called it what it was (guin)

[Julius Auyn]

called it what it was

[attr="class","box1a"] Julius liked mornings. They were what came before everything went wrong, the time you were free of reflecting and considering and didn't yet have any messes to clean up. Any issues from the night before had been slept off; all he had to do was show people how to see them in the warmer light and they'd evaporate. Mornings were ease and false hope.  He strolled into the main room of his house, where a fire was going in the heavy stone hearth, low and wavering. Guin must have started it. His girl. So thoughtful, wasn't she? She was getting better at just expecting what he wanted, sparing him from having to ask. Easy.  The border between indoors and out in fae homes was generally blurred, the transition gradual. Some carried the look of artistic ruins, while others were entirely underground. In the case of his house, there was a wide patio of sorts that flowed out from the main room, just stone set into the ground. Lots of stone. Julius liked reliable materials, things he didn't have to worry about managing. He had enough to control. There were doors to the porch, but they were almost always open.  Guin was in what he had of a kitchen, facing the island, which was one massive, veined block of volcanic rock. Smaller chunks of the same functioned as cabinet handles, and the ceiling dripped with crystals. Julius slipped up behind her and grasped her hips, splaying his hands out over them, then leaned in close to her neck, subtly taking in the warm, earthy scent of morning that clung to her skin. Mortals. He was fascinated by the substance of her body, the way it didn't flow and flex in his hands but gave him something to hold on to.  "You should put that dress back on," he said into her shoulder, his voice low and buzzing in his chest. "Should've saved it for me to begin with. But you would go to kill a king in style, wouldn't you, Guin?" He wanted to be the only one to see it this time. She'd been drawing too many eyes for his liking. When so much of her skin was exposed, it was clearly soft and smooth in a way granted by youth and not fae flawlessness. For a people who could live centuries, the fae loved novelty. And Julius was just another one of them. It didn't matter what anyone else liked; he didn't like sharing.  Guinivere Marcel [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #804a00;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 417 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Julius Auyn

662 Words

Music

n/a

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Because it reminds you of innocence [break]



And it smells like me

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Guinivere watched the flames flicker, curl upwards and die again. It had been the middle of the night and all of a sudden it was dawn. She didn't remember it all. Some part of her must have felt the cold. Must have started a fire. Must have changed out of her dress and put on this silk robe and made herself tea. Just one cup. Half of her wished Julius wasn't here at all, but it was never really about what she wanted, was it? She felt dizzy. Everything had been a blur. [break][break]


The king drank. His eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to the ground. Guinivere tried to look away, but this time she couldn't. His wine spilled all over the ground like a bloodstain. His son stumbled back. His whole family did. His last moments, and even a king was utterly alone. He fell onto his oldest son. His son let him fall. After the screaming, after the fire, after the roar of the guards, after the woman from the south court was murdered, after the chaos and the deals and the bloodshed, Guinivere left the tower. No one even looked at her. She was just some minor mortal nothing. It was her armor. But she looked across the pavilion, and his crown was lying on the ground in a puddle of wine. She alone could lift it. No one else dared to touch it now, not until an official ceremony. But she was his murderer. It was her right.   [break][break]




She had never had anything before. [break][break]




Julius came in. She barely heard him. From that moment-- from the moment she realized that crown was hers alone-- everything seemed hazier. Soon, her doors would lock if she wanted them to. Soon it would be her throne, her crown, her name. She hated the thought. It made her skin crawl. She didn't feel at all ready, but it was more than that. It felt wrong, like she was far too entangled in him to be her own person again. This was love, wasn't it? [break][break]


He reached for her and she leaned into him. It was easier to fall into him then resist it. Easier and she was so tired. She hadn't really slept at all. She didn't know why-- she just stared at the ceiling all last night. It didn't feel like she had killed a king. It didn't feel like she'd done anything. It was all just a dream. [break][break]


