#Elaine Crane

[weirdlookindog]

Vincent Price and Elaine Edwards in The Bat (1959) - Danish program

[novastar134]

Do you ever just... D1e? While making a piece?? And just... Never finish it for months???

Yeah me too

I worked so hard on that kitchen.

Anywho!! Sarah and Adam bc they're cute and I love these two idiots.

Sarah belongs to @novastar134 (Me)

Adam belongs to @goldendaydna

Kwamis shared between us and @the-vegetarian-artist who also helped me with parts of the bg too and @phobian-deimoses who owns the dumb owl in the oven (Hootr you silly birb)

[screamscenepodcast]

Third time's the charm... your hosts tackle THE BAT (1959, Wilbur), a remake of the 1926 silent film and of the 1930 sound version.

This time 'round, we have Vincent Price, Agnes Moorehead and Gavin Gordon starring, but will it make a difference for this old fashioned flick?

THE BAT (1926, West) was previously covered in Episode 16. THE BAT WHISPERS (1930, West) was previously covered in Episode 23.

Context setting 00:00; Synopsis 28:24; Discussion 41:18; Ranking 57:10

[fieldofdaisiies]

Icarus Has Fallen

paring: Azriel x Reader | type: fluff | words: 5,4k | warnings: none playlist: can't help falling in love | la vie en rose | moving along | my heart will go on | I think I’m in love | you and I enchanted; this story is dedicated to two of the most amazing people on this app @brekkershadowsinger @moonlightazriel thank you for all your help and support and love (now you know why I asked for the songs)💛

Icarus has fallen.

It was the sun that made Icarus fall, and it is a female as bright and beautiful as daylight that made Azriel fall. In love. 

Deeply. Head over heels. No ground in sight.

He has never expected this sort of feeling. Not after Mor. Not after Elain. 

But the first moment he lays eyes on you, the second he spots you, splashing around in the large marble mountain in front of the castle Azriel is gone. His gaze remains fixed on you all the way to the castle, not once averting his eyes. His is so focused on the sort of beauty he has never ever seen before, he doesn’t even realise that Cassian is talking to him. He doesn’t register what Rhysand answers, or what his High Lady adds. Everything around him fades into insignificance, becoming absolutely unimportant. There is only one thing on his mind - only one thing he can focus on and that is you and figuring out a way to get to know you. To learn your name. To find out who exactly you are. 

He is only ripped out of his gazing by a deep male voice greeting the High Lord of Night and his entourage, including Azriel. He has to shake his head, his shadows calming a little around his shoulders.

"Welcome to the Day Court,“ Helion greets, his toga flowing around his strong thighs, his arms spread wide to welcome the visitors from Night to his court. Bowing their heads, they return the greeting and fall in line with the High Lord of Day who lets a casual eye run over each of them. "Where is Morrison?" he asks, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity, but also a hint of amusement. In the past, this question would have enraged Azriel. Not anymore. Not for a long time. He knows that Mor and him…there would never be anything between them. He knows this now. 

Rhys answers him that she has business to deal with, and couldn't manage to come here. Helion accepts this answer with a smile and says, "Please, follow me. Allow me to show you my throne room where the discussions will be held."

Azriel’s gaze, one last time, moves over his shoulder, craning his neck quite a bit to catch one last look at you. You are engage in happy chatter with who he guesses are your friends, hair and the thin white gown that is damp from the water, leaving absolutely nothing to imagination. His breath catches and—

"If you keep staring any longer, you might break your neck, Azzy.“ Cassian fetches his best friend back to reality, nudging him playfully in the ribs and colour blooms high on the shadowsinger’s cheeks when he meets the general’s gaze. "Wh-at?" he stammers, trying to pretend he wasn’t doing anything, but obviously Cassian isn’t stupid and sees right through his bluffing.

"I wasn’t staring," Azriel growls, his forehead lying in furrows.

"I am only teasing you, Az,! Cassian adds when he watches Azriel’s expression, the cold and indifference creeping back into his features. The general chuckles and returns his gaze to his own mate, his large hand holding Nesta’s tightly. "But you totally were."

Azriel tries to ignore his friend, shaking his head slightly, shoulders squared, posture straight as he follows the others into the big throne room of the Day Court castle. He wasn't staring. He was…observing. 

Everyone gathers around a large class table, the meeting starting a moment after, but Azriel is unfocused. Helion says something about Koschei, Azriel thinks. His High Lord adds something, and so does his High Lady. But his brain doesn't allow him to participate. Or is it is heart?

Yes, he found females attractive in the past. Many females. But it has always been different. He has never been so enthralled, so enchanted by someone he hasn’t even properly met. He has only seen you for a few minutes and—

"Tell Lady Y/N to come here. She should bring the Book of Death Gods and Dark Forces.“ Helion waves of his sentry and then focuses back on the conversation with Rhys. 

Azriel swallows thickly, the name, it has struck a cord in his heart. It sounds oddly familiar and he has no idea why. Like his heart has heard it before, remembers it, almost like it evokes memories deep within him… Within his soul.

The discussions continue, Azriel contributes with the occasional dip of his chin. He can’t focus, his mind is too…he doesn’t actually know. But somehow, seeing you, has pulled a lever in his head. In his heart. In his soul and focusing on anything else then the sudden pull he feels in his chest becomes a sheer impossibility. He has never felt this tug before…it is a wholly new feeling that renders him dumb. 

But he has to focus. This is important. Not only for the Night Court but for all of Pythian. 

Azriel brings up a hand and folds it over his chin, trying to listen in, his shadows perched on his shoulders, gathering information. 

"So what we know about Koschei is very little, but I truly hope that the ancient book in my possession can give us more answers.! Helion releases a loud sigh, his expression concentrated, posture rather stiff. He shakes his head, swirling pits of worry in his eyes.

He leans back in his chair and turns his head, acknowledging movement at the threshold. He lifts his gaze, "Ah!" he says, and waves you in with two of his fingers. "Come in, my lady."

Azriel, simultaneously to the High Lord of Day, focuses his gaze on the female figure appearing in the door - hair still damp, but the dress a new one. A dry one. 

His breath catches, heart skipping one or the other beat and if he hadn’t been sitting down he knows his knees would have given in right in this moment. 

As you enter the throne room, your curious eyes scan the room, taking the people gathered there. You curtsey to not only greet your High Lord but also his guests. His guests from the Night Court. Your gaze eventually settles on Helion, the High Lord of Day Court, engaged in conversation with Rhysand, High Lord of the Night, the opposite solar court to your own. 

Next to him is his High Lady, Feyre Archeron, the first High Lady Pythian has ever seen. She smiles at you, polite and kind, and you dip your chin at her. And next to her…you find a male, his beauty not comparable to any you have ever seen before. He is the most beautiful male that exists in all of Pythian, you know this, and you are captured by him. His expression is cold and indifferent, but his eyes of hazel, sparkle when they meet yours. His composed demeanour seems to falter as his eyes lock with yours.

For a fleeting moment, time seems to stand still. Azriel is struck by your presence—your grace, your elegance, your beauty, your brightness. Could you be the light to his darkness, the sun in his endless gloomy days. 

He's at a loss for words, captivated by you. It's as if the world around him dims, leaving only you illuminated in his vision. You are sunshine, and life.

You want to look away, focus on the task at hands - delivering the book, but you can’t. Your heart starts to sing inside of you, begging you to draw nearer to the shadowy male, to ask for his name, to get to know him, to—

"Lady Y/N, thank you so much for coming,“ Helion reaches out his hand. "I see you brought the book I requested.“

Your footsteps echo on the marble floor in the throne room as you approach your High Lord, finally averting your gaze form the beautiful male, holding the Book of Death Gods and Dark Forces in your shaky hands. He holds out his hand for the book, his attention momentarily drawn away from the discussion at hand. "Meet my guests, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court and his High Lady, Feyre Archeron. Joining them, Azriel, and Cassian, the two best Illyrian warriors that there are.“

You smile politely, trying to greet each person again with the bow of your head. "It's my pleasure," you says, and then claim the seat on Helion's left, helping him open the large book and find the right page and then you start to read together, helping Helion and Rhysand filter out the important information (you are after all one of the head scholars of the Day Court, your wisdom and knowledge big). 

Azriel’s gaze lingers on you. Gods, you are so stunning, he barely knows how to keep his breathing steady, how to avoid the constant subtle glances into your direction - those stolen glances every now and then that make his heart beat faster. 

He wants to meet your gaze, accidentally, not make it too obvious he is staring. But you never deign him another glance, not once you look at him again, fully focused on the task at hand - going through the large book and some extra piles of parchment. Some other scholars, both young and old, have joined in as well, searching for any kind of important information. 

Over time sentries deliver more books and papers, all splayed out over the table until nothing of the glass was visible anymore. Your delicate fingers traces over the written words and every now and then you bring a hand up to brush back a loose strand of hair that has fallen over your shoulder.

Azriel is fully enthralled by you - never ever has he seen such a beauty before, you are breathtaking and stunning. He doesn’t know why he is feeling so strongly, why the sight of you made his heart skip one or the other beat and why there is a sudden pull, a tug on his chest and then it hits him like slap.

Might this…could this be the bond? Could you be his mate. It would explain why one look at you was enough to pull out the rug from under his feet.

You work for hours, discussion everything that is noted about the old Death Gods. Azriel is unfocused and he knows it. He wants to fight against it but he can't — like some force is restricting him from it. Like it only wants to make him focus on you. 

He doesn't even fully notice when the discussion comes to an end, not even registering what the outcome exactly is. 

"Don’t you trust my strength that I can carry all those books and papers back alone, High Lord?" you ask with a hint of teasing in your voice. Your eyes sparkle while they hold Helion's gaze.

Helion chuckles lowly in answer, smirking. "I absolutely believe in your strength, but I am also a gentleman and wish that someone helps you with the books, so—"

"I can help." At least six pairs of surprised and wide-open eyes dart to Azriel. He slowly gets up, right now not minding the attention he normally hate so much. "I will help you with the , if I may."

Lips that have formerly parted due to your astonishment, form a smile - bright and happy. "You absolutely may, I appreciate it a lot."

You are strong enough to carry the books alone, you most definitely are. But, you have this absolutely breathtaking male offering his help, you would be a fool to say no. Maybe you can get to know him a little better, maybe you will talk on your way to the Grand Library - whatever it will be, you will spend time with him and that makes you feel happy, and excited.

So, Azriel gets up and walks to you, picking up some books (the heavier ones, leaving the lighter ones for you). Everyone is watching you, surprised about the scene unfolding itself in front of them, but before it gets to uncomfortable, Cassian manages to pull everyone into a conversation, wanting to help his best friend out. 

Azriel is thankful, yet does not let it show, his sole focus on you. He nods his head at you when he has a tight grip on all the large books, signalling you he is ready to leave, and you should lead the way. 

Once you are out of the door, out of earshot, Azriel exhales loudly and finally opens his mouth. "I‘m Azriel," the shadowsinger introduces himself, voice quivering the slightest bit, his palms so clammy all of a sudden, he would love to wipe them down his trousers weren't he holding the many books. 

You turn your head and grin at him. A soft chuckle escapes you, "I know, Helion introduced you earlier." 

Colour starts to bloom high on his defined cheeks, embarrassment passing over his features, so you quickly add, "But I am very pleased to meet you personally. It’s my pleasure, Azriel. I am Y/N."

"Such a beautiful name," he whispers. Perfect for such a beautiful female, he wants to add, but doesn't do. Not yet. That would not be appropriate. He barely knows you after all. 

"So you are head scholar?" Azriel asks when you set out down a long pathway, at the end a large towering building and Azriel guesses it is the Grand Library. 

"Exactly. But I am not the only one. The High Lord has a Head Scholar in every library of his court." You explain a little more while you walk over to the big library, adding some random details that you love to share and he loves to hear. Azriel is interested in the information you share with him and that warms your heart - no one has ever truly cared about those things. 

From time to time, you find him marvelling at our surroundings, the large sunflower fields or the Pegasi that trot by, neighing and bowing their heads. 

You set out for the last part of the path, pebbles crunching beneath your feet, creating a soft melody in the same rhythm as the beating of your hearts. You tell him that High Lord Helion himself helped build this Library, and it took them over a century to finish it. 

Azriel gasps when he takes in the whole expanse of  the gigantic Library, crafted from marble and glass, reflecting the sunlight and towering over him - not in an intimidating way, more in an impressive way.

"Welcome to the Grand Library, you tell Azriel upon entering, smiling him and his astonished face.

"Stunning," he breathes, his gaze brushing you. He is only partly talking about the Library.

"Where to?" Azriel asks and you look around, unsure. You wish he could help you put all the books away, but you don’t want to keep him here for too long. 

"Just on my desk, if you please." You smile and tilt you chin into the direction of said desk. Azriel bows his head and follows without a word, shadows swirling around him, almost like they are dancing to a melody.

"The shadows. What are—?"

"I’m shadowsinger." He turns his head to you, a lopsided smile on his lips.

"Ah," you answer. "And what exactly does a shadowsinger do?"

He somehow looks happy over this question, happy to explain it to you. You listen in awe, his shadows skittering down his arms and reaching out to you, almost like they want to brush over your skin. Or pull you closer. To their owner. To—

"I think I should leave now." Azriel clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. He doesn’t want to leave. Not yet. But he has too. First of all, they need to return to the Night Court and secondly, his heart is beating so rapidly and he has been looking at you for so long he doesn’t know how long he can survive without his knees giving him. 

You have changed something inside of him and he needs space and time to makes sense of it. He needs some solitude to order his thoughts.

"That’s alright," you say, a pang of sadness sparking in your chest. You want to spend more time with him, get to know him better, but your knees feel wobbly only when his gaze brushes you. You don't know what it is, but your are not dumb and suspect a larger force behind the emotions boiling inside of you. Could this be the Mother's doing. Could you and Azriel be connected through more than just attraction?

The shadowsinger starts to back away, slowly, hesitatingly walking toward the large entrance door, wings tucked in behind his broad back. 

"Thank you for offering your help with the books," you call after him. You meet his gaze. 

Azriel bows his head. "Any time you need me, I am here for you."

Cheeks turning rosy, and your heart skipping a beat, you place the parchments on the desk in front of you. You draw in a deep inhale, warmth spreading from your chest throughout your whole body.

Azriel is almost out the door, his footsteps hollowing through the large, empty library.

"Azriel."

You bite down on your lower lip. He halts on the threshold, one scarred hand braced on the door frame. It seems like his posture straightens and the shadows on his shoulders halt in their swirling, waiting for what you are about to ask. 

"Yes." He turns to you, a smile on his lips, hope etched upon his features.

"Will I see you again?" Tension leaves your body the moment you voice your question and see his expression.

Azriel seems surprised about this question, even his shadows have stilled, no longer swirling around him. "Do you want to see me again?"

You grin and brace your hands on your hips. "I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to." 

He smiles, yet doesn’t answer immediately.

"I would love to see you again," he eventually says, voice tinged with a rarely-there happiness. "Maybe we can work together again any time soon? There is still a lot to find out." He tilts his chin at said book, the one he carried back here.

Your heart flutters and so does Azriel‘s, heartbeat increasing, chest swelling with an emotion he has never felt before.

"I think that is a great idea."

He meets your gaze, eyes locking, the promise of seeing each other strong and steadfast between your hearts. "See you soon, Y/N." 

You smile politely. "See you soon, Azriel."

His name on your lips - nothing has ever sounded more beautiful in Azriel’s ears and he can’t avoid the grin, reaching from one ear to the other. An expression hardly anyone has ever seen on his face. With a fluttering heart, he lets door fall close behind him, exhaling loudly. 

He can’t quite say what has happened and why it hit him so hard when he barely knows you, but he is falling - heavily, deeply. Madly.

Will I see you again? 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"I would like to show you something, my favourite place. Then we can continue with the book. But right now, we deserve a break."

