vulpusaurum

[vulpusaurum]

send me "be honest..." with a question your muse has been dying to ask mine and they'll answer truthfully.

[vulpusaurum]

After seeing a picture of Vito Basso with a Van Dyke, I can't help but picture Lucien with it. Charming little bastard with a perfectly groomed goatee.

[vulpusaurum]

@letoile

If there was one thing he wished for in the Band of Exiles, it was spices. The chicken and duck and pheasant that you could get on this side of where the Wall once stood was good enough, but the spice rack may as well have been a spice suggestion. Where was the cumin, the coriander, the star anise or all-spice? What do you mean the humans ate meats seasoned with only salt? Why did people consider the Illyrians barbaric when this culinary criminality was allowed to continue?

With a sigh, he turned toward the other of the band that was currently flitting about the kitchen while he worked.

"Listen, I know that these things smell good, but you really need to let me finish cooking them. I don't want to clean firebird vomit off the flagstones out front because it was undercooked."

[vulpusaurum]

Sometimes, Lucien believed, it was a curse to be Fae. Even moreso, one in his situation. While he could not, at that immediate moment, bring himself to turn to face her, his mechanical eye whirred unbidden, pointing backward. A curiously complex piece of machinery and magic, and one which he loathed for its ability to allow him to see whatever was in its direction, even if pointed backward through his head.

At the sight of his mate's heart breaking under the hammer blow of his selfish, impulsive need to escape.

As long as it was just the sound, he could have fooled himself. Willed himself to believe that the soft splash of teardrops on the floor was, instead, just a ruffling of the carpet underfoot. Anything other than the horrid, gut-wrenching truth. Anything that could have keptn the will together that he'd forged to save himself the heartache. And for once, he needed to do something decisive, even if this was to be their last meeting. If that was what Fate had for them, then he would not go into the night leaving her distraught.

He'd been responsible for enough of her tears, he refused to cause a single one more.

He turned, and that in itself was already more than he'd thought he would be able to give. But she was trying- for the first time, she was trying and he refused to let her try in vain. His hand came up, slow. In her view the entire time, so that if she decided she didn't want his touch, she could stop him, or push him away. And, should she let him, he would draw a handkerchief from his pocket and dab at her tears.

"I've given you time already, so what is a little more, right? I am willing to wait for you to be ready to even dare approaching what is between us, but... These visits. Where you shy away into the corners of the room. Where my presence feels more like burden than boon. I cannot keep doing this. Not for myself, I would die a thousand deaths and it would not come close to beginning to atone for my wrongs. But I cannot keep doing this to you."

From his right eye, tears, glistening as they carve a path down his cheeks, coming to pool on the ground with hers. The two spots seeming to reach for one another as though some mysterious force drew them in.

"I've done so much evil to you. To your family. I know what they think about me. Monster. That I don't deserve you, and nothing could be more true. So please, it is not I that deserves better. It is that I could never deserve you and I will not be the one to keep you from being happy in your home, with the ones you love, Elain."

To feel a man previously so full of fire, so full of life still under her touch, as though she'd already killed something vulnerable inside him, it ate her up on the inside, her thoughts threatening to devour her whole if she didn't pay close enough attention to them. Didn't voice them. How different the situation would have been if she had met Lucien in any other situation, anything but the most traumatic moment of her life. So much was expected from her, and at the same time, so very little; no one had quite known how to approach her, and so, they had mostly just let her be. But being left alone with thoughts that could consume a person, thoughts louder than the devotion Lucien had attempted to declare to her, it was...not a good situation, to say the very least.

He had tried, at least, and Elain was ever grateful for that. But while onlookers might think she was doing well again, she was still far from it. On the mend, she would say. Keeping her hands busy so her thoughts wouldn't get too far away from her. So she wouldn't have to sit in silence and be shattered by it. All of the hands of help offered around her, and she had no idea where to start. How to even begin to explain how much she had been affected by the events of her life. And Lucien's role in them. But it was probably about time she started trying, at least.

Big, brown eyes fixed upon his features...and found that he couldn't even bear to look at her anymore. The sadness in her eyes almost spilled over; she could feel the tears threatening to break through, but managed to keep them at bay with sheer force of will. His question hit its mark. If she was more confrontational, perhaps she would have fought in return, would have defended herself. But rather than that, her shoulders drooped ever so slightly, and she nodded in resignation. He was right. Had she strung him along? She honestly didn't know. Not willingly, at least. Not consciously. But then, she'd not done many things consciously as of late, apart from her gardening and baking. Those were the only activities where she could fully find herself back in her body, feel the soil upon her hands, take in the earthy scent mixed with the sweet smell of flowers in bloom, or the hearty scent of freshly baked bread. She mused upon his question for a moment before answering it.

