#he's also absolutely useless in a fight

[storm-called]

came up with some nice new character facts for Caspian today while RPing him so here they are in a conducive list:

he's bisexual but is demiromantic, possibly aromantic. It takes him a really long time of knowing someone before he even considers the relationship to be possibly romantic. In the few romantic relationships he's had, he's know the partner for literal years (and those relationships never lasted long in the romance department because Caspian simply Does Not have the experience to keep something like that alive and usually self-sabotaged the relationship)

he enjoys toying with people, being very good at reading faces and situations and body languages -- even if he plays into being a clueless sylvari, he knows exactly what is going on

he will call absolutely anyone dear/darling/dearheart, especially if he cannot remember your name

he will refer to fellow sylvari as little brother/little sister/little sibling regardless of whether or not said sylvari is actually younger than him

he's dyslexic as fuck and thus has a love-hate relationship with books

he's easily squicked by body horror, and may now have a newfound fear of moths (thanks Finnegan)

bitch is dramatic as fuck with his mesmer magic (which is a deep magenta that bursts into flower petals when disrupted)

[ash-and-starlight]

modern au and esen’s honkers are haunting the instagram feed

[mo-ok]

top 10 sentai blacks yes its important that Junichi Haruta is here twice

[pumpkinrootbeer]

Things I think about all the time regarding Peter B is how a lot of his movement feels almost like laziness but it's actually just an absurd amount of skill and experience. he's been doing this longer than anyone else there, so he knows how that villain speech is going to play out, doesn't look when he fires a web because he knows exactly where it's going to land, and he's absolutely able to predict where Miles is going to go and catch up to him when no one else can. because peter b has been at this longer than everyone else there and it's literally second nature to him. give me more middle aged experienced superheros please.

[gothsuguru]

i love muting people on twitter some of you bitches are very dumb

[giantkillerjack]

My gender is whatever the Monkey King has going on; my gender is trickster spirit that would make an excellent anime protagonist

[darthkvznblogs]

I feel like I’ve just woken up from a kaiju-fueled haze (in related news, I rewatched Pacific Rim and watched Godzilla: King of the Monsters and Godzilla vs Kong for the first time this weekend)

[consulaaris]

actually no i’m still fuming about being called a “little princess” for uhhhh [checks notes] not wanting to sleep on the floor for three fucking weeks because my mother is having a whole fucking mental breakdown over my move.

[thefunniestguy]

THE . THE CONSTANT REFERENCES TO RENGOKU ......

[pygmi-says-hi]

STOP DOING THIS IN INJURY FICS!!

Bleeding:

Blood is warm. if blood is cold, you’re really fucking feverish or the person is dead. it’s only sticky after it coagulates.

It smells! like iron, obv, but very metallic. heavy blood loss has a really potent smell, someone will notice.

Unless in a state of shock or fight-flight mode, a character will know they’re bleeding. stop with the ‘i didn’t even feel it’ yeah you did. drowsiness, confusion, pale complexion, nausea, clumsiness, and memory loss are symptoms to include.

blood flow ebbs. sometimes it’s really gushin’, other times it’s a trickle. could be the same wound at different points.

it’s slow. use this to your advantage! more sad writer times hehehe.

Stab wounds:

I have been mildly impaled with rebar on an occasion, so let me explain from experience. being stabbed is bizarre af. your body is soft. you can squish it, feel it jiggle when you move. whatever just stabbed you? not jiggly. it feels stiff and numb after the pain fades. often, stab wounds lead to nerve damage. hands, arms, feet, neck, all have more motor nerve clusters than the torso. fingers may go numb or useless if a tendon is nicked.

also, bleeding takes FOREVER to stop, as mentioned above.

if the wound has an exit wound, like a bullet clean through or a spear through the whole limb, DONT REMOVE THE OBJECT. character will die. leave it, bandage around it. could be a good opportunity for some touchy touchy :)

whump writers - good opportunity for caretaker angst and fluff w/ trying to manhandle whumpee into a good position to access both sites

Concussion:

despite the amnesia and confusion, people ain’t that articulate. even if they’re mumbling about how much they love (person) - if that’s ur trope - or a secret, it’s gonna make no sense. garbled nonsense, no full sentences, just a coupla words here and there.

if the concussion is mild, they’re gonna feel fine. until….bam! out like a light. kinda funny to witness, but also a good time for some caretaking fluff.

