#just more evidence he is a faerie

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part IV — (Azriel x Reader)

Hey! Here’s Part IIII to this! Thank you for being lovely about it. 💕

Warnings: None for this part!

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Your fingers danced across the piano keys with a mind entirely of their own.

Sheet music sat before you, but you didn’t need to glance at it. This was pure muscle memory. Your favourite piece, memorised note by note. Playing it always felt like breathing for the first time. 

Arrival of the Bluebird, it was called. You couldn’t help smiling as you played. 

The notes climbed and fell in their flawless way, always like the calming ebb and flow of a tide. You soaked it in, your eyes closed, your skin prickling at the music caressing you—

A soft rustle sounded behind you. A rude awakening.

Two thoughts struck you at that moment.

The first — that you’d never played for anyone but yourself. To have a spectator felt like parading naked through the village.

And the second — that said spectator was, bizarrely, of the same ilk that you had been raised to detest.

A shadow moved in your periphery, and your fingers fell still, the music coming to an abrupt stop.

The creature — Azriel — loomed at your side, his gaze intent on where your hands had sat.

“Beautiful.” He murmured softly. “You play so flawlessly.”

It seemed so, so strange, so wrong, to sit and chat casually with a creature of such bloodshed. Like the tune had washed over you and made you truly aware of the situation. Of the action you’d taken.

You’d let him into your home.

You’d helped him when he’d been more or less incapacitated. When you probably had the advantage to strike and make a killing blow. To rid the world of one of its demons. 

And now you were playing music for him. Had he…had he enchanted you, somehow? Some faerie magic, perhaps, that put you at such ease? That made you forget who you were alone in a building with?

Your body was taut as a bowstring as you slowly swivelled on the stool to face him. And his beauty struck you speechless again.

He offered you a smile. One that was small and reserved, and yet held such devastating charm. You quickly forced your eyes away.

“Who taught you to play?” He asked softly.

Your hands twisted around each other as you answered, “I taught myself.”

“Entirely by yourself?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Some people can’t reach such skill even with honed, esteemed pianists to master them. It must be in your blood.”

You’d always thought so. The piano had been here your entire life — your fingers had inched towards it for as long as you could remember.

“I’m told my mother used to play.” You said. That sore spot in your heart stung at the mere mention of the parent you’d never known. “The piano used to be out in the bar area. My father told me that she used to play every night, and people would flock to the inn just to listen.”

There was a heavy, unmissable pause. You were sure you noticed Azriel’s shoulders stiffening out of the corner of your eye.

“Used to?” He asked quietly. “Is she…is she no longer alive?”

You turned your gaze on him, sure it appeared as blazing as you felt. “I never knew her. She was murdered. By your kind.”

“By my kind?”

“By a group of High Fae.”

Another pause. Azriel’s head dipped a fraction, his eyes lowering to the ground. 

“That’s awful.” His voice was soft. Unbearably gentle. “I’m truly sorry that you suffered such a loss. However…I’m not High Fae.”

The declaration was enough for you to narrow your gaze on him. He certainly looked High Fae; you were sure there wasn’t a human in the world who carried such flawless beauty, nor the preternatural stillness that only a honed, immortal being could master. 

Azriel smiled wryly, like he knew you were searching for some physical evidence of what he’d said. He turned his head to the side, his fingers moving up to brush the shell of his ear.

A very rounded ear. No pointed tip. 

“I hail from a warrior-race of the fae called Illyrians.” He explained. “We’re fae, but…certainly not High Fae.”

You stared at him. 

At those rounded ears. The scarred fingers. 

As if not being High Fae somehow erased all that had been done.

It didn’t.  

You shrugged rather brusquely. “Makes no difference to me. Aren’t all fae the same, with a history steeped in violence? I hate violence.”

“…Blood has been spilled on both sides of the Wall—”

“I hate it.” You cut him off. “Too many people resort to violence needlessly. I see it every single night working in this place. And for fragile humans like ourselves, all it can take is one strike to finish a person off. I wish people — human and Fae — thought more before deciding violence as their route. Perhaps if they did, I wouldn’t have grown up without a mother.”

It was the most you’d said to Azriel in one breath. And you waited for his defensiveness, for him to tell you your thoughts were somehow wrong.

But he simply stared at you, an unreadable expression on his face. And his response wasn’t what you anticipated.

“You’re not wrong.” His voice was like wrapping yourself in silk. “I’m sorry you’ve seen such violence. I’m glad you have music to escape to, at least.” 

You stared back at him, your thoughts emptying for a moment. You willed yourself not to be intimidated by the beauty; by the deadliness of it. He could probably snuff out your life without anyone hearing so much as a squeak from you—

“Are you going to kill me now?” You blurted, rather pathetically.

Azriel’s steeled face twitched just slightly; the only reaction to your question.

It surprised you as he retreated a step. Put more distance between you. 

“Why are you so convinced that I want to kill you?” He asked quietly.

“Am I supposed to believe it a coincidence that a Fae male begins appearing in these parts at the same time that the girls in this village are being murdered?”

His brow furrowed. “Girls are being murdered?”

“Yes. The Village Guards have found them brutally slain, and then you appear. If I’m to be next, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t leave me to be found by my father in that condition.”

“I haven’t killed anyone in this village, and I’m not going to kill you.”

His words should have reassured you. But you honed in on the sentence. Saw it for what it was.

He hadn’t killed anyone in this village.

But he’d killed elsewhere. 

Bile rose up in your throat as you stared at him. And as he studied your fearful expression, he sighed. Looked away.

“What I told you was true. I was passing by, and I heard your music, and I wanted to hear more. But I don’t wish to frighten you.” He retreated another step. “Perhaps I should go—”

He was cut off by a thump so abrupt, it had you jumping out of your skin. Azriel quickly looked up.

Another thump, followed by a third.

“It’s the door.” You quickly stood, brushing yourself down. “I should answer.”

He pressed himself against the wall as you brushed past him, hurrying through to unlock the front door. You pulled it open a fraction, narrowing your eyes at the darkened figure on your doorstep.

Kiall. He looked…wired. Stimulated. But he didn’t stink of booze, for once.

“I’m sorry about the music.” You said before he could speak. “I didn’t realise how late it had got—”

“I’m not here about your little piano.” The older, scruffy male looked around feverishly. “I shot one down. A Fae. That fucking winged bastard from the alley. Got him right through those wings. He was flying above the village and I got him.”

You swallowed. Pulled the door a little closer to you. If Kiall — or anyone — knew that you had a Fae in your home, you’d be done for. Probably killed right alongside him. 

Unless, of course, you gave him up. Disabled him somehow and turned him over to the Village Guards. Perhaps those ash arrows, still lying in the puddle of his blood, could still be of some use—

“Where is the Fae now?” You blurted, blocking Kiall’s minuscule glimpse into your home. “Have the Guards dealt with him?”

“No.” Kiall sneered. “He got away someplace. Probably bleeding out somewhere nearby. I wanted to know if you’d seen or heard anything.”

This was your chance.

Kiall could help you.

Azriel had regained most of his strength, but he’d been caught unaware once already. Surely the two of you could deal with him. 

And then you’d never have to worry about him hanging around here again. Watching you. Watching and—

And listening to your music.

If he was to be believed…that was all he’d lingered for.

You didn’t really know why you did it. It probably made you an utter fool. But you swallowed and schooled your expression, shaking your head. 

“I didn’t see or hear anything.” You lied. “Like I said — I was playing music.”

Kiall studied you for a moment. And you wondered if, perhaps, the untruth lay blatantly on your face, in your eyes. The Bluebird Inn — your family business and home — was the hub of this little community. Everybody knew you. Everybody knew that you were the daughter of the Fae-hating innkeeper, and the woman who had been murdered by their kind. That you were raised to hate them just as fiercely.

To have one right here, in these very walls…to have helped him, and to now protect him…

You had utterly, utterly lost your mind. But you let none of that show.

“If I see or hear anything suspicious, I’ll report it right away.” You said.

Kiall eyeballed you again. “You do that, Y/N.”

“I will. I’m going to go to bed now.”

“Be sure to lock your doors. Don’t want to end up like those other village girls.”

A shiver ran down your back. But you nodded. “I will.” You repeated. “Thank you.”

Kiall had always been a strange person. His reputation for being a drunk was known from one end of the village to the other. But being the one who served him most of those drinks, you saw something more. An ever-present, crazed look in his eye, like he was always on alert, always ready — and happy — to attack. Many of the brawls in the tavern had been started by him over nothing.

That crazed look stayed trained on you, now, as he slowly backed away from your front door. And when a good distance was between you, you pushed it firmly shut. Locked and deadbolted it. Released a long, deep breath.

You slumped against the door, blinking forward.

You’d lied. You’d actually lied. All those years of your father telling you what to do if you came face-to-face with a Fae, and what had you done? Played him music.

And then protected him from the wrath of other villagers.

Maybe you were the crazed one. Maybe—

Soft footsteps thudded against the floor. You looked up as Azriel slowly approached, keeping a great distance away. He studied you unsurely; you had no doubt that he’d heard every word. That he knew what you’d done.

“Are you alright?” His voice was so gentle, so quiet; something you knew no human voice could ever master. 

Are you alright? When was the last time anyone had asked you that?—

You knew precisely when. When Azriel had stepped in and protected you from Kiall’s drunken ranting in the alley.

You stared up at him — those hazel eyes — and wondered why. Why he seemed to care. 

And why it made you feel good.

“I’m alright.” You eventually answered, pushing to your feet. “You should…probably go, though.”

He dipped his chin. “Thank you — for what you did just then. And for pulling those arrows out. And for sharing your beautiful music.”

Your beautiful music. The words almost knocked you breathless.

To hear someone appreciate it so freely—

That, you told yourself, was why you asked, “Will you come back and listen again?”

You could have sworn Azriel’s lips twitched. “I’d certainly like to.”

Insane. This entire thing was insane. You with a Fae in your house, engaging in pleasant conversation. You more or less inviting him back.

But you couldn’t stop yourself. 

You dipped your head, staring at the floor. “Will it be safe? Flying, I mean — with the injuries. And with Kiall still snooping around.”

“I have enough strength to get home without flying, now.” Azriel nodded. “I’ll be alright. And what of you?”

“What of me?”

“Will you be alright?”

Yes? No? You weren’t sure. Possibly not. You weren’t entirely convinced that you wouldn’t collapse under the entire, bizarre weight of the night’s events. You were in need of a stiff drink yourself.

But you nodded, all the same. “I’ll be alright.”

A moment passed of nothing. No sound, no movement. Neither of you took a step forward or back. 

But then Azriel inclined his head. “Goodnight, then. Sleep well.” 

“You—”

Before your very eyes — before you could complete your sentence — he disappeared into thin air. You blinked at the space that he’d vacated. And at the words you knew you were about to speak.

You sleep well, too.

Well-wishes to a Fae. You almost laughed at yourself. 

But as you stepped past the spot in which Azriel had stood, you paused at the scent that lingered. And inhaled.

A scent like…like fresh, undisturbed snow. Frosty nights and cedarwood. 

It was calming. Soothing. You felt it wash over you, like a blanket of security. 

You stood there for a moment longer, and then made your way into the bar area to clean up. And fix yourself that drink.

And you found yourself continuously glancing out of the window. Wondering if Azriel truly would come back.

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Azriel didn’t consider the fact that he looked a little worse for wear.

That blood still stained his wings, his clothes, his skin.

That his hair made him appear like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. That he looked as though he could use at least three weeks’ worth of sleep.

Honed spymaster, indeed.

He traipsed into Rhysand’s office. The High Lord immediately sat up in his chair, relief filling his eyes.

“Don’t go quiet on me like that, asshole.” He admonished. “I couldn’t reach you.”

“Sorry.” Az winced slightly as he lowered himself into his chair; the wings were still a little sore. “Took a couple of ash arrows to the wings.”

Rhys stared back at him. “So it’s true, then. The humans are trying to rise up against us.”

“A whole group of them are travelling from village to village, spreading the word of their cause and trying to rally forces. They’re serious about this.”

Rhys slumped back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Why now, though?”

Slowly, Azriel shook his head. “I think they’re using a whole number of reasons to justify it to themselves. They’re incensed about the land we have, the lives we live…a bunch of things. But…there have been attacks in one village. A few women have been slain. I think the Village Guards are spreading the word that they’re Fae attacks.”

“And do you believe them to be?”

“Not sure. I’d have to investigate it further.”

Rhys firmly shook his head. “I don’t want you going near those villages again for the time being. Not if they’ve got ash arrows in their arsenal.”

Azriel sat up. Tried not to wince. “The bastard had no more than two—”

“I’m not risking anything until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. We wait to see what move they make next; it could all just be talk, and I’m not risking you for some human gossip. I want you here, alerting the other courts that we may have an issue on our hands. Understood?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Yes, he understood. He understood his High Lord’s order perfectly well, but he didn’t have to like it. He wanted to go back to the village, ash arrows or no ash arrows. He wanted to hear the music again, to talk to Y/N again—

“Understood, Azriel?” Rhysand repeated.

“Yes.” The shadowsinger gritted out. “Understood.” 

“Good.” Just like that, Rhys was shucking off his title; sitting back and becoming a brother again. His face softened. “Go get some rest. You need it.”

Azriel stood without a word, dragging his feet from the room. 

He wouldn’t disobey Rhys’s orders.

But Cauldron fucking boil him, something nagged at him to do exactly that.

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Weeks passed. And there was no dark, passing figure in the skies. No booming clap of wings.

And your disappointment at Azriel’s absence frightened you far more than his presence ever had.

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[georgiapeach30513]

Tastes Like Rain

Summary: the faerie king Andy has waited a lifetime for his fated one. Was growing weary and bored with the thousands of years he's been alive. And he was always waiting for you, his bratty little human. Don't worry, in time you will love him as much as he loves you.

Pairings: Fae!Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of burn scars, mentions of tattoos, mentions of punishment, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Jasper!” Andy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was noise everywhere. All day long there was noise, and it was grating on his last nerve he had left. The king was tired, and was in the mood to accept his fate. Alone. Destined to rule the faerie kingdom with nobody by his side.

“Jasper!” Andy growls. He stands up and crosses the room to look out the window. What are those silly little faeries doing in the glen? “Jasper if you don’t…oh.”

Andy’s advisor stands in his doorway. The only faerie brave or stupid enough to glare at the high king. Andy was being a whiny baby, and Jasper was growing tired of it. The vines that are embedded into his skin prickle out. Thorns grow from the blackened vines, and Andy purses his lips. Glaring at his best friend.

“You see what you do to me? You stress me out!” He takes a calming breath, looking down at his arms to see his thorns start to sink back into his skin. He hated when Andy did this to him.

“I’m stressed out! What the fuck is that noise? I…”

“It’s summer solstice,” Andy’s brow cocks up and he looks back down at the glen. Collingswood was in an uproar. “It’s the Summer King and his Nymph’s first summer solstice together. You know after the uhh…”

“Ahh! We don’t mention that wench,” Andy tosses his hand behind him, watching the faeries lark about. Even sees some humans that were taking their chances to party in the glade. Idiots. They’ll be drunk off wine before the real party even starts. They wouldn’t remember a damn thing. It’s the way it was.

“Did she really create a nymph from the creek just to fuck him?” Those two always confused him. She clearly was a glutton for punishment while Ari had some serious size issues.

Jasper’s eyes narrow, turning a deeper green then before, and Andy has to look away, “They’re doing more than fucking. But yeah, they fuck. I’m sure it’s still a tight fit, and just the way Ari likes it. But he has taken that tiny Nymph as his Queen. Now if the high king of faeries doesn’t enjoy the revelry and find his own queen…ow,” Jasper dead pans as Andy throws a pillow at him.

“You know you’re quite childish during the summer solstice. I’m sure Jax will be down there feasting off the humans that wander into the glade.”

“Please, don’t mention his name. My brother gives me a headache,” Andy dramatically falls back on his bed, taking a deep breath. It had been years since he went down to the glade to enjoy the summer wines.

“You did have his wings cut off,” Andy slightly lifts up to look at the little man with a smirk.

“And he had his faults to deserve it,” Andy sits up. People always want to mention how he cut Jax’s wings off. It’s his right as high king to do so. Jax shouldn’t have become obsessed with tattooed humans. “What do you suppose I should do?”

“Get laid, and have fun.”

“What’s the difference?” Jasper could see the mischief in Andy’s eyes. He wasn’t particularly fond of the delicate creatures called humans, but he sure did love to toy with them, and see how far they could bend before they broke.

“Exactly!” Jasper screams walking out the door. “I’m going to have some fun with the rest of Collingswood. You should do the same. I’ve heard Jax is already passed out in the thorns!”

