𝐎𝐅 𝑭𝑨𝑬𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑬.

[faebanes]

𝑭𝑨𝑬𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑬𝑺     :     a  multimuse  for  prythianfm  as  adored  by  andie  .

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍  𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐄𝐋  ,   cauldron  -  made  high  fae  of  the  winter  court  ,   as  depicted  by  sophie  skelton  .

introduction  +  threads  +  study  +  visage  .

𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐎𝐍  𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑  ,   seraphim  of  the  day  court  ,   as  depicted  by  rege  -  jean  page  .

introduction  +  threads  +  study  +  visage  .

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐀  𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋  ,   high  fae  /  shadow  wraith  of  the  night  court  ,   as  depicted  by  melisa  asli  pamuk  .

introduction  +  threads  +  study  +  visage  .

[dcybrck]

the letter is given to zora demirel during one of her visits to the summer court, it is shortly after deron had left velaris under the cover of night. a week or so post his departure. it is carefully, almost painstakingly, written on warm parchment paper. the paper is littered with cross outs and indecipherable words along the margins, as if he'd been in great thought while writing it for her. along with it is a tiny, leather pouch that contained two smooth palm sized stones that smell of river water and campfire. they are a cloudy amber color. / letter to @faebanes. ( zora demirel )

𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖘. 𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖑

it appears as though i shall be predisposed of for the forseeable future , therefore unable to attend to my duties and responsibilities regarding your establishment - nightshade. i fear i am uncertain when i shall return, so there shall be no promise of taking up said position once more. 

i wish i had not left , i regret not saying . i apologize for leaving while you slept, the thought of telling you farewell. it is my hope that sibusisiwe gifted you this letter with little fanfare and the small pouch i sent along as well. i found them in the rivers outside of the dawn court, i shan't say where precisely, but they reminded me greatly of your eyes you.

perhaps you may hold them when you find your shoulders heavy with burden. think of me holding you instead. i find that imagining you beside me does wonders for the uncertainty in my chest.

the current whispers to me at night that you remain well, safe, and protected. i shall choose to believe them till the next time you grace me with your words, zora. 

𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘,

𝖉. 𝖍𝖆𝖓

[faebanes]

delivered  to  deron  during  his  mercenary  duties,  a  few  days  after  his  first  one  arrived.  most  of  the  paper  is  new,  crisp,  though  some  spots  are  slightly  warped  and  discolored,  as  if  they'd  been  splashed  with  water  and  left  to  dry  in  the  sun.  the  ink  seems  to  have  pooled  at  the  ends  of  certain  letters,  certain  words,  as  if  she  had  paused  just  a  second  too  long  to  figure  out  what  to  say  next.  there  is  a  small,  burlap  pouch  with  it,  a  single  pearl  nestled  inside  and  a  small  container  of  balm.  her  sign  off  is  sealed  with  a  red  lip  print,  hommage  to  familiar  fondness.

𝒎𝒓. 𝒅. 𝒉𝒂𝒏,

it  is  most  unfortunate  to  hear  you're  unforeseeably  indisposed,  as  i'm  positive  i  will  be  hard  pressed  to  find  a  bartender  quite  like  you.  the  customers  shall  miss  your  aversion  to  watering  down  their  drinks  in  spite  of  my  insistence,  though  i  suppose  they'll  have  to  make  do  in  both  of  our  absences.  i  fear  i'll  be  having  hot  -  cold  flashes  for  a  long  while,  myself.  better  than  the  bog  in  the  middle,  i  suppose.

i  wish  i  could  have  seen  you  off,  that  it  wasn't  your  cool  sheets  that  greeted  me  in  the  morning.  both  arrived  safely,  thanks  to  sibusisiwe's  kindness,  as  i  hope  my  response  has  made  it  to  you  with  minimal  teasing.  don't  let  her  rile  you  up  too  much.  the  stones  are  beautiful,  i've  been  carrying  them  in  my  pocket  since  i  got  them.  it  feels  like  having  you  close. 

i  miss  you  your  endless  collection  of  stones,  perhaps  you'll  show  me  where,  one  day.  and  i  know  a  pearl  is  not  quite  a  river  pebble,  but  i  hope  you'll  enjoy  it  anyway.  i  almost  kept  it,  i  was  pretty  proud  to  find  it  myself  after  all,  but  the  ocean  is  not  the  same  as  the  river.  lacks  a  familiar  nymph,  i'm  afraid.

there  is  not  a  moment  i  don't  think  about  you,  or  that  it  doesn't  bring  me  comfort.  you  can  trust  in  the  currents,  for  it  brings  me  the  same  whispers  of  your  well  -  being.  though  do  not  let  them  whisk  you  away  before  i  can  attest  to  that  myself.

i  hope  you're  remaining  safe,  only  picking  necessary  fights.  be  comforted  by  the  darkness.  they're  not  my  shadows,  but  let them kiss you alongside my words until i hear from you again.

𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉

p. s.  don't  eat  the  balm.  it's  for  your  wound.  i'd  hate  to  for  it  not  to  continue  healing  properly  simply  because  you  had  to  leave  in  a  hurry.  do  not  make  me  confine  you  to  bedrest  again  when  next  we  meet.

[peachygifs]

MELISA ASLI PAMUK ERKEGE GÜVEN OLMAZ, EPISODE 1

[holorifle]

saying “hm. must be the curse” every time something bad happens and refusing to elaborate is my new hobby

[dcybrck]

closed starter for @faebanes ! | set after all the nonsense deron goes through during the fight.

the dust had seemingly began to settle, or maybe that was just the fog that settled over deron's brain to disguise the pain that was blossoming across his chest. unsteady feet carried him, more stumbled, without him even having to think about it. as if his body refused to rest until he had returned home once more. there'd been a concerned look in the guards that came to their rescue, but he'd brushed them off - knew that their attention was better spent on caring for sibusisiwe. that the fae mattered more in the moment than deron ever would. handed her off to them and shambled up like a shaky skeleton walking a death march. pressed a reassuring, promising kiss to her forehead that he'd return this time. most likely.

     how many times had deron promised that to someone? enough times that he'd never swear it, less the cauldron or mother tear him apart over it - again and again. 

  deron hadn't dared to shout the words to zora when the violence tore them apart, as if his soul knew that voicing them would bind the pair together. tainted her beautiful soul with lies that she'd carry until the day he actually drifted away into the wind. or worse, forge a pact that neither of them could take back once it'd set into the air of the universe.  yet even without the oath, the promise, the old magic bind, his feet still carry him in her direction. they use any energy that remains within his exhausted, torn body to make certain that deron returns to her. to fulfill the unspoken vow that he cannot remember making, but knows will haunt him no matter where he may stray on the continent. like the ocean returning to kiss the shoreline. 

   she appears suddenly, as if the cauldron heard the devotions he was whispering and answered the prayer. her eyes landed on him, the bloody mess of a being that deron feels, and he cannot help the way his mouth forms a smile. the pain matters so little now, lurching forward till he is falling into her arms, chin hanging over her shoulder. " zora," he breathed, trembling arms weakly raise to embrace her. " i found you."

[faebanes]

          the  sounds  of  fighting  still  filled  the  cavernous  underbelly  of  the  mountain,  though  no  longer  a  cacophony  of  noise,  a  dull  roar  when  compared  to  when  the  fighting  had  first  started.  every  fiber  in  her  body  ached  from  the  fighting,  despite  the  familiarity  that  came  with  swinging  a  blade.  metal  into  flesh,  metal  into  flesh  —  it  was  hard  to  tell  what  blood  was  hers  and  what  was  the  enemies.  and  zora  had  not  allowed  herself  enough  time  in  the  fray  to  take  stock  of  any  injuries,  it  wouldn't  matter  anyway,  the  wounds  would  heal  eventually,  a  rare  occasion  in  which  she  cursed  herself  for  being  only  half  high  fae.  there  were  far  more  important  people  she  had  to  worry  about  the  well  -  being  of,  the  inner  circle  she  loved  so  dearly,  the  mortal  she'd  managed  to  lose  in  the  fray,  deron. 

          deron,  whose  face  lived  behind  her  eyelids  every  time  she  closed  them,  about  whom  any  number  of  terrible  scenarios  ran  through  her  mind.  zora  had  known  the  likelihood  of  them  ending  up  separated  had  been  high,  impossible  to  avoid  really  if  they  were  going  to  ensure  them  and  their  friends  made  it  out  of  this  alive.  but  that  hadn't  stopped  the  thoughts  of  him  that  filtered  through  amidst  the  chaos,  as  if  in  reassurance  that  she'd  find  him  whole  at  the  end  of  this,  that  same  ferocity  in  his  eyes  —  the  fire  she  knew  so  often  simmered  beneath  his  cool  nymph  exterior.

          how  easily  she  could  feel  the  thrum  of  his  body,  some  unseen,  untouched,  tether  between  them,  one  she  was  too  keen  to  attribute  to  knowing  him  as  well  as  she  did.  for  as  long  as  she  had.  that  comfortable  familiarity,  and  that  same  tether  that  drew  her  in  search  of  him  amidst  the  rubble,  the  dust  and  bodies  scattered  along  the  ground.  zora  prayed  the  mother  would  not  let  her  find  him  among  them,  or subject to some fate unknown.

