abraxosdreams

[abraxosdreams]

[abraxosdreams]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LESBIANS: 2x08 - “Killing is a Cycle”

[abraxosdreams]

Just a pro Nesta rant ~

Elain speaks about Nesta, shedding light on the profound emotional and physical abuse she endured. Their mother and grandmother would beat Nesta’s hands when she made mistakes in her dance steps, often to the point of scarring her, even as young as seven years old.

Beyond the physical abuse, Nesta and her sisters were deprived of love throughout their lives. Their emotional needs were systematically neglected. Nesta was emotionally and mentally abused, raised by a mother who valued her only for how she might someday marry. Her worth, in their mother’s eyes, was tied to becoming a “showpiece.”

Nesta was never shown genuine affection. The closest thing she experienced as love was Feyre hunting to keep them alive in their shack. In her mother’s eyes, Nesta was a failure. In her grandmother’s eyes, she was a disappointment. Even in her sisters’ eyes, she felt inadequate. A powerful moment in Silver Flames highlights this, when their mother asks, “Isn’t that what you wanted? To feel nothing?”

For someone like Nesta, who was never taught love or how to give and receive it, whose emotional needs were ignored, and who was physically abused by those meant to nurture her, it’s unrealistic to expect her to instinctively know how to show love to others. How could someone offer what they’ve never experienced? To make matters worse, the one person she thought might save her and show her love attempted to r*pe her, shattering her trust even further.

Was her behavior acceptable? No. Nesta was cruel and hurtful to those around her.

Was her behavior understandable? Absolutely.

Nesta’s self-esteem and overwhelming sense of failure made her feel unworthy of love, incapable of giving or receiving it. She believed that those who cared for her were wasting their affections. When she confesses to Cassian that she feels like a terrible person and sister, it’s evident she wants to be better but doesn’t know how. She acknowledges her failures and struggles, shaped by a childhood filled with neglect and trauma. All three sisters were failed by their upbringing, but they recognize this in one another, without holding it against each other — even Nesta.

While many find it hard to like Nesta, it’s crucial to understand her. She is a product of her circumstances, a survivor of an environment that failed her emotionally and physically. Her behavior isn’t her fault — it’s a reflection of the scars left by neglect and abuse.

Much of who we become as adults stems from our childhood experiences. Nesta’s journey in Silver Flames is about confronting these wounds and finding a way to heal and grow. She learns to see her faults and takes steps toward change. That’s what the book encapsulates — growth through self-awareness and effort. You don’t have to love Nesta, but perhaps you can take a moment to understand her.

—

It always makes me sad when I see negative comments because Nesta’s body autonomy was violated, she was thrust into a war, she didn’t want to become fae…and she was grieving & suffered from severe PTSD & depression. Her story arc and her finding a place amongst people and a life she never would have chose was a beautiful ride for me. I will defend Nesta till the day I die❤️ she really resonated with me and the mental illnesses I’ve gone through. Plus my GIRLS together; Gwen, Nesta & Emerie😭😭✨🤌🏽😮‍💨🔥

[abraxosdreams]

Just a pro Nesta rant ~

Elain speaks about Nesta, shedding light on the profound emotional and physical abuse she endured. Their mother and grandmother would beat Nesta’s hands when she made mistakes in her dance steps, often to the point of scarring her, even as young as seven years old.

Beyond the physical abuse, Nesta and her sisters were deprived of love throughout their lives. Their emotional needs were systematically neglected. Nesta was emotionally and mentally abused, raised by a mother who valued her only for how she might someday marry. Her worth, in their mother’s eyes, was tied to becoming a “showpiece.”

Nesta was never shown genuine affection. The closest thing she experienced as love was Feyre hunting to keep them alive in their shack. In her mother’s eyes, Nesta was a failure. In her grandmother’s eyes, she was a disappointment. Even in her sisters’ eyes, she felt inadequate. A powerful moment in Silver Flames highlights this, when their mother asks, “Isn’t that what you wanted? To feel nothing?”

For someone like Nesta, who was never taught love or how to give and receive it, whose emotional needs were ignored, and who was physically abused by those meant to nurture her, it’s unrealistic to expect her to instinctively know how to show love to others. How could someone offer what they’ve never experienced? To make matters worse, the one person she thought might save her and show her love attempted to r*pe her, shattering her trust even further.

Was her behavior acceptable? No. Nesta was cruel and hurtful to those around her.

Was her behavior understandable? Absolutely.

Nesta’s self-esteem and overwhelming sense of failure made her feel unworthy of love, incapable of giving or receiving it. She believed that those who cared for her were wasting their affections. When she confesses to Cassian that she feels like a terrible person and sister, it’s evident she wants to be better but doesn’t know how. She acknowledges her failures and struggles, shaped by a childhood filled with neglect and trauma. All three sisters were failed by their upbringing, but they recognize this in one another, without holding it against each other — even Nesta.

While many find it hard to like Nesta, it’s crucial to understand her. She is a product of her circumstances, a survivor of an environment that failed her emotionally and physically. Her behavior isn’t her fault — it’s a reflection of the scars left by neglect and abuse.

Much of who we become as adults stems from our childhood experiences. Nesta’s journey in Silver Flames is about confronting these wounds and finding a way to heal and grow. She learns to see her faults and takes steps toward change. That’s what the book encapsulates — growth through self-awareness and effort. You don’t have to love Nesta, but perhaps you can take a moment to understand her.

—

It always makes me sad when I see negative comments because Nesta’s body autonomy was violated, she was thrust into a war, she didn’t want to become fae…and she was grieving & suffered from severe PTSD & depression. Her story arc and her finding a place amongst people and a life she never would have chose was a beautiful ride for me. I will defend Nesta till the day I die❤️ she really resonated with me and the mental illnesses I’ve gone through. Plus my GIRLS together; Gwen, Nesta & Emerie😭😭✨🤌🏽😮‍💨🔥

[abraxosdreams]

Arr: tangerine. Eileen

[abraxosdreams]

Midnight Swan ~ ACOTAR fanfic

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace. ────୨ৎ────

Valerie Black has perfected the art of surviving. At Belle Étoile Ballet Academy, her every move is a blend of ruthless grace and defiant strength, each performance a testament to the darkness she’s clawed her way out of. But beneath the facade of poise and elegance lies a girl haunted by the ghosts of her past, scars hidden behind every spin, every leap. Darkness is her constant companion, and she’s learned to wield it like a weapon, a shield against a world that has already taken too much.

Nesta Archeon, a fellow dancer with eyes that can pierce through steel and a spine as unbreakable as her will, is both a rival and a reminder of the sisterhood Valerie never thought she’d have. Their connection is forged in shared pain and silent battles, a bond built on the understanding that strength doesn’t always mean being unbreakable—it means accepting the darkness, learning to live alongside it.

Then there’s Azriel. All brooding intensity and hidden storms, he crashes into Valerie’s carefully controlled world like a force of nature. A drummer whose past is a collection of wounds and shadows, Azriel sees beyond Valerie’s armor, recognizing the fractures she’s kept so well-hidden. And in him, Valerie sees a kindred spirit, someone who understands the way pain and longing can shape a soul. Their connection is raw, electric, a dangerous game of trust and vulnerability that neither of them can resist.

