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fallingskiesandrisingseas · 1 year

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More "humans are space orks" posts.

Humans have the widest range of emotion from anyone in the solar system, and are considered insanely volatile.

When aliens study Humans™ , they are bewildered by the range of emotions humans can go through in hours or even minutes. They study both our warrior culture and our musea, incapable of understanding how a species could wage war against each other so often also sent money to foreign lands to help those who were suffering, even though they were not kin.

But mostly the mundane reactions of family, friends and strangers.

"John, we thought you liked this blood-related person. Yet you appear to be very angry. "

"Listen, Xax, Peter is my brother and I would die before letting anyone hurt him, but this is the SECOND TIME THIS WEEK HE'S USED AND LOST MY FAVORITE PAIR OF SHOES, so he needs to FIND THEM before I SEND HIM TO HEAVEN MYSELF."

"....Interesting...."

Aliens also completely misunderstand sarcasm. The fact Humans are such a verbal species already makes them anxious, and they don't understand why they would use the wealth of theie various tongues and dialects to convey anything but the truth. Especially species that communicate by scent or sight, or have other forms of communication, are baffled. And even in the species with spoken words, those most proficient in Human Languages have a hard time understanding Sarcasm.

"You appear to be angry, John. "

"NOT at ALL, Xax. "

"But you exhibit all signs of anger. Flared nostrils, raised heartbeat, sweating, tensed muscle. Might it have anything to do with Peter... " -the alien looked down into his book, the concept of private propert foreign to his people- "stealing your shoes?"

"I totally don't mind him borrowing my shoes for the THIRD TIME, without asking"

"Strange..."

They do not understand irritation well, the large impact others have on the mood of Humans, or how they are able to form strong communities with those once considered enemies, how Humans™ can lose friends just as easily as making them.

But what most amazes them is the absolute insane strenght these beings possesed when threatened, no matter how soft they look.

Once, deep in a foreign solar system, the ship was hijacked. Xax, the captain, the first officer and the rest of had been detained by Kroxons, beings of over 9 foot with the durability of a tank.

Xax was already preparing himself mentally to be sold off into slavery, working his life away on a space plantation millions of light years from home, when he noticed John was missing.

Peter was standing right next to him, his arm shattered when he was grabbed by a Kroxon. They were laughing at him, not even bothering to chain him. These soft humans, small and weak, were no threat to them. Look at that, the break was already killing him due to sepsis

Until John showed up and started slaughtering them. John, who was considered the best baby nurse on board. John, with his sweet singing voice. John, who had just recently spilled moisture over a moving picture, something Xax was unable to understand. John, who required food and drink every few hours, thirst just as easily killing him as a bullet.

John, who fought like something out of a nightmare now, paint under his eyes, carrying a laser that should be too heavy for him.

After the third Kroxon fell down, felled by a beam through the eye, the remaining pirates fled. John, covered in blood and exhausted, came out of the shadows and hugged his brother long and hard before freeing Xax.

"Many thanks, human. We owe you a life long debt. "

John waved, already indifferent, already elsewhere.

"Whatever, man. You would've done the same for me.

From that day forward, Xax's people revered humans. And they treated them with the upmost respect, for warriors capable of holding the sword and the sceptre in equal regard deserved nothing but that.

Besides, you didn't want to piss of a species that can go from peace to war in a week flat. Not with the way they fight.

#humans are space orks #fic potential #space story #sci-fi

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merlin-wolfgang-trades-hale · 10 months

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Based on a post I saw about a goth retelling about the time a small child approached them bc they were lost and the parents of said child told them if that ever happened to find a goth bc they are nice and will help them…

From that is born the headcanon that if Gabriel and Beelzebub ever have a kid (I love the Jim/Jimmy fan art I’ve seen 🥹) their advice is similar. But they specially mean Crowley.

So lil Jimmy gets lost or separated from their parents and has some emergency beacon fly (or other insect special to them) that transports them into the Bentley.

