#lightning in a bottle

[wanderingblindly]

what’s the WIP you’re working on? :)

It's a sliiiiiiiiiiight future fic, set in 2026!!

It was originally inspired by some adorable art from @09ausgp, who I cherish very much. I've accidentally made it.... a bit... angstier than the art would suggest, but i had C A US E !!!

The general idea is that Oscar won the title in 2025 and, though the details are left vague, their relationship didn't make it out. Lando's bitter, resentful, and wants nothing more than to bury Oscar alive in 2026. And Oscar's... unknown, to Lando.

There's an element of forced proximity that pulls them back together: they accidentally stumble into a pre-race ritual that makes them drive like never before.

So of course they keep doing it!! And of course spending time together brings up a whole messy tangle of emotions!!! and of course they love each other!!!!!!!

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 6

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, Elain bashing, Visions of the future, also probably no update tomorrow

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

“It will be fine,” Cassian told him. 

Again. Cassian had already told him that multiple times. 

He had washed his mate’s blood from his hands…from underneath his fingernails. Eira’s blood. All over his hands. Literally and figuratively.

“Azriel,” Cassian said quietly, once again, trying to get him to give him something. “She’ll be fine. Madja is the best at what she does. She managed to save my wings. That poisoned knife was probably nothing more than a nuisance for Madja.”

A nuisance? The shadows hissed sharply. Our mate took a poisoned knife between her ribs nearly to her heart! And he says it’s just a nuisance?!

“I should have taken that knife,” Azriel whispered. 

He should have taken that knife. Him. 

Not her. Not Eira. Not…

“Azriel,” Cassian said quietly. 

“I should be the one,“ he insisted. “It’s my fault.” If he had just told her the day before. If he had just been there…if they had pushed that meeting at the Court of Nightmares…maybe if…

“How is this possibly your fault?” Cassian asked with a sigh. “Rhys asked you to wait, did he not? Wouldn’t that make it his fault?”

It wasn’t Rhys’ fault. It was on Azriel. Azriel’s mate was lying there, fighting for her life and he could do absolutely nothing to make this easier for her. At least Rhys could try and take her pain away…but Azriel? 

“Quite frankly, the fault is with Keir,” Cassian said quietly. “He was the one who wanted to kill Nyx. Eira was just collateral damage.”

What?

“She’s not just collateral damage,” Azriel growled, his hand twitching to Truthteller's hilt without even thinking about it. 

Eira wasn’t just a thing, wasn’t just a number, wasn’t just a…

Cassian seemed to realise how badly worded that was, but Azriel was already so fucking angry. 

“Az,” Cassian said quietly, holding up his hands. “That’s not how I meant that. I only meant that she was that for Keir.”

“She’s my mate!” Azriel spat out. His mate. 

Even when he didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve to even look at her after what had happened. 

“I know,” Cassian said quietly. “I know, Az.”

He reached out hesitantly, clasping Azriel’s shoulder…jostling him with his wing…Trying and failing to ground him in the here and now, when all Azriel could think about was the feeling of Eira’s limp hand against his lips, the scent of her blood, the grey pallor of her skin…

“Amren is back,” Cassian said nearly thoughtfully, but Azriel ignored that, going back to staring at his hands, at the gnarled scars that covered them…the absolutely ruined scar tissue that covered them and made them look like they belonged to a monster. 

How…How in the world had the Mother thought it to be prudent to mate him to Eira? To Eira with her milk-pale, freckled, perfect skin…the epitome of a lady? 

How…

Rhys’ mental voice snapped through his mind at that:  *Dining Room. Now.*

He didn’t sound…Rhys sounded angry. 

Something had happened. 

It took less than a minute for them all to find their place in the dining room, Nyx upstairs with the wraiths, probably the only non-members of the Inner Circles that Feyre and Rhys would be willing to let near Nyx for the foreseeable future. 

“Do you want to tell us what exactly your problem is?” Amren asked, crossing her arms and Rhys stared at her, violet eyes sharp. 

“My problem?” he repeated, his voice velvet soft, betraying the anger that lay beneath it. “Amren, your reaction to Eira laying in her bed a few hours after being stabbed is that she’s finally turning out to be interesting!”

What? 

The shadows swirled tighter around him, a hissing running through them. They had never trusted Amren in the first place and right now that…that was just strengthening their stand. 

“She is finally turning out to be interesting. I have never heard of anybody controlling lightning,” Amren defended herself with a roll of her eyes. 

What? 

“Eira controlled lightning?” Cassian repeated, the question he also had. “Eira?” 

She did, Master, the shadows agreed. She was sublime. 

