here comes the sun

[gildedlucius]

location: a balcony at the high court open to anyone

The descent of sword and head is not what haunts Lucius each time darkness falls or lids flutter shut, instead it's the twist of features of those who were housed within the expanse of the throne room; he could recollect in detail how mouths fell agape in shock, how pupils dilated to the stretch of obsidian in fear, how fists curled in fury. It's the uncertainty of those surrounding that stirs within the sinew of his skeletal: what is to say tomorrow they would not be paraded in while a figure of importance from winter loses a hand, or a man from the sea loses their head? 

The humming swarm of thoughts ricocheting within his skull come to an abrupt stall as pupils land on a silhouette folded to a nearby chair-- habitual, he cannot miss how the sun's rays coax them lustrous. Perhaps he should apologize for interrupting, but Lucius' mouth simply tilts crooked, syllables unravelling from his tongue like silk on his approach, "penny for your thoughts?"

[gildedlucius]

closed to: @summersovereign​

The motion of a frame is instinctual, as though at birth the stars weave a magnet to the milky marrow of tinder ribs, the point of an arrow always leading him to trail the sun's descended form, fleshed out broad in Mattaeus, in his king (what a pretty shadow, they coo through mouths split wolfish, destined to trail in the wake of the sun). Tucked within a crowd stilled in varying hues of shock and fury, Lucius is able to manoeuvre through the thick of bodies surrounding with ease-- no mouths twist hungry at the boy of gold, nor do lithe digits coil to a bicep beckoning for a mouthful of his honeyed lilt. A rarity, his balmy rays coax nothing more than looks that linger far after his depart. 

He enters without a knock: perhaps, instances such as a beheading, such as sword to skull, such as murder, should elicit some semblance of formality, but alas, it's the fond familiarity threaded satin against lungs that provokes no hesitation, Lu's form instead pressing to the stretch of a door, an exhale through the bend of a crescent mouth the sole signal of his arrival. Pupils folded within a circlet of molten resin stall on the silhouette framed seraphic by the stretch of window, a view the mundane would surely scramble to etch into their history for a millennium through craft. 

Only the cosmos know the time which elapses with Lucius merely stood by the door's stretch, watching Mattaeus as though they were merely in the trenches of a dream (and it'd haunt him later, the shadows would be sure of it: the blood of an elder mixes with the saltine of tears, but in his nightmares he cannot move, in his nightmares he's left reaching for one he cannot touch). The knot folded to the ridges of his trachea is swallowed thickly, Lu's gaze only leaving the visage of his sovereign the few moments it takes for a wash cloth to be retrieved, damp between slender digits. He stands near the other male, perhaps a foot or two behind, the edges of features softened by devotion, "may I?"

[bleubeard]

“I just want soft fingers in my hair and a voice calling me love”

— thoughts #420 | r.m (via rmeisel)

[gildedlucius]

“I think I’ve had too much wine, the room is beginning to spin.”

The confession snares a mouthful of birdsong laughter from the crescent of lungs, instinctively Lu's digits reach to capture the coil of his company's bicep, the grin that bleeds to his mouth coaxes Lucius sweltering even in the shade. An unsteady breath is sucked through the swell of lips at the stunning visage of his king, of the sun fleshed out to walk amidst them, the rapture coaxed lustrous to Mattaeus' features doubling the wattage of rays that already scorch. The icarian and his sovereign: together, surely, they are a sight that mortals can only see through their periphery. (Ask them of the fragments of glory they were able to view, and their syllables are dreamy: they were beautiful, and they were laughing).

"We mustn't have that," the curve of Lu's tongue greets pearlescent teeth with a tsk, and his touch descends to knot with his companion's digits, tugging the duo to the centre of the revel's pulse, "come, Matty-- we must spin with it."

[gildedlucius]

“Indulge me, tell me something that few know about you."

Lucius considers the request, mulls it over as though sea glass between lithe digits. His gaze lifts to the gleam of stars, stalling at the stretch of the moon (it's fond of him, you see-- boy of gold, it coos, don't you know the shadows are your home?). The sharp curve of his jaw collects to a clench, fingers roll inwards to a fist, manicured nails bite crescent moons to the flesh of his palm until blood is drawn, until the lustrous cadence of the orb above is no longer a phantom grazing gingerly caressing the tick of his pulse.

