all! Because even a meager breath of mine adds more carbon dioxide and water vapor and takes away more oxygen from the air. Ghosts can't do that. They cannot affect. They cannot be caused, either.

Which means regardless of how I feel, I'm definitely real. Like these physical beings who deserve to be here. And if I'm here, then everyone else is also here, because they are part of me. It's our date, see?

So... well, it sounds really weird saying it, but... happy birthday to you!

And everyone else!

Happy birthday to you, Fionn. Let's be together for more years to come.

---version September 14, 2023

[findopulencerp]

                                            July 1st Activity Check

Activity checks occur on the first of every month. You need to have been active within the last 7 days with a paragraph text based post as per our rules to be considered active. If you ever are busy all you need to do is shoot a mod a message, no explanation needed and we can put you on a hiatus through until the next check when it will need to be renewed. Haituses cap at three continuous checks.

Activity Warning:

Mia McMackins - @xxmiamcmakinsxx Theo Baudelaire - @theobaudelaire Rosita Rosales - @icanbuymyownflowers

Characters with an activity warning have twenty-four hours to post or ask for a hiatus.

Currently on Hiatus:

Asher Spaulding Gabriel Soma Cass Evans Fionn Christie Rose Ayres

[the-iceni-bitch]

I’ve Got Something to Ask

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale, fem!Reader (OTP)

Words: ~3.2k

Summary: it’s Harlan’s birthday, and Ransom is forced to confront some thing she’s been considering.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (m receiving oral sex, implied f receiving oral sex, semi public sex, family knowing exactly what the two of you are doing no matter what your excuses), established relationship, mentions of past angst, Linda maybe not being so horrible? So much fluff, something that may have you all screaming at me, SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: I know Harlan’s birthday isn’t technically until tomorrow but I finished this early and wanted to post it ASAP. I hope y’all are ready to get as stupid excited as I am!!

I am no longer doing taglists so if you want to stay up to date on all the latest filth, follow my sideblog @the-iceni-library and turn on notifications!!

“C’mon, just tell me what you got him.” You tried to lean over the console and nibble on his neck as he turned into the drive to Harlan’s estate. “What if we accidentally got the same thing? How embarrassing would that be?”

“We didn’t get the same thing, quit it!” Ransom shoved you off with a warm grin when you managed to suck on his ear, ignoring your pout as he tried his best to focus on the sharp turns through the trees. “Do not make me crash while we’ve got the furry idiots back there. So fucking nosy. I am not looking forward to Christmas if this is how you get over a present that’s not even for you.”

“Why? What did you get me for Christmas?” You beamed at his low chuckle as he finally pulled up to the house, shoving the dog into the back seat when he started jumping around exuberantly once he realized where you were.

“A latex bodysuit.” He pecked you on the lips when you cackled, climbing out of the car and moving to let the dog out while you got the gifts out of the trunk. “C’mon bud.”

Fionn took off as soon as he saw the shepherds, the three dogs prancing around each other happily then running off to do whatever dogs do. You grabbed the cat in her carrier after Ransom took the gifts from you, letting him wind an arm around your waist and press his lips to your hair.

Fran greeted you with a warm smile and accepted your hug graciously, cooing over the kitten and barely acknowledging Ransom as she took your coats. You followed after her when she showed you the room she had set up for your little fur ball, assuring you that the dogs wouldn’t be able to get in and bother her even after you told her Niamh could definitely handle herself. She was screaming at you until you finally let her out of her carrier, shooting you a dirty look before shoving her face in the food Fran had set out for her while the housekeeper giggled.

“I know Harlan is very excited to meet this little lady.” Fran grinned when she stood back up, her smile only faltering a little when she turned to look at Ransom leaning against the door. “Said he couldn’t believe his asshole grandson willingly brought home an animal.”

“Christ, I don’t need to listen to this.” Ransom rolled his eyes and shrugged uncomfortably as he turned away from the two of you, clicking his teeth together and fighting the urge to smile a little when he heard your soft laugh. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Uh-huh.” You just winked at Fran as you followed after him slowly.

He had already poured you a gin and tonic by the time you joined him at the bar, his body leaning towards yours on instinct when you brushed your lips over his shoulder. You beamed at him when he pulled you close and sighed happily, but it froze when you spotted his mother giving you a cold stare.

The two of you hadn’t really seen her since the fiasco at the marina, in spite of Harlan’s attempts to smooth everything over. You appreciated that he just wanted his family to get along and be happy, and he didn’t push you too hard, just mentioned how he had talked to Linda and wanted to make sure both of you were alright. But after seeing Ransom so broken and having to spend a few days comforting while he recovered, you didn’t have the emotional energy to put up with a half assed apology. Thankfully Harlan understood, letting you know he would be happy to see the both of you whenever you were able.

“Baby, you gonna be ok?” You pressed your body to his when Linda started walking towards you, running your hand up his arm until you could run your fingers through his hair soothingly while he took a deep breath.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He smiled warmly at you as he brushed his nose over yours. How could he not be ok when you were letting him hold you so close while you looked at his mother like you were going to slap her. “No fist fights, honey, it’s Harlan’s party.”

“Fine, softie, as long as I don’t have to hear any horrible shit from her I won’t start anything.” You nuzzled at his cheek before turning to face his mother. “Linda, if you’re not about to apologize to your son you can just keep walking.”

“Ransom, I’m so sorry.” Linda was looking at you like she wanted to spit in your eye, but at least she was saying what you wanted to hear. “I’ve done a lot of thinking about things I’ve said in the past, and I know I have some things to make up for. I’m hoping we can talk sometime, after dad’s night.”

“I appreciate that, mother.” Ransom wound his fingers through yours when you grabbed his hand, turning to smell your hair when you leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good, good.” Linda seemed to relax a little bit, even though she was still flicking her eyes towards you with mild discomfort when you didn’t leave. “I just want us to be a family.”

“Yeah, l know.” He shrugged a little and gripped your waist tighter, letting you know he was over the conversation unconsciously as you smoothed a hand over his chest. “I said I’d think about it.”

