#inner angst

[zombocomme]

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[Midnight Special Theme plays:]

Zombocomme: Well, well, well, we are back on the air and we thank our audience for their patience. Mental health vacations should be taken by everyone, and loving yourself is so important, no? As this episode airs we have a little bet going on behind the scenes. You see, this story was originally selected from the BTL Lore vault and it's central characters and true ending have since been left on the cutting room floor, in favor of lending it's spirit to this collaboration project. Half our crew believes the original ending for the AU should make a debut, (ending A.), whereas the other half believe that leaving the episode resolution a mystery is perfect as is (ending B.) I've seen both of course, but I find that every rendition of the story means something new. I could go on forever re writing it, but the spirit of the tale is the same. And yes. It is time to move on from this Collab project to our next exciting slot, even if we do wish we saw a different end. I'll hope our audience enjoys this theatrical cut... And once again, this program is brought to you by contributions and collaborations from audience members like you, thank you.

And Now, Ministry 📺TV presents.

Featuring @frjimdefroque and @ask-miasma-ghoul in

RBRG/ FRJD and AMG:

✨️🐦‍🔥Combiverse🦋✨️

Spin off Episode: part 4 (ending B.)

Between The Lines, Episode 7 PART 4 of 4: “So help you god…you're set free”

Enjoy

NFW: MDNI : Rated-R: (Mature themes) *mentions death and dead bodies, bugs, gore and frontier diseases and violence, guns, religious interpretation of trauma, consumption of body and blood, allusions to murder/self and description macabre, and ghosts of the espooky kind.

“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” KJV- Mathew 25:37-40

🌌🗻🍂🐑🐾💀❄️🫲🙂‍↕️🫱❄️💀🐾🕊🍃🗻🌄

[Midnight Special Theme continues to play:]

God… The temptation made Miasma shiver  and his stomach pool a hot coil tightening from within…Jim shivered, but for a completely different reason…

Jim’s eyes clouded milky white. As he stood at the edge of the sunken sacred earth, it became more and more like a pit at the bottom of a gentle slope. They had dug into  the brick and when they had looked  up, the world around them seemed like a whiteout. Nothing. Only the distant row of the trees, the line circling them like a black fingered noose, that while it lay in wait, seemed somehow to tighten all around them all at once.

Jim stood up and threw the shovel, “The Captain wrote it, all but confessed it, ‘The Game had moved on’, he said! There were no ‘bucks’,” Jim seethed, desperately aching,  “Only desperate people.”

Miasma tilted his head away as if in mild disgust beholding the long since charred remains. Remnants of their time, discovered in the horrifying aftermath of ‘The end’, preserved like a stony fossil, cold and forever dead, until it hardened and became known… became the truth…concrete, and indifferent.

“They must have been starving” Miasma said, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, voice barely above a whisper.

“Like the Donner Party. They burned everything they could.  But left the main place standing, the places most damnable. All this evidence left behind… like someone wanted this to be found” Jim said through his trance like state, rocking on his heels, vulnerable and icy. “Whoever wrote that Diary probably.” Jim swallowed, feeling like a blue ice cube had been swallowed, frosting through  a hole in his stomach. He felt sick. Brittle old bones and a few scraps of rotted cloth, trinkets and tokens that had somehow in the heat, collapsed the kilns, trapping the mass grave of bones with saw marks and serrations.

Miasma’s face hardened, his nose catching whiffs of torn tender flesh, festered like that of a blackening fruit, zinging in the putrid of the juice, flies buzzing daintily, “My god… They really dead eat each other, didn't they. and that line, 'to the brick with their kin', hell it condemns the captain as well. Seems it is true...Mankind cannot help themselves can they, when it comes to their baser desires," he swallowed, "I suppose all mortals face this in the end… the judgement day of their wretchedness.

It’s, almost as if no matter what, under the eyes of god, it is true, all mankind is created equal.. That is…” Miasma paused, “...that is because, all men must die… funny… that a God who demands everlasting faith, is also a God that creates its faithful out of such perishable vessels... It’s a shame really” Miasma said, feeling his stomach clamp shut, trapping his insides. Jim eyes were white, his voice echoing almost as if he was speaking aloud where he stood loudly, but softly in a more intimate voice, as if moist in his ears, Miasma heard Jim speak to him.

“And if people are in a kiln, it is because they are dead, or fated to die. Grace means nothing, when the moment comes when the living envy the dead. The true crash of the human psyche, the end of humanity, the end of one’s self, “If the living envy the dead, it’s because the living have something they wish they were dead over, but didn’t die for. If such people willingly went to the fire.”

Was it what they deserved?

Was such a hellish scene of people walking into the fire meant to be the door to their hell, or their purifying baptism in that lake of fire, to get their ticket punched for heaven? 

[Don Abandons Alice plays:]

Miasma dropped his shovel letting it clatter on the icy ground. “A willing Lamb for slaughter.” he whispered. He watched as despair for the wretchedness of the world sank Jim to his knees crying milky white tears, that glowed white like the snow around them, “If only they could have saved them from themselves.” Jim wept. 

Miasma watched as his vision swayed and all sound hollowed to a numbness like he felt on his body from the unusual coldness of the world. “I am nothing special to god, am I...” Miasma said softly.

Jim shook his head, rubbing at his stinging tears, “Intercessor, hear our prayer”. Jim Wept. 

And as Miasma watched on, Jim began to sob, saying the prayers of Last Rites, and the Apostles creed.

…As the dead around them at last began to rise…

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,

Dust curled around them “ashes, ashes, we all fall, up?” Miasma sang softly to himself, a lilt, as the rising debris began to slope up, taking shape, bone and soot, ice and charred things that began to warm and fowl under the sudden humidity and heat that melted away the snow. the immediate Area encircled with Fire.

and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments,

Miasma’s breath sucked into his chest, it was like being in the pits, all over again!

"No, no, no, no!" Miasma panicked, pacing like a wild thing, looking for escape.

but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,

who art all good and deserving of all my love.

“Father! Father Jim!” Miasma began shouting, his voice raggedly higher in his panicking call, trying to climb over the brick as a corpse groped for his blackened boots, the others approaching, rising, clawing, teeth gnashing. One even tore his crucifix off. 

Jim whirled and saw the hellish scene, his eyes watering, in a voice not his own, but that of the captain of that camp mourned, “Oh what have we done, what has the world done to us!”, lamenting and wailing.

Jim could feel it, like empathic fire searing his veins as he felt the dead in their personal hell that was this goddamned oven, boiling over with a cacophony of cries for absolution. Seeing Miasma on the ground as he tried to scurry away from the dead thing lurching forward, chasing after him, Jim grit his teeth.

He grabbed a shovel and swung, a nauseating squelching noise as the blade of the shovel bisected a purple and grey corpse… “Miasma, Miasma I’m coming!” Ice chipped, bones snapped and shattered, ashes swiftly swept away, charred remains crumbling, there were too many closing in, every single one of them blocking all hope of leaving this circle of hell alive.

As Jim swung the blade, he could see the exact moment each person had died, like a snap of an old timey photograph flashing in his mind, how they had died, the white smoke around him distorting his vision, seeing human faces in place of the skeletal, every stage of decay and remains, portraying the humanity of their souls; The human experience all share at that moment where life ends and death begins, the fading light, and not every time had the eyes gone dark. before their breaths drew their last .

Miasma saw it too, and said what Jim couldn’t say, or else it would mess up the narrative, Oh yes. not only cannibals... but *MURDERERS*

I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace

to sin no more

and to avoid the near occasion of sin. 

Amen.”

[The Walking Dead Theme plays:]

Jim grunted, kicking back another clawing corpse that kept re-rising, like everything else. The suffering just would not die. And the living wished it was over, but their night had only just barely just begun…

Miasma felt like he was unable, incapable, inconceivably broken, that Jim had to come to his rescue, him? A Ghoul born from the fiery scapes of hell, why was it so hard to move, to run, or rush to defend. He felt like he was a helpless thing, marooned on an island surrounded by the sulfuric seas, boiling and acidic, toxic air stinging his every pore, bleeding from every hair”

“Jim help me, please!" He cried, seeing these beings the way humanity surely saw him, a murderer, a consumer, a black wolf preying on the living. "I can’t I can't go back! Please Jimmy! Help- I” Miasma began to cry. He knew, if they were dragged under by the suffering souls fondling the earth to rear up and claw their way back down with the living, sinking more and more souls with them, they would surely be lost.

Jim gripped Miasma by the shoulders, “Shut the fuck up! I’m getting us out of here!”

“Jim if we get caught and we die-”, “Then suddenly this is not our problem anymore” Jim said, brows knitted in pain from the feeling he had, the empathy of feeling the suffering and fear of his friend. 

[The Last of Us plays:]

“Miasma, We came to fight, even though we didn’t ask to. We came to find a way to set things right, and we came to find that peace. Please,” He said standing, panting. The dead were closing in as well as the greenish hellfire that was now all around them, as if they were trapped in a circle at the heart of the darkness where the deepest pain and regret could go. “Take my hand Miasma” Jim said softly, as if the dance macabre all around them were but nothing.

Green flames looked like blades of green grass soft in the sun like silk through the fingers.

“Though I walk through the valley….” Miasma thought as he looked up.

“Miasma, please. What is higher power than what we are inspired to follow as a light in times of darkness.” Jim said, his tone soft and yet gracious, begging his friend to heed his words.

“Pray with me Miasma” Jim said, lifting Miasma up. “This is  the lord’s fight…and we are on a mission from God” he said, a defiant tone as he faced the crowding undead. He held Miasmas hand in his, turning to dig his heels, a shovel in hand, ready to cut down whatever stood in their path.

“I never thought I'd fight beside a hell-spawn against hell.” Jim chuckled as they circled back to back, eying the massing wall of bodies, the weight of their work, heavy. Miasma looked down and saw his shovel, ready, calling out to him like one crying from the dust, ‘get to work’.

“What about dying beside a friend?” Miasma said, feeling a renewed strength in him as he brandished the broken shovel where blood was already painting it like a splattered crown.