What I love about this is that…given how Gabriel and Beelzebub left heaven and hell, there is very few people they WOULD trust with their kid. Crowley is so specially special in design to be the one they trust the most with their kids. Used to be an Angel, is a demon, but not like other demons. He’s good with angels, spent a decade as a nanny, was adored by Job’s youngest…

Basically…. Gabriel and Beelzebub might kidnap Crowley to be their Au Pair.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #Crowley #Gabriel (good omens)#beelzabub #headcanon #fic potential

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regaliasonata · 1 year

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I thought of a cool au episode for mmpr being Billy centric. Like being maybe a 3 or 2 parter and he gets the use the dragon shield and dagger.

Name could be "Wilting Blues"

Basically it mainly revolves around Billy trying to find confidence in himself and also great team dynamics.

Let's say Rita makes a monster who can take emotions from people, like draining those individuals and placing them in a coma like state. However the monster cannot handle the power and needs a host of sorts to latch onto(like a parasite and a hivemind).

So with some space magic Rita gives the monster the power to turn into a human and he ends up locating Billy who's kind of trying to keep things under wraps(maybe a bad day or something or maybe seeing the team and he feels left out). They both hit it off and Billy's got a boyfriend, it's pretty exciting to be in a relationship and it's rather nice to have things going well for him in a sense.

The rangers eventually start to catch onto what the monster is doing and they confront Billy but he's very reluctant to believe them, like I could see him getting a bit angry and lashing out catching the team off guard. For the first time Billy's happy that everything is going his way and the minute he gains a shred of confidence his friends are shooting him down?

I think Billy might have his doubts but the monster is constantly manipulating him, feeding on his negative emotions like a host. He's unsure what to really do and it sidetracked him, the rangers end up defeated and comatose leaving him as the only one to dispose of the threat.

So then we get to the eventual show off and it's a 1v1 with Billy and the monster, I could see a lot of illusions and other crazy mind tricks going on. Get some cool spear combat from Billy and of course the dragon shield and flute come into play for him. Monster gets destroyed and the rangers are free but at what cost, Billy himself feels terrible for letting this happen.

He could have a moment with the team and Jason or Zack specifically.(hint at Jason/Billy or Zack/Billy) They will always be there for him, Could be a cool message for the episode, idk I'm thinking a lot on this idea. I could make a small fic of it.

What? Our blue guy needs some love 😔😭

#power rangers #mmpr #blue ranger #billy cranston #blue boy needs love #did he ever get the dragon shield in the show????#jason lee scott #boom! comics power rangers #au idea #au i guess?#fan episode #fic potential

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yourhighness6 · 2 months

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Ugh I will always love the concept of Katara using blood bending to revive Zuko after the last agni kai, mostly because it makes no sense to me that Zuko was able to bounce back so easily after being struck by lightning, but also because the way the show treats bloodbending is just odd to me. It was a defense mechanism created by a traumatized victim of some of the most devastating parts of colonization, and although I understand that Hama was supposed to symbolize the "bad parts" of waterbending and was important for Katara's growth in realizing that the world isn't entirely black and white, its still disappointing to me that the show never explored the gray areas of blood bending, especially since that episode was, as I stated above, about understanding the gray areas of the war. Katara using blood bending to revive Zuko would add so much to the last agni kai in demonstrating that she has truly realized that "good" and "evil" are relative concepts, and Zuko being saved by both a defense mechanism of a survivor of colonialism and a type of bending used to terrorize his people would have even added to his arc, as the narrative required him to save and subsequently be saved by the physical embodiment of everything his family sought to annihilate.

#also just the angst potential #there are so many fics and better metas written about this but I had to throw my two cents in #Bryke's refusal to acknowledge bloodbending as anything but evil incarnate is so fucking annoying #anti bryke #bloodbending #zutara #zuko #katara #final agni kai #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla meta #zutara meta #technically

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gutsby · 1 month

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Watch Your Mouth

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Silence kink. Size kink. Breeding kink. Age gap. Joel is a lot more experienced (!) Finger sucking. Orgasm denial. Soft dom!Joel x10000.

Word count: 1.9k

Maybe a hand was too much.

A kiss to stifle your cries, a tongue between your lips to steal any trace of a whimper before it could ever leave. Joel knew by the way your wet, pliant hole stretched wider and wider for him with each thrust that you’d eventually quiet down—but he needed silence now.

And he’d get it when he clamped his palm over your mouth. At first, your brows lifted with surprise, then pinched inward like you didn’t understand, then twitched again, involuntarily, when the head of his cock cleared a path straight toward your cervix. You whimpered into his hand and made a point to dig your heels even deeper in his back. Joel had promised he’d be better about that.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled.

