three parts ships

Come Back to Me (Part Three)

Fandom: Marvel
Ship: Peter Parker x Reader
Requested: No
Genre: Neutral
Warnings: Mention of sickness but nothing severe
Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

Originally posted by stallingdemons

“(Y/N). Hey, (Y/N). (Y/N)!” 

You jolted in your seat, looking around frantically as you were awoken from your half-asleep state. You noticed you were in class—asleep, nonetheless, something you’d never do—and when you turned to your right, you were greeted with two pair of eyes looking at you. One was amused and the other concerned.

“Oh,” you whispered groggily, clearing your throat and rubbing your eyes. You looked to the front of the classroom where the teacher was still teaching, and you sighed a breath of relief when you realized she didn’t seem to notice you dozing off. You looked back to your side where Peter and Ned sat. “Hey, guys.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Peter asked with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his hand to your forehead to check for a fever.

Your heart sped up in your chest, still not used to the touch of his skin against yours. Since the night two months ago when you had wiped the water from his chin and awkward air ensued, you had noticed Peter had been touching you more. Only in small, subtle ways, like leaning against you when you sat together, or swinging his arm around your shoulder when the two of you walked next to each other. And you couldn’t get used to it. You didn’t think you would ever get used to it.

And of course, the casual touches didn’t help with your still-growing feelings for your best friend. And you were still sure you could never tell him.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said quietly, not wanting to attract the teacher’s attention, and pushed his hand from your head. “Just tired.”

You scanned his body, looking for injuries. You were relieved to see Peter here and well, but you couldn’t help but be slightly angry at him for not messaging you last night that he wasn’t going to come over. You had stayed up all night, waiting anxiously for his knock on the window or at least for a call, but neither came. You watched the news, checking every channel you could think of, but there were no bad reports about Spiderman, nor good reports. There were no reports, which concerned you even more. You texted his phone and called and left voicemails, but with no response. For all you could’ve known, he was dead.

You had gotten no sleep over this boy, sick to your stomach thinking of every possibility as to why he wasn’t responding, and here he was now, in school, asking you if ‘you were okay.’

No, Peter, you weren’t okay.

“I’m okay, really! Don’t worry about me,” you smiled, lying through your teeth, but you didn’t think he noticed.

“I always worry about you,” he said in response, but he turned his face towards the front of the classroom before he could see your shock-stricken expression.

You looked towards the teacher as well, hiding your grin behind your hair. He worried about you. Always. Those weren’t words that Peter threw around lightly, but he seemed to say them a lot to you. But still, you wouldn’t let those words distract you from your hidden anger. You poked his arm to attract his attention, and he looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Where were you last night?” You whispered under your breath to him, making sure no one else could hear you. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry I didn’t text. May has the flu and I stayed in to take care of her,” he said, and you sighed heavily. You couldn’t blame him for being a good nephew.

“Oh, okay. Just, let me know next time, okay?” You responded, and he nodded immediately.

The two of you actually paid attention to the teacher for a few minutes before you felt a nudge to your arm. You looked over at Peter to see him staring at you. “What?” 

“Were you worried about me?” 

You looked at him with wide eyes. “I- uh, what?”

“Last night,” he elaborated. “Were you worried when I didn’t show up?”

“Um,” you tried to articulate an answer to his question in your head, and you tried to think of ways to lie or joke your way out of this and say no, of course I wasn’t worried, but nothing came to mind. So you went with the truth. “Yeah, I was worried,” you chuckled nervously. “I didn’t know if you were dead or if you were trapped somewhere or- I just didn’t know if you were okay. But you’re here now, so.”

You looked down at your desk, red dusted on your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted him and glanced back towards him. “It’s okay, really. Like I said, just let me know next time, okay?”

Peter hesitated. He stared at you for a few seconds, analyzing your face, almost as if he was trying to find something. “Yeah, I will.”

You nodded in return. So did he. The two of you began to listen to the teacher again. 

But what you didn’t notice, was how Peter’s gaze lingered on your face when you looked away, and he smiled softly. 

Let me know what you guys think of this one! I’m not sure if I should make a part four, so pretty please tell me if you’d like another part! Thank you for the amazing response I’ve gotten from the first two parts, it means so much to me!! Feedback is always welcome and requests are open :)


The 'conversation'
  • Friend: So, tell me about this series you're watching?
  • Me: Are you sure you want to have this conversation?
  • Friend *uncertain*: Well, yeah...
  • Me *takes out album of fanfiction, a three-part series on the ships, 5 trilogies of analysis, and an A2 art case of fanart. Glances down at cue cards*: Well, it's not like I prepared a speech or anything, huh, where to begin.

When you’re finally ripped enough to carry your sweet heart and your hunny bun 

some headcanons undercut

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jiyu-no-ibuki  asked:

Hi hi~ first, I love your kirikamubaku work! Second, I have a ques... if you cannot put Denki with Kirishima or Kacchan, who could be Denki's potential partner? Kisses!

but my only ot3 is still bakushimanari, and as long as I can help it I’ll still always go for any combination of Baku Kami and Kiri haha

cutthroat fanfic (helion + nesta x cassian)


Nesta woke up in Cassian’s bed. Which…holy shit. Why?

Rubbing her eyes to determine whether she was still dreaming, she rolled onto her back. When she pulled her hands away from her face, he was right there. In bed next to her. Reading a book.

“You read?”

There was a beat where he looked over at her and they stared at each other for a full second, both clearly wondering why this was the first question she thought to ask. And then, as if realizing the absurdity of it at the exact same time, they both dissolved into laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Gut reaction. What I meant to ask is…why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?” His voice had that low rumble it always adopted when he was particularly amused. “Nothing about Helion and his magical flowers?”

As the memory of uninhibited desire came back to her, she covered her face with her hands again. “Oh, God.”

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• hidden past

nonnie requested: 22. “Come over here and make me.” With Barry??

