#mulberry wine

[nerdupthesims]

These are the other two that I used the generators for which I may use for town filler.

Mulberry Wine - Made with one of @sinfulwunders base sims

For some reason gives me teacher vibes eventhough when I worked in a school the dress code could never. xD

Shamrock Prism - Made with @simacaroni base sim

Random traits created a video game designer, which I realise I have also never used any univesity life careers.

[luckystorein22]

Are you a fan of exotic fruits? Look no further than Lucky Store's latest addition to their imported grocery selection - Delishh Mulberries Frozen Fresh!

These juicy and flavorful berries are picked at the peak of ripeness and quickly frozen to lock in their delicious taste and nutrients. Delishh Mulberries are a great source of antioxidants, vitamins, and fiber, making them a perfect addition to any diet.

Not only are they delicious and healthy, but they're also incredibly versatile! Use them as a topping for your morning oatmeal, blend them into a smoothie for a refreshing snack, or bake them into a sweet dessert.

At Lucky Store, we're committed to bringing you the best quality imported goods at affordable prices. Try Delishh Mulberries Frozen Fresh today and add a touch of exotic flavor to your daily routine. Order now and get them delivered right to your doorstep!

[littledeadling]

Thought I could learn guitar in one day enough to get a song out for Bandcamp Friday tomorrow. Well, I could not. BUT I had fun trying

[so1dialled9]

As summer fades

As summer fades,

The change comes overnight,

Like the passing of a hand over the Earth;

Autumn whispers, with mulberry breath,

Sweet promises of cinnamon and wine,

Or a fire, flickering gold

On windows frosted against the cold light of morning.

Flecks of warmth in hearth and heart.

The sun, of course she tries,

Breathing life into the crisp winds’ soft silhouette.

Still she smiles, in vain, as

Soft, emerald clouds wrap her

In their caramel embrace.

They take her heat, and it is left to us in resurrection:

The warm glow of a winter duvet.

Even the leaves have changed their tune,

The soft rustle crisp, attentive; excited to

Drop.

She whispers to me;

Be still now. Rest.

Life lies in wait for spring, and yet

Still breathes kindness into every winter’s evening.

Buried beneath earth, beneath comforters and hope,

We wait.

I sit, outside in a blanket and bare legs,

And smile as the sun breathes

Her last blessing onto me.

I sit and watch the leaves turn.

[shadowkira]

The landscape and the wildlife that can be found there.

Broad Headed Skink (may be five-lined, but size was consistent with broad headed. I was out by myself and could not get proper photos of the head to confirm with scale count.)

Eastern Garter Snake

Eastern American Toad

Ring-Neck Snake

Eastern Box Turtle

Eastern Eyed Click Beetle

[writing-chats]

COLOURS in DESCRIPTION

colour is the lifeblood of a scene. here are ways not to over-use it.

Red: cardinal, coral, crimson, flaming, maroon, rose, wine, brick red, burgundy, carmine, cerise, cherry, chestnut, claret, copper, dahlia, fuschia, garnet, geranium, infrared, magenta, puce, ruby, russet, rust, salmon, sanguine, scarlet, tition, vermilion, roseate, rubicund, ruddy, rubescent, florid

Orange: apricot, tangerine, merigold, cider, ginger, bronze, cantaloupe orange, clay, honey, marmalade orange, amber

Yellow: blond, chrome, cream, gold, ivory, lemon, saffron, tawny, xanthous, sandy

Green: grassy, leafy, verdant, emerald, aquamarine, chartreuse, fir, forest green, jade, lime, malachite, mossy, pea green, pine, sage, sea green, verdigris, willow, spinach green, viridian

Blue: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, navy, royal blue, sapphire, teal, turquoise, ultramarine

Purple: violet, indigo, lavender, lilac, mauve, periwinkle, plum, violet, amethyst, heliotrope, mulberry, orchid, pomegranate purple, wine, amaranthine, perse, violaceous, reddish-blue

[ohnoidontexist]

[redshiftsinger]

YEAH THIS. Food you grew yourself: 1) is picked at or close to optimum ripeness, if you know what you're doing even a tiny bit

2) isn't ALWAYS but can be/often is a variety less "commercialized", that is, one bred for being pleasant to eat rather than for maximum profit generation.

3) is usually eaten close to picking time while it's still truly fresh, rather than being shipped halfway across the country in a fridge on wheels and then sat out on grocery display for another several days

Learning about edible plants (and eating them) has given me a lot of insight into the problems with the USAmerican food system

It's incredible how a supermarket gives you the sense of being surrounded by immense variety, but it's just the visual noise of advertising. In reality almost everything around you is just corn, wheat, soy, and milk, repackaged and recombined and concealed and re-flavored using additives, over and over and over again.

[angryteapott]

Somebody made a joke list where cang xuan's only advantage was lots of wine but what an advantage that is....

[http-tokki]

"So you've never been kissed under mistletoe?"

Levi's cheeks blaze, his skin tinted red in the firelight and he supposes he can blame it on the drink in his hand but if he is being honest with himself, the thought of kissing and you together in his mind causes his cheeks to blush.

"No comment." his answer is gruff and he hide his cough behind a closed fist.

You frown, leaning further into Levi's space, a bubble around him that had once been so sacred no one dared get near it yet you slip past his defences and into his space with the ease and grace of the other half of his soul. Levi finds his body leaning forward, falling into your gravitational pull and while there is a part of his mind that is screaming at him to pull back, to erect his walls again, he just can't.

"Never?" you ask again with wide eyes, your words slurred ever so slightly as you grin up at him.

"Actually," the words are tumbling from his lips before his brain can stop the sounds. "I've never been kissed."

Your jaw slacks at the confession and for a moment you look at him as though he has three heads. Completely confusion and downright disbelief contort your pretty features before you school them back into what Levi can only assume is your terrible attempt at being smooth.

"I find that hard to believe." your finger begins to trace the rim of your wine glass, eyes cast down on the mulberry hued liquid.

"Why is that?" Levi leans closer, his entire weight pressed into his elbow that rests on the arm of the lounge chair. Sweet vanilla and rose wrap around him as the smell of you fills his head.

"i- you- just..." you stutter your attempt at a coherent sentence but as Levi leans closer, your mind blanks and all you can think of it how good he smells and how you want to kiss him. Slender fingers reach out to slide over the back of your hand, tracing the shapes into your skin with featherlight touches.

"Wanna try that again?" He offers, smirk tucked between his teeth.

A jagged exhale and shake of your head is your answer as your eyes follow his fingers gliding over your skin. Levi watches as your chest begins to rise and fall quicker, your face flushing deeper, the way you pull you bottom lip between your teeth in an attempt to dampen the smile tugging at your mouth.

"Can I kiss you?"

