#the lurking skills are insane

[chrollogy]

i’m so sorry i had the urge to annotate like i do with physical books so here’s every unsolicited thought i had while reading the written part 😭 (if one can even read my writing [please don’t, they’re useless thoughts])

THE MANEATER CHAPTER ONE: club classics

masterlist

divider credits to roseraris

For fifteen minutes every night, she gets to take off her headphones, sneak out the staff-only exit, and smoke a cigarette on a cracked-up old milk crate. And even though she can still hear her pre-determined, carefully crafted playlist taking over for her pulsing through the brick walls, it's the only moment of quiet she has all night.

So it makes sense that new bouncer showed up to ruin it.

She groans at the sight of him, dramatically, exaggerated. She rolls her head back and kicking her feet. "Oh my god," she whines, "why are you here? Go somewhere else."

He doesn't validate this little outburst of hers. He just leans against the brick wall opposite to her, and blocks the breeze from blowing out his lighter with a cupped hand until the end of his cigarette is cherry red. She watches him with a lip furled in distaste as he straightens out. "Easiest place to get away from a bunch of drunk people for fifteen minutes, so you're just gonna have to put up with me," he tells her, smoke billowing from his mouth as he speaks.

"Well, you're fucked because there's a bachelorette party in there that keeps buying my green tea shots," she says, voice laced with faux sympathy. "So I'm trashed."

He scoffs. Iwaizumi. That's his name. She recalls it in the instance he flicks off ash with the tip of his thumb. She thinks he's pretty, and immediately after that she thinks she'd rather cut off her own tongue than admit that. "You're a fucking peach, you know that right?"

"Truly one of the sweetest out there. So are you going to apologize to me now?"

Iwaizumi flinches. "Apologize for what? Doing my job?"

She gives him a forced smile. "Well if you were doing your job, you'd probably know better than to stop and interrogate one of your new coworkers."

"Okay," Iwaizumi concedes, giving a forceful nod of his head. "You're right. I'm sorry I didn't realize that you're an egomaniac who thinks everyone should know who she is because she hits shuffle on Spotify for a living."

"Oh so that's your bit?" she bites back. "That's like your thing? You think you're better and cooler than everyone around you because you think things like club music are beneath you? Because what? You listen to like Kings of Leon or something?"

Iwaizumi scoffs. "I'm a big Kendrick Lamar fan, actually."

She rolls her eyes, and puts her cigarette out on the pavement beneath her. Her fifteen-minute smoke break has been ruined. "Predictable," she grumbles, standing to her feet. "I gotta get back to my job before Spotify decides to put Smart Shuffle on. I hope a drunk person pukes on you."

extras!

noya is also a bartender at the maneater! there are others who might pop up from time to time

sakusa established a rotating schedule on who's job it is to go do a coffee run since none of them ever wanted to go and get coffee on sunday mornings

yn does not always drink during her sets but sometimes when club goers buy her drinks she indulges

if kiyoko makes them she waters them down

yn drew iwa on the back of her receipt from the coffee shop

iwa was just like "wait who's akaashi"

their hatred for one another was immediate and it's like they've been hating each other their whole lives <3

taglist: @wyrcan @thechaosoflonging @bedeater @deluluforcarlos55 @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @causenessus @kawaii-angelanne @thatonecroc @v1oletfury @lonesomedrive @nnnyxie @guitarstringed-scars @nbcvs @garfieldissocool @iheartpinky @mollyrolls @yogurtkags @yuminako @michivrse @19calicos @sunnyskiezzzz @bailey-reeds @staileykout @loverlunaire @iluvaquaphor @lllaw @alpha-mommy69 @acowboykisser @karasyuu @aquariarose @torkorpse @wave2mia @southernfrogprincesd @mfcherry (temporarily opening taglist, complete this form to be added)

[nyxi-pixie]

anyway skk's acting skills saving the world and also dazai saying they used to fake shooting him in the head all the time??? pm era skk did undercover missions tgthr CANON.

[sunderwight]

Cumplane where Airplane, in a fit of either bravery or insanity or positive or negative self-esteem (he's not totally sure) decides to cosplay as Luo Binghe and post the pictures online.

Of course, he doesn't do it as "Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky", he knows he has some questionable fans and doesn't really want to hand them a picture of his face. So he posts the images under one of the pseudonyms he uses for lurking around the comment section and social media tags. It's just a handful of images of him looking like the protagonist in his head, attempting to strike cool poses in a wig and some period clothes (he rented both).

The reception is... mixed. Airplane does not have abs, after all, nor a flawless complexion or much skill with makeup. He is fat, freckled, and awkward. The PIDW readership is not known for being particularly supportive either. In fact they're mostly a crab bucket of negativity and masculine posturing, so he gets a lot of mean-spirited commentary.

It's fine. Nothing he hadn't expected. Really solidifies for him that posting was a fit of madness, actually! What did he even expect? He's bracing himself for the worst when he sees that Peerless Cucumber, notorious hate-reader and defender of Luo Binghe's honor, has commented. Ah, shit. He's probably going to rip into Airplane for daring to sully his precious Binghe's reputation by dressing up like that, isn't he?

The comment is long, too. Fuck. Airplane's not sure if his self-esteem can take a comprehensive beating from the champion hater himself, but he's too curious not to look.

Shen Yuan, in the meanwhile, is just pleased that there has FINALLY been a Luo Binghe cosplayer who looks the part. Of course Luo Binghe wouldn't have exaggerated muscles, those are just a product of dehydration. Binghe spent most of his disciple years running around chopping wood and hauling laundry, and then later doing whatever he could to pack on the calories in order to make it through the Abyss. A hefty workman's build would only make sense for him, anything else would be nonsense. Airplane also described Luo Binghe as having a beautiful face, which Shen Yuan won't blame most cosplayers for not being able to just make happen, but a beautiful face doesn't mean "covered in so much makeup it looks like an anime character"! When would Luo Binghe have the time or inclination to put on makeup? A natural beauty with some inevitable blemishes would make more sense and be much more appealing, and this "Airplane Crashing to the Ground" (funny play on the author's name, Shen Yuan approves) has very pretty features! Everyone hating on this cosplay is just an idiot, the only actual problem is that his wig is poorly fitted.

So in true Peerless Cucumber fashion, he lays this all out.

This gets him embroiled in arguments with several other fans, who even accuse him of actually being the guy in the photos, claiming that there's no other reason why he would defend them. Shen Yuan doesn't care if people think that's him, because that's still the best Luo Binghe cosplay he's ever seen, but he doesn't want them doubting the sincerity of his arguments. So, he decides that the only reasonable thing to do is dress himself up in cosplay as well and then post the actual photos of himself.

While he'd like to dress up as one of Luo Binghe's allies like Mobei Jun, or maybe someone cool like Yue Qingyuan, he is too pedantic to think he could pull that off. Those guys are all strong warrior types, and Shen Yuan is a scrawny pale rich kid who looks like he'd probably lose a fight with a wet paper towel. The only characters he could plausibly pull off would be some of the more consumptive members of Binghe's harem and maybe, maybe, one of the weaker villains like Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan is NOT posting pictures of himself crossplaying to the central nexus of toxic masculinity itself, so... Shen Qingqiu it is!

Poor Airplane has to go sit and stare at a while for a while. Peerless Cucumber likes his cosplay. Peerless Cucumber, ardent defender of Shang Qinghua's sellout crappy main character mary-sue, thinks Airplane is good-looking enough to cosplay as him. And said so. Repeatedly. And then posted borderline thirst-trap villain cosplay of himself, inadvertently revealing in the process that he is hot.

What the. What. What?!

Anyway, Shen Yuan suggests that they attend the next convention both cosplaying together because Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky is supposed to be doing a meet & greet at that one, and wouldn't it be fun to go as a pair? And Airplane agrees before his brain catches up and he realizes that might present a problem.

[vauxxy]

SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

[itsswritten]

Threads of Hazel

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: Angst, blood, gore, injuries, hints of death.

Summary: A mating bond can connect those who have not even met, but can it save them too?

All that welcomed you was the cold, splodges of darkness filtering in your distorted vision.

Time seemed to stretch and contract in the void, a dizzying whirl of uncertainty. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Perhaps even longer.

No one was coming.

Why had you dared to hope? 

It was that gentle hazel glow that danced behind closed eyelids that had stirred within you. A glimmer of something that felt worthy of holding onto. Something to believe in.

But it must have been a trick of the mind, a cruel illusion born from the depths of insanity. 

No one was coming. No one ever would.

Maybe it was time to give up.

Time to surrender to the abyss, to let go of the tenuous thread that bound you to consciousness. As you teetered on the edge of oblivion, a fleeting sensation brushed against your senses, a whisper of familiarity.

You could smell it, faint and distant yet unmistakable. 

Night-chilled mist and cedar. 

It was that scent again. But like a wisp of smoke on the wind, it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving your senses grasping at shadows in the void.

Another wicked false sense of hope. Your mind must be creating delusions as it comes close to its end.

No one was coming.

It was time to let go.

***

This was the last location. And then they’d go home. 

Finally.

Azriel straightened his posture, rolling back his shoulders with a weary sigh. His wings unfurled and then tucked in against his back. He felt anchored, weighed down, by the silent burdens he was carrying. Even his shadows were slumped against him, as if they were also affected by his fatigue.

Azriel was utterly exhausted.

Despite Cassian's concerned pleas for him to stay behind and rest, Azriel couldn't bring himself to heed them. The ache in his bones and the weight of exhaustion pulling at his limbs were nothing compared to the thought of letting Feyre and his brother face this mission alone. 

He was Spymaster of the Night Court, he would fulfil his duties regardless of his own welfare. Regardless of the demons that weighed on him.

But these demons of his, had been plaguing him for months. Clear in the dark offset look of his gaze, and the purple shadows that sat beneath his eyes– he was a tormented soul. 

The aftermath of the war had etched its scars deep into Azriel. It was a sensation he was all too familiar with, the fallout of anguish and slaughter, had always defined his life. But in recent months, his demons seemed to be haunting him more fiercely than usual, their whispers echoing in the silence of the night.

For months, Azriel had been plagued by a recurring dream, a nightmare he assumed. Because as much as he tried he couldn’t recall the details. Each time he would wake from the depths of his sleep, finding himself drenched in a clammy sheen of sweat, his chest heaving attempting to draw in air as though a claw was clenched around his lungs. 

But that is all that would linger.

A feeling, no memory of what had caused this reaction within him. No clue as to why his body shivered in fear when he woke. 

It was a maddening cycle, the dream hovering just beyond the edges of his consciousness. Clearly haunting in nature and yet elusive. Each day felt like a puzzle with a missing piece, the memory of something crucial lurking just beyond reach.

So close, and yet not close enough. And it was driving him mad.

In a desperate attempt to break free from that grip, he tried avoiding sleep altogether. Yet, that feeling persisted. A restless energy coursing beneath his skin. It was relentless, a constant reminder– that he was forgetting something of importance.

And that feeling terrified him. Azriel had always known most, metalicus with his gathering of intel and information. Skilled in deciphering most people and their thoughts. But his own mind had him at a loss. He was no Spymaster of his own consciousness, simply a male who couldn’t sleep because of a nightmare.

Feyre, Cassian and Azriel had embarked on the final leg of their scouting mission. Despite the passing of time since the war's end, new pockets of Hybern loyalists still cropped up. The three of them were tasked with weeding out any lingering enemies. They had arrived at the last location Azriel’s intel had unearthed. A manor house on the skirts of the borders, had whispered rumours to be a base for some Hybern stragglers.

Derelict and crumbling, the building seemed to sag under the weight of its own deterioration, its once-majestic features now reduced to a skeletal framework of crumbling stone and splintered wood. The scars of fire marred its surface, meaning any valuable pieces of information that might have once resided within its walls had long since been burnt. Nothing but charred remnants and ash laid in their wake.

They had been too late, but they still had to check nonetheless. 

"All clear from up above," Cassian announced, his voice cutting through the silence as he landed beside Feyre, who had just reentered what remained of the foyer. She had meticulously scouted the left wing of the building, while Azriel had taken the right.

"Clear here too," Feyre confirmed with a nod, her eyes scanning the dimly lit space for any signs of danger.

Azriel soon joined them. His part of the search had also yielded no immediate threats. Cassian stood beside his brother, kicking some burnt debris with his foot while mumbling that it was a shame Hybern’s men had burnt this place. That it was such a waste. But Azriel wasn’t listening. 

Running his rough hand down his face, he let out a heavy sigh. A very clear tell that he was not okay. Something Azriel never showed. But he could feel it again, under his skin. Pinching at him. Something faint in this chest, weighed and sliced, only to subside to a dull ache.

He felt uneasy, as he had for months but there was something about this place that had shaken a deepness within his gut. Even his shadows fluttered nervously around him.

Maybe he would need to see Madja when he got home. Or maybe even relinquish his pride, and ask Rhys for help.

“Let’s get this checked over quickly, and then head home. It’s been a long mission,” Feyre spoke softly, offering both males encouraging smiles as she gestured towards the back of the building. 

Feyre’s eyes settled on Azriel, giving him a reassuring look. For a moment Azriel almost let her in, he had noticed the concerned looks and touches his family had given him. Growing more and more these recent weeks. Instead though, he nodded softly following the pair into the back room. 

They descended down grand stairs, into the lower levels of the house. Each step he took echoed through the empty remnants of the building, every move feeling heavier and weightier. They were hit with a chill when they reached the bottom. In the absence of natural light, Feyre conjured small orbs of illumination, casting soft, flickering light that bobbed across the dark space. The feeble glow revealed crumbling walls and decaying remnants of furniture, similar to what they had seen upstairs. 

The air was heavy with the scent of decay and mildew, but there was something metallic that lingered.

Blood.

They could smell blood. And there was something else too. Perfumy and chemical.

Faebane. 

Tensions rose as they all hesitated on their weapons, Azriel’s fingers gingerly hovering over Truth Teller as they stepped deeper within the space. Azriel's shadows flickered and swirled around him, their movements erratic and unsettling. They sensed something lurking in the darkness, something that sent a shiver down his spine.

There was this haunting apprehension washing over Azriel as if he had been here before. He couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite pinpoint why he didn’t feel like a stranger in this room.

As though he had been here many times before and yet this was still his first time here. That gnawing began deep in his gut again as his fingers gripped at his dagger.

He heard Feyre gasp loudly, before his eyes quickly scanned to see what her light had revealed. 

A figure, barely recognisable in the dim light, hung limply from chains fastened to the wall, body gaunt and ravaged by torture. Steel rods protruded from flesh, each one coated in the deadly poison of faebane, its sickly scent permeating the air.

Feyre's hands flew to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion. "Is she..." her voice trailed off, unable to voice the question that hung in her mind. She had to stop herself from gagging, as the contents of her stomach threatened to spill up her throat.

Even Cassian, veteran of countless battles and witness to nearly every injury imaginable, could not conceal the grimace that tugged at his lips. They all took a moment to absorb the sight before them, Azriel remaining motionless as he processed the scene. The sensation from earlier still persisted, but now intensifying as Azriel's gaze fell upon the steel rod protruding from the body's chest, a sharp pang jolting through his own.

Azriel staggered, overcome by a sudden wave of agony that seized him, breaths ragged and uneven. Feyre moved swiftly to his side, her hand offering comfort as she implored about his well-being, but his attention was elsewhere.

He wasn’t listening to Feyre, he was listening to his shadows.

Alive.

They were pulsating beside him, waiting for his orders, waiting to be released, begging to be released.

Azriel clutched his chest, mustering his strength to stand straighter, the pain subsiding for now as he took a hesitant step closer, 

Alive, alive, alive.

They whispered frantically this time, their urgency desperate.

Then Azriel saw it. The faint rise and fall of your chest, the subtle rhythm of your heartbeat still persisting against all odds.

Azriel's breath caught in his throat, his mind struggling to process the sight before him.

How? How were you still alive?

He wasn't the only one to notice. Cassian, wasted no time in springing into action, his voice commanding as he instructed them to release you from your chains, to get you the urgent help you needed. Both Feyre and Cassian, mentally calling to Rhys to be ready with Madja.

But Azriel was frozen in place, his senses honed in on the fragile thread of life that still clung to you. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched, his chest constricting with an overwhelming emotion.

He remembered. 

The sight before him wasn’t new. No, he had seen this. Seen you before. Felt this way every night for months. 

It was you whom he had been forgetting when he woke, the haunting echo of your desperate pleas vibrating in his mind. As he watched your body slump to the floor, freed from the chains that had bound you, Azriel struggled to push back the flood of visions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Visions of you, screaming, pleading for someone to help you.

Begging him to come save you.

