#rain after solstice

[shypaintervoid]

There will be drought in the ides of June, and disease. It will be a hard year.

[dinosaurchurch]

Just some of the flowers I took photos of in Austria during my family vacation last summer. A lot of these were in around the Mirabel Palace Gardens and were lovely to see. I really enjoyed the older part of Salzburg, definitely something I recommend people get the chance to witness for themselves at least once. There's a lot to do, enough that what me and my family had planned took us roughly two days.

I'm happy to say that this is the first day of spring. I'm looking forward to the warmer weather (although not the summer heatwaves), it'll be a good time to witness everything coming into full bloom again.

Cheers!

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

Uh guys

GUYS

[rainworld-cycle-of-slugcats]

Is their any others that we haven't found? If their is could we pls get a hint towards finding them?

Solstice: I'm presuming you mean ocs? Well there's Alice, Eg Eater, Mossy, Spark, and more. I'd recommend asking some of the iterator's or just doing an ask that could be for anyone, since some ocs are with iterators and some are with none of the rw crew.

Solstice: As for the counter... you'll find out

[8/10]

[strixludica]

The unappreciated art of making mecha look inhuman

Something I noticed lately, by browsing lots of lancer homebrew and fanart and comparing it to the official art, is that a lot of third party artists, across levels of artistic competence, made mechs that looked plain to me for a reason I couldn't pin down. Again, this was only weakly correlated with other metrics for artistic quality, like posing, shading, and linework. After comparing them closely with other art that didn't give me that vibe and art from 1st party material, I realized what gave me that feeling: their mechs looked too human; they looked like they could be convincingly portrayed by a person in a costume.

If you look closely at official Lancer art and the best fanart, you will notice there are always details making sure the subject is unequivocably a giant robot and not a person in sci-fi armor.

One strange but effective way this is achieved is the legs: each manufacturer has one or more distinct style of legs, with the only overlap being between SSC and RKF (which makes sense because SSC has close ties tot he Baronies). Let's go through them and see what about them makes sure you know this is a mech:

Smith-Shimano Corpro + Royal Karrakin Foundries: SSC has three kinds of lower limbs: the Horse Leg, which they share with RKF; the Foot Without Heel, and the Anatomically Correct Human Leg With Toes.

The Horse Leg is not only obviously inhuman, but also obviously unnatural, bacause no biped would be able to move properly standing on horse hooves: it would be like contantly doing a ballerina tip-walk using clown shoes; that is something only a mechanical device assisted by top-of-the-line automatic balancing could achieve.

The Heel-less foot, due to being used almost only for their spider-mechs Death's Head and Swallowtail, has little dehumanization work to do, but it does cover that function when used on the Dusk Wink, which *is* in fact a person in power armour, but still the artist took care of reminding us of how mechanical it is, by giving it feet which have little in common with boots or any other footwear. The Toed Leg seems, at first, to be the opposite of dehumanizing: it looks the most like an actual human bodypart, it feeds into SSCs fetishization of the Human Form (phrasing entirely intended). However, that is also the reason why it very clearly shows the Monarch and Mourning Cloak are robots: because no suit of armor would ever look like a naked leg; this level of anatomical fidelity only makes sense for something mechanical, whose skin *is* armor and as such doesn't need to cover itself.

Horus: Horus is mostly the easy one, with how most of the art gives their mechs beastly paws and hooves, gecko-like foot pads, or long, amphibian fingers whose vague semblance to human hands only contrasts with the blatantly monstous shapes of the Pegasus and Gorgon. However, they have four mechs portaryed with human-like legs.

The Hydra has little need to mask its mechanical nature, but the Lich commits the grave sin of being clothed, one of the biggest risk factor in making mechs look like dudes in armor. To counteract this problem, it's feet have two very evident inhuman characteristics: they have only two long, slender toes, and they touch the ground only with their futhest tarsus, in a way that makes it obvious they aren't bearing any actual weight, as if both Lich and Hydra were alway hovering a couple feet above the ground and used their feet only to skip along it, like a venetian boatman might do with their pole.

The other two exceptions are the Calendula, which being an RKF design has their trademark horse legs, and the Kobold, which already looks inarguably like a robot thanks to the barrel shae of its main body, the Horus-patented Pikey Blobs Aesthetic(tm), but still has feet with actual toes, which achieve the same effect as those from SSC.

GMS: For the longest time, GMS did not have art at all, but let's look at the [G] Type Everest from Op. Solstice Rain:

While the Boot with Auxiliary Side-Toes shape of the foot could potentially belong to a suit of armor, if we look up at the knee it's a different story: look at the slabs on either side of the joint which restrict it to one degree of freedom, as opposed to the frontal protection typical of armor for humans; look at the opposite bends of hip and shin, which almost makes the leg look digitgrade. Inequivocably robotic despite the clearly humanistic design. However, the lower parts of mechs are not the only way their design is dehumanized: we come now to Inter Planetary Shipping - Northstar and Harrison Armory, and in a curious inversion they take the opposite approach.

Although some legs of IPS-N mechs use the above principle (the Blackbeard's angular feet whose toes almost look like retractable claws, Drake's heel-less boots, and Lancaster and Kidd's SPOT-like hooves), a lot of their mecha have quite human-looking armoured boots. HA goes a step further, likely due to a deliberate stylistic choice stemming from the anthrochauvinist ideals: Their mechs look very much like armoured warriors, often even with little skirts like the Iskander or Sherman or reinforced *baltei* like Genghis and Tokugawa. With one important exception: their head.

IPS-N has a very distinctive One-Eyed Cylinder with Another Eye on the Top shape for their mecha, it's probably a deliberate par of their brand; it sees some variation like Drake's looking more liek a helmeted facemask and Stortebecker's tricorn, but even Lancaster and Kidd have a sort of vestigial head on the front with a single eye coming out of a slit.

HA's mecha have greater variation, but nevertheless for all that their body is as human-shaped as possible, their heads are always distinctly not: Barbarossa has a flat prism with a this transparent section on top, looking more like the control tower of an aircraft carrier than a head; Genghis, Tokugawa, and Gilgamesh both have canopies recessed into their bodies; Napoleon also has a barely-extruding canopy with a strange shape and covered in Blinkshield emitters that make it look like a bug-eyed little freak; Sherman is quite literally built around having a cannon for a face; and Sunzi has its drum-looking Blinkspace device. The only HA mech that has a "head" region separate from the rest of the body is Saladin, and even then it's a flat cylinder with a rectangular window in the middle: a design which would never work as a helmet but makes sense as a rotatitng cockpit with a canopy.

The observant among you will have notice that I left out four mechs: Nelson, Vlad, Enkidu, and Iskander. That is admittedly because they are those whose design asserts its inhumanity the least.

Of the first two, despite Nelson committing the sin of clothing, it also compensates hard by leaving a gap in its tabard to show the hatch for the pilot, while Vlad unfortunately does not, and with the weirldy human-looking eye, if there wasn't a pilot for scale one might legitimately not know it's a robot without context.

Iskander is the one mech in the entire Compendium which can be cosplayed without altering its proportion: cyclopism aside, this could be a person in future armor.

Enkidu also has a look which could work just as well for a human-scale cyborg, but given that it's a deliberate statement of intent it gets a pass. At the very least it's elongated head and pad-less feet make it obvious that this is not a person in armor.

Conclusion:

Although I cannot prove it without some double-blind polls, I think one of the secrets to a good mech design is making it look not only obviously like a robot, but also giving it pose, proportions, and details such that it would look big not just on a white background with no context, but that if you tried to shrink it and put it in a scene as though it was more or less the size of a person, people would realize that it's supposed to be larger.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Eight — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Everything is starting to get on top of reader and tensions rise. Azriel takes a trip to Fenlaros and comes away with a headache. Cassian does what Cassian does best. A friendly face swoops in to save the day.

Word count: 8.3k.

Warnings: A little freaky deaky 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

Azriel’s kiss is a burning brand.

It’s fire and ice and earth and rain. It tastes like freshly set snow, and it feels like the refined touch of a steeled warrior.

He kisses you like he aches for you. He pulls his hands away only to remove his gloves and chuck them aside, and then he’s clasping your face once more, skin on skin. He’s always so warm — a part of him you’ve missed.

And a part of him that drives you to kiss him back with barely any hesitation.

This — his mouth on yours — feels like the answer to a riddle you’ve been puzzling out for days, weeks, months, years. You’re gasping for air, and his tongue is sliding between your lips, and his taste overpowers you so thoroughly that you think it could break something inside of you.

There isn’t much furniture left in here. A few scattered tables, a shelf or two hanging off the wall. Not much to work with, and yet it doesn’t matter, because you and Azriel will have each other however you can. You’ve spent a lifetime making do with whatever you’ve got. This is no different.

Azriel’s hands fall down to your hips, and he’s lifting you so abruptly that a yelp leaves you and lands straight on his lips. Your arms loop around his neck, and he’s fastening your legs at his waist and stumbling with you — stumbling towards one of those old tables. A plume of dust erupts around you as he sets you down and slots himself between your legs.

“I fucking miss you.” He groans, grabbing your face. “I miss…us.”

You feel so many things. There’s no chance to sort through them, verbalise them, before his mouth slants over yours again. He’s hungry, needy. Hot and sinful. This Azriel is a far cry from the one who coyly confessed to his inexperience. This Azriel writes poetry onto your lips and paints masterpieces on your tongue. He kisses like eternal happiness depends on it. He kisses as though he’s been an artful lover for centuries.

He’s been practicing, the thought pops into your head.

Not with me, the realisation follows.

And that feels like being thrown stark-naked into the snow. It’s not a nice feeling — to realise that Azriel may be treating you to skill refined elsewhere. Not when you think about kissing him more than you’d like to admit to yourself. Does it make you a gods-damned hypocrite after what you did with Cassian? Perhaps.

But none of this — not one bit of it — is reasonable, or rational, or logical.

All you know is that your stomach lurches suddenly, violently, at the thought of where else Azriel’s lips might have been. And that’s all it takes for you to shove him away.

He stares at you, wide-eyed. Perplexed.

“I needed you.” You pant, the words tumbling from you in a flurry of charged emotion. You’re not sure you planned to say it. “On Solstice — I needed you.”

Azriel’s face changes in the blink of an eye. The hunger is gone, replaced by…something else. “Y/N—”

“I needed you, and you weren’t there. You promised me.”

“I know I did. And I’m sorry—”

“Did you even think of me?” It’s awkward, but you try to scramble back on the table. You just…need that distance right now. “Did you not wonder how I might be doing, how my day might be playing out in that hellish house, before you jumped into bed with Kaeda?”

“We didn’t—”

“Did you think of me?”

“Y/N, of course I thought of you.” He tries to clamp down on your legs, but you’re moving further away, damn near falling off the table in your efforts. “But you — you said you would come and find me. I waited for you—I—”

You’re really not sure if it’s a strangled sob or a choked laugh that fights its way up your throat. Perhaps it’s both. The sound of it is jarring, and it echoes around the armoury and reminds you of where you find yourself right now. The situation you’re in. How different things might be had Kaeda not come onto the scene.

“You waited for me?” You repeat, righting yourself. “And—what? Did you get bored? How do you think it felt, Azriel, when I came to find you — the only person I wanted to fucking be around in that moment — and you were busy with Kaeda on top of you? As if I needed my heart breaking any more that night.”

You hate it — hate it so viscerally that the words won’t stop coming. That you’re bringing your heart into this and allowing it to be stomped on again. Your eyes are watering, and you turn quickly before Az can see.

For a moment, he says and does absolutely nothing. And then he takes a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me. Believe me, I am.” He says. There’s another step. Another. He’s hovering at your back and you know he’s wondering whether he should reach out and touch you. “But, Y/N…you encouraged me to pursue things with Kaeda. Am I to apologise for that?”

You blink at his words so abruptly that your tears spill down your cheeks.

Now you’re laughing.

It’s a humourless laugh — a hysterical one. It breaks from you in a series of fractured, incredulous noises. At least the emotion boils your blood so thoroughly that it warms you from the inside.

“Apologise?” You round on Azriel, balling your fists at your sides. “No. You don’t need to fucking apologise. But you also don’t need me to practice on anymore, do you?”

He clamps down on his jaw, a telltale muscle moving. “I didn’t kiss you for that—”

“You kissed me because you miss me. Because I am…I’m just a security blanket, aren’t I? I’m what’s familiar, and you’re used to being around me, and having distance between us has fooled you into thinking that you want to kiss me.”

“No—”

“But you’ll kiss me…and make me feel good..and then the novelty will fucking wear off, and you’ll be running straight back to Kaeda because she is who you’ve wanted all along. Not me. Never me.”

“Cauldron, Y/N, will you just let me speak?!”

No.

You will not.

You can’t.

You can’t do this. You can’t break in front of him. You refuse to.

You want to sound strong, and sure, and unbothered, but you open your mouth, and the words are watery and broken. Weak.

“No.” You swallow a lump down. “No, I won’t. Just…just go, Az. I need some time.”

“We’ve spent the last week apart. That’s plenty of fucking time—”

“Go! Go back to Kaeda. Stop…stop pretending like this could play out any other way. It can’t. It won’t.”

“I’m not leaving on an unresolved fight. You and I don’t do that.”

You are far too beaten down to discuss this any longer. You shrug, and the gesture is an effort in itself. “I’m not sure I know what either of us do or don’t do anymore. Things have changed. Go.”

“Y/N—”

“Go!”

Finally, it seems to dawn on him — the realisation that you’re serious. You won’t be discussing this tonight. You’re not strong enough for that yet.

He falters a moment longer, so clearly not wanting to walk away. The two of you have never been like this. You can fight like the best of friends do, but you’ve always made the effort to resolve things, to not part on a bad word.

But things are different, now. You know it. Az knows it.

“…Fine.” He rasps after a long stint of silence. “I’ll go.”

You nod. If he’s expecting you to suddenly change your mind, he’ll be gravely disappointed.

His eyes sweep you once more, and then he’s turning. Dragging his feet to the door like a kicked animal.

“Az?” You call quietly, and he stops.

The hope in his eyes as he looks over his shoulder almost breaks your resolve. Almost, but not quite. “Yes?”

“Send Cassian next time.”

He doesn’t deign to reply.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel is not well-versed in the world of dinner parties and propriety.

He has a few decent shirts he reserves for special occasions — like when Rhys’s mother cooks a nice meal, and he and the others dress up out of respect.

Y/N would laugh herself hoarse if she could see him right now.

A thought that stings almost as much as the intense, burning gaze of Tathaln Baralas, Lord of Fenlaros.

