𝕆𝕄ℕ𝕀𝕊 𝕃𝔸ℂℝ𝕀𝕄𝔸 ;

her first thought is of him, after the chaos had begun. if rivian is okay, if he’s hurt. she’s looking around, technically for anyone she knows, mostly for him. everyone around her is panicking, and it… just seems to unhelpful. maybe she’s a bit unsympathetic… but she starts ushering them to go actually check on each other instead of panicking. because this midas, the asteri, whatever they are, are playing games. and this panic is part of it. she snaps at someone jostling her wings, shifting away and scolding them to go find their friends or family or something useful to do. when a hand closes around her wrist, she almost pulls away but the touch is familiar, a grip she’s felt a hundred times on missions she’d joined in on, and she lets rivian pull her away from the crowd that had done more to irritate her than anything else. the scent of dust and the old stone hits her, but the quiet is a relief for how overwhelmed she’d been beginning to feel. she doesn’t make any attempt to create distance, just takes a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “rivian,” she curls her arms around him when he tugs her against him, clinging tightly when he presses a hand just below her wings to hold her closer. she finds one of her hands splayed across his shoulder, the other in his hair, her face pressed into his neck. “do not apologise.” she murmurs. “was going to go looking for you if the crowd didn’t make me lose it first.”

Rivian tightened his hold. One hand remained spread between her wings, the other cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through the pale silk of her hair, white as winter moonlight. He found himself memorizing the texture, the way the strands slipped against his knuckles like something precious. He'd never asked how long it took her to braid it for battle. He wanted to ask now. Wanted to catalog every small, useless detail about her and hold them close, because the alternative was thinking about what just happened. His mind wasn't ready to give shape to that horror.

Apollo kept asking him the same questions, over and over and Dorian kept dodging them. He knew the answer already. Of course he was ignoring him and of course he wasn't going to leave, he was bleeding for fucks sake. And on top of that he seemed upset. Something happened to him. Something big. Not a lot fo things had the power to get Apollo like this. It was probably a family matter. Dorian knew he was going to have to work to take it out of him but he had all the time in the world. And now he was with a Lord and guest, no one could throw him out.

Apollo let himself be pulled onto the settee, his body moving without permission. He sat heavily, feeling the warmth of the fire on his back, the softness of the cushions beneath him, and the gentle pressure of Dorian's fingers still wrapped around his hand. He didn't pull away when Dorian kissed his knuckles. The gesture was so tender, so careful, that it made his chest ache in a way he refused to name. He stared at their joined hands. The contrast was jarring: the violence of the shattered mirror, the raw wounds on his knuckles, and this. This tenderness and patience.

HE COULD NOT BELIEVE THOSE IDIOTS HAD THE AUDACITY TO BRING HIM TO PRYTHIAN. He could not believe they've - once again - blatantly ignored his advice. what was the point of being the most feared creature and the main Asteri adviser if the blasted idiots won't listen to a word he says?

"Caligo." Yozora's voice was as flat as the cracked marble beneath their feet. "I was hoping you were still in Morsaris. That would mean someone with sense was still there." He turned, finally, to face the advisor fully. His expression didn't change. It rarely did, but something in his posture shifted. The tired scribe receded slightly, replaced by something colder. The Draco, shrugging off three centuries of dust.

she had, at one point, been more embedded in the inner circles of the asteri — if only because of the involvement of her parents. she had left after they’d split, only a few thousand years into her own lifetime. where she had come from certainly wasn’t remembered. her parents had been sure to erase her existence from their family’s history. and most wouldn’t even bother to remember little old andarna, unless they used the services from her shop. because what she sold could be useful. and she’d been known to turn her games on the enemies of those who paid enough. but her reputation was more whispered among the fae of the continent — whispered warnings to stay away because no one ever returned. “and i am so very memorable,” she smirks at him. she tilts her head, “it'd make sense, wouldn’t it? after all, who’d be afraid of little old me?” she replies with a non-answer. no one thinks the pretty blonde is a threat.

She was lying. Obviously lying. The words dripped with irony, with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly how dangerous she was and didn't need to prove it. Yozora filed that away. Confidence without posturing, reputation without bragging. She'd been operating alone for a long time, and she was still alive. That meant something. He didn't know what yet.

she likes most tea, finding different teas are better for different occasions, and then coffee in the morning. and she watches him take the cup, looking down at her own after a moment, not wanting him to be uncomfortable if it seems like she’s staring. she wants him to have nice things, but she doesn’t want to rush him. she’s scared she is, that he’ll feel too pressured. she wants to tear apart the fae who did this, who harmed him, who took away any identity, that this is all so foreign to him… “just a pinch.” she hums. “you could try a sip without and then add it to compare, if you want.” she offers, reaching for the sugar bowl. she adds some to her own cup to give him a moment to decide, looking over at him after.  “i know. but you have time to learn. you don’t have to know now, or tomorrow, or next week.” she says. she watches as he takes a sip, waiting for his reaction, trying to understand what his frown means.  “gentle.” she repeats, nodding. “tea has potential to be many things, depending on what you need.” she says, humming a little. “i find this one comforting. gentle seems like a good word for it.” she nods. “it helps with stress.” she offers in explanation, although with everything going on, all the tea in prythian won’t take away the stress. she knows it makes her look tired — and she is tired.  “no, you don’t need to wake anyone up for me.” she shakes her head. “just stay a while?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. she sits down, sighing. “he needs sleep, too. we all do. and with everything going on, we all seem to be spectacularly bad at sleeping.” she leans back in her chair. “thank you, for checking on me.” she says, smiling up at him.

