the wrote & the writ.

Almost one could stop Ember once she put her mind to something with the exception being Adare and Cobalt. Adare held that ability with his position as her king - his word was law and she followed it as it had been ingrained in her since a child. She had been trained to never question, to only follow and that teaching was strengthened by the treason of her parents. With her bloodline, everyone expected her to prove them right and show disloyalty. 

Meanwhile, Cobalt held that ability with his position as her closest friend and partner. No one knew her like Cobalt did. He alone knew everything about her - every thought, every desire, every pain, every shame - and he stuck by her nonetheless. She could front to everyone but him and for that alone, he had the ability to reason with her, to talk her down. 

Ember pouted slightly as Oleander poked her but she rolled off the archfey. She immediately mourned the loss of the feeling of Oleander’s body against hers but she stood. Dark hair tumbling down her bare back, Ember stood in front of her in her underwear with no humility or embarrassment. She leaned against Oleander’s desk with the casual air of someone who hadn’t just exploded out of the fire.

“I’ll accept that drink and the robe. I learned early to never refuse a gift from you.” Despite flashing an incorrigible white-toothed smile, something hardened slightly in her eyes at the question before it flitted away. Oleander never pried, never pushed but Ember found herself wanting to admit her actions. “Do you remember Blossom? One of Garnet’s friends?”  Despite the years that had passed, Ember still pictured the bully as a blond wisp of a girl with a cruelty streak that would impressed Rowan. 

“.. Nasty little thing, wasn’t she,” Oleander said over her shoulder, back turned to Ember as she got out a silk robe from an intricately carved chest. Blossom. She’d seen things, heard some; had stepped in where she could – rivalries weren’t uncommon in the Golden Court, most looking for their time in the light, but some could get more fraught at the edges. Some were cruel for cruelty’s sake; rivalry becoming a bloodsport.

Blossom had always tended towards the latter. Did she still play her games, even now? 

The eastern wall of her greenhouse had looked a little sparse, and so she had taken the time to tend to it, eager – for once – to get out of her tower, out of her library, both of which had become visual representations of what buzzed inside her mind with no real reprieve. Yellow roses bloomed up the side of the glass panes: Eurya had planted these, long ago. “Should I have brought pink ones instead?” she’d said, and her river-green eyes were lit with mischief as she smiled, the glimmer of it making Oleander bold. ”I would have hoped for red,” she’d answered. 

The flowers had smelled sweet, then.

Now, the roses were choking on themselves, blooms rotting from the inside out as they grew beyond their means. The scent was no longer just comforting, just familiar – now it was tainted with the stench of rot, the decay almost alluring.

With her gardening shears, she began to snip away at them, hoping to stem the tide.

The sound of quiet steps behind her made the Archfey pause in her work, Oleander turning to greet the newcomer.

Where: Tara Why: Lugnasad When: August 1st Who: OPEN

Kaitlin was several glasses of ale in, her bitter feelings had festered until she felt sick and now she simply wanted to dance, to forget the terrible aching hell in her heart and live; while I can, she mused. Picking up the end of her dress she let the sounds of music move her, her lilthe frame carried the beat expertly, and Kaitlin was thankful her foster parents had insisted on lessons as a child; you’ll need more than just brawns to win fidchell. They were right then, and they’re right now.

Pushing the thought away, pushing away the fact that Kevin…Forest was married now Kaitlin twirled and twirled until the sky blended into an array of stars and midnight blue and black. Stopping expertly on point Kaitlin turned to the person nearest her and extended her hand, “Celebrate the marriages with me?”

“Certainly,” Oleander said, because it was Lugnasad, because the night was lovely and the sky was dark, because the year itself seemed like a fucking curse, because she wanted – for the moment – to simply be. She took Kaitlin’s hand in her own, palm to palm, entwining their fingers for the sake of ease. Dark curls framed her face as she studied their young champion to be, Oleander’s thoughts forever indiscernible, locked away behind her twilight gaze.

Effortlessly, she moved them into a waltz, each step in time with the music, a hand on Kaitlin’s back.

