#[vine voice] that's my oPINION!!!!!

[deanofsam]

i fear i’m not as horny as some of you… what if i just want them to keep doing their weird not-doing anything forever. what if it was enough for me that they remain by each other’s side for the rest of time. what then

[fcntasmas]

ik people want buck to walk maddie down the aisle and like i agree obvs as president of the buckley parents haters club but also. she unfortunately does have a dad she’s getting along with as of late. he's probably going to walk her down the aisle (pending actor availability lmao). so i'm fully on the buck-as-maid-of-honor train HOWEVER.

i actually made this post to say if it were BUCK getting married. maddie’s walking him down the aisle 100%

[abracazabka]

"you dont like jfabe?? but they're gay??" i see most clone high characters as bisexual, that is not the problem. the problem is abe. i don't want anyone to have to deal with him other than, perhaps, the human garbage that is topher bus. i did not forget how s1 abe treated joan, he and topher deserve each other...

[heirofnight]

between you & i

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: reader departs on a solo intel mission after ignoring azriel's warnings of danger. reader ends up captured, and guess who ends up coming to her rescue? you guessed it, a pissed off az. enemies to lovers. reader and az do not like each other. yum.

warnings: talk of injuries, being captured, abuse, minor self-deprecation.

you currently found yourself in a bit of a ... precarious situation. to say the least.

your sweat-dampened hair was matted to the sides of your cheeks, your forehead.

holy gods, was it fucking hot in here.

you pressed the back of your head against the stone wall behind you, hoping that the cool brick would offer some reprieve against the sweltering heat.

oh yeah, by the way, the stone wall that you were sat against belonged to a cell. a cell that you were definitely, undoubtedly, locked inside of.

your wrists were bound in chains, your arms bunched behind you haphazardly. this really, really fucking sucked. rhysand would be so pissed.

you huffed out a breath, eyes cast towards the ceiling that was covered in vines, weeds, and moss. you zoned out, reflecting on the happenings that consequently landed you here.

"are you absolutely sure that you'd rather travel alone, y/n?," rhysand had questioned you the evening prior, expression littered with apprehension and hesitation.

you'd rolled your eyes at his protective concern, a smirk playing on your lips.

"rhys, it's a singular little mission to the autumn court," you'd countered, "i'll be back in what - two, three days?," you'd continued, flicking strands of hair over your shoulders. you were hardly concerned - after all, you'd collected intel for rhysand countless times, and you'd always walked away unscathed.

you were a scholar, and this was a huge part of your job within the night court - the chance of running into trouble was slim-to-none. your task involved meeting eris within the outskirts of his territory, collecting confidential information on the inner-political developments occurring within the crisp autumn court for rhys. easy, peasy.

something you could have done blindfolded, hands tied.

which, now, considering your current circumstances, that part had literally come to fruition.

azriel had stood in utter stoicism next to the head of rhys' polished mahogany desk, brows cinched together, eyes hard.

"no, it's unwise," he'd uttered, voice cold and deep - the first words he'd spoken since you'd arrived for your mission debrief.

you and azriel were - well, complicated. while you didn't absolutely loathe each other, there was this very prominent undertone of thick, suffocating tension that had formed a barrier between the both of you. you'd both opted to tread lightly each other - civil when necessary, silent and aloof otherwise.

he'd never really seemed to give much of a shit about you, so this outburst was unlike him.

his words caused you to sit up infinitesimally straighter, eyes locked on his strong frame from across the room.

"and why's that?," you'd questioned, voice sounding bored, dismissive of his opinion.

"too much unrest across his lands as of late," he offered, shifting within his boots just slightly, "we aren't entirely sure who, or what, is patrolling that area. it's dangerous, i should accompany you," he'd finished, sounding as though he'd already made his mind up.

you'd scoffed at the suggestion, standing with the intention of taking your leave before azriel was able to convince rhys any differently.

"no, thank you, shadowsinger," you'd waved a hand in dismissal, waltzing towards the large, wooden double doors of the office.

"i don't need to be coddled, i think i can manage on my own just fine," you'd added, back turned to the two males.

it was azriel's turn to scoff in exasperation, and although you couldn't see him, you could hear his wings rustle in irritation. the thought made you smirk to yourself, reveling in the idea of getting a rise out of the normally impassive spy.

"now, y/n,-," rhys began, his voice laced with consideration.

"i'll see the both of you in a few days," you'd cut him off, letting the door shut behind you with a resounding thud, the sound echoing down the stone halls.

and that was that. you'd decided to depart first thing this morning, hoping to avoid either one of the busybody males just in case rhys had commanded azriel to travel with you, after all.

you rolled your eyes, shuffling slightly against the cell floor as you thought of the verbal lashing you'd receive once you got back to velaris.

azriel would probably be present while rhysand berated you for this catastrophic mistake, and if you thought hard enough, you could just picture the smug smirk that would more than likely be adorning his polished features. az would be enjoying the fact that he was correct, sunbathing himself in your downfall, your failure.

the thought filled you with so much rage, so much embarrassment. it caused your skin to flush and grow even hotter, which was a feat in itself since you didn't think it was possible for the stifling heat to get worse.

you'd been captured by a lone group of autumn court rebels, who'd just happened to be traveling along the exact same path you'd taken to meet eris. you weren't sure what their plans were for you - a night court female. they knew who you were, they knew you were employed with rhys. if you had to guess, they were holding you hostage to use as some sort of bargaining chip.

regardless, it'd been twelve hours since you'd been tossed into this cell. you had not the slightest clue where you even were in relation to the court itself. you'd been blindfolded and jostled about, and your sense of direction had been destroyed in the process.

you were so, so thirsty. your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, throat dry enough that it felt like you'd ingested hot coals each time you struggled to swallow.

you were nervous, yes. on edge. your feathers were ruffled. but you knew eris would report your absence to rhysand. it was only a matter of time before someone found you. and when they did, you'd be reprimanded endlessly. you'd probably never hear the end of it - never be allowed to depart on solo missions again. you'd probably be stuck with azriel, that self-righteous, arrogant -

your thoughts came to a screeching halt once you noticed that the cell had become dark. it was mid-afternoon, and barred holes in the wall had been allowing the afternoon light to filter into the small space. which honestly, with this heat, felt like an additional form of torture.

but now, a chill filled the darkened air. no light filtered through - not even a pin-prick of luminance could be accounted for. you couldn't see inches ahead of you. your spine straightened, your head perked up. and before you could make heads or tails of the odd infiltrating darkness, it had dissipated entirely.

you blinked several times, weary, exhausted eyes struggling to acclimate to the warm light.

but once you'd righted yourself, you saw it. saw him.

azriel stood before you, half of his body swathed in swirling shadows. his arms were folded across his chest, eyes narrowed in distaste as he took in the sight of you - battered, bruised, filthy, restrained. his wings rustled several times before pulling tightly into his back, clearly agitated.

his jaw ticked in anger, and he dropped his head to avert his gaze to the cell floor at his feet. his muscles flexed with tension, and he was pissed.

and while you assumed the anger was directed at you, at your stupidity, azriel was biting back the urge to level the entire autumn court for what those males had done to you.

you swallowed hard, throat burning from the action. you opted to not speak, fully understanding how monumental this fuck-up was. you hadn't even departed velaris with a weapon strapped to your body, completely void of protection. so, so stupid.

"how could you be so foolish," azriel sneered, his arms dropping to his sides, clenched fists flexing. his voice was so low, so cold, you'd finally understood how he was able to intimidate his victims to the point of broken resolve.

you looked down, ashamed, embarrassed.

"i didn't-," you started, voice hoarse.

azriel huffed angrily at the sound of it.

"no, you didn't," he cut you off, stepping towards you with a leveled thump of his boots. "you didn't," he continued, tone laced with contempt.

"you didn't think. you didn't consider how dangerous-," he paused, having to take a deep, steady breath to compose himself.

you continued staring at the floor, anywhere but him. you definitely didn't dare look at his face, his eyes as they bore into you.

"look at me," he commanded, voice growing harsh.

you averted your gaze from the floor, choosing to stare at the bright, barred window that was cut into the upper left wall instead.

"y/n," he growled, stooping down to your level to grab your chin between his thumb and pointer fingers. his grip wasn't harsh - probably due to him being careful of exacerbating any potential injuries - but it was demanding. "look at me," he repeated.

you caved, meeting his hard hazel eyes with hesitation. you tried your damndest to look as unfazed and unwavering as possible - as though being captured and beaten hadn't taken a toll on you. but when you met his familiar face, took in his features and realized you were being saved, you faltered. relief flooded your veins, overflowing until it reached your softening eyes.

unshed tears began to well up, and you used every ounce of willpower that you had left to not allow them to fall.

azriel's expression became tender as he took you in, as he studied your expression. he saw your bruises and scrapes up close now, and he dropped his head once more, shoulders drooping slightly.

"you could have gotten yourself killed," he croaked, anger still lacing his words.

"so, what," you deadpanned, voice rasping, "then you would have been right, about me - about this mission. about how foolishly incapable i am," you said solemnly, jerking your chin from his unfaltering grip.

he snapped his head upward, meeting your eyes immediately. his brows cinched, and you momentarily observed the splattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose - you'd never noticed them before, had never been this close to him.

he blinked once, twice - his long, thick lashes whispering across his skin as he did so.

"that's what you think this is about?," he questioned, voice breathless in disbelief.

you scoffed weakly, pushing yourself up further against the damp wall behind you.

"please, azriel. you've never been subtle about how incompetent you find me," your voice coated in disdain.

he let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he absorbed your words.

"no, y/n," he grunted, his hands moving forward to begin working at the cuffs around your wrists. you'd both needed to get the hell out of here, urgently. it had been hours since you'd last seen your captors, and you were both painfully aware of the likelihood that they'd return.

could azriel singlehandedly fight off an entire hoard of rebels? absolutely. did he want to dismember and mutilate the males that did this to you? abso-fucking-lutely. but more than that, he wanted to get you home, safe, and with madra.

you hissed as he began to work his deft hands around the harsh chains. they'd been pulled so tightly to your skin, that you'd already come to terms with the possibility of losing circulation to the limbs.

his eyes flickered up to your face at the sound of your discomfort, and he winced at the realization of causing you further pain.

"i've never thought that you were incompetent," he continued as he worked, using his words to distract you from the pain he was inflicting, "hotheaded? yes, confident to a fault? sometimes," he continued, and you scoffed at his jabs.

"azriel, just shut the fu-," you blurted, his words bristling your already raw skin.

"but," he cut you off, continuing on with his tangent, "you are also strong, brave - obviously. loyal to your court, to rhys," he went on, pausing for a moment, "and i've always admired you," he finished, voice lowering.

you went silent, considering his words. you became painfully aware of his close proximity, of his hands against your swollen wrists as he fought to free you.

his eyes flitted to your softening expression, gauging your reaction to his words.

and internally, you were realizing for the first time, that maybe you and azriel were more alike than you'd initially thought.

he finally freed your hands, and you groaned at the relief, at the blood rushing down to the stiff limbs.

he helped you gently, bringing your arms back to the front of your exhausted frame. you closed your eyes for a moment, taking deep, even breaths at the feeling of being free, being saved. by azriel.

"how did you know where to find me?," you croaked, peeking one eye open to look up at the male before you. he was crouched closer to you now, poised to catch you if you careened over.

"eris relayed the information to rhys - the general whereabouts of your planned meeting location," he began, eyes flicking over your entire body to scan for any other injuries.

"and rhysand sent you to track me down?," you questioned, assuming that it was a command from his high lord - a decision he didn't make.

"i didn't give him the chance to," he offered, swallowing thickly, "i was at autumn's border before eris finished his report," he cleared his throat, cheeks tinting the slightest shade of pink.

there was a slight pause.

"he didn't have a choice," he spoke, voice deep and gravelly. he met your eyes with that last statement, as if to make a point.

you sat up slightly, reeling with the words azriel had spoken. they blanketed the both of you, sitting heavy against your chest.

azriel had chosen to track you down, to save you? not only that, but it seemed like it was almost second nature for him. to seek you out, to rescue you.

you opened and closed your mouth several times, looking for the right words. nothing you'd come up with was good enough.

"let's get you home," he said softly, reaching under your limp frame to hoist you into his strong arms. you whined quietly, your body rebuking the movement.

"i know," he soothed, bracing you against his chest.

and then you were both wrapped in endless shadows and night.

cradled against your tall, strong salvation.

things had irrevocably changed between you and azriel after that. you'd both known it.

and sure enough, from that day onward, he was your chosen partner on every mission you'd decide to embark on. and azriel had insisted the same.

choosing each other, time and time again.

and sometimes, when you'd both inevitably need to stop for the evening - finding reprieve in a shoddy inn after a grueling travel day, azriel would request a room with just one bed.

and what happened under the covers on those evenings - when your body would melt into his, his forehead pressed against yours, explorative hands learning each other -

well, that was just between the both of you.

a/n: another one shot that just demanded to be written immediately. brought on by scrolling on tiktok lmao. hope u loved it! let me know your thoughts <3

[tirasamu]

01. CRUEL BEYOND MY YEARS . . . you do the impossibleー you make dazai feel. that's why you're his, even if neither of you know it yet.

ft. pm!dazai + pm!reader, possessive behavior, descriptions of depression, oda, ango, and chuuya are there too, 2.4k w.c.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai knows he’s supposed to be in a meeting right now.