She asked him to stay. Just stay. Like it was simple. He looked at the chair she'd dragged across the palace for him. It was too small, he'd known it the moment he first saw it, but he hadn't said anything because she'd looked so pleased with herself, and he didn't know how to tell someone they'd done something thoughtful that didn't quite work. The seat was narrow, the armrests too close together. This is going to be ridiculous. He sat down anyway.

How could Renatus just talk about this in the middle of a hallway in an unfamiliar castle? Her blood boiled and not from the lava usually running through it. She stopped on her steps and turned around to face him, coat flying dramatically behind her as she did. She almost made him trip against her. Then, she started making him walk backwards, cornering him. "I'm going to say this just one time and I hope, for our own good Renatus, that I don't have to repeat myself." It felt almost like she just grew a head taller over him. "Regulo protected his court and his sister. It was a honorable act. I've done nothing but protect him ever since that happened." Her brother had some nerve coming at her for this when he disappeared for so many years.

Renatus didn't fight the retreat. He let her back him against the wall, let her words wash over him like a wave of heat: familiar, searing, with the same fire that ran through his own veins, turned outward. She was good at this. Always had been. And maybe she was right, maybe he had no standing to ask. Maybe his time away from their home court had cost him the right to question how she handled the family he'd left behind. She turned, started walking, and he watched her for a long moment, the tails of her gown still settling from the force of her spin. Something in his chest folded quietly inward.

she had stumbled when the ground shook, grimacing as she knocks into a wall and bangs her arm so that she plays into the role, even though she’d known this would come eventually. but she doesn’t like that it is happening. she holds a hand over her arm, magic seeping from it over the elbow as she looks around. she leans back against the wall, taking a deep breath. she knows she should move, start checking on others. she just needs a moment to breath first. her thought is interrupted by a voice. “i’m okay, promise. i can help check on everyone else, though.” she offers. “i’m a healer — from spring.” she adds.

"You're a healer," he said. "So you know that telling another healer you're fine while holding an injury is like telling a Suriel you want to hear a secret. It's going to get the truth dragged out of you one way or another." He was already reaching into his satchel, pulling out a clean roll of bandage. "Renatus Ailin. Autumn Court. I can't do much without my fire, but I can splint, stitch, and tell you honestly whether you need to sit down before you fall down. Help me check on the others if you want. But you're my first patient. Healer's privilege." He pushed her sleeve up with the practiced gentleness of someone who'd done this thousands of times.

"I'm yours," he echoed, and his voice came out rougher than he intended, scraped raw by the weight of it. The words felt too small for what he meant, too simple fro the thing that had been growing in his chest for centuries, but they were all he had. "Been yours probably since the day you walked me out of that cell. Maybe before. Maybe I just didn't know it yet."

she leans up to press her lips against his jaw when he responds. “mine,” she murmurs, nuzzling at him softly. “i think i was too,” she murmurs. because why else did she let him free if not for a connection that she hadn’t understood at the time? when she was always such a loyal creature, wanting to protect the rulers who had protected her freedom for centuries? every part of her wants to wrap herself around him and refuse to let him go, spies be damned. she wants to stay curled in his arms, in this moment, for as long as she could. all she wants is him. in her arms, him wrapped around her. and as loyal as she is, she’s also always been insanely selfish. because in this moment she doesn’t care about their duties, or who knows, or anything else. she just wants him here. “you always find me.” she nods, fingers lifting to run through his hair. she returns the smile, nodding. “that’s all that matters.” she hums, letting her own want and hope and the other bubbling feeling that made her feel warm and fuzzy and utterly terrified all slip across her face, when she sees his own. he’d been worth saving. more than worth. she couldn’t imagine having not. she presses into the kiss gently, relishing in the way it being so much softer than their previous brings even more closeness, and she whines when he pulls away, fingers reaching out after him and watching as he gets dressed. she doesn’t want him to go, wants to stay curled up in his bed with him. she rolls over to watch him as he finishes dressing.  “okay,” she hums, not bothering to get dressed at all as she gets up so she can lock the door as instructed. she smiles at the way he smiles at her, the way the starlight catches, the way he says her name — the nickname she let so few use — and then he’s gone, and she steps across the room to lock the door before she climbs back into the bed and buries her face in his pillow, inhaling his lingering scent and letting herself drift back off.

completely oblivious to the other man's thoughts as he had only used the animal as some random creature he could imagine being in the court, omar's brows raise as he watches the summer fae panic, unsure if he should know why he was suddenly acting like this. "um...well, no...? just the type of animal I guess I could see here?" he waited for a moment, unsure what for as he sees how tense rivian had become. did he...help...calm him? he was at least grateful that the other felt similarly about starlight, nodding along a bit, eyeing the wall behind them at the last comment, feeling his own shoulders tense up a bit at the thought and taking another step forward. "it's almost too...calm? I don't trust it." he's almost ready to just stand in the silence between the two until the other asks him about his roof in autumn...and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, and silently offers a smoke. "...it's just above my place...sometimes I put a bean bag up there...sometimes not. nothing too special, just...comforting...always some orange and yellow leaves around...sometimes the woman who lives across from me puts string lights up there..."