As Valerie and Azriel begin to confide in each other, sharing secrets they’ve never dared speak aloud, they discover that some ghosts refuse to stay buried. The darkness they’ve both fought so hard to control begins to close in, threatening to tear apart the fragile connections they’ve built. Together, they must confront their haunted pasts and decide if love can truly be stronger than the shadows that haunt them.Midnight Swan is a story of fierce sisterhood and the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. It’s about embracing the darkness within, and the healing that can come from finding someone who sees your broken pieces and chooses to stay. In a world where every pirouette is a battle, and love is a risk as beautiful as it is terrifying, Valerie and Azriel must decide if they’re brave enough to dance with the darkness—and each other.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter 1 - Prologue

I've always known that my appearance leaves an impression—an effect I’ve come to embrace, or at least use to my advantage when the situation calls for it. My long, dark brown hair falls in glossy waves, framing my face in a way that almost feels deliberate, even when it's not. There's a shadowy allure to it, a kind of mesmerizing beauty that I never quite asked for but learned to wield. My olive-toned skin carries an earthy warmth, a strange contradiction to the air of mystery I seem to radiate. Freckles sweep delicately across my nose and cheeks, a softness that contrasts with the sharper, more defined lines of my features. My full lips are often pressed into a thoughtful line, though sometimes, if I'm feeling bold—or when the world deserves a little mockery—a faint smirk tugs at the corners.

Then there are my eyes. A rare shade of violet, they’ve been called intense, haunting, even ethereal. I’ve watched how people react when they meet my gaze—captivated, unsettled, or sometimes both. I suppose it’s fitting, since those violet depths hold more secrets than I’d ever care to share, reflecting the darkness and complexity I keep buried beneath the surface. My lashes are thick, framing eyes that can be a weapon of their own, giving me a hypnotic, almost guarded stare. It draws people in, even if I often use it to keep them at a distance.

Adornments add to my look, and each one means something—bold, deliberate choices that mark my story on my skin. The medusa piercing, a subtle silver stud resting above my lips, adds a touch of edge to whatever softness remains in my features. A sternum tattoo stretches across my chest, intricate and personal, often barely visible beneath low necklines. It’s art born from pain, a permanent reminder of the things I’ve endured and transformed.

My right arm is my canvas, inked from shoulder to wrist in a full tattoo sleeve that tells a thousand silent stories. The patterns are delicate yet dark, intricate lace designs weaving into henna-like swirls that reach down onto my hand. Feminine, but fierce. Soft, yet unbreakable. It’s an artwork of resilience, a testament to everything I’ve survived.

My body holds strength in its curves—an hourglass shape honed and refined by years of ballet. I move with a poised, almost regal grace, every step and gesture controlled, purposeful. There’s power in how I hold myself, how I command a room without saying a word. I’ve come to embrace the dark elegance I embody: a beauty forged from pain, shaped by resilience, and unapologetically shadowed. Because these shadows are mine, and I no longer care to hide them.

────୨ৎ────

My toes bled beneath satin ribbons, each crimson mark a testament to beauty born of pain. I wore resilience like a second skin, and though the world saw grace, I was a storm hidden behind a veil of elegance. I pushed through the ache in my limbs, the raw sting with every step, until the edges of the stage faded, leaving only me, and the darkness, and the quiet hum of my own heartbeat.

As I bent into a final arabesque, I held that moment, stretching it out until time itself seemed to pause. In that silence, I felt the ghosts drift away, as if granting me a peace I hadn’t asked for, but somehow deserved. I had danced with my demons, not banishing them, but accepting them as part of the same rhythm, the same breath, the same pulse that kept me alive.

I lowered myself into a bow, my head dipping into the shadows pooling around my feet. The stage lights dimmed, but I didn’t need them. The darkness was mine now, a reflection of everything I had embraced, everything I had fought to become.

────୨ৎ────

I was the last one left in the ballet studio, lingering in the shadows with nothing but the quiet creak of the floorboards and the steady hum of my own breath to keep me company. The others had left ages ago, their laughter and lightness fading down the halls. But I liked it this way—the silence, the solitude. Here, under the dimmed lights and surrounded by mirrors, I could let the day slide off me like an unwanted layer, feel every ache and bruise as proof that I’d earned my place.

That’s when I noticed him.

Standing just outside the studio’s glass doors, barely a silhouette against the darkness of the hallway. Tall, leaning against the wall with a casualness that might have looked disinterested if not for the way his gaze locked onto me, a heat and intensity in it that felt like a slow burn. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch under my stare, his dark eyes cutting through the shadows to meet mine with an unwavering focus that made my heart trip over itself.

I turned, refusing to let him think I’d noticed. Whoever he was, he wasn’t here for me. Probably a friend of one of the dancers or some new tech worker lingering too long out of sheer boredom. I adjusted my posture, forcing my mind back to the routine, lifting my arms, finding the balance that had felt just out of reach all night.

But his gaze didn’t waver. I could feel it, a weight against my skin, as if he could see through the veneer I kept so tightly in place. And it took every ounce of control I had not to glance back at him.

The doors creaked open, his footsteps soft but certain, and then he was in the studio with me, the quiet, charged air folding around him as if it had been waiting for his arrival.

“You don’t need to put on a show,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. The kind of voice that seemed to settle into my bones, like he could speak directly to the parts of me I kept hidden. “I’m just watching.”

I turned slowly, keeping my expression blank, guarded. “You’re one of those types, then? The ones who lurk in doorways and think they know everything.”

He let out a soft laugh, a dark, lazy sound that had no right to make my pulse flutter. “Only the important things.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “And I’m supposed to believe that includes me?”

He stepped closer, the dim light casting shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the hard set of his mouth. “I think you already know it does.”

There was something about him—something I couldn’t quite place. A stillness, a sense of control that bordered on predatory. But there was warmth there, too. And it was the way he looked at me, like he’d already seen everything I tried to hide, every bruise, every scar, every ghost I kept locked away.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his gaze never wavering, like the answer mattered more than anything else in that moment.

I lifted my chin. “Valerie.”

He seemed to savor the name, rolling it around in his mind before he nodded, as if committing it to memory. “I’m Azriel.”

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I didn’t want to ask, but the question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He held my gaze, his mouth tilting into a faint, knowing smile. “Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“About the dark-eyed dancer who never leaves until the lights go out,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, something soft and dangerous that curled around me. “The one who dances like she’s trying to forget, or maybe… trying to remember.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I hated that he could see that. That he could see me.

“Rumors are usually half-truths,” I replied, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel.

“Maybe.” He didn’t look away, his eyes holding mine with that steady, unbreakable focus. “But I think I’ll stay and find out for myself.”

I could’ve told him to leave, could’ve turned away, pretended I wasn’t intrigued by the mystery he carried, the darkness that matched my own. But instead, I held his gaze, and for the first time in ages, I didn’t look away.

Because there, in his eyes, was a flicker of something I knew all too well. A quiet, relentless storm, waiting to break.

The silence thickened between us, stretching out until I could practically hear my own heartbeat echoing in the empty studio. I didn’t turn away, didn’t let my gaze waver, even though every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to put up a barrier between myself and the intensity in Azriel’s eyes.

But then he did something unexpected.