Another stab. Another whimper, only louder this time.

“Sorry, baby, I’m—” Joel stopped to fight back a groan of his own, before pressing his palm down with even more force, “—sorry, jus’ need ya real quiet right now, okay?”

You tried to nod, but the weight and stricture of his grip were as heavy as lead against your face. Add to that the soft, sawing motions of his cock going in and out of your cunt and the nudge of his oversized tip at your cervix, and it was all you could do to just lay there and take it. Joel knew this was brand new to you—he’d been your first not too long ago and the only partner since—so he eased back and lifted his hand when you gave it a tug.

Grey stubble was already licking at the corners of your mouth with Joel’s minuscule kisses of reassurance when you giggled and squeezed him tighter between your legs:

“I’m tryin’, Joel. Really, I am,” you whispered.

“I know, sweet pea,” he whispered back, “I know.”

He took the palm he’d used to stifle your moans and smoothed it over your cheek, coming to rest at one side so he could kiss you fully. Maybe a hand was too much.

He’d inculcate restraint some other way, and if it didn’t come easy, a few more fucks on the forest floor like this one would probably do the trick. Your mouth opened up for his tongue just like your cunt would open up for more of his cum and the rest of your body would surely follow suit, learning to control the noises of pleasure as needed.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured against your lips, feeling you clench around him and expel a breath rather than whine. He withdrew himself to the tip, then plunged back in, “Such a good, perfect girl for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

At length, you yelped into his mouth. You couldn’t help it. Rather than reprimand you with words or smother your lips with his palm, though, Joel kept fucking you gently.

“‘S’okay, pretty girl, it’s okay. I know that feels good.”

His mouth was next to your ear now, praises audible to no one else but you. It added a whole new dimension to your pleasure; Joel could tell from the way your walls constricted around him and choked him, sucked him in. The feeling nearly elicited a groan from his chest, but of course, he had all the resolve of a seasoned professional. Decades and decades of practice had done that for him.

“Joel,” you mewled.

Your face was screwed up in a grimace, eyes likely to be brimming with tears any second now. Joel slowed his pace once more, felt a pang of guilt for how big he felt inside you—how those decades and decades of practice set you drastically apart from each other in experience—and this time, he didn’t try to muffle your whines. He just stroked the top of your cheek with one thumb, and with the other, snaked a path between your body and his.

Admittedly, Joel was still learning about yours. He wasn’t sure if the whimpers you’d made were born wholly of pleasure or just a sense of being stretched out and filled. Because you yourself were still learning to be vocal, Joel figured he’d give the latter a stab. He started thumbing your clit in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

It worked, and it didn’t.

Your walls parted easily beneath the quiet ministrations of his thumb, opening yourself more to Joel’s thrusts, but they also tore a scream out of your throat—the kind that was liable to stir the leaves on every tree and alert any clicker within a two-mile radius to your presence.

The kind of outcome Joel had been trying to prevent when he’d brought you on patrol with him in the first place. The kind of sound he was trying to fuck out of your body completely; teach you to keep quiet and still for when the two of you inevitably got bored during perimeter watch and rolled the sleeping bag out to fuck.

Joel tensed above you and cast a quick look around. Sure, he’d picked a decently safe spot, but then you—

“Joel, I—”

Without thinking, the man stopped and stuck the first thing he could possibly fit in your mouth: his thumb. Whatever you’d been trying to say to him was promptly lost in a hum against his knuckle, lips enveloping the thick, callused digit like some tangy-flavored lolly. Joel’s hips sank back into yours, slowly, and he felt the reverberations of another moan spill over his finger.

He swallowed and stared. That shouldn’t have been nearly as sexy as you’d just made it seem, especially when your life and his hung in such a precarious position.

Joel dragged his cock back out and happened to graze a sensitive, spongy ridge inside you, which made you moan again. You hollowed your cheeks and gritted your teeth a bit more against his thumb, gripping Joel’s forearm for support as he continued to fuck you.