“Do you ever miss it?” Jasper turns to look at his best friend, shaking his head no. “You belonged to his court. Evidence of your birth runs all over your skin,” Jasper shrugs as he runs a hand over his twisting vines, the same ones that darken the path to Jax’s kingdom. “There’s no thorns,” his thorns only appearing when provoked.

“You’re not pissing me off right now,” his mouth turns into a devilish grin looking at his king. “Some things we can fight, and some things will always be a part of us. I can fight the darkness, but I can’t fully remove it. Instead of briars I have roses growing there.”

“Roses also have thorns, Jasper.”

“But they’re still beautiful, even if they draw blood. Now, get your menacing self down to the glen, and have at least one bottle of summer wine with those sweet fae that would die for a chance just to touch you. Imagine the immense pleasure you could get. There’s also humans,” Andy cracks his neck with a scoff. He’ll join in the party, but he will not have a human. They always brought out the worst in him.

“Oh, I forgot, the great King Andrew, High King of all fae in Collingswood wouldn’t be caught dead with a human. Even if she cries as you fuck her face. There’s always humiliation.”

“There’s always destroying them,” Jasper’s laugh sounds like a jingle as he walks out of Andy’s room. They were the only two faeries left at the palace, and he was getting tired of entertaining a king who was becoming far too arrogant. A human would do him some good.

“Can’t you keep up?” You glare up at the group of girls in front of you. A stupid fucking ritual. You didn’t even want to be in this sorority, but you were a legacy, and it was your mother’s last dying wish.

“Come on! We’re almost to the glade,” Charity giggles while she pulls at your hand. “You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like you walk into another world.”

“Legend has it that it is,” Faith. You hated Faith. Full of herself, and by far the most beautiful out of this group of pledges. She oozed the standard perfection, and it bored you to tears.

Perfectly round doe eyes, that glistened an even brighter blue in the sunlight. Freckles that splayed so perfect around her face you would think she put them there on purpose. Maybe she did. And the most beautiful and perfectly placed auburn hair. You despised her, and also appreciated all the attention that always went to her instead of you.

You didn’t know how she did it. How she always said the right things, and if she wasn’t such a bitch when people weren’t looking, you might have liked her the tiniest bit more. No. You didn’t like her at all. Not one bit.

“Stop!” Hope. The leader of the group. She was a fourth generation legacy pledge, and lived locally. She knew the legends of this stupid fucking glade, and was going to be sure to tell you again. It is a bit odd, a curtain of ivy that strug up between a few trees, mushrooms surrounding every bit of those trees.

“This is the faerie ring,” oh bullshit. These are perfectly manicured woods that people thought had magical powers. “When we step through this veil, it’ll be like you're transported into another realm, because we have been.”

Her eyes twitch over towards you when you snort, “Is something funny?”

“It's a bunch of mushrooms and some ivy. I’m sure the groundskeeper fixes this up for the college to play during summer solstice. It’s not that exciting, Hope.”

“No one comes and keeps this up. This is natural. Do you realize we walked three miles through the woods to get here? It never changes. Although, in the winter you can’t get through the veil because it’s not there. The mushrooms have all withered, so if you get trapped behind the veil, make sure you come out before winter. If you stay in there too long the winter fae will keep you for their own. They’re cold, and yet some of the most fiercely handsome of them all.”

She was an idiot. They all were. She holds up her bottle of homemade wine, and the rest of you join in. Yours was a mixed berry wine because why not? You hopped it was enough to get you sloppy drunk, with you passed out on the leaves or moss or whatever the fuck was beyond this ‘veil’. Children. Believing in fairytales.

“Now, if there’s men in here that you don’t recognize, go with the flow. I’ve heard sex with a faerie is the best thing in the world.”

“Here, here,” you pop the lid to your wine, taking a big gulp, “To fucking faeries, am I right?”

“To fucking faerie!” The rest join in with you. This was the oddest initiation into a sorority. Most of the older girls didn’t want to join in. Telling you things weren’t the same once they left. Like it was this high and all they wanted to do was come and party in the glade for months on end, but wouldn’t tell you what had happened. You guess it was because fucking faeries.

Everyone giggles, except you, as you walk through the veil. You ignore the static feeling that runs through you. Just lift up the bottle of wine for a long drink. Making your own summer wines was genius. Now you had every intentions of getting fucked up, and forget this night ever happened.

You’re shocked to see the amount of people that were in the woods, beyond the veil. All dancing and carrying on like they had been doing this all day. Singing, and celebrating some man named Ari, which you had never even heard of, and a tiny woman that stayed on his side. Thinking to yourself that it had to hurt.

With each drink of wine their faces become more and more distorted. Angles that are inhuman. Eyes that glow in the twilight, skin that is a color you couldn’t find at any makeup counter. You look down at your half-drunk bottle of wine, and quickly cork it. Unsure of how much alcohol was truly in this, but it had to be a lot because you are seeing things.

You didn’t believe the legend of the glade, but there was something weird going on. The people that were here before you surely had some machine that was releasing fumes and causing you to hallucinate. Hell, you could see different creautres…people fucking beside the trees, and deeper into the glade. They weren’t hiding anything. They just assume that everyone is too drunk to care about their indiscretions.

You aren’t drunk, you’re fucking fine. Glancing around you spot your fellow pledges in various stages of hookups, but not you. No…no one ever noticed the average girl whose clothes are too baggy, and lines of tattoos peek out of the hemlines of your clothes.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” you groan, stumbling away from the weird music and frolicking people. It is weird here, and the mix of the now disgusting mixed berry wine makes you feel lightheaded.

“You okay?” You don’t even look at the man that is behind you. You are perfectly okay, and didn’t need help. “Miss…”

“I’m fine,” you spin around. Nothing had even left your stomach, you just needed the world to stop spinning, but he isn’t helping. Sinfully attractive. Why were so many of these people topless? Did they just want to have sex quicker? Easier? Who are they? And why were they oddest looking people, and still the most attractive ones you had ever seen?

His mouth quirks up in a grin, and you roll your eyes. Not today. This was a dangerous man. You can feel his darkness roll through your body like the smoke he is exhaling into your face. Fuck this. You didn’t need this.

Going against girl code, you have to get out of here. Alone. You shouldn’t, but this place is haunting you in an odd way. Trying to walk past the ridiculously tall man, he throws out his arm, stopping you. “Back up!”

His answer is sniffing up the tattoo on your body, and you smack at his arm, “What the fuck!”

“You didn’t drink all your wine, little one.”

“Yeah, no shit, asshole. I didn’t drink it all because…” the blonde starts circling your body. Taking deep inhales as he encloses on you like you are his prey. This is bad. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“This ink,” he inhales deeply again, “Why are you covering scars?”

“How did you know that?” You gulp as he comes to stand in front of you. His heavily ringed, and singed looking fingers start to move your collar to the side. Looking at your scarred and tattooed skin closer. It is like your body is frozen, and refusing to move. The perfect predator had caught you in his snares, and was ogling your tattoos like his next meal.

When his fingers touch your skin, you sigh at how soothing it feels. Moving aside your shirt to see what your clothes and tattoos hide. His fingers move slowly over your skin, and your eyes are at half mast. Relaxing with this odd man. Allowing him to get too close when he licks on the tattoo, moaning like he was eating a delicacy.

“Ahh,” your whispered yelp sounds like it is coming from a distance as a sharp, but quick pain pricks at your skin, and you slowly become mush. Sinking into his embrace, and allowing this man to moan at whatever he is doing on your body.

Seconds become minutes, and minutes drag on, but still feel like no time has passed as your eyes slowly start to close, and then but one booming, but far off voice, “Jackson!”

Blackness. Sleeping off into a void of nothingness. But the most beautiful peace you had ever felt washes over you. Sleep. Peaceful sleep. Not visions and nightmares that plagued your mind. Only darkness.

“Why did you bring her here?” Jasper looks confused at Andy. His king was tilting his head from side to side like a questioning puppy. “She’s human.”

“I can tell,” Andy grouses, continuing to stare at your body.

“What happened again?”

Andy takes a deep breath, trying to replay everything that happened that night. “Jax…it was like he was getting a high off her. And I could hear her pulse, and she was dying. You see her tattoos?” Jasper nods at Andy, still refusing to step any closer to your body. “Those by her neck, they’re faded. The further away from the neck you get, they start to get darker. What’s underneath the tattoo?”

“Burn marks,” Jasper whispers. He didn’t need to be right on your body to see that there were scars all over your skin.

“I knew Jax could literally taste the feelings that went into a tattoo, but this,” he pulls back your shirt, running his fingers over the marred skin. “Someone hurt her.”

“Or she was in a house fire,” Jasper shrugs. Andy was always a bit dramatic and went for a more elaborate story.

“No. They’re strategically over her body. Her clothes hide them. You should see what’s under the clothes. She tattooed over them so…hey,” he gives you a smile as your eyes pop open. “You are…”

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me! Oh my god,” taking heaving breaths you look between the two men that were crowding around you. Neither is the man that was doing something to your neck. And both had an otherworldly beauty to them.

There is a shorter one with a mossy green tint to his skin, and the taller one is one of the largest people you’ve ever seen. “I’m dead, aren’t I? He…h-h-he killed me, didn’t he? Oh my god, I’m dead. I lived through all that only to die in the woods fucking faeries.”

Andy and Jasper look at each other quickly, and then back to you. Humans heard the tales, but most were skeptical. They came out for solstice parties only as an excuse to live deliciously, while returning back to their boring lives. But with you…something was off.

“He murdered me, didn’t he? He…goddammit. I’m so stupid. I always do this shit. I trust too fucking early. But this…I didn’t trust him. I knew, but I still let him…can you tell me what he was doing? I felt something. What was that? Where am I? What is happening?”

“Andy, she’s human,” the little one says again, and your tears cloud whatever is happening between them. They are aliens, and they’ve done experiments on you.

“I fucking know she’s human. She wouldn’t have…oh,” he stops to turn and look at you, “We screwed up. Miss,” the tears come out more aggressively, and you don’t even know why. What you know is that man…that beautiful man — no!

“Jasper, I’m about to smack her across the fucking face, make it stop,” you are not the crying type. You are too strong for this. How long have you been here? “Human! Stop!”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Andy rolls his eyes, before wrapping a hand on your ankle, and jerking you down the bed. Moving his entire body to hover over you, and it isn’t until you feel the wind that you notice his wings. The deepest green, and veining of gold. “Are you an angel?”

“I’m far from being innocent and kind. However, I did save your pathetic life for some reason, and…mother fucker,” he grabs at his chest, and jerks his head to look at the smaller one. “Deal with this before I do.”

Standing up, he stomps out of the room, and you jerk up in the bed. You could take the little one. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll run.”

“Run. We’ll just have the dogs bring you back. You won’t go far. You can’t,” looking down at your arms, you see that they were not bound to anything. Changing tactics to feel all over your body. They put a tracking device in you.

“You won’t be able to leave our realm without him,” he states matter of fact, and it makes you feel on edge. Him? That big man, him?

“What does that even mean? Where am I?”

“Here, drink some more tonic,” you slap the glass out of his hand, and he stares down at the shards on the stone floor. “You’ll regret that you did that. What do you remember?” You shrug, moving a hand to scratch at your neck, and start panicking again. “What?”

“The…my scars. They’re…they’re not really there. I mean they are, but they’re…”

“As faded as your tattoo,” you’ve seen it all. All these ugly scars that you had covered in ink couldn’t have faded. But your fingers knew the divots and bumps of your skin. This spot in particular, gave you an odd comfort.

“We’ve had our suspicions of Jax’s obsession with tattoos. Some people get them to tell a story. Some people get them to cover up pain. You in particular got them to cover up pain and scars. He was devouring you, and your…pain,” is that why you didn’t feel as hard? Why you had become soft and cry uncontrollably?

“In doing so maybe he was healing you.”

“Tell him to suck it all out then.”

“If he removed all your pain and scars would you be you?” You ponder the question for a second. You didn’t like the tears and the panic that ensued earlier. You hadn’t felt that hopeless in years. “I’m Jasper, King Andy’s advisor.”

“King?”

“Not just any king, but The King. The King over all the faeries,” you scoff at him. What a dream. That wine must have been good because you’re losing it. “You saw him hovering over you, and you doubt that fae exists? Hmm, you really are a stupid human. No wonder he’s pissed off.”

“He’s pissed off? Let me leave then!”

“You can’t! You better get used to the palace, because you’ll never cross the veil again. All those legends you stupid giggly sorority girls tell, they’re real. We had too many humans that partook in our wines, and we couldn’t get rid of them. Long story short, we created the legends. The fae gets their feel of human flesh, while you get to cross back over, and pretend this was all a dream,” you had cracked, and so had everyone else. This was all a dream. This was all in your mind, but touching your once there scar tells a different tell.

“I didn’t…” you hadn’t taken a drink of any wine, but your own.

“You were given a tonic. Sorry, my bad,” a glimmer of a smirk flashes on his face, and it pisses you off. He did it on purpose. He’s the reason you’re here. You pick up a vase from the table, and toss it at him. You suck at aiming. “Easy. Yes, I kept you here to become Andy’s pet.”

“Over my fucking body.”

“Oh, when I have it my way, he will be over your fucking body every fucking night. You’ll have pleasure one can only dream of, and I’ll have a king who isn’t sulking. I saw it. I knew the moment he was the one carrying a human body up to his palace. I saw it when he brushed his hands over your face. You two are the ones that can feel it, but you won’t speak of it, but I can see it. Don’t sit and try to deny the way he made you feel. And if grabbing his cold dark heart wasn’t enough, then I don’t know what is. He felt it deep in his blackened soul.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” not really. The man was attractive, you couldn’t help it if you grew a bit woozie looking up at him. But you weren’t fated for anybody. You just wanted to be left the fuck alone.

“Prophecy has stated that the king is fated to be part of a human. I suppose it could be interpreted many ways. It’s the reason Andy hates mortals so much. You’re fragile, weak, and disposable. But he hates the idea that he’s fated to be with one of you for all eternity.”

“I’m not weak,” your voice is laced with so much malic. You feel the pain of your skin searing again. Baring your teeth at this freak show that stood before you. “And I’ll never spend eternity with him.”

He leans into you. Getting his face so close to yours that his pointy nose nearly touches you. His vine tattoos starting to sprout thorns, “You don’t have a choice, my dear. Neither does he. Comply before he takes from you.”

“No man will ever take from me again,” you don’t scream. But your voice growls at him. Had Jasper been a mortal, he might have been afraid.

“Good thing Andy’s no man. Have fun,” he backs out of your room, locking the door behind him, and you wail. Screaming as loud as you can, realizing you are trapped in this room with no windows, only that door.

“Andy, that’s one that will need to be tamed,” Andy, leaning up against the wall outside your door, stands up straight, his eyes rolling up to look at your door. Hearing your screams of anger, and throwing everything in your room to the one exit and entrance. “You’re stuck with her.”

“I’ll have fun with her.”

“No,” he slaps Andy’s arm. “Do not go back to that side of you. She is yours. Have your fun, but not too much. She hurts, then you hurt. You lose her, then you lose yourself. Like it or not pal, that’s your problem now. That human being is nothing more than a petulant child. And Jax has her taste in his mouth. Claim her before either one of you kills her.”

“I haven’t killed humans in centuries. Such puny creatures.”

“She’s yours, Andrew.”

You were his. And if he had to be stuck with you, he was going to have fun with you first. Test your limits. It sounded like you needed some discipline. Needed learn how to act. He would have no problem with reminding you who was the one in charge. He wasn’t an angel, and he was worse than some devil. All the fae were. And soon, little Faelynn, you would know all too well about pain and scars.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @theinheriteddutchess @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss

[latteedrawz]

Reasons why I think Jimmy might be a fae:

When splashed with the lore revealing potion, Jimmy became tiny. It might be that the potion is false and just shrunk Jimmy's size, but it is can also be possible that Jimmy turned tiny due to being a fae in disguise.

When talking to the old sheriff [Martyn], the old sheriff calls Jimmy a Pixie. Something EXTREMELY close to a faerie/fae. Not to mention the old sheriff never gave Jimmy his name.

This might not be on purpose but Jimmy is TERRIBLE in PvP lately. He tried killing fWhip twice and failed both times. Faeries are harmed by iron, and Jimmy has a literal railroad made out of it. Maybe it weakened Jimmy but he doesn't even realise it.

Faes don't forgive easily and hold grudges against people who have acted horribly towards them. They sometimes go into the persons way to ruin stuff for them, breaking their stuff.. cursing them... attempting to kill them sometimes as well.