--

a/n: happy late birthday to my beautiful husband

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), softdom!rafayel, but also kiiind of switch!rafayel, kissing and making out, teasing, guided masturbation, inappropriate use of a paintbrush, clit play, nipple play, slight overstimulation, slight edging if you squint, thigh riding, praise, cursing, dirty talk, use of pet names "my muse" "princess" "baby", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 3.2k

taglist : @zaynesaurora @darlingdummycassandra (+ @seaofgoldensand mwah) | sign up here!

an : guys bc ,,,,,, i swear you never truly realize how daunting it can be to act as an impromptu live model for someone.. until you try it...

You underestimate the intimacy of eye-contact.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was nothing but silence in the air, only occasionally interrupted by a tap of his shoe on the floor, or a squeaking of the chair when he moved. There was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, and the faint, hushed sound of delicste brushstrokes on the canvas...

These were the only things you could focus on, if not at the way that he looked at you.

Rafayel's stare was intense.

Anytime he would shift his gaze from the canvas and back to you; anytime you'd catch the way his eyes would take in the shape of your figure...

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; this was just part of the process. He was only being professional, after all—of course an artist needed to look at his model!

...But it was less about what he felt; this was something that you, yourself couldn't take.

"Eyes up here, princess," came his voice, the familiar sing-songy tone to it triggering a bout of butterflies.

You were torn, somewhat.

You wished you could wipe that knowing smile right off of his face, but simultaneously felt that you could cave underneath even just that stupid, stupid gaze of his.

...And you knew that you had brought this upon yourself.

Whatever bickering had started with his whine about a "lack of inspiration" and a roll of your eyes in response, had settled with you offering to be his model.

You even recalled how surprised he was, the concern that etched on his features—

"Hm? But it could take a while, you know. Might be uncomfortable for you to sit for so long."

You figured it couldn't hurt. You were willing to get through it if it meant finally bringing your partner out of his rut, and in turn, his willingness to paint you—when he had sworn that portraits were never even his thing—felt like a little treat.

However, as much as you believed you'd have the upper hand in this situation, you severely underestimated it.

Now, you sat atop a cushioned chair, assuming a position you were comfortable with holding for a time unspecified. You donned normal, unnassuming clothing, just your everyday top and jeans. And in front of you sat a painter and his canvas, his hands moving tastefully over the piece he crafted, a certain twinkle in his eye that already had you reeling.

Rafayel was painting you, and by all means did nothing about this set up look the least bit intimate to either of you—

But you felt like it was.

It was a private moment, just the two if you in this room, gazes meeting with an intensity that made you want to squeeze something.

You didn't know if you had to owe it to how attractive he was, but staying like this, with nothing else to focus your attention on, you could only notice how pretty he was. Soft, layered hair so perfectly styled into place, his signature low-cut shirt framing his figure so nicely...

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

Rafayel had the most captivating eyes you'd ever seen—A mix of a deep magenta and cerise, of mulberry and wine... So unrelenting in their allure that though the intensity had your heart beating wildly in your chest, you could never, for the life of you, ever tear your gaze away.

It was visceral.

It sent a tingle down your spine.

You could curse all the memories that would flood to your head just because of it, those images and sensations of your nights together. The way he'd look at you, with lust, and love, such passion imbued with every roll of his hips against yours... This wasn't the time to be thinking of such things, you knew that. They brought an obvious hue of pink to your cheeks that you knew he'd notice, but you almost couldn't help it—

Was a siren's allure truly so confining?

You had nowhere to run.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could almost think this was...

Intentional.

"Little muse, you're blushing."

If you thought it couldn't get any worse, you were clearly wrong.

Rafayel's brushstrokes had paused, and the mirth that danced in his eyes set off all the warning bells that your brain could manage.

"...Shut up, you're imagining things," you mumbled, willing youself to turn your head away from him.

"Ah ah ah~ I'm not done yet, don't move, princess."

And to think that when you'd started, he'd been concerned for you.

Despite yourself, you fidgeted in your seat.

You couldn't take any more of this.

You'd been at it for close to an hour by now, the silence, the staring, the butterflies—

A slight shift in your position made you painfully aware of the wetness that had pooled between your thighs, and you wanted to crawl into a cave.

"Hey. You tired?"

Rafayel was searching your expression, reading you.

It wasn't helping.

"N-no," you managed to nearly choke out, your obvious fluster making your cheeks feel warmer.

And in all this time that you've known him, been with him—you knew that he could put two and two together.

A smirk spread over his features.

You were in for it.

"I'll allow some movement," he hummed, setting his brush down momentarily, "but it looks like you want something a little more... specific..."

"Rafayel, if you don't shut up—"

He grinned.

"Why? We can take a break, yeah? I'm just giving you free space to do as you want."

You watched his eyes rake over your figure, lingering over the way your legs were pressed more tightly together than you'd started with.

"Don't tell me you need me to guide you, princess..."

You wished you could slap that smile off his face.

Rafayel folded his arms, leaning back a little. The shine in his eyes didn't budge even a millimeter; his gaze remained steely on you.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, my muse, I'd say you've gotten a little needy."

You didn't know why you bothered to stay put in your seat, when the paintbrush was not even in his hands anymore.

And he noticed.

"Yeah? I'm right, aren't I?" he chuckled. "So why don't you release some of your stress before we continue? Since you're not getting up, you might as well do something for my motivation..."

The way he gestured towards the canvas, wearing that infuriating little smirk of his, had the heat rushing to your face.

"As if you could take watching me touch myself," you shot back, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms.

You cheered in silent victory at the momentary lapse in his expression, though it settled back into his smile within seconds.

"Mmn... Then we'll have to do something about that later, if it comes to it," he shrugged. "But this is about you, princess."

For a while there was no response from either of you, just staring silently at each other, daring one to make a move—

Until his gaze made you squirm, and he let out a snort.

"Oh, princess..." he started, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to touch you when I still intend to get back to finishing this piece. So if you want to use our little break to do something about this... You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, now. Undress for me, yeah?"

He was infuriating.

A menace.

This was karma for all the times you've rendered him speechless, and he was enjoying it.

You clicked your tongue, the challenge in your eyes winning over the embarrassment that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

"Fine! Don't blame me if you'll never finish that painting..."

Frustrated though you might have been, and perhaps, ever determined to pay back his teasing, the look in his eyes remained bewitching.

It was foul play.

Your fingers trembled as you deftly pushed your panties to the side, your jeans kicked down to your ankles, your legs spread. Rafayel had seen you—used you—many times before... But there was something unnervingly intimate about doing this for him, when he was a number of laces away from you, watching, observing.

It was as if you were... a show.

"You're dripping," he commented, voice quiet and low, unable to keep himself from leaning forward as if to get a better look at you.

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You could only shoot him a glare, your blush betraying otherwise the effect that his heated gaze on you had.

"Go ahead, princess... I bet you're aching to be touched."

You almost didn't want to admit it, the way his voice played in your ear so sweetly that your heart could simply burst out of your chest. He made you weak, and you could barely think straight, and he could... see it all.

You chewed on your lip, shakily dipping a finger just barely into your heat, sliding up between your folds with a trail of obvious slick left in its wake.

"Shit..." you cursed under your breath.