He yawns, hands behind his head in a makeshift pillow, overgrown legs hanging off the arm of the couch as he stretches out. The heels of his shoes graze his jacket, haphazardly tossed aside when he first came into his office and laid down.

Even with the sleep mask covering his face, blocking out the sun that pools into the top floors of the Port Mafia’s Headquarters, he knows it’s you who’s approaching his door.

He fights back a smile, something he rarely has the opportunity to do. He keeps his breathing steady and deep as he hears the familiar rhythm of your knuckles against his office door, knocking in a code. You both came up with it when you were younger, freshly sixteen against the hollow walls of his shipping container; your own shared secret. He hears the gentle creak of the old wood as you peek inside.

“Dazai?” he hears the soft sound of your footsteps as you come closer, then a sigh he’d recognize anywhere.  “Dazai. Take that thing off. It’s creepy.”

He remains still. He’s supposed to be asleep, after all.

“I see Mr. Executive is as busy as always,” you say sarcastically, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. You slip your thumb under the soft cotton padding of the sleep mask and slide it up his face, pushing his bangs back. The soft glide of your skin against his forehead leaves tingles in its wake, and it’s easy enough to ignore the burn of his one visible eye adjusting to the bright afternoon light when you’re hovering over him like an angel. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to me?”

A new mission. He sighs exhaustedly, as if was the one who was assigned. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“Not long, probably,” your hip presses against his as you sit on the edge of the couch. You rest your cheek on your hand, arm bridged over his stomach as your elbow props on the backrest. “Chuuya got assigned to it with me. Him and I make a good team.”

“You shouldn’t hang around him so much,” he tilts his head back. “You should be careful. He eats dog food, you know. He really is a dog, isn’t he?”

“Shut up,” you laugh, and the sound makes his heartbeat quicken without his permission. “I know that isn’t true.”

“It is!” he sits up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes, his own shimmering with mirth. “I even saw him do it. You trust me, don’t you?”

You flick his forehead, giggling as you stand back up and straighten your skirt. “You’re just jealous you don’t get to come on this mission with us.”

With us? Dazai swears he could be sick and die right there on the couch, as if there even was a ‘you and Chuuya’. The thought alone makes him nearly double over in pain. If anything, it should be him you were paired up with, and if you asked for his opinion, it was a joke that you weren’t by defaultー even if little assignments like this were below him now that he’s an executive. No one else knew you as well as he did, and no one else ever would; besides, he’d known you longer than that stupid slug. Mori's negligence on the matter makes his stomach churn and his skin prickle uncomfortably.

“Hey,” he grabs onto your jacket sleeve, where the cuffs are still a little too long and the fabric hangs over your wrists, before you can walk away. “Be careful.”

You smile at him brightly, giving him a thumbs up, but it barely fazes him. He watches you leave, gaze dark and mouth firm. Something bitter starts to crawl up his stomach, growing in his chest like thorned vines intertwining and tightening around his ribs.

When Mori first introduced you and Dazai to one another, you were both fourteen years old. The first thing he noticed when he saw you was that your clothing was too big, hanging awkwardly off your body. You’ve both grown since then, nearly identical black jackets and ties over white button-downs adorning your frames. The second thing he noticed was that you were different from him; he could tell from your eyes, bright and glistening.

He can't remember a time when he wasn’t burdened by the feeling of looking through a window, always a spectator. You were different; you had a seat at the table. Every bomb placed, every trigger pulledー you were there with him through it all, with the same fucked up feeling of adrenaline pounding through your veins, except you were attached to the world around you. You saw meaning in it somehow.

He wants to pick you apart piece by piece and study you under a microscope. He wants to understand just what it is about you that makes you so intriguing. What do you know that he doesn’t?

How are you so good at making him feel like this ?

He thinks about you on your mission, even when he tries not to. He flips through his paperwork lazily, pulling sheets from their stapled packets and folding them into origami shapes. He stares at his finger when he gets a paper cut on the edge of a report about some dispute in Kyoto, watching the blood dribble down his skin in small beads. He raids the infirmary for chemicals, slipping past the nurses and picking the lock to the medicine cabinet, pocketing bottles and extra rolls of bandages. He plays on his handheld console, sighing in frustration when his character dies again; if only it was so easy.

It's nearing the latest hours of the night when he decides to sneak into your office that he finds you again, back from your mission and chatting with Chuuya, whose arms are crossed as he leans against the edge of your desk. Dazai skims his eyes over you, noting with satisfaction that there seem to be no new visible injuries on you. He relishes in how Chuuya’s brows furrow when he sees him, and how yours rise in delight, Cheeks rounding in a smile. He throws his arms around your shoulders, your faces close enough for him to count your eyelashes as you tilt your head back to look at him.

“I hope you didn’t have too much fun without me,” he pouts, squeezing you against his chest. “Did you keep Chuuya on his leash during your mission?”

“Don’t talk about me like I'm not here, idiot.”

“Oh, there you are,” he eyes the aforementioned man lazily, as if he were a bug that landed near him. “I almost missed you because you’re so small.”

“I fell asleep right after we were done,” you giggle. “Chuuya had to carry me back.”

“Oh?” he tightens his arms. Dazai always thought you were the cutest post-mission, all sleepy and touchy; he always made sure he was around for those moments. “Did he?”

You’re talking, something else about the mission, but he doesn’t listen. Chuuya looks from you to him when he feels his gaze, eyebrow raising in a silent question. They screw up in irritation when dazai’s eyes narrow as his lips curl up into a cruel grin. He cranes his neck down, nose grazing your temple before he drags his tongue across your cheek.

“Ew, Dazai!” you try to shove him away, but he doesn’t go far, still clinging to you tightly. “What the hell? You’re so gross!”

He laughs in your ear, even as you try to pry his hands off his shoulders. You twist your hand around his wrist, tugging on it and glaring at him over your shoulder.

“Let go, Dazai.”

You’ve only ever looked at him like this when he woke you up in the middle of the night, knocking over one of your chairs after he broke into your apartment; you weren’t able to fall back asleep for hours, and when you finally woke up the next day, you realized he ate the last of the mapo tofu in your fridge.

He loosens his arms, stumbling when you shove him. The feeling of your hands pushing him away is nowhere near as warm as when you brushed his hair back earlier that day. There's no pretty, warm smile dimpling your cheeks either; just the dark wood of your office door grazing his nose, the sound of it slamming shut, and Chuuya’s annoyed glare still prickling his skin. 

His chest tightens. 

The flickering light of Bar Lupin’s sign penetrates the foggy night air, like a lighthouse calling lost ships home. Ango and Oda are already inside when Dazai arrives. A cigarette dribbles loose curls of smoke into the air as Ango cradles his glass between his palms and Oda tilts his head back to sip his whiskey. The bar’s most devoted patron hops from Dazai’s seat knowingly, landing on his little white paws as Dazai sits down on the stool with a huff.

He rests his chin against his forearm, sighing into his elbow as the bartender places his usual in front of him wordlessly. The two older men look at the pouty pile of messy hair between them. Oda knows he’s waiting for one of them to ask, so he does. 

“Did something happen today, Dazai?”

“Yes,” he bounces the sphere of ice against the bottom of the glass, feeling his fingertip go numb. “She’s mad at me.”

“What did you do now?” Ango eyes him wearily from behind his glasses.

“How rude,” he says flatly, his voice sounding hollow without his usual playfulness. “Immediately assuming I’m at fault.”

“Aren’t you always?” he sighs into the rim of his glass, taking a long sip.

They both wait in silence before Dazai shoots up in his seat, his stool spinning slightly.

“How can that stupid slug touch what’s mine?”

“'Yours’?” Ango asks, a thin eyebrow raised. “People don’t own other people.”

“I didn't know you two were dating,” Oda says.

“We’re not,” Dazai sags back down, folding his arms and laying his head down so his eyes are level with his glass again. “That's gross.”

“You’re not?” Oda repeats. “…Then why are you upset?”

He feels the bandages around his eyes loosen as he turns his head away, squishing his cheek into his elbow. The cat licks his paws across the bar, before reaching up and rubbing his little face. He catches dazai’s gaze, looking at him with round, unblinking eyes.

His chest tightens again.

The sun is rising, melting the black of the night sky to gold when Dazai arrives at your apartment. His hand freezes inside his pocket, fingers wrapped around his lock pick, glancing back to your door. He lets it go and knocks instead, beating his knuckles against the wood in your secret code.

You’re in your pajamas when you open the door, and he notices the bruise on your leg that was hidden under your work uniform. He looks at you like a lost puppy; ears down, eyes big, with his nonexistent tail between his legs.

“Hey,” your eyes dart along his body, and he knows you’re scanning him for injuries too. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, and you let him meekly slip past you into your apartment. Your blanket is pooled on the floor from where you were sitting at your coffee table, chopsticks and a bowl of stir fry waiting for you; the schedule of a mafiosa has your circadian rhythm flipped, eating dinner as the sun rises.

“Did you eat anything yet?” you ask him, sitting back on the ground.

His big brown eyes blink down at you in a silent answer.

You open the side of your blanket expectantly, scooting over to make space for him. You nudge your food between the two of you when he sits beside you. His stomach flutters as he thinks about you feeding him from your chopsticks, a hand cupped under his chin, your soft thumb brushing his lips as you wipe them clean. He ignores it, plucking a shrimp out of your bowl with his fingers instead.

“You can have the rest,” you bundle the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, sighing softly as you lay your head down on his shoulder. “I made extra. I knew you’d come over.”

“You did?”

“Mhm,” you rub your thumb along the edge of his bandages where his palm and wrist meet absentmindedly. “I know you.”

You do, scarily so. You like your stir fry spicy, but you kept it mild for him. because you knew he’d come over. Because you knew he wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Because he only ever gets a home-cooked meal when you make one for him.

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

You tilt your head up and look at him, eyes heavy. He holds his breath as you lift your hand and cup his cheek, tracing the dark circle under his one visible eye with the pad of your thumb.

“Let’s go to bed,” your voice is soft in the way it always is when you’re tired. “We can still sleep a little before we have to go back to headquarters.”

He knows every inch of your apartment, but he still lets you guide him into the dark of your room, and he’s suddenly surrounded by everything that is so quintessentially you. He has it all committed to memory: the title of the book on your nightstand you swear you’ll finish, the delicate splay of jewelry on your dresser, the pajama shorts hanging over the side of your hamper in the corner.

You practically collapse, falling into your bed and splaying your limbs with a happy sigh while he carefully lies down, staring at the ceiling and keeping his hands to himself. It's after a few quiet moments when he feels something warm against him, and when he turns to look at you, his breath catches in his throat.

You’re so much closer to him than anyone else would ever dare to be. You curl towards him even in your sleep, like a sunflower growing towards the sun. Your arm reaches towards his, fingers loosely clinging to his sleeve, as if you wanted to keep him anchored to the bed with you. He could almost make himself believe you really wanted him there.

He watches the daylight fall over your face, just as delicate as the sheet you draped over your body, still thin enough to show off the contour of your legs. You look so relaxed, cheeks full of color with the shadow of your lashes resting against them.

You looked so alive. So human.

His chest tightens.

[belphegorey]

⌜corruption, satan⌟ angels were such lustful creatures ships ⎯ satan x gn!angel!reader tropes ⎯ subtle blood kink, sex, degradation, poetry reciting, literal corruption, scenting, implied master/pet thoughts

To watch as darkness sunk into the pristine feathers that made angelic wings was glorious. He gorged himself upon the sight as you mewled above him. The blackness began right at the base of your wings, growing and tainting each layer with his every thrust inside of you. 

And never had Satan felt quite as powerful in his life. Your perfectly white attire tore beneath his talons, the hidden halo above your head stuttered in its glow. Every noise you made had his body curling upward to you, pushing himself deep enough to have you crying. 

Such sweet tears. Angelic tears. Only made better due to his knowledge of the cause. “Oh,” your body shuddered as you pushed your ass against him. It left him fully inside of your heavenly sex. The bare skin of your thighs stuck to his pulled down pants, just as flushed as the rest of you, “oh my!”

“You can do so much better than that,” like a true monster, his talons curled around your hips to control your pace. Such eagerness; it was almost as delicious as the taste of your blood that sparkled on his fangs. The bite mark would last a week at most. Satan was already smiling at the idea of watching you stutter and attempt explanations for what caused it, “or are those the only things you angels can say?”

The whimper you cried had his spine tingling in wicked glee. It took no effort to push your body against the table in front of you both. Your wings fluttered as another row of feathers tainted themselves black. He ran a claw down the skin of your ass, chuckling at the small beads of blood that slipped out. 

The only response you had was a desperate clenching around his cock. Such vile creatures. Satan couldn’t stand angels. Simeon was tolerable at best, the chihuahua was a noisy little thing and Raphael… not even demons would enjoy hearing Satan’s opinion of him. But; you. There was something so deliciously sinful hiding behind the pristine gowns and feathered wings. 

Temptation and desire. His (partial) Father would be so disappointed. “Please,” your tears slipped onto the book beneath you. The very one he found you reading. Its pages were already weathered from the countless times Satan had read it — the tear stains would become his favourite addition to the poetry within.. He teased his hand around your spine, making you moan as he crossed over the roots of your wings. Sin grew like vines beneath your skin, stretching around your back as it took over you further. The most blissful sight, “harder!”

Harder. 

