#prompt: magic

[elucienweekofficial]

Commissioned by autorabjuliachs and artist rockieartt

The event has permission to repost

[aki-natsuko]

To Know You

Gratsu Week 2024: Day 2 Prompt - Magic

“This is your fault,” Gray snapped at Natsu as once again he failed to produce anything more than the most pitiful flame that wouldn’t have lit a candle. The sight of a flame flickering on the end of his finger, and the instinctual flinch as he waited for the pain to set in made his weak control on the magic disappear entirely, and he huffed and clenched his fist. There’s no way we can fight like this, he thought, eyeing the Dragon-slayer who was sat beside him, looking decidedly worse for wear, with cuts and abrasions everywhere and his left eye half-closed with swelling. Concern threatened to bubble through his irritation, but then he remembered that they were in this mess because Natsu hadn’t watched what he was destroying, and as it turned out the weird contraption in the corner of the room had been more than decoration.

“You’re trying to control it too much,” Natsu said, seemingly ignoring the accusation and if he was worried by the fact that they were currently hiding from the mage whose study he had trashed, and were running around with their magic switched and no immediate way to undo the transfer it didn’t show.

“What?”

“My magic,” Natsu lifted his hand and curled his fingers into a fist, and there was the first crack in his calm as a little flurry of ice shot from his fingers rather than flame. “You don’t mould my flames like you do your ice.”

“What do you know about my ice,” Gray demanded. He missed his ice. He could feel Natsu’s fire and warmth just under his skin, and it set him on edge. It wasn’t his. And worst when he’d grabbed the Dragon-slayer to haul him out of the study, Natsu had felt cool to the touch, and it had been so wrong that he had almost dropped him. As much as he had taunted the flamebrain for always been too hotblooded, over the years that warmth at his back or at his side had become a comfort. Natsu was supposed to be warm. He glared at Natsu, unprepared for the Dragon-slayer to meet his gaze directly, or the emotion in them – which he was not ready to put a name to, not with everything threatening to crash down on them.

“I know you.”

A simple truth.

 Natsu did know Gray, and while the Ice mage knew it wasn’t what the other mage had been implying, it suggested that he should know the Dragon-slayer just as well, and right now, he wasn’t sure he did as the strange warmth stirred through him.

Am I that far behind…

He didn’t get chance to ask as the door and part of the wall to the room where they had taken shelter blasted inwards, showering them with dust, rubble and the sensation of roiling, dark magic pressing against them. Forgetting all about the fact that he still didn’t have a handle on Natsu’s fire, Gray was immediately on his feet and moving to cover the Dragon-slayer, ignoring the sting of his own wounds. “Not a chance,” he said, standing in front of Natsu who was still pushing himself to his feet, wobbling in a way that suggested there were injuries Gray hadn’t been aware of, and the irritation built a little higher. He channelled it into a glare as the mage glided through the opening he had created, gaze shifting between the pair of them, and Gray tensed as he felt the magical pressure building.

It burst, roaring towards them. A fan of shadow-tinted spears that he had already seen pierce rock, and he froze, he couldn’t shield them from this and Natsu’s fire wasn’t his and…

“Ice Make: Shield!” Natsu roared, and the world in turn of Gray turned blueish-purple a split second before the shadow spears reached them. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain, hoping at least his body would protect Natsu, because there was no way the Dragon-slayer could’ve shielded them completely.

The pain didn’t come.

He opened his eyes, mouth falling open as he took in the shield glistening in front of him. It wasn’t as sturdily built as his own would be, and already it was cracking, falling apart from the dozens of impact sights where the shadow spears had struck.

But it had protected them.

Natsu had protected them…with Gray’s magic.

He could feel the Dragon-slayer at his back, vertical now, but almost leaning against him as though that effort had exhausted what strength he had. Gray was about to turn to check on him, when a strangely cool hand came to rest on his shoulder, allowing him to feel the tremors now wracking Natsu. “Why are you fighting…?” Natsu’s voice trailed off, his hand disappearing, and Gray was aware of the sound of the Dragon-slayer slumping to the ground behind him, but he couldn’t move because the shadows were building again, a deadly wave that Natsu couldn’t protect them from this time.

But…

He curled his hands into fists. Why am I fighting? He thought back to the image of Natsu rushing forward to take the blow that had been intended for him, taking the brunt of the damage, before being flung back into him which had sent them both stumbling back into the device that had flared golden as it switched their magic.

For us, for Fairy Tail…for Him.

Something stirred beneath his skin, his hands flushing hot. I’m fighting to protect what’s precious to me, he thought, and the magic that wasn’t his responded, flames beginning to wreath around his hands. There was a burning in his chest, a fire igniting, and rising in his throat. Smoke began to rise as he took a step forward.

Not enough.

There was no sound from Natsu, and it was taking everything he had not to turn around. Protect him. He grabbed hold of that thought, hoarded it like a dragon gathering gold, and the flames responded. They were spreading now, from head to foot, until he felt like he was drowning in Natsu’s presence, and he breathed it in, eyes locked on the other mage. I do know you, he thought, and a wild grin crept across his face and with a shout he charged just as the shadows swept towards them, and the fires roared with him.

“Fire Dragon’s Sword horn!”

[acourtofthought]

The Magic of Restoring a Land

While Elain and Lucien both have homes, SJM seems to be hinting that those current homes are a temporary thing:

(not to mention Elain was notably absent in the crossover)

Combine those hints with the following:

and it seems clear to me where Elucien's journey will be taking them.

I am enamoured at the thought of Elucien as High Lord and Lady as Day but I struggle to see it anytime soon because of Helion being such an important character to Rhys, to the LOA, and hopefully Lucien.

