#and than he became the older sibling with Hazel

[maladaptivedaydr3amer]

I love how Nico got back his sister in Hazel and Reyna.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[toasttt11]

introducing clementine

Clementine Faye Bedard the first born of Melanie and Jim Bedard, born on August 31, 2002.

Clementine has always loved the ice since her parents set a barely one year old Clementine on the ice and she has never wanted to leave the ice since, hockey has always been what she loves.

Clementine had always been more of a guarded person especially with meeting new people, she more of a quiet person but with the right people she can open up and be a bit louder, she’s just the type of her person who enjoys listening rather than talking.

Clementine has Heterochromia, one blue and one hazel colored eyes. When she was young she didn’t really like it just ignored it but as her younger siblings grew up they were always telling her how cool and pretty her eyes were so she grew to love her eyes and never hid them.

When her sister was born she was so happy to finally have someone else to play hockey with but Madison didn’t like playing or anything to do with the ice, so when Clementine showed Connor how to play and he loved it she was so happy she had someone to play with now.

Clementine and Connor has always had a very easy relationship because of hockey, they understand each other extremely well but that doesn’t mean Madison isn’t just as close to her siblings they just enjoy other things together.

Connor has always loved hockey because of his oldest sister, Clementine truly passed on her passion to her little brother who wanted to play and be just like his sister. Connor ended up picking the number 98 inspired by his sister who plays with the number 89.

Madison has always looked up to her older sister, always wanting to be more like her big sister and enjoyed anytime she had to spend with her, Madison has always been the academic sibling and easily passed her sibling in that category something the two had always been very proud of her for.

Growing up playing on boy hockey teams Clementine didn’t usually get any respect and a lot of the players ignored her if they weren’t on the ice, she had a lot of coaches not be supportive of her being on the team and trying to play her at least as possible. When she got drafted to the devils in 2020 she was pleasantly surprised how welcoming the whole team and staff was to her, and how they treated her with a lot of respect and kindness.

When she was drafted to the Vancouver Giants she was very happy that was the team that picked her as she could stay home and not have to move away from her family, she got to see more of her siblings growing up then she would if she had to move for another team.

Carter in the last game of the 2018-2019 WHL season had shot the puck into the goal giving them the overtime win in the championship game but as she shot the puck she was smashed into the boards by someone who was two times the weight and height of her and her elbow went into boards catching all her weight.

Her elbow was dislocated and had multiple fractures and breaks, she got a surgery done right away and was in a cast and sling for three months before the doctor realized it wasn’t healing correctly and she has another surgery getting more screws put it, she was out for another six months wearing a brace the whole time and ended up missing half of the season of her draft year. When the doctors saw her injury and how bad it they didn’t know if she would ever be able to play hockey again.

During the nine months she wasn’t allowed to move her elbow she still practiced every day, she starred shooting her hockey stick with the other hand and one handed as well, she ended up starting to switch up a lot of on her stick and she stuck with a no curve on her blade at all, when she was allowed to play again her shot became even more insane, she could shoot with either hand and either side of her blade, she was the perfect center.

Lindy Ruff had joined the devils a few months before the 2020 draft and he already knew who he wanted it on the team, Clementine Bedard. He had watched out for young players for awhile and Clementine had been on his radar for years now and he was always impressed seeing her play, he never had a problem with her being a girl as she plays better than most boys he’s seen.

Clementine has met Alex on all the different zooms they had for the draft instead of anything in person because of Covid, they started texting a little bit before both getting distracted by the draft. Alex had went to the AHL and Clementine had her first season in the NHL (2020-2021). Then Alex joined the New Jersey Devils team at the end of the 2021-2022 session and the two become closer than before and reconnecting with each other.

Nico, Jack and Clementine just seemed to click together when they all met and the three definitely got closest the fastest. Nico and Jack had quickly grown to love Clementine like a little sister and have gotten very protective of her.

Jesper, Nico, Jack and Clementine all worked insanely well together and Lindy quickly noticed that, making most of the lines have two of them one and two on the other.

Clementine always played well with any line as she has insane ability to seem to make the line she plays on play really well together, she seems to just make most lines on the ice click well when she joins them, So Lindy like to move her around a lot of the lines for games.

Dawson, Daws and Clementine all met a few months before the draft and ended up playing the World Junior Championship together, they are got pretty close and it was cool to realize they all got drafted to the same team.

Nico had recommended his apartment building when he heard Clementine was trying to find a good apartment to move into in New Jersey in 2020. Alex ended up moving into the building in the beginning of the 2021-2022 season. Jack ended moving at the end of the 2022 season into the apartment building, needing a new place to live but also wanted to be close to his best friend. John accidentally picked the same building as well when he moved from Pittsburgh. Dawson didn’t even realize when he asked for help moving in he had picked the same apartment building as all of them. Luke moved in with Jack when he came to Jersey making so many of the team live in the same building.

Braden Schneider and Clementine had always had an interesting relationship, they met when they played against each other in WHL, Braden was always flirting with Clementine and she was always annoyed by him. They ended up playing together for Team Canada for a couple tournaments.

Being close to the beach growing up Clementine grew to love surfing, as it was something so different from Hockey. When she moved to New Jersey she brought many of her surfboards with her and she always would go surfing on her days off and Nico ended up joining her a lot of the times and usually Jack as well but he mostly just ended up sleeping on a towel on the beach as the two surfed. Clementine has dragged almost all of her team at least once to go surfing with her.

Clementine has always been sweeter to the younger players who joined after her as they reminded her of her own siblings Luke quickly adored Clementine adopting her as his big sister, she helped him figure out a lot of stuff and always is there for him. Clementine really helped Simon out as he moved to the New Jersey Devils during the middle of the season and was very welcoming to him. She would stay after practice late to continue to keep practicing with the rookies and would help them clean up the ice.

[lusyscilly]

My favorite headcanons about the Di Angelo family. I have a genuine interest in them, so please bear with me!

Maria di Angelo was born in 1909 and met Hades and Persephone in 1932, during a party at the Italian embassy in the US. She had Bianca in 1933, and Nico in 1935 (I refuse in any way Rick's idea that the two were born at the end of the 20s, it doesn’t make with the timeline, but when does it make sense?)

