#mate gets one little power and it's already gone to his head. just look at him. couldn't even leave the planet before he starts showing off.

[saintedbythestorm]

You eh... good there, Barrett...??

[jallerentrags]

Better than him.

James Potter x Reader, based on 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron.

James Potter thought of himself as a lucky man.

He had everything he wanted: Good grades, good friends, a good life. The only thing he wanted, which he worried he might never have, was you.

Y/n Cassiopeia Black, twin sister to the elusive and handsome Regulus Black. But despite being at the same school, and being best mates with your older brother, the space between the both of you was almost impossible to cross. You were cold and indifferent - sticking with your friends and Regulus - and avoided James like the plague. You rarely spoke, supposedly scorned by his theft of your older brother, and when you did converse, it was usually under the watchful eyes of Charles Nott, your betrothed.

At the age of 16, you had been auctioned and sold to the highest bidder, wrapped in his vice like grip. James watched from the side-lines as the eyes that used to shine like her brother's name-sake, faded.

He had tried to become besotted with Lily, a beautiful and intelligent girl, but it was futile. Your power over him was strong, his urge to move on with Lily too weak. But a strong friendship between the Head Boy and Girl did blossom, so James ended up ranting to Lily about his situation.

“James I don’t know what to say. Y/n is one of the most prized girls in school and her circle is small. Your best bet to get her attention is to ask Sirius to introduce you,” Lily paused to brush her long hair out of her eyes and behind her shoulder with a thoughtful look, “Of course, that’s if she’s willing to speak to Sirius, I don’t think I’ve seen them together since last year.”

James sighed. He already knew that you had closed yourself off after losing your brother, and he grimaced thinking about how hurt you must feel. He knew that Sirius was still mourning his loss as heir to the House of Black, and heard him crying at night when his ache for his little siblings grew too heavy.

“I know,” James fiddled with his glasses, face heating up. “Maybe it’s best if I just leave it. It’s a pipe dream that a girl like that would ever go for a guy like me.” James moved to pick up his books from the library table and head to his dorm, mood low. Lily gasped and slapped his hand away.

“Definitely not! I remember Remus telling me that you two were completely smitten and oblivious to it despite belonging to rival houses. The James Potter should definitely not give up this easily,” Lily’s brows were lowered in an expression of seriousness, her lips thin, “I’ve got an idea. You know the Christmas Ball is this weekend?”

Of course James knew the Christmas Ball was this weekend. The whole school had been preparing for it since it was announced early November, a night of bliss and relaxation to temporarily ignore the deteriorating state of the outside World. James’ parents had already sent him his dress robes, and he saw that last Tuesday you had received a large parcel in the mail which he guessed must of been your dress.

“Yes, but I don’t see why that matters? She’ll be going with Charles. He proposed in August.” James spat, anger lacing into his words. Lily merely rolled her eyes and huffed.

“So? Steal her away! Ask her to dance and charm her! I’m sure it won’t be that difficult, it’s not as if she’s in love with Nott,” Lily placed her hands on the table and leaned towards him, “She’ll definitely leave him for you, she’s always been sympathetic towards muggle-born’s and I heard her talking about how she wishes she didn’t have to marry Nott. Give her a reason, Be her reason, and she’ll leave her supremacist family and be with you.” James scoffed and leaned back in his chair, watching as Lily reclined also.

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. She loves Regulus and she fits the role as ‘Slytherin’s Princess’ perfectly. I don’t want to put myself out there for her if she’s already too far gone.”

“Believe me. She’s not. People don’t look at each other like you two do.” Lily smiled at him, certainty blazing in her emerald eyes, “You could be her new beginning, and I really think she wants that. She loves Regulus and she always will, but I know that he would value her happiness and I doubt that she wouldn’t love to have a reason to escape,” Lily’s hand reached over to James’ and clasped it, “I really believe that you two would work. I want to see you happy James, please trust me.”

James’ lips formed a smile, and he felt hope blare in his chest. If Lily, the smartest girl he knew, believed that he stood a chance, then he had faith. He squeezed her hand and stood up, collecting his books and shoving them into his bag.

“I trust you, now watch me get my girl.”

————————————————————————-

The Great Hall looked beautiful, you thought, as you entered. The ceiling showcased a clear starry sky, and the decorations shone and sparkled in the candle light. Ice sculptures decorated the corners, and 12 great circle tables surrounded a square dance floor and far off, adjacent the teachers table, was a long buffet and drinks table laden with Honeydukes delights and crisp pumpkin juice. Charles, your financeé, gripped your hand tighter and dragged you to a table with his friends, only slightly admitting how beautiful you looked in your F/c gown. Charles' friends briefly acknowledged you (with a few appreciative eyebrow raises) before ignoring your presence entirely. Across the room, you spotted your older brother and his friends, who hadn't seemed to notice your entrance just yet. Sirius looked remarkable like always, a classic example of the Black families striking looks. Even Remus looked quite handsome in his robes, and Peter had cleaned up nicely. Admittedly, you thought, James looked incredibly good in his robes and had caught your eye as soon as you entered the Great Hall. His robes were tailored to his fit physique perfectly, and his hazel eyes shone with excitement. Although he hadn't managed to tame his hair, you secretly appreciated how well it framed his face.

"Admiring the blood traitor, Y/n?" Rosier, one of Charles' close friends, scoffed. You turned back to the table, missing James' look your way, and shot a smile in Rosier's direction.

"Of course not," you replied, entangling your arm from Charles' grip, "But you have to admit that he does look very enjoyable in his robes." you smirked, watching as Charles' face contorted into a sneer. He made to grab for you, already muttering about your incompetence with an extremely angry look on his face. He wrapped his hand around your arm hard, pulling you close enough to whisper in your ear. Despite being pulled into his side, his body still angled away from you, like you didn't matter at all. From across the hall, you wondered whether it looked like it was a lover's embrace. It was anything but. You spared no love for Charles, and it was no secret. Rosier and the others all sniggered, slurs tumbling from their lips and their faces a mixture of disgust and outrage.

"Y/n, you should watch your mouth. You don't want people thinking that you agree with your mutt of a brother, do you?" Charles asked, his face settling into a blank stare. Your brows lowered and your lips curled, before quickly schooling features once more. You simply hummed, avoiding Charles' eyes. "Now run along to Regulus. I'll come to you when I need you." He unwrapped his hand from your arm and pushed you away, before turning back to his group. You wondered through Hall, greeting friends, before making a bee-line for your twin. The dancing had begun, a light tempo that sent couples soaring over the floor. You watched in admiration, the way they held each other, looking into each others eyes like no one else existed, souls mingling and stretching across the floor. You wished you could be swept along the floor, lost in the steps and the feel of your partners hands. The partner you imagined never had the Nott green eyes and cigar scented yellowed palms, he always had the face of your older brother's best friend.

From behind you, you heard somebody cough to catch your attention, and you turned on your heel to come face to face with James Potter, watching his already huge smile grow wider. His hands were in his trouser pockets, his body angled towards you so completely that you couldn't even acknowledge other's brushing up against you.

"I can't believe we're finally alone, I've been trying to catch you since you arrived, you look so beautiful," James revealed, blush drifting across his cheeks, "I almost went back up to the dorm."

"Well that would've been a shame, Potter" you smiled back, easing towards him, "I was hoping to see you on the dance floor."

James laughed, a sound that sent shudders down your spine and took his hand out of his pocket to push up his glasses that had fallen down his nose. "What are the chances? I wanted to see you on the dance floor too," James squared his shoulders and cleared his throat "Everyone's dancing, yet you aren't, somebody that I know is stuck by dance fever frequently, and he's not with you," James leaned forward and smirked, "the Universe must of divined us, little Black, it looks like we're destined to dance together tonight."

You could almost see the thoughts fly across his face as he grabbed your wrist before you could even object, pulling you towards the dance floor. The music had changed to a sweet, mouldable beat, sweeping partners across the floor in unique waltzes and dips. James positioned you on the floor, a large hand leaving a burning touch on you waist and the other slipping into you awaiting hand as you breathlessly laughed. Your hands fit together perfectly, just like his hand rested so perfectly on the curve of your waist. He started leading, smiling down at you as though you placed the stars in the sky, a twinkle in his bespectacled eyes. You followed readily, returning his smile and placing you hand on his shoulder, heat building and spreading under your dress at your close contact.

You were flying, soaring, just two people in a sea of revellers. You didn't slip from his gaze, totally unfettered, lost in him. You never stumbled, never faltered, you recalled every conversation, every lingering glance, every lasting touch, knowing you were utterly enthralled. James looked the same, captivated by your presence, stuck in your energy. You saw the words bubble in him, and your heart soared when he stopped biting his tongue.

"Y/n," he whispered, drawing you closer, his face a picture intimacy, "I could be a better boyfriend than him," you sucked in air, but didn't draw from his arms. James tightened his grip on your hip as you looked deeply into his eyes, "I could do all the shit that he never does," he flared his fingers against your waist, "I'll stay up all night for you, I won't quit. I'm thinking that I'm going to steal you from him," he dropped his head to press against your forehead, your joined hands tight as you still manoeuvred around the floor, "I could be such a gentleman, plus all my clothes would look so good on you." You slowed to a stop, dancers fluttering around you as you ended up at a loss for words, mouth agape and your heart singing. "I could be so much better for you than him."

"James..." you unlaced your joined hands, already missing his touch, as he stared at you desperately. You knew that everything he said was true, and James was nothing if not an honest man. He made you smile, kept you safe, always thought of you as the prettiest girl in the room. You were in love with James Potter, but it wasn't as easy as that. You had to worry about your brother, Regulus, and the future of your family. While your parents were definitely not kind and nurturing, they were all you had. You didn't have James Potter to whisk you away if Sirius didn't allow him too. You wanted James, more than you'd ever want Charles and his prejudice. Your eyes watered, and you suddenly felt lost.

"I don't need to tell you twice all the ways he can't suffice, he wouldn't care about your happiness, or your dancing or your smile," James' unwavering hope warmed you, cocooning you in a safety net when you felt like you were falling from the Astronomy Tower. James wanted to be your new beginning, your second chance. He wanted to cuddle you on cold nights and to show you the beauty of the muggle world and all its secrets, "If I could give you some advice baby, I'd leave with me tonight." His desperation slipped from his face, replaced with a confident smirk, as if he saw your facade melting, as if he could see you melting in his arms, as if he knew that you were going to choose him, just like you would every single time.

"You'll help me get through it?" you asked, and James immediately knew that you meant the sparking fall out between you and your parents, and the Nott family. James took your face in his hands, love shining in his eyes, before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"I'd give you my heart if you asked, darling, of course I'll help. Besides, what's another Black sibling in my house? if your brother comes I'll have the full set." you shared a laugh, biting back the tears that threatened to spill.

"You'd like that." you said between laughs.

"I'd love it." he answered, leaning back and taking your hand in his once again. He led you back off the dance floor, both of you blushing madly and smiling merrily. Towards the left of the hall, you spotted James' friends watching you both intently, glasses raised. Lily Evans seemed particularly excited, emerald eyes aglow with excitement as she waved enthusiastically and gave James a thumbs up. Sirius and Regulus stood further away, small smiles on their faces as they watched their little sister walk out of the hall with the resident trouble maker. No complaints rose up their throats, just unbridled joy for their sister who finally looked happy. James and Y/n didn't look at anyone else as they left hand in hand, not even at a furious Charles Nott, hands balled in tight fists. They ignored the open mouthed stares and muttered remarks, completely absorbed in each other.

The next day, Charles would arrive at his dorm to an owl waiting by the open window. Tied to his leg was a envelope, and Charles reached for it immediately. Ripping it open, he tore the piece of paper out and dumped its contents on his bed. Gleaming back at his sneering face was the ring he gave Y/n when he proposed, and scribbled on the letter was one sentence:

'I suppose you were right Charles, I do have a taste for blood-traitors.’

- Y/n Black and James Potter

[mokulule]

A Pinch of Salt - Part 4

First | Masterpost

The final part of the first installment of the Salt in the Bones series which is a project co-created with @clockwayswrites, you can see the other stuff written for it in the masterpost link above or go to the first part.

-

John looked at the kid, who just stepped inside the fucking binding circle. His mouth fell open in shock.

“What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exclamation, and John didn’t wait for any answer. “Of all the sodding, daft, goddamn tossers - what were you bloody thinking? No, you weren’t thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking done that. You DO NOT go into the blasted circle!”

“Are you done?”

“Am I-“ John spluttered.

Are you done? He asked, as if John was the unreasonable one here! “Oh you’re right chuffed, aren’t you mate? Well, you cocked up, you’re about to be banished right alongside the storm, you little git!”

“Then stop the banishing or banish us both. It’s your choice.” Kid stood, back straight, jaw clenched stubbornly and a frown over those wide blue eyes. His hair and clothes whipped violently from the storm, but he didn’t care, just kept his eyes on John.

John raised his hands in frustration, words dying on his tongue. It would serve him right!

It would serve him right; he stepped into the bloody circle. It wasn’t John’s fault. Everything was going fine for once and maybe that should have been John’s warning. Whatever was up with the kid he apparently had a soft spot for ghosts - even after John had told him several times that the spirit was gone. It’d gone nova. No coming back. The end. It would continue it’s rampage until it burned out. It would hurt and destroy indiscriminately.

And yet he still-

It would serve him right to get sent to Hell alongside it. It wouldn’t even be the first time someone John worked with got sent to Hell for their trouble. John Constantine was bad luck for everyone around him. It happened.

But it was different when John held the reins of the spell that did it, when he had the choice to stop it.

Still John was at his wits end. If he stopped the banishing, the kid was still trapped in the circle with the spectral storm. If he broke the circle they were back at square one except they were in the center of the storm’s power and it was even angrier.

It was easier, safer, to just continue the banishing. Kid had made his stupid arse decision. John wasn’t a good person. He did what was necessary. Ends and means and all that.

But he was a bloody kid - a teenager - they were basically obligated to do stupid shit. Didn’t mean he deserved to get sent to Hell for it. John had seen and done a lot of shit, but when it came right down to it he didn’t want to add sending a kid to Hell.

John had seen enough dead kids to last him a lifetime.

“Oh bollocks.” John let his arms fall and cut the feed to the banishing spell, wincing slightly at the backlash. “You better have a plan kid.”

The kid had to have some sort of abilities with that aura, maybe all hope was not lost? The kid grimaced and John’s forced optimism crumbled like so much sand.

“I-“ the kid winced as something in the storm hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, and looked almost apologetic, “I figured I’d try talking to them.”

John stared.

And stared.

“Or-“ the kid backtracked, “just calm them down somehow?”

“You cannot ‘calm down’ a spectral storm!” John felt like a broken record on repeat. “It’s impossible.”

He threw up his hands and walked exactly three steps away counting his breaths all the while wracking his brain for a different solution. There weren’t any good ones. Heck it was a miracle the kid hadn’t already been torn to pieces being inside the circle.

“We’re dead,” he lamented dramatically.

“Half-dead.”

John’s head snapped around at the weird response.

“I mean,” the kid tried for a smile, “I’m the only one in the circle.”

John stared in despair. The kid’s sense of humor needed serious work.

“I’m not gonna leave you in the bloody circle, kid.”

Danny stood struck wide eyed at the admission. That was- He didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a pang in his chest. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He swallowed before finding his voice.

“Just let me try something, okay?”

Danny turned around to face the center of the storm, he instantly had to squeeze his eyes near shut, from all the dust. Instinctively he took a breath and coughed. Okay breathing not good. Too bad he was human right now.

He had to get closer, closer to that screaming grief. He might be human right now, but he was also a ghost and the anger from earlier was just a thin veneer on top of grief on top of a cry for help. He felt it in his core like scrabbling hands desperately looking for purchase.

He took a step forward, hands up to shield his face, pushing against the wind. Another step. Then another.

How was he gonna calm them down?

Danny didn’t know. He knew fighting. He’d even sometimes recently had luck with talking. But this? It was way beyond talking, until they were calm there would be no such thing. Danny didn’t know what to do. He could only press on and hope an idea came to him.

The grief was stronger the closer he got to the center, it tore into him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and turned into gunk from the dust. Something sharp cut into his bare arms. Danny frowned, kept his head down and pushed forward.

Another step and the grief sunk sharp claws into his core. He screamed clutching his chest and gasping for breath that would do nothing. But the claws were gone as soon as they’d come, retreated as if they’d touched fire.

“Are you alright kid?!”

Danny spared a quick glance back to Trenchcoat who stood all the way up to the edge of the circle, face white as if he’d seen a ghost. Danny couldn’t help smiling at that. Something that alarmed Trenchcoat even further.

“I’m breaking the circle.”

“Don’t,” Danny coughed clearing his throat.

Danny looked back up, squinting through the swirling dust. It may not be visible, but something had changed. There was still the anger and grief, but something else too. A sense of waiting. Waiting to see what Danny would do. They had tried tearing him, the trespasser, apart down to his core, but in doing so they had felt him. They had felt his intention to help and retreated.

Trenchcoat was wrong, there was still a sentience there. Danny found himself grinning in triumph.

But even better Danny had an idea. His core vibrated giddily in his chest. He was a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He just needed to reach out and connect with the ghost, he felt sure he could calm them. He just he needed a distraction, he didn’t need Trenchcoat to realize he was the one doing anything ghostly. He wracked his brain, something that made noise, drew attention, was maybe a bit ridiculous, but didn’t take much of his attention from the real work-

That was it!

“Twinkle-“ his voice broke on the first word but gained strength as he continued- “twinkle little star,” Danny sang. He didn’t need to look back to see the incredulous look on Trenchcoat’s face.

He kept singing, he knew that song by heart. His mom used to sing it to him, back when she actually put him to bed. There was a stab of melancholy, but Danny clutched on to the positive aspect of the memory and reached out with his core, its hum getting stronger.

It’s okay, he told the ghost, help. Safe. Peace. Calm.

He took step by step further into the calming storm. And all the while he sung them a lullaby.

John stared.

