#( ⠀verse⠀ ✩ ⠀sanctum⠀ )

[supremestrangeness]

*sneezes to blue*

"Now, this is just insulting. It's like no one remembers how this all went down."

“Honestly, it’s for the best. I know I like to not think about it. Although, I’m constantly wondering if Loki did me a favor, or if this is a curse.”

[wingedbeings]

tag directory;

forsaken; where you were the lamb

bad dog; you know how you should act

buried; how much longer can you bury yourself

foreigner; where do you come from, strange one?

reflections; mirror shards of the self that isnt a self

homes; something you know like your pocket; parts of you have been here, lived here, died here, parts of you run to hide here, some seeking asylum from you

fracturing; oh dear, it seems you've turned to shards

you lie in a thousand graves; the deaths of your selfs with no one to mourn them, you die again, and again

packing down the dirt; old graves and the old house you burn down every day, and every night to come

hiding places; you will see something lingering, blurred, there, when you look beneath the veil

sightings; something you know from within

cycles; you are known to walk in circles

dead eyes; your cruelty, your apathy

tales; its a sad story, this past

sanctum; get on your knees

lairs; where the beasts roam

light; haunted holy, and aware

spitting fire; your rage as a beacon

omens; do you understand? do you see?

prey-natured; they pulled your canines early on

lost; do you remember yourself? do you remember where to go? do you remember who to be? is it lost?

radio signals; transmissions from someplace hidden well below view, can you hear what they are saying? (more importantly; will you choose to?)

forest fire; burn and burn and burn, smoke and ashes forming something new, remember the brightness of a flame in darkness, fire both destroys, and creates

breathe in and out; close your eyes, feel your chest, breathe, breathe, breathe, and try not to become a museum of your self

cries; but it does hurt, doesn't it, hidden one?

voices; they seem to speak of deep parts of you

verses; quiet narrations of your world, listen close

always walking away; you're always somewhere off in the distance, always running, always turning away

stained red; there will always be blood, embrace this

the edge of a blade; sharp like the self, cold, bright

inheritance; the wound passed down, honour it

marionette; you've never been your own

hauntings; you pretend not to see it

[benevolentgodloki]

Its a shame u can't ride ur daggers

(In reference to thor riding his axe)

"I suppose if they could hover, I could try to balance on the blades. Not really ideal. Perhaps one day I will be powerful enough to levitate with magic alone."

[themusecrafter]

o diretor firebird dá as boas-vindas a anya forger para mais um ano letivo. conforme os registros, twilight princess tem dezoito anos e sua individualidade é telepatia e telecinese. atualmente, ela está estudando para se se tornar uma heroína. ficamos sabendo que ela é muito otimista, mas também pode ser descuidada. dizem que anya se parece muito com sadie sink, mas isso são apenas boatos.

Anya Forger era, originalmente, conhecida como COBAIA 007, por conta disso, ela foi capaz de desenvolver individualidades. Foi adotada diversas vezes no passado, sendo devolvida ao orfanato no qual morava, até que Loid Forger, um espião que precisava de uma família para uma missão, decidiu adotá-la.

Um medo que acabou por se tornar constante, conforme ela se tornava mais próxima de Damiana, e consecutivamente seu pai era capaz de se aproximar do pai da mesma, Anya temia que fosse ser retornada para o orfanato mais uma vez, e por vezes acabou por atrapalhar a missão de seu pai propositalmente, para que ele e Yor não a deixassem.

Conforme os anos foram se passando, tornou-se mais evidente que Loid não tinha mais a intenção de deixar a família, o que se mostrou um alívio para Anya. E, eventualmente, ela também contou para os pais sobre seus poderes, pois, ela queria ser capaz de fazer mais, ajudar o mundo de alguma forma, e a ACADEMIA SANCTUM era o lugar.

[internet-rat]

Taking a bath together

Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader

No warnings - just fluff

I just want him to feel loved and happy, okay?? ;_: He is a sweetie pie even if he does a little killing sometimes.

The warm water of the bath enveloped you both, steam rising and curling in the quiet air of the chamber, scented with the subtle hint of lavender from the bath oils. The large, marble tub was a luxurious expanse, allowing comfortable space for the both of you, a private sanctum isolated from the rest of the world and its demands. You and your husband, Aemond, preferred bathing alone and without any servants to assist you.

Warm water sloshed about as you cleaned your his silky pale silver hair. With Aemond sitting between your legs, his head tilted back slightly to let you have access to his hair, his guard was lowered in a way few ever saw. The absence of his eyepatch revealed the vulnerable side of a man typically known for his strength and intimidating presence, highlighting a rare intimacy shared between you alone. He was always gentle and sweet towards you, so different from how he came off to the courts and the world.

As you lathered his hair with soap, your fingers massaged his scalp, the action caring and methodical. Your voice, a gentle murmur, broke the silence, carrying affection and genuine admiration. "Your hair is so lovely, my sweet..."

Aemond's muscles, which so often held tension and readiness for combat, relaxed under your touch. The prince, the warrior, the brooding Targaryen—those identities faded into the background as he simply became a man at peace, indulging in the rare luxury of being cared for. You wanted to do your utmost to make sure he felt loved and cared for, and it seemed like it was taking effect.

"Your touch is as soothing as the Maiden's song," he replied, his voice a low hum that vibrated against your skin. A soft sigh escaped him, a sound of utter contentment that filled the space between you with a resonance more articulate than words could ever be.

Your tone took on a playful edge, teasing him gently while simultaneously offering praise, a balance that spoke to the depth of your relationship. "My, how poetic you are~ What have you been reading?" you inquired, the smile audible in your voice, a gentle prod at his scholarly habits.

Aemond leaned back further into you, the warm water and your closeness lulling him into a state of tranquility he found nowhere else. "A collection of verses from old Valyria," he admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his voice, revealing that even a prince could have his indulgences. "There’s a beauty in the old words, a power and grace that I find... comforting."

His hand rose to meet yours, fingers intertwining as he held your hand against his chest, a silent expression of gratitude for your teasing, your care, and everything you did to make him feel loved and at ease. Your laughter and light-hearted queries were as much a part of his reprieve as the soothing waters that enveloped him.

Aemond rested back against you, the solid warmth of his body pressed into the softness of your form, an intimate juxtaposition of strength and tenderness. With careful affection, you bent forward to press a kiss to the sapphire that sat in place of his missing eye, a gesture of acceptance and reverence for all that he was, imperfections included.

"Very good, my prince... You read such varied books and texts. Poetry is just as valuable as history," you murmured into the steam-kissed air. "Your diligent reading shall temper your mind into that of a great ruler." Through your words, you offered not just praise but a recognition of his efforts to grow beyond the warrior the world often mistook him for.

He could feel the vibration of your voice against his back as you spoke, the underlying message clear: he was valued not only for his title and the power he wielded, but for the depth of his intellect and character. A soft, pleased little "hmm" noise escaped him, a sound that held within it both gratitude and a burgeoning sense of pride.

Aemond turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of your face from over his shoulder, his good eye searching for yours. "With you by my side, I have no doubt of what I might become," he said earnestly, his voice steady and sure as the pull of the tide. "You see in me the king I am yet to be, and for that vision, I am eternally grateful." He had a soft smile and a devoted look in his eye.

As Aemond’s gaze met yours, searching and sincere, you leaned in to close the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle, loving kiss. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes—the touch of your mouth against his was a seal to the promise of your words, a silent reassurance of your faith in him.

The softness of the kiss, coupled with the intimacy of the moment, pulled a reaction from him that was both rare and endearing. His cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, the blush spreading across his fair skin. Even a man of Aemond Targaryen's stature, for all his fierce reputation, was not immune to the tender affections of the one he loved, especially not when delivered so unexpectedly and with such genuine emotion.

[nikethestatue]

All Hallow's Eve

An Elriel Halloween fanfic

Summary: Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court enlists his sister-in-law Elain Archeron to plan a city-wide celebration of All Hallow's Eve. As she is still new to being Fae, Rhysand suggests a helper--Azriel, who would guide her through the process and show her the ropes.

Over the next few weeks, they plan the celebration together, they visit the Historian, and they end up together at Azriel's secret mansion, finally free to confront their feelings for each other.

TW: Explicit Sexual Content

Words: 13,229

-

“I’m gonna show you where it’s dark, but have no fear.” 

Day One

“Elain,” Rhysand called out her name from his office. 

She paused, surprised, because he rarely included her in any discussions and she was called to his office…well, never.

She pushed the door and entered. The High Lord sat behind his large desk, the portrait of her sister behind him. Watching.

Elain had to admit it–Feyre’s turned out to be a gifted painter after all. What had started as a childish hobby and endless doodles, morphed into something introspective and emotional. What Feyre perhaps lacked in technique, she compensated with the sheer visceral impact of her paintings.

“Good morning,” Rhysand said and gestured for her to sit down. She took a place across from him and allowed herself to be enchanted by his lavender eyes, which brimmed with starlight–a sight she was still getting used to.

“How are you, Elain?” Rhysand asked, his voice smooth and vaguely concerned.

“I am well, Rhys. Thank you for asking,” Elain answered politely. 

Internally, she felt both trepidation, and excitement. Because she was never asked to come to Rhys’s office. She was relegated to the gardens, to the nursery, the kitchen. Never called into the inner sanctum. 

Yes, she was part of this Court, and whenever she was called upon to serve, she did it eagerly and without hesitation. But she was typically used as a pretty doll at parties and balls or meetings with emissaries. Not unlike what her mother used to do when Elain was young–a pretty doll to dress up and parade around, introducing her to the guests. Elain didn’t mind it: she was well-versed in the matters of hosting and entertainment, and even the uncouth and ill-mannered Fae straightened in her presence and didn’t insist on behaving like beasts. 

“How are you?” she asked in turn, her stomach tightening with anticipation.

What if today was the day? The day Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court, would actually ask for her assistance in some task. Would use her powers and skills of observation for a specific purpose. Would she be finally used for something important and meaningful?

“Oh, I am well,” he leaned back in his chair. “The babe kept us up for a few hours, but then he fell asleep so I can't complain.”

Elain smiled politely and shifted in her seat, the impatient movement catching Rhys’s all-seeing glance.

He folded his elegant, aristocratic hands on his stomach and then asked,

“Do you know what All Hallow’s Eve is?”

Elain furrowed her brow, confused by the question.

“Pardon?”

“Have you heard of it?” Rhys repeated.

She shook her head. 

“No. What is it?”

“You didn’t celebrate your dead in the Human Lands?” he confirmed.

Elain bit her lip and shook her head again. No. The dead were burned in the river and then remembered by their families, until all generations died out, and with them, all the memories as well. The wealthy, they had different customs of course, as did those who lived on the Continent. Elain’s own grandparents and mother were buried properly, and had elaborate gravestones in the family cemetery. But the cemetery was gone along with Elain’s childhood estate and the only time the family members were remembered during the years of poverty was when the sisters lit a candle on the anniversary of their passing. 

Only Nesta refused to light for their grandmother. 

“No,” she answered curtly.

She didn’t want to remember. Any of it.

He nodded calmly, unperturbed as usual. 

“It is a night when we remember our dead,” he explained. “It is not a night of sorrow, but of celebration. We light bonfires, we leave sweets outside our doors, we exchange foods to please the ancestors, and we drink in their honour. What Calanmai is to Spring Court, All Hallow’s Eve is to Night Court.”

Elain thought about it and then asked cautiously, “and you and Feyre then…have to,” she swallowed audibly and felt her cheeks heat, “have to,”

He smiled mischievously, watching her discomfort.

“Have to what, Elain?” Rhysand prompted. 

She sighed. 

“You know exactly what I am referring to,” she told him, her tone dry. “Will you be fornicating in public then?” Like they do at Calanmai?”

She’d never seen it, but she heard stories about orgies out in the open and sexual acts performed by the High Lords. 

He chuckled and assured her, “don't worry, it won't be something we’ll subject anyone to.”

“Thank the gods,” she breathed with relief.

Rhysand’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Is it something you’d like to experience then?” he queried with amusement. “I could arrange a trip to Spring for you, come spring,”

“That won’t be necessary,” she stopped him quickly.

“Alright then.”

“So, what about this Eve?” she questioned, “do you wish me to bake something? Cook something?” her voice was small and quiet. She wished that he’d asked her for something meaningful.

Rhysand scrubbed his chin and then resumed his relaxed position.

“So, the custom is to host a gathering,” he said at last. “Obviously, due to various reasons we’ve been unable to have a proper celebration for half a century. This year though, I feel we are in a good position to resume the festivities properly.” 

She leaned forward in her chair and watched him intently, trying to understand what he wanted from her.

But she didn't need to wait long, because Rhysand announced,

“I’d like for you to take charge of the event.”

“Me?” she cried out, shocked.

“Yes, I think you’d be the perfect candidate. Just understand that this is not a small family celebration–this is a large gathering, on par with Starfall. Dignitaries will be coming. We are looking to return to normal, and this is one of the ways we’ll do that.

