curds & whey

the sun that broke the good moon's bough: robin, robin, fly away you'll never know the bad man now; it's all just child's play, find your branch and take a bow

[robinfelldown]

@wtfreya-briar

“No, no,” Robin says, glamored face frowning, tucking his brown down toward his nose, wrinkling it. “Different. You look…happy. Sweet, like a tree.”

Like father, like daughter, yes. Both trees, both growing.

Strong, steady.

Briars.

“Busy? Yes, I suppose,” Robin agrees, nodding, but then he tilts his head, in that way of his, that he has, a sly little grin on his face. “And where has your music gone? Where is he? Shall I go find him?” Or anyone to be happy for, it was Freya. Edmund was a good faerie, kind and soft and sweet to temper her Wolf edge, the bite of her teeth. Robin knew, just as well, that Harland liked the skittish little bard as much as he was able, given that Edmund was courting his daughter.

A little laugh escapes and Robin shrugs. “There are ways, sapling, to speak without speaking, to know without needing to be known.” Robin hops over a tree branch then another, landing lightly beside her and gripping her upper arm tight with a hand, looping them together. “I am glad, to see you. That this face reminds you of home. It is for Rye. He…misses them, sometimes, but he…the Wolves kept Ro - me safe when h - I was kept.”

[wtfreya-briar]

Sweet. Like a Lady. Like a Seelie girl tottering about in her stupid shoes. A tree, like Harland. Steady, and stuck. Freya had always been petite for a Wolf, but she’d always known how to be big despite that. Those intimidating airs and graces, the people in Wisteria read them the wrong way, as a show of agression and not an armor against it.

So she’d been trying to be less so, for the sake of inspiring less negative reactions. And now she was sweet. And happy… Freya scowled across at him. “I am not sweet.” She protested, not sure what to say on the rest, “…And you know how things have been, happy is hardly the emtion of the moment.”

Happy was fleeting. Happy was the adrenaline of a face off with the foxes still coursing through her veins when Eddie kissed her.

Apparently Robin is thinking similarly enough, and Freya suddenly feels she is getting her retribution for prodding at Rye all those years to get with him. She smiles for a moment before it can be helped, then shakes her head. “He’s not my anything.” She protests, perhaps a bit too strongly, preying to celestials her cheeks aren’t red, “and he could be anywhere. The Den, I’d suppose. Why go find him, am I not entertainment enough?” She hoped that would make for a good enough topic– it wasn’t as if Robin knew anything. Right?

She shakes her head, “I don’t think I’m good at those ways, could we not talk out loud? I like the speaking.” Freya squeezes his arm with hers as they walk, “Wolves are good like that. And I’m glad to see you too, it’s been a bit lonely aorund here. Or- people have been here more for other matters, rather than just to socialize.” Except Eddie, who had been here only to see her. “I know how Rye feels, I miss them too.”

[wtfreya-briar]

Sweet. Like a Lady. Like a Seelie girl tottering about in her stupid shoes. A tree, like Harland. Steady, and stuck. Freya had always been petite for a Wolf, but she’d always known how to be big despite that. Those intimidating airs and graces, the people in Wisteria read them the wrong way, as a show of agression and not an armor against it.

So she’d been trying to be less so, for the sake of inspiring less negative reactions. And now she was sweet. And happy… Freya scowled across at him. “I am not sweet.” She protested, not sure what to say on the rest, “…And you know how things have been, happy is hardly the emtion of the moment.”

Happy was fleeting. Happy was the adrenaline of a face off with the foxes still coursing through her veins when Eddie kissed her.

Apparently Robin is thinking similarly enough, and Freya suddenly feels she is getting her retribution for prodding at Rye all those years to get with him. She smiles for a moment before it can be helped, then shakes her head. “He’s not my anything.” She protests, perhaps a bit too strongly, preying to celestials her cheeks aren’t red, “and he could be anywhere. The Den, I’d suppose. Why go find him, am I not entertainment enough?” She hoped that would make for a good enough topic– it wasn’t as if Robin knew anything. Right?

She shakes her head, “I don’t think I’m good at those ways, could we not talk out loud? I like the speaking.” Freya squeezes his arm with hers as they walk, “Wolves are good like that. And I’m glad to see you too, it’s been a bit lonely aorund here. Or- people have been here more for other matters, rather than just to socialize.” Except Eddie, who had been here only to see her. “I know how Rye feels, I miss them too.”

[robinfelldown]

@wtfreya-briar

A hum escapes, and Robin shakes his head. "You do not think so because you do not wish to be soft, but you are. You are Wolf as much as you are Seelie, though one raised you where another learns you still. But you have your fathers roots."

And it was true. Though Freya had grown so much since she had come here, since Robin himself had, Freya was still Freya. She was still a Wolf cub and a sapling, even if she did not believe it.

She had grown, but she was still two things in a single faerie trying to see where she fit.

A laugh escapes at the girl's quick protest, but all Robin does is give her a sly look before turning back to their walk.

"You are always enough, Freya," he says, voice falling for a moment, head tilting to the side to listen to the trees. "For me and the trees." When she says she wants to speak, he nods, and then tugs them along.

[wtfreya-briar]

robinfelldown​:​

@wtfreya-briar

Robin had not been to see the large tree in some time. In fact, it had been so long now he wondered if the little sapling had found her roots. Robin often wonders that, in the haze of his flitting between disguises, between the Row and the castle and snubbing his nose at Oberon while plastering on a smile so sickly-sweet it could have been poisonous, he’d forgotten all about Freya Briar and her lonesomeness.

All about her lonesomeness and her longing and her homesickness and her dreaming and her growinggrowinggrowing up.

For that’s what she had done, and Robin knew it the moment he saw her -dressed to roam and to flee and to hunt, and himself - dressed as Einar with his quick wit and his sharp smile and his Wolf face.

