#MAY IS BEST GIRL

[sixofclovers]

a mid winter ball

[rhiangalaxy]

Best girl :3c

[vngful]

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[carouselunique]

They had a bit of a chance encounter on a day where Blueblood was dealing with something that was very difficult and was so caught up in his emotions he didn’t even care that he was in the garden getting grass stans on his coat and Ditzy, with her natural impulse to cheer ponies up, didn’t even notice or care that she was flying into the palace gardens when she saw someone sat in the rain.

At first he was definitely going to call the castle guards to come apprehend this strange filly with the odd eyes who was intruding when this was the last moment he’d want to entertain any desperate debutantes, however she surprised him by not fawning or anything, not even caring about his status, just putting one of her fluffy wings up and asking if he needed somepony to lend an ear.

“Don’t let my eyes fool you, my ears work just fine!”

She was incredibly disarming and while he didn’t reveal everything about why he was upset, he found himself talking about his feelings to her. And she made such cheerful remarks, and was very comforting. In the end, he felt better and she came to check on him the next day, even sharing a blueberry muffin with him. He remarked that he’d never seen her around before, and that he wouldn’t mind terribly seeing her more often.

The rest, as they say, is history.

[leantailean]

She loves him

Mai quick sketch

[breawycker]

Happy birthday, Cass!

[necromycologist]

rip ianthe tridentarius... born to be the one and only fucked up failgirl forced to somehow end up as the voice of reason

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#2 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Cassandra decides to join the IC for dinner. Things feel weird and wrong but also…safe and comfortable. She opens up to them about her past traumas and gets to know more about them.

Warnings/Tags: mentions physical and visual sexual abuse in the recent past. describes physical violence. trauma. mute character. slow burn. protective!azriel. protective!IC.

Authors Note: All reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next part! Regular italics are inter thoughts while bold italics are her communicating with other people mentally.

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“Relax,” Nuala cooed as she helped Cassandra ease into the large bath, warm and floral scented.

Cassandra had never been in a bath like this. Only one suited for regular fae without wings. They had been cramped and uncomfortable and nearly impossible to bathe everywhere without hurting a wing. But this bath? It was huge and could easily fit multiple people with and without wings. It stretched all the way to one of those glassless windows where the water spilled over in a soothing stream.

She leaned back when Nuala prompted, letting her wings float in the water. It was so nice the way they felt so weightless. Nuala tilted her head back and their eyes met as she cupped her hands with water and poured it over Cassandra’s white hair. She lathered it with a nice smelling soap, massaging at her scalp.

It was difficult to lay there and relax while someone else washed her hair. It reminded her of the mistress, how when she bathed her and washed her hair it was rushed and rough and…and when she washed her hair like this she would sometimes push her head under the water and hold her there—

Cassandra bolted up with a gasp, hands coming up to wipe away the water that fell down from her hair and over her face, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She whirled around, wide eyes catching Nuala’s, trying to desperately apologize for what she had done. The female just shook her head gently.

“It’s okay,” She said, “would you like to be left alone for a moment?”

Cassandra considered this, she both wanted to be alone and have someone else around. But she nods her head. Cerridwen walked in then, a stack of something in her hand.

“Clothes for you,” she said, sitting the stack on a shelf across the room. “We will be back but if you finish with your bath and wish to dress before we return the clothes will be here.”

Cassandra nods. She doesn’t know what else to do, but the females seem to understand, offering her small nods in return before leaving the room—the heavy door closing as they leave the bedroom the bedroom.

She sinks down in the water once she’s sure she’s alone. So much has changed in such a short time and she’s still not sure if this is all real. These people…they could change any moment. Drag her from this huge room and throw her into a prison cell and use her for whatever they pleased.

Turning in the water she pushed herself towards the other end of the tub, the one that waterfalls over the edge. What she sees there takes her breath away, an audible gasp leaving her lips.

The first thing she notices is all the lights, it looked exactly like the painting she saw with Morrigan. There was so much to look at. But what she really wanted to see was the beautiful sight above that. The night sky. The thousands of stars twinkling above, surrounding a bright moon.

