#before i am crucified

[blazonix]

🧩🍬

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately? A wall of text with little to no paragraph breaks! My brain immediately tells me, no, we're not reading that. I can't hit the back button fast enough.

🍬 ⇢ post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

Listen, Batman/Bruce Wayne....he's a mary-sue.

People say they like him above other superheroes for being human, but that man is not human at all. He has mary-sue powers which goes hand-in-hand with him being a wish fulfillment, self-insert of the person writing him. Don't ever feel bad about writing mary-sues because Batman is the ultimate, most loved one of all time.

Also, Batman needs to stay in his own comics.

[silverpen-and-paper]

something i’ve been thinking about for a long time is how characters that are widely headcanoned as transmasc are almost always non-masculine in some way. they’re almost always nerdy, or physically weak, or feminine in style/behavior, or more emotional than men are typically portrayed in media, or all of the above. every time i’ve seen someone say “this character has transmasc vibes” they slot snugly into one or more of those categories.

which, ofc, headcanon whoever you want as trans. the more trans characters the better. but i also think that the general widespread phenomenon of having lots of transmasc characters be the ones “””failing””” masculinity in some way is… not the best?

and like. i get it. i am also that flavor of transmasc, and i like seeing myself reflected in characters, even if they are just headcanons. i know there are a lot of trans folks who see themselves in those characters because they are “””failing””” masculinity in some way. (and, as i’ve indicated by putting “failing” in tons of quotation marks previously, i don’t think having those traits actually makes someone lose masculinity points or something.)

but not every transmasc is like that, and i hardly ever see more traditionally masculine characters headcanoned as trans. it’s gotten to the point where i feel uncomfortable seeing transmasc headcanons with characters who fit the stereotype, and i also fit and love being the stereotype, so i can’t imagine what it’s like for the transmascs who don’t.

i don’t have a particular call-to-action or anything for this post. i can’t and don’t want to order people to stop headcanoning something, that’s not the point. like i said, headcanon whoever you want as trans.

i suppose if i have a takeway, it’s.. think about why [x character] gives you more trans vibes than [y character]. consider expanding beyond the gut-feeling vibes and play with the idea of a different kind of character being trans, one who you absolutely would not have considered before.

[mayoiayasep]

Can you tell me why you think muu deserved to be innocented in the second trial? Its been a year and I still don't really see a reason to why she should tbh (btw I'm not trying to argue or anything I just want to know your point of view)

the first and the more silly answer is bc i like her i kinda relate to her and she's a 16 y.o girl. being 16 is full of horrors and considering her conditions i don't blame her for snapping and for her attitude in milgram itself ^^

more serious answer is that while like. yea i don't think she's entirely innocent in this scenario especially w the reveal that she was something of a mean girl too, i'm just more mad with like. how guilty she got in comparison with some of the other prisoners. like if she had gotten a almost 50/50 guilty i would've been less bitter about that is more the fact that she got a 74% guilty vote when a character like mikoto got the same percentage in the opposite direction. like atp i'm team "vote all innocent so that no one has to go through the mental torment of the guilty vote" but there's actually no way in hell that the 16 y.o girl who very likely on accident stabbed someone in a state of extreme distress and was shown to be distraught after the fact is more unforgivable than the 23 y.o who has killed at least 2 people bc of the stress of his job👍🏾 idc how hot mikoto is or how much i like natsuki hanae, mans did not deserve all that

[cyancherub]

i see himeno and i am like. that is a hypersexual woman with repressed sexual trauma

[kaerinio]

🐉

[peachyyjellie]

anyway unrelated ramble because i just feel like complaining tonight i guess lmao

the pokimane (?) cookie drama is one of those things that make me question why people take drama commentators seriously this is so goofy

[quillandrapier]

I made an updated poll with the southern hemisphere in mind here but I accidentally broke the post and now can't edit the original so that the it's clear its about the northern hemisphere (that has seasons.):

For reference the autumn equinox falls between 22 and 25 of September most years.

[prettylittleflowerfairy]

I love Christmas

I’m just a Christmas girlie I love the decorations and the lights and the cozy vibe and the smell of Christmas pudding boiling and I getting gifts and watching Christmas movies and baking and the summer weather I love it so much.

[iyohme]

and i know that you mean so well;

but i am not a vessel for your good intent!