And, had you stayed like that a moment longer, you probably would’ve seen a shiny string of drool start to pool and stretch and fall out from one side of his mouth. Instead, Joel switched hands and popped the thumb that had been toying with your clit into your mouth, eyes glazed over with desire as they drank in the sight of you sucking his thumb again. The tip was still soaked with your warmth and slipped easily past your parted lips.

Another sound bubbled up your throat when you got a taste—Joel had always been in the habit of kissing you after eating you out, so you were well-acquainted with the flavor, but never had he fed you your own arousal on his finger. This felt obscene, something more than just pornographic as those deep, brown, lust-addled irises remained glued to where your lips closed around him.

“Y’like that, huh?” he said, voice reduced to a whisper once more while you nipped and suckled at the skin.

You bobbed your head to indicate yes, opened your mouth to tell him softly that you liked it so much—loved the taste and grit of his finger on your tongue, in fact. You wanted to show him you could be vocal, too, when Joel’s frame rose over yours a little more and seemed to blanket it entirely. Like he wanted to shield you, in a way.

“Shhhh, shhh…keep suckin’ like that. Stay still, okay?” Joel murmured, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that this was a test. He was nodding, rutting gently between your legs, wedging his thumb deeper inside the wet, velvety contours of your mouth and waiting for a look from you to say that you understood.

You weren’t sure if you did, but you nodded anyway. Joel’s thumb made a wonderful sort of makeshift gag as he continued to thrust inside of you, his body somehow lowering to get even closer to yours. When he’d gotten sufficiently near, he pressed a kiss to the side of your mouth—now stuffed with his thumb and leaking spit—and muttered something about how good you were for him, how nicely you fit around his cock. Then he tilted his hips and proceeded to pound you into the ground like an animal in heat. The only thing separating your ass from the patch of grass underneath it was a flimsy little blanket, and the only thing tethering you to earth, it seemed, was Joel’s cock. Your ankles locked behind his back, and his nose settled next to yours, breathing hard.

Even if he knew how to suppress his moans, the panting and strangled gasps were far beyond Joel’s control—as were the filthy, perverse words pouring out of his mouth.

“‘S’all mine, ain’t she, hon? Tell me this pussy’s mine.”

“Tell me she’s mine to fuck, stuff full’a cum, right here.”

And he gestured to the spot where your body stopped and his began, squelching noises punctuating each new thrust. Neither one of you minded the sound right now, especially when you knew where this was headed next.

Joel was grinning against your skin before he kissed it.

“She wants a baby, doesn’t she, honey? Wants me to put a baby in her and make that belly swell up pretty?”

You knew just as well as Joel that neither of you wanted children in a world like this—thoughts of breeding only occurred to you both when you were about to cum. Particularly when Joel’s thumb was slipping out of your mouth and his fingers were pinching either side of your face in a single grip, lips moving above yours. Making you meet his gaze as he squeezed your cheeks in a pout.

“You want my babies, baby?” Joel mumbled.

You felt a familiar twitch in his cock. You nodded.

Joel pinched harder and shook his head, unsatisfied.

“Say, ‘I want your babies, Joel.’”

“I want your babies, Joel.”

“Say, ‘I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me.’”

“I’ll be nice and quiet if you cum inside me, please, Joel.”

Your voice was already hoarse from how low you had to whisper, how hard Joel’s broad and hefty stomach was pressing into your own, stealing the breath from your lungs and wreaking havoc on your brain as you struggled for air and imagined a world where your tummy was a little rounder. Plugged up with his cum one day and growing bigger with his child there inside you the next. The thought was dizzying in the abstract, enticing to the slightest degree in reality, and if you had to guess from the expression of the man currently sweating, grunting, and rutting into your body, you’d bet he felt the same.

It really was a shame you had to stay so quiet.

But, whether a clicker was five miles away or standing directly over his shoulder, Joel didn’t seem to care at all. Soft, silent reserve cast aside for the time being and hips slamming a bruising pace against your own, Joel seemed fine to let out sounds to show he was right about to cum. Grunts and whimpers were spilling left and right off his filthy, pretty tongue; his eyes were all but rolling back.

Truly, he couldn’t look more magnificent if he tried.

“Fuck, baby, I’m— I’m so close. Gonna fill you up.”

Featherlight clusters of soft grey hair were now darkened with sweat. They rested comfortably across his forehead. Under them, two thick brows furrowed in concentration.