It was pure comedic irony. 

He wrapped a large hand around your throat and squeezed, pushing you back against him as he thrust further inside of you. “What was that?” The tone of his voice was pure saccharine as he moved your body with ease. Your head lulled back and he could see your eyes — clouded in pitch black sin that had your skin glowing in the firelight. Sweat beaded at your forehead as those vines grew down your cheeks. Satan twitched his fingers tighter and you moaned through the shaking of your body. “Repeat it for me.”

“Harder, please!” Your hand stretched out to the other side of the table, nails clawing at the wood in pleasure. Both your legs shook around him as he thrusted in and out of you. The clapping of your ass against his hips formed the beat of your rhythmic moans. “I need you to fu… use me.”

An angel swearing, Satan could have sworn he felt the chill of ice wind brush through the entire Devildom. Your nails dug into the wood and your palm, he could smell the copper of blood drip onto the table. Satan couldn’t help his own need grow. He forced himself deeper inside of you at a faster pace, but not so fast that you would enjoy it completely. No. Satan wanted to hear more of those whimpers and pleas for more. 

Maybe if you say the right one he can let you cum and he would even fill you up, as a little reward. How funny would it be? An angel returning to their home, dripping in the seed of a demon lord. You’d be lucky to not be cast out immediately. 

That’s okay, Satan was sure he could find a use for you in that scenario. 

“Yes!” Your hands moved to touch around his own, fingers curling around his palms for air while also pushing them tighter. Such an oxymoron — did you want his pleasure or not? It wasn’t as though you weren’t enjoying it, he could see just how much as the tips of your wings finally shed to the slick black oil. Not a single moment of white goodness was left. “Fuck! So good, Satan!”

An angel with a penchant for dirty talk, too? Satan had to chuckle in your ear as he squeezed your body in his hands. Your halo tipped and fell from your head, clattering on the table with no fanfare. You didn’t even care. Your soiled mind was too focused on screaming more perverse words and feeling his touch. 

With a hand on your hip, Satan pulled you nice and close, your back flush to his chest. Your praise fell quiet beneath your whimper of confusion. Slow. The pace was torture even for himself, but Satan couldn’t help but revel in that delicious cry for more you echoed over and over. 

“Kiss by kiss,” he inhaled at your neck, grazing the bloody fangs on your shining skin. It no longer held the glow of angels, rather a faded darkness that he found himself tempted toward. You moved a hand back to fist at his hair, thrusting your ass against him for more. The shiver of your body against him was sheer delight, “I cover your tiny infinity,”

The words fell with ease as he moved down your neck. Blood and harsh kisses inked out his journey of your skin. Satan wondered if you realised what he was saying, or whether you had already gone too dumb to recall the very book you were reading. You weren’t meant for the Celestial Realm — no angel should read such words. 

And yet, as Satan recited them to you, your only response came as moans of bliss. “Your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,” the stuttering of your hips let him know that you finally realised. He smiled against the vines of desire growing beneath your skin, sucking at the concave of your collarbone.

“Satan,” you whimpered and clawed at his scalp. The fingers that he had found journeying beneath your cloak messed with his blonde hair, thumbing at the horns. You had to have been expecting some form of punishment, an angel to touch themself in Satan’s library? Unforgivable. He gleamed as you curled back to him further, sparkling tears pooling around your eyes, “Need you —“

His pace was near brutal, he realised. The slapping of your joined skins was blissful but the bruising against his hips would be a pain. The black feathers that now made your wings itches at his chest and made him rumble a growl. “And a genital fire, transformed by delight, slips through the narrow channel of blood,” 

With a sharp talon, he pressed against your stomach. He could smell the sweet iron tang in the air as it beaded out. Two short horns protruded from the top of your head, settling where your halo once occupied. What a beautiful sight. You suited black horns far better than any stupid halo. “Please,” such a cute begging voice you had. It captured pure innocence and lust in such a way he was sure his brother would grow envious. 

The clenching around him was almost intoxicating. It sucked him in tight and refused to let him pull out entirely. As if he would. “To precipitate a nocturnal carnation, to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.” Satan was already entertaining the idea of locking you in his room for eternity, it wasn’t like the Celestial Realm would take you back anyways. You were soiled goods. You were tainted. 

You were his. He let you collapse into his chest as you rode through your high. Light sobs left you, but you still moaned for more. What a good angel, but he would ensure you became an absolutely perfect demon. 

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟

notes ⎯⎯ if you know what poem it is ily, and ignore the slightly wonky timeline satan just has a lot of internal thoughts blame him :)

[lukolabrainrot]

Calm theory anon here again!! Lord knows I'm exhausted of this little girl but I wanted to touch on what all we have seen since Italy Birthday trip and Lukes recent like. 1. It was reported by someone who took a photo with Luke at the airport that he was alone. Meaning he flew back by himself. Rumor that he left two days before 2. We got radio silence from the group for a while. 3. Rory unfollowed sienna then it was reported on by the fan pages and then he followed her back. 4. Sienna unfollowed Jack Vine (this is the guy that Luke stays with when he didn't have a house) then it was reported on by the fan pages and she followed him back. The last couple days she's unfollowed him again. 5. Charmaine reposted on TikTok about NDA👀 6. Rory takes a trip with his mom. 7. Sienna likes a post of Hannah Dodd and Nicola from fashion week. 8. Sienna hasn't liked any type of photos of A since early August nor did she like that last Luke post. Now with all this information I'm sure we all can come up with some conclusions. I do think that Luke set up some type of NDA which in my opinion was necessary. We have to remember that Luke's management team is actually a very well-known and establish team this was told to me by people in the PR field. He doesn't have newbies. Now I'm sure that pissed a lot of his friends off. It made them keep quiet about things that they might not have wanted to be quiet about. We clearly see something going on. Now Luke liking A stuff. it was 10 1/2 hours after she posted on her grid with a story posted after four hours of the photos being live. Now the posting to her stories of the grid picture is a new thing. That didn't start till after Italy. What does that tell me? She knows that his notifications for her has been probably turned off. So in order for him to see her photos, she would have to post it in her story which he most likely watches those. This particular photo wasn't liked until after Nicola posted at the concert. I don't believe in coincidences. He got a notification that Nicole posted. Then he went online afterwards watching Nicola story. Now who to say it's not part of his NDA that he has with her that. But as I was thinking about all of this today, one of the interviews that Nic and Luke came to mind. When they were discussing red flags. And one of the questions was keeping up with an ex. Nic said something like I feel that how you speak of your ex says a lot about you or something like that. Remember, Luke listens to every single thing that Nikola has said. She's the one person in this world that he remembers how they met down to the chairs they had sat on. So he would remember stuff like this. So it could be an NDA thing or it could be him trying to be civil with his ex. Regardless of the like which does not tell you anything. The only thing that tells me is she is desperate for that like. She has to put it in her story so that he will see it, she wants that like so bad that she's doing something she never had to do before. Why does she want the like so bad? Because she can control the fandom. Every time Luke likes this girls picture people spiral. it's like on a photo. He's not commenting on it. He's not giving her heart eyes. He's not sharing it to his stories. He liked the picture. We don't know the reason why and we will never know. All I'm saying there is a lot going on BTS that's clearly evident by how they're all moving. We just gotta wait for Nicola to speak more. Remember, her voice should always outshine this girl's voice. Nicola has given us all hints that something more is happening. Let's trust her please

As always, love your thoughts and theories!

Here are some additional theories/thoughts I have about the SM events from today. Disclaimer: These are just my thoughts and interpretations based on all the publicly available information I have seen recently. So please do not take this as 100% fact!

N didn't post her Chappell Roan story until almost midnight her time

L THEN preceded to like A's post approximately 30 minutes after N's CR story- which at that point was technically the day AFTER A made her post

So my little delulu theory is that N went home to L after the concert with her besties, they cuddled up and caught up, N posted her story, this made L log on to IG and prompted him to do his obligatory like of miss A's post after seeing A's story

Some additional notes/thoughts:

Even if N DIDN'T go home to L, all of the available information Calm Theory Anon and I have laid out here tells me this. L DOES NOT HAVE NOTIFICATIONS ON FOR A AND IS NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO WHAT SHE IS POSTING. L IS DOING THIS WITH N THOUGH.

He also liked A's post within a really short time of N's CR story. Now, the only thing this definitively says is that L/N were on their IG accounts around the same period of time. But this was around 12:30 AM their time. It was pretty late at night, and like it's just an interestingggg coincidence if L/N were separate and just both getting on SM around the same time at that time at night. We also know N tends to go on SM when she is getting ready for bed (N has said this). And she posted the CR story around the time she most likely was getting home from the concert. I think there are just a lot of signs/clues pointing that L/N were together around midnight their time. And L was NOT at the CR concert, so that means she would have met up with L AFTER the concert. And if she was meeting L after the concert at that time at night, they were probably with each other the rest of the night. So this is what leads me to believe that N went home to L OR L got the notification for N's story and got on SM and saw A's story. The timing of it all is just very interestingggg to me 🤔

Lastly, A had to essentially BEG L for this like. Why does L still have to like her posts? I have no definitive answer. My thoughts are it's some sort of contractual agreement. Regardless, these likes have no direct indication of L/A's relationship BTS. If I look at the full picture of EVERYTHING, all the signs indicate that L/N are spending more time together (or just since August decided to start publicly hinting to the fandom that they are spending a lot of time together). And all the signs point to L/A not being on good terms, and that there was some sort of rupture in L's friend group around the Italy bday trip.

These are just my thoughts though. What does everyone else think?

[archivists-decay]

I've been playing Great God Grove from @limbolanegames over and over again recently (If you're seeing this, go give @yugsly and @daylane some serious love! It's a wonderful experience) and I have a very tiny headcanon that the ascended gods actually have very little influence over the world in the traditional "god power" sense.

Some story and ending spoilers under the cut.

My headcanon is that they have some influence, like Miss Mitternacht's crying leading to flooding, Cobigail's vines (which, I'm not entirely sure were even intentional to begin with,) but rather, the benefit of Godhood comes from being given immortality (read: an infinite amount of time to further develop a skill) and notoriety (read: everyone believing you are THE subject matter expert of the namesake you embody).

When Bauhauzzo talks about being only being able to assist you in BuzzHuzz with his voice, I don't think that's just because he's "only" the God of Memory – I think it's because that's about the extent of their greater influence as gods.

Their eternity spent honing their crafts makes their opinions on the subjects infallible to the people - even if we know they aren't.

Click Clack's last few scripts have been terrible? Well, we think they suck, but we have to get them to post anyways – he sees something we don't.

Bauhauzzo wants innovation banned from BuzzHuzz? Seems out of character, but he's remembering something we don't.

Their voices, or what the people believe are their voices, are listened to with reverence when it comes to their field of mastery — and I think that's one of the reasons King might have said some things to Inspekta that he interpreted as "disrespectful."

In the 30+ years of his godhood, Inspektas ideas of Leadership have clearly severely regressed from his time as a human – mostly due to his insecurities, granted – but he didn't spend any of that time polishing up what leadership meant, or helping others grow in their own leadership, instead, resting on his laurels of being adored and keeping his men down so that they continually lift him up. King probably caught on to this and tried to have a heart to heart with him, one that just...was poorly received.

My headcanon makes me think that, tragically, Inspekta had the potential to become one of the most influential and beloved gods in the grove overtime anyways if he had spent as much time working on his genuine leadership as he had plotting and being envious of the others. Not being tied down to a specific location in the grove, having a loyal group of activists willing to spread his ideas about leadership, on top of his skillset being just, a really good general aptitude that anyone can benefit from. Just some thoughts.

Addendum: Also, I think it's interesting that it almost seems like mortals have more power over the pantheon in this Universe. Sure, the gods close the rift, but the rest of the time? Mortals can exile (Huzzle Mug), abandon (Cobigail was left alone for 20 YEARS), and twist the words and intentions (Pretty much everyone) of the gods like it's nothing with very little consequences from the gods themselves — it's a refreshing approach to a fictional mythology and something I'd like to see explored more in fiction.

Anyways, thanks for letting me ramble! I've been thinking about these silly queers all week.

[bookfanatic06]

I haven’t written anything in over a decade, but this head canon just won’t go away. I’ve often wondered if the idea of “like calls to like” will be prevalent in Elriel’s book like in all the others. I really feel like Elain is hiding some deep shit that just can’t be ignored. This piece is really what I think could happen if Elain deep down shares Azriel’s penchant for self loathing and low self esteem. She gets so much crap from the fandom for being boring, I really see her surprising us with some darker personality traits.

Also, my favorite thing about this other than the Elriel fluff is Nesta. I wanted to see her and Elain making up after the events of ACOSF on page. I didn’t hate Nesta, just thought she treated my baby El poorly.

I’m not sure if I’ll write more to this, or if it’s going to stay a one shot. I’m also not sure if I’m ready to post to AO3. I’m a mom with 3 kids and a full time teaching gig. I’m not sure I have it in me.

So here is my first shot at writing Elriel.

Unworthy

Words: 5112

Angst/Romance

Pairings: Major: Elain Archeron/Azriel,

Minor: Feyre/Rhysand, Cassian/Nesta, Varian/Amren

———————

Remember who you are, Kingslayer.

She breathes to herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, plastering on the smile she knows her family would never second guess. Perfected so much over the years in her mother’s keep, as she was taught to never reveal her true emotions, to never let anyone see the heartbreak, the pain of unworthiness embedded in her very soul.