How could he have forgotten? Your cries had pierced through the darkness, reaching out to him night after night.

A plea for salvation had rippled down the thread that seemed to connect you.

That thread.

That power that had subconsciously been connecting you both for months began to hum. Louder and brighter than anything Azriel had ever felt before.

It was a realisation, a confirmation to what he had been feeling for all that time. The golden warmth finally settled under his bones, consuming all his senses.

The mating bond.

You were his mate.

Something that was supposed to be so cherished, felt incredibly bittersweet as he watched your near dead form be pulled into Cassian’s arms.

He could feel your pain seeping through the bond, in fact that is what he had been feeling all those weeks. Your suffering leaking its way down to Azriel. Your pleas reaching him in the depths of his sleep.

He had a mate, finally.

And yet when he pulled gently on that faint thread that linked you to him, he could feel it fading.

Maybe he was too late.

***

A bright white light filled your vision, its touch lining your body slowly.

It was time. You were ready.

But just as you were on the brink of surrender, a golden warmth surged forth, wrapping around you like a protective shield. It tugged at you, pulling you back, refusing to let you go.

Not now, not yet. It spoke.

You resisted, clinging stubbornly to the edge of oblivion, but the pull of that hazel glow was undeniable.

Let me go. It hurts. I want to leave. Your soul cried towards the glow.

The hazel glow called out to you with a familiarity that stirred something deep within your soul.

I won’t let you go. Not now, not now that I have you. 

You couldn’t understand. You heard no voice, yet you felt every word.

I need you to fight, for yourself, for me, fight harder than you ever have done and I promise, after this, you will never have to fight again.

Why those words had some sway over you, you weren’t sure. But when your senses filled with that comforting scent you had smelt every night for the past months. It tethered you, anchoring you in the physical realm once more.

You could smell it again, night-chilled air and cedar.

You would hold onto it one last time.

***

Agonising screams filled the air as you writhed in pain on the makeshift table. Your body contorting, fingers clawing desperately at the gaping wound in your chest. Even in the dim light, Azriel could see the blood, thick and crimson oozing through your fingers as you had lurched up when Cassian had pulled the poison coated rod from your chest.

They had managed to remove some while you were unconscious, but the pain of this one, deep in your chest, had yanked you awake. How you were still alive none of them understood. Your injuries and body filled with enough faebane to kill a dozen fae. 

Your vision was still distorted. Just one of the injuries that ravaged your body. Only blurry shapes and figures filled your sight, and the lack of that sense only added to your fear. You couldn’t see who you were with, and although they didn’t sound like your captors, you didn’t know them. Didn’t trust them, and they were hurting you.

Even if they repeatedly told you they were helping you, their touch just brought more pain.

Madja flitted around Cassian, her hands hovering over the faebane-drenched wounds in a futile attempt to heal. Azriel stood at the head of the table, crouched down close as he firmly held one of your arms down. His shadows fidgeted uneasily around him, reflecting his inner turmoil. He had witnessed countless horrors in his life, some inflicted upon himself, but seeing his mate in such agony was a new level of torment. 

Feeling the pain trickling down the bond was tearing him apart.

“Stop, stop. Please…” Your plea was raw, your voice strained and hoarse from the agony that wracked your body. Azriel shuddered at your tone, your voice an echo of the nightmares that had haunted him for endless nights. 

He remembered it all now.

Each night, stumbling through darkness, trying to follow that golden bond to you. To your calls for him. And each time, he tried to figure out where you were, how to get to you, how to save you only to forget everything when he woke. His memory of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

“Rhys, there must be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation as he looked over your pained expression.

Feyre had diligently wiped the blood from your face, revealing slashes across your eyes. Remarkably, Madja seemed optimistic about their healing potential, though it was contingent upon your survival. He could feel your fear rippling down the bond, how frightened and in pain you were.

“Azriel…my power, I can’t penetrate her mind. The faebane has saturated her body, creating an impenetrable barrier,” Rhys responded. “I’m sorry brother…I’m truly sorry.”

Azriel couldn’t contain the small whispered sob that escaped him, his hand flying to his mouth to stifle the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

When Cassian had carried you from that dark basement, Azriel had acted on instinct, snatching you carefully from his brother's arms and holding you close. He whispered into your ear, a litany of apologies for not finding you sooner, for the pain you endured. He begged you to fight, to hold on for him. And had clung to that faint glimmer of hope as he returned to the safety of the River House.

Rhys had prepared a table for Madja to work on, but neither of them had anticipated the extent of your injuries.

Azriel had laid you on the table, still unconscious as he nervously watched Rhys and Madja try their best. Cassian and Feyre joining them moments later to help. 

It was then they had all realised.

He was fussing over you, whispering frantically and his shadows had been skittishly tracing over your body and injuries. So unlike the usual calm and collected Spymaster.

Rhys had pieced it together first. Simply stating She’s your mate into Azriel’s mind. Although it was clear by the heartbreaking expressions on his family's faces, they were all aware of the significance you held.

Azriel felt helpless, he couldn’t lessen your anguish, couldn’t heal you, couldn’t do anything.

Your sobbing started again, while you writhed under their strong hands. Pleading for release. Instead, they responded with reassurances and hushed whispers, and there was one voice in particular that washed over you in a familiarity you didn’t understand.

You fought against them, resisting their attempts to restrain you, but they were stronger. Another wave of agony rippled through you as they worked to remove one of the steel bars embedded within your flesh.

“Focus, Shadowsinger,” Madja's voice cut through the turmoil, her gaze landing on him firmly.

“The best course of action is to remove these rods and then attempt to drain the faebane from her system. Her resilience is remarkable, but she won’t survive much longer without intervention.” Madja was speaking directly to Azriel now, he took a second to look down at you crying on the table. Cassian and Rhys holding you down, while they calculated removing the next impalement. 

Madja continued, “If you want to help her, comfort her, support her.” The instructions were clear.

Feyre spoke then, glancing between your pained form and then to Azriel. “Use the bond Az, she needs you.”

With hesitation, Azriel’s rough hand found yours. Holding it tightly. Grooves and lines were etched into his weathered skin, speaking of his own past battles. Instinctively you wanted to recoil from the stranger's touch, but as you felt another pull on your torso you clutched down on his hand tightly. Another sob racking through you.

You felt him close to you now, his presence enveloping you as his warm breath brushed across your face. He was close to you. But you couldn’t make out who he was. Only a blurred version of a male with tan skin and dark hair. His other hand grazed your cheek, offering you a comfort you hadn’t felt in months. 

“I need you to fight just a little longer,” the voice was deep and warm, there was something about it or maybe it was the words he had chosen that felt familiar. 

“It hurts..” you whispered, another sob leaving your lips.

"I know, I know it does...but not much longer, okay? And then you can rest, I promise," he reassured you, igniting a flicker of hope within you despite the overwhelming pain.

Then Azriel pulled gently on the bond sending ripples of reassurance and comfort down the link. So much that he hoped to drown any pain out you were feeling.

You felt that golden warmth fill your chest, that same feeling that had pulled you from the white abyss many times before.

"It's you..." Your voice choked with emotion, the realisation dawning upon you.

Azriel stood there, uncertain of how to respond, but he watched as you turned toward him, your brows furrowed in concentration. Though your vision remained distorted, blurred colours danced before you, and amidst the haze of black and deep tan, you saw it—the faint glimmer of hazel.

"You came for me..."

"Always..." Azriel's voice cracked with emotion, his unwavering commitment laid bare.

With the last of the rods removed, your body bled profusely. Madja urged caution, while Feyre urgently advocated to cauterise the wounds. But with this amount of faebane, they grappled with the best course of action. Their voices melding in a flurry of noise.

A soft, sad smile graced your lips, your hand reaching out to touch the figure before you, feeling the contours of his cheek beneath your fingertips.

Blood began to fill your mouth, the red liquid seeping through your smile. The bitter taste staining your words. Azriel began to shake his head, clinging to that fading bond with all his strength. With a pained slowness, he felt your hand slip from his cheek, leaving a blood-stained print upon his skin.

"You were real..." Your voice was barely a whisper now, breaths shallow. "My thread of hazel."

a/n: ngl I don't love this lol, doesn't feel like my best work but sometimes it's better posted than perfect! I had originally planned for this to be longer, but writers slump has me in a chokehold so this is all I managed! Anywho, hope you enjoyed the angst! <3 - Lottie Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[o0sleepingdead0o]

Prepared for Anything Pt. 5

Part 4, MasterPost

Danny debated with himself if he was a bad person or not for letting this go on. He watched one of the crooks, Sack-head, (probably the boss of all these other goons) squeeze a few drops of a misting, green liquid into a beaker and swirl it together like the most dubious cocktail Danny had ever seen.

But. . .Danny was the only captive in this warehouse (with so many lab safety violations even his parents would make some changes) and could he really be considered a captive if he could escape anytime? It was so lucky for that raccoon guy(his eye bags were almost as bad as Danny’s when he’d been fighting ghosts nearly two days straight) that Danny had annoyed Sack-head enough that he’d kidnapped Danny instead of raccoon guy.

. . .Danny was bored. . .

. . .

And maybe hoping Orphan would show.

Anywho, he did not like the look of that syringe being dipped into what could only be poison(right? It was poison, right? It was glowing ominously, like ectoplasm met magical sewer water, it had to be poison). What was he planning on doing with that? Should Danny have destroyed this place as soon as he got here? But he’d been bored and curious and slightly anticipating Orphan’s arrival, that he’d left it alone. 

Hmmm. Sack-head was coming towards him, laughing like the insane cartoon villains he and Jazz would watch as kids. The really annoying ones.

Danny didn’t do needles.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to act, and he sat back comfortably in the chair he was chained to as shards of glass sprinkled onto the concrete floor below. Vigilantes descended from the ceiling and windows with such coordinated timing, that they just had to be teammates with earpieces or something.

Danny’s face lit up with a smile as he caught sight of Orphan nailing a guy in the head. He might’ve swooned just a little. Sack-head, ever a cliche villain if Danny’s ever seen one, called “Get them!”

Danny settled in to watch.

The warehouse exploded in noises of gunfire and fighting. With Danny at one end of the warehouse, he only saw the vigilantes a little with goons blocking much of the view, but he could tell the bats were holding their own. Their skills far outclassed the goons, but the goons had numbers and so the fighting went on.

It was Orphan he spotted in the rafters a couple minutes later, sneaking closer to him, and he couldn’t help the grin he flashed up at her. She was wearing a mask and he couldn’t tell if she returned it, though he’d like to think that she did. One of her soft smiles that hid a cunning and a perceptive mind, shifting eyes, taking in every detail of body language, knowing things he was saying without him having to say it—

He needed to get himself together.

She was moving even faster now, reaching for something in her belt—

There were pointy things grazing his neck.

Danny will be honest. . . .he’d known Sack-head was coming for him, probably to give the bats an ultimatum like he was doing now, threatening to. . .poke(?) Danny with his gross claws if they didn’t back off. . .but he’d. . .he was having too much fun playing damsel in distress, okay?! This was only the second time he’s seen Orphan in weeks, and as soon as this situation was cleared up, she’d be gone again, and he, admittedly, wanted to drag this out as long as he could. Even if only by a couple of seconds. It was bad. He knew this. . .but what else was he supposed to do when the source of his affections was right there, lurking in the rafters like some beautiful goddess of darkness and death? She was perfect and he didn’t know until he’d met her that someone could feel so right. 

He could take just a couple more minutes, he’d make sure no one got hurt(severely), it was fine.

Currently, the vigilantes were frozen. Besides Orphan, there was a big guy all in black like a goth vampire, Bruisy, Spoiler, Jason(AKA Red Hood), Red Robin, and the little one with the sword. He was so adorable. Like a vicious, blood-thirsty, snooty, little duckling with anger issues.

“Hey, guys.” Danny said to the frozen vigilantes, smiling good-naturedly to let them know he was okay. “Been a minute.” He gave a little wave, startling Sack-head.

“Wh—What happened to your chains?! Nevermind, not important right now.” He mumbled the second part to himself. “Surrender!” He ordered the vigilantes who ground their teeth and reluctantly dropped their weapons. Sack-head had his goons restrain them and soon they were bound on the floor.

Danny internally winced. Okay. Maybe he should stop this now. . .

. . .

But no one had noticed Orphan in the rafters. And he would really prefer not to out himself as not completely normal. He’s done an amazing job, he thinks, of helping out where he can without showing his powers. The vigilantes don’t suspect a thing. He’s just a regular dude who just happens to come across them sometimes with useful objects to help them out. Yes, totally normal.

“You! Watch the kid!”

One of the goons came and stood nearby, finger on the trigger of a gun, and barrel pointed at the floor. The claws slid away from Danny’s skin and Sack-head stalked to the workbench where he’d been playing with chemistry.

“Uh. . .Boss?” One of the goons said nervously. “Shouldn’t we. . .ya know. . .leave? They could have back-up coming.”

“In a minute.” Sack-head snapped. “The experiment will be ruined and I’ll have to start from scratch if it’s disturbed!”

Danny glanced to the bats who were either watching him, Sack-head, the goons, or assessing how to get out of the situation. Danny caught glances of Orphan moving above, but didn’t chance looking up in case the goons caught on.

“Whatchya buildin?” Danny asked cheerily, much to the aggressive Teletubbies’ continued astonishment. 

Sack-head grumbled. “Shut u—“ Sack-head paused when he whipped his head to him. “Where did you get that?”

Danny threw another popped kernel in his mouth and jutted his thumb at the goon standing guard over him. Said goon looked bewildered, casting his gaze around and pointing to himself questioningly. Danny nodded. 

“What ar—don’t feed him! He isn’t a guest!?”

“Gave me this water too.” Danny said before taking a sip from a plastic water bottle.

“What? No, I didn’t—“

Danny hummed disappointedly with a shake of his head. “Tsk, tsk, dissent in the ranks.”

“Boss! I didn’t—“

“Figs! You’re taking over for Gertrand!”

“Yes, Boss!”

Danny waved goodbye to a distressed Gertrand as his place was taken over by Figs. Popcorn crunched loudly between Danny’s teeth as he smiled broadly at his new guard. He held out his tub of popcorn. “Want some?”

Figs stared at him for a moment. Glanced back at Sack-head who wasn’t looking. And shrugged. As he reached in, Danny gasped loudly, quite convincingly, and pointed at the other end of the warehouse. “What’s that!?”

It was too easy. Every head turned and Danny pulled out a grenade and threw it. Smoke  exploded out, billowing across the floor and thick into the air. The next moments happened fast as the vigilantes had already freed themselves and had been watching for an opportunity. Orphan dropped from the ceiling. Bodies became obscured in the smoke, the sound of them thudding to the ground between fists exchanged and shouting. There were several screams. When the smoke cleared, the vigilantes were cuffing and knocking out the last of the goons. Sack-head was thoroughly bound and lying on the dirty floor.

He spotted Orphan cuffing a guy and he grinned wide, getting up from his chair and making his way over. She straightened when she saw him coming. He raised a hand. “Hey—“

Black suddenly obstructed his vision and Danny halted, looking up at the large man. “Hi. Nice. . .horns?”

He heard someone snicker. The goth vampire didn’t react at all.

“Who are you?” The guy gravelled and wow, Danny’s sort of worried about the guy’s throat. 

“Danny. Nice to meetchya. Water?” Danny pulled a sealed bottle from behind him. “You sound like you need it.”

Spoiler burst out laughing.

“Last name.” The guy grunted out and Danny frowned. The bottle lowered when the guy didn’t take it.

“Ya know, it’s common curtesy to give your name back.”

He wasn’t sure why the others kept laughing. The goth vampire didn’t say anything for a long minute.

“Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you still don’t know who Batman is!” Spoiler was leaned against a wall, cackling like her head might fall off. “I’m so glad I came.” She swiped a tear from her eye.

A hand appeared on Batman’s(?) arm. Danny turned to Orphan with a big smile.

“Hey!”

“Hi.”

“Uhh. . .nice to see you—Y’all—uh—All of you. . .”

She nodded.

“Orphan—“

“Shush.” Orphan shushed the man with a pat on his arm, not straying her eyes off Danny and he shifted a bit on his feet. “Friend.”

Batman grunted. Apparently that meant something cause Orphan said “Stop” and stepped forward. Danny stepped back to make room for her.

When he spoke again, Batman’s voice came out a tad deeper and agitated. It was hard to spot. 

There was something familiar about the way Batman postured. Danny looked him up and down, trying to figure it out; the crossed arms, the vaguely intimidating looming, the angry scowl like Danny had run off with his daughter in the middle of the night—

“He’s an un—“

“Ohhhhh!” Danny realized with a finger. “You’re her bat-dad.”

