#rosebeds

[riotseas]

hnmmm joshwa ramblings cause i miss him oh so very dearly.

but it makes me acheee thinking about how small he was, how small he is. of course, yeah, he's grown up now. but he lost SO much of his life to hiding, staying in the shadows (a bird locked inside a cage). when did he ever have the time to not feel so helpless? so small? he yearns to be held in his big brother's arms, to be kissed on the cheek by jill, to be coddled by them both. his luxury was being able to remember what that was like and fight like hell for it.

my sweet, sweet babybirb :(

[eerieangels]

— LET ! she he

RQ STATUS : everything closed ..

[PT: closed. END PT]

will do flags, title/pronoun suggestions. no name suggestions

[PT: no name suggestions. END PT]

———

temporary pinned !! come back later …

[irrfahrer]

This or That Dash Game: Ziv Odiz’Zee

indoor plants or gardens / cloud-watching* or star-gazing / water or fire / paperback or hardcover / running or hiking / sleeping with socks or without socks / fruit or vegetables / hanging plants or succulents / dark wood or light wood / handwritten or typed / instagram or pinterest / braids or pigtails / dc or marvel / books or movies / oceans or meadows / forests or fields / sweet or salty / ice cream or chocolate/ hoodies or sweaters / piercings or tattoos / summer or winter / boots or sneakers / cars or motorcycles / curls or straight hair / castles or cottages / sunny days or storms / reptiles** or birds / disney or nickelodeon / strawberries or watermelon / essays or posters / phones or laptops or desktop / glass or stone / dark or light / photos or paintings / circuses or theatres / reading or writing / dogs or cats / poetry or novels / monsters or ghosts / thrift shops or libraries / fiction or non fiction*** / comedy or action / romance*** or horror / adventure or drama / historical or musicals / sci-fi or westerns / tea or coffee / cake or pie / cereal or oatmeal / bagels or cookies / sandwich or pizza / early bird or night owl / city or country side / foxes or wolves / hugs or kisses / shorts or long pants / monopoly or sorry / comic books or novels / showers or baths / chess or checkers / hip-hop or classical music

*While Ziv has nothing against stargazing, she is also a person who is 99% of her time occupied with work. So she is, whenever she is looking up, actually searching for signs of weatherchange, temperaturechanges and the change of seasons. Accordingly while the stars are pretty, the clouds are what give her informations about what weather she should expect and what to look out for when watching over her growing gardens. For someone who clearly comes from a religious upbringing with a lot of mysticism , Ziv is uncharacteristic down to earth (pun intended) and scientific in her methodes and way of working .

** In general Ziv is neutral to whatever crawls in the soil she is working with, though she is occaisonally more irritated by birds eating the fruitpeels she uses as feritlizer for her gardens, than she is of the reptiles occiasonally slithering through the grass or weeds. Reptiles are however a very good bug-control to keep the bug population in reguation. And when she had been a child they had been her favorite animals. Obviously they were ( and still are her favorite animals) because snakes and lizards are very far from looking fluffy or mammalian adorable and since these are features belonging to Ziv as a Tynnan with which she is struggling with as someone wanting to be seen as the sentient person she is, she finds comfort in them beeing not at all adorable looking.

***Ziv is most of her tIme reading non-fiction books for research, but when she is reading fictional books it alwas are those very slushy and very horny Jedi-Romance-Novellas and she has the fun of her life reading them to point out all the mistakes in them. She also has especially the fun of her life to read those books on public transportions or when she is waiting in public places for everyone to see, to make the people uncomfortable knowing she is just reading a very slushy AND INFAMOUSLY VERY STEAMY book, because she just loves to mess with people. 

Tagged By: The Force     Tagging: @sithisms  @mando-of-esverr @lighthouseborn @general-kalani @peacefaithed @strongfuck  @starfaithed  @talesgolden @starkillur @tellstales @qoruscant @retrocognizantrecreant @cnlyluck @onehell-of-apilot  @space-hecate @asycuwish @skyler-bane @survivorsofthegalaxy @bewitchingbaker @hopexncarnate  @beskar-himbo  @ofthestcrs @honorhunt  @lady-proudmoore  @savior-of-humanity  @fallesto @outcaststar @jedilovcd @poewingsdameron @cardinal-carvings @smertzimy @visceratorn @infernusfuror @inkedstone @kyberllcore  @cfmartyrs  @luminousxbeings  @thaneirstaer @fleetadmrl @ensgn  @gwiazdowe @lvkexskywvlker   @ariadne-inthesky  @sxbaist @lightfaithed @trueheartofarebel  @hunters-house   @envychosen @masterofthelivingforce @startrailed @bladelancer     @hosnianleft   @sithdestined  @safrona-shadowsun  @stubborn-amphibian @ncxile @skywlkrr  @jedixamidala @chromium-siren @aetcrnus   @bountyborn  @memcriaes @2sabers @thrawnur @creaticn @thestupidmeanone @fatewills…and everyone else who blinked today!  

[riotseas]

Oh, Joshua can't help but smile. Wide and full of teeth against Dion, he swells with pride at how well he'd managed to catch him off guard. The strong, righteous Prince of Sanbreque reduced to stuttering over a man like himself. He almost laughs at the absurdity—a ghost of a past Would-Be-Archduke, scrambling to give Dion the Bold the night of his life.

He mirrors the others moan when a hand grips his hair. The hold gives a delicious burn at the scalp, and Joshua only increases his ministrations in a silent plead for more. Pain bleeds into pleasure, admittedly not something he ever thought he could be into—but this happy accident turned to be more useful than not in that regard.

Every word of praise that slips from Dion's mouth makes Joshua throb. He whimpers, lapping at the slick; drifting between sucking at his clit and kissing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Joshua can't help but squeeze his own legs together at the sounds, subconsciously humping the air to get but a sliver of the pleasure Dion has.

Joshua pulls back and gasps, “Please—Use me.” emphasizing it with a drag of nails down Dion's thighs, leaving soft, red welts in their wake. “Use me however you deem fit. I won't break.”

A beat later, Joshua dives back in, pulling Dion closer without a care of what his answer would be. He doesn't want Dion to hesitate—they've both done enough of that to last a lifetime. This, here and now, is for them to give in to their desires and let loose. To bask in the pleasure they are so rarely given.

Great Greagor, Joshua is so beautiful like this that Dion can hardly even put it into words. They haven't been reunited for long, but Joshua has haunted his every waking moment for years. Seeing him now ignited Dion with a desire so torturous that he thought he might go mad from it, and maybe he has. Maybe now that he has Joshua, he wouldn't ever be able to stop. Assuming that they live (which...Dion now thinks he might have a reason to) then how could he ever go back from this?

He can't. He simply can't.

Dion could watch Joshua like this for the rest of the night. He could watch how eagerly he fucks himself to the sound of his voice, how his face turns red, how the noises he makes catches in his throat at just the right angles. Dion is absolutely done for. This is something that he'll be keeping in his mind's eye for a long, long time.

"Joshua, what--" is what he starts to say, but the second he feels that sinful tongue on him, Dion loses all train of thought. He chokes out a moan, his eyes widening and his cheeks flushing bright red. His heart stutters in his chest, a hand reaching to tangle into Joshua's hair to hold him there. "Fuck...!"