“I feel that you’d be excellent for this task,”

“Wait,” she interrupted him quickly, “but I don't know anything about what’s required! How am I expected to plan this…event, when I never saw it or know,”

“Oh don't worry,” he stopped her smoothly. “Of course I wouldn't expect you to do all of this on your own and by yourself. The twins will help, surely.”

“But,”

“And I feel that another person should be available as well,”

“Who?”

Elain shuddered internally, hoping that he wouldn't suggest Nesta. It’s not that she didn’t want to work with Nesta, but planning parties with Nesta…well, calling the experience a ‘nightmare’ would be kind. Nesta was opinionated, mean and impatient. Precisely the type of person one wouldn’t want to plan a large gathering with. 

“Azriel.”

Rhysand’s tone was even, and he sounded almost bored.

Elain’s eyes, though, popped open at the ridiculous suggestion.

Azriel?

Azriel who barely talked to her, who said that their almost-kiss was ‘a mistake’, who avoided her at best, and ignored her fairly regularly…THAT Azriel? Azriel who hardly struck her as a party maker either.

Gods, now she wished for Nesta!

She also wondered if Rhysand’s been hitting that fairy wine stash that he had in his possession, because she’s never heard anything more preposterous.

“Pardon?” she said for the second time in 15 minutes.

“Azriel,” Rhys repeated blandly. “It’s his turn,”

“Turn for what, exactly?”

“We used to take turns every year, organising the festivities. How do you think Azriel is so well-versed in the usage of proper cutlery, dancing, music and good etiquette? He isn’t a savage. Now, Cassian, on the other hand,”

Elain snorted a laugh.

“In any event,” Rhys shrugged. “You ought to consult with Azriel and make plans with him. That would take the pressure off of both of you…”

It would?

Elain couldn’t think of anything more pressing than working with Azriel. 

“Are you certain that there is no one else who could help me?” she implored.

“Unfortunately, not this year,” Rhys explained somberly. “Nesta doesn’t have experience, Mor is back in Vallahan, Amren…well, she is tougher than Azriel, though I might ask her,”

“No!” Elain exclaimed. “No. I…I will try it with him. “

“Good. I’d rather not ask Cassian, because then I’ll end up handling most of it. It’s settled then?”

She exhaled heavily.

No, it wasn’t ‘settled’, but what was she going to say?

“Yes, I will do it.”

“Thank you, Elain.” 

Rhys smiled at her, but he sounded genuine in his praise and gratitude.

“You should begin promptly,” he suggested. “There isn’t much time left, honestly. It sort of escaped my mind this year. Well with all the things that happened,” his voice trailed and Elain understood. After Feyre’s pregnancy and the horror of her birth, parties weren’t Rhysand’s priority.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt.

Rhys gave her a small nod of encouragement and before she left the office, said, 

“Azriel is here right now. In his rooms. You might as well start the discussions as soon as possible.”

Oh.

Elain didn’t know.

Both Cassian and Azriel had rooms in the River House, however, they were in a different wing and they could come and go as they pleased. 

Feyre had explained that the wards in the townhouse were very strong and admittance was stringent. Rhysand and Mor were the only two people who could come and go as they pleased, and the other three needed to be admitted. Well, with everyone now either coupled or living here, permissions were a little more lax, but the wards were even stronger than before. 

After leaving Rhys’s office, Elain stopped in the middle of the hallway, and contemplated her next move.

Would it be absolutely uncouth to go up to Azriel’s rooms and knock on his door? 

Should she send him an official invitation to join her? 

That seemed a bit over-the-top even for her. 

Perhaps ask Nuala or Cerridwen to explain the situation to him? 

Have Feyre summon him?

Request that Nesta invite her over, whilst Azriel was at the House of Wind and ‘accidentally’ bump into him?

Elain tugged on her braid aggressively, but then stomped her foot in frustration.

He was just a man. Nothing more.

A man who seemed to have been attracted to her once. Maybe not. Maybe she read the signs wrong. But regardless, he wasn’t better than her. Wasn’t intimidating in the least. She was a Cauldron Made Seer. He was a spy and a shadowsinger. She was pretty sure that she outranked him anyway.

Resolutely, she headed towards the other wing of the house, her hands balled at her sides and her fingernails digging into her palms. She reckoned that she resembled Nesta right now. It didn’t matter. She was going to do it.

When she came to Azriel’s door, she heard faint music coming from inside. 

He had obtained a Symphonia for himself, because Nesta refused to let him ‘borrow’ hers at some point, since he was taking it all the time and listening to it himself. What’s more, he also added melodies and dances that he liked to it, and deleted some of Nesta’s–or at least she couldn’t find them–so they argued and that prompted him to buy one for himself. 

Elain took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in,” she heard his voice almost immediately, and then she opened the door.

Azriel had three rooms–his request–which consisted of an office, a bedroom, and a sitting room, and Elain’s never been here, though when the house was built, she suggested some of the colours and decorations for his rooms. She wasn’t even sure why she did that. Why it mattered to her. 

Stepping into his office, the first thing that happened was Elain was blinded. She gasped, surprised to be enveloped in complete darkness. 

“For the love of the Cauldron, get away from her!” she heard Azriel’s deep, gravelly voice somewhere in the darkness. 

Shadows…These were his shadows. The gathering of shadows, which were caressing her skin now:  they touched her hair, her neck, her cheeks, her hands. 

“I said back off,” she heard Azriel’s command, and at last, the wall of shadows thinned and they pulled back as if being sucked into a vortex. 

Elain squinted and heard Azriel say “forgive them. They got excited. They haven't seen you in a while.”

And whose fault is that? Elain wanted to ask, but she didn’t.

As they typically did around her, the shadows then disappeared completely, leaving her with Azriel.

“I thought they didn’t like me,” she said quietly.

With a sigh, he told her, “no, they like you. All of me likes you.” 

At that, Elain’s eyes finally found him and she stared.

He cleared his throat.

He sat behind a desk, instantly reminding her of Rhysand. Unlike most other times, Azriel was dressed casually, and Elain dug her feet into the soft rug, trying not to squeeze her thighs together. 

His tunic was simple, but clearly bespoke–everything that he wore was tailored specifically to him–of a deep cornflower blue, and unbuttoned on his chest. His bronze skin worked beautifully with the colour of his shirt and Elain couldn’t help but admire how good he looked. She also couldn’t help herself as she peeked at his sculpted chest and his thick, veiny forearms, which he folded on the desk in front of him.

His huge black wings loomed over him like two mountains, but they didn’t seem as rigid as they usually appeared. It was almost as if Azriel was…relaxed.

But it wasn’t his elegant tunic, or his golden skin, or his muscles, or his thick black hair that attracted Elain’s attention the most–though all of those things certainly kept her occupied–but it was a pair of spectacles that was perched on his nose that took her aback.

Spectacles existed in the Human Lands, though they were expensive and rare. Only the very wealthy could afford them, and that if they lived long enough to need them. Most people just got by the best they could.

Azriel wearing a pair of black-rimmed spectacles wasn’t what Elain expected to see this morning.

“I am old, you know,” he said suddenly.

“You aren’t though!” she argued immediately, even though she wasn’t sure what he was referring to.

“I am. In your years, I am probably 33 years old. Maybe 35.”

“It isn’t old!”

“You are not yet 25,” he reminded her. “You are so young!”

“Not yet?! Young?” Elain cried out. Was he insane? She was a spinster! Even when she got engaged to Graysen there were many who whispered that she was getting on in her years and that being almost 22 was almost too late to be getting married. 

He raised his brow at her, giving her one of those ‘Azriel looks’ which he tended to shoot on occasion at people around him. It was a look of incredulity and disdain. She wasn’t the receiving end of the look before, and now that she got the eyebrow lift, well…it was scary and lonely on the other side of that look.

“You wear spectacles,” she stated the obvious.

“It would seem that I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I read a lot and need to protect my vision,” he explained. “These help me–they are slightly magical.”

Slightly magical.

Only in Prythian could something like that be uttered and actually make sense. 

“Well, they look good on you,” she blurted out, and then mentally smacked herself for her big mouth. She shouldn't even be noticing how he looks!

Azriel smiled. 

And then, they just stared at each other. 

His office was very spacious and with south-facing windows. When the house was being designed and constructed, it was Rhysand who told the artisans and the architects that Azriel’s rooms ought to have as much sun exposure as possible. Elain recalled the moment, because she was there–Feyre and Rhys were there, Amren too, and no one questioned the request. 

“Not that I am not pleased to see you in my rooms,” Azirel said at last, leaning back in his chair and taking the same pose as his brother did earlier, by lacing his long, strong fingers on his flat stomach. Elain could see the smooth ridges of his abdominal muscles even from here. She shouldn’t have been looking. But he was borderline indecent, sitting like that, folding his hands on his stomach. Who did that? It should’ve been illegal!

“However,” he continued, observing her with a smirk, “I am curious about the reason for your visit? It’s most unusual, is it not?”

“It’s not like I want to be here!” she told him quickly.

He smiled and then removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk.

“And yet, here you are.”

“I am supposed to plan a party for All Hallow’s Eve and you are supposed to help me.”

Azriel looked both amused and a bit perplexed. 

“Why did you choose me, specifically?” he queried.

She huffed and shrugged, “I didn’t. I didn’t ask for you specifically.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, only stared at her and then mouthed soundlessly And yet here you are. 

“It’s because Rhys told me!” she argued defensively.

“Told you what?”

“To ask you because it’s your turn to plan the party anyway,” she even rolled her eyes at him, which made him grin.

“I am supposed to plan a party?” he repeated.

She sighed with exasperation and exclaimed, “must I repeat everything? Are you not supposed to plan the celebration? Why are you acting like this is news to you?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said calmly, “it must have skipped my mind. It’s been a while since I’ve done it,”

“That’s what Rhys said as well,”

“I bet he did,” Azriel nodded. 

“He said that you are supposed to help me and teach me,” she clarified.

A faint smile bloomed on Azriel’s lips and he murmured, 

“I can certainly teach you a thing or two.”

Elain squinted at him, trying to determine the meaning behind his words, but opted not to comment. Instead, she asked, “well, will you?”

“What?”

“Help me?”

“I will,” he agreed at last. “Just need to refresh my memory.”

She nodded primly.

“When do you want to start?” she asked.

“How about tomorrow morning? I can finish up everything else and then throw myself head first into party planning,” he rubbed his hands together with fake excitement.

Elain threw him an unamused look, but nodded and said, “I shall see you tomorrow at 8 in the morning.”

“Oh, eight?” he repeated.

“Yes. Eight.”

Once Elain left his office with a swoosh of her green dress, Azriel tugged on the mind link that connected him to Rhys rather aggressively.

“Ow!” the High Lord complained.

Azriel seethed, “You are such an asshole. The biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Rhys laughed on the other side.

“Surely not the biggest?” he argued.

“The biggest.”

“I take severe umbrage to that because you know Jurian, Beron and you knew my father. I am an honourable High Lord, that’s all.”

“Yeah, you are,” Azriel’s voice trailed. “What the hel are you doing? What is this party nonsense?”

Rhys thought for a moment and then said lazily, “I feel like you are floundering. You need a change of scenery and pace. So this is an order.”

Day Two

She arrived exactly at eight in the morning.

Carrying binders. 

Large journals with blank pages, which, Azriel supposed, she planned on filling out with information.

Azriel was in the kitchen, talking to Nuala, a cup of milky coffee in one hand and a pistachio pastry shoved in his mouth, crumbs all over his front, when Elain strode decisively inside.

She was clutching all her binders and journals to her chest and Azriel noticed that they were also different colours.

“Morning!” Elain said cheerfully, and Nuala smiled, noting, “You’ve got some pep in your walk today!”

“It’s a big assignment!” Elain declared importantly.

“You know,” Azriel attempted to say something contrary but she shot him a look of such fierceness that he shut his mouth and continued chewing.

She slapped each binder on the counter, stating loudly:

Guests.

Food.

Decorations.

Venues.

Other things.

Azriel chortled and muttered other things under his breath.

“That’s why you are here, isn’t it?” she asked, “to tell me about things I don’t know.”

“Sure, I can tell you what to do,” he offered easily.

Nuala hid a smile.

Elain squeezed the bridge of her nose and moaned, “this is going to be difficult, isn’t it?”

“Not if you don’t make it so.”

Pursing her lips, Nuala stated, “he is very difficult to work with,” and with that, and before Azriel could argue, she disappeared through the wall. 

“How’s this fair?” he yelled after her.

Only a soft laugh came in response. 

“Alright, so,” Elain opened the first journal, “I was thinking…”

“You should get some breakfast,” he interrupted her.

“I don't want it, I am not hungry!” she protested, but Azriel poured her a cup of coffee and plucked a pastry from a stand and handed it to her.

“Eat,” he ordered in a tone that didn’t allow for arguments.

Elain pouted, but accepted both the coffee and the pastry, noticing that the coffee was exactly how she liked it and the pastry was made with apples and almonds–her favourite.

But that, she was sure, was just a coincidence. He wouldn’t have known how she liked her coffee.

“So, how many guests do you think we should invite?” Elain asked, as she sipped her coffee.

