#rh!step

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Sunday 30 March 2025

The small New Zealand shrub Leptospermum 'Silver Sheen' (tea tree) produces striking silvery-blue foliage and small white flowers. It is tolerant to drought and to pruning, so perfect for creating this cloud hedge through the border.

Jill Raggett

[legendofrhythm]

Huebird of Happiness demolishing a mango. I don't. really know

[lulue-xie]

What worst on Monday morning? a meeting or a job interview ? lol

[minitt-personal]

Had Flock Step from RH on my mind lately so presenting..... The Huebirds of Unhappiness and Indifference!

[maya-chirps]

Wrt the next pope, I wonder if Tangle has a better shot this time because I remember he was quite talked about during Francis' election. It'd certainly be interesting because he does share some stances with Francis and is quite at odds with even some of his contemporaries here. He doesn't have the squeakiest clean record especially with some issues with mismanagement during his time as a board member of Caritas International (which did include being hands-off over some creep that had been assigned to the organization), but it would still be interesting I think.

[debilsposts]

Dumb long-ass hc time because my writer's block blocks me from writing

Jaytim, but no one really knows what their relationship status is anymore BECAUSE they act differently around each other every time depending on whether they’re wearing masks or not. 

1. Red Robin & Red Hood: Professional Rivals (and a disaster duo)

When RR and RH are together, the volume automatically goes up. They argue in briefings, in the middle of fights, over comms. Those two show up all suited up and everyone knows that it will take one tiny shove from RH or a comment from RR to start it. Or none of that – when someone is dumb enough to ask if they can act civil around each other. 

RH calls RR a “detective” in the most mocking tone ever. RR says that RH is clearly better fed than taught. 

When they’re on a mission together, it’s a competition –  Who takes down more guys? Who gets the last word? Who can piss off Batman faster?

RH threatens to kill RR at least once a week. RR dares him to try. 

2. Tim Drake & Jason Todd in Public: Pretending to be Normal (they are not normal, in fact!)

In public, Jason will hold the door open for Tim, but close it right in his face, too. Tim will bring Jason tea exactly how he likes it but take a sip first and dramatically gag. They insult each other constantly, but sometimes something too genuine slips out, and they both pretend not to notice.

Tim complains that Jason never comes to see him when he works, so Jason starts dropping by WE unannounced and sitting silently in Tim’s office, making eye contact but refusing to speak. Tim hates it. Jason loves it.

Bruce’s galas are a nightmare, even Dick’s acrobatics can’t make it more embarrassing for the big Bat. They are too flirty and no one knows what it means.

At some point, a clueless socialite always asks Tim, “Do you know that Jason Todd man?”

Tim: “Oh, we’ve met.”

Jason, walking by: “Barely. But yeah, we know each other.”

Tim: “Intimately.”

Jason chokes on his drink.

Jason waits until Tim has his own drink in hand, then deliberately bumps his elbow, making Tim spill it.

Tim subtly badmouths Jason to the rich snobs, saying things like, “He doesn’t even own a yacht. Can you believe that? I plan to give him one for his birthday, poor thing.”

SugarDaddyTim vibes

They kick each other on the shins under the table, but at the same time, they grin and tell stupid jokes. Bruce invites them less and less. 

3. Red Robin & Jason Todd (Civilian): Red Robin has a Jason problem

Tim is a little feral about Jason when he’s in costume. It’s not professionalism. It’s personal. 

Jason will take one step in Crime Alley, and Red Robin will be there like a demon summoned by bad life choices. AT THE SAME TIME Red Robin refuses to acknowledge Jason Todd as a vigilante. He acts like Jason is just a guy off the street who keeps showing up in his crime scenes. Oftentimes Jason is his primary suspect, and even Bruce is tired of it. 

Jason will be walking home with groceries when Red Robin lands dramatically in front of him.

Jason: “Unless you’re offering to carry my bags, move.”

RR: “Where were you an hour ago?”

Jason: “Buying milk???”

RR: “That’s what they all say.”

Jason: “I literally have the receipt???”

RR: “That proves nothing.”

Jason tweets that Red Robin fights like a girl. Next day, Spoiler, Oracle, Black Bat and Batwoman are waiting for him to have a little talk. 

4. Red Hood & Tim Drake (Civilian): The World’s Most Deranged Thirst Posting (Tim is also the most frequently kidnapped man alive)

Tim has made it his life’s mission to objectify Red Hood online

“Red Hood could snap me in half like a glowstick, and I’d say thank you.”

“I would let Red Hood throw me off a building. No hesitation.”

“You guys don’t understand. He’s so big. His thighs are so thick I want them to crush me. He’s so–”

Tim will also randomly start talking shit on Red Hood from his burner account. He’d post something like “Red Hood’s helmet is actually pink, I tried it on his photos. If you take an eyedropper and read the colors, it’s actually closer to pinky-orange than it is to red.” RH naturally answers him by telling to stfu because he’s being picky, and Tim writes back that this is how eyedropper actually works.

Tim posts blurry, unflattering photos of Red Hood mid-fight.

“Caught in 4K looking stupid.”

Jason hates it. He keeps trying to smash Tim’s phone.

Tim also loves spreading misinformation on purpose.

“Red Hood listens to MCR. I have no proof, but I have no doubts.”

Red Hood will kidnap Tim in the middle of any event chosen by Tim. He just has to text Hood in advance. RH will keep him for a few hours and return him slightly bruised, hair messy, clothes disheveled. Poor Tim must have been tortured, since his eyes are glossy as if he was crying, his neck and shoulders are covered in bruises, and his face is awfully red. 

When someone asks, he says that Red Hood is lame, and he could take him anytime (in a fight, right???)

EXTRA:

5. Tim Drake & Jason Todd when they’re alone: The Part That Matters

In private, Jason clings to Tim like a drowning man holding onto something solid. He buries his face in Tim’s throat, breathing in like he’s afraid of forgetting what he smells like. Tim doesn’t say anything, just cards his fingers through Jason’s hair, steady and slow, letting Jason take what he needs. He reads him a Jason’s books of choice sometimes. 

Jason puts his head on Tim’s chest when they cuddle, sometimes even holds his wrist – fingers pressing against his pulse, reassuring himself: Here. Alive. Breathing.

There’s no bark. No fighting. No masks, no Red Hood, no Red Robin.

Just Jason and Tim. Just the things they don’t have to show to the world.

[cosmicwavelengths]

green green dress

minors, dni! - 18+ only pairing: bucky barnes x f! reader summary: on a rare night out with bucky, a stranger at the bar gets close—much too close for yours and bucky's liking. bucky deals with him—and you—the best way he knows how... (based off of the prompt: "wear whatever you want, i can fight.") a/n: hello again! first off, happy birthday to my main man buck - 108 today! possessive! bucky has been on my mind for awhile, so i decided to cook this up over the last two weeks or so. i hope you enjoy! as always, likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated mwah (postscript, the restaurant in this fic is based on rh rooftop in nyc, and the dress i had in mind was this one from motel rocks, if anyone was wondering) comments/tags: possessive! bucky barnes can be a jealous, dangerous man - stay out his way!, avenger! female reader, avenger! bucky, wanda maximoff (mentioned), bucky gets a bit violent, no y/n use, strange man can't take no for an answer cw: smut, kitchen sex, rough sex, penetrative sex (reader receiving), afab reader, explicit content/language, multiple big-Os (reader receiving), love bites/hickeys, kissing, guy gets a bit hurt (mild violence), mentions of alcohol/drinking, mentions of light bruising, stranger pushing physical boundaries wc: 2.6k | masterlist | ao3 ────୨ৎ────

“So… how do I look?”

You twirl slowly, allowing Bucky to take in the sight of you. Between your never-ending stream of missions, it can be difficult to find time to spend with Bucky. The next time you both had the night off together, he decided to take you out to a nice spot downtown. Even if fancy dinners aren’t exactly Bucky’s favorite, he loves to spoil you and, more importantly, see you get all dolled up for him.

When he told you of these plans, you were giddy with excitement. Mentally shuffling through the clothes you have in your closet, you asked him what he thinks you should wear.

He shrugged, squinting at his phone. “Wear whatever you want, I can fight.”

You and Wanda decided to spend a morning out in search of a dress to wear. And after wading through rack after rack, you finally found it: a pastel green minidress, lined with lace fabric, brought together with halterneck straps that cascade down your back. Complete with a tiny white rose in the middle of your chest, you paired it with sheer black tights, cream slingback kitten heels, and your favorite white handbag. You curled your hair before placing it in a half-up, half-down hairstyle, holding it in place with a medium sized white bow. After putting on light make-up, you grab your heels and walk downstairs to where Bucky awaits you.

He’s dressed in his normal outfit: polished brown boots, black slacks, his usual pair of gloves and a leather jacket. He traded out his normal long sleeved Henley for a crisp white button down, accompanied with a fresh haircut. Looking up from his phone, he sees you standing before him with a smile. His eyes rake over your figure, mentally noting how the dress fits you like a glove around your waist and hips. Even though you’ve been together for awhile, you still flush under his intense gaze—he still makes you shy with all his attention.