"Because I need more time, Lucien. I'm not well. I can't give you what you seek...not yet. But the thought of never seeing you again---I can't."

And then came her turn to avert her eyes, thick, heavy teardrops rolling down rose-tinted cheeks that had become paler at the notion of him leaving, at the heaviness of it all. She wiped at them with intent to have them gone before he could see them, but they were unrelenting. And so, she simply dropped her hands to her sides, allowing the teardrops to water the ground beneath her feet.

"I fully understand if you cannot or will not give me that time. I've barely given you any...and I'm sorry. You deserve better."

[vulpusaurum]

you're one suave fucker. ( from andras on @sauveterres )

"Emphasis on fucker, my friend. Speaking of, Calanmai is around the corner."

The Replenishment, a time of feasting, felicitation and, yes, fucking. Unfortunately, the prior year, they'd managed to accidentally smear cooking grease on Tamlin's favorite doublet and were made to serve as border guards along the Wall during the festivities. This year, they weren't allowed near the kitchens for the week leading up to the festival, but at least they were allowed to attend once more.

A little give and take; they give their friend and High Lord shit and he takes them behind the proverbial woodshed.

And yet, the three of them had formed something of a kinship with one another. Tamlin, the High Lord who seemed to care not for court function. He, the emissary and courtier who was the bastard run-out of another court. Andras, the guardsman of the Wall who'd stayed his hand when faced with mortals many times. And yet, there were no others that he felt he could trust with his entire being the way he could them. And so, Calanmai would be underway once more, and once more they would test to see if the mating bond would click.

If not, warming one another's beds was always a fun distraction. For on Calanmai, love was free of restriction and role, should you so wish it to be.

"Shall we head up to Tamlin's hill? See if we can't get some... Bacon grease there?"

Perhaps the nature of the bacon grease on Tamlin's doublet would remain their little secret forever.

[vulpusaurum]

@moondevoured from here!

It made sense to him, the way in which she addressed the Emissary. He had clearly never been her favorite person, and with good reason, but he'd felt the shift, too. As she turned less directly spiteful when they spoke after Cassian's training and the formation of the Valkyries. For him, it was a welcome change, and he hoped one that would hold ot being a positive for the young female as she progressed. What didn't make sense was what she was doing. How could one who looked so near to a mirror of her youngest sister be so atrocious at the simple artistry of hanging something up straight? Not that he could talk. Ever since he had the new eye replaced, depth perception has been slightly skewed, so he wouldn't be much help there. And why was she fussing over so large a painting at this time of day, anyway? Then it caught his eye, the blackened surface underneath.

For a moment, he considered unleashing another jape at her expense, but something stayed his tongue. Maybe it was watching her so desperately try to retain control of a situation that had long since spiraled. Maybe it was that panicked isolation gripping deep within, knowing that the accident could trigger a fury if caught at the wrong moment.

Or perhaps she was simply embarrassed, who was he to say?

He sighed and walked over, feigning over-the-top, theatrically melodramatic coughs as he did. And with each one came a small gout of flame from the other end of his hand, making small scorch marks on the floor and a nearby table. Surface level. Nothing a good scrub wouldn't clear away.

"Nesta, please. I appreciate the concern, but I really thing I should confess to Feyre and Rhysand for the damage I've done. You don't have to hide it." His tone was light, but penitent. A practiced assumption of risk and responsibility. But, locked on her gaze, his remaining russet eye swam with a message, trying to convey his meaning to her.

They already hate me. Let me take the fall.

[vulpusaurum]

Hey y'all!

Stepping out from behind the mask for a second. My dashboard is all kinds of drunk. For instance, the first three posts I see, in order, are from December 26th, November 29th and then January 14th. If I see somethin cool and like it, and you're wondering "why the fuck is this new dumbass six months back in my page?" I'm not. Tumblr's just broken in an insane way.

