𝕆𝕄ℕ𝕀𝕊 𝕃𝔸ℂℝ𝕀𝕄𝔸 ;

[lightbcrn]

NAVIGATION !

lord apollo vanderbilt (day court, third in command + seer): intro - threads - visage - musings

lord icarion malgrave (starlight, high ruler's brother + daemati): intro - threads - visage - musings

lord renatus ailin (autumn court, high ruler's brother + healer): intro - threads - visage - musings

rivian alcaster (summer court, spymaster + scryer): intro - threads - visage - musings

virgil (dawn court, high ruler's personal guard): intro - threads - visage - musings

[scrollscfpark]

location & time: starcove inn, evening. closed for: @lightbcrn ; renatus.

ISEUL WAS CERTAIN - THIS WAS PERSONAL. How could it not be? A witch in the room full of common fae, the only one being able to use her power? It was fortunate that Iseul wasn't as foolish as to openly demonstrate her own reserve of it.

none but her beloved had known.

And no one ever will - not if she has a say in it. So, for the rest of the Prythian, she had to remain the weak, measly fae. But... a terrifying thought crossed her mind. If even the special fae had lost their power, then their enemy must be true power.

Sighing, the witch of fire nursed a glass of wine between her palms. One glass every few weeks will do no harm, the healers have said - and this situation would, normally, require something much stronger than wine. Sitting beside her husband, Iseul found herself comforted by both his presence and the crowd loudly speaking in the room.

at least they won't be overheard.

"What do you think of this novel surprise, darling? If the Mother thought a whole court would not suffice to astonish us, she might have vastly underestimated our boredom with the daily life. Starlight was enough of a shock. Now this. I wonder what comes next. A tornado? Perhaps a thunderstorm would do, though the destructive forces of nature sound so... peaceful now."

[lightbcrn]

Renatus had been silent for too long. He knew it, felt it in the distance that had crept between them like a third person in their marriage bed ever since the letter arrived. But tonight, the silence wasn't about that. It was about the strange, hollow sensation beneath his skin where his fire used to live. A hearth gone cold, an ember snuffed out. He flexed his fingers against his thigh, reaching for a warmth that didn't answer.

"A tornado would be straightforward," he said, finally picking up the thread of her humor, though his voice was quieter than usual. "A tornado I could understand. But this..." He shook his head, jaw tightening. "I've been a healer for almost five centuries, Iseul. My hands have never been ordinary. They have always been..." He paused, turning his palm upward between them as if she might see the absence there. "Warm. Alive. And now they're just hands."

He looked at her then the way he'd been forgetting to do since the weight of his secrets had made him too tired to meet her eyes. She was nursing her wine with a composure he knew was half performance. Her power was still intact, he suspected, though she hadn't said so and he hadn't asked. That was the thing about loving a witch. That was the thing about loving him, too. They both kept their dangerous parts hidden.

"You're being flippant," he said softly, although it wasn't an accusation. "Talk to me. What do you actually think of this?"

[highladycatalina]

Down at the Gardens of Sterallia, Catalina was taking a breath, Omar not far from where she was standing, having decided that she'll have at least one of her commanders or second always with her so when Renauts approached her, she gave him a look first before she looked at her brother. A polite, infinitely rehearsed smile as she nodded at his small vow.

"I was not, fortunately. Our court was one of the less affected, it seems." They hadn't lost anyone in winter and all arrived in the mysterious Starlight in one peace. "I have. Everyone in the inner circle has been accounted for and accommodated. Even you. Your chambers are close to mine and Régulo's. Omar and Kenna are both staying close as well." She was on top of it all since the moment they have arrived. Catalina never wasted time, every second of her day was calculated and managed to fit perfectly in her planned schedule even amidst all of this. "Would you like me to show you? It's quite nice."

[lightbcrn]

She was efficient. She was always efficient. Renatus remembered a time when that efficiency had felt like reliability, like the steady hand of an older sister who would manage the world so he wouldn't have to. Now it just felt like a wall, perfectly constructed, with no doors.