You are hopeful, really wanting to spend time with him alone. You and Azriel, joined by other scholars, have been dealing with several books surrounding the topic of Death Gods for hours, your necks and backs aching already. 

"Are we allowed a break?" Azriel asks, raising his brow. He wants to say yes so desperately, but times is pressing and you need answers soon.

"Yes, because working too hard for too long without a moment of rest is not beneficial for making progress." 

You have a point, Azriel decides. He closes his book and with a contented sigh leans back in his chair. "What do you want to show me?"

"A special place here in the Day Court. It’s not far from here, we can return shortly." 

You step from one foot to the other, impatiently, because you really want to show him your favourite place. You know he will like it.

Azriel’s heart is beating a little faster when he gets up, surrounding the desk he was sitzing behind, spending hours being bent over paperwork. You want to show him something?

He is only a political guest so you showing him part of your court feels like a huge honour.

Heading towards the large marble doors, Azriel follows, his breath catching when his eyes follow the sway of your hips, how gracefully you glide over the ground. He has to shake his head, the tug on his chest so strong he worries his heart might rip right through his rib cage.

And he isn’t the only one feeling it. You need a moment, closing your eyes, his closeness doing something to your body. To your heart. And you very soul.

You close the door, waiting for Azriel to step away, to move, but he stays, his eyes running over you. They drop to your hand and then meet your own. He seems to hold his breath for a small moment, then inhales deeply, eyes still locked with yours, and parts his lips. "Can I hold your hand?"

You know that primarily he poses his question because of his scars. Maybe he has been rejected in the past, or he is genuinely worried you may feel disgusted? 

But there is no reason for it, you like his hands - they are big and unique. And you don’t care about the scars, not in the way he thinks. If someone caused him the scars, if someone hurt him, you care because you want to make them pay - severely. With their death. 

"You never have to ask for something like that," you say, voice tinged with empathy.

You extend your hand, grasping his gently, fingers easily sliding between his, intertwining them. "Your hands are so big," you tell him with a grin and it even draws a small smile to the shadowsinger‘s face. A beautiful smile, eyes glowing like you have never seen them before. "And our hands fit perfectly."

Azriel assesses your intertwined hands and with a sigh and the deep rise and fall of his chest, he eventually says, "They do. Like they were made for each other."

Your cheeks turn rosy, and you search his gaze. "Maybe they were," you whisper, voice tinged with a sheepish tone. Slowly you set out, one step after the other and Azriel follows, both silent. Both of you are too stunned by sensation sparking between your palms to speak - it feels like heat and tingles erupt, almost like lightning zips between your bodies.

You walk up a small pathway behind the Grand Library, through a canopy of large, towering trees, light dancing on every single leaf, and filtering through the branches. Your gaze moves over your surroundings, sometimes touching Azriel. He seems amazed, and to be liking what is presented to him which makes you happy.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze, just a small gesture but it makes his heart flutter, and a smile appear on his lips. Birds song in the distance, accompanying the rustling of leaves and the crunch of pebbles beneath your shoes. You inhale deeply when you come to a halt.

You are atop a small hill, overlooking most of the city below, and Helion‘s palace in the midst of it. Large fields of sunflowers stretch in front of you, Pegasi trotting on the paths in between.

"I think it is my favourite place. Here in the Day Court I mean." You turn your head to the side, already finding Azriel looking at you. His eyes shimmer with an emotion you can’t quite place - is it love? Admiration? Anticipation?

You smile at him, and he mirrors your expression. "I can see why." His deep voice is barely above a whisper, caressing your skin like feather. "It is beautiful." He pauses, but his lips part again, like he wants to continue. Azriel’s eyes run over your face, scanning every small detail, memorising it.

"Just like you," he finally whispers, and now you can see love sparkling vividly in his eyes. He lifts his hand, fingers halting mere inches from your face, "May I?"

You dip your chin and in a featherlight caress, the shadowsinger brushes a few stray strands of hair out of your face and tucks them behind your pointed ear. "I’ve never seen beauty like yours before, Y/N,“ Azriel says, his tone sincere. "And before you try to object, it is the truth." The corners of his lip quirk upwards and he smiles down at you. "You are a bright ray of sunshine, and with your smile alone you could light up the darkest night. Your beauty rivals that of the sun herself."

That has strung a cord in your heart and you feel how tears brim your eyes, the back of your mouth starting to ache. You don’t want to cry. Not right now, but the compliment was just too beautiful - no one has ever said something like that to you. 

"How fortunate that I thought the same about you when I first saw you - that you are the most beautiful male I‘ve ever seen," you whisper, voice a little hoarse. You lift your hand, resting it atop his, your soft palm touching his scars. 

"One day you will tell me the story of how you got those?"

"I will," Azriel whispers, a tang of gloominess filling his voice.

"But for now, I want you to know that they do nothing to diminish your beauty, or your worth. You are beautiful and perfect the way you are. Scars or no scars, you are the most beautiful male I have ever laid eyes upon."

Bouncing up on your toes, you bring your lips closer to his, almost kissing him. "You asked me if you could hold my hand, now I am asking you if I can kiss you." Your soft breath tingles his lips and a low, amused chuckle leaves Azriel. "Please," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. You connect your lips with his.

It is a delicate kiss, lips moving in a graceful dance of tenderness and longing. 

The sun's warmth brushes your skin, intensifying the sensation, as if the Mother herself looks down on you, happy about this union. Time seems to slow around you, everything but Azriel and the feel of his lips against yours, fading into insignificance.

Azriel’s thumb gentle caresses your cheek, his tongue hesitantly gliding over your lip, asking for entrance which you grant him. The first stroke of his tongue against yours, elicits a gasp from you and you have to smile, pulling back from the kiss.

"That was—"

"I think we are mates!" The words just pour out of his mouth and he can’t stop them before they are already there, hanging in the air between you. He has lost control, his soul won the upper hand, and he couldn't stop his mouth from revealing the bond. 

Everything stops, even your heart and breathing. Your mouth is agape with surprise, and slight shock about this sudden and unexpected revelation. Yes, you have felt this tug on your chest as well, but…

It still surprises you to learn about him feeling the same. So, it is truly the bond. Air gets caught in your throat and your heart hammers against your rib cage.

"I…I—"

"I am sorry," Azriel admits and shakes his head, "I shouldn’t have said anything."

He wants to step away, but you don’t let him.

"Don‘t be." You smile up at him. "I was just…the bond is a huge thing, and I…you just surprised me, maybe even overwhelmed me with your revelation. It was so out of the blue." You step into him, arms slinging around his torso. He has gone stiff and you want some of the former light to return to his eyes. "I probably need a moment to order my thoughts and realise what it all means, but I am happy it is you. I’ve been feeling a pull towards you as well, Azriel, and it all makes sense now." You press a soft kiss to his pectoral.

His arms curl tighter around you, holding you against him, marvelling at the feeling of your bodies melding. Not only your hands are made for one another, but also your bodies. You are equals, one half of the same coin. 

"You don't mind it is me?" he asks of a moment and you can feel the sad thrumming of his heart through his chest. You tip your head back, trying to meet his gaze but his eyes are focused on an undefined point in the distance. "No," you say, voice soft, "I could never be disappointed about that." 

He finally lowers his gaze, eyes brushing yours. You smile and continue, "It might take us some time to figure everything out, to really get to know one another. To learn everything about the other person."

He bows his head. His shadows caress your upper arms, your face. 

"I don't want to rush anything. I want to give us time to get to know the other. I don't want to give the bond the upper hand and make us forget about the simple things of falling in love."

"I don't want that either. I want to learn everything about you, Y/N, before we accept the bond." His lips brush your forehead. "But I already call myself the luckiest male in all of Prythian."

A grin appears on his lips, so bright, that now he is the one whose beauty rivals the sun. 

The shadowsinger's chest heaves with a deep inhale, his chest brushing against yours, hearts beating in the same rhythm.

"I guess, Day and Night have at last found each other." You quip, nuzzling your face into his solid chest, his warmth so soothing to your soul, his scent bewitching your senses.

A bemused chuckle leaves Azriel as he tips your head back and gazes into your eyes, but soon the happiness fades from his face, a hint of worry and coldness reaching you through the bond.

"There is a chance for our love? Our bond?" Azriel‘s forehead lies in furrows, his chest aching fiercely all of a sudden. He hasn't considered this before, but you are from two different places of Prythian.

His throat works on a swallow before he continues. "We are from two different courts. Day and Night. We are—"

"Mates! Our souls belong together. So do our hearts. And when two souls belong together, there is always a chance for love."

You nip at his lower lip. "We will figure out a way to make it work, but we will stay together. We will be a couple. Our mating bond is stronger than the border of our courts!"

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A loud chuckle parts your lips, your head tipped backwards, Azriel’s broad hand splayed out on your lower belly, fingers relentlessly tickling and teasing you.

"I love you, have I told you that already today?"

"Not yet, I think" you quip, giggling into his biceps.

Azriel leans in quickly, lips on your neck. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you." Azriel’s hot breath fans your skin and leaves goosebumps in its wake. "More than my own life, more than anything in this world." He nips at your skin. "My mate."

"I love the sound of it," you whispers, fingers stroking through his silken strands. "I love that I can call myself yours. And that I call you mine." You grin, even though he can’t see it, face still buried in the crook of your neck.

"I love being called yours, my sunshine."

Azriel‘s hand slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing gently and then he lets himself fall back onto the mattress, pulling you with him, your head resting atop his chest. He has arrived and his heart sings happily within his chest. 

The sun burned Icarus. Made him fall.

But Azriel is not afraid to get burned again. He is safe with you. Always. You won't burn him. And he won’t fall. Not in the literal sense of the word.

In love, though? He has fallen massively, deeply. He loves you with every part of his body, truly and fully. 

You are his mate. His equal. His home.

~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[writingforrhys]

as you were

cassian x reader warnings: none! just some arguing and very sassy bat boys LOL. and some nesta and elain slander oh and quite a bit of swearing contents: welcome to a long awaited part 2 of smaller than this! i finally wrote the comfort to the hurt. please enjoy!

masterlist

Cassian couldn't find you anywhere.

He was sweaty, and disgusting, and disheveled after a long morning of training with his brothers. Azriel had been on point this particular session, seemingly being able to read Cassian's mind and know his every next move. He'd been put to the floor more times than he could count and all he wanted was to find you, bathe, and throw himself under the covers for some comfort and some really good sex.

The Illyrian had flown down to the Rainbow in search of your favourite bakery for some custard treat that he knew you couldn't get enough of and a bunch of your favourite flowers. And now, he couldn't fucking find you.

There was nothing better to Cassian than that shy look you'd get on your face when he'd turn up with gifts in hand, like you couldn't believe you were the one he was giving them to. The way you'd wring your hands together and rock on your feet, reaching towards him with that big, bright smile and a welcome home kiss, just to rush off to put your flowers in some water or show Rhys exactly what he'd bought you.

Gods, he needed to find you.

He felt like he'd searched the house 3 times over. He'd gone to the library, the kitchens, even Rhys's study and still no sight of you. It had barely hit noon and he knew your routine ridiculously well. You should've been pottering somewhere.

He found himself standing outside of your shared bedroom, concerned that perhaps you'd fallen ill, or caught on to one of Az's headaches, and had retired to your bed for the day. He craned his ears to search for any signs of life from the room; put off by the lack of light funnelling through the gaps of the door.

Cassian was just about ready to haul ass and search for you again elsewhere, when he heard it. It... you... a sniffle?

The door slowly creaked open, warm light from the hall washing over the unmoving mass under the sheets. Cassian moved as gently as he could, (albeit he was not very gentle at all), and found only the top of your head peeking through.

"Are you okay, honey? Not feeling well?"

His kind words and tender tone made you want to cry even more and you had to resist the urge to not look over the sheets and take a look at his beautiful face.

"I'm fine, Cass." And there it was. Mistake, mistake, mistake.

Any other person would've walked away. Any other person would have wished you farewell and hoped you got better. Any other person wouldn't concern themselves over the inflection of your voice. But not Cassian.

No, Cassian heard it all. Saw it all. He heard the shaking of your speech, the uncertainty. Could hear the wetness. And, he could bet that if he pulled back the bed covers, he'd find you tear-stained and choked up and utterly humiliated. And he was always right when it came to you.

And now, as panic blossomed in his chest, he took a seat next to your unmoving form and placed a hand just atop your body. He was careful not to remove the covers; he didn't need you closing off even more.

"You wanna tell me what happened, my love?"

A head shake.

"Did someone do this to you? Has someone made you upset?"

Silence.

"Who."

You removed the covers now, no further down than the top of your chest he noticed, and the sight of you broke his heart. You were all sniffles and puffy faced and hair so unkempt it could make a Naga run back to the woods. You'd obviously been here a while - alone and vulnerable. His heart broke again.

"It's okay, Cassie, really. They didn't mean any harm. I wasn't even supposed to hear it."

"They?" He was furious. Utterly and blindingly furious. Whoever had made you cry was very soon certain to wish they were never born.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you sighed, realising this was a battle not easily won. Cassian was not the type to let things go easily, especially when it came to you, and you weren't foolish enough to hope that he would just leave it alone.

"Nesta and Elain," Your voice was just a whisper, eyes still closed, "They... they were talking about me. Didn't have many nice points."

The Illyrian was the picture of silent rage. His heart a furnace; one doing a terrific job at boiling the blood under his skin.

"What did they say?"

You were hesitant now, as if speaking the words aloud would somehow make them more true. Your eyes peeked open, looking everywhere but Cass, until a large hand took purchase upon your cheek, tilting your face to meet his encouraging stare.

Your voice wobbled as you told him what they'd said - the descriptions that had hurt you the most. More tears streamed down your face at this and a calloused thumb reached to wipe every one away.

Once you had finished, Cassian stood silently, leaning down to plant a kiss to your hairline, and made a beeline for the door.

"Where are you going?" You wiped at your tired eyes.

"I'm off to kill some sisters."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The door to the living room had slammed open so fast that the walls of the house had shaken. Every head in the room had whipped to a seething Cassian in the doorway.

Rhysand was the first to stand and reach out his hand tentatively, as if taming a beast, "What's wrong, brother?"

Cassian's gaze didn't even land upon the High Lord. His line of sight shot right to the sofa behind him, carrying Feyre and Lady Death herself.

"You."

Nesta wasn't someone who showed much emotion in her face. Her range of expressions only varied between extremely discontent and mildly satisfied. But now, with the General standing in the doorway and a thunderous stare thrust upon her, she didn't know how to hide the amount of emotion bubbling up to her face.

Seeing her sister's agitation, the High Lady also rose to her feet and stepped forward. One of her hands rested upon Cassian's arm, gently rubbing as she lead him into the room.

"You need to tell us what the problem is, or we can't fix it."

"What's the problem, Feyre?" He scoffed, "She's my fucking problem."

The Illyrian's voice was raising with every word he spat. His voice had reached the adjourned kitchens, where Azriel and Elain now tentatively filtered out. Elain monitored the situation carefully, and quickly took a seat next to Nesta, grasping one of her hands in her own.

"Cassian, perhaps you need to calm down. I'm sure Nesta will be more comfortable to talk to you then." Elain's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Oh, go bake some fucking bread, Elain!"

"Cassian," Azriel spoke, "You need to choose your next words carefully."

"Really, brother? I don't think I do," He turned to Azriel, "Would you like to know what your little girlfriend has been saying about Y/N?"

The room was silent. Elain was red.

A beat passed as Azriel and Rhysand made eye contact. Azriel's shoulder's squared and his jaw ticked. Rhys laid a hand on Feyre's elbow, who was quick to leave the room with a soft mutter of I'm going to check on Y/N. The three Illyrian's were now facing the sisters on the couch, a storm brewing in the room.

"What did you say?" The shadowsinger's voice was uncomfortably steady.

"We didn't say anything. Get your guard dogs away from us." Nesta seethed at Cassian.

