#worms cathedral

[susiestamps]

DE 2018 0.90€ 1000th anniversary of Consecration of Worms Cathedral

[vintagegermany]

Worms, Germany 1920s

[onlyhurtforaminute]

NECROPHAGIA-FEAR THE PRIEST

[dijetemjeseca]

Dom St. Peter, 1130-1181., Worms, Germany

Carska gradnja, romaničke rozete, jednostavna mrežišta, masivni šprljci, dvotravejni sustav, presvođena, jednostavni stupovi.

U Njemačkoj se proširio tip crkve s antitetičkim građevnim skupinama koje se sastoje od transepata, korova, tornjeva nad križištem i bočnih tornjeva. Karolinški uzor iz Centule slijedi i katedrala u Wormsu. (Muller, Vogel; 2000., 379)

[dansnaturepictures]

Round up of my wild week 5th-10th March 2023

It was a week that saw a change in weather with a cold snap, a dusting of snow in these parts and some wet weather. It felt like a little step back into winter with these scenes and puddles and mud reappearing in the landscape somewhat, but that didn’t stop it being a week I saw some memorable wildlife and took so many pictures nor did it stop it feeling spring like. A Coot seen adding twigs to a nest under construction at Petersfield Heath Pond yesterday, more fabulous moments watching the Lakeside Country Park courting Great Crested Grebes across the week and the continued emergence of early spring wildflowers helped it feel spring like still. Crocuses, periwinkle, daffodil, snowdrops including some seen at Winchester Cathedral in snow quite comically and some pretty spurge out the front were plant highlights of my week, with a few nice insect and spider sightings in and outdoors this week standing out too. 

A photo I took of the snow falling early on Wednesday morning, with the tree out the back coming into bud and blossom a contrasting point in the photo. 

The Coot with a stick yesterday. 

Crocuses at Lakeside on Sunday 

I spent probably more time than average at my local Lakeside this week with a special longer slower paced visit yesterday as part of a day off I had using up annual leave and an exercise walk there as an addition to my Sunday alongside Monday and Tuesday’s lunch time walks, and it produced some of my birdwatching highlights of the week. The leading bird species of these few days the exquisite Lesser Redpolls I saw in lake side alders there yesterday, a captivating sight seeing a bird I find so sweet to see. It was such a revelation of the walk there yesterday and such a key bird to my year so far, as my first time seeing this species this year and first I’d ever seen at Lakeside. I was so overjoyed to see them. As well as the sheer wonder of watching the Great Crested Grebes seeing some bits of the courtship dance again this week other key birds at Lakeside were Green Woodpecker one I saw consistently, Siskin, Cormorant and Wren. Other key birds seen this week were Buzzards with two seen well at Lakeside and home a couple of times, Song Thrush and Dunnock, many Egyptian Geese as well as Red Kite on a great walk of intimate avian encounters at Petersfield Heath Pond with pleasing views of Peregrine and Grey Wagtail in Winchester on office working day lunch breaks. 

A Lesser Redpoll record shot 

Also bird wise it was notably a strong week for seeing gulls, with my second and third favourite gulls starring with Mediterranean Gulls with black heads another strong spring sight this week at Petersfield Heath Pond and Common Gull both there and at Lakeside. Perhaps my fourth favourite is Lesser Black-backed Gulls and this was a welcome Lakeside constant this week again, from seeing one sat on a buoy to it scoffing bread. Black-headed Gull and especially for hearing them Herring Gull were big parts of my week too.

Mediterranean Gulls with Black-headed Gulls at Petersfield Heath Pond yesterday. Not necessarily surprising when I break it down but still quite out of the blue yesterday was the most photos I’ve ever produced on a day which was interesting. FYI, one of my favourite birds the Kittiwake is my undisputed favourite gull species.

I can’t forget the full Worm moon which entranced me in evenings early in the week, getting this photo of it on Tuesday. 

And as a feature of the weather week it has been it has been a good one for dramatic sky scenes, this scene from Monday’s Lakeside walk.

[stjohncapistrano67]

The medieval Catholic cathedral at Worms Germany.

[eadingas]

Layers of old brickwork on Worms cathedral - Romanesque, Gothic and 19th century historicist, all mashed together. . . 🇩🇪 🚙🏛️ ⛪ . . #travel #travelgermany #germany #rheinland #ドイツ #キャンプ #キャンパス #camping #motorhomelife #campinglife #summer #deutschland #rhein #worms #cathedral #church #romanesque #medieval #medievalarchitecture #pink #blackandwhite #imperial #tower #大聖堂 #歴史 #建築 #ゴシック (at Worms, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClyIl7IIU4c/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pinbox24]

DOM ZU WORMS Brosche Reliefansicht 1960er Jahre

WORMS CATHEDRAL brooch relief view 1960s

[efangamez]

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[a-coward]

Ghost Fic- Here Comes the Sun

I wrote my first fic in like, 4 years! I hope you all like it alright :) I was thinking about Primo's cover of Here Comes the Sun, and this kinda- appeared.

~

"Go to sleep now, little one." He heard his brother whisper. "When you wake, the sun will be here."

(TW: Canon character death)

Thunder shook the large window above his bed in its frame, as lightning split the darkened sky in two. The storm had been raging for exactly twenty-three minutes now, Secondo had counted each one. He wasn't going to hold out much longer, he knew- as he cowered under his duvet, shaking like the trees in the wind.

He was ten years old, now. Far too old to go running to Primo like he had all through his childhood. He would be papa someday. He had to have self-control. He had to be brave. He knew this. Lightning lit up his room and he could see it even from under the thick blankets. Thunder shook him down to his core, rattling his small bones as fear gripped his heart in his heaving chest.

He could be brave next time, he decided.

He shot from the bed and was out his door before the next wave of thunder came. It was always drafty in the cathedral they called home, but even more-so with the howling wind that snapped at his naked ankles as he raced down the dark corridor. He didn't put on slippers, his bare feet padding on the cold stone floor for the short distance to his brother’s room.

He could see the faint warm glow from under Primo's door of the lamp from his bedside table. The man was awake and humming softly from behind the sturdy wooden door. The room was always warm, the smell of incense clung to every bit of furniture, and Secondo craved that comfort. He didn't knock. He knew that he didn't need to. Primo's door had always been open to him without question.

He cracked the door open and peered inside. Primo was setting in his bed, his long tendrils of platinum hair still tied in a loose braid to sleep in, his pajamas on, along with his glasses- half-moon specs he swapped for favor of contacts during the waking hours, and their littlest brother, Terzo, already sleeping soundly in a bundle of blankets, his head planted firmly in Primos lap as the man carded his fingers through the boy’s short raven hair. Primos humming came to an end as he gazed at his other little brother in the doorway. He didn't have to say a word, only raising his other arm that wasn't occupied with Terzo to the boy in the doorway.

An invitation to join them. Secondo didn't have to be offered twice, darting across the room and climbing up onto the plush bed, nestling himself firmly at his brother's side. The smell of jasmine incense filled his head, and the sound of thunder didn’t seem quite as close, then.

Primo’s unoccupied arm held him close, and he resumed his little hummed lullaby for a few minutes, before pausing, and looking down at Secondo over his glasses. "il piccolo corvo beat you here by about fifteen minutes. How quickly he falls asleep, I'm a little jealous." He smiled softly then, and brushed Secondo’s thin hair back away from his brow. Secondo looked down at his sleeping brother, swaddled in a plush throw blanket and sleeping without much of a care in the world, it seemed.

Terzo was the smallest of them, the baby- even if only by a few months. Secondo had to be brave for him. It was alright if Terzo came to their older brother for comfort- but Secondo was supposed to be brave.

He flinched as thunder shook the small, cozy room. "I tried to be brave, Primo. Like papa told me to." He admitted, guilt twisting his young features. “I really tried this time.”