Lightning. She had controlled it? Like Nesta controlled the Silver Flames of Death? 

“Eira killed these males?” Feyre asked, sounding shocked. 

“She completely magically exhausted herself in the process,” Rhys agreed with a sigh. 

“I didn’t think she would ever…be able to do anything,” Mor admitted quietly and his hands turned into fists. Anything? Eira did a lot of things that neither Mor nor any other member of their family could do.  

“We’ll need to train her,” Amren said. “She has…untapped potential.”

“No,” Nesta snapped, quicker than he even could open his mouth. “You are not doing this to my sister. Eira does not want to be a soldier.”

No. Eira…Eira liked things soft and gentle and not…she didn’t want to fight. And nobody would make her do that as long as Azriel was alive. 

“We’ll talk to her, she’ll be…reasonable,” Amren said with a shrug.

“No, you won’t. I won’t have it,” Nesta hissed. 

“Nesta…” Feyre said quietly, thoughtfully, but Nesta cut her off. 

“The first time you killed a deer and she prepared it for dinner, she spent three hours crying hysterically in our back garden afterwards,” Nesta snapped. “I am not letting you take this from her.”

He hadn’t known that. There were so many things that he didn’t know about Eira…so many questions he had never gotten to ask her, so many questions that just…

“She already killed three males,” Feyre said quietly. 

She had. Though Azriel thought that killing in pure self-defense was something different than going into a fight and knowing that you would kill. Two very different mindsets. 

“Which just proves my point, she’s dangerous,” Amren agreed. 

And he was done. 

“So am I,” Azriel snapped. “You are not turning Eira into anything she doesn’t want.”

“She would agree,” Amren said with a roll of her eyes. 

Of course, Eira would agree to that particular request. 

“Of course, she would agree. She always just tried to make everybody’s life easier!” Nesta snapped, slapping her hands flat onto the table, as Cassian reached out to soothe his mate and she ignored the hand he carefully placed on her arm. 

“This is not up for discussion, Amren,” Rhys finally said evenly. “Eira is terrified of you. You are not going to request anything from her, because it wouldn’t be a request.” He sighed. “And that’s not what I wanted to talk about either.”

“You don’t want to talk about Feyre’s sister suddenly being able to summon lightning and having killed three elite soldiers in the process?” Mor asked with a snort. 

“Would you stop it?” Nesta asked, her voice sharp. “She’s not just Feyre’s sister or Azriel’s mate. Eira is her own fucking person!”

It was biting and razor sharp and Azriel swallowed. 

She was right.  Nesta was right. Of course, she was. 

“Nesta is right,” Rhys agreed, something that made everybody at the table sit up straight because these words were exceedingly rare. If not nearly unheard. Rhys and Nesta agree…it must be dire. “I would like to talk about the fact that Eira has spent the last 3 years so fucking miserable that that being pulled into her mind made me throw up…because it’s a neverending repeat of her feeling worthless and useless and like she’s not allowed to take up any room.”

What? 

What?

Eira had felt like this? His mate had felt like this?!

When had she felt like this? How? 

He watched Feyre’s blue eyes fill with tears…watched as she stared at her mate. 

“She hasn’t said anything. Why wouldn’t she say anything?” Feyre asked, her voice shaking. “Rhys?” 

“Because we gave her absolutely no reason why she should trust us, Feyre Darling. None of us,” Rhys answered with a sigh. “Her shields are nonexistent. I wasn’t careful and she dragged me into her memories. By the time I finally got to pull myself out, it already had been…”

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Mor said, crossing her arms. 

“So you didn’t say that as far as cauldron blessed went she’s useless? And you didn’t say that while at dinner, where we all heard it, or and we all laughed?” Rhys cut her off sharply. “Do not absolve yourself of the blame, Morrigan. This is on all of us.”

What? Had he been there? He couldn’t remember. he couldn’t….this had happened and he couldn’t…

It happened, Master, the shadows hissed. More happened too, Master. None of you have done anything to make her feel welcome or appreciated in…months, if not years. She has cried often. 

“Show me,” Feyre demanded at that moment. 

“She already lost enough of her privacy.” Nesta’s disagreed, her voice frosty. Azriel watched that particular match of minds carefully. Did he...

Yes. He wanted to know. He needed to know. What had he done? How badly had he fucked up? 

“Show me,” Feyre repeated.  “If she’s angry, It’s my fault. I’ll take her blame,” she told Rhys fiercely. “But show me, show us…when…”

Rhys sighed, but when he looked at Feyre, and Azriel watched the moment where he must have placed Eia’s memory in Feyre's mind as she clasped her hand in front of her mouth, her eyes welling over with tears. 

