#i luv it but it hurts me
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eun-wang · 2 years ago
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@somerandomdudelmao Hurt my feelings with their last update...
So i need something to feel better.... didn't work
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utterlyazriel · 11 months ago
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an eternity, my love
eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)
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How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?
When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.
Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.
Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?
You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.
With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.
You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.
Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.
He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.
You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.
After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.
Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.
The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.
And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.
Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.
Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.
You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.
It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.
He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.
Your heart burns.
In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.
It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.
It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.
Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.
Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.
Ruination be damned.
Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.
You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.
Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.
But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.
The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.
An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.
He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.
All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.
It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.
And then, he remembers the pang of fear.
He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.
"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.
You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.
"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.
He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.
Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.
The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.
Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.
Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.
“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.
You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.
“Who says I’m nervous?”
Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."
There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.
"I can feel it.”
Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.
"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.
"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.
Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"
You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.
"Brussels sprouts."
Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.
"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.
"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."
He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.
You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.
The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.
Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.
Firstly, he's terribly quiet.
Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).
With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.
You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.
There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.
He doesn’t touch you.
Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.
His hands reach out but they do not find you.
At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.
Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.
The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.
As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.
Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.
And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.
A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?
Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.
Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.
The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.
It's a decidedly Azriel thing.
He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.
As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.
It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.
So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.
"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."
My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.
It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.
It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.
It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.
You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.
There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.
Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.
Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.
Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.
Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.
"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."
You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.
"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.
You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.
As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.
"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."
The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.
"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."
You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."
Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."
"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."
Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.
"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"
There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.
One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.
"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."
You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.
When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.
"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.
It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.
Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.
Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.
It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?
“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.
“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”
Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.
On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.
Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.
You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.
Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.
And then— then, you see it.
Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.
You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.
It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.
He doesn't touch you.
The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.
His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.
You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.
"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.
"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."
It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.
You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.
You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.
The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.
And like always, you never hear him coming.
"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.
You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.
He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?
His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.
Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?
"Please," He tries his words again.
His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.
"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."
You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.
"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."
Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.
You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.
Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.
All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.
Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.
You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?
You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.
"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.
"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.
"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”
You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.
"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."
Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.
"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."
“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.
"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.
Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.
"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"
"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."
His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.
The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.
You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.
Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.
He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.
Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.
"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"
"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.
But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.
"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.
"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.
"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."
You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.
"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”
Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.
“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.
“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.
“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”
Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.
“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.
“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”
And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.
His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.
It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.
Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.
He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.
When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.
Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.
“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.
“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.
“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”
Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.
some people i thought might want to be tagged :)
@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares
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neon-ufo · 2 months ago
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Song for August: Neon Knights by Black Sabbath
~~~ I got really into the sword & sorcery vibes lately so I decided that I wanted to paint August Lubi in the style of 70s pulp fantasy covers. Main inspiration for this was Michael Whelan (I pretty much directly referenced his green Elric cover for the raised arm)
This was challenging, but also incredibly fun! It was refreshing to work in such different way from my usual process! <:
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ricksmarlene · 17 days ago
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Rick Grimes (The Ringleader) character tropes on The Walking Dead ♡
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sparcarons · 7 months ago
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chronicowboy · 17 days ago
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i am sick with my flatmate's coughing up phlegm disease and she is currently playing clarinet on a zoom with an obnoxiously loud american woman and has been since 8:30am and my justeat groceries (yes that's how bad it is - i can't fucking move) have not got me honey because it was out of stock. i can't.
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feyd-meowtha · 4 months ago
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A Pain That I'm Used To Ch 13: Haunted House
When Paul awoke the dawn was grey, highlighted in blues and yellows where the rising sun hit the frost. At some point while he had been asleep the fire had burned out and the embers twinkled in the hearth, playful and inviting. Paul spared a look at Feyd who was lying with his eyes closed. Something about the stress in his shoulders made Paul suspect that he wasn’t actually asleep but he couldn’t be sure so he didn’t disturb him, thinking it best to let him rest. Coaxing the fire back to life was a quick task and soon they were once again toasty warm, the thin layer of ice that had formed on the windows thawed and dripped in miniature waterfalls onto the window-sills making rhythmic pattering sound.