“Let’s go find Harlan, baby.” You pulled him away from his mother slowly, ignoring her indignant huff as you focused on him and his breathing. “Talk to you later Linda. Ran?”

“I’m fine. I’m good.” He gave you a small smile when you looked at him with concern, squeezing your hand in reassurance as you walked together towards the sitting room. “Promise, I’d tell you if I wasn’t. Let’s go wish granddad a happy birthday.”

You grinned when you walked into the room and found Harlan with your cat climbing all over his lap and screaming as he laughed giddily. Marta was sitting next to him and let out a small giggle when Niamh climbed onto his shoulder, the two of them looking so cute and happy it was making your cheeks hurt.

“Hi Harlan, see you’ve met the kitten.” As soon as she saw you she was flying off Harlan and yelling at you until Ransom scooped her up. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you my dear, it’s so wonderful to see you.” Harlan stood and came to give you a warm embrace, pressing a kiss to your cheek before clapping Ransom on the shoulder. “I feel like I hardly got to see the two of you at the release party.”

“Right, sorry about that.” You tried not to grin too hard at the flush that was creeping up Ransom’s neck, that had been an amazing night. “Ran was feeling a little off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But tell me what you thought of the book, dear.” Harlan motioned for you to sit next to him, patting your hand with affection when you did as Ransom sat on your other side. “I want to know everything, I appreciate your insights so much.”

“Oh, it was so good, Harlan.” You leaned on Ransom’s chest without thought when he pulled you close, sighing softly when he rested his free hand on your hip. “That ending was even perfect, completely surprised me, but you built it up so well.”

“Thank you, darling. Ah.” Harlan turned his sample away when the rest of the family started filtering in, Walt shooting an annoyed glare at you and Ransom already settled so close to his father. “So nice to have the whole family here. Now, where are my presents?”

All of you laughed at his small joke, Fran passing out glasses of champagne as everyone started bringing their gifts forward. It was a lot of kitschy antiques, but Harlan loved it, cooing over each present and detailing where exactly he was going to place each piece in his home. You just wanted to see his reaction to yours, though, and to see what Ransom had got him, you were on the edge of your seat.

“Alright, I really hope you like this, Harlan.” You handed him your beautifully wrapped gift with a warm grin, laughing softly when he shook it.

“Well, you do always put such thought into your gifts, dear.” He removed the wrapping carefully as you watched, beaming at you once he got a good look at his present. “This is beautiful, Y/N, how did you know I was looking for one of these prints?”

“Oh I have my ways.” You let out a happy hum as Harlan started flipping through the lovely illustrations in the gilded book. “Finding a copy of these poems was a little harder than I anticipated, but I know how much you love Poe.”

“Well, thank you, dear, I will cherish this, truly.” Harlan set the book aside and pulled you in for a hug, murmuring thanks in your ear before releasing you again. “Well, I think that’s it, should we do cake?”

“Wait, Ransom still has to give you his.” You slapped Ransom’s shoulder to get him to hand it over, scowling slightly when he rolled his eyes at you.

“What?” Harlan was giving you a look of pleasant surprise when you handed him Ransom’s gift. “You’ve never gotten me a present before, Ransom.”

“Yeah, well,” he couldn’t stop his grudging smile when you settled yourself in his lap, your head leaning against his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “Someone’s rubbing off on me.”

“How utterly lovely.” Harlan couldn’t help but grin even wider at how happy his grandson looked as he gazed at you, the young man ducking to kiss your cheek as you let out a pleased sigh. “My goodness, look at this!”

Harlan couldn’t stop running his hands over the soft kaya wood of the antique go board, flashing a disbelieving grin at his grandson as he inspected the stones. Everyone was looking at Ransom in various stages of shock at the thoughtful gesture, and if you hadn’t been curled up in his lap and beaming at him, he would have been massively uncomfortable.

“Well, we’re definitely breaking this out after cake.” Harlan was still giddy as he stood up and started to hug everyone, drawing Ransom in for one that was especially warm and made your chest hurt a bit. “Thank you all so much, you always make these days so special. Let’s have some cake!”

“We’ll be right there, just want to let the dogs in.” You dragged Ransom after you as you moved to the mud room, ignoring Harlan’s knowing grin and the rest of the family’s disapproving glances as you walked out with your hands still clasped together.

“The dogs?” Ransom gave a low chuckle when you let him curl around your back and nuzzle into your hair after the dogs had run past you into the house. “Your excuses are getting thin, baby.”

“Shut up.” You shoved him down the hall and into the bathroom, locking the door behind you and purring when he pulled you close and brushed his lips over yours. “Why you gotta be so fucking sweet?”

“Is this about the present?” He shrugged when you nodded, humming into your mouth when you started undoing his belt. “Told you, you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Whatever, softie.” You flicked your tongue against his before starting to kiss your way down his neck, rubbing his cock through his pants as you slowly sank to your knees. “Makes me want to suck your dick.”

“Great.” His voice cracked a little when you rubbed your face against his bulge, dragging his zipper down slowly as he leaned back against the sink.

He groaned when you pulled his slacks down, tucking the waistband of his boxer briefs under his balls and pressing kisses all over his shaft as you gazed at him through your lashes. You wrapped your hand around his base as your lips brushed over tip, rubbing it all over mouth and smearing yourself with his precum as you started stroking him slowly.

As soon as your lips wrapped around his sensitive head his knees almost buckled, the soft suction and way you were swirling your tongue around him while you kept jerking him off making him roll his hips into your face. You hummed when he gripped your hair loosely, sliding him a little further in the the wet warmth of your mouth before pulling him out and spitting messily onto his tip.

“Oh, baby… fuck.” His grip tightened when you took him back in your mouth and immediately swallowed him whole, your throat squeezing the head of his cock as you brought a hand up to gently tug on his balls. “That’s so fucking good.”

He started rocking his hips into your face as you gagged and spluttered around his cock, precum and drool bubbling from the corners of your mouth and dripping down your chin. You let out a soft whine when he ground into your face, gripping his thighs and laving your tongue along the underside of him while you did your best to breathe through your nose.

