#Nyrae Dawn

[lgbtqreads]

Fave Five: Queer Football Books

Like Other Girls by Britta Lundin (YA) Home Field Advantage by Dahlia Adler (YA) Rush by Nyrae Dawn (NA) The Team by Tal Bauer (m/m series) The Yards Between Us by R.K. Russell (memoir) Bonus: Coming in May, check out One of the Boys by Victoria Zeller (YA)

[quotelr]

Don't be afraid to live. And hold onto the people you love.

Nyrae Dawn

[oh-no-its-dragons]

Nothing's Perfect

Xaden wakes up slowly for the first time in years. At first he thinks the smaller body in his arms is Liam, when they were first placed in their foster home, or Bodhi before that, when they were younger and Bodhi would sometimes climb into his bed at night. It doesn't take long to wake up the rest of the way and realize just how wrong he is, though.

Those hips, for one thing, and that hair for another, and then the night before comes back with the force of a lightning strike. He smiles, but doesn't move. The light in the window is pale; it wouldn't have been enough to get in if the curtains hadn't burned. He throws a shadow up over the window to make sure she can sleep a little longer.

If he was more selfish, he'd wake her up. He doesn't think she'd complain, given how enthusiastic she was the night before, but it doesn't feel right, especially when he has to be up for one of Nyra's stupidly early leadership meetings but she can sleep longer.

He hates to leave her to wake up alone either, though. He should do… something. Something that feels personal. He thinks about writing her a note, but there's nothing he can bring himself to put to paper that feels real enough. Something else then.

The idea comes as he dozes contentedly, listening to her breath, smelling the floral scent of her hair and the almost-sweet earthy one that must be arnica salve. She does like her plants and flowers, doesn't she?

He could get up and look, but that would require leaving her before the last possible moment, so he closes his eyes and concentrates, grabbing the dawn shadows on the west side of the Rider's Quadrant and sending them out into the tall grass and wildflowers along the river. He can't see them but with nothing else to distract him, his control is good enough to feel the shape of every leaf and petal the shadows wash over.

Xaden's lost track of the minutes by the time he's gathered up a dozen or so flowers, carefully plucking them at the stems and carrying them all the way back inside cocooned in shadow. He can feel people in the walkways as the shadows jog past now, and smiles a little at the confusion he imagines on their faces.

Only once the darkness has succeeded in sliding the plants under her door does he resign himself to getting up. A quick crack of the shadow over the window says that yes, it's nearly time for him to be at that meeting. He lets the shadows under her body push her up ever so slightly so he can slide his arm out from under her without disturbing her sleep, and he dresses as quietly as he can.

The flowers are not quite perfect. He tucks a small white flower in his jacket pocket and sets the rest in a jar on her desk. Nothing's ever completely perfect, but she's starting to make him wonder if that's not untrue after all. Laying in a sliver of dawnlight that gives her curves to his shadows in ways that make him want to go right back to her, she certainly looks perfect. He takes another minute to watch her, feeling the way her chest rises and falls in the dark of the room.

When he turns to go, he lets the dawn back in and realizes again just how much of a mess they made. Smiling to himself, he lets the shadows of the mess clean themselves up, quickly sweeping all the shattered wood and charred fabric into the corner. She was going to need new furniture. He made a note to have Garrick take care of it later. All of his attempts to maintain distance from her- physical distance, emotional distance, anything- had failed. He might as well go the other direction and let his full claim on her be known.

Xaden slips out the door and checks the wards behind him, but his thoughts remain with her. Nobody else is allowed to destroy her. He'd given up hope that he could stay away from her, which means that the only option he has left is to try not to destroy her himself. She is certainly turning out to be worth the effort.

[mockerycrow]

UNDERCOVER VI (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

summary: after you’re allowed to get up and move around in a wheelchair, you begin to open up about what happened with Makarov; his plans, and you process some things. you have a formal introduction to Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. 4.8k words.

a/n; thank you so much for all of the support and all of the patience y’all have extended towards me. it genuinely means so much!! also, during this flashback, bolted italics are present when characters are speaking russian. [THIS DOES NOT FOLLOW REBOOT MW CANON.]

[WARNINGS; ptsd, death/suicide ideation, angst, hospital setting, flashbacks, death and gore, reader is not a good person morally.]

“And now I just keep running. Maybe not physically anymore, but my mind and heart are backpacking through the darkest corners of the world trying to get farther and farther away.” - Nyrae Dawn.

IT HAD BEEN two days after getting that dosage of a narcotic, that’s when they decided the handcuffs could come off, the monitors could come off, and I was allowed to roam (almost) free in a wheelchair. Of course, I always had to have a.. babysitter of sorts, which wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be, except for the times I really wanted to just be alone.

Although, I guess I can’t expect that, after everything I’d done—they probably expect me to bolt; or worse, I guess. I’m not sure what they exactly think I’m capable of in this damned state, with my injuries and all. The aches from my stitches are still present, vague—but I feel them all the same. I have one of my hands on my stomach as I slowly sit up in the bed I’ve been laying in. I’m pretty sure Soap’s in the bathroom, but I can do this on my own. 

I slowly get my legs over the side of the bed—usually I’d swing them over, but I’m pretty sure I’d tear every single stitch I have received within the last few days... I glance at the wheelchair that’s within arms length and I know it’ll hurt like a bitch to lean forward to roll it closer, so I extend my foot and use my toes by applying pressure to the seat, dragging it forward. I smile victoriously as my plan works, and I slowly but surely get myself in the wheelchair by turning my body sideways, putting my feet in the holders and plopping myself down into the seat. I wince a bit from the impact, an odd feeling of soreness and like my guts are threatening to push out of my bandages–but no harm no foul, right?

I hear the door squeak open and I glance over, seeing Soap who has just left the bathroom. He’s wiping his damp hands on his pants—fucker washed his hands but didn’t dry them??—and he has that stupid, classic grin on his face. “Not plannin’ on runnin’ away, were ya?” He jokes, walking over in a brisk pace to help untangle my IV from my wheelchair armrest. Soap’s fingers untangle it and quickly help to push my wheelchair as well as the IV pole to the bigger area in front of my bed. “Mm, maybe if my legs were healed.” I mutter as Soap does some final adjustments. I feel a humming sensation begin to brew under my skin, but I ignore it as Soap walks over to the door and holds it open for me. 

I manage to wheel myself out of the room with my IV pole, although it did take a lot of effort. “Lemme get that for ya.” Soap hums as he rushes over, grabbing the pole, allowing me to wheel myself. I mutter a thanks as I look around—this is a big hospital.. infirmary?? hallway, or whatever. “If yer lookin’ to get some fresh air, I know just where to take ya.” Soap interrupts my thoughts, his fingers twitching around the stand. I glance at him and I don’t mean to visibly perk up, but I do. “Yeah,” I let a deep breath out before scanning the hallway Soap and I are in. “I would appreciate that.” Soap points down the left of the hall towards what looks like reinforced double doors. “Right down there.”

…

Something’s wrong. I quickly wheel myself down the hall to where Soap was pointing, and I think Soap said something, but I wasn’t really paying attention like that. My stomach is turning as I keep wheeling down the hall. We soon stop at the double doors and it’s one of those mechanisms you need a keycard to enter and exit and luckily, Soap slips one out of his front jean pockets. He presses it against the little black box that has a small, flashing, red light. It beeps and turns green, a loud snapping noise coming from the heavy double doors. 

“Here ya go.” Soap murmurs as he steps forward and pushes against the door, opening it and holding it open for me. My breath hitches as I instantly take in the sunlight—it’s a little gated yard, it seems. I take a deep breath and I roll myself out onto the pavement that surrounds the grass, and I squint as soon as the sun hits my eyes. Once I’m out of the way, I hear Soap let go of the door, letting it close with a loud clang, a quieter noise indicating it re-locked itself. I take another deep breath, the fresh, cool air filling my lungs—and fuck, I want to cry. My eyes flutter shut as my hands curl up into fists, my nails digging into my palms as the fucking overwhelming feeling of.. freedom, flows over me. Finally free from Makarov, from the rooms I’ve been trapped in, from the evil shit I’ve done. Free from everything.. For now. 

I take another deep breath in such a way where it seems like I’ll never breathe again. I certainly felt like that when I was being drowned. I most fucking definitely took fresh air for granted–one very bad mistake I’ve made.. One of many. My heart begins to pound against my rib cage and my fingers involuntarily twitch against the armrests of the wheelchair, my stomach feeling weird. I let out another breath which catches Soap’s attention. “Y’alright?” He questions from behind me on my right, his accent drawing through every word. I glance upwards and he’s slightly bent over the wheelchair, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling in.. concern? My eyes flicker to the grass instead and I struggle to hold in a sob, my eyes falling shut. Fuck, please just don’t do this to me right now. I am not about to cry over seeing grass. I am not about to cry over seeing the little dandelions in the grass thriving.

As much as I would love to say that I’ll never have to face Makarov again, I have a feeling that just isn’t true. Makarov isn’t anywhere near done with what he wants, he will never be done until everything we know today is fucking destroyed. Shit—don’t think about that right now, just focus on the lil’ ol dandelions—fuck, man!

I flinch when I feel Soap touch my shoulder and my eyes snap to his face, my body turning a bit—we lock eyes. His eyebrow is slightly pinched in, his upper right canine tooth slightly biting his lower lip for a moment. “Didn’ mean to scare ye,” Soap says apologetically, pulling his hand away back to the IV pole, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing the metal. “It’s okay.” I mutter, letting out a shaky sigh which I attempt to cover up with a cough. I look back at the dandelions for some reason, they don’t seem so overwhelming to look at this time. An ache settles in my jaw, which probably means the pain medicine is wearing off but I just.. Want to stay where I am right now. In the yard with the goddamn happy go-lucky dandelions. 

“Do you know when they’re trying their next psych eval?” I ask, my voice gritty as it’s barely loud enough for the Scot to hear. Soap hums for a moment before his lips smack together. “Mm, no, not really. I think it’ll be jus’ a bit.” He replies, his voice soft in contrast to my tone. I inhale slowly to calm the humming in my veins and I nod–it’s not like I can get mad at him for something he can’t control. “There’s someone Captain would like you to meet. Or, er, re-meet.” Soap corrects himself, making me turn my head to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Someone else in your force, then?” I question which Soap responds with a nod. “I’ve mentioned ‘im before, Gaz, the other sergeant. Price has decided that it might be good if someone else watches over ya every once in a while.”

Ah. Hopefully the normal one. “Mm.” I respond with a soft noise and a slow nod, biting my tongue. I know Price is his Captain and Soap would probably come to his defense, but I’m still so ready to tear my stitches and beat the shit out of the man–mutton chops, I mean. He pissed me off so bad, I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever actually get over. “Sure,” I sigh. “I’ll meet ‘em.”

“Thank you.” I murmur to the nurse who is adjusting my pain medication dose on my IV. He gives me a soft smile and a nod. “Of course. How is your jaw?” The nurse asks, his eyes looking at me with worry. I take a moment to process his words and I pause, feeling pain pulsing along my injured side of my jaw and a deep ache within the muscle. “It.. It could be better.” I reply, my hand coming up to touch my jaw before remembering I probably shouldn’t. I watch the nurse nod and his eyes roam my face before he walks over to a cart that’s in the corner of the room. He takes out a key and unlocks the top drawer, grabbing a couple of medical grade gloves before stuffing the box back into the drawer and re-locking it. 

The nurse grabs a new package of bandages that was sitting on top of the cart and walking over, my eyes tracking their every move. I hate this, I feel like I’m fucking looking for a hidden weapon or something–which he takes out a pair of scissors. I feel my muscles tense up, a white cold shock going up my spine and my heart monitor blares for just a moment as my heart rate speeds up quite rampantly. Fuck, fuck fuck. I can’t fucking do this, why am I freaking out over scissors?? The poor nurse raises his hands, holding the scissors with one of his hands and the small disposable box of bandages. “I’m just going to check the swelling of your jaw, okay? I can’t see it with the bandages on and it’s time for a bandage change, anyway.”

I take a deep breath and I nod–stop being a pussy. It’s just a pair of scissors. The nurse slowly moves forward, putting the bandages on the bed. He gently grabs the edge of the bandage, somewhere out of my view and he gently cuts a smart portion before he quickly puts the scissors away, gently unraveling the bandages. They’re covering my jaw, neck, and one part of my head. I wince a bit which earns me a soft “sorry” from the nurse, and he pulls it all away. The bandage is slightly discolored which I’m not too surprised about, my bandage hasn't been replaced in a bit. I snapped out of my thoughts with his gentle gloved hands grabbing my face, being very conscious of where, I’m assuming, where my jaw is hurt.. Or fractured, whatever they said happened. I can’t remember.

That’s weird.

“Mm, you definitely have swelling. Despite this, you seem to be healing quite well!” The nurse murmurs optimistically, turning my head in the directions he wants. A twinge of pain shoots through me and I grunt, making him stop. “Range of motion is limited, I’m not surprised due to the pain.” The nurse notes out loud. He grabs the box of bandages and takes out a roll. “I’m going to rewrap your jaw and then I’m going to get an ice pack for you, okay? Then I’ll up your dosage, after seeing if the ice pack provides any relief.” I nod, letting out a soft breath. “Thank you,” I whisper, which earns me a soft smile from the nurse.

He rewraps my jaw, neck and partially my head. The nurse puts the scissors away and throws away the box and his gloves, heading towards the door. He opens the door and he steps aside for a moment, and lo’ and behold–Soap and another man walks in, the other man looks quite familiar. Oh! It’s Basic Boy. I watch the two men walk into the room and they seem quite close, bumping shoulders and Soap grinning like the sunshine idiot he seems to be—on second thought, I already know he’s quite smart—and the other man seems a bit more serious. “Is this.. Gaz?” I question, keeping my eyes trained on the man. Damn, I have to admit, outside of the context of our first meeting.. He’s kinda.. Shut up. “Aye,” Soap confirms, wrapping an arm around Gaz’s shoulder before the man seems to playfully roll his eyes, gently push Soap off of himself and he walks over.