Azriel’s gaze drifted to the center of the studio floor, to the dimly lit space that was empty save for the dust motes swirling in the low light. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking softly on the polished wood, the sound somehow grounding in the silence.

“You ever get tired of dancing alone?” he asked, voice soft, yet challenging.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if there was a hint of… understanding beneath his words. Like he, too, knew what it was like to move through the world as if no one was watching. As if there was only you, and the shadows you kept hidden from everyone else.

“Why?” I replied, lifting a brow. “You think you could keep up?”

Azriel’s mouth curved into a lazy, dangerous smile. “Try me.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to cross the floor, to step into the center of the room with him, where the dim light cast shadows across our faces, blending together like we were part of the same darkness. But I did it anyway. And for a moment, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint scent of something dark and woodsy.

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice a low command, daring me to let go of the defenses I kept so carefully in place.

My heart thundered, a beat that pulsed through my veins like the rhythm of a song only I could hear. Without thinking, I took a step back, lifting my arms, letting the movement flow through me—slow, controlled, each step, each curve of my body deliberate, a part of the story I knew so well but had never told out loud.

And Azriel… he didn’t look away. He stayed rooted in place, watching as I moved, his gaze following every turn, every extension, like he was trying to decipher the secrets I’d woven into each step. There was no judgment in his eyes, no mockery. Only that same quiet intensity, as if he understood what each movement cost me.

Then, before I could stop myself, I turned, extending a hand toward him. An invitation. A challenge.

He hesitated, just for a breath, and then he took my hand, his fingers warm and solid against mine. He didn’t know the steps, didn’t know the routine, but he moved with a grace and confidence that surprised me, his movements rough around the edges yet somehow perfectly attuned to mine. He let me lead, matching my pace, his hand firm against my waist as we turned together, spinning through the shadows as if we were the only two people in the world.

Our breaths mingled in the stillness, our bodies moving in tandem, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel the need to hide, to hold back. I felt seen—truly seen—and it terrified me.

As the dance came to a slow halt, I found myself closer to him than I’d intended, my heart pounding against my ribs as his hand lingered at my waist. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched mine.

“What’s it like?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his thumb brushing my waist in a way that sent a shiver through me.

“What’s what like?” I breathed, barely able to get the words out.

“To carry all that weight. And still dance as if you could leave it behind.”

The question cut deeper than I’d expected, a blade to the part of me I thought no one saw. But somehow, he’d seen it, as clearly as if he’d been there in those moments I’d danced alone, chasing ghosts and shadows.

I pulled back, slipping from his hold, feeling the sudden urge to put space between us before he saw too much. “Maybe one day I’ll let you find out,” I said, forcing a smirk, though my voice betrayed me with its softness.

His gaze lingered on me, that smirk returning to his lips, dark and knowing. “One day,” he echoed, as if it were a promise.

And as I turned to walk away, feeling his gaze follow me even as I disappeared into the shadows, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day was already much closer than I’d ever planned.

[abraxosdreams]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: azriel/valerie, Rhysand & Rhysand’s Sister (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron/Cassian Characters: Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Azriel’s Shadows (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron, Rhysand’s Sister (A Court of Thorns and Roses) Additional Tags: Mates, Alternate Universe - Ballet, drummer azriel Summary:

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace.

[abraxosdreams]

Midnight Swan ~ ACOTAR fanfic

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace. ────୨ৎ────

Valerie Black has perfected the art of surviving. At Belle Étoile Ballet Academy, her every move is a blend of ruthless grace and defiant strength, each performance a testament to the darkness she’s clawed her way out of. But beneath the facade of poise and elegance lies a girl haunted by the ghosts of her past, scars hidden behind every spin, every leap. Darkness is her constant companion, and she’s learned to wield it like a weapon, a shield against a world that has already taken too much.

Nesta Archeon, a fellow dancer with eyes that can pierce through steel and a spine as unbreakable as her will, is both a rival and a reminder of the sisterhood Valerie never thought she’d have. Their connection is forged in shared pain and silent battles, a bond built on the understanding that strength doesn’t always mean being unbreakable—it means accepting the darkness, learning to live alongside it.

Then there’s Azriel. All brooding intensity and hidden storms, he crashes into Valerie’s carefully controlled world like a force of nature. A drummer whose past is a collection of wounds and shadows, Azriel sees beyond Valerie’s armor, recognizing the fractures she’s kept so well-hidden. And in him, Valerie sees a kindred spirit, someone who understands the way pain and longing can shape a soul. Their connection is raw, electric, a dangerous game of trust and vulnerability that neither of them can resist.

As Valerie and Azriel begin to confide in each other, sharing secrets they’ve never dared speak aloud, they discover that some ghosts refuse to stay buried. The darkness they’ve both fought so hard to control begins to close in, threatening to tear apart the fragile connections they’ve built. Together, they must confront their haunted pasts and decide if love can truly be stronger than the shadows that haunt them.Midnight Swan is a story of fierce sisterhood and the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. It’s about embracing the darkness within, and the healing that can come from finding someone who sees your broken pieces and chooses to stay. In a world where every pirouette is a battle, and love is a risk as beautiful as it is terrifying, Valerie and Azriel must decide if they’re brave enough to dance with the darkness—and each other.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter 1 - Prologue

I've always known that my appearance leaves an impression—an effect I’ve come to embrace, or at least use to my advantage when the situation calls for it. My long, dark brown hair falls in glossy waves, framing my face in a way that almost feels deliberate, even when it's not. There's a shadowy allure to it, a kind of mesmerizing beauty that I never quite asked for but learned to wield. My olive-toned skin carries an earthy warmth, a strange contradiction to the air of mystery I seem to radiate. Freckles sweep delicately across my nose and cheeks, a softness that contrasts with the sharper, more defined lines of my features. My full lips are often pressed into a thoughtful line, though sometimes, if I'm feeling bold—or when the world deserves a little mockery—a faint smirk tugs at the corners.

Then there are my eyes. A rare shade of violet, they’ve been called intense, haunting, even ethereal. I’ve watched how people react when they meet my gaze—captivated, unsettled, or sometimes both. I suppose it’s fitting, since those violet depths hold more secrets than I’d ever care to share, reflecting the darkness and complexity I keep buried beneath the surface. My lashes are thick, framing eyes that can be a weapon of their own, giving me a hypnotic, almost guarded stare. It draws people in, even if I often use it to keep them at a distance.

Adornments add to my look, and each one means something—bold, deliberate choices that mark my story on my skin. The medusa piercing, a subtle silver stud resting above my lips, adds a touch of edge to whatever softness remains in my features. A sternum tattoo stretches across my chest, intricate and personal, often barely visible beneath low necklines. It’s art born from pain, a permanent reminder of the things I’ve endured and transformed.

My right arm is my canvas, inked from shoulder to wrist in a full tattoo sleeve that tells a thousand silent stories. The patterns are delicate yet dark, intricate lace designs weaving into henna-like swirls that reach down onto my hand. Feminine, but fierce. Soft, yet unbreakable. It’s an artwork of resilience, a testament to everything I’ve survived.

My body holds strength in its curves—an hourglass shape honed and refined by years of ballet. I move with a poised, almost regal grace, every step and gesture controlled, purposeful. There’s power in how I hold myself, how I command a room without saying a word. I’ve come to embrace the dark elegance I embody: a beauty forged from pain, shaped by resilience, and unapologetically shadowed. Because these shadows are mine, and I no longer care to hide them.