Jim chuckled, “Well hell, guess I'd call a man pretty lucky if’n you can count him amongst your friends."

As shovel blades thwacked and spun, slicing as they ducked to move away from the grapples of the corpses haunting their every footstep, as they danced around, trying to clear a path with the force of their wills, but finding the action wasted, the dead were rising as soon as they were brought down, unending. Unyielding. and all around them...

"You'd call me your friend?" Miasma huffed, dodging around a small group.

"Friend, follower, whatever the fuck you call someone like you!" Jim shouted with a crooked grin, taking a large bloated corps down at the knees, trying to avoid its grasp as it crawled towards him.

"SINNER! how 'bout that!" Miasma said angrily, roaring as he cut a corpse down, black blood spewing from it's gut and flying to fleck his face. He bared his fangs as he faced off another skeleton, this one more agile than the last.

Jim frowned, "You act like ain't no sinner has a chance at seeing heaven's light! Don't be a doubting Thomas when you are so close!"

"Close?! Hah!" Miasma swung, bashing the skull into pieces and watching it mend over, but for being momentarily disabled, he moved to his next target, trying to force his way out of their circle of suffering.

"You know what I mean, I'll tell you every story under the sun if it will help you see the light! Even if I have to drag you over them pearly gates myself!" Jim winced, a shattered rotten ulna cutting him deep as he pivoted to break free of another hands grasp. "If'n we make it out alive! But I'll keep fighting till I'm dead!" He almost laughed.

“Yeah well, what the fuck about Judas then! If I’m gonna fucking die, I want to hear you preach to me about that story!” Miasma shouted as he was hauled backwards towards the ground. Jim bounded over to the offending body, bringing the blade to sever the head from the neck, the corpse clattering to the ground, the icicles of it’s skin shattering, peppering the white and black snow with meaty shards of putrid chunks.

“Ya know, if that ain't THE most perfect story for this” Jim said, an idea touching his brain like the light of god, burning in a bushel behind his eyes. “Miasma, corale them!” “The fuck you mean coral them” 

“Just shut up and gather your flock, look at them, going after you like you’re going to give them what they want, round them up!” “Like a fucking sheep dog?!” “Exactly!” Jim said, a gleam in his eye, as he made his way towards the dilapidated chimney, the flames closing in. “Use the time you have, and it ain't much, look!” Jim pointed as he scrambled on the dirt, ripping up icy clods that stung his fingers with the freezing cold bricks.

[Earth plays:]

Miasma managed to peek behind his shoulder, shovel up in two hands as he used it to try and push the herd of corpses back, his tail flicking back and forth to avoid being singed by the hellfire.

No. he didn’t envy the dead. That wasn’t his purpose. It wasn't what his dreams and yearnings meant. It was a hunger for something more, something beyond the toxic sludge of desecrated flesh. His consumption wasn't of bodies, or people, he wasn't trying to quench something in him over humanity and its hopes and dreams. No…. He craved what came of something higher, that which is granted from above...

*purpose*.

And now, now he had it. It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that it was. And with a great heavy groan, he pushed the group back, inch by inch as the fire closed in, circling them, getting them to move in hopeless circles, for their own good, he knew. You can only break curses when you set the offending souls to rest. They rest only when they can be reached. be understood. finding peace in compassion.

Jim climbed the highest mound he could, he could feel the green flames surrounding them like a sphere closing in. and it was his purpose to fight, by pushing back.

Holding out his arms to the green light at the end of what would be his mortal life, his voice rang out, catching the ears of all who could hear, and the eyes of those who got turned around by the likes of Miasma to see. Beginning his sermon on the mound of detritus and dust of self destruction. Feet wedged in the brick, rooted unmoving, and yet bowing in and around as the dead tried to drag him down but failed in their graspings, he began to preach...

“SINNERS!” Jim shouted above the chaos, “Even Ye are worthy of redemption, an absolution…an end to SUFFERING! I call on you to listen! Suffering is but a means to a grateful end. And for what considerations do ye call yourselves devils!” he said, the wretched word pulled like toxic ooze from his mouth, tongue lolling out as the black bile in his stomach rose, and vomited out of his stomach. It felt like it was tearing at everything on its way up, but there was a relief in the regurgitation, of finally letting the words he should have said before, at last coming out to reach the sinners in his current care. Truly, Jim really was speaking to those that called themselves damned for their actions. 

“If ye believe in God, as whatever you call divine, that grants swift justice that now gnashes your teeth, then you must also believe that as exists justice, so too does there exist MERCY beyond!"

Miasma shouldered several corpses causing them to crumble and hiss, but as Jim’s voice rang out clear and true, his conviction became theirs, and spellbound like rats to the piper, they slowly turned, and gathered around him. Heeding his words.

One by one, brainless, heartless, things turned toward the voice that was preaching about the possibility of redemption. And Even Miasma was listening...

As the ghoul swiped and prodded the masses of corpses stumbling to face Jim , they swayed and stuttered in their cries, as if halted in their footsteps… looking almost human, in the clarity behind their once cloudy eyes. Blinking even. The dead and things forming from the earth, wove in and around the ones who listened, and their features began to change. Taut leathery skin slacked and sagged but lay more supple upon their gaunt features.

Shattered bones and cracked fissures separating one bone from another healed and came together, bones and flesh began to mend, and even as Miasma still had to fight hard, ever on his toes, there was a rhythm to the movements he made. He found a sure footedness he could confidently maintain. And the unexpected shove and grappling attempts made, he would handle one foe at a time.

Funny how in the moment he realized the noble way of fighting for himself, was what nobly fought for the people stumbling around, lashing out and being turned to words of comfort, and repentance.

*you can't pour from an empty cup*

Miasma thought.

Jim continued, “If you believe in miracles, in the divine, then believe in me when I say, if god so rests on the seventh day, then surely, in god’s image, you must also have your end, and at an end is there not rest?!”

Miasma could feel the shifting crowd as he continued his circling, trying to keep the group's edges from fraying. The hell fire was still closing around them but it was slowing, as if it too, was listening.

“I beseech you, right here, right now, look beyond the guilt, the blame, Your God knows of them and has clearly made you suffer for it. But there is more to God than just, justice. There is also MERCY. Deliverance, Salvation. Forgiveness. Absolution. 

[Bonnie Choses to Stay plays:]

Jim felt the white smoke and mist around him settle, as one by one the faces as he saw them at the time of their deaths began to appear. And he recognized each one, and because someone had the talent to preserve it, knew them by name. 

And as Jim recited the words of psalms from memory, every syllable uttered gained in power and conviction. As he spoke, a great tree sprung from the earth behind the congregation, and Miasma jumped, the hellfire that had been around them shoot past and into the tree, whirling and and brimming with the green light that no longer burned around them with heat infernal, but rather swayed and danced like the leaves of summer tresses, a weeping willow sighing in the breeze...

“If you would find your God now, would his cleansing fire scorch you, or warm you of the coldness settled in your hearts.” He could see the fullness of their faces, where in their eyes a prayer of hope had remained in each one. 

Jim’s voice that had been booming now took on a softer tone, gesturing to the ground he stood on, “Can a monument to the cruelties of time not also be the ebenezer  raised, the miracle that comes at the end of all  suffering?

The animated remains yearned for hope. To Miasma and his sight, all he saw were hellish beings, poor devils, in rapt attention to the sound of Jim’s voice, hanging onto every word.

While Miasma was breathless, a sense of pride and accomplishment at being an author of such a bizarre and touching scene, made him almost chuckle. As Jim preached, the words he had heard so often said at the rituals and from the pulpit, came swimming to him, floating, haunting his thoughts as time moved onwards, and yet seemed to also stand still.

“The memory of your suffering will not define you, but the hope and promise of renewal, FAITH, is your salvation…Even the likes of Judas can find their way to heaven... You are but on the long road to Damascus, and struck blind to see... for without suffering how can one know peace. I call on you, for it is time now, to know of that peace...”

Miasma stood his ground, panting, his purpose, stood before him, the herd of corpses corralled around Jim, who spoke to them with such grace and compassion, reaching a hand out for their humanity to reach back.

1 LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory in the heavens.

*From the pinnacle to the pit*

2 Through the praise of children and infants you have established a stronghold against your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.

*Her acts of cruelty and her lust for blood

Makes her one of us*

3 When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

*You shine like the sun and the moon and the stars in the sky*

4 What is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?

*Holy Mother, you washeth the sin from our feet*

5 You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them with glory and honor.

*Under a monolith, her likeness

Marble white*

6 You made them rulers over the works of your hands; you put everything under their feet:

7 all flocks and herds, and the animals of the wild,

*An' piercing eyes emotionless

A heart so black and cold*

8 the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas.

*Winds come on strong so help you, God

Come unleashed,*

9 LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! 

 *you're set free*

And suddenly Miasma realized why the number of the flock was off. Why there was a presence in and around every story told. There had been one last member of this flock that needed finding. That needed saving.

*Himself*

He prayed, pleading for the green fire in the tree to call out to the lost, and as he backed away from the congregation gathered at Jim's feet he heard the soft bleating sounds of the Lost. the one’s whose stories were never told…

Coming forward, drifting towards the tree line where Miasma was running was a spectre of a young woman. The opaque figure was heavy with child. Even as Jim held the attention of the crowd he too saw the visage in the shadows. The implications not lost on him. 

[Farewell plays:]

He motioned, gently parting the sea of faces as he too made his way to where the woman went no further. Miasma looked at Jim. “We have no choice, if we want to break this curse, all the troubled souls must be put to rest. Even this one..." his tone almost tender, as he saw himself in her- eyes moistened.

*Jim always came back for him. Couldn't he do the same for her?*

Jim looked at his friend, a verse in his head that repeated over and over…

*Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me*

Jim nodded and gently clapped his hands together, snapping the white smoke and mist away, the congregation paused, no longer animated, still as statues. The mist swirled ahead as they watched the woman drift off into the trees the mist following her, like a guide-rope to her every step. While they followed her, they reverently pondered on her presence in these woods...