("Tongues and Teeth," - The Crane Wives)

my serotonin got jetpack bursted into the stratosphere with this blurb by OP. Your brain is so juicy and moist and wrinkly OP. Godspeed. I'm not even into DC but the whole "Burnt out and neglected, and now a bunch of people driven by guilt guilt guilt want me back so they can feel less guilty?" just made the racoon in me rub its hands menacingly hoho

Just imagine not even living your best life; just a shadow in the lives of the illustrious Waynes, a ghost in a castle, visible only to the loyal servant and the occasional curious paparazzi who shrugs and looks away--after all, there was no mention of you in any occasion: must be the kid of in-house staff. How nice of Brucie Wayne to allow even the children of in-house staff the opportunity to study at such a high-end college! (The reporters chortle and snicker at your barely-passing marks, sighing at such a wasted opportunity. Oh well. And then they move on to the tabloid topic of the week, after the strutting socialites and the rich and the arrested Rogues.)

You gather things.

You gather pieces of a cracked dream, a single plastic teacup you had brought into the cavernous mansion the day you held Alfred's old, gnarled hand. Ears ringing and slippers still stained with your parent's blood as they were gunned down before your very eyes. You gather your things, what made you before you were "Wayne," so to say. Your mother's old cigarette box, smuggled from the crime scene, your one memento of the woman who you could not forget but never forgive.

A juxtaposition of love and hate, forever crucified. The image of the Virgin Mary inside the tin box seems to be a mockery of faith, across from her image lying cheap cigarettes.

You gather test papers, all barely passing and with more reds than blacks, and grind them up into strips with the shredder you had brought; just one time the black card Wayne had given you, and it left the bitterest, sourest aftertaste in your mouth. They burn so cozily on the school Bunsen burners, especially when sprayed with alcohol, immediately immolating like timelapse sparkler videos. You gather your name before the Incident, you cherish it, and you repeat the syllables in the dead of night, spilling past your mouth. Even if it was the name of a child-abusing monster, it was still yours, and it was still of use.

And use it, you would.

While they go and be a family, you work to begin yours.

You gather funds: it's easy to take on odd jobs when people do not suspect you. You tuck away that black card at the bottom of your study table drawers, forgotten there like scribbled-out pages of an essay, an unfinished drawing, and leftover candy wrappers. It's a bit-by-bit work, but you know the Waynes wouldn't even see it happening. Your brothers and sisters (an absurdly alien concept, as they don't even acknowledge you exist ninety-five percent of the time) are prodigies paraded around at every event. You are the unseen ghost flitting through their shadows.

Graduation comes and goes. It's laughably easy to falsify having lost your social security number and other documents--Gotham is that much of a shithole, you suppose. The man in the cowl notwithstanding. His efforts are admirable, but weak. Recidivism is common in this place, as if there were some sort of pull that incited the people in Gotham to cruelty, to madness.

It's absurdly Lovecraftian, in its own way.

You are not even living your best life, and yet you are free. Alfred knows; he always knows. If you are The Ghost, then the aged butler is a man one step between the doors of death, and he sees you every time you move. Your room is empty, and he raises an eyebrow at your satchel: all your items already stored elsewhere or given away.

("I suppose this was a long time coming, Little Master."

Tap tap tap. Footsteps on marble floors, setting sun.

You shrug. "Eh. The Waynes gave me a roof and education. It's all good."

You grunt. "Well, people change. Like you know, how kids being gifted stop being gifted when they grow older." You say, instead of 'Well, if a child doesn't get any praise or attention if they do good and probably even less if they were bad, why even bother?')

A pause. "Your academics were not so lackluster when you were younger."

You promise to try and stay in touch. (You crossed your fingers behind your back.) You leave, sunset on your face.

The nap you had in a dingy hotel with far too many odd stains and not enough locks you could put on was the soundest you've ever slept in years.

Freedom smells like summer air and the last rays of sun, followed by the cold blue hour.

It takes three months for an out-of-state college to accept you. It's far from Gotham. It has a dormitory. Excellent. While you were indeed a mediocre academic student, you had banked everything on band scholarships.

Who knew more than a hundred clarinet players had unclaimed scholarships yearly? Packing up your small life in bags, you take a train upwards to another state.

(Meanwhile, in Gotham, there is an odd sense of unease as Bruce Wayne stops by an inconspicuous door. It's relatively clean, as expected of his manor, but the worn out brass on the handle suggests that someone had lived there before. He opens the door. Steps in. A bed, a dresser, a study table. Bare bones.