I wonder if SJM was being sly with the wording above:

"permanently station him at the Spring Court"

"The Spring Court had been made for someone like her"

What if she literally just told us that Lucien will permanently remain in Spring? In ACOFAS we know he wanted to return to living there but was unable to because of the lies Feyre spread. What if his good name was restored and it could once again be his home? What if he and Elain could turn it into the court he once hoped life in Tamlin’s court would be? I'm sure centuries down the line he'll play his part in Day (he could even travel there as emissary while living in Spring) but until then, Lucien isn't the type to sit and wait around to do something. And even Feyre said, "you enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.” He's never going to be someone who waits for something to do, he wants purpose.

Also, when something is made for someone, there's a sense of belonging associated with the phrasing.

It wasn’t a guarantee that a High Lord’s firstborn would be his heir. The magic sometimes took a while to decide, and often jumped around the birth order completely. Sometimes it found a cousin instead. Sometimes it abandoned the bloodline entirely. Or chose the heir in that moment of birth, in the echoes of a newborn’s first cries.

“There are no High Ladies.” His brows furrowed, but he shook his head. “We’ll talk about that later, too. But yes, Feyre—there can be High Ladies. And perhaps you aren’t one of them, but … what if you were something similar?

I know some feel Elain can't be chosen as High Lady but why? Rhys tells us there can be High Ladies and just because there hasn't been one prior to the series doesn't mean it can't happen now that the Archeron sisters are having their stories told. Rhys made Feyre his High Lady so she wasn't exactly chosen by the magic but Feyre is still unlike anything that ever existed before. Elain as High Lady does not negate that Rhys and Feyre will most likely remain the most powerful fae in their lands.

Tamlin never wanted to be High Lord, it was never a fitting role for him, what if the magic always knew he was simply a place holder until the "moment of Elain's birth"?

What if Elain is made High Lady of Spring and Lucien stays by her side as interim High King (until the war is over)?

A major problem that Feyre and Nesta have when it comes to Elain is holding her back from doing more, from being unable to imagine her in certain situations. But I wonder if all the things they once doubted will come to pass-

I’d do it mostly to keep Elain from ever going to the Spring Court (a hint that Elain WILL end up in the Spring Court?)

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that … fire. (a hint that Elain WILL end up with Lucien and possibly perform in Fire Night with him?)

"Elain would faint to hear such thoughts." (Fire Night is very voyeuristic event, imagine if she were the main act?)

Being this is the current state of the Spring Court and it's manor -

Distant—because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. The fountains had gone dry, the hedges untrimmed and shapeless. The house itself had looked better the day after Amarantha’s cronies had trashed it. Not for any visible signs of destruction, but for the general quiet. The lack of life.

A tomb. This place was a tomb.

No whisper of sound behind him. On any acre of this estate. Not even a note of birdsong.

Hunting for dinner—because there were no servants here to make food. Or buy it.

And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability.

- it seems so fitting that Elain and Lucien, two characters who are full of light and sunshine, who are extremely social, who make friends wherever they go and are able to convince anyone to do anything with their words, would be able to restore Spring with not only their personalities but the magic of their union.

"the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

With Elucien, the Spring Court could again be a place of light and happiness, filled with laughter and sound and as a result, a place of strength and an ally for the rest of Prythian.

[strawbrerian-writes]

Dreams That You Dare to Dream

for @elucienweekofficial

Everyone's been too sweet! I love you all.

For Day 2: Magic

Summary:

It's raining. The sun hasn't risen. Thunder and lightning roll through the sky. And maybe, just maybe, Elain's dreams are coming true.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, like great boulders tumbling down the high mountains. Fat drops of rain pelted the roof of the lanai. In the corner, Lucien sat in a long chair, golden brown skin radiant in the low fae lights, his long wine-red hair pulled into a topknot. Their daughter rested in the crook of muscled arms.

Barely a day old, little coppery curls peaked out of the muslin cloth wrapped around her tiny body. Lucien held her with such care. He whispered so low even Elain, who had been watching from the bed, could not hear.

Lucien had brought them here weeks ago, to the little villa in the high hills outside of Alexandrina. He had bought it for them not long after their mating ceremony. They wanted someplace quiet away from the bustle of the city, to grow, to love, to welcome their child into this world. Someplace where they didn’t have to be anything other than Lucien and Elain.  

Labor was everything Elain expected it to be. Hard, aching, with long periods of pacing in the garden between summer rains. She had relished digging her bare feet into the wet earth, breathing deep the morning air as the labor pains swept through her. They were brutal. The first pains swept over her like a wave. Her entire being gave in to the power of her womb. It excited her as much as it frightened her. It was a beginning and an ending.

She chose to give birth privately. Only Lucien and a pair of discrete healers from the palace. Elain told Lucien she didn’t want to bring up bad memories for her sisters, as it had only been a few years since Nyx’s traumatic arrival. She’d tell them in a day or two. He didn’t question her and swiftly winnowed out to grab the healers his mother had recommended. Truthfully, she wanted this moment for herself. So much of her life had been under the scrutiny of others, this she wanted just for themselves.

Their daughter was a late summer baby, born between the seasonal storms that pelted the coast of Alexandrina. She came into the world quickly, less than a day after the labor pains started. Born midday as the sun finally broke through the clouds after a heavy rain. Elain swore she could taste the magic hanging thick in the air the moment she came roaring into the world.

Elain stretched quietly on the edge of their large four poster bed. Her limbs were sore, her womb aching with the leftover cramps of childbirth. The midwives warned her of this, told her to rest as much as she was able. She had always been a touch restless, though.

Her mate was in the middle of a story. His face was animated as he whispered, scar stretching as he leaned down. She padded quietly across the hardwood. He didn’t so much as look up at her, but the twitch of his ear and the quirk of his full lips told her he heard her.

“Filling her with your stories already?” Elain whispered as she came up behind him. She twined her arms around his neck, breathing deep the scent of warm oak and sunshine, and laid her chin on his topknot. Lucien chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest.  

“Only the best ones,” he spoke quietly. “Like how her mother saved her father from death. How she grows the best gardens in all of Prythian and cooks the sweetest apple tarts.” Elain smiled into his hair.