“Hullo, sapling,” he chirrups, a broad grin on a tanned face, dark eyes not his own, “you have sprouted, haven’t you?” Edmund had been right, he had, he had. She was very pretty. “But, that is fine. Not a problem. I was just. Here. Come to see, come to catch up with you. I am sorry it has been so long.” So long so long it had been so long, hadn’t it? How long had it been? Robin did not know. Wearing Einar’s face could not tell him.

Did he need Einar’s face, while he was here? Certainly Out There, yes, but - here, with the little wolf tree?

“Would you mind a hop along? I shan’t make any noise. No, no noise. No noise, just a walk along.”

.

Freya was trying to be a less volatile presence in Wisteria. Most people had stopped being quite so vocal about their displeasure at seeing her, since her arrival was now several years in the past and it was clear she would not be conforming, but nor would she be leaving. Plenty of folk still rolled their eyes or tutted about her appearance as she walked by, but their silly little whispers could hardly discourage a Wolf. 

She glanced down at her feet and then back across at Robin aat his comment, “I’m the same height.” Freya pointed out, her brows a bit furrowed. Sprouted, indeed. But Robin did have a way of talking all fairy-tale like, every sentence a winding path that might not make sense until the end. If they ever reached their proper end, anyway. Apparently all he had to say on her ‘sprouting’ was that it had happened. Whatever it really meant.

Ah, but he had come to see her, which was nice. Really the only person who came to the estate to see Freya and not her father was Edmund, so she’d welcome a guest. “You’re busy.” She shook her head, dismissing his apologizing, “it’s okay. I’ve been busy too, I guess.” If anything really bad had happened to him there was Rye in the middle of them both, and he would’ve told Freya if there was reason to properly fret. 

“No noise? Sounds very boring.” She gave a put upon huff, then smiled at him, “how would we catch up if you were that quiet?” Freya started making her way off of the estate, offering her arm to Robin on the way past. “I like your face today, my brothers in the clan don’t come to Wisteria so much, but I always thought it would be quite funny to bring one around with me.” 

[robinfelldown]

@wtfreya-briar

"No, no," Robin says, glamored face frowning, tucking his brown down toward his nose, wrinkling it. "Different. You look...happy. Sweet, like a tree."

Like father, like daughter, yes. Both trees, both growing.

Strong, steady.

Briars.

"Busy? Yes, I suppose," Robin agrees, nodding, but then he tilts his head, in that way of his, that he has, a sly little grin on his face. "And where has your music gone? Where is he? Shall I go find him?" Or anyone to be happy for, it was Freya. Edmund was a good faerie, kind and soft and sweet to temper her Wolf edge, the bite of her teeth. Robin knew, just as well, that Harland liked the skittish little bard as much as he was able, given that Edmund was courting his daughter.

A little laugh escapes and Robin shrugs. "There are ways, sapling, to speak without speaking, to know without needing to be known." Robin hops over a tree branch then another, landing lightly beside her and gripping her upper arm tight with a hand, looping them together. "I am glad, to see you. That this face reminds you of home. It is for Rye. He...misses them, sometimes, but he...the Wolves kept Ro - me safe when h - I was kept."

[bebx]

JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

@ryes-up

You're alright.

Confusion pulls at Robin's face, crinkling Hadasa's brow. "Yes," he says, Hadasa's voice slow, careful. "Yes, of course I am alright. I just had a patient. Rye what --"

Said you were dead.

...who had said he was dead?

Glancing behind Rye's shoulder to make sure the door was truly closed, locked, and they couldn't be seen from the street, Robin does as he's asked and drops the glamour, settling back into his own skin after a moment. Nodding at the last question, Robin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.

"I'm alright. Bone hasn't...she doesn't know." Or, well, at least Robin didn't think she did. "Who said I'd been killed? Dead, whichever."

[robinfelldown]

@ryes-up

You're alright.

Confusion pulls at Robin's face, crinkling Hadasa's brow. "Yes," he says, Hadasa's voice slow, careful. "Yes, of course I am alright. I just had a patient. Rye what --"

Said you were dead.

...who had said he was dead?

Glancing behind Rye's shoulder to make sure the door was truly closed, locked, and they couldn't be seen from the street, Robin does as he's asked and drops the glamour, settling back into his own skin after a moment. Nodding at the last question, Robin tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.

"I'm alright. Bone hasn't...she doesn't know." Or, well, at least Robin didn't think she did. "Who said I'd been killed? Dead, whichever."

[ryes-up]

The Last Lalune || Lalorne

**NOTE: For full context, read in order:  Transitional Phases, @robinfelldown A Ring for a Ring, -Rye**

Find Robin.

It was the only thing that echoed in Rye’s mind as he ran under the invisible cover of glamour, dodging between shoppers, gamblers, everyone that strolled through Nightshade Row, every single one of them taking up too much space, too much of his time. 

He was certain more than one fae cursed at him as he shouldered past too close, or ran by too quickly, his cloak leave a light gust just enough for them to feel. Who fucking cared—He had to find Robin.

“Haven’t you heard, wolf prince? All the Lalunes are dead.”

She was wrong. She was lying.

“Put the ring on, you’ll know I only tell the truth.”

He hadn’t dared. He was scared to hear her words again, cold and uncaring. 

Rye reached the building Hadasa had a room in. It was the nearest place Robin could be, so it was his first stop. He was usually there around this time every day anyway, though he’d told Rye that morning he’d had some shopping to do. If Alekto discovered him while he was out—

No. She wouldn’t. Not yet. Not while Rye was still useful to her.

Except that he’d fought her every step of the way. What if she’d decided he was too much trouble to bother with blackmailing? If he’d fought against her too much, and she’d taken it out on Robin? 

Rye dropped the invisible glamour as he went inside, opting for the blonde glamour he’d used to get into the Night Market instead. He nearly ran into the fae that was exiting Hadasa’s room as he hurried up the stairs. The fae only glared at him, but Rye was already pushing past him into the room. 

