#lucien will take a bear trap to the face for his friends

[jagawriterr]

Pairing: Tamlin x fem! reader Word Count: 2685 Warnings: 18+ only, rough, brutal, blood, unprotected. Masterlist AN: This is the first fanfiction I've written in a long time, and I'm proud of it. I hope you like it. And thank you, G, for your support. I love you 🖤

Through the rows of hedges and trees, all you could see was his thick blond fur and vivid green eyes. Tamlin's long horns stuck out from the leaves of the bushes, he wheezed and made sounds so guttural and unpleasant, just to make you go away.

You didn't want to do this. You couldn't bear to watch him suffer for so many months. You couldn't help but feel something the entire time you were with him. You took care of him and tried to somehow counter his hatred towards you. To everyone else.

You felt this was how it should be. You knew perfectly well that this was where he hid, that his ancestral estate was now just an empty shell, with no life pulsating within it. Without his love and presence, his home was nothing. Part of his soul remained there. He missed this. He missed masked balls, missed dinners with friends, missed Lucien. Since he also abandoned him and left for the Night Court, he became even more aggressive. In the form of a beast, he destroyed everything in his path.

Today he encountered you. And he didn't want to give up for anything.

He glared at you, growling intensely. He hid in the bushes for a long time, but after you got a little closer, he roared violently, ran out of the bushes and growled at you so loudly that the whole ground shook.

The great and powerful Prince of the Spring Court. Trapped to his doom in the body of a beast that devoured him with each passing day.

You didn't move for a moment as he roared at you with fury and shouted at you to go away.

"What are you looking for here again, manling?!" he growled at you, spitting venom and saliva. A terrible stench of carrion and rotten meat emanated from its mouth. "Go away! I don't want you here!" He said again, staring at you with his beautiful, lush green eyes.

You reached out your hand gently. Tamlin flinched at the gesture, but he didn't run away. He was obviously terrified of human contact, but he craved soothing touch above all else. He longed for understanding and kindness that he hadn't felt in a long time.

You placed your hand on his fur, it felt soft and velvety to the touch, just like his golden skin. He transformed with the peace that came over him when you touched him. He felt a relief he had never felt before. In no other world would he have become so submissive to a man, a woman, and certainly not this one. He only loved one, or at least he thought so. Until he met you. You were a truly beautiful woman, the most beautiful he had ever met. More beautiful than Feyre herself.

He came up behind you in the form of a High Blood Fae, tilted his head slightly forward, and when you felt his hot breath on your neck, you felt such an intense shiver of pleasure that your legs went weak under you. You crossed your knees and your breathing stopped for a moment. You were all alone. You, his human, the dream woman, and he, the beast, the Fae, the monster.

Tamlin took a breath, smelling your fear and anxiety. It's so fun. When Tamlin lowered his head towards your neck again, he gently placed his kiss on it. You shuddered. A shiver ran through you. You felt heat boiling around your core. He grabbed your arms and turned you around to face him. You looked into his eyes, but you couldn't take your eyes off his body either. He was completely naked, which didn't go unnoticed by you. His skin gleamed gold, and the shadows of the green bushes wrapped around his chest and hips. He didn't miss the fact that you were blushing deeply. You played brave and boastful, but when you saw him in all his glory, you softened to the point that you couldn't even utter a word.

You stood like that for a long moment, but it was slowly getting on Tamlin's nerves.

“So... are you going to finally tell me what you want, or are you going to stare at my bare ass? Huh?” Tamlin asked with impatience and amusement in his voice. You felt your face blush even more and you became even wetter between your legs.

"I... I want to help you,” you said, stuttering a little. You kept your eyes on the grass, right in front of his feet. You felt him stare at you, at your body, at your flustered face, and then laugh out loud as if you had told him a good joke.

"You?! Do you want to help me?!" He laughed again, looking at you, laughing even more at your empathy for him. This was a blatant mockery on his part. “And how would you like to help me, human woman?!” he spoke again, his voice so vibrating in your bones that you felt a shiver under your skin again. "Or maybe... you would like to help me in another way?" he asked, looking at your knees pressed together. He felt your arousal, the heat in his core growing hotter and hotter, creating an uncontrollable fire.

He suddenly grabbed your hand and guided it to his cock. You felt the velvety skin of his penis under your fingers and the hair surrounding his balls. It was very surprising and you couldn't believe that he made this move himself. You wanted him from the very beginning, ever since you met him in the forest beyond the wall, when he hunted in the form of a beast. You wanted him so badly that now that you were holding his cock, you wanted even more, you wanted all of him. You wanted to feel him inside and on you. Feel the weight of his body against you as he entered you.

All these thoughts made you even more aroused and your face turned even purple. Tamlin laughed again. Your skin was covered with sweat, your breathing quickened, and all the chills that had gone through your body slowly drained to one point in your body. You knew exactly how this would end, and Tamlin knew it too. And he pursued it with full premeditation.

He took off your tunic first, then your pants and shoes. He stood calmly above you as you laid on the ground, tree bark and moss burrowing into every crevice of your body. You felt the forest floor everywhere on your skin, where it itched or stung the most. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but knowing Tamlin was close made it all more bearable and less humiliating. You felt loved, to some extent. He leaned over you and kissed first one of your cheeks, then the other. He looked up at you as he positioned his hips between your legs and kissed you on the lips. It was a long and passionate kiss. The longest in your life. The one who made you melt on this earth. You wrapped your arms around him and your legs on his hips. You wanted him to enter you now and move fast and hard so that you could see stars, but he liked to pleasure himself. He liked to see the woman squirm and moan under his caresses.

Tamlin smiled, looking down at you as he licked your cleavage and breasts. He stood up, still staring at your naked body.

“Kneel,” he said roughly, and then he yanked you to your feet, greedily pinning you to his body. “I said, kneel!” he said it again and you had to do it. He was the ruler, the protector of the forest, your prince, and you had to submit to him.

You knelt as he told you. You didn't really know what to do, it was your first time. You were giving yourself over to Tamlin for the first time in your life, and he was taking full advantage of it, laughing to himself as he looked at your confused expression.

Tamlin slowly moved closer to you, the tip of his penis nuzzling your cheek. You touched the smooth skin with your lips and tongue. His cock became even harder at your touch, and you felt a fire between your legs and a lump in your throat. You already knew what he wanted to do. Just as you were about to grab it in your hands, Tamlin roughly grabbed your face and guided it towards his cock. You took him into your mouth and he began moving his hips vigorously, fucking your throat hard. He marveled at it, watching you swallow his manhood, enjoying the sight while you choked on his cock, unable to breathe. Saliva was dripping from the corner of your mouth and tears were leaking from your eyes. You wanted him to stop, but he didn't stop. He enjoyed it. Only when you seemed to be completely tired of him fucking your mouth did he stop doing it. He pulled his penis out of your mouth, a long trail of saliva and semen trailing behind it. He came in your mouth. Did you see that. Not only could you see the pleasure on his face, but you could feel his cock swelling in your mouth and erupting like a geyser full of hot steam.

Tamlin wiped the corner of your mouth, picked you up in one move, turned you around to face him, and pushed you onto the forest floor. You fell, cutting the skin on your knees and stomach, tears appeared in your eyes again. You didn't think he would be so cruel that he would treat you like that. Not only was he cruel, he was rough, haughty and arrogant. As always. The eternally angry Tamlin, raising his hand against everyone he loves, adores and respects. It was ridiculous, but it was true. Tamlin will never give up his nature, it is part of him. Invariably.

He suddenly lay on top of you, you felt his closeness, the weight of his body. There was blood, sweat and tears in the air, flowing from the eyes and nose, down the cheeks and chin, finally hitting the hard ground of stones, moss and foliage. You felt the smell of spring. The same spring that sits deep within Tamlin, that hides his best side. You hoped that you would somehow get out of this, that he wouldn't do it under duress, that you wouldn't become his victim but would be a co-owner of his pleasure, that you would enjoy his caresses, laugh when he tickled you, when he kissed you, that you would she could feel the warmth of his body, not the cold of his hatred and indifference.

You felt his hand between your legs as he tried to spread them. You defended yourself, but eventually gave up when you realized how much you were falling into his trap. The more you defend yourself, the more it will hurt. This will make it more brutal. You gave up. You didn't want anyone to see traces of what happened here, especially her. Not her. She will be furious with Tamlin, and despite every humiliation from her, he will still love her. He will still follow her, even though she stopped loving him a long time ago.

It was sad. The awareness that one is actually abandoned and dependent on one's own strength. That's why you wanted to help him so much. That's why you loved him so much, despite what he just wanted to do, what he was about to do.

He positioned himself above you so that he slid in just as perfectly as he wanted. You felt his masculinity breaking into you without any preparation. Tears ran down your cheeks again, it hurt like hell, but you gritted your teeth to get through the pain. First time.

He didn't know you were a virgin. In his arrogance, he believed that you had already done this, that you were more familiar with this topic than his previous partners, who fled in panic, even though Tamlin was a great lover and a candidate for a good husband and father. He always listened, always helped, always was there where he was needed. He wanted to be part of your life. He wanted it, but something always got in the way. There was always something blocking his access to you. To the forbidden fruit that you were to him until now.

He pushed himself deep enough that you felt him at the very end, where all the pleasure disappears and pain and blood appear. You still felt his penis in your mouth, you still felt it swelling and flooding you from the inside, and the sour-tasting sperm of the blond-haired prince flowed down your throat. Tamlin leaned towards you and positioned himself so that he was as close to you as possible. He nuzzled your body as he pressed his hips against your ass, moving slower than before. You felt hands pushing under your body, wanting to touch your breasts, your sweaty skin, to taste it and smell it. He got up again, helped you roll onto your back, and then he positioned himself on top of you again and entered you this time more gently, calmly, without the aggression he had a few minutes ago. You were confused by how emotionally destabilized he was. How desperate he is to be accepted by anyone. To love and be loved.

You snuggled into him as he placed himself on your chest. He listened to your heartbeat as he started moving again as hard as before. His cock was huge and was rubbing so hard against the walls of your pussy that you couldn't stop moaning in pleasure as he moved harder and harder each time. You wrapped your legs tightly around his hips and made marks on his back with your nails. You inhaled and moaned as he stared at your ecstatic face and he couldn't forget it because the sight would haunt him for the rest of his life. He will remember this day and this moment when you gave yourself to him willingly, and not under duress, as he wanted to do at the beginning. He gave you a choice and you made your decision.

You rose to hug him, wrapping your arms around his chest and resting your head on his shoulder. You looked at the forest where you were sitting, at the branches of the trees, at the leaves falling to the ground. There was moisture in the air, the sky was covered with clouds and it was about to rain. You looked up as the first drop of rain fell on your hot cheek. It was the first rain in a long time. Even though the raindrops were hitting your faces and bodies more and more, you remained in each other's embrace. You were together, here. You were lost in dreams of Tamlin, of him, of life with him. You wanted this moment to never pass again. You closed your eyes as he placed you on the ground again, positioned himself on top of you and began kissing your body again. He tasted you under the rain and the trees like he had never tasted before, and you were the happiest woman in Prytian.

You felt a growing need to be with him forever. The desire grew within you, even though it seemed to push you away again. Afterwards, he sat down right next to you, placed his hands on his bent knees and lowered his head in surrender. He sighed loudly, looked at you, and in his eyes you saw resentment, anger and disappointment, not with you, but with himself. He was disappointed in himself for reacting the way he did to you. He was devastated by how much he craved closeness, how much he absorbed the positive vibes you gave him. He felt overwhelmed by it, overwhelmed by the love he felt from you in every pore of his body.

[isamajor]

Whumpril 2023 - day 6 to 10

6 - Bad Coping Mechanisms

Drink to forget. This bloody face with an arrow stuck through it. And the other horrors of war. The atrocities that he himself committed. Nebarra reeked of alcohol, was confused in words, in memories. Xelzaz thought it was almost some kind of suicide, at this level. Snatching a bottle of Colovian brandy from his hands, Nebarra sharply retorted that he needed it. That it was for him only to kill two birds with one stone. And in the watery eyes of the elf seen through his helmet, you could see how much the war had affected him, more than he cared to admit. (103)

7 – Unsteady

“A skeever could’ve done a better job.”

Obviously, the Altmer had to make fun of him. Feeling unsteady on his feet, clutching his ribs, Xelzaz hissed in annoyance between his teeth. Even House Telvanni could sometimes suffer defeat. A giant's club had grazed him before he could even cast a spell and it had nastily thrown him against some rocks a little further away. His injuries weren't too serious, just broken ribs and ugly bruises, but left him painfully panting and staggering. Xelzaz hoped his healing potions didn't broke on the impact : he would not ask Nebarra to help him to walk. (105)

8 – Dehydradation

The sun in the Alik'r desert was harsh and biting. Everything felt dry. His skin, his eyes, his tongue. He would have kill for a few drops of water. Nebarra felt dizzy walking under the sun, in the sand and rocks of the desert. If he stopped, he died. Lots of his comrades have already died. He felt his heart pounding faster, its beating ringing in his ears. His head hurted, his limbs hurted, even swallowing was hurting his throat. But he had to move forward. A step, then another one.  The thirst was haunting. It was his only thought. (101)

9 – Bruises / « Who did this to you ? »

They found Lucien laying down on the grass. His lips were swollen, his nose bleeding and had some big visibles bruises on the jaw and shoulders. But he was alive, it was all that mattered. Already his companions had rushed to hand him some healing potion but the blow he got to the mouth prevented him to drink it. He tried to move. It only made the Imperial whine, his bruises being too painful.

His ears back and his fangs curled, Inigo growled, visibly furious.

« Who did this to you, my friend ? Tell me, so I can put an arrow through his eyes. » (103)

10 – Shiver /  « I'm scared »

Just by the smell, Telmiltarion could smell where the Dragonborn was taking him. He couldn't help an unpleasant shiver running down his spine. A cave. Full of bears. Two of the things he hated the most. The idea of being underground oppressed him and gave him cold sweats. The idea of being trapped underground in the company of ferocious and hungry cave bears made him tremble all over.

« Please don't make me wait for you in the middle of this cave. I've a bad feeling about this place. I'm scared. » (96)

[wildlyglittering]

The Journey Begins with a Smile

So ages ago (and I do mean ages) I asked people to give me some Nessian prompts and I had four requests. Not many so that’s completely doable I thought. 

Since my request, things didn’t go so well for my personal life and then, on a global scale, a pandemic hit. Both those things meant I wasn’t writing or even reading much. 

BUT I was determined to fill those requests - even if the requesters had forgotten or no longer cared! Luckily I have managed to get my groove back so am trying to ride the writing train for as long as it will carry me!

@ekaterinakostrova requested something where Cassian made Nesta smile for the first time. I’ve taken some liberties to fill the prompt but here it is. Finally. 

I hope you enjoy!

***

The multi-level gardens of the Day Court stretched outwards like a labyrinth.

Unlike the Night Court, whose gardens were sensibly flat, Day’s held winding staircases which lead to a plethora of mezzanines, stacked one after another. Each offered a new delight; pools of water swimming with gold and white fish, pagodas draped with ever blossoming honeysuckle or fountains carved with the curved forms of caressing lovers.

Some paths appeared to lead to dead ends, but the experienced visitor long learnt appearances were deceiving. As long as the explorer had the foresight to move thickets of ivy and trailing roses aside, they would find smaller paths twisting towards secret grottos.

Aside from the romantic allure of mystery, the garden’s contained an energy which reverberated through Cassian’s bones. Although the deep calm of the Night Court lands was his preference, Cassian found staying in Day was never an unpleasant experience.

Wandering the gardens would have been its usual satisfying activity if not for the frustration simmering in Cassian’s veins. Not an hour before he’d bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the copper of his blood before storming from the bedroom suites, leaving the other occupant behind.

His anger, and hers, were twins to each other. When the subject matter at hand arose, rational discussion dissipated like smoke in a storm and, as they were both apt to lose their tempers, that’s exactly what they did. After those times, it was best they stayed apart.

Being away from the Night Court brought up the familiar argument.

Cassian scrubbed a hand over his face, they were in Day on Rhys’ orders otherwise they wouldn’t have been there at all.

The knowledge of who Lucien was to Helion, and who the Lady of Autumn had been, was now widely known. Now, the painful possibility of civil war loomed over the Courts, brought on by the betrayal of an unwritten code of conduct. Helion was thinking ahead, reaching out to all potential allies in the hopes if he gained enough, Autumn would be dissuaded to start conflict.

There was no question Rhys would pledge to Helion.

It didn’t hurt though, Rhys said, to pay Day a visit.

Rhys spoke about contingency planning and counter-measure tactics but Cassian had known Rhys long enough to understand the guise. Under everything lay the ripple of the question of Spring’s allegiance and the inevitable shift of power towards the next generation of High Lords, including those Rhys was unable to befriend.

Custom dictated High Lords, and now High Lady, were the only ones to be allowed in the sanctum to speak politics. However, Rhys requested the attendance of his Inner Circle - where Rhys went, his most trusted followed.

What was less clear was the rationale behind Rhys’ request that those connected to the Inner Circle also attend. It was, Cassian believed, Rhys’ attempt to keep his friends compliant and a way to curry favour from others - namely Lucien who always hungered for time with Elain.

This secondary request was the one which opened the festering wound close to the surface of Nesta’s skin.

In an effort to find some calm, Cassian took to walking the gardens, like he had many times before. Like those times before, his steps took him a familiar route. Maybe, in the depths of his subconscious mind, he sought out what would bring him solace no matter how measly a sliver.

He ventured down a staircase, overflowing with floating lilacs, and onto a terrace which was surprisingly spacious for such a narrow-arched entrance.

This particular mezzanine was paved with sand coloured stone and framed by apple trees, their branches reaching towards each other like fingers. The waist high balcony overlooked the next level down – the glass domed ceiling of the sunken library.

This terrace, tucked away in the constructed gardens, housed the collection of seven statues who all faced inwards, into their circle, for eternity.

Like all statues in Day, the figures had been carved from marble run through with thick veins of gold and silver. Unlike the other statues, Cassian held an interest for these and these alone.

Whichever sculptor Helion found, he found one with talent. Despite the fact they were rock the sculptures contained something so painfully real. They were motionless yet their bodies held motion, they were emotionless yet their faces held emotion. When Cassian reached out to touch them, he swore there was bone beneath their stone skin.

Day was never more glorious then how she was now, in the full swing of her namesake and the wide blue sky called to Cassian to dance. Though his muscles ached to obey and his wings quivered in anticipation, he wouldn’t fly. Day was filled with sharp, ornate spires and he’d navigated a similar path unsuccessfully before.

But being trapped on the ground did nothing to help his mood; his legs shook, his eyes stung. Cassian was tired of the burning sun, tired of being apart from his friends, tired of the endless political deliberations of the other High Lords.

When he was unable to fly, Cassian needed to find other ways to curb his energy. One of those ways often involved his willing mate.

Except, at this current time she was not quite so willing. The blush pink rooms they were guests in were uncomfortably close to the rooms of others so Nesta didn’t want to make love to him here. She was even less likely to be inclined towards Cassian’s persuasions following their argument.

This was a radical departure from how they were in the isolation of their mountain cabin, especially in those final days. Time had turned into hourglasses and the sand of their lives trickled through their fingers fast then they breathed.

They couldn’t move to each other quick enough then, couldn’t remove their clothes fast enough, couldn’t press their bodies close enough.

Since their return to Velaris it was as though Nesta was turning into stone as cold and hard as the material of the statues Cassian now stared at.

Cassian sighed, drawing a deep breath of the lilac scented air into his lungs and walked towards one statue in particular. The one he thought of as his twin.

The stone fae stood high on the ends of its toes, as if it couldn’t bear to have any part of itself touching the ground. The arms stretched over its head, fingers straining upwards, begging for the sky to claim it. The figure didn’t have wings but Cassian imagined them, stretched out behind, broad and strong.

Cassian’s own wings, tangible flesh and bone, twitched as a breeze drifted past.  

The circle existed for centuries but grew in number over the years. The first ones, the original ones, hadn’t changed but the way Cassian looked at them had. Once a carefree nature danced about them but, like all things weightless, that had floated away.

The invisible weight on them now was hard and heavy. Even the figure for the sky had something buried under the surface that hadn’t existed before.

Cassian was no fool – he recognised his own transference. What he saw; fatigue, anger, sorrow – these were his own burdens and in turn he projected them onto the poor stone creature in front of him willing it to absorb what he didn’t want.

Cassian ran his hand once more over his face. He wanted his effigy to take Nesta’s words which today were sharper than usual with insults flung towards his family with flippant ease. He reminded her that when she spoke with venom against them, she spoke venom against him.

Take your antidote then, she’d sneered, beg your friends to draw it all out if you think I’m such poison.

Nesta hadn’t been fully happy in the mountains but she’d been as close to peace as he’d ever seen. Finally, a part of Nesta was at rest, and the female Cassian loved was in a place he loved. All had been right for a time, their hearts in full growth, only to shrink into themselves when they were summoned back to Velaris.

Cassian would be misguided to think their arrival in Day was what agitated Nesta to begin the fight that morning. He could pretend she picked up on his restlessness or that she didn’t care much for the Court however the latter was a lie.

During her lengthy rehabilitation Nesta had visited Day on numerous occasions, sometimes with Cassian but often without. On the instances he visited her he was forced to choke down his jealousy at seeing Nesta and Hellion walking arm in arm, understanding that the High Lord of Day was playing a significant part in helping her heal.

Nesta would spend every minute in this place if Helion asked her to.

No, everything triggered from Rhys’ request that Nesta come to Day.

In Nesta’s eyes, Rhys’ request was a command; a command which served only to appease Rhys’ ego and prove he would always be able to demand the lives of those around him bend to his will.

Rhys wanted Cassian to be in Day and Rhys wanted Nesta to provide a pleasant distraction for Cassian’s restless nature. There was no other purpose.

The bitterness bled into Nesta at the fact Rhys demanded her attendance in a place she adored and would visit without complaint. Rhys had smirked it was the ‘without complaint’ he’d wanted from her for once.

She came only because Cassian had pleaded.

 The heavy honeysuckle cloyed at Cassian’s nose and he decided to leave the gardens before he drowned in the scent of flowers. He’d find Az, a permanently sympathetic ear, who would patiently listen to Cassian’s complaints about how suffocated he was in a place he longer wished to be.

As he turned, a flash of marble hidden in the trees caught his eye.

Cassian hadn’t noticed anything else on this mezzanine before but it was no surprise, the white figure among the deep green leaves was set apart from the circle and tucked out of sight.  

Drawing closer he saw the statue stood with its back to the rest, head titled downwards. The marble designed to be the hair splayed outwards as though caught in a tumultuous wind. Something about the statue, something about her, hollowed out Cassian’s chest.

“Why didn’t Helion put you with the others?”

“Because she doesn’t belong with the others.”

A voice, smoky and deep, carried across the space and Helion appeared from behind a wall of ivy onto the terrace next to him.

Cassian quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about that secret passage.”

“That’s the whole point of it being a secret,” Helion said with a wistful sigh. “Now I’ll have to move it.”

“Don’t on my account.”

“And have you get here quicker to start your sulking? I don’t think so.”

Cassian opened his mouth to refute Helion’s words but the High Lord spoke over him.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” he said with a nod to the statue. “Out of all them, this one’s my favourite.” Helion turned to Cassian, dark skin glowing from the light within, mischief in his eyes.

Cassian bit his teeth together.

She was beautiful though, curves and angles, and the strength of stone. But who were they speaking of? The statue or Nesta herself?

“Why is she over here and not with the rest?”

The smugness slid from Helion’s face, his dark eyes scanning Cassian’s face, categorising every imperfection and scar as though he searched for something. Perhaps he wasn’t able to find what he wanted and a sad smile crept onto his face. “I told you – she doesn’t belong with the others. If I put her in the circle where would she gaze? At the ground? I won’t have that for her.”

Cassian’s mouth twisted, “She’s already looking at the ground.”

Helion cocked his head to the side, like one of the curious dogs in the mortal realm who sensed an invisible Cassian without truly perceiving him.

“Interesting how we can view something so differently. Tell me,” Helion said, “what are you seeing?”

They stood, arm length apart, one a High Lord and one a General. One draped in white and gold silks and the other clad in black leather. Winged and grounded.

Centuries existed between them with decades of Helion’s decadent parties where his fingertips would trail across the skin of Cassian’s muscled forearm, his mouth curled into a sensual smile. They’d not gone to bed with each other but shared at least one female over the years.

Here they stood in the sun; no lustful invitations, no pulling of rank. They were two males, competing in a game with stakes Cassian didn’t care for.