"You did very well, mio fratello. You're very brave." Primo gently scooted Terzo from his lap to lay by his side, the younger boy didn't stir at all. Primo took off his half-moon shaped glasses and laid them on the bedside table, then laid back down between his brothers. "I'm glad you two came, you know." He said softly, as Secondo wormed up to his side. "The storm would have kept me up all night and I would have been so very lonely."

"It won’t... last all night, will it?" Secondo asked, clinging to his brother's pajama shirt. He tried not to let his voice shake. He tried to be brave, although he didn't feel like it.

"Oh no, no. Storms like this usually blow over within the hour, but it's alright. We'll leave the light on, and we'll all be here together as it passes, yes?" Primo said, his face calm and content.

It was hard to not feel comforted by his brother’s presence. Primo was nearly two decades his senior. He had always been there, since before Secondo could remember. He was the one who took care of Terzo and him, as busy as their father was. He was the most like a parent Secondo would ever know, or ever needed to know. He was as tall as a willow tree, with long arms like branches that would scoop him up and hold him close. His hair hanging like the vines. His hands, rough like bark from years writing at his desk and tending to his precious garden, yet still soft and gentle enough to wipe tears from his brother's faces.

"Go to sleep now, little one." He heard his brother whisper. "When you wake, the sun will be here."

It was childish of him to ask, he knew, but Secondo felt safe enough to venture a small request of Primo. "Will you sing to me?"

"For you, always. Even when we are both old men, I'll always sing to you, if you ask."

Little darling, it's been a long, cold, lonely winter.

Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say.

It's alright.

Secondo let the warmth of his brother, the soothing words he sang, lull him to sleep. The sound of the rain and thunder slipped away from him as he floated into a peaceful rest.

~

The warmth of the memory faded, as the cold seeped into his bones, his very being- from the steel table he laid on. Secondo squinted, blinking up at the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down at him. His body was numb, as he strained to remember the events leading up to this. They were playing a game. Well he was losing a game. Then, something- someone, grabbed Terzo and he-

Terzo.

Secondo’s head shot to the side, searching for his little brother. Pain shot up his neck, but his frantic search didn't cease. Terzo was not difficult to find- lying beside him, on his own cold, sterile table. Terzo wasn't moving, and as Secondo tried to call for him, he found his voice didn't want to work. His younger brother was faced away from him, quiet and still. He turned to his other side and was startled when Primo's eyes met his, from his own table.

He knew it was bad, but the feeling really settled in his chest when he looked into Primo's mismatched eyes, and for the first time in his entire life, they looked afraid.

Secondo tried to think, tried to fight it, but whatever they stuck him with had sunk into his nerves, freezing them in place. He remembered Terzo going slack at the table. He remembered lunging at the ghoul, and he remembered going down as well.

Sister had told them they were going back on the road- in full regalia. What a cruel, sick joke. His father had stood near her, not saying a word.

Now he was here. Dying, he was sure.

Satan. He didn't want to be afraid. But this was so much worse than thunder. He didn't want to cry, but his eyes watered on their own, his throat growing tight as panic seeped into him. He didn't want to close his eyes, knowing he probably wouldn't open them again, but they were slipping shut against his will.

This was it then. Groomed, used, and thrown away by the ministry he had dedicated his entire life to.

Then he heard Primo. The voice was soft, barely a whisper. It seemed miles away, but it was there all the same. Though it sounded weak. Fading.

Like a breeze through a willow's branches.

Little darling, the smiles returning to their faces.

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here.

Here comes the sun.

Here comes the sun, and I say.

It's alright.

Secondo took a deep breath, feeling a little calmer. He wasn’t alone. He let his eyes slip shut as his big brother sang him to sleep for the last time.

[ian-thebean]

Alec x Maurice good mood goofin

for my darling romantics

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snapping fabric and wandering fingers. The smell of dirt and the hot breath of midnight. Oh, spare me your dusty libraries and muted halls! Your vaunted cathedrals and the clack-clack of quick steps on worn stone are nothing to the softness of the night sky. Pity the lovers, those poor, filthy rich lovers, who laugh and chat floating down a manicured canal. Pity the glances over books, the stolen caresses, the man who is served a pittance and fancies it a feast.

White linen afraid of moss, salad forks made from stolen gold. Pity them, my love. Turn from their aching eyes into my sturdy arms. Hold me tight as we crash into the earth and nestle among the worms and rotting leaves. The blonde face of Cambridge is pale as parchment in the light of the drunken moon. Can Plato’s threadbare musings bring you anything but distraction? Anything but the recycling of philosophical sentiments must be hunted down in the chattering of the night-singing birds. Take my face in your hands and tell me that you’d give it up again, for there is no sweeter sound. Even the softness of your lips cannot compare to your vow to exist for me and I for you. Hand in hand, step for step, advance with me into the wildness of the woods. Kiss me with apricots in your mouth and dirt beneath your fingernails; let me see the velvet black of your suit streaked with mud and torn by bramble-bushes. Show me the man beneath the bowler for there is a fire in him that deserves to be laid bare and fed until it sets the world ablaze. Treasure the heat-kindling of my devotion until it consumes all that we’ve left behind. For you, for your breath on my neck, I here abjure the sun that shines on the new world. The fog, the cold, the rain I embrace for the sake of your split knuckles and gentle words. With the crack of cricket bats and sweat of midday, I declare that my love for you will last until the last tree on earth is blown down. 

[shmowder]

I’m not quite sure if you’ve played the marbles nest dlc yet but if you have….could I get some hcs for how marbles nest Daniil would be with a reader? Maybe even they’ve confessed their love for him randomly during one of the loops?

I always liked the concept of timeloops. Just when Daniil thinks he has seen and memorised everything, you go off-script and confess your feelings.

A tragedian Reader? Yeah I like the idea.

Death Is The Only Way Out

[ MN Daniil x Tragedian GN Reader ]

[ Angst with a happy end..kinda, Hurt/Comfort, Love confession, Romance, 4th wall breaks, Metafiction]

It was getting dull.

The same people stopping him in the same streets, delivering the same news.

Gleefully informing him of his failures, of his supposed dead status, of the Judge lifting quarantine and overruling any speck of authority the Bachelor may have held in this town.

- The Fifth Loop -

Dankovsky stopped listening to them by now

They've already said their useful piece time after time.

He already knows where to go, without being needlessly subjected to their sadistic gossip, vaguely disguised as concern for him.

…walking by the stillwaters, her voice still haunts him.

 - The Twentieth Loop - 

He finally came to  the bitter acceptance that there is no feasible way to prevent the vial of Panacea from breaking.

No matter how many instructions he gave to Cookaroo–the kid, even handing him his own snakeskin coat to use as a cushion for the fallen items.

It ended the same... except with broken glass embedded into his coat this time around. Neither could he possibly hide them from the guard outside.

Daniil even brought a water bottle with him just to swap its content with the Panacea, to hopefully sneak it outside this time around.

The guard confiscated it all the same, with the confidence of someone who witnessed him in the very act itself.

Daniil was sure he locked the door before he did. The walls must have eyes and ears, he concluded.

As he held the Panacea in his hand, pale blue eyes chided him from not having faith in him.

- The Twenty-sixth Loop -

It never gets easier.

Having to purposely fail as a doctor, having to go against his very own instinct at every turn and butcher the self-inflicted wound on the worm.

Failing at the very basics of the basic training granted to each student in their first year of medical school.

But after the first few times of being handed a still-warm human heart–bright red, freshly plucked from someone's chest, oozing blood from every vein and crevice–He decided to pick the lesser evil... or the one that doesn't test the endurance of his lurching stomach each time.

One death was mandatory to happen this day, he reckoned, one that must involve him as a participant.

Directly or else.

Both the worm and the Herb Bride chose to die, and both of them welcomed it. The blood on his hands is something he cannot change.