Oh, how she loved this male. How did she ever go so long denying him?

“How she force-fed me a rotten egg to accept the mating bond until I ruined her Uncle Rhys’ pretty rug.”

“Lucien!” Elain hissed, landing a solid slap to his shoulder. He giggled, the ass. “Maybe I should tell her about how easy it is for her father to vomit, or your philandering past, or your penchant for –”

“We’ll tell her everything, Elain,” Lucien said softly. He stretched his free arm out above him and wrapped it awkwardly around her neck, drawing her down into the crook of his shoulder. Elain melted into his touch.

A minute passed quietly, only the sound of rolling thunder and battery of the rain their companion. They were content to hold on to each other. Elain marveled in the peace of her new little family. All her life, she never imagined she’d be able to fulfill all her dreams: to have a family and adventure. But this male, this sweet, caring, sarcastic, wonderful male had given her everything.

She was overwhelmed by the love in her heart. She’d blame it on the hormones.

“I was telling her all the things I am going to give her as she grows,” Lucien finally broke the silence. His hand trailed down her shoulder until he loosely held her hand, his thumb absently rubbed circles on her wrist. His eyes never wavered from their daughter’s puckered lips.

“Yeah?”

Lucien nodded slightly, Elain’s chin moving with the effort. “A rug from Sangravah for her nursery. A jeweled dagger from Adriata. A stuffed polar bear straight from Nunavit. A book of spells from her grandfather’s library. The largest collection of tinker toys a child could have,” he listed with increasing joy.

“That’s … quite the spectrum,” Elain remarked. She hid her smile in his thick topknot.

Her mate shrugged, careful not to jostle the babe in his arms. “She deserves the best of everything.”

“Does an infant really need a dagger?” she questioned.

Lucien turned in her arms. He gave her an incredulous look. His gold eye whirred and clicked, almost as if in reproach as she took him in.

“She’s the princess of day court, with two feuding high lords for uncles. She’s getting an entire armory,” he stated drily. He let go of Elain’s hand to gently tap their sleeping child’s slightly upturned nose. “And a Pegasus. Because she’s cute.”

Elain snorted, relinquishing her hold on her husband and moving to sit across from them. The rain whipped at the bamboo curtains. Cool wind weaved between the slats. “Well, at least now I know how full of shit you are.”

Lucien smirked as his eyes looked up from the sleeping bundle. He quirked a brow.

She smiled mischievously as she crossed her legs. “You promised me a Pegasus once too. And have yet to deliver.”       

Lucien threw his head back in a roaring laugh, jostling the babe at his chest. The bundle in his arms squirmed. Her tiny face turned red as she scrunched herself into a ball of pure anger.

“Oh look! You’ve upset her,” Elain admonished. She reached for the baby as Lucien stood. He crossed the room and carefully passed the tiny bundle to her.

“She’s a temperamental little thing,” Lucien sighed as he reached to adjust the strap in his hair.

Elain nodded in agreement. She’d spent her entire pregnancy being bullied from the inside by this child. Her favorite foods turned her stomach. She developed a horrible rash that lasted months, and she’d lost count how many times the child had kicked her bladder, causing her to wet herself at the worst times. Like during a mediation of trade rights between Autumn and Summer. Cresseida was snide, and Eris surprisingly comforting, though it was still embarrassing.

She pulled the strap of her stola down to expose her chest. Her breasts were heavy and near painful. It had been a bit since her daughter had fed, however little she’d done. She drew the babe’s mouth to her nipple. Her daughter rooted but didn’t take. Elain frowned.

“Maybe we should call the midwife back? She’s still struggling with latching,” she said. Worry filled her voice. The baby had fed a couple times already, but only after the midwife had manipulated her breast for her.

“I’ll show her how to do it,” Lucien remarked smartly. She knew what she’d see if she looked up: Lucien’s eyes locked on to her exposed chest, smirk on his face. He might even be rubbing his oversized hands together like a villain in a play.

“I’m sure you would,” she snorted. Sure enough, when she looked up Lucien had his eyes on her chest and he was rubbing his hands together. His face was focused though, eyebrows drawn together as if he were contemplating a battle maneuver not ogling his wife’s breasts. “What are you doing?”

“Warming up my hands,” he offered with a shrug. “I had the midwife show me how to do it too, remember?”

“No, I guess I don’t,” she said softly. She really didn’t. When did he ask the midwife? She’d been fairly out of it, but she thought she could remember that much.

The baby began to whimper into her breast.

Elain glanced back up at her husband. His face was a bit guarded, like it gets when he’s trying not to piss her off. Oh, her sweet mate.

“Do you want me to fetch her? Or may I try?” He asked carefully. Elain knew he was aware of her worry, that she’d been unable to immediately grasp breastfeeding like Feyre had, or like any mother should. He’d immediately shut her down when she’d voiced it, claiming every mother and every child were different, and comparison was the thief of joy.  

“Go ahead. I’d rather have your hands on me than a stranger,” Elain said as she smiled up at him. His hands were held in front of him in a placating fashion. They moved to her chest, resting above her heart for a moment.  

“Good, I don’t like anyone else’s hands on my boobs,” he stated plainly. His hand soothed an ache over her right side, dipping just low enough to brush across the swell of her heaving breast. Her nipple puckered at his touch.

“Your boobs?”

“Yes, they became mine the day you accepted the bond,” Lucien nodded again. He reached down and cupped the breast their daughter was trying to suckle on in a C shape. He guided it to the babe’s mouth and rubbed the pebbled nipple gently in front of her.

Elain jumped a bit when the little mouth latched down. “I’d always thought they took just the nipple,” she said as Lucien released her breast. It felt like half her tit was in the child’s mouth. He sat down on the arm of the chair, chuckling. Both of them watched the baby with rapt attention.

They sat like that for a bit, the babe taking her breakfast while Elain brushed the little copper hairs on her head.