The dreams plaguing her at the moment, the ones that increase with the unyielding torrent of emotions swirling in her mind, are of her family having lost their use of her. That she has become a burden that they can cast aside so needlessly. So she sits at the mirror and contemplates how to be helpful. She’ll practice those new recipes that she received from that fae female at the market. She’ll make the gardens of Velaris so beautiful, people will ask for her. She’ll care for Nyx when his parents need a break.

But still, she feels the hole in her chest and wonders if it’ll be enough. Will she forever be cast aside or passed over in favor of her sisters because of their far more important accomplishments?

What exactly has she accomplished?

I killed the King of Hybern. She whispers so that only the shadows can hear. Not Nesta, as all of Prythian seemed to believe. She knows she pushed that knife into his throat, she still dreams about it; still feels the hilt of the blade in her hands. Even the shadows, the ones that she felt the comforting presence of for so long, have gone quiet since solstice.

She knows that her sisters are magnificent. That they both have earned their right to voice their opinions and be cherished in this world. Feyre, the High Lady that the Night Court deserves, and Nesta, the warrior she was always meant to be. But Elain, she carries the weight of unworthiness everywhere she goes. She wasn’t born to lead, she wasn’t born to be a warrior. She was born with a gentle heart, with a delicate resolve. But a will of iron.

You shoved that knife into his neck. You aren’t as gentle as you believe yourself to be.

She’s intimately familiar with self loathing by now. It curls around her like the vines that wrap around the fortress of her mind. But that voice, the voice that is hers, but much more confidently so, tries to remind her of what she has to offer. Her heart breaks as the self loathing pushes through whispers, “He doesn’t want someone who is brittle and weak. He wants someone courageous, someone with fire in their heart, someone like…”

Mor.

Despite the months that have passed since she found herself alone in the foyer in the early morning hours of Winter Solstice, she is still tortured by the thought that even her dearest friend, or whom she believed him to be, had been repulsed by her meritless existence. The pain of that night has yet to ebb, and she wonders if, at some point in her immortal life, it ever will.

She huffs a breath and stands from her vanity, moving to open the door and walk into the hallway, that gentle but false smile she’s perfected on her face.

As she reaches the kitchen, she is surprised to find Feyre, eyes clouded with sleep, hair poking out of the halfhearted braid she probably threw together before bed the previous night, holding a bottle to Nyx’s whimpering mouth.

“I think he’s starting to teethe. He’s been like this all night.” Feyre’s eyes flicker to Elain quickly before resting on her son’s mouth as it attaches to the bottle and then detaches with a small wail. Elain opens her arms, a silent request to take over – and make herself useful.

“I’ll take him, you go get some sleep.” She says gently, taking the babe into her arms. Feyre gives her a tired smile.

“Rhys and I are so lucky to have you here with us, El.”

Elain’s false smile returns to her features, and before she can give herself away, she shoos her sister out of the kitchen to take over as Nyx’s caregiver. She cradles her nephew to her, his chest to her own, rubbing circles on his back, between his little wings as she’s watched her sister and Rhys do time and time again. For a moment, the hole in her heart fills with the love she has for the babe in her arms. It doesn’t escape her, that if her life hadn’t so explicitly changed thanks to the betrayal that left her at the mercy of The Cauldron, she would probably have a babe of her very own by now. THAT thought doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks it should.

Because a child with Grayson would have been a monumental mistake.

The thought is gone as fast as it had come. That’s one part of her life that she is resolute in. Being Grayson’s wife, the mother to his brood, would NOT have been a step up from her current existence. She’s not sure how she knows that, perhaps from watching how Feyre and Nesta are treated by their mates. The unmatched adoration, the passion between the mates that she can sense from the couples as she plays the fifth wheel.

Why don’t I feel that way towards my own?

It’s not lost on her that she covets the bond her sisters have with their mates; what it must feel like knowing that your mate would give their very lives for your happiness. Her and her mate can barely be in the same room as each other, the bond an uncomfortable tether pulling at her rib.

She had once asked how it felt for her sisters, to see if the bond was true…

“It’s a blossoming warmth in my chest. The pull to Rhys is oftentimes so strong that I can't imagine my life before him.” Feyre had told her.

Her and her mate definitely could not relate.

But that warmth, she could have sworn she felt it before. When three fae males had walked into her home in the humanlands, and she had chanced a glance into the hazel eyes of the fae male with sapphire gems on his leathers. His gaze had caused her breath to catch, and every once in a while, when the war was over and she would be in his presence again, she would find herself looking into those eyes and she could almost feel the ghost of that warmth in her chest. Her breath would catch every time.

That hole was deep and chilled now.

The circles she’s been rubbing on her nephew’s back have quieted his little whimpers and he’s quiet on her chest as she moves to the window overlooking the gardens she’s cared for all these months. The gardens bloom in the vibrant colors of late spring. In her angst, she just wishes that the loveliness of the flowers she’s cultivated filled that hole in her chest that she so achingly wants to forget. An ache that, for the moment, her nephew in her arms has dulled significantly.

“Little one, you hold my heart in your hands.” She whispers as she kisses the thick black hair on his tiny head. At two months old, Nyx is the splitting image of his father, with Feyre’s temper to boot.

She sways back and forth, Nyx a solid presence, a weight holding her down to this earth. She almost misses the sound of the front door opening, but turns just in time to see the eyes of the male who still so captivated her thoughts.

No words are exchanged but he sends her a quick nod of acknowledgement as her own eyes quickly return to her nephew’s sleeping form. Her heart thundering in her empty chest. Before she can return her gaze to where the male stood, he is gone. Leaving her alone with that chasm in-between her ribs. The feeling of unworthiness crawling back into her thoughts.

He’s too good for me anyway.

She walks silently to the nursery, opting to place Nyx in his crib to attempt to get some breakfast prepared. She leaves the door slightly ajar, in case he awakens while she is cooking in the kitchen. Her fae hearing attuned to his little cries.

In the kitchen, she washes her hands and pulls out what is necessary for a quick meal. Bacon, eggs, some leftover scones from the pantry that she can reheat for her family to enjoy. She’s startled when Rhys and his companion walk briskly down the hall and through the foyer to the front door. Their voices quiet but unmistakable.

“All I need is 24 hours of rest and then I can head back down into the tunnels.” his deep tenor voice feels like a balm to her aching chest.

“Take the week, you look like you haven’t slept in months.” A pause and a sigh.

“I can always count on you for a confidence boost, Rhys.” She can feel the small smile gracing his lips as he speaks with his brother.

“I’m serious, Az. You’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet. Take the week. Clean yourself up, eat a few hot meals, and sleep.” She wonders if this pause after Rhys speaks is meant to last as long as it does in her mind.

“Okay.” It’s breathless, and she can feel the exhaustion behind every syllable.

“Come to the kitchen. I’m sure Elain is whipping up something for breakfast. It’ll do you well to get something into your stomach.” She bites her lip at the invitation. He hasn’t had a meal in her presence in months, since before Nyx’s arrival, possibly not since Winter Solstice, but she’s unable to remember.

Elain straightens her spine, contemplating whether she should look in the pantry for some potatoes to add to her small spread. Her thoughts are interrupted by his forlorn response.

“I should really get back to the House of Wind, Nesta and Cassian are waiting for me.” An obvious lie and she feels like the remnants of her heart have turned liquid and puddled on the floor.

“Ask the House to make you something nice.” Rhys’ voice takes on a worried tone.

“I will.”

She holds back the tears threatening to spill as she hears his boots take him to the door and then outside. The heartbreak is still as tangible as it was months ago.

If Rhys notices the silver in her eyes when he strides into the kitchen, he doesn’t mention it. Just kisses her sweetly on the cheek and smiles,

“Good morning, Dear Sister.”

—————-

It’s a few nights later, while her family, sans Mor and Amren, sits at the dinner table eating the roast and potatoes she and the twins had been slow cooking over the course of the day, that Nesta looks at the empty chair across the table and says with worry gracing her normally icy gaze, “when are you going to start ordering Azriel to attend family dinners?”

Cassian places a hand on her knee as if to say NOT NOW.

She shrugs him off. Giving him that icy stare that’s become her calling card, “He’s a shell of himself. Even more closed off and broody than ever. He crawls around those tunnels and pokes his head out for a day or two and then heads right back in. The bags under his eyes are darker than yours” she points at Rhys. “And he doesn’t have a newborn to account for it.”

Elain sits up at that, heart sputtering as if she can feel him. As if she can feel the darkness pulling him under.

Maybe she can.

“I’m worried. Cassian is too; he’s just too stubborn to admit it. Az is working himself to death.” Elain puts a hand to her chest, as if that hand could hold her heart into place.

“Az is working very hard to get the answers we need about the Daglan and protect all of us, Nesta.” Feyre states gently, holding Nesta’s gaze as they narrow.

“But he shouldn’t HAVE to. We could rotate duties. We can go down there for a few days and let him rest.”

“This is what he wants, Nesta. He’s volunteered.” Rhys’ response is like an ash arrow to her gut.

“And why would he volunteer to do this assignment and be away from his family for so long if he was genuinely happy, Rhysand?” The room falls silent and the remnants of the meal she’s so thoughtfully made is ash on her tongue.

He’s not happy. That word, once vocalized, is hard for her to break from her thoughts. Azriel is unhappy.

It's her fault.

She grips the fork in her hand so tight the metal bends. It’s her fault because she read his intentions wrong on solstice. He is avoiding their family because she made things so awkward between them that he can’t bear to be in the same room as her. Nesta glances at her direction as if she can sense that feeling of worthlessness creeping into Elain’s body. Before Nesta can say anything, Cassian places his hand in hers.

“You’re right, Nes. We need to find out what’s going on with Az. I’ll ask Mor to visit him and get him to work through it. If anyone can get through to him, it’s Mor.”

And there was that feeling again. The feeling of a heart shattering, her lungs struggling to expand as her friends begin to plan for the intervention of the male who she so loved, even if he wanted nothing to do with her.

———————

Azriel was many things, within the last year or so, he’d resolved to adding foolish to his attributes. Foolish for thinking that he could be loved for the male he was, foolish for thinking he had any right to the happiness he saw in the faces of his brothers, and foolish to think that he could be hers.

It plagued him daily, the pull to a female that belonged to another. That he was not deemed worthy by the Cauldron of the female that held his heart, but that one of the sons of Autumn was.

She belongs to no one but herself. His shadows, his only companions, whisper.

It was a small mercy that she seemed as uninterested in her mate as her mate is with her. That she was once so willing to spend time with him despite being mated to someone else. That she was once happy to be his friend.

And now, they were nothing.

That thought buried deep inside of him, burrowed into his bones and tore through his limbs.

So he cut himself out of her world. He threw himself into his work. He trudged through the tunnels under the Night Court and pretended that he was keeping his family safe from the Daglan, when in reality, he was avoiding them.

It was another grueling pass through the tunnels. His eyes slowly adjusting from the change in light when he stepped out of the dark and into the quiet grasses surrounding the opening to the tunnels that have become his tomb. He had promised to wait a week to return to his work, but the ache in his chest had him packed and ready to continue his mission only 3 days after his last excursion. After a week of fighting through the tunnels, sliding Truthteller through the folds of the various beasts that inhabited the chasms below, his exhaustion was threatening to take his knees out from under him.

So he gathered what little strength he had left, and flew himself to the House of Wind.

And it was a mistake.

Nesta stood in the middle of the training pit, arms crossed. The rest of the priestesses were long gone by the early-afternoon. Precisely why he had chosen this time to fly back to the house, a feeble attempt to hide from everyone. He landed with a little less grace than intended, and as he took a glance at Nesta, he could have sworn that the silver flames that had been given back to The Cauldron to save her sister were still present in her eyes as she stared back at him disapprovingly.

“So you’re volunteering for these tunnel missions, huh?”

Azriel sighed. He learned long ago that arguing with Nesta was futile, that she would never let him go without a word.

“My schedule is open.” He shrugged absently.

“The hels it is, Az!” She bellowed, looking him up and down for a sign of…what exactly?

“Are you hurt?” She asked, this time with a gentleness not many would associate with the accomplished warrior, Lady Death.

“I’m fine.”

She continued to observe him, not completely believing he was all well and good. She noted his tired eyes, his rigid shoulders.

“What’s going on, Az? You’re like a ghost, never staying long enough to rest. Barely managing to function. This is so unlike you—-“ it pained him to interrupt, but the unworthiness creeped into his chest at her care for him.

“—this is me, Nes. It’s been me for 540 years. You’ve only glimpsed a small part of my life. I’ve always been like this.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” She says through her teeth, the frustration evident in her voice, in her posture. Azriel bows his head in a movement meant to placate the female before him. She sighs, and with a voice far calmer than she’s treated him with thus far speaks.

“She’s a ghost, too.”

He knows who she’s talking about immediately. And he dares not let her know that he’s affected by those words. He swallows the lump in his throat and moves to go around her. She stops him with her palm to his chest, right where his heart should be.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I know that the last time I’ve seen her smile, her real smile, was when you were the one to put it on her face.” The hole in his chest is infinitely bigger as Nesta moves her hand and places it gently on his arm.

“Be present, Az. We love you. She—loves you.”

Az is sure that Nesta means he is loved in a friendly way, but the idea of being loved by Elain Archeron makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He nods his head, words failing him.