A/N: Oops, I made reader’s parents assholes. Sorry this was slightly based off my story with kurtbastian but with some minor changes here and there. I hope it’s not too bad but I apologize again for making your parents assholes if they are actually nice people. And the prompt isn’t directed to Barry as the idea was scraped since I was not a fan so. I’ve had to rewrite this whole thing since I forgot to save it and tablet froze up so meh. Please don’t be mad that it’s late. YN/N is your nickname if you forgot and feel free to tell me if you’d like another part. I might make this just a three part series though. Ships are closed for the time being and requests are open unless stated otherwise by me!


                     Relationship(s): Barry Allen/Reader (dating), Team Flash & Reader (friendship)

You almost winced from how hard you were biting your lip as your phone that rang and flashed on the screen titled, ‘Mother & Father’ as you tried to ignore it. However everyone else was looking at you with odd glances since you weren’t usually in a dreadful mood but yet again they didn’t really know much of your history with your family. That’s why you moved to Central City as in to get away from Albany, New York and them since well, you shared a common trait with Julian. You came from an old money American family whom thought that they were much better than anyone who was below anything of high class. You could have anything you wish for as a child however, all you really wanted was to be like other kids.

To not have violin lessons to learning how to be a proper lady at the dinner table and know which spoon is your normal one and the soup one when they looked almost identical. Not to mention they also made sure you went to a private school with paid tuition, needless to say you didn’t have a normal childhood.

“Um, hey YN/N? Are you going to answer that?” Cisco asks as he gestures toward your phone that was on the smooth white surface that began ringing once again. You always preferred YN/N over your full name of Y/N so you always asked to be called YN/N instead no matter where you went. “I mean it is your parents that you don’t really wanna talk about for some reason but shouldn’t you answer? Not to be rude or anything.” He adds quickly from the glare you were giving him before you letting out a sigh. Cisco wasn’t doing anything wrong obviously, just trying to be kind of nice with the off putting ringing phone that seemed to never end.

“I’ll be right back guys.” You say as you went to grab your phone while moving out in the hallway, with it still ringing in your hands. Your parents are probably far more than pissed since you’ve missed three calls according to your notifications, sighing slightly of regret already when your finger clicked the green answer button. Pinching the bridge of your nose as you opened your mouth to speak but your mother cut you off about how important news she had to bring to you. While you were listening to your nagging mother of the news, everyone looked at each other in confusion.

You were usually in high spirits since you’ve become such good friends with all of Team Flash including Barry whom was the Flash but yet again, he was boyfriend for almost a good year. The burnet male had asked about your family multiple times but you always managed to change topics before it got too deep in the conversation. And what was going to come out his mouth might be his biggest or greatest mistake as he opened to speak while his arms crossed his chest with a glance at Cisco. “Hey Cisco? Could you maybe, I don’t know, look up YN/N’s file? I feel like there’s something she’s not telling us.”

The blond looked at Barry like he was insane or something as he narrowed his eyes, “Barry I understand you might be concerned for Ms. YN/N’s sake but isn’t it a bit like invasion of her privacy? She can tell us when the moment is right instead of hacking into her personal file on record.” Julian says before taking a glance at Cisco who made the face of something he wasn’t supposed to do. “Cisco, really?”

Cisco put his arms up in defense like he didn’t do it before settling them back down as Julian rubs his forehead. “I know, I know it’s wrong but I’m going with Barry. But there is a reason why YN/N probably doesn’t talk about her past ‘cause it’s similar to you, Julian. I mean, look at this stuff.” He says as he pulls up a hologram of your profile. “I mean YN/N or Y/N L/N is someone from old money. .”

“Graduated with A’s and honors from a private high school that is more than ten thousand per semester? Plus also really killing it in college too. Whoo.” H.R says with his mouth wide open since well, he’s not from this earth and schooling was much different than his. “Wow, that’s uh, er incredible.” He says as everyone looked shocked by all the things that your parents had you do. The only thing that you did want to do was listed on your profile was chorus and drama club since you were rather a fan of the theatre so that’s why you enrolled in college with majors similar in Central City when you moved here about three years ago.

Everyone’s heads snap back at you went your shoes clicked on the hard floor as you were shouting on the phone. “I’m sorry mother but I’m not going to marry this guy named William just because his family is like ours! I’m happy in Central City with my friends and my so called poor class boyfriend whom is named Barry!” There was a pause for a brief moment as you kept looking down, not yet noticing everyone’s reaction to you being angry. “Come over here and make me! There’s no way I’m leaving Central City if you like or not!” You huff as you pressed hang up on your phone before looking up to everyone’s eyes on you before your profile.

Sighing slightly as your rubs your face with your hand as Barry strides over to you. “YN/N, I just wanted to make sure you were okay and not hiding something important to us.” He says softly as he put his arms around you while you just leaned over to his chest. “Please don’t be mad at Cisco, it was all on me. And who is this William guy?” The brown haired male before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“No, it’s fine Barr. I should tell you guys about my life and why I’m so not thrilled with my parents. Um, William is the guy I’m engaged to marry according to my mother and father since both of our families come from old money and we were set to marry when Will and I were young.” You mumble slightly as Barry’s eyes widen from when you said engaged and marry.

“Wait. .e-engaged? To Marry? Since childhood?”

Imagine being the fianceé of Captain Salazar (Part two)

Pairing: Armando Salazar x reader

A/N: thank you for being so patient, here’s part two! Shout-out to my sis for helping me tone down the gay vibe correct the grammar! As you read into it you may question why out of everyone on this saga i chose to bring back that character, just bear with me! i see potential in them, they weren’t well writen, i can change that!

Credit: once again, the awesome art was provided by @salmicka1 thank you so much dear!

Warnings: none! Part two is just fun! Then we’ll talk about part three…

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At the end of the day, let’s not forget that Chris Evans would pick Black Widow as HIS potential lover. That he prefers to snug with Black Widow and that he thinks that that thingy in Civil War we saw was ‘icky’ .