          the  mother  offers  her  kindness  one  more  time  of  her  own,  palpable  relief  breathing  into  her  as  he  stumbled  into  view.  she  scoffs  a  laugh,  broken  and  unbidden,  at  the  smile  he  offers,  for  only  he  could  give  her  that  look  in  a  battlefield  and  get  away  with  it.     ❝  deron,  ❞     she  answered,  a  soft  exhale  as  gaze  refused  to  leave  his  face,  arms  wrapping  around  him  instinctively.  the  '  you're  alright  '  dying  on  her  lips  as  the  copper  scent  of  blood  filled  her  nose,  not  the  same  tinge  that  filled  the  room  already,  but  this  was  fresh,  overwhelming,  still  wet  where  her  hands  pressed  against  his  body.  she  can't  bring  herself  to  look,  yet.     ❝  what  happened  to  coming  back  to  me  in  one  piece,  huh  ?  my terrible  fool,  ❞     but  her  arms  tighten  around  him,  face  pressed  his  shoulder  as  if  confirming  he  was  well  and  truly  there.

[peachygifs]

MELISA ASLI PAMUK ERKEGE GÜVEN OLMAZ, EPISODE 1

[faebanes]

closed  for   :   azrael  mazhar   (   @azraehl   )   !

location   :   under  the  mountain,   part  ii   !

          catrin's  every  instinct  had  screamed  at  her  to  run  from  the  moment  the  fighting  started,  no  destination  in  mind  and  nowhere  near  the  people  she  was  far  too  keen  to  cling  to.  nowhere  was  safe,  not  when  she  already  trusted  so  few  and  knew  even  fewer,  and  this  place  was  about  as  foreign  to  her  as  the  rest  of  prythian  had  been  when  she'd  first  arrived.  when  she'd  been  saved  from  hybern's  clutches  the  first  time.  but  the  cauldron  -  made  fae  was  no  fool,  and  his  henchmen  hadn't  been  shy  about  the  way  they  seemed  to  gravitate  towards  her  whenever  they  got  their  sights  on  her.  and  while  she  was  no  fighter,  by  any  means,  she  was  a  good  runner,  and  elysia  had  been  kind  enough  to  give  her  a  blade,  only  really  capable  at  swinging  it  towards  anyone  that  got  too  close.  and  she'd  been  doing  real  good  until  one  had  managed  to  grab  her  from  behind,  pale  wings  all  she  could  see  as  they  dragged  her  with  far  too  much  ease  towards  the  mountain  opening.

          though  she  writhed  in  their  grasp,  whatever  had  their  hold  on  the  peregryn  wasn't  relenting,  and  catrin  could  see  every  bit  of  peace  she'd  built  for  herself  flash  before  her  eyes  as  cool  night  air  hit  her  skin.  they  were  going  to  take  her.  they  were  going  to  take  her  again,  take  her  back  to  hybern  and  let  her  be  his  trophy  experiment.  tears  pricked  her  eyes,  cheeks  already  damp,  and  she  loosed  a  small  shriek  they  lifted  from  the  ground,  every  effort  she'd  put  into  digging  her  heels  in  now  futile.  though  she  hadn't  quite  forgotten  her  first  experience  in  the  air,  she  was  certain  she  preferred  it  to  this  one,  being  dangled  above  the  ground  that  grew  father  away  more  and  more  rapidly.     ❝  let  me  go  !  let  —  me  —  go  !  ❞     she  screamed,  each  word  punctuated  with  a  flailing  limb  against  whatever  she  could  reach,  twisting  in  their  grip  much  easier  in  the  air  than  on  the  ground.  catrin  wasn't  sure  she'd  have  much  success,  but  something  to  seemed  to  cause  their  concentration  to  falter  just  slightly,  enough  for  her  to  fight  her  way  free  at  last  —  at  the  consequence  of  her  now  being  painfully  high  in  the  sky  and  no  way  to  slow  her  fall.  cauldron  cursed  her  and  couldn't  even  give  her  wings  for  all  her  troubles.     ❝  please  !  ❞     another  pitiful  attempt  to  call  for  help,  voice  already  terribly  hoarse  and  coming  out  like  a  broken  sob.     ❝  anyone  ?  ❞

[faebanes]

closed  for   :   dominic  mordecai   (   @ofthycourts   )   !

location   :   under  the  mountain,   part  ii   !