He slow begins to rock his hips, careful not to move too fast or too much. Dion wants to savor every second of this, his eyes fluttering closed as he loses himself in the sensation. "Oh, Joshua.." he mutters, another moan escaping him. He wants more, he wants so much more, but he wants to see where he'll go with this. "You're so good, so, so good..."

[staff]

tumblr tuesday: some excellent art

It's been a whole week since we celebrated our creative community on a Tuesday. So here we are. That's what this is.

@z33b:

@leeshannonart:

@wrenwrought::

@telekitnetic-art:

@yixique:

@aubryjoi:

@rosebous:

@wingedog:

@trashedinpluto-jpg:

@xenodogartz:

@critterpdf:

@ghostlyfirnen:

@bugcowboyart:

@turrondeluxe:

@runicpixels:

@vaer:

@toriascreebs:

@the-meme-monarch:

@wis-art:

@mossyartworks:

@hrokkall:

@poniesart:

@chrysanthemumskies:

@butchfriend:

[3knecrotic]

I feel so bad

[riotseas]

where things get worse before they get better, for @taleswritten

The air is thick and grimy, sticking to sweat like a second skin. The heat is unforgiving, merciless as it beats down from the afternoon sun. What shade their clothes give is embarrassing, only serving to sour their irritation further.

Joshua fans himself with the hood of his robe, pulled up and over his eyes. It helps, a little, but gives the dirty smog an invitation to start a coughing fit. He heaves into his arm, attempting to mask the sound so they can continue flying under the radar. Though scarcely stops in no thanks to the elbow that nudges between his shoulder blades, leaving him stumbling for footing.

❝ Really? ❞

Cid pats the space he'd just assaulted, laughing in a way that makes Joshua roll his eyes.

❝ Having trouble ? ❞

Refusing to be shown up by the older man, Joshua waves his arm away and resumes the trek onward. Everyone had strongly advised him to stay at base for one reason or another—which was simply not an option. He didn't bother arguing, proving his point; just tucked a blade beneath his tattered coat and told Cid to hurry—you're dawdling.

It's been too long, far too long for Joshua to waste another second.

They've walked for hours now, no breaks, scant pauses. His feet ached in a way they haven't since he'd woken from his longest slumber, finding the courage to use what he'd been given—' blessed ' . Perhaps nerves are getting to him, weighing sore and throbbing limbs down without grace. He doesn't care to maneuver himself carefully up the uneven cliffs or down the rocky hills, not when they're waiting for him.

Unassuming and brimming with a hope that's seemingly been lost to time, Joshua climbs up between a ridge of boulders, wiping away debris and other smaller rocks for a clear view.

❝ M' glad you're so eager, lad. But pace, will you ? I'm not as spry as I once was. ❞

He doesn't bother to hide his grin at Cid inadvertently calling himself old, but does shuffle aside to give the other room.

The smoke hasn't quite give way since they arrived. It's so dry in this part of Dhalmek, life actively avoids it like the plague. Pollution fills the skies and hides in trenches below—it's brilliant, honestly. The perfect place for battle; little chance to destroy anything of value, and those who die on the field can be tossed—hidden without a fuss.

❝ Cid. ❞ Joshua speaks, breathless.

❝ Hm ? ❞

❝ Over there— ❞

A hoard of men with clubs file in from the opposite end of the cliff. They're growling, snarling underneath their hoods as they jump down, stalking towards the prey that's caught their eye. Blood stains their weapons and clothes—Joshua can't tell if it's fresh through all the smog but he has an idea.

Cid steps out farther from the ridge to get a better view, mumbling a string of curses almost immediately.

❝ That's them. ❞

❝ You're sure ? ❞

The older man confirms with a snap of his fingers, ushering Joshua to do what he's told. They've discussed this several times on the way here, to doubt it now would be an insult to Cid's expertise of planning ( not that it's all that great anyways ) .

Another snap, one not meant for Joshua. Cid sparks a few strikes to halt the men in their march, scorching the ground in front of them. A chorus of complaints roar through the canyon, giving Joshua the perfect opportunity to swoop in behind the crowd and knock them down with his flames.

The two Eikons unite in a flurry of light, the effects of their teamwork glimmering like gold around the waves of arms. It's flawless, fool-proof; this plan was destined to succeed from its conception. Joshua's almost sorry he can't be bothered to appreciate it more, but Cid understands.

Once the cries cease, Joshua stalks through the stirred clouds of dust. Anticipation encourages the beating of his heart, so loud it pounds in his ears and hammers at his throat. He's shaking when the ash yields and reveals a mess of dark hair, clutching a limp, but breathing body.

❝ Clive ? ❞

[lufdraws]

a love forever young🥀

bday present for my dearest friend @rosebous🎉💚 the kiss but make it il mheg🌈

[bloomingdarkgarden]

For Him the Bellflower Tolls Confessions in the Rain

Rated M | Angst, Emotional Confessions, Language | 4,8k A Valentines treat for you beauties and @sjmromanceweek Read on AO3

There were more scars on Elain’s slender, elegant hands than stars in the night sky. But nobody seemed to notice. Those elegant hands fidgeted with the dusty pink skirts of her gown as she stood near the townhouse’s great wide windows- admiring her morning efforts in the rosebeds down below. Gardening was a far bloodier business than warfare. A battle of hope and life and loss and grief, only death was far quieter in the end. So nobody seemed to notice. “Remind me again why I’ve agreed to this?” Elain hummed to Feyre, who stood at her back, tidying the loose curtain of curls which now nearly reached her waist.

“Because it’s been ages since Nesta did anything outside of Illyrian leathers and I need a night out.”

Elain couldn’t find it within herself to argue. It had been ages since the three of them even shared a meal together without any of the males hovering about, let alone had a night on the town. Feyre noted her silence and stilled her hands. "I know it's been a difficult week for you, Elain," she said gently. An understatement of the year. "If you'd rather be alone, Nesta and I both understand." Elain waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject she was alluding to. “Rita’s is just rather-” Elain chewed her cheek, “- loud, isn’t it?” Elain wanted nothing to do with Rita’s. But both of her tremendously busy sisters did, and in the end, the need to see them smile won out over most things in the world. “Nothing is loud compared to an Illyrian infant,” Feyre muttered darkly. Elain chuckled beneath her breath. Yes, this sort of night was in order. The High Lady of Night clicked her tongue with satisfaction as she surveyed her handiwork and Elain turned from the window to face her sister fully. Feyre shook her head appreciatively. “Stars above, Elain, little to no effort and you could bring any male in this kingdom to his knees.” Elain ducked her head, batting away the compliment. “I’d rather keep them on their feet, I should think.” It was a lie. There was one male she’d much rather have on his knees than anywhere else. But nobody seemed to notice.

※※※※※

A cool spring breeze rustled Azriel’s dark hair as he landed on a bustling Velaris street with Nesta Archeron in tow. As soon his boots hit the stones, the grey-eyed Archeron stiffened to a stance and glanced across the square. Nesta then paced towards a nearby cobbled lane, yanking him along in the process.