“Everyone is coming here for dinner tonight.” Nesta states firmly. “Get cleaned up and meet us in the dining room at 5.” She shuffles past him to reach the door to the house and smiles mischievously at him behind her.

There’s no hiding from them now. Nesta will hunt him down until he appears. So he plans to arrive for dinner even as his brain tells him to run.

——————

Elain stares at her sister as she repeats the itinerary for the day, eyes wide as she questions Feyre over the plan to “meet Nesta and Cassian at the House for dinner.”

Elain is confused. Never has Nesta invited them to the House for dinner. Tea, on occasion. Training, frequently. Never dinner.

“What’s the occasion?” She asks, trying not to let her nerves show.

“She just misses us.” Feyre smiles, and although Elain is suspicious, she gives her little sister a genuine smile.

“Sounds delightful.”

And if her nerves intensify as her sister’s mate puts her down gently on the balcony of the House of Wind a few hours later, she doesn’t let it show, because she can absolutely scent the one person she is anxious to see the most.

Azriel is here.

And it takes all of her mother’s etiquette training to hold her head up high and enter the dining room to see his gorgeous, but somber face. A face she’s conflicted to commit to memory. He looks so tired, she muses. And despite the ache in her chest, the unworthiness that her mind flashes into her skull, seeing him is like breathing air after drowning, and she can’t look away.

Dinner commences and for the first time in months, the smile on her face is real. Everyone she loves is at the table, Mor and Feyre chatting animatedly with each other. Amren, Rhys, and Varian are lost in their own conversation about the Summer Court. Elain chances a look at the glorious Shadowsinger across from her. He’s impressive as usual, but she notes that his shadows are moving lithe around him, as if they are also exhausted from his travels. His eyes meet hers, and that warmth in her chest that only he can provide blossoms under his gaze. And she smiles, for real, and she thinks she sees the corner of his own mouth move up slightly.

It’s only when the meal is done and the House takes the dishes away that Rhys and Feyre take Nyx home to bed. Amren and Varian go back to Amren’s apartment, and Azriel excuses himself to finally get some rest. The rest of the family moves to the sitting room to continue to chat and Elain sits with them, appearing to listen to their conversation, but barely hearing what is being said. Her thoughts are helplessly on the male asleep somewhere in this house.

“Elain, would you like to stay here tonight?” Nesta asks with a beautiful smile on her face that captures Elain’s attention. She points a finger at her mate and says, “It’s easier for this old man to fly in the daytime. His eyesight is going poorly, and Mor is too drunk to take herself home, let alone you.” Nesta nods her head towards the beautiful blonde already falling asleep on the sofa across from her. Cassian scoffs.

“539 is NOT old.” He crows indignantly. The sisters erupt into laughter but Elain can’t help but think that her sister is only asking for her to stay because it’ll make things easier, and not because she wants her there. As the others begin to move towards their bedrooms, Nesta stops Elain with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I know I haven’t been the kind of sister you deserve, Elain. I want to make that up to you. I want to have breakfast with you tomorrow. I want to sit and talk to you about your life. I want to show you that I’m trying, that I’m here for you.” Elain’s chest expands with hope and a love she can only have for Nesta.

“I would like that very much.” She smiles. And Nesta offers to show her her bedroom for the night. The two walk arm in arm as they move through the house until they come upon the door of a room at the far end of the hallway. The room she’s given is warm and inviting, with a giant bed covered in lilac sheets. There’s a fireplace in the corner that is not in use due to the late spring warmth, but the double doors opening to the balcony overlooking Velaris is the crowning feature. She bids Nesta goodnight, with a promise to meet in the dining room for breakfast, and immediately heads for the balcony after Nesta shuts the bedroom door behind her.

What Elain doesn’t expect, is to end up sharing a balcony with the Shadowsinger himself.

And it appears he’s just as surprised as she is.

“H—hi” she breathes. Taking in his tall form in the shadows of the night. He’s seated on the edge of the balcony’s railing, one leg hanging over the edge while the knee of his other leg is bent for balance on the railing. His glorious wings are tight against his back, the bottoms on either side of the balcony. His hazel eyes, the ones that torment her in her dreams, are wide.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you— or anyone, would be here—on the balcony, I mean.” She stammers as she looks down at her feet in embarrassment. He’s still quiet in front of her, and she curses the fact that the Cauldron didn’t boil her alive when it had the chance.

“I—I’ll just go…” she says and begins to move. She’s vaguely aware of him sitting up straighter than before.

“No, please— don’t.” His deep voice is a whisper that her fae ears only hear because she’s desperate to hear his voice again. She wouldn’t miss his first words to her in months for anything in this world. She swallows, unsure of how to proceed. Any courage she might have deep within her, sputtering.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He says louder, with conviction, and that hole in her chest feels the fullest it’s been in months.

“I don’t want to leave, either.” She says confidently. Her courage soars with the vibrancy of his words.

“I miss you.” He adds gently, finally meeting her gaze, and she’s at a loss. This male who has captivated her body and spirit for years now. Whom she thought was angry with her. Who walked away from her on solstice and didn’t look back.

“Then why?” She whispers back, a silver tear escaping and trailing down her pale cheek. The question is open ended, but he knows what she means.

“Because I am unworthy of you.” He admits. The self loathing in his voice matches her own every time she thinks about him.

“Of course you are. If anything, I am unworthy of you.”

“Never.” He replies instantly, but she waves him off. Moving to his side, eyes peering at his form under the stars, tears falling down both cheeks now.

“You are kind, Azriel. You are gentle, and you are courageous. You’ve fought on the battlefield, and you protect the people of this court, of this family. I bake bread, watch Nyx, and plant seeds in the garden. You deserve so much more than I can offer you.”

The air between them crackles with the intensity of his gaze. He moves, and before she can loose a breath, his scarred hands are wiping the tears from her skin.

“How can you not see how incredible you are, Elain?” He speaks softly, rubbing his fingers back and forth over her cheeks. “You put the needs of others in front of your own. You bake bread, watch Nyx, and build gardens to bring comfort and beauty to those around you. In a world of war and bloodshed, you are reminder that there are things out there so beautiful it’s worth fighting for.” She gasps at the depth of his stare. “You are everything I could ever hope for, but I can’t have you.” The words he’s spoken break something within her. Her hands land on his own on her cheeks, and she uses them to push his away, to push him away. Confusion gracing her features.

“And why can’t you have me? Why have you shut me out all of these months?”

He thinks carefully at how to respond. It’s in his best interest to lie, the rage in her beautiful brown eyes cuts him further than any blade and he pauses for a moment.

Rhys will mist him for revealing the truth. He’s disobeying his order right now, just being alone with the female that possesses his heart and soul. But he finds that lying to her is impossible. That he would rather be misted than lie to the female before him.

“Because I have been ordered to stay away from you.” He says with deep remorse.

The earth ceases to rotate for Elain. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She stares in horror and Azriel wonders if he’s made a grave mistake.

“Rhys?” She whispers. He nods.

“But—why?” The devastation in her voice is palpable, and he wants nothing more than to fly to the river house, despite his exhaustion, and hit his brother in his pretty face.

“You have a mate, Elain.” She scoffs. Ready to deny such a thing. He weighs his words carefully before he continues. “Our—involvement could have severe consequences for the Night Court.”

“What consequences?” She asks, in an eerily calm voice that he doesn’t recognize. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for her ire.

“The Autumn Court has an archaic tradition that allows for a mate to call for a blood duel against any male that threatens his mating bond. Lucien or Beron have the right to challenge me to that blood duel if you and I—“

Elain looks up into his eyes, horrified at the realization that this is what is keeping them apart.

“—but I would fight for you. Rhys knows it. And I would win, because there would be no chance in this lifetime that I would give up a life with you if I had the choice. But if I were to kill Lucien in a blood duel—“ he pauses. “Beron can enact revenge by calling for war against the Night Court.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her chest, that was finally full only recently, is hollowed out and bleeding down to her toes. Rhys has deemed them unworthy of each other. Have deemed them unworthy of his protection. Unworthy of the Night Court’s protection. She steps forward, so that her breath mixes with his. He’s stunned for a moment, peering down into her face, determination and understanding amongst the many emotions crossing her features.

“I would rather have you in secret, than not at all.” She says so quietly that only the two of them can hear and places her hand on his chest where his heart beats against it. He’s dumbfounded for a moment.

She’s choosing him?

“Are you sure?” He whispers just as quietly, so that only her and the Mother can hear him.

“Yes.”

The word is barely out of her mouth when his lips meet hers in a kiss that stops the world around them. It’s soft and gentle, just like they are, but Elain swears that this feeling in her chest, at finally tasting the male of her dreams, is the same one her sisters have so lovingly described about their mates.

How can this not be it? They both muse to themselves.

His lips move slowly against her own, savoring her taste, committing it to memory. She has chosen him. She is willing to risk war and their family’s loyalty for him. He will never understand why, but he’s too far gone to talk her out of it.

They stay on the balcony until the early morning hours, touching, tasting, and chasing away the demon of unworthiness inside of each other. Because even if their family or the Night Court didn’t need them, they found out that night that they needed each other.

Fin (or is it?)

[reidshearts]

Picture 1, summer lake party!

You had just turned 16 when you had finally been granted permission to stay out later and attend one of the infamous lake parties hosted by head councillors and the older campers. Your older siblings in the Ares cabin had prepped you of the activities that took place and what not to do to embarrass the Ares name. For example when one of your brother, Aiden had snuck in weed and accidentally misplaced it before realising, after Chiron had caught them, the wood nymphs had stolen it and … well they were forbidden to tell the rest by Mr D!

After many hours of changing outfits with your Clarisse's opinions, you had decided on a pink floral two piece swim costume before layering a cute tank top and your favourite denim shorts.

You gave yourself some encouragement in the mirror before heading down to the lake after your siblings, not before hugging Clarisse goodbye seeing as she was too young to attend.

Noticing a few crowds already scattered across the area. You paused, realising the only people you knew closely had already begun to mingle and join their friends. Of course this wasn't a good idea, there was no point trying to fit in with your siblings friend groups, they would reject you after noticing you weren't like them. Not brave like Lena, as pretty as Clarisse but you were too emotional and sensitive no matter how many times you had tried to change. You would never have the confidence.

Preparing to leave you had turned on your heels before a warm hand took a hold of your shoulder, forcing you to turn around and an unfamiliar voice spoke.

"I am so sorry i didn't mean to startle you, just wanted to see if you were okay was all"

After realising this person had meant no harm you noticed it was Luke, a son from the Hermes cabin. Smiling softly you admire his soft features, from his onyx curls to his mesmerising jawline.

Luke chuckled breaking you from your stare, of course he had also admired you however he had learnt to be more subtle.

"Sorry your...", you clear you throat and decide not to continue your trail of thoughts, "Oh yea I'm peachy just going to head back to my cabin, get some beauty sleep yanno?"

"You only just got here"

"You stalking me Luke?"

"Nope, just observant but I think I've been more subtle than you, my eyes are up here sweetheart"

You turned your head trying to hide you growing smile however your plan failed when your eyes met his again.

"C'mon you have to actually be by the lake to say you came to one of these things!", Luke exclaimed before giving you his best smile, saved for his favourite people and holding out his hand for you take take.

You threw your head back with a huff giving in and reluctantly placing your hand in his. He had definetly then suprised you when you were suddenly launched forwards trying to catch up with his running further towards the lake.

Luke made his way with his hand in yours towards the furthest end of the lake where only few campers sat, slowing his pace as he got closer. You couldn't help but admire the lake as, forgetting it's beauty in the glowing sunset. Trees scattered the landscape and vines dripped from the high branches creating curtains that sun snuck through and highlighted rows of hyancinths and tulips. This was beautiful you thought.

You were truly magnificent Luke thought, his gaze admiring you and your actions. Your hands were still clasped together as Luke softly pulled you down to sit on the nearest picnic blanket with him. It was an intimate moment, both sitting side by side, thighs touching as you got lost in conversation.

Time slipped by and you both hadn't noticed how campers had began to make their ways back to their cabins, only a few including you two still stayed. The moon had now shone down reflecting light against the lake waters.

"I love the lake like this", you expressed, "the most peaceful it probably is all day" recalling the number of people who swam and splashed in it earlier the evening.

"Are we personifying the lake now?", Luke teased.

"No, doof you know what I mean"

"Like you wanna capture it and keep it in your pocket?"

"Yea, well maybe not my pocket but a pretty box would be nice", you replied with a soft grin, your features were lit up by the night sky.

"Well then why don't we", he suggested.

Before you could question him, he was already calling out to another camper who he had seen previously to have a polaroid camera with her. The girl wondered over with a grin, pleased to capture a cute moment between the two of you. Luke pulled you closer, hand around respectfully around your back and your head dropping onto his shoulder.

"Cheese!", the girl exclaimed and you gave your best smile hoping Luke was doing the same, "Awh that was so cute guys, here you go, keep it safe".

She handed over the polaroid photo to you carefully before skipping back towards her friend group. Waving it around in the air you impatiently waited for the picture to develop.

"Shit, we should probably head back, the last group is leaving now, ready?", Luke jumped to his feet while lending out his hand to you.

"Thank you kind sir", you replied letting him pull you up, holding the polaroid tightly in one hand and keeping his in yours as you wandered back through the woods. The walk wasn't long and seemed to have unfortunatley quickened as you both shared whispers, hoping to not wake the sleeping campers with loud voices.

