#I think I will draw a better one for Az

[halemerry]

So there's a lot to unpack here but I want to start by talking about the ending and specifically about the Metatron and the calculating moves made at the end of episode 6.

Every single piece of what happened there was a manipulation technique being employed against Aziraphale to an almost brilliant degree and I'm honestly a little obsessed with what this says about the Metatron in particular.

Let's go in order.

First of all. We see him order coffee. In a human body. Something sweet and sugary. He talks to Nina and asks her about her shop name. Does anyone ever ask for death? And when she tells him no they don't his response is to say "so predictable". Our introduction to him here even when everything about him reads like a sweet old man is presented to show us someone who reads the world in terms of being predictable to him.

He then shows up in the middle of Aziraphale's existence being threatened. He immediately cuts down the threat's authority (using outdated language like Az himself would favor) and reemphasizes his own connection to Heaven. When Michael doesn't recognize him and he puts her down and then directly engages Crowley. Crowley who, to Aziraphale, has for centuries at a minimum been someone he thinks is smarter, better, more Good than these other archangels. The Metatron validates these beliefs. Crowley is more Heavenly than these archangels who couldn't even recognize the voice of God when he was standing right in front of them.

The Metatron draws attention to the fact he's in a human body. The kind of body Aziraphale has been in and loved for nearly 6000 years. He then banishes the archangels, implying their morality is in a gray space, and validates Muriel someone we have seen Aziraphale react positively to and someone outside the current power structure. Look at me, he's saying. I see and validate the little guy.

He then tries to talk to Aziraphale. Aziraphale says "I've made my position quite clear." And then the Metatron offers Aziraphale the coffee. This bartering chip, consuming sustenance, is a thing that Aziraphale and Crowley have used as their connective tissue for centuries. It's an olive branch for them. It's giving Aziraphale bodily pleasure and the Metatron implies that he himself has partaken also - a thing we know that Aziraphale has struggled historically with moralizing. He is seen by the closest thing he has left to his parent and he is having old fears validated as safe and old habits being played upon to make him feel secure

He then REMOVES Aziraphale from his home turf. Not only does he remove Crowley from the equation but he takes Aziraphale from the place that has stood as a place of sanctuary throughout the entirety of the season. The shop is Safe and Aziraphale is leaving it and he is leaving the one person who might be able to smell the bullshit coming from the Metatron. The music notably turns absolutely dire here.

The next time we see them the Metatron tells Aziraphale that he doesn't need to answer instantly. He can take his time, if he likes. All the time he needs. And then tells him to go tell Crowley. Once again bringing Crowley in as a valid part of this while manufacturing a scenario where he can't possibly be.

Az ends up in a place where he's overwhelmed and confused and he wants so badly to believe what he's being told. It's an appealing thing from his perspective! He feels off kilter like he's made a mistake in judging the Metatron. He can't even fully articulate what happened to Crowley at first and he's had absolutely no real time to actually think it through. He's running on sheer reactive energy.

The Metatron starts their conversation by asking Aziraphale's opinion. Who should rule Heaven? This is once again playing into making Az feel validated and like he's a part of this decision making process. The Metatron corrects him, complimenting Aziraphale and making him feel capable and in control. He reassures Aziraphale's bafflement. And draws attention to some traits that, while true of Aziraphale around Crowley, are not his defining traits in the eyes of Heaven. You don't just tell people what they want to hear I find particularly notable in this regard given Aziraphale spent most of his time on earth actively lying to Heaven and doing just that. But it fits into the narrative Aziraphale has built around himself, especially post Apocalypse. The Metatron then says I need you (a phrase Az will use much more painfully here in a minute).

And even after all this Aziraphale says no. He says flat out he doesn't want to go back to Heaven. He says this!!! And then the Metatron sweetens the pot. He swaps tactics. Not once has this come up until Aziraphale pushes back against the idea. If the Metatron could've gotten him without using it I have no doubt he wouldn't have bothered with it. Come to Heaven and we can save Crowley. Aziraphale loves Crowley. Aziraphale thinks Crowley is better than any of the angels he's interacted with. Crowley is Good and Nice and Kind and always saving him and now he's being presented with a way to return that. He can Forgive Crowley - a thing Crowley has always presented to Aziraphale as something he struggles with. All of these things Aziraphale has watched Crowley react to in a way that belittles himself or distances them from one another. Of course he wouldn't consider that maybe what he was actually saying is "I'm unforgivable and I don't want that forgiveness."

The Metatron offers Aziraphale a Dream Offer for the pre Armageddon Aziraphale. You can keep your Crowley. You can heal him like you have always thought he deserved. You can have power and control the people who for your whole existence has beaten you down. It can go back to how it was but BETTER.

When Aziraphale leaves he still hasn't answered. He goes and has the conversation they have. It's intense and emotional and the Metatron comes in after the Moment all casual and asks how it goes, knowing fully well the shitstorm he had just set up to get created. And then he turns around and says "always did want to go his own way" which is not only true of Crowley but framed as a bad thing despite the fact that he has just spent twenty minutes or so telling Aziraphale that he's done his own thing and that is Good. He is playing both sides of this perspective as it suits him. And then he cuts down Crowley asking questions, pressuring Aziraphale to avoid doing the same. He then proceeds to ask Aziraphale not if he's made up his mind but if he's ready to get started. He is one by one closing off exit routes to this thing as Aziraphale starts to look more and more panicked and indecisive. He makes sure the bookshop is in good hands and asks Aziraphale if there's anything he needs to take with him. Letting Aziraphale have the illusion of choice while cutting down "I don't want to" as an option altogether.

And Az, as soon as the Metatron is out of shot, tries to express this. And then he falls back right on old coping methods. The Metatron pats him on the head. Reassures that he's the right one for this. That he is Good. That his particular skillset is needed here.

It is a masterstroke of manipulation. A very dark twist on what we see Crowley do time and time again with Aziraphale throughout the millennia. Familiar in a way that makes Aziraphale feel safe. Except this time this is being used to put him back in line. It's brilliant and painful and it fucking hurt and I need a season 3 to see the Metatron get what's coming to him stat.

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: Azriel care during dinner with the Inner Circle

The grand dining room of the House of Wind was alive with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional playful jab between friends. The Inner Circle had gathered for dinner, a regular occurrence that always promised good food, better company, and the kind of banter that only those bound by deep friendship and countless battles could share.

You sat next to Azriel, your mate, his presence a constant, comforting warmth beside you. The table was laden with delicious dishes, from roasted meats to vibrant salads, and the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by Cassian’s booming laughter and Mor’s exaggerated tales of her latest escapades.

As usual, you were absorbed in the lively discussions, occasionally jumping in with your own remarks or laughing at something Feyre said. What you didn’t notice, however, was the way Azriel moved with quiet precision, always making sure your plate was never empty. Whenever a dish was passed around, he would subtly serve you first, spooning just the right amount of food onto your plate without making a fuss.

Whenever your glass was even close to empty, Azriel would refill it with water, his movements smooth and efficient. His hand would often rest on your back or gently squeeze your knee under the table, as if to reassure you that he was there, that he was paying attention even when you were caught up in the conversation.

Azriel’s care was so effortless, so woven into the fabric of his actions, that it didn’t even register to you how much he was doing to ensure your comfort. It was just Azriel being Azriel—attentive, protective, and deeply in tune with your needs, even when you weren’t aware of them yourself.

At one point, Rhysand leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips as he watched Azriel refill your glass for what must have been the fourth or fifth time. “You know, Y/N, I’m starting to think Azriel’s taken it upon himself to be your personal waiter tonight.”

You blinked, looking up in confusion as the rest of the Inner Circle chuckled. “What do you mean?” you asked, glancing over at Azriel, who merely raised an eyebrow, his expression as calm as ever.

Mor grinned, leaning forward with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Oh, come on, Y/N. Haven’t you noticed? He’s been practically waiting on you hand and foot all night.”

Cassian snorted, gesturing with his fork. “He’s been serving you more than anyone else. And don’t get me started on the water refills. I’m pretty sure Az’s spent more time making sure you’re hydrated than eating his own dinner.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, a soft smile on her face. “It’s sweet, really. I mean, I get it—Azriel’s always looking out for everyone. But with you, it’s...extra.”

Your cheeks warmed slightly as you turned to Azriel, who simply shrugged, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “You didn’t seem to notice, so I just…did what I always do,” he said quietly, his gaze steady and filled with a gentle affection that made your heart flutter.

You felt a rush of warmth, suddenly hyper-aware of all the little things Azriel had been doing throughout the meal. The way he’d effortlessly made sure you had everything you needed, never drawing attention to himself, always so quietly attuned to you. You reached out, placing your hand over his on the table, squeezing it gently.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but filled with meaning. Azriel’s fingers intertwined with yours, his thumb brushing against your skin in that familiar, comforting way.

“Always,” he replied, his voice just for you, low and intimate.

Amren, who had been silently observing with a raised eyebrow, finally spoke up. “It’s nauseatingly adorable, but honestly, if I had someone making sure I was fed and watered like that, I wouldn’t complain.”

The table erupted in laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. You leaned closer to Azriel, resting your head briefly against his shoulder, and he responded by pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his shadows swirling around you like a comforting embrace.

“Guess I need to pay more attention,” you joked, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “I might’ve been missing out on the royal treatment.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to notice. I’ll always take care of you, whether you see it or not.”

And as the night went on, filled with more laughter and playful teasing, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. Azriel’s quiet acts of care were just one of the many ways he showed his affection, and it made you realize, all over again, just how lucky you were to have him by your side.

[readychilledwine]

hii!! i’m in love w your writing!!❤️❤️❤️ can i please request one where it’s azriel x reader. Feyre sees azriel wearing a ring on his left finger and asks,

” i’ve seen you wear that ring forever azriel, what does it mean? ”

” it’s my wedding ring ”

and her jaw drops bc she didn’t know he even had a lover.

” who is she? do i know her? what is she like? ”

he smiles faintly and says

” her name is y/n, she’s my mate and wife and she isn’t a warrior like us, she works at a library downtown. you don’t know her, only rhys and cassian do. we have a house in the outskirts in velaris. she is very sweet and i love her more than anything, our daughter is- ”

” YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER ????? ”

he nods and tells them all about her, he asks if feyre wants to meet reader and their daughter and feyre smiles and nods. He asks reader in the mating bond if it’s okay to bring her, nyx, rhys and cassian to dinner. reader says yes and azriel tells feyre he’ll pick them all up tonight before leaving to help his wife prepare. Reader meets feyre and become friends instantly, nyx and their daughter become friends aswell.

” how did i not know this?? this makes so much sense now. How he never sleeps here and he’s gone for days sometimes but not on missions. ” feyre asks rhysand.

”don’t worry i didn’t know for a long time either, Az is a very private person, he is extremely protective of his family. i’m glad he told me at all. either way he’s still a mystery sometimes, i learn new things about him all the time and i’ve known him for over 500 years” rhys says and laughs knowing your perfect for his brother 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️😭🥹😍

Haven

Warnings - none

A/n - I played with this for a while, rewrote it several times, and then made something that met in the middle of what came to mind, but still stuck with the request. Hopefully, you love it, dear 💜

Feyre had been in Velaris for 5 years. 5 long years and she had yet to figure out why Azriel kept a simple black band on his left ring finger at all times.

The two of them were on the couch, Rhys across from them, as they looked over maps of a few of the Illyrian Camps that had been recently renovated. The new cabins, mess halls, and dorms were a huge success, and figuring out the same layout for the remaining few was a huge topic of interest for the three smaller camps.

She glanced at the ring one more time before tapping it. Rhys and Azriel both looked at her, brows raised. "So, not magic," she muttered to herself. She tried spell cleaving it, "And not a ward or shield."

Azriel blinked at her, brows knit in silent question. Rhys had his hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Leave it to his wife to provide entertainment without knowing it was needed. "I-" she sighed. "You wear this ring all the time. I'm trying to figure out why."

Both of the males chuckled. "Probably the same reason you wear your wedding ring, Feyre Darling."

The High Lady made face, tapping the ring again. "Don't be ridiculous, Rhys. I would know if Azriel was married."

"Evidently not, my love."

Feyre and Azriel held eye contact, the male then going back to the maps. "Since I have extensive time in Steppes Peak, I think it would be easiest to move the mess hall here, at the base of the mountain, maintain the warroom in the carved out cave, and build better dorms here," he pointed to an empty part of the map.

Rhys nodded, drawing it out on the empty map he had. "I'm sure y/n will agree with whatever you say."

"Okay, stop." Feyre crossed her arms, pouting slightly at the two of them. "Azriel isn't married, and making up some name to make me feel stupid isn't kind."

Azriel sighed. He leaned back while dropping the scent ward he kept on himself at all times. He watched as her face fell. He knew his scent, chilled air and cedar, was the predominant one in the mateship, but now a soft floral scent, something like lavender and warm honey clung there softly.

"I've been married for longer than you have been alive, Fey." Azriel patted her hand. "I have a daughter older than you and another younger than Nyx."

He watched as her face fell, a small amount of hurt flashing across it. "Why didn't you tell me?" She paused, looking at the sleeping heir in his craddle. "We could be having play dates. I could have a friend who understands."

Guilt settled into his face as he pulled her into him. "I torture people for living, sweet sister. I execute people on your orders. I imprison people with a flick of your wrist." He tilted Feyre's head up. "Y/n has no combat training and refused to learn. She likes to sit at home writing poetry, baking, and cuddling our children. I do not bring her around or introduce them to anyone to keep them safe." His face held the ghost of a rare smile. "I think I've brought her to meet Rhys and Cassian once."

Rhys nodded. "I've met her once here and several times behind your back in town. Especially after my first niece was born."

Feyre kept her gaze on Nyx. "He could have a friend," her voice was distant.

Azriel stood, placing a kiss on her forehead as he did. "I'll be right back." Rhysand's smile grew wide. Folding the maps and putting them away. He moved to the liquor cabinet, bringing down one of his more expensive wines.

Azriel reappeared with you and both daughters in tow. Your oldest ran to Rhys, jumping on him and holding him tightly, her wings fluttering with joy as she did. "Hello, Amara," he nuzzled into her hair. "Missed you so much, baby girl. Cassian is on his way."

He walked with her in his arms to the table, setting the wine down and then carried her over to Feyre. "Would you like to meet your aunt?" She allowed Rhys to set her down and turned toward Feyre.

There was little question she was Azriel's. She was the beautiful artists dreamed of painting. Soft classic features framed with inky black hair that fell in gorgeous curls. "Feyre, this is our niece Amara. She's 56. She was my favorite suprise when I got home from the mountain."

She smiled shyly, keeping close to Rhysand. "Hi."

"Hi," Feyre didn't know what came over her, pulling the Illyrian female close to her and holding her. "I'm so excited to meet you."

Amara wrapped her arms around Feyre, returning the gesture. "Me too. Mom and I have been BEGGING dad for a while. But you know how the bats are."

The door slammed open, rushed loud footsteps and a panting filling the hall. "Where's my baby?!"

Amara pulled away from Feyre, smiling softly before moving away from all of them. She was rushed by Cassian, lifted up into his arms as he spun her.