She could have cried looking at the sight. But not because she felt sad, she felt safe. Comfortable. Content. Like this was where she was meant to be.

Eventually she did get out of the bath, drying herself off with the fluffy white towel that was unnaturally warm. She stopped in front of the mirror, surprised at her own reflection. She looked so different from the last time she actually saw herself. Her skin that was once a golden caramel color was lighter and ashen, dark circles under her green eyes. Her white hair slicked back with water was thinner than when it used to fall in thick ringlets as a girl. Her rib cage and hip bones protruding in a way they always had but wished they hadn’t. She had wanted a thicker, fuller body like the girls she saw at the pleasure houses. A strong body like her mothers used to be. A body that could hold up her wings and maybe one day…fly.

She had gotten dressed before Nuala and Cerridwen returned. The clothes weren’t like anything she’d ever worn before. Cream colored pants that were lined with a fuzzy material that was softer than anything she’d ever worn before. The top was a matching cream, flowy top with sleeves that stopped at her elbows and buttoned up the back to accommodate her wings. The shoes were white, flat and slipped on her feet easily.

She chose not to attend dinner that night. She wasn’t sure she could stomach any food. The twins looked disappointed. Her decision had been made to gauge how she would be treated if she didn’t have dinner with this high lord male.

She didn’t leave her room the following day either.

Or the day after that.

No one bothered her. No one came to drag her from the room kicking and screaming. No one beat on the door or called her horrible names. No one held her down or forced the food into her mouth. In fact no one except Nuala and Cerridwen came to her room at all.

And when they came they would bring a small tray of food, she only ever drank the tea and ate the biscuit and left everything else. She didn’t want to take too much before knowing if she was expected to do something in return.

When she finally felt safe enough she agreed to dinner on her fourth night. Nuala bathed her again. She couldn’t help the panic that overcame her once again as the female washed her hair but she cooed at her, soothingly before getting up and leaving her to finish alone as she had the first night.

Cerridwen took on fixing her hair, drying and styling it into waves that fell over her shoulders. Once she was done and dressed Nuala put a cream on her face and spritzed her with something that smelled sweet.

When they were done she felt like a different person. She felt clean. Comfortable. Alive.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on her feelings of finally leaving the room before Nuala and Cerridwen pulled her up and escorted her down the maze of hallways.

“Just two doors down, you’ll find the dining room,” Cerridwen pointed down the hall with a small smile. Cassandra wanted to ask why they weren’t also joining but when she turned to face them they were just gone as if they disappeared into thin air.

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Walking into the dining room was a weird feeling. Cassandra didn’t feel like she belonged there. In the fancy room, with a huge table filled with foods…foods she had never seen before. The four people she had met three days ago—and another she hadn’t met, all sat around the table talking in hushed whispers.

Azriel was the first to look over. His eyes met hers and offered her a small smile. “Cassandra,” his deep voice greeted.

“I’m glad you decided to join us this evening, please come sit,” Rhysand said, standing and motioning to the empty seat next to him, where Azriel would be on her other side—Morrigan in front of her and Cassian next to her. The other female at the opposite end of the table from Rhysand.

Cassandra hesitated for only a moment before walking over and realizing that the chair was designed to accommodate wings. She wouldn’t have to sit at some weird angle to be comfortable. Her eyes meet Azriel’s, the gentle look on his face a comfort she needed. He stood from his spot, sliding the chair out and gesturing for her to sit.

She felt eyes on her as she scanned all of the food in front of her. She had never seen so much food.

“I trust everything went okay the last few days?” Rhysand asked as he took his own seat once again.

“I freaked out a little when Nuala was washing my hair…” Cassandra admitted, shoulders hunching in embarrassment.

“That’s okay, no need to be upset. You’ve been through a lot, it’s expected. Nuala and Cerridwen are understanding and won’t hold it against you. You have my word on that.”

She wanted to say thank you again but didn’t feel it was appropriate. She didn’t know what else to say so she nodded her head and looked towards that other female, freezing as she looked into glowing silver eyes. She had never seen anything so…beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

A snort to her side caught her attention and she looked at Rhysand.