Fever:

you die at 110F. no 'oh no his fever is 120F!! ahhh!“ no his fever is 0F because he’s fucking dead. you lose consciousness around 103, sometimes less if it’s a child. brain damage occurs at over 104.

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS:

sluggishness

seizures (severe)

inability to speak clearly

feeling chilly/shivering

nausea

pain

delirium

symptoms increase as fever rises. slow build that secret sickness! feverish people can be irritable, maybe a bit of sass followed by some hurt/comfort. never hurt anybody.

ALSO about fevers - they absolutely can cause hallucinations. Sometimes these alter memory and future memory processing. they're scary shit guys.

fevers are a big deal! bad shit can happen! milk that till its dry (chill out) and get some good hurt/comfort whumpee shit.

keep writing u sadistic nerds xox love you

ALSO I FORGOT LEMME ADD ON:

YOU DIE AT 85F

sorry I forgot. at that point for a sustained period of time you're too cold to survive.

pt 2

[burgundywing]

Bats and their least favourite Rogues to deal with (other than Joker of course)

Bruce hates dealing with Two-Face, mostly because of knowing and valuing Harvey as a friend and he feels a sense of guilt that he wasn't able to save the man.

Damian does not enjoy fighting Poison Ivy as he actually agrees with many of her ideologies, and cannot always fully convince himself she's not going about it the right way. Ivy knows this and loves to use it against him. Damian is also not fond of her cuddle pollen as it allows his overbearing older brother to latch onto him like the limpet he is with a viable excuse.

Tim HATES Hatter. Losing control of your mind is basically Tim's worst nightmare. The Joker Junior incident only adds fuel to his mind control terrors. Whenever Hatter gets out the rest of the family has to keep an extra close eye on Tim who tends to give up sleeping in order to put Hatter back in Arkham.

Scarecrow is the least favourite of both Dick and Jason. Although every member of the batfam have their fair share of traumatic memories, Dick and Jason always find reliving theirs hardest to shake off. Any loud thumps after set both of them off, Dick thinking yet another person has hit the floor and Jason thinking it was yet another strike of the crowbar.

Stephanie is terrified of Professor Pyg. He is not as loud and demanding of attention as the rest of the Rogues so the others never consider him as the worst but there is something about him that makes her absolutely sick to her stomach. She's had one close encounter with him and never wants to see him again. If she's a little quick to let someone else take a case that may involve him that's nobody else's business but hers.

Cass is not a fan of Riddler. She is the least equipped to deal with his games as she cannot fully grasp the double meanings of many English words and Riddler has very confusing body language to read. Cass does not like feeling useless and Riddler is terrifying in his own right so being completely unequipped to stop him is not something she enjoys.

Duke hates Condiment King. And Kite Man. Such B-list villains but of course with his luck they always escape on the day shift. Mustard and ketchup are incredibly difficult to get out of the cracks in his armour and Kite Man is annoying and has an unfortunate habit of picking him up and DROPPING HIM. Duke's over it.

[hikarry]

It's the third time I read a fanfic where Crowley destroys his plants out of rage, and that actually had me thinking

Yes, he is hard on them. He yells, and the threatens and, well, "makes them go away"

But most of us must know by now that, every time he takes a plant away, he keeps it on the side until he gives it to his neighbor. It's canon, I'm not making that up. He never truly hurts the plants. Puts the fear of Crowley into them? Yes. Terrifies them? Absolutely. But physically hurt? I don't see it. He is way too soft for that, even in a fit of rage

The plants are, unconsciously, a mirror of himself. When he terrorizes the plants, he is reliving his trauma of not being good enough for Heaven and being tossed out like he was broken and useless over and over again

He treats the plants like Heaven and God treated him, and yet, he never truly destroys them or throws them in the trash for being disobedient or imperfect. That's a step too far. Instead, he finds them a new home. Some place better. Some place he wishes he also had found. And maybe he already did: Earth, with Aziraphale

Alas, all this to say: destroying the plants, even with his rage goggles on, it's not very him

Destroying furniture? Throwing shit at the walls? Screaming? Sure, I can see that.