────୨ৎ────

My toes bled beneath satin ribbons, each crimson mark a testament to beauty born of pain. I wore resilience like a second skin, and though the world saw grace, I was a storm hidden behind a veil of elegance. I pushed through the ache in my limbs, the raw sting with every step, until the edges of the stage faded, leaving only me, and the darkness, and the quiet hum of my own heartbeat.

As I bent into a final arabesque, I held that moment, stretching it out until time itself seemed to pause. In that silence, I felt the ghosts drift away, as if granting me a peace I hadn’t asked for, but somehow deserved. I had danced with my demons, not banishing them, but accepting them as part of the same rhythm, the same breath, the same pulse that kept me alive.

I lowered myself into a bow, my head dipping into the shadows pooling around my feet. The stage lights dimmed, but I didn’t need them. The darkness was mine now, a reflection of everything I had embraced, everything I had fought to become.

────୨ৎ────

I was the last one left in the ballet studio, lingering in the shadows with nothing but the quiet creak of the floorboards and the steady hum of my own breath to keep me company. The others had left ages ago, their laughter and lightness fading down the halls. But I liked it this way—the silence, the solitude. Here, under the dimmed lights and surrounded by mirrors, I could let the day slide off me like an unwanted layer, feel every ache and bruise as proof that I’d earned my place.

That’s when I noticed him.

Standing just outside the studio’s glass doors, barely a silhouette against the darkness of the hallway. Tall, leaning against the wall with a casualness that might have looked disinterested if not for the way his gaze locked onto me, a heat and intensity in it that felt like a slow burn. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch under my stare, his dark eyes cutting through the shadows to meet mine with an unwavering focus that made my heart trip over itself.

I turned, refusing to let him think I’d noticed. Whoever he was, he wasn’t here for me. Probably a friend of one of the dancers or some new tech worker lingering too long out of sheer boredom. I adjusted my posture, forcing my mind back to the routine, lifting my arms, finding the balance that had felt just out of reach all night.

But his gaze didn’t waver. I could feel it, a weight against my skin, as if he could see through the veneer I kept so tightly in place. And it took every ounce of control I had not to glance back at him.

The doors creaked open, his footsteps soft but certain, and then he was in the studio with me, the quiet, charged air folding around him as if it had been waiting for his arrival.

“You don’t need to put on a show,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. The kind of voice that seemed to settle into my bones, like he could speak directly to the parts of me I kept hidden. “I’m just watching.”

I turned slowly, keeping my expression blank, guarded. “You’re one of those types, then? The ones who lurk in doorways and think they know everything.”

He let out a soft laugh, a dark, lazy sound that had no right to make my pulse flutter. “Only the important things.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “And I’m supposed to believe that includes me?”

He stepped closer, the dim light casting shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the hard set of his mouth. “I think you already know it does.”

There was something about him—something I couldn’t quite place. A stillness, a sense of control that bordered on predatory. But there was warmth there, too. And it was the way he looked at me, like he’d already seen everything I tried to hide, every bruise, every scar, every ghost I kept locked away.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his gaze never wavering, like the answer mattered more than anything else in that moment.

I lifted my chin. “Valerie.”

He seemed to savor the name, rolling it around in his mind before he nodded, as if committing it to memory. “I’m Azriel.”

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I didn’t want to ask, but the question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He held my gaze, his mouth tilting into a faint, knowing smile. “Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“About the dark-eyed dancer who never leaves until the lights go out,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, something soft and dangerous that curled around me. “The one who dances like she’s trying to forget, or maybe… trying to remember.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I hated that he could see that. That he could see me.

“Rumors are usually half-truths,” I replied, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel.

“Maybe.” He didn’t look away, his eyes holding mine with that steady, unbreakable focus. “But I think I’ll stay and find out for myself.”

I could’ve told him to leave, could’ve turned away, pretended I wasn’t intrigued by the mystery he carried, the darkness that matched my own. But instead, I held his gaze, and for the first time in ages, I didn’t look away.

Because there, in his eyes, was a flicker of something I knew all too well. A quiet, relentless storm, waiting to break.

The silence thickened between us, stretching out until I could practically hear my own heartbeat echoing in the empty studio. I didn’t turn away, didn’t let my gaze waver, even though every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to put up a barrier between myself and the intensity in Azriel’s eyes.

But then he did something unexpected.

Azriel’s gaze drifted to the center of the studio floor, to the dimly lit space that was empty save for the dust motes swirling in the low light. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking softly on the polished wood, the sound somehow grounding in the silence.

“You ever get tired of dancing alone?” he asked, voice soft, yet challenging.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if there was a hint of… understanding beneath his words. Like he, too, knew what it was like to move through the world as if no one was watching. As if there was only you, and the shadows you kept hidden from everyone else.

“Why?” I replied, lifting a brow. “You think you could keep up?”

Azriel’s mouth curved into a lazy, dangerous smile. “Try me.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to cross the floor, to step into the center of the room with him, where the dim light cast shadows across our faces, blending together like we were part of the same darkness. But I did it anyway. And for a moment, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint scent of something dark and woodsy.

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice a low command, daring me to let go of the defenses I kept so carefully in place.

My heart thundered, a beat that pulsed through my veins like the rhythm of a song only I could hear. Without thinking, I took a step back, lifting my arms, letting the movement flow through me—slow, controlled, each step, each curve of my body deliberate, a part of the story I knew so well but had never told out loud.

And Azriel… he didn’t look away. He stayed rooted in place, watching as I moved, his gaze following every turn, every extension, like he was trying to decipher the secrets I’d woven into each step. There was no judgment in his eyes, no mockery. Only that same quiet intensity, as if he understood what each movement cost me.

Then, before I could stop myself, I turned, extending a hand toward him. An invitation. A challenge.

He hesitated, just for a breath, and then he took my hand, his fingers warm and solid against mine. He didn’t know the steps, didn’t know the routine, but he moved with a grace and confidence that surprised me, his movements rough around the edges yet somehow perfectly attuned to mine. He let me lead, matching my pace, his hand firm against my waist as we turned together, spinning through the shadows as if we were the only two people in the world.

Our breaths mingled in the stillness, our bodies moving in tandem, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel the need to hide, to hold back. I felt seen—truly seen—and it terrified me.

As the dance came to a slow halt, I found myself closer to him than I’d intended, my heart pounding against my ribs as his hand lingered at my waist. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched mine.

“What’s it like?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his thumb brushing my waist in a way that sent a shiver through me.

“What’s what like?” I breathed, barely able to get the words out.

“To carry all that weight. And still dance as if you could leave it behind.”

The question cut deeper than I’d expected, a blade to the part of me I thought no one saw. But somehow, he’d seen it, as clearly as if he’d been there in those moments I’d danced alone, chasing ghosts and shadows.

I pulled back, slipping from his hold, feeling the sudden urge to put space between us before he saw too much. “Maybe one day I’ll let you find out,” I said, forcing a smirk, though my voice betrayed me with its softness.

His gaze lingered on me, that smirk returning to his lips, dark and knowing. “One day,” he echoed, as if it were a promise.