Then he stared some more. He was doing a lot of staring today.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing.

The kid was was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm. And that wasn’t even the most baffling thing. No, the kid was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm and it was bloody working.

The storm gradually calmed until suddenly it was gone. The silence was loud in the sudden emotional void. John staggered from the sudden lack of pressure. All that malice gone in an instant. All that was left was a gently cupped ball of light in the kids hands.

“There you are,” the kid said softly in a slightly scratchy voice.

John couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. It was impossible and yet here they were.

There was a flash of light and suddenly they stood in a house. Built brick by brick by two pairs of hands. Children ran through the rooms. They grew up. They had kids of their own, who had kids of their own. They lived and they loved and they were protected.

Then they were gone.

The door shut for the last time. The house was empty.

A large metal ball slammed through the walls, spreading dust and splintering the doorframe that had measured the growth of generations. It was torn down.

It had stood here, right in what would be the plaza.

The translucent shade of an old women, bent and bony from a life of hard work, hovered in front of the kid. She warbled sadly at him. John couldn’t understand anything but the deep sadness, but it seemed the kid did.

“It’s okay,” he said embracing the spirit, somehow managing to do so despite her definitely not being solid. “You’ve done your best, nobody could ask more of you.”

He paused and his voice softened further, “it’s time to let go.”

The old lady looked over at John and gave him a stern look that had him frozen in place. She was the type of grandma that would wack his fingers if she caught him going for the cookie jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what the look he got meant. Only that it felt like an admonishment.

She looked back on the kid and her features softened, smoothed and in the next moment she turned to mist in his arms, dispersing in the waning light coming from the overhead windows.

John couldn’t entirely believe what he’d just witnessed. Calling a spirit back once they’d gone nova, it was impossible. Unheard of. Banishment was how you dealt with spirits like that. It was a tried and tested method. Yet-

John shivered.

Death magic. It was the only explanation.

The kid reeked of it, to the point John had thought he was the ghost he was here to deal with. He’d thought he was some kind of creature, but he was just a kid. A kid with a very specific magical affinity who’d just done the impossible. He was filled with a sense of awe and dread he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He felt shaken. Like he’d stood right next to a bell who’d been rung to herald change.

John was no prophet, at most he’d get vague premonitions and he far preferred to be in the moment rather then dwell on the future or the past. He most definitely did not want to even contemplate this kid’s future. He swallowed.

Magic, in John’s experience, always came with a cost.

The kid promptly sat down on his butt. John had broken the circle and was running over before he even realized.

“You okay, kid?” He asked breathlessly.

The kid looked up, eyes a bit dazed as he blinked at John. John couldn’t really tell if his complexion was grey or it was just the dust covering every inch of him. Several places, particularly his hands, the dust was dark from blood where he’d been cut in the storm. He looked unfocused.

“How many occult detectives are you seeing?” He asked unable to hide the note of worry.

“Too many,” Kid said tiredly with a shake of his head that had cement dust falling all over. Then he looked back up and elaborated with a smirk, “one.”

John huffed a laugh. If he could joke he couldn’t be that bad off.

“How does burgers and fries sound?”

-

The kid now dusted off to the point where you could almost tell his hair was black rather than grey sunk his teeth into the burger with a pleased hum. He chewed and swallowed.

“This is almost as good as Nasty Burger.”

John paused fry halfway to his mouth. “That sounds disgusting.”

Kid laughed. “I forget how it sounds to outsiders. It used to be Tasty Burger way back when they first opened, but someone vandalized the sign and it kinda stuck.”

John hummed thoughtfully, he could appreciate the joke. Kid’s use of the phrase outsiders made it sound like he came from an insular town. Probably best for him if he stayed there.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Instantly the blue eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.

“What’s yours, Trenchcoat?” He challenged.

John huffed at the nickname and reached a hand across the table. “John Constantine.”

The kid looked suspiciously at the offered hand, then reached out and took it. “Nightingale.”

John nodded and shook his hand before letting go. Smart of him to give him a codename, he wasn’t apparently completely without sense. “Because of the singing.”

For a moment the kid looked confused to the point where John actually thought maybe he’d given him his real name.

“Singing? Ah-“ He blushed looking down and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, that just seemed like a good idea at the time.”

John shook his head, fuck it if he didn’t like the kid. He picked up his milkshake and raised it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“If it works…”

The kid, Nightingale, grinned ferally and raised his own shake to clink it against John’s.

“If it works.”

-

After filling up the near bottomless stomach of the teenager, they parted ways in an alley. John’s mind was already on his next case - people going missing in a forest in Germany that had a distinct this-is-not-just-a-GPS-dead-zone flavor to it - so he only absently noted the strange look on the kid’s face when he opened the portal. It was morning in Germany, he could start looking into things before calling the House for a proper sleep.

“Take care, kid.”

With those words he stepped into the portal and let it close behind him.

Danny was left looking at the portal. He shook his head, jaw tight. With real magic apparently portals were just easy. It didn’t do him any good to think about. He glanced around and when he found the alley just as empty as before he jumped into the air transforming as he went.

There were better things to think about, like the concept of an occult detective, he thought as he flew in the direction of Amity. It sounded like it could almost be an acceptable profession in his parents’ eyes.

And it probably didn’t require good high school grades either, he thought with a grimace as he remembered he had an essay due tomorrow.

-

Hope you enjoyed this story which explored how Danny and Constantine first met in this AU. Next step is letting it sit for a while, then do a thorough editing and putting it up on ao3 as a oneshot. (And then maybe talk to Clock about starting writing on the main story proper? We'll see). Comments are greatly appreciated :D

Another link to the masterpost if you wanna see the other bits of writing and/or subscribe to the series

[sinsinsininning]

A little bit softer

Chapter 1.

Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!reader

Thinking of Kid who acts a little bit softer around you.

He’s still loud and moody and argumentative, he still throws things and breaks his projects when something goes wrong. But with you, he eases up, steadies himself before flying off the handle.

TW: Kid being himself, past DV, can one typical violence, eventual smut, smutty thoughts

Reader isn’t overly described in this chapter but I wrote this with a short, chubby reader in mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you first joined, you were the smallest out of the 5 rookies taken on, but you had great aim as a sniper and had already served on a different ship. Kid had been reluctant to take on ‘sloppy seconds’ (Killer had to explain that’s not what that term meant), but your skills were valuable and you didn’t trip over your own feet like the others. Eventually the group was whittled down to just you and one other rookie.

At the start you were like any other rookie, eager to spend time with the higher members of the crew, Kid being no exception. You were bold and even asked to show him your schematics for your dream sniper gun, asking to borrowing some of his tools to make it. Kid enjoyed the attention, preening as you and the others watched him train his devil fruit powers, stars in your eyes. He hadn’t meant to, but looking back, he’d been on his better behavior around you.

Kid spent a lot of time in his workshop, but every time he ventured out it seemed you were EVERYWHERE. Helping Killer cook lunch, repairing the ship with Wire, cleaning up the med bay with Heat. Anytime he came around a corner you were there, your eyes would light up at the sight of him, excitedly greeting your captain with an enthusiasm that rivaled Quincy’s.

But a few weeks after you joined the crew, he has his worst episode in a longtime. After a stand off with some Marines, the Victoria Punk had some serious damage, they had to rush to the port they’d just left and the cost of the repairs were pretty high. He hadn’t meant to hit Wire, but a pipe aimed at the railing ricocheting to strike the tall man on the side of the head harshly, your shocked face broke him out of his tantrum and he vacated quickly. He’d found out later you’d been the one to stitch Wire up.

Afterwards, he caught you talking with Killer, still brand new and unsure how to handle such an ‘unstable captain’. Killer reassured you that Kid meant no harm, he couldn’t see your face, but he could hear your whispered confession.

“That’s what my last captain said.”

Normally being compared to another man, let alone another captain, in any way would send him into a fit. But he held back as Killer tried to comfort you -as much as a pirate can comfort another pirate- and it seemed to cheer you up.

Your behavior changed around him though, you flinched when he shouted in anger -different from his normally loud voice- and you made yourself scarce when he was arguing with someone. You still did all your work, much more efficient than other rookies, and you were getting close with the senior crew members. Wire and Hip particularly liked you, and while Heat thought you were too soft, he still humored you with card games and fire tricks after dinner.

Kid felt like he had a ghost as a crew member, he’d walk into a room, his gaze zeroing in on you, then he’d blink and poof you’d be gone. No one else seemed to noticed, he tried listening in before entering rooms, no one spoke with you or each other about it. It’s not like he really needed to speak with you, Killer was the delegator of chores and unless there were strategy meetings he didn’t really need to speak with a sniper on a daily basis.

But he wanted to. And that was the worst part.

He wanted you around, looking at him like he was the greatest thing you’d even seen. He wanted your soft, teasing voice around, even though you never actually teased him, he still liked it when you wound up Reck or Dive with your wit. He wanted to watch you as you lost yourself in whatever task you were doing, no matter how mundane.

Quickly his thoughts turned to other ways he wanted you. He wanted you in his bed every night. He wanted you riding him after a long day. He wanted you squealing as he fucked you up against the wall. He wanted you sitting on his face, embarrassed but still cuming as he tasted you. He wanted you cock warming him in his workshop as he finished up projects.

It was driving him insane, making his mind work overtime as he tried to squash these desires down.

It got worse when you’d gotten more established, about 6 months into your life here. You still avoided him, and did a damn good job of hiding it, but every now and again he’d be nearby and could hear you tease your crew mates. No scratch that, you were flirting, maybe that wasn’t your intent but it sure sounded like flirting to him.

“Hip if you wanted to have alone time with me you could just say it.” Said as the blond woman yanked you away from lunch.

“Awww Wire, you didn’t have to dress up for me.” Said as the tall man arrived in a new outfit.

“Makes sense why they call you Heat, cause you’re hot.” Ok that one was to get Heat to break his concentration and lose at poker, but still!

You were avoiding him, your captain, and flirting with everyone else. Even Killer got a line about how you prefer blondes- said only so you’d get a second helping of dessert, which didn’t work but you tried. Kid was trying so hard to not show his struggles, but it was becoming obvious. To everyone but you that is.

Killer had tried to speak with him, to ask what his problem with you was, but Kid just shoved him away. He almost threw a punch, but the image of your scared face after Wire was struck kept him at bay. This didn’t go unnoticed by his first mate of course, but it was misinterpreted. Killer asked if Kid wanted to dismiss you and try to find a new sniper, but Kid shouted no before he could finish speaking.

That alerted the masked man to what was really bothering his captain. He wanted to laugh, Kid hadn’t shown any interest in dating since… well since Victoria. It made sense he was a little rusty.

Kid left before they could finish talking, but Killer made a point to have you regularly help serve the crew during meals forcing you to talk to the captain. He also saved you a spot beside him to eat, making sure you were as close to Kid’s chair as possible. The rest of the crew caught on soon as well, watching their captain clam up and blush, while you kept your eyes on your plate.

The entire crew tried to force the two of you into contact daily. Dive would ask you to get tools from Kid to help her make repairs. Hip and Hop would ask you to spar with them whenever Kid was on deck. Wire convinced you to let him alter some of your clothes to match the punk rock aesthetic more, you were excited until he paraded you in front of Kid and Killer. Kid was red faced as Wire demanded critiques on the clothes you were modeling, though you assumed it was from anger and quickly escaped the situation.

Heat was probably the only one who didn’t interfere, so you ended up spending most of your time with him. Of course that didn’t stop him from commenting on the situation.

“So what, you got a little crush on the captain,” he said breezily on day over drinks at a bar on shore. “Happens all the time.” You nearly spat out your drink.

“What? No I don’t!” You coughed out, he patted you roughly on the back. “Please don’t tell me people actually think that about me and Kid?!” Your face was red as you thought of the crew’s strange new habit of forcing you around the captain. Who was sat nearby in a booth, nursing a beer with Killer, hearing his name he strained to listen.

“You don’t? Oh, I thought that’s why everyone’s been trying to get y’all alone together.” He seemed genuinely confused, but shrugged and drank again willing to let the conversation pass. You however weren’t done.

“I have no idea why everyone’s acting weird. I thought it was maybe like hazing ya know?”

“Nah that’s at the beginning, you barely even noticed the shit we hazed you with.” He grinned, then got serious again. “So you really don’t like him like that?”

“No why would I?” You stared at him, Kid winced a little at that. “I’m honestly terrified of him, I never know when he’s gonna fly off the handle. Half the time I’m around him I’m wondering when he’s gonna just up and hit me.” Your eyes got misty and you fought back tears, knowing how Heat- really all of the crew- feel about crying. You couldn’t help it though, your last captain had been terrifying and sadistic. Compared to him, Kid and his crew were almost kind, but you couldn’t let your guard down.

“Kid wouldn’t hit you,” Heat said seriously slamming his mug down, Kid found himself hoping the loud, jarring action hadn’t spooked you. “He wouldn’t hit any of us, yeah he yells and stuff but he doesn’t hate us. If he wanted to get rid of us he’d just kick us off at port.”

“He hit Wire, made him bleed a lot. It took 13 staples to close that gash.” You leaned forward, meeting his gaze.

“That was an accident,” Heat sighed. “He’d never hit us before except as like, a brotherly smack on the arm or something. Besides, if you’re so sure he’ll hurt you why not leave?” You paused, shuffling your hands a bit.

“That’d make sense, but I love the crew, I love the sea. I can’t just give that up, my last crew wasn’t like you guys.” You glanced away, Heat blushed a little shocked at your sincerity. “I know, I know. I sound pathetic and soft, but it’s how I feel.”

“Heh- yeah you’re definitely the baby of the crew, even more so than Dive.” He laughed. “But I can’t fault you for being authentic I guess.”

You both smile, toast your mugs once more, then you go grab another round. Kid watches you, eyes hard, he wondered who your last captain was. And if he should pay him a visit.

[fauxdette]

Belong to You - Elain x Azriel

Part 1 • Part 2 🔥

Summary: Azriel says goodbye to Elain before leaving for some spyin’. She asks him about rejecting the mating bond.

Word count: 600

Warnings: None

Elain yelped, whipping her hand back and soothing the hurt between her lips.

“Yooouuu…” she scowled, shaking her shears at the rose that pricked her thumb; a small droplet of blood pooling on the already healed pad.

“Ahem.”

She pivoted toward the sound, surprised to find the shadowsinger shaded under a nearby tree; a playful smile on his usually unreadable face.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, you weren’t—“ she shook her head sheepishly. “I don’t usually talk to flowers.”

“Just the ones that wound you?”

“That one had it coming.”

Azriel laughed, joyous and full. Elain grinned at the sound of it.

“Have you come to help?” She asked, gesturing to the blooming flowerbed before her.

Half had already been weeded and pruned but she estimated there was still an hour or two of work ahead of her.

Azriel shook his head. “I’ve just come to say I’m leaving tomorrow. Rhys has asked me to keep an eye on the human queens, see if I can find any stirring of what they might be up to.”

Elain noted he’d slipped that cool mask of indifference over his features again.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Hard to say,” he looked toward the Sidra glittering in the distance. “I’ll be lodging with Jurian and Lucien while I’m there.”

Lucien. Something made her back stiffen, whether it was the name itself or the way Azriel said it, Elain wasn’t sure. There was an undertone there; an aftertaste. Some secret meaning she couldn’t decipher.

The Illyrian shifted on his feet a little, let the silence stretch before them before he added, “if there’s anything you needed me to pass on for you…”

Ah. Understanding settled on her like a wet blanket; heavy and uncomfortable. He wasn’t coming to say goodbye due to any measure of affection but to ask if she wanted to speak to Lucien; the High Lords son, the human emissary, her mate.

“No,” she replied sharply. “So, I suppose we’re done here. Travel safe, I— I’ll see you when you get back,” she turned back toward the garden, waiting for him to winnow away.

Instead she felt him fall in line next to her, his leather-clad arm brushing her bare skin.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t even know him,” it was all she could think to say.

Azriel merely nodded.

She studied his face then. With the distance closed between them every elegant angle was visible; the fullness of his lips, the way his hair— longer than she’d seen it before— fell, almost touching the long curve of his dark eyelashes.

“If you found your mate in someone you had no… desire for. What would you do?”

Those hazel eyes were churning, thinking.

“I see my brothers, what they have, and I wonder if anything other than the bond can live up to that,” he said eventually, offering every word slowly. “But. I know plenty of matches where that hasn’t been the case. And I hope an individuals heart would steer them more true than some magical pot; as ancient and powerful as it is.”

It was a kindness he imparted to her with those words; recognition towards how she felt. Maybe it was that kindness that made her ask, “If you were Lucien and I rejected our bond, could you let me go? Allow me to follow my own heart?”

She heard him suck in a breath as he tore his eyes away from the horizon to look at her.

“If I had a mate that didn’t want me, I hope that I cared enough to let her have agency over her own life. Regardless of my part in it.”

Elain nodded, feeling herself relax.

A pause, “But if you were my mate, Elain,” She looked up at him, into those cryptic eyes. “I don’t think I could ever let it go— I think my heart would belong to you forever.”

[agentplutonium]

you know what?

^ This comment from Lexi Sun (@autisticempathydaemon) is sticking itself into my brain (/pos). Here’s a short one shot with how i think this would go down (while taking some creative liberties with the ‘prompt’)

Prime Milo/Sweetheart & Asher (/Babe), Milo and Sweetheart have an adopted kid (this kid was abandoned after one of Sweethearts missions), there is gonna be no drama in this i can’t take it when there’s a kid around

(continued under the cut)

From day one, Asher was calling the kid little ghostie.

He knew this wasn’t Sweetheart and Milo’s biological son, but he couldn’t help it. The kid looks just like Sweetheart, he swears! Not to mention all the times he had pulled the slip on Asher and Babe while they were babysitting. Then, once he was found, the little menace would laugh at them for being worried. It was a game to the baby, and Asher has brought up this fact before.

“I think he’s just a toddler,” Milo would respond in a playful tone while packing up the kids things.