Fae like children a lot more than adults and in some stories are shown playing with them and causing mischief. Jimmy didn't like Hermes at first, but that was only because of Joel. When the law/lore alliance was made Jimmy IMMEDIATELY became nicer to Hermes, even calling him a kind kid at one point. Not to mention Tiny Tom! Jimmy tried so hard to get Tiny Tom back, but that might just be him being a mama bird. It's a cool thought though. [FUN FACT: FAES USUALLY STEAL CHILDREN AS WELL] // EDIT: JIMMY KEPT HIS GOBLIN CHILD BECAUSE HE'S LONELY AND WANTS SOMEONE AROUND, BUT WHEN FWHIP BECOME A NORMAL EMPOROR AGAIN HE THREW THE GOBLIN CHILD AWAY? This gave me many mixed signals.....

Jimmy has NEVER gave his actual name to people in empires, which is James. He uses nicknames for himself near others.

Fae love nature and Jimmy has shown interest in getting more plants and life in Tumbletown, he just doesn't know how to. He has asked Sausage for tips multiple times.

Jimmy might have been a fae at one point and lost his wings, or just ran away from the other faes. It's a cool theory but very unlikely. But then again, we have no idea what Jimmy was before being a sheriff.

Faeries are easily offended and might turn evil if they feel like you have betrayed/wronged them beyond forgiveness. Sounds familiar huh??? *looks at Jimmy and Fwhip aggressively*

Jimmy has done SO MANY THINGS THAT WOULD GET YOU KILLED BY A FAERIE UNLESS YOU WERE ALSO ONE.. He entered a fae ring, said his name near the fae multiple times, accepted a gift from the fae, said sorry AND thank you, went around telling others about his interaction with a faerie, and more... Either Jimmy is a faerie or he's just the faes favourite.

THAT'S ALL FOR NOW!!! COMMENT IF YOU HAVE ANY THEORIES OR EVIDENCE :D I'd love to hear it!!

EDIT: MARTYN/OLD SHERIFF CALLED JIMMY ONE OF THE FAE AND JIMMY QUICKLY DENIED IT!!! Jimmy could be a runaway fae?? Maybe that's why he was so scared of the fae corruption! He might be thinking the faes want revenge.

[goghwilde]

I may have found evidence that Elain has been attracted to Lucien this entire time

I don't really think it should be a debate whether or not Elain is drawn to Lucien. Elain has to be drawn to Lucien because that is the nature of the mating bond. Feyre and Nesta were both inexplicably drawn to their mates. It wouldn't make any sense for Elain to not be attracted to her mate. She's not somehow immune to the effects of the mating bond. She's simply fighting her instincts right now.

But I think for those who want to keep denying this, there may be a scene in Silver Flames that confirms it:

"Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie's garden. Cassian didn't exactly know why he suspected this wasn't true. There had been some tightness in Elain's face as she'd said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with Jurian and Vassa."

I know many interpret this scene to mean that Elain is up to something else, possibly something nefarious (many people who think Elain may be working with Koschei use this scene to support that theory, which is fine), but I think there is a much simpler interpretation of this scene (and thank you to @acourtofthought for explaining this to me awhile back!):

Cassian is absolutely right to think Elain is not being truthful here, but the question is then why is she being dishonest? She's making up an excuse to leave the dinner table early. Why? I believe it's because Azriel is there at the dinner table during this scene. We learn in his bonus chapter that he has been avoiding most family dinners for the past year in order to avoid Elain and the scent of her mating bond. (I also think it's funny that this scene just proves yet again that e/riel is not even on Cassian's radar. It's not a thing to him.)

But why would Elain feel uncomfortable now with Azriel around? We get confirmation in the bonus chapter that she is physically attracted to him, due to the scent of her arousal and her willingness to reciprocate the kiss (now whether her arousal is unique to Az or if she is merely feeling pent up sexual frustrations from the ignored mating bond with Lucien and using Az as a distraction is debatable, but I'll save that for another post).

Cassian says that Elain usually only ever acts this way with Lucien in the room. If Elain is now avoiding Azriel with a tightness in her face, and this is exactly how she has been behaving around Lucien since the beginning, and then we get confirmation that she is attracted to Azriel, then I don't think it's a stretch to say she has been attracted to Lucien in the same way (and even more so, due to the mating bond) this entire time.

[rottingfern]

strap the wing to me (death trap clad happily) || a Bad Omens fanfic

Pairing: fae!Noah x gender neutral reader (yes the smut is gn too)

Summary: He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: unbeta'd trash. overly flowery written pretty much entirely in prose. smutty smut smut. oral sex. just a tiny whiff of dubious consent by way of fae trickery

A/N: I drank a lot of wine and listened to Hozier on repeat the other night and then saw a very mind-meltingly beautiful pic of Noah on the dash and had a really weird dream and this is the result. Enjoy the ramblings xoxo Fern

Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens

Masterlist here.

Title taken from Sunlight by Hozier; banner made by @throughwoodsanddirt; dividers by @saradika

“You lost?” he asks, and that is what ruins you. You’ve heard the old stories of wicked fae-men and how to avoid them - beware strange beings in the wood, don’t stray from the path - but in all the stories, none author had bothered to mention they’d peek around a tree with wide, irresistibly innocent curiosity and ask you, You lost?

There’s a flash of a glint in his eye, a bare twitch in his lip predating what might’ve been a smirk, but you can’t help but smile at the childlike confidence in his voice, and then he smiles back and –

That too is your ruin. There perhaps hasn’t been a sweeter smile - not in your years, not in the years of all of time, you reckon - to grace a human being, and it steals your breath sure as he’d picked it from your pocket. He takes it as an offering, slinking around the trunk with the air of something much smaller, more slight than he; gravity must be a friend, lover, even, with the grace she offers to his motion.

His eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as you take his tattooed hand - an imperious command, or perhaps a childish invitation - granting you the proof of satisfaction you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for, a breath of relief expelling from its locked chamber you’d ignored until now. 

You stare, because how can you not? He is beautiful, yes, but his visage flickers from soft to vulpine with a flicker of shadow and moonlight, something inhuman, dangerous, alien turning well-bred beauty, like the kind some are just born with, masculinity encapsulated by that rare softness. 

He’s beautiful, so, so gorgeous, unless otherwise he’s completely grotesque, a scent of something eldritch you’d rather not acknowledge. Within a breath, he moves from shy, soft smiles to something aloof, something dangerously mischievous, something terrifying when the moon shines just so and you’re reminded of that glint in his eye. You only need blink for that chipped granite of his cheekbone and hardened brow to give way to that downy smile once more, like it had never gone.

You walk over roots, vines and ivies and he is barefoot, feet uncalloused and unscarred.

The trek back to the path is as treacherous as he warned, for which he never lets your hand go - vines threatening to trip you up with each step, roots growing where there were none minutes ago. He regales you with faerie-tales - his childhood, he calls it - and you follow his younger self through burrows and glades and loss and loss and loss and to the rivers and all the girls (and boys) that live in them, the monsters that he’d fought and the girls (and boys) he’d had there after, and to the mountains and still you follow and –

And he pauses, and you’re overcome with the bodily realization that you’re exhausted. You’re not sure how long you’ve walked, but your legs burn. Your feet are torn, shoes and socks evidently long gone somewhere along the way. Your head swims, and he barely turns before you collapse into him. 

You don’t register the hawthorn he’s pressed you up against, solid as stone, until the bark digs through your shirt to chip and stab at your skin, oozing wet warmth down your back that’s conflated blood and sap in your mind. A tsk from his mouth - the sound forms so prettily on his perfectly formed Cupid’s bow - produces a golden fruit in his hand, taken from a bush or his pocket, or somewhere else entirely. You’re too dizzy to follow the movement of his hand. It’s so splendidly shiny, citrine flesh pulled so taught it aches for just the single prick to burst the saccharine juice within. 

Before he even presses it to your lips, the scent makes your molars ache to grind it to a pulp. He teases it, hovering it before your mouth, reveling in your fight against the strong thigh he presses to your core to reach it. 

His fingers brush your lips when he finally acquiesces, and he blushes with a bashful smile like it’d been a mistake, and between his smile and the alchemically intoxicating scent of the fruit, you forget all about the warnings of eating Fae offerings and - 

It bursts like an eyeball with just the barest graze of your teeth, blessed wet rushing to coat your throat liquid as the taste has done to you; it is the sweetest, sharpest flavor you’ve tasted, salty too - though perhaps that’s the tears streaming down your face. Your core throbs a drumbeat. You’re nothing more than meat and nerves and blood in a sac of skin, pulsing as the seeds and pulp slither down your throat. 

Your head dips - involuntarily - to suck the sap from each digit. You want to wrap your legs around him, to grind shamelessly until you too are nothing but sap. 

When he kisses you, he tastes of burnt wax and antimony, straps candlewick wings to your aching back, and you don the death trap happily. 

He draws you down to the bed of moss with kisses and gentle strokes, soft and spongy and earthen and cool and moist beneath your naked skin. His great coat envelops you both, secreting beneath it the dance of his nails (not nails, but claws, unpainted black and whispering a deadly promise) along the planes of your burning, overstuffed skin. He swallows down your whimpers and gasps, curiosity painting his face lent by innocence to understanding his touch is the cause; too light a touch, you think, you need more. 

The callus of his fingers speaks of handiwork as they brush you, painting you red hot and wanting. He watches his brushes as they stroke lower with open fascination, like you’re the one alien and not he. 

You arch into him, begging for your flesh to be flayed from bone, for him to sink those razors he calls teeth down to the marrow. There they are at your chest, dangerously grazing the delicate pebble of your nipple, plump damp lips suckling it as though it is the fruit itself. There is his hand at your thigh, hot palm pressing your leg up his waist, clever, spindly fingers teasing the apex, wandering but never finding home. 

He laughs when you reach for him, for the heat beneath his trousers weighing heavy in the cradle of your hips. “Later,” he tells you, swallowing down your indignant whine before it can burst forth. Now, you want to beg, but then his hand reaches the destination you desire most, shackling you to the singular sensation in short, strong strokes, and you think, okay, later.

Your skin burns, stretched taught and oversensitive as he probes you, knuckles bulbs as they puncture the precipice, only the cool damp of the moss beneath you granting reprieve. You paw at it helplessly, unmoored, gripping up great chunks of it in Sisyphean effort to ground yourself against the fullness.  

He chuckles. “Never said you couldn’t touch,” he mutters against your belly, words muffled by your skin as the vibrations run straight through your core. Something ragged wrenches from you as you dive your hands in his hair, pulling at soft and silky and ink-dark even in the twilight canopy of the wood; a slippery purchase at best as he journeys downward, leaving lush, slick trails in the wake of his mouth that nearly steam against the cool of the breeze. 

He laughs, exultant, and curls those clever fingers inside you hard, bifurcating within you, plying and playing, and teasing and then, then, finally, his head dives between your legs. A hot breath first, a nudge of that pointed nose, then his wicked tongue, licking and lapping and curling, and then those sweet lips wrapping and sucking around you, tongue pressing until you’re reduced to faint breath, until you can only cling with the white static tuned to the red-earthen-hot tune of want. 

You come, spread apart like a dam on the moss. He leeches to you, stroking and sucking and curling and pressing until there’s nothing left in you but shallow heaves and twitching limbs. 

The smirk spreading his mouth when you finally settle in the cradle of his arms is so absurdly silly, so endearing and human, so real, you can’t help but laugh, curling drunkenly into it, each breath a stabbing pain you receive gladly. He gathers you, watching as you laugh, seeming pleased with himself as a cat with cream. 

Together, when you’re once again able, you gather what can be salvaged of your clothes. It’s not much, so he cloaks you in his coat, the unstarched fabric simultaneously stiff and soft against your bare skin, sliding silkily with each step. He guides you along by his lithe arm, veins dancing up the tattooed lengths like sinew upon bark, hand now sticky from being buried within you. 

The fallen leaves ease your way, damp earth gathering between your toes, sluicing off the pain with the cool of it. 

He leads you where? There is no door, no hawthorn trees nor spiderwebs, no shimmering air to pass through yet for a moment you are distracted, and then you are in the woods no longer. The walls are earthen, ancient vines thick as elk climbing like supporting pillars, illimitably, impossibly, reaching for nothing but night sky. The stars, though far above, seem sharper, tangible, and close as you might reach should you choose as you stare into the boundless void between; a darkness luring so sweetly you’d tumble into it for a single unsteady step. 

For the first time since he found you, you do not struggle to look away from him. Walls give way to great earthen colonnades, thousand-story balustrades housing hanging gardens of lady slippers and cowslips and columbines glimmering in the light of torches tall as men. Above it all is still the fathomless, terrifying sky, and everywhere there are people, throngs of faerie folk in every direction as far as you can see. Most pay you no mind but those that do, do so with blessedly parlous curiosity, curling lips clueing teeth that’d bite. 

The sheer number of colors and shapes and bodies has your memory grow fading, evanescent. Some have hooves or scales or feathers, beaks or antlers, and others - just a face the wrong side of sharp, limbs lengthened just past that boundary of eldritch. A few stand out: a man, long-haired and goateed who’d pass human were he not nearly twice the size of a regular man, with sclera deep as bitter licorice; another, flat-faced with the lightest eyes you’d ever seen, veins and sinew and muscle coiling and rippling beneath transparent skin; a creature you struggle to wrap your mind around, a great wolf’s maw forced where the young man’s mouth would be, slitted pupils twitching as he watches you pass, hackles raised. 

Your skin erupts in gooseflesh, and Noah bends his head to nip at it. 

There are three girls standing with heads bowed together, faces painted in warm knavery, identical in all but where they split the embodiment of moon, sun, and void. One’s hands look capable of melting your skin off, and another’s claws drip an ichor you’d let run poison deep below your sluicing skin as you’re blinded by the radiant glow of the third. 

You imagine them spreading you apart, tasting you, tasting them. You’re acutely aware of the heady sourness of your arousal, a scent so human amid bark and earth and animal scent, among burning floral oils.

They are beautiful. They are all beautiful, and you’re struck with a pang of precipitous, desperate hunger. You want all of them. Blisteringly. 

“All of them?” he chuckles, nuzzling the side of your face, insectile fingers gripping your jaw firm with practiced precision. “Greedy.”

Your veins already are hot, pulsing iron, overstimulated and frazzled, but now they spill crimson across your cheekbones, hairline tightening at the tone of his accusation. But he only coos, bringing you in with tangling arms round your waist. 

“Spare me,” he sighs against your temple. “Greed is good. You’ll have it all and more later. But first, let us sate that hunger.” Yes, let us, you think. You never could refuse his command. You hope he will feed you more of those delightful fruits.

[lorcandidlucienwill]

High Lord Lucien

Pretty sure it was always the plan for Lulu to be a high lord. Evidence:

Lucien stepped toward him, exposing his teeth as well. A pulsing kind of air hit me in the stomach, and a metallic stench filled my nose. But I couldn’t see any magic—only feel it. I couldn’t tell if that made it worse. Lucien’s russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn’t meet it. The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

I eased open the door. The room was similar to mine in shape, but was bedecked in hues of orange and red and gold, with faint traces of green and brown. Like being in an autumn wood. But while my room was all softness and grace, his was marked with ruggedness. In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons. It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t. But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent. (Rhysand didn't even realize Lucien was glamouring him until...)

“I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—” Rhysand studied the table. Lucien went stick-straight, pressing me harder against the wall. The table was still set for three, my half-eaten plate of food sitting right before him. When I came to, I could open both eyes fully, and my nose—my nose was clear, and didn’t throb or send agony splintering through my face. Lucien was crouched over me, frowning. “I couldn’t heal you completely—they would know someone helped you. The bruises are there, along with a hideous black eye, but … all the swelling’s gone.” “And my nose?” I said, feeling it before he answered. “Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me. The familiar gesture made my chest tighten to the point of pain. “I thought she’d taken most of your power,” I managed to say.

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

All from book 1. Then in ACOMAF... Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now.

In ACOWAR: My stomach growled with every step, and Lucien’s red hair gleamed like the leaves above us as he scanned the woods for anything to fill our bellies. His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye. Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians.

“I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

And ofc he succeeded...

As it spread its wings wide, trailing sparks and embers across the waves, and I realized what —who—now flew at that enemy host. A firebird. Burning as hot and furious as the heart of a forge. Vassa—the lost queen. Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. And even in ACOSF...

“Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

So whenever people say Lucien is not an important character, I just laugh. You think a mfing High Lord is not an important character? Pls be fucking fr rn. It was ALWAYS the plan for Lucien to be a High Lord, and SJM never got off the High Lord Lucien train. He's my king fr. 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

[eerna]

after a tfota reread and the suren duology, im totally obsessed with taryn. i recently read the lost sisters tfota novella and there is suchhhhhh juicy stuff in there. locke targets taryn dead to rights, playing on every insecurity, and taryn’s insecurities are so interesting, especially her thinking about her vulnerabilities!! taryn thinks that jude has her place in faerie secured and so taryn is the weak link here and she’s trying to barter her way into a good position. (i also loved her analysis of vivi’s state of mind and that once vivi leaves, she and jude are even more vulnerable.) i love how her and locke’s bargain is a parallel to jude and dain’s. even after just fifty pages can i see how taryn was driven to straight up murder. the more page time locke gets the more sinister he is at how very competent he is at manipulating feelings and what seems like almost psychological torment. taryn makes a lot of mistakes but it really only makes her character so much interesting!!! another taryn novel/la for me please!!!!

YAASSS TARYN FANCLUB!!!!! I love the novella for the exact reasons you mentioned. It is a short retelling of the first part of TCP, but from Taryn's POV, and it gives us SO many interesting parallels. I especially like how while Jude's TCP arc is realizing she is cold-blooded and violent and wondering if that makes her a monster, throughout the novella Taryn is like "oh I am not violent, oh I am so prim and proper" but the more people test her, the more she finds it may not be so true. My personal fave is when Locke shows up beneath her window after ghosting her for weeks and she's like "Hehe what if this time Madoc caught him sneaking around the property and killed him, that would be sooooo cool he totally deserves it- WAIT NO WHAT AM I THINKING THAT IS HORRIBLE???". People always forget that she was always just like the rest of her family. She IS vicious and vengeful, as evident in how she treated Jude for putting a target on both their backs and "stealing" Locke, but like Cardan said, she doesn't want it to be true. She refuses to accept that part of herself, even though she is aware, she chooses to pretend she is all softness and kindness so that's the thing everyone sees her as. She wants to be better than the Folk, and be rewarded for it. It shames her that Jude abandoned that idea and decided to be worse, because now she is the only one cowed and scared. ANOTHER cool narrative is Taryn's relationship with food, how she is a comfort eater and keeps consuming more and more the worse her mental state gets, but is still always hungry. Then there's the metaphorical role of food that Locke presents, where a life she might want is a banquet, all the various experiences of love spices, and she is "refusing to eat" because she is scared of Faerie. But by the end of the book she is "gagging food down" through the Jude trial to prove that Faerie food or no she can take it, even though she hates the taste. She is trying to drown her sadness and guilt in the belief that staying true to Locke will finally make her feel full and satisfied. Where ELSE did I see that greedy streak huh I wonder!

Anyway. The Lost Sisters ily what a 10/10 addition I need a sequel except HB gave up on Taryn years ago

[anistarrose]

Angus McDonald and the Shop Teacher’s Secret

squeaking in under the wire for AU Roulette 2023! this was for the prompt "urban fantasy"

Angus was eight when he first read about changelings — in a book that he checked out from the library out of boredom, really. Boredom and disappointment, when he saw the new Caleb Cleveland wasn’t in yet. But what he read within, the descriptions of the fae children that swapped out for humans, well…

They were familiar. In a way that scared him at first, but over the years, began to excite him more and more — because maybe, just maybe, Angus could be like this for a reason.

Most obviously, he acts older than his age, and people notice, with some finding it unnerving. He can lie, but finds it so much easier to imply something false by omission. He’s mildly allergic to nickel, which isn’t quite the same as being repelled by cold iron, but that might just be a trait that varies among individual fae!

His parents are dead and his grandpa doesn’t remember enough to care for him anymore, so he has no one to ask stories about his birth, or early childhood — to ask if he acted more like a human, once — and he certainly does not remember every living in a faerie world, but the evidence is compelling nonetheless.

Most compelling of all — the thought that there might be more people out there who are like him. Who would like him, and actually treat him as one of their own.

And he’s starting to suspect, actually, that one of those people might be his middle school shop teacher.

(keep reading on ao3!)

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Dear Elanor

I have a question about hair. I know you are the foremost expert on not being an expert about hair and so I'm choosing to speak to you instead of people who have studied this subject far more in depth than you and most certainly me. You see I have Celtic ancestors on one side and the Germanic ones on the other and for a very brief period in secondry school I had lovely, wavy auburn in the right light hair. And then everything went odd??? I believe there to have been a war somewhere in my genes and barring all evidence to the contrary have settled on this as the only possible reason. My hair has gone straight. I've tried all the CGM things and stolen my wife's bristle brush and my hair resolutely refuses to be anything but thick and occasionally poofy (when the brush is involved I end up looking quite like a tribble held up to a balloon) and even more confusingly settled itself on a sandy blonde that had I not already worked on my toxic masculinity issues would lead me to a life of a very successful Dean Winchester cosplayer. But there were three delightful years when I had Anakin hair a la revenge of the sith. Minus the grease. And I can't for the life of me figured out what happened or how to get the fun wibbles back. Even when I tried growing it out again recently it was just like 'ah, no, you see, we shall be the only straight thing about you and you shall suffer under the weight of it and force yourself to do an even more confusing gender thing and buy hair clips because we as the collective on your scalp have come to a common agreement without you,' and I'm just wondering, if you maybe know something in the deep magic not at all rooted in any kind of science because if I go to Actual Hair People they will tell me science things and I am not interested in their science that comes seriously and with no hint of long suffering or tangents and also products that I'm sure cost a great deal of money. Do you know, Elanor? Do you know what witch or ghost or ancestor I have somehow upset/wronged/accidentally pleased somehow? Things I have attempted: - going outside, turning around three times and spitting - asking the cats to intercede on my behalf - not washing my hair at all for a month and seeing if that shocks it into behaving (look, isolation got weird and my hair only got straighter,) - writing a letter to my dear departed irish gaelic professor in hopes that he might know something only to feel terrible about writing the letter in english because i never actually learned how to be literate in class - observing a oujia board from a distance and nodding solemnly - staring at the bottom of a quarry like the vast abyss of stone might somehow do A Thing. It did not. It did, however, unlock many thoughts. - the bristle brush - a return to asking the cats who were less amused this time than they were the first and gave me a great deal of their hair as though I should somehow be pleased and honoured with this gift. it got up my nose and I was neither so I'm beginning to suspect their involvement My sympathies to you upon your receipt of this message.

Hmm. Okay.

You need to buy some good cheese, probably three wheels, and maybe some good white bread to be on the safe side (bonus points if home-baked, but don't go trying to make it super soft or super hard). Then you need to find a faerie-infested Welsh lake. I'd recommend Llyn y Fan Fach, probably, because it has a pretty good hit-rate with water fey, so the odds are pretty good. Go at dusk, when the light plays tricks on you. Bring no iron or salt. If you see a faerie ring, DO NOT STEP IN WITH BOTH FEET.

Drop a cheese into the water - and the bread if you brought that - and ask for your curls back. For bonus points you should probably do it in Welsh? Maybe demonstrate at the water by curling a lock around your fingers for good measure. Tell them the cheese is a gift.

Return on the second night and do it again. Drop a cheese in, ask for the curls, tell them it's a gift. NO IRON.

On the third night, do it again. If it's worked, this is the night they'll reply. Most likely they'll give you a comb, or an oaken rod about which to wind your curls, or a faerie ointment, or some other thing. Listen carefully to the instructions, though, and don't deviate from them. Also Welsh faeries almost always add that you shouldn't reveal where you got their gifts from, and if you tell ANYONE they will take them back and fuck you up, so that's pretty likely. Whether it works or not, tell everyone it didn't.

If it doesn't happen on the third night, then it's Request Denied, I'm afraid. The origin of your curse is likely not Welsh (that or you bollocksed up one or more steps; it's easily done.) I wish you luck, friend.

[kenzumekodma]

18+, minors & ageless blogs dni

pairing: izuku midoriya x fem!reader

wc: 4153

warnings: praise kink, pet names (bunny, princess), fae!deku, fantasy au, oral (f recieving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, implied pervy deku, it’s rly soft and that should be a warning in itself, no beta we die like sean bean in fantasy media

a/n: happy birthday to me! this is v v v self indulgent and akdjsbd i am not sorry reader is me w no face. also, surprise, am back posting after like 8 and a half months of not having the mental energy for it ayyyyyy. kinda set it up for a second part but lord only knows if i’ll get back in the headspace to write it. as always, if you like this and want to encourage me to write more, reblogs are the way to go!

find my masterlist here!

I wish… I wish I could be anywhere but here!

Eyes still closed, you take a shallow breath in and let the force of your air blow out your candles. Sure, you’re a little too old, you think, to be making a frivolous wish, one that only a child could believe would come true. And you knew it wouldn’t, despite the faint glimmer of hope nestled deeply inside your chest. Wouldn’t it have been better to spend your birthday wish on something more realistic, like hearing back about the job interview you had, or getting a raise like you’ve deserved for so long? If you were going to believe in magic, in tipping fate’s favour in your direction, it should be about something that’s within your control to help along, right? But fate works in mysterious ways.

You open your eyes, and the tiny bit of hope in your heart turns to coals. Nothing around you has changed. Your friends are still sitting around the table, looking at you expectantly to cut your cake. As you search for the knife, you could swear you see a flash of dark green from the corner of your eye.

“You okay?” your friend asks, and you notice your eyebrows are knit in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s, uh, just those little spots you get when you close your eyes too hard, yknow?” You make a show of blinking and force a smile to your face.

——

By the time you’re home, showered, in bed, and listening to music, you’d nearly forgotten about your wish entirely. It’s not until another voice chimes in with the song playing from your speaker. A velvety voice sings along to the words the owner seems to know, hums along to the others. You enjoy it for a moment, until you realize you’re in your room, and you live alone.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck? Did someone break in here to sing karaoke? At least they’re not off key… but still what the fuck??? Your thoughts cycle through in half a second, eyes still frozen ahead of you. As you move them to blink, though, you notice the same shade of green as before out of the corner of your eye.

“Did you follow me home?” you ask, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach at the thought that the voice might actually respond. Never once have you wished that you’d had an auditory hallucination more in your life. The green blob encroaching on your peripheral vision jumps.

“I-in a way, I guess?” the voice responds. “You can see me?”

“I’m trying not to, obviously,” you say, still frozen looking at the ceiling. A shiver of discomfort runs up your spine, and you know he’s looking at you. “Who are you and why are you here?” you demand, wavering voice giving you away.

“I, uh, I kind of live here?” his tone is as much of a question as it is an answer. “I’m, um, your guardian faerie. Izuku.” he tacks on his name, an afterthought.

“Bull fucking shit, you can’t live here because I live here. And guardian faerie? Get your folk tales right, it’s a guardian angel. Get, get out of my apartment before I call the cops,” you shout quietly, being careful to not alarm your neighbours. Poor choice, you think, but just in case you can resolve it yourself, or in case what this strange man is saying is true.

You finally bring yourself to look at him, rage evident on your face at having been inadvertently spied on. Gossamer wings peek out from behind his wide shoulders, the same verdant shade as his hair and eyes, you notice. The same green you saw flitting at the corner of your vision when you made your wish.

“I kind of live here because I, I keep an eye on you, so to speak? It’s hard to explain.”

“Turn around,” you request, your voice firm. This stranger, this Izuku, does as you ask, and you see dainty slashes cut in the back of his jacket to accommodate the wings sprouting from between his shoulder blades. “If what you’re saying is true, you can show me where you’re from, right?”

“I can’t not show you where I’m from,” he says, fiddling with the hem of his jacket, suddenly very interested in his feet.

“That’s a double negative. You can, then,” you conclude. “Take me there.”

Izuku grimaces, but gets up from his spot at the end of your bed. Energy pricks at your skin, the air’s charged like lightning about to strike. It picks up until the hair on your arms is standing up as the freckled man before you drags the palm of his hand down the panel of your bedroom door. He opens it unceremoniously to show you what at first looks like nothing. The closer you get, though, the more the other side comes into focus. Overlaid with your hallway, you see a forest at dusk, tinged green by the portal between you and Izuku’s home plane.

“If you go through here, I need you to stay quiet, stick by me, and don’t get noticed,” he says. He’s barely finished stating his conditions before you’re walking headfirst into the unknown realm. He jumps after you, sealing the portal back up as quickly as he can.

Your stomach lurches, and you wonder how Izuku manages to go between worlds so effortlessly, but you’re soothed as the prickling energy dies down. It should come with a warning, though. May cause vertigo, not recommended for children under the age of 12 or anyone human at all, Jesus… you think as you blink hard to try to regain your balance. It has the opposite effect though, as you find yourself tumbling into another creature. A blond man with a knowing smile looks down at you.

“S-sorry, new here, first day,” you mumble as you shake your head and duck behind some trees in the way you came. Izuku couldn’t have gone far, right? He came through after you, unless he left you here and took your apartment for himself. But he said to stick by him? At least that’s what you think you heard, you didn’t stay long enough to process what he was saying.

“Aoyama! Good to see you!” Izuku says. Diverting Aoyama’s attention to him should keep him from seeing you, and should also let you know where he is, he thinks. You catch on quickly, and crouch down, low enough to not be seen through the bushes between trees. Seconds creep by like minutes until you spot Izuku’s red shoes like a beacon and tug on his pants to let him know you’re here.

“Midoriya! It’s been so long, have you gotten tired of your mortal girl? You’ve been there quite a while, even took up their style of dress? Tres fashionable, my friend,” Aoyama takes the greeting as an invitation to catch up.

“No, uh, no not yet,” Izuku laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got some urgent business, catch up later?”

“Of course, of course. I won’t keep you.” Aoyama waves, and you get the feeling that he looks to the grass, exactly where you’re on your hands and knees, holding your breath. But you must be imagining it, right?

“That was fucking close,” Izuku says under his breath. “You didn’t let him see you, right?”

You weigh your options for the briefest of moments, before shaking your head side to side.

“Good. It’s lucky it was a friend, though, it could have been way worse,” he says and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“What is this place?” you ask.

“This,” Izuku gestures broadly to the forest around him as you stand up, faint lights of a city in the trees glistening in the distance. “This is Fae. You’ve heard fairy tales before, right? Well here, they’re history. Everything has to come from somewhere. Somewhere where there’s a kernel of truth to everything.”

“Where there’s a kernel of truth to everything? Oh, so what they say about the fae, in my world, it’s true? You can’t lie?”

“Nope. We have to be very careful with our words.”

“Try telling me you’re a purple octopus,” you challenge.

“I-, I’m-,” he tries to start as you giggle. “Oh, stop it, you know I can’t!” He feels his cheeks heat up, and he’s never felt more glad that you’re warming up to him enough to joke around.

“Do you let all the girls you bring to the forest tease you?” you chuckle.

“I haven’t brought anyone back here before,” he says. There’s been no one but you, he thinks, and it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he knows as much as anyone from his world that you shouldn’t let the whole truth go at once. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, it’s dangerous. You’re not supposed to be here, who knows what’ll happen if they find you.”

“If who finds me?” you ask.

“Let’s hope you don’t find out,” he says gravely.

You roll your eyes and turn to make off towards the glittering lanterns in the distance, but a large, scarred hand catches your wrist and for the second time tonight you’re frozen in place by the strange man claiming to be your guardian faerie.

“I’m not kidding, don’t go off on your own. Stay with me. We’ll go anywhere you want, I promise, but I need you to stay with me.” His skin is warm wrapped around yours, and in such close proximity you notice more about him.

Lightly tanned skin, more freckles than you noticed before, his eyes are like a reflection of the forest itself. It’s as if you’re looking at him in high definition, like every human feature he has is amplified and more beautiful than you could’ve put together in your imagination. He’s tall, too. Tall enough you have to tilt your neck back to look him in the eye from this angle. If you were to look head on, though, you’d see the muscle his jacket hides being hinted at by the t-shirt that’s just tight enough across his chest.

“Okay, fine,” you nod, increasingly aware of how close his face is, if only a fair few inches above yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Izuku says. His eyes immediately go wide, and he hopes you don’t recognize where he got that from. Instead, you look down quickly and go quiet. “I, uh, f-forget I said anything, sorry. Wh-where do you want to go?”

You clear your throat. “I want to see the lights,” you decide.

“We’ll have to stay toward the outskirts, but we can do that. The city’s all done up right now, you know. It’s real pretty.”

—-

It doesn’t feel like long, but maybe time passes differently here, you think. The full moon shines brightly above you and you guess it must be past midnight when you arrive near the city gates. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in your life, it’s like something that was plucked straight from your childhood daydreams. From your vantage point in the distance, you see elaborate wooden buildings with thatched roofs with moss creeping up the side walls. A circle of stones stands in what you can only imagine is the town square towards the gate. And in the background, sprawling over the city, letting its leaves seemingly touch the sky as well as its citizens, is the most grand willow tree. Paper lanterns adorn the post beside every door, a peculiar yet familiar series of dots poked into each one, letting the light shine through.

“What are those?” you ask, pointing to the lanterns.