He’s a mammoth, domineering presence at the head of the dinner table, seeming to command every bite that each person takes of their food, every sip of their wine. It’s silent unless he speaks. It’s tense because he makes it tense.

He watches Azriel as though he’s going to finish his food and then take a bite out of the shadowsinger himself. Az’s shadows are taut around him, not wanting to make a spectacle of their brilliance. The dinner so far has felt like one big, held breath.

But finally, Tathaln clears his throat, and Kaeda and her brothers sit up straight. Az does the same.

“I trust your friends have fared well since your little adventure in my camp.” The Lord addresses Azriel. “I hope the punishment wasn’t too severe. I did many similar things in my youth — though I can’t say I was ever quite so bold as to venture into a rival territory.”

Azriel inclines his head slightly. “I wanted to apologise again — for what happened. Things got out of hand.”

“I’m partly to blame, father, as you know.” Kaeda adds. Azriel damn near jumps out of his seat as her hand lands on his thigh beneath the table. “It was my idea to invite my friends from Windhaven. An oversight, perhaps, on my part. I was eager to show Azriel what Fenlaros has to offer.”

Tathaln seems to think on that as he chews his food. He washes it down with a gulp of wine and reaches for the carafe to refill his glass. The whole thing feels like somewhat of a performance, and nobody speaks a word as it plays out.

This family dynamic is…odd. Not that Azriel has much experience where normal family dynamics are concerned. But there’s a formality with which Kaeda and her brothers — not that the two males have breathed a word this entire meal — address their flesh and blood. Like he is their Lord first, and father second.

And that isn’t unusual for Illyrians — not at all. Offspring are, more often than not, treated like a prospective trophy to be paraded in front of competing families. The fiercer, more ruthless the child is, the prouder the parent will be. It’s a brutal, ugly way of living that never changes, no matter how many generations stack up.

But perhaps Azriel is at fault for having too high an expectation. Perhaps he shouldn’t ever have been fooled by Kaeda’s wings and spirit being left intact, unlike most females around her.

Tathaln is a puppeteer, and Kaeda and her brothers are his dutiful puppets.

“There was no particular harm done.” The Lord eventually says — rather reasonable, for an Illyrian. “I imagine you received a stern talking to. Revoked privileges, perhaps?”

“Lord Devlon saw fit to lecture us, yes.” Azriel concurs with a nod. “But besides that, we weren’t really handed any punishment. It was my friend, Y/N, who bore the brunt of his wrath. She’s been forced into homelessness as a result.”

A sudden, sharp kick lands on Az’s leg from beside him. He glances at Kaeda in his periphery, eyes the fierce expression with which she looks at him. It seems to be communicating, don’t bring this up now.

But Az wants to bring it up. He’s pissed off; more so than he initially thought. At himself, mostly, and at Devlon, at Rhys’s father, maybe even a little at Kaeda — at everyone really.

Tathaln pauses, his fork mid-air. And then he sits back. “Right — the girl that was here. Why has she been made homeless?”

Girl. It’s a sneer of a word in Illyrian mouths. Azriel has to clamp down on his jaw and remind himself that confronting the sexism that runs through their veins is a fruitless task in that moment.

And Kaeda sighs at his side. As if she’d rather be talking in great detail about the roasting of a boar, than about Y/N.

But it answers a question that’s been rattling around in Azriel’s mind all evening — that no, Kaeda had clearly not mentioned Y/N to her father, as she said she would.

“Her father kicked her out on Solstice.” Az explains. “He’s not a good male, to say the least. Y/N was living with myself and my friends, but after the events that unfolded here in Fenlaros, she was sworn off having any contact with us, because Lord Devlon seems to think that she’s the driving force behind any and every bad choice we make. She has nowhere else to go. It’s…worrying.”

“Perhaps she’ll think twice before wandering into rival camps.” Finally, one of Kaeda’s brothers speaks. Arlen, Azriel thinks his name is. Clearly the idiot doesn’t see the irony of his statement.

Or perhaps Kaeda doesn’t have to adhere to the rules that every other female is strictly held under.

“Arlen.” The Lord shoots him a warning glance. He turns back to Azriel. “I would argue that Lord Devlon is full of shit.”

Azriel stops. Blinks. That…that’s not what he was expecting.

“How so, father?” Kaeda’s brow furrows.

“It’s his job to keep the soldiers under his command in line, no?” Tathaln’s dark, feline eyes are assessing Azriel as he speaks — seeming to read his response. “If he finds that a single female is the cause of such disruption, perhaps it is himself he should look at. He can’t be a great leader if he has to resort to such extremes just to keep his soldiers under control, now, can he?”

Az stares back at him. The question is meant for him, but it all seems too…too easy. Reason and logic are simply not a common thing among these people. The words sound almost…false. Forced.

“No.” Azriel agrees. “I suppose not.”

“Do you find him to be an adequate leader?”

“I’ve never known any different.”

Tathaln’s mouth tips up. “That isn’t what I asked.”

No, it isn’t. But this is a fine line Azriel is treading. He positively despises Lord Devlon — thinks him an arrogant brute who uses his title to flout camp laws and customs and turn everything in his favour. Not to mention the fact that he and his cronies are so clearly threatened by Az, Rhys and Cass — an undoubtedly formidable trio. Azriel is sure that if Devlon had his way, the three of them would be slung out by their necks. Or hung by them.

But his personal feelings towards the Lord of Windhaven doesn’t change the fact that openly disrespecting him — and to the lord of another camp — is a huge dishonour. One that could blow up in Azriel’s face if this conversation were to somehow make its way back to Devlon. He has to choose his words carefully.

“He has a method of leadership that I can’t say I’m in agreement with.” Gods, he is the epitome and personification of diplomacy, if he does say so himself. Ten points to the shadowsinger. “I’m not sure that using his power to target vulnerable females was ever part of his job description. I’m sure, as a father to a female of the same age, you can see where I’m coming from.”

Tathaln takes another pensive sip of his wine. He inclines his head. “Indeed, I do. I think it’s terrible leadership. And I think you’re wasted in Windhaven.”

“I appreciate that, my lord.”

“There is no need for modesty, Azriel, the shadowsinger.” As he speaks, the Lord’s eyes inch towards those very shadows. He studies them with a strange expression that looks almost like…hunger. “Do you know why I sent my Kaeda to your camp? I may as well admit, I have an agenda.”

Azriel glances at Kaeda. She’s staring at her plate, shoulders squared. “Oh?”

“I sent her there to scope out the quality of the units that are being trained in the Windhaven Camp. My sons were sent on similar missions to other camps — Camp Theriel, Camp Steelshore, Camp Aruin. The consensus of what was reported back to me regarding each camp was that potential is not being filled. Quite frankly, a mockery is being made of Illyrians by the poor training of these legions. If war was waged tomorrow, half of our race could be wiped out.”

Bold, bold words.

Azriel finds himself stunned silent.

“We are Illyrians, no?” A thick, callused finger traces the rim of Tathaln’s chalice. “We are a warrior race. We have birthed some of the fiercest warriors in Prythian’s history and decimated tens of thousands across battlefields. And yet, it would seem, these days, that our camps are producing fewer warriors, and far more lazy, unambitious brutes who care only about drinking and fighting and fucking. Our reputation could be destroyed yet.”

This is…bizarre, Az thinks.

He also thinks that it’s a little unfair. He’s the last person to ever defend the creatures around him that are supposedly his brethren, but he also thinks that Tathaln’s assessment is wildly exaggerated.

Illyrians drink, yes, and fight, yes, and fuck, yes. But they do so in between harsh, gruelling training. They drink to forget the brutal nature of their life’s work. They fight each other because they’re just as angry as one another, and that needs an outlet. They seek pleasure, because it’s one of the few good things to be found in these parts.

Their training is not for the faint of heart. You train well, or you die. It’s that simple.

And if Tathaln, Lord of Fenlaros, truly has such concerns, Azriel doesn’t understand why the fuck they’re being presented to him, of all people.

“Is this something you’ve raised with the High Lord?” He asks — he isn’t sure he even means to say it.

Kaeda tenses beside him, and Az wonders if, perhaps, he’s overstepped the mark. But Tathaln seems somewhat pleased by the question — seems pleased that Azriel is engaged in the discussion.

“It is.” The male answers. “And I think he finds himself agreeable to what I’ve had to say. However, I haven’t yet presented my solution — what I believe to be the right course of action.”

Az takes the bait. “Which is what?”

“Eventually,” Tathaln says, “I would do away with the individual camps entirely. I would have one, sole camp to train Illyrian warriors, overseen by the most powerful members of our race. Members with rare, unique powers who can draw on the Illyrian potential and make our people what we were always supposed to be. What we once were, before we became too complacent. Better, even.”

And just like that, it makes sense that Tathaln is sharing such things with Az.

Rare, unique powers. Powers like that of a shadowsinger. So incredibly unique that Azriel has never met another of his kind.

Tathaln has ambition — he covets power. He has a vision that needs backing.

It’s like everything suddenly clicks into place in Azriel’s mind.

He finds himself looking at Kaeda, not her father. Finds himself wondering if she ever had genuine interest in him, or if that interest came entirely from Tathaln. Finally, she lifts her gaze to his, and she wears a strange, pleading look.

“Don’t get me wrong, shadowsinger.” Tathaln says. “This is not a goal that could be achieved overnight. Power takes time to build. I couldn’t take this idea to the High Lord without something to back it up — something to get him on side.”

Azriel shrugs. “But what would you have me do? I’m just a soldier in training—”

“You are a shadowsinger. Do you even realise what an asset that makes you? Perhaps your poor start in life, your mistreatment, has caused you to downplay your potential. But I see it. Your power could be a lethal weapon on a battlefield. And off a battlefield. There is so much you could be doing, and yet Lord Devlon has you landing punches on a sparring dummy and calls it training? You are made for better things than that.”

Praise is…it’s a rare thing, in Azriel’s world. And he doesn’t care about that, because the little praise he does get comes from the people who matter, and that’s all he needs.

But hearing somebody other than his close friends — his family — speak so highly of him, is…new. And he’d be lying if he claimed not to like it.

Still, Tathaln is clearly beating around the proverbial. Azriel almost doesn’t want the discussion to go any further, because his head is already full to the brim with swimming thoughts and close to exploding. But they’ve come this far already; he may as well learn what his role in this bigger agenda would be.

“What is it you want from me, my Lord?” He asks.

A small smile plays on Tathaln’s mouth. His eyes, yet again, are on Azriel’s shadows, rather than Az himself. “As I said, change cannot be made overnight. It would take years — generations, perhaps. I would need enough males — strong males — backing my cause, before the High Lord would even hear of it. But I am a patient male. I know what I want, what is right for Illyria, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen. Starting with strengthening my camp. Being known as the strongest of all camps. And strengthening my influence, too.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“Having your power on my side could be a good thing for me. And I could hone you. I believe this mission starts with you. Abandon Windhaven and take up residence in Fenlaros. Train under my command. Come and see exactly how wasted you are in that place. Come and see what we could build together.”

“You want me to be your pet?” Azriel raises an eyebrow. “Your project?”

“I want to hone your potential and show you what an asset you are. I want Illyrians to be a feared people once more. I want to build the strongest, most powerful army in all of Prythian and make Illyria what it was always supposed to be.”

In the wake of the impassioned speech, silence sweeps in. Azriel is staring at his plate, and he thinks he might be feeling cold all over. There’s a strange tingling at the back of his neck — like a warning sign.

He still doesn’t understand why he’d be integral to such an agenda. He’s a shadowsinger, yes, and that is not to be downplayed, but he’s just Azriel. He’s just an Illyrian who trains to fight, and fights to kill, and to one day be killed. That is simply how it is.

And Windhaven — ugly and cold and harrowing as it is — is his home. His family is there. A cottage that is far too small and cramped to house a group of adults but is always a beacon of light and hope and warmth. A place in which he’s made wonderful memories and felt genuine happiness. He’s happy to tolerate the hellish ways of life around him, because he has beautiful things in front of him.

Beautiful things that wouldn’t follow him to Fenlaros. Yes, he may have broken a rule and breached a camp to attend a party — but doing so under casual circumstances is wildly different to doing so under official ones. As a soldier of Fenlaros — as one of Tathaln’s puppets — he would be expected to adhere to the strict rules and standards that he metes out. Fenlaros would be his territory, and there would be no blurring of those lines.

But could Tathaln really be seeing more potential in Azriel than had ever been noticed before? Could it truly be that Fenlaros has more to offer him? More to be done for him?

“I would be turning my back on everything I know.” Az says, the mere words tasting sour in his mouth. “My loved ones. The family I’ve built. They would be left behind. I’m not under any illusion that you’d allow our two camps to interact if I came here.”

Tathaln dips his chin. “I am not going to sugarcoat that. It would be an adjustment, and a painful one at first. But there is far more for you here, shadowsinger. I simply ask that you consider it. Just as I believe your two brothers would consider it, if I were to present the offer to them.”

“And why haven’t you? Presented it to them? Why me?”

Those dark, calculating eyes swallow him up. “I need a shadowsinger. It starts with you.”

Azriel isn’t even sure what that means, and he doesn’t want to think about it any longer. There’s a lump in his throat. His appetite is well and truly gone. He might even be sick.

He couldn’t possibly leave his family. The thought makes him violently ill.

“As I said, all I ask is for your consideration.” Tathaln watches him. And then his eyes slide to his daughter. “As this meal is clearly over, perhaps Kaeda should show you around Fenlaros. Show you what this place might have to offer. Give the shadowsinger a tour, my sweet.”

Kaeda smiles broadly. “Yes, father.”

Az wants to refuse, but he can’t find the words. Too much is going on in his head. He wants to get out of there and go straight back to Windhaven, where it’s familiar and where love waits for him. He doesn’t want to be a component in a greater agenda.

When he met Kaeda, it was simply about…exploring attraction. About experiencing. Not about this.

But he can’t fucking speak. He stands without telling his body to stand.

And for some reason, when Kaeda slides her hand into his, murmurs a soft “come, Azriel”, he doesn’t protest.

Numb and stunned and sick to his stomach he may be. But he follows.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel isn’t sure if he’s heard a single word that has left Kaeda’s mouth.

She speaks, and yet it’s simply background noise. He can’t hear around the screeching in his head.

He should really just take to the skies and fly home, but perhaps he’s already a puppet — his feet stay on Fenlaros turf. Kaeda guides him around the camp as though the conversation at dinner never happened. She shows him her favourite haunts and introduces him to people whose names he forgets instantly.

It's up on a viewpoint overlooking the camp, just he and Kaeda alone, that he finally releases a slow, weary breath. He folds his arms against the railing and welcomes the cold air biting into his skin. Kaeda stands just a short distance away.