She had an older brother, Michele, who was born in 1907, a younger sister, Elisabetta, born in 1919, and an older cousin, Giulio, born in 1908

Giulio went to live with them after the death of his father during WW1 because he was already an orphan of his mother, who died during childbirth. They grew up all together

These four kids didn't have many friends, except for the Adriani siblings, Alessandro (1906) and Vittoria (1909, but younger than Maria)

The Adriani are from both Naples and Rome (because of an arranged marriage), while the Di Angelo are from around Venice

The two families became friends because the two fathers met during the war and continued to see each other after the end of it because they both went into politics. The Di Angelo's became an ambassador, while the Adriani's a senator

During her adolescence, Maria had a little crush on Alessandro, but he always saw her as a little sister

Maria had a relationship with both Hades and Persephone but decided to cut it after Nico's birth, not because she wanted to but to protect her children from her father and older brother

She and Alessandro got married, to help her, but also to hide the relationship between Alessandro and Giulio (it was her idea, and she knows everything). They got married in 1937

Vittoria is Maria's best friend and always supported her

Ironically, I think Di Angelo's flower symbol is a white chrysanthemum, and Maria gave one to Michele before he went to Russia

All the family died during the war, while the Adriani siblings survived and are the only ones who remember them as people and not as symbols

The two parents died a few months before Italy's entrance into the war, Giulio and Elisabetta both died of pneumonia in 1942 (early year), while Michele died of hypothermia in Russia during the retreat (1943). Maria died because of Zeus, obv (in 1944)

Nobody in Italy knows what happened to Maria and her kids, even though Alessandro and Vittoria tried to find them. They became some sort of urban legend

Alessandro was sent to Africa during the war, hoping to see them again once he returned, but that never happened

Plus, I think Hades amplified Maria's sight. You know, when mortals can see over the Mist? Yeah, Maria could manipulate also her dreams, but this led her to make some sort of contact with Naomi Solace. The two of them started to see each other every night, and both of them started to develop some feelings for each other, a mix of eros and agape, something like that

Some of Naomi's songs are about her, like "Girl of the Forest" or "Fallen Angel" (I know, they are cringe titles, I'm very sorry!)

Naomi still dedicates some songs to Maria, even though she knows she's not here anymore

Plus, during HoO, when Argo II is in Venice, Nico, Hazel, and Frank meet a group of friends who are wandering in the city. They are very similar physically to Nico's relatives and one girl in particular reminds him of Maria. They aren't their reincarnations, but they are similar to them. This girl is also obsessed with Naomi's music and Di Angelo's story

And those are my main headcanons about them, right now I cannot think of others, but if I have others, I will share!

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 1 Pt. 15 (Teenagers in Love)

Eventually, Spencer did find out about the kiss. She heard from Everett's twin sister Malia who'd heard it from Holly, and she confronted Everett one day after school. They fought about it but got past it, and Heather begged Spencer not to fear her friendship with Everett. She admitted her feelings but promised she supported her and insisted she'd never come between them. In the back of her mind, she hoped they'd break up on their own and Everett would choose her, but for now she was happy to be single.

Heather invited both Everett and Spencer to her family’s Harvestfest turkey dinner, which would also serve as a birthday celebration for her brother. Kris came by and so did Heather’s friend Dylan. Even Kash Pancakes stopped by to wish his best friend River a happy birthday. Curiously, Heather noticed Everett made a quiet exit around the same time as Spencer’s late arrival, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d timed it that way. Were they on the rocks? She tried not to think about it.

River became a handsome young teen and went with his mother to a community space in Willow Creek. Daisy had heard of a UFO plant growing on the lot and was desperate to check it out, and for his part River had heard there may be good recycling materials there; he was already dreaming of following in his father’s footsteps as a respected Eco-Innovator. Daisy was disappointed on arrival to see the UFO plant hadn’t yet fully bloomed and was unlikely to bloom before the end of fall, but the trip wasn’t a complete loss: River never expected to meet his soulmate in a repurposed barn so far from Henford. But Cassandra Goth was a gifted artist just a year older than him, and he was instantly taken by her talent and her beauty. She lived with her family in a mansion in Brindleton Bay but was in Willow Creek to show her artwork with her mother, Bella.

River couldn’t believe a girl like her was into a guy like him. She was so learned and cultured; he loved rummaging through the trash. But from that moment on, whenever they could combine their schedules in their long-distance love affair, they were inseparable. Heather loved Cass immediately, and thought River had chosen his soulmate well, but Holly saw someone who might steal her place as the centre of attention and judged her with more scrutiny. Daisy and Neal both loved River’s polite and charming new girlfriend and encouraged Holly to keep her feelings quiet, but soon enough, charming Cass had won Holly over, too.

Heather couldn’t deny that she felt like she was missing out on what Holly had with Kris and River with Cassandra, but she had plenty to focus on besides Everett and wanted nothing less than to be branded the “other woman.” If Everett and Spencer were having problems, he didn’t tell her, and she was afraid to ask, so she kept her focus on her studies and got closer to young Hazel.

Being eight years older than the youngest Nesbitt, Heather had less in common with Hazel growing up. But as they both got older, and as Heather was often the only sibling home when Holly and River had their date nights, Heather and Hazel grew closer. Heather helped Hazel learn to ride a bike, and they even made and exchanged friendship bracelets.

Heather had an exceptional relationship with her siblings and her parents – there was never any strife at home, and the Nesbitt house was a respite for their friends when they needed a break from their own families.

With winter around the corner, would Daisy's quest for a UFO fruit have to wait until next year? ->

<- Previous Chapter | From the Beginning

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

“I Keep You Safe From Me”

(Title inspired by lyrics from the song “Liar” by Paramore || “Liar” is basically Virgil and Logan’s theme song for right now haha)

Chapter one: New Beginnings

(This is pretty short, sorry! But longer chapters are coming I promise!!)

Ship: slow burn romantic Analogical

CW/TW: weed, a bit of self deprecating language (barely! blink and you’ll miss it, but it’s there so it’s worth tagging!)

POV: Virgil

(No summary cause I don’t wanna give anything away)

———————————————————————

Virgil sat on the hood of his car, hot Georgia summer sun sinking into his clothes, wrinkled schedule in hand, watching as all the other freshman and their parents rushed to unload boxes upon boxes from everything from old beat-up Range Rovers to new Jeep Wranglers.

It seemed as if it didn’t matter whether it was a double or a single room they were heading to, the boxes just kept coming from the voids of the cars; labels differing between “Winter Clothes” and “Tupperware” passed by him consistently with no sign of stopping. He didn’t move, just watched and listened to the laughter between families.

He hadn’t had anyone to bring him here or help him pack, so he shoved things into boxes and threw them carelessly into the trunk of his Camry.

He tried to ignore the rising feeling of jealousy and contempt in his gut as the joyful tone around him persisted on. He focused on the burning of the hot metal against his legs and stared at his schedule with the intensity of an animal stalking its prey. He knew he had to go in soon, to walk to his dorm and meet his roommates, but he wanted to drag out the inevitable for as long as he could.

He had signed up for early morning classes, hoping to be awake before the others so they wouldn’t bother him.

He watched as the parking lot cleared and a final pair of bodies disappeared behind the tinted double doors. sighing, he checked the time on his phone.

11:36 AM

He quickly shut his phone off, shoving it upside down into his shorts pocket and shoving himself off of the car, grabbing his backpack off of the ground and making his way towards the entrance of the school, leaving all of the boxes in his car out of his mind and shoving open the door upon arrival, he would deal with unpacking later.

He kept his head down, staring at the paper in his hand, not daring to make eye contact with anyone. He was hoping to look as if he was trying to figure out his dorm number even though he had already memorized it prior to moving day.

He stood there for a moment or two, not wanting to move, wanting to go back to his car and camp out there from midday to night. He wanted an education, sure, that’s what he was here for, but he didn’t sign up to be yanked into a building full of strangers even though he already knew how this worked.

When his brother Cosmos got accepted to Harvard he never heard the end of it.

Cosmos was more excited about the partying aspect of life on campus, but on the other hand Virgil never heard the end of it from their parents. it was always about how smart Cosmos was and how intelligent he was for getting into such a prestigious school with a 4.0 and them questioning why he wasn’t trying as hard because he could be just as great as his brother.