Feyre looked to her side, noticing Azriel next to her, holding a swaddled bundle. "This is Iris. She's a month younger than Nyx." Azriel wouldn't look away from his daughter and her peaceful sleeping face. "I fear the day she loses her chipmunk cheeks."

Feyre looked around the room, trying to find the reason this was happening and felt her heart shift when she saw you, arm wrapped around Rhysand's bicep, looking at Nyx.

You were wingless, long dark hair braided back. Soft leggings and a sweater that was a few sizes too big covering your frame. Cassian had moved next to you, bumping you with his arm and smiling down at you. "He's so beautiful," your voice was a melody, a soft echo that brought calm to the room. "And so sweet. Look at those rosy cheeks."

Rhysand pulled you away, moving you back to Feyre. He handed you to Azriel, arms out expectedly. "Don't make me command it."

The shadowsinger placed his youngest in Rhysand's arms, hands shaking despite the trust between them, "Be careful with her. Please." Rhys nodded, moving over to Cassian. "Feyre, this is y/n, my wife and mat-"

Feyre didn't allow him to finish, hugging you instantly, tears lining her eyes as she did. "Please tell me we can be friends and cry about our babies together."

"I didn't realize that would even be a question. Of course we will be friends, and of course we will cry about all of the things. Our mates don't get it. Cassian, though, Cassian will join us."

The warlord stuck one finger in your direction. "Let me love them in peace, y/n."

You leaned into Feyre, "Has he cried while holding Nyx yet?"

She nodded. "Oh yeah. Big illyrian baby."

"The worst, aren't they? Rhysand, did you want me to make dinner?"

The High lord looked at Azriel, a small look of guilt on his face, "Please."

You squeezed Feyre's arm, kissing Azriel as you moved towards the kitchen. "You know where to find me if she needs me." He nodded.

Azriel moved to Cassian, watching like a hawk as the general snuggled the small babe in his arms. Amara was sitting by Nyx a look of love and adoration on her face as she sighed.

"She's perfect for Azriel in every way," Rhys stroked Feyre's hand. "I was nervous at first too when he brought her home. I was even more nervous when his fears manifested in the form of being deeply private with her. But she is perfect for him."

Feyre nodded, watching as Azriel glared as Cassian due to the loud squeak his baby had just let out.

"His girls are beautiful." Rhys hummed in agreement. "Y/n is beautiful."

Feyre moved to Amara's side, sitting next to her and smiling as her niece started asking questions.

She didn't realize it until now, but this was the missing piece. The part of the puzzle that had sat empty despite every thing around it being done. You and your girls were that lost center.

Now she just had to convince Azriel to keep bringing you around.

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers

[qqueenofhades]

I am FULLY ONBOARD the Harris/Waltz train, tho before this i was leaning towards Mark Kelly (AZ is a swing state! He's an ASTRONAUT!) If you want or have time, no pressure, but any thoughts on what makes Waltz a better pick?

I like Mark Kelly too, and since he's married to Gabby Giffords (having run for public office after she got shot and could no longer do so) he would have been an amazing pick in terms of supporting the first female POTUS. But he is a less charismatic public speaker than Walz (for whatever that's worth, but politics is a mess of Aesthetics and Vibes that matter as much and/or more than actual facts) and more moderate/conservative. He's been a great senator and picking him would defuse some of the BORDER IMMIGRATION BLAH BLAH!!! scaremongering that Republicans love to run on, but it would also leave open the possibility of losing a special election and other dangers with the Democratic senate that we really need to minimize. So Walz is a better choice for that alone, but also:

He really has serious progressive credentials as governor, even if he was a fairly mainstream Democrat (who flipped a rural red House district in Minnesota that Democrats have not been able to win again after he left) during his 12 years in the House. This is an INCOMPLETE LIST of what he was able to do in two years with a one-seat Democratic majority in Minnesota:

A Climate Action Plan that included:

Investing in energy infrastructure

100% carbon-free electricity by 2040 goal

Transition off of fossil fuels and onto clean energy resources

Building more electric vehicle charging stations

Providing funding to help workers acquire new skills through apprenticeship programs in clean energy fields

Direct state funding for transit

Money for rail

Tax credit for e-bikes

Permitting form to fast-track clean energy projects

And that was in addition to:

Codified abortion access in Minnesota

Guaranteed paid sick time and paid family and medical leave

Funded replacing ALL LEAD PIPES IN THE STATE

Free school breakfasts and lunches for all

Made public college free

Stronger labor protections

Drivers’ Licenses for All

Voting Rights Act to reverse recent court rulings that make voting harder, including restored voting rights to convicted felons

Banning medical debt from credit bureaus

The "Taylor Swift Bill" requiring all ticket "junk fees" be shown up front

Banning most "junk fees"

No book bans

Protection for tipped workers

Banned non-competes

Legalized recreational cannabis

Gun control, including increased penalties for straw purchases of firearms, expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years

Made MN a Trans Refuge State, and required health plans to cover “medically necessary gender-affirming care.”

Pay increase for Uber and Lyft drivers

Elimination of the so-called “gay panic defense”

A ban on “doxxing” election workers

A prohibition on “swatting” elected officials

In March, during the height of the Gaza/uncommitted primary protests against Biden, Walz said that young people should be listened to and they had a right to be speaking up and the situation in Gaza was horrible and intolerable, without directly slamming Biden or getting involved in the issue in a way to draw negative headlines. Regardless of what you think about any of it, that is a very deft way to handle it and pairs well with Kamala's better responsiveness on the Gaza issue overall. That was a big part of the reason why Gen Z/younger voters were very excited about Walz despite him being an "old" (actually the same age as Kamala but he has joked that teaching high school for 20 years will do that to a guy) white guy. If half the battle in politics is making the right pick to excite your core voters and reach out to new ones, then Harris nailed it. As I have said in earlier posts, there was just too much energy with young voters FINALLY checking in when Harris became the candidate, to risk introducing a big ideological split with Shapiro.

Aside from that: the most insufferable Smart White-Bro Political Pundits (TM) are big mad about Walz, many Never Trumper Republicans thought they were entitled to a "moderate" in exchange for oh-so-generously lending us their vote against Trump and not run the risk that we might end up with someone *gasp* progressive, and the regular MAGA Republicans are hysterical, which means they're terrified. It's also incredibly hard to paint Literal Midwestern Stereotype Dad (football coach, social studies high school teacher, military veteran, etc) as THE EVIL END OF AMERICA in the way they desperately want to do, though the fact that they're trying shows that they've got literally nothing. The fact that Kamala picked Walz against the PREVAILING WISDOM!!! that she had to take Shapiro (for whatever reason that might have been) is also a good sign, because by far the most genuine and extensive enthusiasm that I have seen from Democratic voters, especially those feeling burned out or disillusioned or angry with specific policy choices of the current administration, was for Walz. Having everyone excited for the pick beforehand, effectively using the "weird" line, and rallying behind the guy, only for her to actually go for him, is inspiring. It makes people feel like they're being heard and the Democrats have decided to win by being progressive, and not just endlessly Catering To The (Imaginary) Middle as they have always been told to do (and often done). That alone is MASSIVE.

Walz is tremendously funny, personable, has Democrats from AOC to Joe Manchin praising it (again, shocking), was right out the gate supporting Kamala, has already been majorly successful on TV, was by far the most progressive-on-policy picks of the VP finalists, is incredibly, hilariously wholesome and small-town Midwestern (he's the JD Vance that they wish JD Vance was), and is already sending ActBlue gangbusters with donations again. And when you're getting this kind of response on the Cursed Bird Hellsite, just:

Just. I don't know what's happening either. But let's enjoy it, and then work hard, because we gotta fucking do this and for possibly the first time this entire year, I really think we might. Heck yeah.

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part III

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1k | warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Next part | Masterlist

Feyre laughed as Rhysand had told her about Cassian’s most recent disastrous hookup. The female came by the townhouse, knocking furiously before stalking inside past the entire family, and serenaded all of them in song in hopes of finding true love with Cassian.

Rhys had to politely escort her out before telling Cassian to please limit his dating life to females who did not have singing ambitions.

Feyre’s voice was soft as they sat at the table, Rhys waving to the waiter to fill up their wine glasses. “What about Azriel? Does he have any awkward hookup stories?”

Rhys’s shoulders locked up at her question, swallowing harshly as he looked down to his glass. The light air between them sank quickly, the uncomfortable silence making Feyre antsy as the waiter topped off their glasses.

“No. No he does not.”

That conversation was all Feyre had known for a long, long time about Azriel’s love life. For years she would look up to find him watching her and Rhysand, Cassian and Nesta, and eventually Elain and Lucien, his eyes not lingering for long before quickly looking away. For years she had wanted to ask, but everytime she had the chance, she dropped the subject. 

She watched for so long as Azriel adored his friends, never extending that adoration to anyone outside of the Inner Circle. 

Once she had broached the subject with Cassian, playfully suggesting to him the two of them should set Azriel up on a date. Cassian had sobered up immediately, looking directly at Feyre before telling her simply, “do not ever make such suggestions again.”

Until today.

Feyre had walked into the foyer, expecting her mate and brother-in-law to be there. Rhys had tugged on their bond, but hadn’t sent words of explanation to her. Blue eyes moved between Azriel and Rhysand before landing on the female between them, brows quirked at the sight of her. She was pretty - an Illyrian nose and lips, dark curls down her back. Her ears were the first giveaway - sharpy, pointed tips that had dark curls tucked behind them. When she opened her eyes, violet eyes met Feyre’s, the High Lady didn’t have to wait for Rhys’s voice to fill in the gaps. The similar features to her mate would have been enough to give it away, if it weren’t also for the fact Feyre had just completed a set of portraits for Rhys - one to honor his deceased mother and sisters. 

She just had them hung up in the drawing room three doors away. 

Feyre took in the way they were both keeping some distance from her, but Azriel’s body was slightly in front of hers, ready to push her back if necessary. As if anyone, even Feyre, could be a threat.

She looked to her mate and watched the way his eyes kept flitting to her back at the empty space behind her, his hand lifting slightly and hovered over her back before his eyes met Feyre’s. 

Don’t tell her who we think she is.

Feyre wanted to ask him what the hell was going on, but the female in front of them moved forward, bowing at the waist deeply before addressing her. “High Lady.”

Rhys wanted to roll his eyes, the action a repeated one whenever you two bickered.

“My apologies, your grace.”

The bend of your waist just so, barely perceptible, a subtle way of saying this is obligation, not respect.

“Alright, asshole.”

The memory would have made him laugh if he weren’t watching it play out again before him. Feyre cleared her throat, moving forward and extending a hand out. “Welcome to our home.”

You took her hand, a firm grip that made Feyre nod. Rhys’s voice was soft in Feyre’s mind, we thought it might be better for you to show her around.

Feyre masked the surprise she felt, instead offering an elbow out to you. “May I show you around?”

Everything inside of Azriel vibrated as he had to stay in place, a mere observer as Feyre escorted you down the hallway, his restraint on his shadows loosening once you were out of sight. The dark tendrils slithered across the room, shadows clumped in the spots you were, basking in your scent. Several of them made their way to the path you took with Feyre, leaving footprints in your wake. 

“Feyre won’t let anything happen to her.”

Azriel’s eyes were practically black as he gazed at Rhysand, his throat dry as he spoke, the first words he had spoken since seeing you in that bar.

“It’s her, I know it is.”

And before Rhys could respond, Azriel disappeared into a swarm of shadows, several still lingering in his absence. Rhys watched them swirl about the room, watching them flit about in all the places you had been.

Azriel rematerialized in a place long untouched, his shadows slinking off of him and coating the ground at the comfort they felt at being back. The sounds of the Sidra helped drown out the ringing in his head as he walked the overgrown path, his shadows attempting to push down some of the grass to make his movements easier. His feet grew heavier with each step, making his way through the wards and the threshold, until the shadowsinger found himself standing in the front hallway of the house.

From here, he could see a sliver of the living room and of the kitchen. It was a limited view - one he spent many nights taking in, allowing his shadows to echo your voice through the house, allowing himself just one moment to play pretend.

From this vantage point, he couldn’t see who was inside the house. If he took a step forward, he would see the empty couches, the layers of dust that had accumulated since his last visit. He would see how dark and lifeless this place had come to be with only him to fill the space.

But he can’t see all of that yet. Instead his feet planted themselves in the spot, his shadows carrying your voice around like a song. 

Because for the first time in centuries, they finally had new notes to play.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage

series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchii @i-am-infinite @bsenpai @sstrohma @teenagellamaangel @allthatisbuck1917

Thanks for reading ❣️

[azrielwingspan]

'Someone' (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: The IC try to pry into your life and find out who you're crushing on.

Warnings : Noooone.

He was devastatingly handsome. Unfortunately for you, it did not bode well. You were supposed to be focusing on the meeting taking place and yet all you could think about was the shadowsinger seated opposite you.

"It would be best if we were to implement our previous strategy. What do you think Y/N?"

You snapped out of your daze and blinked slowly at your brother seated next to you. He looked at you expectantly as Cassian tried to stifle a laugh.

"Uhhh...yeah..we must...indeed." you choked out.

FOOL FOOL FOOOOOL. You screamed at yourself in your head trying your level best to get back your bearings and steer the meeting in your favor.

"Although, I do think we should discuss the previous strategy in detail and draw up a plan b in case things go south."

The others at the table nodded in agreement and you held in your sigh of relief. Rhys threw a suspicious glance your way but held his tongue. The people closest to you would describe you as an extremely focused and high functioning individual. Surprisingly for them and you , you were anything but that at the moment.

Azriel hadn't uttered a single word throughout the meeting instead choosing to listen attentively and observe , his usual mannerism. You stole another glance at him and froze. Fuck.

His eyes were trained on you, the gold piercing through the flecks of green and brown. Expression unreadable, he raised an eyebrow at your befuddled face. Giving him a crooked smile and almost wincing at how you must have looked, you turned your attention back to the matter at hand. Fantastic. Absolutely, truly fucking fantastic.

Putting in a ton of conscious effort, you managed to get through the rest of the meeting without making a fool of yourself again. Eventually, the conversation at the table turned into casual chatter. After all, everyone at this table was like family. You would fight for every single one of them.

"Y/N was heartbroken. It was rather funny to be quite frank." your head snapped in the direction of Mor who was shooting you a devious grin. It took a few seconds for the realization to kick in and you almost hid your face from absolute mortification. Today was going terrible.

"I was 25!! A CHILD in fae years." You defended yourself hiding your face in your hands. Laughter rose around the table and you sank further into your chair.

"Wait.." Feyre wiped a tear off the corner of her eye, trying to hold in her laughter. "so you're telling me, Y/N fell in love with a stable boy who was terrified of her? Why was he scared? What did you do?"

"She has this weird smile she ..." Rhys saw the glare you directed his way and a smug grin made its way onto his face.

"Okay..okay..I'm sure your love life has improved since then Y/N. Tell me, who is the unlucky guy these days?" Cassian asked sending everyone into a fit on raucous laughter yet again.

You were sure that everyone had noticed the way your shoulders tensed slightly. Cursing yourself for not doing a better job at hiding your emotions, you gave a casual shrug. "No one."