“Of course… her name would never be in the ledger, or the photograph. Most women weren't so acknowledged at the time, and certainly not a preacher's wife. It was seen as vain." Jim muttered, shaking his head. "Such a shame it is that such stories were often left so unknown, trapped in time. Stories want to be heard, and if it curses something to achieve it then so be it...even if the story was not a happy one, it deserves to see the light..." Jim turned, putting a hand on Miasma's shoulder, stopping a moment. Miasma laid his own on top. The two companions sharing a quiet look, one filled with understanding and compassion. It was a moment that even if lost to the known world in those woods, would forever stand the test of time, in the peace it gave to each of those beating hearts.

*She considered herself damned though at her death she was harboring the life in her belly… there was a restlessness in the tense air around them..  Stemming not only from that burden, but also, that they had never been known at all.*

“Were you the one who kept the ledger” Jim called out. He had noticed the crucifix on her visage as being the same as  the one Miasma had worn and subsequently lost. The very same...

The woman sobbed softly in response, her mournful cries echoing around the trees unnerving and heartbreakingly hollow.

*... at its heart, that bloodstone…they had found it. They had found her. At last...*

Miasma thought aloud, “It makes sense doesn't it… Father Evight Vanhassel, and his wife, the  civilizing influence together as they tended the flock of sinners that worked in these woods. When the camp lost them, they lost their reason to hold on to their humanity, The Captain, The Doctor, Father Evight, and the Missing, Lady Van Hassel...such a tragedy...such a loss...But if she, her remains, I mean, are not with the other bones then-” 

“What happened to her?” Jim finished. They took a breath of the cold pre-dawn air, and strode to follow the spectre into the dark wood.

Braving the unknown, to seek the truth…

The specter led them on, floating, as if walking, stepping on stone long since worn smooth, over dips that no longer existed, through thick trees that had been thinner when she had once wandered the paths of these woods, her mournful cries and trembling voice bouncing all around them.

Their stomachs felt uneasy, like something sad and horrible awaited them. So very much like the dreams they had been having except this time, someone was leading them to the pit in which the lost had fallen…except, even the horror they knew they would face, was as valid and important to know. If it meant giving the young woman peace, who were they to deny her story to be known...

Yet, step by step, the eerie stillness surrounding them abated, giving way to the common sounds of a sleepy winter wood. The spectre appeared almost tangible now, and though the air was growing colder as she lead them farther into the wood, towards a deep fissure in the earth where a frozen creek lay still now, where the truth lay buried, and scattered, the companions felt an ease in the tension. A lift of their burdens, in carrying them together. The broken things inside them would mend, they knew. The pieces would fall into place. And soon, both Miasma and Jim stood at the edge of their triumph, facing a chasm where a ravine gaped at their approach.

The night was clear and the air rushed around them as time all at once stood still. They found themselves surrounded  in the events that lead to the curse of that wretched blood stone… carefully they descended into the ravine and trotted together through it's shallow waters that and been lost to the passage of time, following the bend until they arrive to their destination...

The woman almost seemed to sigh in relief, as they approached her lovely bones, and learned of her demise. For at last her story would be told. And all that had been lost, every last sheep of that flock, would be found again... and non would ever be left behind again...

Daylight was breaking, and as they gazed upon a conspicuous spot where she had fallen so long ago, they had tears in their eyes. The sun was once again rising in that lonely valley, dappling through the trees over this spot where the scene almost felt Holy.

A sapling had sprouted so long ago in that very place, and as the mysterious passage of time faded from view and Jim's eyes lost their powerful sight, they stood before a magnificent Willow tree, miraculously untouched by the surrounding white snow, green spring grass under it's umbrella of care.

This is what they were meant to see. A corner of the world where goodness and love remained untouched by that which corrupts it. A Holy place in the heart where faith in those one loves, and in those whom one cares, lives on forever.

Jim pulled the crucifix from his pocket.

"I, thought it was lost" Miasma said softly, admiring how it shined in the dawn light.

"Oh ye of little faith" Jim chuckled softly, his voice thick with emotion, "Despise not the small things..."

He lay the cross at the foot of the tree and a gust of wind blew through, that sigh of relief washing over them like a warm blanket, enveloping them in a grateful embrace.

"Do you think we did it? Do you think we did the right thing?"

Miasma asked, taking Jim's Hand, they stood back and watched the willow shiver and shake gently, swaying in the breeze like any other ol' tree.

Jim removed his shoes. Miasma did the same.

Feet on the hallowed earth they stood hand in hand.

"Yes," Jim replied, giving the ghoul's hand a squeeze. He turned to see his friend, face upturned to the sunlight, eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his features as he basked in the feeling all around them.

"Yes angel," Jim said once more, "I suppose we did."

"Hm." Miasma smiled, feeling as if in the glow of the morning, he had wings.

*... he was free...*

[sheikfangirl]

What I wished happened in Tears of the Kingdom 🥲

Been itching to draw something like this since first playing the game.

I absolutely HC that Puppet Zelda's "true form" is a grotesque gloom abomination.

An alternate version of the climax of "Crisis at Hyrule Castle" "lives rent free in my mind. The cat and mouse chase ending in the Sanctum, with Puppet Zelda revealing her true self: an attrocious horrific monster wearing Zelda's face. This is the real her and all this hatred breaks her Zelda looking shell apart. Time for an emotional and tormented final confrontation.

Also, it's my one year Tumblr anniversary!!?? Whhhaaaatttt already?

Thank you for tagging along by small LoZ corner of the interwebs.

Cheers!! AND GLORY TO PUPPET ZELDA!

[spookedbees]

Sorry Rick, these two are my ocs now. I grabbed em. They're mine.

[manicmanuscription]

Selfish? or Rational?

SJM x Reader Week 2025: Day Two @sjmxreaderweek

Prompt: Friends / Family

Pairings: Azriel / Reader

Summary: The long awaited breakfast scene! This is the third part to unapologetically selfish and it just fit so well with the prompt!

A/N: I'm really not happy with this so I'm so sorry if I disappointed you guys. I really struggled with finding the right format but nothing fit and then it was just hanging over my head and aaa. I do maybe want to write one more part a few months into the future bc I have a cute idea but we will see. But for now this is the end of this mini series thank you for reading! (if anyone has any ideas how i can fix this finale please please lmk!!)

Tags: angst, fluff, ic beeing lowkey messy (but not really.)

Word Count: 1237

SJM x Reader Week 2025 | Acotar Masterlist

Cassian watched his brother as if he had grown three heads. He knew Azriel had hidden his mate from him, in fact his own mind was still reeling from that piece of information. But to actually see it? It was something else entirely Azriel had pulled the chair out for you after silencing all the questions his family had thrown out there. Growling that his mate needed to least eat before dealing with their nonsense. 

So now here they were all settled at the table once again and Cassian was mesmerized. You worked in tandem to prepare each other a plate of food from the options laid across the table.

You poured Azriel his tea the way he liked it and black coffee for yourself. Him returning the favor by buttering biscuits for you and so on. 

They were in sync and he could not stop staring. It was a simple task and yet so domestic, you looked up at him and give him a sweet smile when he passed you the small tin of jam unprompted. 

As if they’d done this little song and dance a thousand times and with an aching heart Cassian realized they had. 

And he had no idea about it. 

Until he did, and just didn’t believe his brother. 

Nausea rolled in his stomach at the guilt and heartbreak. He wasn’t the only one shocked at his brother’s actions. The rest of the Inner Circle not even trying to hide their interest in the couple sitting in front of him. 

Nesta comfortingly grabbed his hand under the table as she continued eating. He barely noticed the touch too focused on the foreign side of his brother he was currently seeing. The only sound heard in the room was the small ticking of a clock until finally Mor broke first. “How long have you been seeing each other? We didn’t know about you until recently.” 

“Four years.” You responded with a slight wince. Four years of his own brother hiding you away. Three years since he started acting shady. Two years since he told them and one year of Cassian absolutely tormenting him over a fake mate that was very much real. 

“My brother said you travel, is that true?” Rhysand asked diplomatically steering the conversation away from Azriel’s actions. Although from the storm brewing behind the High Lord’s eyes Cassian assumed it wouldn’t last long. 

“Yes. I do. I work closely with Thesan and occasionally Helion. Which unfortunately requires me to move across borders quite often.”

“What work do you-” Rhysand started but Mor interrupted him. “So busy you had no time to meet us?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hurt behind defensiveness. 

Azriel snarled and it shocked and amused Cassian. His brother was usually levelheaded. He opened his mouth to respond but you put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry it truly wasn’t malicious intent. I'm in Velaris only a few weeks out of the year and it’s been hard on both of us. The time we have together we prefer to spend alone.”

She didn’t have to mention what Azriel did for work. Their family barely even saw him even less since being mated but they all knew it wasn’t just his schedule alone that put a dent in your relationship. Rhysand’s hand tightened on his glass and if they werent friends for so long Cassian wouldn’t have noticed it was from guilt. 

Luckily Feyre pressed a kiss to his cheek as they conversed without speaking. “I can’t imagine being away from your mate for so long.” She finally said aloud after a few moments. 

“It’s been difficult.” And opened your mouth to say more but Amren beat you to it, looking directly at the Spymaster. “Are you going to say anything or just let her do all the talking?” 

A violent gleam passed in his brother’s so fast if Cassian blinked he wouldn’t have noticed it. “I don’t recall you having much of a place to voice your opinion.” She just hummed low in her throat and continued to observe you. Azriel and Amren had their own weird relationship, as if they were strategists first and friends maybe second or third. He didn’t understand the double meaning behind her comment but Azriel did and he just pressed himself closer to your chair, shooting the female a challenging look.

The tense moment quickly passed as everyone had questions for you and Azriel, even Elain and Varian tossing their two cents in every once and awhile. You just sat through it all with a smile on your face, answering politely and even returning barbs and underhanded comments as if you’d been apart of the family for centuries. 

“So yes I founded the Saving Soul’s community and-”

“Saving Soul’s?” Elain asked. 

“Yes, it's a proficient group of Healer’s and Innovators that try to advance medicine through lot’s research and unique cases of illness. It’s why I travel so much I was recently across the continent for research in prosthetic limbs” 

“You founded it?” Rhysand asked, surprised. “Yes, Thesan and I grew up together and he helped me create the project once it was on it’s feet and he became High Lord I’ve been managing it with a few others.” 