What they didn’t know was that he was as great as his aforementioned older sibling, if not better, they just didn’t want to acknowledge that part.

A sudden tap to the shoulder jolted Virgil out of his thoughts, snapping his head up and turning around to see who made the movement.

He was met face to face with a man a few inches taller than him, wearing a solid grey vest and light black button down pants paired with white sneakers. Thin circular glasses outlined his facial features perfectly. Strong jawline, a bit of stubble, gorgeous hazel eyes, a soft smile.

“You’ve been standing here for a few minutes now, do you need help?” The man in front of him spoke, voice clear and concise.

Virgil became all too aware of his disheveled state. Tired eyes, jittery limbs, rocking a MCR t-shirt two sizes too big for him and black shorts with tennis shoes. He smiled at him sheepishly before answering.

He genuinely seemed like he wanted to help and Virgil was honestly willing to take all the help he could get. “Uh..yeah, sorry. I just need to get to room 307 on floor 2” he responded

“Oh? My room is right across from yours, I can show you the way.” the man replied, walking towards a flight of stairs to the left of them.

Virgil followed, the sound of his bag bouncing behind him echoing off of the walls before making it to the second floor and being led to one of the doors.

The hallway wasn’t empty in the slightest. There were no people crowding the space but the chatter filling the air was enough to make it seem as if there were. Doors were open in every direction, peak in and you’d find a mother and father reminiscing over a time when their kid was just learning how to walk and now they were awing over their successes while unpacking t-shirts. It made Virgil feel sick. He shook his head, trying to shake away the hope he once had that maybe, just maybe, his parents stand-offish parental style would change just this once. ‘Stupid.’ He thought to himself.

“This is it, 307” the man next to him said, gesturing towards the door. He turned around and gestured towards the door across from Virgil’s. “And this is 308, where I live. It’s a single but yknow, I like the quiet.” he said, shrugging and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Thank you, um..” Virgil started, remembering he didn’t know the handsome strangers name.

“Oh, Logan” he finished, taking a hand out of his pocket and sticking it out for the other to shake.

Virgil took it and smiled, “Thank you, Logan. I guess I’ll..see you around?” he said.

Logan’s eyes glimmered behind his glasses. “I guess you will” He said, a tint of smugness in his voice before turning around and walking inside his dorm.

Virgil turned back to face his own dorm, hesitantly raising a fist and knocking.

The door swung open in mere seconds as Virgil was confronted by a man wearing baggy jeans, a green Nike sweatshirt, and nothing but socks on. His eyes were green, slightly red and a little droopy, a tired aura surrounded him. He gave a weak grin to Virgil and moved so he could walk in.

He did, and was almost immediately hit by the smell of weed. The wide space of the living area was littered with open boxes, clothes scattered everywhere and indie-rock blasting from a small speaker placed on the windowsill which for the time being only had blinds as a way of maintaining privacy.

Something about the vibe of the room made him relax. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

[sailorgoon13]

Isobel MacAlister

Basics:

Full Name: Isobel Greer MacAlister

Nickname: Issy, Bel

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: 31 October, 1874

Heritage: Scottish

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Blackthorn, Dragon Heartstring, 11", Unyielding

Appearance:

Hair Color: Auburn, long with a dramatic loose waves

Eye Color: Hazel

Skin Tone: Fair, porcelain

Height: 5'8"

Body Type: Athletic and toned. Despite her athletic build, Issy retains an air of femininity and grace

Style: Prefers tailored trousers and fitted jeans over skirts or dresses, opting for comfort and functionality without sacrificing style. Her tops often include classic button-down shirts, cozy knit sweaters, and fitted t-shirts in neutral tones or subtle patterns. She may layer these pieces with structured blazers. Confident and independent spirit, blending refined elegance with laid-back charm and tomboyish flair.

Features: Intense gaze, Strong jawline with defined cheekbones, Scaring on the side of her neck and shoulder from the incident with Sebastian

Personality:

Traits: Intense, Mysterious, Determined, Passionate, Complex

Likes: Exploring, Training, Music, Creatures

Dislikes: Betrayal, Dark Magic, Weakness, Ignorance

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading, Violin

Fears: Rejection, Failure, Being left behind

Family and Friends:

Father: Gregor MacAlistar

Works for the Ministry of Magic in a high-ranking position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement

He is frequently paid under the table to look the other way and falsify reports

His actions often bring him into contact with dark wizards and unsavory characters, making Issy wary of his true intentions and creating a strained relationship between them.

Mother: Moira MacAlistar

Herbologist, specializing in poisons and toxins having a killer greenhouse

Her expertise is sought after for both healing and more nefarious purposes

This specialization adds an element of danger and mistrust for Issy

Siblings:

Lachlan MacAlister- Lachlan and Issy have a strained relationship, primarily due to their differing views on their father and their paths in life. While Lachlan cares deeply for Issy and wants to protect her, his authoritative and sometimes overbearing nature often pushes her away. His attempts to guide or control her are met with resistance.

Elspeth "Elsie" MacAlister- Elsie looks up to Issy, admiring her strength and independence. She aspires to be as brave and capable as her older sister. Despite the admiration, there is some tension and rivalry between the sisters. Elsie sometimes feels overshadowed by Issy’s achievements and presence.

Friends: Poppy Sweeting, Imelda Reyes, Samantha Dale, Lenora Everleigh

Magic:

Special Abilities: Ancient Magic, Excels in potions, Natural Healer

Boggart: Dark Sebastian

Patronus: Fox

Polyjuice: Would look a deep emerald green color and would appear silky. The smell is something of freshly cut grass, a hint of mint, earthy herbs, and subtle bitterness of coffee. Bittersweet with herbal undertones and a spicy kick

Amortentia: Grass, Leather, Wood Smoke and Peppermint

Backstory:

Isobel "Issy" MacAlister arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with a guarded heart. Born into a prestigious but troubled family, Issy had always struggled to reconcile her Slytherin ambitions with her desire for genuine connection. Despite her standoffish demeanor, she quickly formed a bond with Sebastian Sallow, a fellow Slytherin. Their friendship blossomed into a close relationship, and Issy found herself deeply in love with him.

However, as Sebastian became increasingly entangled in the allure of Dark Magic, their relationship took a dark turn. The person Issy once loved and trusted began to hurt her, both emotionally and physically, as he delved deeper into dangerous practices. Heartbroken and betrayed, Issy felt more isolated than ever.

During this tumultuous time, Poppy Sweeting, a kind and compassionate Hufflepuff, became a source of comfort for Issy. Poppy had long harbored feelings for Issy but never wanted to cross any boundaries, respecting Issy's relationship with Sebastian. Instead, Poppy offered a listening ear and a gentle presence, supporting Issy through her heartache with unwavering patience and empathy.

As Issy confided in Poppy and leaned on her for support, she began to see Poppy in a new light. Poppy's genuine kindness, understanding, and love for magical creatures provided a stark contrast to the darkness that had consumed her previous relationship. It was in these moments of vulnerability and connection that Issy realized her true feelings for Poppy.

Despite her rough past and initial reservations, Issy found solace and happiness in Poppy's company. Poppy's quiet strength and unwavering support helped Issy heal and opened her heart to the possibility of love again. Together, they forged a bond built on trust, understanding, and mutual respect, bringing light and joy into each other's lives.