“Sorry, I just heard that,” Rhysand said, Cassandra’s eyebrows pulled together before realization dawned on her. The comment about the other female… “Amren.” Rhys supply’s the name.

She looks back to the female, to those eyes that make her not want to look away.

“Hello, girl,” She greets, and it’s not a terrifying rumble, but a genuine greeting.

Cassandra offers a small smile, feeling a draw to the small female. No one else spoke so she reached for a plate but before her fingers could even graze it, it filled with food before her eyes. She blinked at it in shock, looking to Rhysand to see if he had done it.

There was a small smile on his lips as he shook his head.

“The house is enchanted, it does what it pleases. You wanted food so it filled your plate for you,” Azriel spoke, she looked over at him then back at the plate.

Oh, wow. She thought…the food had even been diced into smaller pieces as she had told Rhysand. Her eyes fell on the wine glass in front of her—she wouldn’t drink it, couldn’t, so she looked at Azriel again then around the room. Water. And just like that, a glass of water appeared in front of her.

Cassandra felt the corners of her mouth twitch up, eyes meeting Azriel’s again then Rhysands before she grabbed the glass of water.

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“It’s pretty awesome, right?” Cassian spoke, his long hair that had been pulled back earlier now fell to his shoulders.

Cassandra nodded in answer, sitting her glass back on the table. Rhys took his seat, grabbing his wine glass, silently observing the female as she reached for her fork.

“I’ve never had this much food before…”

Rhys isn’t surprised but he’s not expecting the words and they make his heart hurt.

“Eat as much as you’d like,” Rhys says warmly, watching as she scoops up some warm potatoes and brings them to her lips.

“Mm” she hums, eyes closing. “That’s so good!” Rhys doesn’t answer, he can tell she’s not speaking to him consciously, she’s just thinking, not a single mental shield to protect her fragile mind.

It’s the next bite that wipes the small mine from all the faces. No longer an exploratory bite but a ravenous one. One after another, eating quickly and without restraint. Eating in a way that meant she had been starving, had never had an adequate food supply, had never been allowed to eat more than what was given.

She didn’t speak and neither did they. None of them would tell her to stop or slow down, all having been there at some point in their lives. They had all known that hunger at one point or another. So they let her eat. And drink. And eat some more.

Potatoes. Greens. Fruit. Meat. Bread. A plate appeared next to her holding a slice of cake and she ate that too—she had never had cake before but no one else at the table knew that.

It’s only when her plate is empty that anyone speaks up. It’s Cassian that asks, “How do you feel you’re settling in?” It’s an attempt to bring about a conversation without making her uncomfortable.

Cassandra takes a slow sip of water, breathing deeply as she does before looking at Rhysand who nods in confirmation that he’ll give her answer.

“Honestly…I feel more comfortable here than I have ever felt anywhere else.”

“That’s wonderful! We want you to be as comfortable as possible,” Morrigan chimes in, excited as if she’d been waiting to talk to Cassandra for the past three days. “When we didn’t see you for three days we were worried—well I was. The boys wanted to give you some space.”

“I didn’t know what was expected of me,” she says, Rhysand repeats her and she’s met with confused frowns. “That’s why I stayed away, didn’t eat much. I didn’t know if anything would be…expected of me in return if I did.”

“You have no debt to us, Cassandra. Nothing is expected of you,” Rhysand speaks, his voice firm but gentle. “If you wish to come to dinner you eat your fill until you’re satisfied. If you need clothes you wear what you like and it’s yours to keep. Nothing will ever be taken or held against you as punishment of any kind.”

Cassandra blinks at him, feels the wetness in her eyes as she nods. There’s just one nagging question in her mind, one she needs an answer to before she gets too comfortable.

“Why am I here then?” She asks, setting her fork down on a freshly filled plate, half as full as before.

Rhysand lets out a sigh before telling the others what she’d asked.