“Is that really necessary?” Azriel asked, voice clipped with annoyance. A shadow attempted to loosen her grasp on his wrist a moment later. “Yes,” she snapped back, not bothering to turn behind. “I was to spend tonight at Roseh-” “Brood to your brothers about it, you’ll see them momentarily,” Nesta waved a dismissive hand, marching on, leading him by the wrist. She turned east, leading them both down a long alleyway laden with twinkling strings of golden faelights. He was scowling now, unabashedly. Nesta halted before a dark wooden door with an iron latch. She turned to face Azriel, rolling her eyes at his silent disdain for being ever so slightly manhandled. Her brows wrinkled as she studied him head to toe like an equation with no solution. After a moment she straightened the collar on his shirt- a simple dark silk piece he wore once a year or so to nicer family dinners. “This was a good choice,” she said, approval tracing her sharp features. “For what occasion?” Azriel’s face remained cold, untrusting and unreadable as ever. Nesta saw through it all, of course. Nesta said nothing, but her steel-grey eyes glittered triumphantly as pulled the iron latch aside. Azriel studied the open doorway acutely. His shadows stilled from their usual idle swirling as if to taste the air. “Cassian and Rhys are not in this building,” he noted darkly, that scowl returning. “No they are not,” Nesta replied, and shoved the shadowsinger over the threshold. The rare, fleeting moment of clumsiness that followed had Azriel’s silent temper flaring as he stumbled into an unfamiliar room. He straightened, correcting his wings with a feline sort of grace and shot Nesta a glare that would send most people fleeing for their lives. Nesta merely shot him the very same look back. “Hurt her again and I will cut off your fingers and wear them as a necklace,” the eldest Archeron hissed, and slammed the door in his face.

※※※※※

Fairies began lighting lanterns and streetlights as dusk whispered across the Night Court skies. The air was damp with the scent of hopeful spring rain. Elain and Feyre strolled down a quiet street, arm in arm. The latter was admiring a beautiful painting on display in a nearby window when Nesta rounded a corner and nearly plowed them over. Elain grinned at her sister in greeting. Nesta smiled serpentine back, murmuring a quick “Shall we?” to Feyre before linking arms with her. The trio chatted as they continued down the lane towards Rita’s, but instead just before reaching the tavern’s wood-carved sign at the end of the street, Nesta made a hard right into an alleyway beyond. “Nesta, Rita’s is-”

“Oh, we’re not going to Rita’s.” Feyre remarked, pulling Elain’s arm just a little bit closer. Her sisters both quickened their pace, giving her no choice but to keep up. “We’re not?”

“Well we are,” Nesta chimed in, stopping before a tall, wooden door. “But you most certainly are not.” A moment later both sisters were hauling Elain over the threshold, and locking the door behind her. Squabbling ensued in the alley in which the words insufferable Illyrian baby could be distinguished. Elain had the distinct feeling that her nephew was not the source of those words. “Oh goodness,” Elain said softly, surveying the dark space around her.

A long, winding stone staircase spiraled up behind her. The steps were lined with candles and dusky primrose petals. Elain swallowed, realizing her two choices in this room consisted of causing a scene or following this mystery to its end. The civilized thing to do won out in the end, as it usually did. Up, up, up she went, soft skirts sighing against the dark stone. Elain reached the final step where another wooden door awaited- this one already wide open to a rooftop beckoning beyond. A warm night-kissed breeze wafted across her skin in greeting. Her breath caught in her lungs as she took it all in. A sea of flower petals blanketed the rooftop- faded primrose, lilac, and gardenia petals fluttering in the wind. A small, candlelit table in the center of the space held two plates full of food, and wine.

And there, leaning against the far balcony, stood a tall, lean, Illyrian warrior. A shadow-wreathed male looking longingly at the oncoming night as if he could hear every song dancing in the dusk-swirled sky. Elain’s heart grew very still and very quiet. Because nobody ever seemed to notice- that he could.

※※※※※

Flower petals stirred in the wake of each hushed footfall.

One foot in front of the other, Elain told herself.

An ebbing dark tide of shame still welled within her from the last time she had found herself alone with the shadowsinger.

This was a mistake.

But seeing him here, a creature of shadow and ruin in a vigil of forgotten flowers- somehow whisked it all away.

Elain knew all about beautiful things.

She had spent an entire lifetime growing, nurturing, and tending them- a thousand breathtaking roses, lilacs, blossoms of gardenia.

But Azriel put all the beautiful things of the world to shame.

Haunting hazel eyes that glimmered like a forge when they beheld her, and her alone.

Why did he always look at her that way?

His mussed ebony hair curled softly against the nape of his neck as it so often did when rain was on the horizon. Shadows whispering things she would never know, drifting in the wake of his beautiful wings.

One look from him and she ached like never before.

“Whatever is a fearsome warrior of night doing in a place like this?” Elain asked softly, stepping closer.

Azriel turned, long, dark lashes blinking at her in rapid succession before he lowered his head in greeting, a golden stain blushing his high cheek.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said quietly.

Elain swallowed, smoothing her skirts and stepping towards the balcony. “You’re not alone in that regard.” She chose not to look at him.

Propriety came first, embarrassment second, anyway. Two pillars of her life that seemed to go hand in hand. She really ought to offer him a way out of this ridiculous situation. “You can leave- if you like.”

Azriel ran a hand nervously through his sable curls, shadows darkening for the briefest of moments.

“I can leave if that is what you prefer.”

But there was no point turning away from the truth, now that they were left alone with it in a grave full of flowers, so Elain clarified before he could continue.

“I’d prefer you stay, actually. However foolish that makes me.”

It was a long, long moment before Azriel said anything at all. He stared over the dark horizon- at the shades of violet and blue weaving in the cooling twilight.

“There is only one fool standing on this rooftop, Elain, and it isn’t you.”

The words, gentle and shameful, settled something within her. The smallest acknowledgement of the atrocity that had happened on Solstice. A few months ago now, but somehow the rawness of it all made it feel like only yesterday.

But more than that- there was her name.

How long had it been since she heard her own name on his lips?

Far too long A spring wind whispered.

“It’s been some time,” Elain said quietly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “Since we last spoke.”

Azriel swallowed thickly. “Eighty six days.”

He looked as if he hadn’t slept a single one.

“Has it been?”

Azriel’s eyes sought her out and some unseen agony swam there- haunting that silent hazel sea.

“I haven’t slept either, you know,” she admitted.

He scanned her pale face, the loneliness carved in the hollow of her cheeks. “I know.”

A curious shadow began leaking down his shoulder towards her. Azriel seemed to yank it back momentarily, a hint of a scowl on his brow, but the shadow only leaked out again a moment later.

“Hello little darling,” Elain leaned on an elbow, cooing a soft breath towards his shadow, which flickered with delight.

Azriel swallowed thickly and seemed incapable of moving.

“I miss watching them flutter through the garden,” Elain murmured. “I used to wonder if they might watch over me in the darkest hours of the night.”

Azriel’s wing twitched as he registered her words.

“Would that-” his throat bobbed as he searched for the words. “- comfort you?”

The question was tender, disbelieving, as if he could not fathom a world where his shadows could be considered comforting rather than terrifying. He looked like the answer could wreck him for the rest of his life.

Elain smiled softly, staring over the city. “It might have, some time ago.” Her hands trailed the pale petals of moonflower blooming in a basket on the balcony. “I might have wondered where they go when you dream.”

She could sense him edging closer. As if the ache was deep within him too. As if it ran too deep to do anything but draw him closer.

“I rarely dream,” Azriel said quietly. “But when I do, your hair is unbound.”

Elain’s heartbeat began beating like a wardrum in her chest. She slowly rose her chestnut eyes to him.

Damn the forgotten gods, he was tragically beautiful this way.

Star-soft wind filtering that ebony hair into his eyes. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, and the breeze shimmered through the dark silk, whispering over the muscles of his chest in a way that made her ache inside and out.