The laughing stopped. The vigilante’s masked eyes blew wide.

Ha. Danny was right.

He restrained himself from reaching out for a handshake. He had a feeling Batman wouldn’t take it.

“Riiight, okay, I get it now. Last name’s Fenton.” Danny looked down as he ticked off a finger. “I’m twenty-three, I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs, I have a stable job, a degree in mechanics and engineering, umm. . . Oh! I have my driver’s license, though that might not be vaild here. Uh, I’m from Illinois, I know first-aid—“ He was running out of fingers. “—and how to do water rescues, I’ve never committed a crime of my own will—“

“What?”

“—and I’ve never crashed through any buildings with my car.”

“. . .huh???” Bruisy asked.

“Oh. Yeah, well. Back home, people got nervous when I said I got my driver’s license and I like to make it clear my sister taught me to drive and not my parents. Anyway—“ He said to Batman. “—I just wanted you to know you don’t gotta worry about me. . .if. . .we ever hang out. . .?” Danny said the last part to Orphan shyly and rubbing at the back of his neck. She nodded and he beamed, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve committed crimes against your will?”

Ah. “Well, I should get going. You guys probably have a lot of vigilante-ing to do and saving children from fires and all that.”

“Ans—

“Not to mention these guys.” He gestured vaguely at all the tied up goons.

“You—“

“Yep, I can tell you’re itching to get going.” Danny began to back away. “We’ll talk later?” He asked Orphan.

“Find you on roof next time.”

Danny smiled at her.

“Dan—“

Danny froze and pointed wide-eyed behind the bats. “That guy got free!”

Everyone but Orphan whipped around to look and Danny dashed out of there. He couldn’t believe that’d worked a second time.

Tag List:

@okami-love, @whataspectaclebear, @thomasdimensor, @observerblock23, @stargazer-luna, @lazerswordweilder, @random-sparks-98 , @spam-extemporal, @theo-the-raven, @felicityroth , @jklpopcorn , @nontitlenym , @wanderwithwings, @8000fangirl

[hmslusitania]

prompt number 2, 8, 15, or 35 for TimKon or something with arrowfam (tv or comics lol)? Or whichever prompt that's calling to you! :)

I went with 8: "Am I close?" "Not even a little."

The thing is, Kon shouldn’t really be surprised. Tim, who hates surprises but keeps secrets like it’s his first language, is exactly the sort of person who — given a modicum of leeway — would plan some insane surprise situation for his boyfriend without even letting Kon have a hint about what it is.

“You scheduled us all a shift in the Justice League’s old moon base because you want to see what happens when Bart tries to run at reduced gravity,” Kon guesses, poking the bare strip of skin between the hem of Tim’s shirt and waistband of his boxer briefs. Tim is sitting up in bed and hunched over his laptop, focusing heavily on some case details for his latest Gotham bullshit situation. Kon is pretty much immune to random body aches, but his back twinges in sympathy the longer he observes Tim’s posture.

“No, but I do want to do that now,” Tim says, shifting a little when Kon pokes him again.

“Why won’t you just tell me?”

“And ruin the surprise?” Tim asks, twisting to look at him. The new posture does nothing to help the state of his back, and Kon can’t look at it anymore without intervening. He snatches Tim around the waist, uses his TTK to put Tim’s laptop safely on the floor, and hauls him back to bed.

“Can I get a hint?” Kon asks, when he’s got Tim’s spine properly straightened out and Tim’s face mashed against his chest.

Tim hums, considering. “No,” he decides finally.

“You convinced Wonder Woman to let us borrow her jet, so we can go to that crazy mall out in the middle of space where they sell everything and relive our wasted youth as ‘hoodlums who lurk in malls’,” Kon guesses, grabbing the two Gotham goons trying to rob the bank he’d been assigned by the collars of their jackets and hauling them up into the air while they scream.

“If you’re going to operate in Gotham, please observe Bat-comm protocol,” Oracle scolds mildly through the earpiece Kon had been talked into.

“I was never—” Tim starts, and is interrupted by the sound of his bo staff hitting the goons at the bank he’d been dispatched to. Kon thinks this is probably moor coordination than the general Gotham goon squad typically gets up to — robbing a dozen banks simultaneously in broad daylight because they’d been under the impression there was just the one daylight vigilante — but he’s not the detective here and his only real job is to help prevent the robberies. “—a mall hoodlum.”

“That’s just because the one mall in Gotham that wasn’t constantly getting carpet bombed by fear gas when we were growing up didn’t have a game store,” Steph pipes up in the comms.

“Ooh! Is that the surprise? You’re finally gonna teach me Dungeons and Dragons?” Kon asks.

“Kids, as much as I respect both games that help you hone skills like improv and storytelling and math, and the joys of young love,” Black Lightning says over the comms. “Maybe you can work on planning your date night later?”

“Sorry,” Tim and Kon reply, and Kon goes back to delivering his set of goons to the waiting members of the GCPD Oracle had dispatched to collect them.

Kon doesn’t reconnect with Tim until they’re done stopping all the robberies, the Bats, the Outsiders, and Kon pitching in because he’s in town. He meets him on a rooftop where Tim’s perched on a gargoyle to observe his city, and he smiles when Kon extends the bag of Bat Burger takeout his way.

“Did you get the fries Jokerized?” Tim asks.

“No, that felt like it was in really bad taste,” Kon replies.

Tim hums and goes a little pink beneath his mask. “Actually, they’re pretty good, and since even Jason’s said that, it’s just one of those weird facts we have to live with.”

“If you guys go into Bat Burger in costume, do they give you discounts?” Kon asks, unwrapping his own burger. “Like, I think the Flashes all have free admittance to the Flash Museum, or would if it was possible to keep them out of it.”

“They don’t give us discounts, but they do look at us kinda funny if we order things besides the menu items named for us,” Tim says.

“This city’s insane, right, like, you do know that,” Kon says. It’s kinda supposed to be a question, but he can’t quite make it one since it’s such an obvious statement.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, with nearly a fond sigh about it.

They eat their burgers in companionable quiet for a moment, and then Kon prods Tim in the knee. “So was I close? Game night?”

Tim grins at him. There’s a sesame seed stuck at the corner of his mouth, and it shouldn’t be cute, but Kon is uselessly gone on him, so it is anyway. “Not even a little.”

--

“Someone crafted a superpowered rage room and we’re going to—”

“Nope.”

“The Watchtower needs new permanent crew for a six-month shift—”

“It has nothing to do with space.”

“Well, that’s — wait, is this blindfold lead-lined?”

“Did you just try to x-ray vision your way into a hint?” Tim demands, and stops walking. Kon, guided only by Tim’s hands on his shoulders, also lurches to a stop.

“Well, yeah,” he says.

“Cheater,” Tim scolds.

“I already agreed not to use my super-hearing or my super smelling, you’ve gotta give me something,” Kon complains.

Tim mutters something under his breath that might be “I give you plenty,” but Kon’s pretty sure it’s not the time for that kind of talk.

“Step up,” Tim instructs, and Kon places his foot on a wooden stair that creaks under his weight. “Another one.”

The second stair creaks too, in a way that’s deeply familiar, and Kon knows before Tim says that there’s one last step onto the porch, and that really begs the question of why Tim’s dragged him to the Kent household as part of the surprise.

Tim circles around him and pushes open the front door, pulling Kon inside by the hand.

“Surprise!”

The call comes from more than just Ma and Pa Kent, and when Kon pulls down the blindfold, the living room is packed with people. Bart and Cassie and Cissie are all there, and Clark and Lois and Jon and Kara, and right in centre, Krypto, who launches himself to lick Kon’s face as soon as Jon lets go of his collar.

“We know it’s not really your birthday,” Ma says, nudging Krypto aside so she can hug him. “But it’s the anniversary of the day we got you back.”

“Kind of like a re-birthday,” Tim suggests, squeezing Kon’s hand.

“Okay,” Kon says, choking on the lump in his throat, which the rest of the group takes as an excuse to hug him as well.

“Sorry it’s not space,” Tim says when Ma squeezes him one last time and then goes to cut apart the cake she’s made.

“That’s okay,” Kon promises, kissing him even though his face is covered in Krypto’s slobber and even though Tim makes a face about that. “This is way better.”

[alilbatflies]

Just Cake #3

by popular demand (2 people asked) (hello) (thank you for commenting! it means a lot even if I don't manage to answer perhaps)

Part 1, Part 2

... ... ...

“Look who we’ve caught,” an entirely too sweet voice said. “Well, aren’t you two adorable?”

The villain was growling now. A low, guttural sound which the henchman has only heard in life-threatening situations, usually forced out by the desperate struggle of survival. Now it was a promise of violence, get closer I dare you, a promise of slaughter and doom.

They tried to angle their head to glimpse whoever had the honour of experiencing such a threat.

The person shuffled to the side, no doubt measuring them in turn. They were all cloak and magic glowing through two bright orange eyes.

Supervillain.

They were so screwed. Utterly fucked.

The supervillain measured them both.

They seemed… wary. Ridiculous, given that the two potential threats were trapped in a power-suppressing net. Ridiculous, given that the supervillain was a supervillain for a reason—spectacular amount of magical skill and all.

Although the henchman could admit they wouldn’t want to be facing their villain’s growling and claws either. Even through a net. There were holes.

“You’re not superhero.”

The confusion triggered by such statement startled the villain out of their instinctual reaction. They stopped growling, although they were still baring their teeth.

“I was not expecting anyone else,” the supervillain said. “Perhaps that pesky hero who lurks around them sometimes, but not a fellow criminal.”

Fellow criminal, huh? The henchman assumed the supervillain was trying to convince them that they’re all on the same side. Perhaps the idea of a potential furious threat unsettled them, no matter the current cage around it.

Well, it wasn’t like they particularly wanted to stay in the bloody uncomfortable trap.

“In that case,” the henchman said, “I suppose you wouldn’t mind getting us out of the net?”

“Should I?”

…the henchman had assumed wrong.

While they probably were on a similar kind of boat regarding their criminal activities, the supervillain hadn’t had any proper motivation to let them go. They weren’t especially close or anything.

And yet, still standing there. Still watching the two criminals swinging in their net as if they somehow held the answers to the universe.

The supervillain had options.

First, they could let them out. The best outcome but severely unlikely.

Second, they could close a bargain of some kind. I’ll only let you out if… which was less favourable, but it would still mean getting out relatively quickly.

Third, they could leave them trapped.

It occurred to the henchman that while there was little chance of them making it out then, the supervillain couldn’t possibly know that. Their villain’s powers were speculated on so many levels it had led to more confusion than clarity in the industry. That could work out in their favour.

The henchman was no mind reader. They couldn’t possibly know how much of a threat did the supervillain consider them at the moment. Nevertheless, the supervillain was still standing there.

Nevertheless, the supervillain didn’t seem entirely convinced leaving them hanging was their best option.

They could work with that.

They decided to play their cards according to their instincts. The villain still hovered over them, a display of teeth and taunt like an arrow ready to take flight and slaughter. Their most wild card, a whisper of carnage. A terrifying ace.

The henchman loved them so.

“You had no quarrel with us before this… incident,” the henchman said. They focused on keeping their tone light, conversational. “Although, now that the situation has changed, perhaps you’re excited to find out how we settle the score, hm?”

Their look met the orange eyes. The supervillain probably found them crazy, threatening from within the containment. They felt insane. They felt the thrill run through them.

“Let us go, so the beast doesn’t have to claw its way out.”

On cue, the villain growled.

The supervillain hesitated.

It was a brief and finely concealed blip of emotion, barely slipping past the dangerous façade. Surely the villain couldn’t be so terrifying as to startle them. And yet.

The supervillain drew a smile, entirely too sharp in its flawless elegance. “Of course.” Then they proceeded to pull shears out of nowhere.

The henchman tried not to be impressed too bad. They hadn’t had much time to ponder about the practicality of the supervillain’s pockets relevant to such level of preparedness, since the net was cut down. There was little regard for the fact they would hit the ground.

The henchman couldn’t care less about the fall as their magic roared to life inside them. It pushed along their bones and crashed into their skin from within. It settled then, nesting in their body like a monster in its cave.

Belatedly, they realized the villain shielded the back of their neck and head from impact with their arm.

There was absolutely no dignified way to get out of the tangle of ropes.

Once the henchman managed, they realized the villain was standing over them protectively, placing themselves between them and the supervillain.

The villains stared each other down. It seemed a stalemate.

“I appreciate you understand plans fall through sometimes,” the supervillain said. “It was not my intention to harm you.”

“As displayed,” the henchman noted quietly.

The villain considered this. They nodded in acknowledgement.

The henchman itched to get out of another’s territory. They were sure the villain didn’t want to linger either.

“Could you give us directions from the forest?” they asked. “We would dislike to meddle with any of your other… endeavours.”

The supervillain tilted their head.

“What I mean is…” The henchman pulled the net up from beneath their feet, holding it out. “We wouldn’t want to mess with your handiwork.”

The supervillain grinned as they took the cluster of ropes, a little feral, a little genuine. They did point the two in a certain direction. They tipped their head at the villain before seemingly dissolving back into the forest and vanishing.

“Bloody hell.”

The villain inclined their head. Then they turned and started away. “Luckily not.”

“Luckily not,” the henchman huffed in echo, following short behind. “Extremely insightful as always, boss.”

“Hm.”

They luckily didn’t stumble into any more traps on their way back.

The henchman was so not sleeping that night.

...

Part 4

[dipplinduo]

CHAPTER 10 NWBFBSBW SOBS

never in my life have i been so invested in a fic AND I MEAN IT (full range of emotions fr but mainly SCREAMING IN MY PILLOW) read it yesterday and i plan on rereading untill new chapters com out 🙏 your writing skills are INSANE!!!!!! CHEFS KISS FINALLY SOME GOOD F FOOD

Im no good at drawing humans but other peeps beautiful works inspired me to break my artblock!!!!!

*retreats into the lurking shadows*

OHHHHH MY GOSH.

THIS IS BY FAR THE BEST WAY TO START MY DAY STOP IT. OH MY GOSH THE APPLIN LOVE. I AM SO SO SO HAPPY THE FIC GIVES YOU THAT MUCH JOY AND FRANKLY I AM FEELING SIMILAR LEVELS WITH THIS FANART THANK YOU SO MUCH

[eobe]

Dank Farrik ☝️

Welcome to a glimpse of AuDHD everyday chaos 🦉Scroll on or get rambled 😅☕️

Today is draft day, but not a lucky one 😭🫠

Do you know those days, when it’s so tempting to abandon every securing structure and just cave in the lurking chaos? 👀

I’ve got a really great picture in my mind and it’s so clear and beautiful, but I can’t realize it, because lack of drawing skill. This sucks so much! 😭

How to draw walking people? Top view walking towards, something around dimetric perspective? I want to screech and hide under my blanket! 🦉Frustration tolerance depleted.

And the worst: Either I lost my ability to google properly or there are no drawing tutorial, studies or templates for this specific motion perspective and if I found some, they were always not the motion I look for or the angle doesn’t fit or aaargulklkjjfhfgdkk! 😱 Kriffin‘ details

I‘m barely an inch from going insane with tempting solutions my brain offers which were absolutely able to ruin me 🤯

I can almost see myself litering caf, green tea and energy drinks through the night, digging myself into 3D modelling only to build my figures and my scene to get that karking epic perspective palpable and out of my head where tempting and sparkling ideas like this tend to 💣 because it’s so beautiful and out of my reach yet aaah 😩

… and oooh I can see where this would lead, I know myself! 👻 After I learned Blender I‘d render that scene into life after some weeks or even months of no sleep welcome to adhd hyperfixation and hyperfocus phases where eating, sleeping and other human things are absolutely overrated. Not that there would be a choice naah and then after all not even recognizing myself anymore I’d realize I could do magic now … 😱 By accident because I only wanted to see the scene … 🙈 I only wanted to draw … 🦉☕️☕️☕️ Lost. Out of energy. But badass. But out of energy. This is so stupid 😂 It would be badass to do 3D and animation aaargdfkljd 😱

👀

So, quiet now brain☝️ It’s highly probable, that there’s a really simple solution for this. I‘ve got a feeling that I find something tomorrow after I got some sleep. Something I can’t see at the moment, because I‘m stuck and tired 🧘🏽‍♀️✨

… 🤪 Or I learn Blender, ZBrush, Animate, After Effects, Premiere and everything else to realize every missing scene I ever wanted to see and I can die happliy dopamining ✨aaaaah ☕️☕️☕️😂🫠

… No ☺️ I‘m a reasonable adult, I‘ll deal with it tomorrow 😅

Sigh 🤣🤷🏽‍♀️

[sparkmender]

For the hive au, is a mostly peaceful compared to the OG lore? Is there crime and civil unrest? Whether between the courts or factions or etc

In the immediate area of Hive Iacon (and Megatron’s remaining Swarm loyalists who have come to stay), conflict is quite low now that Megatron and Optimus have settled things between them and Megatron has been appointed Lord Protector of the Hive. They have joined together out of a need for shared resources and, on Optimus’ part, an urging from the Matrix and his inner court to secure his position as the new Prime (potential-to-be Magnus) of the Hive. As Sentinel had any other Prime potentiates killed before they could emerge from their second cocoons, and then fell to sickness, Optimus was in a very precarious situation that could have led to Iacon facing colony collapse or poaching from other Hives— prior to becoming more isolationist under Nova Prime and Sentinel Prime, Iacon had long been held in high regard for their gifted magic adepts and skillful healers (as well as a carefully maintained library due to the work of elder Alpha Trion) and many would be glad to take them and their knowledge in, should their community bonds crumble.