You were almost scared to look back up at him, knowing you'd see those god-foresaken eyes again, so heated as they took in your every movement, your every action—

"That's it, princess," Rafayel murmured. "Play with yourself. Rub your clit for me, yeah?"

Your eyes closed as you found yourself doing exactly as you were told.

Soft pants fell from your lips, your middle finger drawing upwards to circle your sensitive nub. Just slow, gentle rubs, easing you into a rhythm of pleasure... You dared to open your eyes, catching the way his gaze remained fixated on your movements, his own eyes darkening, his lips parted slightly.

"You're so wet, baby..." His voice was hoarse now, clearly just as affected by the situation as you were. "Can you put a finger in? Please?"

Your features schooled into a small smile; victorious, in a way, despite your own obvious display of need. "But, why, Rafa?" you teased. "I don't wanna rush..."

The groan that he let out was delicious, and your eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"C'mon, princess... I wanna see. Do it for me? Just one finger, yeah?"

"You're so easy to get all worked up, Rafa~" you found yourself cooing at him, taking note of his flushed cheeks, the heat in his eyes mirroring your own.You were the one touching yourself, and yet, he was the one begging. It was amusing, in a sense—how just the simplest things reduced him to this sort of mess.

"Just a little taste of your own medicine," you quipped.

But you did as he said, anyway.

The first push of a finger into your cunt had you moaning. The glide was easy, smooth, your walls accepting of your own intrusion, almost aching for even more.

"Fuck... that's it, baby, in and out, just like that."

It was almost amusing to hear him speak that way, so enraptured by the way you pleasured yourself, lost in the thought of you coming undone right in front of him. You didn't need his words of guidance; you knew exactly which spots had you keening, how to gradually bring yourself over the edge. Yet, he would still offer up words of such praise to you anyway, guiding you, telling you what to do, how to please yourself.

And there was something, just something, about the rawness in his voice that got to you.

Your eyes met as you began to buck your hips into your hand, sliding against the cushion, willing to give yourself more stimulation. Your breath fell out in puffs of quick pants, your heart rate accelerating, the pierce in his gaze so daunting and intimidating, yet so... arousing.

"R-Rafayel..."

Your eyes went hazy, unable to bring yourself to turn away from the hypnotic quality of his gaze.

"Keep going, princess, I'm here."

Your fingers moved faster, curling into your heat, emphasizing the obscene sounds of wetness that filled the studio. Your thumb moveed over to brush your clit, your other hand gripping the seat impossibly tighter, and then—

"R-Rafa!" You threw your head back, hips stuttering. "I-I'm close!"

In your peripheral vision you could see him lick his lips, his voice coming out hoarse, full of want. "Yeah? You are, huh? Come on, princess, just a little more. Work those fingers for me."

His words proved enough.

"Shit—fuck—!" A string of curses left your lips. You felt it as the pleasure rolled through your body, eliciting a gasp, causing you to nearly double over.

"There we go. Such a pretty little muse. That expression on your face is beautiful."

His words soothed you from your high, a gentle coo of praise as you took your fingers from out of your wetness. When you looked up at him, he was smiling, hand outstretched as if to beckon you. "C'mere, princess. You did so well for me, let me taste those pretty fingers of yours."

You almost clapped back at him, as if the urge to bicker—to one-up him—rose up just by instinct. Yet, there were those eyes again. That particular look that was magnetizing. It was more than a beckon. It felt like an allure. You were almost certain you'd moved on your own, slow steps into his arms, gently allowing yourself to be pulled onto his lap, the glisten from your earlier orgasm immediately coating the fabric of his pants.

He did as he promised, guiding your fingers into his mouth, looking straight at you with eyes full of lust. His tongue swirled over the pads of your fingers, and you twisted them for him. Watching him suck on your digits, slowly moving them in and out, promising him the taste he so desperately wanted... before you pulled them away with a wet pop.

"Give me one more," he whispered immediately, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "One more, before I finish this painting. Think you can do that?"

You'd nearly forgotten about the painting. It was behind you, your back turned towards it, your eyes only focused on the man before you. You didn't look back—didn't need to, not now. Not when his offer was so... tempting.

"'Kay," you mumbled. Your response was just as instant, your hips moving to glide over his thigh.

But he smirked.

A hand went to your back to support you, hold you in place, and your eyes widened when a clean, unused paintbrush found its way into his other hand.

"R- Rafayel...?"

"Just want to have a little bit of fun," he said breezily, gently trailing the brush from your jawline, all the way down over your collarbone. The sensation made you shiver. "Go on, princess. Don't mind me..."

Don't mind me.

He had the audacity to say that as he let you move all over his thigh, the bristles of his brush leaving a trail of goosebumps with every little stroke on your skin. Just light, feathery, teasing flicks, enough to add to your stimulation... It felt nice, and you'd never admit it to his face, but you could fold.

"You'd be so lovely to paint, look at you," he murmured. And he enjoyed the way your body jolted at his words, the chuckle enough of a testament. "Yeah? You like that idea, don't you, princess? Next time, maybe, I can have even more fun with you..."

The paintbrush began to venture lower, flicking against your nipples.

Your eyes went wide.

"W-wait—!" You gasped, gripping his shoulders, feeling him repeat the motions. Again, and again—the brush circled around your pert, sensitive nub, his gaze turning thoughtful, his little tool giving you more sensations than you knew were even possible.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

It acted like a soft caress, one so foreign to you that it made your head spin.

And he didn't dare stop there.

He must have gotten incredibly worked up, you thought, as he stilled your hips and leaned you back. You could guess where things were going; the way his hand supported your back from toppling into the canvas was firm and determined, your position already having your dripping cunt a little bit more on display for him.

"Look at me, princess," he whispered.

And you felt it—the paintbrush gliding lower and lower, gentle strokes over the skin of your abdomen, pausing just above your clit.

Your breath hitched.

Anticipation hung in the air, your eyes barely managing to stay locked onto his as your face seemed to fume with embarrassment.

"Rafayel," you huffed. "Seriously, you...!"

He circled the brush, a smirk tugging on his features. Feathery bristles brushed against you clit, and you let out a cry. There was a pattern, almost: he'd move the brush gently down the side of your folds, fluttering back up to your nub, pressing against it with a certain kind pressure he knew you always loved... Teasing, always teasing, never lingering for too long in a single spot.

It had you moaning almost immediately.

"What was that, my muse?" he grinned.

You'd never wanted to slap that expression off of his face any more than you did now, yet he had you helpless. You felt like putty in his hands, melting with every movement of his little brush, your thighs tensing over his. You didn't even need to move, anymore; the sensitivity from your previous orgasm had your senses heightening scarily quick, the coil steadily beginning to tighten in your stomach.

It felt as if he'd barely been doing anything.

Just that goddamned brush teasing you in all the right places, flicking against your clit, as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Please!" you swallowed your pride down deep enough to beg, the look in your eyes harboring a frustrated glare of want. "Stop teasing, Rafa, I need...!"

"Yeah? Need what, hm?"

Oh, he was having fun.