“I’m telling you!” Asher insisted. “He comes from two empowered, and while we don’t know much I’m betting that one of them was a stealth.”

“Uh huh,” Milo said, noncommittally. He motioned for Asher to hand over the baby.

“Hey, say what you want,” Asher said, finally handing the kid over, who was already reaching for Milo and cooing away, “I’m calling it.”

Milo gave his quiet hellos, kissing the side of his son’s head before turning back to Asher. “And I expect that, if you’re right, you’ll never let us live it down.”

“Damn right,” Asher said, smiling.

Milo chuckled. “Well, I better get him back before Sweetheart asks if I got him yet. Again,” he said fondly. “They just got home a bit before I got off and wants to see him. Thank you for watching him.”

“It was no problem,” Asher said sincerely. “If you need a babysitter don’t be afraid to hit us up. Babe has cancelled date nights before for the little ghostie. It’s always fun having him over.”

“Yeah, well, I think David’s mate would kill me if I gave you guys another chance before I gave them a chance,” Milo said. “I should probably also let Ma take him soon. It’s been a while.”

“A while,” Asher repeated, amused, “didn’t she have him the day of the last pack meeting? Two weeks ago?”

“Irrelevant,” Milo said with a smile.

Babe poked their head around the kitchen wall, nodding when they saw Milo. “Yeah I figured.” They leaned against the wall as they typed something into their phone.

“Figure what?” Milo asked after sharing a look with Asher.

“That you’re still here. Sweetheart is asking about you,” They teased.

Milo rolled his eyes, but Milo saw the way he smiled. “Yeah, yeah, tell them I’m heading out now,” Milo said with an amused huff. “I’m gonna go,” he told Asher. “I’ll catch you around.”

—

As they years passed, the less they were sure the kid even had powers. He wasn’t exhibiting the usual signs of an elemental, and he wasn’t a wolf. There was a chance that he was something else, but they all thought they would feel their core forming by now. Sweetheart was the most worried. Most of their friends at this point where kids from the pack, and it would be unfair to ask them to keep a secret like this, but they weren’t sure if the kid could get informed unempowered status at this point. The department would want to make sure that they weren’t empowered to avoid the paperwork. That could take ages.

It wasn’t until the kid was fourteen did they figure anything out.

Sweetheart had been home with him while he was sick, and Milo was on office duty for the day. Sweetheart was in the middle of making lunch for them both when they heard him cry out to them in fear.

Sweetheart was at his doorway in what felt like seconds, potentially phasing through a few walls to get there so fast but no one was around to confirm this. The kid was say bolt upright in his bed, eyes wide.

“My arm is gone,” he told them, panic rising in his voice.

“What?” Sweetheart asked, taking a few steps in.

He held up his right arm, which was in fact missing from the elbow down. He looked more freaked out the longer he processed it, tears forming in his eyes. Sweetheart’s eyes went wide, finally understanding what’s going on.

“Oh, honey,” they said, coming forward to sit on their bed. “It’s not gone. Can I touch you?”

He nodded, eyes not leaving Sweetheart.

“Look,” Sweetheart said, reaching out to touch where his arm would be, wrapping their hand his wrist. The second their skin made contact Sweetheart was able to tell exactly what the problem was. His powers manifested.

Their son was a stealth. Sweetheart tried not to be elated. He was freaking out and they need him to calm down.

“It’s still there,” Sweetheart assured.

“What is happening to me?”

Sweetheart’s chest aches at the fear that laced the kids voice. “I will explain everything, but I want to see if you can get your arm visible again,” they said gently. “Can you take a few deep breaths with me? It’s a lot easier to control it when you’re calmer.”

“So, I’m okay?” He whispered, sniffling.

“Perfectly so,” Sweetheart assured. “It’s even normal. For people like us, at least.”

“Like… us?”

Sweetheart gave a small smile, holding up their own arm and making their arm disappear just like his. Their son’s eyes blew wide at it, but there was a bit of relief behind his eyes.

“You can do it to!” He exclaimed.

“I can make a lot more than my arm disappear,” Sweetheart said, but we can worry about that later.” They took both his hands in theirs, and they breathed together a few times. As they sat there, Sweetheart couldn’t help but be relieved they were with him during this. It was a similar to their manifestation, and they knew how freaked out they were during that. After a few minutes of this, with nothing said between them, their son’s arm phased back. He looked very relieved to see it again.

“That was weird,” he said quietly. “Is… why did this happen to me?”

“This is going to sound insane,” Sweetheart said, “but you just manifested your powers. You’re like me.”

“Powers? Like… like Miles Morales?”

Sweetheart chuckled, “kinda like him, yeah.”

“Does,” he started, voice quieting when he went to speak again, “does dad know about your powers?”

Sweetheart tried not to laugh at that question. “Yes, he does. There’s a whole community of people just like us. It’s bigger than you think, too. Your dad, his friends, and your friends are all magical too.”

“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?” He demanded.

“Because it would have been breaking the law,” Sweetheart said truthfully.

“Oh.”

Sweetheart smiled, smoothing down his hair as the spoke. “Tell you what,” they said, “I’m going to go finish lunch and then we can go into more detail then. How does that sound?”

Their son nodded. “Can I come out and help?”

“If you’re feeling up to it. You might wanna take a shower first though.”

Their son nodded, getting up. Sweetheart squeezed his shoulder on the way out of his room.

They were pulling up Milo’s contact before they were fully down the hall. He picked up on the first ring.

“That was quick,” Sweetheart commented.

“It’s you,” Milo said. “I’d drop everything for you. Besides, I’ve got most of the things done. I’ve mostly been sitting here with Asher.”

“Good, so you might be able to come home early?” Sweetheart asked.

“Depends on the reason,” Milo said, and Sweetheart could see the shrug he have them. “David is pretty big on having someone here, just in case.”

“Well he might understand this time,” Sweetheart said, “your son’s powers just manifested.”

“No fucking way,” Milo said, louder than he needed to. “Really? Did you get a read of what they were?”

Sweetheart laughed as they heard Asher perk up in the background. They waited until Milo explained what was happening. Milo put his phone on speaker after that, so Asher could hear too.

“Hi sneaks,” Asher said.

“Hi Asher.”

“So I heard that your son’s power manifested.”

“They did,” Sweetheart said, chuckling.

“Soooo…” Asher trailed off. “You gonna tell us?”

“He’s a stealth,” Sweetheart said.

“I told you!” Asher yelled. “I have been telling you since day one!”

“You have,” Milo responded, a smile in his voice.

“Sneaks he looks so proud right now,” Asher told them, “he’s basically glowing.”

“Shut up!”

Sweetheart laughed at the two’s squabbling. They enjoyed hearing their arguments, mainly because they were entertaining.

“Listen, I have to get back to this food for him. I’ll talk to you both soon,” they said.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, Sweetheart,” Milo told them. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Tell little ghostie that uncle Asher had it right this whole time but his parents didn’t believe me,” Asher called.

Sweetheart laughed, “sure, Asher.”

[bubybubsters]

Love of My Life part two (Azriel x reader)

A/n - Hey so some people asked for this, I haven’t thought about this much so gonna be mostly winging it. Also someone needs to tell me how to link part one without just putting the link. And how to make a master list. That probably didn’t make sense, my bad.

Ouch, I feel like I’m antagonizing Azriel.

⚠️- language otherwise nah

masterlist part 1 part 3

It’d been exactly a year since you had found your mate and of course, he still couldn’t figure out why you’d spend so much time with him. Why his shadows searched for you in every room, why his shadows caught you glancing at him to often to be normal.

After a few weeks of your arrival, you’d gotten to know the Court of Dreams and Keir had stopped demanding for you to go home. You’d immediately connected with your sister, Amren, but mostly Nesta. Nesta’s fire had interested you and the two of you had become fast friends. Cassian had started training you one on one because you’d quickly surpassed the skill of the Valkyrie unit. Rhys and Feyre were training with your power and working on shielding and attacking minds. But Azriel, Nesta had told you, was dating Elain. Elain had been nothing but nice to you since you’d came and you could only assume she and Azriel still didn’t know about the mating bond. You’d almost punched Elain when Nesta had told you but instead went up the the training ring and trained the whole damned night.

You’d wanted to go to the Hewn City with your friends before solstice to show your old family you weren’t a helpless idiot but Azriel had put his foot down on that idea. The first time he’d been so bossy when it came to you.

That solstice you’d walked into the river house and found Elain waiting for you in the doorway. You raised your brows to prompt her to speak but she inclined her head to a balcony.

Once you were out she spoke up. “Y/n, I see how you look at Azriel and Feyre told me you’re mates, but please don’t interfere with our relationship. I care for him and if he chooses you, I will respect his decision.”

You nodded. “Elain, if he chooses me, I will be happy beyond reason but I would ask you to give Lucien a chance. He’s a good male.” You’d met Lucien a few weeks after you’d come to Velaris and the two of you had quickly become good friends. You may have fallen in love with him had it not been for the mating bond between you and Az.

Elain smiled and nodded and the two of you walked back to the living room in comfortable silence. You sat next to Lucien and grabbed the bottle of wine from his hand, you tipped it back and chugged the rest.

“Little early for that isn’t it?” The two of you hugged and you opened your mouth to respond but the bottle was ripped out of your hand and Lucien was pulled away from you.

“Don’t touch her.” Azriel was in Luciens face.

“Az-.” You tried but he was pulling you out and onto the balcony. You turned to him. “Az what the hell! What is wrong with you??”

He just stood there staring at you. You realized that the mating bond must have snapped in for him as well. “Y/n, you…youre my mate.” You just stared at him, waiting for the realization to set in. “You knew?! You knew and you didn’t tell me?

“Az- let me explain.” But he was already gone, back in the living room. Back to sitting next to Elain. You knew he’d do that, choose Elain. He’d never choose you even if it was in between you and the fucking Suriel.

As you walked back in and sat next to a very worried looking Lucien, Azriel pulled Elain into his lap and kissed her. His message was clear, you may be my mate, but I can still choose whoever I want, and I don’t want you.

Lucien had gone still in his chair and the whole room had fallen silent, looking between you and Lucien, and Elain and Azriel. You and Lucien stood up in the same movement and walked out to the balcony. You were starting to hate this balcony.

“Well that does it, she doesn’t want me, never will. What does she get from the Spymaster that she doesn’t get from me!?”

“The giant wings?” You used the question to try to ease the tension but Lucien looked at you as if you had a good point. You went on, “Well what does he get from her that he can’t get from me?”

“Nothing,” Lucien states, “but he still chose her. They haven’t rejected the bond yet so why does it feel like my heart is breaking in two?”

“I don’t know, we’re like a band of rejects.”

Lucien smiles and his smile almost takes your breath away and suddenly you’re very aware of how close the two of you are standing.

“Uh well, we should probably get back in before someone comes ou-”

“Are you guys okay!? Rhys called Az into his office and I’m pretty sure he’s getting a verbal lashing right about now.” Mor stops and looks at our faces. She looks at Lucien and he nods to you before disappearing through the balcony doors.

“Y/n, do you need anything?”

“I’ll be fine Mor, I promised Elain I wouldn’t interfere, we basically said we’d let Az choose and he chose her….” Tears are falling down your face and Mor pulls you into a soothing hug.

*****

You jolt out of sleep as an impatient knock sounds at your door. Mor is still asleep next to you, having held you and listened to your rambling until you fell asleep. You smile down at your sister for a moment, enjoying the peace etched in her body. But the knock sounds again and you open the door to find Azriel of all people outside. Stepping outside as to not disturb Mor, you raise your brows to prompt him.What you were not expecting was for him to lean forward and kiss you.

The kiss lasts a second at most and is desperate and demanding but you lean into it, kissing him back furiously. But he pulls back suddenly and starts to walk away.

“Absolutely not sir! You are not leaving until you explain what the hell just happened!” You’re still slightly dazed by the kiss but you manage to keep your voice strong and steady.

Azriel doesn’t even turn around but he stops walking. “I kissed you, you kissed me back. Before you ask, I did it because I needed to see if I was making a mistake choosing Elain. And I am going to break up with Elain so I can be with you.”

You stared at him, what the hell!? His face betrayed nothing, no love, no joy, absolutely nothing. “You don’t get to choose her, then kiss me and then decide to choose me! I will not be your second choice, I will not be yours because you liked kissing me better. You can’t have both.” You step back into your room and shut the door.

Breathe, you close your eyes and focus on the mind stilling the Valkyries taught you. In, out, in, out, in out.

What feels like a few minutes later you finally open your eyes and see Feyre, Nesta, and your sister gathered in your doorway with a pack in each their hands and an extra pack on the floor.

“We’re taking a girls week out, would you like to join us?” Feyre’s question is answered with a nod. Mor springs forward and hugs you as Feyre says, “Elain didn’t wish to join us but Gwyn and Emerie are waiting at the balcony. Mor and I will winnow us to a point between the Illyrian Steppes and the Illyrian Mountains. Ready?”

You smile at your friends and gather your pack following them out onto your balcony. You’re afraid to open your mouth to speak, you aren’t sure what might come out so you let Mor take your hand because everyone knows you’re in no shape to winnow yourself.

The smell of cedar and juniper hits you first as you open your eyes. Everyone is lookin at you but it’s your high lady who asks, “Will you be alright?”

The care in her words breaks some dam and you drop to the floor and weep as if you’ll never stop.

Part three will exist one day, comment to be added to the taglist. I didn’t proof read it btw. I also feel like this is a horrible story….

TAGLIST

@glaciuswduo

[redheadspark]

Hi!! I love your Oliver Wood writings! If someone else hasn’t already asked, could you do Oliver Wood x female reader, with prompt 17 (renting a cottage under different names), fluff? If possible, could it be like newly wed/married for a couple months?

A/N - YAY! This is going to be a bit darker than the soft loves, but I PROMISE there is love here! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Hideaway

Summary - You and Oliver flee the evening that the Ministry of Magic fell to Voldemort

Warnings - mostly angst but a hint of fluff

“Okay, we’re in.  Come on, Oli,”

You moved out of the way for Oliver to make his way into the little cottage, shutting the door behind him and instantly putting up some charms over the door and along the walls of the house, trying to be as quick as you can as Oliver took out his own hand.

“Lumos,” He hummed, the tip of his wand illuminated as he scanned the little home you two were going to stay in for the next few months.  You were now moving into the kitchen, placing the protecting charms wherever you could that would give you ultimate protection and safety.  With your adrenaline going at an all-time high and your anxiety about kicking him, both you and Oliver did not want to waste any time.  

Not with a magical war breaking out in great Britain.

You Know Who declared war and was now causing chaos in the Wizarding World.  Of course, the talks of him coming to power were at a consistent revolving wheel, with plenty of witches and wizards leaving the country before it would get worse.  However, Oliver was more optimistic that things would die down, the rumors saying rumors and nothing worse.  You two were just married and going to Bill Weasley’s wedding at The Burrow.  You and Bill worked together at Gringotts, and Bill was good mates with Oliver.  With the whispers of war going on in the back of your head, Oliver thought it would be a good distraction for you two to go to the Wedding and see your friend get married to Fleur Delacor.  

Yet, things went south well quick.

Oliver Apparated you two out of there before you saw the first Death Eater arrive under the wedding tent, fearing that they would recognize the two of you and come after you.  Once you made it back to your apartment at Ottery St. Cathpole, you both packed your bags as quick as you could.  You had to be fast since you had no idea if Death Eaters were all over the place rounding up Muggleborn witches and wizards in the dead of night.  After using an expansion charm in your bag to take all your personal belongings and items that would give away your identity, you both abandoned your first home together as a couple and fled, one hour after the news of The Ministry of Magic fell.

Now you were in a cottage on the outskirts of a muggle town, thankfully using both of your middle names as your alias as you rented out the cottage from a muggle landlord.  She never assumed you were both a witch or wizard, and there were no signs of Death Eaters being around so that was a good sign.  She handed you over the keys after you paid for the cottage to rent out for 3 months. Although surprised, she was happy and gave you names of the local grocery stores and shops in case you needed anything throughout your stay.  

The dust was settled now, you and Oliver both sighing in relief as you lowered your wand and leaned against the wall.  Your enchantments were set, protection charms and defense jinks were all over the cottage and even a few yards out.  Looking over at Oliver, he rubbed his eyes as he lit a few candles to give some light to the small living room that was connected to the kitchen.  He looked worn and tired, the months of worrying and hoping for the best took a toll on him and his appearance. The youthfulness he had when he was a boy at Hogwarts was long gone, he was a young man newly married and worried for his new family’s life.

“Oli,” You cooed, walking over to him and wrapping him in your arms.  He melted instantly, his arms holding you close as you two were embracing one another on such a scary night.  The crickets were chirping outside the window, and the cool calm wind was brushing up against the walls of the little home.

“We’re safe, okay?”  You said in your hug, “We’ve both safe and we can take a breath.”

“That was too close,” Olive muttered as he clung to you, “What about the Weasleys?  And Harry, what about Harry…”

“He’ll be fine,” You reassured him as you two pulled away to stare at one another.  You saw the fear in his eyes, not just for you two being on the run, but for his friends too.  He knew Harry since Harry was a first year, and helped him as the Captain of the Quidditch team.  You’ve met Harry before right after you and Oliver graduated from Hogwarts, knowing him as The Boy Who Lived.  Yet Oliver saw him as his old teammate and classmate.  

“Let’s get some rest. We’re safe here for now,” You reassured Oliver as he nodded his head.  You both seemed out the bedroom, tucked on the second floor with a massive view of the road that lead away from the cottage and back onto the main road.  The whole area was quiet, showing no signs of a war breaking out and chaos ensuing.  Then again, you two were hiding amongst the muggles who had no inclination as to what was going on.  The bed itself was massive, barely fitting in the room as Oliver placed your bags on the ground while you turned down the bed.  

“We need to get in contact with my mum and da, make sure they’re alright,” Oliver mumbled as he rubbed his face again and shrugged off his cloak and jacket.  

