bloodofthefates

[bloodofthefates]

X. quietly lurking tonight before a big eventful day tomorrow! here for friendly hang chats, plotting or obsessive brainstorming or maybe even short little rapid fire things? 👌🏻 also I need more people to talk to about SKZ because I have been converted

#✲ ooc #✲ mun post

[bloodofthefates]

X. Taking a break from here for a bit. I’ve been going through some life things but just not feeling very creatively driven or enough energy lately so I’ll be a lurker for a bit.

#✲ ooc #✲ mun post

[bloodofthefates]

X. Might be scarce through the weekend! I’m glad everyone got music from an artist they really love & enjoy, we all deserve that! I’m less interested in the commentary and I get really overwhelmed on all my social media platforms from it when it’s everywhere & it is all a lot of people are talking about so I’ll check back in on my days off!

#✲ ooc #✲ mun post #PSA

[bloodofthefates]

x. 'you're making "the face" again.' from @meaercies (for Nesta)

Nesta could feel the dry sense of humor lacing his words, barely restrained boyish laughter threatening to follow just behind and catching a very intentional glare from her and would’ve earned a particularly rude gesture with one finger if her arms hadn’t already been crossed in her every attempt to defend herself against the rest of the world. Being around Azriel always felt different than when she was forced to be around the other members of Rhys’s coveted Inner Circle. When they were bargained or forced to include her or invite her to dinner, she knew it was only by Feyre’s demands they did so and it felt every bit as much like any outsider would expect. Around but never a part, witnessing but always  isolated from the bonds of friendship they’d formed. “Hasn’t anyone told you? It’s just my face. Maybe our mother was right and it soured and got stuck that way.” She was quick to snap back at him, but for anyone that really knew her would recognize her own version of humor that glinted in her eyes when she retaliated. She had always appreciated the lengths he had gone to in order to bridge the distance she purposefully put between herself in the rest of the world, even when Cassian in his good nature had been so willing to martyr himself in trying to meet that distance for her before she’d been ready. Azriel had always understood something else within Nesta, her propensity for self-loathing perhaps before the others had been clued in, but he’d never stopped offering her friendship even when she bore the ugliest parts of herself, teeth claws and all. Things were different now that she’d found her own version of a found and formed family, through the Library and her sisters in arms as they resurrected the ranks of the Valkyrie warriors. But Az had remained a steadfast constant throughout her transformation, and despite her current expression she appreciated the levity he had to offer in most situations. No one ever really gave him enough credit for being as funny as he was. “Is this the part where you tell me how irresponsible I am and to not do something stupid?”

#meaercies #✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ interaction ] #✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ dynamic ] AZRIEL

[bloodofthefates]

— NESTA ARCHERON: Lady Death, Queen of Queens —

Power lay in her hand. Death gripped her by the other.

#✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ inspo ]

[bloodofthefates]

Cerridwen could retrace the lines of that smile on Azriel’s lips a million times, just in hopes of committing it to memory for the rest of eternity. It was such a beautiful thing to behold, so infrequent from the Spymaster who had learned to school all of his emotions into submission so long ago. With his more reserved nature, many accused him of holding back or lacking any real depth of feeling but those privileged few who were close enough to really know him knew that he was as kind and caring as he was sensitive in his ability to truly see and understand others. Far too often there was a weariness about him, the weight of his responsibilities and duties weighed heavier on his broad shoulders than that of his brothers but it was Cerridwen and Nuala who sought to nurture his vulnerabilities in the cover of darkness and shadows whenever he needed them; the safe haven of their world away.   A gentle hum of laughter on her lips pressed together to cage it within meets his accusation; she’s never been called a tease before but it still brings a foreign warmth to her cheeks and has her ducking her gaze away from his watchful eyes. Instead she focuses on where his scarred hand meets the solid flesh of her own, mystified still by the feeling of skin on skin contact as he carefully entwines one finger after another to her own. For a moment she’s distracted, eyes locked on the clasp of their hands but eyes unseeing as she retreats somewhere inside of herself. The past flitting through her mind against her control, memories better left behind under the rubble of the Mountain or best forgotten entirely, modified by Rhys’s own abilities.

As she’s drawn into herself, so to do the shadows under her command and retreat down the length of the bed, scattering and skittering from his only until his own manages to grasp hold of them and entangle them together as hands had. Instantly she’s made aware of bridging some invisible boundary, her attention snapping back to the present as he warns her but Cerridwen acted only with precision and intention in wanting to make it known to him. She can sense and feel the shift in him, like a warrior primed and ready for battle, always armed and ready at attention for anything that comes his way.