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milkbreadtoast · 1 year ago
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I drew a friend's OC!! 💛✨
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balestrra · 2 years ago
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Silly (broke back mountain flavored)
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joshriku · 1 year ago
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they make me so :(
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selfshipsnail · 5 months ago
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lookat him bein pretty!!!!
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(PICTURE IS /POS)
WHAT THE FUUUUCCKKK AWWSGHUAWW,,,, HE IS SO CUTE!!!!!!!!! FALLS OVER!! AND BEGINS ROLLING AT A RAPID PACE!!!!
EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS AWWAU the skirt flares, the clips AWAYUSA EXPLODES THE CLIPSSS imgoing to blow up into a millionpieces we gotta nuke kinito with love and kindness oh my God it’s so cool seeing it in 3D.. u inspire me to make blender art again ..
AND TGE POSEEE he is so darling… so cutesit… he’s showing off his cute lil outfit.. he is the best magical girl nurse the world has ever seen!!!
Thank you so much falls over and bawls /pos Im so sorry if these thoughts are scattered everywhere I woke up like an hour before my alarm and disorientedly opened my phone and see my lil non-geneva-convention-violating goober and exploded with joy and excitement AWAUUDFS thank you so so much this was such a pleasant thing to wake to!!!!!!!!
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ddeck · 14 days ago
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i forgor we get intense about boops here
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acourtofquestions · 27 days ago
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Boots crunched in hay, and then he was knee to knee before her.
Aedion.
There was nothing kind on his face. No pity or warmth.
For a long minute, they only stared at each other.
Then the prince growled softly, "Your plan was bullshit."
She said nothing, and couldn't stop her shoulders from curving inward.
"Your plan was bullshit," he breathed, his eyes sparking. "How could you ever be her, wear her skin, and think to get away with it? How could you ever think you'd get around the fact that our armies are counting on you to burn the enemy to ashes, and all you can do is run away and emerge as some beast instead?"
"You don't get to pin this retreat on me," she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.
"You agreed to let Aelin go to her death, and leave us here to be slashed to bloody ribbons. You two told no one of this plan, told none of us who might have explained the realities of this war, and that we would need a gods-damned Fire-Bringer and not an untrained, useless shape-shifter against Morath."
Blow after blow, the words landed upon her weary heart. "We—"
"If you were so willing to let Aelin die, then you should have let her do it after she incinerated Erawan's hordes!"
"It would not have stopped Maeve from capturing her."
"If you'd told us, we might have planned differently, acted differently, and we would not be here, damn you!"
She stared at the muddy hay. "Throw me out of your army, then."
"You ruined everything." His words were colder than the wind outside. "You, and her."
Lysandra closed her eyes.
Hay rustled, and she knew he'd risen to his feet, knew it as his words speared from above her bowed head. "Get out of my tent."
She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey, though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. She should fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her, needing an outlet for his fear and despair.
Lysandra opened her eyes, peering up at him. At the rage on his face, the hatred She managed to stand, her body bleating in pain. Managed to look him in the eye, even as Aedion said again with quiet cold, "Get out."
Barefoot in the snow, naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs, as if realizing it. And not caring.
So Lysandra nodded, clutching Ansel's cloak tighter, and strode into the frigid night.
"Where is she?" Ren asked, a mug of what smelled like watery soup in one hand, a chunk of bread in the other. The lord scanned the tent as if he would find her under the cot, the hay.
Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier, and said nothing.
"What have you done?" Ren breathed.
Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.
So it didn't matter, what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair, wasn't true.
Didn't care if he was so tired he couldn't muster shame at his pinning on her the blame for the sure defeat they'd face in a matter of days before Perranth's walls.