Ransom felt his cock starting to twitch and pulled out of your mouth, groaning at the soft, fucked out look on your face as you licked your lips while he started dragging his fist over his length. You ripped the buttons of your blouse open as you gazed at him with big eyes, kissing his tip gently as he kept jerking himself off with a low growl.

“Come on my tits, Ran.” Your voice was husky from your fucked out throat, purring when he leaned over you and cupped your cheek. “Need it.”

“I know, honey.” He hissed when he swiped his thumb over his tip, biting his lip when you squeezed his balls and rolled your body closer to him. “Gonna fucking give it to you.”

Your low hum when the first warm rope of cum hit your skin made him moan, moving his hand faster as he covered you in a haphazard spray while he grunted softly. As soon as he was finished he was yanking you to your feet and smashing his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth when you tangled your hands in his hair.

“I love you so fucking much, Ran.” You sighed when he started mouthing his way down your throat, his fingers digging into your waist as you arched your body into his.

“Love you too.” He purred when he started running his tongue over the soft slopes of your chest, cleaning his cum off you gently as you let out soft gasps that made him ache. “More than anything.”

“Mmm, my big softie.” You tilted your head back and laughed lightly when he brought his face back to yours, opening up when he tapped your cheek and moaning when he slid his tongue between your lips and let his cum slide down your throat. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“I know, babe.” He rubbed his nose over yours as you purred for him, your hands working to tuck him back into his pants as he dug his fingers into the small of your back. “Promise I’ll return the favor later, but I’m pretty sure Harlan’s waiting for us before he blows out the candles.”

He was right, Harlan was giving the two of you a very knowing grin when you wandered back into the dining room, the rest of the family just looking slightly disgusted when you settled into your seats. It’s not like you looked like you’d been doing anything other than fucking each other, your lips swollen and eyes wild while Ransom was rumpled and flushed as he held your seat out for you.

Neither of you cared about any of the annoyed looks the rest of the brood were shooting you as you sang happy birthday to Harlan, Ransom’s hand resting on your thigh as the both of you indulged in a little extra champagne. The cake was amazing and the champagne was good, so it was easy to ignore everyone else.

“I’m gonna check on the idiots.” You pressed your lips to the top of Ransom’s head when you stood up, grinning at his happy purr. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

“Ok babe.” He squeezed your hand before releasing it, watching you walk off with a soft smile before turning back to Harlan when his grandfather cleared his throat at him.

“Let’s try out that new board, son.” Harlan patted Ransom on the back when he stood to join him, the two of them moving to his study where Fran had moved the go board. “We’ll see if I can still kick your ass.”

“Oh, we will see.” Ransom couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as he sat down across from his grandfather. “What are we playing for?”

“Oh, I know exactly what I want from you, sonny boy.” Harlan chortled when Ransom scoffed at him. “When I beat you, you’re going to ask me the question you said you had several weeks ago, before you started avoiding me and acting all cagey.”

“Shit, you remember that?” Ransom huffed when his grandfather nodded at him, shrugging uncomfortably at the discerning gaze the older man was giving him. “Fine, what if I win?”

“Well, what do you want?” The man’s eyes were twinkling with mischief as he set his first stone on the board.

“What do I want?” Fuck it, Ransom was feeling buzzed from all the champagne and he really should stop putting this off. “If I win, you have to get me an answer to my question tonight.”

“Interesting, so it’s not something I’ll just know?” Harlan said laced another stone, cursing when Ransom blocked his planned move.

“You might have an idea, but not a definitive answer.” Ransom tried to cage Harlan’s next move in but failed at the last second, muttering to himself as he considered things. “And this has the potential to start some family drama, which is the last thing I want, so no pulling other people in unless I say so.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued.” Harlan was so close to blocking Ransom in, the younger man distracted by whatever he was considering. “I might agree to your terms either way, depending on what your question is.”

He placed his last stone with a triumphant grin and Ransom let out a deep sigh, his black stones completely cut off by an intricate pattern of white stones laid by Harlan. Ransom chewed his lip as he stared at his grandfather, drumming his fingers on his thigh with nervous energy as he came to terms with the fact he was actually going to do this.

“Well? Spit it out.” Harlan beckoned for Ransom to speak, leaning back in his seat and trying not to look too giddy as he anticipated what his grandson was about to say. “I don’t have all night.”

“Fuck.” Ransom took a deep breath before continuing, looking his grandfather right in the eye and steeling himself for whatever was going to happen. “I want greatnana’s ring.”

[filmnoirsbian]

Things read in May

Essays & Articles:

On Hyperpersonalized Sexual Identity

How Duolingo created a Yiddish course with a secular scholar and Hasidic Jews from Brooklyn

A manifesto for decorating

Remembering the Poetry of Neil Armstrong

What Phone Calls Have Given Me That Video Chat Can't

Thoughts on openings

Elif Batuman on Writing Fiction vs. Nonfiction

The 60-Year-Old Scientific Screwup That Helped Covid Kill

What is Authority

The Legend of the Mighty Fionn Mac Cumhaill

You Need This Crust: a guide to properly adoring microbiotic soils

The Gatekeepers Who Get To Decide What Food Is "Disgusting"

Forget "Game of Thrones." No One Does Violence Like Euridipes.

The Taxonomy of Country Boys

Eimear McBride: "I'm generally left cold by art with no sex in it"

Philadelphia discovers the cremated remains of MOVE bombing victims after a city health official's resignation

No Creed Is Not the Same as No Theology

Face by Alice Munro

Palestine, (un)Naturally

Reel Talk: Cheryl Dunye on Inventing a Film Genre

The Secret History of Hurricane Katrina

When does a native become a settler?

This Instagram Influencer's Failed Tour Will Satisfy Your Fyre Fest Nostalgia

The Palestinian Right to Remember

Playing by Ear, Praying for Rain: The Poetry of James Baldwin

Canada's blackout of Israel's crimes against humanity

One Teacher's Brilliant Strategy to Stop Future School Shootings--and It's Not About Guns

Poetry:

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Oral Traditions by William Nu'utupu Giles and Travis T.