She blushed, thoroughly, and allowed him to watch her through it. Allowed him to see that he was responsible for that color rising in her cheeks. That thrum humming in her blood.

“I might make use of that wine bottle if you are going to keep saying things like that to me, Azriel.”

Azriel stepped closer, shadows twirling in the wake of his footstep. “Forgive me,” he said softly, but there was no remorse in his gaze- only unyielding determination and soft, whispering hunger.

Five minutes alone with him and she was already imagining things she absolutely shouldn’t. But it had always been that way.

It would still always be that way.

“I know it wasn’t your intention, or mine,” he paused, “but might I share this evening with you, miss Archeron?”

The gods were particularly tormentful for making him such a gentleman.

Elain swallowed, hating the flicker of bitterness that coursed through her. “Should I expect any sudden departures?”

But Azriel had that look in his eye- that look of unbent will. That look that sent him charging into Hybern’s hell to rescue her without a second thought. That look that told her he needed to right this wrong, or die trying.

“There is nothing that could keep me from sharing this night with you,” he said softly, “aside from your command.”

Elain grinned, casting her eyes downwards.

“A shadowsinger at my command?” she hummed, turning to the night-kissed sky once again. “Whatever will I do with such power?”

“Whatever you wish,” he said, and the promise in his voice made her knees weak. “But you might start letting him pour you some wine.”

Elain cursed the stars above and the seas below for allowing such beautiful, bedroom-eyed, well-mannered males to walk the earth at the same time as herself.

“Very well,” she submitted, turning towards the candlelit table before he could catch sight of her face going up in flames at how perfectly wonderful it all was.

The smallest hint of a smile graced his lips- and gods, the promise of it blooming full before the end of the night was holy.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” Elain said quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel replied, holding her gaze. “Just let me-

Let me watch you Let me want you Let me fix what was lost. “- let me look after you tonight.”

※※※※※

Elain decided there was nothing so lovely in the world as a rosemary-dusted honey fig tart. She wasn’t entirely sure what sort of witchcraft was at work here- but each time she or Azriel finished a course, the next magically appeared. There were perks to having the High Lady as a sister, she supposed. For years now, Elain had lived in the Night Court. But the wonders north of the wall, no matter how small, were still not entirely lost on her. She caught Azriel watching her more than once. Tracking her amusement with the magic, her appreciative noises as she ate. He watched her like it fed something within him far more than the decadent food on the table did. The pair did their best to make polite conversation about a variety of things that had happened in the absence that followed last Solstice. An absence at most family dinners that Elain had distinctly marked for weeks on end. They weren’t addressing that elephant in the room, at any rate. The meal wound to an end eventually and Elain found herself swirling the wine in her glass carefully as she eyed a note Feyre had left on the table. You are both so serious it is dull. Live a little. Damn the consequences. - F+N + Everyone else including His Majesty The last line was scratched in Nesta’s distinct handwriting. Elain wasn’t entirely sure what the quip about Rhysand was about. But she had noticed Azriel’s jaw ticking when he himself read the note. “I can’t believe Nesta did this,” Elain muttered, spilling a splash of wine down her throat. Azriel rubbed his temple gently. “I can.” The veiled, tired look on his face Elain everything she needed to know- that Nesta was giving Azriel hell as often as she saw fit. And despite herself, Elain smiled at her sister’s unbent fierceness. The shadowsinger deserved a little hell, anyway, after walking out on her those weeks ago, little did Nesta know. “How has training been?” Elain asked, studying the shadowsinger over her glass. “With Nesta and the others?” “Grueling. The Valkyrie have more determination than Cass and I did when we began training. With twice as much retribution in their blood.” Elain murmured an agreement and looked over the lights of the city, glowing below them. “I’ve stopped by a few times to pick up some books- the priestesses wish me to join. To train with you all.” Azriel’s fork stilled on the last bite of his lamb. She studied him curiously, sipping her wine. “Does that bother you?” The shadowsinger remained silent. “Anyway it’s a farce- I’ll never do such a thing. I doubt anyone would ever find me frightening anyway, even if I were to wield the sharpest blade in Prythian.” A trace of bitterness in her tone again. Born from a life of being consistently underestimated. Elain knew that softness was a far more formidable weapon than steel. She wore that truth daily as armor. But nobody seemed to notice. “You are frightening,” Azriel said quietly. “Far more so than anyone I’ve met with a blade.” Elain rose her eyes to his. The wine was warming her blood, stoking the flame of her courage. “Whatever makes you say that?” “I should think it’s rather obvious,” he said tenderly. And she saw it all in his eyes- the longing, the need- the hunger. “I wouldn’t mind hearing the words.” A challenge. She knew he would rise to the occasion. “Ask any male who looks upon you and he will give you the same answer,” Azriel murmured. Elain drained her wine to the dregs, resting the empty glass in the space between them. She rose to her feet and held his gaze before turning to the balcony again. “I’m asking the only male I want for the answer.”

The truth laid bare between them. Elain reached the stoned edge and inhaled before resting her back against the abyss of starlight, observing him openly. Azriel drained his wine as well before rising from his seat and stepping towards her on the balcony. “There is a certain sort of beauty that haunts an Illyrian heart,” the dark timbre of his voice danced down her spine as he stepped closer. “The song of the wind, which calls to our wings. The blood hymn of a battle on a long winter night.” The hazel of his eyes burned like a golden beacon in the darkest night. “The divine taste of honey between a female’s legs.” She was unraveling now, her knees weakening with the heat of his words. “Azriel,” Elain said softly. His eyes lowered to the swell of her lips. “And the more we yearn for such things, the more we live in fear of losing them.” He rested his palms on either side of her, caging her in. “In fact what frightens me far more than how beautiful you are,” he paused, voice lowering. “Is what I might do,” heat seared through his gaze “- to earn the right to cherish you.” The words shimmered with the truth of their reality. The mention of that infernal tie to another male she never asked for. Elain  watched as the reminder of that truth darkened his gaze not only with jealousy, but with sorrow. She wanted to chase away every last wisp of it that she could. “Can you show me?” Elain whispered. Azriel’s gaze flickered in response. “Can you show me the song of the wind?” His mouth curled upwards at the notion, yet he didn’t tear his eyes from her. “It might rain,” he said softly. “I don’t care.” A playful glint in his eye now and she would die a thousand deaths before watching it fade away. “You might regret asking me this,” he muttered dryly. Elain held his gaze, not allowing her will to falter. “I don’t care,” she said again, sinking a hand into that nest of curls at the back of his head. She savored the silken strands beneath her fingers and his shadows wrapped around her, murmuring cool breaths over her fingers. Azriel then slowly, carefully, snaked an arm beneath the back of her knees, cradling her to him and gods- it ruined her all over again. She looked up to him. He looked down to her. Elain traced the swell of his sensual lips with a delicate finger as Azriel carried her to the center of the rooftop. His eyes remained locked with hers, and they were both lost to time in a gentle trance. She was aching again with how beautiful he was. “Show me the song of the wind, Azriel,” she said softly. Azriel spread his great, dark wings wide, stirring flower petals and shadows in their wake. “As my lady commands,” he answered, kissing her fingertips ever so gently. Primrose, lilac and moonlilly swirled skyward with each beat of those mighty wings, as Azriel took flight. The blooms drifted back to the earth a moment later, littering the streets below with forgotten flower petals. Elain Archeron’s heart soared into the atmosphere along with the wings of an Illyrian warrior. But nobody seemed to notice.