"That's kind of you." The words left him automatically, the muscle memory of centuries of courtly politeness. "I'll find it myself, I think. I'd rather not pull you away from your schedule." A pause. He almost left it there. Almost took the escape she was offering on a platter: a room, a door, distance. But Regulo's name hung in the air between them, and he couldn't let it drop. Not yet.

"You said he's been accommodated. Is he..." He hesitated, choosing his words the way he chose his instruments. "I haven't seen him since before Winter. Is he under guard, or has his situation... changed, now that we've been winnowed to a court that shouldn't exist?"

[flreclouds]

“wouldn’t you? if you were somewhere you never thought existed until now?” she asks. “i have plenty of time to get to know the people later. but while they’re all distracted? that is the best time to see the place. otherwise i have to compete with the rest of them for the best spot to see things.” she doesn’t look towards him as he circles her, instead looking up at the stars, still a bit in awe of the way they seem so much brighter here. “what if i do just really like plants?” she asks. “they’re curious things. useful in so many different ways, and the same types of plants grow differently in different courts, different climates.” “a spy? i don't think i'd make a very good spy." she gestures to her hair. "i just don’t like crowds after winnowing.” she says, an innocent look on her face. “so slipping away from them is better. less risk of something happening in front of a crowd of fae i don’t know. i’m just part of the army. i used to be a librarian. i learned to be quiet and observant so i wouldn’t disturb anyone. i enjoy architecture because it’s different than the architecture from my home. i know more about plants because i studied them.” even if it was because she wanted to know how to dabble in poisons and learn how to climb the structures in different places.   she lets her eyes widen a little at the threat, “please don’t. i’m not anyone. just overly curious about a new court.” she makes herself sound genuine. “i don’t want anything bad to happen to your court. i just wanted to see it, since they forced us all here.” she continues, shaking her head. “i’m sorry for intruding.”

[lightbcrn]

Icarion blinked. The kind of blink that happened when the brain took a moment longer than usual to process what it had just heard. She seemed to have taken it literally. The threat about the dungeons. She'd looked at him with those wide eyes and that copper hair and that utterly sincere expression, and she'd explained herself like she was being interrogated by someone who actually had the authority to arrest her. She'd even apologized for intruding as if he wasn't the one who'd approrached her. Huh.

He felt something shift in his chest. He'd been playing a game, she'd responded with earnestness. That was either deeply genuine or deeply calculated, and he couldn't tell which yet. Interesting, and slightly unnerving.

"I see," he said, letting his grin settle back into its usual lazy shape. "So you're not a spy. You're just a former librarian with a passion for botany and a very reasonable fear of crowds. That's much less exciting and disappointing. I had a whole dramatic scenario planned." He waved a dismissive hand, rings glinting. "No consequences. No dungeons. No stern lectures from people with less charm than me. You're free to admire the architecture in peace. He paused, tilting his head.

"But for the record, you don't have to apologize. For intruding. You didn't intrude. I found you, remember? You were minding your own business, staring at the stars, and I appeared like a very handsome, nosy ghost." He pressed a hand to his chest. "If anyone should be apologizing, it's me. But I won't. Because I'm not sorry. I'm curious."

[courtlights]

☆ﾟ*·ﾟTESSA JUMPED, HER hands covered in dirt, making it fly everywhere. Then, she put her hands over her mouth, realizing who it was. They'd hooked up while in Winter, and as she stared at him, she could barely remember anything. But she knew she'd gotten drunk and fooled around, and in that moment, all of Tessa's normalcy dropped off a cliff. And so, she cackled, throwing her head back, before she looked him straight in the eyes and said, "You were deep in me, so why can't I be deep in your soil?" Tessa felt him sit down close to her. The smirk on her face drifted into a smile, one that was weirdly comforted by the fact that she'd been so open about it.

Her eyes widened as she nodded, excitedly. "That sounds absolutely wonderful and insightful. Please take me there!" Tessa looked up at him, her eyelashes fluttering with kindness. "Questionable. It just might make you the happiest in the world. You have no idea," she explained, knowing that she had created some really wonderful tea in the past. There were so many combinations that could do so many things, and she just wanted to experiment, especially now that she had no other type of magic linked to her.