Walking towards you, he brings his large hands to your waist, gently tracing the seams with his thumbs. “Sweetheart, my, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, making you giggle. Craning his head downward, his lips hover to the pulse point on your neck, leaving another kiss. “Tell me why I shouldn’t take you over the counter right now,” he whispers, tightening his grip on your waist.

Running his teeth over your skin, he forces a quiet whine from your throat. “Because, I am hungry and have been looking forward to this dinner all week. And judging by how you’re trying to take a bite out of me right now, I bet you’re hungry too.” Chuckling, he steps away from you. “Not my fault you’re so beautiful, I can hardly contain myself. I’ll call for a car.”

--

Situated atop a luxury storefront, you loop your arm into Bucky’s as the elevator takes you up. The rooftop bar is decorated with greenery and intricate glass chandeliers cascading down from the ceiling. For a Friday evening, the restaurant is unsurprisingly packed with patrons in the dining area and the bar. Taking a moment to rest your feet, you sit on a sofa near the entrance while Bucky checks in with the host.

He returns with a miffed expression etched on his face.“They said they’re behind schedule tonight, but they’re letting us sit at the bar while we wait on our table. I guess us having a reservation doesn’t mean much,” he informs you, grumbling the last sentence with a crabby tone. You smile up at him, undeterred from your objective of having a nice evening. “That’s fine, I could use a drink anyways.” Extending his hand, he helps you up from the sofa and leads you to the bar.

By chance, you were able to find a seat at the crowded bar. Bucky calls the bartender over to order you a drink. Losing yourself in conversation with him, you nearly miss the drink that the bartender drops off in front of you. Puzzled, you wave her down. “Hi, excuse me, but I don’t think this is what we ordered…” you trail off, embarrassed to have interrupted her workflow. Continuing to polish the martini glass in her hand, she explains. “Oh, that drink is actually from the man down there,” she smiles and nudges her elbow in his general direction. You peer over to see a well-dressed man sitting alone with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Catching your eye contact, he throws a lecherous smirk in your direction.

You shrink a bit, glancing between the man and the drink in front of you. “Oh, it’s okay, I’ll just stick with the drink I originally ordered, thank you and sorry for the trouble.” Giving her a shy smile, you push the glass back towards her. You turn to look at Bucky again, who’s taken to staring at the man rather pointedly. Taking in Bucky’s tense body language, you place your hand gently on his vibranium arm. “Bucky, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you add a sheepish ‘please’ at the end, hoping things won’t escalate. Bucky is generally a patient man, but it quickly wears thin when it comes to other men giving you attention. Or anyone, really.

He doesn’t break his stare, piercing blue eyes continuing bearing into the man’s skull. “I don’t want him looking at you,” he uttered, sneaking a protective hand around your waist.

Fifteen minutes pass, and you've finished the drink that Bucky ordered for you earlier. He takes it upon himself to inquire about the status of your table, leaving you alone while he looks for the host. The crowd had thinned out by this point, leaving empty spots open. While you flip through a menu the bartender had provided, the same gentleman from earlier, clearly not deterred from Bucky’s previous death stare, slides into an empty seat next to you. He leans against the bar, attempting to look casual.

“Hey,” he grins at you in a pitiful attempt to flirt. Unfazed, you throw him a side eye before looking back at the menu, ignoring him. Not put off by your coldness, the stranger shifts his body, angling his torso at you. 

“I can’t believe that someone would leave a pretty little thing like you alone. I love that gorgeous dress you’re wearing.” 

“I’m not alone, and I don’t wish to be bothered,” you scoff, keeping your attention fixed on the menu.

He chuckles darkly before downing the rest of his drink. “I love it when they play hard to get,” he comments, more to himself than to you.

“Look,” you spat, firmly closing the menu. “I have absolutely no interest in whatever this—” you pause for effect, waving a hand over him, “is, so you should leave me alone before you get hurt,” you finish throwing a glare in for good measure. If he had any ounce common sense, he would leave now before— 

The stranger laughs at you again, and this man had the sheer audacity to toss an arm over your shoulder as if you were old friends. You immediately recoil at this invasion of your personal space. 

“Oh, absolutely not—”

Before you had the chance to properly shove him away, Bucky, who seemingly appeared out of thin air behind you, violently grabbed the man’s hand off of your shoulder and twisted it behind his back. He yelps, losing his balance and falling off of the barstool. His metal hand reaches for his hair, yanking his head up so Bucky can speak directly into his ear. 

“Don’t you fucking dare put your hands on her. I don’t do second chances, so I suggest you walk out of this bar now if you value keeping this arm—or your life.”

“James,” you hiss. Jumping up, your eyes dart between him and the man beginning to whine loudly in pain. Bucky’s spectacle had started to gather attention from nearby patrons, who began whispering amongst themselves and pulling out their phones. “Please don’t.”

After a moment, Bucky finally relents, releasing his tight grip on the man’s arm and letting him crumble to the floor. He scrambles to his feet and hobbles out of the bar hastily, wincing in pain. 

“We’re leaving,” he grunts. He fishes for cash in his pocket before tossing some onto the bar.

“...But I’m still hungry,” you reply woefully. Shooting you a look, he wordlessly takes you by your wrist and guides you towards the exit.

--

Bucky was seriously pissed. Seething, even.

His anger practically melts off of him, making the car so thick with tension you could cut it with a knife. While he wasn’t exactly angry at you, the whole situation put him in a rather terrible mood, and you knew better than to start a conversation with him when he was in this state. Feeling resigned, you stare out your window and watch the skyscrapers go by, thankful he didn’t toss the man off of the roof. 

At home, you kick your heels off by the door and walk to the kitchen, pulling out your phone to search for food options. You barely had the chance to sit down on the barstool in front of your kitchen island before Bucky is on you. From behind, he fumbles with your halter straps and lets them cascade down your front, completely exposing your chest.

Feeling the cold air hit the peaks of your tits, you stiffen. “Bucky!” He drops his head to your neck, sucking in a hickey into the flesh above your collarbone. “Oh…” His tongue lathers over the growing bruise he left.

“The only thing I’m interested in eating right now,” he breathes hotly into your ear before running his fingers over your chest, causing your nipples to pebble under his touch. “—is you.”

You whine when he brings his metal hand up, using the cool tip of his index finger to trace circles over your hardened peak. The temperature difference of his digit has you feeling yourself becoming wetter, your arousal soaking into your panties. 

In a rapid motion, he spins you around on the barstool and grabs you tightly around the waist. Picking you up, he places you on the kitchen island, eliciting a small gasp from you. He chuckles at your reaction before closing the distance with a kiss. Bucky moves to deepen it, dragging his teeth lightly against your bottom lip before parting them slightly, allowing his tongue to slip inside. All you can do is moan as he works his warm lips over yours, sending vibrations against his own. His hands fall from your waist to your ass, pushing you forward to make you feel how his cock strains against his dress pants.

Your head rolls back with pleasure, losing yourself in how the seam of his pants brushes against your clit through your thin panties. Biting your lip, you struggle to hold in a whimper from the contact. Bucky smiles devilishly at you, taking a moment to watch you get yourself off by grinding against his clothed cock. He lets you persist for a few more seconds before holding your hips in place, holding you back from bucking into him. You whine quietly at the lack of contact until his lips latch onto your tits and suck on your hardened nipples, making you keen loudly for him.

Anticipation shoots through your spine as you hear the zip of his pants and the subsequent sound of hardware hitting the floor. 

“Fuck, Babydoll, I’m gonna make you feel so good. ‘m gonna ruin anything and anyone else for you.” Forcefully parting your knees, he slides up the fabric of your dress, finally allowing himself to look at your glistening slit. Just for him. You feel so exposed, so exposed and you don’t fucking care, you need him inside of you. “Now, now, Bucky, please? Please give it to me!” you plead, wide doe eyes on display. 

“Need what, sweetheart? Let me hear you say it,” he demands, gliding a light finger through your slick folds, making your eyes roll. 

“Fine! Fuck me, fuck my pussy with your cock, please?” The words tumble out of you, needy and pathetic as you writhe your hips into his touch. Bucking your hips up, you search for something—anything to sate the ache that sits deep in your core. Leaning over you, he grazes his stubbled cheek over your smooth skin before whispering in your ear, “Atta girl.”

Pressing a polite kiss to your cheek, slides in, burying his cock your slick, tight cunt to the hilt. Taking a few grounding thrusts, he digs his fingertips into your hips before setting a hard, furious pace. “F-fuck! Bucky, please don’t stop!” You get impossibly wetter at his eager pace, squelching sounds echoing in the room.

