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separatist-apologist · 3 days

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Fuck Me Up, Florida

Summary: Elain has some regrets- she'll bury them in Florida.

Read on AO3

Before:

Elain stood on the edge of her cottage, arms crossed over her chest. Maybe they’d taken things too far this time but there wasn’t room for this interloper, this stranger from an even stranger land. She and Lucien had lived in the swamplands for centuries—they would outlast the so-called witch seeking to take their territory.

But Lucien’s face…oh. He knelt beside her, head bowed as blood crusted over his golden skin. “You should go—”

“I’ll kill her,” Elain replied calmly, drawing forth the magic pulsating against her fingertips. She might lack Lucien’s ability to shift himself at will, to take on the terrifying form of the alligators that guarded the waters, nor could she rip out a throat with her teeth.

Elain could merely gaze into the future and reshape it to her will.

The witch—Amarantha, they called her—was from another place with crueler, colder rules. Her magic was just as old, but twisted and dark and wholly out of place in the warm, sunlit paradise. Elain had seen how it ended, saw the witch crumble to dust, though when she tried to see how, the future shifted wildly into a kaleidoscope of color.

The witch could be defeated. She would be defeated, if only for what she’d done to Lucien.

So Elain waited, dagger hidden beneath the cool material of her skirt, while Lucien continued to kneel beside her. He wanted to leave while they were still intact, but Elain refused. This was their home. She’d give it up over her dead body.

“Is that so?” Amarantha purred, stepping from seemingly thin air. Everything about her set Elain’s on edge. She was bone pale, with eyes so black they seemed to bleed against the whites of her eyes. Her hair was the same shade of freshly spilt blood and around one long, spindly finger she wore a ring made from a real, moving eye.

Her dress slithered against the mud, silencing the once lively world. “You’ll leave over your dead body?”

Lucien’s head snapped up, tasting the iron tang of magic mere seconds before Elain did. Amarantha pointed at Elain, eyes burning with deathly amusement.

“No—!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Amarantha purred. Elain was frozen, trapped in a swirling mass of air. “She’ll be back.”

“Don’t,” Lucien pleaded. “I’ll do anything—”

“I want nothing from you. Only her and her meddling sisters. Let’s play a game…just to make it fair. I won’t kill her, little demon. She’ll be reborn and given one mortal lifespan. Bring him an offering of flesh as a sign of our bargain…and in return, if you can convince her to tell you she loves you, I’ll return her memories.”

Elain wanted to scream at Lucien not to take the deal. It was a fools errand—to rob her of her memories, to make her think she was mortal and then present her with a male who looked so inhuman no human would ever stand to be in his presence.

Say no, she tried to plead with her eyes. Feyre and Nesta would avenge her. Lucien looked up at her, face still freshly scarred, and shook his head. He knew it was impossible—a fools bargain. And still.

“It’s a deal.”

Elain took a breath.

And then she was gone.

Now:

She didn’t know how it happened.

One minute Elain Archeron had been listening to Graysen go on yet another tirade and the next…the next her hands her bloodied and Graysen was laying there lifeless, eyes glassy and tilted toward the vaulted ceiling. If she wanted to be honest with both herself and God, Elain would have admitted that she’d simply lost her temper.

He wasn’t yelling at her. Not this time, anyway. Instead, Graysen yelled about immigrants, he yelled about his politics, he yelled until his face was red and he realized that the only person left to yell at was her. And Elain was simply tired of apologizing.

She’d wanted him to just stop. To give her a moment to think, to settle her galloping heart. Even when she slept it was never peaceful, never deep. She tiptoed through her own life, making herself small and sweet so as not to draw his ire.

She’d always been that way.

What had been different, she wondered?

But she knew the answer to that, too. Two years of marriage—and two years of infidelity. She’d discovered it the week before when his phone lit up at three am, just in time for Elain to get up and use the bathroom. She couldn’t say what was different about that night, too. Maybe it had been the Georgia heat. Or maybe her body knew something her brain did not. Elain had spent the night scrolling through hundreds of love sick messages, and a hundred more that painted her out to be a frigid, standoffish wife who didn’t care about her husband's needs.

Any woman dumb enough to believe the tired story of the neglected married man deserved whatever she got. Which, in Elain’s estimation, was a man who yelled about everything all the time. He didn’t yell at that other woman, though.

He called her beautiful.

Elain could still remember when Graysen had talked to her like that, too.

So when he started yelling, Elain’s patience was already shredded thin. There was simply no more good will left. She’d picked up a heavy crystal face and smashed it over the back of his head. Graysen had pitched forward, forehead slamming against the sharp edge of their coffee table, rendering him dead before he ever connected with their hardwood.

She’d intended to turn herself in. That was the reasonable thing to do. Nesta was a lawyer, Feyre was married to old money—she figured she could spend a decade or so behind bars, even if orange did wash her out.

The world worked in mysterious ways. As Elain was picking up her phone, 911 already dialed, her phone dinged a warning.

Hurricane Elaine scheduled to make landfall on…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Elain burst out laughing. Hurricane Elaine? Really? Surely it was some cosmic joke and yet…

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” Elain said, still laughing like a lunatic. “My daughter, she…sorry.”

The annoyed operator on the other end huffed out a sigh, assured Elain it happened all the time, and ended the call.

Hurricane Elaine.

Elain was on the Florida-Georgia line, just far enough from the worst of the coming storm. It was a six hour drive to Destin, risky considering Elain had moved her husband's dead body to the back of his truck. If anyone noticed or stopped her, it was all over.

But if they didn’t…

Oh. But if they didn’t.

Graysen had a timeshare in Destin. It wasn’t much, though he was proud of it all the same. She’d never liked it, truth be told but in that moment, standing beneath a starry Georgia sky, Elain used their points and booked a week. It was the kind of thing Gray would do. He never wanted to evacuate, never took these kinds of threats seriously. Elain would dump his body in a swamp and then say the water simply swept Graysen away.

Maybe it would take her, too.

Elain didn’t have a preference one way or the other, truth be told. She merely thought getting away with his murder was another outcome she could live with right alongside being swept away by the sea. She thought about all of it as she drove in the dead of night, amazed by the traffic trying to leave Florida as Elain tried to enter.

Every couple songs on the radio warned about the impending storm. She didn’t care. Eain was giddy by the time she pulled into the resort, careful to hide Graysen’s body beneath a tarp. It couldn’t stay in her car for long without risking being caught, not with the Florida humidity. She simply needed to check in to make her story believable, and hope no one bothered checking the security cameras.

“You’re brave, checking in,” the cheerful woman at the front desk told her.

“Or stupid,” Elain replied with an easy smile. “My husband thought we’d have the pool all to ourselves.”

“Ocean, too,” the receptionist said before handing Elain the keys. “We aren’t required to evacuate but if things get any worse, you should.”

“I will,” she swore like a liar. All she needed was that key and a plausible alibi, after all. She’d been here, not committing any murders. Was it a crime to be stupid? No, especially not in Florida.

They could suspect her all they like, Elain didn’t care. She was free of Graysen without the mess of a divorce.

Would she feel grief once the dust had settled? When Graysen was nothing more than a few picked over bones at the bottom of a swamp would it all hit her? Would relief turn to misery? Would she lie awake in bed missing the warmth of his body?

Climbing back into her car, already warmed from the Florida heat, Elain decided she couldn’t let herself care. Not right then, anyway. Besides, if Elain was honest with herself, she was having a disturbing amount of fun.

Rolling down her window, Elain let the wind ruffle her hair like an affectionate parent as she grinned, cheeks pink from the humidity. If a hurricane was on its way, the world gave no sign of it. Though, Elain had turned from Destin to make her way toward a swamp that would become Graysen’s final resting place.

Good riddance, she thought. This was where she’d bury all her regrets, her mistakes, her ghosts. Maybe herself, too, though it was too early to make that determination. Maybe once Graysen had been dumped and Elain was alone in the resort, hurricane winds pounding against the roof.

Maybe.

Truth be told, Elain didn’t want to mourn or miss him. Her whole marriage felt like she’d been grieving a man who’d died the day she met him at the altar. He’d once been kind and sweet, had looked at her like she was the sun and he was merely a frigid planet begging for warmth. He’d been the one who’d changed, who’d embraced cold so brutal no light could penetrate his rotted heart.

Killing him had been an extreme course correction and yet…and yet Elain couldn’t find the empathy people had always praised her for. Couldn’t find anything but the knob of the radio and then her voice singing along, loud enough to be heard over the rush of the road. Nevermind that there was a dead body in the back of her stolen truck—the songs were all bops as palm trees became cypress and mangrove.

The air was thicker somehow, as if charged with magic. It was tempting to think that was just Florida itself and not her own delirious joy seeping out of her. She was nearly finished with the whole debacle. Her heart pounded as she pulled off the main road, tires betraying her in the mud as she crept deeper into territories unknown.

This was the hard part. As Elain cut the ignition, she considered for a moment the absurdity of her plan. If it worked, it would be sheer luck and nothing else. There was blood in her apartment, tire treads in the mud, and a hurricane on the horizon. She ought to go back to her original plan and call her older sister for help. Nesta would know what to do, would be able to get her out of serious trouble.

Elain knew if she dumped this body, there would be nothing Nesta could do to soften that blow. There would be no painting Elain as a victim but the aggressor, the abuser—everything Graysen had been before she took his life and made him part of the Florida ecosystem.

Elain took a breath before deciding fuck it. She’d come this far, hadn’t she? Might as well see it all the way through. Elain hopped from the cab, flats sucked into the mud so deeply she thought she might need to abandon them altogether. Managing to get her feet out of the mud, Elain pulled the tarp she’d half wrapped Graysen in from the back of the truck until his body slid to the ground.

The Florida heat was getting to her. Or, maybe it wasn’t the heat that was making her feel a little manic but the humidity—whatever it was, Elain let out a soft laugh before grabbing Graysen by his limp arms. She tried hard not to look too closely at his gray skin, eyes trained on the path ahead. Just get him the water, she told herself.

Television hadn’t prepared Elain for how heavy a dead body was. Graysen didn’t look like such a solid man but right then, Elain wanted to scream as she inched him forward, sweat dripping from her nose.

She was leaving DNA everywhere—if she didn’t get caught it was simply law enforcement refusing to do their job entirely. As she dragged him toward the murky water, Elain considered that she was merely digging her own grave, too. She ought to climb in after Graysen and let the alligators have her, too.

In the end, Elain kicked Graysen into the water with a heaving breath of air. He plopped into the green tinted water with a heavy splash that silenced the insects, if only for a moment. Shoulders aching, she braced herself against the sticky bark of a leaning tree, eyes closed.

It was done. She’d done it. There was no going back now. She could have turned back anytime before Graysen sank to the bottom of the swamp but now…now there was no way in hell Elain was getting in that water to try and drag him out.

She needed to leave. Spend the week in the timeshare at the pool until the hurricane hit and then…she didn’t know. She had no plan, no idea how to go about things and she was terrified to google any of it.

Elain opened her eyes, surprised to find she wasn’t alone. A man was coming toward her as he pulled thick, auburn hair up off his face in a messy bun.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes gleaming. Three long, vicious scars cut down one strange, gold eye that didn’t match the brown of the other.

Elain nodded her head, heart pounding in her throat. What had he seen? Mouth dry, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Elain could do nothing but wait as he came toward her. He wore light clothing that looked far more comfortable than her own, the white cotton of his shirt sticking against the muscular contours of his chest.

“What are you doing so far out here?” he pressed, eyes sliding from her to the water just beneath her. There was no evidence of what she’d done if he ignored the path she’d carved through mud and vegetation dragging Graysen’s body. And if he walked just half a mile toward the gravel road, she’d find Graysen’s truck parked, the doors flung open and likely filled with mosquitoes.

“I like nature,” she told him. It wasn’t even a lie—Elain worked for the botanical garden back home and maintained her own in the backyard she’d once shared with Graysen. “I’ve always wanted to see a swamp.”

“Could have taken a tour,” he said, eyes twinkling. “The alligators are real aggressive out here.”

“They can’t be that bad if you’re out here,” she shot back, unsure why she was being so combative with this man.

Something green glimmered beneath the collar of his shirt, inked against his skin. What kind of tattoo was it, she wondered?

“I practically live here,” he replied as he came closer, hands jammed in his pockets.

“You work in a swamp?”

He only shrugged. “It’s a living, right?”

“Well, if you’re not afraid of gators, neither am I.”

He came closer still. “There’s worse things in gators out in the swamps.”

Elain froze. There she was, in the middle of nowhere talking to a stranger who had appeared seemingly out of thin air. Her hair curled in the humidity, her face slick with sweat and yet he seemed serene. Unbothered by the heat, the heavy air, or their surroundings. Elain took a step backward.

“Right. Well I uh…should be going.” He didn’t try and stop her, seemingly amused as she made her way back up the path. “Watch yourself, Elain. There’s a hurricane coming, you know.”

She only nodded, turning her back on him to rush back to the car. She was too stressed to deal with the stranger in the swamp. Elain didn’t let herself think about him until she was back in the room at the resort standing beneath cool shower water.

Watch yourself, Elain.

Had she told him her name? Elain genuinely couldn’t remember. The stress of everything was getting to her—maybe she had. In that southern kind of way, a greeting that included letting him know who she was so he knew she was no threat at all.

Why not tell him what she’d done, too? Hi, I’m Elain Archeron and I murdered my husband.

Make it easier on the police when they went looking for witnesses. She could have given that man the murder weapon had it not been shattered in hundreds of pieces on her living room floor. Still, Elain replayed that parting sentence over and over in her head. Elain, Elain, Elain. Why had she told him her name? Why hadn’t she asked for his?

Should she have done something more? Assured him she was just a normal woman lost in the heart of a swamp she had no business being in? Had he watched her drag that body and merely waited to see what would happen? She was more concerned with getting caught than what she’d actually done, which also worried her.

What kind of person murdered their husband?

She did, apparently. Elain didn’t think she was a bad person—just sad. Mad, too, that things hadn’t worked the way she’d wanted to. Angrier still that she’d loved him the way she had and in the end, it hadn’t even been good enough. She still remembered insisting to Nesta that Gray was her soulmate and their love was the thing of legends. It was love so pure, so perfect, so timeless that one day people would write books about it.

She supposed she hadn’t been wrong about that last one. Some true crime junkie would pick up this story and write about her. Would they call her a Black Widow? No, she decided as she laid there in the dark listening to the wind. She had no intention of remarrying, after all, and certainly wouldn’t kill another man. But they’d come up with some other offensive nickname for her, labeling her without really knowing her heart.

Elain fell asleep easier than she’d expected to, though her dreams were confusing and vivid. She was back in that swamp, wading deeper and deeper into the water as something made its way toward her, gold eyes reflecting the moonlight onto the water. Blood—no, hair—fanned out behind the creature and when he raised his head to smile, teeth sharpened to a point.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his voice cutting through the still night. Elain couldn’t move, frozen in place as he came further and further out of the water. The green on his neck, she realized, wasn’t a tattoo but scales and behind him, a tail propelled him forward just as surely as his legs did.

She couldn’t scream. Trapped in mud, Elain could only stand as he came closer and closer, water dripping from his bare chest. The opaque water obscured his bottom half which was for the best—she was certain she didn’t want to see it.

He reached out to touch her, golden skin somehow glowing in the moonlight, and—

Elain woke to the sound of thunder, sheets sticking to her sweat soaked skin. The doors to the balcony attached to her bedroom were flung open and though it wasn’t raining yet, puddles of water pooled on the tile floor. Elain sighed loudly, palm pressed right above her breast in an attempt to silence her screaming heart.

It was just a dream. A nightmare, truly, borne of her guilty mind and her fear she was going to be caught. Elain forced herself to get up, grab a towel from the bathroom, and wipe up the water. This time, she made sure she locked the balcony doors so the wind wouldn’t blow them open before she crawled back into bed.

The nightmares were the same, though.

And when she woke, the doors were opened again.

Unwilling to take it lying down, Elain went down to the front desk to ask if she could be moved. Her doors, she explained ruefully—if there was a hurricane, she didn’t want to deal with water flying in. The person at the front desk was far less sympathetic to Elain’s cause and though they didn’t say so, it was clear they thought she and everyone else still at the resort was an idiot.

She tried not to let it bother her.

She needed to just stick to her plan. It was a terrible plan, admittedly, but it was too late to back out, now. Elain spent the day sitting outside by the pool holding a book in her hand, too nervous to read even a page. She kept waiting for the police to descend on her, led by the man haunting her nightmares.

There she is, he’d say with open accusation. There’s the woman who murdered her husband and thought she could get away with it.

They didn’t come. Frantically checking the news every couple of minutes, Elain found more warnings of the tropical storm about to descend on them, found other stories of murder, but nothing about her. No one had called to check in on Gray—not even the woman he was having an affair with. Elain had his phone sitting on her bedside table, monitoring it for anyone who might be worried about him.

No one was.

It was almost too easy.

If it hadn’t been for the nightmares, Elain might have just turned around and gone home. Maybe that would have silenced her nightmares. Elain dreamt of the man again, noting the way the green scales seemed more repetilian than those of a tattoo. This time, as Elain waded into the swampy water, she found her voice again.

“Who are you?” she asked, white nightgown floating around her.

He offered her a truly terrifying smile, those teeth tinged red in the moonlight. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he told her again, his voice a haunting melody.

“Why?”

He was close enough she could smell the earthy scent of him. It was familiar, somehow, though she was certain she’d remember if she’d seen him before.

He merely cocked his head, standing to his full height. Water sluiced off his body and though she knew this was merely a dream from her stressed out and panicked brain, Elain’s eyes dipped between his legs all the same. Now she knew it was a dream because men should only have one appendage…and this man had two. What was wrong with her?

He didn’t seem concerned with her gaze—not amused nor offended. Instead, he stepped forward, reaching for a long curl between two long, strong fingers.

“Mate,” he whispered, reaching for her before she could stumble back. It was just a dream, she told herself…and yet it felt real. Elain swore she could feel the sharpened claws against her back just as surely as she could feel the warm water enveloping her.

“What about alligators?” she breathed, earning a soft chuckle from the creature holding her.

“You don’t need to worry about anything harming you,” he said, dipping his head to run his nose along the shell of her ear.

“Because this is a dream,” she said, eyes closed.

Another laugh drew shivers up her spine. “Whatever you say.”