Rhysand and Feyre gave each other a knowing look before turning to you and you moved before they could voice whatever shared thought that had clicked for them. 

He just shook your head slightly and the conversation moved forward. After all you didn’t want Azriel knowing you and your team had requested border permissions for Illyria, your next study was wing repair which meant moving home. Permanently. 

“Looks like he gave you a good time when you came home.” Mor pointed out to the scarf that revealed a few purple hickeys.

Your hand shot up to your neck as you gave Azriel a scathing look. He just sat back in his chair unable to hide the smug smile. “I told you!” You snapped.

Mor started laughing and even Nesta cracked a smile. “How did you guys meet?” 

“Well that’s certainly a story.”  

Cassian didn’t speak the entire breakfast. Everyone was content to let you in with open arms as soon as they noticed how smitten Azriel was.

As everyone finished lunch and headed home Cassian was the last to leave. He had seen how absolutely in love his brother was but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Years gone by without his own brother sharing something so important with him. 

Nesta was saying goodbye to Nyx and it gave him a chance to catch Azriel as he was leaving. “Hey Az can we talk?”

Azriel looked over at you briefly. The male was rushing you out of here the second breakfast was over and he turned to him before nodding. “Yeah what’s up?” He asked as the males moved to a quieter part of the house. “Listen Cassian I know your upset about this-”

“Are you happy?”

Cassian had seen it but he needed to hear it.

Azriel smiled, a true smile. His brother never smiled. 

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He said, giving him a squeeze on the arm before going off to find Nesta, and he meant every word. He could let go of the hurt, he understood why of course. All he wanted was for his brother to receive everything he wanted, and with a quick glance at you it looked like he had.

[clickety-clacker]

You're a god. You have a new body. A better body. It's you. This is you.

It's wearing a mask.

[superpowereddonut]

No Mercy

Pairing: Azriel x OC, some Feysand

Summary: When Azriel is captured by the enemy, a mysterious female comes to his rescue. Who is she to him? Why are Rhys and Cass terrified of her? And how come Feyre has never even heard of her?

Warning: fight sequence, descriptions of kidnapping, blood and injuries

Word count: 4.1k

*****

Despite the fire crackling in the hearth of Rhysand’s study, Feyre shivered. A letter had been delivered to the River House less than ten minutes before, and she had been teetering on the edge of fury and fear ever since. 

“Azriel has been captured,” Rhys reported, his voice grim as he scanned the parchment in front of them. “They are threatening to ‘torture him as he has tortured so many others’ if we do not meet their price.”

Cassian's response was a low growl from where he stood on the other side of the desk. “And what is their price for our brother?” 

Rhysand listed an enormous amount. A ludicrous amount. They could afford it, but it would almost completely empty the Night Court’s very deep coffers. 

Feyre swore under her breath and even Cass blanched, the Siphons on his hands flickering, before he straightened with sudden determination. “I can take soldiers, either Illyrian or Valkyrie, and lay waste to their province for such an insult. We’ll rescue Az.”

Rhysand was already shaking his head before Cassian finished. “It’s too risky. All we know of the enemy is that they have prodigious armies and an almost impenetrable keep. It’s why Az attempted to sneak in alone in the first place — to get details without attracting attention.”

They had received word of a ruthless young lord in Hybern, who had been capitalising on the King’s death to rise to power. The rest of the Inner Circle had been occupied with their own missions, and so despite the danger, Azriel had been sent alone to gather intel. In case this new leader decided to set his sights on Prythian after securing a vast portion of land on the smaller island. 

But that had been a week ago. And until this threatening letter, they hadn’t heard from him since.

“Well that obviously didn’t work,” Feyre finally said, “So how are we going to rescue him?”

Rhysand smiled at the fierce resolve in her voice, but there were deep shadows under his eyes and a rare heaviness to the set of his shoulders. She hadn’t seen her mate look this tired since Nyx was born a few months ago.

“Nuala and Cerridwen?” Cassian offered, though he didn’t sound hopeful. “They can be undetectable.”

Rhysand considered for a moment before again shaking his head. “Azriel himself trained the wraith twins. If he could be captured, no doubt they can too. And I suspect this lord would no longer be content with a simple monetary ransom if we were to send yet more spies.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Should we tell… her?”

Feyre had no idea who ‘her’ was, but she blinked in disbelief as her mate visibly paled at Cassian’s words.

“She might already know,” he breathed, rubbing his sternum.

Feyre looked between the two males, feeling as though she was missing a very important piece of context. They couldn’t mean Elain or Mor, for neither elicited quite such trepidation, as though they were both afraid to even utter her name. Even Amren and Nesta didn’t fit. While both would likely become a force to be reckoned with when they heard of Azriel’s capture, they would not cause the dread she now saw creeping across Cassian’s face. Or the barely concealed panic evident in Rhys’ curling fingers.

Who are you talking about? She asked Rhys mentally.

His eyes flicked to hers and she read the clear apology there. I cannot tell you, Feyre darling.

She was a warrior, a High Lady, who had proven herself countless times—why was she being treated like a child now? 

Feyre frowned, and was about to demand a proper answer when Rhys suddenly tensed. His eyes glazed over in the way she recognised from when he used his daemati power over great distances, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as though whoever it was was yelling into his mind.

“She knows,” Rhysand finally whispered as he blinked and focused back on the room, running a hand through his hair distractedly.

Cassian swore loudly. “Let me know when they get here,” he said, striding towards the door. “So I can get the fuck out of the way.” 

And then he was gone, leaving an extremely confused Feyre and an uncharacteristically shaken Rhysand.

“Who is he talking about? What about Az?” she demanded.

Rhys just sighed. “Az will be fine, someone else is on their way to rescue him. It’s us you should be worrying about,” he muttered.

*****

Azriel pulled again at the shackles around his wrists, testing their strength. 

They didn’t budge, and neither did the large chains that secured them to the ceiling above. Thankfully he had been left enough length to remain standing on the cold stone floor, but his shoulders ached from being tied above his head for so long.

How long had it been? Hours? Days?

The faebane made it hard to tell. Without his magic, he didn’t have his shadows to keep watch. And without the power from his nullified Siphons, he couldn’t hope to heal his torn wings enough to rip free of his manacles. They drooped behind him, scraping the dusty floor uselessly.

The cavernous room was wide and echoing, with water dripping from cracks in the high ceiling above. It had the unmistakable feel of something ancient, long-forgotten. Mold slicked the walls in some places, while others were carved with symbols he didn’t recognise, half-swallowed by lichen.

And they were watching.

Lining the far edges of the chamber, stationed like statues, were more than thirty soldiers clad in dark armor. Still as death. Silent and unblinking. Azriel had tried to speak to them. Tried to taunt and provoke, anything to learn about where he was or what they wanted. But they hadn’t responded. Just stood there, swords at their hips, helms shadowing their faces.

They were all male and High Fae, but that was all he would tell from their scents. His senses were too dulled to discern anything else.

The silence pressed in as much as the dark. He could hear nothing beyond this room. No wind. No footsteps. No distant clatter of a gate or muffled conversation. Nothing that might help him understand where he was being held.

He ground his jaw, resisting the urge to yank again at the manacles. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

But he was angry, furious, at himself.

He should have seen it coming. Should have known the tip was too convenient, too timely. But he’d followed it anyway, arrogant enough to think he could ghost into a heavily fortified territory without being seen. And now…he was a liability.

Had his captors made contact with the Night Court? Rhys would be scrambling. Cassian pacing like a caged animal. Feyre and Nesta and even Elain would know something was wrong. And gods, if they sent someone after him—

No.

He forced himself to breathe slowly, steadily. 

They couldn’t come for him. They must not come for him.

Whoever had orchestrated this was baiting them. Trying to draw them in. And Azriel knew well enough how that story ended, with more blood, more pain, more loss.

He couldn’t allow it. He would get himself out.

A guard would be by soon to force-feed him. When they did, he just needed to keep them talking. Keep them distracted long enough to delay his next dose of faebane.

An hour later, the door groaned open.

Another guard stepped through with the same eerie, silent precision they all shared. His boots echoed off the stone floor as he approached, carrying a plain tin tray bearing a hunk of stale-looking bread and a dented metal cup sloshing with water.

Even before the scent hit him, Azriel knew it was laced. The copper tang beneath the damp, the unnatural weight of the magic-stifling air. Faebane.

He lifted his chin as the guard approached, forcing steel into his posture despite the burning in his arms and the screaming ache in his wings.

“No poison today?” Azriel rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. “How generous.”

The guard didn’t respond, stopping just out of reach, face still hidden beneath the heavy black helm. Methodically, he broke off a piece of the bread and held it out, barely an inch from Azriel’s bared teeth.

“You know, if I die, you don’t get paid. Might want to ease up on the faebane if you want to keep your head.”

Silence. The guard stepped closer.

Azriel shifted, trying to look half-conscious, swaying slightly. “Come on. Talk to me. Give me something. A name. A reason. A fucking hobby—”

The guard grabbed his neck with one gloved hand and used the other to shove the bread into his mouth with brutal efficiency.

He choked slightly but managed to spit the dry scrap back out. Retribution was swift— a backhanded slap hard enough to snap his head to the side. But Azriel didn’t react. He kept his eyes fixed on the cup now being raised.

“Wait,” he rasped. “You forgot to ask nicely.”

Still nothing.

The rim of the cup rose toward his mouth, and he was unable to move as the guard forced his lips to open with a grip like iron. It tipped slowly, the first drop readying to fall—

CRASH

A deafening noise from the corridor outside. Metal against stone. A gate slamming open, or off its hinges entirely.

The guard froze.

For the first time since Azriel had been dragged into this chamber, one of the silent sentries moved. Another. Then another. A ripple of unease passed through the ranks of dark-armored males as they subtly shifted, their hands twitching toward weapons, heads tilting toward the sound.

The guard with the cup stepped back quickly, tossing the water to the floor with a dull splash.

Azriel tensed, his heart thudding. Hope and anxiety knotted tight in his gut.

