#but he was the last one left on the fae's page

[arcxnumvitae]

Okay, this might end up being a little long, so if you don't want to do it, that's totally chill. But for all the Seelie parents, what's one thing-- unrelated to ruling or leading their respective family/marrying and having children-- that you hope for your child (or children, in the Moireasdan's and Seòras) to have/accomplish in their lifetime?

@soulsxng || Send questions to my muse’s parents || Accepting

Bonus!

"'Hope'? Please, what use does the spare child hold for me aside from filling in should my spineless fop of an heir expire before he can breed a child of his own. What desire should I have other than the spare following along as planned?" After all, the moment that Eògan sired a child, the spare's only reason for existence would have vanished completely. Perhaps he would have the child snuffed out then, rather than risk word ever spreading among the nobility of him having spawn born of a human servant.

[silverislander]

prof said congrats for writing up a proposal so early i am going to get a good grade in. well this is literally going to be graded. but yk the meme

[prythianpages]

Too Good To Be True | Lucien x Reader

...you're just too good to be true...can't take my eyes off of you...

summary: in which your newest muse catches you red handed.

word count: 1,600

a/n: I do struggle writing Lucien but I had seen this tiktok and wanted to write a meet-cute over it and when I saw this fanart above made by IG user kri_stasss_, I took this as a sign lol. I also listened to the song can't take my eyes off of you like 100x while writing this.

With a sigh, you lean back into your seat, allowing your eyes a break. You had been sitting at the corner of the bustling cafe for over an hour, choosing to surround yourself with Velaris’s warmth and the smell of coffee in the hopes to finally draw something.  But your sketchbook is spread open on the table with a half-finished drawing.

You look at the view before you, the Sidra River shimmering like pure sapphire under the sun’s gaze. The leaves of surrounding trees rustling gently in the soft spring breeze and flowers vibrant hues adorn the riverwalk. It’s a beautiful sight–one that many stop and admire. Yet, it is not enough to fuel the inspiration you so desperately need.

The flowing water and distant laughter of children blend into a soothing symphony as you absentmindedly twirl your pencil between your fingers, thoughts drifting. Send me a muse, you plead to the Cauldron, yearning to feel that thrill again.That spark that ignites your passion of drawing. The very one that moves your hand effortlessly across the paper.

The sound of iron against pavement startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. You blink your eyes back into focus and instinctively, they land on the source of the noise. The table diagonal from you, that had been vacant for the past hour, now has an occupant. An occupant who is blocking your view of the Sidra River, the very one that is half drawn across your sketchbook.

But you can’t bring yourself to complain.

Not when there is a man of striking beauty seated there. 

His mere presence commands your attention, his red hair catching the sunlight and gleaming like fire. You feel your breath catch in your throat as your eyes trace the elegant lines of his face. Brutal scars mar the left side of his face–from his brow all the way down to his jaw. 

Despite this, the male is devastatingly handsome. Ethereal. 

Too good to be true, you think, finding yourself captivated by his eyes. His right eye, whole and russet-colored, holds a depth that draws you in. But his left eye…His left eye is a mechanical marvel, golden and intricate, and gleaming with an otherworldly light.  

And suddenly, you’re overwhelmed with an urge to touch him. To reassure yourself that he is real and not just a figment of your imagination. Gods, with a face and built body like his, he’d be heaven to touch…

A rush of excitement floods your veins and you feel a familiar thrill coursing through you. Your hands are turning the pages of your sketchbook until a blank page sits before you. And before you know it, you’re pouring your awe and fascination into each stroke of your pencil. Your eyes flicker up and down as you commit the details to mind, heart pounding every time with the fear of being caught. 

Though you're cautious about it, you’re too lost in his eyes to catch the way the male’s lips curve slightly upwards.

**

Lucien takes the last sip of his coffee, admiring the sight before him. The sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in twilight hues and dancing across the Sidra River. Along the riverwalk, Fae stroll leisurely. Couples walk hand in hand, children skipping along the cobblestone path, pausing to catch the fireflies that are now visible in the dimming light.

Velaris was proving to be more beautiful with each passing day—a sight he’d never expected from a place like the Night Court. All his life, he had only come to know the Court of Nightmares. A place that truly lived up to his name. And though there were children laughing and running freely, he couldn’t help but still be wary of the City of Starlight. It was still part of the Night Court, after all.

His eyes scan along the riverwalk, golden eye making a soft sound as it moves, in search of something. Or rather, someone. Just as a frown is about to settle on his face, he finds what he was searching for. The reason why he was at this cafe…despite the fact that the best espresso in town was at a little coffee shop in the Rainbow of Velaris.

You.

You are sitting at a bench, knees drawn up and a sketchbook nestled onto your lap. As the sun continues to make its descent, the street lamp near you croaks to life. It bathes you in its soft glow and he is able to appreciate the slight furrow of your brow, the slight way your lips purse in concentration. He wants to know what you're drawing.

Ever since he caught you staring at him at this very cafe, he had an inkling as to what may be hidden within those pages of your sketchbook. He had meant to approach you about it but you had been so into your sketch, he found the sight endearing and feared disrupting you. 

So he had left you to it and showed up to the cafe the next day at the same time in the hopes of seeing you again and he did. That time, your gazes had met and though it had been brief, it felt everlasting. He remembers the way your cheeks tinted with blush before you turned your head away, flustered at being caught. If only you had seen the way he had smiled softly to himself afterwards.

It’s been days since that incident. Though he didn’t find you in that same spot the day after, he came to the conclusion that this was your favorite area to frequent in Velaris. It slowly became his too, his eyes always finding you amongst the busy riverwalk. 

Lucien had never been the shy type–at least, not when it came to pursuing people he was interested in. He had just been waiting for the right time–for the right moment to talk to you. And as you closed your sketchbook with a light exhale, his heart fluttered as he realized what better time than now.

**

Calling it a night, you close your sketchbook with a soft sigh. The sun had been replaced by the moon and the street lamp’s light was too dim for your liking to continue you drawing. You feared messing up what you had meticulously spent hours on. As you rise from the bench and turn to make your way back home, you bump into a smaller frame than yours, the sketchbook in your hold falling from your grasp.

“Sorry, miss!” A lively voice chirps and when you look toward the source, the small child is already far away from you. Kids, you muse to yourself as you turn back around.

Your breath catches in your throat. Standing right in front of you is the male who has become your muse.

But he’s not looking at you.

No, he’s looking at the sketchbook on the ground. Your heart skips a beat, heat rising to your face. The sketchbook had opened to the pages you've been working on—the ones with multiple sketches of his eyes.

You’re frozen in horror, watching as he studies your work. None of you say anything for a moment. It’s when his gaze lifts to yours that you spring into action. “Oh,” you gasp, beginning to bend your knees to gather your belongings. You're absolutely mortified, praying to the Cauldron he can’t hear how fast your heart is racing.

“I’m so sorry.”

Before your hand can reach for your sketchbook, another hand beats you to it.

“Don’t be,” he says, his voice deep and enchanting, causing your hand to freeze in midair. There seems to be a magnetic pull in his words, a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. Is there anything about this male that is not attractive?

“I’ve never seen the beauty of my eyes until now.”

The words are spilling from your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re joking, right?”

He’s knelt before you, his hand hovering over your book. But instead of picking it up for you, he grasps for your hand instead. It’s warm and calloused yet feels so good against yours. Like heaven. His eyes finally meet yours, holding you captive. He slowly brings your hand to his lips, and you don’t think you’re breathing as he presses his lips against your skin.

“No,” he grins as he rises to his full height, using his free hand to grab your sketchbook before bringing you with him. “I’m Lucien.”

It takes you a moment to realize he is waiting for you to speak, his presence overwhelming but exhilarating.

“I’m—” you clear your throat to steady your voice. “I’m y/n.”

“y/n,” Lucien repeats with a smile, finally handing you over your sketchbook.

You take it, immediately clutching the book tightly to your chest and avert your gaze, casting it downwards. “I promise I’m not a creep. I was drawing the Sidra–well, attempting to, anyway. But then you came along, blocking my view and something came over me. You see, I’ve been struggling with artist block and your eyes–your eyes are so pretty”--and under your breath, you mutter–” All of you is, if I’m going to be honest…”–Lucien’s smile widens at that–”and I finally felt inspired–oh gods, I’m rambling. I should just shut my mouth.”

Lucien’s russet eye twinkles with amusement. “I inspired you?”

“Yes,” you answer quietly and bashfully.

“Then perhaps,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I should let you inspire me as well.”

Slowly, you lift your head back up, meeting his eyes once more. A wave of relief surges through you as you find nothing but sincerity and shared interest in his gentle gaze. You find yourself mirroring his smile, and something warm blossoms in Lucien’s chest—the start of something beautiful.

And he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the Night Court isn’t so bad after all.

a/n: okay, that's enough Lucien for now. Can't keep letting him distract me because I need to focus back on the other Vanserra *cough* Eris *cough*

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen

[pomefioredove]

If the flirty prompts are still open, can I ask for Sebek with the prompt, "Your lips would look so much better on mine." Like the thought of him reading and accidentally saying that out loud with us around, has my brain turned to mush.

Drink some water, eat a snack, and get some sleep.💚

one more sebek fic for the fans 🫡

summary: "your lips would look so much better on mine" type of post: short fic characters: sebek additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

It'd only been a week since Sebek's birthday, and he'd already devoured every book he'd been gifted.

It was as if everyone knew exactly what to get him this year. History editions, magic analyses, training guides...

It was nothing short of a perfect repertoire.

And, soon, he was left with just one he hadn't read yet.

"How unthoughtful,"

In form, it was a nice book; hardcover, with a minimal cover illustration and engraved text, thick but not overbearing. It would make a nice encyclopedia.

Instead, it was a book of love poems.

He supposed he should expect nothing less from the vice housewarden of Pomefiore, but, still. What interest did he have in such things?

But it was all he had left, and he was not in the mood for conversation when he visited you today.

"I'll go put on some tea," you say, starting to get up from your seat. Silver stands first, though, and waves you back down.

"Please, I can do it myself. You've already been a gracious host,"

Sebek rolls his eyes, but says nothing. Silver leaves, Grim circling around him in hopes of getting a treat, and the door closes with a heavy thud.

Sebek returns to his book.

He's only about a third of the way through, and, thus far, it's been nothing but humorous. How the written word pales in comparison to fae oral traditions, he thinks.

This poem is particularly entertaining. He snickers.

"Your lips would look so much better on mine," how ridiculous.

"What?"

"What," Sebek repeats, looking up from the book at last to see your widened eyes.

The horrific realization sinks in like a slow-acting poison.

"I WAS READING!" he says, his own face going red. "I WAS READING ALOUD! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU!"

You blink. "Oh,"

The door opens. Silver's eyes widen at the scene he's returned to, and he sets down the tea tray.

"What's happened?"

"He said my lips would look better on his," you hum, taking a warm cup from the tray.

"He what?"

"I DID NOT SAY THAT!"

"He was reading out loud," you whisper.

Silver sighs, and then nods. "Ah, I see. You should be more careful with your words, Sebek,"

"HOW DARE YOU SCOLD ME!"

"You should be glad it was only me and the prefect and not f-Lilia. He would never let you hear the end of this,"

As much is true. Sebek shuts his mouth, and Silver hands him a cup of tea to occupy himself with.

He leaves the book at Ramshackle, open on the page he was reading from.

You frame it in the guest room.

[violettduchess]

A/N: A continuation of this headcanon, here is the same scenario with Chevalier and Licht, a small child entering their bedroom in the middle of the night

WC: 1.3

The child's white bedroom door, painted with a silvery moon and twinkling stars, opens slowly, a whisper in the still of the night. A small head pokes out, knuckling sleepily at eyes still heavy with the remnants of dreaming. A look left, then right.

The hall is empty.

Tiny bare feet tiptoe across plush carpeting.

One hand clutches a stuffed animal, the other reaches for the curved handle of your bedroom door and which, on a quiet exhale, opens.

Chevalier

The door slowly opens and a pale head of blond hair, silvery in the moonlight that spills through the bedroom window, peeks around the corner. Chevalier is still awake, reading by the warm glow of the oil lamp on his nightstand. You are sound asleep on your side of the bed, your feet stretched out and resting against his legs. It’s a small thing really, but he cannot deny the way it feels to know that even in sleep, you seek him out.

He lowers his book, making eye-contact with the little girl who is still peering around the door. “Yes?” It’s invitation enough. She enters, her stuffed white tiger tucked under one arm, both hands clutching a book to her chest. She approaches his side of the large bed, shoulders squared as she looks at her father, quiet determination in her expression. Chevalier glances at the silver clock, ticking quietly away on his nightstand, next to the lamp. “You should be sleeping.”

She nods, drawing a breath. “I know, Papa. But I have a dilemma.”

He forces himself not to smile at her very serious expression but the warmth is there, winding its way around his heart as he regards her. “Do you?” 

Carefully, she lays the book she’s been holding down onto his lap. He recognizes it as the book of fairy tales he has been reading to her for the past few nights, the one you had gotten for her birthday a fortnight ago. “I would like you to finish the story we began this evening. The one about the fae and the knight.”

Chevalier tilts his head, regarding her. “I believe we had this discussion an hour ago when it was your bedtime and I told you we would finish it tomorrow night.” 

She clears her throat, looking at him with eyes as blue as the endless sea, eyes that perfectly mirror his own. “I know and that is my dilemma. However…I’ve thought about it. And I have a good reason why we should continue now.”

His eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “Go on.”

She takes a moment, gathering her thoughts. “You see, the story was so interesting that I have not been able to sleep. In fact, I have been kept quite awake wondering what is going to happen. As you said Papa, this has already cost me an hour of rest. But…” She takes a deep breath, reading herself for the heart of her plea. “If you were to read me the last three pages, it would take you approximately fifteen minutes. And then I would know how the tale ends. And I could go to bed. If not, I worry I may continue to toss and turn and my sleep will be further interrupted.” 

He does not answer a moment. His words momentarily robbed by the strange and heady mixture of pride and love for his daughter that is squeezing his heart, an emotion she so often evokes and that never fails to leave him amazed. She waits, the only sign that she is eager to hear his response is the impatient wiggling of her toes. Finally, the corner of his lips lift in a soft smile.

“You make a very compelling argument.” He sets aside his book and then gets out of bed, taking her fairy tale book in one hand and holding out his other to her. “We’ll finish the story in your room, in our reading chair so that we don’t wake your mother.”

She smiles, brighter than the full moon, and suddenly he sees you, his beloved wife. There you are, the echo of your warmth and joy painted across her young face. The warmth and joy that reached through the walls around his heart and gathered him close, taught him not only was he worthy of love but he could love back just as fiercely. 

And here, your daughter, the living embodiment of that very love, grips his large hand happily as she leads the way back to her room. Impulsively she turns her head and kisses the top of his hand. “Thank you, Papa.” Chevalier answers her affection with a tender smile and a squeeze of her hand in return. “You are very, very welcome.”

Licht

He stirs the moment the bedroom door opens, having not quite sunk into the well of dreaming yet. Pushing himself up, his first instinct is to reach for the nightstand drawer where his dagger is waiting to bite into any intruder. But his hand stills, midair, when he sees who is peeking her pale head around the door. “Papa?” 

He murmurs her name and motions for his daughter to come in as you sleepily rub at your eyes, rolling over to see what’s going on. She rushes to the bed, her stuffed wolf held by its bushy tail. It’s only when she’s close that he notices the watery eyes, the rapid way her small chest rises and falls, the paleness of her cheeks.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” She climbs onto the bed and launches herself into her father’s arms, burying her face in the soft white linen of his sleepshirt. “I had a bad dream,” is her muffled reply. 

Licht’s breath hitches in his throat. He is far too familiar with the phantoms that still sometimes haunt his nights, the dark tendrils of fear and terror and pain that wrap themselves around his mind at its most vulnerable. Noticing the way he’s frozen, you reach over, placing a reassuring hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing gently even as you reach with the other hand to touch your daughter’s bare foot, letting her know you are there for her.

Licht breathes in, your touch bringing him back from the shadows. He adjusts his arms around her, then strokes her moonlight-hair with a steady hand. Your touch on his back soothes him, sending calm waves of warmth through him, the same steady flow of love and reassurance he is giving to your child.

“Dreams can feel very real,” he murmurs, speaking slowly and tenderly, his lips resting on the top of her head. “And it’s ok to be scared.” You nod, resting your chin on Licht’s shoulder and brush the back of your fingers against her round little cheek. “We’re here for you, my love. Always.”

She leans back, sniffling and Licht tenderly brushes her hair away from her flushed face. “Can I sleep here tonight?” He nods immediately, a smile gracing his lips as she climbs her way over the both of you to wiggle herself under the covers. Her wolf tucked close to her chest, she throws herself against her father, eliciting a soft laugh before snuggling up against his side, her head on his chest. 

Licht glances at you over her head, his eyes the soft red of sunset as he extends his arm in invitation. You slide closer, curling up against your daughter, your head pillowed by his arm. 

No nightmares trouble any of you for the rest of the peaceful night.

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet

@silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton

@ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp

@got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network

@sh0jun @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny

@chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @ozalysss

[cheynovak]

The Shadows' Touch

Intro / part 1

Aziel x Y/N fae female

Summary: Y/N, a fae from the Night Court, prefers the solitude of books and sunsets over the bustling life of Velaris, hiding from her traumatic past. Azriel, notices her one winter by the sea and becomes quietly captivated by her, though she never seems to acknowledge him.

Warnings: mentioning of abuse

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Comments/Sharing are appreciated

Y/N sat in her small, shadowy corner of the world, hidden from the glamor and chaos of Velaris. She wasn’t like the other fae of the Night Court who thrived in the limelight. Her solace came in the form of ink-stained pages and the quiet sunsets she watched from the jagged rocks by the sea. Her existence had always been one of quiet resilience. It wasn’t her choice to fade into the background—it was survival.

Azriel had noticed her last winter. The spymaster of the Night Court rarely allowed himself such indulgences as fascination, but there was something about her. The way her hair caught the dying light of the setting sun, the serene expression on her face as she watched the waves, or the way she seemed untouchable, like a living shadow. Azriel found himself returning to the sea more often than he cared to admit, watching her from afar as if her presence soothed something deep within him.

But she never seemed to notice him. Not once.

That night, at Rita’s, Azriel had reluctantly joined Cassian and Mor. The bustling music and chatter grated on his nerves, and he cursed their persistence in dragging him there. But then, as his shadows whispered in delight, he saw her. Sitting at a small table, her nose buried in a book, she seemed untouched by the noise around her.

Azriel was usually adept at concealing his emotions, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on her too long.

Mor, always one to meddle in matters of the heart, grinned knowingly when she caught him staring. She nudged Cassian, sharing a wordless plan.

“Az, it’s your turn to grab drinks,” Mor declared, loud enough to draw his attention.

Azriel sighed but obeyed, weaving his way through the crowd. As he passed her table, he felt her presence more keenly than anything else in the room. But just as he returned with the drinks, Cassian’s "accident" sent a pint flying in her direction.

The amber liquid soaked her book, splattering onto her clothes. As Azriel cought the flying pint, the ones on his plate fell.

Azriel’s heart sank.

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized immediately, his voice softer than he intended. His eyes drifted over her to the book she was holding.

She stood abruptly, eyes wide with alarm, her hands clutching the ruined book. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Azriel thought he saw something—a flicker of recognition, a thread of connection—but it vanished as quickly as it came. Without a word, she turned and fled the tavern.

Cassian’s laughter echoed behind him. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He left the drinks on the table and pushed his way outside, scanning the dark streets of Velaris, but she was gone.

**Y/N’s POV**

Tears blurred her vision as she walked away from Rita’s, her ruined book clutched to her chest. She hated herself for the panic that overtook her the moment she saw him up close. Azriel, the shadowed spymaster of the Night Court, the one tasked with protecting them.

But Y/N didn’t see a protector when she looked at him. She saw the Illyrian male who had haunted her childhood, the one who had broken her and left her retreating into shadows and stories.

She barely remembered how she got home, her mind a storm of fear and shame. Once inside, she stripped off her damp clothes and stepped into the bath, trying to wash away the lingering tension. But her thoughts kept circling back to the soft apology in Azriel’s voice, the sincerity in his golden-brown eyes.

When a knock came at the door, she froze.

Peeking through the crack, she saw a flash of blue siphons and dark hair. Azriel.

“Hi,” he said, his voice tentative, almost shy.

Y/N tried to shut the door, but his foot stopped it.

“I, uh, brought you your book.” He held out a book.

She hesitated, eyeing it warily. “T-this isn’t mine,” she stammered.

A small smile touched his lips, a faint thing that barely reached his eyes. “No, it’s my copy. The stores are closed, and since I ruined yours…” He trailed off awkwardly, holding it out further. “You can have it.”

She took the book gingerly, her fingers brushing his hand for the briefest moment. He stepped back, sensing her unease, but not before adding softly, “I’m sorry for earlier.”

As he turned to leave, Y/N surprised herself. “Thank you,” she said.

Azriel stopped, looking back at her. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. Their gazes locked, and Y/N felt something stir—a crack in the walls she’d built around herself.

“I, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “I hope I’ll see you around.”

Before she could respond, he vanished into the night, leaving her standing in the doorway with his book pressed to her chest.

For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt something other than fear.

Curiosity.

---

Taglist: click here to add

ACOTAR: @mich0731 @winchesterwild78 @paintedbyshadows @lilah-asteria @nancymcl @hobby27 @kindollss @shadysoulangel

[nocasdatsgay]

To Be Marked as Yours

Pairing: Neris | Rating: T | Word Count: 1813

Summary: Nesta refused a bite mark from her mate when they wed. But seeing her sister’s fresh mark has her questioning that decision.

Warnings: Omegaverse, Omega!Nesta/Alpha!Eris, Inner turmoil (Nesta’s worrying) Biting marks, Eris using his High Lord commands.

Part 1 | Part 2| Read this on AO3 | Read below

For Day Five of @acotar-omegaverse-week Marks

Gen Tag: @mybestfriendmademe @hieragalbatorixdottir Borders by @tsunami-of-tears

Nesta was staring. She could hear the voice of her mother harshly scolding her in the back of her mind even still. But she couldn’t look away. She was having tea with her sisters in Valaris. A monthly tradition once she agreed to marry Eris, so they could visit. They had skipped the month prior due to Elain’s mating ceremony. Now Nesta was staring at her, the mark on her neck to be precise.

Thoughts were rushing through her mind. She’d never seen a fresh mating mark. When they first saw Feyre after she turned fae, hers was concealed and when she saw it later, it was healed. But Elain’s. Elain’s was deep red, teeth markings over her scent glands. Nesta glanced at Feyre, her eyes going to the faded mark on her neck. Then her eyes dropped to her hands.

Nesta didn’t have a mating mark.

She refused it, telling Eris she would not be branded like a cow. She remembered him asking coldy what she would have them mark the marriage with instead. When he struck down the idea that the marriage agreement from the Night Court would suffice, she asked for rings.

“It’s what humans do,” She said.

He scowled but returned a week later with glistening red bands to go on their respective ring fingers.

“How will anyone know this is a mating ring?” He muttered when he walked away, still looking at it on his hand next to all the other rings he wore.

Guilt twisted in her stomach. She wore a high neckline to hide her lack of a mark outside of the Forest house. The ruby dress she wore today for tea had one. At home it didn’t seem to matter. The Autumn Court didn’t care or were too afraid to voice their opinions.

Nesta wanted to ask so badly if Elain wanted the mark. Or if her mate had forced it on her. Did it hurt to receive it? She was told it didn’t if it was during a heat. Elain had always been regular, it was possible even now she planned her ceremony right before it.

“Nesta.” Her gaze snapped up to Elain’s. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she blinked and took a sip of her tea.

It was not lost on her how Feyre and Elain exchanged a look. If they were communicating silently, she tried to not show she cared. They all finished their tea like nothing had happened. That afternoon, Nesta sequestered herself to her freshly cleaned nest, with a book and a pile of Eris’s shirts she hid from the maids.

“You’re unusually quiet today.” Nesta glanced up from her book. Her mate stood at the door, not entering. “Did you fight with your sisters at tea?”

“No,” she curtly replied. She deliberately did not grant him entrance. “I just thought you’d appreciate the silence.”

“You know I can feel when something bothers you,” he replied smugly. “And you’re here. You may as well tell me now.”

“You are what is bothering me. I’m trying to read.”

He hummed. “Shall I have Cassandra bring your dinner here?”

She pretended to think on it. With a sigh she flipped her page and replied. “No. I’ll be at dinner.”

He nodded and left the doorway without an argument. She closed her book with a huff. Then she pulled one of his shirts up to her face, annoyed and thankful that he let her be.

At the next breakfast tea with her sisters, Nesta was staring again. Only now Elain’s mark had healed to a faint ring, looping up past the sleeve of her dress onto her neck. Unlike last time, however, Elain didn’t dismiss her stares.

“It healed nicely, don’t you think?” Elain said, so soft in that airy tone of hers.

“Yes,” Nesta replied and without much thought asked, “Did it hurt?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “I suppose? Only for a moment when I received it. Did yours hurt?”

Nesta felt her face flush. She could feel the stare from Feyre next to her, no doubt watching her reaction intensely to see what she’d say.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss.” She finally answered.

“Nesta.” It was Feyre who reached over, placing a hand on her forearm. Her blue eyes held such concern, Nesta was taken aback. “You know you can talk to us. If something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she shrugged her shoulder to get Feyre’s arm off of her.

“Just know we are here for you Nes.”

She wanted to scoff but instead swallowed down her urge to run or to be worse. The tea went by quicker than planned and when Nesta returned home, she stomped through the halls. When she found her mate lounging in their sitting area, she decided to be blunt the moment he looked up at her.

“I want you to mark me.” She turned her head, baring her neck. “Just do it and get it over with.”

“Why?” He put his book aside and sat up fully on the couch.

“Why?” She glared. “I am obviously a disgrace of a wife- mate, whatever the terms are.” She added with fluster. “So do it. Mark me.”

Eris’s features became dark, so much that fear crept into her stomach. He stood, towering over her and his power rolling off of himself in waves of heat.

“Who said that to you?”

“No one-“

“Someone did. Tell me now.”

She felt the magic wash over her. She only felt a High Lord’s command once before and for Eris to use it- tears welled in her eyes from shame. She fought it for a moment, tilting her chin up and steeling herself.

“It was myself. I said it.” She let the tears fall, spewing truth like it was venom. “Do you not notice the high collars on my dresses I wear outside of court? To the hide my shame? To hide that I am a coward who cannot submit to her husband fully?”