His voice broke as he called out in a panic, only barely remembering to use Robin’s alias. “Ro—Hadasa?”

@robinfelldown

[robinfelldown]

@ryes-up

Hadasa was a frequent enough fixture within the Row that her movements were no longer noticed. Like the gamblers, drunkards, and thieves, Hadasa was now of a semi-permanence that faeries rarely batted an eye at her comings or goings.

Including, as it were, in the ramshackle set of rooms she kept for her business. Working with Aubrey Crane as a bit of a healer and a voice of reason aside, Hadasa was a friendly face for people who knew where to search her out.

That was what one faerie knew, as he hobbled from her rooms, a balm for his daughter's work-calloused hands clutched in gnarled fists. The poor and destitute did not have money for cures and glamour, and Robin knew what it was like to clutch desperately at his health and despair and hope it didn't crack him entirely in two.

Hadasa had bid the stranger a goodbye, was sitting on her single chair, yet to drop her glamour, when another body came bursting in through the door. Hand quick as a snake, Robin - still with Hadasa's face - grasped the razor sharp knife from the table beside him.

He only noticed it was Rye a moment later. Robin drops the knife and stands, confusion on Hadasa's face.

"Rye what -- what are you doing here??"

[robinfelldown]

transitional phases || self-para

"The trees they sway in the breeze, their branches dancing with light-hearted ease. Careful, careful, do you fly, birdie, birdie don't you cry."

The haunting melody wafted to Robin's ears - Hadasa's ears - as he cut through the Night Scar, the market that peddled the dark and the desirous. It was far quicker than the long way, past leering nobles whose throats Robin only wished to rip out with his teeth. Instead, he would force Hadasa to smile at them and bid them a good eve.

That crooning, lilting voice, however, made Robin pause and drew him closer. It was a tune he recognized, yet one he had not heard since he was but a bud, perhaps a very young sapling. It made him long, for a moment, for his mother.

"Come, sweet birdie - do not fear." The crooning voice drew him to a stall, manned by a single person, shrouded in darkness and figure indistinguishable until Robin steps a foot or so away from their stall. Their face is neither spectacular, nor quite memorable, but their eyes are intelligent, dark, and mischievous. Their teeth glint sharp in the light of their lanterns.

Robin grins back, teeth just as sharp - a challenge, perhaps, to spite his curiosity.

"The birdie does not want to see what They has to offer," the figure - what Robin assumes is a faerie - asks. "They has many wonderful baubles, such lovely trinkets. All the birdie must do is give of something, and They will grant a most desired thing."

Robin's brow furrows, head tilting to the side. He is still glamoured, of course. Here in the Row and in the market, he would be recognized. Somehow, though, he understands that no one can hear or see them. He does not loft the glamour, but he acknowledges this being with a short nod.

Then - "what...what does They desire?"

"Oh They does not desire much, not much, not much, not much at all. They only wishes to help, yes They does." The faerie, or not-faerie, fiddles with something beneath the slope of the wooden shelving. Robin cannot see what, but knows intimately that he might want it.

He repeats his question. They smiles, sharp-toothed and hungry.

"Only what the birdie is willing to give of himself. Something the birdie may part with, may forgive himself for giving to They. That, and blood."

A prick of his finger, sharp and quick; Robin hadn't even seen the creature move. They smiles and it is almost too wide, too hungry.

"Yes, yes I can smell it. The birdie fears much, fears himself and his family and his pain and suffering. Fears finding. Yes, They has a bauble for you."

Robin does not so much as speak his agreement, as he thinks it, after a few moments. Somehow, he does not think They will need it.

They hums, pleasantly, and the sound is carried over with multiple voices, echoing around the stall. A folded, shimmering gossamer cloak is placed before him. Robin reaches out to touch, watching as his fingers disappear beneath the fabric. They are shaded, hidden. The moon pin clasp that holds it closed glints in the lantern light.

They continues to hum, and Robin turns, leaving. No coin has been exchanged but he knows, somehow, the transaction is complete. They begins to sing again, and the memory of the pang of Reva is not see deep now, is almost fuzzy.

Robin does not notice the clasp beginning to fade, to change.

No longer is it wholly a moon, but a moon overshadowed by a tree.

The hawthorn tree.

[wtfreya-briar]

Pent up was a good word for it. Freya had a lot on her mind, and the biggest problem was she had hardly anyone to talk to about it all, because they all bloody talked to eachother. Sure, she could trust Rye with all her secrets and her life to boot, but he’d still try and interfere in his way. Certainly couldn’t go to Balthazar because he- conniving, cowardly snake, that he was- was not only a problem himself, but wrapped up in every other problem she was having. 

Freya had been trying to stay close to home, with everything that had happened to Harland and Balthazar, with everything going on with Edmund, with all this shit up in the air that nobody wanted to talk to her about but everyone expected her to handle the consequences of. But she was starting to feel a little caged.

The quickest way out was down. She didn’t think about it for too long, just packed up a small satchel, secured a couple of weapons, put on her favourite fur cloak, and slipped off the edge of the balcony. Harland would know where she’d gone if she wasn’t back before he was. Though it was starting to feel like she spent more time at his estate than he did. 

She caught sight of Robin- disguised, of course, but Freya was sure she knew all his looks by now- rounding the corner into the garden just as her feet hit the grass with a soft thud. “Harland is over at Balthazar’s.” She told him, not sure why else he’d be here. To see her, maybe, but they weren’t so close that Freya would assume he’d take the risk of being here just to socialize, especially since there was nothing new going on. “I was about to head out on a walk around the markets. Probably gonna end up out in the wildlands at some point, if you wanted any messages delivering out there.”

@robinfelldown​

[robinfelldown]

@wtfreya-briar

Robin had not been to see the large tree in some time. In fact, it had been so long now he wondered if the little sapling had found her roots. Robin often wonders that, in the haze of his flitting between disguises, between the Row and the castle and snubbing his nose at Oberon while plastering on a smile so sickly-sweet it could have been poisonous, he'd forgotten all about Freya Briar and her lonesomeness.