"You didn't... say anything?" Rhysand spoke slowly - accusatory.

Elain was nothing like her sister. Nesta could lie for days on end and not break a sweat. Often, when they were young, Nesta would spin tales about the other children in the village and see which rumour she could make spread faster. When she was confronted, Nesta had no problem lying to their faces again, or telling them exactly what she thought of them to their face. Whatever she preferred in the moment.

Elain was not like Nesta. Elain would return from school or the market, sit by the hearth on the floor, and spin her tales there. The words she spoke never left their house, not by her own voice anyway. She knew from Nesta's approving hums and nods that the next day, whatever Elain had spun would miraculously make it across the town. And she loved it.

Elain did not like consequences, and she did not like confrontation.

"We didn't say anything." She whispered. She dared not look up.

"That's funny, really," Cassian spoke to his brothers, "Nesta and Elain have decided that Y/N isn't good enough for us. For me."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that was up for them to decide, Cass."

"Neither did I, Rhys."

Azriel's face was still stony, "Would you like to tell the truth now?"

"Oh please, what we said wasn't that bad. The drama in your court is abysmal, Rhysand." The eldest Archeron bristled, "You'd think the royalty of the Night Court would have better things to do than gossip."

"Let me make one thing very clear. If I ever hear you speak ill of another member of my court again, it will be the last thing you ever do in this court." Rhys was not speaking as himself now. This was the High Lord. This was your High Lord. Undoubtedly and unapologetically loyal to you.

"Y/N is the best of us," Azriel spoke lowly, "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but you have misspoken and you've made a grave mistake. You will apologise profusely, and from this point on you will do everything you can to make this right."

Azriel left then, his long legs climbing the stairs and his footsteps following the familiar path straight to your room. Elain's face had fallen completely now, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

"We have known Y/N for the best part of 500 years. We have known the both of you for all of 5 minutes," Rhys' eyes bore into the sisters, "She has loved us and we have loved her for longer than you've been alive. You should be surprised that I haven't already dropped you at the border."

Rhys turned then to the door, his back facing the room.

"Do not let me hear of this again."

And with that, he followed Azriel up the stairs.

The Seer glanced between her sister and the General and took her opportunity to breathe a weak apology and immediately flee the room.

Typical, Nesta thought.

"Well, whatever you have to say, I suggest you get it out."

She was right. Cassian had been far too quiet. If he left his emotions unchecked any longer, he could very well do something he would regret. Well, he wouldn't regret it that much. But he'd like to avoid the grovelling he'd have to do to Feyre.

"My life is none of your concern," He began, "Who I take to bed is none of your concern and who I spend my time with is none of your concern."

Nesta rolled her eyes.

"What?" Cassian spat, "Would you rather I profess my undying love for you instead of her? You, who has shown me nothing but hatred and contempt since the moment we met. And Y/N who has spent 5 centuries giving me kindness and a home."

She wasn't looking at him anymore, completely silent as the Illyrian grew quiet again himself.

"She means everything to me. I have never and will never tolerate anyone who attempts to jeopardise what we have. Especially not you."

"What do you even see in her?" Cassian couldn't tell whether it was a jab or a genuine question. He didn't like either.

"All I see is her," A small smile, "All I think about is her. When I leave in the morning, I think about what she might choose to wear that day. And on the way home, I think about where I'll find her. Whether she'll be reading in the library, or teaching Az how to knit for the 50th time, or baking or bathing or singing."

He didn't pause to see Nesta's face shifting to shock.

"And when I do get back, the first face I want to see is Y/N's. To see her smile or hear her laugh. Most of the time I can't believe that I'm the bastard she chose to love. That I'm the one who gets to hold her every night."

Cassian made his move to leave, but just before he reached the doorway, he turned back to look Nesta in the eye.

"Y/N is the most beautiful, loving person I've ever met. I wonder sometimes how flowers don't grow on the grass she treads. You're lucky I haven't left you dead on the floor for the way you've spoken about her."

And as you listened on the stairs, your cheeks red and smile bright, you knew.

You knew that you didn't have to travel the universe to find someone who loves you. You didn't need to have a different body or a different mind to find someone who sees you.

Because Cassian was here, in this house, loving you and seeing you. For everything you are.

He loved you just as you were.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 2[*]

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: Really not sure about this one :/

warnings: fingering, angst

word count: 4,026

-Part 1- -Part 3-

Heart pounding in your chest. Words ringing in your ear.

If you were half the female Elain is, then maybe he’d show a little interest. But you’re not. You’re painfully separate, unable to crawl into her skin to live as her, to please him. Something sharp twists in your chest but you gently push it away, shunning that bruised, neglected part of you back into its dark and cramped cell.

His mouth opens, tongue stroking over your own, flicking the roof of your mouth. Hands on your hips, squeezing your waist. Toes hurting from the effort of balancing on them, upper body stretched taut with your arms grasping him tight, keeping him tucked against you, pressing his scent into your skin.

Quiet, needful sounds pass into his mouth, fingers tightening on him, pushing into him, keeping him. He’s yours for the moment. Hands grip the fabric of your dress, material scraping over your goose-pebbled skin. Breath catches at the rough drag of fingertips on your upper thigh, gripping your bare hips.

Heat builds behind your eyes, pressure warming as they squeeze shut, grasping him tighter, clinging desperately. Something hard and wooden is digging into the base of your spine, but his hips are pushing into your front and—and you can’t feel anything. Not even a slight firmness. He isn’t even interested in your body.

You kiss harder, pressing against him, winding against him in attempts to stir something. To get some kind of male reaction. Soft, feminine sounds spill from your lips, quiet pants as you bite down on the groans, only allowing the sweet and pleasing noises to make their way out. You press your chest into him, utilising the book case to arch your spine, even as it hurts to level yourself upon it. His hands squeeze your waist, and you bow further, slowly settling back upon the aching flats of your feet, toes stinging from the weight.

Your neck tips back, craning upward to keep his mouth upon your own, his thumb running over the bare skin above the band of fabric clinging to your hips. You start at the action, wanting more. Slowly, carefully, in a way you hope he likes, you press your lips to the edge of his mouth. Gradually, you make your way to his throat, nipping and kissing his neck.

His scent wraps around you, and for a moment you imagine he really is—that his arms are around your waist and he’s holding you because he wants to. But that illusion falls to dust when his fingers hook beneath the material of your underwear and he firmly pulls away from your mouth, dipping so his own is over your throat. He noses the sensitive skin a little roughly, and a small sound whines from your lips, warmth heating your cheeks as you replay the noise.

It doesn’t seem to bother him as he licks the hollow of your throat, almost certainly feeling the way your arms tense and the way your breath catches.

His canines scrape and this is it, he’s going to bite down, and he’s going to mark you, and it’ll stay. It’ll turn purple and blue, then to a yellowy green, but you’ll have memorised it by the time it fades. Teeth prick against the delicate skin of your throat and you tilt your head back, giving him unlimited access, and his mouth opens, opens over you, preparing to sink deep inside, and— He pulls away. You were too eager.

Instead his lips seal over a spot beneath your jaw, suckling and kissing gently, but nothing that will leave a mark. Nothing he’ll have to face once this is over. His hand slides back, and you inhale sharply as he squeezes your ass, cupping the plumpness appreciatively. You go a little dizzy when his fingers slide deeper, going between your thighs with expert ease, pressing against your entrance.

Absolute humiliation flushes your skin as he feels just how wet you are, just how desperate you are for a kind word from him. If he asked you to stop, and asked you to get on your knees, you’re not entirely sure you’d be able to deny him. Even if it meant forgoing your own pleasure. If you could give him a little more…

He pushes away the sopping fabric, fingers circling the sensitive skin, making you tighten around nothing. No one’s ever worked you this well before. Never had you so desperate after receiving so little, and— You squeeze your eyes shut, pressure heating in a flash at the realisation.

“Look at me.”

His voice breaks through your world of darkness, eyes opening to seek him out. They flit away, embarrassed by the damp blur coating your vision. His fingers slide forward with ease, dancing through the mess between your thighs, pressing to that unfairly sensitive space at your apex. “Look at me,” he repeats. Still quiet, but stern; sharp.

You follow his orders weakly, meeting that piercing hazel that’s staring deep inside. His fingers press in, sliding to his second knuckle, and your breath halts, catches in your chest. His eyes are latched upon yours and you’re unable to look away as he swallows you whole, your entire self being devoured and obliterated over and over beneath him. Trampled and beaten into the dirt until you’re curling up within yourself shrinking away from this monster that’s taking everything you have.

If you continue to give him everything, what will be left of you?

His fingers curl and thoughts melt with your brain. You lap at the edges of him, that inherent otherness that comes with being fae reaching out desperately, standing on a precipice with nothing more than a hope to be caught. He touches a spot inside you and you stumble, quietly moaning as you focus instead on how he feels inside you. How he’s pressed against you and you’ve never been so close with anyone else. Never been so vulnerable, emotions and thoughts laid bare through the intimacies of what should be limited to lovers.

Azriel’s murmuring something but your world has gone quiet, sound a dim ringing in the chambers of your memory. Your world is comprised of touch and feeling, nothing but sensation and existence. His fingers retract and you’re cold and empty, but then he’s shifting to be in front, and, and—

His two fingers slide in to his knuckles, pressing all the way inside and you have to make way for him. Moans and pants spill from your lips in attempts to find room for his pleasure, the way he’s sliding in and out of your heat, curling and pumping and sound begins to return. You’re aware of the things he’s murmuring to you, saying how good you are, what a good job you’re doing, and you lap up every word he gives you. Every muttered praise, every lied encouragement. You’re content to believe them for the moment, to burn yourself in his warmth.

“Azriel…” you pant, softly.

His eyes flicker, again touching that spot inside of you that has you tightening around him. He marks the pace of your breathing, shallow and uneven, seeking more from him. You’re nearing that tipping point, nearing the pleasure he’s giving to you, but…

He’s taking it from you.

This moment, the meaning of intimacy, and your pleasure. He’s taking everything from you. Things he has no need for, things that have no use to him, because you’re open for him. Allowing him to do what he wants to you, and, yes, what you want him to do, too.

If you give him this…you really will have nothing. But he is everything to you, so it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter but it does, somehow. You can’t give it all. That’s not something you can put yourself through. That’s not what you survived for. You haven’t made it two years without asking for hand from anyone just to have it all ripped away.

Pleasure builds, heat burning beneath your skin, coiling tighter and tighter as you look into those remarkable hazel eyes. “Azriel…” you moan, tightening your grip over his shoulders. That small, malnourished part of you screams, screams until her lungs rupture and her nails peel back from her finger tips as she claws at her cage. She screams with fury and rage at her imprisonment and you can’t, you can’t.

“Stop.”

He ceases his movements, but not willingly. He’s pausing, fingers still sunken inside your wet heat, keeping you on the brink of pleasure, within the palm of temptation. “Stop,” you repeat, hoarsely, arms releasing him in favour of taking his hand by the wrist, pulling it away from you. Shame weighs in your stomach as you feel your slick forming thin threads connecting his wet fingers to your sopping cunt. The proof of the choice you made. But the choice he made, too.

Azriel watches you intently as you pull back. You were right there. At the tip of his fingers, you were about to tip over. Why had you pulled away?

A small spark of that fire he’d seen earlier presents itself in your gaze, and he’s wanting you to fight again. But you’d told him to stop, and he will keep to his word. If you don’t want that pleasure, then you won’t get it. Not from him at least. It’s your choice if you want to pass up the chance he was giving you—the opportunity to have him and then leave. He was presenting you with a way out, but you’ve found your own. Made your own. It’s not the work of the doe-eyed, simpering woman he’s come to know you as. Maybe you aren’t the female he thought you were.

You can hardly stand to be in your skin as you push him away gently; numbly. That ringing sounds in your ears and it’s all you can do to cover yourself, easing out from between him and the book case to make for the exit. You don’t care to look back, even for him. Not so soon, before you’ve even had the chance to process. Because it’s a lot.

A lot has happened. A lot has changed. And you— You don’t know.

He’d seemed different, somehow. He’d seemed like— Well, he clearly isn’t. He’s not the male you had hoped he was.

————

Hours had passed in the blink of an eye, and thoughts were still a morning view clogged with thick fog. So you went to bed.

You didn’t allow yourself to think of him. Couldn’t think of him.

The buzzing had cut out, leaving an almost peaceful silence to fill the space he had left.

You washed, but did not eat, fearful of running into company. So you changed, and got into bed with an empty stomach; for a few strangely blissful moments, you were mortally, beautifully human again. Head empty, heart empty, belly empty. Tired and somber. A little numb.

Quiet.

————

You rose with the sun, arms stretching with the rays, and you allowed the silence to stretch until midday. Basking in quiet, peaceful relief. No thoughts, just feeling. The blue skies, billowing puffy clouds, fresh breeze. The smell of something clean and sharp; minty?

The first non-natural sound you heard that day was the leathery beat of wings followed by the blaring scuff of boots and voices. Hastily, you retreat to your room, finally having to face the music. Face what had happened. The choices you had made, and the choices he had made. Every messy, tangled thread. It was time to sort through them all.

So you sit on your bed, but it feels too stiff; too mechanical. You lie down, watching the ceiling and thoughts eddy out, like water between your fingers. You have no need for the useless noise. Only the memories and sediment.

Breath blows from your lungs, chest deflating. Aching for air. Breathe in. Hold, calm down, exhale.

And what?

What is there to do? Where is there to go from here? Where even are you?

Eyes slide shut. Closing in with your thoughts. Secret space for you and your memories. Solitude.

If you were half the female Elain is…

Eyes squeeze tight. Breathe.

If you were even half like her…

Heat builds. Nails bite.

If you were different, if you were more like her…

Muscle contracts. Aches blossom.

If you were different.

You nod to yourself, accepting it. He wants Elain, not you. And it hurts. It hurts that again, you aren’t good enough. It hurts, and he had said it out of anger—maybe irritation. He had apologised, he had been regretful, and the words still sting. Can you forgive him? Does it matter if you can forgive him?

What matters is where you go from here—wherever you are.

And it will begin with understanding, accepting he will not…he won’t… He won’t do whatever it is that you want. Whatever thing you desire, that feeling you get from him will never be yours. It’s not yours to take, but you want it none the less. So your first task will be acknowledging that, and letting it pass.

Breathe in. Lungs rise; expand. Skin stretches. Blow out.

Heat rolls back into your hair, dripping into the sheets.

Weight settles, pulling you down through your bed. Taking you away again.

You need to talk with him.

————

Agitation has been crawling, itching and festering. Stroking you skin with its lovely claws. Frustration opens her gently smiling jaws, pillowy tongue looking plush, and pleasant.

The library’s doors are looming, tall and ominous, and—no. They’re the same as they always are: double wooden doors, smooth and carefully crafted. You raise your hand to knock, but that wouldn’t make sense. The library isn’t his space, you don’t need to knock to enter a shared area. It’s your house as much as his, you don’t have to tip toe about. Don’t need ask for entrance.

Spine steels, straightening, and you open the door.

You know what he’s like: you won’t be able to find him if he’s trying to avoid you. So you’ll go as you usually do, sitting in the library, filling afternoons with books and parchment. Maybe you’ll actually be able to get some reading done today. Maybe you’ll be able to relax and return to normalcy. Somehow, you doubt it.

The doors swing open, perfectly silent, on well-maintained hinges, and you instantly pick out his scent. Pleasing and fresh. He’s already in here. You grip onto it, taking a step in his direction, heart pounding.

Are you really ready for this conversation?

Fuck.

Breathe in. Hold. Count. Exhale.

Hand over your chest, feeling the drum of your heart.

Beneath his scent, you can pick out a smaller, female scent. It’s faint and barely there, and memories come back. Wood digging into your back, his hips pressing into your front, not an ounce of arousal to be found. How severely you had embarrassed yourself.