And as I turned to walk away, feeling his gaze follow me even as I disappeared into the shadows, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day was already much closer than I’d ever planned.

[abraxosdreams]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: azriel/valerie, Rhysand & Rhysand's Sister (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron/Cassian Characters: Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Azriel's Shadows (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Nesta Archeron, Rhysand's Sister (A Court of Thorns and Roses) Additional Tags: Mates, Alternate Universe - Ballet, drummer azriel Summary:

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace.

[abraxosdreams]

-`♡´-ᥫ᭡ Music Playlist -`♡´-ᥫ᭡

Midnight Swan ~ ACOTAR fanfic

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace. ────୨ৎ────

Valerie Black has perfected the art of surviving. At Belle Étoile Ballet Academy, her every move is a blend of ruthless grace and defiant strength, each performance a testament to the darkness she’s clawed her way out of. But beneath the facade of poise and elegance lies a girl haunted by the ghosts of her past, scars hidden behind every spin, every leap. Darkness is her constant companion, and she’s learned to wield it like a weapon, a shield against a world that has already taken too much.

Nesta Archeon, a fellow dancer with eyes that can pierce through steel and a spine as unbreakable as her will, is both a rival and a reminder of the sisterhood Valerie never thought she’d have. Their connection is forged in shared pain and silent battles, a bond built on the understanding that strength doesn’t always mean being unbreakable—it means accepting the darkness, learning to live alongside it.

Then there’s Azriel. All brooding intensity and hidden storms, he crashes into Valerie’s carefully controlled world like a force of nature. A drummer whose past is a collection of wounds and shadows, Azriel sees beyond Valerie’s armor, recognizing the fractures she’s kept so well-hidden. And in him, Valerie sees a kindred spirit, someone who understands the way pain and longing can shape a soul. Their connection is raw, electric, a dangerous game of trust and vulnerability that neither of them can resist.

As Valerie and Azriel begin to confide in each other, sharing secrets they’ve never dared speak aloud, they discover that some ghosts refuse to stay buried. The darkness they’ve both fought so hard to control begins to close in, threatening to tear apart the fragile connections they’ve built. Together, they must confront their haunted pasts and decide if love can truly be stronger than the shadows that haunt them.Midnight Swan is a story of fierce sisterhood and the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. It’s about embracing the darkness within, and the healing that can come from finding someone who sees your broken pieces and chooses to stay. In a world where every pirouette is a battle, and love is a risk as beautiful as it is terrifying, Valerie and Azriel must decide if they’re brave enough to dance with the darkness—and each other.

────୨ৎ────

Chapter 1 - Prologue

I've always known that my appearance leaves an impression—an effect I’ve come to embrace, or at least use to my advantage when the situation calls for it. My long, dark brown hair falls in glossy waves, framing my face in a way that almost feels deliberate, even when it's not. There's a shadowy allure to it, a kind of mesmerizing beauty that I never quite asked for but learned to wield. My olive-toned skin carries an earthy warmth, a strange contradiction to the air of mystery I seem to radiate. Freckles sweep delicately across my nose and cheeks, a softness that contrasts with the sharper, more defined lines of my features. My full lips are often pressed into a thoughtful line, though sometimes, if I'm feeling bold—or when the world deserves a little mockery—a faint smirk tugs at the corners.

Then there are my eyes. A rare shade of violet, they’ve been called intense, haunting, even ethereal. I’ve watched how people react when they meet my gaze—captivated, unsettled, or sometimes both. I suppose it’s fitting, since those violet depths hold more secrets than I’d ever care to share, reflecting the darkness and complexity I keep buried beneath the surface. My lashes are thick, framing eyes that can be a weapon of their own, giving me a hypnotic, almost guarded stare. It draws people in, even if I often use it to keep them at a distance.

Adornments add to my look, and each one means something—bold, deliberate choices that mark my story on my skin. The medusa piercing, a subtle silver stud resting above my lips, adds a touch of edge to whatever softness remains in my features. A sternum tattoo stretches across my chest, intricate and personal, often barely visible beneath low necklines. It’s art born from pain, a permanent reminder of the things I’ve endured and transformed.

My right arm is my canvas, inked from shoulder to wrist in a full tattoo sleeve that tells a thousand silent stories. The patterns are delicate yet dark, intricate lace designs weaving into henna-like swirls that reach down onto my hand. Feminine, but fierce. Soft, yet unbreakable. It’s an artwork of resilience, a testament to everything I’ve survived.

My body holds strength in its curves—an hourglass shape honed and refined by years of ballet. I move with a poised, almost regal grace, every step and gesture controlled, purposeful. There’s power in how I hold myself, how I command a room without saying a word. I’ve come to embrace the dark elegance I embody: a beauty forged from pain, shaped by resilience, and unapologetically shadowed. Because these shadows are mine, and I no longer care to hide them.

────୨ৎ────

My toes bled beneath satin ribbons, each crimson mark a testament to beauty born of pain. I wore resilience like a second skin, and though the world saw grace, I was a storm hidden behind a veil of elegance. I pushed through the ache in my limbs, the raw sting with every step, until the edges of the stage faded, leaving only me, and the darkness, and the quiet hum of my own heartbeat.

As I bent into a final arabesque, I held that moment, stretching it out until time itself seemed to pause. In that silence, I felt the ghosts drift away, as if granting me a peace I hadn’t asked for, but somehow deserved. I had danced with my demons, not banishing them, but accepting them as part of the same rhythm, the same breath, the same pulse that kept me alive.

I lowered myself into a bow, my head dipping into the shadows pooling around my feet. The stage lights dimmed, but I didn’t need them. The darkness was mine now, a reflection of everything I had embraced, everything I had fought to become.

────୨ৎ────

I was the last one left in the ballet studio, lingering in the shadows with nothing but the quiet creak of the floorboards and the steady hum of my own breath to keep me company. The others had left ages ago, their laughter and lightness fading down the halls. But I liked it this way—the silence, the solitude. Here, under the dimmed lights and surrounded by mirrors, I could let the day slide off me like an unwanted layer, feel every ache and bruise as proof that I’d earned my place.

That’s when I noticed him.

Standing just outside the studio’s glass doors, barely a silhouette against the darkness of the hallway. Tall, leaning against the wall with a casualness that might have looked disinterested if not for the way his gaze locked onto me, a heat and intensity in it that felt like a slow burn. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch under my stare, his dark eyes cutting through the shadows to meet mine with an unwavering focus that made my heart trip over itself.

I turned, refusing to let him think I’d noticed. Whoever he was, he wasn’t here for me. Probably a friend of one of the dancers or some new tech worker lingering too long out of sheer boredom. I adjusted my posture, forcing my mind back to the routine, lifting my arms, finding the balance that had felt just out of reach all night.

But his gaze didn’t waver. I could feel it, a weight against my skin, as if he could see through the veneer I kept so tightly in place. And it took every ounce of control I had not to glance back at him.

The doors creaked open, his footsteps soft but certain, and then he was in the studio with me, the quiet, charged air folding around him as if it had been waiting for his arrival.

“You don’t need to put on a show,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. The kind of voice that seemed to settle into my bones, like he could speak directly to the parts of me I kept hidden. “I’m just watching.”

I turned slowly, keeping my expression blank, guarded. “You’re one of those types, then? The ones who lurk in doorways and think they know everything.”