"It was your idea." she said, not at all sure if he was joking. She doubted he had decided yet. "It was at a revel." And anyway, if he wanted to see the dress, he should have been here. She bit back that last response, knowing it was pointless. He would say he was here now and that was what mattered. She never asked-- she wasn't sure he could answer-- if he would be here if she failed. He was always there was she really needed him, it seemed, but why did he always decide when that was? How come he seemed to know her better than she knew herself? She tried to chalk it up to her mortality and her age, but she couldn't quite make the sums total. He wasn't like her father had been to her mother, never forbidding her from anything, but always suggesting against it. And there were consequences either way. [break][break]


She had bandaged her own wounds. Those were hers. She didn't have to fight that boy-- she didn't have to make a deal with him. She did. A queen needed allies, and they would have to trust her. Until Julius could move himself into more prominence-- and she was sure he would-- they would be dealing with her. Dealing and making deals. It was all moving pieces across a board until it wasn't anymore and a man was dead and his children were trying not to look but his murderer was watching. [break][break]










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[Julius Auyn]

called it what it was

[attr="class","box1a"] So Guin was deciding to be difficult today. Julius had known it was a risk to send her after the king; after all, that kind of power could go to someone's head, especially someone young and mortal and easily influenced. Someone like her. But he was still the one with the scheme, the one directing the steed of this plan. They wouldn't get much further into it before Guin would remember. He wasn't worried. "Now, you know I like you feisty sometimes, Guin, but it's too early for that," Julius said, kissing the spot behind her ear that usually made her gasp. "Come, now, be sweet for me, won't you?"  Guin was a blossom that needed nurturing and oversight. He didn't mind it; he liked the softness and substance of her, her warm scent and her wide eyes. Julius liked the nameless thing in her touch that was different than anything the fae could offer and irrevocably his. He liked her and she needed him. That was plenty of balance.  "If it had been my idea, I would've told you to wear it just for me," he said, turning her in his hands so that her back was against the counter and pressing forward just slightly, hands still cupping her hips. Even the jut of her bones was different from that of the fae. Julius liked the idea of having something unique, something special. He kissed the side of her neck, breathing her in, grazing her with his teeth. "What was it like, seeing the king fall? Tell me about it. Tell me all of it."  As long as you can string words together, he thought, intending to drive her breathless. Mortal girls weren't so different from the fae that he didn't know which buttons to touch and how.  Guinivere Marcel , [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #804a00;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 303 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Julius Auyn

559 Words

Music

n/a

[break][break]

Because it reminds you of innocence [break]



And it smells like me

[break][break]







Guinivere found it too easy to lean into him, into his touch and his presence. He was grounding in a way that nothing else was. She felt more sure of where and what she was, where and what she was doing when he was around, yet she also felt more fragmented, all at once. She didn't expect it to make sense. She just knew that it was easy to let him hold her. It was easy to ignore whatever he was saying. It was dangerously easy. 

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"It is early." she teased, resting her head on his shoulder. "Maybe I just don't want to be sweet," She let him shift her so that she was sitting on the counter, her tea beside her. It was black, nothing in it. Sometimes she added lavender, but this wasn't the season for that at all. 

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This room seemed so simple, so soothing in the early light. For a minute he wasn't a Lord and she wasn't a kingslayer, and she could just relax. There was no source of like save for the weak sunlight and the fire. It was snowing gently, but inside this room, it was warm. It was a sanctuary from the weather. And it wouldn't protect her from what was coming. 

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If she was honest, she was terrified. If she was honest, she didn't just want to let him hold her, she wanted to hold tight and not let go. If she was honest, she could feel her pulse quicken and it wasn't because of the way he was kissing her at all. This wasn't her idea. She wasn't at all sure it was what she wanted. But what else did she have to do? 

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She didn't want to go on the way she was, hiding in the shadows, killing and running and keeping everything quiet. If she was Queen, she wouldn't have to kill anyone else. If she was Queen, she would be responsible for the deaths of scores of people. She wasn't Queen yet. She wasn't anything yet. 