Still, he described her. Head downward, eyes downcast, eyelids. No sculptor would ever be able to create something so fine but Cassian swore there were delicate, long eyelashes casting a shadow against the sharp sculptured cheekbones. The graceful neck curved into a collarbone and clavicle with strands of stone hair caught in a storm of her own making.

Head and eyes down. This is what Cassian relayed to Helion. “Are you satisfied?” he growled, “I’m tired of playing.”

Cassian had jested over the years that Helion had a way of undressing him with his eyes, of looking beyond the armour and siphons to the male underneath. Helion had roared with delight and asked Cassian if he wanted to put that feeling into action.

Now, with the High Lord’s dark eyes on him, Cassian believed Helion was witnessing something deeper, that he was now staring beyond bone and blood.

“I know when you’re upset,” Helion said, glancing away, “and where you go when you are. You’ve walked this pathway numerous times and besides, these are my gardens, they tell me everything.” Helion’s eyes flickered back to Cassian, “You’re not as prone to idiocy as Rhys would have you be. Look again and try and do it properly.”

I have, Cassian wanted to tell him but he hadn’t.

Her stone feet were planted on solid ground, the stone hands down by her sides with the palms facing upwards. Her head was still down as were her eyes.

The figure seemed to change the longer he looked, one expression melting into another, completely different from before; disinterest, anger, peace. Cassian followed the line of her eyes to the gold domes roof of the sunken library glinting in the sunlight on the mezzanine below.

The statues full lips were tilted upwards into a smile, small but there.

“You don’t love Day,” Helion said to him, his deep voice breaking through the storm of Cassian’s thoughts.

“I enjoy it.”

“But Day will never be home.” Helion raised a robed arm towards the sky, long dark fingers stretching out, the light greedily swimming around his skin. “You seek freedom and you can’t find that here. So, my question to you oh miserable one, where do you find freedom?”

Cassian shrugged; this was an easy question and though Helion already had the answer, Cassian would play a little longer. “Velaris. The mountains.”

“And who are you free with?”

Helion’s tone was sly and conspiratorial as though he was inviting Cassian into a darkened room and asking him to share all his secrets, whispering across velvet pillows or through draped curtains. It was like honey dripped from Helion’s mouth.

Cassian’s fists clenched, tendons sliding over bones as he flexed his fingers.

Helion was skilled at drawing out confidences that most fae wanted to keep hidden. He emitted some strange magic which made Cassian want to dash to the nearest scribe and spill everything he had. Names and faces swam into Cassian’s mind, seemingly at Helion’s bidding, the most prominent being the one who spent her morning scowling at him.

Her name took shape at the end of Cassian’s tongue.

“You know who,” Cassian choked the words out in lieu of the ones that was forming, “don’t play your games.”

Helion stepped closer to the statue with a sigh and trailed a graceful finger across the carved lifeline on her upturned left palm. The line cut off not long after it started before beginning again, half a nail width away. It matched the real version perfectly.

Helion pouted and peered over the ledge. “It’s no fun if you don’t want to play but let’s not then, let me share with you a truth which your own truth speaker doesn’t care to bring to you. Nesta isn’t free in Velaris, but then you do know this.” Helion’s eyes glanced from the sun glinted library roof to Cassian’s face.

“She’s free here though. My statues, my darling beauties, represent the hearts of my most welcomed guests and while you are quick to immediately assume that Nesta spends her time staring at the ground, I see she is simply seeking her own peace.” Helion shrugged, gold and white silk sliding over smooth dark skin. “Freedom looks different for everyone.”

“I know that,” Cassian snarled, teeth bared, “I don’t need some heavy-handed lecture.”

The air began to pulse as an energy reverberated around the stone of the terrace. The tree branches shook and the leaves rustled. One growl of power to a disobeying dog. A warning; never bear your canines at a High Lord in the very Court his blood runs through.

Cassian uncurled his fists, splaying his fingers in Helion’s eyeline. Acquiescence. Cassian was guilty of foolish behaviour but he was no fool.

Helion’s tone had bite. “I’ll forgive your misjudgement on account of your poorly developed emotional response mechanism but only this once. You get away with burying your head when in the Night Court but I won’t have it here. Let me speak plain - this statue is an everlasting part of my garden but it’s rock, expensive rock, but rock. I would happily welcome the originator of its visage to become a permanent member of my Court. I think she’d accept, don’t you?”

Although the power of Helion still sang its presence, Cassian restrained the urge to turn feral. He didn’t, wouldn’t, because despite what others thought, Cassian was no animal. Besides, some part of Helion’s words wormed their way through Cassian’s brain.

Perhaps Helion discerned the calm Cassian was desperately trying to maintain because his voice was soft when he next spoke. “You have two options my handsome friend; go together to a place where you are both equally as free or find your freedom apart. Sacrifices have to be made and they shouldn’t all be hers.”

The sweet scent of roses and lilacs drifted through the mezzanine and Cassian looked down at the statue’s open palm.

 “You can spend your time out here staring at an exquisitely carved piece of stone or you can reach for something real,” Helion said. “Your choice.”

Cassian thought of the circle of statues at his back, most especially the one on its toes spending centuries reaching for something that never came.

The squeeze on Cassian’s shoulder was gentle. “You’ll find her in the library,” Helion told him, “but then, you already knew that.”

Cassian sighed and closed his eyes and when he’d opened them, Helion had gone. Only the hanging ivy swaying by the wall was any indication of where he’d gone. Cassian looked back at the statue’s calm and serene face before trailing a fingertip onto the other open palm, half expecting her hand to curl around his, finding that he wanted it to.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I knew.”

Cassian wanted everything; Nesta, the Inner Circle, Velaris. He wanted his freedom; long fought for and hard won. He could have all those things if he pushed hard enough - but only for a time. His desires co-existing side by side would have lasted as long as a breath in the span of his lifetime.

There will be cost and Cassian understood the price.

He left the mezzanine and its sculptured delights behind. They were just statues, fixed to stand forever. Living things were meant to move.

The library was cooler than outside, filled with white marble columns and an expansive white marble floor making the space larger and lighter. Ivy weaved its way up the columns while the golden domed roof provided a welcoming warmth, counterbalancing the coolness of the stone.

Nesta was exactly where Cassian knew to find her, tucked away in her favourite loveseat under an arch in the romance section.

In the mountains Nesta told him how she spent her days in the Day Court; meals with Helion, walks with Helion, talks with Helion.

They all made Cassian’s stomach twist.

Nesta also told him she learnt to be alone with her thoughts. In those moments she went to the library, one of the few places she found comforting. There hadn’t been many safe spaces on offer to her in Prythian.

Cassian stood a small distance away behind one of the larger columns, folding his wings in as tight as he was able.

Nesta would always be one of the most beautiful females he’d ever seen. As she was now, with her head bent to her pages, she matched the statue above their heads; watchful and waiting.

Her face, smooth and still, could have been carved from stone, a testament to how expressionless she could be. If Cassian hadn’t experienced the passion, the sadness and the rage which existed underneath he would have believed she felt nothing at all.

Her cool voice carried across to him.

“Are you going to spend all your time lurking in the shadows?”

“I don’t lurk.”

Nesta looked over briefly, a delicate eyebrow raised, her pink lips downturned. Those blue-grey bore into him. She wasn’t in the mood for playing.

Cassian sighed and walked toward her. At least, he thought, Nesta shifted on the loveseat to make room for him. After their argument he thought she would be more inclined to try and beat him with the book she’d turned back to read.

They sat in strained silence. Nesta’s soft breaths out of sync with Cassian’s. She inhaled on his exhale. Everything was out of sync with them, even down to the core.

Cassian let out another sigh. Maybe he could fix this, re-set where they were going wrong. He shifted, his leg brushing against hers, so he could see her while he spoke.

“I was speaking with Helion,” he said.

Nesta kept her face to her book but raised an eyebrow again, “Oh.”

“Yes, in the garden.”

“Hmm,” she murmured and turned a page.

“He found me through one of his secret passageways.”

Nesta’s lips quirked into a small smile, “Now he’ll have to change it, so you don’t find it.”

“Yes, that’s what he said.”

“He has many that he’s always changing. I wouldn’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

The silence fell over them again like a fog. They’d reduced themselves to small talk between strangers, Cassian at a loss for what to say and Nesta with no desire to help him find his words.

“He found me in the statue circle.”

She was about to turn another page, although she hadn’t really been reading since he sat down, but her fingers stumbled and she dropped the book which landed with a thud.

Cassian picked it up, the gold embossed words on a cover of rich green telling a story of love. Nesta reached out and as she did, Cassian used his other hand to grasp her wrist, “Nes...”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “Let me go.”

It was a weak command, her voice shaking as she spoke but Cassian would always obey her will and he released her wrist. Nesta snatched at her book.

She didn’t open the cover, abandoning her pretence of reading and instead placed the volume on her lap, staring upwards towards the ceiling.

“I hate those statues,” she said.

“I know.”

“You have to visit them every time you’re here.”

“Not every time,” he replied but she turned, looking him in the eye.

“Yes, every time. I’ve seen you and I’ve felt you through the bond.” She looked away and started to trail the lettering on the cover with a fingernail. “Besides, Helion tells me you visit them a lot.”

Well, Helion is a spy and a snitch, Cassian wanted to say but bit those words down. This was Helion’s court and those were his garden’s, his statue’s. He went where he pleased and talked to whomever he pleased, and that, unfortunately, included Nesta.

“After our argument this morning I knew you would go there instead of coming to see me,” Nesta continued, “you and that damned circle.” Her voice cracked and she bent forward, placing her face in her hands so Cassian couldn’t see. Strands of hair fell from her crown braid over her forehead.

“Nesta,” he said, and Cassian took her wrists in his hands, gently pulling them away from her face.

Her face had blanched a stark white and the rims of her eyes were tinged pink. Despite the sheen of tears in them, Cassian knew she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Nesta always found a way of shoving everything into a box in her soul.

“You all get to spend eternity gawping at each other in every Court in every form, don’t you?” She snatched her hands away, smoothing down the frayed hairs away from her face, wiping at her eyes.

“They’re just statues,” he said.

“I know,” she hissed, “Don’t be belligerent Cassian, we both know you’re too smart for that.”

“I’m not being-” but he stopped speaking and sat back against the marble wall, his wings hitting them with a bang.

Cassian closed his eyes, trying to think of what to say to make any of this better. He thought back to their argument in the bedroom, mere hours ago which felt like days, surrounded by excessive amounts of silk in various shades of pink.

“There’s a statue of you,” he said, envisaging it like some lost old memory and not something he had been staring at less than hour ago. The image was clear in his mind; the windswept hair, the upturned palms, that lovely but sad face with its hopeful, delicate smile.

“I know.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“It’s set apart from the others.”

Cassian heard the rustling of her dress as Nesta shifted. “Helion told me he wanted it separate from the rest because it didn’t suit the others.”

Cassian’s heart picked up its pace, “What do you think about that?”

“I agreed. The statue should be away from the rest. It doesn’t fit with the others.” Nesta let out a gentle sigh. “I don’t fit with the others.”

Cassian opened his eyes and stared into the distance.

The gardens were a labyrinth and the sunken library even more so, rows of white bookcases lined with vibrant colours, pastels or even shimmering golds stretched outwards until they stopped short of the central atrium, right underneath the top of the dome. The light shone through in beams and specks of dust danced amongst them.

They both sat rigid and unmoving with muscles locked into place and stared ahead, not at the rows of books but at the future in front of them, at decisions that would take them away or bring towards.

“Would that suit you?” Cassian asked, his voice thick. “Being apart from us? Elain? Amren? Me?”

Nesta’s fingers twitched on her lap, digging deep into the material of her skirts. “I don’t need to consider Amren in my plans and she knows this. Elain will understand in time; besides she has her own life now and gets to live the way she wishes so I don’t understand why I cannot.”

She paused. “Feyre will be irritated but she’ll come around in time. She’ll have to.”

“And me?”

The seconds of silence lasted longer than Cassian liked. There was no definitive answer, no immediate outpouring of emotion. His breath rasped in his ears and now he could hear Nesta’s, finally in time with his own. Her voice was quiet, travelling from a universe away.

“You can’t seem to understand why I don’t love the Night Court as much as you do so I don’t know whether you’ll come around in time.” Nesta picked at a loose thread on her dress. The more she pulled, the more it seemed she unravelled the sinews in his heart. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait until you do, if you do. I don’t heal in the Night Court; I can’t heal among those who hate me.”

Cassian wanted to reassure her; to say he would understand why she couldn’t love the Night Court, that eventually she would heal amongst the copper roof tops of Velaris and she was never amongst those who hated her. The words stuck in his throat and burned.

His love for the place he called home was built in his bones, constructed as part of him as he had wings on his back. Without his home he wouldn’t be Cassian of the Night Court, he wouldn’t be anyone.

“Helion has offered me a home here,” she continued.

Cassian nodded, his head bobbing on a neck that now felt too thin. Cassian understood Helion wanted to offer Nesta a home in Day, he wasn’t aware he already had. “Would you be happy here?”

“I think so.” Nesta let out a mirthless laugh, “Day is the opposite of Night and so the Court would suit me just fine.”

Something burnt inside his chest. His overworked, overwrought centuries old heart was now in flames and this was the beginning of it turning to ash.

“I can’t live in Day,” he said. “The Court is fine enough but this place would become to me what Night is to you. It wouldn’t sustain me.”

“We’re at an impasse then. The road ahead of us is splitting.” Nesta spoke the words with cold, impassive authority, the kind of tone she used for others which led them to assume she was a heartless creature.

But Cassian could feel her as he always had. A crack across her heart ran deeper than anything before. She’d been through hell and come out the other side carrying what pieces of herself remained within her clenched fists. This couldn’t be the event which broke her, he couldn’t be the fae that broke her.

Sacrifices, Helion told him less than an hour ago, needed to be made. But not all sacrifices needed to be a bad thing. Sacrificing something didn’t mean you would always lose; it may mean winning something more valuable.

“Yes,” he said, voice soft, “if you think the road only has two paths to choose from.”

Nesta took in his words, and Cassian could sense the moment they landed in her mind, how she sounded out their meanings. A strand of wavering hope rose between them.

“Oh,” she said but her voice held a tremor, the edge of anticipation she was clinging to and the thread wound itself tighter round her finger until her flesh turned white.

“I believe this morning an angry female hissed at me about retreating back to the mountains and staying in the cabin forever.”

Nesta pursed her lips. “Well, I believe the female had a right to be angry as I believe said female was being abandoned by her mate.”

“He would never.”

“Hmm.”

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. “I don’t want to leave them,” he said.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged and her hope dissipated from her like smoke. “I know,” she said, “I just-”

“However,” he interrupted, “that doesn’t mean I won’t leave them. At least on a semi-permanent basis.”

Nesta took a deep breath in.

“I can’t live here,” he gestured outwards to the marble pillars and trailing ivy and streams of violently bright light. “Day isn’t for me but Night isn’t for you. My life is in Velaris and I have responsibilities that I can’t leave and friends I want to see, but as long as I’m somewhere near, somewhere I can fly to them I think that will be fine.”

Nesta released her breath and Cassian carried on. “I can’t lose them Nesta but I won’t lose you. I’ve waited a long time for you even before I understood what I was waiting for. If Velaris will destroy you then at some point the city will destroy me too.”

He continued to stare ahead but Nesta’s arm brushed against his as she moved, her slight frame against his broad one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her pale face gazing at him and if he turned to her, he would see her hope anew.

“The cabin needs more work to make it habitable all year round and the winters are hard and isolating. I’ll need to fly to Velaris more often than you would want and you’re still going to have to visit your sisters. Honestly, I’d hate to make Elain angry.”

There was a soft sob next to him. “I’d hate to make Elain angry too,” but she smiled through her tears.

“We’ll have to think of a way to transport all your books. I’m not flying them to the cabin, not if you’re bringing that twelve book saga you’re into with the-”

Nesta grasped his chin in her slender fingers and turned his face to hers. Shining in those blue-grey eyes through the misty layer of tears was pure delight.

“Thank you,” she whispered and brought her mouth to his. The kiss was sweet on his lips, soft and slow and filled with the promise she would always love him. Cassian deepened the kiss, sliding his hands over her waist before trailing upwards on her back to tangle in her hair.

They stayed like that for a while, his tongue seeking out and sliding against hers; wet, luxurious kiss after kiss. Cassian groaned and gripped Nesta’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh beneath her dress and he swung her up and over onto his lap.

She pulled her mouth away and gasped, “No! Not here, not in front of the books!”

“The gardens then?” he joked and received a flick to his chin for his trouble.

“Helion will be disappointed.”

“That’s perverse.”

“No,” Nesta crinkled her nose, “that I won’t be making my home here.”

Cassian trailed his hands up Nesta’s back to her hair, tangling the strands around his fingers, looking forward to when he could make it took as disordered as her glorious statue’s. “Make this place your holiday destination. I’m sure you’ll frequent Day every time I’m in Velaris.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“And when we’re done appeasing the world we’ll be together again, at home.”

Nesta’s eyes scanned his face, the way Helion’s had done earlier, but instead of an assessment that had left Cassian found wanting, her eyes were soft and the blue-grey was the colour of the sky in the Night Court just after a storm.

“Yes,” she said, “at home.” She leaned in to kiss him again and before Cassian closed his eyes he soaked in the image, letting it burn forever into his mind. A perfect picture of Nesta in the flesh; her fluttering eyelashes, freckled nose and the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.  

[suburbanbeatnik]

The short and very miserable life of Napoleon II, aka the Eaglet, aka Franz, Duke of Reichstadt: PART TWO

Although the beatings had ceased, Franz’s life continued in refined isolation until his fifteenth year, when his cousin Franz Karl married the beautiful and charming Sophie of Bavaria.

She was only six years older than he, a fine, pretty girl of sweet features and merry lips, with light chestnut brown hair arranged in great loops on her temples. She had done away with the stiff sumptuousness of her apartment at the Burg, and refurnished it in a more intimate atmosphere. In her salon, with its mahogany furniture covered in yellow velours and minus the usual gilding. Reichstadt would often come and sit beside her, looking through the pictures in her albums while she would paint, or play graceful Italian airs on her piano. And they would talk. She sided with him when things went wrong, pitied him, loved him. She was the only one to whom he could talk to with an open heart. Thanks to Sophie, in those troubled years of adolescence when the child is disappearing and the man is trying to find himself, he had at last found what had been refused him for so long: a friend.  [Aubry pg 140]

Franz was growing into a handsome young man, with his mother’s blue eyes and blond curls, but his father’s striking bone structure and deep-set eyes, and the emotional Bonaparte temperament. Though he was robust and “glowing with health” as a baby, by the time he was an adolescent he became more frail. Doctors said he had a “scrofulous tendency,” which was 19th century medical gobbledygook for some sort of disorder connected with the lymphatic glands. It seems to me that this kid was isolated and beaten for years, and suffered from pretty severe depression— on top of that, he didn’t eat (Aubry records that he had “a poor appetite”). Throw in an inherited tendency from his mother to have lung trouble, I’m not surprised he struggled with illness going forwards.

Apart from Sophie, there was no one to really look out after him. She encouraged him, his interests, his passions, his keen desire to be a soldier, his love for his father and of France, helping undo all the years of Habsburg brainwashing. As the years passed, he even learned how his father’s executors were continually frustrated in trying to pass on the legacy his father had tried to leave to him. “They had been kept away, or driven away: or else the relics they had brought had been politely taken from them and stuffed away into strongboxes, thus cheating the son of the only material inheritance his father had left him. Who had so ordained? Metternich, none other!” [Aubry pg 154]

Metternich, the true ruler of this not-so-holy and not-so-Roman empire, was the one man who had schemed and plotted to keep Franz so isolated and alone. Metternich, and this is no exaggeration, hated every atom of Franz since he was a baby, and he never let Franz forget it. Franz was under police surveillance at all times: the Chancellor had the Corsican’s son in his grasp, and would not lose him. He wouldn’t even allow the young man contact with his own grandmother, Letizia, Madame Mère, now eighty years old and blind from cataracts. He wouldn’t even allow a single letter— a single sentence.

That statesman, who had a government for a soul, had made Austria a prison for him instead of the home it should have been! Metternich had been his father’s enemy; he was his enemy too, and always had been! The young man felt the hostility underneath the Chancellor’s icy courtesy, and he hated him. Altogether without basis in fact are those accounts of numerous conversations between Metternich and the Duke of Reichstadt during this period. Prokesch maintains that the Minister talked to the Prince just five times in seventeen years. Far from seeking to influence the Duke of Reichstadt during this period, Metternich avoided all contact with him. He hated him as he hated his father. The likeness to the Corsican which he found again in the young man’s features offended him like an insult. He could not bear the sight of that forehead, the sound of that voice. At a Court reception on the evening of the Duke’s eighteenth birthday, the Chancellor paid the obligatory compliments and turned away hastily. Those who spoke to him immediately afterwards found him more distant than usual. As soon as he could do so without attracting attention, he left the palace. [Aubry pg 162]

After years of being force-fed Austrian propaganda, Franz had started reading as much as he could about the greatness of Napoleon— obsessively reading Las Cases’ Memorial of St Helena, which he found on one of the top shelves of the library. Imagine his feelings when he read his father’s will for the first time, discovering what affects and relics were left to him, but which he would never see, thanks to Metternich’s machinations (and Louise’s clumsy attempts to lay claim to Napoleon’s inheritance, which had sabotaged the work of the executors in the first place, did not cease until 1837). Franz, fascinated with his father’s campaigns and personal history, threw himself into his studies. Through books, he vicariously experienced Lodi, Arcole, Marengo, the Pyramids, Jena, Austerlitz… He became drunk with the glory of the past. A spell had been cast, and Franz became determined to make his father proud of him. When one of his tutors began to lecture him on his father’s shortcomings, Franz replied impatiently:

“The actions of great men are not to be weighed with ordinary scales.” [Aubry pg 156]

Franz was slowly shedding the relationships of his childhood. When, upon Neipperg’s death in 1829, he had discovered his mother had contracted a morganatic marriage with the one-eyed Neipperg, he “felt deeply insulted and humiliated.” He was enraged enough to discover just that: of course, keep in mind he had no idea that she was sleeping with Neipperg and had given Franz two illegitimate half-siblings while his father was living with the rats on St. Helena. I doubt he would have ever talked to her again if that was the case. Even without knowing that, he withdrew, “his letters were less affectionate and he mentioned her name more rarely. She had been expected at Schoenbrunn for the summer. Her son learned with relief that she preferred to take a cure in Switzerland.” [Aubry pg 160]

Of course, Louise kept doing her thing, weeping for Neipperg over “gay dinner tables and at the opera,” being annoyed whenever the name of Napoleon reached her ears, and then finding “a substitute for the one-eyed general in the person of the Count de Bombelles, at first Grand Master of her Household, then her lover, and then finally her third husband.” [Aubry pg 161]

Meanwhile, for years Franz had struggled with depression. The July Revolution had happened, with the kind and comfortable Louis-Philippe installed on the throne, and even though the King of Rome was still a popular figure in France, with perhaps a chance to ascend the throne, Franz was still, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner. And the older he got, the more obvious this became. Suggestions to become a monarch in Poland or Greece were pushed asides by Metternich. Attempts by his uncles Lucien and Joseph to discuss Franz’s future with Metternich were completely blocked. All he wanted to do was to start his military career, and make himself useful, but he couldn’t even join his regiment, or even visit his mother in Italy. His health was floated as the reason why he should stay inactive, but Franz doubted this was the only reason. Bouts of rage alternated with deep sloughs of “sadness and tedium,” and he could barely summon the interest to hold a conversation. Not surprisingly, his mother lacked sympathy. In 1830, when Louise was summering in Baden, taking the waters, she “rebuked him for his apathy. She could not understand why her son could be ‘so little like other young people.’” [Aubry pg 181]

It grew worse a year later. Italy was on fire with the revolutionary activities of the Carbonari, and Louise had fled Parma in fear of her life. Franz pleaded with his grandfather to let him go rescue her, but Metternich intervened. Let the son of Napoleon, the King of Rome, go to Italy, where his father won his own fame? Of course not! Emperor Francis gave into Metternich, and poor Franz was left feeling torn between misery, fury and desperation. Even Prokesch, his best friend apart from Sophie—a major in the Viennese army, a loyal soldier, scholar and diplomat who had worked for Metternich, but had defied him on a few occasions-- couldn’t calm him.  

His despair was palpable. He knew he would spend his entire life bound and trapped, with Metternich as his jailer.