So far, we've mostly seen a very controlled type of rage from Crowley, mainly aimed at Gabriel in season 2. The only scene of actually explosive active rage we see is the one where he, well... explodes in the middle of Soho

And even that was very controlled, if you think about it. He just lets it all out at once, and then the rage is gone, only the low-key depression (over fighting with bae) remaining

So, yeah, realistically, I can kinda see him breaking stuff if he is at the very end of his rope and with no other way to decompress but never ever hurting his plants. Au contraire, I believe he would turn to the plants when he comes out of the high of being furious in search of some quiet comfort

[acid-ixx]

oooh so did we divorce Bruce, or is this an infidelity type of situation?

a loving family, an unpalatable desire: first meeting (unofficial)

— related post !

a/n: a tad bit nsfw. if this sounds messy, spare me. i'm running on like 4 hours of sleep and the will of a thirsty man in front of an oasis. i told yall im going insane for this plotline. ofc a&a still has my heart but I also love to occasionally write for smth else in the sidelines. send in more asks yall hehe.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

definitely an infidelity type of situation, anon! you see, the affair was caused by all mere coincidence. you were to attend with bruce in one of lex luthor's extravagant show of a gala, hold his arm for a brief moment when you walk out of the limousine, only to be abandoned right in the middle of the enormous room.

of course, the right reaction was to be pissed, to badmouth the very man who decided to court and entertain others in front of you; but you chose to stay silent, biting back choked tears by stumbling over the buffet table, only to be met with stupid, overbearing paparazzi and journalists.

so when clark kent rushes in to save you from stuttering over the dozens of microphones and cameras shoved right in your face, granting them access to your pathetic sobs— it's only right that your first reaction was to lean against his body, dismissing the hushed, harsh gossips of journalists.

it was at a time where you're not aware of his identity of superman. well, bruce barely permits you to enter the batcave, only if you stubbornly pester alfred does he let you, only to kick you, his darling spouse right out the moment you step on the cold, hard floors of the lair.

so it's not... a bad thing, right? your husband had a child with another woman, raised him as his own, didn't even bother to notify you with his infidelity— so is it your fault if you slowly start to fall for a man who promises you the world? who actually has the ability to give you the world in the palm of your hands? whose kid lets you pamper him without any fight?

sure, he's coping with... the loss of his previous wife but you're such a perfect spouse, so undeniably attractive, captivating in the hearts of many. your distant eyes, the way you bite the inside of your cheeks, the way your body sways back and forth as if begging for someone, your husband, to provide you a pillar of support in the suffocating heat of paparazzi.

he could be that pillar, could be your support.

when he first came up to you, his intentions weren't to obtain gossip about the oh-so silent spouse of bruce wayne. he didn't even want to acknowledge your marital status, palms already taking your wrist just so he could lead you off to somewhere quieter.

"it's an interview," he whispers an excuse to your reddened ears. but the buzz of his breath, the warmth, the caged arm on your waist tells you it's more than that.

but you don't fight back, you'd rather be anywhere than be the spotlight of a media that eats you up, makes you doubt your marriage even more.

so you're grateful that someone came to your rescue.

this would be the first time you ever saw someone as a savior, and it's not superman, no. it's clark kent, your resident, widowed, journalist.

and for clark's case, you warm his bed better than anything else. you allow clark this sense of respite, a break from heroic activities. allow him to be human, just as he allows you to play your fantasies of being a house spouse; you're perfect for each other.

to hell with useless marriage papers that don't even give bruce a sense of obligation to act as your husband, right? what can it do, when you're absolutely smitten with the current life you're living?

the first stages of your infidelity with clark is confusing, but very much welcomed into your already hectic life.

firstly, you convince yourself, it was all mere 'emotional cheating'. you began texting clark, he does too. an occasional greeting in messages, a passing congratulation for something, then the next it was good morning messages, 'have you eaten breakfast yet?, 'how'd the appointment go?'.

you don't know when it started, when your feelings started, when you began an intimate to romantic relationship with the man— all you knew was that the moment he revealed his superhero identity was the moment he decided to bed you for the night, the moment you grant the man, now your partner, access to every part of your depraved body, made him make you beg for more, giving him all the time in the world to kiss your imperfections, to fondle sensitive parts long untouched, to leave lovebites deeper and darker than the ones you caught bruce with.