Tensions had been very high between Iacon and the Swarm in the past under Sentinel Prime’s leadership, with Sentinel as the aggressor rather than Megatron— for the most part Megatron had been very, very busy trying to quell infighting and claw back territory after his successful coup and duel to the death against Megazarak, the former leader of the Swarm and his and Galvatron’s sire. (Galvatron had previously been excommunicated and thrown out into the wastes of the Kaoni desert for her own attempt on Megazarak in Megatron’s grubhood, as she was considered mad due to her Seer abilities— the Swarm has a long history of distrust and disbelief in such things— and it would have been ‘dishonorable’ for Megazarak to kill her because of her insanity.) At current time the Swarm exists in name only; there are several different troupes and factions within that have splintered away for various reasons since that clash between Megatron and Megazarak, and the Swarm’s once ironclad grip on the Tarnish mountain range and surrounding territory (stretching from the Kaoni desert to roughly west of Tesarus) has been thoroughly broken, leading to infighting, banditry, and other conflicts.

Notable among these splintered groups are the Wyld Hunt as led by Tarn, the bastard offspring of Megatron, and Overlord’s strange wandering Circus. There’s also a bunch of idiots calling themselves the Scavengers? We don’t know what their deal is, but they’re human friendly and pretty bad at being mercenaries.

The Order of the Path are wandering pathguides and wayfinders of all sorts, who travel among various Hives and settlements to share news and, occasionally, guard caravans of travelers. Drift is one such pathguide, and travels between Iacon and Caminus regularly. Beyond the threat of ambush and bandits for large groups of travelers, there are large Voiceless (nonsentient) predators to contend with, ranging from those who are opportunistic to those who specifically predate on Fae and their kin.

There’s also the Court of Vos, which is constantly in conflict with itself, everyone around it, anyone who’s ever been tangentially involved, and probably you as well just because. Vos itself sounds constantly as if it is in argument with itself, given the concentration of the wasp population within. You will hear the buzzing before you even realize you’re within fighting distance.

The Coastal fae and their kith have very loose arrangements with each other and are typically solitary or form small pods with poorly defined territory claims. When conflict arises (which rarely occurs, as the beach dwellers and cave-lurks keep to themselves), issues are brought to Shockwave to mediate, as all are in agreement that Shockwave is the most impartial and sensible. This has nothing to do with the fact that he is also the largest. We swear.

As for the Kaon Market, it’s only a crime if you get caught. Don’t get caught.

[worldsokayestmagicalgirl]

This one is 100% @captain-cappie 's fault

Words were spoken, and my fate was sealed.

I'm very on board with the idea of both of them having previous partners in this AU and having both partnerships ending badly. They were both 2 star meisters that were needed for a mission who were skilled enough to resonate for this one job, but were so successful together they stayed on together as permanent partners after it. There's still little sore insecurities that lurk under the surface of their partnership, but Aqua is nothing of not no nonsense 🤣

I had originally planned to have the kids in another picture for this one but I think it's gonna have to wait till October is over before I revisit. But I'm so excited to add it to the collection!

As always, Aqua : @captain-cappie

be sure to check out my partners in insanity @clovedown & @captain-cappie

Let's put these idiots in SITUATIONS ✧*｡٩(๑˙╰╯˙๑)و✧*｡

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs which are told through unusual formatting

a hat fashioned from tin foil by discowing (ameliafromafairytale) nightwang @karakurachou – 8 hours ago jason todd is alive and faked his death so he could become robin: a conspiracy theory thread

Batfam conspiracy theories meet social media.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

occam's razor by BeatriceEagle r/SolveIt • Posted by u/Phalangefier 3 days ago

It's the fifth anniversary of Jason Todd's death

Today is the fifth anniversary of the day that Jason Todd and Sheila Haywood were murdered, so I thought I would post a write-up unifying all of the information that we have on the case. There have been a lot of posts about Jason over the years, but this case is so weird and has so many branches to it, I don’t think that anyone’s ever compiled all of them in one place.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Send to All by kerosceene I, _______________, hereby acknowledge that this form represents my wishes should I contract phytoaphrodisiac-induced delirium (hereafter referred to as “PAID”) during engagements with or while apprehending Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley (“Poison Ivy”).

-

The bats have a sex pollen release form. Because of course they do.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Batman Hits the Red Hood with His Batarang by redboard (Ink) Batman hears whispers of a new crime lord in Gotham, trailing blood and carnage in his wake. The Red Hood is skilled and ruthless, and quickly seizes control of the drug trade, seemingly for his own ends.

Red Hood, after years of planning, your moment has finally arrived. Why have you come?

An "Under the Red Hood"-themed tabletop game, for one or two players. You will need colored dice (or a dice roller), your imagination, and, optionally, a friend who has as many feelings about Jason Todd as you do.

(Yes, I'm serious. This is not a bit.)

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

#Justice4Gotham by Havendance So, uh, Hi. I’m still alive. I didn’t die of the clench (barely). I’m kind of sorry for disappearing on you for so long but life just got really busy and I didn’t really have time to chase after Batman and Robin anymore. I’m not sure how many of you guys still check this blog, but if you are out there, I’ve got a big favor to ask you all.

On June 27th at 7:03pm, Gotham City was hit by the worst earthquake the east coast has seen in, like, ever. And now we could really use your help.

[Or: When you run out of things you can do, there’s always yelling at the world from the blog you made when you were ten.]

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

Night Blogger by AnonDude There's a blogger catching the internet's attention with a long, insane, and twisted tale. The problem is, he seems to persist under the impression that he's just a random anonymous blogger looking for advice on his relationship. That's all.

QuillsNFrills: I like your first entry! But I'm a little unsure as to what genre you're aiming for here; it seems a little confused and all over the place. It's clear you want it to be something more lurking under the guise of a simple relationship blog, but is that…mystery? Thriller? A dark romance? Sci-fi/fantasy/magic (with the…whatever is going on with BF's head)? I'm also kind of wondering if I'm reading right that maybe there are hints this isn't a reliable narrator? Maybe that will continue…eyes. Anyway, keep up the good work! – April 15, 2023 –

BlueberryPancakes: this […] only continued to get MORE wild, and despite the "clearing up"…I still don't know whether to believe […] it's supposed to be an obvious red herring and this is all an Experience^tm, or whether this is really OP's life. – April 17, 2023 –

M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

A preliminary examination of potential significant others (last saved by T. Drake) by Betty, Elf_Herself, Petra thefourthvine wrote, "I want the story where someone sits down and thinks that, and lists every single person in the canon (probably in some kind of database, with numerical codes and assigned weights for each category and stuff) and weighs all the pros and cons and finally, after a lot of careful deliberation, selects a candidate for the position of Significant Other."

This is the first step in that process.

G | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | No Relationships

[achaotichuman]

A Field Of Dahlias

Notes:

Finally free of the Mountain and Amarantha's grip on the people. The Spring Court is scrambling to get back to normal. With their wedding not far away, Tamlin is struggling to keep his Court from falling into disarray. When he starts to get sick things begin to take a turn for the worse and worser.

When Feyre is taken by the Lord of Night, it doesn't look like anything it can get any worse. With his life experience Tamlin should know that things can always get worse.

Request- Do you think you could write about dahlia in this context: https://www.tumblr.com/praetorqueenreyna/737196004108058624?source=share, hopefully featuring deadbeat at first mom feyre, horrified stepdad rhysand, tired of it all tamlin and a supportive lucien/eris.

Anyway here is this little fic. Also here is part 1, part 2, and part 3 if you missed 'em. You can also read this on Squidgeworld, or AO3.

Also! I am now realizing I have strayed entirely from what the original prompt was, which was basically the exact same events of Acomaf and Acowar just with the added inclusion of Tamlin being pregnant with Feyre's kid. Buuuut this is my story and I shall do as I please.

Plus if I rewrote the entirety of the Acomaf and Acowar books this would be unnecessarily long and I would lose all interest, so in an effort to keep things fun I have pretty much scraped the entire plot of Acowar and made it my own.

I think my ideas are more fun anyway. But when I tell you this plot is was deeper than I meant it to be, I mean it.

Anyway enjoy!

Tag- @sonics-atelier (Anyone who wants to be on the tag list, feel free to ask me!)

____________________________________________________

The next few days passed, each seeming longer than the rest. Meetings with Hybern that lasted hours, and keeping the mask glued to her face. 

Lucien often found his way to the former human, snarking with him in the corner, sharpening his tongue and finding every way to irk the General. 

Though it seemed Jurian entertained his game with insane eyes and a twisted grin. Lucien met it with skilled words and smart replies. Watching them dance around each other as they practically sized the other up was entertaining in it’s own way, Tamlin supposed. 

Tamlin found herself coming into contact with the woman in robes more often than she liked. 

Lady Amber, with her cunning mouth and smart eyes, she was a threat. A cruel snake in tall grass. Always lurking around the corners in the shadows. Watching with slanted eyes, everytime she opened her mouth Tamlin expected to see a forked tongue. 

After a meeting, Lucien remained engaged with Jurian in whatever talk they had found. Jurian watched him with a cocked head and eyes that barely blinked. He looked as though he had lost it. 

Tamlin slipped away from the meeting. A murmured goodbye to the Lords and an apology that she would not stay later. Hybern had brushed her off as he spoke to another Lord, and Tamlin was too tired to snap for a response. 

Passing through the cold hallways, she kept her eyes ahead, watching the crawling shadows. A chill ran down over her skin, showering her in goosebumps. 

As she walked over wooden floors. Dark green dress whispering around her ankles, she almost wished she had just grabbed Lucien, or someone to escort her. 

She hated this place. Hated every room, every reminder of the woman who had made her life hell for so long. 

But that would be stupid, she knew her way back to her room, and didn’t need someone to hold her hand. 

But as she turned a corner, Tamlin nearly jumped. 

Lady Amber stared at him, with her cruel icy eyes. Tamlin took a quick step back, one hand subconsciously going to her womb, the other falling to her thigh, where a concealed dagger laid. 

“Lady Amber, I didn’t expect to see you.” Tamlin told her. 

“Just taking a breath of fresh air.” She smiled. Even her voice sent chills down her spine. 

“I see,” Tamlin replied, “Well, you enjoy yourself, I must be getting to my rooms.”

But as she went to walk past her, Lady Amber chimed, “Leaving so soon? Come Lady, we have barely spoken these past few days.”

Tamlin swallowed and said, “Well, we have been quite busy.”

She went to step away again, but Lady Amber moved smoothly to block her way to her rooms. 

Shit. 

Tamlin breathed a tad quicker than she needed to, and Amber noted that she cocked her head, a serpent's smile on her face, “Well, neither of us are busy now. Please, let us talk.”

Tamlin swallowed, another action she noted, shit, “About?”

“How far are you along?” Amber asked, tilting her head to the other side slowly. 

She considered not answering, but ended up replying, “Five months.”

“Halfway then,” She murmured. 

The world seemed to darken, Tamlin took a step back, feeling like something was pressing in around her lungs. Constricting her breathing, “Yes.”

“That is very interesting, and the father, or mother, is the Cursebreaker? Right?” She took another step forward. 

“Yes.” Tamlin let the agitation shine in her voice, “Now, if that is all you have to ask, I will be on my way-”

“Oh but darling, I have more questions,” She said, reaching out a hand, her sleeve pulled back to reveal a bracelet of emerald. Her fingers brushed Tamlin’s arms, and she reeled back. 

“Please do not touch me.” She insisted. 

“Oh I apologise, my dear, but please do answer all my questions.” She prowled closer and Tamlin felt like prey caught in a hunting trap. 

“I can answer any more questions in the meeting tonight.” Tamlin said, “Now please, I will be going.”

She pushed past Amber and headed in the direction of her room, wanting to sprint, to run, to go, go, go-

Amber grabbed her arm with such a force, bruises would surely be left. 

Tamlin screamed, but a palm was slapped over her mouth. 

She tried to summon claws, her magic fought to the surface. Screaming and crying as it raced to protect its favoured son. 

But Tamlin cried out again as her magic slammed into a wall, preventing it from escaping. It shoved and pushed, and screamed and it felt like he was exploding under her skin. 

Her eyes had screwed shut but when she opened them she saw the bracelet on Amber’s wrist glowing golden. 

“My daughter has told me much about you, Spring Lord. And the power this child could have.” She whispered cruelly. 

Tamlin struggled against her arms, but Amber was deceptively strong. And she was feeling weaker and weaker. 

She laughed, “Emeralds hold much power from my family. Ours are enchanted, my dear.”

Tamlin tried to scream, tried to run, but Amber pulled her closer. 

“The birth of your child will fuel the magic of Spring for centuries to come. To harvest that energy,” Amber's hand slipped down to take away the dagger from Tamlin’s thigh, “We would be unstoppable.”

No. 

No, no, no, no. 

She laughed, and that dagger began to slide over whatever bare skin she could find, “Even your blood holds power, it sings-”

“Amber!” A voice shouted. 

Tamlin cried with relief as Amber quickly threw her to the floor. Barely catching herself on her knees. 

Shit.

Dear Gods-

Looking up, Tamlin saw a familiar face. 

Jurian was leaning against the wall. Eyes wide, mouth curled into a grin, face twisted with insanity. Tamlin couldn’t exactly blame him if he had lost himself, afterall he had been an eye ring not just a few months back. 

“Jurian.” Amber said smoothly, “To what do we owe your company?”

She didn’t keep the sneer out of her voice. The man flicked his eyes between Tamlin and her, tilting his head to the side, looking like a cunning cat. 

“The King has sent for you two.”

Amber straightened at that. Eyes glancing down to Tamlin. Burning with such an intensity Tamlin heard the words she spoke, ‘Don’t tell him a thing that happened here.’

As if the King of Hybern would care if she had been trying to kill her. 

“And why would that be, Jurian?” Amber asked bluntly. 

His grin twisted into something insane once more, “Why the delightful Cursebreaker has come.”

She was going to be sick. She was going to be sick all over the floors, or pass out, or a combination of the two. Tamlin raced to stand beside Jurian, and Amber maintained a leisurely pace behind them. 

Her heart was thundering against her ribcage. Desperately wanting to run. To hide, to leave immediately. But there was nothing to be done. A predator at her back and an insane man at her side, there was no telling what either of them could, or would, do. 

They went through the dark tunnels, and then finally, they were opening the large, heavy doors to the throne room. 

Amber then strutted ahead and Tamlin sighed with relief as she was finally in front of her and not leering behind. 

Hybern sat upon the massive, black carved throne. Soldiers flanking at every side. Many hidden in shadows, waiting and watching. Lucien was standing near to the throne but when he laid eyes on Tamlin, he ran to her.  

“Tamlin are you-” Lucien blinked as he saw the sheer panic in her eyes, “Tamlin what happened?”

“We have to get out of here.” She whispered quickly. 

“Dear Gods, the Night Court-” Lucien cupped her face. 

“Lord and Lady of Spring, come forward.” Hybern barked. 

Lucien looked over his shoulder and quickly took Tamlin’s hand leading her up to stand beside the throne. 

Leaning in, he whispered, “Keep up the mask a little longer Tam, we’ll get out of here.”

Dear Cauldron and Mother. 

The room was large, the ceiling looming far overtop of her. The throne she stood beside, was the same one she had seen her father kneel before. Seen Amarantha kneel before. 

Now she stood there. Below the same King that had allowed his General to take over Prythian. 

From the shadows of the throne room, she saw blue eyes glaring, and a cruel smile. Amber watched from where she could not be seen. Emerald bracelet gleaming in the minimal light. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

She was being hunted. Prey in a trap. Prey in a trap. Prey in a trap. 