Oh, and let’s not also forget the fact that Chris Evans and Scarlett Johansson have had their chemistry on and off screen tested after more than 10 fruitful years of friendship (and also six damn movies)

the 100

in the book:
•Bellarke is a thing.
•Octavia is only 14.
•There is no Finn, Monty, Jasper etc.
•Clarkes parents are executed for doing human trials on children.
•It is later on in the second book that Clarke discovers her parents were sent to Earth on a mission just like the 100 so there’s a possibility of them being alive.
•Bellamys mother tried killing Octavia.
•Wells is alive.
•Different characters exist such as, Glass, Thalia, Luke, Carter, Lilly. etc.
•Octavia and Clarke are both guilty.
•Octavia is a drug addict.
•Grounders are called Earthborn.
•Jaha doesn’t even like Clarke
•Bellamy doesn’t run the camp
•Bellamy wasn’t as skilled
•There are three parts of the ship, kind of like the districts in thg, Phoenix being the wealthiest, Walden and Arcadia being the least fortunate.
•Bellamy and Octavia were eventually found and put into orphanages.
•The reason Octavia was locked up was because she got caught stealing sleeping pills.
•Bellamy thought the reason his sister was there was because she was stealing food for the other kids.
•Clarke found her parents lab where they were doing the trials on children and she befriended a girl named Lilly, Clarke was locked up because she knew about the trials, but she did nothing to stop it.
•They originally set out to find medical supplies that was lost in the wreckage, not to find Mt. Weather.
•Octavia stole the medical supplies when they (Bellamy and Clarke) found it and brought it back to camp, Bellamy eventually found the medicine and thus how he found out about Octavia.
•Wells is also guilty
• Clarke’s mothers name is Mary and her fathers is David
•Clarke’s hair is reddish blonde and has green eyes
•Wells is Bellamy’s And Octavia’s half brother
•Bellamy is 20
•Octavia has brown hair and blue eyes and usually wears a red hair ribbon
•Bellamy is very good with a bow
•Bellamy and Octavia’s father is Chancellor Jaha
There’s more, trust me there is more.

Just Another Tuesday on Camp Half-Blood (or, Nico’s Sugar-Induced-Extravaganza)

I know most of you probably think of Brazil as Christ the Redeemer, beautiful forests, Girl From Ipanema and samba/carnival, but do you even know what brigadeiro is? Lmao

Paolo can speak English here for plot reasons. Constructive criticism is welcome!

(Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, humor/fluff, general audiences, 1,351 words.)

Will knew something was wrong the moment he saw Nico bouncing to meet him in the infirmary, where he’d been taking care of boring paperwork with only his siblings making him company.

Nico didn’t bounce. He certainly did not jump around the camp with a content smile plastered on his face, as he was doing now.

He most definitely did not run and hug Will without a reason, much less this publicly. 

Will was frightened.

“Hi!” Nico shouted happily. “I ate brigadeiro!”

Will dimly noted that Paolo entered the infirmary and was running toward them, frowning. He also noticed how fast Nico’s heart was beating, but that could be from the running sprint. Still…

“Is that a drug?”

“No, it’s a dessert!” Nico explained, then got out the hug so he could look at Will. His eyes were huge, pupils slightly dilated, and he had a firm grip on Will’s shoulders. “Will, it’s wonderful! And it’s so easy to make! We could eat that everyday!”

“Hm. I doubt that, honey.”

Nico frowned as Paolo reached them.

“I don’t like honey. Or corn.” He mumbled, but by now Will was looking at Paolo, silently demanding an explanation.

“Will, hey. Listen, I think your boyfriend might have had way too much sugar? He ate, like, half a can of condensed milk, and ate almost all the brigadeiro.”

“The dessert.” Will said, dubious that a food could turn Nico into this.

“Yeah, man. It’s harmless, I swear. I just wanted to introduce a little bit of Brazilian culture to camp.”

Nico’s eyes widened and he gasped, shaking Will by the shoulders.

“Will! If we move to Brazil we can eat that everyday!”

“We can’t speak Portuguese, Nico.” Will reminded him, very patient.

“We don’t need Portuguese to eat.” Nico complained, and Will chose not to reply. He just breathed in very deeply, weighing his options.

“…Okay. Okay. I’m gonna put some water in your organism, and then–”

“No!” Nico whined, and it shut Will up. Nico didn’t whine. Or… pout like this. What was even happening? “I’m so full, I can’t drink anything right now.” 

A second later, Nico straightened his back, his eyes wide and bright at whatever idea he’d just had.

“Will!” Nico whispered, then kissed him, his eyes only half-closed. He tasted like milk chocolate.

Will could hear his siblings yelling “woohoo!” and wolf-whistling in the background; undoubtedly, Nico could hear them too, but his boyfriend didn’t seem to mind for once.

This was it. Nico had to be stopped; Will pushed his boyfriend away.

“Hm, lo– Neeks.” He cleared his throat, rummaging his mind for any good ideas. “Uh, let’s… Let’s go to the Hades cabin, yeah? I’ve been meaning to, uh–”

Nico giggled.

Will.” He drawled out. “I know what you’ve been meaning to do.”



Nico hadn’t said it in a quiet voice either, no. He had said it loud enough that Austin and Kayla stopped whatever they were doing and an uncomfortable silence followed.

Shit shit shit.

Rationally speaking, Will knew no one actually thought they were going to do anything other than a kiss on the lips, at most. The entire camp was aware they were probably the chastest couple in history (they were fifteen, for Apollo’s sake!), and that Nico would murder anyone who dared spread false rumors.

But, well, Nico wasn’t exactly himself right now, was he?

And if any rumor reached either Jason or Reyna (or Hazel), Will could start saying farewell to life and deciding what would be engraved on his tombstone.

“Hm–” Will was torn between trying to explain that that was not what Nico meant or throwing his boyfriend over his shoulder and running away from camp forever.

The second option sounded more and more tempting by the minute.

And then Nico threw his hands in the air and yelled:


Okay, Will had to take him out of here before any more of his nerdiness was revealed or Nico would kill him later. He gave a pointed glare toward Kayla and Austin, who promptly tried to pretend their laughter were coughing fits instead. 