There was heavy silence between them for a moment. Nesta tensed, fighting back her sniffles as she watched Eris carefully. He was good at hiding his emotions like she was. The stern look on his face only faltered when he finally spoke again.

“Do you want it? Tell me yes or no.”

She winced; another command to answer truthfully.

“No.”

“Then it’s not up for further discussion.”

His features soften to that laced with sadness. Nesta was uncertain of what to do. She felt the magic of the command leave her.

“You commanded me,” she whispered.

“Would you have spoken truthfully if I didn’t?” His voice cracked, eyes laced with silver. “I will burn those dresses. I thought you preferred them because they were close to human fashion. If you only wear them to hide a lack of a mark then they are not needed.”

“Why are you not angry?” Nesta yelled. She didn’t understand. “I will not bear your mark!”

“But you already do.” He grabbed her hand and held it up, the red ring flashing under the fae lights. “This is my mark. You accepted it and you wear it.”

“But this is-“

“Human. Yes.” His grip loosened slightly. He pulled her hand up and kissed the tips of her fingers. His voice was softer when he added. “But it is you. This is the only thing you’ve asked of me. I’m not going to take it away from you.”

Amber eyes stared back into her own. She could feel the love he sent her though their shared bond. She shoved back her tears.

“The other courts will talk.” She said softly.

“They always talk.”

“What if they think less of you?” Because I won't submit. Her mind finished where her voice could not.

Eris pulled her to him. Her knees felt weak from the scent of him.

“I do not care what the other courts or high lords think.” He gently tilted her chin up with his free hand. “You are my mate and I love you. The rings are proof enough if they wish to see a physical representation of it.”

Rarely did they utter the words to each other, so when Nesta said them, her voice cracked a little. “I love you too.”

Eris then swept her off her feet into his arms, making her yell at the sudden movement.

“I think we should retire for the night,” he smirked carrying her down the hall. “I do owe you an extensive apology for commanding you earlier.”

“That you do.” She added sternly, “And you better not ever do it again.”

“Are you threatening me, love?” He grinned and he nudged open the door with his foot.

“Would it be me if I didn’t?” She smiled.

The next time Nesta saw her sisters, she wore an off the shoulder gold dress. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she approached but she held her head high. Both Elain and Feyre’s eyes went to her neck. Then Feyre yelled out, pumping her fist in the air.

“I knew it! Nesta, you just won me so much money.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta stopped, glaring at Feyre.

“Rhys swore Eris would make you take his mark. I told him he didn’t know how stubborn you were. I told him!”

“As if Eris makes her do anything,” Elain giggled.

“I’m right here!” Nesta’s face had flushed and she turned her glare to Elain. “You both made bets on me?”

Elain shrugged. “You’ve been mated for so long, I didn’t think the mark was an issue. You were acting odd the last two months. I suspected you might be pregnant. So I lost that bet.”

Nesta scoffed, so uncomfortable with her sisters bombarding her. “I should go back home; you both are insufferable.”

“You also wear a ring,” Feyre teased. “They don’t know what that is on your hand. But we do.” She guestered between herself and Elain.

“Then why didn’t you just ask? Or say something?” Nesta snapped.

“We asked you the last time we saw you if something was bothering you!” Feyre put her hands on her hips. “You got defensive!”

Nesta couldn’t argue with her on that, she paced for a moment in a small circle. “By the mother, can we just have our tea?”

Elain let out a laugh that rang throughout the little garden they were sequestered in. Nesta sent her a glare but neither pushed it further. When they finally sat down, Elain eyed her as she poured the tea.

“So what made you finally stop wearing high collars?”

Nesta huffed. “I’m going to need a stronger drink than tea if we are going to have that discussion.”

Feyre, ever the prepared one of the three, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from a pocket realm and winked at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[pandoa]

love me like a valentine: into the night

what they do for you on valentines day ~individual endings~

~feat. diasomnia~ twisted wonderland characters x gender neutral reader ~headcanons~

late valentines special lol. each character has their own individual ending where you get to see how their night after valentines day goes. fair warning, though: it isn't for the faint of heart~ enjoy <3

silver makes you handmade flower crowns that match the color of your eyes. he made one for himself, too, as a way to match with yours. it initially takes him a little effort to decide what kind of flower to gift you, but with the help of a few woodland critters, the young man was able to find the perfect flower to crown your beautiful figure. he'd even enchanted the stems and petals as he wove each one together, using a simple potion he had gotten from his father that would help the flowers last an eternity. all that was left was to give them to you. he hoped you would accept not only the crown, but his feelings as well.

♡ Silver's Night ♡

sebek zigvolt writes you a love letter. it's the only way he trusts that he will get to say all the words he wishes to admit without lashing out or bursting into defensive shouts over how he really doesn't like you all too much. in truth, though, he really does. you may be a human, but there was a strange charm to your imperfectness that unfortunately drew him in. he's just a little too prideful to say it aloud. so, he thought that a letter coming from his most sincerest emotions would help ease his nerves as he planned to sneak the rustic-looking envelop between the pages of your alchemy textbook, hoping you'd see it without him having to directly speak to you. he just hopes that no one else will confess to you before he ever gets a chance to as well.

♡ Sebek's Night ♡

lilia vanrouge composes a simple yet lovesome song to serenade you with. being a man of his age, he was naturally more traditional when it came to the matters of the heart, and that included him performing a harmonious tune below your room's moonlit balcony as he let the music coming from his guitar guide the words sung from his mouth. this style of music was certainly much more different than the pieces he would play in the pop music club, however, the possibility of making your heart swell and swoon at his charm was more than enough to make the old fae laugh in excitement at the thought of your reactions. tonight would surely be magical, yes?

♡ Lilia's Night ♡

malleus draconia invites you to a field of fireflies he summoned only for you. he notices how you favor and gape at the tiny, green lights that illuminate each time he arrives to your meet-ups at ramshackle, and concludes that you must have a liking for luminous sights. you and your cat companion mumble about "fireflies" often, so you must adore them to an extent, correct? finding an open field adjacent to night raven's gates, he uses his magic to summon the little lightning bugs to create a shimmering setting. it's the perfect environment to confess one's romantic feelings; malleus would only hope that you'd accept his invitation later that night.

♡ Malleus's Night ♡

a/n: mwahahahahHAHAHAHA MWAHAHWA MWAHAHAHHAHA-

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 8

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: As always, this is not canon compliant. This was posted as part of @azrisweek Free Day! Hope you like it! (nsfw, 18+)

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 8:

The following week, with permission from the priestesses, Azriel brought Eris to the library beneath the House of Wind. Their plan was to research what they could of Koschei, aiming to fill in the gaps in Vassa’s knowledge of the death god, and possibly uncover something useful about her curse as well.

 Nesta had subtly informed him that Cassian would be in Windhaven until the following day, and he was grateful she had cared enough to find out for him.

Azriel was well aware of the hatred that burned between Eris and Cassian. Whenever he mentioned his brother, Eris went cold, lip curling in disgust. Azriel wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he left it alone. He had no delusions about them ever being friends, but he hoped maybe one day they could at least be civil. If not…well, he’d worry about it another time. 

On their way down to the library, Azriel solemnly explained to Eris what manner of work the priestesses did under the mountain—and of the sanctuary it provided. They both nodded respectfully to Clotho as they strolled by her desk quietly. She had been helpful in identifying books that might be of use to them, and had already created a small stack on the table before them, along with a list of other potentially useful titles.

“Rhysand created this place for them?” Eris asked in a hushed voice. His eyes were alert as he took in the shelves around him, and peered over the winding staircase that disappeared into the darkness below. 

“The library itself has existed for thousands of years. He had the scholars who worked here relocated to other libraries and opened this place up as a safe place for those who needed it most,” Azriel replied. Eris considered, frowning slightly, and Azriel couldn’t place the emotion that flashed in his eyes.

They spent the following few hours hauling heavy tomes, pouring over the scrolls, and scanning old, dusty pages for any scraps of information they could find related to Koschei and magical curses. They encountered only a few potentially useful snippets—a short blurb about an ancient monster who could enthrall humans and Fae like mindless puppets, of a cursed lake that dragged victims off the shore into its murky depths, of a siren song that could travel with the wind and pierce the mind of whomever heard it. They couldn’t be sure the words were written about Koschei, but they recorded them anyway so Azriel could report the information to Rhys. 

Eris had stumbled upon a brief account of an ancient Fae of fire who had bound three demons to the earth using some power in her blood. He'd studied the information for over an hour, so deep in thought that Azriel had left him alone to think while he explored the shelves. 

The priestesses moved throughout the library on silent feet. Azriel could usually identify them all by scent alone, even those with their blue hoods drawn and faces hidden. He scanned the shelf before him. So many volumes and scrolls, many written in languages he could not read. Eris had stunned him with the knowledge that he could read the Old Language, along with twelve others, each more obscure than the last. He’d tutted at Azriel’s bemused face and reminded him that a High Lord’s education should be extensive and thorough.

Azriel pulled a particularly large book on hexes and maledictions off the shelf and moved to return to their table a level below. He smiled politely to the black-eyed priestess who looked up at him as she breezed by. She quickly averted her gaze. He had only just reached the first step of the spiraling staircase when he paused.

He glanced back over his shoulder to the shelves. He sniffed the air but detected only parchment, ink and dust. Odd. Perhaps Rhys had welcomed a new priestess in recent weeks and Azriel had been too distracted to notice. He swept his shadows out around him as he walked back towards the stacks. Nothing. Those eyes felt familiar, and yet he couldn't place where he’d seen them. He let his shadows explore the levels above and below him, searching for the scentless priestess. He was mindful not to let his familiars be seen, so as not to upset or frighten the females who were working quietly. No sign of her. He made a mental note to ask Rhys about any new arrivals as his shadows returned to him. 

He puzzled over it as he descended the stairs to the level below. He found Eris bent over an ancient looking scroll, his eyes scanning rapidly across the page. Eris looked up as he approached the table and smiled, and then cracked his neck and stretched.

“Find anything interesting?” Azriel admired his long neck. Eris leaned back in his chair, and rubbed a hand over his jaw absently.

“We know Koschei wants to be free of the lake. And Vassa suggested he might intend to make himself master of this world, as he once tried to do, long ago.” Azriel sat down across from him, content to listen to him think aloud. “Legends say he is from a different world, and that he slipped through a crack in the sky and found himself trapped here. Do we know if he would like to return home?” Azriel considered. Feyre had spoken to Koschei’s brother more than once. The Bone Carver had told her and Cassian about his siblings, though Azriel never inquired after the full conversation. Azriel speared his mind outwards towards the city in hopes of snagging his brother’s attention. 

Rhys? Do you have a minute? Need to know what the Bone Carver revealed to Cassian and Feyre two years ago. Rhys responded a few minutes later, his voice faint, like he was much farther away than Velaris.

I’m with Cassian in Windhaven. Azriel frowned, but then Rhys continued. Feyre will be right with you. Make sure Eris behaves himself. The presence in his mind faded.

A moment later, Feyre appeared before them. She smiled tentatively at Azriel, and then threw Eris a weary glance. “I was told I could be of help?”

***

“We offered the Bone Carver a chance to return to his home world, but he had no interest in going back,” Feyre said from her seat at the head of the small table. “He suspected it had become nothing more than dust on a plain after being abandoned for so many millennia. From what he told us, it seemed that Koschei and the Weaver were content to stay here, worshiped as death gods by the ancient Fae of that era.”

“But did we ever truly have the means to send him back? The text Amren had been decoding was an unbinding spell for her Fae form, but nothing more. Right?” Azriel asked. Eris listened intently, eyes volleying between them.

“Amren said there were other spells in the Book that could’ve potentially sent him home,” Feyre admitted with a grim expression.

“Where is the Book now?” Eris asked. Feyre blushed and glanced down guiltily.

“I threw it into the Cauldron,” she said with a wince. She looked at Azriel apologetically. Eris quirked a brow.

“And what did you hope to achieve by doing that?” he asked dryly. Feyre scowled at him.

“The Cauldron was breaking apart, ready to devour our world. I panicked,” she snapped. Eris rolled his eyes with a sigh. “It’s not like you’d be able to read it anyways,” Feyre mumbled.

“What did he tell you of Koschei’s curse?” Azriel asked. Feyre refocused her attention on him.

“Very little. He told us he allowed himself to be locked in the Prison by the same Fae female who trapped his siblings. He mentioned something about her being his salvation, but that her bloodline was long gone now.” She sighed as she recalled the conversation. “He did love to hear himself talk, so who knows how much of it was genuine,” she said. “He also said Koschei’s influence was considerable, even contained to the lake. He was afraid of him.” Feyre shrugged.

Azriel looked at Eris but he seemed deep in thought and his eyes were distant.

“Thank you, Feyre.” She nodded and looked like she wanted to say more, but seemed to decide against it. She stood and squeezed Azriel’s shoulder affectionately with a smile, and he returned it. She gave Eris a stiff nod and then winnowed home.

“What are you thinking?” Azriel asked.

“There was something I read, about a Fae who bound three demons to the earth. There was a bit about two binding spells, similar in nature to those that contained the Weaver and the Bone Carver. The third excerpt was vague, only a sentence or two about a curse tied to the power in the female’s blood. She was described as a Fae with the power of flames.” He shrugged, but his eyes were swirling intensely. “I wonder if the Boner Carver was mistaken in thinking the bloodline had ever truly died off.” Azriel’s furrowed his brow, trying to follow Eris’s train of thought. 