He looked over to Mor, who just nodded…then Amren, then Nesta…then Cassian…Azriel watched his brother steel himself, and then the way his expression crumbled. 

He felt Rhys’ mental touch against his shields…*Az…Are you sure you want this?* Rhys asked and he just… 

*Yes.*

The memory was dropped into his mind. 

Blue velvet box. Winter solstice. 

Pearl Earrings. Beautiful. So beautiful. 

But for her…for her useless. Her ears weren’t pierced. 

He hadn’t even noticed that. It hurt worse than even his smiles at her sister. 

He had brought her a gift…but it wasn’t a gift that she could use, no gift that…no gift that was special to her…no thought behind it…jsut an item on a list to be checked off. 

Something for Eira. Beautiful and Impersonal and…

No attention paid to her. 

She didn’t deserve his attention. Never. 

But she wanted it. Just once…

Please, Please, Please, Please…

Azriel’s hands turned into fists. 

He remembered these earrings. Of course, he did. 

Each consisted out of one round diamond with a perfect oval pearl dropping from it. 

He had bought them for Eira. Had picked them out in fact. Had thought that they were…modest but elegant…simple but beautiful…that they would suit her so well. 

And he had only bought them after he had asked Elain what Eira would like for Solstice. 

And Elain had told him…had told him that Eira wanted earrings. That she had been thinking about having her ears pierced. And of course, Azriel hadn’t thought closer about it then…Neither had his shadows. They had believed Elain. 

Believed Elain’s pretty words. 

“You lied to me,” he spat out, his words so sudden, so menacing that it made everybody stop in their tracks…the shadows reached out, lengthening and he tightened his hold on them as he fixed Elain…beautiful Elain with his hard green eyes. 

Elain who always acted so soft…so sweet…

But she had done this on purpose. 

“What?” she squeaked out. 

“You lied to me, Elain,” he repeated, his voice hoarse with anger.  “I bought Eira these earrings because you said she wanted them. I knew that she couldn’t wear them. I knew her ears weren’t pierced, but you told me she wanted to do that, so I bought them for her. And instead, she thinks that I never cared enough to notice that about her?”

“Cauldron,” Rhys breathed. 

“Why?” Azriel bit out. Elain stared at him, brown eyes hard, lips pursed. 

“Does it matter? It’s Eira.” She spat out the words. 

And he had enough. 

So had the shadows. 

You stupid girl, they hissed, for once so loud that everybody could hear them, everybody flinching away from them. Of course, they did. 

“They can talk?“ Feyre asked, her voice small and shaky.

“On very rare occasions,” Cassian answered quietly. “Circumstances must be…exceedingly dire.”

And they were. 

This was about Eira. 

“What exactly is your problem?” Azriel growled. What was this about? Where was this coming from? He had never noticed any kind of…tension between them. Not from Eira at least. 

So why was…

“It’s Eira,” Elain said like that explained everything. 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Nesta asked her voice, icy. “Do you think Eira doesn’t deserve Azriel?”  Nesta asked, her silver eyes fixing on her sister…the sister she had doted on…protected so thoroughly…and now…now they were on opposite ends. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course, she doesn’t,” Elain said with a roll of her eyes. 

It was so quiet in the room that one could have heard a pin dropping. 

“How can you say that?” Nesta challenged her sister, her voice violently even. “This is Eira. Your twin sister. What has she ever done to you?!”

And then the anger in Elain’s eyes seemed to boil over. 

“She doesn’t deserve him!” Elain snapped “What has she that I don’t? I am the pretty one!” It poured out of Elain and Azriel could just watch in horror. “I am the one that’s supposed to marry for Love and Beauty! She’s…she’s useless!”

“Useless?” Nesta interrupted her sharply. “Feyre and Eira kept us alive, Elain! Feyre hunted, yes. And Eira…Eira did the rest, Elain!  She cooked and she cleaned and she did the laundry and her fucking potato patch was what made sure that we didn’t starve on more than one occasion!” she growled. “You liked to pretend that it wasn’t that bad but it was!“

“I can’t listen to this,” Rhys said quiet. “Your sister did everything so that you could survive. Your sister spent her whole life taking care of you… You were gifted with a sister that loved you so fiercely, that would do anything for you...and you treated her like this? Your sister spent the last few years suffering. Because of things we said, things we done. I am not absolving any of us of that blame…but you…you did this on purpose…” Rhys stared at Elain and Azriel saw the minute blink, the way Elain’s hands tightened on the table…”I just wonder why?”. 