Azriel looked at her with amusement, until she glanced at him and then reached out and suddenly wiped some of the buttery crumbs from his chest, carefully picked at the ones that stuck to his black jacket.

He stood still and silent, while she cleaned him up, clearly unaware of what she was doing. Her brow was furrowed while she concentrated and smacked his chest up and down. He liked it. He tried to contain his smile, but it wasn’t easy. Outside of long-forgotten brushes of fingers, this is the most Elain’s ever touched him.

Abruptly, she realised what she was doing and pulled away.

“I think you missed a spot,” he pointed out innocently.

“Ugh, why didn’t you tell me to stop?!” she exclaimed, her cheeks pink and her tone flustered.

“Why? I was enjoying it,” he said simply.

She bristled and hissed, “you don’t even like me!”

His face lost its softness and the expression hardened.

“I never said that,” he snapped.

“Yes, you did,” she insisted.

“No. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

She waved her hand dismissively,

“I don’t want to talk about it. We need to plan the party and then part our ways.”

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed, his face unreadable.

She caressed the blank pages of her journal and asked,

“How many guests usually attend?”

At that Azriel shrugged irritably and said, “I don’t fucking know…”

Her eyes popped at his coarse language.

“Haven’t you done this before?” she insisted, looking annoyed. 

“Been a while. Anyway, don’t you think you are jumping ahead of yourself?”

“How’s that?”

“Shouldn’t you find out more about the holiday? Before you start inviting guests.”

He looked at her like a disappointed teacher and she breathed a small ‘oh’.

“Come on then, we have a trip to make,” he extended his hand to her.

She looked confused, but took his hand without argument. Unlike all the others, she always took his hand without argument.

She grabbed her pastry and hurried after him, forgetting her pristinely new journals behind.

“Where are we going?” she asked, running after him as he took massive strides with his long legs.

“Just follow me!”

“But where are you taking me?” she insisted.

He gave a derisive snort and threw, “to be ravished!”

She wasn't even bothered by the callous remark and said, “I thought we are a mistake and you weren't interested.”

“Guess things change,” he said nonchalantly.

“Well, they didn’t change for me!” she screeched.

“Don’t care.”

She tried to stop, but he pulled her behind him and she was forced to trot obediently so she wouldn’t fall.

They were outside on the lawn in no time and the next moment, Azriel was in front of her, looming over her, his expression stern and dark. He released her hand from his, only to move to her shoulders, squeezing them, but not tightly. He peered into her brown eyes and said,

“I don’t want you to bring that night up anymore.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

She glared at him and reminded her firmly,

“It was a pivotal night in our…association. I cannot not bring it up. It…” she swallowed. “You hurt my feelings,”

“And I apologise for that. But if we are to work together on this celebration, we can’t dwell on the past. One day, I might explain myself further. Is that understood?”

“I am not one of your soldiers to bark at,” she glowered at him.

He smiled at her and then gently tucked a rogue curl behind her ear.

“No, you're not. You are my lovely girl.”

“I am not yours,” she breathed, blinking at him.

He sighed heavily and was forced to agree. “So it would seem.”

“I am nobody’s girl,” she concluded wistfully.

Azriel wasn’t sure what to make of her words. On one hand, he was pleased that she didn’t seem to be Lucien’s girl, and that she didn’t go further into her relationship with her mate than before. On the other hand, she didn’t consider herself being his girl either. And that didn’t please him at all, though he couldn't blame her.

“Where are we going?” she asked again.

“To see the Historian,” he said.

“Why can’t anyone in Prythian have a normal name? Like Sebastian? Or Pascal?” she moaned. “Or Roan? Why is it always the Death God. The Bone Carver. The shadowsinger. The Weaver. The King. The High Lord.”

“Well, out of all of those, shadowsinger sounds the most reasonable and attractive,” he reasoned. “Also, aren’t you the Seer? Aren’t you Made?”

She scoffed with disgust and asked instead, “how are we getting there?”

“Winnowing. As much as I’d like to spend days flying there with you in my arms, I don’t think that’s the wisest course of action.”

With that, he opened his arms and winked at her, “Come, step on in, Seer.”

Wrinkling her nose, she warned him, “you better stop calling me that!”

He chuckled, and then gave her an Illyrian salute. 

“Is it dangerous?” she asked cautiously, once he pulled her into his embrace and wrapped his arms around her.

“Isn’t everything around here?” he asked innocently. 

Azriel smelled good–his scent was sharp, with undertones of cedar, and something cool and clean, like water. His body was like a slab of granite–massive and firm and so clad in muscle there wasn’t one soft spot on him. 

Winnowing with him was different from winnowing with Rhys or with Feyre or Mor. His was a pure, but comforting darkness. As they tumbled through space and time, his arms tightened around her, keeping her securely anchored to him. All she could see was the faint gleam of his blue siphons.

They landed in a few minutes, on the outskirts of a massive forest. In the distance, Elain spotted a village of some sort, but closer to them stood a stone hut with a thatched roof. Azriel released her from his embrace, but immediately tucked her behind him, protecting her with his body.

Good thing he did, because just as they stepped towards a retaining wall that surrounded the hut, a rock was hurled in their direction. Then another. And another.

Elain crouched on the ground, protecting her head, while Azriel just about fell on top of her, covering her with his body.

“They are throwing rocks at us!” she screamed, stating the obvious.

His wing shot out and not a moment too soon, because a rock bounced off of it instead of hitting Elain in the head.

“No? You think?!” he grunted, and then a rock landed almost on his shoulder, but using some incredible move, he pressed on his siphons and suddenly, the rock bounced off an invisible shield. 

“By the Mother,” Elain whimpered, “why are they throwing rocks at us?”

“Probably don't know if we are friend or foe,” he proposed.

“That’s no way to greet strangers,” she fumed.

He laughed softly, his hand cradling her head to his shoulder. 

“It is for the Fae.”

Then, once a few more rocks bounced off the shield, Azriel bellowed,

“Old man, if you don’t stop tossing boulders at us, I will rip your arm off and will beat you to death with it.”

The barrage paused.

“Shadowsinger?”

“The very same!” Azriel confirmed.

“Well then why didn’t you say so?! Come in!” the tone was happy and welcoming.

Azriel finally straightened out and Elain squeaked, “is it safe?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, flower. Come on,” he grabbed her hand and hauled her up.

“Flower?” she repeated, straightening her dress.

“My flower,” was all he said.

A male of an undetermined age greeted them. He was on the older side for a Fae, but as far as Elain knew, it could’ve been 5,000 years old. It was impossible to tell. 

They crossed the lawn in front of the house, Azriel holding her hand firmly and for once, she was glad that he was holding her.

“Azriel shadowsinger!” The man greeted them with a smile. “It’s been a while,”

“I’ve been busy,” Azriel said.

“I can see that. Brought a woman, finally!”

Elain blushed at the man’s words and Azriel cleared his throat.

“She isn’t my woman,” he corrected the man. “She is Elain, Cauldron Made Seer, and the High Lady’s sister.”

“Oh. Well, if you would’ve warned me you were coming, I would’ve made tea!”

He ushered them inside the house–it was neat, if small. Late autumn chill dissipated the moment they entered and were directed to sit down by the hearth. 

“What brings you here, shadowsinger?” the man asked, as he fussed around a simple wooden stand, preparing tea for them.

“Lady Elain would like to learn more about All Hallow’s Eve. Its history and customs. We are to host a party and she needs the background. And I…I just need your insight.”

“Ahhh, of course,” the man stated and then brought them two cups of tea. Elain accepted hers, and noticed that there was a slice of lemon in it–just like she liked it. When she took a sip, the tea was strong, sweet and tart. 

“This is excellent,” she complimented the man. Upon closer inspection, he had a forgettable face but luminous blue eyes. Strange and deep and penetrating. When he observed her for a moment, she had a sense that he was somehow looking inside her soul. She wasn’t sure why she needed it, but she reached out for Azriel’s hand and he threaded their fingers together without question. He didn't seem surprised that she needed a bit of his strength and solidity.

“So, Lady Elain, what would you like to know?” the man inquired, taking a seat across from them.

“Azriel said that you are a historian?” she asked.

“Indeed I am. I’ve been alive for a long time and I’ve seen much, but I’ve also forgotten just as much,” he smiled. “But I can offer what I know about Samhain.”

“Samhain?” she repeated, confused.

“The name of the festival is Sam-hain actually. It means summer’s end in the Old Language. The old Fae celebrated it at the end of autumn and the beginning of winter.

“We have a few festivals that all of Prythian celebrities: Solstice, with which you are familiar, I am sure,”

“I am,” she nodded and Azriel added,

“She gives the best gifts!”

It was a pointless comment as far as Elain was concerned but it made her feel nice nevertheless.

“Something of healing and protection, I reckon,” the Historian said.

“How do you know?” Elain exclaimed, feeling her heart beat faster at the man’s sudden words.

“Just an inkling,” he stated vaguely, and continued, “the other holiday is Calanmai, known as Fire Night in some Courts. Hallow’s Eve is the other. These are celebrated across all of Prythian, unlike, for example, Starfall, which is only observed at Night Court, where the stars are visible.”

“What does it celebrate?” Elain questioned.

“The dead,” the man said plainly. “The Fae of old believed that the spirits of the dead returned to their homes on Samhain, and that the souls of those who died during the year would travel to the afterlife.”

“Is it true?” Elain asked, a little scared.

“Perhaps,” the Historian shrugged indifferently. “But you’ve been inside the Cauldron. Inside the Void–surely you wouldn’t be frightened of a little ghost.”

Elain paled and Azriel shot the man a threatening glare.

“Enough,” he muttered.

The Historian’s blue eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, before landing on their linked hands. 

“We celebrate Samhain with bonfires, dancing, divination, and wearing costumes. The bonfires are lit to guide the souls to the afterlife and to frighten away evil spirits. The old Fae also wore costumes, often animal heads and skins, to avoid being recognised by the evil spirits. This continues to this day.”

Elain’s head swirled towards Azriel and she scoffed incredulously,

“You wear a costume?!”

He smiled.

“I do.”

“What kind of costume?!” she exclaimed.

The Historian also smiled. 

“Death,” Azriel said bluntly.

She popped her lips,

“Of course you do.”

“You asked,” he shrugged.

The other man somehow forgotten, she chewed on her lower lip, pondering out loud,

“What kind of costume should I wear?”

“Anything that you wear looks good,” Azriel assured her, his large hazel eyes skimming her from her face down to her waist.

She glanced shyly at him and murmured, “no, I don’t.”

“Oh, I assure you–you do. What do you want to be?”

“I don’t know,” she worried. “What’s a good costume?! Oh gods, I bet Nesta wouldn’t even want to wear one!” she gasped.

“We’ll convince her,” Azriel said confidently. In response, Elain gave him a look. 

The Historian watched them in silence, his eyes skipping from one to the other. Whatever he saw, he kept his opinion to himself. Instead, he told Elain,

“I would recommend dressing as something that would confuse the spirits. I sense that you had experienced a loss recently?”

“I…how, how would you know?” she gawked at him, squeezing Azriel’s fingers with hers.

“I have a gift. A gift of Sight,”

“Like me?” she gasped.

“No. Nothing as advanced or as intricate as your gift. I see…threads. How they bind people and things together. Because everything is connected. Every single decision that you make will guide your path. Look at your life right now–who would’ve thought that you’d be sitting here, in my home, holding the shadowsinger’s hand in yours?”

Elain looked down at Azriel’s thumb that was stroking the fleshy part of skin of her hand.

“Who did you lose?” the man continued. “Your sisters live…So I suspect a parent?”

“My father.”

“Ahhh, condolences then, Lady Elain. This will be your opportunity to offer him a safe passage to the Land of Milk and Honey.”

“What sorts of threads do you see?” Elain asked, ignoring the rest of what he said. “What kinds of connections?”

“All kinds. Every kind.”

“And what do you see between us?” she asked boldly. 

Azriel looked at her with surprise, but didn’t say anything. 

The Historian cocked his head to the side and then told them.

“You are mated.”

At that, Elain jolted, looking at him in bewilderment, only to hear him add, “To another.”

Her expression fell and she said dryly, “yes. I am aware.”

After a pause, they continued their talk, the man proving to be a wealth of information, especially when it came to food customs. 

-

Days Three and Four

Anemone.

The Historian told them that anemone, the flower of the dead, was the plant that was commonly used for decorations. Especially the red ones with black centres, and the white ones. It was especially important for those who had lost close family members recently. And who didn’t, after the war?

The problem was–where in the world would Elain find anemone this time of year? Or in Prythian?

It grew in the Human Lands, and Elain was familiar with it–a pretty field-like flower which needed a lot of sun and bloomed in the summer.

She contacted all the flower shops and green nurseries in Velaris, but none carried the mysterious flower.

Besides this flower dilemma, things were going well with the preparations.

She and Azriel spent a lot of time together, which was something she needed to get used to. But he was gentle and helpful, and she recalled the carefree times from before when they could just talk and stay together in a comfortable silence. It was similar to how they were together right now. 