He holds out his hand for a handshake. “It’s nice to formally meet you. I apologize for how we.. originally.. Met.” Gaz says, his voice firm yet there’s a sense of softness. I let out a heavy sigh, which makes me wince for a moment as my jaw creaks in protest. I take his hand and softly shake it, appreciating Gaz’s gentleness with me but there’s a small part of me that wants to yell at him. Tch. “It’s alright,” I reply instead. “With what you guys knew, I wouldn’t have expected any less. I actually expected worse, especially with that.. Tall fucker, skull face or whatever.” 

Gaz and Soap glance at each other for a moment before they look back at me, making me squint at them for a moment. I caught that; the look they shared. “What?” I deadpan, my shoulders slumping a bit. “Nothing!” Soap chirps out quickly, walking closer to my side. Gaz follows suit, his watchful eyes glancing around. “By process of elimination, your.. LT… Must be skull face.” I mutter, earning a nod from Gaz. “Lieutenant Ghost.” Gaz offers a name, making me press my lips together tentatively. “Ghost,” The name rolls off of my tongue like a curse. I can already feel the anger bubbling in my gut. What he did was a necessary evil, I can’t say that I hate the man, like I do not hate any of them for what happened, but..

Some things just stick, y’know? Like when Price rolled in a bowl of water to waterboard me, just like him. 

Don’t think about that right now, goddamn..

My fingers fidget together as the nurse comes back in with an ice pack wrapped in a white hand towel. I graciously take it, angling it and gently pressing it where there’s swelling. “There you are,” The nurse murmurs with a smile. “I’m going to take the heart monitor’s electrodes off of you now. They’ll be stuck back to your chest when you’re going to bed tonight.” The nurse informs me and I nod, leaning my head back to allow the man to peel them off of me. He quickly switches off the heart monitor machine before it starts making any panicked noises at the fact that it can’t detect a heartbeat. The nurse looks at Gaz and Soap for a moment, folding his hands together.\

“Please try your bests to not stress them out. We need them to be on a good path to healing.” The nurse softly lectures, earning a sorry grin from Soap. “We’ll try, but.. Ye know what we have t’do.” Soap replies, making me tense. At least he seems to feel a little bad about it..

My mind begins to drift back to Makarov; about what he wants to do. About what I’ve already helped him accomplish. It makes me sick to my fuckin’ stomach. What his goals were; what his goals are. I fucking hate my mind, I hate the way it’s trying to protect me from what I’ve seen, what I’ve witnessed and personally have done. Makarov is quite literally military enemy number one and I just.. My mind says no? It bats its eyelashes prettily and asks for a pass at the truth or dare table?? Are you fucking kidding me? And earlier, what the fuck was up with me forgetting about what happened to my fucking jaw?? I should get Soap to restart this whole recording interview process, and better yet, demand a fucking memory evaluation.

“Oi.”

I flinch at a voice snapping me out of my thoughts, and it was Gaz. I look over at him, where he seems weary but slightly worried. Not like Soap, though. It’s obvious he doesn’t trust me yet. I can’t blame him. A few weeks ago, if I came across him, I probably would have put him six feet under. “What’re you thinkin’ about?” He questions, his eyes roaming my face. I glance over at Soap who is sitting in a chair with his sketchbook out once more like I’ve seen. “Just..” I stutter, my fingers fidgeting together for a moment like before. “About.. Makarov. About everything, I guess.”

“Are you ready to talk about it?” Gaz questions, earning a throat clearing from Soap. They give each other a look and I sigh. “Not exactly, but.. I’ll try.” Soap pulls out the hand-held recording device and presses the on button.

The truck rolls up onto a gravel road, driving for a moment before there’s a clearing in the trees; a run-down shitty warehouse, conveniently placed right where no one would hear anything that’s going on inside. From one warehouse to another. The intel suggested they do have many properties, under numerous names to prevent arousing suspicion after a while. Once the truck stops, I look over at Sergei who opens his truck door and hops out. He holds onto the door and looks at me expectantly, so I quickly follow suit. I let out a grunt as my feet hit the gravel and Sergei closes the door, the driver of the truck climbing out as well. “Follow.” Sergei utters, barely giving me an option as he grabs my upper arm and guides me to the side of the warehouse.

The driver follows us close behind and we stop in front of a side door that has a deadbolt and a keypad. Sergei takes out a key from his back pocket and unlocks the top lock before he swiftly enters a key code so quickly that I couldn’t even track where his fingers went. The door beeps and a lock clicks, making Sergei grab the knob and open the door. I swallow nervously as he guides me inside, the overhead lights turned off. I have to trust, or at least feign enough trust to walk into the darkness with these fucks?! Shit..

My shoulders tense as he continues to guide me into the darkness. A part of my mind begins to berate me—it’s stupid to let Sergei guide me, it’s stupid to allow myself to be alone with two of Makarov’s men, that they can probably tell me accent whilst speaking Russian is all fucked. My heart skips a beat as the light above suddenly switches on with a loud hum, making me wince a bit to adjust to the new light. I glance around the space, my eyes landing on two shipping containers, one blue and the other a rusty white. There’s scrape marks on the ground where the doors would swing open. A quiet grunt leaves my throat as Sergei pulls me over to the blue container. I glance at the other man who’s staring me down—creepy…—as Sergei unlatches the large door. I look back at Sergei as the door screeches open, revealing a young man inside; most definitely younger than me. He’s skinny and terrified.

Brown eyes with brown hair, his mouth duct-taped—not just a strip, but there’s duct tape around his head, sticking to his hair–he’s tied to a metal chair, his legs tied as well as his arms. I walk forward into the shipping container, glancing at Sergei who’s crossing his arms. The other man is blocking the exit. Sergei pulls out a knife, which makes me tense but he walks past me and.. Cuts the ropes off of the terrified man? “You will fight him.” Sergei orders, his voice gruff and not leaving any room for argument. I blink for a moment; fight this kid? I nod anyway, watching how Sergei cuts a small square of the duct tape off of the kid’s mouth. The man immediately begins to plead and stutter, causing Sergei to put an index finger to his own lips to shush him.

Fuck. What does this kid have to do with any of this? Did he mess with the wrong person or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Why is he paying a price for others?

Sergei grabs the man’s wrist and slips him the knife.. What??

“Fight him for the knife.” Sergei orders, stepping back. He walks back to the door, standing with his arms crossed by the other man. I look back at the young man, my heart skipping a beat. Fuck. Fight to the death, huh? It’s not like I can fucking reason with this kid. He has so much to experience in life, and if I win, I’m taking all of that shit away from him. I make eye contact with him and before I can stop myself, I utter, “What’s your name?” The young man pauses, shakily standing up as he clutches the handle of the knife in such an amateur way. His lower lip fucking trembles. “Mikhail.” His voice shakes, teetering the edge of breaking a bit. A tight feeling begins to develop in my sternum. I stand still, watching the way Mikhail is so reluctant to move, hesitant to.. Attack. I tense my jaw because this kid has no fucking chance and I.. I don’t want to hurt him.

Does he have a family? Does Mikhail have siblings, a girlfriend perhaps? Maybe a boyfriend? What about friends? What does he want to do in life as a career? What are his hobbies, his interests? Does Mikhail like sports, or maybe video games? Both? I have so many goddamn questions that are going to die with him. “Get on with it.” I utter, making the man blink at me. Anguish laced frustration flourishes in my gut. “Come on already!” I bark, my eyebrows furrowing, my voice bouncing off of the walls of the shipping container. 

Mikhail stands up from the chair and takes a step towards me on shaky legs.

The air around me, Gaz, and Soap is stale and silent; thick with tension and my eyes are down turned, looking anywhere but their faces. I don’t need to see their judgment for this next part. “What happened next?” Soap asks, almost hesitantly. I take a deep breath, shifting the ice pack against my face for a moment. “I had to yell at him another time, ‘try me’, I yelled, I think. I don’t know why I went the cocky route, it just felt right.” I mutter, swallowing nervously. My chest feels funny. “Well.. He did. He rushed towards me and I saw so many openings yet I chose the most brutal one. I don’t really remember how it happened, but..” I trail off for a moment, closing my eyes as I recount. I see it happen behind my eyelids, I see how his blood splatters and I nearly hear his screams once again. 

I open my eyes again. “..I tore him apart, to be frank.”

There’s a deafening silence once more before I continue. “I got the knife away from him and I just..” I do a stabbing motion for a moment. “..I went at it. I stabbed him over and over, his blood was hot and his screams were..” I trail off, letting out a heavy sigh. “..I’m done for now.”

Soap quietly switches the recording device off; I hear the click. My skin feels warm, like it did when it got soaked with that kid’s blood. My free hand reaches up and brushes against the skin of the arm that is holding the ice pack and it comes back.. Wet?

I quickly pull my hand away and I look at my hand and I’m greeted with the sight of blood?? What the actual fuck—the smell suddenly hits me and it’s fucking overwhelming. I blink and.. I’m back in the fucking shipping container. No, no do not fucking leave me here—there’s blood splattered all over my jacket and jeans, a mangled body on the ground. I drop the knife, and it clatters against the concrete ground. What the fuck. My chest hurts, my skin is on fire, get me out get me out get me out–

I gasp as suddenly there’s pairs of hands on me and I blink and I’m back in the hospital room. I gasp for air and my chest is tight, my head is fucking fuzzy. What’s happening? There’s pairs of hands on each of my arms—Soap? Gaz?---Whoever it is, I don’t hear them. I can hear Sergei, though. His fucking filthy, awful praise for ripping a poor boy apart. I can feel his disgusting hand on my shoulder, the stomach churning weight of his palm slapping my shoulder. Don’t you fucking touch me, Jesus Christ—

There’s something on my face; something warm. Is it hands or is it blood? I can’t tell by this point, not when my reality is fucking.. Melting together with whatever the fuck else I’m seeing. What even is reality by this point?? Maybe I died the night 141 found me. Maybe I bled out, maybe I drowned—something, anything but living. Like I deserve. 

I shouldn’t be allowed to live.

Someone grabs my face again and my jaw flares up, and it feels like I’m being sucked into reality oh so harshly—fuck, that hurts like a bitch—and my blurry vision is filled with a face; someone with blue eyes, a mohawk, crow’s feet..? Soap.

I hiccup, letting out a harsh breath I didn’t even know that was resting in my chest. I push one of his hands away, whatever was the one near the hurt side of my jaw and I see him wince through the.. Through the tears that are springing and burning my eyes. Goddamnit. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, or Gaz. Or anyone, for that matter, actually. It’s embarrassing and I can’t quite place my finger on why yet.

He calls my name; his voice is almost too loud. I almost push him away, I almost curse him out—but I don’t and I don’t know why. My breath shudders, my shoulders bobbing with the movement. My eyes take a long second to focus on his and wow.. His eyes. 

“There ye are, bonnie..” Soap says quietly, his hand on my cheek moving to my shoulder. “Gaz went an’ gone to fetch one of th’nurses. Alrigh’, now take another breath.”

I take another breath and slowly exhale, nodding. “Fuck.” My voice rushes out harsh and raw and I wince from the sound of it. My eyes refocus on his and I just.. The concern lacing his gaze for some reason is.. I don’t know. It’s frustrating me that he seems worried over me—he’s just a fucking glorified babysitter. Just a babysitter. “Oi, y’with me?” Soap asks me, his voice firm—he reiterates his point with a squeeze to my shoulder. I inhale deeply and I nod to let him know I heard him. His eyes soften, the crease between his brows eases as he nods in return. 

My jaw hurts.

I snap out of my shaky stare off with Soap as the door to my room opens. Gaz and the nurse from earlier both waltz in as if they’re on a mission. The nurse walks over to me with a brisk pace, his face searching mine for something; maybe how I’m feeling? Perhaps to see if I’ve.. snapped or something. The nurse calls my name softly and I’m not sure why, but I flinch from it. My name sounds so.. Foreign. I don’t know why. I don’t like that I don’t know. It’s like the way his mouth forms my name is.. Unknown to me. Fucking hell.

The nurse—he calls my name again. I blink and I take a deep breath after another soft, careful squeeze to my shoulder from Soap. “I’m here.” I manage to push out, wincing a tad at how.. strained I sound. “How are you feeling?” The nurse asks with a gentleness that for some reason, annoys me—but I don’t say anything despite the anger brewing underneath my skin. He hasn’t done anything wrong. “Your jaw?”

I clear my throat and I glance at the nurse for a moment; I can feel Soap’s eyes burning into my soul. Maybe Gaz’s, too. Or maybe that is God’s? “Hurts.” I respond simply, earning a sympathetic nod from the nurse. “I’ll make sure to get you some pain meds, hm? What about some food as well?” I shrug, my eyes glancing downward. “Not hungry.” I try to ignore how the air is getting more tense and uncomfortable, despite the kind nurse’s attempts in calming everything down. I just want to be left alone.

Just leave me alone.

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[dumb-ster-fire]

Night Incarnate - Part 13

Azriel x OC

warnings: NSFW content

Summary: A deadly assassin and the elusive leader of Veilforged, Nyra delivers justice from the shadows, wielding starlight and darkness with lethal precision. Operating from Night's Refuge, she rescues the powerless and turns them into warriors. Whispers of her name spread through Prythian, but few know the truth-only that where justice fails, Night Incarnate rises.

Masterlist

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Azriel didn’t reply. Didn’t react beyond the way his shadows coiled around him like living armor.

He had felt it.

That impossible, unrelenting pull toward Nyra—something deep and primal, something that had slithered beneath his skin and refused to let go.

He had tried to deny it. To bury it beneath training, beneath duty.

But it was there. It had always been there, from the moment their shadows intertwined.