※※※※※

It was a song. It was a song unlike anything she had ever heard before. It was wild and free and plummeting. It was dancing in the last hushed violet light of dusk. It was basking in the promise of rain waiting to fall from the clouds. It was tasting the gaps between the stars like night-rich wine. It was him. It was her. It was symphony. Azriel flew through the heavens like he never had before with her in his arms. He glided and twirled and dove through the atmosphere, each echo of laughter leaking from her lips chasing him higher. It did start to rain. But Elain was so taken with the light in Azriel’s eyes that she didn’t care.

※※※※※

Drops of rain fell like fallen stars onto the glassy surface of the Sidra as Azriel gently landed on the riverbank.

Bellflower bloomed along the verge- soft blue petals dancing in the wind of the shadowsinger’s wings.

The nearby boulevard was bustling with revelers of the night. Her family, undoubtedly, was somewhere among them. But Elain couldn’t tear her eyes away from the shadowsinger long enough to care as she slipped from his arms to her feet.

The quiet which followed the rush of the flight was deafening.

He was looking at her that way again, as if he might raise cities to the ground if she asked him to. And it was then that Elain realized she needed to know that it was all real.

That it had always been real.

“Why?” Elain whispered, her voice trembling. “Why did you say those words to me on Solstice when you knew it wasn’t true?” This was a mistake.

Azriel’s throat bobbed. He seemed for a moment as if he might avoid the question entirely. But the pleading in her eyes had him speaking instead.

“Because someone told me that being with you was wrong.”

Elain flinched as the words registered. A tangled web of questions coursed through her. The only one that mattered was the one she asked.

“And you believed it?”

Rain was falling, well and truly now. Azriel’s hands remained at her waist, a world of raw emotion swimming in his gaze.

“I wanted to believe it,” he said quietly. “I wanted to believe it the same way I want to believe I am unworthy of most beautiful things.”

Elain drew in a shaking breath, trying to fight back tears that were inevitably gathering.

Azriel brushed a raindrop from her cheek with a gentle thumb. “But one look at you makes me want to believe otherwise.”

Elain raised trembling hands to cup the shadowsinger’s face and willed every ounce of truth she could muster into her gaze.

“You are good, Azriel.”

His eyes shuttered darkly, raindrops clinging to his endlessly long lashes.

“If I ever had goodness within me, it died long ago.”

He began pulling away, that tide of self-hatred drowning out the hazel. But Elain couldn’t stand the thought of his absence now or ever again.

“You found me,” she whispered, turning his cheek to her. “You found me when I was drifting alone in that dark, empty sea.”

A seer. The Cauldron made you a seer.

“You found me,” Elain said again, her voice breaking on the words. “And I will live a thousand years without forgetting what it felt like when you carried me to shore.”

“Elain,”  Azriel breathed, covering her hand with his own.

“There’s something,” she said with a shaking whisper, “Azriel, there’s something I need to-”

Azriel searched her eyes in question and found no answer there.

Elain only skirted the heavy weight of her hair over one shoulder, baring her long, pale neck to him. She then gently pulled him down. Down, down, down, until she could feel his breath against her throat.

A moment passed. And then another, as Azriel softly inhaled the scent of her.

She could feel the blood still in his veins.

A shudder ran down his back, through his wings, scattering silver drops of rain to the grass below.

Azriel’s breathing grew shallow and then his hands were in her hair, carefully careening her head back, so that he might scent her truly.

A staggering breath escaped him and his grip on her waist tightened for the briefest moment. He pulled back to search her face, pupils blown wide.

“Is this-”

The words wouldn’t come. A heartbeat passed. Maybe two.

His voice was a rasp when he spoke again.

“real?”

Elain’s gaze tightened at the disbelief etched in his features.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Azriel, it is real.”

She was shaking now, all over, uncontrollably. “It wasn’t easy,” she whispered, her voice a rasp. “But it is done. He is more relieved than I am.”

Azriel stared at her. He stared and stared and stared and looked as though he was on the verge of collapse.

“I’ve told myself- all this time, the way you felt under my hands when I touched you,” he said softly, “was real.” His hands were shaking too now, tracing her cheeks, her jaw, her throat. “That the song I heard when I first saw your face,” he drew closer, “was real.”

Elain’s heart was fracturing within her chest.

“That all those nights spent staring at the stars thinking about you so long that I woke up bruised within,” he rasped, “were real.” Elain couldn’t breathe.

“It should have been you,” she whispered. Because nothing had ever been so precious, so right, so beautiful as the words leaving his lips. And Cauldron be damned for not giving her the choice. “It should have been you.”

The confession broke something in Azriel and those long abandoned instincts ripped free from their cage.

“Yes it fucking should have.”

And then his lips, his hands, his heart- were all upon her.

Elain parted on instinct and that first, holy taste of him had every piece of her burning alive. Azriel kissed her like he was starving and she kissed him like she needed to be savagely devoured.

His tongue was tender, savoring every taste of her he was allowed, claiming her mouth for his own. Those scarred hands were everywhere, clutching, stroking, pulling her into him, wrapping her in his scent like she belonged to him and gods she was going to die from this.

It was starfire and shadow and void and song.

It was symphony.

Elain loosened a breathless sob at the perfection of it all, tears mixing with the raindrops on her cheeks. But Azriel was there a moment later, kissing them all away.

She repaid him in kind for that, claiming him with her mouth so vehemently that she nearly knocked him over. Crowds of partygoers were stopping on the street to watch amusedly as Elain kissed Azriel like she was burning alive from the inside out. The promise of the wild, untamed night had strangers clapping, cheering her on and Cassian was whooping with delight somewhere far off.

But none of it mattered because Azriel was laughing under the fervency of her lips and fuck, if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing she had ever tasted.

It was symphony.

The rain was a lullaby as it struck the earth. The wind was singing as it blew through the grass on the riverbank. The bellflower tolled a lover’s knell that rang out into the night.

And Elain kissed the most beautiful male in Prythian like she could damn the stars with the kiss.

For once, everyone seemed to notice.

But as Elain Archeron claimed Azriel’s lips before all the world-

she didn’t particularly give a damn.

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Four

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: Accompanied by your new recruits, you and Aleksander return to the Little Palace, and soon settle into a comfortable routine. But nothing ever stays the same for long.

Warnings: nightmares (which feature threat and near drowning).

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

Horseback riding is painful. When you finally slide off the horse in the late afternoon, with Aleksander’s assistance of course, your legs are stiff and aching. You wince as you walk beside him, and move to make camp for the night next to a rundown barn.

With Mal accompanying your travelling party, there is plenty of squirrel meat to go around for the evening meal. You find yourself eager to be back at the Little Palace, with tasty warm meals and Aleksander’s soft bed.

Once night falls, you’re shivering. As you’re sitting huddled beside Fedoyr, a soft but heavy cloth falls over your shoulders, and you look up to see Aleksander placing his cloak over you. Your lips part to protest, but the look in his eyes has you shutting your mouth before the words can escape.

There’s a quiet sparking noise, and warmth begins to burst from the pile of logs and dry grass that Ivan had assembled. Pulling Aleksander’s cloak tighter around your body, you shuffle closer to the fire as Ivan coaxes it to life.

“Ivan you’re a saint.” You remark without thinking, rubbing your hands together to conserve some warmth.