There was something that Azriel was preoccupied with ever since they had returned from the Historian. Elain wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but she overheard the man say to Azriel just as they were leaving…well, she wasn’t sure what she’d heard. A couple of words. But ‘your right’ and ‘destiny’ were among them. Since then, Azriel seemed deep in thought whenever they had a moment to themselves. Elain didn’t pry though. His secrets were his own.

Meanwhile, together, they devised a guest list–Hgh Lords and Ladies, merchants, dignitaries, High Fae, Lesser Fae, Illyrians. It was a long list, but Elain wanted to be inclusive of everyone. When Azriel began protesting the inclusion of Illyrians, she told him that they had suffered the greatest losses in the war and therefore were definitely going to be part of the celebration. He pouted. Pouted. Told her that they wouldn’t attend anyway. She smiled and said ‘we’ll see’. 

-

“Marshmallow eggs,” Azriel announced, interrupting, as he entered the kitchen.

Elain, Cerridwen and Nuala turned at the sound of his voice.

“Excuse me?” Elain said, wondering what he was talking about. 

“Oh,” Cerridwen rolled her eyes, “here we go,”

“Yeah!” Azriel nodded aggressively. “Yes! I want marshmallow eggs!”

“We’ll get you marshmallow eggs,” Nuala promised kindly.

“That’s not all,” he insisted and then pointed to the journal in front of them, which was filled with rows of food ideas, some underlined, others scratched out. 

“This is what I want,” he handed them a list. He made a list.

The following was Azriel shadowsinger’s list of food requirements:

Apple cake with almonds

Pistachio and almond rolls

Bilberry tarts

Chocolate sponge with buttercream

Caramel carrot slices

Coffee sponge with walnut cream

Cheesecake with pears

Curd tarts

Lardy cakes

Jellies

Prune pastries with poppyseeds

Jam Rolls

Saffron bread

Topfen cake

Cake Florent

And no, Elain did not know what half of these were.

“Are there enough cakes and pastries?” she confirmed, glaring at him.

“Yes, but I forgot to add the marshmallow eggs,” he exclaimed, and then scribbled this addition on the page.

“Will your heart be able to handle it?” Elain pondered, unable to stop smiling. He was ridiculous.

“A better question is if Cassian would be able to handle it,” Cerridwen contradicted. 

“Oh, add honey cake with hazelnuts,” Azriel snapped his fingers, ignoring them and apparently running through all the possible sweets he could come up with in his head.

“Poor Cass,” Nuala shook her head, “the sheer amount of sweets will send him into convulsions!”

“Don’t care! He doesn’t have to eat any of them,” Azriel barked roughly.

Elain propped her cheek and asked, looking between the three of them, “what is this all about, exactly?”

“The shadowsinger likes his sweets,” Nuala said flatly.

“He is obsessed,” Cerridwen added.

“I am not obsessed!” Azriel argued.

“He is. He really is.”

“He will eat them all,” Nuala assured.

“He will,” Cerridwen echoed.

“He is obsessed with sweets. If you want him to bow to your will, just hand him a berry tart and he is all yours.”

Elain laughed at that.

“I’ll keep that in mind!” she promised.

Azriel threw her an unreadable look and said, “you wouldn't need to bribe me with anything.”

With that, he left the kitchen.

The twins exchanged smirks and glances and Elain warned them, “don’t start.”

“We didn’t say anything.”

-

Day Nine

Five days until the celebration and Elain Archeron was annoyed.

She was annoyed because Rhysand gave her so little time to complete all of this and come out on the other side with an incredible celebration. 

The twins were an amazing help, as usual, and she enlisted cooks and chefs from Velaris’s best restaurants and pastry shops, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Azriel’s enormous list of sweets kept growing, and Elain had to resort to hiding the final list because otherwise, if he had his way,  they’d end up with a hundred desserts.

Pumpkins were delivered from nearby farms and were placed strategically all around Velaris, and the entire city glowed with orange lights, which came courtesy of Rhysand’s magic. Beautiful embroidered Illyrian tablecloths and napkins were sent to the River House, and despite Azriel’s protestations, it seemed like numerous Illyrians would be attending the festivities. Cassian was pleased and astonished by this particular achievement–he couldn’t believe that Elain somehow convinced dozens of Illyrian commanders to come to Velaris for a …party. 

Azriel was in charge of negotiating with proprietors of various stalls and shops, and since he always came back with perfect results and signed agreements, Elain figured that the poor sellers at the Palace of Bone and Salt were so terrified of having to deal with him, they agreed to anything. Azriel was oblivious to his own menacing presence, and sweetly believed that he was just an excellent negotiator. Elain didn’t have the heart to dash his hopes. He was rather proud of himself and she preferred to keep it that way.

Despite some of the setbacks and miscommunications and the tight deadline, things were progressing nicely.

Except for the Cauldron blasted anemone!

It wasn’t available anywhere. 

Elain had asked Feyre to speak with the High Lords of other Courts–the warmer ones–and see if they were aware of the flower and whether it was blooming right now? Tarquin of Summer and Helion of Day said ‘no’, while it was pointless to ask Viviane of Winter. The one High Lord that might have actually had the flower at his Court was Tamlin of Spring, but alas, Elain wasn’t motivated enough to obtain the flowers if it meant forcing Feyre to communicate with him.

Therefore, anemone remained elusive.

Azriel was helpful and knowledgeable in some things, and for that Elain was grateful, for in other things, he was hopeless. The way he acted sometimes, she would’ve thought that he’s never done this before. Supposedly they all had planned this holiday celebration prior, and yet he seemed mystified by some of the questions that Elain asked him. Granted, he was a male. And Elain’s expectations were fairly low, and she repeatedly told herself to be grateful that she was doing this with him and not Cassian, for example. However, it still frustrated her when Azriel couldn’t answer simple questions. 

When he grew frustrated with something, or somebody annoyed him, he began calling her ‘beautiful’ or ‘flower’ as in ‘I really don’t remember, beautiful!’ or ‘Flower, why don’t you make a decision?’ And it’s not that Elain wanted to agitate him on purpose, but she liked it when he used the little pet names, and maybe, just maybe, she teased him unnecessarily at times, just to have him throw a ‘beautiful!’ at her. Beyond the little slips though, Azriel always kept an appropriate distance and didn’t permit himself any frivolities with her. Which, Elain supposed, was for the best anyway. Especially because her mate was coming for the celebration. 

Of course he was. 

It was late in the afternoon and Elain was going through her checklist to make sure that everything was in order. She hasn't been sleeping well in the past few days, overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility, but also, Azirel’s endless close proximity. It didn’t matter that he kept his distance–Elain didn't want him to keep his distance, but she also dreaded not being near him. Each hour was spent watching him, and Elain never got tired of it: the dark tattoos that peeked from his collar and his sleeves, how he crossed his arms on his chest and the biceps bulged obscenely against the material of his tunic, his long legs, always splayed just enough to cause Elain some uncomfortably pleasant thoughts. She loved watching him. Loved hearing his voice, its gravelly, deep timbre. When she didn’t allow herself to watch him before, she now ogled because it was acceptable. 

“I am not sure if I should tell you this.”

Azriel’s voice startled her and Elain jolted in her chair. She raised her eyes and saw him standing in the doorway.

He was looking down, fumbling with his sleeves, not meeting her eyes.

“Tell me what?” she asked softly. “Because whatever it is, you do want to tell me, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here.”

He smiled.

“You got me there.”

“So what is it?” she twirled her pen in her fingers, watching him.

He thought for a few long moments and then said,

“I know where to find anemone.”

The pen slipped out of her fingers as she lurched upwards and cried out, “you do?!! Why didn’t you tell me?!!”

He rubbed his chin and then said,

“It’s complicated.”

“Oh…” she moaned. “Of course it is. Do I have to fight some monster in order to obtain it? If that’s the case, then count me out,”

He chuckled,

“Even if I am there to protect you?”

“Even then,” she concluded firmly. “So, where is it?”

“You won’t need to fight a monster,” he assured her at last. “Unless you think that I am one?”

Elain stared at him and then spoke, “no. You aren’t. Not to me…”

Azriel looked straight at her and asked, “Will you trust me?”

She stood up and nodded.

“I trust you. Nothing that you do or what you are frightens me.”

He glanced out the window. Thunderclouds were gathering over the mountains and the wind picked up, making the hanging lanterns swing violently outside the window.

“We’ll have to hurry. We’ll winnow part of the way, but then we’ll need to fly,” he told her, extending his hand towards her. Elain looked back at her opened journal, grabbed it just in case and then took his hand. 

“Where are we…” she began saying, but she didn’t get the chance to finish her thought as she and Azriel were sucked into the vortex of darkness and space. 

“Goooiiinnnng?” she breathed out once they landed on a grassy field. She stumbled and held her tightly around the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“No need. Took me a while before I learned how to land properly.”

Elain looked around. There was nothing as far as the eye could see but rolling hills and oak trees, as well as grazing sheep.

Azriel opened his arms and said, “Jump on, beautiful.”

Elain tugged on her dress nervously and stepped closer to him. Flying in someone’s arms was always strange–whether it was Rhysand or Cassian. The feeling multiplied by a hundred when she was flying with Azriel. He always held her differently from the others–tightly and reverently. Like she meant something to him. Like she was precious and he cared about her and her comfort.

Gracefully, Elain stepped into the circle of his arms and he lifted her easily, his arms solid, secure bands under her knees and behind her back.

“Arms around my neck,” he instructed.

Rhys never asked for that. Neither did Cassian.

Elain squinted at him but did as he told her and looped her arms around his neck.

It always fascinated her how they lifted off–no running, no preamble of any kind–just straight up in the air. Cassian liked to do all kinds of stupid, reckless things, and Rhysand was more gentle and careful, but Azriel was…slow and gradual. And that was perfection. That’s exactly how Elain loved being lifted off the ground and then hang precariously in the air, hundreds of feet above the ground. Azriel’s massive wings flapped so hard and so powerfully, they caused a booming sound to reverberate in the cold air around them. And it was cold. She shivered and curled closer to his wide, warm chest.

“It’s not a long flight,” he calmed her. “I am sorry, we should’ve taken your jacket. Sometimes I forget that regular Fae get cold.”

“And you don’t?”

“No, I don’t. I got used to it.”

The way he said it…It wasn’t a good memory and Elain didn’t want to press him on it.

“I'm alright,” she lied.

He smiled and wrapped his arms tighter.

“So, where are we going?”

“Home.”

Day Ten

Home.

Azriel, the spymaster of Night Court and shadowsinger, brought Elain Archeron home.

They were flying over the soft sloping hills, which gradually gave way to rocky cliffs, until Elain spotted a glistening purple-blue lake. 

“It’s so beautiful,” she gasped under her breath.

It was indeed. Even in the gathering storm on the horizon, the lake churned and smashed against the rocks on the left, but was calm and pristine on the right. And then, she saw it. A small, but not too small island, which poked out of the water a few miles from the shore. It was rocky, but covered in green grass and thick tree canopies of various autumnal colours. In the middle of the island, similar to the House of Wind, stood a massive mansion, which seemed to float above the water and pop right out of the rocks. 

“Is this home?” Elain whispered, amazed and flabbergasted.

“It is,” Azriel nodded. 

And then she understood why they were flying. An invisible barrier–wards–brushed against them, but parted as Azriel approached. Their strength was such that even he had to power through the invisible wall of magic.

As if reading her mind, he explained, “I thought that the House of Wind had a good idea in terms of security–you cannot winnow inside. When I purchased this place, I felt that it would make good sense to do the same here.”

“That’s why we have to fly,” she stated. 

“Yes. We can winnow onto my lands,”

“All of that was yours?” she exclaimed in shock.

“Yeah. But the wards start at the shore, and then continue all the way to the island.”

As he began banking it was then that Elain saw it.

Anemone.

Fields of it.

Slopes covered in multi-coloured beds of flowers. 

“How is this possible?!” she cried out excitedly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “They’ve always been here. I never paid attention to them. I don’t even come here all that frequently, so I sort of forgot about them. Until the Historian mentioned them.”

“Don’t you think it’s very serendipitous?” she marvelled. 

“I suppose that these are the connections that he was speaking of,” he reminded her, as he landed smoothly on one of the balconies. 

“We must pick them at once!” Elain decided right then and there, and Azriel chuckled at her eagerness.

“Fine. I’ll get some baskets.”

-

The thunderstorm brought them back inside after about an hour and a half of picking flowers, placing them in different baskets, sorted by colour. Azriel found something out about Elain that he wasn’t aware of before–she could keep things alive. A wave of her hand and the cut flowers promised to be just as fresh as they were today by the time the holiday rolled on. Azriel wished to find out more about this ability of hers, but he didn’t think that it was appropriate to do today.

By the time they ran back into the house, they were dripping wet. Azriel probably could have thrown a shield over them, but frankly, it totally slipped his mind.

So now, Elain stood in front of him, shivering from the cold, her dress clinging to her curves, her long hair dripping on the parquet floor.

“Oh gods, I am such a mess!” she fussed, trying to stop the deluge of water that was leaking onto the floor.