[lightbcrn]

"For someone so soft-spoke, you just threw that at me like a blade. Deep in the soil. Very clever." His honey eyes were dark in the low starlight, unreadable but warm, and the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth was the grin of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and had no intention of stopping.

"The conservatory is this way," he said, tilting his head toward the winding path that led deeper into the gardens. Icarion rose to his feet and offered her a hand. Not quite touching. Just an invitation hovering in the air between them, his rings catching the starlight.

"But let's be clear about something." He waited until she met his gaze. "That night in Winter, you were quiet. Nervous. Sweet. You barely looked at me until you were under me, and even then you bit your lip like you were afraid of making a sound." He paused, his grin sharpening. "And now you're sitting in my family's soil, looking at me straight in the eye, talking about how deep I was. So I have to ask..." He tilted his head. "Are you going to remind me what you sounded like when I got there? Or should I remind you first?"

[flreclouds]

she watches him for a moment, head tilting a little as she waits for a response. she hasn’t learned what he prefers yet, but she wants to, so that she can have things he likes available. She’s been trying to for their whole court who are here, so that they can at least have small comforts. because they deserve something good in the midst of this all. “your health is important. you need sleep too.” she replies, shaking her head as he speaks. she hears the way he says it simply, no weight behind the words. but it still makes her frown. “you are not just my sword. you are virgil. you are a member of my court, just as important as anyone else. i am nothing without my court. i am nothing without you, or anyone else in our court. if everyone puts all their energy into saving me, and i’m the only one who survives, what would i even have?” because that’s the thought that’s haunted her, if they lose anyone, if they lose multiple of their court… she feels the shadow curl around her ankle, glances down at the way the tendril snakes towards her from where the shadowsinger stands. it’s a comfort, in a way, silently reminding her she’s not alone. she watches him step inside, watching as his wings fold tighter against himself, as his gaze moves across the room. she watches as he freezes when he sees the chair. “yes. you should be able to be comfortable when you are here. i want you to be.” she says, turning to the kettle to pour herself a cup. “do you want anything else? i have coffee, not as good as from home, but i’ve considered asking the kitchen if i can put together a setup… or water or something?” she offers. “thank you, for staying with me. for looking out for me.” she says. “do you have any ideas on how we might get out of this?” she asks.

[lightbcrn]

The words don't compute. He is a weapon, always has been. His camp made sure of that, and Prythian reinforced it, and decades of standing at the edges of his room with his hand on his blade have proven it beyond any doubt. He is not a person, but a function. A sword doesn't need sleep or tea or chairs designed for its wings. A sword does not need comfort. But she's frowning and him and saying his name, the shadow still curled around her ankle like it belongs there. He doesn't know what to do with any of this.

"I heard someone say something once." His voice is flat, but there's a thread of uncertainty running through it now. "At the Winter Court. A guard talking to his captain. You worry about everyone else, but who worries about you. The captain laughed and said that's what I have you for." He pauses, the silence stretches. "I thought saying something similar would make you..." Virgil trails off, brows furrowing slightly. "I am still learning."

He pushes off the wall, moving towards her. Two steps, enough to close some of the distance but not all of it. He stops by the low-backed chair and rests one hand on it, his scarred knuckles pale against the dark wood.

"I was never taught how to be comfortable, or how to find it. But I can try. If that's what you want." He says it plainly, without self-pity. "Tea, then. I am not sure what I like. I have never..." He stops, tries again. "I will try it. If you make it. That's what people do, isn't it? They try things. For people they..." He doesn't finish. Doesn't know what word to use or if there is a word appropriate for what she makes him feel. He clears his throat and looks away, toward the window, toward the stars.

"Drink your tea. Then sleep." He glances back at her. "You said my health was important. Yours is too. More than mine."