“First thing in the morning,” You agreed as you were doing the same, shrugging off the dress you still had on from the wedding and slipping into pajamas that you hastily packed back at your apartment.   Once you two were now ready for bed, Oliver slipped in first and pull you in right after, engulfing you in his arms like he was protecting you.

Maybe he was, but you weren’t going to stop him.

“This isn’t how I pictured our first year of marriage,” he said in a groggy tone, though you tutted and kissed his chest.

“The first year of always hard, that’s what my mum told me when we got engaged.  Then again, they never had to deal with war breaking out, did they?” You asked, Oliver, holding you a bit tighter as you spoke again, “We’re going to take this one day at a time.  We got out when we did, and we’re going to be safe here.  Do you believe me?”

“Aye, I do.  I’ve always believed ya, and I’ll protect ya from anything,” Oliver vowed against your hair.  You knew he was telling you the truth, Oliver was more of a passionate partner when you were logical and level-headed.  Those moments you two had back in school when it was simple flirting and then dating each other your seventh year.  

He was teased by his teammates when you would visit him at practice or come to every game to support him, or when he was spotted studying with you under a massive tree outside the school walls.  He never cared, the bravado nature of being a quidditch captain that the other Houses had was not was Oliver wanted to be.  He had a soft love and affection for you, and that carried on after you two graduated from Hogwarts.  Getting married a few months before the summer came with only a handful of people as witnesses, you two did feel invincible.  

You still felt that now, even with the fear of being discovered and taken away in the dead of the night. 

It was your first summer together, hiding in a small cottage in some muggle town, waiting for the war to break out.  You should be afraid of it, scared to death of it, but that fear was slightly masked by your husband holding you close in his embrace. 

The sounds of the chirping crickets lulled you two to sleep, the hope of living tomorrow was still there in that small cottage.

The End

June Summer Prompts

Tagged - @a-lumos-in-the-nox

[shi-daisy]

Family Ties

Day 5 for our cutie! Today on the agenda we have some slight sadness with brotherly stuff, cuz if Dorevan got his time with Tammy so is Ciaran these three are my babies! Can fall into both Threads & Daisies continuity or as part 1 of a twoshot with tomorrow's entry. I hope you like!

@tamlinweek

Tamlin Week 2024- Day 5- Shapeshifter

Family Ties

"Well, you're fluffy." Ciaran said as he studied his baby brother's form.

Tamlin was dizzily woobling around as he realized he now had paws, fur, and antlers. His unique shifter form was widely diffrent from Ciaran's who was an atropomorphic bird.

"What am I?"

"You look like a bear with antlers, your face is wolflike and so is your tail. I guess you could be counted as a chimera.

Nevermind that. You shifted perfectly on your first try, it's a sign of power."

"Oh thanks!"

He didn't mean it as a compliment. But the second Evergreen brother was too tired to argue with the wobbling little beast. He shifted back to his normal self, and sat on a bench.

As if it wasn't bad enough to compete with Dorevan's strength, now the little one had loads of power too. Well, at least if he didn't get the court he could fuck off to Summer and...No, not until their monster of a father was dead. He wouldn't put his mate at risk like that.

Ciaran took out his pipe and smoked, only then did he see Tamlin, slowly shifting back to normal and walking towards him. "Mama says you shouldn't smoke."

"Mama's not here."

His hazel eyes fell on Tamlin. It was unusual for such a young child to show such power, he prayed their father didn't break him too early. He and Dorevan were already loss causes.

'I need something stronger to wash this away.'

"Cece!"

He raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "What is it?"

"How come no one else can shift like us?"

Ciaran picked him up and placed him in his lap. "It's the Evergreen family's power. Since the beginning of this family line we've all been able to shift into creatures of our choosing, along of course with a form unique to us. The trade off...It's unstable magic. You gotta be careful, little one. We...We are all struggling with it."

"Oh...Are you well?"

"Fuck no kid. Never."

Tamlin leaned into his brother's hold. "Can I help?"

"Doubt it...Just be good to mom. Be a good person. Be better than me."

Tamlin looked up at him, hazel on emerald green. He smiled at that little face. "You're good! Being better would be hard."

Ciaran exhaled the smoke upwards as if not to hurt Tamlin. "You're still so fucking naive, kiddie...If Dorevan gets the court, I'll have to take with me to Summer. Roxxanne will spoil you rotten."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, just know I'll get you out of here when we're able."

"Okay! Thanks Cece!" Tamlin said as he yawned and fell asleep on his brother's lap.

Ciaran was hoping his younger brother forgot this conversation as he grew older. He'd likely never live it down. Still he'd keep his promise regardless of remembrance.

***

In the end, he couldn't keep the promise. He died before Tamlin, he died the same day as their sorry excuse for a father did. So the little one took the crown.

Soon after, his beloved followed and he reincarnated with her. In every lifetime they were together, and the memories of the once Ciaran Evergreen were gone, still a pull brought this now gold songbird to fly to Spring.

His dear Roxy would guard their Summer nest, all while he visited the desolate court and the creature that seemed hold a connection to. Many whispered in Summer of the fallen Lord of Spring, but this didn't look like a lord. He was a golden furry beast, always shifted and alone.

Ciaran jumped until he was face to face with the creature sleeping in the floor, emerald eyes opened for a moment to look at him. He was puzzled and tired, but still smiled.

"Heh, you look like my brother..." He muttered before falling asleep again.

Ciaran tilted his head, they couldn't be related, the High Lord was probably confused. Still, he decided to take a rest.

He jumped over the man's head, it was fluffy. Ciaran got into position and decided to take a small nap.

They both felt somewhat safer in that slumber.

[heartfullofleeches]

Locked out of heaven

Yandere Demon (Nephalem) - Baron

[Little blurb exploring an idea for my demon boyo]

It's over isn't it.

His hands are stained in a liquid he can't even recognize - mind lost in the fog that's been casted since their departure. It mixes with his own black blood leaking from holes in his chest. The entire room is covered in the golden fluid. He's so tired.

Their gone... forever

His master. His mate.. Y/n. A kind soul who never caused harm to a single person. Who cared for a creature like him. Such an angel was too good for this earth, and it seems others would agree.

Why..

Why did they take you from him? You still had just a long life ahead of you - one that hadn't even ended when they stole you away. The laughter from the angels as they hauled you off to heaven told Baron just what they were thinking - he didn't deserve you.

His fist tighten - crushing the feathers in his hand to small wisps. How fucking dare they. Those rats with wings. Those flying maggots. They've already taken so much from him. His arms. The only family he knew before you. It pissed him off - anger the only emotion more powerful than his grief.

"Fuck!"

Baron pounds on the floor, slamming his hand into the symbol on the floor - the mark of the angels. It burns his knuckles, but he doesn't care. He needs something- anything to release the agony in his heart. He was pathetic; weak, and this was all that he could do. Tears pour down his face from all four of his eyes.

"Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!"

Baron hits the floor with each shout. He feels like a child throwing a tantrum, but he doesn't care. It hurts so much - like his heart was ripped from inside and spat on before being burned to ash. You were asleep the entire time they carried you away - oblivious to his screams. Your eyes opened just as the gateway to heaven was closing; locking with his as a spear went through his chest.

"God damn it!"

How noisy...

He slams both fists into the floor - a burst of white light crackles from the broken ground. Not just the ground, but the seal. The light increases in intensity, burning so brightly it causes Baron's arms to blister as he shields his face. The charred flesh chips away, revealing golden, oozing muscle beneath. Ribbons of white wrap around him, dragging him into the opening crater in the floor. He kicks, trashes, screams your name, but is powerless to stop as he's pulled under the glowing tide

-

Baron wakes to that bright light enveloping him. It's less saturated, allowing him to see his surroundings clearer. They're.. clouds. Baron sits cross legged on a fluffy, white cloud. Something zips from the corner of his vision as he turns his head. He rubs his eyes, the skin along his arms still burnt - and golden. A faint noise buzzes in his head. Like laughter.

"What the fuck?" Baron turns his arms over. The decoloration stops at his forearms, but the black markings that wrap around his entire body are now streaked with that same honey color. The hell? He places a hand to his throbbing forehead, something hitting him in his face as he shakes his head. A finger feather falling onto his lap.

"Huh-" He touches the sided of his head. Four, thin strips of feather cling to him, pain shooting through their nerves as he gives one a hard tug.

"Ow! What the shit is going on?"

Baron's questions are to be left for a later date as a spear is pointed to his neck. An angel stares down at him.

"Halt! Who are you, and what gives you the authority to stands at the gates of heaven."

Heaven?

The spear comes closer to his skin. "More importantly... what are you?"

Baron doesn't reply - slowly standing despite the guardian's protests. He easier towers over the angel, looking over at the golden gates behind him. He doesn't know what's going on, nor what to do next - but he can feel your presence behind them.

And he'll slaughter anyone who tries to stop him from getting you back.

[shadowcrowsworld]

Sickness

Azriel x reader

Summary: The reader is sick and don't want to stop Azriel to do his job

!English isn't my first language!

I was feeling sick. When I woke Azriels side of the bed was already cold. I tucked on his blanket and pulled it over my head as well. I felled like I was standing in a cold autumn rain with only a thin shirt on my body and my head was bounding.

Our bedroom door opend and Az came to my bedside. I knew that he would leave today, I don't no where he would go but he would leave. He but one lose strand behind my ear and gave me a small kiss on my head.

"Goodmornig sweetheart." "Morning." I whispered. I didn't trust my voice and wouldn't like to worry him about me when he needed to do his job. "Are you alright love?" My spymaster already sceptical.

I straightened up and leand myself against the headboard with his blanket closed tucked against me. "I just missed you next to me when I woke up." It wasn't a straight lie.

"Sorry I needed to get ready for my mission." "When will you come back." Please let it just be two or three days. Being sick sucks but without my mate it was worst. His presence calmed me down and helped me.

"I don't know yet, maybe two weeks or so." At least I wouldn't be sick anymore when he was back. "Are you sure that everything is alright? You look a litle bit pale." His shadows danced around me and played with my hair. "I spend to much time with my book inside. Don't worry give me an hour outside in the sun and you wouldn't notice that I was pale this morning."

I kissed his hand that was laying at my face and send him comfort feelings down our mate bond. "Alright than go outside a I will be back before you know it." His shadows kept dancing around me as he stood up and gave me a small kiss on my lips. I would lie when would say I didn't want more of it but when I really was going to be sick it was better when we stayed by the small kiss.

"Leave before our High Lord is standing in our bedroom with me in nothing more than a shirt of yours." A small smirk billed on his face. "If you want me stay keep on talking" he started to nibble on my neck and his shadows decided to pull on my covers.

"Leave all of you." I smiled and waved the shadows away. "The sooner you are back at my side." "Alright but don't get in any trouble as long as I'm gone" "I never get into trouble"

I forced a smile on my face. The moment the door closed behind him I felt how he blocked most parts of our bond. He always did that when he was on a mission. There was only one little past open that was for if something happend or only to feel him when he was gone.

Normally I was thankful for that but today I blocked myself from him. With him gone I feeld worse than before my head started to bounding more and a lot colder. With his cover and smell around me I walked to our wardrobe. I picked one of his warm tops and pulled it over my head.

I walked back into our bed and laid down on his side. The first tears slipped down my face and I closed my eyes in the hope that when I sleep I perhaps feel better afterwards.

I didn't feel better Az was now one week gone and felt wore than before. I started to get stomach arche and fever. I didn't left our house once.

My now comming problem was that either Cas or Rhys are would stand infront of my door. I already send Mor and Fay away yesterday withe the words that I have something important to do and no time.

As if had something important to do in our house. It definitely didn't help that my voice cracked when I said goodbye to the two. The boys were definitely coming to check on me.

I collected all the power to stand up get under the shower and put some clothes on that didn't scream 'hey look at me i am sick.'

I didn't need to wait long and I heard a knock at my door. No one kicked the door down so maybe they weren't as sceptical as I thought. I crawled out of the bed and walked down to the front door. I opend the door and controlled immediately all of you walls in front of me wasn't standing one of the boys but both.

You have got to be kidding me. How should I do that. "Do you wanna let us in our du we need to stand outside?" Thanks for nothing Rhys. "Come in you boys. I didn't even expected you to knock. I was thinking you would just stand in my living room our library."

"How do you think about us biscuit." Cas looked at me with played shock. "It wouldn't have been the first time Cas" "In my defence I never stood out of nowhere in your library." "Yea but you stood in the kitchen and I nearly burnt myself."

And my throat started to burn again and I stardet to cough. "So the girls were right you are sick." "I am not sick I am just not feeling pretty feel Rhys."

"Try it with the truth biscuit." I let myself fall in the armchair picked the blanket and covered myself with it. "What can I do for you two?" "Why didn't you say a word Y/N?" Rhys asked.

"Why should I? I have medication and sleeped most of the time how did you want to help me?" "Maybe bring you some food and watch out for you so our brother don't cut of our heads." "He won't do that." "I wouldn't be so sure about that you are his mate." "Thanks Cas." "I really like the company of you two but I would like to go to bed again."

"Would you at least tell us what you have and allow us to check on you until Az is back." "What du you wanna play my nurse Cas?" "You are stubborn as your mate." Another hit of chills met me and I sneaked deeper in my blanket.

"I have fever, a rough throat, my stomach is eating me alive and my head want to explode." "So you are going straight into your bed"

Rhys stood up and lifted me out of my place and into his arms. "Don't tell Az that I carried you." I started to drift of in his arms it was definitely to much what I did today.

The next time I woke up I was in confi clothes and beneath a big blanket. I pushed my head into the pillow beneath me and smelled Az.

I started crying. I can't anymore, I needed him by my side now not in one week or even later now. "Oh sweetheart." I heard a familiar voice. No this can't be.

I looked up and there he was sitting right next to the bed. His shadows started flow around my body and beneath the cover. His hand found my face and stroke away my tears. "What are you doing her?" Nice now I had a raspy voice as well.

"I am exactly there were I needed to be." With one hand I tried to pull him closer to me. I needed to feal him. "You didn't though I wouldn't notice that you blocked me out. I was already suspected something on the day I left."

He stepped out of his clothes and left only his boxers on before he came to me under the covers. I snuggled at his body and left out a deep breath finally he was back.

He even prest me more into his body and build a cocoon out of the shadows and his winks. "Why didn't you say a thing when I left?"

He started to trail pattern with his finger on my side and kissed my head. "You needed to do your job. I didn't want to be the one who stopped you from doing your job I should be capable of dealing with myself when you are not with me."

"And you are but when you are sick it is a completely different thing. Do you even no how often I tried to communicate with you and was always meet with silence." "You needed to concentrate and not thinking about my sick ass."

"Hey look at me." I turned my head so I could look into his eyes. "When Rhys told me you were sick and needed me I was back as fast as I could. You are the most important person to me Y/N nobody can hold me away from you not even you. The boys and I have the same opinion as soon something is with our mates everything can wait. So next time you say something alright?" "Alright." "Vow it love."

"Only when it applies to you too." "It does." and he kisses my nose. I could feel how the new pattern built on my skin. "Now sleep I will not leave your side and protect you."

"I love you Az" I said before I closed my eyes and listened to his calming heart beat. "I love you too Y/N."

[iwishtohearyou]

Red For Love, Red For Blood~

[Now Playing: Festival From Higurashi]

{Summary: He finally got what he so desperately desired, though it took long before. He never mind when he got you in his grasp~}

[Do Not Continue If These Tigger You]

|Spoilers For Book 4, Imprisonment, Obsessive Delirium, Implied/Referenced Violence And Torture, Touching, Snakes, Threats Of Mind Control, And More|

|Be Safe My Dearest|

The sky is red, stunningly dark like maroon blood. Like how my heart that yearns for you. As the world burns in red. May we dance to our hearts content?

-N/A

Everything felt so foggy after he overblotted, none of the previous events ever stuck in your mind. Fading out like leaves in a stream, and you tried to get them out.

But they were already far gone downstream.

But you could remember the now, how the others were tossed out to the end of the dorm’s labyrinth. They could easily freeze to death due to the lack of heat from the night air.

That aspect was the one to have you pray for whoever would listen. But it seemed like the gods kept silent at a desperate time.

Maybe this was a reason for your independent plan?

Just because you didn’t have anyone else other than the man who’s in delirium, you could still fight for yourself.

Quick and furious knocks snapped you out of the comfort of your daydreams.

You noted that you hadn’t finished buttoning your top. “Hurry up in there, we don’t want to keep the sultan waiting.”

Oh yeah, when Jamil finally took control of his dorm mates. He had them call him all these powering and high titles.

Like sultan or housewarden, things he wanted but couldn’t ever achieve.

“Just a moment!” Shouting back to the student, he stopped his headache inducing knocks.

“God did they need to make this so tight..?” Latching on the last connecting hook, the dark red top cling down to the waist line of the red bellowing shalwar.

“Just…hold on for a bit more [Name]. They’re coming back for you.” Providing the little comfort you could give yourself.

It was finally time to step away from the mirror and face the reality of the red world.

While opening the door, the other male student stood still while his red eyes stared back into your own.

“Come now, we already wasted enough time.”

He basically jostled you through the winding halls. The only light leading you both was the red of the sky and moon.

“Wait here, we’ll announce your entry.” He placed out his open hand while you huffed at the rather rough walk here.

And stood before you and the boy was the main doorway for the common room.

Seems like the decor changed a bit as golden snakes hugged the door handle rather than its original design.

Opening the door, it shut instantly behind him. Leaving you alone in the hall, ‘kinda stupid…’ you nodded to yourself.

But before you could actually run or anything of the kind.

“As we present to you, our sultan, your one and only [Name].” The muffled voice turned louder as the doors opened.

Allowing you to see what inside the room, it ran a chill through your spine as many blank, red eyes stared deeply into yours.

The one that caught the most interest was from the “sultan” himself. Who sat on a throne of dusty gold, his head rested on his clenched fist.

You could feel a part of your conscious scream at you to run. Though, it was over powered by that of reason.

If you ran, you’d instantly be taken back. Most likely mind controlled like the rest.