But it was a dream, even if it felt real. She knew she’d wake up and the door would be open because subconsciously she wanted to get caught. “What’s your name?”

“Lucien,” he replied, running a finger over her cheek. How long had it been since someone had touched her like this? Like she was special, cherished—loved?

“Why are you waiting for me?” she questioned, deciding if it really was a dream, maybe it didn’t have to be a nightmare. Maybe she could enjoy herself in the privacy of her strange fantasies. Maybe the scales, which she found softer than she expected them to be, were representative of something.

“You’re my mate,” he murmured. Hadn’t she just read a book about that? The men hadn’t been so strange looking—merely more handsome versions of humans, their ears a little pointed, their teeth a little sharper. Elain relaxed in his arms as she realized she was merely trapped in a strange dream about the men she read in books.

“Of course,” she said, amusement lacing her tone. He cocked his head, wet hair plastered to his bare shoulder.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Elain declared blithely, kicking her feet gently in the water between them. “I think I left a body in here.”

“He’s gone now,” Lucien informed her. Oh, how Elain wished that was true. “Who was he to you?”

“My husband,” she said mirthfully as she inclined her head toward the moon overhead. “He yelled a lot.”

Lucien’s grip around her body tightened. “Did he hurt you?”

“Not in the ways that matter.”

“They matter to me,” he said, and of course they did. Elain loved herself and this man was merely an extension of her own mind. Still, pretend or not, it felt good to have someone care about her.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she told him, turning to look him back in the eyes. It was here she found those scars again and wondered what had caused them. Would her mind fill in the gaps for her? “Who did this to you?”

He chuckled, catching her wrist to press a kiss to her open palm as she tried to run her fingers over the grooves. “Another male was interested in my territory. He tried to take my eye, I took his throat.”

“How very vicious of you,” she teased. “Are you half alligator, then?”

“Simply put, I suppose,” he said, the amusement in his gaze sharpening to something she didn’t recognize. It was almost desperation that stared back, a plea to know something she had only forgotten. Elain felt the strangest rush of deja vu, though it faded into the night before she could grasp it, a balloon whose string was just out of reach.

“What are you? Can I ask that?”

“You can ask me anything you like,” he told her, his voice dropping an octave. Elain felt a rush of want as he waded further into the water, clearly unconcerned with the lurking danger.

“I am…” he trailed off, clearly trying to find the words before he turned to look at her again. Elain was tracing the scales adorning his shoulders and neck like tattoos, trying to remember the last time she’d touched anything reptilian. “Old, I suppose.”

“How old?”

“Old,” he emphasized.

“You don’t look old,” she said, half laughing at how predictable her daydreams were.

“I age slowly,” he informed her solemnly. “You did once, too.” “Oh? Before what?”

Skimming his hand over the top of the opaque water, he said, “You’re my curse, now.”

“How do you break the curse?”

Those strange, reflective eyes found the same glassy water they were floating in. He didn’t say, but Elain knew because this was her dream, her fantasy, her imagination. “It’s love, isn’t it?”

He looked so hopeful as he met her gaze. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.

It was a dream. “You seem like you’d be extremely easy to love.”

Pressing his forehead against her own, Lucien exhaled softly. “Let me show you.”

Lucien brought them to the opposite end of the swamp, unconcerned with his nakedness or the fact that she was openly staring at him. Well, not at him so much as what was slowly rising between his legs—two appendages, one longer than the other by a good inch. Elain didn’t need him to explain how they worked, though she was curious as to the point. Surely, from an evolutionary standpoint, one was enough?

Taking his hand, Elain let him lift her from the water, well aware he was just as fascinated by her form which was no longer hidden given the way her nightdress clung to her body.

“What are you going to show me?”

Lucien didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her, sharp teeth grazing her bottom lip. Elain let him, reflecting that even though this man was a monstrous figment of her imagination, it had been a while since someone kissed her like they meant it. Like they wanted her. Maybe, she thought, this was some kind of weird metaphor. The only man who could ever love her was a monster, after all—just like Graysen.

Or maybe she was the monster.

After all, she was the murderer. Lucien was just a man she’d seen in the swamp that would one day testify at her trial while she remembered how they’d had sex in a dream. Elain kissed him back, surprised to find he tasted warm and sweet—like a warm, summer day. This was the type of dream she liked—the sort where she could feel pleasure without the endless guilt that seemed to fill her.

She could taste blood in her mouth, slipping back into her throat as his tongue chased after it, kissing her with a frenzied hunger that Elain wished was real. The trick was not waking up before she came—Elain had never quite mastered that

She knew it was a dream for sure when he lifted her nightdress, swatting her hand when she tried to touch his bare skin.

“Just you,” he breathed, scales glinting in the moonlight. No man would ever, she decided as Lucien ran his own hands down her now naked form. It was almost like touching herself, forcing an awareness of her body that Elain rarely had. She didn’t pay attention to how it felt when someone's fingers teased her breasts or the way cool skin felt against her own. Or, she hadn’t in so long she’d forgotten what true pleasure could be like and he hadn’t really done anything.

“What do you like?” he asked through a heavy breath of humid air.

“I…” Elain was suddenly too embarrassed to tell him. Everything felt real—Lucien sank to muscular knees, his thick tail curling around the pair of them.

“Do you like this?” he asked in a husky voice as his forked tongue traced shapes against her upper thigh. To keep balance, Elain slid her fingers into his thick, silken hair.

“Yes,” she admitted while he lifted her leg up off the ground, hooking it over his broad shoulder. Little ridges adorned his spine, flexible when her toe brushed up against one. Elain was fascinated with his form—more man than creature, but not human at all. She might have demanded an answer had that tongue of his not licked up the length of her.

Elain nearly toppled over, but Lucien wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her closer while cupping her ass in one of his large, strong hands. He groaned with pleasure, the sound drowning out the screaming, watchful cicadas in the background.

“And this?” he demanded, licking again.

“Yes,” she breathed, head thrown back so she could look up at the stars. If she’s been more articulate, she would have told him that she liked it too much, and Gray had never wanted to do it. It took too long, he’d complained which of course only made it take longer. Elain was so self conscious every time he did go down that she never finished and often just counted to two hundred, faked it, and let him move on.

“I need to taste you,” Lucien informed her, pulling her so close against him she wasn’t convinced he could breathe. She would have told him he was already tasting her if she’d been braver and less afraid that at any moment she was going to wake up and realize the whole thing was just a really weird, yet really good dream.

Because it was her dream, Elain didn’t have to worry she was taking too long. In fact, Elain wanted to drag her pleasure out. His tongue was just rough enough to provide the smallest amount of friction while his mouth was otherwise soft and warm. Perfect, she decided with a sigh.

She wanted to spread herself out. Maybe Lucien knew it, or maybe the ground merely hurt his knees. All she knew for certain was in the span it took to draw breath, Lucien was on his back and she was straddling his face, staring down the length of his rigid, muscular body. She wanted to touch him and so she did, spreading her legs as wide as she could get away with so she could lean against him.

Lucien moaned when she pressed a kiss against his stomach. Distracted, she half forgot what he was doing with his mouth. It was just…well, two cocks were endlessly fascinating to her. Why? What was the point? Elain reached between his legs and took the thicker, larger one in her hand. It was ridged, she realized with wild desperation. What would it feel like? Would her mind even know? Was she imagining this because she’d been shopping for vibrators a month earlier and stumbled upon some truly strange looking dildos?

“Fuck,” Lucien panted, inclining his head away from her swollen pussy to look at her. “You don’t—it’s fine, just…just come here—”

Lucien put his mouth back on her with a vengeance, determined to distract her so thoroughly she couldn’t pleasure him, too. It was a game now, trying to get him off even as waves of pleasure began to build in her chest, threatening to drown her at any moment. Had anything felt better?

Lucien writhed beneath her, prompting Elain to reach around for the second one and grip it, too. He gasped, breath warm against her throbbing cunt, before returning to licking circles around her clit.

They came within seconds of each other—though Elain didn’t get to see any of it. Body throbbing, the sound of thunder crashing pulled her from her dream, body still roiling from her orgasm.

“Christ alive,” Elain swore softly, pushing the blankets from her body to close the balcony doors again. She knew she’d locked them before bed, had pulled the handles to be sure they were firmly locked.

Water was pooled on the floor again, her bare feet splashing in puddles as she made her way back to the ensuite bathroom. All Elain could think about was the man—the stranger she couldn’t stop dreaming about and his strange, inhuman features.

She’d nearly forgotten why she was dreaming about him. It was only after Elain had cleaned everything up did she recall that oh, right. She’d killed her husband and her brain was apparently trying to decode this information in the form of giving a strange swamp man two penises.

Elain was going insane. Seeing things that weren’t there, manifesting her own downfall. Was this what if felt like to be haunted? Only, there were no ghosts—only her own guilt tormenting her while she slept.

Elain shoved a chair against the balcony doors before she went back to bed, forced to lay on the opposite end because the mattress felt wet, too. Sweat, surely.. And the swamp man didn’t return, though when she woke the chair was back in its original place beside the window and the doors were open again. Outside, the world had gone red, the sky tinged with blood. Elain felt as though she’d manifested it herself, though that was pure arrogance to think she had any affect on the weather.

Her phone was screaming at her to get out, pinging emergency instructions from the resort on where to go when the hurricane made landfall. Elain planted herself in her bedroom determined to see this lie through. It was the kind of thing Gray would do, besides—he never too much stock in the hysterics, as he called it.

And she was so pathetic that she would have sat beside him and waited to die. Elain told herself she’d be fine, even as fear skittered up her spine. Sirens blared just outside and when she stepped toward the window, Elain could see the storm on the horizon. She took a breath, intending to go sit back in bed and try and read her book. Elain would have, too, had she not seen him coming out the sea itself, eyes trained on her bedroom window. He was merely a dot, a doll walking so far below her Elain was positive he couldn’t see her.

And yet she knew he could. Wind whipped around him, blowing his hair this way and that though he didn’t seem bothered by it. Elain watched, mouth half open, as a palm tree was shoved violently to the ground as though a giant hand had pushed it there. But the man didn’t budge, kept walking as though it were a perfectly normal day.

Oh god.

Elain rushed to the door, locking it before making her way out of her bedroom. Where was she going to go? She turned, standing in the living area, eyes trained on the beach. The man was gone and for a moment, Elain consoled herself that she was just crazy. He didn’t exist, her mind had merely snapped and when this was all over, she’d check herself into an asylum.

Elain looked away for a moment, turning toward the little kitchenette she hadn’t used. “You’re okay—” The glass shattered, sending Elain flying to the floor, arms thrown over her head to avoid getting hit by debris. Unable to hear her own thoughts over the wind, Elain tried to recall what she should do in the middle of a hurricane.

Cool fingers curled around her upper arm, hoisting her up into the air. Elain turned her head, horrified to find herself cradled against the half naked skin of the strangely scaled man. “You,” she accused, certain all this was his doing.

His smile was grim, eyes wide and round. He looked scared. “Me,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “It’s time to go home.”

“I’m not going—” the wind screamed as water pelted the pair of them, stinging her skin with each new assault. He didn’t seem concerned at all, ignoring the glass crunching underneath them as he walked her toward the bedroom.

“We’re going to die—”

“You’re going to remember,” Lucien interrupted, tail swishing angrily behind him. He looked catlike in the stormy dark, eyes glowing like sunlight cutting through shadow.

“You’re not real,” she breathed as he ripped her night dress in half. He certainly felt real.

“You know me,” he breathed, staring down at her. “You love me.”

“You’re a monster,” she replied.

Lucien grinned, betraying two rows of sharp teeth. “I’ll show you a monster.”

She tried to push him away but Lucien knew better. Knew he could have her if he wanted her—had already touched her, tasted her. Her protests were weak, silenced the moment his mouth was back on hers. He was real—they were real. She almost forgot about the screaming wind rattling the windows and pushing glass around the living area.

“You brought me an offering,” Lucien panted, hitching her leg up around his now bare waist. When had he taken off his pants? “Tell me you love me.”

“What offering—”

“The body. Your husband,” he spat, eyes darkening at the memory. “Tell me you love me.”

“I hate you,” she replied as he wrapped both hands around her bare thighs and wrenched them open.

“Wrong answer,” he replied. Elain kicked at his chest as Lucien lined himself up not just with her pussy, but her ass, too.

Their eyes met. “Does this feel real, now?” he whispered, inching himself forward just enough to punch the lungs from her breath. “You know me.”

“I don’t,” she replied as something metallic lodged itself in her nose. The world was ending in an explosion of air and water and yet a strange bubble seemed to exist around them. Words, just on the tip of her tongue, if only she could remember them, begged to be released. To finish a spell long since cast.

Lucien waited for a heartbeat, his hope etched over his features. When Elain said nothing, Lucien pressed himself closer to her, cocks intruding on her body like an old, familiar friend. Elain swore she’d never felt anything like it and yet her body stretched on instinct to accommodate him. Even when Elain wriggled, trying to create some resistance, her body simply allowed him to slide easily inside.

“Why two?” she panted, gritting her teeth to adjust to the feeling of being stretched to capacity.

“I can’t impregnate my mate if she doesn’t feel pleasure,” he replied breathlessly. His hair fell like a sunlit curtain between them, his eyes bright and earnest.

“Lucien,” she breathed, nails cutting against his biceps. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—but who are you?

“Yes,” he managed, pulling himself out of the sticky wet that was her body. Spitting in his hand, Lucien lubricated his shaft now halfway buried in her ass before he thrust himself back in and

Elain was forced to admit that it all felt good. Her back arched of its own accord, eyes rolling upward in her skull. The ridges lining his cock made each new thrust sharper, the pleasure brighter.

“Our bond goes beyond marriage,” Lucien told her as colors filled her vision. “What we have is stronger than love.” His fingers stroked between her legs, rubbing tight circles around her clit until Elain was panting and writhing. She was going to come right alongside the hurricane bearing her name and then what? The windows would give way and the world would one day know of the woman who died because she decided fucking was more important than evacuating.

She didn’t care. Elain pulled him closer, running her hand over the flexible spines running the length of his back until she found the tail protruding just above the swell of his ass.

“Please,” she begged, wrapping her legs around his waist. Lucien whined in response, sweat dripping down his forehead as he ran his nose along her own.

“I can’t stop,” he told her, pressing a kiss along the corner of her mouth. “If you don’t say it, we start all over.”

“I love you,” she said, half meaning it. What did hurt, she decided? He was so obviously insane and maybe so was she, because she was still fucking him, wasn’t she? Maybe this was what she deserved.

Lucien’s pace quickened and with each new thrust a new memory came flooding through her awareness. A cottage on the edge of a swap, a cauldron filled with bubbling liquid. A male half hidden in the water, gold tinged eyes looking for predators as his red hair fanned out behind him.

Amarantha.

Her horrible bargain.

Elains vision.

“Lucien,” she said, fisting his hair so he had to look back at him. He recognized her words, the look on her face.

“You’re back,” he whispered, still thrusting into her though his rhythm slipped into wild, animalistic thrusting.

“You feel exactly as I remember,” she told him, dragging her nails down his back. “What took you so long?”

“Let a man wallow for a century or two,” Lucien replied, kissing her again. “Come for me. Now.”

She did, though not because he told her to— because she was already desperate and close and Lucien was pushing every button she had. Elain tightened around him as Lucien babbled unintelligibly about how wet and tight she was. Some things, she supposed, would never change. The world would.

But not them. Never them.

Lucien came loudly, roaring over the wind she’d forgotten about. Was there a hurricane? Had she been afraid of it? That seemed almost laughable to her now. Turning her head as Lucien buried his own in the crook of her neck, Elain stared out the window coated in violet raindrops.

For a moment, the storm was the only sound between them.

“You borrowed my magic,” Elain accused once his breathing steadied. She could feel his come leaking down her leg, slipping between the spaces his cocks occupied.

“You didn’t know how to use it,” Lucien replied with a sheepish grin.

Elain poked him in the ribs. “Is she dead?”

“Not yet,” he told her, gaze darkening. “Feyre drove her out a century before.”

“Let's finish it, then.”

“In time,” Lucien promised, withdrawing himself so he could offer her his hand. “Home, first.”

Elain grinned. “Home, then.”

#happy friday #elucien #vangator time

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formula1blog · 3 days

Text

Positive

Carlos Sainz x Fem!reader

Summary: You take a pregnancy test after your period is late. How will your boyfriend take it?

wc: 822

Warning: Pregnancy

You were sitting down against the cold tile wall of the bathroom. Your mind was racing with so many thoughts about what was going to happen.

You had been late to your period by two weeks now, You hadn't even noticed it at the beginning, just thinking that it will come the following day. But then your friend, Alexandra, pointed out that you could be pregnant and your mind went blank. She had seen your state and left you to calm down while she picked up some pregnancy tests for you at the pharmacy.

"It is going to be okay either way right?" you ask unsure, placing the rings around your fingers. You had plucked on the skin next to your nails and Alex had to take you hand in hers. Otherwise your fingers would start bleeding. The topic of children hadn't come up a lot in conversation with your boyfriend and you didn't know how he was going to react. He had said he wanted them in the future, but is that now. Is this the future. He is in the highest place of his career, he doesn't have time for a child.

Three minutes felt like a century. Since you had taken the test, you and Alex were sitting on the couch. She tried to calm you down a little, resuring you that everything would be fine.

You were taken out of your trance by the timer going off, signaling that those three minutes were over. "Can you please check." Your heart was racing in your chest. Alex nods and walks towards the table where the two sticks were laying. Her back was turned towards you so you didn't see the smile that had formed on her face.

"Congratulations, you are going to be a mother." She clapped her hands as you hugs you for support. Your mind stopped at those words. Tears had formed in your eyes and for the first time that evening you finally knew how you felt about it. You were happy.

"Omg, I am going to be a mother. I am pregnant." You cried happy tears as did a little jump into the air. "How am I going to tell Carlos?"

He is at a Ferrari meeting, together with Charles. That was the reason you and Alex had decided on meeting up. The original plans had been forgotten the moment she had pointed out, what was the truth. He would be home late today and probably tired. Maybe tomorrow is a better option. But you couldn't lay next to him knowing this and not telling.

"Just say it when the time is right. You don't have to do it right away, but also don't keep it hidden too long. You will know when the best time is to tell. I am sure Carlos would be jumping with joy.