[remyalaire]

The pressure grows tightly on his neck and Remy still doesn't fight. His hands still on his sides, his eyes still wet but watching. The traces of a little boy that turned into a hardened illyrian. Features that could have been his own had he stayed in the camp, had he endured everything he was supposed to just like Seven did. In fairness, it might have not happened, not even if he had stayed. There was always something in Remy fighting the conditioning. He always felt it all, nothing ever worked on him.

When Seven lets him go, Remy stumbles a little as he coughs. His hands comes up to his own throat. It's still warm from Seven's touch He rubs over where his hand had just been. Remy recovers, stands back up, eyes still trailing Seven. His hesitation, his anger. He takes a couple of steps forward because all he wants to do right now is hug him. Tell him that it's alright. That they're alright.

Remy nods at his words because he's right, he should have been back with him. If he survived and payed for Remy's escape, he should pay because he never wanted that. Freedom at Seven's expense was never an option and he wouldn't have taken it if offered.

His back hits the railing and Remy hisses at the hit and ducks his head out of pure reflection but he doesn't resist it, doesn't defend himself. "You can just cut to the chase and kill me. It'd end like that anyway. You've always been better than me. At everything, even surviving." There's tears running down his cheeks again as he barely manages to get the words out. "But I just need you to know that I would have come back for you if I knew you were alive. I wouldn't have been able to save you but I would have endured it all by your side. I didn't care about freedom if it was without you, Seven."

[lightbcrn]

The words land and sink and burrow deep, and he doesn't move, doesn't blink. The shadows don't move either. They freeze mid-writhe, coiled around his wrists and ankles like statues, like they're waiting for a command he can't give. Twelve is still talking, still crying, still saying things Virgil has spent decades convincing himself weren't true, and Virgil just stands there and takes it the way he's taken everything else. Silently, stoically, and without a single crack in his mask. But his hands are still shaking. Something flickers behind his eyes: anger, shame, something worse. He curls his hands into fists and presses them against his thighs. The shadows press with them, flattening against his legs like they're trying to hold him together.

"Finished? His voice is flat, empty. He doesn't look at Twelve. He looks at the space just past his shoulder, at the cold stone railing, at the stars bleeding silver across the sky. Anywhere but his face. "You said what you needed to say. You cried. You apologized. Are we done?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. He turns toward the balcony railing, his back to Twelve, his wings folding tight against his spine. The stars are very bright. He stares at them and remembers the mountain sky above them, the night he ran, the blood on the snow. His shadows don't know what to do with this. Neither does he.

"I don't know how to be around you." The admission is barely a whisper, dragged out of him against his will. "I don't know how to look at you and not see the hole. I don't know how to hear you apologize and not want to put my hands around your throat again. I don't know how to do this." His voice is quieter now. His hands are still shaking, he grips the railing to make them stop. It doesn't work too well.

"You said you would have come back. You said you would have endured it." His voice hardens, just slightly. Just enough. "But you didn't. So what am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do with you?"

[flreclouds]