Lucien’s eyes followed her. Finding the glowing sky blue in the shadows. He looked back at Tamlin, opening his mouth to ask, or to accuse Amber. But he was cut short when the doors slammed open. 

And writhing, kicking and screaming, was Rhysand and Feyre Archeron. 

Her blood turned to ice. 

She was dressed fully in Night Court uniform. Face twisted in hatred and anger. Eyes glowing with a storm. 

Lucien stepped out in front of Tamlin, half hiding her from sight. Just enough that Feyre would only be able to make out half of Tamlin’s face and blonde hair. 

“Welcome Night Court, to the Kingdom of Hybern.” Dae drawled from his throne. 

“You.” Feyre hissed with such venom Tamlin nearly flinched. 

“King of Hybern.” Rhysand murmured. His voice reverberated with power, even if he was held back by guards. 

Three others came into view, and Tamlin’s eyes went wide at the Night Court entourage. Two Illyrian warriors, and a blonde-headed female with wide brown eyes. All their faces pulled back into snarls. All their eyes found the King of Hybern. 

Feyre however was staring right at Tamlin and Lucien. She screamed something that Tamlin couldn’t make out. 

“What an interesting group,” Dae said. Dragging a finger up the arm of his throne, “So you’re the great Cursebreaker? Finally a face to put to the name.”

“Release us!” Feyre screamed at him. 

“Now, I cannot do that so soon, Feyre.” Dae said, “Why, you just got here. After trying to steal away with my little prize no less.”

Little prize…

“We’ll return to our Court.” Rhysand offered. “And give you no more trouble.”

Liar, as always. His ploy was as clear as crystal water, yet there was something nearly trusting in it. 

Daemati magic, he was attempting to coax the King into releasing them. 

Dae just laughed at his attempt, “Then I wouldn’t be fulfilling my part of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” The blonde haired female questioned. 

Dae then gestured to the Spring lords beside him, “Why my bargain with Spring of course. I help to return their missing fawn, and I will have their loyalties in the War soon to come.”

“You bargained with them.” Feyre breathed, her spiteful face nearly blank for a moment. Before it curdled into undying rage, “You bargained to steal me back!”

“Feyre.” Tamlin breathed. 

“How fucking dare you!” She screamed, voice raw and powerful. Echoing through the room. 

That was the mother of her child. His child. Tamlin looked between Hybern and Feyre. Hybern who smiled so coldly down at her. Eyes narrowed and cruel. Feyre’s mouth was pulled back into a snarl as she pulled and kicked against the guards holding her down. Like if she was free she would run at the King, or Tamlin. Lucien seemed to sense that as he subconsciously held out an arm. Keeping Tamlin locked behind him. 

Rhysand’s violet eyes jumped around the room. Locking into everyone. Taking into account every piece on the playing field. 

Tamlin sucked in a breath, grazing Lucien’s arm with his fingers, “Feyre, we are saving you from him-”

“How dare you decide what is good for me!” She cut him off with a shout, “You have no right.”

“Feyre.” He felt the High lord’s power seeping into his voice, and begged it to stay at bay. For now.

“You will not take my mate back there.” Rhysand snarled, violet eyes glowing with barely concealed power. 

The day outside felt like it got a little colder. And Tamlin's eyes went wide as his heart pounded against his ribcage. Mask slipping away as anger took hold of him. Burning inside his flesh, face heating up, bones tightening in his skin. He wanted to shift claws and fur and teeth and lash at Rhysand, but a hand reaching over to brush the back of his hand halted every action. Lucien’s eyes were set on the Night Court, but Tamlin could hear the unspoken words. 

‘Just a little longer.’

Hold out, keep the beast at bay, just a little while longer. 

So Tamlin straightened his back. Summoning the face of the High lord of Spring, he felt the cruel cold mask of his father slip away as he faced Rhysand with all the raw, unfiltered hatred he held for him, “I do not care if she is your mate, I do not care if you think you have a right to lay claim to her. She is mine and she is coming home with me.”

Tamlin remembered his mother’s face when his father laid claim to her time and time again. He remembered the tragic story of the former Lady Spring, how she had been taken by his father and claimed without consent, all for the crime of being his mate. 

Tamlin wouldn’t let that happen to Feyre. 

Never would he ever stand by and let that happen to any other female again, least of all his Feyre. His sarcastic, wild, beautiful Feyre. 

But as the words left his mouth something deeply rooted, and hateful twisted in Feyre’s eyes. Causing the storm to darken like never before, she tried to leap forward but was reigned in by Hybern’s soldiers. 

“Let her go.” Tamlin ordered, turning his eyes up to Hybern. 

But Dae just lifted a finger, an order to be silent. Tamlin nearly snapped but Lucien’s hand gripped him quickly. 

Damn it. 

Dae lounged back in his throne, “Now, this has been as interesting as ever, but if I may, I would like to perform a little experiment.”

At those words, all eyes snapped to the King of Hybern. Lucien’s head turned so quickly Tamlin thought he heard the Fox’s neck crack. 

“What-” Tamlin murmured, but his words were cut off. 

The giant, black stone room seemed to darken for a moment, like the lights had flickered on and off simulatanously. 

In between a heartbeat, the air shifted, tightening until it was nearly to heavy to breathe. Shadows pressed in and darkness swirled in his vision. It was like a presence had descended in Hybern. 

An earth shattering clap of thunder, Tamlin jumped back and Lucien grabbed him by the waist. The Night Court reeled back, and someone screamed. 

But the doors of the throne room were thrown open so quickly they slammed against the walls. 

And four figures strutted in with their heads high, eyes cruel and each wearing the same twisted expression. 

Four human women, each with flaming eyes of a multitude of colours. Like different colour flames. Each breath was a puff of power into the whirlpool of magic that had shadowed the throne room. 

There was a shout of something incomprehensible and the two Illyrian warriors tried to rush at the human women, but the soldiers were fasted and in a split second, the two were chained to the floor by threads of black magic. 

There was laughter and smiles from the humans as they gazed upon Fae brought so low. One, an older female were greying hair and silver eyes, stopped before the Illyrians, glaring down with a smile. 

Tamlin felt the hatred burning off of her, years of remembrance from times humans kneeled before Fae was in her gaze. The High lord of Spring couldn’t say the hatred for their kind wasn’t deserved. It absolutely was.

But then she turned her eyes up to Hybern as the four approached his throne. 

The seemingly eldest of the group spoke first, “Hybern, make this trip worth our time.”

“As if I ever wouldn’t.” Dae purred to her. Eyes gleaming wickedly. Something like disgust gleamed in hers, but she held his evil smile with a uncanny version of her own. 

“What is-” Rhysand yelled out, cut off by a guard pulling him back by a rope that had been quickly tied around his neck. 

Lucien moved even further in front of him. Hands twitching like he might just grab Tamlin, toss him over his shoulder and run. 

Tamlin put a hand on his shoulder, if only to prevent him from doing just that. 

“This, Lord of Night,” The eldest human purred, “is power.”

They bargained. 

It was clear as day, Tamlin saw in all their eyes was magic that shouldn’t belong to humans. It came from a bargain. 

And it was only confirmed by Dae’s next words, “The Queens of the Human realms and I have created a bargain of our own. I give them the power they so desire, and in return I have their support.”

The blonde female on the floor, next to Feyre, screamed, it was raw and guttural, “We had a deal!”

The Queens just grinned with cruel eyes. 

Hybern was planning to invade the mortal world. To take them all back as slaves, and the Queens had countered with a plan of their own making. A last ditch effort to protect their lands, making plans with the enemy. 

Tamlin caught the eye of one of the Queens. A beautiful woman, with eyes that were wide set like a fawn, hair perfect and dress smooth. Her fiery eyes burned into his own with delight and something rest-assured. 

She winked, her grin softening into something confident and genuinely kind. 

Tamlin returned it with understanding in his eyes. 

They were here to protect their Courts. The same way he was. 

But as he looked back down at the Night Court, it seemed the great powerful Daemati’s had yet to catch onto that. 

Rhysand’s eyes were wide with panic, the purple shining bright like light violet, he writhed against his chains. And Feyre tried to dive a foot into the gut of the male holding her back. 

“Let her go.” Tamlin ordered again. 

Dae once again ignored him, “Back to my little experiment. As per requested by the Queens. I will show you just the amount of power we hold in the palms of our hands.”

With a snap of his fingers. The doors slammed open. 

And the room fell silent as the air was sucked, and darkness filled the world. 

Whispers of ancient evil and cruelty filled his ears, and phantom hands crawled up his skin. Invasive and touching, and filled with a power he could barely imagine. 

The whispers got louder and for a moment Tamlin made out what they said to him. 

“Son of the Lady. Son of our Lady. Son of the Blessed. Son of Dahlia. Son of Dahlia. Son of Dahlia.”

Dahlia.

Son of Dahlia. 

His mother. 

The Cauldron was placed on the floor, and the darkened liquid sloshing inside lapped at the edges of its cage. Whispering to the outside, curious and peeking around. Like fingers that traced the rim of the bowl. Beckoning. 

There was a choked gasp and Tamlin’s eyes snapped down to Feyre, she wasn’t looking at the Cauldron, or the Queens or Hybern. 

Rather she was staring down at a pendant around her neck. She held it in her hand as her eyes were wide, staring at it as it glowed with power. 

Emerald. 

He saw it in her palm, it flashed at him like metal gleaming. With power it glowed so brightly she clasped it in between her two hands, eyes shooting up, and they met his. 

Momentarily stunned, hatred was all gone, as she looked to the Cauldron, then back to the necklace. 

Two and two were quickly put together. 

The necklace was reacting to the Cauldron.

“What-” Feyre gasped out. 

Then there was raucous laughter as a snake stepped out of the shadows. 

Lady Amber stalked towards the Cauldron like it called for her. The hood of her robe fell away as she approached, looking down into the deep magic it held like it was her own. Her eyes gleamed so wickedly, and as she lifted her hand, her sleeve fell down to her elbow. 

And exposed her emerald bracelet, which glowed like a shining star in the sky, as if it was basking in the delightfully evil power of the Cauldron. Eyes gleaming in the reflection of the light, Amber turned her head up to the King of Hybern. 

“We will be unstoppable, my King.” She murmured. 

Dae grinned as he tossed a leg over the arm of his throne, lounging in all his glory, “I know, High Priestess.”

She was their High Priestess. No wonder she had such robes. 

Tamlin looked back down to the emerald clutched in Feyre’s hand, as she hid it under her shirt. 

He looked back at Amber’s emerald.

Feyre met his eyes, wide with confusion and fear. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

They needed to get out of here now. 

“Lucien-”

Lucien’s eyes widening halted Tamlin’s words as cries and screams filled the air once more. And a set of guards winnowed in, bringing all Hell with them. 

Feyre was the figure out what was happening, and the first to scream as she lunged forward. 

“Nesta! Elain!” Feyre screamed, a guttural sound that shook the room with magic. 

On the cold floor they were thrown, in just their nightgowns. The two Archeron sisters were tied, skin bruised, the eldest one had her lip cut, red and black blooming on her eye from where she had undoubtedly been punched. 

The middle one was screaming, tears freely dripping down her face. Her hands were bleeding like she had been desperately grabbing onto something to prevent them from taking her. 

No. 

Fucking hell no. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Tamlin shouted up at Hybern. Stepping forward, wanting to rush at him. 

Lucien held him back by his wrist. 

Dae just grinned once again, “The experiment.”

“Let them go! They have no part in this!” Feyre shrieked. 

“This was not part of our deal.” Tamlin seethed. 

“No.” Amber said, hands hovering over the Cauldron, as if taking in warmth from a fire, “it was in our deal.”

Nodding, the King of Hybern grinned, “We needed a test subject for this little experiment. And these two, sisters of a Made Fae, will work perfectly.”

“You told them about my sisters!” Feyre accused, screaming as she nearly snapped her chains. Teeth and claws nearly breaking her skin, breaking through a near impenetrable force of magic around her. 

“No, no I-” 

“He didn’t.” Amber replied smoothly, eyes greedily lapping in the sight of the Cauldron, her own form of worship as she gazed upon it, “My dear little runaway daughter did.”

Runaway daughter. 

“My daughter has told me much about you, Spring Lord.”

“Release them at once!” Tamlin shouted, hands curling into fists. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was supposed to happen. 

Who told the King about them? Who would do this? Who would be so cruel-

“I told you not to come here, Tam.” An emotionless, static voice called. 

A full body chill descended upon his skin, every nerve on end, burned and raw. 

Please no. 

If there was anything in the world he could ask for, he would ask for this to have all been a dream. Ice flooded him as starkly as the warm anger that had curled in his gut as another walked through those large doors. 

Pale blue robes, blonde hair curling around her face. Eyes filled with nothing at all, as she walked towards the Cauldron, towards the two sisters. 

“What have you done?” Tamlin whispered. 

Ianthe stoic eyes didn’t meet his as she said, “You should have never come here.”

She told Hybern. Ianthe revealed the sister’s. 

But that meant-

“Dear daughter.” Amber crooned, as she beckoned the Priestess forth. Ianthe obeyed, her head low as she stepped up to the Cauldron, beside her mother. 

“Dear mother.” Ianthe murmured back, her voice as blank as her eyes. 

No. 

But denial was worth nothing, as Rhysand hissed, “I knew you were a viper, Ianthe. The apple never strays.”

For the first time since entering, emotion flashed in her blue eyes for a moment as she flinched at the words. 

Amber ignored Rhysand as she stepped back and grabbed her daughter by her shoulders and held Ianthe in front of her. Fingers digging into the bone until it must’ve hurt. But Ianthe just held her head high and gazed into the Cauldron. 

“Enough embellishments, let our experiment begin.” Dae declared, “The Mortal Queens wished for a show of how a human can be Made. We will give them just that.”

With a snap of his fingers, the guards grabbed Nesta and Elain pulling them to their shaking knees as they both pulled back and tried to kick away. 

Dae observed them both with cruel eyes, before ultimately saying, “Put the pretty one in first.”

Nesta screamed as Elain was dragged to the Cauldron. 

“No.”

She was lifted up, her head thrown back as she cried out. Heels slamming into the lip of the Cauldron, like she might shove off, like she might tip it over and run. 

A burst of unadulterated magic struck him and Tamlin rushed forward. To Dae. To the Throne. 

Claws and teeth and everything vicious and snarling. Tamlin lunged forward, but something burning and too bright grabbed him and reigned him back. Gagging him and pulling his clawed hands away from Dae’s face. 

Tamlin snarled and Hybern laughed. 

Gasps echoed from behind him, and Tamlin’s eyes widened by a fraction as he realised, Lucien was no longer in front of him to hide the evidence of the baby. 

Hybern mouthed, ‘You will regret this.’

A shout of terror and anger vibrated in his bones as Lucien writhed against his own restraints, held back after trying to dive after Tamlin, and the girl being thrown into the Cauldron. 

Nothing could be done. Even as Feyre screamed so loud the Palace nearly shook, Elain was thrown in. 

The emerald on Amber’s wrist glowed as her smile widened. 

And the world shook. 

Everything quivered. 

Like a shaking breath of pleasure, the ground, sky and wind melted into the point of the Cauldron, as Elain was boiled alive. 

It was barely a second long. 

Her hands broke the surface of the Cauldron and she grabbed the edge. Head breaking up for air, she gasped, and as she took a new breath, reborn, remade. The Earth quivered again. 

Her long brown hair stuck to her back, neck and shoulders. Pushed up by her hands, nightgown soaked and sticking to her skin, revealing every part of her frame. 

And Ianthe at the Cauldron, her stoic mask was burned away as she began to shake. Breath stolen from her lungs as her blue eyes shone like sapphires. 

Elain’s hands slipped and she nearly fell back into the dark waters. 

But Ianthe’s hands were faster. Nearly shoving away from her mother, she lunged forward, grabbing the creature that had once been the human Elain. And pulling her out, to the ground. Soaking her robes with water that was both holy and sinful. 

“Ianthe!” Amber shouted. But Ianthe ignored her as she gently laid the shivering Elain in her lap as she kneeled on the floor. 

Still the same eyes and sweet face, but her limbs were longer now, skin healthier, glowing. A golden light was pouring from her chest and the tips of her fingers. Haloing her head. 

Ianthe was panting, breaths becoming shallower and shallower as stared down at the newly Made Fae. 

“Ianthe, get back over here.” Amber seethed. 

“Mate.” Ianthe gasped out. 

The world exploded. 

Nesta screamed as she lunged forward and tore Elain away from the Priestess, shoving Ianthe to the ground. 

Amber shrieked something. Face burning red from anger, hands shaking, she snapped forward. Ianthe tried to scramble back, but her mother grabbed her, pulling her hood, her head covering off of her blonde hair. Ianthe screamed as she cried, trying to pull the hood back over her head. 