"Fear has been an unwanted companion for the stretch of my life," Lu reaches out, a sole digit gingerly grazing the length of the other fae's sternum-- he begins at the flesh between collar bones and descends, "I feel it here, as though stones have been tethered." Before reaching the stretch of an abdomen, the male's contact recedes, "some days it consumes me until I can hardly breathe," aureate irises move once again to the cosmos-- can you hear how they sigh at his return? 

“I am afraid of myself-- of all that I am destined for, of the wreckage I can cause.” 

[archive-highcourthq]

HIGHCOURTHQ MEME DAY

hello everyone! as promised, WEDNESDAYS will be our designated meme day! please make sure to be as inclusive as possible and send one to everyone who participates. for now, we ask that you refrain from reblogging other memes not posted to the main. and as always, have fun!

SUMMER COURT

“You are the warmest place I know.” “I think I’ve had too much wine, the room is beginning to spin.” “How much longer do I have to keep swallowing my desires for you?” “You took the sun when you left.” “I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with you.” “Who’s blood is that?" 

 WINTER COURT 

"How do I learn to accept love, when all I’ve known is pain?” “To hate is an easy thing.” “You’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep.” “All that blood was beautiful.” “You’re driving away every soul that has ever cared for you.” “I forgot, you don’t care about anything.” “I wouldn’t just die for you– I would kill for you." 

UNDERSEA  COURT

"Are you really going to leave without asking me whatever it is you’ve been dying to ask?” “What are you afraid of?” “You aren’t just beautiful, you are otherworldly and vaguely terrifying.” “I miss the stars.” “Indulge me, tell me something that few know about you." 

HIGH COURT 

"It is probably in your best interest to stay as far away from me as possible.” “Me, jealous? That would imply that I care.” “Be careful, you sound genuinely concerned for me.” “But what if I don’t want the crown, what if I want to watch the kingdom burn down?” “We have the power to hurt one another.” “You’re either with me, or against me.”

[gildedlucius]

astrcphilia‌:

Virgil considers Lucius’s words (in a way he is certain will never be reciprocated, but that is of no matter). To his first point: perhaps Virgil does not mean physically. Perhaps he means fundamentally, an inability to reconcile the idea of shame with the confidence of a mother looking down at her creation and saying i do not need the stars to tell me there is greatness in his bones for i have built them as such. Disappointment, he can see. Shame? “I think I do, actually,” he muses, but leaves the point be.

“Is the pursuit of knowledge not motivation enough?” Virgil sighs. “No, I suppose not.” Their world was not one that valued knowledge as anything but a tool, looking for pleasure in the visceral, the immediate. “There is power in knowledge,” he says, and if there is a tiredness that seeps into his words, it is indistinguishable from his usual bearing. “The past may be a constant, but the future is more malleable.” And is it not a comfort? Are answers, vague as they may be, not preferable to complete ignorance?

Brows collect to a knead at Virgil's words, and something begins to coil up the ridges of his throat: the copper taste of fear, just as it had the few and far between times he was in the presence of the star's favoured fae. "And what if it is a sore disappointment?" he counters, "or I am destined to be all that I despise?" All that I work so hard against? What if the stars speak of a sun consumed by darkness, a boy once of summer who now favours the dark? Lucius brings the bottle to his mouth, attempting to chase away the thoughts that leave him splintered.

His blurred gaze drifts between the luminous orbs marring the expanse of the sable stretch surrounding, and Lucius wishes they could merely tell him their visions themselves-- thus, only he would be burdened by the destiny he was doomed to. "Those who request your readings, how do they know that it will not become the newest piece of gossip for the fae to feast on?" a brow lifts, "or are they truly so desperate to know that they accept the consequences with little regard?"

[gildedlucius]

closed to: @castaliafairbank​

In search of his sovereign, Lucius was blind to the silhouette bending the corner, thus provoking their frames to come in abrupt collision; the contact is an algid to temper the flames that twist between ribs, signalling their court with ease. Though, as his gaze descends, it isn't just any winter fae. "Castalia," her moniker leaves his tongue in a greeting of warmth-- despite the rival of their courts, Lucius had witnessed her kindness, and was conscious to make note of it, "you must accept my apologies, I'm afraid I have been distracted by--" a pause, "the disarray." The thought of it-- Acacia's actions, and the consequences for such, coaxes Lu to swallow thickly. 