-> Time skip

Carlos and Charles had finished their meeting and were right now sitting on the couch talking about it. The minute Carlos had stepped inside you were acting differently and he noticed it. He wanted to ask, but not with the rest around you.

You helped give Alex all her stuff to put it in her bag. "Everything will be fine." Alexandra whispered in her ear and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Charles looks at his girlfriend confused, but she just shrugs her shoulders as she grabs his hand. He needed to wait for this news. It was not hers to tell him. "Thank you for having me. I will call you."

Carlos and Charles did their Bro hug before the other couple walked out of your hotel room. When the door closed Carlos placed his hands on your hips. "Are you okay, Hermosa?" You put your head into his chest and he placed a kiss on your forehead.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Carlos sounded a bit scared. Your eyes widened at his words and you fast resured him. "No, no. absolutely not. Why would you think that?"

"Thank god."He went with his hand through his hair. "You just have been so closed in since I walked through that door. I was scared." He took your hands into his. "Then what is it that you want to tell me?" Your eyes locked and he saw that yours were a little bit filled with tears.

"I am pregnant. You are going to be a dad." You showed the positive test to him. A big smile appeared on his face when he saw it. He took your chin and kissed you on your lips. "You are pregnant. I am going to be a dad." He looked like the happiest person on earth when he heard those words and the angst in your heart disappeared.

"I love you, mi Vida." He placed another kiss on your lips. He went down on his knees to give a kiss to your belly. "Hello, Carino. I can't waite to meet you."

#f1 #formule1 #formula 1 #carlos sainz 55 #carlos sainz #carlos x reader #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x oc #charles leclerc #alexandra mleux

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toodelusionalforreality · 2 days

Text

Absolution

Azriel x Reader(N)

Summary: Two lovers separated out of necessity finally reunite, only for a brief tryst.

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. It's an extended universe for a plot I was working with details tbd but doesn't involve much plot here. So it should be an easy read. This is my first ever Tumblr publish and it's scary!! So be kind. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: ~4.5k

Warning: NSFW, 18+ SMUT, f!receiving, m!receiving(barely), sappy start+spicy middle+angsty end (i guess), voice kink, p in v. Mentions of OC other than reader[not enough editing/proofreading/formatting]

Azriel stepped into the room desperately holding on to the moment, afraid Crone Mother would change her mind. N sat on the balcony—like every evening, on the floor, her legs crossed, her hands clasped in her lap. The curtains came alive with the touch of a gentle breeze to guard her from him. Her sheer dress melded with her body under the radiance of the fading sun, her skin aglow as if made of stars and gold. Summer flowers adorned her hair, tucked into the braid that unravelled after the day’s practices.

His shadows peeked over his shoulders and swarmed his hands buzzing with excitement. With each silent step, he prayed he didn’t break her trance. He settled before her—bringing his knees to his chest, he rested his elbows on them, and his wings tucked tight to his body.

The hue of the setting sun made everything heavenly about her—soft, ethereal. Wisps of hair teasing her cheeks, the knowing smile on her lips, the slight flutter of her eyelids under his stare. A sigh escaped Azriel’s lips. It was a worthless attempt to hide his presence from her, the one who held the sight.

Azriel wasn’t a fool to waste the mercy bestowed upon him after months of longing to be close to his beloved. He stretched on the floor, his head finding its rightful place in her lap, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her scent and warmth made their bond burn brighter and he sighed in contentment.

After long minutes, N rested her palm on his head. Her fingers carded through his hair, and her nails scratched his scalp the way he liked. A thumb teased the shell of his ear and his wings responded with a sudden tremor.

Azriel smiled. He buried his face into her thigh. Air shifted around them as her body answered to his touches and breaths. Despite the need clawing in his chest, he chose to wait a few minutes, to savour the comfort of her simple touch.

N broke the silence. ‘How was your day?’ Her voice was as sweet as ever.

‘Long. Excruciatingly long,’ sighed Azriel. ‘I started with your friends from the armoury today. Until your mother sent me to the gardens.’ He remembered the smile on the older woman’s face when she took him away from the others. A secretive, mischievous one. ‘She enjoys testing me a bit much. She made me tend to your roses.’

N laughed, the sound sending a shiver through him. ‘That must have been a vision. Maybe she’s exacting revenge for how you treated her back home.’

Azriel’s heart thudded in his chest. Home. No matter what Crone Mother said, N had one home. It was with him, in Night Court. ‘I think she’s forgotten all that. She’s more interested in stealing you from me.’ His arms tightened around her and his shadows whirled around them emphasising their master’s possessiveness, ‘But I don’t mind. As long as she lets me be with you for a while.’ His lips twitched. ‘Did you know everyone here addresses me as your mate?’

Another laugh broke through her lips, ‘They're not wrong.’

‘No, they are not.’ Azriel finally looked up. Her eyes were already on his face. ‘I’ve been called many names over centuries. Shadowsinger. Spymaster. But this one,’ he leaned up to her face, ‘I like the most. To be known as yours before they even know my name.’ He got to his knees and trailed a knuckle along her jaw. ‘I’d like that for the rest of my life.’ Their bond strummed a tune so loud that rendered him senseless. ‘I want to have a life with you. A home, a family. Anything you want, any way you want. As long as you want that too.’

‘You mean that.’ N stated as if she needed to reassure herself. She stared at him with a mask of impassivity on her face that almost rivalled his own as a spy. Then, she smiled. ‘But I’ll have you know there will be more tests from Crone Mother.’

'I’ll suffer anything for you,’ he murmured against her lips. ‘So that’s a yes?’ N nodded before her eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘What is it?’ His senses warned him, his shadows stood alert on his shoulders.

‘Well, technically, we’re married.’

Silence fell between them. Azriel’s fingers left her skin.

‘What?’

N shrugged. ‘Do you remember the first time we duelled?’ Her voice was steady but her hesitance broke through at the sight of the male who sat frozen in front of her. ‘You made me bleed. You proved you were my equal. And, it all happened after the bond snapped for you.’

Azriel remembered that day. He had wanted to impress her. It was the day he felt the warmth of her breath on him for the first time. For days and nights to come, he relived those moments until his skin prickled with heat.

N’s unsure laughter died soon when he didn’t even blink. His shadows retreated. His end of their bond quietened, alarming her.

Finally, he said, ‘All this time you were my wife?’

Her breath stuck to her throat. ‘According to our custom, yes.’

‘And you kept that a secret.’ His wings flared behind him to their full glory and his eyes narrowed. ‘What did we discuss about your secrets?’

N leaned back, ‘Was I supposed to tell you all this when I had your blade to your throat? I’m not sure you’d have been open to that conversation.’ Her voice reeked of confidence but Azriel saw the facade waning in her darkening eyes.

Memories flitted through his mind—visions of her from the instant he laid his eyes on her to the present. Every misfortune they endured, every second they spent in love, every. . .

He stalked her on his knees, his hands on either side of her. He hissed, ‘You slept with those males after that.’ A sound escaped his throat, a rumble deep from his chest. ‘My wife slept with other males to spite me.’

N stared at his lips and swallowed thickly. She hurried back, her hands slipping on the smooth marble under her. 'Azriel,' she whined wincing at the way her body welcomed her impending doom.

Azriel inhaled sharply. ’You like that? When I call you my wife?’ He chuckled darkly. His lips whispered against hers, ‘Of all the things you kept from me, this is the worst. You’re not getting out of this easy this time.’

N pleaded with her eyes. Her breaths shuddered. ‘They are watching.’

‘Then they’ll know my actions are justified.’

Azriel dove for his kill but before his hands grasped her, she faded away. Her airy laughter echoed in his ears. She stood in the middle of the room—her hands gently clutching her skirt to free her feet, her braid coming undone over her shoulder, teeth sinking into her plump lip—a vision of devilry and seduction.

His eyes flashed up to hers with a glint. His shadows who wanted vengeance of their own circled his shoulders and arms with a frenzy. N was in trouble and she knew it. She turned to run only to be met with his hard chest emerging from a dark mist.

‘Did you really think you could get away?’ He caressed her cheek, ‘There’s no escape from me. You should know that by now.’

N slid her arms around his neck. ‘Back then, we barely knew each other. I didn’t want to scare you.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ She sent every ounce of sincerity in her being through their bond, still he kept his end cloaked.

Azriel pulled his arms away. Dark amusement shone in his eyes. ‘As if a silly apology is going to save you.’

N smoothed her palms over his chest. ‘I know.’ Her lips brushed against his skin, littering his face with soft pecks. ‘I know,’ she kissed the corner of his lips, moving closer and closer to the centre as she breathed the words, ‘I’ll make it up to you. For every secret.’

Even as N pressed her body into his, Azriel stood unmoved with a cruel smirk on his lips and his hands by his side. Her fingers wandered over his sculpted torso before unbuttoning his shirt. The shadows on his shoulders swayed, watching, waiting. The regal female who made others quiver with fear grovelled for his forgiveness, and his wretched heart grew giddy with power and pride.

Azriel itched to grab her waist and bite her lips until she bled for him again. A true victory in this duel. He closed his eyes in a wasted effort to tame his thoughts. At the first touch of her cool fingers on his bare chest, he almost gave in.

His eyes snapped open the moment N pulled her lips away. She dropped to her knees, her fingers dancing on his hips. Pressing a kiss below his navel, she inched her hands between his legs and fondled him with the heel of her palms. The warmth from her hands seeped through the cotton, which he was forced to wear upon their arrival, promising him the pleasure that awaited him.

In all the years with her, Azriel treated her lips as a relic–sacred and holy–a crown jewel in the trove that was her body. Something to be guarded, treasured, worshipped. He never had to take her mouth the way she offered to him to reach for the stars.

N smiled sweetly. The goddess who witnessed every vice and virtue under the sky knelt before him with love in her heart and devotion in her eyes.

Enchanted, Azriel watched her. His lips parted with a shaky breath. Their bond blazed with emotions he couldn’t name. At that moment, he knew there had never been nor ever will be a male more blessed than he was.

His scarred hand cradled her cheek tinged with a soft blush. She leaned in, closing her eyes, trapping his hand between her shoulder and face. She sighed. She kissed his wrist, his palm, his fingers.

Azriel couldn’t decide which was in more pain—his heart or his cock. Both, mere toys in her hands.

N grazed her lips against his clothed hardness and Azriel closed his eyes. His head fell back. A gasp escaped deep from his chest when her tongue soaked him through the fabric. He couldn't remember why he wanted to punish his sweet mate. He was close to breaking already and all she did was tease.

A sharp scrape of her teeth along his length had him bury his hand in her hair softer than the flowers that tumbled down her breast. He hissed in warning as his eyes held hers in a glare.

‘I want you to look at me,’ she smiled. That damned smile that masked her every cruelty.

Too much time had passed since they felt each other’s skin. Months, almost a year of not seeing each other, not holding each other. And there she was ready to worship him with her entire being if only for a night until their time ran out. Every move of hers had his heart wring in pain, the desire through the bond overwhelming and consuming his soul.

His shadows swooped down and pulled her to him. Azriel crashed his lips onto hers before her feet rested on the ground and stole every little breath from her chest. His shadows brought them to her bed, delicate and soft fit for a queen, like her.

He pried the cord that held her dress together below her breasts. His lips ventured south leaving a trail of red on her neck and chest while N rewarded him with her moans. Shadows, ever obedient, parted her dress to make way for their master’s hand to relish the smoothness of her skin. He caressed every inch of her body with his marred hands except where she ached for him the most. She pleaded and moaned, guiding his hand between her legs.

‘You shouldn’t have lied to me,’ he growled, letting his canines scratch her jaw. ‘You know how I feel about secrets, don’t you?’ A sob left her lips as the back of his fingers teased her entrance with the barest of touch. ‘Is this what you call making up? Crying and moaning until your husband fucks you?’

N froze. Her eyes stared into his with unspoken emotion that radiated clearly in their bond instead. ‘Azriel, please.’ His hand came down hard between her legs. She arched her back beautifully for him as a silent gasp escaped her lips.

Azriel memorised every pull of her muscles. ‘You should’ve known better.’ He slipped his fingers in and out, barely past her entrance, coaxing moans out of her. Her wetness had his mouth water. He undid his pants enough to ease himself out and thrusted into her in a single move.

They were perfect for each other—masochists at heart, denying themselves release until the day for their reunion drew closer and closer. N reached a hand out and clawed at his chest. Her eyes widened and soon glazed with pleasure. Her lungs ached for air. Her body begged to escape the feral male whose only intention was to devour her body and soul. Yet, she wrapped her legs around him.

Azriel waited panting, his heart losing its rhythm, shirt clinging to his back. N tugged him closer with her heels on his ass. He growled, baring his teeth. He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to his chest. Her eyes fixated where his hips snapped against hers, where they were finally a whole. Each of her whimpers nudged him to quicken his pace.

He felt his release closing in. ‘Is this what you want?’ She looked up, mewling for him, her eyes burning with tears. Too soon. He pulled out of her weeping cunt and dove in with his tongue.

N cried out his name, sweeter than any melody she had ever sung for him. Her body slumped on the bed. She sought for leverage, her hands fisting the pillows. As she felt her fingers grasping at reality, shadows weaved around her wrist and pinned them above her head.

Azriel watched his mate’s body collapse and crash at his ministrations. He dug his fingers into her thighs tearing them open. Her bright eyes pinched shut before she met his crazed ones. With her chest glistening with sweat, her neck reddening, and her teeth sinking into her wet, swollen lips, she came.

Watching her body shiver with every lick of the evening breeze, Azriel rid himself of his clothes. He leaned down to kiss her lips, but she stared dazed. He laughed and nipped at the insides of her bicep, clearing the fog in her mind. Her arms flushed red as blood rushed back. Her fingers twitched and his shadows trickled along them. She came alive with whines when he slipped his fingers inside her.

Her desire came in waves through the bond. A groan rose from his chest, a guttural rumble. Even after his transgressions, she only wanted more, more of him. N clenched around his fingers at the sound. Azriel chuckled darkly into her ear. N curled into herself and clenched again. A renewed glint came to his eyes as he stared into hers.

‘She likes my voice, does she now? I always wondered. . .’ He lowered himself between her legs again, his second haven, the first being her embrace. A series of soft ‘please’ escaped her but the lust in her eyes told a different story, the bond sang a different tune. And he chose to heed its calling.

He wrapped a hand around her thigh and pushed the other aside with his shoulder. He didn’t want to miss this one. It was no new knowledge. He always had his suspicions, years of practice in observing the unobserved. But to finally see it with his own eyes, he was desperate to witness it. He wanted it to be true, he prayed for it to be true.

The room was filled with nothing but N’s silent pleas. Her wetness glistened in the last lights of dusk promising him an elixir crafted just for him. A fresh wave of arousal rolled over her body. Azriel hummed, breathing in the scent.

‘So pretty,’ he exhaled. His eyes took in every flutter that invited him back. ‘You like being praised, don’t you?’ N moaned fighting against the shadows that held her hostage. Azriel pulled her close by her hip and inhaled—loud and deep—his nose almost touching her.

‘Always wet for me, eager for me.’ His voice softened, his taunts dying as if his anger was meant for N and not her cunt, ‘I missed you so much. I can tell you missed me too,’ he pressed his lips to her thigh, his eyes unwavering, ‘by the way you wrapped around me, by the way you swallowed me.’ His cock throbbed at his own words.

He rasped, ‘Look at you, teasing me. Do you want a kiss?’ He flattened a hand on her abdomen, his fingers stroking deliberate patterns. ‘My tongue, my fingers? Hmm?’ Her hip jerked up for more and he pressed a kiss to the arch above her clit.

'Azriel, please. I want more.'

‘So wanton, so needy.’ A wisp of shadow licked her entrance once and N closed her eyes. Her hips moved in tandem as if she could materialise what she needed out of thin air. ‘So beautiful.’ Azriel grazed a thumb along the junction where her leg met her hip. N fell back with a groan.

‘You want me, don’t you? You never lie to me,’ another kiss to her thigh, ‘You can’t lie. Unlike N,’ his eyes finally caught her desperate ones. For a moment, he almost felt tyrannical to let the wicked smile pull at his lips. N threw her head back and circled her hips again.

‘That’s it, pretty. Show me how you’d fuck me. Show me how beautiful you are.’ His tongue trailed a line alongside his thumb, ‘Come for me.’

Her legs went taut around his shoulders. Her toes dug into his back next to where his wing emerged from. When her stomach sank in, Azriel shoved two fingers inside and held it there as she unravelled with a choked moan.

Pure, perverse pride filled his chest as his mate bucked and thrashed at the impact. Azriel was sick—sick at heart, sick in his desires. He never denied it. But it hardly felt a sickness with N trembling with his fingers inside.

Having lived through the horrors he did and committed unspeakable sins over his lifetime, Azriel knew there was no absolution for him. Nor that he cared. He already had his heaven, right there, in front of him, basking in the afterglow of pure pleasure.

He nuzzled his nose into her thigh to steal a little more warmth from her exhausted body. He brushed his cheek against her, closing his eyes, savouring the moment before his primal need destroyed the only person he loved the most. He hummed satisfied, pressing the lightest of kisses to her skin, his pathetic attempt to atone for the wicked he unleashed upon her. His heart should cower in shame and guilt, yet it swelled with love and hunger.

His name, whispered once, tore his attention from his perverted thoughts. He never cared for what he was called. But in her sweet voice, a sacred chant uttered in the confines of their chamber, he liked no word more than his own name. His shadows answered her call, smoothed over her sweat-covered body apologising for their master’s sadism, burning her skin with their delicate coolness. Some mercy, for they were no better than him.

Azriel brushed a thumb along her cheek gathering her tears away, a tender kiss placed in their stead. He smiled like a gentle lover. He parted her lips with his fingers soaked in her essence and slid them past her teeth.

With hooded eyes, N looked up at the male who sought the remnants of her soul clinging to her body and sucked on the tips. Her tongue rivalled the wetness between her legs. She was a true seductress.

Azriel lapped at his fingers and the lips sheathing them alike, tasting her whole at once, embracing the insanity he fought to stave off for so long. Even when he slipped his fingers out of her mouth, even when he pressed his body onto hers, even when he lined himself to her welcoming heat, he didn’t break the kiss like her lips were his only tether to reality.