“We call this area the Widow’s Watch.” She says, daring a step closer. “It’s said that centuries ago, at the end of battle, the camp wives would gather up here with firelit torches and await their husbands’ return. If their husband returned, they’d extinguish the torch. Those that were left burning signified who did not return from war.”

Azriel says nothing; isn’t sure he’s capable. He digs his fingers into his arm.

Eventually, Kaeda stops at his side, also bracing her arms on the railing. She looks out over the camp wistfully, as though she can see hordes of wounded soldiers returning home. “I can’t imagine how eerie that sight must have been — the beacons of the dead painting the sky with fire.”

“No,” the agreement leaves the shadowsinger unexpectedly — surprises even him. “Neither can I.”

It’s then that Kaeda angles herself towards him just slightly. He meets her gaze. She’s so very beautiful — the kind of female that artists beg to paint. Her cheekbones are high and defined, her lips full. Her eyes look like shards of glimmering green rock. Never is there a hair out of place. Never a stray lash or smudged rouge. She is, quite simply, a vision.

But Az finds himself wondering if he’s ever known any part of her, or if she’s just following orders.

“I know you must have questions.” She eyes him cautiously.

“So many that my brain can’t keep up.” He takes a small step away. “Have you ever been genuinely interested in me?”

“I have.”

“Your father literally sent you to cozy up to me.”

Her eyes shutter, thick lashes fanning against her skin. “It wasn’t like that, Azriel. I mean — it was, to some degree. You’re right that my father sent me, and that he already had his sights set on you. I work for him. I’m training as his spymaster.” She opens those eyes again — wide. “Yes, he told me to get to know you. But he didn’t say romantically. That was all me. I just…like you.”

Gods, it should feel good, feel like a positive thing, to hear that. To know that the beautiful female he’s been getting to know these past months has genuine interest in him.

But he feels…nothing. No sense of relief. Only the anger that’s still simmering at this entire thing being orchestrated by her father.

“Does it not bother you?” His tone is brusque, sharp, as he stares Kaeda down. “That your father has you do his bidding? You’re a pawn in a game.”

“My father has a vision. It is an honour to serve him, and to be a contributor to that vision eventually coming to fruition. I will not apologise for that.”

“A vision. To create…to create one fucking super camp that he is to oversee? It sounds to me like your father has a hunger for power. Things have worked this way in Illyria for millennia. Why should they be changed now?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “You’re wrong. Things aren’t working. That’s just the problem.”

“You—”

“Are you proud to be an Illyrian, Azriel?” She steps closer to him; perhaps too close. “I’m not. Not with how things are right now. But I want to be. We are a warrior race. We are supposed to train, and fight, and protect. We’re supposed to be formidable. We’re supposed to be feared. But with the way things are going, fewer and fewer of those things are remaining true. If we don’t change how things are run across these camps and light a fire under our soldiers’ asses, half of our people could be wiped out when the next war comes. The Illyrian race could cease to exist entirely, and our legacy will be left at the mercy of rhyme and tale. We can’t allow that to be the case.”

Azriel studies her.

Her passion is…intense, yes, but also strangely beautiful. There’s a ferocity in her eyes that is so rare among a people who live and breathe misery; whose lot in life is to die.

That doesn’t mean, of course, that he appreciates Tathaln’s scheming, nor Kaeda’s. But they’re not exactly wrong in that ambition is a rare commodity these days. Those who can train for the Illyrian army do so because it’s what is expected of them. Those who aren’t cut out for it make do with everyday jobs around camp. Nobody has pride or passion. Nobody is prepared for war.

So Azriel’s shoulders relax just a little, even though his scepticism remains very much present. “I still don’t understand why I am being scouted for this cause, though. Why not take it to the High Lord? Or why not get Rhysand on side?”

Kaeda shakes her head. “As my father explained, we simply don’t have enough backing to go to the High Lord about this idea — not yet. He knows of my father’s opinion and even agrees that things need to change, but such a complex idea requires careful handling. And conspiring with his son about it would surely not put us in his favour.”

“So…what? I’m the next best thing?”

“After Rhysand, you’re the most powerful, yes. Your influence could aid us greatly. I don’t think you realise how highly coveted you are. Every other camp is aware of the fact that Windhaven has a shadowsinger. And they’re equally aware that your abilities aren’t being put to their full potential under Lord Devlon’s command. Changes will be made whether you accept my father’s offer or not, Azriel. But the changes we’re proposing are the best ones. The right ones.”

“I don’t see what’s right about having to leave my friends — my brothers—”

“Gods, Azriel, just…just take the emotion out of this for five seconds and listen to me.”

Az’s jaw clenches. “I am listening.”

“Then hear me clearly. Change is coming. It’s inevitable. And one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that even if you weren’t to come to Fenlaros, you would still be separated from your friends, or your brothers, or whatever you call them.” She hovers close enough to touch, now, mere inches from him. “One thing I’ve picked up on in Windhaven is that Lord Devlon is very intimidated by the strength of you, Cassian and Rhysand being together. The older you get, the more powerful you’re becoming, and people are growing aware of that. Devlon intends to separate the three of you, and by any means necessary. He can’t risk the threat you pose to him. He’ll tear you apart.”

The information doesn’t surprise Az one bit. He’s sensed a growing panic amongst Devlon and his cronies. They don’t stand a chance against the future High Lord and his two closest friends. And Azriel doesn’t doubt that if physical separation didn’t work, the callous bastards would resort to something far, far worse. Or try, at least.

But still, none of this is making any fucking sense to him. He needs a stiff drink. Or twenty. “How would coming to Fenlaros solve that in any way?”

“Beating Devlon at his own game — separating yourself from your brothers — will lure him into a false sense of security. With you gone, it’ll be one less problem to worry about. He’ll let his guard down. Meanwhile, we’ll be building our influence here and forming a case that can be taken to the High Lord. With his support of our changes, we’ll have the power to do more. And then eventually…eventually, your brothers can join you here. When we have more ground to work on. My father would never begrudge the bond the three of you have. He’d see it as a positive…having three such powerful Illyrians under his command.”

Too much to think about. Way, way too much. Azriel just wants to get out of there. He wants to lie down in a dark room and pretend nothing and no one exists.

But he stares at Kaeda. And he asks, “And what of Y/N? Could she come here, too?”

There’s a very slight hesitance — small, but certainly there. But then she purses her lips, and she shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

He’s not sure she means it. And that…that’s a whole other rabbit hole he’s not sure he can face going down right now. Another situation entirely.

Before he can say anything else, Kaeda closes the gap between them. She cups his face and leans up, close enough that their mouths are almost touching.

“Just think about it. That’s all I ask.” She says. “I really do like you, Azriel. And I really do think we could have something. Think of what we could do here, together. Of what we could be. We could make history. Just…promise me you’ll think about it.”

His lips part with a response he hasn’t even thought of. But there’s no chance to speak it as Kaeda slants her mouth over his and kisses him slowly, softly. Deeply.

Her fingers sink into the strands of his hair, and she breathes a muted hum into his mouth. She tastes like peppermint and sugar, and she kisses as though she hasn’t just laid the weight of the world on Azriel’s shoulders.

And that weight might be why he’s stiff as a board, barely reacting. Or it might be the horrible feeling of dread that this is all wrong. He kissed another female, earlier today — and that kiss had felt like burning, eternal sunshine.

This one feels like…like a ploy.

“Just promise me.” She pulls away just enough to whisper. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

There’s no way he can’t think about it. The seeds have been sown. And perhaps he feels a little slither of guilt for how rigid and cold he currently is, because he doesn’t shoot her plea down like he should.

He sucks in a slow breath and inclines his head.

“Okay.” He says. “I’ll think about it.”

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The fucking wall is Azriel’s fucking face.

At least, that’s what the fuck you tell yourself as you send a dagger hurtling at it and watch it bury its point into the surface. Another scuff mark to add to the growing smattering, all courtesy of you.

Fuck. Him.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt so angry in your life, and Cauldron knows, you’ve had ample reason to. But this anger is…it’s consuming. It’s violent and jagged and nauseating. It’s claws sinking into your heart and your brain and dissecting everything that plagues you in both sleep and consciousness.

And it’s this severe because you care. You care so very much.

You’re sick of caring.

Why would he kiss you, after all that has happened since the last time? To taunt you? To grab your feelings in his fist and twist them? To practice on you?

And to think you almost gave in to that strange, carnal need to have his hands on you again. You cannot — will not — allow yourself to think about which deeper emotion or desire that need is rooted in. Thinking will lead only to realisations that may destroy you yet.

And he’s probably with Kaeda right now, too. Perhaps losing himself in her, forgetting all about you with the aid of her touch—

You scowl and march to the wall, yanking your dagger out. Your anger and your need to just…move, is keeping you warm, at least. Nighttime in the old armoury is about as pitiful as can be imagined, but the relentless cold is actually a strange…relief. It hurts in a satisfying way.

How fucking dare he, your mind chants, not for the first time, as you stalk back to your spot. How dare he treat you as though you’re nothing? You brace yourself and send the dagger hurtling towards the wall once again—

The door is suddenly bursting open, and the weapon only just misses Cassian’s face on its journey as he strides in, arms full of items you don’t care to look at.

He stops abruptly. Blinks. “Did you just throw a dagger at me?”

“No.” You immediately scowl, stalking over to retrieve it yet again. “Fuck you.”

“Ouch. Fuck you right back. I brought blankets and food.”

“Shove them up your ass.”

“I’d really rather not.” He kicks the door shut behind him and strides over to the pile of your scant belongings, dropping his items and freeing his arms. He turns back to you with raised eyebrows. “Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a little storm cloud, or is it just a way to pass the time?”

Finally, you sheath your blade — partly because you’re not sure you trust yourself with it right now. You face your friend, fully aware that you’re out of line and fully resentful of the fact.

“I had an argument with Az.” You admit, not even certain you mean to.

Cassian’s eyebrows raise. “Well, that explains why he nearly bit my head off earlier, too. What did you fight about?”

Do you tell him? Do you confess all your complicated, messed up feelings — the bizarre circumstances that brought them about — when you haven’t even sorted through them yourself? No. You can’t. It’s a bit too soon for that.

“It was…nothing.” You stalk over to your things. “Just nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing—”

“Thank you for bringing me these.” You toe a thick blanket with your boot.

Yet again, Cassian’s eyebrows go up. “Are you hinting at me to leave?”

“Just because I have to face the night in this hovel, doesn’t mean you should be subjected to the same fate. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“Well, fucking expect it, because I’m staying—”

“Cass—”

“Come here.” He opens his arms. “Right now.”

You stare at him. And in that instant, with him seeing you — seeing everything you are, everything you’re feeling, what you need — your anger simmers, and it threatens to turn into tears.

“You clearly need a hug.” He points out softly. “And I’ve missed you this past week. So come here.”

In an instant, you crumble. You’re stepping forward and damn near falling into Cassian’s arms. He catches you, just like he always catches you.

His arms band around you, warmer and more secure than any blanket. He pulls you tightly against him, and you allow your arms to snake around his waist. It’s only then that you realise how much you need the firmness of his body to hold you up. He’s like a huge, supporting wall that stops you sinking to your knees.

“I’m so sad.” You whisper, nestling your face into his chest. His scent and his warmth permeate his clothes, and they combine and wash over you in a soothing combination.

“I know.” His broad hand cups the back of your head. “Everything is a huge mess right now. But we’re going to get through it — together.”

You hate that you can’t believe him; not right now. Everything is too up in the air, too uncertain. A dark mass has followed you around this camp for the entirety of your life, and it’s closer than ever to closing in and snuffing out who you are.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask. “I don’t think I have the strength to fight anymore, Cass.”

He pulls back to study you. To cup your face and look into your eyes. “Yes.” He says firmly. “You do. You always have and you always will. There is nothing — nothing — you can’t face. I truly believe that, Y/N.”

Staring back at him feels just like…like the night in the cottage, when you lost yourself in him. Him being there for you, speaking the words that are so hard to believe and yet so what you need to hear. The same urge arises in you to give over to those feelings. Do something for yourself for once.

You think Cassian might read that thought on your face. Perhaps you wear it shamelessly.

He studies you closely — studies you hard. And his throat bobs as his eyes flit down to your lips.

“Y/N.” He says. “Let me make you feel good.”

You swallow, also. And you don’t need to think about it. “Yes.” You nod. “Yes.”

In a flash, he’s closing the gap between you, his mouth finding yours. The hot and heavy weight of his lips is a relief. One that makes you release a soft sigh.

You don’t let yourself think about the fact that you were kissing Azriel in this very building only earlier. Nor about the fact that it could have gone much further than that. Cassian gives you himself, and you take, your hands bunching in his jacket as you haul him against you.

His hand fists in your hair, tilting your face up to him. And as his mouth stains yours with his urgent need, he’s backing you up, walking you back and back until you collide with that very table that Az kissed you on earlier.  Cassian picks you up in an easy sweep and places you on the tabletop. He parts your legs and slots himself in between, his mouth never once leaving yours, never once faltering.

Until he parts from you and says, “Lie back.”

With his hand guiding you down, you do just that. You sprawl out on that table, anticipation coiling in your stomach. It warms you from the inside, makes your skin too hot and your clothes too heavy.

Cassian doesn’t mess around with teasing or taunting. He drags his hands over your breasts, your stomach, and down to the laces at your breeches. You don’t care about the cold air. You lift your hips and wish only for him to undo those laces faster. You want your skin bare, and his touch marking it.

“I didn’t get to taste you last time.” Your friend pants, pressing a kiss to your abdomen. “Will you let me now?”

Goosebumps erupt over you skin. You grip onto the edges of the table and breathe, desperately. “Yes. Please.”

So boldly, he yanks your breeches and undergarments down in one go. His fingers find the very centre of you, already soaked, already ready for him. What he finds there makes him groan.

“Here? You’ll let me taste you here?”

“Please.” You pant again. “Just…please, Cass. I need this.”

“I know.” A kiss lands on your skin. “I know.”

His hands drag down your legs at the same time he sinks to his knees. You bow your head forward — just to watch the predatory grace with which he aligns his face with your sex. He licks his lips like you’ve presented him with his most carnal desire.

He inhales slowly — breathes in your scent. A growl rips from his throat.

And then he dives right in.

His tongue licks a stripe up your centre, from your entrance, up to your clit. Your hips buck at the contact, one hand moving to bunch within his hair. As his tongue swirls over your clit, pleasure barrels through you that ends in a cry.

“Your taste is fucking divine.” Cass groans, and his hands pry your legs further apart. He wastes no time in lapping at your juices, damn near fucking drinking you down. He drinks and drinks like a male parched. “Gods, Y/N.”