The unease intensifies. But who?)

Someone had lived in here, yes.

[tiktaalic]

Girls will be like yeah so basically Taylor swift has eradicated all attempts at creativity in favor of seamlessly merging her IDENTITY to PRODUCT and I will give accolades where accolades are due. She has been very successful at this probably the most successful person on earth at this and all it cost her is her soul. And it DID cost a soul. You could make a graph between amount of streams and quality of work and see so clearly the inverse relationship materialize before your eyes. She was not born a hack but embraced the life of a hack when she realized she would be more popular with platitudes and dialing back on oversharing and being less messy. If you replace personhood with producthood you lose your humanity but your album sales go fuuuucking crazy. I can make overtures at understanding this by reminding myself she was crucified for being a person for years and years and she has been very vocal about it doing a heavy number on her psyche. Maybe when that happens to you as a teenager the trade off seems less revolting. Getting rid of something you’re mocked for having anyway and in return you are richer and more famous than anyone has any right to be. But then I scratch my head. And go but surely you see that this is a deal with the devil. Surely with the contract laid out in front of you. You gnaw your lip. You hesitate. You follow the letter of the law but skirt the spirit of it for brief shining moments. And when she’s so publicly had misogynistic vitriol levied at her. So often for so long. IS it misogynistic for your criticisms to boil down to “she’s not likable enough for me”? At what dollar amount does a millionaire going on billionaire become a public object rather than a person? Does the fact that she’s slowly revoked access to herself change this? Is it more or less human to orchestrate your life so that paparazzi only sees you on planned outings where you look impeccable and have a message to send and you are Taylor Swift The Brand after you’ve been scarred by years of being Taylor swift the young woman in the tail end of the aughts and the 2010s ripped to shreds scrutinized for every choice and smile and dress and man? Is there a passable essay in the title Taylor Swift Doesn’t Owe You Authenticity. Maybe! but doesn’t she as an artist work at a job where she’s supposed to produce. Art? It sounds like I’m asking for ballads but I’m really not I’m asking for a song that is good. Im asking for a cruel summer which is irreplicable but surely the minds behind it can produce something more than snow on the fucking beach? Or am I overestimating the continued talent of a woman who is the platonic ideal of a target shopper? Is it misogynistic to believe the platonic ideal of a target shopper can’t create with a soul? How to talk about the fall off of Taylor swift in a woman honoring way?

five minutes later. You can’t spell awesome without ME!

[sukimas]

my personal influence on the idea was posting that one baijr interview, reblogging other people’s stuff on the matter (with and without commentary— commentary was mostly discussing how shikigami work in canon touhou, though) and a few horny text posts that got twenty or so notes each. and the one drawing with venus’ design.

aka yakumo consumed the mind of touhou tumblr because touhou tumblr is 3 sticks a dead leaf and a paperclip’s worth of blogs. not hard to congregate around one idea like fish around blood in the water when there’s just a few people.

[memecucker]

St Andrew: I am not worthy to have the same manner of death as our Lord so if you must crucify me then may I request you turn the cross upside down?

Roman guard: Oh is this like a thing or something with you guys? We were just talking about how that Peter guy asked the same thing in Rome

St Andrew: What the fuck? Are you serious? This was my idea first and I told him about it and Peter goes off and does it before me?What a fucking asshole uhhhh what about an X shape can you do an X shape like that’s still a pair of wooden beams right

Roman guard: I mean, an X would be a entirely different thing and I’ve never designed something to asphyxiate hanging from an X but, ok you know what that sucks your friend stole your idea and did it first so sure we can make it work

[sgiandubh]

Mesdames les Tumblrettes, tirez les premières

Just before:

Ahem:

❤️- LOUDER AND CLOSER FOR ALL THE FUCKWITS IN THE BACK:

Just after:

Gay, huh? LOOOOOOOOOOL.

Feel free to open them in a separate tab, zoom in, zoom out, sharpen, brighten. I DID NOT do anything else than taking frame after frame after frame and screenshotting with a zoom. I have used VLC.

These are my notes. A spoiler of sorts - just in case you'd think I have been dropped those. Nope: it's hard work, baby:

For these five screenshots, I will be insulted, called a nutcase, a liar, a manipulator, patted on the head by all the know-it-alls of this fandom and basically crucified.