Standing in front of your cabin with a blush and a honest smile was not how you anticipated the night to end when you first arrived at the lake. But you weren't disappointed.

"I had a nice time", Luke spoke, matching your smile.

"Me too"

Your hands were both still tightly strung together before you reluctantly let go, leaving a final squeeze.

"Night Luke"

"Night sweetheart", he gave you a brief kiss on your forehead before making his way back to his cabin, looking back twice as he watched you open the cabin door.

With one final glance over your shoulder you quietly shut the cabin door and head to your bunk. Thankfully not dropping the polaroid in your fingers you figured it had probably developed by now. Holding it up your smile only grew wider. You had a smile on your face in the picture and where you had expected to see Luke's also towards the camera it was not. His eyes glued to you, leaning on his shoulder, and had a soft smile, admiration only seen.

[elainweekofficial]

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A post shared by Luna (@luna.dreams)

What can I get you, Elain?” Only with Elain did she use that voice. But Elain shook her head once more. “Sunshine.”

Sarah once described a nightmare of hers with vines literally everywhere, in garden beds, wrapped around trees, crawling up the side of the house, she went into an obsessive rip-out-every-last-strand-of-ivy mode and it made her think of Elain. She then goes onto to say that while in Elain's head, Elain too was will have nightmares of ripping ivy, that it was wrapping itself around her neck while she slept, because in Sarah's own words - "that ivy does not want to let go."

So if Elain is truly content in her current situation? If everything was alright, why would her Sarah suggest she'll write her to be haunted by such dark dreams? Wouldn't these nightmares contradict any outward appearance of happiness? I think Sarah was letting us know, that Elain's nightmares will serve as a powerful signal to the reader—there's more to her story than meets the eye, and implying there’s a deeper layer to her character.

In my strong opinion, Elain isn’t meant for the darkness. She deserves to step into the light and embrace all that she is destined to become. We are beyond excited to one day read the incredible journey Sarah takes her on—one filled with healing, growth, and transformation.

This artwork captures the essence of Sarah's words, portraying Elain as she battles the ivy that clings to her, refusing to let go as she the fights to embrace the light.

A heartfelt thank you to seaborn.studios for bringing this vision to life; you were an absolute joy to collaborate with. The final piece exceeded all our expectations!

COMMISSIONED BY @acourtdelaluna and katie-reads-things

ARTIST seaborn.studios

[thelovelyfawnsworld]

it has come to our attention that elain archeron had never said the shadowsinger’s name in the four books they’ve known each other. we conclude that the first time she utters his name would be a monumental moment like nessian’s. however, i like to imagine how she would say it, when she would say it, and what situation they’d be in when she says it. so hear is my imagination (head canon) for the scene:

(stay with me on this)

Cassian and Azriel were meant to depart tonight for their mission but Rhysand had asked Elain to use her power to see the future. The whole Inner Circle was there in the study, Elain sat in the middle while all of them surround her. Feyre had been worried what the repercussions will be after she uses her power to see Koschei’s schemes, after all, the last time she had used her power, she got abducted by Hybern.

Rhysand had promised her that he will never let anything happen to Elain. He’d make Mor stand guard next to Elain all time afterwards to make sure her safety is not compromised. But Nesta and Feyre also volunteered to look after her.

Elain looked around the study. Rhysand was standing in front of her, his hands inside his pockets. Feyre sat beside her mate while Mor stood behind the couch. Amren was leaning against the shelves while Nesta was standing just behind Rhys, her arms crossed against her chest, eyes laser focused on Elain while her mate stands behind her, hands rubbing Nesta’s shoulders. Cassian was trying to ease Nesta’s worry but it did not ebb away.

Finally, Elain’s eyes land on the male at the window, looking out with his arms crossed against his chest, blue siphons gleaming. He had not said a word since Rhysand asked Elain for help. He never voiced his opinion or concern and just kept far away from her. He had been like that for months now, always kept his distance, always kept his eyes away from her.

He had told her that what they almost shared that fateful night was a mistake. But with his actions, it would have been better if he had told her that it was her mistake. Told her he does not feel the same. Instead, he’d let her feel this torturous distance between them.

She turns to Rhysand who’s been waiting for her to start. Waiting for her to be ready. So she closed her eyes and finally unlocked the iron fortress in her mind, let those vines of sleeping flowers finally bloom. When she opened her eyes back up, her eyes were glazed over. it had turned into a milky color before it glowed, and then, Elain was out of this world.

Azriel finally turned to look at her. He had been clenching his jaw the entire time to stop himself from yelling at Rhysand, for putting Elain in danger. He wanted to take her away, to keep her safe, but he also knew that Elain had been training so hard these days and her sisters, even Mor, would not let anything happen to her. But still, it pained him that he had to depart tonight without ensuring that Koschei would never reach her like the Cauldron and Hybern did. It pained him to keep distance between them. It pained him to see her wistful glances across the room. It pained him as much as it pained her.

Elain felt herself fall, saw mist cover everything, the wind blew away the clouds of smoke and then she saw it. She saw flashes of future. She saw him being captured, saw blue siphons flicker before it turned dull, saw a chain locking on a tan neck, saw wings turned into ribbons, saw lashes against tattooed back, saw hazel eyes dilate before it glazed over. She saw his chest rise and fall for the last time. Koschei had won.

Feyre stood from her seat and Nesta rushed over to Elain when their sister started whimpering like a tortured animal. Nesta knelt in front of her most beloved sister, holding her hands on Elain’s lap as she shakes her.

“No, no, no,” Elain’s whimpers started as a whisper before it grew louder. Fat tears started falling from those glowing eyes, her chest started rising and falling in rapid succession. It looked like she was facing a nightmare she could not escape. Azriel had already taken a step forward before he could stop himself. He gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stay rooted to where he is.

Feyre stood behind Nesta, worry washing over her face, “Rhysand, what is happening?” Her voice shakes.

“Elain, what do you see? Tell us what you see.”

“Stop this. Get her out of the hell hole she went in!” Nesta snarled at Rhysand.

“Azriel,” Elain breathed before she released a sharp cry. It had shaken Azriel to the core when she said his name. It called something in him before he felt himself break at her sharp cry. It felt like a goddess had let out the sound that shook the very ground of Prythian. She wailed like she was grieving something greater than life. She wailed even as she sat ramrod on the chair, her eyes wet and glowing. Amren, Mor, and Cassian rushed towards Elain, completely covering the seer from Azriel.

“Elain! Come back. You need to come back. You need to get out of there!” Nesta yelled desperately, shaking her sister over and over again.

“Azriel,” Elain had gasped after she closed her eyes and opened them again so forcefully. Her brown eyes dilated, the whites in them turned bloodshot. She let the faces around her attack her.

“What did you see, Elain?” Rhysand had asked calmly.

“You’ll never make Elain do that again!” Nesta had said after she felt relief wash over her when Elain opened her eyes.

Her eyes searches wildly for that face. When she could not see him, she called out his name in a trembling panicking voice.

“Azriel,” she called out, not caring about the people around her. Not caring of what they think, not caring if they finally find out that she harbors feelings, forbidden feelings, for the shadowsinger. She needed him desperately. She needed to set her eyes on him, see that he is alright, feel that he is alright.

“Elain, tell us what you saw,” Amren commanded.

“Where is Azriel?” She turned to the small female, “I need Azriel!” She yelled, her tears continuously flowing down her devastatingly beautiful face.

“I’m here,” the shadowsinger had said, their friends turned to him before they parted when he finally started approaching her.

“What do you need, Elain?” He asked her as he passed Rhysand who had those violet eyes pinned on him. But his hazel eyes were on her and suddenly, he didn’t care. The world may burn and collapse, he’d never take his eyes off from the most beautiful face he’s ever seen in his entire immortal life.

He kneeled before her, just beside Nesta who was slowly standing back up. Elain threw herself at him, her slender arms circling around his neck. She buried her face at his shoulder, her arms tightening even more. His wings instinctively going around them, as if its sole purpose was to protect this female.

“Don’t leave, please. You cannot go,” She cried on his shoulder.

“Elain, Cassian needs him on this mission,” Rhysand tried to tell her softly.

Elain had raised her head enough to yell at the High Lord in front of her, “Send another Illyrian warrior. Send Mor, send Amren. I do not care!” She snarls like an animal ready to protect what it deemed its most prized possession.

“Elain…” Feyre said her name, not to reprimand her but to show her concern.

“Koschei won. He captured Azriel. And nothing… nothing you can do will save him.” Elain’s soft voice had said those words like a curse, an omen that needed to be heard.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Hi! I have something new to show you guys.

Oil is Thicker Then Blood is my baby, and it's not ending. There's still more I wanna write and explore.

However, I haven't tried my hand at a human AU yet, and I wanted to, it's gonna be a side work, so probably not updated as often, but I hope you all enjoy it regardless. Since I had fun writing the first chapter! (Is rated as Mature! So nothings being held back here. It's pretty adult and pretty dark.)

Give me a Reason: Chapter 1- "Uzi Doorman"

Pale morning light bounced off blackout curtains not quite pulled tight enough to keep it at bay, the small tendrils of light broke through, drawing shapes of light on a deep purple blanket, bunched and tousled by a fitful sleep. A small body lay halfway off the bed, fair skin exposed to the bedroom air, eyes screwed shut and drool pooling out of their open mouth, a frame of violently purple hair rested of their head, the natural black only showing through at it's roots.

A soft snoring was the only sound in the dimly lit room, stuffed full of band merch, anime posters, and a touch of macabre, a fake human skull on their desk, a dreamcatcher in the shape of a pentagram hung on the wall, and purple L.E.Ds were spread like a vine growth, draped over everything, painting everything in a soft violet glow.

There were clothes and papers littered all over the carpeted floor, far more then could be accumulated in just one night of neglect, instead being a sign of something more chronic, the snoring continued, filling the space

Then, in an eruption of noise, the phone lying next to the mattress rung out it's morning tune, an 8 bit rendition of an anime opening that while may have been fun to listen to at some point, it's use as an alarm had made it's charm rapidly shift to hatred.

The body jolted awake, muscles all tensing at once as a very loud grunt escaped their mouth, they stretched and fumbled their way to grab the phone, missing several times before bringing it close to their face and quickly silencing the alarm.

“Uuuuuuggggghhhh.” A disgruntled cry left their mouth, and moth their arms ended up above thier head as the gazed at the ceiling in retrospection, wearing a black pair of boyshorts and a tee with a faded, nondescript band printed on the front. They looked at their phone, eyes a deep magenta as they squinted, looking at the time.

It was 6:30 in the morning, too early, in this person's opinion as they rolled their eyes before rolling over entirely before facing the black, grey wall.

“Uzi! Get up! You have school!” A voice called from behind her bedroom door, Uzi sighed deeply, nibbling on her lip as she tried to find the energy to get up and get ready.

She found it difficult to find, forcing her brain to send the correct signal to her arms and legs was like trying to pull teeth, but eventually, after much forcefull squirming she finally managed to sit up, her joints groaning in a way that shouldn't be normal for someone who's only 19.

She stood, groggy and irritated though what else was new. At a resounding 4,8. She yawned, scratching her head and only made her already impressive bed head look like a tangle of briars.

“I'm up!” She yelled through her door, voice montone despite her volume, while she heard no response, she seemed satisfied she'd been heard, and stepped over the mess on the floor to her closet, where she quickly picked out shorts, a purple tank top, and a hoodie made by one of her favorite bands “Dead Batteries.”

She was lucky to have a bathroom connected to her bedroom, so she made her way to it, stepping over more junk to take a shower for the first time in like 3 days, she hadn't been stopped by anything, not really, it had just been not worth the effort when she had nowhere to be.

She washed herself and her hair, causing just a little bit of the dye to come out in her hands, staining them pink, she rolled her eyes, oh well, she wasn't going to be making a good impression anyway, everyone already knew who she was.

She got dressed, throwing on her purple socks, boots, and beanie before walking out into the combined kitchen and living room of her house, her father, Khan, a bald man with a mustache, steely grey eyes, and age lines on his face was making breakfast, eggs, bacon, with a side of toast.

“Good morning! I made breakfast!” His voice was naturally deep, but right now it was loud and booming and immediately made Uzi wince at it's intensity.

“Thanks.” She offered quietly, sitting down and eating absent-mindedly as she looked over a the television they had mounted on the wall in the kitchen, it was turned to the news, and Uzi had to surpress another eye roll.

More Prostests at the JCJenson head office today, the popular technology company facing heated backlash after it announced a campaign to delve more into their recent exploration into artificial intelligence, despite the recent controversy after a government sting operation found human brain scans within thier internal documents.

“Dad, please watch something other then the news. It's nothing but rage-bait.” She hummed with egg still in her mouth, Khan didn't seem to pay any mind to his daughter however, as he was too focused on the television.

“Don't talk with your mouth fill honey.” Was all he said, and Uzi closed her mouth, breaking her eyes from the screen onto a new one, her phone, where she scrolled through pictures her classmates had posted over the summer.

Her eyes landed on a picture of Lizzy, self-proclaimed “Queen of Mean.” Of Copper High, though Uzi had to agree, the girl was always doing her best to make Uzi's life a living hell, this picture only continued that. Lizzy was pretty, gorgeous even, with her immaculate blonde hair and strangely florescent pink eyes, she was skinny, yet muscular from being on the cheer team. And the two peice pink bikini showed off her figure even more.