“More.” You gasp, thrusting your hips towards him. You grind your cunt against his face, and you can’t stop your body jerking, your head lolling back. “Gods, Cass, more.”

“More?” His teeth graze against the sensitive nub. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth. Fingers. You.”

A delicious, sinful chuckle, so incredibly deep and lilting, breaks from Cass and vibrates against you. He lands a harsh suck on your clit. “I love how filthy you are.”

And he shows you how much he loves it, as one finger suddenly gathers up your wetness and teases your entrance. You moan, plead, beg him to slip it into you. He does so at the same time that he fastens his lips to your clit and strokes at it with his tongue.

You feel him smile against you. Your responses seem to provide him with almost as much pleasure as your touch would.

“Just like that.” He growls the words onto you, sliding his finger out and back in — adds a second one. “Take what you need. Fuck my fingers.”

You need this pleasure. This release. He has no idea how much you need it. Nobody does. You need to feel like somebody else, feel like you’re somewhere else. You need to feel something other than…blinding pain.

And so you take what you fucking need, undulating your hips and moving yourself on his fingers, against his tongue. Cassian follows your lead, keeps up with your pace. As your moans pick up, so do the thrusts of his hand.

“Going to come for me?” His hand moves faster. “Come around my fingers?”

“Yes.” You throw your head back. “Fuck—Cass.”

“Come.” He growls. “Want to feel you.”

It’s as if your body is fully under his command, because the words have your climax bursting through your body and chasing you from every negative feeling that’s been plaguing you. It feels beautifully catastrophic, fucking mind-altering. It feels like an out of body experience.

You know, somewhere in your mind, that you’re being loud, but you don’t give a single damn. You welcome your orgasm and allow it to consume you. You allow your loud, gasping noises to echo around the building.

But perhaps it’s the loud volume of those noises that prevents both you and Cass from hearing the door open behind you. Perhaps it’s the heat of your passion that makes you immune to the sudden gust of cold air.

Whatever it is, neither of you notice a third presence until a voice bellows behind you.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, my eyes!”

Both you and Cass rise with a start, you scrambling to cover yourself. A horrified expression stares back at you both.

“Roza.” You both say at the same time. Both blink in shock, too.

Rhysand’s mother covers her eyes with her hand and turns her back to you.

“Please correct yourselves before you traumatise me any more.” She says. “Can’t turn my back on you idiots for five gods-damn minutes.”

azriel tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny thinks he's done a wonderful job all things considered. His city is safe, no one has died yet, no major injuries, Vlad had screwed off after Danny beat him within an inch of his afterlife (Danny learned that Vlad was a revenant abusing dirty ectoplasm for powers-not a halfa), ect.

Most of his rogues gallery also stopped bothering him once it became clear he was having trouble keeping his increased power in check and was trying hard not to hurt them. Unfortunately there was one who refused to leave him alone. A warrior princess was demanding his hand in marriage as she needed to be married by the summer solstice of next year or the throne would be passed down to her younger sister, who was already married.

It didn't matter how many times he said no, she kept coming back and challenging him for his hand. Each time she came back stronger and with new tactics and weapons to try. He was starting to fear she might actually win one day. That day might be sooner rather than later as her latest scheme was cutting it close.

Deciding that 1. Amity didn't need him anymore if he closed the portals 2. He was probably going to have to leave anyway if he loses and 3. He didn't have a future in this world as Fenton anymore he leads her on a wild goose chase back into the GZ and causes the portals to collapse in on themselves. The princess laughs, thinking he had given up. But no.

Danny put a curse on himself to turn him into a bat for the next year or so, a full month longer than the princess had left to find a spouse. She screams. Appearently she had a phobia of bats, who knew? Anyway he was left alone to fly through the Infinite Realms and find a new home.

He found a new world easily thanks to the natural portals of the IR and crossed though. Immediately being pelted on all sides by freezing cold rain was not what he expected but its what he got as he flew over a sign that proclaimed the city beneath him was called Gotham. The little glowing white bat flew through the night for hours before seeing a fruit bowl laying innocently on a kitchen counter through a window. Whats more it was in some giant manor so the occupants probably wouldn't mind if he ate an orange or two.

Right?

Needless to say a kid around the age of 11 or twelve walked in on him clutching an apple like his life depended on it while furiously munching. The kid looked...excited? He started going on about names and what he would need to care for him. Danny wasn't really listening, he didn't realize how hungry he had been until he started eating. He waited until the kid had looked away to turn himself and his apple invisible. This bothered the kid who looked suspicious but went to look for "the bat" anyway.

Later, while Danny was taking a shower in the kitchen sink to wash off the remains of his meal (I headcanon that Danny is a bit of a neat-freak) some other guy walked in holding an empty coffee mug and wearing eyebags that would put a raccoon to shame. They just stared at eachother for a solid few seconds before Danny started squeeking in rage and covering himself with the washcloth he was using to scrub himself clean. It looked like something out of a cartoon. Tim thought he was hallucinating but why would he hallucinate a glowing white bat with hearts all around it (that part isn't real) taking a shower in the kitchen sink. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something??

The next victim person to spot him was Duke who just stood in his doorway as this glowing white bat rolled an orange down the hallway. He decided this was a problem for the night crew and went to tell them.

Alfred saw a small shock of white fur and heard squeeking. His first thought was 'rat' and he didn't even hesitate. Danny dodged 3 bullets and got the hell out of the kitchen.

The batfam are debating on whether this was a shifter or an meta animal that was experimented on.

[daycourtofficial]

Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon

Summary: you teach the Inner Circle about your home court’s tradition of mistletoe, and someone begins placing them all around the house to catch you underneath them.

Author’s note: this is heavily inspired by Operation Mistletoe by Wkemeup, so feel free to check that out.

“So you just hang them up so you can what- make out with people all the time?” Mor asks, confusion etched on her face as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Sounds awesome,” Cassian says, taking another bite of porridge.

You sigh, “well you don’t really do it to just make out with people,” sending a pointed glare at Mor. “Previous people viewed it as sacred for it’s healing properties, and many view it as a symbol of fertility. It’s only really grown in the Winter Court, but it’s a fun reminder of who we come from.”

Rhys leans forward, “I’m still confused about the kissing thing, I get using it as decor, I suppose. But why kissing?”

“Like I said,” you say, taking a bite of your cereal, “since it survives the winter and blooms during it; many view it as a sign of prosperity and fertility, so maybe people started kissing under it to prompt further fertility.”

Cassian huffs, “you just made sex sound so boring.”

You roll your eyes and point at Cassian, “you’re the one who asked me about winter court traditions for solstice!”

He glares at you, “yeah, well I was hoping you’d tell me you all jump in the lake naked every year.”

You laugh, “oh so you’ve heard of the polar bear plunge?”

Cassian stills, turning his head to look at you with incredible speed. “So you do do it!”

“Well, I don’t,” you say, picking up your glass to drink, “at least, not anymore.” You say with a wink.

Azriel speaks up, his soothing tone taking over the room. “So if you’re caught under the plant, you have to kiss?”

“It’s bad luck not to. You don’t have to kiss on the lips, most people kiss on the cheek or on the forehead.”

-

You woke up the next morning, coming down the stairs, clinging to the robe wrapped around your nightgown.

Coffee, then getting dressed. That was your plan, after all. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, a big perk to living with early risers being that there’s always coffee ready when you roll out of bed.

You start moving for the doorway to the dining room, to see if anyone is eating so you can say hi, when something catches your eye.

Right above you in the doorway is a sprig of mistletoe, tied together in a bundle with a red ribbon, hanging from the doorway.

You look at it, just as pretty as they are in your memories, the vibrance of the green capturing your attention, when you hear shuffling behind you. You go to turn to see who it is, when a large hand envelops the right side of your face, bringing your left cheek into contact with something.

Not something, someone. Someone’s kissing you on the cheek. Before you can process what’s happening, the warmth that was pressed against you is gone, and Azriel comes striding into view.

“Good morning,” he says nonchalantly, walking out of the dining room, nodding to Feyre as he passes her and out of the house.

You whip your head around to see if anyone else witnessed what just happened, and you see Feyre sitting at the table, a spoonful of porridge stuck midway between the bowl and her mouth.

“Did you- did that - see?” You ask, your flustered state making Feyre giggle in amusement. You bring your hand up to your cheek where he had pressed his lips to you.

You wrote it off as him getting caught up in the idea of mistletoe, until a few days later when you were heading into the library. Your head was down, trying to focus on not sliding since your shoes were still wet from the rain. You look up in time to keep yourself from running face first into someone’s chest.

You reach your arms out to steady yourself against them, apologizing for running into them, until you look up and find Azriel’s amused eyes looking back at you. You look above him, seeing he has run into you right underneath the mistletoe.

“We have to stop running into each other like this,” you joke, as you motion with your finger for him to come closer. You stand on your tiptoes, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him on his left cheek, perhaps lingering a bit longer than you should. Breathing in his piney scent one last time, you pull back, letting him continue on his day.

That night the entire group went out to Rita’s, attempting to have some fun despite the busy season. It seems like these days all of you are working double time to ensure you can keep the day of Solstice free from work.

All of you head upstairs to your private room, just large enough for your group to comfortably lounge about. Azriel stays behind, waiting for a tray of shots to take up the stairs. You decide to stay with him, opting to keep him company while he waits. You would offer to help him carry the drinks, however the shadowsinger’s height allowed him to manuever through the crowd with the tray much more swiftly than you could.

“Is all your solstice shopping done, then?” You ask the shadowsinger, knowing he most likely had finished his shopping months ago.

He flashes you a grin, one he reserves only for you. “Mostly, just little odds and ends left.”

You gasp, “As I live and breathe, Azriel hasn’t finished his solstice shopping? It’s a week away- you’re usually finished by September!”

He rolls his eyes at your playfulness. “There’s one gift left I’ve been waiting for - I just have to go pick it up.”

He leans his left arm against the counter, his body facing the room surveying the area.

“Who’s it for?” You ask, trying not to get too flustered at how close his body is to yours.

He leans in closer to your ear, as he whispers, “Beron.”

He laughs, pulling away from you. You try not to let the disappointment of the loss of his warmth show on your face.

You huff and cross your arms, “fine then, keep your secrets.”

“What about you?” He asks, nudging your foot with his, “any last minute shopping to do?”

You went through the gifts you had bought for everyone, very impressed with some of them. You got Nesta an advanced copy of the next Sellyn Drake novel, some enchanted canvases that allow multiple paintings on them, showing them like a moving picture for Feyre, a hand knit sweater from Winter for Rhys, an exquisite wall mirror for Mor.

Yet you couldn’t figure out what to get the male in front of you. Do you go with simple, so he doesn’t think you tried too hard? Or do you go all out, lay all of your feelings for him out there?

Before you can answer, the bartender presents Azriel with the tray of shots, so you lead him through the crowd of people, walking up the stairs.

You go to turn around and make a comment about how unfair it is that he can manuever through the crowd so easily, when you feel him gently place a hand on your upper arm, sliding down, lifting your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Your cheeks heat immediately, as he lets go of your hand, pointing above the two of you, where someone has crudely hung a mistletoe plant above the top of the staircase.

He smiles at you, “tradition, right?“ before sauntering into the room to boisterous cheers that the alcohol has arrived.

The next few days pass and more and more mistletoe made appearances. You found yourself running into Azriel underneath them, wondering if he was catching anyone else under them.

Rhys was grumbling about his house being ruined by the plants, crudely hung by a nail from doorways, arches, balconies, really any surface, but the rest of you seemed to enjoy them.

Azriel wasn’t the only one you ran into underneath them, having run into Cassian a few times, who loved making a big show of it whenever you two were caught under one.

“Oh, sweetheart! We’re caught under the mistletoe! Whatever will we do?” He dramatically, and quite loudly, said to you one morning.

“Good morning Cassian,” you say, as he wraps his arms around you, planting an overly dramatic kiss to your cheek.

He pulls away, letting you go, starting to walk off, but he turns around and smirks while looking somewhere behind you before he’s gone. You look around, but can’t find anyone nearby.

You weren’tt the only one caught under the plant, with most members of the inner circle caught once or twice underneath the plant. You had caught a glimpse of Elain and Lucien underneath one, turning on the spot to provide them with some privacy.

You got caught under it with Nesta, who kissed you on the lips like her life depended on it. The kiss caused Mor to wolf whistle at you two, and Cassian had to pry Nesta off of you after he felt like it was lasting too long.

But it was mostly Azriel, him always catching you when you’re walking through a threshold where the mistletoe is dangling. He had kissed your forehead, your hands, the top of your head, but usually it was on your cheeks, and as much as you enjoyed the kisses, each time you secretly hoped he’d kiss you on the lips.

Rhys sighs, walking into the living room to find that Azriel and Cassian have already been by here, the room covered in mistletoe. From his beautiful crystal chandelier (a delicate heirloom, he grumbles), to the doorways where they’re crudely hung (those nails will leave holes!), to the ones hanging from the ceiling (really?), Rhys is tired of the plant.

The fresh scent of it coats the room, as he walks towards his mate and hangs his head in her shoulder. “What did I do to deserve this?” He grumbles to her.

She giggles, closing her book, “come on, it’s only a few more days, Azriel has some plan cooked up.”

His grip on her loosens, his body going even more slack against her, “yes but why does my house have to suffer for it?”

She coos, stroking his hair as he pouts.

“I think it’s romantic. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when I caught you under one last night.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, as Rhys begins kissing her neck.

As if he summoned them, Cassian and Azriel come back through, holding massive bags of mistletoe.

“I’m just saying, Az, you’re going through a lot of effort. I say you just plant one on her.” The general says, shrugging.

Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother, “Not everyone is wooed by someone just ‘planting one on them’.” He replies, using finger quotes at the end.

Cassian sets down his bag as a grin overtakes his face, “so you are trying to woo her.”

Azriel gives him a look that would terrify a lesser man.

“Considering the effort he’s going through, Cass, it’s quite obvious what he’s trying to do,” Rhys responds, “even though he’s ruining my house to accomplish it for a girl who looks at him like he created the night sky.”

Feyre tuts at Rhysand, as he straightens off of her. “Well, I find it sweet, Az. And this is my house too, so continue on.”

Azriel smiles at his high lady, grabbing Cassian’s bag of mistletoes as he walks out, blatantly ignoring Rhys and Feyre’s intense staring at each other as they are obviously arguing telepathically.

-

You had left for the day before Solstice to return to Winter to drop off some gifts, but hurried back to Night to be able to spend all day Solstice with your new family. You returned to find the house a green chaotic mess, with mistletoe hanging everywhere. Dozens and dozens of sprigs sprouting from the ceiling, almost looking like a garden on the ceiling.