The young man had sealed himself up in a silence that was almost complete, venting his feelings at the most in talks with Sophie and Prokesch, during which he expressed many severe judgments on members of the Imperial family. He loved Sophie and he had an affection for his grandfather, but he did not like the Empress, fond as she was of him. He thought the Archduke Ferdinand, heir-apparent and King of Hungary, was a ninny. [Editor’s note: Ferdinand was actually a brain-damaged hydrocephalic epileptic who couldn’t even consummate his own marriage with his wife Maria Anna, married in 1835.] He hated the Archduke Franz Karl, Sophie’s husband, calling him deceitful, mean and vulgar. Table conversations at the Hofburg were stupid, the Court life was cheap and in bad taste. Comparing himself with those pious, submissive and conceited Archudukes and those ugly, insipid Archduchesses, he felt himself of a superior race. He even said one day— and Prokesch recorded the words in his secret notes:

“If Josephine had been my mother, my father would not have gone to St. Helena, and I would not be languishing in Vienna. My mother certainly has a kind heart, but no backbone! She was not the wife my father deserved!”

And he added, burying his face in Prokesch’s hands:

“You do not respect her, do you?”

And Prokesch replied:

“She was what she could be. The woman your father deserved for a wife did not exist. But he chose her, and she is your mother…”

Reichstadt was now weeping, and a long silence followed. [Aubry pg 207]

And that was when he seriously began to think about escaping.

While the two began to consider exactly what they could do, Franz decided that he had had quite enough of the chaperonage of Count Dietrichstein, his head tutor. This was the man who whipped him when he was five, who thrashed him when he was ten, who drilled him for countless hours on his German and his Italian translations and all the minutiae of court etiquette. He claimed to be utterly devoted to the young prince. Maybe he was, in his own weird way. But Franz was spreading his wings (or at least attempting to— even when he was 20, his imperial grandpa was still prone to treating him like a child, forcing him to dine with him in austerity if his own personal dinner parties became, in Francis’s opinion, too extravagant). In addition to the sensible and devoted Prokesch, Franz had befriended a few other young men, rakes and dandies all, like Neipperg’s eldest son and the young Esterhazy. Franz was gorgeous, brooding, romantic, and with perfect manners, and the women were obsessed with him (a Polish nun who had never met him but only saw him from a distance once swore undying love, even writing letters to this effect).

There was one woman that Franz danced with at a masquerade ball, a certain Naudine Karolyi, black-haired, handsome and bold, and not only did they manage to dodge Metternich’s spies, but they exchanged a lot of letters. This was 1831, and he was 20. But Dietrichstein soon found out about the correspondence.

At any rate, he strode into the Duke’s room, began rummaging through his desk, and finding a drawer locked, commanded him to open it. Reichstadt did not dare refuse— he obeyed, and his governor saw before him a pile of letters from Esterhazy. He opened a few, ran through them, and turned around livid with anger:

“What?” he cried. “You have a love affair?”

“Yes,” replied the prince coolly. “You can see with whom.”

“Do you write to her directly?”

“No, sir.”

“Then through an intermediary? Someone I know?”

He was besides himself with rage and almost shouting. Other persons had just entered the room and stood looking on in surprise at the strange scene. Reichstadt begged the Count to calm himself.

“Come downstairs with me,” he whispered. “You shall have all the letters afterwards, I promise you.”

The Count mastered his anger and went down with him to the Emperor. On the return, the Duke scrupulously handed him the entire correspondence, and it was forthwith consigned to the flames. [Aubry, pg 212]

But this didn’t stop Dietrichstein from trying to intercept Franz’s personal letters. At one point he saw that Esterhazy called him “the old woman,” and Dietrichstein was “extremely hurt.” He tried everything he could to break up the friendship from that day on, but didn’t succeed, as Franz could be extremely stubborn and loyal to a fault.

The affair with Naudine didn’t go anywhere, but there were others— there was even a reputed bastard daughter who later called herself the Comtesse de la Pommiere— but no matter what happened, his heart belonged to Sophie.

* * *

I’m cutting this off here, because LONG POST IS LONG, but more angst and drama will be coming with the next post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

[moonelf19]

C2E122

Widofjord Highlight Masterlist

While Lucien is asking what everyones goals are

Lucien: What about you?

Caleb: I’m not there, but only Lucien hears in his ear-

Travis, looking worried: Only Lucien?

Caleb: Yeah through the wire

Travis: Oh, ok, good good...

When the Nein return to the dome after talking with Lucien

Fjord: Y’know the last time we shared something we shared a vial of our blood and that did NO favors for us

Caleb: You know you don’t have to stand outside of the dome you can come inside of the dome

Fjord: Oh yeah, it’s uh, white colored...

Jester: Hey Caleb. Here’s your cat.

Caduceus: Here’s your ... shit

Caleb: *takes the mug* what.. is this?

Jester: Chewy shit!

Fjord: *haltingly* So... so good...

Sam: *pulls out his flask with a picture of Matt lookin evil on a carousel combined with travis to create travis’ mustachioed character from a project?*

The table: *various reactions of delight and confusion*

Liam: That’s just MATH!

Travis: mm.. Mmmhmm.

Right before the Nein go to bed

Beau: It’s easier to hate someone the less you know about them

Fjord: Facts

Caleb: You want to fax somebody?

Fjord: Yes *pretends to think really hard*

After Lucien shows Caleb and Beau the book for a few minutes

Matt: For the first time Caleb, even with your keen mind, you are having a hard time remembering what you just read

Fjord/Travis: *exasperated/horrified movement as he removes his hat and rubs his eyes in worry*

A little bit after that

Lucien: I’ve shown you something precious to me... now at least show me you still have it

Jester: Caleb, show him your wang

Caleb, without batting an eye: Fjord, show him my wang

Fjord, also without batting an eye: Yeah alright... I reach and pull out... from the bag of holding the amber

Lucien: *holds his hand out for it*

Fjord: *looks to Caleb for confirmation*

Caleb: *nods assent*

Fjord: *hands over the amber*

Lucien: Now why shouldn’t I just take this right now?

Caleb: If you hold onto it you won’t be able to stay in my tower tonight

Fjord: It is so warm in there :)

Jester: Lots of good food...

After Lucien gets them lost and they lose a day

Lucien: Alright we camp out for the night!

Jester: Do you want a tower?

Lucien, pointing at Caleb: If you don’t mind...

Caleb: Ja that is why we are friends

Fjord: *just grins cheekily at Caleb*

When they enter the tower

Fjord: Ahhh I prefer this so much mo- UP!!!

After leaving the Tomb Takers in their rooms, Caleb takes the Nein to the 8th floor

Caleb: You don’t have to say up, you can just...

Fjord: Don’t we? *smarmy look at Caleb*

Caleb: Well you have to

Fjord: UP!

Liam: Caleb makes a mental note that central chamber DOES NOT work for Fjord unless he says UP

Travis: *laughs hysterically* That’ll never be a problem

Liam: Everyone else is fine!

Caleb: As we float up to the 8th floor we come into a central nine sided chamber and there are nine doors. Numbered. Pick three.

Jester: How much do you think it’s weirding Lucien out that everything is 9  9 9 9 9

Caleb: A whole lot

Veth: Pick three?

Caleb: Yeah

Fjord: Three doors?

Veth: I’m going to pick door four

Beau: *quickly after Veth* Door nine.

Fjord: *also quickly trying to get his choice in* One.

Caleb shows them Astrids room behind door 4, then takes them to door 9 and describes the Nestled Nook

Fjord: *narrowed eyes as he realizes what might be behind door 1*

Caleb: Yeah so it’s almost dinner, and you said you wanted to see door number one...

Fjord: *stays silent*

Caleb: *pushes open door one*

Caduceus: Oh...

Caleb: *stands outside the door for a long moment*

Jester: *apprehensive* What is it...?

Caduceus: Home

Beau: Is it your childhood home?

Jester: Why did you put all of this at the top of your tower?

Caleb: Wherever I go.... they are with me

Jester: They are

Fjord: *soft voice* It’s so funny, they say you can never go home, but you’ve created an ingenious way to do just that.

Beau: But this is your first time being in this room

Jester: This would still be here, even if you didn’t make the rooms

Caleb: *uncomfortable* It’s just my way.... It’s just my way

Fjord: Was your room upstairs?

Caleb: *turns to give Fjord a tight smile and nod*

Fjord: Would you mind if I... *points up

Caleb: *smiles at Fjord again* Sure

Liam: Caleb goes to the steps, pauses, skips to the second step which creaks. Smiles a little bit. Then goes up.

Fjord/Travis: *short little amused laugh*

Liam: The loft is just a window, a small bed that would fit a teenager, and a little circle of rags

Fjord: All to yourself?

Caleb: Almost. *bamfs Frumpkin into the circle of rags*

Fjord: *smiles, then sees that Caleb is struggling with something and frowns*

Caleb: I’ve thought about it so much... I’ve thought about it so much. It probably isn’t a good idea to have this, but it’s just my way. I don’t think I’m allowed to forget it.

Caduceus: I don’t think you do, I don’t think this room will change that. I don’t want to speak to how smart you are but, it’s not that you’re doing it wrong you’re just not using it the right way.

Fjord: *confused*

Jester: It feels less like a memory and more like a punishment for yourself Caleb

Caleb: *distraught* If it exists here, it exists. It exists somewhere.

Caduceus: Even without here it would exist somewhere. What you’ve done here is beautiful, I hope you know that.

Fjord: *nods along in agreement*

Caleb: It is, it is, I have those memories, I have them, and I’ve struggled with it for a very long time. My feelings, about these things. There are good memories.

Caduceus: It only takes one bad one.

Caleb: I can’t help... *looks around at the others but lands on Fjord and stays there* ...wanting more.

Fjord: *nods gently*

Veth: Do you still wish to go back... and undo it?

Caleb: Of course.

Caduceus: Do you think Lucien has one of these rooms? Is that what’s happening? ... I don’t know. Maybe.

Caleb: Well... I understand that you all care for me very much. And I am very grateful for it. There is a part of me that will not- *cuts himself off*

Beau: Will not?

Caleb: So the tour is almost over, you wanted to see the ninth floor as well? Come along.

Veth: If that’s alright with you?

Caleb: Ja ja, it’s beautiful.

Beau: *stays behind and holds eye contact with Fjord for a long moment after the others leave*

Caleb calls for desert to be brought in

Caleb: One of the cats has a tray of cut fruit, and the other has a basin and a fountain of chocolate

Fjord: Holyyyyyy shit

After reminiscing about the cults they’ve dismantled

Fjord: Are we... relatively alone? Should we go somewhere else- another level, to avoid prying ears?

Caleb: We can distance ourselves but I’m assuming at any given moment we are more likely than not, he’s overhearing us

Fjord: I was going to ask if your tower offered any protection from prying ears, but also we should contact Essek and see where he’s stationed since it seems like we are closing in on Aeor

They discuss using the cats to hide what they are saying

Veth: To the Salon!

Fjord: UP

Caleb: It’s actually a floor down, so...

Fjord: Shit- DOWN!

Fjord: Ok so is this place battle ready? Can we trap them, or can it be damaged and they escape?

Caleb: Don’t worry about destroying anything, it will be reset to my liking.

Fjord: I meant more like can we trap them on a floor, keep them from leaving, restricting an entrance in and out of a room?

Jester: Anything that happens I mean he can cancel this tower...

Caleb: Right now there is not, but tomorrow there will be... if we imagine it

Fjord: *nods along: That’s what I meant... just a thought

Fjord uses his sword and notices they are being scried on

Fjord: Admittedly they have been kind of... nice? I figured they would have tried something by now but perhaps all of our... *casts around for the word and talks at Caleb* judgements were misplace?

Caleb: *eye contact with Fjord*

Veth: You view them as allies now, do you Fjord?

Fjord: I don’t know about that, but they seem to be at least participating in their half of the deal

Caleb: Well, they’ve been listening to us shit-talk them quite a bit on multiple nights, so... I don’t think there’s a lot of illusions here. *still talking to Fjord* It’s an uncomfortable alliance at best. But we are curious *now to the scrying eye* to see the end of the road. *to the cats* You can cut it. Cut it.

Travis: One prima donna cat is just *mimes singing dramatically*

They figure out the orb is following Yasha, then appears over Fjord

Caleb: I walk over to Fjord, and look up at where the scrying eye is, and kind of stand in front of [Fjord] so I can get in it’s view, and say what are we going to do here? We’re working together, you don’t really trust us, we don’t really trust you. You have some idea what you want to do to us. Are you having fun at least?

Matt: The orb disappears

Fjord: You’re actually looking a little off, but, it’s fine

Caleb: I was messing with it

Discussing how to fold Essek into the plan

Caleb: He’s told us to our face he bears more allegiance to us than any nation- whether that’s true or not...

Fjord: *sassy mmHMMM sound like he doesn’t believe it*

Caduceus trances to ask the wildmother questions and finds out Lucien doesn’t need them all alive

Fjord: Not ALL of us... angel-blood

Caleb: We’ve seen angel blood before *mimes tear tracks in reference to when they found the creepy ass weeping angel statues*

Fjord: *brain explosion as he realizes what Caleb means*

Back to discussing strategy which was like.... most of this episode. Waffling on decisions

Fjord: I’m a big fan of the home-field advantage, that’s the only reason I’m pushing to kick it off

Caleb: For those of us interested in getting our friend back- we don’t have a method. Our hope is to get to Aeor and find something there

Fjord: Ah

Caleb: Seems pretty thin

Fjord: *shakes head*

Matt: At this point Fjord notices the orb appear again

Fjord: *pretends to have an allergic reaction to alert the others*

Caleb: Several cats do now approach you at my telepathic bidding

Fjord: no no NO. NO!. No.

After Jester leaves to have cat adventures with Lucien

Caleb: Are we done for the night? Ja? Ok, I tell frumpkin telepathically to clog the arteries on five. Fjord, cover your eyes.

Fjord: *covers his eyes*

Caleb: Cat after cat after cat start vomiting up from the bottom-

Fjord/Travis: *plugs his ears as well*

Caleb: not in the room we are in! *holds out hand to Fjord* not in our room! in the central chamber it starts to fill with spectral cats

Caleb and Beau share a nightmare and shoot upright awake at the same time

Fjord: *points at the two, looking concerned* That’s... rare.

Beau: *grabs her notebook and starts scribbling*

Fjord: *stops pointing at her but keeps his hand up at Caleb, who rubs his eyes* What, what are you doing?

Beau: Shut-- just shut up, shh.. shhh sh sh

Caleb: *looks at Beau*

Beau: That’s not good.

Matt: Caleb, perception check

Caleb: I was also asking if anything I saw made any more sense... 18

Matt: As she’s sketching, you see on the back of her hand... a single red eye

The table: *loses their shit to varying degrees*

Travis: OH! OH! *looks angry and upset*

Beau: *unaware, continues sketching*

Caleb: St... Stop

Beau: What?

Caleb: *takes her hand and twists so its on top of his to show her*

Caleb: *checks the back of her neck but finds no other eyes*

Beau: *checks the back of his neck, nothing*

Beau: His arms- he had one on his arm

Liam: *to Travis* Check the gooch?

Travis: *breaks severity to laugh at Liam*

Liam: That’s the last place we’ll look

Caleb: *pulls off his shirt so he’s bare chest and arms to see if he has any eyes*

Fjord: *Nodding along and inspecting*

Matt: On his right shoulder you see an eye

 Fjord/Travis: *leans back in exasperation and fear*

[maomao-words]

Inspiration hit me a few days ago and all I felt like doing was write for the MLQC fandom! (=・ω・=)

So here I am! I will hopefully post some of my other writings soon too!

But for now, I hope you enjoy these (●'◡'●)ﾉ

MLQC Boys as Bodyguards: (Victor, Lucien, Kiro and Gavin)

Victor:

Weapons: A handgun equipped with a silencer and a katana which has your initials engraved on its black handle.

Background: Victor is the top ranked bodyguard known in the high society. Your family had to go through a prolonged battle of wits and money with numerous other important figures just to be able to hire Victor as your bodyguard. Dominating and commanding, Victor’s distinct aura screams authority and power for all who lay their eyes on him. Just his name is enough to deter countless of those who were planning to harm you. Those stupid enough to still risk attacking with Victor at your side simply dug their own graves and were not even able to get any information on your whereabouts, let alone spill your blood.

Fighting style: Victor does not mess around. His words are the law and the law you shall follow. He has been handed the duty of protecting you and he has no intention of wasting his time on indulging you in your risky adventures and whimsical decisions. He gets to decide everything that concerns your safety and all you have to do, in order to continue surviving, is to obey his orders. An advice? Do not attempt to rebel against him. It will only result in him convincing your father to leave you in charge of several business-related projects that will bound you to your office for no less than six months.

With his intricate network of acquaintances and allies of important and powerful figures, it is only rarely that Victor gets to fight directly in order to protect you. Victor is highly skilled in predicting threats and eliminating them before they even fully manifest. In those scarce moments where an enemy is powerful enough to get near you, Victor is considered as the last and ultimate defense line. He likes to execute his attacks silently and calmly. One shot to the heart will quickly seal the deal, save Victor’s efforts and protect you from needless scenes of blood and violence. Many enemies have mistaken the handgun as Victor’s main weapon, disregarding the katana as a mere ornament, and focused most of their manpower on disarming him. This mistake is what usually leads to their complete annihilation. Victor’s katana which he carries with him at all times is in fact his cherished lifeline as it is efficient, practical and does not run out of lethality.

Off duty: Victor’s off duty routine is not that far from his day to day habitual activities. He remains in full control of all things and does not seem to recognize the real meaning of being off the clock. The one thing that does change, however, is that Victor gets sweeter and gentler with you. If you have been an obedient master for the past few days, Victor will make sure to reward you with a taste of his cooking which you absolutely love.

With Victor at your side, just sit back and relax since danger is no longer a possible happening in your world. I do hope however that you are ready to pay the “price” of this absolute safety as Victor is not cheap by all means.

Lucien:

Weapons: A sniper rifle with a high-precision for ranged attacks and a handgun for close combat.

Background: Lucien is the bodyguard you cannot read most. At days, you even wonder whether he is really on your side or simply lurking in your shadows to eventually kill you. His eyes betray none of his thoughts and his hands, cold yet tender as they wrap around your waist to guide you through dangerous situations, seem to be always covered in blood yet somehow still feel as gentle as a feather on your skin. Lucien is a riddle that you are ready to spend your whole life solving, even if the chances of winning are close to none.

Fighting Style: Lucien mostly prefers to situate himself in the shadows of the roof a tall building and strike the enemy with one shot of his rifle from a distance. Lucien is known to dislike close combat; a fact several of your enemies sought to exploit only to discover that Lucien is as merciless with his fists as he is with his rifle. He just dislikes getting blood on his suit and would prefer to avoid that.

Mysterious and charming, you will not be able to get your eyes off of Lucien no matter how much his actions scream treason and suspicion. Because no matter how much his plots and schemes seem to be leading you to death, he will always appear at the very last second and gets you out of harm’s way, with a gorgeous smile in tow. Lucien’s existence is like a deadly poison to you, and you are just addicted to him.

Off duty: Lucien’s role in your life extends from a talented bodyguard and assassin to your own personal butler. He takes care of delivering and managing all the important papers and documents sent to you and even offers his own advice on different business-related matters. He also manages your personal schedule and private affairs, from meals and sleeping times to clothing choices and hairdresser appointments. Lucien is a highly qualified aid so do listen carefully to him. You will not regret following the plans he draw. Despite it all, however, there are also moments where Lucien seems to open up to you, moments where his eyes, usually two bottomless voids of blackness, suddenly clear up and his smile gets softer as he gazes at you cooking or playfully petting his cat. Those moments, although scarce and rare, are your most cherished possessions and you won’t exchange them for the world.

With Lucien by your side, you must get used to courting danger. Just never question why you are enjoying hell as you keep on dancing with the devil.

Kiro:

Weapons: A mini laptop and a dagger with a golden handle with your initials engraved on it. He also carries a handgun in case of emergencies.

Background: Kiro seems to be your best friend who just happens to also be your bodyguard. Right from the start, Kiro seemed to win your heart in a blink of an eye and you formed an inseparable duo ever since. Thanks to his bubbly personality and sunshine-like smile, you just can’t help but smile and giggle whenever you are around Kiro. Nevertheless, despite the numerous years you spent by his side, you are still startled by the drastic changes Kiro display when it is necessary for him to activate his bodyguard mode and discard his tender smile and gentle touches.

Fighting style: Don’t be tempted. Kiro’s lovely smile and gorgeous looks are nothing but a deadly trap for those who wish you harm. Kiro will not hesitate to use them to his benefit, attracting them before slicing their throats with a cold smile on his face. He usually takes care of all threats as soon as they start to bud and before they even reach the range of a kilometer close to you. With his trusty laptop in hand, Kiro will manipulate, hack and destroy whatever he deems dangerous. Your villa’s top notch security is also established and managed by Kiro, so rest assured, no intruder will be able to set foot into your backyard without being shot or electrified to death.

Off duty: Once his job is finished, Kiro will turn back to his sunshine self in a blink of an eye and will turn to you with his twinkling eyes and jumps on you, asking for a bear hug. Kiro’s off duty routine mostly consists in eating unhealthy snacks, watching hero movies with you and challenging you in silly video games. If the coast is safe enough for you to leave the house, Kiro will definitely accompany you to movies, to attraction parks, to zoos and to basically wherever you wish to go. If there is any sign of danger, Kiro will coop up with you at home and keep you entertained all the while keeping an eye out on you and making sure the threat that is forbidding you both from having your usual dates is dead and buried before the 12 hours mark even passes.

I hope you like sugar and fluffy sweets because that’s how life will taste like with Kiro by your side. Ah, but don’t forget! Even teddy bears have sharp claws!

Gavin:

Weapons: A handgun and a mercenary knife with a silver handle that you personally picked for him.

Background: Gavin seems as the calm, collected and detached type of bodyguard at the start. When he first started working for your family, he simply performed his duties to a perfection, protected you to the best of his abilities and then completely detached himself from you as soon as he was off duty. You initially thought that he was uninterested in building an actual relationship with you and respected the distance he drew between you. But as time went by, you discovered that, contrary to your assumptions, Gavin was just too clumsy in his attempt to get close to you and ended up cutting you off instead of bringing you to him. This awkward yet sincere confession came from a very red-faced Gavin as he lay on top of you trying to shield you from bullets. His clumsiness managed to win you heart and your relationship started to change for the better ever since.

Fighting style: Gavin is a proficient all-rounded soldier. He is perfectly capable of tracking and hunting down enemies, leading and coordinating between security teams as well as shielding and protecting allies. Gavin is sure to secure the safety of his client regardless of the threat he faces. He prefers close combat as he is highly competent in hand to hand battles as well as street brawls. He is also extremely skillful with his gun, using it mostly to secure an escape route for you in cases of ambushes and, in extreme situations, shoot down any threat on the spot. Gavin does not kill until he deems the situation necessary. He values human life and continuously encourage you not to hold grudges and not to consider the world as a mere violent and bloody realm.

Off duty: Off duty, Gavin’s more laid back and boyish charms come to the surface. He likes exercising in his free time and welcomes you with open arms if you come to him for private self-defense lessons. Gavin also enjoys playing video games with you and does not hesitate to let you win just to receive one of your hugs as a reward. When it comes to his butler skills, however, he is at the same low level of Kiro. He once attempted to bake a cake for you, ended up burning half of the kitchen’s ceiling and was banned from getting close to a stove for the rest of his life by you.

Just get used to the feeling of safety because Gavin is willing to risk his life for you. So let him spoil you.

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (13/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: This chapter includes descriptions of physical and emotional abuse towards Vassa. If you find this potentially troubling or triggering to read, I'm providing a summary of the chapter at the very end of this chapter, so that you're able to skip it and keep following along with the story. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

When Koschei claims her, the fire rages in Vassa’s veins, threatening to consume her. She hates that Lucien’s last impression of her will be the screaming of a wretched, frightened woman, but in those last moments in the Spring Court, Vassa is certain that Koschei will turn her body into filaments of bloody flesh. She can feel her flesh separating from bone.

When she opens her eyes again, she is back at the lake and Koschei looms over her, silhouetted against the full moon. The only indication that any time has passed is the white gossamer gown that Koschei has always dressed her in, translucent even in the moonlight.

“You put up quite a fight, my darling,” he says, nearly purring the endearment. Bile rises in her throat. Before, he never touched her except to strike. He’d never called her darling. “I had to force you to sleep for days. And you will notice that the enchantment on you is more tightly wound than before. After all, I was asked to keep you from escaping.”