One more step forward, one step at a time. There’s no rush, just go slow. At your own pace. The fact alone that he’s here: where he’s found you countless times past over the year…he won’t run away. He has nothing to worry about. He isn’t on the verge of falling apart.

The trail is leading you to that aisle, where the two of you had been just days ago.

Throat tightens. Lump forms. Difficult to swallow.

Breathe. Hold. Count. Exhale.

Final step.

Your heart spikes as you take him in, the light from the windows sweeping over his outline, revealing him in all his beauty. Watery sun catches on the slight iridescence of his wings, and your hand slides over your chest. Deep breath.

His back remains to you, and you know he’s allowing you to take control of this, how it unfolds. If you want to leave it for another day, he won’t make you face it. You could walk right back out of this library, and he won’t say a word. It gives you a little comfort at least.

You clear your throat, readying yourself to see him again, to look into those hazel eyes. His shadows are nowhere in sight, and you wonder if they’re perhaps giving you the privilege of privacy, the courtesy of not peeking into your business. Teeth find your lower lip, but you need to talk to him, or you can’t move forward.

“Azriel?” Your voice sounds louder than you had expected and you suppress your slight start. Swallowing, you try again, tamping down the flush of embarrassment. “I…I want to talk about what happened. Between us.”

Wings tense, shoulders go rigid as he moves sharply, turning on you with that lethal precision of someone who’s been caught off guard. Deep cocoa eyes latch upon yours, creamy skin flushed, silky hair hanging in lovely, elegant cascades over her shoulders.

Lips part in surprise, mind goes numb. Blank.

Azriel’s brow narrows as he takes you in, but it’s Elain your attention is on as she flushes deep, taking a step away from the male. “I—…” She turns to Azriel, who is still watching you with that piercing gaze. “Well, again, if you ever have an afternoon, I’d like very much to show you. I’ll leave you two to…talk.” She hurriedly excuses herself, the soft wisp of her lilac dress hardly registering as she brushes past.

You stare at Azriel, tall and unyielding.

You stare, and nothing comes to mind. Anything you had planned to say is forgotten, washed away to a land of mist and fog. Sharp hazel eyes meet yours, dark and accusing, spearing through you. Shadows peek over his wings, circling tight. Lips press together in a stern line.

“What was that?” Your voice is hoarse, rough at the edges. “What were you…? Why…?”

He regards you, then shifts, all grace and strength. “Don’t do that,” he says, a touch quieter than usual, and you wonder if he’s somehow thinking it might make this easier. “You knew this was coming. Don’t pretend you’re surprised.”

Words don’t exist in your mind, your tongue has forgotten them.

He waits, watching your mental stumbles and stammers.

Your throat rolls. “I just— I just wanted…” Your lower lips trembles, and his eyes flick away for a moment, allowing you to dry the dampness in your eyes, shame and humiliation settling. “Why in here?” You manage instead. “Isn’t that a little…?”

“I can’t plan these things,” he says, gently. “Bad timing, I suppose.”

Bad timing.

“You want me to believe that wasn’t a wake-up call?” You ask quietly, not looking at him. “I’m always in here around now. You know that. Don’t say you forgot.”

He pauses, and you feel the weight of his gaze returning to you. You want to meet it, but… “Like I said, bad timing.” Silence stretches, fractures spiral down your spine, shattering across your chest. “It wasn’t an intentional move on my part, as much as you may doubt it,” he adds, quietly.

When no reply comes, he shifts on his feet, “what did you want to talk about?”

You debate turning and running right then and there. Just leaving, but that would just be putting it off, and you don’t have the energy. “What happened here a few days ago.”

He’s quiet. Listening to you.

“I…” You don’t know. You’d hoped it would be an equal effort, that the conversation would just happen like all the ones you’ve had before. But those have revolved around Elain, and been led by Azriel. Now you’re in control, and you have no idea what to do.

You wipe your eyes again, not as discreetly as you would have liked, but it’s better than him actually seeing you cry. You stand a little straighter, but still can’t meet his gaze. “We… I shouldn’t have done that.” You settle on. “It was…it was a foolish choice to make, and I’m…” You breathe deeply, heat pushing from behind your eyes, and you dry them again. “I’m sorry for tangling you up in it,” you whisper.

He’s silent, and you wonder if he’s already left, wanting to give you privacy. But then he says, “I made some…I was wrong, too.” You don’t really know what to make of that, so you stay quiet. “I thought maybe it would help you get over your feelings,” he explains. In your peripherals you can see as he shakes his head, “I should have known better.”

It stings more than he probably meant it to, but you find yourself meeting his gaze. “I’m fully grown. I can make my own decisions and manage the consequences.” Yes, it’s a little bitter, but… No. It’s just bitter. No excuse.

“No,” he says, and your eyes flick away from his, “the things I said, comparing you to Elain was wrong and unfair. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.” You nod stiffly, reluctantly accepting his apology, because you did some things…said some things, too.

“I’m not sure…” you start, then shake your head. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your hands. It was wrong, and cruel, and I said it because I knew it would hurt you,” you admit, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve never— Not once. I’ve never thought…” Frustration bubbles in your chest as you search for the words. But he shakes his head, “I understand.”

Your brows curve upward, looking at him, but there’s a wall behind his eyes, and you know it’s pointless. The scar you targeted runs far deeper. Pain cultivated across centuries, burrowing deeper and deeper until it made home in the marrow of his bones. And you’d struck it. Like the self-absorbed, jealous coward you are, you’d wanted him to hurt how you were.

You remove your gaze from him, too ashamed to hold it. “I just thought…I don’t know…” you mumble, ringing your fingers together. “Feyre and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian? Then Elain has—…” You cut yourself off, remembering how things had gone the last time you’d brought them up. “Well, I just thought maybe, that…I don’t know…maybe you and I…”

“Were mates?” He finishes.

You shift uneasily, rubbing the back of your neck as you peer at the floor, “not in an entitled way… Just a… I was hopeful. That’s all it was.”

“I don’t think you grasp the depth of a mating bond.”

You bite your lip to keep it from wobbling, “I guess not.”

Maybe he’s right. It’s not like you grew up on Prythian tales and lullabies—you only came into his land recently. You know so little about his world, despite having been living in it for the past two years.

“Anyway,” you say, softly, voice a little raw, “I’m sorry for trying to involve myself like I did.” He nods, accepting your apology, and your eyes flit to his right, the books on the shelf. “And, I didn’t mean to—… I mean, I didn’t know that you and…” you trail off. Tongue flicks out to wet your lips, “it wasn’t intentional on my part. I just wanted to get this out of the way…”

He nods again, “I believe you."

You swallow, managing a small, nervous smile, still peering at the row of books to his right. “I’d like…I think, it would be nice to be friends, then.” Your eyes flit to his, an effort to do so. But he offers no consolation, no last comfort. Humiliating silence stretches between you, and you hope he might say something, yearn for some sort of reassurance that you haven’t ruined things.

But your head lowers, nodding slightly. “Okay…” you say, weakly, “I get it. That’s fine.”

You watch your fingers ring together in front of you, nails sliding beneath one another as you fidget. “I’ll just—” You gesture to the door, and he still remains silent, just watching you. He knows not to reach out. It would be cruel to give you any sort of hope.

Teeth bite your lip, and you hang your head in shame.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “okay.”

CBMTHY Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @thekingravkadeserves @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog

[nikethestatue]

I love the juxtaposition of how Elain and Lucien are shown during that scene in ACOWAR when they were having tea, and the other two couples, who are also mates.

We have Feyre commenting that watching Elain and Lucien trying to 'bond' and have a conversation over a tea service was the most uncomfortable 30 minutes of her life.

Meanwhile, we have her own daemati interactions with Rhys--where she is telling him not to come into the house. The interaction is so...comfortable. They joke. They play off each other. There is something familiar and homey in a way they speak. In my opinion, it's very couple-y. She is telling her 'husband' not to come in, and the fact that he is the most powerful High Lord in history doesn't matter. She is the wife and he listens and they are just two conspirators trying (and failing) to set someone up. This is being in love.

Lastly, we have Nesta. Hers and Cassian's bond isn't confirmed and they still pretend to be aloof (at least she is) and yet, what do we observe? The cool, standoffish, collected Nesta is literally craning her head trying to catch a glimpse of her boy, while he is going wild with the wings, showing off. This is...falling in love. They are not Feysand yet--established, confirmed, 'wedded and bedded'--but that little observation by Feyre, watching her sister unable to tear her eyes off Cassian is so important and so telling of how Nesta was feeling.

And then there is Elucien. Unable to string two words together. Even face to face. I think it's interesting that SJM chose to show the other two couples not interacting directly--neither Cassian nor Rhys are even in the house. While Lucien is sitting across from Elain. And...nothing.

It's untrue that Elain and Lucien 'never had the opportunity' or that 'she doesn't give him a chance'. They've had opportunities. Just nothing came of them.

Compare that, with what Azriel thinks in the bonus chapter. 'Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.' Again, we are reminded that unspoken attraction, small gestures of love and affection aren't always loud or even face-to-face.

But all SJM's couples have that. Where they can read each other, understand each other, and be dazzled by one another, sexually and emotionally, without words.

And Elucien just doesn't have that.

[sidthedollface2]

A Crown fit for a God

(Part 2 here)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Summary: An enemy threatens Velaris leaving Azriel to choose between his found family and a long lost friend. Can he juggle the two or will he fall for the enemy?

word count: 2.6k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, hurt/comfort,light smut, war, including injuries, fighting, sign language, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

Azriel sat at his desk, reports and sightings of a hooded being trespassing multiple courts, leaving behind scorched farm lands and destroyed buildings scattered across the table. “Any luck?” Elain questioned, running her gentle hands over Azriel's shoulders, loosening his tense muscles. “I’ve been searching for over 500 years, but I think I'm getting close. Most recent sightings have been by women and children. Day or night it does not matter, they've seen IT and their bodies remain still, unable to move or scream until their work is done.” Azriel stared at the map of Prythian. “I think it’s finally here,” he met Elains worried eyes, “in the Night Court.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel 8 yrs old

Azriel stopped sobbing once he knew no one would come for him. The foul smell of char and burnt flesh still lingered in his cell. His small hands trembled and shook from the intense pain, bubbles full of fluid and blackened skin covered both hands. Fingers locked and unable to move, not even to wipe at his heavy tears. The four walls to his cell provided nothing but cold nights and loneliness. With nothing to soothe the heat from his hands Azriel pressed his blistered palms flat to the cold floors. Hissing through clenched teeth as the coldness relieved some of the ache and heat within. Azriel hummed to a song inside his head, anything to pull his tired mind away from the pain and hopelessness he felt. With his eyes squeezed shut he tried to will the tears away, humming louder and louder to drown out his thoughts. His mind circled to a happier time. 

Small feet padding through fields of tall grass as he raced to his favorite spot; under a weeping willow. Perched against the tall tree the scent of fresh apples and citrus filled his nose as the wind carried the delicious scent towards him. His ears caught the melodious song of birds high above him. His gaze tracked up the tree to spot the feathered songbird but as soon as he craned his neck towards the sky time froze. A beautiful luna moth with large iridescent wings took flight, landing on the soft skin of Azriel’s cheek, tickling the small boy awake.

Azriel quickly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly in the darkness. The scent of citrus still lingered and time was eerily still. His pupils widened, adjusting to focus on what he was seeing. In the corner of his cell a shadowed figure stood still. Scrambling to his feet Azriel backed himself into the wall behind him. The dark figure inched closer, slowly, step by step. The hooded figure reached for Azriel's small hand. He told his mind to pull away, and to resist. But he was frozen against the cold wall, unable to move or cry out for help; not that anyone would help him. He tried to scream but the air left his lungs. Peeking beneath a hood Azriel saw the most stunning and captivating eyes he’d ever seen. Neither of the same color, yet bright and brilliant. One holds the color of the night sky, dark with swirls of violet and starlight. The other is pale and cloudy like the surface of the moon from Prythian. Your long shiny hair framed your youthful face and pouty lips perfectly. You don’t look much older than him yet you have this ancient presence he can't put his finger on.  

You're cool fingertips brush his knuckles, testing for his reaction. A small smile graces your lips as you remember that he’s unable to move. At least unable to move his outer extremities and vocal chords. Yet the windows to his soul tell you he's frightened. His wide hazel eyes are glassy, tears slowly filling his waterline. The rapid rise and fall in his chest is another clue to his distress. You let out a soft sigh as a single tear runs down his dirty cheek. Taking a step back you lay your palm flat against your chest, hoping he’ll understand what you intend to convey. Again, you pat your chest and azriel blinks in response. Bringing your hands in front of you, you tuck your fingers in creating a fist and curl both your forefingers and hook them together, with one wrist facing down and the other up you sign the word ‘Friend.’  

You wait for his breaths to slow before you gather his burned hand within yours. His knuckles are angry and reddened from the lack of healthy skin. Moderate pieces are blackened and multiple blisters are threatening to burst.  Carefully, you examine the extensive damage that was done, and begin to call upon your magic. Azriel's eyes widen to the size of saucers when your fingertips spark with what looks like stardust and your hand turns completely black from your fingertips down to your wrist. You gently run your star glittered forefinger down his. Starting at the base of his knuckle to the tip of his finger, healing all the delicate tissue and epidermis just like it was before. You release the magic holding him still, allowing him to relax his shoulders and curl the finger you healed. “How did-” the words die in his mouth as you continue to work on the next finger. Tracing once again from the base of his knuckle, down his slender finger to his nail. Revealing smooth and supple skin, no longer burned and charred.

The loud sound of a door opening startled both of you apart. Stopping your healing magic at only two fingers, Azriels paniced eyes met yours. You knew what he was asking. But you couldn't grant him more time, at least not yet. Quickly, you pulled your hood up over your head. Closing your hand in a fist you brought it to your chest, moving it in a circular motion; signing the word ‘sorry.’ 

“Wait!” Azriel’s arms dart out grasping onto the sleeve of your cloak only for the garment to fall at a pile to his feet. “Mother!” he gasped, shocked at your sudden disappearance, leaving behind your cloak that still had warmth and your scent. 

He’d kept your cloak all these years, the only cloth in his cell that kept him warm on those freezing nights. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Az, something is breaching the wards, get down here. 

Rhys panicked words pierced through Azriel's mind as he abruptly sat up from the bed, the bed he shared with Elain. He quickly pulled his pants on, followed by his shirt and protective leathers. Placing a kiss to Elain's forehead, he winnowed to the location Rhys mentioned. 

An invisible force separated the three males from the dark figure that threatened Velaris. 

“Is It alone?” Cassian questioned, glancing behind and around the figure, assessing the intruder. His fingers itched at his sides, waiting for the slightest movement to unleash his blade. 

“She’s alone.” Rhys confirmed, gaze narrowed and unwavering at the dark figure. 

“She?” Both Cassian and Azriel said in unison, a look of shock on both their faces. It wasn’t that they doubted a female's ability. They knew the power that simmered beneath the skin. The unending strength, if provoked enough. The females in the inner circle, if combined, could take on males twice their size and fight wars alongside the bravest of warriors, but not alone. You’d have to be extremely powerful or extremely stupid to dare face the night court’s high lord alone.

Her gaze lifted above to the bright blue sky as if the power holding Velaris safe was visible to the eye. Her head swiveled left, noting how large the protection ran. Then to her right, gauging the amount of magic needed to breach the wards. At the moment, no army trailed behind her. No warrior or protector was by her side. She was simply there to send a message. 

“She’s unarmed.” Azriel's shadows slithered back to him, informing him of the lack of weapons and armor. She was defenseless and although a powerful barrier kept her out of Velaris, the two most violent and skilled warriors along with the most powerful highlord stood before her; she remained fearless. Her strong legs planted firm in the soil. It was difficult to determine what was under her dark cloak. His shadows stilled as her gaze met those of the shadowsinger. He knew those eyes. Azriel had searched for those beautiful eyes in every court, in every crowd, in every female. He’d dreamed of the day he’d see them again. His attention was directed to Rhys as he spoke in a firm demanding tone. 

