#i think its meant as a lesson in gratitude and recognition of how much worse stuff could always get very easily and quickly

[goatposter]

woke up to no power in the house and it being 6° outside. immediately built a blanket fort in the living room and turned on my hotspot to watch YouTube vids on the ipad and drain one device battery at a time. as i contemplated heating a can of beans over a candle, LICHRALLY as i grabbed the bean can the power came back on! it was only out abt 3 hours.

then i went outside purely to take funny pictures of all the trash ppl keep leaving in our backyard (to show people, not to like report it), and happened to notice our kitchen pipe burst and gushing water! if i hadnt gone out to take pics of the trash at that exact moment i wouldnt have known there was even an issue, we never go back there.

first thing after the power came on i boiled the kettle for coffee and ramen and also in case it cuts out again so I'll have some warm water.

just yesterday i joked about the weird placement of survival supplies like emergency 100 hour candles and heat sources right next to unrelated items i was buying at the grocery store as we were stuck in line for like 15 mins right there staring at it. had the urge to buy the candle but i ignored the urge. then woke up to all this.

the universe is just a series of coincidences.

[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

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@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

[blaiddlleuad]

We'll meet again soon - wolfstar

Part 2

Sirius is eleven when he comes back.

This time it’s a Wednesday morning. Its late September and the trees are just starting to lose their green. Sirius couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, flipped his pillow and changed pajamas. But he still was wide awake. He flips on the lamp that wobbled on his bed side table and sat back to staring at the mirror.

He can see himself inside. He's got his mother's grey eyes and his father's sharp cheek bones. He let his hair grow at the beginning of the year and now reaches at his shoulders. It's the same dark black as the rest of his family, one day he thinks he'd like to dye it like those men do in the magazine's he steals from the shops when he sneaks out.

He's been doing that a lot lately. Sneaking about like he's up to no good. He supposes he is really. Leaving his house in search for something fun to do. Ignoring his governess's words of wisdom to stay in line and his brother’s pleas to just be good for once. It's not the he's doing anything wrong, it's more like he's doing what his mother doesn't approve off (His father thinks it's funny, like how he was as a boy) and Sirius will do anything to piss her off.

The boy walks past just at that time. Between a blink and the light flickering. Sirius nearly misses him but he still sees the boy, taller again now.

"Hello?" He calls out.

Sirius wonders why he's doing this. Why he thinks it would be a good idea. But it was spur of the moment and the flash of something magic. A bubble that popped and a fairytale opening. A wisp of blue and purple and a flurry of dust. He couldn't miss it. The excitement coming alive. Or whatever it may be. He was being pulled towards something different, something that tickled the back of his throat.

"Hello?" He called out once more.

Then a head popped round the mirrors edge. His eyes amber, strong and mystery circled and swirled, a hint of confusion and curiosity. His tawny hair ending in curls and flopping across his head. Three great big scars ran across his face but freckles over populated and hid the scars behind them. Sirius thought he was beautiful.

"Why are you in my mirror?" The boy asked. It sounded like he was from Wales. (How is a welsh boy in an Italian mirror?)

"I'm not in your mirror. You're in mine." Sirius said. Well now that’s just odd he thinks.

"I'm sure I'm not in a mirror." The boy replied, he was now sitting down. Legs crossed and arms folded in a jumble, pointing which way and everywhere.

"Well, I'm sure I'm not either. What's your name?" Sirius asked.

"Remus. I’m Remus."

It's not until a couple of weeks later that Sirius and Remus have any sort of conversation. They smile and nod if they see one another and Sirius makes sure to say good morning and good night, even if Remus isn't there to hear him.

It's been a long day. With having a new tutor and the responsibility of being the eldest son is more tiring than Sirius expected. (He's only eleven for crying out loud!)

He changes out of stiff uniformed suit, ugly green and satin black, into his more comfortable loose jeans and blue shirt. He puts on his radio and listens to the buzz that fills the room as if it's empty and he's all alone. Like the room has expanded and grown larger in the time he took to switch it on. It makes everything echo, every breath he takes, every rustle he makes. But it's not a terrifying echo that would reach him and rid Sirius of safety, instead it gives it to him. Handing it over as a gift that should be looked after.

Sirius sits on the floor with his back against the bed. He's more stable when feeling the ground beneath him, more in control and he likes that. Regulus has found it funny. It was then that Remus came into view.