“Come forth, my hayati~” waving his smoky grey hand, you finally pinned on the corroboration route for now.

Some of students started to praise the fashion choices that Jamil apparently made.

Some showed it by bowing, while others murmured out proclamations.

“My precious ruby, I knew red would look great on you.” The boy stood from his throne and laid his feet flat.

“It bring out your best features as well.” You nervously stopped by the small steps, he smiled sadistically while placing his hand on your right cheek.

“And a prefect way to show you’re mine.”

Leaning towards your head, he pressed the red, cold, gem on your forehead.

“Such a beautiful thing~” Jamil placed his other hand on your shoulder, closing in the space between you two.

While he stared into your fearful eyes, a snake connected to his hair slithered onto your arm and wrapped around your shoulder.

“One of you imbeciles make us a dish, don’t even bother trying to poison it. We rather not have any servants die.”

While he stated his threat another snake wounded itself around your neck, not tight but not soft either.

“Come now, let us rest on our throne.” When he backed away, the snakes that have laid on your skin. Slid against your skin as the snaked around his arms.

Guiding the two of you, he placed himself on first. While he softly pushed you in his direction, letting you fall into his lap.

“No need to be so stiff my love, just relax. None of the pests will be bothering us again.” He placed his head on your shoulder as the snakes approached and started to wonder.

“Though you are my love, I have an order.”

Grabbing your chin, he roughly pulled it to face his deranged face.

“Praise me…” he lifted your chin.

“Or should I make you..?”

His eyes glowed red, like blood in a stream.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Friday Night Big Scream

Read on AO3

The too long laces of her converse shoes bounce against the concrete as they walk down the street Zatanna’s arm linked with John’s. The ground’s a little wet the rain ending just in time for Trick or Treating to begin as a thin layer of fog crawls along the ground giving just the right amount of spooky to the crowded streets.

They weave their way through hundreds of other costumed folks, dodging a line of little Power Rangers high on sugar who rush past them.

John and Zatanna come to a stop in front of the Landmark Opera Plaza Cinema, a small local theater she’s always been partial to, the marquee glowing proudly with tonight’s fare.

“Are you sure a movie marathon will satisfy your Halloween needs?” John says dropping her arm to twine their fingers together.

Zatanna smiles up at the marquee then at him. “Absolutely, Dinah and Ollie are out of the country so there’s no party worth our time and I already dragged you to three haunted hayrides this year,” she pauses with a smirk. He just scowls playfully in return; those hayrides were not as family friendly as he was told they would be. He had nightmares dammit, less terrifying than the one’s he usually has, but nightmares all the same. “Our costumes are top notch and their showing three of the finest slasher classics ever to exist. It’s gonna be a nice, easy Halloween.”

John nods his head satisfied with her answer. They step forward about to enter the theater bumping into another couple.

“Sorry, mate,” John says as one of the men looks at them.

“You two look fantastic,” he says as the pair saunters off not even missing a beat.

“Hell yes we do,” Zatanna says with a smile pulling John forward into the theater. She has once again gone all out on their costumes. This year opting to be Grace and Daniel from one of her favorite recent movies Ready or Not, it gave Zatanna an excuse to look damn pretty in white while John looks hot in a brown suit and teal shirt and has an excuse to carry around a whiskey glass all night that she can magically refill.

They give their tickets to the girl dressed as Batgirl in the booth and make their way into the massive theater. They skip the concession line for now, though Zatanna will be needing some popcorn soon enough, and head into screen room four. They’ve gone all out for the night, the lights are all lit up red, the walls covered in fake cobwebs and spiders and everything in between. A few animatronic slashers are set up here and there in the halls and at the edges of the seats.

John and Zatanna pass by screen room three where Freddy Kreuger stands and is having his own marathon, two young girls who look barely old enough to have bought their tickets tonight screaming in delight when he swipes out at them.

Their trilogy of choice isn’t quite as famous as that man of nightmares but it’s Zatanna’s hands down favorite.

The Killer Blade franchise is a blatant mish mash rip-off of Texas Chainsaw and Friday the 13th. The killer, quite obviously, carries a chainsaw in one hand, a machete in the other and sports a scarecrow like mask as he terrorizes young campers in the dead of the southern summer.

They’re corny and ridiculous and only get more so as the films progress, by the third film the killer has blatant healing powers that are never explained and the machete has become molded to his arm in a practical effect that’s essentially just duct tape. The final girl from the first film is portrayed by four different women across the movies, yes that’s right four. They couldn’t even keep one actress around to finish an entire film in the second installment.

They’re not great, but Zatanna has such fond memories of the schlocky 80’s slashers. They were the first horror movies she stayed up way too late to watch and couldn’t take her eyes off of. She remembers dressing up as Star Bradford, the series final girl, the first Halloween she was able to pick out her own costume and a few years later showing Zachary the first film and giving him nightmares for a month.

When she heard they were doing a big screen showing for one night only, she couldn’t think of any other way to spend the night.

Their screening is in the smallest screen room unsurprising considering Killer Blade isn’t exactly as popular as many of the big franchises.

They settle into their seats, unfortunately at the front of the theater. Zatanna hadn’t heard about the showing till it was almost too late snagging two of the last four tickets. She discreetly moves her hand a silent little spell under her breath that moves all the seats back subtly making it so their necks don’t have to crane uncomfortably up at the screen.

They settle in lifting up the armrest between them, John wrapping his arm around Zatanna’s shoulders his fingers softly running over her lace covered collar bone.

The first film breezes by a 90-minute gore fest that Zatanna delights in every second of. It’s been a while since she’s seen the movies, really sat down and watched them full through and she loves it just as much now as she did at 12 years old.

“Well,” Zatanna says slipping out from under John’s hold turning to him excitedly. He’s never seen the movies in their entirety only bits and pieces when he’s popped up and interrupted her viewings. “Incredible right?”

“That’s one word you could use,” John says with a snort.

“Oh, come on,” she says standing up and stretching out grabbing John’s hand and pulling him along with her into the lobby for the fifteen-minute break between the movies. “I heard you laughing at the jokes, even felt you jump a couple times.” She teases pushing open the door to the ladies’ room, John doesn’t even bat an eye as she drags him in along with her.

She steps over to the mirror adjusting her bandolier and fixing up her hair where the braid has loosened a bit from resting against John’s shoulder all movie long. John leans against the wall beside her and shrugs.

“I guess it was pretty fun,” he concedes pushing off the wall and wrapping his arms around her waist. Eyes meeting in the mirror with a small playful smile. Zatanna smiles back continuing to fiddle with her hair.

“I hate to say it, since we’ll never be getting married,” Zatanna says leaning back into John looking at the image they make in the bathroom mirror. “But damn do we look good like a bridal pair.”

John smiles at her pressing his face into her neck. A few other people move behind them clearly unbothered by the couple hogging the bathroom mirror. If the sounds from the second stall are any indication they’re definitely not the only couple in this bathroom anyways.

“A bit of a bloody wedding,” he comments brushing his hand over the blood splatter across her waist, his fingers fiddling with the bandelier of empty shotgun shells across her chest.

“Well if we were to get married, it’s safe to assume there’d be some bloodshed at the ceremony,” she muses.

John hums in agreement trailing his lips along her shoulder his hands moving in directions not appropriate for public viewing.

“And where do you think these are going?” she says lacing her fingers with his stopping his movement in its tracks.

“We can’t let those two have all the fun,” he says gesturing his head back for a beat towards the second stall just as a very loud moan comes from behind the door.

Zatanna chuckles pulling his hands around her tight before pulling them away and twisting to face him.

“I am not fucking you in a movie theater bathroom stall,” she says kissing him once quick on the lips before pulling away and heading for the door. John trails along behind her.

“We’ve done it in worse places,” he grumbles under his breath.

“We have not,” she laughs as they make their way back into the lobby pulling John by his undone bow tie into the concession line. She absolutely needs popcorn for the second movie.

“The basement of that haunted sanitarium in DC was way worse,” John argues.

Zatanna looks up contemplating. “Okay, maybe, but,” she defends. “We thought we were gonna die, dire circumstances makes one forget about germs.” She pauses once they get to the front of the line ordering a large bucket and paying, tossing an extra hundred into the tip jar with a wink to the girl behind the counter. “Also, the second movie starts in about five minutes and we will not be missing it.”

John dips his hand into the popcorn bucket taking a large handful and shoving it into his mouth. “Fine,” he says muffled through the buttery snack.

“Later,” she says with a flirtatious smirk backing into the doors and going back inside the theater. She reaches out running a finger along John’s lower lip licking the remnants of salt and butter off her finger holding his eyes the entire time.

John swallows the last of the mouthful of popcorn hard. “How long are these two left?”

“Three is the longest, just a little over two hours,” she says with glee settling back into her seat tapping John’s whiskey glass to fill it automatically. “Two is another cool 90 minutes. Think you can hold out?”

“I am a man of strong will and great endurance,” he says taking another handful of popcorn, setting his glass aside.

“I mean I don’t know if I’d call the endurance great,” she teases hooking an ankle around his.

“Rude,” John says shoving at her playfully. The lights go down, the movie starting to roll on the screen. “I’ve never heard you complaining.”

“Well now that you mention it,” she chuckles clearly just messing with him.

“I cannot believe you,” he says with a laugh throwing a little bit of popcorn at her. She tosses it back at him just as the production company insignia crawls across the screen.

She shushes him as she settles back in comfortably underneath his arm.

The first twenty minutes are pure trash attempts at being cinema all shot in black and white telling the loose origin of Killer Blade that makes not one ounce of sense and isn’t referenced ever again. Things get really good in Zatanna’s opinion when things go back to color the camp counselors of the second film, including final girl Star, now played by a different actress, who for some reason decides it’s a good idea to help reopen the camp where her friends were all murdered two years prior by a madman with no motive other than to kill that disappeared into the night without a trace.

It’s a rapid ride that she falls into easily forgetting how much time passes watching with rapt attention as if she hasn’t seen it dozens of times before. So of course she notices something wrong with the film in an instant. At first the screen crackles a bit, a passable glitch she brushes off, but then it happens again. This time along with the screen warping unnaturally. She sits up straight, John taking notice their eyes meeting for a beat before returning to the screen.

Zatanna scans the audience as the ground shakes, light bursting out of the screen. No one else seems to notice; all just happily watching the film without a care in the world.

The screen morphs again, Zatanna pushes the popcorn out of her lap her hands at the ready, magic just at her lips. But she’s not quick enough two hands still showing the movie across them reach out grabbing each of them by the neck.

They both fight back John biting at the hand while Zatanna kicks at the one holding onto her. They don’t so much as flinch pulling the both of them in closer and closer to the screen till they’re going straight through it. The sounds of a chainsaw and the blood spatter of the unsuspecting gas station attendant enveloping them.

Everything goes dark for a moment, a scene change, then they’re both being thrust hard onto the ground landing face first into dewy grass. Gone is the just right temperature of the movie theater, replaced now by the warm breeze of a summer evening. The darkness of the theater no longer surrounds them instead the slow burn of a summer sundown.  

Zatanna sits up with a groan. “John,” she says shoving at his back, he groans in response slowly lifting himself up. Zatanna looks around the trees swaying in the wind, she shifts the other way and there she sees it the bright red Camp Crystal Arawak sign she currently has a replica of hanging over her big screen tv at home.

“Holy shit,” she says. John twists looking the same way she is.

“Are we-“

“We’re in Killer Blade 2,” she says half in awe that she knows she shouldn’t be feeling. “We’re in Killer Blade 2,” she says again lifting up from the ground, a little more enthusiastic this time. She knows this is probably bad, but she can’t help it.

“Probably not a good thing, love,” John says lifting himself up from the ground trying to reign in her excitement.

“I mean, yeah, probably not. Probably a villain did this to mess with us,” she says eyes looking all around taking in the scenery like she’s never seen it before. “But come on, I mean who hasn’t wanted to live inside their favorite movie?”

“I haven’t,” John says dusting the grass off of his suit.

Zatanna turns giving him an eyeroll over her shoulder. “Well, that’s because your favorite movie is A Clockwork Orange.”

“And your favorite movie is about a man with a machete for a hand,” he shoots back.

“Not until the third one,” she says reaching back. “Come on, the massacre hasn’t started yet, that’ll give us time to figure out how to get out of here.”

“Oh goody the massacre hasn’t started,” John says taking her hand.

They walk under the large arching sign and it’s almost as if the air shifts, the warm summer night giving way to a cooler breeze as if the space knows it’s about to become a wasteland of death. Zatanna points naming out cabins and which characters will perish where as they walk through the campgrounds. Her hand reaching out every now and then to run her fingers along the set she’s memorized every inch of.

A few teens portrayed by twenty and thirty somethings come barreling out of a cabin laughing.

“Shit,” John says trying to pull Zatanna behind one of the cabins so they’re not spotted. He assumes that will just make things more complicated.

“It’s fine they probably can’t see us, they’re scripted they can’t move off of it,” Zatanna says continuing to move forward.

“Hi, y’all!” one of the campers shouts. Zatanna and John freeze in their tracks.

“Or maybe they can go off script,” she swallows turning around. Janet, the films signature slutty girl, is waving at them frantically not a care in the world.

She’ll have cares soon enough when her macabre ending comes because she just can’t resist running off to the woods for one quick blow job with mega jock Brad who will die with his pants at his ankles.

“Hi!” Zatanna waves back a corny smile across her face. She nudges John with her elbow and he joins along a little less effort put into his smile.

“Are y’all lost?” she says that thick southern girl accent she’s putting on mixing with the actresses’ natural valley girl cadence.

“Sort of,” Zatanna says putting on her own little southern twang. John looks at her wide-eyed mouthing a question of what she’s doing. “Roll with it,” she whispers under her breath as Janet makes her way towards them, perky and practically bouncing with every step. Brad and a few of the nameless body count stroll along behind her.

“Oh, no!” she says rushing right at Zatanna giving her a hug not questioning their outfits or the bandolier of shotgun shells she’s wearing. Bless this sweet, horny girl.

“What’s up with the get ups?” Brad asks, at least having a little more sense to question their presence.

“You see we were at a costume party at the old West-Cain cabin on the other side of the lake and it got broken up by the cops,” Zatanna says coming up with a quick story using her knowledge of the movie’s landscape to her advantage. A party occurring prior to the events of the film at the cabin they’ll spend the entire movie trying to get to is a passable excuse for their presence. Especially for this crowd.

“And our ride ran off without us and left us stranded in the woods,” Zatanna continues with an overdramatic rolls of her eyes. “We just started walking and luckily stumbled upon y’all.”

“Well thank goodness you did; those woods get really spooky after dark. Especially after what happened,” Janet says with a shiver. She reaches out grabbing Zatanna’s hand pulling her along not giving any further information. That’s okay Zatanna knows better than her what happened. “I’m Janet and this is my boyfriend Brad.” She says pointing to the blonde walking alongside them. The nameless body count characters have peeled off ahead of them heading towards the dining hall.

“I know,” Zatanna says accidentally, Janet giving her a funny look. “I mean it’s printed on your shirt.” She quickly corrects, Janet looks down at her shirt like she’d forgotten that fact and possibly even forgotten her own name.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a giggle.

“I’m Zat-” she starts deciding her name might be a little too complicated for this group. “Zee,” she says instead. “Just Zee,” she smiles at Janet throwing a hand over her shoulder. “And this is my boyfriend John.”

John snorts. She never calls him that, it’s what he is technically speaking, but the word never seems to fit for them. “Good to meet you,” he says.

“Ooh,” Janet says shimmying her shoulders. “From jolly old London are we?” she says putting on a god-awful British accent, mixing terribly with the two she’s already battling.

“Liverpool technically.”

“Like the Beatles,” Brad says with a nod of his head slapping his hand down on John’s shoulder with a loud clap. “Cool.”

John just gives Brad a thumbs up and a slightly grimaced smile rubbing at his shoulder as they walk up the steps to the dining hall.

“We’ll get you guys all set up in here,” Janet says dropping Zatanna’s hand and pushing open the double swinging doors. “Anton is the only one with a car, he doesn’t love driving at night, but I’m sure he’d be able to give you two a ride into town. He’s too nice to say no.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Zatanna says emphatically looking over at John. “Truly we can just get a little water and head back out there.” Look for magic signatures, find a portal or some sort of tear they can slip through to get back into their reality. Anton will be a hindrance to that.

“Nonsense,” Janet says dragging them along and introducing them to other counselors in the room. They may be going off script here, but Zatanna can’t help but notice she only gives names to the characters who are given them in the movie.

Anton is happy to help, a do gooder who will lose his head in act three, twirling his keys around with a wink before heading out to his car. Zatanna knows for a fact he will find his tires slashed, the night of terror truly about to begin.

“You two just sit here and drink these,” Janet says settling them at a table. Brad sits two glasses of water in front of them. “I’ll be right back.”

She won’t, if the leer Brad gives her as she walks away is any indication.

“So what’s the costume?” Brad asks turning the chair on the other side of the table backwards and sitting down in front of John.

“It’s from a movie,” John says not going into further detail.

Brads hums. “I don’t watch a lot of those.”

“Ironic,” John says leaning back.

“Yeah, totally,” Brad says absolutely not knowing what the word ironic means. He gets up with a nod jogging over to Janet wrapping his arms around her waist, shoving a hand down the front of her tiny shorts.

“Well that’s subtle,” John says watching them slip out of the side door.

“Yeah they’re about to die,” Zatanna says using her normal voice turning her body towards his. “Look, we’ve got to get a move on and find our way out of here, cause shit is about to hit the fan.”

She lowers her voice leaning into John. “Us being here isn’t affecting the plot all that much, Anton is going to go to his car and find the tires slashed. Then on his way back he’s gonna find Janet and Brad’s bodies. It’s pretty much a non-stop kill fest from there.”

“Let’s try and not be a part of that,” John says getting up from his chair. They make their way to the little backdoor they watched the couple slip out of moments ago when the kitchen door swings open blocking their path.