she was never meant to be a healer — trained to be the weapon her father would use. so she’d never been as gentle as a healer, when she’d wrapped wounds, always aiming to be efficient and thorough. but she’d learned to be gentler, and she didn’t want to rush.  “me?” she grins, hands landing on his chest when he turns fully, inhaling a little sharply at the feeling of his hands on her waist. “i do not think i could possibly be that much of a distraction.” a lie, when she is so very pleased that his hands are on her now, had been too busy thinking about him when she’d been asked about the stars. too distracted to be a real help to her court. her breath catches when his fingers start to work the buckle at her hip loose, eyes trailing down his chest, hands landing on his shoulders lightly. she follows the movement when he brushes his knuckles against her skin as he moves to the next buckle, fingers moving to card through his hair when he drops to one knee in front of her, mouth slightly open as she looks down at him. she traces a finger along his cheek when he looks up at her through his lashes. “we should remedy that empty bed,” she hums, shifting to make it easier for him to remove her boots. but she can’t form words, mind to distracted by the way his palms slide up the outside of her legs, the mention of him waking up hard and aching and reaching for her. she wants to wake up beside him, to feel him against her, touch him.  she lets her fingers trail along his cheek to his throat when he says that, an impatient sound slipping past her lips when his thumbs hook into the waistband of her trousers, and any remaining ability to think straight is gone as he continues to speak. she doesn’t make any move to stop him as he begins to ease her trousers down. her eyes darken as he continues, fingers slipping into his hair.  she steps out of her trousers when he lets them pool at her feet, eyes still watching, breath heavier than before as she watches him, heat pooling at the thought of his mouth on her, of him inside her, fingers sliding from his hair when he stands, landing on his chest, a breathy sound escaping her as his hands slide up her sides, as they trace along her skin.  “rivian…” she murmurs, and her hands are sliding along his chest then, careful of cuts and bruises, and she leans up to press her lips against his briefly, trailing to mouth at his neck. “put them up against the valkyries and see how they feel then,” she offers. “i cannot stop thinking about you, too.” she lets her fingers trail down to start on the buckles on his trousers, “i have spent the whole time we were supposed to be figuring this all out with thoughts wandering to you,” she murmurs, trailing her lips along his neck and then his collarbone. “i do trust you. you are one of my oldest friends. and i want you. desperately.”

[lightbcrn]

"Mal," he breathed, and it was the only word he could manage. The only word that mattered. The word desperately hit him like a physical blow. He felt it in his chest, his stomach, the ache between his legs that had been building since the archway, since the conservatory, since three weeks ago when she'd kissed him in the Winter Court and turned his entire world sideways.

Her fingers had loosened his buckles, but his trousers still hung at his hips, his undershorts still clung to his thighs, and he needed them off. Now. He pulled back enough to look at her. The steam curled around them both, and her lips were parted and swollen from their brief kiss, her eyes dark and fixed on him, just watching, wanting. His hands dropped from her waist to the waistband of his trousers, and he shoved them down... less graceful than he'd been with her, less patient with himself. He worked the fabric over his hips, his thighs, until they pooled at his feet and he could kick them aside. His undershorts followed, peeled away with none of the deliberate reverence he'd shown while undressing her.

He was bare before her. Completely bare. The steam beaded on his shoulders, his chest, the trail of dark hair that led to where his want was unmistakable. He didn't try to hide it, didn't want to. Rivian wanted to let her see what she did to him, what she'd always done to him.

His hands found her waist again, and this time he stepped backward into the tub, pulling her with him. The water rose to meet them, hot enough to sting against his scrapes and wrap around his aching muscles like a second layer of heat. He sat, drawing her down with him. The water engulfed them both, lapping at his chest.

"You make this very difficult," he muttered against her throat. His hands slid from her hips to the small of her back, pulling her closer, and his forehead dropped to her shoulders. He could feel every inch of her against him. The warmth of her core was so close to where he ached most, and a sound escaped him. Low, rough, almost pained. He wanted... he wanted.

But he didn't rush. He held himself still, even though every instinct was screaming at him to move, to rock up into her, to chase the friction that would ease the ache. His breathing was ragged against her skin, and his fingers pressed into her back like she was the only thing keeping him anchored.

"I'm trying to go slow. I'm trying to be gentle. But you..." He cut himself off with a shaky exhale. His hands slid from her back to her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there. He kissed her. His mouth moved against hers like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her, the taste of her, the soft sound she'd make when his tongue slid against hers. And then he breaks the kiss. His lips were tingling, and he was so hard it was almost painful, but he still didn't rush. His lips trailed lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, the water lapping at his chin as he went.

"Tell me what you want," he said, and his voice was wrecked but certain.