I know I just fucked my night for a very good cause. Do I have more? Hell, yes. Is there a story? Of course.

I have to go to the office and I am already late. I will jump in a cab and be back around 5 PM local time. Some of you have waited 10 years for this. I think you can wait eight more hours for context and timeline, ROFLMAO.

Thanks for everything, Anon who tipped a friend who tipped me.

This is a joyful moment, at a fucking PUBLIC event. Those are not spoons. My conscience is clear: I know what I have seen and I have seen it all.

Toodles!

[jarlskona-evilyoyo]

Listen I am the thinking about Gabrielle breaking her moral code and killing the roman soldier to try and save Xena. It’s literally my favorite moment in media ever.

Like you have Gabrielle, who is always set as being the moral center of the show. She starts off innocent and naïve but grows more as the show goes on. She gets darker but she’s still the moral center- the one that Xena always trusts to guide her through her own journey to redemption. Then she gets taken advantage of so deeply that it falls apart and The Rift happens. They make it through that but Gabrielle is so shaken by those events that she tries to revert back to her peaceful ways.

She spends an entire season trying to be peaceful. She gives up violence and carries no weapons despite how dangerous her life with Xena is and that she knows they’re going to lose their lives together soon.

Then Xena gets attacked. Xena- the woman that fought off an entire army! She’s fought off gods and all kinds of monsters but she collapses because her back got broken.

And Gabrielle picks up a weapon and starts killing Roman soldiers like it’s nothing. Even before she started her nonviolent lifestyle she NEVER killed people but Xena’s life is in danger and her first instinct was to pick up a sword to protect her.

God it gets me every time. Xena could never get rid of that piece of herself that was good and Gabrielle can’t get rid of that little piece of darkness. And at the end of the day her breaking her oath only bought Xena a couple of hours because they still end up crucified.

I know the show implies that Gabrielle’s arc is finished in the final when she picks up Xena’s mantle but to ME her realizing that there was no way for her to live a peaceful life anymore , that violence will always be a part of her and that Xena was more important then anything is just perfect.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico is going to be smote by Hermes.

As he trudges through the muddy lake water, seething, he weighs each elaborated murder he has planned for each member of Cabin Eleven against how harshly Hermes will punish him for it. Connor will be flayed alive. Travis will be cooked over an open flame. Julia will be strapped to a rocket and blasted into the sun. Alice will face death by a thousand paper cuts.

And Cecil.

Fucking Cecil.

Cecil Markowitz will face a death so tortuous and harrowing that the constraints of the crime cannot be adequately covered in any mortal tongue. Crucified is too light a term. Nico is going to kill him in a way that is unspeakable — to hell with Hermes and his wrath. Nico is going to smite his dumbass children himself, and it will be worth it.

His boyfriend waits for him, lips pressed together and eyes trained to the sky, on the dock, holding several towels.

“Say nothing,” Nico hisses, slamming his sword on the wood and dragging himself up after it.

“Wasn’t going to,” Will lies. He immediately begins to cough, face turning slightly red. “Well, if I were to say anything —”

“William,” Nico warns.

“I just mean to say,” he soldiers on, setting all but one of the towels down, “that you look —”

He cuts himself off with a quickly smothered giggle.

“I swear to all that is fucking holy, Son of Phoebus.”

He lets Will maneuver him about, towel turning almost black with all the mud it’s absorbing off Nico’s clothes. He has to move on to another towel once he’s finished just Nico’s arm, dripping the soaked towel with a wet plop.

“It’s not that bad.”

Nico stares at him, deadpan. In fact he has to swipe pond scum out of his eyes and hair to glare properly.

“I am the fucking Creature of the Black Lagoon, Solace.”

Will bites his lip, hard. A burst of laughter escapes anyway, heedless of his desperate attempt to smother it, and the worst part is that it’s gorgeous and it makes his eyes light up and his stupid face looks stupid divine, when he’s giggly about something, and it makes Nico want to crush him a little. In the facial region, with his own face.

Except his own face is covered in stinky lake mud.

And Will is laughing.

Hard.

“I mean,” he manages around giggles, holding up a new towel to dab at Nico’s face, “it brings out your eyes, honestly.”

Nico closes his eyes. He lets that sit for a moment. He exhales for ten solid seconds.

“William Andrew.”

“It does! I mean, it’s really the perfect shade —”

“Romance is actually, genuinely dead.”