"N-need to cum! Need... Need something, Rafa, c'mon—!"

The brush set back aside, and he kissed you.

All tongue, even teeth, just messy, and deep, a pure display of the lust that had taken both of you hostage. His hands were in your hair, your body pressed so close against him, hips beginning to move again over his thigh. A few more soft, hushed, groans, and wet noises of passion, and you were gone.

You felt it snap, pulling back from the kiss only to fall forward onto his shoulder, muffling your moans into his shirt. It was insane, you thought, how he could rip out such a visceral reaction from you, a pleasure so overwhelming as you squeeze your legs over his thigh.

Easing you down, he rubbed soothing circles into your back, hushed words of praise tumbling from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"My perfect little muse, so pretty, so beautiful," he sighed, hugging you close. "I can't wait to paint all your greedy desires onto my canvas."

⁺₊ / an: phew!! overdue and i feel like this isn't my best best work, but it doesss represent the chokehold this fish has on me 🙄 a girl's just gotta satisfy her rafayel cravings i guess!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[lamphaunter]

the wild red mulberry in the middle of my neighborhood's park >>>

theres literally nothing better than wild mulberries on the tree. based on the shade of red to black you can fine tune exactly how tart/sweet you want the berry ur eating to be. Red is the sourest, and black is the sweetest (if they are green they taste bitter and also they make you sick i think)

warm mullberries when they are fully blackened are sooooooo, like the way the juice sinks into your tongue like its supposed to be there. its like how a cat sinks into a sunny spot to lie down for a while :) I tried taking some berries home and put them in the fridge so theyd last longer but they are NOT the same when theyre cold like absolutely NOT. not as supple.

and also the sense of connection you get, when you see how many other ppl are getting berries from just one big ol tree. like soo many! enough that the birds the neighbors, the bugs, the soil can all be taking the berries as food. 

Its so nice to see esp since I live in one of those home-ownership suburban boroughs, where you cant grow shit on your lawn and they wont let you grow veggies unless they r in pots. and we have a piss ton of bradfords planted instead of something that could feed us all. the only patches they let grow wild are the streams and marshes bc they are too steep to mow and will just fill up with mud n shit. sometimes it makes me so like, sad to live in the suburbs cause ive seen what rural places are like, and compared to that, living here feels so dead. its just grass and grass and trees that smell awful. this spring/summer im going to get a cutting from the tree so that i can take a piece of it with me when i move out :)

so far the most baffling response to the graveyard fruit question are people apparently horrified or surprised that anyone would even consider picking any fruit from any tree anywhere that was just out there, not owned by them or not purchased from a store.

breaks my brain. you see a tree or a bush with fruit outside - not even on someone's property, just outside - and you don't take from it? you don't eat the fruit? why? what?

[taking-thyme]

🌅 Lucifer Deity Guide 🌅

Note: This is inspired by both my own experiences with Lucifer and the information I read on @scarletarosa's blog and her devotional guide to him. Please go read that one too!!

The divine rebel, Lucifer is the light of truth and divine wisdom; an ancient light which shines through the darkness, representing illumination. He is the driving force of innovation, liberation and transformation. According to Scarletarosa, who actively works with Lucifer and was told this by him, he was the first-born god of the Universe created by the supreme deity, the Source. He is so incredibly ancient and beautiful. Lilith was created to be his counterpart, the Queen of Heaven. However, Jehovah took the throne of heaven from Lucifer and cast him and his followers into hell. Most of them lost their connection to heaven and their energy became dark and intense. Jehovah claimed the throne of heaven and set himself up as the one true god, manipulating humans into betraying their original deities. Thus, Lucifer became the King of Hell and has been scorned by Christians for millenia. 

God of: Illumination, Light, Darkness, Change, Rebirth, Challenges, Innovation, Logic, Truth, Knowledge, Wisdom, Strategy, Persuasion, Revolution, Luxury, Pleasure, Freedom, The Arts and The Morning Star (“Morning Star” is another name for the planet Venus)

Symbols: Sigil of Lucifer, The Morning Star, Violins and Fiddles (instruments traditionally associated with him)

Plants and Trees: Rose, Belladonna, Mulberry, Patchouli, Myrrh, Min, Tobacco, Marigold, Lilies, Hyacinth, Sage

Crystals: Amethyst, Black Obsidian, Onyx, Garnet, Selenite, Rose Quartz

Animals: Black Animals in general, Dragons, Snakes, Owls, Eagles, Ravens, Crows, Rams, Foxes, Pigs,  Bats, Rats, Moths, Swans

Incense: Rose, Frankincense, Patchouli, Myrrh

Colors: Black, Red, Silver, Emerald Green, Gold

Tarot: The Devil

Planets: The Morning Star, Venus

Day: Monday and Friday

Consort: Lilith

Children: Naema, Aetherea and many others

How was he traditionally worshipped?

There is not much to say about how Lucifer was historically worshiped seeing as he wasn’t worshiped at all for a large chunk of human history. He seems to have been worked with in some capacity according to the Gesta Treverorum, written in 1231, which is where we first see the term Luciferian being used to refer to his worship. This was by a woman named Lucardis for a religious circle, who was said to lament to Lucifer in private and prayed to him. However, the term Luciferians was later applied to basically any groups Christians didn’t like and wanted to fight, as one might expect. However, the modern Luciferian movement also sheds light on how Lucifer is worshiped. For Luciferians, enlightenment is the ultimate goal. Their basic principles highlight truth, freedom of will and fulfilling one’s ultimate potential, and encourage the same in all of us. Traditional dogma is shunned because Luciferians believe that humans do not need deities or the threat of eternal punishment to know what is good and the right thing to do. All ideas are to be tested before being accepted, and even then one should remain critical because knowledge is fluid and ever-changing. Regardless of whether Luciferians view Lucifer as a deity or an archetype, he is a representation of ultimate illumination and exploration in the name of personal growth. 

Epithets

Phanes

The Morning Star

Light-bringer

The First-born

Prince of Darkness

Son of Morning

The Glory of Morning

Lord of the Lunar Sphere

The First Light

Offerings

Red Wine, Whiskey (especially Jack Daniels), Champagne, Pomegranate Juice, Black Tea (especially earl grey), Chocolate (especially dark chocolate), Cooked Goat Meat, Venison, Apples, Pomegranates, Honey, Good Quality Cigars, Tobacco, Daggers and Swords, Silver Rings, Emeralds and Emerald Jewelry, Goat Horns, Black Feathers, Seductive Colognes, Red Roses, Dead Roses, Crow Skulls, Bone Dice, Devotional Poetry and Artwork, Classical Music (especially violin)

Devotional Acts

Acts of self-improvement, spiritual awakening and evolution, knowledge-seeking and dedication to spirituality ; Shadow Work ; Working to overcome your ego to become wiser ; Defending those in need ; Working to better yourself without being too self critical ; Fighting against tyranny and bigotry whenever you encounter it

Altar Decorations

Black or Red Candles, Snake and Dragon Figurines, His sigil, Roses, Fancy Chess Boards and Playing Cards, Silver Jewlery and ornaments, Black feathers, Goat horns

Appearance

For me Lucifer usually appears as a tall light-skinned man with long fiery red hair (so red it looks like it’s been dyed), a sophisticated face with a killer jawline, passionate eyes and dressed in a fancy black suit. From all my experiences with him and what I’ve heard from other followers, it seems Lucifer and most demons dress in full suits and tuxedos. 