“You are here because I received word from one of Azriel’s spies—I’ll give you a more in depth explanation on what that means at another time—that pleasure houses in my court were buying and selling females against their will,” Rhysand begins to explain. “See we have many pleasure houses in Velaris but it has always been law that consent is the main requirement for anyone involved. Those who work or visit have to be there because they want to be there.”

“So, when we got word this law had been broken, Rhys sent us out to patrol the pleasure houses,” Azriel said, drawing her attention to him, “he needed solid proof of the law being broken before he could step in. Cassian and I, we saw you there. Scared. Frightened. Clearly not there of your own free will and didn’t feel it was safe for you to stay there.”

Cassandra looked at him, taking in the shadows swirling around him. His kind hazel eyes, the blue siphons glowing on his scarred hands. Remembered how when her eyes first landed on him on the other side of those bars she had been absolutely terrified of him.

“What about the…Mistress?” She asked turning away from Azriel to look at Rhysand.

“You no longer have to call her mistress, her name is Kamari. She is still here in our cells, she’s not been harmed. We are working to gather some intel from her. Who her bosses are, where they are buying the females and any other information we can get from her. She��s been cooperative in giving us the information we need to stop this from happening to any other females,” Rhysand said, eying the female in front of him before looking to his second in command.

“Do you have any information that may help us, girl? Anything we could use against that female to get more information?” Amren asks, fixing her smoky eyes on the female.

Cassandra was quiet for a moment, thinking. Trying to piece together everything she could remember. She looks up and nods her head. Everyone seemed to sit a little straighter, their full attention on her alone.

“My father is the one who sold me to a male named Vale. Blue skin, a long deep scar across his face, black eyes…mean and very strong—”

Rhysand hold his hand up, relaying the information to Azriel and you watch curiously as one of his shadows darts away and out of a window.

“Cassandra, do you mind if I open up a channel for everyone to hear what you say to me? It will help us find these people,” Rhysand asks, she doesn’t need to think before she nodded. She wanted to help in any way she could. Help any girls going through what she did and stopping more from going through it.

“Please, continue,” Rhysand encouraged.

“The male, Vale, had bought other females. He kept me me in a dark room under his home with three other females. He—he raped one of the girls many time but not me or the other two girls. He said he would get more money for us if we stayed…untouched.” Cassandra’s stomach rolled at the memories. Nauseated, remembering the cries of that poor girl every time that man came down stairs and hurt her. She could see the anger in the eyes that surrounded her, could practically feel it radiating from them. Their fists and jaws clenched tightly, wings rigid and shoulders taunt. But she continued.

“I stayed there for a few months before he took me to that…pleasure house? I’m not sure what happened to the other girls. I think he may have kept the one he raped.”

“Do you know their names?” Cassian asks and she’s nods. How could she ever forget them?

“Seera, Juno and Neema. I believe Seera and Juno were sister but I’m not completely sure. We tried not to talk too much because it made the male very angry,” She took a deep breath, trying not to remember the time he had nearly crushed her throat for merely asking to use the bathroom.

Unbeknownst to her she had sent that mental image to them who were seething with anger at what this poor girl had gone through.

“Once I was at that place I was introduced to Miss—I was introduced to Kamari,” She continued, needing to get away from the memories of that male. “She was in charge of my training. She stripped me naked, told me I would never own a pair of clothes again. That I was to be naked and ready for any male to take me whenever they pleased. I was to learn things that would…please these males. Anytime I refused I was beaten. So, for months I watched other females pleasure males in many ways. But only watched. They said—she said I would be sold for a lot of money for being untouched. That whoever paid the most could do whatever they wanted to me. When I saw the two of you I thought—” She swallowed thickly eyes shooting between Azriel and Cassian. “I though you were going to—”

Her voice cracks and she looks away. Morrigan pushes out of her chair, walking around the table. “Can I hug you?” She asks.

All Cassandra can do is nod letting Morrigan wrap strong arms around her. Hugging her tightly. Holding her in a way that reminded her of her mother before she died. After a moment Morrigan pulls away offering a napkin to wipe her eyes.

“Cassandra, dear, we can be done for today if it’s too much to continue,” Rhysand offers gently.