Only Nico was fooled.

“Are you okay?” He asked them, frowning. “Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

“They’re fine, Neeks.” Will mumbled, scowling at them one last time before turning back to his boyfriend. “Let’s go.”

“Hey, ho. Let’s go!” Nico started singing, and Will gently dragged him by the arm toward the door. Paolo, who’d been fidgeting, moved out of their way and shot them an apologetic look, but Will would only be able to forgive him after Nico was fine, so he didn’t bother responding.

In one hour, Nico did more than he usually did in a day.

He decided he wanted to climb the lava wall (”I’m gonna fight it, Will. I’m gonna win.”), so he did just that and did a victory dance afterward. Will had never want to record something so badly in his life, but the moment he saw Sherman lifting a camera, he ran and literally kicked the bastard’s ass, confiscating the object.

Sherman, in a rare wise moment, decided not to argue against the person who patched him up almost daily.

Nico kissed him a lot, as well. It felt as good as it was worrying, because Nico usually wasn’t prone public displays of affection. His eyes started watering when Will pushed him away, though, and it was as if all his energy had been sucked away all of sudden, so Will proposed kisses on the cheek for now and it appeased them both.

Nico also had the sudden desire to listen to music out loud, so they went to the thankfully empty Apollo cabin and put Ramones on the speakers. Nico danced (or simply bounced) until he fell face first on the bed, right beside where Will was sitting, promptly giggling and mumbling it was a comfortable place.

He was asleep within a minute, and Will finally allowed himself to sigh and chuckle a little. He knew Nico was adorable, but today had simply been too much.

In a few minutes, he had Nico under a blanket and was caressing his silky hair. The doctor side of him told him to get up and get some water for when his boyfriend woke up. The rest of him ignored that.

Now, Will would never say this out loud (mostly because it would always sound creepy, no matter what words he used), but he loved feeling Nico sleep (…see? Creepy.), in the sense that he could feel his heart beating and the way all his muscles relaxed.

Nico was peaceful, whole, alive, and getting well-deserved rest when he was sleeping. What was there not to love?

Will only wished it was nighttime already so he could sleep until morning. If he took a long nap in the afternoon, he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep later and would risk staying up all night.

So after an hour and a half of wishing he could take a nap even with the sun up, Will gently poked him awake.

“Neeks? Neeks, it’s time to wake up, man.”

Nico hummed.

“Hey, sweetheart. You awake yet?”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” Nico mumbled without opening his eyes.

Ah, he was awake alright, and back to being annoyed at and inconvenienced by most things. Will smiled.

“You know, I was thinking. Okay, we can’t move to Brazil, maybe we can have our honeymoon there. What do you think?” Will said, seemingly nonchalant, and watched, delighted, as Nico’s face shifted into poorly concealed confusion and panic (mostly panic), then realization.

Will could see the faintest hint of a blush in his boyfriend’s face before he hid it in the mattress and groaned out loud, the sound pained. He knew Will would never let go of his sugar-induced-extravaganza. Good.

Will just laughed.

Needless to say, Nico’s sugar rush was the perfect advertisement for the Brazilian dessert, which ended up being a success in both Camps, even though Will never let anyone (especially his boyfriend) eat too much of it again.

It was for the best.

Dedication Part 1: Shadow Song - A Moriel Fic

part one of the pre-series angst monster is finally here! the second and third parts should follow quite soon, I have them written they just need to be tidied up a little. In the meantime enjoy the angst. (and let me know if you like it? this has been a while in the making) bless @blackbeak for letting me babble about this (a lot) during the writing process. 

Title: Dedication Part 1: Shadow Song 

Summary:  Pre-series, Azriel’s POV. The story of Azriel’s rescue of Mor after the Incident.

Teaser: It had probably happened some time in the night then. In that court of festering demons and monsters that was aptly named for the horrors it bred. But that was not so long. She was strong. She was so strong. She could still be alive. He could still find her. He would still find her. He pushes down on that feeling too until it is as small and insignificant as the pain that had rattled him for all those years.

“Where is she?” he murmurs quietly.

Link: AO3

When Azriel steps into the room his brother had summoned him to not even knowing the whisperings of his shadows could have prepared him for what he found within.

Cassian slumps in a chair, nearly doubled over on himself. His wings droop pathetically until they drag on the floor. His face is buried in his hands as though he can’t bear to look at any of them. And he sits still and silent.

Cassian was never silent and never still. He favoured action, always. Where others may be content to sit and plan and plot and analyse and debate he never was. He considered that to be a waste of time. The more dire and precarious a situation the more he wanted to act immediately. He trusted his gut and he acted on his instincts and did whatever he thought was right. Thoughts of the consequences came later. Usually when he was faced with them and had to think his way out of trouble. And that was if they ever came at all.

And Rhys. Rhys who had called him here and taken charge – always taking a charge, a leader without a crown – looks lost. Rhys whose power could already level a city with a thought and grows every day looks powerless. Rhys is paler than Azriel has ever seen him in all their years together. It looks as though he’s been trapped underground and away from sunlight for decades. And he’s shaking. His brother is shaking.

The shadows that sing secrets to him have no answer for him now and so he speaks. He is the one that breaks the silence between the three of them. Him. A warning to the world that something is very, very wrong.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

Rhys only grips the back of the chair he’s bracing himself over, his knuckles turning white and the wood groaning at the pressure. He opens his mouth several times but words seem to fail him and he eventually lapses into hopeless silence, shaking his head.

It’s Cassian who finally manages to tell him.

“Morrigan,” he groans without raising his head. His voice is a hoarse rasp and he refuses to look at either Azriel or Rhys as he answers.

That one word, her name, said in that way makes Azriel’s heart slam to a stop within the cage of his ribs. His body locks up and he snaps his eyes to Rhys, mutely appealing for a fuller explanation that he knows Cassian is unable to give right now.

Rhysand clears his throat and looks up at Az, his violet eyes shadowed and heavy. “Mor’s family learned….Learned about what she did with Cassian.” He still grinds out that mistake in such a way that Azriel knows it will cause a rift between his brothers for some time to come.