[vulpusaurum]

blue velvet.

dialogue prompts from blue velvet (1986).

i believe you know my father.

thanks for the card.

it was nice to finally meet you.

all my old friends are gone.

i still don't know how you do that.

it's not what you think, okay?

i don't want to cause any trouble.

sometimes it's necessary to take a risk.

don't you even want to hear the plan?

what am i supposed to say when ____ comes to the door?

it sounds like a good daydream, but actually doing it's too weird.

i didn't have time to get a window, but i found these keys.

you really want to do this, don't you?

my god, i never should have told you.

i don't know if you're a detective or a pervert.

i didn't mean to do anything except see you.

what did you see tonight? tell me.

don't touch me or i'll kill you.

do you like talk like that?

why don't you lie down?

hold me. i'm scared.

do you like me?

why is there so much trouble in this world?

you're a neat girl.

we really know how much wood a woodchuck chucks.

five minutes from now, you're not gonna believe what i told you.

i'm seeing something that was always hidden.

you worry about me, really?

you've got to do something. go to the police.

i'm not crazy. i know the difference between right and wrong.

you're one suave fucker.

i'm talking to you, shithead.

you're like me.

you're fuckin' lucky to be alive.

sometimes it's good to talk things over.

there'd better be nothing wrong.

you want to dance?

my father's got a gun at home.

i love you! love me!

i love you, but i couldn't watch that.

where is my dream?

listen, this is an emergency.

you shit-for-brains.

you forgot i have a police radio.

lunch is ready.

i feel much better now.

i could never eat a bug.

it's a strange world, isn't it?

[vulpusaurum]

Oh, Cassian. You say that like I don't expect you to do that anyway.

You are excused.

[vulpusaurum]

You are excused.

[vulpusaurum]

@soiltouched from here.

"Sit with me for a while?"

The warmth that had suddenly graced his hand, and the way her voice hitched with the slightest hint of need. Not a primal need, not the base instinct that drove those affected by the bond, but a need of the heart. The soul. As though she needed the closure. As though she had been the one spurned.

It was often said that the males of the Autumn Court were at a disadvantage when it came to mating. The fire within burned so brightly that, without, it became impossible to hide. As liberating and free as it could be, the genie was also tough to recapture in the bottle. That he'd shown his hand so soon, that he'd let himself speak the words aloud while hell was descending upon them. That what happened that dasy had rent a permanent chasm between them, it was the torment he deserved for the monster he'd become, the monster she'd believed him to be.

He knew he was not entitled to her time, did not deserve her attention. She was an innocent in everything, drawn into the horrors of war and torment by Tamlin's obsession and Lucien's inability to bring himself to stand for what he knew was right. He may not have been the one who held the sword, but so, too, was he simply an observer as it was swung, not bothering to stay the arm. For every sin that Hybern had piled upon the Archerons, Lucien would pay the price thrice over for them to be able to find peace.

And after Solstice, after detecting the faintest traces of the Shadowsinger in her scent, he knew then, that in order for them to find peace- for her to find peace, he could not be in her life.

And yet, when she touched him, when she spoke to him, he froze. Words he'd never dared to dream would come from her lips spilled unbidden, their brief song a symphony for his shattered heart. But the notes weren't clear and calm, there was a sourness to them, something that was discordant within the halls of his soul. His first statement, his declaration of intent, had come as clear as the ringing of a bell atop the loneliest mountain peak. But after several moments, his reply came in a much more hushed and strained voice, as if trying to restrain his Autumnal fire from blazing forth. He could not even bring himself to turn and face her, couldn't bear to see if her expression matched her tone.

If he saw her wanting, he would crumble.

"Why now? Why only at the end?"

[vulpusaurum]

Genuinely, I would prefer death by the general than whatever slow hell Nesta could cook up for me.

...Good, 'cause I can promise you, Death by Cassian is far less pleasant.

[vulpusaurum]

I'm not touching that sentiment within knifing distance.

Death by Nesta's a pretty fine way to go, if you ask me ;D

[vulpusaurum]

Don't make me laugh when I'm considering various brutal deaths, ass.

....Yeah, I mean. Nesta in an alleyway has a very different meaning for me, bud.

[vulpusaurum]

No, Cauldron no, but in a sequentially ranked hierarchy of those who I would not wish to meet in a dark alleyway at four in the morning, Amren sits higher than Nesta.

Wait, are you claiming Nesta doesn't scare the shit out of you? 'Cause I will not hesitate to bring her into this conversation just to prove a point here.

[vulpusaurum]

@fleurthorned

You're just pissy that Megan, the stallion of course, won't let you ride her.

[vulpusaurum]

From here.

Okay, sure, Nesta might be a capable fighter, but Amren comes with... Three Rhysand's worth of experience.

Plus, she scares the un-faerie shit out of me.