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Her mother would have said that twenty-three was still young, but being around him made her feel even younger. Maybe it was just the distance between their ages or the confidence he had that she never would. Maybe it was just that he seemed to plan for every scenario and she was never ready. Or maybe it was that when she was ready, he didn't really care. Nothing she did really impressed him. Did she want this to be different? Did she care? 

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She said nothing to him now. She had nothing to say. She was tired and she didn't know where to start when it didn't seem like it would matter that much anyway. When nothing she did seemed to matter that much. A king drank wine and a king died. It was not glamourous. It was just brutal. 

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Things were about to change, and that scared her most of all. That this routine was unstable, but it was routine, and when she was on a throne, everything would change. She couldn't lean on him so much. She would have to rely on everyone else. She would have to have scores of advisors, and allies, and generals. Everything would be so different, and it scared her, but she was also intrigued. 

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With every storm came the winds of change. 

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[Julius Auyn]

called it what it was

[attr="class","box1a"]Julius took a deep inhale of the perfume that clung to Guin's skin. He wasn't sure if it was natural or if she put it on, but it didn't make a difference to him as long as she kept it up. He didn't need her changing on him, especially not the things he liked. He paused in his kisses when she rested her head on his shoulder, her long hair tickling his neck. Maybe she'd be slow to warm up this morning. That was all right. He could be patient; he had seen more time than she, after all.  He enfolded her in his arms like a sleepy child, grasping his own wrist. "If you don't want to be sweet, you shouldn't smell like flowers all the time, baby," he mused, his voice low beside her ear. He gave a low chuckle. "It's all right, you know, Guin. You are sweet. You've always been sweet. I like that about you." He grinned and tipped his head sideways to rest it on top of hers. "It isn't so sweet to kill a king, anyway. You can kill as many kings as you want as long as you keep being sweet to me and smelling like flowers. How's that for a compromise?" He nipped teasingly at her ear. Sometimes she could be so still and quiet, like a strange doll. Julius was reminded of the times in his childhood when he'd tire of watching insects lay still in the sun, unmoving when he poked them with a fallen bough. He'd flip them over so that they would do something interesting—namely struggling to right themselves. Sometimes he wanted to prod Guin or turn her onto her proverbial back until she smiled at him or said something to right herself, to make him stop.  He pressed forward so that they were chest to chest, soaking in her body heat to escape from the cold outside. "You're so quiet today, Guin. Is everything all right?" He kissed her neck again, impatient now and seeking the scent of flowers on her skin. The picture of her body in that dress was stuck in his mind. He needed the reminder that it belonged to him. But he didn't want her dollike. He didn't want her to break. He wanted her to melt in his hands. "Are you cold? Or is it the guilt?" He leaned back enough to bring her hand to his face and kiss her palm, the skin soft despite its way of grasping a blade. "Strange time to develop a conscience, Belladonna. Beautiful lady." He smiled into her hand, meeting her cavernous eyes.  "Remember guilt hasn't helped you so far." I have. Guinivere Marcel [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #804a00;[/newclass]

Music Word count:  Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem

[Guinivere Marcel]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","Lost"]

[break]

Julius Auyn

565 Words

Music

n/a

[break][break]

Because it reminds you of innocence [break]



And it smells like me

[break][break]







Was it so bad to want to be held? Was it so bad to want him near her? Was it so bad to need to be warm? Wanting was never the bad thing. It was what you would give up to get it.[break][break]





He made her feel seen and wanted. She had never been wanted, not as a child. Her father didn't want to see her. Her mother dragged her to the garden to hide. She would plant rows of flowers alongside Guinivere and tell her secrets, whispering in Chinese. Soon the whole yard wouldn't smell like flowers. It would smell like turned dirt. Guinivere loved that smell until her grandmother passed.


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On sunny days, she used to dance in the garden. Then her mother's mother was gone and there was a grave in the garden, and it smelled like turned earth all over again, but lingering over it all was cut flowers. Guinivere hated cut flowers. She hated smelling like them too. Right now, she wasn't at all sure she smelled like cut flowers. She suspected she smelled like a grave.