Uzi would think she was hot, if she wasn't such a bitch.

She only half finished her breakfast, scraping the rest of it into the cats, Salem's, bowl, who purred and danced around her legs in thanks, Uzi scratched the black cat's head, before finding her backpack by the door and slipping it on, it was faded, and while it used to have two cute little bat wings they'd since been torn off, leaving two little black scars where the wings should have been running down the face of it. It was whatever, it was just a backpack.

“I'm headed to school!”

Khan was still too busy looking at the TV, but Uzi left anyway, sighing to herself as she put black earbuds in her ears to listen to nightcore as she walked to school.

Her pace was slow, she was in truly no rush to get to her destination anytime soon, or really, at all, if she could get away with it, she'd simply ditch and then buy some mushrooms off Sam, her kinda freind/dealer. But she couldn't, not now. There was a reason she was still in high school at 19, that being one of them.

So she grit her teeth and bared it, stopping to stare at the school building, being a classic, flat roofed high-school made of red brick and tears before heading inside.

She wasn't late, couldn't be late. With her guidance counselor breathing liquor fumes down her neck about her attendance and very thin ice she was on with the rest of the schoolboard, so she at least attempted the bare minimum of being on time, and actually showing up.

She only had one more year of this anyway. Though west she planned to do after was up for debate. Probably somewhere between homeless and prison if what the police told her dad was true. Which it was.

She knew her homeroom, it was the same as last year, but her saving grace was that Lizzy and her best friend Doll wouldn't be here this year, as they had already graduated. So no more getting shoved into lockers and being blamed for shit she didn't do.

She did plenty already to get her in trouble, she didn’t need help, thank you.

She expertly weaved her way between the tall, sweaty high schoolers and walked onto her homeroom, Mr. Brown was sitting at his desk, looking over his itty bitty glasses to read the newspaper.

Who the fuck read newspapers in the year 2024? This dumbass man, apparently.

“Uzi. Didn't expect to see you again this year.” He said before she had a chance to sit down somewhere, she looked at him blanky.

“Bite me Mr. Brown, you know damn well why I'm here.” She snapped back, knowing that he knew why she was back, it had been him that had caught her high in class, and him that decided to call the on campus police on her, and got her suspended, and was the one that got her held back a year.

Granted, she was the one high, but if you thought she was going to take credit for her own behavior then you haven't been paying attention very well, now have you?

“And with that attitude, you'll likely be back next year.” He still didn't feel the need to look at her, taking a sip of his coffee instead, she felt a feral hiss claw its way out of her throat, but chose to just sit down, though she slammed her backpack down a little hard.

The room steadily filled in with students, a few she recognized from the year below her last year, a few more she didn't, most didn't pay her any mind which she preferred over the other options, the attention she got was usually negative.

A very tall figure caught her attention, someone she really didn't recognize, because she would have definitely remembered them. They were male presenting, had a shock of decently long platinum blond hair that went down to his shoulders. His eyes were amber, though so bright they were almost golden, and honestly, he looked like he was about to hurl.

His hands tapped together in what was obvious to Uzi as some type of self-regulatory behavior, and he looked to be trembling with anxiety, eyes scanning over the mostly filled room. They made eye contact.

A wide, sunny smile broke onto his face, she felt as though she was almost flashbanged by it, she blinked before she turned away from him, she really hoped that he wasn't in her class and was just lost, because she had a feeling she'd have to find some way to ditch this kid if he did.

“Nathaniel, go sit down, you're in the right class.” Mr. Brown spoke up, and Uzi quickly looked around at the empty seats, only to realize the only two were near her, the one in front, and directly beside her.

Fuck.

He found the seat next to her, making her curse a few more times internally, he looked around again, either trying to see if he knew anybody or maybe catch anyone else's eyes to speak to.

Before he turned back to her with another massive ass smile.

Double Fuck.

“Hi, I'm Nathaniel, but you can just call me N.” His voice was just as bright as his smile and Uzi kinda just wanted to keel over and die rather then interact with him, Jesus, he was like a walking sunbeam.

“Uh, Uzi.” She replied in a noncommittal fashion, though the one letter nickname intrigued her just a little bit, it reminded her of anime.

“Oh, like the submachine gun?” He cocked his head curiously, still smiling, Uzi didn't even really want to look at him, but she was appreciative that he knew that. Her mom had been really into guns, what can she say?

“Yeah.” She replied simply, giving him nothing to work with in terms of more conversation, not her fault, she hated small talk and eye contact, both of which he was trying to initiate.

“Oh, um sorry, I just recently moved here, I don't know anyone, I can stop talking if you want.” He suddenly turned sheepish, and he was doing the tapping thing with his hands again, Uzi almost winced, as much as she didn't exactly want to talk to him, he suddenly looked too much like a kicked puppy, and it was wearing on what little empathy she had left.

“Nah, I just don't talk much… you can keep talking.” She offered, she could at least do that right? Let him talk without the expectation of her responding? Yeah, that was fine, he was probably in just her homeroom anyway, and once he met some more people, he wouldn't talk to her anymore.

“Oh! Uh okay!” He glanced around again, before focusing back on her.

“I like your piercings! They look cool!” Uzi looked surprised for a moment, she didn't remember putting in piercings this morning, but she felt her ears and sure enough the two black studs and the small gauge were there. Oh right, she hadn't bothered taking them out.

“Thank you?” She really didn't know how to respond to that, she never really got compliments ever, especially not about her piercings, most people just told her they looked “unbecoming.” or “god awful.”

“You're welcome!”

“Morning class.” Mr. Brown began, standing up and addressing his class from the front of the room, N immediately turned his attention to him, making Uzi have a sigh of relief internally.

“I'll be passing out your schedules, make sure you read it and memorize it, most of you already know the layout of the school, so there's no excuse to be late to your classes.” He was always monotone, which was unfortunate because he normally taught history, making an already boring subject even more boring.

Uzi picked up her phone again, putting one of her earbuds in, on the side opposite to the one N was on, so he could still talk if he wanted, and began a scroll through Tumblr, there wasn't really anything new, but it was something to do with her hands, so that was something.

“Hey, uh… wanna see if we have any classes together?” N was turned towards her again, holding his schedule in front of him and again looking a little nervous.

Uzi groaned, not out loud, but internally, she wasn't creeped out, she knew what guys were like when they were being creepy, and this wasn't it, but he was being so friendly, it was putting her off, people weren't this friendly, not for no reason. She just couldn't understand what his was yet.

Next ->

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 12

Part 1 Part 11

Steve’s starting to like Eddie the Freak Munson. It would be a problem if he thought they’d ever get out of here. He can almost hear Carol’s derision and Tommy’s violence should Eddie deign to speak to him in front of witnesses. They’d snicker into their milk cartons about torrid love affairs and queerness being communicable, as if there was no other reason for Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson to be seen together. 

It would take minutes for Carol’s whispers to grow sharp, teeth bared into listening ears until Steve joins Eddie as person non grata to the Hawkins populace. Tommy would find Eddie opening his locker and slam his head into it, using fists and nails and slurs to make his opinion known. 

Steve misses them. 

But, he has Eddie now. Eddie, who says what he means. Who’s bandaged Steve up, pulled him off bathroom floors and grocery store aisles, and vine-filled alleyways. And he’s so goddamn distracting, Steve sometimes forgets how scared he is.

“Dungeons and dragons is like, for the creme de le creme, Harrington,” he says, pacing the length of his shoebox living room, gesturing wildly with one hand while the other throws his fucked-up dice up and down with surprising dexterity. “While you jocks are playing your sports ball, the rest of us are learning the ways of the blade.”

Steve laughs. “No, fucking way, man.”

Eddie spins, waggling his finger condescendingly in Steve’s face, towering over him where he’s seated on the Munson’s springy couch. “The blade is metaphorical, my liege, but the mettle we test and the bonds we strengthen are not!”

Steve leans back in his seat, slouching away from Eddie’s closeness. “You’re such a nerd.” He means it as a joke, but the way Eddie’s mouth twists makes regret curdle in his intestines. “So how does this work?” he asks, gesturing to the die now clutched in Eddie’s palm.

Eddie smiles, still leaning over him, dimples popping, before dropping to sit crisscross in front of Steve with alarming speed. He holds his hand out, throwing the die into Steve’s lap.

“Now, we’re talking Stevie,” Eddie says, flapping his hands, before shoving them beneath his butt and letting his bent knees flap instead. “It’s easy.”

Steve looks down at the die. It’s white and translucent, the red of the light from the windows turning it a soft pink. The edges feel almost sharp as he turns it over in his fingers, counting the sides. The numbers aren’t like normal dice, with the dots. They’re just numbers, slowly counting up, 1, 2, 3, all the way to twenty. 

“There’s a dungeon master, moi,” he says, gesturing with grandiosity toward himself, “who spins a tale for the rest of the party.” Steve nods along, like he knows what a party means, or what a dungeon master is. “Alright, you ready, Stevie?”

“What? Munson, I didn’t agree to–”

Eddie jumps up, making Steve startle back, barely keeping hold of the die. “Sir Steven, arrives at the front of a castle. It’s covered in vines, they’re trailing up the windows, making it impossible to see the glass that covers them.” 

Steve glances at the windows of the Munson trailer, the way the vines have blocked out more of the light, leaving trailing shadows like vines to cast shapes across the stained carpet. 

“Sir Steven unmounts his horse,” Eddie says, miming lifting his leg off an imaginary beast and jumping down to the ground. Steve can almost picture it. “What do you do?”

Eddie’s making an almost uncomfortable amount of eye contact, eye’s shining with more life than he’s shown in what has to be days. “I go into the castle,” Steve replies, voice lilting in question. Is there a right answer?

Eddie claps his hands three times, quick and quiet, grinning as he drops back down, this time on the coffee table,  leaning toward Steve. “Roll the die.”

Steve looks down at the die in his hand. He leans to the side, rolling it on the table by Eddie’s side. The clatter it makes as it bounces sounds loud in the absence of this world. It stops. Steve leans over at the same time as Eddie, Eddie’s hair tickling the back of his neck with the way it trails down. 

“A nineteen!” Eddie says excitedly. “The door knob turns easily, both unlocked and well-oiled enough not to make a sound despite its apparent age. You walk into the castle. It’s dark in the foyer, but there’s a candle inexplicably lit, beckoning you up the stairs. Your armored feet clack loudly on the worn-down wooden floors as you walk up them. You reach the candle, what do you do?”

“I pick up the candle?” Steve asks. 

Eddie picks up the die, putting it back into Steve’s hands. He rolls it. “Three?”

Eddie clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Just as you pick up the candle, it’s as if a breeze rolls through the whole castle. You keep a hold on the candlestick, but the flame goes out. You freeze. Sir Steven, you’re practically shaking in your boots! And then, a voice, dark and grating snarls out of the darkness in front of you, ‘who dares disturb my slumber??”

Steve looks down at the die, that damning three staring back at him. “So, low numbers make bad things happen, and high numbers make something good?” he asks. 

Eddie waffles his hand back and forth, “sorta,” he says, pickup the die up off the coffee table and throwing it in the air again. “It’s more like, whether or not you complete that one action you list correctly. Like, a one is going to make you miss your target if you’re firing at something, yeah, but it doesn’t say anything about whether you should’ve been firing the gun in the first place.”

Steve digests this. “It’s kind of like sports stats,” he says, thinking aloud. “A high number of assists means you’re helping get the ball in the hoop, but it doesn’t say anything about how the game’s gonna go.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Eddie replies. 

SIlence falls between them, the only sound the quiet slap of the die hitting Eddie’s palm. Steve waits. And waits. And waits. His impatience grows, “Well?”

Eddie snaps his eyes to Steve’s face, brow furrowed. “Well, what?”

“What happens with the sleeping dude?”

Eddie’s eyes open wide, more whites than pupil, as his mouth drops open, seemingly shocked by something Steve doesn’t understand. It takes him a second to continue, but he does.

Steve fights off some old magical wizard dude, destroying the castle and breaking the wizard’s curse in the process. He crumbles to dust. It’s kind of sad. He tells Eddie as much, only to get laughed at.

“He was tired, man,” he says. “All he wanted was for his nightmare to end, and someone to help him rest.”

Steve looks back at the vines crawling up the windows, and can’t help but empathize. 

“I don’t know man,” he says. “Sports seem easier.”

Eddie laughs. “Sports are boring, Harrington. What’s there even to like about throwing a ball through a hoop like a bunch of cavemen?”

“It’s like,” Steve starts, before stalling out. Staring down at his knees. He’s still thinking about the wizard and how sad and tired he must’ve been. There’s something to be said about a game that doesn’t leave you in a moral quandary, wondering if assisted suicide is okay if the dude is tired and old enough. 

“It’s like, when I’m swimming, or running the ball up the court, I’m so in my body that I’m out of it, you know?” Steve asks. “I don’t have to think about anything but the next step. Does that make sense?”

When he looks up from his knees, Eddie’s cheeks are rosy, and he’s holding a piece of hair in front of his mouth again. “Sure,” he says, voice almost squeaking out before he clears it, dropping it past his normal register, “That makes sense.”

Steve laughs. “Whatever, man.”

There are two feelings warring in Steve’s stomach. He’s more comfortable, here on a ratty couch playing a nerd game with Eddie Munson than he can ever remember being. He’s terrified of getting out, terrified of staying here, terrified of what waits for them outside these walls.