He grunts unintelligibly in your ear, knowing that stopping is the last goddamn thing he’d want to do right now. He reaches behind you, shoving away the random tchotchkes and assorted papers on the surface behind you, allowing you to lie flat against the counter top. Shivering from the coolness of the marble against your back, he resumes his rough pace, groaning as he fills you over and over again.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Y-you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Bucky growled, pulling his cock all the way out before slamming back in, making you shriek with delight. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that, right? So good for me… Your cunt was made just for me. Just. For. Me.” 

Punctuating his last words with his thrusts, he ghosts his fingers between your thighs, reaching for your clit and circles over the bundle of nerves. Inhaling sharply, you quickly come undone under his dizzying strokes. One light brush accompanied with a particularly deep thrust has you cumming under him, shaking and dissolving violently. As your orgasm ripples intensely through your core, you drag your nails down his back creating red lattice marks on his skin. 

“Fuck! Bucky, I can’t—” Your back arches away from the marble as you attempt to move away from his thrusts.

He hushes you, gently covering your mouth with his hand and holding you still with his vibranium hand. “I know, I know, darling. Let me use your sweet cunt. Just lie back and let me take you, okay?”

With your whines and moans now muffled by his hand, he continues to pound away at your overstimulated pussy until you feel dizzy, screwing your eyes shut in an effort to ground yourself. Just as he was nearing his own orgasm, he felt you clamp down and get impossibly tighter around his cock. 

He drags his hand down from your mouth to your jaw, holding you tightly in place. “Fuck, oh shit, doll, look at me,” Bucky lets out a strangled moan before cumming inside of you. His release triggered something deep in your core, making you scream bloody murder. A second orgasm rips through you, walls pulsing, your sore pussy drinking up his spend. You collapse into a sob when you feel him pull out, trying to adjust to the sudden feeling of emptiness.

Breaths ragged, he trails kisses up your neck while slowly rubbing the growing dark spots in your hips where he had gripped tightly. “You’re my girl, never forget it,” he murmurs hotly into your warm skin. Trembling, you nod, wrapping your shaking legs around his waist and pulling him into an embrace.

--

Later, you’re both relaxing in bed, exhausted from an evening of activities. Activities, you think, still feeling your inner thighs twitch. “Y’know, I’m glad you didn’t overreact or anything earlier,” you said, smiling. “That could’ve been really bad.”

Bucky huffs, shuffling on the bed to look at you. “You know I don’t like it when people get too close to my girl.” He runs his flesh hand through your hair, making you relax into his touch. “Besides, I probably shouldn’t do anything that threatens my pardon.”

You laugh, rubbing his cheek lightly with your thumb. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Dreamers | Rhysand & Daughter!Reader

Summary: After Madja is away in business for two months, he has to find a healer to replace her in her absence, which happens to be you, his bastard daughter, and unbeknownst to him, Azriel’s mate.

Word Count: ~ 2.3k

Warnings: Angst, bad family relationship, mentions of prostitution, implied sex, but it ends happy don’t worry (PLATONIC BETWEEN RHYS AND READER)

A/N: This request was like perfectly matching up with my daydreams so thanks !! hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Throughout all your years of education and schooling, there was one truth you knew without having to be told.

You were unwanted. A mistake.

You’d always known that and hadn’t cared much for the first few years of your life. Your mother had been a prostitute, and your father had accidentally knocked her up. Whether it had been a mistake, or your mother had purposefully not used a contraceptive just to have a tie to the High Lord was still in debate, but you didn’t care much anymore.

He had tried to raise you, probably not wanting you to grow up a whore like your mother, but been trapped Under the Mountain, leaving you alone, your only real ties to him were through Cassian, who didn’t seem to care that you were a bastard child or your circumstances.

He felt like more of a father, sometimes.

You’d gotten your apartment in Velaris, working as an herbalist, and something of a medic, using the mingled magic of your mother and father to heal people. Some would say the job didn’t match your sometimes uncaring and blunt, even bitter demeanor. But you didn’t care what they said, and you never had. It paid the bills, and let you live relatively comfortably in your little shop when not in the apartment.

You had heard the rumors of Feyre, the Cursebreaker who’d freed your father, and by extension all the other High Lords from Under the Mountain. You’d seen the female and your father together, walking the streets happy as could be together, openly proclaiming their love, not to mention their baby.

After he’d been liberated, you hadn’t tried to seek him out, and he hadn’t with you. It was for the best, probably. You wanted nothing to do with his perfect little happy family and Inner Circle, you didn’t belong there, and you had no desire to. You hadn’t needed a father to grow up, and you didn’t need one now.

However, Madja was away on business, leaving you as the only other healer in Velaris capable of giving checkups to their child. It was for that reason, you suspected, that he invited you to a “family” dinner as if he’d ever treated you like family.

“It’ll be alright.”

Your mate, Azriel, spoke to you as he got ready to escort you into the House of Wind, where they wanted to have dinner that night. You hadn’t bothered to dress up nice or fancy, only donning some loose pants and a shirt, clothes you would usually work in.

Azriel had been your mate for nearly three years, having secretly accepted the bond, and decided to keep the relationship private for now, to let things settle down for now, and now had stretched into one year after another, until you were both content to live in the shadows.

“You know how I feel about them.”

You replied, sighing before quickly composing yourself at the clear mix of emotions on his face. His urge to defend his family and to empathize with you warring with each other in his mind.

You stepped forward, settling into his arms as you felt the shadows wrap around you, the environment shifting as your eyes remained open, and then you were there, the door to the House of Wind standing right in front of you. It felt wrong, to come back here after completely cutting off contact, only to be used for your healing abilities and medical knowledge for a half-sibling you’d never met.

Glancing over at Azriel, he gave a little nod, and you opened the door, setting foot inside the home and immediately confronted with the scents of multiple people. You could recognize some, Mor, Rhys, Cassian, maybe Amren? Only Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian were seated at the table, waiting for you. You’d heard news that Mor was visiting her private estate, and Amren off god knows where.

Expression as ticked off and blunt as you were feeling, you walked in, taking a seat as a plate of food magically appeared in front of you.

Rhys’ gaze ran up and down you, noting your clothes, simple cheap ones to get the job done, the herbs caked under your long nails, the calluses on your hands from handling your mortar and pestle so often, the way you didn’t smile at him or any of his family, or the same impassive and slightly annoyed look on your face. Something briefly appeared in his gaze, before being gone just as easily. Good. You had enough to deal with without any family problems.

“Hello, Y/N, I’d like you to meet -“

He spoke, voice sounding as confident as usual, but with a hint of a crack, as if testing the waters as he gestured towards Feyre.

“Your mate and son. I’m well aware.”

Your voice wasn’t like his, not with the silver tongue he had, tone blunt and straightforward. You didn’t refer to them by name on purpose, to make it seem like you hadn’t even cared to follow the news about him and his life. Like you were better. Feyre cast a sympathetic glance at Rhys, one that made your temper flare.

He shouldn’t get to be comforted for his past mistakes coming to bite him in the ass.

Cassian remained silent, exchanging glances with Azriel across the table. This was bound to happen eventually, and the General didn’t try any of his usual tactics to lighten the mood.

Rhys swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, probably to try and soothe you or make you less openly hostile, but you interrupted him.

“What do you want?”

You asked, tone blunt and cold, detached almost if it weren’t for the anger you held against him. He tried to hide his wince but failed to do it completely. That made you feel a bit better, at least. A sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. His expression sobered into one of resigned seriousness.

“Our healer, Madja, will be away on business for two months. You’re the most qualified to take her place if you would.”

He said. Feyre seemed a bit uncomfortable with the thought of you being the personal healer for their family for two months, and you didn’t blame her, considering your demeanor and history, but it still pissed you off.

“How much will you pay?”

You asked blandly, making it clear that the job meant nothing to you to get closer to them at all. All that mattered was the pay. Your mind was already calculating the costs, advantages, and disadvantages of taking the deal. He stiffened slightly, another small victory.

He stated a price, it was high, ridiculously so, in fact, but you weren’t complaining. Money was money. Even if you got it from your half-family.

“Sure.”

You said simply, still not touching your dinner. The food was tantalizing, but the thought of sending a message even more so. You wouldn’t dine at this table, not like how you had done so many years ago. Though your throat was parched, you didn’t touch the glass of water.

“Is that all?”

You asked, your mint green eyes, the same shade as your mother’s, meeting his violet gaze. Pure indifference was all you were determined to give him. After he’d forgotten about you, too obsessed with his mate and new child, the replacements, to bother with you.

“I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.”

He said quietly, a hint of pleading in his gaze. You felt a pang in your chest at that but shoved it down as you got up from your seat, not tucking it in. They could look at the seat pushed out after you left, and think about you. It would hopefully plague his mind like he plagued yours.

“Keep hoping. See where it gets you.”

You said dryly, walking out of the kitchen, out of that goddamned sentient House that remembered you even now, how it knew your favorite food, just the way you knew your mother had cooked it so long ago, or the way you’d loved the water from that river out back, one you still visited now.