you can't help it, he's unknowingly handsome, especially when he invites you over to his ma and pa's farm the next day, pretending to not notice the way your eyes hungrily flit over his topless body, sweat and budding pecs encased in a muscled form. over the course of dinner, you kept biting your lips, warm cheeks at the implications that clark merely wanted to sit next to you just so he could handfeed you, something about him being prideful that you'd definitely enjoy this week's harvest... but his fingers circling your thighs just seems to get you brain all haywired.

yet you stay, and continue visiting for long hours either way, enjoying the man's attention.

you know it's wrong, he knows it's wrong. but the way his son, jon looks at you like you mean the world, the way he's slowly starting to heal the longer you stay over at his place makes clark want to... what's the word? ah, he wants to turn you into his loving trophy spouse. all you need to do is provide jon with all the support in the world.

as for bruce... well, him and his family can deal with your absence for the first few months. but when the lingering feeling of emptiness becomes too much, when bruce no longer feels the worried gazes, or when dick can't hear anymore laughter in one of the supposed 'barren' rooms, or when tim's security systems tracked a missing device, one now in a completely different city.

that's when they start to yearn for someone they purposely let go

[ifsoniacouldfly]

this whole lando hate situation really needs to be talked about, cause it’s going really too far.

first of all, hating on a man cause he said he feels lonely is absolutely crazy. just cause he’s rich????? and i honestly don’t think the host of the podcast should’ve said that, cause it was a private conversation he had with lando, there was no need for him to say that to everybody.

and every time a new grill the grid episode comes out it’s a nightmare. they hate on lando cause doesn’t show emotion, they hate on lando when he shows emotion. what do y’all want that man to do?

and also the ones who compare how many races it took to lando and oscar to win. first of all, of course oscar is very talented and he showed it throughout all last season, but you also have to think that he only had a bad car for the first half of the ‘23 season, by the second half it was decent and fighting for podiums. lando had a bad car for most of the time, so it’s really stupid and useless comparing it.

i just don’t get why lando is overhated, after miami everybody loved him and was celebrating his win, but then as soon as he started fighting max, suddenly everybody hates the sight of him.

the fact that throughout the whole summer break lando didn’t post anything, until today, and everybody kept talking about him only proves the point. his haters are the most obsessed with him ����

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 6

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, Elain bashing, Visions of the future, also probably no update tomorrow

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“It will be fine,” Cassian told him. 

Again. Cassian had already told him that multiple times. 

He had washed his mate’s blood from his hands…from underneath his fingernails. Eira’s blood. All over his hands. Literally and figuratively.

“Azriel,” Cassian said quietly, once again, trying to get him to give him something. “She’ll be fine. Madja is the best at what she does. She managed to save my wings. That poisoned knife was probably nothing more than a nuisance for Madja.”

A nuisance? The shadows hissed sharply. Our mate took a poisoned knife between her ribs nearly to her heart! And he says it’s just a nuisance?!

“I should have taken that knife,” Azriel whispered. 

He should have taken that knife. Him. 

Not her. Not Eira. Not…

“Azriel,” Cassian said quietly. 

“I should be the one,“ he insisted. “It’s my fault.” If he had just told her the day before. If he had just been there…if they had pushed that meeting at the Court of Nightmares…maybe if…

“How is this possibly your fault?” Cassian asked with a sigh. “Rhys asked you to wait, did he not? Wouldn’t that make it his fault?”

It wasn’t Rhys’ fault. It was on Azriel. Azriel’s mate was lying there, fighting for her life and he could do absolutely nothing to make this easier for her. At least Rhys could try and take her pain away…but Azriel? 

“Quite frankly, the fault is with Keir,” Cassian said quietly. “He was the one who wanted to kill Nyx. Eira was just collateral damage.”

What?

“She’s not just collateral damage,” Azriel growled, his hand twitching to Truthteller's hilt without even thinking about it. 

Eira wasn’t just a thing, wasn’t just a number, wasn’t just a…

Cassian seemed to realise how badly worded that was, but Azriel was already so fucking angry. 

“Az,” Cassian said quietly, holding up his hands. “That’s not how I meant that. I only meant that she was that for Keir.”

“She’s my mate!” Azriel spat out. His mate. 

Even when he didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve to even look at her after what had happened. 

“I know,” Cassian said quietly. “I know, Az.”