[lightbcrn]

Renatus Ailin Task 1: Character Inspirations (From Left to Right)

Tanjiro Kamado (Demon Slayer)

Zuko (Avatar: TLA)

Itachi Uchiha (Naruto)

Princess Zelda (Zelda)

Kakashi Hatake (Naruto)

Haku (Spirited Away)

[lightbcrn]

Apollo Vanderbilt Task 1: Character Inspirations (From Left to Right)

The Doorman (Deadlock)

Apollo (Greek Mythology)

Finnick Odair (The Hunger Games)

Sephiroth (Final Fantasy 7)

Daemon Targaryen (House of the Dragon)

Zagreus (Hades)

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Lestat de Lioncourt (Interview with the Vampire)

[lightbcrn]

Icarion Malgrave Task 1: Character Inspirations (From Left to Right)

Gojo Satoru (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Loki (Marvel)

Howl Pendragon (Howl's Moving Castle)

Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

Ken (HE'S JUST KEN!)

Sokka (Avatar: TLA)

[lightbcrn]

Virgil Task 1: Character Inspirations (From Left to Right)

Suguru Geto (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Cloud Strife (Final Fantasy 7)

Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier (Marvel)

Jasper Hale (Twilight)

Obanai Iguro (Demon Slayer)

Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan)

[lightbcrn]

Rivian Alcaster Task 1: Character Inspirations (From Left to Right) 1. Yuta Okkotsu (Jujutsu Kaisen) 2. Kaneki Ken (Tokyo Ghoul) 3. Spike Spiegel (Cowboy Bebop) 4. Peeta Mellark (The Hunger Games) 5. Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil) 6. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III (How to Train Your Dragon)

[solisdomina]

it felt impossible to sleep in yet another different court, this one so strange and secretive. not to mention, she felt as though she was still reeling from the sudden winnowing into starlight. the temple was not exactly where she would go for comfort, after all, it wasn't her temple ⸻ this wasn't her rugs, her candles, her home. it was just as cold and strange as everything else; but at least nobody could question her reasoning for being here.

aurelia was on her knees before the alter ⸻ not properly kneeling, simply sitting there. praying, whispering, hoping. she didn't know what she was doing anymore, as long as it was something. would praying for a vision help? or would she see horrors that she would rather leave here unknowing? she sighed, her shoulders feeling heavier and heavier with each breath.

her eyes were shut, her mind focused elsewhere, until the sound of his voice broke her of her solitude. slowly, the priestess opened her eyes though she did not turn her head in his direction. " apologies, were you trying to find me? i cannot imagine why. " aurelia murmured, though her tone implied she was already exasperated by his intensity.

comfort? at his words, the brunette turned her head. her gaze narrowed, as if she was trying to figure it out. " ridicule you? " aurelia questioned, genuinely confused. " you have risen in rank, apollo, why are you asking for ridicule? why are you angry? " she wondered if it had to do with the means of his rise in power. a murder, of someone she assumed he at least held a shred of respect for ⸻ though she was well aware she barely knew him at all anymore.

now, aurelia stood, able to take him in fully. his sparring leathers were damp, his hair clinging to his skin. he truly was distraught by something. " did you . . wish to remain third in command forever? why not deny the promotion, then? "

[lightbcrn]

The question landed like a stone in still water, ripples spreading through the quiet of the temple. Apollo stared at her and the genuine confusion in her eyes, the way her brows furrowed as if she truly didn't understand why he would be angry. It unsettled him more than ridicule would have. He knew how to fight mockery. He didn't know what to do with this. He turned away from her, unable to look at the confusion on her face any longer. His boots scraped against the stone as he paced a few steps, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. The scent of incense clung to the air, cloying and sweet, mixing with the salt of his own skin.

"I trained my entire life for this," he said, the words coming out scraped from somewhere deep. "Every morning before sunrise. Every night long after everyone else had gone to bed. I bled on that training room floor more times than I can count. I earned my name. I've never met anyone I couldn't beat with a sword. Not one person. Not even Jamie." He turned to face her, jaw tight.

"My father was commander. His father before him. And his father before that. All the way back through generations of warlords who carved this court out of blood and steel." His voice dropped. "It should have been mine. By blood. By skill. By every right that's ever mattered in this court, it should have been mine." He laughed, but there was no humor in it, only exhaustion. "But Talia wanted Jamie back. Wanted her sibling home. Wanted to give them a reason to stay." He shook his head slowly. "So she handed her the position. Gave her command of the armies. Gave her everything I've spent my whole life working toward. Second in command is not an honor, but a consolation prize. It's them saying I'm family, but not the right kind of family."