"Riiiiight." Cassian leaned back in his chair and looked to Azriel who had a small smile playing on his lips.

"What do you think Az? You're the spymaster after all."

"I don't pry into others personal lives brother." Azriel leaned forward placing his elbows on the table. "But...I might know who it is."

A flare of shock pulsed through you causing your heart to thump against your chest. Azriel noticed the change in your posture and let a small smirk slide onto his face. Handsome cocky bastard. Did he know?

You didn't think so. Aside from today, you had never given a hint of anything being strange or weird. He was probably playing mind games with you.

"So there is someone then." Mor's eyes twinkled , the makings of plan behind her eyes to glean the information from you later. You told Mor everything. After all, you were the best of friends. Which is why, you couldn't bring yourself to reveal this massive crush on Azriel yet. You knew Mor didn't love him that way and yet you couldn't speak to her about it.

"You guys are delusional. There is absolutely no one and I'm quite content thankyou very much. Also, spymaster..." you emphasized his title, giving him a sour smile "you need to brush up on your skills."

Azriel bowed his head trying to hide the grin blooming on his lips. "Now...if all of you are done gossiping about my non existent love life, I'm going to go spend some quality time with my new book." You left the room before any of them could notice the red blooming high on your cheeks. What you failed to notice however was a tendril of shadow reporting to its master about your flustered state.

That night as you were drifting off to sleep, a note was slid under the door into you room. It read

"It's hard not to pry when you're involved."- 'Someone'

You would be starting your morning with a heart attack tomorrow.

PART 2 OUT NOW ! READ HERE

Part 2 sneak peek here !

A/N: Let me know if you guys have any scenarios or ideas you want to read about. Would love to hear about them!

[sellasstories]

CLOSE (II)

word count: 4.9k

pairing: paige bueckers x azzi fudd

⚠️warnings⚠️:

slightly explicit themes, light angst, swearing

prompts:

what happens when two best friends with strong, undefined feelings quarantine together (part 2: paige)

in other words, the pazzi covid fic

Azzi gazes at the girl beside her, taking in Paige’s long lashes and the way the sun streaming in from the window is practically making the blonde glow.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Azzi says softly, leaning in and placing a hand on Paige’s arm. She realizes too late that she doesn’t know if her best friend is awake yet.

“Fuck, Az, not so loud,” groans Paige, not bothering to open her eyes.

Azzi jerks her head back in disgust. “Your breath smells awful!” She ignores the other part of herself that fixated on how the words sounded coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “Sorry, I just need to know what you did with the bottle,” she whispers, a hint of anxiety piercing her voice.

Paige only gets closer. Seemingly unbothered by Azzi’s concern, she buries her face in the dark-haired girl’s neck. “It’s hidden, we’re good.”

After the night she’s had, the feeling of Paige’s lips on her neck (which, she quickly realizes, has never happened before) is entirely too much for Azzi to deal with.

“Paige, tell me.”

“Closet. Hamper, under clothes.” Her head falls back onto the pillow and it seems like the blonde falls asleep almost instantly.

Azzi bites her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. And since she already seems to be in her own personal hell, she admits to herself that Paige may have had a hand in (or entirely been the cause of) the sudden swooping sensation in her stomach.

Looking around for her phone, Azzi takes two photos. The first shows the curtain of blonde hair doing little to hide all the points of contact between Paige’s face and Azzi’s neck. The second shows the pale hand nearly digging into Azzi’s exposed side, the pushed up hoodie (she’d always recognize it as Paige’s) making it look even more suggestive.

She knows it’s a bad idea, maybe even a terrible one, but she tells herself that she’s going to use them for something productive, like sending them to Imani (whoever she is) and telling her to back off. It doesn’t even sound convincing to her. She’s fucking ridiculous.

Reluctantly, Azzi pulls herself out of her best friend’s tight embrace, only managing to do so as the blonde appears to have completely knocked out again. She gives her head a firm shake but instantly regrets it as she feels her headache worsen.

Sighing, she stands up and makes her way to the bathroom. Soothed by the familiar morning routines of washing her face and brushing her teeth (the bitter aftertaste in her mouth taking a while to go away), Azzi is able to look at her reflection without wanting to scream.

Making fun of herself has always been her best defence mechanism, so she does a stupid pose in the mirror and takes a stupid photo of herself in Paige’s hoodie and posts a stupid ‘Who wore it better?’ poll on her private story. She’s been sitting on the counter brainstorming what to do with the bottle for less than three minutes when a FaceTime from Colleen covers her phone screen.

Azzi is quick to answer, not even getting a greeting in before her friend blurts out, “So what’s up with you and Paige?”

Eyes widening, Azzi hops off the counter to find headphones, frantically mashing the volume button down before Colleen can say anything else.

“What are you even talking about?” She whispers once she’s settled back in the bathroom.

The other girl shrugs. “Did something happen between you two?”

Azzi still doesn’t get it. “Like, a fight? We’re fine, I promise. Why are you asking, though? Did Paige say something to you?” She hopes her voice doesn’t sound as paranoid as she feels. It’s been a long 24 hours.

“Your story? It looks a bit… y’know,” Colleen smirks. “I figured it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t think you’d post it like that. I have to say, though, I thought Paige would be the type to leave hickies. Unless they’re just somewhere el-”

“SHUT UP!” Azzi shrieks, immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “How are you getting all of this from a photo? We’ve never even kissed!”

Colleen has the decency to look slightly apologetic. “Sorry, I guess you wouldn’t see it that way. Look at the photo again, Az. Try to understand, because I promise I’m not the only one.”

“Fine.” Azzi clicks on her story. Shit. Her hair is messy, her tongue is out in what she realizes now looks like a smug smile, and Paige’s hoodie is hanging off her in a way that makes it look like she’s not wearing anything else. Colleen is totally right.

“Oh, my god.” Her reaction is so genuine that Colleen finally drops the teasing.

“You really didn’t know, huh? Look, forget I said anything, but you might wanna think about taking it down if you’re worried about what people could say.” There’s an awkward silence as Azzi sits with her head in her hands.

Suddenly, she raises her head, eyes narrowed accusingly. “Care to explain what the fuck ‘a matter of time’ is supposed to mean? Does everyone know something I don’t?”

Colleen fails to suppress a giggle as she raises her hands in the air. “I was never gonna assume anything, but I figured you two wouldn’t be able to spend that much time together without… figuring it out. Apparently,” she rolls her eyes, “I was wrong.”

“I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but I can’t deal with this right now,” Azzi squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. “I’m so hungover, and I still have to deal with P and my parents.”

“You’re WHAT?!” Colleen’s screech of disbelief nearly sends Azzi falling off the counter a second time. “You don’t even drink… what the hell happened last night?!” It’s really more of a statement than a question, and Azzi has no choice but to explain.

Briefly, she considers telling Colleen everything, but she’s given up enough secrets recently, and it hasn’t gotten her anywhere good. The other girl believes her when she claims to have forgotten a large part of the night, and the story is apparently more interesting than the original subject of the call, of which Azzi is very grateful.

Miraculously, Paige is still asleep when Azzi hangs up the call and goes back into the blonde’s bedroom. She really needs to focus on making sure that she doesn’t get in a massive amount of trouble, but she can’t stop her eyes from continually drifting to her best friend’s sleeping form.

Telling herself that she and Paige can come up with a lie if worst comes to worst, she finally allows herself to do what Paige definitely can’t help her with — process the previous night. The cold wall against her back grounds her as she sifts through her feelings.

In hindsight, her best friend being queer isn’t all that surprising (Azzi does have eyes, after all), and really neither is Paige liking a girl. Even when it comes to Paige, Azzi tries to be logical and reasonable, but she’s only human. She can’t help but imagine all the girls that must be throwing themselves at the blonde (her brain conveniently chooses to ignore the fact that she doesn’t even know if Paige is out), and the jealousy sits heavily in her stomach.

Paige must be used to it, then, and according to Colleen, it looked like Azzi was one of the aforementioned girls. She cringes internally. Was it really that obvious? The problem is, though, that it must look like Paige has been reciprocating this hypothetical, unintentional flirting in some way. Azzi can’t think of any other reason for what Colleen had told her, and her friend had been very clear about it being something with both of them. She thinks about the way Paige held her while she cried, and she thinks that she might understand.

Azzi can’t tell if her head hurts from the hangover or the absurd mental gymnastics she’s undertaking, and she hasn’t even considered the dream yet. Wanting Paige is nothing new for her, but she’d broken too many of her own rules the previous night. She’s never messed up with Paige like that before, and she worries that it’s only going to get worse.

As her thoughts drift back to her conversation with Colleen, Azzi realizes that she never actually deleted the photo on her story. Maybe it speaks to how far she’s fallen, but it fills Azzi with a sick sense of pride as she looks at it with new perspective. Maybe she wants people to see this- maybe she wants Paige to see this, wants to know how her best friend would react.

Shutting her phone off, Azzi feels like she’s just made a pivotal choice, one she knows she wouldn’t have made a few months ago before Paige was living with her, and she’s going to have to make another purposeful concession to keep her sanity. Rationalizing once again, Azzi reasons that flirting with Paige just a bit wouldn’t be all that bad. The older girl might just be oblivious if Colleen is to be believed and they already have that outward dynamic.

Maybe her sudden feeling of giddiness is preventing her from seeing the obvious flaws of the idea, but the more she thinks about it, the more Azzi likes it. While there’s no guarantee that it will make her life any easier, it’s something that she can control, and she hasn’t felt in control of anything when it comes to Paige for years now.

By the time Paige wakes up, Azzi has two plans: the first one being another secret that she’s going to have to keep, and the second being something that she immediately goes to share with the other girl.

Paige is groggy and hungover, but somehow she gets past the rambling and mild panic in Azzi’s voice to understand what she needs to do. They’re able to sneak craft supplies onto the back deck, and Paige even manages to keep a straight face when she runs into Jose with the bottle under her hoodie.

She nods dutifully as Azzi explains the smashed bottle to her parents as a simple accident while trying to do a TikTok trend, and the girls escape with nothing more than a request to ask before taking anything else after promising to clean up the mess.

“You’re scary good at that,” Paige remarks as they’re squatting on the deck with dust pans in hand.

“At what? Lying?” Azzi asks absently. Smiling brightly, she picks up a big piece of glass and makes a heart out pink and purple glitter on it. The gesture makes Paige melt.

“No, at solving problems. You’re incredible, Az.”

The dark haired girl gives her a look. “Is this what you’re like hungover? All sappy and shit?” Her judgemental tone is offset by the fact that she’s currently making a second heart on another piece of glass.

“I’m like this all the time, what do you mean?” Paige pouts. “I know you love it anyway.”

“Mmm,” Azzi’s busy adding the finishing touches to her masterpieces. She carefully places them on the table before turning back to Paige.

Their gazes cross briefly and Azzi thinks maybe she sees something that looks like love. As she goes back to sweeping up the glass, she has to physically shake her head as she tells herself to get it together. She figures she must still be drunk or something.

But Azzi isn’t seeing things. Paige is lucky that the younger girl is distracted, because the lovestruck gaze that she’s failing to hide is the least of her worries. Since she woke up, there’s been a feeling that she just can’t shake, and she’s run out of explanations of what it could be.

Except for one, that is. Waking up tangled in Azzi’s arms this morning had felt different, and so, so right. Paige wouldn’t hesitate to say that Azzi was the person she was the most comfortable with, but never before had she considered the feeling that they belonged together.

That feeling had only intensified when Paige had accidentally brushed her lips against her best friend’s neck and then compounded it by holding Azzi’s side like she belonged to her.

Sure, that would’ve looked really bad. But what felt worse — not worse exactly, just… new and kind of scary — was when Paige, still drifting in and out of consciousness, heard Azzi’s anxious demands and found them only endearing.

Not long ago, she would’ve found herself getting annoyed, but even with the stress of covering their tracks pushing Azzi into her controlling state, the fondness in Paige’s heart still hasn’t dissipated. Does this mean Paige… has a crush on her best friend?

There, outside on the deck, Paige metaphorically gives Azzi her heart as the younger girl gives Paige a physical one. Paige thinks the broken glass that is the medium of Azzi’s creation makes a pretty good metaphor for her perception of their friendship. Shattered, splintered, permanently altered.

Trying not to say anything too sappy (or too insane for that matter, she has no idea how she came up with the broken glass thing), Paige elects to admire the methodical way that Azzi is now checking for missed pieces of glass.

When they finally go back inside, the first thing Paige does is place the glass heart on her night table so she can look at it every day. The second thing she does is open Snapchat, which is apparently a terrible decision. As soon as she clicks on Azzi’s story, that weird feeling is back, but it’s less surprising.

Azzi wears Paige’s clothes all the time, but she doesn’t normally draw attention to that fact the way this story so clearly is. Has the dark-haired girl always looked so good in Paige’s hoodies? Probably. Somehow, Paige had just been blind to it. She wishes desperately that it was still the case, because it would definitely be weird to ask her best friend to share clothes more often.

Groaning, Paige throws her phone onto the bed before flopping facedown after it.

“Whatcha doing, Paigey?” says Azzi in a singsong voice from the doorway.

Paige rolls over, not bothering to open her eyes. “I’m sleeping- or at least I was,” she says exasperatedly.

“Can I join you?” Azzi’s sounds seductive in Paige’s ears, and she has to open her eyes to confirm it’s just in her imagination. Fuck.

Azzi’s still wearing her sweater, and there’s definitely a slight smirk on her face as she stands with her arms crossed and her head tilted to the side.

“You look good in my sweater,” Paige mumbles sleepily. Shit, shit, shit. There’s no way she just said that out loud. Throwing her arm over her face to hide her blush, Paige misses Azzi’s smile widening.

“I know I do,” Azzi is closer now. She traces a finger down Paige’s bicep. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Just come here,” Paige whines. She moves her arm so Azzi can rest her head on it. At the younger girl’s sigh of contentment, Paige has to squeeze her eyes shut. She is so, so fucked.

•••••

‘Fucked’ is maybe an understatement. Paige doesn’t know what to do anymore. She really wishes she was able to keep her thoughts locked away. She knows Azzi would be able to.

At first, they’d been manageable and fairly harmless. She’d just catch herself staring at Azzi here and there and find that she had the urge to ask the other girl if she knew how beautiful she was. Sure, she’d noticed that Azzi was pretty before, but she hadn’t had time to really appreciate how her features complemented each other so well. Friends look at each other like that, right? Paige wasn't totally sure, but she’d sort of been able to convince herself that they did, backtracking on her earlier realization. That had worked for all of a few hours. Then she was right back to where she started, looking at Azzi like she wanted them to be something more than best friends.

Now that a few days had passed, it seemed that Azzi coming out to her had been both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, it had allowed Paige to come out with much less stress. She was never planning on keeping it from the younger girl (she didn’t think that was something she was even able to do), but she had never found what felt like the right time and it had been weighing heavily on her. She really didn’t think they could get any closer, but since the mutual confession, their bond felt even deeper.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have unlocked something in her subconscious mind. And that was the problem — not when she realized that Azzi was pretty, but when she realized that Azzi was hot. Like, really hot, so hot that she regularly got Paige worked up. The blonde would toss and turn in bed, thighs squeezed together, as she tried to push away some of the crazier thoughts, reminding herself that they were about her really hot best friend, not some random crush.