“Many bloodlines possess the gift of fire,” Azriel pointed out. Eris nodded pensively.

“That is true—my mother and father being a prime example. It’s just curious,” he said mildly. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that if Koschei were freed, he’d simply find his way home and leave us in peace?” Azriel snorted and Eris smiled at him. 

As they cleaned up and returned the books to the cart nearby, Azriel considered what Eris had told him. Something was bothering him about their conversation, but he couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was. 

He’d worry about it tomorrow. He would ask Rhys—his brother would surely have more insight than Azriel. After all, as High Lord, his education had surely been extensive and thorough. He ducked his head to hide his small smile and reached for another book. 

***

Eris and Azriel returned to the House proper to find Nesta lounging in an armchair in the cozy little library above the mountain. She looked up as the males entered, eyes bright and aware as they passed over Eris, examined him and then flicked to Azriel. She snapped her book shut and stood.

“I was just leaving,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel replied and smiled. He didn’t want to chase her away. This place had become her home, after all. She returned the smile and shook her head slightly.

“It was a long day. I’m tired.” He wasn’t sure if it was true. “Eris.” She gave him a sharp smile and silver flames swirled in her eyes.

“Nesta Archeron.” His smile was feline and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “You are more magnificent with each passing day.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, unfazed by the compliment, and Azriel stifled a laugh. 

“And you are full of shit,” she replied with syrupy sweetness. Eris’s smile grew and he laughed and bowed his head when she breezed by him.

As she strode out of the room, they each claimed an armchair and settled in to read—this time for pleasure.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?” a voice snarled from the entryway. Azriel stiffened and his stomach dropped as he saw Cassian standing at the door, glaring at the male beside him. Shit. He was supposed to be in Windhaven. His hair was windswept and he still wore his Illyrian leathers, like he’d only landed seconds ago. His siphons glinted as he stepped into the room. 

“Cass…” Azriel glanced at Eris and stood, his shadows skittering around him restlessly. “We were researching Koschei. Rhys suggested we start with the library beneath the House.” That much was true, though they had finished their work hours ago and Eris only remained because they wished to spend time together. Not that he would ever admit that to Cassian.

Eris remained seated and slowly raised his eyes to Cassian, as if he could barely be bothered to look up from his book. His lips curled in a sneer, something cruel flashing in his eyes. 

“How lovely of you to join us. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be much help, as this task requires the ability to read,” Eris said with mocking sympathy.

Azriel whipped his head towards Eris. Gods, he could never keep that wicked mouth shut. Cassian’s wings flared at the insult, his entire body trembling with barely-contained violence. Fuck.

“Eris, stop. Cassian, I didn’t know you’d be here. Nesta said you’d be in Windhaven tonight,” Azriel said firmly, stepping between them. Cassian ignored him, his eyes still pinned on Eris. He took a step forward and growled, fist clenching like he ached to pummel it into Eris’s pretty face.

“Use your words, Cassian,” Eris said slowly, as if Cassian were truly a moron. Azriel cringed.

“Fuck you, Eris,” Cassian bit out. His shadows swirled faster, sensing the tension in the room. Eris laughed darkly.

“No one told me about your quick wit,” he mused, brow arching. “And all this time I’d merely assumed you’d taken one too many blows to the head to form a coherent thought.” His smile was vicious.

“Eris.” Azriel knew this would not end well. Cassian snarled at Eris, siphons flashing, and took another step towards him. Azriel blocked his path and Cassian shoved him out of the way hard enough that Azriel was forced to concede a few steps. 

Eris was on his feet in front of Azriel in a blink, shoving Cassian back with considerable force. “Keep your fucking hands off him, brute,” he hissed, his eyes near glowing with rage. 

Cassian stumbled, eyes flaring wide at the staggering display of strength. Very rarely did anyone get the upper hand on him. Cassian recovered quickly and glanced between them in anger and disbelief. Azriel blinked at Eris, shocked at the unexpected display of protectiveness.

“So you two are friends now? What the fuck, Az?” Cassian’s voice was cold, but Azriel could hear the hurt beneath it and his stomach twisted with guilt. He didn’t know how to respond, how to explain, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Cassian.” Nesta’s voice was hard and filled with warning as she stepped into view behind him. Cassian’s wings tucked in at the sound of it. “Come.” She held out her hand and Cassian looked at her and then back to Azriel and Eris. He shook his head in disgust and glared at Azriel.

“I’m disappointed in you, Az.” With that, he turned and took Nesta’s outstretched hand and they disappeared around the corner. Azriel blew out a slow breath, his wings sagging slightly as he turned to face Eris.

“What was that?” Azriel asked, exasperated. Eris wouldn’t meet his eyes as he shrugged. Azriel sighed. “Did you have to antagonize him?” 

“Yes. I find that I can’t help myself,” Eris said mildly. 

“He’s my brother,” Azriel pointed out. Eris just looked at him. Considering the relationships Eris had with his own brothers, Azriel supposed that likely meant very little to him. Azriel sighed loudly and massaged his temple where a headache was already forming. “Let’s just call it a night.” 

“Alright,” Eris replied. He stretched, baring a sliver of skin above his belt. Azriel stared at the faint trail of hair that disappeared into the waistline of his slacks, both his headache and Cassian instantly forgotten. When he brought his eyes back up, Eris was grinning at him. He stepped closer to Azriel and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

Azriel marveled at the open display of affection. No one else was around to see it, but it still had something fluttering happily in his chest.  

***

Eris winnowed them back to Azriel’s apartment, directly into his bedroom. His mouth was on Azriel’s before either of them could take a step. Azriel groaned against his lips and opened for him as Eris swept his tongue against his own. Eris gripped the back of his neck and pulled him closer, devouring his every breath like he was starved for air. 

Azriel whispered his name as Eris licked and sucked at his neck. The feel of that hot mouth on his skin sent a thrill shivering down his spine, through his legs, and his cock hardened instantly. Eris’s movements were frantic, desperate—he pulled off Azriel’s shirt and shoes, removed his pants and pushed on his chest until his thighs hit the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress in only his undershorts. Eris looked down at him and flame simmered in his eyes. 

“Take them off,” Eris ordered, his voice laced with sensual dominance. Azriel obeyed, slowly removing the tight, black briefs, until he was completely bare before Eris, his cock thick and hard against his stomach. His wings flared as he leaned back on his elbows and let Eris look his fill. “Do you think of me? When you touch yourself?” The words were a low caress. Azriel’s skin burned at the question, under the heat of that gaze, and he nodded slowly. “Show me.”

The command sent a tremor of pleasure through Azriel’s body. His heart raced as he gripped the base of his cock tightly. He kept his eyes on Eris as he dragged his fist slowly up his length and twisted it over the head. His shadows curled around Eris, surrounding him in a dark cloud.

“Harder,” Eris demanded. Azriel obeyed and pumped his length again, hand fisting tightly as he worked himself. Eris’s eyes were like twin flames as devoured every stroke of Azriel’s scarred hand. 

He finally stepped closer and trailed his warm hands up Azriel’s legs, over his muscular thighs, and pushed them apart slowly. He grabbed Azriel’s hips and leaned his head down to drag his lips across the skin there, kissing and biting so close to where Azriel wanted him—until Azriel was writhing with need. 

Eris straightened back up and gazed down at him and he nearly whimpered at the loss of those warm lips on his skin. Eris kept his eyes on Azriel’s as he removed his jacket and then pulled his shirt over his head. Azriel watched, transfixed, as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his muscular legs. He towered over Azriel in nothing but his briefs, his arousal already straining against the fabric. 

Eris’s amber eyes pierced Azriel to his very soul. “You’re perfect,” he breathed. Eris’s voice was like silk over his skin and Azriel’s heart leapt at the words. Eris stepped forward and then slowly lowered to his knees between Azriel’s thighs. His hands trembled as he grasped Azriel’s hips once more.

And then Eris trailed his tongue from the base of Azriel’s cock all the way to the tip and licked the drop of moisture from the head. Azriel moaned and let his head fall back in pleasure, his shadows swirling languidly.

“I love the way you taste,” Eris purred, low and seductive. His lips closed over his cock and he took him deep in his throat, hand fisting him tightly as he pumped him in time with the bob of his head. Azriel’s skin was on fire at the feel of Eris’s mouth on him. He thrusted his hips up as his length slid between those lips, his fingers tangling loosely in Eris’s silky red hair. Azriel chanted his name like a prayer with each lick of his tongue, each brush of his hands against his skin. Eris, Eris, Eris. There was nothing but the two of them.

Eris licked him again and pumped his hand slowly over Azriel’s length. “Do you trust me?” He pressed a light kiss to the broad head, licked his tongue over the slit.

“Yes,” Azriel breathed. He’d never let himself be so vulnerable with anyone, male or female, in his entire long life—had never trusted anyone enough to do so.

Eris rose and then knelt on the bed between Azriel’s spread legs. He leaned over Azriel, both hands on either side of his hips. He kissed a trail up his stomach, across his broad chest and then he claimed Azriel’s lips with his own. Azriel lost himself in the pleasure of it, would take whatever Eris would give him and be grateful for it. Their mouths clashed together, and Eris growled deep in his throat. Azriel dragged him closer, so his full weight rested on him, and stroked his hands over Eris’s broad back, speared them through his hair. Eris devoured Azriel’s mouth with his own until they were both grasping at each other desperately. He could feel Eris’s hard length against his stomach and groaned into his mouth.

Eris broke the kiss first, panting slightly, and pushed himself up on his knees. He looked down at Azriel and smiled, his eyes sultry and bright as his hand reached down to stroke him tightly, setting an agonizingly slow pace.

His other hand caressed his hip, his thighs, and then slid down between his legs. His knuckle brushed the sensitive skin of his sack and Azriel’s hips bucked at the sensation. Azriel closed his eyes and lost himself in the intoxicating touch, drunk on the smell and feel of Eris, all warm spice and crisp apple cider and soft skin. He felt Eris pause briefly and then the soothing smell of massage oil wafted up to him. 

“I’m going to take care of you, Azriel.” His shadows danced around them at the pure dominance in his deep voice. Azriel could only nod, beyond words. Azriel felt Eris’s finger press against his ass, massaging and circling the tight ring of muscle while his other hand continued to pump him steadily. Azriel was mindless with lust and the intimate touch had pleasure surging through his blood. Eris pushed his finger inside slowly and Azriel groaned.

Eris dragged his hand up Azriel’s length again, and then slowly added another finger, prepping him to take every thick inch. He pumped his fingers in time with his cock and Azriel lost himself in the ecstasy of it. His wings twitched with each delicious pass of his hand and his heart beat frantically in his chest. He wanted more, and Eris obliged him. 

He removed his fingers and Azriel opened his eyes to watch as Eris slid his oiled hand up his own length, spreading the drop of moisture across his tip and down his shaft. His amber eyes burned with dark fire as he lined himself up with Azriel’s entrance. 

Azriel felt the head of Eris’s cock brush against him. He pushed the tip in an inch and Azriel tensed at the stretch, the fullness, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me, Az.” His deep voice was low and demanding and the sound of it had Azriel’s eyes snapping open. They locked on Eris, the male so beautiful and magnificent above him that Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. “You can take it.” 

Eris gripped his hip tightly in one hand as he waited for Azriel to nod, to relax, his whole body trembling with restraint. He swirled his other hand around the head of his cock again and Azriel groaned softly and spread his legs wider in permission.

Eris pushed in another few inches and both males moaned in unison. He withdrew slightly and then rocked his hips forward again, sinking deeper. Azriel’s shadows coiled around Eris’s arms and circled his body like snakes, like they wanted to be close to him. Eris didn’t seem to notice, too far gone in his pleasure. He paused to let Azriel adjust to the size of him before the last full thrust had him seated to the hilt. The flame in his eyes danced and his broad chest glistened with sweat. His eyes trailed over Azriel’s face, his chest and then lower, to where they were joined.

“Look at you,” he crooned. Azriel almost came undone at the sound of Eris’s smooth, sinful voice. He withdrew his hips and then pushed back in slowly, inch by inch. Amber eyes met his own. “So perfect,” he groaned.

Eris began to move his hips in a steady rhythm and Azriel’s head spun with the sheer pleasure of it, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He felt release already gathering at the base of his spine as those elegant hands worked him, as Eris’s body moved inside his own, as he whispered filthy praise in his ear and kissed him so tenderly that Azriel’s heart threatened to burst. Each deep thrust brought him closer to the edge. 

“Gods, Azriel,” Eris groaned. His name was a plea from his lips. Eris’s eyes smoldered as he watched himself move inside him. “You feel so good,” he rasped. He withdrew and slammed back in hard and Azriel moaned. 

Each thrust was slow and deep, each pass of his hand smooth and graceful. Eris wrung every drop of pleasure out of Azriel until he was boneless and dazed. Eris increased his pace, hips rocking against Azriel frantically. He leaned over him and dragged his lips across Azriel’s neck, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing the soft skin. And then Eris bit down, just breaking the skin, and Azriel felt himself shatter apart.  

Eris’s hips jerked roughly and he squeezed Azriel’s cock hard and then they were both crashing over the edge as climax roared through them. Azriel came across his own stomach as Eris emptied himself inside him. His shadows fragmented around him and stars danced behind his eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. Eris collapsed onto Azriel, panting, his hips twitching with each pulse of his cock.  