She nods gently, feeling as if maybe she wasn’t much help at all. The rest of dinner is spent in silence, Cassandra hunched into herself while the other four fae think about killing everyone who hurt this innocent girl and many more.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

It’s later that evening when Cassandra slips from her room. The stone floor is cold under her feet and the satin nightgown doesn’t do much to keep the cold from her skin so she tucks her wings around her body.

She makes her way to the roof of the house, a training area the twins had told her was up here—they had also told her it was the best place to view the stars.

It’s a breathtaking sight. The wind whips her hair around as she walks to the edge. The lively city sparkling below while the endless sky shines above. Beautiful. She sighs gazing at the sight of the silver moon and tapestry of stars.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up here at this time,” Cassandra spins around, sighing in relief when she spotted Azriel, she hadn’t heard him come out at all.

“Sorry, I couldn’t sleep. I always loved looking at the stars,” She said, grateful Rhys had made it to where she could communicate—at least with the few people here.

Azriel gives her a lopsided smile that makes her heart stutter. “No need to apologize, that's why I’m out here too. The night sky has always been…soothing.”

She turns back to the ledge as he walks closer.

“You know, my father he was ashamed to have children with wings,” Cassandra said, as Azriel watched her from the side, her white hair shining in the moonlight—those green eyes glowing again. “He kept us locked away, and didn't want anyone to see us. My mother had her wings taken when she was a teenager. She said normally they just clipped them but her father was especially cruel and completely took hers away. Well, when my father was drunk enough or didn’t come home some evening my mother would bring us out and let us look at the stars, she taught us the constellations. And I got to see Starfall with her only one time before she died. It was…the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. After she died I never saw the stars again—not until the night you and Cassian took me away from that horrible place.”

Azriel did his best to simmer his anger, to clutch his shadows tightly that so badly wanted to reach out and comfort the female—to wipe away the glistening tears on her cheeks. She looks over at him then and he looks up at the sky so as not to reach out for her.

“Your mother seems like a lovely woman,” He says, hoping the opportunity to talk about her mother may make her feel better.

The smile that came over her face wasn’t what he was expecting. The way it lit up her face had his shadows singing in his ear. Beautiful. She’s beautiful.

She wiped her cheeks with one hand and nodded.

“She was amazing. She tried to protect us from him but she was just as afraid of him as we were. She didn’t know how to get out. But she took care of us. She was still young when she died—he says she died from taking some kind of herbs, that she took her own life. But I—I always believed he did it.” Azriel took in a shuttery breath.

“I’m sorry,” He said, struggling to find the words to comfort her.

“Me, too. I wish I could have protected her the way she protected me. But now she’s up there with the stars looking over us. Watching me, I think she would be happy I got out. I just hope I can help protect someone else the way I should have protected her.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the ledge. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep. Goodnight, Azriel.”

Azriel watched her walk away. Night gown blowing in the wind, the beautiful broken girl disappearing into the shadows.

tag list: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94

[garyfiddlesticksdammit]

Maddie !!!!!!!!

yay

[best-girl-otd]

Today's Best Girl of the Day is…

Nicoletta "Nico" Goldstein from Devil May Cry 5

[mo-ok]

☝️☝️☝️ pink 🌸🩷🧁

🌠

[wishluc]

Hi!!! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a yan!alhaitham/Kaveh or heizou for a fem!reader? Anything else is up to you! Totally cool if not tho - love the blog!!!

CW: Yandere! Kaveh (though on the subtler side), drunk Kaveh, manipulation, Reader makes poor decisions

PAIRING: Y! Kaveh x Fem! Reader

I really like Kaveh ♡ Sorry this took some time! Supposed to be a drabble but...(Happy Holidays!)

In retrospect, the first time was already a mistake.

It was hardly a sensible decision to make, but given his pitiable state and your bleeding heart, you couldn't just leave him slumped over behind some building in the city. Kaveh had always been friendly with you, sparing you a warm smile and going out of his way to make light conversation when he bumped into you, though the two of you weren't exactly close, and it would be heartless to walk away from him when you had a perfectly good room that he could stay in for the night. It wasn't the best idea you had—most things involving unfamiliar men weren't—but it would be the right thing to do, wouldn't it?