Knowing that Azzi liked girls had apparently given Paige’s brain new material and explicit permission to use it. Even though she was quick to dismiss the thoughts as soon as they popped into her head, she was bombarded by images of Azzi in various states of undress, doing things with her that girls who like other girls do. While they did make her feel a bit guilty, she wasn’t going to lie to herself and pretend that she didn’t also enjoy them. She also wasn’t going to pretend that, on the rare nights where Azzi wasn’t wrapped around her, her hand wouldn’t dip below her waistband as she allowed herself to briefly indulge in her newfound forbidden desires.

There is also a second (and admittedly more complicated) problem: Paige isn’t just attracted to Azzi, she’s pretty sure she’s in love with her. Like, the full-blown ‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you’ kind of love. She’d been drawn to the dark-haired girl since the day they met, and the more she actually thinks about it, the more she realizes that there was probably never a time where she wasn’t in love with Azzi. She goes back and forth between cringing at her own obliviousness and thanking the Lord for not making her have to live with it for all these years. She can’t imagine grappling with these feelings at the age of fifteen when even looking back at the mess of interactions from her short time at the Fudd’s is enough to give her a headache.

Even if this whole love thing is new, Paige would still consider herself something of an Azzi expert, or at least an expert on the way that Azzi acts around her. And she’s sure that it’s not the same as it was last week, or ever, for that matter. Because in all their years of friendship, Azzi has never whispered in Paige’s ear so close that her lips ghost across her skin, never ran her hands across Paige’s upper thighs, and certainly never looked at Paige with those eyes. And at the family dinner table, no less.

Well, she’s at least somewhat sure. Technically, Paige realizes she can’t be completely sure because she wasn’t exactly looking for it before. Maybe it was there all along and she was just oblivious. Or worse, maybe Azzi isn’t even doing anything and Paige is making it all up to serve her own interests.

But whether or not it’s in her head, it’s absolutely torturous. Nighttime fantasies aside, Paige wants it to mean something when she holds her best friend at night. She wants Azzi to know that the forehead kisses (a new habit she’s picked up) and words of affection whispered in the dark are a million little confessions, all uttered in place of one that she will never dare voice out loud.

She never imagined the thought crossing her mind, but sometimes Paige wants all of this to be over, almost needs to get away from Azzi for both of their sakes. But then her best friend will flash a smile in Paige’s direction and everything else melts away. Because Azzi has Paige wrapped around her finger, and Paige is hardly fighting it anymore.

•••••

Paige has seen Azzi in a bathing suit before, but not since she’s… figured some things out. When the dark-haired girl runs out of the house in a simple black bikini, Paige doesn’t even know where to look. There are so many places that she wants to but basically nowhere that she thinks would be appropriate at this point, so she settles for the safest option of locking eyes with Azzi. That turns out to be a mistake, because of course Azzi’s looking at her like that, and Paige wants to go back inside to hide from her.

Being unable to make eye contact with her best friend, Paige’s gaze inevitably shifts downwards. The blonde has enough self-awareness to realize that the look on her face as her eyes snag on Azzi’s lips and collarbones is something she never wants the other members of the household to see. She schools her features into neutrality as she turns around, confusion quickly clouding them when she sees only Tim at the grill.

“Where are Katie and the boys at?” she asks.

A brief smile ghosts across Tim’s face. “Inside, I guess,” he shrugs dismissively. “They’ll be out soon, I’m sure they’re getting dish soap or something.”

Paige doesn’t have long to ponder his evasive answer before Azzi is calling her over.

“Come help me with these staples!”

The DIY slip-n-slide was another idea they’d seen on Tiktok, and when the forecast predicted a particularly hot and sunny day, it seemed like the perfect time to try it.

Paige and Azzi are securing the last corner of the plastic sheet when they’re finally joined by Azzi’s mom and brothers. Only Katie is holding a bottle of dish soap, which Paige registers as somewhat suspicious, but she’s quickly distracted by Tim’s call to come eat.

—

They try the slip-n-slide after lunch. After much bickering, Azzi gets to be the first to go. She slides gracefully on her stomach, laughing joyfully the whole time, before jumping to her feet and turning to Paige with a huge grin on her face.

Paige would be the first to tell anyone how much she loves Azzi’s smile, but she barely registers it this time as her eyes latch onto a water droplet on Azzi’s shoulder and her earlier attempts not to look are all for nothing. Almost hypnotically, her eyes follow the trail of water past her best friend’s collarbones, between the valley of her breasts, and across her abs before it soaks into her bikini bottoms. Paige fully takes in the warm brown skin glistening with soapy water and it’s just so much. All Paige wants to do is touch, anywhere she can. She’s imagining running her hands down her best friend’s body in very inappropriate ways when Jon’s voice next to her snaps her back into the present.

“Hello, Earth to Paige?” he yells, practically screaming in her ear. Face burning, the blonde’s eyes snap away just in time to watch Azzi’s youngest brother turn the hose on her.

“Oooh, you’re so dead for that!” she shrieks, chasing after him.

It soon becomes apparent what Katie and the boys were doing when Jose comes running out of the house with a huge bucket of water balloons. He starts chucking them at Paige and Jon, who are wrestling in the grass, and soon the whole family is having a water balloon fight.

Paige and Azzi try to seek shelter behind a table, but it turns out to be a bad decision as the rest of the Fudds gang up on them. With their supply dwindling, both girls jump up and run across the yard, dodging many balloons but still getting soaked.

“Please, spare us,” Paige cries as she ducks behind Azzi. “You wouldn’t hurt your sweet sister, would you?”

Jon and Jose consider it for about three seconds. “Fuck family, this is war!” Jon shouts, earning a cheer from Jose and poorly masked laughter from Tim and Katie. The onslaught continues, with Paige still trying to use Azzi as a human shield.

If Paige’s hands slide when she puts them on Azzi’s sides to reposition her, surely it’s just because of the soapy water. If they brush across Azzi’s abs as she turns around to push the older girl away, Paige’s breath certainly doesn’t catch in her throat. And when the girls lose the water balloon fight, it’s definitely because it was basically two against four and not because Paige was horribly, atrociously distracted.

—

“Today was really fun,” Azzi muses as they lie in her bed that night.

“Easy for you to say when you didn’t get a sunburn,” Paige winces at the slight sting as her back rubs against the sheets.

“That’s because I’m better than you,” Azzi shrugs like it’s obvious. “Don’t worry, I still think you look cute… even if it means you won’t let me cuddle you tonight.” She yawns and rolls over.

Paige freezes. What the fuck? Her brain is telling her that there’s no way she heard Azzi right, but with the way her best friend has been acting, it almost makes sense.

Shaking her head, Paige shifts around before deciding that the least painful sleeping position is flat on her back. When Azzi slinks her way into Paige’s arms, the older girl grits her teeth against the pain, never once considering pushing the dark-haired girl away to ease her discomfort.

—

Paige is in a desert. Her burnt skin stings under the sun and the hot sand scorches her feet as she stumbles desperately towards a jagged mountain, the only landmark for miles. She’s disappointed to discover that it offers no shade, but hope blossoms as she circles it.

The back of the mountain is an imposing rock face, but all thoughts of trying to climb it are dispelled when a small dark line running down it catches Paige’s eye. She draws closer and is relieved to find that it’s a trickle of water descending from the top of the mountain hundreds of feet above her. The rivulet is scarcely wider than one of Paige’s fingers, but she desperately presses her tongue to the rock, needing to get as much as she can in case it runs out.

The first drop of water invigorates her. It tastes like dreams and desires and a million other things all at once, and soon Paige doesn’t think she could stop lapping it up if she tried. The water drips down her chin and she welcomes the sensation. The trickle grows into a stream and still Paige keeps drinking, closing her eyes as it washes over her like a baptism.

Paige’s senses are flooded by vanilla and jasmine and she has only one thought. Azzi. When her tongue brushes against the rock face again, it’s not the rough feeling she’d gotten used to, causing Paige to open her eyes in shock. She’s on her stomach on what appears to be a flat rock in the middle of an oasis.

But Paige barely has time to take in her surroundings because right under her is the source of her desires. Azzi has an arm thrown carelessly over her eyes, legs spread so that Paige can lie between them, her head inches above the other girl’s smooth, toned stomach. Paige realizes what she’d felt on her tongue and dips her head down, experimentally tracing the path of a water droplet up Azzi’s stomach. She swallows thickly, revelling once more in the heavenly taste of it.

“Why’d you stop?” Paige’s head snaps up. They make eye contact for the first time, Azzi’s relaxed body language juxtaposed by the lust darkening her deep brown eyes.

Paige realizes that Azzi’s wearing the black bikini top she loves, but as her arm brushes the dark-haired girl’s bare hip bone, she’s not brave enough to look down.

“It’s just us here,” Azzi purrs. She arches her back slightly so she can reach the knot holding her top on. “Just you and me.” Azzi fixes Paige with an intense stare, not once breaking eye contact as she begins to pull her top off.

Azzi’s scent is intoxicating, clouding Paige’s senses and leaving her almost in a trance. “You know what I want, baby.” She licks her lips.

Paige doesn’t know if it’s the pet name or the sultry tone of Azzi’s voice, but her head is starting to feel fuzzy.

“I- I do,” she says almost reverently.

“Good girl,” Azzi murmurs. “Think you can do that for me, then?”

And Paige finds herself nodding eagerly, letting soft hands tangle in her hair as Azzi gently pushes her head down.

—

Paige wakes up absolutely parched. She tries not to be disappointed when the water she gulps down tastes nothing like the elixir from her dream. There’s only one thing that she thinks could possibly taste that good, and it’s the one thing she can’t possibly have.

[ri-writes-if]

Oracle falls into some river/pond and the Ros have to go now fish out the poor soaked rat looking thing.

I wrote a thing 👉👈 or five. A little suggestive!

A soft gasp sounds before the water swallows you. Between that and Vez carrying you to the surface passes less than ten seconds. You hear a heavy flap of wings, but as you turn your head to look behind Vez’s back, they disappear.

A shiver runs through your body, the chilling air biting your skin. Vez stands on the ground near the pond, dripping wet just like you. They don’t put you down yet.

Vez looks over you—over your soaked clothes—in a slow inspection. Your face feels suddenly hot.

They give you a knowing look, and a sly smile appears on their lips. “Should I help you warm up?”

Os looks at you, unimpressed. “If you wanted to swim, you could just say so.”

You throw them a glare. “Help me up.” It’s a petulant tone no one in their right mind would use with Os, but you couldn’t care less about your manners right now. You raise your hand, swimming closer to the edge.

Os arches a brow, not hurrying to help you. “It seems like you’re doing just fine. I’m sure you can get out by yourself.”

You grip their legs and pull them forward. Os eyes widen, but they react too late.

After falling into the water, they quickly rise to the surface and wipe their face. They’re not annoyed. Instead, they look at you blankly for a second.

“Fine.” They smile slowly, their gaze hardening. “Let’s play.”

Your teeth chatter, and tears well up in your eyes. “This is cold. You’re insane.”

Laz sighs in pleasure, throwing more water into their face. You swim near them, looking at them sullenly. Noticing your expression, they draw closer and pull you into their embrace. Their body is still hot somehow, so you press against them, putting your hands on their back to warm yourself.

“Relax,” they say with a smile. “It’ll get better in a moment, once you get used to the temperature.”

“Get used… my ass,” you mutter.

They pinch your backside, making you gasp. You swat their arm.

“I’m at my wit’s end,” you complain. “One more thing, and I’m getting out of here or crying.”

They caress your cheek, wiping either a tear or a trail of water. “I could try to make you cry for another reason if it’d help.”

You want to say it wouldn’t, but they swallow your complaint with their lips.

Ash throws their dry robe over your body. You’re cold, but so are they, yet they don’t look like it. While you’re shivering, with your teeth chattering, they stand calm, like nothing has happened. The only traces of the incident are their wet clothes and the water sliding down their face.

“Sorry,” you mutter as they tie up the robe for you. You want to say something else, especially seeing as they don’t react, but before you can, they raise you into their hands. You inhale sharply.

“I could comb your hair,” you offer as another apology. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“Why would I be angry with you?” they ask, baffled.

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I was thinking about the quickest path to our chamber. And that you need a warm bath.”

“You don’t?”

Their cheeks flush at your question. They avoid looking at you, but they nod briefly. You hum.

“We need a warm bath,” you say, “so let’s share.”

Though they keep their expression blank, the blush spreads to their ears. You smile and lean in to place a kiss on their cheek.

You would’ve cursed your clumsiness a minute ago, but now it doesn’t seem so bad.

Their arms circling around your waist, Az quickly pulls you to the surface. You both gasp for air. The chilling water makes your limbs ache. You turn to them, wanting to thank them for help, but when you see them, the words don’t come.

They look beautiful even like this, with their hair wet and their skin glistering with water drops. They’re beautiful—and very, very close.

They notice it too, their gaze slowly rising from your mouth to your eyes. “Well, here we are,” they whisper, their warm breath touching your lips.

You hum, unable to look away from them.

“Was this your plan all along?” they ask with a playful smile.

Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss them.

[onebadassunicorn]

Coffee and Cream

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: longing, regret, jealousy, some fluff

word count: 1.4K

Permanent Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86

********

The heavy oak doors of Rita’s creaked open, and the familiar pulse of music and laughter spilled out into the night. Azriel stepped inside, Cassian at his side, both of them still carrying the sharp edge of exhaustion from a week of relentless training. The bustling crowd seemed a world away from the battlefield, a refuge where stress melted into liquor and the sway of bodies under the low golden lights.

Cassian clapped Azriel on the shoulder, already scanning the room for trouble or, more likely, a pretty face.

"Come on, Shadowsinger. Let’s find you a drink before you brood yourself into the shadows."

Azriel managed a small, wry smile, though his eyes were already sweeping the room out of habit—taking in exits, gauging threats, noting the layout.

But then his gaze froze, and the air seemed to thin around him.

There you were.

It had been years since he’d seen you, though he had tried not to think of you in all that time.

And yet here you were, standing at the edge of the dance floor, laughing as another male twirled you beneath the soft glow of the lanterns. Your long black hair cascaded down your back in soft waves, shimmering like midnight silk under the golden lights. Your dark green eyes sparkled with mirth, framed by lashes that seemed to dance with every blink.

And your figure—curves in all the right places—moved effortlessly with the music, drawing every gaze in the room.

Including his.

And that dress—cobalt blue, one of his favorites on you—clung to your form in a way that made his chest tighten.

He remembered that dress, remembered how it looked when he had danced with you beneath the stars, and how it had pooled on the floor when he’d carefully undone the ties.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully.

His shadows, ever his loyal companions, coiled tighter around him, as if sensing the storm building within.

He should look away, should turn his attention elsewhere, but he couldn’t.

He watched as the male’s hands settled lightly on your waist, guiding you closer. You laughed again, the sound cutting through the haze of music and chatter, and something sharp twisted in Azriel’s chest.