“I wonder who she’ll take after more?” Lucien broke the silence. “She has my hair, and her eyes are blue —“

“They can change.”

“And she definitely has your nose. I can already see it.” He gently touched the tiny, upturned nose as Elain switched her sides.

This time, baby girl latched on with ease.

“Why does she only like the left one?” Elain groaned.

“The left one slopes down and is more reactive,” Lucien provided. She whipped her head at him. He shrugged defensively. “It’s true! A cool breeze has that one hard enough to cut a diamond and it slopes downward more than the right one. It’s easier to get in your mouth if you’re coming from below, which she is the way you’re holding her.”

Elain blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. “Are you fucking serious right now?” She hissed. Lucien threw a finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture.

“Don’t curse in front of the baby!” He whisper-yelled at her. He pointed to his daughter’s delicate, pointed ears.

“You’re the one talking about putting my tit in your mouth in front of her!” Elain retorted, though she did put a hand over the exposed ear.

“It’s the first thing we have in common,” Lucien smirked. “We both love your breasts.”

Whatever Elain was about to say was halted when the baby unlatched and began to cry again. Elain shifted, putting her on her shoulder and began to pat her back. This part was easier.

Her sweet daughter burped, spewing breast milk all over her mother. “You both vomit easily too,” she remarked with a chuckle. She took the edge of her stola to clean up the baby’s mouth.

Lucien sprang into action. He dipped a cloth in the rainwater coming down from the roof and used it to wash Elain’s back.

“I haven’t puked since the egg,” Lucien chided. Once Elain’s back was clean, he helped her to her feet.

They padded across the hardwood floor, back into the bedroom. A small bassinet was set up near the bed, hand painted with flowers and tiny suns courtesy of Auntie Feyre. Elain laid their daughter among the pink linens, tucking her swaddle in. The baby seemed to settle for a moment.

“Can you grab me a new gown?” Elain asked her mate as she began to strip out of the dirty stola. He nodded, turning to get her new clothes when she dropped the soiled gown. She left it in a pile on the floor and stood there in only her underwear.

 It wasn’t romantic, as it might have been before she gave birth. Now she had a stomach that was beginning to sag, and her thick underwear was full of bloodied linens she’d need to change. Still, Lucien stopped to stare at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His gold eye clicked, his russet one softening. “I love you more every day,” he said tenderly.

Elain felt the tears spill over her eyes. She cried so much quicker when she was pregnant, and that hadn’t seemed to have changed yet.

“I love you too,” she whispered. Lucien made a step towards her. She knew from the look in his eyes what he wanted. Some looks meant a passionate night. Some meant he’d devour her. Some he meant wicked.

This one was gentle. He meant to hold her. His arms were already coming up when a wail burst from the bassinet. Elain laughed quietly.

“I’ll change her, if you’ll find me a robe,” she offered. Lucien stopped his advance but quirked a brow.

“Do you want a gown or a robe?” he asked for clarification.

“A robe, please,” she declared. “I’ll need a quick wash and don’t want the hassle of dressing and undressing again.”

Lucien nodded and padded over to their large wardrobe.

As Elain cleaned their daughter up, she took a moment to really take her in. Fine coppery hair dusted her head. Her nose was slightly upturned, just like her own. She had full lips, even for a baby. Those were her father’s. The fat chubby cheeks? Definitely Elain’s. She remembered all through her childhood how other children would tease and taunt her for them, until her baby fat fell away to soft curves.

They hadn’t yet named her. They’d bounced between several ideas, each with a special or sentimental meaning. Nothing had yet stuck. They knew they wanted it to have meaning. They didn’t want her named after themselves – though Elain had been partial to Lucia. They were taking their time, and then the sweet child had come before any name had been chosen.

“Thalia?” Lucien said softly. He draped a soft green robe over her shoulders as she swaddled the baby. “It means to blossom.”

They’d done this often, since she’d even learned she was pregnant. At random times just deciding to call out a name and see if it fit.  

“Hmmm…possibly,” Elain hummed. The baby was still fussy, though she’d stopped crying. She slid her arms through the robe and tied it before picking up her little ball of fire. She nuzzled her daughter’s soft head, soaking in that intoxicating baby soft scent.  “Soleil?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Perfect as it is for a princess of day, our little one is a child of many courts. Not just one.”

Elain agreed, though now that she was here, they really should name her. The babe fussed some more, her bottom lip quivered.

Maybe it was instinct, maybe Elain was still tired and aching from the slowly dying contractions, but she began to sway. Slowly, back and forth, in a loose rendition of one of the dances they’d done at their mating ceremony. She’d done it so many times while pregnant. Her rooms at the palace weren’t too far from the conservatory, and music would carry up on the breeze. She’d find herself swaying to a waltz in the comfort of her room.

The baby stilled, large deep blue eyes blinking up at her. Elain smiled back. They danced to the rolling of thunder, the room lit by low fae lights and flashes of lightning.

At some point her mate joined her. Long, strong arms wrapped around her waist. His chin nestled into the crook of her neck, placing the softest kiss there before settling into the rhythm. Elain relaxed back into him.

Lucien began to hum. A soft tune, low and deep. The baby watched him, eyes fighting sleep.

“Lucien, keep doing that,” Elain whispered as they swayed. Her mate obliged, humming a bit louder. Soon, their daughter’s blue eyes closed, her little face relaxing in sleep.

They parted as Elain put her in the bassinet. Lucien crossed to open the wide curtains. At some point the rain had slowed and the sun risen. Fingers of soft morning light shone through the now open window, illuminating the crystal mobile dancing above the sleeping child. The crystal split the sunbeam, casting beautiful colors over their resting  daughter.

“Iris,” Lucien whispered reverently. Elain turned to him and quirked a brow. He pointed one long, calloused finger to the mobile. “Rainbows. Iris was said to be a long-forgotten goddess of peace. Her symbol was a rainbow.”