He can only choose whose.

To even call it a wedding, what a tasteless joke. What crude practices.

- The Forty-fifth Loop -

How idiotic of him to think that he even had a choice to begin with. The heart was mandatory. He learned it the hard way

All the days he wasted thinking he was sparing a life, saving someone's daughter from being butchered like cattle.

Letting a patient die in his own arms, killing him with the same medical tools meant to mend and heal.

Only for it to be the wrong choice after all.

Of course it was.

Of course, this rotten town will never be satisfied until his suffering reaches its maximum potential.

Of course, he couldn't even be granted this one mercy.

Daniil stopped looking in her direction afterwards. He couldn't stomach seeing her dance.

He just focused on sparing the worm's life, accepting his curses and insults without retaliation this time around. For part of them felt deserved.

What a grim wedding.

- The Fifty-seventh Loop -

One of the tragedians appeared in front of the cathedral earlier than expected.

Daniil didn't even have the heart yet to trade you with.

Just when he was about to inform you of that, he noticed something different, Your mask was cracked.

Sure, the tragedians' clothes were always worn with visible stitches, their masks covered in tiny scratches, the white colour eroding into grey with the constant wear and tear. 

But yours was indefinitely cracked. It wasn't anything small either but a major split.

"How does it stay in place?"

The question caught both of you off-guard as it slipped from his lips.

Daniil immediately regretted asking it, he doesn't have the time for this, you're not going to tell him anything useful, you're just here to insult him and rub salt into his wounds, just like that insufferable executer dwelling in-

"Fabric glue." You answered.

Oh.

Yeah, it makes sense.

His brain must be getting very stale if he couldn't figure this one out by himself.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

- The Fifty-eighth Loop -

You're here again... even earlier than last time.

Daniil approaches you with caution still, as if you're about to grow two heads or fizzle out into a plague cloud. Because of the off-chance that you might carry crucial information that could help him finally defeat death... he must prevail.

It feels odd, attempting to strike a conversation after so many loops of people just coming to him unannounced to voice their thoughts.

You're quieter than the other tragedians, less fidgety, too. You're not acting in place like a mime performance, nor are you standing ominously still like a statue.

You're simply... there.

Eerily human-like.

Sometimes, looking at the sky, other times stretching your limbs. Loitering, in summary.

"Why aren't you with your friends?" The question came out by his own agency this time around... although it was said with a hint of venom.

Daniil stood impatiently in front of you, as it took you a moment to realise he was addressing you and not one of the townsfolk.

"My friends?" The mask twitched, your expression must have changed underneath, the crack making its movement more pronounced, "I'm not sure who you're referring to..."

"The other actors, mimes, tragedians, whatever your group calls itself." The hostility in Daniil's tone simmered down at your casual demeanour.

"We're not really friends. Coworkers, more likely." 

Daniil gave you an expected look. You weren't sure what it meant… so you continued to elaborate on the subject.

"I mean, Anton's nice and all, he always brings an extra coffee for anyone who asks, but like I wouldn't say we've ever invited each other to a birthday party or something." You explained earnestly.

"No, that's not what I-" Daniil took a deep breath, "I meant to ask, why aren't you with them? What are you doing here so early?"

You faced him, and for a second, Daniil thought he glimpsed a pair of human eyes looking at him behind the dim fabric, veiling your face from underneath the mask.

The eye contact was cut short as you urgently turned your head away, refusing to meet his face again. Realising that he's still awaiting an answer, you simply shrugged.

"I see..." So you weren't here because of his actions or something he did during one of the loops... that's both relieving and frustrating at the same time.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday 

- The Fifty-ninth Loop -

Daniil didn't bother addressing the townsfolk gathering outside the grocery. Their praise fell on deaf ears as he pocketed the remaining change left over from pawning his pocket watch and hurried away.

Not only was your demeanour unusual, but the way you acted when you thought he wasn't looking as well.

Daniil felt your eyes following him as he trudged through the stone yard, facing away and feigning innocence whenever he'd abruptly stop and turn to catch you in the act.

At first, he was put off by it.

But the more he observed you from far away, the more he came to the blunt realisation that you were simply bored out of your mind, and he happened to be the only changing variable nearby.

That's why he decided to head towards the Committee first thing this time around. Informing them to unlock the nearby store.

The Bachelor wasn't sure why he's doing this.

Was it a vain attempt to gain some sort of benefits or information out of you that might aid him in this seemingly endless battle?

Or was it the fact you seemed to retain your memories through each reset just like him.

…maybe the fact these two conversations with you were the closest thing to normality he has experienced through this hopeless journey.

But he cannot trust you, not yet. 

For all he knows, you could be death itself, who found another way to taunt him through exploiting his ever growing loneliness in this fragment of reality, detached from the outer world, never ending, never growing, much like a bird stuck in a cage or a soul preserved in a peanut.

He should really stop humouring these kids; their wild imagination is starting to alter his thoughts and view on reality.

You're at your usual spot, in front of the cathedral is where he finds you. 

It seems that you've taken a liking to sitting at the far end of the stairs, than to aimlessly standing around.

Were your legs tired? he couldn't help but wonder.

The click of his bag opening caught your attention, Daniil reached into the safety of a pocket lining the inner walls, three coffee beans tucked in there.

The ones he freshly bought from the grocery a few minutes ago.

“Here.” He says, unceremoniously extending his hand to you, coffee beans sitting on his palm. 

Your expression is veiled beneath a layer of black fabric. The cracked mask–was the split always this big?–offers some leeway, however. Daniil can vaguely make out the shape of your nose, poking from underneath the fabric.

With initial hesitation, you opened your hand, feeling his gloved fingers carefully set the coffee beans atop yours one by one, rather than just dumping them all down.

It wasn't feasible to feel his skin beneath the thick layer of leather, but by the gods, did the tightness in your chest claim otherwise.

“I couldn't find a kettle or sugar, but I'm sure you'll figure something out.” Daniil retracted his hand, politely taking a step back–it just hit you how close he must have been–his tone devoid of any bitterness this time. “Was it Afton, right? the colleague who usually brought you coffee.”

“Anton,” you corrected him, still staring at the coffee beans in your palm with disbelief, “...thank you.”

“I…” Gratitude is definitely not what he was expecting. Daniil's eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing away, “it's nothing really.”

The smile on your lips, he couldn't see, neither the glimmer adorning your eyes as you admired this humble yet thoughtful act of kindness.

“Did you get out of your way to do this? you always order the Committee to just send more guards.” Your words made him pause in place.

The genuine surprise on Dankovsky's face was quickly masked away. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it, gears churning in his brain.

“Don't flatter yourself, I had my own reasons.” Daniil took another step back, spoke with a defensive tone “...you're more observant than you initially seemed, I didn't think anyone was keeping track, least of all the tragedians.”

It felt like the temperature dropped several degrees, the quaint atmosphere vanishing in an instant as his cold eyes sized you up and down.

“The game is rigged, isn't it?” He continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “You've indirectly confirmed my suspicions, just now. I'm under constant surveillance, aren't I? That's why that pesky guard couldn't be outsmarted.”

Whatever fragile resemblance of a friendship you two held was shattered by a mere slip of the tongue on your part.

“...yes.” It came out in a whisper, yet you were sure Daniil still heard it all the same.

Without another word, he turned around and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixtieth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-first Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-second Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-third Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Sixty-eighth Loop –

He glanced in your direction as he exited the theatre, having just been informed of the execution of Dora and Marat. 

Their ashes remain on the ground.

– The Sixty-ninth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Seventieth Loop – 

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Eightieth Loop –

He ignored you and went about his usual routine for this Saturday.

– The Ninetieth Loop –

He sat down beside you on the cathedral stairs.

Eyes sunken, a look of absolute defeat on his face.

You fidget with the three coffee beans in your hand, twirling them around with your fingers. Dankovsky watches.