          the  fighting  was  a  cacophony  of  sounds  in  her  ears,  each  one  just  as  brutal  and  harsh  as  the  last.  catrin  was  many  things,  but  someone  suited  for  the  rage  of  battle  was  not  one  of  them.  she  hadn't  been  during  the  war,  and  she  certainly  wasn't  after  the  fact,  each  clashing  of  blades  and  echoing  scream  sending  a  new  wave  of  panic  through  her.  she  wondered  if  it  was  somehow  made  worse  by  damned  fae  senses,  every  sound  sharper  and  closer  than  they  could've  ever  been  when  she  was  still  a  mortal,  and  she'd  never  thought  there'd  be  something  more  she  missed  about  her  life  before  it  had  been  ripped  from  her.

          when  chaos  had  broken  out,  she'd  become  so  disoriented,  she'd  lost  sight  of  the  winter  court  —  her  familiarity,  her  comfort,  the  closest  thing  she'd  had  to  family  in  a  long  time.  she  wasn't  trained  to  fight,  was  lucky  she  could  wield  knitting  needles  with  any  real  dexterity,  and  every  instinct  in  her  body  told  her  to  run  but  there  was  no  where  to  hide  for  someone  like  her.  she  kept  seeing  those  terrible  crowns  atop  the  mortal  queen's  heads,  felt  that  familiar  and  dreaded  pulse  of  cauldron  magic,  and  all  she'd  been  able  to  do  was  cling  to  the  rock  face  of  the  walls,  head  snapping  around  as  if  it  would  truly  be  able  to  warn  her  of  any  danger. 

          if  anything,  all  it  did  was  let  her  catch  sight  of  the  fae  and  the  attack  rapidly  approaching  his  back.  before  catrin  can  think  otherwise,  weigh  the  pros  and  cons,  she's  reaching  for  his  arm.  some  instinct  to  protect  someone  else  when  she  could  barely  catch  herself.  she  might  be  foolish  enough  to  chalk  it  up  to  that  glimpse  of  what  looked  dangerously  like  her  sister  —  impossible,  wasn't  it  ?  a  later  problem,  if  nothing  else,  just  like  her  tattered  outfit  and  the  scrapes  across  her  arms.     ❝  careful  !  cauldron  above,  they're  relentless  !  ❞

[epithvts]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬:   closed ,   @faebanes .

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭:   as   zora   &   deron   lose   her ,   cerys   bumps   into   maxon ,   who   helps   her   find   a   secluded   corner .

her   body   is   rolling   against   the   cavernous   floor ,   bumping   into   other   limp   frames .   the   warm   hands   of   her   friend   no   longer   cradling   her   broken   figure .   each   whimper   seems   to   escape   on   their   own   volition ,   searing   pain   of   her   leg   has   her   body   curling   into   itself .   deron   and   zora   are   nowhere   in   sight ,   far   too   preoccupied   by   the   blades   of   silver   marked   with   blood   of   their   own .   her   stomach   heaves   in   worry   at   the   thought ,   not   at   all   concerned   for   the   imminent   death   that   awaited   her   as   she   lay   amongst   the   corpses   that   welcomed   her   home .   the   human   has   already   resigned   herself   to   a   gentle   surrender ,   accepted   her   fate   graciously .   just   as   a   protagonist ,   a   hero  ─      someone   she'd   hoped   to   be   in   another   life  ─      would've   in   one   of   her   novels .   she   doesn't   flinch   at   the   looming   body   above   her ,   the   expansive   wings   behind   them   only   obscuring   her   view   of   the   battle   she   knows   still   wages   on .         ❛   do   you   think   the   mother   would   laugh   ?   ❜         stifles   the   groan   at   the   throb   in   her   thigh ,   trying   not   to   think   of   how   his   hefty   sword   would   feel   piercing   through   her   skin .         ❛   to   know   that   an   angel   is   delivering   the   killing   blow .   terribly   ironic ,   isn't   it   ?   ❜

[faebanes]