He reached out hesitantly, clasping Azriel’s shoulder…jostling him with his wing…Trying and failing to ground him in the here and now, when all Azriel could think about was the feeling of Eira’s limp hand against his lips, the scent of her blood, the grey pallor of her skin…

“Amren is back,” Cassian said nearly thoughtfully, but Azriel ignored that, going back to staring at his hands, at the gnarled scars that covered them…the absolutely ruined scar tissue that covered them and made them look like they belonged to a monster. 

How…How in the world had the Mother thought it to be prudent to mate him to Eira? To Eira with her milk-pale, freckled, perfect skin…the epitome of a lady? 

How…

Rhys’ mental voice snapped through his mind at that:  *Dining Room. Now.*

He didn’t sound…Rhys sounded angry. 

Something had happened. 

It took less than a minute for them all to find their place in the dining room, Nyx upstairs with the wraiths, probably the only non-members of the Inner Circles that Feyre and Rhys would be willing to let near Nyx for the foreseeable future. 

“Do you want to tell us what exactly your problem is?” Amren asked, crossing her arms and Rhys stared at her, violet eyes sharp. 

“My problem?” he repeated, his voice velvet soft, betraying the anger that lay beneath it. “Amren, your reaction to Eira laying in her bed a few hours after being stabbed is that she’s finally turning out to be interesting!”

What? 

The shadows swirled tighter around him, a hissing running through them. They had never trusted Amren in the first place and right now that…that was just strengthening their stand. 

“She is finally turning out to be interesting. I have never heard of anybody controlling lightning,” Amren defended herself with a roll of her eyes. 

What? 

“Eira controlled lightning?” Cassian repeated, the question he also had. “Eira?” 

She did, Master, the shadows agreed. She was sublime. 

Lightning. She had controlled it? Like Nesta controlled the Silver Flames of Death? 

“Eira killed these males?” Feyre asked, sounding shocked. 

“She completely magically exhausted herself in the process,” Rhys agreed with a sigh. 

“I didn’t think she would ever…be able to do anything,” Mor admitted quietly and his hands turned into fists. Anything? Eira did a lot of things that neither Mor nor any other member of their family could do.  

“We’ll need to train her,” Amren said. “She has…untapped potential.”

“No,” Nesta snapped, quicker than he even could open his mouth. “You are not doing this to my sister. Eira does not want to be a soldier.”

No. Eira…Eira liked things soft and gentle and not…she didn’t want to fight. And nobody would make her do that as long as Azriel was alive. 

“We’ll talk to her, she’ll be…reasonable,” Amren said with a shrug.

“No, you won’t. I won’t have it,” Nesta hissed. 

“Nesta…” Feyre said quietly, thoughtfully, but Nesta cut her off. 

“The first time you killed a deer and she prepared it for dinner, she spent three hours crying hysterically in our back garden afterwards,” Nesta snapped. “I am not letting you take this from her.”

He hadn’t known that. There were so many things that he didn’t know about Eira…so many questions he had never gotten to ask her, so many questions that just…

“She already killed three males,” Feyre said quietly. 

She had. Though Azriel thought that killing in pure self-defense was something different than going into a fight and knowing that you would kill. Two very different mindsets. 

“Which just proves my point, she’s dangerous,” Amren agreed. 

And he was done. 

“So am I,” Azriel snapped. “You are not turning Eira into anything she doesn’t want.”

“She would agree,” Amren said with a roll of her eyes. 

Of course, Eira would agree to that particular request. 

“Of course, she would agree. She always just tried to make everybody’s life easier!” Nesta snapped, slapping her hands flat onto the table, as Cassian reached out to soothe his mate and she ignored the hand he carefully placed on her arm. 

“This is not up for discussion, Amren,” Rhys finally said evenly. “Eira is terrified of you. You are not going to request anything from her, because it wouldn’t be a request.” He sighed. “And that’s not what I wanted to talk about either.”

“You don’t want to talk about Feyre’s sister suddenly being able to summon lightning and having killed three elite soldiers in the process?” Mor asked with a snort. 

“Would you stop it?” Nesta asked, her voice sharp. “She’s not just Feyre’s sister or Azriel’s mate. Eira is her own fucking person!”

It was biting and razor sharp and Azriel swallowed. 

She was right.  Nesta was right. Of course, she was. 

“Nesta is right,” Rhys agreed, something that made everybody at the table sit up straight because these words were exceedingly rare. If not nearly unheard. Rhys and Nesta agree…it must be dire. “I would like to talk about the fact that Eira has spent the last 3 years so fucking miserable that that being pulled into her mind made me throw up…because it’s a neverending repeat of her feeling worthless and useless and like she’s not allowed to take up any room.”