Because whoever had just broken through that door…judging by the sudden motion of thirty trained soldiers… they weren’t supposed to be here.

For a moment, no one moved. The crash echoed through the chamber like a war drum.

Then a scream pierced the silence. Cut off too suddenly.

A second later, another scream joined it. Then shouting. Metal shrieking against metal. The clash of blades rang out in the corridor beyond like a wild symphony, brutal and unrelenting. Footsteps thundered beyond the thick stone walls, the sound of bodies colliding and tumbling, of steel slicing through flesh.

The thirty silent sentries who had stood like statues only moments before suddenly burst into motion. In perfect synchrony, they formed a wall between Azriel and the door, shoulder to shoulder, a unified line of black armor and gleaming blades.

Each one drew their sword in unison. Identical weapons. Same length, same steel, same wicked edge. The scraping hiss of them leaving their sheaths was almost ceremonial.

Azriel’s heart pounded. Whoever was outside wasn’t just attacking, they were winning.

He could hear it in the rhythm of the battle: the stagger of feet, the sharp panicked yells replaced by silence, the lack of orders being shouted from the other side. Whoever had come… they were alone. Or nearly alone. And they were tearing through the guards like paper.

Azriel twisted in his chains, ignoring the fire in his shoulders, straining to catch any voice, any identifying sound. But there was only chaos.

Until something inside him shifted.

A pulse. Faint, golden and familiar.

It thrummed through his chest like a second heartbeat, brushing against his ribs, then his lungs, then the frayed edges of his mind.

Azriel’s breath caught.

He knew that feeling. That presence. That golden thread tying itself around his soul, whispering through his bones like sunlight in a storm.

His mate.

She had come for him.

And she was unleashing hell.

He couldn’t help the dark laugh that spilled from his lips, low and cold. 

“You don’t even know what you have done,” he said to the guards spread evenly before him. “She will show you no mercy.”

No one responded, but he could smell their fear as it blanketed the room.

BOOM

The heavy stone door blew inward on a shockwave of raw force, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crack. Dust and debris billowed into the chamber, curling around the unmoving line of soldiers like smoke before a fire.

And there she was.

Framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the carnage she’d left behind.

She stood tall and unflinching, breathing steady, blades dripping crimson in both hands. Her leathers were dark and slick with blood, though none of it was her own, Azriel realized, as she moved with lethal grace, every inch of her uninjured body coiled and ready.

Her face was unreadable. Calm. Almost serene. But her eyes burned cold as starlight.

They locked onto him first, where he hung suspended, bruised and bleeding, shadows absent and Siphons dark. And though she didn’t speak, he felt her gaze drag over every cut on his skin, every welt, every torn muscle and trembling inch of his wings.

The bond between them thrummed again, tighter now. Sharper. Like a blade drawn against stone.

She looked at him as if nothing else in the world mattered.

And then she blinked. The tiniest shift. Her focus snapped to the guards now standing between them, and a shiver raced down Azriel’s spine at the frozen rage in her eyes.

The first soldier raised his sword. A deadly mistake.

She crossed the distance between the door and the wall of soldiers in a heartbeat, her blades singing through the air. Steel met steel, then screamed apart as she shattered the line with terrifying efficiency.

She moved like smoke, as graceful and lethal as his own shadows. 

Metal gleamed through the darkness as she descended on the guards, never faltering, never missing. 

She slashed with swords and daggers. Spun and sliced and kicked. A deadly storm given flesh.

Enemies fell beneath her blades, before they even realised they were dying. One after the other. Dozens.

Within moments, she was in front of him.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, every inch of skin splattered with blood. But she just grinned up at him. A thing of wicked beauty. 

“Hello, my love. Missed me?”

*****

Feyre had been pacing in front of the fire for what felt like hours.

Frustration rolled off her in thick, churning waves, so palpable she could feel it crackling along the bond she shared with Rhys. He had barely said a word since Cassian left the study, only watched the flames, shadows flickering across his sharp features, jaw tight.

She’d begged him for information.

Who is this ‘her’ you were talking about?What did Cassian mean?Why won’t you tell me anything?

But Rhys had only met her gaze with those loving violet eyes, regret softening his voice even as he murmured, “I am sorry, my darling. You have to wait.”

Wait. As if she weren’t High Lady. As if she hadn’t fought and bled and died for this court. As if she hadn’t bared everything to him only to discover he apparently hadn’t done the same. 

The secrets coiled around him like mist, and she could feel his guilt about it. But also his unshakable resolve. He wouldn’t budge.

She turned again on her heel, fists clenched at her sides, but before she could again demand answers, the front door slammed open.

Rhys tensed. Slowly straightened behind the desk, eyes distant, as though reaching out with his power.

Two sets of footsteps echoed down the corridor, measured and unhurried. A clicking cadence of boots on polished floorboards, confident and unmistakably calm.

A female stepped in first, Azriel half a step behind her.

Feyre blinked.

The woman was covered in blood. It soaked her dark leathers, crusted along her collar, streaked across her cheek and jaw. And yet she moved as if it was nothing more than water. Like the blood now dripping steadily onto the plush, expensive rug that Mor had gifted them wasn’t even worth noticing.

And beneath the gore… She was stunning. Breathtaking, even.

Dark hair was pulled back from a sharp, striking face, her tanned skin marked here and there with smears of battle, but still glowing. Above a sensuous mouth and high cheekbones, her eyes were a startling green, like sunlight filtering through leaves, and sharp as shattered glass. They cut across the room in a single glance, fixing like a blade on Rhys.

She walked with the kind of fluid, feline grace that only came from years of training. Or dancing. And there were so many weapons strapped to her body. Knives and twin swords, hidden hilts glinting beneath her sleeves and across her thighs. It was a wonder she could move at all.

And Azriel…

He was watching her like the sun had finally risen after a long, dark night.

He looked tired, scraped and worn, his wings and face bearing healing cuts and fading bruises. His leathers were torn at one shoulder, and there was dried blood on his hands, but there was a lightness to him. Like some weight had finally been shed.

And he was smiling. A small, quiet smile that made her chest ache, because she had never seen Azriel smile like that. Soft. Peaceful. Adoring.

He hadn’t even looked at them. Not at his High Lady. Not at his High Lord and dear brother.

Only at the woman in front of him.

Feyre's heart thudded loudly. Rhys stood, but didn’t speak.

Because the female was still watching him. Assessing. Deciding. Like she was debating which of her many weapons to bury in his chest.

Her power, ancient and razor-sharp, seemed to saturate the air, charging it like the moment before a lightning strike.

“You sent him in alone.” Her voice was low, smooth as silk stretched tight over a blade.

Rhys inclined his head, solemn. “I did.”

“I told you,” she went on, a quiet fury simmering beneath each clipped word, “that Hybern’s western provinces were still too volatile. I told you that anyone who rose in the King’s absence would be twice as vicious and half as predictable. And still you sent him.”

Azriel said nothing behind her. Feyre looked to him instinctively, expecting a frown, a grimace, some quiet protest against the female's fury on his behalf. She knew he hated being underestimated and protected.

But he only watched her, that soft smile still lingering. Like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing.

The female didn’t take her eyes off Rhys. “If he had died, I would have razed Hybern.”

“You nearly did,” Rhys murmured. It wasn’t a retort. It was… weary acknowledgment.

“You’re a spy,” Feyre blurted into the tense silence, her spinning thoughts finally catching up to the present, “like Azriel.”

Her eyes glittered as she shot Azriel a sideways glance. “Please,” she said, tossing Feyre a wink. “Who do you think taught him?”

And then the female’s expression softened slightly, as if only just remembering where she was, who else stood in the room. She turned to face Feyre properly, and when those piercing green eyes landed on her, Feyre braced herself.

But all that came was a graceful bow.

“High Lady,” she said, voice dipped in respect. “It is an honor.”

Feyre blinked. “Likewise… though I have a great many questions.”

The female straightened with a faint, tired smile. “I expect you do. My name is Seraphina. I am a spy and warrior of the Night Court. I serve under Rhysand, as I have since we were children.”

Feyre’s brows rose.

“She is the daughter of my father’s right hand,” Rhys added quietly. “We were raised side by side. And when I became High Lord, she swore herself to me. She’s been on the Continent these past few years, working in secret.”

“Why didn’t I know about her?” Feyre asked, before she could stop herself.

Seraphina didn’t seem offended. “Because you weren’t allowed to.”

And then, pulling back the neck of her leathers, she revealed a small black mark beneath her collarbone. 

Rhys moved silently to mirror her. He unbuttoned the top of his tunic and shifted his shoulder to reveal the same symbol, woven elegantly into the Illyrian ink across his chest. Feyre had never noticed it before, hidden among the dark warriors' mark.

Azriel followed suit and Feyre’s mouth parted in understanding. She guessed Cassian and perhaps Mor bore the same small tattoo.

“Oath magic,” Seraphina said softly. “No one could speak of me. Not my name. Not my mission. Not to friends, family, lovers. Only to the others who knew of my existence.”

“To protect your identity?” Feyre guessed.

“To protect the Night Court,” Seraphina replied. “What I was doing… it required distance and limited communication. Rhys had to be able to deny I existed. To deny the Courts’ involvement at all.”

“What were you doing?” Feyre asked, voice softer now.

Seraphina’s jaw clenched. “Taking down a horrific fae syndicate on the Continent. One that traded in girls. Children. Powerless and scared. The sort that no one misses when they disappear.”

A heavy silence fell.

“I’ve been working city by city,” she continued, “dismantling it from the inside out, one web at a time. It’s why I haven’t been home.” Her voice dropped further. “It’s why Azriel and I…”

She glanced behind her then, and the tension in her shoulders eased at the sight of him.

“I had to stay away,” she said. “But we kept the bond between us open. Always. It was the only way we could bear it.”

Azriel’s voice, low and husky, slipped into the space between them. “When the faebane smothered it, she felt it instantly.”

Seraphina nodded. “And I knew something was wrong. Knew he’d been hurt. So I came.”

“You’re his—” Feyre began, then stopped. Her eyes darted between them.