Apollo watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You're very good at this. The whole... serene priestess thing. Like nothing touches you." His voice was flat, almost mocking. "I used to admire it. Now I just want to ruin it. Just for tonight." The words hung in the air between them. He felt something twist in his chest. The silence stretched and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of something he didn't have a name for. This was pathetic and he was going to regret it, and yet somehow... he didn't care. He stepped closer, close enough that he could see the soft curve of her lips, that he could smell the incense on her skin.

"I'm not going to beg," he said, his voice low and almost careless. The lie tasted like copper on his tongue. "But I'm asking. And I don't ask for much. Help me forget."

[flreclouds]

she is aware enough of her surroundings that the open door won’t be enough to sneak up on her, but means her own court won’t worry about disrupting her if they want to come in, at least. she can sense him there, but she doesn’t react yet, letting him decide whether he will enter or not. she knows that his life was more than difficult enough. she wants to be a point of safety for him. someone who he can trust, someday. whether that day is tomorrow or centuries from now just depends on how he feels. she won’t push. but she does glance over her shoulder to look at him when he finally does enter. she knows she is small, smaller than many fae, certainly smaller than the massive illyrian standing across from her. and yet she can be deadly enough on her own, even if her court tries very hard to keep her from needing to protect herself. but in this unfamiliar place, she is more on edge, more worried she will need those skills. when all she wants is to see the way the court works, the sites, everything. to not have to look over her shoulder at every moment just in case. “so should you,” she replies, offering a small smile. “i can’t sleep. too much going on. i’m too worried about you all.” she confesses. she turns to face him fully. “do you want tea?” she offers, stepping further back into her room from where she’d stood on the balcony, slipping across to the pot she’d insisted on keeping, by the small area that she could host at least a couple others, with one chair — which she had stolen from a common room — lower backed to account for winged fae.

[lightbcrn]

Virgil doesn't move from the doorway. The offer of tea hangs in the air between them, warm and mundane and utterly foreign, and for a moment he just stares at her. She's worried about all of them, him included. Something flickers in his chest. It might be amusement, or something else entirely.

"Then who would watch out for you?" His voice is still flat, still rough at the edges, but there's something almost dry beneath it. Almost human. "You're the one who matters. You're the one this court needs. I'm just your sword." He says it simply, without self-pity, without weight. It's a fact. The sky is dark, the stars are cold. He is a weapon, and weapons don't need sleep or tea or chairs designed for their wings. The shadow that drifted toward her gown has reached her now. It curls around her ankle and he doesn't pull it back this time. He doesn't know why, it just feels right, somehow. Like a silent tether or a wordless promise.

He steps inside, finally, letting the door swing shut behind him. His wings fold tighter against his back, a shield, a habit. His gaze moves across the room and catches on the chair. He stops and stares at it. Something shifts behind his eyes, too fast to name.

"You did that for me," he says. Not a question. He knows she did. No one else would have thought it. No one else ever thinks of him at all. He doesn't sit, but he moves to the wall beside the chair and leans against it, arms crossed, the shadows settling around his feet. "I don't drink tea, but I'll stay. However long you need." He glances at the window, the stars, the darkness pressing in. "I'll keep watch. You should rest while you can."

[remyalaire]

It happens so fast that Remy doesn't even have time to react before there's a strong hand around his neck. He tilts his head back and instinctively, one of his hands moves up to the other's wrist. He doesn't squeeze, Remy doesn't pull him away. But he starts to listen. Eyes going wide at the sudden realization that it is him. How? Oh he has so many questions, so many words left unsaid or muttered to the sky when they could have been said to him.

When Seven's hand starts to tighten, Remy lets go of his wrist. He doesn't fight it. He doesn't fight him. He never did and is not going to start now. He'll lose either way. Seven was always better than him on everything as he should. Remy didn't want to be, not there. He had no interest in being the best killing machine.