[gildedlucius]

summersovereign‌:

he has never claimed to be free from pride nor possessiveness. it is a futile effort to deny one’s own foibles and a more worthwhile one addressing them, tending to them, stamping out their seed before allowing their roots to take hold - but why would he want to temper his delight at the revelry and debauchery his court offers that precedes and exceeds anything any being could even fathom? “what a grand sentiment.” he beams at lucius’ words, a summer offering, a cornucopia of graces. “aurelia and isaliendrin will surely reward you with all of titania’s tears you could ever hope for if they heard you saying as much. even at a high court affair, they find ingenious ways of ushering in the summer.”

the shift in the fae strikes him as stark as the turning of the hour from dusk into evening, as solemn as the beloved tender tide receding with the swaying of the moon. his heart hangs in his chest with honeyed heaviness and damp sorrow and his hand moves without realizing it, lifting to cup the back of lucius’ neck. how feeble he feels, in the face of the other’s despair. “if you are a fool for loving, then what am i, if not an imbecile?” he says, his smile rueful. his grip tightens. “i know your anguish. how it feels like you are sick with sorrow, with loathing. and i will not tell you time will rid you of it, for that is not entirely truthful - nothing is ever truly gone. but i am here, lucius, and i will not let you mourn alone.”

The stretch of a palm to the flesh of his neck lifts a tender hum; from tissue to bone, the inferno of summer seeps from Mattaeus' contact, and gilded features tilt back, pressing further into the touch as though habitual. Onyx lashes descend, and he allows the consul of his sovereign to burrow to his cavity; in his cadence, Lu finds satin threads of peace, of understanding. He can feel the noose of grief collected like pearls to the thick of his throat begin to unravel at the seam, and for the first time in days he can breathe.

Akin to fauna, his visage twists to meet the sun's rays in whole, pupils are dilated to obsidian and rimmed with gold. "My king," syllables are but an octave below a whisper, strung out to a honeyed drawl the stars would swallow whole. Gingerly, Lucius lifts the grip from his neck, bringing it instead to the curve of his jaw: tenderly, his lips meet the taut flesh of Mattaeus' wrist in a kiss that sears down to his marrow, "your kindness is a wildfire all of Faerie deserves to witness. Though it seems on top of being a fool, I am selfish," his mouth tilts upwards, "and thus, I am eternally grateful I am the one to know it tonight."

[gildedlucius]

closed to: @jasperdooley​

Light irises drift between the silhouettes collected in the hall, stalling on a set of features threaded in familiarity. If Lu were to shut lids, he could drift with ease to that first night: followed by other mortals new to the realm, he watches them trail behind Jasper, pupils dilated to mirror the width of saucers in the name of awe. Lucius swallows thickly, his the sharp bend of his jaw collects to a clench: many have blame stitched to their sleeve for the death of his lover, but none would be marred had it not been for Jasper-- he was the start of the end. "Jasper," the moniker burns his tongue in greeting on approach, "this chaos must be--” he pauses for the beat of a moment, “exciting, for a mortal. Is it not?” 

[gildedlucius]

furycrimsxn‌:

{ @gildedlucius } said: “You haven’t laughed in a long time, and I guess I was staring ‘cause I forgot how that looked.”

    it wasn’t necessarily avoiding nor was it circumventing the situation. in truth, there was not exactly a spare of guilt lingering in the black heart of the general over what happened. there was no regret, no lament and no blasé whenever he would stare at lucius from afar. upon observation, the pain was evident on the face of the icarian if someone looked close enough. there was a newfound darkness in lucius’s eyes that had never been there before in the centuries they knew each other within the court and the idea that cassian, with the help of isaliendrin, put it there? an immense satisfaction bloomed in the pit of his stomach that left him yearning for more. more destruction, more grief, more darkness in those pretty eyes. 

    the general felt the air of him before the words. he was trained to sense such things but the voice, rich with honey and dripping gold, is what set him off. cassian didn’t move from his position, sprawled across a rich velvet lounge chair with a goblet of ruby wine filled to the brim. instead, he would let lucius come to him, catching him off guard as cassian was laughing at the trouble his quartet was causing in the distance. 

    when lucius came within eyesight, the closest he had in so long, cassian’s heart ached at the picture before him. staring into the depiction of this angel was like staring at a reminder of everything the general was not. his walking contrast, his polar opposite, everything cassian could have been if life had granted him different cards. it made him envision nothing more than holding lucius in close proximity and trailing a dagger across his delicate skin, watching blood follow the blade and onto his tongue. that, or playing out the consort situation right in front of him this time around. 

    oh, what would lucius do when he finds out it was him? isalendrin? how long for things to play out light and sweet before the truth splintered the painting? “I did not know you stared at me so often to forget what I look like,” cassian admitted, eyeing lucius with a newfound curiosity and attention. “perhaps you should be my private entertainer, hm?” the general spoke with a smile so feral it replicated that of a wild animal, bringing the glass to his lips as his eyes stayed locked onto this target before him. “what is on your pretty little mind?”