She turned back to her daughter. The tiny face smoothed in peaceful rest after having squalled so fiercely. “I think she might also be the storm.”

Her mate chuckled. “It takes a lot of strength to bring peace.”

“Iris Archeron Spell-cleaver,” she tried the name on her tongue. The tang of magic filled the air, the room shimmering with golden light just for a moment. As if the baby – or the magic of Day – approved of the name.

Elain smiled in her mate’s arms. “I guess it’s decided,” she laughed quietly. Lucien hummed an agreement, hugging her midsection a bit tighter. A thought suddenly came to her. Elain tilted her head, meeting Lucien with a wicked smile.  “I just realized something.”

“Oh?”

“You just named your daughter after Eris,” Elain stated mischievously. The arms around her tensed. As close as she was held, she could feel his entire body tense. A scowl formed on his otherwise beautiful face, highlighting the violence of the scar.

“Fuck that,” he spat. “It’s not after Eris. It’s IRIS.”

“Hmmm…sounds an awful lot like Eris to me,” Elain teased as she poked her slowly unraveling mate.

“We’ll pick something else,” he scowled.

Thunder cracked, the room seeming to shake with it. Elain burst into laughter, hand flying to her mouth to quiet herself before their daughter awoke. “I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” she choked through the laughter.

Lucien growled. “I named her after a goddess of peace, not a high lord of bullshit and chaos.”

“You know he’ll claim you named her for him,” Elain remarked. She ran a hand along her mate’s muscled arm. “Rhys will think it too, I imagine.”

A warm chuckle into her neck. “He’ll have a fit. Might even ruffle his hair.”

Elain let out another barking muffled laugh. She loved her brother-in-law, but there was still a touch of tension there. Besides, there was something wickedly satisfying about seeing Rhysand annoyed.

The warm glowing light filled the room once more, briefly, flashing its approval.

“Is that normal?” Elain whispered. Lucien shrugged behind her.

“Whose to say? I haven’t been around many babies,” he admitted. “Did anything like this happen with Nyx?”

“A few times,” Elain nodded. “But he’s Rhys’ heir.”

There was a beat of silence before Lucien huffed a laugh into her hair. “I wouldn’t mind that. I never wanted to be high lord anyway.” Elain turned again in his arms.

He was smiling and glowing, power and magic radiating off of him. There was no doubting who the heir of Day was. Though, perhaps the magic was marking Lucien’s heir. If such a thing happened. Maybe it was the mother, shining her blessings down.

Tears sprang to her eyes, brought on by the happiness shining in Lucien’s face. He peered down at her.  

She was smiling, her brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. A look of worry crossed his features. She shook her head.

“Will you sing to me?” she said softly. She dug in her hands into his forearms. She wanted him closer. He tightened his arms.

“I’m no singer, lady,” he murmured into her hair as he kissed the crown of her head.

“You have a fine voice, my lord. Just sing to me whatever you were humming.” She could feel the rumble of laughter building in his body. His chest shook with it.

“If you say so,” he said mirthfully. He began to hum again, the same soft tune he’d hummed before, a bit faster this time. Elain rocked in his arms. Then he opened his mouth…

“If all of the girls were bells in a tower,

and I were the clapper, I’d bang one each hour – “

“LUCIEN!” she roared, whipping around and out of his arms. Lucien doubled over in laughter with his hand on his stomach.

Iris, from her bassinet, wailed again.

[fruitsbasketmondays]

Week 10 Prompt: Magic

See our pinned post for all event information.

Get ready to make some magic for week 10 of Fruits Basket Mondays!

As a reminder, all our prompts are completely optional. You can participate whether you use our prompts or not!

The prompt for week 10 is Magic.

Here are some ideas on how you might fill this prompt:

you could write about magical girls (or boys or non-binary folks),

you could write about other curses that might exist in the Furuba universe,

you could write about other types of magic,

...or you could create something that doesn't use our prompt!

Keep up the awesome creativity!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Unhinged Feral Boyfriends

The whole Batfam is under the assumption that Damian is the feral child. The assassin, the wild one, the demon brat that bites and stabs. Jason usually takes the second place, what with guns, heads in the duffelbag, and being a crime lord.

But Tim? Come on, even Duke is more feral than him. Tim is a nerd, and he keeps to his own devices most of the time, and, sure, sometimes he is plenty unhinged. But he's okay. Seventh place on the unofficial List of Feral Bats.

He's got a boyfriend lately, have you heard? Tim hadn't brought him to the manor for dinner yet, but each and every Bat and Bird have already seen the guy - in person or through the surveillance cameras or background checks, doesn't matter. Either way, Daniel Fenton is quite literally a ray of sunshine.

They look very cute together.

That is, until one day, they witness Danny and Tim rip Joker's ribcage out of his chest.

Nothing could have prepared them for it. It was just another patrol, just another night of fighting crime, nothing out of the ordinary. Sure, Joker was on the loose, but so far, no one has tracked the Clown down or seen any of his goons.

But then, Red Robin's tracker went offline. The Bats started searching for him immediately - his last recorded location, his trackers, his route, everything. But when they managed to find him...

Well.

They didn't only find him in that warehouse.

They found Joker, choking on the ground and clawing at his own neck, like trying to force some air inside his lungs. Over him, Danny was squatting on the ground, his eyes thoughtful and not worried in the slightest, tapping on his chin. And, just a step behind him, Red Robin is holding a fucking ribcage in his hands, studying it with calm curiosity.

"Should we put it back now?" Tim asks, relaxed and easy, like they are speaking about whether they should or should not get another box of cereal in a store.

Danny shrugs, "I mean, if you want to. It's not like he's gonna die in the next ten or so minutes, you've got time."

And then, as Batman makes the slightest of noises, Danny's head snaps to him, and the boy smiles, cheerful and bright. Like the ray of sunshine he is.