Cerridwen snakes herself from his side slithering further up onto his chest, her shadows following in tow. She moves her free hand to cover his own where he plants it on her hip and her legs find a more natural position on either side of his body as she casually straddles his waist. She leans down with chest pressed against chest as her lips hover dangerously beside one ear and loose strands of her long midnight hair fall forward to tickle along the exposed skin of his neck and collarbone. “If it is truly the sleep you desire… let me help you dream.” Her voice is nothing more than the rasp of a whisper, her voice and enunciated words so infrequently used and reserved only for the importance of stolen moments; given only to him.

THE YEARS THEY WERE GONE WITH RHYS brought sleeplessness to azriel, time after time. for years, he wore himself down ; torn between keeping the land safe and trying to find any way to free the high lord. it drove him insane during the first ten, trying to push the limits of his skills. in the middle of the dark of night, he'd find ways to send messages to them. gentle reminders to keep safe, quiet and hidden. to be the night they were. it twisted his gut and warped his peace. he knew no peace the entire time all three of them were gone.

her fingers on his face pulls a smile from his lips. the tap of her finger has him blinking in response, " such a tease, " azriel jokes, hand coming up to grasp her corporeal one. her skin was so soft, silky smooth under the twists and pulls of his own. fingers slide between hers, holding her hand captive. the shadows that blanket them has him feeling warm, safe, and a hum escapes his throat. he shifts to his back, letting her snuggle into his side.

in response to the kiss to the side of his neck, his shadows curl up and find a tendril of hers, swirling around it. the essence of him warns hers: to be careful. to think about the action and what it can pull from someone. though innocent, it awakens something in azriel that he can ignore: a blossoming, hot feeling low in his stomach. a soft sigh comes from him as sleep promises to take him. he allows it, his other arm coming up to pull cerridwen closer into his side. his hand settles on her hip in the dark.

#meaercies #✲ CERRIDWEN [ interaction ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #welp.

[bloodofthefates]

X. eating cake for dinner while watching another episode of Fallout & about to terrorize @meaercies the rest of the night! 👌

#✲ OOC #✲ MUN POST

[bloodofthefates]

Normally wisps of smoke and shadow follow in her wake, visible yet only half-formed trailing behind every step as she treads the line between corporeal and intangible. Existing in one realm or the other an eternal balancing act she practices everyday, a talent she and Nuala both have had to hone and perfect all over again since their time under another curse of Amarantha’s tailored specifically to the half-wraith twins. For as long as Rhys was held captive in her thrall, so too were the twins, his only companions sent by Azriel from a brother who knew what isolation and loneliness could do to someone in captivity. They were never truly free to leave of their own free will, though they had the ability to pass through walls at will by dematerializing their form. It was their very wraith nature that Amarantha and the others held against them, and so she sought to keep them as captives of their own making in their incorporeal forms. For fifty years they yearned for the comfort of their corporeal fae forms and yet were denied. For decades they lost all sense of what it took to move in physical form, to crave and feel the touch of others beyond the bond of their shadows they shared together and with Rhys. The bonds within their shared shadows also kept Azriel somewhat in communication, but through nothing more than flashes of feeling than the way Rhys’s daemati abilities provided words or memories. With the distance between where he protected Velaris and where they served their High Lord Under the Mountain, it was like shouting across the distant void only to get whispers in return. Cerridwen moves when he moves, the perfect weighted counterbalance always in anticipation; always defensive. His soothing touch consoles her as she settles in again, relishing the feeling of the way his fingers trace their way up and down the length of her spine. She knew he could feel her in the doorway, watchful and waiting, but part of her wanted him to notice her first and seek out her company when so often she felt like she was nagging or begging for him. Lifting her head just enough to peek over the rise and fall of his chest, dark eyes flutter open with scrutiny as she assesses the smirk of his teasing words. Leaning up on one elbow, she reaches up and trails her fingers along the side of his face gently before tapping the tip of her index finger against the end of his nose. With the twist of her hand and crook of her finger, she gathers shadows that appear out of nowhere as she commands them to slither up over the sides of his bed and blanket them together as if they were under the covers of darkness as opposed to atop the bedclothes. She knew his bed was typically no more for sleeping than the ruse of her own, when they traveled the various other courts and given accommodations expecting the twins to require rest and sleep as any other High Fae would. Their bodies and magic worked differently, simultaneously existing as two parts in one whole but they always played along. Azriel still technically required sleep but they both knew he earned far less than the rest he truly deserved and had trained himself to demand even less. Leaning up again, Cerridwen delivered a kiss to the side of his neck before burrowing back into his side as if trying to make herself fit as small as possible.