“I will say this once, and only once-” 

Rhys' voice caught in his throat as the female's palms met the protective barrier. Electric current coursed through her veins, the power of lightning flickered from her fingers creating an orb of pure energy. Her foot dug into the soil behind her as she braced herself pushing through the wards, creating a space for her body to pass. All three males rushed towards her, charging at the enemy with bared teeth and blades ready to attack. Their large bulking frames and violence in their eyes was enough to bring grown men to their feet. 

Cassian sent a blast of red power straight towards her, expecting it to hit its target. Although stronger than most fae, his blast passed through her like a strong gust of wind. Whipping her head to its side, causing her long hair to flow out from under her hood. Her feet stayed planted, unwavering.

“Mother above.” Cassian breathed before he held his sword up high, slicing through the air as he brought it down over her head. Rhys' eyes widened for a fraction as Azriel’s truth teller clashed with Cassian, blocking his effort to harm her. Azriel’s shoulder roughly dug into Cassian's chest as he shoved his brother back with force. Betrayal laced in Cassian's eyes as he gaped at his brother. Out of all their arguments and bickering not once has Azriel disagreed with a common enemy. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cassian sneered, meeting Azriels force with his own. Never one to back down at defending his court or his high lord. 

“You foolish boy!” Amren called from a distance, closing the space between them, “you cannot kill a God.” 

“Took you long enough,” Rhys tisked, plucking an invisible lint from his dark shirt. 

The hooded figure narrowed her eyes at the approaching Amren and scowled at the title that she clearly did not like. Azriel and Cassian ceased their bickering as Rhys' power shook the very ground they stood on, a wave of darkness ready to protect his city.

 “No one has breached these wards in 5,000 years.” Rhys declared with all the confidence of a high lord. Stepping forward, commanding the eyes of the hooded figure in a challenge, “what business does a God have in Velaris, surely you have better things to do.”

“Do not mock her, she can kill you where you stand.” Amren whispered. “As can I.” Rhys challenged. 

Her face remained unseen under the protection of her hood. Slowly her fingers came up beside her face, grasping the edges of the hood, she pushed the dark fabric over her head, revealing herself.

Amrens words ring true when the goddess reveals herself. Her beauty is unique and divine, flawless in the way that makes males fall to their knees. 

All the air from Azriels lungs vanished as he stared into those eyes. Years he’d been searching every court, reading countless books on healers and where they originated. Shamelessly making eye contact with each female he met hoping to one day find the mute girl who gave him purpose.  To hope one day he could thank her for her kindness to a boy who had nothing. 

“I’ve been looking for you.” Azriel exhaled, holding a palm out to Rhys and his brother letting them know ‘he’s got this.’ 

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes trailed down Azriels body. Trying your hardest to put a face or name to the male in front of you. After years of imagining how seeing you again would be, he didn't put into account the possibility of you not recognizing him. While Azriel admired how much you've grown since he first saw you. Your gaze seemed to pass right through him. And his worst fears were confirmed with a tilt of your head. 

You didn’t remember him. 

You couldn't recall any detail or encounter that would cause you to remember the male. Instead you focused your gaze on the High Lord. you were here to deliver a message after all. 

“High Lord of Night, ready your soldiers, a war is among you.” 

Surprise passed through Azriels eyes as he heard you speak. The day he met you your only form of communication was through hand signs. And now your voice is laced with threat, nothing like the gentle girl he met hundreds of years ago. He wonders what had changed.  

“And what do you bring to this war?” Rhys expression hardened. He tried to enter your mind to see for himself the truth of your words. Surprised to see your mind vulnerable for all, yet within the space were no visions or memories of your past, but  rings of blazing fire encircled a black hole with unknown knowledge within. Rhys had read about minds with black holes. It was a mystery as to what one would find within the hole. Some say time freezes for the observer, how long till it resumes has never been answered. Others say that if you fall into the black hole your mind fails the body and a blazing fire consumes you from the inside out, leaving behind ashes to be carried by the wind. 

“I bring Chaos and unrest, Lord of Night it be wise of you to heed my warning because your life will be in my hands.” 

Within seconds the afternoon sky turned dark and gray, the loud crack of thunder boomed in the distance and before either of them could reach you, you summoned a strike of lightning; hitting the ground like a whip. The flash was bright as it hit  and Rhys witnessed the wards he placed on Velaris crumble. A loud roar was heard throughout Velaris, a deadly creature answering your call.  It was then he realized, struggling to push through a small door to get within the protection wards was just for show. And whatever message you needed to deliver, something frightening answered. 

 Between the flashes of lightning and the echoes of thunder, just beyond the way they saw hundreds and hundreds of waiting soldiers. Looking at your retreating form, Azriel, Cassian and Amren rubbed at their eyes.

Once you reached the front line of fighters you looked over your shoulder, meeting Rhys powerful gaze and with a slight smirk you replaced his wards and removed the illusioned warriors. Leaving Velaris protected as it once was but now the threat of death and destruction looms near, not only to Rhys but everything and everyone he holds dear in Velaris. 

Part 2

~ thank you for reading

[sageandscorpiongrass]

could you do a web about falling out of love with someone and hurting because you miss the "old them"?

Ah! I hope this does it justice! ;^^

this would be so much easier if i still knew you.

First Love, Jennifer Franklin | Armed Cavalier, Richie Hofmann | Self Portrait in Dark Interior, Curtis Bauer | Stuff I probably did and didn't, Stephanie Gray | Never Love an Anchor, The Crane Wives | Waiting, Caitlyn Siehl | Russian Ending, Jerry Williams | The More Loving One, W. H. Auden | _sayorikinnie on pinterest | The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter, Erza Pound | @/inanotheruniverse on tumblr | @/dazzlingtiredeyes on tumblr | Wrong Side of a Fistfight, Ashe Vernon | Ode to People Who Hate Me, Carmen Giménez | If My Body Could Speak; What I couldn’t explain via text, Blythe Baird | @/chloeinletters on tumblr | Romance or The End, Elaine Kahn | Presumably Dead Arm, Sidney Gish

[text transcription in alt text]

[dangerpronebuddie]

Several Sentences Sunday!!

Tagged by @hippolotamus @tizniz who both shared BRILLIANT stuff y'all should absolutely show some love!! 🩷🩵

I've gotten so much done with Make Me Write this past week, and I thank y'all for helping me 🥰. I still have a few asks to answer, and hopefully that'll happen today (or tomorrow). In the meantime, have some Buckfidelity fic that I'm pretty happy with:

“I'd wear a costume for you,” Eddie says. Buck snorts. “You already are. You suggested it.” He reaches over with his free hand to tap Eddie's thigh and then just… leaves it there, the heat of his palm adding to the fire in Eddie’s belly. “Yeah,” Eddie says. “Cause you were excited about it. You should get to be excited about things and- and have someone who wants to see that grin on your face.” “Eddie,” Buck whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, but it drowns out the noise anyway. Eddie cranes his neck to look at Buck, his head landing on his shoulder. Buck looks down at him, his pupils blown wide. His gaze flits down to Eddie's mouth and he licks his lips. “Eddie,” he says, or maybe begs, and then his mouth is on Eddie's. Eddie gasps, in surprise or relief, he doesn't know, and kisses back with everything he has. Buck tastes like beer and lime and salt, but there's a sweetness that's so wholly Buck beneath it all and Eddie teases the seam of his lips, desperate to chase that taste. There's a fire crackling in his middle, one he hasn't felt in… years probably. He spares a thought for Marisol, and Tommy, and the fact he didn't think about either of them until now should probably say something about his character, but he finds he doesn't care too much with Buck's lower lip between his teeth. He reaches up, carding his fingers through the mess of sweat-damp curls at the back of Buck’s head, and holds him closer. Buck hums lowly and sucks on Eddie's tongue. The hand on his thigh is slowly making its way up, Buck’s fingertips trailing the inseam of Eddie's slacks. His index finger brushes Eddie's crotch and Eddie moans into the kiss, the slightest touch sending sparks along his spine. Buck pulls away, panting like he ran a marathon. “Eddie,” he says again, his voice wrecked. The bright blue of his irises are almost eclipsed by his pupils. His lips are swollen and spit-slick. There's a pretty pink tint to his cheeks, either from the alcohol or Eddie or both. Either way. He looks debauched from just one kiss. He looks beautiful, and he's Eddie’s. At least for now. He's Eddie's, just like Eddie is Buck's.

(tags under the cut! As always please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

@lover-of-mine @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @kitteneddiediaz

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @exhuastedpigeon

@thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @diazheartsbuckley @wildlife4life @misshiss727

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny @eddiesfagstache

@lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92 @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22

@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter @snowviolettwhite @hermoineindisguise @tidesreach

@nonspeakingkiku @eddiedisasterdiaz @drunkandsupportiveeddie @epicbuddieficrecs @disasterbuck

@gnoeltop @keynb @cassi-brooks @-syrup-sue @punkrock00 @shannonhutchins @aroqueerfandoms @unlifeira @marissaleec @kissyboytroye

@lyricfulloflight @charlzie-ghost @hypersensitivitywitch @kindlingtotheflames @wallywise @zerokrox-blog and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

[eudaimonia83]

Posting a little Elucien treat, just bc I actually HAVE written things recently, I just haven’t FINISHED them. Details, schmetails. 💁🏽‍♀️

——————————

“Why, Elain Archeron,” he murmured, and his fingers climbed her arm to rest against her bare shoulder, tangling lightly in one of her loose curls. “I would never have believed it of you.”

“Believed what, my lord?” She feigned innocence, eyes wide and bright as moonbeams.

His fingers tugged gently at the hem of the sheet she had covered herself with. “That you would forego a nightdress. So bold of you.”

She blushed, fighting the sense of being flustered. It was time, sang her blood, thrilling under her skin, to reach out, to embrace, to touch. “It seemed…” she hesitated, searching for the word. “…a shame, somehow. It’s a beautiful night. To not enjoy the breeze would be…” her voice snagged as his fingers abandoned the sheet and slid up her neck, resting at the angle of her jaw.

“Would be…?” His voice teased her but his eyes — oh, those eyes, gold flame and glowing ember — searched hers, utterly serious, glimmering with want.

“Un…” She hitched a breath. “Ungrateful.”

“Hmm. Well. That won’t do at all. We should always be grateful for the time we’ve been given.” The breeze rustled, rippling the curtains. He leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Then may I join you?”

Caught off guard by the forthrightness, it took her a moment to nod.

He stood up and pulled his quiver over his head, setting it gently against one of the pillars, and then unbuckled his knife belt that sat low on his waist, the knife at the side swinging down in its sheath to scrape the white stone floor. Elain watched, hungry for the light and shadow to play along his skin, as he unfastened his jerkin and then his shirt, letting each one fall slowly to the floor. She swallowed hard. He grinned, a flash in the moonlight, and she knew he was going slowly on purpose. To tease her.

Then watch, her mind whispered. If he wants you to see, then look. It isn’t shameful…it isn’t wanton. Is it? She craned her neck to the side, letting an appreciative little smile curl the very edges of her lips. His eyes locked with hers, although they were just a gleam in the moonlit darkness. There was a hitch, a catch against her ribs, like the tug of a magnet toward a metal surface. The bond. Was he reeling her in? Should she…let him?

But that little doubting shadow in her mind quieted as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, rolling up the leather strap before placing it next to his quiver, then unfastened his boots. He had to bend over to do it, and his breeches rode down over his hips slightly; Elain’s eyes widened, drinking in the sweep of his back muscles tapering down to his narrow waist. He was long and lean, not at all the same body type as Cassian or Azriel; built for running, for horseback, for silent stalking on hunts that would last all night and only yield prey as the dawn broke. For endurance. Mother of mercy, her mouth was dry. She shifted under the sheet, craning her neck to get a better view…but, with a sly gleam of a smile, he had turned to face away from her, and stretched, loose and relaxed, with his arms over his head. She narrowed her eyes, a stab of petulance cutting through her.

“I can feel your disapproval,” he said over his shoulder, leaning back and forth in the moonlight, which touched him like a caress, long fingers of light and shadow sliding along his shoulders and the groove of his spine. “Should I stop?”

“I think I’ll kill you if you do,” she burst out, against all of her better judgment.

He turned then, and slid his breeches down and off in one movement. She let out a little sound, excitement and anguish and trembling expectancy.

He climbed over her, stretching her out beneath him, pulling her arms up over her head and squeezing them gently at the wrists. “Making threats, Blossom?” he whispered. “They sound so sweet in your shivering little voice. Now, don’t tell me there’s other things you’ve been keeping from me? Other talents?”

“Kiss me,” she insisted, stretching up to him to try to catch his mouth. It was too far away, much too far. She wanted him all over her, to cover her skin in a cascade of warmth, an avalanche of scent and sensation. “Please kiss me, Lucien.”

“Oh, I plan on it,” he said, using his free hand to peel the sheet away, taking her in with a gleam of his eyes and a flare of his nostrils. His fingertip rested lightly on the seam of her lips. “But not there.”

Her eyes widened in shock, but it was already happening, and in the fierce rush of her heartbeat as his hands gripped her waist, she realized she would let him do whatever he wanted to her. He flipped her over on the mattress and pulled her backwards until she was kneeling, arms stretched over her head. Then he crawled between her knees, and lay on his back, staring up at her, gold gilded in silver, flame shrouded in ombre, gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She sat up, alarmed, not sure what was happening next, but his grip tightened, thumbs stroking her thighs, pulling her knees further apart until she lowered herself to sit on his chest.

“Listen to me,” he said, and there was a core of steel in his voice that straightened her spine and raised gooseflesh all over her arms, torso, breasts, belly… “I’m going to taste you until you come, until you break into fragments. If it’s too much, just say, Lucien, stop…and I will. But otherwise, I’m going to take you apart the way you’ve always deserved. Do you want that?”

She whimpered, not even sure if it was fear or excitement. “…y…yes.”

“Then move this luscious ass forward and sit on my mouth.”

“But…”

“You heard me.”

——————————————

Just a little light-dom Luci for your Tuesday morning consideration 😈😈😈

[drinkingcoffee-inthedark]

“You love him, don’t you?” Azriel’s smooth, deep voice startled you from your thought.

You craned your neck and squinted into the darkness, making out the sapphire siphons adorning his muscular frame. Sucking in a deep breath of the chilled Velaris air, your mouth quirked up in a wistful smile.

“Who?” You asked as casually as you could manage, before training your eyes at the starry horizon just over the balcony of the River House.

The Shadowsinger scoffed softly, growing agitated at the game you played with him. He took a couple steps forward, standing against the rail of the balcony next to you.

“Lucien.” The first time he’s said the Emissary’s name without an undertone of malice.

You swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly, your voice strained and tinny in your own ears. You dipped your head and took in the scene in the garden below. “I love him.”

The massive wedding celebration was underway; Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra becoming husband and wife. Your heart felt uncomfortably heavy nestled above your hollow ribs.

Azriel reached out and took your hand in his, and only then we’re you able to tear your sights away from the scene below. Your eyes welled up as you searched Azriel’s hazel eyes as if they contained the remedy to your heart ache. His gaze was the softest you’d ever seen it. It broke you.

Your face crumpled finally, as you knew it would eventually. Fat, salty tears ran down your cheeks as you whimpered painfully- a sound Azriel would never be able to forget.

“I-it hurts, Az. So b-bad…” you hiccuped out, as the Illyrian warrior pulled you into his arms. He held you tightly as you sobbed into his chest. His fingers danced gently across your back, as he whispered soothing words into your ear.