He let out a soft laugh, a dark, lazy sound that had no right to make my pulse flutter. “Only the important things.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “And I’m supposed to believe that includes me?”

He stepped closer, the dim light casting shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the hard set of his mouth. “I think you already know it does.”

There was something about him—something I couldn’t quite place. A stillness, a sense of control that bordered on predatory. But there was warmth there, too. And it was the way he looked at me, like he’d already seen everything I tried to hide, every bruise, every scar, every ghost I kept locked away.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his gaze never wavering, like the answer mattered more than anything else in that moment.

I lifted my chin. “Valerie.”

He seemed to savor the name, rolling it around in his mind before he nodded, as if committing it to memory. “I’m Azriel.”

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I didn’t want to ask, but the question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He held my gaze, his mouth tilting into a faint, knowing smile. “Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“About the dark-eyed dancer who never leaves until the lights go out,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, something soft and dangerous that curled around me. “The one who dances like she’s trying to forget, or maybe… trying to remember.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I hated that he could see that. That he could see me.

“Rumors are usually half-truths,” I replied, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel.

“Maybe.” He didn’t look away, his eyes holding mine with that steady, unbreakable focus. “But I think I’ll stay and find out for myself.”

I could’ve told him to leave, could’ve turned away, pretended I wasn’t intrigued by the mystery he carried, the darkness that matched my own. But instead, I held his gaze, and for the first time in ages, I didn’t look away.

Because there, in his eyes, was a flicker of something I knew all too well. A quiet, relentless storm, waiting to break.

The silence thickened between us, stretching out until I could practically hear my own heartbeat echoing in the empty studio. I didn’t turn away, didn’t let my gaze waver, even though every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to put up a barrier between myself and the intensity in Azriel’s eyes.

But then he did something unexpected.

Azriel’s gaze drifted to the center of the studio floor, to the dimly lit space that was empty save for the dust motes swirling in the low light. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking softly on the polished wood, the sound somehow grounding in the silence.

“You ever get tired of dancing alone?” he asked, voice soft, yet challenging.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if there was a hint of… understanding beneath his words. Like he, too, knew what it was like to move through the world as if no one was watching. As if there was only you, and the shadows you kept hidden from everyone else.

“Why?” I replied, lifting a brow. “You think you could keep up?”

Azriel’s mouth curved into a lazy, dangerous smile. “Try me.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to cross the floor, to step into the center of the room with him, where the dim light cast shadows across our faces, blending together like we were part of the same darkness. But I did it anyway. And for a moment, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint scent of something dark and woodsy.

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice a low command, daring me to let go of the defenses I kept so carefully in place.

My heart thundered, a beat that pulsed through my veins like the rhythm of a song only I could hear. Without thinking, I took a step back, lifting my arms, letting the movement flow through me—slow, controlled, each step, each curve of my body deliberate, a part of the story I knew so well but had never told out loud.

And Azriel… he didn’t look away. He stayed rooted in place, watching as I moved, his gaze following every turn, every extension, like he was trying to decipher the secrets I’d woven into each step. There was no judgment in his eyes, no mockery. Only that same quiet intensity, as if he understood what each movement cost me.

Then, before I could stop myself, I turned, extending a hand toward him. An invitation. A challenge.

He hesitated, just for a breath, and then he took my hand, his fingers warm and solid against mine. He didn’t know the steps, didn’t know the routine, but he moved with a grace and confidence that surprised me, his movements rough around the edges yet somehow perfectly attuned to mine. He let me lead, matching my pace, his hand firm against my waist as we turned together, spinning through the shadows as if we were the only two people in the world.

Our breaths mingled in the stillness, our bodies moving in tandem, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel the need to hide, to hold back. I felt seen—truly seen—and it terrified me.

As the dance came to a slow halt, I found myself closer to him than I’d intended, my heart pounding against my ribs as his hand lingered at my waist. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched mine.

“What’s it like?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his thumb brushing my waist in a way that sent a shiver through me.

“What’s what like?” I breathed, barely able to get the words out.

“To carry all that weight. And still dance as if you could leave it behind.”

The question cut deeper than I’d expected, a blade to the part of me I thought no one saw. But somehow, he’d seen it, as clearly as if he’d been there in those moments I’d danced alone, chasing ghosts and shadows.

I pulled back, slipping from his hold, feeling the sudden urge to put space between us before he saw too much. “Maybe one day I’ll let you find out,” I said, forcing a smirk, though my voice betrayed me with its softness.

His gaze lingered on me, that smirk returning to his lips, dark and knowing. “One day,” he echoed, as if it were a promise.

And as I turned to walk away, feeling his gaze follow me even as I disappeared into the shadows, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day was already much closer than I’d ever planned.

[abraxosdreams]

Midnight Swan ~ ACOTAR fanfic

Love forged in shadows, secrets veiled in grace.

────୨ৎ────

Valerie Black has perfected the art of surviving. At Belle Étoile Ballet Academy, her every move is a blend of ruthless grace and defiant strength, each performance a testament to the darkness she’s clawed her way out of. But beneath the facade of poise and elegance lies a girl haunted by the ghosts of her past, scars hidden behind every spin, every leap. Darkness is her constant companion, and she’s learned to wield it like a weapon, a shield against a world that has already taken too much.

Nesta Archeon, a fellow dancer with eyes that can pierce through steel and a spine as unbreakable as her will, is both a rival and a reminder of the sisterhood Valerie never thought she’d have. Their connection is forged in shared pain and silent battles, a bond built on the understanding that strength doesn’t always mean being unbreakable—it means accepting the darkness, learning to live alongside it.

Then there’s Azriel. All brooding intensity and hidden storms, he crashes into Valerie’s carefully controlled world like a force of nature. A drummer whose past is a collection of wounds and shadows, Azriel sees beyond Valerie’s armor, recognizing the fractures she’s kept so well-hidden. And in him, Valerie sees a kindred spirit, someone who understands the way pain and longing can shape a soul. Their connection is raw, electric, a dangerous game of trust and vulnerability that neither of them can resist.

As Valerie and Azriel begin to confide in each other, sharing secrets they’ve never dared speak aloud, they discover that some ghosts refuse to stay buried. The darkness they’ve both fought so hard to control begins to close in, threatening to tear apart the fragile connections they’ve built. Together, they must confront their haunted pasts and decide if love can truly be stronger than the shadows that haunt them.Midnight Swan is a story of fierce sisterhood and the delicate balance between strength and vulnerability. It’s about embracing the darkness within, and the healing that can come from finding someone who sees your broken pieces and chooses to stay. In a world where every pirouette is a battle, and love is a risk as beautiful as it is terrifying, Valerie and Azriel must decide if they’re brave enough to dance with the darkness—and each other.

────୨ৎ────

Prologue | Chapter 1

I've always known that my appearance leaves an impression—an effect I’ve come to embrace, or at least use to my advantage when the situation calls for it. My long, dark brown hair falls in glossy waves, framing my face in a way that almost feels deliberate, even when it's not. There's a shadowy allure to it, a kind of mesmerizing beauty that I never quite asked for but learned to wield. My olive-toned skin carries an earthy warmth, a strange contradiction to the air of mystery I seem to radiate. Freckles sweep delicately across my nose and cheeks, a softness that contrasts with the sharper, more defined lines of my features. My full lips are often pressed into a thoughtful line, though sometimes, if I'm feeling bold—or when the world deserves a little mockery—a faint smirk tugs at the corners.