Beneath his broad, rough hands he knows his brother’s face is still faintly bruised. Relics of Rhys’ fists and the beating he’d given him when he found out what they’d done. He’d been seeing straight through to this moment. This is what had caused that rage. What exactly ‘this’ is Azriel still doesn’t know. But from the way his brothers have reacted…

His stomach churns horribly in fear for her.

“Eris refused the marriage,” Rhys says, his usually smooth, steady voice little more than a brittle whisper. “They punished her for it. Brutally.”

There were enough sickened layers in that last word that he didn’t want to press for further details. Not right now. Rhys is still trembling – with rage or fear or grief – he can’t be sure. And Cassian looks as though he might be sick at any moment.

As he should Az thinks viciously. Fool, fool, fool, fool. He pushes those thoughts away. It wasn’t Cassian’s fault, not truly. His brother had meant no harm, even if so much harm had been done by it. And this was punishment enough.

“When?” Azriel hears himself ask.

The horror he would think of later. The pain and the fear could wait until then too. For now he stuffs them roughly into that box in his head. The one in which he has hidden so much of his childhood in order to stop it destroying him. The one he had gotten very good at closing and keeping closed in the last few years.

He knew they thought him cold and empty and flat but he did not know how else to be. If he let himself feel a little he would feel it all and it would have killed him years ago. In that darkness in which he had lived and sunk into so deeply – until the darkness began to whisper its secrets to him- he’d had no choice. Shut down or die.

Rhys seems a little startled by the question and at the cool, calm way Azriel had asked it. “I don’t know,” he admits, his violet eyes shifting as they meet his own hazel. “My father only deigned to tell me about it an hour ago.”

It had probably happened some time in the night then. In that court of festering demons and monsters that was aptly named for the horrors it bred. But that was not so long. She was strong. She was so strong. She could still be alive. He could still find her. He would still find her. He pushes down on that feeling too until it is as small and insignificant as the pain that had rattled him for all those years.

“Where is she?” he murmurs quietly.

The shadows around him swirl and twist like agitated serpents, flying from his body, spearing out in all directions, all asking the same question. He does not give them orders. He does not tell them what to do or where to go. They respond to his will, his wants, his needs, even if he doesn’t always know what they are. They have a kind of life and intelligence of their own and he had trained them long ago to obey. They found him the secrets that he needed to know without him having to tell them what he needed exactly or where to find them.

The answer is whispered in his ears a heartbeat before Rhys says hollowly, “The Autumn Court.”

In a mess, neither has to add. A mess that her family no longer wishes to acknowledge. A mess that is now Eris’ to deal with. They have thrown her away, used and useless to them. They have thrown her away as she no longer has value to them, no longer has meaning, no longer even rates as a person any longer. Like an animal. Impossible to break to their will so it had been destroyed instead. Like a patch of rot, cut away before it tarnished the house it belonged to. Like a bastard boy shoved into a black pit to suffer for the crime of being born lest he live to stain his step-mother’s pride.

But he had survived. And so would she.

Azriel’s Siphons burn blue, like the reflection of a shooting star blazing on the surface of a lake. Rhys and Cassian’s ragged shouts of protest both come too late to stop him. He channels his power inwards, pressing it into his body, forcing it to become small, to become as insubstantial as his shadows, as smoke caught in a breeze. And then he vanishes.

It wasn’t winnowing, he had been told. Winnowing was like walking while magic reeled the desired destination in close. This was different. This was dangerous. The power that burned in his blood was not named the killing power for no reason. It was unstable and difficult to hone and control, even with the Siphons that glittered about his body. It was a force to be reckoned with. It was a force of nature and it had been created, as he had been, to destroy. One did not attempt to saddle a hurricane. But this is what he does now. For her.

For this girl. This burst of sunshine made flesh. This bright spark made of warm smiles such as he had never known, and easy laughter that echoed in his bones longer after she had gone. This girl with the power in her blood that burns and roars and calls to his. This girl with the rich velvet eyes he could spend a lifetime drowning in and still breathe thanks to the way she said his name. This girl his heart had dedicated itself to the moment their eyes had met across that war camp.

This girl who has been brutalized by her family – the way he had been. This girl who has been hurt and crippled and broken by the ones who should have treated her with gentle love and tender compassion. He had never known that. And likely never would. But he could try to find some – for her. To spare her from this. To save her; as he wished for so long that someone would have saved him. For her. For her he will do this. For her he would do anything.

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and now for a decoupling capacitor analogy.

alternate title: 3 times the “mission” brought them together, and 3 times the “mission” kept them apart.

( part of the f(shoot) = liferuiners series )

Domestic Life: Part 11 [The Date: Part 5]

Warnings: Violence

You hear the front door swing open and familiar foot steps heading towards you.

“Finally home Sugar?”

You call hanging upside down off the bed hearing the fridge door slam shut and the clink of what you assume to be one of J’s custom whiskey glasses hitting the counter top. You’re completely ignored.

“Oh shit, what happened this time?“ ‘You thought to yourself.’ Carefully rolling off the bed.

Cautiously entering the living room, you stop, leaning on the wall for a bit trying to gauge exactly how bad of a mood he was in. J cares for you, you knew that. He has proven it over and over again but you knew better than to mess with him when he was in particularly bad moods. He has a habit of doing things he will end up regretting when his rage dies down. Not that he would ever admit it. You watch him seething silently on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, burning holes in the floor boards with his deadly stare.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night like an idiot staring at me?”

The venom dripping in his tone. You clench your fists and grit your teeth, he was in a very bad mood. But you can’t help yourself. Taking a deep calming breath you brush off his last question and plaster a smile on.

“Aw don’t be like that Daddy.”

Coating your voice in sugary sweetness you carefully approach the back of the couch. You start to gently drape your arms around J’s neck trying to sooth him.

“It’s ok Sugar your…….”