The faintest trace of your perfume reached him—soft, floral, and uniquely you.

It was the scent he’d memorized long ago, the one that haunted his dreams.

And now it was driving him mad.

All these memories of you together came rushing back.

Having dinner together, the way you’d always reached for his hand across the table without thinking.

Dancing on the balcony at 2 AM when neither of you could sleep, the city lights casting a silver glow over your faces.

Chasing each other in the rain, laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

And then, the most intimate memories—the way you had come undone beneath him, whispering his name like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

"Az?" Cassian’s voice snapped him out of it, and Azriel turned his head sharply. Cassian followed his line of sight, his brow furrowing as he spotted you.

Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by something wary as he glanced back at Azriel.

"You all right?" Cassian asked quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced with concern.

Azriel forced himself to nod, though his jaw was clenched tight enough to ache. "Fine."

Cassian didn’t buy it. "Fine? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost."

Azriel’s throat tightened, and he looked away, willing himself to breathe evenly. Cassian studied him for a moment longer, looked at you on the dance floor, then asked, "Why… why did you let her go?"

The question hit like a blow to the chest. Azriel’s shadows writhed around him, and for a moment, he couldn’t answer. Finally, he muttered, "I thought it was the right thing to do."

Cassian’s brows lifted. "The right thing?"

Azriel’s voice was low, almost too soft to hear over the music. "She deserved better."

Cassian snorted, though there was no humor in it. "Better? Az, you’re one of the best males I know. If you think anyone’s better than you for her, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought."

Azriel didn’t respond.

What could he say?

He’d believed it then, and part of him still did.

He’d thought he was sparing you a life overshadowed by his darkness, his scars.

But now, watching you with someone else, the bitterness of regret coated his tongue.

What if he’d been wrong?

What if he’d let go of the best thing he’d ever had, all because he hadn’t believed himself worthy of it?

Cassian gave him a nudge. "Go talk to her."

Azriel’s jaw tightened. "No."

"Why not?"

Because she looks happy, he thought.

Happier than she ever did with me.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. Instead, he shook his head. "It’s been years, Cass. She’s moved on. I’m not going to ruin that."

Cassian’s expression softened, but he didn’t push further. "Suit yourself. But don’t stand here and torture yourself all night. Either have a drink or… I don’t know, go brood in a corner like you usually do."

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, though it lacked any real humor.

His eyes drifted back to you, just as you turned your head, your laughter faltering as your gaze swept the room.

Then, as if sensing something, your eyes locked on his.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Your smile faded, your dark green eyes widening slightly as recognition flickered across your face. The male beside you noticed, leaning in to murmur something that made you laugh nervously, your attention shifting back to him.

But Azriel had seen the look in your eyes—that brief flicker of something unspoken, something unresolved.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to make him wonder if maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t been the only one who’d never quite let go.

As you excused yourself from the male you were dancing with to head to the ladies' room, Azriel found himself moving towards you without conscious thought.

He didn't know what he was doing, only that he couldn't let you disappear from his sight again.

As you emerged from the ladies' room, you were surprised to see him waiting. Your brows lifted slightly as your lips parted.

"Azriel?" you asked, your voice softer than you intended. "What are you doing here?"

For a moment, he simply looked at you, the words caught in his throat. His shadows curled lazily at his back, restless, uncertain. Finally, he swallowed and spoke, his voice low and rough. "I— I just… I wanted to see how you were doing."

You studied him carefully, your expression unreadable. "I’m… I’m good. And you? How have you been?"

Azriel hesitated, his throat tightening.

The truth was, he hadn’t been the same since he let you go.

He had buried himself in duty, in training, in endless nights of exhaustion just to stop thinking about you.

And yet, here you were, standing before him, looking like every dream and every regret he had ever known.

"I’ve been… managing," he finally admitted, his gaze flickering over your face, searching for something he wasn’t sure he had the right to seek. "But seeing you again… it’s—different."

Your lips curved into a small, hesitant smile, something wistful lingering in your expression. "Yeah. It is."

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow morning?"

You blinked, surprised, then a soft smile spread across your lips. "Sure. You know which cafe to find me."

Azriel's lips twitched into something softer, something almost hopeful. "If I get there first, I’ll grab us a table. And I’ll order your coffee for you."

You raised a brow, amused. "Oh? You remember how I take my coffee?"

His gaze darkened slightly, the intensity behind it nearly stealing your breath. "I’ve never forgotten. Black, with a little bit of cream. I remember everything about you."

Your breath caught for just a moment before you laughed, shaking your head. "I can’t believe we’re doing this. Why are we doing this?"

Azriel laughed, a genuine, hearty laugh and grinned, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders as he watched you. "I don’t know."

You shook your head again, still smiling as you moved to walk past him. You turned and glanced back.

"See you tomorrow morning, Shadowsinger." You murmured, disappearing back into the throng of people on the dance floor, leaving Azriel standing in the hallway, his heart lighter than it had felt in years.

[danikamariewrites]

I love your writing so much!!!! Can I ask for Azriel fluff where reader is touch starved and loves skin to skin contact, especially while cuddling/sleeping 🥰

I Just Feel You

Azriel x reader

A/n: this is the cutest thing omg and thank you sm ❤️

Warnings: nudity, fluff

As you and Azriel got ready for bed you were lost in thought. Holding a shirt you stole from Azriel all you could think about was how you didn’t want to wear it tonight. But you weren’t totally sure if he wanted to sleep naked if it wasn’t after sex. Even then you would throw a sleep shirt on.

Skin to skin contact with Azriel was semi rare. He was still reluctant to let you hold his hand. You want that to change though. You’re a very touchy, cuddly person and your last boyfriend didn’t like that. He’d push you away when you tried to hug him.

You understand why Azriel is reluctant with some things, but he is an affectionate person.

You carefully fold the large, black shirt and place it back in the draw. You head towards the bathroom where Azriel is just finishing up his nightly routine.

Leaning against the door frame you lovingly look up at Azriel. He’s so beautiful. Every time you look at Azriel his stunning features take your breath away.

Without looking away from the mirror above the bathroom sink he smirks at you, “Its rude to stare sweets.” A blush creeps up your cheeks as you quickly look at your feet. Azriel’s near silent footsteps slowly make their way to you.

Scarred fingers gently caress your chin as Azriel tilts your face up. He smiles at you, those hazel eyes sparkling in the fae light like hidden gems. His shadows brush through your hair and run down your arms, calming your heating skin.

“You look like you have something to ask me, sweets.” You give him an incredulous smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “And how would you know that?” You quip back. Azriel give your chin a light squeeze, letting out a small chuckle, “Spymaster, remember?”

“How could I ever forget,” you say sarcastically. “What did you want to ask me sweets?” You lean into Azriel’s touch letting out a deep sigh.

“I just…” you were hesitant to ask him. “You can ask me anything. No judgement, I swear it.” That made you feel better already.

“Can we cuddle tonight?” Azriel’s smile widened, “Of course. I’ll always hold you when you want y/n. Is that all you wanted?” “Well yeah, but I have another request.” Azriel nodded for you to go on.

“I like skin to skin. It’s a nice feeling, to be secure and stuff,” you continue to babble but Azriel silences you with a kiss. “I know it’s hard for me to show affection but I swear to you I’m working on being better. And if this helps you, I’m happy to do it.”

You and Azriel stripped, leaving you just in your underwear. Climbing under the covers Azriel pulled you to his bare chest, wrapping an arm and wing around you.

He felt soft and warm. For the first time you felt Azriel’s hands gently roam your body. You could tell he was unsure because of his scars. But you didn’t tense or shy away from his touch. If anything it comforted you.

You wrap one arm around his neck while your free hand traces his Illyrian tattoos. As your eyelids droop your movements become slower and slower.

“G’night Az,” you mumble into his neck. “Goodnight sweets. Sweet dreams.” Azriel kisses your forehead, watching you drift off.

[acourtofthought]

Elain and her Father

He was smiling mildly at his beloved Elain, the only one of us who bothered to really speak to him at all.

My father smiled freely, laughed readily, and doted on Elain, who in turn doted on him.

Elain quietly washed his face. Combed out his hair and beard. Straightened his clothes. She found flowers—somewhere. She laid them at his head, on his chest. We stared down at him in silence. “I love you,” Elain whispered, voice breaking.

Tears slid down Elain’s pallid cheeks as she adjusted an errant flower on our father’s chest, white-petaled and delicate, and then backed away to my side with a nod.

Like the rest of us, Elain’s recovery was ongoing. She’d wept for hours the day I’d taken her to a wildflower-covered hill on the outskirts of the city—to the marble headstone I’d had erected there in honor of our father. I’d turned his body to ashes after the King of Hybern had killed him, but he still deserved a resting place. For all he’d done in the end, he deserved the beautiful stone I’d had carved with his name. And Elain had deserved a place to visit with him, talk with him. She went at least once a month.

had a portrait on the wall along one side of the grand staircase: him and Elain, smiling and happy, as they’d been before the world went to shit. Sitting on a stone bench amid bushes bursting with pink and blue hydrangea. The formal gardens of their first home, that lovely manor near the sea.

Elain went forward, whispered a few things to their father’s grave,

Cassian about Papa Archeron:

Feyre’s father … and Nesta’s father. Cassian blocked out the memory of the man’s neck being snapped. Of Nesta’s face as it had happened.

Lucien about Elain's father:

But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” A sad, small smile toward that burnt grass. “He managed to cut a deal with Vassa’s keeper to come here. Temporarily, but … better than nothing.

But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

Lucien had been there, Cassian recalled. Had gone with Nesta’s father to the lake where Vassa was held captive.

Az about Elain's father:

...............................................................................

..............................................................................

You mean to tell me Sarah wrote Lucien and Cassian reaching for Elain and Nesta during the Cauldron scene, with Az reaching for Mor.

She wrote both Lucien and Cassian as showing concern for the sisters after the events of the Cauldron.

Neither Lucien or Cassian named the sisters powers but they demonstrated that the girls powers were not more important to them than their health and well-being overall.

And then she wrote their confirmed mates as being the ones who were there with the girls during or immediately after what was a extremely traumatic event for them in relation to their father.

She wrote Lucien as having been there with the sisters to witness the scorched earth where their father once lay. With Lucien offering his condolences. With Lucien having met him. With Lucien knowing he was a good man and how he loved them all very much.

But she never wrote a single line about Az and Papa Archeron though he was extremely important to Elain, never wrote Az reaching for Elain during the Cauldron, wrote Az drawing straws to avoid staying with her during her depression.

But some still think a dagger she didn't even want, naming that she was a Seer (like Rhys confirmed Nesta was Death), a few flirty glances and an almost kiss between e/riel is the biggest predictor of endgame in this series?

[halemerry]

I’m doing it. I’m breaking down the Scene. You know the one. I've been tearing it apart for a week straight now in discord and figured I should leave my observations here. So, uh, yeah, this one's a big one so buckle up folks!

I want to start with the build up because I can never leave well enough alone and because I think the framing we have coming into this sequence is important. We start with the camera on Mr. Acts of Service himself. Crowley, after banishing Muriel, starts cleaning up the bookshop. The music playing is the soft slow rendition of the opening theme. He is returning this space to the status quo, resetting back to normal, fully intending to do this for Aziraphale before dragging him out to the Ritz, falling back on their typical pattern of going out together for food and drink.

Now in a moment he's going to get interrupted by Nina and Maggie but before we get there I want to take a second to draw attention to the area of the bookshop that Crowley will be operating in for the bulk of this. This space is one we very frequently see Aziraphale in. It's his desk behind the till - a spot linked intrinsically to him, even down to the fact that it's located on the east side of the shop. The windows are throwing beams of light onto Aziraphale's chair and onto the same spot Crowley will stand during The Scene. This lighting choice will not change from now until our last shots in the bookshop and the way the blocking plays around these sunbeams is very aware (as Good Omens nearly always is) of exactly where they will land.

Nina and Maggie enter the scene to have a chat about boundaries and communication. Maggie, his own mirror, tells him flat out that he can't play with their lives like that. Maggie and Nina then both tell him that he and Aziraphale need to talk. And I don’t think they're wrong, exactly, but I do think that Aziraphale and Crowley are actually a lot better at communicating in general than they are in these following high stakes scenes. But that's some meta for later - for now I want to just focus on the particular way Crowley's been primed for the conversation he and Az are about to have. Nina in particular does something really interesting. She does exactly what we as the audience did when we first saw Nina and Maggie: she mistakenly projects herself onto Crowley. She says he has trust issues because she does and in the process accidentally frames the core of their problem as Crowley needing to allow himself to trust Aziraphale, a thing that he actively already does and has done for quite some time and has been shown to us several times throughout the two seasons.

Now the build up we get for Aziraphale going into this conversation is very small. By which I mean practically non-existent. We start at the end of his conversation with the Metatron who tells him to go tell his friend the good news - which notably does not imply that the news is something that would require Crowley to make a choice - and sends Aziraphale on his way. Now the most crucial thing in this sequence, to me, is the expressions Aziraphale makes when he thinks the Metatron isn't looking at him. While polite and smiley when engaged with him, Az's expression falls as soon as he doesn't have eyes on him. Something is wrong and Aziraphale knows it.

Aziraphale enters the shop. The doorway is dark and shadowy and he hasn't composed himself yet - though he does give Nina and Maggie a little smile as they leave. Then, as soon as they're not looking at him, but before he approaches Crowley, the tension is back.

He hesitates, then smiles and approaches Crowley. Crowley, planted dead center in that beam of light from earlier, takes off his glasses and promptly starts nervously rambling. The music cuts off here entirely, giving us nothing to focus on but the noises coming from our lead actors, the background noise from the street, and the ticking of the clock in the background. Aziraphale puts up his hands like he's going to interrupt then lowers them again as Crowley keeps talking, his face shifting into this helpless sort of smitten look.

Now look at the light and how it hits the bookshelves behind Crowley as he tries to get his confession going. It's in the shape of a wing. Keep an eye on that - when the camera chooses to show us this one wing of light is important.

Aziraphale then interrupts and there are two things I want to draw attention to here as Aziraphale fumbles for words. First of all is the fact that he glances in the direction of the door (and the Metatron) at least three times as he's struggling to speak.

Secondly, I want to draw attention to the words Az actually says here. He first echoes the Metatron's earlier statement about good news. He then does not roll into the news itself and instead glances at the door and says the Metatron. He starts rambling about the Metatron to a very confused looking Crowley and evetually talks his way into that the Metatron said something. He then hits a wall again, scrambling to find words and instead of explaining the context of what the Metatron says he lands on Gabriel. His brain latches onto someone obviously on the forefront of both their minds and something vaguely relevant to the news he's about to share. He rambles more about Gabriel's job, glancing once again at the door in the middle of this, still avoiding getting to the actual point or perhaps even synthesizing said point as he goes.

We then cut to what is framed as a flashback. I think it is very notable we only see this as Az is telling it to us. In other words that this is not us witnessing an event happening but us witnessing what Aziraphale is telling Crowley. This sequence is the single scene where the Metatron calls Crowley by name despite actively avoiding it in any real time continuity sequences. He uses it twice here which I think also is the strongest thread in here that tells us that we are seeing what Crowley is being told not necessarily what actually happened.