"Hello Sirius. You look tired." Remus said a matter of factly. He was wearing a too big jumper and joggers, Sirius wished he could go up to Remus and hug him, he did look soft and cuddly.

"Hi. And thanks."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. Is everything okay?"

"Ugh yes, just my tutor is so annoying. He's so old and, and old."

"Tutor?"

"You don't have one? Well I got a new one start of September, apparently I'm too old to be working with the governess. I actually liked her. She gave me sweets."

"Governess?"

Sirius faltered for a moment. Just a moment where he stopped, and everything around him did so too. It was late and of course his parents were in the parlor and his brother in the library but it seemed to him that even them had stopped. The radio still blared out music though it was all a jumble of words and sounds. Remus was different to him. Not a bad different but definitely different. Whether that be his clothes or his interest in books or the fact that he was from Wales. He was different.

Sirius however, couldn’t get it out of his head. He liked Remus, so him being any different wasn’t going to change that. He likes his smile and how his eyes light up when he does so, he likes his large cotton jumpers and his fluffy socks usually mismatched, he liked his array of freckles that resembled the stars and how they too were beautiful and that they kept distracting Sirius. He was always pulled away when Remus was in his head. But he didn’t mind. He rather liked it. At least he wasn’t constantly thinking about his mother.

“Do you go to school?” Remus asked, as Sirius came back from his momentary thinking.

“Yes, of course.”

“Like to a school. Not at home.”

“Well no. I mean, what’s it like?”

“Massive. Much larger than the local comp. Bigger library too, more books to choose from. The teachers are stricter and we have homework every week. I, I don’t really have friends, everyone is nice enough, some bitchy people but you can’t have everything, I guess. I like it, its nice. Chaotic but good.”

Sirius listened intently and imagined him and Remus sitting next to each other, passing notes and whispering about a teacher while their back is turned. Walking around, eating lunch, cracking jokes and bunking off boring lessons, hiding in the bathrooms. He imagined Remus with his head down, writing furiously, sticking his hand up and answering questions right first time, carrying around his books and reading it whenever he had a spare moment. He imagined himself pulling faces and winking at the girls, legs up relaxed and pen dangling from his teeth, tie wrapped around his head and jumper tied around his waist, sleeved rolled up to his elbows and cartoons drawn in black ink on his skin. Sirius wanted to hang out with Remus, wanted to wave him goodbye and hug with tight after a long holiday apart.

After that, they talked every night before bed. Sirius asking for more stories for Remus to tell, from his books or his life, Sirius didn’t mind, he just laid back and listened. Remus even asked his own set of questions, like what his favourite colour is to his deepest secrets. And, Sirius answered every one.

He is thirteen when he made a discovery.

It was while on one of his excursions, Sirius came about a bunch of boys around his age, maybe older he couldn’t tell. While he was wearing steam ironed shirts and smart trousers, they worse baggy jeans and jackets. Casual, Sirius thought. One of them was even wearing leather with patches and badges. They stood by the side of the road, by an alleyway that reached a rather run-down park. Sirius caught their attention as he tried to walk past.

“Oi posho!” One of them shouted. The boy with the leather. The boy with the brown eyes and perfectly straight teeth.

“Yes?” Sirius said and turned. Even though he could stare at them all day long, he really should be getting back.

“Should you be walkin’ bout these parts by yourself?”

“Why? Am I going to be in trouble?”

“Nah, jus’ gotta be safe ya know. Don’t want someone like you gettin’ in bad business.”

“Someone like me?”

“mph defiantly someone like you. Come on guys, mum said we havin’ bacon sarnies.”

The group of boys left, some more in a hurry than others but all leaving Sirius confused and alone in the middle of the path. He brushed it off and rushed home without raising suspicion from his parents. Sirius didn’t tell Remus about his little encounter and he certainly didn’t tell him about his feelings about it.

It was odd but not uncomfortable, slightly unnerving yet not something he would try and make go away. A soft and prickly feeling deep in his belly. A dizzying fermented bloom that sits peacefully within. A huge rounding urge that moves up and down, sideways and which ways. It flutters in his head and sinks in the pits. And he has these dreams. Fantasies that seem to real to be all in his mind. The touches and the looks. The flushed faces and cheeky winks. Sirius wakes up flustered and dazed, confused and shy of his own body, running to the bathroom before he can end up back asleep.