N stilled beneath him. Another tear slipped from the corner of her beautiful eyes. Azriel was cruel, but he was capable of loving his mate right. He wrapped a hand around her shoulder and smoothed a palm over her hip. He inched in slowly into her pulsing cunt, ‘Give me one more, love. Just one. For me?’

His mate, ever merciful, nodded. The adoration that flowed through the golden string between their hearts reflected in her eyes. ‘Please,’ she said breathlessly, ‘please, Azriel. I want to touch you.’

The one whose dangerous hands slit throats of the most feral of males and females with grace asked to touch him so sweetly. How could he deny anything to her?

His shadows didn’t wait for his instructions. They released her arms and slid over to the skin their master left unattended, staking their claim on her body. Azriel reined them back only to lose control again. She made him jealous of his own shadows, ones meant to serve him, ones who forgot their place around her.

A long sigh pulled his focus back to her. Too exhausted to hold him like she always did, N ran her hands along his sides. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’ Azriel lifted her thigh higher and wrapped it around his waist ripping a whine from her throat. He did miss her. He missed everything about her. Her raw devotion to him, her pure heart, her unconditional love.

As he moved deeper and deeper still, he felt it. The echo of a song he knew too well, one of love and longing that kept them connected through the times of separation. Beyond the familiarity of its thrum, he recognised something else.

Like catching a flicker of light after being lost in the dark for long. Like the first time he gained control of the darkness he was born with. Like the first time he tasted his freedom. In her arms, everything made sense. His breaths strained.

Tears flowed freely from her eyes. ‘I missed you,’ There was a tremor in her voice. Azriel soothed her with his own declarations but she shook her head, ‘Don’t make me leave you again. Please, I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t, not without you.’

Azriel always believed he loved her more than she could love him in her lifetime. His petty display of jealousy and temper, a proof of his love. What an arrogant fool. His heart ached for failing to truly see his beloved’s feelings for him, how deep it ran in her veins, how it destroyed her while it breathed life into him.

He pulled her close, enveloping her in his comfort, and his wings draped around them.

‘Promise me, Azriel.’ She closed her eyes, ‘Please.’

‘I’m here now,’ he caressed her cheek. He left kisses on her forehead, eyes, cheeks, and finally on her lips. ‘I’m here. I’m with you, love. I’m here.’ And at those words, N let go one last time leading him to his release.

Azriel left his shaking mate in the bed with a kiss when he came back to his senses to draw a bath. He stood by the door of her bathroom and watched his shadows tickle the skin below her ear. A light chuckle escaped her lips as more chased her hand. It was a sight he was used to and missed dearly.

N smiled at him as he carried her in his arms. Her body shivered at the first touch as Azriel lowered her into the tub. She tugged at his wrist, and he joined in. She leaned her back into his chest and closed her eyes. The water washed her exhaustion away while his hands massaged her tender flesh. Her eyes struggled to stay open and she sank deeper against him. As he dried her tenderly after, she watched him with an easy smile.

Azriel carried her out to the bedroom and paused. Fresh sheets lined her bed. Sweet fragrance of jasmine lingered in the air. Lit candles stood on windows and her desk. Moonlight streamed past the drawn curtains. His shadows failed to notice, too lost in her as he was.

‘I told you they were watching,’ N said, her voice quiet and tired.

He eased her into the bed and pulled a blanket over her legs. He traced the marks of red on her stomach and between her breasts, marring her pristine skin—still a masterpiece—complete, perfect. ‘Do you think they’ll let me near you again after seeing what I’ve done?’ He couldn’t stop the smile that cruelly tugged at his mouth.

N groaned, throwing a hand over her eyes. ‘I’m pretty sure Mother Aarzu is already dissecting how you wrecked me for her next seduction lesson.’

‘Well then,’ Azriel laid beside her and pulled her to his chest, ‘I’m willing to contribute more to these lessons. They sound very necessary.’

She glared from behind her hand. ‘Mock all you want but your brothers are worse. I bet Rhysand was listening to your thoughts the whole time. And they are already planning on ways to taunt you.’

Azriel lifted a brow. He opened his mouth to defend his ability to guard his thoughts when his brother’s laughter echoed in his mind. ‘Your shields are pathetic when she’s around. They went down the moment her lips were on you.’ N flinched in his arms and he knew his brother invaded her mind as well for his next words, ‘Thanks for the show. Quite an. . .inspiration.’

N scoffed, ‘I don’t know why we do it behind closed doors.’ Her words had his mind conjure ideas already. A frown appeared between her brows. She looked at him sharply when she felt a hardness pressing into her hip, ‘We’re not doing that.’

Azriel laughed aloud. Something he hadn’t done in a while after he sent his mate away. ‘Anything my wife wants,’ he teased. He cradled her face against his chest and kissed her eye. ‘Anything you want.’

#azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader smut #azriel x reader angst #azriel angst #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #acotar x reader #acotar x reader smut #azriel x y/n

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moonlightperseus · 13 hours

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breathe in the feeling

ambiguously set after the first half of s7 | 867 words

Being in love with Buck wasn’t an option.

It can’t be an option.

Because if it was, Eddie might do something stupid, like kiss his best friend.

Which is—not an option.

Eddie’s done that song and dance before, and that ended badly—leaving and being left, divorce papers, blood on hot asphalt.

But the thing is, Eddie can’t stop thinking about it. It’s been over a month since Buck came out to him, and Eddie can’t stop thinking about how Buck is an option now.

Which isn’t even entirely true, because Buck is with Tommy—Buck is happy with Tommy—and Eddie feels like his entire world is collapsing in on itself.

He broke up with Marisol last week, something that up until this moment, he hadn’t told anyone, not even Christopher—which he knows he can only avoid for so long.

He’s not even sure why he’s telling Bobby, because now Bobby is staring at him quizzically and Eddie is feeling closer to a panic attack than he’s been in a long time.

“You broke up with Marisol,” Bobby repeats back to him, because he’s been waiting for Eddie to continue and Eddie has made a point out of staring at his hands and not saying anything as his brain spirals. “Do you want to talk about that?”

“No,” Eddie says, because he really doesn’t—but he sucks in a sharp breath and rips the band-aid off anyways, “I think I might be in love with Buck.”

Bobby doesn’t say anything for what feels like an eternity.

Eddie finally gives in and looks at him, Bobby’s face is a carefully crafted blank expression—he’s processing the information Eddie has given him, but he’s not going to give any reaction in the meantime.

Eddie resists dropping his head against the table and instead settles for staring at the dormant alarm bell on the wall and hoping for it to start ringing to save him from this situation.

“I see,” Bobby says finally, “that’s… that must be a lot for you to process.”

“Understatement of the century,” Eddie mumbles, allowing himself to drop his head into his hands—it’s not quite as satisfying as the thunk of his forehead against the table would be.

“So how long have you been… processing this?”

“I don’t know, a couple weeks, maybe—” —my whole life, possibly, he doesn’t say.

A hand lands on his shoulder, the touch is gentle and grounding, and Eddie is reminded of why he went to Bobby in the first place.

“Eddie,” Bobby says carefully, “there’s nothing wrong with it—being in love with Buck. If that is how you feel, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Eddie exhales slowly, because that’s the whole thing, isn’t it? “I know that—logically, I know that. I’ve never had a problem with—I guess it’s different, when it’s yourself. But it’s not like it’s even—I mean, Buck’s with Tommy—Buck’s happy with Tommy—and Tommy’s my friend too, so it is kind of wrong, in a way.”

“Buck being in a relationship with someone else doesn’t make your feelings for him invalid—or wrong. Sure, maybe it’s a little complicated since you consider them both friends. But whatever you’re feeling—you’re allowed to feel it.”

“But what am I supposed to do with it?” Eddie finally meets Bobby’s gaze, “I mean—I feel like I’m lying to Buck, somehow, by feeling this way—by not saying anything.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it, at least—not right away,” Bobby squeezes his shoulder before removing his hand, “maybe right now you just let yourself feel it. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be honest with Buck, but I think maybe you should start by allowing yourself to be honest with you.”

Eddie stares at Bobby, completely and painfully aware of his own heart beating in his chest, it’s not a panic attack, but he knows it’s a warning sign.

He takes a moment to breathe slowly, the way Frank taught him. Bobby says nothing, waiting patiently

“I don’t know what that looks like.” Eddie says honestly.

Bobby offers him a kind smile, “That’s okay, you don’t have to have it all figured out, but maybe allow yourself the time to really think about it?”

“What if I lose him?” The words spill out of him unbidden.

“Eddie, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that you and Buck have a way of finding each other, no matter the circumstance, the two of you will always fight to find each other again.”

Eddie blinks, and for a moment, all he sees is Buck, covered in Eddie’s own blood, begging for him to hold on.

He blinks again, and the memory fades, and it’s just Bobby sitting there in front of him, watching him carefully.

“Let yourself feel it, Eddie,” Bobby says gently, “and when you’re ready—talk to Buck.”

The bell rings then, because timing never seems to be on Eddie’s side.

Bobby sighs softly, “well, duty calls.”

Bobby stands to head towards the engine bay, but before Eddie can do the same, Bobby rests a hand on his shoulder again, “I’m really proud of you, Eddie.”

He lets the words settle over him for a moment—breathing slowly in and out—and then follows after his Captain.

#eddie diaz #bobby nash #911 #911 fic #brotp: bobby & eddie #buddie #my fic #mine #abby writes #fanfic #i do have a potential follow up for this but this felt good enough to post standalone for now #special shoutout to winter who peer reviewed this for me <33 ily

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thisblogisaboutabook · 3 days

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Wicked Felina (The Girl That I Love)

Part 3 - Vampire

Azriel x Reader/Rhysand’s Sister - Angst

Elain and Azriel have a moment while Tamlin and Felina reconnect. Rhys winnows his sister away following a panic attack, leaving Azriel and Tamlin to face each other one-on-one. After poor decisions are made, Azriel must answer to his High Lady. If only Feyre realized how much danger she’s in.

Part 2 Series Masterlist

Warnings: blood, violence, self-loathing, panic attack resulting from past heartbreak and trauma, language

To Azriel, it felt like an eternity. An eternity of standing there watching his mate in the arms of a male he despised, reviled. And Felina, she looked like she was home. Like she’d just found solace after centuries of wandering alone and weary.

And fuck, it made him a bastard but it gutted him. He wanted, no, needed, to scoop her right out of his arms and carry her to a place where it was just him and her. They had so much to address. All they’d done was fed and fucked after Azriel had been turned, he thought there’d be plenty of time for talking once the bloodlust and mating frenzy settled but then everything had gone to shit.

He was so happy to have this female he adored back in his life - but to him, she was so new and he didn’t know how to feel. Because when he looked into those eyes, he still saw that swirling darkness. Not the dancing of stars he’d once adored when they were young but, the darkness of being trapped, locked away, tormented by those who should have been trustworthy. A darkness he could recognize all too well.

Where had she been all those years?

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked to find the brown doe-eyes of Elain, looking to him with concern - guilt.

“Can we talk for a moment?” She whispered.

Azriel felt the muscles of his jaw tighten. The thought of leaving Felina with Tamlin made him sick.

“Not now, Elain.” He grit a bit more harshly than intended. Her eyes cast downward and he saw the hurt flicker across her soft features.

Gods, looking at her now, he didn’t know how he’d ever thought the cauldron made a mistake. She was lovely, a kind soul, she was good.

But his mate - she was wild, curious about the world around her, stars eternal. At least, she had been in her youth. Somehow being turned only amplified her into a force that had yet to be reckoned with, dark and mysterious. She was fucking everything.

She started to turn away and the guilt struck Azriel. His words of “this was a mistake.” on that cursed solstice weighing heavily between them. He could give her a moment of his time.

So, he followed her. “Elain, wait.” He spoke softly, his long strides effortlessly catching him up to her. “Let’s speak over there.” Nodding his head toward a bistro set that was far enough away from the foyer for privacy, but close enough that he could monitor.

The Shadowsinger pivoted away from the situation just long enough that he missed Felina turning her head to search for him, just to see him walking away with the delicate female.

Elain seated herself at the small table, rays of sunlight shone through the window, casting a golden hue upon her hair, rendering the middle Archeron sister nearly blonde. Her leg bounced with anxiety as Azriel took a seat across from her, sending up his shadows to block the rays.

“I-“ Elain started. “Azriel, I am so sorry. This is my fault. Lucien and I have been writing, we’ve been trying to get to know eachother. I mentioned to him about the reunion between Rhys and his sister.”

Azriel pressed his lips into a line, shuffling through his thoughts and treading carefully. “It’s fine-“

“No,” she interjected. “It’s not. I only told him because I’d had a vision of blood, shadow, and night. It alarmed me but… nobody listens to me, Azriel. They don’t understand my visions, I- I don’t either. But Lucien, he listens. He tries to help. So when she showed up, and when we realized that she- and you- were turned, I realized what the vision meant. So I told him.”

Her glassy eyes looked to him. “I had no idea about Tamlin. And I think, I think I understand why Lucien told him. He knew, about the history between she and Tamlin. But I had never mentioned all that you were going through, that she’s your mate and that there are still so many unanswered questions. I’m SO sorry.”

Azriel shook his head. How could she have known? Azriel was the gods-damned spymaster, he’d always cared for Felina and made a point to look after her, and he’d never known. He had seen a note from “Peter” once but just assumed it was some crush she’d made in Velaris. How had he never thought to look further into who she was seeing?

He knew the answer though. He always had. It was the same reason he’d never looked into Lucien’s whereabouts, or Graysen’s.

But he wasn’t ready to face that right now. The jealousy he’d harbored in those days and the well of emotions and complicated histories that it would bring to light.

So, he took a steadying breath and softened his gaze as he met her wide eyes. “Elain, it’s okay. None of us knew about their history and,” he reached a scarred hand out to brush her arm, a friendly act of reassurance. “I’m happy that Lucien is helping. Your visions are worth listening to, your voice is worth hearing.”

Elain gave a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, he could see the guilt there. And while Azriel was certainly not thrilled to see Tamlin there, he harbored no ill-will toward Elain, or Lucien for that matter, for Tamlin’s appearance today.

A sharp cry pierced the air as Felina pulled herself away from Tamlin. And Azriel almost, almost, felt a twinge of empathy for the male at the look of pain crossing his features.

“No, no, no.” Felina whimpered covering her ears, tears falling from her eyes. Azriel was on his feet in a moment, winnowing to her side as her breathing increased, pulling her in close - Felina opened her eyes, glistening with tears, and Azriel felt an intense jolt of heartbreak tug on their bond.

“I remember.” She choked out, pushing away from his embrace. She looked so small in that moment, so broken. Azriel placed a palm to his chest, as if physically feeling the pain barreling down the bond. “What is it, Felina?”

“I- I don’t. I’m sorry. I can’t-” she cried, her voice barely audible. But her next word came out clear, “Rhys?” Her brother looked to her with such sympathy, such tenderness. “What is it little star?” He asked, stepping to her side, shrouding the two of them in darkness. Azriel’s shadows whispered in his ear.

“Sad.”

“Hurt.”

“Mate.”

He couldn’t make out what was said but one moment Rhys had her in his arms, and the next, they were gone.

Rage filled Azriel as his mate vanished. Fixing his icy gaze toward a downcast Tamlin, his shadows whirled, promising violence. Elain hurried out the front door leaving just the two males. And Azriel was going to kill him.

In an instant, Azriel tackled Tamlin, fists brutally making impact with his face. “What did you do to her!?” He roared, pain filling him. Tamlin didn’t make any effort to hit Azriel, only turning his head and freeing an arm from beneath the Shadowsinger’s weight to block what he could.

Azriel was going to make this brutal, ensure Tamlin felt every ounce of pain the past centuries had brought upon them. “Nothing!” Tamlin choked out, blood filling his mouth. “I did nothing. I swear.”

“No.” Azriel spoke, landing a fist to Tamlin’s cheek. “Nothing is what you did while Feyre was fighting for her life, for Prythian, under the mountain. Nothing is what you did when your family tried to kill my mate- and her mother.” Another blow landed, this time cracking Tamlin’s nose, the metallic tang of blood filling the air. “Nothing,” Azriel spat. “Is what you are.”

It was then that Tamlin went still. All attempts of defense dropping as the words echoed through the room.

“Fight! You fucking coward!” Azriel shoved at his chest.

Tamlin turned his head to the side, vacantly staring off to the other end of the room, eyes going vacant as the weight of Azriel’s words settled within him. “You’re right.” Tamlin whispered. “I am nothing.”

The sound of Tamlin’s ragged breaths and Azriel’s heavy gasps filled the space. More blood trickled down the Spring Court High Lord’s face. “I am nothing and she is everything.” Tears lined the males eyes. “But I didn’t say anything, today. She she looked to see you walking away, she saw you with the Archeron sister, watched you caress her arm, and then she crumpled.”

Azriel gaped, his heart shattering. He was the one who’d caused her pain? Azriel let out an enraged roar, so low and loud that it rattled the windows. At that moment, the front door flew open. Feyre and Lucien entered the foyer, taking in the sight before them. The blood running down Tamlin’s face, dripping onto his tunic and splattering on the floor; Azriel’s disheveled state, his shadows snaking around him angrily, the blood coating his knuckles.

“What did you do?” Lucien ground out, stepping in Azriel’s direction.

Elain stood outside the doorway holding Nyx, excusing herself to remove the winged babe from the confrontation.

“What did HE do?” Feyre scoffed. “He’s not the one intruding in our home.”

Lucien only gave her a side-eye, swallowing whatever smart retort he had at the ready. “What. Happened?” the youngest Vanserra’s russet eye bounced back and forth between the two, the golden one whirring with each motion.

Tamlin and Azriel both stood there, like petulant children before a reprimanding father, neither speaking.

Finally, Tamlin broke the silence. “It was my fault. I’m leaving.” Azriel didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes as he looked to Lucien and Feyre and left.

“Tam, wait.” Lucien called out, but he’d already winnowed away.

Feyre looked to Azriel with a frown. “Given the state of Tamlin’s nose and your fist, something tells me this wasn’t just Tamlin’s fault. What the hell happened, Azriel?”

“I’d like to know the same.” Lucien chided, tanned arms crossing over his chest. Azriel’s hazel eyes narrowed in his direction. “You don’t need to know anything else, considering you can’t keep your mouth shut, Vanserra. You’re the reason he showed up in the first place.”