“Briallyn is dead. The rest of the queens have left their thrones behind. Who still binds you?” She imagines herself in the throne room. It’s the only way she can keep her voice level.

“You’ll find I always keep my promises, little bird. Unlike your ragtag group of friends. You should know that they have not appeared to try and claim you.”

“I told them not to rescue me,” Vassa says, injecting as much fire in her words as she can bear. Inside she still feels ragged, every joint and sinew sore and tender, though her skin is still unmarked, the moonlight making her skin unnaturally pale, even against the white gown. An image, her golden brown hand on Lucien’s bronzed arm, the way they were shining and alive together, streaks across her mind. She banishes the thought quickly. Vassa has never been sure if Koschei can read her mind, especially now in this weakened state.

“Surely you are scheming,” the death-lord says, curling a finger and using it to raise her chin so that she’s forced to meet those depthless eyes, “but I will warn you, your cadre will not find me quite the fragile opponent that plagues this world.”

“Why am I so important to you?” she asks, forcing herself to meet his gaze, to keep from looking away. Best to keep him talking. Maybe then he’ll reveal a key part of his strength or magic, maybe somehow she’ll be able to pass it on to Lucien and he will know what to do, will know whether the words are sincere or a carefully baited trap.

But Koschei only gives a little smirk and turns away from her, sweeping his cloak in a gesture she knows means she is to follow.

Vassa had always been dimly aware of her relative weakness as a human, but now, unable to remember what has happened, unable to free herself, unable to focus on her goal with the same single-minded passion she’d had during her first captivity, she feels weak as a wet piece of paper, ready to dissolve at the faintest touch. She’d trained with a sword, once, gave speeches that brought her people to their knees. But no words can save her now, and even if she had a sword, what use would it be against a magic so powerful that none of the fae in this world could find a way to overcome it?

It was a hard lesson to a woman trained to be a queen, but in her first captivity, she learned how to be powerless, how to bide her time. So Vassa heaves herself to her feet with as much grace as her throbbing joints will allow and follows Koschei.

The sorcerer is bound to this lake, so Vassa has never been sure how he manages such a richly appointed table, more elegant than anything she has witnessed in her own court or in Prythian. The food, too, is exquisite, and though she is worried it has been drugged, after three days without a meal, she wolfs down everything so artfully arranged on her gilded plates, trying not to notice the gleam in Koschei’s dark eyes.

When she begins to feel sleepy, Vassa hopes it is merely the effect of being sated, the wine she drank. Koschei did drug her before, in those first days when she had not yet realized the futility of fighting him. After a week, the helplessness was enough to break her. Still, she thinks, as a heavy unconsciousness claims her, this means he thinks she can escape. That somehow, in some way she still cannot parse, the death-lord is vulnerable.

She wakes submerged in the dark waters of the lake, weeds clinging to her ankles, her lungs burning, and Vassa barely has the strength to hoist herself to the surface, pushing the water away from her body until she can gasp in the air. Above her, the stars are brighter than she’s ever seen.

Taking in the beauty as she paddles to shore, Vassa thinks of Elain. A peace that is nurtured by beauty, the legacy she’d wanted. At the time it had seemed a lovely wish, if a little anemic, the kind of thing that girls dream of. But now, as Vassa watches the stars fill the great dome of the sky, glittering above her, she thinks that maybe Elain knew all along, the necessity of this wish. If all along she was lost in her pragmatism, while Elain Archeron, the sweet-faced gardener, was the one who really saw the world.

She does not know if she will ever see Elain again.

She’s still not sure why Koschei let her leave with Gabriel Archeron, though Vassa has wondered if Hybern’s magic, their command of the cauldron, was too great a threat for even the death-lord to allow. But perhaps, in spite of all his promises, Koschei will let her go, or perhaps Lucien in all his cleverness will find a plan, and Elain will wield whatever fearsome gift is inside her, and Tamlin will storm the gates alongside them, the sword under which all their cleverness and strategy can thrive. Her companions at the Spring Court could be the stuff of legends, she decides, if only they’d realize their own capabilities. Perhaps this is nostalgia, but still it glows inside her, an ember of hope.

It’s this hope that allows Vassa to steel herself for the dinner with Koschei, that keeps her from fully slaking the growling hunger inside her. So that she pretends to fall into the drugged sleep early, her limbs sprawled heavy on the table, her face on the half-laden plate for effect. She knocks over the wine and worries this is one flourish too many, but once she’s really evened her breathing, Koschei begins to croon over her. The tone, which reminds her of her fellow queens exclaiming over babies and puppies, makes her skin crawl, but she cannot understand what he’s saying, the language unlike anything she’s ever heard on this earth. She wills her muscles to stay relaxed. Even a twitch will give her away.

Without warning, he picks her up by the back of her dress, the delicate seams digging into her skin, and flings her across the room.

For a small eternity, Vassa is in the air. Eyes closed, she tries to keep herself from panicking, from anticipating the fall.

When she hits the wall, and then the ground, the pain in her head is bright in her eyes, an explosion of pain that shoots through her body. The food she ate rises, burning, in her throat. Her joints are clanging. All the while, she tries not to make a sound, to keep her breathing low and even, though each breath is its own sharp pang.

Boots cross the room. Will he kick her next? Is this what Koschei does every night?

Somehow Vassa wills herself to stay still, nearly relaxed. She wanted to know what was happening to her. If he continues with a beating, eventually she will lose consciousness, but at least she will not be some limp doll with only a few precious moments of clarity, of starlight and beauty and memory.

But Koschei does not kick her.

Instead, he crouches down by her.

“I know you’re awake,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it could belong to another person, not the sorcerer who flung her across a room as if to shatter her, “I am at least a bit more clever than you think I am, little bird.”

She stays quiet. Koschei has never rewarded reluctant obedience.

“Do you know what I think? I think those faeries convinced you of their friendship and now you mean to spy for them. Perhaps that’s why you offered so little resistance when you felt my call. I want to believe you missed me, but as I said, I am not quite as foolish as you believe.”

His fingers are on her face, tracing her cheekbone, the line of her jaw. The pad of his thumb presses into her bottom lip.

Lucien touched her like this, only a few days ago. Your lips are perfect for kissing, he’d said, how is it that they’re so soft?

“I smell that faerie on you, Vassa,” Koschei says, obliterating her thoughts. His voice approximates a song. “I know you took him into your bed. Did you think the fire would burn off my enchantment? Or did you know that your lover’s true father is known across this world for his acumen at breaking spells? Did you think they would find a way to free you?”

He brushes his thumb against the seam of her mouth, so lightly that her lips do not part.

“The creatures of this world are weak. I would have thought you’d know better by now.”

Vassa does not whimper or cry out, only waits for him to speak again, to strike or violate her. She will be limp as a doll, she tells herself, a dead weight in his hands.

Instead, there is silence for one laden moment, then another. She hears the sound of his boots on the floor, walking away.

Then he turns back. Before Vassa can register the sound of his quickened steps, his booted foot is at her stomach and his fingers are in her hair and once again, she’s flying.

This time, oblivion claims her before the pain.

&

&

&

Vassa wakes up inside the firebird. The world is still alive, the water of the lake spangled with rainbows and the afternoon sun, and the absence of pain is a miracle. She tries to remember why she is so glad to notice all these things but she cannot remember. Instead she wonders why the lake is empty, why the other birds scatter when she draws near.

Why, if she has wings, does she not fly?

This time, when the sun dips below the horizon, Vassa’s mind is ready and she swims to shore before the fabric of her dress is soaked through. The pain from the previous night’s assault has vanished from her head and her stomach, her back and her shoulder, even in this form. She realizes that perhaps more than a day has passed, that it could have been weeks since she was last conscious. Somehow this possibility is more appealing than Koschei healing the damage while she was incapacitated. Even when there’s magic involved, a healer needs to put his hands on the patient, skin to skin.

When she hoists herself up on the bank, Koschei looms over her.

“How was your day?” he asks, as if they were completely different people in completely different circumstances, friends parted for a day by their respective obligations.

Vassa is careful to modulate her voice so that it’s all sweetness.

“Did you know that birds can see more than humans?”

“I have heard the shapeshifters among the High Fae make such a comment, but I suspect their own vision is relatively weak. Particularly if they’re devising artificial eyes.”

She takes a deep breath of the evening air to buy herself a bit of time to think, notes the chill of autumn beginning to creep into the summer evening. Soon, the water of the lake will be frigid and she will have to stay in her right mind if she wants to avoid swimming those waters when winter comes.

Koschei misinterprets her silence as acquiescence and holds out his hand to her.

He does not decide what her gestures mean. It’s what she tells herself as she grips his palm with her cold fingers, allows him to pull her upright. When he turns away from her toward his home, she follows without comment.

Let him think she’s already broken, she thinks with a little smirk, trying to keep from tripping on the sodden skirts that cling to her ankles.

Koschei passes his entry hall, the dining room, leads her deeper into the house, further than Vassa would expect the walls to extend based on the outer dimensions of the structure. He ascends a spiralling staircase, passing the hallways to two shadowed floors, then leads her to a landing that would be beautiful in the day, with high windows and wooden floors that would gleam red-gold in the sunlight. The color of her own hair.

But this moment of enjoyable vanity is destroyed when Koschei stops, gestures with elegantly pointed fingers at an open door. The room lit with candles is a bedroom, the bed large and inviting.

During her first captivity, she slept outside, under the stars. Even the freezing nights were preferable to this implicit threat. Nausea rises through her, the remembrance of those fingers caressing her face. She tries to keep these thoughts from appearing on her face, knows that she’s probably failing. Her queen’s training only preserved a certain lack of respect, not the threat of capture or abuse or even rape. Her tutors did not prepare her for this scenario when they taught her how to modulate her voice.

“I only thought that you would like to change into a dry gown before dinner,” he says, his voice a perfect simulacrum of charm.

“And deny you the pleasure of drying the fabric through your own magic?”

“I am given to think that you human women detect such interventions as unpleasant. Unless you have learned otherwise during your time in Prythian.”

She thinks of Lucien, the way he’d warm his hands or feet so that he never caused her a single shiver of cold, only of pleasure.

“I learned many things in Prythian,” she says, trying to keep the expression from her voice. “Will you wait for me, or should I meet you at the table?”

“Are you planning on escaping through the window?”

“I’m sure you’ve already considered this possibility and warded the room.”

He smiles at her, runs his tongue along his pointed teeth. She has to work to hold her resolve. There is a benefit in letting an enemy think he has won. Even if it feels like a real loss.

“Join me at the dinner table. I expect that you will not linger unduly.”

She nods, dips into a curtsy for good measure, then waits until she hears him pass the second landing before entering the room. Quickly, quietly, she opens every drawer, looking for a weapon, a document, anything that could help, but there are only washcloths and cosmetics and jewels and perfumes and handkerchiefs and underthings. Because of course what she needs most at this moment is a functional corset.

She does not, cannot, ask herself how Koschei acquired so many items of a woman’s toilette. At best he summoned them to himself with whatever magic populates his flawless table. The worst options will wreck her utterly.

On the bed lies the dinner gown, sumptuous in a deep green velvet, no adornment but a line of pearls at the wide collar, which she knows will glow against her skin. The gossamer gowns are for virginal princesses. This is a dress that a queen wears when addressing her subjects.

She lets her sodden dress and underthings fall to the floor with a wet slap. The velvet is heavy enough that she does not bother with undergarments. They will only leave her itchy and haunted by the women who wore them before her, why Koschei kept them prisoner and how he managed to make their lives miserable.

In all her time with Koschei, she’s never seen another woman. Only the sorcerer, until Gabriel Archeron negotiated her freedom.

Nevertheless, and perhaps it is only her imagination, but Vassa swears that she can feel the spirits of these unknown women around her while she fastens jewels around her neck and in her earlobes, arranges her hair into a coronet. Their spirits gild the air around her when she fashions a stiff necklace into a diadem that’s pleasantly cool against her forehead. She has never liked bracelets or rings, which have always felt constraining, especially after Koschei, but when she looks at herself in the mirror, she looks passably queenlike. She even manages to muster a haughty expression, the kind that would send Lucien rolling his eyes at her whenever she aimed it towards him in the bedroom. A traitorous clutch of hope pounds in her heart, just at the idea of him.

I believe you will find a way to free me, she thinks in his direction, hoping one of the clustered spirits will pass the message. Their presence does not scare her. They have not assembled to do her harm.

Finally, heaving a deep breath into her lungs, Vassa exits the room, descends the winding staircase until she’s in Koschei’s lavish dining room.

Koschei is alone at the table, angling a goblet of wine to his lips.

“You look lovely, little queen,” he says, rising as she walks toward the table. He pulls out a chair for her, brushing a kiss to her temple.

For a second, his beard snags on the chain of her diadem, and Vassa forces herself to smother a smile, her first in days. Then she forces the hair free and sinks into her chair, letting her palms sprawl on the arms, the way she’d sit on her throne, the youngest and most willful of the seven queens who ruled the human realms of this world. With her people she was all easy grins and drawling delivery, witty and clever and sure, but with six other queens, Vassa knew enough to keep herself in check, to hide the whirling of her brain behind flawless manners.

She eats the food before her, her bites demure and chewed in silence, and eventually Koschei begins to speak about nothing in particular, the harvest in a nearby village and the berries of the forest, the signs which predict the weather in the coming days and seasons. Vassa sips her wine and makes encouraging little sounds in the back of her throat, watching for the small detail that will signal disaster.

This evening is practically a kindness coming from Koschei. His kindness is always suspect.

Vassa waits for a drugged sleep to claim her, but the meal continues the way a state dinner does, a new course periodically revealed as the most boring guest drones on and on about subjects that interest him only. Luckily, Vassa has had years of practice at smiling and nodding while crucial diplomatic relations can crumble over the improper acceptance of a compliment.

When dessert is finished, along with the smallest sip of port Vassa can manage, Koschei says, “I would like to offer you a room to sleep in, as a symbol of my faith in you.”

“That is a great kindness,” she manages to say, though all her senses are screaming.

“It would not do, if you were to sleep outside in the coming days. The nights are growing colder and colder. I would hate to see you freeze. Do you know what happens to a human body in such conditions?”

She expects him to continue speaking but he looks at her as if he expects to answer. She lets her eyes widen, as if the thought is too horrible to consider, as if he himself has not flung her across the room and allowed her bones to fracture.

“Believe me, little bird, you do not want to experience this pain. I insist you take the room.”

How she makes herself murmur a thank-you, Vassa will never know.

She climbs the stairs slowly, turning to look over her shoulder, but Koschei does not follow. When she reaches the room at the top of the staircase, she removes her jewels, pulls the blanket from the bed, and wedges herself against the closed door.

“If you have any ghost-magic, I would appreciate your protection,” Vassa whispers to the spirits that thicken the air of the room.

There is no silence. There is also no attack.

Vassa wakes into the gray pre-dawn, and manages to make her way outside before the world, her mind, all dissolve into a haze of colors and movement which overwhelm her thoughts completely.

The next few weeks fall into this routine: a new dress for every dinner, Koschei’s endless small talk, peppered with increasing yet innocuous questions about her mundane preferences and youthful memories, and a night spent curled on the floor with her back to the door, sleeping and yet alert to every sigh and creak of the house in case it’s an alert to Koschei’s presence. He never comes, and Vassa never feels more feral than in those half-dozing hours, when she realizes the way animals must sleep in the wild. Luckily she’s able to sleep on the lake as the firebird, which she realizes as her human mind learns once again how to work within the confines of the bird’s mind.

One night, when Vassa is preparing herself for dinner, there is a voice inside her mind.

Have you seen my sister? The voice sounds like Elain but with more gravity. Feyre.

You know I am a captive, don’t you?

Elain wants to rescue you more than anything. She and Lucien. I am worried they have made some terrible decisions in the course of pursuing your safety.

A death-lord holds me as his captive, High Lady, she says, not bothering to hide the derision in her voice. Once, she’d asked Feyre to free her. She’s not convinced that Feyre took her plea seriously. She’s heard the stories, of course, which tell of Feyre Cursebreaker, who, as a human, bargained for Tamlin’s life against Amarantha. Her trials and the torture she endured before she was reborn as High Fae have become legend, to the point where Vassa wonders how much is true, or if Feyre has given up the memories of her experience. Because if she endures this, if she ever leaves Koschei, there will be no women in captivity in her lands, no girls locked in strange rooms at the behest of men.

We are working on a plan to rescue you.

But you have lost Elain and probably Lucien, as well.

A silence, and then a sound like a sigh, so deep it’s nearly a groan.

Is he… harming you?

At first. Now he is being too kind.

There’s a silence. Vassa doesn’t know if Feyre understands or thinks she is being ridiculous. She has never been more aware of all her weakness than in this moment, when she cannot so much as parse a simple mental conversation.

We will rescue you.

There are only a few moments before Koschei will be suspicious, so Vassa decides to blurt out everything she knows. Let Feyre and her court work out the implications.

Lucien is working on parsing the spell that binds me. He’s working with Helion in the Day Court. And your sister -- I cannot detect power the way the fae do, but your sister is much stronger than you think. Koschei knows about her powers, probably more than you do. He will want her at his side.

Has he mentioned Elain to you?

Not yet. He doesn’t trust me with much information. She blows out a breath, fogging the mirror so that she’s only the red mass of hair and golden skin, the heavy purple folds of her dress. I am late to dinner and I am sure he will detect this conversation.

I’ll erase it behind you.

When you see your sister, tell her she was right about beauty. And Lucien has not betrayed you. I think Lucien is the best male in all of Prythian.

There’s a tug at her chest, the harness of the spell pulled tight.

I’m being summoned, she thinks toward Feyre, and then, as she descends the stairs, Vassa begins to wonder why it is that, despite the perfect ordinariness of the day, she feels a spark of hope inside her like a flower unfurling its petals.

Dinner with Koschei is a little quieter than usual, and Vassa finds herself worrying that Koschei will notice the difference in her, the lightness. As usual, she makes sure to keep quiet, hum her acquiescence in between careful bites.

“It is not so terrible being here, is it?” he says, when the plates of their entree have vanished and the dessert has not yet appeared. She longs to reach for her glass of wine.

“The forest is lovely in autumn,” she responds in a voice like honey, keeping her barb well-cloaked. “There’s a certain angle of the light that is quite beautiful at this time of year.”

He scoffs a little, the smile on his lips revealing the points of his teeth. Whatever Koschei was in the world of his origin, he was never meant to have an endearing grin.

“I am speaking of this life you have, every night. The dinners and dresses, the well-appointed room. You would like it to continue?”

She wants to say you know I am a captive, don’t you? The words feel familiar but she knows they are not safe in this place.

“You keep the finest table I’ve ever known, Koschei.” She meets his eyes when she says this, tries to make them earnest as she offers this one tiny pleasant truth.

“There is so much more I could offer you, little queen.”

He leans toward her, across the table, reaches out her hand. Vassa allows him to clutch her fingers. He runs his thumb against her fingertips, his skin against hers. She does not wince. She forces her face into a pleasant expression.

“Tell me more.” She cannot say what are you talking about. She will not be able to make the words sound pleasant.

“I could make you my wife and queen.” His thumb is on her wrist, the dip at the base of her palm where her pulse thrums. “Forget Scythia, Vassa. You could rule over all the human lands. The whole of this world.”

“And what would be left for you?”

She cannot keep the fear from her voice, but Koschei does not seem to mind. He regales her with another smile, a predator’s expression.

“There are other worlds, my little queen. Soon I will enter them as ruler.”

Vassa is too stunned even to attempt a correction to the posessive. At some point, her hand falls to the table, empty.

&

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&

&

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN SUMMARY

Vassa is imprisoned by Koschei at the lake. She is barely conscious in her firebird form, and is physically abused by Koschei when she's awake. Still, despite the abuse and the fact that as a human queen she is in every way outmatched, she tries to keep fighting. Vassa becomes seemingly acquiescent to Koschei but stays alert for any apparent weakness, though she begins to despair. After a short time, Koschei begins to show kindness to Vassa, offering her a new gown every evening and a room in his house which she's never seen, which is inhabited by the spirits of other women. She is afraid that Koschei will drug and/or assault her, but instead he offers her dinner and shelter. After a few weeks of this confusing treatment, Feyre speaks into Vassa's mind, looking for the missing Elain and Lucien, and promising a rescue, a promise that Vassa doubts. At dinner that same night, Koschei offers to marry Vassa and make her queen of this world, with himself as the ruler of every realm. Horrified, she does not answer him.

[thenightling]

The Dreaming (2018) in a nut shell

Full plot of The Dreaming (2018 run).  This is copied and pasted from a Discord conversation because I didn’t feel like repeating myself...  That’s also why it’s a bit disjointed.

I'll explain the whole plot as best I can, bear with me. There's this monstress named Dora living in The Dreaming, and she's got a chip on her shoulder since Morpheus had once promised her she'd never have to be afraid ever again and that was shortly before The Kindly Ones.  Anyway, she's been haunting the dream of this woman dying of throat cancer (revealed to be Rose's mother).  Daniel goes MIA and doesn't seem to want to be found.

Suddenly these "blanks" generic looking humanoid enterities start pouring in from cracks in the dreaming.   Mervyn invents a racial slur for them of Soggies (totally not "wet backs").

While Daniel is gone Judge Gallows (another old DC horror host) takes over The Dreaming and promises to make The dreaming great again.

Dora befriends one of the blanks who is very child-like and names him Ziggy. Merv starts penning them up on behalf of Judge Gallows and even attempts to lynch Ziggy. 

Merv has a grudge.  Shortly before Judge Gallows took over Lucien used the helm to un-create Merv's friends right on the steps of the caslte and it was implied to be out of spite

("I did warn you." - said by Lucien).  It's a "They took our jobs" thing, apparently. The blanks are more efficient. No immigration metaphors here, nope.

Lucien is apparently slowly losing his mind / going senile.  He can't remember anything.   Eventually Judge Gallows gets defeated and replaced with this weird AI, yes an AI named Wan.   WAN, as it turns out was created by this character who looks suspiciously like Steve Jobs. Actual character name: Hyperion Keter.

Totally not Steve Jobs had a nightmare decades before where Dora was attacking him.  he had confronted her in the dream and told her she's not real.  This caused her to have an existential crisis and flee into The Dreaming where Morpheus had tended to her and sealed her own memories to protect her mind.  He also hid the newly re-created ruby dreamstone inside her to aid her until she no longer needed it.

Steve Jobs-Knock-off guy creates Wan with the intention of invading and conquering The dreaming.  He thinks all the ills of humanity come from dreams.  Greed, superstition, religious zealousness.   Oh, by the way, Judge Gallows heavily indicates that Morpheus caused the civil war and holocaust by creating him (Judge Gallows) to prey on man's fear of "The other". So anyway, while that was going on Daniel was playing human and dating Ivy. Steve Jobs sends some occultists to steal a lock of Ivy's hair to control her.  Ivy gets upset when Daniel won't let her tattoo him since she's a tattoo artist. (that's where I grew to hate her).  She doesn’t accept no means no with his bodily autonomy.  Daniel apologizes to her and proposes marriage.  He gives her an emerald ring.

The occultists (working out of Fawny Rig) control Ivy and she gives Daniel a dream catcher / tree of life tattoo that works as a geas to bar him from The Dreaming and prevent him from calling out for help.

Ivy tries to "apologize" by giving him a cup of tea but it turns out to be poisoned.   Desire (or what appears to be Desire, it might be posthumous Morpheus in disguise, the face is always partly hidden and he's very thin) warns Rose of what's going on and Rose slaps the drink from Daniel's hand but he's already had a taste.  Daniel, freaks the f--k out.

A dog walker eats his own fingers right there on the beach.   Someone screams until their vocal chords burst in their throat.  Daniel is maming and mutilating right and left (and this is NOT where those partiers were killed, that was earlier and said very nonchalantly during the dating montage.  Daniel made some drunk bachelor party guys who cat called Ivy walk into the ocean and drown...  I think he killed the entire party...)

Daniel finds the occultists and traps them all in terrible nightmare half-concious states but still weakened and unable to return to The Dreaming he goes to apologize to Ivy, knowing she was being controlled but it's too late, she's ODed and brain dead.

He takes her soul with him to flee to another universe.

Dora, meanwhile, gets a hold of Destruction's sword, briefly meets up with Nuala (who has learned Titania's true name thanks to Daniel stopping by for help with the fae).  Daniel gets the egg that Titania has from back during the original Books of Magic, this is the "Mundane Egg" able to open or create another universe.

Anyway, back in The Dreaming Wan (the AI) is trying to run things and doesn't know it has a secret dark side programming to destroy the place.