For a brief moment, her thoughts returned to Eurya, the seedling grief snaring its roots a little tighter around her ribs.

She didn’t let it show.

“Do you like the ceremony, Kaitlin?” 

She was breathless as she knocked into Oleander, sending them tumbling. Dazed, she hovered over the archfey, long hair creating a curtain for them. With one leg between Oleander’s and a forearm on either side of her face, temptation had never reared its sinful head like this before. She had never seen the older fey like this - doubted that only those usually selected did. 

Get off of her. She reprimanded herself but Oleander seemed perfectly fine to have the guardian’s half naked body trapping her against the floor. Then again, this was Oleander and there was no doubt she might have ended up in stranger situations before. Still, Ember’s gaze was drawn to her mouth, warmth in her belly at the sight of her pink, parted lips slipping into a smile. Ember knew she was never going to be able to get this picture out of her head now that she had it. 

“Come to steal more if you’ve let me.” The words slipped out before she could help them, voice throatier than she meant. Just a few inches from her fingers was one of Oleander’s curls. If she just stretched out her fingers a little…

“I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this, Oleander.” Eyes dark, they never moved from the archfey’s face. Perhaps it was the recklessness that she had been feeling lately but she still didn’t roll off of her. However, despite her own selfishness, the guardian was more than ready to vault off.

“Oh, always.” Oleander’s tone was light and teasing – oblivious. “Don’t think I could do much to stop you from stealing a swig or five, if you set your mind to it.” With shadows dancing across the room, those ink-black eyes gazing down into her own were simply circumstance, a mere trick of the light. Nothing to pick apart and study.

Nothing to think about later.

“Are you now?” Her right brow quirked up, her half-moon smile a challenge of sorts. “C’mon,” she said, and a gentle hand reached out to poke with one finger at Ember’s shoulder: let’s get up from the floor. 

“I’ve got a robe, if you want one. And I’ll let you have the drink, no theft required.” Outside, the night hummed on, the very air itself heavy with a summer so ripe it seemed it might rot any day now. Troubling.

Tara had always felt a little too much like home. Though it wasn’t particularly Seelie, Cobalt had always felt an unbearable need to shed his shoes upon arrival in the feyry realm; to let his toes curl into the soft grass beneath his feet and meld as best he could into the ground itself. There weren’t many places that were truly common ground between their courts, and the rubbing of elbows with the other side was often cause for concern, but here– here was different. Here, things felt a little more like they had before the Seelie magic had started to drip and drain away.

Though An Fidchell was not his favourite of events, and the ending of the game had left one hell of a sour taste in his mouth, Lugnasad held a special place in his heart. Feats of strength and folly were exactly up his alley, but the specific goings-on never failed to surprise. Cobalt liked to win and chose his games appropriately. Not all of his brethren felt the same. 

“Wait– you’re going to compete in what now?”

“Storytelling,” Oleander repeated, her mouth curling into a smile. Every year since she’d been twelve, she’d competed, and she wouldn’t let this year be the end of it. It had taken her a few years before she’d ever won, and it had been a victory she’d relished ever since – she’d left her father’s shadow, by that point; cast her own instead. “Why?”

“–– D’you think it’s too on-the-nose?” The smile became a grin, honest and friendly, if a smidgen amused. “Best to leave me to my old tricks, Cobalt. I don’t think I’m much cut out for the long jump. Or the high jump. Or wrestling. Not even boxing.” 

Adare: Oh, yes. You should have been here for the Great Jenga Tantrum.

“Thank god.” Peridot exhaled, grateful that she need not have to deal with any formal business with the Seelie. There was always a degree of difficulty when it came to the Seelie, so Peridot was more than elated that Oleander wanted nothing more than the ambiance and the alcohol. She couldn’t blame her, the rookery certainly did carry that emotion within the confines of its walls. 

“It depends, some days are busier than others, like any business. The barside is always manageable, it’s when you get people demanding elixirs. Humans, specifically. Even worse when they lie about having the cash. But so far, today’s been fine…” She paused then, glancing at Oleander’s drink then back to her. “Speaking of, can I interest you in one of our fine elixirs? Spice things up a little.”