“Gonna knock you up,” he added through gritted teeth.

That part was not a threat, but a promise.

You felt a tug and a pinch in your own stomach, signaling your oncoming release. You spread your legs wider for Joel, pressed a kiss to his jaw when he leaned in closer, made room for him to spill his load just how he wanted, and when it seemed he was a second from his peak—

A twig snapped nearby.

Both of you froze in place.

#JOEL MILLER TELLING ME TO SHUT MY F*CKING MOUTH MIGHT ACTUALLY HEAL ME #OR MAKE ME MUCH MUCH WORSE #POTENTIALLY #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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zephyrchama · 12 days

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"Welcome back, it's been a while."

After a long time has passed, how might the Obey Me! demons welcome you home with a hug?

---

Lucifer tries to approach you in a calm and collected manner, but that facade easily crumbles as he gets closer. His pace quickens and his expression melts into an inscrutable blend of emotion. The man is fighting to stay composed.

He pulls you towards him, unwilling to wait a moment longer to have you in his arms. His gloved hands wrap around your back and waist with a secure grip. Your toes brush the ground as his hug lifts you to eye level, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Welcome back, I've missed you."

---

Mammon sprints up with the goofiest grin imaginable plastered on his face. He catches himself at the last moment though, grinding to a halt as a blush creeps over his ears. He wants to be cool. "You sure are a piece a work to keep The Great Mammon waiting."

His arrogant act is betrayed by the many glances in your direction. By the way he's clenching his fist so hard his knuckles are white, and by the way he immediately crumbles into your open arms the second you reach out. He throws his arms around your shoulders and digs his face into your neck. He grips the back of your top a little too hard, as if you might leave again any moment.

---

Leviathan sheds his insecurities and doubts, all negative emotions, just to be able to bask in your presence again. It's a moment he's looked forward to for weeks. He puts trust into the belief that you've also been looking forward to seeing him.

He wraps his arms and legs around you, unconsciously aiming to get as much skin contact as possible. "I've really missed you, you know!?" he half-shouts before burying his face in your shoulder. You fight to stay standing upright. Every little movement, every minor adjustment in posture you make causes Leviathan to snuggle closer until you can't tell where your limbs end and his begin.

---

Satan can't control all of the overwhelming emotions that hit him at once. He grabs hold of your hand, and with a palm on your back he pulls you close until your entire weight leans against him. At your touch, all he can do is smile.

"Glad to see you again." The two of you sway back and forth, turning your hug into a psuedo-Waltz. When you look into his eyes, Satan gives your hand a kiss and presses your intertwined fingers against his face.

---

Asmodeus laughs as he barrels into you. "Did you miss me? Of course you did!"

You stumble back several steps yet he catches you before you fall, latching onto your side like a matching puzzle piece. He rubs his cheek over your head, pausing every few seconds to give you a kiss as his free hand enthusiastically traces its way up your back.

Asmodeus is the most reluctant to let go. Making a mess of your hair and clothes only gives him a calculated opportunity to touch you more as he tidies up your appearance. His caress lingers over your collarbone and around your ear. His fingers brush against your mouth, which he then brings to his own lips.

---

Beelzebub falls to his knees, relieved to see you return safe and sound and glad to be by your side once more. His arms curl around your hips. He noses his face into your chest and looks up with a content smile as he greets you, "welcome back."

You lean over to return the hug, running your hands through his hair. You don't expect Beelzebub to stand, picking you up in the process. You steady yourself on his shoulders as he rises, his violet eyes not wavering from you for a second, tempting him to steal a kiss.

---

Belphegor wraps his arms around your shoulders and practically falls on you. He doesn't seem concerned that you're sinking to the ground. In fact, he's so preoccupied with cuddling up to you that there's no way to avoid sitting on the ground with this demon on top of you.

He curls his body around your legs. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he slowly exhales, "welcome back." He's awake, but nothing will stop him from pretending to be asleep as his grip strength loosens and his face trails down your body.

---

Diavolo laughs amicably as you approach. He wants you to come to him, and is so thrilled to have you back. He bends down to latch his arms under yours and swings you around, sweeping you off your feet as you twirl two, three times, then slow to a stop.