“It’s not an issue, you know,” Azriel mumbled, threading his fingers through his wet hair. “I am sorry I forgot the shield,”

“It’s alright!” she interrupted him, her lips blue but her cheeks red. “Are we…we…returning soon?”

He considered, looking outside the window.

“It’s coming down rather hard and we’d have to fly. Not that I can’t fly in the rain, however, I’d rather not do that while carrying you,” he told her honestly. 

“Oh,” she wrung out her hair, “but then…what do we do?” she blinked at him, her blush growing redder.

“You need a hot bath,” he said firmly and then took her by the hand and pulled her after him.

Elain looked around–it was a place that she’d imagine Azriel living in. Stylish, seemingly out of a different era and another world, orderly, clean. Large pieces of furniture, smartly arranged in the rooms. Wide open spaces. Unfussy decor, but expensive taste.

They walked up a stone and wrought iron staircase and soon Azriel opened one of the doors, ushering Elain inside.

It was a bedroom.

She assumed his bedroom.

Her feet stopped moving and she froze at the entrance, murmuring, “I cannot…I can’t…”

“It’s this or nothing,” he said bluntly and pushed her inside, his warm, large hand on the small of her back.

“This is your bedroom!” she screeched, scrambling backwards.

“A keen observation indeed. You are staying here or we are flying back in the pouring freezing rain. These are your choices,” he warned dangerously. Then, to soften his approach, he pointed to the door and said, “the bathing room is over there.”

Elain pursed her lips, while feeling a warm glow slowly slither down her body, despite the wet chill that she was feeling. Azriel…Azriel was forbidden. A mistake. He told her that they were a mistake about 11 months ago. But in the past ten days, he certainly hasn’t been acting like he was regretting being next to her. In fact, he was downright amorous in some ways, even if he tried not to show it. All that aside, what was she even thinking? She needed to keep herself and all her carnal urges in check.

“Fine!” she hissed. “But I am counting on you to be honourable and,”

“Whatever you say,” he shrugged. “I am not here to ravish you.”

Nevertheless, he followed her into the bathing room. There was a massive tub, but also a shower–something that Bryce Quinlan told them about from her world. Nesta, of course, jumped at the opportunity to get one fitted at the House of Wind. It would appear that Azriel was also in favour.

“Don’t take too long,” he said, turning on the knob, “I am cold too.”

“So, are you going to just stand here, while I undress?” she queried. 

“Wouldn’t mind it,” he replied over the rush of the water from the showerhead. “If you need any help,”

“I shan’t require any!” she snapped at him primly and he laughed merrily. 

“If you say so. The drying cloths are all here,” he pointed to a cupboard. “I think you can figure out soaps and lotions yourself.”

“Thank you.”

The hot water was beginning to steam the room and she looked at him through the fog.

Stop. Thinking. About. It. 

“Last call for assistance?” he offered. 

“I am fine.”

“Your loss,” he shrugged and then left the room at last. 

Elain exhaled loudly. If it wasn't for the heat in the bathroom, she would’ve guessed that she was sweating. 

Quickly stripping off her sodden dress, she stepped under the water and moaned out loud. Her hand immediately flew to her mouth and she muted herself, hoping that he didn’t hear her. His laughter from the bedroom confirmed otherwise.

She lathered her body, then her hair, and stood under the blast of hot water for gods’ only knew how long. But it was glorious. And she didn’t want to leave. 

At last, she remembered that Azriel was also wet and cold and probably needed the shower as well.

She rinsed and stepped out, noticing that the floor was heated and pondered whether it would be something that Rhysand should add to the River House.

“You decent?” Azriel asked, and before she could answer, he pulled the door open, clearly unconcerned by whether she was actually decent or if she stood there butt naked. 

“There is no food,” he announced quickly, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling on strings in the back and releasing it from around his wings. Elain just stood there, wrapped in the drying cloth, barefoot, with her legs exposed, staring at him openmouthed. He was just….undressing. In front of her. 

The gall!

He didn’t seem to care, because he continued shucking off his clothes, going on to unlace his trousers, and added, “but there was hot chocolate and I made you a cup. It’s on the nightstand.”

“Are we spending the night?”

“We are,” he nodded. 

“Where am I sleeping?”

“Your choices are: my bed or my bed. Granted, it’s not many choices to actually choose from, but that’s what it is.”

This man was out of his mind, and Elain didn’t know what to say.

“Grab a tunic of mine or you may sleep naked,” he offered. “I am fine with either one, though I do have a preference.”

“I can only imagine…” her voice trailed.

She slipped out of the bathing room just before he dropped his trousers. 

In the bedroom, she finished drying her body and her hair, and then went to the chest of drawers and found a white tunic of his. She put it on over her naked body, only now recalling that all her clothes, including her undergarments, were in the bathing room. Well, nothing she could do about that now. She was tired. Despite being extremely wound up, she was tired. She cradled the cup with hot chocolate in her hands and took a sip. It tasted divine–sweet and rich and so very chocolatey.

She couldn't even wrap her mind around what she was doing when she pulled the covers and slipped into the bed. She didn’t know what side Azriel slept on, and she didn’t care. Surely he wouldn’t actually sleep with her in the same bed! That would be preposterous.

The sheets and the pillows smelled fresh, of Azriel’s cedar-like scent. She rolled onto her side, tucking her hands beneath her cheek and then glanced towards the bathing room. The door was ajar and her heart jumped in her chest, when she glanced at Azriel’s completely naked body. Brown and glistening and beautiful beyond belief. He was muscular, and his tattoos spilled down his back, his chest and there was a whole string of some kind of runes etched down his spine. At some point, he must have felt her eyes on him, because he smirked and glanced in the mirror, catching her staring. His wing flipped back and exposed him completely, soliciting a gasp from Elain’s lips. Because…there it was. 

Huge.

He was huge.

Her eyes bugged out of her head, as she observed him. 

Even flaccid, he was enormous. ‘Impossible to fit’ enormous.

Granted, Elain wouldn’t consider herself very knowledgeable in the art of the bedroom, and had only seen one other cock in her life–Graysen’s. But Graysen was a mortal man, tall and strong, but human. Azriel wasn’t human. That much was obvious. Even if she managed to forget a pair of great reptilian wings that sprung out of his back, his height, his size and his physique definitely didn’t make him human. And now, there was that. Also, utterly inhuman. Yes, she was Fae too, and very hard to break, but Azriel’s cock would certainly break her. 

He was better for fantasising, and not for reality.

A boom of thunder woke her up. She slept so deeply, she only vaguely heard the steady drumming of rain on the balcony and against the windows. Sleepily, she extended her hand out and for a moment expected to find a warm male body next to her, but the sheets were cold and she was alone in the bed. 

She didn’t know if she was disappointed or relieved. 

She also didn't know if he’d gone to bed at all, or if he slept somewhere else in the house. 

Opening her eyes, she saw that it was still dark outside, with only the palest glimmer of sunlight peeking above the horizon, beyond the lake and the mountains. It was windy and dark, the night skies slashed repeatedly by lightning strikes and claps of thunder. 

It was during one such flash of lightning that she saw a great winged figure standing outside on the terrace. He was wearing only his black undershorts and his wings were relaxed, the bottom tips touching the floor.

She wasn’t sure why, but Elain tossed the blanket aside and set her bare feet on the soft carpet. She tugged on the hem of the tunic and then padded softly to the balcony. Cold autumn air lashed at her the moment she stepped outside and she shivered, though it seemed that Azriel didn’t even notice the pelting rain that bounced off the railing and peppered him with freezing water. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly snarled at her, without turning his head. “Go back inside.”

She stopped abruptly in her tracks, taken aback by his vicious tone.

“Did…did I do something?” she whispered.

“No. You didn’t,” he turned on his heels, so quick that she stumbled and almost fell back, but his massive arm caught her before she fell. 

His look was furious though, his brows bunched above his nose, his expression both angry and pained. He gripped her upper arm tightly, almost bruising her and then pulled her towards him. 

“A…z…” she breathed, shocked because in the next moment, he suddenly lifted her off the ground and pinned her to the wall of the building. Her legs naturally wrapped around his muscular thighs and he grabbed her hands, pinning them above her head, his face all but an inch away from hers. There was a moment of stillness, where there was just the cold rain and the lightning slashing the horizon, and their warm, panting breaths.

Elain’s mouth parted slightly, as she watched him and the indecision on his face. So she cocked her head to the side, exposing her throat for him, offering him everything he wanted from her. And she watched how his expression morphed into something sensual and decisive, as his lips found hers and he moaned softly into her mouth.

Everything, everything she wanted finally came down to this moment and it felt perfectly right. Even the brutality of the kiss didn’t take away from the tender longing that always lived between them. Azriel’s loneliness, his self doubt and self-hatred, Elain’s insecurities and her cursed bond–all were washed away by the fusion of their lips together.

This was Azriel. Her Azriel, whom she craved and yearned for since the night they saw each other back in the Human Lands. Kept apart by people, circumstances, obligations and expectations, right now, in this moment, maybe they could just come together and forget all about the things that separated them. 

He was hot and big and once he released her hands from his hold, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her, burying her fingers in his thick hair.

“I want to bite you,” he groaned against her neck.

“Bite me then,” she welcomed.

“There would be no going back, you know,” he warned. “Not if I bite you.”

He hefted her higher, her unbound breasts sliding up and down his bare chest, the thin material of her tunic the only barrier between them. He stepped even closer, pressing her hips and her bottom into the smooth stone of the house wall and Elain felt him…scorching and eager and ready for her. Azriel didn’t bite her yet, but instead, trailed soft, hot kisses down her neck, her shoulder and stopped at the swell of her breast, before pulling her nipple roughly inside his mouth and sucking aggressively, his teeth clamping on the little swollen bud.

She cried out, in both pain and incredible pleasure, while propping her feet against the stone railing and giving him more space to manoeuvre. She needed his mouth. His hands. His body. All of it. The thought of this monster of a man becoming hers was dizzying and it was making her feel drunk. Azriel’s massive shoulders moved and flexed beneath her hands, while he sucked on her other nipple and she managed to reach between their bodies and pulled down his underwear, freeing that beast of a cock at last. 

There was no going back now. Even if she knew that should she say ‘no’ he would stop, she didn’t think that she could do it. She didn’t want to stop. She let him pull back from her breasts and grip the tunic firmly, before ripping it off her and leaving her naked in front of him. Her long hair tumbled over her torso, and he brushed it back impatiently, his eyes glued to her form.

“Every day I dream of you,” he whispered heatedly, stepping forward so that he was positioned between her thighs, “I dream and I know that I cannot have you. And I want to tear apart the world and destroy the Cauldron for not giving you to me. Because you are mine. You know this. I know this. You’ve always been mine.”

He gripped the thick length of his cock in his hand and rubbed the sleek, heavy head of it between the lips of her pussy. She moaned, throwing her head back against the stone, shivering and shaking with need and anticipation.

“I am,” she managed to say. “I am yours. Always have been. You were chosen for me,”

“And yet,” he began to say, but she clamped her hand over his mouth. 

“Nothing really matters. Only you and me. Together.”

He looked down again, his shaft dark and sturdy between her pale thighs and against her bare mound. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined possessing this sweet pussy of yours?” he marvelled, his voice hoarse. “Three years of celibacy…only because I knew that no other pussy would compare. No other pussy interested me.”

He fisted his cock harder and lined it along her wet, warm hole, which quivered at the feel of him. 

“Are you a virgin?” he asked, pausing. “I could never tell…”

She shook her head.

“I’ve done it. Once.”

A smile bloomed on his mouth. 

“Once?”

She nodded.

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise gentleness,” he said honestly.

She felt the head of his cock part her entrance, pushing in just a bit.

“I don’t need you to be gentle. I need you,” she said simply.

He still held himself in check, just the tip of him inside of her, the stretch already agonisingly pleasurable for her. She moved impatiently, trying to take in more of him, but he held back.

“Like I said before, beautiful,” he warned, “once you are mine, you are mine. Damn your mate, damn Rhysand, and damn everything else. Once I own you, I own you forever.”

“Then own me,” she growled. “Take me however you want. Use me. Fill me up with your seed. Control me. Bleed me with your cock. Give me everything.”

His hazel eyes turned dark and menacing.

“Own my pussy,” she offered. “Own my body. Leave your scent all over me, so that everyone knows who I belong to.”

Azriel chose not to argue at that moment, and instead, he pushed his massive, scorching shaft deep inside of her in one brutal, solid move. 

She cried out into the storm, enveloped in his darkness, in his love.

Just like she expected, he was fucking massive. It was like being split in half by an unyielding ram, and she shook on his cock, momentarily wishing that it would just end and he’d withdraw.

But no. With her breath ripped away by every tiny movement of his shaft, she secretly wanted more. She clenched pathetically around him, while he dipped his face to her neck and licked her skin. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and he pulled almost all the way out, before shoving back in and biting her neck at the same time.

The pain between her legs and in her neck made her feel faint, as he savagely tore through her pussy, marking her, moulding her, taking her for himself. 