And he knew that Rhys had just gone into her mind… And then there was a thunderous expression on Rhys’ face. Without a word, he poured what he had gotten from Elain into Azriel’s mind…

A vision. 

A vision from a cauldron-blessed Seer. 

And he stared at it, his heart plummeting. 

Elain had seen this and still…still tried to drive Azriel and Eira apart. 

She had seen this vision of the future…of Eira…of Eira with a little girl in a garden, no older than maybe three…a pair of Illyrian wings sprouting proudly from her back…the girl's hair the exact shade of her mother’s hair…her eyes unmistakenly Azriel’s…freckles covering her face…Both of them kneeling in the mud, dresses sprinkled with it, and not a care in the world as they pulled carrots from the ground. 

And then Azriel watched himself land in front of the two of them, a smile on his face and lean down to press a kiss to Eira’s lips. 

She smiled at him…so incredibly happy as he picked up the little girl, settling her on her hip…and then the basket of vegetables…and then he helped her up and he watched as one of his scarred hands settled possessively on the slight swell of her belly. 

It was like somebody doused him in icy water. 

How dare you? the shadows hissed, flinging themselves at Elain, who screamed, as they wrapped themselves around her, nothing gentle about their touch. Do not ever…ever come near her again. Do not even look at her. You are not going to hurt her again. Ever again. And if you do…you will regret it. She cried over you. For hours. And you repay her like this?!

He didn’t know how he wrestled them back under his control…how he got them to not outright slaughter Elain right there…

He didn't know how. Because he wanted. Because he...

*Azriel, it's alright,* Rhys breathed into his mind. *It's alright.* But it wasn't. Because Elain...Elain had tried to stop this future from ever happening. Had tried to stop his children from being born. She had tried to take this from him. This perfect slice of happiness...of his very own paradise. 

His daughter. His mate. 

“I…I do not think that the Night Court is the right environment for you anymore,” Feyre said, her voice shaking and Azriel’s gaze snapped to his High Lady, the tears that tracked down her face. 

“You are sending me away?” Elain asked, sounding utterly aghast. 

“I’ll ask your mate to come fetch you, Lucien… you may remember him as your fiancé,” Feyre said pointedly. 

“I am your sister!” Elain snapped. 

“So is Eira,” Feyre gave back, crossing her arms. “And only one of you has tried to destroy the other.” 

[superstar-ninja-jay-walker]

JAY-

@nyajiang-irl

NYA! NYA HE-

None of that. He is safe inside the jar, do not worry about him, hm?

[crushermyheart]

Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

[herewebingo]

realdeadeye -> herewebingo

[askagamedev]

Lately I’ve noticed a bit of, let’s call it pushback, against the upcoming release of Baldurs Gate 3 and Larian Studios, by developers and studios alike. From your perspective as a game developer yourself what is this all about? Why are they calling BG3 an anomaly and making it sound like Larian hasn’t earned the praise they are getting? Why all the attempts at what sounds like trying to discredit their work?

The unfortunate truth of the matter is that the discussion I've seen from devs is subject to signal decay when in an environment where the most maddening and viral takes are the ones that get amplified over accuracy or educational takes. The various "hot takes" I've read were traced to the observations of [Xalavier Nelson Jr. about BG3] and I have to say - after reading his original thread, I am very much in agreement with him. Baldur's Gate 3's success is absolutely not a template that can be easily repeated and is very much an anomaly.

You can tell a lot about a game by the number of developers in the credits and the length of its dev cycle. If you multiply (number of devs) x (months of development) x ($10,000 per month per dev), you get a pretty good estimate of a game's overall budget. BG3 started development in 2017 and had a team of over 300 developers working on it. 300 devs x 72 months x $10,000 = approximately $216 million USD. "Step 1: Secure $200 million in funding to develop your game" is absolutely not a business plan that is feasible for 99.9% of indie developers.

This also goes for other circumstances beyond their control that managed to favor them. Larian was incredibly successful in raising funding during early access, but they are one of a tiny fraction that made it. Larian got incredible word-of-mouth promotion from their fans while thousands of amazing indie titles languish in obscurity on Steam. Larian managed to secure a major license that is extremely well-regarded - not exactly an easy feat to replicate. Each of these various circumstances ended up a win for them and every single one of them was necessary to obtain the success they did.

This isn't to say that Larian doesn't deserve praise for their success - they absolutely deserve all the praise and more. They managed to deliver a fantastic high quality game and I laud them for it. It is a tremendous accomplishment and I am happy for their success. What I will never agree to is saying that this is the path others should follow, because I believe that Larian managed to capture lightning in a bottle. All of the ducks had to line up just right for them to succeed like this, and any of the major factors in their success could have gone very very wrong for them through no fault of their own and sank the project partway through. Larian managed to win and they deserve huge amounts of praise for it, but it is in no way an easily-repeatable formula for success.