And now, the entire room was watching him.

Cassian looked between him and Rhys, his easygoing smirk faltering as understanding dawned in his hazel eyes. “You’re serious?”

Azriel’s jaw flexed.

Nesta let out a thoughtful hum. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Nyra is—” she hesitated, as if searching for the right word, “—something else.”

Emerie, who had arrived not long ago, frowned slightly. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Mor exhaled, propping her chin on her hand. “Azriel and Nyra’s shadows like each other.”

Emerie raised a brow. “So?”

“So,” Amren drawled, swirling her drink, “it’s more than that. Shadows are not just gifts. They are extensions of one’s being. They recognize one another. And if Azriel’s are drawn to hers…” She smiled slightly, sharp as a blade. “Well, I’d say it’s the Cauldron’s cruel idea of a joke.”

Silence settled over the room.

Azriel finally turned to Rhys, his voice low, measured. “Say what you want to say.”

Rhys’s smirk remained, but there was something assessing in his gaze, something watchful. “You’ve spent centuries guarding your heart, keeping everyone at a distance. And now you’ve met someone you can’t push away.” He leaned back in his chair. “How does it feel?”

Azriel hated that he had no answer.

Because how did it feel?

Like a quiet war inside him. Like shadows trying to merge with starlight. Like something slipping through his fingers no matter how tightly he held on.

He turned back to the window instead, looking out into the darkness of Velaris.

And though he tried to shove her from his mind, he knew—

Somewhere out there, Nyra was feeling it too.

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Amren’s silver eyes flicked toward Rhysand, her expression unreadable as she leaned back in her seat.

“You’re planning something,” she said simply, the words cutting through the silence like a blade.

Rhys’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was a gleam of something calculating in his violet eyes.

Feyre, seated beside him, frowned. “Rhys.”

He let out a low chuckle, swirling the wine in his glass. “I always have plans, darling.”

Nesta scoffed. “Don’t dance around it. If Amren caught on, it means you’re plotting something specific.”

Cassian crossed his arms, watching his brother carefully. “And something that involves Nyra.”

Azriel’s fingers twitched.

Rhys took a slow sip of his wine, setting the glass down with deliberate ease. “It’s no secret that Nyra and her Veils operate in the shadows, unseen, unnoticed.” His gaze flicked to Azriel. “But with the right push, the right circumstances… they could be brought into the light.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, but his shadows coiled tighter around him.

Mor rolled her eyes. “What are you thinking, Rhys?”

He gave a casual shrug, but his voice was anything but light. “The world is shifting. The peace we’ve carved out is fragile. And Nyra—whether she likes it or not—is a player in this game.”

Feyre’s frown deepened. “You’re talking about alliances.”

Rhys tapped a finger against the table. “I’m talking about ensuring that when war comes knocking again, we aren’t left wondering where Veilforged stands.”

A sharp breath left Azriel. “You want to control them.”

Rhys met his eyes. “I want to secure them. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” Azriel’s voice was quiet, but edged with something lethal.

Rhys held his gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

Amren sighed, looking between the two males. “You’re both fools,” she muttered.

Nesta’s expression darkened. “Veilforged has spent centuries making its own way, operating outside the courts because they choose to. If you think Nyra is just going to fall in line with whatever scheme you have, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

Cassian chuckled under his breath, but his gaze remained wary.

Rhys only smiled. “We’ll see.”

Azriel stood abruptly, his wings shifting behind him. “I think I’ve heard enough.”

Rhys watched him carefully. “Are you going to see her?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because his shadows had already begun to tug him toward the one place he swore he wouldn’t go.

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Azriel left without another word, the conversation in the River House fading behind him as he stepped into the night. The cool air did nothing to temper the storm inside him.

Rhys was playing a dangerous game.

Trying to maneuver Nyra like she was a piece on his chessboard.

But Nyra was not someone who could be controlled. She was a force unto herself, and if Rhys thought he could corner her into an alliance, he would soon learn just how wrong he was.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, as if they knew where his thoughts were leading. As if they knew exactly where he would go.

He let them guide him.

Let them pull him through the night, through the vast lands beyond Velaris—until the towering, warded fortress of Night’s Refuge came into view.

A whisper of shadows welcomed him, as if the very air recognized his presence.

Azriel landed silently, moving like a phantom as he strode toward the entrance. The guards at the gate tensed for half a breath before recognizing him, giving him a wary nod as they stepped aside.

They knew better than to deny his entry.

Even if they wanted to.

The halls of Night’s Refuge were quiet at this hour, illuminated by the occasional flicker of faelight. Veils moved in the shadows, some nodding in acknowledgment, others watching him with the same wary respect they always did.

Azriel paid them no mind.

His feet carried him forward, toward the one place he knew she would be.

Toward her.

He found Nyra standing in the open courtyard, bathed in the cold glow of the moon.

She didn’t turn as he approached, but he knew she had sensed him.

Knew it in the way her shoulders shifted ever so slightly, in the way her shadows stirred, recognizing his presence before she even spoke.

“You let them pull you here again,” she murmured.

Azriel stopped a few paces behind her. “They don’t listen to me when it comes to you.”

A quiet chuckle left her, but there was something else in her voice—something contemplative, like she was already ten steps ahead of him in thought.

“Tell me,” she said, tilting her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder, “what does your High Lord want from me now?”

Azriel exhaled, his wings shifting slightly. “Rhys thinks you’re a piece to be moved on his board.”

She did turn then, fully facing him, pale green eyes gleaming with sharp amusement. “Does he, now?”

He nodded once. “He wants to secure Veilforged as an ally before anyone else does.”

Nyra hummed, unconcerned. “A predictable move.”

Azriel studied her, watched the way she seemed utterly unbothered by the weight of it all.

“You’re not worried?” he asked.

Her lips curled slightly. “Worried?” She stepped closer, until there was only a breath between them. “Rhysand may be a master tactician, but I am no one’s pawn.”

Azriel’s shadows wrapped around hers instinctively, melding in a way that sent a sharp jolt through his chest.

A reminder.

A claim.

Nyra’s gaze flickered, sensing it too.

“Do you regret coming here?” she asked softly.

Azriel’s throat bobbed.

He should.

He should turn away.

Should ignore the pull, ignore the way his shadows reached for her like a lifeline.

But instead, he found himself saying, “No.”

Nyra studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then—

She smiled.

And Azriel knew, without a doubt, that he had already lost this battle.

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The tension between them was a living thing, crackling like lightning in the space that separated them.

Azriel wasn’t sure when it had begun—this pull that defied logic, that wove his shadows with hers until he could no longer tell where he ended and she began.

He had thought he knew the depths of darkness.

But Nyra’s was different.

Not the suffocating kind he had been shaped by.

Hers was endless, infinite—a vast night sky filled with stars, her shadows not consuming, but dancing.

And his shadows danced with them.

Her gaze flicked down, watching where their shadows coiled together, where they stretched toward each other in ways neither of them had ever commanded them to.

And she knew.

Of course she knew.

“You feel it,” Nyra murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but Azriel caught it as if she had spoken the words directly into his mind.

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Her knowing, sharp eyes searched his, and in them, he saw the same silent, tormenting acknowledgment.

The same truth.

Nyra’s fingers twitched at her sides, as if she were fighting the same instinct that raged within him.

To touch.

To see if the connection between them was real or just another cruel trick of fate.

Azriel’s wings shifted, and the movement drew her gaze.

Her throat bobbed as she looked at them—the Illyrian wings he still had, the ones that had been stolen from her.

His stomach clenched.

A reminder of the scar she bore, the pain she had endured.

The rage in his blood flared, dark and merciless.

Her gaze lifted back to his, and something in it softened. “I don’t need your pity, Shadowsinger.”

“It’s not pity.” The words left him before he could stop them.

She arched a pale brow, her lips curling in something wicked, something dangerous.

“Then what is it?”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He didn’t have an answer.

Or maybe he did, but admitting it would be surrendering to something he wasn’t sure he could control.

Nyra took another step closer.

Slow, deliberate, testing the very fabric of restraint between them.

And Azriel—damn fool that he was—held his ground.

The distance between them shrank to a whisper of air, her scent filling his lungs, dark cherries and lilac, intoxicating, dangerous, addicting.

Her power hummed in the air, wrapping around him in ways that sent his senses into chaos.

And he let it.

Her voice was a blade when she spoke. “You should leave.”

Azriel’s throat tightened.

She was right.

But neither of them moved.

Neither of them looked away.

His shadows curled tighter around hers, refusing to let go.

And for the first time in centuries, Azriel realized—

He didn’t want to.

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The tension snapped.

It was not gentle. Not hesitant.

It was explosive.

One moment, they were staring at each other, standing on the edge of something vast and unknown.

The next-Nyra had him pinned.

His back slammed against the stone wall of the courtyard, and she was the one caging him in.

It was Nyra who moved first, her hands fisting the front of his leathers, dragging him down as her mouth met his.

A collision. A clash of power and restraint that had finally shattered.

Azriel groaned into the kiss, devouring her, his hands finding purchase at her waist, fingers pressing into the curves he had only allowed himself to imagine before.

Wrong. This was wrong.

But nothing had ever felt more right.

Her taste-dark cherries and starlight-ignited something deep and ravenous in him.

Nyra demanded everything, her lips fierce, her body pressed against his with no space, no hesitation.

His wings flared-useless against the wall-but her hands dragged up his chest, nails scraping over muscle, over scars, over every inch of him that ached for her touch.

His own hands gripped her tighter, one sliding up her back, tangling in the silken cascade of her white hair, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, consume her the way he had dreamed of doing.

She made a sound-half-growl, half-moan-fucking lethal.

Azriel cursed, his control obliterated, his shadows writhing, twisting, curling around her own.

They melded seamlessly, perfectly.

Just like they did.

Nyra tore her mouth from his, panting, her forehead resting against his.

Her fingers clenched in his leathers, as if she needed the grounding, as if she would fall apart if she let go.

Azriel was no better.

His chest heaved, his hands still gripping her, unwilling to part, unwilling to let reality come rushing back.

But then—

Nyra laughed.

Dark, breathless, almost disbelieving.

And gods, he could have fallen to his knees at the sound.

Her lips ghosted over his in the barest touch, teasing, taunting.

"Well," she murmured, voice silk and sin, "I suppose that answers that question."

Azriel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her hips, warning—

And yet, he was already gone.

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The air between them shimmered, shadows coiling like living things as Nyra reached for Azriel’s arm. A whisper of darkness unfurled beneath their feet, the world folding in on itself.

A blink—then silence.

They emerged in her office, shadows peeling away like dissipating smoke. The scent of dark cherries and lilac lingered in the air as Nyra stepped forward, unfazed, her pale green eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight.

The moment hung between them, thick and electric, their breath mingling in the space they refused to close completely.

Then Nyra moved.

She surged forward, her hands twisting in Azriel's leathers as she crushed her lips to his.

It wasn't a kiss—it was a battle. A clash of tongues and teeth and heat that had been simmering for too long, now unleashed with violent, reckless hunger.

Azriel growled, low and deep, pressing her harder against him, his hands gliding down the curves of her body, memorizing every dip, every contour he had only let himself fantasize about in the dark hours of the night.

His fingers found the slits of her bodice, the ones that teased bare skin, and he gripped, nails digging in just enough to make her gasp into his mouth.

"Fuck," she hissed, her own hands yanking at the clasps of his leathers, desperate, demanding.

Azriel let her, let her tear them open, let her explore the ridges of muscle, the scars that lined his chest, his stomach.

Her fingers seared him.

His patience shattered.

With a growl, he lifted her-effortless-and slammed her onto the desk behind them. Scrolls and maps scattered, ink spilled, but neither of them gave a damn.

Nyra's thighs parted, inviting, her boots hooking around his hips to pull him closer.

Azriel's hands slid up her legs, over the leather strapped to her thighs, his fingers teasing where he knew she was aching for him.

She let out a low, wicked laugh.

"You're taking your damn time," she taunted, voice dark, delicious.

Azriel's shadows coiled around her wrists, around her waist, binding her in place for just a moment-long enough for his lips to trail down the elegant line of her throat, for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin there.

Nyra shuddered.

"Careful," he murmured against her skin, his voice like smoke and sin. "You have no idea how long l've wanted to ruin you."

Nyra's breath hitched, but she bared her throat further, arching into him, her hands yanking at his hair to bring him back to her mouth.

"Then do it."

And Azriel did.

He devoured her.

His hands roamed, teasing, exploring, claiming, his shadows a second touch, a second mouth, caressing along the parts of her he wasn't kissing, wasn't biting.

Nyra moaned against his lips, her own nails raking down his back, leaving thin red lines that he felt like fire.

Azriel cursed, his self-control razor-thin, his body rock hard as she rolled her hips against him, as her heat pressed against where he ached for her most.

His breath came ragged, his forehead resting against hers for just a moment, just long enough to look at her.

Nyra's lips were swollen, her pale green eyes dark, hungry, her chest rising and falling in rapid pants.

Beautiful.

His.

That thought nearly undid him.

But then Nyra smirked, her fingers slipping lower, her touch excruciatingly slow as she traced over the waistband of his pants, teasing, taunting.

"What's the matter, Shadowsinger?" she purred, pressing her lips just below his ear. "Losing your composure?"

Azriel's restraint snapped.

With a growl, he flipped their positions, pressing her flat onto the desk, caging her beneath him.

"You're going to regret that," he promised darkly, his voice gravel and thunder.

Nyra just grinned-and welcomed the storm.

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The tension between them had been building for what felt like an eternity, a slow-burning fire that neither could ignore.

Nyra had been teasing him relentlessly, her hands roaming over his body, her lips brushing against his skin in fleeting, maddening touches.

Azriel’s control had been fraying, his shadows curling tightly around them as if trying to hold him together. But Nyra had other plans.

With a sly smirk, she pushed him back against the edge of the desk, her hands firm on his chest as she forced him to sit.