Seraphina’s lips curved into something far more dangerous than a smile.

“My mate,” she said, finally voicing the word aloud. Her voice vibrated with something primal, elemental. “Azriel is my mate.”

Feyre gasped. Her eyes flew to Azriel again.

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t flinch.

He just looked at Seraphina like he wanted her to say it again.

A slow grin tugged at Seraphina’s bloodstained lips as she turned back to Feyre. “I would be delighted to talk further, my High Lady,” she said, clearly reading the thousands of questions still echoing through her, “but first, I must… reacquaint myself with my mate.”

Feyre opened her mouth to reply, but Seraphina was already turning, already reaching.

Azriel didn’t wait. He met her halfway, as if drawn by a force he could no longer resist. One hand cupped her face, reverent and aching, the other curling tightly around her waist as if to anchor himself to her very presence. She melted into his touch without hesitation, her blood-slicked arms wrapping around his middle as if she needed to feel that he was real.

Feyre looked away from the intimacy of it. Not out of discomfort, but because it felt like something sacred.

But even as she turned, she caught the press of Azriel’s forehead to Seraphina’s, the whisper of his wings folding carefully around them. The sound he made, a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, was so raw with wonder that it tugged at something deep in her chest.

And then they were gone. Swept away by Azriel’s shadows, their soft murmurs lingering in the space they left behind.

“Well,” Feyre said, blinking after them. “That’s new.”

Rhys let out a breath beside her, the first sound he’d made in minutes. “Actually, it’s very very old.” He reached out to her, his large hand grasping hers and pulling her closer. “Thank the Mother for you,” he whispered.

“For me?” She echoed, raising a brow.

“Usually her punishment for putting Azriel in danger is long and painful.” Rhys huffed a laugh and pressed a chaste kiss to her palm. “But I think you being here distracted her long enough to forget retribution for the time being.”

Feyre thought of the tension that had coiled in her mate when Seraphina had stalked into the room like a predator. Of Cassian’s swift exit and parting words of staying out of ‘their way’. 

“You are truly scared of her? Of what she could do to you for sending Az out on a mission?”

Rhys nodded, no trace of bluster or embarrassment in his expression. “If I can give you one piece of advice, Feyre darling,” he purred, “it is to never put Azriel or Seraphina’s life in any more danger than necessary. Each of them would burn down the world for the other.”

[an-established-butt-dent]

One more piece titled 'going wild in procreate fueled by Solavellan angst'

I need Dreadwolf teasers like I need air

[wrenisrad]

I Prefer Hiding in Plain Sight

pairing: Azriel x Reader (mainly towards the end)

word count: 1k

c/w: angst, feelings of inadequacy, they're idiots your honor

“Life may shift,” You recall Rhysand telling you, after you had barely turned twenty, surrounded by your friends– your family, who had serenaded you with a horrendously off-pitch rendition of Happy Birthday. “But we will forever be that same, count on it.”

And as much as you wished you could have relied on the comforting words of your friend, they had failed you, slowly, but surely they turned into something different. Something unrecognizable. Gone were the days of simplicity, laughing at Rita’s, or having a Sunday dinner with everyone in attendance. 

Now, handed to you on a brandished, dirty plate, were days of being brushed off and constant cancellations made of weak excuses, a; “Feyre wanted to have a night in,” “Elain wished to go for a walk,” or the simplest, “Nesta needs me.”

 It seemed as if the presence of the ever-shining Archeron sisters dimmed your own light, leaving you abandoned and rusted. All of the love and time you had given your family, left to rot. They had left you to rot. 

It was to be expected, you had had a gut feeling whenever Mor had brought the two elder Archeron sisters to the House of Wind, when, despite your injuries as severe– if not more so as theirs, everyone had rushed to them. No matter how hard you would attempt to convince yourself in the middle of the night, that you were ‘just getting used to them’ or the like, there was always a lingering pit of jealousy that would slowly rot in your heart every time you were excused. 

Even now, sitting upon the ledge of a hidden cliff, legs dangled along the side– something that would have sent even Azriel into a spiral a mere two years ago, you had been left alone. To be frank, you weren't sure anyone noticed you had left. Not when a part of you could practically feel the joy reeking from the house, making your nose curl. 

In truth, you hated yourself for it, for the jealousy and pettiness. It felt dirty, making your insides burn with the feeling that you were being childish, that you were being ridiculous. The thought circled over and over in your head until it had made it spin, forcing you to shove your thumb against the middle of your brow bone. 

Though a cool, soothing tendril follows, wrap around your finger and lessen the sharp pain. Opening your eyes to find the source of the alleviation, you see a silken shadow shyly curling in on itself, a kid caught reaching into the cookie jar, not the weapons of destruction and peril most saw them as. Though, as endearing as the shadow was, it could only mean one thing.

Azriel was here.

“What do you want?” You murmur softly, looking down and dragging your fingers against the scattered pebbles around the cliff, plucking one up and flicking it, listening to the satisfying click…click..click as it ricochets off the base of the cliff, attempting to fill the void of the silence. 

“Checking up on you,” A familiar rumble, Azriel sits himself beside you and tenderly wraps a wing around her. “Are you alright?” 

“Just…peachy.” You grit out, trying not to curl in on yourself just like his shadow had just done, trying not to seep up the warmth of his attention. As you reach for another stone, Azriel gently picks up your hand, running a thumb over the back of it. His eyes look up at you kindly, expectantly. This is where you usually lay all your cards on the table, where you tell him that you’re not okay and that everything hurts. 

A part of you screeches to fight it, to take your hand back and look away. But the louder, gentler part of you yearns to soften into his touch. 

And so you do. 

You curl up to his side, burying your face into his shoulder and letting out a shaky sigh. Wrapping your arms around his bicep and squeezing your eyes shut, fighting the warm tears threatening to seep from your lashes. 

“I love you.” Azriel murmured softly, stroking your thigh, causing rapid flutters in your stomach. “You’re my best friend, and you will never not be my best friend.” 

“Then why are you never around?” You croak out weakly, wincing at the desperation in your voice, it's unnerving. 

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Azriel began, “Maybe because I felt a duty to Rhysand and Feyre? But even so, I still let this happen.” “You’re fine, Azriel.” You murmur, barely noticing him tense at the use of his full name, rather than an affectionate ‘Az.’ Even tense, he still found the strength to soften, just for you. Pulling you even closer, he lays his head against yours, lips idly resting on the crown of your forehead. “It’s not fine, love. It hurts you, and I refuse to do so any longer. Because you mean everything to me, alright?” He whispered, squeezing you tightly against his chest. “I'll talk to Rhysand, why don't we go to Svenda’s tomorrow, just us?” 

It wasn’t revolutionary, but it was a start, and that was the most important thing. “Alright.” 

At your agreement, Azriel smiled, a quiet, genuine smile. The two of you sat in comfortable, golden silence for an unknown amount of time. The tense atmosphere melting into intimacy and nearness, the warmth of it all making your eyelids heavy, eventually drifting to sleep. 

When you woke in the morning, you were tucked into bed, just how you’ve liked since you were a child. Eyes blearily scanning the area, before landing on a note, propped up on your bedside in a comfortingly familiar script. 

I’ll meet you here before Svenda’s, 6:00 pm. Wear something nice.

And you swear your heart did not flutter. 

©wrenisrad on tumblr

reminder that plagiarism is illegal

A/n: sorry if its rough, I haven't actually written in a year lol, hope we like it? Also, I cant remember where I got the borders from, I downloaded them a while ago, so if you recognize them could you please comment who the artist is so I can properly credit them!

[hypewinter]

Danny can no longer Go Ghost. Oh his powers work perfectly fine, but whenever he tries to transform, it seems as if the universe itself is screaming and begging him to not transform

So he goes to Clockwork who explains that Phantom has simply grown too powerful and that Danny simply needs to empower someone to act in his stead like an avatar

Unfortunately, Danny can't really choose anyone he knows. Tucker is not responsible with powers and the less is said about an empowered Sam, the better

It'd be absolutely hilarious if the avatar gets selected via a tournament arc. I imagine it wasn't Danny's idea but he was taking too long since he didn't want to burden anyone with this responsibility leading to the Observants deciding they'll take care of it. Cue all of Earth's heroes being summoned to an arena and told to fight until a victor is crowned. Really? This again? They all collectively groan. Meanwhile Danny is blissfully unaware of what's going on as he's back at the Clocktower trying to figure out the best candidate (the Observants thought they'd gain favor if they just surprised him with a new avatar).

I'm not honestly too sure how the tournament itself would turn out. Maybe the heroes would go along with it until they could figure out just what the reason for the tournament is this time. Maybe they would immediately jump to revolt. Punch first, ask questions later and all that. I could go either way to be honest.

All I really want is for the heroes to bust down the door and confront Danny about this whole tournament, ready to take down another crazy in power, only for this painful sleep deprived child to blink up at them, "What tournament?"

[potatoplace]

I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd

[parasolladyansy]

DxP REWRITE - Parts

Healing & befriending inner children can take time, but is ultimately worth it in the end.

& while I’ve said a few things here & there about it, this is the real reason why Ingo’s mind held onto his memories of Ansy. This moment. This conversation. He recovered softer, safer memories of her & their friendship to start with, all leading up to this. ❤️‍🩹

—

🔼 Diamond x Pearl REWRITE 🔽

<< Previous / Next >>

[anoritheark]

No one Will Ever Know

No one will ever know that I cleared the path of fallen branches from the storm. No one will ever know that I ever came this way or be aware of the things I felt when the sun was there or the clouds came in. No one will ever know the misery I felt, the depression and angst and then the hope and glimpse of happiness. No one will know the terrible things I imagined, my obsessive perversions, my…

[nell0-0]

Doomed by the narrative

[aventurineswife]

HEYYYYYYY if I can may I ask for Aventurine, Sunday and Dan Hang protecting reader when they get badly injured protecting them please ( I’ve been desperate for some angst and comfort recently with them 😭😭 )

“If I Fall, Let It Be for You”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Protectiveness, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, Emotional Conflict, Guilt, Platonic or Romantic Love, Selflessness, Inner Struggles.