Amber pulled Ianthe’s face to her own as she screamed curses in the name of the Mother in her face. Curses of breaking her vows, and Ianthe sobbed, heavy wet tears falling down her face. 

“Enough!” Hybern’s voice echoed through the room, Amber looked back up to the King of Hybern, who nodded to her. Amber gritted her teeth and threw her daughter to the floor and quickly covered her head again as she cried and whispered prayers to the Mother. Apologies and begging for some kind of mercy. 

Tamlin writhed against his chains. Pulling and pulling. Elain sobbed into Nesta’s chest, but the guards pulled her away, as they grabbed Nesta and forced her to her feet. Nesta screamed bloody murder as she was dragged to the Cauldron. 

“No, No!” Feyre cried as she too was helpless but to watch her eldest sister be picked up and brought to the surface of the burning ice of the Cauldron. 

But as she was plunged under, Nesta twisted her body and turned to Hybern. 

As her skin was burned going under, the flaming water eating away at her skin and bones, turning her into something else. She lifted a hand. 

Her eyes flashed. 

Target locked. 

Promise marked. 

Nesta Archeron pointed to the King of Hybern, and Dae, Dae with all the power in his hands, flinched as his eyes widened and his skin paled. 

And the once human girl went under. 

If the world quivered in pleasure at Elain’s death and rebirth, it roared with anger at Nesta’s. 

The air turned stiff and everyone began to gasp for air like it had been taken away. The ground under them shook and the stone floors screeched as it cracked. 

Outside thunder split the sky. Causing the world to divulge into a show of rage and hurt, as the Cauldron cried out like it was being torn apart. 

And finally, after too long and barely a second later at the same time, two hands broke the surface and Nesta tried to shove out of the Cauldron. Dark water dripped down her face, as she grabbed the rim of the bowl, she lifted her eyes. 

Silver danced in them like flames of molten steel. 

The whole room went wholly still. 

She gasped and gagged, tears of anger and pain streaming down her face. She hauled a leg over the Cauldron, but as if something were pulling her back in, she slipped back. 

In a sudden burst of light and energy, Lucien rushed to the Cauldron, free of his restraints. 

However, he wasn’t faster than Elain, who scraped her knees, blooding herself further as she leapt up and grabbed her eldest sister’s hand. Dragging her to the floor. Nesta fell in a boneless heap in her sister’s arms. 

Lucien, reaching them just a second later, didn’t waste time as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the two sisters. Nesta snarled up at him, but out of energy she couldn’t force him away. Elain accepted the warm, dry clothing with little more than a piercing glare. 

Made. Pointed ears pushed past their long locks of hair. Skin glowing with power that wasn’t previously there. Fae, through and through, with nothing human left to them. 

Dae cleared his throat, cutting through the power and magic writhing in the air. He addressed the Queens, “Now you see what the Cauldron can do, the power it holds. Creation itself is in our hands.”

Creation itself. 

Twisting his head, Tamlin looked towards Feyre. 

Her eyes were wet with tears, and her eyes kept darting between everyone. Like she didn’t know what to think about first. 

They were so utterly fucked. 

Feyre didn’t know what to do. 

At first it had been going just as planned. 

Then she had turned her back on the Cauldron and laid eyes on one she had only ever seen as an eye ring on Amarantha’s finger. Jurian had smirked at them as guards descended on them. 

Brought kicking and screaming to the throne room she had at first been set on rushing at the King herself. As she watched Cassian and Azriel struggle against their restraints. As Morrigan was tied up and Rhysand was chained, she pulled her power to the surface and prepared to rush him. 

Then her eyes fell to two standing by the throne. Tamlin mostly hidden behind Lucien, who was watching with blank eyes. All anger had consumed her in that moment, as she remembered being trapped behind those doors, locked in that house. She screamed and wanted for blood to spill. 

Then those mortal Queens, betraying them and looking down at Azriel and Cassian like dogs. Feyre wanted to kill them too. 

Then her sisters, tossed into the Cauldron and remade. Because Ianthe, someone she had considered a friend, had given them away. Had willingly handed them over to Hybern. 

Ianthe’s own words came back to her, “Just know not to take the word of Faeries at face value." She had told her. Almost like she was warning her. 

Or perhaps taunting her, Feyre thought, since she ended up betraying her. 

But then Ianthe had pulled Elain into her lap, and whispered that dreadful word. 

Mate. 

Feyre had wanted to scream and shout, but froze. Nesta reacted the quickest, shoving Ianthe away from Elain. 

Then that High Priestess of Hybern, Ianthe’s mother, had screamed in the Priestess of Spring’s face. 

Ianthe still was on the floor, her mother hovering over her. Watching her every move. 

And Feyre found herself clutching the emerald necklace now hidden underneath her shirt. 

It glowed with the power of the Cauldron. And when she looked at Ianthe's mother’s wrist, a bracelet of pure emerald glowed under her robes. 

What else had Ianthe told her that day? When she gave her necklace? The day she had cried out in her mind for someone to take her away from that wedding? 

"Take it, Cursebreaker." As she let it hang from Feyre's neck she murmured, "You may need it."

"Need it?" Feyre whispered. 

Ianthe just smiled, "Trust me."

"You said yourself not to take the words of Fae at face value." Feyre countered. 

"I did." She stated. 

Before Feyre could once again point out the blatant hypocrisy, Ianthe said, "Try to see past the person, Feyre. Try and see what may lay underneath."

Try and see what may lay underneath… 

What lays underneath, what lays underneath, what lays underneath?

Now Nesta, Made Fae and stripped of her human skin, clutched Elain. Whilst the middle Archeron sister pulled her in protectively, anger and pure fear twisting in her face as she helped to shield the eldest. 

Feyre clutched the necklace tighter, part of her wanted to rip it off for the deceit of Ianthe, the other made her keep it on. 

One of the Mortal Queens, those traitors, stepped forward and away from the rest. She was the eldest of the group, her darkened eyes swept over Nesta and Elain before turning back to Hybern, “We see that you have such great power, Fae King. With this confirmation, my sisters and I ask we go through to the next phase.”

Hybern smiled coldly, “Then let us proceed.”

Proceed. 

As the Queen smiled, the others encircled the Cauldron. 

Hybern caught Feyre’s widened, confused eyes. As the Inner Circle around her were strapped with chains and gagged with cloth. Morrigan fought them away as best she could, but the blonde was exhausted and easily restrained. 

“I see you are confused, Archeron. Allow me to explain.” He grinned, “The Mortal Queens will be vessels for the Cauldron’s magic, and with them we will spread power throughout the entirety of the Realm, taking full control of this world and all its inhabitants.”

Full control. 

Feyre snapped her eyes to Rhysand, whose entire face had gone completely pale. That rope around his neck choked him as it was pulled. Spine bending, his back arching as his whole body trembled. A half-muffled cry of pain tearing from his throat. 

Then her eyes tore to Tamlin, gagged and bound. Green dress singed where the ropes burned over his clothes. And when her eyes fell to his middle. 

Like alarm bells were blazing in her ears. Fae senses all sharp on and on edge. Instincts in buried deep down in her core fought to the surface. Forcing her to crawl forward, towards him, as if if she laid hands on his skin this would be undone. 

Her mind was screaming it, a voice that wasn’t her own told her what it was. 

Pregnancy, a baby, her child. 

Her baby. 

Shit. 

Feyre rushed to her feet on fiery legs, her muscles contracting and burning. She rushed for the throne, claws shooting through her fingertips. She would rip Hybern’s throat out, she would kill them all, she would undo all of this. 

She screamed as the chains around her limbs dragged her to the ground, the noise that left her throat was half feral animal. Every one of the Inner Circle swivelled their heads to her. Their eyes wide, fearful and confused. 

She met them with a look of anger and pain. It coursed through her skin, making her fill with light from another power that was not naturally her own. Skin glowing, hands smoking with fire and the whole world so sharp and clearer than ever, a sob was torn from her. Making her whole body shake. 

Shit. 

Then a scream echoed through the castle. And smoke filled the throne room. 

When Feyre looked towards the Cauldron, she saw black, ashy smoke that rolled out in waves, rippling over the stone. 

And the Priestess wearing black robes, who had called herself Ianthe’s mother, was bent over the side of the Cauldron. Her face completely submerged, burning and bubbling off. 

Ianthe stood behind her. Eyes wide and full of terror and rage. Feyre nearly flinched as she witnessed the Priestess of Spring with her hand forcing her mother’s face into the Cauldron  as she screamed and screamed, even under the water. 

“Release her!” Hybern’s voice bellowed through the room. 

Ianthe did not listen. As fire flamed in her eyes she screamed for all to hear, “This is what you deserve, you fucking witch!”

In a second, everything turned. 

As soon as Ianthe’s declaration left her throat, her mother twisted up. Her hand grabbing onto Ianthe’s robes and tried to force her down into the Cauldron. 

“Ianthe!” Feyre screamed. 

The Priestess tried to kick and fight back as her mother came back up from the Cauldron. 

Oh Gods. 

Her face, fairer than before, eyes pools of blazing fire. Hair dripping and soaked, light that spilled down her shoulders. Like the sun had come down from the sky and walked as a person. Blinding and beautiful. And so, so angry. 

Her mother screamed something incoherent as she pushed her daughter to the lip of the Cauldron. 

“The emerald!” Ianthe screamed as she grabbed onto the lip of the bowl. Nails tearing away, fingers pouring blood as her mother tried to shove her in. 

Hybern shot up from his throne and gaurds rushed to the Cauldron. 

The emerald. 

It burned a hole through her shirt, and marked her chest as it filled with undiluted power. 

Feyre grabbed onto the emerald even as it singed her palm, burning her flesh until it was scorching and smoking. 

With no idea what it did or how to use it, Feyre did the first thing that came to her mind. 

She brought up every drop of power she had writhing in her, screaming for release. Screwing her eyes shut so she only saw black. She imagined the seven orbs of magic, sitting deep in her belly. Waiting for their chance to rise. She imagined each Court. With their magic, their skies, their sights, their feels. Even the wind was different for each. 

She felt the emerald grow hotter and hotter and hotter until her bone was exposed and turning black from heat. The pain was nothing compared to the magic clawing its way out of her body. 

Winds that surrounded her, each different, some harsher, some hotter, some softer, some colder. Feyre didn’t know where her body began or ended as power collapsed in on her, and the emerald became her only anchor to the world around her. 

Screaming erupted in the throne room and Feyre opened her eyes. 

She saw light, golden beautiful light, it shone in her eyes and hair and skin. She met the face of Ianthe and her mother. 

Ianthe grinned so wildly as her mother plunged her into the Cauldron. 

Feyre screamed and the world shattered. 

The Mortal Queens drew swords from the pockets between worlds. The eldest tossing off her heeled shoes and diving at the guards holding back Rhysand. 

She cut them down in one fell swoop, heads rolling to the ground, and the High lord of the Night Court was free. 

Feyre didn’t feel the ground beneath her feet, and when she looked down, she saw that she hovered above it. Power writhed around her like threads of light and fire. The colours shifted from green, to purple, to white, to black, to blue, to every colour she had ever seen and more. 

With her hand clutching the emerald, she felt it, sucking the energy around it. 

She gave and gave and gave her magic until the emerald had all of it. A stone of magic and power. Until it was no longer recognizable as an emerald, until it was just a pool of pure magic. 

Falling to the floor, her knees cracked against the stone, she pulled it close to her heart as all magic left her. 

Her breaths were slowing, her power was gone, her ears were rounded now, instead of pointed. And she felt the undoing of the healing work, as her neck felt more and more fragile, the bone chipping away. 

Not much time left. 

Ianthe’s mother left the Cauldron’s side as she rushed for Feyre, running with her hands out, trying to get the emerald from Feyre’s hands. 

In one final burst of strength Feyre got to her feet and threw Ianthe’s mother to the floor. Then ran for the Cauldron. 

Her feet gave out under her. 

Sprawling across the floor, Feyre saw through darkened eyes, the emerald rolling from her hand out across the floor. 

Then Ianthe’s mother laughing as she stood over Feyre. 

“Off with your head.” She crooned, as her foot came down and snapped her neck. 

 Tamlin didn’t think he would be able to break free of the restraints that were holding him down. 

Then he heard the sound of bone under foot. And he saw her again, red hair, and laughing cruel eyes. Hands on his bare skin. And then hands on her skin, her power holding her up as she snapped her neck. 

In a burst of immense power that washed through his veins. Forcing to the surface. Roots that shot up from the ground. The ropes turned to nothing around him, bursting into light and warmth. 

And Tamlin launched at Amber. Her head tilted back as she laughed and reached for the emerald. 

But never got to it as Tamlin pulled her down to the ground. 

She screamed as her arm reeled back and hand closed into a fist, connecting with his jaw. He cried out in pain, but grabbed onto her hand and yanked hard enough that a handful of blonde curls were ripped out. She screamed, pulled her hand back again and her punch landed in his belly this time. 

Tamlin screamed, as she laughed and pulled her hand back again

Amber shrieked as fire split across her side and she was thrown across the room. 

Lucien screamed his name and ran to his side. 

He couldn’t feel much, that punch sent fire up his jaw, he tasted blood in his mouth, but nothing was compared to the terror seizing up his every movement as pain twisted and pounded in his belly. A sob was ripped from his throat. Big, wet tears shedding down his face, but he forced himself up. 

Lucien grabbed and held him back. But Tamlin laid eyes on the glowing emerald, and the chaos around it. 

The mortal Queens were fighting the soldiers with all the strength they had. Swinging their swords and meeting the soldiers for every strike. But being human, they were losing the fights. 

The Illyrian warriors and the blonde female were grappling with their captors. And Rhysand ran for Feyre. Arms reaching out, screaming as he tried to grab her. 

Then a guard reefed him back, shoving faebane down his throat. And forcing him to be tied once more. 

They were losing. Badly. 

And through all the chaos, the swords clashing and the screaming. Tamlin heard footsteps. Footsteps that reverberated through the room and through his bones. 

When he looked up, Dae stared down with a grin. Reaching down he took the emerald in his hands. Filled with the power of seven High lords. Glowing like a fallen star spilling its light across land. 

“Well look at this.” Dae said as he looked into his palm, at the star of power shining up at him. 

“I do wonder just what we could do with this.” His grin widened as his head filled with all the power he now held right in the centre of his palm. 

“Nothing!”  A voice screamed. 

The world rumbled, shaking with the power that shuddered through it. 

Everyone ceased their movements as the earth seemed to come to a blinding stop. 

Looking to the Cauldron, there she stood. On shaking legs, as unstable as a just born foal. Soaked to the bone, her hair stuck to the sides of her face. Eyes blazing with anger and courage. 

Nesta Archeron clung to her limp sister. Her broken neck unable to hold up her head. Her formerly strong body, now unmoving and dead. 

“You will be nothing.” Nesta breathed, voice a puff of frost in a frozen land. 

Dae stared at her with wide eyes. Unable to anticipate what the middle Archeorn sister was doing. 

Elain appeared from seemingly nowhere, as if travelling in between worlds. As if winnowing, but in a way that was slightly different, unlike appearing from one place to another, but as if running between the worlds, travelling on air. 

She snatched the emerald from Dae’s hand, and as he shouted and went to grab it. Elain tossed the emerald into the Cauldron. At the same time, Nesta pushed in Feyre. 

Coming back to life was a different experience than before. 

Her skin burned and burned and burned. Back arching, each muscle on fire. Flames spread over her skin like never before. Singed like the hairs of a feather. Fire and icy water delving into her body. Ripped apart and put together again like a deconstructable doll.

She wanted to scream, open her mouth and throat and scream for all her life. But as her lips parted her throat filled with water and she choked. Drowning, as her lungs filled with it. The fiery liquid burning and freezing her all at once. In a panicking haze she fought to get somewhere. Anywhere, just out of the water, but there was nowhere to go. 

She wasn’t in open air, instead underwater, deep in a void of darkness that was never-ending. As if she was in deep ocean. Opening her eyes, she looked down and saw black. Around her was just black, above her was all black. All of it was black. 

Black, black, black. 

She was dead, she had to be dead. She was in some kind of eternal punishment. This was the Hell she had been warned about. Oh dear Gods. 

Her body went limp as her eyes closed once more. Unable to breathe, unable to think as she fell deeper into the darkness. Feeling cold seeping in like never before

Then something grabbed her.

A hand held onto her arm, keeping her connected to whatever was with her here. Her eyes shot open again, as her body fought for life, as something, that thing holding onto her, just being there wouldn’t let her die. 

Darkness, it was all darkness, until it wasn’t. 