He wished she'd smacked him, had screamed at him. But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow, barefoot.
He'd promised to save Terrasen, to hold the lines. Had done so for years. And yet this test against Morath, when it had counted ... he had failed.
He’d muster the strength to fight again. To rally his men. He just ... he needed to sleep.
Aedion didn't notice when Ren left, undoubtedly in search of the shifter with who he was so damned enamored.
He should summon his Bane commanders. See how they thought to manage this disaster.
But he couldn't. Could do nothing but stare into that fire as the long night passed.
#Chapter 34#Kingdom of Ash#Sarah J. Maas#Aedion Ashryver#Lysandra Ennar#no spoilers please#first read#read with me#read along#more tags more spoilers below and above warned#the magic thread - if only there was Aelin - the fire - what the sky shows - he had failed - retreat and live fight and die - to Perranth#the sound of shields is giving infinity war vibes and while I try to stay a little optimistic even I must admit things are getting sticky#the Crown Prince splattered with blood both red and black. — Manorian I’ll bleed whatever color you tell me to lol — the Thealis reference#Ashryver eyes dim — okay that one hurt — I will follow you cousin however this may end but we cannot keep this up not — to whatever end#Where is the Queen? Where is her Fire? but if the Firebringer fought without flame they would know — She has run away. AGAIN.#asking why Aelin of the Wildfire did not burn away their enemies Did not at least give them light by which to fight. Ok but I luv Wyvern Lys#Two Silent Assassins noticed on the second night that the dead soldier still lay on Lysandra's back. — a line that broke me#They treated her with kindness nonetheless. No one made to reach for the lone horse — Aedion should’ve been there should’ve been kind to her#Even the Queen of the Wastes was pale her wine-red hair plastered to her head beneath the dirt and blood. —no ur plan was bullshit#he’s not speak to her it’s him to him-​You don't get to pin this retreat on me she rasped. The first words she'd spoken in days and days.#She wasn't certain she could move enough to obey though she wished to. Needed to. Fight back. Rage at him as he lashed at her. but she knew#he knew it and he’s wishing she’d punish him for it but she didn’t#Barefoot in the snow naked beneath her cloak. Aedion glanced at her bare legs as if realizing it. And not caring.#So Lysandra nodded clutching Ansel's cloak tighter and strode into the frigid night. — this chapter hurt me — I’m with Ren WHERE IS SHE#Aedion stared at the precious few logs burning in the brazier and said nothing… well not nothing & braziers double haunts me forever#Everything was about to end. Had been doomed since Maeve had stolen Aelin. Since his queen and the shifter had struck their agreement.#So it didn't matter what he'd said. He hadn't cared if it wasn't fair wasn't true… mmm no those words mattered they were awful#why must we repeat HoF mistakes per ship#He wished she'd smacked him had screamed at him But she had let him rage. And had walked out into the snow barefoot#soon — they will come soon — they ghost leopard dis not falter — the Crochans and Rolfe and ugh so many people just need to show up soon
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rosecolouredpigment · 2 years ago
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my chronic addiction to painting the most medium ugly guy in the whole persona universe is getting worse day by day. i love using online canvases with the shittiest brushes ever to do so
yeah
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bunnihearted · 9 months ago
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im in so much pain lol :') </3
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jaeclerc · 1 year ago
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Sebchal -
Charles’ skin crawled as he peeled off the race suit and fireproofs. (Hurt/comfort?)
Charles’ skin crawled as he peeled off the race suit and fireproofs. He needed them off right now. No, he needed them off the fucking second he crashed into the wall. Maybe he should have never put them on in the first place. He wants desperately to have never even hopped in the kart, angry tears streaming down his cheeks as he kicked everything into a corner, the racing red just as angry and horrifying as Charles himself.
He is laid bare, covered in only his boxers and yet he feels more covered than he did when everyone heard his screams over the radio, his heavy breathing, and the absolute fucking devastation that ran through him. That wasn’t meant for anyone but himself and the inside of the helmet and yet, the whole world heard his screams, heard his frustration, his anger, his most raw vulnerable moments.