"Hi, Bats!" Then he blinks and looks down to Joker, who is already frothing at the mouth, "Oh, don't worry about him, he won't die. Red's just putting a tracker in his manibrium."

"I figured it'd be easier to find him next time if he can't get the tracker out," Tim nods, unbothered, as he is tinkering with the ribcage in his hands before passing it back to Danny, "Okay, done. Put it back."

Danny takes the ribcage and presses it to Joker's chest. And, before they know it, the bones sink inside the man, like a hand in a bowl of sand.

Danny wipes his hands on his jeans and stands. Tim smiles at the Bats, none of whom know what to say and where to start.

The next day, Joker is back at Arkham with a tracker in his sternum, Danny is invited to dinner in the manor, and Tim takes the first place of the Feral List, with a note 'never leave unattended when Danny is nearby'.

[seth-whumps]

weakening curses disguised as expensive gifts. rings that suck out the life force of the bearer. bracelets that seep a sickness into their veins. chains that drain magic out of the prisoner to use as a conduit. innocent looking runes that nullify healing. a brooch siphoning energy from the heart. swords that drink the wielder's blood as much as their foe's. knight whumpees faltering and stumbling, royals leaning on walls through surges of dizziness and illness and unstoppable fatigue, a servant's hands halt their collapse, struggling to stay awake...........

[icryink]

WELCOME TO CRINGETOBER!

I wanted to post the prompt list a month in advance so people have time to work on it :)

There are no hard rules; it's just a fun art exercise to draw things that are considered "cringe" by popular culture. Don't stress if you miss a day!!

Even if you don't participate, it would mean the world to me if you just shared the prompt list because it took me a while to make it lol.

I hope you have fun with it!!!

[orpheeeeus]

Arthur: So what. You're not going to help my sister, your friend, because some dragon told you that she might turn evil one day, in a far away future?

Merlin: No, he told me that she will kill you, or that she will be responsible of your death. Morgana will betray you. I can't let her do that. I have to protect you

Arthur: *worry evident* A dragon told you that. A dragon… And… Are you sure you can trust it, this dragon?

Merlin: He's a him, not an it. *not looking at arthur* And… who else could I trust?

Arthur: *tears in his eyes. Take a deep breath, trying but failing to keep his mouth from curling downward* Me? *voice breaks* You could trust me?

[emacrow]

Tim the rejected no.9 2s

"Stop laughing, Babs. I can hear you."

Tim's eye twitched as babs snickered in her wheelchair seat. After saving the missing Bruce. Dick finally realized he wasn't crazy and Bruce Wayne came up with a perfect excuse story for the public to realize that he didn't die.

He'd been researching how to find a replica wig of his hair due to the obvious bright white hair with stardust carefully removed and placed in a plastic bag for anayzling later.

He went to babs' hideout due to Dick, Step, and Duke bursting out in uncontrollable laughter as his No.9 2s wannabe hair color.

It's not like he WANTED This in the first place, but fucking permanent black hair dye doesn't do shit to it, even Harley special hair dye concoction for that red and blue stripes didn't do nothing!

Not to mention the weird fucking behavior that he'd still researching later about from Jason and Damian. He half expected Damian to die laughing on the floor, but he went as stiff as a cement before he could say TTs, his eyes widening nearly comedically before narrowing in straight anger, ran back out mumbling on about something.

Jason went all feral cat in the corner on him. He only took one step in the building from the window and saw his new hair color, then hissed like some perfect replica of a TV static that shouldn't be possible in the human tongue before disappearing back out the window.

He tried cutting it and even shaving all his hair off,but it grew rapidly back to the original length of the rest of his hair in some stardust form of magical girl style.

The bright white hair simply didn't want to go. Thankfully, his eyebrows stayed black, and he could use black wigs when he needed to be Tim Drake.

The great advantage to this was nobody's paid any attention to him while he was going through the wig store as if they didn't recognize him or care for him.

He didn't even get mugged 26 times in a roll when it should've happened, but somehow, the muggers ignored him completely when he was a potential target.

The rogues didn't even recognize him or pay him any attention for a good while besides Harley and Poison Ivy.

He just has to accept it for now... until he went with Batman to tell the Justice League that he was alive and John Constantine staring at him in pure horror.

"How in the Fuck you got a Favor ticket from The Infinite Realm High King?!?"

Part 1 link <- -> Part 3 link

[elucienweekofficial]

Commissioned by @sanktadu and drawn by @llibiarts

The event has permission to repost.

[technically-human]

Those souls from Lust grabbed him for a reason

[acourtofthought]

This sort of falls under Day 2's Magic Prompt since it's a theory on possible powers for Elain. Contains TOG spoilers.

I was having a conversation with @acourtdelaluna a few weeks back and we were discussing how SJM was very confident in her response to a specific interview question, that there would definitely be more ACOTAR babies.

Something about that didn't make sense to us though. Was she referring to a possible Epilogue she's going to write for all the characters? Or did she mean we're going to see it in an actual book like we did with Feyre? The entire spin-off is building towards this huge battle so how can there be another pregnancy for any of the main characters? It doesn't seem logical to have a pregnant female running around in battle.

But I realized today, Elain is the PERFECT character to end up pregnant in the series.

Rhysand is a warrior

Nesta is a warrior

Feyre is a warrior

Mor is a warrior

Gwyn is a warrior

Az is a warrior

Cassian is a warrior

Emerie is a warrior

Lucien is a warrior

The only main character who has actively turned away from everything to do with fighting in battle is Elain. She did not want a weapon and only accepted one when Feyre reassured her she wouldn't need to use it. And while she did use it to save her sister, she returned it "and didn't look back". She is the only character who was written to completely shun the Illyrian fighting leathers. In Silver Flames, SJM made it a point to remind us that "cruelty bothers her". I could be wrong but I don't think there are any clues that Elain's future is going to be that of a warrior in battle so where does that leave her? When everyone else is fighting in the war, what role will Elain play?