“I would've told you if you had asked.” You quietly explain, “I never meant to trick you.”

A heavy weight falls on your shoulder, Daniil's body collapsing against your side. Face resting against your collarbone, his breathing ghosts over your neck.

The comforting weight of forgiveness.

“Then tell me.” He sounds beyond exhausted. You wonder how close his metre is to being filled. “How can I defeat death? And don't give me any of those vague answers your colleagues do each time, I want the plain truth.”

“You wouldn't like the truth.” Plague clouds flood the streets. Polluted air passes seamlessly through your lungs as you take a deep breath.

Daniil buries his face deeper into your neck, fearing a coughing fit if he dares to breathe too generously. “I can handle it, please just… spare me some dignity.”

“You can't win. You could never win. It was always rigged. Death is the only way out.”

“I refuse.” Even after all this time, nearly one-third of a year spent in the samsara, Daniil's determination never wavered, “there must be another way, I refuse to accept death.”

“Well…” Your mask splintered, chipping at the corners as the crack grew in size, “you could always stop playing this game.”

“You really think this is just a game? Do you realise the number of people residing in the stone yard? Whole families, kids, and elderly alike will not survive the infection if the plague makes it across the bridge.”

“It was always meant to be a stand-alone story, a demo for backers, a preview test of what's to come. It wasn't made with the thought in mind to become a full-fledged DLC down the line. It's too incomplete, too linear. The endings aren't satisfying either, and it constantly loops after each one.”

“Have you gone senile? Just what the hell are you talking about?” Daniil lifts his head to be able to face you, eyebrows scrunched together in a mix of frustration and confusion.

Your eyes glance down to his chapped lips.

With one of your hands–the one that's not carrying the precious gift he graced you with–you bring his hand upwards, coax his fingers under the edges of your mask.

All negative emotions vanish from his expression. Understanding your intentions, Daniil brings his other hand to the opposite side of your face.

The porcelain mask crumbles down into dust after he moves it less than an inch away.

The silhouette of a face is visible now underneath the fabric. He moves his fingers delicately across your features.

Caressing your cheeks with his thumb, trailing down your nose with the tip of his finger, brushing against your lips, memorising the shape of your upper eyelid

Staring into those very same eyes he briefly glimpsed that day.

“I've always loved you.” Your voice sounds clearer without the echo of the mask. Your vulnerability shines through.

Daniil stares at you with wide eyes, processing everything happening at an alarming speed, taking your words to heart.

Fear flashes through his eyes for a split second, fear of the fate which befalls those he cherishes. Clouding his brain into a fog, churning in his stomach akin to bitter venom.

Eva's voice rings in his ears, Artemy's eyes bore into his own.

Yet the taste of your lips brings him back to his senses, your soft mouth pressing against his own, a thin layer of fabric separating you two, preventing your realities from ever fully merging.

“I love you.” You repeat, “and I can't watch you suffer for much longer.” 

Daniil's arms envelope you.

“Please…” You whisper, cradling his face in your hands, “stop playing the game. That's the only way to win.”

He doesn't argue with you. He peers at you with morose acceptance.

With a final kiss to your temple, the world stops in place. The two of you akin to statues, frozen in that position, preserved for eternity.

The key to immortality.

A figure stares at their reflection on the screen. The pause menu is the only light illuminating the dim room.

Scrolling down to the last option, a confirmation window pops out, asking if you're sure you want to exit the game.

You press ‘Yes’

Greeted by the usual desktop screen on your computer, you glance at the clock in the corner of the taskbar. 

It's getting late, you think. You should head to bed soon.

The DLC was too short, and it was definitely not worth the price. You still find yourself recommending it when inquired about it in the future.

The mattress sinks under your weight, the covers weigh comfortably on top of you, the pillows cradle your head.

As your eyes flutter shut, your soul soars free. Drifting amidst the streams, a starless sky filled with dreams.

[a-forbidden-detective]

A day in a life of RonToto: Germany & France (Part 1)

RonToto after their Vienna sojourn are finding themselves in Germany and for a while in France: (from top left) an old house and now a five-star hotel in Colmar, the St. Martin’s Cathedral, a boat ride along the Ill, at the foot of German poet Friedrich Schiller’s statue, the suite hotel where RonToto stayed, another timber house in Strasbourg, the Residenzschloss in Rastatt, and crashing at the wedding reception in a Stuttgart palace

After we solved the case in Vienna, and bc we did a lot of running here and there, unmasking our rich client’s long-lost lover, who happened to be a stage actor (I will tell the whole story soon, promise), he gifted us train tickets to Baden-Württemberg and the neighboring cities in France.

Ron and I visited the towns of Ludwigsburg, Stuttgart, Strasbourg, stayed a bit longer in Colmar, and then to a quaint little “baroque” city called Rastatt.

Lots of train rides, which fascinated me most of all as Germany and France in this region is only separated by a river in between, the Rhine. But wowza! The number of people who wanted to cross France on our third day was a lot. People were seated on the stairs and the hallways. It would be either be a disaster and a blessing. Just imagine if it were the time of COVID-19. Well, I am not a doctor but a police officer and I dare not to think about the possibility. Japan was in trouble when they pursued hosting the Olympics in 2020. I just read that the water quality of the river Seine was so terrible that they cancelled the triathlon the other day.

Anyway, we crashed a wedding reception in Stuttgart. Was not our intention though. The groom mistook me as a friend from middle school in an international school in Tokyo. Ron was so amused we had been offered a table and got to toast with the newlyweds for the new chapter in their lives. Two young women tried to flirt with Ron, which sort of ruined my day, but became hilarious though. Bc as soon as Ron deduced them they couldn’t wait to get away from him. Heh!

As soon as we reached Colmar while we waited for our hotel suite to be ready, we decided to go for a boat ride along the Lauch, which is connected to the Ill River that also flows in Strasbourg. Ron was also able to tick a box on his wretched list of what he wanted to do. Want to know what that is? Sitting on top of one of the half-timber roofs and sipping his black sugar syrup. I was so embarrassed but the owner let him get away with it. Lucky him.

On our second and final day in Colmar, there was a scheduled city trip around the town. Colmar is the city that is supposed to be the inspiration for Hayao Miyazaki’s “Howl’s Moving Castle’s” Ingary. It was a charming little town with the half-timber houses. So picturesque. That’s the word I learned from Ron. Stemmed from the 17th century it wormed its way to English language that could mean that the scene resembles a picture, evokes aesthetics and vivid. The old town feels like a museum, but many of them are still used either as a hotel or restaurant or both.

Rastatt is near the famous Baden-Baden. A small town that houses baroque palaces. It was a Monday when we visited it so not too many people were strolling around as museums were closed. Haha! That’s so nice to know.

Ron said we are going to make another stop in Europe until we are back to Tokyo for another client request. This is the first time I heard Amamiya was actually happy on the phone when I talked to her. Though one could never be sure.

[mealvaan]

Morsel

TW. Domestic abuse, alcoholism, body horror.

There were so few bells in the day, and Viscount Adrant de Zaciere occupied all of them.

Almost all of them. The Viscountess found nooks of time out of the sun to breathe in the company of a cursed journal and a worn-down quill. Visits to the Durendaire demesne and Jeweled Crozier were savoured too, though she longed for someone to speak to her bereft of courtesy and title, and conversations died like fruit flies under Adrant's purview.

Dinnertime was upon them. The lady of the house refused the retinue of manor staff she'd been assigned; she would not have what little work she was allowed to be taken away from her. Adrant insisted only on choosing the wine, which she would allow; it was a pretentious drink, and she cared little what label got her inebriated.

She beat the dough before her with the vigor of the Fury. The beef, she dug into relentlessly with her carver, as a dragoon would worm under dragon scale. She unapologetically tasted sauces with a two-finger dip just because no one was looking. How she'd longed to be a Dame, once upon a time. Bovine meat bore the only blood she ever got to spill.