You heard the harsh scratching of a chair against the wooden floor and footsteps, and before you could winnow away, you found that you couldn’t move.

Not metaphorically or rhetorically, you literally could not move your own body, and that’s when you became all too aware of the presence in your mind when your barriers had slipped because of your irritation. Your father finally released you as he stood behind you, you whirled to look at him, seething.

“Stay out of my head.”

You hissed, shoving him away from you even as he gave you a begging gaze.

“Please, I’m sorry, let me try, just give me one chance to be your father, one?”

He begged, voice cracking with desperation you’d never seen before, and it would’ve weirded you out a little if you weren’t frozen in place, throat even dryer now as you tried to think of something to say.

Despite how you denied it and wanted to be cold and vengeful towards him, deep down, that wasn’t what you wanted. Maybe a relationship with him wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like he’d had a choice to leave you behind, he’d been kidnapped Under the Mountain, and been so busy putting his Court back together and handling a war that he hadn’t even been able to think about you.

You swallowed, sighing and giving a resigned nod.

“Just..meet me for breakfast tomorrow, I guess. At my apartment. It’s down the block to the right of Rita’s, you’ll know it when you see it.”

As soon as you said it, he pulled you into a gentle hug, feeling you stiffening under his touch. You weren’t the most touchy person with strangers, or people you didn’t know very well at that.

Breakfast tomorrow. Great.

*********************************************************

Az had already been late when he’d arrived at your apartment for the moment, his tedious little schedule for the recent mission already thrown off because of the extra time he’d taken bending you over a counter. Just as he gave you a little kiss on the cheek, opening the door to head out, he ran face-first into Rhys, the only thing stopping the two from kissing being the subtle height advantage Azriel had over his High Lord.

“What -“

Rhys began, and Azriel was gone quicker than you’d ever seen his shadows transport him. You dragged your father in, closing the door behind you.

“He’s my mate and has been for three years, but anyways, breakfast.”

You blurted in a rushed tone as you tried to ignore the obvious thing that had just happened. Rhys ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed, seeming exasperated but not surprised.

“I thought so, Cassian said he’s been coming home smelling like you lately.”

He muttered under his breath as you slipped an oven mitt on, pulling a muffin sheet out of the oven and hissing as the oven brushed against your arm, leaving an angry little red spot. Your father’s eyebrows raised at that, and he walked over and turned your sink to a lukewarm temperature, grabbing you and easily moving you over to it to run the burn under it. Protective instincts were probably already kicking in for him, albeit a bit dusty and not used for anyone other than his new son.

He grabbed a roll of bandaging that was on your counter, from the other night when you’d also accidentally burned yourself while trying to open the oven with your bare feet, hands too busy. The oven-related incidents were getting a bit too often, now. Especially since Azriel threatened to throw the oven out if you didn’t stop getting hurt.

“Thanks.”

You managed to mumble as his slender fingers skillfully wrapped some of it around you, securing it easily. He gave a little nod, slipping an oven mitt on and dumping the muffins out, just shoving them all onto one plate he set on the small table with two chairs, one for you and Az.

He sat down, you sitting across from him, grabbing a muffin and unwrapping it, before just awkwardly eating in silence.

“So..”

You said, swallowing as you tried to think about how weird this conversation would be. He sighed, running his hands through his hair again. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his.

“I’m sorry, for not being there. There was just so much going on, with the war, Amarantha, not to mention Koschei…”

His voice trailed off at the mention of them.

“I..get it. You were busy with all that.”

“I still should’ve been there. You’re my daughter, and you grew up without a father because of me.”

You swallowed, trying to bite back the emotions that rose because of this conversation. He seemed to notice, violet eyes softening as his chair scooted a bit closer to yours, wanting to comfort you but unsure how to do so without further upsetting you. You suddenly felt bad for all your remarks and attitude earlier. He’d been trying, you hadn’t.

“We can start over if you want. Just father and daughter?”

You nodded, sniffling slightly. At that tiny sniffle, he couldn’t resist anymore, getting up and pulling you into his arms. This time, you didn’t stiffen, didn’t struggle, or try to pull away, you just cried into his chest in a way you usually only could do with Az. He held you close, hand soothingly rubbing your back.

“I think I’d like that.”

You managed to choke out as the tears dried up, and you looked up into his violet eyes, now noticing the golden flecks in them, like stars you could wish on.

Stars promising hope and a future of warmth and acceptance.

Tags:

@judeduartewannbe

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Buzzing Bees (Castiel)

gif sent in by @batmans-favorite-robin

Summary: Castiel watches a beekeeper. She notices him and teaches him the way of bee keeping.

Warnings: fluff, reader is a beekeeper

WC: 1.1K

Read on ao3!

--

You had always found solace among the bees.

The quiet hum of their wings, the gentle buzz of their hive, the delicate dance they performed as they moved between flowers and their home. It felt like the world slowed down when you worked with them. Their rhythm became your rhythm. And for the first time in your life, you felt a connection to something so simple yet so profound.

It wasn’t just the bees, though. It was everything about your life here. The small farm, the scent of honey wafting in the air, the warmth of the sun and the hum of nature surrounding you. It was peaceful.

But what you hadn’t expected was someone else to be drawn to your peaceful world.

It started with his presence on the edge of the property, where he stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat. Castiel had been curious from the moment he saw you tending to the bees, always hanging back, watching from afar, his sharp blue eyes softening with fascination.

You first noticed him one morning, catching him standing near your flower patch, eyes wide as he took in the swarm of bees that buzzed around you with seemingly no fear. His gaze was intense—full of wonder, like a child seeing something magical for the first time.

And then, one afternoon, you caught him again.

You had been working with the bees, carefully moving between hives, checking for honey and ensuring everything was in order. Your hands moved with familiarity, the bees drifting around your head like a protective cloud. There was something about you, something gentle, that seemed to put them at ease. They never stung, never acted aggressively, as if they understood you.

You didn’t notice Castiel’s approach at first. It wasn’t until you heard the soft sound of footsteps that you glanced over your shoulder and saw him standing just a few feet away, watching you with wide, awe-filled eyes.

“You’re… watching me,” you said softly, not startled, just curious.

Castiel froze, his cheeks flushing slightly, a little sheepish. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude. I... I find it fascinating. How they move around you without stinging.”

You smiled, reaching down to lift a few frames of honeycomb, the bees buzzing gently around your hands. “They don’t hurt me. I’ve spent a lot of time with them. I think they sense that I’m not a threat.”

Castiel took a cautious step forward, still holding a respectful distance. His eyes were fixed on the bees, the way they seemed to hover around you in perfect harmony. “They… they don’t fear you?”

You shook your head, your hands still working, but your attention focused now on him. “No. It’s not so much that they don’t fear me—it’s that they trust me. I’ve spent years learning their ways, and they’ve learned mine. It’s a mutual understanding.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you work with a quiet reverence. There was something almost childlike in the way he stared, completely mesmerized by the gentle movements of the bees and the way they seemed to dance around you. He was in awe of the way you moved through your world, like you were one with the earth itself.

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel said after a while, his voice soft. “How they trust you. How you trust them. It’s… amazing.”

You felt your heart warm at the sincerity in his tone. “It is. They’re not just insects. They’re a part of the world, part of the balance. Without them, a lot of things would fall apart.”

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes still on you. “I don’t understand… much about your world. But… I understand this. You make it all seem so simple. So peaceful.”

You looked at him then, his blue eyes bright under the soft light of the afternoon, his usually stoic expression softening. It was strange, how he seemed so out of place, yet so drawn to you, so captivated by the gentle rhythm of the world you had built.

“Would you like to try?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Castiel blinked, surprised. “Try…?”

“You’ve been watching me for weeks. I could show you how to work with them. If you want.”

His gaze shifted to the bees again, unsure. “I… am not sure I would be as skilled as you. They might not trust me the way they trust you.”

You smiled gently, stepping closer to him. “They’re not as frightening as they seem. You just have to be patient. And let them sense that you mean no harm.”

Castiel hesitated for a moment, then nodded, slowly approaching you. His eyes were still wide with uncertainty, but there was something in his expression now—a quiet yearning to learn, to understand.

You guided him gently, positioning his hands carefully as you opened the hive and pointed to the bees inside. “Just breathe, and move slowly. They won’t sting unless they feel threatened.”

Castiel took a deep breath, trying to mirror your calmness. The bees buzzed around his head, cautious at first, but soon they seemed to accept him, just as they accepted you.

You watched, a soft smile tugging at your lips, as Castiel’s expression shifted from uncertainty to wonder. He was like a child discovering something completely new, completely enchanting. He was amazed by the way the bees fluttered around him, fascinated by the way they seemed to acknowledge his presence, just as they had acknowledged yours.

Finally, after a few moments, Castiel turned to you, his face soft with awe. “They... they don’t hurt me.”

“No,” you said, laughing softly. “I told you. They won’t if you don’t hurt them.”