Lucien gaped, a rare show of the clever fox being caught off guard, before muttering “Shit.” He looked to the blood splattered floor, shaking his head. “I need to go find him.”

With that, he was out the door. Azriel let out a sigh, looking toward the stairwell as if Felina were up in their shared chamber and not wherever the hell Rhys had winnowed her to.

Feyre, ever the High Lady, held her head high, waiting for her spymaster to explain himself. “I need to get some air.” He muttered, making to move past her. “Oh no, you don’t.” Her hand grasped his shoulder, bringing him to a halt. “We are not finished here.”

And damn it, if she wasn’t the one person who could get him to listen right now. Rhys was one thing. Azriel could toe the line with him, test boundaries, display that icy rage that so often flowed through his veins.

But Feyre, he had no doubt that she could handle his rage as well but she was different. She had given everything for Prythian, even when she had absolutely no reason to give a damn about the fae. She was a good and just ruler. Not that Rhys wasn’t, but five-hundred years of brotherhood would jade anyone’s view, if only slightly.

So, Azriel stayed, hazel gaze fixing upon his High Lady, awaiting her next command. “Can we talk?” She asked gently, moving her tattooed hand down his arm. Azriel only nodded as she led him to the sitting room.

Situating herself on a tufted arm chair, Feyre smoothed her paint splattered dress, patiently waiting for Azriel to take his seat in the adjacent loveseat. “Elain came to find me at the studio, asking to reach out to get Lucien. She said Tamlin had shown up unannounced at the River House, that you two had talked, and something happened with Tamlin that upset Felina. Is that correct?”

Azriel nodded. It was mostly true. Was there really need to go into detail?

Feyre’s brow furrowed. “Look at me, Azriel.”

He flicked his hazel eyes to her briefly before looking back toward the entry. “You’re not telling me everything. It doesn’t take my daemati ability to see that, Az.” Her words held firm but her gaze gentle.

Emotions warred within Azriel. He didn’t want to talk to Feyre about this, about the way his heart clenches at the thought of losing Y/N - Felina - the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing now where it originated from. At the same time, it was a support for her, a name that she held onto when nothing else made sense. He was a selfish bastard for resenting it.

However, he refused to feel selfish for the anger he felt toward Tamlin. He drew the line there. If she needed a friend, Azriel would be the first to offer that. If she needed Tamlin’s friendship, if somehow his presence were to aid in her healing? He’d swallow his pride and live with it.

He could support her, and her healing, while internally resenting Tamlin. For now it was the best he could do.

He knew he couldn’t lose control like he did this afternoon again. He’d likely have to make amends for that.

Consumed by thoughts he dropped his face into both hands, rubbing his eyes before leaning his head onto the backrest, arms crossing over his chest. Letting out a sigh of exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he rested properly. Thank the gods for the unique design of this seat with indentions to accommodate Illyrian wings. The perfect spot for brooding comfortably.

A slight discomfort, however, began to set the Shadowsinger on edge. His body growing rigid.

“Hello?” Feyre’s voice invaded his mind, reminding him he still wasn’t alone.

“You’re rather persistent, High Lady.” he replied through the mental channel, that ache growing a bit stronger.

A soft laugh echoed. “Yes. Now tell me what happened.”

Azriel sent images to her, of Felina’s upset, Rhys winnowing her away, his own embarrassing outburst, the cruel words he’d spoken, the realization that he was the reason for her hurt and not Tamlin.

“That’s a lot to unpack. Speaking to you as High Lady, how you treated Tamlin was unacceptable - but, I know you are aware. From a political perspective, we should issue a formal apology at the very least. As a friend, however, you have been through a lot in a very short period of time and have so much to process. With such unusual circumstances and how new your accepted bond is - I cannot fault you for protecting her. We know so little about Vampyr bonds but I’m certain that also played a role.”

Azriel’s cheeks burned with shame. “Do you know where they went?”

His breathing increased, a metallic tang settling into his nose, seeping to his very bones.

A pause. “I do. She is safe but she needs to be with Rhys right now. Honestly, I think they both need it. He’s been on edge since she arrived.”

Azriel let out a huff, sitting upright and ending the mental connection to speak aloud. “I can understand that.”

Was the air in the house growing warmer or was that the increase in his pulse?

Sympathy flickered in those blue-gray eyes as Feyre reached out, placing a hand on Azriel’s knee. “I can’t imagine what this must feel like, Azriel, and I won’t pretend to, but things will work out in time. Perhaps the Mother knew what she was doing when she put someone with - today’s incident aside - such patience, when that is exactly what Y/N needs. What is it Amren used to tell Cassian about Nesta?” Feyre’s brows drew downward as she tried to remember.

Azriel’s restless state rendering him impatient as she searched for the words, he blurted out Amren’s saying, “Keep reaching out your hand.”

And fuck - he looked at his own hand now remembering the dried blood coating it, the blood that had filled his nostrils, when he rubbed his face.

Hunger. This was hunger. Oh gods-

His sharpened canines flashed as he looked to his High Lady, “Feyre-“

Her pulse fluttered deliciously.

Feyre’s eyes widened with realization. “Oh fuck.” She whispered, standing and stepping back from him. “Hold on, Az. It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

And then he lunged.

———————————

Rhys sat in silence as his sister sobbed into his chest. He’d winnowed them directly to the cabin - the one that seemed at this point everyone used to avoid their own mate at some point or another.

Visions of past solstices danced in his mind. How she would sit and watch until her cheeks turned frigid. Cassian would tease her, telling her that any male that wanted to win her heart would have to take them all on in a snowball fight and come out alive. Rhys would chuckle and Az would wrap his scarf around her, or blow on her hands to warm them. He’d always cared for her. Rhys had thought in a brotherly sort of way, he knew for a fact that was how Azriel intended it, but now- he imagined it was the mating bond buried deep down, likely just starting to spark. He didn’t know whether to smile or cringe at that.

He’d become so lost in thought, holding his sister and running fingers through her raven locks that he hadn’t noticed her shutters slow down, her breathing evening out. “It looks different.” She whispered, shocking herself with the statement. “I remember this place. I think. It’s familiar, but not.”

Rhys smiled. “Well, that, my dear sister, would be because Amren and Morrigan went head to head and reduced the place to rubble a century or so ago. I rebuilt it the best that I could but made some changes - the tubs even accommodate Illyrian wings now. And Feyre darling, she added her own touches to the place.”

“Interesting…” she whispered. “I think our father would have keeled over had he seen that.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “You’re not wrong. Our father never was the type to appreciate the arts, though he did enjoy your love of it. Not enough to let you paint the walls of any of our homes but- enough to take you to the theater whenever he could, enough to ensure the Rainbow was well-funded and thriving.”

Smiling sadly, he continued, “When I first saw the paintings here, I thought of you. How if you’d have been here, you would have been right there with her, painting along.”

Felina looked to her brother, trying so desperately to remember her old self. Who she’d once been.

“I never forgot you, sister. I’ve carried you in my heart every day, there was not a sunset that I didn’t think about the way your eyes shone with wonder as the stars appeared, about the nights you’d beg me to fly with you….wishing I’d have been there more often, wishing I’d said yes every time you asked.”

“Our past does not define us. What we do with today does.” She whispered, puzzling at her own statement. Rhys whipped his head toward her. “You remember more than you realize.”

She thought on her words. “Azriel. He used to say that, yes?”

Yes. Rhys nodded grimly, remembering the treatment his brother received as a child. “Do you remember what else he would tell you?”

“I don’t think I do.”

Rhys wrapped his arm around her shoulder, holding her closely.

“It’s the courage to continue that counts.”

Felina’s hands shook and Rhys gave them a squeeze. She whispered to herself “I am Y/N.” Her given name felt less foreign than she’d expected. “I am courageous. I will not be afraid.”

Rhys’ eyes glazed over, his posture going rigid. The grip of his hand squeezing more tightly onto his sister’s cold hand.

Suddenly she was brought into Rhys’ mind, Feyre’s voice frantic.

“It’s Azriel. He needs Felina. NOW.”

——————————————

A/n: If you read this chapter and think “Wow, Felina is being pretty dramatic over Elain” Please hold. There’s more to it that will be unpacked later - she has been through a lot and is still harboring centuries old feelings/emotions that feel recent to her as her memory slowly comes back.

Tags:

General ACOTAR tag: @lilah-asteria

Series tags: @glittervame @julesofvolterra @saltedcoffeescotch @candyjaypoppins @st4r-girl-official @nocasdatsgay @gxdsmonsters

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sixeyescurseuser · 22 hours

Text

part 2

“Satoru? What color are your eyes?” Geto asks one day, when they’re sprawled on the couch together. Gojo’s head is pillowed on Geto’s chest, where the snakes happily nestle in Gojo’s fluffy hair.

“Hm, blue.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Geto is silent for a long moment.

“I bet they’re magnificent,” Geto says, then startles when Gojo lifts up slightly, one hand tugging underneath the blindfold. “Satoru, whatever you’re planning to do, stop it.”

“Darling, I’ll keep my eyes closed, I promise,” Gojo solemnly swears. He waits until Geto gives his consent before lifting the blindfold off, diligently keeping his eyes glued shut.

Geto observes the shape of his lover’s closed lids, how his eyes contribute to his facial structure, and the white color of his lashes.

“Pretty, right?”

Geto nods. “Hn.”

Geto still doesn’t trust himself without the trusty barrier of the blindfold.

Thus, he brings a hand up to cover Gojo’s closed eyes, and leans in for a kiss.

***

Gojo buys Geto a pair of his own special-grade glasses that block Geto’s entire field of vision, ensuring he can see perfectly fine while others will never make direct eye contact with him.

It’s certainly an adjustment for Geto because the glasses, shaped like visors, feel very restricting. His snakes hiss at the glasses because they don’t don’t like not being able to see Geto’s eyes.

But the glasses do give Geto more confidence in leaving the cottage to prevent him from freezing any innocent bypassers.

***

Once, when Geto is out on his own, he spots a couple kids wearing the same style uniform as Gojo often does. Jujutsu Tech!

Geto decides to watch over them.

Thank fucking god he did, because there’s no way in hell whoever the fuck is in charge just let these kids walk straight into a curse’s domain.

Before Yuji switches with Sukuna, Geto intercepts and annihilates the other special grade, even without the powers of his eyes. Once the job is done, Yuji jogs up to his side.

Yuji: “Hey, thank you so much-GAH?“

At the speed of light, Geto pulls Yuji out of the crumbling domain and disappears.

The first years are completely bamboozled by what happened!

(Yuji: “Gojo-sensei, that special curse showed up again today! Well it didn’t need to help because Kugisaki and Fushiguro and I had everything handled, but I could feel it watching. Isn’t that weird?”

Gojo: “Huh, that is strange indeed.”)

Afterward, Geto presents Sukuna’s finger to Gojo. Gojo realizes Geto was looking after his students, and falls even deeper in love with him.

***

Yuuta learned early on who Geto was because once Geto was watching over him but Rika was not having it! 😭

She was like “Who is this beetch?” and tries to off Geto, who flees and never looks back.

The snakes want to pick a fight with Rika so badly, but Geto has to shush them because he’s not sure even HE could take on this kid’s curse.

Also, Geto is technically supposed to be exorcized. That’s what Gojo told the higher-ups, that he had successfully defeated the infamous curse Geto Suguru.

Gojo has to do damage control, of course.

“You have Rika, and I have Suguru,” Gojo says with a shrug. “Simple as that.”

Beside him, Geto’s jaw drops open from the total lack of explanation by the fool that owns his heart. From behind his glasses, Geto pities the way the wheels furiously turn in Yuuta’s mind.

Rika pops out jus to growl at Geto.

Great. Good talk everyone.

Yuuta: “You’re telling me you’re in love with THE special grade, Geto Suguru, who’s been alive for centuries and has been constantly compared to the king of curses, SUKUNA??”

Gojo gives him a thumbs up while Geto smiles with sharp teeth.

***

Gojo Satoru is known as the strongest sorcerer alive, but that doesn’t stop Geto from being incredibly protective of him. While out on a date, Geto brings up the higher ups that clearly do not give a shit about overworking his beloved.

“Say the word and I’ll kill them.”

“I thought you didn't like killing?” Gojo asks with a cheeky smile. He takes a sip of his milkshake, then bumps his foot against Geto’s under the table.

“Satoru, I’m a curse and they are assholes. It’s the natural order of things,” Geto sniffs. His snakes hiss in agreement, very excited at the prospect of killing for Gojo.

Gojo extends his hand out, palm facing up. Geto slides his hand on top. Interlocking their fingers, Gojo conveys all the adoration he can through his uncovered eyes, hoping it penetrates through the special-grade glasses Geto wears.

“I love you too. My one and only.”

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #satosugu fluff #satosugu headcanon #satosugu fanfic #goge #cerdrabbles

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acewritesfics · 1 day

Text

The Clap | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Request: No.

Warnings: Swearing. False accusations. People spreading rumours. For the sake of the fic there is some slight Lizzy bashing.

Word Count: 1,325

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Tommy sat enraged as he watches Y/N sitting at a table in the centre of the restaurant, laughing and smiling while having dinner with a man he's never met before. He is having a dinner meeting with a potential ally in an up and coming business deal and couldn't afford for anything to go wrong. But through out the meal he couldn't take his eyes off Y/N. He hasn't seen her since before she left Small Heath a month ago. She looks absolutely beautiful in the royal blue silk and beaded dress she's wearing. It's the same dress she wore when he first took her to the races. It looked so good on her that he spent a majority of the day watching her instead of the horses.

To say he is jealous of the man in her company would be the understatement of the century. He didn't often get jealous and when he did, he could hide it in his stoic expression and thinly veiled threats. But he couldn't deny his jealousy in this moment. He was jealous that it is no longer him sitting across from her, making her laugh and smile. He was jealous that it wouldn't be him taking her home tonight.

Before he can stop himself, he's excusing himself from the table, ignoring the confused looks the potential ally was directing towards him, and walked over to the table Y/N was sat at with her date. Her look of shock didn't deter him either. "You don't want this one, mate."

"Tommy!" she gasps, her eyes filled with confusion, anger and bewilderment.

"And why's that?" the man replies standing up from his seat, not thinking about who he is standing up to. He's a good few inches taller than Tommy but the Shelby man isn't the slightest bit intimidated. He's dealt with taller and meaner looking blokes than Harold before.

"She's beautiful to look at, but that's as far as it goes, trust me," Tommy's eyes dart towards her, taking in how beautiful she looks even when she looks like she's about to kill him, before looking back at the man in front of him. "Because she has the clap."

Y/N's eyes grow wide with shock and rage as the patrons around them start to murmur to each other. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment as angry tears build up in her eyes.

"Fuck you, Thomas Shelby!" Y/N shouts at him and storms away from her date and the Peaky Blinder. She walks as hastily as she can away from the restaurant wanting to get as far away from Tommy and the embarrassment she is now feeling.

But God wasn't on her side tonight because Tommy quickly caught up with the angry woman. "Y/N, wait!"

"I've had enough of your shit, Thomas!" she growls as she continues walking, "I never want to see or speak to you again!"

Tommy stops her by grabbing her arm and turning her to face him, his face remaining calm but she could see the agitation in his eyes. He wasn't going to let whatever was bothering him alone. She's going to hear about it, whether she wants to or not.

"You end our relationship so you can go on dates with other men?" Tommy glares at his former love.

She glares back, not believing what he was saying. This wasn't like Tommy at all. He's making a fool out of himself as people found what's going on between them more entertaining than what they were doing.

"You're the one who ended our relationship when you went and fucked Lizzie Stark," she says smacking him in the chest with her handbag, when he wouldn't let go of her arm. "I told you Thomas, the one thing I won't tolerate is you fucking cheating on me!"

Y/N was born to two parents who didn't love each other. They'd been forced to marry because of an unexpected pregnancy but neither of her parents wanted to end it officially. She watched many women as well as men come into her home as both parents had their fair share of affairs. Y/N didn't want to end up like them, she refused proposals from decent men because she was afraid of becoming her mother and marrying someone like her father. But from the moment she met Thomas Shelby, everything shifted. She fell head over heels for the intelligent and dashing but sometimes stupid Birmingham gangster. She opened up to him more than she did with anyone else. It was the same for him. The two found solace within each other as well as a peace that they never found before.

And then it all ended a month ago, when she heard rumours that Tommy had spent a few hours in the company of the local whore, Lizzie Stark. When Y/N went to confront Lizzie, the tall woman gave her a triumphant look proud that she had come between Birmingham's most powerful couple. Unable to confront Tommy, her heart too shattered and broken, she went to stay with her sister out in the country for two weeks. It would have been longer but she longed to be back in Small Heath for reasons unknown to her, whether it was with or without Tommy.

"I never fucked Lizzie fucking Stark!" Tommy yells at her after she manages to yank her arm out of his grip. "You are the only one who I have been with since we got together. I would never do that to you because I love you too much."

"Then why is every body talking about it?" she yells back at him. "Now they're going to be talking about me having the fucking clap, thanks to you."

"I'll let every body know it isn't true because it's not," he tells her. "You don't have the clap and I never slept with Lizzie. I went to ask her if she had a client by the name of Andrew Jenkins, that's all. I was with her no longer than a minute."

She looks into his eyes, seeing no trace of a lie. Despite who he was, Tommy had never lied to her about his feelings or what he's done. "It's been a month, why didn't you say something?"

"Because I'm a fool," he tells her. "and got inside me own head. Told myself this was your chance to find someone better, someone who doesn't have blood on his hands and someone who can bring you more happiness than heart ache."

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Tommy. I shouldn't have listened to a bunch of rumours and believed Lizzie over you," She apologises. It was her fault they broke up. She should have faced Tommy instead of running away. "I should have stayed, spoken with you and listened."

"I shouldn't have let you walk away," he begins to apologise also. "I am sorry for saying you have the clap, but I am not sorry for interrupting your dinner," he continues, moving his hands to her hips and pulling her close. "I'm a selfish man. I get what I want and what I want is you. It's always going to be you."

"I only went on a date with him to shut my sister up," she admits. Her sister was happy when Y/N told her that her and Tommy were no longer together. She didn't wait a day before she was setting Y/N up with one of her friend's brothers. "All the dates I've been on have been to keep her quiet. They have taught me one thing, though."