Peridot’s quiet outburst of relief made Oleander laugh, and there was no sharpness to it – just amusement, almost a little conspiratorial. She was Seelie, yes; an Archfey and advisor, yes.. but she was also more than old enough to know how tangled things could be between their Courts, and not just in ways of bloodshed.

"You can,” Oleander replied, fingers suddenly still against the glass; her feline smile ever-present. It wasn’t, in truth, why she’d come there.. but if Peridot was asking, she might as well take the offer for what it was. 

“I need #55 – three bottles of it, please.”

DATE: July 27th, before the eclipse LOCATION: Luna Park WITH: @thewinteress

A creature so old was a feast: memories like fruit ripe for the taking, morsels of it strung together in ribbons, and all it had to do was pull.

She hadn’t meant to pick up the stone, but.. she had, and now, she couldn’t bear to let it go. It prickled against her fingertips, warm to the touch, and she could feel it spark inside her chest, beating against her ribs. 

Slowly, slowly, ever-patient.

How long had she had it? .. Not too long, a voice said, and Oleander didn’t think it was anyone’s but her own. Why was it warm? -- Who cared; it was pleasant, wasn’t it? Warm and shimmering, what a wonderful little treasure–

For a brief moment, she looked up, and her eyes meet Frost’s, warm amber against icy blue.

when: late july 2018. where: seelie castle, oleander’s tower (eventually) who: closed @handofglories

It had started out so well. With some flirtation, a little ego-fluffing, a few well-practiced touches and a desperate need to rid herself of a building tension in her body, Ember had found her Friday night involving a Seelie noble. She’d engaged in a flirtation with him for a few months, unabashedly delighting in angering his wife. She was merciless - especially when the target had been one of her childhood bullies. Petty? Perhaps, but the pettiness was a welcome comfort as long as it smothered any memories of loneliness and ostracization. Not to mention that his bad intentions had been practically screaming at her. Truthfully, she really hadn’t meant for it to go any further than a simple flirtation especially since her bully was a member of Garnet’s circle but unease had left her choked lately - quiet worries about the court keeping her awake. It was definitely that and not the memory of sheer purple fabric clinging to usually hidden curves. 

Fast forward two hours, Ember was rolling onto her back on the floor of his living room and hooking a leg around his hip, her head turned to the side toward the fireplace as he peppered her neck with greedy kisses. His ornate home had been empty, filled only with the gloating explanation that the missus was away on a trip. She had initiated the touching but she couldn’t seem to focus on what his hands were doing with the clasp of her bra. If anything, she was more taken by the flickering of the fire than she was by her current partner. Clenching her eyes shut, Ember turned her head back toward her partner, threading her fingers into his hair. Almost instantly, she thought of unwinding primroses from a head of dark curls, a husky accented voice filling her mind. 

Her toes curled. And the door slammed. 

Ember wasn’t gentle as she shoved her partner off, scrambling to her feet with the same startled expressed as him. He stumbled, stating that his wife wasn’t supposed to be home for another day but Ember barely heard him. Eyes dropping to her dress in a pile underneath the couch, she considered dashing to grab it but the door handle turned and Ember spun.  This time she didn’t hesitate into diving for the fireplace, the flames erasing all trace of the guardian. She had intended to pop out of one of the distant bonfires littering the castle grounds on the hopes that it was late enough no one would be walking around. Unfortunately, it seemed that primroses still lingered in her mind so when Ember came tumbling half-dressed out of a fireplace, slamming into someone else, it became clearer to her she had not made it to the castle grounds. 

With the windows ajar, she could hear the fleeting sounds of music, the soft lull of conversation: her tower was a darkened lighthouse, the flickering light from her hearth gleaming through the windowpanes every so often. It was an old habit, keeping the fire fed. She could use a candle, if she so wished – and with the warmth of the Summer Court, it might even have been preferable – but Oleander had always enjoyed the company of her fireplace. She enjoyed the heat of it, the crackle of wood breaking apart into coal and ash. Tonight, it smelled like bergamot, the firewood a present from one of her students – Datura.