Castiel’s gaze lingered on you, his expression filled with a quiet, genuine admiration. “I think… I think I’m beginning to understand.”

And in that moment, you realized that, for all his celestial power, Castiel was still learning. He was still discovering the world around him, still finding wonder in the simplest things. And somehow, that made him even more beautiful in your eyes.

As he carefully closed the hive with your help, he glanced at you again, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, almost as if he didn’t quite know how to express his gratitude. “I didn’t expect… this.”

You gave him a soft smile in return. “Sometimes, it’s the simplest things that are the most surprising.”

And in the quiet of the afternoon, surrounded by the gentle buzz of the bees, you both found a sense of peace in each other’s presence—one that neither of you had expected, but both of you were grateful for.

--

Join my tag list for more!

[anxiouslowercase]

sas rh: let eoin survive the fall au » what the gazelles dragged in

"Look what the gazelles dragged in!" calls someone, quite possibly Dave, looking to the side and interrupting the French cheers of victory. The rest of them turn just in time to see one Eoin McGonigal climb out the jeep. "Can't leave you fellas alone for a couple of days without you lot letting the siege of Orléans fall?" Eoin jokes as he leans against the vehicle, because of course he'd mention such thing, unpromted. It gets Augustin grinning, somehow wider than he already was, and he takes a step forward. "Well, monsieur McGonigal, there's always room for the Irish exiles within French--" "Like hell is Eoin gonna join you bunch of pretentious fuckers," interrupts Paddy right away, as it should've been expected, while getting up and promptly making his way towards Eoin, who really hasn't stopped beaming. "Get someone else not to get fucked in the rematch."

or - Eoin finally comes back to camp after getting injured during a raid.

[jillraggett]

Plant of the Day

Friday 3 May 2024

In this dry garden the Rhodanthemum hosmariense (Moroccan daisy) was covered in flowers early in the year. This plant creates a woody, spreading base covered with silvery leaves above which the white daisy flowers appear.

Jill Raggett

[stealingyourbones]

DPxDC Prompt Masterlist #1001-1050

1001. Ghosts Are Beyond Time 1002. Dash Runs Tests on Star Labs 1003. Jazz is Clark's Intern 1004. Supes Prime Punched Hole into DP 1005. Amity has Lead Poisoning 1006. Jason Avoids Ghost Fighting Sickfic 1007. Danny the Ectonaut 1008. Junior College Student Danny 1009. MotherBoxy 1010. Corpse AU 1011. GK calls JLDark Hotline 1012. GK RH Goon 1013. Damian Avoids Ghost Fighting Sickfic 1014. Ghost Wail Perfect Mimicry 1015. Ghosts are Radioactive 1016. John Jones meets Plasmius 1017. Dash works for Ferris Air 1018. Val works for Ferris Air 1019. Zatarra vs Box Ghost 1020. Clayface steps in Ectoplasm 1021. Constantine is Fentons' Ex 1022. Dash Central Cougars 1023. Ice Core 1024. Will o' Wisp! Ghost Core 1025. Casual Ghost Contract 1026. Soul Trading Card 1027. Flatland!Ghost Core 1028. Ghostly Bread 1029. Dani is a Talon 1030. MY CABBAGES! 1031. Nightengale Triplets 1032. Gun Store Owner Jazz 1033. Uncanny!Amity Parkers 1034. Unique Metagene Danny 1035. Mosquito!Ghost Blobs 1036. Danny goes to Meta Resource Centre 1037. Tim stuck in GZ 1038. Accidental Proposal AU 1039. Gordon is a Fenton 1040. Riddler vs. Ghost Writer 1041. Ghost!Batman 1042. Fae Rules 1043. Deep Sea Ghost!Danny 1044. Proto Core!Batman 1045. 99 Red Balloons but Blob Ghosts 1046. Formaldehyde Rat!Jason 1047. Tax Worker Danny 1048. Effervesence. 1049. Cartoon!Ghosts 1050. Not!GK AU

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

Omg but you will shorten the war this much? Yes

Omg but you will cut all of- Yes

Omg but you will- YES

That's not my focus bbs I don't even know how to write a war sorry 😚🫶🏻

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, 2,3% book following look at me, mentions of PTSD, character death (more than 1), lots of trauma, war, blood, bit of gore, Tamlin 🤢, Rhysand 😭

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 12: Six Hundred Strike

The battlefield stretched wide before you, the rolling hills of Spring Court now a war camp. The armies of Prythian had gathered, a sight unlike any seen in centuries, warriors from every court, standing side by side.

The Illyrians stood in disciplined ranks, wings tucked close, siphons gleaming in the overcast light. Peregrines from the Day Court waited alongside them, their lighter armor built for speed, their wings flicking in anticipation. Soldiers from Winter, Summer, Autumn, and even the handful from Spring who had abandoned Tamlin’s failures, all waited in formation. Then came the scouts.

A Peregrine landed first, his wings folding as he strode toward Helion. “Hybern is marching.”

An Illyrian warrior, barely seconds behind, knelt before Cassian. “The King is with them. And he has the Cauldron.”

Even with two pieces missing, it was still a force to be reckoned with. A cold weight settled in your chest.

Rhys squeezed your hand once. “We stick to the plan.” He said in your mind. You nodded.

Cassian’s voice rang out, commanding, clear. “Everyone, move into position!”

The army shifted. Prythian’s forces began their descent, moving toward the open valley ahead. The land sloped downward, just enough to disguise their movements, just enough to let them control the battlefield before Hybern fully realized what was happening.

The valley was the perfect trap. And the first step was yours.

Rhysand turned to you, his violet eyes sharp as he opened his hands, power rippling through him. You mirrored him, feeling the raw magic pulse within you, rising, coiling, eager. Together, you misted the battlefield. Hybern’s barriers, carefully crafted shields meant to keep their forces secure, began to break. Like smoke in the wind, they vanished under your power. Holes spread across their formations, gaps in their defense.

Hybern’s army didn’t even realize what was happening at first. Their march continued, blind to the fact that they were now exposed. Until the second wave of magic came crashing down.

"NOW!" Cassian roared.

Prythian’s forces rushed forward. From above, Illyrians and Peregrines launched themselves into the air. From the ground, warriors from every court surged forward, blades drawn, powers crackling. Hybern barely had time to react.

The battle had begun. The battlefield erupted into chaos. Hybern’s forces barely had time to adjust to the sudden breach in their barriers before Prythian’s armies tore through them.

From above, Illyrians and Peregrines dived like shadows and flame, striking with lethal precision. Blades slashed through armor, arrows found gaps in helmets, and magic rained down like a storm.

On the ground, Winter Court warriors fought with icy grace, their swords glowing with frost as they cut through Hybern’s front lines. Summer Court soldiers wielded water like living serpents, drowning foes where they stood.

You didn’t stop moving. With one hand, you misted an approaching commander, his scream barely beginning before he was gone. With the other, you threw out a wall of black fire, forcing back a group of Hybern soldiers who had nearly flanked Vivianne and her fighters. She met your gaze across the battlefield and nodded once before spinning, slashing her twin blades through the next enemy in her path.

Rhys was a storm in the heart of battle. Wherever his shadows passed, Hybern’s forces fell. A general surged toward him, a massive broadsword raised, Rhys merely vanished into the darkness and reappeared behind him, his blade slipping into the man’s spine before he could react.

Cassian and Azriel fought side by side, a deadly whirlwind of steel and magic. Azriel moved like a ghost, his siphons flaring with cobalt light as he cut down three soldiers before they could even lift their weapons. Cassian was a battering ram, using brute force and sheer skill to send Hybern’s warriors crashing to the dirt. He bellowed commands, rallying Illyrian soldiers, dodging a spear at the last second before slamming his blade through the wielder’s gut.

And Hybern was still marching. More soldiers poured into the valley, their sheer numbers pressing forward despite the trap that had been laid for them.

A pulse of power rippled through the battlefield. Not magic from any High Lord. Not a spell from any warrior. No. It was the Cauldron. And whatever the King of Hybern had just done, it was about to change the tide of this war.

The Cauldron’s power struck the battlefield like a hammer. The first time, the shockwave rippled outward, vaporizing Hybern’s own front lines. Screams of confusion and terror erupted from their ranks as soldiers collapsed, their bodies turning to ash. The second time, another pulse, another wave of death. More of Hybern’s forces fell, confusion turning to panic as their king’s magic devoured them. The third time, the air itself seemed to shudder as the Cauldron’s power gathered once more. It took three trials before the king got one right into Prythian’s forces.

But you were already moving. Magic surged through you as you whispered the words, an ancient, bone-deep summons that curled through the fabric of this world and beyond. A shadow deeper than night unfurled in the distance, something ancient and crawling, something that sent a shiver down every spine on that battlefield.

Then, they appeared. The Weaver, standing at the edge of the battlefield, her blood-red cloak billowing, her smile sharp as a blade. The Bone Carver, small and delicate in the boyish form he introduced himself to you — until he wasn’t, until the shadows peeled away, revealing something made of death and prophecy. And Bryaxis, the thing that lived in nightmares, crawled into the world, a shape of pure, shifting terror.