His hazel eyes burned into hers, a mixture of warning and desire, but she didn’t falter.

Slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees before him, her pale green eyes never leaving his. Her hands trailed down his thighs, her touch light but purposeful, as she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin.

"You act like you've never been worshiped before, Shadowsinger," she murmured, her voice low and dripping with honeyed sin.

Her hands slipped beneath the leather, her fingertips grazing the heated skin just above his hips.

Azriel exhaled sharply, his golden-brown eyes darkening as he fought to maintain control.

But Nyra could see the way his hands clenched at his sides, the way his wings twitched ever so slightly—he was losing the battle, and they both knew it.

With a wicked grin, she leaned in, pressing a featherlight kiss to the hard planes of his stomach.

Her lips lingered there, warm and teasing, before she moved lower, her breath ghosting over his skin as she unfastened his leathers with practiced ease.

She pushed them just low enough to free him, her hands moving with a confidence that left no doubt—she knew exactly what she was doing.

Azriel swore under his breath, his head tipping back as he braced himself against the edge of the desk behind him.

His wings flared slightly, betraying the sharp pleasure that lanced through him as Nyra took her time, her fingers tracing the length of him with a featherlight touch.

She explored him slowly, deliberately, her fingertips memorizing every ridge, every curve, every sensitive spot that made his breath catch and his body tremble.

And then, with a wicked little smirk, she leaned in, her lips brushing against him in a kiss so soft it was almost maddening.

Azriel's hands flew to her hair, tangling in the silky strands as his restraint snapped completely.

He didn't guide her—not yet—but his grip tightened, his body trembling as she took him into her mouth, her tongue swirling in a slow, torturous rhythm that had him seeing stars.

Nyra hummed softly, the vibration sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through him. His shadows coiled around them, dark and possessive, but they didn't stop her—they welcomed her, curling around her shoulders, threading through her hair as if they, too, were under her spell.

Azriel's breath came in harsh, uneven gasps, his every muscle locked tight as she worked him with a slow, devastating rhythm.

Her hands gripped his thighs, steadying him as she took him deeper, her tongue pressing against him in a way that had his wings trembling, their soft rustle betraying his utter loss of control.

His head fell back, exposing the column of his throat as a broken sound ripped from him, raw and unfiltered.

"Fuck, Nyra—" His voice was wrecked, deeper than usual, filled with something primal and unguarded. She hummed again, the sound sending another wave of pleasure crashing through him.

Her fingers dug into his thighs, grounding him even as she pushed him closer to the edge, her mouth and tongue working in perfect harmony to unravel him completely.

Azriel forced his gaze down, his golden-brown eyes locking onto hers as she looked up at him through those pale green eyes, dark amusement and wicked delight shining in their depths.

And when she hollowed her cheeks, taking him deeper, his head snapped forward, a guttural groan tearing from his throat.

His grip on her hair tightened, not to control her, but because he needed something to anchor himself, something to keep from shattering entirely beneath the exquisite torment of her touch.

Nyra didn't stop. She didn't slow. She worshiped him with a devotion that left him breathless, her every movement calculated to drive him closer to the edge.

And when he finally came undone, his release crashing over him in waves, her name was a rough, broken whisper on his lips.

As he looked down at her, their gazes locked, he knew—there was no coming back from this.

She had ruined him.

And he would never want to be whole again.

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A sharp knock echoed through the room, shattering the heavy silence that had settled between them.

Nyra’s chest still heaved, her skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat, her body thrumming with the aftermath of Azriel. Every nerve was singing, her shadows curling lazily around her, satiated.

Azriel had yet to move. His body was still braced over hers, his breathing uneven, his face buried in the crook of her neck as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

Nyra let out a slow, controlled breath, forcing her mind back into focus. She could already sense who it was—one of the Veils, waiting outside her office door, likely with the latest report.

Azriel, too, seemed to register the shift. His head lifted, shadows slithering back to him, though they hesitated—lingered—as if reluctant to leave the warmth of her skin. His hazel eyes, still dark with something unreadable, locked onto hers.

Neither of them spoke.

The knock came again, sharper this time.

With a quiet groan, Nyra pushed against Azriel’s chest, urging him to move. He didn’t budge at first, his lips ghosting over her jaw, her throat—a final, silent claim—before he finally pulled away.

With swift precision, she adjusted her clothing, smoothing over the marks he’d left, even as her body still throbbed with the memory of his mouth, his hands, his shadows—

Another breath. Control. Focus.

Only once she was composed did she stride to the door, pulling it open to reveal a young Veil standing there, her dark eyes flickering over Nyra’s face before she bowed her head.

“My Lady,” the Veil said, voice crisp, professional. “The latest report on the next mission. We’ve gathered intelligence on a slave trading ring moving through the borderlands.”

Nyra’s expression hardened instantly, the lingering haze of pleasure vanishing entirely.

She reached for the parchment the Veil offered, scanning it quickly.

Their next target had been located. Another hunt was on the horizon.

Behind her, Azriel remained silent, but she felt him—his presence looming, his shadows curling at the edges of the room as if sensing the shift in her mood.

A mission. A purpose. A reminder of why she did what she did.

Nyra exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back.

“Tell Sylus and Dravien to prepare a scouting party,” she ordered, her voice smooth, lethal. “We leave at dusk.”

The Veil nodded sharply, stepping away.

As the door shut once more, silence fell between her and Azriel again.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, finally, Nyra turned back to him, arms crossed over her chest, one brow arched.

“So,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Are you going to keep brooding in the corner, or are you coming with me?”

Azriel’s lips curved—just slightly.

“Try and stop me.”

And just like that, the game between them resumed.

The mission awaited. The hunt was on.

And this time, they would hunt together.

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taglist: @fuckingsimp4azriel , @paige0103 (dm or comment to be added to the tag list)

[tenebrous-if]

Can we get some facts about MCs family members and their betrothed ? Maybe also how they changed after MC was missing for awhile.

King Leonidas and Queen Nyra

Nyra, who was then Crown Princess, met Leonidas during his opening tourney of being a knight— something he didn’t wish to do as he’s never truly enjoyed that sort of thing; it’s something his father wished of him and he didn’t wish to be more of a disappointment. Nyra felt endeared to the fumbling boy that could barely hold the sword up, let alone hope to wield it, but the gentleness he displayed towards his horse is what truly made her wish to meet him. (They fell in love fairly quickly… Leonidas is one of her most trusted advisors.)

Nyra, like all members of her bloodline, has a magical gift in the form of water magic— said magic, like it does with all the family, showcasing itself by changing the color of her eyes on the dawn of her sixteenth birthday. Changing light green to enchanting blue.

Leonidas is definitely the softer of the two. Sneaking his children little treats after dinner has finished, or trying to persuade his wife to let them play a bit longer, but it’s Nyra that read to you when you were little before bed— despite Leonidas being the scholar between them— as she’d do different voices and various other things; all in the effort to make her darling children smile.

They both still wear midnight purple— the color of mourning for a royal within Aetheria— due to the loss of you. Nyra wearing a necklace/earrings with the stone and Leonidas with his cape being the color… Something that’s understated, as it’s not the full outfit, but something that still shows that they’re thinking of you.

Leonidas has become much more finicky of his children, worrying constantly when they’re not where they’re supposed to be. The stress has caused his darker hair to start going a bit more grey. While Nyra has been much more protective and less willing to bend her already iron-clad rules… She won’t let another one of her children disappear.

Crown Prince Elarin

Many call him cold-hearted, aloof in the face of all the heartache that his family has faced as he’s never been seen to have shed a single tear for you… Of course, that wasn’t the case within the privacy of his quarters, but he refused to break within the public eye— remaining the perfect heir as he was always trained to do.

He has a certain fondness for the old tabby that’s made her home within the stables of the palace— a scruffy thing with half its right ear missing and a scar across her face, but the tabby has survived despite everything and Elarin, however foolish he believes it to be, hopes that if the cat could survive then so could you.

Likes the peace and quiet of the library within the Royal Wing, less people coming into bother him— barring the cleaning staff— which is what he prefers. When he’s not in with his various tutors then he’s there simply basking in the tranquility that the place offers him… It happens few and far between as of late.

Stills wears a small trinket that you made for him years before— a silly birthday present that he had pretended to not understand… The little brooch now sits snugly over his heart, underneath the sash that he wears to court.

To an outsiders perspective he hasn’t changed in the slightest, but to the people that know him they know that he’s become colder, more withdraw, focused more and more on his duties… It helps him stop wondering about what could have been; even if he does stop to stare at the Map of Arvandor whenever he sees it… Wondering where you could have possibly gone.

Prince/Princess Kalyn

Being your twin, your disappearance destroyed them completely. They couldn’t be in their quarters of the castle, that they shared with you, for months after the fact. They wouldn’t even let the cleaning staff in either— refusing to let anyone destroy the last bits of you they had.

As is custom, on the sixteenth birthday of a royal heir a ball is held to honor them, and to showcase their gift, Kalyn absolutely refused to have theirs without you by their side. As it would feel like they’d be celebrating something that wasn’t wholly theirs (and it isn’t in their eyes).

Was always hot-headed as a child, which is why their gift with fire magic wasn’t a surprise, but they detest the color of their crimson eyes now… As it took away the small connection they had with you… The color of your eyes. Because, at least, when they looked in the mirror they could pretend that you were looking back.

Has a sweet tooth the likes no one has seen before. Kalyn and Leonidas always had a little “date” where they’d sneak into the palace kitchens to raid the sweets… Something that Leonidas spoke with the cooks beforehand so they were prepared (Kalyn still thinks they were being thieves of the night).

They’re still fairly hot-headed, but they’re also more closed off in a sense that they try not to form new connections with other people. When they used to try to make friends with everyone and anyone. The one topic that is definitely liable to make them blow up is you… so people tread that line with extreme caution. Especially after they punched a dignitary who had been talking about a conspiracy that the royal family is the one that caused you to vanish.

Princess Isadora

Spends a lot of her time within the castle gardens or within the courtyard surrounded by admirers and potential suitors… Not that she truly pays them any attention. While getting gifts are cute/endearing, and she gives thanks to the people who went out of their way to give her one, it’s a simple benefit nothing more— it can also get tedious when she’s simply trying to be alone.

Has a deep fondness and love for animals and plants, all living things really. You can typically see her with her loyal hound heeling at her feet or following closely by her side… She always feels safe when he’s nearby.

Her sixteenth birthday is coming up, along with the ball and manifestation of her gift, which is coincidentally around the time that you’re found… Maybe you can finally have the ball that was stolen from you (and Kalyn)… If she agrees to it, of course.

Tries her best to be there for her family when the time of your disappearance comes around… Even if she feels like a ghost at times due to it, because she doesn’t truly understand but still feels the faint echoes of her own pain falling back to her— telling her things she tries to grasp, to remember, but it’s always too far out of reach.

She was five years old when you vanished. Remembers faint things about you, but she’s mainly been affected by the way her family is now without you. A part of her misses you, misses the relationship she used to have with you, but she doesn’t truly remember you completely… She’s also far from being the energetic child with chubby cheeks that you remember.

[darkpeacemusic]

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕪𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤: 𝔽𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤

Jeff the Killer - Jeffrey "Jeff" Alan Dan Woods

Homicidal Liu - Liuis "Liu" Victoria Woods

Sully - Sullivan "Sully" Akira Woods

Randy - Randall "Randy" Allen Warren

Keith - Keith Harvey Davis-Green

Troy - Troy John Green

Ben Drowned - Benjamin "Ben" Scott Lawman

Jane - Jane Todd Richardson-Vaughn

Mary - Mary Annabelle Vaughn

Ticci Toby - Tobias "Toby" Erin Rogers

Masky - Timothy "Tim" Buck Wright

Hoodie - Brian Hunter Thomas

Skully - Jay Gabriel Merrick

Kate the Chaser - Kate Eleanor Milens-Hayes

Charlie - Charles Matheson Jr.