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And that was the trouble, because she wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that he was right, and she wasn't at all sure what she would give up to get it. Medea killed her children for power and Kronos ate his young. Why was it always the children to be sacrificed? Guinivere had no children to give. Was she still a girl? Would she be the sacrifice?

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Her mother gave her up, even if it wasn't on purpose. Guinivere faced her father's wrath so that her mother wouldn't have to. She stood up in between them so her mother would be safe and happy and make them both tea. Her mother made lavender tea when they came in from the cold. You hadn't been cold until you had sat in your room in the dark with no tea because your mother was not well enough to make it. You hadn't been brave until you were a child standing up to a grown man so your mother would be safe.




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Guinevere was not cold now, and she was not brave. She was just hungry, and hungry people were the most dangerous. Maybe she was alright with being dangerous. Maybe she wanted to be. Maybe she wouldn’t always be the sweet one.


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When she kissed his cheek, he tasted sweet. Julius tasted like the candies shoved into her hands at family gatherings to keep her quiet, the kind that melted and stuck and made her scrub her palms. He didn’t taste floral. He didn’t taste bitter. He was sweet, and that alone was enough to make her lean into him more. ”If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the sweet one,” she teased. So she wanted him and she would cross the line to get him. She had done it before. The question now was where the line stopped. The question now was what being dangerous all the time really meant.




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She wasn’t guilty. Should that shock her? She had stumbled down a path and she was here now, and she could not find it in herself to be sorry. Maybe when the lights faded. Maybe when the sun rose in fullness. Somehow she doubted it. ”Only beautiful for you,” she said. “Because I trust you to keep out the cold.”




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[Julius Auyn]

called it what it was

[attr="class","box1a"]In the moments that he most loved Guin, she reminded him of Elora.  They were different kinds of love, of course; if it even needed stating, the physical attraction solely applied to Guin. But she had his baby sister's yearning gaze, her poet's spirit and her way with flowers. He feared for her, sometimes, that she would be broken if she tried to draw away from him, just as Elora had been.  His sister hadn't known any better, and he could only hope that Guin's innocence, lovely though it was, didn't lead her to the same fate. He had more faith in her. She knew how to protect herself. He could only hope that the world didn't prove to be too much for her, that she didn't force him to fail at his job of protecting her. Perhaps that was what he felt, in moments like this, the urge to claim her—it was a protective instinct, some unacknowledged drive to keep her safe.  She suddenly didn't feel close enough, even here within the circle of his arms. The world outside, where ice raked its fingers over the ground and snow swirled and blinded, wanted to take everything that was his. Julius inhaled and felt his chest brush against her as it rose. She was still right there, he reminded himself. His girl.  "I'm sweet as nectar," he said, a smile spreading slow over his face, voice husky. "But you know that already, don't you, Guin? I suppose I should be sweet to you, now that my baby's a kingslayer. Are you going to make me watch my back?" he teased, running his fingers up the channel of her spine. Light touches and brushes never failed to get a response from her. He repeated the motion, this time dragging his nails along slightly. "I don't know if I should trust you in this kitchen anymore, Belladonna," he went on, the lilt remaining in his tone. He lifted her face to his. 'But you wouldn't poison me with a kiss, would you?" Despite the impatience of his efforts, it was with gentleness that he brought their lips together. Sometimes he forgot that despite her mortal solidity, the reason he liked Guin was that she reminded him of kinder times, that her softness drew forth his own. "Only for me," he repeated, their faces close. "You could almost fool me into thinking I'm happy again, Guin, you know that?"  Tags here [newclass=.box1a]margin:0px auto; width:300px; height:425px; background: transparent; overflow:auto; padding:8px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar]width:5px;[/newclass] [newclass=.box1a::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]background: #804a00;[/newclass]

Music Word count: 413 Notes:

credit to Laura of Adox + SeaJem