Academics:

Best Subject: Herbology

Favorite Subject: Divination

Favorite Professor: Hecat

Worst Subject: History of Magic

Least Favorite Subject: Ancient Runes

Least Favorite Professor: Binns

Student Life:

Top student, excelling particularly in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology

As a key player on the Slytherin Quidditch team, Issy’s athleticism and strategic mind make her a formidable opponent

Issy is known for her intelligence, determination, and resilience

Her natural talent as a healer is often used to help others, whether it’s tending to injuries on the Quidditch field or providing care in more serious situations

Template: @hazyange1s

[fcrox]

He was a lion among the weak, a tempest among a calm forest; the hidden shadow waiting to strike. Always. A smile that concealed as much as it revealed, and eyes that wove riddles instead of offering answers. He was a man weaving gold thread out of rubble and dirt.

✧ threads ✧ about ✧ headcanon ✧ the mail ✧ ✧ aesthetics ✧ musings ✧ connections ✧ mirror ✧

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Amycus Harlow Carrow

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Carrow, Crow, Myc (hates it), Amy

AGE: Twenty Seven

BIRTH DATE: April 1st, 1952

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

AFFILIATION: Death Eaters

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Man. He/him

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Townhouse, London

OTHER: Carrow Manor, Cottage outside of Hogsmeade

OCCUPATION: Alchemist, Owns a shop in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley with alchemical portals connecting them, called Aureum Solis

PETS: Titus (northern hawk owl)

WAND: Walnut, Dragonheart string, 13 1/2, hard flexibility

PATRONUS: Osprey

BOGGART: a cage for all eternity

AMORTENTIA: unknown.

SCENT: gun powder, chamomile, caramel

INSPIRATION

SONG: Insane by Black Gryph0n, Ruthlessness by Steven Rodriguez, Like you mean it by Steven Rodriguez, Villain by K/DA, Blood sweat and tears by Arcane/Sheryl Lee Ralph, The Line by Twenty One Pilots, Time by Hans Zimmer

PINTEREST: to be added here !!

AESTHETIC: The shimmer of gold, the darkness of a starless night, the echo of sound from another room, a dark cave, a table of alchemy ingredients, the sound of bubbling cauldrons and flasks, a shadow shapeshifting from a shadow into purest forms of light, a shatter glass vial, the wish for immortality and a greater beyond

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Eris and Erebus Carrow.

SIBLINGS: Alecto Carrow (twin sister).

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: Rabastan Lestrange (brother-in-law).

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Slytherin

EXTRACURRICULAR: Charms Club, Astronomy Club, Herbology Club

CLASSES INVESTED IN: Alchemy, Potions, Herbology, Defense against the Dark Arts, Transformation, Charms

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Welsh, Spanish, Russian

OTHER LANGUAGES: Ancient Runes (reading)

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Hazel

HAIR COLOR: Dark Blonde/Light Brown

HEIGHT: 5'11"

SCARS: dddd

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: Very High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (decent), Dueling (practicing, decent), Non-Verbal Magic (decent), Fiendfyre Casting and control (expert), Alchemical Knowledge (decent, adept, seeking to become an expert)

POSITIVE TRAITS: Creative, Patient, Cunning, Determined, Invested

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Vicious, Duplicitous, Manipulative, Stubborn

MBTI: INFJ

BIOGRAPHY:

Born April 1st, 1952 Amycus came into the world shortly before his sister, Alecto. A fact he holds over her to this day, the wizard is and always has been more than proud thinking himself to be the older of the two. And the more emotional twin.

His childhood was spent with the education of every pureblood wizard, the standard curriculum that one would follow until the day that the Hogwarts letter would arrive. By then Amycus already knew both the expectations of others as well as his own wishes and needs. Early on her found himself drawn to the art of alchemy, the magic behind it. At the end of the day wasn’t it the one true way that the world was woven?

Upon his arrival at Hogwarts young Amycus was sorted into Slytherin, found himself at home and granted his parents’ approval on the matter. He found himself a group of friends, never having to look back. Beyond that it was immediately clear that he’d taken a liking to certain matters and over the years Transfiguration, Charms, Potions and eventually Alchemy became part of his class roster and daily schedule. There was something drawing him in, into the art of turning one thing into another. To him any of those topics and classes inevitably ended with exactly that, whether it was the simple transfiguration of one item to another or the way charms seemed to adjust the flow of things, all the way down to the way alchemy seemed to have the power to take one element only to replace it with another. It was magic in its purest form.

And so, upon graduation, Amycus found an apprenticeship with an alchemist. He was dedicated and willing to learn, eventually become a full-fledged alchemist himself who then, years later would open his own shop, Aureum Solis. With time a second location was added, in Hogsmeade and over time a portal was constructed, his own invention outside any network.

Of course, the war did not miss the wizard. Given his family and friends, the young man found himself equally drawn to the cause of the Dark Lord. After all, wasn’t the idea of purity the path he walked as well? Amycus was ambitious, and so he joined up with the others and eventually received the Dark Mark. The wizard doesn’t deny his involvement in the cause, if asked but is also smart enough not to parade the fact around.

Over recent years the older Carrow twin has managed to establish himself as one of the top alchemists for the cause. Always on the search for more, the desire to discover even the path to immortality has been added to his goals. Amycus has become someone to supply his fellow Death Eaters with things such as small smoke nades and other items. Just recently he’s discovered a way to turn almost anything to stone, wondering just what he can use that fun little party trick for.

[forest-hashira]

i’m curious about suzume!!! i’m guessing from your user that she might be the forest hashira?

she is! i could talk about her all day but i'll stick to some of the basics for now:

she's a little bit older than kyojuro (21 to his 20), and became a hashira after kyojuro, when she was 19 (though admittedly i play around with the timeline pre-canon a little bit lol). she's short and chubby, very friend shaped (art here!), with brown hair she wears in space buns + green curtain bangs, hazel eyes, and lots of freckles all over. she has a bow with poison-tipped nichirin steel arrowheads as her weapon of choice, though she does also have a sword she is capable of using. she developed her own breathing style - forest breathing - that's inspired by/based on water breathing mostly, but she also lived & trained with the kocho sisters at the butterfly estate for the 3-ish years after she completed final selection but before she became a hashira, so flower breathing and insect breathing were both influences on her breathing style when she was refining/developing it. she's good friends with giyu, and was with him when he found the kamado siblings. she also has beef with sanemi until the end of the canon timeline, she thinks he's annoying and he pisses her off.

i've written over 111k words (111.3k last i checked) about her & kyojuro, starting before she was a hashira & going past the canon timeline of the series. wildly canon divergent obviously bc kyojuro doesn't die in mugen train, but yeah. they wind up married and happy with three kids and it's all lovely, tho by the end of the series timeline she sustains a traumatic brain injury (in circumstances that would be spoilers for anime onlys lol) so they have to navigate the disability that comes with that, but they do it together so it all works out.

ty for asking abt her! she's my special little guy & i love talking about her 🥺💜

[vnknowns]

𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 '𝒗𝒂𝒏' 𝒍𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆

( felix mallard, genderfluid, he/they ) have you met vance "van" lapointe yet? you know, the twenty four year old undergraduate student. i think they’re a senior majoring in music technology. ring a bell yet? every time i walk past their dorm i hear self-sabotage by waterparks blasting through the door. everyone who meets them say they’re charming but can also be a little mercurial guess when you meet them you’ll figure that out yourself.

statistics

‣ FULL NAME: vance alistair lapointe ‣ ALIAS: van ‣ DOB: june 29, 1999 ‣ AGE & ZODIAC: twenty-four & cancer ‣ SEXUALITY: pansexual & panromantic ‣ YEAR: senior ‣ MAJOR: music technology ‣ CHARACTERISTICS: charming, mercurial, passionate, guarded, charismatic, capricious ‣ STUDENT ACTIVITIES: art & media club, radcliffe radio audio engineer, astronomy club, bassist for local band 'all systems red' ‣ LANGUAGES: english & french. ‣ HAIR + EYE COLOR: brown hair & hazel eyes ‣ HEIGHT: 6'0" ‣ FACECLAIM: felix mallard

background

van was born into a family whose wealth stems from old money, and their traditions and expectations seemingly set in stone. he’s the baby of the family so he thankfully lucked out as far as expectations go, with his older sister and brother bearing the brunt of their parents’ expectation since he was last in line to inherit the company, assets, etc, and he is more than content to let his siblings battle it out. despite this, he was still expected to make a good impression and play the part in public, given the press their family gets, which is something van consistently struggled with.

he never felt comfortable in this world that he was thrust into from birth, hated the black tie events and high profile dinners and guests, and constantly looking over his shoulder in case someone was watching or monitoring him.

his world was flipped upside down when he was 14, when all of a sudden a man contacted him saying that he is his biological father, that he had an on/off affair with their mother for years and they reconnected after his older brother was born and his parents were briefly separated, and they conceived him. this stranger claims he never knew he existed until recently, when he saw their picture in the paper for an event the family attended and noticed the youngest son, and how he looks so much like him, rather than the man van has always thought was his father. the kicker was that this man was also famous, a well-known rockstar from a band his parents had never allowed him to listen to (but he did anyways). when he mentioned it to his parents, rather than the vehement denial he expected, he only received a confirmation, although his parents were furious that the man reached out to him directly when they had explicitly told him not to. van was more shocked that his parents not only knew, but deigned to keep it from him rather than expose the truth.

after pushing his parents, they finally scheduled a meeting with his biological father, rich. van was shocked when his parents offered him money to go away and stay quiet about it, but van was immensely relieved when the man denied it, disgusted by the notion, and just said he wanted to know his son. after hours of arguing between the adults, they finally agreed that he could get to know van, but as far as the public knows, he is van’s godfather, and no one can ever know the truth. they even had him sign an nda, but after that, van spent time with his new “godfather”, getting to know him and learning about him. it was an interesting relationship, not quite like the father-son relationship he had with the dad he’s known his whole life, but they were more like friends, or like he was his cool uncle that he could confide in and share things with. he’d never had a relationship so laid back, where he didn’t have those crushing expectations, and it led van down a whole new path.

after getting close with his biological father, van’s love of music became an obsession. he would go to shows with rich, stay backstage and watch as the bands performed, watch as his “godfather” rocked it on stage, and he developed a hunger. he wanted it so badly, in a way he’d never wanted anything else before. he asked rich to teach him how to play, starting with the guitar and eventually moving to bass, and even the drums, though he quickly learned he preferred bass over anything else, loving the feeling of embodying the heartbeat of the song.

he ended up joining a local band at 17, but it ended poorly when internal issues caused a fallout between the members, and van didn’t look back when he went off to school, not having a good reason to stay.

he didn’t really want to go to college at first, but it was a non-negotiable with his parents. they didn’t care what he majored in, as long as he got the degree. he told them the only way he would go is if he could go for music, and so he did. after spending so many hours in the studio with his father, he went into music production, wanting to learn the ins and outs of how to produce his own music, knowing that no matter what happens, he wants to create music — whether it’s his own, or helping others bring their vision to life.

it was by luck that he met bellamy and joined all systems red when he came to radcliffe — a twist of fate that van is grateful for every day. he loves their sound, and is beyond proud of everything they’ve accomplished as a band so far. he thinks they can make it, and he only hopes that they will remain as passionate and committed in the future as they are right now.

TLDR —

van lapointe. felix mallard fc, 24, senior, music major, he’s a bassist in a band called all systems red with bellamy!!!

van is a charming lil rockstar boy who is a bassist in a band all systems red

he comes from an old money family, but his “godfather” (who’s actually his bio-dad but no one knows that) is in a well known rock band that was big in the 80s/90s, and fostered his love for music

he cosplays as a Normal Boy™️ but sometimes u can see his rich boy privilege shine through 

he’s a serial flirt and messes around a lot, has lots of hookups and has had many situationships!!! he doesn’t ever commit tho, he’s Married to the Music™️ (he would be willing to commit if he found The One™️ but he has not yet HFJSSJ)

connections

a previous (or current) hookup or situationship!!! they could still be hooking up, or it could've ended amicably, or could've ended badly!!!! so many options!!

a previous fwb situationship where the other person caught feelings and it scared van shitless (bc feelings Scare him big time) and so he broke things off and hurt the other person pretty bad. he probably said they could stay friends and then ghosted them LKSDJFS or maybe they said absolutely not to the staying friends thing (which. so fair tbh)

a Big Fan of all systems red who is maybe a lil fixated on him and just wants to get his attention and he's a lil freaked by it even though he's also very flattered

another old money rich bitch who either went to school with van or maybe their families know each other so they grew up being acquaintances!! whether or not they have a good relationship is up to you!!!

van's first love!!! someone who either went to van's posh little private high school or someone he met in the nyc concert scene in high school and they fell in love but it didn't work out for some reason or another and now van pretty much avoids them at all costs bc it's still sore for him tbh

van is in astronomy club and the art & media club so fellow club members!!! he probably shamelessly flirts w them honestly

he's a radcliffe radio audio engineer so anyone who is involved with radcliffe radio he probably either knows or sees/interacts with regularly!!! they could be friends or they could hate each other

would love a lil enemies to situationship ting!!!!

[loganwritesprobably]

𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚍

In honour of me starting my Smoker/OC fic, here's the bio for Corwin

"ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴇ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ."

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʙᴀꜱɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ

ɴᴀᴍᴇ: Corwin Stanford ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ: N/A ᴀɢᴇ: 35 ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ: Cis male ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ: He/him ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ: Gay ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ: December 29th ᴢᴏᴅɪᴀᴄ ꜱɪɢɴ: Capricorn

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ: 6'6" ꜱᴋɪɴ ᴛᴏɴ��: Fair ʜᴀɪʀ: Black ᴇʏᴇꜱ: Hazel ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛ: Saru Saru no Mi/Ape Ape fruit: Model Chimpanzee ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ: N/A ʙᴏᴅʏ ᴍᴏᴅꜱ: Corwin has tattoos on both his arms, a tattoo for each of his siblings, they all have these matching, plus some others that he's gathered over the years.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

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❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʙᴀᴄᴋꜱᴛᴏʀʏ Corwin grew up in a family with severe parents and his siblings, all older than him, were expected to fall into line - and they did. Each of them was perfect, Corwin included. Perfect little soldiers to do their parents bidding. Every one of his siblings, and himself, became marines as adults. Though, despite being the youngest, Corwin has risen the furthest through the ranks.