You can’t find Azriel anywhere, unsure of where he’s gone off to. You actually get caught under a mistletoe with both Rhys and Feyre, each of them kissing you on the cheek, Rhys muttering something about not letting live plants in the house anymore as he pulls away.

You eventually retire to your room, deciding if you can’t find the spymaster, you’ll take a nap to prepare for the evening’s festivities. It’s the night before Solstice, and everyone seems to usually spend the days leading up to the holiday drinking their asses off.

Later that evening, after you took a glorious nap, a nice bath, and spent a while getting dressed and ready, you went up to Azriel’s door, knocking softly on the wood.

He opens the door after a moment, taking longer than he usually does, and he smiles down at you, his build taking up the entire doorframe.

“Hey Az, can you come to my room for a sec? I need your help.”

He nods, closing his door behind him, following you across the hall into your room. You open your door, letting him into your space, and shut it behind him. “What did you need help with?”

You pull out the box you had been holding behind your back, presenting it to him. “Open it,” you tell him, putting it in his hands.

The tips of his ears redden, “aren’t we exchanging gifts later?”

You smile, “yeah, but I wanted you to open this one now.” He undoes the ribbon on the box, opening the lid to find a piece of parchment. He sets the box down on your nightstand, standing up straight to unroll the parchment.

Neatly written in your handwriting are the words “Look up”. He does as the parchment says, looking towards the high ceiling of your room to find a small mistletoe hanging directly above the two of you.

“Happy Solstice,” you say, grabbing his shirt and bringing him towards you. You stand on your tip toes, bringing his face into yours.

At your words, Azriel swears he forgets how to breathe, much less think, as your lips cover his. You taste like cookies and coffee, a taste he wants to get lost in when he realizes he hasn’t moved, standing still like a complete buffoon.

He wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. He causes you to lean back, dipping you as he deepens the kiss.

When he pulls away, his eyes aglow with joy and humor, he reaches beside himself, pulling something from the shadows.

“If you’d like to open your gift,” he tells you.

You unwrap the wrapping paper, opening the box inside containing another sprig of mistletoe. You laugh, but Azriel starts speaking.

“I asked Kallias to bless it. It is an immortal sprig now. I just picked it up this morning from winter.”

He fidgets with his hands, a little worried this gift isn’t as great as he thought it was. “It’s a little piece of home to have year-round. I know how much you love Solstice.”

You smile up at him, “I love it,” and kiss him again.

He pulls back, obviously needing to tell you something. “Um- it was me, all the mistletoe around the house and everywhere we went.” He raises his hands to gesture all around. “Well it was mostly me, but Cassian helped a bit.”

He sighs, “he caught me one night, hanging them up. Nosy bastard,” you giggle. “So he insisted he help, then big blabbermouth told Rhys and Feyre.”

You laugh, appreciating how much effort he truly went to to do this.

“So I may or may not have been sitting in my shadows all week, waiting by mistletoes for you to walk by.”

Your jaw slackens at his admission, but before you can say anything, he continues. “Cassian beat me a few times when I was about to come out and kiss you. He’d gloat all night about it.”

The shadowsinger rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics.

“But what about the one at Rita’s? How did you do that one?” You ask, confusion lacing your voice. “I was with you the moment we walked in.”

He smiles, a shadow coming by you holding a sprig of mistletoe. “They can’t resist if I ask them to do something for you.”

You throw your head back to laugh, but he wraps a hand around your neck, capturing your laugh with his lips.

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Four

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Fluff and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel didn’t have any reason to show up on your doorstep the next day, but he still flew through the pouring rain and waited patiently for you to answer.

“Hi.” You said, breathlessly.

“Hi.” He answered, dripping water onto the doormat.

Azriel filled up too much space in your apartment, but maybe that was just the constriction of your thumping heart. Az smelled like fresh rain and cedar. Your mother had once taken you to the mountains on the western coast. Citrus fruits sticky and tart in your palms as you sat by the edge of the cliffs and tasted the salt water in the air. It made sense that Azriel should smell like one of your best memories.

“I wanted to give you these.” Azriel said once he’d stepped inside, a quick spell of yours drying the rain off his clothes. Cradled beneath his arms were a bouquet of yellow flowers and a box of pastries from your favorite bakery down the street. The box was soft and supple, but he’d shielded them from the worst of the rain.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” 

He cocked his head to the side, “Does there need to be an occasion? I thought you might like them.” 

Liar. He knew you liked them. He was the Shadowsinger after all and the first thing he’d done this morning was track down Cherp.

“Well… no,” You said, gingerly accepting both packages from him. Shadows darted out from his gloved hands, slinking up your arms like living jewelry, cool and comforting. “No, I suppose there doesn’t need to be an occasion.” 

“Think of it as a thank you gift. For everything you've done for my family.” 

You blushed, “That was really nothing.” 

“Rhys and Feyre would disagree. I would disagree. And if Rhys were here he’d probably offer you a dress made of diamonds as a gift instead.”

You blinked, “That seems excessive.”

“That’s Rhys.”

“Then I will consider myself lucky that you’re here instead.” 

Azriel seemed pleased with that answer, dipping his head in a subtle bow. 

He started off at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of tea as you snipped the flowers and arranged them in a vase. But soon he was drifting around the room, setting your heart alight whenever his fingers would graze the mantle, linger on the pages of an open book, or brush your handwritten notes. It all felt too intimate. The way he could make your breath catch in your throat with every rustle of his wings, the soft sigh of leather as he bent over to look at your scribbled handwriting and smiled. He may as well have grabbed you by the waist and kissed you breathless. Not that you were thinking about kissing him...

You hovered by the kitchen, then moved as close to him as you dared, close enough that Azriel could smell the orange icing that clung to your lips and fingertips. He wanted to taste you.

He shook his head, moving aside and pointing to the newest of your notes. He read, “Immunity - the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities - is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic. From mating bonds to daemati powers to shielding, everything related to magic can be made analogous to the function of a biological immune system.” 

He gave you a look - a silent act of permission to continue reading to himself. And before you could think it through, you were nodding. 

Azriel took up a spot on your couch, wings cramped against the velvet backing and long legs bumping into the coffee table. You wordlessly moved the furniture and started to pace the floor, busying yourself with the theatrics of organizing notes when you were really keeping an eye on him.

He had a careful look of concentration on his face, lips silently forming the words as his eyes raked over the pages.

You’d presented it to Cherps last summer, and as kind and forgiving as he could be when it came to intellectual exploration, he’d told you flat out that the manuscript was a waste of time. 

It was a review paper in its earliest stages, stringing together the connections between different forms of magic and basic biological processes - namely the immune system. The greatest force working against you was the simple fact that fae didn’t concern themselves with such things. Sickness was an inconvenience at worst, nonexistent at best, and any possible fears were quickly wiped out in the face of immortality. 

But humans were a different story. Their time on this earth was short and precious. Their weaknesses made them curious, fueled by a desperation for more time - more health - that fae held in spades. 

It fascinated you to no end. And after the war against Hybern you’d gotten your hands on some manuscripts from the Human Lands and the Continent.

The concept of white blood cells searching through blood for foreign pathogens didn’t seem so far off from spells designed to unearth enemies hidden on a battlefield. The power wielded by daemati analogous to some virus able to hijack existing cellular machinery for its own purpose. You’d even heard of a blacksmith in the Dawn Court capable of imbuing her magical signature into weapons so that only she would be able to wield them. What better example of immune system magic was there? 

Your heart hammered in your chest as Azriel continued to flip through the pages. Long, nimble fingers fluttering along the edges of the pieced together manuscript. His shadows curled around the paper like curious children.

Perhaps it was a mistake showing it to him. It was a rather weak and pathetic argument anyhow. You’d be ridiculed for presenting your ideas at any respectable meeting of the-

“Brilliant.” Azriel breathed. 

You snapped your head up in shock.

He looked at you, something like awe in his eyes. “You’re brilliant.” Gloved fingers flipped through the pages once more, marveling.

“It’s not finished yet.” You admitted, wringing your hands together, “It’s barely even begun, and I’d have to fight tooth and nail to get it published. If I ever managed to get it published.” You muttered the last part beneath your breath.

“Why wouldn’t they want to read it? You present a convincing case.” 

You tipped your hair to the side, as if the answer was obvious, “Fae don’t like bringing humans into the conversation. They think the work they accomplish is beneath any respectable Librarian. Unworthy of study.”

Az chuckled, “My High Lady would probably say otherwise.” 

The High Lady was a curious case - a human soul housed in one of the strongest bodies Prythian had ever known. 

“I’m sure.” You said, excited that you had found someone who approved of your ideas for once, “It sounds contradictory, but I believe we could learn more about magic by studying humans.” You were standing now, pacing in front of Az. 

He’d managed to crack some forgotten dam inside of you and words began pouring out.

“I have another hypothesis that spell-cleaving comes from the very specific ability to identify and imitate the magical signatures of others. I mean, just imagine! If you could change your magical signature to match that of another fae, any spell crafted, any barrier built-” You made a motion with your hands, “Pff! Useless. You can’t keep yourself out in a spell. Or you can try to at least, but any respectable fae would leave a backdoor for themselves in case something went wrong-” 

You rambled on - the biology of immunization and its function in the last war, the Dawn Court artificer, Helion and Feyre’s powers - before finishing with, “I suspect my own powers have something to do with it.”

“What are your powers?” Azriel asked curiously. He leaned forward ever so slightly. “Aside from being brilliant, of course.” 

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say that. You’d meant to keep it in your mind, quiet and hidden. You swallowed thickly, picking at bitten fingernails. 

Azriel swore internally upon seeing the way you flinched, “You don’t… you don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry I-.” 

“No! No. I-'' 

He stared at you openly. Or at least as openly as a person like him could. There was a softness to his eyes you suspected didn't come naturally to him, like he was trying very very hard to convince you to trust him... And it was working. 

His hazel eyes were a swirl of gold touched by the first kisses of Autumn. 

“Can you… can you promise not to tell anyone? Truly promise.” 

He stilled - the very picture of seriousness. Even his shadows seemed to stiffen in the air and become less translucent, “I swear on my life, Y/n. I won’t tell a soul.” 

And you knew he wouldn’t. You could feel his honesty in the air, as if something was tugging at your chest and gingerly pulling you open. 

You swayed gently, fingers crunching your linen skirts. 

“I’m a Clairvoyant.” You admitted, as if it was a shameful thing, “I can touch things - people, objects - and gain knowledge from them. Usually it’s memories or emotions or something else I can’t quite describe.” The scattered books were beginning to make more sense to the Shadowsinger. You pointed to them with open hands, “It’s useful for work… overwhelming when it comes to everything else. Especially after the war with what everyone went through.”

You hesitated. You waited for him to say what you’d been told your entire life: It’s an incredible power. You should be so proud. The Mother has blessed you with this gift. You’re special Y/n.

But Azriel only looked down to your tightly clasped hands, and then to his own.

“That must be quite a burden. To be exposed to all of that.” 

Your eyes snapped up to him as he quietly tugged at his gloves.

“It is.” You murmured beneath your breath, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes. 

Azriel’s heart clenched in his chest.

“Is that why you won’t touch anyone? Why you ran away from the party?” 

Why you ran away from me that night? 

You nodded guiltily.

Azriel sighed, eyes closing in relief. All this time he’d been terrified that you hated him, thinking that you’d seen him for what he truly was - a monster. 

“It was nothing to do with you.” You said quickly, leaning closer. 

Your hands shot out towards him before freezing midway. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hands. You felt him tugging at the edges of your heart, like a curious hand pulling at fraying threads. You’d known him less than a week and already you’d spoken more with him than anyone else in the past year. Spent more time with him. Shared your secrets with all the recklessness of young love. What were you thinking? 

You pulled away, lips tightening into a flat, angry line. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You hadn’t asked for this power, even though others never failed to envy you for it. It was a terrible gift that you couldn’t return when the real thing you wanted was the simple joy of holding Azriel’s hand. 

But that wouldn’t be fair to him either. 

He was a Shadowsinger - a Spymaster to be exact - filled with enough secrets to break the world three times over. To touch him… to kiss him, would be the worst invasion of privacy. Even if you didn’t intend for it to happen. 

Azriel finally spoke and his voice filled the silence with a music you wanted to hear more of, “Being a Shadowsinger… It's not easy. I’ve had plenty of people tell me I should be grateful for it. Grateful for my power and the prestige it's brought me. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was worth the cost.” You stared at him, eyes so wide he swore they could swallow him whole, “I understand, Y/n. I know it’s not exactly the same… but I understand.”

“Do you think you’d be happier, Azriel, if you hadn’t been born a Shadowsinger?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t think that’s the way it works, Y/n.” 

“No… no I suppose you’re right about that.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He gently nudged the coffee table and it lightly tapped your shins. 

“It’s not all bad.” You raised your eyebrows, urging him to continue, “If I wasn’t a Shadowsinger, I wouldn’t have met you.” 

You chuckled, a stray tear slipping out and dripping onto the rug. You brushed the rest of the moisture away.

“Maybe you would have. Maybe you would have come to the Day Court to study.” Azriel snorted. The sun would sooner rise in the west and set in the east before anyone called Azriel an academic. “Maybe we would have gotten into arguments about research and books.”

“About the historical accuracy of chicken eggs?”

“About the anatomical considerations of having sex with a dragon-born.” You clarified. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Azriel said, smiling. 

He’d never been born for the quiet life. Shadowsinger or not, he was a warrior through and through. But looking around at the plush sofa and the faelights flooding in from the athenaeum, he couldn’t help but imagine what kinds of peace you’d bring into his life if he ever mustered up the courage to tell you the truth.

You’re my mate.

You’re my mate.

You’re my mate.

The words kept rattling around in his mind as the pair of you spent the day holed up in your apartment. 

It was a comfortable haze. You didn’t ask why he lingered, although he felt your burning curiosity through the bond, and he never offered you an explanation. The truth was, no matter his reason for sitting on the couch reading his own sensitive reports, you liked his company… and you wanted him to stay. He saw it in the way your eyes always latched onto him when he stood up, only relaxing when he settled back down. 

It was a comforting pain to know that you wanted him, even if you didn’t know why and even if he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. 

He didn’t eat, politely declining every stubborn offer of yours until you finally gave up. He wouldn’t be accepting any food from you from here on out. It wasn’t until you made the mistake of yawning from your spot on the floor, papers radiating out from you like a sunburst, that he made any effort to leave. 

He looked towards the window. Long, sharp shadows crept along the floor and mingled with his own.

Fuck. He promised Rhys he’d be back by mid-afternoon. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” He stood up, wings stretching out so you could see every ripple of muscle, every inky vein that ran through the thin membrane like offshoots from a river.