“Auuu,” she moaned, scratching his back, while he sucked and bit her neck. It hurt so good, but it hurt nevertheless.

Instead of stopping or easing, he thrust even harder in her, deeper, opening her up completely.

“Take it,” came his order. “Take it all.”

“I am,” she breathed. “It hurts.”

“Good,” he said simply. “It should. An Illyrian warrior and a Fae is taking your soft, wet pussy for the first time. Of course it would hurt.”

She clung to him, getting pounded in with savage, deep thrusts, her pussy both needy, but on fire from how large he was. 

“Do you like it?” she whispered, kissing his lips. “Am I taking you well?”

He smiled and stroked her cheek. 

“My perfect girl,” his tongue brushed her lips. “With a perfect little hole for me to use. Do you like it, sweetheart?”

She nodded, moaning, “it’s so big.”

He smirked, “oh, I know, flower. Your pussy is full of the largest Illyrian cock and you are taking me so well.”

For some absurd reason, that made Elain proud. 

“I am going to turn us around, beautiful,” he told her, “so I can ride you harder.”

She barely even understood him, but allowed him to do what he wanted. 

He spun her around, and she propped her hands on the railing, her fists getting pelted with rain at once. His large, warm hands smoothed down her back and over her behind with appreciation, and he kicked her legs wider apart, before inserting himself back inside her battered hole.

“Oh gods,” was all she managed to groan, while his hand clamped on her shoulder and he held her steady, as he pounded into her.

Her breasts bounced hard from his rapid thrusting, and he looked at them, craning his neck, and smiling.

“How are you doing, beautiful?” he asked, wrapping his fist with her hair. 

“Like I am being railed by the biggest Illyrian cock,” she grunted and he laughed heartily. She couldn’t help herself and laughed as well.

“And?”

“I love taking your cock,” she vowed softly. “I love all of you on me. Please ride me,”

“Oh, I am, flower. You are getting ridden for the three years of me not riding you.”

He dipped his fingers inside her mouth and said, “suck”.

She did. She licked and sucked his scarred fingers, feeling wild and out of control.

“You should’ve taken me earlier,” she told him, once he pulled out from her mouth and she looked over her shoulder at him. 

He looked at her, barely able to tear his gaze away from his shaft pumping in and out of her pink hole, and nodded, “I should have. I should’ve claimed you for my own right after the war. But, there were complications.”

She sighed, and he slapped her ass cheek lightly.

“Now, to rectify this a bit, you will fuck yourself on my dick, like the good girl that you are, but you will also pull apart your ass cheeks for me,” he commanded. 

Elain bit her lower lip and then reached down wordlessly, while he held her shoulder, and did as she was told–even though he was crude and she was embarrassed, she grabbed her bottom and pulled her cheeks apart for him, exposing her little hole.

She watched for his reaction over her shoulder and his face split into a satisfied grin. 

“Perfect,” he approved. “From now on, whenever you are taking me from behind, you will keep yourself open and your little asshole on display.”

She didn’t respond, too overwhelmed by how deeply he was driving into her. What he did next took her breath away completely–he circled her asshole with his fingers and pushed two inside. 

“Ahhhhh,” she cried out, stilling.

It felt…insane.

With his mega dick inside of her, and now his fingers in her ass, she thought that she was going to faint. He stopped moving too and then said sternly, “I didn’t hear you say ‘yes, of course’.”

She nodded frantically. 

“Yes, I am sorry. Yes, of course I will.”

“Now, show me how much you like my dick in your pussy. Fuck yourself on it. I’ll finger your little hole while you do it. If I don’t like how you take me, I will stop.”

And Elain did what he told her. 

She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to submit to him. Her neck ached from the bites. She moved her hips on his cock, gliding over it. She wanted to please him. She wanted to serve him.

He was rough and demanding, objectionable in every way, but she couldn’t get enough of him. Of his body. His musk. His cock.

His gaze made her insides clench with desire for him. Everything about him was perfect–his stunning body, his dominance, his control. He knew what he wanted and he took it. 

Banding his arm around her stomach and waist, Azriel pulled her back, and then, with his dick and his fingers still inside of her, he plummeted heavily on the padded bench, taking her with him. 

“I want to watch you climax, sweetheart,” he whispered warmly in her ear, while he fucked up into her from the bottom. Her whole body was trembling and spasming with pleasure and each push of his cock brought her closer and closer to the pinnacle of pleasure. 

“I want to,” she breathed.

“I know,” he kissed the side of her neck, gently tweaking her nipple with his available hand. “Give it to me. Show me.”

Her fingers dug painfully into his knees, her breathing rugged and loud, as she squeezed him inside of her, milking him with her inner muscles.

Hot seed shot deep inside of her and she felt the moment that he released, as she cried out with desperation and shuddered violently atop of him. Unravelling a man like Azriel was something that made her strangely proud. It wasn’t something most women could claim, yet he was undone beneath her. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered into her cheek and then turned her face, so he could kiss her.

She was gasping for air as she kissed him messily, licking his tongue and his lips. He stroked her hair, smiling at her.

“Was that good?” he asked.

She nodded, “Indescribable.”

“Wonderful. But that was just round one. Now, I want round two…”

“Again?” she gasped.

“Did you think we were done?” he laughed.

“But…”

“You will turn around and sit on my face,”

“WHAT?” she exclaimed, eyes wide, her pulse beating wildly beneath her skin.

“You heard me.”

He carefully lifted her up off his still-hard dick and looked at her with male satisfaction.

He’d made her bleed. 

She wasn’t surprised exactly. He probably tore something inside of her. Graysen’s human member was no match for Azriel’s Illyrian cock. 

“Well, look at that! maybe I took your virginity after all,” he joked, and then leaned back on the bench.

Elain stood there, watching him in all his sprawling, relaxed glory.

He was indeed a beast, dressed in the skin of the most beautiful Fae imaginable. 

His skin glistened in the early morning light, the tattoos taking on a life of their own. He was firm, and solid all over, his body an unforgiving network of scars and muscles. His wings were spread out, a magnificent border around the two of them.

And he was hers.

Somehow, he was hers.

She lowered herself on his lap, straddling his thighs. He cupped her breasts in his hands and then leaned in to kiss her.

“You are dripping with my seed,” he noted, looking down.

She blinked and nodded. 

“I am.”

She was.

“Best sight I’ve ever seen.”

He bit her neck again, gentler this time. But then asked,

“I told you to sit on my face, not my lap.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t disobey me again, or I’ll punish this pretty pussy.”

She exhaled. There was nothing to say to his vulgar words. She was all in. With him. 

-

All Hallow’s Eve

“Death? Really?” 

Rhysand’s sarcastic voice interrupted Azriel’s consumption of a walnut and cinnamon bun. The shadowsinger turned around and cocked a disbelieving brow at the High Lord. 

“You are dressed as a spy,” he scoffed. “Are you really the one to talk?”

“Maybe I always wanted to be like you. Lurking in the shadows. Ravishing maidens.”

“I don’t have to ravish them,” Azriel argued, his eyes never leaving the sight of Elain, who was dressed as the Death of Spring–her face carefully painted, her costume decorated with large flowers. She flitted about the enormous reception room, chatting with guests, smiling, drinking spooky cocktails. 

The mansion was decorated with pumpkins and bundles of anemone, candles suspended high up in the air, phantom wind blowing gently and ruffling everyone’s unique costumes. 

Nesta was dressed as a black swan and it suited her. Cassian came to the party dressed as a wizard, and now was dancing with Feyre, who was dressed as a…huntress. Not very original, in Azriel’s opinion, but he kept that to himself.

“The maidens come to me themselves,” Azriel pointed out.

“So it would seem,” Rhys sipped his liquor. “You know,”

“Really not interested in what you are about to say,” Azriel waved him off.

“Only that I can smell you on her…”

“Good. As you should.”

“Her mate is here.”

“He is too late.”

Azriel looked Rhys straight in the eye and asked,

“Care to explain this whole ‘we took turns preparing the Hallow’s Eve party’ bullshit that you concocted?”

The High Lord chuckled.

“Oh, you liked that?”

“I am not sure,” Azriel admitted truthfully.

If it weren’t for Rhysand’s involvement, Elain wouldn’t be walking right now with Azriel’s seed dripping down her thighs.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Rhys smirked.

“Fucking stop that!” Azirel snarled.

“You can thank me later, brother,” Rhys clapped him on the back. “She bought it. You understood the assignment. And now…” his voice trailed. “Now she is yours at last.”

She was.

“She is,” Azriel nodded his confirmation. 

My right.

My destiny.

My woman.

[fairestwriting]

Hello Lis! Wow, it’s been a minute. How are you doing?

Sooo I got a request I was saving.

May I request HCs of the Music Club Trio (Cater Diamond, Kalim Al Asim, and Lilia Vanrouge) (Separately) who found out that [Reader] [Gender Neutral] [Platonic or Romance (your choice)] can sing/rap incredibly when they were alone practicing their vocals in an empty classroom? [Reader] was trying to keep their talent low-profile as they don’t like too much attention and can’t deal with embarrassment if something slips. How would the three react?

- @sanctum-of-ramshackle

hellooooo it has been a Lot of minutes huh 😭 but im surviving!!! the call of writing is one i can't bring myself to ignore .....

and! since you said both platonic and romantic are fine, im writing it more ambiguously so the other readers can see it however they prefer ;3

Cater Diamond

At first, he's too shocked to move, standing near the door and just listening in awe, but he eventually just snaps. Breaks your focus with a sound that's almost a squeak, rushing into the classroom you thought was empty way too quickly. Probably startles you into making a noise sounding just as awkward as his.

The questions of when and how you learn to sing like this start, Cater grabbing your hands and lookinf at you with big, bright eyes. And though he's usually cheerful, this degree of excitement still feels like a completely new side to him. You mumble out your explanations of how you've been practicing a long time, but had some specific boundaries...

He listens to each and every word, maybe even surprising you with the attentiveness. You might have expected requests for videos and pictures for social media posts anyway, but there are none. Instead, he cheerfully raises a hand and asks if he can practice with you. Then if you want to go to karaoke with him this weekend-- He's a bit more pushy about this one.

(If you're especially close, Cater might ask for an audio of you singing your favorite song. The intimate feeling of the request makes him nervous, but he can't really resist. Doesn't matter if your next school break is far away, he already knows he's gonna miss your singing a near painful amount.)

Kalim Al-Asim

He doesn't think twice after the first few lyrics he sees you sing so soulfully... a part of him wanted to stay by the door and listen until you were done with the song, but Kalim just can't hold back, and he rushes into the classroom just like Cater would. Unlike him, though, Kalim mostly showers you in praise.

It's a bit hard to have any sort of conversation for a bit, when he keeps guahing about how well you held that note and how emotional you sounded in that verse and how your voice was so, so, so beautiful, why didn't you share that with the club before?

...At least, with that one question, Kalim gives you enough time to explain yourself, and your concerns about unwanted attention, then the stage fright... and he does listen, though it takes a bit for him to understand. But it's definitely not in a malicious way, and you can see that. He's just so, so, so awed by how amazing your singing voice sounds.

Then, he has his own questions, a few on your background with music -- hardly the focus -- and a bunch on if you'd be willing to sing for the Music Club when they gathered. He assures, with that always sunny smile of his, that it's completely okay if you don't want to do that, but he's sure the other members would be delighted to hear you too.

And if you don't want to share that with them, Kalim asks if it's okay for him to listen to you a little more? He promises to not disrupt your practice. If you agree, you'll find that he's really an ideal audience member, clapping excitedly at the end of every song. And he happens to know one, he'll go all puppy-eyed as he asks to join you. Starting then, he'll take every opportunity to make your songs a duet.

Lilia Vanrouge

The only one who manages to stay by the door for a whole song, with that hard-to-read smile of his reaching up to his eyes. He claps as you finish your song, chuckling and fondly commenting how he had no idea you were so talented. Might spook you if you're jumpy, and it'd make him laugh too, but not without an apology. Pranks aren't the focus now.

Lilia walks up to you, looking straight into your eyes as he speaks. Part of his surprise is that your talent managed to fly under his radar for so long, when he usually picks up on these things so easily. He did have a feeling you were the type to hide your true potential for whatever reason, sure, but that's still not even remotely close to learning this secret of yours.

Lilia already mentions he's assuming you don't want to attract too much attention, or be judged, before you even start to explain. He reassures with a soft voice that he won't be sharing it with anyone you don't want to share your voice with, and his interest is more in how you got into music in the first place. If you play any instruments, if you had any training...

You see a rare glint of awe in his eyes as he speaks, it's clear that just from these few minutes of showcasing your skill, he's gained plenty of artistic interest and respect for you. He's especially curious about whether you write your own music or not. Depending on your own approach to your work, he'll honestly offer to help you... for the price of getting to be the first to hear any new songs you make, of course, he'll say with a cheeky smile.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[floweroflaurelin]

So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

of

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

[infiniteeight8]

Since you mentioned having more Tony & Soul ideas I would love to know what comes next in that verse <3

It’s been awhile since we returned to Tony & Soul! :D 

The rest of the series can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3910384

For the record, although this ficlet involves shapeshifters, it has nothing to do with Secret Invasion. This whole ‘verse goes AU after Titan, so none of that applies. These are just generic shapeshifters, rather than Skrulls.