Wan legitimately wants to do good and blacks out when the other side takes over. An AI with a split personality. Wan talks Abel into taking the initiative and kill Cain...

Cain does not revive. Wan also digitizes the entire dreaming library because of Lucien's memory problems.   Lucien decides he wants to die.

Abel scooped out Matthew's eyes with a spoon and gives him his own eyes so Matthew can see what he sses, the secret that Wan is destroying The Dreaming. Matthew with giant human eyes sticking out of his tiny raven head, Abel (whose eyes grow back), and Dora, head out to save the dreaming.

Cain, meanwhile, his soul was uploaded into an AI at the home of Not-Steve Jobs. So he's there.  The heroes make their way there and learn the story of why things are happening.   Poor not-Steve Jobs was dying of cancer (this was really tasteless to model him after Steve jobs).  And Daniel briefly came to him, showing him what he was destroying in destroying The Dreaming,  Hyperion tried to set things right but his own minion stopped him.

Dora shows up and accidentally shuts down Steve's life support system. Rose gets told more exposition dump from "Desire" (I'm telling you, there are clues it's actually Morpheus) She hijacks a bus to get to Steve Jobs'  place. Here we discover the re-created ruby dream stone was inside Dora the whole time.  Lucien, meanwhile, had tried to be re-abosrbed into The Dreaming with the help of his dream friends (eve, Merv, etc).  And he has a brief visit with Death who introduces him to Steve Jobs and gives him a special book that has all of Lucien's lost memories. Dora returns to The dreaming with the dream stone, and her, Lucien, and the other dream folk are able to summon Daniel back, breaking the geas spell he was under (Ivy is left behind).

Dora is a Night Hag, by the way.   That was her big secret besides having the ruby in her. They kept harping on how special she was, that she wasn't like the others in the Dreaming. ...she was a Night hag, that's it.  They kept going on about her being special, this big secret, she's a night hag.  Eve delviers a line I cannot forgive.  She says something like "We were worried he only kept us around out of laziness or loneliness. We were wrong."  They were HAPPY they were there as a failsafe, as tools in case he got captured again in the waking world.  They would rather be tools than for someone to want them around out of loneliness?!  Daniel uncreates Wan but as Wan begns to fade the good side of Wan helps Daniel set things right and apologizes for its other personality. Daniel erases Rose's memory of the entire adventure (which I think is bullshit).  She lost her f--king daughter, you asshole!  And Lucien learns to be 'More assertive" and when Daniel requests he come to the throne room so he can thank them formally Lucien says no, because he's drinking with Dora.

"character growth" TM

 hated Simon's run of The Dreaming but not as much as I hate Caitlin R. Kiernan's. 

Dreaming Waking Hours is about a Nightmare named Ruin who escapes to the waking world because he's fallen in love with a mortal.   It's so much better but all the events of Simon's Dreaming are still canon so that's a problem. The villain being modeled after Steve Jobs even if he sees the error of his ways in the end was totally tasteless. My hands ache from writing all that out...

Oh, and Cain is back to normal (for him) he and Abel took turns in a sort of tag team tormenting the tech support for Wan, via nightmares. So they couldn't intervene in stopping the destruction of the AI. That was actually a fun scene. "There will be no tech support today." Cain shows up with a chainsaw.

Also the reason "not Steve Jobs" knew about Dream was because he found a journal from an occultist at a garage sale that described Morpheus' capture.

I think I'm still traumatized from reading it, especially the early issues where Merv was used as a Trump supporter allegory. And Abel did give Matthew back his normal raven eyes while they were in Steve Job's house.   Though don't ask me how Abel even did the initial eye surgery of putting his eyes in Matthew while he was blinded.  

Someone tried telling me Simon Spurrier wasn't trying for a Republican metaphor, he was making a commentary on the Tories How is that better?!?

It's still a very dated political reference.

[hellas-himself]

Crack Ship Holidays

Friendsgiving pt. 5 

The day after Thanksgiving is when our Christmas begins. We put up decorations and the tree and then our holiday season ends in the middle of January. I had meant to post this sooner but it’s been hectic lol but y'all already know the deal. 

.

.

“I’m so glad you could come with me,” Aelin says and loops her arm around mine. “Elide didn’t believe me when I said the lines wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Mor told me the same thing.”

“And where is she?”

“Hung over. She’ll be doing all her shopping from the comfort of her bed.”

“So smart… But I have no patience for online shipping.”

We put the bags in the trunk of her car.

“You still haven’t gotten anything for Cassian,” she says as we get in the car.

“You haven’t gotten anything for Rowan.”

“Touché, Archeron.”

I roll my eyes and laugh.

“What did you get him last year?”

I hate that I blush but Aelin is busy backing out to notice.

“I wasn’t working last Christmas… But I painted a few pieces for everyone. What did you get Rowan?”

“Two things- One present to open in front of family, and another for when we were alone.”

When I look at her, she’s grinning and wriggling her eye brows.

“Christmas is also when Cas and I started getting… closer. We didn’t actually do anything until New Year’s but that’s beside the point.”

“What do you give a man who has everything?” she muses.

“I-”

My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket. Adela Rodriguez tagged you and Cassian Rodriguez in a post.

“What is it?”

“Cassian’s mom… she posted something on Facebook- and tagged me in it.”

“Well, what is it?”

I tap the notification and watch the screen change from my home screen to a picture of Cassian and I with her. Cassian is standing behind us, trapping us in a bear hug. Adela and I are laughing.

“It’s us… She wrote me something… Mi yerna querida, gracias por amar a mi hijo como el se merece.”

“And she speaks Spanish, too,” Aelin deadpans before giving me a smile.  

I laugh. “Says the musician… But yes. I practically lived in their house, so I learned…”

“What does that mean, though?”

“My beloved daughter in law, thank you for loving my son the way he deserves.”

“Oh, my god. That’s so sweet! How did dinner go with them?”

“It was amazing. I can’t wait to get the Christmas card in the mail. I’m in it this year.”

“That’s adorable.”

“What about you?”

“It was really nice… Aedion and Lys came over with Evangeline. Manon and Dorian stopped by with Elide and Lorcan. Fenris and Connall always spend the holidays with us, they brought the dessert this year.

“Rowan’s parents passed away when he was really young, as did my mine… Rowan isn’t close to his family- Only his cousin Endymion. My uncle Gavriel and cousin Aedion are the only family I have left, well by blood. There are uncles and all that, but they weren’t in my life until I was already an adult.”

Aelin spoke so frankly…

“I’m sorry, Aelin.”

“I- Thank you, Feyre… Holidays aren’t the easiest but in the end, we choose our family and I’m really lucky to have been able to find them.”

“In that I completely understand.”

Aelin pulls into the parking lot of the pet store.

“Where are your parents?” she asks me and I shove my hands in my pockets, the action making me think of Rhys. Of countless times I snuck out of my house to knock on their door.  

“Suburbs… But I don’t speak to them. Neither does Elain- Our older sister, Nesta, she still talks to our mother.”

“I haven’t met Nesta yet.”

I sigh. “You probably won’t.”

Aelin raises a brow as we step into the store.

“Nesta and Cassian dated when he started college. She treated him like shit and she has the nerve to be upset that I’m with him now.”

Aelin whistles.

“Well. My friend Yrene is married to my first boyfriend, Chaol. They’re having a baby. My best friend Dorian was my… something at one point and he’s with Manon, another friend of mine.”

“Cassian and Rhys aren’t brothers by blood… But I kind of dated Rhys, too.”

“You know… that doesn’t surprise me.”

“No?”

“You remind me of Dorian and I. Because of your history, your connection to one another is deeper than anyone else- and it’s obvious.”

“It was fake at first,” I say and Aelin gapes at me. I roll my eyes and walk right to the dog aisles. “His girlfriend dumped him for some college guy so I kissed him in the parking lot to piss her off and then… That was that.”

Aelin cackles and throws an arm around me.

“That is the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“And Lucien… Well, people used to think we three were a thing.”

“Were you?”

“No… Not physically anyway.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

I grab an elf’s hat and an antler head band.

“Let’s see what Cas thinks.”

“I like this, too,” Aelin adds, taking what looks like an ugly knitted sweater. It’s adorable.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and send Cassian a text. Elf or Reindeer? Though there’s ugly sweaters I like.

Dressing up for me, bunny?

I roll my eyes. No, dumb ass. Valo’s Christmas picture.

Cassian sends eye roll and thumbs down emojis before giving me a real answer.

Reindeer… But ugly sweater. Get both?

Alright, my love. Thank you. See you soon.

*

Elain is standing outside of my house, leaning against her SUV.

“I was just about to call you,” she says as Aelin and I get out of her car.

“Cas is probably in the shower or something,” I say as I fish for the keys in my pocket.

“No. He left with Az.”

“What?”

“Did you forget what day it is?” Elain is smirking. She hugs Aelin and I before helping bring my bags inside. I don’t hear Val.

“Oh fuck,” I say, which makes Aelin laugh.

“What’s today?”

“Their fucking football game. I completely forgot!”

“And you have to be there,” Elain says. “It’s tradition.”

“Is this where all the boyfriends and girlfriends cheer their men on?” Aelin teases.

I look at Elain who’s smile goes wicked.

“El.”

“Yes, Feyre. Even Lucien is doing it, and he’s playing, too.”

“Okay, I want to know what ‘it’ is,” Aelin says and crosses her arms.

“Let’s hide these in my art room,” I mutter and they follow after me. “Elain, Lucien and Adela have matching jerseys with their respective partner’s name- which is fucking adorable. But then there’s the fucking face paint and the pom poms-”

“Oh, my fucking god. Rowan has a game today- Please tell me Rowan is playing against Cassian.”

“He is, actually,” Elain says.

“I wear my high school cheer outfit every year,” Aelin happily adds. “Sometimes, I prefer it when Rowan’s team loses. The sex is amazing when he’s cranky.”

Elain laughs.

“Same with Az.”

“Wait, I don’t have one. A jersey, I mean.”

“That, baby sister, is where you are wrong.” Elain reaches into her enormous bag and hands me a folded jersey. “Had it made after you told me you were official.”

It’s black and white, with red letters. There are the numbers ‘07’ on the front and Cassian’s name on the back. It is so ridiculous and yet…

*

Aelin is waiting for Elain and I in the parking lot of the park. She has her hair in pig tails and she’s wearing a green and white cheer outfit with long sleeves. She even has pom poms.

“Elide is here already,” she says as she slips her phone into the pocket of her skirt and then she looks at me. “Damn, Feyre, I didn’t know you were hiding all that under those clothes.”

I sigh. I kept my hair down and tied the jersey at my waist, right where my long-sleeved white crop top stops. I paired them with waisted red leggings and the black, red and white sneakers I’ve had forever.

“Cassian isn’t going to be able to focus with all that ass.”

Elain snorts.

“And don’t act like I don’t see you, Elain,” Aelin says playfully. My sister blushes.

Aelin introduces me to her friends, all of them so beautiful I’m left dumbstruck. I introduce them to my sister as well as Adela and Elyse who immediately offered them sandwiches and coquito. There is music playing loudly and Iliana is dancing around her father who is absentmindedly spinning her around as he talks strategy with Lucien. Valo is rolling around in the ground with Aelin’s dog, Fleetfoot- a dog she and Dorian adopted together long before she and Rowan became a thing.

Amren is here as well, to my surprise but I see Varian chatting with Fenris and his twin brother, Connall- he made the boys’ team even. I see Cassian standing next to the tallest man I’d ever seen- brutally handsome with long black hair, tied up in a messy bun just like Cassian has his.

And then he sees me.

Aelin slaps my ass and winks before I walk over towards him. I hear her calling for Rowan in a sing song voice behind me.

“Hello, handsome,” I say as Cassian pulls me in for a kiss.

“I was going to ask you what you got me for Christmas,” he whispers into my ear as his hands wander down to grip my ass. “But it looks like Christmas came early.”

“Stop it!” I laugh and he kisses me again.

He seems to remember that his friend is standing there still. He isn’t smiling, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“Bunny, this is Lorcan. He works with Rowan. Lor, this is my girlfriend, Feyre.”

I give him a wave.

“Hi.”

“So you’re the girl in the picture,” he says and I look at Cassian expectantly. He laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

“What picture?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and punches Lorcan’s arm. “Let me introduce you to the guys.”

Lorcan smirks but when I hear Elide call his name, he smiles. A real smile. Cassian takes my hand and guides me away.

“What was that all about?”

“He’s an ass.”

“Clearly. But really, what picture?”

Cassian sighs. “I’ll show you later.”

I raise a brow and Cassian kisses me.

“Please?”

“Alright, Rodriguez. I won’t forget.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Fenrys is one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever met in my life. Like Rhys, and Dorian. He is just as flirtatious as Aelin and Cassian are but his twin brother is way more reserved and I am not surprised to see Connall navigate towards Azriel. Aelin’s cousin could pass as her twin brother but he also reminds me of Cassian in a way.

“Evangeline is amazing. I love having her in class,” I say to Lysandra and Aedion who are looking at her fondly. Evangeline is blushing. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with for the art show.”

Rhys and Lucien finally show up, with Helion and Aurelie in tow.

“Sorry we’re late,” Rhys says.

“You went black Friday shopping, didn’t you?” Cas asks and Rhys just shrugs.

“He and Mor were gone all morning,” Lucien replies and Rhys looks at him as though he’s been betrayed. “Hungover my ass.”

“Well, I’m here now!”

Lucien rolls his eyes and ties up his hair.

“I will ask one of Rowan’s friends to switch with me so I can kick your ass,” Lucien snaps at Rhys.

“Do it then.”

“Hey, I know you two like to argue as foreplay but this is Feyre’s first game as Cassian’s girlfriend,” Azriel says in a rather saccharine tone. It’s almost condescending. “Let them have their moment.”

I can’t help but laugh as Rhys and Lucien practically pry me away from Cassian to apologize and hug and kiss me profusely. I can hear Adela scolding Azriel but the tone in her voice is jovial.

Vinny calls for them to separate into teams. Lucien does in fact switch places with Fenrys, who is all too happy to be on ‘the team that Feyre is cheering for’.

I take my seat beside my sister and Adela as everyone takes their place on the muddy field. Vinny is acting as goal keeper. I had always cheered the boys on, though Elain and Adela are always the most vocal. Nothing has changed in the way Cassian smiles when our eyes meet, or the way I jump to my feet to cheer him on as he makes a goal. I just can’t believe I’d never noticed it before. I have been to nearly every one of Cassian’s footballs games, even when he was dating Nesta. I’ve seen him lose some, seen him win but it never gets old.

Aelin is betting Elide that Cassian is going to hand Lorcan his ass while Manon shouts at Rowan’s team- she should have been a coach. They don’t get into a fight, but it is obvious they are not used to actually having to worry about the opposing team. It’s amusing, but I know that someone is going to be bruised and aching later.

When the game is over, I am not surprised that Cassian’s team won but I am caught off guard as Cassian makes his way to me and lifts me off my feet. He kisses me, ignoring Elyse’s sounds of disgust. When we stop to breathe, I smooth his hair away from his face.

“Your football games would have been so much more fun if this was how they ended,” I say teasingly. Cassian laughs. “That was a good game, Cas.”

“I am beat,” he says as he sets me down.

“You guys were showing off.”

“Of course,” he says as he throws an arm around my shoulder. “I have to impress my girlfriend.”

I poke his side. “You don’t have to impress me. Win or lose, I am always proud of you.”

Cas looks at me and smiles.

“Hey, Cas!” Lorcan shouts as Elide hands him a small ice pack. “Rematch next weekend?”

“You’re on Salvaterre!”

Elide and I share the same look of exasperation.

*

“So, bunny, I made a stop or two before Az and I went to the park.”

“Did you?”

I follow him into the garage. He turns the light on and there are several bags and a large box…

“You got a Christmas tree?”

I walk right over to it and turn it to see the picture. It’s pre-lit, which is smart and has little red berries in it.

“If you don’t like the ornaments, I’ll go change them for something else.”

I give him a look before I look through the bags.

“Red and gold is perfect, Cas.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “Can we put it up tonight?”

He smiles. “I was hoping to.”

“Perfect.”

“I want to shower first though…”

I wave him off. “I’ll go preheat the oven for cookies and put a movie on.”

*

I pull a pair of stockings out of a bag and laugh.

“Cas, you didn’t!” They are red knit stockings with our monograms on them in white, there is even one for Val. “I love them so much.”

“Where should we hang them up?”

I look around the living room and my eyes fall on the little accent table he has against the wall where he’s setting up the tree. He keeps the remotes and controllers to his game consoles in there among other things. He has a few picture frames on it but nothing more.

“If you’re not opposed to putting holes in the wall… Maybe we can put a little shelf up there? I can put lights and our Yule log up there and then hang the stockings from it.”

Cassian looks at where I point to and gives a nod.

“Yeah… I think that would be nice. Let me get the tree up and then I’ll go see what I have in the garage.”

Once the tree is up and plugged in, Cassian disappears into the garage. I start putting up the ornaments- red and gold traditional ornaments, glittery birds and butterflies, snowflakes and icicles. I hear hammering and then the loud clang of the hammer falling before the drill goes off. Val and I look towards the garage curiously.

Cassian comes back with a shelf and the drill, as well as the leveler ruler.

“Tell me where,” he says and I set the box of ornaments down to mark the right spot on the wall. Val barks as Cassian drills the nails into the wall but stops when Cas looks back at him. Once the shelf is up, I hand Cassian the Yule log to set in the middle, then the candles decorated with holly and pine before he carefully arranges the white Christmas lights around them. He hides the switch behind one of the candles.

Cassian is grinning after I finish putting up the stockings and I find myself blushing.

“What?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know… It’s nice. Getting to do this with you.”

I slide my arm around his waist.

“It is, isn’t it?” I lean into him. “I’ve never done this with anyone.”

“Neither have I.” He presses a kiss to the top of my hair. “Outside of family, anyway.”

I laugh. “How did you even manage to find a shelf so quickly?”

“Oh… Well, it had been meant for the guest room but I never got around to it so it had been sitting in the garage since I got the house.”

“I’m glad I was able to give it purpose.”

“Yeah… you do have a tendency of doing that.”

I poke his side. “Stop it.”

“Seriously… Anyway, let’s go finish the tree. Rudolph is starting soon and I want to be laying down by then.”

“We have that movie on DVD, Cassian.”

“But you know it isn’t the same.”

I sigh and roll my eyes. But I know he’s right.

*

I come back from the kitchen with a plate of cookies and a mug full of milk. Cassian is sitting on the sofa with his sketchbook on his lap while he flips through the channels.

“Here,” I say and hand him the plate before I pull down the little arm rest of the sofa to set the mug in a cupholder. It’s a perfect excuse to take his sketchbook and sit on his lap. I reach for the blanket and drape it over our legs as he slides an arm around me, holding me against him.

“So, I had free time at work the other day and was just… drawing bullshit. Warming up. Az wants to add to his sleeve but he hasn’t decided how. Anyway, I was sketching some shit out and I got this idea.”

Cassian sets the remote aside and opens his sketchbook. I’m mesmerized by all that I see as he flips through it and then he stops.

“It wasn’t supposed to be you, but when I started drawing her face… I couldn’t help it.”

“This is beautiful, Cassian.”

She’s a faerie of some kind, with wings like a bat rather than butterflies and a crown of moons on her head. Her dress isn’t complete, but I can tell it will be a gown of some sort.

“Lorcan saw it when he and Rowan stopped by to go over our plans for today.”

“I hope you finish it.”

“Yeah?” He kisses my cheek.

“I’ll let you tattoo it on me somewhere.”

“Bunny, don’t tease me like that. You know Rhys has been trying to be the one to give you your first tattoo.”

“He can give me my second one.”

“You serious?”

“I mean… why not? I would wait until Christmas break though-”

Cassian kisses me.

“I’ll make you something better than this. I promise,” he kisses me again. “But first, our movie marathon.”

I laugh. “I love you so much, Cassian.”

“I love you too, bunny.”

[grimweaver]

A piece from 2011. Bear in mind that a lot of details (too many to list) have been changed since then and I was fresh into writing Elder Scrolls stories at the time. 

----

PART I

It seemed too perfect to exist outside the pages of a storybook; a hillside farm house with a grand view of the Imperial City, not far from the edge of the Upper Niben. It was a piece of country undisturbed by the bothersome ruckus of town, but close enough to the city to make the weekly trip for necessities hassle-free. Aaron was especially ecstatic about the new home, but for his own special reasons. There were more insects and small animals for the young boy to catch and play with, and the nature-enthusiast had a lot of yard explore.

"Remember, this is not at all like the city!" A voice called out from the front porch. "Do not wander too far or out of sight." "Da!" Aaron blasted from where he was playing, not more than a hundred feet away. "I'm ten years old! I'm almost a man!" "Doesn't matter- there are things out here that make an easy meal out of people- boy or man."

"Yeah, and you face them almost every day!"

"Because it's been my job for almost fifteen years now. I have skills and wits that help me survive each encounter."

Indeed. Since the raw age of thirteen his father made a living as a large game hunter. Because he was one of the few that dared to take on an animal twice the size of an average man he was well respected and heavily paid. It didn't hurt that, as one born under the Shadow, he had the ability to make himself invisible for a brief amount of time- that was a valuable power for someone who had to strike his target before it even suspected that it had company. One could say he managed well for a single parent, but because he was alone it was still a struggle in the beginning. But when Aaron was older and experienced enough to share chores and look after himself, it lightened the burden his father had to carry.

Aaron noticed him wincing with a sharp, backwards hiss through his teeth. He abruptly jumped to his feet and raced over to see what he was doing, carrying the large toad he caught in his gentle hands.

After reaching the steps of the the porch he was met with an unexpected and disturbing sight. "Da? What are you doing?"

"Something I've meant to do for a long time." His father's right arm was covered in red marks, which were made by the edge of the dagger he carefully scraped over his skin. But careful or not the bleeding couldn't be avoided. Aaron was shocked and confused by what seemed like an act of insanity. Perhaps being bored out of his mind in the country was what drove him to do it. "And I think you're old enough to understand why I'm doing this."

"Ya, I really hope you do tell me why you're cut'n yerself up! Are ya going crazy?" "No." His father chuckled. "Y'know that this part of my arm was always covered, right? Wrist bands, long sleeves, gloves, gauntlets..." "Yeah, come to think of it." "And you see what I've been covering up, since I haven't finished removing it?" "A... tattoo. But da you have a few others that y'never cover up. Why this one?" "Because this one was a declaration to the world of a commitment and promise."

Aaron was in silent contemplation for a moment, sighing as he watched the remaining black marks on his father's skin turn red. He cringed, not because he was abhorred by wounds, but because he thought about how much the process of removing the tattoo must hurt.

"To ma?" Was all he uttered after being quiet for so long.

His father paused briefly as he looked down at him with his solemn brown eyes, before narrowing his brow and coldly paraphrasing. "To the woman that gave birth to you. There are probably a thousand things one could call her, but 'ma' is not one of them." He continued scraping.

Aaron's brow popped up. Had he been a boy who knew his mother at all he would've been offended by his father's criticism, which seethed with an old contention. But until he learned about how life began he thought Lucien LaChance was the only parent he ever had.

"That's gonna scar bad." Aaron pointed out, half distracted from the subject. "Probably. But it'll be much easier to look at." He smirked as he applied a disinfecting paste to his arm.

"What happened?" He asked, taking his gaze off of Lucien's arm to give him direct eye contact. "Please, da. Like ya said I'm old enough to know... and don't sugar-coat it." "I never have, and I certainly don't intend to now. You deserve the unadulterated truth."

Aaron seated himself on the old wooden chair next to Lucien, waiting attentively for what he believed was going to be a long story. As Lucien began to wrap his arm he searched the sky for his reflection.

"She got into the skooma... and then entered the world that revolved around it. She left us for it... and then it killed her." Was all he said, crunching the entire story down to a few simple sentences. Aaron sighed heavily, petting the toad as he watched it's throat bubble out each time it took in a breath.

"I'm sorry, buddy." Lucien heaved as he slouched back. "It's alright." "We've been doing just fine on our own haven't we? I've tried to be both parents... to give you a happy life..." "I know... yeah everything's fine. I never knew her so... it's not that big'a deal. I'm happy. But are you happy?" Lucien chuckled. "You make me happy, kiddo. I think that I'd be lost in this world without ya." "Aaaw." Aaron made a wry face at his father's 'mushy' words. That's when he decided to change the topic. "So, y'gotta hunt tonight?"