The house staff were permitted to present the food she cooked. She didn't like dining with her husband alone.

"Beef wellington," Adrant said, breathlessly impressed. He held her in his gaze like a caged bird of paradise, marvelling at the new feathers she'd grown after that she'd shed. "You've outdone yourself, Imogen."

"It's not that difficult. We're just raised to be afraid of kitchen knives." Imogen indulged in the bite she was permitted at their dinner table. To her persistent irritation, Adrant merely found her scathing remarks amusing. His laughter, the tumbling currents of the deep sea.

"Hahaha. True, that. That's why I married you, my dear."

The table fell silent, save the wet sound of silver to meat. Imogen spent the rest of her evening sipping the Caelumtree Red 1540, as she begrudgingly recalled from Adrant's rambling.

He was an insistent sommelier, asking her all manner of questions. How does it feel? What does it remind you of? What kind of person do you think the wine best suits?

She spun fanciful, sardonic stories, for all the wine tasted the same to her. It's gravel-esque. Reminds me of a four-bell homily at the Cathedral. Best suits someone who hates their life.

In excruciating time, the meal was over.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Often the Viscountess rose before the sun. It was one of those secrets she indulged in, basking in the time before dawn while Adrant had left to gods know where. She hoped, often, that he would find a new wife wherever he went and leave her an honorable old maid. Or at least knock some poor woman up so she would have an excuse to leave with the Lafontaine name intact.

How fairytales die when midnight passes. How many moon-eyed little girls no longer dream of prince charming?

Her vanity was remarkably sparse for her station. There was a hairy brush on one side and a set of tissues on the other. Powders and glosses were luxuries she once enjoyed, but then she learned that as Viscountess, they weren't for her. So she stopped wearing them, allowing the star to witness the dark circles under her eyes and the creases where grimaces oft lay. She wanted people to wonder, to care.

Perhaps she still believed in prince charming after all.

As she examined the crests and troughs of her face, she noticed something catch the light.

It was on the tail of her sideburns, tucked away under a tuft. She lifted her index finger and brushed the hair aside. It was a shard of obsidian. Rough to the touch. Just off the curve of her cheekbone. At its hems, it emerged from her skin, as if it'd punctured through the layers and embedded itself through the tissue. She ran her finger over it incessantly, trying to discern what it was.

Something about it made her uneasy. Rather than visit a chirurgeon, she felt the need to cover it up.

"Please fetch me a set of powders from the Crozier," she asked of the courier from a crease within her door. Excited for the Viscountess' final foray into glamour, the maid was bubbly. "Right away, madame."

The compact was slid through a crack in the door. What did they think she was afraid of them seeing? Though her mind raced with anxious intrusions, her hands were quick to work. She contoured light where the shard cast a shadow, worked its bumps out into an even tone. Then she clipped her hair that it would fall over the blemish, just in case. As her hair was pinned up with an elegant clip, a gift from Adrant that she had once forgone, she struggled to see herself in the mirror.

Tonight was another challenge: dodo confit, for which she'd sourced the ingredients to great toil. She retrieved the fowl from its preserve and marvelled at the beautiful marination she'd managed, after half a dozen failed attempts. The jelly would make for good stock.

A steaming platter of elegant dodo legs arrived at the dinner table, complete with a side of ornate asparagus. Adrant revered her with his sonnets of praise. She merely ate because she could, savouring her own internal congratulations.

Stereotypically, the Viscount had paired her dodo confit with a pinot noir.

"Chardonnay would've been more interesting," she's quick to remark, looking over yet another red wine with disdain.

"We should indulge in the richness of this dish, not shy away from it. Give it a try, dearest."

Imogen drank the wine despite her protests; she needed something to wash the richness down, even if it was a tart beverage that did little to rinse her palate. To feel light rather than gaudy.

"You've done your hair differently this eve. What is the occasion?"

Imogen brushed her bangs in front of her ear for good measure. "I just felt like doing something different."

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

She awoke to her lungs on fire.

"Adrant—!" She startled in their bed. His name ran her voice ragged. Loathe she was to beg him for help, but O Gods! Smoke claimed her inside and out! Every breath seared with Nald'thal's flame! She scratched her throat with her nails, begging the Fury for it to stop.

"My love," he awoke quickly, as if he was never asleep. "My love, what's wrong?"

"It hurts! It hurts!" She gasped and writhed in the sheets, pulling the duvet off him entirely. "Call the maids!"

Adrant's neck craned over her, his eyes the twin moons. Tears in her eyes, she could barely carve out the features of his face. Just a line for a mouth and hair hanging over his lashes.

"How does it feel?"

"Wh... What?" she made out before coughing and spluttering. Smoke was emanating from her nostrils, burning away the hairs within. What a sickening stench that she couldn't escape. Was she going to die here, burnt from the stake within, witch that she was?

All the while, Adrant merely hovered over her, not moving for the door, not ringing their bedside bell.

"What does it remind you of?"

"A... Adrant!" She was choking on her own air now. He was a pale bouquet of roses in her teary, gaze. She was going to die.

"What kind of person..."

How quickly her consciousness faded without the astral air. The last she remembered was his hand, brushing away her hair, and then it all winked to black.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

When she awoke then, it was like she had dreamed the whole thing.

The afternoon sun lanced through the window, her duvet peachy. She couldn't smell smoke or char, and she breathed clearer than she had in years.

Adrant wasn't in bed, but his briefcase remained at the foot of the bed. He hadn't left the estate. She heard, in the distance, the sound of a pot clanging to stove.

It was enough to send her running in her nightgown, a flurry of silk down the stairs and to the kitchen.

Adrant's shadow cast a deep groove along her counter. Along the marble lay several cutting boards of roughly chopped, vivid ingredients. Onion, popoto and spices. He was making some sort of Thavnairian curry, an easy dish if one knew the recipe. So little to wash. Though, cooking was an effort for Adrant.

"What are you doing?" she asked with such grave offense in the doorway. It was like she'd caught him in bed with another woman.

"After what happened this morning, I thought I'd give you a break, my sweet." His tone was airy and thin. No offense taken.

"But... I..." She had a carbonara planned, all the ingredients ordered fresh and to spec. She'd spent evenings preparing for the battle to come, whetting the cheese grater and pushing the pasta mold to its limits. How hard she'd trained and toiled...

"Go sit at the table," he chided, chipper. She relented. He was already making food and she didn't want to waste it.

The bell at the table felt agonising. She wanted to jump out of her itchy skin and do something, but no other chores suited her. Cleaning the house wasn't expressive; it was about maintaining the image Adrant had declared for the manse, keeping evidence of her existence out of his life. Nor was doing the laundry, a repetitive and banal act that never seemed to cease. As he indulged in her kitchen, she found herself territorial. That was her domain, and he'd crossed into it. The smoke emanating from him burning the pan, her pan — it bruised her lungs again.

The maids apologetically set the table around the Viscountess. In a large bowl atop steaming rice, she received a quaint, demure portion of hot massaman curry, paired with...

"Merlot?!" Imogen was aghast with offense. "Adrant, come off it! I want a white."

Adrant sat at the table and showed no change in his expression to Imogen's protests, as usual. "Merlot will enrich the body of the curry," he chided. "Think of it as a sauce."

"Like cranberry sauce? This isn't going to go together at all."

"We don't have any white in the cellar."

Her bottom lip jutted out. "Then we should get some."

"Sure." It mattered little to him how odd this was. "Tomorrow. For now, it's all we have."

Imogen considered water. The combination of the two would be sickening. She couldn't imagine a future where she didn't throw it all up. But wine was her only indulgence in this godsforsaken home. It was merlot or spending the rest of the evening sober, which she couldn't, wouldn't have.