Laughing Jack - Laughing Jack in a Box

Eyeless Jack - Jackson "Jack" Nicky Nyras

Slenderman - Simon (middle and last name unknown) (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Splendorman - Jim (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Trenderman - Beau (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Tenderman - Cedric (Human name prior to his experimentation/death)

Sally - Sally Maryam Dawn (formerly Williams)

Dr Smiley - Azerael Jesse Smiley

Nurse Ann - Annie "Ann" Lusen Mia

Nina - Nina Selene Hopkins

Candy Pop - Unknown

Candy Cane - Unknown

April Fools - Unknown

Jason the Toymaker - Jason Caleb Meyer

The Puppeteer - Jonathan Cole Blake

Clockwork - Natalie Priscilla Ouellette

Rouge - Heather Bridget Marshall

Wilson - Wilson Liam Marshall (neé Jones)

Zalgo - Z͠a̛'l͘ga̶t҉ot̡h

Queen Blackheart (oc) - Elizabeth Cindy Phillips (name prior to death)

Lazari - Lazari Natalie Swann

Stripes - Eloise Sarah Bellarose (name prior to her death)

Nathan - Nathan Maxwell Lux

Bloody Painter - Helen Delilah Otis

Kagekao - Unknown

Laughing Jill - Laughing Jill in a Box

Sadie - Sadie Marie Bennett

Hobo Heart - Unknown

Cat Hunter - Rodrigo Milo Ortiz

Chris the Revenant - Christine "Chris" Wendy Meyers

X-Virus - Cody Larkin Drake

Dollmaker - Erina Jezebel Kerenzalys

Frankie the Undead - Frankie Hades Asher (his real name prior to his death)

Judge Angels - Dina Angela Clark

Lifeless Lucy - Lucy Ava Jones

Lost Silver - Ethan Kin Fuji (his real name before his death)

Glitchy Red - Red (his real name remains a mystery)

Strangled Red - Steven Garrett Stoughton

Dr. Locklear - Evander Agnar Locklear

Lulu - Lucille "Lulu" Tiffany Greatfeil

Killing Kate - Katherine "Kate" Evelyn Knight

Screaming Dawn (oc) - Dawn Evelyn Woods

Will Grossman - William "Will" Gordon Grossman

Lulling Lauren - Lauren Robyn Ross (neé Evans)

CR - Carl Morton Ross

Emra - Emra Amelia Blake (neé Albridge)

Zero - Alice Marie Jackson

Slendrina - Charlotte (first name prior to death/experimentation)

Lily - Lily May Kennett

Nightmare Ally - Adeline "Ally" Ashley Abendroth

Zachary the Proxy - Zachary Julius Gibson

Oliver - Oliver Gorgon Henderson

Alex Kralie - Alexander "Alex" Joseph Kralie

Amy - Amy Callie Walters

Jessica - Jessica Ellie Locke

Seth - Seth Apollo Reid-Wilson (neé Wilson)

Sarah - Sarah Cassie Reid-Wilson (neé Ried)

Third Base - Richard "Doby" Vincent Doggers

Vailly - Vailly Suki Evans

[creepywrites]

Real names

Jeff the Killer- Jeffrey woods

Liu- Liu Woods

Ben- Ben Lawman

Sally Dawn- Sally Dawn (formerly Williams)

Sam Williams- Sam Williams

Milo the Electrocuted- Milo Moretti

Lulu- Lucille Greatfield

Clockwork- Natalie Rogers (formerly Quellette)

Zero- Zero

Jane the killer- Jane Vaughn Richardson (formerly Richardson)

Mary Vaughn- Mary Vaughn

Jane Everlasting- Jane Arkensaw

Vailly Evans- Vailly Evans

Nathan the nobody- Nathan Lux

Crystal the Hidden- Crystal Lux

Eyeless Jack- Jack Nyras

Kate the chaser- Kate Hayes

Rouge- Heather Marshall

Wilson the basher- Wilson Marshall (formerly Warren)

X-virus- Cody Rogers

Lazari- Lazari Swann

Stripes- Eloise Bellarose

Kaidy- Kaidy Zalgo

Senora Zalleen- Pandora Zalleen s.

Rasika- Rasika

Nina the killer- Nina Hopkins

Puppeteer- Puppeteer (formerly Johnathan Blake)

Zachary- Zachary Gibson

Emra- Emra Aldrige

Bloody painter- Helen Otis

Suicide Sadie- Sadie nanook (formerly Bennett)

Roadwalker- Zayner Nanook

Judge angel- Dina Angela-Otis (formerly Clark)

Nurse Ann- Ann Mia

Randy- Randy Harrison

Sully- Sully Harrison

Keith- Keith Davis

Troy- Troy Green

Dollmaker- Vaughn Volikov

Svetlana- Svetlana Volikov

Vicky genocidal- Victoria Ross

Hannah the killer- Hannah Jackson

Lily Kennett-Lily Kennett

Hung iris- Iris Illman

Lifeless Lucy- Lucy Jones

Asylum Nancy- Nancy Adams

Chris the Revenant- Chris Myers

Monday Child- Christabel Smith

Laughing Jill- Laughing Jill

Laughing Jack- Laughing Jack

Toby- Tobias Rogers

Lurking Lyra- Lyra Rogers

Killing Kate- Katherine  Knight

Lost Silver- Lost Silver (formerly Hibiki)

Cata the Killer- Cata Blackwood

Rotten Abigail- Abigail Walker

The Hare- Lin Wang

The Doll- Andrea Stevens

Raven- Manon Plume

Anna Schurks- Anna Schurk

Weeping forest- Jenifer Rhynes

Nightmare Ally- Adeline Abendroth

Red Death- Sifreid Gadriel

Gas mask maid- Marion Gadriel

Tim- Timothy Wright

Jessica- Jessica Locke

Taylor- Taylor Locke

Ellie- Ellie Aimoto

Labrador- Dean Lupei

Moth boy- Benjamin Miller

Starved angel- Lyet (formerly Matthew Lyet Campbell)

Sketcher- Sakura Aki

Sarah Erickson- Sarah Erickson

Hannya- Momoko Yamashita

Rosie- Dorothy Wilder

Hunter the proxy- Ethan Wilder

Doctor Irina- Irina Kennett

Deborah- Deborah Robison

Lucy the cannibal- Lucille Johnson

Andie Rosslyn- Andie Rosslyn

[acronym-chaos]

Sun and Science Themed ID Pack

[PT: Sun and Science Themed ID Pack].

Author's Note: requester asked for the ID Pack to have a "soft vibe" specifically.

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Adam, Albie, Amara, Apollo, Arcadia, Astra, Astrid, Aurelian, Aurora, Caden, Cambria, Ciel, Core, Cosima, Cyra, Dawn, Edison, Elara, Elio, Eos, Estell, Florence, Galen, Galileo, Helia, Ilona, Joule, Karl, Kelvin, Leo, Leona, Logic, Lumi, Marisol, Myra, Nyra, Pascal, Phoebe, Ray, Saffron, Soleil, Sorin, Stella

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Be / Bea / Beam, Bree / Bright / Brights, Flare / Flar / Flari, Glo / Glow / Glows, Golden / Goldens / Goldens, Light / Lighten / Lights, Lumen / Lumens / Lumens, Part / Particle / Particles, Pho / Photon / Photons, Ray / Rays / Rays, Shi / Ne / Nes [Shine], So / Solar / Solars, Spect / Spectrum / Spectrums, Sun / Suns / Sunnys. Warmth / Warmths / Warmths

Titles

[PT: Titles].

[Pronoun] Illuminated by Knowledge, [Pronoun] Who Follows the Light, [Pronoun] Who Studies the Stars, [Pronoun] Who Thrives in the Sun, [Pronoun] Who Warms Hearts, A Beacon of Warmth, A Gentle Glow, A Scientist of The Sun, A Shining Presence, A Star Gazer, A Sunny Soul, An Inventor of Illumination, The Golden Luminary, The One Radiant with Curiosity, The Warmth Bringer

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, End ID].

Requested by anon

Also tagging: @id-pack-archive

[dontlookheswatching]

Im bored and also working on a big post with some head canons about several characters with ref sheets, so im gonna make a birthday list real quick. I tried to keep a lot of this as canon as possible, but I have changed some ages and some birthdays aren't accurate because for some of these characters nothing would show up. Itll be going in order from January to December, 1st to the last day of the month.

January:

-Rogue(Heather Sam Marshall) - January 7th. She's currently 24, and her zodiac sign is a Capricorn.

February:

-Hoodie(Brian Hiatt Thomas) - February 5th. He's 24, and his zodiac is a Aquarius.

March:

-Eyeless Jack(Jack Zin Nyras) - March 15th. He's 24, and his zodiac sign is a Pieces.

April:

-Judge Angels(Dina Angela Clark) - April 2nd. She's 26, and her zodiac sign is a Aries.

-Alex Kralie - April 4th. He's 27, and his zodiac is a Aries.

-Sally Mae Williams - April 5th. She's physically and mentally 8. Her zodiac is a Aries.

-Ben Drowned(Benjamin Scott Lawman) - April 23rd. He's 22, and his zodiac sign is a Taurus.

-Ticci Toby(Toby Erin Rogers) - April 28th. Hes 22, and his zodiac sign is a Taurus.

May:

-Seedeater - May 27th. His zodiac sign is a Gemini. He is a creature that does not age, just exists.

June:

-Jeff the Killer(Jeffery Alan Woods) - June 2nd. He's 23, and his zodiac sign is a Gemini.

-Lost Silver(Jae-Ing) - June 6th. Hes 22, and his zodiac sign is a Gemini.

-Skitles(OC) - June 24th. He has no age. His zodiac sign is a Cancer

Kate the Chaser(Kate Miller Hayes) - June 25th. She's 25, and her zodiac sign is a Cancer.

July:

-Nina the Killer(Nina Rose Hopkins) - July 24th. She's 20, and her zodiac sign is a Leo.

-The Puppeteer(Blake Simon Smith) - July 25th. He has no age. His zodiac sign is a Leo.

August:

-Candypop - August 1st. He has no age. His zodiac sign is a Leo.

-Hobo Heart - August 3rd. He’s 23, and his zodiac sign is a Virgo.

-Eyeless Lulu(Lulu Mary Millers) - August 6th. She’s 15, and her zodiac sign is a Virgo.

-Occisus(OC/Samantha Lin Locke) - August 11th. She’s 24, and her zodiac sign is a Virgo.

September:

-Jane the Killer(Jane Eve Richardson) - September 1st. She’s 23, and her zodiac sign is a Virgo.

-HeartFixer(OC/Jamie Noel Martinez) - September 3rd. She’s 25, and her zodiac sign is a Virgo.

October:

-Bloody Painter(Helen James Otis) - October 1st. He’s 24, and his zodiac is a Libra.

-Suicide Sadie(Sadie Dawn Myers) - October 21st. She’s 20, and her zodiac sign is a Libra.

-Zero - October 25th. She’s 23, and her zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-NightOwl(My boyfriends OC/Lin Felix Gaspar) - October 29th. He’s 25, and his zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

Nurse Ann(Michelle Ann Quesnberry) - October 31st. She’s 28, and her zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

November:

-Clockwork(Natalie Gwen Oulette) - November 6th. She’s 23, and her zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-Sonic.exe - November 7th. He’s 15, and his zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-Tails Doll - November 7th. He’s 15, and his zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-Jason the Toymaker - November 15th. He doesn’t have a age. His zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-Lure(OC) - November 17th. Hes 21, and his zodiac sign is a Scorpio.

-Dark Link(Shadow) - November 21st. Hes 21, and his zodiac sign is a Sagittarius.

-Jay Merrick - November 23rd. Hes 26, and his zodiac sign is a Sagittarius.

-Smile Dog - November 27th. He has no known age, as a hellhound. His zodiac sign is Sagittarius.

December:

-X-Vrius(Cody Swann Diller) - December 9th. He’s 21, and his zodiac sign is a Sagittarius.

-Homicidal Liu(Liu Vicki Woods) - December 21st. He’s 24, and his zodiac sign is a Sagittarius.

-Laughing Jack - December 25th. He has no age. His zodiac sign is a Capricorn.

-Lazarus(Lazarus Dae Swann) - December 25th. He’s 12, and only ages every two years due to being part Zalgoid. His zodiac sign is a Capricorn.

-Masky(Timothy Que Wright) - December 26th. He’s 25, and his zodiac sign is a Capricorn.

-Kagekao - December 29th. He’s 27, and his zodiac sign is a Capricorn.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Friday, October 4th

JOYCE: You get the hell away from my daughter!

~~School Hard~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

Tantalizing by HuonParticlesAreHarmless (Giles/Buffy, E)

the hands that held you by evesock (Buffy/Ben, E)

Rain Over Me by DancingAngel0013 (Giles/Buffy, E)

Fly Soup by SomeKindOfADeviant (Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, T)

Divine Comedy in the House of Flies by CoffeeHunt (Angel/Darla/Drusilla/Spike, E)

Latreia by SomeKindOfADeviant (Drusilla/Spike, M)

Principled Approach by SomeKindOfADeviant (Angel/Drusilla/Spike, M)

SECRET DRAWER by KNZ1 (Buffy/Spike, M)

Crawling back to you by Rippertish (Buffy/Giles, T)

[Chaptered Fiction]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion, Chapter 344 by madimpossibledreamer (Ensemble, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure crossover, T)

Die and Live This Way, Chapter 13 by Cynder2013 (Giles/Jenny, M)

The Gift of a Family, Chapter 24 by Callarose_aka_FireDragon (Buffy, Stargate crossover, T)

To Be Hers, Chapter 31 by faefawn (Buffy/Spike, not rated)

Aegis, Chapter 21 by dogbertcarroll, Narsil (Xander, multiple crossovers, T)

Recompense, Chapter 17 by Moonkid10 (Buffy/Faith, M)

Firebell in the Night: Chapter 20 by TheLightdancer (Tara/Willow, E)

Until Only the Ashes Remain, Chapter 1 by tieflingliker (Willow/Buffy, Willow/Faith, M)

Across Ages, Chapter 28 by Isabeau (Buffy/Spike, R)

The Neighbor's Point of View, Chapter 136 by the_big_bad (Buffy/Spike, PG)

Mysterious Destinies, Chapter 12 by EnchantedWillow (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Unholy Matrimony, Chapter 10 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Be Back Before Dawn, Chapter 3 by Blissymbolics (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

The Science of Being Yours, Chapter 2 by Maxine Eden, ClowniestLivEver (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Me and the Devil Blues, Chapter 1 by Melme1325 (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Fury of the Fallen, Chapter 2 by CheekyKitten (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

Stiff Pole, Chapter 7 by scratchmeout (Buffy/Spike, NC-17)

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: I made Buffy on Roblox Dress to Impress by dietmtndew66 (worksafe)

Artwork: Buffy/Spike by flyora (worksafe)

Artwork: Giles and Willow in Season 7 by mistyintherivers (worksafe)

Gifset: iwry2023 most fluffy fic: blush by aboutafox by I Will Remember You Marathon (worksafe)

Cartoon: Xander and Doctor Who by Paul Gadzikowski's The Hero of Three Faces (worksafe)

Fanvid: Buffy Summers | Lose Yourself by 1SnoWhiteQueen1

Fanvid: Willow and Tara - Beautiful Things by Spica

Fanvid: My Own Dance - a Buffy Summers fanvid by Tafadhali

Fanvid: Buffy Summers - Fire in the Night by juliaroxs241

Fanvid: I love them the vampire slayer dawn summers x supernatural sam Winchester and Dean Winchester / idfc by Mew kuson

Vidlet: Katherine Pierce-Tvd and Spike-BTVS My crack ship by Nyra

Video: I made Buffy's scythe! 🌙✨🦇(From Buffy the Vampire Slayer) by PricklyAlpaca