The feelings coalesce in his stomach, making him queasy. Or maybe he’s just hungry. He can almost smell the bacon frying on the griddle, can almost see Eddie in the booth across from him. 

Maybe they can play his nerd game while they wait for a coffee refill. Steve sighs, not thinking of Tommy and Carol at all. 

Part 13

[ficks-of-fancy2]

MHA is a nightmare and my personal punching bag

A lot of people like to say that MHA is bad. But a large sum of the fandom has largely ignored the actually problems with the story and characters as a whole. The problems that have been applauded despite the gaping flaws. So let's discus.

Where do I start? My Hero Academia is the single most horrible show I have watched for some time. It's good points are far and few between the shit show of it's story and characters. So it's small problems first. It's over sexualizaton of it the teens in it's cast is just abhorrent and I hold similar sentiments for the fandom in some cases. The villains frankly get too much attention, with one crazy man's ideology pulling all the weight of their missguided motive. Or everything being a direct result of one delusional man's puppeteering. Not to mention the overall demonization of mental illness and inherently flawed take of forgiving your abusers.

Midoriya and All Might is a toxic relationship. Sorry about the whiplash, allow me to explain. From the start we get to see Midoriya as a victim of Bakugo's almost constant abuse, but also his love of All Might. The idyllic and 'perfect' hero he aspires to be and is convenient to. Izuku Midoriya is All Might's convenient child because Midoriya is too blinded by his idol worship to see that All Might is using him to continue his battles, slowly grooming Midoriya into the next him. All Might is the last oasis in the desert of his life and Midoriya has none of the tools necessary to leave, All Might wont let him leave. And he goes unchallenged by the story for lifting up Midoriya's suicidal tendencies by preying on his need for validation through action. All Might is using Midoriya to desperately cling to his golden years and that is actively detrimental to Midoriya's growth as a character.

If I may compare Izuku to another similar character, and I shall. Mahiru Shirota is one of the protagonists of Servamp, a character driven manga about servant vampires or Servamps and their masters or Eves. Mahiru is the eve of sloth, his Servamp, Kuro or Sleepy Ash. Mahiru at the start of the story is almost identical to Midoriya through out mha, Mahiru is a convenient child for everyone in the story. He doesn't voice his objection or opinions beyond what you would expect from a kid like him. He aims to please and is almost suicidal in his pursuit of validation. But were Midoriya stagnates, Mahiru blooms, he grows to be more selfish and loving thanks to the logical end point of that stagnant arc, Kuro. Kuro was killed by sloth, his willingness to take the blame for a crime he didn't commit for the sake of his village. His selflessness and the inherent selfish need of external validation was no different than suicide. But were Kuro and Mahiru grow, Midoriya just doesn't, he rots on the vine and fails to become anything. His lack of growth makes him come off as winey and pathetic or just boring because he doesn't change for the better. His stint of vigilantism is just every adult in his life telling him that sacrificing himself is how he will atone for his inherited burden. For the sin of All Might's sloth for what Yagi and the other holders allowed to fester in the dark.

Bakugo Katsuki is... a good premise with bad execution. Bakugo's entire arc is learning to not be a fucking asshole, simple in premise and absolute horse shit in execution. From the word go, Bakugo is shown to be an abuser. Midoriya's abuser to be precise. Going so far as to actively tell Midoriya to kill himself. Now, Bakugo's abuse is born from a place of projection, Bakugo is a narcissist, not in the traditional sense, but more in a way that makes him unable to empathize with positive emotion in relation to himself and others. He is the center of the world, but at the same time he thinks of himself as worthless without his strength, unable to exist with the knowledge that he isn't the best of the best. Bakugo's arc ends far too late. Bakugo's arc should had started after the sports festival at his interaction with Best Jeanist leading to an apology tour and ended during the culture festival, his payoff during the fight against AFO Shigaraki and the vigilante Deku arc. Bonus points if Midoriya doesn't forgive him at first, leading to Bakugo working to regain that trust in more tangible ways. Have Bakugo seek towards empathy.

Ochako Uraraka isn't a character, not a well made one at least. To be fair this is something most of the cast suffers from. If it isn't the main protagonists or antagonists, the writer doesn't care. Uraraka is just the love interest without any depth of character beyond that. People like to pretend there is more going on, but I just don't see it. All of her 'growth' is motivated by her obsessive and honestly one sided love for Midoriya, a love that is only returned when Midoriya and she are looking for something to fill the void. It's toxic and terribly familiar to his and All Might's relationship. Midoriya is constantly put into the role of savior to all of these characters that don't in turn assist in his growth.

Speaking of Midoriya's role of savior, we have finally arrived at the L.O.V. The League of Villains is a good premise for an exploration of the inner politics of a world where 20% of the world lacks a unique superpower (that's still a lot BTW). Or to dive into the segregation of those with detrimental, uncontrollable, or 'villainous' quirks. The bigotry towards mutagenic quirks. Or an actual exploration of the inherent flaws of a society that has put a price tag on altruism, something more than senseless slaughter spearheaded by manchilds and mass murderers. The L.O.V deserved to be something more than the flawed argument of some fanatical lack of worthiness and some vague notion that rebellion against a already broken system is a problem. It's stupid, The League of Villains had potential to be actually interesting, but it was made into anarchy for the sake of it never even attempting to offer a solution to a system broken for those already in power.

Yet somehow we have missed the biggest point of what a hero is. A hero is a person who does what they can to save people who are hurt, broken, or lost. Even when they are the 'villains' or more plainly the mentally ill and those rejected by society. Somehow we have forgotten or ignored all of the Wake the Deads, the For the Man Who Has Everythings, the Flash And Substances, and the Epilogues. All the stories that told us that sometimes the best thing to do is be there for people. Being a hero isn't about fighting. It's just about being there. For the people, all of the people. But also understanding that some people can't be helped. People like Baby Doll and Shigaraki, Dabi and All For One, people too far gone or too hurt to help. Toga and Twice just needed help they weren't given. It is what was born of the legacy of All Might, peace and complacency, a smile hiding everyone else's tears. Every single crime committed by Shigaraki and the L.O.V is the direct fault of All Might. Because he refused to see the people he was fighting as what they were. Evil is often relative because to an ant a boot is evil. Rarely in the world does true evil exist and often it is taught or held in those who believe themselves without betters or equals.

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐨 - 𝐌𝐢 𝐂𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐨

Word Count: 1,455

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader, cursing, fluff at the end.

Proof Read and Edited

A/n: Reader has a plant quirk, I really love plants so I had to use it with my fav boy <3 Mi Cielo means my sky

Part 2

Many people were taken aback when Mr. Aizawa revealed that someone in the class had a Plant quirk. They all looked around, expecting someone with green vines for hair like Shiozaki. But to their surprise, it was you. You didn't fit their expectations at all. With your H/C hair and reserved demeanor, you didn't act like the typical plant-based quirk user. You were more focused on your studies and hero work, not caring about what others thought.

Some might assume that your introverted nature was a result of your parents' lack of affection. However, that couldn't be further from the truth. Your parents were incredibly loving and affectionate, always coming to your room to hug you and share stories about their day. They acted exactly how parents should, and you loved them dearly. But as you grew older, you developed your own opinions and preferences. You didn't want to be touched or show affection to others. Thankfully, your parents understood and respected your boundaries.

Instead of physical affection, you expressed your love by surrounding their house with beautiful plants. You created a lovely garden in the back where they enjoyed their breakfast, and filled the living room with vibrant greenery. Your earthy and down-to-earth touch mirrored their own personalities, and they adored that about you. Your mother, who also had a plant-based quirk, encouraged this as a way for you to show your love. Sometimes, in return for their understanding, you would give them a heartfelt hug.

You couldn't help but fall for Sero, even though you never spoke to anyone in class. Your quietness allowed you to observe him closely, noticing his kindness, his great friendships, and his outgoing nature - all of which caught your eye. However, you couldn't shake the thought that school is meant for education, not for falling in love with a cute boy who has tape coming from his elbows. You felt lost and unsure of what to do, especially since you weren't close to anyone at UA, and telling your parents would only lead to endless teasing.

So, you decided to do something that felt right. You made him plants that reminded you of him. Arriving a few minutes early to class, you pulled out a small succulent from your bag and carefully placed it on Sero's desk. Quickly returning to your seat, the rest of the class entered. "Hey, what's this?" Sero exclaimed, capturing the attention of his friends. "A fucking plant?" Bakugo chimed in. Sero picked up the handmade pot and examined the little plant in his hands. "Yeah, it looks healthy," he said with a smile. "I wonder who put it here," Denki pondered aloud before taking his seat. "Doesn't Y/n grow plants?" Mina questioned. All eyes turned towards you, causing you to freeze as you just opened your bag.

"Nah, they hardly ever talk to us, let alone Sero," Kirishima remarked, causing everyone to turn their gaze towards you. You snapped your head in their direction, a tinge of annoyance evident in your voice as you asked, "Can I help you with something?" Tilting your head slightly, you watched as their expressions froze. "N-nothing! Sorry, Y/n," Kirishima quickly apologized, but Denki interrupted him. "Did you give Sero this plant or not?" he questioned, snatching the pot from Sero's grasp. "Uh, no. Why would I do that?" you scoffed, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words. "Just because I can grow plants doesn't mean I'll do it for all of you," you rolled your eyes before turning away from them. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of disappointment in Sero's eyes, but you didn't pay it much mind.

The following day, you repeated the same action, except this time, you filled the pot with marigolds, one of Sero's favorite flowers, or so you had overheard. As you settled back into your seat, they all entered the room. "Again?" Mina questioned, while you noticed Sero's eyes widen. "No way?" he exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face as he practically sprinted towards the pot. "It's just a flower, flatface," Bakugo remarked dismissively as he took his seat. "It's a Marigold, my favorite among them all," Sero spoke gently, his fingers caressing the delicate petals. "Hey, little one," he whispered, and in that moment, your heart melted. The way he treated the flowers with reverence and spoke to them, acknowledging that all living nature had feelings, only made you fall for him even more. You turned your head to the side, hiding your flushed face. "Are you alright, Y/n? Your face is turning red-" Before Deku could finish his sentence, you swiftly used your quirk, shooting out vines to cover his mouth. "Shut it," you hissed, glancing back at Bakusquad to ensure they hadn't heard you or Deku. Letting out a sigh, you released him. "Sorry," you said coldly, averting your gaze and capturing the attention of Dekusquad as they exchanged curious glances.

Throughout the week, you delighted in placing a new plant on his desk each day, each one a reminder of Sero. It was impossible to resist the joy of witnessing his reaction and the growing curiosity of your classmates about the flowers he would receive. Today, you hurriedly entered the classroom and carefully set down a Lapageria, a plant you had only read about and seen pictures of. As you placed the pot on the desk, a sudden movement caught you off guard - white tape swiftly wrapped around you. "I knew it!" you heard a voice exclaim. Frozen in place, you found yourself face to face with Sero, a mischievous smirk on his face as his tape held you tightly. "Let me go, Sero," you snapped, determined to maintain your composure. "And why would I do that to my secret admirer?" he teased, inching closer to your face. "Who said I gave you all those flowers?" you spat, struggling to break free from his grip. "I simply walked in and the flowers happened to be there." You glared at him, boldly lying to his face. "I think you're lying~" he smiled, his confidence unwavering. "You can stop pretending now, Y/n. I know it's you."

You let out a defeated sigh, finally giving up the struggle. "Fine, it was," you said, averting your gaze. "I only knew it was you because you were the only person around when I mentioned liking marigolds." Your mouth formed an 'o' shape as you recalled that the Bakusquad was in the lounge area with Sero when he mentioned it, while you were alone in the kitchen. You tried to speak up, but all that came out was a squeak, leaving you speechless. Your face turned red as Sero laughed at your reaction. "I appreciate it, Y/n. I loved coming to school every day to see what kind of plant you grew for me. It made my day," he said softly. Finally gathering the courage, you looked back at him and spoke with a gentle smile, "I'm glad you liked them. These plants are like my babies, and I don't usually give them away without knowing if the person will take care of them." You paused for a moment before continuing, "And seeing you talk to them, acknowledging that they have feelings like we do, made me realize that you are the right person." You quickly shook your head, correcting yourself, "I mean, the right person to take care of the plants, not necessarily the right person for me. Although, I do like you and you kind of are the right person for me, but-" Sero interrupted you, placing a finger on your lips. "I understand what you mean," he chuckled, releasing you from his tape. "But I also think you're the right person for me." Once again, he left you speechless. He glanced behind him, hearing the sound of the approaching class. "Let's continue this conversation in my dorm. There, you can see how your 'babies' are doing," he smiled before leaning close to your ear. "See you later mi cielo" A shiver ran down your spine as the class entered, prompting you to quickly rush to your desk before getting caught.

As they all approached Sero's desk, Momo inquired, "So, which flower did you receive this time, Sero?" With a smile, he replied, "It's a Lapageria, also known as a Chilean bellflower." The sight of the stunning flower left everyone in awe. Ochaco chimed in, "It's absolutely adorable! I wonder who keeps surprising you with these beautiful flowers." Sero glanced at you, his smile gentle as he observed your blushing face. Feeling a mix of emotions, you turned your head away, concealing your smile behind your hand, as you rediscovered the joy of expressing happiness once more.