Then there are my eyes. A rare shade of violet, they’ve been called intense, haunting, even ethereal. I’ve watched how people react when they meet my gaze—captivated, unsettled, or sometimes both. I suppose it’s fitting, since those violet depths hold more secrets than I’d ever care to share, reflecting the darkness and complexity I keep buried beneath the surface. My lashes are thick, framing eyes that can be a weapon of their own, giving me a hypnotic, almost guarded stare. It draws people in, even if I often use it to keep them at a distance.

Adornments add to my look, and each one means something—bold, deliberate choices that mark my story on my skin. The medusa piercing, a subtle silver stud resting above my lips, adds a touch of edge to whatever softness remains in my features. A sternum tattoo stretches across my chest, intricate and personal, often barely visible beneath low necklines. It’s art born from pain, a permanent reminder of the things I’ve endured and transformed.

My right arm is my canvas, inked from shoulder to wrist in a full tattoo sleeve that tells a thousand silent stories. The patterns are delicate yet dark, intricate lace designs weaving into henna-like swirls that reach down onto my hand. Feminine, but fierce. Soft, yet unbreakable. It’s an artwork of resilience, a testament to everything I’ve survived.

My body holds strength in its curves—an hourglass shape honed and refined by years of ballet. I move with a poised, almost regal grace, every step and gesture controlled, purposeful. There’s power in how I hold myself, how I command a room without saying a word. I’ve come to embrace the dark elegance I embody: a beauty forged from pain, shaped by resilience, and unapologetically shadowed. Because these shadows are mine, and I no longer care to hide them.

────୨ৎ────

My toes bled beneath satin ribbons, each crimson mark a testament to beauty born of pain. I wore resilience like a second skin, and though the world saw grace, I was a storm hidden behind a veil of elegance. I pushed through the ache in my limbs, the raw sting with every step, until the edges of the stage faded, leaving only me, and the darkness, and the quiet hum of my own heartbeat.

As I bent into a final arabesque, I held that moment, stretching it out until time itself seemed to pause. In that silence, I felt the ghosts drift away, as if granting me a peace I hadn’t asked for, but somehow deserved. I had danced with my demons, not banishing them, but accepting them as part of the same rhythm, the same breath, the same pulse that kept me alive.

I lowered myself into a bow, my head dipping into the shadows pooling around my feet. The stage lights dimmed, but I didn’t need them. The darkness was mine now, a reflection of everything I had embraced, everything I had fought to become.

────୨ৎ────

I was the last one left in the ballet studio, lingering in the shadows with nothing but the quiet creak of the floorboards and the steady hum of my own breath to keep me company. The others had left ages ago, their laughter and lightness fading down the halls. But I liked it this way—the silence, the solitude. Here, under the dimmed lights and surrounded by mirrors, I could let the day slide off me like an unwanted layer, feel every ache and bruise as proof that I’d earned my place.

That’s when I noticed him.

Standing just outside the studio’s glass doors, barely a silhouette against the darkness of the hallway. Tall, leaning against the wall with a casualness that might have looked disinterested if not for the way his gaze locked onto me, a heat and intensity in it that felt like a slow burn. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch under my stare, his dark eyes cutting through the shadows to meet mine with an unwavering focus that made my heart trip over itself.

I turned, refusing to let him think I’d noticed. Whoever he was, he wasn’t here for me. Probably a friend of one of the dancers or some new tech worker lingering too long out of sheer boredom. I adjusted my posture, forcing my mind back to the routine, lifting my arms, finding the balance that had felt just out of reach all night.

But his gaze didn’t waver. I could feel it, a weight against my skin, as if he could see through the veneer I kept so tightly in place. And it took every ounce of control I had not to glance back at him.

The doors creaked open, his footsteps soft but certain, and then he was in the studio with me, the quiet, charged air folding around him as if it had been waiting for his arrival.

“You don’t need to put on a show,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. The kind of voice that seemed to settle into my bones, like he could speak directly to the parts of me I kept hidden. “I’m just watching.”

I turned slowly, keeping my expression blank, guarded. “You’re one of those types, then? The ones who lurk in doorways and think they know everything.”

He let out a soft laugh, a dark, lazy sound that had no right to make my pulse flutter. “Only the important things.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “And I’m supposed to believe that includes me?”

He stepped closer, the dim light casting shadows across his face, illuminating the sharp lines of his jaw, the hard set of his mouth. “I think you already know it does.”

There was something about him—something I couldn’t quite place. A stillness, a sense of control that bordered on predatory. But there was warmth there, too. And it was the way he looked at me, like he’d already seen everything I tried to hide, every bruise, every scar, every ghost I kept locked away.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his gaze never wavering, like the answer mattered more than anything else in that moment.

I lifted my chin. “Valerie.”

He seemed to savor the name, rolling it around in his mind before he nodded, as if committing it to memory. “I’m Azriel.”

“Why are you here, Azriel?” I didn’t want to ask, but the question slipped out before I could stop it, my voice barely more than a whisper.

He held my gaze, his mouth tilting into a faint, knowing smile. “Maybe I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“About the dark-eyed dancer who never leaves until the lights go out,” he said, his voice almost a murmur, something soft and dangerous that curled around me. “The one who dances like she’s trying to forget, or maybe… trying to remember.”

A shiver ran down my spine, and I hated that he could see that. That he could see me.

“Rumors are usually half-truths,” I replied, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel.

“Maybe.” He didn’t look away, his eyes holding mine with that steady, unbreakable focus. “But I think I’ll stay and find out for myself.”

I could’ve told him to leave, could’ve turned away, pretended I wasn’t intrigued by the mystery he carried, the darkness that matched my own. But instead, I held his gaze, and for the first time in ages, I didn’t look away.

Because there, in his eyes, was a flicker of something I knew all too well. A quiet, relentless storm, waiting to break.

The silence thickened between us, stretching out until I could practically hear my own heartbeat echoing in the empty studio. I didn’t turn away, didn’t let my gaze waver, even though every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to put up a barrier between myself and the intensity in Azriel’s eyes.

But then he did something unexpected.

Azriel’s gaze drifted to the center of the studio floor, to the dimly lit space that was empty save for the dust motes swirling in the low light. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped further into the room, his boots clicking softly on the polished wood, the sound somehow grounding in the silence.

“You ever get tired of dancing alone?” he asked, voice soft, yet challenging.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me, or if there was a hint of… understanding beneath his words. Like he, too, knew what it was like to move through the world as if no one was watching. As if there was only you, and the shadows you kept hidden from everyone else.

“Why?” I replied, lifting a brow. “You think you could keep up?”

Azriel’s mouth curved into a lazy, dangerous smile. “Try me.”

I didn’t know what possessed me to cross the floor, to step into the center of the room with him, where the dim light cast shadows across our faces, blending together like we were part of the same darkness. But I did it anyway. And for a moment, we just stood there, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough to catch the faint scent of something dark and woodsy.

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice a low command, daring me to let go of the defenses I kept so carefully in place.