Personality

Lucifer is nothing if not charming. He’s a protector first and foremost - one that always works to help you better yourself, but a protector nonetheless. He feels like a protective older brother taking care of you while your parents are away. He is a very complex entity, deeply wise and eloquent. He is more serious than one might expect for a demon given their popular depictions in our culture as chaotic forces of evil, but Lucifer is full of courage and love. I often feel him with me even when I’m not doing things related to him. He is proud of his follower’s accomplishments and congratulates them on a job well done, though he also reminds them that the job is never truly over. Growth is constant. Lucifer is the epitome of growth, blunt and gentle at the same time, telling you what you need to do and giving you space to figure out how to do it. 

Lucifer values resilience, the pursuit of self-betterment, intellectualism, courage, open-mindedness and responsibility in individuals and wants to see his followers develop these qualities. He is constantly rooting for you to reach your full potential. He won’t hold your hand the entire way, but he will help you take steps in the right direction. Lucifer, like all deities, is different for everyone and will adjust his approach depending on your needs.

^ The Sigil of Lucifer

[astrolovecosmos]

The Planets & Random or Obscure Associations

~Sun~

Creativity, vitality, head of state, the father, games, yellow and orange clothing, articles of value, jewelry, gold, brass, power, diamonds, citrine, topaz, jasper, amber, rhodochrosite, mistletoe, almonds, citrus, succulents, sunflowers, fevers, heart, back, spine, grapes, walnuts, rice, chamomile, frankincense, juniper, saffron, marigold, rosemary, rue, palaces, towers, luxury.

~Moon~

Eternal, cycles, silver, aluminum, pearls, moonstone, opal, selenite, chest, glands, lymphatic system, nervous system, emotions, mother, ancestors, nurture, rebirth, tides, baths, ocean, brew, boat, sap, willow trees, succulents, pale color plants, white flowers, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, melons, shellfish, pumpkins, lakes, fountains, ports, fishponds, pools, springs, sewers, dairies, toys, reflection, blankets, objects of comfort.

~Mercury~

Communication, journal, pen/pencil, any writing tools, wings, phosphorous, mercury, agate, tiger's eye, brain, nervous system, eyes, respiration, thyroid, speech, hearing, intellect, vehicles, money, bills, paper, books, pictures, parties or social gatherings, scientific instruments, butterflies, messages, mail, hazel, mulberry, myrtle, seeds, aniseed, dill, fennel, lavender, liquorice, marjoram, parsley, valerian, hazelnuts, beans, mushrooms, pomegranates, carrots, celery, libraries, schools, markets, fairs, public spaces, tennis or badminton court, studies, banks, bowling greens, offices, blue, white, or light colored flowers.

~Venus~

Love, relating, lust, high-quality fabrics, copper, bronze, sodium, malachite, tourmaline, emerald, rose quartz, kunzite, sapphire, pastels, throat, kidneys, lumber region, art, music, aesthetics, social life, fashion, jewelry, wine, pleasure, alder tree, fruit trees, paint, ash tree, birch, pomegranates, early flowering, daisy, mint, marshmallow, meadowsweet, mugwort, plantain, tansy, roses, thyme, vervain, yarrow, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, sugar, nectarines, ballrooms, bedrooms, dining room, gardens, fountains, wardrobes, theaters, looking and feeling good.

~Mars~

Lust, conquest, desire, flaming sword, red things, fights, iron, brass, bloodstone, carnelian, cinnabar, pyrite, magnetite, ruby, garnet, hematite, muscles, reproductive organs, blood, kidneys, immunity, heat, action, arms, pepper, sharp instruments, cutlery, attacks, scissors, weapons, physical intimacy, bites, stings, scalds, burns, accidents, hawthorn, pine, thorns, cactus, aloes, anemone, arnica, belladonna, garlic, ginger, hops, mustard seed, nettles, wormwood, chives, onions, leeks, radish, rhubarb, tobacco, labs, furnaces, distilleries, bakehouses, ovens, smiths, butchers, fields, anger, passion, self-focus.

~Jupiter~

Expansion, optimism, religion, religious sites, tin, seduction, turquoise, chrysocolla, topaz, citrine, jasper, liver, pancreas, pituitary gland, sciatic nerve, excess, abundance, prophecy, philosophy, knowledge, universities, foreign travel, luggage, honey, oil, silk, fruit, distinct clothing, merchandise, horses, domestic birds, gambling, indulgence, entertainment, oak, dandelion, sage, endive, chervil, asparagus, figs, churches, temples, palaces, altars, courts, mansions, woods, orchards, winery, cornucopia, connecting with the soul.

~Saturn~

Limits, boundaries, father time, lord of death, shadows, lead, iron, steel, calcium, asbestos, sulphur, diamond, onyx, calcite, skeleton, spleen, skin, teeth, nails, joints, structure, crystallization, old age, blockage, anything dark, wool, heavy materials, agriculture, wheelbarrows, spades, farm houses and buildings, cold, laws, aspen, blackthorn, buckthorn, cypress, elm, toxic plants, hemlock, henbane, belladonna, hellebore, barley, beetroot, safflower, parsnips, spinach, deserts, woods, valleys, caves, church yards, ruins, coalpits, sinks, wells, mud, institutions.

~Uranus~

Eccentrics, mavericks, invention, genius, revolution, change, trends, disruptive science or tech, uranium, magnesium, lapis lazuli, sapphire, aquamarine, azurite, chalcedony, electricity, neon lights, plaid, nervous and circulatory system, pineal gland, chaos, violence, upheaval, astrology, steam engines, coal, machinery, coins, baths, fishponds, dangerous places, computers, magnets, quantum physics, research, welfare, humanity, hypnotherapy, railways, banks, gas, psychiatric hospitals, offices, hospitals, dispensaries, fortified places, chemicals, mingled/mingling, spirit and matter.

~Neptune~

Illusions, veils, diffuse, deception, water, oceans, mysticism, enlightenment, artistic pursuit and understanding, zinc, potassium, amethyst, fluorite, jade, sugilite, coral, aquamarine, pineal gland, lymphatic and nervous system, spine, mental processes, addiction, psychoses, disease, photography, music, substances, gas, religion, poetry, mimicry, chameleon, anesthetic, telepathy, empathy, dancing, psychic gifts, places near water, hospitals, places of healing, jeweler, painters, brewers, musicians, visionary.