It's exhausting, having to drag an inebriated Kaveh down the streets of Sumeru City, but after a couple of gentle attempts at introducing yourself and making your intentions known, Kaveh seems to sober up a little. He rubs at his eyes and mumbles something incoherent, still stumbling on his feet as he tries to walk, but him being able to support some of his own body weight is enough to make the journey noticeably less strenuous on you and your conscience.

You lose yourself in nervous chatter while guiding him down the stairs and past large gates. You tell him about mundane things regarding your job and stories from your time in the Akademiya, and updates on the project you've been working on; the one he took special care to ask about whenever he saw you. (Kaveh was always so thoughtful, remembering the littlest of details. The kind of person who'd wait for you in the mornings with the snacks that always sold out before you could make it after you had mentioned it to him once. The kind of person you couldn't leave in such a vulnerable state.) In response, Kaveh only hums and yawns, his head bumping into yours and his arm almost sliding off you. He must have had more to drink than you thought.

When you first saw him sitting out on his own, you wondered where his housemate was, and if you should try to contact him. But you figured Alhaitham had a strict routine he abided by and wouldn't like being bothered at such a time, and the two of them may have gotten into a fight; which was far from an uncommon situation. For a minute again you consider taking him to the scribe, but one thought of the indifferent—or perhaps more likely, irritated—look he might shoot you and you stick to getting home as soon as possible.

At your doorstep, you sit Kaveh down beside you with a quiet sigh of relief and search your pockets for your keys. His head lolls sideways against your legs, his unkempt hair brushing against the side of your calves. You'd think it was endearing if not for how awkward the position was. After a few moments of struggling, you push the door open and lean over to lift up the dozing man again. But when your hands go to pull his face away from your legs and lean him against the wall instead, Kaveh slowly blinks and looks at you with a dazed look in his eye.

It dawns on you then that your position—crouched over him with your hands on his cheeks—coupled with where you had taken him, would look extremely suspicious to someone just waking up from a drunken nap.

"It's not what it looks like!" You cry out, immediately letting go of him. His head flops against the wall and you wince.

Kaveh blinks again, unaffected by the sudden movement, and says your name with a slight frown.

"You were passed out outside and I thought you might need a place to stay," you splutter, "I really wasn't going to—to—do anything else!"

Kaveh groans instead, a hand over his eyes, "Can we...talk later?"

"Sure! I'll just help you to the spare room—if that's alright? I'll leave right after, I swear, and—"

He reaches out for your hand with his free one, and you scramble to carefully pull him up. With a little effort on your side, you manage to take him to his bed for the night, ignoring the growing discomfort of having his head buried into the side of your neck at an uncomfortable angle. It wasn't like he was aware of what he was doing, anyway.

You catch a sigh of gratitude when you slowly lower him onto the sheets and tug off his shoes, and it's enough to make you feel like bringing him here was ultimately the right thing to do, even if a little out of the ordinary.

The next morning, Kaveh apologises to you profusely over breakfast.

“I can’t believe you brought me all the way here. I’m really embarrassed—I’m usually not so careless when I go out,” Kaveh only pauses his rambling when you fill his plate again, sending you yet another bashful look before continuing to eat.

“I’m sure anyone would have tried to help if they were in my position."

“Thank you, really. I’m…glad someone cared that much.”

You take in his slumped shoulders and the relief in his eyes. His mouth is drawn into a straight line and you find yourself making an offer without thinking.

“Kaveh," you begin, "if you ever need someone to talk to, you could always come here. I’ll be happy to have you.”

His eyes widen, "I don't want to trouble you again."

"It's alright," foolishly, you don't let yourself think over it for a moment longer, "I don't mind helping out when I can."

You know it's mostly out of pity, far from a sincere offer, and clearly not a rational one. But Kaveh is nice, you reason with yourself, he's polite enough to never take you up on it. And even if he did, he'd be considerate enough to not stay too long. You were certain that you knew all there was to know about Kaveh from the cordial smiles and the tranquil mornings. Certain that you would not regret the offer.