My heart thundered, a beat that pulsed through my veins like the rhythm of a song only I could hear. Without thinking, I took a step back, lifting my arms, letting the movement flow through me—slow, controlled, each step, each curve of my body deliberate, a part of the story I knew so well but had never told out loud.

And Azriel… he didn’t look away. He stayed rooted in place, watching as I moved, his gaze following every turn, every extension, like he was trying to decipher the secrets I’d woven into each step. There was no judgment in his eyes, no mockery. Only that same quiet intensity, as if he understood what each movement cost me.

Then, before I could stop myself, I turned, extending a hand toward him. An invitation. A challenge.

He hesitated, just for a breath, and then he took my hand, his fingers warm and solid against mine. He didn’t know the steps, didn’t know the routine, but he moved with a grace and confidence that surprised me, his movements rough around the edges yet somehow perfectly attuned to mine. He let me lead, matching my pace, his hand firm against my waist as we turned together, spinning through the shadows as if we were the only two people in the world.

Our breaths mingled in the stillness, our bodies moving in tandem, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel the need to hide, to hold back. I felt seen—truly seen—and it terrified me.

As the dance came to a slow halt, I found myself closer to him than I’d intended, my heart pounding against my ribs as his hand lingered at my waist. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes searched mine.

“What’s it like?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his thumb brushing my waist in a way that sent a shiver through me.

“What’s what like?” I breathed, barely able to get the words out.

“To carry all that weight. And still dance as if you could leave it behind.”

The question cut deeper than I’d expected, a blade to the part of me I thought no one saw. But somehow, he’d seen it, as clearly as if he’d been there in those moments I’d danced alone, chasing ghosts and shadows.

I pulled back, slipping from his hold, feeling the sudden urge to put space between us before he saw too much. “Maybe one day I’ll let you find out,” I said, forcing a smirk, though my voice betrayed me with its softness.

His gaze lingered on me, that smirk returning to his lips, dark and knowing. “One day,” he echoed, as if it were a promise.

And as I turned to walk away, feeling his gaze follow me even as I disappeared into the shadows, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one day was already much closer than I’d ever planned.

[abraxosdreams]

I kinda dislike how nesta did more for gwyn and emerie (two women she just met) than what she did for feyre... I dont get it at all. Why did she finally say I love you to feyre on her death bed?

Ehhh I would disagree. We have to understand as Feyre stated within the first book she and Nesta are very similar and have a unique understanding of one another.

Nesta is the kind of person whose actions speak louder than words.

✨Going to hunt Feyre (and hired a mercenary to help) in book 1.

✨Willing to marry an abuser if it meant Feyre and Elain could have more money.

✨Hosting a neutral meeting ground for the queens and the fae (which she despised with all her being) for Feyre’s sake most of all.

✨Running the estate while Papa Archeron was away.

✨Immediately after being turned fae accepted her role as a weapon for the night courts means if it saved Elain from needing to do any training/engaging in violence while shoving down her own traumas to do so.

✨Caring for the injured soldiers during the war.

✨Scrying for the inner circle during a time of uncertainty and vulnerability pertaining to her powers.

✨Despite having zero battle experience or training going toe to toe with the king of hybern to help give Feyre just a chance of getting to the cauldron.

Yes, Nesta was a bitch through and through. And sometimes I’d say “come on Nesta.” But I think people fail to realize before ACOFAS Nesta was always more than willing to put her safety and wellbeing on the line if it meant aiding and protecting her family. Sure, she didn’t go hunting. But she tried. Feyre states she never had the aptitude for it and would always scare away the prey. The effort was made none the less. So Nesta helped out in the ways she could—vying for marriage.

The point in all this is while yes she has a “closer” relationship with Emerie and Gwyn now after she has healed, I don’t see why this should be held against her. Feyre CHOSE her family. Feyre CHOSE the inner circle. Why isn’t Nesta allowed to do the same? I think a lot of people expect this series to be about the sisters becoming close after overcoming their hardships. IMO it’s never going to be that. It’s about the sisters healing in their own ways and taking their own paths to happiness, and while yes they’ll always love one another, they each have their own people (their own found family) that they really connect to for different reasons. I’m sure we can expect to see Elain curate her own found family outside the night court in her book as well.

I don’t think she needs to tell Feyre she loves her. Feyre already knows. The same way even though Cassian didn’t tell Nesta he loved her, she already knows he does. Her actions speak louder than her words.

[abraxosdreams]

just in case you need to hear this today:

you are not a failure

you are not a waste of space

you are loved

you are wanted

I believe in you

you can do it!!!!

[abraxosdreams]

all of this

I know we already talked about this a lot (like, a lot) but I just have a little more to say about the jail scene. Mostly because of all the "Vi didn't care about Jinx" and all the "in the middle of a war, they're having sex"

Sort way to say it, using Vi's words: just shut the fuck up.

Using my own words, first of all, Vi didn't know what's Jinx gonna do. As far as she knew, Jinx could have been run away without her, being plotting a new attack against Piltover, or reunited with Sevika. All Vi knew was that she went to rescue her little sister, and that sister punched her (in the same spot Cait did, seriusly, people should stop hitting her there), and left her alone in a cell.

She went behind the back of the woman she loves just to save Jinx of being executed or imprisioned for life. And after that (in her own eyes) betrayal to Cait, Jinx left without her.

And then, Caitlyn is there, and Vi thought she's gonna hate her, for choosing Jinx again, even when Jinx didn't want to be chosen. Vi thought she'd lost, not only her sister, also Caitlyn after all. Just look at her.

But no. Cait is there to say, that she knew, she knew Vi would do this, and that's ok. It's just how Vi is. After all, the Vi who freed Jinx, is the same Vi who became an enforcer for Caitlyn. Vi just can't let the people she loves suffer, if she can do something about it. Cait needed that support and Jinx needed to be free. Both time ended with Vi being punched and let behind. But this time, Caitlyn is there to ease that guilt and pain. She knew Vi was gonna do this, and she helped, because she loves and accept Vi, even when she doesn't understand her.

And no, you can't tell that's was just a Cait's plan to fuck Vi. She did that because she loves her, and didn't expect nothing in return. Just look at her face when she's telling Vi she knew, and a few seconds later, when she stops to tell Vi about her rebound (not so predictable after all, right Cait?), totally different expresions.

And of course Vi kissed her, for the fisrt time in her life, somebody is there just for her, somebody came to support her, not in the other way. So it was pure instinct, visceral, raw feeling. Vi fucking loves her, and Cait just did something no one did for her before. Be there, understand her. How could she not kiss her? Not let herself go in the feeling?

And yes, there's a war, they may die, why wait? They been longing this for so long, and now, both need to feel eacht other, to touch eacht other, to love and hold eacht other. Again, raw emotion.

And I also read some people saying Cait is looking at Vi like a womanizer, Am I the only one seeing just tender in her eyes? Love? Like "this is the woman I love and I would never change her again for nothing" She's looking at Vi with such love.

Sorry for rambling, I don't really have anyone to talk to about Arcane 😬

[abraxosdreams]

this is your sunday evening reminder that you can handle whatever this week throws at you.

[abraxosdreams]

fun words :

bastard

scoundrel

charlatan

harlot

rapscallion

hooligan

ruffian

swindler

[abraxosdreams]

Merry xmas! ❄