Journal, Day Three by Richard Siken

Song of the Sea by Rainer Maria Rilke

This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin

The Wasteland: Five Limericks by Wendy Cope

Real Estate by Richard Siken

Sisters by Lucille Clifton

Backwards by Warsan Shire

My Father's Hands by Dave Harris

Books:

The Psyche by Hans Christian Andersen (free online)

Words on Bathroom Walls by Julia Walton (free pdf)

Turtle Island by Gary Snyder

The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek by Kim Michele Richardson

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au Acosf - Chapter 53

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22

It was a different sort of release to channel her magic under strict tuition. Eris had not gone easy on Nesta despite the hangover throbbing behind her temples.

There was more to her magic than just flame, he had acknowledged when he also admitted that training her fully might be beyond his capabilities.

She had asked him to stop for the day in the warm afternoon heat when she felt dizzy and sick from hours of training. Eris had persisted, asking for one more attempt at focusing her magic then releasing a trickle towards a log that had taken the brunt of her magic. It had resulted in Nesta losing control; her whole body had erupted in flames that she could not quench until Eris had thrust a burst of his magic at her. It sent her staggering into the putrid waters of the green pond.

‘You have one minute to winnow yourself to safety,’ she’d snarled, emerging from the stagnant water.

Fighting hard to hide his grin, Eris sauntered away with a wave over his shoulder to collect his dogs.

Nesta stalked past the sentries, keeping her head held high to maintain her last scrap of dignity. When she reached the group consisting of Fionn, his family, and Lucien, Nesta tried to scurry by but Lucien laughed loud enough to send a crow swooping out of a tree.

‘Do not,’ she hissed, skulking inside the house with stinking water dripping from her dress. The lilac material was stained with algae and her skin felt slick with grime. Curse Eris Vanserra. Curse Rhysand too for making her train her magic.

After scrubbing her skin until the traces of the pond had left, Nesta curled up in the bed. It was easy to sleep away the hours despite the bright sunshine outside.

When Lucien knocked on the door, darkness had engulfed the room. She hauled open the door, squinting at him. At the sight of her bare legs and arms on display, Lucien recoiled a step or two.

‘I’ll winnow you to Vassa. When you’re ready.’ Lucien looked anywhere except for Nesta stood in her nightgown.

A patter of rain met them in the grounds of the home Lucien shared with the two mortals. Ever the gallant male, Lucien held the door for Nesta as she followed him into the manor gifted by Elain’s ex-fiancée's family. She wondered how it was for him to live in a place that was undoubtedly reminding him of the mate who did not want to meet him.

‘Kingslayer,’ the mortal general said, appraising her from the ludicrous pink couch he was sprawled across.

Jurian did not move from his perch but his cunning brown eyes trailed Nesta’s skin like phantom fingers. For a mortal, he was handsome, but Nesta was aware of how painfully mortal he seemed, despite being trapped in a ring for centuries. How was it for him to be trapped in there, she wondered. Morrigan had called him arrogant and unstable before being held captive by Amarantha and tortured to death. The man was obsessive, his ambition and bloodlust his downfall. But he rose to greet Lucien and embraced him like a brother. She did not believe Lucien would align himself so closely with an unhinged male.

‘I remember this one well,’ he mused, gaze catching hers again.

Silver-flames wreathed her hands, begging her to strike Jurian. It was only her iron will that prevented it. Jurian had been the one to shoot Azriel before she and Elain were dragged into the Cauldron. It was tempting to remind him what had happened to her that day. To remind Jurian what she had taken from the Cauldron – even if she couldn’t wield the powers properly.

‘Shame you weren’t mated with his one,’ he said.

‘Enough of that,’ Lucien snapped as he stepped in front of Nesta – blocking her path to Jurian.

Jurian only smirked over Lucien’s shoulder. ‘What happened to the king’s head? Did you spike it in the garden or has it taken pride of place on the mantelpiece?’

‘Is he always this irritating or is it just for my benefit?’

‘Always,’ came a female’s voice.

Wearing a golden gown, Vassa strode into the room. Her smooth red hair bounced just past her shoulders as she turned to face Nesta. Lucien had warned Nesta that Vassa’s temper was worse than Jurian’s. The last time Nesta had seen the mortal queen, she’d gushed about how wonderful the Archeron patriarch was and Nesta had had to walk away before she’d spat out the truth. Jurian had already fanned Nesta’s temper, so if Vassa wanted to play then she was ready.

‘You’ve been insistent in your requests to meet,’ she said, seating herself in the high backed arm chair.

In the flickering yellow light of the candles around the room, Vassa’s freckled golden skin seemed to shine. She was without a crown though she sat as regally as a queen would in a throne rather than the aging manor house they’d been gifted.

‘You did receive them then. But you chose to ignore me instead.’

‘I am not bound to Prythian.’

Nesta clenched her jaw shut for a few moments before speaking. ‘They’re called manners. You could have had the decency to respond to decline a meeting rather than ignore my requests.’

‘I’m meeting you now, aren’t I?’

Behind her, Jurian snorted. He’d tugged the other armchair close to him so his bare feet could rest across the cushion while he sprawled out still on the couch. Lucien jumped up at once from his seat beside him to offer it to Nesta who had remained standing.

‘Jurian, why don’t you fetch us all a drink?’ He suggested.

‘No, I’m rather enjoying this.’

Lucien shifted his weight between his feet, trying to decide who Nesta was more likely to attack first out of Jurian and Vassa. These weren’t fae who could withstand a level of injury and heal quickly, Nesta had to remind herself. If she loosed her temper, she could kill them. Accepting the seat offered by Lucien felt like submission, but Nesta took it all the same. Her stare was hard as she turned back to Vassa’s cerulean eyes.

‘I would like to know what you know about Briallyn and Koschei.’

‘I’ve already told Lucien and the others.’

‘Briallyn seeks revenge on me, not them.’

Vassa tutted then sank back into the chair. ‘Briallyn wants her youth returned to be desirable. What use is forever if you’re a crone? Do not underestimate her. It was her who first sought contact with Koschei. There is nobody she cares for, nobody she is not willing to sacrifice for her own gain. If Elain is who you value most, keep her safe.’