You start seeing Kaveh more, after what feels like an abrupt shift—far more than you ever had in your years of staying here. At every opportunity, he would make sure to ask you about your day (listening, you note, with unnecessary eagerness and an onslaught of questions you pretended not to have time for), and offer to have a meal with you. Each time, you find another reason to decline him. You even struggle to find a polite reply to his increasingly intimate compliments; from commenting on your outfits, the clips in your hair, and the color of your eyeshadow to your smile and the sound of your laugh. You thank him, your voice hollow, while desperately wondering when he'd run out of things to say.

It's not that you don't like Kaveh; it was only that his newfound interest in you was starting to be distressing.

But it wasn't enough reason for you to be suspicious.

He shows up, a week or so later, a little less drunk but far more talkative, and your evening is spent learning all about the fight he had with Alhaitham. You don't tell him that you agree with his housemate (if only out of courtesy), but you can't hide your shock when he casually mentions his bankruptcy.

"It's not that bad," he rushes to assure you, "I'm working towards fixing things. It'll still be a while before I can move out, but things could be worse."

You accept his explanation, realizing that there was no point in admitting that you were now certain that Alhaitham was right to chide him about his spending habits. Instead, you offer to let him stay for the night to cool down before going back. He beams at you and thanks you profusely, and you decide against commenting on the overnight bag he brought with him.

You wake up the day after to find Kaveh preparing breakfast in your kitchen.

"It's the least I can do for you," he says, carefully bringing over two plates to the table. He blushes when you thank him, and when he places your mug next, you're surprised to find that he's made you your usual drink. You pretend it doesn't bother you that he already knows how much sugar and milk you prefer to have and match his smile with a weak one.

Questions can wait until after breakfast, you think. Or after he's out of your house. But while you're halfway done with your meal, Kaveh hasn't even had a bite of his. His eyes are glued to your face with an expectant look in them.

"...It's very good." you swallow what feels like sand and rubber in your mouth, "thank you."

Kaveh grins before finally starting to eat. Was it his eagerness to please that made it difficult for him to hold on to money, too?

He takes your plate before you can stand up and goes to wash them, ignoring your protests. You've never felt more like a guest in your own home, but Kaveh's humming under his breath while scrubbing at your plate, still donning your apron.

"It's the least I can do for you," he parrots.

He eventually leaves, dragging his feet out sometime before midday with a somber look back at you. You only hope your smile doesn't betray your relief as you wave him off, anticipating lounging around without another lingering presence.

Some mornings Kaveh walks with you, arm pressed too close to yours and eyes on you. He picks up on every flicker of interest, offers to buy you the small trinkets that you pause to run your fingers over, and folds into himself every time you turn him down. It's only pity that forces you to swallow down any signs of discomfort when he reaches out for your fingers moments later, but Kaveh is oblivious to it all. He brightens up and tells you instead about the details of his latest projects. You hum, hoping your stiff fingers send the message for you. It goes unheeded; Kaveh is observant, but only when he wants to be. He's good at ignoring signs, too, when they upset him.

When he has to leave for a long trip into the desert, he frowns and drags his feet throughout the entirety of the morning. He looks at you, catches the concern in your face, and immediately springs upon you an invitation.

"It'll just be us two for a whole month," he says, as though you should find the prospect enticing, "and you've never been, have you? You'd love it there."

The sweetness of his voice candies the nightmarish reality of such a trip. Honestly, you might have entertained the plan if he wasn't always giving you strange looks and standing too close. A whole month, alone in an unfamiliar place with Kaveh? Your fingers curl into themselves as you shake your head. You mechanically recite an excuse from the top of your mind, meshing together mentions of work and obligations. Kaveh tries again, to lure you in with promises of adventure and excitement, but you take a moment to think of spending hours cramped with him and sharing meals only with him, and your refusal is stauncher this time.

The distance and time spent so far apart, you hope, would make him realize how uncomfortable his constant proximity was.