All about her lonesomeness and her longing and her homesickness and her dreaming and her growinggrowinggrowing up.

For that's what she had done, and Robin knew it the moment he saw her -dressed to roam and to flee and to hunt, and himself - dressed as Einar with his quick wit and his sharp smile and his Wolf face.

"Hullo, sapling," he chirrups, a broad grin on a tanned face, dark eyes not his own, "you have sprouted, haven't you?" Edmund had been right, he had, he had. She was very pretty. "But, that is fine. Not a problem. I was just. Here. Come to see, come to catch up with you. I am sorry it has been so long." So long so long it had been so long, hadn't it? How long had it been? Robin did not know. Wearing Einar's face could not tell him.

Did he need Einar's face, while he was here? Certainly Out There, yes, but - here, with the little wolf tree?

"Would you mind a hop along? I shan't make any noise. No, no noise. No noise, just a walk along."

[ryes-up]

Masks of Celebration || Lalorne

“Are you ready?” Rye asked. His voice was strained with the clarity that he wasn’t, even as he glanced sideways at a glamoured Robin on his arm. His hand covered Hadasa’s around his elbow, and he squeezed it gently. 

Robin’s glamour had fooled even Aubrey. Rye repeated it in his mind as if it was a comfort. It wasn’t. Aubrey wasn’t Oberon. Aubrey wasn’t Bone. Aubrey wasn’t any number of the people who would gladly kill Robin on site, nor the number who would stop anyone from killing him for want of a slower execution. 

“Are you sure about this?” Rye asked, for at least the hundredth time today. The actual wedding was over. That part had been easy. No eyes were on them, other than the passing glance and quiet whisper as the King’s brother brought in someone most recognized from the Row. Perhaps it wasn’t the classiest disguise they could’ve come up, but people had seen Hadasa around the castle a number of times by now. Still, they’d always managed to elude the King himself during visits, and Rye worried it wouldn’t be so easy this time. Not at the celebratory ball everyone was gathering for now after the ceremony. 

“We could skip it. Maerel will tell everyone I’ve taken ill and you’ve stayed to care for me. Or perhaps the other way round. Oberon would send a doctor to check on me.” Rye was stalling and he knew it. 

The door opened, and as if summoned, Maerel leaned into the doorway of Rye’s chambers. “Most of the guests are in the ballroom,” Maerel said. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll arrive after the lovely couple, and I believe they preferred to make an entrance.”

Rye managed to not let out an exasperated sigh, barely. “They always do.” 

@robinfelldown

[robinfelldown]

@ryes-up

Was Robin nervous? Yes, absolutely. That thought had fluttered in his breast this evening far more times than he could count, but he shoved it down viciously. There would be no more hiding, no more skulking about in the shadows of Midsummer. He would show his face, as much as he dared to, and he would do it beside Rye.

Rye who was, perhaps, more nervous than Robin had ever seen him. Rye who, for all intents and purposes, looked as though he was going to be sick all over himself, soil himself, and then repeat the process all over again. And all because of that bloody rat.

Oberon. Even thinking the name made Robin’s hand tighten spasmodically on Rye’s arm. The very sight of him, the first in decades, had left him reeling, but the black hatred in his heart, his pride and his spite, would not let Robin falter.

“I am sure, Rye,” he says, and it is Hadasa’s voice and Hadasa’s sweet, reassuring smile, but the eyes are his, for the moment. He hadn’t changed them, yet, would not do so until they slipped from the doors. The outfit he had yet to glamour, not entirely. He wore a little slip of a thing, hidden by a cloak, but as soon as Maerel opened Rye’s doors, Robin lifts his chin and offers the guard a quick-witted grin. A slight bend to his fingertips, a wave of his hand, and the cloak fell away to reveal a blue-black, off the shoulder gown. Gossamer and stars, the imprint of dried flowers and a boned corset, an up do that cascaded dark hair down his back. It was alluring, an enticement, but by no means above what Hadasa would have, not unless it was a gift from the faerie at her arm.

“Wish us luck, will you?”

[jbowerherondale]

[thoodleoo]

obsessed with the fact that ancient romans had funeral clowns whose purpose was to make fun of the dead person by dressing up as them and being a funny little guy about it

[thoodleoo]

we need to bring this back

[dance-of-war]

robinfelldown​:

@dance-of-war

Robin never knew how hard it was to live in a home with someone until they avoided them, until the manor was silent as a tomb and Robin knew every single nook and drafty passage like an old friend. (Perhaps it was. Perhaps he had known the Dragon’s Den before, once. Perhaps, even, he had known the Dragon, once, but Balthazar Black did not care for him any longer). 

At least he had Rye. 

A huffing sound at his side made the Sidhe glance down, a crooked, scarred smile tugging at his face as he took in glowing eyes and a hulking, black form. 

Rye and Mars, then. 

They rounded a corner of the manor, not really watching where they were going, and were promptly barreled into, the apple Robin had pilfered from Tomas flying from his hand and skittering across the floor. Mars let out a sound somewhere between an inhuman groan and a whimper as eight legs tangled and three bodies collided hard into the floor. 

Balthazar was skittering backward on his hands and knees, boots making a squealing sound that made Robin flinch backward, head slamming into the wall behind him.

“Well, I certainly will not, Uncle,” Robin spat, eyes blazing, the off-color joke full of venom. “Surprised you recognize my face. It has been a year, after all. What would my mother say?”

She wouldn’t, Balthazar thought, gulping. She would’ve just gone for the throat. I wouldn’t have survived her like I survived you. Though that wasn’t for lack of trying. He could feel the blood run from his face the longer he looked. Robin was pissed. Pissed like Reva was pissed. Not a great comparison since Balthazar could distinctly remember the last time he had fucked up some royally in front of her. That wasn’t a memory that would fade any time soon. 