“The stars on them? It’s the constellation Perseus. It’s named after an old, old hero from your world. You know, we share the sky,” Izuku explains. “If you think of it like this, there’s an infinite number of worlds, right? Thin as paper, sandwiched one on top of the other between nothingness and the sky. The void is infinite, and so are we. It has a way of making you feel alone but comforted, doesn’t it?”

“That might just be you,” you say, and you’re not sure whether you mean it’s only him that feels comforted, or it’s only him that’s comforting you. “A-anyway, you said there’s a festival, right? What does that have to do with a hero from my world?”

“Right! Every year around this time, there’s falling stars. I, I think you call them a meteor shower? Which sounds like stars taking a bath, but that doesn’t matter. When you watch them, it looks like they’re coming right out of the constellation, so they’re called the Perseids. Did you, uh, want to see them? I know somewhere we won’t run into anyone else,” Izuku offers.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you smile, and you think to yourself that just maybe your birthday wish is coming true after all. The coal of hope inside your chest fans into an ember as Izuku takes your hand to guide you to a secluded meadow about fifteen minutes away from the city.

“I used to come here as a kid when I wanted away from everything,” he says, letting go of your hand to balance himself. “Watch your step, the trail gets kind of rocky here.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when a rock slips under your foot, tripping you, and sending you flying into Izuku’s back. You tumble the remaining twenty feet or so, landing in the clearing, and let out a sigh of relief as you feel you’re on solid ground. Hanging your head, you move to get up and find where Izuku ended up.

“This, uh, this isn’t what it looks like, right?” Izuku’s voice comes from underneath you. To your surprise, what you thought was firm ground was muscle.

“I, I uh, it’s not, it’s not!” you exclaim, holding your hands where he can see them. It’s a shame, though, that you don’t quite have your balance, you think, as you fall face first onto his chest.

“You’re not making a good case for yourself, y’know,” he laughs, easing the tension. “If, if you wanted me that badly, you could’ve just said,” he teases.

“I don’t, I swear!” you protest, your ember glowing bigger.

“Are you lying to me, human?” He’s not sure he’s teasing this time. You swallow, your eyes meeting his.

“I, I am.”

With a boost of confidence, Izuku leans up to capture your lips with his own. He’s tender, his soft lips moving gently against yours as you reciprocate the kiss.

“I have to know, though. How long have you been ‘kind of living’ in my apartment?”

Izuku’s face flushes. “It’s been more than a few months. Can, can I explain more later? I’ve wanted to do this since I set eyes on you, I want to treat you properly. Anything you want to know, the answers are yours, I promise. Let me show you what you deserve.”

You nod, and he takes the permission to take your face in his hand. His kiss is more fervent now. A bonfire graces your chest with its presence. It feels like forever and yet not long enough before you break the kiss for a breath. You smile and put your hand over his, turning your head to press a soft kiss to the pads of his fingers. His breath hitches, making you smile wider.

“Y’know, I could get used to you being around,” you murmur to him.

“I want to be around, I want you to see me around,” he whispers back.

Izuku’s strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close to his chest. He rolls with you, his wings unfurling to cast a peridot haze over you with the moonlight. Kisses trail down your neck, to your chest, as one of Izuku’s hands holds your waist, the other keeping his balance. Through your clothing, he nips at your breast, then your other one.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. He lifts the hem of your dress up just enough to pepper gentle kisses on your skin, the light touch making you squirm. “Ticklish, or eager?” he asks.

“Both,” you confess. His fingers toy at the elastic of your panties. “If you’re going to take them off, then take them off,” you tell him.

“Maybe I won’t now,” he smirks. “Maybe you’re going to have to earn that privilege.”

“H-how-?” your question is cut off by Izuku’s wandering hand easing your breast from the confines of your dress and latching his lips around your nipple. The swirl of his tongue and the light scrape of his teeth have you clenching around nothing, and you could swear there are double the stars in the sky above you.

“C-can you do that, but, ah, d-down…” you trail off, embarrassed by the idea of saying what exactly you want out loud.

“Between your legs? Of course, bunny, anything to make you feel good,” Izuku smiles and presses the softest of kisses to your forehead. “You just have to say the magic word.”

“P-please, can you?”

“That’s my girl,” he beams.

His deft fingers work their way under your waistband, taking his time as Izuku slides your panties down your thighs, over one ankle, and then the other before they’re laying forgotten in the grass somewhere. He shuffles himself down as gracefully as one can manage in the dark of night until his head rests on the plushness of your inner thigh.

Your folds glisten silver in the reflection of the moon, the light of it making you look as though you’re glowing from inside. Izuku licks a soft strip from your opening to your clit, relishing the taste of your essence he’s been dying to have for many, many months. And like with a fine meal, once he’s had a taste, there’s no stopping him.

Your whole body shudders as he teases his way around in circles, getting close to your sensitive bud but never quite touching it. A loud whimper is torn from your throat when he finally flicks his tongue up across it. Primal and hungry, it’s purely human, and music to his ears. He darts his tongue into you to give you a brief respite before latching around your clit, alternating between suckling light pressure and giving you broad strokes with his tongue flattened.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, ‘Zuku!” you cry out, and he knows you’re a hair’s breadth away from the edge. He pulls back, forcing your body to calm back down.

“Wh-what’d you do that for?” you can’t stop the pout on your face from forming.

“Trust me, okay? It’s gonna feel even better around my cock. Wanna make you feel so good, bunny. Doesn’t my pretty girl wanna feel good?”

You nod, hellbent on being good for him, and he smiles, the wetness of your arousal glistening around his mouth. Izuku leans down and kisses you once more, this time you taste yourself on his tongue.

“When you feel like you’re ready, let me know, okay? I have to prep you a little first, I don’t want to hurt you.” He peppers kisses along your cheek, and you look away, but smile and nod. “Getting shy on me?” he chuckles. You start to shake your head, but nod instead. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“‘M ready, is what I am,” you counter. The white hot feeling in your abdomen has subsided, although the fire in your chest is hotter than the core of any star you’ve ever seen.

“You sure?”

“Mhm, I’m ready for you ‘Zuku.”

Izuku presses one last soft peck to your lips before repositioning his face between your legs once more, this time with his fingers circling your entrance, ready to take the plunge.

“It’s going to stretch a little, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

With his tongue flat, he licks your clit with very little pressure, just enough to distract you from the intrusion of one of his fingers. The stretch isn’t as bad as you’d expected, and he finds your little bundle of nerves without any issue. When he adds a second finger, though, you inhale sharply.

“Look at me, princess. You’re doing so well for me, so well. Taking my fingers so well. So good, princess,” he says between kisses to your mound. You mewl at the praise, you’d do anything to hear it again.

“‘Nother one, gimme a-another one, please.”

He scissors his two fingers inside you, stretching you until he’s sure you can take a third. Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, and slower still he pushes three back inside, being sure to suckle and flick his tongue quickly around your clit to keep you from clenching too tightly around them. You adjust quicker than he expects, something he’s thankful for. His cock is getting too hard to ignore, straining at his pants as it is.

“Ready, bunny?” He waits as patiently as he can for you to nod before he pulls his fingers out. Fumbling with his pants seems to take an eternity to him, and he curses mortal fashion for putting aesthetics over functionality.

“Let me,” you say quietly. You reach out, and with a swift motion you have his pants undone, threatening to fall down his waist.

“Thank you. Such a good girl for me, you are. So helpful,” he showers you in praise.

He takes a moment to memorize every inch of your face, the curve of your hips, the soft texture of your skin underneath him as he lines himself up to sink himself into you. You gasp softly as he slowly pushes his tip past your ring of muscle, and you’re so glad you let him stretch you for as long as he did. He feels big, big enough you’d have tapped out if he hadn’t.

You feel a vein slide against your velvet walls in the most delicious way, and you clench around his thick girth.

“‘M not even in all the way, bunny,” he breathes out a chuckle. Forever and a day seems to pass by before he’s sunk himself into you to the hilt. “Say the word an’ I’ll start moving,” he says, dizzy already from how tight and sweet you are.

“P-please, ‘Zuku,” you beg, “feel like I’m gonna explode if you don’t move,” you whimper. Izuku has never been one to deny you anything. Any little push of fate, anything he can help you and get away with, he has. Hell, his intervention is the long ago catalyst to your tryst, but he’ll tell you about it later, he thinks. Until then, all he wants to think about is how right it feels to have your legs wrapped around him, to have you to himself so intimately.

His thrusts are slow and deep, and when you close your eyes, you see shooting stars more clearly than you can with the meteor shower going on above you. You rock your hips into his, desperately pushing your lips to his neck, kissing every free inch of skin you can get your lips on.

“Close?” asks Izuku.

“Y-yeah, ‘m t-too close,” you whimper. He ensnares you in a searing kiss.

“Go ahead, princess, cum for me,” he murmurs against your lips. With a whine, you’re gripping him inside and out, like you’ll never let him go. Your eyes squeezed shut as he rips the orgasm from your body. “S-such a good girl, good princess, so good, g-good,” Izuku babbles as he tumbles off the edge, releasing thick ropes of sticky white inside you. His damp curls stick to his forehead as he rests his head against yours. You settle your hand in his hair and pull his head down just a little bit further to press a kiss to his lips.

“L-look, there’s so many of them,” you say, looking just behind his head to the night sky. If you didn’t know better, you’d say dozens of stars were falling from the sky just for the two of you. Izuku leans on his forearm, letting himself fall to the side and pulling you in close to him.

“You’re like my own little star who’s come to the ground,” he says quietly, kissing your temple.

“Is, is this all because of my wish earlier? Do you think?” you ask.

“I can’t be sure, but I think so.”

“Whether it is or not, this is the most I’ve felt alive in as long as I can remember,” you confess. The sun itself can’t rival what was once an ember in your chest threatening to go out. “I hope no matter what plane, I don’t have to be without you again.” Izuku pulls you closer in his arms, admiring you as you look from him to the sky once again.

“I hope so too, bunny. I hope so too.”

taglist: @patchworkpuzzle @jozhenji @hanayanetwork

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

2 “Fuck me properly or I’ll find someone else to do it.“ “No you fucking won’t” with az please

🥵🥵🥵🥵

—————————————————————————

He’d had the absolute audacity to ignore you all day. And now he had the nerve to monitor your every move. And every move of the male who currently had his hands on you.

It wasn’t that you expected Azriel to spend every minute of Starfall by your side. You were merely fucking, merely the friend that Nesta had brought around months earlier.

But it hurt you that Az had barely spared you a glance, considering how close you’d become as of late. And maybe — maybe — some small, petty part of you wanted to hurt him back…without thinking too much about what that meant.

Which was how you’d ended up with a stranger’s hands on you all night. He’d told you his name, which you hadn’t bothered to remember. All you were focused on was his body grinding against yours.

And so was Azriel, apparently. If his intense gaze across the room was anything to go by.

You drank and danced and laughed with the male, giving Az the same treatment he’d given you. And only when you knew Az had gotten an eyeful of your behaviour did you peel from your companion’s side and excuse yourself to grab another drink.

The kitchen was empty, quiet. And perhaps that was why you heard the approaching footsteps.

Or perhaps Azriel wanted you to hear his approach.

Even with your back turned, you knew he was standing in the doorway. His shadows snaked through the room and brushed your arms, the touch cool and tickling. They retracted as you turned and casually pressed your back against the counter.

Azriel stared at you. His hazel eyes were a tad glazed, his stance looser than usual — evidence he’d been helping himself to the faerie wine.

“Having fun?” He asked you quietly.

“Oh, yes.” You sipped your drink. “Arun is splendid company.”

“His name is Aric.”

You shrugged. “It’s not his name I’m interested in.”

Az laughed without humour. “You’re not interested in him at all.”

“Sure I am.” Pushing away from the counter, you approached him. Tried to ignore his delicious scent enveloping in you. “I don’t have to just exclusively fuck you, you know.”

He looked like he was trying to mask a sneer. “You want to, though.”

Your eyes flicked over him. He looked incredible tonight, his leathers swapped for a more casual shirt and trousers in tones of black and slate grey. His hair was stylishly messy, a few strands falling into his eyes. He looked divine, good enough to undress then and there—

But his attitude…his cocksure attitude after ignoring you…it pissed you off.

Which was why the words fell from your mouth.

“Actually, Azriel, I was thinking it’s time we end this little arrangement between us. I think it’s run its course. The last time just wasn’t up to standard.” You smirked, looking him up and down. “I have to think of my own needs. So fuck me properly, or I’ll find someone else to do it.”

His eyes flared. His jaw ticked.

And then suddenly, you were being lifted off your feet. You barely had time to register what was happening as you were shoved into a nearby closet. Cramped and musty, housing shelves of long-life food, there was barley enough room for you in there, let alone you and Azriel.

But he squeezed you both in. And slammed you against the door, causing it to shut behind you.

“What did you say?” He growled, his hips holding you in place.

“I said.” You smirked, “Fuck me properly, or I’ll find someone else to do it.

Another growl. Deeper, more guttural. “No you fucking won’t.”

Before you had a chance to think up a smart response, to piss him off more, he yanked you around, pressing your front up against the door. A thrill shot through you, pooling wetness between your legs. A moan threatened to break free of your throat as he yanked the hem of your dress up, baring your bottom half to the cool air.

“No underwear?” Az hummed, nipping at your neck. “You filthy fucking female.”

His hand reached between your legs, and he dragged a finger straight through your folds, causing you to emit a loud moan.

“I planned to get lucky tonight.” You goaded. “Hence my dancing with Aric.”

“Your dancing with Aric was to piss me off.” He sunk a finger into you, and you gasped. “You don’t deserve to get lucky, considering you’re such a brat.”

Your head fell back on a moan as he pumped that finger. “You love me being a brat.”

“You sure about that?”

You pushed your ass back against him, smirking as his hardness pressed into you. And the way he grunted told you precisely how much he loved it.

He pulled his finger out of you, and you almost whispered at the loss of the feeling. But then you heard the clinking of his belt unbuckling.

“You want me to fuck you properly?” He gritted out against your ears.

“Yes.” You gasped. “Unless you’re not up to it. In which case—Aric!”

His hand clasped over your mouth, smothering your shout, and you couldn’t help laughing. Licked his palm for good measure as his fingers dug into your face.

But then you heard his trousers drop to the floor.

Your mouth went dry. All thoughts eddied from your mind.

“You asked for it.” He hissed, nipping your earlobe.

You were pure, wet heat between your legs. But even that couldn’t prepare you for the way Azriel slammed into you. The head of his cock teased your entrance so, so briefly — and with one great thrust, he was seated inside you fully, your noise of pleasure and pain catching in your throat.

“Speak his name again,” he growled, pulling out to the tip, “and I’ll leave you here to sort yourself out with your hand. Do you want me to do that, Y/N?”

You whimpered against his hand, wanting — needing — him filling you up. And he knew that. He chuckled darkly, slicking his cock with your soaked folds.

“Answer me.” He demanded, teasing your entrance. “Is that what you want? For me to leave you alone in here to make yourself cum?”

“No.” You moaned. “Fuck me.”

The tip slid in, making you bite down on your lip. “Hm? What was that?”

“Fuck me, Azriel. Fuck me.”

You heard him hiss — and then he slammed right back into you again, causing you to press harder against the door. He kept his hand cupped over your mouth, the other coming to rest on your hip.

And then he unleashed himself on you.

He was…frenzied. A pure animal, as he fucked into you. The sounds of your slapping skin, your heaving breaths, your building moans, were so loud, it was a wonder they didn’t reach out through the house, to the other guests gathered there.

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” Az growled, reaching down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. “Like driving me mad by grinding on another male in front of me?”

“Fuck,” You gasped. “Serves you — oh gods — serves you right for ignoring me.”

“I was trying to stop myself ripping this fucking dress off you.” His hand slid from your hips to between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. “But you would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“More than you know.”

“Gods, I love fucking you.” His hips picked up their pace, and you were so full, so wet, so frenzied by his fingers rubbing your clit, you didn’t know how you were still standing. “I could fuck you all day, you know that?”

And gods, you could fuck him all day. All day, every day. He consumed you, and you consumed him, and it was perfect.

“Cum for me.” He bit your shoulder again, circling his fingers harder, faster.

You were on fire. Your legs trembling. Your pussy clenching around him. And as he pulled out to the tip, pressed down on your clit and slammed back in, you completely and utterly lost it.

A scream ripped through you, so loud that even his large hand couldn’t muffle the noise. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he pulled that hand away from your face, grabbing both of your hips.

Your entire body slammed against the door as he thrust into you harder, harder, harder, and then he was stilling, your feet lifting off the floor as he spilled inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He growled, throwing his head back. His fingers dug bruisingly into your hips, and the slight pinch of pain almost had you falling off the edge all over again.