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[damienanddragons]

volt commission by @lestoot !!!!

[violettathepiratequeen]

I was tagged by @disco-tea probably like two years ago to do this word game, and I wasn't nearly as active on tumblr then as I am now, but I kept it because it looked fun! However, I won't be tagging anyone because I'm sure it's old and dead, haha.

She was a little fuzzy on the rules herself, lol, so I'm just copying what she did! Searching one of my stories for the words she provided, which were: light, height, bite, and fight.

I used my fic Lightning in a Bottle. And regrettably I scoured my writings for use of the word "height," and I just don't use it, it seems! I could have written a fic that included it but that would definitely have been cheating.

But use of the word light, from chapter 8:

“Buffy,” he said softly. “Hey, Buffy?" She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. She just sat there stiffly, like her light had all been chased away. “Hey,” he murmured. “Summers, look at me.” He reached his hand out, and laid it lightly on hers.

Use of the word bite, from chapter 11:

“Because that’s what we do in this group,” Buffy said. “They all came when my mom fainted for the first time, and when she had the surgery. They all came when Willow’s aunt Jenny was dying. They all came when Dawn accidentally sliced her arm open, and when Oz got an infection from a dog bite, and when Faith jumped off the roof at a frat party and needed stitches on her skull. It’s just what we do.”

Use of the word fight, from chapter 13:

Spike nodded. “Dru used to say she had all the music, and I had all the words… but Tara always had the pictures. Her stuff is a work of art.” Buffy punched the dough some more. “I don’t know what I have.” “Dancing,” Spike said, with no hesitation. “You have the steps, love. You skate like a goddess, you fight like an Amazon warrior, you move with the grace of a swan. Never saw anyone with so much life as you.”

Thanks for tagging me, love!

[sabotourist]

Chapter 3: Quarantine Malware...

Chapter 3 of my superpower au is out! Wherein Tucker points out that Wash may, in fact, just be a bit of an idiot!

[wanderingblindly]

WIP Wednesday (again!)

thank u for the tag darling @prettysureimlost!!!

"Next race." He repeats easily, not entirely sure where it's coming from. "I'll kiss the trophy when I win in China." "When." Oscar says, raising a brow at Lando's tone.  It makes his skin prickle, the fact that Oscar's shocked that he's managed any self-assurance. "When." Lando reiterates. He continues on before he can stop himself, something sharp boiling up unannounced. "I'm not some fucking doormat." The car falls silent.  "I..." Oscar's voice is quiet, a whisper just loud enough for Lando to hear. "I never said you were." Said. It's a slap in the face, leaving angry red trails across his cheek. He turns to look out the window, watching the rain collect on the glass and obscure the desaturated landscape. Calmly, evenly, "S'you thought it then?" "No." Oscar says quickly. "What do you –" "Nothing." Lando cuts him off, not wanting to talk about it any more – not wanting to give Oscar any sort of ammunition. "Forget I said it." "Lando –" "Forget it, mate."

I think most ppl I know have been tagged?? So whoever wants to play, pls do!!

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 5

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

ANGST, vomiting, Mention of the death of Mama Archeron

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Nesta could remember one time…the first winter they had spent in that godforsaken cottage…were Feyre had been so sick with fever, that Nesta had thought Feyre was going to die. 

It had reminded her eerily of her mother’s last days sick with Typhus…of the swelling scent of sick, the bright red cheeks and otherwise pale, clammy skin…

And she also remembered how she had behaved abhorrently. 

Eira had been the one taking care of Feyre. Their father had been useless as always. Nest had spit and snapped and Elain had…well, Elain had pretended like Feyre wasn’t a step away from dying. 

Elain was good at that. 

Eira had stoked the fire…Eira had made a bed out of blankets and pillows in front of it for Feyre…Eira had cooked soup and spooned it in their sister’s mouth. Eira had gone and begged their neighbour for her recipe for a cough medicine…and had then poured that down Feyre’s throat a well, cleaning up the vomit when Feyre threw it all up. 

Eira had done that. 

Eira had always done all of that. 

She had taken care of them all in these years in that cottage, had somehow managed to make sure that they all had two dresses to wear and that one was always clean…had managed to grow misshapen vegetables in that tiny patch of garden they had. If she hadn’t, Nesta was sure that they would have starved throughout one long winter. 

Eira was the second-born, right after Nesta. And somehow…while Nesta had always taken care of Elain…she had never done the same for Eira. 