Until something filled with light dropped down with them, like a drop of sunlight falling into the sea. 

As it fell down to them, Feyre saw her. 

Blonde hair floating around her face in the water. Eyes of bright blue. Skin pale and covered by pale robes. 

Before it could fall past them, Feyre took hold of the drop of light, holding it in her palm as she stared at Ianthe. 

And as that emerald sat in her hand, a warmth spread over her skin. Making her come alight. Her very blood began to glow with its magic, making every line, every vein underneath her skin light up with it. 

The water was gone from her lungs, and air was no longer needed. Her body completely sustained on power. 

Not dead. 

They weren’t dead. 

Looking down at the drop of light in her hand. 

It was the emerald. 

Soft fingers touched her mental wards. Feyre quickly opened them, and a soft voice spoke into the space between them, ‘Feyre.’

‘Ianthe.’

They stared at each other through the water, shimmering reflections connected their hands, holding onto each other like they might slip back into darkness at any moment. 

‘They’re out there still.’ Ianthe said, ‘We need to use the emerald.’

‘How? It has all of my power now. How do we use it?’

Ianthe grinned as she covered Feyre’s hands with her own, closing the emerald in. 

‘Breathe in, and command it.’

The Cauldron was bubbling over. Water splashing over the lip, hissing angrily as it hit the floor. Black flames licked up over the water. It boiled over as the world started shaking. Parts of the roof falling. 

Time to get out of here. 

Tamlin was still unconscious. Blood dripping from his mouth, a bruise swelling on his face. Lucien picked him up and stood off the floor, being as careful as he could. Pulling him into his arms even as Lucien himself still knelt on the floor. 

He took a hit to the stomach, panic swelled in Lucien’s chest as he thought of what could have happened. 

Gods please just make sure he’s okay. 

Where to run? 

The world around them was swirling shadow and fire and smoke. There was no way out. No one could get out now. They were in the middle of a losing fight, a circle of bloodshed and killing around them, as guards shouted, the Queens cried out, and the Night Court spun with their steel and hands. 

And Hybern ran for the Cauldron. The King looked over the edge, going past the bubbling and the black fire spreading. Looking in, trying to find that emerald of light. 

Elain had fallen to her knees and crawled to her shaking sister, who even with her eyes of steel could not hide her horror at the sights around her. 

Lucien pulled Tamlin closer to his chest, and pulled fire from his core as his eyes lit up. 

And his own flames burst through the room. 

Two guards screamed as their body was reduced to ashes. Around them, Lucien formed a circle of impenetrable flames, and did the same for Elain and Nesta. Elain whom had pulled Lucien’s coat from the floor and covered her sister with it. Her doe brown eyes jumped up to him, Lucien nodded to her and Elain returned the gesture with an almost smile, an almost thank you. 

Almost because she couldn’t be anymore thankful to him than she was to the people who had put her in the Cauldron. But Lucien didn’t blame her for that. 

“Feyre.” A voice croaked from below him, Lucien looked down at Tamlin whose eyes slowly blinked open. He coughed and more blood dripped down his chin, “Feyre… Cauldron-”

“Tam we have to focus on getting out alive.” Lucien told him as he lifted his hand and aimed a blast of fire at a guard who threw one of the Queens to the floor and lifted his sword to her. He fell to the ground a pile of bubbling flesh. Lucien heard retching noises and when he glanced over he saw Elain finally keeling over as she vomited at the sight. 

He felt bad for the girl, but had no time to stew over her as Tamlin quickly reefed away from his arms. 

“Tamlin-!” Lucien panicked, hands going out to grab him and pull him back. 

Tamlin shoved his arms back with an apologetic look before forcing himself up on shaking legs. Lucien got up and went to follow him but slammed into a ward. He cried out as he winced, but it was quickly replaced by terror as he realised Tamlin had warded him back. 

‘I’m sorry.’ Tamlin mouthed, before he ran for Amber’s body on the floor. 

He knew what he had to do. 

If only to get everyone out alive. 

Those emeralds, they could absorb power. 

Those words Amber had hissed to him in that hallway. 

She laughed, “Emeralds hold much power from my family. Ours are enchanted, my dear.”

Enchanted. 

Tamlin had been wondering with what, and he finally figured it out. 

They could absorb power from others and give that magic to whoever wore them. And Amber had been going to use her emerald to absorb the power of the Cauldron. 

The emerald that had been around Feyre’s neck had absorbed the magic that had been keeping her alive, leaving her dead and mortal again. If unleashed, that magic was the equivalent to the most powerful Fae in known history. 

What magic did Amber have stored? 

Even as Lucien screamed from behind that ward. Tamlin didn’t turn back, but felt as Lucien gave up trying to run and instead focussed his energy on blazing their enemies. Guilt writhed in his core, but he needed to do this and Lucien would try to hold him back. 

A guard came out of nowhere and tried to pin him down with his sword. But even if Tamlin was near collapsing he wasn’t a High lord for nothing. Claws shot through his skin almost unannounced and it was nothing to slash his throat and leave him choking on his own blood on the floor. 

Tamlin passed the haze of smoke and blood and fire. And finally made it to the darkened corner where Amber was limp on the floor, her breaths shallow but still there, not dead yet. But her face different from the rest of her body, shining faintly, gleaming in the light, as Tamlin put a hand on her forehead, he felt how cold her skin truly was. 

Gold. 

Her skin had turned to gold. 

The Cauldron it seemed, had done a number on her. 

Tamlin gave no hesitation as his hands went to her wrist, pulling up her sleeve he saw the emerald bracelet. 

Yes. 

He went to pull it off, but as he tried to tug it over her hand, her arm shot up. 

“Insolent fool.” Amber hissed as she launched up and grabbed his hair, shoving his head to the ground, forehead bashing into the cold stone. 

The world went dark for a moment, then he was thrown back into it as she pulled his head back up and went to smash him down again. This time he moved, running on adrenaline and fear. 

Twisting back, Tamlin grabbed her robes, then sharply kicked her in the stomach. Amber cried out, but was not quick enough to react as Tamlin sunk his teeth into her throat, ripping with sharpened canines, blood pooled in his mouth and she screamed death in his ear. 

“Fuck. You. Witch!” She might as well have been one. 

Amber spluttered, vomiting blood, every inch of him burned to finish the job, but as the Cauldron bubbled over once more, spilling more ancient water to the ground, causing more black fire to scorch the ground. He knew he didn’t have much more time. 

Grabbing her wrist, it was nothing to snap it. Causing her body to convulse with pain, he let her fall to the ground as he ripped the bracelet off and forced himself back to his feet. 

The world faded in and out, Tamlin nearly tripped and fell. He was losing energy quickly. In no time at all he would pass out, and the High lord genuinely didn’t know if he would wake up again. 

The closer he got to the Cauldron the more the emerald started to glow, and burn. As it burned into his hands, the pain throbbed through his arms and the added injury ca

used him to nearly lose footing again, it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen again already. 

Everything was burning hotter and hotter, the air was suffocating, he could barely see as the room was now little more than black smoke. Another gust of unnatural wind caused by the power of the Cauldron and Tamlin could no longer see. 

He coughed and spluttered, but still ran forward, knowing it was somewhere in front of him. 

Feeling splashing underfoot, the water that touched his skin burning marks that would scar forever, he knew he was almost there. 

Almost there, almost there, almost there-

“There you are, my love.” A cruel male voice hissed as he was grabbed and torn away from the Cauldron. 

“No!” Tamlin screamed as he kicked and bucked and thrashed, desperately holding onto the emerald bracelet like a lifeline in a storm. 

Dae laughed in his ear as he pulled him back, “I may not have the cursebreakers power, but I will make do with yours.” 

Screaming, Dae grabbed the bracelet from his hand and put it to his chest. Whispering something like a spell, a curse or maybe an enchantment, the emerald began to glow, and Tamlin felt himself get weaker and weaker, as the emerald sucked away his magic. 

Not now, not when he was so close. They were on the brink of losing or winning. 

Losing he realised, they were losing. 

Done for. 

He went limp as his eyes started to close. 

Dae pressed his lips to Tamlin’s ear, cold words seeping into his skin, into his bones, as if they were etched there with a knife, “Did you really think you could outsmart me, Tamlin? Did you think you could win?”

A cruel laugh, “You will see what we do to traitors around here, even if they’re dead.”

The world turned cold once more and Tamlin felt himself slipping in and out of reality, as everything became less and less corporeal. 

Dying. 

So this was dying. 

Why did it have to be so inviting? So loving and tender? 

“Please.” He whispered. 

Someone. 

Anyone. 

As he closed his eyes for the final time. Tamlin felt the breath leave his lungs-

“Keep your hands off my mate!” 

The black smoke was forced back by magic of another. And there he stood. 

Free of the ward which had fallen away as Tamlin’s power was drained. Hands blazing with fire and eyes melted into pools of burning, burning light. Lucien looked like flame personified. 

Dae shouted something to his guards, but no one could react quick enough as a blast of fire was shot out at Hybern. 

Dae lifted a hand and a ward blocked the attack with ease. He tilted his head back as he laughed in Lucien’s face, “What was that fire lord? At least give me something harder to fight against.”

“He was just the distraction, bitch King.” A delighted voice hissed, before a knife sunk into Dae’s side. 

The King screamed as Nesta Archeron stabbed him. Blood poured from his side, but as he raised his hands to grab her neck, he dropped Tamlin to the floor. 

It was no matter as Tamlin sprawled, weak and near powerless, against the stone, as he still held the emerald. 

Nesta choked as she ripped out the knife, Dae lifted her above the floor with a single hand as she grasped his wrist with both hands, face beginning to turn pink from lack of air. 

“Stupid, stupid girl.” He said, as he raised the emerald, it glowed with power as he pressed it to her body, “I wonder what power you took from the Cauldron.”

The knife dropped to the floor, and Tamlin looked up to meet Nesta’s eyes. 

Smart, smart girl. 

Tamlin grabbed the knife, and in a swift motion stabbed it into Dae’s back.

The High lord barely heard his cry, just watched as his body seized up and released Nesta along with the emerald on instinct. 

Even as Dae swung around and grabbed Tamlin, it didn’t matter, because Nesta grabbed the emerald. And threw it through the air. 

Dae shouted as  he watched the scene unfold, letting Tamlin drop back to the floor and this time he remained there, content with what he had done as he saw what the sisters did. 

Elain caught the glowing emerald with a single hand and ran for the Cauldron. Even as Dae bolted after her, he was not near quick enough for Elain, who seemed to disappear behind shimmering air and then reappear by the Cauldron, still running. 

As the Cauldron seemed to cry with overflowing magic, Elain held the bracelet over it. Her hands visibly began to burn and blister with the intense heat, but she didn’t back down, didn’t flinch, not even as the burning spread over her arms. 

The Cauldron splashed one more time. 

And a hand shot up out of it. A pale hand with tattoos covered it, an eye drawn into the centre of her palm. Feyre seized the emerald bracelet as she grabbed the edge of the Cauldron and hauled herself up. 

And holding onto her as she was pulled up as well, was Ianthe. Drenched and shivering, but clutching the glowing emerald necklace that Feyre had once had around her neck, to her chest. 

The world faded in and out again. 

Then hands were on him and Tamlin flinched, but when he looked up, he relaxed. Dark brown eyes bore into his own, red hair falling around them. Lucien’s eyes were flicking all over him. Assessing each part of his body, pulling Tamlin into his arms. 

“Hold on.” Lucien begged, “Please hold on, we can win.”

Tamlin smiled weakly at Lucien, as his eyes fell closed. 

“I love you.” Tamlin whispered, as all started to drown out. 

The last he heard was a petrified scream from his mate as he descended into darkness. 

As her hand closed around that bracelet, Feyre felt power flood her veins. Power that was not hers but hers to use so long as the emerald was in her hands. And with Ianthe touching her, Feyre’s emerald in her hands. They were a combined magic. For a moment in time, whilst still in the Cauldron, they were the magic of the Cauldron. 

Eyes blazing and bodies alight with magic, Feyre lifted her hand and closed her eyes. 

Black, she pulled out the power. Commanding it. Breathe in. She told it to obey. 

With the help of the emeralds magic, the power it had sucked it, like a breath held in still lungs, it all blended and merged together. No longer chaotic and refusing to work with each other. Rather it moved like water commanded by the Summer Court magic. Flowing and controlled. 

Feyre grinned with bone white teeth as she lifted a clawed hand, and squeezed her fingers into a fist. 

“Let all Hell break loose.” She whispered. 

And break loose it did. 

The soldiers screamed as they were burned with black fire. Their bodies dissolving into ash. Even as the Mortal Queens seemed horrified at the blinding figures emerging from the Cauldron, they ran to continue their killing sweep. Finishing off the last of the soldiers. 

Then Feyre turned her attention to Hybern, who lifted his head and grinned. Even as he stumbled to one knee, clutching the wound at his side, as his shirt darkened with blood. 

Try me, was what that grin said to her. 

Feyre gritted her teeth. Twisting her hand as she forced the magic to move with her. The world around her darkening. The room filling, as light exploded from her form. Like a star in  blackened night, she was the magic she commanded. 

But as magic was forced onto the King of Hybern, she felt it… start to disappear, rather than make contact with the target. 

Oh. 

Fuck. 

Hybern grinned as he lifted a large emerald amulet, a wall of protecting, keeping his body safe from the attack but absorbing the power. 

“No.” Ianthe shook from beside her. 

He had an emerald. 

“No!” Ianthe screamed, she shoved Feyre out of the Cauldron and fell out with her. Stopping the onslaught of magic so he would gain no more. 

Sprawled against the stone cold floors, Feyre coughed and spluttered. Feeling herself weakening as the power she had been controlling calmed again. 

Now out of the Cauldron, it stopped its bubbling and settled down. 

The smoke still drifted around the room, but now it was silent. As the guard had been killed, and there was no one left to fight. 

Stepping out from the haze of black smoke, Hybern grinned at her, his wounds healing over from the magic she had just handed to him on a silver platter. 

“You should have stayed in the Cauldron, little girl.” He grinned as he lifted the amulet, it glowed with power and reflected in his cold, cruel eyes. 

His hand buried in her hair and forced her neck back, as he placed the emerald on her skin, leaving a branding mark, “Let’s see what power we can steal from you.”

Feyre screamed and writhed as once again she felt power torn from deep within her flesh, the very bindings keeping her together. 

But unlike last time, Hybern was cut short. 

As someone from behind him screamed, “Don’t you dare ever touch my sister!”

And Elain tackled Hybern to the floor, releasing Feyre from the grip of the emerald. 

Elain’s small, untrained body was no match for the King but she fought valiantly anyway. With a scream, she kicked and punched, but not before her hands grabbed the amulet and ripped it free of his grasp. She tossed it to Feyre, and shouted “Run!”

“But-” Big, heavy tears fell down her face as Feyre watched her older sister fight. 

“Run Feyre! Get out!” Elain cried as Hybern grabbed her hair and slammed her into the floor. 

Feyre didn’t run. 

But Ianthe did. She grabbed Feyre by her collar, and in what must have been adrenaline filled strength, dragged her up and forced her to run. 

The smoke began to clear. And Feyre finally saw the true extent of the damage. 

Rhysand was on the floor, her eyes went to him first. Shaking and gritting his teeth, coughing up blood as he tried to stand on two feet. She screamed when she looked closer as she barrelled forward, and saw that one wing had been completely torn off. 

Feyre fell to his side but as she cried, “Rhys-”

He shook his hand and grabbed her arm forcing her to look to the middle of the throne room. 

“Not me.” He croaked out, “Get him first.”

“Get who-” Feyre cut herself off with a gasp. 

She saw them. She saw them and her chest caved in. 

Tamlin lying limp across the floor, his body not moving, his chest not rising or falling. And Lucien hunched over his form, crying and pleading into his neck to come back. 

“No.” Feyre whispered. 

“Everyone evacuate!” The eldest of the Mortal Queens screamed. 

At that same moment, Hybern was bolting for Feyre, eyes blazing with rage. And Elain a bloodied form on the floor behind him, whimpering with pain and just barely holding on. 

Ianthe laid eyes on her. And she screamed a scream so agony filled that Feyre could have sworn the room shook. 

Abandoning everything else. Ianthe shot Feyre one last look, full of apologies unspoken, before she ran for Elain. Falling to her knees by her side. 

Hybern ignored the weeping Priestess as he headed for Feyre, “You think you can get away.”

“Oh I think she can.” Rhysand croaked out. 

The King’s eyes went wide as a rage-filled grin split his face, “No she won’t.”

“Yes, she will.” A new voice echoed through the room. One like fire and wind. Bursting through and adding a whole new level of danger. 