          the  screams  that  fill  his  ears  are  all  too  reminiscent  to  those  of  the  war,  the  ones  that  echoed  no  matter  how  much  he  tried  to  forget  them.  the  seraphim  was  certain  that  no  time  would  erase  those  memories,  and  certainly  not  when  the  fighting  seemed  endless  even  still.  wings  are  kept  tucked  against  his  back,  shielded  as  much  as  possible  from  the  onslaught  of  arrows  and  blades  —  some  of  which  he  can  feel  the  sting  of  along  his  skin  already.  something  draws  him  further  through  the  throng  of  bodies,  cries  of  pain  and  the  scent  of  mortal  fear,  an  urge  to  find  the  source  and  ease  it  still.  maxon  nearly  stumbled  over  the  girl's  cowering  form  in  his  search  for  the  source,  grip  tightening  on  his  blade  of  light  if  only  in  preparation  to  cross  foe  and  not  friend,  though  it  slackened  as  gaze  swept  her  features.  something  protective  settled  over  him,  though  it's  all  too  easy  to  attribute  it  to  his  worry  for  tyrian,  for  neve.  it's  impossible  to  stop  the  dry  laugh,  wings  fanning  out  to  shield  her  fragile  form  from  the  destruction  erupting  around  them.     ❝  the  mother  would  never  send  an  angel  to  kill  another  angel,  ❞     he  hummed  softly,  kneeling  down  in  front  of  her,     ❝  her  humor  is  not  quite  so  cruel.  ❞     though  the  seraphim  had  thought  differently  on  more  than  on  occasion.     ❝  i  would  be  a  poor  male  to  leave  you  injured  and  alone.  ❞

[budzaya]

How many times can the same thing break your heart?

[zw-me-anasfaleies]

As long as you love it.

[soracities]

“A body — storehouse of thunder and anchor of tenderness.”

— Adonis, from “The Time” (trans. Kamal Abu Deeb)

[elena-gilbert]

Brianna’s dress in 4x13 (requested by anonymous)

[rpxmusings]

               a WOLF is a WOLF.

                                               even in a CAGE.

                                                                         even dressed in SILK.

[dcybrck]

 the nymph cared little in the moment to dwell on anything but the immediate need of maintaining the safety of those they had brought with them from their court, shoved any fleeting thoughts of the lingering words seren had said out of his mind. there was a precision to the way which he carved a path forward for the pair, slicing through those they charged to attack them with no regard for the their humanity or the morality of it all. a luxury that deron could not afford for himself, not with zora pressed tightly against his back - their bodies synchronized with fluid movements to cover the other's blind spots. few words had been spoke between them when the fighting began, both sets of eyes searching rapidly for that flash of crimson within the mass of bodies and spraying blood. a fleeting touch to his hip, enough of a signal to deron that zora had found cerys, following after the wraith with a blade that shielded her from any stray attacks. the sight of cerys on the ground, the scent of her tears within the air, breaks the distant, cold demeanor he'd worn once more. his teeth grit with rage, flickering gaze around at any place that may offer them sanctuary - a healer. " and where shall we take her, zora?" he snapped, eyes falling to their friend. softening the slightest amount, let's out a tired sigh quietly before he sheathes his blade. " this is going to hurt, cer." the only thing he speaks to her before he slides an around under her knees and under her back. bites back the wince of the pain he knows it must cause. " we can clear a path, establish a vantage point for you both to remain safe." he rose once more, nodding in the opposite direction of where they came from. " i'll find the others after." it goes unsaid that it means he'll have to leave them both, that they cannot waste the resources to hide in a corner till it cleared once more. 

[epithvts]

she'd   always   known   there   was   magic   in   the   life   around   her .   in   the   way   that   shadows   seemed   to   emerge   so   effortlessly   from   zora ,   or   the   way   she'd   heard   rumors   of   azrael's   misting   abilities .   but   she   thinks   ─      as   zora's   fingers   graze   her   battered   skin   ─      perhaps   this   was   the   real   magic .   how   her   family   had   sought   her   out ,   even   through   the   chaos   of   it   all .   oh ,   how   she'd   wished   for   this   same   rescue   so   long   ago ,   as   the   phantom   that   had   once   haunted   her   mortal   estate ,   a   slave   of   a   wife   to   an   unkind   man .   feels   hysterical   at   the   memory ,   at   the   dream   she'd   held   so   tightly   to   her   chest ,   blossoming   into   reality .            ❛   you're   wielding   a   sword ,   der         [   ...   ]         ❜         cerys   muses ,   absently ,   raising   her   arms   to   allow   him   a   better   hold   on   her   frail   form .   her   own   wail   of   pain   reflects   the   cacophony   that   surrounded   them ,   an   orchestra   of   anguish   and   death .   but   she   can   hardly   keep   track ,   not   with   the   way   her   head   sways   with   vertigo .         ❛   how   can   you   wield   a   blade   with ,   ❜         in   her   delirious   stupor ,   she   brings   her   hands   up ,   motioning   to   the   space   between   her   fingers   that   lacked   the   webs   deron   held   between   his .   her   head   lulls   to   the   side ,   growing   heavier   with   each   moment ,   even   as   jaded   cerulean   gaze   stretches   to   zora's   magnificent   physique   who   carved   through   their   enemies   with   skilled   perfection .         ❛   have   you   two   ever   entertained   the   idea   of   mating   with   one   another   ?   ❜         wasn't   sure   how   that   act   worked   here ,   only   aware   of   the   terminology .