Had never needed to. Eira had always taken care of everybody around her. 

Even now…She was still taking care of them all in her own ways, had gone out of her way to see Nesta every week, regardless of what Nesta had thrown at her head…took care of Nyx whenever Feyre asked, rocking him to sleep…helped Elain in the garden. 

And Nesta quietly wondered if anybody ever took care of Eira. 

Of Eira, who laid in her bed just like Feyre had done then…Pale and glowing with fever, covered with Azriel’s shadows, who did everything they could to preserve her modesty. 

She wondered what…wondered if he had given them that order. Or maybe they were self-aware enough to do it for themselves…

She wondered if it gave her sister any form of comfort from that, through that fledgeling mating bond. 

“If you show her naked form to him, I’ll burn you to crisps,” she hissed at the shadows who just ignored her. 

Rhys sat silently and unmoving, his face blank, chiselled in granite and Nesta swallowed at that. 

Maybe he could take some of the pain from her. Eira didn’t deserve the pain. 

Eira deserved nothing of this. 

Why had it been her? 

Why Eira? 

Why Eira, who had been turned into a fae just like Nesta and Elain had? And while Nesta had raged and Elain had spent weeks in that state between alive and dead, once again needing Eira to spoon soup into her mouth and take care of her…Eira had just…existed. 

And Nesta had taken it for granted. Had figured that maybe if one didn’t have the silver flame of death eating you alive from the inside out or have visions of death and destruction…maybe then it was easier to adjust to a new strange body, a new strange world. 

No mate for Eira either, a small mercy as far as Nesta was concerned. 

But the one thing she had noticed…it was that regardless of how well she seemed to adjust, Eira clung to whatever smidge of humanity she could dredge up. 

Starfall was something she hated, even when she never said anything…and when Nesta had her phase of going out and drinking every evening, Eira had one time and one time only come knocking at her apartment door, brought her food and then proceeded to ask her haltingly if this was what she wanted. If she didn’t care that her husband wouldn’t be her first. 

Eira and her romantic ideals of the future. 

Eira had clung onto that through anything. Her sister wanted a husband and children and that was that. He didn’t need to be particularly rich. He didn’t need to be anything other than kind. Eira would have been more than willing to be a farmer’s wife, to spend her days doing backbreaking labour if that meant…If that meant that she got a husband and children.

That was the difference between them. Nesta had been her mother’s prized possession. Elain her beauty. And Eira…well. Silent. Content in the background. Overshadowed by Elain’s beauty. 

It wasn’t like Eira wasn’t pretty on her own…wasn’t like that if she was given the chance, she couldn’t make polite conversation, once she had overcome her shyness…that she wouldn’t be able to keep a house running better than Nesta and Elain would have ever been able to. 

But none of that…none of that had mattered in the land of Prythian. 

And now this. 

Her little sister, lying in that bed, fighting for her life, because she had protected Nyx. 

Eira, who was clumsy enough that nobody had trusted her with a knife, because chances were, it was more likely that she would stab herself and not the other person. 

Eira, who abhorred violence and fighting and just wanted everybody to get along. 

Eira, who was sweet and soft and made dresses, little fingers dancing over fabric, stitching and tying off and embroidering and knitting, whose hands were always doing something…and if she wasn’t making something, she was cooking or canning or doing any other household tasks…now she was still.

For once in her life…she was not moving. 

She was just laying there, covered by shadows in a ripped and hastily torn apart dress. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. Could fix none of this. 

Couldn’t fix Eira fighting for her life…couldn’t fix that mating bond that…

What would Eira think? Eira, who had fallen in love and tried to hide it so desperately and failed so horribly…what would she think about the mating bond snapping for Azriel? 

Would she be happy? Delighted? 

Or feel that this was one step too far from her humanity, one step too far from…

Nesta didn’t know. She had never talked with her sister about the mating bond or the lack of it for Eira…They had never talked about what had gone on between Azriel and Elain…though a part of Nesta had waited for Eira to find herself somebody else to fix her attention onto. Waited for Eira to realise that…that it was never going to happen.

Now though…she wondered if the mating bond hadn’t been there for her sister already. A pull that made it impossible for her attention to be changed to any other. 

She would be fine. It would be fine. It needed to be fine. 

It wasn’t fair that Eira, Eira was the one who…

It wasn’t fair that this had happened now. Now, when the mating bond had snapped and it seemed like her sister could get everything she had ever wanted…

And if there was a man that Nesta was going to trust with her sister, with Eira in all her sweetness and softness…then Azriel…then Azriel, it would be. 

Nesta couldn’t fix this. 