Deep she drank of the grapesblood, and Adrant smile was warped in the body of her glass. Like he was smiling far too wide for his face, a monster's maw. When she put her glass down, it was merely a simper.

Adrant's cooking was passable. It was needed. It was just food. When he asked for her opinion on it, she made that apparent. It's fine. It will keep us alive. It fills the stomach.

That shut him up, for a mercy. The plates were shortly cleared (hers before his) and taken to the kitchen to wash. Adrant's tense jaw didn't move as he left to change into his nightwear upstairs. He did this when he was angry, so she tried to make him as angry as she could get away with.

The kitchen was a mess when she returned. She wanted it put back to how she remembered it, places where the implements made sense, cupboards that she could reach things in. She forbade the maids from helping her — "I need something to do today," she bristled, and they gave her a wide berth.

All the dishes to wash were to be stacked in the order they were to be washed; the smallest cutlery first, then the plates, then the massive pots and pans that Adrant had somehow amassed making a basic curry. She grumbled to herself as she started with the littlest of glass.

It was a clear vial which she'd presumed to be a spice container. On further inspection... She noticed dots of red liquid lining the membrane.

Imogen took the bottle away from the sink and held it up to the candlelight. The glow scorched it red, sending a shiver down her spine. It was not unlike the red of the cutting board she'd used to cut the bovine meat two suns ago.

It was so delicate, too. What could possibly be stored in here, if not a tiny amount of chili powder? It barely needed her thumb and forefinger to hold aloft.

Tentatively, she lifted the bottle to her lips.

It was immediately dizzying, the tinny, metallic smell that had pooled at the bottom. It assailed her nostrils as if rusting the hairs within them over, billowing iron into her throat like it was air. She coughed—

And the cough singed her hand.

She opened her eyes to a remnant of a plume from her very own lips. The glass dropped to the floor and shattered. It was a high pitched sound. Footsteps down the stairs followed as she stared at her prickling, red-hot skin.

"Imogen, my sweetheart?" Adrant was rounding the bannister. The blood was mercurial, seeping into the cracks of the kitchen tile. There was nothing coagulating within it, as if it were a smooth red.

"Imogen, how are you feeling?" Anticipation hammered in his voice. She couldn't find hers. There was fear that she would cough again, and she held her breath hostage in the back of her throat.

Eventually, the kitchen door swung open.

"What have you done, Adrant," she managed, voice hoarse. "What is this?" At her foot, he could see it, plain as day. The broken vial, the spilled contents.

Ever so gently, he shut the door behind them.

"Adrant," and then she was spluttering over the counter. Great fumes were squeezing out of her nose, her mouth, her ears, her eyes. O, Great Gods, kill her — O, Gods, end it all — !

"How does it feel?" He hunched over her, the pall that he was, running his hand along her back... no, her hair. He pushed her hair aside, running a finger along the nape of her neck.

There were bumps and ridges that became apparent when he pressed down on them, and only then. The feeling of hard chitin lining her spine, all the way up to her hairline. She gasped for life and for death.

Scales?

"What... What..." How her tongue smarted with every consonant, having been burned all along the top. "What have you d-done to me..."

"What does it remind you of? Dig deep, Imogen."

She didn't want to believe it, tears pricking in her eyes as she spoke the word aloud.

"M-m-monster—"

"Not a monster. A miracle." He traced circles along her spine that from anyone else would've been a calming gesture. Her father, perhaps. The highborn blood within her, so latent, yet dominating her every demesne at this moment. "Long did I await the miracle. What kind of person do you think you'll become? If a person, at all?"

"Stop it. St... Stop it. Take it ba— ack..." She hacked, trying to eject her lungs from her body.

"Breathe as normal, and you'll wield it better. You'll have the power."

She was clinging to the countertop now, trying to scrabble away from him. Towards the moonlight, where the curtains breathed fresh air. He accompanied her with the maddeningly slow clicks of his heels.

"Four in, four out."

In the small bells of the night, at the crest of the Pillar, there was a sickening scream — the cracking of bones — and then a silence permeated only by the occasional, gravelly sob.

But all knew better than to disturb the Viscount in the middle of the night. 'Twas an ill omen.

[eadingas]

It's difficult to get a full frontal shot of the Worms Catherdral - the middle one of the three Imperial greats - as there are modern buildings built all around it . . . 🇩🇪 🚙🏛️ ⛪ . . #travel #travelgermany #germany #rheinland #ドイツ #キャンプ #キャンパス #camping #motorhomelife #campinglife #summer #deutschland #rhein #worms #cathedral #church #romanesque #medieval #medievalarchitecture #pink #blackandwhite #imperial #tower #大聖堂 #歴史 #建築 #ゴシック (at Worms, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/Clvi8PtIgEm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[chunkypossum]

Azriel x Eris

4112 words

Part One of Three || or… Read on AO3

1 2 3

- Happy Holidays! Special thanks to my favorite little urchins and gremlins for throwing an eye on this and helping me. Love y’all!! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Winter Court for Solstice, Autumn for the Equinox, Night for Starfall. While every court had their own holiday they celebrated with the rest of Prythian, these three were the most anticipated.

The purpose of these holidays, officially, was the promotion of peace and goodwill between courts. The idea was that everyone had a chance to show off their hospitality in the wake of the age of war ending with the fall of Koschei. Feyre Cursbreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and first High Lady of Prythian, spearheaded the campaign that quickly caught fire among the direct allies of the Night Court. With the help of her sisters and the High Fae that owed her a life debt many times over, she managed to construct a simple but elegant way forward. Officially, that is.

Unofficially? A true High Lord is nothing if not incredibly vain. Not only did the courts try to one up each other with their respective holidays, they also tried to beat out their own parties from the year previous. Fae lived a very long time, which meant this could get out of hand quickly and three years into the new tradition, it had already started to.

On an unused piece of property, deep in the arctic wilderness, Kallias had constructed a massive five-story ice castle just for the evening. In the way that only high fae can be dramatic, winnow points were erected outside in the blistering cold. That way, when guests were received into the foyer, they could bask in awe and warmth under the cathedral ceilings laced with the ethereal blue light of glow worms. The space was dripping in frivolous luxury. A massive fireplace was situated on the right hand side, its mantle and threshold also seemed to be made of ice, though more opaque than the shining floor and ceiling with its sparkling icicle stalactites hanging from intricately carved beams. The spelled fire within changed colors every few minutes to the delight of those mingling in the space before entering the main hall. Elaborate designs were carved on the surface of the walls from floor to ceiling. They depicted great winterscapes, forests of life size, towering pines, bear drawn carriages sledding through the snow, and so much more.

On the left side of the room were ornate, magically formed displays. Wilderland beasts made of ice carrying trays on their backs or in their paws holding layers and layers of glasses filled with sparkling liquids in bright blues, puffy pinks and simmering champagnes. The displays had tailored cards to match each type of drink with tiny descriptions in the corners and important disclaimers that stated each spell's expiration times and who exactly to find if you needed one immediately removed. Most were labeled alcoholic and not suitable for children warning teenagers of the dire consequences for trying to sneak one away. All of them had fantastical sounding magical effects and despite the warnings, more than one teenage youngling was seen skirting away various drinks to try with their friends.

Navy blue and glittering for staying light on your feet and moving with the grace of a swan on the dance floor. Cerulean for side stitching fun as you become the funniest person in any given crowd (what happens when two or more people drink it in the same group? Well, that’s probably what the emergency instructions are for). Bright pink for adding a layer of glamor over yourself and getting anyone you want to beg you for one dance. The more curious ones had simple labels with seemingly higher alcohol content. Rose for bubbles, glitter or flowers, champagne for weather, baby blue for … hair? From there, they only got more ridiculous with the most absurd listed on a sign by the doors leading into the grand space. It promised floating bubble shots that would do anything one could think of from making you glow in the dark to giving you a high, squeaky voice.