“Fuck” he whimpered pitifully. He could feel his heart racing from both the fear of the horses and now the fear of one pissed off Lalune. So much for not becoming a smear on the pavement. 

Balthazar attempted to crawl back a bit more, only to stop and wince at Mars growl, who poor thing was stuck under Balthazar’s leg and with Robin sitting on his tail. He’d been very patient, he’d give him that, so Balthazar gently moved his leg up and over the tremendous beast. 

“Apologies, Mars.” 

He keenly tried to ignore the tremble in voice and the shakes in his body. They were adrenaline shakes he was sure. Though there was nothing he could tell himself about avoiding Robin’s eyes. That was fear and he was prepared to admit it. 

“I-” he gulped again, head down even as he tried to slowly scramble away from the being made of ire. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me- not after-” he swallowed again, trembling, “not after what I did.” 

@robinfelldown​

[robinfelldown]

Robin snarls at the whimper coming from his mother's friend, her brother in all but blood. On his hands and knees, skittering backward like an animal, he was more pathetic than Puck ever had been.

Balthazar Black had a choice in his fear. Puck had not.

Shifting so that Mars's tail was no longer caught beneath a thigh, Robin lifts a hand and passes it down the dog yet not dog's back in a long sweep, from crown to mid-spine, a soothing gesture. The animal's grumbling ceases, but Mars is still grumbling - he is always grumbling.

"Yes. Apologize to the dog, do not look the lunatic in the face. It is funny isn't it? Lalune - the moon. Lunatic. Perhaps I was meant to become what I have. But what does that make of you, dearest Uncle? Hm? A shell? A stain?" Robin's voice drips with the venom he had welled away for a year and a day, two years and ten; it didn't matter. There was anger, and then there was Robin Lalune.

"After what you did? What would that be? To burn my beloved, scar him, and then flee into the shadows like a coward? Yes. What did you do, uncle? What did you not do."

[robinfelldown]

ryes-up​:

Everything about the moment felt both perfect and imaginary. Such moments were so fleeting, Rye hardly believed them to exist. It all felt good, and good things didn’t happen in Belladonna. Certainly not in Roheim. He squeezed Robin’s hand in his, as though reassuring himself that he was real.

“Hmm,” Rye hummed his acknowledgment of the words. Of his supposed meeting with Hadasa. “Sounds rather like Hades was stalking me,” he teased. “Or I her.” He rested an arm on the window sill behind them, his hand coming up the brush through Robin’s hair. “We’ll plan to be seen there sometime soon. Be sure the story spreads, so your visits don’t seem out of place.”

His hand paused when Robin spoke again, and Rye searched his face for a hint that he was joking. His first instinct reared up, but he knew it was one that would only cause a fight. He couldn’t shield Robin behind stone walls. It didn’t make him safer, and it only made him resent Rye. “Why?” He asked finally, in a quiet voice. “I trust you to be careful, but why Aubrey? You know it’s dangerous. The closer you are to people in Belladonna, the more likely someone else will find out.”

Rye sighed, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of Robin’s mouth, a silent promise that he wasn’t angry, before he pulled his hands away and sat back, hands running over his face as he thought through the implications. “Aubrey isn’t Oberon,” he said, more to himself than to Robin. “He thinks he’s irredeemable, but he’s not. He’s a friend, he knew my mother and trusted the Wolves. You need to be careful that he doesn’t learn who you are, but if he were to find out, I don’t believe he would betray us.” He hesitated. Rye’s mind filled with visions of servants who made an off comment about Hadasa, anyone Aubrey suspected may find out, strung up in his dungeon, bleeding and tortured. Rye chose his next words carefully, “I’m just not certain either of us could bear the cost of his loyalty.”

@ryes-up​

“And why shouldn’t she?” Robin teased, a grin pulling at his face, and he tucked himself further into Rye’s chest. “You are rather handsome and, from rumor around the Row, very nice. Very polite. If you let her, she could certainly talk about what you get up to.” There was mischief on his face, letting Rye know Robin would have zero qualms about spreading Rye’s reputation far and wide across the Row if it benefitted them. 

He did, however, accept that Rye would want to be seen with him, and soon. It made sense, given what Robin was asking. He knew, as well, what would come with this next second after Aubrey’s name was spoken. Of course Rye would fret over it, he always did. Robin both loved and loathed it in turn. Leaning forward, Robin placed a kiss on Rye’s mouth, then another and another before tilting his head and laying it on Rye’s shoulder, glancing up at the side of his face. 

They so rarely got moments like this anymore. Robin would be loathe to lose what little time he could get with the other faerie just over a mention of Aubrey. 

“Aubrey also offers protections that few others in the Row can afford. Aubrey thinks he is irredeemable, certainly. He also believes himself to be untouchable. For the moment, that makes him safe. I’ve attempted to make him see the...error of such thinking.” Moving so he could look further into Rye’s face, reaching for his hands and interlacing their fingers, Robin pressed closer, urging Rye to sit. “Unless it is imperative he knows, which it is not, I do not intend for Aubrey to learn who Hadasa really is, whether he would betray it or not.”

[dance-of-war]

An Inevitable Conversation || Robin & Balthazar

Balthazar had been having a pleasant day, until the horse showed up. Harland had dragged him out of the forge and into the quarter. He needed to check on the shop anyway, useless piece of land that it was. 

They never made it to the shop. 

He couldn’t really recall how he and Harland got separated. There had been a man with a bow. There had been an arrow that had been aimed at them - both of them so used to dodging assassins it had been as easy as breathing to avoid. And then there had been the horses. 

The arrow missed and hit one of the cart horses. It screamed. Which spooked every bloody horse in the entire quarter. Which in turn decided to stampede straight towards Balthazar and Harland. 

…..He didn’t remember much after that. 

Perhaps Harland had tried to grab him, or sprint after him. He didn’t know. All he heard was the hoofbeats thundering after him as he gave up all sense of pride and decency and ran for his life. 