Rhys winnowed to your side immediately.

“What. The fuck. Is this?” His voice was calm, too calm for the situation, his violet eyes wide as he stared at the creatures of legend now standing at your command.

You merely smiled, tilting your head. “I’ve been making friends.”

Rhys blinked. Once. Twice. Then he turned to face you fully.

“How,” he asked, very carefully, “did you even get the Weaver out of her cottage?”

You shrugged. “You gave Feyre free time. I gave her training.”

Rhys made a choked noise. “You are insane.”

You grinned. “Don't worry, I was there the whole time. In case something went wrong, I had an offer to use in exchange for Feyre. Although, I still used it as a sacrifice for Weaver's participation today.”

The Weaver, as if she listened to you, laughed, the sound low and curling like smoke.

Rhys inhaled sharply as if something had just clicked. “Wait. That means—” He stared at you. “Where the hell did Ianthe go when she disappeared a few days ago?”

You just smiled.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

You said nothing.

“Oh, Mother above.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I’m not asking. I don’t want to know.”

You patted his shoulder. “Smart choice.”

Then you turned back to the battlefield, where the Weaver, the Bone Carver, and Bryaxis had begun to move. And Hybern’s army, already broken and bleeding, had nowhere left to run.

The King of Hybern finally stepped forward onto the battlefield. His army lay in ruins, shredded by Prythian’s forces, the Weaver’s hunger, the Bone Carver’s cold blade, and Bryaxis’s living nightmare. He had nothing left.

And yet, he smiled. Because in his hands, he held two girls. Nesta and Elain. Your stomach dropped. But you had to hold your ground.

“Fuck,” you murmured under your breath. “Damned gossiper motherfucker, Tamlin.”

Rhysand winnowed to your side, his hands clenched into fists as he watched your cousins crying while being held by the enemy. Your mate dripped with regret as he looked at the two humans with nowhere to run. Cassian, Azriel, and Morrigan weren’t far behind, their magic and weapons ready to strike. But the King? He just laughed.

“You all seem so confident,” he drawled. “So sure of your victory. So proud of your… what do you call it? Friendship? Loyalty?” He sneered. “You think that makes you strong? It makes you weak. Because while you fight with swords and claws and magic, I have this.”

He raised a hand. And the Cauldron pulsed. You braced yourself for another strike. For another death-filled shockwave. But something moved behind the King. Amren. You saw it, the flicker of silver in her mercurial eyes. The otherness that had always lurked beneath her skin.

The King kept talking, as every villain does in books. At some point of your life you believed they wouldn't lose their time explaining their objectives and plans. A good distraction while you slaughtered soldiers around you and as Amren moved. You thought she would deactivate the Cauldron, like she said she was planning to, but the betrayal barely hit your guts as she threw herself into the Cauldron.

A sharp crack split the air. A wound in reality itself. Magic tore free, something old, raw, and endless surging from within that iron bowl. And the King of Hybern screamed. Amren’s true form rose from the Cauldron, wreathed in silver fire. No longer bound by the shape of a High Fae, no longer restrained by flesh and bone. She spread her wings. The King barely had time to react before she grasped him, her claws curling around his throat, and flung him like a discarded doll, right into the center of the battlefield.

The impact shook your ground. He still had one last hit from the Cauldron. And as he lay there, broken and struggling, he reached for its power once more. A final, desperate strike before Amren sucked all the energy from it. The Cauldron shuddered, and unleashed one last pulse of death. Prythian’s army screamed. The warriors fell in droves. Shields shattered. Magic flickered and failed.

But as the bolt of pure energy cut through the battlefield, focusing on the Prythian’s army. You saw how fast Eris moved, subtly, deliberately. A simple push was all it took from him. Just enough to send his father straight into the path of that deadly strike. And Beron Vanserra, High Lord of Autumn, was gone with a part of his army. Just like that.

You let out a slow breath, eyes meeting Eris’s across the battlefield. He gave you a polite nod and a knowing smile, running as he slowly felt the trembling sensation of the power of a High Lord filling him.

You arched a brow. “Okay,” you muttered to yourself. “I didn’t see that.”

As the battle raged on, the sky split with screams and steel. Blood soaked the earth, turning the battlefield into a graveyard for those foolish enough to stand against them.

Then you saw it the exact moment you remembered the captive girls the king was keeping. A flicker of movement, too deliberate, too familiar.

At the edge of the battlefield, Hybern’s soldiers dragged the two figures of your cousins forward, probably going to reach back to their King, who was trying to keep his ground while soldiers fought him on the battlefield. Nesta. Elain. Your heart stopped.

You turned immediately. Reaching for the small bond between you and the Inner Circle. "Mor."

Morrigan landed beside you, her golden hair wild from the wind as her braid was undoing itself, her sword slick with blood. "I see them."

"You need to get them out of here." Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I mean it," you insisted. "Hybern has too many eyes on him. If he gets desperate, he could—"

"Kill them," Mor finished.

Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of her sword. Mor could move faster than any of you and was the least watched one between them. She was your best chance.

“Honestly I feel like I could sacrifice Nesta, but I think Feyre would be mad at me so…” You shrugged as you held your sword tighter, "Get in, winnow out. Straight to Velaris. Nuala and Cerridwen can watch over them," she ordered.

Mor hesitated for only a second. Then she nodded. Without another word, she vanished into the battlefield.

Nesta had never felt this helpless before. Not when her family lost everything, not when she had stared into the eyes of hunger and accepted the proposal of a cousin she never heard of to help, not even when Hybern’s soldiers had dragged her from her manor hours ago. Elain was trembling beside her, her hand clutching Nesta’s wrist like it was the only thing grounding her to reality while they were being dragged in that place of horrors and blood.

The King of Hybern was saying something. Shouting commands to his guards. She wasn’t listening. Because the air wasn't reaching her lungs, her blood wasn't getting to her hands, she almost felt like she could faint right there and then.

But suddenly, the air shifted. Even if she was just human, she still felt as power rummaged around her. A second later, golden power exploded through the running hill. Mor. Hybern’s soldiers barely had time to react before the Third in Command of the Night Court tore through them.

Nesta’s breath caught. Because Morrigan was a storm. She was blade and vengeance and deadly grace, cutting down three of Hybern’s guards before they even had time to scream.

"Nesta!" Mor’s voice was sharp. “I work with your cousin, I will take you and your sister to a safe place, please trust me!”

Before she could think, Mor’s arms were around her and Elain, and the world twisted, turning to wind and darkness. And then, sudden silence. No more battle screams, no command shouts, no more gut ripping. Just Elain's quiet crying as they saw the world around them. They felt the change in their skin as cold, crisp air reached it.

A safe city extendeda around them. They had made it. And right around the corner, Nesta held her sister's hand as another figure approached them, the blond one that brought them here nodded to the other female and disappeared — back to the battlefield, probably. The other figure kept getting closer, slowly, probably to not scare them. When she appeared in the light Nesta and Elain couldn't contain the sound of pure shock as they saw her. Feyre.

☆

You kept cutting your way trying to reach the king. You were going to lose the opportunity if you couldn't get close enough of him to cut his head off. After you killed another male from Hybern, you barely had time to catch your breath before a flash of golden hair caught your eye. Tamlin. Standing there, just beyond the chaos, trying to run away from battle. Running, as if he hadn’t caused all of this. Running, as if he hadn’t sold out Prythian to Hybern. Running, like a coward.

Something inside you snapped. Before you could even think, you growled, your power surging like a tidal wave, ready to crush him.

“Go.” Rhysand’s voice slid into your mind. “Go after him. I’ll handle the King.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Tamlin had already started to run, but you were faster. You winnowed, cutting off his path, appearing in front of him before he could flee like the spineless worm he was. His green eyes widened.

"Don't," he panted. "You don’t understand—"

You punched him so hard in the face that he flew back, crashing into the dirt. "I don't understand?" Your voice was deadly quiet. "I don't understand what, Tamlin? That you sided with the very bastard who commanded the female that kidnapped and tortured Feyre? That you let him march into our lands hoping for a pity future where you would be a puppet High King? That you were too much of a coward to fight back?"

He coughed, spitting blood. Good. You walked toward him, slow, deliberate.

"You could have stopped this," you said, voice laced with ice. "You could have fought for Prythian. You could've told us before. But instead, you let your own ego destroy everything. Because you thought you were entitled to this. Entitled to Feyre. Because you thought your love gave you ownership."

Tamlin snarled, dragging himself up. "I did it for her!"

"For her?" You laughed, dark and cruel. "Then where the fuck were you when she was starving in Under the Mountain? Where were you when she was breaking apart in your manor?"

Tamlin launched himself at you, claws out. But you were faster. You sidestepped and slammed your elbow into his ribs. Hard. Something cracked.