The small, cramped room fell silent in the wake of your releases, only your heavy breaths filling the air.

And finally, after what seemed like hours of you trembling against the door, he pulled out of you, pulling some of his seed with him.

“Was that properly enough for you?” He breathed, yanking his trousers up.

Gods, yes, it was.

[rosesradio]

may i ask why ppl hate caleo so much? I'm reading ToA rn so idk if it's based on stuff that happens there, but in HoO I didn't really catch anything that would make it this "don't touch with a ten foot pole" ship, yk?

/gen

Hi !! Thanks for sending this in. I feel like I and others have kinda gone through some things in the anti-caleo tag, but I'm gonna go through some of the reasons with as much textual evidence and objectivity as possible. (minus my inevitable unorganized rambles, they're contextually relevant, stop looking at me--)

That being said, this is completely a matter of opinion, as all shipping is. I don't mean to say that you are "allowed" to ship or that you're "stupid" for shipping xyz, I couldn't care less what you ship--let's all just be nice to each other.

That being said, let's start with the two most common reasons why most people dislike caleo:

1.) the age gap

2.) their "bickering to lovers" dynamic is not written well/they seem to dislike each other/etc

The easier one to start with would be the age gap. Now (warnings for rent-lowering gunshots around my blog), I meant what I said when I said I don't care about ships. Most of my beloved mutuals ship the nastiest shit imaginable, and I am very anti-censorship (but that's several other posts). I generally have preferences for healthy ships when it comes to a Fluffy Endgame (dark fics with toxic ships are different to me).

That being said, I don't typically enjoy ships with a large age gap, and most other people find them unappealing as well. I could be persuaded with some (nipollo and rachel/apollo, i'm looking at you), but caleo just kinda grosses me out in this regard, probably due to other aspects of their relationship.

(Some people say she's "mentally fifteen", but I don't really buy that--if she were like a faerie or something, maybe, but I see her more as Edward in Twilight--looks young but has wisdom beyond her years. There's no definitive answer on this so it's not something I would like to debate (none of this is lol) but I thought I would mention it anyways.)

Although your question is about ToA, I'm only going to cover HoH through the first ToA book, because I'm still reading through the ToA books (though I know the big spoilers). I know caleo takes on a bigger role in the second book so i might come back and do a part two to uh...complain about their dynamic more? lol

so, without further ado--

The House of Hades

So, this is the first impression we get of Calypso from Leo's perspective--the highlights to keep this from being 1 million years long (it still will be lol)--

"She looked maybe fifteen, about Leo's age, and, sure, she was pretty; but with that angry expression on herface she reminded Leo of every popular girl in every school he'd ever attended—the ones who made fun of him, gossiped a lot, thought they were so superior, and basically did everything they could tomake his life miserable.Leo disliked her instantly.

---

The girl clenched her fists. Leo was pretty sure she was going to march down the crater and punch him in the face.

---

"Show yourself!" the girl yelled at the sky, completely ignoring Leo. "It's not bad enough I am exiled? It's not bad enough you take away the few good heroes I'm allowed to meet? You think it's funny to send me this—this charbroiled runt of a boy to ruin my tranquility? This is NOT FUNNY! Take him back!""

--pg 213 of The House of Hades pdf.

Now, keeping in mind that I read this for the first time at 13 and he was my book boyfriend (Or Whatever), I was not a fan of this, but even now that I've grown out of that, this still rings unfavorable to me.

He compares her to his bullies, the ones who made fun of him and created insecurities within him. And, making no effort to clear her name from this association, what is one of the first things she does? Screams at the gods for sending someone so conventionally unattractive. One of Leo's biggest insecurities in the books is not being as conventionally attractive or built as the other guys in the seven. One of his other insecurities is not having a girlfriend when everyone else is coupled up. So the solution is not to have him learn self-love and/or the love of friends, but to instead give him a girlfriend--the build-up time of which is short and intense. Not only that, but his love interest insults one of his biggest insecurities.

We're off to a great start.

Of course, I can't really blame Calypso for being pissed about the wreckage and about being sent another hero instead of being freed from the island. I would be pretty pissed, too, but she still treats him pretty badly, seemingly because he's not the "right" hero.

(For this next bit I am going through their time together in House of Hades and just noting anything that rings as a red flag to me--which is not a stretch as it's pretty much every other line lol. The brackets [] add context for dialogue, the parentheses () is my commentary, though most of these speak for themselves imo)

""Oh-gee-gee-ah." The girl pronounced it slowly, as if Leo were five years old.

---

She looked like she was about to answer but stopped herself. "It doesn't matter. You'll be gone soon. You're obviously a mistake."

That was harsh, Leo thought.He'd spent enough time thinking he was a mistake—as a demigod, on this quest, in life in general. He didn't need a random crazy goddess reinforcing the idea

---

"What am I supposed to do, then? Sit in the sand dunes until I die?" [Leo asked]

"That would be fine...." The girl threw down her trowel and cursed at the sky. "Except I suppose he can't die here, can he? Zeus! This is not funny!"

---

She looked the same age as him, but he wondered how old she really was. (age gap thing, delicious!)

---

"Would you be sweet," [Calypso said], "if they laughed at you by sending another hero, but a hero who looked like—like you?"

---

"Three thousand." Leo's mouth felt tingly, like he'd just eaten Pop Rocks. "Uh, you look good for three thousand."

---

"And now...the worst insult of all. The gods mock me by sending you." [Calypso said]

Anger bubbled in Leo's stomach.Yeah, typical. If Jason were here, Calypso would fall all over him. She'd beg him to stay, but he'd be all noble about returning to his duties, and he'd leave Calypso brokenhearted. That magic raft would totally arrive for him. (heartbreaking to hear about leo's insecurities but also...he is so gay for jason jdskjfs--)

But Leo? He was the annoying guest she couldn't get rid of. She'd never fall for him, because she was totally out of his league.

---

Despite the gifts, Calypso obviously didn't want to see him. One time he poked his head inside the cave and she freaked out, yelling and throwing pots at his head. (how to treat an abuse survivor 101)

Yeah, she was definitely on Team Leo. (this honestly just reminds me of the Echo scene and, honestly, I'd ship him with Echo Big Time over calypso)

He ended up pitching a more permanent camp near the footpath, where the beach met the hills.That way he was close enough to pick up his meals, but Calypso didn't have to see him and go into a pot-throwing rage.

---

"They are completely fireproof," Calypso promised. "They'll stay clean and expand to fit you,should you ever become less scrawny." (the prev part about her repairing the clothes was actually sweet in a platonic way...could have gone without the body-shaming !)

---

Then he remembered that this annoying fifteen-year-old girl was actually the immortal daughter of a Titan."

--pages 214-227 of The House of Hades pdf

Now, at this point I'll say that their relationship actually becomes quite sweet once they get past the frankly horrible section of time where they want each other to die. They're both lonely, they come to some understanding...I suppose this is a matter of opinion, but the romance aspect does feel forced. Time is different in Ogygia so it's hard to say how long Leo was there, if I were to estimate I'd say 3 weeks, but given that it's like 19 pages (and the text is larger on the pdf copy lol), it does feel rushed. Man do I wish they went for the platonic angle, but Richard could never.

The Blood of Olympus

Everyone's favorite book! lmao.

Now that our lovebirds are in Lovebird Territory (i guess), the amount of toxicity dwindles, but let's bite:

"'Sit tight, Sunshine,' he told Calypso's picture. 'I'll get back to you, just like I promised.'

Leo could imagine her response: 'I am not waiting for you, Leo Valdez. I am not in love with you.And I certainly don't believe your foolish promises!' The thought made him smile. (I guess this is supposed to be sarcastic, but way to reintroduce the concept of her really not liking him?)"

--pg 64 of The Blood of Olympus pdf

So, most of this book has mentions of Calypso from Leo's pov, and I gotta say (forgetting entirely that this doc is supposed to at least try to be subjective)...they neutered my boy. I often don't reread past MoA because of the caleo content, though what glimpses I've seen shows that his pov has experienced a massive shift. I think having so little page time and such an intense relationship buildup causes some readers to dislike how fundamentally she alters Leo's pov.

Additionally, I've seen some posts about Leo's suicide ideation. That is not something I want to go in depth about on this post, but I did want to draw attention to this excerpt I caught:

"Now the Argo II was approaching the end of its voyage. Leo's whole life – his childhood with Tía Callida; his mother's death in that warehouse fire; his years as a foster kid; his months at Camp Half-Blood with Jason and Piper – all of it would culminate tomorrow morning in one final battle.

He opened the access panel. Festus's voice creaked over the intercom.

'Yeah, buddy,' Leo agreed. 'It's time.'

More creaking.

'I know,' Leo said. 'Together till the end?'

Festus squeaked affirmatively.

Leo checked the ancient bronze astrolabe, which was now fitted with the crystal from Ogygia. Leo could only hope it would work.

'I will get back to you, Calypso,' he muttered. 'I promised on the River Styx.'

He flipped a switch and brought the navigation device online. He set the timer for twenty-four hours.

Finally he opened the engine's ventilator line and pushed inside the vial of the physician's cure. It disappeared into the veins of the ship with a decisive thunk.

'Too late to turn back now,' Leo said.

He curled on the floor and closed his eyes, determined to enjoy the familiar hum of the engine for one last night."

--pg 224 of The Blood of Olympus pdf

I'm not going to draw any definitive conclusions on the subtext of this or his plan with the physician's cure, but I will say Leo definitely needs therapy and the support of his friends over his want of a girlfriend. (And I'd say this regardless of ships--even if it were my beloved valdangelo. If Leo's mental health isn't addressed, it just makes it seem like a lazy fix-all)

I'm not going to pretend to be the best writer or understand character arcs better than our good friend Richard, but I think one of the reasons why Leo's character arc failed in this final installment is that Leo got what he wanted instead of what he needed. The best character arcs will display what a character wants, but by the end of the journey, a character will realize what they really need.

For example, in Gravity Falls (great show btw), towards the end of the series, Mabel wants to stay in a magical bubble created as a trick by Bill Cipher so she can stay in Gravity Falls forever. In the end, however, she realizes that what she really needs is to go back home to California with her brother, where they can get through high school with the support of each other.

If Leo had undergone an arc in which he really wants a girlfriend, but later realizes he needs to love himself first, that would have been really great and nice for kids to see that they don't need a significant other to make them whole.

Additionally--surprisingly--there were no glaring red flags for the rest of this book. They have a general vibe of "she doesn't really like him and he's a silly little guy" that I feel like is just rick pulling a "can I copy your homework?" with percabeth but it came out Wrong, but that's a matter of opinion.

ToA: The Hidden Oracle

""Here you go." Leo handed her a glass of lemonade. His expression seemed darker and more anxious, as if...Ah, of course. Leo had rescued Calypso from her prison island. In doing so, Calypso had lost her powers. Leo felt responsible."

--pg 239 of The Hidden Oracle pdf

This seems like something they'd have to work through, which is possible, but also a very intense thing to put on a relationship between an already traumatized 16 year old (and his over 3000 year old girlfriend, etc.) I suppose if this was written through in a thoughtful way I'd understand, but it's kind of one of those things that makes me look at them and go...realistically, at best I see them lasting 6 months to a year.

(tbh a lot of the ships outside of percabeth don't seem to have that...well, percabeth longevity--i mean just look at how jiper broke up. not that Richard would break caleo up atp, of course...unless...)

Final Thoughts (unless I return after finishing ToA but no promises)

And so, we conclude. I think I learned some stuff by revisiting canon instead of just remaining amongst online fandom & my memory of canon. Honestly, I can see why people would like this ship--I still hate it the most out of any pjo ship, but I gotta admit it had its sweet moments. Just as I pointed out red flags and had opinions stated as subjective, other people could point out what they consider green flags and why they think the ship is great.

To conclude (my English teachers quaking in their boots rn), myself and other caleo haters dislike the ship due to the age difference, the rushed nature, and the enemies to lovers dynamic being written in a way that ultimately gives the energy that our love birds do not like each other. I hope this dive into the foundation of their relationship clarifies some of these things for you, and thanks for the ask!

[ashs-random-writing]

Mushroom Circles

Chapter ten

Ao3

—

When an accidental blood sacrifice leaves him in a strange new world, Roman has to hide

Logan would like to know what has been eating all the fruit

—

Logan took note of every reaction Tiny had, and to what. They were startled by Patton’s sudden touch on their arm, but that was just as obvious as the way they were scared when Janus was nearby.

They evidently didn’t forgive Janus for what he had done. Janus had attempted to claim that it was because they mustn’t have understood the apology, but Logan knew for sure that they did. Their reaction was far from the non-comprehending stare they often had when hearing words they didn’t understand.

In addition, they had heard apologies from Logan and Patton enough times that he was almost a hundred percent certain that they must understand it. He figured that they simply had not liked Janus’s (admittedly not the best) apology, and had reacted as such.

Logan not only didn’t disagree with their assessment of the apology, but in fact he would have thought about doing the same as them had someone given such a lacking apology to him. Of course, he wouldn’t have done the same, despite thinking it, as he never acted that dramatically, and quite frankly, he’d have simply walked away from the conversation if it were him.

Tiny didn’t have the same luxuries of leaving the situation, but could still show their unimpressed attitude in their own way. Logan almost felt a smile creep onto his face.

All six of Janus’s arms were crossed stubbornly.

“Why should I have apologised if they won’t even give me a chance?” He was complaining, as Patton was checking on Tiny.

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up accidentally in the process.

“You apologised because you were told to, and you sounded like it, I doubt I’d have accepted that apology either,” Logan informed him bluntly.

Janus, turned away from him in much the same manner that Tiny did to Janus, which Logan had to admit was quite amusing. He still had his questions about Tiny, not one of them having been answered.

What were they? Why were they here? Why hadn’t they shared their name? Why were they so tiny? Why didn’t they have any magic? Why were they so faerie-like, but so different?

They had basic features replicated, though on a much smaller scale, but the only colours that they had as a part of their skin and hair were shades of beige and brown. Their eyes were green, but that was the only colourful thing about them other than their clothes.

They had a noticeable lack of wings. And a noticeable lack of extra limbs. Their ears were rounded rather than pointed, and their teeth had barely any that were sharp.

He had no clue what they were.

He wondered if they felt the same about him. Were they just as clueless as he, when it came to each others’ species? Or did they know more about him than the very little he knew about them?

At the very least, they likely knew how they got here, which Logan didn’t know. He sighed.

A few weeks later, he still knew next to nothing about them. They had become more vocal over the few weeks, though he understood very little. They greeted him when he greeted them, clearly having learnt the greeting from him and Patton (Logan pretended not to be amused at the way they blatantly ignored Janus if he ever tried to say hello to them)

He was still having to resort to calling them Tiny, due to the fact that they still hadn’t shared their name, and any time they tried to ask, they’d freeze up, becoming more nervous again. They’d stopped asking them for it- they clearly had a reason for not sharing it, perhaps something cultural. Logan knew nothing of them.

Janus had not been tormenting them, in Patton’s words, for the past few weeks- at least not at the same extent that he was beforehand.

He was still annoying them, poking and prodding them, and making snide little comments. Janus was banned from being the one to bring them their food, as he’d attempt to annoy them by stealing the food off their plate, often making little comments about how they’d never be able to eat all of it, anyway.

Tiny didn’t often get all pale and scared because of it, anymore, but did often get very visibly annoyed. He noticed that they often crossed their arms when they were annoyed, and they tended to mutter and grumble in their own language.

Logan found the language extremely interesting- but he had not yet figured out the meaning of any words. He hoped that could be remedied at some stage.

He was voicing his concerns about what they were to Janus in a different room than Tiny was in, and doing so quietly- he didn’t entirely know how much Tiny understood at this point- when Janus spoke up.

“Y’know, I think there’s an old folktale about weird little tiny people, maybe that could give some insight,” he said, absentmindedly, as though this wasn’t information that might’ve been useful a while ago “I’m sure from what I remember that it matches at least a little with Tiny,”

Logan stared at him a few moments.

“And you didn’t tell me about this weeks ago?” He asked, barely concealing his annoyance.

Janus shrugged, checking his nails “Never came up,”

Logan groaned.

“Alright,” he said through gritted teeth, trying not to shout at him for deciding that this wasn’t important information. “I’m going to go to the library and look up different stories. You will stay here, okay?”

Janus looked up from his nails in disbelief.

“What? On my own?” He asked, with wide eyes.

Logan nodded, grabbing his bag.

“Tiny won’t like that,” Janus replied, with a forcefully smooth tone, which suggested that he was also nervous about the idea.

Logan ignored that.

“Then don’t bother them,” he responded shortly, beginning to leave.