The instant the idea of restoring Crowley comes up the wing of light behind Crowley loses visibility. Crowley's speechless for a moment so Aziraphale fills the silence, already looking like he wants to cry as he talks about the old days. (I also can't help but to notice that the lights behind Az in this shot look like eyes.) Crowley finally speaks and circles around the beam of light he's been standing in like an object seeking to re-establish a source of gravity. The music cuts back in here with tense drawn out notes.

Crowley talks about how Hell offered him his place back and he turned them down. Aziraphale in turn presses on ideas that we know he doesn't really believe. It's a echo of the bandstand and uses a lot of the same language of that fight - another fight we know features Aziraphale saying things he knows aren't true. By now, we have seen him multiple times this season express he does not want to go back and make it abundantly clear that the side they have made for themselves is important to him. We see him actively calling angels bad and incompetent, contrary to everything he's telling Crowley here. We see him be the one to repetitively remind Crowley that they are on their side and be the one that always draws attention to that first. Yet here he says Heaven is the side of light to Crowley - who by the way is literally framed in light. The frame is telling us outright that Crowley is already Good as he is, while Az's expressions are telling us he knows Heaven isn't.

Aziraphale can't tell him that he did not turn down the job and Crowley does another orbit. The music cuts again. This time, he stops with his back to Az, tilts his head upward and decides to ruin me by invoking God.

Here he is, hearing these awful things that he was sure they had moved on from, hearing these things he has tried for so long and so hard to help them both unlearn. But these sorts of habits and lessons are insidious and he knows that and he himself is even a victim of that himself. I mean, don't get me wrong, he recognizes this is weird, I think, but between his own self worth issues and the stress of the few days they'd had can't work out what exactly is off here. He's confused and lost and just been told, in his mind, that he is not good enough as he is - a thing he has always on some level also believed. Yet he reaches out to the parent that taught him that lesson in the first place for strength and grounds himself with that. He circles back to stand in the beam of light and, with that wing of light finally backlighting him again, he is brave and tries to be enough anyway. He bows his head downward, fully emerging the line of this body in the light and tries again. Because even now, even after that emotional blow, Crowley is an optimist who can't help but to try.

At first Aziraphale can't figure out quite what is going on here. He squints at Crowley and glances at the door again. Crowley meanwhile keeps continually glancing upward, whether at God or to hold back tears or some combination of both. In most of these shots Crowley bisects the room, creating a dark half to his left and a light half to his right.

Crowley says he relies on Aziraphale. Even here, even now when he's just hurt him. Because it is the truth. Because Aziraphale makes him feel less alone. Because Aziraphale proves to him that no matter how fucked the system is that there is still good in the world, even if he doesn't always agree with it.

It is only once there is no doubt what Crowley is doing that Aziraphale starts shaking his head in very small quick shakes. He looks panicked even as they both physically draw closer to each other. It's huge not here, not like this energy to me. Aziraphale asks Crowley to come with to help him run Heaven. This is the point where Crowley starts tearing up.

Crowley then says you can't leave this bookshop, trying to say you can't leave me. Az, nearly in tears himself, says 'oh Crowley. Nothing lasts forever' as a means to convey that the books aren't what is important here. Crowley, naturally, hears 'including us.'

Crowley looks down again, quietly agrees, and puts on his glasses, covering himself up again. He then wishes Aziraphale good luck and the music starts up again, still tense but sorrowful now. He leaves the light and heads to the door. Az can't help but to call after him. Please wait. And Crowley can't help but to listen. It's worth noting here that even as he rotates toward the north door, the light still gently hits his face. The shots in general are darker though. He's moved away from the light but it still can't help but to touch him.

"Come with me," says Aziraphale and then after a pause adds "To Heaven." Aziraphale, looking heartbroken, starts one of two 'I' statements he will struggle around in the next few moments. He lands on I need. Which. I want to pause there a moment because holy shit. That is not something they say out loud either. Az looks at him a moment, visibly struggling before he says his dialogue about Crowley not understanding his offer. Like he's said something he didn't mean to and needs to cover it up or like he can't handle the silence after such an honest statement. And on some level he's not wrong there. Because Crowley doesn't understand what Aziraphale is trying to say. But Aziraphale doesn't understand the way Crowley is reading it to course correct either.

Crowley says that he does understand and that he understands better than Aziraphale does. And he also isn't wrong either, from his perspective. Because he does understand the implications behind the offer theoretically in play here. Because he does know that the position Aziraphale is presenting him is not going to result in the outcome Aziraphale is presenting him with. There are some things you can't undo just like memories slipping through the cracks.

Az says there's nothing more to say, trying to dismiss Crowley despite having been the one to pull him to a stop moments ago. He puts on a fake polite smile for a beat but then his is jaw sets, mouth working as his eyes drop - unable to look Crowley in the eye.

Crowley tells him to listen as the music fades out and points upward. Aziraphale humors this, glancing up a few times before looking frustrated, saying he can't hear anything. The light from the window shines down in his direction without actually touching him. Crowley tells him "That's the point. No nightingales." The shot he's on here is a dark one without even any of the book shops pillars visible in it to brighten the shot.

Aziraphale looks frozen a moment here and then as Crowley calls him an idiot and says 'we could have been us' his face completely crumbles. He rapidly glances away to hide his face and Crowley moves and reaches to pull him back. They're both distraught. Az is clearly already holding back tears even before Crowley touches him. The angle of this shot frames Aziraphale in the light of the window. For the first time in this whole sequence Aziraphale is in the light, literally being physically pulled into it by Crowley.

The music swells, playing a similar theme to the one that plays as the Pillars of Creation are formed at the start of the season. They shift back and forth, the camera focusing on Aziraphale's face and hands. His hands move uncertainly, trying to reach out even as he's struggling emotionally. He is visibly shaking but he crucially does not pull away, not even a little.

His hands settle on Crowley's back, right where his wings would be, and for a brief moment gets taller, like he's allowing himself to lean into the kiss. They press together tightly, their mutual gravity sending them crashing together before they break apart. When they do Aziraphale looks devastated and his eyes move pretty much instantly to look out the window where the Metatron would be.

Crowley's glasses make him harder to read here, but he looks at Aziraphale like a man awaiting judgement in a trial he knows he's already lost. He's sad too, but as always, is waiting for Aziraphale's reaction. Because he might push continually at he boundaries of them as a unit but he has always let Aziraphale decide where to set them in stone.

Az fumbles over words here. He gets stuck on "I" here and lets it hang in the air. He then visibly thinks his words over, his expression slowly filling with resolve as he comes to some sort of conclusion. Then, like it's difficult to say, he falls back into old coded language. "I forgive you." A thing he has always said in response to things that he agrees with but cannot or should not allow himself to have.

Crowley sighs and tells him not to bother, refusing to fall into the old pattern that Aziraphale has. He is setting a boundary, for once, and even if it is one born from misunderstanding I am proud of him for being able to. He turns away and leaves. And this is where Az seems most in danger of falling apart. His lips move as Crowley goes, forming the start of a 'no' after him. He draws back from the door and turns his body away from it, physically distancing himself from anything that would feel like following Crowley. Except he can't help himself. With shaking hands he reaches up to touch his lips. He presses in, like he's trying to recreate the pressure and then his jaw works a moment and his expression sets as resolved.

The Metatron enters through the front door, which is framed in dark lighting. Aziraphale looks panicked and immediately turns his whole body away from him to hide his face while he collects himself.

He turns around after a beat and the Metatron asks 'how did he take it?' This is an odd question that only sort of half fits the fact that we are meant to believe at this point - that Aziraphale should be obtaining a yes or no from Crowley. It's not asking Crowley's choice at all. It's like the Metatron assumed a different conversation had happened or perhaps that he already knew the answer.

Aziraphale says he took it badly and the Metatron just takes a moment to direct a few casual digs at Crowley. He references him being stubborn and too curious - all the while avoiding the use of this name. At this point Az's eyes are locked out the window in the direction Crowley vanished to. The Metatron asks if he's ready to start despite originally having promised Az time to think over his answer. Aziraphale keeps glancing out the window.

For a moment he cracks, stepping away from the Metatron and back toward the east side of the bookshop. For the only time in this whole sequence he steps right into the sunbeam Crowley started in. It notably never illuminates his face as he mentions the issue of his bookshop (a statement absolutely not about the bookshop).

The Metatron explains Muriel will take care of it. Aziraphale looks back out the window with the start of an objection.

The Metatron interrupts him asking if there's anything he needs to take with him. Az's mouth takes a moment to try and form words. He steps out of the light again, starts to object, and then cuts off, eyes back to the window. Then his expression shifts again, settling in another state of resolve before he puts on his falsely polite face and follows the Metatron out.

As they leave the shop we cut back to Crowley. Crowley, who could've left to go handle his own emotions, did not leave. Instead he planted himself there, nice and noticeable. Like he wanted Aziraphale to see and know that he still has a choice. Like he needs to see Aziraphale make that choice for himself. Like he can't quite bring himself to be the one to close that last door. He stands there, framed by light, and doesn't move until the doors to the elevator to Heaven close behind Aziraphale. He then glances at Nina and Maggie and then gets in the Bentley, which starts playing the song that we now know he knows is supposed to be theirs. He turns off the music and drives away.

So there's a lot in these sequences and most of it probably won't help us figure out exactly what comes next, but there are definite signs that all is not as it's being presented to us. Whether he's actively lying or not, something is wrong that Aziraphale either can't or won't talk about frankly with Crowley. I suspect, whether it's under stress from a literal threat or because he believes that it is the safest option for them, that Aziraphale is doing all of this to protect Crowley.

There are also all sorts of signals here, especially in the lights, that gesture at the fact their togetherness is a net good. Together they are balanced and stronger for it and likely more in alignment with the Ineffable Plan. And, more importantly than that, that said togetherness is so clearly what they both want. They have loved each other longer than anything alive has ever loved anyone and none of this changes that. They both are saying that in their own ways here, even if those ways are not ones the other is particularly good at picking up and I for one cannot wait to get to see the payoff of them learning how to.

[theycallmemisterbutterfingers]

Somebody To Luuuvvvvvv

so, i wrote this fic a WHILE ago, and promptly forgot abt it lmao. it was something i worked at on and off for a month, so it may be a little disjointed. also, I very much recommend listening to Somebody To Love (Queen) while reading, although depending on how speedy you are with reading, the fic will extend past the song's length. ALSO, I started writing it to mirror the lyrics of Somebody To Love, but I lost track of it a little in the last stretch, since there's a lotta instrumental and I just kinda went off HAH

anyhow

oh also i drew this little animation in like October and i'm sorry and you're welcome? sorry because ACK i swear to god i can draw better but you're welcome in case you like it ,,,,, yeah ,,,,,,, much love!!

Can

Anybody?

Find me

Somebody to…

Love.

…

Crowley launched himself up from his desk, sending a few pieces of glass clattering to the floor, shattered remains of his heart. He wobbled for a moment, the alcohol settling in weird places.  Reality spun. He thought he saw stars. And then worse.

He thought he saw his angel.

His knees buckled, and his hand shot out to brace himself on his desk. His other hand reached up to shakily run a hand down his face. Take a look at this poor sod, he thought bitterly, about to berate himself. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of his window, and he traced the scars down her cheeks that the tears had left in their wake. Crowley sighed, then chuckled—a small, self-deprecating one. Oh, what he’s doing to me.

He’d spent all his years believing in the bastard, chasing him, wanting him, hoping that they were the same. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t fully alone. 

And then the angel took his heart and blasted it away with his halo. With his Heaven-besotted ideals that Crowley thought he had left behind. No such relief.

And all Crowley wanted was to love and be loved by him. Too much to ask, turns out.

…

He was behind the wheel. Again. He didn’t quite know how he got there, really, and he didn’t know where he was going, either. All he knew was that he was driving—driving away. Driving far away from…what? The work he had put in for himself—for his angel—to live a life safely in the corner? Maybe. Driving away from being alone? Hm. As if he could be driving away from the ache in his bones and towards Az—well. He wasn’t, at any rate. Crowley cursed himself under his breath and pulled over.

The sun was setting, colors bleeding out into the sky. Bleeding out. Now that was something that Crowley was familiar with. He looked up at it all, trying in vain to see anything—any sign from the Universe, from God, anything at all—but no. His knees hit the dirt. “God…what’re you doing to me? You listening? This part of your Great Plan, too?”

Nothing. Crowley dug his nails into his palms until he drew blood.

They do say that snakes can’t cry. 

Well. 

They also say snakes don’t fall in love. That they can’t feel it.

But just look at Crowley.

🌟

Aziraphale hurried through the empty space of Heaven, a harried look on his face. He had been working nonstop ever since he returned, trying to prove his worth, trying to do good, trying to be good. But there were stares pricking the back of his neck. Veiled criticism, judgement. They thought him odd, strange, impure. Tainted from Earth. They don’t want me here, he thought, then quickly shook it away. He had to keep faith. Believe in good in others, and the good of God. 

But there’s nobody left to believe in me.

…

Aziraphale blinked. He had been heading towards the higher floors, but his feet had betrayed him. They had led him to the globe. His chest warmed seeing Earth, but there was this terrible, sudden ache in his gut. Aziraphale put a hand to his stomach, breathless for a moment. 

Guilt. 

Horrible, horrible guilt. 

His hands shook. His stomach roiled like there was a nest of snakes, snakes, Crowley, his Crowley, his Crowley that he left behind, the desperation etched into his face as he—

Stop, he told himself. Stop. You can’t. Push it down, push it down, remember? You need to focus on your tasks. You need to forget.

Do you? Part of him whispered.

Quiet, he thought. No thoughts. You must be good. 

It would be good, this traitorous part of him whispered. You would be doing a good thing. Checking up on that nice angel, Muriel. 

Oh, yes, Muriel. Of course. It would only take a moment to pop in, after all. He wrung his hands, thinking hard and thinking fast. His tasks weren’t too urgent—just some paperwork, a few visits to the superiors; yes, it would be fine. Tickety-boo. Besides, he really needed to make sure the bookshop and Muriel were fine. Nothing else. What else would there be, really? For such a quick visit, especially? Aziraphale was still for a moment—save for his hands, which shook like leaves—and then with one decisive motion he tapped the globe, and felt himself dissolve into light. 

🥀

Crowley slumped in his Bentley, cheeks stinging, throat hurting. Queen played over the speakers, but he kept losing track of the song, sliding in and out of white noise. After a few moments, he inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. He was alright. He was fine. He was a demon. Of course he was alright. In fact, he was so alright, he would go and make sure Muriel hadn’t sold anything. At the bookshop. Because he was alright he was alright he was FINE. He stomped on the gas pedal with a bit more vigor than usual and began to whip through the streets, disregarding anything his mind might mutter to him. Perhaps that—Crowley ignoring himself as much as he possibly could—perhaps that was why he didn’t notice the feeling of his angel returning to Earth. 