He stares at you for a moment, his face as unchanging as usual, but Fedoyr smiles widely.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Aleksander talking to Alina. She looks a little wary, but you hope that this can be the start of something great between them.

“You and the General are close.” Ivan states, though it sounds more like an accusation, and you jump a little. This is the first time he’s ever spoken to you. Despite yourself, you can’t help but look over at Aleksander as you answer.

“He’s done a lot for me. I only hope I can do enough to repay his kindness.”

Ivan doesn’t respond, but you know he must be thinking hard about your words.

As the evening goes on, soldiers slowly begin to lie down on their packs, settling down to sleep around the fire. Once you’ve got yourself settled, you stare up at the stars as they begin to reveal themselves in the darkness of the night. There’s a breathtaking number of them.

Aleksander sets his bedding up next to yours, close enough that your shoulders almost touch as he lies down beside you. Neither of you speak as you look up at the darkened sky.

“Are your stars different?” He asks in a low voice, nearly a whisper. You nod faintly, brow furrowing as you stare at the sky. It’s hard to tell really, you have always struggled to identify the constellations in your world.

“I think so. Will you name some of your constellations?”

“There’s the rosebed, the firebird, a lot of the saints have their own constellations as well.”

You laugh softly.

“Yes they’re definitely different to mine.”

You’re quiet for a moment, before you ask in a small voice,

“Is Sankt Ilya up there?” He nods, and you shift your head, pressing the side of your face against his shoulder so that you can see exactly where he’s pointing.

“Do you see that cluster of three stars?” You hum in agreement. “That is the head of Sankt Ilya. Beside him is the stag.” You follow the motion of his fingers as he trails his way along the path of each constellation. “Then the sea whip curls around them both.”

There’s a pause, and your eyes flutter closed as the warmth of Aleksander’s body settles into your own. Despite the rough earth beneath your back, you find yourself comfortable enough to begin slipping away into slumber.

“I assume it’s real as well.” Aleksander says.

“What’s that?” You mumble sleepily.

“The sea whip.” There’s a small sound of confirmation from you, before you add in a tired voice,

“Yes, it is.”

You hope he won’t ask you any questions about it. At the moment, all you’ve been focusing on is ensuring that Alina stays at the Little Palace. You haven’t even considered what you’re going to do about the amplifier situation.

Luckily Aleksander seems to notice how tired you are, and doesn’t ask you anymore questions. The crackle of the fire, and the steady rise and fall of Aleksander’s chest helps to lull you to sleep.

»»---------------------►

Rain soaks through your clothes, and you stumble as the deck tilts beneath your feet. A burst of pain blooms over your side as you hit the edge of the ship. Down below, icy water churns ferociously.

A book lands at your feet, it’s pages crumbling as the rain soaks through paper. The title might be in Old Ravkan, but you know what book it is. The final book in the trilogy. The one that holds Aleksander’s future. The future you’re desperate to change.

“This is all the mercy traitors deserve.”

Aleksander’s features are twisted into a near snarl, and fear seizes you. Those words had been directed at Mal when you had read them. But right now he’s looking at you.

As his hands close around your throat, your heart shatters in your chest and your lungs strain for air.

“Sasha. Please.” You gasp, tears flooding down your face as you scramble against his hold. He’s too strong, resolute in his anger, and you can only bat weakly at his chest.

Then you’re tumbling backwards, gasping for mere seconds as you fall, before you hit the raging waves and salt water fills your lungs.

You fight against the ocean, but the waves are too violent. Every time to reach the surface, you’re choking on whatever air you can grasp, before you’re pulled under again.

Too consumed by your terror, and lack of breath, you don’t realise that you aren’t alone. Not until it’s too late.

The sea whip’s gaping mouth, open to devour you, is the last thing you see before you wake with a jolt.

It takes a moment for your heart to slow back down to normality, and your breathing to settle until you’re no longer gasping. You stare at a drop of dew as it slides down a blade of grass.

Aleksander’s face, twisted in anger, haunts you.

Aleksander. Turning over, you’re greeted with the sight of an empty space. His blanket has been discarded, and his boots are gone. Heart pounding, you sit up and look around wildly. Where is he?

The sound of a horse snuffling has you looking over towards the barn, and you spot a familiar figure standing by the head of Aleksander’s horse and breathe out a sigh of relief.

As quietly as you can, you step through the throngs of soldiers lying asleep, moving towards Aleksander. The early morning air is cold, and part of you wants to slide back under your blankets. Instead, you round the side of the barn.

“Good morning.” You say softly, and Aleksander smiles when he sees you. Your heart twists.

“Good morning.”

He observes the distance you keep from his horse, and he pats the creature’s neck affectionately as he introduces him to you.

“This is Nocturne.” He then tells the horse your name, which has your smile widening and some of your nerves disperse.

“Hello Nocturne.” You say quietly, playing along with Aleksander’s little introduction.

His fingers curl around your wrist, guiding your palm to lie flat against Nocturne’s muzzle. The hairs are very short but smooth as you pet down the length of the horse’s face. Nocturne tilts his head, and you nearly flinch.

“You’re alright.” Aleksander says soothingly, and you’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or to Nocturne but his tone seems to settle both of you. “There we are.”

The remaining tension from your nightmare fades with his gentle touch and words.

Aleksander opens up the satchel attached to Nocturne’s saddle, and pulls out an apple. With a raised brow, he gestures between your hand and the fruit. You shake your head.

“I’m not putting my hands anywhere near his mouth.” Aleksander breathes out a small laugh, but he accepts your decision, holding the apple out himself for the horse to munch on.

You continue to brush your hand down the space between Nocturne’s eyes, before you glance back at Aleksander. His hands are back in his satchel. Then he pulls out a handkerchief, which he unwraps to reveal two slices of bread. Your jaw drops.

“You made me eat gristly squirrel meat last night when you had perfectly good bread in your satchel?”

His smile widens into a boyish grin as you cross your arms, feigning a mixture of annoyance and astonishment.

“I don’t believe it. The stories are all true. The Darkling truly has no mercy.” Aleksander laughs, and warmth glows in your chest at the sound of it.

“Would you like some?” He asks, with teasing in his voice. You attempt to give him a firm look, but you’re too softened by the smile on his face.

“Please.”

The two of you share the bread between you, as you attempt to shake the stiffness out of your legs in preparation for another day of riding.

“How long until we’re back at the Little Palace?” You ask him.

“If we depart within the next hour, we should return around mid-afternoon.”

Sure enough, less than an hour later Aleksander is helping you up onto Nocturne, with your bags packed and strapped to the saddle.

Conversation between the two of you is scarce as you travel. Unlike when you were travelling in the coach, you don’t have the privacy to ask Aleksander questions about his long life. If you ask too many questions about Ravka, the people around you will most definitely notice that you aren’t from the remote countryside like you claimed.

The horses keep a steady pace as they trek over the narrow hunting trails that weave through fields and woodland on the way to Os Alta. You get your first glimpse of the city in the distance a little after noon.

As you’re making your way through the city, you take the opportunity to look around. When you had left the coach had whisked through the streets so quickly you hadn’t much time to sightsee.

Once you round a final corner, the Grand Palace comes into sight. Alina stares up at the building which towards behind the gates. Aleksander urges Nocturne to trot beside Alina’s horse.

“What do you think?” Aleksander asks Alina. For a moment she looks surprised that he’s talking to her.