The walking epidemy of the 1980’s teen dream steps out. He’s got that same curly hair like the boys in Nightmare on Elm Street, rocking a crop top and denim shorts, baseball cap clipped to one of his belt loops. It’s a look she has managed to wrestle John into a few times and it delights her to no end.

“Oh my god, that’s Ray Bronson,” Zatanna says excitedly twisting them away from the door a bit.

“Who?”

“Ray Bronson,” Zatanna says sounding half in love. John tries not to be jealous. “He was a bonafide scream queen in the 80’s and 90’s. His character, CHARLEY, was originally supposed to survive this movie alongside Star, but he was dating Sidney Strode at the time and when she quit the movie he refused to be in the third film so they rewrote the ending.”

She steps away from John lingering near Ray Bronson as he shares high fives and bro hugs with a few other guys in the room. John follows after her.

“You could tell production was mad at him for bailing cause his ending is grisly,” she sighs quietly looking the man up and down.

“How grisly?” John says trying not to get the guy’s attention, keeping his voice low.

“Him and Star get split up and first one of his arms goes through the meat grinder in the cafeteria, he gets away bleeding like crazy. Then he gets his legs chain sawed off and as he crawls away somehow still conscious the killer picks him up and ties his only remaining limb to the back of a truck and does doughnuts in the field till CHARLEY smacks into a tree and basically his whole body explodes. It’s disgusting,” Zatanna says with a delighted grin.

“You look far too happy about that,” John says with a chuckle.

“Don’t get me wrong CHARLEY is dreamy as hell and you root for him in a way you don’t root for anyone but Star cause he’s a genuinely a great horror movie boyfriend, but the FX team goes all out for his big death scene,” she says with a fond nostalgic smile. She can be a real freak sometimes, John loves it.

The front door swings open again and the music swells. Zatanna and John look up finding no plausible source for the music, the generic 80’s pop playing from the radio is gone, the score taking over welcoming its final girl back to the screen.

The room freezes all eyes on her as she makes her way over towards CHARLEY.

“Star 2.0,” Zatanna whispers watching as a tall tanned woman flips her long black hair over her shoulders. Her outfit is different than a lot of the others, the blue and white polo replaced with a red t-shirt sporting the name of the camp, a little white washed denim jacket on top of it. It’s the outfit Zatanna sported for Halloween all those years ago. “She’s not my favorite Star, but she has the best final girl scream. This is so cool.”

John gives her look.

“Okay, potentially extremely dangerous, but also,” she pauses gesturing wildly to their surroundings. “Camp Crystal Arawak. I wanted to go here so bad when I was a kid, I was bummed when I realized it wasn’t a real place.”

“You wanted to come to the murder camp?”

Zatanna just shrugs with a little smile.

“You were a twisted little one, weren’t you?” John says fondly.

“Maybe just a little bit,” she says with a playfully tilt of her head. “Come on, Anton’s about to bust in it’ll be a good distraction for us to get out there and investigate.”

***

Night has fallen completely by the time they slip outside and out on the ridges of the camp not far from Anton’s car Killer Blade is waiting, lurking. Zatanna guides them in the opposite direction, better to avoid the killer for as long as possible.

The woods are quiet, largely carnage free for now as they make their way through the trees. Zatanna snaps her fingers trying and failing to find magic at her fingertips.

“Dammit,” she says a flicker of light coming from her fingers for a second, immediately expunged. “My magic is on the fritz.”

“Same here,” John says tapping at the exposed sigil on his collarbone, it doesn’t even flicker to life for a full second.

They continue walking along looking for some sort of magical energy signature until a rustle comes from the right. They briefly stop, but Zatanna keeps them walking along as if nothing has been heard.  

“White guy, pony tail,” Zatanna says under her breath keeping close to John. She watches as he dives behind a tree thinking he’s gone unnoticed.

“There are several of those here,” John murmurs back. Zatanna looks the way of their potential bad guy again, the goatee man sneaking his head out from behind it for a second. For a bad guy capable of something this elaborate he sure is acting like a cartoon villain in the moment.

“That one,” she says inclining her head towards the tree line. “He’s not in the movie,” The man slinks back behind the tree disappearing into the background of the movie.

“You sure?”

“You saw his outfit, all black, long jacket; that’s out of place at a summer camp. Plus I’ve seen these movies a hundred times, I know every detail down to the background actors and he’s not one,” she says stepping towards the tree, John following right behind her.

Zatanna attempts to ready her hands with magic, but it flickers out once again. The man behind the tree snarls when they make eye contact and immediately twists making a run for it.

“No you don’t,” John says chasing after him.

He doesn’t get far, John may smoke a pack a day, but when he’s stubbornly determined enough the man can run. He catches up to the guy tackling him to the ground the two struggling with each other rolling on the grass. Zatanna comes to a stop in front of them watching as John gets the upper hand pushing the man into the grass.

“You cannot hold the demon of illusion!” he shouts ripping his hands into the grass a flickering beam of bright white light coming up through the ground. He sinks his hands into the light disappearing in an instant the light closing up right behind him causing John to fall face first into the grass.

“Fuck!” he shouts his voice lightly muffled by the grass.

“Demon of illusion,” Zatanna says. “I appreciate that demons have just started introducing themselves with job title cards, it really cuts down on the research time.”

“Doesn’t help us get out of here though,” John says getting up from the ground.

“Illusion explains why no one else in the theater reacted when we got sucked in. And it explains why his powers work, but ours don’t he’s in control of the whole thing,” Zatanna puzzles with his reasoning though. “Did we do something to this guy? Did you beat him in a poker game?”

John just shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t think so, of course some of those games are a bit of a blur.”

A piercing scream sounds in the distance.

“Did you hear that?” John says looking up from where he’d been scuffing at the grass the demon had disappeared through.

“The massacre has started,” Zatanna says grabbing John’s hand. “We should head back.”

“We should?” John says incredulously running alongside her.

“The demon probably wants to see us go through it and we can’t do that if we’re just wandering in the empty woods,” Zatanna says increasing her pace. “Plus I kinda want to see it if we’re being honest,” she adds on with an apologetic smile, gritting her teeth.

The screams get louder as they get closer, the whirring sound of a chainsaw slashing through the night air.

Zatanna skids to a stop, John crashing into her back. Her eyes are locked upward and John follows her line of sight. Before them stands a behemoth of a man clad in a white long-sleeved shirt and dark overalls, heavy work boots caked in mud and a lightly burnt scarecrow mask over his face. He sheaths the machete in his right hand into his blood splattered overalls choosing instead to rev his chainsaw back to life.

Zatanna backs up as Killer Blade takes a slow step their way. She and John end up side by side backing up slowly. John reaches out an arm ready to block Zatanna and take this chainsaw for the both of them if he has to.

Zatanna raises her hands, “Kconk siht rellik otni eht eerts!”

Nothing happens. Killer Blade just tilts his head inquisitively at her.

“Shit!” Zatanna says dropping her hands pulling at John’s back. “Not just a glitch, magic definitely doesn’t exist in this world.”

She pushes John down the both of them just narrowly keeping their heads as Killer Blade swipes the chainsaw at them. They take off in a run faster than either of them have ever run heading back in the direction of the cabins.

“I thought the killer had magical powers?” John asks as they run looking over his shoulder. Killer Blade is catching up somehow despite the fact he’s walking at a snail’s pace compared to them. Slasher movie logic hard at work.

Zatanna shakes her head pulling John to the right away from the dining hall. There’s nothing but abandoned dinners in there and within the next few minutes Killer Blade will find his way inside and give Marcie the cook a new haircut. Scalp free. “Not until the third movie and it’s never explained as magic so kind of a grey area anyways.”

She rushes them to cabin 28 pushing at the door that blissfully hasn’t been barricaded yet. Not that the barricade does much good.

Star screams high pitched and perfect for the silver screen; Zatanna screams right back on instinct. John pulls her back the screaming settling down.

“He’s back,” Star shudders pushing past Zatanna and John to pull at the screen door tight as it slaps in the wind.

“We noticed,” John says and CHARLEY gives him a questioning sharp look that John just ignores.

“If we stay put and wait Freddy will be here soon,” Star says pushing a dresser in front of the door. CHARLEY rushes over to help her. God, Zatanna loves her, but she doesn’t utilize a single thing she learned from the first movie for the first two acts.  

“Freddy’s not coming and we need to get out of this cabin,” Zatanna says putting her little accent back on. She doesn’t want to bring on questions about her lack of cute little southern accent distracting them. They need to get out of here, they need to find the illusion guy and they need to stay alive. She also knows that Freddy is not coming, the owner of the camp is very, very dead broken into two over a tree stump outside the West-Cain cabin that only Star will reach in the end.

“She’s right,” Anton says. A voice of reason for at least the next five minutes. “We need to get to the phone in the craft cabin.”

It’s broken, not even by the killer, just by poor maintenance. But it is logically where the story goes next. The script finds a way.

A quiet scratching comes from the outside, the metal of a machete running along the jagged wood outside.

Everyone in the cabin freezes for a beat, screaming when the machete pushes through the screen door.

“Out the window!” Zatanna shouts shoving her way to the back. She’s slightly stealing Anton’s final attempted hero moment, but she can’t be bothered. Killer Blade slashes at the door shoving at the dresser blocking his entrance.

She takes a breath cringing a bit before she crashes her elbow through the glass of the back window. She knows for a fact it’s stuck and there’s no time to waste for her and John. John comes up beside her helping clear the shards before hoisting her up and out of it.

He follows her, Star and CHARLEY sliding out behind him. Anton, Zatanna knows is scuffling inside with the killer and he won’t be making it to the window.

“Anton,” CHARLEY shouts about to reach back inside, but Star pulls at him to run.

The craft cabin isn’t too far, but the killer is nice and distracted hacking Anton to bits right now and soon he’ll mow down a line of nameless camp counselors while Star finally re-finds her gumption. They have time and they’ll find two other survivors there.

***

The craft cabin is playing out exactly as it should. The phone doesn’t work, everyone panics and unbeknownst to the characters in the room, they’re the last five standing.

Star meanwhile is quietly finding her strength, building a weapon that will take her further than you’d ever expect out of a shovel from the gardening supplies in the back, loading her pockets with toxic spray paint that will save her life when she and CHARLEY get separated on their way to her salvation.

“We have to get out of here and find that illusion demon fast. He can’t be far, he’ll want to see us get chopped up,” Zatanna says talking to John but watching Star as the music swells her moment of power coming to a head.

“Out there doesn’t seem so safe,” John says ignoring as the room around them descends in to mild chaos. Star announces her plan to run to the West-Cain cabin, but the arguments end quick, CHARLEY taking hold of his girlfriend’s hand, nothing but a sharp pair of scissors as his weapon, as they confidently storm out of the doors.

“We’re running out of time, that was Sidney Strode’s last scene, when Star walks back through that door,” Zatanna says turning to the big green swinging door with the bloodied handprints on it the couple just walked out of. “She’s gonna be Renai Lambert who plays her for the remainder of the film which is only about twenty minutes.”

“What do you think happens to us if the movie ends and we’re still in it?” John wonders.

Zatanna shrugs. “There’s only one ever one final girl in the Killer Blade films,” she says ominously.

“Let’s go then,” John says rushing for the still swinging doors. Faint protests from the remaining survivors huddled in the corner call after them, but they ignore their pleas. They slip around the corner, off to the side away from where the moonlight catches on the killer’s rusty blade.

They make their way back into the tree line, John letting Zatanna be his guide. She knows exactly where the killer will be.

“I have an idea,” she says stopping when they find a patch of well grown earth. She reaches down taking a clump of dirt in hand along with some ivy and flowers. “Magic in our sense doesn’t exist in this universe. It’s born out of myth and humanity that doesn’t exist in this world, but magic of the earth? That exists in nature, in all nature.”

“The green,” John says watching as Zatanna closes her eyes and focuses. The green isn’t an expertise either of them have, but they’ve been friends with Swamp Thing long enough to know a bit to get by. Tracking using the earth is easy if you have the right belief, attitude and intentions. And Zatanna is filled to the brim with all three as their clock starts to run out of time.

John keeps watch as she centers herself the dirt falling through her fingers, the flower and ivy glowing a bit to life. She doesn’t understand the green, she never could she isn’t connected to it in the way people like Alec are, but she knows how to respect it, how to ask for its help in small ways. A tracking spell for a man that’s clearly set them up for a grisly movie worthy demise she believes isn’t asking too much.

The dirt swirls in the air drifting out on the wind like the living thing it is, the flower and ivy following along.

“John,” she says opening her eyes pointing forward. The little bit of earth moves fast in the air and they follow behind it quickly.

The earth leads them right to their target, sporting an evil smirk.

“Your end is near,” he says.

“Nah,” Zatanna says simply rushing at him. She rams at him knocking him into a tree hard. She struggles with him for a moment pressing her knee into his stomach holding him in place. He moves his hands about to pull the same trick he did before, but John’s quick to their side stamping hard down on one of his wrists and grabbing the other hand tight.

“You can’t stop me, you can’t break free,” he spouts. “You wronged me and you’ll pay.”

“We don’t even know you,” John says twisting the wrist in his hand. The demon grits his teeth.

“Of course, just another demon who’s crew you banished to hell. Just another on your laundry list of banishments. Well you won’t forget me now, when you burn in hell you’ll remember my name. You’ll remember the demon of illusion who ended your life through the plot of a silly little human film. You’ll remember Choronz-“

“Are you actually doing a big villain speech right now?” Zatanna says with a sigh cutting him off.

The demon looks taken aback. “I was trying to,” he says angrily.

“You really shouldn’t, it’s very generic of you,” she says angering him further. He blasts a shot of magic at John knocking him back a few feet, using his leverage to kick up at Zatanna. He scrambles upright, but Zatanna is on him once again, swinging a fist that connects right with his jaw. He twists around John landing another hit to the other side of his face. They don’t always need magic to win a fight.

He fights back, or tries to at least, every attempt he makes at waving magic their way they duck, quicker than him. Catching him hard in the gut or the neck or wherever they can reach with every movement.

Zatanna shoves him back to the ground John kicks him hard in the chest, a few times over for good effort and that’s when Zatanna spots it, a burst of light like the one the demon had created in the ground when he disappeared earlier.

“John get him up,” she says and John does so lifting the demon by the collar of his coat. His power might be impressive, but his endurance is not. He clearly relies on his illusions to do all the work and when he tries a different way he loses his grip on even that.

John hits him hard and square in the eye and the crack in the scenery grows, more light pouring out of it. The sounds of thunder rumble in the distance, a crack of lightning too bright and violent to be real. The music swells again, this time some 80’s metal hair band ballad playing.

Zatanna looks up just a John punches the demon hard in the gut again, a slow crawl of words coming down at them. The credits are rolling, their time is up.

She wastes no time tackling both John and the demon through the crack of light. They land hard on the floor, the sticky carpeted stairs of the theater not having the gentle give of the summery grasslands.

The demon tries to scramble away put John pulls him down by his long coat. Zatanna brings her hands at the ready her magic tingling at her fingers, regaining its strength in the world where it belongs.

“Hsinab siht owt-tib wohsedis nomed ot lleh,” she says a wave of burning hot fire leaving her hands and hitting the demon head on as he attempts to knock John with his elbow. The demon goes up in a cloud of burning flames, screaming for a moment before he’s nothing but ash falling to the ground.

John and Zatanna’s eyes meet the two letting out a synchronized breath of relief.

“Ummm,” a voice sounds and Zatanna turns. The credits stop rolling the room going silent, just the blank, confused faces of their fellow movie goers staring at them.

Zatanna bites her lip a forgetting spell at the front of her mind, before her stage presence kicks in bowing to the people with a wave instead.

“Happy Halloween!” she says in a cheery voice nudging John with her foot encouraging him to give the audience a wave as well. He does so, just not quite with the flair she possesses.

They all begin clapping immediately none the wiser that what just happened was real, even if they all still look a little confused what any of it has to do with the movie. It’s Halloween, weird shit happens all the time. She hears a couple near the front whisper to one another about how realistic practical effects have gotten.

“Let’s go home,” Zatanna says pulling John up and hastily down the aisle and out of the theater.

***

Zatanna runs her fingers along the contents of the closet adjacent to her bedroom a tired smile on her lips as she hangs their freshly magically cleaned costumes up alongside the collection of previous years.

She closes the closet door with a flick of her wrist before gliding down the stairs to her recently magically built entertainment center. She’s traded in her lacy dress for an old Killer Blade t-shirt she’s had since high school and some little jack-o-lantern shorts.

“You sure you’re not too disappointed we didn’t finish the trilogy at the theater?” John asks lying flat on his back on the couch a bowl of popcorn resting on his stomach. He tosses a few pieces in the air, only actually catching one in his mouth.

“After the hands-on experience we had tonight a comfortable at home viewing is more than enough,” she says tapping her Camp Crystal Arawak sign before making her way over to him. She picks up the bowl of popcorn just as he grabs another handful once again largely missing his mouth sitting it aside on the floor. She ignores the mess nudging his legs, he gets the message making space for her. She climbs on top of him making herself comfortable against his chest letting her hands drift up under his sleeveless Hellraiser shirt.

John hums bringing one arm around her and reaching into the pocket of his skeleton sweatpants Zatanna bought him earlier in the month for the remote. He presses play the opening title card of Killer Blade 3: The Final Stab splashing onto the screen.

“You enjoyed being in the movie too much,” he says with a smirk tossing the remote on the floor beside the popcorn bowl laying his hand none to discreetly on her pumpkin clad butt.

“I think I enjoyed it the exact appropriate amount,” she says scratching her nails at his sides playfully. He squirms moving his other hand to the small of her back pushing her shirt up dragging his fingers across her skin.

“You reveled in being chased by that psycho,” he says moving his fingers up higher along her spine.

“I didn’t revel, I simply partook with a normal amount of horror fan enthusiasm,” she corrects lifting up her head digging her chin into his chest with a smile. “Now shush,” she says turning her head back to the tv. “I’m watching the movie.”