At the mention of her sister, Lucien sucked in a breath. It had been months since she had spoken to Elain – but Nesta had found that she did not even miss her sister as much as she thought she would. Absence had allowed for reflection; Nesta gave and gave while Elain took and took. They had little in common. Elain was happy for Nesta to be her guard dog without ever standing up for Nesta in return.

‘And Koschei?’

‘He has many girls. They’re transformed into swans and kept at the lake too.’

‘Why were you different?’

‘Not just the red hair,’ she said with a smirk. ‘He liked my temper, he said. Full of fire.’

‘What did the other queens gain by selling you?’

Vassa’s face faltered for a moment, but she recovered quickly. ‘I didn’t trust the mad mortal general-‘ Jurian laughed, ‘-and urged them not to trust Hybern so they wanted me out of the way.’

‘You misunderstand me. You were not gifted but sold. By selling you to Koschei, it benefitted them, but I imagine he had to give in return.’

Jurian sat up and edged closer to Nesta on the couch, his arm slung around the back of the cushion, brushing her shoulders. The grin he gave her was another attempt at riling up her temper.

‘She’s got a point,’ he admitted, watching her carefully. ‘Nobody does anything without gaining something.’

‘Move away from me.’

Jurian did not. Another crooked smile full of malice twisted onto his face. ‘You should have seen the tantrum the Cauldron threw after you’d pillaged it. It was magnificent.’

‘You won’t want to see the tantrum I will throw if you do not move away from me.’

Nesta eased out her power as Eris had taught her so her eyes blazed like quicksilver. That worked. Jurian backed off. His hand flitted to his side as if about to reach for a knife, but he wore no belt in the comfort of his home. He had no weapon to raise against her – and certainly no magic. With a loud sigh, Lucien plonked himself down between them, deciding that Jurian was more likely to be Nesta’s current target.

‘Perhaps that’s why he’s assisting Briallyn,’ Vassa offered, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff it was careening towards. ‘I can imagine he offered that and she’s too proud to realise it benefits him too.’

‘What did my father offer?’

Nesta studied Vassa carefully, desperate to catch her in a lie. ‘I don’t know. I only know that whatever your father offered must be collected by Koschei himself. He believed it would never happen.’

The sudden cold feeling that sluiced through her clenched all of her muscles. She could imagine her father’s arrogance that he could trick a sorcerer-lord. She could not stop the niggling worry that it was her who her father had offered; that was why Koschei haunted her dreams. Free Vassa and Koschei could have Nesta – if he could leave his lake to claim her. A girl for a girl. But it was not a mere sorcerer her father had made the deal with, it was a death god. And her father had not known that his daughters had been Made by the Cauldron. He had not known that Nesta had stolen from it. He had traded what he thought was only his cruel eldest daughter, but he was gifting Koschei a weapon. If Laynths had known who she was, Nesta did not need to wonder if Koschei did too.

‘That is why he seeks a release from the lake. He kept an onyx box made of stone,’ said Vassa. Her voice sounded far-away and dream-like. ‘It was that which he guarded more than anything. Other girls, they said it was his heart inside of it.’

Nesta rose abruptly. ‘I have to go.’

‘You wanted to discuss the Wall too, didn’t you? We have hours until sunrise.’

‘I have to go,’ Nesta snapped, flames crowning her once more.

Vassa shrunk into the back of the chair and Jurian leapt across Lucien to step into Nesta’s path of destruction.

‘Your father was a good man, Nesta. You might not want to accept that, but he was,’ she said quietly from behind the shield of Jurian’s body.

‘Do you want me to tell you the ways he failed me and my sisters chronologically or alphabetically?’ She spat. ‘He did not want to waste money finding a cure for his wife so let her die. We would have starved to death if Feyre did not hunt. He was concerned with wealth and wealth alone. You did not know him. Do not tell me what my father was like, because I know better than any.’

Her shoes were not made for trampling through the damp forest, but Nesta had to march away to try and ebb that fire soaking into her veins. Rain dripped through the canopy above her, but it did little to cool her temper. She knew Vassa would mention her father; had tried to prepare herself as best she could for the mention of him, but the wound was too raw and painful still. The world knew him as the man who’d brought an armada of ships to their rescue. She could not take the fawning.

‘Nesta,’ Lucien’s voice called as he hurried after her. ‘Please, let me winnow you back to Spring.’

‘Leave me, Lucien,’ she shouted, voice shaking with anger.

‘Allow me to escort you if you wish to walk.’

‘I can find my way,’ she gritted out. ‘I don’t need you. Or anyone. I have never needed anyone.’

Nesta could not decipher the look on Lucien’s face in the dark, not as she turned and continued trampling through the trees towards the wall. No footsteps followed her. Nesta was alone, how she always ought to be.

***

‘To the Hewn City.’

Cassian blinked. ‘Is it wise to keep it there?’

Rhys had his nose inches from the harp examining it again. It seemed that his high lord thought he could unravel the harp’s secrets by inspecting it thoroughly at all hours of the day – and night. Cassian had been woken the previous night by Rhysand standing by the desk in his room, having slipped silently in. He’d nearly pulled a knife on him before he’d realised who it was.

‘I don’t want it in Velaris. I can ward it properly there. Helion will come in a few days too. We will need Nesta’s blood.’ At Cassian’s growl of warning, Rhys’ brow creased. ‘Only a few drops Helion has assured me.’

Using magic, Rhys summoned a breakfast for them which they ate up on the roof of the House of Wind. Their legs dangled off the edge of the petrifying drop as they surveyed their city.

‘We need all the items, Cass. The mask and the crown. If they’re out there, it’s better we know their location than others.’

Cassian shrugged. ‘So find them.’

Violet eyes flickered to him. Perhaps Rhys was regretting having this conversation so high up. He cocked his legs back over to solid ground. ‘Nesta needs to find them. They’ll likely only answer to her or Elain.’

‘So get Elain to do it. Why does it always have to be Nesta?’

Rhys frowned at his tone, folding his arms across his black shirt. ‘Elain is more delicate.’

‘Because she was allowed to be. The same allowances Nesta was never given. While Elain was allowed to bloom, Nesta had to become as hard as steel.’

‘All the better to find the Dread Trove,’ Rhys countered.