Your sobs subsided slowly, just as the night sky crackled alive with fireworks. The colors exploded in the air, and you slowly lifted your face from Azriel’s chest. His fingers found your chin and he steadied your face, studying every detail. Your red rimmed eyes, wet checks, and quivering lip nearly broke his heart. Your eyes searched his once again, like he had the needle and thread to sew up everything that was broken in you.

The Shadowsinger dipped his head, resting his forehead against yours. Your breath hitched at the contact, and you let your eyes flutter shut. You were consumed by the scent of cedar and night air. You could hear his ragged breathing- could practically feel his heart pounding. It was almost as if you could hear the gears turning in his head- he was unsure of himself for once. Fighting between his head and his heart.

So you made the decision for him.

You tilted your head upwards, pressing your lips against his, cupping his cheek with your fingers. You felt the male melt into your touch, sighing in relief at the contact he’d waited so long for. He pulled you closer, reveling in your sweet kiss.

The two of your remained that way, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to an onlooker from the event below.

Lucien, from the rose garden where he was dancing with his Bride, spotted you and Azriel in your embrace. In that moment, the Emissary felt something in his chest splinter.

[azsazz]

Cupid's Chokehold

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it's a little hard to explain what you're trying to do.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,966

Notes: is it finally time for this?! 😍😌

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

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You take aim, an arrow notched in your bow, string drawn taut to your cheek, focused solely on your target: the female in the lilac dress as she snips wildflowers at their stems, collecting them for her bouquet. The tall orange-haired male that’s pretending to read under the weeping willow is as much of a metaphor as you’ve ever seen, watching her longingly. You take a calming breath, making sure your sights are set right where you want the bolt to follow.

The string of your bow starts to slip through your fingers as you’re about to release, but your hold tightens and your breath and body stills as a cool, sharp blade is tucked into the underside of your throat.

His breath is hot in your ear as he growls, “Put your weapon down or I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

The low baritone of his voice sends shivers crawling up your spine as you straighten, the cold knife against the swell of your throat awakens all of your senses as he presses down with warning.

You watch as the male beneath the tree’s head perks up, his metal eye gleaming in the light of the setting sun as he scans the area, alerted. Surely he hasn’t noticed you, but his gaze falters in your direction, brows furrowing as he stands, calling out to the female in the pretty dress, ushering her towards the house with a final survey of the yard.

You let the arrow relax in your grip, moving your bow down to your side where the male behind you snatches it from your hands, still a steady hold on the weapon pressed to your neck. A single movement would have the blade tearing into your flesh.

Biting your tongue and curling your fists, you hold back a frustrated noise. You’d been trailing them for weeks. The young female always tucked inside the large estate or in her gardens, while the male watched from the windows above. He must be a traveler, for he doesn’t look like he’d belong to this court, with his autumnal colored clothing and the fact that you’d only seen him on a few occasions, but the two were never together.

You knew they’d have a great relationship with a little help from you.

“I don’t mean any harm,” you raise your hands in surrender, flinching as you hear him toss away your weapon. The clang from the metal of your bow has you hissing as his knife cuts a razor thin line across your throat and you stumble back a step into his hard chest.

He grabs your arm with a firm grip, sheathing his weapon at his hip as he restrains you, pinning you flush against him. He ignores your sweet scent that puffs up when he does, mind going cloudy with it for a second, glaring down at the top of your head.

“Your weapon proves otherwise,” he grunts. You try to crane your head up over your shoulder to look at your assailant but the sun is shining too brightly for you to make out his features.

You gasp as blackness sweeps up, consuming the both of you, slipping you into the folds of shadow and darkness. Your hands grasp for something to hold onto, the feeling of falling through a void takes the breath from your lungs but he’s holding your wrists in one of his and there’s nothing for you to clutch to.

Your knees buckle as the floor returns beneath your feet.

He wrenches you up, arms twisting painfully behind your back until you’ve regained your footing, and then he’s shoving you away from him.

A murmur of something in a language you don’t understand has the faelights turning on, ever so dimly. Squinting, you can barely make out anything in the room, even the male seems to have disintegrated into the blackness. You search the darkened room for anything, for him, to come back, just so that you’re not alone, when your eyes snag on the wall of gleaming, polished weapons hung nicely – menacingly – and ready for use.

You swallow harshly. A torture chamber.

And there. He’s standing leisurely against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, just…watching you.

“I mean it,” you stutter, hugging yourself firmly. You’re sure that you can see your breath frosting in the cool air. “I wasn’t going to hurt them.”

You’re not sure why you’re trying to explain yourself. Clearly this male is an act first, ask questions later type, but there’s something about those dark eyes glowing in the soft blue light from his stones that makes him even more threatening.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move from his spot and it leaves an unsettled feeling in your stomach. You’re frozen beneath his gaze, pinned to your spot by it, not that you’d dare to move anyway. In fact, you’re lucky you’re not chained to the large stone table separating the two of you.

It’s a stalemate, him staring at you while you stare back at him. Your teeth clack together from the chill that’s burrowed its way into your bones is the only sound to be heard.

He can’t say that he feels bad for the pretty female he’s caught. You were trying to kill Elain after all. Eventually he straightens, eyes flickering with something that’s gone too quickly for you to make out. He takes a step closer to you and you take one back.

“Come here.”

“Why? So you can use one of those knives to carve me up?” You retreat another step as he advances, eyes glimmering with sick delight at the chase you’re giving him.

“No,” his tone lowers further, “But I will if you don’t.”

Your jaw aches from trying to stop your teeth from chattering as you weigh your options. Walk directly to him and face the brutality of his bare hands or, you think, eyeing the wall of torture weapons, retreat further and feel the wrath of the metal against your skin, forged for sadistic truths.

He doesn’t care. Either way he will get what he wants.

But today is not the day he gets to interrogate the beautiful female sneaking her way across his lands.

You step forward, keeping your eyes locked on his. You’d like to reach for a weapon on the wall as you pass but it’s so cold you can’t feel your fingers, and surely you’d be stopped before you could land a well placed blow.

If only you had your bow.

When you’re within arms reach he grabs you again, the same darkness swallowing you once more.

You yelp, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding on for dear life, your icy fingertips pressing into the skin at the nape of his neck has his breath hitching in his throat though you are unable to hear it over the racing of your heart thrumming in your ears.

Light blinds you as the shadows disperse. You squint against the brightness, releasing your captor and retreating, getting a good look at him once your eyes adjust.

He’s a handsome male, dressed in fitted fighting gear that leaves little to the imagination, his taut muscles straining beneath the fabric. His hazel eyes glow, marking each and every movement you make, where your eyes roam across his body, widening when you see his wings. It’d been too dark in the chamber to see them, but as they’re tucked tightly behind his back, well, you’d never quite seen anything like them before up close. They certainly are not like your own, hidden away.

The door creaks open and it’s then that your attention is drawn away from the captivating male. Two more enter, filling the room with even more dangerous auras. One, who looks like he holds all the power of this court, violet eyes acknowledging the male beside you, and the other, taller than both of the others, sizing you up as soon as he enters.

It’s apparent that they are from the same lineage, with their dark hair and caramel skin. They have the same wings, though you think that the warrior who’d stopped you has the biggest ones.

You thought the Lord would be the one to speak first but it’s you who’s blurting out beneath their heavy gazes, “Where’s my bow?”

“What is your name?” he counters, as if he’d been waiting for you to break the silence. Why, you didn’t know.

“(Y/N).”

“Welcome to the Night Court, (Y/N),” he greets. “I’m High Lord Rhysand, and this is Cassian. I see you’ve already met my shadowsinger.”

Shadowsinger? What the hell is a shadowsinger? You wonder, but glancing at the male beside you, the tendrils of inky smoke curling around him protectively, you see his connection to the shadows. Singer though, you doubted it.

“My bow,” you inquire again.

“Your bow,” Rhysand echoes, picking at a piece of lint on his finely pressed coat. “Ah, yes, what an interesting weapon indeed.” He reaches into the folds of space, your gleaming weapon appearing in his grasp, the honeyed metallic soaking up the sunshine streaming through the windows. “For something made almost completely of gold, it sure is light.”

Your brows furrow at the sight before you. You’d never seen magic quite like this before, how he could manipulate the air around him into a pocket world for his–your–belongings. 

“It’s not a weapon,” you protest, stalking towards the male to retrieve your beloved longbow. The two males look like they’re ready to pounce on you but the High Lord only smirks and just as you’re about to lunge for the curved gold it disappears again.

“If it’s not a weapon why does it look like one and why was it pointed at my sister-in-law?” Rhysand muses, walking around you to sit on the edge of the fancy oak desk, leaving you standing between his two guards.

All on purpose. You’re already playing right into his hands.

You refrain from speaking. Your bow can be used as a weapon if needed, though its intended use is not to harm, but the opposite.

The males violet eyes glimmer at your silence, “This will be much easier if you speak. Unless you’d rather go back to Azriel’s chamber?” he ponders coolly. 

You eye the male at your side again. Finally, a name to go with the stoic face that has been threatening you. Azriel.

“Give me back my bow and I’ll leave,” you reason, trying to keep your voice steady as you turn back to the male in charge. You don’t need to shoot your arrow at the female in the garden. There will be other challenging cases.

But none as interesting as those two.

He tuts, swinging a leg back and forth, a well practiced feline smirk gracing his lips. “That’s not how this works. Not until you give us some answers.”

“Like what?” you ask, catching your lip nervously between your teeth. You’ve never been caught before, and by someone so powerful. The males reeked of power, protectiveness, scrutinizing you under their harsh gazes and towering over you like a child. It’s unsettling to say the least and your stomach twists with worry.

“What are you doing in my land? Following my sister?” he questions again. Your skin crawls at the gentle caress of him inside of your mind, testing your walls.

You cut him a harsh glare that has Azriel angling into you, prepared to catch you should you decide to strike.

“Yes,” you admit, though you don’t release the information that you’d been roaming his land undetected for weeks, “It’s my job.”

“And what exactly do you do that involves a weapon if you don’t intend to kill anyone?” his tone is clipped, his eyes hardening at the thought of you murdering Elain in his own gardens.

“I’m a Cupid.”

“A Cupid?” he asks incredulously, eyebrows itching to twitch into a furrow. The way he says it feels condescending and your cheeks heat as you look towards the ground.

“What the hell is a Cupid?” Cassian blurts, his curiosity getting the better of him. He sounds genuinely concerned, like he’s going to catch something from you. He shifts wearily away as he looks between his friends, regarding their own confusion.

“A Cupid is a being made of love and desire,” you explain, glaring at the male. You’re sure your entire face is redder than the siphons littering his leathers. “Our arrows are conduits of attraction and affection. They form this sort of bond, once the two parties are struck. You call it a mate, I believe. You haven’t heard of us because we’re a rare breed and not so easily caught.”

“You must not be very good at your job then, if you’re standing here before us,” Azriel comments. His voice is even but you can hear the clear pride of how well he thinks he’s done.

“Or maybe you’re too good at yours,” you bite back and the apathetic male raises an eyebrow slightly.

“Why didn’t you shoot your arrow at Elain weeks ago?” the High Lord presses.

You blanch. You hadn’t figured they’d known about you being in these lands for that long. They were powerful beings indeed.

At your surprise, the handsome High Lord continues, “I am not a monster, I let creatures in my lands be unless they threaten my people.”

“What about their kind?” You gesture to the two males flanking you. You’d seen exactly what their kind could do when you were up in the bitter mountains, following Elain and her sisters as they visited a friend.

It was horrible, what you’d seen. The males took whatever they wanted, treated their women less than filth, their wings clipped and forced to do chores. You’d left at the sight of a young female screaming and fighting so they wouldn’t clip her, throwing up in the bushes outside of the camp. 

You would kill anyone who would try and touch your wings, hidden now as they always were when you weren’t flying.

Darkness fills the room, choking you as the stars in Rhysand’s violet eyes wink out. Clearly you’ve overstepped, insulted the King of these lands with your words. A challenge.

“You know nothing of my court,” he growls and you gag, staggering backwards, tripping over your feet as your hands claw at your throat, the inky smoke constricting your airway. When he’s sure you’ve understood not to insult him again, he releases you, spluttering and coughing, gasping for air.

“I didn’t shoot her,” you wheeze, figuring that you better start talking before he really decides that it will be easier to kill the intruder in his lands, “Because they have to be struck together, by the same arrow. If I only hit the female, I'd have to retrieve it and find the male. It’s easier if the two are in one place.”

“I didn’t mean to insult your kind,” you apologize softly but the High Lord doesn’t turn around. Cassian lends you a hand, a soft expression on his face and you take it with an apologetic look which he accepts with a nod.

“Cupids are rare because there are only a few of my kind left. Hunted down by jealous individuals or those that want to use us for bad.”

“Bad?” Rhysand asks over his shoulder. He’s crossed to where he keeps his strongest liquor, pouring himself two fingers full of the amber liquid, knocking it back before splashing some more. You wince, embarrassed that you’ve made him feel this way, but you continue on.

You nod, your face contorted in a tight grimace. “Making the wrong two people fall in love.”

The silence is deafening as he stills, spine straightening as he’s reminded of his own mother and father: mated but not meant to be.

“Why them?” he asks, trying to keep his voice from wavering and there’s no room for arguing or changing the subject. He clutches the glass tighter in his hand. “Why not someone else?”

“He has already been shot, she has not. I’m just finishing the job.”

The tension is palpable, silent but screaming all at the same time. You have a feeling that you’ve said something you shouldn’t have, again, but you’re unsure of what. Azriel hasn’t stopped openly glaring at you and you liked him better when you couldn’t read his facial expressions. 

The shadowsinger scoffs, “What if she doesn’t want it?”

And maybe he’s still mourning the loss of the love he never had, that beautiful sweet sister of his High Lady. 

You cut him a glance, “It’s not my decision to make.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” he explodes and you take a step back at the absolute fury in his eyes. Cassian even goes so far as to take a half step in front of you, shielding you from his brother, whose shadows curl up around his shoulders like a crown of darkness. “You go around shooting people without their consent, making them ‘fall in love’ or whatever bullshit you’re spewing–”

“The Mother wills it,” you grit, interrupting him, hands curled into fists at your sides. This is why you didn’t let people get close enough to trap you, because of the nonbelievers. “They choose whether or not to accept the bond, I just make it known that there is one.”

“Unfortunately I cannot let you shoot my sister with your arrow,” Rhys breaks up the both of you with a scowl.

“I understand,” you nod graciously, “If you get me my bow I’ll be on my way.”

“No,” he says and you swallow thickly, a bad feeling coiling in your gut, “You’ll be staying here for the time being. With us.”

“W-why?”

“Because I have a feeling there’s more to you than you’re letting on, Cupid.”

[millylotus]

I See All of You & You Are Magnificent

Monster x Monster

When Duke and Danny first met they could see through eachothers glamor and were immediately taken by each other's true form. Both of their forms are inconceivable to most people, and they both have a deep want to be known and loved for their true selves.

Duke’s form is very bright, the light he generates is blinding, under it he is like a bird, the Grey Crowned Crane to be specific. But he doesn’t really look like one, kind of like those angels with a bunch of eyes and wings, he’s got a bird neck/head and a pair of his wings are connected to his arms like bat wings. The golden rings of eyes are around his head, torso and legs. He’s got a giant pair of wings on his back and a set on his heels. His bird head and his human head exist at the same time kinda like those holographic drawings where you see it depending on how you look at it.

Danny is kinda like a black hole he produces no light but a slight rim of light going into him. Under all of that he’s got long thin and sharp limbs. His suit looks like it’s just a pattern on his skin, and the symbol has kinda faded away. He's got these big antlers on his head and his mouth is filled with fangs, to the point where it doesn’t seem like he should be able to close his mouth. His hands are sharp and slaw like, and his eyes blink sideways. His tongue is uncomfortably long.

They both look disturbingly uncanny without their glamorous, and some of their true form traits can peek through. Like Duke’s extra eyes being able to see the future are visible over where the rings would be. Or Danny’s fangs and claws accidentally ripping into things.