Yes it had been a rather pleasant day until the horses. 

Now he was running, lungs burned and legs aching. He hadn’t had to bolt like this in at least a century and his already worn out body was paying for it. But he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He swore he could still hear the hoofbeats, ready to run him over until he was just a bloody black smear on the road. 

The thought made him run faster. 

Through the quarter, over stands, around people and finally deciding a particularly narrow side road would be his best bet at avoiding such a fate, he whipped around the corner, not noticing nor caring if anyone was in his path. 

They could move dammit, Balthazar was running for his fucking life and-

His blind side had been turned towards the corner - nothing for it - had to get away. 

And the air had been knocked out of him as he hit something, or rather someone- a flash of blue eyes, familiar and heart-wrenching - and they both went tumbling and skidding to the floor in a ball of limbs and uncomfortable angles. 

It hurt like a bitch. 

“You absolute fucker, watch where you’re going!” Balthazar hissed and snarled, panic still littering his voice and making his body and voice tremble and shake.

It was easy to ignore the fact that it had been his fault. No. It had been the bloody horses fault. 

Either way he was pissed and bloody fucking terrified and now he was trapped with this idiot that had the gall to pick this particular alleyway as Balthazar was barreling through the quarter praying to every deity he knew of to not become a smear on the pavement. 

It had been a mistake. 

Balthazar realized suddenly when they finally got themselves free enough to get a look at the other person’s face. 

Robin. 

Fuck. 

He’d been avoiding him for the past year after the incident. He was still allowed in the manor, Balthazar would never deny him that but whenever he did Balthazar was sure to make himself scarce. Hiding in the walls, the secret office and library that only opened with Black blood, the hidden tunnels under the earth and even the cemetery. 

Reva would’ve murdered him. Both for the burning and the hiding. He didn’t hold out much hope that Robin would be very different. 

“Fuck”  was the only word out of his mouth before he started scrambling with renewed vigor, body screaming and boots slipping on the path - he couldn’t seem to get any traction, forcing him to fall again with a wheeze only to repeat the process. 

His legs were refusing to hold him. Punishment for the abuse. Well, shit. 

Robin wasn’t as bad as the horses  but Celestials dammit he was a close second. 

[robinfelldown]

@dance-of-war

Robin never knew how hard it was to live in a home with someone until they avoided them, until the manor was silent as a tomb and Robin knew every single nook and drafty passage like an old friend. (Perhaps it was. Perhaps he had known the Dragon’s Den before, once. Perhaps, even, he had known the Dragon, once, but Balthazar Black did not care for him any longer). 

At least he had Rye. 

A huffing sound at his side made the Sidhe glance down, a crooked, scarred smile tugging at his face as he took in glowing eyes and a hulking, black form. 

Rye and Mars, then. 

They rounded a corner of the manor, not really watching where they were going, and were promptly barreled into, the apple Robin had pilfered from Tomas flying from his hand and skittering across the floor. Mars let out a sound somewhere between an inhuman groan and a whimper as eight legs tangled and three bodies collided hard into the floor. 

Balthazar was skittering backward on his hands and knees, boots making a squealing sound that made Robin flinch backward, head slamming into the wall behind him.

“Well, I certainly will not, Uncle,” Robin spat, eyes blazing, the off-color joke full of venom. “Surprised you recognize my face. It has been a year, after all. What would my mother say?”

[userarmand]

This world where you don’t live in fear is not gonna build itself, so I have to try. For us.

[ryes-up]

Rye is protective of Robin, ok

@robinfelldown

[robinfelldown]

ryes-up​:

@robinfelldown​

Rye pressed a kiss against the side of Robin’s head, arms wrapping tighter around Robin’s frame. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t like standing here holding him could keep Robin safe. But for a moment, maybe he could pretend it was enough. He carefully tugged at Robin with the arms wrapped around his body, towards the cushioned bench by the window. He cast a glamour over them just for a moment, invisible to anyone outside not he off chance someone was looking up at the window, just long enough to tug the window curtains closed, before the glamour faded.

“He’ll send a servant soon, to fetch me for dinner,” Rye said reluctantly. “I could tell Maerel to say I’m not feeling well. I can hide away here with you for the night. Oberon likely won’t send a doctor to see me until the morning.” Probably. Oberon had been a bit more on edge since the Stranger had been causing trouble. Rye sat, tugging at Robin to join him on the bench. He wished he didn’t have to play this part. The perfect brother, the loyal knight. He wanted to just leave. Find somewhere to hide away with Robin in Wisteria.

He didn’t dare even voice such a wish out loud. It wasn’t possible. There was too much to do. Too many risks that he could mitigate much easier the closer he was to the king. Still.

Rye laughed a little under his breath. He was sure Robin was talking down what had happened; Luna was hardly one to let anyone get away with just a shoe thrown at one’s head. But those stories were in the past, and Rye was happy to let them stay there. Burned and buried.

“Hadasa,” Rye tested the name out. “The Row? Alright then. I may have to be seen with Hadasa in the Row sometime, then. People only ever see me there with Aubrey these days. And Damira under one glamour or another.” He leaned close to press a kiss against Robin’s temple, then cheek, then his lips, lingering a moment longer before pulling back just enough to look into bright blue eyes. He raised a hand to brush his fingertips over Robin’s cheek, tracing a line up his cheek to his temple, and down across his jawline. “So tell me, what are people in the castle saying? How did I meet Hadasa?” He teased, a smile curling his lips.

@ryes-up​

Robin let Rye fold him up into his arms, tug him close. Let him press a kiss to the side of his head, make them invisible to the outside world, just for a little while. It was really all he had ever wanted - to be with Rye, to exist in their own world for a little while, free of the stressors of the kingdom and Robin’s own bounty on his head. 

It was, all too often, too much to ask for. He savored this small moment, knowing that it could not last. 