•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ Corwin's biggest secret is this: he hates the marines, and the government. If he thought he could leave without losing his siblings, and ending up alone, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

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❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ᴄᴀʀᴇᴇʀ Corwin is a lieutenant in the marines. He worked hard to get to his position because it was all he knew how to do. He'd been taught from a young age that he'd always be a marine, taught exactly how to do so and trained, and taught how to work hard in order to keep progressing.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʜᴏʙʙɪᴇꜱ Corwin isn't particularly someone who engages in hobbies - he's a busy guy, and he didn't have a lot of room for deciding what hobbies he enjoyed as a child. He does, however, enjoy reading. As a kid he'd not had much room to read fiction books, it was mostly non-fiction, but he'd occasionally managed a romance or fantasy novel and he reads them to this day.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ☾ Romance and fantasy books ☾ His siblings ☾ Green tea ☾ Sushi

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴅɪꜱʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ☽ Insubordianate behaviour ☽ Stupid people ☽ His parents

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴀꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ More than anything, Corwin wants to get to a place in his life where he finally feels like he can completely cut ties with his past and leave the marines. He doesn't know what that would involve - maybe finding his soulmate - but that's the goal, above all else.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ꜰᴇᴀʀꜱ Corwin has two fears.

The first is that he'll never manage to leave the marines, and instead be stuck in a job that he hates for the rest of his life. The other is that one day, he'll stop hating it, and have lost his morals.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ

ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ➼ Julien Stanford ➼ Living, estranged

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ➼ Gabriella Stanford ➼ Living, estranged

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ➼ Harlan Stanford ➼ Living 46

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ➼ Aston Stanford ➼ Living 43

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ ➼ Avery Stanford ➼ Living 40

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ➼ Kelton Stanford ➼ Living 38

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

╭──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╮

ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ

ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ Corwin is the peak of physical health, as he was taught to be. He exercises regularly, and eats perfectly balanced meals. It wouldn't do for him to be anything other than perfect, because that could risk himself and his unit of men. Pirates can cause trouble at any time, and so you need to always be ready.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜ Mentally, Corwin certainly isn't doing as well as he is physically. He struggles. Having the ability to call one of his siblings on the den den if he needs them is about the only thing that keeps him going sometimes.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ Corwin enjoys eating, and the cook they have onboard his ship cooks well so he has no complaints. He eats three meals per day, and often a smaller evening meal, since he doesn't sleep as much as he maybe should. He makes sure that the food is balanced, and the cook has those instructions particular for him.

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ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ Corwin's memory is upsettingly accurate sometimes. He can remember things that he doesn't want to, in particular about his childhood, and he wishes that he could forget it. However, he doesn't take particular interest in remembering the names of those who work for him.

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ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ Corwin doesn't sleep as much as he potentially should. He often sleeps just five or six hours, waking up early and often going to bed late. He has no particular reason for it, it's just something that he's used to. A habit he can't seem to break.

╰──── ⋅𖥔⋅ ────╯

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

[princessasmosprincess]

Hazel

I want to write something on Lisette and Kallios in the future so let me introduce you to another member of their household.

Hazel, she/her, Demon of Envy. She has a fox tail that is the same shade of purple as her hair that fades into black on the end and antlers like a Siberian deer.

Hazel has been working for Kallios' family since Kallios was very young. She's older than him but not super significantly, their age difference is like that of a child and their teen babysitter (which amounts to thousands of years since they're demons). She has a few younger siblings, and she viewed Kallios as family as well, she was deeply affected by his death.

When Kallios became the head of the family, he threw himself into his work, partially out of necessity since he had to do a lot of political work on his own, which meant fewer parties would happen at the estate. He didn't need very much staff around the house so he dismissed them or sent them off to work for his extended family, but he kept Hazel on as his housekeeper.

She's friends with Barbatos and takes any advice he gives. They might have tea together once a decade and chat or they might spend time together during a ball when their masters take on the role as hosts, but most of their interaction is when they cross paths briefly at the market.

Hazel isn't a full time RAD student but she will occasionally take a limited offered course to learn something new or attend a special lecture, especially anything taught by Barbatos. She has very powerful magic but not quite to Barbatos' level, which is one of the reasons she looks up to him and respects him so much.

Personality-wise she's on the quiet side, not because she's shy, she just only speaks if she has something to say. She can be opinionated at times, and a bit uptight and a perfectionist. Some might call her an ice queen but she is actually very affectionate to those she cares about. If she doesn’t like you, that's a you problem, she is a great judge of character which is why she and Lisette got along right away (not to mention how she clicked with Adamas pretty quickly too). She's very no-nonsense and isn't afraid to put you in your place if you're being dumb.

Get to Know My OC questions:

1. She loves tea of any kind and she's usually takes it black to enjoy the flavor. She also likes hot chocolate.

2. Favorite flavor: She doesn't prefer one over the other, in the meals she cooks she wants the flavors to all be complimentary so that's what she likes.

3. Favorite food: Roasted Black Tapir

4. Favorite meal: Breakfast

5. She doesn't dislike any foods or flavors.

6. She can tolerate spicy foods fine.

7. Favorite animal: Bats

8. She wears a black silk nightgown with lace trim to bed.

9. Before she was with Adamas she slept mostly on her back, but now she's always the little spoon.

10. She's a morning person.

11. Hazel is a heavy sleeper, once she's asleep she's out.

12. On a rainy day she'll open the curtains and listen to the rain and probably sit down with Lisette to enjoy some tea and mending clothes.

13. She'd never admit it out loud but her favorite scent is the smell of her husband, Adamas. She'd probably say the scent of freshly washed laundry instead.

14. She smells clean with a little hint of floral, maybe lilac.

15. She likes baths when she has the time for them.

16. Hazel is an amazing cook and she's always swapping recipes with Barbatos.

17. She likes late spring, early summer, for all the fresh fruits and vegetables and flowers.

18. Her favorite holiday is the Devildom's New Year.

19. She prefers giving gifts, it's a control thing.

20. Hazel is 5'4/162.5 cm

[winxngasks]

Winx Club Next-Gen AU: Miele/Jared’s Kids

Next up for the AU next-gen bios, we have the children of Miele and Jared! Originally had this one in my drafts since April of this year, but I didn’t get to adding all of the information in till just recently. Also, since this is the last of the ships I have planned for this AU, this will also be the last post that has a ship backstory. For the next few bios that aren’t necessarily a planned ship, I will most likely put a little information on what the parent’s life is like in the eldest kid’s bio. Just thought I would mention that as a heads-up!

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- Backstory: Sometime during Jared’s relationship with Alice they break up, as they both felt the love wasn’t quite there for them anymore. Eventually, Alice moves on and settles with Darko, while Jared just focuses on his specialist duties for a while. At the same time, Miele was looking to start dating and so her sister Flora helped her find a date, as she had more connections being the older and more experienced sister. After hearing that Jared became recently single, she got the idea to set them up on a blind date together as she thought they would be a sweet match together. During that first date and the ones they would have after they started to form a connection, both being sweethearts who still had their differences to keep things interesting in their relationship. After a few years of dating they eventually married and settled down with their own family together.