"How have you been?" In due time he wants to know everything, and hear all the stories of your time away in detail. For now, he's got you locked in a bear hug. You feel his lips brush over your hair as he lightly swings you back and forth.

---

Barbatos' hug is the most restrained. It's simple and polite. At first he was content to just greet you with a gentle handshake and loving gaze. Though, when you request a hug, there is no way he can say no.

He extends his arms around your back, gives you two soft pats, and hesitates for just a moment before letting you go.

At night that evening as you prepare for bed, you find a note in your pocket that Barbatos must have cunningly slipped in without anyone noticing. It's a detailed letter with everything he didn't get to tell you in person.

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readychilledwine · 1 month

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hello!! please could i request one where the reader is an OG member of the IC and very close to azriel (she knows that he’s her mate, he doesn’t) and sister-like to the rest of the IC. once feyre and her sisters come about, she often confides with feyre so they’re also close.

anyway, there’s an important event for the reader on day and she expected the rest of the IC would join her (she invited them?) but no one turned up and she’s absolutely exhausted, emotionally and physically, by the end of the day.

when she’s back, everyone is together at the house having fun and one of them notices she so dressed up but looked exhausted. maybe someone says something snarky and there’s an argument. azriel defends the snarky person so reader and azriel have an argument (hurtful words towards the reader) and that’s when the mating bond snaps for az and he’s regretful. things happen but happy ending for the reader, az and the IC. thank you 🫶🏼💗

Odd One Out

Summary - After 500 years of friendship, the last thing you ever expected was the Inner circle to miss one of your symphonies. But you know what they say, time changes people.

Warnings - I warned you all to watch out for angst, right? Elain being catty, reader feeling lonely, Azriel being an idiot

A/N - I promise Bound by Fate is still coming. I'm just constantly rereading it and not happy with where it's at. It's probably because I needed this out of my system. I hope this is close enough to what you were looking for! It wrote itself, so I'm worried it may stray too far from the ask! Please let me know if it did.

✨️ Azriel Masterlist✨️

Odd One Out pt 2

Maybe you had asked too much again. You looked to where the empty seats for the Inner Circle and Archeron sisters sat one last time before moving forward. You had worked too hard on this symphony to let this stop you. You were the last to go on stage, the conductor in her gorgeous sparkling gown and heels. You were the picture perfect face of composure as you bowed before turning and raising your hands.

You were introduced to Rhysand at a young age, and the two of you were quickly friends, so when he became High Lord, a place at his side was handed to you without question. You were eloquent, elegant, and kind. You were perfect for the position of emissary, and you single handedly won him friendships and alliances among every court aside from Spring.

He had never stopped you from pursuing passion, though. Your father had forced you into harp lessons from the tender age of 4 until his untimely death. He sat by your side for hours, teaching you to speak through letters written on a sheet that so fee could truly understand. It was an escape that turned into a career. One Rhysand specifically built the amphitheater you currently stood on for. The music you wrote woke emotion on the High Lord and all of Velaris, quickly making you one of the most popular females in the City of Starlight.

No one enjoyed your music more than Azriel's shadows, though. Nor did anyone enjoy you the way they did. How they knew you two were mates while he sat clueless and doting on Elain would never make sense to you, but the shadow turning your sheet music for you tonight was at least a small comfort, even if your family, mainly his master, was not here in their resevered High box seats.

You were exhausted when your arms lowered for the close of the show. You stood to the side, plastering a small faked smile on your graceful features as you held your arm to the orchestra, signaling for their bows before taking your own and leaving. You were the last one there, sharing thank yous and goodbyes as you musicians left. You chose to be alone for a while on the harp that sat in your sound room at the theater. You had a song in your mind, and you needed to let it speak before it left. Even if it was created from a place of raw emotion. It was near midnight when you finished, leaving the new composition to sit until you returned tomorrow.

You could hear the drunken laughter the second you walked into the old Riverhouse, the one you and Azriel made home as the mates of the Inner Circle began occupying the other houses, and signed as you removed your heels and picked them up into white tipped manicured nails. "Y/n!" Cassian's booming drunk voice slammed into you as he did. "Where have you been, baby?"

It was Nesta who gasped, looking at the clock on the wall before whispering a soft oh no as she saw your dress. Nesta who covered her mouth, eyes beginning to water as she shook her head and stared. Nesta who glared to Feyre.