Rye’s laughter made Robin smile, ever so slightly, and he tilted his head to lean it against the Pooka’s own. He had missed such close contact, craved it even when it was readily available. Robin had gone many years as Puck without kind touches, soft words. It meant the world to him now that he had another faerie he could exchange them with, that cared enough to do so.

Snorting at the careful kisses Rye laid across every expanse of skin along his face, the Sidhe tilted his head and kissed back, enjoying the softness of the moment. They did not get nearly enough of them. Grin widening when Rye drew back to look him in the eye, Robin nodded, humming to himself in thought. “You met her while she was working in the Row, I am certain. She was helping someone, an elderly aphen or, perhaps, a hungry bud. Whatever the reason, you ran into her again and again. You struck up conversation. It was that simple.” 

And, for Robin, it probably was, made sense to keep the information simple, believable. That would be how they survived. 

Mulling over the next thing he wished to say, knowing that it would break this calm peace, Robin sighed and offered Rye another, smaller smile - the one just for him. “Hadasa is also regularly seen with Aubrey. He trusts her. She works with him. It is how she has gotten free run of the Row.”

[robinfelldown]

ryes-up​:

@robinfelldown​

Rye’s lips pulled into a smile despite himself. Despite the danger he knew this situation brought with it. He wanted Robin here—he truly did. But some part of his mind was cast to the throne room, where Oberon was currently conducting a weekly hearing, where he pretended to empathize with the troubles and wishes of the people in Belladonna. It would last until dinner, or until someone said something that truly upset him. 

A shaky breath blew out between Rye’s lips, and his arms slid around Robin’s frame, holding him tight. As if it would be enough to keep him safe if Oberon were to find out Robin were inside the castle walls. 

When Robin’s lips found the corner of his mouth, Rye smiled, turning his head a little to return the kiss properly. He raised a hand to Robin’s cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. It only life were kind enough to let them stay here, in this moment. The shadows cast by the setting sun offering something almost like hope. A promise to hide them that it couldn’t keep. 

Then the moment was gone, and Rye’s smile faded at Robin’s words. “It’s not safe to come around here again,” he said quietly. “I want you here, and I know—I know you’re careful, and you know the danger,” he added, not wanting a repeat of their last argument. Though, it hadn’t ended all that badly, all things considered. “It’s not safe for you to be here now. He’s here. In the castle, you know that. If he found you—If anyone besides me and Maerel knew it was you—Robin, that can’t happen.” He leaned forward to press another kiss against Robin’s lips, a salve to the harsh words. “I’ll come to you. I’ll find a way to come to you. I promise.”

Rye’s smile returned, more amused and less blissful than before. “I’ll guess you never saw my cousin without her glamour,” he commented. “Did you know Luna’s blonde? I never walked into her room unannounced after that. If Oberon hadn’t been right outside in the hall when she came after me, I’m fairly certain she would’ve murdered me before I ever met you. That would’ve been a shame.”

His hand came up to clutch at Robin’s as his hands touched the scars around Rye’s neck. It was a sore and strange subject, though not one he had to explain to Robin. He’d been there, after all. Had witnessed at least part of the fight that had scarred him. He didn’t want memories of Black to come around, not now. It was too weird and difficult a subject. How the man had gained the trust of every nearly important person in Rye’s life. And all of those people trusted Black, for some inexplicable reason. Even Reva had. Rye wished he could ask her why. Maybe it would make sense, then. But it didn’t, so it was a question for another time. 

“Mum always said you were a Wolf in all but blood,” Rye said. “So what do I call this new glamour of yours, when the servants and guards start talking?” 

@ryes-up​

Robin sighed quietly and slumped more fully into the hold Rye had on him, some of his weight balanced against Rye’s frame. He was comfortable doing that here, only here, and it meant that he could let his guard down, for a split second. For just a single moment. 

They relished these times, Robin knew, and they were so few and far between that it ached, like an old wound, every time Rye said they would find time but never could, that he would leave and they could go someplace, but they never did. He loved Rye, truly, but the frustrations that mounted against them could be far too much, some days. 

Today was not one of those.

Opening his mouth to retort, Robin closed it again once he saw the serious look in Rye’s eyes, at the mollification in his words. He was terrified of losing Robin, blamed himself still for all that his brother had done. Robin knew not to blame him, not anymore, but the guilt and the pain and the remembering was tiresome. Sometimes he wished they had never been born into this life, that they could just be. Robin knew that would have never happened and, more likely, if it had they’d have never met. 

No, he would not trade this life, what happened in it, if it meant never meeting Rye Hawthorne. 

Fingers flexing in the grip Rye held them within, Robin brushed careful fingers across the scars on his neck before tilting his head and laying a kiss to one of the more ugly ones. He knew the sensitivities of scars old and new, but Rye deserved such kindness after so long with so much pain. They both did. 

A small smirk crooked the corner of Robin’s mouth upward, tugging at his own scars. “Yes. She threw a shoe at me.” It didn’t matter when he’d learned it or how, or the nasty words they had exchanged. Luna had been the wrong cousin, and Robin, the Court, had deluded themselves to think otherwise. “And they already do. But call me Hadasa, whenever I’m around. A few people knew her from wandering about the Row,” he said, voice casual though there was a hidden steel beneath it. “Gives a reason to be here when she needs, hiding in plain sight.” 

[ryes-up]

robinfelldown:

Keep It Up || Lalorne

@ryes-up

Robin’s familiar grin only widened when he saw Rye come into the room, catching a glimpse of Maerel just behind, stationed at the door. Oh, Robin would have to give that darling man some form of a thank you. He would think on it, of course, but now. The true fun.

Putting on a confused pout, Robin pulled Hadasa’s face into something delicately, mm, perplexed, head cocking to the side as he spoke. Sans cloak, that ridiculous livery of the bastard king, Rye looked tired. And very frustrated, which was what Robin was here to fix, was it not?

Well. To that plan he would take the low road, as the high was far less fun.