When they had finally come down and their breathing had slowed, Eris pulled out slowly and padded to the bathing room. Azriel could hear the water running and then he was hauled out of bed and guided to the already steaming shower. 

Then, like he’d promised, Eris took care of him. He washed Azriel’s body and his wings. He gently dragged his fingers through his dark hair and massaged his scalp. When they were both clean and exhausted, Eris dried him off with a fluffy towel, winnowed him directly to bed and pulled the blankets over his naked body. Eris slipped in beside him and held his face in his hands before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His amber eyes shone with emotion, but Azriel was too tired to decipher it.

“Sleep, Azriel.” 

And so he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @christeareads

[leserattevirginie]

Crown of Shadows by C.S. Friedman

Genre: Sci-Fantasy Star Rating: 4,25 ⭐️

Plot: ⬜️ Plot holes big enough for a herd of elephants ⬜️ I think I’ve read this before. (Unoriginal to the max.) ⬜️ No plot, just vibes ⬜️ Enjoyable but not super memorable. ✅ You have my undivided attention. ⬜️ Mind = Blown

Characters: ⬜️ Mary Sue is in the house! ⬜️ These are cardboard cut-outs. ⬜️ Good main cast, but the rest is forgettable at best. ⬜️ Generally well written. ✅ Complex ⬜️ What do you mean characters? These feel like real people!

Personal Enjoyment: ⬜️ DNF ⬜️ Somebody free me from this hell (but also no, I won’t DNF) ⬜️ WTF did I just read??? ⬜️ I don’t like it, but I also don’t hate it. ⬜️ It’s a good book but I just never want to pick it back up. ⬜️ No strong feelings either way. ⬜️ Enjoyable read ✅ What a page turner! This is fun! ⬜️ I think I’m in love ⬜️ (new) all time favourite

World Building: ⬜️ This takes place in our world. ⬜️ Worldbuilding what worldbuilding? ⬜️ This feels like a TV set. ⬜️ Not super deep, but present. ✅ Detailed, believable. ⬜️ You bet every single ant has its own 100 page backstory!

Pacing: ⬜️ drags/is rushed in all the wrong places ⬜️ Inconsistent ⬜️ something undefinable feels off ⬜️ I don’t love it it but it fits the book perfectly. ✅ Good/no complaints ⬜️ Amazing! Could not put this down!

Writing: ⬜️ This is painful ⬜️ I’m cringing ⬜️ Not great, but not bad either. ⬜️ Neutral (Didn’t really notice.) ✅ Elegant but not overly flowery. ⬜️ So beautiful I actually stopped and noticed it. ⬜️ I’m not sure if this is just a bad translation. ⬜️ I’m not confident enough in my language skills for this language to comment on the quality of the writing.

Wow, I can't believe I've finished the series this fast! That alone says a lot about how much I liked it :) As usual, here's a bunch of rambly thoughts:

For the most part I feel like I did about the other two books - plot is fine but character work and world building take the cake. The plot was still fairly straight-forward, but I will say that it was a bit more complex with the dual plot-lines. A bit I don't think I've mentioned before that I love: due to the set up we get sorcery and sword type stuff but also tourism, instant soup, insurance companies, etc. (Did I imagine the aspirin?) The mix between modern and old timey things is great!

Unfortunately I also still feel the same about the treatment of women within the series. Sure, the argument could be made that maybe it's just Damien who's a bit misogynistic in his POV, and Gerald is just generally The Most Terrible Person ™ around, but it still doesn't sit right with me. Especially since we start the book with Gerald's lunch committing suicide. Was that weird bit about Damien's landlady necessary? Was there no other way to explain how Iezu perceive the world other than "Holy shit can you believe that middle aged lady dares to think of herself as attractive, lol what a hag" ?? But hey, Narilka is still alive! I suppose if you exist to redeem the Gerald clone you get to live. (I can't believe I forgot poor Almea in my last rant. The fridging that started it all! ...is it still fridging if the man murders her himself??)

As for the plot lines, on one hand I really, really enjoyed getting more POVs! ...maybe just not the ones we actually got xD The patriarch was probably my favourite, even if almost every second I spent inside his head was incredibly frustrating. Some of that may be due to Calesta's influence, but for the most part it's probably just him being the fantasy-pope. There's a reason I left the church xD That being said, I appreciate that he actually whole-heartedly believes what he is preaching. The thing that confuses me the most about the church is its stance on working the fae. As I understood it, it was designed to focus the fae, making it a bit less dangrous for the general population. And also providing humanity with the concentrated power of the beliefs and faith of thousands if not millions, which could eventually be used for space travel. (Or something in that vein.) Anyway, I thought it was very clear that they are still manipulating the fae, just on an enormous scale, and disapproved of private sorcery. But at times it kind of felt like the patriarch sort of forgot that (or deliberately repressed it?). All those "no, this isn't witchcraft, this is a miracle from God!" moments felt so odd because - of course its the same thing? You literally created your God yourselves by those exact same means??? Oh well, church is hypocritical, fork found in kitchen.

Andrys and Narilka I actually liked well enough, as long as they weren't on page together. Or thinking about each other. Actually, scratch that. I liked Narilka when she wasn't being compared to teacups or dolls! But then she had to fall in love with Andrys after talking to him...twice? Andrys... I mean he was there and relevant to the plot. I do feel bad for him, but there wasn't really that much to him other than (admittedly horrific) trauma and an uncanny resemblance to his great-great ....-great grandpa. And drugs to cope with all of that. Small pet peeve: the nickname Andri. WHY. You're literally just taking of one letter (and changing the other because....aesthetics??)

On to more enjoyable ramblings!!! The Damien-Gerlad dynamic in this book was just *chef's kiss* You can't just hit me with the "You changed me" speech that early in the book, I was not prepared xD The many ways in which we see the depth of their...friendship... were just sweet (especially post-hell), and such a contrast to the first book! (Well, Damien still tells us constantly how hot Gerald is, that hasn't changed at all xD My dude literally described his very platonic bestie as "aesthetic perfection". A few pages after Karril rerminds us of how very straight he is, of course.) Now maybe at this point my rose coloured shipper glasses are just glued to my face, but that moment when he tried to explain how Almea supposedly feels also slightly came across as him projecting just a bit. (Gerald is right, Almea (or the Almea-thing) has every right to be pissed, honestly she should have shown up with ghostly divorce papers. Or maybe Damien was right and she just wanted to see him jump into a volcano for a good cause, who knows.) There are some things I would have loved to see more of: - the mental link between Damien and Gerald was criminally under-used, imo. Did it change Damien physically somehow, since Gerald no longer felt cold to him? Is he now part vampire for ever xD (And dear god that whole bit about taking the Hunter into his body, whyyy xDD) - honestly I would have loved to see Gerald readjusting to being human (and being incredibly annoyed about it) a bit more. It's been 900+ years, surely there's stuff he's forgotten? I mean he spent the vast majority of his life being the stuff of nightmares! - Gerald honestly wanting and trying to redeem himself (sure, he was ready to sacrifice himself in the end, but it kind of struck me as a last minute decision. And you can't tell me being the first to kill a Iezu and saving the world didn't also appeal to his ego). But I get that that would take another 10 books, minimum

Damiens break with the church was a long time coming, and handled well, I think. Oddly enough, priest never struck me as a job that you can just quit.

I just remembered about Gerald's apprentice (Amoril?). What an idiot. I would have loved to know how he came to be the Hunter's apprentice though. Can you apply for scolarships? Anyway, trashing a library is unforgivable in my book ;)

Oh, and Hell! Hell was surprisingly meh to me, but I did appreciate the insight into how the Iezu operate (which was probable the main point of that scene anyway). Love that Damien could just reason with the literal devil. (But the concept of the Devil as a non-unified entity was actually cool though). How did it take Damien so long to understand what the mountain of dead women could possibly be. Neither he nor the reader are stupid enough not to get it. Friedman usually doesn't hold our hand and over explains in the series, why start now?? Shock factor? I doubt anyone cared enough about Sisa? Sasi? for that to work.

OK I promise I'm coming to an end soon but guys. Guys. The epilogue. The freaking epilogue. What a trip that was xDDD 1) The Wedding. Karril POV was... certainly something! We now officially know that not only women find Andrys attractive. (Take that, Damien "idk, he's probably attractive to women but also aesthetic perfection" Vryce. Did I need to know about potential Iezu sex that only benefits the (currently presenting as) male partner? No, not really. Also WTF was that scene with Andrys' ex lovers. I know we're supposed to see and rejoice in the fact that Andrys is no longer a playboy, but did we really need that "women hating women for the benefit of some hot guy" thing in here? I swear there were bits in the series where I could have sworn it was written by man (derogatory). At least Narilka remained unbothered. Presumably moisturised. Very happy and in her lane. Focused on her wedding, as she should be. She gets to live on to be compared to countless fragile things made of porcelain, whether she wants it or not. 2) Freaking Riven Forrest. I was cackling throughout that whole bit. Not only does he get to hunt and terrify people just like his father, he also runs a successful (?) fishing rod business on the side. (I know, I know, hunting supplies in general, the rods just kind of stuck out to me). The fact that the intelligent prey he looks forward to hunting the most is once again a woman (even if it is an abusive, horrible woman) tells us exactly what part the Iezu mother chose to take from the OG Hunter, huh. Which is great for Gerald, but a weird choice on her part?? But dear God the last bit. He keeps a portait of Gerald above his fireplace??? I finally completely lost it at "Here's to you, dad" xDDD 3) The "dark haired youth". Of course he survived. I was suspicious as soon as we didn't actually get to see Andrys kill him. As for the new persona - I suspected who he was, but the moment I was really sure was when Damien started describing him in loving detail. For an entire paragraph. That was half a page long. But the ending. WTF. I could have accepted Gerald's Death, but this? You're telling me after all they went through together, and after he basically just risked his life again by saying hi to Damien in the most cryptic way possible, they just...never talked again?! Nah, in my expert opinion they just met up in the next bathhouse. Also I wanted to see the guy suffer be annoyed a bit more because he can no longer Work to maintain his image. (I'd also have loved to know Geralds criteria for his new body, vain as he is. What was his thought process? "Oh no, the wonderful world of magical horse-breeding is now lost to me! Guess I'll just have to make sure that from now on I have the most majestic ponytail out there!"? Although, come on. He might be willing to risk his life for a horse.) My last words: I enjoyed this series so much more than I ever thought I would, and these idiots now live rent-free in my brain. Also how the f- are we supposed to read these books as an entirely platonic relationship? The most I'll agree to is some weird, slightly cursed QPR. But come on. COME ON. Even if they are both heterosexual (notwithstanding Damiens constant thirsting casual descriptions) they are definitely in love. Or just so deeply obsessed with, and at this point, sort of dependent on each other (Gerlad's words, not mine. sort of) that it makes little to no difference.

I know there's some prequels (?) I think I might check them out sometime.

[ikkosu]

Throwing this at you ikko, because I am obsessed with Pinks fairy’s in Archie’s Knightformers au, butttt, Pharma the freaky little man finding a fairy that can’t run or fly because their wings broken<3 and he uses old test subjects wings to fix theirs despite their disgust to it, partnered with him keeping them as his little pet/experiment.

(Also my friend sent me more pics to use as reaction <3 so I am blessing you with a cat)

compookie!!

rubs hand evilly ohohoh I've been plagued with knightformer pharma and his evil little smile. He's definitely getting his own little fae too.

Quick incomprehensive ramble about my husband, for a moment (sorry prowl) Knightformers / Faeformers are by :

@archie-sunshine and @pinkanonwrites (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(oofm gets a little bit violent at the end)

I'd say before Pharma went bonkers, his methods are a little less unethical. Like Prowl, he won't care much for these playful cretins. They're adorable, yes. Very soft, too. He can see why First Aid and Ambulon are always so keen on squishing their plush cheeks.

Unfortunately, as much as he tries to find them tolerable, one fae in particular switched his colorcoded books to different shelves can you believe that?

How utterly vulgar. He ought to put them in a Jar and send them to Nyon where Rodimus or whatever lives. That'll do the fine job of shutting them up.

Even more strange, this fae prefers to bother him, of all people. Always pottering along with their tiny feet. The wisp flutter of their wigs as they hover close, tugging on his hat, and cloak. Hiding behind pillars, peeking out then giggling when he notices them.

He'd imagine they go for humans like First Aid or Ambulon, since they are far more gentle with their words than he is to them

The annoyance to that particular fae, though, doesn't last too long.

It was a busy day at the hospital. Darkness veiled the night. He's working the night shift again and everyone had gone to their quarters. The halls are empty. It feels a little isolating but he'll have to make do.

After a small dreadful nap on his desk that left his throat sore and back.pained — Pharma wakes up with something warm over his back. He sits up straight and the something his back billows and pool to the ground. A — he pinches the material between his fingers, eyebrows cocked — blanket?

And the sprinkled dust of glitter on one end drew a smile to that face.

"Good, little cretin."

Pharma and fae aren't particularly close after, but he does acknowledge the fae and does, a little bit, grow more tolerant of them. In the gardens, where he'd go out for fresh air and a semblance for peace, fae would perch on his shoulder as he reads his book. Their tiny legs would swing aimlessly as their eyes peering over to read.

He's not sure the little thing understands but when he'd flip a page a little too early, he's halted by their itty hands and a trill. Pharma waits little, couldn't resist raising a finger and scratching the back of their ears, before turning the page after.