John chuckles tilting his own head toward the screen, a perfectly timed rumble of thunder sounding just as Killer Blade, now equipped with superpowers and a poorly structured machete hand, takes over the screen. Blissfully just on the big screen this time, right where he belongs.

[withclawandvine]

elucien week 2023: mates + travel 

title: lost in your current (like a priceless wine) 

summary: On Elain’s birthday Lucien sends her a gift. She decides she’s going to put an end to these unwanted, unreciprocated presents once and for all. Instead, something begins. 

wc: 3.9k 

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48605005

note: happy elucien week everyone! this is my frist-ever (slightly behind schedule) elucien fic that i sort of stumbled into by accident. it really surprised me, but the words just kept pouring out until i realized i had pages and pages. and then…. i let it sit. and sit. almost forgetting about it until earlier this week. but by then, there were gaps in my memory and my imagination. i couldn’t remember or figure out where this story was headed. 

which is why i’d like to dedicate it to the wonderful @lucienarcheron , who was so lovely and kind enough to beta read this for me. without her encouragement and thoughtful suggestions, this fic would probably still be collecting dust. so gigi, thank you from the bottom of my heart, and i hope you enjoy the final product and don’t find as many typos !!  

“Happy birthday, El!” Feyre said for perhaps the dozenth time that evening, tossing this one over her shoulder as Nesta impatiently pulled her along the sidewalk by the elbow. Feyre’s joyous cackle seemed to reverberate off the mountains, too big for this earth. It filled Elain too; she practically floated up the steps to her townhouse, stopping halfway to wave at their shrinking figures.

She almost didn’t notice the parcel on her welcome mat. 

One more step and she would’ve tripped over the narrow box. She bent over to pick it up, get a closer look. There was nothing written on it, no indication the box was even meant for her until she took it inside and opened it. 

Although the note was simple, the few lines had her head spinning: 

Something to celebrate with. 

And one of the things I miss most about my home court.

 — Lucien

With shaking fingers, she set the small card aside, revealing an emerald bottle with a hand-scripted label. Autumn Orchards Sparkling Cider. Elain brought it closer to her face, blinking disbelievingly at the number printed underneath, certain she’d read it wrong; the bottle in her hands was older than the man who gave it to her. 

Admittedly, Elain didn’t know much about the man in question, but she was aware of the nature of his relationship with his family. She couldn’t help but wonder what pains he might’ve gone through to acquire the priceless vintage. She couldn’t help but wish he hadn’t. 

She stared hard at the bottle, as if she could divine an explanation from the bubbles floating in the liquid. This was the first time Lucien had given her a birthday present, which then begged the question of how he even knew about it. Of course, as soon as she thought it, the answer became painfully obvious — Feyre.  

Mother forbid her little sister mind her own business. Her, and everyone else on this island. Prythian, she thought, was much too small, and home to creatures who’ve grown weary of their endless power and and immortality. What significance could a birthday have to someone like that? 

Someone like you, a little voice in her mind whispered. 

She wrenched the cork free — primal, fae strength was good for some things, at least — and took a hearty swig. 

She’d been bracing herself for a burning in her nose or a sort of cottony feeling on her tongue. Instead, it was crisp and sweet. Bubbles danced on her tongue, and she could already feel her cheeks and chest blooming with heady warmth. She hadn’t prepared herself for the possibility of liking it so much. She brought the bottle back to her lips, carrying it with her as she paced her small apartment. 

It was almost like a game: one swig for every question she couldn’t answer. What was he playing at? Had he left this on her doorstep himself or sent a currier? Did it matter? 

She shouldn’t have opened the bottle. She should’ve just stashed it away to age another hundred, thousand years with the other gifts. The back corner of her closed had become a sort of purgatory. If this went on much longer, she’d have to move her clothes. 

She could imagine it so clearly, it might as well have been a vision: an avalanche of Solstice gifts past and future crushing her, if the guilt of reciprocity didn’t get to her first. She needed to put an end to this once and for all. 

Stumbling in her haste to get to the closet, Elain pulled down the dusty box that contained a pair of white gloves and a midnight blue velvet case. And, after a moment of staring at it hanging in the back of the wardrobe, she ripped the green coat off the hanger and tossed it onto her bed. She stared at the collection, trying to decide how best to transport it. 

She looked out the window at the setting sun. A cool breeze rustled the yellowing leaves; summer was finally letting go of Velaris. 

Before she could overthink it, Elain slipped on the jacket and stuffed everything else in the pockets. She shoved the sleeves up roughly, freeing her hand so she could snatch the half-empty bottle of cider back up. Elain downed another gulp before starting down the path she knew, deep in her bones, would lead to Lucien Vanserra. 

His personal apartment was, as it turned out, on the other side of the city, nestled over a small cafe. Far from Court, far from her. In any other moment, she’d be glad for it. But now, in this moment, her legs were tired, her hair clung to the sweat on her neck despite the chill, and she was out of cider. 

By the time she could hear that all-too-familiar heartbeat, the sun had disappeared. The brilliant Velaris starlight guided her up the stone steps until she was standing on the small balcony that overlooked the Sidra. 

She winced at her thunderous, clumsy knock and cursed the drink that had caused it. 

Lucien’s face was the picture of shock. His heart was pounding. But his voice was perfectly composed and genteel, “Is everything alright, Lady?” 

Elain had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at the honorific. Did he ever tire of being so polite? She knew she did, and that it likely showed in the sharpness of her smile. “Completely fine, my Lord. I just came to return your things.” 

His head tilted curiously, and Elain thought that out of all of them, Lucien looked the most undeniably other. He was exactly what she’d pictured as a girl, hearing stories about the beautiful, wild fae. “My things?” 

At this, she did roll her eyes, gesturing to her body, cloaked in green brocade. With her free hand, Elain fished in she pocket for the white gardening gloves and presented them. 

"This is mine," he said, reaching out and tugging at the collar. His knuckles brushed against the sticky skin of her throat, and she felt it all the way down her spine. "But I'm afraid those aren't quite my size." He nodded to the gloves while holding up his callused hands, as if in surrender. Elain's own palms twitched in response, begging her to give in, give in, give in. She curled them into fists, her knuckles turning white around the bottleneck still locked in her grip. 

"You know what I meant," she said through gritted teeth. Her shoulders rolled, trying to wriggle the fabric off, but even that subdued shake was enough to make her dizzy. She threw her arms out in an attempt to recover her balance, the fabric pooled around her elbows suddenly pulling tight, stopping any further movement. Movement of her arms, anyway. The rest of her uncoordinated limbs were more than happy to continue their journey to the ground. 

Lucien’s hands found her shoulders just as her knees buckled, his fingers digging into her skin as he bore her weight, all but lifting her back into an upright position. His grip slackened, but he didn’t move his hands for another beat, reassuring himself that she was steady on her feet. When he was satisfied, he gestured to the open door behind him with one hand. The other slipped over her shoulder and onto her back, as if in a gentle nudge, "Why don't you come inside for a bit?" 

Surely he wasn't being serious. Elain racked her brain for a polite excuse, but she’d already abandoned politeness by showing up on his doorstep unannounced. So she forwent it entirely with an impatient huff, "Why don't you just take the damned gloves?" 

"Why don't you?" His tone fell just short of playful. As if he'd meant to tease, but realized mid-sentence that he really did need to know. He studied her face, perhaps trying to read the answer she wasn’t speaking. And when whole seconds had passed and he was still looking, Elain twisted her lips into a scowl for him to study instead. She stood there, face pinched, arms crossed, and hating the vulnerability he was letting her witness. They didn’t do that. 

Not that Lucien noticed; his eyes were closed, and he’d tilted his head to sigh up at the stars, "Archerons." 

He spoke with a sort of bone-deep resignation that infuriated her. Sighing as if he'd expected as much from her — as if he knew her. 

Retroactively accepting his offer to come inside, Elain wedged her way between the doorframe and the man standing in it. 

The space smelled overwhelmingly of him. The urge to inhale deeply had her holding her breath as she unceremoniously removed his jacket, losing her hold on the sweat-slicked bottle in the process. The plush, woven rug beneath her feet spared it from shattering, and by extension, Elain from any further mortification. A single bead of golden liquid dripped from the lip of the bottle, instantly soaking into the vibrantly patterned wool. 

Lucien's brows rose, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips, "I suppose it’s a comfort to know you didn't hate all of the gifts." 

Elain couldn't help it. She snorted, abrupt and undignified. She tried coughing to cover it, but Lucien's head just tilted a little in either surprise or amusement, and she had to concede, "You can be quite funny." 

His expression grew contemplative. "I've never made you laugh before." 

"I wanted to," she admitted. "But I couldn't." 

"You can only laugh when you’re drunk?" 

So Feyre had been right — he was quick-witted. Elain would’ve appreciated it more if she weren’t so far from it herself. 

"I'm not drunk." The argument was punctuated by a sharp hiccup. 

Elain crouched down to pick up the bottle, if only to avoid the smug look that was certainly gracing Lucien's face. When she stood up, the room spun and she felt herself move with it. Her free hand slammed onto the table, steadying her. "Okay, maybe a little." 

Lucien pulled out the chair next to her, gesturing for her to sit. She regarded the seat warily. As much as she didn't want to make herself comfortable, she also didn't want to be just another stubborn Archeron sister that he found so predictable. So she sat. 

Lucien left the room, soon returning with a pitcher and a glass. He poured water into the glass, then set both in front of her. Elain drank greedily, feeling water trickle down her chin, sliding along her throat. Lucien’s eyes tracked its descent into the bodice of her dress before fixating rather determinedly on a tapestry hanging just to her left. Elain dimly registered that she should be embarrassed by her lack of decorum. Lucien was a courtier, and a prince in his own right, and she — she needed to leave. 

"Thank you," she said primly, "for the water. But I really should be getting h—" 

"Why couldn't you laugh?" The words all came out in a rush. It was odd; he was normally so composed and well-spoken. The delivery was almost as startling as the question itself. 

Elain was tempted to tell him he was right all along: she did have to be drunk to laugh, that ladies didn't chortle. But she hesitated a beat too long, and any attempt at cleverness would just come across as cagey. 

“Laughing, sharing jokes — it connects people.” And they were already so deeply and intimately intertwined as it was. 

“Is that really such a bad thing?” Lucien asked with the barest hint of exasperation. “Wouldn’t it be nice to at least be able to speak to each other?” 

He pinned her with a beseeching gaze she couldn’t look away from. Something was stirring in her chest. The bond perhaps, yawning awake and blinking its bleary eyes back at Lucien. You again. Elain crossed her arms, as if to make a barrier. Maybe stubbornness really was her birthright. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.” 

Lucien laughed, sharp and barking, startling Elain and bringing heat to her cheeks all at once. She watched him master himself through narrowed eyes. 

“Forgive me,” he drew in a sobering breath. “I just —” He broke off again, biting down hard on a smile. “I have troubles believing that.” 

It was as if all the legends had suddenly become true, and Elain was incapable of telling a lie. She settled for deflection, “It sounds like there’s something you’d like to say to me, though.” 

A surprised blink, but he recovered quickly, “How much time do you have?” 

He reminded of her of herself: a master of talking without ever really speaking. Surely he’d also spent a lifetime honing his skill. And now they were staring down the point of a double-edged sword. 

“Most of it isn’t worth repeating,” he admitted. “Just me, trying to figure out out from afar. Unsuccessfully, I may add. Most of us — myself included — grow up seeing a mating bond as a blessing, a gift. I’ll admit that makes it difficult to fully understand why you…” He trailed off with a shake of his head. “What you’re thinking.” 

“You were given a gift, Lucien. I am the gift. Made and delivered to you by the Mother herself.” 

So much about her had changed. Her ears and her limbs and her senses. Her mind and what it was capable of. It was hard not to think about what else might’ve been changed, been molded to fit him. Before she’d even coughed the water out of her brand-new lungs, her life was tied to his. 

“I haven’t been able to settle into a life that doesn’t fully belong to me,” she said. “I don’t fully belong to me.” 

“So you’ve said.” He had the nerve to sound bored.

“I don’t know why I expected you to understand.” 

“How could I? It isn’t as if every plan I’d laid out for myself was completely upended in one night or anything like that.” 

“Oh, you want to talk about that night?” She could barely hear her own vicious sneer over the blood roaring in her ears. Whatever plans Lucien thought she ruined could not be compared to what she’d lost and it was insulting for him to even try. “Where shall we start? With me getting dragged out of my bed by a company of strange men? Or maybe we should skip ahead to when I received the absolute honor of being drowned first?” 

“Is that where you’d like to start?” Lucien’s voice was soft, imploring, almost. 

She bit back a frustrated scream. This was just like him; when she suggested he stay in Velaris, he disappeared for weeks on a diplomatic assignment. When she wanted to be left alone, he came bearing gifts. And when she wanted him to bite back, to fight with her, he was patient and coaxing. 

Elain didn’t want to start anywhere. It didn’t matter if she went all the way back to the day she was born and started from there — it all led to the same place. The ageless dark. And the truth was that she didn’t really want to talk about it; she never even let herself think about it. 

She shook her head, and it throbbed with the motion. She squeezed her eyes shut until the pain ebbed, and when she opened them, the glass in front of her was full again. 

Had he read the pain on her face or could he feel the encroaching hangover himself? There was still so much that she didn’t understand, a whole half to the puzzle she was missing. Perhaps it was time she started putting the pieces together.

She laid the first one on the table. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone. Ever.” 

“Your sisters never — ” 

His tone was far from accusatory, but Elain still felt a surge of protectiveness that had her cutting him off, “There was a war. And after … we all moved on.” 

“Including you?” 

“It’s been years, Lucien.” 

“I know how long it’s been.” 

Her mouth twitched, a hint of a teasing smile, “You’ve been keeping track?” 

“It’s circled on my calendar,” he quipped back, not missing a beat. And in a blink, he had become serious, “It’s not a day I’m likely to forget, either.”

His hand moved, as if to reach for hers, but it just lingered on the table between them for another moment before he seemed to think better of it, and drew his arm back. “You’re not alone in feeling like a pawn, or like everything — everyone — that came before,” he swallowed hard, “no longer matters.” 

 It was like she was seeing him clearly for the first time. He looked tired, and Elain swore she could feel the ache of an age-old wound, still festering. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask about it, not yet. And so the silence stretched, unbearable.

“Your note,” she blurted. “It said this is one of the things you miss most about Autumn. What else do you miss?” 

“The apple tarts.” 

Elain tried not to let herself deflate. One conversation was a mere ripple in the wake of years of distance and indifference. She had earned her position as a near-perfect stranger; it was ridiculous of her to expect an earnest answer.

“My mother didn’t get to spend much time in the kitchens, but when she could, that’s what she made.” Elain’s throat tightened at the fondness in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes. “Hers were the best.” 

He didn’t stay on the topic of the lady of Autumn for long, instead going on to confess that he also missed the weather and the smell of the air itself. Cool and crisp, earthy. It was the hardest thing to adjust to in Spring, the heady sweetness in the air. 

“But I’m sure the gardens were breathtaking.” She mused, mostly to keep him talking. 

He didn’t disappoint her. 

The gardens were lovely to look at, but he couldn’t imagine they would hold her interest for very long, since there wasn’t much actual gardening to be done in one that was always in bloom and maintained by magic. But she would love the hanging gardens in Rhodes, vines and vibrant blooms cascading over the high stucco walls, a jewel at the heart of the city. 

As he spoke, he led her around his apartment, pointing out the gifts of the world — the rug beneath their feet was brought back from the continent, and the spiced tea blend next to the kettle was brewed at every cafe in the Day Court. Messages in Adriata are sent in bottles, bobbing through the blue canals and if they get lost to the waves, they return decades later as sea-smoothed stones of every color. The beaded curtain spanning the little window above the sink was made from it. Elain’s thumb ran over the rounded edge of a cobalt fragment, marveling at the magic of the sea. 

It struck her suddenly — the memory of begging Nesta to brave it with her. To see the continent and everything else. Her body tingled with a feeling she was so sure had abandoned her: curiosity. 

Nestled as high up in the mountains as Velaris was, the nights were cold. Especially in the winter, which accounted for more than its fair share of the year. Which made the heavy quilt spread across Lucien’s bed, in his own words, priceless. 

“I drug the thing down to breakfast with me my first few mornings,” he said as he pushed open the bedroom door. “So Viviane it sent back with me.” 

If his scent was powerful in the entryway, here it was overwhelming — oak and earth, she realized. Like the Autumn air he had just confessed to missing. She wondered if he knew he carried it with him. 

The room was small and spartan, the only furniture being an armchair in the corner and two small tables flanking a neatly made bed. The quilt spread across it was a work of art; jewel-toned patches cut out of myriad fabrics — soft suede, plush velvet, and wool tightly knitted into intricate patterns. She wandered closer to inspect the mosaic they’d been stitched into as Lucien recounted his last trip to Kallias’s court. The glistening citadel and the jagged peaks that surrounded it. His truly humbling first attempt at skating. The melted chocolate drinks that restored the warmth in your bones and made your eyelids heavy. 

Elain’s own gaze had become bleary enough that she could scarcely read the numbers outlining the beautiful gold clock ticking from one of the nightstands. Fighting off a yawn, she let her legs — now stiff and throbbing dully — fall onto the edge of the bed. 

She reached for the edge of the blanket, squishing it between her fingers to test its thickness. The back side was lined with snowy fur, lush and silky. “Are the winters here really as bad as the Winter Court’s?” 

“Cauldron, no.” Winter had the kind of cold that pierced your lungs unless you were born to breathe it. The sun was little more than an illusion. You could see it, but never feel its warmth. “But many of the rest of us are willing to brave it for the Festival of Lights.” 

“Winter has a Starfall?” 

“Not exactly. It’s…” Lucien shook his head, struggling for words. “Well, for starters, it’s more beautiful than Starfall could ever hope to be.” 