THE RARE MOMENT HE'S FOUND in a room, on a bed, is a rare moment indeed. azriel accepts rest when it is called for, though he sleeps way less than he probably should. training himself and then others is a task he's taken on as of late. he's not only honing his own skills, ( though he doesn't need much work) but he's teaching others how to be the best versions of themselves. this leaves him worn occasionally and in need of rest in the townhome. it's quiet here, no one save for elain, nuala, and cerridwen. he hears their laughter often and enjoys it.

azriel knows she is different than before ; he can not only tell from her actions and lack of speech, but because of how she feels. it's a strange sensation he cannot explain to anyone else - it's a part of him. it always has been. like his eyes can see and ears can hear. it's ... him. his darkness. the shadows know. rhys and the twins could possibly understand it because of the nature of the feeling and the gifts they possess but he's never asked. he also knows it's not the same because none of them are exactly alike. azriel is not daemati nor any part wraith... yet they all control the shadows around them.

neither one of them will sleep, though he is lulled into a comfortable and dream-like state. he is thoroughly relaxed. azriel shifts, his body next to hers, moving his mouth away from her hair to speak softly, " i could feel you lurking in the doorway, " his scarred fingers trail up and down her back in a soothing motion, " not that you lurk, " he teases, " i think you just took your shot because you knew i was in bed. "

#meaercies #✲ CERRIDWEN [ interaction ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #I am just #AHHHHH

[bloodofthefates]

I find myself here again

#✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ music ] #✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ inspo ] #✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ dynamic ] RHYSAND

[bloodofthefates]

Cerridwen can feel when he is at peace, a rarity in not only their existence but the stresses and strains of their particular line of work. They serve the demands of a nation, for the hope of a future Prythian where Velaris doesn’t have to be kept hidden like a trove of treasure others would deem for the taking. They seamlessly fill the roles as spies of Rhysand’s command and find it even easier to play the part of villains as everyone else always in Prythian paints them. Half-wraith has been flung at her as an insult her entire life, accusatory in nature and a sentence of isolation deemed punishment by the High Fae that have always viewed and believed anyone different than them as being lesser than. Instead, together they have found family. Together they fight for a future of a different world order. One where all are can be accepted as equals and one that can feel as peaceful as the stolen moments of rest and cuddles they find in the comfort of the townhouse or the House of Wind away from prying eyes and ears. Around Azriel, Cerridwen can be most at ease and entirely herself. She doesn’t retreat to their beloved shadows, sent skittering away through walls from any feeling of unease or overstimulation. With him, it’s easy to fall back into the fleeting lull of serenity in silence. Cerridwen had always been a creature of few words; soft whispers and melodic laughter but that had been before her time Under the Mountain with Rhys. When the twins made their return alongside their High Lord, she too had come back different. Altered somehow and instead chose purpose in her actions and intent over the use of words. There had been times now some of the other members of the inner circle had forgotten what her voice ever sounded like to begin with apart from her sister. 

The sound of his throaty laughter is the only invitation she’ll ever need, cozying herself up alongside him and feeling the warmth radiating from him cocoon around the natural coolness of her own dark skin. In answer to his question, Cerridwen smiles, sweetly but secretive as she shies away from him still, shaking her head but nestling deeper against the layers of his covers and into the space where his neck meets his shoulder. She knew his eyes were already closed, but she knew he could feel the movement of her head against his chin in answer. Instead, she lets out a heavy breath of contentment, allowing herself the rarity of closing her own eyes even if she only pretends to sleep alongside him for sake of feeling the normalcy she's so rarely experienced.

SHE KNOWS he can track her with his eyes closed. after all, he's the one who trained her. LIKE CALLS TO LIKE. she's all smoke and shadows, much like he. they are similar yet entirely different. her abilities have always impressed him, along with how quickly she picked up learning new tricks. but that was not what brought out his words today. nor any day. azriel knows the difference between spymaster and spy and azriel and cerridwen.

her demeanor is playful yet interested and he feels a laugh in his throat. she appears hesitant yet he knows she is not. playing coy. she'll come, especially as he opens his arms.

he is rarely so bold with his words but does not feel the need to hold them back with her. she is much like him in this way -- with arms open, he feels her corporeal form curl against him. " you're not going to say it, are you? " he grins against her hair, his eyes falling shut.