He couldnt retract his finger since fae is already nuzzling against it. So he keeps it there for as long as he remembers ( he couldn't perform surgery and had First Aid take over because of how sore his hand was).

Post-delphi Pharma, though. Yikes, okay. Everything is in shambles. Tarn comes and goes, and as he goes, chaos runs rampant and dances along every crook and cranny of Delphi like a forest fire.

Pharma isn't spared, either.

Fae, and the many others, find themselves scuttling away to a nearby forest. Their friend, a fae with green streaks to their wings, breedles to them about a new hideout in the caves.

Fae nods and follows along, before the group breaks off unceremoniously when a panther had caught on to their little group.

Fae persists to a different path. In doing so, unluckily encounters a bandit when they were trying to flee. It's not your usual, pillaging, loot lover bandit — these were the ones who snatch faeries and strip them of their magic dust.

A lot of fae's have been caught recently and the growing numbers are not one to mess with.

And, a quick scuffle between the two, led to fae hitting the floor hard. They squeak weakly, pawing the ground, trying and failing to flutter their wings. But it hurts. Thair back hurts. Their body hurts

Distraught, the shadow closes in on them, eyes of the bandit white half-moons of mirth as hands almost curl around fae's body—

And a sickening splat resounds after.

Fae opens their eyes and sees a different man looming. It's Pharma, eyes half lidded as he stares over the crook of his nose, down at the body in front of him — not the fae.

One side of his cheek had blood smeared across and over his hand, curls a crimson mottled axe. Fae doesn't want to see what's left of the body and looks away with a small shuddered trill, arms covering their faces.

This isn't the Pharma they knew..

Crass as he were — Pharma would never be so grotesquely vulgar as this.

The medic regards the little cretin for a moment, likely assessing the damage of their wings. He notices there's a stutter in the movements. Muscles, strained. Arms, limp.

Then, with another look to the body, silently, pharma grabs the fae with his free hand — blatantly ignoring their startled trills and their little kicks — and starts heading back to Delphi.

Everything was quiet. The hallways were quiet. The evening air was quiet. Even the gardens they so often mingle about — were dreadfully stale.

Pharma lays the fae down on the table, who scuttles to the edge in a fit of panic.

"I did tell the man to go after the least energetic ones." He murmered and pinches their ankle to stop their movements

Fae kicks at his fingers. He doesn't budge. Instead, he brings out wires from a drawer and starts coiling them into rings.

"Seems like he doesn't very much like listening to my orders." The wires were cold to their wrists then more cooler around ankles. "He's got what's coming, poor fellow. But that's done, now. I don't have to pay him, anymore. He's done enough—"

Fae let's out a squeal and thrashes around.

"Oh, don't give me that look, cretin. You'd think I'd spare your kind after the potential results you could give me?" He says lowly and clamps his entire hand on their body.

The table rattles..Fae shudders and weakly trills, pawing away at his palm. Tears sting their cheeks.

"But no worries." He leans closer. A small smile. "I'm fond of you, I'll give you that. That's only if the gift I'm planning to give you is of your taste. Look around, cretin. A new wing i've culled — just for you. You can choose as many as you like."

And fae swivels around, heart lurching in their chest. They've realized there were jars all around, perched in the shelves and were filled with faes...

Limp shadows. No longer bright. No longer breathing.

A particular jar caught their eye. They were wings. The miniscule body is a mere silhouette under the dim light. And, streaks of green dances across the glint of the wings.

[mooshymello]

nothing at all

･:･.☽˚｡･✧:･

*Warning for spice and dangerous amounts of domestic g/t fluff ;)*

Word count: 3.5k

It wasn’t fair. The universe must have been feeling especially cruel when it decided to drop Ezran into Tova’s life, because there was no way anyone should have this much power over her. 

And yet here she was, absolutely bowled over by something stupid as him handing her a pen.

Well, she’d give herself credit, it was a little more than the pen. 

It was late. Tova was sitting on the tiny table that folded out from the giant table Ezran sat on, looking over a mess of paperwork for different properties. Nothing could go unaccounted for. After all, this was it, the dream she’d clutched to her chest like a life preserver, the life she’d fought tooth and nail for. This was her flower shop. 

It had to be perfect. Tova wanted it too long for it not to be.

Truthfully, the flower shop was only half of the business. The other half was the magic plants shop. She bought a mirrorstone, an enchanted stone that would create a duplicate of the building she could place in any magic city. Many magic markets had empty lots between buildings, as if someone had cut a slice from the block, ready to be refilled with a new business. All Tova had to do was pay rent for the lot and place the mirrorstone in a doorway of the flower shop, creating a  portal to its magic twin. She had a few lots in Ogendale in mind. 

Everything was going smoothly except for one tiny, itty bitty thing: deciphering property laws was actually fucking impossible. 

So much fine print and conditions…If this were a magic building, she could challenge the owner to a duel and win it, but according to Ezran’s dad, dueling wasn’t “a legal way” to acquire property. 

“How’s it going?” Ezran asked.

“Meh?” She shoved a clump of documents toward him. “We can afford the one by the bowling alley, but who goes by the bowling alley for flowers?” She held up another equally disastrous cluster of pages. “The one on main street would be a great spot, it already has a cooler and everything, but it's pricey. I mean, I could ask my parents for a loan, but-”

“Nope.”

Tova barked out a laugh. “Woah, I didn’t know you liked them so much.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like the idea of them controlling any part of your dream. They spent your whole life crushing it.”

“I know. I agree.”

“And I know they changed or whatever, but they’re still so judgy. I can’t ask them for directions without them staring into my soul. Like I’m a bug or something. You know, like-” He squinted and pursed his lips at her.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, dear. It’s not like I spent my entire childhood being terrified of The Look”, Tova said, dropping her expression  into a perfect replica of said Look (It was more of an unimpressed glare down the nose than a squint, with the upper lip curled up a little to the left). 

Ezran shivered.  “How do you do that?” 

“TaChauer family magic, baby. Don’t give me a reason to use it on you.” She wiggled her fingers at him, cackling evilly. 

He rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. 

“But okay, no parents. They’re my last last resort, after giving a fae my firstborn. Hm. I wonder if Jamie was serious about that offer..”

“Jamie wants nothing to do with kids, you’d have to pay him to take it. And you are not trading our firstborn.”

“Boo, you’re boring.”

“And you’re crazy.”

Ezran sighed and leaned across the big table, closing 20  feet of distance between them in seconds, to peck her on the forehead. No matter how long they’d been together, her mind always went blank the second he kissed her. Her thoughts just sort of melted when the all-encompassing  warmth of his lips.

He picked up her coffee cup on the way to the kitchen. She marveled at how tiny it was between his fingers. He stood, her heart skipping as he loomed dozens of feet above her, impossibly big and never terrifying, his footfalls shaking through her as he disappeared around the corner. Funny as it was, she forgot he was a giant sometimes, until his tiniest movements gave her that particular thrill. 

The faucet hissed to life. Tova would never understand why he didn’t just use magic to do the dishes. Old habits from his normal life, she supposed. At the sound, her familiar Lil Dacey emerged from under the table, trotting after Ezran into the kitchen. She’d grown to the size of a small dragon, probably because Ez wouldn’t stop feeding her. 

As if to prove Tova’s point, she shoved her snout into the back of his knee, almost knocking him over, and gave him puppy eyes, whimpering pathetically. Ezran reached for the jar of treats on the counter, stopping to meet Tova’s eyes and pout.

“Look at her. She’s starving, Tova.”

Tova eyed the familiar’s pudgy belly and arched a brow. But now both of them were giving her puppy eyes. So Tova huffed and shook her head, but turned the other way as Dacey gobbled up the treat from his fingers. Spoiled little thing. 

She turned back to the table, where the paperwork waited. She chewed on her cheek, tapping her wand on the side of the table while she read. Paper stars started popping from her wand, a tick she’d never been able to shake since graduating, until eventually, the paper stars blanketed the paperwork, making it impossible to see anything. 

Tova groaned, hiding her face in her hands and sliding down onto the table. She could hear her brain grinding in her skull.

“I can’t even read this. I feel like a stupid,” Tova groaned. 

“Maybe you feel like a stupid because it's 3 AM and your brain is mush. You can’t figure stuff out with mush brains.”

Tova puckered her lips, hiding her face behind a papers. 

“Tovanni.”

“Ezran.” She sat up, wagging her pen at him accusingly. “Actually, don’t you have an early shift at the facility tomorrow? You shouldn’t be up either,”

“Yeah, but I have this girlfriend who’s, like, insanely stubborn. And I’d feel like a jerk if I let her stay up alone.” 

Her playfulness deflated into guilt. Sacrificing her sleep wasn’t supposed to come at the cost of his. Working at the creature care facility, as much as he loved it,  tired him out. He really didn’t need to start the day tired. 

Tova made grabby hands at him. Ezran sighed. He turned the sink off and dragged a chair from the other side of the big table, bringing it behind her. He folded his arms around her and gave her a sleepy smile when she kissed his cheek.

“Ten more minutes,” she promised. 

“Mmhm.” He laid his head down. “Ten more minutes. And if you don’t come with me after that, I’ll just have to kidnap you.”

Tova chuckled and leaned back on his cheek while she worked. Ezran would chime in every so often, small tips from watching his dad run the facility, but he didn’t understand the business side too well either. It made her feel better that she wasn’t the only confused one.

Then it happened. 

Tova let herself nod off for a second, lulled by the steady rhythm of his fingers stroking her hair, and her grip loosened on her pen. It landed with a clatter that made both of them flinch awake. 

She rubbed the crust from her eyes. Tova reached down to grab the pen only to realize it had rolled off both her smaller table and the big table, now dozens of feet below. A retrieval spell would do the trick, but Tova’s brain was so foggy she was afraid she’d mess up the spell and turn the floor into pens. Again. 

“Can you get that please?” 

“But you dropped it,” he yawned. 

“Only because you’re too comfortable and I fell asleep. So technically it’s your fault.”

Ezran shook his head but obliged her. He tried reaching for the pen too, but it had rolled under the table, so he got up. Tova didn’t notice how warm he was until he swept all the heat away. 

She hugged her arms and refocused on the papers. Her extra ten minutes hadn’t done much good. Her brain only managed to blurt out a few gibberish notes on a coffee-stained napkin. Tova brushed the paper stars away and started organizing the documents for tomorrow.

In the middle of sorting, one paper slipped out. She absentmindedly slipped it on top of the pile, doing a double take. This one was a picture.  It was a concept for the flower shop, a very simple square building with vines on the walls, shelves of flowers in front of a glass storefront. Ezran titled it “Tova’s Plants and Things” on the bottom, and Tova had replicated it in the cursive sign hanging above the door. They’d drawn the picture when she first decided to open the shop.

Simple as it was, the drawing was enough to set her imagination alight, like flowers bursting out from between endless black rows of legal text. 

She could see it now. Sandwiched between plain storefronts, a spot of color like a jewel catching rainbows in the sun. Caroline jessamines and blue morning glories climbing the walls, an arch of jasmine at the door-no, white wisteria. 

Ezran would help her set up the trellises, the wood enchanted to prevent the flowers from becoming overgrown, and she’d probably spend the whole day ranting about all her ideas. He wouldn’t tell her to shut up because he never did. He always just nodded and gave her the sweetest look, like she was an angel, like she was the most precious thing in the universe, and sometimes that was enough to make her shut up anyway.

It was the same look he gave her when he returned with her pen, albeit dulled by exhaustion. He didn’t fully stand, staying on his knee and offering it to her. “Are you ready?”

It was such a stupid thing to get worked up about. A pen. 

But it wasn’t the pen. 

It was the fact that she used that pen to draw the concept with him, to draw the climbing vines that were going to be yellow and blue because they reminded her of his favorite scarf. It was the pen that cemented the name “Tova’s Plants and Things” for her shop because he hand-crafted her a sign for their first Christmas together. It was remembering being awake with him at 3AM 100 years ago, whispering about the things they’d do after graduation, when Tova was sure the shop would stay a dream and Ezran was sure he’d come buy her flowers every week, and it was being awake with him again at 3AM, just because he didn’t want her to do it alone.

It was the realization that he’d become so deeply entwined with her life that she could pick any aspect of it and find him there.

So Tova laughed. To herself, because he would never understand how impossible that was to her. This was their flower shop. His, and hers, and theirs. The thought sent warmth surging through her, until she felt like she’d burst into stardust. All she wanted was to wrap him up in that feeling, make him feel as breathless and adored as he made her feel.

Actually, she probably could. Or at least something close to it. 

An idea popped into her head and Tova smirked, plucking the pen from his fingers. She scribbled “hey can I kiss you :)” on the back of the concept drawing. She put it on the big table and slid it toward him with her foot, keeping it far from the edge of the table. 

He squinted at the note(she wrote it extra small so he’d have to get closer)and gave it a bemused smile. “Uh, sure…?”

By then, Tova had already taken the opportunity to take her wand out and run her hand over his. Tova whispered a shrinking spell and tapped her wand on his nose. There was a distortion, the way heat wavers in the air. She felt magic simmer in her blood, seeping through her hand and crackled over Ezran’s skin like static electricity. 

One second, Ezran was peering down at her with wide-eyed confusion, the next, a glittery cloud poofed around them and he was leaning on her human-sized table, swaying unsteadily. Tova slipped her hand into his and waited for him to regain his balance with a giddy smile. 