[Reviews & Recaps]

Calendiles goldmine in How I Survived My Summer Vacation [Buffy novel] by ohrevienssoleil

Video: Season 3 Episode 9 - Buffy the Dog-Faced Girl from Columbus (The Wish) by The Sunnydale Diaries - A Buffyverse Podcast

Video: Showtime-Slayer Sunday by Jane Talks Sunday

Video: Buffy Review - Season 5 Overview by Reverse Angle

Video: The Twisted Buffy Guide 2x12: Bad Eggs! by Twisted View

Video: Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 4: Episode 8 - Pangs by The Cheshire Kiwi

Video: Buffy Season 4th: Things nobody talks about 🤨 by Crista Grym

Podcast: Queerness in Buffy the Vampire Slayer by A Girl, A Guy, and A Buffy Podcast

Podcast: BwB 610 - Ham and Heroin by Beer with Buffy

Podcast: Buffy 2.19 I Only Have Eyes For You by Once More: A Rewatch Podcast

[Recs & Search]

Looking for Spike/Buffy Fanfics on ao3 by abA878

New Spuffy Fanfic Recommendations continued by Priceless

A Thousand Tiny Deaths by Nyxocity (Buffy/Angel, T) recced by I Will Remember You Marathon

[Community Announcements]

Spike/Penn prompt by Buffyverse Kinkmeme

[Fandom Discussions]

I think there's a problem with my Buffy DVDs [Joyce Summers] by coraniaid

the buffy/spike dynamic in late s5/early s6 by lesbianmarrow

spike tossing a cigarette on the ground in front of buffy as a way of announcing his presence is so cute by lesbianmarrow

Do you think buffy heard that the Angelcrew removed his soul in Angel season 4 and ... by stormtide-leviathan

Soulless Spike fascinates me so much by thequeenofsastiel

I just realized that we’ve never actually seen Spike and Buffy hug by thequeenofsastiel

[Sexual assault in Buffy the Vampire Slayer] by thornfield13713

If you drink a vampire’s blood but don’t die right after, would you still turn into a vampire when you eventually die? by too-many-blorbos

I bet when Spuffy get into domestic arguments Spike gets so worked up that he slips into vamp face by Aphony Cree

The trials that Spike went through to get his soul back at the end of season 6 were more ceremonial than anything else by hersterical

Discussion of 4.13 "The I in Team" - Aired 2/08/00 (WB-US) continued by November

Discussion of 4.14 "Goodbye Iowa" - Aired 2/15/00 (WB-US) continued by multiple posters

Episode Discussion - Scoobtober: What are Buffy and Angel’s Scariest Episodes? by Plasma

Angel's and Wes' daddy issues continued by Priceless and Stoney

Does anyone actually like Kate Lockley or think she can act? by Taunammi

The four parter and Faith's trauma by LightBlueSky55

I gotta say, Angelus calling Gunn and Fred Othello and Desdemona is kinda perfect by DevilManRay

Was Jasmine, Illyria and Glory the same? by GeneralRise9114

How would you rank the episodes of Buffy Season 02? by OOKAPUCA1993

My only problem with the addiction angle they took by Tsole96

This appearence [Joyce] scared me shitless S7 episode 7 by Moira-Thanatos

dw faith we definitely know who the top was (you) by PinkPashaTS

when you’re barely feeling five by five by PinkPashaTS

Anya and Xander by Familiar_Recover8112

Imagine if they kept Jesse around instead of Xander!?! by OOKAPUCA1993

Prophecies in Buffy by YoTaMaM

[Angel] Season 5 finale by One_Waxed_Wookiee

Rm w/a Vu is one of the best Charisma Carpenter. She was DELIVERING ! by Cailly_Brard16

What’s your favourite season finale and why? by apparentlymythtaken

S2:E11 Ted by brnhnr

What is something from the comics that you would actually keep if they had done more TV seasons? by foreseethefuture

Xander showing off his special skill to an exchange student by Non_GMO_Popcorn

Waspish willow by snoresam

Favorite Episode that isn't common by CoasterTrax

Why didn't Xander pick up more skills by northeastbalancer

Fool for Love s5 ep7 by TheHeartForager3

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

Video: An interview with Stephanie Romanov aka Lilah Morgan herself from ANGEL by Slayerfest 98

Submit a link to be included in the newsletter!

Join the editor team :)

[lgbtqreads]

hi!! I'm out here floundering for book recs right now. Dilemma is I do love ya I will always be a ya lover but I am 21 years old and sometimes reading about characters that are my little sister's age makes me feel wacky. I absolutely ADORED icebreaker by a.l grazidei (even though it's technically ya) partly because of the college setting, also big fan of rwrb. Basically do you have any recs along the lines of silly bi romances with people like 18-25, mlm or wlw that's not Super spicy? I'm just a silly guy and I wish there was "ya but for big kids who aren't in high school" genre :)

YES, YES I DO. (Well, OK, some of them come with asterisks, but they are so top tier please just trust in this list.) Anyway, a reading list for you!

She Gets the Girl by Rachael Lippincott and Alyson Derrick (wlw but lesbian, but otherwise what you're looking for)

It Goes Like This by Miel Moreland (a variety of rep, not a romance, but has a wlw pairing in it and definitely has bi rep - I love this book so much)

And They Lived by Steven Salvatore (this one is also maybe not bi but is mlm but sort of nblm because one character basically has gender identity slightly on the brain but it doesn't come up a lot? Anyway, there is not a lot of mlm YA in college and this one is great IMO)

Out on Good Behavior by Dahlia Adler (yes this is me and OK it is on the spicier side but I feel like it's comparable to RWRB? Anyway it's pan wlw and def light and also def not YA)

Off Campus by AJ Cousins - also a little spicy and at times a little serious but it's bi college mlm and good and not as heavy on the spice as others

You’re a Mean One, Matthew Prince by Timothy Janovsky - OK they might be a little older in this one but IIRC not a lot older and everything else is a fit and I adored this one

Rush by Nyrae Dawn (This one I actually haven't read yet but AFAIK it fits everything you're looking for!)

I'm assuming you already know One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston if you liked RWRB, but!

[rainbowxocs]

UNIVERSE INFO:

Our Creepypasta AU

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

This universe takes place in your local forest, in your time.

Deep inside the woods, There is a large mansion made of black wood, It’s old, and rickety. You don’t know how you got there. Maybe you let anger consume you, Maybe something terrible happened to you, Maybe you followed the whispers or pages along the trees. Whatever the case. You’re here now and you are surrounded by people who are the same as you.

As long as you follow the “House Rules”, you will have food on the table, a roof over your head, and a bunch of annoying ass roommates who keep tying eachother up to fireworks and exploding them. It’s not like any of you can die- it’s fine.

You should fit in great.

🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓🪓

MY CHARACTERS:

Jeffery Woods

Nina Hopkins

Herobrine Persson

Slenderman

Sally Dawn

Tim Wright

Natalie Ouellette

Jackie Thompson

Vera Doe

Saki Sanobashi

🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚🪚

MORGANS CHARACTERS:

BEN Lawman

Jane Richardson

Liu Woods

Laughing Jack

Toby Rogers

Jack Nyras

Brian Thomas

The Peeker

🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨

[siderealxmelody]

Family trees & connections

Verse: Wings of Fire ? (Idk 😐)

Luneris (Acotar Night/Velaris)

Damian* & Ammalie (Velaris Court)

Aphaeleon → Daemon, Rhysand & Rhaenyra, Remus

Gewynrnon

Haldnunen

Ittshare

Hewn (idk a fandomless name)

Xander* & Evangeline

Maeve

Mora

Mab

Keiran

Morrigan

** Friends of Vincent, helped him kill his entire family. Xander and Imogen were lovers once. Damien and Xander were brothers, ran to the fae lands to make their courts to escape retaliation.

Solaris (Dawn/Day Sophos)

Qhohena & Priam

Ryenne → Ulther, Garath, Remis

Ammalie

Garath & Freah

Aemon

Taran

Alusina

Urstin

Nesta

Elain

Freya

Alina

Alina

Dusk (idk a fandomless name Dalos?)

Nyktos* & Seraphina

Vesperus

Theia

Cameron

Fion

*Nyktos is the only surviving remember of Kolis bloodline, the rest wiped out during the Gods War. He deeply suspects his older brother had his fate played with to pursue a female who didn't want him as clearly as Sotoria had. He fled to Fae after the war, becoming close to Damien and Xander.

Theia & Aidas

Helena → Seraphine

Silene

Winter

Carrion & Danya

Penelope (w/ Odysseus) → Sarai, Sebastian, Silba

Icarius → Boreas → Kallias & Xanthos

Winter General

Kingfisher & Saeris

Enva* (w/Dacre) → Rhain, Natalia, Athril, Nessyayn, Noelle

*Enva and Penelope knew Sotoria well, they were horrified when the Asteri took her and how she died. Her death propelled them to claim their mates and weather that storm. It made them make sure their daughters knew how to say no and never let a male take advantage of them.

Summer Isles

Aren & Lara

Dacre* (w/Enva) → Rhain, Natalia, Athril, Nessyayn, Noelle

Nyra → Cressida, Varien, Tarquin (eventually)

*Dacre and Enva's parents were briefly at war, and they ran away to mate and ended the war. Both courts were struggling post the war with Valg (Malcolm and Silas) and fought over a wellspring that could have helped their peoples.

Autumn Desserts

Malcom & Annabel

Aderyn

Taladaius

Aderyn & Kahlo

Nismera

Kaden & Isaiah

Sotoria → Brannon, Actaeon

Zefera → Amarantha, Clythia, Jurian & Anastasiya, Eris, Lucien

@luxmaeastra

@starlsssankt

[ashhearthelps]

Below the cut is a list of 93 mythical feminine names. Some of these can also work for either gender and are gender neutral names. You don't have to use them for feminine characters if you don't want to.

Please like this post or reblog if if you found this list useful. All names are under the cut as this is a long list.

Adora.

Aislinn.

Alvina.

Ambrosia.

Andromeda.

Anora.

Aspen.

Astaria.

Astraea.

Astrid.

Aura.

Aurelia.

Azaria.

Blythe.

Bria.

Briar.

Bristol.

Calista.

Calisto.

Calypso.

Calliope.

Carina.

Cassiopeia.

Celeste.

Collette.

Cordelia.

Corrine.

Dahlia.

Dawn.

Demetria.

Dusk.

Elara.

Ellith.

Elvina.

Elvira.

Ember.

Emelia.

Esben.

Esmira.

Estella.

Ester.

Estrella.

Everly.

Ever.

Fable.

Fauna.

Faye.

Fern.

Fionn.

Fleur.

Flora.

Freya.

Freyja.

Hazel.

Hyacinth.

Irene.

Iris.

Jinx.

Juniper.

Juno.

Larah.

Laverna.

Luna.

Lyra.

Maeve.

Marlowe.

Marian.

Minerva.

Mira.

Mallory.

Norelle.

Nova.

Nyra.

Ophelia.

Persephone.

Prudence.

Raven.

Rhea.

Rhiannon.

Rosalie.

Rowena.

Sabine.

Samara.

Seraphina.

Sybil.

Thalia.

Twyla.

Valkyrie.

Venus.

Willow.

Wren.

Zinnia.

Zephyr.

[dumb-ster-fire]

Night Incarnate - Part 10

Azriel x OC

warnings: trauma, violence, blood

Summary: A deadly assassin and the elusive leader of Veilforged, Nyra delivers justice from the shadows, wielding starlight and darkness with lethal precision. Operating from Night's Refuge, she rescues the powerless and turns them into warriors. Whispers of her name spread through Prythian, but few know the truth-only that where justice fails, Night Incarnate rises.

Masterlist

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Sleep did not come easily.

Azriel lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of his room in the House of Wind, the cool night air brushing against his skin. His wings shifted against the sheets, restless.

His mind should have been focused on the usual matters—his duties, his spies, the endless reports that awaited him in the morning.

But instead—

Nyra.

His thoughts circled back to her.

To the way her voice had softened when she spoke of her mother. To the way her darkness curled and coiled like a living thing, mirroring his own.

To the way his shadows had followed her.

It unnerved him.

They did not do that.

Even among his closest friends, his shadows did not linger—not like they had with her. They had always been his alone, whispering secrets only he could hear, twining around his skin like an extension of his soul.

But tonight—

Tonight, they drifted toward a presence that was not his.

As if they recognized something in her.

As if they had always known her.

Azriel exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple.

It made no sense.

But then again, nothing about Nyra had ever made sense.

She was a ghost in the dark, an assassin whose name was spoken only in whispers. A woman who had built a secret empire from nothing, who had done what even Rhysand had never dared—truly changed the lives of Illyrians, of those trapped in the shadows of Prythian.

And she had done it without waiting for permission.

Without asking for anyone’s blessing.

A small, reluctant smirk curled at his lips.

He could almost respect her for that.

But respect—respect was dangerous.

Because it led to understanding.

And understanding led to things he could not afford to want.

Azriel turned onto his side, forcing his eyes shut.

It didn’t matter.

Tomorrow, they would spar.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Yet as sleep finally pulled him under, his shadows still whispered her name.

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The next morning, Azriel stood at the training grounds before dawn, the sky still a deep shade of violet as the stars slowly faded into the horizon. The air was crisp, biting, yet it did nothing to shake the anticipation coiling through him.

He had arrived first, unsurprisingly. Punctuality was second nature to him.

And yet—

He wasn’t alone.

His shadows curled at the edges of the sparring ring, restless. Waiting.

Waiting for her.

Azriel flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders as he focused on steadying his breathing.

Then, just as the first hints of sunlight crept over the mountains—

She arrived.

Nyra moved like the night itself, a wraith of flowing black fabric and honed lethality. The crisp morning air did nothing to dull the intoxicating scent of dark cherries and lilac that ghosted around her, nor did it soften the sharp, knowing glint in her pale green eyes.