After guests warmed themselves and chose their drinks they were ushered through a set of carved, ice doors at least 25 feet tall and marked with thousands of stars. The foyer was impressive to say the least but the sight that greeted people as those doors opened onto the rest of the castle left many breathless.

Winter, besides being fucking freezing all the time, was known for the animals that eagerly worked alongside the High Lord. There was a special understanding between the Court and the creatures that inhabited it. So much so, that one could often see snow white hares delivering mail or great polar bears donning armor for battle. This year, Kallias and his Lady Viviane had employed every manner of beast to take part in the festivities.

Caribou sentries flanked every doorway, adorned with crystal collars and antlers that shined like freshly fallen snow. Arctic foxes, hares and little ermines jumped, ran and skirted around the ballrooms, playing with the fairy children and earning more than a few giggles from the adults as well.

The first floor was nearly completely overtaken with a dance floor. At its center grew a live evergreen tree which the castle had been built around. The floors above had been cut to accommodate the height which could have been 100 feet or more. Its boughs were laden with snowflake garland and colorful bubbles of ice. Where it wasn’t crusted over with the gem like baubles, snowy owls sat perched in masse. As they preened and fluffed their feathers, shaking the branches, the snow and orbs, lit from within with their own special magic, shook and shimmered, clinking together like little diamond bells.

Polar bears with golden harnesses offered sled rides around the ribbon of ice on the outer edge of the dance floor and white wolves heralded important arrivals with their haunting calls. Spelled against the animals, everything was pristine and smelled like iced cranberries and supple, fresh winter evergreens.

It wasn’t hard to tell who had tried what drink, the evidence of the spells wafted around each person and through the air. Much to the horror of the teenagers who had snuck drinks, not only did the magic sense their age and nullify the alcohol, but once drunk, it made them confess one of their most embarrassing moments to anyone that was near. The space was full of bubbles, and tiny storm clouds that spat soft snowflakes. Some fairies were trailing glitter or flowers in their wake while others were running around chasing their friends to touch their hair and turn it pink or make them grow a temporary beard. Squeals of delight could be heard from every corner.

Eris was eternally grateful for his own foresight as he pulled a flask of whiskey from an inner pocket of his velvet lined coat. He had declined to choose from one of the prepared cocktails, refusing to look too foolish, at least this early in the night. Having stopped reading the information cards after hair, he didn’t dare go near any unfamiliar bubbles floating in the air.

Though Eris would never admit to it, secretly, he thought some of it looked quite entertaining. Namely, he would love to send a little rain cloud over the top of Helion’s head.

“So that’s what ‘hair’ meant.” A gruff voice sounded next to the Autumn Prince where he had taken up residence at one of the tall tables near the sidewall.

“Lucien.” He greeted, without turning. Eris kept his eyes trained on the dance floor, inclining his head only slightly.

“Don’t drink those.” Lucien said with a shudder as they both dodged a violet bubble with liquid inside. “I’m not sure what all of them do but I’m pretty sure the purple one makes you sound like a mouse.” Eris raised a well manicured eyebrow at his brother before turning away, dismissing him.

Unbothered by Eris’ obvious snub, Lucien asked, “Where‘s dear old dad?” He noted Eris curiously tracking his tumbler of clear liquid as he set it down on the table top and added, “Vodka. There is a normal bar on the second floor.”

“Father sent me alone to represent the Autumn Court this evening. He was feeling rather ill.” Eris took a sip off his flask before returning it to his emerald coat's inner pocket.

“Is that so?” Lucien said suggestively, turning to face Eris fully.

“Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with it.” Eris replied simply. Normally, he wouldn’t bother engaging Lucien, even at these more relaxed events. His brother, who learned well from Eris himself, was just looking for information he could exploit. Lucien didn’t actually care to talk to Eris otherwise. Pretending it was any other way would only lead to heartbreak down the line. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“Suppose I do believe you. Would you return the favor and trust me about something I’m about to say against my better judgment?”

Eris didn’t turn to him. The only sign of his curiosity was the slight twitch in the tip of his pointed ear.

“Depends.” He murmured.

“You know brother, as much as you piss me off, when it is time… I’ll be there.” They both stiffened at the words, too close something they both needed but neither was willing to properly provide just yet. Lucien added in a barely audible whisper. “Somehow, I’ll always end up in your corner.”

Eris huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head slightly. He didn’t have it in him to hash anything out with family tonight. This evening was meant to be about the absence of family, at least the one he was born into. So, he let the words go as if he hadn’t heard them. Giving Lucien and himself the benefit of ignorance for a little while longer. If he hadn’t, there would likely be a brawl before midnight.

As it turned out, Eris, even without the help of a special cocktail, was in a rather good mood that he didn’t want spoiled. His father really was sick and with any luck, the cold he caught would kill him. For the present though, it just meant that Eris was allowed to come to a party, unescorted. Any excuse to be out of the damn forest house without his father was good enough, but one with the promise of something more was especially exciting. Eris’ eyes roved over the dance floor, lingering in the darkened corners of the room, searching.

“Looking for someone?” Lucien asked just a bit too casually. Eris finally turned his eyes towards his brother. It had taken every ounce of his grace not to bite his head off for presuming they could have a brotherly chat like Lucien hadn’t spent the last few centuries dragging his name through the mud. It would take a whole lot more patience than he had to continue to provide him with that kind of privilege.

“What do you want?”

Lucien shrugged before turning to watch the dancers once again. His smirk was anything but innocent. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Why?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hmm. Quite.” Eris hummed, turning away again and taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Fine, I’ll take the hint, but after you’ve had time to imbibe a little more, I expect you to be nicer to me.”

With a wave of Lucien’s hand, a tumbler full of whiskey appeared in front of Eris. He took it gingerly in his hands and before he could react, Lucien used his own glass to toast them both before sauntering off into the crowd. Unable to help himself, Eris smiled after his brother. He was so used to having to keep a tight leash on his emotions that he sometimes forgot that he could talk to Lucien again. Even though the male didn’t actually want to have anything to do with Eris, at least not anything real, it was still a nice feeling, if not a strange one. One day, he would get used to it. Someday, it would feel natural.

The more Eris drank and the longer he stood there at that table, the antsier he became. He was a social creature after all and sitting idly by while a party went on around him did not suit him well. After nearly an hour he began to make the rounds.

The host and hostess were out mingling with their guests and when an alcohol soaked Kallias spotted Eris he clapped him on the back and invited him to join the conversation he was having with Thesan. The conversations flowed easily enough and the company was pleasant but the longer Eris was at the party, the more irritated he became. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another face greeting him and never the one he wanted.

After Kallias had been beckoned away by his wife, Thesan and his lover had taken Eris onto the dance floor which he tried heartily to decline. They weren’t hearing any of it and just when Eris thought he might be able to get away, Elain of all people cornered him and asked him for a dance as well. Lucien may not have wanted a real relationship with him but his mate still tried very hard to include Eris. To anyone else it might have felt like a sweet gesture. Eris just tried very hard not to be rude about how suspicious it actually made him. It wasn’t her fault after all.

Chatting with him idly, Eris got the feeling that Elain was not exactly there just to keep him company. She kept him busy well past what would be considered appropriate which is why he almost didn’t feel the eyes on him. Almost.

Towards the end of their third dance, Eris sensed that someone had been staring at him. The back of his neck felt hot and he swiveled the two of them expertly around the dance floor in search of that stare.

“I’m boring you.”

“Hmmm.” Eris agreed, completely distracted by his search.

Elain giggled softly, breaking Eris out of his trance and he looked down at the small female and flushed.

“Oh, no. No I -” He blew out a breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted this evening.”

“I was told you might be.”

Eris raised a brow in question but Elain just shook her head and smiled.

“Very well then.” Eris grinned down at her. “You have my full attention for the rest of this song.”