It was too early to think such violent thoughts, but Cassian could not deny that it was tempting to throw Rhys off the roof – even if he could fly himself to safety.

‘Mother forgive us all when you two are finally mated. I don’t think anybody will be able to mention Nesta’s name without your hand going round their throat.’

Cassian chuckled. Since Nesta had left a few nights earlier, his thoughts had whirred around that word: mate. Nesta was in no hurry to accept the bond, and although he understood her reasons, he was still anxious that the day might never come.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘You’re not as good as lying as Azriel is,’ Rhys said softly. ‘What is it?’

‘You treat Nesta as an object when she’s useful to you. I’ve been trying to so hard to build a relationship with her. If I tell her she needs to find the Dread Trove, it will ruin everything. She’s scared of her power, scared of the future.’ Cassian blew out a breath. The tightness in his chest was loosening at his confession. ‘What if she never wants to accept the bond?’

‘She will.’

‘Rhys. She doesn’t want to be in Velaris. She doesn’t want to call this place home.’

‘You wouldn’t leave…’ Rhys’ voice trailed off and his jaw tightened, apparently not so sure of the answer now. ‘You wouldn’t leave Velaris, would you?’

‘I’m being torn in two, having to choose between my family or my mate.’ Cassian tracked the winding Sidra River as it flowed from the mountains through the city below, unable to look at Rhys. ‘The worst part is, she won’t make me choose. She knows how much you all mean to me and wouldn’t make me choose. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t I be in the city I love with the female I love?’

‘You really love her?’

‘I’ve loved her since the moment I met her. I want her to be happy and safe. If it’s not in Velaris, not with me, I have to let her go. I’d have broken the bond if she wanted it, if Eris could love her like she deserves.’

At that, Rhys blinked. The thought of Nesta choosing Eris still nibbled away at him.

‘That’s not the bond,’ Rhys said quietly. ‘The bond would never want to be broken. You love her, you do love her. I felt that with Feyre. I’d have let her go, let her be with Tamlin, if it made her happy.’ His fingers flexed beneath the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I’ll speak with Feyre and see if we can convince Elain to look for the Trove rather than Nesta.’

‘No,’ Cassian grumbled. ‘If she finds out I made Elain search for those items, she’ll flay me alive. I’ll speak to her about it.’

***

It was late into the night when Nesta made it back to Tamlin’s manor. The sentries on duty were sharing an ale and playing cards by faelight so they received a barrage of angry words from Nesta about responsibility. She promised that they'd both be shovelling horse manure for the next month.

She expected a quiet house but footsteps echoed down the empty hallway. It wasn’t Zasha because the dog could do nothing quietly; he was likely curled up with Nuala. No, the source of the noise was a groggy high lord clattering through the kitchen cupboards.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice came out more accusatory and brittle than she planned.

Tamlin stared at her, grunted and continued rummaging for food. He was still only in a pair of bed shorts but Nesta struggled to take her eyes off his sculpted back. A number of wounds had begun to heal but those infected with naga venom blotted with blood against the muslin bandages.

‘I’ll make it. What do you want?’

The high lord was the worst person for her to encounter when her mood was abysmal but seeing his wounds had shook something loose from her. In its place came acceptance that all she would ever be was an unstable female who made people uncomfortable.

Her cooking skills left something to be desired but it was edible at least. Nesta had the feeling that Tamlin wouldn’t have cared as long as it was hot.

‘Your wounds need to be cleaned,’ she stated.

Her hands were moving without conscious thought, boiling water then pouring it into a bowl with drops from the vial that the healer had left. She lined the fresh bandages up then set to work peeling away the old ones. Tamlin remained quiet. She didn’t know if he was in pain from the wounds or shock from her not rowing with him. Nesta didn’t care. She needed something to occupy her hands.

‘Who knows? About me?’ Shame burnt in Tamlin’s cheeks.

‘Lucien, Eris, a handful of sentries, the healer who looks as if she hates everyone.’

‘Did Lucien find me?’

Nesta dabbed at the deepest section of the bite on his tricep making him hiss.

‘I did.’

‘You?’

‘I came home and couldn’t settle until I’d seen you. Something did not feel right.’

Nesta would not ask why he had done it, whether he wanted to do it again. The scarlet colour in his cheeks was indicator enough that he was ashamed.

‘I drank myself into oblivion in the Night Court. Every drunken stagger home in the dark, part of me hoped that somebody would… I don’t know what I wanted. Only for it all to stop.’ Nesta wrapped a bandage around his wrist. ‘I once snapped the tendons in my knee falling down the stairs and wished it had been more serious. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. It’s just that… you’re not alone, even if it feels like that. We aren’t friends but we want the best for the people here. And Lucien, he stayed by your bedside for hours.’

Tamlin leaned forwards in the chair so she could clean a deeper wound on the back of his neck. He held his blonde hair out of the way so she had better access.

‘Come,’ he said when she was done and beckoned for her to follow down the darkened corridors.

Nesta ought to have protested that she was too tired – her eyes were burning with fatigue – but refusing him now seemed too wretched even for her. It was the first attempt Tamlin had made to engage with her.

She followed his sluggish steps into the back room. The rain cascaded against the glass enough to lull Nesta in serenity. With a wave of his hand, Tamlin launched a dozen tiny faelights towards the ceiling that seemed to twinkle.

‘Sit. Please.’ He gestured to the cosy armchair in the corner of the room so Nesta settled herself there. When her head pressed against the back of it, she released a content sigh. Tamlin took up a seat on the stool in front of the pianoforte.

‘I’m out of practise, but your sister said once you love music.’

Tamlin flexed out his fingers then pressed down on the keys. Nesta should have protested that he didn’t need to, that he might wake the children in the other wing of the house, or that she was too tired. But for once, she stayed quiet and let the beautiful music lap across her skin. The hairs on her arm stood on end, so enraptured with the notes. She had not heard music for so long – and music played just for her was a treat she did not deserve. The melody rose and fell with dramatic, sweeping undertones.