He choked on the impact, stumbling back. You winnowed behind him and gripped his throat. Tamlin gasped. You dug your nails into his skin, watching as his eyes widened in pure terror.

"You don't deserve a quick death," you murmured. You pulled him closer, your lips brushing his ear. "You deserve to suffer," you whispered. "Like all the people you abandoned. Like all the people who begged you for help."

Then you slammed him into the ground. Tamlin howled as you broke his arm, twisting it with a sickening snap. You let him crawl, watching as he clutched his shattered limb, gasping.

"Come on, High Lord," you mocked, circling him like a predator. "Where's all that strength now?"

He tried to winnow. You ripped the air apart, blocking him.

"No," you said, a cold smile curling your lips. "You don't get to run this time."

His breaths came in ragged, panicked gasps. "Please—"

You grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to look at you.

"Begging, Tamlin?" you mused. "How pathetic."

And then you sank your magic into him. It started as a slow burn. A tendril of power coiling into his veins. Tamlin screamed. You just watched as his muscles locked, as his skin heated, as you let him feel the pure agony of everything he had done.

"Does it hurt?" you asked softly.

He thrashed, trying to fight it, but you only tightened your grip.

"Not enough," you murmured. "Not yet."

You willed the magic to go deeper, to rot him from the inside out. Tamlin convulsed, his body shaking violently, his claws tearing at the dirt. He gasped your name, voice raw, broken. You smiled. With one final push of power, you snapped his spine. Tamlin went limp. His body crumpled into the dirt. You stepped back, breathing even, feeling nothing.

Then, you turned away with no second thought. And left him there to rot. As if he didn't have any importance. And he didn't, not anymore.

☆

Rhysand winnowed through the battlefield, dodging blades and blasts of magic, his only focus on the figure standing at the heart of the chaos. The King of Hybern. The bastard stood tall, watching the battle unfold with calculating indifference, gripping a massive black sword, its blade humming with dark magic — Cauldron-forged. The King noticed Rhys approaching and let out a low, amused chuckle.

"Ah, the infamous High Lord of Night," he drawled, turning to face him fully. "Come to beg for your lands? Your people? Or do you just enjoy groveling at the feet of tyrants?"

Rhys’ lips curled back. "You should know, you’ve been groveling at the feet of a dead female for the past fifty years. Amarantha's sister would be sad to see you lose so badly."

Hybern laughed an ugly sound. "And yet, my commander still broke you."

Rhys’ magic flared in response, sealing off the battlefield, creating a barrier of pure night around them, and trapping the King inside. Hybern’s grin faltered. Rhys stepped forward, voice low, deadly.

"For every comrade, every one of my friends that died in the first war," he said, his power thrumming with rage, "all of whom were slaughtered by your hand… I came to get my revenge."

Hybern lunged, swinging that cursed blade straight for his throat. Rhys sidestepped, moving with trained, practiced ease, and in a flurry of precise movements, he disarmed him. The sword clattered to the ground. Instead of striking, Rhys picked up the King's own weapon, turning it in his hands, feeling the power humming within it.

He pointed it at Hybern’s chest. "You're going to call off that battle."

Hybern sneered, blood-stained teeth flashing. "Or what? You can't kill me with that blade."

Rhysand’s smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, I know."

The King’s eyes widened in realization. "Wait—"

Rhys drove the blade into his side. Hybern screamed. The wound didn’t kill him. But the magic of the Cauldron was incomplete. It no longer made him untouchable. He could still feel pain. And Rhys wasn't done.

He ripped the blade free and slashed again. Hybern staggered, gasping. Rhysand took a slow, deliberate step forward.

"How does it feel to be helpless now?" he murmured, dragging the tip of the blade along Hybern’s chest, watching thin red lines bloom across his skin.

Hybern shuddered, clutching his wounds as they healed just fast enough to keep him alive. Rhysand smiled.

"I watched my friends die in horror many times," he said, slashing across his thigh.

Hybern cried out.

"And for the past fifty years, I saw innocents dying under Amarantha's reign. Under your command." Another strike, a deep cut along his ribs. "I heard them crying as they were slain," Rhys pressed on, his voice cold, merciless. A cut along Hybern’s arm. "I heard their final moments. Begging for their gods." Another strike. "Look what you turned me into." The King groaned in agony, body trembling. "Look what we've become."

"Enough," Hybern gasped.

Rhysand ignored him, swinging again. "All of the pain that I've been through—"

"Stop!"

A deep wound across his chest. "Haven't we suffered enough?"

"Stop!" Rhysand’s blade bit into his shoulder, slicing through flesh.

"Amarantha didn't stop when I begged her," Rhys said softly, stepping closer, watching as the King swayed, barely standing. "She told me to close my mind and enjoy."

"You—" Hybern choked.

Rhys drove the blade into his stomach. The King howled. "She said the world was a dark place for those who dream too much."

Hybern sputtered blood, wheezing. "Monster—"

Rhysand tilted his head, mockingly. "Weren't you the one who taught her that ruthlessness is mercy upon our kind?"

Hybern's knees buckled. "Alright," he croaked. "Please..."

Rhys paused. The King breathed raggedly, blood coating his mouth, a broken, mocking smile curling his lips.

"After everything you've done," Hybern wheezed, voice shaking. "How will you sleep at night, High Lord?"

Rhysand pretended to consider the question. And then he smiled. "Next to my mate."

The King’s expression cracked. And then Rhysand lifted the blade and, in one swift, brutal motion, he cut off the King’s head.

Silence rippled across the battlefield as the soldiers from Hybern dropped their swords as if waking up from a trance. The remaining Hybern generals saw it. Saw the King’s final promise before dying. And they began to retreat. They saw Tamlin's corpse, broken and discarded in the dirt. The soldiers, panicked, and frantic, fell to their knees. And they begged for mercy.

Rhysand stood at the center of the battlefield, Hybern's blood still fresh on his hands. His chest rose and fell steadily, but there was no relief in his expression. Only finality. He turned to the gathered High Lords, their faces painted with exhaustion and rage, the stench of war still thick in the air.

"The rest of Hybern’s army," Rhysand said, his voice carrying across the ruined land. "Do with them as you wish."

No one from the Night Court stayed to watch. They had no more business there.

☆

The battlefield was far behind them when Rhysand found you. His mate. His brilliant, talented mate.

You stood at the edge of a ravine, watching the horizon, the distant glow of the burning Hybern banners flickering in your eyes. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, you turned to him. You both knew. The weight of revenge. The emptiness it left behind. So when Rhysand stepped forward and silently took your hand, you let him.

You had won. But at what cost? You have paid more than enough for the past hundreds of years. This time, the debt of the consequences wouldn't be your value to pay.

Cassian was the first to break the silence when you returned to camp.

"The Night Court forces are already in the healers' tents," he said, his wings tucked close in exhaustion. "We suffered losses, but nothing like Hybern. Or a few other Courts." His hazel eyes flicked to Rhysand. "It was a victory."

A hollow one. Mor appeared next, her golden hair wild from battle, blood still streaking her armor. "Feyre’s sisters are safe." Relief washed through them. "They’re already being taken care of," she added, her voice gentler than before.

Rhysand gave a small, tired nod. And then Azriel approached. His face was carefully blank, but something in his shadows twisted, curling inwards.

Rhysand knew before Azriel even spoke. "We lost Amren." A breath. "She's gone."

The silence was deafening.

Mor staggered back a step, shaking her head. "No. No, she’s— she’s probably fine. Amren always makes it out."

But even she wasn't convinced. Rhysand swallowed. She had thrown herself into the Cauldron. Had given them the only chance to end it. Amren had known. And she had gone willingly.

"She knew what she was doing," Rhysand finally said.

None of them responded. Because this war had stolen too much already. And now, it had stolen Amren, too.

“One day after the other,” you said in a whisper, hair sticking to your forehead, blood and sweat mixing on your body “We live one day after the other now.”

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe @carmenadkins78 @lreadsstuff @oiolabomdia @jaybbygrl @traiitorjoe

[notsodelirious]

I take request <3

(Requests are closed, I need to pace myself and get through the requests that have already been submitted)

Feel free to request anything — I don’t want to give a list of do’s and don’ts because I feel pretty open to a lot of things, but if your request is really out there, I’ll just politely decline.