-

“They’ve started mimicking us,” Natasha says tensely. “Be careful who you leave at your back.”

Tony swears. These shapeshifters had started off hiding in plain sight as objects and had moved on to copying civilians, which had made them difficult but not impossible to identify. Apparently, whatever it is that enables them to take on a shape had adapted again. “They won’t have comms, though,” he says.

“No, but we’ve already lost contact with Steve,” Natasha says. “We can’t tell a damaged comm from a compromised comm.”

“Tony,” Stephen calls out, flying over. Tony tenses; does the mimicry extend to flight? “They can’t hide their souls from you,” he says when he’s close enough not to shout.

No one but Stephen knows about Soul. Tony relaxes. “Look for people without connections to me?” he guesses, already tapping into the sense that shows him the soul threads. Most of the civilians have cleared out already.

But Stephen shakes his head. “A battle might be enough to establish a connection. You need to look for the shape of their souls, not just their relationship to others.”

“Shape, right,” Tony mutters, but he concentrates, letting Soul help adjust his perception. Suddenly the few civilians still hiding from the battle flare brightly. Tony rears back and curses, automatically shading his eyes even though this brightness has nothing to do with vision. 

“Tony! Are you okay?” Stephen’s hovering close by, and his soul is the brightest of all. Tony is seeing so much, he can’t even process it.

Soul steps in and suddenly everything eases down until he’s only getting a general impression of people. Tony lets out a breath. “I’m okay,” he tells Stephen. “Just a little information overload. I’ve got it now.”

It turns out that aliens have very differently shaped souls than humans. Tony has no trouble at all telling them apart. With Stephen’s help, the remaining shapeshifters are quickly rounded up and secured. 

“How’d you pick them out?” Natasha asks while she, Tony, Stephen, Steve, Sam, and Bruce wait for the appropriate authors to retrieve them.

If he says he adjusted his suit sensors, they’ll want to know how, for the future. But Tony isn’t ready for anyone to know about Soul. Not yet. One day he’ll have to explain, but—

“I cast a spell,” Stephen says. “It took some time to adapt; these shapeshifters aren’t like those I’ve seen before.”

Natasha raises her eyebrows. “There’s more than one kind?”

“Many more,” Stephen assures her.

She shakes her head. “Great. The universe is a wonderful place,” she says dryly. 

“Thanks,” Tony tells Stephen later, when they’re alone in the Sanctum. “For covering for me.”

“Any time,” Stephen says, smiling.

“I will tell them, eventually,” Tony promises. 

Stephen leans forward. “They’re not entitled to know, Tony. Whether or not you share this with them is entirely your choice.”

Tony has to laugh; that’s not an opinion he hears much. But he can feel Stephen’s sincerity, and he can’t help but bask in it a little. “Eventually, someone is going to notice I’m not aging, if nothing else.”

“There are illusions I can cast that would take care of that,” Stephen says. “I mean it: What you share with others is entirely up to you.”

That promise leaves Tony a little breathless. “Thank you,” Tony says again, because he can’t seem to find any other words.

[st4rymoon]

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴

Miguel o’Hara x afab reader

● content - a continuation to my story better than me, angst, spider-reader gets pregnant, multiverse talk, Ft. Dr. strange and wong

You sat in the bathroom with your lip between your teeth, staring at the pregnancy test. Shit. Fuck fuck fuck.

Your mind was racing. You’ve never thought about what’ll happen if you got pregnant but here you are. You managed to fall in love and get pregnant by a man from a different universe.

Miguel was back in his universe at the moment for work. You wondered if he’d see an incursion in your universe, you really hoped he wouldn’t.

The only thing you could think of was asking the one person who could have any idea about this.

Dr. Strange

The last time you saw him Miguel decide to fuck you in the sanctum so you had no idea how this would go but you didn’t care, you just needed to ask someone who was somewhat aware of the multi-verse.

You put on some clothes, hid the test in your drawer and headed to the sanctum.

“Strange” you yelled out, your voice filling the building as you walked up the stairs. “Are you going to have sex in here again? If so leave” you hear Strange mumble from your left.

“I’m really sorry about that Strange, Miguel… Miguel lik-“ he cut you off mid sentence “I don’t care, what are you here for” Strange huffed with his arms crossed.

“Can we talk somewhere private, this is important, well I have an important question or rather something important to say”

Strange looked at you with a worried face, he nodded and lead you to his office. “So what’s got you so scared?” He smiled now trying to lighten up the mood.

“What happens when someone from a different universe happens to get pregnant by someone who isn’t in their universe?” You nervously ask, your fingers fidgeting as you look up at him.

“Don’t tell me he got you pregnant? For fuck sake” he groaned. You began to get even more nervous. Would this mean the baby would simply glitch out? Would your universe die?

Strange could see your eyes starting to water “hey hey hey don’t cry” he tried to reassure you “I’ve never really thought about what would happen.”

“But I’m sure nothing good will come of it… I mean think of it, we’ve seen what happens when someone disrupts the universe. Does Miguel know?” Strange sighs, his head in his hands as he thinks about everything that could go wrong.

The last thing he wanted to do was tell you what you needed to do, but you were already aware of what he was thinking by looking at his face.

You began to cry uncontrollably, your eyes full of tears as you thought of Miguel. You knew this would break him just as much as it did to you. “I can ask wong about this, he might know something or someone who has knowledge on this”

You sat in silence “but right now I want you to go and tell Miguel ok? Maybe he knows something. Come back here once you have, Wong will be here soon” Strange sighed.

You nodded, getting up from the chair and dreading the situation that would be playing out in a few minutes.

You walked into headquarters with a face of worry and fear you couldn’t hide. Other spiders looked at you in worry as they noticed how down you looked “hey Gwen, where’s Miguel?” You smiled weakly.

“I- he’s in his office, is everything ok?” Gwen replied “mhm everything is perfect, thank you.” You walked down the hall to Miguel’s office. You were practically shaking as you knocked on his door.

“Come in” you could hear him yell out. You walked in and saw Jessica sitting in the chair in front of him, they both looked up and saw you in the state you were in.

“Miguel we need to talk”

“Cariño what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” Miguel spoked as he jumped out of his chair. In a matter of seconds he was by your side, both his hands cupping your face to look up at him.

“We need to talk alone, it’s important” you whisper. “I’ll be heading out” you hear Jessica muttered already half way out the door “we’ll talk later” Miguel nodded as he guided you to his couch.

He watched you, studied you close all the while you stared down at your hands “Miguel… I’m pregnant” you mutter out.

Miguel smiles for a second before his mind can process the danger of this. His smile turns into a frown as he stares down at you with no expression “I don’t know what will happen. I asked strange and he doesn’t know either, he’ll ask wong if he knows anything bu- but I know wha-“ you couldn’t finish your sentence before you broke down completely.

Miguel pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you sobbed into his shoulder. Miguel’s heart was beating faster than ever, millions of thoughts were flashing in his mind. He was thinking of ways it would be possible, he could always find a way, Right?

All he could do was keep you close, his hand messaging your head as tears streamed down your face. “Why can’t the universe just let us be.” You whispered, clinging onto him even tighter.

-

Back in your universe, strange was anticipating for Wong to get back. He walked back and forth in the sanctum waiting for him to walk in.

“FINALLY WONG!” Strange yelled out. “Something bad happened, something that can ruin the multiverse.”

“I know that spider is pregnant already” wong shrugs as he walked past strange. “Huh?”

“It was supposed to happen. I can’t tell you much about it but the baby will be born. No incursion will happen but as always, the universe will always manage to take back its dues” wong spoke.

Wong was already aware of the incident that played out. Matter of fact he knew about them even before they happened but it was his job to let it be. All he knew was once your baby was born everything would go smoothly for a few years, both you and Miguel would live happily until then.

He knew something bad was coming, but that’s all he knew. Wong had no clue what that bad was but as sorcerer supreme it was his duty to let the universe flow.

He let strange know to get both you and Miguel here quickly to let you both know everything would be fine. But he left out the one thing that no one knew.

Within the light that soon will come, darkness will follow.

[deathinfeathers-a]

Main verse bio:

Name: Lyriel Lute Morningstar

Age: 1000+

Species: Trueborn angel (excorcist)

Gender: Presents feminine but has no gender identity. Though she uses she/her pronouns for convenience she doesn't actually care what you call her. Capable of assuming the anatomical features of any sex (default is feminine)

Orientation: Pansexual Grey-Aromantic

Alignment: Neutral evil

Family: Michael Morningstar: Adoptive father. Previously estranged. Reconnected. @/cast-you-dxwn Oriana (the first excorcist): Mother. Missing for 1000+ years. Presumed dead. Adam Firstman: commander. Soul-bound. Estranged for one year in the wake of the excorcists/hotel war. Reconnected. @/originemesis Sera: creator of the excorcists. Vaggie: Former mentee. Former lover. The excorcists: Flock. Has many sisters within their numbers, most of which died during the war. Subordinates.

Lyriel Morningstar was the name given to a nestling who hatched inside a sequestered sanctum far away from the splendid light of the golden city. The last of the first of her kind. As with any new invention, her function was predetermined and her purpose set in stone long before her life was put into motion; a killer. That is what she was. From the crest of her obsidian halo to the diminutive needle tips of her talons. But when she opened her eyes for the very first time, she was not met with an environment fit to foster the deleterious instincts of a predator. She was met with love.

The love of a man who had found his way inside the secret sanctuary made to host the fragile beginnings of a formidable choir of executioners. A man who had come to adore the matriarch of this burgeoning flock, and so too would he adore her.

For years they were a family—and they were happy.

However, one can only elude the course of fate for so long. The time came when Lyriel Morningstar and her many sisters were collected by the people who had orchestrated their existence; the high council of the kingdom of heaven. Together, they were placed into an elaborate program designed to equip the young warriors with the tools and know-how they would need to serve their purpose with stalwartness and efficiency.

But Lyriel was soft.

Her keepers were not.

Lute was the name given to a soldier born inside the barracks of an undisclosed millitary facility far away from the splendid light of the golden city.

[jardaddy-a]

       ˗ˏˋ💐❀┊ ( * THE GRACEFUL CHRYSANTHEMUM ) ━ FORTUNATELY , she swooped in to assist the child from the suspicious gazes from wandering authoritarians . PRESSING TWO GOLDEN TICKETS into the usher's palm she quickly escorts the child into the gardens under the guise of a guardian . ONCE far from prying eyes , the woman relaxes , allowing the boy to view the gardens in its splendor ; a bountiful array of flowers thriving beneath a filtered crystal palace , ❝ is that so ? well this a first experience for the both of us , then . i'm actually visiting from marseille so this is the first time i've ever visited a parisian garden . ❞ MELLIFLUENT VOCALS flowed out of her lips as its pinkened corners tilted upward into a bright smile . ❝ beautiful , is it not ? ❞

       ˗ˏˋ💐❀┊ ( * CHRYSANTHEMUM ) ━  THE WOMAN'S delicate countenance radiated warmth that would rival the sun on a spring's dawn , deep blue hues reflected tints of gold &&. lavender as she curiously inspected the boy . SHE REALIZES HER BLUNDER &&. wastes no time as slung her parasol's handle over her arm before offering a gloved hand towards him for a shake , ❝ oh - forgive me ━ introductions , yes . my name is chrys , ma fleur . what's yours ? ❞

✧ * º • –– @jardinae asked:   ❛  i have a spare ticket, you wanna come in with me ?  ❜ Chrys @ Misha

                                ⮩      【      𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒.   】

╰  ☾  ☆ * : ･   ⁞    —     ˗ˏˋ            𝐎𝐇, 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 ! To witness the beautiful blooms of Paris' famous private gardens was an act reserved purely for the highest of classes; something far out of reach for him. The only way he could ever HOPE to experience such an wonderful event was to sneak inside and pray he does not get caught. What a hassle that would have been though ! Certainly, his ( terrible ) caretaker WOULDN'T have been happy if such a thing happened.

But how fortunate was it that this KIND WOMAN was just handing him a ticket ! He didn't know her, of course ... but was he about to reject that sort of charity ? NOT AT ALL.

' Really ? I'd LOVE that, Mademoiselle ! I've never been to one of these before ! '

[hearthtales]

okay so!! it’s rough but here are the basics so far about the original character(s) i might add. they would have a new ‘door’ on the muse page.

MOTHER THREADSPUN, MOTHER FEATHERSKIN, MOTHER MARROW - An ancient eldritch entity trapped within a pocket dimension (called the Avian Sanctum, the Hidden Aviary, or simply the Aviary to those familiar with it) that looks like a massive library, greenhouse, and an aviary all at once. She collects things for amusement, with a penchant for bones, feathers, and teeth. From a ritual involving her own blood, she created “Daughter” to explore the world for her and bring back items and information on it. Searching for a way to escape the Aviary. Her true name has power over her and is kept hidden.

