#starbiter

𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃, 𝐈𝐅 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓-𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 gaze settled upon the youth's face as Li Yun was settled behind a flamboyant little bird, who wore a face too sour for one as cute as her. Li Yun, however, had the look of a goblin as he was picking out the chestnut burs from her hair, looking all too gleeful to open every other one up and finding chestnuts inside.

Imbeciles, the youth thought. But maybe his gaze had a tinge of tenderness. He chewed on the piece of hay in his mouth, the only only movement of his person actually his jaw. He didn't notice when another hooligan approached behind him to make the scene even more ridiculous, his shoulders jumping and making the birds on the nearby trees ( which were laughing in their own language at their little sister too ) flutter away when the still statue of Cheng Qian came to life, looking back as he felt the eyes of that Sect Leader advancing on him.

❝    ... Where have you been ?     ❞

✹ @starbiter

He could not remember the last time he was as excited for his nameday as this. The celebration was usually little more than an inconvenience to think of. At least all the preparation was. An increasingly frenetic endeavor he took little interest in participating, but the thought of which exhausted him nonetheless. The ensuing party had been vexing, with all the standing on ceremony, greeting of guests, and the inexorable obligation to look like he was having fun. Worse was the fact that he had had to execute all those convincingly, even in the pernicious presence of Sindri.

But this was the first nameday in an age that he and Sindri had happened to be on civil terms. More than civil. Pleasant. It had to be the longest span of time that he could remember that Sindri had ended up in his bed with any constancy. Nearly every evening these past four months. He was almost encouraged.

The first day of the fete began with Ceallach positively charming in restless anticipation of the Night Court’s arrival— and Sindri with it. He had attended his guests with a scintillate smile like the sun itself, a diplomatic aplomb that earned approving (if surprised) smiles from his parents.

Until the Night Court arrived: the Queen Candra, her consort husband, and Sindri, their heir... and his guest. Some sullen-looking brat with hollow cheeks and thin lips and eyes that might have been pretty had they not been hardened disdainfully in some tired, adolescent sourness.

Sindri did not need to explain. Ceallach knew exactly who he was. A new lover. One of a legion of his many lovers, who he flaunted without a care before Ceallach and all the world to see.. The blissful, impenetrable smile he wore as he purposefully withheld his introductions. 

He heard the murmurings later. A selkie. An up-jumped ocean dog who dared show his face in his sunlit halls. Some tellurian freak. Not even a fae, or even human. An animal. The thought made Ceallach’s skin crawl. 

▓: @starbiter

Fairyland was nothing like he’d expected. When he’d overheard someone recommend it, the name brought to mind some supersaturated technicolor Wonderland with stupidly dickless ‘whimsical’ characters accosting the patrons while everyone pretended to be high on molly in spite of the teetotaling lack of it.  

What he found was a dark, post-industrial mess. It was nearly impossible to see, so dim were the lights, with only some twinkling silver overhead, like stars in an inky sky. So of course the first thing he did was bump hard into someone. And that someone happened to be an inordinately good looking man adorned in intricate tattoos on nearly every inch of his body, his silken, dark hair mussed beautifully in artfully draping tendrils. His nipple piercings also did not go unnoticed. Or unappreciated. 

@starbiter​ // Shen Yi said: 

A missive, sent by mechanical bird:

𝘔𝘺 𝘶𝘵𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘠𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘨, 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘍𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘠𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥, "𝘛𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴." 𝘐𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺), 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘠𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘖𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘤𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴? 𝘖𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺, "𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮?" 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘠𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘺, SHEN YI

      𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 leaves Chang Geng like a laugh as he finishes reading the small neatly written script. Behind him a sleeping marquis lays, his naked body only half-covered by the imperial covers. Running his finger decisively over the mechanical bird sat upon his desk once more, Chang Geng reaches for his brush and paper to respond:

𝘔𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘯, 

𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 ... 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘢. 

𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭’𝘴 𝘐𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘵iv𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘺, 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯-𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵-𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦.   

𝘐𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰-𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 “𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘰” 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 

 𝘋𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 ‘𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴’ 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴 ‘𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦’ 𝘰𝘳 ‘𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭’. 

𝘈𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧. 

 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭’𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦,  

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘔𝘢𝘫𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘺,

✹ @insurhale

He couldn’t count the last time he’d been so furious. Surely he was used to Sindri’s impropriety, his flouting of convention and good sense and decency. It was almost artful, how he managed to do all at once and paint himself blameless for it. But today, of all days, of all occasions: his nameday. When the Courts came to pay tribute to the only son of the Sun King, when he would be feted for all the fae to see. 

All eyes were on him, and he wore the most beatific smile he could muster under their scrutiny. Of course the murmurings had already started. Of course he heard them all. Prince Sindri has arrived with a new lover. And Prince Ceallach is pretending all is well, but everyone can see the smoke practically steaming from his collar. 

It was humiliating, having his business on display. There was a small nugget of lucidity in which he realized that this guest of his was of no part in his misery. It was Sindri. Exclusively Sindri. But it hardly stopped him from laying the brunt of the inculpation on his head. 

@starbiter said : ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ XIAO CHIYE?!??! / ✧

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. the snap of a bowstring to signify battle , to gleaming spears pointed high to the heavens and swords that could cut through the air like frozen water droplets under an overcast sky. familiar is the clash of steel of a blade against whetstone, rejuvenated from the rust that had seemed to be so easily removed , parting with its glorious history of endless battle to recount new ones ; as is the joy of creation for the purpose of his friends to carry on their person -- where the metallic beating of steel becomes a heartbeat , and he may part with beloved friends in mulberry fields through an exchange of a part of himself to them , along with promises that are echoed in whistling winds.

of course , it is the strife that matters most. the reflection of one's duty over the luxury of personal want.

" reminiscing on the past summers of youth must be done with a cup of wine in hand under a moonlit night. " the swordsmith's voice is laced with jest amidst the air of nonchalance he dons , uninterrupted by the guest's musings as crimson eyes glide over plans. " that is the misfortune of , growing up, "