~Pluto~

Power, influence, darkness, new life, what's hidden underneath, seeds, volcanoes, deep earth or ocean, bury, explosions, eruptions, abduction, plutonium, smoky quartz, obsidian, jet, pearl, deep reds, reproductive organs, the unconscious, nuclear, transformation, death, birth, rebirth, underworld, riches, earthquakes, big business, murder, detection, detective, invisibility, sneak, enforced change, hidden places, underground, drains, sewers, radioactive places, the occult, black magic, sacrifice, renew.

[chic-a-gigot]

The Delineator, no. 4, Vol. XLVIII. Autumn Number. October 1896. Published by the Butterick Publishing Co. London & New York. Colored Plate 18. Figures D39 and D40. Promenade Toilettes. Internet Archive, uploaded by Albert R. Mann Library

Figure D 39. — LADIES’ STREET TOILETTE.

Figure D 39. — This consists of a Ladies’ jacket or blazer, a vest and skirt. The jacket pattern, which is No. 8669 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and may be seen again on page 437 of this publication. The vest pattern, which is No. 6398 and costs 1Od. or 20 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and is shown again on its accompanying label. The skirt pattern, which is No. 8643 and costs 1s. 3d. or 30 cents, is in nine sizes for ladies from twenty to thirty-six inches, waist measure, and may be seen again on page 445 of this number of The Delineator.

Fawn faced cloth is here pictured in the jacket and cream-white cloth in the vest, both garments being finished with machine-stitching. The skirt is made of wine-colored zibeline. The jacket or blazer is here worn open and made with rounding lower front corners, but it may be closed at the bust and have square lower front corners, if preferred. Side-back and under-arm gores and a curving center seam render the jacket close-fitting at the sides and back and extra widths underfolded in box-plaits below the waist produce the popular outstanding ripples. A broad sailor collar that is curved to form three points at the back extends below the bust and shapes a point on the front of each sleeve. The newest effect is seen in the one-seam leg-o’mutton sleeves, which flare in puff style at the top and fit closely below. Pocket-laps having rounding lower front corners give a natty finish to the loose fronts; they are completed with machine-stitching to accord with the edges of the jacket and collar.

The low-cut vest is close fitting and is fastened at the center with buttons and button-holes; with it is worn a striped percale chemisette having a white linen Piccadilly collar and a black satin band-bow.

The six-piece skirt is made with a straight back-breadth and has straight edges that meet bias edges in the seams; it falls in flute folds at the sides and back and flares stylishly at the front.

Pleasing effects may be attained in the toilette by the association of harmonious colors and materials. The most successful jackets, in point of fit and style, are made up in this manner of broadcloth in either light biscuit shades or in the deep, rich Autumn tints of dahlia, green, mulberry, chestnut and wood-brown and various shades of blue and gray. Machine-stitching is the usual finish, although the trim self-strappings are not at all in disfavor, being, in fact, preferred by many fashionables. An inlay of black silk was added to the collar of a jacket made from green mixed cheviot to accompany a black vest and a green canvas skirt. For the skirt, the new camel’s-hair, serge, heather mixtures with their artistic commingling of subdued colors and broadcloth are suggested.

The brown felt hat is stylishly trimmed with ribbon, lace, feathers and flowers.

Figure D 40.— LADIES’ COSTUME.

Figure D 40. — This illustrates a Ladies’ costume. The pattern, which is No. 8658 and costs 1s. 8d. or 40 cents, is in thirteen sizes for ladies from twenty-eight to forty-six inches, bust measure, and may be seen in four views on page 414 of this number of The Delineator.

Canvas wool suiting and velvet are associated in the costume in this instance, and a ribbon stock and pipings of silk and small buttons add refined and elegant decorative touches. The basque, which is closely fitted by double bust darts and the usual seams, is in rounding outline in front, where it terminates at the waist, while at the back and sides it extends in a short skirt that is shaped to stand out in stylish, rippling folds. Gracefully tapering revers extend down the front at each side of the closing and impart a dressy effect to the waist, being slashed to form two tabs over each sleeve ; the tabs are trimmed with small buttons and the revers are prettily piped with silk. The one-seam sleeves flare in leg-o’mutton puffs at the top and fit the arm closely below; they are completed with pointed, flaring cuffs that are piped with silk. A ribbon stock covers the standing collar and is stylishly bowed at the back.

The seven-gored skirt is gathered at the back and possesses the grace and elegance characteristic of the newest styles. At the sides and back it ripples fashionably and at the front it flares broadly.

The new rough-surfaced goods—canvas wools or boucles—will make up stylishly in this manner, and the novel zibeline wools belonging to the camel’s-hair family are also commended, as well as faced cloth, with velvet for the small accessories and pipings of silk and small buttons for decoration. A ribbon stock is quite essential to a dressy effect and there are so many methods of arranging and trimming this fashionable bit of lingerie that no suggestion of sameness is ever given by its use.

The hat is trimmed with bright rose ribbon having a velvet edge, and a fancy buckle in front is chic and pretty.

[wishcamper]

happy @rhystaappreciationweekend!

here's my humble entry for day two: like calls to like

tbh i am not that confident in this one so please be gentle

Ash From Your Fire

When Rhysand arrives in the Spring Court for Calanami, he sees a pair of hands that look familiar. Only things don't go according to plan on one of his last nights alive.

Or, when Rhys finds a different Archeron on Fire Night.

Read on ao3 here or below the cut.

------

Of all things broken and rent, promises lost and fates shattered, Rhysand knows this: her hands will be his salvation. They are as twin doves, pale as snow, heralding the peace he’ll bleed for in her name.

A name he does not yet know.

Firelight stains his vision, the insects in the night air deafening and the sky is so much bigger than Rhysand remembers when he sees them. The hands that have held his dreams of late, now restrained before her by a long-fingered fae.

His legs carry him unbidden, the threads of fate that have brought him here converging, urging him to tear apart the three males looking at her with glittering, hungry eyes. Convenient marks for the traitors he promised to bring Amarantha, at least.

They’re trying to glamour her—and it isn’t working, not on her. This human. This woman.

Intriguing.

She’s tall for both, and his hands itch for wanting to touch her as Rhysand stalks closer, star-flecked power whipping even in its weakness. Her back is to him, cloak roughspun and too heavy for Spring, but he can smell the sweetness of her mortality, the salt of her fear.

Giddiness pools in his belly like sparkling wine. He’s about to see her face.

She says something he can’t make out and they shove her, those precious hands scrambling to find the ground before her body does. He manages to catch her about the shoulders, holding her back firmly to his chest and the warmth—the wamrth—of her body leaves him drunker than mulberry moonshine.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

She goes rigid at once before wrenching out of his grasp. Stumbling, she reaches for whatever weapon is stowed at her belt and Rhysand see the three males square off, scenting the desperation of prey. He wraps an arm around her waist before she can make it worse, trapping her against his side.

“Thank you for finding her for me,” he hisses, mind probing toward the three black-eyed fae. “Enjoy the Rite”

He slips his other hand in hers, struck dumb from touching the very elixir of his dreams. Her pulse runs rabbit-quick as he drags her toward the forest’s edge, a cloak of night obscuring them from undiscerning eyes as they disappear beneath a towering willow.