DAUGHTER:

- Daughter. Little Seeker. Collecting Arm. Ava. Magpie. She does not have a given name and will go by whatever others choose to nickname her. Created to appear roughly in her early-mid 20s.

- A being created with a sole purpose. Very obedient toward Mother in general, may need some help realizing she is her own person. Seeks to collect information and interesting objects above all else, sometimes steals when doing so. Hasn’t quite grasped why this is bad. Wanders and asks questions on a whim. Has little sense of respecting boundaries.

- Soft grey-blue semiplume feathers grow from her shoulders and upper arms, hidden beneath her clothing. These feathers mostly stay flat against her skin, but they bristle when she is startled. Mother initially gave her actual wings, but reconsidered the decision shortly after bringing Daughter to life, wanting her to blend in among humans better. There are jagged scars on Daughter’s back as a result.

- Trusting, eager to please, curious, nosy, honest, straightforward, obedient, naive, typically comes across as friendly and cheerful simply because she has learned most people respond best to this.

- Can’t feel physical pain. Heals quickly. Still, being hurt slows down her quest to collect things, so she tries to avoid injuries. She is quick to run if she feels threatened, or to attack if all else fails. Inherited a fear of water from Mother, especially the ocean.

- Small, swift-footed, agile, light on her feet.

- Perpetually ink-stained fingers from writing and sketching information she gathers.

- Wears a cloak, or a long coat in modern verses, with countless pockets for collecting things. Also wears a crossbody satchel, very protective of this.

- Like her ‘mother,’ Daughter likes birds. She is usually seen wearing shades of brown mimicking tree branches along with colors associated with magpies — black, deep blue, and some white. She has her own secret collection of pretty feathers.

- Daughter, like Mother, needs sleep to function but does not require food. Still, she does eat sometimes for the taste alone. She likes hard candies.

[stasis-shatter]

Scattered Mournful Verses

Clawed remains of runes in the inner sanctums of the Dreadnaught.

O Father ours; What would you think of us?

Your mind was once so focused - so acute

You held our small weak bodies to your chest

Pointed to stars, spoke stories of wonder.

But that is gone. You have been long dead.

We do what we must to survive. Aia. Aiat.

***

Tell us, Father

What should we regret?

What became of us -

Or what did not?

Small things, curled up,

Clinging together for warmth

Awaiting the day,

Awaiting to be snatched in the night.

The traitoress who raised us

Ever-bitter, ever-despising

Father-ours, would you have protected us?

Shielded us, if you were able?

How simple! Timidity and shaking claws.

Orrery, Syzygy, treachery.

***

Tell us, Father

Which to ask forgiveness for?

What we are? What we became?

What we could not be?

What we are? What we are not?

Aiat. We survived. Aiat. You did not.

[servantverse]

servantverse fluffcember 2024 day 30 - bride

[ no general warnings apply, minus spoilers for ShB and EW ] [ timing: post-EW] [ from a verse written with @fell-court, featuring mentions of lorenza ]

Night had fallen. A blue light settled over the rooms of the cathedral, the moonlight tinted by the stained glass windows, even reaching into the dressing rooms in the Sanctum of the Twelve. Within one such room, Camellia sat seemingly calmly at a vanity, watching as her hair was pinned back with purple wing-like accessories by Cameron.

“...Is it rude of me to say I didn’t know if this day would ever come?” Cameron asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence.

“...Perhaps if I was anyone else. However, I cannot say I expected this to happen either.”

“And yet you were the one to propose.”

Cameron chuckled, taking a brush to straighten Camellia’s hair out. Camellia only gave a soft hum in response.

The day for Camellia to be wed to Lorenza- formally, at least, and not in a quiet and very private setting- had finally arrived. Their pairing was an unusual one, and not only due to the bride being a voidsent princess- but also for the fact that Camellia had always shunned such bonds before. She viewed them as pointless, doomed to fail, and experience had taught her to be wary of others trying to become close to her.

…Yet this bond had formed nonetheless.

It had surprised most that Camellia had been the one to propose. …Truthfully, it had even surprised herself how bold she was. While the two of them had begun courting shortly after the journey to Ishgard, an Eternal Bond was meant to be something much more permanent; a show of devotion that would last lifetimes, symbolized by rings.

Camellia had never been someone certain enough of herself or others to think of such things. But shortly before the journey to the First- after watching the Scions have their souls taken, one by one- she had grown worried of becoming separated and having no way to tie herself to Lorenza, and before she had even fully thought through what she was doing, had begun crafting a ring. …Buying one seemed too impersonal for her tastes, and she wanted to be certain the fit and theme was right.

A ceremony was already held on the First, yes. But this one was a more proper one, with the fate of the world not resting on their shoulders in the process. The Endsinger was defeated, and the temporary ‘disbanding’ of the Scions allowed more room to breathe.

…Well, some things were still pressing, but…

“...Does this make you a princess consort, then?” Cameron asked after a moment.

“I would consider myself more the prince consort type. But… I suppose so, yes. …Although, Cantarella has informed me that Princess Lorenza may not remain princess for certain- the void is ever changing… Regardless, she(?) will ever remain my princess.”

“It’s quite incredible that you refer to her(?) by title even now.”

“Habit, I suppose.” Camellia chuckled, closing her eyes. “...Lorenza. I suppose I have earned the right to refer to her(?) without her(?) title.”

“And yet I have this odd feeling that it won’t stop you,” Cameron remarked, setting the brush down.

“I would argue that my princess has a different meaning to it than to refer to her(?) as your highness,” Camellia responded, opening her eyes to look back at her brother. He smiled in amusement, moving to pick up a white lily resting on the vanity.

“That is true… And you’re much more fond of referring to her(?) as ‘your beloved’ when able to.”

“She(?) is one of the few people to be allowed the privilege. …And I am one of the fortunate few to be allowed to call her(?) that, in turn.”

“Love has made you soft, Lia. It’s a nice thing to see.” Cameron moved to the front of his sister, pinning the lily into her lapel. “...I’d ask if you’re nervous, but you’ve already had a ceremony before. This should be easy, right?”

“Hm. Somehow, the experience has not made it easier,” Camellia responded, rising from the bench to straighten the coat. “...The crowd does not bother me. To have this ceremony in front of others is of no matter. What does affect me is the idea of seeing my princess beside me once more- this time away from the scorching light of the First, and having been able to recover some from that ordeal.”

“Ah- you’re worried you’ll find her(?) too beautiful to speak.”

Camellia cleared her throat, looking away from Cameron. He smiled, shaking his head as he stepped back.

“...Truly, Lia. I don’t think most would believe anyone is capable of affecting you so greatly.”

“...Then they would be wrong.”

“They would, but you’ll be fine, alright? …I’ll be there beside you. And I think her(?) highness would think it’s quite endearing if you ended up unable to say a word…”

“Cameron,” Camellia said, her tone one of warning. Knowing the warning wasn’t one of any real consequence, though, Cameron laughed, smiling brightly.

“Camellia,” he playfully responded. “I’m right! …But you’ve practiced this enough times by yourself. You’ll be fine, really.”

The sound of a bell chiming rang throughout the room, and Cameron glanced over at the doors in surprise.

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “That must be time.”

Gaining no response, Cameron looked back over to his sister who was staring at the doors in silence. He gave a soft sigh, reaching out to take her gloved hand in his own and squeeze it reassuringly.

“...Come on. Your bride is waiting for you. And you wouldn’t want to keep a princess waiting, would you?”

Camellia hesitated before finally giving a nod, taking a deep breath to steady herself. …She knew it was unlike her to act so uncertain, but… Lorenza had a way of making her uncertain. Never in a harmful way, but she was always too mindful of her every word and action in her(?) presence- afraid of making a fool of herself, perhaps.

…But she also knew that she(?) would never judge Camellia for such blunders. And this was hardly their first ceremony; it was simply… One in which both were in more comfortable states. And in Camellia’s opinion, a far more beautiful state, considering the way Lorenza’s wings had finally begun growing out again.

And as stated… She wouldn’t want to keep her princess waiting for long.

“Shall we?” Cameron asked, gesturing to the door.

Camellia nodded once more. “...We shall.”

It was, perhaps, a day of no real import to many others. But for Camellia, it would be a reminder of the steps forward she had taken to entwine her life with another’s-

And for once, the idea seemed much less scary than it may have in the past.

[arachnicas]

Spider & Spot Dynamic Headcanons 1/?

Based off of my post >>> here

-) The multi-verse collapses and Miles is thrown back in time to the day he defeated Kingpin. Determined not to repeat the future, Miles decides to seek out the Spot and end his villainy before it can begin. However, he does not eradicate or contain his nemesis. No, Miles takes a leap of faith and decides to help him.

-) Miles uses his big brain to find a way to permanently cure Dr. Johnathon Ohnn of his spotty appearance with a serum. However, Johnathon still retains his abilities, and his eyes are an eerie void black color, a reminder of what he is and what he is capable of. Still, he's back to looking like a human being again and is immensely grateful to this wonderful, genius kid for helping him in his time of need.

-) In fact, he's so happy that he immediately declares himself Spider-Man's partner, and Miles cannot reject the man. His former friends are in their respective dimensions safe now that the collider is destroyed, and if the future becomes anything like Miles remembers, he won't see them for a long while. It would be nice to have a friend on his side.

-) After some trial and error, Johnathon can easily control his abilities, using his holes to warp villains into Miles' webs or transporting himself and Miles away from dangers when dealing with particularly deadly villains. With their combined skills and hilarious wit, the duo instantly becomes Brooklyn's darlings almost overnight.

-) Johnathon's costume is based on his former spotty appearance. When Miles asked why, he grinned and said, "Makes for a superb intimidation factor, kiddo. Gets the baddies shaking in their little boots when they see me."

-) Johnathon and Miles both know each other's secret identities. Johnathon made it clear to Miles that if their partnership should work, he should at least see the face of the hero he's working with. No secrets. No lies. Miles agreed and slid off his mask.

-) Needless to say, Johnathon was appalled, concerned, and maybe even a little impressed that Spider-Man is a thirteen-year-old kid. "I mean, when you threw that bagel at me, I knew you were young, but holy cow, you're just a little guy! You should be in school doing your homework and hanging out with your friends, not running the streets fighting bad guys!"

-) Knowing that Spider-Man is just a kid made Johnathon even more sure of his decision to be his partner. Miles will need a stable adult to look out for him and somebody to make damn sure that he comes home alive. It's the least he can do for the kid who helped him get his life back on track. Plus, he's grown fond of Miles and enjoys fighting alongside him. This superhero gig isn't so bad after all.

-) Over time, the two developed a pseudo-uncle-nephew familial relationship, and while Johnathon isn't Uncle Aaron, Miles finds that they have a lot in common and will often spend hours talking about quantum physics, math, etc. They even built an underground lair where they go to rest up, work on science projects, and make neat little gizmos. Miles proudly called it "The Web," but after losing a game of rock paper scissors to Uncle Johnathon, it was renamed The Void Sanctum.

-) Helping Miles with his science homework pushed Johnathon into getting a job at Visions Academy as a science teacher because, damn it, what kind of weak-ass science is that school teaching his nephew?! No, he will become a goddamn teacher and teach these kids REAL science. And this way, he can finally distance himself from Alchemax and get a job doing something he loves. Teaching.

-) Johnathon wanted to make an excellent first impression on his first day at Visions and showed up to work in a tweed suit, squeaky shoes, and a lab coat. The students cracking jokes about his clothes were to be expected, and Miles was starting to get annoyed with them for their constant needling, but all laughter died when Mr. Ohnn made something explode. From then on, he was the school's most revered science teacher.

-) Visions loves him so much that they don't even ask why he wears sunglasses that hide his scary inky black eyes that sometimes leak dark matter. Nah, they don't need to see what's behind the glasses.

-) Johnathon uses his powers to travel across different dimensions with Miles, where they get into all sorts of whacky adventures. It's the most fun they've ever had, and the pair bring back all kinds of trinkets and decorations from their travels to hang up in their super cool lair.

"Miles, is that an alien head encased in ice?"

"Oh, yeah! Uncle Johnathon and I found this bad boy in some creepy desert dimension! I don't think we were supposed to take it, but Unc wanted to turn it into a new decoration for his desk."

"Miles, that thing just blinked."

"Yeah, it does that sometimes."

-) The walls in Miles' room are decorated with colorful equations done by Johnathon, and Johnathon's office space has drawings Miles gifted to him. Maybe he's not an artist like his nephew, but he's proud of the kid's works and will always show visitors what Miles drew.

-) Having learned from his past mistakes, Miles decided to reveal himself as Spider-Man to his parents, and as expected there were tears, ultimatums, more tears, and finally acceptance. Jeff and Rio were also told about Johnathon, and after some hesitation and promises to keep them informed about their son, they permitted the duo to keep working together...so long as Johnathon stopped by every Sunday for family dinners and continued to help Miles stay on top of his studies.

-) Their dimension travels have caused them to meet certain members of the Spider Society much earlier, but that's a story for another day.