And it wasn't like he thought it would be. Sirius those he would be tripping up and dropping his things and walking into walls over girls. With the plump lips with perfect red lipstick, the dresses that flow when they spin in the wind, hair put in a bun effortlessly so even if pieces come out it looks like it was meant to be. That's what he sees when he goes out, when he sneaks glances over his shoulder or out of his window as a gaggle of girls squeal past. But that wasn't what he saw.

Sirius sees boys with boystorus laughs and rough shoulders, a bobbing Adams apple and the picked nails. The carless clothes and the forgotten hair that ruffles in the morning. The side looks filled with recognition and a silent talking that speaks too loud and too distant. Voices with envy and jealousy, tones with calm and gratitude. Sirius sees what he doesn't understand, what others don't notice. What they might deem inappropriate and juvenile.

Sirius couldn't make himself feel the same way for the girls. They didn't make him blush and turn away to hide it, they'd didn't make him dream about those pillow talks, they'd didn't make him fall head over heals. Sirius secretly enjoyed his difference. Though when it occurred to him who exactly made him feel that way; he didn't like it as much as he thought.

He liked Remus. More than just friends. He wished for things to happen and then didn't when he realised who it was. He had him in his dreams and let him come closer until he remembered and pushed away. He couldn't. No, he couldn't be falling for the boy in his mirror.

Sirius is fifteen when Remus told him his secret.

The years had gone by like lightning flashing after thunder. Quick but the rumble still goes one and is rarely forgotten. Sirius told himself to never forget the times he watches Remus talk; when he grows tall and when he gets excited, where he flashes him the smile that send him sky rocketing, even the times where they are both silent. He captivates everything. Storing it in his head and keeping it safe.

Sirius had hoped that maybe his falling would stop and he would be caught be another. But it never happened. He was stuck in a sticky pulsing red that captured him and held him tight. As Sirius watched Remus grow through the mirror, he fell faster and faster.

Its a warm August evening. His fan ran circles to cool him down and stop the sweat from bubbling up. His windows were strechted open a soft breeze coming through though not in aid to the heat that gathered. Sirius changed into shorts and a tank vest top. It was either that or being naked. And Sirius didn't think neither he or Remus would find any delight in that sight.

"Hey Sirius. I see you are getting the heat wave."

"Oh yeah it's just so great. Hang on! How are you in a jumper?"

"It's not hot. Cool breeze we have here."

"So unfair. I'm telling you. You should see Regulus, he cant handle the heat and has been taking ice baths to cool down! I think you would get along with him."

"Sirius."

"Yeah."

"I need to tell you something."

Remus whispered that. It was quiet and barely audible but Sirius caught and couldn't help but stare. For the first time that night he really got a look at Remus. Instead of the casual boy that always chose to sit cross legged with a smile, he was anxiously running his hands through another and Sirius noticed his eyes cast away, down at the floor like his carpet had changed patterns and was now interesting.

"Are, are you okay Remus?"

"I have to tell you something."

"Okay."

"I, I'm, god this is hard. Well basically, I am, I am gay."

He has tears in his eyes. Sirius can't talk. His throat is dry. Sirius just plumetted to the hard ground in which he had started falling towards. He smiles.

They are nineteen when ready at the train station.

They run and run, breathing is hard but they don't care. Bags thumping against backs and shoes squeak as they dodge past other people. They lose eachother other for only a moment though it is too long of a second for then to shrug it on. It has claws that scratch and teeth that bite. The second passes and they both stop. Staring at eachother in the flesh. They stop and just stare. Its too unreal, too much and too heart aching.

But it doesn't matter. The throbbing pain that threatens to tear them apart subdues as the platform grows quiet. They slowly take steps forward, engulfing the space between before it's nothing more than a mere inches. Remus makes the first move. He wraps his arms around Sirius and sqeazes tight. They both do. It's been too long to not let go.

"You are even better in person." Sirius whispers into Remus's chest.

They pull away just the much needed to reach and hold onto each others faces. With no one around and no one to disturb them, they kiss. Gentle and soft. Lips press together, fitting around awkward and fitting snug. A bliss that shines bright, a pleasure that rushes red, a joy that filtered around the edges.

"You've always been in the middle of my mirror."

"You've always been in the middle of my mind."