"No, Aaron. It's Sundas. We're going into town." "We?" "Yes, 'we'. You and I." "But what about the goats? Don't ya want me t-" "They'll be fine. I put plenty of food in the trough to keep them happy all day. Go wash up real quick cause if we want to be back before sunset we gotta leave in a few minutes. Alright?" "Sure!"

Aaron bolted through the creaky front door with zeal in his heart. Lucien picked up the toad that was sitting contently on the table in front of him and gave it a quick pat on the head before releasing him into the field.

Lucien did not 'sugar-coat' the story at all, but he withheld lot of details. He did not want to be a man that allowed his past to consume him or anyone else. That is why he decided to finally remove that tattoo, which was a part of a traditional Imperial marriage. He did not want to drown others in the grimy tales of what he had to endure since the night his ex-wife, Rosalla, started behaving strangely. He also avoided telling Aaron that it began shortly after he was born because he knew that the boy would ask if it had anything to do with him, and Lucien would have to answer truthfully. The truth was 'yes'.

No one needs that on their conscience. He thought.

As Lucien waited for Aaron, the memories he struggled to distance himself from lurched out. Memories of Rosalla's mood swings that got worse and more frequent during the five days that followed Aaron's birth; Lucien was verbally and physically assaulted every time he returned from a hunt- she was convinced that 'hunting' was a code word for 'seeing other women'. It wasn't the truth, but the quirky voice in her head told her that it was. The voice also told her that Lucien drank heavily and hit her with the broken leg of a chair, and she distributed those rumors through her equally eccentric friends. Fortunately the people Lucien had to worry about receiving those rumors knew it was a lie, seeing no evidence whatsoever that she was even pinched.

Lucien didn't know it at the time, but this was the first prominent sign that Rosalla was ingesting skooma. If he did he would've been prepared for the next appalling act that happened a week later. He returned one night to a house void of anyone but a very neglected infant. Aaron was crying at the top of his lungs over several things that were not tended to- he was hungry, heavily soiled, cold, and deprived of parental love for what seemed like the entire day. The desperate father rifled through the entire town for help because he did not have the means to feed him. Fortunately Velus of the Merchant's Inn had a good alternative to breast milk and the starving child was finally well fed.

Rosalla's whereabouts and reason for absence was unknown to him for quite some time. After another week, worry promptly turned into fury when she returned. She was not kidnapped, trapped, or harmed in any other way- she was staying in one of the hotel rooms at "The King and Queen Tavern", taking in enough shots of skooma to completely loose sense of time and concern for anything but herself. Lucien demanded an explanation, and that is when she revealed to him the shady life of self abuse that involved not only skooma but lewd activities with groups of men and women that were also lost to the substance. She poured out all of her hatred for the tedious repetition of...

"Eating, baby, cooking, baby, sleeping, baby! No more thrills! No more joy! Just routine!" She screamed.

She did not have Lucien's sympathy. Instead he expressed how disgusted he was by her lack of strength and willpower. He contested with the fact that...

"Everyone has to put up with a long stretch of dull and strenuous routine every now and then! That's life! And it's not like this all the time, you just dwell on nothing but the negative and ignore all the wonderful things that are right there within reach- I ask if you want to go out you pout'n say you don't feel like it! I ask if you want me to stay home and you say you want me to go ahead and get the hell out of the house and leave you alone! You are such a piece of work! And this skooma... and everything you've been doing... God, I thought you were above this! I never thought you were stupid enough to fall into it... do you know what it does.. or what it has done to you!"

It was pointless for Lucien to recount the fact that he didn't leave everything up to her. He helped out around the house when he was able to- but Rosalla stubbornly believed that she did everything and he did nothing. She hardly noted the many nights Lucien got less than two hours of sleep because he offered to lift the baby burdens off of her weary shoulders. But the one thing that made it clear to Lucien that Rosalla was no longer going to be in the picture was the unforgivable act of abandoning the infant. It was not going to take more than one incident to convince him to extinguish her from their lives. So the night that Rosalla returned was also the night he would see her for the last time. Out of fear of harassment Lucien decided to move out of the Waterfront District house and live secretly with Velus and his wife Janine. One month later, imperial legionnaires reported to LaChance that they found Rosalla's body in Bravil.

He felt no remorse.

The first five years did not simply roll by- they sluggishly moved through a horrible grit. Such times in Cyrodiil were unkind to single parents.

But we made it. I don't know how... but we always found a way. Lucien thought. One can get through anything if they have unwavering faith and spiritual endurance.

Lucien did not give up, and keeping his son in mind inspired him to preserver.

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Lucien LaVey, Stan LaVey, Vera Oberlin

Pairings: Brian/Damien/Vicky, Oz/Zoe, Stan/Lucien

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 4/?. WARNINGS— mentions of csa, childhood abuse, gore, violence, unreality; Vicky meets more family than she wants, and Oz and Zoe continue their search.

Oz felt great! Not only did he save Brian from a tragic tailspin which ended in Brian's violent death in a coke house, but he got Brian two dates on top of that.

He kissed Zoe. She was beautiful, how her tendrils bounced like Victorian curls as they hopped beneath colored lights and heavy music. He wasn’t one for nightlife or dancing, but everything was more fun with Zoe and with the knowledge that none of his friends were due for expiration.

Zoe gave his phobias another drink, he felt like he swallowed unbridled rapture.

His legs gave out and he fell to the floor.

---

Blood and soot spilled from his fingertips. His index fingers were curled. Blood drained into his eyes as brain matter floated midair like soap bubbles.

There were screams. They echoed around him like they echoed off mountains.

He fell. Blue snakes covered his eyes. He fell, fell, fell into pits of lightning and vats of bloodshed and drowned in the taste of metal.

---

His mouth tasted like cotton candy. Zoe held him up by his pits with a couple of her appendages and there were tears in her many, many eyes.

“Oz?” she said. “Oz, what the hell was that?”

He couldn’t catch his breath. Had he not saved Brian? Were there other triggers that drove him to drugs? Was Oz wrong from the beginning? Could the snakes have meant Vera instead? His head spun. He pushed Zoe away and dry heaved due to his headache.

Zoe rubbed his back. She didn’t move an inch, even as other dancers collided into them.

“We were wrong, weren’t we?” she said. “We need to keep looking.”

As he clutched Zoe’s arm, he nodded. Time was of the essence.

---

Vicky's fingers dug into the sides of the toilet. The morning light made her head pound. She gagged. Her stomach shoved itself into her throat. Thankfully, all she had for ten hours was water, but her heaves were still painful.

The worst of it was that refused to purge her anxiety like it purged her stomach acid.

When Vicky wiped her face, she recalled Damien's conversation with her and Brian. He wanted them to meet his parents. But Vicky wasn't anything impressive. She was cowardly and filthy and used up, and Damien was a prince. His fathers were sure to look down their nose at her. He deserved better than Vicky could have ever offered.

The three of them gathered in front of campus after school. Brian drove them to her apartment, where Damien drew a portal to Hell on her wall in chalk.

"Close your eyes," he told them, "don't open them until I say."

He grabbed their hands and dragged them through. For a split second, Vicky was assaulted by the kind of heat that singed her hair and the screams of thousands of anguished souls followed as they echoed in a stone amphitheater.

It cut out a second later. "You guys are good now," said Damien.

They were in his room. It was clean, unremarkable. He quickly led them outside. “My dads are in the family room. It’s this way.”

“This is surprisingly domestic,” Vicky remarked. There were beige carpet and pictures on eggshell-colored walls outside. She expected weathered stone and armor stands, or something gruesome and gothic.

“My parents built this under the castle. They say it helps them compartmentalize or something.”

“Well, this isn’t nearly as scary as I expected. I was gearing up for a torture dungeon and guards with pitchforks.”

“Oh, there are plenty of dungeons. They’re just upstairs.”

Damien opened the door into the family room. His parents were a giant blue horned creature and a scrawny red thing vaguely reminiscent of Oz, with his monochromatic eyes and absence of a mouth. They both wore sweats and t-shirts and had PlayThing controllers in hand.

“Hey, dads,” Damien said, “these are my partners: Brian and Vicky. Brian, Vicky, these are my dads. That’s Stan,” he pointed to the blue man, “and Lucien,” he then pointed at the red demon.

“Well, hello there! We’ve heard so many good things about the two of you. Damien never shuts up! In fact, sometimes he gets so excited and starts talking so fast that I only understand every other word. Come, sit,” said Lucien, after he furiously shook her and Brian’s hands.

“Dad, please,” Damien bashfully mumbled.

Vicky sat beside Stan. She felt like a bug.

“So, tell us more about you,” Lucien said.

“Well,” Brian began, “I play football, keep my grade point average around two-point-nine so I can stay on the team. I like alcohol. I’ve been infatuated with Brian and Vicky for around nine months now. Oh, I can sleep past three in the afternoon given the opportunity, too, but that’s only because I’ve royally fucked over my sleep schedule thanks to our friends Oz and Zoe keeping me up until godforsaken hours of the morning binging our shows.”

When Vicky’s turn came, she felt trapped. Embarrassed. The only things about her were tragedy and robbery. “Well… I’m an A-student. I make a living bank-robbing, sometimes I go bowling with my friends Vera and Liam. I get creamed every time.”

“God, me too. I tried throwing the ball instead of rolling it, and we got kicked out,” Stan said.

“Y’know, I tried throwing it too, but I ended up breaking the floor.”

“It’s all in the wrist. I’ll show you the next time we go bowling,” Stan promised.

“So… plans for college? Or marriage?” Lucien asked.

Brian and Vicky choked on their spit. “Dad,” Damien hissed, “we’re not there yet!”

“Well, don’t you like them, Damien?”

“Of course, but it makes people uncomfortable talking about it, dad,” Damien argued.

“Lucien, he’s right. Asking couples from the surface about marriage makes them incredibly awkward for some reason,” Stan said.

Lucien sighed. “Alright, I apologize. Is college still a safe topic?”

“Yeah,” Brian replied. “I’ve been offered a couple of sports scholarships.”

“I, uh…” Vicky swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t have any plans for her future. The furthest ahead she planned for her future was her next bank robbery and her next exam. Meanwhile, Brian already had college lined up, and Damien’s future was secured by his kingdom and passion for cosmetology. It was like there was no future for Vicky, only survival in the present.

“I’ve been submitting applications to colleges. I’m not entirely sure what I want to do, though,” she lied.

“You have your whole life ahead of you, Vicky. You don’t have to have the whole thing laid out yet,” Lucien reassured her. “Life sure as hell didn’t go as planned for us, after all.”

Stan sighed wistfully. “I didn’t expect I’d be king. My siblings all killed each other, so I just assumed I’d be killed in a power struggle as well. I certainly didn’t foresee marrying and bearing a child with my archnemesis.” He held Lucien’s hand with an adoring smile. “I wouldn’t change a thing, though. Maybe in time, you’ll find a place with us in Hell if you can’t find anywhere else, Vicky. God knows you’re already damned even being near our son.”

Vicky felt like the walls peeled and buried her beneath paint chips. “If I could be excused,” she said, “I need to use the restroom.”

"Take a right, it'll be the second door on the right.”

Vicky escaped into the bathroom, locked the door, and spiraled into a panic attack so extreme she had to brace the sink to keep herself upright. Her tears and snot trickled down the drain as Vicky struggled to catch her breath among her loathful and livid thoughts. Lucien and Stan were unimpressed, and it was only a matter of time before Damien realized she was a dud and left her, or worse, never spoke to his family again thanks to her.

She wept and fell onto the linoleum, where she curled up into a tight ball.

A knock came from the door. “Babe? Are you alright?” Damien asked.

“I-I’m fine,” Vicky said nasally, an obvious giveaway for her very much not okay-ness. She cursed under her breath. “I just need a minute.”

“Hey, are you crying?”

“No.”

“You sound like you’re crying. I know what you sound like when you’re crying. Baby, let me in, let’s talk about this. Open the door.”

Vicky mechanically opened the door. She couldn’t look Damien in the eye, even when he lifted her face up. She squeezed her eyelids so tightly it made her ears rumble.

“Look at me. What’s wrong? You’re kinda freaking me out, babe.”

“Just,” Vicky groaned and wiped her face with toilet paper, “they don’t like me. Your dads.”

“Of course they like you. They were really excited to meet you and Brian.”

“No! I’m a whore, they’re gonna figure out I’m cheap and forgettable. You’re a prince. I’m gonna drag you down one of these days.”

“I don’t really want to rule Hell, babe. They may not understand that, but my dads will try. And they do like you, a lot, in fact. They think you’re down to earth and polite. Politically, they think you’d be a relatable symbol to bring the royal family closer to our citizens. They want you to be a part of our family. I want that too.”

Vicky stood still as stone as Damien hugged her. He was so intense, it was too much for her. “I love you so much,” Damien said, “what can I do to help you feel better, Vicky?”

She shook her head. “I’m just… scared. I’m out of my element.”

“I understand, but you’re gonna be fine. Brian and I are here for you! We’re always here for you.” Damien helped Vicky clean up her face of tears and snot. “Let’s get you fixed up and have some dinner. Dad made ravioli.”

“Okay.”

Vicky shoved her face back into place and dabbed her face dry with toilet paper. Damien kissed her before he led her into the conjoined kitchen and dining room.

She was not comfortable among Damien’s family. She was unused to affection and proximity, like how Lucien pet her hair, or how Damien jostled her back and forth while he told them of one of their hijinks, but her boyfriends were happy, and Vicky wanted to be happy with them for the time being before she learned how to be happy with a family on her own.

Damien took Brian and Vicky back into his room after dinner. “Are you sure you guys have to go home? There’s a king-sized bed in the guest room we can use.”

“I’d feel weird staying here…. I don’t do well in sleepovers,” Vicky said

“And I won’t lie, I've been putting off my extra credit for, like, a month, and it's due tomorrow morning," replied Brian.

Damien sighed. "Alright. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then."

She and Brian tumbled through the doorway into their world and emerged in her bedroom. Vicky kissed Brian goodnight on his way out.

It was nice to be home after her exhaustive episode at Damien’s house. But she had work she needed to do, so she dialed for Vera.

“Hi. I figured I should ask how the plans are coming along,” Vicky said.

“Splendidly. I’m glad you called,” said Vera. “Something occurred to me the other day. We get tons of cash from the banks, but imagine the payout getting just as much money from a drug lab, and taking their product and selling it. No middle man, just an enormous profit after we sell it to dealers. I crunched the numbers and we’ll make almost twice what we do robbing banks.”

That was enough to convince Vicky. “That sounds great! We’ll have to take precautions, though. They’ll have tons of guns if we rob a lab.”

“Absolutely. But that’s why we’ll do it the day after tomorrow. I’m having full gear shipped in. Body armor, automatic weapons, cell jammers, the whole gambit.”

“That’s great.”

“There’s still the issue of us getting ambushed, though. Most of these labs I’ve had scouted have at least seven people in there. Drugs, seven hardened criminals against the two of us, plus guns? Even with body armor, I don’t like those odds, so I wanted to ask you something.”

“Okay. What did you want to ask?”

“This won’t be much different from our ordinary arrangement. The thing is with these labs: they’ll have product and money stashed everywhere. Can you keep seven people at bay while I search the house? I can handle the jammers, tying everyone up, and whatever miscellaneous tasks that come up since seven people are a lot to handle for anyone, but I need you to keep them under control.”

“Of course. It should be easy once we’ve frisked them and tied them up.”

“Vicky, you are amazing, you know,” Vera said. “I need your size, though.”

“I normally go with a medium. I’m twenty-eight, twenty-four, twenty-eight if that means anything.”

“Ooh, hourglass,” Vera cooed. “Alright. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Vicky. Have a good night.”

“You too, Vera. I love you. Sweet dreams.”

---

Vicky enjoyed her chemistry class. The smell of chlorine and formaldehyde made her giddy, but she was still exhausted from her visit to Hell. She only wanted to Brian and Damien on either side of her.

But Vicky had an exam. She studied hard for it and all that effort would have gone to waste if she played hooky. So she kissed Brian and Damien when she saw them that morning and then perused her notebook with formulas and compounds and the likes expertly drawn onto her notebook.

In the middle of the exam, Vicky was called to the office over the intercom. Fear struck her heart. Had someone found out about the robberies?

Vicky made her way to the administrator’s office. When she walked inside, a large creature, tall and bald, sat in the waiting area.

She wanted to puke.

"Vicky!" Eugene cried with delight. He lumbered over to Vicky, who was frozen in place. "I've missed you so much." His thick fingers brushed through her hair. She wanted to break his arm again and again until it was fucking paste.

"What're you doing here?" she asked.

"I told you. I've missed you so much, I want us to be a family again."

A family, like when he pinned her face in her pillows and took her raw like she was a slab of meat.

Vicky tore away from Eugene with a cry of horror. Blood rushed into her legs. The memory of his torment crashed around her like Eugene threw open the floodgates. Vicky had to hide from Eugene's bloodthirst. The forest should have been sufficient protection.

Outside, Damien and Scott caught her arm.

“Vicky, what’s wrong, you look like you saw a ghost,” Scott said.

“Let go!” Vicky screamed. She tugged her arm as hard as she could, but Scott was so much stronger than she was. "Help! Somebody help me!"

“Vicky, it’s us!” Damien said, “tell us what’s wrong.”

“He’s here! He’s going to hurt me!”

“Who’s going to hurt you?”

Vicky picked at her stitches. They unraveled, and her arm fell off in the middle of her forearm, and she took off as fast as her legs carried her. She ran until her eyes only saw the forest, the school was hidden behind leaves and wood, and Eugene disappeared with it.

---

"He?" Damien grumbled. Not a second later, it felt like he was kicked in the gut. “Eugene is here,” he realized.

He was back to hurt Vicky. His precious Vicky, whose smile outshined the moon and stars and who was brave enough to stand against the world with jolly comparable to the holiday spirit.

Damien never saw red so vividly when he took off for the administrator’s office.

He grabbed Eugene, a tall, bald man, by the back of his shirt, and heaved him into hellfire, where they disappeared into Damien’s room. Eugene instinctually froze as he processed the transportation, which Damien used to throw him across the room.

“You son of a bitch!” Damien boomed. “She used to be so happy, and you ruined her, so I’m gonna ruin you!”

Eugene pushed himself onto Damien’s bed. It was a fruitless escape, since Damien’s tail wrapped around Eugene’s ankle and pulled as hard as he could.

“Please don't do this,” Eugene pleaded.

“Did you stop when Vicky begged you to stop? Did you ever consider how much it hurt her being your sex toy? How much it hurt for a grown man to fuck a kid?” Damien grabbed him by his collar and threw him onto the floor. “You don’t fucking deserve to live, you sick bastard. I’m gonna throw you into a boiling cauldron and stab you for the rest of eternity with a motherfucking pitchfork!”

He kneeled on Eugene’s shoulders once he pinned Eugene to the floor. Damien pulled a knife from his waistband and stabbed Eugene square in the jugular. Eugene flailed and gurgled. Damien forced his head back by his chin, raised the knife high above them, and then slammed it down as hard as he could. He heard the knife snap when it severed Eugene’s spine and connected with the floor below them.

Eugene began to disintegrate into black ash. Damien had a lot to clean between the ash and blood. Damien breathed for a minute before he reached into his pocket to text Vera and Brian. Not a second later, Brian’s call came in.

“What the hell do you mean Vicky is missing?” he screamed over the receiver.

“I mean she ran into the forest not too long ago and we need to look for her before it gets dark,” Damien said he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I need to do some cleanup at home before I can come back.”

“What kind of cleanup, Damien?”

“Eugene was a real bastard to her as a kid. He decided to pay her a visit. I took care of him, but I need to clean my room before my parents get back,” Damien explained. "We need to keep this between us for now, though, okay?"

“... thank you, I’m sure she appreciates it. I love you. I’ll let you know when we find Vicky, okay?”

“Thanks, Brian. I love you too.”

---

It became unbelievably cold as dusk rolled around. The cold bit at her skin like rats nibbled at dying flesh.

“Vicky?”

When her name was called, Vicky covered her sobs with her hands. Not a sound escaped between her fingers despite how her heart tumbled into her gut. She rocked in place. Her efforts for self-preservation were useless.

"Baby, it's me," Brian said. "Come down here."

Vicky carefully opened her eyes. Brian stood alone on the ground with a flashlight pointed into the pine tree to illuminate her.

"We've been looking for you for hours, Vicky. Let's take you home."

"No!" she snapped. "He's still out there. He knows where I am. He's going to hurt me!"

"Vicky, Eugene will never hurt you again. You have me and Damien who'll protect you. I know Vera would do just about anything to keep you safe."

Vicky cursed herself. Brian was dirty and tired of searching for the forest. She was so juvenile in her fear, to run and hide. Brian and Damien must have been worried sick. Vera must have been pretty put out as well.

She made her way down the tree trunk and ran into Brian's embrace. He squeezed her like he wanted to mold them together.

"I'm sorry," Vicky said. "He was gonna do something awful, though! I'm a little toy to Eugene. You guys wouldn't recognize me when he was done. I didn't know what else to other than run as far away as I could. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you guys."

Brian, with his face buried in her neck, said, "It's okay. I'm just so glad you're safe. Let's put this awfulness behind us and go home."

Vicky nodded obediently.

Her arm was in the back of Brian's truck. She pulled it into her lap. Vicky couldn't reattach it in the car since it was too shaky, but she was glad to have it back.

It still felt like Eugene was just outside the door with a hook in hand. Vicky clutched her arm like a club.

When Brian parked outside Vicky's apartment, she saw Damien pace through the window. His hands raked through his hair, his tail twitched like the tail of a nervous cat. Brian guided her inside by her hand. Vicky felt awful. He must have been so worried about her.

Damien looked like the weight of the world fell off his shoulders when she walked inside.

"I'm so glad you're okay, " he said.

"I'm sorry, " Vicky replied as she hugged her disembodied arm to her chest, "I got scared and ran."

He pulled her hands into his own. He kissed her knuckles. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Vicky's shower was too small for even two of them to occupy, but Brian brought her a clean set of clothes and Damien found quilts stashed in her closet. The three of them wordlessly laid together, she was sandwiched between Brian and Damien, like they were shields.

They weren't enough for Vicky to tear her eyes away from her door until she finally couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.

[tlparadigm]

Stygian Paradigm

Stygian Paradigm

By tlparadigm, for Kindred Spirits it pertains to

-Prologue-

The end of the western world began Saturday, December 31st, 2011. Yellowstone Caldera last erupted 630,000 years ago. More recently, Mount St. Helens erupted March 20, 1980, and it killed 57 people. But in the final days of December 2011, Yellowstone became active and destructive once more, the governments of the world rushed to evacuate the citizens of North America and prepare themselves for the worst. An idea was born. A special type of geomagnetic device would be constructed to contain the blast like a vacuum, a bio-weapon. The device was supposed to compress the tonnes of ash bursting from the volcano; They failed.

December 2011 - South Dakota

Yellowstone Caldera exploded. The North American continent is in chaos, people are rushing to escape to the other side of the world, or accepting death and staying where they are. Thirty-three of us trekked east to Prince George, British Columbia to a large cave where we could hopefully survive for a few years. All vehicles had stopped working from the failure of the device so we would be walking all the way. We would arrive by early February, after a 2,430 km walk from South Dakota, where most of us had lived. What the governments did not expect, was that a backup geo-magnetic pulse from the device was so powerful that it caused ruptures in the ground which ultimately caused an eruption at Mount St. Helens as well. With ash coming from the volcanoes, chemically charged by the device, mutation soon followed in the animal kingdom and pure insane chaos in the modern world.

January 17th, 2012 - Medicine Hat, AB

After weeks, our group of 33 was whittled down to 17. We had all watched as packs of wolves and other beasts tore our comrades to shreds. We breathed ash as we walked through the streets of Medicine Hat. Our lungs slowly deteriorated. On one of the finals days a huge male cougar attacked our camp, it mangled 8 of our comrades. Their deaths were gruesome. 6 of us now remained, soon only 4 including myself. As I left my fallen comrades to nature’s merciless rage, I pondered the events of the past month, as soon as the new year hit everything had gone to hell. I was then reminded of the Mayan calendar myth, the calendar had gone for roughly 5,125 years but ended on December 21rst 2012, but it was only January. Why had both Volcanoes erupted, even though they were over 1,380 kilometers away from each other, could it have been a coincidence or some sort of accident? I doubted I’d ever find out the whole truth.