Cutting you off mid sentence J shoots up out of his seat, turning on a dime and lunging over the couch at you like a rabid dog, throwing his hands against your neck and pinning you to the floor.

“Now tell me my dear, exactly how is this ok?”

He spits at you, his whole demeanor screamed deadly as he tightens his grip around your neck slowly cutting off your air.

The corners of your vision start to blur as you gasp.

“J….. J….. please!”

Your eyes widen with fright, you’ve had some backlash from his temper before but never like this. You have never been afraid that he might kill you. But as you look into his eyes you don’t see the man you love. The man you would go threw hell for. All you see is rage. Rage wearing a silver toothed smile. You claw at his hands trying to loosen them as you writhe on the floor beneath his body. You can feel yourself slipping into unconscious.

“ J…. Your…. Killing Me!”

You manage to choke out barely above a whisper.

————————– ————-Joker’s POV—————-————————-

He’s finally home. The heist had gone horribly with Batman showing up right in the middle of the job, holding his crew up long enough for the cops to join the party. Three, three of his men were shot by those damn pigs. It should have been an easy job. In and out no complications. No one tripped the silent alarm, all phones had been taken before any of the hostages had a chance to shoot off a call to the GCPD. He just can’t understand how Batman has been finding him so quickly. This wasn’t even the first job the Bat had crashed this week. Every. Fucking. Job. He has tried to pull has ended in Batman ruining his fun and J only escaping by a hair. Many of his men injured or dead because of these screw ups.

People were gonna start thinking he went soft. First he is out of the game six months to help ‘Her’ recover allowing some wannabe gangsters to attempt to muscle in on HIS territory. HIS! Now with the string of failed heists. It was just to much for him.

He had already knocked back two full bottles of whiskey in the van as Frost dove him back to the flat, it wasn’t enough. As soon as he’s through the doors he starts rummaging around the cabinets for yet another bottle and a glass as he hears (y/n) calling to him from the bedroom.

“Finally home Sugar?”

Her voice grinding on his already frayed nerves. He knows he’s in a volatile mood so he tries to avoid her, sitting on the couch head in his hands, whiskey on the end table. He hears light footsteps halt near the entrance of the room, now painfully aware of the set of (e/c) eyes studying him.

He waits as she just stands there. Growing more irritated by the second he growls at her.

“Are you just gonna stand there all night like an idiot staring at me?”

He could hear his venomous tone and felt his anger rising but there was nothing he could do. He has always been a slave to his more primal emotions. The light footsteps close in on him as he feels her hands slip around his shoulders. He tenses every muscle in his body trying not to lash out.

Then she speaks. The words ‘it’s ok’ send him over the edge. How was this ok? How was growing weak ok? Destructive thoughts played havoc on his mind.

‘Its her. She’s the reason your weak.’ One of his inner demons hisses. ’ She is the reason you are loosing their respect, their fear.’ Whispered another. More and more thoughts fill his head until it was all to much. He leaps up launching himself at (y/n) putting his hands around her throat as he begins to squeeze. ‘Do it… Do it.. do it, do it!’ One of the voices screams at him. He tightens his grip. Staring into her frightened eyes. 'Why was she frightened? She was never frightened of him.’

The thought was soon drown out 'See, she’s scared of you just like the others. She’s made you weak. And now she will leave you. Broken, and alone.’ His thoughts continue to spiral as he hears her choke out.

“J… J…. Please!” Her voice muffled from the lack of oxygen.

Voices continue to whisper, egging him on. Then he hears words that shoot through him like a bolt of lighting. Shaking him from his crazed trance.

“J…. You’re…. Killing Me!”

He immediately lets go. Confusion and terror in his eyes. He already knew he was a monster, even his men saw him as such. But he tried for her. Tried to be better than that. But now, as he looked in her eyes all he saw was a genuine fear. One he has never seen before in her beautiful face. Tears streak down her cheeks as she attempts to catch her breath. He falls to his knees shocked. The look of terror in her eyes slowly killing him. Now only one thought played on a loop in his head.

'What have you done.’

Chasing The Sun Part 1: The Calm - An Elucien Fic

Title: Chasing The Sun: Part 1: The Calm

Summary: Set midst ACOTAR 3, war is brewing and Elain helps to prepare Lucien for battle while being terrified of losing him. 

Teaser: She’s never felt anything so fiercely as she feels her love for him now. She was never one to rage and burn and howl defiance at the world. That had always been Nesta. She had only ever endured, quiet and unassuming, a gentle blossom finding a way to grow between the cracks in a paving stone. But for him, for Lucien, for the love for him that consumes her she feels fire blaze up inside her soul –his fire- filling her with warmth and light and life. 

Link AO3 

Pushing up the left sleeve of her gown again as it makes another hopeful bid back down to its proper place around her wrists Elain dips the jug back into the bath and tips it gently over Lucien’s head. Obligingly, he keeps still as she combs her fingers slowly through his hair, helping the water sluice the soap from it.

Elain smiles, admiring the way the light catches in her mate’s burning copper hair. Her mate. Even now, several weeks after accepting the bond with him, Elain’s stomach still flutters pleasantly at that thought, making it feel as though someone has released a cloud of butterflies inside her every time she thinks about it.

Lucien notes her expression and no doubt feels her reaction through their bond because a soft smile brushes his lips, stretching the brutal scar on his face. His hand lifts from the bath, beads of moisture clinging to his finger tips like liquid jewels before he lightly brushes her cheek.

This little display of affection from him is enough to make her smile again and a moment later she’s pressing yet another gentle kiss to his lips. She just can’t help herself. She had been warned of experiencing a certain frenzy in the wake of their mating but while they had spent quite some time in bed there hadn’t been anything entirely frenzied about what they’d done – which Elain had been glad of.

But she just can’t seem to stop kissing him whenever she has the chance. The feel of his soft lips against hers, the scent of them swirling through the air around her, the happiness that swells in her chest every time…A part of her is quite sure she’ll never be able to stop it. Even though she still can’t quite wrap her head around the idea of living for centuries, somehow it’s not so difficult to imagine kissing Lucien through every single one of them.  