A week into Kaveh's absence, you find that you've never felt so excited to step out in the mornings. The days feel lighter, the mandatory trips out less daunting, and talking to people comes with an ease you've missed. A letter—the first of many—arrives and lays unopened on your desk.

You've fallen back into your usual (pre-Kaveh) routine by the start of the second week, and everyone around picks up on and fusses over your brighter demeanor. Despite this, you still have to bite back the frustration at the lingering mentions of your friend Kaveh and his whereabouts.

Nearing the end of the third week, you meet someone you've only ever been able to catch a glimpse of from afar on your way back home. Alhaitham regards you with a glint of curiosity and his mouth set in a straight line. He's more captivating up close, you realize—something you hadn't thought was possible—almost like a doll with the unusual color of his eyes and his impassive expression.

"Kaveh mentions you a lot," he says, in lieu of a greeting, "but I suppose that should come of no surprise to you."

"He talks about you, too."

He raises an eyebrow, sleek and fluid, "I don't expect that he would find me as pretty or as charming as he makes you out to be."

Your smile falters, "I don't think—"

"I received a letter from him the other day, and he asked me to check up on you. I think you would know why that may be."

"I haven't had the time to respond to him," you attempt to explain, "it's not on purpose."

"It doesn't matter to me," Alhaitham replies, "and I won't be writing back to him either. I only thought you'd want to know of this," then, after a brief pause, "You're too kind to him."

His parting words, coupled with a polite smile, sound almost like a warning to you. As he seamlessly falls back into his usual route, you wonder if it would have been the right choice, after all, to simply send Kaveh back to his housemate that night. At least, you're certain the unhappy looks would have been far more welcome than this puzzling conversation.

And maybe you are too kind to him. Too tolerant of his many unannounced visits, too sympathetic to his drunken admissions. Too careful of his feelings and too accommodating of his proximity despite how it troubles you. Maybe you should tell him to go home the next time he shows up, bottles of wine in hand. Put your foot down, and make it clear that you'd like to be alone.

Maybe you will try.

Kaveh stands, shifting on his feet by your door a few days later; earlier than you had expected him. As you approach the door from behind him, you entertain the notion of running away, but he turns around almost immediately, as though sensing your presence.

He's flushed, wringing his hands together, "it's been some time, hasn't it?"

He smiles at you and it's deceivingly warm. Your own smile is plastered on.

"I hope your trip went well."

He shrugs, then hesitates for a moment, "I missed you. Did you get my letters?"

You nod. Kaveh's smile grows tight.

"I didn't get anything back, so I figured..."

You stare at the bag beside him, "there was nothing for me to say. Nothing new to tell you about."

Kaveh follows your gaze and goes to pick it up, "for you," he says, and your stomach drops.

"I thought we could have dinner together."

"I already had my dinner," you tell him, gentler than you had hoped to sound; as though coaxing a distressed animal, "I'm heading to bed now. You should go back too, Kaveh. You must be tired."

"I don't mind. I can even spend the night here."

No, you think.

"I don't know," you say instead, "I'm really tired."

He steps forward, "just for a while? I really missed you."

At your lack of a reaction, Kaveh tries again, with yet another step forward, "I don't really want to go back yet. Alhaitham...wasn't happy with me taking up this job. I wanted some time before—"

He cuts himself off and sighs.

"But you're right, I should be on my way." He sends one last glance to the paper bag leaning by the wall and then a sorrowful look at you, before going to leave. You're reminded of his efforts; of the money he shouldn't waste on you and the letters he carefully wrote out. The sky, cloudy and restless, was starting to grow dark.

One night shouldn't hurt too much. You could talk to him in the morning, when the both of you are well rested, and you're certain he'd understand then. Certain that he wouldn't see through you and shut you down before you could even start.

You never learn from your mistakes, do you?

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[historian-in-pearls]

🩵🩵🩵Happy May 1st!!! Prepare for me to be absolutely feral celebrating Mama Mary all month long!!!🩵🩵🩵

[sailor-tri]

Magical girl, Franziska!