Remy goes easily while Seven corners him and still listens silently because, what else is he meant to do? He's mostly right about everything except for one thing. Remy didn't get happy. Never could without him, never could knowing he couldn't save him. Even if he went back he wouldn't have been able to save him. The Illyrian always thought that he was a waste of life. That if one of them had to survive it should have been Seven, not him.

When Seven is finally done talking and silence envelops them, tears run down Remy's cheeks. "You are alive." He lets out in a whisper as he watches his face. A wound inside Remy closes as he says those words out loud. It doesn't matter that they got separated, he got to live.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asks after a moment. He needs to know because if Seven is going to kill him, he needs to say a few things first before he can go in peace. Seven deserves to know that even though he was left there, he was never alone. Remy carried him with him. Always, even now.

[lightbcrn]

Virgil stares at the tears tracking down Twelve's face, and something inside him twists so violently he nearly lets go. He whispers those words like it's a miracle. Like it's a gift. Like Virgil isn't standing here with his hand around his throat and murder carved into every line of his body. The words hit harder than any blow. His jaw tightens but his grip doesn't loosen. He wants to wipe that stupid, tearful, reverent look off Twelve's face and prove once and for all that he is not a person, but a weapon. Weapons don't hesitate or feel.

Virgil opens his mouth to answer. The words are there, sharp and simple and final. It should have been easy. It was always easy. But yes won't come. It lodges in his throat like a blade turned sideways, and he realizes with a cold, creeping horror that he can't do it. The realization makes him furious. His hand tightens, a jerk of pressure, a warning, and then he wrenches himself backward, releasing Twelve's throat like it's burned him. The shadows recoil with him, snapping back to his shoulders in a violent rush, and Virgil is breathing hard, his chest heaving, hands shaking at his sides.

"I should kill you. I should have let them cull you back them. It would have been easier. It would have been clean." He drags a hand through his hair, a jerky, uncharacteristic motion, and the shadows writhe around him. "Fight back." Virgil's voice cracks on the words, and he hates it, hates the sound of it, hates the way Twelve just stands there with tears on his face and acceptance in his eyes. He grabs the front of Twelve's top and yanks him forward, then slams him back against the railing. The shadows snap with the motion.

"You owe me this. You owe me a fight. Finish it."

[flreclouds]

she closes her eyes, leaning back against the wall behind her, letting the chill seep into her, ground her. she knows he knows her too well to lie. knows how distant she gets when her thoughts wander back to before. her eyes open again when she hears him push off the wall. “i just meant, shouldn’t be as bad as past events.” past events being past panic attacks that got to her. “not that i don’t feel like utter shit.” she sighs. she looks up at him. “wouldn’t be very useful if i was made of stone,” she jokes halfheartedly. she watches him as she waits for an answer, and she thinks if it was anyone else, she’d be too distracted by her own discomfort to really ask and focus.  “which is better than we can say for some…” she nods, eyes falling shut again when he presses his hand against the side of her neck, and she nods. she tries to take a deep breath, and again when it comes out shaky the first time, focusing on him, on the chill from the stone. she taps her fingers against each other as she breathes.

[lightbcrn]

"There's a spot," he dropped his hand, his voice almost casual. "Third floor. East wing. There's a balcony that overlooks the whole valley. The stars are wrong, but the view's..." Rivian shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and not quite landing it. The truth was he'd found that balcony a couple of hours ago. He'd stood there for an hour, counting the unfamiliar constellations, trying to convince himself that any of this was real. "It's something. Better than a cold corridor, anyway. Better than hiding in the dark like I taught you."

He tilted his head, studying her the way he'd studied her since she was a raw recruit. The same sharp gaze, the same unreadable expression. But there was something softer underneath it now. Something that had grown over the years of training her, trusting her, watching her become of the best spies in his network.

"You want to stay here and keep pretending you're fine?" He was already angling his body toward the corridor that led to the east wing, already offering her an exit. "Or do you want to get out of this hallway and actually breathe for a minute?"