Gods, he wants her. Feels in her the last untouched part of him, the only piece left untainted by his own rotten choices, his ruined life.

“Unhand me,” she snarls when they’re beneath the canopy, and he can’t help but wonder why she let him isolate her. Not when she’s staring at him now like a chained hel-cat, disdain dripping from her refined features. Drums begin to pound across the hills, portending the revelry.

“What’s a mortal woman doing here on Fire Night?”

The wise course would be to look into her mind. Cowardice wins, and he can’t bear to hear what she must think of him. Every second is a risk but he can see the flush building in her cheeks, the night’s magic trying to permeate her skin. But there’s something impervious about her, and when he finally summons the courage Rhysand finds a steel wall around her thoughts. Unscalable, unbreakable.

Very intriguing.

She struggles against his grip but he holds fast around her upper arm, keeping her hands away from the short dagger he now sees at her belt. Yet he can feel her holding back something of her strength.

When he tries to enter her consciousness once more, the woman evicts him violently, razor-like pain shooting through his temple. He’s so surprised by it that he doesn’t register the ashwood dagger she draws from her boot until it’s too late.

She presses the searing point into the soft flesh under his chin.

“Come with me. Do not cry out, or it will be the last sound you make.”

Then her face is inches from his and her eyes are the ice of an Illyrian river and it’s dangerous to think things like that, things that make him feel alive again. He can get away—should get away—but it’s like taking a breath after living underground, looking at her, feeling her hands on him, which should be a metaphor but is not.

The future looms ahead, a great wave. In equal parts despair and fascination, Rhysand allows himself to be led, wondering if these hands he’s dreamed of are destined to set him free in an entirely different way.

She jabs the dagger into his ribs and guides him deeper into the forest, footsteps unsure as the firelight fades behind them. Rhysand can’t stop staring at her face, the endless braid dangling down her back. At last she whirls and points the dagger at his neck once more, signaling him to kneel.

He obeys, despite the ability to kill her in a second. Moon crickets chirp in the underbrush, silver light pulsing in time with his heart.

“I seek another human,” she says, and he’s addicted to the edges of her voice, the k so crisp and clear. “My sister.”

The word ricochets around his mind, painful images he’s long thought buried slicing at his composure. The rush of the current, two small wooden crates bumping against a rock where they’ve been snagged amidst the hag’s grass.

He has to gather himself. Knows he may never get another chance to see her, to touch her, and wants to make this last as long as possible before—

“We do not dabble in your world unless invited. There is a treaty after all.”

The mask slips into place, his oily persona suffocating as all he wants is to bare his sinner’s heart before her. Grey eyes narrow, fiery as opals in the night.

“Perhaps you’ve seen her being accosted by some other scoundrels. Tell me.” She presses the knife closer. “I know you cannot lie.”

“I would’ve remembered seeing a face such as yours,” he says, and the truth is a rose shrouded by thorns. Rhysand would’ve remembered her face if he’d been gifted it in his dreams. He reaches to brush her cheek but she slaps him away, the sting reverberating up his forearm.

“Do not touch me.” The woman shoves the dagger deeper into his skin, and he feels deranged as he breaks into a grin.

“And what do you plan to do now?” he asks, hoping against hope the answer is that she’ll lay those perfect hands across his body, sweep away those cursed fingerprints tattooed on his skin for decades.

It’s been a long journey, wherever she’s come from. Her hem bears tidelines of stains from repeated dampening, speaking of a trek through deep snow. It must still be winter below the Wall. And she’s not one of those blithe Children of the Blessed, fools too hapless to save their own skins.

No, not this woman. His power surges, knees bracing in the dirt.

“Answer my question, and I will release you unharmed,” she hisses from that perfect mouth, lips he wants to bruise until they’re dark as berries.

“Bargaining with a fae? I don’t remember humans being this bold.”

“Bold is refusing to heed the one with a knife to your neck.”

It’s enough just to keep her talking, but euphoria floods him, urges him to yank her stained hem upward and bury his face between her thighs. It’s the magic, he tells himself, Calanmai’s power making him woozy and rash.

“You make a compelling case, darling.” It’s an effort to keep the hunger out of his voice, the longing. “I will answer your question in exchange for one of my own.”

“And you will answer me plainly, I know of your wordplay tricks.” She furrows her brow, and he knows if he could permeate her mind he’d hear her repeating the question, searching for loopholes. “Is this the home of someone called Tamlin?”

Rhysand catches himself before he snarls against his will, barely a ripple in the night.

The layers of time stack atop one another. His first Fire Night, hiding snorts of immature laughter from a treetop watchtower. And the clearing, blond hair splayed out on moon-flecked, mossy ground.

It’s like tapping a keg, the flow of memories released. Ones he can’t entertain, lest his old life escape the dark dungeons of his brain.

It’s too late. Cassian’s face, Mor’s, Azriel. String lights in the alley at Sevenda’s, the rush of the wind under his wings.

Rhysand swallows. Makes himself forget.

“Yes. Now I get a question in return,” he adds before her mind can run off in too many directions, greedy for the harsh light of her attention upon him.

“That was not the agreement.”

“You said you would tell me why you came. Were you planning to trick me? Tell me you seek your sister and nothing more? Perhaps you assumed you’d work up the nerve to drive that dagger into my throat by this point.”

He’s right, he can tell by the way her sharp jaw tightens.

She tilts the dagger downward, bringing one perfect hand into his direct line of sight.

Mother, they’re even more intriguing up close. Scars fleck her knuckles, healed but not distant. He remembers chopping wood at the cabin, Cassian terrorizing Mor with a fire-toad from the creek, Azriel’s rare booming laugh. His friends now trapped, soon doomed just as he’ll be.

Gray-blue studies him, as if she can see all the wreckage he’s left behind. He can only stare back in his brokenness, wants to beg her to kiss him, to kill him, to tell him it’ll all be alright. That it’s all been worth it, that he hasn’t shredded his soul in vain. Her delicate nose wrinkles.

“Stop looking at me like that. You—you’re trying to glamour me, aren’t you.”

Her brashness is like biting into a lemon. It’s been so long since he’s been truly able to spar, brow-beaten and slimy as he’s become the last forty-nine years. Old parts creak to life, dark fire dancing.

“Not on my honor as a male.” He crosses a finger over his heart for show, drawing the most glorious scowl. “It’s beneath me to harm a female, darling. In fact, I much prefer the opposite.”

It feels wrong, goading her like this. He’s been underground so long, away from kind touch, kind words. This woman likely has neither for him, but he can’t help pulling closer, wanting to draw in her scent. Mother, he wants those hands on him.

“I’m sure you’ve dreamed of us before. Our prowess is of legend, after all.”

“As is your bloodthirst,” she sneers.

He has nothing left to lose, mere months until his fate is to be locked beneath that mountain forever. One more night is all he wants. Her softness around him, cradling his shriveled heart.

“The only thing I thirst for sits before me.”