Rivian felt the tension in his shoulders ease a fraction as Omar described his spot. String lights, bean bags, a woman across the way who decorated without being asked. It was so aggressively normal, so utterly removed from the chaos of the past few days, that he almost laughed. This time, it actually came out. A soft, breathy sound, more exhale than humor.

she purrs when his hand slides up her back, nuzzling closer and tightening her grip around him when he says he should get up. “do not want you to go.” she murmurs against his skin. “am not worried about everyone knowing, except for if someone then hurts you for it.” she says. she doesn’t want him to get hurt. that’s the thing that scares her the most. the worry that he’ll be hurt.  she lets out a content sound when he kisses her forehead. “i want this to be us. you are mine, i am yours.” she says, tilting her head up to press a kiss to his shoulder, looking up at him when he traces her jaw. she hums, “i love that you always find me.” she says quietly, reaching up to cup his cheek, a rare softness in her expression, reserved most often for him, and the small smile on her lips grows at the thought. because he does always seem to. every time he’d been in the night court, or any other court she’d found herself in, even when she was out. she loves that he does. she always finds herself looking for him, and her breath catches a little as he pulls back to look at her and she watches the way the starlight lights his smile, fingers tracing along his cheek. “you too. i am staying in the palace in night’s section. you can come over.” hopefully soon. she leans into the kiss, arms curling around his neck, not to deepen it, just to hold him close to her, not wanting to let go.

"I'm yours," he echoed, and his voice came out rougher than he intended, scraped raw by the weight of it. The words felt too small for what he meant, too simple fro the thing that had been growing in his chest for centuries, but they were all he had. "Been yours probably since the day you walked me out of that cell. Maybe before. Maybe I just didn't know it yet."

the voice is familiar, had sent her to winter, and then starlight, and now seems to taunt her. and she had set herself up at the market as if she didn’t miss her home. the prison she’d built for herself, that she’d stayed in for millennia, that she loved. the voice was a familiar grating on her, something she never wanted. she had always remained on the border. her little shop, away from anything significant. she’d stayed away from the council because she had never cared to be a part of it... “incredibly,” andarna drawls, leaning against the wall as she stares at her nails. as if this wasn’t something she’d known would come eventually. she realises she’s supposed to be playing a part, acting surprised for onlookers and as if she is not aware, but she’d never really been good at that. so she remains nonchalant, glancing over at yozora. “it’s really quite annoying.”

She was Asteri. That was the first thought, cold and simple, slotting into his mind like a blade into a sheath. She wasn't a threat or an asset, just another Asteri hiding among the fae, doing whatever obscure work had been assigned to her, waiting for the day the voice would boom and the ground would split and their masks would no longer be necessary. Or was she? She certainly wasn't inner circle, he would have remembered. The council didn't change often, new faces often being disliked. She must have been on the outside. The border. Away from politics, away from war councils, and away from him. He didn't know if that was mercy or punishment.

at his reply an amused smile slowly grows on the night fae's lips as she tilts her head to the side, not expecting him to tease back but it was a fun little surprise. "you can take it however you feel. I personally would love just to be marisol but I may just have to pay my dues first, which I think would make it feel lots more satisfying once I get there. but hey, branding genius, on your part." this was where she would lightly tap on his shoulder if she could actually reach it, oh well.

The market was still half-destroyed with cracked stone, overturned crates, the occasional abandoned stall with its canvas roof torn and flapping in the breeze. The air smelled like dust and cold stone and the faint hint of smoke still drifting from the fissure in the distance. It was too quiet for a market, even a ruined one. Most vendors seemingly fled after the ground split. The ones who remained were huddled in doorways, watching them pass with wary eyes. He was used to that.

Remy stepped closer and Virgil felt the walls closing in. Not the walls of the Starlight Court... those were silver and glass and cold, indifferent to everything happening on this balcony... but the walls inside his own head. The ones he'd built brick by brick in the hole. The ones that kept him upright when everything else was falling apart. The ones that Remy was threatening to dismantle just by standing there, just by looking at him, just by saying his name like it meant something.

Every word Virgil said was probably true and right. Remy was still that scared little boy who couldn't hold formation and he was looking at Virgil like he was waiting for him to hit him. But he was sure he never pretended to be whole or like he left the camp behind because he never did. He carried it with him in every little interaction when he tried to make himself small in front of anyone. When he had to remind himself how to interact with other or to hug back when being hugged. Accept love and kindness and help.