…

Crowley slammed the Bentley’s door shut and sauntered across the street to the bookshop, confident as a lioness. The confidence was a sham. He was a right wreck internally. He unlocked the door and swung inside with carefully practiced nonchalance, carefully hidden nerves, everything under the surface, as it should be. But the memories still hit him like a Bentley going 90. Frozen, he could do nothing but boggle at the bookshelves with their alphabetized books all in the right places and the angel wing mug with hot chocolate still steaming, until he heard a cheerful voice from up the stairs, “Be with you in a minute!!”

This managed to jolt Crowley out of his reverie, and he managed to shout back, “It’s me!”

“Oh!! Ah,” and there was quite a bit of shuffling around. Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to take measured breaths. Being back in the same place, the same spot where he—

“Hello, Mr. Crowley!!” Muriel beamed over the banister upstairs before hurrying down the stairs. “Haven’t seen you in a bit!”

Crowley hummed noncommittally. Muriel fidgeted.

“Did you need anything, Mr. Crowley?” They asked, looking at him a little too expectantly. Crowley had a sudden memory of that kid he had encountered as Bilidad, the little one who wanted to be a lizard. 

“Erm…”

It wasn’t to check on the books, really. What did Crowley need?

Well.

Wasn’t it obvious?

He needed him. 

His angel. His Az—hm. 

His A—guh.

His A…He needed Aziraphale. 

There, he said it. Wasn’t so hard.

He needed his somebody to love.

But his somebody was gone.

He didn’t say any of this to Muriel, though. Instead, he just shrugged. “Thought I’d stop by, make sure you hadn’t sold anything.”

Muriel shook their head vehemently. “Oh, no, certainly not!! I remember what you were like when I first took over the shop,,” they took on a grumpy, spiky air then, ignoring the dinging of the shop bell, “Now listen here, Muriel, if you sell any one of these books, I will march right up to heaven and tell those higher-ups that you are doing Very, Very Bad Things. So do not, under any circumstances, sell these books!!” Muriel finished their impression attempting a scowl matching Crowley’s, cementing their inability to make any sort of coarse expression.

Crowley scoffed and was about to complain that he did NOT sound like that, not in the slightest, when—

“Oh, Crowley, did you really?”

Fireworks rocketed up Crowley’s spine and exploded in his chest, and he whipped around to see—

To see—

His angel. 

Aziraphale standing in the doorway of the shop, looking like he was already regretting even stepping through the door, but still with that nervous, gentle smile Crowley loved so, and he could do nothing but gape at Aziraphale, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Aziraphale didn’t fare much better, only just managing to stand there, wobbly and woeful. Muriel, slowly becoming more adept at social situations, sidled into the back room, and the sound of the door shutting snapped Crowley out of his stupor—and his wounded heart throbbed.

“Back to forgive me again, then?” Spat Crowley bitterly.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, teary-eyed, and before Crowley could say anything else, Aziraphale rushed into him, grabbing his lapels and burying his face in Crowley’s chest. 

“I mi-i-issed-d you,” He sobbed, and Crowley wanted to shove him away, wanted to snarl barbed words and sharp jabs, wanted try and make him feel some semblance of the pain he felt—

But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt his angel, when he was already so awfully distraught. So he put a tentative, shaky hand on Aziraphale’s back, and said, quietly, “Hi, Angel.”

Aziraphale sniffed loudly at that and looked up at him. Then he stepped back, only slightly, and they simply looked at each other for a moment. Then—

“Why did you leave—?!” They started, simultaneously, then stopped. 

“Well, you were the one leaving, Angel,” Crowley snapped, brows knitted together.

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically and sniffed again. “B-But I asked you to come with me, dear. I wanted you to come with me. I wanted you to come so terribly,” his lip wobbled, “And-and then you got mad, and ki-kissed me, and then—hic—and then you left!”

Crowley scowled, confused. He was quite certain that Aziraphale had been the one to do the leaving.

“But you abandoned me,” he said, voice rough, “After all we’ve gone through! I thought we were a team, Aziraphale. I thought you liked me how I was—not an angel, not a demon, as me.”

Aziraphale whimpered, wringing his hands. “But I do like you, Crowley! I’m so, so s-sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I promise, I just—I want to be with you, oh so much! And we could be together, in Heaven, as angels, without messiness, and—and, oh, I thought you’d be happier as an angel. I mean, you used to be, when you were…”

Crowley sighed, his anger beginning to cool. Oh, Angel. “I don’t want Heaven. I don’t want to be who I was. I just want to be me, now, here, with you,” He said, as gently as he could muster, taking his sunglasses off. Aziraphale blinked, another sparkling tear trailing down his cheek. Crowley had to curb the urge to wipe it away by shoving his hands in his pockets.

“B-But…but an angel? A-a demon?? That—”

“Would be alright.” Crowley finished, trying to smile, trying not to hope. “We could do it.” Aziraphale wavered, unsure, worried. He cast a look around him, and then, resolutely, 

“I need to go back.” Crowley’s heart plummeted to the floor and shattered like an empty bottle. Again. 

He made to leave, eyes already stinging, but Aziraphale grabbed at him. “Wait, Crowley!!” But no. Not again. Never again. Crowley wrenched away, looking at the ground, trying to stride past him, a painful crescendo rising in his head, already berating himself for trusting so quickly, hoping so easily, and then, and then he felt a soft hand tilt his face up and take off his glasses and, and, and—and Aziraphale was kissing him. Kissing him. Crowley’s thoughts blinked out of existence completely. All he could focus on was Aziraphale, him against Crowley’s lips, again, finally. Aziraphale’s tears wet Crowley’s cheeks and burned there and Crowley didn’t mind in the slightest. And he kissed back, fiercely, not caring if the rest of him burned up as a result.

Aziraphale gasped at the kiss deepening, and something roared deep inside of Crowley, and then, suddenly—Aziraphale pulled away.

It was as if Crowley had been lit on fire and then doused with cold water, and all he could do was stand there, shivering and overheating at the same time. Aziraphale, though shaking as well, took a deep breath.

“Crowley. I am going, but I’m not leaving,” and he took Crowley’s face in both hands, “I’m not leaving you. I never meant to in the first place. I’m sorry. Please…forgive me.”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond. What could he possibly say? What could he—

A tear slid down his face, and Aziraphale brushed it away with his thumb, tenderly, lovingly. 

And Crowley broke. 

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, and cradled Crowley close as he crumpled into his arms. He trembled like a leaf, loud sobs wracking his body. 

They sank to the ground together, and stayed that way for a long time. 

Eventually, Crowley could breathe without feeling like he was suffocating. Cheeks burning, he slowly sat up, looking anywhere but at Aziraphale, embarrassed. “Ngk—sorry, Angel.”

“My dear boy,” Aziraphale turned his face back to him with a feather-light touch, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Crowley damn near started crying again. He nodded and sniffed, rubbing his face. “You’re too nice to me.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes twinkling. “Nice is a four-letter word.”

They gazed at each other adoringly, neither quite believing that they could hope again, hope for a future together, as hope was a four-letter word, too. Then Crowley looked down at the ground. “So…you have to go.”

“I will be back, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and stood up, “I just need to do a few things first.”

“I need you,” Crowley pleaded, on his knees, all defenses forgotten, all barriers down. “Stay. Please.”

“I need you too,” Aziraphale said softly, doe-eyed, and kissed him on the forehead. “I want to stay with you. But I have to keep Earth safe. I can change things, in Heaven. I can stop the Second Coming.”

His face hardened and, for a moment, looked every bit the Archangel he was supposed to be. “Even if it means making a few…executive decisions. In the name of good, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley echoed, feeling a bit dazed.

Aziraphale smiled at him and then looked up, wings materializing behind him. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Crowley, as if struck by a pin, sprung up towards Aziraphale and kissed him once more. Aziraphale, who had already begun to glow with departure, kissed back just as hard, if not harder. Crowley held onto the quickly dissipating angel tightly, as long as he could, until Aziraphale fully disappeared…and then Crowley fell flat on his face. 

Oh, would you look at that, Crowley mused to himself, ass up, face down. I’ve fallen. “Erm,” said a timid voice behind him, “Would you like some hot chocolate, Mr. Crowley?”

thank you for reading!!!!!!!

[azsazz]

More vamp azzy as we all desperately need.

This one is a request from an anon: “Okay so for vamp Az. I’m not sure if vampires eat anything other than blood but if not, then imagine him trying to cook anything for reader because she got sick or something. I don’t want to get into too many details since you only asked for ideas so totally no pressure! I fell hopelessly in love with vamp Az and am so excited for more!! ❤️‍🔥And spooky season is coming and it just fits perfectly 😌🧛🏼”

**Not edited!**

A clatter from the kitchen shocks you from your sleep. Your eyes are heavy and sore, nose stuffed and mouth dry. You cough a little as you swallow, trying to wet your throat and gather your bearings.

Your blanket sits heavy on your body, and you notice not only one, but three thick comforters piled up and tucked under your chin. You’re a cocoon of warmth, and despite the chill wracking your bones, sweat dampens your forehead.

The couch is as good as any bed, but the room is missing the body of the vampire you’ve become accustomed to seeing. Azriel doesn’t need sleep, not that you have noticed anyway, but he often never lets you leave his sight, even if he knows you’re in your rooms or his excellent hearing picks up on you prowling around his home during the daylight hours.

You’ve grown into his schedule, sleeping away the days and staying up during the nights. You hadn’t even realized you’d been doing it until as of late. It had been purely survival instinct at first, to stay up for as long as possible. You pulled open the thick, black, heavy curtains to let the sun stream through the windows, hoping it would keep Azriel away from you, but he’d only reached into the blazing sun to pull them shut again. It how his hands got like this, you realized, when they had started sizzling and one had caught fire from the sun. He hadn’t hissed, but the hazel of his eyes gleamed in a way that had scared you and made your stomach twist. It was paired with a hint of fang, the curve of his lips telling you all you needed to know about him.

You weren’t going anywhere.

The other night, you had attempted escape, to no avail.

Azriel had been away at one of his meetings, with whom or about what you didn’t know, but you’d managed to shimmy open one of the ancient windows. There was a storm raging, and it seemed like the perfect escape. The rain would cover your scent and would wash away your footprints in the mud.

You hadn’t anticipated being hunted through the woods.

Being out in the rain that long hadn’t been good for you, but the fucking you received when Azriel had found you had almost made it worth it. He’d taken you right there in the middle of the forest, and then again when he wrangled you home and lit a fire in the hearth so big it rivaled those of Hel. He’d been silent the entire time, even as he lied you down to dry and fucked you deep. You thought your shivering body was due to his cold hands and wicked tongue, not the oncoming cold.

The noise is followed by a low string of curses that you’re sure he means to keep soft. Your eyes slide shut again, exhausted and too achy to move.

It’s better to keep silent, not draw his attention to you no matter how badly you want a glass of water.

It doesn’t take long for him to enter the room. He holds a bowl in one hand and helps you sit up with the other. You can’t help but notice the bulge of his biceps from underneath his tight shirt as he does so, and you didn’t think that your mouth could possibly get any drier, but here you are.

You stare at the bowl wearily, then back up at him, heart stumbling at the nervous look on his face.

“You can cook?” You ask, watching as he paces to the hearth to stoke the fire. He avoids your eyes, not wanting to see the sympathy swimming in them.

“I used to be able to, once upon a time,” Azriel’s voice is soft, longing. He can no longer consume food that sustains you, you realize. You find yourself aching for him, a little.

“And now you can’t eat,” you trail off, glancing to your bowl again. It smells delicious, the scents of vegetables and spices filling the room with warmth. Your freezing fingers are beginning to thaw already.

Azriel shakes his head in response, gesturing to the bowl. You pick up the spoon, dipping it into the bowl. You see the carrots and shallots swimming in it, along with barley and herbs that make it taste like heaven.

You can’t help but to groan pleasurably, the flavors exploding on your tongue. “For someone who can’t eat, this is delicious.”

“I can eat, but there’s no use,” Azriel says, eyes intent on you as he watches you take another bite. He’s filled with pleasure at the sight of you enjoying something he’d made for you, and he can admit that he did have fun being in the kitchen again. “Everything tastes boring and it’s not the kind of thing that can sustain me.”

Right. Your stomach swirls, thinking about the blood he needs to consume in order to survive. You feel a little sick at the thought that this is what he’s taken you for, to use you for pleasure to ultimately drain you one day.

You shiver but shove the thought away. Azriel’s eyes grow warmer with each spoonful you take, and there’s something itching at you to be nice to him, despite everything that’s happened between the both of you. He had taken you in from the rain, most likely saving your life in the process, and now he’s feeding you.

You find a part of yourself wanting to return the favor.

“Eat with me,” you say, patting the spot you’d just sat up from. It’s piled with pillows but you can surely shove them aside to make room for Azriel.

“What?” He asks, brows furrowing deeply. He looks like he’s about to protest but you’re cutting him off before he can.

“Come on, come eat with me.”

Azriel stares at you like you’ve grown a second head and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“I just told you that it doesn’t matter if I eat.”

“Then come eat.”

It’s clear you’re not giving up on this. Azriel sighs, pushing to his feet and striding towards the kitchen to get his own bowl.

But you’re a stubborn one. He doesn’t expect you to grab for him, and you’re as quick as an asp. He’s not expecting the feel of your hands on his exposed forearms, sleeves of his thick, black shirt rolled up to keep away from the food as he was cooking.

“You can share with me.”

“No,” he says, voice harsh and demanding. “You ned to eat.”

You quirk a brow. “Afraid of catching a little cold?”

Azriel can’t contain the rolling of his eyes and you want to laugh at how human it makes him look.

“I can’t catch a cold.”

“Of course you can’t,” you agree, shoving the pillows onto the floor and biting back a grin at Azriel’s grimace. “Now sit down and eat.”

[ravencoloredroses]

Dream Girl Part 1

Nyx x Reader

Summary: Ever since he can remember, Nyx has dreamt of the same girl. Without any idea who she is or if she even exists, how could he ever find her? 

Warnings: insomnia, Devlon / Windhaven

Word Count: 2,556

A/N: I’m thinking this is gonna have at least 3 parts so stay tuned for those! I hope you guys enjoy this one! Let me know what you think! <3

part 2 part 3

--------------------------------------------------------------

Nyx wakes up most days before dawn for an early morning training session with his uncles. Today however, was not one of those days. 

He was tossing and turning the majority of the night, hoping that when he does finally fall asleep, he dreams of her.

 Ever since he can remember, Nyx’s dreams have had visions of his mate. At least that’s who he assumes it is. 

Nyx knows that his dad had visions of his mom in his dreams way before they met. Being too embarrassed to ask what the dreams mean, Nyx keeps everything to himself. He’s tried to ask hypothetical and broad questions, but his family are all busybodies so he stopped asking. 

He wonders if she dreams of him too, if she wants to know who he is just as bad as he does. 

Tonight’s dream is no different. A stunning angel-like figure standing right in front of him surrounded by a cloud of white smoke. She has fair skin and onyx colored hair that is always styled perfectly. 

But her eyes, her eyes are his favorite part. The left is a rich chocolate brown color, the right a deep sea blue. He’s never seen anyone in real life with two different colored eyes, he didn’t even know that was a thing. 