“It’s very… grand.”

“That’s one word for it.” You remark quietly, and you can almost hear Aleksander’s smirk in response.

“I think it’s one of the ugliest buildings I’ve ever seen.”

From that moment onwards, Aleksander leads your group in a small procession as you take the road around the Grand Palace, heading towards the Little Palace. A sense of relief fills you once you finally set your eyes on the building. You hadn’t realised how much you had missed it in the week you had been gone.

But now you’re back at the one place that you might be able to call home - one day.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander’s schedule is easy enough to keep up with. He rises early, which suits you since you can’t remember the last time you slept soundly for an entire night.

He has weekly briefings with the First Army officers, in which you sit at his side and make notes, scribbling down observations about the men surrounding you and the proposals they make.

The two of you eat lunch together, and usually discuss whatever you had been working on during the morning. Most of your work is making official copies of lists and drafts, as well as reading through missives to see if Aleksander had missed anything important.

After a briefing, and meeting with some other trackers that you had recruited for the search, Mal had been sent to the First Army outpost at Chernast. With any luck he’ll be able to find the stag soon enough.

You soon find a way to slot Alina into Aleksander’s day. You don’t tell him your plan, simply inviting Alina to look over some maps in the war room. There were a few mistakes on a number of the maps, and you hoped that Alina would pick up on them. She does, and you ask her to fix them.

The doors open as she’s finishing her work on the first map, and Aleksander strides in with a questioning look in his eyes. He raises a brow at you.

“Miss Starkov is correcting a few issues with our maps.” He nods.

“May I see?”

Her fingers brush against his as she passes him the map. She retracts her hand quickly, and you see Aleksander pause. He lifts his eyes to meet yours momentarily, before he ignores the accidental contact and looks over Alina’s adjustments.

After that day, Alina spends more time in the war room with you both, sketching new maps as well as improving the existing ones. When news from Mal arrives, you help her plot the tracking of the stag. At some point you know he will have to trek into Fjerda, and it’s likely you’ll lose contact with him for a while. You just have to hope that he’ll survive.

Alina had been offered the same suite that had been given to you when you first arrived at the Little Palace. Aleksander had asked if you minded Alina being given the room, and you had assured him you didn’t. After all, you could have died in that room, and whilst the blood stains are gone, you aren’t sure that you’d ever be comfortable in that room again.

Besides, it means you are given another suite, one directly across the hall from the war room, meaning Aleksander’s bedroom was only a short walk away.

Life at the Little Palace is good, at times it’s far better than your old life, and there are moments where you don’t want anything to change. That you can just continue spending your days eating lunch with Aleksander while you talk about which officers you find the most boring, and visiting the library with Alina.

Aleksander organises horse riding lessons for you. You’re a little apprehensive about it, but you know it will be an important skill to master now that you’re living in Ravka. Taking Aleksander’s coach everywhere would be too time-consuming and if you couldn’t ride a horse he might decide he’s better off leaving you behind at the Little Palace.

So, one sunny mid afternoon you make your way towards the stables where you’re set to meet with your instructor.

Wandering through the stable, you can’t see anyone about. You walk over the hay covered cobbles, looking this way and that for a presence besides those of the horses that peer curiously at you from their pens.

It’s only one you open up a side door, stepping out into a small courtyard near the back of the palace, that you spot someone familiar.

Aleksander smiles over at you as he pets the muzzle of a brown horse with white patches above its hooves.

“Surely you have better things to do than try to teach me how to ride.” You say in greeting as you approach Aleksander and the horse.

“I do. I’m going to succeed at teaching you to ride.” A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, even as you’re shaking your head at him.

You’re not as hesitant as you were when you first met Aleksander’s horse, and you move to stand in front of this new horse, reaching out to tentatively pat at his sturdy neck.

“Who’s this then?”

“This is Whippet.”

“Are you sure he’s the best choice for a beginner?” You remark with a nervous laugh, raising a brow as Aleksander chuckles quietly.

“Yes. His name is a jest of sorts, due to his easy temperament and dislike of being hurried along.”

“A horse after my own heart.”

“I thought as much.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach at the idea of him putting so much thought into selecting a horse that you would be comfortable with.

Aleksander walks you through the different elements of the saddle and other pieces of riding equipment. He tells you what each part is for, and you listen intently.

Then he helps you up onto Whippet. He keeps one arm curled around your waist, the other settled on your thigh to reassure you that you won’t fall. The inhale you take is a little shaky, but sitting up on a horse isn’t completely unfamiliar to you anymore - not after spending hours riding to Os Alta with Aleksander.

At first Aleksander leads Whippet around the courtyard, with you sitting in the saddle feeling very much like a third party who was just along for the ride. Once Aleksander tells you how to manage the reins, he gives you a little more freedom to guide Whippet yourself.

It isn’t long before you’re able to encourage the horse into walking a brisk circle through the courtyard. With Aleksander’s direction, you’re even able to urge him into a trot, which feels far too fast for your liking.

Even from the other side of the courtyard, you can hear Aleksander’s soft laughter as he observes your widened eyes. Whippet himself seems as relieved as you are when you allow him to settle back into a relaxed amble over the cobbles.

Aleksander pats at Whippet’s neck affectionately as you bring the horse to a stop beside Aleksander.

“Well Professor Morozova, was my lesson a success?” You remark teasingly.

His eyes sparkle, no doubt at the sound of you using his name so casually. You wonder about the last time he had such a person, who could say his name in such a lighthearted manner.

“My finest student.”

Aleksander glances up at you for a brief moment, mirroring your smile momentarily, before he looks back at his hand as he smooths it over Whippet’s thin coat.

“Alina knows about her power.”

“You told her?” He nods slowly.

“We were discussing the stag, which then evolved to amplifiers in general. I mentioned my own amplification.” He pauses for a moment. “I could see her thinking it over. One thing lead to another, and then I was taking her hand, bringing her power to the surface.”

“And?” He looks up, meeting your eyes with something akin to wonder on his face.

“Pure sunlight. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Swallowing hard, you push down the twist in your heart and move to dismount Whippet. Aleksander steps forward to help you, his hands settling on your waist as your feet land on the ground. The warmth of his palms soaks through your clothes, and that peculiar feeling in your chest eases.

He drops his hands from you after a moment, and you step away, moving towards Whippet’s front.

“When I first read the books I thought you were going to be the one to train Alina.” You admit as you smooth your knuckles down the horse’s muzzle. Aleksander tilts his head aside, frowning a little.

“Me?” You nod.

“Grisha always train in pairs. You’re an Etherealki, with a unique power, just like her.” You shrug lightly. “I thought it made sense.”

Aleksander is quiet for a moment, eyes watching a collection of golden leaves that skip through the courtyard on a breeze.

“I suppose it does.”

“It would keep her away from Baghra.” You reason. He nods.

“I’ll consider it.”

Aleksander strokes his hand along Whippet’s neck, and the horse seems delighted with the attention from both of you. A frown creases at your brows, and you tilt your head aside as you think.

“When did she find out?”

“Yesterday.”

Your frown deepens as you glance at Aleksander, only to find him already watching you. Before you can even ask him why he hadn’t brought her to the king, and introduced the world to the sun summoner, Aleksander explains.

“I remembered what you told me. How overwhelmed Alina was when she found out. I wanted to give her some time, before everything changes.”