She had dressed for war—tight black leathers that hugged her form, a pair of wickedly curved daggers strapped to her thighs.

Even without her wings, she looked every inch a warrior.

Azriel’s gaze flicked over her, assessing.

And then—

She smirked.

“Didn’t take you for the type to get impatient, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel didn’t react, though his shadows twitched in response. “I don’t waste time.”

Nyra stepped onto the sparring ring, tilting her head as she regarded him. “Neither do I.”

She drew a dagger, twirling it effortlessly between her fingers, testing its weight. The morning light caught the ethereal shimmer of her starlight-forged blades.

Azriel’s instincts sharpened.

“First to yield?” he asked, drawing truth-teller from its sheath, the dagger gleaming darkly in the morning light.

Nyra’s smirk widened. “I don’t yield.”

Something flickered in his chest—something dangerous.

Good.

“Neither do I.”

And then—

They moved.

Azriel lunged first, swift as a shadow, aiming a quick, testing strike. Nyra dodged effortlessly, pivoting on the balls of her feet, her dagger flashing in retaliation.

Steel met steel in a clash of sparks.

She was fast. Too fast.

Azriel barely had time to block as she twisted behind him, aiming a precise strike toward his ribs. He deflected it at the last second, stepping back, recalculating.

His shadows whispered, warning him of her next movement—

But she was already there.

She danced around him, a blur of shadow and starlight, her strikes fluid, relentless.

Azriel gritted his teeth, barely keeping up.

She fought like a ghost, like a storm barely contained, striking and fading before he could pin her down.

But Azriel was not an easy opponent.

The moment she aimed a feint toward his side, he caught her wrist—tight.

Nyra’s pale green eyes flashed.

And then—

She was gone.

His grip closed around nothing.

Azriel barely had time to react before a tendril of living shadow curled around his ankle, yanking him off-balance.

He rolled, twisting in midair, wings flaring slightly for stability as he landed on one knee.

Nyra stood a few feet away, smirking, shadows still coiled around her fingers.

“Clever,” he admitted, breath even.

She gave him a mock bow. “I try.”

But Azriel was done playing.

In the next breath, he vanished.

A sharp breath—Nyra barely had time to react before he was behind her.

Her shadows shrieked in warning—too late.

Azriel’s blade was at her throat.

Still, she did not yield.

Instead—

Nyra smirked.

“Took you long enough.”

Azriel’s breath was steady, though something like amusement flickered in his hazel eyes.

“I could say the same to you.”

A pause.

The training grounds were silent except for their breathing, their shadows curling together like old lovers.

Azriel could feel it—that same pull from last night.

The way their darkness did not clash, but rather melded.

The way she stood, utterly unafraid, a challenge in every inch of her stance.

Then—

Nyra disappeared.

A whisper of starlight—

And she was at his back, her own dagger pressed lightly against his spine.

He hadn’t even seen her move.

Azriel tensed.

Then—he laughed.

A rare, soft thing.

“Well played.”

Nyra sheathed her dagger, stepping back. “You’re not bad yourself, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel turned, meeting her gaze.

For the first time, truly seeing her.

And he knew—

This was only the beginning.

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

They moved again.

Faster. Sharper.

Steel clashed in a deadly rhythm, each strike met with equal precision, each step a dance of instinct and skill. Azriel had fought countless warriors before—trained with the best, battled against the worst.

But never like this.

Never against someone who moved like a shadow given form.

Nyra’s fighting was art.

Not brute force, not raw strength—but precision.

A deadly, effortless grace that made even the most skilled warriors look clumsy in comparison.

She did not just dodge—she disappeared.

She did not just strike—she anticipated.

Azriel lunged, a swift upward strike meant to disarm. She blocked it, twisting her wrist at the last second, using his own force against him. He barely caught himself before she swept a leg toward his ribs.

He countered, pivoting into a feint—

But she was already moving.

And then—

She jumped.

Mid-air.

A blur of black and silver as she twisted above him, her body arcing through the air with inhuman elegance.

Azriel moved on instinct, shadows surging beneath him, propelling him up.

And suddenly—

They were there.

Suspended in the air, face to face.

So close that he could see every fleck of pale green in her eyes, the way her pupils dilated slightly as their gazes locked.

For a heartbeat—

Time stood still.

No war. No missions. No ghosts of the past whispering at the edges of his mind.

Just this.

The way their breath mingled in the cool morning air. The way their bodies moved in perfect sync, two shadows twining in midair.

And for that single, fleeting moment—

Azriel thought—

This feels like something I was always meant to find.

But then—

Gravity pulled them back to reality.

They landed on opposite sides of the sparring ring, blades drawn, chests rising and falling in perfect unison.

Nyra was the first to speak, breathless but smirking.

“Didn’t take you for the type to follow me into the air.”

Azriel twirled Truth-Teller between his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Didn’t take you for the type to give me the chance.”

Nyra’s smirk widened.

“Maybe I wanted to see if you’d keep up.”

His hazel eyes flickered. “Did I?”

A pause.

Her smirk deepened.

“We’ll see.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But even as they resumed their dance of steel and shadows—Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That for one breath of time—

He had touched something undeniable.

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

Steel met steel in a clash of sparks, a deadly rhythm forming between them. Strike. Counter. Pivot. Feint.

Their sparring had long since stopped resembling a simple training match—it had become something more. A dance.

Nyra moved like flowing ink across parchment, her every movement precise, deliberate. Her shadows curled around her, weaving between her limbs like sentient mist, whispering secrets only she could understand.

Azriel matched her, his own movements fluid, shadows stretching and coiling toward hers, merging, twining, as if they were not separate entities at all—but one.

Their footwork was synchronized, their strikes a silent conversation.

He lunged.

She twisted.

She feinted left—his instincts screamed right.

He ducked, but she was already there. A flicker of starlight at her fingertips, a split-second flash that nearly caught his ribs—

But Azriel blocked it, twisting his blade to deflect the blow at the last moment.

Nyra’s smirk was breathless, triumphant.

Azriel’s answering look was sharp, unreadable.

And then, they moved again.

The world blurred, narrowed to just the two of them, their bodies a seamless blur of black and silver. Their shadows—normally separate entities—melded together, twisting and writhing around them in dark tendrils, as if they too were caught in the pull of this unspoken connection.

Then—

Footsteps.

A group approaching.

And just like that, the spell shattered.

Nyra and Azriel broke apart at the same time, turning toward the newcomers.

Cassian, Nesta, Emerie, and Gwyn stood at the edge of the training grounds, the morning sun at their backs.

Cassian looked…surprised. His broad arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene before him. His gaze flicked between Azriel and Nyra, then to the way their shadows still clung to each other before reluctantly pulling away.

Nesta, beside him, was similarly unreadable. But her sharp eyes—so much like her mate’s—missed nothing.

Emerie and Gwyn, on the other hand, looked confused.

Gwyn leaned toward Emerie, whispering, “Who is that?”

Emerie shrugged, equally perplexed. “No idea.”

Nyra rolled her shoulders, her expression carefully neutral as she sheathed her dagger. “If you’re going to stand there gawking, at least bring a drink next time.”

Cassian snorted, but the wariness in his gaze didn’t fade. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Nyra.”

Nyra tilted her head, unconcerned. “Neither did I. But then, your shadowsinger showed up at my doorstep.”

Cassian’s brows shot up, eyes snapping to Azriel, who had remained silent.

Azriel, to his credit, didn’t react—didn’t even blink.

But Nesta’s lips curved slightly.

Amused.

Nyra stretched her arms above her head, seemingly indifferent to the scrutiny. “If this is an intervention, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t take well to those.”

Gwyn frowned, stepping forward slightly. “Wait. Who—”

Nesta cut in before she could finish, her gaze still locked on Nyra.

“She is Nyra, the leader of the Veilforged.”

Emerie and Gwyn’s eyes widened.

Nyra merely smirked. “Guilty.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then—

Cassian let out a breath, shaking his head. “Well, this just got interesting.”

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

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I never thought I’d see you here of all places.”

Nyra crossed her arms, raising a silver brow. “And where, exactly, did you think I would be? Lurking in the shadows?”

Cassian gave her a pointed look. “Aren’t you?”

A slow, amused smirk curled on Nyra’s lips. “Touché.”

Gwyn and Emerie still looked utterly bewildered, their eyes darting between the Illyrian general, Nesta, Azriel, and the infamous woman standing before them.

“So, let me get this straight,” Emerie said, arms crossed. “You’re the one behind Veilforged? The one who rescues the ones no one else does?”

Nyra tilted her head, considering. “I suppose you could say that.”

Gwyn furrowed her brows. “Then why do you all act like she’s an enemy?”

Cassian stiffened. Nesta’s expression was unreadable.

Nyra gave a low, knowing chuckle. “Because unlike you, Gwyn, your friends here are tied to a court that deals only in absolutes.” She turned her gaze to Cassian and Nesta. “And the moment someone operates outside of their control, it makes them nervous.”

Cassian’s hazel eyes darkened, but he didn’t argue.

Nesta, however, stepped forward, her voice level. “Rhysand doesn’t fear you, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

Nyra smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Of course he doesn’t. High Lords don’t fear what they don’t understand. They try to control it.”

Silence.

Gwyn and Emerie exchanged glances, both sensing the unspoken tension.

Nyra stretched her arms lazily, glancing at Azriel, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation. His hazel eyes were still on her, unreadable, as if he were trying to unravel something only he could see.

Nyra’s gaze flicked back to Nesta. “So, tell me, Nesta. What does your High Lord plan to do about me?”

Nesta’s steel-blue eyes gleamed. “I don’t know. But if he were here, I imagine he’d ask why you’ve spent centuries lurking in the dark instead of standing with us.”

Nyra gave a low, mocking laugh. “And stand for what, exactly? A system that failed me? A court that took centuries to care about Illyrian women? A High Lord who has had power for five hundred years and only now chooses to fight against his own people’s oppression?”

Nesta flinched, just barely.

Cassian’s jaw locked.

Gwyn and Emerie stared.

But it was Azriel who finally spoke, his voice quiet.

“You don’t trust us.”

Nyra’s expression remained unreadable. “No. I don’t.”

Another silence.

This one heavier.

Azriel held her gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he stepped forward, his wings flaring slightly as he moved past Cassian and Nesta, stopping directly before Nyra.

“Then let us earn it.”

Something flickered in her pale green eyes.

A long, slow beat of silence passed between them.

Then Nyra’s lips curved, sharp as a blade.

“We’ll see, shadowsinger.”

Nyra let the silence stretch for a few more seconds, letting her words settle in the air like smoke. Then, with a slow tilt of her head, she smirked.

“I have so many more opinions,” she mused, her voice rich with amusement, “but I think I’ll save them for another time.”

She turned on her heel, rolling her shoulders like a cat stretching after a long nap. “For now, I’ll take my leave. Wouldn’t want your High Lord to throw a tantrum knowing I was here.”

Cassian made a strangled sound—half disbelief, half laugh. Nesta merely blinked, her expression unreadable.

Gwyn and Emerie exchanged wide-eyed glances, clearly trying to decide whether they should be entertained or concerned.

Azriel, however, only watched her, his hazel eyes sharp, unreadable.

Nyra glanced at him last, her smirk softening into something more knowing, more deliberate.

“Until next time, shadowsinger.”

Then, before any of them could react, darkness enveloped her form, shadows curling around her like a lover’s embrace.

And in the next blink, she was gone.

Leaving nothing behind but the faint trace of dark cherries and lilac, the whisper of a promise, and the knowledge that Nyra never made empty threats.

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

Silence stretched in the wake of Nyra’s departure.

The scent of dark cherries and lilac still lingered in the air, a phantom of her presence.

Cassian let out a low breath, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, that was… something.”

“That was a power move,” Emerie corrected, arms crossed, eyes still on the spot where Nyra had vanished.

Gwyn exhaled slowly. “She’s not what I expected.”

Nesta’s gaze flicked to Azriel, who remained silent, his face unreadable. But his shadows were restless—writhing in a way they rarely did unless he was unsettled.

“You knew she’d be here,” Nesta said to him, her tone not accusing, just knowing.

Azriel’s hazel eyes finally lifted to meet hers. “I suspected,” was all he said.

Nesta studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “You trust her.”

It wasn’t a question.

Azriel was quiet for a beat before he finally answered, his voice low.

“I understand her.”

Cassian frowned. “You think you understand her.”

Azriel shook his head. “No.” His shadows coiled tighter around him. “I do.”

Nesta’s expression tightened, but she said nothing.

Cassian just sighed. “Rhys isn’t going to like this.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “Rhys doesn’t have to like it.”

Cassian’s brows shot up, surprise flashing across his features. “Az—”

“Drop it,” Azriel said smoothly, voice cold.

Nesta’s lips curled slightly. “You just don’t want to admit that she’s right about him.”

Cassian groaned. “Nesta—”

“She’s not wrong.” Azriel’s voice cut through, sharp and certain.

Cassian looked at him then—really looked at him.

Azriel didn’t back down. Didn’t shift under Cassian’s scrutiny.

After a long moment, Cassian just muttered a curse under his breath. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Azriel didn’t reply.

Because he wasn’t so sure about that.

Because for the first time in centuries, his shadows had found something that wasn’t just a whisper in the dark.

They had found someone who had never feared them.

Never feared him.

And that realization was more dangerous than anything else.

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The tension in the training grounds lingered even after they all departed.

Azriel barely registered the conversation around him as they made their way back to the House of Wind. Nesta and Cassian were still going back and forth about Nyra—whether she was dangerous, whether she could be trusted. Gwyn and Emerie whispered amongst themselves, their voices laced with curiosity rather than concern.

But Azriel remained silent, lost in thought.

Nyra’s words still echoed in his mind.