*knock* *knock*

Nyx wakes with a jump. He looks out the window to see the sun is already fully up. He’s late for training this morning.

“Nyx? Are you in there?” 

Nyx wipes the drool off his chin, standing up to make the bed. He quickly realizes he slept naked that night. 

“Um, yeah mom I’m here. Just give me a second.”

Thankfully it was his Mom who came to get him, anyone else would have just barged in. 

“Okay honey, I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yep, totally fine. Thanks”

With that Feyre left to go join the training session. Nyx shakes out his wings and heads over to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Hopefully his uncle Cassian won’t harass him too much for being late.

——

After training, Nyx heads back to his room to freshen up. Changing out of his leathers, he starts filling up the bathtub. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eye bags have doubled their darkness in the past few days and his hair is slicked down to his forehead with sweat. 

Deciding he needs to take better care of himself, Nyx chooses to bathe with his best smelling soaps. Massaging his sore muscles as he goes along, taking his time with his wings. 

Once the water has gone cold, Nyx grabs a fluffy towel to dry himself off. Changing into comfy clothes, he grabs his sketchbook and heads downstairs for breakfast.

As he rounds the corner, he can hear the voices of his family growing louder. 

“All I’m saying is that Az should have waited a second. That’s all!” Cassian says with a bag of ice held to his eye. 

“Maybe, if you weren’t so distracted by me, you would have been able to block his punch.” Nesta chimes in walking over to hold the ice for him.

“Maybe, if you didn’t look so damn- Hey kiddo! When did you get down here?” Cassian asks nervously looking around the room. 

“Um, Just now uncle Cas. Don’t worry, I didn’t hear much.” Nyx mumbles walking over to the counter to grab an apple. He stumbles over to grab a seat in between his mom and his uncle Azriel. 

Nyx takes a bite of his apple, wipes off the juice that drips down his chin with the back of his hand, and gets to work. He’s been trying to draw the girl in his dreams, but he can never get the details just right. 

He’s just finished the outline when Az leans over and whispers, “Do you know her?” 

Nyx looks up to see his uncle staring fondly at him. “What?” he manages to get out.

“That’s the same girl you always draw right? Is she your friend?”

Nyx looks around to see if anyone heard what Az just said. After finding that no one was paying attention, he whispers back. “Not personally, no.”

Az stares at him clearly confused, he prompts Nyx to continue. 

With a sigh Nyx says, “Can we talk about this later?”

Azriel nods and goes back to eating. Not wanting to draw any more attention to himself, Nyx moves over to the living room and plops down on the couch. He’s nearly done with his sketch, taking his time in order to get the details right.

Rhys comes over and sits down on the couch across from Nyx, staring with a feline grin. 

“Yes dad?”

“Who is she?” Rhys asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Nyx looks up trying not to show his surprise. Knowing he can’t lie to his dad, he puts down his mental walls and shows him everything. From the very first dream to last night’s.

Rhys stumbles back, now wide eyed. “Feyre darling, come in here please.” Feyre slowly comes walking into the living room, same expression as her mate. Nyx knows his dad just showed her everything.

“Baby, is she- is she your mate?” She says taking a seat next to Nyx and places his hands in hers.

Nyx looks down. “I- I’m not sure. I think so, but-“ Feyre shares a knowing look with Rhysand, clearly having a mental conversation. 

She looks over to his drawing and asks, “Can I take a look?” Nyx nods and passes the sketchbook over. Feyre flips through the book and sees page after page of drawings. All of the same girl but all completely different. Some are just a portrait, while others are of her full body. Some are just incomplete sketches, others are fully colored works of art. 

“Oh honey, these are amazing.” She says trying not to let her eyes water. “She’s also very beautiful.” Now looking up at his mother, Nyx feels his cheeks getting warmer. 

“I can never get all the details right. There is always something off that doesn’t look like she does in my dreams. I- I get so frustrated because I want to be able to see her while I’m awake too.” Nyx reveals, now fully blushing. 

“Well, I’m sure that can be arranged.” Rhys says, moving to stand behind Feyre to get a better look. Nyx whips his head around to see his parents both smiling at him. 

“What are you-“ 

“Don’t worry about it dear. For now, just focus on getting these details right.” Feyre says teasingly. She hands the sketchbook back to Nyx and stands up. Rhys sends a wink to his son and walks off hand in hand with his mate. 

——

“Okay who wants to go first?” Mor says practically jumping up and down with excitement. Starfall came sooner than Nyx expected. He barely had enough time to get all of his gifts together. 

“I mean if no one else wants to, I guess I will.” Cassian hurries to speak before anyone else gets the chance. 

2 hours and a heaping pile of torn up gift wrap later, Nyx finally gets to open his presents. The first is a new knife holster with his initials embroidered from Azriel, a pack of the nicest colored pencils from Amren. Mor gives him a matching hat, scarf and glove set, and a new set of leathers from Cassian. 

Lastly his parents come up to him with their present, both with a nervous but excited facial expression. 

“Okay, this last one is from us.” His mom starts passing the present over to Nyx. “It might not be what you were expecting, but we hope that you like it.” 

As he begins to unwrap the gift, Nyx feels his heartbeat pick up speed. Not believing what he’s seeing, he looks up to see the whole room zoned in to watch his reaction.

“I used what you showed your dad and I to make it. I tried to get it as close to what I saw.” Feyre says nervously.

“It’s- It’s perfect.” Nyx manages to get out after trying to calm his breathing. The gift is a painting of the girl from his dream. She’s portrayed exactly like his visions, actually even better. He can see all the detail his mother put into the painting. Her hair looks so soft he can almost feel it. 

It’s almost like she’s looking right at him. Not in a creepy way, but in an admiring and loving way. The color of her right eye is dead on. Nyx has never been able to color match the blue quite right. 

Rhys smiles at Nyx. “I’m glad you think so.” He moves to stand behind his son, planting hands on his shoulders. “It’s yours to hang wherever you want. We had a few places in mind, but it’s up to you to decide.”

“My office I think would be nice. Like yours with the portrait of mom.” Nyx says looking up to his father.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

——

*knock* *knock* 

“Hey dad! You wanted to see me?” Nyx asks, walking into his dad’s office. Cassian and Azriel are sat on opposite sides of the room, Nyx decides to sit next to his uncle Az. 

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Rhys starts. Just then Feyre walks into the room and walks over to sit on Rhys’ lap. “Well actually, we wanted to talk to you about something.”

Nyx looks at Az cautiously, who just nods toward the High Lord and Lady silently telling Nyx to pay attention. 

“Am I in trouble?” Nyx asks, now feeling anxious.

“Oh, Mother no! Unless you did something to get yourself into trouble. You didn't, did you?” Feyre says, now zeroed in on her son.

“No! I didn’t do anything” Nyx argues.

“We know, son.” Rhys says. “You're not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually. Since you’re getting older, we think it would be a good idea for you to tag along on some missions.” 

“Me? Ar- are you sure? I thought you said I wasn’t ready?” Nyx asks, looking between his parents and uncles.

“Well, I don’t think your father will ever think you’re ready, but it’s time. If you’re up for it of course. We wouldn’t start out with dangerous missions, we were thinking to just do simple ones and then we can go from there, okay?” Feyre says with hope in her eyes. 

“I- I guess, I mean yes, absolutely! I’m ready! When’s the first one?” Nyx questions, about to jump up and down in excitement. 

“Well, later today we were planning on visiting some of the Illyrian war camps. Nothing crazy, just going in and making sure everything is alright. We would be with you the entire time of course. You would just be following us around, seeing what the camps are like and learning what it takes to lead them.” Rhys explains.

“Yeah little man, watch and learn.” Cassian says teasingly. 

“Alright Cas.” Rhys turns back to Nyx. “As heir, one day it is gonna be your responsibility to control these camps. I don’t expect you to get everything right away, that’s why we’re starting slow.”

“If I do good on this, does that mean I can go to the Court of Nightmares with you?” Nyx asks.

“Oh sweetie, I don’t know about that just yet. Let’s see how you do with these missions first, okay?” Feyre replies, now worried for her son. Nyx has never been to Hewn City, and if Feyre had her way, he never would. 

“We’re leaving in about an hour. Does that give you enough time to get ready?” Azriel asks.

“Y-yeah. I’ll go right now.” Nyx says jumping up and striding towards the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he spins around and asks, “What do I bring?”

“Just yourself, buddy.” Cassian answers. “Well, yourself and a weapon or two.” 

Laughing, Nyx scurries up the stairs to get ready for his first ever mission. 

——

Flying to Windhaven wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was trying to stay calm while flying to Windhaven. Ever since they took off from the balcony, Nyx has had a weird feeling in his chest. Something that he’s never felt before. He hopes it goes away soon so he can focus on this mission. 

Walking around the camp was like walking into a different world. There were sparring matches going on everywhere. Almost everybody was bruised and bleeding. The only man that wasn’t was walking towards them now. 

“Rhysand! To what do I owe the pleasure.” The strange man said.

“Devlon. It’s been too long.” Rhys replies, taking place in front of Nyx.

“Well who do we have here? Is that who I think that is?” Devlon leans down to get a good look at Nyx. “Are you dropping your son off to join our camp?” 

“Mother no! Absolutely not. We’re here to check in with you. Nyx here,” Rhys says gesturing down to his son. “is tagging along to learn how we do things.” 

“Ahh. Well then, let’s go somewhere a little more private to chat shall we?” Devlon says turning away without waiting for an answer. 

Nyx looks up questioningly to Azriel. He just shakes his head and puts his arm out letting Nyx walk in front of him. 

Once they make it into what Nyx assumes is an office, Cassian plops down on a rather uncomfortable looking couch. Rhys chooses to stand next to where Nyx sits down beside Cassian and Azriel stands on the opposite side. 

“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” Devlon asks.

“No thank you, we’re fine.” Rhys replies.

Devlon sinks down into his chair and laughs. “Good, because I don’t have anything anyways.” 

“Do you have anything to update us on?” Azriel asks, cutting straight to the point.

“Well, things around here are more or less the same. Training, eat, sleep, training, eat, sleep, you know how it is.”

Rhys squints his eyes. “Right. And what of the females here?”

“What of them? They are safe, if that's what you want to know. We don’t really have that many, but the ones that we do have, seem to be doing well.” Devlon says, leaning back in his chair.

“They seem to be doing well?” Cassian asks, hunching forward. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Well most of them don’t put up much of a fight, but there is one of them who-“ Devlon pauses, trying to think of what to say. 

“One who?” Rhys prompts.

“She hasn’t been keeping up with the other females when it comes to chores. She’s been caught sneaking out at night begging for some of the guys to train her. One of them did eventually spar with her at first, but she learned her lesson pretty quickly. It’s not common that a female wants to train here, I don’t really know what to do with her.” Devlon shrugs and turns to face Azriel. “She reminds me a lot of you when you were here.”

Azriel’s eyebrows pull together slightly. “What does that mean?” 

“You’ll see.” Devlon says with a smirk.

“What’s her name?” Rhys asks after a beat of awkward silence.

“Y/N, her name is Y/N.”

[elainsgirl]

I just want to know how can you hate elain and azriel after he gave her truthteller, (HIS MOST PRIZED POSSESSION) he sat with her at 3 in the morning listening to her about her garden plans, didn't hesitate to save her, every night before he slept he would look at he headache powder she gave him on solstice that made him laugh! like a genuine laugh! (and these arent even all their little moments) and youre telling me that it's cliche? he only lust for her?? Talk about slowburn.... the slowburn was there! and now thats its finally getting to a point, this ship becomes the most hated because of a bonus chapter that many people misunderstood so badly.

I really feel like elain and azriel will be a trope that we never had yet, it would be so beautiful that I would probably reread the book so many times!! They really went from strangers to friends to lovers in a beautiful way. it wasn't rushed at all! you could tell when the feelings started to build and they slowly started to get over their old lovers! I would be so devastated if they don't end up together.

Hey anon 🫶

Right? Till this day it baffles me when people claim to hate elriel. I think out of all the couples’ despite not having their book, they’re my favourites. They’re just so soft and beautiful. Elain, not once balking from Azriel or showing any sign of fear of him. The way a faint smile bloomed on Azriel’s face when he met Elain for the first time. Down too, Azriel cradling Elain to his chest, even though he was injured and swaying. Elain raising up on her toes to give him a kiss whilst still in chains. The way Azriel made everyone wait for Elain before eating, a sign of respect and honour across many cultures. Elain sending him a grateful smile when he took the attention off her by making a joke at Amren’s expense. We have so many beautiful scenes of them - scenes that show how well they understand each other, how much they care and want each other - Nesta wasn’t even around them often yet she noticed a charged glance

All of these scenes can honestly be compiled into an elriel novella and we don’t even have their book yet…it’s almost as though Mass couldn’t stop herself from writing these memorable moments. As though she can’t help but right a cute/purposeful scene each time elriel appear on page together & I don’t blame her. Everything about elriel is just so fitting and perfect. From their aesthetic, tropes and personality- I personally feel that even though Elain and Az weren’t originally meant to be together, they somehow found each other in the mist of Mass’s writing. They were the good kind of unexpected.

The cliche arguement is just stupid. You’re reading a fantasy series- thats quite literally filled to the brim of cliche tropes yet elriel is where they draw the line? Please tell me whats new and exciting about two more stories of fated mates ending up together? I’d argue thats even more cliche as the fated mates trope is so common within fantasy.

The lust arguement is about antis being purposely obtuse and choosing to ignore every elriel interaction that was about them caring for each other and only focusing on this one so they can isolate it and make it seem as though Azriel only wants Elain physically. Whenever someone brings it up - I just think they’re childish and desperately looking for reasons to hate on elriel.

Heavy on the bonus being so misunderstood. Its been twisted too suit the narration of antis. Nit-picked and purposely taken out of context to fuel the anti-elriel agenda. All so precious Lucien can have his mate and Azriel gets someone better then Elain whose viewed as boring and plain compared to other certain characters.

Im sorry but gwynriels deep and profound conversation is non-existent. They found Az chuckling at gwyns joke more beautiful and special then Azriel doing a full on belly laugh to the point of his eyes becoming brighter (all bcs of Elain) ? Yh no one is being fooled. They take these small interactions between elucien/gwynriel and do their best to romanticise it by layering their own biased hcs into the scene and drawing fanarts that make the interactions seem more impactful and romantic then they actually are. Cherry on top? Elucien and gwynriel as ships are basically elriel in a different format its just swapping out either elain/az for gwyn/lucien.

I think elriel have a pretty good shot of being a unique Sjm couple that stand out across all 3 series. A couple that can set history for the future generations. Two lovers defying fate for each other? Yes please. I already know anon im going to create a shrine for their book and reread it so often to the point of having most of it memorised.

Thats why I love elriel so much. They didn’t just rush into a relationship. Their buildup didn’t happen just in acosf. As readers we see it build up - it wasn’t instant love. They got to know each other and THEN fell in love. Thats a beautiful story within itself.

Id also be devastated if elriel weren’t happening- all that build up for what? Funsies? Nah. An author doesn’t have the mmc going “im getting her back” with his eyes glowing golden filled with rage and then the fmc going “you came for me?” If they weren’t endgame.