"Yeah? What's that, eh?" Tommy asks, cupping her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"No other man could ever compare to you, Mr Shelby," she smiles softly looking into his intense blue eyes.

"I'm one of a kind, love," he returns her smile, looking back into her eyes as he brings her into a kiss, expressing how much he loves her and missed her.

#acewritesfics repost #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby

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saintsenara · 2 days

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okay, I'm super curious about your thoughts on when and how snape becomes a potions master. some people say he was still working on his mastery when he became a professor but i like to think he got it in early 1980 and he apprenticed with a potions master he was recommended to through his ~connections~ (cough malfoy cough).

although the idea of him teaching and grieving and also attempting to not fail at the one thing he knows he's good at does have its own angsty appeal

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

although i regret to say that i'm going to start the answer to it by being very pedantic...

the idea that masteries are something which exist in the wizarding world is complete fanon.

they have emerged as a trope due to a reading of the phrase "potions master" which does make perfect sense outside of the cultural context in which the books were written - by which i mean that it makes readers unfamiliar with the culturally-specific meaning of this bit of language think of masters degrees or other high-level qualifications - but which is nonetheless incorrect within context.

"master" [and the feminine equivalent, "mistress"] is just an alternative term in british english for "teacher". it doesn't imply anything about a level of qualification. "potions master" and "potions teacher" are synonyms.

the term is archaic - british people nowadays would exclusively say "teacher" - and it's very class-specific, in that it would have particularly been used to describe teachers in elite schools, whether fee-paying private schools or grammar schools [state schools which are academically selective].

as a result, it turns up in lots of the children's literature written before c.1980 - especially in boarding-school stories like malory towers and the worst witch which are explicit influences on the harry potter series. it's used in the text - especially in the earlier books - as part of worldbuilding which generally seeks to make the wizarding world feel whimsical by virtue of being very old-fashioned, which things like the fact that the most advanced technology wizards use is the radio and the steam train also hammer home.

that snape is the only teacher referred to as a master is connected to these genre conventions. because snape is so important to the full arc of the story, he's the teacher we spend the most time in the classroom with throughout the six books in which harry's at school. and he's therefore the teacher who - in the first few books - best fits a children's literature archetype which we would expect to find in any twentieth-century school story [with a magical setting or not] - the hated schoolmaster who is horrible to the child-protagonist and who every child reading can't wait to see get their comeuppance.

so snape is a potions master because he teaches potions. nothing more than that.

but that doesn't mean that it's not worth thinking about his training...

clearly, higher education of the type most of us are familiar with doesn't exist in wizarding britain - nor, i suspect, in wizarding europe more broadly.

and this makes perfect sense - not only because the magical population is so small but because the divergence of the magical and muggle worlds in 1689 takes place well before universities and university-level education look like anything a modern student might recognise. a seventeenth-century university education was still broadly generalist and aimed at trainee clergy, and careers which we would nowadays expect to require a degree - such as law, finance, medicine, science, and engineering - were generally taught by apprenticeship.

this is clearly how things continue to function in the wizarding world of the 1990s, since we know from order of the phoenix that healers are taught by apprenticeship [and, indeed, that hogwarts graduates all go straight into the workforce after they leave school].

potions - since it's analogous to chemistry - is nonetheless understood in-world as an academic discipline. but this doesn't mean - within the post-school educational structures we can suppose the wizarding world has - that it's a discipline in which one needs specific formal training in order to acquire a right to teach or publish about it.

the seventeenth century was a period - especially in britain - marked by a great expansion of scientific enquiry. this was - by our contemporary understanding of academic science - amateur. scientists wouldn't have been expected to have doctorates, to work at universities, or even to have attended them, and their experiments were often self-funded by personal wealth or dependent on a patron. the circles [often international] in which they debated, demonstrated, and reviewed theories and inventions were social ones - the gatekeeping line was class [with the level of education - and, primarily, of literacy - that this implied], rather than level of education itself.

these social circles often had a certain level of official standing - by which i mean they became, during the period, the learned societies, the most famous of which is probably the royal society. membership [or fellowship] of the learned societies requires a demonstration of some sort of contribution to the discipline they relate to - which means that the vast majority of contemporary fellows of such societies are university-based academics. but this wouldn't have been the case in 1689.

and we know that the wizarding world has its own equivalent of learned societies, because slughorn mentions one in half-blood prince - the most extraordinary society of potioneers.

which is to say, snape is probably a member of this society. he may very well publish papers in academic journals connected to the subject [as dumbledore does in transfiguration today], and he undoubtedly has a reputation among the wizarding world's men- and women-of-letters. but he doesn't need to have any formal post-hogwarts qualification in order for him to have acquired this reputation.

so what do i think he's doing between 1978 and 1981?

well... he's a death eater.

my theory has always been that snape comes to voldemort's attention - via lucius malfoy - because of his potions skills. the dark lord's operation would have needed potions - poisons to bump off enemies, healing potions because wanted criminals can't just turn up at st mungo's, potions to trade on the black market [as aberforth dumbledore tells us the death eaters do during deathly hallows], and so on - and voldemort would want to keep the production of these potions in-house, rather than risk hiring a private brewer [even a shady one] who might change their mind and go to the aurors.

[this is also presumably what voldemort - undoubtedly at snape's request - tries to recruit lily to do.]

i have never believed that snape was taken on as a death eater in the expectation that he'd perform a combat role - there is a clear implication throughout the series that the only person he ever directly kills is dumbledore, and that he gets along badly with death eaters [such as bellatrix] who did take more violent roles in voldemort's terrorism.

so i presume that, when he leaves school, he ends up working as a personal brewer for voldemort - on a stipend presumably paid, at the dark lord's request, by either lucius or abraxas malfoy. i also presume that, outside of work voldemort specifically requests, he's given free reign to brew for other clients, study, experiment, and publish as he wishes.

and i further presume that if he trains with anyone, then that person is voldemort himself.

voldemort claims, in goblet of fire, to be interested in experimenting with potions. he appears to invent the potion made from nagini's venom which sustains his half-body prior to his resurrection - and i think the implication of the text is that he also invents the potion guarding the locket-horcrux. voldemort also evidently encourages snape's interest in the dark arts, and he also appears to have some influence over snape's comportment - the teen snape we see in order of the phoenix is extremely rough around the edges, in a way the adult snape, who both speaks and moves in canon very similarly to the adult voldemort, isn't.

voldemort taking such an interest in snape would - obviously - largely be a grooming tactic. snape clearly becomes a death eater because the organisation offers him a chance to belong and succeed which his class-background would ordinarily make impossible for him within wizarding society, and voldemort must therefore massively indulge his belief that he's never given the respect he deserves for his intellect. voldemort's obvious contempt for slughorn - who matters so little to him that he doesn't even bother to kill him - would, i imagine, also win snape round.

and by training snape in an academic rather than a combat sense, voldemort gains a valuable tool - someone he can place at hogwarts as a teacher to spy on dumbledore.

we can assume that voldemort was having dumbledore tailed throughout the first war - and, indeed, that this is what snape is doing when he overhears the prophecy - but that he couldn't watch him at all times because he didn't have a spy among the hogwarts faculty.

it is clearly voldemort who tells snape to apply for a teaching job in early 1980. he must also tell him to apply for the defence against the dark arts post [which we know snape canonically applied for first] - which means he must expect to be imminently victorious in the first war, since snape would only be able to stay in the position for a year...

the prophecy, which snape hears c. january 1980, obviously derails this belief slightly... and snape famously does not get the defence against the dark arts job for the 1980-1981 academic year.

how do we know this? because he tells us in order of the phoenix that he's been teaching at hogwarts for fourteen years. he says this right at the beginning of the autumn term in 1995 - so he clearly means that he's been teaching for fourteen previous academic years and the 1995-1996 year is his fifteenth. so... he started teaching at hogwarts in the 1981-1982 academic year.

voldemort settles on harry as the child the prophecy refers to after harry is born [so, after 31st july 1980]. we don't know how quickly he does this and we don't know exactly when snape defects to the order.

but, clearly, at some point during the 1980-1981 academic year, dumbledore hires snape to begin teaching from september 1981 onwards. he presumably tells snape to tell voldemort that his change of heart was because he didn't think snape was qualified to teach defence against the dark arts but that he does think he's qualified to teach potions [pointing, perhaps, to publications snape got out under voldemort's tutelage], and that slughorn's announcement that he intends to retire means that there's a position available. he then undoubtedly also tells snape to convince voldemort of the same pretence they'll use throughout the second war - that he's a loyal death eater passing information on dumbledore's movements to his master.

which is to say... when lily dies, snape has been in his job for at most nine weeks.

just imagine how miserable that must have been!

#asks answered #asenora meta #severus snape

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teecupangel · 18 hours

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Tee I can't remember if I've sent this idea before, but with [insert Desmond as an animal au] of your choice (or multiple of them, or all of them)--consider Desmond stuck as an animal and getting used to that being his new life. Until. He meets one of his ancestors he spent time as (havihg sought them out of course. He could never resist). And then, maybe it's by design, or maybe it's some kind of weird crossed wires from the Bleeding Effect, the echo of a flesh and blood body given a reminder in the code of the universe what shape it's supposed to be--

Whatever it is, it turns out that as long as Desmond is in skin-to-skin contact with his ancestor, he reverts to human form.

which is to say: big convoluted excuse for lots of hugs and hand-holding.

It would be funny if Desmond was some kind of big animal so when his ancestor lets go of him, enemies would be surprised by the sudden appearance of such a beast XD

Since you gave me free rein on this, I’m going for 12th century Levant XD

Malik did not believe he was close minded.

He accepted Altaïr was in love with a mysterious man who can turn into a beast even before Altaïr had admitted it.

Altaïr didn’t try hard to deny it anyway.

Saying “this is necessary” while they were holding hands or Altaïr’s hand was on his neck or they were in each other’s embrace (and many more positions that Malik didn’t have any time to list down at the moment) was such a weak excuse that Malik didn’t really think he should even be using the term excuse in the first place.

When he sent a letter saying he was going on a ‘trip’ with Desmond after they finished the mission in Cyprus, no one in the Brotherhood was surprised.

They immediately looked for Malik to lead them as if Altaïr had planned it.

No.

This felt more like Desmond’s work. That man seemed to believe Malik could handle more things than Malik was comfortable with handling.

Yet, he persevered for no one was willing to take the mantle from him.

After the first year of his tenure as the temporary mentor, Rauf was already suggesting that he, Altaïr and Desmond should just be the mentors together.

The way he said it though made it clear to Malik that Rauf believed Malik was entangled in Altaïr and Desmond’s relationship.

Or was harboring unsaid feelings for either or both of them.

Malik wanted to vomit there and then.

He would rather lose both of his arms than be part of whatever relationship those two had.

They were the cause of Malik’s headache.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Their trip lasted for four long years.

Malik’s list of complaints had turned into a journal and he was planning to read everything out loud.

But his tenure as the long suffering temporary mentor has finally come to an end for those two idiots had returned.

When he reached the courtyard to greet them, Kadar grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Brother.” Kadar’s eyes were wide and his hands were trembling.

“What is it?” Malik asked, his mind going through the many worrying fates those two idiots could have had while they had been away.

“I’m so sorry, brother.” Kadar looked like a man who had his heart broken.

… on behalf of Malik.

Oh no.

Please.

No.

“Malik!” Desmond shouted and Kadar let go of him, stepping back into the crowd like the coward that he was.

Malik turned to where he heard Desmond’s face and saw Desmond’s grinning face.

With both of his hands holding two different persons.

Altaïr was, of course, one of them.

That was a common sight by now.

The other was a woman though.

“This is Maria Thorpe.” Desmond introduced, “The mother of our first son! He’ll be born three months from now!”

Oh, it was worse.

Many Assassins behind the three currently in front of Malik were looking at him with pitying eyes.

It seemed their imagination had run wild.

And now they had cast Malik into the role of an unfortunate man who just heard the two men (or one of these idiots) he was in love with (He. Was. Not.) had married a woman while he had been waiting for them to return.

Forget reading out loud his complaints.

He was going to beat the both of them with that damn journal.

#whether this is #altdes #or #altdesmar #is up to you #here i am once more #bullying malik (affectionately)

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dairy-farmer · 3 days

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Okay but consider? Has Tim ever seen Ra's post-Critical Injury Lazurus Dip? Like not "oooh, I am back to my sexy Dilf-y glory~" but FULL ON "I have been Hard Reset back to the Prime Of My Life(tm), which statistically is early 20s, and am now a Young and Hot prowling bad boy. With no Grey in my hair and a SLIGHLTY higher voice, meaning while I sound familiar, you can't instantly place it like you usually could."

THAT sort of Hard Reset.

Bet he hasn't.

Bet he'd have an even HARDER time recognizing Ra's in a Masquerade mask. If Ra's had a smooth, freshly shaven, face. I mean... it's not like Ra's an assassin cult leader or anything. Him? Knowing how to DISGUISE himself? When in his centuries of life would he have had time to learn THAT?

So there Ra's is. Looking rich, dangerous, and slutty. As one does. Tight black pants, loose poet shirt, gold and gems dripping like honey down his skin. The very PICTURE of a WEALTHY young trouble maker. Blending in with all these wealthy fools, up too no good, some of them far more then others.

That's why the Bats are here.

For Intel.

But of COURSE, Brucie Wayne has aged out of this sort of scene. Tut tut. And his waste of a grandson is just a touch too young. A shame. So it's the Detective and a few others, leading the charge. But... ah, SUCH a big building! And can the Wayne's afford to be seen at such a disreputable event?

Of course not.

So they're in disguise. Layers upon layers, Detective. Masks upon masks. Delightful~

Ra's gets to watch Tim work the room. Prowl in magnificent heels. Dodge covetous hands so casually it seems by accident. Extract information people have DIED to protect. Blonde, tonight. He looks better with hair like the night.

Ra's smiles like a wolf.

And begins to hunt his prey though a sea of masks.

Which is how Tim meets a VERY rougish, tall, and delightfully muscled heir too...something. It's kinda obvious, given all the jewelry. Swordsmen too, from what he can feel of those INTERESTING and calloused hands. Tim knows he should focus... but...

Mystery Hot Guy is REALLY forward. Clearly in to him. And it's not like he's gotta marry the guy.

Did he mention the DELIGHTFUL rumble? His voice has a low rumbling quality to it, when he leans in close so he can be heard over the music. His hands are hot and gripping in that "just a bit too tight but not TOO too tight" sorta way? So yeah... he's gonna... uuuuh, go... "question so informants" real quick. Get back to you guys later!

Don't wait up!

And Ra's? Knows the chance of this working more then once is close to zero. So it has to be LEGENDARY. Life changing. Dick so good it ruins the Detective's LIFE. He's got to make sure the next time they meet, the Detective wants to kill him AND fuck him in equal measure.

After all, the Bats have a "no kill rule". Oh dear, Detective. Really only leaves you one option, then, doesn't it?

So Ra's goes to absolute TOWN on Tim. Sinks down to his knees and eats him out til his legs won't hold him. Carries him to the bed to the guestroom they're about to absolutely DEFILE, too use far too clever fingers, to stoke that burning NEED back up. Too stretch and tease, as his mouth worships that chest. That neck. That clever, clever mouth.

Runs his free hand along magnificent skin, wishes he could grip hair like the finest ink as he savors Timothy's mouth. It all feels decadent. Ra's is patient. Aaaand, there, Tim rocking against his hand has turned for lazy pleasure (savoring the glow of a good orgasm) to demanding.

His hands, his kisses, are growing hungrier. Commanding Ra's to give him what he needs. Spoil him like a pampered little prince. Either worship and adore him, or he will find someone else who SHALL. How can Ra's refuse? He'd be a fool too.

A fool not to suck and bite branding little marks upon that magnificent skin. A fool not to hike up those powerful hips a grind and tease with his length, until Timothy's sharp little nails dig into his flesh in warning. A gods forsaken incompetent, to NOT sink into that magnificent heat, pressed so close he can hear that breath taking little gasp of pleasure, as the thickness of himself presses wider and deeper then any BOY the Detective as ever taken.

Ra's AL Ghul is no fool.

But he IS a VERY giving lover.

Especially when he has something to gain from it. And oh, how it is a struggle not show the victory on his face. It would not do, to give the game away at the last moment. He knows better. So he moves his hips just so. Rolling at just the right angle. To grind with in as he thrusts, to grind against as he moves, his body angled just right to tease the Detective's clit.

Strong, calloused hands teasing what feels like EVERYWHERE. That deep rumbling voice monologing a god damned speech on how good Tim's body feels, how perfect he is, how sexy. That cock hitting everything over an over in a way marksmen would WEEP with jealousy at. Tim is pretty sure his brain is melting. Hook up too good, fuck why he came here actually. The others can handle it.

Will he later admit he fucked up? Probably. But that's when he gets the ability to reason again. Right NOW all he can think is a series of frantic porno noises and variations of the word "More". Turns out fumbling around with your teammates is NOT actually a good frame of reference for "what is Sex and how good does it feel?".

Tim doesn't even notice, two position changes and several orgasms later, when he loses his wig. His face is buried in Mystery Hook Up's shoulder, drooling and clinging, as he's worked up and down that mind melting cock like a toy. All that HE registers is that it feels nice to have that stuffy thing off and fingers running through his hair.

His family, though? Freaking out. Tim left with an "informant" (their ASS) and never showed back up. They've all HAD the traumatizing Honeypot Talk from Bruce. They KNOW Femme Fatales are a thing. Homme Fatales are a thing! Did someone send a sexy assassin after Tim!?

Soooooorta.

Dick, powered by the sheer force of Brotherly Murder-Panic and 👌close to showing the world why he and FUCKING DEATHSTROKE have a weird decade long "Thing(tm)" going, kicks down the door to waaaay too many random hook ups... until he eventually find the RIGHT hook up.

Where Timmy ain't got no bones. He be truely, magnificently, well fucked and boneless. A cooked noodle. Orgasm machine ran dry and he can see the shrimp color, Captain. He's cuddling a sex god and actively plotting to tattoo his phone number somewhere on this guy's body. Who CARES where he lives. Tim will MAKE it work. How you feel about breakfast?

Ra's is the exact flavour of Lounging Smug Bastard you imagine.

It's not even smirking "pleased with himself" territory anymore. It's full on "if a tiger were turned into a human, got revenge on the bastard who did it, and was lounging around feeling pleased with itself covered in blood" grinning. Because NOW, he has won.