His words are so similar to your own sentiments, and you realise this might be the last quiet afternoon you’ll have with Aleksander. You find yourself not wanting to leave this moment, knowing that once you return to the Little Palace reality will kick in.

Alina will begin training. She’ll grow closer to Aleksander. With your influence, hopefully she’ll be happy here. She’ll stay. He will tell her the truth eventually. Then you won’t be special. You won’t be the only one who calls him by his true name.

If Aleksander notices you wallowing in your thoughts, he doesn’t mention it. You help him walk Whippet back to his pen in the stables. Aleksander ensures that the bolt is in place, and closes the stable door behind you both.

A cheery cluster of flowers catches your eye as you’re waiting for him, and when Aleksander rejoins you, you can’t help yourself from identifying them.

“Blue irises.”

Aleksander frowns lightly, looking away from you to glance at the flowers.

“Hm?”

“They’re Alina’s favourite flower.”

There’s a spark of something in his eyes, something you can’t identify, and he nods slowly.

“I shall keep that in mind.”

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse

In Another Life Tag List: @parabatai-winchester @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @jambolska-grozdova @mxacegrey @budugu

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift

[riotseas]

Joshua was once in this position—wondering what exactly he was supposed to do as leader. He remembers how daunting it was, how could thousands of lives depend on a sickly boy like himself? They relied on Her, on the fact he harbored her power; therefore he had much to live up to.

Part of him feels guilty for feeling so relieved, even all these years later, to not have a place that needs him at every beck and call. Though, the feeling doesn't last terribly long, as there's a place that does need him, that he wants to heed the calls.

He's quiet for a while after Dion speaks. It hurts, hearing him sound so broken and being unable to offer an immediate fix. He has to stop himself from flinching when Dion goes to hold his hand, so overtaken by thoughts of 'How can I fix this?' 'How can I help him?' Even so, the other's voice calms him, the rough, elegant tone soothing all anxieties.

“I've seen your people—talked to them. Every ruler has to prove himself, prove that they can lead and fight for what's right, of course.” Another breath and a squeeze of Dion's hand, “If only you saw the way they spoke of you, singing your praises.”

The longer he talks, the wider his smile grows. It's no surprise Sanbreque loves their Prince, how could they not? And they only see a fraction of what Joshua gets to wake up to every morning, he could only imagine...

Joshua turns, facing Dion and taking both hands in his own, caressing calloused palms with his thumbs. “We are both here, alive, and what you have to do now—is heal. There can be no Emperor if he won't let himself rest. You are human too, if you've forgotten.”

Count on Joshua to try and cheer him up. Dion appreciates it more than he knows, even if he finds it difficult to show it. He just feels like the entire weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. Sanbreque is relying on him now that he is the de facto emperor, but he's useless like this. How could he even begin to help his people when he's bound to a wheelchair for the foreseeable future? He should be on his feet, rebuilding with them, but he can't like this, and it kills him.

Besides, he went to Origin banking on the fact that it would kill him. Greagor is not a cruel goddess, but she certainly has a strange sense of humor. Why would she let him live only to be a burden upon everyone else?

"Oh, it's...nothing, really. I'm just pondering things. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing as the emperor when I'm in the process of healing. I need my people to know that I'm here for them, that I am by their side, but..." His voice cracks ever so slightly, and he sniffs, looking down. "I don't know if they want me to be, after everything."

On top of the fact that he partly wishes he wasn't even alive....it's a lot for him to handle. He knows he has to take it one day at a time, but each day feels like an eternity.

However, part of him knows that this was all worth it just by seeing the beauty of the sunset. It's something he hasn't witnessed in quite some time, and Joshua is even more beautiful in the glow of it. Dion seems to hesitate for a moment before he wheels himself next to Joshua, reaching over to gently take his hand.

"...I am glad that we both came out alive," he murmurs, swallowing hard. "I don't know what I would have done if I woke up and you were...gone..."

[jesncin]

I read "Frizzy" when it released and I was always itching to draw fanart for it! It's about Marlene, a Dominican girl learning to take care of her curly hair and love herself in spite of the odds! Written by @authorclaribelortega with gorgeous art by @rosebous <3

[authorclaribelortega]

Happy Pride ♥️🌈

Here's a short excerpt from The Warmest Winter short story -

Graves was walking around and inspecting the room when she came upon Cotton Swab. “Is this your rat?” she asked, eyes wide. “Yeah, I don’t have access to real monstruos yet, but I will! Cotton Swab is nice—are you afraid of—” But Graves had already picked the fluffy white rat up and was smooshing him tenderly against her face. Cotton Swab closed his eyes happily. The only thing he loved more than cuddles was cheese. “He’s gonna get in your rucksack and go home with you if you keep that up.” Graves put Cotton Swab back in his box, lined with a little rat-sized blanket and pillows. “I wouldn’t mind! I love rats. Buuuut are we gonna handle actual monstruos too?” Valley bit her lip. “Seven was supposed to bring one of her raccoons. I’m not sure when she’ll get here though.” “I see.” Graves nodded, circling a chair then plopping herself into it. “Well, Prof, teach me about monstruo hunting!” Prof? Valley blushed. That’s what witches called their favorite professors, like a nickname because it was cooler and cuter than professor. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her stomach flutter with a hundred moths for Graves to call her that.

Full Story here

Graves & Valley - art by Rose Bousamra @rosebous

[candycoated-rage]

anyways since my favorite group of characters from the psychonauts series are the thorney towers patients, here’s headcanons or something

- all of the patients are really good friends with each other. they probably have tea parties n shit (hosted by dr loboto our main man) and talk about their hobbies

- boyd has his own room in the asylum and it’s styled like one of those houses in his mindscape. except that all the walls are covered in this gigantic paper trail.

- Gloria is a lesbian. I feel it in my soul. she’s also probably a really good singer and maybe has done musical theatre before

- Fred Bonaparte’s whole condition is one that really confuses me but my personal interpretation is that he’s literally possessed by napoleon’s ghost and everybody thinks he’s just crazy. in reality Fred is the most normal one there except for the ghost thing

- Edgar is DEFINITELY a gardening guy. he goes back home to his house and there’s beautiful rosebeds all throughout his front lawn. he just strikes me as one.

- dr loboto actually cares about his patients and stuff but the thing is, he’s a nut, and whenever he tries to do mental health stuff for his patients it always goes wrong. He’s like “hi gang, we’re having a board game night tonight!” and it’s immediately cancelled because Fred goes into a panic attack

[ezdotjpg]

Song & Lryic for Wake?

his song is Horchata by Vampire Weekend

favorite lyrics are:

Winter's cold is too much to handle Pincher crabs that pinch at your sandals Years go by, and hearts start to harden Those palms and firs that grew in your garden Are falling down and nearing the rosebeds The roots are shooting up through the tool shed Those lips and teeth that asked how my day went Are shouting up through cracks in the pavement Here comes a feeling you thought you'd forgotten Chairs to sit, and sidewalks to walk on Oh, you had it, but oh no, you lost it You understood, so you shouldn't have fought it

this verse has always given me a feeling of like,, nostalgia for your childhood home, so it makes me think of how Wake feels abt Outset. Especially since he probably spends a lot of time sailing away from it

[evly-pdf]

Do the geese too miss their mothers

when they leave the nest?

Swimming and flying

and trying their best —

Do the rows and rows of roses

long to return to their rosebed?

Plucked and trimmed

and stiff as lead —

I wonder if everything known

truly just wishes for home