You scrambled to your feet, pressing an open book to your chest like that would stop your pounding heart. Time had passed too quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize. I-I liked your company. I like your company. Present tense.” You sighed without thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone around.” 

Cruel, malicious voices rang in Azriel’s mind. They sounded like his half-brothers and the asshole he was unfortunate enough to call a father. 

Don’t do it. You’ll ruin this. You’ll ruin this like you ruin everything. 

Look at this place. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with her. You’ll never be worthy of-

“May I come see you tomorrow then?” Azriel’s words were loud, laced with hope. “I’ll bring breakfast.” He said, quieter this time. 

You blushed and tried to sound nonchalant when you answered, “I would like that.” 

With the promise of another day hanging in the air, that tight coil in your chest loosened, even as Azriel bowed his head and stepped outside. You gasped when he unfurled his wings, the faint glow of the street lights shining through the membrane. 

There were few things Azriel loved about himself, but his wings? His wings were his pride and joy. The one beauty he felt he possessed. So when he saw the awe in your gaze, he took off a little harder than usual, delight shooting through his heart when he turned around to see you laughing and brushing the hair from your eyes. 

You watched him and he watched you as he climbed higher and higher into the sky before fading into nothing.

There were three books you treasured above all else: The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. They’d been your mother’s favorite novels - comforting, slice of life books that promised a happy ending no matter the sorrows that came before. Dog-eared, finger-print stained, and loved beyond measure, your mother had read them to you over and over and over again. Her notes were still scrawled in the margins, her joy still pressed between the pages like preserved flowers. 

Being a Clairvoyant meant you could tap into the essence of objects, and objects held memories and emotions just as readily as people. When you thrummed your fingers over the clothbound books you got flashes of your mother. Flashes of her scent. Flashes of her affection for you. 

You relied on that familiar comfort as you sat by the window and watched the sky. Every swirl in the clouds looked like Azriel to you. As if he’d swoop down from the heavens and burst through your door so you could wrap your mind around that scent of rainfall and cedar.

You buried your face in your knees and cried out in frustration. You’d wanted to crawl into his lap the entire day. To feel the warmth of his wings wrapped around you like a blanket. 

Stupid stupid stupid. 

You knocked your head against the worn leather-bound books. One look at his windswept hair and faint smile this morning and you’d been lost. 

What would your mother say? Three days and you were already drunk on him. Were flowers, sweet treats, and a modicum of undivided attention all it took for you to fall for someone? 

But it wasn’t just a bouquet of flowers - they were daisies picked from the florist down the street with the lilac doorway and hand-painted cards. It wasn’t just a box of pastries - they were from your favorite bakery with the orange icing so heavenly that for years you’d ignored cake on your birthday in favor of them. 

Such detail required more than a modicum of attention. If you were right, Azriel would have needed to fly around the city inquiring after you and your mother to gain such information. 

But why would he do that? Why would he bother? 

The window was cool against your skin, whisking away the heat that had gathered in your cheeks after hours of thinking about the Shadowsinger. 

It was a quiet night, as most nights were in the Day Court, and aside from the three Librarians who had entered The Alcove for a late night of reading, you hadn’t seen a soul. The streets were as still as a painting. 

Someone drunkenly staggered out of The Alcove.

Meryl. The Alcove’s Bookkeeper. 

You frowned in distaste. 

Meryl was a middling Librarian at best, although he was skilled enough at the sword to have been selected for Bookkeeper training. Standing easily over six-feet tall with the strong legs of a bison and horns to match, he’d chosen the simple life presiding over The Alcove where he could drink and fuck to his heart’s desire. After all, who would care enough to attack an athenaeum dedicated to boring fiction?

Meryl clopped forward another three feet, one hand pressed to his throat. His red-trimmed robes swayed in the breeze. But his robes weren’t meant to be that red. 

He stumbled to the side, close to the base of your front steps, and his eyes locked with yours. 

His ears were missing, two gaping holes where the gentle slope of the cartilage should be. His lips parted in a silent scream and blood bubbled out hot and thick.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Did I steal the *hi* from Heartstopper because I've been rewatching it for the fourth time this week?................. Maybe???

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees

[breelandwalker]

Strawberry Moon - June 21, 2024

Grab your baskets and your moon jars, witches - it's time for the Strawberry Moon!

Strawberry Moon 🍓

The Strawberry Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of June in the Northern Hemisphere. The name is taken from the ripening of those little red heart-shaped berries we find in so many summertime treats. Strawberries are typically ready to harvest beginning around the summer solstice, though this will vary depending on variety, planting times, and local weather. Sadly, the Strawberry Moon does not turn red or pink to match the berries.

Other European names for this moon include Honey Moon, Rose Moon, and Mead Moon. North American Indigenous names for the June moon include Blooming Moon (Anishinaabe), Green Corn Moon (Cherokee), and Hatching Moon (Cree).

This year's Strawberry Moon also roughly coincides with the summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, with peak illumination occurring at 9:08pm EST on June 21st. (The solstice is occurring one day prior, on June 20th.)

What Does It Mean For Witches? 🍓

Full moons are excellent times for bringing wishes to fulfillment and plans to fruition, all the more so under one named after a prolific berry. This is an optimal time to make things happen!

Your intuition may be stronger than usual during this time, so pay attention to those little inklings and gut feelings that won't be ignored. They might be telling you something important. Dreams may also be more vivid, though not necessarily more accurate or revealing.

This is a time to explore things that catch your attention or pique your curiosity, and to let yourself be open to new ideas and new opportunities.

What Witchy Things Can We Do? 🍓

With a full moon ripening in the sky and the summer solstice upon us, it's time to prepare for a full bloom. Here's hoping you've been nurturing those plans and seeds of growth you planted in the spring, because they're about to start flowering and the way is clear to sow the next stage of your plans. What they will be and what new prospects the summer will bring is entirely up to you.

The full moon is always a good time to look ahead to the future. Think on the plans you have in process and let yourself dream of how things might turn out. If you're inclined to journaling, make a note of how things are going so far and how you hope they'll turn out. Pick your favorite divination method and do a reading for the month ahead. (Make sure you write that down too so you can check back later!)

This is a great time to go berry-picking or flower-gathering, so check your area for pick-your-own farms or farmer's markets with local produce. Have a picnic with friends or just enjoy a quiet afternoon with your own thoughts and a few favorite treats. Make a jar of sun tea or a sweet and summery berry salad. If you're partial to strawberries, indulge that sweet tooth!

Strawberries are also excellent ingredient in spells for love, beauty, fertility, and emotional healing. Create a charm for self-love or perhaps to attract a summer romance. Enchant your favorite makeup or skin care products with a glamour of confidence. Just as expectant mothers once carried strawberry leaves as a folk remedy for pregnancy pains, you can carry a clutch of them in your pocket to help heal a broken heart or assuage the pain of grief. A packet of strawberry leaves is also a potent good-luck charm. Snack on strawberries to bring fertile abundance into your life, whether you're looking for creativity or opportunity or perhaps hoping to grow your family this year.

Charge your crystals and spell jars and moon water under the light of Strawberry Moon to catch the energy of blooming flowers, ripening fruit, wishes coming true, and carefully-laid plans realized. (If you're planning to use it for any consumables, please make sure you're using fresh, potable drinking water rather than rain or runoff.)

Spend a little time reflecting on how your year has gone thus far. Try to focus on the things that have improved and how you've grown as a person and in your life journey. Reflect on your accomplishments and what you plan to do next. Take a moment to be unashamedly proud of yourself for everything you've done and for making it this far despite everything life throws at you.

Happy Strawberry Moon, witches! 🌕🍓

Further Reading:

Bree's Lunar Calendar Series

Bree's Secular Celebrations Series

The Full Moon of June: A Special Solstice Full Moon, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Strawberry Moon Meaning: The Spectacular Full Moon of June 2024, The Peculiar Brunette.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison.

Image Source - Pesto and Margaritas

(If you're enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home || Part One

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: loneliness.

Summary: Azriel never thought he would find someone who loves him. Everyone around him has their own life and family and he feels like he is floating between them with no real purpose. When he meets someone in the rain, everything might begin to change.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

A/N: I might make this into a series if people enjoy it…because I have many ideas.

•••

In his whole life, Azriel just wanted to be loved by someone. Over his five centuries of existence, he has taken plenty of lovers, both females and males. Though to each and every one of the people he had lain with, he never felt any sort of attachment to them. They had never spent the night with him, when he awoke in the morning, the other side of the bed was empty and cold, a clear indication that they had left hours before. Some left a small note thanking him for a good night but most left with no word never to be seen again. 

At the beginning, this did not affect Azriel. He was simply young and looking for a bit of fun. But as time has gone on, the more Azriel longed to wake up next to someone. To have the side of the bed warm and the sound of his love walking about the house. To feel the soft caress of their skin as they fell asleep with each other's arms. Whispers of loving words exchanged before they both drifted to that relaxing, unconscious space only dreaming of one another. 

Azriel longed for that. He longed for a home. He longed for his own family. 

Nyx was nearly ten years old and Feyre was again pregnant with her and Rhys’s second child. Cassian had recently told Azriel that he and Nesta were trying for a child. Azriel was happy for them, elated even. But there was a small stinging pain in his heart. The pain of knowing that his family was moving on with their own lives without him. They each had their own families to care for and worry about. He was no one's priority. 

At Solstice, Azriel was always the one standing on the sidelines. Rhys had Feyre. Cassian and Nesta. Lucien had Elain. Mor had Emerie. Amren had Varien. Every single member of his family had someone that they cared for and would die to protect. Azriel could only wish he had that type of love. 

There was once a time where he thought he and Elain could work out. Three sisters for three brothers, it all made sense in Azriel’s mind. But after that initial lust faded away, Azriel realised how incompatible they were. Their conversations turned stale and awkward and Azriel would always catch her sneaking glances at Lucien. It wasn’t long before Elain began to pursue the youngest Vanserra– leaving Azriel alone once again. 

Currently, Azriel swirled his whisky around in his glass. He hadn’t taken a sip from it as he stood near the door. It was Solstice and all the presents had been exchanged and now everyone was happily sitting and talking, lounging around on the couches and chairs. Azriel was the only one not sitting. His shadows swirled around the room, as they usually did whenever everyone was together. If anything were to attack, Azriel would be the first line of defence. Everyone else had a family or were going to have a family, they had everything to lose– he didn’t. 

There was a pull at the bottom of Azriel’s trouser leg and he glanced down. Elain and Lucien’s one year old daughter sat there smiling up at him. Azriel offered her a smile as one of his shadows caressed her cheek and she let out a delighted giggle. Using his pant leg, she heaved herself from the floor and demanded to be picked up. Azriel’s face clouded over in amusement as he bent down and took the young fae into his arms. 

The girl simply looked around, not used to being up so high. Azriel watched her look of amusement with fondness. Her red hair bright in the dim lighting of the room, and her deep brown eyes wide in wonder. 

“Hycinth?” Elain said as she looked around for her daughter before relaxing once she found her in Azriel’s arms. 

As soon as the young girl heard her mother, she struggled to get out of Azriel’s arms and he let her down without a fuss. She crawled over to her mother and up onto her lap while Lucien watched his daughter fondly. Azriel folded his arms across his chest, his heart feeling like it was being poked by a million pins. Nyx was sleeping with his head resting on Rhys’s. Nesta was sitting in Cassian’s lap, looking so in love with each other that it made Azriel stop breathing. The same went for all of the couples, they had so much love for each other that they could only focus within their small circle. 

None of them even noticed when Azriel slipped out of the house and into the night. 

It was raining when Azriel got outside, his clothes immediately soaked through and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Though he didn’t care in the slightest, he continued to walk through the torrential downpour until he made it to a bench by the park. 

He should have stayed at the house, it would only bring to the surface more questions as to why Azriel was distancing himself from his family. Seeing them altogether was always bittersweet for Azriel. Of course he loved his family, he always would, but seeing them together with their own families and their own lives. Azriel was not sure where he slotted in amongst them anymore. He didn’t have anyone to love. He didn’t have his own family. He was alone. 

The rain continued around him and Azriel didn’t move. The chill of the wind and his soaked clothes only made him colder but he didn’t care. He would stay here all night if he had to, for the rain to wash away everything he had been feeling tonight. Tomorrow he would start with a clean slate, maybe he would feel better about everything tomorrow. Azriel hoped when he woke up everyday that this was the answer. He hoped that he woke up one day and did not care. But Azriel knew that the cycle was always doomed to repeat itself. 

As Azriel was deep within his own thoughts, he failed to notice the rain no longer falling upon him. It fell around him but never on him. He wasn’t broken from his continuous strain of thoughts until he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. 

Azriel’s head snapped in the direction the touch came from, his shadows swirled around his shoulders like snakes preparing to strike. What Azriel didn’t expect was a female holding an umbrella over his head, staging at him with concern. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “It’s just…you’ve been sitting here for an hour. I walked past earlier to buy some bread and you were here and I’m on my way home now and you are still here. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Azriel was at a loss for words. Anything that he could say was lost on the tip of his tongue. Articulating his feelings was never his strong point. 

“It’s raining a lot,” the female said, trying to have a conversation. “It seems to be raining a lot more recently. Have you noticed?”

“I have noticed,” Azriel muttered.

“So he does speak,” the female said, a small smile gracing her features. 

Azriel met her eyes, and for some reason, he felt himself smiling back. It was probably barely noticeable to her but to him, the feeling felt foreign. 

“So,” the female said, taking a seat on the bench next to Azriel. “Are you okay?”

With a heavy sigh, Azriel answered, “No, actually. I’m not. It’s Solstice, I should be spending it with my family but I’m sitting out here in the rain alone.” Azriel couldn’t stop the words freely flowing from his mouth. “I tried to enjoy myself, I really did. But all of them each have someone they love to celebrate with. They each have someone to go home with and have their own celebration. They have children or are going to have children and I’m just there by myself. I just constantly feel so–”

“Alone?” the female cut in.

Azriel’s gaze met hers and she held a sympathetic expression on her face. “Yes. I feel alone. And I don’t even know why I am telling you this. I don’t even know you.”

The female shrugged. “Sometimes it's good to get things off your chest, even if it's someone you don’t know. It can sometimes be bad to keep everything bottled up.”

Azriel relaxed his shoulders the smallest amount. “I do feel slightly better after getting that off my chest.”

The female smiled brightly. It somehow lit up the darkness around them. “I’m glad I could help you relieve some tension you are holding in those shoulders. I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Y/N,” Azriel repeated her name. It felt right coming from his mouth. “I’m Azriel.”