But maybe she could fix the dress…maybe she could…

She let go of her sister’s lax hand, as she stood and walked over to the closet. She opened it, half expecting a whole flurry of gowns to fall out. 

After their wealth had been returned to them, then in the Human Lands…Eira had stocked up all their closets with many new dresses and clothes. 

She had made most herself, of course, keeping the cost down to where it was an indulgence but not outright ridiculous. 

Nesta had expected the same now. Instead, with a blink, she weakly realised that she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

There had been the dress that Eira had worn today…and then there were 4 more…all of them dresses that Nesta could weakly remember Rhysand purchasing for them in these first few weeks in the House of Wind...a pile of dresses from which Eira had taken and fitted them to Nesta and Elain both, changed sleeves and necklines until they were exactly like they had wanted them to be. Eira had taken the leftovers...the ones neither Nesta or Elain had wanted. 

Nesta hadn't ever thought about it before today. There were servant girls who had more clothing than Eira seemed to have. 

And none of these dresses were decorated with the embroidery that was her sister’s trademark…the embroidery that decorated hair ribbons given to her sisters for birthdays and other occasions…that decorated the hems on Elain’s gardening dresses that turned muddy anyway. 

Eira's own dresses were well-loved, mended in places, threadbare in others. Of course. They had been well-loved for the better part of 3 years now. 

One dress was new. Nesta could see that. Beautifully grey, with long sleeves cuffed at the wrists and mother-of-pearl buttons. Beautiful. Simple. Heavy silk. Reminding Nesta of human fashion much more than the one of the Night Court. 

Going through her drawers didn’t make this any better. Nesta found aprons…but once again, a far cry from the aprons with floral embroidery around the edges that Elain favoured…and then sometimes in between old, well-loved things, meticulously taken care off…There was a pair of new shoes, leather and a closed with a crystal-embellished buckle. 

Such an indulgence that Nesta couldn’t help but smile and bite back the tears that threatened to overcome her. 

But that dress and that pair of shoes…it was one of the few things that truly showed her sister’s personality…

Finally, Nesta found her nightgowns…picking one up, made out of white cotton, with buttons down the front, that maybe would make it easier to dress her without hurting her. 

She took the nightgown and returned to Eira’s side, the shadows not having budged an inch. 

“Can you help me?” she asked, wondering if they even could understand her, or if they only listened to Azriel…

They understood. Immediately. They became nearly opaque, shielding Eira from Rhysand’s glance if he opened his eyes…and then so very carefully, arranged her sister in a sitting position so Nesta could remove the scraps of the dress she wore from her, see the white bandages tinted with red that Maja had used to protect the wound…

Eira was limp, unprotesting…against the gentle grip from the shadows that arranged her limbs so Nesta could easily undress her, and then fluttered around to help her pull the new nightgown over her sister’s body. 

The shadows pulled the covers back from the bed, and Nesta stared in admonishment as they lifted Eira up, becoming solid underneath her…nearly levitating her off the bed, so that they could quickly put fresh sheets on the bed, could tuck her underneath her duvet and fluff her pillows for her…take care of her, quicker and more thoroughly than Nesta would have been able to. 

The shadows picked up a hairbrush and whisked it to Eira’s side, brushing her hair until it was clean and free of tangles…pulling it back into a braid, tendrils of shadows trailing over her face…nearly lovingly. 

It must be Azriel’s doing. 

Nesta had never seen the shadows…dote on anything like that. She had seen them, rarely, top up Azriel’s teacup, but even that seemed to be an occasional thing. But for Eira…the shadows seemed to be at her very beg and call. 

Just yesterday she had raged at Cassian, that this didn’t mean that Azriel had any right to Eira, not when he had tried to pursue their other sister the year before. 

Now…after she saw this…it was…startling. 

She mulled it over silently. Eira and Azriel…the more she thought about it…the more she wondered if they didn’t fit together so well… Both so happy in the background, so painfully polite…so kind.

She picked up her sister’s blood-flecked dress, folding it with shaking hands…then picked up the petticoats she had worn. No blood on these. 

Nesta hadn’t seen any in her closet, so maybe Eira kept them in the chest at the end of her bed? She would just put them there…She opened that cedar chest and the cotton skirts were quickly forgotten, by what lay within it. 

The first thing she saw…were glittering silver flames. 

Nesta could just stare. 

There, safely folded…laid away…was a dress. 

She couldn’t help herself. Couldn’t help as she picked it up, hands nearly magically pulled towards it. 