“How generous.” Elain replied, the sarcasm sounded unfamiliar on her tongue.

“I did apologize.” He joked.

“Well, make it up to me properly. Tell me something embarrassing about Lucien.”

Eris’ heart panged in his chest when he thought about his brother in that way, like they were still family.

“You know little Archeron…” Eris began as those wide doe eyes looked up at him in question. “Lucien and I, we’re not -“

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand in his face making him blink. “He will come around, just leave it to me. You’re my brother now too, whether that sardonic grump likes to acknowledge it or not. I promise to always help you two find common ground.. And… I’d like to be your friend too.”

She looked away sheepishly and Eris, despite himself, smiled at her earnesty.

“I’d like that.” He replied gently.

“Besides, I think the pair of you are far closer to being what you would like to be to one another than either of you idiots are willing to see.”

Eris looked at her in surprise and laughed. Elain was turning pink around the tips of her ears. It dusted the tops of her cheekbones prettily and Eris sighed. He knew Elain was trying and it was a gesture he appreciated so he obliged. Just this once, he told himself.

However, the bastard’s ears must have been burning because as soon as Eris uttered the words “Have you heard about the time he tried to impress a date by putting on my mother’s-” Lucien appeared out of thin air and cut in to sweep his mate away. With a wink towards Eris’ they turned into the crowd of other dancers and were gone. The slightly annoyed and crestfallen look on Elain’s face made him laugh softly to himself as he turned to leave.

Of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

Eris spent the better part of another hour being twisted and turned by what felt like every pair of hands in the room except the pair of roughly scarred hands he really wanted.

Per usual, Eris was pleasant enough, able to fake his way through niceties, even going so far as to actually enjoy himself more than once. Helion even managed to get a light laugh out of Eris when he grabbed the wrong drink and accidentally turned his hair fuschia.

Finally spotting a pair of leathery wings headed straight for him, Eris’ eyes narrowed. They were entirely too small to be the ones he was really looking for but they would lead to the bigger version all the same.

“Hello little prince.” Eris crooned, smiling. He crouched down to eye level with the 6 year old.

“Momma told me to come find you.” Nyx said in a practiced way that made Eris laugh with disbelief. No wonder he could feel eyes on him all night. Eris was being baited.

“Oh she did now. Well, if you want me, you’ll have to catch me I suppose.” Eris tousled the little guy's hair and stood up swiftly, gaining a few feet in retreat before Nyx caught on.

“Wait! Come back!” He giggled, nearly tripping over himself to catch up to his target. Eris, careful to keep a balance between staying ahead of Nyx’s grabby hands and not losing him in the crowd, wove in and out of the dancers towards the giant tree in the middle. Because he wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, Eris nearly careened right into someone carrying a tray of those spelled cocktails. He quickly ducked around them, snatching one of the rose colored ones, downing it in one gulp.

Eris, smiling, made a show of tumbling backward before sitting with his legs crossed under the tree. Nyx came barreling towards him, the look of concern from Eris’ fall quickly turning to a toothy grin. When he collided into Eris’ lap the elder male broke out in a fit of laughter. Accompanying the sound, his laughter was made of pink and gold bubbles spilling out from between his lips. They tasted like sugar. Nyx squealed in delight trying to catch as many of them as he could.

The laughter felt good and Eris knew that it meant he had already had entirely too much to drink but he was safe here tonight and could indulge in the things his heart yearned for. Playing with this child that he hoped someday would be a real part of his family, was one of those things. Nyx was the easy one in the family, as was his mother. Eris enjoyed their company plenty and didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of them. He sighed as those deprecating thoughts wound their way through his brain. That was ok, it’s not like he needed everyone’s approval. Eris was used to having a certain version of himself attach to people in a way they couldn’t easily shake.

They all lived such a long time. Maybe someday it would be different.

Animosity aside, incredibly the only actual unsafe people in all of Prythian were Eris’ father and some of his brothers. Perhaps there were a handful of spies watching the soft way Eris played with the youngling that would love to sell this kind of information back to Beron but Eris couldn’t be bothered to worry about them at the moment. When his family was absent he felt free to goof off and enjoy himself. No one at the party paid him any mind except for that incessant pair of hazel eyes he could feel boring into him but couldn’t yet see.

“You caught me!” Eris exclaimed, making a show of covering his wounded heart. Every word was laced in bubbles and Nyx couldn’t stop laughing. When the bubbles began to coat only every other word, then once a sentence slowly ebbing away, Nyx finally had a chance to calm down. The tiny sprite stood up with all the audacity of his Night Court heritage and grabbed a hold of Eris’ wrist.

“Come on. You’re my prisoner now.”

“Well, fair is fair I suppose. You caught me so I must go with you.” Eris groaned as he stood up, his movements purposely sluggish. Nyx was not impressed and tugged hard on Eris’ arm, grunting with the effort it took to pull him along.

“You let me catch you.”

“Did not.”

“Yes you did.” The little terror sounded smug about his catch either way. They went back and forth like this all the way across the dance floor where Feyre was waiting, drink in hand. She was holding back a smile and winked down at her son who beamed proudly as he presented his prize to his mother.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.” Eris said, bowing to the High Lady of the Night Court. When he stood back up he looked around the room for the rest of the Night Court, for one person in particular.

“Oh.” She smiled wryly right back at him. “We’ve been here the whole time, we were just ordered to stay quiet and hidden.” She glanced casually down into her glass before bringing it up to her lips, her smile widening.

Eris' mouth fell open slightly. “That little-”

“Language.” Feyre chided, glancing down at the little boy still attached to Eris’ wrist. His mouth popped closed and Eris huffed through his nose instead picking up the runt by the ankle and holding him upside down.

He scrutinized the dangling child, squealing his head off and poked him in his stomach where his shirt had ruched up. “Well, do I get the privilege of his company? Or do I need to take a hostage?”

“Put me down!” Nyx swung a fist out in vain, giggling through his aggression. “Momma Help!” He added when Eris did not immediately put him down and began tickling him instead.

Eris smiled gently as he pressed Nyx into his mother’s reaching arms. “Well, “ He sighed. “There goes my bargaining chip.”

“Uncle Az is-” Feyre pressed a hand against Nyx's traitorous mouth and laughed.

“Nyxie! Your uncle has worked very hard this evening. Don’t spoil anything.” She laughed. The image of this tiny fae female wrestling her, not so tiny 6 year old made Eris wistful with longing for his own mother, who had never had the chance to play with her children in that way.

It was a reminder at how different things were going to be for the next generation of fairy children. Eris knew he would make sure his own children would never have to endure the psychological and physical abuse that he had to grow up with.

Feyre glanced up from the mass of wings and giggles that was her son and saw the bittersweet look on Eris' face. She smiled softly at him and set Nyx back on his own two feet.

“Ok my Nyxie, time to go keep auntie Elain company.”

“Wait!” The little imp yelped, running over to Eris. He gestured for the male to bend lower so he could whisper in his ear. Feyre eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to continue.

Eris bent low and winced when the prince’s secret was not as quietly whispered as Eris was sure he intended. “I promise to help you gang up on uncle Az forever.” Feyre grimaced slightly but quickly smoothed over her features into a simple smile. Eris on the other hand grinned like a wildcat at the little one’s promise.

“I’ll hold you to that child.” He told him, rapping a knuckle lightly on Nyx’s cheek before standing tall once again.

“Ok Nyx, let’s go.”

“But momma!” He protested, stomping his feet. “I wanna go with you.”

“No darling. You know the plan.”

“Oh so there is a plan.” Eris cut in, glaring at them both. Feyre and Nyx gave him identical guilty faces and quickly sealed their lips. Well, Feyre did anyway. Nyx’s silence was only temporary. He inhaled deeply about to spill another secret when Feyre pressed her palms to his cheeks, squishing his little face in admonishment and they disappeared in a puff of star flecked night.