Years earlier, a watery-eyed music teacher had declared that while Nesta was hopeless at singing or playing, she did have a fine ear that could pinpoint the notes she heard. With her eyes sagging closed, only the music mattered. Tamlin played magnificently so Nesta let every note engulf her. It lulled her down, down, down into a pure ancient place where no time existed. She saw mossy earth and golden sun, clear rivers and deep shadows in a forest as old as the world then her dream shifted to a quiet land where all the sound was devoured by the night-black waters. It was a living tomb, the land in her vision, filled with heavy air and mould and loamy earth. The trees were bleached white and jutted from the earth like broken lances covered with thick moss. But it was the waters that called to Nesta. A steady pulse rippled across the surface and her thoughts tugged her there, deeper towards the black waters. Not Koschei, she knew, this was not his lake.

The music stopped.

Nesta forced her eyes open. Her finger was pressed to a map of Prythian on the wall having risen from the chair without realising and stalking across the room. Facing away from the pianoforte towards her, Tamlin’s skin had faded of colour.

‘You… scried. The music made you scry.’

Her finger remained pinpointing a location on the map. She squinted to read the name in dim light of the room.

‘What is the Bog of Oorid?’

[teatitty]

Grail: So uh, Fionn's not going to be in the 4th war. Diarmuid: Then I'm not interested. Grail: But you can fight a tiny English version of him. Diarmuid: I need a moment to wrap my head around "tiny," "English," and "Fionn." Grail: Look, I'll throw in the opportunity for you to fight a fucking army by yourself, a Cthulhu-esque monster, and a Demi-god that needs to be taken down a couple pegs. Diarmuid: -enthusiastically- All at the same time?! Grail, slowly realizing that having Diarmuid be a choice in the war may have been a mistake: Oh. Oh no. You- you want to fight an army, a Cthulhu monster, and the demi-god at the same time? The Demi-god shoots weapons like its going out of style, btw. Diarmuid: And the "Tiny, English" -shudders- Fionn. And if he shoots weapons, that means I can use them, right?

This is why The Grail doesn't like summoning Fae or people raised by Fae because they're always trying to rules-lawyer everything and it has to make huge bargains with them just to get them to do anything I know it fucking hates Merlin and Oberon with a passion I know it does

[nhstadler]

“Are these seats taken?”

Sam looked up at me somewhat warily, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, but then quickly shook his head. “Um, no.”

“Great.” Katie plopped down on the bench and immediately started to unpack the assortment of snacks she habitually smuggled onto the stands. “Here.” She passed a tupperware container on to Sam who just stared at the bell pepper sticks for a long, bewildered moment, before finally looking up, his blonde eyebrows furrowed.

“You shouldn’t be so nice to me, you know. I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh please.” Katie had leaned forwards to roll her eyes at him and then pushed the tea that she had just poured from her glittery thermos into his hand. The group of 7th year Ravenclaws behind us was shooting amused glances at us by now, snorting into their palms and pointing at the wonkily patterned porcelain cups Katie was passing around, which she ignored gracefully.

“Yeah. Don’t think about it.” I wrapped my scarf a little tighter around my neck as a brisk gust of wind swept across the stand, rustling the blue and bronze patterned flags that protruded all around us. I still wasn’t exactly ecstatic that his ex-girlfriend thought I had broken them up but then again, I cared only little about what Felicity Boulder thought of me, really. “We’re good.”

Sam nodded slowly and then looked down to his cup, his fingers ghosting over the blotchy pink flowers that Katie had half-heartedly magicked there along the rim before handing in her transfiguration homework. “Thank you.”

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10703712/17/How-not-to-be-a-Woodley

[harrysdimples]

hello i hope this isn’t a weird ask or if you’ve seen a post like it and could direct me but i’ve been a casual fan of harry for forever but tbh only recently have become someone who like follows blogs Exclusively About Harry type beat and i was wondering if u could give me like a guide of who his friends r? like ik jeff and some others but i see lots of names and i get like “????” anyways, have a good day!!

of course bb! thank you for giving me something to do during quarantine lmao, long post under the cut:

jeff azoff - harry’s manager and one of his best friends, been friends since early 2013 and harry signed with jeff and full stop management in january 2016, jeff is the son of irving azoff who is widely considered to be the most powerful man in the music industry

glenne christiaansen - jeff’s long term girlfriend/partner, been together at least as long as harry and jeff have been friends, used to work for snapchat and now works at apple music, was included in the forbes 30 under 30 list (woohoo!)

tommy bruce - works at full stop management with jeff, is harry’s manager/representative when jeff isn’t there, good friends with harry

kid harpoon/tom hull - not sure exactly when they became friends but have been friends for a while, worked together on both albums harry has done, his wife jenny is the jenny referenced in canyon moon, he makes a cameo in the adore you music video lol

molly hawkins - harry’s creative director since 2017, has worked on most major shoots harry has done and is responsible for the visuals when it comes to harry’s album/singles artwork

harry lambert - harry’s stylist since at least 2015, we don’t know how they met/who they were introduced by but have been close since around late 2014 (I think)

kunichi normura - harry’s friend who he spent most of his time in japan with, a radio DJ and writer

nick grimshaw - BBC Radio 1 DJ, close friend of 8/9 years, have spent multiple xmas days together, harry debuted SOTT exclusively on his show, just check my gryles tag for more lol

mitch rowland - you probably already know but one of harry’s best friends, guitarist in harry’s band and collaborator on both albums, in a relationship with sarah (drummer) since 2017

xander ritz - lacrosse player, first became close in 2014/15 ish? xander went to lots of tour dates for the last tour 1D did together, you can see more in the xarry timeline here (this hasn’t been updated in a while though, xander goes to most things harry does lmao), still close with one another, most times if harry is doing something in NYC he will fly out to Philadelphia and stay with xander/his family beforehand

ben winston - executive producer on the LLS with james corden, directed multiple music videos for 1D like night changes and you & I, harry stayed with him and his wife meredith in their home for 18 months during 1d, harry is close with all his family, ben’s dad is a lord in the House of Lords in parliament, harry went to see a debate in parliament on brexit through ben’s dad etc, harry is the godfather of ben’s daughter ruby

helene panbrum - harry’s personal and tour photographer, close friend of all the band and crew including harry