"Why do you look so dolled up?" Rhys had a slight flush to his face, a wide smile as he took you in. "Hot date?"

You couldn't help but stare, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You all seriously don't remember." Rhys knitted his brow thinking, and his face slowly fell.

"Y/n Darling, I am-"

You put your hand up to him before he could finish, shaking your head as the tears actually fell. "Save it. Spare me your lies and excuses." Cassian looked to Nesta and then Rhys, his own face falling next as he remembered.

"The symphony."

"Was beautiful, regardless of my support system deciding wine and board games were more important than the first live art performance in Velaris since our high lord was captured." Your voice was shaking as you looked up, avoiding Hazel eyes that were wide in shock as every single ounce of heart ache you felt hit him.

The bond finally snaps, his shadows hissed. We've been reminding you all day. And now you've hurt our mate. Ours. We went. Where were you?

"Maybe if you were actually good at writing music, we would have remembered." Mor's glass of wine hit the floor as your breath stilled. Rhys felt his hands fall from Feyre's lap as she audibly said Elain's name in an insulted tone. Amren was immediately held back by Varian. "Obviously, if the people who you claim you're so important to did not see making time to go a priority, we did not miss much."

Cassian heard your breath shutter. You stared to Azriel, waiting for him to come to your defense and not realizing his silence was due to shock from the bond and Elain's sudden cattiness. "Very well. I see I am no longer wanted, and I will not stay where I am not wanted," the whisper was all anyone could hear as you turned and walked away. The door shut behind you, and as if the Mother truly hated you, rain began falling softly, and you made your way back to the amphitheater.

Azriel had never shoved someone off his lap as quickly as he did Elain in that moment. But it was Rhysand who spoke, "How. Dare. You." The High lord went to stand, grabbing his jacket. "When your sister was dying, I sent her y/n's music. The mobile you play for our son every night, is y/n's music. The music that plays in Hewn City is y/n's music. She is an essential part of my circle, my family. How dare you tell her that her passion, her joy, and her career mean nothing to us."

Azriel backed away from Elain. "Your true colors disgust me, Elain Archeron." He studied her, truly studied her for the first time as the door slammed shut following Rhysand's exit. "That is my friend, my closest friend. You just hurt her like it was nothing. Cut her so deeply you will never be able to repair it."

"Well, if she mattered so much you all would have remembered."

Feyre spoke then, between heavy sobs, "I wrote down the wrong date. I wrong down tomorrow night for opening night. We were going to take her to dinner. It was supposed to be Nyx's first concert. This is my fault."

"Again, proof it didn't matter." Elain sipped her white wine as if Feyre had all but solidified her opinion.

"Get out," the growl from Azriel took everyone by surprise. "Get out of my home. You are no longer welcome here."

He was out the door, running to catch up to Rhysand in the rain, but missing the High Lord. He entered the amphitheater drenched and in silence, sitting next to where Rhysand was in the dark.

You were on stage playing violin as you always did when your heart was breaking. Every stroke of the strings had the bond growing tight before you dimmed it on your end, as if each movement of the bow, each note, was you whispering goodbye. "She told me she is leaving," Rhysand rubbed his face next to Azriel. It was then he saw the tears staining the perfect features of the High Lord. "She said this is my last performance before she leaves for Dawn."

"There's nothing we can do then?" Rhysand shook his head at the question before his head fell into his hands and his shoulders wrecked into sobs. "She's my mate."

"I know," Rhysand looked to the stars. "I've known for years. She never said anything, and now she never will. What little piece we had left is gone. Her light had been blown out by Elain's statements."

"Let me-"

"Just please stop talking and let me enjoy this."

It was the song he had sent Feyre under the mountain. A score that read of hope through pain.

And hope was all Azriel could hold on to as you stood and bowed, winnowing away as soon as you were finished.

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#elizabeths.updates #send asks #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #inner circle x reader #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #theres potential for a part 2

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devilrosola · 2 years

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What I would have done for Magi Week 2

So I was going to write a small fic exploring Al Thamen experimenting on Judar as they turn him into a fallen magi. Hakutoku finds out but Gyokuen insists he can’t feel any pain. After it looks like their efforts to convert his rukh black fail she orders to “terminate the experiment” as in doing away completely with Judar so a new magi can be born for them to steal and experiment on.