As though a compass stitched to his sternum, Lucius seeks the shadows in a manner reflexive. Darkness finds form in Cassian, stalling irises of gold, and something serpentine begins to uncoil at the visage of the man of nightmares spread languid; something Lucius works feverishly to keep beneath flesh, despite how right it may feel at times.

Is his terror not devine? The tips of lithe digits twitch at Lu's side, he can practically taste the soot to his tongue, the constellations that unravel in Cassian's laughter. Oh, how he hungers for it. Above, fate laughs: the sun and moon, each housing a famine for what the other blooms in fields between ribs. "It has been since boyhood, Cassian," his tongue greets ivory canines to form an audible tsk: I'd know you even in the dark. Lu lifts the round of a bottle's mouth to his lips, taking a lengthy draw-- wine already mingles with ichor in his veins, enough to coax a haze to his vision, words descend the curve of his mouth in a near drawl, "I am afraid I would be far less amusing than the mortals who writhe for you in fright." But at such a proximity, folded within Cassian's orbit, Lu wonders if it is self-sacrifice: do their knees bend in worship, do their cries sound like prayer?

Eyes lips teeth-- pupils lower from the general's gaze to the upturn of his mouth, a moment is spent stalled on the curve of incisors, lustrous even in the dark. "Murder," it's honeyed on his tongue, sugar-spun, and he chases the taste with another pull from the bottle. Truth is wedged between the duo of syllables, the slaughter of his lover, masked with ease amidst the chaos of the high king's death, now further forgotten by the shatter of a crown. All forget, but darkness grins at how Lucius remembers-- he'd wear retribution like silk, the culprit's blood would stain his mouth like wine. Irises lift to meet the gaze of his newfound company, "and what of you, Cassian?" Can you taste the beginning of war?

[genterie]

Alain Delon

[gildedlucius]

rcsepvtals‌:

A heaviness of expectations ripens the air around her, grounding her feet inches beneath the ground. Stilted laughter as fae dance in and out of view, tempting her to follow them. She tells herself she knows better than to divulge in their games, yet all the different courts blurring together disorients her, twisting her own methods of security into brittle walls. One step closer to what she assumes to be a winter fae is enough for them to pull her into a dance, twisting her limbs too much until she’s free. All she’s lost is a single piece of lace from her dress, barely noticeable under her own once over until she realizes she’s being watched. No, not watched… She’s being guarded at a distance of unspoken protection as the corner of her mouth lifts enough to show thanks before making her way towards him. He speaks first, but it’s enough to settle her nerves and refocus on the reality surrounding her.

“Yet I doubt you would allow me to fall into them,” she practically sings out the words for him, begging him to step closer. “My saving grace,” a pause, “Lucius.” Who is now playing with fire? His name rolling off her tongue like a whispered lullaby.

His moniker on her tongue is satin to skin; if Lu reached out, he's certain lithe digits would bare the stains of stardust. It's delicious, the lilt of a mortal, and his skeletal hums in response: I remember, I remember. And so he grins. "Oh?" brows tug to a knead, contemplation feigned for dramatics; his gaze departs girlish features to the sway of silhouettes near, each fondly caressing some form of sin. "You speak as though I can do no harm, Florence. Perhaps I will not allow you to stumble into them," he returns to a juniper gaze, reaching out to twirl a strand of raven hair around a digit in a manner dextrous, "but what if I wished to spin you? Are you so certain that I would keep you from oblivion? Would you dance for me, your saving grace?"

[gildedlucius]

flirtationisms‌:

Dottie knew the loss of love. She had felt the ache of the end even. No matter that she chose the ending the acute ache wrapped its self around her heart, longing for the return burrowing beneath layers of gauzy fabric and embroidered factors. She turned to the warmth of others, the sparkling eyes of another fae, laughter near as joyous as she craved, imagined a life where she was free of cowardice or free of loyalty. It was enough for her, she had made it enough for herself.

Yet her pain was not one of uncertainty. It was the pain of yearning, the pain of watching life march on with your dreams just beyond your reach. It was a thing far different from the pain of grieving, of a love lost to the icy depths of an unknown fate. 