Shaking it out…

A deep, dark red bodice…a v neckline…just deep enough to be interesting…peaked shoulders, not unlike the ones on Cassian’s fighting leathers…and then the skirts…layers upon layers of grey silk, embroidered painstakingly with silver flames that seemed to flicker in the light. 

It was the most beautiful dress that Nesta had ever held in her hands. 

And it was….she didn’t need to try it on to know that it would fit her like a glove. 

This dress…Eira had made this dress for her. 

She carried it over to her chair in a trance, smoothing it over her lap…seeing every single tiny stitch it had taken to bring it to life. 

It was perfect. 

She was ripped away from staring at it, with Rhysand’s sudden wretching, her head snapping towards him. 

“Fuck,” he choked out as he stopped vomiting. 

“Are you sick?” she demanded. “What if you get Eira sick, you idiot!” she seethed, but he held up a hand, vomit already being banished with nary a thought of him, as he looked at her, violet eyes…darker and…tortured in a way she had never seen it before. 

And then his eyes fell to the dress draped over her lap. 

“Eira made that for you,” he told her hoarsely, shuddering nearly “She…”

What had happened to him? Was Eira’s pain so bad that even Rhys couldn’t stand it? Was it…

“What happened?” she asked him sharply. “Is she in pain?”  

“Her mental shields are nonexistent right now. She dragged me into her memories,” Rhys answered, another shudder working over his body. “It was…unpleasant.”

That seemed to be an understatement. 

Nesta stared at him, grey eyes wide, red hot anger shooting through her. 

“So what, you just wanted to rummage through her mind?”  She snapped. 

“This was an accident. I did not do that on purpose,” Rhys shot back. “I wouldn’t have…”

“She has a right to her privacy!” Nesta raged. Hadn’t Eira already lost enough? Hadn’t they all lost enough?! 

“She does,” Rhys agreed, scrubbing one hand over his face.“She has a right to privacy. As long as it does not interfere with...”

“As long as it does not interfere with what?” Nesta demanded. “Your plans?” 

He stared at her, violet eyes wide and…hurt. 

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with her safety and happiness,” Rhys corrected quietly. He stared at the dress draped over her lap. “It’s a wedding dress. She made it for you,” he said with a nod towards it. 

A wedding dress? Why had she never…why had Eira never even mentioned it’s very existence? Why had she never…

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Like make another ugly dress?” Rhys quoted, his voice quiet, deathly even. "Sounds familiar?"

Her breath caught in her throat. 

No. No. No, Eira couldn’t…Eira had taken that to heart? Eira had taken to heart what she had spat in her anger and desperation? Eira had…

“If it makes it any better…There was worse said by all of us,” Rhys said, looking away. “Every single one of us.”

What?

“I have news,” Amren’s voice suddenly came from the doorway. She stood there, Madja, behind her, obviously having come back to check on Eira.  “The lightning that was used to fell the three Darkbringers? The magical signature was unmistakingly female.” She nodded to Eira. “I think she finally decided to be interesting.”

The anger that flared in her chest was so bright and hot that it had taken her breath away. 

Rhys beat her to it. 

“That’s enough, Amren,” he spat out. “We need to have a talk.” 

[redeemedmillennial]

Fate/Zero Was Crafted Lightning

It didn't pander to an audience, it provided symbolism and held morality at gun point with characters who had their own lived philosophies and set of values and ideals. The production was slick, clean, dark, vibrant, and shiny. The audio was crisp and every detail down to the dialogue, stillness, and movement mattered like paint on a canvas.

Stay Night focused more on teen mellow drama, and every other iteration of Fate never felt as heavy or as serious. I don't think Zero was lightning in a bottle. I truly believe it can be expanded upon if Fate became less about fan-service and tropes and more about presenting a meaningful idea through symbolism, tone, and details.

Maybe Fate/Zero was lightning in a bottle— but maybe that bottle left sparks behind.

[superstar-ninja-jay-walker]

Aw :(

I was enjoying the jar saga.

Oh wait. I'm an anon. Couldn't I just put you back in? :3c

Do not.

[wrathfuldoomspider]

[illuminess]

Anyone going to Lightning In A Bottle? :)

[stinklebug]

Lightning in a Bottle

Peppermint is on a mission. One she's determined to see through to the very end. Accompanied by her mechanical cat, 808, she seeks out some help in getting it done, which leads her to summoning an electric demon named Chai that has some...interesting and rather musical powers. The three set off to Vandelay City to uncover the secrets she's seeking. As they learn more, they find themselves having no option but to take down the crooked city management. Along the way, they make some new(-ish) friends.

A retelling of Hi-Fi RUSH with fantasy elements and new world-building to go with them.

Chapter 1 The Summoning

read it on ao3