She was half-crouched by the flames, still, though she’d already sent her thank-you to Datura – and there was that familiar shadow, the fire rippling as Ember stepped through it, too quick for Oleander to move out of the way.

Her back hit the floor, Oleander’s dark curls splayed out like the halo of a saint, and above her loomed Ember, half-dressed, one leg between Oleander’s own; the fire’s glow shimmering across the Guardian’s cheekbones, her shoulder, the dark river of her hair. It favours her, Oleander thought, as fire should an ember.

Pouring Oleander her drink, Peridot let out a breathy chuckle. “Indeed. So next time you’re around here, don’t forget one for me.” Screwing the lid back on the bottle, she returned it to it’s home before she went back to where Oleander was seated, leaning forward to rest her forearms on the bar. “So what are ya’ doing down here? Business or pleasure?” 

She knew that seelie were more than welcome at the rookery, though it always entertained her as to why. Elixirs? Alcohol? Boredom? She could rattle off many more reasons why an unseelie would venture here, all from experience. 

“Pleasure,” she replied, the word simple because it was true. “I like the ambiance.” Perhaps she shouldn’t, as a Seelie, and an Archfey at that, but then Oleander had always been a peculiar sort; the kind that walked a fine line because she herself willed it so. History knew no bounds, after all, and neither did knowledge. She coveted both.

“–– And the drinks,” she amended, nails tapping thrice against her glass, ringing out like a bell.

Adare: Right, let me just take my cat nose off and put my bloodhound nose on and track someone down.

Adare: I put marriage off as long as I did because I never wanted to be married. Aiteann was pure happenstance. Finding love after her was pure happenstance. Marrying someone I "like" for the sake of having a Consort and presenting an image of stability is a level of facetious behavior that not even I would tolerate in this day and age.

Adare: Maybe. Or we've fucked ourselves by introducing humans we don't control tangentially into our society and culture and they turn out to be connected and / or responsible for Imbolc.

Adare: I'm fine with rituals. Orgies are exhausting and I'm not 75 anymore.

Oleander: I’m not so cruel I wouldn't want you to be happy. So I am not asking you to present stability. I am asking you to build it. A foundation we can present the future on. I don't expect you to find someone right off the bat. Happiness doesn't work that way. But I do need you to think about it.

“I have many ills to confess.” Ember boasted, tossing Oleander an arrogant look but there was genuine laughter in her voice. “Which ills should I start with? My reluctance to wipe my feet whenever I enter the castle? My penchant for stealing pastries from the kitchens?” She looked around dramatically before lowering her voice. “The fact that every time I go into Garnet’s office in Oakenfold, I move something two inches to the left when she’s not looking? Dare I go on?”

She grinned down at Oleander, voice still low but taking on a husky quality. “I warn you though, if you’re to play priest with me, you’ve got to be ready to punish me for my sins.” 

Ember almost faltered when she caught sight of Oleander’s face, the barest ghost of a shadow on the archfey’s features. Was the orgy a delicate topic for Oleander? Where was her infamous silk tongue now? 

“Been to one orgy, been to them all.” Ember turned her gaze, keeping her voice pleasant and cheery. If she could not pick Oleander’s brain then she would play the distraction. The hem of her loose crimson dress swept around her feet, the color mixing and brushing up against Oleander’s purple.  “At the moment, I prefer your company to that of anyone else.”

The imagery of Ember moving Garnet’s desk just a smidgen made her laugh, a slip of wicked amusement playing in Oleander’s eyes; the look staying as the Guardian told her she had better be prepared to play priest. “You’re a right menace, aren’t you,” she said, but her voice belied the affection she felt: so very gentle, a tender thing among all their recent misfortune.

She was not so lost in her own emotions that she could not see the ruse for what it was – but she appreciated it all the same. “Only at the moment?” she said, and her tone became teasing, dark lips pulling into a smile. “--Suppose I’d better make the best of it, then.”