Dick is, of course, going to break every bone in this Mystery Bastard's body. Jason. Hold him.

Which... just as Tim is about to throw a lamp in defense of his new Sex... something, Robin kicks the window open because "fuck it, I'm helping. Timothy may be an idiot. But he's OUR idiot and you've clearly seduced him with some sort of evil demonic sex magic, you fiend, time to fight." Etc etc.

Only then Hot Hook Up takes of his mask.

He.... He looks a LOT like Damian. A concerning amount. Like... if you were to say, take away the Wayne traits, he'd be almost identical.

Tim is ALSO not a fool.

That grin is very familiar. Those EYES are a shade he knows INCREDIBLY damn well. And oh sweet fuck on a stick he boned Ra's AL Ghul.

And it was amazing.

DAMN IT!!!

Does Tim absolutely HATE that Ra's was right? That Tim SHOULD consider sleeping with him? Yes. Is Tim going to do it again? According to the flashcard forcefully handed to him by his Father, ahem, "No. We do not sleep with Supervillians. We have self control." So... noooooooo, of course not. He would NEVER. Don't be absurd.

(Yes.)

-🐼🐼🐼

tim knows he shouldnt but also knows bruce has no moral highground to say 'dont sleep with supervillains 😭

#answered asks #asks #anonymous

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rottiens · 23 hours

Note

SCREAMS IF U DONT TELL ME MORE ABOUT DRACULA TOJI EXPERMENTING ON YOU-

😳😳

cw. vampire toji x afab reader, dracula au, noncon, experimentation, blood, mentions of pregnancy, breeding, predator/prey, size difference, yan toji, you are compelled by him. divider creds: cafekitsune.

Okay, I just think that Count Toji must be tired of living in his castle, bored of having spent centuries in this land where he only goes out hunting at night to survive and watch others live their lives under the hot and threatening sun.

Curiosity would lead him to set his eyes on the girl who occasionally walks around his castle, Toji is not interested in her social class or status; all he wants from her is the taste and ecstasy that her young blood can give him. He often sees her stop in the distance and admire how majestic the building is, so tall and imposing.

Toji believes that she managed to notice his presence once. Standing in front of the second floor window, as the sun set and he turned his back to the shadows. When their gazes met, it was then that he realized that the pleasures and memories of his human life still lingered there hidden under the clothes of the elegant lord he pretends to be, he wanted her, he wanted her on his property, he wanted her holding his hand and carrying his seed inside her.

With this idea in mind, he waited and counted the days until she would pass by his castle again; he waited and waited until, during twilight, he saw her walking slowly up the clear, flower-filled hill.

The dense flakes of black clouds hid the sun that day as if someone was conspiring on his behalf, so he took the opportunity to approach her, cautiously, making sure his movements would not frighten her, though nothing could make his dead heart beat faster than the sight of her running down the hill as she flees from an inevitable outcome.

Toji blamed her smile. If she hadn't smiled at him in that open, friendly way, as if inviting him to take her right there and then, he might have let her slip away. After all, it was not yet dark and anyone could catch him in the act; however, the way her heart was beating, hidden under her corset-tight ribs, and her nervous, choppy breathing, with her chest rising and falling, had never made him feel so alive as he did at that moment.

She doesn't remember how long it's been or how she got there, sometimes she thinks all she knows is that castle and her master. There are gaps in her memory about the family she lost one day and who she was before; all she remembers are the Count's words: “This is your home now.”

She serves him. She dresses for him. And she allows him, for some reason, to take anything he wants from her including her blood. Whenever he asks she goes to the back room, perfectly decorated with a bed with red silk sheets and sheer curtains hanging from the ceiling. Toji strips her of her clothes and she offers him her previously injured and fang-marked left arm, he feeds sometimes until she faints and loses consciousness. Other times, he calls her to breed her.

Toji is obsessed with the idea of getting her pregnant. One night, he told her how he wants to have children, how he wants to procreate, and that is the only reason she is there, not to serve him dinner or clean his floors; she is there to accept his cum every night and every time he wants to give it to her.

Toji has tried it so many ways, with her on top, underneath, beside him. His fangs are in every inch of her skin, marking her as his, and he keeps trying, wishing that at some point she might give him an heir for eternity so he won't be alone.

So far, though, none of that has worked.

There are days when she wakes up lucid and fear creeps through her veins, making her get out of bed in the middle of the night and run downstairs, screaming in terror. She doesn't remember how many times it has happened, she only knows that he finds her opening the front door and pushes her from behind crushing her against the old wood.

"Where are you going?" he growls annoyed against her ear, his breath hitching.

"Please, my lord; let me go."

Toji is quiet for a moment, perhaps weighing the decision?

"Let's make a deal. I will open the door and you will run as fast as your little legs will allow. If you can catch a moonbeam, I'll let you go.”

The castle is gigantic, she thinks. It will be a moment before she can step out of the shadows of it and reach the light.

"What if I don't make it?" her tear-filled eyes close for a moment and the tears fall.

The Count laughs softly, grinding his hips against her lower back showing her how hard what is about to happen makes him.

"You don't want to find out and ruin the surprise, do you?"

Toji flings open the door and she almost falls to the floor. Her hands touch the ground and she gets up in a hurry to get away from the castle, running as far as she can. Grass brushes against her feet, pebbles cut into the soles of her feet and her dress gets tangled between her thighs, but she keeps going without stopping. She looks back and sees him in his sleeping clothes from the doorway mimicking being a man, wrapped in darkness from his home with jet hair covering his eyes. And with red eyes and sharp fangs, she finally sees him for what he is.

A monster.

She looks ahead, screaming from the depths of her lungs for help. She thinks of her family, of her mother, and picks up the hem of her dress with one hand to run faster. The moonlight seems so close that she thinks she can reach it, but it all becomes a distant dream again the moment a sharp sound tears the air; like the cry of a wounded animal, and her body falls to the ground. Her palms bleed and she screams in pain, in rage, in fear.

"Please!"

"I've got you. Let's go back home."

notes. i believe faithfully that he does this kind of experiments with you. he spreads your pussy with his fingers, pushes his cum inside, maybe hm fucks you in the ass all this to see your reaction. he is addicted to the way you respond to pleasure, to pain, that he wants to know everything about you. how much would your body resist before breaking, how much he should do to make you pregnant.

#asks #wr #cw noncon #toji x reader

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 1 day

Text

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 28

>:D

mastapost

The Panama Canal was one of the greatest feats of 20th Century engineering. Originally, ships that wished to cross from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean, or vice versa, were forced to make the long and arduous journey around South America, a trip that would take 20,000 kilometres, which would also mean our story would be much, much longer (or at least require more time skips).

It was not as simple as digging a ditch. Panama is a beautiful, but very rugged country, with hilly and mountainous terrain that halted the French in their tracks. That, and the copious mosquitoes. Landslides and rain beat back attempts to dig the canal in the 19th Century. But the dream did not end.

How did the Americans do it? All they needed was a bit of lateral thinking. Instead of digging the entire canal and attempting to conquer the mountains and hills, engineers built a dam to flood an artificial lake, leaving a 15km stretch of unflooded land. This is where they built the remaining canal. In order to raise ships into the canal’s lever, they build a system of locks. Each lock would funnel water into the one behind it, raising the ship until the water level was even on both sides, and so on.

The Canal was vital in the war effort in World War 2, and it was a target of the Japanese I-400 programme, until Okinawa fell, and it was decided that destroying the locks would have had no effect on the war.

This is where the story takes Danny and Damian.

“Land ho!” Danny cried out at the first patch of land. At last, after however many thousands of miles travelling (Danny had lost count) they were here.

“We are not sailors.” Damian grumbled. Maybe he was getting excited too. Danny could feel the way the kid’s fin’s thumped on Danny’s scales, like a puppy wagging its tail.

“Right, we’re just borrowing one of man kind’s most impressive engineering accomplishments for sailing.”

Damian huffed. “As sea creatures infamous for attacking sailors. Be glad we are not in the olden days, or our presence would have caused national, or international panic.”

Danny felt the urge to riff on the kid’s comment, but he remembered the stinging silence from yesterday. He decided not to push boundaries this early back into their kind-of make-up. “As it is I’m sure the authorities don’t mind that much. Probably don’t even believe in sirens. I think they’d just be angry that we didn’t pay the fee.”

With the canal in sight, Danny zoomed into the bay in minutes. The bay narrowed into a waterway leading inland underneath a huge bridge. Danny gasped at the size and scale of the thing. The boys continued up the bay. They dodged ship propellers, dove underneath hulking hulls. The water tinged with the smell of barnacles and metal. Nobody was out on the shoreline looking for sirens, which was a big plus, but Danny still kept a tight handle on his invisibility whenever they got close to the surface.

Soon, they reached the first lock.

“We gonna jump over or what?”

Damian trilled. “That would be an easy way to get spotted.”

“I can make us invisible, duh.”

“They would notice the splashes. We have not seen the GiW in some time, but I would prefer not to give them any ideas. We do not know who could be watching.”

With that, Danny found himself icing his body to the hull of some random cargo freighter. The ship approached the locks. They waited for painstaking minutes, watching the water level rise inch by inch. Once it reached the midway point up the next lock, the gates opened. Then the ship slowly inched forward. Then the water level inched upward again.

“This is gonna take for-freaking-ever.”

“Swimming around South America would have taken forever.”

“Uuggghhh.”

It would’ve been nice if there were some pretty landscapes to stare at for the next however many hours this would take. Sadly, their surroundings were all smooth concrete underwater, void of life and energy. Above water, it was the same, save for some small patches of grass and dirt lined the edges of the locks. Workers and vehicles milled about with their tasks on barren grey roads. The shipyard buzzed like persistent mosquitoes. Whirring machinery, shouted orders and gasping engines filled the air. He even felt a literal mosquito land on his nose when he surfaced to check. He was invisible! What the fuck!

So Danny dipped back underwater, hopefully drowning the little blood sucker. He didn’t want to know what a mosquito could do with his blood.

“What is the situation?” Damian asked.

“Boring. And normal, I guess. The stench is killing me though. God damn.”

Damian’s ear fins quirked. “Do sirens worship Christ?”.

“Uhh, not sure. I’m totally atheist though. Must be why the Fentons call me godless sometimes.”

The next lock finally finished opening. The ship continued inching painfully forward. The hum of its engine echoed back and forth in the ditch.

“Gahhh! Please. Move. Faster!” He banged the hull.

“Please stop complaining. You are contributing to the noise.”

Danny went to make another complaint, only for Damian to nip him in the ear.

“Yowch! What was that for!”

Damian went for the other ear.

That was when Danny sniffed a familiar scent. He slapped his hand over Damian’s mouth. “Wait. Something’s up.”

Damian froze. “What?”

The boys scanned the lock. They were alone in there, without a doubt. Danny’s lateral line only sensed Damian with him, and the scent of another sea creature would have been a beacon in the stale water.

Danny broke off from the ship. He melted his ice, just to be safe. The boy carried Damian above the surface invisibly.

“You see anything?”

“Just employees. And equipment.”

“Let’s look behind us.”

The water level had just about filled the up to the top of the gate behind them. There was little risk of being left behind by the next, seeing as Danny’s swimming speed would let them catch up with the boat in seconds. It took little effort for the boy to scale up the walls and peek overhead.

He was treated to a vast overhead view of the waterway. Danny hummed. All he could see was more machines dotting the side of the canal underneath tree cover, and beyond, the vast blue sea.

Damian squeezed his arm like a vice. “We have potential trouble.”

The older boy scrambled. “What? Where?”

“Down there.” Damian pushed the back of his head down.

Danny’s heartrate spiked. Just approaching the lock system was a familiar white boat. Nerves buzzed underneath his skin, like insects crawling into his scales. “I don’t understand. They have no reason to think we’d be here.”

“Perhaps they are just passing by. It could be a coincidence. Will they detect us?”

“Probably not. Radars to detect are expensive as hell, and only the Fentons know how to make them. They’d have to use sonar, and that can only happen if they’re in the same water as us.”

The boys dipped back into the water. Damian clenched his white shoulder. “We will be past these locks by the time they open for that boat.”

Danny nodded quickly. “Yeah. We’ll be fine.”

They returned to waiting.

His fins flipped back and forth in place. Back and forth. He counted the inches. He cheered every new inch the water level took. Why did it take so long just to move some freaking water?! His fins sped up, becoming a blur. They stirred up eddy currents and swirls. At some point he even felt eddies from Damian’s fins too.

Danny took a deep breath. Fear was the mind killer, or whatever they said. Even if his back scales felt like knives were raking over them, the rational part of his mind tried to insist it was all fine. They were probably just moving some assets to the Atlantic. A million and one different ships used this passage.

But it wasn’t right. His nose was good in this form, but not that good. That boat was over fifty meters away in a completely different body of water.

“Damian. There’s more to this. There’s gotta be.”

“Your nerves are contagious. Keep a handle on them.” Damian grumbled.

“I’m serious. I couldn’t have smelled that boat. It’s like a football field away on a different lock. It’s impossible.”

The swirls of water from the small siren’s fins ceased. Danny couldn’t see him, but he felt the weight distribution change a little, like Damian had just lifted his head. “This warrants further investigation.”

The boys resurfaced again. Danny climbed his way up the walls of the lock on the side. They peered over the edge, keeping their noses open. “I don’t see anything.”

Maybe he was overthinking it from stress…

Just then, Damian tugged his sail. “The other side!” He hissed.

Danny turned around. At the edge of the shipyard, his vision clipped onto two distinct white suits talking to some important look guy in a black suit and hard hat. The black suit guy pulled out a walkie talkie. Suddenly, Danny realised the water level had been still for some time.

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Damian, I don’t think they’re just passing by.”

“It cannot be. What reason would they have to suspect we would be here?”

“I don’t know.” Danny clenched his fists around the concrete wall they had been sticking to. “But this is getting bad.”

More men appeared on both sides now, carrying harpoons, hydroplasm guns, and water testing equipment. Quiet adrenaline fired into his fins. A warbling growl rumbled in his throat.

“What if we can swim ahead? You have the speed to outrun them.” Damian’s voice trembled unevenly. His hands shook.

“Damian, the water’s stopped raising. They’ve locked down the lock. If I jump, they’ll be on me in a second.”

“We cannot sit here and wait for them.”

“I know.”

Danny wasn’t doing much better. If he were in human form, his hands would be soaked in sweat by now. His head whirled. The agents seemed to be in every direction. The water still wasn’t moving. The gate was still shut tight. Danny could probably squeeze his body through some kind of gap, but Damian? He didn’t want to grind the kid’s bones into pulp.

“What if we fight them?”

“You don’t have any of your weapons, and I’ve barely had anything to eat.” No food meant no healing, and little energy to toss ice beams willy-nilly.

“Do we have no other option?”

He cursed the stupid freaking GiW. At least his parents had their moments. Nothing good ever happened when the goons in wetsuits showed up. The last time he and Damian saw them was in freaking Amity Bay! His head spun trying to figure out what had given them away. What could get them out of this situation?

There was one other option. The option Danny had desperately hoped would never have to be considered. But it wasn’t just Danny’s safety now. At least his parents had the decency not to dissect Damian (at least during their stay on the SAV). The GiW would be much less merciful.

Danny’s heart rate spiked. Do or die, then. Sink or swim. He gathered up every ounce of courage that still survived his parents.

“We do.”

“Do it now.”

Danny squared up his shoulders, acutely aware of how the scales on his arms touched those on his armpits. How the water touched his back with no clothes in the way. “Do you trust me?”

Damian hesitated. He could smell the kid’s reservation in the water. He counted the steps the GiW agents took, as if in slow motion. “I have no other person to rely on.”

“We won’t be able to cross Panama. We’ll have to go back the direction we came.” Guilt jumped into the party of stressors stomping on his nervous system.

Damian warbled, like a wounded animal. “I know.”

They were so fucking close. They’d just barely gotten into Panama, and it’s all been ruined and he didn’t even know why.

“Hang on to me. And whatever you do, be quiet.”

Danny placed one arm on the top surface of the lock. He used it to pull himself up and over the edge, pushing with his second arm. Slowly he pulled his entire body over the edge of the wall. Danny began wiping drops of water off his body. He could do it while still being completely wet, but it hurt like a bitch and took ages.

Slowly, invisibly, his scales receded into skin. His tail split open. Its bones reshaped into legs. His tailfin hardened into feet. Danny stood up, still clutching Damian to his chest. The boy gasped at the sudden increase in elevation. And despite being invisible, he could practically feel the boy’s judgement baring down on him.

The GiW agents were closing in.

Danny stuck to the dirt and grass. The asphalt would have fried his bare feet off. Not a pleasant sensation. A pair of agents approached the canal, guns in hand. Danny crept along the side, tiptoeing carefully so as to avoid making a sound and drawing attention.

As Danny slipped away, the pair of agents came up to where he’d just been standing. Thank god.

There was an issue though. The locks were obviously built uphill. That meant going along the canal would bring him through the treacherously steep terrain. Not a good look for a scrawny boy with no shoes who needed to be silent. One slip and the entire force would come down upon him.

Damian squeezed his hand. There had to be a way somehow.

Danny swallowed a thick lump. He formed a layer of ice. Despite it only being a few millimetres, it felt clunky and horrible to walk in, and would definitely make a sound, but it would have to do.

Just carefully. One foot over the other. Let the foot come down gently, like a bee’s landing. Danny walked out into the asphalt, just within earshot of the agents at the edge of the canal.

“Got anything?” The one crouching over it said. He was so tempted to shoot an ice beam and knock him into the water.

“Not yet. It could be hiding from the sensor. We’ll give it another five minutes.”

“It better be close. Sun’s killing me out here.”

One of the nice things about sirens is that they were quite sensitive to heat. Thanks to some nifty evolution, it meant that Danny’s invisibility extended into the infrared and ultraviolet range. That was the only reason he wasn’t getting sunburned out the wazoo, and the only reason Damian hadn’t dried out yet. The air was still very, very warm, but he didn’t need to worry about the radiation from the sun itself.

Danny managed to get out of earshot of those agents. His concentration was split between keeping this ice on his feet solid, and on keeping Damian from dying of heatstroke. The boy remained silent, as requested. Danny’s eyes snapped from one side of his vision to the other, hyper aware of his space, and of the dozen or so agents scattered around the perimeter.