She startles when he wraps a hand around the back of her luscious thigh, feeling her pulse race. Give in, he thinks, give in give in—

She spits in his face. “You’re despicable.”

Rhysand rises then, drawing to full height so he looms over her, gripping her hand and the dagger between them. Relishes the way her pupils dilate in the gloom, reflecting the star-flecked power gathering around him. Spring magic is clouding his thoughts, the fog of lust-addled visions obscuring his judgment.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She struggles against him. “I’m not leaving without my sister.”

“I would guess she’s preoccupied if you can’t find her. Fire Night does strange things to us all.”

He dares to brush the backs of his fingers down her cheek with his free hand once more and her skin is so soft, delicate as a butterfly’s wing. It belies the truth he senses below, that sets him back on his heels. That he should not underestimate this woman. It’s hard to remember why as his cock stirs, magic pulsing through the ground.

“I will escort you back to the Wall, if that is your desire. But if you wish, however, to mine for the night, then I will make it so.”

Wreckless, so wreckless he’s being. A flush creeps into her cheeks.

“I am betrothed.”

It’s an arrow through his heart, moreso than it should be. That the hand that offered him salvation belongs to another, a hand that he now registers is suspiciously bare.

“I see no ring. Is that not your people’s custom as well?”

“Do not speak of my people.”

“I shed my blood for your people’s liberation.”

She thinks he cannot lie. He’s never been so grateful to tell the truth.

“Seems only fair after your kind enslaved us for millenia.”

Laughter bubbles in him, a foreign sound, a long-lost feeling. That she should be so defiant even in the maw of his power, in the heart of Prythian, outmatched and outnumbered. It only makes him want her more.

“Surely you don’t plan to doom yourself to one underwhelming human man for the rest of your short life. Not when I can see that he didn’t bother accompanying you on such a dangerous journey.”

Her full mouth twitches, and he wants to trace the shape of it with his fingers, his tongue, his co—

“I’m not afforded the luxury of desires. That’s why I’m here.”

“Whoever has your sister will never let her go.”

“I know. I’ve come to take her place.”

He sees it then, the terror she’s been working so hard to suppress. Feels it in the tremble of the dagger still between them.

“You would sacrifice yourself for her.”

She nods, and it doesn’t surprise him. It’s her sadness that does. How it hangs on her like a wet cloak, held up by the iron strength of her spine. He imagines that if he looks closer he could see the strain, the tiredness of holding herself up for so long. The exhaustion and relief to be here at last, in the final leg of her quest, close enough she’s about to break.

It’s a burden he knows too well. A weight he carries as he tries not to remember his family, his promises indellibly broken. He knows that look, too, of having failed those who need your protection the most.

“All the more reason to indulge in one more night of freedom. Trust me.”

He lets himself touch her face once more and she allows it, breathless whispers skittering across the space between them and he wants her, he wants her.

“Join me. I will ensure we are not observed.”

Her body wants to give in, he can feel it. Wishes he could enter her mind to see which way to nudge her, how best to—

“What will you give me in return?” she asks, the minx. It makes something in him flare, that defiance. Her warrior’s heart, how reticient she is to cede any ground.

“You may keep your dagger to my neck, if it will make you feel better,” he chides. Her gaze travels his body, alighting on the planes of his chest.

“I don’t think I should trust you.”

“That’s a wise instinct.”

“Why do you reveal yourself?” A genuine question, one he cannot give her the real answer to.

I am destined to die soon. I have seen you in my dreams. I have no hope but that which you give me.

“I am.. lonely.” It slips past his teeth before he can stop himself. He clambers to save the moment. “What is your name?”

“Nesta.”

“Nesta. I am Rhysand.”

Her name in his mouth tastes almost as sweet as her lips do when he gathers her to him, when he winnows her to the clearing. Five hundred years divide that night and this one, but he feels just as young, just as foolish. Just as trapped by time and circumstance, one tyrant’s boot on his neck traded for another.

Only this time they won’t be caught.

He’ll hold her, have her, give her something beautiful. And she’ll be a memory, something for him to imagine in these last days before his life is over. Before he summons the last of his power and detonates himself in the throne room Under the Mountain.

He can’t help himself, and her human body is drunk off magic and fear, every touch heightened. His wings unfurl and he hears her gasp, feels the brush of brave fingers along the outer bone and groans deeply.

“You are truly, truly exquisite, darling.”

“I am nothing but what you wish to see.”

Her hands are so different from what he’s used to. Tentative, respectful. He’s back holding the reins and it feels so fucking good, choosing something for himself for the first time in decades. There are parts of his body coming alive that have felt long-dead, surges of arousal in fits and starts, as if relearning how to surface.

It enough to make him want to cry. Enough to make him hate her a little, even as she gives him the best gift he’s ever received.

He eases open then buttons on her bodice, careful not to rip anything, not to prove true her fears of his viciousness. It’s hard not to tear the gown off her altogether, so hungry he is is for the salvation of her skin, the feel of those full breasts in his hands.

Her nipples are the same pink of her lips. He kisses them, reveling in the moans that travel from her chest upward to where he lightly grips her throat.

She tastes of honey when he finally reaches her cunt, so sweet and mortal, and he resists the urge to go back and remember exactly what he did to make her so wet. Because he can’t ever have this again. Once, only once, a last blessing from the Mother before his life is over.

Fingernails dig into his scalp.

“I didn’t know.. real gentlemen did such things.” She’s panting, eyes starbright and fearsome.

“Then you’re lucky I haven’t been a gentleman for a long time.”

He gives her everything, all the pleasures her world has robbed her of, but it’s not altruism that drives him. No, each touch is for him, for himself. Coupling from passion instead of survival. From want instead of fear. The life he could’ve had floats by.

And she’s breaking around his fingers, magic surging up and up, a silver mist mingling with his darkness like a comet’s tail streaking through the night sky.

It’s Starfall in Velaris, he remembers distantly. A vague fantasy of showing her the splendor from the House of Wind grows and dies. He’ll never see the glow, nor the way it might light up her face. How she might paint stardust across his body with those hands, how she might smile.

She’s beautiful. She’s not his. He wants her. She doesn’t belong to him.

He’ll winnow her beyond the Wall. Mother save her sister, but he cannot bear the idea of this woman falling into Tamlin’s hands. Falling in love with him. Bile rises in his throat at the thought.

But the drums are reaching their height and he feels ravenous, the blanket of night warm and forgiving.

She’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. These are his last days. There is no one left to answer, to apologize to. There is only himself, and the darkness, and the fear, and the deep, rumbling regret that drives him onward toward the cliff’s edge.

Later he finds Nesta’s tent in the snow, her guide asleep under the spell he’s woven across her eyes. He lays her down gently, removing her boots with care, drying her socks with a snap.

“Feyre,” she mumbles, and he wonders if it’s some human god he hasn’t heard of as he drinks in the image of her face.

Rhysand sends a prayer to Feyre as he summons the courage to winnow back to the Middle, the woods around him still and silent. Shoves his hands deep into his pockets, the only sound his footsteps crunching through the snow.