Charles is still standing there, bare in the middle of his driver’s room when the door creaks open.
“If this is about the fine, it’s like this. I’ll pay.” Was all he said, still turned, still staring at the bright white flimsy walls. He wonders if it would crumble under his hands like everything else has. If maybe he could rip it down and let something out. It felt like slow dripping magma down his spine, reluctant to cool down and building.
“No, Charles.” He turned to look over his shoulder at Sebastian, his tears still streaming as he shook his head.
“Leave.” Was all he managed. Sebastian, clad in the wrong color, shook his head. Charles looked back at the wall, still crying, silent and angry.
His dreams were wrecked. Ruined and shred into tatters, his best chance at becoming a champion for not only himself but for his father, for Jules, for Sebastian, for Monaco. Those were thrown in the garbage, ripped up and stomped on like everything he fucking touched.
Sebastian touched his shoulder and Charles turned around, falling into his chest as he sobbed. He was shaking, trembling in his arms and spiraling apart. He couldn’t do this anymore, years of endurance and suffering just to lead to this. Nothing but a 2nd place finish at the end of it all, if he was lucky.
Considering Charles’ track record, it wasn’t likely.
“Ruined. It’s all ruined.” Sebastian shushed him, carding his fingers through his hair as he held him tight. Sebastian was still sweat soaked from a race out in the July heat. He smelt like a form of home that Charles couldn’t even dream of going on to elaborate on.
“No, it’s not.” Sebastian said to him, and Charles wanted to scream at him too, maybe rip him down as well. Yes it was.
“Don’t. Don’t do these things to me. Lying to make it better when it’s not better. I ruined it. Everything that I did, everything that Jules did, everything Papa did. It’s all gone. Like that. Because I couldn’t manage the rear…it’s unacceptable. I’m not a champion, I’m a-a failure.” He spat it out, raging and wanting to scream some more.
“You can still do this Charles. Maybe not this year, I don’t think you’re ready. But you can still do it.” Sebastian grabbed his face, looking at him with steady blue eyes. Charles was brought back to Bahrain, his very first race with Ferrari.
“You are too good to not be a champion.” Charles pushed his hands off, shaking his head.
“Maybe when I was still 21, but not anymore. I am a failure. This performance, this whole year, this is unacceptable.” Sebastian scoffed as he stepped back.
“If you continue to talk like that, you’re right. Maybe you are a failure.” That hurt even more than the crash did and Charles felt shocked for just a few seconds and Sebastian stepped closer to him again, pulling him close as he pressed their noses together.
Charles wanted to shove him hard, how dare he-he was crying again, he realized.
“Please not this.” He whispered as Sebastian pressed a kiss to his lips, hesitating just a little.
“I’m proud of you, Charles. You are a champion. Stop putting yourself down or letting Mattia tell you otherwise. You’re the champion. You’re the number 1.” Charles surged up to kiss him, deeper, desperate as he gripped Sebastian’s long hair.
“Please come back with me. Just tonight.” Charles felt 20 again. Desperate for Sebastian’s attention, for his affection, for his praise. He felt 23 again, angry at Sebastian for leaving him and full of piss and vinegar about it. Jealous and upset and looking to get revenge on everyone about it.
He also felt 24 (nearly 25). Just needing Sebastian to soothe the endless ache he felt from his own failures, from years of failing to achieve the goal that he set out for himself.
“You haven’t invited me back since-“ Charles shook his head this time.
“Please come home. I need you right now, Seb. Please.”
Sebastian stepped away, grabbing Charles’ shirt, slipping it over his head to cover him, slightly breaking the moment. He held onto Charles’ waist over the shirt as he pressed a kiss to his dimple, not saying a word as he kissed his face.
“I’ll see what I can do.” is what he said after what felt like a century
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