Let it be known that he was no ninja. Probably the only saving grace he had was the fact that they were expecting an invisible fish in the water, and not a kid walking on land. One of the agents barked an order. The agents split into groups of two. The pairs scattered, probably making for the other parts of the canal. That meant two of them were coming his way. Danny’s breath hitched. Sweat dripped down his brow. He iced it over.

Damian’s fins hung low too. Their sharp tips brushed against his belly. He couldn’t stay out here long. He needed water and quick. The boy chirped quietly underneath Danny’s hand.

He ambled to the right of the matching pair. Best to get out of their way. For a bunch of guys in fancy suits, they walked quickly. But Danny couldn’t. His makeshift shoes would be too loud.

He was barely able to get out of their way, barely able to avoid brushing shoulders with the men who wanted him a lab rat. Relief cooled his system like his ice.

Then one of them stopped.

“Wait, G.” He turned around. Turned toward Danny. Hairs stood on end. Knees rattled. “Agent H!”

Danny was seconds away from bolting. Only Damian’s tight grip was able to ground him from doing something stupid.

The man pulled a bottle of sunscreen from his suit. “Agent H! You forgot your mandated sunblock!”

With the GiW agent breaking into a light jog, Danny had seconds to react. He threw his body to the side just as the agent rushed through. The motion pushed his upper body just an inch too far off base. Danny’s eyes widened. He flung his arms wildly, but he could not stop the descent.

He shifted gears. The boy twisted his body so it faced the ground. Damian clung tighter, his claws digging into Danny’s chest. He shoved his hands forward. No time to ice them over. Danny planted his fingers on the ground. Sunbaked pebbles seared his fingers. His tongue bled as he bit down the urge to cry out.

His scream was only muffled into a groan. The footsteps of the agent stopped.

“What?” The man whispered.

Danny became a statue. The man’s gaze crawled over his back like an ant colony. Danny’s pulse stomped around in his ears. In his burning fingers. Each millisecond a war between the urge to cry out, the emergency signals of heat and pain, and the adrenaline that he could not let out. Just hunched over, still.

“Agent F! I’m turning into sun-dried tomatoes here!”

At last, at long last, the aforementioned Agent F took off. “Sorry! Just got distracted by some mosquito buzzing.”

Fuck. That was close. Too close.

Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Panama Canal.

What was that menace doing, heading for Panama Canal?

Maddie Fenton’s phone lay off to the side of the console. The new stream chattered. She paused from her work (really just staring at the radar) to refresh the news sites in English. Then whatever Spanish sites, translated by her browser. Nothing. A week ago she would have gone in guns blazing, ready to take out the pelagic punks and stop them from carrying out their dastardly plot.

With their engines busted, that plan wasn’t looking very good. After six hours of repairs, she and Jack had only managed to achieve a fraction of their original top speed. Enough to get them to Panama eventually, but not any time soon. They still had more repairs scheduled. It was only due to Jazz’s intervention that they sat down and took a break.

She wanted to work. She wanted to throw herself into metal and nuts and bolts. Anything to keep her mind from that face.

For years she had made it her mission to bring the sirens to justice for all they had done to her family and others. The few times she got up close to a siren they were vicious, snarling predators. She expected the same stubborn defiance from Phantom.

His resistance was token, at best. She could tell how scared he was even as he put up a tough face. Then he broke down, sobbing and incoherent. It was fake. It was all an act. It had to be. Phantom was stalling for time. He was manipulating her from the start. It had to be. It had to be.

How could it be?

She pulled off her gloves. She stared at the quivering hands, the hands that were a moment away from pulling the trigger. She was so sure she would have done it. He had to have known. He was an awful liar. Tried to misdirect and feign ignorance, and gave himself away every time. Who did he think he was fooling? And yet she could not steady her hands.

Maybe that was his con all along. Not even try to be convincing. Just babble whatever nonsense to lead them along like a string of helpless ducklings until help arrived.

Phantom had never worked with anyone else before. Not from his own kind, at least.

Maddie sipped a cold cup of tea. Maybe he had been migrating, and these were his original pod? If he were with his original pod, then there would be a lot more noise in Panama. The canals were narrow. Phantom was on the smaller side, but even two adults would have been noticed, right?

Did they even exist at all?! She had rebooted and reconfigured the radar, spending hours only for it to fail to detect any of Phantom’s pod. It was like they showed up for one moment, then vanished into thin water the next.

It wasn’t enough. The scientist in her demanded more evidence. Her hypotheses felt flimsy even to her, like there was something that was glaringly missing.

It all went back to that expression. That haunted anguish. Those streaming tears. The face that tore her vision away and replaced it with years of comfort. Years of holding Danny close. To that day when Danny showed up back home six months ago, the day a miracle came to her.

His face was the same back then. Maddie had rushed to hug the son she’d thought she’d lost. However, her baby boy flinched back, like she was going to strike him.

It broke her heart then.

“Mom?” Her daughter leaned into the door way.

“Jazz, I told you to take it easy.”

Jazz came inside, and sat down on the chair beside her. “I am taking it easy. Just getting some fresh air.”

She leaned to the side, her eyes discerning like they’d always been.

“Mom, are you ok?”

Dammit. Was it that obvious? Maddie shook her head. “You know me too well, Jazz.”

She pulled her daughter in. She held her and let herself be grateful that at least she was still here. That there was still hope, somehow. But that hope now clouded over with uncertainty.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

It shouldn’t be that way. Maddie was the mother here. It was her who was supposed to be comforting Jazz, but it was the other way around again.

“I just don’t know. Jazz. I thought I knew everything I needed to get the job done, but…”

But now she didn’t. Jazz nodded silently, letting her continue.

Maddie held her tighter. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Sweetie, I’m not sure anymore. Jazz, I can’t get it of my head. The way he looked at us. The way he didn’t. And I’ve been thinking about it for hours and I can’t make heads or tails on it. None of my theories can make up any kind of framework that could explain what happened.”

“Maybe it’s time to find a new framework?”

Maddie pulled back in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“Find new evidence. If the current evidence contradicts established theories, then hunt for new evidence that could explain the discrepancies. And then establish a new more comprehensive theory.”

That… made a lot of sense. It was at times like these she marvelled at the brilliance of her daughter. But there was just one issue.

“But your father and I still haven’t finished repairs yet.”

“That’s ok, Mads!”

Her husband and Bruce leaned in to the bridge as well. Bruce Wayne’s head still sported a large bandage around it, but the man was looking much better for wear.

Jack continued. “It was obvious we weren’t as prepared as we could be. Otherwise the fishie little fiend wouldn’t have given us the slip. With the SAV busted, I say we take Jazzie’s advice and go on recon mode.”

Determination shined from Bruce’s squared shoulders. “Jack’s right. We can take the jet skis and catch up to Phantom easily. Then we can observe him ourselves or deploy a drone or two.”

That was surprisingly sensible. They needed more information. Then they could cross out the possibilities and the what ifs, and narrow down the truth.

More than anything, Maddie needed the truth.

Damian was beginning to get uncomfortable. The mucus coating his scales meant that they remained moist. However, he still lost water due to respiration. Not to mention the sweltering heat. Although he did not suffer the burning sunlight due to Danny’s invisibility, the humid air also contributed to his discomfort. As a fish out of water, Damian could tell he could not last much longer.

But his physical discomfort could only distract from the real questions in his mind for so long. Why did Danny hide this ability from him for so long? What was he so scared of? In hindsight it was logical that a siren with the ability to turn humans into their species could also turn themselves into humans. Damian felt the soft, human skin of Danny’s chest against his own scales. His cheeks just so happened to be laying where the teenager’s gills used to be. Now they were smooth. Damian numbly counted Danny’s ribs, which jutted out.

Why did he expect Damian to trust him when he still continued to hide things from him?

Danny walked into a clearing. He carried Damian far past the shipping yard that they had crawled out of, and into a building. It appeared to be some kind of administrative building. Damian nudged him with his chin. Where was he taking them? He walked through the glass sliding doors behind a member of staff. Cool air conditioning chilled Damian’s scales. Danny bee lined for the bathroom, finding it empty. He iced the door shut.

Damian found himself placed into the (thankfully clean) sink. Cool running water washed over his body, bringing much needed relief. Damian purred quietly underneath the cool tap. For a moment, the room contained only the sound of running water, and Danny’s heavy breathing.

Danny’s invisibility deactivated. Damian watched pallid skin appear out of thin air. Stickly legs shivering. The newly human teenager leaned against the war, panting. His chest had no gills, as he’d expected, and his skin was completely opaque. Black hair appeared where there was white. Eerie aquamarine was replaced with dull blue. A familiar face rendered bare of scales or fins was revealed. A very, very familiar face.

And instantly, everything clicked into place for Damian.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #damian wayne #dcxdp #merman #merboy #mermaid au #angst #bruce wayne #good parents jack and maddie fenton #good sibling jazz fenton #good friend damian wayne #mer!danny fenton #mer!damian wayne #internal reveal

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thepoetsmanuscript13 · 2 days

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A football team ― Peter Pevensie modern au

author’s note: hello everyone! a weird first post honestly but i was feeling it after talking about it with my friend sooo... :) a totally out of pocket au in which the pevensies are all alive and well and live in this century and peter is a married man 🤭 i don’t know how i feel about this thing, though, like i’m having mixed feelings about it, but if i don’t publish it now i’ll never do it lol

pairing: peter pevensie x female reader

summary: Peter Pevensie had started being sure of things the moment he met you by accident during his first year of university. You two didn’t even study the same degree, but you’d happened to see each other frequently in the same spot at the library, and when he finally dared to ask you out, years passed in the blink of an eye. Nowadays, you’re happy to call him your husband and the father of your children.

warnings: female reader, reader is pregnant, modern au in which everyone is happy and alive (lmao), peter pevensie is a teacher and a football (soccer) manager, plot’s not even a plot (lol), too many children, fluff, english isn’t my first language (i don't think i missed anything)

word count: 1869 words

requests are open, i write for many fandoms (maybe i can make a list of them idk)

You couldn’t help but love your chaotic family. It was the best thing that had happened to you, along with marrying Peter. Your life was a busy one, but it was also full of love. You saw it in the mornings, when your household became a place of madness and your four children ran around the hallways while they got ready for school. You saw it when you got in the car with them―of course, one of those big cars with too many seats because you wouldn’t fit in a regular one―and your husband drove for more than twenty minutes to some place, leading to fights and shouts and cries. You saw it at dinner, when the six of you sat at the table and ate whatever Peter had cooked and they all talked about their day, screamed over each other’s voices, and protested about not liking peas or broccoli or carrots. You saw it at night, when you and your husband fell into bed completely spent once the house was, finally, silent and all of them were sleeping.

You had a lot to celebrate with a family like that. People―mums from school―usually asked you how you managed. How you and Peter could take care of a family like that and still have time to love each other. Your answer was that you loved each other while you took care of your children.

And, of course, leaving the kids with their aunts or uncle or grandparents when you two wanted to have a weekend for yourselves also helped.

But, most of the time, it was you and Peter, and you were happy like that. It was a life that’d been made for you. Because, being honest, you’d never wanted to get married or have children. You’d always said those things weren’t for you. That you’d be the single, cool aunt type.

Until you met Peter during your first year of university. It changed everything you thought you were sure of, and you realised you simply hadn’t wanted that kind of life because, until then, you hadn’t met a person you’d like to have those things with. With him, everything changed. You saw yourself walking down the altar. You saw yourself building a home with him. You saw yourself thrilled because you two were waiting for a child. You saw yourself growing old with him by his side.

You’d never believed in the “right person” thing until you met him. Once you had, everything fell into place. And now you were at the peak of your happiness after discovering you were pregnant with your fifth child. Well― Fifth and sixth. Twins.

It had been an accident, really. Well, kind of an accident.

When you found out you were pregnant again, you and Peter had agreed that this was going to be the last one. Four children were already a significant number. You two were managing quite well with your numerous offspring, and a fifth was already going to be a challenge. But you knew your man. You knew him well enough to know that he somehow would manage to trick you one last time.

He indeed did when the doctor announced that you were carrying twins. You remember Peter’s mischievous grin. And your first reaction―slap his arm and call him a bastard. But you weren’t mad. It was going to be a challenge, but you could never reject what was the product of the love you and Peter had for each other.

You sometimes regretted your thoughts, though, during your eighth month of pregnancy. Some days you felt like giving up and staying in bed all day. Your back pain was killing you, and those two babies were definitely Peter’s, because they knew how to kick to make themselves known.

“You don’t have to come, my love,” Peter told you, and pressed a kiss to your hair.

You scoffed. “But I will,” you replied.

Your husband grinned and leaned to kiss your lips tenderly. His hand snaked down your body to settle on your round belly, and he smiled in the middle of the kiss. Your babies kicked in that exact moment, like they knew it was their father greeting them.

A long “ew” was heard from the kitchen’s doorway, and you two turned your heads to look at your second son, Samuel, who was already wearing his football kit. A grin appeared in your face and you gestured to him to come closer.

“You don’t like seeing dad kissing mum, Sam?” Peter asked him while ruffling his hair. The little boy put his hands on your knees and pressed his cheek to your baby bump.

“No!” Samuel answered. “It’s gross!”

“Oh, baby,” you laughed and stroked his blonde hair―you were still wondering how it was possible that all your children had inherited Peter’s golden hair―while he interacted with his unborn siblings. “It’s not gross. We do it because we love each other.”

“You don’t kiss me on the mouth but you love me,” he replied, thoughtful.

His father chuckled. “‘Course not, lad. Those kisses are just for partners,” he explained with a smile, amused by his son’s reasoning. He was a clever boy, they knew that much.

“Hmmm…” he mumbled, and narrowed his eyes in deep thought.

You couldn’t help a grin. Samuel was always asking questions and making up his own reasoning about why something was one way or another. Peter said he reminded him of his brother Edmund, who used to spend the time with his nose buried in books, but with his youngest sister Lucy’s character, who was definitely much more adorable and less… Well, less “Edmund”.

Peter kissed his son’s head and went upstairs to get the girls, who were probably still playing with the last Lego they’d been gifted. Legos were a must in your house. Legos everywhere. In the bedrooms, in the bathroom, in the back garden, in the living room. More than once you had stepped on one, and they hurt a lot. You always told them to gather the pieces and put them in their box, but your words were often ignored and forgotten. As a mother of four, you were used to it by now.

You heard giggles coming from the upper floor. Your husband was such a girl dad. He did what was necessary to put a smile in Audrey’s, Ruby’s, or Emma’s face. From letting them do his makeup―the amount of pictures you had with Peter’s face covered in red lipstick was infinite―to buying them a little foam sword and teaching them how to use it. You were scared they would take an eye out with those, but he was chill about it. He said that his girls needed to defend themselves from the bad guys. You thought one day they would end up punching someone for real with all the things he taught them.

Football, swimming, using a sword, makeup… He’d even tried to teach Audrey how to bake―no need to say it didn’t end up very well, and he spent a whole afternoon cleaning the counters and walls and floor. To this day, you hadn’t seen a mess like that one.

Some minutes later, Peter came back with three little monkeys clinging to him, the monkeys being your three daughters. Emma, the youngest of them, was in his right arm, while Ruby, the one in the middle, was in the left, and Audrey, the eldest―seven already, how time flew!―was hanging from his back.

You were going to die from a heart attack one day.

“Audrey! You’re going to make dad fall!” you said, standing from the chair while Sam held your hand.

“No, mum! I’m Spiderman!” she said, making her father grin. Since they had gone to the cinema to watch the last Spiderman film, Audrey had been pretending that she had superpowers. It’d been funny until she tried to start climbing the walls and you almost had a heart attack.

You shook your head.“Peter, do something,” you scolded your husband.

“Audrey, darling,” he immediately said, and you smiled―so obedient―, “I wouldn’t like your mum to get mad at me.” When his daughter opened her mouth to protest, he added, “And we’re going to be late to the match if we don’t hurry.”

“Yes, football!” Both Samuel and Ruby cheered, while Emma mimicked her siblings’ words in her father’s arms. Your little girl was two years old and she was such a brilliant kid already. She loved to grab Mr. Badger, the cat, by his tail and to do all kinds of villainies to him. The poor cat endured too much with your daughter, but he also was extremely protective of her and always made sure she didn’t hurt herself.

“Football it is,” you declared, and winked at your children.

The whole of your family exited the house and went to the car. You sat on the passenger’s seat―not without great difficulty―while Peter took care of your children. With your big belly, you were grateful you could even walk on your own. You could barely wait until the birth day, not only because you wanted to see your babies, but also because it was exhausting, being pregnant with twins.

Once your husband had secured all of your children in their seats, he drove to the school. He worked there as a science teacher, and thought at first it hadn’t been an option, when the previous football manager―who’d been some maths teacher―had retired, the juniors didn’t have anyone to train them, and Peter, loving kids and football as much as he did, decided to take the responsibility. Now, you knew he couldn’t picture himself without being the manager of those kids.

When you arrived there, most of the team was already there, and so were their parents, and the rival team. Peter quickly kissed you and he, Samuel, and Ruby left to get ready for the match. Meanwhile, you, Audrey, and Emma went to sit at the stands. You couldn’t stand for too long, and you liked getting seats close to your husband so you could watch him close during the match.

It was adorable, watching him interact with the kids. He ruffled their hair when they walked past him, encouraged them to be their best, and treated them like adults. They liked Peter a lot and he liked them back, and all their parents, but especially their mothers, always told you that you had struck gold when you married him.

As if you already didn’t know that you were the luckiest woman in the world to have him in your life.

You were sure that Peter was almost like a second father for many of those kids. They spent a good amount of hours together every week, training and at the matches, and it was very easy to like your husband. Even if he got a little competitive during every football game.

“Pass the ball to your brother, Corin!”

Maybe too competitive.

“Eyes up, Alice! Eyes on the ball!”

But, whatever he did, it seemed to work, because the school’s team won most of their matches. After the game, the kids all cheered while their parents clapped. Peter’s eyes met yours for some seconds and you smiled.

#peter pevensie #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x female reader #peter pevensie modern au #peter pevensie imagine #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia au #narnia modern au #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie is a father of 6 #you cannot convince me otherwise #he loves kids i'm so sure

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toodelusionalforreality · 2 days

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Absolution