“Don’t let Feyre hear you say that.” Elain had a hard time believing it herself. She could never find it in herself to be indifferent towards her current home on Starfall. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He eased onto his back and closed his eyes, as if conjuring the Lights for himself. When he started speaking again, his voice was soft and reverent. “They look like streams, flowing in the sky. Vibrant colors you can only see because the night is so black. Nobody knows the source, but it’s widely believed that it comes from passed spirits, lighting the way for new souls.” 

As Elain tried to imagine it for herself, they lapsed into silence. But unlike before — unlike every time before — the quiet wasn’t pinning them down. She let it linger, listening to the soft and steady beat of Lucien’s heart. 

Basking in the warm glow of the lamplight, she felt, for the first time since entering the Cauldron, that time had stopped with her. Not something to helplessly watch as it raced past her, but to settle into. She wondered how many more pockets of complete tranquility she might find, how many wonders she could behold, with him.

“That sounds remarkable,” she said, peeking over her shoulder at Lucien. His head was nestled in the crook of his elbow, looking so perfectly at  peace, Elain worried he might have fallen asleep. His hummed It is, let her know that her concerns were not unfounded. 

She glanced at the clock again; there were only a few hours left until sunrise. Dawn would break reluctantly, as it always did in the City of Starlight, but nothing else would be the same. She could feel it. Before she could let the notion scare her, Elain reached for Lucien’s hand, open-palmed in the space between them. She needed him to look at her, to see what she couldn’t put to words in her eyes. When her fingers brushed his, Lucien’s eyes flew open, but he didn’t pull his hand away, so Elain didn’t either. 

She squeezed his hand gently and deliberately, “I would love to see it.” 

“I’m due back in a few weeks on an errand for Rhysand,” he began slowly, sitting back up to face her properly. His eyes darting up and down the shape of her before meeting her gaze. “Perhaps you would like to accompany me?”

[merv606]

Thinking about Puritan Daniel's wedding vows after you mentioned how Daniel said honor and obey in your latest fic. Because imagine how wild they'd be in anything-goes ABO verse!

"I promise to please and pleasure you whenever and however you desire, Sir.."

"I give my innocence to you so we may be blessed and I will birth your pups",

"I promise to kneel before you, to respect you as the Master of our home, Alpha"

And so on!

As his maidens are preparing him for the marital bed, they remind him to “honor and obey your husband.”

The same words he spoke in his vows not too long ago. 

He’s nervous, skin erupting in goosebumps as they fix the nightshirt in place.

Not nervous because of his alpha, now his newly made husband. 

They had been betrothed for years, ever since he presented and Terry had laid eyes on him, and they were only allowed to spend time together, chaperoned time, a few weeks before Daniel was of mating age, as Terry planned to wed him the very day he did. The man had been nothing but kind to him, sending gifts, beautiful letters, and he made sure his family was taken care of in the years leading up to the marriage, and that Daniel had everything he needed or wanted. 

Terry had been nothing short of a gentlemen and perfect alpha. 

His head handmaiden, an older woman, noticed his slight trembling as they dress him in the traditional loose nightshirt, in a sheer white, so that the omega, while dressed, is on display for their alpha when he enters the bed chambers. 

It can’t be from the cold - Lord Silver had made it clear that the fires in both the antechamber where they are preparing him and the bed chambers where their marital bed is are to be keep roaring, so as the omega, a slight little thing, isn’t cold or liable to catch a one.

She knows how long the Lord has been waiting for this and is endeavouring to make his little omega as comfortable as possible. 

“Are you feeling ill?” she asks, worried that they might have to fetch the doctor. Although he had been looked over this morning as part of the health check, as well as for other reasons. 

The heir of a silver could only be bared by an omega of pure status. 

“No, I …. “ he fiddles with the hem of the delicate night shirt. “It’s just that …. I’m still not quite sure ….” what I have to do, he thinks although he says, “what to expect.” 

The younger ones giggle and she shushes them. 

“He will show you these new duties.”

“Duties?!”

He had gone through the required omega courses a year leading up to this, as was normal in wealthy families of power and status, such as the Silvers, who also had a thread of nobility running through their lineage. 

Why he choose a commoner of little standing, absolutely no dowry to offer, is still beyond Daniel. 

Lord silver could have had anyone he wanted. He was the most eligible and sought after alpha. Although he bedded both male and females, he did lean towards male omegas, who were more rare than their female counterparts. 

Still, if he wanted, he could have had all the male omegas, not just in his lands, but all around rounded up to be picked from.

But he hadn’t. 

He had seen Daniel and declared that the boy would be his and that was that. 

Daniel had wanted his family taken care of, which Terry had done.

He’d also handsome, making Daniel’s omega parts feel funny, and he was kind, so Daniel was excited about this day / had been counting down to it.

He wants to get this right - to be the best mate and husband for his alpha and to repay the kindness he had already shown.

“Marital duties -

“And what are those marital duties exactly?”  he asks. 

“He will take his husbandly rights,” she answers, although it isn’t really an answer, but she is unable to explain anything else to the nervous omega. 

Oh yes - that had been mentioned in his lessons, but  all they said were the physical expression of an alpha’s love and desire for his omega.

It had all been very secretive. 

He was told to be responsive to his alpha’s advances, to be warm and welcoming which, he still doesn’t know what they mean by that. 

“That is where I …” he tries to recall the words … “receive my husband.” 

Again the younger handmaidens giggle and are shushed. 

He recalls now the vows.

“I give to you, my alpha, my husband,  both my body and my heart, I will do my duty as your  mate which is your right to take and receive your blessing.”

He didn’t really know what all of it meant, although he knew  a blessing meant a child, which he needed to cement the marriage or else, it could be contested, which he did not want. 

However it happens though, he hopes he falls with child soon.

“Yes,  do not worry. He will show you what it is you need to do,” she smiles warmly and he smiles back. 

A golden goblet is brought to him.

“It will help with the nerves,” she explains and he gulps it down. 

He’s lead into their bed chamber now, and he’s left standing there, alone, but it’s not for long, the door opening moments later, his alpha, resplendent in dark red robes comes in.

As his alpha - his husband - approaches he feels the hairs on his neck and arms stand up on end, although he can’t say he feels in danger. There is something in the air he can’t quite place, a movement to it, a heaviness, and he shivers despite the warmth of the room from the roaring fire by the bed.

His alpha is looking at him with an expression he can’t quite place. Daniel would say it was almost hungry - the way a starving man looks at food but what could he possibly be hungry for, Daniel thinks, looking at me.

The alpha’s eyes sweep up and down and Daniel knows everything he is is visible to the alpha - and his first instinct is to try and cover himself, the soft brown nipples hardening against the soft, sheer nigh shirt and the thatch of brown hair lower still, but his handmaiden’s voice in his head from earlier, reminds him.

“Do not try and cover yourself,” she said, knowing how the pious boy would probably react. “You belong to your alpha now.”

He had nodded.

“Everything you are is his, and he’ll want to see. He has waited long enough.”

He shivers as Terry steps closer, his hands clasping the hem of the night shirt to keep them from going up to block his body from the alpha’s appraising gaze.

“You look lovely.”  A hand on the side of his face, tracing along the edge.

The alpha leans down, pressing his lips to the omega who responds as best he can, never having been kissed before.

The few chaperoned dates they had, allowed Terry only the ability to kiss his hand, and, in one am occasion a chaste kiss to the corner of Daniel’s mouth which had sent pleasure zipping down his spine, setting into his special place, his omegahood throbbing in a way he never felt before. The feeling was new and scary, yet welcome.

Now though, the pleasure has him not only throbbing but pulsing, pressing his legs together instinctively, and he feels … something down there … it feels almost wet between his legs.

A hand up his nightshirt now, that Daniel didn’t even register, fingertips tracing the slick folds that hide his most secret place and Daniel gasps as his husband’s fingers brush against something that send sparks of pleasure through him. It must be his rosebud, something the omega was forbidden to ever touch and he knows now why.

It throbs and aches, a warm blooming from within as the fingertips start rubbing up and down, then in small circles which start featherlight but turn more firm and demanding.

Daniel gasps into his husband’s mouth, who takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, tasting his prize, as his other hand finds small sensitive nipples, rubbing them to hardness through the sheer garment,

His legs spread of their own accord, body reacting on instinct, opening for the alpha.

He slots his hand between them now, Daniel whimpering as his hips start moving, once again, his body reacting for him, his mind hazy, rubbing himself along the edge of his husband’s hand, forgetting himself; his behaviour wanton.

“That’s it. Find your pleasure little one,” the alpha praises, and he can hear wet noises as his hips work faster and faster, the hand between his folds now.

His head swims, his limbs loose and relaxed, the elixir from earlier coming into affect. The pleasure is mounting and mounting, and unbeknownst to him, he’s soaking his husband’s hand.

Then he feels it - waves crashing over him, his omega cunt clenching.

Terry brings his hand up, dripping the omega’s slick and release, licking it clean almost lazily.

“What ….” He starts and his husband chuckles.

“That was an orgasm,” his alpha explains. “You came.”

He’s gently laid out on the bed, large hands splaying his thighs open wide, his night shirt ruched up around a slender waist.

His husband’s hand finds it way back between those spread legs, fingers dipping in to trace his entrance, still shuddering in aftershocks.

More slick is gathered, Terry bringing them to his mouth, groaning at the taste of his omega’s pleasure.

Daniel comes back to himself, realizing, with horror, of his behaviour … what does his husband think of him.

“Now, now, none of that. These are my husbandly rights …. “

Oh, Daniel thinks.

“These are your duties to me on our marital bed …” and anywhere else Terry plans to have his little mate. No part of the house will go unchristened … nor any part of his mate’s body for that matter.

“Private vows now, just between us. Repeat after me.”

“I promise to please and pleasure you whenever and however you desire, Sir,” Terry says and Daniel obediently repeats. 

“So I shall do the same for you - endeavour to bring you pleasure.” 

“And a blessing?”

His husband opened his own robes now, and Daniel sees his first glimpse of his husband in all his glory.

His manhood, for the omega was taught the rudimentary biology of an alpha, the differences between them and omegas, is quite bigger than the vague drawings he was allowed to be shown.

“Many many blessings,” Terry promises, stroking himself as Daniel’s legs are opened once again. “All in due time, but we’ll get started now,” Terry says as the alpha presses his lips to his special omega place, knowing a second orgasm will only help in getting his mate’s virgin body to open for his cock,

He plans to keep the vows he just uttered, and needs his little mate loose and relaxed, and Daniel feels blessed already. 

I was imagining an old fashioned night shirt for this as pictured below BUT sheer and shorter.

[aurumacadicus]

This is a fill for @bitetonysassfest​ SFW Saturday–Trope: Magical/Fantasy; Dialogue: “I can’t stay long.” -- Steve hears rumors that Obadiah is going to kill Tony for his power and he knows Tony won’t believe him without proof, but he’s afraid he’ll be killed in the meantime. So he’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. Look out for under the cut! -- “You’re late,” Tony said as soon as he felt the boundaries he’d set up begin to send tingles up and down his spine, voice accusing. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”

There was no answer for a long moment, so long that Tony considered lighting the clearing with a ball of magic. Finally, though, a pair of red eyes blinked at him from between the shadows of the trees. “Invite me in, sweetheart.”

Tony bit his bottom lip, hand coming up to grasp the glowing blue pendant hanging from his neck. He stroked his thumb over the gem, considering making him wait as long as he himself had had to wait, but in the end, he was always impatient. “Come to me, Steve.”

Steve appeared in front of him between one breath and the next, and Tony bit back the unease it always set in him. Steve lifted a hand to cup his cheek, thought better of it, and simply ran the backs of his cool fingers over his cheek instead. “As beautiful as ever.”

Tony turned his head away, even though he missed the feeling of his touch as soon as it was gone. “I’ve been waiting for hours,” he grumbled, instead of ‘thank you’ or ‘you too.’

Steve took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “And I can’t stay long.”

“It’s not fair,” Tony said, but it sounded more like a whine than anything with heat. “It took ages to get the rest of the coven off my back to get here and you basically stand me up—”

Steve reached out to cup his cheeks, pulling him in with a gentle, “Shhhh, beloved.”

“…It’s not fair,” Tony repeated softly, then let out a whimper as Steve shushed him again before he pulled him in for a kiss. He lifted his hands to grip Steve’s wrists, shivering at the coolness of his skin again, then let out a little gasp as Steve dug a sharp tooth into his bottom lip. “Oh!”

“If I had my way, I’d be at your side as long as the sun was gone,” Steve murmured, tongue darting out to lick at his lip, but there was no blood there—it had just been a tease. “But you know vampires. Thralls are okay, but a mate who can actually protect themselves? It wouldn’t be safe.”

“I know,” Tony agreed petulantly, because he did. He and Steve’s relationship had grown over years after their bad beginning. Most witches still didn’t trust vampires, and the vampires responded in kind.

Steve leaned back, smiling a little. “Wasn’t it you who said that absence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks,” Tony hissed, hand dropping for his pendant again, wanting to give him a warning flash, just a momentary blinding.

Steve caught it easily, and then grabbed the other for good measure, using his grip on Tony’s hands to pull him in until they were pressed together from chest to pelvis and Tony let out a little, shuddering mewl at how cold he felt against him. “The other covens are still angry that none of their ilk are tattooed over your heart. We have to be careful. They’d stake me the first chance they got.”

“Are you scared of the covens, or are you scared of what your nestmates will say?” Tony asked, scowling at him.

“My nestmates already know about you and relish in calling me a dumbass,” Steve said, pulling him in for another short kiss before he leaned back. “I don’t want the covens coming for me, Tony. They’re vindictive. They might hurt you to get to me, and I’d fold.”

Tony stared up at him, frowning. He supposed he couldn’t fault Steve’s thought process. He knew firsthand just how petty and mean witches could be. He was, after all, the pettiest and meanest witch on the eastern seaboard. “How long do we have?” he finally asked.

“Not long at all,” Steve said, frowning with regret.

Tony sighed, ducking his head, then muttered, “How long are you going to be gone again?”

“Never as long as my nestmates might like,” Steve replied, as if that explained anything. He finally let go of one of his wrists to brush the hair out of Tony’s eyes. “Always too long, for me.”

Tony nodded a little, then swayed forward for a chaste kiss before he murmured against Steve’s lips, “How much do you need, beloved?”

“Just a nibble. Just enough until next time,” Steve whispered back. “I promise, next time, I won’t be late. We’ll have plenty of time.”

“You better not be lying to me,” Tony warned, even as he let his hands drop to his belt.

Steve leaned in for another quick kiss before he replied, “I’m sure you’ll gut me if I am. I’d rather take it further down.”

“Back of my knee?” Tony asked, shoving his pants down his thighs.

“Perfect,” Steve sighed, leaning in to lick at his throat, nose tracing the artery there.

Tony lifted a hand to cup his cheek. “Easy, tiger,” he warned fondly. “I’m not prey.”

“Someday I’ll bite you here, and you won’t be so sassy,” Steve growled against his neck, then forced himself backward to get some space. “It shouldn’t be too much, but you should probably sit.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, in a way that was mostly chastising. “You said you just needed a nibble.”

���You have a tendency to swoon as soon as my teeth sink in,” Steve replied with a shrug.

“That’s because you always add a touch of venom,” Tony complained, even as he began to sit on the ground.

Steve shrugged again. “You taste better when you’re relaxed and a little aroused than when you’re in pain. Roll over.”

Tony rolled his eyes but obediently turned onto his stomach, apparently realizing the only other option was to basically be folded in half and not wanting that. “Don’t use too much. I know you like me helpless, but it’ll take too long to wear off if you’re really in a hurry.”

“Alright.” Steve curled his hand around Tony’s thigh, digging his nails in just enough for Tony to let out a little noise of interest, but then he was lifting his other hand, curling them in the hem of his briefs to tug them down. “Let me see you.”

“You are teasing me when we have no time,” Tony said, voice full of reproach, but then he choked on a gasp as he felt Steve’s sharp teeth piercing the skin of his left cheek, deep into the meat of ass, hot and painful enough that he gripped his hands into fists. “St—Steve—” The pain faded quickly, though, too quickly, almost, the burning pain turning to burning pleasure as—Steve’s venom. His thrall. “Steve,” he whispered, unable to keep the note of betrayal out of his voice as he began to lose feeling in his fingers. He lifted a hand to his pendant but couldn’t close his fingers around it, already feeling numb up to his elbows.

Steve pulled his fangs free. “I’m sorry,” he offered, but it sounded very far away. He pulled Tony’s briefs and pants back up as his body began to go limp, gently turning him onto his back as carefully as if he was a porcelain doll. “You’re in danger, Tony, and I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Steve,” Tony breathed, vaguely aware that Steve was carefully taking him into his arms and picking him up. All he was certain of was the feel of Steve’s ice-cold skin against his own, burning hot with the venom that Steve had injected in him. He’d never used that much, and Tony was struck by the fact that Steve had been so careful with him up until now, only ever used enough to leave him hot and shaky instead of completely incapacitated. Suddenly he understood why people feared vampires so much.

Steve was carrying him somewhere, he thought, maybe. He tried to remember what Steve had said. Danger? Why wouldn’t he have believed him? He trusted him. Tony tipped his head back to look up at his face, even though it took a lot of effort. He tried to open his mouth, ask all the questions he had, but then Steve shot him a red-eyed glance that made them all shrivel on his tongue. Finally, though, he managed a timid, “Steve?”

“I’m going to take care of you,” Steve said firmly, but softened the edges of it by leaning down and pressing a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “Just leave it to me.”

“Steve,” Tony repeated faintly, overwhelmed.

Steve lifted his head again, eyes full of regret even as he ordered, “Sleep.”

Tony was immediately overcome with exhaustion, and he was sorry he’d ever wondered how powerful Steve’s thrall was. He tried to keep his eyes open, partly to be contrary but also partly out of anxiety, but Steve hadn’t skimped on the venom, and all he wanted to do was obey. The last thing he saw before his eyes drifted shut was Steve’s red eyes fading to blue just before everything went dark.