DUKE

No you don’t understand he sees me and I can see him and he’s perfect. I’m not all that human and I’ve never been and when Danny looks at me he doesn’t just see some random human boy he sees me. He sees the blinding light of my existence and he can perceive me and he loves me. And I love him, in all his eldritch horror he is perfect to me and I love him. Because he’s him and he understands me to my core. I love him.

DANNY

It’s just- he just gets me. He can see me for me and he always has. And Jazz the first time Duke looked at me he seemed so enamored by me, so taken by me, and he saw me for me every time he saw me. He wants me even though I’m an ugly and horrific being. And I love him even though he deserves so much more than me. He is so bright and beautiful and he is the sun and I love him.

When Gnomon and Duke first fought the light bomb went off and the glamor that Elaine had put over Duke was forcefully removed by the explosion. Bruce and Duke were terrified and Gnomon took his chance to make a deal with Duke. Duke comes to the archives with him and learns how to make his own glamor and adapt to his true form.

Duke is able to convince him to just bring the proper information to Gotham so he doesn’t have to leave. Bruce offores up Wayne Manor as a place where Duke could learn.

It takes a couple of months and Gnomon gets a bit of a redemption arc in that time, but he is unable to properly heal Elaine and Doug.

Now Duke can make his own glamor and knows some things about Gnomon’s side of the family. He’s gone back to living a relatively normal life if you don’t count the vigilante and ethereal being stuff.

Duke being born of an archivist and being of light is kind of weird. He speaks/writes all languages and knows far too much. While also being able to manipulate light and the lack of light, along with seeing where all light was/is/will be. Combined those last two abilities give him future visions, which are underdeveloped because of his age and inexperience.

-

The Batfam’s reaction to Duke not being a regular meta and actually being a high caliber ethereal being was better than it could have been. They all had already gotten close to Duke and were accepting of his weaker powers, but the knowledge that Duke was so much more than they could ever be was daunting.

Duke was scared that they may never want him back, Cass was the first to notice Duke shrinking into himself and she quickly made sure the others knew how their less than stellar reactions. They all go out of their way to make sure Duke knows he’s loved even though he’s different. Duke really appreciates their new attitude.

When Duke is feeding into his archivist habits he spends his time in the Wayne Library, letting some of his inhuman traits come through.

Duke keeps going to Middletown South with Izzy, Troy, Dre & Riko, and lives between his cousin Jay’s home and Wayne Manor.

---

As Danny gets older as a ghost his ghostly form becomes more and eldritch, he’s been instinctively making a secondary glamor to go over his ghostly form so nobody goes mad because of it. When he defeats Pariah, Clockwork and Frostbite take him aside and explain that his true form needs to start dropping the glamor more and learn how to take care of himself in that aspect.

So Danny spends the rest of Sophomore year figuring out himself and what it means to be him, as both a person and a ghost. Over this time he sets up some truces with the other ghosts so he doesn't have to stress every second.

Before Danny’s Junior year the Fenton parents decided to move to Gotham because of all the spooky shit that happens over there. Jazz is already living there for college and even though Danny is against it they end up dragging him to Jersey.

Danny is enrolled in Middletown South, which is thankfully similar enough to Casper High that Danny doesn’t have too much of a culture shock.

DUKE

I’d noticed a sort of void that whole day really, I hadn’t thought much of them until they started looking my way.

And when I took a peak at them and saw them for their truth, I could barely even breath.

He’s magnificent, gorgeous, in an eldritch way that just fits him. His antlers were bigger than the regular kid, spiraling out of control. His claws are so sharp I swear they could cut through space itself.

And he was looking at me, he saw me.

DANNY

It was like seeing a bright light right on your peripherals. I just had to look over, see what I couldn’t quite see.

He was so painfully bright I had to blink a couple dozen times before I could see him properly.

He’s magnificent, wonderful, ethereal even. His largest wings seemed to lay all around him, his eyes glancing this way and that way.

Until they settled on me and saw me.

Duke and Danny first say to each other on the first day of school, second period math class. They’d both been able to feel each other's presence, but neither went out of their way to really look at each other until then.

Danny was the first to take a peak, what with Duke being a literal beacon of light he wasn’t easy to ignore. Duke saw him second, noticing the staring and truly focused on Danny and saw him. They both fell for each other right then and there.

Neither really realized the whole love thing and just wanted to get to know each other. Duke ends up inviting Danny to come and sit with him and his friends for lunch. Izzy, and Dre catch on quickly to Duke’s semi crush on Danny, and get Troy and Riko in on the whole setting the two up. They exchanged numbers and Danny agrees to meet with them again tomorrow. Btws Dax goes to another school.

-

When the Fentons moved to Gotham they did so to try and learn more about the Gotham specific ghosts they think exist there. They ended up choosing Crime Alley “Park Row” as a place to stay in because of the higher levels of ectoplasm and the Red Hood being known to be kinda ghostly. Jack and Maddie spend most of the first month they’re in Gotham setting up shop in the basement of the building they’ve moved into.

Jazz and Danny are basically living out of Jazz’s dorm at Gotham University. Jazz’s roommate hasn’t moved in yet so the two get the place to themselves. Danny doesn’t want to listen to their parents prepare for their ghost hunting bullshit. And Jazz would much rather have her brother around instead of being alone for the two weeks before college.

Danny isn’t doing the whole Phantom thing anymore cause 1) isn't really needed with all the heroes in Gotham, 1.5) he doesn’t want to encroach on the bat’s terf, 2) he really needs this break, and 3) it’s better if his parents assume Phantom didn’t follow them all the way to Jersey.

Jack and Maddie do stake outs after they’re ready, at this point it’s a week into the school year. They pick up a very weak ectoplasmic signature from Jason, but he’s similar to Vlad in intensity so they aren’t sure if he’s dead or if he got infected by some pure ectoplasm. They run after him at one point, but then Jason shoots at them with very real guns and they decide to just back off for now.

-

As the weeks go by Danny gets closer to the WR group, he and Riko have third and fourth period, Izzy and him share sixth period with Duke, and Troy and Dre have first period together with Danny. Danny doesn’t really talk much about his family besides his sister going to GU and his parents deciding to move to Gotham as well because it had better opportunities for their work.

One day after school, when Danny’s walking to Jazz’s place, Danny almost gets mugged and Duke comes down and saves him. They recognize each other on sight and just kinda stare, before Danny says something stupid like, “I knew you were an angel the moment I saw you, just didn’t think you’d be the guardian type.” Then Duke laughs and says something equally dumb like, “Well the most lovely of beings always deserve a guardian angel don’t they?”

Of course then Danny has to swear he’ll keep the whole Duke is Signal thing. This is when the two start actually flirting with each other, and like falling for eachother.

-

After their retreat from Red Hood, the Fentons decide to go after a new vigilante, Black Bat. Because obviously if nobody can ever sense, hear, or really see them, then they have to be a ghost.

Cass being Cass is basically impossible to track, but she has enough ectoplasm in her system that they get small pings from her. Eventually Maddie and Jack corner Cass, she mainly lets them do so out of curiosity. They tried to attack or pin her down, but Cass just led them on a wild goose chase across Gotham.

They lose her, and end up just deciding to head back home, it’s dawn and Signal is still out on the town. Jack and Maddie get a weird alert, and follow it to him. They see Signal using his powers a little. Because Duke isn’t really a ghost he ticks off the Fentons’ general supernatural being detector. Now the Fentons have someone else to hunt down.

Duke isn’t a ghost or ectoplasmic being, he’s more of a different thing. A hybrid between the Ichor Beings of Light[Gnomon], and the Archivists[Elaine] who are a branch species from the Ichor Beings. Elaine was an Archivist of Light before she gave up that power running away from Gnomon. So the Fenton tech doesn’t affect him.

Jason was the first to mention the Fentons hunting him down, Cass said later that they had started tailing her, and when they actually kept up with her the rest of the family got a tad curious. Then a month in the school year they shot at Signal in broad daylight. Now everybody is worried, the shot didn’t do much besides push Duke back, kinda like a bb gun.

Duke immediately up and dipped because he was not about to deal with that, but tagged the Fentons with a tracker/bug to find out who they are. Duke does some digging into the Fentons with Cass and Jason, when they find out about Danny and Jazz, Duke is stunned, scared a little even.

-

Duke ends up telling the rest of the Batfam about Danny and that he knows about the whole Duke is Signal thing. Of course they all can tell that Duke is crushing hard on the eldritch son of two mad scientists. Bruce’s first reaction is holy shit please god why. Because all his children end up with people that he knows probably aren't the best idea. Cass asks him if Danny can come over for a visit [interrogation]. Duke agrees to ask Danny to come round, but as long as the bats promise not to overwhelm him.

Because the W Robins already know about the whole bat thing it's just Danny who's kind of out of the loop.

At this point Duke and Danny kinda got a situationship going on, they're not really dating but they're kinda also flirting with each other. It's basically a matter of time until they get together at this point, so getting Danny to agree to come over to Wayne manor was relatively easy.

-

The next day over the phone Duke tells Danny that his parents shot at him while Duke was Signal, and Danny is so embarrassed and concerned. He apologizes for his parents and what they did. Duke convinces Danny to come over to his foster family's place, the batfamily, so they could talk about it more, and what the colony could do to prevent the Fentons from becoming a problem.

Danny agrees to come over, the next day around dawn near the end of Signal’s patrol, Duke takes his bike and goes to pick up Danny and drive him to the batcave through the underground tunnels.

Danny spends the first few minutes in the batcave just ogling all the new things, then the bats go out of their way to scare the shit out of him before they get the meeting underway.

Danny explains that his parents came to Gotham to investigate the ectoplasm levels and the stories about the bats being inhuman. They went after Red Hood and Black Bat because they have enough levels of ectoplasm to be traced with Fenton tech.

After Danny agrees to help them bypass the sensors, Bruce asks about Danny’s own inhuman nature he gets a bit clammy about it, but explains that he was basically conceived, born and raised in a home with high levels of ectoplasm floating around, it just took one accident to really strip him of his humanity fully.

Duke drives Danny home a little after that, they end up talking outside Jazz’s dorm building, a minor confession occurs but they’re both stupid and don’t realize what happened. Jazz immediately teases Danny about him hanging out with Signal, Danny denies that anything is happening between them.

Okay so Duke and Danny, when they first meet each other it was more in the sense of “Wow they are so cool and pretty I wanna be their friend”. Then when they meet as Signal and Danny it’s kinda like “Holy heck did not know you were so beautiful/hot”. Now they’re kinda flirty with each other, but neither think that the other actually likes them.

So it’s this dumb will they won't they kinda think, and everyone around them is so done with them about it.

DEADLIGHTS MASTERPOST, GENERAL NOTES, MEMES, AO3

[fieldofdaisiies]

azriel x eris | 2,7k words | warnings: slightly vulgar wording | masterlist

Sunlight, peaking through the looming clouds high above the Illyrian mountains, makes the snow around them glitter. Fresh, crisp air brushes their faces, fills their lungs, and cools their sweat-drenched bodies. Snow threads through the trees, the branches and needles are covered in frost. Nothing but endless white. Thick layers of endless white, a few animal trails criss-crossing here and there, but other than that there is nothing but boundless snow and calm. 

Well, it would be silent, weren’t it for the cheerful hollering of a single Illyrian male. 

“Yes! Brothers! Yes!” Cassian throws his hands up in the air, tramples on the ground and then continues to cheer loudly. There is a radiant grin on his lips, so bright it rivals the sun high above in the sky on a beautiful summer day. “Look at the winner! The winner who is me – Cassian!”

When he is close enough to the other two, he wraps both his arms around his brothers‘ shoulders, mindful of the wings, of course, grinning triumphantly while pulling them to him. Rhysand huffs a laugh.

“It looks like the two of you lost. It looks like my brothers are losers,” he announces in a joyful, but not one bit gleeful, voice. He is only happy. “And I won. I’m the winner!”

Cassian squeezes his brothers tightly once again as they waddle through the ankle-deep snow, their boots already fully covered in the fluffy white. 

Azriel sighs with amusement, craning his neck beneath the weight of Cassian’s muscular arm.

“It was close,” Rhys grumbles, and with a grin on his lips shakes his head at his best friend. “Really close.”

Cassian laughs again, the sound so loud and rich it bounces off the Illyrian mountains around them. He is truly happy about his victory and Azriel wants nothing more than to share his best friend’s happiness, to be happy for him, but at this moment it is hard to force those feelings. Happiness is once again hard to find within him, there is a spark of light, but it is barely there and he worries it extinguishes completely one day. Like a candle you blow out.

“I don’t think it was that close,” Cassian chuckles and then addresses his brother who has been silent until then, “what do you think, Azzy?“

“It was close.” As much as he tries to sound as happy as his brother does, his voice is colder, hoarse and obviously Cassian immediately knows that something is wrong. 

Rhys does too. But he doesn’t say anything. There is something between them, a cold and unspoken words that have been there since last year's solstice. Since the incident with Elain…

The general‘s body goes rigid, his arm tensing around Azriel, his hold tightening. “You alright?” Cassian asks. He knows Azriel isn’t, but what else should he have said. He wants to check in, often doing so lately. He can’t stand when his brother is hurting, his own heart aching with his brother’s sadness.  

Azriel doesn’t want Cassian to worry, not when he was just so joyful. It is his day, his snowball fight victory. So he nods and cracks a little smile, wanting nothing more than for his brother‘s happiness to return. “Just sour, I didn't win.”

Cassian chuckles to that, not fully believing him, but accepting his answer for now. “Next year you‘ve got another chance.”

“I’ll beat your ass then, Cass,” Azriel tells him and the smile on his lips feels a bit more natural then. 

He tells himself that he needs to focus on these moments. These moments that truly matter. Just the three of them. A few years ago, they have finally gotten Rhys back and are now lucky enough to spend the snowball fight with him again. Azriel knows he has to treasure these moments and not dwell on his sadness. He has to enjoy the small moments in his life, those that remind him of his youth with his brothers, those careless moments where nothing and no one could bother them. 

“Next year I will win,” Rhys says and both Azriel and Cassian burst into laughter. 

“Right, Rhysie, if you say so.” Cassian pats his shoulder, his laughter sounding in the air around them. 

Azriel smiles. 

Even though he tries so hard to change his mindset, to focus on this moment, on the inside he still feels cold. Maybe the warmth of the birchin will help. He just wants to be inside, melting away in the heat, the steam clouding his mind until all negative thoughts vanish. 

So when moments later this is the case, he exhales a long breath and rests his head against the wooden wall behind him, sitting in a sprawl, sweat already glistening on his skin. The heat slowly crawls beneath his skin, stimulating every cell of his body, the musky scent of his surroundings making a haze appear in his mind. 

Hot curls of steam and the scent of pine and cedar mixed with the smell of some essential oil wrap around Azriel like a cloak that slowly pulls him toward oblivion. He exhales slowly, and his treacherous mind allows him to entertain thoughts he never imagined he would think about. Perhaps it's the warmth of the fire that triggers such fantasies.

But he sees him, clearly, right in front of him — Eris. With a smile on his lips, and a hooded gaze. Sweat also glistens on his pale skin. Most of his body is hidden by fog, or steam, yet the upper half, his pale skin, and all the corded muscles are bare. Eris’ hair is tied back in a low ponytail, his lush lips parting with every word he says. Yet, Azriel can’t make out a single thing he says, but he doesn’t care. He only watches him and relishes in the sight that is provided to him. He looks so good, Azriel thinks, even if this is just happening in his mind.

In his fantasy, Autumn Court male nears him, smirking and then he crouches down. Azriel feels how his cock hardens, something that shouldn’t fucking happen when he is in the birchin, nude as the day he was born. He tries to shake off the thoughts, not allowing his mind to go down this path. 