- Their Kids:

* Adeline

. Age: 16

. Magic Title: Fairy of Seasons

. Physical Description: short with a thick and chubby build that is a bit toned from her active lifestyle, long and curly orange hair, tan skin, hazel eyes

. Bio: Oldest child and daughter of Miele and Jared, currently attending Alfea. Adeline takes after her mother Miele greatly in terms of both looks and personality. She is a rather reckless and selfless person, always ready to jump into battle to protect those she cares about and to help save the world from evil forces, which often gets her into trouble sometimes as she is left more scuffed up than her teammates. She has also inherited a lot of her Miele’s bravery and attitude when she was her age, which ironically puts her at odds with her mother at times as she just wants Adeline to be safe and responsible. Very active and tomboyish, she likes to keep herself busy by participating in most of the sports Alfea offers and does not feel super comfortable in Linphea’s more ‘flowy’ fashion aesthetics with how they can restrict her movements. Which only sours her mood more that her fairy form includes a skirt, but she has learned to make her peace with it and fight in it the best she can. Although she is pretty close with her cousin Fawn, Adeline was actually determined to find her own path and people when she started at Alfea, instead of sticking by her cousin’s side all the time.

* Basil

. Age: 12

. Magic Title: none atm

. Physical Description: short with an average build that is a bit on the skinny side, short and fluffy reddish-brown hair, tan skin, amber eyes

. Bio: Middle child and only son of Miele and Jared, currently attending a regular public school. The most withdrawn and timid of the siblings, it is hard for him to speak up for his own interests but he does often work as the mediator with keeping the peace within his family. Gets along the most with his older cousin Alaine, as they both are both the most soft-spoken and awkward out of all the cousins, so they find it easier to talk to each other when at large family functions. When not attending to his schoolwork he can commonly be seen in either the garden or up in his room, studying up on and reading all about the different plants in the world, both those native to Linphea and those native to the different planets. While he hasn’t quite made up his mind on it yet, he has considered becoming a botanist in the future, so he can continue his study of plants. As he is only a preteen at the moment he has not shown any signs of potential magic, but he is not super fussed about it or about becoming a specialist instead, as he is more interested in attending Linphea College or a different, regular college instead when the time comes.

* Camellia

. Age: 8

. Magic Title: none atm

. Physical Description: short with an average build, shoulder-length and straight bluish-black hair, tan skin, bright green eyes

. Bio: Youngest child and daughter of Miele and Jared, currently attending a regular public school. Seems like your typical sweet and nice little girl, but she has a lot more spunk and sass to her that tends to throw people off upon first meeting her. Can also be described as a “weird girl”, as she has some unusual interests and eccentric ways of thinking and acting that have people consider her to be an enigma, but her out-of-the-box way of thinking makes her one of the smartest kids in her age group. Close with her cousin Sorrel, who doesn’t find her annoying like some of their other peers and actually goes along with her ideas, and Princess Dahlia as they have a lot of similarities but Camellia has a little more common sense than her to know when people are trying to mess with her. Has not shown any signs of magic yet as she is only a child, but she wouldn’t mind being either a fairy or witch in the future if she were to have magic.

[drippingmusicvince]

was that [ THOMAS DOHERTY ] spotted down at the shoreline of east hamptons main beach? must just be, [ VINCENT RHODES ] the [ TWENTY-EIGHT ] year old [ MUSICIAN/BARTENDER ]. whenever i hear [  TAKE ME TO THE TOP - MÖTLEY CRÜE ] it reminds me of them. they are known for being [ RECKLESS ] but they make up for that by being [ KINDHEARTED  ]. they have been living in the hamptons for [ TWO YEARS ].

full name ➵ vincent rhodes

nicknames ➵ vince

birthday ➵ december 11th

age ➵ twenty-eight

gender identity ➵ cismale

pronouns ➵ he/him/his

sexual orientation ➵ unlabelled

place of birth ➵ london, england

current location ➵ the hamptons, long island

occupation ➵ musician/bartender

education ➵ studied some criminal justice in college

languages ➵ english, spanish, french (a little bit), italian, & is learning sign language. 

pets ➵ white husky named arctic “arc” rhodes

APPEARANCE

face claim ➵ thomas doherty

height ➵ 6'2"ft

eye colour ➵ hazel

hair colour ➵ dark brown

tattoos ➵ various across his body

piercings ➵ ears and nose,thinking of getting either a lip or eyebrow piercing next

defining features ➵ glasses/sun glasses (occasionally), cheekbones, smile

PERSONALITY

temperament ➵ extrovert

hogwarts house ➵ gryffindor 

mental disorders ➵ anxiety

habits ➵ smoking & drinking

positive traits ➵ enthusiastic, kindhearted, carefree, 

negative traits ➵ temperamental, reckless, self destructive, 

QUICK BIOGRAPHY:  (tw: death mention)

childhood➵ he was born in a family that did not have much to their name, even less of a name to society, and he was the middle child of his siblings. before his dad passed, when vincent was ten years old, he shared his passion for music with his children as much as he could. vincent was the one who picked it up most and almost instantly fell in love with playing the guitar, and the idea of being in a band one day. he grew up listening to a lot of 80s heavy metal/music and watching a lot of older movies. when his dad passed due to a terrible car accident, vincent ended up turning a bit more rebellious than anyone could have expected. 

home life/school life ➵ the older vincent got the less he liked being called vincent and preferred “vince” instead. things at home became harder as he became more of a rebel, much to his mothers dismay, he had a run in with the law once or twice. things in school were surprisingly good, vince was actually very smart and often came out top of his class. he was easy to get along with and made friends with almost anyone. there were times he got into fights, suspended too, but ultimately he did end up passing in the top of his class. 

dreams ➵ vince has always dreamed of two things; becoming a rockstar in a rockin’ band & becoming a forensic scientist and help solve crime cases. because of life neither one of those has been achieved just yet, but he continues to work on it! he now lives in the the hamptons with his husky named arctic, or arc, and works as a bartender at one of the bars by the beach. he’s happy though or so he says!

CONNECTIONS

childhood friend➵ could be online too! just someone who has known him for a long time and has a close bond with him would be nice <3!

ex(s) ➵ anyone who either ended on good or bad terms! could’ve been a long distance relationship or something local. (0/2)

pen pal ➵ someone he’s kept in touch with over seas and maybe convinced him the hamptons were a good spot to move to! they would have a close friendship :)!

band mates ➵ he would play the bass but he’s looking for a drummer, a lead singer, & lead guitarist. 

more ➵ anything else that is plotted! would love more connections <3!

[asecretlesbian]

Character list!!

fire house 29!! i created these characters from a span of 2015 - 2019 and i love each on of them like my children!! without further ado i introduce my paramedics and firefighters

Cooper Beackear; he is of 32 years of age, medium length auburn locks. Tattooed sleeves, medium stature. His clothes are often fitting for the occasion, his mother is Afrikaans and his favorite color is yellow. His birthday is April 30th. Firefighter on truck!

Connor Sharpfurrow: This Texan fellow has sharp features with gentle eyes. He is in his youth at 25 (ranging on the story) he has dark well kept hair and an adopted older sister named Breen. His father assaulted him in many ways and now sits in jail, Connor never visits. He became the CFD lieutenant when he was 21. November 5th is his birthday.