Hmmm some MuuxEn or MuuxMei would have been nice for the Kou AND Reim prompts...

Anyway, spoiler ending for the fic I was going to write for this week under the cut (Cuz I always get a great ending, but having a hard time building up to it)

Looking back, Judar could not remember exactly how he survived. But he did remember the one who had saved him. He was forever grateful…well, grateful was too strong a word…forever obsessed with that person afterwards. And he never forgot how Al Thamen was ready to cast him aside like trash. He vowed to bide his time and get back at them when it would hurt them the worst: right before they would achieve their perfect world!

#MagiSeason3 #マギ3期祈願 #fan event #magi #Magi event #Week 2 #Kou #Judar #drabble #since I didn't have time to flesh it out to a fic #fan musings #perhaps?#or headcanons #would have been #Choose Your Own Ship #fanfic #Fic potential

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adnrewminyard · 15 days

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imagine being kevin day, son of exy, born and bred to be a cog in the well-oiled machine that is the edgar allan ravens. all you know being the routine of practice and practice and practice and performance and victory alongside those you call brothers.

-and then one day you wake up in your estranged father's apartment between a bottle of painkillers and a bottle of vodka and there is a knot of bandages where your future used to be. you don't wake up at 4am anymore. you sleep until noon and vomit the remainders of life as you knew it into unfamiliar toilets. you watch orange and white clash against each other from sidelines you haven't touched since you started growing facial hair.

your brother doesn't ask you to come home. you would come if he asked. the days are longer here and the food is too rich. the colors are too harsh, the language barrier is too much. you speak and no one understands.

they feel sorry for you, but not for what you have lost, instead for what you have suffered. you try to show them what belonging means, to sever parts of yourself to fit inside a uniform, but they don't understand the necessity of the blade the way your brothers did. they don't understand that suffering feels religious if you do it right.

the therapist tells you it's survivor's guilt but the only survivors you can see are on the court in black and red and they read your eulogy after the game at a press conference. you are not a survivor in any way that matters anymore. how treacherous your heart is for continuing to beat when you can't even hold your lifeline in your hand without dropping it.

you want to go home but your key doesn't open the same door anymore. you want to sit beside your brother but there is no space on his side of the table. you want to be a raven but you are a fox.

you grieve for connection until there is a knife where your neck guard used to sit. you grieve for your life until a boy offers to show you how it feels to survive. you offer to show him how it feels to live. he tells you he won't sever parts of himself to fit the uniform, but there are telltale bloodstains in the fabric from long before you asked.

you wake up at 4am again. you take turns vomiting in the toilet, you when the alcohol level dips too low and him when his smile runs out. he doesn't speak your language but he understands it. he keeps the car running when you visit the therapist. he keeps an eye on your back to watch the 02 on your jersey turn orange. the colors don't seem as harsh anymore.

he offers you safety. he offers you belonging. he offers you the only thing he knows how to give, the only thing you know how to take.

he offers you a lifeline. you pick it up with your right hand.

#aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #kevin day #there is no-one in this world i love more than him #suffering feels religious quote by chelsea hodson #idk if this is a character study?#or what #i just think so often about how kevin is so unfairly represented in fic most of the time #like i'm SORRY that he wants things to function as intended #and i'm SORRY that he wants people to achieve their exy potential when that's all he's known to be valuable his entire life #kevin day is my boyfriend #and i love him #so WHAT #emetophobia #TW #emetophobia tw #i saw someone repost with this and i didnt ecven THINK i am so sorry i have added the tw

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nabtime · 6 months

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Sir Waylon of Gotham

Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.

And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.

Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.

Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.

And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.

All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.

Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.

And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.

He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.

"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"

And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.

"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."

Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.

"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."

And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?

"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."

"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."

Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.

The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"

"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."

"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."

"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."

Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.

"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."

"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"

"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."

She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.

"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."

"What say you?"

#nap shitposts in the afterlife #naps fics #dp x dc #dpxdc #i leave the ending up to your imagination or someone elses potential continuation #i just had the funny idea that they'd all be good together. yes that includes Fright Knight.#have fun with the ship and ship name byyyeeee

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