Warnings: Graphic injury, Blood, Violence, Desperation, Guilt, Emotional distress, Death-related themes.

A/N: Hope you like this!! 🫣

The battlefield stretched before you, a blur of smoke and chaos. You had acted on instinct—throwing yourself in front of Dan Heng to block a strike meant for him. The blade tore through your side, pain radiating through your body as you stumbled.

“[Name]!” Dan Heng’s voice, usually so calm and composed, cracked as he caught you in his arms. His eyes widened, a rare display of emotion breaking through his stoic mask.

You gave him a weak smile, your hand clutching the bleeding wound. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on you was firm yet trembling. “You should never have done that.” There was an edge to his voice, sharp and laden with guilt.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, and you felt yourself fading.

“Stay with me,” Dan Heng ordered, his voice softer now but no less desperate. He cradled you closer, his usually steady hands pressing against your wound to stem the bleeding. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.”

He carried you swiftly to a safe spot behind the ruins, shielding you from the chaos. His spear, Cloud-Piercer, stood guard nearby, its sharp tip still dripping with the blood of your enemies. Dan Heng tore a strip of fabric from his coat, fashioning a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

“Why?” he asked quietly, his gaze fixed on your pale face. “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for me?”

You managed a weak chuckle despite the pain. “Because I care about you, Dan Heng. Even if you keep pushing people away, I won’t stop protecting you.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, his usual reserve cracked. “I don’t deserve it. Not after everything I’ve done… everything I’ve failed to prevent.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to brush against his cheek. “You’re worth it to me.”

Dan Heng’s eyes softened, guilt and sorrow mingling with something deeper—something he had tried so hard to suppress. He didn’t speak, but his actions spoke volumes. He leaned into your touch, his fingers brushing your hair as if trying to commit every detail of you to memory.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, his voice low but resolute. “Not again.”

Dan Heng stayed by your side, his spear within reach, ready to defend you from any further threat. The battle raged on around you, but his focus never wavered. He wasn’t just protecting you now—he was protecting the fragile hope you had given him, the chance for something beyond the weight of his past.

And in his quiet way, Dan Heng vowed to repay the trust you had shown him, no matter the cost.

The echoes of the gunfire still reverberated in the empty corridors, a cruel reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded. Aventurine stood frozen for a moment, the world around him slowing to a crawl. The usually confident smirk plastered on his face had vanished, replaced by a rare expression of raw, unfiltered fear.

You lay crumpled on the ground, your blood pooling beneath you. You had thrown yourself in front of him, a human shield against the sniper's bullet that had been meant for his chest.

“Why?” Aventurine whispered, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you, his gloved hands hesitating before pressing against your wound. His pristine, gold-adorned sleeves soaked in crimson as he tried to stem the bleeding. "You absolute fool. What were you thinking?"

Your eyes fluttered open, a weak smile playing on your lips despite the pain. "Because I knew you'd never let yourself be hit," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're too important... too smart to take risks like that."

Aventurine let out a bitter laugh, one that sounded more like a sob. "And yet here you are, bleeding out because of me," he muttered, his tone laced with guilt and frustration. "You're supposed to stay out of the crossfire, not throw yourself into it like some kind of martyr."

The mask he wore so effortlessly in high-stakes games and political negotiations shattered in that moment. He was no longer the composed strategist, the man who always had a plan. He was just Kakavasha—terrified, helpless, and desperate to keep you alive.

“Stay with me,” he commanded, his voice shaking as he pulled out his communicator and barked orders for immediate medical assistance. “You don’t get to leave like this. Not here, not now.”

Your hand weakly reached up, brushing against his cheek. "I trust you, Aventurine," you whispered, your voice faltering. "You'll fix this... you always do."

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I’m a gambler, not a miracle worker," he admitted softly, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "But if there’s one thing I never bet against... it’s you."

The minutes felt like hours as he stayed by your side, murmuring reassurances that neither of you believed. His mind raced, calculating odds and outcomes, but none of his usual strategies could guarantee your survival. For the first time in years, Aventurine felt powerless.

When the medics finally arrived, he refused to leave your side, riding with you to the emergency unit despite their protests. As the doors closed behind them and the sterile lights flickered above, Aventurine made a silent vow.

No matter the cost, he would ensure you lived to see another gamble, another day by his side. Because without you, even victory would feel like defeat.

The clash of blades and the sound of explosions filled the air, but Sunday’s focus was solely on you. The two of you had been ambushed, and though he had held his ground, one stray attacker had slipped through his defenses, aiming for his unprotected flank.

You hadn’t hesitated. You’d stepped in without thinking, intercepting the blow meant for him. Now, you lay slumped against a ruined wall, clutching your side as blood seeped through your fingers.

“Why... why would you do that?” Sunday asked, his voice trembling as he knelt beside you. His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were wide with panic. He pressed his hands over yours, trying to stop the bleeding. The glow of his halo seemed dimmer, as if it mirrored the dread coursing through him.

“You needed protecting,” you gasped, a weak smile crossing your lips. “That’s what friends do, right?”

“Foolish,” Sunday whispered, his tone a mixture of frustration and anguish. "I am the one who should be protecting you." He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his gloved hands trembling. “You shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

Your hand reached for his, squeezing weakly. "You’re worth it."

Sunday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, his dignified mask crumbled. "No one is worth losing you," he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Not even me.”

The world around the two of you seemed to fade away as Sunday focused solely on keeping you conscious. He whispered soft reassurances, his usually formal tone replaced with a raw, desperate plea. “Stay with me,” he urged. “I’ll fix this. I swear it.”

Using his limited healing abilities, Sunday poured his energy into stabilizing you. The effort left him visibly drained, his face pale and his breaths labored, but he refused to stop. "I’ve seen too much suffering," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I won’t allow it to claim you."

As reinforcements arrived and medical aid was administered, Sunday stood by your side, his presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. When you were finally safe, he let out a shaky breath, brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

"You risked yourself for me," he said quietly, his eyes softening. “But know this: I will never allow you to come to harm again. You are too precious to lose.”

In that moment, you saw a side of Sunday he rarely revealed—a man burdened by the weight of his ideals, yet willing to fight against them for the sake of someone he cherished.

[manicmanuscription]

Hi there! I have a request for a ff if you’re still taking suggestions. I would love to read a ff of Azriel x Mate!reader and they decide to keep their relationship private from the IC, (Maybe because of the whole Elain situation, I’ll leave it up to you!)and maybe they have a little baby aswell! And the IC end up finding out and want to get to know Azriel’s family. Sorry if this is so bad, feel free to ignore if you hate the request xx

Weight

A/N: Hi Love! I'm so fucking sorry for how long this request took me to get too! I genuinely love it but it took me forever to decide which direction to go in I swear I rewrote it like four times so I hope you like the version I ended up with! Thank you for request <3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 1584

Warnings/Tags: Angst, IC Fighting, Rhysand lowkey painted as bad guy (but it's only for plot don't come after me that's my husband.) Happy/Hopeful Ending

Summary: Azriel has hidden his daughter and mate from his family but an accidental run in in Velaris ruins it all.

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

The door to my shared bedroom with my mate opened with a soft click. Yet I knew he was coming the second he set foot in our home. The spymaster himself purposefully made his footsteps loud enough for me to not be startled and yet not too loud in case I was resting. 

I had been sleeping a lot during this pregnancy. The physical aspect of carrying our second born is much harder than carrying our first, and I was barely pregnant. I forced my eyes open in the dim room, wanting to lay my sight on the male that had captured my heart entirely no matter how tired I was. 

Azriel smiled softly when his gaze met mine and he quickly and quietly put his coat away before sliding under the massive amount of blankets I was buried under. “Hi.” I murmured my voice raspy from sleep as Azriel adjusted us so that I was halfway laying on his chest, one of my legs thrown around his and the slight baby bump barely poking him in the stomach. His hand's immediately finding my belly and resting there.

“Hi.” He whispered back and I immediately tilted my head to look up at him at the slight shift in his voice.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, concern layering my tone. 

Azriel just huffed a sad laugh under his breath as he gave me a rare smile. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “My observant little mate, you know me so well. Did I wake you?”

“No you didn’t. Azriel, tell me what’s wrong?” I panicked pushing myself up further so I could look at him properly. Something was…off about him. From the exhausted way he carried himself to bed, the way he had tugged me impossibly close and breathed me in as if it was his last time. 

I knew he had spent the whole day with our daughter before dropping her off at my sister’s for a sleepover so I could have a peaceful night but the way he was acting- especially after the hurt I’d felt from him early in the day only to have him shut me out-

“Nothing’s wrong my love, everyone’s safe and ok.” Azriel assured me, repeating the words over and over again until my breathing evened and he placed a comforting kiss on the inside of my wrist before holding my hands close to his chest and pushing me to lay back down all cozied up next to him. These hormones were going to kill me.

“Ayanna and I ran into my family this evening.” Azriel started and my chest cracked open. No wonder he was so sad. Azriel loved and cared about his family deeply but ever since we’d met he’d taken extra care to make sure I stayed hidden from his family.

Rhysand had used Azriel’s own loyalty and respect towards him to make him leave the middle Acheron sister alone and it had completely broken him. It had only cemented the self doubt running rampant through his mind. Adding another layer to his hardened and yet sensitive heart. 

It had shattered the new couple before it even started and Azriel had vowed to keep his High Lord’s orders to himself despite the devastation it caused to himself and Elain. Elain was almost as good as my mate in hiding her emotions but not nearly enough and Azriel had cursed himself even further. Because in his mind he was the monster that had crushed the innocent girl in his brutally bloody hands. 

I had worked a lot with Azriel over his insecurities and self doubt. The male had barely even touched me when we first met, terrified he would scar another beautiful thing but I had coaxed him out of his shell and his family was something I could never really talk to him about, he shut down and went to a dark space that took days to get him out of. 

In reality Azriel was terrified you’d be taken away from him, ordered halfway across the continent, just one day waking up and you and your beautiful daughter would just be gone? And there was a chance it could’ve been Rhysand’s fault? Or his own?