Without a thought she opened the door, already dressed for bed in a sheer nightgown and her smile, beaming and bright, already in place. Her smile only grew at the sight of Lu. “Hello, my sweet Lucius. I’ll admit I wasn’t all too sure when I would see you next. So much seems to be happening now.” Perhaps a bit of an understatement. “I’m afraid nothing too interesting has happened yet.” A shrug of her shoulders accompanied her words. As she spoke she made her was through her room, settling down in an armchair. 

“I did run into the Winter Child today. Certainly not the most pleasant encounter.” Not that she expected anything else from Safie, from the woman she knew only as an extension of her own doubts, a reminder that she had not been enough. “I don’t know what it is about the winter fae but I would not mind if I saw them scarcely until the coronation.”

The upturn of her full mouth coaxes warmth to press fondly to Lu's lungs. He trails behind her lithe form, attention swaying from a gilded mane to the room to be called hers-- he had been within it's expanse several times over the decades, though it differs beneath Dottie's rays. Amusement is retrieved with ease from the summer child's idioms, coaxing a simper to twist at the bend of his lips, "the winter fae are--" flaxen features tilt, a pause of silence settles as his gaze roams the room, as though the right words were tucked beneath the stretch of drapes or in the curve of a bed frame, "starved of the sun, and it shows. We are blessed to live beneath the rays of summer and Mattaeus' rule," he fold's to the armchair adjacent to the blonde, digits resting to a temple to prop features up, "each time I am in the high court, I remember."

An exhale through nostrils is audible, lightness returns to his visage as he peers over at his company, "have you been able to do much exploring?"

[dailylilycollins]

[genrps]

fairytalesques‌:

“you’re in love with a boy who is a prayer on your lips with no god to go to. he’s bleeding sunlight and you’re trying to patch up the holes in his heart with trembling fingers and the blood keeps spilling. you’re in love with him, here’s the best part: he loves you more than his own life. he’s golden as they come but he’s bleeding out.”

— sunlit lovers | m.j.

[gildedlucius]

maelstrom-cal‌:

In the back of his mind the feeling twists like a restless animal, lingering with an uncertainty at the words because very few that were spoke in quiet tones were ever offered in earnest. He’d only known a handful of voices he could trust in that, some part always on cautious guard for the trick to turn, trap to snap and soft edges to turn into mocking daggers. The worst of it was that he knew it was a trained response, a learned reaction instead of one that had ever felt natural. When the eyes of the other man fall upon him it is in curiosity rather than scrutiny, the difference obvious to one dwelt in the former and suffered the latter, and Cal loses sense of his caution. 

“They don’t,” he admits as though sorrow marks the truth, words escape before he can catch them and craft it into something more suitable, something more tensely polite and formal as they should be. Well, too late for it then, he’s already proven himself up to his usual air of misplaced clumsiness twice in a single conversation so there’s no use in trying to set the mask into place.

Shoulders a slack drop and a trace of his gaze towards the skies, a vision in lights that never ceases to leave him amazed in how they bathe the High Court in such glow, a drawn sound akin to a sigh edges past. “Even the clearest waters, you only see the stars if you’re near the surface. The Court is too far in the depths to catch the shine."  

"All the more reason to appreciate them here, for now,” he adds in agreement with another slip of his tongue when he paints too much honest gratitude into the tone. Silly notions, they often come with reprimand but Cal is tired and dazed by the world spread around him into a strange bubble of false reality, careless enough to chance the conversation.  

The tilt of the male's chin coaxes Lu's gaze: moth to flame, magpie to gleam, he views the constellations mirrored in the stretch of sable of his company's pupils, he watches syllables leave his mouth like ripples around a stone. "So you are only acquainted with the sun in fragments, too," it isn't quite exhaled as a question, moreover a satin wondering that he'd keep tucked within a breast pocket, "what a shame." The edges of his mouth twist to a phantom grin, amusement threads to his lilt, "and yet, that explains so much."

Lucius parrots his companion, lifting his gaze from seraphic features to the galaxy above, "do you see those five? They form a circle," a sole digit lifts upwards to a point, "if you follow it down, those form a leg, and the last three form a tail." He swallows thickly, syllables fall from his mouth, but he can still hear them in a lilt belonging to another (limbs are tangled in the heat of summer, a silhouette is pressed to his side, the mouth of a human is pressed to his throat, and slender digits draw his attention up): "that is Cetus. It means sea monster." And then his gaze drops as though the sight is searing, “or so the humans say.”