[faebanes]

          zora  trusted  deron  at  her  back  without  question,  the  same  way  he  trusted  her  at  his  own,  and  there's  few  others  better  suited  to  fighting  at  her  side.  she's  certain  they  make  quite  the  pair,  half  -  breeds  prone  to  violence  softening  in  the  face  of  their  frail  mortal.  teeth  bare  in  answer  to  deron's  question,  though  more  out  of  uncertainty  of  the  answer  rather  than  the  way  he  snaps  it  towards  her.     ❝  anywhere  but  the  throng  of  battle,  deron,  ❞     she  snapped  back,  all  too  aware  of  how  dangerous  fae  weapons  and  fae  hands  were  to  mortal  bodies.  wounds  were  bad  enough  for  them,  without  the  same  healing  abilities  as  full  fae,  but  any  more  would  be  fatal  to  cerys,  and  zora  would  be  damned  if  she  lost  her,  too.  snort  of  laughter  follows  the  musings  of  their  friend,  dry  and  devoid  of  humor  as  they  fluidly  switched  positions  as  sword  wielders.  blade  swings  with  a  practiced  ease  as  they  keep  close  to  the  wall,  attempting  to  minimize  the  angles  they  had  to  protect  from.  his  words  cause  a  familiar  frown  to  tug  at  her  lips.     ❝  we  can  get  her  to  safety,  but  like  hell  am  i  letting  you  find  the  others  on  your  own.  ❞     not  that  he  wasn't  capable,  but  something  terrible  tugged  at  her  very  being  at  the  prospect  of  something  happening  to  him,  too.  cerys'  statement  echoes  in  her  head  as  blood  continued  to  spray  into  their  path,  shaking  her  head  slightly.  she  knew  what  the  mortal  meant,  though  the  answer  she  provided  suggested  otherwise.     ❝  most  people  just  call  that  sex,  cer,  and  i  think  we're  both  a  little  busy  to  entertain  that  right  now.  ❞

[epithvts]

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬:   closed ,   @faebanes & @dcybrck .

𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭:   zora   &   deron   find   a   broken   cerys   amidst   the   crowd ,   attempting   to   bring   her   to   safety .

oh   how   naive   she'd   been .   to   think   she   would   ever   be   safe   in   anyone's   hands   but   her   own .   something   of   a   pipe   dream   that   only   ever   expanded   during   her   residence   in   the   night   court .   but   the   searing   pain   she   feels   in   her   leg ,   feels   oddly   familiar .   a   pain   that   she   finds   herself   sinking   into ,   as   if   a   nostalgic   memory   of   her   life   before   prythian .   the   tears   have   already   begun   their   stream   down   her   cheeks ,   back   digging   into   the   cavernous   wall   behind   her .   hands   attempting   to   stabilize   her   leg ,   in   an   effort   to   pull   herself   to   her   feet   again ,   but   to   no   avail .   in   another   time ,   cerys   had   been   no   stranger   to   violence.    but   this ,   this   was   nothing   short   of   a   massacre .   frightened   hands   raise   when   a   body   approaches   at   an   inhuman   speed ,   but   as   she   awaits   the   final   blow ,   those   sad ,   lost   blue   hues   look   up   in   questioning .   only   seeming   to   water   even   more   at   the   sight   of   zora ,   deron   guarding   her   back   with   blade   she   never   thought   she'd   ever   see   between   his   normally   gentle   hands .         ❛   zo   ?   ❜

[faebanes]

          it  had  been  foolish  to  think  this  gathering  would  have  been  the  peaceful  endeavor  they  had  hoped  it  to  be.  though  zora  had  been  on  edge  since  they'd  arrived,  she  should've  known  something  was  amiss,  and  she'd  kick  herself  for  not  being  more  prepared  later.  but  as  fighting  thrummed  around  them,  steady  in  time  with  the  adrenaline  coursing  through  her  veins,  there  were  far  more  important  things  for  her  to  worry  about,  including  looking  out  for  the  well  -  being  of  the  court  that  was  her  family.  there  is  a  part  of  her  that  is  acutely  aware  of  the  male  fighting  at  her  back  while  sharp  gaze  flitted  across  the  colliding  bodies,  looking  for  the  most  fragile  of  their  family,  blade  digging  into  soft  skin  with  fervor  as  head  of  red  hair  finally  entered  her  view.  relief  is  short  lived,  of  course,  seeing  the  state  that  cerys  was  in,  and  her  heart  ached  with  a  protective  rage,  and  a  guilt  that  she  hadn't  done  her  job  of  looking  after  the  mortal.     ❝  we're  right  here,  cer,  ❞     words  offered  softly  in  stark  contrast  to  the  way  she  usually  was,  the  wraith  bent  down  to  gently  touch  her  face.     ❝  her  leg's  broken,  deron,  she  can't  stay  here.  ❞     neither  could  they,  not  for  long.