#meaercies #✲ CERRIDWEN [ interaction ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #idk what my brain is even doing anymore tbh

[bloodofthefates]

#✲ OOC #✲ MUN POST

[bloodofthefates]

x. we're a team. we're in this 'til the end. from @meaercies (for Nuala)

His words repeat and remind her of a promise made long ago; a bond forged beyond blood with magic greater than their individual abilities binding them together. It was more than mere commitment, it wasn’t simply a rank, title or job to earn Azriel the loyalty of her and her sister but a deeper connection. It was the foundation of understanding on a deeper level, true and unconditional acceptance for the pair of them exactly for who they were and even what they were in the hateful judgment of so many other High Fae. Black eyes flicker upward from where she remains crouched low in a defensive maneuver stance but finds only sincerity expressed by sharp features even as blades clash in a deadlock. Giving him only the briefest of nods, Nuala is quick to shift out from under the duress of his offensive hold, the blade itself dematerializing into nothing but wisps and traces of smoke as she gathers it within a single outstretched palm.

With an arrogant smirk, she manages to flash him a wink before disappearing entirely in a cloud of black smoke reappearing behind him with a freshly recreated blade of shadow poised against his neck. Snaking her long dark fingers through his hair, she snatches none too gently and yanks his head back as she presses the blade into the soft spot of his jugular with a trill of laughter that reverberates from where more shadows collect at every corner of the room. “Till the very end…” She leans in to whisper against his ear before dropping her weapon and retreating back into the blackness of her hiding place in one of the four corners of the training space.

“No one else would have us…” She reminds him, sadness edging into the playfulness of her tone as her disembodied voice fills the room, tantalizing and swirling around him as the tethers of her own shadows search and snake around his own ensnaring him around the ankles and entangling further up his legs and binding him in place. “I’ve learned a new trick…wanna see?”

#meaercies #✲ NUALA [ interaction ] #✲ NUALA [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #uhhhhhh #MOMMY??

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#✲ NUALA [ music ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ music ] #✲ NUALA [ inspo ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ inspo ] #✲ NUALA [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #✲ CERRIDWEN [ dynamic ] AZRIEL

[bloodofthefates]

x. “ you can just say that you want to cuddle , you know . ” from @meaercies (for Cerridwen)

Like tricks of light cast in shadows from movement in the hallway, Cerridwen appears only when she wishes to be seen and often lingers on the outskirts of rooms and tentatively at doorways in incorporeal form. She’s aware of his innate ability to sense and track her movements, even when she remains invisible to the untrained eye. The darkness is as much his home as it hers but the tendrils of shadows tether them like wisps of passing feeling, inaudible communication they share with both her twin sister and Rhys’s ability to command shadow too. Cerridwen has always been considered shy by the standards of others, more a skittish thing than her sister as Amren always accused them of being but she’s never relied heavily on the need for words or speaking to convey her wants and wishes. Materializing more visibly into her corporeal fae form, she gracefully but tentatively takes an intrusive step further into the room with a slender hand still tying her to the frame of the door. Cocking her head to the side in playful intrigue and interest, she flashes Azriel an innocent smile of contentment at the bluntness of his invitation. They both know she had no intentions of saying anything at all, the inside joke shared between them as he beckons her closer and she drifts from the doorway to where he’s lounging atop the covers of his bed to crawl in between the open space of his arms spread wide to encircle her against him.

#meaercies #✲ CERRIDWEN [ interaction ] #✲ CERRIDWEN [ dynamic ] AZRIEL #Cerr is v. bbygirl #this turned out so wholesome

[bloodofthefates]

This art is by alba_r_art

#✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ inspo ] #✲ NESTA ARHCERON [ dynamic ] CASSIAN #Miranda attacked me with a lot of feels #neither of us are sorry

[bloodofthefates]