In the TOG series, Yrene was a healer. A healer who understood what plants could be used to create salves to aid in healing:

"Elide finished the tin of salve from her pocket, Eucalyptus, Yrene had said, naming a plan Elide had never heard of, but whose smell - sharp and yet soothing - she very much enjoyed. Beneath the pungent herb lay lavender, rosemary, and something else mixed in with the opaque, pale liniment."

I know it's not a theory many agree with but.... there is the possibility that Elain had something to do with healing Cassian after the Kings attack. We don't yet have proof of this though there are lines that could support it.

Aside from small clues that are maybe hinting at Elain's future, one of the biggest things we know as fact is her love of gardening and gardens aren't just about flowers.

Elain has a gentle nature, war and cruelty bother her, she is a grower of things (plants are needed for salves), and she rushed to Cassian when he was injured while Nesta chose to leave Cassian's side in order to decapitate the King.

I can't think of any character who is more suited to end up a healer than Elain.

Not only was Yrene was a healer (who played an important role in the defeat of the Valg), but in the final book with the final battle, she was pregnant.

Elain also ending up pregnant makes such perfect sense to me because it creates a valid reason for her to not have to fight with weapons while the others do. And if she does turn out to be a healer, that would be her contribution to the war itself.

Side note: In my mind Lucien has a breeding kink, full stop. The male who has such control in every single aspect of his life, not seeking revenge against his father and brothers, restraining himself when there are times he had every right to go off on Nesta, Feyre, Rhys, Tamlin, is going to go absolutely feral when he and Elain finally accept their bond and he's not going to give a damn about contraceptive teas.

[whumpyboo]

do you think that characters who lost their magic powers ever do weird stuff out of habit? like astronauts who will "drop" things in mid air because they're used to stuff floating at zero gravity?

just imagine an ex-telechinetic staring at their mug of coffee for five minutes when they're particularly sleep deprived before remembering they have to get up to grab it.

or someone who used to be able to fly doing an awkward half jump every time they're startled.

a character turning to speak to spirits they can no longer hear about five times a day.

[merlinsearlobe]

I don’t know if i hallucinated this but i swear earlier seasons Bradley said something about hoping Arthur realises Merlin has magic on his own.

And i wish, i wish, that had been the case.

That Arthur, knocked out, bleeding, injured, awakes too early and sees Merlin, eyes golden and angry, bending the power of the earth in raw wrath and fury towards their enemy.

And Arthur is bloody fucking terrified. But Merlin screams ‘not him, never him, never Arthur’ and the earth shakes and… Arthur can’t even remember what poor soul or creature had thrown him from his horse, certainly not now their body is torn apart by Merlin’s words and his flaming gaze.

Of course Arthur is terrified. Is he hallucinating? Is this some malevolent vision? His head throbs and he can taste blood in his mouth and he can see Merlin, Merlin his incompetent and clumsy and funny and innocent and soft and gentle manservant who wakes Arthur with a brilliant smile and some drivel about lazy daisies, stood like a deep and dark and threatening shadow over what was left of a once-body.

Arthur’s breath comes in short gasps and tears prick his eyes. Panic. And Merlin turns to him as he clamps his eyes shut against the image of Merlin dripping with death and anger. But deep within his shattering mind a small voice whispers to him. The voice is soft and gentle, blonde curls and kind eyes and patient hands cupping his cheek. She reminds him of each time Merlin has looked at him with pure, unadulterated devotion - his eyes deep and blue, a tiny ring of gold-green swirling around his pupils. How each time Arthur’s lain on the brink of death, and Merlin has never left his side, tending to his wounds with such tenderness that Arthur has never felt before. How it was in Arthur’s name that Merlin’s magic, Merlin’s magic, raged.

Another voice, thick and real and worried, breaks through the soft whisper of Ygraine.

Arthur felt shaking hands - how could they be so gentle when moments before it was from them that such unbridled power was released - stroke his matted and sweat-soaked hair, wiping the blood Arthur felt trickle down his cheek away. Arthur forces open his eyes, meeting Merlin’s as the gold fades to the deep familiar ocean-blue.

Did Merlin know Arthur had seen? How much blood had soaked Merlin’s hands when Arthur had lain unconscious, how many victories has Merlin won in Arthur’s name?

And deep within Arthur’s heart he knows he is safe in this sorcerer’s hands. Knows in fact he’d choose these hands over anyone else’s.

But Arthur can’t say the words just yet. He can’t admit to himself that the man he loves is made from that which he hates. Hated. Has been taught to hate. A new wound has been torn in him, one not made of blood and flesh. Because if Merlin is magic, how can magic be evil.

So Arthur lets Merlin’s hands and Merlin’s words and Merlin’s soft smiles wash over him. He feigns ignorance of what he saw.

But he watches. His wounds sit quietly: clean and placid from Merlin’s assiduous care. His face is washed from blood and grime by Merlin, who had fussed and worried as he went. Now he watches. He notices the damp wood Merlin had collected whilst the rain has fallen burst into eager flames within seconds of Merlin’s attentive hands and wonders how he never noticed before.

When they return to Camelot, limping but alive, Arthur notices the stone-deep warmth that graces his chambers. Where his room should be chilled and still from his absence instead there’s a soft and humble feeling of life suffused throughout, and Arthur realises with a small, private smile it is the same feeling that radiates from Merlin.

The lessening part of him argues he should recoil. For why is he rejoicing at feeling the touch of a sorcerer all around him. But Arthur argues back. He’s felt the saccharin, sticky grip of dark, evil magic masquerading as sweet ladies or sycophantic servants. He remembered the groggy, aching return to his own mind after Sofia had dragged him under her spell. Merlin’s gentle, joyous presence is worlds away. His magic may be hidden from Arthur, but Merlin’s grinning insults and blatant disregard for any sort of protocol meant any fears for further hidden motive besides self preservation withered immediately.