What? 

What?

Eira had felt like this? His mate had felt like this?!

When had she felt like this? How? 

He watched Feyre’s blue eyes fill with tears…watched as she stared at her mate. 

“She hasn’t said anything. Why wouldn’t she say anything?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. “Rhys?” 

“Because we gave her absolutely no reason why she should trust us, Feyre Darling. None of us,” Rhys answered with a sigh. “Her shields are nonexistent. I wasn’t careful and she dragged me into her memories. By the time I finally got to pull myself out, it already had been…”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Mor said, crossing her arms. 

“So you didn’t say that as far as cauldron blessed went she’s useless? And you didn’t say that while at dinner, where we all heard it, or and we all laughed?” Rhys cut her off sharply. “Do not absolve yourself of the blame, Morrigan. This is on all of us.”

What? Had he been there? He couldn’t remember. he couldn’t….this had happened and he couldn’t…

It happened, Master, the shadows hissed. More happened too, Master. None of you have done anything to make her feel welcome or appreciated in…months, if not years. She has cried often. 

“Show me,” Feyre demanded at that moment. 

“She already lost enough of her privacy.” Nesta’s disagreed, her voice frosty. Azriel watched that particular match of minds carefully. Did he...

Yes. He wanted to know. He needed to know. What had he done? How badly had he fucked up? 

“Show me,” Feyre repeated.  “If she’s angry, It’s my fault. I’ll take her blame,” she told Rhys fiercely. “But show me, show us…when…”

Rhys sighed, but when he looked at Feyre, and Azriel watched the moment where he must have placed Eia’s memory in Feyre's mind as she clasped her hand in front of her mouth, her eyes welling over with tears. 

He looked over to Mor, who just nodded…then Amren, then Nesta…then Cassian…Azriel watched his brother steel himself, and then the way his expression crumbled. 

He felt Rhys’ mental touch against his shields…*Az…Are you sure you want this?* Rhys asked and he just… 

*Yes.*

The memory was dropped into his mind. 

Blue velvet box. Winter solstice. 

Pearl Earrings. Beautiful. So beautiful. 

But for her…for her useless. Her ears weren’t pierced. 

He hadn’t even noticed that. It hurt worse than even his smiles at her sister. 

He had brought her a gift…but it wasn’t a gift that she could use, no gift that…no gift that was special to her…no thought behind it…jsut an item on a list to be checked off. 

Something for Eira. Beautiful and Impersonal and…

No attention paid to her. 

She didn’t deserve his attention. Never. 

But she wanted it. Just once…

Please, Please, Please, Please…

Azriel’s hands turned into fists. 

He remembered these earrings. Of course, he did. 

Each consisted out of one round diamond with a perfect oval pearl dropping from it. 

He had bought them for Eira. Had picked them out in fact. Had thought that they were…modest but elegant…simple but beautiful…that they would suit her so well. 

And he had only bought them after he had asked Elain what Eira would like for Solstice. 

And Elain had told him…had told him that Eira wanted earrings. That she had been thinking about having her ears pierced. And of course, Azriel hadn’t thought closer about it then…Neither had his shadows. They had believed Elain. 

Believed Elain’s pretty words. 

“You lied to me,” he spat out, his words so sudden, so menacing that it made everybody stop in their tracks…the shadows reached out, lengthening and he tightened his hold on them as he fixed Elain…beautiful Elain with his hard green eyes. 

Elain who always acted so soft…so sweet…

But she had done this on purpose. 

“What?” she squeaked out. 

“You lied to me, Elain,” he repeated, his voice hoarse with anger.  “I bought Eira these earrings because you said she wanted them. I knew that she couldn’t wear them. I knew her ears weren’t pierced, but you told me she wanted to do that, so I bought them for her. And instead, she thinks that I never cared enough to notice that about her?”

“Cauldron,” Rhys breathed. 

“Why?” Azriel bit out. Elain stared at him, brown eyes hard, lips pursed. 

“Does it matter? It’s Eira.” She spat out the words. 

And he had enough. 

So had the shadows. 

You stupid girl, they hissed, for once so loud that everybody could hear them, everybody flinching away from them. Of course, they did. 

“They can talk?“ Feyre asked, her voice small and shaky.