Y/N looked away sheepishly. “I did have an idea of who you are.”

“Oh,” Azriel replied, feeling slightly disappointed. 

“I didn’t know when I first walked over here,” Y/N said. “I only realised when one of your shadows did this.”

Y/N held up her arm and one of Azriel’s shadows lightly caressed her wrist. Azriel’s eyes widened. 

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel replied, reeling in all of his shadows. “They don’t normally do that.”

Y/N chuckled slightly and it was a melodic sound that cut through the air. “It’s okay.”

Azriel nodded before he looked down at the ground. “So, why are you out on Solstice?”

Y/N offered him a tight lipped smile. “Well, my friends all have their own large families to spend Solstice with. I was invited to a few of their houses but decided to stay home and have a night to myself. I’m only out because I needed to pick up some bread because I wanted to make a sandwich.”

“Are you not lonely?” Azriel asked the question before he could even stop himself.

Y/N shook her head. “Not anymore. At first I was, I mean when your friends start moving on without you, everything seems to change so fast. All of their time was taken up by their children and partner. But as time went on, I began to get used to it and realise that I’m not lonely as I have people around me that love me and support me. I am simply choosing to be alone right now,” Y/N said. “And I’m glad I did, because I wouldn’t have bumped into you. Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

Azriel flushed and looked down at his feet, not expecting the compliment. Y/N simply laughed. That melodic tone once again cutting through the air.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Y/N asked. “I can make us sandwiches?”

Azriel knew his answer immediately but took a moment to answer as if he was contemplating the decision. He didn’t want to look too eager. “I would like that.”

Y/N smiled brightly. “Come on then! The sooner we get there, the sooner I can change into some dry clothes.”

Azriel looked at her and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. While she had been shielding him with her umbrella, she hadn’t held it above herself, causing her clothes to soak through, much like Azriel’s.

“Take the umbrella back,” Azriel said, pushing her hand away that was clutching the umbrella.

“No,” Y/N said stubbornly and grabbed Azriel’s arm and forced the umbrella into his hand and folded her arms across her chest. “You take it and keep hold of it until we get to my apartment. Now come on.”

Azriel followed her and fell into pace next to her. Even though she was putting on a determined face, Azriel could see through the facade as she shivered as the cold rain poured down upon her. Stretching one of his wings, Azriel lifted it until it shielded her from the rain the best he could. Y/N looked up at him in surprise, her shivering ceasing the smallest amount as his wing blocked out the wind. 

Y/N smiled at him as she hesitantly wrapped her hand around his arm. “You are getting my most amazing sandwich for that.”

A full smile bloomed on Azriel’s face as he walked with Y/N to her apartment. Maybe he didn’t need to be so alone after all.

[mira-says]

Make it Special

Azriel x Reader

Read on AO3

Summary: When you met Azriel and the bond snapped in place, you'd both agreed that you wanted to wait for your mating ceremony to be intimate, to make it special. But three years of cancelled plans, bad weather, obnoxious High Lords and even more obnoxious Illyrians had you and Azriel deeply questioning your earlier agreement to wait

Warnings: 18+, fluff, smut, tiniest touch of angst

Word count: 3.4k (how did that happen)

A/N: Hi, this is my first fic for acotar and my first time writing smut 🥰 I would love comments, critiques, and suggestions! Also, I use mating ceremony/wedding language interchangeably. Ok, enjoy!!

💙🩵💙

Azriel had to wonder if he'd done something to offend the Mother. He supposed it was possible you had done something instead, but he couldn't imagine what. Surely of the two of you, he was the more likely culprit.

When you met three years ago, and the bond snapped in place, you'd both agreed that you wanted to wait for your mating ceremony to be intimate, to make it special. You had both been hurt by previous lovers and you suggested that the security of vows, spoken to each other and before your friends and family, would give you both the confidence to take those next steps.

And that had been fine, only a couple months into your relationship. And maybe you had been rushing into the ceremony, both of you still scared to lose the other.

But three years of cancelled plans, bad weather, obnoxious High Lords and even more obnoxious Illyrians had you and Azriel deeply questioning your earlier agreement to wait.

The first time you had planned your mating ceremony, it was to be in the beautiful temple on the Sidra a few weeks before the Winter Solstice. That winter had churned out more blizzards than Velaris had ever seen, causing damage to the roads and leading to the head priestess cancelling the ceremony so the temple could house those stranded by the ice and snow.

A disappointment, but understandable.

The second time was over a year later in the early summer. No blizzards, not even a drop of rain fell on your wedding day. Just Azriel diving to the townhouse from the House of Wind where he'd been getting ready as he received a report that Beron was invading the Spring Court.

You'd always hated the High Lord of Autumn, but never more so than when he'd ruined your wedding. It took six months of fighting and endless, fruitless negotiations before Beron agreed to pull his forces back.

There were a couple more cancelled dates after everyone had settled, either Azriel was needed for a mission or you were called to another court for trade negotiations. Each time you set a new date, you and Azriel would laugh and wonder how this one would be ruined.

By this fifth or so time, Azriel had had enough laughing. The date was set for early autumn. The location was the River House, despite Cassian's whines that you were copying him and Nesta. Azriel offered that Cassian pay a booking fee for another location, hope it wouldn't be cancelled and that the cancellation fee wasn't more expensive than the venue was worth, or get over it. Cassian got over it.

Over the years, you and Azriel broke more and more rules of your earlier agreement. First, you agreed you could watch the other bring themselves pleasure. Then touching was allowed. Then oral. Then it was everything short of Azriel actually putting his cock in you. Several times, you had been close to throwing out the agreement entirely and just fucking, but something always stopped you. You wanted your first time with your mate to be special, not something that just happened because you were horny or desperate.

One of these times, a week before your wedding that you still would not let yourself dare to hope would actually happen, Azriel's head was buried between your legs, bringing you the kind of pleasure only he could provide. He brought you to climax over and over before you finally pushed him off, exhausted. He smirked at you with purely male satisfaction before kissing up your body, latching on to your neck.

"Love," he whispered. "I want to fuck you so badly."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of his lips on your skin. "I know, just another week."

He stilled for a moment before pulling the two of you out of bed.

"Az?" He dressed you quickly in a robe and threw pants on before taking your hand, shadows encasing both of you.

The shadows cleared and you blinked quickly, realizing you were outside of Rhys' office in the town house.

"Azriel, what are you doing?"

He ignored you, throwing open the door to Rhys' office. You heard a squeak from inside and looked around Azriel to see your High Lord and Lady in as nearly a compromising position as you had been a moment ago.

Rhys was pulling Feyre's shirt back around her chest. "What the fuck, Az?"

"I need you to know and understand something." Azriel said, dutifully keeping his eyes locked with Rhys'.

Rhys huffed incredulously. "And that is?"

"That is that my mate and I are getting married next week, and I don't give a fuck who needs help or who starts a fight or anything. I don't care if Devlon burns Illyria to the ground. I don't care if the fucking king of Hybern comes back from the dead and launches a fucking ball of fire at Velaris, we are getting married next week."

For a moment, you, Feyre and Rhys could only gape at him. Feyre broke first, trying and failing to conceal her laughter. "You got it, Az. Next week, no matter what."

Azriel nodded, content enough with her answer. You mouthed I'm so sorry at her and Rhys as he pulled you back out of the office.

Rhys couldn't resist. "Wound a little tight, brother?" Azriel just raised his middle finger in response and his shadows carried you both back to the House of Wind.

The morning of the ceremony was a blur.

Nuala and Cerridwen helped you bathe, eat, and dress before you were met with the full force of the Archeron sisters and Mor, ready to exert all of their creative energy on your wedding day look. Mor wove you hair into an intricate updo with Elaine helping her place pins and little white flowers. Feyre painted your face with little blue accents around your eyes that you knew would match Azriel's siphons. Finally, Nesta helped you into your dress, making sure you could move and breathe and dance as you wished.

You kept waiting for some announcement, some interruption that would cancel the ceremony yet again, but it never came.

The five of you stood crowded around a full length mirror, taking in the final look. You gazed at your reflection and felt your heart twist. "Is this really happening?" You asked softly.

Feyre took your hand gently. "It is. I promise."

They lead you to the front door of the river house before scurrying out to their seats in the garden. You caught a glimpse of the sky as they rushed out. How was it already the evening?

The front doors were pulled open again, with intention this time. You stepped over the threshold.

Moments later, it seemed, you were in front of Azriel at the altar. You vaguely remembered walking down the aisle, passing all your sniffling friends with huge smiles on their faces and sweet music playing around you, but from the moment you met Azriel's eyes, he was all you could see. Your mate.

"Y/n," he whispered as you stood across from him. He shadows danced over his shoulders. He opened his mouth to say more but found he couldn't speak. Tears glistened in his eyes.

You smiled up at him, taking his hands as the priestess had you speak your vows. You'd baked a lemon muffin for him to seal your bond. It was simple, but it was what you'd been not-so-secretly eating in a coat closet at one of Helion's ridiculous parties when Azriel had stumbled upon you, seeking solitude as well.

His eyes lit up in recognition as you handed him the muffin, three years after that day, and he looked you in the eyes as he took a bite.

"In the presence of all your friends and family, I declare you mated before the Mother," the priestess finished. Azriel held your cheek and kissed you deeply. The whoops and cheers from your friends made you smile against his lips. Finally.

A boom startled you from the kiss and you looked up to see red in the sky. You tensed, wondering if the king of Hybern had indeed come back from the dead and launched a fucking ball of fire at Velaris, but more booms sounded and beautiful, colorful fireworks lit up the night sky.

The reception Rhys and Feyre had planned was almost as ridiculous as Helion's party, but you loved every minute, marveling at the deep hum of your bond as you and Azriel danced.

Even hours later when the music and dancing had finished, you could feel that steady thrum of energy in your body. The way Azriel's eyes sparkled in the low lightning told you he felt it, too. Nesta had planned the last part of your reception, where your family gathered before a carriage to see the two of you off. As you stepped on the walkway, Azriel's hand clutched tightly in your own, Rhys waved his hand and everyone suddenly held a little ball of daylight. You paused in wonder at the sight.

"Now!" Nesta yelled and threw her little ball directly at your chest. It hit you softly and exploded into little sparkles of faelight that shimmered softly against your skin. You looked back to her in surprise and saw the rest of the Inner Circle aiming to toss their faelights at you and Azriel.

Shrieking in delight, you and Azriel ran through the bursting lights to the carriage. Azriel had somehow dodged all of them until you saw Cassian land a direct hit to his nose. Azriel stopped and gave him a glare that would have had lesser males pissing themselves in fear, but Cass only tipped back his head and laughed, elbowing Nesta and pointing at Azriel's unamused, now glowing, face.

Azriel opened the carriage door for you and helped you into the plush space. The two of you waved from the window as the carriage pulled away, the laughter and well-wishes of your friends echoing behind you. You felt your skin heat in anticipation at what was to come. Finally, you could have each other fully, the way you'd been dreaming of. You wouldn't let anything stand in the way.

Azriel waited until the carriage had gone a couple blocks before taking your hand and whisking the two of you away with his shadows.

Directly into a raging thunderstorm.

The little cottage you planned to stay in for your honeymoon, or frenzy as Rhys loved to call it, was on a high cliff above the ocean. It was a stunning view when it was covered in torrential rain.

Azriel had taken you to the front steps of the cottage. He could only blink at you as you were both soaked immediately with rain. You couldn't help but laugh at his disbelieving expression. He shook his head, giving you a half smile, and went to unlock the front door.

The key didn't fit. Azriel shook the handle to no avail and lightly punched the door in defeat.

Grinning a little at your particular string of bad luck, you stepped up to his side, but your smile fell away at the sudden despair on his face.

"Azriel-"

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "Fuck, this was supposed to be perfect. I wanted to make it special for you. We can finally-" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

You touched his arm comfortingly. Before you could speak his shadows enveloped you, carrying you both a few feet through the front door and into the cottage.

Not sparing a glance around the interior, stilling him as he roughly kicked off his shoes, you reached up to cup Azriel's face in your hands, guiding him to look down into your eyes.

"My love," you said. "It doesn't have to be perfect."

"I know, but-" You brushed your thumb over his lips, shushing him.

"Our wedding was perfect. Truly, I couldn't have asked for anything more. And this, sex, marriage, our new life... It's special because I'm with you. My mate, who I adore." You reached up to kiss him lightly. His eyes softened. "Every moment with you is special."

His shadows, which had been twitching nervously, seemed to calm as he placed his hands over your own and brought them to his lips, kissing your fingertips. "I love you so much."

You smiled up at him, feeling the anticipation that had been building all night bubble up. Azriel rested your hands on his shoulders gripping your hips in his own, pressing you closer to him. You both cringed for a moment, feeling your sopping clothes press against your skin.

Azriel's smile turned mischievous. "Let's go take these off."

You pulled away from him, turning and dashing up the narrow set of stairs that you assumed would lead to a bedroom. You paused briefly at the three doors down the hall, trying to guess which would have a bed inside, but Azriel caught up to you, sweeping you into his arms and pulling you in for a heated kiss, your back against the wall.

His hands drifted over the wet fabric of your wedding dress, the coolness of the fabric against the heat of his skin causing you to gasp. He took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, pushing you more firmly against the wall as he explored your body.

His lips moved to your jaw. "Az..." You moaned, breathless. "Bed."

Azriel sucked on a spot along your jaw that sent sparks flowing through you. "Hm, and what if I want to take you right here?"

You couldn't stop the heat rising to your cheeks at the idea. "Next time." You promised.

He stepped back, grinning. "I do like the sound of that."

He opened the second door in the hallway, backing into a dark bedroom. You vaguely noted the dark wooden furniture with deep blue accepts, but your eyes stayed trained on Azriel's as they seemed to glow brighter in the moonlit room.

You followed him slowly, feeling a sudden touch of shyness though he had seen you plenty of times over the last three years.

He met you just inside the door, kissing you softly. You felt his hands in your hair, gently undoing the intricate style Mor had spent hours on this morning. You hummed as your hair fell back around your face in soft curls.

"You are so beautiful." He breathed, reaching around your back to unlace the corset of your dress. You took the opportunity to slide his jacket from his shoulders, careful to not catch it on his wings, and unbutton his crisp white shirt. You felt your dress fall to your feet, and Azriel helped you carefully step out of it.

You had a momentary thought of hanging it up to dry somewhere but your brain emptied at the look in Azriel's eyes. His pupils were wide and hungry as he took in your body in only lacy white lingerie. His hands gently skimmed over your sides, causing you to shiver. He gripped your hips tightly and dropped to his knees before you, eyes fixated on the little jewels woven into the lace of your panties.

"Please don't rip them." You regained your voice in time to ask.