[faebanes]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .   the  continent  welcomes  MAXON  LAVIER  of  THE  DAY  COURT,  the  SECOND  IN  COMMAND  of  THE  DAY  COURT.   when  the  SERAPHIM  is  glamoured,  he  bears  a  resemblance  to  REGE  -  JEAN  PAGE.   the  32  /  547  year  old  CIS  MAN  is  reputed  to  be  ALTRUISTIC  and  ERUDITE,  but  a  decade  of  war  has  left  them  WARY  and  IMPASSIVE.   if  created  by  the  cauldron,  they  would  be  made  in  the  likeness  of  GREAT  WHITE  WINGS  SPREAD  TO  BASK  IN  WARM  SUNLIGHT,  IMPISH  GRINS  OFFERED  OVER  THE  TOPS  OF  ANCIENT  TOMES,  &  A  STOIC  FIGURE  SILHOUETTED  AGAINST  THE  RISING  SUN.   whispers  throughout  prythian  claim  that  their  allegiance  lies  with  THE  DAY  COURT,  where  they  conspire  to  SUPPORT  THE  RULING  FAMILY  AND  RETURN  DAY  COURT  TO  ITS  FORMER  GLORY.

BASICS .

full  name.   maxon  lavier  .

nicknames.   max  .

age.   thirty  two   /   five  hundred  and  forty  seven  .

hometown.   the  day  court  .

current  location.   under  the  mountain  .

status.   unmated  .

occupation.   second  in  command  of  the  day  court  .

gender.   cis  man   /   he  +  him  .

orientation.   bisexual,   biromantic  .

parents.   demaris  lavier   (   father  ,   deceased   )   &   astiri  lavier   (   mother  ,   deceased   )  .

siblings.   none  .

pets.   a  young  pup  name  solara  that  he  came  across  last  winter  and  who  trots  at  his  heels  endlessly  now  .

languages  spoken.   the  common  tongue .

allegiance.   the  day  court  .

APPEARANCE .

hair  color.   black  .

eye  color.   warm  amber  .

height.   6  feet   /   182  cm  .

scars.   a  jagged  scar  along  his  chest,  a  handful  of  spots  along  his  wings  from  the  war  where  feathers  don’t  grow  quite  right  anymore  .

style.   loose,  light  -  colored  (  often  creams,  whites,  and  tans  )  clothing  ;   favors  a  lot  of  button  -  downs  that  are  always  shamelessly  partially,  if  not  half,  unbuttoned  ;   wears  a  lot  of  items  with  gold  trim,  as  well  as  several  golden  rings,  bracelets,  and  necklaces  .

MISCELLANEOUS .

alignment.   lawful  neutral  .

strengths.   altruistic,   erudite,   passionate  .  

weaknesses.   wary,   impassive,  over  -  protective  .

aesthetic.   great  white  wings  spread  to  bask  in  warm  sunlight,   impish  grins  offered  over  the  tops  of  ancient  tomes,   stoic  figure  silhouetted  against  the  rising  sun,   golden  rings  twisting  absently  as  gaze  sweeps  a  room  .

media  inspiration.   anthony  +  benedict  bridgerton   (   bridgerton   ),   maxon  schreave   (   the  selection   ),   tba  i’ve  never  consumed  media  in  my  life  .

BIOGRAPHY .

trigger  warning  for   :   abuse,  death  during  childbirth,  war  mentions,  parental  death  .

your  parents  met  long  before  your  birth,  settled  on  an  island  in  the  erythrian  sea,  a  pair  of  seraphim  that  thrived  amidst  a  community  of  faes  of  all  types  and  mortal  company,  and  though  not  mates,  loved  each  other  more  than  words  could  ever  describe.

they  traveled  frequently,  many  of  which  landed  them  on  day  court  shores.  enough  so  that  they’d  eventually  come  to  settle  there,  warriors  hoping  to  find  peace  in  the  land  of  fae.  your  father  took  to  apprenticing  along  the  renowned  inventors,  and  your  mother  spend  day  after  day  in  one  of  the  many  libraries.