“— makes them look very deep, actually —”

“I should’ve listened to Demeter and married a doctor.”

“— and lake mud has so many uses! Most of the microbes on you are excellent for the skin. Who wouldn’t want to be compared to lake mud?”

“Oh wait! That is useless advice.”

“And you didn’t even pick up any leeches! Just all this dark, beautiful lake mud, as brown and beautiful as your eyes —”

“I’m returning you to whatever lab you were created in. Obviously you’re defective and I want a new model.”

“— in fact I’ll write a haiku about it.” He clears his throat. “My boyfriend is so hot —”

“Enough,” Nico interrupts, slapping his semi-clean hand over Will’s motormouth before things get any worse. Unfortunately the mud still caked into the lines of his skin contrasts beautifully with Will’s sparkling eyes, making them even bluer somehow. That’s a felony. “Also, that’s six syllables, dumbass.”

“I’ll revise,” he shoots back, muffled.

“If you promise not to, I’ll move my hand.”

Will presses a kiss to his palm because he’s a sappy loser who knows exactly what he does for Nico’s heart problems, based on the wiggle of his stupid perfect eyebrows.

“Deal.”

Nico removes his hand slowly. He lifts it back up when Will opens his mouth, threatening, but luckily he changes course before Nico has to make good on the threat, leaning down to kiss Nico softly, properly.

“I’m crucifying your best friend,” he mumbles against his lips. “That is step one of a ten step torture process.”

“‘Kay.”

“His siblings, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hermes might grind me to dust, after.”

“Trying really, really hard to focus on something right now, babe.”

“Right,” Nico breathes. There is still mud drying onto him and it is the Worst, actually, and he still has several homicides to play out, but.

But.

He can spend a little time kissing his boyfriend first.

(As long as that will keep him from spouting any more damn haikus.)

[qwimblenorrisstan]

The Clandestine Culinarian Pt. 4 (Finale) | Azriel x Reader

Summary: After everything fell apart at Rita’s, Azriel is still recovering from the poison, and you give him an ultimatum. Choose between you and Elain. Months of silence ensue, before his choice becomes clear, at last.

Word Count: ~3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of poisoning, attempted sexual assault, illness, death (background characters), arguing, violence, an extraordinarily sassy rhys, but it all ends okay

A/N: If y’all crucified me for this being so late I wouldn’t even blame you…I’m so sorry for the wait but I hope this is a good way to finish off this series, and I am planning on doing maybe like epilogue more about their relationship, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

The entire situation had been a mess, Cassian was pissed off, Azriel was still in Madja’s tent, Nesta and her girls a drunk mess, stumbling home, Feyre dealing with Elain, and you at the House of Wind.

You trained until your body refused to move anymore it was so sore and hurting, and then you slept, ate, and repeated, trying hard just not to think. You didn’t want to think about how Elain had, for some reason, tried to keep Azriel away by poisoning him of all things so he forgot about you, or how she hadn’t even thought about the potential consequences of it.

It made you angry, foolishly angry, that she’d done something to your mate. The bond wasn’t accepted, but it was still there, lying dormant and flaring up at any little thing. You could barely feel any sign of life from his end, and you hated to admit how much that worried you.

But you wouldn’t go check on him, not when he hadn’t cared about you for all those months. Even if Elain had poisoned him, he still chose her over you before that, and he could have her now. He could have his sorry-ass excuse of a partner, the female that poisoned him.

You had been lying in bed, half-asleep, when your door creaked open and you heard heavy footsteps. You were standing up in a second, slightly panicked, before seeing Cassian as he stood, face slightly pleading and serious. He gave a sheepish smile that was strained when he saw you so frantic.

“What could you possibly want at this hour?”

You asked, rubbing your eyes as you let yourself relax into the bed again. For all you knew, he was only up this late for midnight snacks. He moved closer until he was standing beside your bed. He hesitated, swallowing before speaking.

“It’s Az. He’s..he’s sick, Madja says he’ll be alright, but he wants to see you.”

Your eyes narrowed, and he almost winced at that, moving to sit on the bed beside you.

“He doesn’t want to see Elain? Shocking.”

You replied, not bothering to hide the bitterness in your tone. Cassian’s warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, shifting you so you had to look at him. He gave you a begging look.

“I’m not going to try to apologize for him, but even if you’re pissed at him, which I would be too, at least be there for him. You two could smooth things over in the future, but you can’t go back and be there for him if you aren’t now.”