A necessary evil; that’s what she’d told herself when she’d been willing to sell the worth of her body for the sake of her sisters. It was the same mantra she’d been practicing every waking second since she’d been forced into the cauldron against her will and come out an abomination of who she used to be. Mother dearest’s political weapon. Nesta’s ability to push every boundary and test every limitation was now the sole reliance of the entirety of the Night Court hanging as heavily over her head as the mockery of Feyre’s coronet placed upon her head; claimed & collared by the High Lord of Nightmares. It was just playing pretend, children’s games groomed into a role she’d been preparing for her entire life but it wasn’t merely social standing on the line for the sake of bagging prosperous husband’s. The fate of all of Prythian and the human lands weighed heavily on her nearly exposed chest; the only reason she’d agreed to play along in the games of Rhysand’s so-called Court of Nightmares. Nesta can feel his fire, detect it in the strain of his jaw and set of his shoulders atop his onyx throne. The way his eyes lock onto her with the threat of pure violence bordering on disgust she recognizes, the only familiar thing about him in this damnable place and the same look he always reserves for the openness of his dislike for her. The others fall for the ruse, mistaking his intent for possession and passion. Good. She half-smirks to herself, heavily leaning into her role as she ascends the dais and purposeful in her movements to brush past Keir close enough that the fabric of her scantily clad dress of deathly black brushes over him with the insignificance of dirt or dust at her heels. She doesn’t deem him worthy enough for a second look beyond the one delivered with distaste down the end of her nose, driving home the reminder of why they’re here in the first place. To educate who is still really in charge.  The magnetism of that draw to power delivers Nesta seamlessly into Rhys’s lap; as graceful and effortless as every turn and step she’s ever brutally practiced on ballroom floors as if she’s always belonged there too by second nature. While she’s been accused of being conservative in her ways, Nesta is anything but shy when making the hard sell count. She’s always learned how to wield her body as much a weapon as wealth and for this performance she must balance between both. Cozying up against Rhys’s chest, her body writhes like a charmed venomous serpent and while she holds the intensity of his violet gaze locked on her she gives him the floor to dress down Keir and taking her cue of submission instead taunting the tips of her nails along the back side of his neck as she leans in to run her nose along the nape of his neck, seemingly blissfully unaware of the entirety of the Court’s attendance as their audience.

Rhys’s words rumble against her, the tethers of his power reaching the far corners of the throne room and sending a threatening shiver down her spine, a visceral genuine reaction she hadn’t anticipated by the switch in not only his demeanor but his tone as he continued to toy with her before Keir’s very eyes. Nesta lands her mark directly on target, purring along as she earns Rhys’s caress as she feels the push of his daemati ability. ‘Then you better make it look like it means something.’ She’ll test and taunt him at every turn but he’s quick to take the bait. Nesta’s attention snaps to him as he commands her chin in his hold, a flash of surprise and something else lingering beneath the silver flames lurking in both the ice of her veins and flicker in her eyes. Their lips collide, forceful and without restraint. Nothing gentle is meant to exist here beneath the carvings of demons and monsters; so they become one of the creatures themselves. Nesta fights back with equal fervor, pushing Rhys against the high back of his coveted throne as her legs straddle the one true position of power. Just before she pulls back from the kiss for show, she delivers a swift nip to his bottom lip; a lasting reminder that he’s every bit playing with fire.

@bloodofthefates ( nesta ) ; mmph! ( ask prompts. )

CONSIDER THIS: HIS RESTRAINT. —- the tension in his jaw carries to the set of his shoulders. coerced, cornered, threatened. all for a good show. ( they'll shove it down their godsdamned throats. ) he looks to his mate's eldest sister, crowned and dressed in midnight black. her expression is cold, set like ice; he knows the storm beneath the kindness of her composure well, by now. he wades in tides all the same. they've a plan to bide time for spring's foiling ... and spite, alone, in the face of their unfathomable task: would carry the both of them. and well. lest the entirety of his dream-filled court falter and fall. and feyre, to be irrevocably held by thorns. NIGHTMARE'S STEWART froths at the mouth; his is an opportunity unlike any other. one that'd begged to overthrow ... one that'd strip titles like wings from his back. mor had too-nearly taken two knees. ( never again. ) —- DECEPTION was their game. his: a preference, turned.

" i'm not all that fond of sharing. i've my playthings. you have yours. " he drawls as if he's bored, despite rage's inferno beneath his skin. nesta's skin runs in stark contrast beneath his touch, and he is not beyond the admission that: he admires its soft run. " ... isn't that right? " he questions keir's interest; she purrs, dutifully, beneath the hot breath he'd spilled down the column of her neck. the stiffness at her back melts; he smiles. ( ' surely, one kiss will suffice. just make it convincing. ' ) they'd been prepared for this. he'd been prepared. though he's chasing his next breath all the while. one nip. at her shoulder. another, to which she turns nearer to him, seated well atop his lap. —- her lips part, as if she'd meant to answer him ( though he'd noted, she'd worn her part, yet ); he reaches to anchor her jaw within his grasp. " it is. " keir starts at them, but he's quick to deflect and indulge. the breath he'd sought resides in nesta's lungs; he merely works to draw it out. or so, it'd seem. their exploration is an honest one. untraveled planes beckon the touch of his hand ... it's a part. it's a play. and they: on full display.

#nightstriumph #✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ interaction ] #✲ NESTA ARCHERON [ dynamic ] RHYSAND #WHAT HAVE WE DONE #uhhhhhhhh

[bloodofthefates]

#something something Rhys seeing Feyre for the first time at Calanmai #Feyre dreaming of stars and dresser drawers #songs UTM #AHHHHH #✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ music ] #✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ inspo ] #✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ dynamic ] RHYSAND