Azriel smirked up at you. "Would I do that?"

"Yes. Plenty of times--"

Your words turned into a moan as Azriel leaned in to lick a broad stroke up the length of your covered heat before gently pulling the garment down your legs with his fingers brushing your skin.

He helped you step out of them, giving you a pointed look as he folded them and placed them on the floor by your discarded dress. He took off your heels next and placed them down just as reverently as he had your underwear.

Starting at your calf, he began to press kisses up the length of your leg. You shivered as he reached your thigh, his eyes darting between yours and your core. His lips passed it by entirely, though, instead latching on to the skin on your hip and sucking a deep mark.

You took the time to admire how his hair, still dripping with rain, was starting to curl around his ears. You reached down to card your fingers through them gently, and he paused his kissing to stand up to his full height.

You pushed his shirt the rest of the way off around his wings and skimmed your hands over the muscles on his chest, feeling their power and getting a sudden rush at the thought that with you, he would only ever use them for your pleasure.

Azriel seemed to read your mind, pulling you closer so you head rested against his heart. He reached behind you and unlaced your bra, both of you sighing at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his skin as he tossed it to the floor.

When you pulled away to look back in his eyes, the heat growing inside you felt unbearable. You crashed your lips against his and he clumsily stepped back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. You fumbled with his pants for a moment until he took them and his underwear off in one fluid motion, pulled you on to the bed, and climbed over you to reclaim your lips.

You felt like you were on fire and Azriel was kindling, making you burn hotter and hotter as his hands and skin pressed you deeper into the sheets.

His fingers teased around your clit and you would have screamed had his tongue not been thoroughly occupying your mouth.

When they prodded at your entrance, you had to break away from the kiss. "Azriel, please," you gasped.

"I know," he murmured. "I'll take care of you, I promise."

He kissed you again as his fingers entered you, stretching and curling in a way that had you moaning against his lips.

He was thorough, wanting you to feel no pain when he finally put his cock in you. It wasn't your first time having sex, but he was confident he was the biggest male you'd ever been with.

His fingers continued their delicious torture until you were gasping, "Az--I--I'm close!"

He stopped his movements and pulled out his fingers gently, smirking as you whined at the sudden emptiness. "The first time you're going to come tonight will be on my cock," he said, his voice deep with desire.

"Fucking, please, hurry up then!"

"No way, love, I'll take as long as I like."

Apparently, he didn't like to take long at all because as soon as he finished speaking, he'd lined up the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing momentarily before pushing in a little.

Tears fell from your eyes at the lovely stretch, and you could tell from the way Azriel's arms tensed around you that he was overcome with pleasure as well.

He pushed in a little more, so slowly and gently you could have cried again, and maybe you did. It felt like years passed as the two of you connected deeper and deeper until finally he was seated fully inside you, your legs pulled around his waist and his hips flush against yours.

He paused so you could adjust, but you didn't need to, he'd been so gentle and fit so perfectly. The bond between you felt alive with energy and love.

The way he looked into your eyes had the fire within you cooling for a moment as your mind caught up with where you were. This was your mate, looking down at you like you were the most precious jewel he'd ever seen. You cupped his cheek and he leaned into your touch.

The first thrust of his hips had the fire back in full force, your eyes rolling upward with the feeling. Again, he moved slowly, but with power and intention, making you feel every inch of him slide along your walls and brush against a spot that had you digging your nails into his shoulders.

Azriel made love to you, and you to him. He was whispering in your ear as he moved, but you couldn't decipher what he was saying above the pleasure that seemed to roar throughout your body.

The fire inside was burning hotter and hotter with every thrust of his hips, every breath from his lips on your ear, every flick of the finger he brought down to your clit.

You came with a gasp of his name, your vision going white and feeling light spark through your veins. He came with a shout a moment later, releasing himself deep inside you.

You held each other tightly as you came down from your highs, breathing heavily. Azriel let his weight fall on you and you savored the feeling of him above you, like a warm blanket. You felt his lips place lazy, soft kisses on your neck where he had buried his head.

"Az," you said quietly after a minute.

"Hmm?"

"That was pretty special."

He laughed, "Yeah? Worth three years of waiting?"

"I think so," you tugged on his hair so he would turn to look at you. "But we should do it again, just to be sure."

He smiled and flipped you so you were resting on his chest. He ran his fingers through your hair softly, hazel eyes glowing as he studied your face. "Every moment is special with you."

💙🩵💙

Thank you for reading 🥰

[bloomingdarkgarden]

i wouldnt mind a scene where Azriel has been jealous for so long he rips out of a room and Elain has been pining for so long that she marches out after him and he's damning the stars and she's damning the cauldron and he's damning the gods for binding her to someone else and she's damning him for being fucking impossible and he tells her she's so beautiful it hurts but she tells him he's a coward for solstice and he whips to her to say she is his undoing but she meets him halfway to say he is her absolution as thunder cracks, rain pours, and they claim each other with a furiously starved smiting kiss as if the entire goddamn world is ending.

like is it so much to ask i mean.

i already wrote this story but i need sjm and sjm alone to plagiarize it.

[biteofcherry]

Can you please share a filthy (but maybe also soft!!) thought about Entwined!Steve?! 🥺 Does he have a favorite kink? Or maybe is there something random that has him going from zero to feral real fast?

As an ancient being an actual god, Entwined Steve has a weakness for rituals and celebrations of old traditions. Like summer solstice, or autumn equinox. There's mysterious atmosphere to it, full of temptation. He used to watch lovers wander into the woods on summer solstice night in search of mythical fern's flower, but ending up fucking on the forest floor.

Now he has you to join him on the strolls through the moonlight streaked forest, watching through the magical veil that separates you from the human world.

He teases you, asking if you ever wanted to find the nonexistent flower. When you shrug, saying you preferred dancing around the bonfire, Steve gives you a wicked grin.

He gives you his hand and offers to search for it with you. As with the humans, the search is a foreplay that ends with Steve fucking your brains out.

Taking you raw on the dirty ground as you moan and giggle is perhaps his greatest kink.

The fern flower never existed, but Steve creates it for you; letting a unique single bloom open its luminous petals as you lay in the afterglow on the ground, your pussy still stretched around his cock.

The other thing that has him going both smitten and feral is seeing you so simply free and happy:

when you stretch your limbs after waking up, your naked body soaked in the morning glow and the changes in your body prominent;

when you laugh and run through the forest as rain patters through the branches, running toward him;

when a sapling grows toward your fingers for the first time as your blooming power tickles it.

Well, seeing you happy and free and growing into your potential gives him a kick, but it's also the knowledge that it's all due to his power. His power and essence filling you, changing you. Marking you as his.

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

Dear Lucien, Dear Elain: An Epistolary Fic

by @zenkindoflove and @crazy-ache After the winter solstice in ACOSF, Elain and Lucien exchange letters as a means to get to know each other away from prying eyes. This fic is a collection of those letters.

Summer Heat

by @zenkindoflove Summer Court is hosting the Summer Solstice Summit and the Night Court is sending their best emissaries to attend. It will be Elain's first time mingling in another court, and it's a good thing she has an expert guiding her: the mate she's been ignoring for the last two years. Meanwhile, Eris has been sent to the summit to spy on Summer's developments. What he doesn't anticipate is entangling in a steamy, forbidden romance.

playgirl

by @damedechance Under the anonymous screen name witch_hazel, Elain Archeron has been moderating the chatroom of rising OnlyFans creator, swiper-no-swiping (Lucien) for a little less than a year. When he comes to Velaris from out of town, they agree to meet up, and the unspoken attraction between them reaches a boiling point.

Separate My Body From My Soul

by @crazy-ache from the fic summary: When Lucien Vanserra is held captive by his father in the cruel depths of Autumn, there is only one force more powerful than politics that can save him—his mating bond with Elain Archeron. She must make the choice to save him, even if it means binding their souls forever.

Realizations, Finally

@trappedoutside124 (ao3) The meeting of the High Lords in Adriata means that Elain will be face-to-face with her mate for the first time in months. Despite herself, she can't help but wonder where he goes each evening when he leaves the castle with Vassa and Jurian. So, she decides to find out.

The Dance of Day

by @wyse-ink (ao3) It's not the first time Elain thinks she could get used to the perks of the Day Court, even if she can't get her mate out of her mind.

The Things that Go Bump in the Night

by @fieldofdaisiies At breakfast Elain and Lucien’s daughter has some questions about the things she heard the previous night, a little afraid her parents were fighting, and of course Nesta and Cassian are present, making it even more uncomfortable; this is inspired by a scene from bad moms 3

Our Hearts Still Beat the Same

by @zenkindoflove "She stood on the bridge for a few minutes, hoping that the rain might wash away the seething anger and bottomless anguish that crackled under her skin. More, more, more, repeated again and again to a steady beat. His heart beat." Elucien, Two-shot, Post-ACOSF. Part One is Cozy Tension. Part Two is all smut.

They Say I Did Something Bad

by @separatist-apologist Elain Archeron's fiance is a total stranger to her, though his family's reputation for cruelty and avarice is not. Dreading a lifetime with a cruel, cold man, Elain decides to have one last night of freedom. Attending an infamous masquerade ball, Elain meets a stranger who offers to show her pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. It's just one night of debauchery. What could possibly go wrong?

Emissaries With Benefits

by @velidewritesWhen diplomacy fails, Prythian courtiers Elain and Lucien like to resort to a steamier kind of negotiation.

I Know Places We Won't Be Found

by @separatist-apologistapologist They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down Elain Archeron and Lucien Vanserra are two sides to the same coin, not that they'd ever know it. After nearly four years of ignoring each other, the mating bond between them, and their trauma, Lucien has had enough. While Lucien is ready for resolution, Elain is still trying to figure out who she is now that she's not human, and unravel her cauldron-blessed powers which seem to intensify with each passing year. When an accidental street fire prompts Elain to call Lucien for help, Lucien decides to take Elain from the Night Court entirely, effectively kidnapping her. Tucked away in the Spring Court, far from prying eyes, Elain will have to reconcile who she was as a human with who she is as a Fae, and decide if the man she's mated to is who she wants to spend the rest of her immortal life with.

I Like You

by @fieldofdaisiies Elain decides that she is ready to make a move towards Lucien. And yes, it is a bit sad.

All You Have Is Your Fire

by @clockwork_ashes (on ao3) 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop. Elain goes to the Autumn Court demanding an audience with the High Lord to save the mate she can barely stand to be in the same room with. She ends up having to stay much longer than she bargained for.

Tales of the Fox & the Fawn

by @lucienarcheron A series of short snippets to fill my Elucien heart <3

Heading Straight to You

by @lucienarcheron Inspired by a tumblr post I've also linked below: "I need elain to have her anthony bridgerton moment where lucien asks if she wants him to sever the bond and leave & she goes “do you think there’s a corner on this earth that you could travel to far enough to free me from this torment? you are the bane of my existence. and the object of all my desires." So I decided to give elucien their own bridgerton moment :) Enjoy!

This Time, I'm Ready

by @lucienarcheron Inspired by Long Story Short by TS. I was listening to it randomly and a scene of Elain started playing out in my head. Recommend listening to it while reading :)

Throw Me To The Flames

by @separatist-apologist Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien. And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest. Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

The Last Of The Real Ones

by @separatist-apologist I'm here in search of your glory, there's been a million before me; that ultra kind of love you never walk away from. Elain Archeron finds fate to be cruel when her youngest sister, Feyre, cuts down a wolf one frozen, winter night and a beastly Faerie Lord named Tamlin demands retribution in the form of her life for the Fae lost. Elain is dragged into Prythian and eternal Spring where a mysterious blight has made magic more dangerous than ever. Navigating eternal Spring is made more difficult by Tamlin's infuriating emissary Lucien Vanserra and his sharp tongue. As the blight spins out of control, Elain will have to decide how far she's willing to go to keep her new home safe. ACoTaR re-write; just come inside.

Sounds of Summer

by @animezinglife Time seems to move more slowly in the Summer Court, and Lucien and Elain take in every second. A short scene of the two in Summer.

Never Not Mine

by @separatist-apologist Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate. That doesn't mean she has to like it...or that she has to make it easy for him.

[beardedmrbean]

Part of Stonehenge has been covered in orange powder paint by protesters.

Two Just Stop Oil campaigners sprayed the powder paint on the historic site near Salisbury, Wiltshire, at about 12:00 BST on Wednesday.

The move comes the day before celebrations beginfor the Summer Solstice at the 5,000-year-old landmark.

Wiltshire Police confirmed two people had been arrested on suspicion of damaging the ancient monument.

Just Stop Oil said the orange powder paint was cornflour and it would "wash away with rain".

The group named the two protesters as Niamh Lynch, a 21-year-old student from Oxford, and Rajan Naidu, a 73-year-old from Birmingham, in a statement.

'Extremely upsetting'

Prime Minister Rishi Sunak condemned the incident as a “disgraceful act of vandalism”.

Leader of the Labour Party Sir Keir Starmer said the damage was "outrageous" and described Just Stop Oil as "pathetic".

Members of the public were heard shouting "no" and seen running to intervene as the campaigners ran up to the stone circle at the Unesco world heritage site.

A spokeswoman for English Heritage described the spraying of the monument as "extremely upsetting" and confirmed the site remained open to the public.

She said the incident would not affect the annual summer solstice, with celebrations still planned to take place overnight on Thursday.

BBC correspondent, Paul Clifton, the first reporter to get to the scene shortly after the incident, said the three stones closest to the public path were "splattered" with the powder.

He added that many of the tourists visiting the monument were "slightly bemused".

"Stonehenge managers and security guards are standing by the path," he said.

"I've heard a suggestion that because it is powder paint and the weather is dry and sunny, it may perhaps be removed without lasting damage, but they will need experts to inspect the stone before forming an opinion."

Just Stop Oil said the motivation behind the incident was to demand the next UK government end the extraction and burning of oil, gas and coal by 2030.

A spokesperson for the group said: "Continuing to burn coal, oil and gas will result in the death of millions.

"We have to come together to defend humanity or we risk everything."

Mike Pitts, archaeologist and author of How to Build Stonehenge, said the incident was "potentially quite concerning".

He said: “The monument has been fenced off for decades and the megaliths' surfaces are protected.

"They are sensitive and they are completely covered in prehistoric markings which remain to be fully studied and any surface damage to the stones is hugely concerning.

“A rich garden of life has grow on the megaliths, an exceptional lichen garden has grown. So it’s potentially quite concerning.”

A spokesman for Wiltshire Police said: "We responded to a report that orange paint had been sprayed on some of the stones by two suspects.

"Our enquiries are ongoing and we are working closely with English Heritage."