cal aurand - 1d’s photographer and close friend of harry’s, introduced him to the green bay packers (lmao) and harry is the godfather of his son, jackson

adam prendergast/sarah jones - members of harry’s band, harry has known adam since 2011, is married to his wife emi with two children (silver and spike), sarah used to be in the band hot chip before joining harry’s band and is now in a relationship with mitch

ny oh (naomi)/charlotte clark - newest members of harry’s band this era, replacing clare uchima who was previously harry’s pianist before joining dua lipa’s band (let’s not talk about that rip)

johnny/alice/ben/chloe burcham - all childhood friends of harry’s, has stayed in more regular contact with johnny than the other two (has brought him on various 1D tours with him, johnny still tweets and posts about harry sometimes), ben was in harry’s band at school with him, alice grew up with harry, chloe burcham is a close family friend of everyone in harry’s family since her mum and anne are very close, gemma, harry and chloe all grew up together and spend most christmases together

rob stringer - head of sony music and close friend of harry’s

tom glynn carney/jack lowden/barry keoghan/fionn whitehead - all part of the dunkirk cast, harry has more publicly stayed friends with tom and barry in particular (tom went to harry’s arena tour and harry went to his play on broadway, barry went to the secret london show for fine line) but they have a group chat called funkirk lmao

roman kemp - capital fm presenter and close friend of harry’s for many years now

tomo campbell/sam campbell - tomo is a close friend of harry’s, harry has been to a few of his art exhibitions and has bought a few of his paintings, sam is also a close friend with their two kids and is the sister of 1d’s hair stylist, lou teasdale

matt irwin - photographer friend of harry’s who was one of his best friends, he sadly took his own life in 2016, harry dedicated his issue of another man to matt and has spoken since about how the grief of losing him impacted him, may he rest in peace.

alessandro michele - creative director of gucci, close friends since 2015 ish, lovely man :’) harry is learning to speak italian for him and has stayed with him in italy before, harry is alessandro’s muse

jack guinness/alexa chung/pixie geldof/waseem etc - all part of harry’s london crew of friends who he was mainly introduced to by nick, harry went to pixie’s wedding, and is still close with jack and alexa in particular etc

tyler johnson/sammy witte/jeff bhasker - all collaborators on both albums and close friends of harry

james corden/kendall jenner - you don’t need me to tell you who either of these people are lol, harry is the godfather of james’ youngest child charlotte

[bisluthq]

To me Dunkirk is more about the experience than about what happens in it. I love following the 3 different stories and seeing how they join in the end. I’m really into the cinematography, I love the plane shots. I think the soundtrack is amazing and unlike anything I’ve heard in any other movie, and I think it matches perfectly with the vibe. There’s a scene where they are getting people on the boat and the music is building up. You can see there’s oil on the water and when Farrier (Tom Hardy) finally shoots the plane down it falls on the oil and the music stops as it goes up in flames. There’s this scene where Collins (Jack) gets trapped in his plane as it’s sinking and at the same time we see Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), Gibson (Aneurin Barnard), Alex (Harry) and others inside a boat while they’re getting shot at, and the way you go back and forth between both adds so much tension in my opinion. From what I gather people are either obsessed with it and think it’s a masterpiece or hate it and think it’s boring

Okay so I am in between because I do see the masterpiece vibes and I love the soundtrack like it’s on my phone and I will randomly listen to it in the car BUT I can’t stay awake through it. I should watch in the morning maybe.

[inkstainedmac]

T A S K # NO. 1 - LOVE POTION NO.9

★ CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT - AMORTENTIA ★

SAOIRSE  NIAMH  MACMILLAN

Now that she's back in the atmosphere; with drops of Jupiter in her hair. She acts like summer and walks like rain reminds me that there's time to change. Since the return from her stay on the moon, she listens like spring and talks like June. But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded and that heaven is overrated? Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar and did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there? - Drops of Jupiter, Train

NEW PARCHMENT - The promise of new hopes and ideas, each fresh page offering endless possibilities. Ink stains dripping onto hand made papers as if the worlds woven in her words could barely escape quills fast enough for her own satisfaction. A warm glow and gratitude of escaping, scribbling endless thoughts that leave her mind wondering, all finding a home upon the loose parchments and towers of notebooks as if daring a story to leap from the pages and sing. For nostalgia sake, to give her memories and endless thoughts peace. Somewhere to reminisce of old adventures, forgotten moments and decipher feelings she can’t quite grasp. Hours under candle light, towering trees and the night stars; the world her back drop as she tried to grasp onto words that could never hold its beauty. 

WILD FLOWERS - Dancing in a field of wildflowers, its almost as if the scent takes her home. To Ireland, prancing around the forgotten fields as if it were everything they needed to forget about the world and the weight of growing up. Orlaith’s and Marianne’s laughter echoing in the soft breeze as it wound with the soft strum of Fionn’s guitar. Harmony, peace and the wild nature that felt more like home than the four walls of her bedroom. Cracked widows and a gentle breeze, gently brushing through capped curtains on summer mornings. Offering the earths tantalizing wish and a moment of embrace as if holding her own family dearly.

BURNING LOG WOOD - The smell of a cackling fire, the echoes of laughter and cigarette smoke lingering in the air as the embers light up the warmth cascading across Sybill @sybilltrelawneyx, Edgar @edgar-bones, Tilden, Eve and Gus’ @augustusmabbott features in an incandescent glow. Comforting and gentle it brought back the love of friendship, dear and cherished deeply with the countless hours spent exchanging whispered secrets and dreams of the future sung off key to Fleetwood Mac songs. 

HONEY - A gentle comfort, sweetness laced in steered tea and the muffled butterflies caused by a familiar cheeky grin. Spoonfuls of honey drizzled over morning pancakes made at home or stolen from the great hall, teasing dabs of the golden trickle on noses both hers and Gus’ @augustusmabbott and the laughter than echoed so deep in her bones it made her soul shine. Even the small familiar smell of her best friend wrapped tightly in her arms, laced with the smell of old records, toothpaste, smoke and honey. Comforting nostalgia and the hints of a person that had always been her better side and partner in crime. Like their souls were old friends, destined to find each other no matter what life they led.