Truth be told, he also wasn’t 100% on board with the idea of Tiny and Janus being on their own here, but he also didn’t like the idea of Tiny being actually alone. Patton was out for a while, tending to some plants for the day as a favour

It didn’t take long for Logan to fly to the library, luckily. He brought out three books of folk tales and began reading, searching for any mention of tiny people.

It took an hour or two before he found it, but Janus was right. It matched up. It was one of the less popular stories, and it was old.

The tale detailed a race of tiny people from another world. Non-magical, and fragile. There was an illustration of one of these ‘humans’ and Logan was almost startled by how similar it looked to Tiny. He carried on reading.

There was some kind of natural portal between the worlds, only activated by certain actions. And then he read part of the tale that had one of his questions answered, but left him extremely concerned.

Humans, according to all recollections of the tale, have no magic. But they do have something strange; something in them reacts with faerie magic, meaning that they can be controlled if you learn their name. Most humans in the tales couldn’t speak, so it’s supposedly hard to wrest the information from them, but they could become a valuable tool if you do find yourself faced with the fabled creature.

Logan read it and reread it again, trying to expel the sour taste in his mouth that came from the words and the implications of them. They could be controlled? No wonder they refused to say their name- they clearly knew about this. It certainly gave him an explanation as to why they got so nervous at the idea of it.

He silently checked out the book and put it in his bag and began flying back to Patton’s house.

Strangely, the rope ladder that Janus liked to use to get in and out of the house due to his lack of wings was down. He ignored that and entered the house

The first thing he noticed when he walked in was that Janus was nowhere to be found. The second thing was that Tiny was asleep on their blanket on the table- their sleep schedule had been very random since he’d first found them, and hadn’t much fixed itself. The third thing he noticed was a note on the kitchen counter

“Something interesting happening a little while away, I’ll be back soon,” he read under his breath, careful not to wake Tiny.

Logan grumbled slightly and watched out of the window for Janus’s return

After a few minutes, he did return, seemingly uncaring to Logan’s disapproving stare

“So, what was so interesting that you left Tiny alone after I specified that you were to stay here?”

Janus rolled his eyes

“Oh please, they were asleep when I left, I doubt they minded. But, you might wanna wake them for this,”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows

“Why,” he asked in a suspicious tone “What was this interesting thing you went out to see?”

Janus grinned and reached into his pocket with one of his hands, bringing out another tiny person. Another human.

This one had slightly paler skin, darker clothes, and different hair. They had strange smudges under their eyes that looked like some form of makeup. And they looked entirely terrified.

He could only see half of their face but what he could see was absolutely filled with fear. He looked away from them and back up to Janus

“What- where did you find them?” He asked desperately, adjusting his glasses

“Just a few minutes walk away from here,” Janus asked, dangling the new human in front of his face

Logan frowned

“I thought you learned from Tiny not to dangle them, it scares them,” he said gesturing for him to place the human down on the table, which Janus did. The human stumbled backwards, eyes flittering between them both with clear and pure terror

Logan and Janus talked between themselves for a few moments, discussing how best to go about this, before deciding to wake Tiny up (something Logan almost never did- he knew they didn’t sleep well), and put the other human on the table with them

Both humans stared at each other but Tiny began to speak, though the second one didn’t at first, still staring at he and Janus, as though they were scared of what would happen to them. Logan pushed his feelings down

He’d have a lot to catch Patton up on when he got back

—

@a-chilly-pepper @da3dm @betamash

[jackdraw-spwrite]

Funerary Rites, Chapter 6

Words: 3334 Characters: Clockwork, Danny Warnings: None

For Ectoberhaunt 2023, Day 23 - Magic

Nothing happened.

Nothing Danny had feared, anyway.

The chill of the water was sweet on his tongue, soothing on its way down his throat. It felt like respite, like clarity, like lemonade on a hot summer day after too long outside.

Danny drank until the cup was empty, and then he refilled it and drank some more. He drank until the crystalline sweet of the water washed away the film on his tongue and in his thoughts.

Read the rest on AO3 or below the readmore:

Or some of it, at least.

Finally, he set the cup back on the countertop with a clack. He hadn't realized how thirsty he'd been.

"Thank you," said Caretaker.

"I didn't do it as a favor to you," Danny said.

"Of course not," soothed Caretaker.

"I would never do you a favor," Danny said, bristling. "I would have to like you for that."

"I see."

"I don't. I hate you."

Caretaker said nothing.

The words should have had an impact. Danny expected them to. Caretaker had been terrifying as he swung seemingly at random between anger and sorrow, the only constant the way he reacted to Danny's fear.

And now, even that had vanished.

"I'm afraid of you," tried Danny again.

There was a minute flinch, but nothing more.

"Have you had enough water?" Caretaker asked.

Was Caretaker ignoring what Danny had said? Danny bristled, took a breath to snarl another insult–

and let it out in a sigh instead. Without responses, hurling insults at Caretaker just made him feel like a little kid.

"For now," he allowed.

Caretaker nodded. "There is still the matter of food."

"No," said Danny.

"No?"

"I mean–" Danny made a wordless sound of aggravation. "I mean, the bread."

"No bread?" Caretaker asked, brow furling.

"No, I. You said there were consequences."

"There always are."

"You just don't know them, sometimes," Danny said, tone acidic.

"Precisely. It is why–"

Danny interrupted him. "And let me guess, you also don't know the consequences for the bread. Conveniently."

"Baking is an art, child. Of course–"

"Of course you won't tell me? Of course you're just going to feed me platitudes until I don't know which way is–"

"Daniel," said Caretaker.

Danny stopped.

Caretaker sighed. "If you would let me finish?"

Tightly, Danny nodded.

"Baking does not produce precise results each time, even for humans. The yeast used, the humidity and temperature of the day and oven, the age of the flour: all of these and more shape the bread humans bake, and not all of them are easily accounted for."

Caretaker placed his hands flat on the table, staring down at the patch of wood still wet from the tea. "It is why skilled human bakers work by feel, as well as by weight. It is why we work by feel as well as by weight."

Caretaker thumbed a surviving scrap of dough, dyed darker by the tea. "But through technique, we can reach something consistent enough. Even in Faerie. Even with the additional complexities our food provides."

Danny fought back the “consistent enough for what?” that wanted to launch itself from his throat. With Caretaker's patience evidently thin, he didn't want to trample on it.

For now.

"So you can tell me what bread will do?" he asked.

"I can tell you what this bread should do, if we make it correctly."

"Not all bread?"

"Not all bread has the same ingredients, even in your world."

Danny had probably known that. He wished he'd gotten more sleep. His brain felt threadbare.

"Okay," he said.

"You wish for me to tell you what the bread might do?"

"Yes," said Danny.

"I will tell you, if you do not purposely disturb the kneading this time."

"Fine." There were other ways to ruin bread, after all. And he wouldn't have to eat it. He hadn’t promised that.

Caretaker's mood lifted considerably with the agreement, and before long he was back to hovering over Danny's shoulder as Danny worked the dough, offering tips.

"If you keep your touch light and quick, it will stick less to your hands," he said.

“Really?” Danny tried it.

It did not.

“Like this,” Caretaker said, and demonstrated.

“You’re cheating,” accused Danny.

“Skill is often mistaken for such.”

Danny huffed, but began kneading the dough again when Caretaker pushed it back towards him.

When, eventually, the dough stopped sticking quite so much to Danny’s hands. He suspected it was less skill and more the kneading being done. When he pulled his hand back it would eventually, reluctantly, peel away.

Danny pushed it a few more times, and then dropped the entire glob into a bowl Caretaker held out for him, which Caretaker then covered and placed near the fire.

Not too near, though. Caretaker fussed with the placement in a way that put Danny in mind of a little old grandma.

"Okay," Danny said after Caretaker had found a satisfactory spot. "You said you'd explain."

"So I did."

Danny waited.

"I did not say when," said Caretaker. He held up a hand before more than a snarl could form on Danny's face. "However, you could offer something in exchange for me telling you within the next five minutes."

"I don't want to give you anything more. I already filled my side of the bargain." Danny frowned. "Twice."

"Twice?"

"This was already in the contract, wasn't it?"

"Food served to me between my departure from and return to the human world must have any and all consequences of consumption explained, if I request it, to the best of your ability?" Caretaker quoted.

"How do you remember that?" Danny asked.

"It is a skill. But no, it is not in the agreement. Right now, it is only food in potential. I would not be forced to explain it to you until I served it, and then only if you asked."

"Okay, fine. Once, then."

"You didn't specify when," said Caretaker.

"I didn't think I needed to," Danny said, frustration building again.

"And with someone other than myself, such assumptions could seriously hurt or kill you."

Oh. Right.

Danny swallowed. There was…that was a lot to think about. Especially right now.

He shoved the idea to the side to deal with when he was home. Or never. Possibly never. Preferably, even.

"Okay, okay,” Danny said. “If I give you something, you have to tell me, starting when I give it to you."

"Acceptable."

Danny gave Caretaker his water cup.

Caretaker's countenance cracked into a grin. "The bread," he said, and stopped.

"What?" Danny asked, outraged.

"Has,"

"Wait," Danny said, eyes narrowed.

"Several," said Caretaker. His smile grew.

"You said 'within five minutes' when you were suggesting what I could give you to get the explanation now."

"Ingredients," said Caretaker, encouragingly.

"But I only said 'starting now,' didn't I?” Danny asked. ”I didn't put a time limit on the end."

"Which results in?"

"You're saying it super slow to mess with me."

"Several consequences."

Danny huffed, blowing some hair out of his face. "You want me to make another deal, right?"

"Wheat," agreed Caretaker.

Danny looked around the kitchen to the sound of Caretaker saying "brings," "an," "element," and "of." The fireplace was still lit, flames low and steady. The tables and counters were still mostly clean, the only mess from the previous ill-fated attempts at bread.

"The hearth," said Caretaker.

Danny went over to it, and knelt. So close, the warmth of the flame melted under his skin, chasing away the morning cool of the kitchen.

"Hospitality," said Caretaker.

The kettle was set to the side. It was heavy with water when Danny picked it up, weighing it in his hands and in his head.

"You would need to explain the tea, if you offered it and I asked," Danny said. "And, you want to give me the tea."

And tea was mostly water. Whatever consequences were in it, they'd probably be less than what was in the bread. Assuming the whole food…thing made sense.

Which it probably didn't.

"And companionship."

Danny ignored that. "I'm not going to promise to drink the tea. That would be dumb. But you're probably not going to let me just say you can make it."

Danny thought so, at least.

"Salt," and "intensifies" passed before he came to a conclusion. Caretaker could be trying to lead him down a path Danny didn't want. He probably was.

“Flame.”

Danny bit his lip. Trying to think of anything else was like trying to catch wind with his hands, though. Now that the idea of the tea was in his head, it was hard to think about other options.

“Purifies, refines, transmutes. Extracts.”

"What if I said I'd listen?" Danny asked.

Caretaker cocked his head, eyes glimmering with interest.

"And, um. If I had a problem with it, I'd tell you why?"

Caretaker tipped his head.

That was probably a yes.

"If you explain the consequences of eating the bread, and you do it at…" Danny frowned A normal pace? That could probably be misinterpreted.. "If you space your words like me, in this conversation…wait."

Caretaker waited.

"If you explain the likely consequences for me if I eat the specific loaf of bread that we're making, and you do it by timing your words like I'm doing now, and you start the explanation within a minute after I ask, then I'll listen to your explanation about the tea and explain to you what my problems are with it. If any exist."

Caretaker was silent. Expectant.

There was something Danny was missing.

"I won't refuse to drink it until after I've heard the explanation?"

"Finally," Caretaker said, shaking his head. Darn.

"I won't refuse to drink it before I've heard the explanation," said Danny.

"Yeast," Caretaker nodded, and held out a hand.

Danny shook it.

"Good job," Caretaker said. "There are still a few holes in that agreement, but it's much more tightly phrased."

Danny ignored the praise. "The explanation?" he asked.

The corners of Caretaker's eyes wrinkled in approval. "And good attention to detail. Very well, let me set the water on to boil, and I will explain."

The kettle was refilled, then hooked to hang over the fire. Caretaker gestured Danny over to a pair of chairs a little ways away, and when Danny sat he steepled his fingers.

"Bread," Caretaker said, "this bread, will reinforce the roles of host and guest between us, and the rules of hospitality."

"Didn't you say those were really complicated?"

Caretaker smiled. "They can be," he said. "It would be difficult indeed for you to fill the role of a guest correctly, without the required knowledge. But there are reasons for our traditions. It will help you to fulfill the correct actions for your role."

"Help?" asked Danny, trying to fill the word with the skepticism he felt.

"Yes, help."

"Define help."

"Very well done," Caretaker said, corners of his eyes wrinkling in pleasure again. "English is such a treacherous language. I could have hidden quite the trap within that word."

"But you didn't?" asked Danny.

"I did not. The help would be a nudge. You could ignore it, were it even strong enough to notice."

Danny frowned.

"There is another option," said Caretaker. "If we shared it, if we broke bread together, instead of me serving it to you, then it would build camaraderie between us."

"Which would…?"

"It would simply make our conversations less strained. I believe you have noticed the conflict."

Noticed? Danny had been fostering most of it.

Not that Caretaker didn't deserve it.

Danny was silent as he thought. He didn't really like either option. But if that was all they did, then they were what he'd asked for. Neither would bind him to Faerie.

"How long does it last?" asked Danny.

"It depends," said Caretaker, then at a sharp look from Danny, added, "but guest rights and responsibilities end when the guest departs. The bond of broken bread will linger longer, but even those who do so together for years will find its influence faded after only a decade or two."

Faded after a decade, but not gone. A decade or two.

Danny didn't want to feel companionship for Caretaker. He especially didn't want it to last.

"The host thing, then."

Caretaker raised a brow. "Are you sure?"

Danny paused. "Maybe?" he said.

The kettle chose then to begin whistling, and Caretaker stood. "Do not feel rushed to decide," he said. "You will be free to choose the one you prefer when we eat."

And with that, he attended to the tea.

.

"I was thinking we would garden while the bread rose," said Caretaker, still chipper. "The gardens are in disrepair, after all." With a fluid motion, he poured the tea into first one cup, and then the other.

"Sorry," said Danny. He even was, a little. He’d forgotten how Caretaker used to play with him when he was little and lost and scared.

Caretaker didn't respond. Instead, he set the teapot back down and turned away to fiddle with some herbs.

Danny wondered if Caretaker was pretending he hadn't heard. Was it a mistake to apologize to fae? He couldn't remember.

"Here," said Caretaker, and placed a sprig of…something on one of the saucers before pushing it in Danny's direction. The other two, he placed on his own saucer.

Danny pulled the tea closer and looked skeptically into his cup. The liquid inside tinted the inside with a warm brown, still transparent enough to see clear through to the bottom, and Danny was put in mind of the green tea they served at the Chinese place his parents would take them to as a celebration sometimes.

Gosh, he wanted egg rolls. Rice. Some orange chicken, or sweet and sour soup, or…

Danny swallowed. He really didn't need to think about food right now.

The tea was something he could focus on. So close to it, the vapor rising off the surface curled warm and thick under his nose. It was filled with a hodgepodge of aromas that combined into something herbal and sweet and tangy.

Danny opened his eyes again, and discovered that Caretaker was using the sprigs to stir his tea. The motion would have been fascinating to watch if it didn't evoke the image of the world's largest and most undesired spider doing the same.

"Why are you doing that?" Danny asked.

Caretaker looked up, the ghost of a smile still on his face. "Stirring my tea?" he asked.

"With the sticks, yeah."

"I didn't want to serve you the tea with them already infused," said Caretaker, as though that explained anything.

Danny felt irritation start to fizz under his skin again. "Fine," he said. "What does the tea do?"

"Oh," said Caretaker, and the smile melted away. "I had forgotten."

"You forgot what the tea does?"

"No! No, something else..." He trailed off. "I am able to tell you about the tea."

Danny wanted to ask what Caretaker had forgotten. How could it possibly be hard to remember Danny was out of his depth? 

He didn't.

Instead, he turned the cup in its saucer as Caretaker explained.

"It should give you hope, and a little vitality–an infusion like this is weaker than the herb itself, but it also can extract some things better than others. The balance changes."

"Hope and vitality?" Danny asked.

"You are afraid. And you are tired. But, not much hope."

"Because it's an…infusion?"

"Among other reasons. Hope can be a heady thing indeed. I find I prefer a more moderate amount in my blends."

Danny leaned forward to take a deeper whiff, or perhaps a sip.

Caretaker's hand folded itself around his wrist, and Danny stopped.

"That is not everything."

"What else, then?" Danny asked. Confusion warred with revulsion in his head. He pulled his arm out of Caretaker's hand.

"The hope is given by snowdrops, the vitality by amaranth."