Arthur keeps watching. He notices now the shine his armour has, beyond what weary hands and cloth could ever achieve. He notices, or rather feels, when Percival’s muscled arm brings down the practice sword and Arthur - his mind worlds away - notices too late, yet the ensuing bruise is not angry and mottled but timid and quickly fades, even though ordinary chainmail would never have warded off such a blow. He notices Merlin’s unbridled joy when the two of them leave Camelot for the forest. He notices the bird that lands on Merlin’s shoulder, the whispered smiles Merlin exchanges with the creature. He notices the grass grow a little taller beneath Merlin’s feet, the way the trees bend to him as if they’re greeting a long lost friend.

Slowly, magic - or at least Merlin’s magic - loses the rotten, sharp edge Uther had imposed. Arthur begins to yearn to see the flames of the fire burning in his room reflected once more in Merlin’s eye. Still he can’t quite bring the words lingering in his throat up to his lips. Guilt begins to fester. Arthur remembers the years of Uther’s reign, how the screams of burning sorcerers - some of them so young, so young - had echoed through the cold stones of Camelot. He remembers now Merlin’s pale face and wide eyes, ghosted with tears Arthur knew not what for. He knows now.

And so when his knights bring him talk of a druid camp away to the south, Arthur stands tall, facing the court, and tells them to leave it be. That there will be no more raids (not that he had issued any since his ascension to the throne, but no formal proclamation had thus far been made). He tells himself privately he will end the ban on magic. He will forge a Camelot where Merlin will not live in fear, in a half life. The faces staring back are curious, some wary. But the one meeting Arthur’s steady gaze, wide-eyed with a shocked, gentle, proud, smile and slightly trembling hands gripping the wind jug, is that which Arthur cares about. He gives a slight nod. Too subtle for anyone else to notice, but as obvious and clear to Merlin as it ever could be, the two of them long since having needed words to communicate.

Merlin has a lot of questions. Naturally. They tumble from him as Arthur undresses behind the screen. And Arthur knows now that he’s ready. Merlin has magic. Merlin is magic. And Merlin is good. Deeply good. The words don’t quiver and cower in his throat.

And I wish Arthur had then told him. Had taken a deep breath and met Merlin’s gaze and told him he knew. That he had been scared. But he had trusted. Trusts. Loves.

We deserved Merlin fighting beside Arthur, raw devotion and power and fierce, fierce love.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage

The thing is, Tim didn't mean to put it on. He was just kind of playing with it to keep his hands busy while he was thinking about the recent murder case. GCPD had their hands full with the serial robbers that didn't rank high enough to catch Batman's attention, and Tim never had a problem with helping the police if he had time.

And the ring was a perfect fidget toy, if he is being honest. Small and plain enough not to distract him, but the round stone in the middle was loosely attached, making it able to spin inside the frame. Which is what he did, again and again, like those fidget spinners.

Of course, he was just destined to drop it sooner or later. And then, when he reached under the table to pick it up, his finger caught inside the ring, and, well.

The ring was now firmly on his finger.

The problem was that he couldn't take it off.

It wasn't stuck, at least not in the general sense of it - Tim could easily spin it around, and it wasn't tight. But it wasn't loose either, and as soon as he tried to move it past the knuckle, the ring heavily disagreed, almost like shrinking down and absolutely refusing to be detached.

Barbara suggested soap, which didn't work. Dick tried for a more mechanical approach, first with pliers and then with a laser, which the ring resisted with no effort. Cass, who was actually the one who brought the damned thing into the Cave after one of her adventures in Hong Kong, just smiled and shrugged, which was of no help either. Damian offered to cut the finger off, which probably would have helped, but Tim rather liked all his limbs attached.

Bruce called Constantine. The magician took one look at the ring, barked a humorless laugh, and pat Tim on the shoulder sympathetically.

"Congrats, mate," he said, a wry smile on his lips, "I hope you file for divorce."

Although, while all the rest of the Bats and Birds devolved into fits of hysterical laughter (Steph), indignant sputtering (Damian), and cries of outrage (everyone else sans Alfred, who was pointedly unimpressed), Tim couldn't even bring himself to be surprised. Really, his life had been a shitshow since he was around ten. It's not like he didn't expect himself to be accidentally married to some otherworldly magical creature by this point.

The worst part - worse than the actual engagement, that is - was that Constantine couldn't exactly tell them who the spouse was.

What he did say was that the Ring belonged to the King of Infinite Realms, Keeper of Unseen Worlds, and Eyes of Universe. But those were only titles, and, as John Constantine begrudgingly admitted, there has been a change in the management recently, so no one really knew what the new almighty monarch looked like or what they were, much less their whereabouts.

"You can't blame me for not being keen to find out, though," John said, wincing, "The last one was a bloody tyrant, and the Realms operate under the right of conquest rule."

At least, the mage assured them that since the being had not yet come to collect their shiny new spouse, they might never show up at all. The Ring has been lost for ages after all, so maybe the King didn't even remember having one. Or, the previous King didn't, and the new one didn't know about or didn't care.

The first week after the incident, they spent anxiously researching and worrying. Bruce even went as far as making Tim wear a tracker at all times, which was not great, but he did appreciate the gesture. Kind of.

After the first month with no sign of any changes, the worry started to abate. In half a year, most of the family stopped trying to keep an eye on Tim at all times lest he suddenly disappeared. Two years later, even Tim himself treated the Ring as a natural part of his daily life. The stone inside was still a great fidget toy, engagement or not.

Three years, one month, and five days after Tim first put the Ring on his finger, when the world was falling apart and breaking in front of him and there was not a single thing he could do to stop it anymore, Tim pressed his lips to the cold, dark strip of unknown metal on his finger.

"Whoever you are, I don't even care, please," he whispered in a useless prayer, his voice hoarse and his throat dry, "please, help."

And the world came to a stop with a short, amused chuckle.

"Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

[part 2 ->]