“What was-” He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. “What was that?”

“That was you saying I could kiss you.” Tova ran her fingers up his arm and curled them around his face, rolling onto her toes to whisper in his ear. “So I’m kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breathy laugh, melting into her touch. His hands snaked around her waist and he touched his forehead to hers. “Weirdo.”

Tova giggled. She tilted his head down and pressed her lips to his. Her eyes fluttered shut.  His lips were impossibly soft as they captured hers. They tasted sweet and warm, like hot cocoa, because he refused to drink coffee past 3 PM. She was torn between wanting to cherish them or absolutely ruin them.

His hands found their way into her hair, pulling her closer. His touch set fizzling poppers off in her belly, made her blood all sparkly and tingly as it rushed to her face. God, she was addicted to him. The moment he kissed her she couldn’t think straight.

Which was probably why she forgot the shrinking spell left him woozy and made the mistake of leaning into him. He wobbled backwards, futilely trying to regain his balance, but by the time Tova pulled away he was already falling. Seeing as he was tangled in her hair, that meant he took Tova down with him. She broke the kiss off with a yelp, narrowly avoiding smashing their teeth together by ducking her face into his chest as they crashed onto the ground.

Ezran hissed, rubbing the back of his head. “Ow.” 

“Sorry, sorry sorry,” she blurted. 

She recited a quick healing spell and brought her wand to his temples. Their eyes met. Tova was suddenly aware of their position, going red and looking away. So much for being romantic. 

He tried to choke back laughter, followed by Tova giggling into his collarbone, ending with both of them bursting into laughter. They stayed there for a minute, simply enjoying being a mess on the table.

Not one to miss an opportunity, Tova propped herself up on his chest, tracing the scar on his face. “Wow Ez. I can’t believe you’re still falling for me after all these years.”

“You’re gross.”

“You love it.”

He rolled his eyes again, but didn’t disagree. He hugged her close, kissing her forehead and burying his face in her hair. “You’re extra mushy today. What’s up?” 

She turned her face into the crook of his neck. “Nothing. I just missed you.”

“Missed me? I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Exactly, and I haven’t paid any attention to you at all.” 

A devilish smile bloomed across her face. Tova skimmed her hands over his chest and up his arms, linking both his hands in hers. She knew it drove him crazy when they held hands at this size. But she could do one better. In one smooth motion, she shifted her knees to straddle him, positioning herself above him. She hooked her thumb under the scarf on his wrist, taking both his hands and pinning them above his head. 

She trailed a line of slow kisses up the side of his neck. He shivered. Any time he tried to kiss her back, she pushed him back down, teasing her teeth along his delicate skin. She smiled at the little noises he made when she laid gentle kisses on the marks, the way his pulse sped beneath her lips and his hands tightened in hers. Pulling back, she surveyed her work with a satisfied hum. 

Ezran was going to have to actually use his scarf after this. 

“T-Tova?”

She lowered herself so their chests were touching, her hair curtaining his flushed face.  “Don’t you think you deserve a little attention, baby?”

“Um…” His wide eyes flickered to her mouth. He bit his lip and turned his burning face away. “...fuck.” 

Tova puffed a breath through her nose, amused. She ran her thumb along his jawline and made him look at her as she ghosted his lips, tilting her head and parting hers just a bit. Tempting him. With a butterfly’s  touch, she ran her hands down his sides, reveling in the shivers that followed her fingertips, and she snuck the tip of her thumb under his waistband. 

Just to be cruel, she slid her hips down, the heat of him pressing on her inner thigh. The intoxicating heat of his moan bloomed across her lips. 

“Needy, needy, needy~” She laughed, an equally breathless sound. “But stars, I want you so bad.”

She waited. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Her stomach was somersaulting. The only sound between them was heavy, expectant breathing. Right when he started to shift impatiently, inching closer, she reeled back, planting a chaste kiss on his nose. 

“Okay,” she said. 

“Okay?”

Tova let go of his hands and lifted herself up on her knees so she wasn’t touching him. Almost immediately, the air wavered, and glittery clouds burst around them. When she opened her eyes she was kneeling on his stomach, and he was his normal size, splayed on his back across the big table.

He stared at the ceiling, taking a moment to readjust to his new perspective. Once he did, he peered down at her, bewilderment swirling in his eyes. 

“...what?” 

“I said I wanted to kiss you. You have been kissed.” She flopped onto her side and folded her hands under her head. “Bedtime!”

Ezran looked at her like he was waiting for the punchline. She refused to look at him. Tova was fighting to hold back laughter. 

“You asshat,” he said when he realized she wasn’t taking it back. 

The walls of his hands rushed into her peripherals. He scooped her off his stomach, scooting off the table. He turned off the lights and marched towards the bedroom, keeping her close to his chest. She could hear his heart thundering against her back. 

“This is a really aggressive way to go to bed. I thought we were supposed to sleep now,” she said, feigning innocence. 

“We were before you jumped me like that.” 

Ezran gently put her down on the pillow. He set his arms on either side of her, brushing her hair from her face and running his thumb along her jaw. The intensity of his eyes made her stomach flip. 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you get away with that, Tovanni.” 

“Maybe I’m-”

He immediately cut her off with a kiss. She sucked in a breath, her back arching in surprise. He slid a finger behind her, pressing her closer to his lips. She hummed, feeling her whole body turn to mush in his hands. Her hands made a beeline for his face. 

And then he stopped. He pulled his hand away and folded his arms in front of her, watching her pant.

“What was-”

He kissed her again, this time pressing her into the pillow. She was literally breathless. He had her lightheaded, seeing stars. The second Tova reached to hold his face, he cut it off. 

Tova gave him a questioning look. “What are you do-”

Another kiss, his hands cupped behind her and entwined in her hair. She moaned and tried leaning into it only for him to pull his hand back, dropping her back onto the pillow. 

Tova narrowed her eyes at him. She knew what he was doing. Either she stopped being sassy and got no kisses, or kept being sassy and got half a kiss, which was worse because as much as Tova liked teasing, she hated getting teased. This was payback.

The worst thing was that it was working. Tova tried holding out, too. She tried not to think about how perfect his lips were, and how they were right there. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared at him. Right in the eye. Right in his big, beautiful bitter coffee eyes, all softened with affection for her, even though she was a mess, and bright with smug amusement because she could see herself cracking in their reflection. Those eyes.

He leaned forward, his curls tumbling onto her shoulders, lips brushing her reddened face. “Tovaaa~”

No. She refused. Because there was no way she was that fucking clingy. 

Except she absolutely was and he knew it and it absolutely was not fair.  

“Ez,” she finally whined, exasperated. 

He grinned, cupping her in his hands. He peppered her face with kisses, like he was trying to connect a constellation on her freckles, until Tova was breathless and flushed, and both of them were laughing their asses off.

The exhaustion hit them not too long after and they settled down. Tova slid off the pillow, crawling over to his hands. They curled around her, bringing her to his chest.

“Tova?”

Tova hummed, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt.

He curled up, bundling her closer. His voice was thick with sleep, rolling through her like an ocean wave. “I love you.”

Tova doubted he could see the way she looked at him in the dark. Ezran was the first person to ever say he loved her. She’d never told him that. She thought about it every time he said it. It was more pathetic than it sounded, she'd had people who cared, but none who were so open about it. She never doubted it with him.

Maybe that was the part that made her tear up.

She wiped her eyes, smiling into his shirt. “I love you too, dork.”

[mipwrites]

A Court of Snow and Shadow Multi || Romance & Mystery || Azriel x OFC

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Chapter One: Visions Within Half Sleep

There was a sickness in the Winter Court. Sickness or plague weren’t unheard of within the populations of Prythian, despite what mortals may have believed.  It was admittedly more common for Lesser Fae species to fall into the clutches of an illness, if truth were to be told, but High Fae were known to on, rare occasion, fall ill of maladies.  More commonly they were made through war or bloodshed – such as an open wound left to fester or exposure to extreme elements. But the sickness that lurked in the Winter Court was different, supposedly. Azriel had heard rumblings – a mysterious illness that was plaguing the High Fae of Kallias’ Court for almost a fortnight now; each report from one of his spies growing more concerning than the last. The shadowsinger glared at the door of his High Lord’s study, his arms folded across his chest – the smooth wood of the carved bannister digging into his back as he leaned against it. Mor had disappeared within almost forty-five minutes prior, having been summoned by Rhysand before Azriel.  Without Azriel. The shadows around him flickered, jolting as if they had been struck and Az shifted against the bannister, tucking his wings in tighter. He wasn’t…offended wasn’t the right word.  He wasn’t irritated, he assured his own mind.  Mor was Rhysand’s Third.  Technically, she had seniority over him. But knowledge was Azriel’s true source of power, Siphons aside.  His mind was a library of scrolls – of tidbits and meshed together truths that could tear down empires if left to spun out on their own. He alone held the keys.  He alone bore the complete burden of the secrets he collected. So to be left out, on the outskirts or behind a door – it bothered him.

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A/N: Oh my god. Guys. It's finally here. I did chop this chapter up into two parts, mostly because we were approaching thirty. Pages. But hopefully you guys enjoy it and will be excited for chapter two!

[nottyourlover]

Ghost.

summary: azriel visits your old home after its destroyed during the second fae war.

warnings: this got a tad dark. mentions of war and his mate (you)'s death (off-page), and an unborn child.

word count: 1313.

***

Azriel returned to the home he had shared with you, his heart heavy with grief and anguish. The Second Fae War had ravaged the Night Court and left behind a trail of destruction. As he stepped through the door, his eyes fell upon the ruins that lay before him. The walls were cracked, the roof had caved in, and the once-beautiful garden was now nothing but a wasteland, the roses Elain had gifted you, the ones that the two of you had spent hours tending to, were now nothing but ashes.

Azriel's heart shattered as he gazed upon the ruins of what had once been his home. He walked through the debris, his footsteps echoing through the empty house. He saw the old picture frames that used to adorn the walls, and memories of his mate flooded his mind.

There was one picture that stood out from the rest, a picture of you and him on your wedding day. Azriel reached out to touch it, but his hand only touched the broken glass that lay on the floor, the picture underneath dull and burned.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that raged inside him. His siphons flared, and he itched to unsheathe Truthteller, but as his fingers twitched, the flashbacks began. He saw himself and his mate as they had once been, happy and in love. He was about to become a father.

He remembered the way you had smiled at him, the way you had laughed at his jokes, the way you had held him close in your arms. He remembered the way you had kissed him, the taste of your lips, the feel of your soft hands against his marred ones. He remembered the whispered promises, and the whispered sins. The moments he loved, and the unloved ones.

The days and nights you two spent tangled up in crisp, white sheets, exploring each other's bodies until the sun rose. The days and nights where you had cried so hard, begged and pleaded for Azriel to not leave to the point where your throat was raw. You did everything to stop the torture as Azriel put himself on the front line, again and again, as Azriel pushed himself too far, again and again.

He supposed that now all he had left were memories, and they were not enough to ease the pain he felt. What wouldn't he give for one last moment with you?

He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he let out a cry of agony. Lifting Truthteller out of the sheathe you had crafted, he stabbed it into the floorboards, rotted and crumbling, channeling the little energy he had left to plunge the knife deep, his siphons flaring blue, bouncing off the decrepit walls.

"Why did you leave me?" he whispered to the empty house. "Why did you have to go?"

Azriel knew the answer, but it did little to ease the pain he felt. You, his mate had died in the war, a casualty of the senseless violence that had torn their world apart. You were supposed to be safe. A craftswoman, a healer. You were never supposed to be on the front line, so what had happened?

He knelt there for what seemed like hours, until his legs cramped, and his eyes drooped. When he finally got up, he knew that he had to visit one last place. Tears in his eyes, he turned his head, coming eye to eye to the room where he was last happy.

The nursery.

He faced it, the door with the name of their unborn son still painted on it, Feyre's charm for everlasting paint somehow holding when his numerous wards did not. The door still stood tall and unbroken amidst the chaos, like a cruel reminder. Cobwebs hung from the hinges, the star-shaped window in the middle was shattered, but the frame and his son's name, remained virtually untouched.

As he reached towards the doorhandle, the memories of you flooded back. Memories of your laughter, your touch, your smile, your ability to do good and see good in everyone. This remarkable female, his remarkable mate, his remarkable wife, who would have been a mother like never seen before.

But the happiness was brief, because then came the memories of your death. Then came the memories of the way your body had gone cold in his arms, had gone limp in his arms. Then came the memories that detailed how he had watched the light that he loved so much leave your eyes, the blood on his hands yours.

He sank to the ground again, just shy of stepping inside the nursery, body wracking with sobs. Most of his family was gone, the Night Court's remaining allies were unhelpful now, weak themselves. And of the remaining 4 courts, each was depleted in their own way, almost entirely destroyed and unable to support any more than their own dwindling populations.

His mate and his unborn child were gone, taken from him by a war that seemed to have no end.

Azriel didn't know how to go on, how to keep fighting when everything he cared about was gone. There was no point in surviving without joy.

But then Azriel remembered something. And that thing reminded him that he had a duty to fulfill, a war to fight.

He thought long and hard, clung to this small beacon of hope that had graced his conscious thoughts. There were few people alive to fight for. Some of the Inner Circle's loved ones who made it, some of the Inner Circle itself.

Then he thought about the ones who didn't make it, the friends and family he had known for centuries. He would fight for them too.