“Not to rush you,” Lucien murmurs onto her lips, “Because this is wonderful,” he smirks wryly, lightly rubbing noses with her before he says, “But I’m turning into a prune.”

He holds up a hand for her inspection and she sees that it’s perfectly true. The sight of the pads of his fingers looking more like raisins than anything makes her giggle. Her inability to keep from kissing him every few moments has drawn this bath out and caused him to have to reheat the water several times over.

But if it were possible she would never let him leave this moment. He’s safe here and happy and she’s loathe to let him go when that might change; when everything might change.

Bracing her hands on her hips she pushes those thoughts away as she narrows her eyes and tries to sound stern when she says, “Are you criticising my bathing skills, sir?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dove,” Lucien replies, eyes wide, with such forced sincerity that she giggles again in spite of herself.

A soft gasp bursts from her as she feels a sudden cold blush against her neck – Lucien’s fingers curling into the front of her dress and coaxing her down to him. She obliges and he kisses her again, soft and slow.

“But,” he adds as he withdraws with obvious reluctance, “If I could get out of this bath some time this month I would be grateful.”

In answer Elain dunks her jug into the water and promptly dumps its contents over him without warning. Lucien emerges from the torrent of water sputtering and shakes his head like a dog, spraying her with water and causing her to squeal in protest and jump back.

Approaching him again with a little warning growl to tell him to behave himself Elain settles herself at his back and continues her rinsing, combing her fingers slowly and luxuriously through his silken hair until he groans and leans back into her touch.

Lying almost horizontally, face appearing upside down to her he says, “You’re very good at that you know.” She presses a swift kiss to his lips then nudges him upright again so she can finish what she’s doing, shaking her head slightly at him, though another smile tugs at her lips in response to his antics.

Through the sleek, wet curtain of his red hair her fingers sometimes can’t help brushing against the crisscrossing patterns of scars on his back. The laughter that had been blooming in her chest dies and strips the smile from her lips along with it each time she does so.

She’s grown used to his scars since their mating – there isn’t an inch of his body that she’s unfamiliar with any more – the physical ghosts of the violence he’s endured that patterns his skin don’t usually bother her but today…Today.

Lucien shifts slightly, sensing the change in her mood but before he can say anything about it she blurts out faintly, “Do you have to go?”

A stupid, childish question but she can’t help herself. It’s been gnawing away at her all day, the words circling around and around in her head like gore crows over a killing field. Lucien freezes in response to them, his body taking on that immortal stillness she still hasn’t managed to achieve and doubts she ever will.

But in spite of that she stumbles on, mechanically continuing the rinsing of his hair as she does so, as though she can anchor herself to reality with them, as though they can keep her from falling apart. The repetitive motions are soothing, something to cling to as panic flares and her world, the one she’s only just learned how to live in, how to love, pitches violently and tears itself out from beneath her.

“I hate the thought of it,” she gets out through gritted teeth, voice brittle.

It’s a thought that’s kept her awake these past few nights – nights she’s spent just watching him sleep, softly running her fingers through his hair, listening to the steady rhythm of his deep breathing – a sound that’s come to be one of her favourites in this world – one she’s not sure she knows how to live without any more.

Everything about them feels so right to her. She’s never been this sure of anything before in her life. She let Feyre and Nesta be stubbornly and defiantly sure about it all while she just did her best to manage, to adapt to whatever new circumstances were thrown her way, doing what she could to just get on, whether she knew exactly what was happening to them or not. But this she’s sure of. Him she’s sure of. Their souls were forged to be together and losing that, losing him…

Her mind has dwelled on it for days. Lucien, her Lucien, in a battle, in a war. Fighting and bleeding and – She closes her eyes, shaking herself, fists clenching tightly as she refuses to finish that thought and instead says, “I can’t stand it, Lucien, I can’t.”

“I know,” he murmurs quietly, such a profound sense of empathy in his words that she opens her eyes.

A flutter from the bond communicates his wants to her and she shifts to his side again so he can see her.

Reaching out he takes her hand in his and kisses it, massaging her knuckles with his thumb. “I know,” he says again, looking into her eyes this time, cupping her cheek tenderly in his hand. “But I have to go,” he murmurs and she swallows, nestling in to his touch. “This is war Elain and I, I have to fight,” he tells her. She closes her eyes, burying in against his neck, trying not to tremble, to be strong, like Feyre.

”For you,” he whispers faintly and she opens her eyes again to meet his. She finds them blazing and fierce and determined despite the fear she feels radiating from him, “And for all the people in these lands that I promised to serve and protect.”

He had made that same oath to Tamlin and however the High Lord had abused it, and him, he still feels guilty about breaking the vow. He won’t do so again, she knows. And she can’t ask him to but…

Continuing her absent washing of him, just wanting to touch him, wanting to physically connect them, she says, “I want to go with you.” She feels him flinch in response to that but she looks up, making him meet her eyes. “I’m your  mate,” she says, hating the tears that suddenly line her eyes and clog her throat, making her voice wobble when she so wants it to be stern and sure and defiant, like Nesta’s is when she growls at the world and orders it to shape itself to her will.

“I’m your mate,” she says again, slapping the surface of the water with her palm in frustration, “I should be with you – to keep you safe – to bring you home-“She breaks off, turning away so he can’t see how upset she is, though she knows he can likely sense it through their bond in spite of that.

The feel of his hand on hers is the only thing that stops her shaking.

“You can’t,” he says, his voice, usually always tinted with that playful irreverent edge is now heartbreakingly gentle. But that hint of humour drifts back in when he adds wryly, “It just wouldn’t be fair to the other side,” she looks up at him, blinking away her tears in bemusement, “You’d wipe the floor with them, plum, we have to give them half a chance.”

He winks at her and she can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips in spite of everything. Dipping her hand into his bath she trails her fingers through it pensively for a few moments then withdraws them and flicks water from the ends of her fingers at him in mild reproach. That makes him smile too, his scar stretching slightly and his eyes crinkling in that way they do.