I do write some SFW content, so I don’t want to say MDNI, but if you are a minor, please have the common sense to not ask for NSFW stuff or interact with it, thx

(also if you don’t specify that you want it to be NFSW or describe an obviously NSFW act, I’ll automatically write it as SFW)

Feel free to message me if you want specifics or want clarifications

anon emoji list: 🍊, 💚 (I know I haven’t answered your ask yet but you’re up here)

Masterlist

all nsfw works in pink — all additional warning are in the fic notes <3

Jason Todd

- The Path Forward — gender neutral cane user

- Shark Week — ftm reader who gets their period

- Violets and Midnight snacks — les4les, fem reader x Butch!Jason

- Breathtaking — asthmatic ftm reader

- Twinky — fem reader and creampies

- Help me out? — implied ftm reader (warning for shots)

- Little Red Riding Hood — ftm reader and werewolf Jason

- Cocks for sensitive souls — ftm autistic reader and cockwarming

- Aim, bang! — crime boss RH and reader who’s losing their hearing

Sub!Jason (it’s also a tag on my blog)

- Bodies and temples — gn reader and body worship

- Man Hunt — male vigilante reader (warning for dubcon)

- Good boy — implied male reader/pegging

- Big Bad Wolf — gn reader, body worship and a bj

AK!Jason

- Press here — gn henchman reader (based off another post)

- Meant to be seen, not heard — gn reader, cnc and deepthroating

Dick Grayson

- Late Night to show — black reader

- A helping hand — gn reader

- Cloud 9 — male reader (reader receiving)

Royalty AU series — gn royalty reader, Knight!Grayson

- Once Upon a Time (part 1)

- Loyalty to the Throne (part 2)

- One step forward, three steps back (part 3)

- Happily ever after (part 4)

Bruce Wayne

- Starving — gn reader, oral (reader receiving)

- Sleep Tight — fem!reader and somno

Wally West

- Stolen closets, acquired items — male reader

- Fair fights — gn reader

- Dinner plans — fem!reader, cunnilingus

Multi

Roy x Jason x Reader

- Double Trouble (Part 1) nsfw

- Sunrise (Part 2) nsfw

Bruce x Jason x Dick x Reader

- Blunt rotation — fem reader

Category ?

Poison Ivy

- Flower fever — male reader, dubcon for aphrodisiac

Blurbs

- Jason helping with hypermobility, mildly nsfw

- Jason and first-time cane user reader

- Dick just loves you

[invisible-lint]

Something Wrong

AzrielxReader

Summary: Azriel is late coming home and you worry

Warnings: MC death, major angst

Word Count: 1.3k

You pace in front of the fireplace, the warmth coming from it doing nothing to warm the chill in your bones. Something was wrong with Azriel, you were certain. He was supposed to be back  hours ago. Typically when either of you went on a mission, you would put walls up, silencing the mating bond, to keep from being distracted, but if either of you were delayed for any reason, you took down those walls just long enough to let the other know. But he hadn’t. When you had gone to Rhys worried, your mate hadn’t responded to the violet eyed male either. 

You were supposed to go with him, but right before the two of you were set to leave, you had gotten news that changed everything. You’re pregnant. You almost hadn’t told him, knowing that he’d make you stay behind, but had decided being left behind was better than what might happen if he noticed your changing scent while the two of you were away. 

So here you were, pacing in front of the fireplace in Rhys’ office, waiting for him to let you go track down your mate.

Rhys says your name, getting your attention. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll be back soon and tell us why he was late and why he didn’t answer. And then we can kick his ass for making us worry.”

You shake your head, you may not be able to feel your bond right now, but you can feel it in your soul. “Let me go after him.”

“Absolutely not. Azriel told me why you stayed behind. I am not sending his pregnant mate, my pregnant friend out into a potentially dangerous situation. If I did, he’d kick my ass and have every right to do so.” You stop your pacing and cross your arms, glaring at the High Lord. How is he so calm right now?

“Send me after him.”

“No.”

“Who are you more afraid of, Azriel or me?”

“Azriel, no question. You’re a very close second right now though if it makes you feel any better.” It doesn’t. You’re about to argue more when a bout of nausea sends you racing for the wastebasket next to the desk. Why it’s called morning sickness when it plagues you at all hours of the day, you’re not sure. 

“Sorry about the waste basket.” Rhys just shrugs and waves his hand, cleaning it. Thank the Mother for magic.

“Don’t worry about it. If he’s not back in an hour I’ll have Cassian go look for him, okay?”

You nod, giving up on arguing with him.

Feyre comes in with a glass of water and a cup of ginger tea. You stand slowly, and move to the couch near the window before taking the glass from her, sipping it slowly. She sits next to you, taking your free hand in hers. She squeezes your hand, trading the water for the tea once you’ve finished it. You sip the tea, appreciating the way it soothes your stomach. 

“It helped when I was pregnant with Nyx. I can have some sent to your house if you’d like?”

“I’d like that, thank you.” 

“Of course.” You sit like that with Feyre, sipping your tea for the next hour. Azriel doesn’t show up.

“Rhys somethings wrong. I know something is wrong.” He looks at you, starting to believe that you may be right.

“I’ll tell Cassian to go search.” You feel Feyre wipe tears away from your eyes. When did you start crying? 

“We put up walls when we’re on missions. Would… If he was… I’d know if he was…”

Feyre rubs your back, trying to comfort you, keep you from breaking down completely. “You’d know. That you would know. He’s still alive.” You nod, letting out a breath. 

“Cassian is heading there now. He’ll find him, don’t worry.”

And so you wait. Feyre continues to rub your back, and you lean against her, taking comfort in your friend. After a while, you find yourself rubbing the spot where your and Azriel’s child is growing. You chew your lip. When Cassian gets back with him, you’ll have to have a talk with him about stepping back, at least for a little while. You need him. And you want to make sure that your child gets to meet their father. 

You must have dozed off, waking suddenly when Rhys and Feyre both stand. You look between the two of them, knowing they’re communicating mind to mind. 

“What is it? Did Cassian find him?”

Rhys’ voice is calm and even. Too even. “Yes. I’m going to go get the two of them and Feyre is going to go get Madja.” It’s bad. It has to be bad if Azriel couldn’t even winnow himself home. If Rhys has to go and get them. In your growing state of panic, you don’t even notice them leaving. You stand, pacing by the fire again. What had happened?

 It’s the smell of the blood you notice first, running towards the source of the smell. When you take in the sight of your mate, you start crying again. You make your way to his side, taking his hand in yours. “Oh, Az… What happened?” 

He tries to reach up to wipe the tears away from your face, but doing so must aggravate his injuries, because he winces, letting his arm fall back down by his side. “You should see the other male.” You shift, pressing your forehead to his. You don’t like the raspy sound of his breathing. The way his shadows seem to be lying dormant, pooling with the blood underneath him. 

“Just hold on a little bit longer, Azzie. Feyre went to get Madja.”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“If I die-”

“No. I take it back. You are not dying. You can’t die. I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter, Love.”

You sit up, looking him in the eyes, ignoring how pale he is, how close to dying he is. Where is Feyre with Madja? 

“I don’t care. I need you. I can’t do this alone.” 

“Yes you can. You’re the strongest person I know. I love you. So much.”

“I love you too Azzie. You’re going to be okay.” He just smiles at you sadly. He’s not sure if it’s hope or sheer stubbornness or if you’re just refusing to see the reality of the situation in front of you. He wishes he wasn’t going to die. Wishes there wasn’t so much to live for. Wishes he would get to hold the child you’re growing. He takes a shallow breath, eyes getting heavy.

“No no no no, c’mon Azriel! You’ve gotta keep your eyes open! Keep your eyes open for me, Azzie baby.” He wishes he could listen to you.

Feyre was right. You would have known if he had been dead earlier. You feel it when he dies. Feel it as the mating bond disappears. It’s different from when you would block eachother out. Then, you could still feel it there, a warm presence in your chest, a golden thread connecting you. Now, your chest feels empty, hollow. The golden thread is gone. You cling to him, screaming.

Madja and Feyre appear then, too late. Not that anything could have been done if they had arrived earlier. You pull him into your arms, holding him to your chest as you scream and sob. Your friends watch on, their own eyes filled with tears. Eventually, your throat becomes too raw to scream, so you just hold him, sobbing, ignoring how his blood soaks your clothes. Then, you run out of tears, so you just hold him, not wanting to let go. 

Feyre tries first to get you to let go of Azriel, but you ignore her. Cassian tries next with no success. When Rhys tries, you don’t let go, but you do look up, your eyes meeting his violet ones. 

“I told you something was wrong.”

A/N: I'm a little bit sorry for this one and I don't even have Hozier to blame this time. Feel free to either send in requests!

[dollsahoy]

Got a secondhand Rainbow High body, missing one hand. I found that these Disney Star Darlings hands fit just about perfectly, then modified this LaLaLoopsy Girls head to fit the large RH neck.

Then I had to figure out what to do about the fact that the head was missing its plastic lace hair

Step One: insert heavy bamboo skewers into the places where the original plastic lace hair was attached. Secure with hot glue.

Step Two: wrap the bamboo skewers with acrylic yarn. Secure with hot glue.

Step Three: cover the acrylic yarn with finer-textured yarn. Secure with hot glue. (also: take a moment to paint over the blue button eyes)

Step Four: paint the yarn with a white base coat. No need for hot glue here.

Step Five: Paint all the 'hair' with the same pink acrylic.

Step Six: topcoat with pearl medium

Step Seven: Get the hot glue back out and attach all the flowers

Yeah, that seems to have worked