Jamiey Patters (Stefafin) ; A young lad of 22 with heterochromia, he has dusty chocolate skin, a sister Sofie and his mother Lylahana. He loves the color yellow, adores it. He is a fireman on truck! He was born on December 22.

Lilees Alkin; This individual is a member on rescue squad, she's from Colorado with long black hair and hazel eyes. Her birthday resonates on June 19th and her color of choice is purple. She 31.

Dustin Casolengo: This geezer is like a father too the house, most of them have accidentally called him dad. He is at a ripe age of 46, he is short and stocky with combed back frizzy hair. He was widowed at the age of 35, he is born on July 5th. He is the cheif

Beatrice Lovestring: Milf. Fashion icon, long black curls with pink ends, dark fine skin. Beatrice is an engaged lesbian who works on rescue squad, she runs a makeup business in her spare time. Her favorite color is orange which she always wears on her birthday of October 30th (I find it funny since its before Halloween.) She is 30 years old.

Joseph Phillips: Paramedic to firehouse 29. He has a southern accent and his older brother is Jason Hicks. In great contrast to his sibling he is sandy blonde, with ranging paranoia. His favorite color is sage and his birthday is of February 20th.

Catherine Sergio: O M G i love her so much Catherine is an albino with impressive eyesight for her condition, she loves to draw. She is 31. Her sisters name is Quielo. Shockingly she loves the color red and is born on December 30th. Paramedic.

Ton (Tony) Harps: Diego's and Casidy's eldest brother. He is tall and well-built, ex-army. He is born December 9th, his occupation consists on rescue squad. Dark locks and scarred arms, very hispanic. Tony is 30 and loves the color gold.

Simmoe Lyria (pronounced liar): this firefighter is 26 and sage eyed. His favorite color is red and he has Maori blood. Firefighter on truck. March 1st is his birthday.

Kerin Nile: Pasta slurper alert (i say that as an Italian myself) this jerkface. . man is twin one, he is rescue squad. He owns high cheekbones aaand has pretty blue eyes. His birthday is the same as his brothers April 5th and the duo are both 27.

Collin Nile: Twin 2, he is brown eyed and tall. He isnt a firefighter though, he is the sectary!! His favorite color is Blue and he is a higher achiever than his brother..

Juni Streems: Jun is transgender, and is featured in most of my story's, he is pale brown and short with spikey blonde hair. He belongs to truck and loves the color dusty pink. His age is 26 and his birthday is February 2nd.

Reeve Marlyin (Pronounced Mar-lie-in): Reeve is 30 years old with polish heritage he has sandy colored curls and green eyes. His occupation is rescue squad lieutenant. He has high functioning autism <3 and his birthday is February 19th.

and last but not least!!

Lark (Rara) Doe: Rara is a man from Oregon; at the age of 29. He belongs to truck, his favorite color is cocktail orange. Lark got himself mixed up in the hooker business when he was young and used to go by Sweetling; he still deals with the struggle. His birthday is July 23rd. He is dark haired and green eyed.

That took forever!! but I hope you enjoyed.

[thelostrainbowthenovel]

The third and final part of inking + coloring the old sketches for my TLR next-gen concepts, following after these previous two: Part 1 and Part 2! :3 These guys being from here. Like stated on the previous bios and sketches, I won't be touching these guys again for a long while as I have to focus more on the current story, but I might explore them here-and-there if I get any big ideas and they all will have more prominence if I choose to write a sequel book/novellas about them. But, we shall see when/if those times come!

For now, I hope you enjoy! :D Below are all their bios again(for the third time lol), from left-right and top-bottom!

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* Briar Belmonte Daughter and oldest child of Rosia and Carmelo. Part of Erdennia's noble class. Oldest of all the next generation kiddos, she is born several months after the events of the main story have past. While Gaia was away to help find a cure for the Blight Flu and to help find Talia with the others, Rosia and Carmelo worked on trying to start their family again, feeling much more comfortable to do so again after Rosia suffered a miscarriage in the early years of their marriage. She soon became pregnant again, and this time the baby survived with no complications, having a healthy and safe birth. Everything was warm and peaceful during the first days for the new family, the new parents being beyond grateful to finally have their child and their daughter was quite the happy baby too. Briar herself grows to be quite the sweetheart, more down-to-earth than her Mama but still with a fun and playful side to her. She is quite close with her ‘Auntie’ Gaia, who absolutely adores and spoils her and the rest of her siblings. As the eldest child, one would expect for her to be exhausted from having to deal with all her rambunctious younger siblings, and while that is true on occasions she actually loves them all and does her best to be a good role model for them to look up to. * Basil Belmonte Son and second child of Rosia and Carmelo, younger brother to Briar by 2 years. Part of Erdennia's noble class. As the second-eldest child he often takes to ‘leader’-like roles amongst his siblings like his older sister, however more on a ‘lax’ level than her as he prefers for her to take charge with their plans most of the times. He is mostly a peaceful and chill boy, going with the flow of whatever his peers are up to. He takes after his father more in being rather practical and sensible compared to some of the chaos amongst the other noble children, though does have a hidden ‘wild’ side to him that is only unleashed during certain moments. * Thyme Belmonte Son and third child of Rosia and Carmelo, younger brother to Briar by 3 years. Part of Erdennia's noble class. Unlike the rest of his fun-loving and happy family, Thyme is more of the serious and brooding type. No one is really sure where this came from, but some suspect that it may be from hanging around the older children too much when he was really young, and having their ‘cynical’ attitudes rub off on him. While his family is more obsessed with flowers, especially with his father’s job as the royal gardener, Thyme prefers more of the ‘scary’ plants, like cacti or venus flytraps.

* Hazel Belmonte Daughter and fourth child of Rosia and Carmelo, younger sister to Briar by 5 years. Part of Erdennia's noble class. Hazel is the most outspoken of her siblings, having no filter sometimes when it comes to the things she says and she is rather impulsive in how she acts and talks before thinking sometimes. To her, she would rather say what she is honestly feeling even if her replies come off rash, as she sees no appeal in walking on eggshells with others. Despite her approach, she truly means well deep down and will apologize and feel remorse if she senses she has deeply upset someone. * Ivy Belmonte Daughter and fifth child of Rosia and Carmelo, younger sister to Briar by 6 years. Part of Erdennia's noble class. Being the same age as the Crowned Prince Aster, the two have practically gone through life side-by-side so far and are best friends just like their mamas are, both having the same compassionate natures to fight and stand up for what they believe in. Ivy is perhaps the most like her Mama, being a little free-spirit in what she wants to do, rather than feeling restrained and conforming to what others want her to be. This has gotten her into some trouble with the royal court and older nobles, but those who really know her admire her for her unapologetic approach to herself and life. * Sage Belmonte Son and youngest child of Rosia and Carmelo, younger brother to Briar by 7 years. Part of Erdennia's noble class. Unlike some of his more confident siblings, Sage is much more quiet and timid, preferring to keep only to himself or family when out in public or huge social gatherings. Part of this comes from having so many older siblings, as he often finds it hard to get a word in himself during family conversations or get much spotlight with his more humble nature. He does wish he could be more outgoing like his siblings, but he also enjoys his more peaceful life that he has now, where he can just chill with his drawing hobbies without having to worry so much about expectations.