Surging forwards unexpectedly Elain takes his face between her hands and kisses him again, open and rough and messy as love for him burns through her so fiercely she knows if she doesn’t do this, doesn’t do something, it will consume her entirely. So she does this, she kisses him as hard as she can – a claim on him, her mate, her partner, her home- and he allows it and responds in kind.

Breathing heavily as she pulls away she drags her fingers through his hair, just to anchor herself to some part of him.

“I’m scared, Lucien,” she breathes onto his lips, her eyes closed, her forehead pressed against his.

Selfish. Selfish of her to make him think of that, of her fears, on the eve of a battle that might very well hurt him or maim him or kill him- She chokes on the very thought of it. But whatever dangers he might face or fears that might plague him she needs him. She needs to hear him reassure her. She needs his words to wrap around her and make her feel alright. Even if it’s all lies she just needs to hear him say that they’ll get through this. Somehow.

“If you’re hurt-“she whispers, pressing in as close as she can to him with the copper tub in the way, breaking off, struggling to former her tumultuous thoughts into words. His hand tangles in her hair, resting on her cheek again, thumb softly stroking her skin, trying to soothe and calm her, “If you don’t come back to me- If I lose you-“

Her voice breaks on that last word, that last awful suggestion and he stands abruptly from the bath at the sound, unable to bear it. She watches the water run in rivulets down his lean, muscled body, drinking in every inch of him.

As he steps from the tub she rises to her feet too to meet him as he steps to her. Hooking his fingers under her chin he coaxes her to lift her eyes from the floor to look at him, “Everything will be all right,” he whispers, so sincerely that she believes him for a few heartbeats, believes that it will be, that he would stop this whole war then and there with nothing but his love and his promise and his will to make it so for her.

He raises his hands and holds her face gently between them. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead he says, “It will be all right. I’ll be fine. I’ll come back. I’ll come home to you, Elain. You will never lose me.”

“You promise me?” she breathes, trembling at his touch, at the mere thought of its impossible absence.

A promise. A vow to her – binding as the mating bond that tethers their souls – one it’s unfair of her to ask him to make, one he can’t have any way of knowing he can keep but she needs it. Even if it’s as hollow and empty as her heart would be without him. She needs it.

“Promise me,” she says again, not a question this time but a request, a plea, a prayer to him.

“I promise,” he whispers.

The reverberations of that oath shudder to her down their bond – the depth of it, the sincerity within in it, for her, staggers her.

Without hesitation she flings herself into his arms and embraces him, feeling him lift her clean off the floor against his body. This male. Her mate. A few months ago he likely wouldn’t have cared if he came back at all; wouldn’t have thought it mattered. But for her he’d promise this, so strongly she still feels it pulsing in her core right alongside their bond.

She’s never felt anything so fiercely as she feels her love for him now. She was never one to rage and burn and howl defiance at the world. That had always been Nesta. She had only ever endured, quiet and unassuming, a gentle blossom finding a way to grow between the cracks in a paving stone. But for him, for Lucien, for the love for him that consumes her she feels fire blaze up inside her soul –his fire- filling her with warmth and light and life.

She meets his lips as they descend to claim hers in a rough kiss. She doesn’t care that he’s still soaked through; doesn’t care that water is plastering her dress to her; doesn’t give a damn about any of it. All she wants is him. Her body craves his. Her skin needs his touch. Her mouth demands his tongue. Her soul calls for his everything. And he gives it to her.

Lifting her securely in his arms he carries her from the bathing room to the adjoining bedroom. The moment he sets her down, so carefully, letting her find her feet before he releases her like always, she takes charge.

Following the mix of urges barrelling into her body from both the mating bond and her own deep, primal instincts she reaches up to him. Her hand slides around behind his neck and draws him down to her. Kissing him she presses herself against him and nudges him back, coaxing him to take step after step until he hits the bed behind them. Then she pushes him gently down onto it.

He obliges her, sinking down onto the soft mattress but stretches up and reaches for her almost at once, as though he can’t bear to be apart from her for even these few bare seconds. Taking a fistful of her light, sodden dress he tugs her softly to him.

Slowly, Elain crawls onto the bed beside him but as his hands slide deftly and surely to her hips, ready to settle her down and place himself over her as they usually do, she straddles him instead. Lucien’s eyes go wide as she settles herself astride him, hitching her dress up around her hips, getting it out of their way, wanting nothing between them but sweat and skin.

Leaning down she kisses him as she mounts him and swallows the moan he presses onto her tongue at the feel of her around him. Sitting up slowly she takes both of his hands in hers and, knowing what she wants, he locks his arms against the mattress giving her something to brace against.

His eyes fill with wonder and awe as she begins to move upon him. The way he looks at her in that moment makes her feel like she might be the Mother incarnate, eternal, blissful, consuming -a goddess made flesh before him.

Closing her eyes and letting the feeling of him filling every part of her being she whimpers and whispers his name and hears him echo hers back to her with each gentle thrust. Heat swells in her core and she grips his hands, solid and real as pleasure begins to overwhelm her and she loses herself in him, in this, in them. As she feels them both reach for the beckoning oblivion that will take them she opens herself to him and lets that bond blaze through her soul until there’s no way of separating them or the eternity she demands whatever fates that control this world permit her with him. And every time she sinks down onto him she claims him and calls him home.


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fic: take this boat and point it home [we’ve still got time] (part four)

The 100, Clarke/Lexa, 20k, part 4 of 5.
canon-compliant through 2x15.
shout out to megan for leaving stellar puns as comments during betaing.
They’re both broken now, after Finn and Costia, Tondc and the missile, the war, the betrayal, and she wonders if there’s enough pieces left to form a whole.

“The war is over, isn’t it?” Clarke’s voice sounds so vulnerable she can’t stand it, and she glances back over her shoulder, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

“Yes,” she says quickly, and watches something like relief spread over Clarke’s face. “It is over.”

“Then we get to be who we want to be now.”

It’s not that simple, but Lexa lets herself believe it could be, just for a second.