He tries to direct his thoughts elsewhere – to Eris’ chest (which also doesn’t help). But if he remembers correctly, Azriel has never seen Eris without a jacket or shirt, he should have no idea what his chest looks like. And actually he doesn’t! Of course, he has never seen Eris without a shirt. This is all his imagination, it is not real, this is—

“You truly think Eris cares about him?”

Azriel's eyes snap open instantly, widening as he gazes at Cassian. Fuck, haven’t his mental shields been up? He panics the slightest bit, heart beating a tang faster.

“Lucien is his brother,” Rhys answers, his head hanging low between his knees, hands crossed behind his neck.

Cauldron be blessed, Azriel thinks, Cassian was talking about Lucien and not about him.

“That doesn’t mean he cares.” Cassian shakes his head, his lower arms braced on his strong thighs, hair unbound, falling in curls over his broad and sweat-glazed shoulders. 

But Rhys shakes his head, a contemplative look on his face. His eyes touch Azriel’s when he says, “I think he cares. Eris is…many things. But I know he cares about some people. He cares about Lucien. He cares about his family.”

“He‘s a dickhead, first and foremost of all,” Cassian grumbles, and Azriel feels a sudden surge of anger within him that he can’t quite place nor find a reason for. 

“But I have to admit you might be right. We don’t know what Beron does to him, or any of his brothers. Or what the hell Beron does to the Lady of the Autumn Court, so I guess you might be right. With everything he has seen and been through…there might be some people he wants to protect.” Cassian swallows and brushes a few curls of hair out of his face. “On the other hand, this also makes me wary – why he doesn’t finally act and put an end to it. Doesn’t he want to finally have change in his court? Change for good I mean.”

Rhysand blows out a long breath and straightens up. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then gives his head a shake. “I know what this feels like, Cass.” Rhys brings up a hand and clears his face off the sweat. “You think that back then I had never thought of ending my father’s reign?”

The High Lord tips his head back. “As much as you hate them and want them to be gone, to put an end to it all, they are still your fathers. It is something you can’t do just like that. Something you need to prepare for. Because once it is done, you have to live with it.” He swallows thickly. “You have to live with the knowledge that you killed your own father. That your father’s blood was spilled by his own son’ hands.”

Azriel’s stomach squeezes at that. Rhys is right, he has never thought about it like that and he shouldn’t have Eris pushed like that back then. It was wrong.

Silence falls over them, each one of them probably digesting what Rhys has said. 

“You believe that Beron tortures him?” Cassian asks after a moment. His shoulders are dropped, emotions Azriel can’t quite place swirling in the general’s eyes. 

“I doubt there is anyone in his near surrounding he doesn’t torture."

The back of Azriel’s throat is aching, just like his jaw, grinding his teeth hard. His fingers flex and then curl toward his palms — the only possible way to keep the sudden fury somehow under control.

“He uses his,” —Cassian‘s gaze touches Azriel’s and then locks, sympathy within his brown eyes— “firepowers on Eris?”

It feels like Azriel’s whole body convulses and he needs to hold onto the bench beneath him to keep from breaking. Or…heading right for the Autumn Court, doing what Eris should have long done. Ending the High Lord of the Autumn Court’s life, making him bleed and suffer for everything he has done.

“We don’t know,” Rhys says, “and we also shouldn’t make speculations. Eris‘ business with his father is none of our concern.” He brushes his hair back. “Our concern is only Beron‘s death and the future of Prythian.”

But it isn’t, Azriel thinks. He has always thought…

Azriel shakes his head. He has no idea what he has always thought, but he has never considered that Eris might be equally afraid of fire as he himself is. Beron might torture him with fire. Eris asked about Azriel’s scars, maybe because similar scars grace his skin…

As awareness spreads, his chest tightens and starts to ache so fiercely he has to place his hand atop his heart. His throat constricts when he tries to swallow and suddenly he feels a little dizzy.

“And keeping Lucien safe,” Cassian adds.

“He will leave for the Mortal Lands tomorrow.” Rhys leans back against the wall, shoulders relaxed as if he is talking about the weather and not the possible danger that may be lurking in the Mortal Lands for Lucien.

“That’s safe?” Azriel asks, and turns his head to look at his brother.

Rhys shrugs a casual shoulder. “He wouldn’t change his mind. I talked to him, but he said he wanted to leave. We can’t force him to stay here, it is his decision, not ours.”

The High Lord exhales a long breath. “He is a warrior and Jurian is there as well, to fight and protect.”

“But also Vassa and you know who Vassa is connected to.” Honest worry rings in Cassian’s voice, his chest heaving with deep inhales.

Rhys only gives his head a little shake. “As I said before: he wants to leave and we can’t force him to stay here. It's Lucien's decision, not ours. In his life, many decisions have been taken from him. We have to allow him his freedom now.” The discussion is over for Rhys, that is clear. 

“Lucien is a grown-up fae male, powerful and strong, if he considers going to the Mortal Lands right, then we should listen to him.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Your brother?” The female’s voice is nothing more than a hushed whisper.

With a somber expression, Eris tilts his chin downward. “They talked about him in the meeting earlier. I need you to keep an eye on the lord now.”

“Lord Karbaron?” Cenka turns her big brown eyes to the heir of the Autumn Court who is towering over the small female. Her shoulders are slouched, her lower lip pouted the slightest bit while she is nibbling on it. 

Cenke is his only spy. The only loyal person he has in this court, safe for his mother and maybe one or the other of his brothers. She is young, and in all honesty, Eris doesn’t really know where she comes from. He barely knows anything about her, only that she is loyal to him and that he can trust her – she has proven that over and over again. 

Her long auburn hair is tied back into a tight braid that reaches down to her hips where there is a belt with many daggers. Daggers Eris has provided her with after hours and hours of secret training, preparing her for any kind of danger that she could possibly face in the future.

Slowly Eris dips his chin. He knows Lord Karbaron. He has been his father‘s closest advisor for centuries. Whatever the High Lord does, the Lord knows about. 

“I need you to follow him. And bring me all the information you can get. I know he knows more than we think, more than anyone else in this court does.”

“More than you do?”

A cold chuckle leaves Eris. “Most definitely.”

Cenka dips her pale chin, fingers threaded in front of her body. Eris reaches forward to touch her – something he never does– and his broad hand fully grasps her small, bony shoulder. “I have faith in you. I know you can do this, Lady Cenka.”

She nods, purses her lips and determination fills her dark brown eyes. “I‘ll try my very best, Lord Eris. For a better future." She smiles, her whole face lighting up and in the next moment she is gone, the only hint of her former presence in his office the now open window she slipped out of.

Eris keeps his gaze on the window, a contemplative look passing over his face. He brings up his hand, rubs his palm over his chin and draws in a deep inhale. The long curtains, moving due to the breeze blowing in through the window, brush his shins, his eyes now focused on the rain drops, lazily falling from the sky. 

He knows he can trust Cenka, she would never betray him. Not like his brothers. He can’t trust them. As much as he wants to, he can’t bring himself to fully trust them…but he will try. 

Eris turns away from the window and finally closes it, his hands cold. He flexes his fingers when a kernel of remorse and worry takes root in his chest. What if Beron finds out about her, what if he finds her, what if—

He won‘t! There is no way Beron will find out that he also has a spy now. Cenka is brilliant at her job, almost like a shadow wrath, no one will catch her.

Afterall, she is not…a giant, idiotic bat that easily gets caught…

Which reminds him that he has a letter to send. Not only one actually, but a few. So, turning from the window, Eris stalks to his desk, pulls back the old oak chair and sits down. 

Using a pen that once was a present from his mother, he starts to write – only a few cryptic words that the recipients will understand, but not Beron (if the letters should land in his hands) and then he sends off the letters and hope comes alive within his chest.

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[highlordofkrypton]

the bridges we mend, a tamlin x beron x elain fanfiction - chapter 2 update

Read below the cut or read on AO3.

SUMMARY: Elain makes it into the Spring Court, but Beron is determined to keep her out.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What may have started as a joke is something I'm now invested in! this chapter did give me a good giggle.

There is a point within the northern forest where the storm feels… different. Elain walks through the darkness, relying on the clap of thunder and the wink of lightning to guide her way.

There are wolves in these forests, her guardians had told her.

There are monsters past the Wall, they promised her ominously.

But Elain was not raised on tales of horror and fear. Rather, her heart sings with the fantasy her mother had painted every since she was young. Across the Wall is a secret land of plenty, full of magic, peace and eternal spring. There, the weather is always good and the harvest is always bountiful. Her mother would weave stories of beautiful Lords and brave princesses, and Elain would dream alongside her sisters.

As they grew older, the colours the Archeron sisters used to paint their wishes with became duller and duller. Nesta learned to count capital, instead of wearing a crown made of berrybush. Feyre learned to kill, instead of building a sanctuary in her mind's eye of mighty winged steeds. Unlike them, Elain clings to her hope, her enchantment and her own foolishness.

Not all fools are stupid, you know. Some of them choose wonder.

The storm changes as she steps over a worn stone wall, about knee-height. Like a breath of fresh air sweeps over her, and wakes her right up. The ache in her feet from walking is gone, and the frost on her freckled cheeks ease. Even the colour of her cloak feels alive, blooming from a dark muddy brown into a bright red. Elain wonders at the magic and she knows, she knows she's found the land of the Faeries.

Though the rain refuses to let up, she sees the sun dawning on the horizon. It blazes brighter than she has ever seen at the cusp of the morning, and it moves like smoke through the trees.

Mother would love this, she muses, carrying on her journey without a care in the world. Elain had promised herself when she embarked on this journey—whatever happens, good or bad, she will accept.

Her steps come to a halt when she realized that the sun is barreling towards her like a comet, bouncing between the trees and aptly missing the obstacles in its way. Elain gathers her skirts and runs. She figures if she can just cut across the forest and make it past the light without ever crossing it, she is safe. In her mind, magic and the natural course of things follow a certain law. An arrow cannot suddenly change its course, and neither will this.

Oh, Elain, you better be sure about this, she scolds herself, swinging her arms and her skirts to move as quickly as possible.

Elain turns her head to make sure she and the ball of light have safely passed one another when it stops, briefly, and careens towards her.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

All this work only to die just as she makes it over the Wall? What a terrible and un-magical fate. Elain breathes deep and keeps going, her eyes glancing over and over to the ball of fire again until—

Nothing.

It's… gone?

Elain stops, craning her head in the direction of the sunfire. Was it all a trick of the eye all along? Perhaps a test of her might by the Faeries to see if she is worthy of entering their lands. Yes, that makes perfect sense.

Suddenly, a suffocating humidity swallows the air around her. Elain gasps, choking for breath. The rain stops briefly, as if devoured by that heat. It lasts but a moment, and by the time she falls to her knees, she can breathe again.

What… was that?

"You dare enter these lands," booms a low, angry voice.

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin, and she does crawl away from the towering figure suddenly at her side. His features are blackened out by the forest and the storm, except for his eyes. His eyes—

His eyes are made of fire.

Her back presses against a tree and she uses it to stand. Standing does not help her case as this man is heads above her. He simply looms over her quivering wet figure.

"W-Well, I got turned around, you see. I mean no harm, I will just be on my merry way," Elain smiles sheepishly, taking a step in the direction she was already heading.

"Turn back," he growls, his eyes flaring with light.

"Pardon me," she whispers kindly and tiptoes away from him.

"You dare ignore me. I will drag you back to the human lands myself."

"You would put your hands on a lady? That's not very gentlemanly of you."

"I am not gentle and I am not a man."

"How unfortunate for you then," Elain says, still walking. "I have come to expect nothing less than disappointment from men. You've set a very high bar for yourself, Lord Sunshine."

"Lord—"

Her banter is a bluff, but it seems to be working, so Elain rolls with it. She pays no mind to him following her. That's his every right, considering that she is the one intruding in his space. If he'll just kindly let her pass, then she'll be out of his hair without complaint. One thing her mother taught her is that she needs to be cleverer than the Faeries she encounters, if ever she finds their home.

The ungentleman grabs her cloak, and Elain is more than happy to pull at the knot at her neck, letting it slip right off her shoulders, leaving the grand shadow standing there in the dark with her bright red cloak. The rain soaks right through her sleeping gown, but she knows once she finds the place of eternal spring, she'll be right as… rain.

"Get back here!" He roars, and begins to chase after her.

Heat presses against her back, drying her nightgown as she runs as fast as she can. The creature lands in front of her, his bright heat searing the side of her arm and she yelps from surprise. Elain screws her face tight, knowing that her instinct is wrong for this, but the upside of her family losing their titles is that she does not need to act like a lady.

Elain launches a kick towards the mysterious figure, right between its legs. He folds immediately, proving himself to be very, very male. Her attack buys her enough time to break out of the forest line and bolt towards the single standing structure in the middle of the rainy field.

***

Beron has never been kicked in the balls before, much less by a human woman. It is extremely unpleasant. He clutches his Autumn jewels, as if that would help dull the pain. Humans should not have that much power.

He tries to stand, but the pain hasn't dulled, so he kneels in the rain breathing through it. With another lord or faerie, he does not need to worry about underhanded tactics such as this. Beron would respect a assassin wielding poison than an opponent that launches their foot into his genitals.

"Fucking Cauldron reject," he hisses, spitting on the existence of humans. Beron can't decide which is more offensive, the fact that a human laid hands on him or that it was a woman.

When he catches her, he's going to kill her and feed her body to his hounds.

***

The manor is huge, much larger than the one her family owned when she was younger. Elain tiptoes around the dark hallways, looking for the kitchen. Her stomach grumbles, giving away her position should that thing follow her.

A small creature peeks its head out from one of the doorways, it regards her with big brown eyes and waves at her. Well, not so much waves, but opens its hand-like paws at her as if to say 'hello' or is it to beckon her closer?

Elain looks around curiously, then heads towards the cute little thing. It guides her down winding steps, towards a faint light at the bottom. Once downstairs, Elain gasps softly, and suppresses a giggle. The light she's seeing is from an owl with glowing eyes that makes the room flicker with its slow blink. It watches over the source of all the clattering—a fat raccoon that looks like he's been caught in the middle of his heist, a very pretty fox with a bushy tail that drops everything it was holding because foxes only ever walk on all fours (right?) and lastly, a long-lashed squirrel that chirps reprimands until it realizes that there is a human in the room.

They all stare at her in shock, but not the little one that led her here. That one holds its hands out in victory, warbling something Elain definitely does not understand.

Then, the screeching starts. All the animals, except the light-owl, seem to be bickering with one another. Elain has no idea what's going on, but she does understand that these creatures are intelligent.

"Wait!" She says over the sound of them and holds her hands out in surrender. "I'm not here to shoo you away. I'm just looking for something to eat."

The animals pause, look between one another and screech some more. This time, not for long. The four of them come up with a plan while the owl oversees their work. Together, they cobble together a plate of food for Elain and then another tray? It's not a particularly pretty plate, but bread and fruit is more than Elain can ask for after appearing so suddenly.

She eats while watching the raccoon fuss about the fruit placement and the fox places a whole, raw fish on the tray. They prepare much more food on the tray than they did for her. Then, the big-eyed, rounded-ear guide that found her motions for Elain to take it.

"Are you making me steal food for you?"

Still, she does not mind, taking the tray into her hands. The animals lead her back up the stairs, and she has to feel her way with each step so she doesn't trip.

Elain follows them towards a room down a long winding hall, and she thinks they're taking her to their nest inside this abandoned manor. Instead, she sees a large bear. No, a large… wolf? She doesn't have the word for the creature she's looking at, but the sheer size of him sends a shiver down her spine. That beast could kill her easily, it could gore her with his large antlers, tear right through her with his fangs or cut her to ribbons with his claws.

The beast raises his head, barely regarding her and the animals, and he sets his head back down. The imperfect pack huddles around him, as if to draw from his warmth or… or to comfort him?

Elain approaches cautiously, setting the tray down in front of him.

"Are you hurt?" She asks softly. "You sure look like it."