He said, hand leaving you as he got up from the bed, it creaking before springing back up to its normal height, and he walked out of your room. You knew he was right. If you weren’t there for him now, you couldn’t undo that, and he was sure to remember.

With a grumbled sigh, you got up and locked your door, throwing some clothes on, running a brush through your hair, and splashing some water on your face, before begrudgingly walking to the outside Azriel’s room, where he was sure to be. Getting yourself ready, you sighed, before walking in, looking annoyed and pissed, but at least you were there.

Azriel was in his bed, looking just about the same as you’d seen him before. Pale, shaky, sweating, and shivering slightly. He looked sickly, for sure. There was a pile of tonics in the corner, with directions on them, probably from Madja for the shadowsinger. The shadows were agitated but also sickly, slower and thinner than usual, their wispy forms trying to pull at you to take you to him.

His eyes opened as he heard you sit in the armchair next to the bed, watching him with a cool expression, trying to stay neutral but failing as some of your anger bled through. He shifted to his side, blurry hazel eyes peering up at you.

“Y/N-“

He began, his voice slightly raspy, but not like usual. Your sharp voice cut him off.

“Don’t. The only reason I’m here is because your brother guilt-tripped me into it.”

Not entirely a lie, not entirely the truth. His eyes lost some of their intensity as if they’d been expecting that. Right when you were about to speak, the door clicked open again, and you saw Elain peek around the corner, eyes widening when she saw you there, and heard the growl that came from you.

You huffed, standing up.

“You can choose this bitch who tried to poison you, or you can choose your me, not because I’m your mate or any other bullshit, but just for me. Your decision, but I won’t sit here and let myself be misled by an immature Illyrian who doesn’t know what he wants.”

You snapped at him and grabbed Elain’s wrist before she could slip away, yanking her inside and trapping her against the wall. Azriel tried to sit up, clearly alarmed and thinking you were going to hurt her, not to mention his pain and guilt.

“And you… where do I even start?”

You said, and she swallowed, opening her mouth to speak, but you cut her off.

“Sure, you had some prophecy or something that I would hurt him, but you could’ve told someone instead of almost fucking murdering him! That’s the most selfish thing I’ve seen in a-“

“That is enough.”

Azriel’s voice, weak but still authoritative, spoke. He was leaning against the closest post of his bed, standing somehow, and glaring at you. Elain slipped away before you could stop her, and you vaguely heard her shoes clicking against the hallway floor and some sniffling. She was crying. Good.

“You don’t get to decide what’s enough. She almost killed you.”

“Using poison she got from your room. Why did you even have that?”

He snapped back, and you nearly physically recoiled at that. Still so sassy for someone who nearly died mere days ago.

“I didn’t want it getting into Kier’s hands. Or anyone’s hands, for that matter.”

You hissed back, and his gaze, still a bit clouded but piercing as ever, glared down at you.

“Why not give it to Rhys? Unless you were planning a better use for it involving him.”

That was what made you shut up for a minute and just think. He thought you were trying to poison Rhys?

“What?”

You quotationed, now just genuinely confused and exasperated.

“Don’t act like I’m crazy. You worked closely with Rhys and Kier, your shop is burnt down by one of your biggest investors, and you’re brought to Night Court into the home of the High Lord and his Inner Circle with a vial of the deadliest poison in existence? I’m not an idiot.”

“Right, so you were running away from me because you thought I was trying to murder you, and not because you’re afraid to face your feelings with your mate?”

His reasoning made sense, you were afraid. But there was a reason Kier had burnt down your shop even being one of your biggest investors in it. A reason you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even your family.

“Face it. You’re suspicious.”

He said with a tone of finality, eyes burning into you even as tears welled in your own.

“Fine, you want to know why Kier burnt down my shop, you asshole? It was because I wouldn’t have sex with him. He doesn’t like being told no. And trust me, he had far worse plans with that vial than even Elain.”

You spat out, and Azriel looked genuinely surprised at that, brows furrowing in a temporary look of confusion, eyes softening, before his face hardened again.

“You’re lying.”

He said. Your hands clenched in fists as you looked around the room, finding a bowl of fruit, probably gifted by Feyre as a get-better-soon gift.

You walked over, picked up an orange, and ripping it open, shoved Azriel against the bed and forcefully pushed the orange into his throat, moving his jaw to make him chew it, and even as he gagged, you forced him to swallow it.