He loved his family, he loved his brother’s with every fiber of his being. But in the end his terror won, old wounds speaking louder than logic because he couldn’t handle it if there was even the slightest possibility Rhysand made the only good thing disappear from his life, because Gods he wouldn’t survive it and the world around him would shatter under his wrath. 

I traced my fingertips underneath Azriel’s shirt, trailing soothing touches down those muscled abs until he came back to me. Clearly stuck in his own head. “How’d it go?” I asked. 

“Horrible.” His voice cracked and my heart ached at the sound, mating bond screaming at me to do something other than just snuggle in bed. But I knew Azriel just as well as he knew me, instead of pressing him for more information I placed a gentle kiss on the juncture of his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He’d talk when he was ready.

A few minutes passed by until I heard the pain in his deep voice echo around the room again. “They were…angry. At me once they figured out Ayanna was my daughter. They were hurt and asking me why I didn’t tell them-” He paused, swallowing. “The look on Cassian and Rhysand’s faces-” 

A few tears rolled down his cheek. The only other time I’ve seen the Shadowsinger cry was at our mating ceremony and the birth of our daughter. I brushed them away with the pads of my thumbs as he continued. 

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. The betrayal on every single one of their faces. Ayanna was just confused of course, tugging on my shirt and hiding away. The shadows hid her from view and it only worsened the situation. Cassian accused me of not trusting him. I just felt so…ambushed so I let down my shields and threw everything I’d been feeling at Rhysand and Feyre.”

“I didn’t even stick around to hear the aftermath. Just went to the park for a few hours with Aya to cool down.”

“Nesta found you?” I presumed. The Lady of Death having grown quite close to my mate in the House of Wind. He nodded, continuing the rest of the story. Apparently Feyre had shared the information with the family and had promptly yelled at her mate for a few hours. 

They’d all been hurt and angry at Azriel, at each other, and at Rhysand. Cassian and Mor having been the most bent out of shape, stinging even worse with how close they were.

I offered to talk more about it even as my eyelids were unwillingly drooping lower and lower. He just chuckled, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a strong kiss before he ushered me back to sleep once again. 

——————————————

A soft knock echoed throughout the house and I left the tea table,, leaving Azriel to enjoy the outrageously sweet tea my daughter had made, she obviously got her sweet tooth from him. 

“I’m assuming your Cassian and Mor.” I said by way of greeting as soon as I pulled the heavy oak door open. I knew the Inner Circle would come crawling out of the cracks after a few days and it warmed my heart to see and meet some of Azriel’s closest friends. 

“And you’re my brother’s mate.” Cassian breathed out, Mor still finding her words next to him. “The one and only.” I joked with a small hand flourish that did nothing to defuse the tense air suffocating us. Grief etched into the fae’s very faces. “Can we come in?” Morrigan asked clearing her throat. 

“Are you here to fight with him?” I questioned in return. A wince crossed over Cassian’s pained face. “Gods no, we just- we want to talk.”

I smiled softly, it was time for my mate to reunite with his family, to fully be present with them and stop hiding behind his indifferent facade. “He’s playing with Aya in the kitchen.” 

Cassian practically rushed inside as soon as I opened the door wider, the male wearing his heart on his sleeve and I could see how much this entire ordeal affected him. Mor stepped in the threshold with more caution, taking a deep breath as she faced me.

“Rhysand and Feyre would’ve come you know but-”

“But if you bombard Azriel then he’ll shut down and pull away?” she chuckled half-heartedly, sparing a longing glance in the direction Cassian had gone. “Sounds like Az.”

“He didn’t want this to happen, none of us did.” She whispered softly. I knew she was talking about the High Lord and I nodded in understanding even though Rhysand and I would definitely be hashing it out later. “I know.”

Mor took a steadying breath and walked by, allowing me to finally shut the front door. Before she rounded the kitchen she turned to me once again. Pulling a brand new plush teddy bear out of whatever pocket realm she kept it in. “For Ayanna. Whenever you and Azriel are ready for us to meet her.” 

I smiled, taking the gift and following the blonde into the kitchen, I knew without words that Azriel didn’t want to properly introduce our daughter until everything was resolved with his family despite the accidental meeting yesterday and I gave the fae’s their space. He’d already sent the three year old upstairs and I gave Azriel a quick kiss on the cheek before making my way up there as well. 

[lyssasdrafts]

unrequited love (part 2) — azriel x reader

description: (part 1) azriel realizes you’ve been avoiding him, he confronts you and the mating bond snaps between the both of you.

includes: angst with a happy ending, mating bond, emotional azriel

@cumuluscranium @anuttellaa @cupidojenphrodite @saltedcoffeescotch @tele86 asked to be tagged for pt2 !!

azriel didn’t deserve a mate.

he never once bothered to consider himself as someone who could be loved. he wasn’t beautiful or charismatic like rhysand, he wasn’t strong or resilient like cassian. azriel was the boy who had grown up in isolation. the boy who never once saw the light outside his window. the boy who was left alone in that cold cellar for so many years, who had the scars to show for it. who could ever love someone with a past like that?

azriel knew he wasn’t easy to be around. he saw the way that you shivered when you first met him, the way your gaze always drifted whenever it met his eyes. was he really that intimidating? azriel saw the way you hesitated around him, how nervous you were when he spoke. he felt the way you stared at him whenever you thought he wasn’t watching. for whatever reason, it made his heart beat faster whenever you did that.

you were just one of the many people he’s probably scared. azriel knew he could be quite uninviting towards the people around him . even when he tried to start any conversations, the way the words became dry on his lips and his voice left his throat felt discouraging.

his friends always laughed and talked around him while he reluctantly nodded along and gave small smiles. his family, his friends. azriel sometimes wondered why they stayed with him for long, the centuries they spent as a court blurring together and they still never urged him. they never overstepped his boundaries, perhaps because they didn’t care enough, or perhaps they knew he wouldn’t talk about it. but perhaps that was a good thing. nobody questioned the dark look in his eyes whenever he came back from his missions, rhysand just nodded and told him that he did a good job, moving on to his other high lord responsibilities.

azriel watched as rhysand taught his son how to fly, the way his friend grinned proudly whenever nyx stretched out his tiny wings. he found it within himself to smile at the sight of them too, despite the feeling that something heavy weighed in his heart, something that weighed his every movement.

azriel took a glance at the childhood that he never had, the one that he never will have, he corrected. azriel would never forget the days he’d spent alone, trapped in that dark cellar. he wondered if the light within his eyes that slowly dimmed each moment that passed would ever return. perhaps it was unfair for azriel to wish for someone to make it come back. it was unfair for him to ever wish himself upon anyone.

he was reminded of all this again when cassian had asked you about having a mate, to which you softly answered “no.” at least that made the both of you.

“what about you, azriel?” you asked him. the glint in your eyes, your pretty smile, it took everything within himself to say no to you. he stared at you for a moment before giving his response, as sharply as possible.

“i don’t have a mate,” azriel said coldly. “and i don’t want one.”

you nodded politely in response, the smile suddenly fading from your lips. you glanced at cassian, seeming uneasy. he watched as cassian walked you home, feeling a pang of envy in his chest that you hadn’t trusted him instead. azriel shook off the feeling, perhaps there had just been something wrong with him that day.

and since then, azriel began noticing your quiet absences from his life. he heard the wind carry away your laughter from afar, he witnessed the way you joked and smiled as usual at training. whenever he came around though, it would be dead silent. azriel once met your gaze everyday at training, only for you to start looking at the ground now when speaking to him.

he didn’t know he started envisioning you whenever he closed his eyes, how your words echoed through his mind when he was supposed to be asleep. he didn’t realize how attached he was to your presence, how much he longed for you.

azriel had always known longing. azriel longed to feel comforted, to feel loved. to be touched and held with the intimacy that he only watched his brothers feel with their own mates. but somehow, he only wanted it to be you. it was strange, the way his feelings gravitated towards you.

he needed to confront this, he needed to confront his own attraction towards you and why you had ignored him.

he tried seeking you out after practice, but instead you kept walking away, turning away at the sight of him only for him to find you again in another room alone. azriel leaned against the door frame, blocking your exit so that he could speak with you.

“you’re avoiding me,” azriel said.

your eyes widened in shock at first, you hadn’t realized he would even notice you. your face twists, “i haven’t been. you just don’t seem interested-”

“did i do something wrong?” his voice shifted, his tone softened. azriel looked down on you with his hazel eyes, pleading for something, anything. you gave him a glare before muttering a quick, “no,” and walking towards the door.

he grabbed your wrist, a chill went down his spine. the moment stopped for both of you, simply staring at each other in silence. the realization flashed before him as he looked into your eyes, how they stared up at him in anticipation.

azriel suddenly felt that tug on his heart, the same one that connected him to you. that explained the attraction, the longing, the desire that he felt for you. you were the other half to his broken, fractured heart. the tears stinging in his eyes clouded his vision but he still moved his hand to wipe your own tears off your face.

“you’re my mate,” he whispered to the world. but more importantly, to you.

it suddenly occurs to him that you knew. you knew he was your mate. you had sensed it before he could and tried to ask him. but instead of returning your feelings, azriel had shut you out. you can’t bring yourself to do anything other than repeat his name to yourself.

“azriel,” you say softly before you let yourself fall onto his chest. he wraps his arm around you, his newfound mate, the missing piece of him.

he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, his scared hands still trembling to touch you. it had been his touch that sparked the bond to snap for you. “i’m sorry,” azriel muttered. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

you shake your head at his words, letting him know he shouldn’t apologize for anything. you hug azriel back, breathing in the feeling of having your mate with you.

“you’re not…” he begins, “you’re not afraid of me?” the hesitancy in his voice, a vulnerability that he’s never shown before. azriel wondered about what you would think of him if you knew about his past, his story, the reasons behind the scars on his body and the memories he tried so desperately to forget.

had he really deserved your love? you were so bright and joyful, lighting up any room you walked into. azriel had believed that he would only dull your light, that he would hold you back. he had never intended to reject you, but he would still loathe himself for the time to come for doing so.

you cup his face with your hands before looking into his eyes, “you never scared me, azriel.”