well  received,  it  was  almost  a  century  before  your  mother  fell  pregnant  with  you,  a  blessing  for  both  your  parents  when  they  hadn’t  been  trying,  then  more  than  eager  to  welcome  you  into  the  world,  into  this  new  life  that  they’d  built.

but  as  it  progressed,  it  became  a  much  harder  pregnancy  than  anticipated,  and  though  it  should’ve  been  a  simple  birth,  there  had  been  too  much  blood  loss  trying  to  get  you  into  the  world  and  your  mother  never  got  the  chance  to  see  the  light  she’d  created,  and  you  hold  no  memories,  no  knowledge  of  her  bright  eyes  and  too  -  knowing  smile.

your  father  was  not  an  unkind  man,  and  he  tried  to  hold  onto  that  love  for  your  mother,  that  love  for  you  that  he  still  held  when  she  carried  you,  but  you  were  not  foolish  enough  to  miss  the  way  his  gaze  could  grow  cold,  distant,  or  the  way  words  came  out  harsher  than  they  should’ve.

you  grow  up  spending  hours  in  the  great  libraries,  and  beyond  teaching  you  how  to  fly,  to  strengthen  your  body  in  the  same  way  you  strengthen  your  mind,  your  father  distances  himself.  he  pours  more  of  himself  into  his  work  than  he  does  your  relationship  and  as  the  decades  and  centuries  pass,  it  is  all  but  non  -  existent.

he  raises  his  hand  against  you  only  one,  in  the  middle  of  a  heated  argument  in  your  youth,  declarations  of  how  your  mother  would  hate  the  man  he  had  become  in  her  absence  enough  to  earn  you  a  split  lip  and  a  black  eye.  he  doesn’t  apologize,  and  neither  do  you,  and  the  fissure  between  you  only  grew.

you  become  well  -  known  around  the  court  for  your  charm  and  flirtatious  attitude,  for  the  way  it  hides  that  ache  of  loneliness  that  comes  from  the  lack  of  family  you  seem  to  have.  it’s  a  reputation  of  note,  but  there  are  a  select  few  that  see  the  soft  heart  and  kind  eyes  beneath  the  cocky  attitude.

perhaps  it’s  why  you  find  such  a  home  in  the  company  of  the  ruling  family,  the  siblings  you  never  had,  the  family  you  didn’t  have  to  walk  on  eggshells  around  knowing  you  were  the  blame  for  all  the  existing  cracks.  you  found  a  home,  and  before  long,  a  place  in  their  inner  circle,  too.

second  is  a  position  you  wear  with  pride,  a  promise  to  protect  the  only  home  you  have  every  known,  and  the  family  that  nearly  treats  you  as  their  own.  you  take  it  very  seriously,  even  if  that  cheeky  attitude  never  fades,  and  many  find  it  easier  to  become  endeared  to  it  than  anything  else.  it  even  becomes  something  of  an  asset  when  it  comes  to  working  with  the  other  courts.

when  the  war  came,  you  fought  diligently  alongside  your  court,  alongside  the  mortals,  aiming  for  their  safety  and  the  peace,  and  for  it,  you  earn  the  scars  to  tell  the  tale,  despite  how  gallantly  you  fight  with  your  seraphim  blades.  a  jagged  wound  across  your  chest  from  a  foolish  close  range  attack  in  the  height  of  battle,  and  a  handful  of  spots  along  your  wings  from  attacks  that  ensured  the  feathers  do  not  grow  quite  right.  nothing  that  affected  your  ability  to  fly,  but  certainly  enough  to  make  it  hurt  like  hell  for  a  while.

and  when  your  father  dies  during  the  war,  you  cannot  bring  yourself  to  mourn  him,  more  stranger  than  he  ever  was  a  parent,  even  if  his  loss  is  still  a  continuous  ache  in  your  chest.

TLDR .

seraphim  born  and  raised  in  the  day  court,  dead  mom  facilitating  life  -  long  daddy  issues.  has  six  big  sexy  feathered  wings,  tends  to  keep  them  all  tucked  as  close  to  his  body  as  he  can,  tends  to  only  have  two  on  display  at  any  given  point  in  time  (  save  for  special  occasions  ).  massive  flirt,  big  little  shit  energy,  can  and  would  do  anything  for  the  people  he  cares  about  (  including  being  willing  to  lay  down  his  life  because  what  does  he  have  to  lose  ).  is  trauma  coded,  but  also  wholesome  supportive  brother  coded,  and  has  a  good  heart  underneath  it  all.  has  sexy  glowing  seraphim  blades.

[greengableslover]

Regé-Jean Page as Simon Basset BRIDGERTON (2020 - ) | S01 ep08 ‘After the Rain’