The mating bond, having been dormant for so long, flooded back to life now that it was accepted, whether willingly or not. And the first thing you shoved down the bond, was the memory of your truth.

*********************************************************

Business had been slow that day, customers only coming and going for basic pastries and treats that you and your family already had in stock while you made some more for the next day.

Bored out of your mind, you agreed to take the closing shift.

“I’ll be home in 5,”

You had told your older cousin as he’d left, and he’d given a shrug and gone home. At least the closing shift sometimes gave you a view of the town drunks on the streets, which was a little entertaining sometimes.

While wiping down a table, you heard the jingle of keys and the front door opening with the little bell attached to the top and you immediately whirled only to find a drunken Kier sauntering up to you, sly smirk on his face.

“What are you doing here, Kier?”

You asked in as firm a tone as you could manage. He stalked closer until you could feel his hot breath against your neck. He lowly chuckled, and you could smell the alcohol from his breath.

“I only want to play,”

He said, his voice ever so slightly slurred and his hands sliding over to hold your waist as you were backed up against a wall.

“It’s only fair since I’ve been turning a blind eye to your little shop here~”

He said, and panic shot through your veins as his hands slipped under your shirt, his mouth too close to your own. You shoved him off, freezing momentarily as he hit the ground and crumpled before you hopped onto the counter and slid off of it into the kitchen, where you grabbed a knife with shaky hands.

You couldn’t beat him in combat, you knew that, but it was at least comforting to know you had a tiny chance at self-defense.

He stumbled and got to his feet, wobbling over to you, hands on the counters for support as he scowled, glancing down at the knife as if it were just a small bug in his way.

“You know, I’m gonna need another vial soon. Wife’s been getting on my nerves, might need a new one.”

He slurred with a sloppy smirk, and you swallowed, trying to hold the knife steady.

“Get out of my shop.”

You said, trembling. He scoffed, but turned around anyway, walking unsteadily towards the door and falling into it, and as he left, he gave one last drunk scowl and chilling words.

“You’ll regret this.”

*********************************************************

“Enough.”

Azriel said, eyes staring up at you in what seemed like shock and horror combined, a hint of guilt in there too. You only looked down at him, a sort of pissed off and sad “I told you so” in your expression.

You stuck your pointer finger out at him, right beneath his collarbones, where you could feel his heart beating. The bond kept lurching with emotions and thoughts that he tried to hide, to keep locked behind that silent fort he’d built up over the centuries.

“You can make your decision, but I won’t be some damsel in distress waiting for you. It’s me or her, Azriel. Choose wisely.”

You spat, before storming out, only to find Rhys leaning against the wall outside as you slammed the door behind you. He had a raised brow on his face and a slight frown, though the usual smug smile still plastered on.

“What.”

You said, voice stiff as you glared at the High Lord.

“Easy, I’m just an innocent bystander.”

He said, raising his hands in mock innocence. In the months you’d been staying with them, you had learned that Rhysand was anything but innocent or a bystander in most, if not all situations.

“Go on, give your little advice. I know you’re dying to do so.”

You said in an exasperated tone, with a tiny hint of amusement as he smirked, and opened his mouth to speak with a dramatic wave of his hand.

“I think you should both give each other a second chance. Cassian and Nesta hated each other at first, and look at them now! Or, rather, hear them.”

He said, gesturing to the all-too-loud sounds of Nesta and Cassian enjoying their evening in the usual fashion in their room. You cringed, and he chuckled lightly.

“Seriously though, give each other a second chance. Doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it or immediately apologize, but personally, I think you two have some wonderful chemistry. I mean, the way you shoved that orange in his mouth? Spectacular-!”

“Thanks, Rhys.”

You said in a dry but also begrudgingly amused tone. Sometimes you wondered if the High Lord was really a radio host or a carnival director underneath. It would make a lot more sense than him playing the all-powerful but smug High Lord.

“Anytime, my wonderful advice is free of charge.”

He said before he was gone in half a second, winnowing probably, and you realized that he didn’t even live in the House of Wind, and he’d just been eavesdropping for fun, not even by accident.

Bastard.

You walked down the halls, eager to just rot in your bed all day, or something to distract you, when you ran into Mor, who was in a different dress today, red like usual, but it was lighter and airy, not usual for her. You raised a brow.

“Did you go shopping?”