Eris grinned from the doorways, “Hope I’m not too late to the party.”

“Just in time.” Rhysand smirked. 

Hybern laid eyes on the Autumn Heir and snarled, “I suggest running now, Autumn bitch.”

“Great fun, Hybern, just like your General was.” Eris drawled as he drew up fire to his hands. Preparing to launch his own attack. 

Hybern grinned, “Let's see what the pretty Autumn boy can do then.”

Eris’s eyes were seething when he lifted his hand and fire descended on Hybern. 

Shit.

Everything ached, but she had no time to focus in on it. Not as the room was screaming once more, not as they were being thrown into battle again. Elain couldn’t see well at all. Black edging in and out of her vision, she thought she might collapse at any second. 

But slowly, very slowly, she felt the pain of her body disappearing and when she forced her eyes to open properly. She saw her. 

And her chest tightened until her lungs couldn’t open or close. 

The Priestess, Ianthe they had called her, was kneeling over her. The emerald that had been on Feyre’s neck being pressed into Elain’s chest by her hands, she was whispering a prayer of some kind, forcing the power residing in the stone to heal her. 

Elain finally breathed in deep enough that she could move again. 

A sob tore through Ianthe’s chest as relief flooded her. 

“You’re alive.” Ianthe whispered. 

“We won’t be for long.” Elain whispered back as she pointed to the fire show going on before them. 

A Fae with short red hair and burning eyes, that looked similar to the red-headed male they had called Lucien, was summoning fire down on the King of Hybern. But nothing could harm him, as Ianthe’s mother, the older Priestess, had quickly rushed in front of him and held up her hands. 

Whatever power she had been given from the Cauldron when her head had been under, it allowed her to create a ward strong enough to withstand the onslaught of fire from the Autumn male. But forced them to remain standing still so the others around them could rush out of the throne room. 

Elain watched as Feyre met her eyes. Elain nodded and Feyre mouthed ‘I’m sorry’.

Before helping to pick up her mate and run from the throne room. Followed by the two winged warriors and the blonde woman. 

Leaving the last of those there. 

“We need to get them out of here.” Ianthe said, pointing to the middle of the throne room. 

Dead. 

She was dead. The fair fae, who had been called Tamlin, was dead in the arms of Lucien. Her blonde hair matted with blood, her dress torn and ruined. Elain gasped at the sight of her swollen womb, the child inside it either dead or dying. 

And Lucien wracked with grief, his power and energy drained, was collapsed over her. Begging and praying for a miracle. 

They needed to get out.

From across the room, Elain saw another lump of fallen flesh. Nesta coughed and vomited, before forcing herself to her knees, surveying the damage with wide eyes. 

Then she looked to Elain. And Elain shuddered at what she saw. 

Her sister’s grey eyes, now burning, burning silver. 

Nesta looked back at Hybern, and the male forcing fire on them. Starting to weaken. 

They had to act right now. 

“Go!” Elain shouted. 

“But-” Nesta started, moving to go towards Elain. 

Elain tried to get to her feet but she fell again. Dizzy and unable to stand up properly, the feeling of her body having been through so much, the emeralds could only undo so much damage. 

Ianthe was the one to make the decision, as she tossed Nesta the emerald and screamed, “Go!”

Nesta, for the first time, sobbed, wet tears falling down her face. But she nodded and ran. 

But not for the doors. 

For Lucien and Tamlin. 

She grabbed Lucien by his shoulders and screamed, “Grab her and get up!”

Lucien’s eyes went wide, but as if his body was not his own anymore, he obeyed and scooped Tamlin into his arms. Forcing himself up on shaking legs that were even worse that Elain’s. And went for the door. 

Thank God. 

Elain’s head tipped back as darkness engulfed her. 

Nesta was running on burning, burning legs. Every muscle was rigid, she felt everything and nothing at the same time and it was torment. 

But nothing could stop her as she forced herself forward and forward. The fox haired male beside her, cheeks tear-stained and cradling the body of his dead mate. 

She wanted to look behind her, just to catch a glimpse of her sister, but knew she couldn’t, that she had to get out now. She had the emerald and they needed that to remain out of Hybern’s hands. 

The exit was right before them. They were almost out. 

A little more. 

Lucien passed through the doors and as soon as he was gone from the spelled room, he disappeared into thin air, along with his dead mate. 

And Nesta. 

Nesta was grabbed and thrown to the floor. 

The Fire Fae that had been pelting down flame on Hybern and the Priestess that served him had collapsed in a heap on the ground. Fully spent, with barely enough energy to breathe. 

“No!”

She had been so close. 

“You stupid whore!” Hybern screamed in her ear as he went to grab the emerald. 

“Fuck you!” Nesta screamed as she fisted the emerald, and it burned in her hands. 

Then something rage-filled, and hot rolled through her core in dark waves. 

And Hybern was screaming and Nesta’s vision was white with flames. 

Flames that came from her own hands. 

Shit. 

Silver, it filled the room, dancing along the stone floor. Burning the King and his Priestess, sending them sprawling back against the scorching stone. 

She had no time to revel in her own victory, Nesta clutched the emerald which absorbed the power she could not control herself. Running for the unconscious Fae male. 

In a moment of pure fear, strength came to her. She grabbed him and slung his arm around her shoulder, running from the throne room. 

“Wake up!” She begged, still he remained limp. 

With no other choice, or place to run to as she left the spelled throne room. Heading new guards, the armies rushing into the castle. Filling the place with shouting and the sound of steel being unsheathed.

Nesta put the emerald to the male’s chest like she had witnessed happen and forced magic through it. 

“Come on!” She shouted. 

The emerald pulsed, the sound of footsteps quicked. 

“Please, please, please.” She begged. 

He gasped in air as his eyes opened. The green a scorching liquid amber colour. 

“Well hello.” He rasped out. 

“Get us out of here!” Nesta ordered. 

As he looked around and saw new soldiers beginning to rush in through the hallways. He nodded, “Of course, my Lady.”

And they were gone. 

When Elain woke up, it was because chains were being wrapped around her body and she was being hauled to her feet. 

Head spinning she didn’t know where to look. Maybe Hybern’s half scorched face, maybe Ianthe’s mother, whom she quickly realised was called Amber, when a guard referred to her as such, and her golden face. 

Ianthe was silent as she too was put in chains. 

Elain didn’t know how long it had been, but it must have been not more than a few minutes, as the bodies of soldiers were still out. And the mess of the battle was still visible. 

“Dungeons.” Hybern hissed. 

Amber grinned, “With pleasure. 

They were walked down dark tunnels that only got darker. The cold seeping in through the walls and into Elain’s skin. She kept her head low but watched Ianthe in front of her through her eyelashes. 

Eventually they were led to a large metal door, it swung open with a loud creak and inside could be seen two male guards. 

Ianthe stopped in place, as if waiting for Elain to be put in first. But then, Amber tsked, her grin widening as she said, “You’ll go in first, Ianthe.”

There was a moment of silence as the guards then forced the Priestess forward. 

In a heartbeat. 

Ianthe screamed. A raw sound that tore her throat, nose bleeding from the severity of her crying out. The red streamed down her face as her eyes too began to bleed from her never ending sobbing. 

She screamed to the roof, neck stretching up and head fallen back. The Priestess writhed against her chains, clinging to a threshold, as the guards tried to drag her into a room, into a dungeon. 

Elain was behind her. Watching with teary eyes of her own, as the robed female scabbed at threshold. Her arms strained, hands beginning to tear. 

“Please.” Elain flinched at the tearing screech in her voice. 

“This is your punishment,” Amber said to her daughter, as she smiled from behind them, “Your vows were forsaken when you betrayed me.”

Ianthe let out a gut-wrenching cry as she turned her eyes to the sky, “Mother of creation and Cauldron-”

“Do not beg.” Ianthe’s mother crooned. “The Goddess will not save you.”

Ianthe was sobbing, her cries making her voice shake and her prayer barely coherent, “I have been your loyal subject. Save me from staining. Save me please.”

“You defile us by your unworthy prayers.” Amber spat, “You will break your vows today by entering under a roof with only a male. The Mother will punish you with eternal flame and suffering. You are no Priestess.”

“Save me please, Mother, I have done nothing wrong.” Ianthe shrieked, as her fingers began to slip and the guards dragged her inside-

Elain leapt forward, her sudden, sharp burst of movement shocking the guards enough that she slipped from their grip. 

She hit the ground, and felt her arm shatter as it hit the floor. But she managed to dive into the room. Hitting a set of stairs and screaming as she almost tumbled down them, only just digging her nails into the wall and stopping herself from falling. 

Elain Archeron managed to get through the threshold just before Ianthe was thrown in. 

There was a terrifying shriek of anger from the Lady Amber outside, but Ianthe collapsed to the floor, face smeared with her own blood, tears and mucus. Her breaths were too quick and shallow, hyperventilating as she cried more on the floor. 

Elain went forward quickly. Her arm screaming with fiery pain but the adrenaline was enough for her to ignore it. 

With one arm, Elain managed to pull a sobbing Ianthe into her arms, holding her close. 

“You are okay.” Elain whispered, “You did not break your vows.”

Ianthe opened her mouth to say something, but it was cut off by gasping that was getting quicker and quicker as panic was still flooding through her. Elain could feel tears in her own eyes, but she hugged the female tighter, “Priestess.” She whispered, “Your Goddess had mercy, Priestess, she has not forsaken you.”

“My merciful Goddess.” Ianthe whispered into Elain’s skin. 

Elain ignored how that declaration felt more like it was directed at Elain herself rather than unseeable God. 

I’ll give over my soul. I sacrifice myself. I’ll gut myself on your alter. I throw my body into the sea. Just please, Mother, bring him back to me. 

Lucien recited his prayers over and over, and over, and over. Yet Tamlin’s body in his arms remained limp. Unmoving, not breathing. 

Water from the beach lapped against his knees. Causing his body to shiver from the cold. The crying of birds watching them was the only noise for a while. Lucien cried into Tamlin’s hair. One hand wrapped around him and the other going to his womb. Resting on the child they would have had, the baby they could have been blessed with. 

What would they have looked like? 

Blonde hair, blue eyes? Brown hair, green eyes? 

A little girl? A little boy? 

Lucien cried harder into Tamlin’s hair. 

The mating bond, it had snapped into place as Lucien had watched Hybern lay his hands down upon him. The fire that had leapt up in him had been nothing compared to the hatred and anger he had been engulfed with. 

But as soon as he was given it, it was ripped away. 

Sobbing, barely coherent, barely even there at all. Lucien looked at that lovely face. Blood drying on the corner of his plush lips. Skin still so divine, even if paler now. Lucien threaded his hands through Tamlin’s hair and untangled some of the knots gently. 

Lucien pressed his lips to Tamlin’s cheek, then the other, then his temple, then his nose, then the crown of his head. Like it was just another lazy morning in bed, like Tamlin would laugh as he woke. Like Tamlin would open his big green eyes and smile up at him once again. 

Please bring him back, please I can’t live without him. 

Please. 

Please, anybody. 

Lucien’s chest heaved and shuddered again as a cry was torn from his again. Rocking his love, his High lord, his Tamlin, back and forth. Like he was just sleeping, just asleep, nothing more. He would awaken. He always did. 

“Lucien.” A cracked voice said from behind him. Lucien snapped his eyes up and he saw her. 

Feyre, with her beautiful face, scattered with freckles, her brown hair stuck and clinging to her face. 

“This is your fault!” Lucien screamed with every last bit of strength in his weak body. 

Her eyes went wide and her face scrunched up as she fell to her knees crying. 

“If you had just come back, he wouldn’t be dead.” Lucien cried, his words near incoherent from his sobbing. 

But even through his cries and screams. Even through Feyre’s relentless sobs. 

Tamlin stayed still. 

Fully and utterly dead.

__________________________________________________

Whoops I ended it on an angsty note.

I swear Tamlin lives; I promise the story doesn't end here.

[gruesomejack]

"You really think it's safe for me to bring the kids out here with that wacko on the loose?" Andy was leaned against a tree, his thumb in his mouth as he bit at a hangnail. His eyes were moving over the lush greenery-- It was gorgeous and this place used to be great when they were kids, but with the recent murders and talk of a serial killer lurking about, it brought him the heebie-jeebies rather than a sense of adventure. Glancing at Alex, he dropped his hand to fold his arms against his chest. "We can't all be as batshit insane as you and hang out in the deep woods for fun. -- That cougar shot was nutty, and you know it."

Hanging out with Alex on the weekends had been part of his regular schedule since high-school. It took a little lapse when during his brief stint in the league, but the second he was back home again, it fell right back into place. It was a little strange! The disappearance of a mutual friend had been what brought them together-- They didn't really have a bunch in common outside that, but despite it, talking to him came naturally. They'd gone from a pair of kids that felt obligated to mourn together to whatever this was now. Andy wouldn't give the other man the pleasure of knowing it because it'd be used to tease him ruthlessly, but Alex was his best friend.

Andy opened his mouth to say something else, but paused. Through the trees, past where he could see, he could hear the baying of a hound. It was too early for deer hunting season, wasn't it? Unless some dick was out breaking the law-- Which wasn't entirely surprising. Deep enough in here, nobody could really keep track of what you're trapping. And if you were skilled enough to clean your own game, nobody would ever know. The dog bayed again, and the group of quail the two of them were setting up to photograph immediately hurried for the brush. Pursing his lips, he frowned. "Sorry, bud." He said softly, "Maybe we can find something else for you to get some pictures of?"

The crunch of leaves had his attention pulling. The dog made its appearance near the treeline, but it wasn't what had him freezing. Following behind was a looming figure in a white rabbit mask. Andy watched his heavy steps and felt a hard shock run up his spine. Skittering closer to Alex, he smacked him gently on the back and forced his face towards the trail. "WE'RE SO DEAD. IF HE SEES US, WE'RE DEAD. THAT'S HIM." He whisper-hissed. "That's-" The witness accounts were right. He had to be close to seven feet, and that mask was terrifying, knowing the person behind it was out looking for blood. "We gotta GO. RIGHT NOW."

@purposefully-lost

[cr1ms0n4nd-ac3]

Wanted to write something.. to test my skills of fanfic. Also this is for the Stardew Valley fans!

"Nothing Lasts Forever" A Stardew Valley AU made by Crimson.

[ Three TWs contains Mentions of Death, mentions of PTSD and finally... Character death. Now please enjoy this piece I made. ^^ ]

Cindy knew that her time was finally up, even though she knew that the loop would forever digest eternally. She was shaking, coughing and bleeding out from the wound of someone she may, or may not remember.. Her own visions can barely see a shadowed red and black figure with white eyes. She's barely trying to cover up her stab wound but she was already on her knees and coughed more.

Ugh... t-this is bad, really bad. She thought, her eyes slightly deepened a bit as she tried to get up. But she knew that the figure wouldn't let that happen. So Cindy remained still instead, but still clings on her scythe and her wound. She is now barely looking at the figure in a expression of hurt anger.

"Trying to get back up again I see?"

It said, it angers her like it was mocking her.

"Tried to, what could you possibly want from me?"

She said, while the figure hum quietly to tilt its own head a bit before slowly taking steps closer to her.

"You know exactly what I had to always do to you, little one. Not letting you avoid your own demise, that is it."

Her own vision is starting to make her lightheaded slowly, but Cindy is still trying to keep it up. Even despite she knows that avoiding her own demise is indeed hard for her, she still wants to stay alive.

She yells, her tone slightly weakens.

"Sebastian is waiting for me! Why can't you let me live now huh?!?"

The figure quietly giggle as it stopped its own tracks, a slow red smile is revealed in a somewhat slow wide. Cindy felt disgusted of it. Especially the rain is starting to go a little hard.

"You can't escape from the Seal of Loops, little one. Admit it, you can never ever end it. Not even once and twice. You can rest now..."

No..! She can't let that happen! Cindy is still trying to get up before the wound immediately made her fell to the wet grass grounds, while the blood is still bleeding slowly.. and herself? She now died, again.

The figure giggled very quietly, while taking some steps back to take a look at the corpse.

The corpse of the Loop Victim.

The figure knew that her friend is going to find her, and it already turned around before fading in stars.

And the rain still fell, while the corpse is remained the same dead moment. But the sounds were soon interrupted by a sound of crunches before—

"Cindy?—"

.

[ LOOP #6 death complete. ]

Sweet dreams, little one.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Cindy gasped, breathing heavily as she was now back to her own bedroom, again, again, again, again, and again.

She is going insane. She really is as she curled herself up, shaking.

She has to find that Seal, to end it once and for all. She had enough of the loops so much.

She doesn't care if death is still always lurking onto her.

She wants to end it all.

And that is final.