January 24th, 2012 - Jasper, AB

The four of us were anxious about going into Jasper National Park but so far the view was spectacular so we put up with the seemingly endless amount of walking. We occasionally passed trailers and cottages, if we were up to it we’d snoop around in and hope to find other survivors but everywhere we looked it was like we were in a ghost town, just without the town, only the highway which we traveled on and the forests around us, we would stay on the highway even when we passed various towns, since we no longer had the heart to search them. We had stopped just outside of Jasper, Alberta when we heard gunfire coming from the south where we’d soon be passing the town. The four of us grabbed our gear and started quickly moving towards the shots which were still sounding as we neared closer. Two of my three companions were a young couple named Ben and Samantha who had lost their house in the initial chaos of early January, they had nervous looks on their faces and I could tell that they were running through the possibilities of why someone was firing a weapon. The other was my good friend Daniel who I’d known since high school, we had survived in the wilderness before but that was for fun and we had more resources at our disposal but this was far different, this was life or death.

The man who had been firing the weapon seemed to be in his late 50s, with a messy grey-white beard and electric blue eyes with red lines around the edges which suggested lack of sleep or maybe some sort of drug use. He almost shot us as we approached but as the four of us looked around to figure out why he was firing we saw no obvious reasons. A creepy sparkle came to his eyes as he lowered his weapon, the woman of the couple asked the old man if he was ok but he seemed to ignore her question and instead exclaimed

“Welcome to Jasper! Now, where do fish keep their money, my friends?” We looked at each other confused and Sam slowly said “Uh hi, and is it the riverbank?” A wickedly crooked and chaotic smile came onto the man’s face and after a few seconds he finally said, “Ah you are a smart girl, the name is Lucien, this town is my town, I am its sole inhabitant.” A shocked look came to Daniel’s face, “It’s sole inhabitant? Jasper had around 5000 people living in it, they couldn't have all left!” he said, raising his tone a bit as he talked. “Take a look for yourself young man, but you’ll only find clues of the past.” We set up camp in Jasper and talked with the man, who seemed to be going senile which was surprising considering he only looked to be in his late 50s maybe early 60s. I didn't know why he had asked us that odd riddle but he was just weird. Ever since we had arrived in Jasper the man had been giving me a look, a sneer was always on his face when he looked my way, he gave me chills.

January 25th, 2012 - Jasper, AB

The next day, I found myself in an argument with Lucien, I’d caught him checking out our bags and holding our ammunition in his hands. He pleaded that he was innocent and he was only making sure we hadn't left our equipment somewhere that bears could access, but, I knew he was lying through his teeth. He was still arguing with me when suddenly stopped and went still, he started off at something behind us, we all looked but there was nothing, then there was a gunshot from beside us. Lucien had drawn a sidearm from beneath his long gray tattered trench coat and had fired at us but had missed very poorly even though we were only a couple of meters away from him. Reflexively Daniel grabbed his rifle from beside him and aimed at Lucien, seeing this, Lucien spat at Daniel for pointing a gun at an old man then he pointed an obscene hand gesture at him. So Daniel shot him in the right foot and returned the hand gesture. Swearing and screaming, Lucien limped off into town. Later that day we heard another gunshot coming from the part of town that Lucien hung around the most, we all went towards the noise to see what was going on. What we found we had not expected, but there, in a parking lot, in the western area of the town, lay the body of Lucien, a gunshot wound in the side of his head. I thought it to be an odd place and time to commit suicide. Especially when you have a whole town to yourself, but the man had been a psychopath, and it would be best not to question his final intentions.

January 26th, 2012 - Yellowhead Hwy, AB

Sam and Ben had stayed in Jasper so they could attempt to gather more materials and see if they could get a vehicle working again so they could meet Daniel and me later on. Later still, Daniel and I discovered that an aggressive, scruffy and scarred grizzly bear had been stalking us since we left Jasper. We were almost out of bullets and we were weak from days of walking. I watched as my close friend I’d known for 16 years was brought down by the 300 kg bear who had ambushed us that afternoon, I gazed at his face as his insides being torn open and as he drew his final breath, the bear looked at me. Its eyes glowed red, it growled, an unearthly growl. Then it charged at me but went off course and kept running past me further into the forest. In seconds, after horrible screaming and agony, Daniel, the guy I’d known for so long and became so close with, was gone and so was the bear; I was alone, and the nature of Jasper National Park was my only company.

January 29th, 2012 - Portal Lake, BC

I managed to find a rest area today, but also a final news report from earlier in the month which I’d never heard; the government's device and the double volcanoes had caused fractures in the earth's crust and were cracking the tectonic plates apart. More volcanoes were brewing just like here, earthquakes were destroying whole countries, hurricanes obliterated whole cities and the death toll was catastrophic. I came across a small aging wooden cabin in the woods, I found exactly what I needed, a better hunting rifle then what I’d taken from one of my comrades, along with ammunition and multiple food rations. Around 300 km until I reached safety, at least with this better gun I could avenge my fallen friends and comrades.

February 2012 - Moose Lake, BC

I was into British Columbia now, almost at Red Pass. I’d stopped to rest at the easternmost point of moose lake when I saw some sort of building across the Fraser River from where I sat on Yellowhead Hwy, I managed to half swim half trudge my way towards the building which I now saw used to be a lighthouse. The only thing was that the lighthouse had been destroyed somehow and only the bottom half was still standing, even in ruins. I stayed there for two days than in the night I was awoken by a spine-chilling howl. A wolf pack had arrived.

I could hear them outside, snarls and growling filled the gloomy night air. I didn't sleep again for the remainder of the night. Hours later, the howling had stopped. It was strange, they had me trapped but I could now see them retreating back into the surrounding forest. I slowly stepped out of the ruins to investigate, I had a bad feeling about this. Of course, the old bear eventually arrived to finish me off. With the rifle in my hands, I prepared for the worst. I had run out of rations, I was starving and that bear would be pretty dang good for cooking. I went to the top of the ruins to see if I could get a better shot but the stairway where the ruins ended were too narrow to get a good shot, so I went back down the winding stone stairs and crouched down at the door to ready myself. I waited for a while, then the massive bear charged towards my shelter. I fired two rounds at the beast, it didn't slow. I dove back into the ruins and the bear tore into the building. Moments later I was on the ground, punching at the bear’s mangled ugly face. I could feel sections of my torso being torn to shreds, I reached for my knife as the bear slashed at my blocking arm.

I drove the knife into its jaw, the creature roared in pain and trudged out of the broken lighthouse, but I knew it would soon be back. I was quickly losing blood, I crawled towards my backpack and the rifle which had been tossed beside it. I grasped for the painkillers even though I knew they wouldn't heal injuries of this magnitude, then I reached for the rifle and slowly stood up one last time to face the beast before me. There would be no survivors in this eternal fight between mankind and nature, and it seems, there weren’t, not really. Nature always wins, we can’t control nature forever. We just have to learn from our faults and remember our sins. I guess life as we knew it found a way to survive, and we didn't. Perhaps one-day mankind will go among the stars, and nature will lie in the soil, the air and the seas. But perhaps mankind won’t make it that far, maybe it will be nature taking back what’s rightfully it's own.

The End. “Welcome to the Quiet Apocalypse” - The Long Dark, Hinterland Games

[mariamuses]

100 Reasons Why

The wonderful @queen-archeron suggested this prompt where Elain x Azriel go to their first date and have their first kiss, because I couldn’t find any inspiration lately. It’s just pure Elriel fluff because Anna and I have been sharing opinions on it lately and I’m trash. Hope you enjoy it!

Tags:  @songbirdsbooks @kaliejane26 @personpersonper @turtlesnook @the-bookish-soul @court-0f-dreamers

Word Count: 2,244

AO3

After the war, it had taken everyone in the inner circle time to grow accustomed to their new lives, with new nightmares, new dynamics, new people...

But to Elain, that new life came with the literal sense. She had died on that Cauldron, moved across the continent and had left all her social life and the people that came with it behind. To top it off, she had been given a mate, and a handsome one at that, but he was someone she didn’t really know, and their relationship hadn’t exactly started with the right foot. 

She knew Lucien was a good man, but to her, it wasn’t reason enough to force herself to accept some bond that was thrusted upon her, when all her life she had grown up believing that you get to choose who you love, and you have to choose right, for the humans didn’t have the mating bond and the certainty it offered. She had given up enough things to now give up her beliefs and values too. Even if it was a hard choice, she wasn’t going to be one to keep a male at her knees, begging for scraps when he, and she too, could aim for so much more.

So, she had called the mating bond off. One day when Lucien had returned to the Night Court after one of his many trips as Emissary, Elain had taken him to the garden for a walk and told him everything. Lucien had been very gracious about it, after all he had been waiting for her to make a decision, but it wasn’t too difficult considering how he had Vassa as a safe net to cushion the fall. Elain had agreed, much to Lucien’s disbelief, after catching Lucien writing letters to Vassa, that keeping correspondence with her was a great idea, even while they went on a few dates, to keep his options open in case he didn’t want the mating bond, so he wouldn’t feel trapped. Of course, Lucien wasn’t as decisive as her and hadn’t dared to call it off even when he already knew what he wanted.

It was a crucial step Elain had taken, but she hadn’t been alone in that journey. Not at all.

Azriel had been there. He always was and now, she hoped, he always will.

He was different. Always quiet, in the shadows, looking, observing. But also, Elain had noticed, helping. Every time she had something to do, he was there, helping her. He wasn’t as noticeable as maybe Cassian, Rhysand or Mor were. But to Elain, that only made her look at him closely.

The first thing she had noticed was that he was beautiful, in a sharp yet delicate way. Then she noticed how she was her best self with him around her. And when the visions had started to go out of control, he had been the one at the front line, the first to know what she was, the only one who knew how to help her.

And so she started seeing him too, under another light. How this male didn’t believe he could be loved, or that he was deserving of love. She saw his shadows, but looked past them; saw his scars but only felt his hands. How he could create with them, when they cooked together; or be gentle, when he scooped her up when a vision hit her or when he took care of her garden.

And Elain saw him look at her, too. That gaze filled with hidden love, but also guilt and sadness. 

And she couldn’t bear it, so she took matters onto her own hands; and after a few days of gathering the courage after setting Lucien free, she was determined to show him what love meant and asked him out on a date. And after a lot of convincing and giving him countless reasons and explanations that she didn’t want Lucien, but him, he said yes.

And today was the day.

He was picking her up on the House of Wind because Feyre had insisted that way was more romantic, him being forced to fly her down to Velaris and all.

A sharp knock shook Elain out of her reverie and she pulled the door open, looking up to a view that melted her heart into a puddle.

In front of her was Azriel, out of his normal leathers, with a clean-shaven face, black linen pants and a black, plain t-shirt fitted so it hugged his arms and chest. Her jaw hanged, but she wasn’t the only one stunned.

In front of her, Azriel’s gaze kept flicking all over her. First her eyes and the black kohl she had lined them with; then her lips, which were plump and rose colored; and finally her body, for she was clad in a dress which did nothing to hide her breasts, as well as the curve of her hips and finished right above the knee.

After a full minute of checking each other out, Azriel chuckled, tending a hand out to her and asked, “Shall we go?”.

Elain furrowed her brow, the lack of compliment on her appearance bothering her but remembering how hard it had been for him to agree to the date, she cleared her doubts out of her mind and took his hand, letting him put his hands behind her knees and back and picking her up as if she weighted nothing.

“We shall, handsome”, she answered.

And they took off.

Elain took Azriel on a tour of the city. Of course, he already knew all the places, but what he didn’t know, or at least fully acknowledge, was the meaning behind them.

“Okay, so this”, explained Elain pointing at a restaurant, “is the first place I ate after the war was won. I had been on the townhouse for months without ever coming out other than to my garden, but you convinced me to come saying that there were flower beds with flowers from every court. It was the first time I felt I could breathe after they pulled me out from the Cauldron. And that is reason number one.”

“Reason number one? Of what? What do you need reasons for?”, questioned Azriel, his brow knitting.

Elain wiggled her eyebrows.

“You’ll see”, she said taking his hand and dragging him to a new location; another restaurant. Actually, their favorite restaurant of Velaris, the one they frequented the most.

“This” kept going Elain, “I was showed, but Rhys actually let me into his mind, projecting a memory for me where you took Fey here, was the first time she ate out when she came from Spring. Also, where you and Mor and Cassian invited her to dance. And that, is reason number two.”

This went on for the better part of the evening, and Azriel kept getting more and more confused because, trying to pick them common denominator to all the reasons, the only one he could find was him, but not always her, or Feyre… just him. And it drove him insane.

“Over here we have a brick wall, with a big crack. And it’s the place you killed an attor on Hybern’s first attack on Velaris, defending a woman who was holding her newborn child.”

“This fence, right here, you helped a neighbor patch up after a dog had escaped and you found it and brought it back to the owner.”

The weirdest one was a kid she pulled up while she went on, “This, is Aaron. How old are you Aaron?”

“Six, but I’m turning seven in five days”, answered the kid.

“Oh, and do you know who this is?”, asked him Elain.

“Yes! He’s the spymaster, Azriel.”

“That is right”, she continued, kneeling in front of him. “And how do you know him?”

“He saved me! I was climbing a big wall, but my foot slipped, and he caught me when I was gonna hit the floor and BAM! We flew sooo high and then he took me to mamma”.

“Thank you very much, Aaron. Happy early birthday”, Elain waved the kid goodbye and turned to Azriel again. “And that is reason number thirty.”

And so, the confusion went on.

When dawn was nearing, they arrived at the river bank, where a blanket was spread out with a picnic on top.

Carefully, Elain strayed from the paved path, and with Azriel’s hand on hers, made her way, and sat down.

Az eyed the set up suspiciously, and inquired.

“Is this another one of your mysterious reasons? Because I don’t remember ever being here before... “

Elain giggled, looking up to him, still standing.

“No, silly. This is our dinner. I made it with help from Cassian”, she said, “He helped me make some traditional illyrian dishes, supposedly, the ones you like the most”.

As she finished her explanation, Azriel sat down and eagerly started taking of the lids off the plates, eyes widening by the second at the delicious food she had so masterful prepared with the help of his brother.

Eyes shining with not yet fallen tears, he turned to her.

“Elain, this is perfect. No one has even done this for me before... Thank you.”, he whispered in awe.

“And that is reason number one hundred”, she muttered, while grabbing his face between her hands, her own eyes lined with silver.

He cocked his head, exasperation brushing his features and trying to get out of her touch; but she gripped him harder, not enough to hurt, but to hold on.

“Elain you-”

“Shhhh. Shut up and let me explain. Please. I promise you’re going to understand everything”, she interrupted.

Azriel sighed, but resigned himself and shut his gaping mouth.

“Azriel, you are the most selfless, handsome, hardworking, intelligent male I’ve ever met.” She was interrupted by a stuttering Azriel, but she hushed him again and kept going.

“You’ve been through hell and back, yet still manage to live for others, helping them, sacrificing your time and money to do it. You’ve taking care of Rhys and Cassian as if they were your own biological brothers, you’ve done their dirty work when even they weren’t able to, loved them when they didn’t love themselves, believed in them. You’ve brought Amren blood to her apartment when she was in a mood and nobody dared to. You’ve known Mor’s secret for centuries, and don’t even try to deny it, but still you’ve love her so much, so she could realize she was worthy of any kind of love she wanted. But that’s not even scraping the surface. Azriel, you’ve been to me what no male before has: a friend, without any added relationship behind it. I mean, I consider Rhys and Cass my friends, too, maybe even Lucien, but the former ones are tied to my sisters and Lucien did it for the bond that was between us. But not you, never you. You always saw me, even in those first days when no one did. You spent time with me, even when I had nothing to give back to you. And then I fell for you. And I know you don’t think yourself worthy of me, but you are. We’re not mates, but I’m grateful for that because the Cauldron has given me the opportunity to choose you, show you how much I love you. Because somehow, if the Cauldron had made us mates, you would feel as if me being your mate was a kind of obligation, but now it isn’t. Azriel, I can see the future, but I didn’t need to, not to make this decision; it’s always been crystal clear. But not for you it hasn’t, because your opinion of yourself gets in the way. So, for our first date I decided to take you on a tour of a city you know better than anyone, but instead of showing you buildings or shop I showed you the reasons why I loved you, so you wouldn’t forget. But most important, I made you food, so symbolize how I accept the bond we’ll be creating together. A bond of our own, stronger than any other by nothing more than choice and sheer will. Az, I love you because you helped my sisters, you help others, and you’ve helped me become the person I am today. And those, are the hundred reasons why I love you”, finished Elain, breathless of all the rushed talking.

A quiet moment followed before Azriel took his hands and mimicked hers, holding her face and breathed.

“You love me?”

“Yes. And I’m going to do everything in my power―“

Azriel pressed his lips to hers, silencing her. At first, she startled, but then she reacted to him, lips moving over each other in synchronization, heat rising in her stomach in realization of what she was doing, and how right it felt.

When they pulled apart, after what felt only a second, she blushed, and he pulled her into his lap, embracing her tiny frame in his arms and pushing away stray hairs from her face, as she looked up into his eyes, a contents sigh escaping her lips as he smirked at her.

“I can’t wait”, she murmured, captivated by him and how the date had developed.

“For what, flower?”, asked Az, curious of what could this precious being so expectant.

“For the rest of our lives together”, she concluded as a new vision of family and happiness formed in her mind.

[allthebooksbefore]

a court of wings and ruin / sarah j. maas

book #21 of 2021 started: sometime in may (i forget lol) finished: june 30th

what it's about: "feyre has returned to the spring court, determined to gather information on tamlin's actions and learn what she can about the invading king threatening to bring her land to its knees. but to do so she must play a deadly game of deceit. one slip could bring doom not only for feyre, but for everything - and everyone - she holds dear. as war bears down upon them all, feyre endeavors to take her place amongst the high fae of the land, balancing her struggle to master her powers - both magical and political - and her love for her court and family. amidst these struggles, feyre and rhysand must decide whom to trust amongst the cunning and lethal high lords, and hunt for allies in unexpected places... the fate of feyre's world is at stake as armies grapple for power over the one thing that could destroy it."

what i liked: the way it took two and a half books to actually get to the war lol... but all of that build up was so necessary to make the stakes higher and make it all hit home more. i loved feyre and rhys' last few moments at the townhouse, the chapter where feyre and her sisters reunited after feyre and azriel saved elain (and they slept next to each other like they begrudgingly used to when they were humans) (really all of the sisterly moments between feyre and nesta), rhys' speech before the last battle - it was all so bittersweet. feyre's ruse with lucien at the beginning of the novel - i.e. her coming onto him to piss off tamlin - was interesting. i know he felt guilty for not being there for feyre in the past, and maybe he just got caught up in the moment, but he fell right into her traps (they almost k i s s e d). it was kind of surprising because 1) he had very clear suspicions of her when she came back to the spring court, 2) he knew he was mated to elain, and 3) his unyielding loyalty - though perhaps faltering - to tamlin. also, i mentioned this back in book one, but i like how feyre often needs help, makes mistakes, or straight up doesn't know what to do... turning the spring court against tamlin (which was kind of savage at the time but ended up having negative consequences); when she left one of the battles against hybern without telling anyone (and people were pissed at her); when she couldn't fly (and tamlin helped her); when she felt utterly useless at times during the war. she has a lot of confidence, but also has her own faults and insecurities - it makes her seem more real than a heroine who constantly kicks ass. i also liked how she made her peace with tamlin, giving him that note. i hope we can see him redeem himself in the future, watch him learn how to be a stronger leader, learn how to calm the rage inside of him. switching gears… jurian. i LOVED that he pulled a rhys and ended up working for the greater good. i had a feeling he would... while in the spring court, he would insinuate to feyre that he knew she was putting on an act, winking at her like they were in on something together. interested to see how his storyline plays out, especially with myriam and drakon. also, mor. i didn’t expect that she was going to come out (at earlier points i thought maybe amren, nesta or both), but i wasn’t necessarily surprised. there had to be a solid reason why she was stringing cassian and azriel along for so long. what was kind of annoying in retrospect, though, was how she kept inserting herself into these moments between cassian and nesta. i get she has a sense of protectiveness over her friends, but i feel like she was being more protective over that love triangle to save face, and it makes me sad for her and the two men. they deserve to find love, not be stuck in this 500-year-old game. i also loved when, during the final battle, feyre removed the glamour around the bone carver and byraxis, only for rhys to remove his own glamour around the weaver - we stan a couple on the same wave length. omg and when we got to see nesta and elain team up to take down the king of hybern - how the author used the grip the cauldron had on feyre to bring us there and witness it versus randomly giving us nesta/elain’s point of view… i’m glad nesta and elain got to each have their moment.

what i liked, continued: FATHER ARCHERON. i had a strong feeling he was going to appear at that heart of the war - the fact that he was mentioned here and there as being away on business, without a second thought, made that one a bit obvious, but i thought he was going to either have joined hybern in a deal to get his daughters back, or would have been captured by hybern as bait. but he was strong and good and RALLIED TROOPS to fight, in ships named after his daughters (lead by the NESTA). UGHHH. it was a bit cheesy but SO CUTE. what was a little muddy, though, was the fact that he just left nesta and elain behind? did he try returning for them but they weren’t there, or learned of their fate from vassa before he could? or did he know in his heart that feyre would come back for them? ANYWAY. it was nice to see him redeem himself. now let’s talk about miss amren. part of me was thinking that someone in the group would be revealed to be working for hybern's cause, but i left that theory behind. but then, at the cauldron, amren revealed that she lied to feyre, and i was so taken aback, thinking she had ulterior motives, hybern or no. but then i thought, wait... she probably lied that they needed more “made-fae” power to nullify the cauldron, that it had to be only feyre. kind of like the "protective" necklace she gave feyre when she was going to visit the bone carver for the first time - a placebo to give her inner strength (which was sort of true). but then once amren said she needed feyre to kill her... queue the hermione granger "hE's gOiNg tO sAcRiFicE hImSeLf" moment. BRO. after the suriel and feyre were talking about needing to die to nullify the cauldron, part of me thought tamlin would sacrifice himself. but AMREN not just unleashing her beast form but accepting a certain death... BEAUTIFUL. lastly, changing course to the ending... RHYS' DEATH. i had a feeling back in book two that he would end up dying because he's just too GOOD. something bad had to happen. what i didn't expect, though, was the entire series coming full circle and all the high lords bringing him back to life, and then rhys bringing AMREN BACK WITH HIM. UGHHHHH. we STAN.

what i didn't like: i get there's a lot of content to get through, but the author just completely cuts out storylines only to bring them back when it's convenient and it could be a little distracting. lucien is a perfect example - he left to go find vassa, and then was never mentioned again until he reappeared during the last battle. feyre couldn't have had a passing thought about him once or twice? wonder if he's okay out there?

things i'm thinking about: i'm worried about nesta, but she always pulls through. i think she'll start taking her training more seriously, too. i'm also worried about rhys - will he suffer any major effects of being revived? it almost felt a little too easy. plus, although the war is over, there is still so much to consider - bryaxis on the loose. vassa, and the death-lord she is cursed to. the mortal queens. the ramifications of the cauldron’s whereabouts. jurian. the people remaining people of hybern (and who takes over the throne). the new treaty. amren’s abilities now that she’s solely high fae. eris, and his fight for beron's crown. alis - is she ok? what role will the human girl they saved from hybern's camp play going forward? and then, of course, all of the relationships - mor and viviane's sister were hinted at. and then azriel + mor + cassian of course. nesta and cassian (CAN'T WAIT FOR THIS TO PLAY OUT MORE). azriel getting over mor (and his soft spot for elain?). elain and lucien. lucien and helion. lucien and his family. lucien and tamlin. amren and varian. UGH so much left to resolve.

[lady-therion]

Homecoming: Part 2 [Nessian]

Summary: Cassian really misses his feisty mate.

(Post-bonding. Post-ACOWAR. NSFW.)

A/N: In which Nesta’s back and Cassian gets super clingy! Not that Nesta minds her big bad bae wanting all of her attention even if he’s being zero chill about it. 

***

   Cassian couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop breathing in his mate’s intoxicating scent like it was some kind of ambrosia.  

   “Mongrel,” said Nesta.

   “Your mongrel,” he purred into her neck. “You love it when I’m all over you like this. I can tell…”

    A red flush bloomed across her cheeks, making him greatly aware of where else he could make it appear on her body. Cauldron, he was half-hard already from her squirming in his lap—no matter that they were in their High Lord’s tent and thus in plain view of anyone who happened to walk by.

   Apparently, there was no shortage of busybodies eager for a glimpse of his fearsome mate.

   “Stop that,” she hissed, swatting the hand roaming along her inner thigh, its destination clear. “Everyone can see...”

    “I want them to see,” he crooned. “I want them to know that you’re mine, Nesta Archeron. More importantly, I want them to know that I’m yours.”

   He nipped at that sensitive spot below her ear, his teeth and tongue coaxing out a lovely whimper that went straight to his cock.