You asked in a knowing tone, and she smiled, her eyes shining with guilt.

“It was on saaale..”

You let out a slight huff of laughter, shaking your head in amusement as you looked at the dress. It was cute, you wouldn’t deny that.

You and Morrigan hadn’t gotten along the best at first, which was quite natural considering her father had murdered more than half of your family, but things had eventually smoothed over.

“At least it’s cute. Better than whatever the hell you call those things you got the the Solstice.”

You said in an amused tone and she made a sound of mock-outrage.

“Such betrayal, when I put so much thought into it, too.”

She said, playfully shaking her head as she strode off into the halls, leaving you alone. Shopping didn’t sound like a bad idea. Maybe you could stop by Feyre’s art corner too.

*********************************************************

The next few months had been miserable.

Azriel knew he fucked up. Elain had been completely moved to a different house for the time being and made no effort to contact him after the incident in his room. You were giving him a complete cold shoulder, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Most days, Cassian and Nesta were there to act as a buffer between the two of you, but tonight they were both out on a date, leaving only you, Azriel, and the shadows in the House of Wind.

Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you scarf your food down so fast. Just another way to get away from him. To pretend he didn’t exist.

He knew he’d said things and implied things that were wrong, so very wrong, but he’d truly believed that you had malicious intentions up until the point where you’d shoved that orange down his throat and forced him to relive what you didn’t want to. Everything made much more sense now. Why you had been so prepared for some sort of raid on the shop, or why you’d grabbed the vial of volucrae first.

He’d been an idiot. Accusing you of trying to kill the High Lord.

His shadows tugged at him, trying to pull him away to fix things.

‘Our mate is hurt. Fix her.’

They would hiss at him, agitated and physically pulling him along. Just this once, he let them. So they would see how useless it was.

You were sitting off the edge of one of the many cliffs near the House of Wind, which made sense, given the sentient home had been built on the top of many mountains. The view was pretty, and almost worth the 10,000 step trek to get up. He still remembered how Feyre had taught you how to winnow the first few days so you didn’t have to suffer through the stairs.

He silently watched for a moment, letting the silence persist even as the shadows pulled him to you, forcing him to sit down next to you. They left him, lurking beneath you and gently inching up your hands. Traitors.

“Y/N,”

He began, his voice careful, ready to back off at any moment if what he said was too much.

“What?”

You asked simply, as if he were nothing more than a bug. That made his temper flare far larger than he should’ve let it. You were the one who had shoved an orange down his throat and accepted the bond, even if not with good intentions. He’d been going insane with all sorts of primal urges and desires he didn’t even know he had anymore, and you just gave a “what?”?

Calm down, he told himself.

“I’m sorry.”

He said. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. It fell short for the way he’d left you alone at the House of Wind with only Cassian and Nesta, or the cruel words he’d spewed to you, or the things he’d accused you of. Not to mention what Elain had made him do. Rhys had shown him, and he’d been disgusted ever since.

“Are you saying that because you really are sorry, or because I’m your mate?”

You asked, finally turning to look at him, eyes stubborn as ever even though you looked like you were about to cry. The sight made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you, what I’ve said and done, mate or not.”

He answered truthfully as the shadows crept further along your skin, their whispered touches cold but not uncomfortable. His eyes scanned you, taking in your body language and expression. Every hint of anything was taken in and evaluated because of years of training and practice.

You only sighed, flopping back onto the mossy patch behind you, not caring what bugs might lurk there.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m sorry for being kinda bitchy.”

You begrudgingly said, he only smiled, joining you beside the moss, staring up at the sky. The stars were pretty tonight.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met another female that would shove an orange down my throat.”

He admitted in a slightly sheepish tone, which got a snort of laughter out of you, face scrunching up slightly like it always did when you laughed or smiled. He’d noticed.

Your hand was slowly enveloped by his, replacing the shadows as they wrapped around the both of you, pulling you closer until his wing was also shimmied under your back, curled around you, pulling you against him.

“It was warranted. But, I forgive you.”

You said, and he smiled, head leaning to the left against yours.

“I forgive you, too.”

He then admitted. You sighed, mind already wandering to the countless anxieties that plagued it. The future and all its potential problems.

“What’re we gonna do, Az?”

You asked, glancing over at him. He let out a hum of thought, meeting your gaze with his hazel eyes as he gently smiled.

“We’ll figure it out.”

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