“On very rare occasions,” Cassian answered quietly. “Circumstances must be…exceedingly dire.”

And they were. 

This was about Eira. 

“What exactly is your problem?” Azriel growled. What was this about? Where was this coming from? He had never noticed any kind of…tension between them. Not from Eira at least. 

So why was…

“It’s Eira,” Elain said like that explained everything. 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Nesta asked her voice, icy. “Do you think Eira doesn’t deserve Azriel?”  Nesta asked, her silver eyes fixing on her sister…the sister she had doted on…protected so thoroughly…and now…now they were on opposite ends. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course, she doesn’t,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. 

It was so quiet in the room that one could have heard a pin dropping. 

“How can you say that?” Nesta challenged her sister, her voice violently even. “This is Eira. Your twin sister. What has she ever done to you?!”

And then the anger in Elain’s eyes seemed to boil over. 

“She doesn’t deserve him!” Elain snapped “What has she that I don’t? I am the pretty one!” It poured out of Elain and Azriel could just watch in horror. “I am the one that’s supposed to marry for Love and Beauty! She’s…she’s useless!”

“Useless?” Nesta interrupted her sharply. “Feyre and Eira kept us alive, Elain! Feyre hunted, yes. And Eira…Eira did the rest, Elain!  She cooked and she cleaned and she did the laundry and her fucking potato patch was what made sure that we didn’t starve on more than one occasion!” she growled. “You liked to pretend that it wasn’t that bad but it was!“

“I can’t listen to this,” Rhys said quiet. “Your sister did everything so that you could survive. Your sister spent her whole life taking care of you… You were gifted with a sister that loved you so fiercely, that would do anything for you...and you treated her like this? Your sister spent the last few years suffering. Because of things we said, things we done. I am not absolving any of us of that blame…but you…you did this on purpose…” Rhys stared at Elain and Azriel saw the minute blink, the way Elain’s hands tightened on the table…”I just wonder why?”. 

And he knew that Rhys had just gone into her mind… And then there was a thunderous expression on Rhys’ face. Without a word, he poured what he had gotten from Elain into Azriel’s mind…

A vision. 

A vision from a cauldron-blessed Seer. 

And he stared at it, his heart plummeting. 

Elain had seen this and still…still tried to drive Azriel and Eira apart. 

She had seen this vision of the future…of Eira…of Eira with a little girl in a garden, no older than maybe three…a pair of Illyrian wings sprouting proudly from her back…the girl's hair the exact shade of her mother’s hair…her eyes unmistakenly Azriel’s…freckles covering her face…Both of them kneeling in the mud, dresses sprinkled with it, and not a care in the world as they pulled carrots from the ground. 

And then Azriel watched himself land in front of the two of them, a smile on his face and lean down to press a kiss to Eira’s lips. 

She smiled at him…so incredibly happy as he picked up the little girl, settling her on her hip…and then the basket of vegetables…and then he helped her up and he watched as one of his scarred hands settled possessively on the slight swell of her belly. 

It was like somebody doused him in icy water. 

How dare you? the shadows hissed, flinging themselves at Elain, who screamed, as they wrapped themselves around her, nothing gentle about their touch. Do not ever…ever come near her again. Do not even look at her. You are not going to hurt her again. Ever again. And if you do…you will regret it. She cried over you. For hours. And you repay her like this?!

He didn’t know how he wrestled them back under his control…how he got them to not outright slaughter Elain right there…

He didn't know how. Because he wanted. Because he...

*Azriel, it's alright,* Rhys breathed into his mind. *It's alright.* But it wasn't. Because Elain...Elain had tried to stop this future from ever happening. Had tried to stop his children from being born. She had tried to take this from him. This perfect slice of happiness...of his very own paradise. 

His daughter. His mate. 

“I…I do not think that the Night Court is the right environment for you anymore,” Feyre said, her voice shaking and Azriel’s gaze snapped to his High Lady, the tears that tracked down her face. 

“You are sending me away?” Elain asked, sounding utterly aghast. 

“I’ll ask your mate to come fetch you, Lucien… you may remember him as your fiancé,” Feyre said pointedly. 

“I am your sister!” Elain snapped. 

“So is Eira,” Feyre gave back, crossing her arms. “And only one of you has tried to destroy the other.” 

[bobzora]

god. who fucking want me.