   “Mother’s tits, how I’ve missed that sound,” he said, worrying at the same spot over and over until she was shivering—whether from desire or frustration, he didn’t know, but it was delicious all the same. “I’m going to devour every inch of you, sweetheart...”

   “More like...mmm...the other way around,” she said, so breathlessly he was tempted to just throw her onto the floor and mount her right there. “Idiot.”

   Funny how Nesta’s insults had begun to sound like terms of endearment. And funny how they only whet his ravenous appetite for her, instead of incensing him as they once did. Fucking hell. What has she done to him? At this rate, he’d probably have to stride out of there, cock aching, and his wicked little minx knew it.

   “You wanted me to remind you of what you’ve been missing,” he said. “By tomorrow morning, you’ll be wearing all my reminders on your skin.”

   “Oh?”

   She turned to face him, something simmering in those steel blue eyes of hers. Something fierce and greedy and so utterly possessive that it both thrilled and terrified him in unending measure. All he felt for her. All she felt for him. That feverish and raging intensity that could only be described as a chain forged in flames between their two warring souls.

   Nesta...my Nesta...

   Cassian...

   It was the obnoxiously loud noise of someone clearing their throat that broke their thrall.

   “If you were two are done being absolutely disgusting,” said Rhys, appearing at the tent’s threshold. “I’d like a word with my emissary.”

***

   Nesta almost started as Cassian’s arms wrapped around her like a vice. No doubt some primal instinct overriding what little shred of good sense he had. From the way her mate was snarling at the High Lord, hackles raised, one would think he was about to snatch her away.

  Now now, my love, she murmured through the bond, each word a cool and soothing caress. Behave...

   Rhysand, wisely, stayed where he was. Though his expression was practically gleaming with wry amusement.

   “You’re one to talk,” she said, primly. “The way you carry on with my sister. But please, do provoke him. I’ve been in dire need of entertainment since my extended leave of absence.”

   A small tug at the corner of Rhysand’s lips. “Well, I’m sure my brother will provide all the entertainment you need.” He winked. “And then some.”

   The low and guttural noise that erupted from her mate’s chest was like nothing Nesta ever heard. Though she had seen firsthand how...territorial fae males could be. It frightened her sometimes. How deep her mate’s feelings for her could run—as deep as the root of her own soul.

   She reached for him, cupping his face between her hands, thumbs smoothing over that dreadful scowl until it melted away under her touch. “Dearest,” she murmured. “You’ll have to let me go if I’m to parry with the High Lord.”

   Cassian did no such thing.  

   She pursed her lips, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Beloved…”

   Her mate stilled, a small tremor running through the great folds of his wings—just as it did the first time she called him so.

   Nesta had many names for her mate. “Idiot” and “fool” when she was cross. “My dear” when she was absolutely livid. She called him her “dearest” when she wished to be listened to and “my love” when she wished to calm that ferocious predator lurking beneath his skin. But she knew her mate loved it best when she called him her “beloved” because it meant that he belonged solely to her. Not to his armies. Not to his friends. But to her, and her alone.

   The first time she said it, she could feel...such unfathomable joy. His, as well as hers. Their happiness entwining like two creatures curling into one another. Nesta didn’t realize how much it would mean to him. How whole it made him feel to have someone claim him as their own, after a lifetime upon lifetime of being cast out and unwanted...

   “Beloved,” she whispered again. “The sooner I speak to your brother, the sooner we can leave.” She bit his earlobe—hard, the way he liked. “And the sooner we can play together…”

   That seemed to capture his attention, his soft rumble of approval saying more than words ever could. She rewarded him when he loosened his hold, grazing his cheek with the tip of her nose, taking in that familiar scent of earth and sky and woodsmoke.

   She didn’t go far (it was just across the room for Mother’s sake), but she could practically feel the sharpened end of her mate’s glare as it narrowed in on their High Lord.

   “You spoil him too much,” said Rhysand.

   She arched a haughty brow. “I hardly see how that’s any of your business, seeing how much you spoil Feyre in turn.”

    He grinned. “Fair enough, dear sister.”

    She scoffed. They walked through different hells, the two of them. Rhysand sacrificing his life. Nesta sacrificing her humanity. Yet despite everything they had been through, despite the mutual love they shared for their Commander (and High Lady), it would take Nesta a long time to get used to calling this self-satisfied and arrogant male her family.

    He earned her respect, however. Begrudgingly so, but he earned it. And they both supposed that was a start.

    She reached into a small leather satchel below her belt, handing him a finely wrought scroll box bearing the seal of a rising phoenix—the house crest of Queen Vassa. Rhysand took it with a curious glance, a glance that turned even more curious when he rattled it about.

   “Sounds like you included more than just a written report.”

    Nesta shrugged. “I may have taken the finger bones of an errant queen or two.”

   Rhys’ eyes widened. “If only the Carver were still here...I imagine you have quite the story to tell.”

   “Not quite as interesting as coming back from the dead,” she quipped. “But interesting enough to keep you preoccupied for the evening. I assume you already gleaned what you needed to from Morrigan?” A curt nod. “Then you’ll know that Lucien has chosen to stay behind to tie up loose ends.”

   “I’m sure Elain and Azriel will be heartbroken to hear the news,” said Rhysand.

   A knowing smirk passed between them.

   “Do you think the Lord of Foxes will elect to stay there permanently?”  

   Nesta shook her head. “I don’t know that he’ll go so far as to declare allegiance to Vassa’s court. But he fits in rather well on the continent and has become a very passionate advocate of her reign. She inspires something in him, I think.”

   “Not entirely surprising,” said Rhysand. “I hear like calls to like.”

   She snorted.

   “And how was the rest of your journey?” said Rhys. “Aside from the bloodshed and all the courtly trappings of political intrigue?”

   She paused, considering. “Long, tiring. The world is so much bigger than I thought. There’s so much to see, so much life that's worth protecting. Still, I'm glad to be here. Glad to be...home.”

   With him, she said, mind-to-mind. Him, most of all.

   Rhys tilted his head, those starlit violet eyes quiet and observing.

   “I may have underestimated you, Nesta Archeron,” he said finally. “You are...not at all what any of us has expected.”  

   “Let Feyre know that I’d like to have that as an engraving.” She turned back to face her mate, who had been watching the entire exchange with a look that could have charred raw meat. If Illyrians had been born with tails as well as wings, she knew Cassian would have been swiping his back and forth in irritation. “Now, if you’re done wasting my time, I have a mate to spoil.”

   Nesta strode towards him, her long and delicate fingers reaching out to grasp his rough and callused ones.

   Strange, how it reminded her of that first time...in the foyer of the town house, shortly after his return from the Battle of Adriata. She had been so worried for him then, so confused by her own emotions that she had been unable to tell him so. And he had not thought to come speak to her at all, because he didn’t know if she cared whether he lived or died.

    Everything was so different now.

   They were different now.

   She knelt before him, using her other hand to stroke those dark locks from that beautiful face—the face she conjured in her dreams all those lonely and uncertain nights without him.

   “To bed?”

    He wasted no time scooping her up into his arms, his body thrumming with longing and anticipation. They swept past a very smug looking Rhys, launching into the night sky without a backward glance.

   The boom of wings that followed could have been heard across the mountains.

***

   Cassian’s tent was stationed far above the main pavilions, surrounded by a rocky outcropping that shielded it from the high winds.

   “Why so far away from the camps?” she asked, when he set her on her feet. During the war, he kept his quarters with the rest of the legions. It seemed strange that he would now choose to lodge somewhere more...remote.

   “Not sure,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Old habits, I guess.”

    A sharp pang rippled throughout the chambers of her heart, a pain so cutting she wondered if Cassian could feel it. Of course, she thought. As a bastard, he had been driven out and shunned for merely existing. With Hybern, his proximity to his soldiers had been a practical necessity. But out here on the Steppes, among his people and their cruel ways…

   He had been forced to live on his own, to struggle and steal and survive any way he could. Alone. Not even a headstrong younger sister to...to turn to for...

   “Hey now,” he whispered, tipping her chin up. “There’s no need for that.”  

   Nesta loosed a breath she didn’t even know she was holding, her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. What did Cassian see? she wondered, looking into his hazel eyes. That maelstrom of feeling brewing inside her? The guilt? The anger? The sorrow for all the wrongs and hurts of the past?  

   “Sweetheart,” he said, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “The only thing I see is a woman who drives me mad with wanting.”

   The kiss he gave her was a chaste one, yet the intimacy—the shelter—it promised made her burn for him all the same. So she returned it with enough fire and fervor to make him pulse with pleasure, his Siphons flickering.

   “Let’s take this inside?” he asked, his expression positively feral. “Unless you’d rather have a go out here.”

   She rolled her eyes before ducking into his tent.

   It was just as large as Rhysand’s, though sparsely decorated. There were no exotic cushions or carpets or frivolous setees to be had. Just a bed of furs, a rack of steel, and a dummy that wore a set of armor hewn from dark red scales—scales that could supposedly repel weapons tipped with faebane. A gift, he told her, from the clever tinkers of the Dawn Court. Should Cassian deem it worthy, they would begin outfitting the rest of the legions.

   There was also a war table, dimly lit from a lantern of faelight swinging overhead. It was overflowing with all manner of maps and scouting reports. But what caught Nesta’s attention was a small stack of letters bound with a dark blue ribbon.

   Her letters. Her ribbon.

   “You kept them?”

   “Of course I did,” he said, embracing her from behind, chin resting against her shoulder. “I wouldn’t have been able to stay sane otherwise.”

   Again, that naked sincerity. Her mate could be so...impossible sometimes. Impossible for her to understand. His heart was bared for all to see, his intentions pure and and clear and unmuddied. How she wished she could be as open as he was, as free.  

   But for now, she was content to lay aside her walls for him and him only. And as for sharing her true self with others...perhaps that would come with time. Time they both now had.

   “I’ve been wondering where this ribbon went,” she said. “I thought Feyre or Elain might have borrowed it. And here they say I’m a thief.”  

   He chuckled, the dark and warm sound sending a flutter through her belly. “You can have it back if you want. I have others.”

   “Others?”

   He nodded towards the swords he kept on the nearby rack, each one of them of varying length but just as deadly as the next. But upon closer inspection...

   “Cassian! Are those…?”

    All of them. All of his swords had her ribbons—black and gray and ivory and emerald—wrapped around their crossguards in haphazard knots.

    “What did you do? Plunder my whole vanity?”

    He shrugged, like it was all perfectly natural. “More or less. I don’t see what the fuss is about. I can get you new ones if you want.”

   “But why…?”

   “Why?” He yanked her against him. “Why?”

    And here his voice grew hot and honeyed and oh so very, very dangerous.

    “Because Nesta, there wasn’t a single moment that passed when I didn’t think of you.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Didn’t think of holding you...” His skimmed the curves of her body. “Didn’t think of touching you…” He cupped her breasts. “Didn’t think of fucking you senseless.” His cock pressed into her backside, hard and throbbing. “I needed something, anything, to carry with me, to remind me of you. How you smelled. How you tasted. How you look at me when you…”

   “Stop talking,” she said, breathlessly. “Just...stop talking.”

***

    They went for each other, the heat between them exploding like wildfire. Grasping turned into clawing. Kissing turned into biting, just a hair’s breadth away from vicious—but Cassian wouldn’t have it any other way. With Nesta, he could go as rough as he wanted because she understood all jagged edges as much he understood hers.

    Cassian...Beloved…

   He surged for her, the both of them colliding into the table so hard that it scraped a few inches across the floor. Frantically, she began to undo her leathers, her clever fingers fussing over the intricate hooks and ties. But Cassian had never been good at waiting and he had been so, so patient.

    “Nesta,” he groaned. “I need...I need to have you.”

    Here. Now.

    So he released a small wave of his power—a warm red light washing over them both. Until all their clothes shredded and melted away, belts and daggers and Siphons clanging noisily onto the floor.

   They stood before one another, caught in the tempest of their own lust. It stunned him. How beautiful his mate was when she was like this—bared to him in the most carnal of ways. And Mother above, she was practically soaking between her legs, his cock twitching at the devastatingly erotic sight, blood pounding madly in his ears.

   Then she sank to her knees, pressing kisses to the trail of coarse, dark hair beneath his stomach, and it was a wonder that Cassian didn’t simply die right there from bliss.

    She lapped at the tip of him, almost purple now with strain, before opening that wicked mouth of hers to take in his entire hot length, deep enough to hit the back of her throat. She had been so nervous the first time she tried this, wary and unsure and a little more than self-conscious. It had been pure curiosity that drove her to perfect her pleasuring of him, and Cassian could only marvel at her eagerness to love him this way, to put aside her own desires to stoke his own.

    Then all thought drained from his mind like water in a sieve when she began to swirl her tongue under the ridge of his flesh. And when she clasped him with her fingers and began to stroke him in earnest, back and forth…. back and forth...her head bobbing... It had taken nearly half a millennia of training to keep his legs from buckling underneath him like some unblooded novice warrior.

    And if she continued her passionate onslaught this way...

   “S-stop,” he choked, hands tangling in her hair. “Sweetheart...no...I can’t...no....”

    She suckled and stroked him a few more times, slow and steady and agonizing, her lips making an obscene, wet sound when she pulled away.

   “But I wanted to spoil you,” she said, pouting in that mocking way that only worsened his frenzied arousal.

   Without preamble, he hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried her to his bed. There was a lot of vulgar cursing that followed. “Stop squeaking,” he said, reaching up to spank her (and damn him if she didn’t just moan aloud as he did so). “You say you want to spoil me?” He threw her down, pinning her beneath him, wings flaring to their full span on either side. “Then come ride me, girl.”

   His mate’s nostrils flared when he rolled them over, his rough hands seizing her hips until that sweet, glorious cunt was poised above his length just so. And although he was panting through his nose like an agitated bull, he stilled...and waited. Waited until those blazing eyes of hers softened. Waited until she reached up to undo those braids, those golden-brown tresses falling over those gorgeously full breasts of hers.  

   Then she slid something around his wrist, and he turned to see her tie a new ribbon around him—bright and scarlet as freshly spilled blood.

   The color of his Siphons.

   “I thought of you too,” she whispered, her emotions swirling to the surface once more. “I thought of you often...I missed you so much…”

   Shock. Awe. To think that Nesta Archeron would confess to something so raw and intimate—to him, of all people. It was though she had stolen away his very soul...and maybe she had.

   “How much did you miss me?” he asked, thumb circling over a rosy nipple. “Tell me, Nesta. Tell me how it felt.”

   Again, that strange and preternatural simmering behind her eyes, like tendrils of smoke under shards of glass.

   Then slowly, sweetly, she took him inside her—singeing every nerve inside his body until he was nothing but liquid fire.

    So full, she crooned to him. So right...

    “Fuck!” he roared, head thrown back as the sheer ecstasy of being joined threatened to shatter him. All traces of coherency deserted his senses, his words slurring into grunts and growls as his beautiful mate rode him….and rode him hard. Up and down in a steady and unrelenting rhythm. Her cries rang out from their tent—and possibly into the camps below. If anyone didn’t know his name before tonight, they would by tomorrow morning.

   Good, he thought. Let them hear. Let them know she laid claim on him.

   “Being without you…felt like….felt like starving,” she gasped, her inner muscles clenching him so hard that he had to grit his teeth. “N-nothing could sate me...not even my own hand.”

   He whined at her. Actually whined. “More...tell me more.”

   “I touched myself anyway...thinking of you...of what we have….” She bit her lip, eyes screwed shut against the mounting pressure between them. Any moment now, she would break apart in his arms. He eased the way, guiding her hips to roll at a faster pace. “I thought about what you do to me...the fire you make feel...even when we aren’t...ah...like, like this…and, oh...oh Cassian...”  

    It was the blooming of her own climax that sent him hurtling over the edge. He sat up, taking her shuddering body into his arms as he came, spending himself inside her as he chanted, “Nesta, Nesta, Nesta,” like a prayer against the crook of her neck. It could have been minutes, it could have been eternity—but by the old gods, he was still coming even as Nesta collapsed against him in boneless relief.

    By the time he was done, he felt barely alive and there was nothing but silence and softness between them. Their desires sated...for the moment.

   Then…

   I love you...I love you, Cassian.

   His eyes burned at the wetness against his shoulder. A wetness that had nothing to do with the sweat between their bodies.

   “I know,” he said. “I...I love you always.”

    There had been a time where Cassian had been terrified to say those words aloud, of what they would unleash, of what they would set in motion. But there were no regrets as he held her close to him, nose buried in her long and lovely hair. Gods, this woman, this female. So strong and so very, very precious to him. Would Nesta ever really know how much he treasured her? If not, he would spend the rest of his life proving it, starting with tonight as he had her again.

    And again and again and again.

   And by the time the sun rose on the distant horizon, his mate indeed wore all his reminders on her skin.

   Just as he wore hers.

***

Also, huge thanks to everyone who enjoyed Part 1! You guys are so filthy and wonderful—ilysm :) Also tagging @aelin-and-feyre because she asked so nicely (*tosses trash bag of steaming hot cuddle-smut through her window*).

Other chapters be found in the Masterlist in my Bio / I am Lady_Therion on AO3

[houstonlocalus-blog]

Reflections of Ourselves: Ron Mueck at MFAH

Ron Mueck, “Couple Under an Umbrella,” 2013.

  Ron Mueck opened at the Museum of Fine Arts Houston this past weekend, an exhibition that’s been years in the making.  Mueck’s work is known around the globe for its haunting and hyperrealist figures trapped in frozen moments of contemplation.  His subjects hold an essence of displacement and discomfort, bringing the viewer in to explore these expressions.  “Ever since I saw his show at the Brooklyn Museum his work has been under my skin. For almost 20 years I have been provoked and impressed by Ron Mueck’s balance of the real and unreal,” states Alison de Lima Greene, Contemporary curator at the MFAH. Mueck didn’t hit the ground running as a contemporary artist.  The Australian born native began his early career working as the Creative Director for a children’s TV show, Shirl’s Neighbourhood, where he also made, voiced, and operated the puppets on the show.  In TV and film he eventually began working as a creator and puppeteer with such greats as Jim Henson on projects including The Labyrinth and The Storyteller. It wasn’t until 1996 that Mueck began working as a fine artist and began collaborating with his mother-in-law Paula Rego.  It was Rego that introduced him to Charles Saatchi, who immediately took a shining to his work and began commissioning and collecting his latest creations.

  Mueck employs a very interesting process that compels me to his work. Surprisingly, he does not compose his pieces based on real people.  Seeing his work and the attention to detail, you might think that he at least works from photographs of his subjects, but that’s not the case.  His works spawn from drawings and contain no real ongoing narrative.  The relationships to the figures are ambiguous. Mueck captures moments, while isolating himself from the world around him during creation, often times spending a year on a figure. The subjects tend to stand still in an ambiguous place in time, remaining in a limbo.  His ever changing scale from large to small, small to large presents a disjunction while pushing unrealism to realism.  I found myself as close as I could possibly get to the sculptures to investigate the features, the distressed facial expressions, the pores, the complections.  The choice of size is not random and even the pedestals are mandated with specific heights as to lead the viewer to see as Mueck wants you to see.  The pedestals are presented in such a way that although many are very close to walls, there is just enough space welcoming you to walk around them.  Interestingly enough, even the lighting and wall color is chosen specifically for each show to ensure the proper element is set to appropriately display his works.

  Ron Mueck, “Woman with Shopping,” 2013.

  The exhibition lacks chronological order and not intended to be scene with a theme or story line.  In fact, as de Lima Greene states, “The show is as satisfying walking in from the exit as it is entering from the front.”  As you walk through the show you feel heavy, very much like the people Mueck presents.  Many of them stare at the ground or with a thousand yard stare, unless the viewer breaks this site line, which only passes through them.  There are only two of his 40 pieces that he has made that actually came from real life.  One of his first pieces, entitled “Dead Dad,” was a miniature of the body of his deceased father, and even contained Mueck’s own hair, with this being the only piece to do so.  “Women with Shopping” features a woman Mueck saw on the streets of London looking blankly waiting to cross the streets.  She is loaded down with groceries and a child is stuffed into her jacket, with only the head popping out of the collar.  Dressed monochromatically she is almost embedded, standing for an eternal amount of time.  As individuals or pairs, they merely remain in a mystery of emotion.

  It’s apparent that in many pieces, things are not exactly as they appear.  This can be seen in one of the anchor pieces, “Mask II,” an oversized self portrait of Mueck’s own face.  Beautiful as it lays heavy and half squished for those to creep in uncomfortably close, like watching someone sleep inches from their face.  The face remains unconscious and unaware of your presence. Walking around the piece you see an empty shell of a man’s head.  There is no back to it and you as the viewer are to become aware of this.  The mask, as it is called, is not just an ironic description of his face, but a literal one.  With “Young Couple,” the work presents a teenage couple, standing close to each other, dressed ordinarily with almost pained faces.  As no preset narrative is given to you, it appears the boy is consoling the young girl, as if they are both sharing this unpleasantry.  The girl hangs her head with the boy, who is much taller, almost as to resting his head against hers or deciding whether to do so.  The girl does not grasp or hug her partner, but has her hands dropped to her sides.  When you decide to walk around the figures, you see the boy is grasping her forearm, although their bodies obstruct this fact.  This made me feel immediately uncomfortable.  It is as if seeing your friends from across the park engaged in a tantalizing conversation only to hear upon approach they are involved in a heated argument.  One gets this feeling from many of the pieces in the show.  The Mueck ‘people’ certainly wear the perfume of loneliness, but there is certainly a darkness with each piece.  “Couple under an Umbrella” depicts two elderly beach goers lounging under the warm glow of a colorful umbrella.  The woman sits with a slight hunch about her as her male counterpart lays flat on the floor with his head resting against her.  He reclines with a clueless tranquility as she stares down upon him.  As one approaches these large beach giants, you think, “oh well look at them having a nice holiday in the sun.”  However, she isn’t beaming with joy. The both of them are not much of anything.  Upon walking through the exhibition with London’s Charlie Clark, who has been a long time friend and has worked closely with Ron Mueck for years, he stated, “We don’t even know if they are together or if she cares for him at all.”  So it comes not as a projection from myself, but from Mueck himself.  There isn’t one smiling face in the collection. Its as if they have all just awoken from a deep sleep and they are taking that minute to get their bearings.

  Ron Mueck, “Mask II,” 2001.

  Moments of tranquility are present in a few of the works.  By tranquility I mean the expressions are not entirely pained, but there certainly much to think about as you walk around with a furrowed brow. “Youth” displays an African American youth standing as he pulls up his shirt.  Looking down, he peers at a wound in his abdomen.  His shirt is slightly bloodied, but the wound is substantial.  He stands barefoot and doesn’t seemed to be bothered by it at the moment.  The didactic tells a story of resurrection and relation to Christ.  Perhaps he is Christ after he arises and looks over his body only to see the laceration.  Even the height of this pedestal is similar to that of a religious statue posted in a church or holy place.  This may be one of the heaviest pieces in the show.  It is also the only figure that is physically wounded.  Maybe he has fallen off his bike or maybe the injury was inflicted upon him?  There is more to ponder about, for instead of feeling an emotional pain as the others, you feel both physically and emotionally over his wound.

  The entire collection of Mueck’s work has depth to it and doesn’t just rely on his ability to create lifelike people of the everyday.  European art history flows strongly through the works giving moments of Lucien Freud and Albrecht Durer as you review his pieces.  His work “Still Life,” an enormous featherless chicken, hangs lifeless as if about to be added into a Dutch painting surrounded with flowers, glasses of wine, and a strange looking feline. It’s clear there remains an embedded thought process with all the figures we see of Mueck’s creations.  More than just the making process and welcoming our interpretations.

  As you make the final conclusion through the exhibition and into the final room you are sent on your way by “Girl,” a room sized infant. The viewer is forced upon this piece and into the environment. The new child is still covered in blood and awaiting that slap on the back to bring air into the lungs.  A few times around the child you take in all the details of this little-large body sprawled with its still-attached umbilical cord. Mueck provides a deep look into the time in between moments. Viewing his subjects not as objects of portraits but as a means of exposing an accurate in-depth window into human essence. Mueck’s figures are elaborate puzzles, each one with a different message to be uncovered. Within his reality, much like our own, first glances are deceiving and misguided. There are many instances of loneliness throughout the exhibition, but the individuals populating the show are far from still and alone. It’s the reflection of ourselves in the subjects that give them motion.

  Ron Mueck will be on view at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston through August 13, 2017.

Reflections of Ourselves: Ron Mueck at MFAH this is a repost