“Wouldn’t want your High Lord to throw a tantrum knowing I was here.”

She had thrown that verbal blade with precision, cutting exactly where she knew it would land. But beneath the taunt, beneath the amusement, there had been truth.

Rhys saw the world in black and white. He always had.

Nyra lived in the grey.

And Azriel… he had spent his entire existence in the shadows between them.

The realization unsettled him in a way nothing else had in a long time.

By the time they reached the House of Wind, he barely touched his food at dinner. Mor was speaking animatedly about something, Amren occasionally throwing in a sharp remark, and Feyre and Rhys listened with quiet amusement.

But Azriel’s thoughts were still elsewhere.

He caught Rhys’s gaze once—his brother studying him as if he could sense the storm inside his head. Azriel held the stare for a long moment before looking away.

It was Nesta who finally broke the quiet in his mind.

“Azriel sparred with her today,” she announced suddenly, taking a sip of her wine.

That got everyone’s attention.

The entire table stilled.

Rhys’s violet eyes snapped to Azriel. “You what?”

Azriel merely leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “We sparred.”

Cassian groaned, rubbing his face. “That wasn’t just sparring. It was… something else.”

“Like a dance,” Gwyn murmured, remembering the way they had moved—how the fight between them had felt almost natural, a rhythm they both instinctively followed.

Feyre’s brows lifted slightly, her gaze flicking to Azriel.

Rhys said nothing for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice even. “And?”

Azriel met his High Lord’s gaze and answered truthfully.

“She’s as good as they say. Maybe better.”

Mor exhaled, shaking her head. “This is insane. Do we really want to dance around someone like her?”

Nesta scoffed. “You all danced around Keir for centuries.”

Rhys’s expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing.

Azriel merely stood.

“I have work to do,” he murmured, dismissing himself.

As he strode away from the table, he could still feel Rhysand’s eyes on his back, still feel the weight of his High Lord’s thoughts.

But Azriel had no desire to ease his concerns.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure where he stood.

All he knew was that Nyra had drawn a line in the sand.

And he wasn’t sure which side he was on anymore.

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The silence Azriel left behind was heavier than the conversation itself.

Mor was the first to break it.

“This is bad,” she muttered, swirling her wine glass but not drinking from it. “Really, really bad.”

Cassian sighed, pushing his plate away. “He’s drawn to her.”

No one refuted it.

Even Feyre, who had been quiet throughout the discussion, glanced at Rhysand, whose expression remained unreadable.

Nesta snorted. “Of course he is.” She leaned back in her chair, swirling her own drink lazily. “She’s the only person in centuries who challenges him, who exists in the same grey space he does. And before you all start panicking—” she shot a sharp look at Mor ”—she’s not our enemy. If anything, she’s done more for Prythian than half the High Lords combined.”

Rhys inhaled through his nose, fingers steepled as he rested his elbows on the table. “That may be true, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous. To us. To Velaris. To Azriel.”

“She’s not a threat to Velaris.” It was Feyre who spoke this time, her voice measured but certain. “If she wanted to harm innocent people, she’s had centuries to do so. But she hasn’t. Her war is with slavers, abusers, criminals.”

“That’s what we think we know,” Rhys said darkly. “But what do we really know about her?”

“That she has done what you have not,” Nesta shot back, eyes burning with quiet fury. “You had centuries to help the Illyrians, centuries to clean out Hewn City, to help the ones trapped there. And yet, it was Nyra who took them in. Nyra who protected them.”

Rhysand’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

Feyre placed a hand over his, a silent reminder to breathe, to think.

“Nesta’s right,” Amren finally chimed in, swirling her drink with an idle flick of her wrist. “I don’t trust her motives completely, but I trust her results. I’ve been watching her movements for a long time—Veilforged has never once overstepped their so-called ‘moral code.’ And believe me, if they had, I would have noticed.”

That only seemed to make Mor’s scowl deepen.

“That still doesn’t mean she’s good for Az,” she said, voice clipped.

“And who decides that?” Nesta challenged.

“We all know how he is,” Mor snapped, frustration laced in her words. “How he latches onto things that make him feel understood. And this—this darkness she carries, the way she mirrors him—it’s dangerous. It’ll only pull him in deeper.”

“Or,” Feyre countered softly, “it will finally give him someone who understands him in a way none of us ever have.”

Mor flinched.

Cassian exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

Rhys was quiet, too quiet.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“We keep an eye on this. Closely.” His violet gaze was sharp as it swept over all of them. “If Nyra truly is what we believe her to be, then perhaps she’s an ally. But if she becomes a threat…”

The room seemed to grow colder.

“I will not hesitate.”

A heavy silence followed.

Nesta scoffed under her breath, clearly unimpressed. “You’d do well not to push her, Rhysand. She’s not someone you can manipulate. She’s not someone who kneels.”

Rhys met her stare. “Neither am I.”

Nesta held his gaze for a moment longer before rolling her eyes and taking another sip of her wine.

Cassian sighed. “This is going to get messy.”

“It already has,” Amren murmured.

And though no one said it, they all knew the truth.

Azriel was already too deep.

And nothing—not Rhys’s caution, not Mor’s concern, not even Azriel himself—could change that now.

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The tension at the table didn’t fade even as they all finished their meals and went their separate ways. Feyre lingered in the sitting room with Rhys, both of them lost in their thoughts, while Cassian and Nesta disappeared to their own quarters—Nesta still grumbling about Rhys’s arrogance under her breath.

Mor had left without another word, her face drawn tight, her shoulders tense.

Amren, ever the observer, had merely smirked and disappeared to her chambers, leaving only Feyre and Rhys in the quiet, crackling space.

“You’re worried about him,” Feyre finally said, breaking the silence.

Rhys exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. “I have every reason to be.”

“Because of her?”

“Because of what she represents.” He glanced at his mate, his expression unreadable. “Azriel is not an easy male to sway, Feyre. And yet… he’s already being pulled into her orbit.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

Rhys studied her, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. “You think he should pursue this?”

Feyre sighed, leaning back against the plush armchair. “I think we’ve spent enough time assuming we know what’s best for Azriel. Maybe it’s time to let him decide for himself.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.

Instead, he merely looked out the window, toward the twinkling city of Velaris, toward the mountains beyond—the same ones that separated them from Night’s Refuge.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t prove us wrong.”

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

Nyra stood on the highest balcony of the fortress, the cold wind biting at her skin. Her white hair whipped around her, the ends glowing faintly under the light.

Below, the lights of Night’s Refuge flickered, the sounds of Veilforged members winding down for the night drifting up toward her. Laughter, conversation, the faint hum of a song someone was playing on a lute.

It was peaceful.

And yet, she felt restless.

Her mind was still caught on the day’s events—the spar with Azriel, the way their shadows had melded, the way time had stilled between them.

And the way he had followed her.

She had sensed him when he found her at her mother’s grave, his presence lingering just out of reach. And when he finally stepped forward, when their eyes had met across the cold earth, she had felt something shift.

Azriel wasn’t like the others in that Inner Circle.

He didn’t look at her with fear. Or with disdain.

He looked at her like he understood.

And that was dangerous.

Because Nyra had spent centuries ensuring that no one understood her. No one got close enough to see what lay beneath the cold, ruthless exterior.

But Azriel…

Azriel was a different kind of threat.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Nyra didn’t turn as Sylus stepped onto the balcony beside her. He leaned casually against the railing, his wings—scarred, but still powerful—tucked neatly behind him.

“You don’t have enough coin,” she murmured.

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh. “Then let me guess. You’re thinking about that brooding, shadowy male.”

Nyra shot him a flat look.

Sylus only smirked.

“I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, turning to leave.

But Sylus caught her wrist, his grip firm but gentle.

“Be careful, Nyra.”

For the first time, his voice was devoid of humor.

“I can handle myself, Sylus.”

“I know that.” His icy blue eyes searched hers. “But this… whatever is happening between you and him—it’s not just a game. And you know it.”

Nyra didn’t reply.

Because he was right.

And that unsettled her more than anything else.

So she simply pulled her wrist free, stepping back into the shadows.

“Get some rest, Sylus.”

And then, in a swirl of darkness, she was gone.

Leaving only the cold wind and the lingering scent of dark cherries and lilac in her wake.

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

Azriel sat in his room at the House of Wind, staring out into the night. The city of Velaris glittered below, a picture of peace and prosperity. A stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him.

His hands rested on his knees, fingers twitching slightly as his shadows curled around him, restless. Whispering.

Not of secrets. Not of threats.

But of her.

Nyra.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of control. The ability to keep his emotions locked away, to let nothing shake him.

And yet, she had unraveled him in a matter of days.

He could still feel the ghost of her touch from their sparring session—the way her body had moved like liquid starlight, the way their shadows had merged like they were never meant to be apart.

That moment, when she had flipped mid-air, their faces so close he could see the golden flecks in her pale green eyes—when time had stilled—he had felt something inside him shift.

He had spent centuries in darkness, wrapped in his shadows.

And yet, Nyra moved through the same darkness like she owned it.

She wasn’t afraid of it.

She had become it.

And that… that was what unsettled him the most.

Because for the first time in a long, long while, Azriel wasn’t sure if his shadows had found something to fear—

Or something to follow.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair.

“You’re losing focus.”

The words were his own, but they didn’t feel true.

Because for the first time in centuries, he wasn’t sure he wanted to focus on anything else.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier that day, to the way she had left the training grounds with that cutting remark.

“Wouldn’t want Rhysand to throw a tantrum that I’m here.”

She had seen right through him. Through all of them.

She knew Rhys, knew the kind of male he was. And she was right. Rhys had done too little, too late for the Illyrians. Had let the camps fester in their own cycle of brutality, hoping slow reform would be enough.

Nyra had done something about it.

She had acted.

And whether they liked it or not, she had built something stronger, something more than what they had managed in centuries.

The whispers of Veilforged weren’t just rumors.

They were fact.

And that fact unsettled Rhys.

Because it meant he wasn’t in control.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists.

He wasn’t sure where this was heading. What it meant.

But he knew one thing.

When he had followed his shadows to her that night—when he had found her at the grave she built for a mother she lost too soon—he had finally understood.

Her darkness mirrored his.

And he had the sinking feeling that, no matter how hard he tried to resist—

His shadows had already chosen her.

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The Grand Hall of the Dawn Court was bathed in golden light, the ceilings painted in soft hues of sunrise, intricate carvings of constellations and swirling galaxies stretching across the marble walls. It was a place meant to inspire wisdom and peace.

And yet, tension crackled in the air like a storm waiting to break.

The High Lords had gathered.

At the long, polished table, Rhysand sat at the head, his expression carefully composed, his violet eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. Feyre sat at his right, her posture relaxed yet alert, while Amren, Cassian, Azriel, and Mor filled in the rest of the Night Court’s seats. Nesta had come as well, though she lingered near Cassian, her sharp gaze assessing everything.

At the far end, Helion lounged in his seat, his dark brown skin glowing in the morning light, his sharp amber eyes dancing with amusement as he took in the tension swirling through the room.

Thesan, ever composed, sat beside him, hands folded neatly before him, his Healer’s robes pristine.

Tarquin, his youthful face unreadable, sat across from them, his aquamarine eyes locked on Rhysand with quiet scrutiny.

Beside him, Kallias and Viviane whispered among themselves, the Winter Lord’s icy stare flickering to each High Lord as if gauging their intentions.

Beron sat with his usual air of contempt, his sharp features twisted in boredom. His wife, ever silent, remained by his side, her face a mask of disinterest.

And at the farthest seat, Tamlin sat, stiff-backed, his emerald eyes hollow but watchful.

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, exuding the casual dominance he had mastered over centuries. “Shall we begin?”

Thesan gave a polite nod. “I believe there are several pressing matters, but I suspect there is one in particular that weighs on all of us.”

A ripple of silence passed over the table.

It was Tarquin who broke it.

“Veilforged.”

The word echoed through the hall.

Feyre stiffened beside Rhys, her fingers twitching slightly.

Helion arched a dark brow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ah, yes. The ghosts in the shadows. Or should I say, the warriors?”

Beron scoffed. “More like rebels with delusions of grandeur.”

Mor’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t speak.

Kallias tilted his head slightly. “There have been whispers for years. But now… it seems they are more than whispers.” His silver-blue eyes flicked to Rhys. “Tell me, Rhysand, what do you know of them?”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Enough to know they are not a threat to Prythian as a whole. But they are… disruptive.”

“Disruptive?” Thesan repeated, a knowing gleam in his warm brown eyes. “From what I hear, they are rescuing those who would otherwise be abandoned. They are freeing Illyrians from the camps, smuggling out the innocent from Hewn City, and ensuring those who were cast aside find safety.”

“They are undermining order,” Rhys corrected, his voice cool.

Helion gave a low chuckle. “And what an order it was. Tell me, Rhys—are they truly the problem? Or is it that you are no longer the one pulling the strings?”

Rhys’s gaze darkened, but he did not take the bait.

Cassian, however, leaned forward, his tone clipped. “We don’t know who leads them. We don’t know how many they are. That alone is cause for concern.”

Thesan’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “You don’t know? Or you don’t wish to say?”

A flicker of silence.

Azriel remained still, unreadable, but internally, he felt the weight of the knowledge he carried.

He had seen her. Faced her.

And the thought of speaking her name here—of exposing her to these High Lords—sat uneasily in his chest.

But Rhys spoke before he had to make a decision.

“We are handling it.”

Tarquin studied him. “Handling it? Or trying to control something that was never yours to begin with?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened.

Kallias, thoughtful as ever, exhaled slowly. “Do you fear them, Rhysand?”

A pointed question.

A dangerous one.

And as the silence stretched, Azriel felt it in his very bones—

The storm that had begun to form.

Because whether Rhys admitted it or not…

Veilforged was no longer just a shadowy rumor.

It was real.

And it was changing the very fabric of Prythian itself.

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