"And? Are they poisonous or something?" Danny didn't even know what those were.

"Not when properly prepared."

Danny did not want to be playing a game of 'poison or not.’ Unfortunately, the universe didn’t seem to care.

"Are they properly prepared?"

"Yes," said Caretaker. He managed to look almost offended at the suggestion. "I would not violate guest right so lightly."

"Okaay."

"There is also coltsfoot."

"Um."

“It should not be poisonous in the quantity present.”

“Um.”

"Yes?"

"Shouldn't be poisonous?"

"Most medicines are poisons, too," said Caretaker. "In sufficient dosages. This one I thought you'd like."

"But I'm not sick," protested Danny.

"And yet you seek a remedy for your parents' predicament."

"That's different," said Danny.

"Is it?" Caretaker took a sip of tea, and closed his eyes. "Ah. Coltsfoot brings justice."

Danny frowned. "You said it was poisonous, though."

"In sufficient quantities."

"Why would that be poisonous?"

"Justice? Poisonous? I suspect you have little wish to discuss such philosophical questions when you are so poorly rested."

Danny didn't even want to discuss philosophy things when he was well rested. “I don’t see what that has to do with poison, though.”

“If you drink only a cup, it will not poison you.”

“What about two?”

Caretaker smiled. “Even the whole pot should not poison you. I drink this daily. It is one of my preferred teas.”

“And…it wouldn’t be more poisonous to me than you?”

“You’re smaller,” pointed out Caretaker. “That, among other things, would affect it. But I can see no reason it might harm you. If I could, I would not be serving it to you.”

Danny nodded. That…made sense. There was the contract.

Then he frowned, recounting. "So it’s…vitality, and hope, and justice?"

"And morning."

"Morning," said Danny. That was odd, but…it was morning, right then. It was probably some kind of fae breakfast tea thing. He was pretty sure Jazz had kept some kind of breakfast tea in the kitchen at one point.

"Yes," said Caretaker. He'd closed his eyes again as he took another sip. "Mostly morning, in fact."

"Okay," said Danny. "And what does that do to me?"

"It helps you morn. Encourages it. Waters it, like a vine."

"Which iiiissss…. It's not anything weird, is it?"

"Humans morn. Most humans morn."

"....Huh."

"And I have morned for a long time."

Danny made a polite little noise of comprehension, not sure how to tell Caretaker that he didn't think he was the best measure of normal.

"And that's all?" he asked.

"It should ease thirst, and perhaps wet your lips. And clothes, should you make a mess. And it will warm you where it touches you."

"It will?"

"It is warm." Caretaker indicated the steam still rising from Danny’s cup.

"Oh."

Danny contemplated the tea for a moment more. But it really didn't seem like there was anything terrible in it. And Caretaker was drinking it, so it couldn't be too poisonous. And of the things he'd listed, only the morning seemed odd.

Danny probably could just eat bread for his whole stay here, and drink water. But if he was going to eat bread, something like this was a lot less…substantial, probably. There was a lot less plant in it, at least. It might be a good way to figure out what eating the bread would be like, when he eventually did.

So.

Danny brought the cup to his lips, and it was bright and floral.

He took a sip, and another.

He set the cup back down, and thought, trying to feel at the hope, or the justice, or the–

There was a void in his chest. There was a void in the world, great and desolate and terrible. Danny brought a hand to his chest, only peripherally aware of the ragged gasps he was taking as he looked up at Caretaker through suddenly wet and stinging eyes.

Caretaker looked back, a faint and rueful smile on his face. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

 "As I said, it is mostly mourning," Caretaker said. "It is a stronger blend than most prefer. But one, I think, well suited to a funeral."

[one-winged-dreams]

I'M GONNA DIIIIIIIIE, OKAY.

OKAY

tag list: @dearly-beeloved @camellias-and-coriander @rebel-wolf13 @sunstar-of-the-north @mahitoslittlebird @goldenworldsabound @edencantstopfallininlove @sosoftandsweet @dorothys-wife @faerie-circle-ships @kylars-princess

Hereeee's the fic to go along with the picture, it's v important.

It seemed like time stretched on forever when they were like this, this singular instance in the ever-flowing eternity locked in place until it would inevitably be forced to move onward.

As time always did.

Sunlight through the window was the first whisper of the evident crawl forward, but a romantic enough way to awaken in the arms of a lover.

And thus did Adriel's lashes flutter open by only the thinnest margin, allowing his eyes to adjust to the warm light. The sight of the bedroom he shared with the one most important to him was never unwelcome, a reminder of how things had transpired since the days he would awaken to do Shinra's bidding.

But even then had he been able to say his mornings were everything he could ever want, always starting here, in Angeal's arms.

"How long have you been awake?" Adriel murmured softly, his notion rewarded by a gentle squeeze.

"Not too long. I'd guess about ten minutes," Angeal spoke groggily against his flesh, his face buried in the spot between Adriel's neck and shoulder.

Closing his eyes again, Adriel's lips upturned into a gentle smile.

"Sorry if I kept you waiting," he replied, not bothering to tell Angeal that he could have just gotten out of bed without him. Too many times had the notion been immediately dismissed.

"Don't apologize when you have nothing to be sorry for," Angeal half-scolded. "You know I could lay here with you forever."

Adriel giggled, his smile widening. "I would take you up on that in an instant."

He heard Angeal hum softly, the arm wrapped around Adriel's waist firmly pulling his body against his own.

"Really? Forever? Just you and me, right here?" his tone dropped an octave, and as he placed a small kiss on his shoulder, Adriel shivered a bit.

"Yes. Forever," Adriel nearly whispered, his heart-warming him so deeply he wondered if Angeal could feel it.

"Even after everything," Angeal placed another kiss, "Forever?" And then another, "Would you promise me?"

So caught up in the moment was he, that Adriel didn't for a moment question the sudden surge of intimacy Angeal was expressing. He let out a small, content sigh, pressing himself back against Angeal as firmly as he could, forever yearning to be as close as possible and even then, more so.

"I promise. Always."

Angeal pressed his lips against his sensitive flesh one last time, and Adriel felt his left hand rise up to presumably intertwine with his own.

But intertwine they did not. In this instance fixed in time, in the point of eternity that hinged on a single answer, Adriel felt warm metal encompass his finger. His breath caught in his throat, and his lashes parted wide, only able to stare into the bedroom he had wanted to wake up in every morning. Every morning with the same person.

"Angeal…?" he whispered.

And Angeal's hand enclosed around his.

________________________

"AND??? What did he say!?" Zack was practically vibrating, eyes wide and brow furrowed in anticipation.

Angeal could only smirk and let out an amused huff at the fittingly puppy-like eagerness. He had expected as much when he relayed to him the events of that morning.

Fixing Zack with a smirk of confidence, he offered his ambiguous answer.

"What do you think?"

[ladyhindsight]

The latest chapter included many a bullshit and onward we go. We left Isabelle blackout drunk at Jordan's, Clary escaping Magnus' place via Portal, Simon at the Greenwich Hotel partaking in a job interview with Raphael who wants an indestructible bodyguard. Great. This chapter also greatly reveals how Clare sees the issues Clary faces in comparison to Isabelle's, and I am disgusted.

We now cut to Clary at Taki's waiting for Simon because it is the only Shadow World restaurant in the whole city of New York. Why visit any place else anyway? Simon arrives, his jokes don't land, and he gets concerned:

→ As much so that it needs repetition.

→ The bell as a gift from the Seelie Queen is mentioned in the very first chapter and recapped there. It is even written: "Clary remembered the words of the faerie girl who had handed her the bell." Clary tells Simon about "Kaelie's visit to Luke and Jocelyn’s reception, and her promises to Clary about the Seelie Queen’s help" in the chapter 2 "Thorns" of this book.

Ample opportunity to mention it was Kaelie who gifted the bell on behalf of the queen instead of cramming that information right there as if the readers can't keep up. We know who she is, we know what was her role in this. Hence:

→ It was Kaelie, (the blue-eyed faerie waitress,) who looked at Clary and grinned, a superior grin...

As I said, it is unfortunate there is no place else to go where Kaelie can't show off her happiness over Clary's dismay. Because they serve blood there but apparently there is no place else in the New York that serves also blood

But Simon isn't crying, even the edgy tears of blood. Clare has an annoying habit of delivering information with justifications that only weaken the purpose of delivering that information in the first place.

True, but I love to assign blame, especially to Jace and Clary, because the writing sure does not do it.

Clary tells Simon of her grand plan of infiltrating with Sebastian and Jace. She reveals where she went off to after leaving Magnus' place: She went to steal the faerie rings (conveniently mentioned only in this book once they became relevant to the plot) from the Institute library. They then test them out.

Brother Zachariah spoke to them in the previous chapter, it makes sense to call back to the similarity of that. But also now that Clare's intent on tying TID with TMI is more evident by the book, it also (to me) feels like forcing a mention of the characters or things from TID at every possible opportunity. Especially since Brother Zachariah is barely the first of Silent Brothers Clary has spoken to (or who have spoken to Clary).

→ the way she/they (as in everyone) heard the Silent Brothers → the way the Silent Brothers spoke

What I don't understand and the writing never cares to explain in this moment is why Alec and Isabelle aren't included in this part of the plan. How I see it, they'd rather throw Clary at any opportunity of getting Jace back than worry for her. Nothing in their relationship (because it barely exists) would make them side with Simon and be apprehensive of her safety versus getting Jace back.

We then cut to Maia visiting Jordan, and everything is awful.

Imagine making someone carrying a backpack of all things all about you.

Maia has arrived to Jordan's place to ask for help. Isabelle then pops up, and the three of them talk about the current situation with Luke and Jace. Maia delivers Isabelle a message from Magnus, asking Jordan to reach out to the Praetor Lupus.

A werewolf dying is not an affair of the Clave.

Not that long since they are already making out in a car in the next chapter. I remember Clary and Jace being the most difficult ones to read but no, everything to do with Jordan is just suffering.

Then Isabelle says: "I want my brother,” she said. “I want to see Alec." And Maia says: “Well, that’s good,” Maia said. “Because after Magnus called me, he sent a follow-up text. He said he had a feeling you’d be here, and he had a message for you. He wants you to go to his apartment in Brooklyn, right away.” This will be relevant just a bit from here.

We then cut to Isabelle arriving at Magnus' place.

This reads weird. It's like three things loosely related to each other strung together. The pause if a bit iffy when 'though' appears as a subordinating conjunction in the middle of a sentence.

→ The warmth came from a fire leaping in the grated fireplace though there were no chimneys in the building, but the fire had (or did have) the blue-green tinge of enchanted flame.

→ The warmth came from a fire leaping in the grated fireplace. There were no chimneys in the building, but the fire had the blue-green tinge of enchanted flame.

It just seems too convoluted way of saying there was an enchanted fire in the fireplace that has no chimney leading out.

Because Alec is barefoot (important detail) it is essential to mention what he is wearing. Also this book does this with basically everyone who appears for the first time.

MAGNUS. He was wearing what for Magnus was a somber ensemble—jeans and a black T-shirt with rivets around the collar and cuffs. + His hair was wet, dripping onto the shoulders of his white shirt and making it transparent. He wore jeans with holes in them and fraying hems + the canary yellow pajamas and green alien slippers with antennae

CLARY. She was wearing jeans and rubber-soled sneakers, and a soundless rune was carved into her ankle.

JORDAN. wearing a green shirt that hugged his leanly muscled body in all the right places and brought out the hazel color of his eyes. *barf* + Jordan stood behind her, wearing dark jeans and a black sweater half-zipped over a green T-shirt.

ISABELLE. Isabelle sat atop one of the boulders, wearing a long dress of bottle-green silk with an embroidered black and silver coat over it + She wore black suede knee-high boots, tight jeans, and a red silky top with her familiar red pendant around her throat

ALEC. He was wearing his usual ratty sweater and jeans, but a dark blue scarf that matched his eyes was wrapped around his throat + He wore a long leather duster open over a blue sweater

SEBASTIAN. He wore a white shirt, the sleeves pulled up + Sebastian had been wearing a long black wool trench coat that had looked expensive.

JACE. His hands were careless in the pockets of his jeans, his Marks visible through his white T-shirt. Over it was thrown an unfamiliar tan suede jacket that brought out the gold undertones to his skin. + Jace’s clothes had been clean, stylish, ordinary + He wore a dark blue sweater that made his hair look like sunlight.

MAIA. She was wearing jeans and a caramel-colored leather jacket, and her hair was pulled up behind her head with bronze chopsticks

CAMILLE. She wore a neat black suit now with high-heeled red shoes, and her hair spilled down her shoulders in waves and curls.

→ It's not wrong or any sort of error to describe what your characters are wearing, it shows the character's persona, but I feel like I am now constantly reading what everyone here is wearing any given day.

Where Clare reveals the issues are hierarchical. Just in previous chapter 6 "No Weapon in this World" where they discuss Jocelyn and Isabelle going to the Iron Sisters, Magnus literally says:

"It's late, and we don't need to wake her up. Everyone needs rest. If I am to send any of you through to the Iron Sisters, it will be tomorrow.”

But then Maia tells Isabelle Magnus wants her there right away? Everyone needs rest, except Isabelle. Because Isabelle did not witness her 9-year-old little brother brutally murdered when she should've been the one to protect him (just weeks ago), doesn't have his brother missing and in a demonic bond with the enemy, doesn't have any problems that could even supersede whatever Clary is going through any given moment. A proper answer to Isabelle's question:

→ "I know, I'm sorry. But we do need you." (Because Alec just previous to this says, "Don’t go to pieces. We need you.”

Also great how Isabelle isn't afforded to "go to pieces" but Clary is allowed all the tears and temper tantrums in the world.

→ The classic "As you know" when delivering information to the readers. Here Alec is delivering information they both have known for their whole lives basically. They don't need to explain this to each other. Also why do they only speak to women? They were all once regular Nephilim that spoke to also men. What is the reason for this?

→ Jocelyn's motivation for going is incredibly unclear. She isn't going for Jace because she doesn't give a crap about him aside from when it concerns Clary's happiness and Jace has barely made Clary's life happy with his antics. All I can assume is that she wants Sebastian dead for all he has done and she knows he'll do with the added bonus of not not killing Jace in the process.

→ Jocelyn is such a plot device. How come Jocelyn ever possessed one of the greatest magical books of all time? We don't know but the plot demands it. How come Jocelyn has visited the Adamant Citadel before and for what reason? No idea but she needs to go as a tour guide for Isabelle.

Alec just said, "in the morning." ↑

Magnus takes Isabelle to her room and hilarity ensues.

For someone who steals coffee and constantly changes his furniture in a whim, it's weird that Magnus can't magic himself proper curtain holders. Convenient for unfunny quips.

→ Great how Alec's emotional life is common knowledge apparently?

→ How is the writing so self-aware at points but refuses to apply this logic to characters like Jace? Because bias, and Jace is worth the destruction of everyone else's happiness.

PARABATAI? Parabatai. Parabatai? Parabatai.

Oh stooop, you're spoiling us with this much parabatai talk about Jace and Alec. But oh no, it's really not about Jace and Alec at all. It's another opportunity for Clare to flaunt Will and Jem and their bond (and make yet another TID reference). This in actuality has nothing more to do with Jace and Alec than having to mention their bond because parabatai exist again in the series.

→ Fuck yeah there ain't! Finally Isabelle standing up for Alec. Now let's implement this to arguments with Jace and Clary as well.

→ Love and blood are not the same, said the Seelie Queen once. You think Isabelle of all people needs to ask Clary shit about this. Isabelle could say the same thing about Jace, that of course Jace loves her, she is his sister. And then there is no bullshit argument like this where everything once again revolves around Clary.

We cut to Clary at Luke's house, baiting Jace to come and get her. She tests out the faerie ring with Simon and they say their goodbyes for the time being. There's this part after they finish their talk:

And that was all. There was no click, as when you hung up a phone; Clary just sensed a severing of their connection, as if a cord had been cut inside her head. She wondered if this was what Alec meant when he talked about the breaking of the parabatai bond.

Yes, their parabatai bond is so shitty is might as well be equated to ending a faerie ring telephone call.

Cut to Simon arriving at Magnus' place also because that is were everyone is gathering in this chapter to snooze. He gets in the bed with Isabelle and makes important discoveries:

Again, convenient magic does not act conveniently when it comes to repair work.

Then we cut back to Clary, and Jace arrives to take her.

And honestly, from what I remember the whole book is going to feel like this endless long time with Jace and Clary's adventures with evil brother. With Clary leaving with Jace, the chapter ends and the first part of the book is finished. A positive note I can make is that at least the part one "No Evil Angel" is somewhat coherent part of the book and makes a clear cut between the beginning of the story and whatever bullcrap comes next.