He first vowed to visit them soon, bring them a rose or two, give them a proper sendoff. Then, he vowed that no one else in his life would receive the same damned fate you did.

And so, he forced himself to stand, to take one last look at the ruined home that had once been filled with love and laughter, filled with the promise of new beginnings, and a family.

Azriel turned and walked away, his steps heavy and slow. His mind was clearer, brighter now, and he knew that the pain of the war would never leave him, that the memories would haunt him forever, but he also knew that he had to keep going, to keep fighting.

His thigh had stopped bleeding now, the arrow head crusted with his blood. His head was not as heavy as it was that morning. His wings were still torn, his shoulder dislocated, but he couldn't spare an ounce of sympathy for himself. He was a monster. He had tortured and killed, had hunted and stalked. Perhaps the Cauldron thought he deserved such a fate, and who was he to disagree?

As he walked away from the ruins of his home, Azriel knew that he would never forget his mate, that he would always carry her memory with him. But he was not the Night Court's Spymaster for nothing. He knew could not let his grief consume him, he had to keep going, no matter how hard it was, because that would mean losing himself, and he wouldn't dare lose the thing you loved most.

He ran a mental finger over your words, his beacon of hope, his saving grace.

"Whatever happens, promise me you won't dwell," you said, the evening before Azriel was to leave for the Winter Court. You had heard Cassian and Rhys in the meeting room earlier that day, planning to divert supplies and visit the Illyrian camps for recruitments, but you knew nothing else. "Promise me you won't let whatever may or may not be coming render you to merely a husk of your old self. I love you, Azriel, and I will never stop, and I just know our son will love you too."

[lorkai]

*･゜ﾟ A/N: I warn y'all right away that I will not pay for therapy for anyone who reads this /j. But fr I had to write this scenario even though I was crying while I was writing lol. (I'm tagging you because I think you'd like this @lemonandlime22 @sweetbydarkness )

*･゜ﾟ Warning: Angst, Hurt/No comfort, character death, idk how to write the ending so it was kind of open ended.

"Photos are amazing, aren't they?" Lilia's voice was lost in his labored breathing. His throat burned and his lips trembled the more time he spent looking into the faces of everyone he'd ever lost.

All those people he would never see again. All those people he saw swallowed by the earth. All of them preserved in those almost yellowed pages, smiling, laughing or celebrating some achievement, so oblivious to the events that would lead them to their deaths.

And among them, Lilia noted with an ache in his heart, was his boy. Silver smiled as he held the hand of his beloved and also human, Yuu. They made an amazing couple and their wedding was so beautiful that Lilia found himself dreaming of that day. If he closed his eyes now he would see it all play out in his mind again, how he helped Silver choose his suit and write his vows, and how he guided Yuu down the aisle, handing them to his son, with a big smile on his face.

The fae sat in his armchair for hours, flipping through each page and reliving each memory. Memories of when he enlisted to serve in the Briar Valley Army, memories of the first friends he made, and then the precious memories of his dear son with such expressive eyes and goofy smile as just a baby.

Silver was like having an anchor that reminded him that there was still good in the world. He was a smiley baby and his laughter was so infectious that Lilia found himself laughing rather than lecturing him after every prank young Silver pulled off. He even remembers what Malleus and Silver's awkward interactions were like.

He missed his son very much. Lilia supposes that as an immortal, he should be used to death and all the feeling because he's seen it many times, he's seen nations rise and die, he's seen many important people etch their names into history and then return to earth, but still his eyes filled with tears with every page he turned. And he couldn't stop. He needs to see him again, he needs to remember every little thing because if he doesn't remember, he's afraid he'll forget.

Just like he forgot several other people.

"He wouldn't want to see you so worn out." A sober voice sounded in the room, deep, carrying a pain just like Lilia's. And Malleus with a face closed from any emotion sat back on his heels in front of Lilia and his hands gripped the album the older fae was staring at so earnestly, gently trying to pry it out of Lilia's hands. "Silver would probably say you need to get some rest. He'd hate to see you crying and isolating yourself here, and you know it."

Lilia let out a long sigh and looked away from the picture of his son with his first sword. Instead, he focused on the thunder falling over the starless sky, it seemed that even the night felt gloomy and the tiny raindrops adorned the cold windows like tiny crystals. He wanted to touch them, he almost touched them, but finally he decided to hold Silver's necklace between his fingers since it was one of the last memories Silver left behind.

"The pain of losing a child… Can you imagine, Malleus?" Lilia asked after remaining silent for a few seconds. "It's like losing a part of you and you know there's no way to get that part back, so you just wish that at least you had gone with it."

Sobs erupted from his throat and Lilia doubled over, trying to hide his face in his hands. And Malleus wrapped him in a strong hug, trying not to show how the death of his brother and friend affected him as much as it did Lilia. He needed to be strong for both of them.

For a good eighty years Malleus and Lilia watched Silver and Yuu grow old happily together. Ephemeral, their life spans so short. They were two bright, kind, amazing humans and they would miss those two dearly.

[1dont-really-know]

This was supposed to be a Valentines fic but uhhh anyways enjoy :3

Thank you to @kitwasnothere for beta reading <3

Featuring : Lilia Vanrouge, Malva Draconia (oc), other mentioned characters (Maleanor, Altair (oc), Coriander (oc)

This is it. This is his chance. The stars are shining beautifully above them, yet he can’t seem to look away from her eyes; eyes that shine brighter and more beautiful than any star. How long has it been since he first met her? He didn’t know, truly. Every moment with her felt like an eternity and a mere second at the exact same time.

“Listen, I-”

“Are you seriously reading that novel again?”

The sudden voice almost made Malva drop her book. How she didn’t hear nor feel them approaching, she doesn’t know. Her heart hammers wildly as she bolts upright and whirls around to face whoever it was that had interrupted her reading, clutching the book so tightly to her chest that she was sure the pages were going to be so wrinkled it’s going to be hard for her to read any further after this. The chair she was sitting in falls to the ground with a loud thud as she does.

Lilia is there, leaning casually against one of the poles of the medical tent, his eyes locked on the book in her hands. “You know the queen is going to force you to come back to Black Scale Castle if she finds out you’ve got your hands on romance novels again, right?” And he sounds so amused by that too…!

Malva’s ears burn with embarrassment. “If you tell her then you should look out for pretty red yew berries in your food the next time you eat anything.” She hisses, quickly placing the book behind her back.

He looks so genuinely amused. She can honestly see it now, hovering above her like a guillotine ready to drop at any second, and the person holding it there is none other than Lilia Vanrouge himself. She still remembered the last time he found her novel collection. Those endless nights bored out of her mind with nothing to do and not able to meet with her best friend at all. A shiver runs down her spine at the memory.

“And I’m the only fully trained healer you have on hand right now. What are you going to do, put Coriander in charge of everything? I don’t think so.”

“I’m not going to.”

“And I’ll cut off your- wait what?”

Lilia shrugs, pushing himself upright and stepping towards Malva so casually that she was caught off guard enough that he managed to snatch her book right from under her nose. He opens right on the page she was on.

“A confession scene? I didn’t know you were such a sap, Malv-”

Inhale-

“Huh? Wait-!”

FWOOM!

A cone of dark-green fire spews from the dragon fae’s mouth, coming dangerously close to burning Lilia to a crisp. Thankfully, he managed to dodge just in time. Sort of. The tips of his hair are very charred now.

“What the hell?! I  just told you I wasn’t going to snitch!”

Malva, pinned under the weight of his glare, takes a few tiny steps back. She had only meant to scare him into dropping the book. And that’s what she mumbles out. Though she doesn’t really seem to mean it since her attention is currently focused on said book, checking it all over for any damage while also barely acknowledging how she almost made him into a roasted bat.

The book is unscathed. With that confirmation out of the way, Malva straightens up and turns back to Lilia. Now that she takes the time to actually look at him, the back of his left hands does seem to have a small burn. She winces slightly at the sight. “Are you alright?” she hesitantly asks, feeling just a little bit guilty for his injury. 

The glare he levels her with is all the answer she needs.

“I’ll… go get the aloe vera.”

*°*°*°*°

Ah. This wasn’t what Malva wanted to happen. This was supposed to be a decent day. There had been no injuries or accidents that she needed to tend to, they have now enough potions and herbs to last at least five to six years, and while she’s technically the only fully trained healer present, Coriander and Altair both have enough training for small injuries and ailments. She was having fun and reading her novel and suddenly she almost killed her kingdom’s army’s General.

Lilia slowly pulls his hand away after it has been sufficiently treated, hesitating to remove his hand from hers and carefully flexing his muscles, and upon confirming that it no longer hurts too much, drops it onto his lap and sighs. “What was that about?”

Malva looks away from him, “I didn’t want to risk you telling on me and taking the book away.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Lilia deadpans, “I told you that already.”

Malva feels even more guilty.

Almost mechanically, she stands up and makes her way to her storage chests. Opening it, she starts to count and sort the contents once again, even though she just did so a few nights before, humming to soothe herself.

After a few seconds of near-silence, though, the General once again speaks up, sounding just as awkward as he probably felt, “so… how have you been lately?”

Malva pauses. She tilts her head slightly to look at him, cocking her head to the side questioningly. Lilia, much to her surprise, doesn’t turn away from her, watching her from the corner of his eye like she watches him.

“Why the sudden question?”

“Well, you’re always so concerned with everyone else, yet you don’t really seem to give yourself too much of that care.”

“I’m a healer,” Malva states, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s what we’re supposed to do; care for others.”

“And yet only you are the one who stayed awake for weeks on end to ensure the health of our troops while you force your apprentice to get the rest that you deny for yourself.”

“You do the same, do you not?”

“Hm?” Lilia looks at her strangely as she makes her way towards him and leans against the table right next to his chair. (Her’s, really. He put it back upright and sat on it after she caused it to fall in her haste to get her book away from him.)

“Don’t think that I didn’t see that you made sure your men get fed before you do, Lilia,” Malva arranges her tail to curl around her side and onto her lap, brushing off the dust from between her scales. She knew what he was really talking about, that hypocrite. Why she would care so much yet not accept much care in return is different from his reasoning, however. This was her job, her duty that she chose for herself. She knows that she is cared for; it’s in how she’s able to do what she loves as she does. The care that comes with respect. The care that comes with being able to be at least somewhat sure of her safety in the middle of a war. She cares, and she gets care in return. The professional kind of care. He, like her, accepts this kind of care, yet when it comes to the care he should care more about… 

“But to answer your question, I’ve been well.”

Lilia hums, a thoughtful look on his face as he studies her expression, “I made the right decision in making you go to Wild Rose, even if you took a detour that I explicitly told you not to have.”

Altair is right outside of the tent, out of Lilia’s field of view, but Malva knows he’s talking about him. “Was it that obvious?”

“People don’t usually randomly meet their childhood friends when they teleport home, Moonlight.”

Right. She did teleport right in front of him after she said she was going to go to Wild Rose. In her defense she didn’t really feel like listening to his rant about how she was overworking herself anymore.

Seeing her sour face, Lilia chuckles, his red eyes shining with amusement and something else entirely, “did you know that there has been a rumor about you lately? They say that that half-human is your secret lover.”

Malva didn’t miss the way his smile seemed to become the slightest bit more forced at that last word. She frowns even harder, “Altair? Why would he be my lover to any extent?” She does love him dearly, she’d be the first to admit that, but a romantic relationship between her and him? Really? 

It’s Lilia’s turn to look confused, “is he not? You’ve spent a lot of time with him ever since he’s joined us, not to mention that you’re the one who insisted for him to stay and become an acting healer.”

He looks and sounds oddly relieved. 

What is that- what is that supposed to mean.

“I mean, I care about him a lot, but not in that way.” at least not for now since I have someone else in mind.

Lilia raises an eyebrow at her claim, that little amused smirk returning to his face. “Maybe your notoriety for being a hopeless romantic has caught up to you, your Highness.”

“Oh please, it’s not like I read those books out in public.” Malva says, rolling her eyes.

Another chuckle, and Lilia looks to the storage chest in the corner of the tent, the place where Malva had shoved her book into. “No, but the incident is still fresh in people’s minds, you know.”

“Really? I was barely one hundred and ten! And it’s been more than twelve decades since then!”

Lilia just laughs even more at that. His joy in teasing her is palpable, even more so when it’s about something as petty as this.

“I shudder to think of how you’re going to react to me getting an actual lover,” Malva grumbles, “between you and ‘Leanor, I’m never going to know peace again.”

“Hah! Well tell me when you’ve found someone alright?” he snickers. Lilia looks so smug about her not having any lovers. She has half the mind to point out that his love life is no different from hers, and that when he fell in love-

Malva stops mid-thought. Lilia, though looking still away from her, has a small, almost victorious smile on his face.

Now that she thinks about it, this is the first time after she became a healer that he went to the medical tent without his or someone else’s health in mind. 

Looking out to the clearing beyond the tent, Malva sees a pair of sapphire-blue eyes watching her from a distance, along with a cheeky grin with prominent fangs.

She hums in understanding, trying to stifle a laugh at the thought of her apprentice purposefully casting a glamour to make sure she didn’t notice Lilia approach. Still maintaining eye-contact, Malva twitches her tail to Lilia’s general direction, to which Coriander nods and mouths something that looks suspiciously like ‘don’t be a coward’. 

Perhaps the teacher should listen to her student, just this once. 

“How about you? Does the great Phantom General have any lovers?“