“Forgive me, my lord, but Maerel let me in. We’re old friends, he and I. I am no lady, however, and you’ve no need to kick me out. I am here to help, per his…suggestion.” A little grin lit up Hadasa’s face, sweet but mischievous, perfectly placed on a perfect canvas. Then, Robin stood, knife falling to slip back into a fold of the dress he had glamoured (really a pair of trousers) a date the apple he fondled with a moment before sinking his teeth into the flesh.

Waltzing forward, at ease in much any situation that involved Rye, Robin chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before setting the fruit to the side, a brow arching up toward his hairline. “By your own suggestion, ser, you think me a whore, though you do not say it. For Maerel’s sake, I will take no offense. But–”

And, here, staring at his tired eyes, Robin decided to take pity on the poor man, and he laughed, the sound like the tinkling of a bell, the glamor melting away.

“–perhaps you should learn what glamour smells like again. You seem to be losing your touch.” Robin grinned, his true grin, and the corners of his eyes curled upward in his mirth. “Hello, love.”

@robinfelldown​

Why the woman looked happy to see an unfamiliar person, Rye had no idea. His brow furrowed at her statement, and he cast a glance back towards the door before setting his gaze on her again. “Why would Maerel suggest you come here?” He asked bluntly. If she wasn’t here by mistake, but at Maerel’s suggestion—who the hell was she? She wasn’t familiar, and though glamour was apparent, the exact nature of the glamour wasn’t. That was the trouble within the castle, unfortunately.

One thing Rye was certain about was that she was safe. Maerel wouldn’t have let her in, much less by his own choice and not a recommendation from Rye, if he thought her in danger of stumbling upon anything she shouldn’t. A Nighthawk, perhaps? But Maerel would’ve introduced them properly if that were the case. He watched as she bit into an apple, strolling around the room with all the confidence of someone who belonged there. Something in her mannerisms and movements was familiar, but he was exhausted and having trouble separating the behavior from her glamoured appearance to try and place the familiarity. Frankly, it was all starting to irritate him.

“My apologies for the implication,” Rye said. “I didn’t mean to suggest any such thing. I only was concerned you’d found yourself in the wrong room. I don’t believe we’ve met, and I don’t often—ever, to be honest with you—have unannounced mystery guests. My cousin seems rarely alone these days, so I assumed you to be a guest of his.”

He held back a tired sigh, and opened his mouth again to ask the purpose for her visit, but stopped. Her hair lightened to blond, and grew shorter. Her skin faded a shade or two, and her eyes turned a familiar blue. His eyes widened, a smile breaking over his face barely a second before it fell again and he reached out, grasping onto Robin’s arms as he looked back over his shoulder to see if—No, wait.

“Maerel knows,” Rye breathed, his grip on Robin’s arms loosening slightly, though he didn’t let go. The momentary panic didn’t entirely subside, but he at least knew that Maerel would keep watch and ensure no one would disturb them. He let out a breath before looking up to meet Robin’s eyes again. “Hello,” he replied, smile pulling at his lips again. He ignored the comment for a moment, wrapping his arms around Robin first to pull him against his chest. He let himself just breathe in the fact that Robin was there for a moment, safe and secure.

“You forget where you are,” Rye said as he pulled back just enough to look Robin in the eyes again. “Everyone wears glamour in the castle. Even I do.” He dropped his own glamour, the scars around his neck from his fight with Black becoming visible again. They were faded, but still there. His hair had grown nearly out to its usual length, but it was still an inch or so shorter without the daily glamour. Even Maerel used glamour daily. Sometimes it was just to erase the tiredness from his eyes. Other times, like today, he used it to hide the fact that he wore plain clothes instead of a guard’s armor. Few knew that Maerel’s shoulder, where he was stabbed through the back in the war, still acted up on occasion, and couldn’t always bear the weight of the traditional guards’ armor.

“I’ve missed you,” he muttered. One hand trailed up Robin’s arm to rest on the side of his face instead, thumb tracing over the line of his jaw as if making certain it was really him, really there. One side of his smile quirked up a little. “Your new glamour looks rather a lot like my mother when I was a sapling. Actually, both the glamours I’ve seen since you’ve relearned the magick both have a rather Wolf-ish look to them. Did you notice? ” He wasn’t entirely certain it was on purpose, but he found it amusing.

[robinfelldown]

@ryes-up

Robin's face softened further when Rye finally recognized who it was standing in his quarters, shifting closer when the Pooka grabbed him by the arms. The blond's own hands came up to wrap around Rye's over the top of his arms, finger sliding easily into the spaces between his, hip jutting outward to knock into Rye's leg.

Dropping his forehead to rest in the crook of Rye's neck, he breathed in the familiar scent of him, shoulders relaxing and body relaxing as it sagged forward into him. Try as he might, Robin had been wound too tight these last few weeks. Perhaps that had been why Maerel had taken pity on him. He was the only faerie who could, theoretically, get away with it, after all.

"Mm, Maerel knows. Has, I'm sure," Robin murmured, snickering quietly. He picked his head up, a little grin tugging at his mouth before he leaned forward and pecked a little kiss to the corner of Rye's mouth. He shifted again, pressing closer, and shut his eyes until they were slits, content like a cat that found a sunbeam. He pressed harder into the side of Rye's mouth, more of a proper kiss this time, before pulling back to lay his head on the other faeries shoulder.

"I never forget where I am. Not here. I remember everything about this place, including where your rooms are and how to get here without being seen, but I wanted them to see me. Gives them a reason not to think anything of it, next time I come round."

Robin listened, even still, about the glamour and the castle and he found it amusing, too, so he laughed, the sound a quiet chuckle. "I have seen many fae here without their glamour. Could tell stories. Like you better without it anyway," he mumbled, reaching up a hand and drawing a finger down the side of Rye's neck where the skin had, finally, healed over.

"It was what I remembered best," he admitted, voice soft, face bordering on uncertainty. "You. The Wolves. Reva. It seemed fitting."